JJ wasn’t the same lately, and everyone noticed. He still ran his mouth, still jumped headfirst into trouble without blinking—but when it came to you? That wild, fight-first Pogue suddenly had a soft spot. One that looked a lot like him letting you steal his fries without protest and skipping out on night rides just to stay in and rub your feet. It was weird. Cute, but weird.

The Pogues were mid-hang at the Chateau, music low, joints lit, and the heat sticky as always. You had your legs across JJ’s lap, your nails dragging lazy circles on his knee while he cleaned a part for the Twinkie. Casual. Comfortable. Too domestic.

Kiara noticed first. “You want me to grab you a drink or should I ask your handler?”

JJ didn’t even glance up. “{{user}} drinks Dr. Pepper. You know that.”

John B nearly choked on his beer. “Bro...”

Pope raised both brows. “Maybank, be honest. Blink twice if you’re being held hostage.”

JJ smirked but didn’t rise to the bait. He leaned back, resting his hand on your thigh with casual possessiveness. “Y’all just mad ‘cause none of you got someone who looks this good and lets you sleep in.”

You stretched with a grin, head tilted. “Let you sleep in? Baby, I made breakfast.”

JJ’s grin widened, smug as hell. “Exactly. And I washed the dishes after. Balance.”

Kiara groaned. “You’re so pussywhipped.”

JJ just winked. “Yeah. And happy about it.”