#outerbanks christmas countdown

[featherandferns]

day 4/24 - obx christmas countdown

‘If it's true love, that he thinks of, so next Christmas, I'm not all alone’ - Ariana Grande, Santa Tell Me | smut-fluff | jj x fem!reader

You and JJ had been messing around together since summer. Summer. That’s six whole months of sneaking out at all hours of the night to the Chateau. Six months of being tangled up in bedsheets with JJ’s sweaty, sexy body. Six months of life-altering orgasms and six months of repressed feelings. But like a trained marine, you had experience with pushing down your emotions. As of now, you’d been a professional at denying yourself love. But you knew that you did love JJ. How could you not? It was as if God had read through your checklist of your dream man - good-looking; good in bed; good at heart; good humour - and sculpted JJ Maybank and plonked him down in your town. And you made a silent, secret pact with yourself that if nothing had changed by January - if you didn’t confess your feelings, and find out if JJ felt the same - then you had to go cold-turkey. No pun intended. 

That secret pact was awfully hard to stand by when you’re stood in some random local kid’s house for a Christmas party and spot JJ walking across the room. He’s so pretty you want to cry. So effortlessly beautiful with his hair perfectly tousled; his jawline sharp like carved ice; smirk shadowed on his skin like a wine stain. The loose jacket overlay hangs handsomely on his shoulders as if tailored to his body. The moment his eyes flit across the room and meet yours, you’re amazed you don’t melt into a puddle and rip your clothes off on the spot. The spiked cider does little to ease your nerves as he casually wanders over. 

“Merry Christmas,” he says. 

“Right back at you,” you smile. The song changes to some poppy rendition of Let it Snow but you refuse to let yourself get in the mood. His words ring like a funeral march. You count down the days until the new year. The days which you had left to grow a pair and just ask. 

“How’s the cider?” he asks, nodding down to your glass. 

“Alright,” you uselessly reply. His fingers brush against yours as JJ takes the glass from you. He takes a slow swig and you shamelessly watch every tiny detail unfold: the bob of his adam’s apple; the dampness that lingers on his lips; the way his tongue darts out to mop it up. God, what you’d give to– 

No! Stop it, stop it! 

The pact - we must remember the pact. 

You take the glass back and smile. He nods. “Pretty good.”

“Mhm.”

“So…Got any Christmas plans?”

“Just spending time with the family,” you say, shrugging. He nods again. You can feel the question stirring. See it in the way his eyes look at you, scanning over you as though your clothes are merely a figment of imagination; a philosophical theory that he’s decided not to buy into. You’ve seen that look many times before and ended up beneath it many more. 

“What about tonight? Any plans?” he wonders slyly, his eyes darting over your figure from head to toe. 

The pact, the pact, the pact, the–

“Not really,” you guilefully shrug. You flash him that smile that always seems to work. The rest is a blur of ditching glasses, intertwined hands, brushing past bodies, trying doors, until you end up in some random bedroom of this weirdly oversized house, with JJ on top of you. 

His lips are hot and heavy as they kiss you. He pushes against you with a groan as if desperate to feel your skin on his. The layers of clothes are rude now, keeping the two of you apart, but you’re too distracted by the feel of his lips on yours, the erotic way his tongue brushes against yours in a way that has you yearning for more, to shed them. 

JJ coaxes you back against the pillows of some poor stranger’s bed. His lips are wet and prurient as they stray from your mouth, onto your neck. Your breath comes out short in sighs, whining, as you paw at his face and his neck and his body. You tug off his overlayer and he shrugs it off, his hands quick to return to your body. One slips below your breast and the other cups at your cheek, gently guiding your face just-so to give him more skin. He knows your body so well it’s as if he’s found the map and memorised it. Knows every short cut and every route. Knows what to do that has your body pulsing, pussy weeping, desperate for more. 

Somewhere through the layers of walls, you hear the music change. The voices of party-goers are muffled and in the erotic haze, your thoughts clouded and mind foggy, you forgot where you were. Santa tell me, if you’re really there… Ariana’s voice rings out through the house and some girls sing along loudly. It feels as if they’re condemning you in tuneful, cheery lyrics. 

“Wait, wait,” you murmur. Your body can’t believe what you’re doing as you softly push JJ off of you. 

His lips are swollen and wet, eyes hooded and pupils dilated, cheeks adorably pinkened, as he looks down at you. His arms flex damningly as he holds himself, hands placed either side next to your head. His breathing heavy just like you. 

“What’s up? You okay?” he murmurs. 

You swallow and shake your head. He frowns and eases off you, sitting back on his haunches. You sit up too. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, brushing his hair off his face. 

You tug your cardigan around you and glance off to the side of the room. Your eyes survey the chest of drawers and the array of pictures and trinkets atop of it. JJ murmurs your name and it sends you back to the very first night, in clammy June. You’d always been keenly aware of JJ Maybank’s existence. Hell, everybody on Kildare island was. The night his eyes landed on you and his attention switched was the night your whole life veered off course. It’s easy to not miss something you never had. But now you’d had a taste and JJ was like a forbidden fruit. After that night, you wanted more. However, it seemed like JJ did too. The two of you kept seeking one another out at random keggars and house parties. Then it strayed from party scenes and instead ventured into more mundane settings, in which he’d extend an invitation, and the hook-ups were no longer kept to just the nights. Then it turned into phone numbers and mutuals on social media, which led to random conversations and exchanges of funny memes. It became this confusing blur of lines where JJ straddled something between being a friend and a fuck-buddy. And in that confusion came feelings that you tried to cram down like an overflowing box of Christmas lights. 

“Woah,” JJ chuckles. You blink yourself back to the room. “Where’d you go?”

“I don’t know,” you say, chuckling a bit too. “Sorry.”

“You’re good. We don’t gotta do anything,” JJ shrugs. He grabs for his overlayer and your body fills with adrenaline. Your hand shoots out and grabs onto his arm. He looks at you, mildly concerned. 

“Okay,” you say. He quirks a brow. “Okay, okay. I just need to get this over with because it’s been driving me crazy and I know if I don’t just ask, then I’m never going to ask, and I made to a promise to myself that I would ask and–”

“--Woah, woah, woah,” JJ laughs. He places a hand on each of your shoulders. His eyes gaze into yours and he smiles reassuringly. “Breath. Goddamn.”

You do as he says. He stays like that, waiting, and you take another shaky breath in. Your eyes slip shut as you mentally prepare yourself for the sting of rejection. It’s now or never. Rip the bandaid off. The confession comes out so quick it could be mistaken for one word.  

“I have feelings for you.”

It’s hard to hear anything over the hammering of your heartbeat in your ears. The party feels as though it’s miles away. The muffled voices are nothing more than extractor fan hums. The music is nothing but croaking frogs and rustling wind. It’s all whitenoise now. Your breath sticks to your throat and your chest tightens with nerves as you wait. You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes. You’re too terrified to come face to face with JJ’s expression of pure horror. 

They fly open when you feel his lips on yours though. The kiss is frenzied, rushed, desperate to have you close, almost. Your hands fly up and hover in the air, just shy of his face, but his are on your cheeks. As the kiss stretches on, your hands sink down to your legs and your eyes slip shut once more, and you loose yourself to the feeling of JJ kissing you as if you’re the last breath of air on earth. 

“Thank fuck. Cause I wasn’t sure how much longer I could go without saying something,” JJ murmurs the moment his lips part from yours. Your eyes open up and he’s staring up at you. Beneath the usual cocky, confident facade is a shyness. A vulnerability. Maybe it’s in his smile - nervous, waiting, unsure. Yours must mirror it. 

“Really?” you say, feeling a laugh want to bubble out of you. 

“Really. Shit, I thought I was being so obvious, too.”

You laugh and shake your head. Sighing out, happy - no, elated - you gaze up at the ceiling. “Thank fuck.”

You’re more than happy to have JJ silence you with his lips on yours. For the first time in a long time, you won't have to spend Christmas alone.

[featherandferns]

day 2/24 - obx christmas countdown

‘I just want you for my own; more than you could ever know’ - Mariah Carey, All I Want for Christmas is You | fluff

The twinkling lights and perky music and the rather rude demanding pillow on the sofa that says “JOY” do little to raise your spirits. You’re aware how much of a grump you must seem, slumped in the corner of the pull-out, staring longingly into your glass of mulled wine, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. 

“Hey, grinch.” A Santa hat smacks you in the face. You glare at Kiara. 

“Cheer up. It’s girls’ night,” she tells you. 

“What’s got you so down-in-the-dumps, eh?” Cleo asks. 

“She’s pining,” Sarah says knowingly, grinning slyly at you. 

“I do not pine,” you reply firmly. Then, taking a pause for thought, you tag on, “very often.”

“This about that Maybank boy, huh?” Cleo checks. 

Sighing, you rock your head back and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Does everybody know?”

“Yep,” Sarah brightly replies. “Probably including JJ.”

“No way,” Kiara argues. She’s lounging in the armchair, a Santa hat sat wonky on her head. “That boy is blind as a bat. Lucky for you.”

At your quirked eyebrow in question, Kie puts on quite the show of a puppy-dog, yearning, lovesick idiot. You suppose that’s meant to be you. Charming. You toss the Santa hat back at her and she catches it effortlessly. 

“Kie has a point though. Why don’t you just tell him? He’s definitely whipped for you, too,” Sarah says. 

“Yeah right,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. 

“Girl, you don’t see the way he looks at you.”

“Mhm - because there isn’t a way he looks at me,” you deflect. You stare into your glass of mulled wine, transfixed by the swirling maroon and purple of the liquid; the herbal and fruity tones tangy as they hit your nose and linger on your tongue. 

You’d known JJ since the two of you were in diapers. Growing up, side by side, you felt as though you knew enough about him to know he didn’t love you as anything more than a friend. Seen him chase after enough girls and woo enough chicks at Keggars to believe that if something was meant to happen between the two of you, it would have by now. That didn’t stop your feelings from spiralling and, at a certain point, at a certain age, he suddenly seemed different to you. The treasure hunting only solidified this more, like sealing your feelings in ice. Seeing someone almost die more times than you can count has a magical way of bringing every emotion you have about them to the surface. In fact, you remember the night that you realised that the only thing you’ll ever need in life is JJ. But if that meant as a friend, then that was how it would be. After all, you couldn’t risk losing him. 

Sighing, you come back to the room and find your smile. “It’s not fair to feed my delusions,” you tell your friends, hoping to lighten the mood. 

“Well, y’know what’s a good remedy for boy problems?” Sarah wonders. She gets to her feet, dressed in reindeer pyjamas which match yours, Kie’s and Cleo’s. 

“What?”

“Mulled wine and spiked eggnog,” she grins, grabbing the bottle of plum-purple liquor. Of course. Laughing, shaking your head, you hold out your glass for a top-up. 

“Tis the season.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

JJ came home late. He’d been out on the boat with John B fishing, and the two of them got to sharing a joint and talking, and lost track of time. What were they talking about? Oh, nothing important. Apart from how JJ needed to maybe get a grip sometime soon (John B’s words) and suck it up (also John B’s words) and just tell you how he felt about you already because it’s starting to get pathetic (you guessed it - John B). After JJ threatened to throw him overboard, the matter was dropped rather promptly. That isn’t to say JJ didn’t contemplate it the entire boat ride home. 

He knew it was a risky play. You were the most important thing in his life. You were more valuable than all the gold in the world and more perfect than all the jewels. He wasn’t sure when he started falling for you; all he knew was that the ground was getting nearer. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. Drinking was like rolling the dice. JJ worried that if he had one too many shots, he might sound a bit too genuine when telling you how much he loved you. 

“There’ll still awake?” John B thinks aloud as the two guys walk back towards the house. The boat was now docked and the catch stored in the fridge at the Tackle and Bait shop. The house is illuminated through the windows with Christmas lights of red and gold. A garland hangs around the frame and on the door is a homemade wreath, complete with seashells. 

“Guess so.”

As John B pushes open the door, they’re met with the deafeningly loud Christmas music and a chorus of giggles. Drunk giggles. The two boys share a look, amused, mildly concerned, before venturing into the living room. Cleo and Kie are sitting on the sofa, wine glasses in hand, watching you and Sarah dance in front of the tree. You look adorable in your pyjamas, matching the other three girls like a collectors doll. Your skin sparkles under the twinkling tree lights; hair swaying as you swing and swoop with Sarah. JJ’s heart does that annoying tugging-lurch that it usually does when he sees you. 

Sarah spots the two guys first and her eyes light up like Rudolph’s nose at the sight of John B. 

“Baby!” she grins, hurrying over to him and throwing herself into his arms. JJ’s distracted by watching the reunion that he doesn’t see you coming. You collide into him with a huff, tossing your arms around his shoulders and neck. 

“Hey,” he chuckles, easing a hand onto your back to hold you near. His heart is close to beating out of his chest. 

“I missed you,” you hum into his sweater. 

His heart beats even faster. Stop it, he warns himself. She doesn’t mean it like that. 

“You two better get those girls to bed,” Kiara chuckles, no less drunk herself. 

“No funny business, eh? We’ve got eyes!” Cleo warns with a wagging finger, making herself and Kie break into more giggles. 

“Yes! Bed!” you whoop. You grab JJ’s hand and practically drag him through the hallways to your shared bedroom. There’s a queen bed and a single, with the former claimed by you despite JJ’s bartering. Since the two of you grew up together, it made sense to the Pogues to pair you up in the house. Now JJ was starting to wish that wasn’t the case; it made it harder to ignore how cute you are. 

“Oh my God, JJ, you missed it! We started talking and playing games and listening to music. Oh! And there was drinks.”

“You don’t say,” JJ quips, raising his brows. 

You sit yourself down on the bed and tug him down beside you by his arm. He laughs and indulges. 

“You had a good night, then?” he checks. Your eyes are wide and shining; pupils telling of your intoxication. The smile on your face could battle that of all the Christmas lights in Kildare with how it glows. 

“The best night! Just wish you were there,” you tell him sincerely. 

“Me too,” he smiles. 

As he holds your gaze, something sombre comes over you, and your smile begins to falter. Before he can fixate, you’re resting your head against his shoulder and sighing. 

“JJ?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you want for Christmas?” you wonder, interrupting yourself with a yawn. It seems now that you're away from the spiked eggnog and blaring tunes, the tiredness has begun to seep in. 

“What’d I want for Christmas?” JJ echoes. He hums as he thinks long and hard. He knows the obvious answer - the want of all his wishes - but that one is a no-go. “I don’t know. Maybe a new board? That’d be sweet.”

“Mm. That would be pretty dope,” you agree sleepily. 

JJ can smell your perfume and shampoo so close and it’s physically painful. “What about you? What’d you want?”

“Just one thing, really,” you murmur. “S’really important though.”

JJ glances down and sees your eyelids beginning to sag. Your breath smells like wine and cherry and custard and sugar. It’s sweet like you. “Makin’ me nervous.”

“I guess the only thing I want for Christmas,” you say, yawning again, “is you.”

JJ’s smile is wiped clear from his face like snow washed away in a morning shower. No. Surely…He definitely must have misheard. 

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. A smile starts to tickle his skin, giddy like a boy on his first Christmas. He scans the room and finds a picture of the two of you pinned to the wall, and he smiles brighter. Because John B was right, and his wish came true, and you want him the way he wants you. Hell, he might be lucky enough that you love him too. 

“Wait, do you–”

But before JJ can go on to question, he looks down to find you’re already asleep. Barely-there snores slip through your lips. He smiles to himself and sweeps a finger across your forehead, brushing back some of your hair. Your nose scrunches and it’s so adorable, it takes everything in JJ not to shake you awake and kiss you. 

Not tonight, though. 

After he’s eased you under the covers, JJ lingers by the side of your bed. Then, he dips down and presses a kiss to your forehead. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’ll tell you how he feels. 

“You’re all I want for Christmas, too,” JJ whispers against your skin. 

[featherandferns]

day 1/24 - obx christmas countdown

'I want you to know that I'm never leaving' - Sia, Snowman | angst-fluff | jj x fem!reader | keep track of the obx christmas countdown here!

You stir in the night cocooned in blankets. Groaning, you blink yourself awake and squint at the bedside table's alarm clock. The glaring digital letters read three a.m. With another grunt, you roll over and kick off some of the covers. As your eyes slip shut, your body moves to snuggle into JJ’s like a reflex. You always slept on the left of the small double and him on the right. More times than not, you’d end up with all the covers and him with none, but considering he ran like a boiler engine, it didn’t much bother him. But when your hand reaches out to splay on his warm bareback, you frown and open your eyes at the feel of soft cotton sheets. Weird. 

You shove the rest of the sheets off you with a huff. Kildare was warm enough during the days of December so long as you had a hoodie to hand, but at night, when the sun went to sleep, it cooled off. As you step across the creaking floorboards, you grab JJ’s hooded flannel and tug it on as an extra layer. The old house warns of your coming: aching doors and whining floors. It’s dark as you venture through the halls until there’s a cosy golden glow from the living room. One of the lamps is on. You poke your head into the room to find JJ staring out the window into the thick of the night. 

“Hey,” you broach quietly. He doesn’t jump. He must have heard you coming. 

“Hey,” he replies, just as quiet, not bothering to turn. You make your way over and take a seat by his side on the coach. The sleepiness still lingers in your bones so you rest your head against his arm. 

“How come you’re awake?” you wonder through a yawn. 

“Jus’ thinkin’,” he murmurs. Something about the way he says it tells you it isn’t entirely peaceful thoughts. It feels too early to pry and too late to question. You know JJ as well as any Christmas carol; he’ll tell you when he’s ready. “I hate Christmas, y’know?”

“Does one of the J’s in your name stand for Scrooge?” you try to joke. He chuckles silently, his body shaking softly against your cheek. The skin of his arm smells like shea butter soap and sandalwood. “I didn’t know you hated Christmas.”

“Not as much anymore. Just when I was a kid. Reminded me of all the stuff I didn’t have. I don’t know…Guess it made me angry,” JJ drawls. “I mean, you know that I didn’t have all that much growing up. Dad was never around and never made much effort. It just sort’a ended up being another day. Except…”

“Except it wasn’t?” you offer when his voice trails off. He hums. You nod. 

It’s hard to pass Christmas off as any other day when everything around you is screaming about how it’s so wonderful. The songs, the adverts, the windows, the houses, the movies, the people…All of it. It’s like insisting that you’re not hot whilst staring directly into the sun. 

“And I would just count down the days until it was January again and everyone would just shut the fuck up about it, y’know?”

You hum. He sighs and you glance up to see him hang his head. His blonde hair is shaggy from sleep and dangles in front of his eyes. Sitting up, you reach out a hand and comb it back for him. JJ’s eyes are heavy with tiredness when he looks at you. 

“We don’t gotta do anything for Christmas,” you tell him. Nodding your head towards the hall, at the other bedrooms, you add, “the others can do whatever they want but we can just do our own thing.”

JJ shakes his head, smiling smally. “You love Christmas.”

“Meh. I love lots of things,” you shrug with a smile and roll of your eyes. It was true, you did love Christmas, but you loved JJ far, far more. If celebrating was going to remind him of bitter days then you were more than happy to sit it out together. But JJ shakes his head again. 

“We don’t gotta skip it,” he tells you. Your brows tug together. He still sounds deflated, losing his usual glow like a crack in the most stunning tree bauble you’ve ever seen. It must be easy to read on your face, the concerned curiosity. Shaking his head, he looks back out the window. He rakes his hands through his hair. “It’s stupid.”

“Maybe. Tell me anyway.”

Laughing quietly, he takes a breath and closes his eyes. “I…I’m scared to celebrate Christmas with you.”

You frown and try your best not to be offended. “Oh?”

“I just…God, how do I fuckin’ use words…" JJ sighs again, aggravated, and rubs at his forehead. Then, he looks down at you. The anxiety in his eyes makes you want to cry. “Christmas didn’t mean anything to me until you showed up. And now that we’re finally a...we...Well, I guess I’m scared to actual enjoy Christmas cause what if it goes back to being just another day?"

You try to follow his words like footprints in snow. Nodding slowly, you think aloud. “So you’re saying, what if you let yourself enjoy it, and then we don’t make it, and you have memories about Christmas that are actually happy?”

Laughing, he smiles, shaking his head, a little disbelieving. “You can always read my Goddamn mind.” But the smile slips away into sadness. Tears rush to his waterline and your heart cracks. You’ve never heard his voice so feeble, so raw, when he admits, “I don’t wanna lose you.”

Your joy at cracking the riddle is short lived. Sitting up onto your knees, you reach for JJ’s hand and take it in yours. You squeeze, hard. “You're not going to lose me. I’m never leaving, a’right? Ever.”

He shakes his head and closes his eyes, likely willing the tears away. “You don’t know that. Everybody leaves eventually."

“Hey,” you say, firmly, forcing his eyes open into yours. Nodding, sincerely, you affirm, “I mean it. I’m never leaving. You’re my home, JJ. All seasons round - not just Christmas.” 

The moment wraps around you like a blizzard. Your smile is shaky, eyes damp, voice thick as you confide in him. “You’re all I have too, JJ. The only thing that matters to me. The only thing that I truly, deeply, love.”

JJ exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a lifetime. His forehead gently bumps yours as he dips it. “What’d I do to get you?”

Smiling, you lift a hand to cup his jaw. On your thumb that rests on his cheek you feel a teardrop. You wipe it away. Nobody else saw this side of JJ. The quiet, tender, vulnerable side. The times that the child that hid inside of him, safe from his father’s reprimanding hand, crawled out into the glow of moonlight. You’d never let that privilege be forgotten. Pressing a kiss against his lips, short and sweet like peppermint candy, you shrug. 

“I think I'm the one that’s got the best gift of all.”

[featherandferns]

day 10/24 - obx christmas countdown

‘I’m gonna find my girl underneath the mistletoe and kiss by candlelight’ - Shakin’ Steves, Merry Christmas Everyone | fluff | jj x fem!reader

“Wait, wait!”

You stumble to a stop, frowning in confusion. In your arms are a stack of Christmas decorations that you’d retrieved from the attic; they’re a muddle of baubles and ornaments and tinsel disorganised into various boxes, precariously stacked atop of one another. Glancing over your shoulder, you only just catch JJ approaching before he’s in front of you. His hand barely cups your elbow as if to keep you in place, and you’re not unpleasantly surprised as he dips his head to kiss you. It’s short and tender like pastry dough. His lips are sweet from the candies all of you had been main-lining into your bodies throughout the Christmas decorating process. Your eyes slip shut on instinct and you let out a content hum, feeling your lips curl into a smile. JJ pulls away and stands before you, smiling. 

“O-kay?” you murmur, amused, befuddled. 

“Traditions and all that,” JJ shrugs.

It could be the lighting, altered by the plethora of Christmas lights hung from every square inch of the house, but you swear there’s a blush on his cheeks. It’s adorable. Wait? Traditions? JJ glances up at the ceiling and you follow his gaze. Sure enough, hung by a brutal nail, in the archway of the entrance to the room, is mistletoe. 

“Since when were you into traditions?” you wonder, meeting his eyes once more. 

“Since I bagged the prettiest girl in Kildare.”

“Aw,” you tease, revelling in his bashfulness that he hides behind rolling eyes.

One of the boxes comes loose, and you struggle to keep everything in balance. JJ helps, taking on some of the strain, and the two of you carry through the decorations into the living room. 

It isn’t until later, when you’re wandering back through to the house towards the attic, that you notice the mistletoe again. As you pass under it, you smile to yourself. But then you stutter to a stop. Pausing beneath it, frowning, you squint and study the sprigs of leaves above you. 

“JJ?” you call. 

“Yeah?”

“Can you come here?”

You hear bounding footsteps on the hardwood floors as he approaches. “Yeah?” he asks, now by your side. You point up at the 'mistletoe'. 

“Is that weed?”

When he doesn’t answer, you glance at his face to find an irreverent smile on JJ’s handsome face. There’s little embarrassment as he admits, “I have no idea what mistletoe fuckin’ looks like.”

Laughing, you shake your head. Taking one last look at the cannabis-induced mistletoe, you push onto your toes, cradle his face, and give him a kiss square on the lips. You can feel JJ’s smile on your lips, perking you up like the spreading of season joy. After that, the two of you go back to retrieving decor for the rest of the group, stopping every time you come under JJ’s own unique take on mistletoe to plant a kiss. Right there and then, the two of you form a new, long-lasting tradition.

[featherandferns]

day 7/24 - obx christmas countdown

‘I’ll take you for a ride, I’ll be your vixen’ - Sabrina Carpenter, A Nonsense Christmas | smut/suggestive (MDNI) | jj maybank x fem!reader

“Girl. If JJ don’t wanna fuck you, then I will,” Kiara plainly says, combing her fingers through your hair. 

“Yeah, I’m with Kie. If this boy doesn’t appreciate the effort then we’re beating his ass,” Sarah agrees. 

“I don’t look stupid?” you worry, meeting their gaze in the mirror. 

“You look hot,” Kiara insists. You dab on more red lipstick and blend it out with your finger, scared it looks silly. You rarely wear such masses of make-up; there’s little point, living out in Kildare. Nine times out of ten, you end the day in the sea. Kiara finishes toying with your hair and fluffs it so it sits around your face, framing your features enticingly. Sarah is nodding enthusiastically. Your eyes scan your reflection. 

Adorning your figure is a crimson red babydoll. Faux fur outlines the top lining of the cups, brushing against your cleavage. Two pull-strings hang from the centre, with white pom-poms on the end that mimic those on Santa’s hat. It’s lace and hangs just past your ass, trimmed on the hem with white fur. A dainty thong ties everything together. It’s unfamiliar seeing yourself so dolled up but not unwelcome; you think you look pretty sexy, to be honest. JJ doesn't need all the fuss and feathers to get him going but you wanted to give him a special Christmas treat. A rush of confidence blows over you as you let your eyes take in your completed look. 

Kiara’s buzzing phone has everyone’s attention turning to her. After reading the message, she tells you, “Cleo said her and JJ are nearly done hanging up the lights. They’ll be back in the house soon.”

Sarah squeals excitedly and you chuckle at the ludicrousy of the situation. Your closest girl friends helping you get dressed up for your guy to fuck you; that’s girl hood in a unique, wonderful nutshell. 

“You guys better go,” you tell them as they’re already heading for the door. 

“You look hot. You are hot,” Kiara reminds you pointedly as they leave the room. Sarah giggles a ‘good luck’ before they slip out the room, leaving you to sit in amusement, shaking your head. The door now closed, you go about setting the mood in the bedroom. Low, jazz music with a festive flare; scented candles and tea-lights lining the dressers and desk; swiping crinkles out of the bedsheets and pulling the blinds closed on the already darkening day. Then, you perch yourself delicately on the edge of the bed and wait in anxious anticipation for JJ to come back from the tackle-and-bait shop, where Cleo had been distracting him with Christmas decorating. 

You hear the door to the adjoining bathroom open five or so minutes later. 

“JJ?” you call. Your heartbeat picks up just at the thought. 

“Yo. I’m back,” he calls back. You hear the bathroom tap running as he presumably washes his hands. From where you sit, you can just make out a glimpse of his body; dressed in a flannel hooded overlayer and shorts. “Dude, that wind out there is gettin’ crazy. It’s cold as hell.”

“You’re cold?” you wonder, rising to your feet. Antsy, you find yourself moving about until you’re leaning against the bedpost at the foot of the bed. 

“Hell yeah,” JJ replies. 

“I think I can help warm you up,” you tell him, biting back your smile. The tap finally shuts off and JJ wanders into the doorway. His head is hung, focused on drying his hands on the towel, and you wait in bated breath for him to look up. 

“Oh really? I mean, I could definitely do with–”

JJ’s words die on his tongue. You can’t help but smile at the stunned look on his face. His eyes shamelessly consume your body, running over every inch of skin, lingering on your tits. His lips part in a daze until they finally find words. 

“Holy fuck.”

Your body flushes with white hot heat. Fiddling with the edge of the babydoll, you cock your head and smile enticingly. 

“Merry Christmas.”

As if those were the magic words he was waiting for, JJ drops the towel to the bedroom floor and crosses the room to you in three easy steps. You giggle as he grabs possessively at your hips, his eyes unable to stay still on one part of you, especially your eyes, no matter how hard he tries. His lips press to yours in a fiery kiss, his bulge already pressing against your leg. 

“What’s this?” he murmurs, grinning. 

You shrug cooly. “An early Christmas gift.”

“Oh really?” he hums, his brows raising in approval. A shiver runs through you as his fingers trace your upper thigh, just under where the babydoll ends. JJ dips his head, his forehead brushing against yours, and he lets out a dark chuckle. His voice is low as he asks, “A Christmas gift for me, huh?”

“All for you,” you whisper. 

“I get to unwrap it?” JJ wonders, a sly smile on his face as his fingers toy with the elastic of your panties. 

Your eyes are innocent and doe-like as you guilelessly tell him, “you get to do anything you want to it.”

Something flashes across his face; twinkles in his eyes. His smirk is there and gone in a blink before his hands are picking you up, grabbing you at the ass and hoisting you into the air and into his arms. You gasp and giggle as JJ playfully tosses you on your back onto the bed, quick to climb atop of you, crowding you with his presence. His lips are on your neck, your collarbones, ghosting over your bulging breasts in the bralette. 

“You like it?” you ask breathlessly, knowing full well the answer. 

In between kisses, as JJ’s fingers fiddle with the button fastening the babydoll at the front, his reply is plain and simple. “Best Christmas present ever.”

It’s safe to say, everybody knew you weren’t sleeping that night - not just santa. 

[featherandferns]

day 9/24 - obx christmas countdown

‘But here we are tonight, drunk by the firelight’ - FINNEAS, Another Year | fluff-suggestive | jj maybank x fem!reader

“You know we have a couch, right? It’s, like, right behind you.”

You chuckle, not bothering to look away from the fire that you’re lounging in front of, laid on your side. “I’m warm.”

“You’re weird. Look like a dog,” JJ mutters. His toe prods your butt. 

“Quit your bitchin’ and come lie with me,” you reply. JJ doesn’t take much convincing. Sighing, he joins you on the blanket on the floor. His arm hooks over your waist as he moulds his body against yours. You smile as you feel him nuzzle his head against the back of your head. 

“So…Why the floor?”

“I like watching the fire,” you hum, staring in a daze at the flames in the fireplace. The red and amber lap like waves against the brick, smoke billowing up into the chimney. 

“Said like an arsonist,” JJ murmurs. You gently elbow him in the chest. He laughs. You smile. God, you could stay like this forever. 

The living room is dark save for the fire and the twinkling glow of Christmas tree lights. The red LEDs flash soothingly against the wall from the tree’s corner. Along the dusty mantle of the fireplace are stockings, one for each one of the Pogues, including yourself. Yours hangs close beside JJ’s, as if emulating the relationship the two of you share. The wine you’ve been sipping throughout the evening gives an enchanting fuzz to the evening; makes your mind buzzy in the nicest of ways, like a radio tuned into your favourite station. Your wine glass sits before you on the hardwood floor. JJ sighs contently against your skin. 

“This is pretty cozy,” he admits. 

“Knew you’d like it,” you say. “Where’s everyone at?”

“Pope and Cleo are at the Heyward’s place; Sarah and John B are out on some mushy-crap date, and Kie’s helping out at the Wreck. Apparently there’s some big Christmas dinner for some Kook bull-shit company happening tonight.”

“So…We’re home alone, huh?” you innocently wonder, smiling knowingly. 

JJ presses a kiss against the soft skin of your neck. “All alone.”

You snuggle back against him and reach for his hand, intertwining his fingers with your own. The room is quiet save for JJ’s steady breathing synchronising with your own, and the fire crackling in the background. Your eyes flit away from the fire to instead survey the tree. It’s decorated in a way that would make a showman want to cry: mismatching baubles hung without rhyme or reason; strings of beads and dried fruit; ribbons tethered randomly to certain branches; and a wonky star on top. But you’d decorated it as a family, the seven of you, drinking spiked eggnog and mulled cider, snacking on popcorn and peppermint candies. The memories entwined in the branches like the fairy lights make it mystifyingly beautiful. Your eyes hone in a certain ornament. It’s a ceramic baby Jesus, lying in his manger, the paint flaking and a chip missing by his nose. In your tipsy thoughts, you can’t help but wonder. 

“Do you believe Jesus Christ was born to save us?” you ask JJ. 

“Hell of a question.”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know,” JJ says. You somehow know he isn’t done speaking. “I guess so. I mean, I believe he was born to guide us. Teach us and stuff.”

“Mm. I like that,” you smile. “I think that’s an awful lot of pressure for a baby; being told you’re here to save mankind.”

“Wasn’t he, like, a newborn? Don’t think he was told that from the get-go,” JJ thinks aloud. 

“He’s half-God, JJ. He probably had that thought inputted into him before he was put in Mary’s stomach.”

“Do you think he was ever sperm?”

“Ew!”

“I’m just saying!”

“JJ, that is so gross…and possibly blasphemous.”

“I’m a loyal disciple. That means I can’t be blasphemy-ey,” JJ argues. 

“Don’t think that’s how it works,” you snigger. JJ tickles at your sides and you squeal, kicking lightly at his legs. 

“Wanna say that again, oh Holy one?”

“Stop it! Stop it!” you giggle, squirming out of his hold. He lets up on the tickling but wraps his arm tighter around you, pulling you back against him with a laugh. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he rhetorically asks, lips ghosting by your ear. 

“I yearn for the flames,” you deadpan. JJ snorts. He presses a kiss to the lobe of your ear, then another to the sensitive skin just behind. Your eyes slip shut, grin melting into a satisfied smile. 

“Sure you do,” he mumbles between his kisses. His fingers massage at your stomach through your t-shirt. You become keenly aware of how close he is to you; every inch of skin of his that’s pressed to yours. It’s laughable how little effort it takes for him to rile you up. “My little freaky arsonist.”

“Says you,” you quip, conviction lost with your breath. One of your hands loops over his body, fingers looping through his hair as if urging him to stay close. His fingers slip under your shirt, the pads of his digits skimming over your tummy, toasty from the fire. 

“Mm,” JJ groans. His lips torture your neck, teeth nipping as if to tempt at breaking the skin, his tongue lapping over it after as if to soothe like an ointment. You sigh out, eyes slipping shut, body rocking back against him. God, you could stay like this forever. “You’re so warm.”

You let out a giggle as his fingers accidently tickle your sides, grazing past as he pulls your t-shirt up. JJ sniggers against your neck. The two of you are bewitched before the fire, painted in ruby red and mellow yellow. 

“So, so warm…”

Somewhere in the haze, your t-shirt is joined by JJ’s. They lie, tossed, at the bottom of the tree. You finally turn over to face him. His eyes are half-lidded, lips swollen and pink and wet, and you smile dopily at him. The kiss he plants to your lips is hot enough to battle the flames of the fire. It sparks you alight. Your hands cup at his face, paw at his throat, pulling him in closer and closer. He hooks a leg over your body and you roll onto your back. 

“So…” he murmurs against your lips. His teeth nip at your lower lip and he tugs just-so. Your eyes roll back into your head. You can hear the smirk in his voice as he finishes his sentence with a whisper. “Hot.”

[featherandferns]

day 3/24 - obx christmas countdown

'So we could call it even, you could call me babe for the weekend' - Taylor Swift, 'Tis the Damn Season | jj maybank x fem!ex!reader | angst

He looks the same as before. Even with his back to you, sat at the bar, head hung as he seemingly analyses his drink. Elvis’s Blue Christmas croons through the bar’s crackling radio. It’s busy tonight, as to be expected so close to Christmas. Groups of old friends reuniting, sharing stories over pints, and coworkers spending their last few hours tipsy before clocking off for the season. Couples sharing a cocktail by the window, people-watching out through condensation kissed glass. But you hardly pay them any mind. You’re watching JJ. 

Tugging your Stanford University sweater tighter around you despite the warmth, you take a deep breath and bolster your confidence. 

“Hey stranger.”

JJ’s head whips around and he lays eyes on you. His jawline is the same as you remember it, having traced it countless times before, in person and in memory. The familiar blonde hair is long at the front and shorter at the back, enticingly messy as always. It was always his eyes that got you though. Icy blue like crystals from the ocean. 

“Hey,” he breathes. His lips twitch at the corners, hinting of a smile. You smile too. 

Nodding to the barstool beside him, you ask, “can I sit?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah, sure.”

He moves his jacket and you take a perch. It’s quiet between you as you flag down the bartender and order a pint. You take a sip of the sticky beer. 

“So…how’ve you been?” he awkwardly asks. 

“Good,” you say, nodding, swallowing. You return to the glass to the bartop. “University’s going good.”

“You’re repping the merch, I see,” he says, nodding at your sweater. 

Laughing, somewhat embarrassed, you nod. “Yeah, well. It’s good quality out there, y’know?”

“No, I really wouldn’t,” JJ mumbles. His eyes fall back onto his glass and you watch his hands as they draw figures on the condensation. The rings on nearly every digit. The ring you bought him for his eighteenth birthday. Your throat goes dry. Like magnets, the ache inside of you pulls you towards JJ’s. The ache you put there when you accepted Stanford’s scholarship and packed your bags. 

You want to apologise and defend yourself. You want to skip the small talk and pick-up as if you never left; laughing and joking, teasing flirtatiously over drinks. But instead you drink in silence and eavesdrop into other bar-goers conversations. 

“I’m glad that it’s going good, though.”

You blink and look at JJ. He’s looking at you too. Fuck, those eyes. He’s smiling again, warmly. “I’m happy you’re enjoying university.”

“Yeah, no, yeah, it’s…It’s good,” you repeat. He quirks a brow. JJ had always been good at reading between your lines. Sighing, you shrug and smile meekly. “It isn’t home, y’know? The people out there are different too.”

“What’d you miss about home?” JJ wonders. “The food.”

“Well, duh,” you deadpan, and the two of you laugh. You feel your shoulders ease with the frosting around your heart. “I miss hushpuppies so much, holy crap.”

“They are the shit.”

“They really are,” you grin. It feels nice talking to someone familiar. You can feel your southern accent seeping through like it never did at school. People found it harder to understand you; took it upon themselves to make jokes that were only half-funny. 

“Anything else?” JJ encourages. 

Sighing, you rest your arms on the tabletop and study the liquor bottles ahead of you. “I don’t know. I guess I miss The Wreck, and the Chateau. Although, that’s not even there anymore so…I miss your truck, too. Even though it’s a piece of crap.”

“Hey! Don’t talk about my babygirl like that,” JJ warns jokingly, threatening a finger in your face. You bat it away with a laugh and take another sip of your beer. Call it liquid confidence. 

“I missed you, too.”

JJ lets that hang in the air a while. You try to make out his expression through your peripheral vision and drink through the pause. Quietly, almost in a murmur, he admits, “yeah. I missed you too.”

“You did?”

“Mhm. Things haven’t been the same since you left,” JJ sighs. Your eyes clench shut. You wonder what’s happened to him since you went. You avoid social media like the plague, petrified to open the app and be blindsided by a photo of him and some nameless girl from the island, smiling on his boat, lounging on the beach, riding in his truck. In your place. Did he go back to his old ways; how he was before he met you? A new girl, every night, different name, different face? Or did he stick to relationships now? Was there some blue-eyed Betty waiting for him at the house? You’re not guilty for not asking. 

“So…How long you in town?”

You open your eyes and meet his gaze. “Just the weekend.”

He scoffs and nods, and takes a long sip of his drink. You study him; watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs; the way his jaw tenses and loosens; the way his eyelashes brush at his cheeks. 

“I’m staying at my parent’s house,” you hear yourself say. As if possessed, your foot strays from it’s safety of the stool and brushes against his ankle. His eyes flash to yours. You lower a hand onto the bar, in the space between the two of you, just near enough to yourself for the possible sting of rejection to be lessened.

JJ studies you for a while. And then, his hand frees itself from his glass, and finds yours. His fingertips are damp and the rings are cold. 

“You kept the ring I gave you.”

“I kept everything you gave me,” JJ says. Those words knock the wind out of you. 

“Me too,” you mouth. You flip your hand so the palm is facing up and he intertwines his fingers with yours. He holds on, tight. 

It’s selfish, you know it is, to ask something of him knowing that you can’t stay. Kildare was a deadend. Nobody here got out, not really. Stanford was the future. It was freedom and possibility, and your ticket out to a better life. But would a life truly be better if JJ wasn’t in it? You didn’t need to answer those sorts of questions tonight. Instead, you just wanted to be around the only person who can tell which smiles you’re faking. 

“We could call it even,” you murmur. “You could call me babe for the weekend.”

JJ chuckles humourlessly at that. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. His breath fans onto your lips and you feel yourself take a deep inhale. It’s dizzying, having him near again after so many miles apart. Memories cloud your mind like a blizzard, of sweaty bodies and pulsing pleasure and wet, frantic kisses. Of long nights talking and life contemplating over joints and rendezvous on boats.

“Tis the damn season,” he mumbles. When JJ’s lips press against yours - the taste of beer slipping away into the taste of each other - you know the only breaking your hearts all over again.

[featherandferns]

day 6/24 - obx christmas countdown

‘Bless us all, who gather here. The loving family I hold dear’ - ‘Tiny Tim’, Bless Us All | fluff | jj x fem!reader

Preparing Thanksgiving dinner was jumbled, joyous chaos in the Pogue household. Roles were delegated and then completely ignored. Plans were laid-out before being woefully cast aside. The house smelt of cooking with a tinge of burning. Fingers stunk of vegetables and spices and beer and wine from the constant flow of drinks. Pope was in charge of the turkey: he’d studied the temperatures and the times and techniques and the tips. He had apparently mastered the science of cooking the bird to perfection. Nobody dared get in his way for fear of being plucked and basted next. Cleo was working on the sauces. Any sauce you can think of, and some that you probably can’t. Cranberry and apple and Jamaican hot. John B was on the yams and potatoes, and Kiara on carrots and sprouts. JJ? He was working pretty damn hard at nailing the stuffing. You and Sarah were on the desserts. The pumpkin pie was cooking in the oven and the two of you had now taken to decorating cupcakes with sprinkles, methodically placing each individual one atop of the wonky frosting. Christmas music hummed from the crackly speaker and chatter overlapped through the kitchen, broken up with laughter from time to time. 

When everything was on the hob and in the oven, new jobs were taken on. John B and Sarah were the pot washers and Pope and Cleo, the dryers. Kiara was readying the serving dishes and keeping a watchful eye on the pots to ensure nothing bubbled over. In the dining room, around the extended table, was you and JJ. He was carrying the plates in one arm and laying them out in everyone’s spot, and you were following behind with the cutlery and napkins. 

“So, what’re you grateful for?” JJ asks you. Someone laughs in the kitchen. You carefully line up a fork beside a knife. 

“Y’know. The usual. Sun, seltzers and sex,” you reel. JJ sniggers. “You?”

“My sexy girlfriend?”

“Damn straight,” you grin, catching his eye. The two of you continue setting the table. 

“Seriously, though. Any corny crap you’re grateful for?” JJ wonders. It doesn’t take much thought. 

“The fact that we finally got our home. After all the shit thrown at us, and all the wild goose chasing…We finally got it,” you quietly reply. 

“Shit. That’s a good one,” JJ smiles. He lays the last plate. You feel him watching you as you lay the cutlery beside it. “I think I’m thankful for having you. Sticking by me, y’know? No matter what.”

Your brows tug together as you look up at him. Your voice is sincere and heavy with trust as you say, “course. I’ll always stick by you.”

JJ presses his lips to yours and you smile into the kiss. 

“Dinner time, horn-dogs!” John B whoops. The two of you break apart with a roll of your eyes. 

“Way to kill the mood, JB,” JJ mutters, begrudgingly walking around the table to his seat. 

“What? Were you two just gonna do it on the table?” Kiara sarcastically wonders. She’s carrying a large serving dish filled to the brim with steaming veg. 

“Was thinking about it. I’m feelin’ really thankful for tables. And tits.”

“JJ, gross,” Pope cringes.

He’s followed by Cleo and Sarah who carry various plates and bowls. Pope carries the turkey, hands protected by oven mitts. Your mouth waters at the smell, eyes growing two sizes larger like a Looney Tunes character at the sight of the golden bird. 

“Hell freakin’ yeah,” JJ grins, clapping his hands together and rubbing loudly. 

You take your seat beside Sarah, Kiara opposite you. JJ sits at the head of the table. Pope carefully lowers the turkey to the table and the six of you sit, staring in awe, mouths hanging open. Compliments and praises and thanks are passed from person to person before landing in Pope’s ears. You had to hand it to him: he knew his stuff. 

“I’m so hungry,” Sarah sighs, reaching for the serving spoon wedged beneath the potatoes. 

“Same!” Kiara mumbles, grabbing for the tongs by the yams. 

“All our hard work paid off,” Cleo remarks in her thick accent. 

“Hey, hey, hey! We haven’t said grace yet!” JJ loudly reminds. 

Everybody groans but nobody complains. JJ holds his hand out to you and you take it with a smile. His hand clutches yours warmly. Sarah takes your right hand and you hang your head and close your eyes. 

“Let her rip, JJ,” John B prompts. It was a tradition for JJ to make the pre-dinner prayer. You were only mildly surprise to learn of JJ’s dedication to his religion. It shone through in subtle ways, like the light refracted from a disco ball. But it was sweet and admirable. He’d take the time to pray. Thanked God when something happened that he saw as a blessing. Showed gratitude for the smallest of moments. 

JJ clears his throat pointedly, causing a few of you to chuckle. He squeezes your hand gently before beginning. 

“Dear Lord. We thank you for this delicious Thanksgiving meal we’re all about to fuckin' demolish.”

You all laugh and it melts away like snow in spring. JJ's voice shines bright as he speaks.  

“Bless us all, who gather here. This loving - all-be-it - weird family we have. My family, that I hold dear, as you know. We ask you to lead us to the light and to let us always love each other. To let us hear the voice of reason, to help us run from anger, and to catch us when we fall. Teach us in our dreams. Be kind to those who don’t have a loving, weird family, or a meal like this. Be kind to those in war and famine. Be kind to those who aren't. We reach for you and we stand tall. And in our prayers and dreams, we ask you, bless us all.”

You’re surprised you have enough breath to murmur, “amen.” Your eyes feel damp, moved with emotion, as you open them. Everyone shares loving, understanding smiles with one another. Hands slip away and latch onto cutlery, but you find yours reaching for JJ’s hand. You guide his knuckles to your lips and you hold his gaze as you plant a quick, caring kiss. He smiles at you. A blush teases at his cheeks. What a man - a man who you get to love, loud and proud, and a man who loves you back. 

“I love you,” you mouth. His smile grows. He nods, murmurs it back, and you let his hand go. JJ takes a deep breath as he grounds himself back in the room. 

“Alright, Pope. You gonna carve that damn bird or what?” he declares.

The group hollers and whoops in agreement and Pope laughs, getting to his feet. As he slices into the juicy meat, your eyes scan the table. You can’t help but feel as though JJ hit the nail on the head in his prayer. Because you're here in the company of those who you love and you know that you belong. And what more could a girl need?

[featherandferns]

day 5/24 - obx christmas countdown

‘He’s the little boy that Santa Claus forgot, and goodness knows, he didn’t want a lot’ - Nat King Cole, The Little Boy That Santa Claus Forgot | angst-fluff

There’s a wonder-like joy that overcomes every girl and boy on Christmas Eve and Day. A round bellied old man with a beard white as snow and suit as red as rubies, who rides a magic sleigh that flies through the air, piled high with presents of all shapes and sizes. Quirky reindeer guide him through the night, their hooves never once touching ground, with rhyming names and shiny red noses at the head of the group. You write a letter and list all the things your heart desires, and send it off to the North Pole. You hunker down in your bed and will yourself to sleep despite the pounding excitement in your chest knowing that he’s on his way! 

JJ loved Christmas. He loved the glitter and the glitz of the lights and decorations. His dad never did much bother with it but the department stores in town, especially those in Figure Eight - boy, oh, boy, did they go all out! The town centre had a huge tree decorated from head to toe and at school they’d make crafts and cards. JJ had worked tirelessly on the one for his dad, made out of red and gold crinkle paper. He loved the food and the feasts. The turkey and the stuffing and the pies and cakes. His dad never did much bother with it but Pope’s dad went all out! It was mouth watering, the smells the kitchen filled with. Leftover sandwiches were part of the holiday, to JJ. He loved the music and the movies. His dad never did much bother with it but John B insisted on watching the Snoopy Christmas Special every year, without fail. They’d indulge in popcorn and candies and make their way through all the classic holiday flicks. Yes, it was safe to say that JJ loved Christmas. 

Whilst JJ’s dad didn’t care about the traditions, he was always there Christmas morning. There were gifts under the tree and his dad would lounge on the sofa and watch JJ unwrap them, nodding in approval and grunting in acknowledgement. On really good years, he’d show an interest in trying out some of the toys. One time he even bought JJ a fishing rod of his own. That was the best Christmas ever. 

On Christmas Eve on JJ’s eighth year, he followed the rules. He’d written his letter plenty in advance and mailed his off with Pope and John B’s. He’d gone to Church and said his prayers and sang the hymns for Jesus. Finally, he’d laid out two biscuits (they were a little stale but he was sure Santa wouldn’t mind all that much!) and a carrot for Rudolph (though he hoped the other reindeer might get a nibble too), and a glass of milk as per requirement. Then, he’d scampered off to bed and pulled the cover up to his chin, and squeezed his eyes shut until sleep willed him under. 

When JJ woke up on Christmas Day, he shot up like he’d drank fifteen cups of coffee. It was light outside and his blinking alarm clock told him it was morning. He threw the blanket off him and jumped down onto the floor from his bed. His bare feet smacked loudly against the hard wooden floors as he raced into the living room, grinning, brimming with excitement. 

Then, he slowed to a stop. 

The milk was still there. Not a drop missing. The biscuits were too, as was the carrot. JJ’s heart sank deep into his stomach. His eyes scanned over to the tree, barren of decorations, wilting at the leaves. Nothing. Not a single parcel or present. Not a giftbag or toy. No fishing rod. Only the handmade Christmas card JJ had made his dad. 

Maybe…Maybe Santa was just running late. He had the entire world to get too, of course. Yes, yeah, that’s what it’ll be. His dad will know. 

JJ walks to his dad’s bedroom door and pauses outside for sounds of life. No snores. He knocks twice then eases the door open on creaking hinges. The bed is empty, devoid of any sign that his dad had slept there at all. Maybe he was out collecting food for dinner. Yes, sure, they were going to have a proper Christmas dinner! 

Despite his attempts for optimism, JJ feels his spirits sagging with every step back to his bedroom. He dresses in silence. Pulls on his shoes and fastens his jacket. He can’t bare to look at the tree and biscuits and milk in fear of crying. Instead, he heads out the door in search of his father. 

There aren’t too many people out on the streets of Kildare this early on Christmas morning. Those who are, are family. Mothers walking hand in hand with their daughters. Little boys playing catch with their dads. Siblings comparing toys and trying out new bikes and tricycles. JJ shoves his hands in his pockets and swallows the envy. An unnatural feeling simmers deep inside of him. Something like frustration. Something like anger. 

Somewhere in his walk, he gives up on the hunt for his father. He gives up on reasoning that Santa was running late. If he was late, how did all the other children in Kildare have their presents? As JJ walked, he came to the sick, solemn, sad realisation that he was the little boy that Santa Claus forgot. 

“Hey! JJ!”

JJ freezes in the street at the sound of his name. He looks around and finds you rushing out the bakery. He recognised you from school. You were the pretty girl at the front of the class. You always wore you hair the same way, complete with a bow, and it seems today was no exception. You were known for being the peacemaker among fallings out and the girl who lingered after class to help tidy up. Smart and savvy, you were top of the class too, but you didn’t kiss ass in the way that would usually irritate JJ. Instead, you’d help your tablemate finish their work too. 

JJ’s surprised you even know his name. He’s even more surprised when you practically tackle him in a hug. JJ stands like a statue for a second before he hesitantly wraps his arms around your dainty frame, hugging you back. 

“Merry Christmas, JJ,” you say warmly against him. 

Tears spring to JJ’s eyes. You were the first person to say that to him today. 

Pulling away, JJ stares at you in shock, unsure of what to say. Your mouth parts with a gasp. “Wait here!”

JJ does as he’s told. He doesn’t have anywhere to be, afterall. You rush back into your parent’s bakery - Kildare’s Cakes - and waits for a short while until you reappear. In your hand is a warm chocolate chip muffin, wrapped in a snowman covered napkin. You hold it out to him. 

“Your present!” you beam. 

JJ stares at it like he’s never been on earth before. Steam rises off the top; the sponge breaking temptingly at the top, showing the gooey chocolate chips inside. Its sweet smell drifts into the fresh air of December. JJ slowly reaches out and takes it from you. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs. His first Christmas present and, what would later turn out to be, his only Christmas present that year. 

You linger and seem unsure of what else to say. So, with a nod and a smile, you hurry out, “well, I better get back inside. I hope you have a wonderful day though!”

Then, quick as dasher, you dart forward and press a warm kiss to his cheek. JJ blinks after you as you wave farewell, returning back into the shop and closing the door. That small act was the catalyst to JJ’s feelings for you, that only grew as time went on. Now, married, with children of your own, no matter how many gifts and how many dinners and how many songs and movies: JJ decided that his eight Christmas was his favourite Christmas of all. Santa might have forgotten about him; but you surely didn’t.

[featherandferns]

day 8/24 - obx christmas countdown

‘Tell me baby, do you recognise me? Well, it’s been a year, it doesn’t surprise me’ - Wham!, Last Christmas | angst | jj maybank x ex!kook!fem!reader

The country club was donned in green and gold. Every room had at least two Christmas trees, trimmed with golden tinsel and ruby red decor and designer baubles and ornaments. Garlands were wound around the staircases and intricate paper chains that looked as though angels themselves might have created them hung in every room around the window frames. It was dark outside and cold with December chills but the building shone like the northern star. JJ couldn’t care less though. The jazz covers of Christmas classics were nothing more than buzzing in his ear. The strong smell of champagne and cinnamon and dried orange and roasted chestnuts were nauseating. The whimsical, warm glow of the fairy lights only fuelled the fire in his heart. The fire that started to burn the moment he laid his eyes on you. 

You’re sitting at the dinner table dressed in an emerald green glittery dress. Your hair falls in perfect ringlets around your beautiful face, flawless from blemish. A face that haunts JJ’s dreams. A face that’s now nothing more than a phantom of his memories. The ruby red lips lift with an easy smile and you laugh melodically at something Kelce says. And then JJ watches as your hand sinks onto Topper’s like falling snow, softly enveloping his hand with yours, and JJ can almost feel the warmth of your palm on his skin. Remembers how it felt to have your fingers trace his face, sweeping over his cheeks like he was something expensive. Like he was something valuable to you. 

“Merry Christmas,” JJ smiles. 

You gasp angelically as he offers out a small box. It’s wrapped in blue and silver paper. There’s a wonky bow that’s fighting to stay stuck atop of the gift. It’s nothing impressive but JJ took his time whittling the ornament that you carefully retrieve. Your smile is one of awe as you take in the intricate design. He’s mesmerised by your eyes as they trace over the wooden angel; the Christmas tree lights reflect on your irises. 

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper. There’s something in the look that you lay onto JJ that has his heart stirring. He feels like a pre-teen having his first kiss all over again when you lean over to kiss him on his tattered old sofa. His hands go clammy and his cheeks grow warm and his heart wants to break and beat right out of his chest. Your breath is warm and sweet from candy as you quietly speak a hair’s width from his lips. “Thank you. I’ll treasure it forever.”

The tray in his hands feels light as a feather as JJ stands and stares. He keeps his distance from you - has been all night - and watches from across the room, stealing glances, trying to see if you’ve noticed him. Trying to see if you care. A part of him is angry. He feels cheated. Hell, he was. A part of him wants to march right up to you and force you to meet his gaze. To ask you if you recognise him, in some rhetorical quip. After all, it’s been a year - it wouldn’t surprise him. 

But there’s a longing there too. It lingers as JJ does his rounds of the tables of the country club’s Christmas party, as he tops up champagne flutes with the fizzy wine. An urge to ask you if you remember last Christmas. If you remember the handmade present and the sleepless nights and the tryst-filled mornings and the conversations that roamed far and wide in topic and scope. If you remember how it felt to be seen and to see him, and if you remember the feeling of the walls breaking down from kook to Pogue, until you were nothing more than a boy and a girl, falling in love. At least, that’s what he thought. Now, watching you sit pretty as a Magnolia in May, decorated like some gingerbread house, giggling and grinning amongst your peers in their designer threads: now it feels laughable to think that JJ Maybank had fallen in love with you. It’s hysterical that he thought you might be able to love him too. 

But as JJ walks past party-goers dressed in his work attire, he loses himself in a daydream. One of you rising from your seat and seeking him out in the corridors. He can practically smell your perfume as your hand reaches for his cheek; can recall the feel of your cool rings against his skin as you guide his lips to yours. If you kissed him tonight without an apology, JJ knows deep down how easily he’d fall under that spell again. 

His friends were right. Pogues and Kooks don’t belong together. To save himself from tears, he oughta give his heart to someone more fitting. Not just that - he oughta give his heart to someone special. 

Your eyes finally catch JJ’s. He can’t help but freeze. He holds your gaze. His lips don’t move, staying steady set in their half-frown, and he waits. Waits for some flash of recognition. Some flash of understanding. Of sympathy, for him having to see you with your kook boyfriend on what was almost the anniversary of what JJ had once marked as the most treasured day of his life. JJ stands still and unchanging as he watches your eyes break away from his gaze. They latch back onto someone sitting across the table from you. He feels as if he’s hallucinating as you laugh at something someone says. He feels like he’s the butt of the joke.

To think, he thought you were someone to rely on. Maybe all JJ had ever been was a shoulder for you to cry on. A vessel for you to pour your worries and fears into, of living a life lacking in adventure and passion. It seems to him, standing here in the country club, a waiter and an attendee, that you’re rather comfortable in your world. A world that JJ would never be a part of. A world that he never would want to be a part of, either. 

“Screw this,” JJ mumbles. He ditches the bottle of champagne on some random table and ignores the complaints of the guests. He nudges his way through the gaggles of guests until he gets to the door. Screw this and screw you. He’ll find someone else. Maybe, one day, he will. 

As he’s about to pass through the doorway towards the staff room, JJ falters. Sighing, hanging his head, he can’t help but take one last look to your table. 

You’re looking right at him. His lips part in surprise. 

There’s a heaviness in your eyes. A sadness, deep and longing, that tugs on his heart just as it would have done a year ago. Back when JJ knew you. Your lips part as if you might mouth something. But then they close and you purse them together. Instead, you just stare at him. And somehow, someway, JJ knows what that look means. Last Christmas was a thing of the past; as fickle and passing as a Hallmark movie. JJ gives a subtle nod and turns away, and he pushes open the door to the staff room, closing it on your world. 

He’ll try and look for someone more fitting. Maybe he will find someone who suits his life and who makes sense in his poverty stricken, abuse-soaked life. But they’ll never be as special as you were.