night of all nights (fic)
jj maybank x fem!reader | spin-off from the 'colour in the lines' series! - can be read as a standalone but makes more sense in the context of the other fics | inspired by this anon ask
content warnings: drinking; reader's mom being embarrassing; fluff upon fluff
word count: 4k. (not yet proofread!)
blurb: prom has never been something which has appealed to JJ Maybank. But when he founds out that you want to go, he's willing to wear a penguin suit for the night - just to see you smile.
You couldn’t be longer than five minutes in the bathroom of the chateau, but when you saddle up beside Kie, standing in the doorway of the porch overlooking John B’s yard, your boyfriend is not where you left him.
“What the hell are they doing?” you ask Kiara, amused.
Her arms are folded over her chest, eyes fixated ahead, as she replies, “slow dancing.”
John B and JJ are waltzing under the starlight. At least, that’s how it appears. When JJ would spin John B out with a flourish, there was enough power to send him hurtling into the marsh. Squiffy, they’re singing a melody in comically high pitched voices. Shaking her head, Kiara mutters, “morons”, with a sisterly affection.
“And how exactly did they wind up–” John B goes to pick JJ up by the waist, earning a smack on his hands and a ‘hey, come on man’ “-’slow dancing’.”
“Started talking ‘bout prom,” Kie says. She glances to you. “You going?”
You shrug. “Not sure, yet.”
“Well, JJ’s got two left feet so,” she says underbreath, just for you to hear. As if on cue, JJ trods on one of John B’s feet before stumbling ungainly over nothing. You snort and Kie sniggers. The two boys look over.
“Ah, we have an audience,” JJ says with an accent. He extends a hand out in invitation. “M’lady?”
“No way,” Kiara says, throwing him the bird. She steps down onto the yard and sinks into the hammock. JJ’s grin is playful as he wiggles his fingers.
“C’mon, pretty girl.”
Rolling your eyes as if it’s some great effort, you huff as you step down from the porch. There’s a happy hiccup in your heart though. Slotting your hand into his, JJ pulls you into his chest.
“May I have this dance?” he asks you with his familiar boyish grin. His blue eyes are shining under the moonlight. Smiling like an idiot, your silent reply comes in the form of placing your hand on his right shoulder, hand still interlocked with his left. JJ slots his other hand safely on your waist. In the background, the bugs and beetles croak, and marshbirds call out their final cries before rest. The water of the marsh laps rhythmically against the reeds. There’s John B and Kiara, chattering loudly, poking fun at one another, but you don’t care. Your eyes are locked on JJ’s.
JJ guides you into a slow waltz. He’s not particularly good. Stumbles a couple of times and accidentally steps on your toes twice - mumbling a bashful ‘sorry’ when he does. But you feel safe in his arms, a silent but powerful trust that he’ll catch you if you fall. Clearing your throat, you tentatively wonder, “so…prom?”
“What about it?” JJ asks. His voice is quiet to save from prying ears.
“D’you think it’s lame?”
“Yes,” he snorts. Your smile falters. With a squeeze to your hand, he adds, “but lame ain’t always a bad thing.”
“No?”
“No, it ain’t,” he reassures. You give a small nod. JJ quirks a brow. With an unfurling grin, he says, “so…something you wanna tell me?”
You give a small, sheltered laugh. Then, embarrassed, you mumble, “I wanna go to prom.”
“A’right, brown nose,” JJ nods. His hand slinks to the middle of your back and he suddenly dips you. Yelping, you laugh as he leans down to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
JJ keeps it in mind for two whole freaking weeks. Within those weeks, you’ve finished your exams, completed the majority of admin and accommodation stuff for Duke, and even began working through your wardrobe to filter out clothes for donation, in preparation for moving. Every time you see JJ, you wonder if he’s going to ask you. His answer that night at the chateau gave the impression that he was concocting some plan to ask: and Lord knows JJ Maybank loves a plan. But with prom only two weeks away, your excitement is beginning to dwindle. That’s why when JJ texts to ask if you want to head to the beach, you wait an hour before responding with the telltale sign of a disgruntled girlfriend: k. Like a child, you sulk in his truck. Answer his questions about your day with hums and one word responses. Fine. Good. JJ’s fingers tap rhythmically on the wheel, twitching with nerves. Probably because he knew you were pissed.
You take your time stepping out the car. JJ starts for the beach and you frown. “Don’t you wanna grab a blanket or something?”
“Nah, we’ll be fine,” JJ says, not stopping. You roll your eyes at his back. Great, a sandy ass to top off your bad day.
It isn’t quiet on the beach, but it’s not busy either. It’s late afternoon on a Thursday and the weather hasn’t been at its hottest. There’s a few people in the distance surfing. A group of friends sit around a makeshift campfire, and the music playing from their speaker travels along the beachfront. You follow JJ along the dunes, watching your shoes sink into the soft sand, pouting like a toddler. No prom date, no blanket to sit on, sand in your shoes… The crunch of JJ’s footsteps stopped a few paces ahead. You pause too and look up to see why he’s stopped. A gasp of surprise falls from your lips as your eyes take in the sight before you.
A blanket is laid out, with a small bunch of flowers laying atop. Nothing flashy: a simple but beautiful bouquet of white and red roses intermixed with baby’s breath. Infront, in the sand is the word prom? spelt out with pebbles and rocks and stones. JJ’s standing just to the left of the display, ringing his cap nervously in his hands, a timorous smile on his lips. “Well?”
Your lips tremble as you pull them into a smile. As the moment sinks in, you feel the elation bubble up inside of you. Laughing softly, you pretend to glare at him. “You asshole.”
“Thought I forgot, huh?”
“Can you blame a girl? Who waits until two weeks before to ask his girlfriend to prom?”
“Come on - you know speed has never been my strong suit,” JJ playful quips with a wink. You roll your eyes, grinning despite yourself. “Still haven’t answered the question, baby?”
Your “yes” comes out so fast, JJ can’t help but laugh. Rushing over to him, you throw your arms around his neck. He catches you, like you knew he always would. “Yes, I’ll go to prom with you - you beautiful idiot.”
With the way your mom was looking at the prom dresses, you’d think she was the one going to prom. JJ had taken Leo out for the day - “guy time” as he’d called it - so you and your mom could have a day out. It was a rarity that your mom had a Saturday off. The peppy pop music of the department store makes you feel like you’re in a make-over montage scene in a 90s flick.
“What about this one?” she asks, pulling out a stunning emerald green number. It’s silky and ends at the ankles. Humming in approval, she adds it to the pile to try on that’s weighing down her arm. “I’m so excited, honey.”
“No kidding,” you mutter to yourself. You unhook a black dress and review it before adding it to the stack on your arm.
“Just wish your dad was here to see it.”
“I’m not getting married, mom,” you laugh. “It’s only prom.”
“I know!” she smiles. “It’s just…It’s like a monumental milestone of high school. My baby’s all grown up.”
Smiling at that, you tell her, “well, at least dad’ll be in town for graduation.”
“Damn straight her will be,” your mom murmurs, as if in warning to the Government, and you laugh. Looking at the impressive stack of clothes the two of you are carrying, she nods her head towards the dressing rooms. “Come on - let’s go try some of these on.”
The dress you settle on is from the discount rack. It’s simple but stunning: just enough flash to make you feel special for the night, without fear of looking like a ‘Toddler in Tiara's’ candidate. At home, your mom shows you a pair of her old heels that pair perfectly with the gown, and with prom only a week away, you’re practically vibrating with excitement. You know prom is a cliche but ever since you were little, you’d dreamed of going. The thought of getting to wear a pretty gown and dance with a cute guy and enjoy a final night of celebration with your peers was something you’d secretly subscribed too.
The night comes around so fast, you get whiplash. Esme is helping you get ready. To nobody’s surprise, she was not a prom fanatic.
“It’s shameless patriotism dressed up in frumpy skirts - no offense - and tacky decorations - no offense - whilst a bunch of horny teenagers dry hump awkwardly to bad music - no offense - under the teacher’s babysitting, sipping on fruit punch that has enough sugar to give a health-nut diabetes.”
“Sounds like a hoot,” you grin at her through the mirror. She sighs and stands up. The smile fighting its way onto her face tells you that she only half means what she says. Her fingers help adjust the back of your dress.
“You look pretty,” she tells you. “Is JJ dearest picking you up?”
“No, Esme, I’m going to hitchhike to prom,” you deadpan. She flicks the back of your head. “C’mon, help me pick out my jewellery.”
It’s all giggles as you and Esme play dress-up in your bedroom. She fastens your necklace whilst you slot in your earrings. You strap on your heels as she styles your hair. There’s a small photoshoot as music thrums through your bedroom speaker. The girl you find in the mirror is still you, but she’s changed from before the start of senior year. Older, wiser, happier. You can’t help but smile at the sight of you all dressed up. For JJ, however, the act of getting ready is less coming-of-age.
-
“Dude, that is not how you tie a tie,” Pope tells John B.
“You freakin’ do it then!” John B throws his hands up, exacerbated, and Pope gladly slides in and takes over. JJ stands in a white button up and black dress pants. His fingers meddle with the fly and he grunts.
“Jeez, Pope, how tiny is your waist?”
“You’re the one who wanted to borrow a suit,” Pope replies matter-of-factly.
“What time is it?” JJ asks John B. He’s messing with the Rubik's cube from Pope's bedside table, distracted. “Hey! Time?”
“Oh, uh,” John B scrambles for his phone. “Six-forty-five.”
JJ’s eyes nearly fall out of his head. “What!?”
“Stay still, man,” Pope grumbles. JJ does his best not to fidget, chin jutted up so Pope can get his fingers under his collar. With a tightening of the tie, Pope steps back. “There. Done.”
“Thank Christ,” JJ mutters. He leans forward to examine his appearance in the mirror. Sniffing, fixing his shirt, JJ brushes a hand through his hair. Nods in approval. “A’right. A’right, not bad. Where’s the jacket?”
“Here,” Pope says, unhooking it from the back of his desk chair. John B sniggers at the sight of JJ dressed up. Pope’s shoes are a half size too small and squeeze uncomfortably at his toes.
“Can’t believe you’re going to prom, dude,” says John B. JJ shrugs on the matching blazer.
“Hey - she wants to go, we go.”
John B mimes flicking a whip and Pope laughs. JJ rolls his eyes and tosses a book at him from the desk. John B catches it in his stomach.
“Look, she leaves for Duke in like a month. I ain’t gonna waste time. If this is what’ll make her happy, then I’m there.”
“Aw,” Pope teases. As JJ sprays some cologne onto his neck, Pope mockingly adds, “our little boy’s all grown up.”
Gritting his teeth, JJ grabs his phone off the bed and heads for the door to Pope’s bedroom. “Yeah, screw you shitheads - I’m going to prom.”
“Have fun, Prince JJ!” John B coos. Pope’s cackle is muffled as the bedroom door closes. JJ can’t help but smile to himself as he heads down the stairs towards his truck. Whatever. Screw them. As he starts up the engine, an unexpected eagerness comes over him. Time to pick you up for prom.
-
There’s a knock downstairs on the front door of your house. Leo loudly hollers “sissy!”. Sharing a giddy look with Esme, you feel like you’re in a classic romcom. As you open the bedroom door, you can make out your mom’s gushing.
“Oh, you look so handsome, JJ! You two are going to have such a fun night. Y’know, I remember my prom. Her dad had asked me about a month earlier, but that’s only ‘cause his best friend was planning on doing it and–”
Esme shares a look with you of ‘oh no’ and takes one for the team. Rushing down the stairs, she emphatically clears her throat, cutting off your mom’s ramblings. She flushes and clears her throat. “Right, um. Anyway, I’m sure you two will have a great night.”
You creep along the hallway and peek down the stairs. Your mom was right: he did look handsome. His blonde hair is combed, but there’s still that typical unruliness to it telling of his nervous meddling. The black blazer jacket sits snug on his shoulders, and under it is a white shirt that - is that ironed? The dress pants do something to you. They hug his legs perfectly, ending just below the ankles to reveal a pair of leather black shoes. Polished. It’s bizarre seeing him out of his t-shirts and shorts and combat boots. No cap in sight, or shark tooth necklace on show. But as he fiddles with his tie, antsy on his feet, a tell of his nerves that he’s trying to keep at bay, you notice the glint of his rings under the hallway light. Your JJ.
Esme lingers downstairs, leaning against the wall with her arms folded over her chest. “You scrub up well, Maybank.”
“Thanks,” he says. “These shoes are mad uncomfortable.”
“Welcome to a woman’s world,” she tuts. You roll your eyes. To save everyone from Esme’s soapbox protest against heels, you start down the staircase. It feels a bit ridiculous when everyone’s heads turn to face you. A tinge of embarrassment sneaks through into your smile as you meet JJ’s gaze. His eyes are widen, lips twitching with a dazed smile, as he takes you in. Feeling every bit awkward, you softly toss your arms out to the side and jut your hip, as if to say ta da. Behind JJ, your mom looks like she’s a second away from bursting into tears.
“You look…” JJ starts. The words disappear and he shakes his head. “Wow.”
“Not bad yourself,” you wink. His tie is wonky. Stepping over to him - heels clicking against the wooden floors - you gently fix it for him. Quiet enough for just him to hear, you say, “handsome as ever, blue eyes.”
“JJ and sissy, sitting in a tree!”
“Leo!” Esme and your mom chorus. You look to the left to find him in the doorway of the living room, head lopsided as he watches the two of you. Intertwining your hand with JJ’s, you start for the front door.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Your mom hurries. She produces a comically large camera from behind her. “I need pictures!”
A piece of you dies inside. “Mom. No.”
“For your father.”
“No.”
“Just one?” She begs, sticking her lower lip out.
“Besides, I need blackmail of JJ in a suit for when he inevitably screws up again,” Esme smirks. You know that if Leo weren’t hovering by, JJ would have flipped her off. Sighing, you relent.
“One.”
“Yay!” your mom cheers. She ushers you and JJ into the kitchen and arranges you. Esme watches it transpire from the doorway with that same shit-eating smirk. It thankfully isn’t that God-awful cliche pose that your mom settles on. Instead, you’re half-stood in front of him, his right hand clasped in your left, resting on your stomach. You both muster up your best smiles for the camera. You can feel the tension radiating off JJ behind you. This is not his thing. There’s a rush of emotion at the fact that he’s putting himself through this just to make you happy. As if to say thank you, you squeeze his hand. The camera clicks and there’s a blinding flash. Then, your mom is reviewing it and insisting on one more. Ten photos later and you finally manage to wrangle your way out the door. Your mom stands there looking every bit like a character from ‘It’s a wonderful life’. Leo is by her feet, singing that rhyme JJ made the mistake of teaching him, dancing on the spot. Esme is waving, her tone jeering as she calls out, “have fun, kids!”
JJ’s truck is a reprieve. You both relax against the seats. Then, sharing a look, the two of you begin to laugh.
“I’m so sorry,” you giggle. “I had no idea they’d be that…dramatic.”
“Should’ve seen Pope and John B,” JJ mutters, amused. He starts the engine and you reach for his hand across the console. Before driving, JJ gives you a look that has air vanishing from your throat. His voice is thick with sincerity as he tells you, “you look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” you smile, flustered.
“I’m glad you decided to keep the glasses,” he comments, looking back to the road as he pulls out onto the street.
Feigning innocence, you say, “yeah, well - a little birdie told me you like me with glasses on.”
The prom is as corny as you imagined it. Silver streamers strung along the gym ceiling. Cardboard stars spray painted black and doused in glitter hang from the rafters. The bleachers are shoved to the side and students sit scattered on them, talking and laughing. There’s a table filled with various beverages and paper plates with cake. The lights are low, strobe lights the main source of illumination, casting orbs on the wooden floor. A DJ is playing radio-edits of some of the overplayed songs on the radio and a few students are dancing. There’s a line for the photographer, and another for the photobooth. JJ leads the two of you in, your hand tight in his. He’s nervous. Visibly uneasy, like discovering new land and unsure what he might uncover. You’re brimming with joy, taking in the scenes around you.
“Yo! JJ!” someone from class hollers. He bro-hugs him in return, passing pleasantries. You catch the eye of one of the girls from mathletes and wave at her. She waves back, smiling brightly. Looking down at you, JJ raises his brows.
“Everything you imagined?”
“And more,” you tease. He briefly kisses your forehead before pulling you to the drinks table. Pouring the two of you a cup, you don’t ask where he’s dragging you as you loiter around the side of the bleachers. From the inside of his blazer, he produces a small flask. Tutting, you chastise, “JJ.”
“C’mon, just a drop,” he says, unscrewing the cap. It takes little to convince you. He pours some liquor into your cup, then his, and checks the coast is clear before tucking it back into his interior pocket. Toasting his cup, you clink yours against it. “Cheers.”
“Mr Maybank, Miss L/N.”
The two of you jump and turn to find Mr Sunn. His eyes are glancing between the two of you, arms folded over his chest. He’s in a pair of ironed pants and a button-up. “Hey, Mr S.”
“Didn’t expect to see you here, Mr Maybank,” Mr Sunn says. You can see the mental math in his head as he assesses the scene. JJ shrugs.
“Me neither, but hey - here I am.”
He does one final observation and the equation is complete as a knowing look casts over his face. “Nice to see the tutoring worked out, hm?”
“Yes, sir,” you mumble, cheeks burning hot. JJ’s hand reaches for yours and he loosely interlocks his fingers with yours. Mr Sunn notices, quirking a brow, and then a soft smile finds his lips. He then sticks out a hand to JJ. Your boyfriend withdraws his from yours to shake it.
“Congratulations on the apprenticeship, JJ,” Mr Sunn tells him sincerely. “Knew you could do it.”
“Thanks, Mr Sunn,” JJ smiles, uncomfortable somewhat with the praise.
“A’right, you kids have fun,” Mr Sunn says, stepping away. As the two of you make your way to return to the party, he calls out your names. Together, you pause and glance over at him. Pointing at JJ, he warns, “no funny business, yeah?”
“Course sir,” JJ nods. You bite back your smile as you hold onto your spiked drink. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Mhm,” Mr Sunn hums, unconvinced. You tug gently on JJ’s hand and give a small wave farewell to Mr Sunn, heading into the main gym.
One hour passes, then two. People ease up and more students fill the dance floor. You catch up with classmates and share stories. JJ manages to sneak more liquor into your drinks and you’re secretly grateful for the faint buzz it brings. He’s relaxed too. Was stuck in an animated conversation with someone in his woodwork class, discussing his upcoming apprenticeship. You even managed to pull a couple of dances out of him. PG dances (mostly - there was one incident that had a teacher whistling and shaking her head at him in disapproval). As peers begin to leave, you notice the line for the photobooth is dying down. Retrieving JJ from his conversation with woodwork-guy, you guide the two of you over.
JJ holds up the curtain as you climb in first. He sits down and you perch daintily on his lap. The screen informs you that it’s resetting and as you wait, you turn to meet his gaze. Fingers toying with his, you softly say, “thank you for doing this with me.”
“Course,” JJ replies. That smile reserved solely for you comes out. “I ended up having a lot of fun, actually.”
“Good,” you smile back. There’s a sudden flash as a picture is taking, startling you both. Laughing, you look to the screen in time for another flash. JJ then sticks his tongue in your ear, prompting another disgusted laugh as you try to lean away from him, and the picture captures the moment of him pulling away, grinning at you as you giggle. For the fourth picture, he guides your lips to his with a finger hooked under your chin. You’re still smiling as you kiss him, and he’s smiling too. Behind closed eyelids, you register the bright flash of white light. Pulling apart, slightly dazed, you bite into your lower lip. “Wanna get outta here?”
JJ has never moved faster in his life.
The strip of pictures is the first thing on your pin board when you move into your dorm room in Duke, and the first thing blue-tacked to the computer on JJ’s desk at the garage. And the ones your mom subjected you to in the kitchen? Well, the best of the bunch is framed and hung on the wall beside the other family photos, right beside yours and JJ’s high school diplomas.
taglist (please let me know if you want to be added/removed, or if you want to be in the jj maybank only or bucky barnes only taglist!) : @highformaybank | @vampiriito | @love-at-first-sight-23 | @delusionalxreader | @darlingchronicles | @moond0llie | @onelonelybitch | @delreystars | @s0phreakingfunny | @groovypeanutoperatorzonk | @doesnt-care | @chuuuchuuutrain | @highpope | @katecokeed | @mrrayjay | @supercxnt | @baocean | @maddysapphic | @freyawhitexxx1 | @daggersanddresses
