#a marvelous holiday

[mischievous-thunder]

It's not too early because somewhere in the multiverse festivities have already begun in the Wilson-Howlett household

[burningfudge]

Marvel Holiday Tales To Astonish (2024) #1

[7567s]

[levans44]

underneath the tree

pairing: steve rogers x agent!reader

summary: Everything is where it should be: a giant pot of mulled wine simmering quietly on the stove, colorful bags of icing and sugary sprinkles strewn all over the cookie decorating station. Even an old-timey record player crackles softly in the corner, one you’d thrifted on a whim in hopes of teasing a certain someone about it.

Except that certain someone wasn’t… here. 

warnings: fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers, first kiss, light angst

word count: 2.7k

a/n: hey friends, this one’s a holiday special w/ pure fluff (and a pinch of angst b/c who am i without it?) feedback is always welcome! thanks for reading and happy holidays 🎄✨

“Santa’s… Favorite… Ho.” 

The words glitter in bold, obnoxious cursive, smack dab across the chest of your favorite red-haired assassin. 

“Good one, Romanoff.”  You smirk, biting back a laugh as she levels you with a deadpan stare, betrayed by the faint twitch at the corner of her crimson lips.  

Your very first time hosting a Christmas Party. 

Or, as Nat lovingly dubbed it—a ’Derelict’s Christmas.’ 

It’s a tradition you’re determined to start this year, for anyone on the team without family during the holidays—a way to make sure no one spends this time of year alone.

And, naturally, another opportunity to humiliate your coworkers. 

The rules were simple: everyone had to show up in the ugliest, most eye-searing sweater they could find. No exceptions.

And I mean ugly, Nat. A basic red sweater is not ugly. 

Even Bucky’s adhered to your law, donning a laid-back penguin wearing sunglasses, sprawled beneath the words ‘Chill Vibes Only.’ A festive tinsel garland spirals around his left arm, which will undoubtedly be the subject of jokes he won’t live down until well after New Years.

Wait, does this make you the Winter Wonderland Soldier?

As you glance around your living room, soft, warm light dances off the mismatched decorations adorning the walls—the kind you’d spent all week setting up—and you can’t help but feel a distinct melancholic warmth reserved for this time of the year.

Everything is where it should be: a giant pot of mulled wine simmering quietly on the stove, colorful bags of icing and sugary sprinkles strewn all over the cookie decorating station. Even an old-timey record player crackles softly in the corner, one you’d thrifted on a whim in hopes of teasing a certain someone about it.

Except that certain someone wasn’t… here. 

Your eyes flick to the door for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes.

No luck. 

You try to tell yourself it’s just traffic, that he’ll walk through any second. But the party flows on, cruelly indifferent—drinks flowing, laughter bubbling—Sam’s already made his second sappy toast of the night and is well on his way to a third. With each passing minute, the excitement in your chest grows heavy, twisting into disappointment.

Sure, he’s probably got a million other things to do. Even on Christmas. 

But when you’d brought up your little soiree, he’d agreed with a gentle nod of his head, and smiled in that boyish way that made your heart flutter.

Sounds fun, I’ll be there.  

It’s not like him to just leave you hanging. But when there’s no work emergency and everyone else is here, it’s hard not to take it personally. 

Your mind feels exhausted, steaming like a train running low on fuel, huffing its way to its final station, desperate to come up with more excuses. You’ve run out of them about two drinks ago.

You’re about to prepare your third, slumped against the kitchen island with a cutting board under you, when a quiet voice cuts through your haze.

“Not feelin’ the holiday spirit?”

You start at the interruption, the lime in your hand slipping from your fingers and tumbling away, rolling off the cutting board with a soft thump.

“Jesus, Barnes, give a girl a warning.”

You abandon your knife with a quiet sigh, eyes following the trail of red and green tinsel up Bucky’s arm as he steps in closer.

Lips twitching in something like amusement, he leans casually against the counter, gaze flicking pointedly toward your apartment entrance before drifting back to you.

“Noticed you’ve been staring at that door all night.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. You force a roll of your eyes, dismissing his observation with a shrug. But your fingers hesitate over the cutting board, the lime mocking you from its spot against the cool backsplash. 

“I’m not—” You cut yourself off, the words tasting too defensive.  

A heavier sigh slips from you when you reach for your glass instead.

“It’s just not like him, you know?” You mutter, swirling the last sip in your glass before downing it. Your lips come up sticky-sweet from the rim when you mumble, more to yourself than him.

“I mean, sure, he’s busy, but…” You trail off, meeting Bucky’s gaze to find that the teasing glint was gone, replaced with something softer, unreadable. The shift unsettles you, and your stomach twists.

“What?” The word comes out sharper than you intended.

He tilts his head, as if weighing his words, and the silence grows heavy—a non-answer wrapped in a knowing look. Brows furrowed, you wait, trying to decipher his hesitation. 

It’s another long beat before he sighs, lifting himself off the counter, and taps his fingers absently against the edge. 

His eyes dart to the side, glancing briefly over the room. “He… didn’t want me to tell anyone.” 

Your fingers tighten instinctively around the stem of your glass, teeth scraping over the remnants of sugar sticking to your bottom lip. 

“About what?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, Steve’s…” His gaze flicks to yours, softening, “He’s probably over at New York-Presbyterian.”

Your stomach drops, fingers slipping around the glass as you reach for the countertop. The train jolts back to life, racing faster than ever, the wheels screeching as each thought barrels forward, colliding with the next in a blur of frantic speed.

The hospital?Why, was he hurt?What happened?How had you not heard?

“No, no, he’s not—” Bucky cuts in quickly, raising a hand to stave off your growing panic. The wince on his face softens into a small, apologetic laugh,

“He’s fine. Just…volunteering for the kids. Does it every year.”  

You blink, the rush of thoughts screeching to a sudden halt.

“He’s…”

It takes all of two seconds for the realization to register, your body moving before your mind can catch up. The glass is abandoned on the counter as you scramble for the nearest coat, not caring whose it is, and rush for the door.

The pediatric ward offers a welcome reprieve from the usual maze of sterile corridors—paper snowflakes and crayon drawings adorning the walls, giant inflatable snowmen standing guard at the entrances to patient rooms. A small Christmas tree, twinkling with homemade ornaments and tinsel, stands next to the nurse’s station. 

Your desperate steps falter when you spot him in the corner of the ward, sat cross-legged over a rug in a makeshift play area, surrounded by a small circle of children. The Captain America outfit stands out amongst the sterile blues and whites—and it’s not the usual tactical gear he wears on covert missions, muted tones and coarse to the touch. 

No, its the spandex version of his uniform, that ridiculously colorful suit he’d worn to punch Hitler on stage every night. Soft patches of red, white, and blue that fit snugly around his shoulders, but hang a little loose over the rest of his frame.

He’s reading from a tiny children’s book, splayed open in one hand, while the other steadies a little boy in a hospital gown perched on top of his shoulders. The boy’s eyes are wide, glued to the page as Steve gently rocks him side to side.

You hesitate, pulse quickening, letting his soft, steady voice wash over you for a moment—a rhythmic murmur that envelops the quiet corner of the ward. 

It’s not until he finishes the book that he realizes you’re standing there.

Soft blue eyes crinkle at the edges when he frowns, starting to uncross his legs.

"Hey, uh… guys, new mission,” He’s still a little unsure when he sets the book down, gaze still on you. “…whoever can help me clean up the blocks gets to pick the next game, okay?” He clears his throat, smiling back at the eager group as they scramble off to the toy bins in the corner. He gently lowers the boy from his shoulders, letting the little one rush off to join the others. 

You move forward, feet shuffling against the soft foam padding of the floor. As Steve meets you halfway, you clutch the sleeves of your sweater tightly, heart hammering.

“Hi.” He breathes out, surprise still evident in the small dip between his brows, though it gives way to a gentle smile. 

“Hey.” Your words come out choked, something unmistakably tightening in your chest. 

“How did you…” His eyes flit down to the loud pattern on your sweater, then behind you at the clock. His gaze lingers there for a moment, eyes fluttering shut in disbelief. 

“Shoot. I’m sorry, I had no idea it got this late. I was going to—”

“—Steve.” Your voice cracks, thick and watery—frustration, sadness, guilt, longing, all tangled with a deep, aching incredulity. 

And goddamn it, why was the tip of your nose prickling?

You take another step toward him, now close enough to notice the tiny details of his uniform—the delicate lines of stitching, the faded patch of white over his chest. And as your eyes trail over the frayed seams, you can’t help but lift a hand, the tip of your index tracing a gentle line against the end of a loose thread, pressing it down and watching it pop back up. It’s all you can do to keep from collapsing into his arms, or punching him square in the chest. 

“It’s been sitting in my closet too long,” he murmurs, the low timbre vibrating against your palm, “Figured I’d take it out for a spin.”

Your eyes snap up, and the air that escapes your nose is somewhere between a snort and a desperate cry because you know you’re fucked. 

Utterly ruined by this ridiculous, stupid, dumb man standing in front of you. 

And when he tucks his bottom lip under his teeth, trapping the soft pink flesh in quiet hesitation, the spring finally snaps. 

Brows furrowed, he's halfway into offering some kind of reassurance—maybe another damn apology—when you rise on your tiptoes, yanking him down by the loose collar of his uniform.

And then it’s nothing but the heady sensation of his lips flush against yours, a little stiff but warm and alive just the same. His broad hands find their way to the small of your back, the pressure against your lips growing firmer as he bends down, pulling you in closer. You’re gripping his uniform so tight your knuckles have turned white, but you refuse to let go even when he pulls back, his breath warm and steady against your skin. 

His gaze is soft, searching, and you become acutely aware of the hot sting rising behind your eyes, the bruising grip on his collar the only thing holding you together. You wonder if he feels it too, the weight of so much time lost and longing unspoken, rushing to fill the space between you. 

Then he smiles—a quiet, unguarded thing that tugs at the corners of his lips and lights up his eyes.

And just like that, the weight in your chest slips away as if it was never there.

His gaze flits down to your lips, eyelids fluttering tenderly as he starts to lean back in, only to be stopped short by a ripple of delighted gasps from about three feet below.

“Look, look, they’re kissing!”  

“Steve is that your girrrlfriend?"

A gaggle of children ambushes you two—a surprise strike from all sides with no escape route. Squeals of joy pierce the air as tiny hands grasp at Steve’s uniform, tugging at his sleeves, pulling at his boot. It's a full-on siege, and you’re caught squarely in the middle. Steve looks back at you, brows raised in defeat.

“Oh my god, she’s toootally his girlfriend!”

“Cap-tain America sitting on a tree,” A loud chorus of singing erupts. “K-I-S-S-I-N—“

“Okay, okay, guys–“ He’s got the biggest, dumbest grin on his face when he raises a hand to try and quiet the noise, the other still resting on your waist. 

He’s blushing something fierce, redder than a Christmas stocking, and hell, if your cheeks aren’t warming up too. 

The nurse on duty eventually settles down the noise, gently ushering the children out of the play area and leading them to their rooms. You watch warily as the kids shuffle out, stuffed animals raised in the air as they wave goodbye.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

“No, we should’ve wrapped up a while ago.” Steve smiles sheepishly, his cheeks flushed as he ruffles the back of his neck. “It’s late.”

“Right.”

Silence stretches between you, deafeningly loud without all the tiny agents crowding your space. 

He steps forward, hand still curled around his nape, and you resist the urge to kiss him again. 

“Do you… wanna grab some hot chocolate?”

You sit idly in the waiting area, observing the ease on Steve’s face as he chats with the nursing staff, thanking them before heading back toward you with two plastic cups in hand.

The seat beside you creaks under his weight, and you go to cradle the warmth in both hands with a quiet smile. Your eyes drift over to the lights wrapped around the Christmas tree near the nurse’s station, shining brightly—and with it, the familiar knot tightening in your chest.

“Every year, huh?”

“Yeah,” He nods in your periphery, “The kids seem to like it.”

Your lips quirk up in a sideways smile, “Yeah, I bet.”

A beat, then: “Did Bucky tell you?”

You nod, and his smile widens, his gaze dropping to the floor as his leg bounces ever so slightly. The shiny red of his boots gleams against the linoleum, as he taps once, twice.

“I’m sorry I missed the party.” 

You track the rhythm of the tree lights as they blink—on, off, alternating between bulbs then flashing all at once—and he’s still apologizing. 

“I was looking forward to going.”

“Steve, it’s…” you sigh, brows furrowing at the absurdity of his apology, only for a new ridiculous thought to take its place. You blink, then, nose crinkling in amusement as you swivel around in your seat. 

“Wait, were you, planning on showing up in that?”

He laughs, the sound breaking out so warm and easy. “That bad, huh?”

You gaze incredulously for a long, deliberate beat.

“You know what? I’m actually glad you didn’t come tonight. I mean, for your sake.”

Quiet laughter bubbles up in your chest, a smile tugging at your lips as you turn your gaze back forward. But in the silence that follows, a thread of bitterness winds its way back through your thoughts.

"You know," you murmur, eyes drifting to the neatly stacked parcels beneath the tree, "you’re always helping out, doing things for everyone else." A warm, fuzzy feeling hums low in your stomach—though you're not entirely sure if it’s from all the cocktails you’ve had tonight.

You sigh, your head lolling onto one shoulder as you turn to meet his gaze. 

“…does Santa ever get anything for Captain America?”

He blinks, a quiet tilt of his head followed by a slow, knowing smile.

“Well,” the chair creaks again when he leans back, stretching out his legs with a satisfied breath. “He did this year.” 

At the puzzled furrow of your brow, he shrugs, eyes dropping down to the narrow strip of linoleum between you two.

Then, a gentle tap of his ridiculous, shiny boot against your foot.

When your gaze snaps back to his, he’s wearing that same boyish grin again, wide and stupid and far too charming for its own good.

You can’t decide if it makes you want to shove him, or punch him, or kiss him—or maybe do all three just to get it out of your system—because yeah, you’re completely done for.

Utterly ruined in ways you never saw coming, and it’s all his fault.

And if he leans in for another kiss, and you let him pull you in with a shaky breath and a smile that feels like surrender—

Well, that’ll have to be between you, him, and the giant inflatable snowman keeping guard just two feet away. 

(It’s not until you’ve both finished your hot chocolate, and shared just as many kisses as laughs, that you glance down at your phone to notice Sam’s text: 

bird boy 1 hour ago

yo di u take my fcking coat??)

[pandapetals]

Ornament Decorating

Let’s get into the holiday spirit. Welcome to my 7 days of holiday one-shots. I celebrate christmas so sorry to anyone who doesn’t but i hope you can still enjoy it.

You helped some of the students decorate ornaments until they got bored. Now, you and some of the other adults decide to do it.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, banter, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor, ornament decorating, x-men group, logan is a softie

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @saradika

You sat in the mansion's large dining room, a scattering of paint pots, glitter, and craft supplies spread across the round wooden table. A few of the younger kids had joined you for the holiday ornament-making activity, but, as usual, they’d lost interest halfway through, leaving their half-finished decorations behind in favor of playing tag in the hallways.

“At least you tried,” Ororo said, handing you a few of the ornaments abandoned by the kids. She chuckled, shaking her head as she looked at the quirky snowman with one eye that had already begun to droop. "I did see a few of them smiling, though. That counts for something."

You sighed, though a smile crept onto your face as you picked up the snowman and gave it a small touch-up. "Guess that’s all I can hope for," you replied, brushing a bit of glitter off your hands. "Besides, we could use some new ornaments this year. Most of the old ones look like they’ve seen a few battles."

Ororo raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Mind if I join you? I could use a little holiday spirit myself."

"Please do." You handed her a blank ornament and a paintbrush, then smiled as Rogue wandered by, pausing mid-step when she saw what you were up to.

"Y’all makin’ ornaments?" Rogue asked, her eyes lighting up with a mischievous glint. "Scoot over—I’m in."

The three of you quickly settled into a rhythm, painting, and decorating in companionable silence. You were working on your third ornament when you heard the low rumble of Logan’s voice from across the room.

“What’re you doin’, sweetheart?” he asked, strolling over with Scott in tow. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he took in the table strewn with paint, glitter, and a small mountain of cotton balls.

You looked up, unable to hide your grin, and held up your latest creation—a snowman with an oversized hat and a bright red scarf sporting a pair of familiar-looking claws. "Making some ornaments. You inspired this one."

Logan let out a low chuckle, leaning over to inspect your work. “Hmph. Looks like you’ve captured my good side,” he murmured, nodding approvingly at the tiny, fierce-looking snowman.

Scott rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as he took in the array of ornaments on the table. "You really think you’re gonna get Logan to make ornaments?” he asked, smirking. "Good luck with that."

But to Scott’s surprise, Logan pulled out a chair and plopped down beside you, picking up a blank wooden ornament and a small brush. "Watch and learn Summers," he muttered, already dipping the brush in a deep forest green.

You exchanged a knowing smile with Ororo, who winked at you. "Logan’s got a bit of a creative side, actually," you said, nudging him playfully with your elbow. "Remember those little wooden stars and reindeer that mysteriously appeared on the tree last year?"

Scott’s mouth dropped open. "Wait—that was you? I thought those were store-bought or… I don’t know, crafted by some holiday elf."

Logan grunted, clearly a bit embarrassed but also pleased. "I can work with my hands, Summers," he replied, a hint of pride in his tone as he carefully painted the edge of his ornament. "Not just for beatin’ up bad guys."

Rogue snickered, holding up her ornament—a lopsided snowflake dripping with glitter. "Guess you learn somethin’ new every day," she teased, giving Logan an exaggerated wink. "Logan, the craftsman."

Logan rolled his eyes, but you caught the faintest smile tugging at his lips as he picked up a small knife and began carefully etching tiny snowflakes onto the surface of his wooden ornament. His focus was intense, and you could see his artistic side slipping through in the careful lines and details he added.

"Look at you, all precise and delicate," you teased, leaning closer to peek over his shoulder. "I think you might actually be enjoying this, Logan."

He glanced up, eyes crinkling at the corners as he gave you a playful glare. "Don’t push it," he muttered, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed him. He handed you the ornament he’d just finished—a beautifully carved snowflake with intricate details that practically sparkled even without glitter. "Here, for you."

Your heart melted as you took the ornament, fingers brushing against his briefly. "It’s beautiful. See? You’re secretly a softie."

Scott, watching this exchange with a mix of amusement and disbelief, leaned in closer. "I gotta say, this is the last thing I thought I’d see today—Wolverine, all domestic and festive."

Logan snorted, tossing a handful of glitter in Scott’s direction. "Keep talkin’, Summers, and I’ll make sure your next ornament’s a fist."

Everyone burst out laughing, the sound filling the room as you all settled back into your work, the holiday spirit wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You ended up with a quirky collection of ornaments: Ororo’s hand-painted pinecones, Rogue’s glittery snowflakes, and Logan’s intricately carved wood pieces that brought a touch of elegance to the tree.

As the evening wound down, Logan nudged you with his shoulder, his eyes warm as he looked at the pile of ornaments on the table. "You know," he said softly, "this turned out pretty good. I don’t mind doin’ this if it’s with you."

You smiled, leaning into him, feeling the warmth of his arm around you. "Well, don’t get too used to it," you teased. "Next year, you’re in charge."

Logan groaned, but the smile on his face didn’t fade, and as the two of you admired your handiwork, you couldn’t help but think that this—sitting together, making silly ornaments, and laughing with friends—was exactly what the holidays were meant to be.

[sjonni33]

dysfunctional family function fun 🌟 (click for quality!!)

support me on ko-fi!☕my shop🥞redbubble🚙

[oneofstarkskids]

inspiration

bucky barnes x reader

genre: fluff

summary: it's that time of year!! but what exactly does one get their 107 year old super soldier boyfriend?

bucky bought his presents early, as any responsible adult does during this festive season.

you on the other hand, had no clue what to get him for christmas. it wasn't like you hadn't asked, but the only answer you ever got was, "i have everything I need right here, doll," followed by a sweet kiss.

it was almost infuriating.

so...here you were, scouring the apartment for the boxes your well trained assassin boyfriend hid.

you looked in the most precarious places and finally, sprawled out on the floor with clutter around you, gave up.

that's when you heard the front door click and quickly started tossing things back in the closet. but it was too late. bucky caught you red handed, "doll?"

the look on his face was one of concern and confusion. you looked completely disheveled, almost neurotic. but the way you chewed your bottom lip guiltily made something click in his brain.

"you don't happen to be sneakily searching for your christmas presents...do you?" he asked with a smirk.

you shook your head adamantly, but when he gave you that look you eventually caved.

"okay fine. i didn't know what to get you! and you never give me an actual answer so I wanted to know what you got me and see if it would give me some inspiration," you admitted with a groan.

he laughed and knelt down next to you before wrapping you in his arms.

you were humiliated by the idea of getting caught for such a childish scheme. but bucky was a gentleman nonetheless.

"doll, I will love whatever you get me. not because of what it is, but because of who you are."

with those words, you finally knew exactly what to get him for christmas.

[deepdisireslonging]

Just a Phone Call Away

Bucky is away on a mission. He tries to cover the distance with a spicy phone call, but the Reader can’t get into it because she misses him too much. He goes the extra mile to making her night special.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings/Promises: dirty talk, phone sex, Angst, Smut, oral (female receiving), creampie, cock-warming, Fluff

Word Count: 2800+

Note: Oops. This was supposed to be a ficlet. Welp… can’t argue with a big smutty present, can I? Please comment and reblog to share with your blog friends if you like the fic! Happy Holidays, and happy reading!

“How does the house look?”

As your eyes drifted over the brightly colored lights and tinsel around your living room, you had to smile. “It looks great. I added some electric candles across the mantle.”

On the phone, Bucky laughed. “Our fake mantle for our fake fireplace?”

“Hey. It makes heat and it’s got at least a flickering image of a fire. And it won’t burn down the house.”

“Unless Tony’s wires short out.”

“Don’t jinx us.”

It had been a gift from Stark Enterprises after most of New York lost power last winter. Thousands of them were produced before the end of January and just about every home in the city had one. Each “fireplace” was technically a self-conducting generator that worked not just the “fire,” but also had outlets in the back for other appliances. He’d gifted you two one of the beta models. It worked most of the time.

You liked it. So much so, that you’d risked Tony’s wrath to raid his shop for a wooden beam to hang over the contraption as a mantle. It made your otherwise pitiful living room feel homey. And now that the winter holidays were in full swing, you went all out with decorating the space. The rest of the house was still a decoration wasteland. But the other rooms could wait for Bucky to get home from this mission. You stretched out on the blanket rolled out in front of the fireplace with a sigh.

The mission.

Apparently, sleeper agents didn’t take a holiday break. Steve accidentally uncovered a cluster of operatives in the last mission, and he made a plan to take them out. They left before Thanksgiving. Christmas was only a few weeks away and every call to Bucky suggested they wouldn’t be back till the New Year.

“What was the sigh for?”

Another one heaved through your chest. “Nothing. Just… missing you.”

“I know, Baby. We’re trying to wrap things up, but… you know how it is.”

“Yeah.”

The phone crackled like it did when he went through a tunnel.

“Huh? What was that?”

“Would you like to try something? I can’t be there right now, and I hate that. But I want to make sure you’re warm and taken care of.”

You sat up on your elbows. “Steve’s not with you in the car, right? Please tell me you’re not going to try and embarrass him again?” Your cheeks warmed thinking about that time Bucky sweet talked you to orgasm before you realized he wasn’t alone on the phone call. Steve couldn’t look you in the eye for a week. The memory also made you giggle. “Acts like that could get you on the Naughty list.”

“When have I ever been worried about that?” He chuckled. “No. It’s just me. Is the fire warm?”

Stretching, you laid the phone down and put it on speaker. “Mhmm.”

“You wearing your panda pj’s or… something else?”

A smile slid across your face as you played into his game. “No. Just a tank top and some of your sweatpants.” You side-eyed the phone. The same way you would shoot him a glance when you teased. “And that’s it. The fire’s warm enough I don’t need… all those layers.” You were rewarded with a groan. Trying to return the favor, you hummed as you dragged your hands up and around your body, imagining his hands and their favorite paths. “If anything, if I turn it up a notch, I won’t need anything after a few minutes.”

“You won’t need to do a thing here in a minute. Run your hands under your top for me? How does it feel?”

You slid your hands over your front over the fabric first. Already your nipples were peaked and tweakable through your tank top. Giving your breasts a squeeze made you hiss out a breath. Finally, you ran your hands up under your top. Your nerves sparkled with the promises of what was to come. Your whimpers made Bucky growl as you massaged your breasts. Behind the sound of him, the growl of his vehicle revved up. “Keep your eyes on the road, Sergeant.”

“My eyes are on the road, and my hands on the wheel. But, Baby Girl, whatever you’re doin’… keep doing it and making those sounds. Can you imagine how hard I am for you already? I wanna be there. With you sitting on top of me, grindin’ those hips into what’s waiting for you.”

Your hips bucked into the air, wishing you could do just that. “I wanna be where you are. Making you pull over so I can ride you in your seat. Making those blacked-out windows steam up with what I want to do to you.” Breathing heavily, you dipped a hand under the waistband of the sweatpants you stole from his dresser. Your nails trailed up and down your thigh, drifting closer and closer to where your desire was growing.

“Keep those hands on your breasts, Baby Girl. I know you. Be good for me? We’ll get there, I promise. But let me work you up a bit more.”

With a whine, you did as he said. But the more you kneaded, the colder you felt. “Buck-“

“The second I get home from this mission, I’m going to bring you to the brink only squeezing and sucking on those gorgeous breasts of yours. I’m going to kiss you head to core and back again. Can’t wait to taste you again, Baby.”

But your hands had stopped. One was pressed over your mouth to muffle your sobs. You slapped the other over the first as you sniffled.

“Can’t wait to… Baby? Hey… are you okay? What’s wrong?”

You used the hem of your tank to wipe your eyes. A sob burst through your lips. “I’m sorry. I… I just want you here, Buck. It feels selfish and I know you have to be out there doing what you need to…” You let the tears fall freely as you curled to one side. “But I want you home. I want you safe. Here. With me. I want you in my arms. Not on the phone miles away in the middle of who knows what. I like hearing your voice, really. But… it’s not real. You’re not here. And all I feel is cold. My imagination isn’t strong enough. Not anymore. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The vehicle revved again in the Bucky’s silence. You could almost see him. How his brow would crease as he frowned, trying to come up with the right words. “You don’t need to be sorry. I miss you too, and I don’t want to be away from you either. I- ah, fuck, Baby. I’m sorry. I’ll be home in a little while and then we don’t have to go anywhere or do anything.”

It took all your willpower not to scoff. “A Bucky ‘while’ or a Steve ‘while’?” You bit your bottom lip, waiting. He didn’t have an answer for that. Outside, the wind rattled your front door. “Bucky, I know you probably have to go back to work in a minute. But we- we can’t hang up like this. Please. Say something.”

Your phone screen went dark as the call ended. “Buck?” It stayed dark. You thought he must have driven into the dark zone Tony set up around wherever they had basecamp. No calls in or out. A sob ripped through your body. Then you startled as the door rattled again.

It swung open and your heart stopped.

“Bucky.”

He barely had time to shut and lock the door before you were on him. He wrapped his arms around you; the chill of his clothes prickled your skin with goosebumps. You didn’t care. He hummed an apology as you kissed all over his face and cried into his coat.

“You’re home?”

“Yes. I thought – it was going to be a surprise. We got ‘em. Been on the way home for two days trying to get back. I should have just told you. If I had known you felt so lonely I never… I’m home. I’m here.” He kissed you back, holding you close. He grunted as you squeezed him tighter. “I’m home. I’m here.” He kept humming it as you pulled him to kneel with you in front of the fire. Soon his cheeks were warm under your lips. “I should have told you. Am I on your naughty list?”

Breathless, you broke away with a laugh. “No. You don’t have to be.”

“Oh?”

“I thought you were going to kiss me from head to core and back again the second you got home?”

He grinned. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Mhmm.”

His grin glowed with the kind of danger that you yearned for. “Then I guess I better get started.” Sliding one arm around your waist, and his other hand digging into your hair, he held you in place for his deep kiss. Try as you might, you couldn’t move with him holding you so tightly. You couldn’t even thrust your hips into his front. Bucky chuckled darkly as you struggled. “What?” He ran his thumb across your bottom lip as you tried to catch your breath. “I thought this is what you wanted.”

“It is, Buck, please-“

He covered up your pleas with a flurry of kisses. This time around, he kept his hands on your waist, holding you mostly in place. With your arms free, you could cup his face in your hands. His cheeks were scruffy with mission-growth. Already you could feel the burn between your thighs. He grunted as you reached between your bodies. The tent of his tactical pants was warm under your touch. Breath stuttering, he thrust towards your hand. You took the chance to mouth over his Adam’s apple, making him moan. Leaning forward, you almost succeeded in taking him down to the blanket; but at the last moment he threaded his fingers into your hair and tugged you back.

“Nuh-uh. Been laying on a hard cot for weeks. Can’t I lay on something soft?”

You bit your bottom lip. “Of course. But-“ You tugged on the buttons on his coat.

It took both of you to make it through all the buttons and zippers and clasps of his coat and under-jacket before you reached his shirt. He tugged off the long-sleeve shirt, leaving on his black tank top. He jutted out his chin. You grabbed the hem of your top and pulled it off over your head. The giggle that bubbled out of you rivaled any that you had made on a Christmas morning. Bucky’s face of desire and appreciation of your form, paired with his lax jaw and glassy eyes… it warmed you all over. Reaching out, you snagged his wrists and guided his hands to your breasts.

Mumbling to himself, he massaged your breasts. He leaned forward to bury his face between them. You curled your fingers into his hair, giving his locks gentle tugs to make him hum against your chest. It wasn’t long before he was guiding you to lay across the blanket. His lips barely left your body. When they did, it was so he could shift his ministrations from one breast to the other or up to the underside of your jaw. He could have danced you around like a marionette for all you cared. Your vision was hazy with need and your hands couldn’t feel enough of him. He growled as your touch found his trapped manhood again.

“Gotta wait, Baby.” He sucked on the spot under your ear. “If you get your hands on me too soon, I’ll blow. Wanna taste you first.”

“Have you been starving for me, Sergeant?”

His moan into your shoulder was plenty of an answer.

As promised, he kissed his way down your body. Gently, he removed the sweats. You giggled again. He couldn’t stop looking between your glistening arousal and your eyes. Quick and desperate, he kissed back up to your lips. Then he settled on his stomach. His arms wrapped around your thighs. You did your best to settle in.

Not that it did you any good. He lapped and sucked at your slick like he hadn’t eaten in days. To a degree, he hadn’t eaten from you in weeks. But the way he devoured your sex was like he hadn’t eaten anything since he left. When he curled his metal fingers into your heat, you arched with a cry. His flesh arm stretched across your tummy, pinning you down so he could continue to take you apart. Desperate and mildly warmed up from the earlier phone call, you fell apart quickly. He laughed into your thighs about how easy you came for him.

“Missed me that much, Baby? Can’t help but feel flattered.” He watched you, resting his cheek on your thigh while his fingers continued to lazily curl within you. Every time you almost managed a comment, he curled into that spot that made your eyes cross and you lost your train of thought. “Can you give me another? Come on. Just one more and then we can rest.”

You whined. “Not… not without you.”

“But you’ve got me. I’m right here.”

“Buck-“ you moaned. “Need you. In me. Please.”

The flickering of the fireplace mirrored in his eyes as he crawled over you. But his fingers continued their slow strokes. If it looked like you were going to speak, he flicked his thumb across your clit and scattered your thoughts again. When he was finally hovered over you, he made a show of slowly dragging his fingers out of your slick before sucking them into his mouth. The way his tongue curled around the metal, not missing a drop, made your vision fuzzy with the memory of that tongue on your sex. He dragged his cock into the open, slowly pumping it.

“Gonna- fuck. Gonna have to be careful.” He reached down again, returning his fingers to stroking your velvety walls. His hips thrust, dragging his cock through the slick that escaped around his ministrations. “Need you close, Baby. What do you need?” He mouthed over your breast.

He might as well have asked you to compute the number of Christmas lights in Manhattan. The best you could do was grip the side of his head and guide him from one breast to the other. Your hips jolted when you needed more. Bucky’s fingers curled and scissored like you needed. He added another, stretching you pleasantly. Soon, you were keening.

“About to cum, Buck. Please. Need you. Come on.”

You screamed as he filled you in a breath. His whine of finally feeling you around his cock muffled into your shoulder. But his chest pressed hot and sweaty against yours. At first, he could only tremble, scared to move. But you rolled your hips. The pleasure coursing through you was ready to tumble over the edge, if only he’d move.

“Darling, please-“

Bucky thrust once. Then quickly pistoned his hips into yours like a man possessed.

You trembled and raked your nails down his back. Despite the fabric in the way, he growled all the same. His mouth fell open, pressing a breathless kiss to your forehead.

With a hoarse shout, you clamped down on his cock. The lights on your tree blurred into one bright glow. Bucky’s grip tightened around you, sure to leave bruises. His eyes fluttered closed as he came. Spilling into you, he trembled and rocked his hips a few more times, chasing the feel of you and the height of his pleasure.

“Welcome home, darling,” you shivered.

He breathed a laugh into your neck. But he didn’t leave. Instead he rolled to one side so your back was towards the fireplace. “Maybe- maybe I should leave a bit more often.” Your whine made him smile. He smoothed his hands across your hip and back. “You know. Just to the grocery and such. If I walk out and back in again, you wanna welcome me like this again?”

“Hmm.” You nuzzled your face into his chest. “If you wanted to do that, you’d have to let me go. And step back out into the cold.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“What? The Winter Soldier not a fan of the cold?”

“Not when I’ve got you in my arms and speared on my cock I’m not. I’m not moving from this spot until absolutely necessary.” He kissed your forehead. “And I meant what I said earlier. I don’t have to be anywhere. Told Steve not to call me till mid-January unless the whole world’s in danger.” He hissed as your nose pressed, cold, along the neckline of his tank.

“So you’re all mine for Christmas?”

“Christmas. New Year’s. Epiphany. Boxing Day-“ You cut him off with a laugh and another flurry of kisses. Behind you, the fire crackled warm, and your brightly-colored living room finally felt like home.

***

Master List

Other Bucky Fics:

A Gift to Me (F, S, Christmas) 

Starting off the Year Right (S) 

Cake or Cookies (S)

[avengerscompound]

The Guardians of the Galaxy: Holiday Special

[bridoesotherjunk]

NATIONAL VENOM HOLIDAY

[mobius-m-mobius]

#too soon NASA... too soon 😅🎄

[burningfudge]

Marvel Holiday Tales To Astonish (2024) #1

[randomshyperson]

Five Times You Go Through Wanda Maximoff's Window - [HS Challenge]

Summary: A clumsy spider and a grumpy witch are roommates in Avengers Tower. And it takes you five missed windows to finally get things right. [Prompt]

Warning: None, fluff and funny, spider!reader and emo!wanda, avengers being a family, happy ending | Words: 2.937k

A/N-> This was such a funny one to write because I always wanted to try the Five Times Prompt! I hope you guys liked it.

General Masterlist | Wattpad | AO3 | Holiday Season Masterlist

-&-

The first time you missed a window in Avengers Tower, you still didn't know the place properly. 

You had just come out of a fight and your costume was still smoldering. You stumbled between one window and another and thought you had counted the floors correctly when you balanced yourself inside, and almost fell out again when something pushed you.

Your spidey sense acted immediately, of course. It was a disastrous situation, to be honest. You jumped like a frightened animal away from the magical energy of the witch, the true owner of that room and window, while instinctively hitting her right in the face with your webs.

Wanda yelled angrily, and you, hanging from the wall, only had time to fall straight to the floor before she hit you in the chest this time.

Of course, the confusion attracted the attention of the other Avengers - Vision, and Steve appeared just before Nat, the men confused by the whole thing, but the widow, as soon as she saw the younger witch trying to untangle the webs from her face, burst into laughter.

You were blushing a lot when you went to apologize.

"I'm really sorry Wanda, I thought it was my room."

"It's fine." She retorted between her teeth, and it didn't look like it was fine at all. You rubbed your shoulder, the magical blow left your skin sore and Wanda sighed. "Sorry about the hit. I thought it was an intruder."

Natasha interrupted the whole thing with another chuckle, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes that threatened to return every time she looked at Wanda's grumpy expression over the webs. "You two are clearly an example of attention. You've just earned some extra training."

You and Wanda grumbled in unison. Of course, Natasha was just tormenting you and the training was going to happen anyway, because Wanda escaped as many of them as she could and was already getting sloppy, and you well, in the routine of neighborhood friend and university, it was difficult to attend all the Avenger commitments.

Wanda had no trouble hitting you in training, and you almost thought she was doing it with a certain satisfaction. You couldn't blame her, she would certainly have got away with it if it hadn't been for your disastrous encounter earlier.

You just hoped that future interactions between you would be friendlier from then on.

-&-

The second time you missed a window in the Tower, your intention was not to be late.

This was because Natasha had asked - or politely threatened - you to organize your spider routine, if that was possible, and be present at the introduction of the New Avengers.

Well, that was rather unfair. In addition to your full-time job as a New York superhero, you also had college and your job as a Daily Bugle Photographer, so it should be understandable that delays would occur. But maybe that was your fault, for missing three birthdays in a row, and not even making it to Captain America's shield ceremony last month after Steve retired and assigned the job to Sam Wilson.

In any case, you tried to get to the tower for Kate Bishop's introduction to the team and ended up in the wrong room again. 

Only this time it was worse, as you ended up bumping into the owner of the bedroom who certainly wasn't expecting to see anyone.

Wanda didn't fall to the floor with the impact only because you acted quickly and held her by the waist, turning your bodies so that the entire collision was on your back. Half the items in your backpack made a cracking sound behind you, but you didn't have a chance to check.

You were still grunting in pain when she pushed you away, and the action caused her towel to fall to the floor.

"I-I..."

"Don't look, you pervert!" She demanded infuriatedly, her face as red as yours. You turned away immediately, but the bedroom mirror allowed you to see her bending down to pick up the towel and you thought it best to close your eyes tightly.

"I swear to God I didn't mean to-"

"Zip it." She cut in, holding the towel tight against her body. "Out." She ordered, and you didn't need to be told twice.

You stumbled out with your eyes closed until you found the door, and Wanda had to look away and bite her lip to hide her smile for all the times you hit your head on something before leaving.

You didn't find her again until half an hour later when you had already met Kate Bishop and discovered that she would probably be a friend. She was a very funny girl, and your close age made it easy to get friendly with her. 

She had just commented that it was amazing to have another Avenger going to NYU, and how you could go to classes together and have coffee when Wanda reappeared in the room and dropped something in your lap.

You stared wide-eyed at the red spider's underwear, clutching the item as if you expected it to disappear.

"You forgot it in my room." Said the witch with an indecipherable expression, but with eyes sparkling with mischief. Of course, she left out the part about the item falling out of your backpack during the disastrous encounter earlier, and that was enough for Sam to chuckle knowingly with Clint and Natasha from the kitchen counter when they whistled at the comment.

You turned as red as the colored garment. "I dropped it in her room." You tried to clarify in embarrassment, but Clint added.

"Oh, yes, that happens." He taunted, and you huffed in embarrassment as you got up to find your backpack and remove that outfit from their sight. 

You only missed Wanda's satisfied look when Kate didn't invite you to take her to university again and the subject was forgotten.

-&-

The third time was intentional.

The Avengers were going through a very difficult time since the whole Winter Soldier thing became public, and even with Steve retired, Mr. Stark still wanted closure on the murder of his parents with Mr. Barnes. 

It wasn't your business, but at the same time, it was because the Avengers were one big family and anything that happened to one had an impact on the whole team.

The atmosphere was rather miserable because it seemed that everyone was going through heartbreaking situations at the moment. Natasha and the Red Room, Bucky, Tony and Steve's drama, and Kate with her mother's arrest. Then there was Vision and the Space Stone that had been giving him nightmares, and well, Wanda, who was celebrating her first birthday alone since the death of her twin brother.

So the third time was intentional, because you had cupcakes in your backpack that were a bit of a mess, and you only came in after knocking.

Wanda still had to get used to the image of you hanging at that height.

"Hi." She greeted, not hiding her own discontent about that day. You continued to sit on the edge.

"Hey." You said with a small smile, twirling your bag in front of you. " I won't be bothering you, I just came to bring you something."

She grimaced, biting her lip. She wanted to say that you're rarely a nuisance, but instead, she remained silent.

You take out a closed box from your backpack, a little crumpled, but the contents are safe. There are several colorful, well-filled cupcakes from your favorite place in the center. All with little birthday decorations.

"I didn't know your favorite flavor, so I brought you one of each. If you're allergic to anything, we can throw it away." 

Wanda doesn't take the box held out to her. "Hm, I don't... celebrate today." She says clumsily, looking away. You swallow dry, nodding.

"I didn't think so, but I wanted to... I don't even know what I wanted. I'm sorry, that was stupid of me. I'll take these away and leave you alone."

But Wanda grabbed you before you could leave the room, and instead of pulling away, she hugged you. Quickly, as a thank you, but it warmed your cheeks.

"That was sweet of you, okay? Thank you." She murmured just as embarrassed, busying herself with grabbing the box of cupcakes because she didn't know what to do with her hands.

You smiled. "No problem, Wanda." You say, and before you lose your nerve, you add. "To be honest, the cupcakes are just an excuse. I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to tell you that I'm here if you need a friend. I know how hard days like these are, and being alone is sometimes not a choice, it's the only option. I wanted you to know that there are people with whom you can share this pain. Or if you don't want to talk about it, these cupcakes."

The next hug is longer and makes you wish you'd missed the window more often, even if this time it was on purpose. Maybe when all the drama has passed, and Wanda trusts you to become friends, the window will stay open for you.

For now, she lets you stay to watch sitcoms with her and grimaces when you stumble out the window to answer a spider's call. 

It's stupidly dangerous, she texts you that afternoon.

You respond with spider and web emojis.

-&-

The fourth time, you were bleeding.

Almost unconscious, and struggling to crawl through the windows. Fearing that the exhaustion and injuries would be enough for your powers to fail, and inevitably cause you to fall from the tower. 

Perhaps it would have been better to take the front door.

You felt yourself losing consciousness, and your right hand detached from the glass. Before gravity could do its job, a familiar prickling sensation covered your entire body and you were pulled into Wanda Maximoff's room.

"What happened?"

She looked worried, almost desperate to be honest. Your appearance was probably not the best. Well, who could blame you? You've just guaranteed New York's safety for a while longer after one of the most intense fights in months. Why do villains dressed as animals always land such hard punches?

You try to smile at Wanda, to make a "You should have seen the other guy" joke, even though Rhino wasn't badly hurt and the victory was more thanks to your new electric friend and his tricks that knocked the big guy out, than to you. Maybe you're losing your grip.

Wanda didn't laugh, her powers put you against the soft cushions and the next thing that left your mouth was a grunt of pain when she touched your ribs.

"I'm gonna call Bruce-"

"No, I'm fine." You tried to move, but your body hated the idea. So did Wanda, because her magic became harder to ignore. "Please, Wands, I shouldn't be out there."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

And you have to ignore the pain to keep talking and try to look casual about it with a shrug that makes you wince. "I was still recovering from the last fight. I thought I could handle it."

"You're unbelievable." She grumbles, seeming to remember beyond her own busy routine, the image of your bandaged arm after the last villain you encountered. Clearly, it had been against the advice of the rest of the team that you had joined another fight, and obviously, the consequence of your stubbornness was swinging yourself utterly wrecked into her window at dawn. "You need an x-ray."

You groan but are unable to resist her magical efforts that force you to your feet and drag you into Bruce's lab.

The whole thing becomes a blur in your injured head. But you know that you've been given a hard time by at least half the team, until the medication kicks in and you feel better enough to realize that you're already lying on a bed, with Wanda Maximoff beside you.

"Sorry about the scare." You mumble, and you don't need to clarify any further for her to understand exactly what you mean. You know you'll probably have to work harder than that to remove your nearly dead figure from her memory, but that's a start.

Wanda doesn't take her eyes off the book but sighs. "It's okay." 

You know that's not true. So you try to be honest with her.

"Today is one year since Aunt May died." You say quietly, just loud enough for the two of you in the Avengers' infirmary room to hear. Wanda immediately raises uncertain eyes. It's your turn to sigh and look away. "I just... couldn't keep myself from doing anything. When Miles' suit warned me about Rhino, it was the perfect distraction."

Wanda absorbs your words for a few seconds until she puts the book aside. She leaves the armchair and approaches the bed to sit down next to you. 

"Next time, ask me to distract you." She says, one of her hands going up to your face and caressing some of your bandages. "We could watch a movie, or go out to eat. Or even..."

But she doesn't finish, her cheeks suddenly reddening. You give her a lopsided smile. "What?"

"I don't know, anything you want." Says the witch, turning her face away. 

Mentally thanking Bruce for the painkillers that allow you to move, you sit up properly to lean toward her. "All right, I have a suggestion." You whisper, and it's the first kiss between you as you break the distance.

Wanda's lips are soft against yours, shy as she never is. Only with this kind of thing, of course. The goth girl who won't let anyone give her a bad look and has a punk attitude all the time, but can't keep her gaze if you wink at her from across the room. And always blushes when you text her that she looks pretty when she's concentrating on the Avengers meetings.

She's the one who separates, although just as breathlessly, she warns: "I'm still mad at you."

You bite back a smile, absorbing for a second the image of her swollen lips and flushed face. "Well, I suppose I should distract you from your anger then." 

She snorts good-naturedly at the statement, but you kiss her before she can comment. The two of you keep smiling throughout.

-&-

The fifth time, it's a new window.

Well, actually it's a whole new place because Wanda Maximoff has left Avengers Tower and moved to suburban New Jersey. And you were late.

The whole team had already helped with the move and left after an afternoon snack at Wanda's new house. For the first time in a long time, New York had no villain after Spidey, and you were stuck in university bureaucracy.

You apologized dozens of times by text message for not being able to help with the move, and in fact, the whole team laughed at the situation. It was just bad luck that you missed such a fun afternoon.

It was late evening when you arrived on the dark balcony. Through the windows, the lower floor was empty and perhaps you had strange habits because you didn't even consider just ringing the bell. One tug of the webs and you were at the second-floor window, tapping on the glass for Wanda to let you in.

"We have a door, you know." It was the first thing she said. And you smiled, slightly distracted by the figure fresh out of the shower, still with damp hair.

"We?"

She scrunched her nose, her hands working to remove your backpack and jacket. "It's just semantics." She retorts, but you keep smiling. You let the jacket fall into the backpack on the floor before sliding your hands around her waist. 

"Oh, of course. For a second I thought you had found a roommate." 

She rolls her eyes bemusedly. "You know the invitation still stands."

You smile, your anxious fingers drawing patterns across the exposed skin at her waist. "Well, Captain Rogers' influence is making me a bit old-fashioned but before I move I'd like to do a few things first."

"Hm, is that right? Like what?"

Shrugging as if your heart wasn't racing in your chest, you retort. "Like... marrying you, for example."

Wanda hesitates, surprised more than anything. She looks at you as if she's trying to decide if it was a joke, but you don't feel her magic in your mind. 

"Do you really mean that?" She asks almost unsurely, and you sigh before letting go. You duck down to pick up your backpack again and reveal the real reason for the extra half hour of your journey from the university.

A little velvet box hidden in the front pocket. 

"I was saving it for our anniversary, but I don't think there's such a thing as the right moment. Every day I'm ready to marry you, and I don't need a dinner party for that." You declare nervously and swallow dryly when you meet your girlfriend's watery eyes. "B-but I can totally ask you next week-"

She breaks into a tearful laugh, pulling you close again. "Shut up, you fool."  She says practically against your lips before kissing you hard.

It's only later in the evening, after you've laughed and kissed and lost yourselves in hours of pleasure exploring each other's bodies, for the first time holding hands with golden rings on your fingers, that you, still breathless with Wanda almost asleep against your chest, ask:

"That means yes, right?"

She uses magic to throw a pillow in your face.

[gay-jewish-bucky]

[pandapetals]

Christmas Sweater

You convince Logan to wear a christmas sweater.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, banter, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor, christmas party, holiday vibes

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @saradika

“Please, Logan? Pretty please?” You held out the oversized Christmas sweater, grinning as you watched his face contort into a scowl the moment he laid eyes on it. It was red and green with a ridiculous snowman knitted across the front, complete with a fluffy scarf and a lopsided top hat. It was festive, cheesy, and perfect for the holiday party.

Logan crossed his arms, his stance unyielding. "Not a chance, sweetheart," he grumbled. "I’m not wearin’ that thing."

“Oh, come on!" you said, rolling your eyes as you pushed the sweater toward him. "Everyone’s wearing one. Jean’s got a reindeer sweater with bells, and I swear I saw Scott in one with candy canes."

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Summers can wear all the candy canes he wants. I don’t need some fuzzy snowman to feel ‘festive.’"

You let out a sigh, putting on your best pout. "Logan, for the past four Christmases, I’ve let it slide. You’ve skulked around in your boring black t-shirt, looking like you’d rather be elsewhere. But just this once… for me?" You softened your tone, tilting your head and batting your eyelashes. "Please?"

He gave you a long, suffering look, but you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. After a heavy silence, he let out a dramatic sigh. "Fine," he muttered, snatching the sweater from your hands. "But if anyone makes a single comment, I'm takin’ it off. Got it?"

"Got it," you replied, beaming as he reluctantly pulled the sweater over his head. You had to bite back a laugh as it slid down over his broad shoulders, the fabric clinging to his frame and yet somehow looking cozy and inviting.

He grumbled under his breath as he adjusted the sleeves, but there was a hint of a smirk he desperately tried to hide. "This thing’s ridiculous," he muttered, tugging at the snowman’s scarf, which was made of actual fuzzy yarn that dangled a little too realistically.

You stepped back, giving him an appreciative once-over with a grin. "I dunno… I think you look adorable. Plus we match.” 

"Adorable," he repeated flatly, narrowing his eyes at you. "Careful, sweetheart. You’re pushin’ it."

The two of you joined the rest of the team downstairs, where the holiday party was in full swing. Logan tried to stay in the background, but it wasn’t long before Rogue spotted him and let out a delighted laugh. "Logan! Look at you!" she teased, clapping her hands together. "Never thought I’d see the day you’d wear somethin’ so… cheerful."

Logan grumbled, crossing his arms in an attempt to hide the snowman on his chest. "Don’t start, kid," he muttered, though you could see the faint blush creeping up his neck.

Scott walked by, barely holding back a grin. "Nice sweater, Logan. Didn’t know you had it in you."

Logan’s response was a low growl, but there was that hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth again. He shot you a look as if to say, I told you this would happen.

You just shrugged innocently, giving him a wink. "Told you everyone would love it."

Despite his protests, Logan seemed to settle into the cozy warmth of the sweater as the night went on. You caught him tugging it down a few times, mumbling about the sleeves being too long, but eventually, he seemed to forget about it, even getting a little more relaxed with each passing hour.

At one point, you snuck over to the snack table and grabbed your phone, positioning yourself just right. He was standing by the fireplace, scowling at his hot cocoa as if it had personally offended him, but he looked… comfortable. The firelight danced off the cozy red and green knit, and his expression was somewhere between annoyed and content, a tiny smile ghosting over his lips.

You snapped a picture, grinning to yourself. Logan caught you mid-snap, raising an eyebrow. "Did you just take a picture of me in this ridiculous thing?"

You hid your phone behind your back, laughing. "Maybe."

He rolled his eyes, stepping closer, his hands resting on his hips. "You’re lucky I’m wearin’ this for you," he muttered, his voice gruff but warm.

You bit back a smile, tilting your head as you looked up at him. "You know, you don’t have to keep it on. I’m just saying… if it’s really that uncomfortable—"

"Don’t push it," Logan cut in, his voice gruff but softer than usual. His gaze lingered on yours, a flicker of warmth breaking through his usual stoic expression. After a beat, he mumbled, almost as if he didn’t want you to hear, "It’s actually… not bad. Warm, even."

Your grin widened, and before he could protest, you leaned up and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. "See? I knew you’d secretly like it. Admit it—deep down, you’re a fan of holiday cheer."

Logan rolled his eyes, but a faint smirk betrayed him. There was a glimmer of amusement in his gaze that hadn’t been there at the start of the evening, and you could feel his stance relax just a little as if he’d finally surrendered to the holiday spirit.

"You’re just a big softie in disguise," you teased, patting his chest where the snowman’s fuzzy scarf dangled slightly off-kilter. The absurdity of it made you giggle, and Logan couldn’t help but shake his head, his gruff exterior melting as he looked down at you.

"Yeah, well, don’t go makin’ a habit of it," he muttered, though there was a faint blush creeping up his neck. "And don’t get any ideas about sharin’ that picture, either. If anyone asks, I’ll deny it’s me."

You laughed, pulling out your phone to give the picture another glance—a candid shot of Logan looking surprisingly cozy by the fireplace, the oversized sweater almost swallowing his broad frame, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. It was like capturing a rare sighting of some mythical creature: Logan, the Wolverine, caught in a moment of holiday cheer.

"Don’t worry," you whispered, slipping your phone back into your pocket. "This one’s just for me. My little secret."

Logan let out a small huff, a resigned sort of acceptance settling in his expression as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. "Good."

You nestled against him, savoring the warmth of his sweater and the steady rise and fall of his breathing. The two of you stood there, wrapped in each other and surrounded by the soft glow of holiday lights, the rest of the room fading away.

"Thanks for humoring me," you murmured, pressing your head against his shoulder. "You didn’t have to, you know."

Logan’s hand rested gently on your arm, his thumb tracing small circles as he looked down at you, a faint smile softening his rough features. "Yeah, well… I guess you’re worth a little humiliation," he muttered, the teasing edge in his voice belying the warmth in his gaze. "Just don’t expect me to go wearin’ reindeer antlers next year."

You chuckled, leaning up to kiss him softly, savoring the rare moment of tenderness between you. "Noted," you whispered. "But you're wearing another sweater next year."

Logan groaned as the corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile. "You’re lucky I love you," he mumbled, tightening his arm around you as he looked around the room. "Guess this holiday stuff ain’t so bad when you’re here."

[sylkiagathario]

52 DAYS OF THE HOLIDAYS

DAY FOURTEEN: AGATHA ALL ALONG (2024) CREATED BY JAC SCHAEFFER