#christmas time fic

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 15: Decorative Obsession [OS]

Characters: King Louise XIV & Fem!Decorator!Reader (Platonic)

POV: Reader, Second

A/N: It’s been quite some time since I wrote for King Louise XIV and last time a number of people reached out saying the loved that I wrote something for the man, and I haven’t really since. But, who better to go all out for Christmas then the self-indulgent King? 👀

Also, do you know how hard it is to write cute, fun Christmas fics when watching Tears Of The Sun? 😂😂😂 Like, if you’ve seen the movie you know what scene I mean if I say the mother with the baby in the hut after the interrupted attack on the little village. And, like, I just wanted to watch this specific movie, and IT IS NOT GIVING THE RIGHT VIBES BUT I WANT TO HAVE IT ON - I’m not being nice to myself or my writing today apparently 😂 So, let’s see how cute I can write while having my heart wrenched out of my chest by this god-awfully fantastic film. (I ended up not finishing this until today - it’s now 16.00 the 15th of December 😂)

Tags/TW’s: Grief, Loneliness, Kindness From Strangers, Potential Friendship, Deep Conversations, Christmas Decorating, Open Ending, Granted Wish, Unknown Identity

Word Count: 1.5k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Decorative Obsession

The palace was ready, decorated from top to bottom in all things Christmas. From the pillars wrapped in silver silk to the windows framed by golden satin and green garlands. The holly, the ornaments, all things showered you in a warm sensation of utmost joy. I am such a lucky woman, you thought to yourself while walking toward the servants’ palace entrance hidden behind a secret door leading to some of the main servant quarters.

Ever since the King lost his latest love, the palace had been in mourning. It had been almost nine months and on the approach of Christmas, the King finally declared mourning to be over and your father’s company employed by the crown to turn the palace into a wonder of joy and warmth. The King had specifically requested silver, gold, and green to be the main colours. No red beyond what was naturally coloured so.

Your father had sent the very best he had — all hands on deck, as he had said two weeks ago. Two weeks, it had been an impossible mission to decorate the palace in such a short amount of time, yet, you had managed. You, out of all, had worked like a dog to uphold the high prestige of your father’s company and now you watched your work in absolute awe at five in the morning on the day it all had to be completed.

You gave the hallways one last glance before pushing the servants’ door open and slipping into the darker gloom with the deadly stairs and narrow spaces with candles lit here and there. Every muscle ached, every finger stiff from the many bows you’d tied and strings you’d wrapped around hidden nails. From the carrying of boxes to the pricking of pine needles. But it had all been worth it. Especially now, as you hurried out of the palace and headed for the Gardens of Versailles.

You had never seen them, but you heard they were an absolute wonder so you couldn’t pass on the single chance you’d have to see them, even in the chilly winter when they were not in bloom or truly tended to. I bet it’s absolutely beautiful.

It was. Entering the Gardens, you felt engulfed in both earth and sky, surrounded by beauty and unlimited with the high sky above covered in twinkling stars as the dark of winter drew the night out until near-lunchtime. There was half a moon available to light your way along with the light cover of snow and frost.

You giggled, spinning at the very centre of the gardens where you had heard the King had danced upon its first opening. You’d never paid much attention to royalty or the aristocrats of the world. Decorations and interior wonders were more the things you noticed. The polished pillars of a grand estate, the sculpted stone of railings along curving stairs, or the intricate details of a candelabra — yes, those things you noticed but the people owning the beautiful things? Not truly of consequence or worth your time, no matter how that sounded. You had a decorative obsession, and what a good thing that was given your father's company focusing on precisely that. Perhaps you had been conditioned to love it, but it didn't truly matter now.

The wind picked up and your dress flowed around your legs, sending snow swirling all around the rounded stage. “A morning dance?” came a deep, brooding voice. You drew a quick breath, stopping and turning instantly. “Sir,” you said while offering the man in a thick brown coat a curtsy. “You are not from the Palace,” he said, stepping closer. You internally cursed. “No, Sir. I am the one who has decorated it for this holiday.” “Ah, the decorator… Sneaking off to view the grand Gardens of Versailles?”

You straightened. There was no menace in his voice. Perhaps, if you were lucky, this man would not tell of the trespassing he had just found you performing. It was a guess, but his eyes were not cold as they found yours. He looked tired, burdened with life it seemed while the heavy cloak rested atop his shoulders with an edge of fur all around. He was of wealth, you could see that much, but how wealthy you were not sure.

“I have heard of its splendour and grandeur, a garden of the skies and earth.” He moved closer. “Yes. Quite. A garden where music appears to come from the heavens and we dance under the unlimited sky.” “We?” you asked, feeling your heart hammer harder. Was he perhaps going to turn you in, despite the initial view of him you had. “Yes.” You gulped. “I— I believe it’s a wonderful experience,” you managed to force out as he drew another two steps closer.

He appeared a proud man, tired but proud. Just his stiff and straight posture betrayed that fact. He looked down on you before looking out across the stage you both stood atop. “It is a fine place to dance and be joyous. The many celebrations held here have indeed been of the grand and beautiful kind.” You tried not to step away from the man. “I believe you,” you simply said, wondering how beautiful it would have been to dress the Gardens in all things Christmas — deep greens and rich golds with numerous candles would have suited it splendidly. “It’s a shame the grand King has not decided to use it for the holidays, I very much would have loved to decorate it. Elevate its beauty even in the dead of winter.”

The man looked at you, arching a brow that had his grand wig of a deep brown wiggle atop his head. You never did find such beauty standards to be quite to your taste, to be perfectly frank. Yet, it somehow wasn’t too much atop this man’s head. “Is that so?” “Well, yes. Despite the darkness around us, I can see it light up beautifully and be a wonder even when gardens usually lay dead during this time of year.” “Hmm, quite the idea,” he murmured and once more gazed around the two of you before returning his eyes to you. “Winter is a time of many things, nature lay dormant and quiet. But, it can still be beautiful and inviting — even when cold and harsh. Just as we humans sometimes are burdened by loneliness and hardships, nature is too. That is no reason to not see the wonder in humans as well as the earth.”

Why you rambled on you were not quite sure but the loneliness and heaviness permeated the air by the mere presence of the stoic-looking man so you felt a strange need to share your view on the matter of life. “Quite the statement, miss.” “Oh, perhaps. But it’s the circle of life. Life is more enjoyable when aware of it always being condemned to the endlessness of waves — much like the wonder of the sea. Sometimes the waves are high and we struggle, sometimes there is barely a ripple and we can float about in bliss. The only certain thing is that it is ever-changing, while also being a constant.”

Silence stretched for a long time and it seemed less burdensome than earlier. “What, do tell, should a ruling man with many subjects in his care do when the waves are too high and there is none in sight to offer aid to stay above the surface?” Your eyes widened. “K-King— Your Highness,” you stuttered out as realisation dawned on you. “Stand up, miss.” He glanced down at your bowed form. “Answer my question.” “You sink, Your Highness. Until the bottom is reached where you can push yourself up once more.” “That is a terrible answer…” “But it is honest. And, if I may say so, there is also the option of calling out for help…” “A King does not call for help.” “No, perhaps not. But a man does if he knows what is good for him and those he has in his care.”

The King peered down on you. He said nothing for the longest of times while you nearly held your breath. You weren’t sure which way he would swing but you had no choice but to remain beside him under the star-strewn sky.

“Then, I shall ask for your assistance, miss.” Your eyes widened. “Mine, Your Highness?” “Yes. Indeed.” His eyes softened while his face hardened. “You have until the end of the week to turn the Gardens of Versailles into something warm. Something, splendid… As you wished to decorate it, I too wish to feel the wonder you spoke of but I cannot reach such views with mere imagination.” “I can.” He nodded. “Indeed, you seem gifted with the sight of what could be when what is isn’t something worth seeing…”

King Louis departed in a steady walk while you watched after him until he left your view. Perhaps, if you managed to outdo yourself with the gardens, the lonely king would feel something other than all the burdens which rested atop his shoulders. 

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: I know it’s a bit of an abrupt ending, but I feel this was the perfect place to stop this One-Shot. I feel all warm in a friendly manner from writing this fic and I think we can all remember what happened in A Little Chaos and basically imagine the same thing repeating once Y/n has finished decorating the Gardens 🥰

TAGLIST: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @dontwanttobeanamercanidiot @sunnylikesfrogs @dianilaws @snapesno1thighrider @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @leah1243 @cherihan @poetry-and-tea @evans23 @mamawolfsmith87 @snapesrn @severussimp @slyckman @liv2post @clawsthecactus @goldenglowwoman @ankhmutes @lessdepressy @snapesrn @theheartwants-what-itwants @slyckman @daddythanatos @sanji-simp

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[marvelwitchergilmore]

Sleeping, Dancing and Mistletoe

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> Times when people found evidence that you and Logan were possibly a couple, and the one time you both finally confirmed it.

Disclaimer: Mostly fluff, mentions/illusions to sex, Logan checking you out. Couple of swear words here and there. This has been unfinished in my drafts for at least a week so...yeah. This is finished. little Christmas at the end. Not Proof Read.

For what felt like the thirtieth time in the hour, you turned over with a huff and pressed your pillow to your ears, trying to muffle the sounds coming from next door. 

And just as it finally died down, you sighed and was just about to thank some ancient being for hearing your prayers when…it started again. 

“That’s it.”

Changing out of your longer pyjama bottoms and into some sleep shorts, you made your way out of your room, keeping your footsteps as quiet as you could until the noises faded away and you started to reach your intended room. 

Opening up the door, you found exactly what you were looking for. 

Shaking his shoulder as he lay on his stomach, you whispered his name, hoping he’d hear you. 

“Logan.” You shook him for a third time. “Logan.” 

Nothing. 

With another sigh, you slapped his face gently and said his name once more, a little louder and firmer. 

“Logan.”

Finally, he groaned. “What?” 

His voice was muffled by his pillow but you could hear him just well enough. Or maybe you were just used to his grunts that they were starting to become their own language you could understand. 

“Move over. I’m sleeping here tonight.”

“What’s wrong with your bed?”

“Nothing.”

“Then go and sleep there.” Logan turned his head away from you and scrunched up his pillow beneath his head.

“I can’t. My neighbours have decided tonight is Valentine’s Day 2.0.”

You pushed half of his body with your hands until he finally got the cue to turn over. 

“Too much information.”

You shook your head, “Too much information is what I’ve been hearing for the last hour.”

Finally, Logan rolled onto his back, his covers covering his bottom half, and groaned. “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

Logan straightened himself in his bed, giving you room to get in beside him. And the minute you touched his covers, you were glad you had changed into shorts. 

Logan was like a furnace. Just constant heat radiating from his body and for as much as it, at times, got too hot to stand near him, he was also, in your opinion, the best person to fall asleep beside. 

“Just shut up and go to sleep.”

Laying on your side, it wasn’t long until you closed your eyes, thankful that you could hear nothing other than Logan’s steady breathing and the distant clock down the hall that was forever ticking. 

However, just before you fully drifted off, you felt Logan’s hand take hold of yours and you smiled. 

He could be gruff all he liked, but when it came to you, he could be a softie. 

By the time morning rolled around, Storm was in search of both yourself and Logan. So, when she found your bed empty and cold, she figured Logan would know where you were. 

But he was asleep. 

Right beside you. 

Storm leaned against the door frame for a while, taking in the picture in front of her. 

Logan was fast asleep, something that was a miracle in itself, with you right beside him, your head turned towards the windows in his room, his own looking towards you, all the while, his arm slung over your midsection and one of your own hands, holding his. 

“Storm- what are you- Oh.”

Jean looked inside. 

“Looks like someone had a good night.” She smiled before looking back at Storm. “Do you think we can finally ask if they’re together?”

“I’d say this is confirmation enough.”

You shifted in your sleep as did Logan, and the two girls hid behind the corner for a moment. 

You turned your head and the rest of your body towards Logan, all the while his arm held you in a stronger grip and pulled you towards him. 

It took you a moment but you finally opened your eyes, adjusting to the light before your vision finally cleared on a sleeping Logan. 

For a moment, you allowed the hand between you both to reach up and brush the stray hairs from his eyes. It was rare you ever got to see Logan this…calm. 

Serene. 

Rested. 

Unknowingly, you started to run your left thumb over Logan’s arm that still held onto you. 

Then his fingers twitched, running over the exposed skin at the bottom of your back. 

“Are you watching me sleep?” His voice was rough, the first words in the morning. 

“Not anymore,” you smiled, brushing the final parts of his hair out of his face. 

“Thanks for letting me stay.”

Then a cough came from the door. 

Logan groaned. “Is this a new hobby; watching people sleep?”

Jean and Storm laughed from the door. “You two look cosy.”

You lifted your head and glared at Jean. “There is one reason I’m here. Maybe I think it’s time you make an investment in soundproof walls.”

Jean turned a little red and Storm laughed. 

“Look, we’ve got a busy day. You can kiss your boyfriend later.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you called out just as Logan called; “She’s not my girlfriend.”

Storm and Jean nodded and just as Jean snapped a picture, she sent it to both yourself and Logan as they walked away. 

“Sure.”

Leaning up, Logan reached for his phone to see the notification pop up before he placed it back down and you climbed out of bed. 

“They’re got a point.”

“About us being a couple?”

You threw a t-shirt at Logan. “Having a busy day.”

Logan laughed a little, scrubbing his face as he watched you leave his room before he reached behind him and took hold of his phone once more. 

Jean and Storm were right. 

From the picture…they did look like a couple. 

A couple of days passed and you were sitting in the quiet living room, the fires on both sides roaring. 

All classes had been finished for two days and some kids had returned home for the holidays, which meant you had some free time on your hands. 

And for you, that meant finally reading. 

Until you sensed someone stood behind you. 

“If you want to know what happens, you could just ask me.”

Logan plucked the book from your hands and circled around the sofa before coming to sit down beside you. 

“Logan! Give it back.”

“I want to see what it’s about.”

You sighed and sat up, “It’s a romance, Logan.”

“A romance?” Logan had a hint of a smirk on his face. “Like the…trashy kind?”

“Like the romantic kind.”

Logan looked at you and smiled. “The trashy kind.”

You rolled your eyes and took the book back from him, leaving him to fix the blanket so it rested over both of you. He placed his arm over the back of the sofa, allowing you to lean into him, whether you noticed you were doing so or not. 

“Just because you might not believe in romance, doesn’t mean the rest of us are the same.”

“I believe in romance.” 

“Yeah, right.”

Logan couldn’t help but smile. “What?”

“The Wolverine,” you said with a deep voice. “Believes in romance?”

Logan nodded. “Occasionally.”

“Occasionally?”

“Do you just like repeating everything I say?”

You nodded and smiled. “Occasionally.”

Logan rolled his eyes and took the book back from you and read a line out loud. 

“People really talk like this?”

You leaned into Logan. “No, but in a book it’s not so bad. Go on, read some more.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

You nodded. “You’re like my own personal audiobook.”

Logan gave a short smile before getting a little cosier and continued reading out loud. 

It wasn’t long before Logan found you asleep against him and he shifted in order to avoid you getting a crick in your neck. 

“Keep reading.”

“I thought you were asleep.” 

“Now I’m awake.” 

“Fine, just be quiet.”

You gave a fake salute. “Yes, sir.”

Holding his arm around your body that was pressed between himself and the sofa, Logan quickly kissed the top of your head and went back to reading. 

And ten minutes later, you were asleep. 

And so was he. 

An hour passed before someone found either of you, but this time, it was Scott and Bobby. 

“They might be in- oh. What do we have here?”

“Oh my god, Rouge has to see this. I told her they were together.”

Bobby rushed off and soon returned, pulling Rouge with him. 

“What is it?” Then she gasped. 

“Believe me now?”

And what Rouge saw made her smile. 

On the slightly too small sofa for Logan, you lay both between him and the sofa, as well as partly on him with your hand a little over his heart. His head was turned towards you. The blanket had fallen a little, so she reached over and pulled it up both of you before turning around and throwing a log onto the fire. 

“Come on, let's leave them.”

“But-”

“No, you are not going to disturb them. Come on.”

Rouge dragged the pair out and closed the door behind her. 

The third time people suspected you and Logan were an item was one late evening in October. 

Half of the kids were playing outside with all the freshly fallen leaves, whilst some of the older kids helped them find different critters and point them out, and build them habitats. The rest of the kids were either in their rooms or studying. 

Save for two. 

Bobby and Rouge were hiding outside of the kitchen watching yourself and Logan cook. 

“I didn’t even know he knew how to…chop. Let alone cook.”

“You should have more faith in him.”

“Come on, Rouge. You can’t tell me you weren't thinking it, too.”

And she couldn’t. Because she was. 

Meanwhile inside the kitchen, Logan was watching you from the kitchen island as he continued chopping the veg. 

There was something different about you. From the way you practically danced around the kitchen finding the different items for the recipe, to just…you. Whilst he was (semi) shirtless, just having his zipper hoodie on, along with his jeans and socks. He would have been fully dressed, except you had come and ambushed him in his room – even though you denied the word “ambushed” – to get him to help. 

And you were just simply in your pyjamas (of sorts) along with one of his zipper hoodies. 

“Bub,”

Logan laid down his knife and walked over to you as you stood by the stove, standing a little higher to see how much water was left in the pot at the back. 

You hummed a questioned response, but was met with a question…you didn’t expect. 

“Dance with me?”

“What?”

Logan smiled lightly as he pulled the wooden spoon from your hand and pulled you closer to him, despite him walking backwards. 

“Come on,” his voice in a light whisper. “Dance with me.”

“Didn’t take you for a dancer.”

Outside the door, Bobby and Rouge mouthed to each other; “They’re dancing.”

And you both were. 

Gently swaying to the music for a while, you allowed Logan to lead you around a small space in the centre of the kitchen. 

“We’re gonna burn the sauce.”

Logan gave a slight smile at you as he spun you out and back in, “We’re not gonna burn the sauce.”

“Logan.”

“Can’t you ever just enjoy a moment?”

“When that moment doesn’t include burning the house down, yes.”

“Bit of a jump, don’t you think, from burning the sauce.”

“Ha, so you agree. We’re gonna burn the sauce.”

Moving over, Logan turned down the heat on one of the pans before taking your hand back into his. “Now we won’t.”

Bobby and Rouge watched, in shock, the rest. 

For one, Logan knew how to dance? Since when? And since when did he…cook and dance in the kitchen? Unless…

Then Logan did something even you didn’t expect. 

He dipped you. 

You hand tightened its grip on Logan’s arm as you let out a small, if a little nervous, laugh. 

Logan had been full of surprises recently. From the impromptu audiobook session in which you woke up in his arms, to him not only dropping off a cup of coffee during your break from teaching but also a freshly baked muffin. 

And now he was dancing with you in the kitchen. 

And dipping you. 

When you had rushed him out of his room to help you cook, you hadn’t expected him to know the recipe for the sauce from the top of his head. Something he just happened to rattle off whilst you were looking for the cooking notebook that should have been in the cupboard beside the oven. Let alone be the one to ask to dance in the kitchen, and dip you. 

Bring you back up, both of you gave a slight chuckle as you turned around, the music slowly fading away in the background. 

“Logan…”

Looking at him, you forgot what you were going to say. 

Had his eyes always had so much green in them? 

Logan’s palm became warm against your back as it pressed further into you. Or maybe you pressed further into him and he just held you tighter. 

Slowly, your hand left his bicep and trailed towards his chest all the while your eyes studied his face. You’d known him for years and seen him a thousand times or more. 

So why did now feel like you were seeing him for the first time? Noticing him? Noticing each particle he was made up of that allowed him to sway with you in the kitchen to the music that had changed on the radio?

Only, before the space between yourself and Logan became any more closer, a noise came from outside the door. 

A sneeze. 

A sneeze that shocked you and Logan back into reality. 

Still holding you, Logan looked towards the door and gave a hint of a smile when he saw the flash of white disappear behind the beam. 

Realising what was happening, you lowered yourself back to the ground and slowly stepped out of Logan’s arms. “We should finish up.”

Logan nodded in agreement, however did look back at you when you got back to the stove, not noticing you do the same a few moments later, watching him pick up the rest of the veg and toss it into the collider to be washed. 

Time passed and after more music, more conversation - including a burnt tongue from when you had shoved a wooden spoon with fresh sauce on, into Logan’s mouth for him to try - and a lot of scrubbing later, you found Logan sitting inside the library and collapsed next to him. 

“Good news, the kids loved the food,” you told Logan. “Double good news; Jean and Scott are on cooking duty tomorrow.”

“Thank fuck.”

“Thank you for helping me.” Turning to look at Logan, you found him already looking. 

“You did ambush me.”

“I didn’t ambush you.”

“I wasn’t dressed.” Logan examined himself. “Technically, I’m still not.”

You rolled your eyes with a slight smile. “Fine. Maybe it was a mini, tiny, miniscule ambush.” 

You made a small space between your fingers. “Like this big of an ambush.”

Logan looked at you, at your fingers and then back to you in slight disgust before moving your fingers wider with his own. 

“That big of an ambush.”

You rolled your eyes and dropped your hand. “And they say us women are dramatic.”

It was Logan’s turn to roll his eyes. However, as he did so, his arm wrapped around you, and pulled you back into him and the sofa. 

“Just shut the fuck up for a minute and listen.”

You did so. 

“I don’t hear anything.”

“That’s the point.” Logan’s eyes were shut as his head rested on the back of the sofa. 

Eventually you gave a shrug and joined him. 

An hour later, Storm found you both fast asleep beside one another so with a knowing smile, she found a blanket, covered you both up and closed the door behind her. But not before reminding herself she needed to get verbal confirmation from you both. 

She wasn’t handing over any money to Jean and Xavier until she had verbal confirmation of what exactly was going on between you two. 

And she didn’t have to wait long…at least in the long run, she didn’t have to wait long. 

Until then, there were plenty more incidents of falling asleep next to each other, bringing each other coffee, dancing to music in the kitchen, smiling and laughing – all before she finally got verbal confirmation that the inevitable had finally happened. 

Finally, it was acceptable to decorate for Christmas. 

Two days prior, Rogue, Logan and Storm had been helping you find all the old decorations in the attic and bring them down. Storm did try then to bribe something out of Rogue, but she apparently was just in the dark as the rest of them. 

But the smile she gave when she looked over at Logan, who was placing down another box from the back of the pile for you to take a look at, told Storm something different. 

“I can’t believe you leave it this late to decorate.”

Logan looked at you. “We’re still in November.”

“So?” 

Taking hold of the garland, you started to climb the ladder. Logan held onto the bottom just to be safe. 

“If you had it your way, the decorations would be up all year round.”

“Hey, no.”

“Hey, yes.”

“I’d take them down for…” you tried to think. “Halloween. You’d have a little break.”

Logan didn’t look entirely thrilled. “Halloween is one day.”

“Technically, it’s a month.”

“To you, it’s a month. To the rest of us, it’s a day.”

You looked back at him. “To you it’s a day, to the rest of us it’s a month.”

Then you looked back at the garland. “How does that look?”

“Great from where I’m standing.”

You looked a little confused for a second before quickly looking over your shoulder, realising where Logan was, in fact, looking. 

Not at the garland, but at your ass. 

You smiled and started to step down the ladder, hitting his shoulder on the way down. 

“I meant the garland.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Logan looked up. “Looks great.”

You laughed. “You didn’t even look.”

With a smile as you finally stepped back into his arm, he looked to the side and up. “It looks great.”

“Good. Now,” Logan turned back to look at you and you kissed him quickly. “We have to put up five more.”

“I get to watch you put up five more.”

You smiled. “This is why you’re my favourite person.”

Logan smiled. He could help you with everything else, but when it came to the garland, you had full control on where it went. Which, he didn’t mind. So long as he got to watch you put it up. 

You quickly kissed him once more, only to be pulled back when you tried to walk away. 

Then Logan gave you a real kiss. 

A little dizzy, you smiled and placed a hand on his chest and closed your eyes. “Wow.”

He gave you a quicker, lighter kiss. “You better get going before Rogue comes back with another box of lights.”

“Light?” Then it hit you. “Oh, yeah.”

Logan smirked a little as he watched you walk away and down the hallway. 

It was a couple of hours before everyone was in the same room, making the final touches all the while most of the other kids were either playing outside in the snow, were taking naps or decorating their own rooms. 

And the others had been watching you and Logan all day. 

The stolen glances, the stolen touches, the slightly knowing smiles from both Rogue and Bobby. And then, as Logan was helping you down from the ladder, his hand on your thigh, Bobby went to make the final hammer to hang up the mistletoe. 

“Wait, no. Not there.”

“Where then?”

Storm looked around. “I know. Y/n, hang this just above there. We don’t need a remake of Mistletoe Central 1997.”

Logan looked at Storm. “Do I wanna know?”

Storm shook her head. “Here.”

She handed you the mistletoe before Logan passed you the hammer back from his belt. 

Three knocks and the nail was set in and the mistletoe was above you on a corner beam, just a little to the side of the christmas tree. 

At least this way, those looking for it, would find it. 

"Oh, no, wait.” Jean said, looking at you. “Have to kiss someone. It’s tradition. You’re under the mistletoe.”

There was no one else apart from Logan.

Logan looked around at the others. He wondered how long it would take. 

Coming up behind you on the ladder, you moved over for him to stand beside you. His palm on your back held you steady and, leaning his other arm on the ledge of the ladder, his hand cupped your face and he kissed you. 

Lasting a little longer than the others had expected, you soon heard Rogue giving a little cheer, as well as a couple of whistles from the others. 

“Okay, I think they get it.” You whispered to Logan as he finally pulled away, a smile very noticeable on both of your faces. 

“Happy now?” Logan asked, turning towards where Jean and Scott were standing. 

“That was some kiss.”

You felt yourself blush at the comment. As did Logan. 

He helped you back down the ladder before you both turned and really saw the other's expression. As well as the exchanging of money between people. 

“Sooo…how long has this been going on?”

You were leaning into Logan, his hand around your back and on your hip. 

You looked at Logan, “A couple of months. We’re…what? November now so that would…”

“That would…” Logan counted back in his head. “May…June, July…six months.”

You looked back to the others. “Six months.”

A chorus of shocked faces and loud voices sounded out; “SIX MONTHS?!”

All before a small call from Rogue was made, which made both yourself and Logan smile. 

“I knew it!”

[kisakunt]

megumi’s pissed— pissed with a big, capital p. he’s bothered a lot; irritated and agitated with people daily, no stranger to fingers curling into a fist either at his sides or to the top of someone’s head. but right now, in the cold of your room, he’s pissed.

“take this shit off.” he won’t dare lift his hands himself because if megumi is a man of anything it’s principle. you laugh— louder than a giggle but nonetheless muffled by your pursed lips— and shake your head.

“no can do, nutmeg.” and now he’s really mad.

“don’t call me that.” he’s itching, his normally protruding hair flattened, his palms clammy, his breathing shallow.

“c’mon, why are you so miserable all the time?” it’s a slow drawl, a whine that he has to force himself to ignore. “can’t you show a little joy? maybe even some jubilance? or dare you say it might kill you?”

your name comes out stern, calculated and pointed in a way he knows will get to you, and simply, he repeats himself.

“take this shit off.”

megumi fushiguro is not a big believer of tradition. he has never obsessed over a birthday— although he did buy you a singular cupcake and candle on yours— or stressed at the thought of marriage. he’s not big on anniversaries and he couldn’t care less about a baby shower or bachelor party, so naturally holiday’s mean nothing to him.

you on the other hand are, in his own words, a nutcase. you’d met him two weeks before the christmas prior and insisted you get each other small trinkets. on valentine’s day you gave everyone you knew a card, on easter you mastered the art of making your very own chocolate, on halloween you bought a costume that he refused to wear.

and now, here you are again; snow on the ground outside and a small, and frankly sad, tree in your room symbolizing not only the biggest day of your year but an absolutely grueling year of knowing you.

you sit in front of him, criss cross, with a goofy little grin on your face. he can’t help but think it’s utterly disgusting that that’s doing something for him. regardless though, he stands his ground.

“if you don’t take this off right now i’m not talking to you for a week.” you laugh for real this time, shaking your head with more energy than before.

“well we both know that’s a lie. i’d probably drop dead if you did that and then, overwhelmed by guilt, you’d turn into an even weirder and sadder old man.”

“i’m not old. take this shit off.” atop his head sat a truthfully horrific santa hat. it couldn’t have cost more than two dollars, assortment of dim led lights on the trim. he can’t help but think of how many little, lice ridden kids must have tried this on. but he still won’t budge.

“you know you can just take it off yourself, right?” he does know that— obviously— but again, he has beliefs. he has pride. it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact you’re looking at him like he’s heaven on earth or the matching hat smothering your own hair. it has nothing to do with you at all.

he shifts, leaning his body weight onto his left side as he presses his hands into the plush of your bed to lift himself up. he makes a little show of it, slow and meticulous as he barely raises himself.

it would be so easy to avoid this situation. it would be so simple to shake his head or yank the hat off or have stopped you from putting it there to begin with.

megumi’s pissed, but it’s not with you.

“i’m serious. it’d actually be nice to have a moment of quiet in my brain.” megumi is furious, livid and squirming in his own skin. he’s absolutely, unequivocally angry.

he’s angry because he can’t figure out why for the dear life of him there’s a tightly wrapped gift tucked in the bottom of his bag, or why he knows the nearly exact color hex of your eyes, or why he’s hummed— hummed— the song ‘war is over’ twice this week.

you grumble, butt hurt and annoyed now too, and you reach over as fast as you can and snatch it off of him.

“there,” and now megumi’s even more upset because that upset him and his head feels cold and empty now. “happy now?”

and before he can think, before he can be as calculated as he always is, it slips.

“no.” and in that moment something shifts. it’s both of you, just a little bit towards each other, it’s the tension that’s now (and always has been) in the air, it’s the way your hat slips a little to the side.

“well i just can’t win with you, can i?” the— his— hat lays loose between your fingers, your voice quieter than he thinks he’s ever heard it.

megumi wonders time to time if he’s a coward. he knows he’s strong, he knows he’s just in his opinions, he knows he fights. but sometimes he freezes and sometimes he panics and sometimes he can’t look you in the eye.

maybe it’s time for him to be brave. he leans into you, closer to you, breathing you all in and, brushing your fingers in the process, he takes it back from you.

suddenly it’s warm again. suddenly you’re matching again. suddenly he feels close to you again.

“there.” for once, it feels like christmas to megumi. “happy now?” and it feels like he’s got a gift in front of him.

[dreamyluigi]

some doodles based on this fic by @roscolate ;w; because holy shit this tore me apart, my heart ached then exploded it's so good

[deklo]

xmas pt. 1 - gingerbread houses ♡

[it-was-summer]

Buy Me Presents, Baby

A/N: Minors; DNI. I DONT CAREEE I WANT HIM!! Anyways, this may or may not be based on true events in my life. If you're reading this also know that I wrote this Christmas Eve and it is now 5am on Christmas Day, the powerhouse of lust. Hope you guys like this because I DID NOT proofread this AT ALL!! I mention the pill (oral contraception), so sorry if this is an issue, I'm just a girl. I KNOW there is a typo in here... i know it. Merry Christmas!! My gift is porn!!- Love you, Em

edit- the typo was fully in the title… go to bed at a reasonable time kids.

Link to the Ao3: Buy Me Presents, Baby Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Tags: Woof uhh okay! newly established relationship, Christmas sex, Spanking, Creampie, PnV sex, Reader gets called girl.. I apologize, Oral contraceptives are mentioned at the end, lingerie, that one bow lingerie... yall know which on I'm talking about?, That ONE!! WITH THE BOW YES!!, I had to use the word pussy.. IM SORRT IM NOT HAPPY ABOUT It, dirty talk, cock this cock that, not proofread, merry christmas.

Genre: Porn, no plot. Some fluff? Pairing: Established relationship!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Plot: You and Spencer exchange gifts for Christmas, and one of your gifts happens to be a little physical.

Word Count: 3,669

Spencer doesn’t know what’s gotten into you. 

Though the longer he thinks about it, he should have seen the signs of your recent… restlessness. Being in the BAU came with its challenges, and one of these challenges was— of course— being away from home. Usually, the two of you would find a special time that worked for both of you to meet up and spend some well-deserved time together. 

Lately, it has felt like the world was against you, though. Every time you had free time, he’d plan a date night with you, only for him to be called away on a case. The one time you planned a date, you came down with a cold. The cycle kept repeating in a million different annoying ways. 

The cherry on top? It was almost Christmas. It's nearly Christmas, and neither of you has seen each other for a good three weeks— it’s miserable. 

So imagine his excitement when his phone doesn’t ring early Saturday morning. When he steps out of his shower, he checks it again— nothing. He’s beaming when he calls you, your sleepy voice answering him before he says, “Dinner tonight?” 

There’s a pause, followed by some rustling, “You’re free?” 

“Mhm,” He hums with a grin, grabbing his glasses from the case and placing them gracefully on his face. 

He can hear the excitement in your voice. " You want to exchange presents?” He remembers the playful tone in your voice when you said it, but at the time, he thought nothing of it. He chuckles softly before agreeing, saying a sweet goodbye, and hanging up the phone. 

Dinner begins and ends at your place, decorated in lights and festive trinkets, and presents wrapped neatly under the fake tree in the corner of your living room. The gift exchange went smoothly; you got Spencer some reading essentials, followed by a special edition of one of his favorite books. Spencer, in turn, had bought you a pair of earrings you pointed out back in November and a framed copy of your favorite painting.

It was getting late now, with a warm cup of tea in his hands, you turned and whispered in a playful voice, “I still have one more gift for you.” 

His eyebrows raised at that, bending his head to look at you as you sat with your back pressed against his chest, “More? After the special edition Tolstoy?” 

“More. I was saving it for the twenty-fifth, but…” You trail off, your eyes leaving his as you glance toward your bedroom. “I could go get it ready now?” 

Spencer smiles, thinking about it momentarily before he decides that he might not be home for Christmas. He mutters a soft “Yeah, okay.” 

You stand up quickly, an excited look in your eyes when you tell him, “Okay, stay here!” And then you’re gone. 

Spencer’s watching your bedroom door close with a faint smile. He stretches as he waits, his tea finished, when he hears you call out for him, “You can come in now!” 

He stepped into your room with nothing but good intentions, that is, until he saw you lying on your bed in lingerie. Maroon satin material lays smooth against your skin, and the shape of a tantalizing bow teases him at the center of your chest and your underwear— barely there. 

He clears his throat in a vain attempt to appear calm and collected, though he’s sure you can see his blushing cheeks and growing arousal. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words die in the back of his throat when you sit up on your elbows, pushing your breast out toward him a little more with an innocent tilt of your head. “You don’t like it?” 

His voice cracks when he says, “No! I mean— that is to say, I do like it! I mean, I’m sure you can see how much I–” He nervously adjusts his sweater, shaky hands pulling at the collar. 

You let out a soft hum, relaxing a little. " Are you going to stand by the door the whole time, or?” You tease him with a low laugh. 

He quickly walks closer, shaking his head as he gets closer to the edge of the bed. The bed dips as he climbs onto the edge of the bed. He watches as you roll on your side to adjust for him, waiting until he is lying beside you before you whisper, “If you don’t want to, it’s okay–” 

“I do! I do. It’s just we’ve only–” He motions between the two of you slowly, replacing the word. “A few times, and I wasn’t expecting,” His eyes trail down to your chest, his fingers twitching– itching to feel the material against his palm.  

When he looks back into your eyes, you smile at him with a little sigh, “I know. I just saw it, and I thought of you.” 

Spencer feels like his entire body is on fire when you say that. His pants become increasingly uncomfortable as he croaks softly, “That made you think of me?” 

You hum a sweet-sounding “Mhm,” you lick your lips, “Cognitive association, right?” 

Spencer thinks you’ll break him with the way you’re talking to him; your voice is low and quiet, clearly amused. He holds back a sound when he feels your hand take his and guide it to your barely clothed hip. For some reason, he wants to spew some facts about cognitive association, but in a rare moment, his mind goes blank. 

His mind slows, and the only thing he can process is the feeling of satin material against your body. He drags his hand along your side, higher and higher, until his fingers trace the bra’s underwire. His eyes flicker over to yours as he leans in, pressing a slow kiss to your lips. 

Kissing Spencer always starts soft, tender, and languid. It then slowly devolves into something passionate, heated, rough– something you adore. And you’re starting to feel the shift in this kiss, his tongue slightly grazing your bottom lip– a silent plea you happily fulfill, parting your lips to let his tongue tentatively enter the kiss. 

You’re smiling into the kiss, shifting with him so you’re under him before grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him deeper into the kiss. Spencer lets out a tiny sound of surprise against your lips at the rough movement, and he pulls away slightly, his lips barely touching yours when he says, “So aggressive,” His tone teasing as he captures your lips in another giddy kiss. 

With your eyes closed and mouth occupied, your hands get to work. Blindly, you pull the bottom of his sweater, your lips only leaving his to help him pull the piece of clothing off his body. He’s eager to get his lips back on yours, his tongue resuming its work against yours, a kiss that makes your head spin and thoughts go hazy with how intense it feels. 

You move your legs up and around his hips, pushing his hips down to yours with ease. Spencer whines into the kiss, his lips moving slowly against yours until he pulls away to kiss your jawline. His hips grind down onto yours, your breath hitching at the feeling. 

Feeling his hardness through his pants makes you realize just how badly you need him, and it seems it does the same for him. His lips latch onto the lower side of your neck, sucking and licking softly at the sensitive area as his hips grind against yours harder. 

The feeling makes your core squeeze around nothing; the new desire to get something, anything, inside you plants a seed in your lower abdomen. You feel shamefully needy as Spencer continues leaving light red and purple marks on the sensitive skin of your neck, his breathing heavy as he decorates you with marks. 

You’re surprised to see that he’s actually moving lower, his markings getting closer to your collarbone when he pulls away, looking up at you with those lust-filled honey eyes, “May I?” The tips of his fingers tug lightly at the satin red bow covering your breasts. 

Your legs leave his hips as he pulls the bow apart with a simple flick of his wrist. His eyes stay trained on your breast as he takes one into his hand and gently rubs at your nipple, eliciting a soft, quiet moan from you, “So pretty,” Then he dips his head lower to bring your left nipple into his mouth, licking at the sensitive bud with precision. 

A sound— embarrassingly loud— escapes your lips at the feeling, your body squirming against his. You’re sure you can feel him smiling against your breast, his right hand moving to your right nipple, pinching it lightly. 

Your fingers latch onto his hair, gently running them through his hair and occasionally pulling when his tongue does something particularly amazing against the bud of your nipple. You can feel electric arousal coursing through you, soft moans and sighs leaving you with every touch. 

However, he’s pulling his lips away from your breast soon after, his cheeks red as he mutters a low, “Need to make sure you cum,” And you find yourself nodding in agreement as his hands leave your breast, pulling the lingerie’s satin thong to the side as he swipes two fingers along your entrance. 

You let out a little sigh, feeling incredibly needy as his fingers brush against your clit teasingly. “Did dressing up like this make you this wet, or did I?” He asks, his fingers curiously leading back down to your entrance. 

Shifting under him, you let out a breathless chuckle, “A bit of both,” 

He grins at that, his head now to the side of yours, his thumb pressing against your clit slowly as he slides a finger inside you. You tense for a second with pleasure before relaxing as the feelings, his finger gently curling inside of you as his thumb presses down harder on your swollen bundle of nerves. “You’ve been fantasizing about this for weeks, haven’t you?” 

His voice against your ear isn’t something you expect, but you aren’t surprised for long as he slides a second finger into you— your thoughts turning to mush, “Yes,” You whisper, your back arching slightly at his fingers move faster inside you, curling and pleasing you at a medium pace. 

Spencer lets out a low hum, his eyes watching you as you get lost in pleasure, his thumb pressing against your clit a little harder as he finds that sweet little spot inside of you. He can feel the way your walls tighten around his fingers, and he’s envious of his own hand, wishing it was his cock instead. 

Your moans only add to personal envy, his fingers moving and caressing your G-spot with greater precision. He tries not to groan, watching you arch your back off the bed. A cry followed by a string of heightened gasps from you has him wholly enraptured. 

When his fingers start to get rough inside you, you’re already seeing stars, your left hand reaching over to grab onto Spencer’s bicep at the feelings, fingers gently digging into his skin as your body shakes. “Love watching you get close,” Spencer groans softly against your ear. 

His lips slowly resume their markings on your neck, and the added stimulation sends you falling over the edge with a loud cry of pleasure. Your body shakes against him, and your high-pitched moans, accompanied by heavy panting, have pride swelling in his chest as his fingers help you ride out your orgasm. 

His fingers only stop when your body goes slack, his lips leaving your neck to gently kiss at your lips— a gesture you return lazily. The feeling of his fingers leaving you has you feeling empty, but you’re quickly distracted as Spencer drags his soaked fingers to his lips. Your eyes widen for a second as you watch your boyfriend lick off every bit of you on them, “Let me get a taste,” Your voice is soft as Spencer leans in, kissing you fast and rough. Your tongue drags along his to get a second-hand taste of yourself in his mouth. 

You’re quick to pull away, your hands hooking into the belt loop of his pants, gently yanking at the loop. Spencer laughs at the feeling, and he looks into your eyes with a shameful look— lustful and pleading. You know how badly he wants to dive straight in, but his determination to make you cum too many times to count usually gets in the way of his cock. 

“Haven’t seen you in three weeks. You can make it up to me later.” You joke softly, your fingers undoing the top button with ease. 

Spencer grins as he slides his pants down his legs, kicking them off. He finds himself blushing at how your eyes shamefully stare at the outline of his cock in his boxers, precum already wetting some of the fabric. He finds himself doing the same with you, though, his eyes taking in the undone ribbon of the lingerie at your sides, the way your legs are parted to give him a delicious view of your dripping sensitive folds. 

Your fingers slip into the waistband of his boxers, gently tracing his cock with your fingers, a soft, pleasured sigh leaving his lips at the feeling. “So hard,” You mutter, leaning up to kiss a part of Spencer’s jaw. 

Spencer lets out a low hum of agreement. Being as busy as he has been, he hasn’t found time for any kind of sexual release as of late. “It’s been a little while since I’ve–” 

“That’s okay,” You sigh sensually, your hands wrapping around his dick slowly, “Take off your boxers.” 

Spencer’s more than happy to comply, hurriedly discarding his boxers at your request. He watches as you pull your hand off him to take off your underwear, and Spencer squeaks out a nervous, “Leave it on?” 

Grinning, you nod, your fingers pushing the thong back to the side of him. He groans at the action, looming over you now, his hands on either side of you. “Flip over,” 

A jolt of excitement runs through you at the request, quickly flipping over on your stomach for him. A pleased sound leaves your lips as his hand moves to pull your hips up, forcing your back to arch for him. He slides his thumb and index inside the sting on your thong as he slowly rubs his cock in between your folds– the head of his cock gently kissing your clit. 

The worst part about being in an established relationship and having just started having sex with your partner is the anxiety that follows you after you say something risky. Your lips part nonetheless, your hips pushing back against him quickly, “That’s right, get that cock wet with my pussy.” 

You were never dull during sex, but Spencer was not expecting something so vulgar to fall from your lips. His hips stutter against yours before he finds himself incredibly turned on by the sudden confidence and vulgarity in your words. His hands yank your hips back roughly, lining himself up to inch himself inside of you slowly. 

About halfway inside you, he pulls out till it is just the tip and then repeats the motion— it’s infuriatingly hot. You let out a soft whine at his toying with you and start to move your hips back against him, but that is met with a surprising spank to your ass. 

A sharp gasp leaves your lips at the feelings before you blink, lifting your head to peer at him over your shoulder and whisper a little, “Harder,” 

Seeing your half-lidded eyes looking over at him, your soft lips begging him to spank you harder, Spencer feels a shiver shoot down his spine. He’s sure he can feel himself grow harder as he pushes deeper into your pussy and delivers a solid smack to your ass with the flat of his palm. 

He then follows the motion with a comforting rub of his hand against the swell of your ass. For a second, he’s worried about hurting you or making you uncomfortable–  unexplored territory. The feeling of your walls tightening around him for a second, fluttering in a way that has him bottoming out inside you without hesitation, reassures him. 

“God,” He huffs as he sets a pace, his hand occasionally delivering a hard spank to your ass whenever he feels your hips moving with his. You feel terrific; the feel of your reddening ass under his hand, the soft skin of your hip in his other, he’s surprised that he isn’t drooling. 

You, however, are starting to feel yourself beginning to drool. Moans and groans coming from the two of you has your head spinning, the rough feeling of Spencer’s hips against yours making your legs feel weak. 

Spencer pulls all the way out as he feels himself getting close, his soaked cock resting against your ass– the sight is something has him letting out a shaky sigh. He doesn’t need to say anything before you’re flipping over on your back again, legs spread and lips wet as you mutter a needy sounding, “More.” 

Spencer can’t find it in himself to deny you or himself, moving closer to you and lining himself up with your entrance again. As he sinks into you, you move your legs up, your hands holding the back of your knee. The new position lets him sink in deeper, and Spencer’s sure you’re an angel. 

You’re practically sucking him in, his breathing getting heavier as he moves against you, His eyes dipping between your face and between your legs– intelligent eyes watching the way his cock disappears deep inside of you. “You take it so well.” 

His hands reach up slowly, tracing the back of your thighs before replacing your hands at the back of your knee, bending your legs back further. He places a chaste kiss on your forehead, the gentle gesture leaving your head reeling when accompanied by this immense pleasure. 

You gasp out at the slight burn of your thighs, toes curling slightly, when Spencer starts to roll his hips in fast, tight circles. The roll of his hips makes his cock hit your G-spot, your eyes rolling back at the feeling as a guttural-sounding groan joins the lewd sounds leaving your lips. 

Spencer takes that as his sign to snap his hips into yours, his forehead pressing against yours as he moans and whines. “You feel so fucking good. I’ll never leave again.” 

You can feel your lower abdomen tighten quickly at the rough movements. A shaky laugh leaves you at his mention of never leaving, but words fail you as you cry out. The past few times the two of you have had sex, he was never this rough. You aren’t complaining, but his frantic, rapid thrusts are leaving you with the feeling that you’ll beg for a repeat sometime in the future. 

A long whine leaves you as you feel yourself getting closer, your hands holding tight on Spencer’s shoulders, your body jolting slightly with his rough thrusts. “So good! You’re fucking me so good. Please, don’t stop.” You beg without shame, “Need to cum, make me cum again.” You beg through moans. 

Spencer almost cums inside you upon hearing your begging, but he holds off— a new mission in focus. He slows for a second, moving one of your hands off his shoulder and under your knee before he slides his hand down to your aching clit. His thumb makes quick, tight, hard circles without warning— the scream that leaves your chest has him worried for your neighbors. 

“That’s it, tighten around me like that.” He pants out from above you, his eyes locking onto yours as he speaks. He watches the way your eyebrows raise in pleasure, and your mouth starts to let out a mix of silent screams and loud groans. “You look pretty when you cum around my cock, my pretty girl.” 

Your legs are shaking with that, the coil in your abdomen snapping with force as you bite your bottom lip to try and silence the sound of your orgasm– a groan that almost sounds inhuman. Spencer’s quick to follow, his hips roughly snapping into yours with his thumb continuing its torment on your sensitive clit. 

The feeling of overstimulation has you letting out a weak-sounding whine, almost a sob. You’re gasping hard as he keeps going, frenzied thrusts that have your free hand gripping the sheet tight until he bottoms out in you with a shaking groan. His hips thrust into you a few more times as he empties himself into you, shaking hard. 

A moment passes with neither of you moving, your legs moving down to the bed, and the realization sets in. Spencer looks at you with wild eyes, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking–” 

You laughed weakly and held up a hand, “Spencer, it’s okay.” Your voice sounds a little raw as you relax into your bed slightly, with him still hovering over you. “I’m on the pill, remember?” 

“Well, when taken correctly, it’s 99% effective, but if you’ve forgotten a day lately, it’s only 93%.” He pouts lightly when a giggle leaves your lips, but he smiles against his better judgment. “I’m serious, what if…” 

“I doubt it will, but if it does come to that, we’ll deal with it.” You mutter, slowly reaching a hand up to rake your fingers through his messy brown hair. “Clean me up?” 

Spencer notes how your voice sounds: shy and a little desperate. He tilts his head, a playful smile on his face as his eyes trail down to your parted thighs, “Insatiable this evening, I see,” He jokes as he begins to lower himself, soft fingers rubbing against your inner thighs.  

You groan in faux annoyance before you feel his breath fanning against your inner thighs, “Merry Christmas,” You tease softly.

[katelynnwrites]

Merry Christmas (From Me To You) | Lea Schüller

word count: 1895

warnings: tooth rotting fluff

summary: you gift lea something special for christmas

a/n: merry christmas! i'm also fully intending to write a prequel to this 🎄

A quiet simple Christmas.

It was all Lea had wished for really, after the year she’s had. Her club season with Bayern, qualifying for the Olympics and then winning it with Germany, the little injuries she’d sustained here and there…it’s had its ups and downs and now all Lea wants is just some peace and quiet at last.

That’s what she gets when she wakes, a soft smile immediately forming on her face.

You have an arm draped loosely around her waist, your face buried in her neck.

Lea thinks you must be trying to steal her body warmth with how close you are to her.

‘Merry Christmas my love.’ She whispers, pressing a gentle kiss onto your hair.

You stir a bit, mumbling unintelligibly before deliberately tugging more of the blanket away from your lover who laughs out loud at your blatant attempt to be the blanket hog.

‘If you’re cold, you could have just asked me to hold you.’ The blonde teases.

‘Then hug me.’

‘Please.’ You add cheekily.

Lea’s chuckles fill the room as she does as you ask, pulling you flush against her.

You sigh happily, melting into your wife whose comfort immediately envelops you.

‘Better than any space heater.’

‘Oh is that what you married me for?’ Lea gasps in mock outrage.

‘Course.’ You grin.

Soaking in the moment, you lay there for another twenty minutes before finally deciding to get up.

‘Merry Christmas Lea!’ You cheer.

The striker giggles, ‘Merry Christmas indeed.’

You lean in to share a slow kiss with her, trying to make sure she knows how thankful you are for her. Lea must feel it because she reciprocates in kind, taking her time in kissing you back.

Then she pulls away with a contented sigh, staring at you in the way she does sometimes, like she can’t believe you’re real.

With a tender caress to your cheek, she asks, ‘Waffles sound good to you?’

It does and ten minutes later, after you’ve brushed your teeth together, you’re sitting at the breakfast counter and Lea is wearing that adorably ridiculous apron that she always does when she cooks.

Embroidered on the hot pink apron are the words, ‘Kiss the cook.’

Obi had gotten it for her as a gag gift and you love it. happily kissing the chef every time she puts it on.

‘All you have to do is sit still and look pretty for me okay?’ Lea insists, waving away your protests to help.

‘Meine liebe come on. It’s not fair. The least I can do is cut the strawberries.’

‘Nope. You see this apron? It gives me the honour of being the chef. Your chef. So please just relax and let your personal chef do all the work.’

Rolling your eyes, you hold your hands up in surrender and do as she asks.

Lea smirks in satisfaction as she begins preparing the ingredients.

******

Breakfast is amazing. Your wife rushes through her meal though, fidgeting despite her best efforts as she waits for you to finish.

You giggle at her as you finish the last bite of waffle, purposely taking a while to chew and swallow it.

When you’re truly done, she practically dumps all the dirty dishes into the sink.

‘Okay! Time for presents please my love?’

The blonde hops from one foot to another, glancing at you with pleading blue eyes.

Unable to stop the laugh that bubbles up, you acquiesce with a nod and a bright smile.

Sitting by the tree, you’re quickly presented with a meticulously wrapped gift.

‘For you.’ Lea says, excitement clear in her words.

Picking at the sticky tape holding it closed, you unwrap it to find a delicate silver bracelet in a small box.

‘Oh Lea…it’s beautiful. Thank you.’

Your wife prompts, ‘Look at the inscription.’

It’s cool to touch and you hold it up so you can scrutinise it more closely.

Six digits in a careful cursive font.

Your wedding date.

It must show on your face, how touched you are because Lea places a light kiss onto your forehead.

‘I’m glad you like it.

‘I love it and I love you.’ You promise.

The Bayern Munich player blushes, ‘I love you too.’

Even after all this time, years of dating and a year of marriage, you still manage to elicit this reaction from her. It goes both ways.

Lea happily agrees to help you put on the bracelet and said piece of jewellery is reflecting the christmas lights strung on your tree when you reach under it for your wife’s present.

You had specifically chosen a plain red wrapping paper, tying an unassuming white ribbon around it. You know of the blonde’s mischievous habit all too well.

She can be silly, your Lea. That side of her is well hidden, only ever surfacing with the people she is truly comfortable with.

Even then, it’s only on special occasions like Christmas.

Her fans would never think of her as the sort of person who would inspect every individual package under the tree, looking for those with her name written on them and attempting to guess what it could be from the shape, size and weight of it but you know better.

Over the past few days, you’d caught Lea shaking various presents of hers, attempting to find the tiniest hint of what it could be.

It was why you’d only set out yours last night, pushing it all the way under the tree as a precaution.

Your efforts must have worked because the striker accepts it eagerly, muttering under her breath about how could she not have seen it before.

Her enthusiasm in tearing the paper off makes you giggle, the look on her face as she stops short getting a louder reaction.

With her forehead scrunched up and head tilted to the side, it’s an endearing sight.

Lea’s so genuinely curious when she asks, ‘Why are you giving me this back?’

The blonde’s fingers run over the worn leather cover of the journal she had given you for your last birthday. Unbeknownst to you, it had been something she’d bought on a whim after noticing how much you like writing down your thoughts, ideas and little observations.

Now your laughter trails off, something your wife can’t place glimmering in your eyes as you whisper, ‘Just open it. It’s yours now, you’ll see.’

With her heart beating faster in anticipation, Lea does as you request.

The first page is one she’d recognised immediately, her own handwriting being displayed in the form of a short note to you.

The following pages are unfamiliar and Lea has to take a moment to read them.

Your neat, deliberate handwriting fills the pages, dates marked carefully at the top of each entry.

17 March - My wife brought me coffee this morning before training. She spent ages getting it just right because she knows how picky I am. I think it tasted better because she made it for me.

Lea blinks, tears already forming in her eyes as she takes in the short but heartfelt paragraph. She flips again.

23 June - We spent the evening on the couch watching a movie. I think it was supposed to be a thriller, but Lea fell asleep halfway through. I didn’t mind. She’s so beautiful even when she sleeps.

Another page. This one practically making her heart burst with how much affection she holds for you.

19 November - After a tough match, Lea surprised me with flowers. She didn’t say much, just kissed me and handed them to me. She always knows what I need before I even do. I must be the luckiest person in the world to have her love me the way she does.

Entry after entry, page after page, you had chronicled the quiet moments of their life together. Little things that might have seemed inconsequential to anyone else but had clearly meant everything to you.

As the German woman continues to read, picking pages at random now that it’s clear the entire journal has been filled with these entries, her hands begin to tremble.

The sheer amount of love you’ve condensed in these pages…it’s the most precious gift Lea thinks she’s ever received till she reaches the final page.

Her breath hitches when she sees it.

Taped there, at the center of the page, is a small ultrasound photo.

Lea’s vision blurs as she takes it in, her mind spinning.

Beneath the picture, written in your achingly familiar handwriting are the words, ‘Merry Christmas Lea.’

For a moment, she simply stares at the page, unable to move or speak. All traces of her previous playfulness have disappeared, replaced with a quiet reverence.

Her fingers brush over the print out carefully as though trying to confirm it is real.

Your heart is pounding when slowly, she looks up at you with hopeful blue eyes.

‘You’re serious? I-Is this…’

‘Real. It’s so real.’ You confirm, salty tears of your own sliding down your cheeks.

Your wife sets the journal aside, closing the space between your bodies in a swift motion.

‘You’re incredible. T-This is everything. You’re everything.’ She stammers, holding onto you like you’re a dream and she’s afraid she might wake up.

‘I found out two weeks ago and I wanted to tell you but thought it might make the perfect present. I wanted to make it special because you deserve that.’

Lea pulls you into a breathtaking kiss then, only able to bear pulling away a fractional amount.

Just enough for her to place her hand over your stomach, tentatively brushing against the fabric of the sweater you’re wearing.

‘You’re in there.’ She whispers to your baby, the sentence filled so completely with adoration even though the blonde’s only known about them for a handful of minutes.

Her thumb moves in a slow circle, fresh tears spilling forth.

‘I can’t believe this…’ She chokes out.

You place your hand over hers, ‘You are going to be an amazing mom.’

Lea lets out a weak, sort of watery laugh, ‘Not without you meine liebe. We’re going to do this together. I’m so in love with you and I-’

She glances down to where her hand is resting, ‘I already love them too.’

The gasping sob you let out at that moment matches Lea’s, and you two stay like that for a long moment, foreheads touching and your hands joined over the tiny miracle growing inside you.

******

Later, much later when you’ve gone to make some tea, Lea picks up the journal again.

She flips through the pages, rereading every word, her tears drying but her smile never fading. When she gets to the last page again, she carefully folds the journal to her chest, cradling it as though it’s something fragile and irreplaceable.

When you return, Lea reaches for you, pulling you back into her arms. Her voice is soft but full of love as she mumbles against your shoulder, ‘You’ve made me the happiest person in the world. Every day, you make me the happiest person in the world.’

In answer, you can only smile, pressing a tender kiss to your lover’s cheek, ‘You do the same for me every day.’

Right there and then, as the snow falls outside and Lea pulls you even closer, she knows that this is by far, the best Christmas she’s ever had.

German Translation:

Meine liebe - My love

[myokk]

Eloise at her debut ball during the winter solstice🥺🤲

[starlightvld]

Allowances

For @baohanhanesel - happy holidays! Have a little hurt/comfort, MacTavish family Christmas vibes, and Simon beginning to find his place among them (and a bit of sappy romance at the end).

(Also on AO3!)

---

"Dinnae fash, Simon. They're gonna love ye."

Ghost stands perfectly still beside the car as Johnny rounds the boot to step up beside him. They make a pair, with Johnny in a new bright red cable-knit sweater, jeans, and a navy blue knit cap that brings out the blue in his eyes, while Ghost is dressed down in his usual black shirt, black hoodie, and a black medical mask. His faded blue jeans are the only spark of color, as old and worn as Johnny's are crisp and new.

If he were a better person—a better partner—he would've worn something nicer. As it is, he's a split second away from turning around and disappearing into the Scottish twilight. The only thing keeping him rooted in place is—

A warm hand slips into his hoodie pocket and curls around his balled up fist. Ghost sucks in a deep, slow breath, and as he exhales, he releases the fist to clasp Johnny's hand palm to palm.

It terrifies him, the comfort a single touch can give. He knows how easily comfort can turn into soul-wrecking pain. Yet he clings to Johnny's hand with the kind of desperation Price would no doubt find concerning for a whole host of reasons.

"We dinnae have tae go inside," Johnny murmurs. "I can call mam from here and—"

"'M not gonna melt, Johnny. Just... gimme a minute."

He's already ruined Johnny's Christmas enough by bowing out of the actual holiday. But the aching despair of the anniversary always winnows him down to his basest self. Even three days later, he feels hollowed out and cold, his sole point of warmth the callused palm and strong fingers clinging to his as they huddle closer against the chill winter air.

Johnny doesn't know the sordid details, but he knows enough about special ops life to fill in the blanks. Every operator has their demons. Simon Riley's are just a little more harrowing than most.

At least the MacTavishes like to celebrate the winter season all the way through New Year's. Or so Johnny says. Ghost suspects the post-holiday get-together might be an allowance made specially for him, but he's certainly not going to ask about it. So here they are, standing in front of Johnny's childhood home outside of Glasgow, store-bought biscuits in hand, while a multi-colored glow spills through the frost-edged glass into the rapidly darkening outside world. It beckons them inside with the promise of warmth and joy and all the other things those trite holiday cards claim for the winter season.

Ghost doesn't move.

The blinking Christmas lights taunt him through the front window. Memories loom from the dark corners of his mind and threaten to upend the one thing he desperately wants to give Johnny—time with his family.

He takes another deep breath, taking care not to let the exhale shudder on the way out.

He's only met Emma and Grant MacTavish twice in passing at Johnny's medal ceremonies for Las Almas and then for the Chunnel op. The latter medal, a Victoria Cross, was officially for exceptional heroism in the line of duty and unofficially for assisting in the dismantling of a major bomb threat and taking down Makarov with a well-aimed stab. He and Johnny weren't in a relationship then, and even if they had been, it would've been inappropriate to mention it on base. Even so, he remembers the overflow of unearned gratitude in Emma's blue eyes—exactly like Johnny's—as she wrapped both of her warm hands around his and thanked him for keeping her boy alive.

The words still ring hollow as he thinks about Johnny collapsing on the cold concrete after clipping that final wire with Price.

He almost died in Ghost's arms that day, and Ghost hasn't been the same since. For one, he kissed his subordinate in the hospital the instant he thought Johnny was coherent enough to remember it and hasn't stopped kissing him since.

Completely unprofessional.

And utterly worth it.

With a final deep inhale and slow exhale, he straightens his shoulders. He can do this. Even if it makes his stomach cramp and his palms sweat with anxiety and the Christmas decorations seem to taunt him with memories of a family forever lost to him.

For Johnny, he can do this.

"Alright," Ghost murmurs—more to himself than to Johnny—as he slides their clasped hands from his hoodie pocket and pulls him toward the door.

It opens before they can knock, flinging brilliant light, excited conversation, and upbeat music into the night air. Emma MacTavish greets her son with a wordless exclamation of joy as she throws her arms around him in a tight hug. Somehow, Johnny manages to return the hug and answer rapid-fire questions about their journey all without letting go of Ghost's hand. Cold air pricks at the exposed skin around his medical mask, but Ghost is too focused on processing and cataloging every detail to acknowledge the physical discomfort.

Johnny looks more like Emma than he does Grant, sharing those bright blue eyes, dark hair, and a brilliant smile that could melt a glacier. Peas in a pod and, according to Soap, often partners in pranking crimes. All Ghost can see is warmth and light—pouring from her, from Johnny, from the home that was never riddled with suffering and people whose lives were never cut short by an evil too insidious to anticipate.

When Emma pulls back from Johnny, she keeps her hand curled around his bicep as she turns the full power of her warm gaze on Ghost.

"And Simon—may I call ye Simon?" Emma asks.

"Yeah," Ghost replies before clearing his throat and adding, "Hello, Mrs. MacTavish."

The smile she gives him sends a shock of pain through his chest even as a flood of comfort flows in behind to sooth the ache.

It's kind. Compassionate.

Motherly.

And it's directed at him.

It gets worse—or better?—when she reaches out to gently clasp his bicep too, connecting the three of them in a circle of touch. As if he's somehow a part of this world. As if he deserves a second chance at family despite dooming his own. The connection is both suffocating and freeing, as if he's taking his first breath of fresh air in years all while a boulder crushes his chest.

She squeezes his arm, and her smile widens into something familiar. Maybe a bit teasing, too.

"Call me Emma, love. I'm so glad yer here. Both of ye. Now, come in out of the cold, will ye? My bones are already aching."

Ghost flounders as the onslaught of pain and comfort slices straight through the layers of armor he's built up through the years, exposing his soft insides.

He wants to fall into the touch.

He wants to run away.

He meets Johnny's gaze, and the softness and understanding he finds there is a balm to his spiraling emotions. Despite everything inside screaming at him to shut down, to not let anyone else into that secret part of him that Johnny breached with the ease of a demolitions expert, Ghost is helpless to do anything but follow Emma inside.

For the first time since he lost his family, he dares to let himself hope.

-

Hours later, Johnny pulls Ghost into bed with a gentle hum, guiding his head to rest on his chest. The heavy thud under Ghost's ear is like scissors to a puppet's strings, snipping the tension away and leaving him boneless and overwhelmed.

"Alright?" Johnny murmurs in his ear before pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his head.

"Not made of glass," Ghost grumbles.

Johnny knows him too well to take him seriously, even now. "Nae, yer made of sterner stuff. Gunpowder, madness, and pure spite."

"Spite can be motivatin'. Just ask any of the rookies who've had me for drills."

Johnny hums a laugh, and Ghost presses his ear harder into Johnny's chest to catch every vibration. Fingers trail through his hair, and he sighs.

"How shite was that, scale of one to ten?"

"What?" Johnny mumbles, his lips once again pressed to the side of Ghost's head.

"How bad an impression did I make?"

A hand grasps his hair to gently tip his head up. Their eyes meet, and the genuine confusion in Johnny's expression gives Ghost hope.

That he didn't fuck everything up. That Johnny's family won't try to convince him to stay away from Ghost.

"Mam was absolutely charmed, Ghost. I think she'd adopt ye on the spot if she could."

Ghost blinks. He replays the evening in his head—from the homemade dinner to the impromptu after-dinner sing-along between Johnny and his niblings to the softer conversation between the adults once the children had crashed. He can't think of anything he did to warrant such a reaction. In fact he barely talked at all, content to let Johnny answer questions for both of them and only interjecting when someone spoke to him directly, which happened rarely enough that Ghost was positive Johnny had asked them to make allowances for him. He both hated and loved it—hated that it made him feel weak, like he couldn't handle himself or his emotions, but loved that Johnny was clearly thinking about him and ensuring he would be as comfortable as possible.

He doesn't deserve it. Doesn't deserve Johnny at all if he's being honest with himself. The man is too good—all righteous fire and burning passion. But with that honesty comes the acknowledgment that he's far too selfish to ever give Johnny up.

At this thought, a faint memory surfaces of Emma's soft look when Ghost wrapped his arm around Johnny's shoulders as they settled on the couch. It's how they always sit when on leave because they can't risk it on base. Ghost loves the feeling of their bodies melding together, a line of heat at his side and Johnny close enough for Ghost to mumble inappropriate comments, bad jokes, and blush-inducing innuendo into Johnny's ear.

Apparently Emma MacTavish thinks it's a good thing, too.

"Well. Good then?"

Johnny hums another laugh, making Ghost's cheek buzz. "It is good, love. Very good." He tightens his arm around Ghost's shoulders. "Thank ye for coming with me."

Ghost swallows. Despite their solid relationship status, they haven't exchanged more than joking admissions of their mutual attraction. He feels the lack all the more as the worst of his holiday malaise falls away in the face of so much care and affection. Something wiggles loose in his chest, a sensation of free falling as his lips form words he hasn't said since before Roba took his family from him.

"Thought you woulda figured out by now that you've got me wrapped around that trigger finger of yours." He swallows. Takes a shaking breath. "You're the only thing alive in this world that I love."

Johnny stills under him. Even his chest is unmoving, breaths locked up with a quick inhale.

And then it all comes out in a rush.

"Simon... d'ye mean tha'?"

And though it means losing the comforting thud of Johnny's heart in his ear, Ghost answers by leaning up, gripping Johnny's chin with his fingers, and pressing a soft kiss to slack lips. When he pulls back, Johnny is staring at him, tears welling in his blue eyes and a wide grin replacing his shocked expression.

"Love ye, too, ye big bastart," Johnny whispers before diving in for another kiss.

And maybe it's not perfect in an objective sense. Maybe he still misses his family and what could have been. But in this moment—with this man and his gracious family who went out of their way to make him feel welcome—it's the closest to perfection he's ever been.

[herrmannhalsteadproduction]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by the lovely @typicalopposite! Here's some more of the fic that I'm hoping to finish and post next week:

A Kinley Christmas Carol

“Did Howie send you? Did he get you in here somehow?” Tommy shook his head, rolling his eyes. “He knows he can’t use the death call thing on me so what…what is this? Singing telegram?”

“Oh, trust me, ain’t nobody ever pay to hear me sing.” ‘Billy’ stepped closer, the bright light of the kitchen illuminating the collection of angry boils all over his face. Wow. Howie really went all out for this one—that make-up looked pretty real.

Tommy was touched, in an annoyed sort of way.

“Okay, look,” he sighed. “Let’s pretend you did whatever it is that you came here to do, keep whatever you got paid, and get the hell out of my house.”

“No can do, friend,” ‘Billy’ drawled. “This ain’t the kind of assignment I can afford to muck up. ‘fraid I gotta stick around until it’s done.”

Yeah, that wasn’t happening. Tommy stepped forward to haul the guy out and boot him through the front door—Merry Christmas, Howard—but when he went to grab his arm…

Tommy’s hand went right through it.

He froze.

That wasn’t—

No—

That couldn’t have—

Tommy tried again and it went through him. Again.

“Jesus christ,” Tommy whispered.

“That’s the other fella,” Billy friggin’ Boils reminded him cheerfully.

[feyd-meowtha]

Introducing Bucky Egan, 80s man's man and professional nuisance....

“Take your pick.” “Oh, no. I really-” Gale started but John cut him off. “Sorry, pal, but I ain't taking no for an answer, I owe you for that cab and I got plenty more where these came from. That’s my business see, I’m a salesman!” Gale didn’t move. “Alright, since you’re being all cute about it, I’ll pick for ya,” he said, plucking a card that read Ricky Henderson from his hand and holding it out to Gale who took it only to avoid seeming rude. “So you’re a… baseball card salesman?” He asked, peering at the card in his hand. “John Egan, purveyor of rare baseball merchandise, at your service,” John said, holding his hand out for Gale to shake. Gale swallowed a sudden glut of saliva when he saw how small his own hand looked in the other man’s grip. “Most of my friends just call me Bucky, so you can go right ahead and do that too cus I can tell we're gonna get on like a house on fire."

Take Me Home, Country Roads is coming to feyd_meowtha on ao3 this Christmas!

[puckinghischier]

Decorating with Nico for Christmas thoughts

oh he’d loveeeeeee decorating for christmas. he’d be like a little kid, begging to put the tree up the second the air gets cold outside. november first, he’s dragging it all out of the storage closet, blasting christmas music, and off he goes.

you love christmas too, so he’s not alone in these endeavors, but he’s definitely the type to find matching stockings, having them personalized and embroidered. he’s buying an ornament from every city he goes to with you, and even when he’s on a roadie and he finds one from some landmark the two of you don’t have an ornament from.

and if the two of you have pets? they’re getting their own everything. their own stockings, their own ornaments on the tree, their own pictures with santa on the mantle, their own matching pajamas. because let’s be honest, nico would totally wear matching christmas pajamas with you and love it.

but your tree? none of that white lite, modern, ‘clean’ type of decorating. he wants it tacky and colorful and loud and in your face. mistletoe hanging from every doorway, so he can have an excuse to kiss you in every room. your kitchen is full of cliche gingerbread decorations.

but the tree is nico’s main focus. you wait to decorate it with him until he has time and is gonna be home. you make nico’s family recipe hot chocolate, blast nat king cole, and get to decorating. the whole time the two of you are reminiscing on each trip each ornament came from, talking about where you want to go next. you both have childhood ornaments you always put on the tree too, sharing the memories with each other. he hangs the ornaments high on the tree, while you hang them on the lower branches.

his favorite part is putting the star on top. a few christmases ago, you had a custom devils tree topper made as a joke, but nico refuses to put any other star on top of the tree. he claims it adds just the right amount of tackiness to the already tacky tree.

after the tree is decorated and perfected, the two of you turn off all the lights and close all the blinds, basking in the light of your favorite season. you’ll continue to sip on your hot chocolate and cuddle on the couch, falling asleep there, waking up in the morning to christmas tree shaped pancakes and more of katjas special hot chocolate.

[sierrabravoecho]

I’ve been reading Take Me Home for Christmas by the incomparable sdwolfpup and it’s gotten me in such a Christmassy mood

Any other recommendations for Christmas/ Holiday themed JB fics?

[starmocha]

you're the only one, my love [Zayne/Reader ★ 1700 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] The perfect moment is one filled with messy hair, pj’s, and hot cocoa. Day 01 — to: my true love (Sylus/Reader) Day 02 — do you want to build a snowman? (it doesn't have to be a snowman) (Zayne/Reader) Day 03 — in a gingerbread house built for two (Rafayel/Reader) Day 04 — you shine like the stars, you light up my heart (Xavier/Reader) Day 05 — ‘tis the damn season and deck them goddamned halls (Sylus/Reader) A/N: I started writing this immediately after the last one…….and if you saw my tumblr posts chronicling my descent into horniness….no, you did not. Anyway. That One Zayne Post was not an outline for this. I was. Going through something. ✨️This is a wholesome series✨️ Tag list: @miudle @alfredosaws @nezukoo-channn @voidsylus @rose-tinted-kalopsia @lavlynyan 【 request to be added 】

To you, every moment with Zayne felt like a present, always unexpected, always delightful, and every single one you cherished with all of your heart.

You greedily collected all of the precious moments in life, tucking them away in your memories for safekeeping. With Zayne, it seemed you had an abundance of cherished moments, with so many innocuous snapshots that filled you with such wonderous joy when you reminiscence.

The best days always seemed to be the ones alone with him doing nothing, and yet it meant everything to you.

In the kitchen, with your hair up in a messy bun and dressed in only Zayne’s white dress shirt much too big for you, you hummed and danced happily as you gathered items from the cupboard. As you scavenged for everything you needed, you realized Zayne had moved the hot cocoa to a higher shelf. Frowning, you leaned up on your tiptoes, arm outstretched for the cannister just within sight. Just before the pads of your fingers brushed against the container, another arm reached for the same item, easily grabbing it off the shelf. You gasped, looking up and meeting Zayne’s gentle smile.

“Is this what you wanted to grab?” he asked.

You turned around, your back touching the counter, and Zayne keeping you enclosed in this tight space. You nodded happily before frowning. “Why did you move it up so high?”

“It wasn’t intentional,” he said, explaining, “I was reorganizing the shelves by the different types of beverages, and coffee and tea outnumbered the hot cocoa.”

You laughed at his reasoning.

Zayne frowned. “Why are you laughing at me?”

You shook your head and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “You’re cute—in a perfectionist sort of way,” you said before walking away with the cannister of hot cocoa, missing the beginning of Zayne’s ears turning a light shade of red.

You resumed humming as you checked the countertop.

Sprinkles, marshmallows, whipped cream and many other sweet treats were neatly arranged on the counter, creating a little mini hot cocoa bar.

Zayne approached you and peered at the counter curiously. “What’s all this?”

“A hot cocoa bar,” you chirped brightly. “I thought it would be fun if we make our own hot cocoa.”

He smiled. “It is a perfect day for one,” Zayne agreed.

His eyes traveled across the counter, pausing at two items of interest.

Zayne looked on in amusement when he noticed the two mugs prepared. “So, is this one mine?” he asked, holding up one that says ‘hello gorgeous,’ his smile seemed to widened in delight at seeing your pinked cheeks when he purposely turned so the phrase was aimed at you. “I will take that as a yes, and I suppose…this one is yours?”

“Well…” Before you could hide your mug, Zayne had swiped it from you, picking it up and turning it around, pretending to examine it, though you both knew he was messing with you right now. He smirked as he read the text on the mug, “‘Hello handsome’.”

He looked at you pointedly, his suggestive smile making your heart skipped a beat, because he truly did look so, so handsome in this moment. Still dressed in his pj’s with unkempt hair, he looked nothing like he usually did during work days. At home, particularly around you, he seemed much more relaxed and casual, letting his guard completely lowered in your presence.

Your cheeks seemed to burn hotter under his cool gaze. “They’re…a set,” you tried to explain feebly.

“Indeed,” he agreed, handing you back your mug, “I like them.”

You were practically brimming with joy at his comment.

“Now,” Zayne started slowly, his eyes traveling across the counter, taking in the array of preparations you had made. He tilted his head to the side curiously with a teasing smile on his lips. “This is not a trap, is it?”

“A trap?” you questioned, confused as you furrowed your brows.

“You’re not going to scold me, are you?”

Realization dawned on you, and you answered hesitantly, “I—I trust you,” you said, but Zayne’s look of disbelief had you backtracking immediately. “Well, this is not an everyday thing. Occasionally is fine.”

Zayne hummed in agreement.

“Why do I have to tell a doctor this anyway,” you mumbled to yourself, but Zayne heard every word.

“I practice what I preach,” he cut in with his own frown.

“Really?” It was your turn to look at him skeptically. “Greyson mentioned—”

“Greyson, perhaps, has a bit too much idle time at the hospital,” Zayne quipped, “That should be remedied.”

“Oh, Zayne, don’t bully him!”

“I would not,” he said pointedly. He grabbed your wrist and with a gentle tug, he pulled you to him. Your hands rested on his firm chest, your widened eyes darting up to meet his, surprised by this sudden closeness. Zayne reached down and brushed aside the little strands of hair that framed your face. “I feel like I am the one being targeted by everyone.”

You sulked. “Only because we care about you.”

Zayne’s hand paused, resting on your cheek. You turned, pressing a kiss to his palm before placing both of your hands over his larger one. You gently caressed his hand, your eyes looking to him with such sweet tenderness, it made him smile before he sighed resignedly, his hand pulled back and his arms now wrapped around you, keeping you held firmly in his embrace. Instinctively, your burrowed into his warmth, your own arms encircled around him.

“Should we get started then?”

You answered with a grin and pulled away from him.

“Okay, hot water or milk?” you asked him suddenly, “There is a correct answer.”

Zayne pondered, and then smirked as he answered, “Milk.”

“Ding-ding-ding! Correct!” you cheered. Retrieving the carton of milk from the fridge, you poured enough for two servings into an enamel milk pan on the stove, letting it gently warm up as you and Zayne made other preparations.

“Plain chocolate or peppermint?”

“Peppermint,” Zayne answered, smiling when you dropped a green chocolate sphere into his mug. “Now what is this?”

“It’s a hot cocoa bomb. Isn’t it cute?” you asked while placing a similar one into your own mug. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Zayne picked up the little sphere to examine. You refrained from laughing as you watched Zayne eyed it with the same curiosity as a cat would with a Christmas ornament.

Fitting for the Yuletide occasion, the chocolate sphere was shaped just like a Christmas ornament, the deep sage color and light shimmer of edible glitter made it reminiscent of the holiday. Surprised, Zayne was able to catch a faint whiff of peppermint from it.

“Interesting,” he said as he carefully placed it back into his mug.

“Extra chocolately?” you asked, and when Zayne nodded, you dropped a few spoonsful of hot cocoa powder into his mug and yours as well.

“The milk looks ready,” Zayne commented when he noticed the milk was simmering just below the boiling point. He turned off the stove and retrieved the milk pan. Carefully, he poured an equal amount of milk into both mugs, watching with almost childlike curiosity as the two chocolate bombs instantly melted from contact with the hot liquid.

Placing the pan aside, he accepted the spoon you handed to him. You both stirred your hot cocoa, accelerating the melting and emulsifying the beverage. From there, whipped cream, sprinkles, additional crushed peppermints and a snowflake-shaped marshmallow adorned the mug, creating the indulgent hot cocoa of your dream.

“Cheers!” you and Zayne said simultaneously, and the two mugs clinked together. You both drank from your respective mug, laughing when you noticed the whipped cream mustache on the other.

“Hold still,” Zayne said with a soft chuckle.

Compliant but also confused, you gasped when Zayne easily lifted you off the floor and set you on top of the counter. One hand rested behind on the countertop to steady your balance, your other still held your mug firmly. When you turned to face Zayne, he had already leaned forth, catching you by surprise when he seized your lips, kissing and savoring the lingering taste of whipped cream and chocolate on your lips. As you instinctively kissed him back, you also tasted the same sweetness on his own lips, wanting more and more.

“Ah—Zayne…” You nervously set your mug down to the side, your hands reaching up to settle on his shoulders. “Mm…”

He licked the lingering whipped cream from your upper lip, giving you another light nip before he pulled back. His arms wrapped around you and he rested his head on your shoulder, his face tucked into the crook of your neck. You could hear him inhaling deeply, and then a soft sigh escaped.

“You smell so sweet,” he murmured, breathing in deeply again, his lips pressing along your neck to leave little kisses.

“M-must be my lotion…” you said absently, feeling a warmth spreading as he continued to lavish you with kisses, the heat of his body against yours growing stronger.

“Is that so?” He kissed your cheek, his lips lingering long enough for you to notice. For that brief instance, it seemed like he was pondering before he asked, “Vanilla?”

“Yes…”

He laughed softly. Zayne rested his forehead against yours, his eyes peering down at you with so much affections. “You look beautiful, my love,” he murmured.

“Stop it…” you said, embarrassed as your cheeks turned a light shade of pink. “My hair is so messy…I’m not dressed properly…and…”

He reached down and grabbed your free hand, raising it to his lips. “You’re always beautiful in my eyes,” he said, adding mischievously, “Even more so when dressed in nothing but my shirt.”

“Zayne…”

He picked up his mug of hot cocoa, holding it out to you. “Hello gorgeous.”

You laughed, feeling a bit silly but also delighted as you grabbed yours to clink with his mug again. “Hello handsome.”

How serendipitous.

Among the billions of people in the world, to have found each other in this life, to know that he was yours and you were his.

How wonderful, how enchanting, how perfect was this life.

[girl-named-matty]

Back from London... Train mod by @/ominouscorridors

[amethystarachnid]

CHRISTMAS PROPOSAL

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Request: Fantastic event 😍 I want to make a request for Fem reader + Tony Stark, please! "Christmas morning surprise", breakfast in bed made by Tony, a surprise gift: Tony proposing the reader and saying the most beautiful things and cuddling by the tree later, drinking hot cocoa 😍 (@heygoodgirly)

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4.8k

ᯓ★ Summary: Tony Stark has never been one for romantic things but for you, oh, for you he'd become the most romantic man on earth. And that's exactly what he's trying to be as he gets ready to pop the question

ᯓ★ TW(s): fluff fluff fluff

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The morning light spills softly through the gaps in the curtains, painting warm streaks of gold across the bedroom. You’re cocooned in the blankets, your face nestled into the pillow, completely oblivious to the world. For once, there’s no sound of the whirring gadgets or the mechanical hum of some early-morning project Tony’s working on in his lab. The quiet feels suspicious. But you don’t wake, not yet.

Downstairs, the man himself is pacing. Stark Tower—or what’s now become a semi-permanent Stark-and-You Tower—is unusually serene, save for the sound of Tony muttering to himself. In the kitchen, an array of utensils clutters the countertop. Pots, pans, and a suspiciously stained cutting board bear evidence of an attempt at cooking. Actual cooking. Not JARVIS ordering the latest Michelin-starred meal.

“Okay, okay, just… flip it gently,” Tony says under his breath, staring down a pan like it’s a volatile science experiment. His hair is a mess, and there’s a smear of flour on his cheek that he hasn’t noticed yet. “How hard can eggs be? They’re just tiny little things. People do this every day.”

The spatula makes contact, but predictably, the omelet doesn't cooperate. It folds awkwardly, and a piece flops onto the burner. Tony groans, his free hand tugging at his hair.

“Yeah, this is going great. Real Gordon Ramsay stuff here.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm as he glares at the breakfast carnage. He pauses, tapping his fingers against the counter, before grabbing another egg and cracking it into a fresh bowl. “She better appreciate this. Slaving away like a 1950s housewife… minus the pearls. Or the misogyny.”

JARVIS chimes in unprompted. “Might I suggest using a lower heat setting, sir? You appear to be—”

“No, no, no. I got this, J. Do not swoop in with your fancy AI advice. This is a Tony Stark original, and I’ll be damned if technology fixes my… whatever this is.”

“As you wish,” JARVIS replies smoothly, the slightest hint of amusement in his tone.

Tony manages to plate something passable, a mixture of eggs, toast, and fruit that—miraculously—looks edible. He surveys his handiwork with a critical eye, then lets out a huff. “If this doesn’t scream ‘romantic Christmas breakfast,’ I don’t know what does.”

There’s a small box tucked into the pocket of his sweatpants, a box that has no business being near sizzling pans or flour-covered counters. He knows better. He’s Tony Stark, after all. Precision is his thing—normally. But today? He feels like a live wire, energy sparking unpredictably under his skin.

“Okay. Breakfast first. Then the thing. Easy.” He picks up the tray and heads for the stairs, deliberately ignoring the persistent flutter in his chest.

The bedroom is still quiet when he pushes the door open with his shoulder, the tray balanced precariously in his hands. You’re exactly where he left you, sprawled under the covers with one arm flung lazily over your head. The sight makes his lips quirk into a crooked smile, the kind he reserves for moments no one else gets to see.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he says, his voice low but teasing. “Or should I say Sleeping Beast? You snore, you know.”

You stir slightly, mumbling something incoherent, and he snickers. “I’ll take that as a ‘good morning, Tony. Thanks for the breakfast-in-bed surprise. You’re the best boyfriend in the known universe.’” He sets the tray down on the nightstand and leans over to press a kiss to your temple. “I know, I know. I’m amazing.”

You blink awake slowly, your eyes adjusting to the soft light. “What…?” Your voice is thick with sleep, and you prop yourself up on one elbow, squinting at him. “What are you doing?”

“Delivering five-star cuisine,” he says, gesturing grandly at the tray. “Emphasis on the ‘five.’ I wouldn’t check the Yelp reviews if I were you.”

Your gaze shifts to the tray, and a small laugh escapes your lips. “You… made this?”

“Shockingly, yes. With these very hands.” He holds them up for emphasis. “And I only started one tiny grease fire, which I think is a personal record.”

You sit up more fully now, the blankets pooling around your waist. “Why? What’s the occasion?”

Tony shrugs, leaning casually against the bedpost, though there’s nothing casual about the way his heart thuds at your question. “Can’t a guy just do something nice for his girlfriend without getting the third degree? It’s Christmas, in case you forgot. Figured I’d play Santa and spoil you a little.”

Your smile softens, and you reach for the coffee mug on the tray. “You’re full of surprises, Stark.”

“That’s what they say,” he replies, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching as you take a sip of the coffee. He’s relieved when you don’t grimace. Coffee, at least, is one thing he knows he can’t mess up.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you say, picking up a fork and spearing a piece of toast.

“Of course I did,” he retorts. “You’re lucky I didn’t bring out a violinist for ambiance. Thought about it. Decided it was too much.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are. Voluntarily waking up next to me every day. Who’s the ridiculous one now?”

There’s a comfortable rhythm to your banter, one that makes the rest of the world fade away. He watches you eat, his expression softening when you’re not looking. Every now and then, you catch him staring, and he brushes it off with a quick quip or a self-deprecating joke, but the truth is, he’s just… captivated.

He’s done a lot of big things in his life. Saved the world, built a legacy, even cheated death a couple of times. But this—sitting here with you, on a lazy Christmas morning—is one of those rare moments that feels monumental in its simplicity.

Tony taps his fingers against his knee, his mind racing even as he tries to keep the conversation light. He’s thinking about the box in his pocket, about the way your eyes will light up when you see what’s inside. He’s thinking about how terrifying and exhilarating it is to want something so deeply, to want you forever.

“So, on a scale of one to ten,” he says, breaking the silence, “how would you rate the masterpiece I just served you? Be honest. But remember, I have an ego to protect.”

You tilt your head, pretending to deliberate. “Hmm… solid eight. Maybe eight-point-five.”

“Eight-point-five?” he echoes, feigning offense. “What, did the toast offend you?”

“It’s a little… uneven,” you tease, holding up a slightly charred edge. “But I’ll let it slide.”

He rolls his eyes dramatically. “Unbelievable. This is the thanks I get.”

Leaning closer, you kiss the corner of his mouth, a soft and lingering gesture that immediately shuts him up. When you pull back, your grin is mischievous. “Better?”

“Marginally,” he mutters, though his smirk gives him away.

You settle back against the pillows, the tray balanced carefully on your lap. Tony leans on one arm, his gaze drifting over your face as you savor the last bites of breakfast. He’s nervous, though he’d never admit it out loud. Not yet. He wants to do this right—to give you a memory you’ll carry with you forever. But more than that, he wants you to know just how much you mean to him, even if he’s not always the best at saying it.

For now, though, he keeps it light, keeps it normal. There’s time. At least, he hopes there’s time.

“By the way,” he says, his voice tinged with mock seriousness, “you’re washing the dishes.”

Your laughter fills the room, and for a moment, all his nerves fade away.

The warmth of the room is a cocoon against the chill of the winter morning outside, and you’re tangled in each other, limbs intertwined and bodies pressed close beneath the covers. The breakfast tray is forgotten, pushed aside to make room for this: the kind of quiet intimacy that feels like a luxury. Tony’s arm is draped over your waist, his thumb absently brushing along the curve of your hip as if he’s memorizing the feel of you.

His voice is soft when he speaks, carrying none of the usual bravado. “Y’know, if I could freeze time, I’d keep us here. Just like this.”

You hum contentedly, your cheek resting against his chest, where the steady thrum of his heartbeat feels like a secret melody. “I wouldn’t mind that,” you murmur, tilting your face to meet his gaze. His brown eyes are warm and intent, studying you like you’re a puzzle he never wants to solve.

The comfortable silence stretches, broken only by the faint sound of the city beyond the windows. But then, a sudden thought strikes you, and you sit up slightly, your hair mussed from sleep and your eyes sparkling with realization.

“Wait,” you say, breaking the spell. “We still have to open gifts. It’s Christmas morning, remember?”

Tony groans dramatically, flopping back against the pillows as though you’ve just suggested something truly exhausting. “Oh, come on, can’t we stay in bed for a few more hours? Maybe the gifts will open themselves.”

You laugh, wriggling free from his hold, but he’s faster. Before you can fully escape, his arms wrap around you, pulling you back down onto the mattress. You let out a playful squeal, but he doesn’t relent.

“Tony!” you protest, though you’re grinning. “The gifts—”

“Can wait,” he says firmly, his hands settling at your waist to keep you firmly in place. His voice softens, turning almost serious as his eyes meet yours. “Besides, I’ve got something more important right here.”

His tone makes you pause, your smile faltering for just a second as you study him. There’s something in his expression—a mix of vulnerability and determination—that you don’t see often. It sends a flutter through your chest, though you can’t quite put your finger on why.

“More important than presents?” you tease, trying to lighten the mood. “That doesn’t sound like the Tony Stark I know.”

“The Tony Stark you know has layers,” he quips, though his usual sarcasm feels gentler now, like a shield he’s only half-raising. His hands find yours, lacing your fingers together, and he takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“Look, I had this whole plan,” he begins, his words coming quickly now, like he’s worried he might lose his nerve. “Candles, music, maybe even fireworks—because, y’know, I’m me. But then I realized… all of that stuff doesn’t really matter, does it?”

You blink at him, your brows knitting together in confusion. “Tony, what are you—?”

“Shh,” he cuts you off gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Let me do this, okay? Just… let me get it out before I explode or short-circuit or something.”

Your heart is racing now, a mix of anticipation and disbelief. You nod, unable to find your voice.

“I’ve been a lot of things in my life,” he says, his gaze unwavering. “A genius, a billionaire, a total pain in the ass. But with you, it’s different. You make me want to be better. Hell, you make me better. And it’s not just the big stuff—though saving the world is a hell of a lot easier when I know you’re waiting for me to come home. It’s the little things, too. The way you laugh at my stupid jokes, or how you somehow manage to make this place feel like an actual home.”

His voice wavers slightly, and he swallows hard, his grip on your hands tightening. “I used to think I had everything I needed. The cars, the suits, the fancy tech. But then you came along, and suddenly none of that mattered. Because you… you’re my everything. And I don’t want to waste another second pretending I don’t know that.”

Your breath catches as he shifts slightly, pulling a small box from the pocket of his sweatpants. He holds it up, his hand trembling just enough for you to notice.

“I’m not great at this kind of thing,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I know one thing for sure: I don’t want to wake up another day without knowing you’re mine. So, will you—?”

“Tony,” you interrupt, your own voice trembling now. You press a hand to your mouth, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions surging through you.

His face falls slightly, panic flashing in his eyes. “Oh, no. Is this a bad time? Did I—? I should’ve waited, shouldn’t I? Or maybe done the whole fireworks thing. Damn it, I knew I should’ve—”

“No, no, it’s not that,” you say quickly, though your tone is teasing now, even as tears glisten in your eyes. You let out a shaky laugh, leaning back slightly as if considering. “I don’t know, Tony… this is a pretty big decision. I mean, are you really sure you can handle me forever?”

He stares at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “What—? Of course, I’m sure! Are you seriously asking if I—?”

“I mean,” you continue, biting back a grin, “I do snore, apparently. And I’m not great at remembering where I put my keys. Plus, I make you watch all those sappy holiday movies—”

“Yes!” he blurts out, his voice a mix of exasperation and desperation. “Yes, I can handle all of that. Hell, I’d watch ‘Love, Actually’ on repeat for the rest of my life if it means you’ll say yes. Just—please. Don’t make me beg. I’m Tony Stark, for God’s sake.”

You can’t hold it in any longer. The laughter bubbles out of you, and you reach up to cup his face, your thumbs brushing over his stubble. “You’re such a dork,” you whisper, leaning in until your foreheads touch. “Of course, I’ll marry you.”

For a moment, Tony just stares at you, his brain clearly struggling to process your words. Then, his face breaks into a grin so wide it’s almost boyish, and he lets out a breathless laugh, relief washing over him like a tidal wave.

“You’re really saying yes?” he asks, as if he can’t quite believe it. “You’re not messing with me, right? Because if this is some elaborate joke—”

“I’m not messing with you,” you assure him, your own smile mirroring his. “I’m saying yes, Tony. A thousand times yes.”

He doesn’t wait another second. His arms wrap around you, pulling you into a kiss that’s both fervent and tender, a kiss that feels like a promise. When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless, your foreheads still pressed together.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs, his voice soft and full of wonder.

“Merry Christmas,” you reply, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kiss him again.

The massive tree in the corner of the penthouse sparkles like something out of a holiday dream, its glittering ornaments and twinkling lights casting a warm, golden glow over the room. The fireplace crackles softly, and the faint sound of holiday music hums in the background, setting the perfect cozy scene. You’re curled up on the plush couch, nestled into Tony’s side, a thick blanket draped over both of you. Your legs are tangled together, and in your hands is a mug of steaming hot cocoa, its sweetness enhanced by the swirl of whipped cream and the faintest hint of peppermint.

You glance at the tree, then at the pile of opened gifts scattered around the room. Wrapping paper is crumpled in corners, bows are tossed aside, and the faint smell of pine from the tree mingles with the chocolatey aroma of your drinks. But none of that holds your attention for long.

Your eyes drift down to your left hand, where the delicate engagement ring Tony slipped onto your finger just a little while ago catches the firelight. The diamond—a perfect, understated yet dazzling stone—is framed by a sleek, modern band that feels so you it’s uncanny.

“I still can’t believe this,” you murmur, holding your hand up slightly to admire the ring again. “It’s perfect. The size, the design… it’s like you read my mind.”

Tony smirks, taking a sip of his cocoa before setting the mug on the coffee table. “Please. You think I’d propose to you without doing my homework first? I might be reckless, but I’m not stupid.”

You turn to him, one brow raised in playful skepticism. “Homework? Is that what you’re calling it?”

“Absolutely,” he says, his tone teasing but with a glint of pride in his eyes. “I had spreadsheets. Diagrams. A whole team of—”

“Tony!” you cut him off, laughing as you swat at his chest. “You did not have a team.”

“Fine,” he relents, grinning. “But I did pay attention. All those times you casually pointed out rings in magazine ads or that one time you dragged me past Tiffany’s and sighed at the window display? Let’s just say I’ve been taking notes.”

You shake your head, marveling at him. “And the size? How did you get that right? Don’t tell me you measured my finger while I was sleeping or something creepy like that.”

Tony’s grin widens, and there’s a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. “Would you believe me if I said I have a natural talent for guessing ring sizes?”

“No.”

“Fair enough,” he concedes. “I may or may not have borrowed one of your rings when you weren’t looking. For research purposes.”

“Research purposes,” you repeat, your voice dripping with amusement. “Wow, I didn’t realize getting engaged to you would involve so much corporate espionage.”

“Hey,” he says, feigning indignation, “it worked, didn’t it? Look at that ring. Perfect fit, perfect style… just like the woman wearing it.”

The sincerity in his last words catches you off guard, and your playful retort dies on your lips. Instead, you feel a warmth spreading through your chest, a kind of joy so profound it’s almost overwhelming.

“You’re really something, you know that?” you say softly, setting your mug down so you can turn toward him fully.

Tony leans back slightly, a cocky grin on his face. “Something amazing, I hope.”

“Something infuriating,” you tease, your fingers brushing over the stubble along his jaw. “But yeah… amazing too.”

His grin softens into something more genuine, and he cups your face with one hand, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. “You make it easy, you know. Wanting to get this stuff right. You deserve it, all of it. The ring, the world, the whole damn galaxy if I could give it to you.”

You feel your throat tighten, and you lean into his touch, pressing a kiss to his palm. “I don’t need the galaxy, Tony. I just need you.”

There’s a flicker of something vulnerable in his expression, a glimpse of the man who hides beneath the sarcasm and the bravado. He leans in to kiss you, a slow and tender kiss that feels like a promise, like the future you’re both stepping into together.

When you pull back, you settle against his chest again, letting out a contented sigh. “So,” you say after a moment, your voice light, “what’s your favorite gift so far? Besides me saying yes, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he echoes, smirking as he runs his fingers through your hair. “That’s number one by a mile. But if I had to pick something else… I’d say the socks.”

You blink, confused. “The socks?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding seriously. “You know, the ones with my face on them? Absolute game-changer.”

You laugh so hard you nearly spill your cocoa. “I knew you’d love those. Happy to know they rival the engagement ring.”

“Well, they don’t exactly rival the ring,” he admits, his tone turning thoughtful. “But they do add a certain… flair to my wardrobe. Can’t wait to wear them to the next board meeting.”

You groan, burying your face in his chest. “Please don’t.”

“No promises,” he says, kissing the top of your head.

You’re quiet for a while after that, the two of you simply enjoying the warmth and comfort of being together. The fire crackles softly, and the snow outside begins to fall more heavily, blanketing the city in a shimmering white coat. You watch it through the enormous windows, your head still resting against Tony’s shoulder.

“I think this might be my favorite Christmas ever,” you say after a while, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Only might?” Tony quips, though there’s a softness to his tone. “What do I have to do to make it the undisputed champ?”

“Hmm,” you pretend to think, holding up your hand again to admire the ring. “You’ve set the bar pretty high, Stark. Proposing and getting me the perfect ring? You might’ve peaked.”

“Peaked?” he repeats, feigning offense. “Please. This is just the beginning. Wait until next Christmas. I’ll have holographic wrapping paper and drones delivering your presents.”

You roll your eyes, laughing. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he says, tightening his hold on you, “you said yes.”

You smile, snuggling closer to him, and let your eyes drift shut. The weight of the moment settles over you like the warmest of blankets, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Neither of you speaks for a while, content to simply be. The snow falls outside, the fire burns low, and the city below buzzes quietly with life. But up here, in this little corner of the universe, it’s just the two of you—and that’s more than enough.

The fire crackles softly in the background as you nestle further into Tony’s side, your legs draped lazily over his lap beneath the plush throw blanket. The mug of cocoa you abandoned earlier sits on the coffee table, now lukewarm, but neither of you has the energy or desire to move. The world beyond the enormous penthouse windows is a snow-covered wonderland, the city twinkling like something out of a postcard. But here, in Tony’s arms, the rest of the world feels like an afterthought.

You’re staring at your ring again—still unable to get over how perfectly it suits you—and twirling it gently on your finger. “I can’t believe we’re actually engaged,” you murmur, the words still foreign and thrilling all at once.

Tony hums, his fingers idly tracing patterns along your arm. “Yeah, well, it was bound to happen eventually. I’m a catch, after all.”

You snort, poking him in the ribs. “You’re lucky I love you, Stark. Otherwise, you’d be proposing to your ego.”

“Please,” he retorts, grinning. “My ego would’ve said no. Too much competition.”

Your laughter echoes warmly in the cozy space, and he pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But seriously,” he continues, his voice softer now, “I’m the lucky one.”

The sincerity in his tone melts your teasing grin into a tender smile. “We’re both lucky,” you say, leaning up to kiss him briefly before settling back against him. “But now that you’ve got me locked down, we should probably start thinking about the next steps.”

Tony perks up at that, his eyebrows raising in mock surprise. “Next steps? Wow, didn’t realize we were rushing through the milestones. What’s next, matching sweatpants?”

“Don’t tempt me,” you tease, poking him again. “But seriously, we should start thinking about the wedding. You know, dates, locations, that kind of thing.”

“Oh, sure,” he says, waving a hand as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “We’ll rent out a castle or something. Maybe a yacht. Or both. Castle on a yacht. I’ll make it happen.”

You roll your eyes, laughing. “Tony, we don’t need a castle on a yacht. I was thinking something more… intimate.”

“Intimate,” he repeats, like the word is entirely foreign to him. “Okay, define ‘intimate.’ Like… eighty people instead of eight hundred?”

“More like thirty,” you say, smirking at his dramatic gasp. “And maybe somewhere beautiful but low-key. A vineyard? A garden? Somewhere that doesn’t involve holographic invitations.”

Tony pouts, his bottom lip sticking out like a child denied dessert. “You’re no fun. I had this great idea for AI-driven seating charts.”

“Tony,” you groan, laughing as you swat his arm. “No AI at the wedding.”

“Fine, fine,” he concedes, though you can tell his brain is already whirring with ideas. “But we’re keeping the open bar. And there will be cake. A ridiculous amount of cake.”

“Deal,” you agree, grinning. “And maybe a live band? Something classic.”

“Classic, huh?” Tony muses, tilting his head as he considers. “Sinatra? Ella? Or are we talking ‘classic’ like… AC/DC?”

You laugh, burying your face in his shoulder. “I should’ve known you’d sneak AC/DC into this somehow.”

“Hey, it’s our wedding,” he says, his tone teasing but with a playful wink. “And by ‘our,’ I mean you’ll pick all the details, and I’ll just show up in a ridiculously expensive tux and look charming.”

You snuggle closer, your smile softening. “That’s all I really need, anyway.”

There’s a pause as the two of you settle into the quiet again, but you can feel Tony’s fingers fidgeting against your arm, a sure sign that his mind is still racing. You glance up at him, your brow raised. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, though the sheepish look on his face betrays him.

“Tony,” you press, sitting up slightly. “Spill.”

He hesitates for a moment, his eyes darting toward the window as if searching for an escape. Finally, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. It’s just… I was thinking. About… you know, after the wedding.”

“After the wedding?” you echo, tilting your head. “You mean the honeymoon?”

“Sure,” he says, though his tone is distracted. “But I was also thinking… further out. Like… a house. Or maybe—hypothetically—a kid. Or two.”

Your mouth drops open slightly, caught completely off guard. “You’re already thinking about kids?”

“Hypothetically!” he clarifies quickly, though there’s a nervous energy to his voice. “I mean, I’m just saying… it’s crossed my mind. Once or twice. Or, you know, a dozen times.”

You’re quiet for a moment, processing his words. Then, a slow smile spreads across your face, and you lean back against him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Tony Stark, are you saying you want to be a dad?”

He shifts uncomfortably, his cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of pink. “I’m saying… I wouldn’t hate the idea. I mean, think about it. A tiny human running around with your smarts and my charm? World domination is practically guaranteed.”

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he says, grinning now, “you said yes.”

You shake your head, your heart swelling with affection. “I think you’d be a great dad, Tony. Once you figure out how to baby-proof all your gadgets.”

“Oh, please,” he scoffs, though his smile is genuine. “I’d invent a whole line of Stark-brand baby-proof tech. Patent it. Make billions.”

“Of course you would,” you say, rolling your eyes. “But maybe we should focus on the wedding first before we start planning our takeover of the parenting world.”

“Fair,” he concedes, pulling you closer. “But just so you know, I’m already brainstorming names. You should’ve heard the one I came up with yesterday. Absolute gold.”

“Oh no,” you groan, laughing again. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

He leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tony Junior. Think about it. T.J. for short.”

You burst out laughing, your head falling against his chest. “We are not naming our child Tony Junior.”

“Fine, fine,” he says, chuckling along with you. “We’ll workshop it.”

As your laughter fades, you settle against him again, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on his chest. The firelight dances across the room, casting shadows on the walls, and you feel a profound sense of peace, of rightness, in this moment.

“Hey,” you say softly after a while, looking up at him. “I love you.”

His expression softens, and he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I love you too.”

You smile, your hand drifting down to rest over his. “And for the record, I can’t wait for all of it. The wedding, the house, the future… everything. As long as it’s with you.”

Tony’s grin is slow and warm, and he wraps his arms around you like he never plans to let go. “Then it’s a deal.”

The two of you sit there for a long time after that, the snow falling steadily outside and the fire burning low. Together, you dream and plan and tease and laugh, painting the picture of a life that feels almost too perfect to be real. But with Tony by your side, you know it’s all possible—and more.