#tooth rotting holiday fluff

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"A Family for Christmas"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem. reader/"you"

Tags: Christmas fluff, kid fic, p in v sex, oral sex, fingering, a/b/o, adoption, infertility struggles, pregnancy, breeding kink, fluff & smut, somnophilia, "Daddy/Momma" kink, actual Daddy kink

Word count: 8400

Summary: On Christmas Eve, you and Bucky plan a special surprise to tell the girls you want to adopt them. Little does Bucky know, you have a special surprise for him, too.

Bucky wakes early that morning to a bedroom suffused with the faint light of pre-dawn, the sun not yet having risen high enough to creep past the edges of your bedroom's south-facing windows.

When the girls first came to live with you, he'd made sure that their bedroom was the one with the west-facing windows—on a bit of advice from Sam, who claims that it can occasionally buy a little extra kid-free time in the mornings. That advice seems to be bearing out, as Bucky closes his eyes again and feels the stillness of the house, and then your quiet breathing in the bed beside him. He uses his enhanced hearing to listen for any sounds of movement outside the bedroom—an only recently acquired habit of necessity, and one which he'll never in a million years complain about. His heart is full, now that he finally has to listen for the pattering of little feet before he can reach for you.

The edges of his mouth curl up when he doesn't hear any sign of rustling from the girls, and just like that, he's suddenly twice as aware of his morning erection as he was before. He stretches his spine without moving his limbs and inhales deeply, blinking his eyes open. One hand comes up to stifle a yawn as the other one trails down over his stomach, between his legs, and curls over the achy line of his cock. He gives it an absentminded squeeze where he's half hard from sleep. "Hmm."

To his right, the bedroom windows are frost-kissed, the world outside covered in a blanket of white. And there are big, fluffy flakes still falling steadily. For a very split second, he forgets about his cock as his chest fills with warmth at the thought of how excited the girls are going to be. It hasn't snowed yet this year. Hasn't been cold enough. But the temperature took a dive over this past weekend and has remained below freezing ever since. Win had come home from her preschool class last week having learned a "snow dance," which she's been faithfully repeating each morning, noon and night, in hopes of getting a white Christmas. Being from Florida, the only place she’s ever seen snow is in a very particular Disney movie. Bucky's mouth twitches at the buildup he can see through the frosted windows. Looks like all the dancing paid off. It's the first snow of the year and it's a heavy one—thick and powdery, like an image off a postcard. And right before the holidays, too.

A white Christmas, Bucky thinks. God, could this year get any better? He answers his own question with an emphatic 'yes', when he catches your scent on his next inhale.

Oh. Right.

It's probably indecent to hold thoughts of Christmas and the kiddos in such close proximity to the baser ones of arousal and sex that sidle up right alongside them, at that first good lungful of your scent. But if it is, Bucky's too shameless to care. His cock twitches against his palm as more blood rushes south.

He gives it one more, indulgent squeeze before turning over in your direction and sidling up behind you. His hand slips over your waist and his hips snuggle up against your bum. You're still asleep, he can tell from your breathing and the laxity of your body. He smiles and hums beneath his breath, enjoying the moment for himself. He nuzzles against your hair and the back of your neck, taking in the scent of your shampoo, your skin, and a growing secret. The best kind of secret. A Christmas miracle.

You haven't told him yet. Either from nerves or from wanting it to be a perfectly-timed surprise, you’ve kept it to yourself for weeks. Bucky thinks it’s adorable that you think he doesn’t know. You’re his whole heart, but every time he re-remembers that you're carrying his child, he swears he falls impossibly more in love with you. He's impatient and eager to be able to talk about it, to gush, to “nest,” as the baby books call it nowadays. But he doesn't want to ruin the surprise that he’s sure you’re planning. He's being patient so that you can have that special moment of the big reveal. He won't spoil that for you by letting it slip that he knows. Lord knows you may never get the chance again.

The two of you have tried for so long. Years and years. So long that you’d actually stopped trying and accepted that “God had a reason for everything,” and that a family would have to come some other way. Bucky doesn’t have as deep of or as dogmatic a faith as you do—he’s always been open to trying IVF or surrogacy, but you’ve been adamantly against it, calling it selfish, wasteful, and greedy. He doesn’t necessarily agree with that, but he’ll never argue against it, not when it’s what brought the girls into your life.

He listens carefully for any noise beyond the bedroom door again, but still hears nothing. He hums in pleasure and lets his erection press up against your behind, nuzzling the scent rich crook of your neck as he starts up a lazy roll of his hips. He’s expecting you to wake, but as the seconds tick by and you remain asleep, a naughty little thrill grows inside his gut; one that goads him on and makes him wonder how much he could get away with before you wake up. Grinning, he kisses lightly over your bond mark, only letting his tongue slip out to taste your skin after another moment. His right arm curls over your waist, hand sliding over the softness of your lower belly in a way that makes his cock throb. God, he thinks as he holds you there, a repressed groan aching in his throat. Right there. It’s right there inside of you, growing day by day, little by little. A piece of you and him.

Sweetheart, he thinks, wanting so badly to praise you, to kiss every inch of your body and tell you what a magical, wonderful creature you are, his omega, his wife, his mate. For a split second he almost loses control, as a surge of lust and possessiveness rolls through him. He manages to quell it though, forcing it back with clenched teeth and tensed abdominals. He keeps his touch on your belly soft and gentle because he doesn’t want you to wake, not yet. Carefully, he lets his fingers splay wide to cup where you aren’t yet showing—not by much, at least. You’re nowhere near needing maternity wear, body not having changed enough for anybody to tell the difference when your clothes are on. But naked, he can tell the difference.

There are always tons of cookies and pies around the house this time of year, the both of you putting on a little seasonal pudge most winters. Bucky likes it. It’s why December through January are his favorite months to fuck you, funnily enough. By the time you start talking about dieting and hitting the gym again every February or March, he’s always forced to say goodbye to that extra softness. He’s never told you any of this, lest you bite his head off for saying he prefers the weight—or “fluff,” as he calls it in his head. He’d probably have attributed the weight gain to the time of year, if he didn’t have your scent to know better. He’s got no clue how far along you are, but he’s been able to smell it clearly for half a month now. These past two weeks have changed you, your scent stronger and sweeter, carrying notes of yeasted dough and pancake syrup underneath your usual juniper and vanilla scent. Your normally flat belly fills out his palm a little better now, and it does things to Bucky, to touch it like this, to feel the place where he knows there’s life inside of you, a baby that he put there. He can’t wait to watch you grow, to see it, to feel it.

He has to hold himself back from the rumbling growl that wants to form, stifling it in his throat and grinding his cock against the plush swell of your ass for relief. You make a sweet little hum of a noise in your sleep, and he thrills with that gleeful naughtiness again as he smooths his hand back up your stomach and waits for you to calm. You do, remaining asleep, and Bucky sets his mouth to your shoulder so he can look over and watch the trajectory of his hand as he brings it up to cup your breast.

So soft.

He’s always amazed at how incredibly soft you are all over. Low body fat and toned muscles seem to be what’s in these days, but Bucky will never understand. How could he ever want anything but this? This feminine, accommodating softness that gives so beautifully to his touch? Fuck. He lets his thumb swipe out against your nipple, whisper-soft, back and forth, until he feels it pebble underneath his touch. The feeling makes him smile against your skin. Such a good girl, he thinks. You’re always so responsive to his touch, even when you’re fast asleep.

He gives the tip of your breast a little press between his fingers. Not even a pinch, not really. Only as much as he knows he can get away with without drawing you from your slumber. Then he slides his hand back down to explore between your legs. He skims his fingers as far as your closed legs allow, but it isn’t far enough, so he eases his thigh forward against yours, encouraging you to part your legs, holding his breath as he waits to see if it’ll wake you. But to his delight it doesn’t. You barely even stir, making a soft little sigh in your sleep and smacking your lips before settling again, and fuck, why does that turn him on so bad? Maybe it’s the thrill of getting away with something, of having you all to himself, not having to share you with anybody else—not even you.

That’s what it is, he thinks, cock aching and leaving sticky trails of precum on your ass where he’s just barely rubbing off against you. It’s that you’re so perfect, so perfectly sweet and all for him, responding just like you should even without meaning to. And he’s the only one who gets to do this, to see this, have this. The only one who gets to experience you this way. It’s so thrilling to see how far he can push it, how much acquiescence he can coax from your perfect body without you knowing it. He holds his breath and lets the pad of his forefinger graze your clit, just barely, applying almost no pressure as he moves it infinitesimally back and forth in little, nudging motions, pushing your delicate skin this way and that. Awakening that spot gradually enough that it won’t wake you.

He lets his tongue trace over the scar tissue of your bond mark while he does it, giving you a line of heat and sensation from your two most sensitive erogenous zones. Bucky woke up hard, so he’s had a head start on you in the arousal department from the very beginning, but he can feel it as your body sends blood south, your clit growing puffy and swollen, lips blooming open, wetness greeting his fingers on the next pass he makes over your entrance. “There you go, Sweetheart,” he breathes, not even a whisper, pleased and even more turned on when you give a little shiver in your sleep. Subconsciously, your hips begin to move, chasing the pleasure that you aren’t even aware you’re feeling. Bucky chuckles and lets the tip of his finger dip into your entrance, just to the first knuckle, over and over again to tease and coax more of that sweet nectar out of you. “Atta girl,” he praises softly, dragging his slicked fingers back up through your folds, spreading it around. “So fucking sweet.”

In your sleep you make a low, whining sound, your hips chasing his hand. He gives your body what it’s instinctively seeking, flattening his fingers and starting up a slow, gentle motion over your clit. He rubs in lazy circles, hoping that the steadiness of the pressure will be enough to keep you from waking. He doesn’t want you to wake. Not yet. He stops touching you for a brief moment to take his cock in hand and drag it back and forth through your soaked folds, coating himself in you with another stifled curse. Just this, he thinks, as he lines himself up at the right angle and starts to push inside. Just this, just the tip. He just wants to get inside while you’re still asleep, wants you to wake up and have it be the first thing you feel, wants to hear the hitch of emerging consciousness in your breath and feel you clamping down on him as you wake.

He pushes in, your body tight enough that he needs to go slowly to make sure he doesn’t hurt you. It helps that you’re wet. God, so incredibly wet. And all for him. Yes. He grits his teeth through the push, overcome by the exquisite feeling of your body opening up to him, all that tight, velvet fucking heat. Fuck. He groans and pulls you back against him as he bottoms out and grinds a little, his hip bones up against your chubby little ass. His fingers dig a little more harshly into your waist than he means for them to, and he can tell that that’s exactly when you wake up, because your body suddenly stiffens in awareness … and then shivers loose as you moan. “Hey, Sweetheart,” he whispers, kissing your neck and continuing to grind deep inside. His hand on your waist slides back over your belly and down between your legs. He starts pressing gentle circles over your clit again while he fucks you with slow, shallow thrusts.

You whimper and let out a soft, “Ohn,” that just about does him in, a sleepy, aroused and confused, “Bucky?” following right after.

“M’right here.” He kisses a line up your neck, all the way to the shell of your ear. “Right here, Doll. How’s that feel? You don’t mind that I put it in, do you baby? Just couldn’t stop myself. M’sorry. You looked so good lying here, all soft n’ sweet. Just had to. Had to feel this sweet pussy on my cock. Couldn’t wait. Wanted to see you wake up feeling good.” Your vulnerable little whine makes his cock throb, and he coos along with you. “Shhh, I know, I know. It’s okay, Sweetie. Just enjoy it. Gonna make it so good for you, I swear. Gonna make you cum. You don’t even gotta do anything, okay? Mm mn, promise. I’ll do all the work. Gonna make you feel so good, babygirl.”

“M'kay daddy …”

He’s ninety percent sure you say it without meaning to, but it makes his mouth curl darkly anyways, as he slips his other arm underneath you and brings it up to your neck with a murmured, “Yeah Sweetheart?” Just like always, your cunt flutters madly the second he’s got his hand on your throat, holding you back against him as he kisses your bondmark and keeps working steady circles over your clit. He can feel your body beginning to tremble as you get close, and he purrs in encouragement, still fucking you languidly, being sure to angle it the way he knows gets at that spot inside. “S’that good?” he whispers, dragging lips over your skin and relishing the shudder he gets. He already knows the answer, he just wants to make you say it, because he knows how hard it is for you to say anything at times like this. You’re a typical omega in that way: quick to dissolve into sobs and babbles, unable to produce much coherent speech once you’re feeling good, half your brain offline for the focus that’s between your legs, too lost in your own pleasure to be useful for anything else. Bucky relishes it, every time. He prompts you again, giving a gentle squeeze to your neck to encourage you. “Tell me baby, c’mon.”

You give the sweetest little whine and nod your head, your heavy swallow felt against his palm. “Y-yeah.”

“Good girl,” he praises, hips working in time with the slow motion of his fingers. “What do you need? Want me to stay like this, or go a little harder?”

You shudder in his arms from the question alone, already reduced to a boneless puddle in his arms. “This,” you manage to eke out in between your needy whimpers. “Nnngh … th–this.”

“Okay, Honey. Okay.” He keeps fucking you like that: lazy, early-morning sex, hips rolling luxurious and slow, pressing up on your ass with each indulgent slide in, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge, your cunt weeping so much that it’s obscene the way your slick gets all over his thighs and yours, his balls, his pubic hair. When you finally shudder and start to come, he hugs you tightly back against his body and stays buried, rubbing down on your clit and giving you deep-seated grinds to work you through it as he murmurs endless praise into your skin, telling you how good you are, how pretty, how perfect. “Ooh, that’s it, there it is. Just like that, huh? There’s a girl, just like that, ooh. You’re so good for me, Sweetheart. Fuck. So good.”

Your pleasured sob sparks something primal in him, and even though he wasn’t close before, he suddenly is, his belly spilling over with arousal at the sound of your cries and the feeling of your sweet cunt locking down on him in orgasm. “Fuck,” he grunts shakily, vision losing focus as his knot swells, growing inside you rapidly. You cry out at the feeling of it, and he quickly covers your mouth with his hand, muffling his own moan against your neck as his knot pops all the way and catches against the desperate lock of your body. “Ohfuck. Shh sh sh, Sweetheart, the—fuck—ohh, the girls,” he gasps against your skin, humping hard against your tie as he just barely remembers that the two of you have to be quiet these days.

You sob behind his hand, too lost in your instincts to obey. “Hmmph, mmm!” It’s muffled, your hot breath against his palm and straining body under his hold pulling a growl from his chest, though he fights to hold it in. He can’t help it, he loves it when you struggle.

“Fuck, baby, fuck. You feel s-so fuckin’ good …” You squeal as he tugs his knot against your tie again and again, triggering you into a second orgasm. You squirt this time because you’re knotted, the space between your bodies and the sheets getting wet from it. Bucky’s already in the middle of his climax, too lost in the pleasure to really notice, at least for that next minute or so. He always comes hard with you, his body recognizing its mate and knowing it’s safe to be lost to the world for those few, delirious moments. By the time the most intense part is done and he’s back in his head again, you’re crying, sobbing softly against his palm as he fucks a third, and then fourth orgasm from you. “Shhh,” he soothes, sucking over your  bondmark to show you he’s back with you again. “M’here, ‘mega. I’m here. I’ve got you.” He’s still coming, balls contracting in slower pulses as he fills you with his cum. The thought of breeding you up makes him groan and close his teeth against your glands, even though logically he knows that nothing can take, not when you’re already pupped up. He groans all over again and puts his hand back over your lower belly, feeling that barely-there slope where you’re growing his baby.

Fuck, his fucking baby. He bites down without meaning to—hard enough to draw blood. Your squeal brings him back to his senses and he lets up, kissing the skin where he’s bitten in apology. “Sorry, Sweetheart, m’sorry, sorry.”

You aren’t upset, if the smell is anything to go by. He brings his hand back down to your clit and starts rubbing circles again. “Gonna cum again?” he rasps.

“Bucky, no. I c-can’t.”

“Sure you can,” he rumbles, pushing down hard on your clit and tugging his knot hard enough that it’s actually faintly uncomfortable for him. But he doesn’t care, he does it for you, because he wants another one out of you and he can feel your body getting ready for it even as you whine and grab onto his wrist where he’s rubbing your clit. “One more,” he husks against your neck, tasting the blood that’s pricked to the surface. “C’mon, one more baby. One more to make me a daddy.”

He doesn’t know why he says it, maybe it’s another way to try and get you to tell him the good news, even though he’s promised himself he won’t rush you into telling. All he knows is that your body shudders in his arms when he says it, your cunt quivering around him as you helplessly fall into another orgasm.

“There’s a girl,” he praises, wrapping both arms around your middle in a big hug to let you come down from it. “So gorgeous, Sweetheart. Feels so good.” He holds your body tight to his as he finishes coming, hips slowing down from a gentle roll into nothing as the both of you catch your breath. The room’s silence seems to shrink, as the both of you come back to your senses and he strokes softly over your stomach. He doesn’t let himself settle his hand on your belly again, knowing that it could tip you off that he knows, if he goes cradling you there too much all of a sudden. Instead he splays his hand out wide just beneath your breasts, pulling you tight to him and rolling onto his back. You huff a surprised little laugh as the move jostles you backwards with him, his knot tugging just a bit more from the angle once you’re resting on top of him.

“Bucky,” you huff, amused.

He tightens his arms around you stubbornly and stuffs his face in your neck. “Mmm, what.”

You laugh again, then ‘yip’ in surprise and fall into a fit of giggles when he humps up against you in retaliation. He growls playfully, though he’s grinning against your skin where you can’t see. “Mmm, hold still, ‘mega. I’m busy.”

“Busy doing what?” you laugh.

“Mmmr. Marking my territory.” He says it in a gruff voice that makes you giggle again, and he digs his fingers into your waist where you’re ticklish.

“Oof! Ha! Buck-ee, nooo!” You shriek, body heaving with laughter (and then a bit of a moan at the end there, too, when your squirming causes his knot to tug hard against your tie.)

He hums in pleasure at the way your breathless laughter turns back into that soft sound of pleasure, and some of his playfulness fades as he hugs you tightly back against him again, both arms wrapped snug around your middle as his mouth finds its way back to the crook of your neck. “Hmmm,” he sighs, feeling sated and almost incandescently happy. Without really meaning to, his one hand winds up resting lower on your belly, and he strokes the soft stretch of skin between your navel and your groin. “You lie here and be my good girl ‘n’ hold still now,” he purrs, deciding off the cuff to try and provoke a revelation out of you. “Might’a knocked you up, just now. Gotta make sure it takes.”

Your giggles fade completely and you go very still on top of him. He holds his breath, thinking that maybe, just maybe you’re about to say something, that you’ll finally decide it’s time to tell him that you’re pregnant. He busies himself with kissing and sucking your bondmark, feigning nonchalance while you work up the nerve. He hears you lick your dry lips, feels your delicate hands land on top of his at your waist and your belly. “Bucky,” you say, and his heartbeat quickens because he can tell from the tone of your voice that you’ve decided it’s time. “I have to tell you something.”

“Hm?” he acts unconcerned, even manages to think of saying dryly: “Please don’t tell me you forgot to get something for the cookies? The stores are gonna be nuts today.”

You huff in exasperation and he silently congratulates himself on an act well-played. “No, we’re fine on ingredients. … Babe, I’m—” Your words are abruptly cut off by the sudden sound of tiny feet ‘thwapping’ down the hallway. Bucky thinks, shit! just as you go rigid and squeak, “Oh no!”

You both grab for the covers in a mad scramble to cover up. You’re the one who actually manages to grab them, and you pull them up over the both of you in record time. Bucky grabs your hips and turns onto his side, dumping you back in front of him just as the doorknob moves. “Fuck, fuck,” he hisses, as the sudden change in position pulls on his knot. You make an adorkable little squeak of a noise and he starts kind of panic-laughing against your shoulder as you clutch the sheets to your chest.

“Shhh-sh-shh!” You’re slapping backwards at him, mostly hitting his thigh and falling into some contagious snickering yourself, when the door busts open and two little girls with bleary eyes, Christmas jammies, and some very messy hair come tumbling in.

“Mommeeee!”

“Buckeeee!”

“It snowed, it snowed, it snoooowed!”

Bucky’s still got his cock buried in you, and he can’t seem to stop cracking up against the back of your neck as you scramble for an explanation for the girls as to why you’re all sweaty and why they have to go back to their room for a few minutes before Mommy and Bucky can take them outside to play in the snow.

Lily is only twenty months old and doesn’t have her hearing aids in, so she’s really just following her sister’s lead more than what’s being said, the excitement of the moment making her squeal in joy as Winnie keeps asking over and over again if Santa has come, and if they can build a snowman like Olaf.

Bucky rests his forehead against your upper back and feels that liquid-gold feeling begin to fill his heart again, as he listens to Winnie’s excitement and Lily’s semi-coherent babbling, and you speaking to them both in your “mommy” voice, reminding them that Santa isn’t coming until tonight, when they’re asleep. Winnie is frustrated that she has to wait a whole other day, but you placate her with promises of all the fun things they’re going to get to do today, if only they stay patient for a few more minutes.

“How many minutes?” Winnie asks, and you stammer a bit as you try to think.

“Erm, um …”

“About ten,” Bucky murmurs against your back.

“Ten minutes, Sweetie,” you say, and Bucky chuckles again and humps against your tie once, just to be a jerk. You make a little sound of surprise, but to your credit you manage to cover it up with a fake cough, and more instructions for Winnie. “Um, now go on back to your room and, ahhm … just wait for me to come get you, okay? If you want to play in the snow today, you have to go and wait patiently. That’s the rules.”

Where most kids might whine and complain and stomp and beg, Winnie gets real quiet and serious and straightens her spine like she’s taking down instructions for a very important task. “Okay Mommy,” she agrees, her curls tossing as she nods her head. “Here we go. We’ll do a good job.”

Bucky’s heart breaks a little at how serious she sounds, because he knows that she honestly believes that her day of fun in the snow depends on it (just like he already knows that you’re already holding back a wince in front of him, regretful for having phrased it that way). Win still doesn’t yet fully understand that nice things won’t be taken away from her here, and that she doesn’t have to worry about making “mistakes” anymore.

“Okay, Win,” he hears you say kindly, though there’s a slight warble of sadness in your voice. “Good job. I’ll see you in a few minutes. You can play with your toys until I come get you.”

“Okay Mommy. Don’t worry. We’ll be quiet.”

Ouch. Bucky hides his wince against your shoulder, and your voice kind of cracks when you manage to eke out a halting reply of, “Oh. That’s … That’s okay, Win. You don’t have to be quiet, just play nice, okay? I’ll come get you soon. … Love you, Sweetie.”

No child should look like they’ve been given the keys to the kingdom, when they’re told they’re loved. It should be commonplace, an everyday thing that gets a smile and a thoughtlessly-chirped “love you too” in response, not a wobbling chin and big, watery, amazed eyes. But that’s how Winnifred still reacts, even after all these months. And especially with you, her Mommy. She hasn’t quite made it to “Daddy” yet, since men are scary to her still, but Bucky’s just glad that she’s been warming up to him this holiday season. His heart squeezes mightily as the little girl reaches down for Lily’s chubby hand and takes it in hers, just like a little grown up. “We’re gonna play bears,” she tells her sister, and tugs her along authoritatively. “C’mon Lily.”

Once they’re out of the room and the door is shut, the both of you release your breath in sync. “Ugh,” you say, and he nods against your back and groans softly in agreement.

“We gotta get a doorknob that locks,” he mutters. It’s the same thing he’s been saying for weeks, but he really means it now. This is a little bit funny and not at all sexy. Normally his knots take no less than ten to fifteen, and he can already feel himself ebbing. “M’gonna go to the hardware store,” he grumbles, hands returning to explore your body. He feels you huff in amusement more than he hears it. “I am.”

“Thought you said the stores would be crazy today.”

“Hmph.” He cups your lower belly again hopefully, but it doesn’t prompt anything out of you. “I’ll go after Christmas,” he decides, which makes you giggle.

“Sure you will.”

“I will! Right after.” The stores really will be nuts today, and with all the snow, he’s got zero intention of going anywhere other than out to build an Olaf. “Ugh,” he groans, as he remembers that you have a driveway now. And a property line with a sidewalk. “Blugh.”

“What?”

“Gonna have to shovel,” he mourns. He thinks fondly of how the two of you used to live in a nice apartment complex—complete with snow removal service and a heated parking garage. “Remind me why we moved out here again?” he says, kissing up to your bondmark and nuzzling there. “Was it something to do with a sudden acquisition of … little creatures?”

“Mmm. So the girls can have a yard to play in,” you say. It sounds like you’re smiling with your eyes closed, and it makes Bucky smile too.

He wraps both arms fully back around you again, sighing happily. “Right,” he says softly. “Now I remember.”

You’re secretly grateful for the girls bursting in that morning. They’d saved you from a moment of weakness. And you’ve been planning such a cute little way to tell Bucky the good news. The Amazon package of what you need for your surprise arrived yesterday, and now it’s Christmas eve, getting dim outside as evening approaches, and you’re finally about to get to do what you’ve dreamed of doing for years.

Tell your husband that you’re pregnant with his child.

You can’t seem to stop smiling about it, even as you face off against the aftermath of an afternoon of cookie making. Bucky must’ve grabbed every single variety of sprinkles off the grocery store shelves, you’re convinced. And some of them even wound up on the cookies!

The rest are decorating your table and the kitchen floor.

The zippers of the girls’ snowsuits ‘tick’ around in the dryer as they tumble through a cycle behind the laundry room door, a bit of comforting background noise to the holiday music Bucky’s got streaming for the girls. It’s a soundtrack from one of those stop-motion Christmas specials that always run on network tv this time of year—something about misfit toys. Your mouth ticks up where you’re crouched down on the floor with the dustpan, as you hear Bucky responding with the occasional happy comment from over in the living room. The girls are in there with him, bopping around on a sugar high, dancing to the music in their Christmas outfits. You hear Winnie squawk to Bucky to “watch! watch this one Bucky!” at something she’s doing, and shortly thereafter, a bit of clapping and Bucky saying, “aw good job, Win, that was a good one.”

He really loves those girls, you think warmly. Bucky prefers the old-timey Christmas songs from back in his day—Nat King Cole and Perry Como and Bing Crosby, that sort of stuff. But he’s been cheerfully putting up with the goofy kids’ music all afternoon. There’ve been so many little things like that, since you started fostering the girls; small ways that he’s changed for them, to be a good father. Despite the trepidation you’d both felt in the beginning, parenting just seems to have come naturally to the both of you. “Mommy” is a recent development, with Winnie only having started calling you that since around the end of October. You’d taken her trunk-or-treating with your local mom’s group, and you could see that it was her hearing all the other kiddos exclaiming “Mommy, mommy, mommy!” over their candy hauls that had tipped her over the edge, wanting to fit in and have a “Mommy” too.

With Bucky it’s a little different, and you both understand why. Every small moment of connection between him and the girls has been counted as progress, and he’s been so good with them, so patient. It even makes you tear up sometimes, when you catch him in a particularly tender moment with the girls. Winnie still keeps her distance from him in certain ways, but it’s been getting less and less, and Lily’s young enough that she doesn’t remember as much of her home life from before. She trusts Bucky completely. She’ll often put her arms out to be picked up, or want to sit in his lap. That’s what can really get the waterworks going for you. Especially these days. Pregnancy hormones are no joke.

You’re drawn from your musings at the sound of toenails clacking across the kitchen linoleum. “Oh. Hey Fred.” Normally sentient Fred has deigned to leave his spot by the furnace vent to help you in your clean up efforts. “Mighty generous of you, lazybones,” you say to the basset hound on his next snuffling pass-by. His ears seem to be picking up as many sprinkles as his actual tongue does. You roll your eyes and move onto another spot with the dustpan.

“Okay girls, big smiles. Win, why don’t you hold Lily’s hand for this one?”

The girls shuffle closer together where they’re sitting on the hearth, with Winnie obediently taking hold of Lily’s pudgy little hand. Just before Bucky snaps the picture, Lily giggles and rests her head of curls on Winnie’s shoulder. Bucky beams and gets the photo. “Great job, Sweetie! Oh gosh, that was a good one.” 

Winnie’s already reaching for her halo that you made her take off for at least some of the pictures. Lily claps and picks up her Santa hat and yanks it back on her head. “ ‘Ta!” she says, her way of referring to Santa (it took a while to figure that one out.) She makes the sign for sleep, and you feel emotion well up behind your eyes again. You smile and sign no. “Not yet, Sweetie,” you tell her and sign. “But real soon.” 

“We still have to put Santa’s cookies out,” Bucky says to get the girls excited. “And Elfie’s gotta turn on the outside lights.”

Elfie is currently on the wall, rock climbing up some Christmas bows. You’ve convinced Winnie that Elfie uses his Christmas Magic every night to turn on the colored lights that Bucky’s strung up on all the bushes outside. And anything Winnie believes, Lily automatically believes, too. The girls both gasp and run (well, Lily toddles) to the front window, where Winnie chant’s “Elfie, Elfie!” and Lily follows along with “fee, fee, fee!”

You reach for your iPad on the couch cushion, opening the garage’s app and tapping the control to turn the lights on, and Winnie and Lily’s delighted shrieks hit the air. They have their noses pressed up against the window, their gaping mouths making condensation form on the glass, which they keep giggling and wiping off. “Buckee! Mommee! Olaf got the lights!”  

“Oh, wow. Isn’t that something?” 

Bucky had snuck out while the girls were donning their costumes earlier and added a strand of lights across the newly-built snowman’s stick arms. You catch his eye from over top of your iPad, right at the end of rolling your eyes and grinning. He’s grinning too, and both of your smiles soften into something tender, the girls’ fuss over the lights outside fading to background noise somehow. Love you, Mommy, Bucky mouths.

Oh no. You blink your eyes rapidly to make the tears building up behind them go away, and Bucky chuckles at you because he knows what’s up. You wave your hand at him with a scoff. Damn pregnancy hormones. He probably thinks you’re turning into the biggest sentimental sap these days. If only he knew the real cause behind it. He will soon. “Okay okay, enough of that. Christmas lights aren’t going anywhere. Let’s get this tree decorated!” You clap your hands and wave the girls over, impatient to get to the box of ornaments waiting to go up.

You and Bucky have each chosen the holiday traditions that are most important to you, to share with the girls this year. Christmas is mostly foreign to them, every new thing you introduce extra magical in their eyes, because the closest they ever came to “Christmas” before you was a mall Santa that, according to Winnie, had hugged too much and didn’t smell very nice. So you and Bucky both want to make this year special for them. You’ve crammed as many winter activities into the last few days as possible, and already today you’ve made sugar cookies, decorated them, (cleaned up the friggin’ sprinkles), played in the snow, and built an Olaf. Attending the four o’clock mass with the children’s nativity play was your tradition, and now that evening is drawing in, it’s time for Bucky’s. His family always put up their tree on Christmas eve when he was growing up, which seems like a gigantic waste of twenty-six perfectly good tree days to you, but it’s meaningful to him. So, you figure what better way to sneak in a surprise announcement than with your husband’s favorite Christmas eve tradition? 

Hidden inside the jumbled box of ornaments is a new, keepsake ornament: unglazed bisque in the shape of a stork, carrying a bundled baby with “coming in 2025” printed on the bundle. You’ve buried it all the way at the bottom, underneath the familiar ornaments that he’s expecting.

“Mommy can I wear my halo still for doing the tree?” 

“Sure Win. Wear it all night if you want,” you laugh. “Except you have to take it off at bedtime.”

“I’m still gonna wear my Santa hat, too though,” she says, saying it in her mini grownup voice, but looking at you with big questioning eyes right after, just to check. 

You give her a smile to reassure her. “Yep you can wear both.” 

“Yay!” She rips her halo off and goes to grab her Santa hat.

Lil’ already has hers on, having refused to wear the halo you’d bought for her angel costume in the nativity play. You suspect that she didn’t like the way the plastic headband touched her hearing aids. But the soft fabric of her Santa hat seems to be fine, so the play had had one red-capped angel this year. 

Bucky calls the girls over to where he’s kneeling by the ornament box and tells them about how every Christmas eve, they decorate the tree. “I’ve put the lights on it, but I probably need some helpers for the ornaments.” He levels Winnifred with a serious, grown-up gaze. “Do you think you could help me do that job?” 

Bless her neglected little heart, Winnie nods seriously. “Yeah. I can do a good job.”

“I’ll bet you can, Sweetheart.” Bucky’s gaze goes soft on her, and then he peeks over her shoulder at you. “Mommy, should we make it a Christmas eve present instead?” 

You nod and cover your mouth, barely holding your happy tears in (goddamn pregnancy hormones). “Mmhm. Yeah,” you manage to eke out, trying to keep your voice from warbling. You’ve got to keep it together for the girls. (It would’ve helped if your jerk husband hadn’t just called you “Mommy.”). “Yeah let’s do it tonight.” (God help you, when it comes time to try and get them to sleep).

Bucky grins and goes to get the two small gift boxes that have sat wrapped underneath the tree since not long after Thanksgiving. You and Bucky have more to be grateful for than ever this year. The adoption hasn’t been made official yet—you’ll need to go in front of a judge for that—but it’s been approved, and you have an appointment for the ceremony on New Year’s Day—If the girls want it. Bucky and you have both agreed that you’ll just remain fosters, if Lily or Winnifred seems uncomfortable with it.

 “Here, c’mere,” Bucky says gently, sitting cross-legged in front of the tree and beckoning the girls over. Lily hurries to go and plop herself down right in Bucky’s lap, and Winnie follows along a little less surely, but she can’t help but be excited about getting her very first Christmas present (in life, not just this season, sadly). “These are your special Christmas eve presents,” he says, handing one box to Winnie and the other to Lily, who takes it with a happy squeal. Winnie looks up at Bucky with big, amazed eyes. “We can open them?”

“Yep,” he says. “And there’s a special message inside. So we’ll read that together, okay?”

“Okay!” Win’s enthusiasm has outshined her perpetual but waning nervousness around Bucky, and she sits cross-legged like him and scoots in close to him and Lily. “Okay Lil’,” she instructs in her little grown-up voice, pointing at the bow on her box and ripping the paper. “Like this! You gotta open it, see?” 

You watch with a smile as Winnie rips open her package and Bucky helps Lily open hers. Once they’re open, the boxes reveal boxes, printed with pictures of little figurines. “What is it?” Winnie asks. “A dolly?”

“Nope not a dolly.” Bucky is grinning, but you can see the nervousness in his eyes, too. He wants the girls to be happy so much, and he wants Win to feel safe and want to stay with you. “Open the box,” he tells her, already helping Lily to open hers. You watch as Win’s small hand closes around the figurine and pulls it out. “They’re called Snowbabies,” Bucky tells her, smiling in that specific way you’ve come to recognize as nostalgia. 

“Snow baby?”

“Yeah. Careful they’re breakable, so you have to hold them and not drop them.” Bucky turns Lily’s figurine over in his hand, and Lily reaches for it. 

“Careful!” Winnie worries, but Bucky pats her knee reassuringly and smiles. 

“S’okay, Honey. We’ve got it.” He helps Lily not to drop her figurine, which is a little cherubic child in a snowsuit, on a sled. Winnie’s is a similar one, but hers is building a snowman. 

She gasps and holds it up to show you. “Look Mommy! Just like me!”

You laugh along (only a little watery, now). “Yeah, how ‘bout that?”

“These were popular when I was a kid,” Bucky tells Winnie, speaking close to Lily’s ear to make sure she hears clearly, too. “I’ve got some really old ones that my sister saved for me, but I thought it’d be nice to give you ones of your own. These are newer ones, and they’re special ‘cause they’re ornaments, see?” He holds Lily’s by the ribbon that’s looped at the top. 

Win’s eye get wide, and she finds the ribbon on hers, too. “We can hang them on the tree?”

“Sure can cupcake, but hang on, hang on!” Bucky laughs and catches her sleeve where she’s about to get up, ready to hang her ornament immediately. “Wait. Look here. There’s a secret compartment where you can put a message, see?” He shows Lily the little spot by her snow baby’s hand, where a little slip of paper rests, rolled up. “Look for yours,” he tells Win, and she doesn’t miss a beat, quickly pulling out the little scroll of paper that’s tucked away near her snow baby’s hand. 

“Wow.”

“Yeah. So Mommy and me wrote a special message on these, for you two. Want to read them together?” 

Winnie nods, her eyes back to being big and round. Bucky smiles at her, and you see something shift in Winnie’s expression. She seems to settle on something and scoots a little closer to Bucky. “Okay.”

Bucky visibly swallows, emotional, and it takes him a second before he’s able to continue. You come over and sit with them on the floor, too. Lily takes the opportunity to crawl over into your lap, and you let her sit there and kiss her curly hair. “Here,” you tell her, “Let’s give Bucky the paper, kay?” You help her to take the slip of paper out of her figurine, and Bucky unrolls the two pieces and places them on the carpet, one above the other. 

Neither of the girls can read of course, but Bucky’s been practicing “reading” books with them for a while, as a bonding activity and to increase Winnie’s self confidence around him. She seems happy to help “read” along, and Bucky reads aloud and points to the words,

“Dear Winnifred and Lily, we are so happy to have you in our home with us”—Your heart squeezes as you spot Win’s little mouth moving along silently with the words, just a beat behind Bucky saying them—“We know it was new and scary at first, but we hope that you have had a nice time living here, and feel happy and safe. That is the most important thing to us, because we love you.” Bucky pauses and his eyes flit to Winnie, and then you. 

You smile and nod, encouraging him to go on, but you can tell that he’s getting choked up, so you read from the second piece of paper, “We love you so much that we want you to stay with us always and be a family. Winnie, Lily, will you make us the proudest parents in the world, and let us be your Mommy and Daddy?”

You barely make it to the last word, your throat closing up there at the very end. And you use every ocular muscle in your possession to keep the tears from falling. Hold it together, hold it together.

Win blinks adorably with her mouth open in a little ‘o’ for a minute, as her little four year old brain processes it all. She gasps all of a sudden, and Lilly mimics her with a gasp, too. You can’t help it, you sob a little when your laugh comes out at that. “What do you think, Sweetie?” You ask Winnie, since she’s the one you’re really looking at for a reaction. Lily might not fully understand yet, but she seems interested in her sister’s reactions, and you know that whatever Win decides, Lil will follow her lead. You hold out your hand for Winnie to take, and she puts her little hand in yours and says,

“You gonna be my real Mommy?” 

You sob again and smile and nod, giving her hand a squeeze. “Yeah, Sweetheart. If that will make you happy. I would really like to be your Mommy—Your real Mommy,” you add after a beat. 

Win’s always been a very perceptive little girl. “She knows what’s up” as Bucky likes to say. And now is no different. Her eyes fill with wonder, like you’ve told her about Santa Clause and presents all over again, and she looks from you, to Bucky. He’s holding it together a little better than you, but his eyes are dangerously shiny, with tears threatening to break. 

“You can be my real Daddy, Buckee?” she asks, and Bucky’s really nearing his breaking point it would seem, because he goes disturbingly red in the face and nods hastily, sniffling once and then croaking out a hoarse, 

“Yeah, Cupcake. I can be your real Daddy. I would like that very much.”

“Forever?” she asks, amazed. You laugh-sob again and Bucky tells her yes, that you will be a family forever, if she wants. Then, heartbreakingly, Win gets a little frown of concern and looks at her sister again. “And Lily too?” she checks.

Bucky laugh-sobs like you, and he nods. “Yeah Hon. And Lily too.”

Winnie’s face bleeds from concern, to wonder, to joy in a few, glorious heartbeats as she figures it out. It’s the longest few seconds of your life, and you and Bucky are both holding your breath. “Oh wow,” Winnie says, and then, surprisingly, she moves quickly over to Bucky and buries herself against his chest with an excited little whine, her fingers digging into his sweater as she hugs him for the first time ever. “Daddy!” she cries happily. “You can be my real Daddy! And Lily too!” 

Bucky loses it for real then, the tears breaking from his eyes. He wraps his arms around Win’s little body and hugs her back for the first time. He kisses the top of her head, then looks at you. You’re giving Lily a hug in your lap, and she’s making excited noises because she can tell that her sister is happy and excited. She laughs and babbles, and you look to Winnie, who spends a few long moments burrowing against Bucky’s chest before she squeals and pulls away to come over and excitedly give you a big hug, too, exclaiming, “Mommy!” 

You laugh and give her a hug, kissing her cheek and getting your tears on her. “Love you, Wing-Ding. I’m so happy to be your Mommy.”

“My real Mommy,” She corrects, and you laugh-sob again and agree. Win pulls back in concern and looks at you. She reaches out to touch your face. “Mommy, why you crying?”

That certainly doesn’t help the tears, but you’re laughing, too, and you tell her. “Because I’m so happy, Honey. Sometimes people cry when they’re very, very happy.”

Her face splits in a smile. “Me too!” She looks at Lilly and grabs her hand joyfully. “Lily too!” Lily agrees with a happy little squeal, and then Win jumps in an excited circle, clapping her hands and saying “Wow!” a bunch of times, the ball on her Santa hat bouncing along as she goes.You and Bucky meet each other’s eyes and share a lovestruck smile. This has to be it, you think. This has to be the happiest a person can feel.

“Love you,” Bucky murmurs.

You nod tearfully and murmur back, “Love you.”

Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, please please consider giving it a re-blog: it means the world to me, and it helps my story reach more readers!

💖Snow babies were a very popular decorating item for the holidays, back in the 1920s/30s/40s

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This has been a fill/submission for:

❄️Fluffcember (@fluff-cember): Day 25 - "the perfect gift"

❄️Into the Omegaverse (@intotheomegaverse): Day 14 - ornament keepsakes

❄️Bucky Boy Bingo (@buckyboybingo) : B1 - caught in the act [card: Sarah-writes-Stucky]

❄️Sebastian Stan Bingo (@sebastianstanbingo): G3 - Accidental Pregnancy [card: sarahowritesostucky]

❄️Bucky Barnes Bingo (@buckybarnesbingo): Y2 - fluff [card: sarah-writes-stucky B050]

❄️Marvel Smash Bingo (@marvel-smash-bingo): G4 - somnophilia [card: sarah-writes-stucky]

❄️December Daze Challenge (@the-slumberparty): "the first day of snow."

[thatmexisaurusrex]

Totally My Boyfriend

Okay, this is for @cliophilyra for a holiday gift exchange. This is a "What if Eddie and Ali all happened in season 1 and this is an end of season 1/start of season 2 Buck meeting Tommy because Ali dumped him right before his parents came to town and Buck needs a perfect partner to show off just how far he's gotten in life" fic with a holiday twist. Enjoy! 🥰

Totally My Boyfriend

| Pairing: BuckTommy | Rated: M | WC: 25.5K | Chapter: 5/5 |

Summary: Evan "Buck" Buckley wanted to show off to his parents during the holidays - great life, great job, great girlfriend. But when his recently moved-in girlfriend of eight months dumps him before the holiday season, he decides to take Chimney up on his offer to find him a fake partner for when his parents visit. He just didn't know that the partner would be a fake boyfriend by the name of Thomas "Tommy" Kinard. And Buck didn't expect that he might want to keep Tommy as his actual boyfriend.

Excerpt:

“Hi. I’m Tommy Kinard. The partner,” said Tommy as he extended the flowers to Evan, “Do you need any help with preparing for the parents? I’m great at cleaning up. I’m admittedly an okay cook too, but I do take direction well, if that helps.” Tommy. Might have. Winked. Because, fuck it, the man was handsome. This might be his last conversation with the man. Why not put on a bit of the charm? Evan. Blushed. Crimson. It seemed to spread to his neck; his chest a bit. He swallowed hard. Oh. Well. Maybe this wouldn’t be the last conversation. Or. Maybe it would at least be more than a five-minute conversation.

READ THE REST ON AO3!

[mono-chromia]

Team Sport

A Drarry microfic//oneshot by mono-chromia

Cover illustration by my beloved @basiatlu (alternate versions can be viewed here)

Word count: 1.015

Read under the cut, or on AO3

Draco hadn't understood, but as he comes to find out, Hermione's words had made perfect sense. Harry Potter makes a sport out of sleeping; commiting to a nap the same way he does to a game of Quidditch.

'Mione had once called Harry a "hard sleeper", whatever that may be.

"A heavy sleeper?" Draco had asked, unsure if he was missing some muggle turn of phrase. It comes up when they are trying to figure out the sleeping arrangements in the shared hotel rooms for Luna and Neville's destination wedding.

"Oh, no," she says. "Well, that too, I suppose, so he won't mind if you get back late, but he sleeps hard. I can't quite explain it." Draco doesn't mention the undiscussed assumption that he and Harry are apparently to bunk up together. "You know how he always tries to carry all the plates and cutlery to the table in a single go? Even if there's sixteen people dining?" Draco nods. "It's kind of like that."

Draco hadn't understood, but as he comes to find out, Hermione's words had made perfect sense. Harry Potter makes a sport out of sleeping; commiting to a nap the same way he does to a game of Quidditch.

Their portkey takes them from 5 A.M. in London to 11 A.M. somewhere in the Mekong Delta region, so when they arrive in their room, Harry immediately crawls into the pristinely made hotel bed, nesting the crisp duvets and the pillows into an iceberg-like structure and sleeps. Hard. Sprawled on his belly with his clothes still on (he's wearing sweat shorts at least, not jeans, thank Merlin) but with his feet sticking out for temperature regulation. He looks like he knows what he's doing. Draco watches him fuss and clumsily toe off his socks (because what lunatic wears socks to bed? Ridiculous) and then doze off immediately, squeezing in a highly efficient, half hour kip before they are expected for their lunch arrangements.

Harry seems more affected by the jetlag than the rest of the company, so Draco finds him, not unlike a cat, sleeping in strange places and at odd moments during the entirety of their stay in Vietnam.

For instance, on a couch in the hotel lobby one early morning, while Ron and Hermione argue with the clerk over the tour reservation that Ron definitely made correctly, with his head in Luna's lap, hoodie pulled low over his eyes, and his arms hugged around his chest.

Or, on the lawn chairs by the pool in the middle of the day. Which, Draco supposes, isn't that strange a place to sleep, but Harry's commitment to the activity is once again proven when Hermione ambles over to rub sunscreen on his back and place a sunhat over his head, all without as much as a twitch.

It's really quite fascinating to watch (though no one else seems to think so) and Draco finds himself somewhat jealous, because even when he diligently works through his own list of requirements for a good sleep (freshly showered, moisturized, teeth brushed, clean sheets, glass of water on the side table, window open for airflow, access to his own pillow) he still doesn't often manage to make eight uninterrupted hours, let alone any misguided attempts at a restful nap. When Draco naps it means the situation is dire, that he is unwell, that he feels like something has crawled up his ass and died there, and it usually only exacerbates his condition instead of having the much desired effect it seems to have on Harry. That effect being that he wakes up content, mellow and sleep-soft (objectively) and exists like that for five minutes or so, before moving onto stage two of his post-nap euphoria, which includes but is not limited to; a general lust for life, toothy grins, silly jokes (objectively), and a propensity for affection towards whoever is nearest to him at any given moment.

Which means that Draco finds himself subjected to the feeling of gently excited hands on his wrists and back as they ooh-and-ahh at the view on their hike, and a chin hooked over his shoulder as Harry feigns mild interest in the book Draco is reading, before asking him to come swim.

Apparently, it also means that, when Draco is keyed up with homesickness on the third of their eight-night stay, Harry invites him into bed.

"You okay?"

Draco looks back from where he has his head stuck out the window, spooked and feeling slightly caught. He stares at Harry in his bed, making up the shape of his body under the sheets from his feet (sticking out from under the cover) to his rumpled head that's more under the pillow than on top of it. Harry's voice is thick with sleep and so, so soft.

"Oh," says Draco. "Yeah. Um. Just— a bout of insomnia."

Harry just hums, low and noncommittal, and for a moment Draco thinks that he might be sleep talking. But then Harry shifts and lifts up the duvet, wordlessly and casually extending an invite towards Draco, and waits for him to get in.

Draco would object, but maybe Harry's bed is just that much more comfortable, maybe that's why he sleeps so well, and well— truly it looks much too inviting to resist. So Draco doesn't object, and quietly pads across their room to slip into bed with Harry. The blanket is bunched up and skewed, there are more than enough pillows, yet none of them in the right spot to actually fulfill their intended purpose, but Harry isn't fussed in the least, and wastes no time snaking an arm across Draco's middle and slotting his head under Draco's chin. Harry seems to fall back asleep pretty much immediately, and Draco is suddenly surrounded by an aura of sleep-warmed sheets, skin-on-skin contact and a bouquet of powdery scented curls, clean skin and sweet spearmint breath. It would have been overwhelming if it wasn't so blissfully sedative.

A robust dose of Dreamless Sleep has nothing on the deep rise and fall of Harry's chest, the dozy twitch of his toes against Draco's leg, the blooming warmth in all the spots where their bodies are touching. Draco dreamily wishes he could bottle it. Who knew that sleeping was a team sport.

[use-your-telescope]

Together by this Christmas Tree

Summary: The Avengers have an annual tradition of a Secret Santa Gift Exchange, and Theo’s life becomes a real life Hallmark Movie when she draws Loki’s name and has to get him five days of gifts. Because shopping for a god and a prince, especially one that you have a massive crush on, is easy, right?!

Author's Notes: HELLO AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS! This is a one-shot set in the WEMTBB world with our favorite sorcerers, however you do not need to be caught up on (or even have started) WEMTBB in order to enjoy this story! For those of you who are reading WEMTBB, this takes place in the future, when these two are in their “mutual pining idiots” stage; you will absolutely spot some easter eggs, but there are no major spoilers here.

This is for @sarahscribbles Christmas Collection, because I’m strolling in five minutes late with Starbucks for Christmas by posting this the day after Christmas. If you're a regular reader of WEMTBB, I am still planning to update it on Sunday (12/31).

Content: Absolute tooth-rotting fluff, Secret Santa, LOADS of mutual pining, Wanda being a very supportive friend, some pranks along the way, Loki in multiple sweaters, and lots of Loki getting the love, kindness, and attention he deserves.

Word Count: 8,104

Read on AO3 | When Everything's Made to be Broken Masterlist

—

When Steve first made the announcement, at the end of a mission debrief, Theo swore he was joking.

The idea of the Avengers making a point to celebrate Christmas seemed a bit strange - beyond the fact that there were two Norse Gods on the team, it seemed presumptuous to assume everyone else was Christian. 

Theo’s feelings about the winter holidays were, at best, ambivalent. Sure, she liked the holiday lights, and she was a sucker for a good holiday song. She enjoyed showering her niece, Katie, with presents - after all, what kind of auntie would Theo be if she didn’t absolutely spoil her niece? And any time Theo could visit Mémère for longer than an hour or two was a blessing in its own right.

But the holidays also reminded her of the family she lost, and being the single friend at every holiday party got tiring (especially when her well-intended friends kept trying to set Theo up with people that Theo had absolutely no interest in). It had reached a point that Theo often volunteered to work the holiday shifts, as chaotic as they were, just so she had the excuse to avoid awkward gatherings.

However, when the other Avengers lit up like the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree at the announcement of the Secret Santa gift exchange, Theo kept her mouth shut. She was still relatively new to the team, and it wasn’t the first time she had been subjected to workplace celebrations for holidays she didn’t celebrate. 

But of course, this was a group of superheroes celebrating, so it wasn’t a basic Secret Santa; no, of course not, because nothing about them was basic. It was five days of secret Santa. 

At least the rules were simple: each person drew the name of another Avenger. Then, you had to give the person whose name you drew a series of gifts with clues about your identity leading up to the final day, when you would give them a gift and a final clue. Then, each person would try to guess who their Secret Santa was. Regardless of whether or not they figured it out, each person would receive one final gift, something a bit more special.

Steve closed the announcement by informing the group they would draw names the following Monday, and would have approximately a month to pick out gifts before they completed the exchange. A certain buzz filled the air as everyone left the conference room, with some reminiscing about funny moments from past exchanges, while others pondered over who they might end up with.

It wasn’t until after the meeting that Theo had the foresight to ask if the Secret Santa exchange was meant to replace getting everyone their own gifts, or if it was in addition to getting everyone their own gifts. Wanda, ever the MVP when it came to explaining unwritten Avengers’ rules to Theo, explained that it was in addition to getting everyone else gifts. 

Theo spent the next two days praying she would get someone easy to shop for - after all, she already had to get gifts for a dozen Avengers, plus her hospital colleagues, and her family. She wasn’t sure that she had enough mental capacity to figure out gifts for someone she wasn’t as familiar with.

Of course, some deity had it out for her, because she drew Loki’s name.

Loki, the prince and ‘most powerful sorcerer in the nine realms,’ who could buy or conjure pretty much anything he wanted in the snap of his fingers.

Loki, who, besides being Theo’s best friend among the Avengers, happened to be the person Theo had a massive fucking crush on.

It wasn’t like anything would ever come of the crush - Loki had a firm rule that he did not date. He had no interest in relationships whatsoever. It was a tidbit of information Theo learned early on in her tenure as an Avenger, amidst a conversation about the love lives of the Avengers as a whole. Loki would spend one night with someone, but never allow it to become an ongoing thing - in his words, “everyone has certain needs to satiate, but courting someone is no interest of mine.” 

So, despite Theo’s unbidden thoughts of channeling her inner hallmark movie to reveal her feelings to Loki, she needed to figure out how the hell to navigate getting him Secret Santa gifts, a normal gift… oh yeah, and his birthday gift, because that was a week before Christmas.

Inevitably, once they finished drawing names, Theo immediately dragged Wanda down the hall by the sleeve of her red hoodie and into Wanda’s suite, since it was closer than Theo’s.

“What’s going on?” Wanda half-laughed as she closed the door and glanced, worriedly, at Theo, who had started to pace the room. “Are you okay?”

“I need your help with Secret Santa — What the hell do you get someone who could have anything they want for Christmas?” Theo flopped on Wanda’s bed with a dramatic sigh, her mind reeling with how to handle her predicament.

“That depends –” Wanda answered slowly, eyes narrowed as she approached Theo. “Why do you think they have everything?” 

“Because he’s a prince and a God who can conjure anything he damn well pleases with the snap of his fingers!” Theo tossed her arms up in the air, gesturing exasperatingly at nothing. 

Nothing - just like the ideas she had for Loki’s gifts. 

Nothing.

“So you have Loki for your Secret Santa?” Wanda sat down beside Theo, smirking at her.

“Yes!” Theo buried her face with her hands. “I had a hard enough time figuring out a birthday present, and I still haven’t figured out what to get him for a normal Christmas gift! But now I also have to give him a Secret Santa gift?!”

“Gifts, plural.” Wanda reminded her, smirk widening into a rather evil-looking grin. “Remember, it’s a week of lead-up to the final gift, because the goal is to try and have them guess who it is.”

“FUCK.” Theo let her arms drop to her sides. “This isn’t fair—“ she whined, earning a poorly stifled laugh from Wanda. 

“Oh come on, it’s not like he’s the only one who is hard to shop for,” Wanda attempted to sympathize, but the giggles that slipped out as she replied did little to help. “Can you imagine having to buy gifts for Tony?”

“Simple, get him booze.” Theo scoffed, propping herself up on her elbows. 

Wanda rolled her eyes and adjusted her ponytail, one auburn lock falling aside to frame her face.

“Look, half the fun is writing the little cards that go with each gift to give the person clues about who the gifts are from, and then trying to figure out the identity of your Secret Santa,” Wanda pointed out. “Besides, other than Thor, I’m willing to bet that no one knows Loki as well as you do!”

“That only makes it worse,” Theo complained and flopped back a second time, rolling over to bury her face in Wanda’s burgundy comforter. “Because I know he’s a picky bitch and nothing will be good enough for him.”

The snort that came out of Wanda did nothing to ease Theo’s concern, but it sounded ridiculous enough that even Theo laughed. 

“I think that he’d like any gift you give him, simply because it’s from you.” 

“That’s cliché as hell.” Theo pressed herself up enough to look over at Wanda, who, despite Theo’s whining and dramatics, still wore a small, knowing smile.

“And true.” Wanda shrugged. “You are, without a doubt, his favorite person on the team, and probably on this planet.”

“Yeah, for all the good that does me.” Theo grumbled to herself, but sat up all the way. “It’s not like I can tell him on day one that I’m his Secret Santa, so the gifts have to be good. No, they have to be perfect.”

“You’re overthinking this.” Wanda chuckled softly, then rose to her feet and held out a hand for Theo to grab onto. “How about we go shopping and see what is out there? Maybe you’ll get some inspiration that way.”

The petulant child within Theo wanted to complain for a bit longer about her predicament, but deep down, Wanda had a good point. If nothing else, it would give her a chance to get out and clear her head before the inevitable descent into holiday madness.

“Right. That’s probably a good idea.” Theo accepted Wanda’s hand and allowed her to pull Theo onto her feet. “I need to get gifts for my family anyways, so maybe i’ll knock it all out at once.” 

“Only if I can help you pick out gifts for Katie,” Wanda winked at Theo as she opened the door. 

“Deal.” Theo didn’t have to think twice before answering. “Do you have plans for this afternoon? I’m not working, so we could go today…”

Wanda held up her purse and grinned. “Let’s go!”

—

Shopping with Wanda, unsurprisingly, proved to be a fruitful venture. 

Sure, the pair went absolutely wild with gifts for Theo’s niece. Would Max kill Theo when he saw just how much stuff Theo got? Absolutely. Did she care? Not a bit; after all, she had to maintain her reputation as the coolest aunt.

More importantly, Theo managed to put together a list of ideas for gifts that referenced inside jokes from the time that Theo and Loki had known each other. Even better - the conversation between Theo and Wanda as they shopped, though wide-ranging and lively, gave Theo the inspiration for her final gift.

In the end, the gifts required some careful planning, calling in some favors, and a lot of sneaking to make it happen - not to mention a few sleepless nights as Theo put the finishing touches on certain details - but she managed to pull everything together, just in time for the first day of gift-giving.

Pepper had really outdone herself with the holiday decorations. On a normal day, the common areas within the tower could be described as minimalist: clean lines, lots of metal and glass, neutral tones everywhere, no knick knacks or soft touches to be found. Not even a throw pillow or blanket could be found in the common areas - whenever Theo wanted a pillow or a blanket, she had to bring it from her suite.

Yet, when everyone filtered into the living room after going out for dinner, they may as well have walked into a luxury ski chalet at Tahoe. In one corner sat a massive, lush evergreen tree trimmed with glistening tinsel, soft white lights, and a collection of beautifully coordinated ornaments in burgundy, cream, gold, navy, emerald, and eggplant. 

The fireplace had a beautiful garland of eucalyptus, cypress, and cedar draped across the mantle; tucked among the greenery sat pillar candles of varying heights in burgundy, navy, emerald, eggplant, and gold. Elegant, cream-colored stockings with each Avenger’s name embroidered at the top hung in front of the crackling fire (plus stockings for Pepper and Happy, since they were pretty much unofficial Avengers). 

Blankets and accent pillows, some in plaids that incorporated the colors of the ornaments and candles, others in solid colors, all made of luxuriously plush fabrics, found homes on the various seating throughout the living room. 

Even the coffee tables had coordinating centerpieces.

Theo quickly found her usual seat, but continued to gawk at the living room’s transformation. When the hell did Pepper (or, Theo supposed, whoever Pepper hired) have the time to decorate the living room? Just that morning, when Theo left for work, the living room had been its usual, minimalist styling. Maybe if she had stopped back in her suite before meeting the others at the restaurant she would have seen the living room decoration in progress.

Hardly a moment later, Loki sat down beside her. Dressed in a forest-green crewneck sweater that perfectly framed the planes of his chest and black dress pants that highlighted his long legs, Loki somehow managed to look holiday appropriate without even trying. His raven curls, just slightly disheveled from the wind and snow outside, framed his elegant features so perfectly; combined with the warm glow of the fire and the soft light of the christmas tree he appeared downright radiant, particularly as he grinned at something Thor said. 

“Quite magnificent, is it not?” Loki leaned over and nudged Theo with his elbow, interrupting her train of thought. Theo had to stop for a moment and consider whether he was referring to the himself, or the living room.

“Yeah,” Theo agreed, her cheeks growing hot as she realized Loki caught her staring. “Compared to when I left this morning, it is a night and day difference.“

“I suspect Miss Potts takes great pleasure in decorating for the winter holidays.” Loki offered Theo a soft smile. His soft eyes caught the flicker of the candles atop the coffee table as he studied Theo, and for the second time in less than a couple minutes, she found herself speechless.

Luckily, Dum-E saved the day when he dropped a present on Theo’s lap, and in doing so brought both sorcerers’ attention to the larger group. As it turned out, Dum-E distributed everyone’s gifts - all wrapped in the same paper, to make sure that the gift wrap didn’t give anything away - and as soon as he finished, it was time to open the first day’s gift.

They started with Bruce, then worked their way through a randomly generated list that Steve put together. The soft lights of the Christmas tree, glow of the fire crackling in the hearth, and joyous laughter as each person read their clue and opened their gifts filled the room with such warmth. It was the kind of holiday scene you’d see on a postcard, especially since snowflakes drifted past the tall windows and into the city below.

As they drew closer to Loki’s turn, Theo’s hands began to sweat. What if he didn’t like her gift? Sure, it was kind of corny, but it was a fun reference to how they spent much of their time. He didn’t seem overly thrilled by the idea of Secret Santa in the first place; what if her silly little gifts only made him hate the game?

Well, she didn’t have to wait any longer to find out, because it finally reached Loki’s turn.

Loki picked up the small box, turning it over and inspecting it. He tossed it into the air and caught it in one hand, lithe fingers curling perfectly around the container. 

“It is quite light, and rather small,” he observed. “Whatever is in this box does not jostle when moved, so it either fills the box or it is carefully packed in place. Let us see what is inside.”

Loki methodically removed the ribbons, then carefully tore away the gift wrap. He removed the lid in a graceful motion and set it aside, all the while peering into the box. He hummed.

Seeing the fabric folded and coiled inside, he reached in and tugged on the cloth, pulling it from the box. The fabric unfolded as he lifted the gift into the air, revealing the first gift: a pair of crew-length socks - black, with an emerald green heel and toe. On one side of each sock, placed so it would be visible while wearing shoes, was the design of an apple car driven by a worm, as well as text which read: “I’m on my way to the bookstore!”

“Aw, those are cute!” Wanda winked at Theo as she said the words, to which Theo casually agreed. 

Loki maintained a relatively neutral expression, though he let out a rather amused hum. He set the socks in his lap, then opened the card. As his eyes scanned over the text, one side of his lips curled up, then the other, until he wore a sheepish smile. He read aloud: 

“I know you love the bookstore,

We’ve been there a time or two,

But since I can’t buy the whole store,

I got you a pair of Crew… socks!

Sorry, I know you like poetry, but your Secret Santa isn’t a poet.” Loki chuckled, shaking his head, then continued: “These socks are from Out of Print, which has donated over 5 million books to communities in need and supports a variety of literacy initiatives.” 

He looked up from the card and glanced around at the group. “Well, thank you to my mysterious Secret Santa. I quite enjoy a whimsical piece of attire, and I am certain these will be put to good use.”

Next to Loki, Theo let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. 

First day was not a failure.

Only… four more to go.

—

The second day of gift-giving arrived, and with it came another day of second-guessing whether or not Loki would like his gift.  

This time, the idea came from a conversation early in their friendship. After falling asleep in Theo’s suite, Loki joined her for coffee on her balcony, at which point Theo explained a sudoku to Loki. At the time, he commented that there were “some puzzles he was still learning to solve.”

From that morning on, Theo couldn’t help but notice the way Loki approached briefings and missions as puzzles to solve. So when Theo found a pair of rather clever puzzle books (many of which provided a formidable challenge, even for her), she knew that it would be a perfect gift.

Yet, as the day crept on and the gift exchange grew near, Theo felt the seeds of doubt taking root once again. What if he thought the puzzles were stupid? He was a god, after all, and insanely intelligent. The puzzles might have been a challenge for Theo, but they were probably child’s play for Loki. 

Still, it was too late to turn back, so by the time Theo sat down with the others and the gifts were distributed, she simply hid her sweaty palms in her sweater sleeves and acted like it was any other night in the tower.

Loki, for what it was worth, seemed perfectly relaxed when he took his usual seat beside Theo; this time, he opted for a plain gray t-shirt and a black cardigan, paired with what were (secretly) Theo’s favorite pair of dark, slim-fit jeans. When Loki crossed one ankle over his knee, Theo noticed his emerald green and black socks and her heart skipped a beat - he wore the socks she gave him.

That was a good sign, right?

Once again, Dum-E distributed the gifts, then each person took their turn opening their gift and reading the card; this time they started with Yelena, but otherwise the order was the same. After what felt like ages, Steve finally gave Loki the go-ahead to open his gift.

Like the first day, Loki went through the same routine of examining the box, then peeled away the wrapping paper. 

For the sake of maintaining a bit of mystery (and making it slightly less obvious that the gift was a pair of books), Theo put the set into a clothing box and padded the sides. It wasn’t that sneaky, since the box was heavier than it would have been with apparel inside, but at least Loki wouldn’t know until he opened the box.

He opened the box and removed the first book. 

“The Master Theorem - Book of Puzzles, Intrigue, and Wit,” he read the title, then held it up for all to see, then held up the second book and read off the title. “The Master Theorem: Elite - Book of Puzzles, Intrigue, and Wit.”

He returned the books to his lap, pausing for a moment to flip through the pages and glance at the contents. 

“You gonna open the card?” Tony nodded towards the card that came with the box, which barely poked out from beneath the pair of books.

“Ah, yes, apologies.” Loki offered a half-smile, then retrieved the card and read aloud:

“While the identity of your Secret Santa is, well, a secret, it’s no secret that you, Loki, are pretty smart - like, ridiculously smart. And you’re a quick learner… Plus you’ve got a knack for problem solving. With that in mind, you seem to be a master when it comes to puzzles; even though you once told me there are still some puzzles you are learning to solve, the way you light up when you encounter a good logic puzzle or mystery makes me think there are few things you enjoy more than a good challenge.

“This series of puzzle books is notorious for its difficult logic puzzles - the New York Times called the first Master Theorem book “Mensa’s evil twin,” and the Elite edition is supposed to be exponentially harder. But with your sharp wit and attention to detail, I’m sure you’ll have it figured out in no time… And by the time you finish, maybe you’ll figure out the identity of your Secret Santa as well!”

Loki grinned as he folded the card and set it aside. “Thank you, my mysterious benefactor - I imagine I will be entertained for quite some time.”

For the rest of the evening, whenever Theo snuck a glance at Loki, she caught him flipping through his new books with a subtle smile and a twinkle in his eye, only half-paying attention to the others as they opened their gifts.

Day two: rousing success. Only three more days to go.

—

For the third day of gift-giving, Theo took a bigger risk.

At one point in Theo and Wanda’s shopping adventure, they stopped at a bakery to grab a snack and some coffee. While they waited for their drinks, they got on the topic of how, earlier that morning, Thor offered Loki a frosted pop-tart. In response, Loki nearly disintegrated the thing on sight, calling it an abomination to pastries everywhere.

And that was from Loki, the guy who was notorious for his sweet tooth. 

The conversation gave Theo an idea.

Ever since Loki roped Theo into his pranks, Theo had wanted to find a way to turn the tables and prank him. And what better way to prank him than to bait-and switch some sweet treats?

With a call to Theo’s favorite Bodega cashier, Carlos (who still hadn’t gotten up the courage to ask out that girl, but had at least he learned her name was Liza), Theo managed to get her hands on one of the big cardboard boxes that they shipped pop-tarts in. Importantly, it said pop-tarts all along the outside, so when Loki saw the box he would initially think it was a whole case of pop-tarts.

Instead of filling it with pop-tarts, Theo convinced Mémère to bake up all sorts of traditional Aneterran holiday treats to fill the box. Given Mémère already planned to make the treats, it was easy for the family matriarch to accommodate the request. However, when Theo explained her plan, a knowing, almost devilish grin spread across Mémère’s face; the next thing Theo knew, there were treats that Theo hadn’t seen since she was a child. 

Packing the treats into the box required quite a bit of attention to detail - it had to have the weight and heft of a case of pop-tarts, and it had to be packed tightly enough to not move around, but she also didn’t want to crush the treats. 

There may have been some enchantments involved to make it work, but hopefully Loki wouldn’t notice.  

Not wanting to make the prank too convincing, Theo made sure to leave clues that the box had been altered somehow; knowing Loki, realizing the box had been tampered with would make him curious enough to look inside.

When everyone gathered for the third night of gift-giving, the laughter and merriment from the first two nights returned almost immediately. But when it came to Loki’s turn to open his gift, Theo’s confidence from the day prior collided with her nerves, to the point that she clutched her mug of spiked hot chocolate so her hands wouldn’t shake. 

Just like the first two nights, Loki inspected the wrapped gift, lifting it up and giving it a gentle shake. “Much larger, and rather heavy,” he noted. “Yet, there’s a card that indicates I ought to open it before the gift. I suppose I ought to follow my Secret Santa’s request.”

He set the gift back in his lap, and quickly opened the card. 

“Heard you have a sweet tooth…” Loki read aloud, then glanced down at the gift and hummed. “Well, let us see what is inside.”

Loki started to tear away the wrapping paper, but paused part-way through; his face twisted into something unreadable when he saw the writing on the box. 

Theo bit her lip to not give herself away.

“Pop-tarts?” Thor exclaimed, cocking his head to the side with curiosity. “Brother, I did not think you to be a fan of the Midgardian pastry.”

“I…” Loki trailed off, face falling as he unwrapped the rest of the box. “Interesting.”

Theo’s heart stuttered in her chest - what if he didn’t think to open the box? Would she give herself away if she said something? Oh god, he looked like a kicked puppy — she should have realized that he might take it wrong because Thor likes pop-tarts and he’s the popular brother, shitshitshit—

“Loki, maybe you should open the box,” Bruce suggested, “There’s a weird wrinkle by the cardboard seam that makes me think it was opened, then closed again.”

If it wouldn’t have given her away, Theo would have leapt to her feet and hugged the man for his suggestion.

“Yeah, that box looks like it has been messed with,” Sam agreed, “and I think everyone knows you hate pop-tarts.”

The kicked-puppy expression softened as Loki took a second look at the box and noticed the obvious tampering that Bruce and Sam pointed out. A hint of pink rose on Loki’s cheeks - if Theo didn’t know better, Loki looked almost embarrassed at the realization - but he went ahead and opened the box. 

Theo held her breath, all of her attention trained on Loki as she waited for his reaction. 

Peering into the box, Loki’s shoulders suddenly dropped and relief flooded his features; he reached in and retrieved a treat similar to a chocolate scone, as well as a second card.

“Pleased to report that I was mistaken; it appears the box is filled with a variety of homemade treats, as well as a second card.” He let out a soft, almost hesitant chuckle as he opened the note and read aloud: 

“HA! Nearly got you, didn’t I?!” Loki laughed a second time, this time a little louder, and nodded his head. “You’ve pulled off some of the best pranks, but your Secret Santa is known for a good prank or two. 

“Jokes aside, did you really think your Secret Santa would do that to you? Of course not - I know you have a discerning taste when it comes to sweet treats (far more discerning than your brother, of course)! These are some of my favorite holiday snacks from growing up; I think you’d like them too. If nothing else, I promise they taste better than pop-tarts.”  

Loki returned the note to the box, then unwrapped the treat in his other hand. He took a bite, and his face almost immediately lit up. He chewed for a moment, then swallowed, and cleared his throat to speak. 

“Well, mysterious Secret Santa,” he said, “I will confirm that this treat is quite divine. However, you best watch yourself– “ Looking around at their teammates, a dark, sinister grin curled over Loki’s face. “– I am known as the Trickster god for a reason, and you may very well have started a war.”

When Loki briefly locked eyes with Theo, her heart skipped a few beats; in just a few moments he went from beautiful to downright devilishly handsome, and his threat should not have been nearly as hot as it was. 

Sweet baby Jesus, she needed to get her shit together. 

“Any guesses on who it is?” Bucky asked, tapping his vibranium fingers along the side of his still-wrapped present. 

“I’ve a few contenders,” Loki smoothly answered, the earlier signs of discomfort completely gone, “but I will wait to put forth any claims.”

“Who cares! The real question is are you gonna share!?” Shuri pointed at the pastry in Loki’s hand, then held out her own hand. “That looks amazing!”

“Maybe once the Secret Santa is revealed, they can bring us all some treats.” Wanda replied, though she gave Theo a pointed glance, to which Theo glared back - after all, she didn’t want Wanda to give her away. “But for now, I think Loki should get to enjoy all of his gifts.”

Loki, who was busy searching through the rest of the box, didn’t seem to notice Wanda staring at Theo. 

Shuri glanced at Wanda, then at Theo, then grinned as she made the connection. 

“Fine, but they better bring me some extras,” Shuri relented. “That thing looks amazing.” 

Theo smiled and rolled her eyes, just in time for Steve to inform Wanda that it was her turn to open her gift.

Day three, though nearly a bust, worked out. 

Only two more to go. 

—

After the scare of the third day, Theo went into the fourth day feeling more comfortable about her gift. Sure, Loki may shrug at it, and there was a chance he wouldn’t use it. But at least she wouldn’t run the risk of upsetting him by making him believe his preferences were the same as his brother’s.

In some ways, the gift seemed particularly timely: a winter storm raged outside the tower, with howling winter winds and heavy snow that made sitting in the living room feel like they were inside a snowglobe. Even with the heat on and the fire roaring in the hearth, everyone bundled up in sweaters and plush blankets, sipping on mugs of cocoa and tea in between opening gifts. 

On the fourth night, Loki’s turn to open his gift came even earlier. Similar to the first three nights, he inspected the box - small, slender, almost like a fancy box for a fountain pen. 

After making quick work of the wrapping paper, he glanced at the lid of the box:

“Museum of Modern Art Design Store,” he read, then shrugged and removed the lid of the box.

Nestled among chic black packing material sat a stainless steel tea infuser. Its design was what drew Theo to the gift - long, slender, with a hook on the top for easy removal, it looked downright elegant. And with the amount of tea Loki drank, an upgrade to his usual steeping methods seemed like the perfect sort of gift - thoughtful and useful.

Loki hummed, carefully slipping the tea infuser out of its packaging and inspecting it. The stainless steel glowed beneath the Christmas lights and reflected the smile curling over Loki’s face. He twisted the cap off, then closed it again, nodding to himself as he set it aside and opened the card. Like the first three days, he read the message to the group:

“A tea infuser that combines form and function?! It’s almost as stylish as you are (almost)! As the resident tea expert on the team, it seemed only appropriate to give you something for making your favorite (non-alcoholic) drink - after all, you’ve brought me, your Secret Santa, more than a few drinks over the course of knowing each other!”

The hint, in Theo’s opinion, was almost painfully obvious; Loki brought Theo drinks all the time. Coffee at the hospital when he knew she had a long day. Whiskey or wine when she needed to unwind. Tea when it was late and neither of them could fall asleep. Water when Theo just used her inhaler and needed to rinse out her mouth. Throughout the entire time she had been an Avenger, Theo never saw Loki bring anyone else drinks quite so often - not Thor, not Wanda, not anyone. However, the clue made so much sense, and there was only one more day, so it wasn’t like she had to keep the secret for much longer. 

What Theo didn’t account for, however, was almost every other person in the room making the connection between the clue and the identity of Loki’s Secret Santa. Over a dozen pairs of eyes all trained in on Theo as Loki glanced down to set the card and gift aside; the heat of their stares nearly made Theo lose her composure.

When Steve asked if Loki knew who his Secret Santa was, he simply smirked and replied “I’ve my suspicions, but I find I rather enjoy the suspense and anticipation of the grand reveal.”

Somehow, she held it together, but just barely. Sure, Theo was grateful that Loki seemed to enjoy the gifts up to that point, but “suspense and anticipation of the grand reveal?” If Theo was under pressure before, now she was on the verge of being crushed under the weight of expectation, and the whole damn team knew it.

Theo shot a terrified look at Wanda, who only sent back an impish grin.

Shit.

One more day to go.

—

The final day of Secret Santa arrived, and with it, the grand reveal. Apprehension loomed over Theo’s head like a storm-cloud; after all, the pressure was on - not only to give the perfect gifts, but to set up the perfect reveal as Loki’s secret Santa.

Despite the overall success of the first four days, by the time the last exchange began, Theo was too nervous to sit down. Instead, she leaned against the kitchen island with her mug of hot chocolate and whiskey clutched in both hands, offering little more than one-word answers whenever someone tried to ask her something. The only time she even considered sitting down was when Loki asked if she would join him on the couch, but then all the potential ways she might make a fool of herself flooded her thoughts and she politely declined, claiming that she needed to stretch her legs a bit.

If Theo didn’t know better, Loki seemed disappointed that she didn’t want to sit by him, but it was probably her mind playing tricks on her; after all, Theo was the one with the crush, not Loki.

At least from across the room, Theo could easily admire Loki in his thick, fair isle sweater - seasonally appropriate, of course, but like all of his attire, it fit him perfectly and highlighted his long, lithe form in all the right ways. Between her nerves about the gift and how distractingly handsome Loki was, she barely noticed when the first two Avengers opened their gifts and found out who was assigned as their Secret Santa.

For the final night of the exchange, Loki was the third person to open his gifts.

While Loki focused on the large box in front of him, everyone else stared at Theo. If she could have, she would have melted into the floor; instead, she stood by the kitchen island with her mug of hot chocolate and whiskey in both hands, shooting dirty looks at the rest of the group so they wouldn’t give her away.

… Not like Loki hadn’t already figured out that Theo was his Secret Santa, because he likely knew. If he didn’t know, he was about to figure it out, but that was beside the point. 

Of all the gifts Theo chose, today’s were the most nerve-wracking because they were the most personal: the pre-reveal gift referenced something Loki gave her when she ended up in the hospital with an asthma exacerbation and pneumonia a few months prior. The post-reveal gift referenced the time all the Avengers visited New Asgard, and Loki took her on a late-night walking tour of the community.  

The note on the card was, well, maybe a bit too sentimental - in hindsight, maybe she should have saved the message for a later card that she could have given him in private. But by that point the card was taped to the box in Loki’s lap, and Theo couldn’t do a damn thing about it, other than brace herself for the inevitable fallout. 

At least she had the sense to write a disclaimer at the top of the note: “You might want to read this to yourself first, then decide if you want to read it out loud.”

After four days, Loki’s examination of the gift box had become a routine: turn it all around, lift it up in the air, give it a shake - and once he seemed satisfied, he peeled away the wrapping paper. 

“Well, I do not have any guesses as to what is inside this box, so I suppose I ought to open it.” Loki remarked, tugging away the last bit of wrapping paper. He conjured a dagger to cut the tape sealing the flaps at the top of the box, though he was careful not to cut deeply and risk damaging the contents inside (which was good, because that dagger would have sliced through the gift like hot butter). 

Unlike the previous days, where he immediately looked inside the container, this time he made a show of looking at the others as he reached inside. Theo watched Loki’s arm muscles tense through the wool of his sweater as he grabbed the gift, while his brows furrowed with confusion.

As he turned back toward the box, he slowly pulled out the present: a snake squishmallow, in green, of course - after all, green was his color.

“That’s cute!” Natasha commented, though Loki didn’t seem to notice. He held the plush toy in both hands, turning it side to side as he gave it a once-over. Theo swore she could spot the gears turning in Loki’s head as he tried to make the connection between the toy and his Secret Santa. 

“Yeah, but why? I don’t see the connection.” Yelena added, pointing at the card. “Open the card. I want to know what it says.”

Loki slowly set aside the snake, as if still thinking about the gift, and pulled out the note. 

Theo watched as Loki methodically scanned the note. At first, he read with heavy brows drawn tightly together; after a few moments, the light from the christmas tree reflected off his sea glass eyes, glittery and shining amidst the soft glow. A shaky, small smile grew as he made his way through the message until it practically took over his face.

“Well, what does it say?” Natasha asked, craning her neck to try and read what was written on the card.

Loki, however, ignored her. Without warning, he closed the card and rose to his feet. In a couple of long strides, he stood before Theo, who could no longer bite back her nervous smile as he drew near. 

Theo barely had a chance to set down her mug before Loki scooped her into his arms and crushed her in an embrace, the strength of which forced a small “oof!” out of Theo from the impact. She didn’t waste a moment before returning the embrace, selfishly nuzzling into his chest and drinking in the scent of cologne on his sweater - cedar, bergamot, and smoke - as they stood, arms wrapped around each other and swaying gently from side to side. 

Loki leaned down, his nose brushing gently along Theo’s hair, then drew a deep breath.

“Thank you,” he whispered in her ear. “Truly. Thank you.”

Theo’s heart damn near exploded. 

“Elsa, I really hope that Rapunzel’s your Secret Santa,” Tony, ever the troll, interrupted, “or this is going to get awkward.”

“Yeah, Tony, it’s me.” Theo laughed, her mind reeling as Loki shifted -  if Theo’s mind didn’t deceive her, his lips brushed against the crown of her hair. Still, he hadn’t let go, and as long as Loki held on, Theo had no plans of going anywhere.

“Now I wanna know what she wrote on that damn note,” Sam complained between shoving handfuls of caramel corn in his mouth. “Because damn, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Loki react like that.”

“Can we let him open the other gift first?” Theo asked, still hugging Loki as she looked over at Sam. “After all, there is a part of the message that won’t make sense without seeing the final gift.

“Fine, but afterwards I wanna read the damn note.” Sam grumbled and leaned back in his seat while Bucky leaned over and snatched some caramel corn from him. 

Theo begrudgingly pulled away from Loki, silently lamenting the lack of warmth that came with his touch. She rounded the Christmas tree and crouched down to where she hid the final box - a thin, rectangular box that was a bit larger than a poster - and brought it over to Loki, who had returned to his original seat. Theo sat down beside him, nervous but excited to see how he reacted to the last gift.

This time, Loki didn’t spend a moment examining the package - he went straight to tearing off the wrapping paper. With paper crumpled up and tossed aside, he carefully slid the lid off the box.

Centered on a bed of white tissue paper, was a painting - a canvas covered in thousands of small dashes of paint, the result of more than a few sleepless nights as Theo raced to finish the painting on a tight deadline. During the day, Theo hid it beneath a stack of other canvases so if Loki stopped by her suite, he wouldn’t notice; the moment night fell, Theo was elbows deep in oil paint as she added layer after layer of color.

“It’s New Asgard!” Thor exclaimed as he peered over Loki’s shoulder.

“Those are the gardens…” Loki breathed, one hand hovering over the canvas as if he wanted to touch it and prove to himself that it was real. 

“The gardens that you created, and that your people and countless tourists adore.” Theo added, her cheeks slightly pink. 

Loki’s focus went to the bottom corner, where Theo scrawled her name. It was tiny and borderline illegible because of the paint, but if someone had ever seen her handwriting, they would know instantly who it was. Loki traced his fingers over the letters almost meditatively.

“You made this?” When Loki looked up at Theo, she caught the slightest shine in the corners of his eyes, though his expression was nothing but pure awe. “Was this from memory?”

“God, my memory isn’t that good - I mean, yeah I painted it, but it wasn’t from memory,” Theo rubbed the back of her next, heat rising on her cheeks as Loki continued to gape at her. “I got Val to send me some pictures for reference, and then I worked on it every night after everyone was asleep. I wasn’t sure it would be done in time, if I’m honest, because oil paint takes forever to dry, but it dried just in time. The paint is still going to need some time to fully cure, so I’d be gentle with it.”

For the second time in minutes, Loki pulled Theo into another heartfelt embrace. 

“I am��� I am speechless. I’ve no words, truly.” He laughed, a rumbling sound that Theo felt as much as she heard it. “Thank you.”

“Okay now we need to know what the hell was on that card.” This time it was Shuri, who looked like she was one step away from snatching the card and reading it out loud herself.

Loki unfurled his arms from around Theo so he could set the painting on the table in front of them, then retrieved the card.

“I think you ought to read it,” Loki held the card out to Theo, his cheeks now flushed with crimson. “I imagine it will sound better in your voice, since you wrote the message.”

Theo rolled her eyes, but accepted the card. She got the sense that Loki felt a bit sentimental himself, and was probably a bit out of his comfort zone; re-reading the message aloud might be more than he thought he could handle. So, despite her heart still fluttering like a goddamn school girl, Theo tried her best to steady her breathing, then cleared her throat and began:

One of Thor’s favorite stories to tell is when you were children and turned into a snake to trick him. One of my favorite things is watching the little smile you get every time he tells the story, like you know you shouldn’t think it’s funny and it makes the story even funnier. I bet you’re making that same smile right now as you think about the story!

This clue will probably give me away, but you once gave me a gift much like this - a plush toy of an unexpected creature, because you realized that the creature shared a connection to my sister. You didn’t make a big deal out of it - telling me you “happened to pass by a shop window and it just seemed like something I would like,” but it meant the world to me; to this day, it is easily the best gift I’ve ever received. 

In many ways, that gift is such a great example of why I am so lucky to have you as a friend - you are so incredibly thoughtful and kind, and when you sense that someone is having a tough time you go above and beyond to help, all without making a big deal about it… God knows you did that for me constantly when I first got here! There are, obviously, other reasons that you’re an amazing friend (your sense of humor, intelligence, and patience in putting up with me are also high on the list). 

I know none of my Secret Santa gifts have been big or flashy so far, and your final gift isn’t exactly big or flashy either. If I’m honest, I panicked when I drew your name because, well, what do you get someone who could have any gift they wanted? But the more I thought about it, the more I came back to just how lucky I was to have the gift of your friendship (yeah, corny as fuck, sorry - you’re the silvertongue, not me!). I can’t ever give you a gift that would compare, but I can at least make sure you know just how grateful I am for you and how much of a difference you make. Without a doubt, my life is better because you’re in it, as are the lives of many others. 

So, for your final gift, I made you something that I hope will remind you of not just the impact you’ve made on me, but the impact you’ve made on countless others, every time you see it. 

Merry Christmas Loki. 

Yours,

Secret Santa. 

P.S. I hope you can forgive my sentiment. Not all of us can be as cool as you.”

By the time Theo finished reading the message aloud, her entire body felt like it was on fire from the combination of her nerves and the others’ burning stares. With trembling hands, Theo slowly closed the card and set it on her lap, eyes focused downward the entire time.

“I didn’t realize it was possible to win at Secret Santa… ” Peter finally broke the silence, beaming as he looked at the pair. “... But I think Theo just won Secret Santa.”  

“I think everyone’s going to want you as their Secret Santa next year,” Steve chuckled, nodding along. “Still, we aren’t done with this year’s Secret Santa - I believe Wanda, you’re up next?”

With that, the attention shifted away from the two sorcerers sitting side-by-side on the couch, and onto the rest of the festivities. While Wanda made a scene trying to deduce clues about her gift, Loki casually slipped his hand over to Theo, interlacing his fingers with hers. In turn, Theo leaned her head on Loki’s shoulder and settled into his side.

By that point, she was only-half watching as Wanda opened one last gift. Frankly, Theo hadn’t heard who Wanda’s Secret Santa was, but she wasn’t that interested. 

“Merry Christmas, Loki,” Theo whispered, giving Loki’s hand a squeeze.

“Merry Christmas, Theo,” he murmured, turning so his lips brushed Theo’s temple. “I think this might be the first year that I’ve understood why one might enjoy Midgardians’ holiday festivities.”

Cozily tucked into Loki’s side, amidst the golden glow of the holiday lights and the spirited laughter of friends, Theo had to agree: maybe the holidays weren’t so bad after all.

[all-the-things-2020]

Summary: When you land on a backwater planet for a routine job, your feelings for your bounty hunter boss are revealed, thanks to a local holiday tradition.

Rating: PG-13 (implied sexual activity but everything happens off screen)

Notes: This was written in 2020, before we knew Grogu’s name. I wrote it for the Pedros12DaysofChristmas gift exchange on tumblr as a gift for @djarinslover.

Word count: 3600+

Tags: @morallyinept Jett, please add to your Festive Fic Rec List 🎄❄️🎁

The wind whipped across the plain that lay outside the little town. You huddled into your coat, which was not thick enough for this weather. Din’s cape plastered itself to his back and the Child he carried whined at the cold. “It’s not far,” Din said. “I’ll keep you warm, kid.” The green child snuggled closer and made an inquiring noise. “And we’ll get something to eat. I promise.” The Child cooed and snuggled closer, his tiny clawed hand clutching at the smooth beskar of Din’s breastplate. You marveled at how well the two communicated, considering the Child couldn’t talk yet. Of course, you and Din were often able to communicate without words, even though his face was always hidden by his helmet.

The ramp rumbled closed behind you as the three of you made your way to the gate of the town. It was another nondescript settlement on a nondescript planet; somewhere that should have been a safe hiding place for a being on the run, but Din was a relentless hunter and very rarely failed to find his quarry. You were surprised that he hadn’t simply left you and the Child on board while he checked out this new lead, but you had learned not to question him when it came to bounty hunting. That was his area of expertise, not yours.

There was a gateway of sorts over the road into town, and it was bedecked with boughs of some evergreen plant that smelled spicy and stringent. Bunches of red and white berries were tied here and there with bright yellow ribbons.

You stepped a bit closer to Din as you entered the town. The houses looked empty, although some had colorful lights hanging in the windows, and most of them had boughs hanging over the door frame. “Where is everyone?” you asked, disconcerted by the lack of people and the empty echoes of your feet against the walls.

Din shifted the Child in his arms and grunted. “Must be in the center of town for the festival,” he said briefly.

“Festival?”

He nodded, but kept walking. “It’s the Midyear Festival. Winter solstice or something like that. I thought the kid might enjoy seeing it.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a small pouch of credits, which he handed to you. “There’s sure to be some food for sale. Maybe you can find him a toy or something, keep him from stealing the knob off my gearshift all the time.”

You hid your smile, knowing that Din would just get brusque and dismissive if he saw it. You took the pouch and slipped it into the inside pocket of your coat. “And it gives you a good excuse to be here, too,” you said. “Bringing the kid to see the festival. Who’d be suspicious of that?”

Din turned his helmeted head slightly and you just knew he was rolling his eyes at you; the man could convey a full range of emotions with just a tilt of the head or shift in body weight. You’d learned to read him well during your time aboard the Razor Crest. You just wondered what it would take to get him to express the emotions you were almost certain were lurking just underneath the surface of what he’d allow himself to feel.

The town square was packed with beings of all kinds, eating and drinking and shopping at the booths that had sprung up around the perimeter. They were all decked out with the same evergreen boughs and berries. Din handed the Child to you. “Here, find him something to eat and look around at the wares,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. It shouldn’t take me long to get the information I need and then we can move on.”

You held the Child close as the two of you watched Din walk away, his cape swaying behind him as he strode across the square. He didn’t have to weave his way through the crowd; they parted in front of him. You felt a swell of … not exactly pride, since it was mixed with a healthy dose of lust ...Din looked good as always, and you had to remind yourself that so far he’d treated you as no more than a crewmate.

“Come on, kiddo,” you said once Din had been swallowed up by the crowd. “Let’s get you something yummy to eat.”

The Child made it clear that he wanted one of the large, sugar dusted cookies that several children were carrying around, and you quickly found the booth that was selling them. You purchased two and found a place to sit down. You and the Child nibbled at your treats, watching everyone in their festival finery. “They sure are dressed up, aren’t they?” you said. The Child continued to munch on his cookie, but he pricked his ears up, so you knew he was listening. “Think we’ll ever have money to waste on fancy clothes like that? Yeah, probably not. Your dad’s pretty tight with the purse strings. And fuel and ship repairs are expensive.” You sighed. Life was better now that you were traveling with the Mandalorian and his strange little foundling, but it was never easy in this part of the galaxy.

Once the cookies were gone (and part of yours might have mysteriously found its way into the kid’s hands), you picked the Child up and wandered around the square, looking at the sights. At one booth, you found an assortment of wooden toys which you found charming but which barely got a glance from the Child. What he did like were the shiny ornaments that hung from a large bough in the next booth over.

“Those look awfully fragile, kiddo,” you said doubtfully.

“But you would be wrong,” said the young woman behind the counter at the booth. “They are made of durasteel, hand painted and beautiful, but guaranteed to withstand the wildest gaggle of children and/or beasts.” She took down the one that had caught the Child’s eye, a silvery globe just big enough for both of his little hands to grasp, painted all over with geometric shapes in a brilliant azure blue. As the Child reached desperately for it, you knew you’d never hear the end of it if you didn’t get it for him.

“How much?” you asked, sure it was going to be outrageously priced and Din would be mad at you for spending so much on a useless bauble.

“Five credits,” the woman said. She tilted her head, taking in your patched trousers and the raggedy hem on the Child’s robe. “Let’s say four. Can’t let a kid go without a Midyear present, can we?”

You would have gladly paid five, but bit your tongue. A credit saved was a credit earned, after all. You handed over the money and the Child cooed as he examined the beautiful ball in his hands.

“And what about for you?” the young woman asked. “Do you have your sprig of laramin yet?”

“My sprig of what?” you asked.

She nodded. “Figured you for an offworlder,” she said, reaching up to pull a bundle of blue and white leaves down from a rack at the back of the stall. “Laramin,” she said, holding it out to you. “Almost sold out, so you’re just in time.” She held it up above her head. “It’s a tradition. At midnight on Midyear Day, you try to get your sweetheart under the laramin. Legend has it, if you kiss them under the laramin leaves at midnight, they’ll love you forever.” She gave you an appraising look. “I saw you come into the square with that tall fellow in the shiny armor. I’ll bet you’d like to get him under the laramin.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes, but still asked the price of the bundle of leaves. One credit, and she threw in some silver ribbon to hang it from. “Little guy might want to play with it, after. Since it matches his ornament and all,” she said. You thanked her and tucked the sprig of laramin in your pocket next to the credit pouch.

You took another turn around the square, but the Child only had eyes for his ball, and soon you settled back down on a bench to wait for Din. You’d bought a couple more of those cookies, but hidden them away from the Child. You wanted to save at least one for Din, although who knew when he’d have a chance to eat it. He always snatched a bite here or there when you and the kid were asleep or busy.

Finally, you saw his shiny helmet weaving its way through the crowd, swiveling back and forth as he scanned the crowd for you. You suppressed the urge to stand up and wave; Din was a skilled hunter and he’d find you and the Child easily enough. Besides, you didn’t want to seem desperate or anything. You thought guiltily of the sprig of leaves in your pocket and your face got hot. It was ridiculous and a waste of money, but at least you’d saved the credit you spent on it when the vendor cut the price on the Child’s bauble.

Din reached you. “Come on,” he said, motioning for you to stand. He picked up the Child, who held out his new treasure for inspection. “Hmm … very nice, buddy. You do like shiny things, don’t you?” The Child chirped his agreement and returned to admiring the blue and silver ornament. Din turned to you. “Did you get yourself anything?”

You were flustered. “Um, I bought the kid and me each a cookie earlier, and I got a few more to take with us. So you can have one later. They’re pretty good.” You were rambling, but you didn’t want to admit you’d bought the laramin sprig. You’d toss it in the trash compactor when you got back to the ship.

Din simply nodded and began to walk. “We can stay overnight and head after the quarry in the morning,” he said as you followed him through the crowd. “I don’t think he’ll be on the move for a while, according to the intel I got.”

The ship was quiet and cold when you arrived, but that was normal. It just seemed darker than usual because you’d come from the brightly lit festival. Din closed up the ramp and busied himself with a check of his arsenal. “Keep an eye on the kid,” he said. “He’ll probably be busy with his new toy, but still, I don’t want him getting near the weapons.”

You nodded and took the Child into the tiny bunk where he and Din slept. The Child had a hammock strung from the ceiling; the sleeping area took up the entire bottom of the bunk, which you secretly thought looked more like a storage closet than a bedroom, but it wasn’t your ship. Your own sleeping area was a pile of blankets on top of a foam pad tucked behind some crates between the main hold and the carbonite freezer. It wasn’t fancy, but at least you had more room than Din and the kid had.

You sat with your back to the bunk entrance, with the Child in front of you, so he was blocked from getting out. The little womp rat was stealthy and you’d learned that unless you could see him at all times, he was capable of slipping past you and getting into trouble. Right now, though, he was enthralled with his new shiny toy and happy to sit and burble at it. You slid the packet of cookies out of your pocket, worried they would get crushed. The Child perked up at the sight of them, but you said, “Not right now. Wait until your dad’s done, then we’ll all have one, okay?” His ears drooped a bit, but he returned to the toy with only a tiny sigh.

You also pulled out the credit pouch. You would return it to Din when you gave him his cookie. The sprig of laramin came with it, the silver ribbon tangled around the pouch.

“What’s that?”

Din was almost as sneaky as his little green kid. “Oh, just a decoration,” you said, hiding your face by looking down at the Child. “The girl who sold us the ornament insisted I take one. No charge.” You dropped the laramin on the bed and held out the pouch. “Here’s what’s left of your credits.”

Din held out his gloved hand and took the pouch gently. He didn’t open it, or even test its weight, even though you knew he was always careful with his money. “Don’t lie to me,” he said firmly.

“What?”

“I told you when you came aboard, I don’t tolerate lying,” he said, tucking the credit pouch back into a pocket. “I know what that is.” He pointed at the bedraggled bunch of laramin leaves. “It’s some sort of love charm or something, isn’t it?”

You took a deep breath before you spoke. “It’s a decoration,” you repeated. “You hang it up and if you can kiss your sweetheart under it at midnight on Midyear Day, then the legend says they’ll love you forever. It’s silly. I just took it because the girl insisted. We can throw it away.”

You reached for the leaves, ready to crumble them into a wad, but Din was faster. He picked up the bundle and dangled it over your head by the silver ribbon. “No, let’s hang it up,” he said. “We could use some decoration in this old bucket.” You turned around in the bunk, wondering what he was going to do.

He reached up and tied the ribbon over an exposed girder. “There,” he said. “Festive, don’t you think?” Then he turned abruptly and headed up the ladder to the cockpit.

“What was that all about?” you asked the Child, who had crept up beside you. He stared at you for a moment, then shrugged and went back to admiring his ball.

You could hear Din moving around up in the cockpit but he wasn’t planning to move the ship until morning. Had he gotten embarrassed by the laramin? Was he trying to pretend nothing had happened to spare your feelings? You’d tried your best to hide your attraction to him, but the man was a hunter; he noticed details. He was probably well aware of the way you watched him, the way your eyes lingered over certain parts of his anatomy as he moved. And you were sure he knew how you tensed up when he moved close to you, how hard you resisted leaning into his touch when he laid a hand on your shoulder. You looked up at the wilted sprig of laramin, just hanging there mocking you.

It was getting late, so you arranged your bed, which usually got messed up during the day, either from the movements of the ship as it flew, or the feet of the Child, who pattered around the hold when he got restless. The kid slowly followed you, his eyes starting to droop. When he yawned, you scooped him up and tucked him into his hammock. “Your dad will be down pretty soon,” you told him, even though you didn’t know what the hell Din was doing up there.

With the kid in bed, and Din busy, you pulled off your boots and got ready to crawl into your nest of blankets. You had just untied the string that held your hair back out of your face when you heard Din’s boots on the ladder. You looked up. He glanced briefly at you and then ducked into the bunk. Oh, well.

“Here,” Din said, suddenly looming over you. He was holding out a scrap of old blanket.

“What?” You took the piece of fabric, wondering what was going on.

“Put it on,” he said curtly, making a circling motion around his head. “Cover your eyes.”

“Um, okay,” you said, twisting the fabric and wrapping it around your face. You tied it behind your head. It was an effective blindfold; you couldn’t see a thing through it’s tight weave.

“Good,” Din said. He reached out and took your hand. “Stand up.” When you did, he moved his hand to your shoulder. “Over here.”

You shuffled after him in your stocking feet. The floor of the hold was cold and hard through your socks. Din carefully adjusted your position and then stood quietly. “What’s going on?” you asked, but he shushed you.

“Almost time,” he said. When the alarm on his chronometer beeped, you heard him take a deep breath, followed by the click and slight hiss of his helmet being detached. You held your breath. Was he … was he really …

A gloved hand stroked your cheek and slid behind your head, holding it steady. “I’m not sure how to do this,” Din said quietly. His voice wasn’t distorted by the vo-coder in the helmet and you heard a nervous quaver in it. “I’ve … I’ve never done this before,” he whispered.

Your heart was pounding. It was happening. “That’s okay,” you said softly. “Just do what feels right.” You lifted your hand to touch his face, the face you’d imagined so many times. You gently traced the curve of his cheek, the sharp ridge of his nose, the soft pillows of his lips. You felt his breath hitch as you slid your fingers back and forth against his lips. Then he brushed your hand out of the way and pressed those lips against yours.

It was everything you had imagined, and more. His lips were soft and clumsy as he kissed you, his fingers tightening in your hair as he held your head in place. You lifted your other hand to the back of his neck and ran your fingers through his hair, giving a gentle tug as he pulled back from the kiss. “How was that?” he asked breathlessly.

“Not bad,” you said. “But you definitely need practice.” You pulled him closer and kissed him harder, sliding your tongue along the seam between his lips, until he parted them and you were able to deepen the kiss. When your tongue darted into his mouth, he gasped and his free arm wrapped around your waist. You responded by pressing your body against his armored chest, wishing he’d shed more than his helmet.

After a few minutes, you came up for air. “Happy Midyear,” Din said, his voice raspy.

You laughed and pressed your head against his shoulder pauldron. “Was that my present?” you teased.

“The first of many, I hope,” Din said hesitantly. “I … I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time. I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way about me, but when I saw the laramin sprig, I thought, what the hell.” His arms tightened around you and pulled you closer to him, squishing you against his armored body.

“Is the kid asleep?” you asked.

“I think so,” he replied. “I closed the door to the bunk.”

You chuckled. “Good idea. He doesn’t need to see this.” You pulled Din’s head down for another kiss, and started backing toward where you thought your bed was. Din steered you by the shoulders until you felt the edge of your foam pad under your feet.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said. “I’ve been dying to find out what’s under all that beskar.” He laughed and kissed you again.

**************************************

When you woke the next morning, you were alone. Your blindfold was gone. Your clothes were folded neatly on a crate next to your bed. You could hear Din talking softly to the Child in the cockpit.

You got up carefully, stiff and sore in places that hadn’t seen much activity recently. You got dressed and made your way to the ‘fresher. After you’d splashed a little water on your face, you climbed the ladder to the cockpit.

“Good morning,” Din said quietly. He was in the pilot’s seat, the Child perched on his lap, watching as he entered coordinates and ran through the pre-launch sequence. The new durasteel ball was clutched in the Child’s hand and the knob had been returned to the lever where it belonged.

“Good morning,” you replied. Din waved you closer and as you came alongside the chair, he slid his hand to the small of your back. You leaned down to greet the Child, who babbled to you about something.

Din sat back in the pilot’s seat. He gently placed the Child on the floor. “Get in your chair and buckle in,” he told the small creature. As the kid toddled toward his seat, Din tilted his helmet up to look at you. His hand returned to your waist. “Last night …,” he began.

You cut him off. “It’s okay if it was just the holiday,” you said. “It’s okay if it never happens again.”

He shook his head. “No, it … it wasn’t just the holiday. I’d like it to happen again. It’s just … I can’t let you see my face. It will have to be like that.” His hand slid gently up and down against your back.

You leaned over him and pressed a kiss against the cold beskar of his helmet. “It’s fine,” you said. “I know how important The Way is to you. I would never ask you to abandon it.”

Din was silent for a long moment, then nodded his head. He pulled away from you. “Okay, then. You’d better get buckled in. We’re taking off in two minutes.”

You took your seat next to the Child. Din finished the last few checks and pressed a button to ignite the engines. As the ship began to lift off the surface, you noticed something dangling above the control panel, jiggling with the vibrations of the ship. A bedraggled sprig of blue and white leaves, tied tightly with a silver ribbon.

[samanddean76]

Bunker Rules

Title: Bunker Rules

Ship: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

Word Count: 1,016 | Rating: Explicit

Tags: Men of Letters Bunker, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Love, Fluff, Gabriel Invited Himself, Author Was Forced To Defend The Story, It Is Cracky In The Best Way, Tooth-Rotting Happy Ending, I Blame It All On The Sugar, SPN Fanfic Pond Gift Exchange

Summary: Sam tries to make a Christmas that Dean will never forget.

~~~~~*****~~~~~*****~~~~~*****~~~~~

This was written as part of the SPN Fanfic Pond gift exchange for a dear friend of mine, @masoena. Just a little bit of holiday cheer from our favorite boys as they are given an incredible Christmas gift. Nothing but fun, joy, and love. I hope you enjoy!

Story on AO3

[great-master-airplane]

“Wait a minute.” Ranpo turned his head to share a pointed look with Dazai, who shook his head in dismay. Sighing, Ranpo crossed his arms and directed his frown back to Fukuzawa. “You haven’t bought Mori a present for Christmas yet?”

Fukuzawa maintained his composure. Shoulders straight. Expression firm. He would not be intimidated by his son. “Not yet, no.”

“Christmas Eve is in two days.”

“Is that not enough time?”

[forever-fixating]

Nothing like a belated holiday story to start the new year! I wrote this for my new fandom buddy @priincebutt not intending it to balloon into a 10K+ fluff-fest, but hey! It’s not like that’s a bad thing! Enjoy!

[mistresslrigtar]

Happy Winter Solstice! Many thanks to @thisgeekyweek for this adorable Hallmark-inspired picture! 🥰

Chapter Six is available HERE. Enjoy this cheese and cliché filled ending.

Excerpt:

“Why are you here?” Link nervously pulled on the ends of the green and yellow haramaki he’d donned in place of the pea coat when he returned to the village.

“You invited me, remember?” Zelda cocked her head, a shy smile playing on her lips. The movement drew Link’s focus to a delicate gold tiara nestled in her auburn tresses, reflecting the flickering flames of the candles.

“I invited Hilda.” Why would Zelda want to be with him? Despite what Rusl had counseled, Link wasn’t sure he could believe she’d choose a ranch hand when she could have anyone in the kingdom she wanted.

“We’re the same person, Link. My name is the only thing I lied about.” Zelda knew Link was obstinate and strong-willed, but so was she. She’d get through to him one way or the other. “Spend the Winter Solstice with me.”

Many thanks to @cjracingpnf for betaing this piece. It was so much fun working with you!

[ficwritingnerd]

🎄Poprock's Holiday Surprise🎄

Event: KRBK Advent Calendar

Ship: KRBK

Words: 3,047

Tags: Christmas fluff, Christmas Surprises, Established Relationship

I'm so excited to finally share this with you all. Hope you guys like it. Happy Holidays!

[thatmexisaurusrex]

Your Very Own Christmas

This fic is for @funsized-loser and for @sambuckylibrary's "SamBucky Gift Event 2023". I hope you enjoy the fic, Cee!! 🥰

Your Very Own Christmas

| Pairing: SamBucky | Rated: T | WC: 4.1K |

Summary: In Wakanda, Sam talks about missing the holiday season. Bucky surprises Sam with his own private Christmas party.

Excerpt:

“How obnoxious do you get?” asked Bucky curiously. And there, the smile came back; a warm nostalgia radiated from it. “Ugly Christmas sweaters. Always listening to those stations that had Christmas songs on 24/7. Watching 25 Days of Christmas without skipping a movie. I’d stay a little longer during Thanksgiving to make sure Sarah’s house was completely decked out in lights and that the ornaments were all on the tree. Made sure the little miniature Santa’s village was made before I left for D.C.,” Sam explained, “All the annoying things.”

READ THE REST ON AO3!

[cloudwisp]

✮ sylus x wife!reader (2)

contents: tooth-rotting fluff. arranged marriage au. sylus as your sweet and doting husband who's simply in love with you and anything that you do. 1.5k wc.

꒰ note ᰔ thank you for everyone's patience who requested a part two!! I truly hope this meets your expectations <3

part one here. ꒱

⭒ You’re an early bird married to a night owl. After gradually moving your belongings into Sylus’ master bedroom, your different sleeping schedules were made acutely aware. His day is just beginning when you’re heading to bed and he’s more or less mentally retired after a long night of business dealings and meetings when your body decidedly rises with the first rays of light at dawn. Because of this, you both compromise to meet somewhere in the middle—Sylus sweetly tucks you in later than your usual bedtime and leaves only when you’d fallen asleep, and you snuggle with him in the mornings until the very last minute and you’re forced to get ready for the working day. However, his sleeping patterns are more on the irregular side and he’ll check in on you when he’s supposed to be resting.

⭒ When Luke and Kieran witness you and Sylus bid each other with a goodbye kiss—an affectionate and wholesome display between lovers as your husband sees you off to work at the front door, they are stunned and lose it from the sidelines at the budding romance. “Wait, what just happened?” “Was there a development while we were gone?” The crow twins would share glances and decipher the scene before them together. They both have been rooting for you and their boss since day one, and they marvel at the way you both are completely smitten with each other. As though you two are like newlyweds who can't get enough of your shared love, unwilling to separate just yet even as you slowly step away from Sylus.

⭒ His touch linger with purpose to hold onto every last part of you and his hands move from your waist and slide down your arms to hold your hands until his fingers curl slightly and mourn the loss of your warmth when he eventually has to let you go. When Sylus watches your figure disappear and return back inside his home he receives a thumbs up and pending double high fives respectively from his two henchmen. He walks past them and ignores their antics by giving them orders, but Luke doesn’t leave his brother hanging and celebrates that their boss is officially and undeniably in love.

⭒ Anniversaries were an unexpected thing to celebrate with Sylus—along with holidays and birthdays. You were caught by surprise when you received a gorgeous dress and pearls inside a pretty wrapped box adorned with ribbons after being married to Sylus for three months. You weren’t quite romantically involved with him at that point and went along with what he planned for the evening, and you had a feeling it wasn’t just a performance for the public at an upscale restaurant but he genuinely wanted to make this night special for you. Then something in the air shifted and became sweeter and you suppose you wanted to start making the smaller things in life count. Even if there wasn’t a particular milestone coming up, you decide to make one up yourself. After all, there’s a true saying that the secret to marriage is keeping it fresh and interesting.

⭒ With the help of the cute twins, they set up a cozy tent in the verdant space of the garden meanwhile you decorate fairy lights all around in swooping arcs and tight lines, arrange pillows and blankets inside, and place a deck of kitty cards in the center. After everything is where you need it to be, you show the boys your gratitude and send them away as you work on the finishing touches. You gather the plate of chocolate-covered strawberries and two glasses for the red wine when suddenly your husband sneaks up from behind you and wrap himself around you, inquiring about how the twins wanted him to come find you… Oh those cheeky little things. Well, never mind them. “Don’t tell me that you forgot what today is. Happy 300 days since our first kiss, baby.” You admit that it may come off as a little silly and no one’s truly keeping count, but you simply wanted to do something nice for him.

⭒ Sylus never passes up an opportunity to take care of his darling wife. Even if that means going along with your unusual ideas like you suggesting to borrow his dress shoes after the auction show was over. He throws you a puzzled look followed by a bemuse chuckle, and he supposes he could oblige if that’s what you really wanted. You explain to him that being well dressed from head to toe to match his outfit came at the price of your painfully, aching feet. And he can’t resist giving into your demands when you ask with such adorable little pouts. There are more practical methods to go about the situation, but he certainly loves humoring you even if things don't work out the way you thought they would.

⭒ Sylus leads you to a nearby bench and gestures for you to have a seat while he removes his shoes and bends down on one knee before you, unworried about dirtying his expensive trousers. He works diligently to undo the straps around your ankles and place your heels aside to focus on slipping his shoes onto your feet. “Well, you look quite fetching in my shoes. Now shall we continue our walk or do you have any more requests to make?” He helps you straighten yourself as he returns to his normal height. You huff and make a discontent noise when you almost trip over your own two feet trying to take a step forward in your (his) much too large and too spacious shoes. “Actually, these won’t do. I changed my mind, I want my heels back.”

⭒ Sylus chuckles at your hopeless attempt, his hand going on your hip to keep you from toppling over and accidentally hurting yourself. “Ah, it appears my shoes are too big for you, kitten. You say you want your heels back, hm?” He kneels before you once more as he retrieves your pair of heels, his fingers brushing along the underside of your leg and he carefully tugs them back on your feet. He gives your ankle a gentle squeeze as he finishes securing the straps, his gaze flickering up to meet yours. "There, I hope you're satisfied now, my sweet wife." His arm then goes around your waist and he effortlessly lifts you off the ground without so much as a warning. He smirks at your precious reaction, your body flushed against his meanwhile your arms encircle his neck for balance. “Why don’t I just carry you the rest of the way instead?”

⭒ You’re snuggled up against Sylus’ chest as you bring a concern to his attention one night. “What happens when our arrangement comes to an end?” The main reason you agreed to marry him in the first place is because it was a contract marriage with a specific time frame of five years that you’d have to spend with him. And you realize that with everything he does, he’s always been considerate of you as a whole even with how he drafted this contract knowing that it could end at his own expense. He provided you with a means of freeing yourself from him if you for whatever reason wished to no longer continue your marriage with him after the term ends. The choice is left entirely up to you because he never wanted you to feel trapped but he won’t make it easy for you. “If I decided to leave, you’d really let me go?”

⭒ Sylus hesitates for a moment, his gaze fixed on you and he seems to be thinking about something as his expression grows serious. “You always know how to ask the tough questions, don’t you sweetie?” After a moment, he lets out a small sigh and nods. “…Yes. Technically, you’ll be free to go. I won’t stop you if you truly want to leave.” Another sigh escapes him, yet his voice remains soft and sincere and he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and his palm cradles your cheek. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to stay. What do you want to happen when the contract ends, darling?”

⭒ You mull over your thoughts, teasing him with a pensive look as you purposely drag on the seconds. “Since you’re leaving it up to me, I think… I want to renew our vows at the five-year mark. How’s that sound?” A surprise and slight disbelief flit across his face at the same moment his countenance softens at your affirmation. “You want to renew our vows?” You offer him a demure nod with your sweet smile and he gently takes your hand in his, bringing it to his face and laying a kiss against your knuckles. “Then it’s settled. I would be honored to renew our vows when the time comes. There will be no more contracts or strings attached. We’ll be bound by our love and our love only.”

[maddieautobot273]

Silk & Cologne - Christmas Special (2)

Title: All I Want For Christmas Is You - link to AO3 (X)

Chapter 2/10 - The Night Before Christmas - previous chapter (X)

Words: 2.8K+ words

Summary: Lisa arrives at Aunt May's cottage and catches up with the Spider-gang, meanwhile Miguel is running behind schedule.

////////

Parker Manor - Buffalo, New York - 2 weeks later 

One by one, the guests arrive at the manor, bringing gifts, food, and ingredients to make even more food. Plus cookies, we couldn't forget that. Lisa was one of the last to arrive, hitching a ride with Jessica Drew and her husband. 

Miguel agreed to the idea of spending Christmas with the Spider-gang, so the pair were the last to RSVP to Miles. They still had a wonderful dinner with Gabriel and Dana after their talk, even hitting the ice rink at Rockefeller Center afterwards. Lisa lost count of how many times she nearly fell over or tripped herself, but she got better over the course of the night, especially with Dana teaching her.

That night in fact she had done a lot of skating with Dana. Not that she was complaining, Dana was an absolute delight that night. Lisa used the opportunity to reconnect and catch up with her, especially so now that she and Gabriel are dating. 

Speaking of the O’Hara brothers, the two of them were almost like pros. They tried ice hockey and played for their high school teams as a bonding experience when they were younger, so they were complete naturals. Naturals to the sense where they’d try to trip each other on the ice. Lisa remembers Dana scolding Gabriel at one point when Miguel just caught himself on the ice, picking himself up and the rest of them just laughed.

Lisa thinks it was the hardest she’s ever seen Miguel laugh in a while, or smile as much as he did.  

She also noticed the brothers talking and whispering among themselves frequently over the course of the night. What were they talking about? Last minute gift ideas? 

Since Miguel and Lisa would be spending Christmas at Aunt May’s Manor, Lisa gave Gabriel and Dana their gifts early over dinner. Dana was over the moon with her bracelet and Gabriel was ecstatic about the new VR game he got. After the double date night, Lisa and Miguel went back to the apartment, exhausted and quickly fell asleep.

From the following morning until the next week, it was getting the last bit of Christmas shopping done, wrapping the last of the gifts, saving the city once or twice, running other important errands until Lisa finally saw Miguel off for his Alchemax business trip. She dropped him off at the airport, hugging him tighter and longer than normal. Miguel didn’t complain and gladly returned the gesture.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” He offered her a reassuring smile. “I promise,”

After he got on the plane, it had been a quiet week. Villainy and crime was at a surprising all time low. Lisa took it as a sign that hopefully even bad guys took a break for the holidays once in a while. 

When she arrived at the manor with Jessica, her husband kind enough to drive and drop them off, Lisa was narrowly bombarded with bear hugs as Miles, Gwen, and Pav surrounded her. 

“You made it!” Miles cheered. 

“I’m here!” Lisa laughed, trying her best to wrap her arms around the three of them. “It’s so good to see you guys,”

“Lemme get that for you Musey,” Hobie approached her, offering the woman a friendly nod as he grabbed her and Jess’s suitcases from the trunk. 

“Thank you, Hobie,” Jessica smiled. “That’s actually nice of you,”

“Heh, I believe in Christmas miracles,” Hobie teased, winking at the pregnant spider-woman before carrying the bags inside. 

Jessica kisses her husband goodbye, reassuring him that if something comes up with the baby, she’ll call him right away. Lisa smiles at the exchange, already missing Miguel, but she tries to stay positive, knowing that he’ll try his best to keep his promise. She reaches into the back seat of the car, carrying a box containing the last of the Christmas presents. 

“Is there still enough room under the tree, May?” Lisa asks with a grin as the group begins to ascend the front porch steps. 

“Surprisingly, though it’s quickly becoming an island of itself,” May chuckled as she let them inside. 

Lisa took a peek inside the grand living room of the manor and the interior was breathtaking. It was like something out of a classic 1920’s movie with a beautiful fireplace, the fire already burning. The Christmas tree was huge, decorated with an arrangement of ornaments, lights, and streamers, it was like something out of a Christmas play. 

Miles was very sweet and took everyone’s coats and brushed off the snow as Lisa carried the box of gifts into the living room. 

“Miguel is coming later?” Pav asked her as he helped her put the presents under the tree. 

“Yeah, he’ll be flying in after he wraps up his business trip,” She nodded as she put the last of the gifts under the tree. “Although it will be cutting it close. They just had to push back the date,”

“If I know Miguel, yes his work is important,” A familiar voice echoed across the room as Peter B. entered the living room with little MayDay strapped into her holster. “But he always comes through,”

“Peter!” Lisa smiled as she got up and offered him a hug. “I didn’t see you come in,”

“Early bird gets the worm as they always say,” Peter B. grinned, gently taking MayDay’s hand to make the toddler wave at Lisa, “MJ and I arrived earlier to help May get started on the food. Say hi to Aunty Lisa May-May!”

“Hweewo,” MayDay smiled brightly, her eyes twinkling with excitement. 

“Hey MayDay, you’ve gotten so big!” Lisa gently ruffled her red hair curls, making the baby laugh. “Picking up a few words too?”

“Yeah, she started talking a couple months back,” Peter B. smiled proudly, immediately taking out his phone. “You wanna see her first word?”

He plays back the video, MJ feeding MayDay some crackers for a snack when the little toddler suddenly yelps. “CRACKER!” 

“Oh my god, that’s so cute!” Lisa fawned, her heart melting at the display. 

“I know right? She does that every time she sees a cracker,” Peter B. laughed. “Oh, I can’t wait to show Miguel, he’s gonna die! Where is the big guy, is he not with you?”

“He’s flying in today actually, coming straight from his business trip,” Lisa nodded. “I’m hoping to hear back from him soon,”

“Well there’s still plenty of holiday activities to help pass the time,” Aunt May smiled. “Gwen, I have to grab more wood for the fire, can you help MJ with preparing dinner?”

“Yes ma’am!” Gwen saluted the elderly woman before sauntering over to the kitchen. 

“You’re the last to arrive, so lemme give you a tour,” Miles offered with a kind smile as he motioned his head to the side, signaling Lisa to follow him. “Come on! You gotta see this place!” 

They end the afternoon with Miles giving Lisa and Jessica a tour of the manor. Perhaps in the future, Lisa may consider looking into owning a place like this with Miguel. Once she gets a couple hundred more paychecks under her belt, she'll refuse to let Miguel cover the whole thing, as he has done in the past. 

As the sun began to go down, the spider-gang had an early dinner and the food was fantastic. Aunt May, MJ, and Gwen outdid themselves with the main course, and everyone brought with them their own little appetizer, a little piece of their home cuisine to make it complete. Bellies full, the gang was left to their own devices as they each began to break off and do their own things. 

Miles was eager to learn how to make christmas cookies so he set off to the kitchen to work on a recipe his mom loaned him. Hobie and Pav went outside to have a snowball fight while Jessica, Aunt May, and MJ relaxed with some tea in the dining room.  

Everyone else was decorating other parts of the house and really getting into the holiday spirit. Gwen notices Lisa hanging out by the window nook in the living room, looking out at the snow. “Everything okay, Lisa?” 

“Yeah, I’m just worried about Miguel. The snow is picking up and he should have been here by now,” Lisa sulked. 

It had been almost all day and no word from him. His plane should have landed by now. In fact, it should have landed hours ago. 

“I’m sure he’ll turn up! If I know Miguel, he’s got a plan for any situation!” Gwen reassures her with a snarky grin. 

Suddenly Lisa’s phone rings. She quickly glances over at the caller ID, seeing the familiar name and selfie. Lisa smiles at the image as she picks up the device in her hand.  

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear!” Gwen declared with a show-woman's voice. 

“Oh shush!” Lisa shoves Gwen playfully before answering her phone.

Miguel reassured Lisa that he'd absolutely be there to spend the holiday with her and the spider-fam. So when Lisa answered the phone, sighing in relief when she heard his voice for the first time in a while, her heart dropped when she heard his explanation. There’s a problem. 

“Your flight got canceled?!” Lisa yelps. 

“All flights to and from New York are canceled. Looks like the blizzard down there is picking up steam,” Miguel groaned in disappointment.

“Oh, Miguel, that’s awful. Are you stranded at the airport?” Her worry begins to bubble up in her stomach. 

“My flight got rerouted to Cleveland to avoid the brunt of the storm. Thankfully I got a hotel nearby for the night, and I’m on the standby list for the next flight out to Buffalo,” he reassures her. 

“Great! When do you fly out?” Her eyes brightened with hopeful enthusiasm. 

“. . . 4;00am Christmas morning,” He answered after a brief hesitation.

“You’re kidding?” Lisa sounds absolutely heartbroken as she slouches in her seat. 

“I’m so sorry, mi amor, I knew you were really looking forward to us all being there together. I promise I’ll get there as soon as I can,” He tells her, his voice trying to soothe her. - my love 

“Well, I’d rather you get here safely than as a frozen icicle,” Lisa sighs, a sad smile on her face. “Or worse,” 

“Hey, I know something that will cheer you up,” Miguel said, sounding optimistic. “Did all my presents make it over there in time?” He asks. 

“Yeah, Aunt May said they came in yesterday. They’re all under the tree,” Lisa glanced over at the large Christmas tree, seeing the pile of presents. 

“Look for a long, rectangular one in red and blue wrapping paper with your name on it,” Miguel instructed and Lisa could hear the smirk in his voice as she began rummaging through the presents.

Lisa finds it, admiring the wrapping briefly. She opens it up to reveal a beautiful box. Pulling off the lid, Lisa peers inside to find a nutcracker! Beautifully crafted, coincidentally it’s uniform is the same colour palette as Miguel’s suit (cause of course it is). “Oh, Miguel, it’s beautiful!” 

“I know you said you were fond of the collection your dad had, so I thought. . . Why not keep the tradition going?” Miguel speaks through the phone. 

“I love it!! Thank you, Miguel,” Lisa nearly tears up as she admires the gift. 

“You’re welcome, mi Mona Lisa. I’ll call you if I hear anything about my flight, but until then, I promise I’ll be there tomorrow,” Miguel smiles over the phone. “Te amo mi amor,”  - I love you my love

“Te amo guapo,” They hang up the phone and Lisa holds up the nutcracker, admiring it in the light. - I love you handsome 

Lisa sets the nutcracker down on the table. With a pep in her step, she sets out to join Gwen and the others in decorating. She was helping them wrap tinsel around the handle rail of the staircase when suddenly a loud scream came from the kitchen. 

“AAAHHHHH!” 

“Miles?!” Gwen and Lisa run over to check on him, only to find the poor boy is covered in flour, and cookie dough.

“Help!” He whimpered, coughing out flour from his mouth. 

“What on Earth happened here?” Aunt May looks flabbergasted as she jogs into the kitchen from the dinning room. 

The girls help Miles clean up, brushing the flour off his head and taking his hoodie off. But not before Hobie and Pav snag a quick picture. Miles calls them out on it as May gently wipes his face with a washcloth and Miles looks good as new in no time. 

Pav takes lots of pictures and sends them to Miguel to keep him updated on the night’s festivities. He thought he’d appreciate Miles messing up the cookie batter. Peter B. laughs along with him, but can’t help but feel sorry for his student. 

After the cookies are finally done and baking in the oven, Lisa was walking by the living room when she hears something fall and crack, followed by a whimper. “Oh no!”

She and the Spiders rush in to see little Mayday was playing with her toys. Peter B. must have dropped her off here after hearing Miles scream for help. But it looked like while he was gone, MayDay wanted something extra to play with and accidentally broke the arm of the Nutcracker.

“Oh, MayDay, what happened?” Peter B. scoops her up in his arms, the baby clearly upset about what happened. 

“Swoo-worry,” MayDay looks at Lisa with sad puppy dog eyes.

“Oh, MayDay,” Lisa’s heart aches at the look on her face as she takes the nutcracker in her hands. “. . . You’re not hurt, that’s what matters,” 

“Aww, I’m sorry Lis’, I still feel awful,” Peter B. offers her a sympathetic look. “I have a family friend who’s really good at tinkering and fixing up toys like that. I’ll give him a call tomorrow,” 

“But it’s Christmas,” Lisa gives him a skeptical look. “Nobody is open during the holiday,”

“Tell that to the old geezer that never sleeps,” Peter B. snorted. 

Peter B. leaves to put MayDay to bed for the night, hoping it would calm her down. As the evening progresses, Lisa struggles to figure out a way to keep the broken arm steady, terrified that it will fall off completely. She doesn’t want to call Miguel to tell him what happened, not wanting to upset him. 

“Here, try this,” Miles hands her a small piece of ribbon before she carefully ties it around like he’s wearing an arm cast. 

To her relief, it stays on and keeps the arm elevated! 

“Miles, you’re a life savor, thank you!” Lisa sighs in relief as she gives the boy a hug. 

“Hey, don’t mention it! You helped me out, it was the least I could do,” he offered her a soft smile.

Before long, everyone is winding down for the night, heading to go to sleep in their rooms. All except for Lisa. Lisa can’t bring herself to go to bed and stays in the living room on the window nook, looking out into the front yard, eyes on the driveway. 

She glances over, smiling down at the nutcracker with his makeshift arm cast. Footsteps approach as she looks over to see Aunt May bringing her a blanket and pillow. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t be convinced to move somewhere more comfortable?”

“I guess. . . I was hoping Santa had some magic left tonight?” Lisa shrugs. 

“He’ll show, one way or another. He’ll be even happier to see you knowing you got some rest tonight,” Aunt May gave her a knowing look. 

“For all you know I could be on Santa look out duty, you saw how excited Pav was,” Lisa smirked.

“Get some rest, Lisa,” Aunt May insisted with a kind smile as she handed her the blanket and pillow. “I have a feeling you’ll need it for tomorrow,” 

Lisa is curious but doesn’t dwell too long on what she meant as she watches May leave, turning off the lights. The fire is still kindling as Lisa smuggles up, holding the nutcracker close. She snaps a picture, sending it to Miguel. 'Thinking of you. See you tomorrow <;3'

Putting her phone away, Lisa falls fast asleep. There’s a glint in the nutcracker's eye, like a star flashing in the night sky.

////////

Meanwhile at the Cleveland airport, Miguel is handed his stand by ticket for the following morning and the flight attendant gives him directions for the entrance to the hotel. As he’s walking through the large, bustling hallways, he reaches into his bag, double checking on the one gift for Lisa he didn’t send with the other presents that he wants to give her himself. 

A ring box.

Santa’s got one more trick up his sleeve.

///////

Happy Holidays!

[pathologicalreid]

xoxo | s.r.

in which your daughter goes to the BAU to hand out her extra Valentines

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: horrible tooth rotting fluff, chemist!reader and leah, the spencer reid dilf agenda, valentine's day, reader wears pink (it's FESTIVE) word count: 1.47k a/n: happy valentine's day my loves!!!!

You had just finished helping your daughter put her visitor badge over her head before she proudly approached the two agents manning the security desk.

She brandished two Valentine’s Day cards for them, grinning while they looked down at her in surprise. You watched them tentatively take the cardstock from your three-year-old while she teetered back and forth in her pink Mary Janes. They thanked her while you pulled your visitor badge on. “C’mon, Leah,” you said, holding your hand out for her to take, “Let’s go see Daddy.”

“Daddy!” She chirped, her pure, childhood joy causing people in the lobby to stare. Most people were already vaguely aware of who she was, and even if they weren’t, it’s difficult to be truly bothered by a kid wearing heart antennae. Adjusting her grip on her basket of Valentines, she led you to the elevator, practically dragging you through Quantico.

Her hand couldn’t quite reach the button in the elevator, accidentally hitting the number four while wavering on her tippy toes. “Here, lovey,” you said, reaching over her and pushing the number six for her.

Leah beamed up at you. “Thank you,” she whispered, lowering herself and standing next to you, tugging on your pink sweater in an attempt to get your attention—as if she had ever lost it. “You wanna Valentine?” Her voice was soft, as if you were exchanging state secrets in the elevator, sweetly leaning her head against your leg. She stumbled over the name of the holiday a bit, replacing the second ‘n’ with an ‘m.’

“I’ll get one after everyone else,” you reassured her, adjusting her headband and smiling at the way the hearts bobbled.

She nodded confidently, making faces at her reflection in the elevator doors as you continued your way up.

You held your breath as the doors opened, once again holding your hand out for her to take so you could enter the bullpen in an orderly fashion, but as soon as they were open, she had taken off, the door being held open for someone else, leaving a perfect gap for her to slip through. There was barely enough time for you to call, “Incoming,” before she ran directly into Luke.

Thanking Anderson for holding the door for you, you followed Leah into the bullpen at a much slower pace and locked eyes with your husband, sighing in relief at the fact that you’d made it with little stress.

Your daughter had already been rescued from a room full of tall people by Dave, who’d hoisted her onto someone’s desk, so they were nearly at eye level. “Happy Valentime’s, Dave,” she said excitedly, urgently rifling through her basket to find a treat that she deemed worthy of his receipt.

Rossi smiled at her, “Happy Valentine’s Day, kiddo. What have you got there?” You weren’t sure if he was faking interest for the sake of your toddler, but either way, you were grateful for the opportunity to sneak by them, approaching Spencer’s desk.

He powered off his computer monitor as you leaned on the edge of his desk. “Hey,” he greeted, leaning his head up so you could plant a quick kiss on his lips. “Did she have fun?”

You nodded, peeking over your shoulder to see Dave walking Leah around to hand out Valentines to the entire office. “We severely underestimated the number of parents who keep their kids home for Valentine’s Day,” you informed him. Leah’s daycare class had been nearly empty when you picked her up early.

“What does that mean for us?” He asked, placing his hand on your knee and giving it a squeeze.

Raising your eyebrows, you grinned impishly, “It means we’re bringing a lot of lollipops home with us.”

Spencer chuckled, eyes following Leah as she made her way to Emily’s office, jumping up the steps and giggling at the sound effects that Tara made when she landed. “How was your morning?” He asked nonchalantly, and since nothing Spencer ever did was nonchalant, you knew he was on a fishing expedition.

The corners of your mouth quirked up while he shuffled the papers on his desk, preparing to spend his lunch with you and Leah. “Oh, I dropped Leah off and then went to work. I only had one class to teach, Physical Chemistry, as you know. I had some time before I needed to be back at the daycare, so I decided to stop at home and found a large bouquet of red and pink roses on the kitchen counter. They didn’t belong there, so I tossed them in the trash before heading here.”

“You did not,” Spencer challenged, grinning up at you, pushing his tongue against his teeth like he did when he was holding in a laugh.

You laughed breathily, hiding your smile behind your hand until Spencer reached up and took your hand in his. “No,” you acquiesced, “But I have no idea where we’re going to put two dozen roses.”

He pretended to think about it for a moment. “How about the kitchen counter?”

Humming, you leaned down to kiss him again. “Works for me,” you murmured to him on your way back up. You turned your head to find your toddler, seeing that Penelope had made her way to the bullpen and was putting a red feather boa around Leah’s neck.

Listening in on their conversation, you frowned when you overheard Leah complaining that the boa wasn’t pink. “Leah,” Spencer called her name, having overheard the conversation himself. “What do you say to Aunt Penelope?”

The three-year-old spun around, stumbling a bit when she tried to come to a stop, before looking up at Garcia and jumping, “Thank you! Matches my butterfly ears!” She fumbled the word ‘butterfly’ a bit in all of her excitement—bubberfly.

Your husband looked at you, confused. “Butterfly ears?”

“Antennae, obviously,” you told him, shaking your head in faux disappointment that he didn’t understand what she was talking about.

He shook his head in disbelief. “Hey, princess, c’mere,” he said, waving over your daughter.

You waved to JJ and Emily as they joined the impromptu gathering, with everyone in the bullpen watching while Leah skipped over to her dad. “Hi, Daddy,” she greeted, lifting her arms for him to pick her up, which he did happily.

“Hi, baby. Happy Valentine’s Day,” he replied, sweeping a stray strand of hair from her forehead. He’d left before you got her dressed this morning, so he hadn’t been able to see her in her festive outfit, complete with a pink and red tutu.

Comfortably sitting in her father’s lap, she giggled when he tickled her side. “Happy Valentime’s Day, Daddy,” she managed to squeak out. Sighing when he finally gave her a break, she asked, “Lunch?”

You smiled softly, “Soon, lovey.” The three of you had planned to do lunch as a family, and Penelope had promised to take Leah for a sleepover so you could go out for dinner—you were nervous, and she was thrilled.

She kicked her feet contentedly, telling Spencer about the cards she had given away at the security desk in a hushed voice while you watched an exchange across the bullpen. Luke was leaning toward Tara, holding his lollipop in his hand, “What flavor did you get?”

Tara peered at him suspiciously. “Blue raspberry,” she replied.

“I’ll trade you a green apple,” he offered, extending his arm out for the swap.

Turning in her chair, Tara scoffed, setting her Valentine on her desk, “Not a chance.”

A small gasp to your side caught your attention. “No trades, Newbie!” Leah shouted from her perch.

Instead of turning on your daughter, Luke immediately pointed at Garcia, “You coached her!”

Penelope feigned offense, holding a hand to her chest and looking around the bullpen, “It is my duty as her godmother to warn her against certain people.”

“Meaning me?”

“If the shoe fits, Newbie,” Penelope replied, leaning against a vacant desk while she awaited Luke’s response.

He looked over at Leah now. “How did she even hear me?”

You shrugged. “She has freakishly good hearing; we’re thinking of having her tested.”

Spencer nudged you at your joke, smiling slightly, “She saw you.”

Sighing in defeat, Luke gave Leah an exaggerated pout, “I’m sorry I tried to make a trade. Can you forgive me?”

Leah nodded with a toothy smile. Luckily, she was three, and things were easy to get over. “Hey, do I get a Valentine?” Spencer asked, playing with the hearts on her headband.  

Humming, she shifted on his lap. “Mommy put all of the pink ones in a baggie for us.”

You flashed a grin back at your husband, pulled a Watermelon lollipop out of your purse, and handed it to him. “I’m very good at what I do.”

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

Best Friends Brother pt. 2 | C.W. ⋆✮⋆˙

feat. Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Months have passed since you met (ie shagged and definitely didn't fall in love with) Charlie Weasley. And when Molly invites you to the Burrow for Christmas, your best friends Fred and George assure you that Charlie will not be in attendance. Spoiler alert: They are wrong.

CW: MDNI 18+, lots of christmas fluff and smut, Charlie being a shameless flirt, pining, brat tamer and primal!charlie if you squint, dirty talk, p in v, oral (f receiving), this is so tooth-rotting I cannot

AN: Charlie might be my favorite weasley to write for. and the implications of brat taming and primal play have my mind reeeeeeling

part one | masterlist

“So what are you doing for Christmas, deary?” Mrs. Weasley asked, stirring a sugar lump into her tea. You were squeezed beside Fred into a booth at tea shop in Diagon Alley, having run into your best friends and their mother while Christmas shopping. Molly insisted you join them for a rejuvenating cuppa, and you weren't one to refuse an earl grey.

“Oh, nothing really. Probably watch some corny films and get take away,” you replied, nibbling on the edge of a croissant.

“What?!��� She gasped, so loud the neighboring tables turned to see what the fuss what about.

Fred and George pulled an identical grimace.

“Unacceptable!” She cried, dropping her spoon with a clatter. “Why on earth didn't you tell me she was spending Christmas alone?!” She whacked George on the arm and kicked Fred in the shin under the table.

“We didn't know!” They whined in unison, rubbing their injuries.

“Oh, Mrs. Weasley, it really isn't a big deal—”

“Not a big deal! Dear, it's Christmas!” She reached across the table and took your hands, squeezing hard and holding your eye. “You will spend it with us at the Burrow, alright?”

Your heart stopped, your tongue going thick. “Oh, I-uh—”

“Charlie will be in Romania,” Fred hissed to you from the corner of his mouth. “Just say yes, or she’ll skin us.”

Charlie. Best friends brother, dragon wrangler, and the best lay you'd ever had in your life. It had been three months since your tryst in the storage room, and the hours of effortless conversation that came after, and you'd thought of him every day since.

You'd exchanged a few letters over the months, pleasantries and some light flirting on Charlie's part. He'd even sent you a few shed scales from your favorite dragon species, the Welsh Green, but beyond that, nothing had transpired.

He lived on Romania, after all. And his work was his life. You just had a bit of fun together, a few hours of fantasy, nothing more. But no matter how many times you repeated that like mantra, you still found yourself unable to move on.

“I hope you know, love, I will not accept 'no' as an answer,” Molly said, pining you with a stern glare.

“Well, thank you, Mrs. Weasley. I’m very grateful for the invitation, and I'd love to spend the holidays with your family,” you said, offering as genuine a smile you could muster despite your trepidation, and Molly beamed at you, already running through her plans for you all.

Fred slung an arm around your shoulders, jostling you with his excitement. “Yes! You're gonna love it.”

You were grateful, and you were eager to have a real Christmas with a family you adored, but it still felt…odd. You'd be spending the holidays with Charlie's family, but not Charlie.

You weren't sure if you were relieved or disappointed but…either way you were spending Christmas at the Weasley’s.

The Burrow and it's residents welcomed you with open arms. The sprawling home was decorated floor to rafter in homemade garland and candles, with decorated trees in every room, branches heavy with ornaments and paper chains.

Harry, Hermione, and Fleur were also staying over the holidays, and Ginny was beside herself with excitement that you were joining as well, pulling you in for a crushing hug that squeezed the last of bits of anxiety from your heart. Percy and Bill helped with your things, and the twins were quick to get a drink in your hand while everyone chatted excitedly over one another.

It was warm and merry, and you couldn't believe you almost missed this because of a stupid, little crush.

After about an hour of conversation, you noticed Ginny start to fidget under Harry’s arm, glancing at the location clock by the stairs every few minutes. The hand with Charlie's name remained firmly at ‘work’, while the rest piled into ‘home’.

You exhaled, fighting the nerves reknitting themselves in your stomach.

“Oi, twitchy,” Fred bumped your shoulder, drawing your attention back to the conversation. “What's on your mind—”

The floo station suddenly flared to life, verdant green light blasting through the room as the flames roared. Everyone yelped and scurried back, well, besides Ginny, and when the flames died the next instant, you realized why.

Charlie Weasley stood at the center of the fireplace, a bag over his shoulder and a smug smile on his face.

Your stomach turned inside out.

Merlin, how had he gotten even more handsome? His hair was a slightly longer, his beard thicker to ward off the biting, Romanian cold. He wore a heavy coat and cargo pants, leather boots still packed with melting snow.

“Charles!” Molly shrieked, throwing herself at her second oldest son and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Charlie!” Everyone cried, rushing to greet him while you tiptoed the opposite way, meaning to escape into the hall so you could collect yourself.

“Ah, ah,” George said, catching your wrist, grinning. “You don't want to do that,” he teased.

“And why not?” You huffed.

“Better to play it cool,” he winked, and you stuck your tongue out at him.

He was right, though. You would only survive this if you played it cool. Pretended everything was normal, that you hadn't been pining for this man for weeks on end, that the thought of spending Christmas with Charlie didn't make your heart flutter with excitement.

“But the clock!” Arthur laughed, finally wrangling Molly away so he could hug his son.

“Asked Ginevra to enchant it,” Charlie said, hugging his father with one arm and bundling his little sister into his opposite side, dropping a kiss on top of her head. “Seems she did well.”

“It is not to be tampered with!” Molly crowed, wiping tears from her cheeks.

“Alright, alright. I'll fix it,” Charlie chuckled, withdrawing his wand from his belt and muttering a reversal spell. The clock hand whirred around the face, confused, before it finally settled on ‘home’ with everyone else.

Charlie made his way around the room, hugging everyone and chatting until finally, he reached George, who you were attempting to hide behind.

Charlie pulled him into a bear hug, clapping him on the back. “She knows I can see her, right?” He murmured to George, just loud enough to be sure you also heard him.

Your cheeks warmed, your stomach falling through the floor.

George scoffed. “Stop checkin’ out my girlfriend, mate.”

Charlie grinned, shoving George to the side, perhaps a little harder than necessary. “Dream on, Georgie,” he chuckled, eyes shining with amusement. He finally turned to you, his expression softening. “Happy Christmas, y/n,” he said, approaching slowly, the heavy plod of his boots matching the jump of your heart.

“Happy Christmas, Charlie,” you replied, playing coy and reaching up to brush some snow from his wide shoulder. “How's my Welsh Green?” you asked.

Charlie smirked, his eyes sweeping over your face, down your neck, before flicking back to your eyes. “She nearly took my head off this morning when I tried to give her breakfast.”

“My kind of girl.” You felt your skin prickle under his attention, but you held your composure.

“Mine too,” he purred, lowering his voice. Heat curled low in your stomach, remembering the way his voice pitched and deepened while you—good god, you were losing your mind.

“Time for supper!” Molly called over the dull roar of conversation, and you slipped away from Charlie to follow the twins into the dining room, desperate for a breath that wasn’t sweetened by his cologne.

Dinner went by in a blur of food and activity, Charlie sat by Arthur at the head while you were sequestered to the other side with the twins. After eating, Charlie slipped away to shower, and you joined everyone else back in the living room for board games and music.

You were wrapped up in a game of Scrabble with Hermoine and Ginny when Charlie re-emerged, his hair damp and slicked back, dressed in flannel pajama pants and a black t-shirt. Your mouth dried, your pussy fluttering at the mental image of him in the shower moments before.

His eyes found you across the room, his tongue darting out to wet his lips while they swept over you, taking in the House crewneck and pj shorts you’d changed into. You turned back the game to hide your face, swallowing the lump in your throat.

A moment passed, then Charlie turned to join Bill, Percy, and Arthur in the study, casting you another glance over his shoulder before disappearing.

A few more hours rolled by, and one by one, everyone went to bed besides the older men in the study. Molly set you up on the couch, apologizing profusely for the lack of space, but you waved her off, happy to curl up by the fire and read the book Percy lent you.

You settled in with a blanket over your lap, a book in one hand, cup of tea in the other. Soon though, exhaustion began to tug at you, and your eyes started to flutter closed, the warmth of the room and the chaos of the day taking its toll as you slipped into unconsciousness.

Distantly, you felt someone take the book from your hand, the empty tea cup from your lap, and you swam back to wakefulness, lifting your head.

“Just me, love,” a voice said, soft and male, and you immediately recognized it as Charlie’s.

You blinked open your eyes, finding him sticking a playing card in your book to hold your page. “Oh, what are you doin’?” you mumbled, rubbing a knuckle in your eye.

“Are you sleeping down here?” he asked, crouching in front of you, brow lightly creased. He smelled like woodsmoke and cinnamon, and you had to remind your sleep-addled mind that you could not just melt into his arms like softened candle wax.

You nodded. “Guest beds are full. But it’s okay, m’comfy.” You snuggled back down on to the couch, pulling the blanket up to your chin.

“I don’t think so. C’mon, you can take my bed.”

You shook your head, grumbling an unintelligible protest into the pillow as sleep crept back in on you.

Suddenly, you were moving, the couch falling away.

“I’m not letting you sleep on the sodding couch,” Charlie grumbled, curling you into his chest. You gave half a thought to try and free yourself, to put up some sort of fight, but his heartbeat was right against your ear, reverberating in the barrel of his chest, and you just couldn’t bring yourself to move away.

He carried you up a few flights of stairs and down a hallway, nudging open a bedroom door with his foot, careful to walk you through without bumping against anything. He set you down on his bed and tucked you under the thick duvet. The smell of him wrapped around you, clean and warm and Charlie, and you moaned in contentment, too tired to stop yourself.

Every one of your cells had missed him.

He pressed a light-as-air kiss to your temple before pulling away. You reached out to catch his hand, surprising him.

“Where are you gonna sleep?” You asked, voice muffled by his pillow.

“I’ll find somewhere,” he murmured, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. “Used to sleeping in strange places.”

You must have pulled some kind of face, your filter nonexistent in your sleepy state, because he leaned back down to you, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Better stop with that pout, sweetheart. You’ve got me strung out on the gallows,” he warned, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“M’not doing anything,” you teased back, peeking open your eyes to look at him.

“I’m trying to behave this time,” he chuckled, crossing his heart. “You deserve to be properly courted.”

A yawn stole the snarky quip from your tongue. “If you insist,” you sigh, eyes fluttering closed again.

“I do. Now, get some sleep,” he whispered, but you were already gone.

The following morning, you trudged down the stairs at an egregious hour, the incessant, jovial chatter of the Weasley's impossible to sleep through.

You found them all in the kitchen, steam from the kettle floating through the air, chased by the scent of cinnamon and syrup.

“There she is! The dead walks the earth! Now go bloody change!” Arthur shouted, shoving a rumpled but bright-eyed looking Charlie out from the crowd around the kitchen island.

“Huh?” You looked between the twins and Arthur, but Charlie slung an arm over your shoulder, tugging you into his side.

“I've been summoned to the Ministry for an update on a particularly nasty Horntail,” he said, then leaned in a little closer. “And Happy Christmas Eve, darling,” he whispered.

“Happy Christmas Eve—sorry, what does that have to do with me?” You asked, your brain catching up to the situation.

“The sap refused to risk waking you up to change into his suit,” George supplied. "So they're running late."

“Why would you—”

“Ignore them, you can sleep as long as you like,” he murmured to you.

“Charlie!” You hissed. “You should have woken me up!”

“Over my dead body, love.”

“Charles! Now!” Molly shouted, rattling the rafters.

“Fine, fine.” He reluctantly pulled away from you and bound up the stairs.

“Good morning,” Fred said, beaming at your scowl.

“Morning people, are we?” You asked, accepting a cup of coffee from George.

“No,” Ron argued, his head pillowed by his arms on the table.

Fifteen minutes later, the clop of heavy boots coming down the stairs drew everyone's attention away from their breakfast.

Charlie came around the bend, dressed in a simple, espresso colored suit with a black wool coat, a leather bag slung over his shoulder. His hair was pushed back, brushed and tidy, and silver jewelry shined from his pierced ears and ringed hands.

You nearly choked on your eggs, and Fred clapped a hand on your back.

Everyone wolf whistled and jeered, not used to seeing their rakish brother dressed to the nines. Charlie waved them off with a soft smile, leaning over you to grab a cinnamon roll. His freshly applied cologne wafted over you, spicy and warm, and all other thoughts vacated your head.

Arthur grabbed him by the arm. “Yes, yes. You're very handsome, you are my son after all. Let's go.”

“Wish us luck!” Charlie called, allowing an impatient Arthur to drag him towards the floo station. In a burst of green, they were gone.

“Are all mornings this chaotic?” You asked no one in particular.

“Yes,” they all replied in a unison, and you grinned.

You could get used to a little chaos.

The day passed in a whirlwind of preparation, with you spending most of it with Molly in the kitchen or decorating with the twins.

Once that was finished, you'd gotten ready in Charlie's room, dressing in a white sweater dress and black stockings, your hair loose and makeup light.

You couldn't help but wonder what Charlie would think of it as you evaluated yourself in the mirror. You felt his absence like an ache in your side, and found your gaze wandering back to the floo station all day.

About an hour before dinner, green flames finally erupted in the fireplace. Everyone dropped what they were doing and rushed over, eager to hear about how it went at the Ministry.

You'd gathered from the twins that the fate of the Horntail hung in the balance after it destroyed a flock of sheep in Western Scotland. Charlie, along with several other Dragonologists, had been fighting for it’s life for months.

The flames extinguished, revealing Arthur and Charlie. Arthur was beaming, an arm around his son, while Charlie looked exhausted.

“Oh, thank goodness. Just in time!” Molly cried, throwing her arms around her husband.

“How'd it go?” Everyone asked at once, following Charlie as he stalked into the living room and dropped heavily onto the couch.

Charlie pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut against the racket.

“Our son was incredible, Molly. You should have seen him. Every question, he beat away like a bludger. It was masterful,” Arthur gushed, still grinning.

You watched Charlie warily. He certainly wasn't acting like it had gone well.

Bill, seeming as concerned as you, poured a glass of whiskey and passed it to his younger brother. Charlie swallowed the amber drink in one go, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“So, is the Horntail safe?” Ginny asked, sitting tentatively beside her brother on the couch.

“For now,” Charlie muttered, finally picking his head up and opening his eyes. “They want to reevaluate in six months.”

“But that's good, isn't it?” Harry asked.

Charlie nodded. “I suppose.”

You could feel the hurt and anger radiating off of him despite his efforts at composure. The resolution clearly wasn't good enough for him, and you understood why.

You resisted the urge to sit by him, to fuss over him like his family was doing. It seemed to only drive him deeper into himself. He didn't need to hear that it was a good thing, a victory, because it wasn't. It shouldn't be a debate in the first place.

Christmas Eve dinner passed with the expected chaos, and Charlie seemed to cheer a bit after a good meal, a few laughs, and another whiskey. But you could still detect a heaviness around his shoulders. You felt it as keenly as if it was your own burden.

After dinner, everyone moved back into the living room, but you followed Charlie into the now abandoned kitchen, the wreckage of the meal evident on every surface.

You leaned against the entry way, watching as he fiddled with random things, looking for a way to distract himself. “Hey,” you murmured, drawing his attention from the mugs he was straightening.

He gave you a tired smile. “Hi, love. How was your day?” He asked, moving towards you. He'd ditched his blazer and dress shirt before dinner, leaving him in his dark trousers and a white t-shirt, his muscles straining against the fabric.

“It was good. Made some cookies, strung some lights. We missed you, though.”

He braced a hand on the wall beside your head, leaning closer. “We?” He asked, raising a brow.

Merlin, his bicep was the size of your head.

You shrugged, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Me, mostly.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, freckles crinkling around his eyes. “I missed you too. Would have much rather been here to help out. I make a mean gingerbread.”

“I bet you do," you replied sincerely, watching the way his shoulders start to ease down. “I’m sorry about the Horntail,” you said, a little quieter. “But I'm glad you bought it a little more time.”

Charlie sighed, picking at a flake of paint on the wall. “I am too. Just wish I didn't have to do it at all. He doesn't deserve to be executed just for feeding himself.”

“I know. But I'm glad he has you to speak for him.”

Charlie searched your face, his eyes melting with blatant affection. Your heart tripped over itself, drumming hard under your skin.

He glanced up and you followed his gaze, finding a sprig of mistletoe hanging just above your heads. You hadn't noticed it before, but you supposed that was the beauty of mistletoe: it was always where you least expected it.

His eyes flicked back down to you, molten chocolate, and your thoughts turned to static. He reached up to cup your face, far more timid than you've come to expect from him, and tilted your head up towards his.

“Can't believe I haven't told you how beautiful you look yet,” he said, his other hand sliding around your waist to draw you closer. “A Christmas wish come true.”

You smiled, feeling like marshmallow over an open flame. “A Christmas wish?” You prodded, batting your lashes at him as heat spilled through you.

“Too cheesy?” He asked, bumping his nose against yours, your faces so close you could almost feel his smirk.

“The perfect amount,” you murmured, your lips grazing his.

Charlie closed the final millimeter, pressing your bodies together in a slow, sipping kiss. Every neuron in your body lit up, reaching towards him as you curled your fingers into his shirt, deepening the kiss. His tongue caressed the seam of your mouth and you parted for him, letting him delve further and taste you.

He loosed a low groan, his grip tightening as he backed you against the wall. He licked into your mouth, stoking the fire simmering under your skin.

“Hey, y/n—merlin, in the middle of the kitchen? Really?”

You and Charlie sprang apart, finding Fred with a hand clapped over his eyes, a cheeky grin on his face.

“So sorry for interrupting. Though, lucky it was me and not mum,” he teased, dropping his hand. But his smile quickly fell too when Charlie advanced on him, swinging an arm out in an attempt to grab him. Fred ducked to the left and bolted back into the living room, leaving Charlie laughing and shaking his head.

“Well, that's fantastic,” you huffed, pressing a hand to your sternum to quell your pounding heart.

“I can't say they'll be all that surprised.” Charlie cupped your face again, drawing you up for a quick peck. “I haven't shut up about you since we met.”

You're soul lifted out of your body. “You—r-really?”

He smiled, pulling you in for a hug, his big arms wrapped around your head and shoulders. “Really, love. You've got me wrapped around your little finger,” he said, his voice muffled by your hair.

“I thought I was going mad, I…I couldn't stop thinking about you,” you admitted, exhaling in relief. You hugged him around the waist, sliding your hands under his shirt just to feel his skin against yours.

You felt him stiffen at your admission, before the tension dissolved from his muscles completely. “Maybe we're both a little mad, then,” he chuckled.

“We should get back to the party before they start to miss us,” you said after a few moments of quiet, though all you wanted to do was drag him up to his room and show him just how mad you were for him. But you were a guest, and you needed a moment to get your thoughts in order.

It seemed Charlie had made up his mind about what he wanted, but you hadn't even begun to let yourself consider something real with Charlie Weasley. It seemed like too lofty a hope, an impossibility.

Your heart screamed ‘yes’ but your mind demanded a rationalization, a plan. Whatever you felt for him was intense, but you would hate to rush into something and ruin what you knew could be amazing.

Well, rush into something any more than your already had.

You realized he was studying you like your thoughts were written across your skin. “Baby, look at me,” he said, turning your face back up to his. “I know we started off on an…unorthodox foot. But that wasn't just a hook up and you and I both know it.” He leaned his forehead against yours. “There’s something more between us.”

“I feel it too,” you admitted. “But I've never…” you trailed off, unable to articulate the tumbling thoughts in your mind.

“Me neither, to be honest. I feel like I've been struck by lightning,” he said, breathless, a slight nervous tremble in his voice.

You nodded, reassured that he was feeling the same, vaguely crazed way you were.

“Trust yourself, y/n,” he said, releasing you from the hug and offering you his hand. “Overthinking is the thief of joy.”

“Get out of my brain,” you huffed in mock annoyance, smiling as you twined your fingers with his.

The rest of the evening passed in a rose colored blur, with cookies and games and storytelling. Charlie never strayed far from your side, though you kept any physical affection to a minimum. But based on the knowing looks from Arthur and Molly, and the teasing smirks and jabs from his siblings, they were definitely on to you two.

After the clock struck midnight, Molly demanded everyone go off to bed so Father Christmas would have no interruptions. You were all plenty old enough to know there was no such thing, but it still made you feel a giddy thrill of excitement. That glimmer of Christmas magic you never grow out of.

Charlie offered you his hand at the base of the stairs, a mischievous sort of smile on his face, and you accepted with a raised eyebrow. He led you up the stairs and opened the door to his room with a flourish.

You nearly toppled over when you walked in. It was completely transformed from this morning. Gone were the normal decorations and his dark duvet, replaced instead with a winter forest wonderland.

His bedspread was a deep forest green, with white throw pillows and silver trim, and a stuffed reindeer waited patiently for you on the pillow, floppy and velveteen. In the corner stood a flocked tree, decorated with pine cones and strung cranberries, and little animal ornaments carved from wood. The fire roared merrily in the fireplace, the mantle above it strewn with wild garland and rosemary. Two stockings hung above the flame, each of your names embroidered on them in silver and gold.

You whirled around to look at Charlie, who was smiling down at you, a slight flush to his freckled cheeks.

“When the hell did you have time to do this?” You asked, breathless and overwhelmed. No one has ever done something so special for you before.

“While you were wrapped up in Wizards Chess with Ron.” He snaked his arms around you, dropping a kiss to your furrowed brow.

“Charlie, this is—” emotion clogged your throat. “T-this is the m-most amazing thing—”

“Oh, baby,” he cooed, shushing you with a peck to your lips. “Spoiling you on Christmas feels like the least I can do to show you how much you mean to me. How badly I want this.”

“This?” You ask, sliding your hands up his broad chest. You expected to feel butterflies, but instead a warm blanket of peace settled over you, an understanding that this is exactly how it was meant to go. That here, with him, in the earliest hours of Christmas morning, was exactly where you belonged.

“Us,” he murmured, glancing at the stockings over the mantle, then back down to you, his dark eyes practically glowing with affection. “If that's what you want too.”

“Even with me here in London?” You asked, fiddling with his collar to hide the shaking in your fingers.

“We'll figure it out. You can come visit me as often as you like. And I can come back here a few times a month.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your cheek, moving down your neck like he just couldn't hold himself back anymore. “I have a cabin.” Kiss. “In the forest.” Kiss. “With a big fireplace.” Kiss. “And a soaking tub.” Kiss. “And I can cook.” Kiss. “And have a giant bed—”

“Charlie!” You giggled, tugging on his hair so he lifted his head and you could kiss him properly, melting under the eagerness of his mouth, the joy in his kiss.

He scooped you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He crossed the room without breaking the kiss, sinking down onto the edge of the bed with you straddling him. The heat of your bodies pressed together was enough to have your pussy tingling, your breath labored.

“I wanna go where you go,” you breathed, breaking the kiss to appease your burning lungs. “I want to be with you.”

He responded with another fervid kiss, open-mouthed and hungry, and you let yourself get swept away in the riptide that was Charlie Weasley. Wild, impulsive, but so sincere, so lion-hearted and good. You weren't sure you'd ever get enough of him.

He seemed just as desperate for you, tugging his shirt over his head and letting your hands finally wander the full expanse of his body without barriers. You pushed him back onto the bed so you could really take him in, his big hands resting heavily on your thighs. He was broad and sturdy, his chest and arms corded with hard earned muscle, the tanned skin littered with freckles and silvery scars.

You nearly started drooling.

In a fluid motion, you tugged your sweater dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but your Christmas underwear set and black stockings. The set was black mesh, decorated with mistletoe and holly berries. You had bought in Hogsmeade on the off chance Charlie made an appearance, and it was worth the steep price to see his soul ascend as he took you in.

“Merlin’s fucking—” he didn't even finish the sentence, instead pulling you down onto his chest for another scalding kiss, his calloused hands wandering up your thighs and over your hips, smoothing over the curve of your rib cage and around the plane of your back. His tongue slid into your mouth, twining with yours. You could taste the whiskey he'd been drinking, tinged with cigar smoke and gingerbread, and you moaned at the decadence of him.

One of his hands slid around to cup the nape of your neck, the other bracketing across your lower back to press your hips flush to his. You ground down onto him, unable to ignore the thrumming between your legs any longer. You both groaned at the new friction, his hips lifting to press more firmly against you.

“Just so you know,” he gruffed as you kissed down his neck, licking a long stripe over his Adam’s apple, feeling his stubble under your tongue. “I put a silencing charm on the room.”

“Very presumptuous of you,” you teased, sucking at his pulse just hard enough to leave a faint bruise, but nothing too obvious.

His hips rolled against yours, coaxing a breathy moan from your lips. “Part of my training includes being prepared for any situation,” he countered, his voice strained with desire as you rocked against him.

“Uh-huh. And what else were you trained to do?” You asked, freezing in place to watch him squirm.

A wicked smirk crossed his face and suddenly you were moving, flipped beneath his body faster than you could blink. “How to tame brats,” he growled against your ear, and a shiver rolled down your spine.

He shifted down your body, kissing and licking along the swell of your breasts before unlatching your bra and tossing in across the room. He took both your tits in his hands, nuzzling the soft flesh before laving his tongue across both nipples, making you lift off the bed with a gasp of pleasure.

“It's not fair that you get to walk around with these all the time. Too fucking perfect,” he said, his voice muffled by your skin.

You almost said that they were his. That the only thing that wasn't fair was how quickly he'd stolen your heart. But you bit your tongue, moaning under his ministrations instead.

He sucked a pearled nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it before grazing his teeth against it, his fingers pinching and rolling the other until your eyes crossed, desire pooling between your legs.

“Can take my time with you now,” he hummed, pulling back to pepper kisses across your chest. “Take care of my girl properly.”

My girl. Your head spun, your heart swelling with elation. You never thought this would happen for you, the perpetually single girl who never found someone you genuinely connected with. But Charlie was like a comet tearing through your life, turning every one of your assumptions about love upside down.

He drew you back from your thoughts with a bite under your left breast. “Come back to me, baby. No more overthinking.”

“It’s good thoughts this time,” you said, running your fingers through his ginger hair and scratching along his scalp as he soothed the mark with his tongue.

He looked up at you, a pleased smirk on his face. “Thinking about that soaking tub, huh?”

You pulled his hair, giggling at his antics while he moved further down your body. “Among other things—shit, Charlie,” you whined when his tongue dragged over the soaked gusset of your panties, scalding hot and firm.

He pulled them to the side, gliding his tongue through your slick folds and wrapping his lips around your clit, lashing it with the tip of his tongue. Pleasure coursed through you, your eyes rolling back in your skull as you cried out.

He hummed against you, moving back down to lap at your entrance with long, messy strokes. He was practically grinding his face against you, savoring you like you were the finest meal he'd ever had. He was so enraptured in pleasuring you that he was moaning right along with you, making your clit vibrate and walls flutter.

“Saints, I missed you,” he said, giving your clit and open mouthed kiss before sucking the sensitive bud between his teeth.

You couldn't even begin to formulate words, completely lost in his feasting, your body fizzing with delight and pleasure. It felt like you were high, your muscles languid, bones rubbery.

“Not thinking anymore, are we?” He teased, nipping at the soft skin of your inner thigh.

You whimpered and shook your head, raising your hips to chase after his mouth.

“Good girl.” he purred, rewarding you by latching back onto your clit, his middle finger easing inside your greedy channel.

You cried out, clenching around his finger as he pushed you closer to the edge, your listless haze making way for bright, desperate pleasure. You bucked your hips against his mouth, his tongue flattening against your clit as his inserted a second finger, stretching you. The sounds were damn near sinful, lewd and sloppy as he worked your pussy into submission, molding you like a sculptor with wet clay.

“Fuck, Charlie. M’gonna come,” you whined, tangling your fingers in his hair to keep him in that perfect spot.

He curled his fingers inside of you and your vision whited out, your orgasm ripping through you, body and soul. You screamed, spine arching off the bed as wave after wave of burning ecstasy rolled through you, his tongue and fingers not letting up for a second as you convulsed.

“That's it, honey. Just like that, let it all go,” he cooed, kitten-licking your clit as you started to come down, his fingers continuing to gently massage your spasming walls. “Try to relax, love. I know it's a lot, but just relax f’me. You're doing so well.”

You sank back into the mattress, breathing labored as he soothed your quivering pussy with gentle touches. “Charlie,” you moaned, your body finally settling and cycling from overstimulation to rebuilding pleasure. “Feels s’good.”

He nuzzled your clit, kissing over your slit, the top of your mound, your inner thighs. “I live to serve,” he said, withdrawing his fingers and sucking them clean. “And if I have to live my life in service to this perfect little cunt, so be it.” As if to punctuate his point, he laved his tongue through you again and you keened, nearly jumping away at the intensity.

You shook you head, tugging him up by the hair. “Need you to fuck me, Charlie. Please?”

He grinned, kissing his way back up your body until he caught your lips once more, the taste of you mixing with him in a way that pleased some possessive part of your brain. You deepened the kiss, licking into his mouth for more.

He pressed his body against yours, the weight of him warm and comforting as you savored one another. You trailed your hands over his back, feeling some of the ridges and scars stretched across the ropes of muscle. He guided one of your legs up over his hip, angling your bodies together like a puzzle piece.

You basked in the simmering kiss for a moment longer before need began to claw at your insides, your hips pressing up against his once more.

“Charlie, please,” you sighed into his mouth, dragging your nails down his back. “Don't make me beg.”

“But you sound so sweet, all breathy and desperate,” he cooed, pecking your lips a final time before moving off the bed. He slid your panties down your legs, tossing them aside with your other clothes, then removed his trousers and boxers, that gorgeous, rosy cock slapping up against his stomach.

He climbed back onto the bed and spread your thighs, kneading the flesh at your hip while he ran the rigid head of his cock through your drooling pussy.

“My sweet girl wants to get fucked, hm?” he said, his voice rough as he used his cock to massage your puffy clit. “Let me hear you ask one more time, honey. Sounds so pretty.”

“Please fuck me, baby. Please,” you whimpered, fisting the sheets on either side of you.

He notched his cock at your entrance, hissing through his teeth as your pussy opened effortlessly for him. “That's it, lovey. Fuck, your little pussy is so tight f’me,” he groaned as your walls clenched around him, coaxing him deeper. You could tell he was fighting the urge to bottom out in one thrust, the muscles in his arms and shoulders taught and trembling, chest heaving and jaw a little slack.

You reached for him, the feeling so intense you needed an anchor. He leaned forward, knowing what you craved, and let you wrap your arms around him and bury your face into his neck.

He rubbed soothing circles on your thigh, his other hand sliding around your back to hold you against him. “Too much, baby?” He asked, pausing his slow penetration.

“Too good,” you whimpered, digging your nails into his shoulders.

He nodded, loosing a breath as you clenched around him. “Feel like your squeezing my heart,” he groaned, and you could feel it racing just beneath his skin, frantic as yours.

“Keep going, Charlie. Please,” you begged, tilting your pelvis so he sank a little deeper.

He eased you back onto the bed, still holding you close. “Good girl, takin’ me so well. Just relax, honey. Just feel me,” he soothed as he pushed the rest of the way in, his cockhead nudging your cervix and stretching your walls just enough. Not sensing any discomfort from you, he started rolling his hips back and forth in fluid strokes, kissing your skin wherever he could reach.

Pleasure spread through your body like ink through water, coloring every sensation, every thought. You loosened your grip on him, opening yourself up to his unhurried affection as he fucked you slowly, letting you adjust to the onslaught of sensation.

“You're so pretty like this, so fucking perfect.” He mouthed at your throat, your head tilting back with a cry as he increased his pace, ecstasy dancing along your skin. “All mine to love on, yeah? You all mine, baby?”

You bobbed your head, already cockdrunk and blissed out, your body submitting completely to him. “Yes, fuck, yes. All yours,” you whimpered, that knot in your lower stomach starting to tighten.

“Fuck yes, my good girl.” He leaned down and caught your lips in a searing kiss, a growl rumbling through his chest as he fucked you harder, driving his cock in and out of your sopping cunt with powerful strokes. “And I'm yours, baby. All fucking yours.” He murmured against your mouth and you grinned, feeling your heart give a discordant thump of elation.

He leaned back to fuck you deeper, one hand tangling with both of yours and pining your arms over your head, the other sliding down to rub tight circles over your clit. You stretched out for him, arching your breasts up to his hungry gaze as he railed you, merciless and claiming.

“Saints, you look so fucking sexy. Gonna come for me, love? Mark this cock as yours?”

You let out a scream as a second orgasm was wrenched from your body, the tension unraveling all at once in a torrent of bliss. You clamped hard around him, feeling his cock swell, then buck as his own release crashed over him, your name coming out like roar.

You clung to one another, his hips still rolling into yours as your walls milked him dry, wringing every drop of pleasure from one another until you crashed back to earth as one.

After catching your breath for a moment, he lifted off of you, hands skimming over your face, your body. “Merlin, I’m sorry, baby. I really didn't mean to be that rough, are you okay? Did I hurt—”

You silenced him with a kiss, pulling his body back down onto yours. “Was perfect,” you mumbled against his lips and he smiled.

“You were perfect,” he corrected, pecking kisses all over your cheeks and forehead. “Can’t get enough of you.”

You giggled, squirming as his hands tickled along your sensitive skin.

“Can I take you for a real date tomorrow? I don't know if anything will be open, but I refuse to go another day without—”

“Charlie,” you shushed, cupping his bearded cheek. “You can take me to the kitchen and call it a first date. I don't care about some made-up fucking rules. I just want to be with you.”

He grinned, giving you a quick, toothy kiss. “Then how about I clean you up, make some mulled wine with this expensive shit I brought back from Romania, and we cuddle by the fire? Call that our first date, and next year we can celebrate our one year anniversary on Christmas.”

You pushed against his chest, laughing at his dramatics, but secretly hoping that would be the case. “It better be a hell of mulled wine then,” you teased.

“Oh, it will be. Romanians don't fuck around when it comes to their booze. Now, open those gorgeous legs for me.”

“Charles Septimus Weasley! Get up!” Ginny shouted through the door, banging her fist on the wood. “You cannot sleep in on Christmas!”

“Septimus?” You groaned, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

Charlie had his head buried in your neck, heavy limbs thrown over your body. He was warm as a furnace, and the still crackling fire didn't help matters.

“Sod off!” he barked back, nuzzling closer and tightening his hold around you. You glanced at the clock, and after your prolonged first date, you'd only gotten a few scant hours of sleep.

“Fine! Then I'll throw whatever's in this fancy little box in the fire!”

Charlie was up in a flash, tugging on pants and wrenching open the door, but Ginny was already gone.

He sighed, grabbed something from the hall, then swung the door shut. He looked ready to dive back into bed, but you were already up, pulling on a pair of his boxers.

He froze in place, a feral sort of glint in his eye, forgetting entirely about the package in his hands. When you went to grab it, he lifted it high above his head, well out of your reach.

“Charlie!” You pouted, trying in vain to pull his arm down. He still hadn't taken his eyes off of your body. “You really want me to make a bad impression on your parents for our first Christmas?” You snapped, fighting the smile rising on your face.

“Just do a little spin for me,” he said, twirling a finger around.

“Charlie!”

“Fine, fine. Here,” he chuckled, handing you a pair of pajamas with your name embroidered on them. They were red and green, with white stripes and gold thread, the material thick and warm.

You loved them already.

The two of you quickly got dressed and hurried downstairs, finding everyone else already piled into the living room, also dressed in matching pj's.

“Ah, the lovebirds finally make their appearance!” Bill teased from the big arm chair, Fleur cuddled into his side.

Charlie flipped him off, ignoring the squawk of disapproval form his mother.

“Come, come!” Molly grabbed you and plunked you down on the last free space on the couch, and George passed you a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

George leaned in and muttered, “It's no mulled wine, but—”

Charlie whacked the back of his head. “Quiet, you,” he warned.

“Charles, if I have to speak to you again!” Molly shouted.

“Alright, alright! Let's get this show on the road,” Arthur said, shooing his son away so they could distribute the clumsily wrapped boxes under the tree.

Charlie plopped onto the floor between your knees, his hands coming up to absently massage your right foot. Your whole body tingled at the contact, your heart still tight with joy.

Could this really be your life?

Arthur passed out gifts, and you ended up with a pile of three at your feet. A flat, rectangular box, a heavy, square box, and one small enough to fit in your hand, wrapped in green and gold ribbon.

They went around one by one, opening gifts. Charlie received a new pair of steel-toed boots, enchanted to prevent the Romanian cold from creeping in, and an expensive looking bottle of gin, courtesy of his big brother.

After him, it was finally your turn. Your heart thudded from the attention, and you started unwrapping the larger present with trembling fingers. You tore off the paper and opened the white box underneath it, finding a knitted sweater with your initial on the front. Your throat pinched shut, tears burning behind your eyes as you traced your fingers over it.

“You're part of the family now, love,” Molly said, smiling warmly at you as you wiped away a tear with the back of your hand.

“Thank you,” you sniffled, laughing at yourself, and Charlie gave your ankle a reassuring squeeze, pressing a kiss to your knee.

The next present was from Fred and George, a stack of books you'd been eyeballing the last time the three of you went to Flourish and Blotts, and you pulled them in for a group hug.

Finally, it came down to the last present. The tension pulled taut as a bowstring when Charlie turned towards you, propped up on one knee, presenting the small box.

“I know how this looks,” he murmured, glancing down at himself. “But I promise I'm not that insane.”

You giggled nervously, taking the present from his hand and trying to ignore that his entire family was watching you. You tried to focus on Charlie, the rise and fall of his shoulders, the lock of copper hair hanging over his brow, and blocked the others out.

Carefully, you undid the ribbon and tore off the paper, revealing a black, dragon-leather box. Charlie gave you an encouraging nod, noticing the way you hesitated, and you cracked open the lid.

Inside was a golden necklace with a Welsh Green dragon scale pendant sitting on a velvet cushion. It was the most stunning shade of emerald you'd ever seen, reflecting beautifully in the candlelight, shifting blue, then pearlescent, and back to green. It was breathtaking, and you fought back the tears gathering on your lower lashes so you could continue to gaze at it.

“Charlie, this is—” emotion stole your words, and all you could do was throw your arms around him and bury your face into his shoulder.

“I hope you love it, darling. Had it made just for you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Here, let me put it on you.”

You nodded, sitting up and trying to wipe your tears before his family could see what a mess you were, but when you looked around, you saw half of them crying too.

Molly blew you a kiss, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, and you nearly lost it again.

Charlie gently took the box from your hands and walked around behind the couch. His cool fingers grazed the sides of your throat and the weight of the pendant settled against your clavicle. A moment later, your heard the clasp click, and felt the warm brush of his lips on the back on your neck.

You fondled the pendant with your fingers, the metal already warming against your heated skin, the scale heavy and smooth. Charlie came back around to the front, eyes lighting up at the sight of your smile.

“Merry Christmas, my love,” he hummed, wiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

You grabbed his collar and pulled him in for a kiss. “Merry Christmas, Charlie.”

Thank you so much for reading!! (and if you have anything you'd like to read for Charlie, my asks are open!)

[theetherealbloom]

Whole Package, Babe, I Like The Way You Fit

Summary: Holiday beach trip with Pedro and friends.

Or, that one new Pedro shirtless pic…

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Nudity, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Beach Trip, Light Blood, Scratch, Ocean, Swimming, Swimwear, Shirtless Pedro, Light SMUT, Spicy, Sweet, Implied SMUT, Banter, Idk Spanish so the terms might be wrong but I'm trying my best

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: The mf decided to give us shirtless Pedro and suddenly I have the will to live again LMAO. Weirdly enough, I am also at the beach while writing this so it’s kinda a funny coincidence… Imagine if we were at the same beach, that would be so funny (He can never know my existence I might die.)

No one ask me how I knew what hotel they were staying at. I scare myself too dw.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Juno by Sabrina Carpenter

| Main Masterlist |

HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — DAY

The warm tropical breeze carried the salty tang of the ocean as you stepped onto the soft, powdery sand of the secluded beach Pedro’s friends had chosen for the Christmas getaway. The sun kissed your skin, palm trees swayed lazily overhead, and the gentle rhythm of waves provided the perfect soundtrack for a holiday escape.  

The group—Lauren Alexander, Brandan Campbell, Omar Apollo, and Pedro’s ever-charismatic agent, Franklin Latt—had already claimed a prime spot near the water. Lounge chairs were lined up under brightly colored umbrellas, a massive cooler sat brimming with ice and drinks, and Omar was enthusiastically attempting to set up a speaker while humming the latest tune stuck in his head.  

Pedro lagged a few steps behind you, carrying your beach bag and his, though his attention wasn’t on the task. It was on you.  

When you shrugged off your airy cover-up, revealing a stunning red bikini that hugged your curves just right, Pedro froze mid-step. His sunglasses couldn’t hide the way his jaw tightened or how his eyes darkened as they roamed over you.  

“Everything okay there?” you teased, tilting your head as you caught him staring.  

Pedro blinked, visibly gathering himself. “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine.” He cleared his throat, but his gaze didn’t waver. “More than fine.”  

You smirked, adjusting the straps of your bikini for good measure. “You’re staring.”  

“Can you blame me?” he shot back, taking a step closer. His voice dipped, low and husky. “You look... breathtaking.”  

A flush crept up your neck, but you refused to let him win so easily. “Not too bad yourself,” you quipped, lightly poking his chest. His white linen shirt was unbuttoned just enough to reveal a tantalizing hint of his tan skin and the gold chain that rested against his collarbone.  

Pedro chuckled, the sound warm and intimate. “If I’d known you’d be wearing this, I’d have hired a bodyguard to keep everyone else from looking.”  

“Oh, please,” you replied, rolling your eyes but unable to stop the grin tugging at your lips. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”  

He leaned in, his hand brushing against your waist as he planted a soft kiss on your forehead. “Stop being so cute, or I might never let you leave my sight,” he murmured.  

“Is that a promise or a threat?” you teased, your voice playful but your heart racing.  

“Both,” he said, his grin widening as he pulled back to admire you once more.  

From nearby, Omar let out a loud whistle. “Pedro, are you gonna stand there all day, or are you gonna help us with this speaker? Some of us want to vibe to music!”  

Pedro groaned, turning reluctantly toward the group but throwing an arm around your shoulders as he led you over. “Fine, but only because she’s coming with me,” he called out, earning a round of laughter.  

As you settled into the setup, the sun beamed overhead, and the carefree energy of the group was infectious. Pedro stayed close, his arm brushing yours as you helped Lauren unpack snacks, and his eyes never strayed far from you.  

At one point, Franklin handed you a coconut with a straw and a cheeky smile. “Best way to stay hydrated,” he said, winking.  

“Cheers,” Pedro said, clinking his coconut against yours. He took a sip before leaning closer, his breath warm against your ear. “But if you spill even a drop, I’m licking it off you.”  

Your cheeks burned as you nearly choked on your drink. “Pedro!” you hissed, swatting at him.  

He grinned, unapologetic. “What? I’m just being practical.”  

The day unfolded in easy laughter and warmth, with the sun high overhead and the turquoise ocean sparkling like a field of diamonds. Pedro carried you on his back through the shallows, his hands gripping your thighs as you pretended to be his commanding officer.  

“Faster, soldier!” you commanded, leaning forward and tugging gently at his ears as if steering him.  

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am!” he called back, mock-serious but laughing as he jogged through the water, sending small waves splashing around you both. “Anything else, ma’am? Should I do some push-ups in the sand too?”  

You grinned wickedly. “Push-ups? I’d like to see you try—with me on your back.”  

Pedro stopped abruptly, twisting his head to glance at you with a raised brow. “Oh, you think I can’t?”  

“I know you can’t,” you teased, leaning down to press your cheek against his.  

He smirked, suddenly spinning in place. “You’re asking for it now.”  

Before you could protest, he dropped into the water with a dramatic splash, sending you tumbling off his back and into the cool embrace of the ocean.  

“Pedro!” you shrieked, surfacing with a gasp and pushing your wet hair out of your face.  

He was already laughing, standing a few feet away with his hands on his hips, his soaked hair plastered to his forehead. “That’s what you get for doubting my strength!”  

“Oh, you’re so dead!” you shouted, lunging toward him.  

Pedro yelped playfully, backpedaling but not fast enough. You caught his arm, laughing as you pulled him down into the water with you. The two of you wrestled like kids, splashing and laughing so hard your stomach hurt.  

“Truce! Truce!” he called out, holding up his hands in surrender as you pelted him with another wave of water.  

“Do you admit defeat?” you demanded, a triumphant grin on your face.  

“Never!” he declared, darting forward to grab your waist. Before you could react, he lifted you effortlessly, spinning you around in the water.  

“Pedro!” you shrieked, laughing and trying to wriggle free.  

“You wanted a soldier,” he said, his voice full of mischief, “and now you’ve got one!”  

You finally stopped struggling, letting your arms drape around his shoulders as he held you close. The laughter faded into something softer, the two of you catching your breath as you stood chest-deep in the water.  

His hands slid down to your hips, steadying you as he gazed at you with a look that made your heart flutter. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.  

The way he said it, like it was a simple truth he’d always believed, made your cheeks warm despite the cool water. “You’re just saying that because I’m soaked and ridiculous-looking,” you replied, biting back a smile.  

“No,” he said, leaning in so his forehead pressed against yours. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”  

Your breath hitched as his lips brushed against yours, soft and hesitant at first, like he was savoring the moment. The kiss deepened quickly, his arms pulling you closer until there was no space between you.  

When you pulled back for air, Pedro’s eyes were dark, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss. “You’ve got this effect on me,” he admitted, his voice husky.  

“Oh yeah?” you teased, though your voice wavered with the same breathless energy.  

“Yeah,” he said, leaning in to kiss you again, his hands sliding up your back. “And I never want it to go away.”  

For a while, the rest of the world melted away. You stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the ocean rocking gently around you. He kissed you like he was memorizing every detail, every taste, and you couldn’t help but smile against his lips, feeling completely and utterly adored.  

At one point, he pulled back just enough to whisper, “If this is what it feels like to surrender, I’m never fighting again.”  

You laughed, threading your fingers through his damp hair. “I think I like you defeated.”  

“And I think I like you here, in my arms,” he replied softly, his lips brushing against your temple.  

The sound of your friends laughing and splashing in the distance barely registered. For now, it was just you and Pedro, lost in a world of sunlit kisses and salty skin, the ocean your only witness.  

The group gathered in a loose circle, each person holding a large green coconut decorated with colorful straws and tiny paper umbrellas. The warm, golden light of the late afternoon sun bathed everything in a soft glow, making the moment feel like a scene out of a postcard. Omar crouched to capture the perfect angle with his camera while Lauren struck a dramatic pose, tilting her head back and raising her coconut like it was a chalice of the gods.  

“Lauren, you’re doing the most,” Franklin said, shaking his head but smiling as he adjusted his sunglasses.  

“Darling, I am the most,” Lauren shot back with a wink, drawing laughs from everyone.  

Pedro, standing just behind you, pulled you snugly against his side, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. “C’mon, let’s show them how it’s done,” he murmured in your ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine.  

Franklin, standing in front with his phone, held it up. “Okay, lovebirds, your turn. Smile for the camera!”  

You turned your face toward Pedro’s at the exact same moment he turned toward you, and the laughter bubbled up before either of you could stop it. Your foreheads bumped lightly, and you both dissolved into giggles, the kind of uncontainable joy that made your chest feel light.  

“Oh, my god,” Lauren groaned theatrically, pointing at the two of you. “Are they even real? Look at them, they’re in their own damn rom-com!”  

“Y’all are embarrassing,” Omar chimed in, snapping pictures anyway. “But keep doing whatever that is because it’s disgustingly cute.”  

Pedro’s grin widened as he tilted his head toward you, his nose brushing against yours. “You’re ridiculous,” you said through your laughter, feeling your cheeks warm under the attention.  

“And you’re perfect,” Pedro replied, his voice low but playful, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smirk.  

Franklin groaned loudly, still holding up his phone. “For the love of all things holy, just kiss her already! We’re trying to make memories here, not watch a slow-burn romance unfold in real-time!”  

Pedro raised an eyebrow, glancing at the group before looking back at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “What do you think, Hermosa? Should we give them what they want?”  

You laughed, pretending to ponder. “Hmm… maybe. But only if you make it a good one.”  

“Challenge accepted,” Pedro whispered, and then his lips were on yours, soft but sure. The kiss was sweet and unhurried, the kind that made everything around you fade into the background.  

“Oh my god, they’re actually doing it,” Lauren shrieked, clapping her hands together like a giddy child.  

“Finally!” Omar exclaimed, snapping several pictures in rapid succession. “This is going on the Christmas card.”  

“Make sure you get my good side!” Pedro joked, pulling back just enough to shoot Omar a wink, his arm still secure around your waist.  

“I don’t think you have a bad side,” you teased, your eyes meeting Pedro’s.  

“Ugh, stop!” Franklin groaned, clutching his chest dramatically. “This is too much. I need a drink—and not out of a coconut. I’m going straight for the tequila.”  

Everyone burst into laughter, the lighthearted teasing filling the air as the moment was immortalized with photos, laughter, and a shared sense of joy. Pedro leaned closer, his lips brushing your temple as the group continued to banter.  

“They’re just jealous,” he murmured softly, his voice filled with affection.  

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, your heart swelling at the warmth in his eyes. “Maybe. But I’m not sharing, so they can stay jealous.”  

Pedro chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because neither am I.”  

The heat of the day softened into a golden, languid warmth as the two of you found refuge under the shade of a broad umbrella. The beach stretched endlessly before you, the waves lazily licking at the shore. Pedro reclined in a beach chair, his book propped open on his lap. The faint breeze tousled his hair, a few stray strands falling over his forehead, and the way he absentmindedly pushed them back sent a flutter through your chest.  

You leaned against his side, your legs stretched out on the chair beside him, the perfect picture of ease. With one hand, you held your favorite romance novel, its dog-eared pages evidence of how many times you'd read it. With the other, you traced patterns along the inked lines of his tattoos. Your fingertips moved slowly, savoring the ridges of muscle and warmth beneath his skin, as if committing every part of him to memory.  

Pedro’s free hand slid into yours, threading your fingers together with a natural intimacy that still made your heart skip a beat. He didn’t look up from his book as he murmured, “Everything feels right when you’re with me.”  

The sincerity in his tone made you pause, your eyes lifting from the words on the page. A small smile tugged at your lips as you squeezed his hand gently. “I know the feeling,” you replied, your voice soft.  

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the kind that only comes when you’re entirely at ease with someone. The distant laughter of your friends mingled with the rhythmic crashing of waves, creating a serene soundtrack to your stolen moment.  

Pedro finally set his book down, slipping a receipt in as a placeholder. His gaze shifted to you, lingering in a way that made your cheeks heat even before he said a word.  

“You know,” he began, his voice warm and teasing, “you’re kind of amazing.”  

You tilted your head, meeting his eyes with a playful arch of your brow. “Kind of?”  

Pedro chuckled, his smile widening. “Okay, more than kind of. Very. Incredibly. Like, the kind of amazing that makes me wonder what I ever did to deserve you.”  

You closed your book, setting it on the small table between your chairs. Turning slightly, you rested your chin on his shoulder, your fingers still entwined with his. “Pedro, where’s all this coming from?”  

He shrugged, but his eyes were soft, almost vulnerable. “Just thinking. Watching you. It hits me sometimes how lucky I am. How lucky I feel to be the one sitting here with you.”  

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “You’re the one everyone loves. The kind, talented, ridiculously handsome Pedro Pascal. If anything, I’m the lucky one.”  

Pedro leaned closer, his free hand brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re wrong about that. Don’t get me wrong—I like myself just fine,” he teased, earning a laugh from you. “But you? You’re everything. Smart, funny, compassionate. And don’t even get me started on how beautiful you are.”  

Your cheeks flushed, and you tried to deflect with a teasing grin. “Oh, so it’s just my looks, huh?”  

“Not even close,” Pedro said, his voice dropping to a softer, deeper tone. “It’s the way you talk about your favorite books like they’re old friends. The way you laugh with your whole body. The way you care about everyone—how you make every room brighter just by being in it.”  

“Pedro…” you whispered, your throat tight with emotion.  

“And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve got everyone wrapped around your finger,” he added, his grin returning. “Omar can’t go ten minutes without asking if you need something, and Lauren keeps calling you her ‘new favorite person.’”  

You laughed, brushing at your cheeks as your emotions threatened to overwhelm you. “Stop. You’re going to make me cry.”  

Pedro’s expression softened further, his thumb brushing over your cheek as if to catch a tear before it could fall. “If I do, they’d better be happy tears. Because, cariño, I love you more than I ever thought was possible.”  

Your breath hitched, and you leaned into his touch. “I love you too. So much.”  

For a moment, the world around you faded into the background. Pedro leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was slow and tender, like a promise. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.  

“Promise me you’ll always stay this close,” he said, his tone carrying a weight you couldn’t quite place.  

You smiled, your hands cupping his face. “I promise. Always.”  

Pedro’s heart swelled at your words, and though he didn’t say it out loud, a plan began to take shape in his mind. He pictured the perfect ring, the perfect moment, the perfect way to ask you to spend forever with him.  

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said softly, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.  

You didn’t need to say anything else. The way you melted into his arms, the way your fingers found his once again, said everything. For now, this was enough. But in his heart, Pedro knew it wouldn’t be long before he made good on the promise his soul had already made: to love you, always.

The late afternoon sun bathed the beach in golden light as you wandered back into the water. The waves lapped gently at your legs, warm and inviting. Lost in the tranquil rhythm of the ocean, you didn’t notice the jagged rock just below the surface until it grazed your shin. You winced, feeling the sharp sting before brushing it off as nothing.  

You emerged from the water, the salty breeze brushing against your skin. Pedro, lounging nearby with a half-finished coconut drink, immediately sat up. His eyes darted to your leg, catching the small but noticeable trail of red trickling down your shin.  

“Are you bleeding?” His voice carried that signature mix of concern and urgency that only Pedro could make sound so endearing.  

You glanced down, surprised to see the cut. “Oh.”  

“Oh?” Pedro’s tone was incredulous as he practically leapt from his chair, already reaching for the towel draped over the back. “That’s all you have to say? Oh?”  

“It’s just a scratch, Pedro,” you said with a small laugh, trying to wave him off. “I’m fine.”  

But Pedro was having none of it. He crouched in front of you, his warm hands circling your calf to keep your leg still. The towel dabbed gently at the cut, his brow furrowed in concentration. “You’re not allowed to get hurt on my watch,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.  

“It’s barely a paper cut,” you teased, watching the way his features softened even as he fussed over you.  

“Doesn’t matter.” His voice was firm, though his touch remained impossibly gentle. “What if it gets infected? What if—”  

You laughed, cutting him off. “Pedro, it’s not like I got bitten by a shark.”  

He looked up at you, his expression a mixture of exasperation and adoration. “Don’t joke about that. I’d fight a shark for you, you know.”  

The sincerity in his voice, paired with the completely ridiculous statement, made you laugh even harder. “Oh, I’m sure you would,” you said, brushing your fingers through his damp curls.  

“Don’t test me,” he quipped, finally satisfied that the cut was clean. He reached for the small first-aid kit Franklin had insisted on bringing, pulling out a bandage. “Hold still.”  

“Seriously?” you asked, your amusement growing.  

“Seriously,” he said, shooting you a look that dared you to challenge him. He peeled the adhesive back and smoothed the bandage over your shin with a precision that would make a surgeon proud.  

“There,” he said, sitting back on his heels and surveying his work with a nod. “Good as new.”  

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head but smiling all the same.  

“And you’re reckless,” he shot back, standing up and pulling you into his arms. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and this is what happens.”  

You leaned into him, your hands resting against his chest. “I think you’re overreacting. It’s a scratch, Pedro.”  

“It’s your scratch,” he said, his voice softening. His fingers tilted your chin up, his eyes searching yours. “That means it matters to me.”  

Your heart did a little flip at his words, and you couldn’t resist teasing him just a little. “You know how you’re like—”  

“Absolutely embarrassingly in love with you?” he cut in, a smirk tugging at his lips.  

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. “Yeah, that.”  

Pedro leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “I am, you know,” he said, his voice dropping to a tender murmur. “Completely, hopelessly, embarrassingly in love with you.”  

Your teasing melted away as you cupped his face, brushing your thumbs over the scruff of his jaw. “Good. Because I’m absolutely embarrassingly in love with you too.”  

His smile grew, and he kissed you softly, as if sealing a promise. When he pulled back, his eyes sparkled with mischief. “Now, no more rock fights, okay? You’ve got to take it easy on me.”  

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’ll do my best. But no promises if a shark shows up.”  

Pedro groaned dramatically, lifting you off your feet as he carried you back to the lounge chairs. “If a shark shows up, I’ll negotiate with it. Tell it I’m already your protector and it can’t have the job.”  

You giggled, nuzzling against his neck. “Sounds like a good plan. My hero.”  

He set you down with exaggerated care, pressing one last kiss to your forehead. “Always,” he said simply.  

And as the two of you sat there, the ocean stretching endlessly before you, you felt it again—that perfect, undeniable feeling of being home.

HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — SUNSET

The sunset painted the sky in hues of orange, pink, and deep indigo, casting a magical glow over the beach. The group sat in a loose circle, their laughter and conversation mingling with the soft crash of the waves and the mellow strumming of a guitar Omar had picked up. The mood was serene, the kind of calm that felt like it could stretch forever.  

Pedro sat behind you on the sand, his strong arms wrapped securely around your waist as you leaned back against his chest. His chin rested lightly on your shoulder, and you could feel the soft puff of his breath against your neck. His warmth enveloped you, a perfect contrast to the cool ocean breeze.  

“You cold, cariño?” Pedro murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.  

“Not even a little,” you replied, turning your head to catch his eyes. They sparkled, reflecting the fiery colors of the horizon.  

His fingers traced slow, idle circles against your stomach. “Good. Can’t have you shivering out here, not when I’ve got two perfectly good arms to keep you warm.”  

“You’re too good at this,” you teased, smiling as you reached up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead.  

“Good at what?” he asked, his tone playful, though his eyes held that familiar, unspoken intensity that always made your heart skip a beat.  

“At making me feel like the luckiest person in the world,” you said softly.  

Pedro’s lips curved into a slow smile, and he leaned down to press a tender kiss to your temple. “That’s funny,” he murmured, “because that’s exactly how I feel about you.”  

The golden light of the sunset cast a halo around his face, and you couldn’t help but reach up, cupping his cheek as you brought his forehead to yours. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you say things like that.”  

“You’d better not,” he said, his voice warm and teasing, though there was an edge of vulnerability beneath it. “Because I’m not planning on stopping.”  

“I’ll love you forever,” Pedro whispered, his lips ghosting against your ear as the first stars began to peek through the darkening sky.  

You tilted your head back to meet his gaze fully, the world around you falling away. “You promise?”  

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek. “I promise,” he said, his voice steady and filled with so much certainty it made your chest ache in the best way.  

His lips found yours in a kiss that was soft and lingering, filled with a sweetness that felt endless. When he pulled back, he pressed another kiss to your forehead before tucking you closer to him.  

The night deepened, and the group eventually wandered back to the cozy beachfront hotel. Pedro’s hand never left yours as you made your way to your shared room, the two of you moving in quiet, comfortable synchronicity.  

Inside, the room was dimly lit, the glow of a single bedside lamp casting a warm, intimate light over the space. The sound of the waves was faint through the open balcony doors, and the scent of salt air mingled with the faintly floral perfume you’d spritzed on earlier.  

Pedro closed the door behind you and turned to face you, his expression soft but unmistakably intent. “You know,” he said, stepping closer, “I meant it. Every word I said out there.”  

You tilted your head, giving him a playful look. “Even the part where you said you’d never get tired of me stealing the covers?”  

“Especially that part,” he said with a grin, his hands finding your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Though I might need extra cuddles as compensation.”  

You laughed softly, your hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders. “I think that can be arranged.”  

His grin faded, replaced by something deeper, more serious, as his eyes searched yours. “I love you,” he said, the words simple but carrying the weight of everything he felt. “So much that sometimes it scares me.”  

You leaned up, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I love you too. And you don’t have to be scared, Pedro. You’ve got me.”  

His lips claimed yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, his hands splaying across your back as he pulled you closer. The kiss deepened, his lips parting to taste yours, and you felt the warmth of him everywhere.  

He backed you gently toward the bed, his movements unhurried, as if savoring every moment. The backs of your knees hit the edge, and you sank onto the soft mattress, pulling him down with you.  

Pedro’s hands roamed, his touch reverent as his lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then down the column of your neck. “Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and husky.  

“You’re perfect,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging lightly to bring his lips back to yours.  

His breath hitched at your words, and you felt the weight of his love in every kiss, every touch. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in each other, lost in a moment that felt infinite.  

Pedro pulled back briefly, his forehead resting against yours as his fingers laced with yours. “You’re my everything,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.  

“And you’re mine,” you replied, your heart full to bursting.  

And as the night stretched on, the love between you grew even deeper, wrapping around you both like a warm, unbreakable cocoon.