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“I can’t believe you like this cliché trash.”
Gojo sticks out his tongue with a blech as he sits behind you on the couch. The Hallmark romance movie special is in full swing for the third day in a row, and he'd swear that you made him watch a bajillion of them so far. He could have gotten up any time he wanted to do something else, but he kept his rear end on the cushion right behind you, so he could have his arms around you and his chin on your head as you watched.
His choice to remain there and watch didn't stop him from interrupting multiple times to complain about just how often they reuse the same lead actors in these movies, how the plots are more or less the same each time, and how cheesy it all is. When you ignored his many criticisms without so much as an eye roll or sigh, he took to gently teasing you by dipping his large, warm hands into your shirt to grope you. That always got a reaction from you, making him grin from ear to ear, like the attention-loving menace he is.
He groans again when a new movie starts, one with a classic, swoon-worthy Christmas prince falling for an ordinary woman with a heart of gold. Why do you even like this? What's the appeal? He mutters his complaints, almost sounding jealous as you sigh over the budding romance on screen. You try to explain to him the appeal– a powerful, noble man loving an ‘ordinary’ woman with all his heart, to dote on her and spoil her like royalty– but he only huffs. Is he not enough, he mumbles. He is Gojo Satoru, after all, the most powerful Sorcerer. You like powerful men? He's right there . The more you try to explain, the more he seems a little miffed, but he'd never admit to any jealousy. As for spoiling you, he was incredibly wealthy, but each time he tried to get you something pricey as a gift, you lectured him about how you perceived it to be a waste of money. He thinks it's a little hypocritical that you'd want a cheesy Christmas Prince to spoil you when you didn’t let him do anything so extravagant.
When you threaten to kick him out for his endless commentary, he finally relents. He watches the movie with you as quietly as he can while occasionally scoffing, rolling his eyes, and squeezing his arms around you. The credits roll and you stretch. Another? Of course you want to watch another, but first, you're hungry. Gojo? Oh… he's preoccupied with his phone now, and he's frowning. No matter how doe-eyed you ask him what he's doing, his classic response is to playfully smirk and shift the subject, which means… work. Most likely. He gives you a long, passionate kiss before he goes that almost tempts him to stay and do more, but he still excuses himself and makes a call on his way out of the door.
The city never sleeps, and that city is a gorgeous blue-eyed man.
It's fine; you didn't expect him to have much free time to help you with your Christmas preparations anyway, though he slacks off as much as he possibly can simply because he finds it fun to tick some people off. Still, the lack of him around during such a festive time is a little disheartening. Without him, there's no one running around wearing the tree skirt and laughing while you try to catch up and take it back, and there's no one to steal the cookie dough before you get the chance to cut it into shapes and bake it. No one to grope you while trying to ‘help’ hold you in place when you’re decorating the tree, or holding ornaments to his crotch to pretend they were festive genitalia. No one there to intentionally sing your favorite carols off-key along with the radio. No one there to swipe your phone when your mother calls and embarrass you by answering with ‘hola, mamácita’. No one to… alright, it was pretty dull without him and his antics there. But, it was almost Christmas, so you couldn’t afford to be sad over your silly boyfriend being worked to the bone fighting grotesque things. You didn’t have time to waste waiting for any man to help you with your traditions, though it was unusual for him not even to leave a text– sometimes a suggestive one– before bed for a whole week.
You wake up on Christmas Eve… salty. Grumbling as you have breakfast and brush your teeth. You look into the mirror and mumble curses about how negligent your man can be when your phone chimes and… it’s him. The surprise and excitement are suppressed when you remind yourself that you’re still mad at him, and will make sure he knows it until he’s apologized and given you enough kisses. Still, the notification makes your heart flutter. You frown when all it says is: “Pick up in 30 minutes.”
You scoff. The audacity of this pretty man… no contact for over a week, and all he does is demand– not ask– for you to get ready for him to take you somewhere? Not even a ‘good morning’ or ‘I forgot to charge my phone’? You’ll definitely be giving him a piece of your mind when he gets there. Or, so you think. The car that pulls up right on time isn’t his, but rather a limousine. Well, maybe this is his idea of an apology. The driver holds open the door but Gojo isn’t inside as you expect. When you press the driver for information, he says that his services have already been covered for the whole day and that he’s not supposed to tell. You grumble again and settle into the luxurious seat as he drives off.
The driver must have been paid off well because he continues to avoid answering each time you persist, making you go through the entire day’s mystery itinerary– facial, massage, mani-pedi, hair trim and style, professional makeup application, and a stop at a boutique already instructed to put you in something elegant that compliments your eyes, complete with an extravagant silver and sapphire necklace with matching bracelet. Gojo’s still nowhere to be seen and the damn man isn’t answering his phone as you grumble and climb back into the limousine for the driver’s final destination of the night. The last place you expected to see was a theme park. Considering your dress and the preparations, a restaurant would have been more appropriate. But, you’ve made it this far through the day and you’ll see it through, no matter how tired you are from being chauffeured around everywhere and fussed over.
The driver escorts you to the park’s scaled-down European-style castle, usually used for official park events, but now… the small castle is lavishly decorated with elegant Christmas trees, garland, lights, and poinsettia. A red carpet with red rose petals leads you to the ballroom, decorated just as beautifully in a familiar way. Besides you, the ballroom is empty, absolutely empty until Gojo gracefully descends the grand staircase, looking every bit of royalty as he thinks of himself. A beautiful man, in a beautiful white, silver, and blue Prince’s ensemble. He grins when he sees you and closes the distance before you can start to let out your pent-up frustrations with his neglect and then all of… this. He bows and kisses your hand, then places a tiara on your head that matches your necklace and bracelet. He’s so over the top– even more than usual– that you can’t remember what exactly you were upset about anymore.
“May I have this dance, my Princess?” His bright blue, starlight eyes look up at you as he bows again and holds his hand out.
Dance? There’s no one else here and no music. How…? Oh. Oh. On his signal, a group of musicians enter the ballroom and play Baroque. You’re swept into his arms before you can protest that you have no idea how to ballroom dance. There’s no need to because he leads every step with precision and elegance with that trademark glint of amusement in his eyes. He knows this is perfect, he knows he’s perfect for you, and he knows that you’re overwhelmed in the best way.
He leads you in the dance without losing any of his charm. When the music tapers off, he twirls you and holds you close with his chest pressed against your back.
“Better than those movies?” He asks with a hint of smugness on his lips as he murmurs in your ear.
He’s not completely off the hook yet, no matter how perfectly swoon-worthy he is.
“Almost. There’s no mistletoe–”
He has a playful, shit-eating grin as he looks up and directs your attention. There is, in fact, mistletoe up there. He looks back at you and brushes his fingers over your cheek. His lips meet yours in a languid kiss, one that promises he’ll make up for anything and everything you need him to later that night.