A Different Kind of Christmas - FC43 x fem!reader
back to candy cane lane ❄
You spend your first christmas in Argentina with Franco, meeting his family, dealing with the chaos, and missing (just a little) the snow.
warnings: none, pure fluff
a/n: gosh, i love franco, he is so funny and real. FC #1 supporter.
🔊 listening to: Midnight sun - Zara Larsson
It still feels wrong when you step off the plane and the air is warm.
Not just warm—summer warm, the kind that sticks to your skin. You’re used to Christmas being coats, snow, frozen fingers and breath turning into fog.
This is sun, palm trees, and Franco smiling next to you like this is the most normal thing in the world.
“You’re staring” he says, bumping his shoulder into yours.
“I just—” you stop, looking around again. “It’s Christmas and there’s no snow. My brain doesn’t like this.”
Franco laughs. “Give it time.”
You shake your head, amused. “I feel like I’m breaking some kind of rule.”
“Welcome to Argentina, amor. Hogar, dulce hogar”
The drive to his family’s place feels like a movie scene. Windows down, music too loud, the smell of summer and dust in the air.
You've never been to Argentina, but the streets looked so full of life.
Franco drives one-handed, the other resting on your thigh, his thumb drawing absent circles. You keep looking out the window, trying to process that this is real.
First Christmas somewhere warm. First Christmas away from home. First Christmas with him.
And first Christmas meeting his family.
When you pull up to the house, everything hits at once. Voices, laughter, music spilling out into the street. Someone shouts Franco’s name before the engine is even off.
His mum appears first, pulling him into a hug so tight you laugh.
“Mi nene” she says, kissing his cheek, then she turns to you. Her expression softens instantly. “You must be her.”
You barely get a chance to say hello before she hugs you too, warm and firm, like you already belong.
Inside, it’s chaos in the best way. Cousins everywhere, aunts arguing about food, someone waving a plate at you insisting you eat even though you’re not hungry yet.
The smell of grilled meat hangs in the air. Franco sticks close to you, his hand on your lower back, leaning down to whisper explanations.
“That’s my tío.”
“That’s my cousin, ignore him.”
“Yes, they are loud. No, they won’t calm down.”
At some point his grandma cups your face in her hands and says something rapid and affectionate in Spanish. Franco translates badly on purpose just to make you laugh.
“She says you’re beautiful and that I look happier.”
You smile at her, even if you don’t understand every word.
“Gracias.” you tell her, heart softening with those words.
By the time evening settles in, you’re barefoot, hair a little frizzy from the heat, sitting outside under fairy ights that glow softly against the dark sky. It doesn’t feel like Christmas the way you know it, but it feels full.
Franco sits next to you, knees touching.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
You nod, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Yeah. It’s just… different.”
“No!” you say, smiling. “Good different.”
He kisses the top of your head, gentle. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Later, after dinner, Franco sneaks you away from the noise. You end up sitting on the hood of his car, feet dangling, the night buzzing with insect sounds and music.
“This is where it would start snowing in a movie,” you joke.
He laughs. “Sorry. No snow. Just mosquitoes.”
He grins at the nickname onlu you can use, and kisses you anyway, slow and sweet.
“I was nervous” he admits after a moment. “About you meeting them.”
You turn to look at him. “Why? I mean, I was the nervous one”
“They’re a lot. And because I really wanted them to like you.”
Your chest tightens. “I think they already do.”
He smiles softly. “Good. Because I love you.”
The words land warm and sure, like they’ve been there for a while.
“I love you too” you say, without hesitation.
Christmas Eve stretches late into the night. You sit with his cousins, laughing even when you don’t understand everything, Franco translating when it matters and teasing you when it doesn’t.
At midnight, there’s cheering and hugs and fireworks in the distance. Franco pulls you into his arms, forehead resting against yours.
“Merry Christmas, amor” he whispers.
When you finally escape to his room, it’s quiet in contrast to the house. You lie down together, limbs tangled, the fan humming softly above you. Franco pulls you close like he always does.
You love your personal space, he loves it too.
You nod, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Perfect.”
You fall asleep like that, wrapped up in him.
Christmas morning comes, sunlight pouring through the curtains. You wake up to Franco snoring, you propped on one elbow as you played with his messy hair.
“Good morning” you mumble.
“Mhm” he says. “I want to stay here all day with you.”
You smile and pull him down for a lazy kiss. “Merry Christmas, Fran. I'd love to stay here but I don't want to get on your grandma's bad side”
Later, when gifts start happening in the living room, Franco suddenly looks nervous.
“I—uh—wait” he says, disappearing into his room and coming back holding something very obviously wrapped badly. The paper is wrinkled, taped too much in some places and not enough in others, one corner already coming loose.
You raise an eyebrow. You were not expecting anything.
“Did your 3 year old cousin help you?”
“I did it, no help” he mutters.
“That's even worse, Fran.”
Inside is something small and thoughtful. A bracelet.
“I saw it weeks ago” he says, watching your face. “And I thought of you. And then I tried to wrap it and… yeah.”
You laugh softly, eyes stinging a little. “I love it.”
You nod, putting it on immediately. “Really.”
He exhales, relieved, and leans in to kiss you, not caring who’s watching.
That night, after the house quiets down again, you’re back in his room, curled up together, his arm around you, your head on his shoulder.
“This was my favourite Christmas,” you say quietly.
“Mine too” he replies, kissing your hair. “And it’s not even over.” His kisses went lower as your hands found the hem of his shirt.
