Lost in translation (Christmas edition 🎄)
Theodore nott x reader
Christmas Eve in Milan was colder than you’d expected, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones. Theo’s apartment smelled faintly of pine and cinnamon, the tiny tree in the corner strung with warm golden lights. He’d insisted on cooking, and you’d been banished to the couch with a glass of wine while he moved around the kitchen like he’d been born there; sleeves rolled up, voice humming low in Italian as he chopped herbs.
When he finally brought the food over — steaming bowls of pasta, fresh bread, and something rich and chocolatey for later — he set a plate in front of you with a flourish. “Mangia,” he said with a smirk.
“I don’t know what that means,” you admitted, already picking up your fork.
“It means eat. Obviously.” He sat across from you, leaning his cheek into his hand. “You should really learn. Otherwise…” He trailed off, eyes glinting.
“Otherwise what?”
“Otherwise I can say whatever I want, and you’ll never know if I’m insulting you or telling you I’m in love with you.”
You tried to glare, but he just laughed softly, shaking his head like you were amusing. Later, when the dishes were done and the wine had warmed you both, he pulled you toward the window to watch the snow.
He murmured something in Italian again, low and serious this time, his fingers brushing your jaw.
“What was that?” you asked, heart already beating faster.
“That…” He smirked again, leaning in until his lips barely grazed yours. “Was me taking advantage of the fact you don’t speak my language.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but he kissed you before you could, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that made you think maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to understand the words.
🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄
