Soooooo... the Springfest chapter is gonna be 20k words 🌸🪦🌸🪦 🌸
That being said, I'm gonna post it on Sunday like usual instead of putting it up early as intended bc I have experience a series of truly unfortunate events this week and have not been able to sit down and edit it until tonight!!!!
He fills the biggest Christmas-themed novelty mug they have with fresh coffee and, steadfastly ignoring the flush of his own cheeks, stuffs his prepared sprig of mistletoe into his pocket. Jack is watching A Charlie Brown Christmas with Sam and Eileen, and while Dean would love to relax with them until noon, when Cas will inevitably rouse from bed and stumble towards the caffeine--Jody, Donna and the girls are coming by later and they still need to open gifts and get the bulk of the cooking done.
So: waking Cas.
Dean puts the Sam-sized mug on the bedside table and perches on the edge of the mattress. Cas is a lump on his side of the bed, dark hair the only thing peeking out from under their fancy-ass duvet. He’s doing that little sigh-snore thing he does since becoming human, and his arms are buried under his pillow. Sam’s faint laugh sounds all the way from the Dean Cave and Dean realizes he’s already smiling. He bites his lip. Reaches out to push his hand into Cas’s hair.
Cas barely stirs, hum turning into a groan when Dean tugs a little. He shakes his head. “No,” he grumbles.
“Merry Christmas to you too, asshole.”
“Ugh.”
Dean’s smile widens as Cas resettles, one unimpressed blue eye revealed from his ridiculous nest of blankets. He’s got pillow lines on his cheek. “It’s too early,” he grumbles.
"It’s almost eleven.”
Cas humphs. “That’s what I said.”
Dean raises a brow and Cas rolls his eyes, shimmying into a seated position half awake and grumpy as hell. He makes a beeline for the friggin’ vat of coffee on the bedside table. Dean digs a hand into the pocket of his robe and takes a deep, shaking breath.
“Hey, so...” He frowns at his fist, eyes flicking up to where Cas is trying and failing to look engaged and interested. “Uh, I got you a present.”
Cas gives a bleary kinda frown. “Forgive me,” he says, “but aren’t we supposed to open gifts with everyone, near the tree?”
“Well, yeah,” Dean says nervously, haltingly. “S’just, um. This gift is kinda... personal? I just. I mean, it’s fine, obviously, it ain’t like you need to accept it or anything, I was just, I mean, I didn’t really want to do this in front of everyone and--”
“Dean.”
When he looks up, Cas is totally awake, brow furrowed in confusion and concern and Dean still doesn’t know how he nabbed the fucker in the first place, but he’s so friggin’ glad he did. Cas leans in for a kiss that tastes like coffee and pulls away only as far as he needs to press a line of kisses along Dean’s jaw. “We don’t need anymore lube,” he murmurs conversationally. “Or toys. Are they... panties? For you?” He pauses. “For me?”
Dean gives a half-hearted laugh. “Uh, nope,” he mutters. “It--It’s stupid.”
He opens his fist and offers the chain and ring wrapped around a sprig of mistletoe.
“It was Mom’s,” Dean says hoarsely. “Just. If you want it.”
Cas is staring.
“Ha, uh. Be real good if you could say something, Cas.”
“This...” Cas cups Dean’s hand in his own. “You want me to have this?”
Dean nods.
“...Are you sure?”
He huffs a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, Castiel, I’m sure.”
“But I don’t have a ring for you.”
Dean’s pretty sure his heart is gonna make a break for it. “You can get me one,” he says. His palms are sweating and his chest aches and he’s pretty sure no one in the history of ever has loved another person as much as he loves the dumbass clutching at the duvet across from him. “I’ll wear the fuck out of it. But I just, um. I wanted you to have it. As a gift. You know?”
“Oh.” It’s soft, and awed and Dean has a sneaking suspicion that the surprise in Cas’s voice has less to do with the fact that this isn’t really a marriage proposal as much as the fact that he’s shocked Dean wants him to stick around in the first place. A smile creeps across his stupid face until he’s grinning. “Well, I accept. Thank you.”
Inexplicably, Dean feels tears prickle at the corners of his eyes and ducks his head in a nod, fumbling with the clasp as he moves to put the necklace on his--Cas.
He presses a kiss to his neck and pulls away with a beet-red face. “Okay, uh. Cool.”
“Cool,” Cas beams.
“Yeah.”
They both stare at where the ring sits over Cas’s purple t-shirt, touching his breastbone. Cas fingers the metal like he can’t believe it exists and Dean remembers the mistletoe in his hand.
“Oh, hey.” Awkwardly, he lifts his hand over their heads. He wriggles his brows suggestively and Cas rolls his eyes.
“I still think this tradition is ridiculous.”
“Pretty handy right now though, huh?”
Cas scoffs. “As if I need a plant to kiss you.”
He does it anyway; deep and sloppy and wet and like every lazy morning they’ve ever had rolled into one. Jack will eventually find them, and they’ll do breakfast and gifts and then spend the day ruining the kitchen to cook for an army of family and friends. They’ll all crash in front of the TV and leave the dishes for tomorrow. For now, though, Cas pulls away to hug him. To whisper Merry Christmas and thank you like a blessing into Dean’s neck as he squeezes the shit of out him.
Pairing: Loki Odinson x fem!reader
Content: Insane amounts of fluff and perhaps fluff-related nerves. If your teeth fall out after this, then it’s really not my responsibility!
A/N: This realy is the last part. Thanks for wanting it <3
It’s been less than a week since you accepted Loki’s proposal, but it already seems like the entire kingdom knows about it even if the two of you had tried to keep it from everyone else. Strangely, Loki’s parents don’t condemn what could appear like a hasty decision, and Thor…well the man’s so happy you’d think he’s the one getting married.
“– and I’m just saying I didn’t expect Odin to be so chill!” Plopping down on a settee, your fingertips immediately find the new gold band around the finger.
Loki’s lounging on the bed, one long leg stretched while the other is bend to support a rather heavy book (a historical dissertation, he’s explained when you asked). When he glances up from the dusty pages there’s an amused smirk on his face.
“Chill? I presume you mean to say that father is taking the news calmly?” Your assent both makes him chuckle (probably at the Midgardian expression) and frown. “The king can be…abstruse. Complicated.” Loki hesitates, filling the pause by putting the book aside. ”Growing up near the glory of him and Thor it has oftentimes felt as though my father…in spite of his wisdom…was unsure what would become of me. Thor has always been destined to inherit the throne and there have been plenty suitors already trying to appease him and my parents…”
“You can’t expect me to believe you haven’t had your share of interested parties.” The last words are enounced with enough sarcasm even for an Asgardian to understand it – thankfully Loki gets that kind of humour.
“Interested? A few, that is true.” Keen eyes pin you to the seat. “Interesting, however…now that is a different matter entirely.” He’s on his feet and stalking towards you in the blink of an eye. “Perhaps the king and queen have come to the same conclusion as I have…” Loki purrs as he scoops you up like a baby, making you squeal in equal parts delight and terror, “that you, lady [Y/N] of Midgard, are the one to forever hold my interest and heart.”
It’s a personal kind of heaven to kiss him, the thin lips molding softly against yours before his tongue slips in between to tease and draw out a moan – quiet and begging for more without words. The tenderness shies away for the sake of a deep-seated hunger that ignites deep in your belly and guides your hands to his shoulder and to the black hair that feels like silk between your fingers as you tangle the locks in a determined grip. When he groans, you’re the one to swallow the bliss.
“My love,” Loki’s voice breathes raggedly, “never doubt the hold you have on my soul and body.”
… Time skip …
A year. The time has passed both slow and quick, often surprising you when something has made you realize how long Valhalla has been your home and finding a purpose as a kind of revolutionary when it comes to the schooling of the young ones – Asgard favours home schooling which has very mixed results. And after having arranged and carried out a few classes focusing on “Midgardian” culture (the aspects you are familiar with), there was more than enough interest in establishing an actual school.
It has been a year full of learning for you too. Leaning about everything Asgardian but also about yourself…including how to deal with situations you would have deemed archaic. An example is how you and Loki aren’t supposed to share a bedroom until the wedding night, and sure, there isn’t an actual chaperone assigned to you, but there might as well be because someone is always conveniently nearby, preventing the peace of mind needed for more than kisses (amazing kisses, admittedly) which adds to a growing sense of frustration.
A year. Neither you nor Loki have had a problem with waiting with the wedding till then. You both know, deep inside your souls, that time is on your side and so there’s been no other rush than what your bodies have made you feel.
Tomorrow the wait will end.
… Loki …
Staring at the page, the groom has not been able to take in any of the words although the Midgardian poetry normally fascinates and moves him with ease. Today, however, his mind is full of nervous thoughts and his belly infested with butterflies at the prospect of saying or doing something wrong during any part of the ceremony – especially the vow Loki has chosen for [Y/N]. It must be perfect! In his eyes, the woman deserves everything he can give and much more because he fears how alienated she might feel at times. Today will be no exception, and it is for this reason he has studied the Midgardian traditions with the hope of fusing elements from both worlds into one harmonious event.
A fist connects with Loki’s upper arm. “Where is your mind at, little brother?” Thor has entered the room, unheeded by the occupant.
“It is here now.” Loki closes the book, knowing that he will not get any reading done. “What do you want?”
“Me? I wish to see my brother happy and wed!” The azure eyes nearly disappear due to the size of the smile that splits Thor’s face. “Come, it is time.”
… Reader …
Without a family of your own, it’s been a huge comfort to have Sif and The Warriors Three during the past year and you’d been wise enough not to challenge them when they announced they would be representing you during the wedding day. Sif has (although shadowed by Frigga) cast aside any of the normal annoyance with things classically “female” (even here on Asgard it’s rare for women to wear trousers and fight) and ensured to go all in to guide you through the preparations for the big day.
“Now remember,” the doe-eyed woman admonishes, “breathe, keep your head high, do as we have rehearsed.”
You nod, too nervous to voice any of the many concerns swirling in your head. It’s making you dizzy. The anticipation, the multitude of catastrophic mistakes you can make, the giddiness, and of course the fear that...what if I wake up and it’s never been real? But the firm squeeze from Sif’s had has to be proof it really is true. All of it.
“I feel –“ But you never get further as there’s a knock on the door.
“That must be Fandral!”
It’s not. It isn’t Loki either, much like the Nordic cultures the Asgardian groom isn’t meant to see his wife on the day before the ceremony – gods knows it’s been a long day since you parted this morning. No, it’s Frigga who strides through the door, clad in a shimmery gown in the same cut as Sif’s though embellished with golden drops has been sprinkled all over the sky-blue material. Still she’s the one to stop dead in her tracks at the sight of you.
“Oh, what a vision you are, my dear,” the queen breathes, politely ignoring Sif’s smug grin.
“Thank you, your highness.”
“Tsk! Soon the use of titles will only be necessary during official events.” The mother-in-law-to be is tugging away a strand of you hair from the elaborate braid, then smoothing a nonexistent crease on your dress. “You will have a title on your own.”
“It’s strange…all I wanted was to be with Loki, I don’t care about the rest!”
Afraid that you might have gone too far, you start to sputter an apology, but Frigga stops you before sending Sif outside for a moment. When the door closes behind the vermillion-dressed friend, you realize that you’re holding the breath and the palms are clammy from sweat.
Blue eyes, not dissimilar to Thor’s, find yours. Kindness, warmth, happiness overflow. “We know. Loki knows…and he wanted me to pass you this token.” Drawing out an emerald ribbon, she moves behind you to tie it in the hair.
It matches your outfit. Of course it does. The dress you wear is soft and flowy, made out of layer upon layer of the thinnest, translucent silks to create a shimmer of delicate greens only broken by the golden and darker green embroideries at the waist and rising from the base trim to resemble delicate leaves. A flower crown sits lightly on your head with the same colours.
“There, my child,” Frigga smiles, leading you to the mirror that you’ve already frequented more than you care to admit, “our Midgardian princess.”
She’s right: you look…stunning. The last year of wearing luxurious clothes (and increasingly often wearing dresses too) has been hopelessly inadequate to prepare you for looking the part. It’s a stranger staring back from the mirror. A strong woman who actually has gone off, leaving a drab life behind in favour of a life with a purpose together with someone who makes her feel important.
…
Fandral pats your hand gently. Perhaps it’s as reassurance, but it could also be to have you lighten the hold you have of his arm now you stand before the doors to the throne room with shaking knees. He too has assured you of the joy everyone feels – kind words falling on an ear deafened by nerves, but there’s no time to go back even if you wanted to because the doors open to reveal thousand of people standing on either side of a petal-covered isle leading towards the throne and the royal family.
There he is, dressed in the same colours as you. Loki. The moment you see him, calmness wells in your chest and extinguishes the fray of a storm that had raged within you. Negative thoughts and disastrous imagines evaporate, and a boldness returns at the sight of the prince dropping his jaw. Oh yeah, you’re one lucky guy, you grin to yourself, straightening your back and neck.
It’s the longest walk of your life before Fandral finally and step aside, placing your hands in Loki’s for the ceremony to begin.
Odin starts the whole thing of with a long and convoluted speech before finally allowing the siblings Frej and Freja take over. They talk almost as one, a perfectly choreographed sing-song story of the meaning of marriage as a sacred pact to ensure life and happiness, while tying yours and Loki’s joined hands with emerald ribbons adorned with flowers. Once the final knot has been completed, both she and her brother back off to the thunderous applause of all Asgardians…or at least those with their hands free.
“My wife,” Loki begins softly before turning his head to the crowd to address them, “there is a tradition in Midgard where the bride and groom prepare a personal vow to their partner. It is a sweet gesture which I have become inspired by, so hear these words and witness my love for princess [Y/N]!” Now the everchanging eyes are on you again. “[Y/N], my love. You came to me with nothing…yet became my everything. All that I am and all that I have is yours from this day on and it shall be my duty, nay, my honour to guarantee your eternal happiness for as long as you wish. A year ago, you took my heart. Today I give you my body and soul.”
Damnit. You’d promised yourself not to start crying but now the first tear is running down your cheek and even if it would be convenient to say it’s because Frigga and Thor’s tears have gotten to you then that probably wouldn’t be entirely true. People are still aweing and cheering. For a second it seems impossible to be heard, however nothing could be further from the truth as you clear you throat, conjuring a hush that settles over the many on-lookers.
“My husband.” Your voice shakes a little, but Loki looks as though it’s the sweetest sound. “I have no riches to share, but all that I am and will be is yours. Through sickness and in health, through good days and bad, I will stand beside you to support, cherish, and love you, in this life and the next if you will accept me.”
Face tilted slightly up towards Loki, none of you bother keeping the kiss strictly chaste. Through half-closed eyes, you’re dimly aware that the garland tying you together begins to glow until the brightness fills the entire throne room and the ribbon with all of its flowers is gone although you can feel the bond remains.
