The Christmas Con (Chris Evans x Reader)

Chapter 4

"You're making a mess," Chris chided, as you wrapped yet another toy for one of the kids.

"Shut up and pass me the tape."

"There's more tape on that present than wrapping paper."

"Don't judge me when your handwriting looks like an undeveloped version of the alphabet." You snatched the roll out of his hand as he stuck his tongue out at you.

The kids were finally in bed. The plan of wrapping presents early ended up being a bust which resulted in everyone claiming a section on the wood floors of the living room, four hours later, all helping to get the large task completed before it got even later. Most of the older folks had gone to bed and left the wrapping to you, Chris, your mom, cousins and Y/F/N's mom who refused to let anyone do a half assed job, else they face her wrath.

"Those cookies were for Santa!" You glanced up to see Y/F/N glaring at your cousin, Ian, as he shrugged and continued chewing.

"Even Santa's helpers need sustenance," his hand was inching towards the plate again but he flinched back as she boinked him on the head with an empty wrapping paper tube. "Ok, ok. Don't be a Grinch."

"I think that's the last one," Y/F/N's sister sighed and shoved the package away, falling back to lay on the floor wiped out. "All that work and those little monsters are going to shred every last present in 10 seconds flat tomorrow morning."

"Yeah, but it's fun to see their faces," Chris said with a smile. "There's something special and pure about believing in Santa, like magic actually exists."

"That's the exhaustion talking," your mom corrected, yawning. "It makes the reality a lot more shiny than it really is."

He scoffed, "oh come on, where's your Christmas spirit?"

"I think it's in one of the snowflake wrapped boxes," you laughed, pushing your finished present away and raising your arms over your head in a stretch that felt euphoric·· after being hunched over for so long.

"Really, guys?" Chris groaned, pushing you so fell laughing against the sofa at his pouty expression. "Wasn't there ever one Christmas gift that you would've given anything for, and then when you got it on Christmas morning it was the best feeling ever?"

Y/F/N smiled wistfully, "I remember one year I wanted a lite-brite. I got it on Christmas, but lost most of the pieces the next day. All I could create was a pitiful looking fish."

"I asked Santa for an Aston Martin model car set one year," Ian chimed in, "you know, like James Bond's car?" He rolled a wadded up ball of spare wrapping paper back and forth while he spoke. "My dad and I would spend hours on those things when I was growing up. It was how we spent time together when he wasn't away for work."

"What about you?" You poked Chris in the side, as you sat up. "What did you ask Santa for?"

"Don't you know?" He pretended to be offended.

You laughed, "Let me guess, season tickets for the Patriots?"

"You know me so well, babe," he smiled. "I asked for the tickets and a microphone so I wouldn't have to share with Scott anymore. Santa only brought the microphone, and my parents said it was because the season tickets were something that was out of Santa's budget."

"Honesty is the best policy," you agreed.

"Alright, everyone," your mom interrupted, clapping her hands. "Time for bed. Big day tomorrow and we need to get some sleep."

Once the holiday wrapping tornado was cleaned up, everyone made their way up the stairs. You heard the doors closing down the halls.

"And you two will have this room." Y/F/N's mom said, waving towards a door on your right. "Ian brought your bags up earlier. They should be by the closet. We figured you guys would appreciate your own bathroom for more privacy, too." She opened the door and you saw there was only one bed in the room. "Towels are in the cabinet nearest the shower, and there are extra blankets in the armoire if you need. There's even a balcony that faces the mountains at sunrise, which is really romantic. Nighty night love birds." She singsonged and headed back to the stairs to go up to her bedroom on the 3rd floor.