Character A dresses up as Santa Claus for Character B

Percy cannot believe that he's actually been talked into this. As he looks himself in the mirror, his face is as red as the velvet suit he has on. The white beard that's glued onto his chin makes him feel incredibly old and ridiculous.

It doesn't help that his wife laughing her ass off next to him.

"Stop it," he whines, turning to face her.

Annabeth is standing next to him, her arms wrapped around their baby. She's wearing a coat, and the infant in her arms is covered in a few layers of blankets to fight the wind swirling around the park. "You look miserable," she tells him.

"Yeah, well, I'm dressed as Santa Claus for my mom's dumb Christmas party. Consider me miserable."

"You volunteered for this."

"No," he blames childishly. "You volunteered me for this. This was not done willingly."

"I thought you would say yes," she defends, still snickering.

"We've been married for four years and you thought I would happily put on a Santa suit and spray paint my hair white? Did you really think that, wife?"

"I mean, no, but your mom asked me, and I couldn't say no."

Percy glares at her. "It wasn't you that had to dress up."

Annabeth just gives him a sweet smile, and he has trouble staying mad at her. He wasn't even really mad at her to begin with, he supposes. He's just giving her a hard time, but as embarrassed as he was right now, he still finds it endearing the way she laughs at him. He doesn't mind mortification too much if it stems from her. He just likes making her happy.

"I hate you," he mutters, but he yanks her closer by the waist. "Now you owe Santa Claus a kiss."

Annabeth adjusts the weight of their daughter on her hip so she can press her palm over his mouth. "Do you want to scar these children, Percy? They can't see Santa Claus kissing someone other than Mrs. Claus or else they'll lose all hope in the magic of Christmas."

Percy frowns. "But you're my Mrs. Claus!"

She laughs and passes him the baby. "Please never call me Mrs. Claus again. I don't want to have grey hair just yet."

He rolls his eyes fondly, struggling with the infant. She's squirming in his arms and beginning to hold her arms back out for Annabeth, soft cries starting up. "Look what you've done, Annabeth. My own child is scared of me."

"Have a little Christmas spirit, Percy. It's the attitude she's afraid of."

"I don't have attitude," he says, clearly with attitude. "You're just an ass."

She stands on her tiptoes, kissing him on the cheek. "I know. You love me anyways."

"Unfortunately."

She steals the baby back from his arms, and just before she's about to drift away from him, leaving him to interact with children that are abnormally sticky, she whispers, "Tonight," sounding an awful lot like a promise. "You just have to decide — are you going to be naughty or nice?"

She stalks off with a teasing grin, and the unsaid promise leaves him with enough motivation to make it through the party.

His mom comes up at some point to take pictures of him, and he knows that he's going to burn those. It turns out that children really are sticky. Their hands are everywhere, and they seem to always be covered in frosting or other unidentifiable substances when they come up to him. He has to restrain from flinching when they try to tug at the beard that's attached with adhesive to his face. The second he gets home, this beard going in the bonfire right alongside the pictures.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" his mom asks between children.

"They're so sticky," he says, strangled.

"They're kids. Of course they're sticky. Your baby is sticky too."

Percy looks at her, offended.

His child is not sticky, and his wife is going to hear all about this later. The audacity of his own mother to insinuate his child is sticky. Sophia would never.

"My baby isn't sticky," he grumbles, sneering at his mom's amused look. "You're sticky."

Night begins to roll around after what feels like days of endless stretching. Percy is exhausted and somehow sweating in the middle of a New York winter. He desperately wants to take a shower and scrub off the diseases he's certain at least one of those kids were carrying.

"It was that bad, babe," Percy says from in the bathroom. He has a toothbrush in his mouth, and he's yelling at her as she lays in bed. "I swear one of them peed on me."

He can hear the quiet chuckle come from the bedroom, but he gets no further response. He doesn't think she understands the severity of the situation. He may get sick and be unable to leave bed because a child touched him. He feels like a petri dish.

"Children touched me, Annabeth! Aren't you concerned?"

"I'd be concerned if a child didn't touch you, considering you have one yourself. Shouldn't you be used to tiny, grimy hands by now?"

"It's one thing when it's my own baby, but I do not want to ever touch another child again." Percy finishes brushing his teeth, and he turns back to the bedroom. "A shower has never felt so good before."

"Quit it with the dramatics," she says. Percy walks through the door to their bedroom and he sees her sitting on the bed, facing him head on. The sight he's met with has him bursting out in laughter.

"What are you doing?" he manages to choke out, going up to her and plucking the Santa hat off of her head.

"You said I'm your Mrs. Claus," she explains, snatching the hat back but refraining from putting it back on.

He knows for a fact that she did not have this a week ago because they're constantly together, so he couldn't possibly know where she got this outfit from. It's a short velvet dress, white fuzz along the rims, and buttons down the front of the red fabric. It's tight too, and he'd never admit it, but it does get him just a teeny bit hot and bothered.

"You like it?" she asks, but he can see in her eyes that she already knows the answer. His fingers snap the elastic strap on her shoulder.

"I love it. Getting dressed up for little me?"

"I did tell you that you'd have to decide between naughty or nice," she says. "Have you made your decision yet?"

"I'm not sure." Percy steps back to take her all in, to delight in the curves that are prominent. Her smooth legs stand out, and her hair is ruffled from the hat. He desperately wants to see just how much messier her hair can get. "I've always been nice, don't you think?"

"I don't think there's any harm in mixing it up," she agrees.

Percy's fingers find her shoulder, just barely brushing the skin. He can see the goosebumps trail down her arms. "But I also think you've been pretty naughty, wouldn't you say? Forcing me to dress as Santa Claus and then doing this?"

Annabeth cracks a grin, unable to take him seriously, and Percy quickly follows. He drops onto the bed next to her, his arms wrapping around her. He digs his face into her neck as laughs take over his body.

"Please never call me naughty," she says, giggling. "It doesn't sound good coming from your mouth."

"Then maybe don't ambush me at midnight after I've been attacked by tiny humans all day! I really don't know what you expected."

Annabeth rolls her eyes playfully and kicks him lightly. "You love the kids, even if you don't want to admit it."

"I love our kids," he corrects.

"Kid. Singular."

He pouts. "Why not two?"

"Because our first is barely even one," she teases.

"I want a million babies with you."

"Calm down there, Santa Claus. You need to finish working Christmas first."

Percy kisses her sweetly. When he pulls away, he relishes the blush spreading across her cheeks and the way her hair spreads out across the bed like a golden halo. "That's what I want for Christmas next year then."

"A million babies?"

"Maybe just two."

Annabeth throws her head back and laughs, and now he's kind of glad that he was wrestled into this Santa Claus suit. "I love you."

Percy kisses her again, and he says against her, "I love you too, naughty Mrs. Claus."