#mcu holidays

[levanswrites]

underneath the tree

pairing: steve rogers x agent!reader

summary: Everything is where it should be: a giant pot of mulled wine simmering quietly on the stove, colorful bags of icing and sugary sprinkles strewn all over the cookie decorating station. Even an old-timey record player crackles softly in the corner, one you’d thrifted on a whim in hopes of teasing a certain someone about it.

Except that certain someone wasn’t… here. 

warnings: fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers, first kiss, light angst

word count: 2.7k

a/n: hey friends, this one’s a holiday special w/ pure fluff (and a pinch of angst b/c who am i without it?) feedback is always welcome! thanks for reading and happy holidays 🎄✨

“Santa’s… Favorite… Ho.” 

The words glitter in bold, obnoxious cursive, smack dab across the chest of your favorite red-haired assassin. 

“Good one, Romanoff.”  You smirk, biting back a laugh as she levels you with a deadpan stare, betrayed by the faint twitch at the corner of her crimson lips.  

Your very first time hosting a Christmas Party. 

Or, as Nat lovingly dubbed it—a ’Derelict’s Christmas.’ 

It’s a tradition you’re determined to start this year, for anyone on the team without family during the holidays—a way to make sure no one spends this time of year alone.

And, naturally, another opportunity to humiliate your coworkers. 

The rules were simple: everyone had to show up in the ugliest, most eye-searing sweater they could find. No exceptions.

And I mean ugly, Nat. A basic red sweater is not ugly. 

Even Bucky’s adhered to your law, donning a laid-back penguin wearing sunglasses, sprawled beneath the words ‘Chill Vibes Only.’ A festive tinsel garland spirals around his left arm, which will undoubtedly be the subject of jokes he won’t live down until well after New Years.

Wait, does this make you the Winter Wonderland Soldier?

As you glance around your living room, soft, warm light dances off the mismatched decorations adorning the walls—the kind you’d spent all week setting up—and you can’t help but feel a distinct melancholic warmth reserved for this time of the year.

Everything is where it should be: a giant pot of mulled wine simmering quietly on the stove, colorful bags of icing and sugary sprinkles strewn all over the cookie decorating station. Even an old-timey record player crackles softly in the corner, one you’d thrifted on a whim in hopes of teasing a certain someone about it.

Except that certain someone wasn’t… here. 

Your eyes flick to the door for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes.

No luck. 

You try to tell yourself it’s just traffic, that he’ll walk through any second. But the party flows on, cruelly indifferent—drinks flowing, laughter bubbling—Sam’s already made his second sappy toast of the night and is well on his way to a third. With each passing minute, the excitement in your chest grows heavy, twisting into disappointment.

Sure, he’s probably got a million other things to do. Even on Christmas. 

But when you’d brought up your little soiree, he’d agreed with a gentle nod of his head, and smiled in that boyish way that made your heart flutter.

Sounds fun, I’ll be there.  

It’s not like him to just leave you hanging. But when there’s no work emergency and everyone else is here, it’s hard not to take it personally. 

Your mind feels exhausted, steaming like a train running low on fuel, huffing its way to its final station, desperate to come up with more excuses. You’ve run out of them about two drinks ago.

You’re about to prepare your third, slumped against the kitchen island with a cutting board under you, when a quiet voice cuts through your haze.

“Not feelin’ the holiday spirit?”

You start at the interruption, the lime in your hand slipping from your fingers and tumbling away, rolling off the cutting board with a soft thump.

“Jesus, Barnes, give a girl a warning.”

You abandon your knife with a quiet sigh, eyes following the trail of red and green tinsel up Bucky’s arm as he steps in closer.

Lips twitching in something like amusement, he leans casually against the counter, gaze flicking pointedly toward your apartment entrance before drifting back to you.

“Noticed you’ve been staring at that door all night.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. You force a roll of your eyes, dismissing his observation with a shrug. But your fingers hesitate over the cutting board, the lime mocking you from its spot against the cool backsplash. 

“I’m not—” You cut yourself off, the words tasting too defensive.  

A heavier sigh slips from you when you reach for your glass instead.

“It’s just not like him, you know?” You mutter, swirling the last sip in your glass before downing it. Your lips come up sticky-sweet from the rim when you mumble, more to yourself than him.

“I mean, sure, he’s busy, but…” You trail off, meeting Bucky’s gaze to find that the teasing glint was gone, replaced with something softer, unreadable. The shift unsettles you, and your stomach twists.

“What?” The word comes out sharper than you intended.

He tilts his head, as if weighing his words, and the silence grows heavy—a non-answer wrapped in a knowing look. Brows furrowed, you wait, trying to decipher his hesitation. 

It’s another long beat before he sighs, lifting himself off the counter, and taps his fingers absently against the edge. 

His eyes dart to the side, glancing briefly over the room. “He… didn’t want me to tell anyone.” 

Your fingers tighten instinctively around the stem of your glass, teeth scraping over the remnants of sugar sticking to your bottom lip. 

“About what?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, Steve’s…” His gaze flicks to yours, softening, “He’s probably over at New York-Presbyterian.”

Your stomach drops, fingers slipping around the glass as you reach for the countertop. The train jolts back to life, racing faster than ever, the wheels screeching as each thought barrels forward, colliding with the next in a blur of frantic speed.

The hospital?Why, was he hurt?What happened?How had you not heard?

“No, no, he’s not—” Bucky cuts in quickly, raising a hand to stave off your growing panic. The wince on his face softens into a small, apologetic laugh,

“He’s fine. Just…volunteering for the kids. Does it every year.”  

You blink, the rush of thoughts screeching to a sudden halt.

“He’s…”

It takes all of two seconds for the realization to register, your body moving before your mind can catch up. The glass is abandoned on the counter as you scramble for the nearest coat, not caring whose it is, and rush for the door.

The pediatric ward offers a welcome reprieve from the usual maze of sterile corridors—paper snowflakes and crayon drawings adorning the walls, giant inflatable snowmen standing guard at the entrances to patient rooms. A small Christmas tree, twinkling with homemade ornaments and tinsel, stands next to the nurse’s station. 

Your desperate steps falter when you spot him in the corner of the ward, sat cross-legged over a rug in a makeshift play area, surrounded by a small circle of children. The Captain America outfit stands out amongst the sterile blues and whites—and it’s not the usual tactical gear he wears on covert missions, muted tones and coarse to the touch. 

No, its the spandex version of his uniform, that ridiculously colorful suit he’d worn to punch Hitler on stage every night. Soft patches of red, white, and blue that fit snugly around his shoulders, but hang a little loose over the rest of his frame.

He’s reading from a tiny children’s book, splayed open in one hand, while the other steadies a little boy in a hospital gown perched on top of his shoulders. The boy’s eyes are wide, glued to the page as Steve gently rocks him side to side.

You hesitate, pulse quickening, letting his soft, steady voice wash over you for a moment—a rhythmic murmur that envelops the quiet corner of the ward. 

It’s not until he finishes the book that he realizes you’re standing there.

Soft blue eyes crinkle at the edges when he frowns, starting to uncross his legs.

"Hey, uh… guys, new mission,” He’s still a little unsure when he sets the book down, gaze still on you. “…whoever can help me clean up the blocks gets to pick the next game, okay?” He clears his throat, smiling back at the eager group as they scramble off to the toy bins in the corner. He gently lowers the boy from his shoulders, letting the little one rush off to join the others. 

You move forward, feet shuffling against the soft foam padding of the floor. As Steve meets you halfway, you clutch the sleeves of your sweater tightly, heart hammering.

“Hi.” He breathes out, surprise still evident in the small dip between his brows, though it gives way to a gentle smile. 

“Hey.” Your words come out choked, something unmistakably tightening in your chest. 

“How did you…” His eyes flit down to the loud pattern on your sweater, then behind you at the clock. His gaze lingers there for a moment, eyes fluttering shut in disbelief. 

“Shoot. I’m sorry, I had no idea it got this late. I was going to—”

“—Steve.” Your voice cracks, thick and watery—frustration, sadness, guilt, longing, all tangled with a deep, aching incredulity. 

And goddamn it, why was the tip of your nose prickling?

You take another step toward him, now close enough to notice the tiny details of his uniform—the delicate lines of stitching, the faded patch of white over his chest. And as your eyes trail over the frayed seams, you can’t help but lift a hand, the tip of your index tracing a gentle line against the end of a loose thread, pressing it down and watching it pop back up. It’s all you can do to keep from collapsing into his arms, or punching him square in the chest. 

“It’s been sitting in my closet too long,” he murmurs, the low timbre vibrating against your palm, “Figured I’d take it out for a spin.”

Your eyes snap up, and the air that escapes your nose is somewhere between a snort and a desperate cry because you know you’re fucked. 

Utterly ruined by this ridiculous, stupid, dumb man standing in front of you. 

And when he tucks his bottom lip under his teeth, trapping the soft pink flesh in quiet hesitation, the spring finally snaps. 

Brows furrowed, he's halfway into offering some kind of reassurance—maybe another damn apology—when you rise on your tiptoes, yanking him down by the loose collar of his uniform.

And then it’s nothing but the heady sensation of his lips flush against yours, a little stiff but warm and alive just the same. His broad hands find their way to the small of your back, the pressure against your lips growing firmer as he bends down, pulling you in closer. You’re gripping his uniform so tight your knuckles have turned white, but you refuse to let go even when he pulls back, his breath warm and steady against your skin. 

His gaze is soft, searching, and you become acutely aware of the hot sting rising behind your eyes, the bruising grip on his collar the only thing holding you together. You wonder if he feels it too, the weight of so much time lost and longing unspoken, rushing to fill the space between you. 

Then he smiles—a quiet, unguarded thing that tugs at the corners of his lips and lights up his eyes.

And just like that, the weight in your chest slips away as if it was never there.

His gaze flits down to your lips, eyelids fluttering tenderly as he starts to lean back in, only to be stopped short by a ripple of delighted gasps from about three feet below.

“Look, look, they’re kissing!”  

“Steve is that your girrrlfriend?"

A gaggle of children ambushes you two—a surprise strike from all sides with no escape route. Squeals of joy pierce the air as tiny hands grasp at Steve’s uniform, tugging at his sleeves, pulling at his boot. It's a full-on siege, and you’re caught squarely in the middle. Steve looks back at you, brows raised in defeat.

“Oh my god, she’s toootally his girlfriend!”

“Cap-tain America sitting on a tree,” A loud chorus of singing erupts. “K-I-S-S-I-N—“

“Okay, okay, guys–“ He’s got the biggest, dumbest grin on his face when he raises a hand to try and quiet the noise, the other still resting on your waist. 

He’s blushing something fierce, redder than a Christmas stocking, and hell, if your cheeks aren’t warming up too. 

The nurse on duty eventually settles down the noise, gently ushering the children out of the play area and leading them to their rooms. You watch warily as the kids shuffle out, stuffed animals raised in the air as they wave goodbye.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

“No, we should’ve wrapped up a while ago.” Steve smiles sheepishly, his cheeks flushed as he ruffles the back of his neck. “It’s late.”

“Right.”

Silence stretches between you, deafeningly loud without all the tiny agents crowding your space. 

He steps forward, hand still curled around his nape, and you resist the urge to kiss him again. 

“Do you… wanna grab some hot chocolate?”

You sit idly in the waiting area, observing the ease on Steve’s face as he chats with the nursing staff, thanking them before heading back toward you with two plastic cups in hand.

The seat beside you creaks under his weight, and you go to cradle the warmth in both hands with a quiet smile. Your eyes drift over to the lights wrapped around the Christmas tree near the nurse’s station, shining brightly—and with it, the familiar knot tightening in your chest.

“Every year, huh?”

“Yeah,” He nods in your periphery, “The kids seem to like it.”

Your lips quirk up in a sideways smile, “Yeah, I bet.”

A beat, then: “Did Bucky tell you?”

You nod, and his smile widens, his gaze dropping to the floor as his leg bounces ever so slightly. The shiny red of his boots gleams against the linoleum, as he taps once, twice.

“I’m sorry I missed the party.” 

You track the rhythm of the tree lights as they blink—on, off, alternating between bulbs then flashing all at once—and he’s still apologizing. 

“I was looking forward to going.”

“Steve, it’s…” you sigh, brows furrowing at the absurdity of his apology, only for a new ridiculous thought to take its place. You blink, then, nose crinkling in amusement as you swivel around in your seat. 

“Wait, were you, planning on showing up in that?”

He laughs, the sound breaking out so warm and easy. “That bad, huh?”

You gaze incredulously for a long, deliberate beat.

“You know what? I’m actually glad you didn’t come tonight. I mean, for your sake.”

Quiet laughter bubbles up in your chest, a smile tugging at your lips as you turn your gaze back forward. But in the silence that follows, a thread of bitterness winds its way back through your thoughts.

"You know," you murmur, eyes drifting to the neatly stacked parcels beneath the tree, "you’re always helping out, doing things for everyone else." A warm, fuzzy feeling hums low in your stomach—though you're not entirely sure if it’s from all the cocktails you’ve had tonight.

You sigh, your head lolling onto one shoulder as you turn to meet his gaze. 

“…does Santa ever get anything for Captain America?”

He blinks, a quiet tilt of his head followed by a slow, knowing smile.

“Well,” the chair creaks again when he leans back, stretching out his legs with a satisfied breath. “He did this year.” 

At the puzzled furrow of your brow, he shrugs, eyes dropping down to the narrow strip of linoleum between you two.

Then, a gentle tap of his ridiculous, shiny boot against your foot.

When your gaze snaps back to his, he’s wearing that same boyish grin again, wide and stupid and far too charming for its own good.

You can’t decide if it makes you want to shove him, or punch him, or kiss him—or maybe do all three just to get it out of your system—because yeah, you’re completely done for.

Utterly ruined in ways you never saw coming, and it’s all his fault.

And if he leans in for another kiss, and you let him pull you in with a shaky breath and a smile that feels like surrender—

Well, that’ll have to be between you, him, and the giant inflatable snowman keeping guard just two feet away. 

(It’s not until you’ve both finished your hot chocolate, and shared just as many kisses as laughs, that you glance down at your phone to notice Sam’s text: 

bird boy 1 hour ago

yo di u take my fcking coat??)

[mischievous-thunder]

It's not too early because somewhere in the multiverse festivities have already begun in the Wilson-Howlett household

[randomstuffjustrandom]

Presents

Tony: Present time!!!

Avengers giving each other gag gifts and stuff.

Natasha, handing Clint a present: Here, Clint.

Clint, shaking the box: Ooh. I hope it's HYDRA heads. Please be HYDRA heads, please be HYDRA heads.

Clint opens the box: It's HYDRA heads. (The head of some HYDRA ppl)Awww, how did you know?

Natasha, smiling: Merry Christmas

Avengers: *horrified silence*

[avengerscompound]

The Guardians of the Galaxy: Holiday Special

[incorrect-marvel-because-why-not]

The Avengers (+) On Gift Giving

Pepper: Absolutely wonderful, as usual. - But seriously: gives very practical, well thought out gifts.

Tony: I refer you to the bunny. Mostly makes or repairs stuff for people.

Thor: Decent at gift giving, but it's usually weapons, alcohol, or something he saw randomly in a shop window that he thinks he heard someone say they wanted. Basically, he gifts based on vibes.

Natasha: Gets something she knows someone wants but won't buy themselves (like a new printer or smth).

Clint: Inside jokes and cringey mugs/t-shirts/etc. are his go to.

Steve: Personalized paintings or things he knows someone specifically wants.

Bruce: Makes gifts unless he thinks of a specific thing for someone.

Peter Parker (yes, I am aware he is Jewish. this does not have to be for Christmas): Goes on one big shopping trip with nothing specific in mind with a list of people. Makes his own cards.

Sam: Depends on the person, but usually he does fun holiday stuff or books. (ex. Christmas tree mugs or personalized ornaments)

Rhodey: Asks people what they want. Sometimes gets things he thinks they need.

Bucky: Ridiculously good at getting exactly what someone wants without them saying anything about it.

T'Challa: Very spot-on gifts, that are very practical. This does not apply to Shuri, who gets memes (interpret that as you will).

Fury: Gift cards and passive-agressive books.

Maria Hill: Sticks to the classics. Socks, chocolate, ornaments, etc.

Coulson: Makes most gifts and cards off of memories and inside jokes. Very personal stuff.

[bucky-obsessed]

Merry slightly late Christmas! I gift you, smiling Bucky!

[oneofstarkskids]

inspiration

bucky barnes x reader

genre: fluff

summary: it's that time of year!! but what exactly does one get their 107 year old super soldier boyfriend?

bucky bought his presents early, as any responsible adult does during this festive season.

you on the other hand, had no clue what to get him for christmas. it wasn't like you hadn't asked, but the only answer you ever got was, "i have everything I need right here," followed by a sweet kiss.

it was almost infuriating.

so...here you were, scouring the apartment for the boxes your well trained assassin boyfriend hid.

you looked in the most precarious places and finally, sprawled out on the floor with clutter around you, gave up.

that's when you heard the front door click and quickly started tossing things back in the closet. but it was too late. bucky caught you red handed, "doll?"

the look on his face was one of concern and confusion. you looked completely disheveled, almost neurotic. but the way you chewed your bottom lip guiltily made something click in his brain.

"you don't happen to be sneakily searching for your christmas presents...do you?" he asked with a smirk.

you shook your head adamantly, but when he gave you that look you eventually caved.

"okay fine. i didn't know what to get you! and you never give me an actual answer so I wanted to know what you got me and see if it would give me some inspiration," you admitted with a groan.

he laughed and knelt down next to you before wrapping you in his arms.

you were humiliated by the idea of getting caught for such a childish scheme. but bucky was a gentleman nonetheless.

"sweetheart, I will love whatever you get me. not because of what it is, but because of who you are."

with those words, you finally knew exactly what to get him for christmas.

[gremlin-girly]

Spare Parts

So I had my first ask the other day from @cookieshakr (and idk how the ask got deleted im sorry). But since I wrote so much of the ask, it would be a shame not to post it. So dearest ask, thank you for being my first ask and I hope this did your ask justice!

"So idk if you've seen the Guardians of the Galaxy Holiday Special, but i crack up at the scene of Rocket getting Bucky’s arm as a gift. Can you do like a Bucky x reader of maybe their POV of how his arm got taken and box up all pretty; like they're relaxing at home and reader hears a knock at the door just to see Nebula there and just some kinda fluff and chaos."

Tags/Warnings: FLUFF, just wholesome wholesome times, Christmas gifts, and a lil hint of angst from Bucky (bc well it's him), established relationship, petnames (baby, doll, sweetheart)

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be translated, reposted, copied or put through an AI machine.

Pairing: Bucky x f!reader (for the one use of "doll" and one of "ma'am")

Summary: When an unexpected guest arrives at you and Bucky's apartment, it sparks a Christmas gift no one was expecting.

Word count: 803

Masterlist | Flufftcember 2024 | The Bucky Barnes Collection

When you heard the knock at your door late one December evening, you didn’t expect to see Nebula stood awkwardly in your hallway looking at her feet.

“Uh hey, Nebula.” You stand aside to let her in. “What’s up? You okay?”

Nebula doesn't move from the hallway. “I need Bucky’s arm.”

“You what?” Your baffled expression meets her sheepish one, like she doesn't quite want to take your boyfriend's arm.

"Sweetheart?" Bucky calls from the couch, the annoyance at your disappearance from his side coming through only slightly. "Who is it?"

"Nebula." You call back and then add, just as awkwardly as Nebula had, "She needs your arm?"

“You can’t have my arm.” Bucky pipes up from the couch, looking over at her with a frown. He’d already paused the movie you’d both been watching before Nebula’s interruption but his growing irritation at being disturbed was already beginning to show.

"I have Rocket as my secret santa." Nebula pleads. "Your arm is the perfect gift!"

“You should come in.” You sigh.

“Doll, you can’t be serious.” Bucky huffs. “It’s my arm.”

“Rocket would take good care of it.” Nebula counters, crossing the threshold.

You hold up your hands silencing them both.

“I have a better idea.” You pad to the spare room and after a few minutes of rustling and cursing, you re-appear with a box in hand, both Nebula and Bucky staring at you.

“Shuri gave it to me. It’s a spare.” You shrug, opening the lid to reveal a beautifully preserved metal left arm. The arm in the box sparkles with that new arm shine that was absent from Bucky’s current arm.

“A spare?” Bucky asks horrified. “What did she think I’d do? Put this one down and lose it?”

"Kinda." You offer Bucky a sympathetic look when he frowns at you. "Plus I'm sick of it taking up space in the closet. Not to mention the awkwardness of explaining it to my mom when she visited."

Nebula’s black eyes are like saucers as she stares down at the arm. Bucky and you share a look; an unspoken agreement to help out your friend, and to put a smile on the chaotic raccoon's face at Christmas.

“What do you think?”

“You... You’d give this to me? For Rocket?” She looks over at Bucky with a heart-meltingly sweet look and he sighs in defeat.

“Yeah. I don’t need it.” He waves his left arm at her. “Besides, this is a win-win. Let him think you beat me for it too.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes it look like you beat up and assassin just to get him the perfect gift.” Bucky chuckles.

"Thank you." Nebula says sincerely with a big, bright smile.

You're clutching the top of the dining chair with a white knuckle grip, trying to keep yourself from melting into a puddle at the scene before you. Nebula takes the box from you, angling it awkwardly in her arms.

"You're not taking it like that are you?" You gape at her and Nebuka blinks, looking between you and Bucky in confusion.

"Why? What's wrong with it?"

"You need to wrap it." You grin excitedly at her. "Stay right there. I have some paper and ribbon. Bucky get the scissors and tape."

"Yes ma'am." Bucky salutes you mockingly and heads to the miscellaneous kitchen drawer filled to the brim with odds and ends and random batteries.

Handing you the tape and scissors upon your return, he watches with mild amusement as you demonstrate to Nebula how to wrap the box; letting her choose the paper and the bow (which happened to be the biggest you had).

Once Rocket's arm was perfectly wrapped, Nebula gave you an awkward hug and thanked you before turning to Bucky.

The assassins gave eachother a wordless nod of respect, and Nebula and extra quiet thank you before heading back to the ship.

“That was... nice.” You say, folding your arms after the door closes. “I feel like Rocket will appreciate having his own arm.”

Bucky’s arms slide around your waist. “Do you know how weird it is gifting your own arm?”

“It was a spare.” You say playfully, leaning you head onto his shoulder.

“Your own spare arm?” Bucky corrects with a chuckle. “I don’t know. It was sweet. Reminded me of Becca, actually.”

You sag a little in Bucky’s grip and pat his flesh hand gently at his confession, giving him a peck to the cheek. “Oh, sweetheart...”

“No, no. In a good way, not a sad way. Promise.”

You hum softly not quite believing him but dropping the subject in favour of more kisses.

“Well, in the spirit of Christmas, I say we go and finish our movie.”

"Finally." He huffs, picking you up and walking back to the sofa with you in his arms.

[soliloquent-stark]

💫 you’ll be okay, we can talk tomorrow by soliloquent

3,8k words // pairing: tony stark & steve rogers

—⎊—

As he leaves, Steve deadpans, “I hate everyone here, and I regret every single thing I’ve done for you all. Tony, do bother coming after me. You’re the first person I’d want around.”

“Yep. Definitely only lies,” Tony says, scrubbing a hand over his face.

or: Steve is hit by a spell that compels him to speak only lies, and to their mutual discomfort, Tony appears to be the key to breaking it.

written for the @cap-ironman 2024 holiday exchange

[riddlemewisp]

happy first day of guardians of the galaxy holiday special season to all who celebrate!

[storiesofsvu]

Kattsholidaybingo2024

Yup!!! It's that time again!!

Prompts are all winter/Christmas/Holiday related! They do NOT have to specifically be Christmas, you can write/create about ANY holidays/traditions that occur this time of year!

More details and rules under the cut!

Submissions can be anything, ranging from a moodboard, a fic, bullet point headcanons, gif sets, social media AU's, a one shot or you could link each square together and make each one chapter of a series.

Prompts are all up to interpretation! You can make them into whatever genre you would like to! Let the creativity flow! We all love super spicy smut, tooth rotting fluff or heart breaking angst! Just make sure to include any and all appropriate warnings AT THE TOP of the post by the summary and in the tags. And PLEASE no censoring of tags ala tik tok style. Those hinder not help!

Fics can be done in any style/whatever you prefer! Ships, reader insert, OC's, mix and match throughout. Crossovers from different shows/fandoms, stick with one, try out something new, it's all welcome and encouraged!

As per usual, EVERY fandom is welcome and included, there are no limitations to what you can create for this! We all just want to have some fun and see some cute holiday things!

Rules:

You must tag me ( @storiesofsvu )

Use the hashtag #kattsholidaybingo2024 on each creation and I will put together a masterlist (either as we go or when it's all done)

Bingo begins November 28th and runs until January 16th.

You may only submit ONE creation PER DAY and only one square per creation.

Include all and every appropriate warnings at the top of the fic near the summary.

Anything over 1000 words must be under a readmore

Only tag the PAIRING characters of your fic and the main fandom, not every single character involved in your story

If you are participating in the bingo please do your best to share with your friends and reblog other's creations! <3

There will be a prize this time around!!

If you have any questions please feel free to message me!

______

Tagging some people who might be interested! (you do not have to be tagged to participate, everyone is welcome!)

@mickey-gomez @rustyzebra @prurientpuddlejumper @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @wannabe-fic-writer @bumblebear30 @witches-unruly-heart @plaidbooks @bullet-prooflove @whiteberryx @iamnotoriginalphil @multifandomme @alwaysachorusgirl @melk917 @happenstnces @five-bi-five-main main @leftoverenvy @virescent-v v @blackbird-brewster @baubeautyandthegeek @thehauntingofbasingse @hotchfiles @hotchs-big-hands @lesbehonestsstuff @aubvrns @peonies-writes @valentinesfrog @cabensonsgirly @msschemmenti @ridalso @chimnlex @maximoffcarter @daddy-heather-dunbar @demonicbaby666

[fictionproblem]

just holidays at the TVA 🎄

[agathario-all-along]

Y'all better be writing some cottagecore agathario fics where they are spending their first christmas together as a family, just enjoying the holidays with their newborn son Nicky

And make it fluffy fluffy fluffy

Cause we need more agathario fluff, especially with Nicky

[homoeroticfisticuffs]

[retrobr]

this is probably my very first good drawing of him. out of all four. oh my lawwwd

mr. kraggles precious baby princess 🫶💔

[katherine-fisk]

Hosting was Katherine's natural habitat. And she was wonderfully good at it. After all, she'd hosted many political parties for her father. It was a part of who she was.

That was how she got to this afternoon: a fluffy, wide green tree in the corner of the living room, alight with twinkling white bulbs. She had picked a silver braided bead for the garland, and delicate glass blown ornaments of all sizes hung on the branches.

The rest of the home hadn't gone untouched. Between sheer cloth with minimal sparkles to mimic snow and red berries placed strategically along pine branches and cones, the home was a wonderland. On top of the fireplace, she had set up a blue and white menorah. The hand carved candles stood proud in the celebratory holder.

A pot of cranberries, oranges, and cinnamon was gently simmering in the kitchen. It filled the house with a warm, vibrant holiday smell. On the counter, Kaya had laid out multiple different types of chaquterie boards to snack on. Violin music played softly from some hidden corner.

@merc-with-the-m0uth

@mysticmasterstephenstrange

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@misterjameswesley

+1 or family invited!