#santa hat pattern

[emcant]

A Calico Critter scale stocking cap

is about 15 hdc wide on an E hook, if you wondered.

As pictured:

With scrap white yarn in weight 4, foundation hdc 15.

Ch 1, dc in each st across (15 st). Join end to beginning with two sl st. You can fasten off if you'd like, but you're going to need more white for the puff at the end; I just threaded it inside and picked it up again later.

Now you're going to work in the other side of the foundation row. Yo with red scrap yarn in the same weight, hdc around (15 st).

Hdc around for 14 st. For the last st, bphdc as a means to decrease.

Hdc around for 13 st. Bphdc on top of the last row's bphdc - see the lower picture for reference.

Continue in this pattern until it's too difficult to continue. I hit this point with about 5 hdc remaining.

Yo with white yarn again, dc around.

Bpdc around.

Dc2tog until you're out of stitches. Sl st, fasten off, and tightly pull yarn through the bottom so the puff looks a bit rounder.

Would also look pretty sweet as "scatter"; hence I'm making a lot more.

[stclements]

[2023-chaos-crafting]

I crocheted a Santa hat to match my “ugly sweater” dachshund jumper! It turned out so cute!

[holylulusworld]

How to cure a grump (3)

Summary: You’re losing your job on Christmas.

Pairing: CEO/Boss!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, grumpy Bucky, awful boss, mistaken identity, kinda fake dating trope, snowed-in trope

How to cure a grump (2)

How to cure a grump masterlist

Tonight, you don’t get much sleep. You toss and turn in your bed, knowing your boss, the man costing you your job and future, is sleeping right next door.

How dare he come here to demand shit from you after kicking you out two days before Christmas! Mr. Rogers knew about the password and PIN. He could’ve easily told your boss about it.

“Wait! That bastard!” You sit up on your bed and curse loudly. They are friends. Maybe this is some sick game they are playing. “I won’t be the butt of their jokes!”

When you get out of bed, you push your feet into the Santa Claus-themed slippers your mom got you for Christmas last year. 

Looking down at your body, you chuckle as the shoes look so different from the high heels you wore for work. They look like Santa's face. They have a white, fluffy beard and mustache. A red Santa hat sits atop each slipper.

“Fuck it,” you mutter and storm toward the door. If Barnes wants to mess with you, he’ll pay for it.

You storm into the guest room without knocking, immediately switching the light on.

“What?” Bucky looks at you like a deer in the headlight. He sits on the bed, in nothing but his boxer briefs. While you try not to stare at his abs, muscular arms, or the prominent bulge in his pants, he’s less subtle.

Bucky looks you up and down in your red and white Christmas-themed pajama set. “Are you often wearing onesies?” He snorts. Bucky never spent time with a woman wearing anything but silky nightgowns, or only a smile for bed.

You’re wearing a long-sleeved pajamas onesie style, featuring a fair isle pattern with elves, snowmen, and Christmas trees on a red background with white accents.

You huff. “I didn’t know you hold power over me in the bedroom too. It’s soft and plush, and I don’t give a shit if you like it or not. I want to know why you are here! Is this a trick? Do you and Rogers want to make fun of me?”

“Rogers must’ve forgotten you left the password,” Bucky grunts while wildly gesturing toward you. “I talked to him, and he didn’t mention it. If I knew about it, I wouldn’t have come here to spend the night at a guestroom in the middle of nowhere instead of getting drunk on Barbados, two hot blondes in my arms.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Figures,” you huff. “I’ll call Walt. Maybe, he can help us get you to the airport so you can leave all the little ants working for you behind to spend an annual salary on your vacation!”

“Not my annual salary,” he dares to say. Bucky even smirks, and you lose your temper again. Right when he gets up from the bed to grab his pants, you jump into motion and tackle him to the ground. He yelps as you slap him across the face, once, twice, three times.

Bucky grabs your wrists in an attempt to stop you from hurting him.

“Munchkin is everything—” Your mother chuckles as she watches you sit on top of Bucky. “Oh, kids, I’m sorry. If only I knew you’re celebrating your reunion!” She closes the door behind her, leaving you and Bucky to your fight.

“Tomorrow morning you are gone, bastard,” you growl. “Now let go of me before I castrate you.”

He smirks. “Your mom believed we were having sex. Did you keep her awake often while you were still living here?”

“Says the man whore,” you wiggle in his grip, snarling as he won’t let go. “I’m not the one with an endless stream of women leaving my bedroom.”

“Not only my bedroom.” He still smirks when he finally releases your wrists.

You hurriedly get up and glare at him.

“I don’t care. In the morning, you’ll find a way to get out of my house, and my town. Use your money for something useful for once. And don’t contact me again! You are dead to me”

Slamming the door shut behind you, you huff. How can women fall for your asshole boss? You can’t believe they only see his pretty façade.

“Morning, lovebirds,” your mother chirps as you make your way into the kitchen. She’s humming Last Christmas while you are in a sour mood. Bucky Barnes has this effect on you. “Oh, where’s James?”

You take a deep breath, ready to tell your mother the truth. This is a serious case of mistaken identity. “Mom, uh—do you remember that I told you my boyfriend broke things up with me some time ago?”

“Of course, Munchkin,” she coos while flipping a pancake. “I’m all for second chances, Y/N. Maybe he finally realized how much you mean to him. But—” She points a knife in Bucky’s direction the moment he steps into the kitchen. “If he messes up again, I’ll castrate him!”

“Like mother, like daughter,” Bucky grumbles as he steps further into the room. “Good morning. Please don’t start the new day by castrating me.” He flashes your mom a stunning smile, earning a giggle.

“Oh, I was joking, James,” she says and goes back to preparing breakfast for a whole football team. “What do you like for breakfast? We have waffles, pancakes, bacon, and eggs, or French toast.”

“I usually only eat egg white.” Bucky pats his stomach, rubbing it. “I try to stay fit.”

“For the ladies,” you sarcastically say. “Mom, he won’t stay for breakfast. James will leave now and try to get a flight back to New York.”

“What? No! He must stay for breakfast,” she sniffles and uses her powerful puppy dog look to make your resolve to kick your former boss out crumble. “What about the Christmas dinner? I already planned everything. I was awake all night!”

“Mom,” you sigh. “He needs to take care of business.” It’s not a complete lie. Bucky wants to take care of a few things back in New York. “Do you think we can make it to the airport?”

“No,” she pouts before taking a large bite from one of the waffles. You watch her chew slowly before speaking again. “The streets aren’t the only problem. Maybe we could make it to the airport with your dad’s old truck, but the airport is closed.”

“I got a private jet,” Bucky throws in, earning an angry look from you. Of course, that rich bastard has a private jet.

“James, no plane will take off today, or for the next days. Not even a private jet,” your mother points out. “If you’d excuse me now, I must pick up a few things for Christmas.”

“Mom, what about the snow?” You hate to see her sad face. “Do you want me to get what you need? I was always the better driver.”

“Your dad was the best driver—” She stiffens, and you can see grief flash up in her eyes. No matter how long he’s gone, she’ll always miss your dad. “He taught me everything.”

“I know,” you murmur and hold out your hand to squeeze hers tightly. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“Yeah.” She nods while struggling to hold back a sob. “I forgot to add a few things to my Christmas list. The streets should be free for now. We should hurry before more snow will keep us from leaving.”

Much to your dismay, Bucky decided to join you on your shopping tour. His pilot told him there was not a chance to get back to New York anytime soon. Now he needs a place to stay over the holidays and boots. It’s too damn cold to wear slippers.

“Over there you can buy boots,” you say, and point at the only shop in town selling warm boots. “I’ll get the things on the list, Mom. You can wait here.”

“Alright, Munchkin,” your mom says while watching Bucky look at you, brows furrowed. He dips his head to watch you storm off. “Don’t take it to heart, James. Christmas was always hard for Y/N since her dad passed away, and John left her for some other girl.”

“John, huh?” Bucky asks as you are busy buying everything your mom has on her list. “What happened?”

“It’s not my place to tell you, James. All I can say is that they wanted to marry the next spring and John decided to cheat.” She huffs. “Y/N moved across the county to get away from him, their business, and the girl he chose over her.”

“Their business?” Bucky presses on. “What kind of business?”

“Oh, nothing special. They—” Your mother gasps loudly as John steps toward you at your aunt’s bakery. “No, no! This will ruin Christmas for Y/N!”

“What?” Bucky follows your mother’s eyes, seeing you stiffen as John stands in front of you to chat you up. “That him?”

“Yes, I must stop him from hurting her!”

“Leave this to me.” Your mother smirks when Bucky enters the bakery. She even chuckles as John’s fiancé watches your former boss walk toward you.

Bucky, on the other hand, doesn’t know what came over him until he shoves John out of his way to cup your face and kiss you fiercely.

You whimper against Bucky's warm and plump lips. It's been a while since someone kissed you, and this kiss is on top of your list.

“Dude, excuse me! We were talking,” John grunts as Bucky and you part. You stare at Bucky, unsure what to do. “Hey! This is not the place to make out!”

“What?” Bucky turns around to smirk at John. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there. I was missing my fiancé, is all.”

“Fiancé?” John hiccups as you are too stunned to react. What just happened? Why did your former boss kiss you? Why is John here?

“Yes, fiancé. And I’d appreciate it if you stopped distracting her. Her mom is waiting outside, and it’s damn cold. We don’t want this lovely lady to get sick, don’t we.”

“Sure, sure,” John awkwardly stammers. “It was nice seeing you, Y/N. Have a good Christmas.” John and the woman he chose over you leave the bakery in a hurry.

You’re still shell-shocked and just watch them leave. What else can you do? If you slap Bucky’s face now, John knows this was all just play pretend.

Meanwhile, your mother stands outside the bakery, smiling to herself as Bucky nervously rubs the back of his neck.

How to cure a grump (4)

More tags in reblog.

How to cure a grump@cjand10, @nofingjustaninchident, @pettyjayy, @pattiemac1, @formulas-bitch, @winchestert101, @greatmistakes, @mrsnikstan, @jokersqueenofchaos

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Kinkmas (3)- Ugly Sweater

Natasha X Reader 18+

Summary: Whilst coming out of the bathroom, Natasha immediately notices your new Christmas Sweater and can't hold back on her playful teasing and mentions how ugly it is. In fact, she thinks it's so ugly, you should just take it off.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings/Tags: Fluff, Teasing, Ugly Sweaters, Thigh Riding, Smut, Dom Natasha/Sub Reader, Praise, Orgasm Denial/Delay, Dirty Talk, Begging, Oral Sex, Fingering, Aftercare, Cuddles

Kinkmas Masterlist

---

Opening the bathroom door, a snicker left her lips as Natasha caught sight of the Christmas jumper you were wearing, her hand moving to cover her mouth as you shot your girlfriend a pointed look while rummaging for your phone charger, watching her form on the bed as her lips tugged up into an amused smile.

"Detka," she says, dragging her words out as you approached her on the bed after successfully finding your charger, her arms naturally opening as you melt against her body, her lips pressing against your temple, arms then snaking around you. "I didn't know we were doing ugly sweaters this year," she mumbles against your hair in a teasing tone, your head tilting to gaze into her humoured green, that mischievous smirk playing on her lips as you adjusted yourself on the bed, moving to straddle her lap.

"It's not ugly," you say in mild offence, looking back down at the jumper you had bought for Christmas this year, amazed at how soft and comfortable it was compared to ones you've had in the past. "It's unique," your tone full of confidence as your girlfriend fails to hide the small laugh that escapes her, her eyes taking the ridiculous piece of clothing properly.

The jumper had questionable looking reindeers adorning it, the white stripes indicating different sections as a pattern of Santa hats were under it, followed by a set of christmas trees and then a row of presents, her brow raising in questioning as you followed her line of sight to the section of snowmen, the blue coloured section not matching with the rest of the red and green theme, looking very odd.

"I'm not sure unique is the word I'd use to describe it, Detka," she murmurs, hands cupping your cheek and guiding your face down for an innocent kiss, the action sparking an idea in the redhead's mind, her smile slowly morphing into that iconic mischievous smirk again.

"Is it really that bad?" you ask, a hint of genuine disappointment in your voice as you part of you actually quite liked the sweater, Natasha's fingers resting under your chin and lifting your head up to meet her gaze, your brows furrowing slightly at the look in her eyes, knowing she was planning something.

"Oh Detka," she coos, her free hand gliding down your waist to the back of your thighs before back up, sliding under the fabric to feel your bare skin, her cold hands a contrast to your warm skin making your body tense momentarily. "It is, in fact, I think it's that bad you should just... take it off," her hand emphasises her words by pulling up on your sweater, her eyes searching yours and waiting for permission to do so, eyes sparkling with desire and mischief as you can't help but chuckle at her words, the doubts about the jumper swiftly leaving your mind due to her lips being mere inches away from yours.

"Yeah?" you whisper back, lips tugging up into an amused smile as her smile only widens when you move your hands to replace hers at your jumper, playing with the hem of it and slowly, teasingly pulling it off. "I think I should too," you murmur just before removing the jumper, Natasha's hands eagerly travelling across the exposed skin you just revealed, fingers dancing across your lower abdomen before reaching your lower back and up, swiftly unclasping your bra and pulling it off while your lips meet hers passionately, both of you smiling into it to start with.

A soft moan escapes you when the kiss becomes more intense, Natasha's tongue effortlessly sliding into your mouth and dominating the kiss, arousal pooling between your thighs while your mind fogs with lust, the feeling of her hands burning into your skin as you think you're going to go mad with desire. Her nails faintly scratch your skin, earning a groan in response as you arch your back slightly, pushing your body further into hers prompting her to wrap her arms around you, guiding you into another position.

She positions you on one of her thighs, smirking into the kiss when she hears the affected sigh leave you as she pulls you along it, making you ride her thigh until you start to do it on your own.

"That's it Detka," she praises, making you moan once again, the noise being swallowed by her relentless mouth, lips constantly claiming yours in a hungry and desperate kiss, hands returning to roam your body and tease you. You're finding it hard to think with her actions, fingers grazing the underside of your breasts, thumbs teasingly ghosting over your sensitive nipples while her mouth is hot, soft and dominant at the same time, the two of you only parting for breath, panting heavily against each others mouths as you still can't resist trying to kiss her again, craving her addictive lips.

"Nat," you groan when she finally cups your breasts, squeezing firmly but not too hard, just the way you love it, her fingers grazing over your nipples and pulling on them softly, dragging more sinful noises out of you. "I need you," you sigh out, lolling your head back as she starts to kiss down your jaw and along your neck, nibbling softly and smirking against yours skin at the feeling of your hips grinding against her harder, needing to ease the incessant throb between your legs, the intolerable heat that only she could help you with, "Please."

"You're so impatient Detka," she teases, sucking on part of your skin to leave a mark, her hands moving away from your chest to your ass, guiding you against her thigh once again, a groan leaving you at her slower pace. "You'll get what you want soon," she murmurs, tilting her head back up to meet your lips, claiming them briefly and messily before lowering her head to kiss along your collar bones, sucking another mark as she knew you loved it.

You groaned in a little frustration at her words, wanting to feel the pleasure of your release now but being denied by her, Natasha merely chuckling against your skin at your impatience.

"Nat," you whined, her kisses descending even further down your body, lips at the top of your chest, eyes peering up into your desperate and pleading eyes.

"Soon," she promises, yours fingers threading through her hair when she swirls her tongue around one of your nipples, mouth then sucking on your chest earning a string of moans from you, your clit brushing perfectly against her thigh as she tenses it for you, the surface harder for you to grind along.

"Fuck," you sigh out when she switches to the other breast, lavishing it an equal amount of attention, her hands moving your hips harder and faster against her, your orgasm building swiftly at her actions.

"Don't even think about coming yet Detka," she rasps out, pulling away from your chest, a string of saliva connecting the two before her thumb brushes it away while her eyes are trained on yours, a small, affected sigh leaving your lips at the sight.

"Please, Nat, I'm so close," you plead, knowing how turned on she gets by your begging, your fingers gently tugging on her hair that you've ruffled slightly to make her return to your face, wanting to feel her lips pressed against yours.

"Not yet Detka," she murmurs back before kissing you firmly, hands moving to your lower back to keep you secure before flipping the two of you over, a groan of annoyance leaving you as she denies you, her lips silencing you. "I want to feel you coming all over my tongue," she purrs at the shell of your ear, biting softly on your earlobe as you whimper at her words, hands reaching out to her waist, sliding under her simple black jumper, desperate to feel her bare skin.

"Shit, Nat I want you, I need you. Please," you moan out into her mouth as she kisses you with a newfound hunger, her fingers replacing yours at her jumper, pulling the item off swiftly before unclasping her own bra and tossing it somewhere in the room, not bothered where at the moment.

"You'll only ever need me, isn't that right Detka?" she murmurs with a smug smirk against your skin as your nails scratch down her back softly, the redhead aware of the effect she had on you as her fingers slide your joggers down, lips descending down your body once again.

"Yes," your tone a whisper as your back arches against her, the feeling of her lips kissing down your body making your body delirious with arousal and desire, the redhead groaning at your voice, loving the way you say you're hers. "You're all I need- Fuck, please do that again," your words are interrupted when she drags one of her fingers against your soaking core through your panties, the fabric drenched with your arousal, body begging for her touch.

"So desperate," she mumbles, tone laced with dominance as she looks up from her place between your legs, hands gliding across the back of your thighs, teasing you. "So wet," she adds, doing as you asked and sliding her finger across your clothed core, a sinful groan escaping you, head lolling back against the mattress. "If you want it that bad Detka, beg for it."

"Please," you whimper, pleading her with your eyes, her fingers sliding under the waistband of your panties and caressing the skin there in an affectionate manner, waiting for you to continue, "Nat, I've been good, please touch me, please make me come." Her breath fans over your sensitive core as her teeth gently bite down on the fabric of your panties, dragging the item down your legs and admiring your aroused and desperate form watching her, mouth parting in a small, affected sigh. "Please Nat, I need your fingers, your mouth, Fuck, anything at this point," your words are cut off by a pathetic whimper, the redhead finally lowering her mouth to your dripping core, her eyes trained on you as she wants to watch you come undone.

"Fuck Detka," she groans, eyes darkening with desire as her tongue swipes through your folds, tasting your arousal and making your hips buck up against her mouth, her hands holding your body down. "You taste so good," her accent delicately wraps around her words in a way that makes your head spin, the added raspiness going straight to your lower abdomen, her mouth exploring your sensitive sex as sinful sounds spill from your lips.

"Shit, I love it when you do that," you moan out, her lips wrapping around your clit and sucking gently, your hands reaching down to tangle in her hair softly, fingers surrounded by the red silky locks. "Nat," your voice a low sigh, the noise soft and sensual as her face nuzzled closer to where you needed her, her lower face coated in your arousal as you were just so addicting, tongue swirling over your clit before sliding lower, teasing your entrance.

"Such a pretty mess for me," she murmurs against you, her mouth returning to your clit and sucking a little harsher than before, your back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure flooded through you, one of her hands sliding around your thigh to pull you closer. "All mine to ruin," she rasps out, a guttural noise leaving you at her words and the feeling of one of her fingers effortlessly sliding into you, walls desperately clenching around her digit.

"Nat," you pant out, head lolling back against the soft mattress, fingers tightening their grip on her hair, hips trying their best to roll against her mouth in search of friction.

Your desperate tone and actions encourage her to push you over the edge, her digit curling inside you at your sweet spot, pleasure building in your core as you clench around her, the redhead's mouth then kissing your clit again to drive you mad, tongue swiping over to make your hips cant up.

"Fuck, don't stop," you groan out, fingers holding her head still as she slides in another finger, moaning into your core, the vibrations pleasing you as your mind clouds with arousal, vision almost blurring with euphoria. "Please can I come?" you ask, voice laced with submission as your eyes gaze down at the sinful sight of her between your thighs, her darkened green entranced by your state.

"Come for me," she husks out, taking your clit back into her mouth and sucking while her fingers continue to curl inside you, letting you fall over the edge with a guttural moan, back arching further off the bed as your legs trembled, hips rocking against her face at the pleasure that filled you. A pleasant buzz consumed your body as you rode out the aftershocks of your powerful release, your body practically going limp on the bed at the exhaustion of coming so hard.

Natasha listened to every soft pant that left you, every hitch of breath as she didn't stop her actions, moving her tongue to replace her fingers inside you, lapping up your come and arousal that she could taste.

She only stopped when your hand softly tugged on her hair, silently asking her to stop, which she did immediately, gradually sliding her body away from between your legs. She straddled your waist, her eyes trained on yours as they fluttered open, meeting the softening green and watching in awe as she slid her fingers into her mouth, cheeks hollowing as she groans at the taste of you on her fingers, your lips parting for a small, affected gasp.

"Come here," you mumbled tiredly, hands reaching out for the curve of her hips as you pull her body down against yours, claiming her lips softly as she lets you kiss her how you want. Her body relaxes against yours, her fingers brushing back a few strands of your hair while your hands cup her cheek, keeping her close as you inevitably smile against her mouth, the redhead eagerly reciprocating the action.

Her lips peck yours once more before pressing a loving kiss to your temple, her body rolling onto her side as she pulls you closer to her, wanting to take care of you.

"We need to clean up Detka," she whispers, knowing how tired you were but more focused on staying hygienic and safe. You grumble in response, face pressed against her chest, arms defiantly wrapped around her middle as you just wanted to savour the calm moment, her fingers scratching your scalp soothingly. "Come on, it will be quick," she murmurs, managing to get you out of the bed and into the bathroom to clean up, her hands gentle as she helped take care of you, smiling softly at the way you craved to feel any part of her body.

Eventually, after many loving caresses, the two of you leave the bathroom clean and completely naked, a request on your behalf, before sliding under the covers, bodies naturally drifting towards each other.

Your face nestled at the crook of her neck, the warm and soft skin lulling you into a peaceful state as you melted in her embrace, exhaustion slowly creeping up on you.

"Nat," you mumble, tiredness evident in your voice as you move your hand to glide up and down her toned back, smiling a little at her neck when you feel her relax even more into the impossibly soft mattress.

She hums softly in response, a hint of curiosity audible in the noise as she lets her lips press delicately against your hair, waiting for you to continue.

"Was the jumper actually that ugly?" your voice a mere whisper, eyes closed as you savour the comfort and security of her neck, her body shaking a little under you as she laughs angelically at your words.

"Oh Detka," she coos, smiling against your locks as she can't help the warmth bubbling in her chest. "It was, I'm sorry," she honestly tells you, a grumble leaving you as you snuggle further into your body.

"I'll get a new one," you mumble, an idea popping into your tired mind, "I'll get a Black Widow themed one and there's nothing you can do to stop me." At your words, Natasha can't help but chuckle lovingly again, her head shaking at your antics.

"Ok Detka, you do that," she murmurs tenderly, letting you think you've gotten your way as she could feel your little smile against her neck, the redhead not having the heart to deny you.

"Goodnight Moya Lyubov," she whispers after a moment, the sounds of your gentle snores taking over the room as Natasha slowly drifts off to sleep, content with having you wrapped up in her arms.

[strawberrykidneystone]

christmas with sevika

she covers your entire house with lights, literally goes up on the roof while you watch with bated breath, praying she won’t fall😭

speaking of lights, loves going to light festivals with you, especially the houses where the lights move to the rhythm of a radio station

will tolerate wearing a santa hat on christmas but only in front of you

wears the UGLIEST ITCHIEST sweaters ever just to annoy you and have you playfully push her away when she tackles you with a bear hug

her presents are very crudely wrapped but there’s so much tape and care put into it that it’s sweet

MAKING COOKIE WITH HER OH GOD

she will eat 20% of the cookie dough before you have a chance to bake them

DECORATING THE TREE WITH HER ))):

has no eye for any aesthetic patterns or anything so they will just be randomly placed around but WHO CARES

loves peppermint bark out of all holiday treats

likes practical gifts like new boots, clothes, etc. literally will love if you give her socks for christmas

has no idea what to get you please give this poor woman a list

gives you a vintage flour sifter for your first christmas together,,, it’s sweet but girl wtf am i gonna do with that

immediately loses whammagedon on december 1st that may or may not have been your fault

a/n: pls comment you christmas/holiday traditions i love hearing about them, my family hides a pickle ornament in the tree and whoever finds it gets $5😋😋😋 also we make these danish almond cookies every year that are SO GOOD UGH I LOVE THE HOLIDAY SEASON if you have any holiday requests pls drop them in my inbox

[littleredwolf]

Home for Christmas

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: It's Christmas Eve at the Avengers Compound and you and Wanda are busy making festive cookies for the team to enjoy upon their return from a mission.

Warnings: none. This is pure fluff/cosy Christmas content.

Words: 982

A/N: I wanted to have a go at something fluffy and festive, so I hope this ticks all the right boxes! Merry Christmas!

--

The snow fell in gentle cascades, blanketing the compound in a glittery shimmer that added a touch of magic to the view. Inside, the compound had been transformed into a festive haven, every corner adorned with twinkling lights and tinsel, while Christmas music played softly over the sound system, mingling with the rich scents of sugar, vanilla, and freshly baked gingerbread. It was like a scene straight out of a Christmas movie, so cosy and picturesque. 

“I think we may have overdone it,” Wanda mused as the two of you stood at the counter to admire your afternoon's work. 

The kitchen sides were covered with trays filled with cookies of all shapes and sizes. There were snowflakes, gingerbread men, Christmas trees, candy canes, Santa, stockings, and even some questionable looking reindeer. To anybody else, maybe it was a little too much, but with a team full of superheroes to feed, you wondered if maybe it wasn't enough.

“I don't think that's possible,” you replied, straightening one of the cookies on the tray closest to you. “The super soldiers alone will get through most of these between them.” 

“I'm surprised you haven't made Bucky his own personal batch,” she said with a teasing smile.

At the mere mention of his name, your cheeks flushed and your chest tightened. 

It had been nearly three weeks since you'd last seen Bucky, he and a few other members of the team had been away on a mission, and while he'd sent a few texts and the occasional picture (one particularly adorable shot of him and Sam looking begrudgingly festive in Santa hats), you missed him more than you’d like to admit. 

The compound had felt strangely empty since he'd been gone, you'd missed his dry humour, his quiet strength, and the way he always managed to put you at ease simply by being there. Your bed had felt too big without him in it each night, and the absence of his arms around you and gentle kisses to soothe you to sleep had thrown your sleeping pattern completely off balance. 

The excitement of his imminent return had been bubbling all morning, making you so impatient and restless that Wanda had insisted you do something to keep yourself busy, hence the cookies.  

Now you were finished, however, the nervous excitement was returning, and you couldn't resist the frequent glances out the window to see if you could spot the quinjet through the snow. 

“You really love him, don't you?” Wanda smiled as she began to tidy everything away, sending the dirty utensils to the dishwasher with a wave of her hand. 

You hesitated for a moment, contemplating her words, then slowly nodded. Although neither of you had used the ‘L’ word yet, there was no denying how you felt. 

“Yeah, I do. It's different with him, Wanda - I can be myself around him without feeling like I have to dilute any part of my personality. I never thought I'd find someone who just accepts me as I am - even the messy, broken bits! He’s just, so damn perfect, you know? I feel like pinching myself sometimes because it feels too good to be true!” Your tone was light, but there was no hiding your insecurities from Wanda Maximoff - she knew you better than you knew yourself most days. 

She reached over the counter to squeeze your hand, smiling softly. “He feels the same way, you know. Anyone can see it.” 

Before you could respond, the compound’s security system chimed, announcing an incoming quinjet. Your heart leapt -  they were home! 

“They’re here!” you exclaimed, abandoning your work and rushing to the window. Through the snow, you could just make out the sleek shape of the jet landing on the pad outside. 

Wanda laughed as she trailed after you.“I think you’re more excited about this than Christmas itself,” she teased.

You turned to her with a thoughtful expression. “I'd say it's a draw,” you smirked, and she shook her head with a laugh. You turned to the window again, but the snow was so thick now that you could barely see a thing. 

“What are you waiting for? Go and greet your man!” Wanda urged, giving you a gentle nudge. 

You didn’t need to be told twice - you slipped on your shoes and dashed outside, forgetting to even put on a coat in your rush. The icy wind bit at your cheeks, but you hardly noticed as the quinjet’s hatch opened and the team began descending the ramp. Sam was the first to emerge, his face lighting up when he saw you.

“Merry Christmas!” he called, waving as he approached and pulling you into a bear hug. “Now, where are the cookies?”

“It’s good to see you too!” You laughed, giving him a playful shove as you sent him on his way, your attention snapping to the next figure emerging from the jet. 

Bucky stepped out into the snowy evening, his eyes scanning the landing pad until they found you. His face softened instantly, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he hastily made his way down the ramp. 

You didn’t wait for him to reach you. You ran to him, flinging your arms around his neck as he caught you, pulling you close. The familiar scent of him - leather and something faintly metallic - wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

“You’re freezing,” he gasped, brushing his gloved hand over your cheek. 

“I don’t care,” you replied, smiling up at him. “You’re home.”

“Yeah,” he said, his grin mirroring yours as he cupped your face. “I’m home.” 

He pressed his lips to yours, filling you with so much warmth that it instantly melted away the agony of the last three weeks. 

Out of all the gifts you could have received for Christmas, being back in Bucky's arms was by far the best one.

[sugardollcurse]

beatles x reader christmas hcs OR.

RINGO X READER CHRISTMAS FIC.. U CHOOSE....

ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 | ringo starr x reader

𐙚 summary ; you and ringo spend christmas the slow way.

𐙚 note ; bit early... JKJK!! this could’ve been a hallmark movie if hallmark knew what real love was

Christmas morning begins with your face pressed to Ringo’s chest, your nose half-frozen and buried against the worn cotton of his sleep shirt, which smells like too many wash cycles and his skin. Outside the window, snow’s been falling slow since about 2 a.m., dusting the parked cars and naked trees, making the air a hushed thing. You’ve been awake for ten minutes but haven’t moved because his arm is looped tightly around you and the blanket is perfect and you know, just know, that the flat is a refrigerator beyond the edge of the bed.

“’S today Christmas?” he mumbles into your hair. Voice low. Scratchy.

You make a noncommittal sound.

“Suppose we oughta get up, then,” he says, making no movement to do so.

“No,” you whisper.

“Mmh. Right,” he agrees, and shifts only enough to wedge his socked foot between your ankles. You yelp.

“Your feet are ice.”

He grins against your forehead. “They’re festive.”

“Festering.”

“Rude.”

You both settle deeper under the covers. The tiny heater by the wall ticks faintly. Somewhere in the flat, the kettle clicks on, because Ringo’s plugged it into a timer for exactly this reason.

You doze again, curled like spoons, your back snug against the warmth of him, legs tangled beneath the weight of the duvet, one of his hands tucked absently beneath your shirt, palm pressed to your stomach. It’s the kind of soft morning that doesn’t really start, not properly, just tilts lazily from dream to haze and back again, each blink slower than the last. The heater hums gently. Somewhere in the flat, something shifts. You hear it even through the fog, quiet kitchen movement, the subtle clatter of ceramic on countertop, the rhythmic creak of the floorboards under familiar weight.

Then, Ringo’s unmistakable voice, not shouted but projected like he’s aiming to make you smile before you’ve even sat up: “I made you a cup! It’s… well, it’s still in the cup. That’s as far as I got.”

You don't answer right away, just bury your face into the pillow, laughing silently, eyes closed. It’s ridiculous. It’s perfect. He’s been up maybe fifteen minutes and already the flat smells like marmite toast, and something deeper and richer that’s unmistakably cocoa, thick and real, not powdered mix, with milk and sugar and probably way too much effort for a man who once served you cornflakes in a teacup and called it brunch.

Eventually, you surface, limbs heavy but warm, still pulled from the heat of bed and from him. You emerge into the main room wrapped in one of his old jumpers, the sleeves too long, the neckline worn loose from years of love and laundry. It smells like his cologne faintly, cedar and spice, and your hair is a mess, and you know he loves you more like this than in anything dressed up. Thick socks muffle your steps. The carpet is patchy and the fairy lights on the tree flicker like they’re fighting for life, and the faux fir is very much leaning to the left, propped by a stack of books and a stuffed dog in a Santa hat.

Still, it's beautiful. There’s a crooked red bow tied near the top, the kind that looks like it was attached after three failed attempts and one small tantrum. Underneath are the presents, maybe ten of them. A few look nearly store-wrapped, crisp corners and patterned tape. Others... clearly not. One’s in newspaper, one’s in a Tesco bag, and several seem to be triple-layered like he lost confidence halfway and just kept going. A few have corners ripped, Scotch tape peeled back and re-stuck, one with what might be spaghetti sauce on the ribbon.

Ringo hands you the mug when you enter the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything immediately, just watches. He’s in plaid pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt that says “I’m only talking to my dog today,” despite the fact that he doesn’t have a dog. His hair’s flattened on one side. He’s leaning on the counter with the stance of a man deeply invested in your reaction, like he's just handed you a rare wine or an experimental cocktail instead of a cup of cocoa.

You take a sip. It’s hot, just right, rich, and thick with cream. Something subtle lingers underneath the chocolate, clove? Cardamom?

“Perfect,” you murmur against the rim, and watch as his eyes crinkle with relief.

“I knew it,” he says, self-satisfied but not smug. “Did you taste the nutmeg?”

You pause, then raise an eyebrow. “You didn’t...”

“I thought about adding nutmeg,” he amends, grinning. “And that’s just as festive, innit?”

You roll your eyes and laugh, stepping past him to pull yourself onto the counter stool, cradling the warm mug between your hands like a sleepy squirrel hoarding treasure. He doesn’t suck at making tea, not at all. That was never the issue. In fact, his tea game is solid, old school, leaf and pot, steeped just right. But cocoa is different. Cocoa is deliberate. Cocoa is care. Cocoa is him deciding to make something sweet for you on a morning when your bones were still too heavy for breakfast.

He moves around behind you, brushes his hand over your shoulder as he goes to refill his own cup. There’s toast on a plate nearby, corners slightly burned, buttered to the edges, and spread with marmite like a dare and a love letter all in one.

You take another sip and hum softly, voice low and slow with contentment. “Thoughtful,” you murmur.

Ringo leans on the fridge, watching you again. “You look good in that jumper.”

“You always say that.”

“Yeah, but right now I really mean it.”

“You always really mean it.”

He shrugs, then smiles crookedly. “S’pose I do.”

You glance toward the tree, the blinking lights, the mess of ribbons and wrapping. It’s early still, barely even eight, and yet the room feels full, of smell, of light, of him. You know the presents under that tree are going to be hilarious. Maybe one’s a toothbrush. Maybe one’s a rubber duck. But one of them, you’re sure, will be unexpectedly perfect.

“You really considered nutmeg?” you ask, arching a brow again.

“I opened the jar and everything,” he says solemnly, lifting his mug in a toast. “Then I thought, no. Better not. Don’t want to peak too soon.”

You spend the morning like that, barefoot, bleary-eyed, wrapped in each other and the lingering scent of toast. The living room becomes a nest of crumpled ribbons and half-rolled tape, your legs tangled with his on the rug as you both work through the last of the presents, each reveal punctuated by laughter or disbelief or Ringo shouting “No peeking!” even as he angles his head to peek at yours.

When you get to his gift, he can’t hold it in. He’s already gripping the couch cushion like it’s the edge of a cliff, knuckles pale, leaning in as if he’s watching a penalty shootout.

“It’s the weird ashtray you liked in Camden,” he blurts, right before the wrapping’s halfway off. “Don’t act surprised. I know you.”

You do try not to smile. Bite the inside of your cheek like that’ll keep it in. But it’s impossible. The thing is absurd, vile, really. A fat ceramic frog, green-glazed and bug-eyed, looking like it died mid-smoke break. But your heart swells at the sight of it. It’s exactly what you’d wanted and absolutely nothing you would’ve bought yourself.

Ringo doesn’t say I knew you’d like it. Doesn’t puff up or make a joke to deflect. He just watches your face break into that ridiculous grin, and his own blooms in return, quiet and wide and boyish, like you’ve cracked something ancient open in him.

Your gift to him is less obvious. Just a scarf. But not just a scarf. It’s thick and soft and a shade of purple that’s almost offensive in daylight, the kind of color only ever seen in old ecclesiastical robes or cartoon grapes. But he had mentioned that jumper once, the one he lost years ago, the one he used to call his “church-wine disaster.” You remembered how he’d stroked the frayed cuffs like they were holy. So you hunted down the color, knit for hours while pretending it wasn’t important, dropped stitches and unpicked rows just to get it right.

He pulls it on like it’s sacred, wrapping it twice around his neck with theatrical flair. “Christ. Gonna wear this everywhere. Even in summer. Y’may regret this, y’know.”

“I won’t.”

He squints at you, lips pursed like he’s trying to see through you. “Not even when I’m sweating through it on Brighton pier in August?”

“No.”

“You’re a sick person,” he mutters, tugging the ends dramatically. “I love it.”

After that, the day settles into a different rhythm. Quieter. Softer. You end up on the sofa, the quilt you both love draped over your laps. It smells like cedar and dust and old winters. The TV’s on but low, an ancient black-and-white holiday film with actors speaking in transatlantic accents and too much eyebrow. Ringo doesn’t watch it so much as let it play in the corner of his attention. His real focus is you, arm tucked behind your back, fingers brushing against your hip in gentle rhythm.

He leans in after a while, his nose against your temple, not kissing, just resting there. Breathing you in. He doesn’t make a show of it. He’s not always loud about love. He just is, present, steady, a hand that always finds yours without needing to ask.

“Didn’t really get Christmas as a kid,” he murmurs, words spoken into the collar of your jumper.

You don’t respond. Not yet. You shift a little so he can feel you listening. He goes on, voice smaller now.

“I like it now,” he says, tentative, like if he says it too clearly it’ll vanish. “With you. S’like it makes sense.”

The back of your throat tightens, that quiet ache you only feel when someone is being unguarded, utterly unvarnished, and somehow trusting you with it.

You kiss him. No reason. No cue. Just the simple overflow of affection. His lips are warm, and he still tastes faintly of cocoa and marmite and everything this morning meant. He kisses back lazily, contentedly, his hand cupping your jaw.

Later, you make some attempt at cooking together. Ringo insists on mashing potatoes with a wooden spoon that should be arrested for war crimes against starch. He ignores every logical utensil you hand him.

“Masher’s broken,” he says, stubborn.

“It’s not.”

“I’m just saying. Spoons are timeless.”

You catch him sneaking a brussels sprout into his mouth like a guilty raccoon. You flick water at him from the sink and he clutches his chest, staggering like he’s been struck.

“Don’t hit me, I’m tender!”

“Good,” you smirk, “that means the sprouts are done.”

He wails theatrically, lamenting his injuries. You throw a towel at his face.

Dinner happens somehow. Maybe not everything’s hot at the same time, maybe the stuffing’s a bit dry, but it doesn’t matter. You eat by candlelight, not out of romance, but because the overhead bulb died two days ago and neither of you remembered to fix it. The candles flicker. The plates clink. The cider pops open and Ringo tries to pour yours with a flourish that ends in the tablecloth soaking.

After dinner, coats go on over pyjamas. Gloves on, scarf wound twice. The snow’s deeper now, blanketing the street in hush. Everything is muffled and luminous under streetlamp glow. You walk hand-in-hand to the corner shop, even though you know it’s probably shut. It is. You don’t care.

The cold bites your cheeks. Your noses pink. Ringo kisses yours over and over like it’s some kind of spell to keep it warm.

“Better now?” he whispers, breath fogging between you.

“Almost.”

He kisses it again, then your forehead, then your chin for good measure. “Now?”

You nod, grinning, breath fogging up between you both in the cold, but it’s not just the kiss or the snow or the way his gloved fingers are squeezing yours in these little excited pulses, it’s the fact that you’re out here at all. Just you two, walking slow, no purpose, no plans.

“Looks like someone dusted the world with icing sugar,” Ringo mutters, squinting up at the sky like he’s trying to catch a flake on his lashes.

You tip your head back too, the flakes landing on your cheeks, your nose, melting slow as you walk. Everything glows. Everything softens. It’s like the city’s a snow globe you’re both trapped in, except it’s not a trap. It’s a choice. A moment you stepped into deliberately.

You pass a car half-buried on the corner, someone’s snowman already slumping sideways on the verge, scarf trailing off like it’s making a break for it. Ringo pauses, kicks at the snowbank beside it.

“Race you,” he says, and you don’t have time to ask what the hell he means before he’s already taken off down the pavement, boots skidding, arms flailing, nearly wiping out on the first patch of ice.

You shout after him, laughing, chasing his footprints. He’s not fast, he’s running like he’s never done it in his life, knees too high and scarf trailing like a kite, but he’s gleeful. He disappears around the corner and you catch up to find him doubled over, hands on his knees, wheezing with laughter.

“I won,” he pants.

“You tripped over your own feet.”

“I still won.”

You press your forehead to his chest and he wraps his arms around you, your laughter turning breathless in the cold.

When you get back, the quiet wraps around you again, as warm as any blanket. The coats come off. The socks peel off slowly. You make tea this time. He doesn’t argue. You bring it to the sofa where he’s already sunk into the cushions like a man returning to his natural habitat.

“You’re my favorite,” he mumbles as you settle in beside him, sleep thick in his voice, eyes blinking slow. “Of all the things I’ve got.”

You don’t answer. You just press your forehead to his again and pull the quilt up over your shoulders. The tree lights blink against the wall in uneven rhythm. The room smells like cider and sugar and faint pine plastic. You can hear the snow still falling outside, a soft shush against the windowpanes.

It’s Christmas. You’re home.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee, @alanangels, @wisepainterprince, @emz2092

[s4kura-tr3]

Jjk men — they dress up as Santa

An: happy holidays everyone!

Gojo satoru

Gojo Satoru as Santa was not something you ever expected to witness—mostly because his usual flair for dramatics meant he didn’t need a costume to be the center of attention. But when your little one excitedly declared that they had to meet Santa, Satoru decided it was time to step up.

He emerged from your bedroom dressed in a ridiculously high-quality Santa suit, complete with glittering snowflake patterns on the red coat (of course he’d have it custom-made). His signature white hair peeked out from under the hat, and he wore a pair of sunglasses instead of the classic round spectacles.

“Ho, ho, ho!” he bellowed, striking an exaggerated pose in the living room. “Santa Gojo has arrived to spread Christmas joy!”

Your child gasped, their eyes lighting up like the twinkling fairy lights on the tree. “Santa!” they cried, running toward him.

“Careful, my little elf!” Satoru said, scooping them up effortlessly and spinning them around. “Have you been good this year?”

“Yes!” your child nodded vigorously, pointing to the cookies you’d helped them bake earlier. “We made you cookies, Santa!”

“Well, well, you must be my favorite little helper!” he grinned, setting them down gently before dramatically sniffing the air. “Mmm, smells like the best cookies I’ve ever had. You sure you didn’t use magic to bake these?”

Your child giggled, and you rolled your eyes, standing back and watching the scene with amusement. Satoru caught your gaze and winked over the top of his sunglasses, clearly enjoying himself way too much.

Once the presents were opened and your child was fast asleep, Satoru dropped onto the couch beside you, tugging the Santa hat off and tossing it onto the coffee table.

“So,” he drawled, leaning closer with a smirk, “how do you think I did? Pretty convincing Santa, right?”

“You looked ridiculous,” you teased, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

“Ridiculous?” he gasped, clutching his chest as if you’d wounded him. “I was the perfect Santa! Admit it, you couldn’t take your eyes off me.”

“You’re impossible.” You laughed, shaking your head as he pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you like a warm, festive cocoon.

“And yet, here you are,” he murmured, his voice softer now, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

Geto Suguru

Suguru Geto didn’t need much convincing when his two little girls asked him to be Santa. You’d teased him at first, thinking he’d wave it off, but he surprised you when he casually came home with a Santa suit, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips.

On Christmas Eve, he disappeared into the bedroom, emerging a little later dressed as Santa. The suit fit perfectly, the white trim contrasting against his dark hair. He even had a beard, though he wore it slightly crooked, clearly finding it amusing. His girls squealed in delight, clapping their hands and jumping up and down.

“Ho, ho, ho!” Suguru boomed, crouching down to their level with a warm smile. “Have my little angels been good this year?”

“Yes, Papa—I mean, Santa!” one of them giggled, giving him an obvious once-over but deciding to play along.

The other clung to your leg, shy but smiling, as Suguru extended a hand to her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Santa’s here to make Christmas magical,” he said gently, and she ran to him, wrapping her little arms around his neck.

You stood back, heart full as you watched him distribute the small gifts he’d secretly wrapped earlier. He made a show of handing them out, exaggerating his movements to make the girls laugh, even pretending to trip over the beard once or twice.

When the girls were finally tucked into bed, Suguru joined you on the couch, peeling off the beard and hat with a content sigh. He leaned back, pulling you close to him.

“How’d I do?” he asked, his voice softer now, his arm draped lazily over your shoulder.

“You were perfect,” you murmured, resting your head against his chest. “The girls loved it.”

“And you?” he teased, tilting your chin up so your eyes met his.

“I think Santa suits you,” you said with a small smile.

“Oh yeah?” he smirked, leaning down to brush his lips against yours. “Maybe I’ll wear it more often.”

You laughed, swatting at his chest. “Let’s not traumatize the kids.”

Suguru chuckled, pulling you closer, his fingers lacing with yours. “Merry Christmas, love,” he murmured. “Thank you for making our little family so perfect.”

Nanami kento

Nanami Kento as Santa Claus was something you never thought you’d see, mostly because it was hard to imagine him doing anything he deemed “unnecessarily festive.” But when your child looked up at him with those big, pleading eyes, asking if Santa would visit this year, he sighed in resignation.

That’s how you found yourself helping Nanami into a Santa suit on Christmas Eve. The red coat was perfectly tailored—of course, because Nanami refused to wear something that didn’t fit well—and he begrudgingly donned the hat, though he skipped the beard with a firm, “This is ridiculous enough as it is.”

When he stepped into the living room, your little one’s face lit up like the Christmas tree. “Santa!” they gasped, running toward him.

Nanami crouched down, a soft smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “Hello there,” he said in his warm, even tone. “Have you been good this year?”

“Yes!” your child declared proudly, holding up a plate of cookies they’d helped you bake earlier. “We made these for you, Santa!”

Nanami took the plate with a small chuckle, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment, filled with quiet affection. “Thank you. These look delicious.” He made a show of taking a bite, nodding in approval. “Best cookies I’ve ever had.”

Your child beamed, clapping their hands before Nanami handed them a small, wrapped present. “Merry Christmas,” he said, his voice softer now as he ruffled their hair.

Later, when the gifts were opened and your child was fast asleep, Nanami joined you on the couch, the Santa hat still perched slightly askew on his head.

“You’re a natural,” you teased, leaning against him.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t go that far. But it was worth it to see them happy.”

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder. “You know, I think you make a pretty great Santa.”

He glanced down at you, a rare smile playing on his lips. “If it makes you and our child happy, I suppose I can endure it again next year.”

“Endure?” you teased.

He leaned down, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Merry Christmas,” he murmured, his voice steady and full of love.

Toji

Toji Fushiguro wasn’t much for dressing up or indulging in festive traditions, but for his family? Anything was possible. When little Megumi started pointing excitedly at Santa decorations in store windows, babbling about how he wanted to meet the “real Santa,” Toji couldn’t resist.

That evening, with you in on the plan, Toji grumbled his way into a red Santa suit, complete with a hat and an overly fluffy beard that he insisted was itchy. The sight of his broad frame squeezed into the costume had you stifling laughter.

“Stop laughing, woman,” Toji growled, adjusting the belt. “This thing’s ridiculous.”

“You look perfect,” you teased, smoothing the fur trim on his coat. “A little too muscular for Santa, but I’m sure Megumi won’t complain.”

As night fell, Toji made his grand entrance into the living room, where Megumi sat on the floor surrounded by twinkling lights and scattered wrapping paper. He froze when he saw Santa.

“Ho, ho, ho!” Toji said, his voice deeper than usual as he tried to sound convincing. “Merry Christmas, Megumi!”

Megumi’s eyes widened, his little fists clenching in excitement. “Santa!” he squealed, running to hug Toji’s legs.

You stood off to the side, heart melting at the sight of the usually stoic Toji kneeling to hand Megumi a small gift he’d picked out earlier. Despite his gruffness, Toji’s eyes softened as Megumi thanked him, clutching the present with all the joy in the world.

Later, once Megumi was tucked into bed, Toji collapsed on the couch, tugging at the beard. “Never again,” he muttered, though the fond smile playing on his lips gave him away.

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You made his night, Santa.”

“Tch. I’m retiring,” he grumbled, pulling you onto his lap. “Next year, it’s your turn.”

Sukuna ryomen

Getting Ryomen Sukuna to dress as Santa Claus was not an easy task—it required a hefty mix of bribes, teasing, and the promise of “entertainment” later. Despite his usual disdain for human traditions, he finally relented after your child toddled over to him, tugging at his sleeve and asking, “Will Santa come to visit us this year?”

That’s how the King of Curses ended up standing in your living room, dressed in a crimson Santa suit that clung to his broad frame in a way no Santa suit ever should. The hat was slung low over his pink hair, and though he’d refused to wear the beard, he’d charmed his face into looking slightly more “jolly.” His tattoos glowed faintly under the soft light of the Christmas tree, giving the whole scene an oddly magical feel.

“Ho, ho, ho,” Sukuna drawled, smirking as your little one squealed with delight. “Santa’s here, brats.”

“Papa—”

“Santa,” he corrected, arching an eyebrow.

Your child giggled, running up to him with arms wide open. Sukuna bent down, effortlessly scooping them up into his arms, the faintest trace of a grin tugging at his lips.

“Did you bring presents, Santa?” your child asked, eyes wide with wonder.

“Hmph. Of course,” Sukuna said, reaching behind him with exaggerated flair to pull out a brightly wrapped gift. “You think I came all this way for nothing?”

You watched from the doorway, stifling a laugh at the absurdity of it all. Sukuna caught your eye, his smirk widening as he mouthed, You owe me for this.

When the presents were opened and your child was happily playing, Sukuna finally flopped onto the couch beside you, tugging the Santa hat off with a low growl.

“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done,” he muttered, though the way his eyes lingered on your child’s joy said otherwise.

“You loved it,” you teased, leaning against him.

He huffed, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Tch. Don’t get used to it.”

But as his hand absentmindedly traced soothing patterns on your arm, you knew better. The mighty King of Curses might grumble and scowl, but for you and your child, he’d play the part of Santa every year—whether he admitted it or not.

Megumi fushiguro

Convincing Megumi Fushiguro to dress up as Santa Claus wasn’t easy. He didn’t see the point, claiming it was “unnecessary” and “a little embarrassing,” but when you and your child teamed up with matching pleading looks, he finally gave in with a defeated sigh.

On Christmas Eve, he emerged from the bedroom dressed in a simple Santa suit that he begrudgingly agreed to wear. The hat sat a little awkwardly on his messy hair, and the coat was slightly oversized, but he looked endearingly uncomfortable, tugging at the sleeves as he stepped into the living room.

Your child’s eyes lit up the moment they saw him. “Santa!” they shouted, running over to him with a delighted grin.

“Uh… Ho, ho, ho,” Megumi mumbled, his ears burning red as he crouched down. “Have you been good this year?”

“Yes!” they chirped, holding out a plate of cookies. “We made these for you!”

Megumi took the plate, glancing at you as if asking for reassurance. You gave him an encouraging nod, suppressing a laugh at how out of his element he looked.

“These look… great,” he said, nibbling on one with a small smile. “Thanks, kiddo.”

When it came time to hand out the gifts, Megumi got into the spirit a little more, smiling softly as he passed your child a small box. He even managed to crack a joke, though his delivery was so deadpan that your child found it even funnier.

Later, after your child had fallen asleep, Megumi collapsed onto the couch beside you, the Santa hat slipping off his head.

“That was… exhausting,” he muttered, leaning back and closing his eyes.

“You did great,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder. “I think you’re officially the best Santa ever.”

He opened one eye to look at you, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “You’re just saying that because I caved.”

“Maybe,” you teased, reaching up to adjust his messy hair. “But you made them really happy, Megumi. That’s what matters.”

His expression softened as he glanced at the sleeping form of your child, their face still glowing with excitement even in their dreams. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I guess it was worth it.”

Then, without warning, he leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “Merry Christmas,” he said, his cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of pink.

Yuji itadori

When the idea of Yuji dressing up as Santa Claus came up, he was immediately all in. No hesitation, no complaints—he was excited. “Santa? For the kid? Say no more!” he declared, grinning from ear to ear.

On Christmas Eve, he went full out, donning a slightly oversized Santa suit (because the store didn’t have his exact size), a fluffy white beard, and even a pair of round, fake glasses for the look. His pink hair stuck out from under the hat, making him the most cheerful and youthful Santa you’d ever seen.

“Ho, ho, ho!” Yuji bellowed as he burst into the living room, nearly tripping over the hem of his coat. Your child squealed with delight, clapping their hands and running toward him.

“Santa!” they shouted, their face lighting up with pure excitement.

“Hey there, little one!” Yuji said, crouching down to scoop them up in his arms. “Have you been good this year? Like, really good? Eating your veggies, brushing your teeth, and helping out around the house?”

“Yes, yes, and yes!” your child giggled, nodding enthusiastically.

“Wow, you’re a superstar!” Yuji said, setting them down and reaching into his sack of presents (a laundry bag he insisted on decorating himself). “Then you definitely deserve this!”

He handed over a carefully wrapped gift, watching your child’s face light up as they tore into it. You stood by, your heart full at the sight of how natural Yuji was at this. His energy was contagious, and your child was clearly having the time of their life.

Later, after the festivities wound down and your child was asleep, Yuji flopped onto the couch beside you, still wearing the Santa hat but minus the beard and glasses.

“Well?” he asked, flashing you that goofy grin. “How’d I do? Best Santa ever, right?”

“You were amazing,” you said, leaning against him. “Though I think you enjoyed it even more than they did.”

“Hey, Santa’s job is to spread joy,” he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “If I don’t have fun, how’s anyone else supposed to?”

You laughed, tilting your head to look up at him. “You’re such a dork, Yuji.”

“And you love it,” he teased, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Merry Christmas, babe. Thanks for making this holiday so perfect.”

[soap-ify]

nsfw below , minors dni.

okay but what if price and reader dress up as mr. and mrs.claus for christmas?

cw : brief mention of size difference (price is taller), smut, p in v, you sit on price's lap because he is dressed as santa!

“is this really necessary?”

john called out from the living room, adjusting the santa costume you made him wear, the thick fabric making him feel a bit hot though it was probably due to the heater as well.

since you didn’t reply to him, he assumed that you were still dressing up. it was your idea that you both should dress up as mr. and mrs.claus for the christmas party the taskforce was hosting this year, and he had reluctantly agreed to it despite knowing that the other men were never going to let him live this down — though he had to admit that the santa costume did somewhat suit him. embarrassingly enough.

you soon came out of the bedroom, a shy yet gleeful smile adorning your lips as you walked over to the taller man, standing in front of him so he could see you cladded in the red and white mrs. claus dress. it was quite fitting, highlighting every dip and curve of your body, falling a few inches above your knees. if it was any more shorter, price would have actually fainted — in a good way.

“h-holy shit, love.” he stammered out, voice suddenly all hoarse due to his throat going dry while his blue eyes took in your attire, noticing the adorable santa hat you had on your head.

mrs.claus. he had the biggest urge to just propose to you right here and now, to actually make you his wife. though he had planned that for some other day.

patience, john.

“do i look good?” you asked softly, eyes twinkling happily due to him having agreed to your silly idea. he silently nodded, one hand reaching out to gently cup the side of your face, adoring the way you instantly leaned into him.

“you look good too, john.” you giggled, and john failed to hold in a playful scoff, rolling his eyes.

“you’re really making me look too old, love. thank god i’m not wearing a fake white beard.” he grumbled and scooped you into his strong arms, earning a squeak from you.

“you don’t look old!” you protested, unable to hold in the giggles that continued to escape you, making his heart swell up with all the love he held for you.

john huffed softly and leaned down a bit to press soft kisses on your cheek, his beard tickling your skin. his callused hands begin to gently caress your waist up and down before resting on your ass, his fingers reaching down a bit to sneakily pull up the hem of the dress, revealing more and more of your plushy thighs until your panties were in view.

“such a skimpy dress. is this all f’me, honey?” he whispered into your ear, causing your insides to heat up with arousal, nodding gently while your hands held tightly onto his shoulders, your legs already feeling wobbly due to his touches.

“how are we supposed to go to the party if you plan on tempting me like this?” his lips begin leaving a trail of kisses down to your neck, hands gently pushing you onto the couch so you would lay down on it, getting all comfortable.

blood rushed to your cheeks as he got above you, his hands lifting up the little bottom of your dress fully up till your tummy, admiring the way your panties were snug on you, a soft chuckle leaving his lips as he took in the cute reindeer patterns on your panties.

“john… we’ll be late.” you mumbled weakly, your legs already spreading a bit wider for him. you didn’t really care for the party at this moment too, focused solely on the way your boyfriend was pressing soft kisses down to your collarbone, his hands kneading the flesh of your thighs while his face buried itself into your clothed chest, pressing kisses on the curve of your breasts, feeling the soft fabric of the dress under his lips.

���we’ll make it quick. and then after the party, i promise to fuck you properly.”

your eyes caught the sight of his boner straining against his red santa trousers, liquid warm pooling in your panties as you nibbled your bottom lip, hips bucking up in the air — a silent plea for him.

your little move was the final straw for him, his hands eagerly pulling your panties down that had a visible wet patch in them. great, now your only pair of christmas themed panties were ruined. you whined and thought.

“i’ll buy you lots of new ones, love.” he said mirthfully, as if having read your thoughts.

your hands eagerly helped by tugging down his santa pants and boxers, the sight of his bare girthy cock and the bushy dark happy trail making you drool.

in one swift move, he sat up straight and pulled you on top of his lap, a cheeky grin adorning his laps.

“c’mere and sit on santa’s lap.” he chuckled, earning some gentle swats on his chest by you, your poor naked cunt rubbing desperately against his throbbing cock.

“stop t-teasing me!” you whimpered under your breath, your soft hands cupping his face before you pressed your lips against his, kissing him needily, feeling him groan into your mouth as his hands gripped your waist tight and gently guided the head of his cock at the entrance of your leaking cunt, giving it some little rubs before gently pushing his cock in.

your walls instantly clenched around him, sucking him in while your hips twitched, the familiar stretch making your brain blank out for a second.

his hands held onto your soft hips tight, helping you slide up and down his cock, pulling back from the kiss so he could look at your face, drinking in every little twitch.

one hand reached down to gently rub your puffy clit, your slick making it easy for him to slide his thumb back and forth on the bundle of nerves.

you both reached the party quite late after that.

[derpy-dogs-n-cats]

Christmas Wish.

Main Masterlist

Obey Me Masterlist

Simeon x Fem! Reader/MC.

Warnings: Sexual themes, smut, dry humping, clothed grinding, teasing, orgasm denial, cumming in pants.

Summary: After pining for each other for so long, Simeon's Santa outfit on Christmas sets in motion something to finally happen.

W/C: 1.8k+

A/N: Tried to get this done DURING Christmas, but here it is.

Loud voices fill the dining room of the house of lamentation with pairs of footsteps being heard back and forth, some slow, others as loud as the banter in the room with the steps being heard rushing into the kitchen in attempt to prevent the need for damage control. “Solomon no! I can handle decorating the desserts!” You hear Luke’s voice fade into the kitchen followed by a muffled chuckle and small protests of how Solomon doesn’t mind ‘helping’.

“I’m hungry…” Beel whines as Belphie yawns. “Don’t worry Beel, Simeon’s almost here.” You comfort him. All seven brothers and everybody from purgatory hall were already at the house of lamentation, except for Simeon who’d gone to pick up Diavolo and Barbatos for christmas dinner, having insisted on accompanying over. “No one’s touching any food until Diavolo and Barbatos show up.” Lucifer informs to which Beel whines again.

“But what about Luke?” He complains with a frown which causes Lucifer to give him a stern ‘you know what I mean’ look. “Hello.” A familiar voice says that has you and the brothers looking over to see Simeon walking in the dining room with Diavolo and Barbatos beside him. Everyone greets each other as they approach one another for a warmer welcome in a hug or small talk to fill the gap of dinner getting finished but none of it is registered in your head, to entranced in Simeon.

He’d always looked breathtaking in his usual attire- any attire, but tonight was even more so than usual, dressed in a beautiful white suit with baby blue patterns topped with small golden colored designs pairing with the golden ornaments adorning the wool at the end of his sleeves and edges of his snow white hooded cloak matching with a Santa hat of the same design. “Sorry we’re so late.” His gentle voice apologizes before he calls your name in a questioning tone, opening his arms for you with a smile after a small pause.

You finally react and walk over to him and wrap your arms around his torso with his falling to your upper back and holding you close to him, embracing you in his warmth and letting you feel the soft fabric of his clothes. “How do I look?” He asks when he finally pulls away, still somewhat holding you in his arms by keeping his hands on your arms. You open your mouth to answer him only for nothing to come out, still at loss of words at the sight before you, though there’s someone who was never at loss for words.

“Oh Simeon!” Asmodeus practically moans and steps in front of you, breaking Simeon’s hold on you. “Well aren’t you a cute little Santa, darling. Tell me, am I on your naughty list tonight? Do you think you should punish me? Or have I been good this year? Do I deserve some reward?” Asmo tries to seduce him, his arms placing themselves around his neck. “Um…” Simeon looks away without knowing how to answer. “Something tells me Santa has you on a list all by your self.” You resist the urge to cross your arms at him.

“No need to be jealous dear,” He smiles at you. “You can help Santa give me my reward for being such a good boy this year.” His voice trails off to the same seductive tone while he looks back to Simeon. “Maybe not.” Simeon pulls Asmo’s arms off of him while looking away with an almost annoyed expression. “Simeon!” Luke yells and rushes over to hug him despite having been apart for only a few hours.

“You were so late I thought these demons had done away with you.” He exaggerates. “I’m alright Luke.” Simeon smiles as plates lightly clink in the background at the table being set. “What do you say if while Barbatos serves dinner, you tell Santa what you want?” He sits on the closest chair. “To make up for being late.” He adds and pats on his lap. “B- Wh- what? I’m not a child anymore! I know how Santa really works!” He points an accusatory finger at Diavolo and the brothers starting to take their own seats as well.

“Come on, just tell me what you want.” Simeon insists with Luke staying put, and despite him being older than you, seeing a child be so against asking Santa for a christmas present felt saddening, even if it’s a job that’s actually taken upon demons. “Well I want to ask Santa for a christmas present.” You state as you sit on Simeon’s lap, missing the way his eyes widen. “Stop treating me like child!” Luke insists, obvious to how Simeon’s eyes nearly pop from their sockets at how wide they are.

“It’s okay, I didn’t know about Santa until I was your age.” You assure him. “I’m over a millennium years old.” He says in a deadpan expression. “But you’re also sort of 10.” You say. “Hmph” He squints his eyes at you and leaves to take his own seat. “So… what does the pretty girl want from Santa?” Simeon nervously runs a hand through his hair with warm cheeks. “The… what?” You quietly turn around to face him, slightly moving in his lap which has him clearing his throat.

“The… pretty girl said she wanted to ask Santa for a present?” He repeats with a bashful smile. “Well… you see, I might actually need to think about it for a bit.” You subconsciously press yourself further into his lap, and though the action goes unnoticed by you, it doesn’t go unnoticed by Simeon who nearly chokes on thin air, swallowing thickly and reluctantly placing his left hand on your waist while the other one goes for the side of the chair, gripping it tightly.

“Maybe sit on Santa’s lap until you know what you want?” He suggests, struggling to steady his left hand enough to gently pull you closer to him, slightly spreading open his legs enough to slowly lodge you in between them. He’d never felt something like this and never really felt actual interest in these type of acts before, until he met you, and now that he finally has you so close to him, to where an unknown warmth was starting to blossom, he wasn’t going to let you go.

“Dinner is served.” Barbatos’s voice interrupts, both of you lightly jumping in your seats and staring straight ahead wide eyed at being caught red handed, expecting a scolding. But when you look over at him, he’s instead giving you a knowing look with a smirk on his face before leaving to his own seat beside Diavolo. You both stay sat in place quietly with both of you looking around nervously, seeing everyone else immersed in conversations along with small spats starting to form distracting from you and Simeon.

You look back to Barbatos again to see him silently eating his food with his eyes glued to the wall ahead of him and simply tuning out, but despite him minding his own business, it felt odd knowing that he knows what was happening. A small whisper of your name comes from behind you and you take in the noticeable difference with your seat form just a few seconds ago. “Please.” Simeon whispers again, his legs overly tense under you with his left hand gripping at your waist tightly, erection pressing into your ass.

You give a last quick glance around the table and look at him over your shoulder, squeezing the sides of his thighs nervously and finally give in. You move your hands to his knees and spread his legs apart just a bit further, moving to wedge yourself deeper in between them, unaware of the show you give him of swaying your hips side to side against his groin followed by you arching your back and leaning forward just slightly, enough to press your clothed cunt onto his hardness.

You open your legs as well to better welcome him against you and proceed to slowly grind back and forth on him, gently moving along the tent of his pants but pressing deep into his hardness. With his hands pulling your back and forth into him, you feel a wetness starting to seep from within you and soak your underwear, wondering if he would be able to feel you through the material of his pants keeping him away from you as your own do the same.

You give a small glance over your shoulder and see him struggling to keep his eyes from fluttering shut with his jaw visibly clenched tight, trying to not draw any attention with his length growing harder by the second starting to feel painful. His grip on your waist gradually tightens while he grinds you harder onto him, starting to hump back into you with his hips lifting in tune with your own, making sure to keep the movements slow so that no one notices.

By the time his hold on you starts to get painful, you manage to hear a small muffled noise from him with a small twitch from his length warning you of his impending orgasm with his teeth clenched tightly. Your own hands grasp harder on his thighs as well, biting back a plead that desperately wanted to escape you, wanting to bend over further over the table to grind your clit onto him rather than your clothed entrance drenched in your wetness, begging to reach it’s own release and clenching on nothing.

Having enough of what felt like teasing, you switch from your back and forth motions and move your hips side to side against him, hoping to finish him off to stop what almost feels like torture for your empty cunt. “Ngh.” A noise finally escapes him with his hips raising from the chair and holding you as tight against him as possible, stilling against you with his nails digging into your sides with his cock twitching beneath you, emptying his balls with you pressed onto him.

His hold on your waist slowly loosens until it goes limp, his hips settling back down slowly as well, cock softening with a quiet sigh leaving past his lips and eyes finally falling shut. You swallow a small whimper when you feel his release start to soak through your pants and bite your lip in frustration and despite having wanted something to happen between you after so long, you find yourself wishing for it to have happened in a better location.

Maybe next time you’ll be able to feel him inside you, or at least be able to play with your clit, maybe he’ll be the one to play with yours instead and you’ll actually be able to cum with him, but for now, you’re forced to take what you can get and enjoy simply having his cum soak through his pants and onto yours, leaving a dark patch on both your clothes and hoping to feel his warm cum reach your drenched pussy.

[nonspeakingkiku]

AAC device in the wild! Inspired by others on here doing this. (multiple are restaurants because we go to them a lot (compared to other kinds of places) some of these pics are old.

A mexican restaurant

ID: An ipad in a pink and purple case and an accent 1000 with a red frame and LAMP VI on the screen sitting on a wooden table. End ID

Another mexican restaurant

ID: the ipad from the previous picture wih a hot pink fox beanie baby laying on it wit speak for yourself open on it. End ID

A christmas party

ID: the ipad from the previous picture on a green table cloth covered table with two fox beanie babies, a purple stencil letterboard, a paper santa hat decoration, and an empty ornament. End ID

Another restaurant Yah moo - a burger place

ID: a purple stencil letterboard with a brown fox beanie baby on it, sitting ona wooden table. End ID

Aldi

ID: the ipad in the pink and purple case on Kiku's lap. Kiku is sitting in a wheelchair with an attached basket. End ID

At a park!

ID: Same ipad from the last picture sitting on a cocomelon pattern blanket, open to the home screen. End ID

Another restaurant (think steak and shake?)

ID: the ipad from previous pictures sitting on a white table with a purple stencil letterboard End ID

Yet another restaurant 😂 (don't know what this one was. Possibly a sushi place)

ID: an ipad in a purple waterproof case attatched to a chest harness and propped up on the edge of a dark wooden table in front of the ipad is laminated letterboard. End ID

In a car

ID: the ipad from the last picture propped up on Kiku's knee, with a laminate letterboard on the other knee, and a communication card and speaker worn on a lanyard. End ID

Target

ID: Kiku sitting in a carolines cart holding faer ipad, communication board, and cane in his lap, and wearing faer phone on a lanyard. End ID

[brunettemarionette]

The clubhouse, usually bustling with laughter and the clinking of beer bottles, is unusually still tonight. The warm, amber glow of the fire dances across the room, casting flickering shadows on the walls.

It’s Christmas Eve, and for once, the chaos of the club feels like a distant memory as most of the guys are at home with their families.

Across the room, Chibs sits on the worn leather couch, a glass of whiskey cradled in one hand, the other resting lazily on his thigh. His Santa hat sits slightly askew, its fluffy white trim brushing against his graying hair.

He looks up as you enter, his eyes softening like they always do when they land on you. “Come here, lass,” he says, patting the spot next to him with a crooked smile. His Scottish brogue, warm and thick, wraps around you like a blanket.

You don’t need to be told twice. As you settle in beside him, his arm slides naturally around your shoulders, drawing you close enough to feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

He offers you a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the firelight as he raises his own. “Here’s to Christmas… and us,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with something deeper than just affection.

Your glasses clink softly, the sound barely louder than the crackle of the fire. You take a sip, savoring the warmth that spreads through your chest, though you’re sure it has more to do with the man beside you than the whiskey.

The night stretches on, the quiet punctuated by the sound of your laughter and the occasional rustle of the blanket as you shift closer to him.

At some point, he leans over, his lips brushing yours in a kiss as soft as the snow falling outside. When you pull back, his thumb traces a lazy pattern on your shoulder, his smile as warm as the fire.

“Under the mistletoe, eh?” he teases, nodding toward the small sprig hanging above you.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t think that counts when you planned it,” you say, looking up at the small bits of decorations Gemma had ordered them to put up, the mistletoe conveniently placed where you and Chibs always sit.

Chibs grins, pulling you into another kiss anyway. “Merry Christmas, lass,” he whispers against your lips.

And as the fire crackles and the world outside fades away, you realize that this—being wrapped in his arms, surrounded by warmth and love—is the best gift you could ever ask for.

[gpcwsl]

Warnings: short, not read through.

Katie McCabe x Reader:

A Christmas Cookie Competition.

(Trying out new techniques.)

MasterList.

Katie McCabe adjusted the Santa hat perched on her head as she stood in the kitchen, watching the chaos unfold. The house smelled of gingerbread, sugar cookies, and an overwhelming sense of Christmas spirit. Y/N’s family had taken over their shared home, transforming the living room into a festive explosion of tinsel and fairy lights.

“Alright, everyone!” Y/N clapped their hands to get the room’s attention. “It’s time for the annual cookie decorating competition! You’ve got thirty minutes to create the most festive cookie masterpiece. Katie and I will judge, and remember—no bribes this year!”

“Speak for yourself,” Katie teased, nudging Y/N playfully. “I’m open to persuasion. A mince pie might do the trick.”

Laughter erupted around the room as everyone took their places at the dining table. It was piled high with every decorating supply imaginable—icing in every color, sprinkles, edible glitter, and even tiny sugar snowmen.

Katie leaned against the counter, arms crossed, as Y/N’s youngest cousin smeared bright green icing over a star-shaped cookie with reckless abandon. “That one’s a contender for most…creative,” Katie whispered to Y/N, who chuckled.

“Don’t underestimate them. Last year, they somehow turned a snowman into Santa, and it was surprisingly good.”

The competition was in full swing, with everyone focused intently on their creations. Y/N’s dad was methodically piping delicate patterns onto a reindeer-shaped cookie, while Y/N’s sister was attempting to replicate the Grinch. The kids were less precise, their cookies an explosion of color and candy.

Katie couldn’t help but smile. She loved how Y/N’s family embraced traditions, making her feel like part of it all. This was her second Christmas with them, and she had never felt more at home.

“Done!” one of the kids shouted, holding up a cookie that vaguely resembled a Christmas tree if you squinted hard enough.

Katie grinned and stepped forward with Y/N to inspect the entries. They took their judging roles seriously, examining each cookie with exaggerated focus.

“This one’s got bold use of color,” Y/N said, pointing to a blob of red and green icing that may or may not have been a stocking.

“And this one…” Katie picked up the Grinch cookie. “Well, it’s terrifying, but in a festive way.”

“Perfect for scaring off carolers,” Y/N joked.

After much deliberation—and a little playful arguing—the winner was declared to be Y/N’s dad, whose reindeer cookie looked like it had stepped out of a holiday bakery. Cheers erupted, and everyone dug into the pile of cookies, despite the mess.

As the night wound down, Katie and Y/N stood in the kitchen, sipping hot chocolate and watching Y/N’s family laugh and chatter in the living room.

“You know,” Katie said softly, “this might be my favorite Christmas yet.”

Y/N leaned their head against her shoulder. “Mine too. Thanks for putting up with my chaotic family.”

Katie kissed the top of their head. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[10:16 pm]

(cw: alcohol consumptions, suggestive pick up lines)

The music throughout the frat house was thumping loudly, Fratboy!Jaehyn could feel the beats vibrating through the floor beneath him. The lights were flashing in a red and green pattern, the vodka was vanilla flavored, peppermint flavored schnapps mixed with everything, and every brother of the frat had a Santa hat on. There was no better way to celebrate the end of finals, the end of the fall semester, and the beginning of winter break than the annual Winter Nu Chi Theta party. It was one of their most anticipated parties of the year, sure all their parties were great, but this was their best party.

A party that was so good that Jaehyun was having a hard time finding you, despite having received your ‘here’ text 20 minutes ago. He was walking around, fighting his way through the crowds of people to try and find you. He stopped and chatted to a few familiar faces, stopped to take a shot- or more, and helped clean up some messes.

This was happening eve before the party had started, the frat brothers were passing around bottles of vodka and schnapps while they hung plastic garlands, fairy lights, and placed Christmas trees on varying surfaces. They blasted Mariah Carey and Wham through the house with no shame, singing along with no shame at all. Needless to say, by the time the party had started they were all more than a little buzzed- some more than others. *cough cough* Haechan.

Finally, he saw your friends and walked up with a smile. “Ho ho,” you turned to face him with a bright smile, “…holy shit, you look good.” Yes, Jaehyun had bought the outfit for you, but it was one thing to see the outfit on a hanger, and another to see it on you. Jaehyun had told you he was going to be dressed as Santa Claus so he wanted you to dress as Mrs. Claus. You had no reason to deny him besides the fact that it would look totally stupid but then he reminded you he would also be dressed up. Well, he wasn’t dressed up.

“This is your Santa Claus outfit? A hat?” You ask with your arms crossed across your chest.

Jaehyun laughs as he hits the pompom at the end of his hat, “duh!”

You roll your eyes, “I should have never let you watch Mean Girls. Are you all dressed as Santa then?”

His eyes widened in happy surprise, “Yes! You understood the reference for your costume!” Looking down at your red camisole and fur lined plastic skirt, you really wondered how you didn’t catch his reference before.

“So if I match with you and all the other frat bros also have so called Santa costumes on, doesn’t that mean I’m also matching with them?” You ask slowly.

Just then a very drunk Haechan stumbles by and does a double take before walking back to you with a drunken wink, “Mrs. Claus! My wife! I sure ho ho hope I’ll see you later for a not so silent night.”

Taeyong tugs him toward his room upstairs with an apologetic smile while you look at Jaehyun with a questioning arch of your eyebrow, “And here I thought your pick-up line was original. Are all of you using them tonight?”

“No…” but then you hear Johnny trying “I’ve got a one-way ticket to the naughty list if you’re interested,” on a girl from your political science class.

Jaehyun blushes but clearly not ashamed enough to try, “Wanna pretend to be presents and get laid under the tree?”

You face palm, snatching the candy cane patterned shot glass from Mark’s hand for yourself. You tilt your head back and shake your head to help with the strong minty flavor, “How many of these pick-up lines do you have?”

“Santa’s lap isn’t the only place wishes come true, baby,” Jaehyun winks dramatically with a kiss blown your way.

You bury your face in his chest while laughing. He’s barely able to hear you over the remix of Justin Bieber’s Drummer Boy, but he managed to hear, “Shut up! They’re getting worse!”

He leans down to whisper in your ear, you can feel his breath, “wanna go up to my room and Scrooge?”

You screech, “Jaehyun!”

You can feel your face heating up with embarrassment while you wrapped your arms tighter around Jaehyun’s waist to keep your face hidden in his sweater.

And then possibly worst of all, “Wanna meet Santa’s little helper?”

You shove him away, your face heating while you fan your face from the immense embarrassment you feel. “Jaehyun, people are going to hear you!”

“What’s wrong with that?” He laughs loudly.

You cross your arms, “I’m going to look like a major loser passing by everyone here on my way to your room later.”

He smirks, “so what I’m hearing is the pick-up lines are working?”

“Unfortunately,” you sigh, “take me to your room?”

Jaehyun smirks at you and guides you up the stairs. He closes his bedroom door behind the both of you while you get comfortable on his bed. Then he turns to you with a cocky smile, “You’d be the first gift I’d unwrap Christmas morning.”

-

a/n: I used this prompt list by @novelbear

[dxncingwithastrxnger]

i saw mc kissing santa claus (Obey Me!)

A/N: Christmas time again!! I don't think I'll be doing a christmas sleepover again, as those always failed in the past, but I am going to be doing an Obey Me writing challenge this month!! As for the prompts, I'll be using the list that @om-adventcalendar created, which you can find here. Most, if not all, of these prompts are gonna be filled with lots of fluff, so enjoy!!

Pairing(s): Lucifer x MC

Prompt(s): 1. Lucifer

Summary: The night before Christmas, Lucifer and MC pass out the first round of presents while the others in the house sleep and spend some time together.

Tag(s): It's all just fluff! But slightly suggestive at the end

Word Count: 1,330

Song Inspiration: I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus by The Jackson 5

Not beta'd, all mistakes are my own.

~*~

[Series Masterlist]

[Read on AO3]

[Author Masterlist]

~*~

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] [21] [22] [23] [24] [25] [26] [27] [28] [29] [30] [31]

~*~

It’s late into the night when the House of Lamentation finally went quiet, most of its inhabitants fast asleep. Only the human and the eldest brother remain awake, enjoying the rare moment of peace in the household, enjoying the sweet melody the latter is playing on the piano.

“What is it you humans say about the mouse the night before Christmas?” Lucifer asks, turning to look beside him as he finishes the last notes of the song.

“‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.’” MC recites, looking back at him.

“Ah, that’s right. I do believe that applies here, yes?”

MC chuffs in amusement. “I would hope so. If Barbatos caught wind of a mouse, we’d all be in trouble.” They say, stretching their arms above their head before standing.

Lucifer chuckles, standing as well. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

The two of them then head out into the hall together, already knowing their destination. MC walks beside Lucifer with a pep in their step and when they reach his room, they insist that Lucifer enter first.

“What are you up to?” The demon asks.

The other only smiles. “Nothing bad! Just go in and see!” They usher him forward and he shakes his head but does so anyway.

A loud sigh leaves him in a huff as he immediately spots not only the two matching Santa hats on his bed, but also the large Santa coat lying with one of the hats. “MC, do you honestly expect me to wear that ridiculous thing?”

MC steps up beside him and gives him their warmest smile. “Please, Lucifer?”

He narrows his eyes at them before huffing as he picks up the coat and puts it on, grumbling about it the whole time.

MC grins and grabs the two hats, placing one on their own head before placing the other on Lucifer’s, completing his look. “Maybe next year, I’ll get you to wear the beard, too.” They quip cheekily.

“Absolutely not.” Was the immediate response leaving the Avatar of Pride’s lips before they even got to finish their sentence. They laugh as he grabs the bag of presents at the end of his bed and the two head out of the room, heading down the hall.

Their first destination is the twin’s room. They slip into the room, the only noise in there are those of both of the demon’s snores. Out of the bag, Lucifer pulls out a cylindrical shaped present, the paper full of various sun-shaped patterns, and hands it to MC. Next, he pulls out a long, rectangular present covered in moon-patterned paper. The two of them approach the twins’ beds, MC setting Beel’s present on his night stand while Lucifer places Belphie’s present on the bed beside him. Right before they leave the room, they both smile at the youngest curling around his present in his sleep.

It’s Mammon’s room that they approach next, quietly opening the door as Lucifer pulls out a medium sized present in gold paper from his bag. MC walks to the end of Mammon’s bed and watches as Lucifer places the present on the pillow on the side of the bed opposite of where his brother is sleeping. The Avatar of Greed lets out only a snore as the two silently exit the room.

At Satan’s door, Lucifer is already handing over a green-wrapped package with a knowing look. MC resists the urge to laugh as they take it from him and open up the bedroom door, leaving it open as they walk over to Satan’s sleeping form and tuck the present right into the gap between his arm and the bed beneath him. The blonde stays silent in his slumber as they walk back to Lucifer and close the door behind them.

Next is Levi, the third oldest tucked away in his bathtub, reptilian tail wrapped around himself. His present is tucked into the curved space above his head, the Ruri Hana themed wrapping paper matching perfectly with the pillow he’s snuggled up with. Stepping away from the bathtub, the eldest brother walks over to the smaller fish tank on a table nearby and places a small, orange-wrapped package beside it. Even Henry 2.0 gets a present on Christmas. The Avatar of Envy tucks further into his blanket as they leave the room.

Then, finally, they enter Asmo’s room. His present is placed right in the center of his vanity, all bright pink paper and frilly ribbon bows. It fit in well with the room surrounding it, not looking anywhere near out of place. Asmo himself didn’t stir in the slightest, tucked in and content as they made their way back to the hallway once more.

MC followed behind Lucifer as he then headed back downstairs, expecting to follow him to possibly the kitchen or common room. However, they’re a bit surprised when Lucifer instead makes his way to their bedroom.

“What, sending me to bed early?” They ask jokingly, raising an eyebrow at him.

He laughs softly, shaking his head as he opens the door. “Not quite.” He walks over to their bed and only then does the human notice one more present in the demon’s hand, wrapped in paper of their favorite color, which he places gently on top of their pillow. He then turns back towards them with an amused look in his eyes. “You’d better not open it until morning.”

It’s their turn to shake their head at him. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” They promise with a smile.

The two then start making way for the kitchen, hoping for one last cup of tea before bed, but when MC remembers the mistletoe hanging above the kitchen doorway, they stop, tugging Lucifer back to them. “Hold on, Mr. Claus. We have to follow the rules, don’t we?”

Lucifer lets out a rare snort of amusement. “Doesn’t that rule only apply if both people are stopped right under the mistletoe?”

MC grins at him. “And now we’re stopped under it, aren’t we?” They point out, grabbing hold of both sides of his fuzzy coat and moving closer. “So, where’s the kiss for Santa’s helper?”

He gives them a fond look before gently grabbing hold of their face and bringing them into a sweet, affectionate kiss, both of them letting out a happy hum as their lips connect.

A few feet down the hallway, a certain Avatar of Sloth shuffles forward slowly, rubbing at blurry eyes already trying to close again. In the little eyesight he currently has, he sees nothing more than two figures locking lips, one wearing the signature bright red coat of a familiar being.

“...Santa…?” The youngest mumbles.

The two others pull apart and turn to spot Belphie, MC smiling and walking up to him. “Hey, Belphie. Let’s make sure you get back to bed before you fall asleep again, okay?”

He blinks at them. “...MC…?” His eyes droop again.

MC laughs softly as they gently turn him around and nudge him forward gently, his shuffling already starting to take him back to his shared room with his twin as he heads back to the land of dreams.

Lucifer and MC watch him go before heading into the kitchen, continuing their night as they were before.

~*~

[The Next Morning]

Belphie: I had the weirdest dream last night. I walked downstairs and MC was making out with Santa under one of the mistletoe in the hallway. Then MC told me to go back to bed. Then I woke up.

Mammon, appalled at the idea: Huh??

Asmo, interested: Oh~?

Beel, thoughtfully: Weird.

Satan, suspicious: …Are you sure it was a dream?

Belphie, considering: Well-

Mammon, jealous no matter what the answer is: It better just be a dream!

Levi, loudly: MC! Tell us! What were you doing last night??

Lucifer: *Walking into the room, hasn’t heard any of the conversation*

MC, smirking: Santa Claus.

*Chaos ensues*

~*~

A/N: I had such a big smile while writing this, I love me some christmas fluff 💜 Shoutout to my twin brother @burningtrashgentlemen for helping me figure out a scenario, which he'll probably be doing with a lot of these, lmao. Likes and reblogs are always appreciated, thank you for reading!!

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