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rustedhearts · 5 months

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santa baby (boxer!steve harrington x fem!librarian reader)

summary: a private christmas lavishly celebrated in the bedroom of hollywood’s new favorite ‘it’ couple.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring (1993) ✶ christmas carols ✶ main masterlist

tags: fluff; some christmas smut; steve is so rich.

lovely adorable dividers by @chechelia

"santa baby, just slip a sable under the tree for me. been an awful good girl, santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight."

—santa baby, eartha kitt

malibu, california, december 1993

"And then Nike wants a photoshoot for their new shoe collection. They're requesting you as their face...but, I don't know, the deal is—"

"Angel, grab my lighter, please?"

You stood from your leather swivel chair, pushing it away from the conference table to head toward Steve's gym bag near the door. You pulled his lighter from the front pocket and handed it over to him, just as he slipped a Marlboro between his lips.

"Thanks, honey," he mumbled, reaching out to rub your thigh as you sat back down.

"As I was saying: Nike is offering a quarter mil for the deal, but I think we can squeeze more out of 'em. If they want to make a contract deal with you, we're gonna need more—"

"Who says I want a contract deal with Nike?" Steve interrupted gruffly.

You adjusted the necklace on your chest—a gorgeous golden locket from your first Christmas with Steve. You polished it regularly and kept it in its velvet case when not in use. But it was rare that it wasn't in use.

The meeting had been going on for two hours at this point. You were tired, bored, and already positive Christmas was going to be spent at a photoshoot for Nike in L.A. Your parents called last weekend and asked if they should set a place for you at the dinner table for Christmas—but just like Thanksgiving, you told her it was "unlikely."

And just like Thanksgiving, it broke your heart to hear her sigh.

"You'd be an idiot not to take it, Harrington, c'mon,” Mikey huffed.

Steve slid a glass ashtray closer to his side of the table and tapped his cigarette over the litter. "What d' you think, baby?"

You were still in a daze, fiddling with your necklace and checking the state of your manicured nails. Steve tapped your thigh to break you out of it.

Looking up, you glanced at Mikey quickly—noting his eye roll—before shrugging at Steve. "Oh, um...I don't know."

Huffing, Mikey held out his hand to silence you, and you tried not to burn at the dismissal. "Yeah, Steve, look—"

"You might wanna lower that hand if you wanna keep it, Mike," Steve cooly grumbled, taking another drag of the cigarette.

"Look, Steve, I think it's a good business decision. This is literally my job, man, but you gotta let me do it."

Steve hummed, inhaling through his teeth. When he exhaled, a stream of grey smoke furled from his nose.

"I'll think 'bout it."

He made quick work of stamping out his cigarette, pushing away from the table in his chair as it sizzled out. He pulled your chair out next, holding an empty palm upended for your waiting hand. You slid your fingers in the open space and flashed a small smile, grateful for his comfort in your obvious lack of it.

"Wait, guys—Steve, we're not done!" Mikey called after the pair of you as Steve made a path for the door.

Winding his arm around your shoulders, Steve pulled you in close by the crook of his elbow to plant a kiss on your head. "Ready to go home, angel?"

"Mhm."

Throwing a sly grin over his shoulder, Steve shrugged. "Looks like we’re done, Santorini."

Wrapped in a pair of pink silk pajamas, you lathered smooth vanilla cream over your feet, massaging the soreness from five-inch heels as Steve huffed and puffed over the bedroom carpet with every pushup. He counted under his breath between grunts, face screwed up with exertion. The muscles of his back flexed and tightened with every decline.

"I know—forty-five—you're—forty-six—watchin' me."

Cheeks swelling with warmth, you smiled down at your hands as you smoothed the rest of the lotion in. "Whatever."

Four pushups later, Steve hopped up from the floor and adjusted the front of his boxers, bulging with a distracting amount of fullness. The blue light of the television screen cast a sheen over the end of the bed spread, and Steve crawled over it to flop next to you. You let yourself smile again, reaching out to brush a clump of soft, shampooed hair out of his eyes.

"What's a' matter?" he mumbled into the mattress, cheek squished.

You shook your head, placing the lotion on the nightstand. "Nothing—"

"Don't lie."

A sigh shuttered through you. Fingers approached his hair again, delicately swooping and sweeping through—more a comfort for you than him, though he melted into the mattress.

“It’s silly…I just wish we could spend Christmas together.”

“We are,” Steve replied.

“You know what I mean. Without Mikey and Big, and random endorsement guys, or a million fans screaming and taking pictures. Just us. Like it used to be.” Your voice was smaller than you wanted.

You didn’t realize how sad the prospect of a Christmas spent with strangers and money-hungry people made you. You turned your eyes toward the television as a commercial for Campbell’s soup came on.

Steve stirred on the bed, bringing his cheek to rest on your bare thigh. He kissed it, greedy for the bare, clean flesh scented of bubble bath and shaving cream. His teeth scraped the tender space of your inner thigh and you squeaked.

“I know,” he muttered, pressing another gentle kiss.

A moment of silence passed between you. The television buzzed with muffled chatter and the bright, blaring colors of holiday advertisements. Steve rubbed a rough hand over your soft skin, and you leaned back into the silky pillows against the headboard as you massaged his hair.

“I know what will cheer you up.” Steve tapped your thigh twice before sliding off the bed.

Tucking your legs in, you watched him disappear through the french doors of the closet you shared. He rummaged for a few moments—the roll of drawers opening and closing—before reappearing with a gilded shopping bag stuffed with tissue paper. It was far too neat for Steve’s heavy hands, but the thought of him asking a clerk for gift wrap made you smile.

“For me?” You pressed your hand to your chest and grinned coyly.

Steve placed it on the bed before you. “Well, open it and see.”

“It’s not Christmas ye—“

Steve placed his hands on his hips and fixed you with an arched brow. You plucked the tissue paper from the bag with a giggle. The paper revealed a black shoe box in the bottom of the bag, and once retrieved and placed in your lap, you removed the lid and came to a pair of mint green Mary Jane pumps.

“Oh, Steve,” you cooed, picking one up. It was sleek and gorgeous. “They’re beautiful.”

Steve kept his bottom lip firmly between his teeth to hide his smile. But seeing the warmth that gathered on your face, the brightness in your eyes—Steve wanted nothing more than to keep you this happy for as long as he could.

“Y’ like ‘em?”

“Love them, Stevie. Thank you.” Cradling the shoe close to your chest, you looked up to smile at Steve—but caught the back of him rushing into the closet again.

“Steve? Where are you going?”

“Hang on!”

Paper rustling followed Steve’s wobble as he reappeared with an armful of bags and boxes, some wrapped with velvet bows and others bare. You pressed up to your knees and watched him place them near the small, slim Christmas tree in the corner of your bedroom by the window. He huffed once all were dropped on the floor.

You crawled the length of the bed and peeked over the edge toward the tree. “Those are…all for me?”

Steve always spoiled you, especially on holidays and anniversaries, but this was a new extreme. Maybe it was the few months spent apart earlier this year that made him want to adore you more. A newfound appreciation for you and your love, and a new desire to express it the best he knew how.

“Yeah,” Steve scoffed, pushing his hair away from his forehead. “C’mon, open ‘em.”

“But what about Christmas?”

Steve scratched at the nape of his neck, sighing. The sourness of his expression made you drop back on your heels. He stepped over your presents to come near the end of the bed, hands bracing your cheeks.

“Would you hate me if we celebrated early? Because…you’re right, baby, we won’t be able to spend it alone. Mikey wants me to do all these shoots and stupid shit, and I have trainin’ and shit—“

“Okay,” you interrupted, throwing a sweet smile up his way. “As long as I get you all to myself right now.”

Steve pulled you up, the heel of his palms tucked under your jaw. His mouth devoured yours, tongue and teeth and warm lips. "M' all yours, angel."

When your lips were buzzing and numb from his mouth, Steve hoisted you off the bed and spun you around. Giggles subsided, you took in the array of colors near the tree.

"Well, if it's Christmas then you need your presents, too," you told him, and you scampered off toward the guest room down the hall before he could object.

You returned with your own bags and boxes for Steve—and though you felt terrible that there were half as many, you knew Steve would be just as happy with a sparkly red bow on your ass as his only gift.

And in the true spirit of Christmas, you slipped to the kitchen and concocted an array of lavish snacks and treats meant for the holiday specifically. Wine, champagne, cheeses, expensive French chocolates, cured meats, and you even splurged on a little caviar. Well. Steve did.

You made your own little Christmas in the comfort of your bedroom, clad in a pair of tiny silk pajamas that Steve kept tugging at. You fed him chocolates and licked the remnants from the corner of his mouth, and he wound his fingers in the back of your hair and pulled tight when he just couldn't help it anymore.

"Mm...Steve...let go," you giggled, smushed against his mouth by his iron hold.

Steve chased after your lips with a playful nip. "Nah, I want you...right here." He peppered more firm kisses between words.

Kisses that tasted like rich dark chocolate and bright, bubbly champagne.

"But I want you...oh!...to open some presents, too."

Steve groaned from his place in your neck, nuzzling and licking. "Just a little longer."

You wound your fingers in his hair and laughed, allowing yourself to be pulled into his lap. He tugged you down against him and latched onto your throat. Groans and whines muffled the transatlantic accents of the old Hollywood movie on the tv behind you. Steve’s bulge was stiffening against the satin bow of your pajamas.

“Steve,” you whined. “C’mon, open your g-gifts.”

Steve lifted off your neck with a wet pop, leaving a ring of saliva and swollen tooth marks in his leave.

He rubbed his thumb over the sore patch of flesh and raised his head to catch your eyes. “Fine.”

He kept you planted firmly in his lap as he tore the wrappings and ribbon off various boxes and bags, kissing your cheek and neck and mouth as his own version of gratitude with every one. You wrapped the Ralph Lauren tie around his neck and let it hang loosely, spritzed the cologne on his chest and kissed the seasoned skin, and even stuck a silver bow on the top of his head.

"Thank you, angel," Steve murmured with another gentle kiss. "But you know what my favorite gift is?"

You quirked a brow and slipped your arms over his shoulders. "What's that?"

Steve took the shiny bow from his head and placed it in his palm. You watched as he brought it behind you, a grin toying on your lips while you waited for it to touch your own head. Instead, a resounding smack echoed through the room, and a sting gathered in your ass. Steve smacked the bow on with a heavy hand, and you jolted upright in his lap with a gasp. Grabbing a handful of flesh, Steve gave it a jiggle and grinned sideways.

“You.”

Surging forward, you planted a sticky kiss on his mouth. Steve, unable to contain himself, pushed to his knees and hoisted you with him. Soon, you were splayed flat on the mess of wrapping paper and ribbon, a pair of rough hands working the buttons on your silk. Your fingers dragged through his hair as he tugged your little shorts down, writhing and whimpering as his hot breath fanned new patches of skin.

He drew a line of kisses between your breasts and down your stomach, causing your fingers to twist tightly in his hair as your core clenched. His tongue circled your navel, causing you to giggle and twist away, tickled by his hot breath and wet appendage. Steve chuckled at your reaction, wide hands bracing your waist.

He dipped down to place himself between your legs, but you tightened your hands in his hair and tugged him up. Steve furrowed his brows, crawling up toward your face.

“What’s wrong—“

“Nothing, nothing,” you panted, clawing at his firm, muscular chest. “Just want you. Want you now, please, Steve.”

Amusement lightened his features once more, brow quirking up. “Aw,” he chuckled. “You just can’t wait, huh, baby? You need me that bad?”

“Uh-huh! Please, please—“

Steve kissed your babbling mouth, pulling his boxers down. “Shh. It is Christmas, angel. It’d be naughty of me to make you wait.”

You giggled breathily as he hooked your legs over his hips. “R-right. Like that’s ever stopped y—oh!”

Steve pressed until his pelvis pressed against yours, elbows crinkling a bag beside your head as he hovered. His palm cupped over the crown of your head, leveling your gazes.

“It can stop me now, too, honey,” he muttered. “S’ you better be good, hmm?”

“‘M good,” you mumbled, head bobbing up and down. Your thighs were already quaking. “‘M always good.”

Steve gently kissed your mouth again. Another at the corner where your mouth creased, so gentle and sweet.

“Yeah you are,” he whispered.

But enough talking. Steve wanted to devour you, and he snatched at your hands to slide them over your head as his hips began to move. Fingers intertwined and clutching tight, you held on with all your might as he fed pleasure in and out. You did nothing to silence your whines and cries, and he grunted into your neck in time. He was slow and languid, deeper and deeper every time he came back.

“Kiss me, kiss me, please,” you huffed with need.

Steve slid his mouth across your cheek and latched onto your own. You sighed against his lips with relief. Moans echoed into each other’s mouths, refusing to release the other as his thrusts grew frantic.

When he spilled into you, he gasped sharply against your cheek. You shuddered and writhed as warmth flooded you, and stroked his hair lazily when he fell down.

“Christ,” he groaned, cheek squished against your chest. “Fuckin’ Christmas angel.”

You giggled breathily and kissed his temple. “I think that was all you, handsome.”

Steve snickered, nipping at your breast and causing you to squeal. “I’ll take that. C’mon, flip over. Wanna play with you a ‘lil more.”

“Steve,” you laughed, and he lifted up to frown.

“Come on, angel, it’s Christmas,” he huffed.

“Only if I get to wear some of my new stuff.”

Steve immediately sat back, wiping sweat from his head. “Fuck yeah, baby. C’mon, go, go.”

He smacked at your ass as you crawled toward your new lingerie piled near the tree, and you fell into a mess of giggles as you collected them.

You scampered into the bathroom, and Steve chuckled to himself when he heard all your giggling. He snatched the bottle of champagne from the floor and poured another glass, easing back on his elbow to watch the door for your appearance. He grabbed the Polaroid from the bench at the end of the bed and pulled it open, aiming for the door.

When you appeared, the flash shuttered through the room like a white snap. Steve tossed the Polaroid toward the mess of gifts beside him and grinned as you twirled.

“Look beautiful, baby. C’mere, lemme get a better look.”

You crawled your way over in a ruffled mint green teddy and matching panties, and Steve snapped another photo of your arched back.

An early Christmas wasn’t so bad after all.

#rolly!#boxer!steve harrington #boxer!steve #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader

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rachalixie · 4 months

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eight days of christmas carols - day 1

chan - santa baby

a/n: chan x she/her!reader, chan is rich??? idk what else haha

having a rich boyfriend was nice, especially around the holidays. it took you some time to get used to him spoiling you, took a lot of heated conversations and vulnerability to come to the realization that he wants to buy things for you to make himself feel good, not because he thinks you can’t sustain yourself. it was a touchy topic at first, but after years of being with him you’ve become comfortable enough to tease him about it. in particular, your favorite thing to do was to ask him for incredibly lavish things just to watch him sputter.

“santa baby,” you croon, draping yourself over his back and wrapping your arms around his waist. “slip a diamond under the tree, for me.”

“what are you doing,” he whines, pausing his meticulous chopping of vegetables he was preparing for dinner.

“i’ve been an awful good girl,” you pout into his neck, tickling your fingers against his stomach, and he was glad he put the knife down - if there was anything that would make him chop off a finger, it was you.

“all you’ll get is coal if you keep this up,” he mutters, paying you no mind, but you can see the red crawling up his neck.

“santa baby,” you continue, trailing your hands down to his waistband, teasing your fingers at the elastic of his sweatpants. “so hurry down the chimney tonight,”

you back away fully, cackling with glee when he sputters and turns around, reaching out to grab you. you were too quick, dashing out of his reach, laughing as you leave him in the kitchen.

you leave him be until dinner is ready, hallways grateful that he’s cooking for you and the other half knowing that he was petty enough to burn your portion just a bit if you annoyed him too much.

you help him wash the dishes after, on your best behavior while you rinse and he dries and you don’t even take the opportunity to flick soap bubbles at his face like you want to.

he pulls you onto the couch after, christmas tree lights glistening off of his skin and he looks so pretty. it takes your breath away how beautiful he is, and you didn’t realize how long you’d been staring at him until he quirks a brow up at you with an unspoken what hanging in the air.

“santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing,” you sing-song, poking his nose. “a ring, and i don’t mean on the phone.”

“come here, you absolute menace,” he jumps at you, pinning you down onto the couch, sparing a glance at the carefully wrapped ring box he had hidden under the tree.

—

carols masterlist

#stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids #skz fluff #bang chan #bang chan imagines #bang chan drabbles #bang chan x reader

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jamie-tartts · 11 months

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#so hurry down the chimney any tonight

Stranger Things S2 (2017) Violent Night (2022)

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andy-clutterbuck · 1 year

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✨✨🎅🏻✨✨

#S A N T A #Rick Grimes #*#rg #S9 #hurry down the chimney tonight #HELLO MY GORGEOUS OLD MAN #want to nest in the santa beard like a bird #still want to rub his head like it's a crystal ball and i'm a cheap ass fortune teller at a county fair #💕 Fuzzy Daddy 💕#here comes Papa Bear 🐻💖#AND THE BEARD ON HIS CHIN WAS AS WHITE AS THE SNOW #some AU where Santa is really hot #like a gracefully aging king #who doesn't need to but he's still out leading his troops into battle #raise your hand if you would have also gotten immediately knocked up

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blushk1tten · 4 months

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santa baby ꨄ minors dni

- nsfw: schlatt x afab reader, riding, teasing -

the idea had come to you when you were cleaning, inspired by the christmas music humming through you and schlatt's house. you wanted to surprise him with an early present, but weren't quite sure what to get him. then, it hit you. now that your plan was being put into action though, you weren't as confident as you were before.

it wasn’t that you looked bad, dressed in a sexy mrs. claus dress that clung to your upper body and flared out to end at your upper thighs. it was more the anxiety of how schlatt would react, especially to the performance you had planned.

however, you didn’t have much time to dwell on your anxiety as you heard schlatt enter the house.

"jay," you called out, a bit nervous. "can you sit down in the living room? i have a present for you."

schlatt's chuckle could be heard from where you stood in your bedroom. "a present f' me? sounds good, doll," he paused for a moment, then called back to you. "i'm ready!"

you took a deep breath and put on an air of confidence, then made your way to the living room. the moment schlatt laid his eyes on you, his jaw dropped. "holy shit, baby—"

a small smile appeared on your lips at his reaction. so far, so good. "there's more. alexa, play santa baby."

your boyfriend seemed even more stunned as the sultry opening notes played through the room, with you slowly walking in step to the beat towards him. as the lyrics began, you climbed onto his lap and began crooning to him.

"santa baby, just slip a sable under the tree for me," you sang sensually as you wrapped your arms around schlatt's neck and grinded against him. "been an awful good girl, santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight,"

as you continued to sing along and grind against him, you slowly began to remove his shirt. then, you moved on to tugging his pants and boxers down, revealing his now hard cock.

"santa baby, i want a yacht and really that's not a lot," schlatt groaned in pleasure as you slid onto his cock, your voice going a bit breathy for a moment. "been an angel all year, santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight."

from there, you began to ride him torturously slow as you tried to sing. of course though, schlatt began to make a game out of it, bucking up into you to try and get you to fumble. your voice would crack on occasion or turn into a muffled moan, but overall you maintained your composure. at least, until the end.

"santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing, a ring. i don't mean on the phone, santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight—"

suddenly, schlatt flipped the two of you so he had you pinned to the couch he had been sitting on. the change in position startled you and caused him to hit just the right spot, making you cut off and gasp in pleasure.

"doll, f' this christmas gift, you'll be gettin' a ring a lot sooner than you think." he mumbled, continuing to roll his hips into you as the song began to fade out.

"hurry, tonight."

#jschlatt x reader #jschlatt x you #schlatt x reader #schlatt x you #jschlatt hcs #schlatt hcs #jschlatt headcanons #schlatt headcanons #jschlatt smut #schlatt smut #blush ꨄ

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 4 months

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“(Don’t) Hurry Down The Chimney Tonight” - Dean x Reader

Rating Explicit

Dean x Reader

Tags: Christmas (Holiday) Smut, Red Ribbons, Candy Canes, Peppermint Sensations, Sleigh Bells, Sexy Santa References, Dean is Tied Up, Edging, Oral Sex, 69, Vaginal Sex, Reader is a Naughty Little Vixen, Dean deserves a proper (sexy) Christmas.

Word Count: 2700

Summary: Dean saved Reader from the supernatural on Christmas Eve years ago. Every Christmas since, she has always found a way to show her unending appreciation.

Notes: This smutty little fic is a holiday gift for @jessjad for the 2023 SPNFanFicPond Secret Santa Fic Exchange. I hope you enjoy the reader’s sexy times with Dean.

Big thanks to @sam-is-my-safeword and runawaydr3amer (AO3) for reading the first draft and helping with a great many awesome smut ideas. Additional thanks to runawaydr3amer, who also beta’d this fic and packaged it up nice and shiny.

Merry holidays!

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo, and this part will fill my "Edging" square.

Resources:

Collage created in Canva

Pic found on Google (Fanpop)

Song Reference: Santa Baby by Joan Javits and Philip Springer (listen/watch this version sung by Eartha Kitt)

Dean sinks those pearly whites into the flesh of his bottom lip. His top lip pulls up and back into a painful sneer. The usual rosy, pillowy fullness of that mouth is instead taut, whitening under the capture. You laser focus onto the pointy canine denting into the mouth you have debated sitting on since you began this teasing challenge.

jingle

You finish fashioning a sweet little bow with the ribbon. It’s ruby red and velvety soft.

“Well, I think that’s about the prettiest package I ever did wrap.”

jingle

“What do you think, Mr. Claus?” you ask, your voice as innocent and demure as you can manage.

Dean opens his mouth and expels a slow gasp. jingle “Fuck, sweetheart. You aren’t playin’ fair.”

“That’s the whole point.”

You rise from the edge of the bed and take in the entire scene. It’s magnificent.

He’s magnificent.

Dean is lying atop the forest green comforter of your bed. Naked. Well, not totally naked. A red ribbon - adorned with one single sleigh bell - binds his wrists together and anchors him to the headboard. His arms, jutting out and bent to create a diamond-shaped frame around his face, give you a prime ticket to the gun show. Biceps flex and tendons raise under the skin as he tries to remain as motionless as possible.

jingle

You aren’t a complete heathen. He’s got a fluffy pillow, the same deep green color as the comforter, to rest his head atop. Dean is anything but sleepy. He’s wound up. He stares back at you, the green of his irises electric and flaming with intensity.

You anticipate how sublime it will feel to strum the cords of his neck. Tickle your fingertips down that chest. You imagine Dean ring-a-ding-dinging and cursing himself if you take the time to trace the outline of his tattoo. Circle those perky nipples. Dip into his belly button and follow his treasure trail of baby-fine hair.

You marvel again at the other ribbon that you tied. You’d purchased a couple yards of red velvet at the craft store weeks ago with this in mind. With him in mind. You were ecstatic it had been enough to criss-cross around the crease below that fine ass. It wraps over a slight vee along his waist. The makeshift holiday jockstrap has Dean’s beautiful, now fully erect, cock sporting a bow.

Dean sighs. “Are you done decking my balls?” jingle

You giggle and fiddle with the belt of your robe. It’s red as well, but made of silk. “As we discussed, the end result of all of this is all up to you. Santa.” You flip a switch to turn off the ceiling light. The sconces stay on above the headboard. Two halos figure eight over Dean’s beautiful body, awash in a warm amber glow.

He’s a full print ad of holiday cheer and sinful debauchery.

“You’re being very naughty, (jingle) Mrs. Claus.” Dean licks his top lip—your core clenches at the deep timbre of his scolding.

You’ve been wet since you both finished Christmas dinner. Since you told him you had one more gift for him waiting upstairs. Since you left him in the bedroom with orders to strip while you changed in the bathroom. Since you pulled out the ribbons. Since you explained that if he was good and could keep his jingling down to a minimum through what you had planned, you’d fuck him into the New Year.

You inhale and shrug, then begrudgingly turn your back to the sight. It takes a few taps on your phone for you to get to the song. You stifle another giggle at the little jingles Dean can’t help as he waits.

Once you tap the play button, the festive and recognizable melody begins. A barbershop quartet bah-bums a bit before the sultry and smooth vocals of Eartha Kitt take the lead.

You look back over your shoulder at Dean and whisper along with Eartha.

You peel the silky robe off one shoulder then the other. Dean groans when the layer slips down to the floor. jingle

“Shit.” He moans and you grin in satisfaction at the hoped for reaction.

You turn back to face him, adding a dramatic hair flip. You're wearing a sexy little Mrs. Claus outfit. It’s a red velvet dress with a scandalously high skirt and a low-cut halter. White fur lines both the top and bottom. It’s all cinched nice and tight around your waist with a black belt and a gold buckle.

You bend at the knees and lean forward, shoulders folding in and hands resting on your thighs. It gives Dean the perfect vantage to ogle your cleavage. You purr along with the next line and modify the lyrics a smidge.

“Man, I must have been a really good boy this year.” Dean stares in awe, not even caring how much he’s jingling with his squirms atop the bed.

You let it slide for the time being, thrilled at the kid in a candy store grin plastered on his face and the way the bow sways with every twitch of his cock.

Dean tilts his head to the side. His gaze begins at your red-glitter heels and canvases every inch of skin from ankles to thighs. He pauses, stopping to stare at the hint of flesh under the skirt hem. jin-jingle jingle jin-jingle He pants out, “Mrs. Claus forgot her panties, huh?”

You lift a finger and wiggle it back and forth in the air. “Uh-uh-uh. Remember, really good boys stay still if they want their present.”

The bell jangles no matter how carefully he attempts to reposition himself. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbles and you laugh. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’ll be good,” he whispers soft and sweet.

The heels tap across the hardwood as you walk over to settle beside Dean. You adjust your skirt to let the scant amount of fabric fan over your naughty bits. Being so close to him makes you forget the lyrics to sing along with Eartha.

You rest a hand on his chest. Through clenched teeth, Dean inhales at the touch, the rest of him frozen in place. The bell is silent. Your other hand grabs one of the candy canes you had left on the bedside table. For reasons.

Watching him fight every urge he has to reach out and touch you is fascinating. And the power you have over him gives you a head rush. You continue the tease, twirling the candy between your fingers, then laving the cane’s hook with your mouth and tongue. Dean garners some pity from you as he whines, brows downturned, eyes attentive to your every swirl and suck. You swing the cane close to his mouth. “Wanna taste?”

He swallows. “Wanna taste you,” he states, the hint of hope escaping around the edges of a soft moan.

The thrill of his need quickens your pulse. No other man has loved and adored you as thoroughly and exuberantly as Dean Winchester. You nod. “You will. But, first,” you rub the wet-slick candy cane over his bottom lip, “show me what that mouth wants to do.”

“You know what this mouth can do,” he reminds with a little sass, letting the candy cane tap against his bottom teeth.

But soon enough, he indulges you. He slips the hook between his lips. His tongue slides out under the curve of peppermint, lapping at the sticky sweet. Again and again. Your breath hitches into your open mouth as you watch, enthralled at the ministrations of that thick and powerful muscle. He sucks the confection in a little farther, pursing his lips. The sounds he’s making, enjoying the treat, are downright pornographic and send any extraneous bell ringing to the back of your hearing queue. The red food coloring coats them like lip gloss by the time you break from the spell of his show. You guess it’s been minutes since Eartha finished her rendition of ‘Santa, Baby.’ The rest of the playlist you created has soft and dreamy instrumentals.

“My turn,” you cajole. You tug on the cane. He relinquishes, but not without some resistance. A little pop escapes his mouth once the hook is freed. You marvel at the progress he made. The hook end is substantially shorter and thinner than when he began.

He sniffs and tilts his chin up in pride. jingle “Your turn with that, or my turn with you?”

The cane slips back into your mouth, your fingers sticky from all the handling. You stand, kick off your heels, and climb back onto the bed on your knees. You grin as you suck on the candy.

His eyes soften. “Be careful, baby. Don’t want you to choke. Well, at least not on that.” He smirks.

He’s right. Safety first. You toss the candy onto the bedside table.

“You are so (jingle) fucking hot in that (jingle) outfit.” He grins and waggles eyebrows in anticipation. “Gonna let me down your chimney, Mrs. Claus?” jingle jingle jingle

The actions in the next few seconds are a blur. You wonder if Dean has some sort of Jedi mind control ability. Because even though you are supposed to be the one making decisions this evening, his seductively god-awful puns find you sitting on his face, reverse cowgirl.

“You might get the golden ticket to all my secret places if you’re lucky.” Your fingers tip-toe down his chest like a grinch about to steal someone else’s presents.

jingle jingle jingle

“Fuckin’ hell,” Dean murmurs under your skirt. Hot breath bathes your inner thighs and other areas you hope will soon be explored.

Your hands rest in the little divots created by his pelvic bones while you take his body in and plan your method of attack. You pull on the ribbon and release his cock of the bow. Then, you’re deep throating him like he’s your last meal.

Not one to be outdone at an all-you-can-eat buffet, Dean’s entire face gets in on the feast as well. Nerves respond to the tingling sensation of the residual peppermint on Dean’s lips and tongue. You shiver at the gloriously heightened sensitivity when he pulls back to blow on your pussy. “This is so much better than milk and cookies.” He moans and groans and jingles all the way.

As much as you’re loving the taste of his precome, the velvet texture against your tongue, and the way the tip triggers a tiny gag reflex at the base of your throat, it’s time to remind him of the consequences of all that noise he’s making. You release the hard length from your mouth and try to concentrate on your own breathing during the absolute virtuoso way he’s eating you out. As much as you’d love his fingers to get in on the action, you know you’d have no control over the situation. You sigh in relief that he’s trying to adhere to some parts of the game. The pitiful, half-hearted ribbon shackling of his hands to the headboard is no match for Dean Winchester.

You steady yourself on wobbly knees and one shaky elbow. A firm grip around the base of his cock makes Dean gasp. He stills after that. In your mind’s eye, you picture the beauty of that mouth and how his luscious pink lips were slick with peppermint. You imagine how slick they are with you now. “Sorry, baby,” he murmurs and you feel him settle back onto the pillow. “I’ll be as quiet as I can. Can you blame me, though? Here I am, under your sweet little skirt, in the dark (jingle)... shit, sorry. But, you can’t drop a five-course meal in front of a starving (jingle) man and not expect him to wanna little taste.”

You squeeze his cock. “That’s part of the challenge.”

“I’m always up for a challenge. You always make me feel so good.”

You groan at the praise he bestows. Without releasing your hold, you shimmy off his chest. Channeling the prim and delicate sensibilities of Mrs. Claus, you crawl along the comforter and settle between nutcracker bow legs. With knees tucked under you and sat atop bare feet you accept him in your mouth again and get to work.

You take in the sight of Dean inventorying your every action. He’s gripping the top of the headboard with both hands to steady his upper body. You clock that the little stinker has also managed to palm the sleigh ball in an effort to silence or, at the very least, muffle it. You consider that move cheating. But he feels so sublime that you can’t bear to part with him to voice your irritation. He’s also whispering the sweetest filth to you while he watches.

“Damn. Yeah. Those lips of yours feel so good around my cock. You take it so good, baby. Wish I could fuck that pretty little mouth of yours, but I’d definitely jingle-jangle way too much.” A tongue swipe over his top lip accentuates the glossy look of his ruby-tinted mouth in the warm light. “You really are too good to me. You give the best Christmas presents.” He stiffens further with each downstroke. “Aw, yeah. Suck it.” Your rhythm increases. “So pretty. Wanna touch you so bad.” He gasps. “Fuck, I’m gettin’ close.” jingle jingle

You clamp around the base again and squeeze, freeze mid-swallow - your lips around the tip - as soon as he rings.

Dean squirms and grumbles.

You continue to bring him to the edge of orgasm, then halt. Your jaw is aching along with the rest of your body as time passes.

You’ve fucked Dean up in the best way possible. He’s blissed out, wound up tighter than a spring. You’ve got him begging. But his words grow into admonishments with each successive denial. “You can’t keep doing this, baby. There’s gonna be consequences. Santa’s gonna for real put you on his naughty list. Nothing but coal in your stocking,” he huffs.

You give your mouth a reprieve and stroke him. “Is that all that happens to naughty girls?”

He gnaws at his bottom lip before offering, “You really wanna find out?”

You nod.

The ribbon binding Dean to the headboard shreds with one mighty tug. He pitches the sleigh bell in the air. It jingles as it pinballs around the room.

You gasp as he cinches those hands under your armpits and drags you up his body. He crushes his lips into yours, tastes you with his tongue. The mixture of your arousal and a hint of peppermint melts you in his arms. Then, a sudden and swift rollover pins you beneath him.

He hovers, tosses your skirt up to your chest, and wedges between your legs. His hard, heavy cock slips into your folds and glides through your wetness. “I could drag this out. Or.” It’s his turn to tease. He notches snug against your entrance. You’re surprised your muscles haven’t pulled him into you of their own accord the way your entire body spasms with need. He whispers in your ear, “Let me be your Santa, baby.”

You gasp, “And hurry down the chimney tonight.”

He groans in victory and slides in, balls deep. He thrusts. One massive hand gathers your wrists together on the pillow above your head to anchor you in place. Fingers of his other hand grip the top of the headboard. Every sway in and out of you gets more frenetic. You’re screaming his name and he’s cursing yours.

“Good girls do what they’re told,” he states, out of breath, face reddening. His gaze locks with yours. He slows down. Releases your hands. Finds your clit amid the white fur and red velvet. Strums. Angles and hits your sweet spot deep within you with a harsh abandon. “Come.”

Minutes later, after you’ve both orgasmed, you’re curled into his chest. “That was…” you manage between heavy exhales.

“Yeah, that was awesome.” He kisses your forehead. “Every year, since I saved you from that ghost on Christmas Eve, you find a way to outdo yourself with the holiday cheer.”

“Well, you deserve it. I’m glad you can get away for a little while and get a special treat.”

He sighs. “You know, you don’t have to feel obligated to…”

You rest a finger atop his lips. “How I see it. Guy saves your life one time, you owe him the rest of yours.”

He smiles and pulls you in. “How about we just focus on tonight, yeah?”

You nod. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

#jacklesversebingo23 #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester smut #christmas smut

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roanniom · 1 year

Note

Feeling festive so: Steve being an absolute dork (and a little bit of a horndog) about mistletoe kisses 🫠 Steve making stupid jokes about “unwrapping his present” while reaching to take off your matching Christmas pjs that he pretends to hate 🫠 Steve and you being more than fashionably late to the holiday party because you just looked to good in your green velvet dress 🫠 I’m sad now

🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄

Stevie, Baby 🎶

Steve Harrington x Fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, strip tease, dry humping, PIV / unprotected sex

“I won’t wear them,” he says definitively.

“But Steeeevie,” you whine, twirling around so he can see the garish green and red button down sleep shirt and matching pants that you were wearing from all angles. “Why not?!”

Steve frowns at the matching pjs in his hand.

“It’s just so…so…dorky,” he finishes weakly.

“So you think your girlfriend is dorky?” you ask, hands on your hips. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Right now? Yes. Yes, very much.”

You stare at him really hard for a minute, before the Christmas album that’s on in the background clicks to the next song and you get an idea.

“Santa, baby. Just slip a sable under the tree, for me,” you sing along to the music, swaying back and forth, emphasizing the swing of your hips. Steve’s eyes widen for a second before his brow furrows skeptically, arms crossing over his chest.

“Is this supposed to be less dorky?” he asks over your singing.

“Been an awful good girl,” you continue the lyric, unbuttoning the first few buttons on your pj top to reveal the bright red lace bra underneath, pushing your tits together just right.

Steve’s jaw drops on the floor.

“I’m sorry, what?” he breathes, hands unconsciously reaching out for you, but you step back out of his reach, climbing up to stand on the couch, your back to him .

“Santa, baby. So hurry down the chimney tonight.” You slide the pj top off your shoulders to hang in the crooks of your elbows, exposing the straps of your bra and your bare back beneath. You wink at him over your shoulder and are pleased to find him staring at you dumbfounded.

“Santa, baby. A ‘54 convertible, too, light blue.” You mime turning a steering wheel back and forth, swiveling back and forth at your hips. “I’ll wait up for you, dear.” You beckon him forward with a crook of your finger and Steve steps up to you, a slow smirk beginning to form as his facial expression makes it clear that you’ve gotten your point across. You hook your finger under his chin to force him to look away from your swaying tits and up at your face. “Santa, baby. So hurry down the chimney tonight.”

“Okay fine. So dorky isn’t the word I’d use to describe you,” he says begrudgingly as you step down from the couch and around him. You ignore his words and brush his hands off when he tries to grab at your waist. He huffs in frustration and follows you to the doorway of your shared bedroom.

“Think of all, the fun I missed,” you sing, draping yourself dramatically and sensually against the door frame. Steve joins you on the threshold and leans against the opposite side of the frame, folding his arms and humoring you with a long suffering smile.

“Think of all the fellas that I haven’t kissed.” You slink up to him and walk your fingers up from his chest to his lips. They part automatically and you feel him take in a sharp breath.

“Next year I could be just as good,” you sing, getting up on your tippy toes and pulling him down to you, bringing your lips close together. Just as he slides his eyes shut in expectation of the kiss, lips puckering just slightly, you pull away, leaving him leaning to chase you.

“Hey!” Steve pouts, watching you saunter to the bed.

“If you check off my Christmas list,” you giggle along to the lyrics. You hold your hands out to him and he takes them, letting you pull him over to stand in front of the bed.

“Santa, baby. I want a yacht and really that’s not a lot,” you shake your head teasingly, pushing him down on the mattress. Steve bounces and sits up straight to watch you.

“Jesus…” he mutters. But he can’t keep pretending to be annoyed when you stand in front of him, pulling the pj top fully off and moving it across your chest as if it were a feather boa in a cabaret show.

“Been an angel all year,” you sing, tossing the shirt to drape over Steve’s face. He pulls it off and can no longer suppress a grin.

“Not sure ‘Angel’ is what I’d call you but ok…”

“Santa, baby. So hurry down the chimney tonight,” you step between Steve’s legs where he sits up on the bed and run your hands through his fluffy hair.

“Alright fine I get the point,” Steve begins but you go right into the next verse.

“Santa, honey. One little thing I really need.” You grab the pj top from where it was laying on the bed beside him and put it behind his neck, holding onto it on both sides. “The deed to a platinum mine.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve mumbles, rolling his eyes. They widen, however, when you use the top to pull his face into your red lace-clad breasts.

“Santa, baby. So hurry down the chimney tonight,” you sing out, dropping down to straddle his lap.

You’re immediately met with the feeling of Steve’s obvious erection beneath you. You raise an eyebrow at him and he shrugs as if to say ‘what do you expect.’ You begin gyrating your hips, making him groan.

“Santa, cutie,” you coo along to the music. Steve’s hands grip your hips, wrinkling the fabric of the cheesy pj pants he’d criticized. “And fill my stocking with the duplex and checks.”

Steve wrenches you closer and mouths at your throat.

“I’ll fill your stocking alright,” he says against your skin. You squeal with a laugh, pushing at him to give you space to continue singing, bouncing in his lap with more fervor.

“Sign your x on the line,” you sing, breathless now. Steve groans as the friction becomes even better.

“C’mon baby…”

“Santa, cutie. And hurry down the chimney tonight.” You suck a mark into his neck, fingers gripping his hair, during the instrumental break between verses.

“Christ…” Steve breathes, bucking his hips up into yours.

“Come and trim my Christmas tree,” you sing, finding it harder to stay on tempo as you begin grinding faster, chasing the delicious feeling of rubbing your aching clothed clit against his erection. “With some decorations bought at Tiffany’s.”

“How long is this fucking song?!” Steve cries out, scooting back further up the bed and yanking you along with him. You laugh but keep singing.

“I really do believe in you.” You push Steve down so that his back presses against the mattress and crawl on top of him, grinding down.

“Fuck.”

“Let’s see if you believe in me.” You slide your hand down the length of his chest, abdomen, and then close it over the bulge in his sweatpants which presses between your thighs.

“Okay! Okay, fuck!” Steve cries out. His hands grip your waist with bruising strength. “I’ll wear the fucking pjs.”

“You will?” you ask brightly, missing the next verse for the first time since the song began. Steve looks up at with his tousled hair and flush-splotched skin.

“Can I fuck you first and then wear them at least?” he negotiates. You laugh and climb off of him, much to his dismay. “Wait wait wait. Or I can fuck you with them on, whatever you want! Christ.”

You slide the pj pants and your underwear down in one fluid motion before climbing back on top of Steve, maintaining eye contact as you work the waistband of his sweatpants down. Exposing his hard cock to the air and your hungry gaze.

“Oh Stevie…” you hum as you slide your wet cunt up and down the underside of his length. “You can wear the pjs afterwards.” After unhooking your bra and tossing it away, you lean down to bring your lips to his ear just as you snake a hand between you to line his tip up with your entrance. “But I’ll be the one fucking you, Stevie baby.”

🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄

#steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #stranger things smut #steve harrington discourse

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faestorian · 4 months

Text

Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight 💖

#trigun #livio #livio the double fang #christmas #fae art #fanart

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abbyslev · 3 months

Text

happy birthday!- hange x reader

CHAT!!! its my best friends birthday. i wrote her a little something!! thank you to this sweet angel for being my first friend on this app. and thank you for dealing with me everyday, i love you so bad. make sure to tell my bff hbd and make sure to check out and support her art🥹💝 i love u @hangespublicist

“happy birthday.” you felt hange come from behind you, kissing down your neck.

you giggle, spitting out your toothpaste. “you scared me!” you wash out your mouth, laughing. “hurry! i got a surprise.” hange ran from the bathroom before you could say anything else. your feet padded against the cold floors, entering the kitchen.

before you was hange, posing, showcasing the kitchen island. your favorite cake was laid out, along with wrapped boxes and bags surrounding them. you covered your mouth, shaking your head. “hange.” you say, slowly walking up to them.

“erwin and levi made the cake!” they clapped happily, watching as your eyes teared up. “this is perfect!” you hug hange, kissing them. they smiled into the kiss, before pulling away quickly. as much as they wanted to kiss you forever, but in this moment they were shaking for you to open your gifts. “open, open!” hange grabbed your waist, pushing you towards the table.

you grabbed a bag, slowly pulling out the gifts from inside. “no way!!” you look up at hange. they had gotten you games that you had been eyeing for your console. “next! next!” hange was just so excited. after a few gifts, hange reached over your head, sliding the bag behind them. “you can’t open that one till tonight!” they sheepishly smiled.

after you two got ready, you headed downtown. hange took you to your favorite crystal shop, where you absolutely went insane and bought all the crystals you had been eyeing for a while. hange even got a crystal bowl with your initials engraved at the bottom, along with your anniversary date.

you guys explored downtown and even found a new favorite coffee shop. there were cats inside and it was like heaven for both of you. and hange knew all along you were not leaving that place without a cat you had befriended. you named them miso. and so with that, you and hange walked out of the cafe with your iced chais with soy milk, and a new friend named miso.

and after a long day of shopping, you two found yourselves at home, playing with the cat. three knocks made you look up, letting go of the small toy mouse. “i’ll get it.” hange smiled, getting up.

“happy birthday, nerd.” you heard from your doorway. there stood levi and erwin, with fresh baked goods in their hands. “guys!!!” you jumped around in excitement, hugging them. levi was severely disappointed that his new neighbor was a cat. or so he says. erwin caught him petting the cat.

the four of you sat around the chimney, wine in your glasses and sharing warm pumpkin cream cheese muffins. you all gossiped and laughed, sharing core memories of your college years.

it was getting late. levi looked down at his watch, pushing his knee against hange. hange shyly looked up at him and erwin, biting their lip down. levi gave hange a stare, eyeing you. hange wiped their hands on their pants, standing up.

you snapped out of your ramble, looking up at hange. god, you were so beautiful. hange could get lost into your eyes forever.

hange slowly got down on one knee, slipping a box out of their pocket. your eyes widened, looking straight down at them. your hands covered your mouth, head shaking.

“…you’ve made me the happiest person to ever live. you’re so funny, kind, beautiful, breathtaking and you are just what i needed in my life. i never would have thought someone could sit there for hours and absorb everything i have ever said, yet here you sit in front of me. when i met you, i knew you’d be the one. you had always been the one. and… before i start rambling again, will you make me a mad scientist and marry me?” hange blushed and their corny line, peeking up at you.

you kissed them quickly, digging your nails into the side of their face. “yes!” you smiled against them. erwin happily grinned, holding levi’s hand. “and here’s that gift from earlier.” erwin chuckled. you pulled away, opening the bag.

you looked up at both all of them, pausing at hange. “we are going to paris?” “happy honeymoon, babe.”

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