Nick 'Santa Claus' (Violent Night) x fem!Reader
Rated: Explicit
1.2k words
Nicomund the Red and the Tooth Fairy meet again on Christmas day. Fluff and smut ensue.
This is my Christmas gift for @gipsydangerzone 💖
Content: mention of food and alcohol, implied violence, magic healing, Santa Claus kink (is that a thing?), smut, thigh riding, Christmas fluff, fem!reader, established relationship.
This happens just after the end of the movie. Look at me expanding on the lore of this Christmas masterpiece that is Violent Night.
MASTERLIST
gif by nick-offerman
“Well, well, what do we have here? Isn’t that the Tooth Fairy herself?” The familiar gravelly voice has you shiver before you even see him.
“What are you doing here?” he continues as you swirl back to face him. Here he is. In all his glory, red velvet and white fur and the gray of his fluffy beard. Gold sparks of magic still floating around him.
“Nick! Nice to see you again! How am I doing? Fine, thanks for asking!” you answer sharply.
He seems unbothered by your sarcastic greetings.
“You know it’s actually my night, right, sweetheart?” he croons, taking a step toward you.
“Well, it happens that the kid in this house lost a tooth today, so it’s also my night. I work all year round, Nicomund, I’m not some lazy old man who manages to complain while doing shit for most of the year.” you snap back.
“Oof, darling, no need to be so mean. You don’t want to end on my naughty list, don’t you?” He takes one step further, crossing slowly but surely the length of the living room. The place is cozy, old fireplace but modern floor, new sofa but vintage quilts. The tall christmas tree is a real one and it smells like pine and spice and sugar. Like Christmas. Fairy lights spread across the place bathe the room in a soft warm glow. Seeing him in such a decor, it feels like a freaking cheesy Holiday movie. Except you know him, know what he’s capable of, and he’s far from the lazy old man you accuse him to be.
“Well, I don’t have time to play games Nick, so unless you’ve lost a tooth yourself, I have to go.” you don’t sound as sure of yourself as you’d like. That’s his fault, he unsettles you, makes you dream of domesticity, of chocolate and marshmallows, of cuddles in front of the fire, of all those soft other things you don’t have time to indulge in.
“Oh sweetie, you won’t believe me, because actually I’m afraid I’ve lost a couple teeth earlier tonight.” He rasps, and behind the sirupy lull of his low voice, you notice for the first time the thin hint of pain. Now that he’s closer, you actually take the time to really look at him. There is a split on his right cheekbone, specks of dried blood on his jaw, spots of red on the white fur of his collar. His usual stupid hat is absent, and his hair hastily tied up in a bun. The tiny round glasses are nowhere to be seen. His sleeves are bunched up, showing off the dark swirls of ink under his skin, meeting the blue-black of fresh bruises.
“Nick, what happened…?”
Flashbacks of wars long lost invade your mind. Nicomund the Red and his hammer. Bathed in blood and mud and death. The stench of it clinging to the inside of your nose for days after the battles. Ears ringing with the screams of your dying enemies for countless nights. Your own sword covered in gore.
“Hey, you with me, sweetheart?” Nick’s hand lands on your shoulder and you’re suddenly brought back to your senses. To now, to the cozy living room and the smell of Christmas candles. He’s the one injured, yet he focuses on you. It’s not the first time. It’s been going on for millenia now.
“It’s a long story, but I’m fine.” he adds now that he has your attention.
“What about you?” he asks, and he cups your cheek, eyes the color of iron - moody skies - scanning your face. His palm is hot, rough pads against your delicate skin. You circle his wrist and nod in reassurance. He said he was fine but you can’t miss how he flinches under your touch, a muffled groan of discomfort escaping him.
“You’re still a bad liar, you know that, Nick? Let me see. My magic may help.”
He sits on the sofa, large thighs slightly open and strong feet on the ground, while you’re perched on one of his legs. You had opened his jacket, and traced his naked chest in search of every cut and bruise, blue sparks at the tip of your fingers, healing them on your way. You remember doing the same thing a very long time ago, when you both did not have your magic yet. It’s intimate. Weirdly familiar. His warm body under yours strangely soothing.
You push the jacket even lower, revealing his broad shoulders, hard muscles under the soft curves of his body. Runes and sacred symbols itched in his skin, reminding you of home. You shift on top of him to reach his back and powerful hands fly up to your waist to help you keep your balance. The heat of him warms up your core, and you find yourself not wanting to leave his embrace.
Once you’re mainly done, you sit back, and stare at his face. His hands are still on your waist, burning where they meet the sliver of bare flesh between your top and pants. It’s unconscious, your body reacting on its own, but you ground yourself on his leg, your cunt pressing against his thigh in search of something you’ve denied yourself for too long. He notices of course - arched brow and knowing smile - and the iron of his irises melt to a deep night blue. Your fingertips ghost over the crinkle at the corner of his eyes, smooth over the silver strands of his beard, just enough time for you to gather your courage and finally take the bait of his lips.
You press delicate kisses on his mouth, until he parts his lips. He tastes like gingerbread and brandy and it pairs surprisingly well. Nick keeps kissing you and strengthens his hold on you, brings you down on his thigh and flexes the muscle. He drinks your sudden gasp with a low chuckle. Bastard.
“You like this, mmh? Come on, take what you need my little fairy.” he whispers in your neck, his beard tickling your skin and making you giggle softly. He repeats his move, encouraging you to find your own rhythm. Warmth builds and builds between your legs, you can feel how wet you’re becoming while you seek the delicious friction of his thigh against your swollen flesh.
Nick is drowning you in filthy praises between two deep kisses, tongue tasting the roof of your mouth like you’re a sugary treat. Your hands are buried in his long hair, yanking him to you when he dares to leave too much space between you two. You’re close but it’s not yet enough, and you wish he would give you more, let you open his pants and really ride him.
It’s like he can read in your mind - you don’t understand how the whole wish thing works, maybe he is - and he rises from the couch, holding you in his arms in an impressive display of strength, before he spins and lays you back down on the sofa, landing on top of you.
“I guess you deserve a gift too sweetheart, you work so hard, it’s your turn to be taken care of.” He dips his head, kisses you once again, and there’s a devotion and a passion that wasn’t there a moment earlier. He smiles against your lips and his voice is like molten chocolate, decadent and rich: “Merry Christmas” he rasps, before sliding lower and bringing down your pants with him.
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