I LOVE YOUR REACTIONS SO MUCH! 🖤 Could you write a Christmas themed imagine for P1H?? Like decorating the tree with ornaments and lights or watching classic christmas movies,baking cookies, singing christmas songs etc AND ofc while wearing corny matching xmas pjs 🎄
pairing: P1Harmony x reader!
warnings: none! This is just pure fluff!
disclaimer: not my pic!
You guys are too sweet with me! thank you all for your kind words
Keeho
You had barely squeezed the icing bag before Keeho let out a groan. “Why does this stuff come out like toothpaste from the Stone Age?” he muttered, his fingers trembling as a crooked white line zigzagged across the gingerbread wall.
You tried not to laugh, but the way his brow furrowed like he was performing brain surgery on a cookie made it impossible. “You’re supposed to use gentle pressure, Keeho.”
“I am gentle,” he said, indignant, though the icing blob sliding down his thumb said otherwise.
The table between you two was chaos—candy buttons rolling away, a sugar dust storm covering the surface, and a tiny gingerbread man sitting face-down in defeat. Keeho glanced at the mess, sighed dramatically, then gave you that familiar look—half exasperated, half adorable.
“Okay, your turn, Picasso,” he teased, handing you the icing bag like it was cursed.
You took it, puffing up your chest with false confidence. “Watch and learn.”
A few seconds later, a blob of icing exploded out the side and landed right on the roof piece. You blinked. Keeho blinked. Then, as if choreographed, you both burst out laughing.
He clutched his stomach, doubling over. “You—” he wheezed between giggles, “you judged me for that!”
You were laughing so hard you could barely hold the icing bag. “You made it look easy to mess up!”
The gingerbread house now resembled something between modern art and structural disaster. One wall leaned inward, the roof sagged, and the icing was forming stalactites. Keeho tried to hold a wall in place while you adjusted the roof, but every time you let go, it slid again.
“Hold it up like this!” you said, pressing one side firmly.
“I am holding it—wait, no, it’s sliding!”
“Then stop breathing on it!”
“I can’t not breathe!”
Another piece crumbled, and that was the final straw. You both collapsed onto the floor in laughter, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. Keeho wiped his hand on a napkin and stared at the sad creation on the table.
“Well,” he said after a long pause, “it’s official. Our gingerbread house looks like it survived an earthquake."
You tilted your head, studying the crooked little thing. “More like… postmodern gingerbread expressionism.”
“Right,” he said, grinning. “A commentary on the fragility of architecture under emotional stress.”
You snorted, and he grinned wider, proud of himself for getting you to laugh again. Then, leaning closer, he squinted at the house like he was judging it for a cooking show.
“Honestly,” he said, voice dropping to a mock-serious tone, “this looks pretty shitty.”
That made you laugh again—loud and unfiltered. Before he could say anything else, you leaned forward and kissed him. His lips were warm, soft, still tasting faintly of the peppermint candy he’d been nibbling earlier. When you pulled back, his grin softened into something quieter, sweeter.
“Well,” you said, brushing a bit of icing off his cheek, “good thing you have other talents.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
You smiled. Well you can sing, dance, you are funny and....well you are dangerously handsome."
Keeho blinked, caught off guard for a moment. Then his grin returned, slower this time, blooming like warmth after a snowfall. “Guess I can live with that.”
You both turned back to the ruined house, shoulders bumping as you sat together on the floor. It was messy and lopsided, but it was yours—every crooked wall, every drip of icing, every laugh that had built it.
“Next year,” Keeho said, resting his head on your shoulder, “we’re buying one prebuilt.”
You smiled, nudging him gently. “Nah. Half the fun is the failure.”
He chuckled, soft and low. “Then we must be having the time of our lives.”
Theo
The kitchen smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, the kind of scent that wrapped itself around you like a blanket. Christmas music hummed from the speaker, low and cheerful, and Theo stood at the counter with his sleeves rolled up, concentrating way too hard on shaping a cookie.
You leaned over to peek at his handiwork. “Is that supposed to be a snowman?”
He nodded proudly. “Snowman, star, Santa, reindeer—classic Christmas lineup.” He held one up for inspection, its tiny frosting eyes staring into space. “Perfection.”
You smirked and returned to your dough. “I prefer to get creative.”
“Creative,” Theo repeated carefully, the way someone might repeat a suspicious word.
He glanced sideways just as you were lifting one of your creations onto the tray. His eyes widened. Then his lips pressed together, trembling with the effort not to laugh.
“...That’s a Santa hat?” he asked, voice already cracking with amusement.
You looked at your cookie, tilting your head. “Yeah, obviously. You can see the pom-pom right there.” You pointed confidently to what was clearly not a pom-pom.
Theo’s shoulders shook as he tried—and failed—to keep a straight face. “Uh-huh. Yeah. Totally seeing it.”
You squinted. Why are you making that face?”
“I’m not making a face,” he said, grinning ear to ear. “I’m just… appreciating your artistic freedom.”
You narrowed your eyes, noticing the way his chest was shaking from holding in laughter. “Theo.”
“Okay, okay,” he said between chuckles, raising his hands like he was surrendering. “It’s just that… your Santa hats look a little…well..you know....it kind of looks like a dick."
Your jaw dropped, then you broke into a laugh so loud it startled the Christmas music into seeming quieter. “You’re lying”
“I'm not!” he said, laughing openly now. “You made gingerbread—uh—porn!”
You snorted, nearly dropping the cookie cutter. “Art’s subjective!”
He shook his head, still smiling, dimples flashing like Christmas lights. “It’s fine, though. I’ll still eat them. Every single one.”
You arched a brow, stepping closer. “Even the dick shaped ones?”
“Especially the dick shaped ones,” he said softly, eyes glinting with humor and something warmer.
You leaned in until your noses brushed, voice low and teasing. “Well, good thing they’re inspired by you, then.”
Theo froze for a heartbeat, then the words registered. His cheeks flushed pink, a quick burst of color against his winter-pale skin. “Inspired by me?” he repeated, half laughing, half hiding his face behind his hand. “That’s—wow.”
You laughed, resting your hands on his chest. “What? It’s flattering”
He looked at you with that quiet fondness he always got when he thought you weren’t paying attention, then gently swatted your ass with the oven mitt. “You’re lucky you’re cute. Now move before you burn your… artistic masterpieces.”
You gasped dramatically. “Did you just hit an artist?”
“I’m saving an artist from cookie arson.”
You both laughed as he slid the tray into the oven, the sweet smell of butter and sugar growing stronger. When he closed the door, he turned to find you still smiling at him, a dusting of flour on your cheek.
He reached out, brushing it away with his thumb. “You know,” he murmured, “I think I like your kind of Christmas art better anyway.”
You grinned. “Because it’s unique?”
He smiled back. “Because it’s you.”
And just like that, in the soft hum of the kitchen, with flour on your hands and laughter still hanging in the air, the cookies weren’t the only thing that felt warm.
Jiung
The glow from the TV flickered across the living room, painting lazy light on the walls. The couch was a battlefield of blankets, snack wrappers, and half-empty mugs of cocoa. Jiung was slumped in the corner, hood pulled over his messy hair, one hand loosely resting on your shin where your legs stretched across his lap.
You’d lost track of how many movies you’d watched—Christmas comedies, animated classics, even one that neither of you understood but kept watching because the snow looked pretty.
You sighed happily, spooning another bite of melting ice cream. “Hey, Jiung,” you mumbled, eyes half-closed. “What time is it?”
He fumbled for his phone, squinting at the screen like it personally offended him. “Almost midnight.”
“Seriously?” You sat up a little, blinking at the window. It was dark, snow still falling soft outside, the kind of hush that made everything feel suspended in time.
“Yup.” He let the word pop lazily from his lips, then sank further into the couch cushion. “Guess we’ve been here for, what, twelve hours?”
You gave a slow nod, laughing under your breath. “We really should move at some point, you know.”
Jiung tilted his head to look at you, one eyebrow raised, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Do you even want to move tho?”
You thought about it—about the warm cocoon of blankets, the sweet smell of cocoa, the weight of comfort in the air. Then you shook your head, grinning. “Nope. Not even a little.”
He chuckled, low and soft, like he’d been expecting that answer. “Good. Then we don’t.”
He stretched one arm above his head, yawning, then pointed at the remote lying near your hip. “Your turn. Play the next one.”
You leaned forward to grab it, your blanket slipping slightly, and Jiung instinctively reached out to fix it, tucking it back around your legs like it was second nature. The gesture was so gentle it made your chest ache a little.
You scrolled through the movie list until you found another old Christmas film—something predictable and heartwarming—and hit play. The familiar opening music filled the room, soft and golden.
Satisfied, you sank back down, curling closer to him this time. Your head found his shoulder, your legs still draped across his lap, but at a slightly new angle.
“Changing positions?” Jiung asked with a quiet laugh.
You hummed, eyes half-lidded. “Yeah. I have to or I’ll end up paralyzed.”
He smiled, the sound of it slipping into his voice. “Reasonable.” His fingers absentmindedly traced lazy circles on your calf through the blanket, warm and unhurried. “Can’t have that. Who’d change the movies then?”
You nudged him lightly with your knee. “Exactly. You need me for manual labor.”
Jiung chuckled again, that low, peaceful sound that always made you want to fall asleep right where you were. “Guess I do.”
The movie played on, a soft blur of music and dialogue, but neither of you really paid attention. The world outside could’ve stopped spinning and you wouldn’t have noticed.
Every once in a while, he’d reach for the hot cocoa and take a sip, then hand it to you without looking. You’d drink from the same mug, sharing warmth, sharing time.
As the snow drifted past the window and the movie credits rolled by in silence, Jiung’s head tilted toward yours until his hair brushed your temple. “You know,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “I think this is my favorite Christmas tradition.”
You smiled without opening your eyes. “Sitting on the couch for twelve hours straight?”
He laughed quietly. “No. Sitting here with you.”
You didn’t need to say anything back. You just pressed a little closer, hit play on the next movie, and let the world melt away again.
Intak
You sat cross-legged on the couch, bouncing your knee, trying not to peek down the hallway. The Christmas tree lights blinked softly beside you, casting playful shadows over the pile of pillows and snacks you’d set up for your little “pajama reveal.”
“Okay!” Intak’s voice called from the bedroom. “Close your eyes! No cheating!”
You giggled and covered your face with both hands. “They’re closed! Hurry up, or I’ll fall asleep before the big moment!”
“Ready?”
“Ready!”
You heard his footsteps approach—the soft shuffle of socks on carpet—and then his voice again, closer now. “Alright, open.”
You dropped your hands dramatically and looked up, eyes lighting with excitement. And then you froze.
So did he.
You blinked. He blinked.
You looked down at yourself: red-and-white plaid pajama pants, matching top with tiny candy canes printed all over. Then you looked at him. Same exact thing. Down to the candy canes.
A beat of stunned silence stretched between you. Then Intak’s lips twitched.
“Well,” he said dryly, crossing his arms. “One of us has to change.”
You gasped, clutching your chest like he’d just delivered a mortal insult. “Excuse me? I bought mine first!”
He raised an eyebrow. “No way. I got these yesterday.”
“Exactly! Yesterday! I’ve had mine since Wednesday!”
He pointed at you, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “Wait a second—are you wearing the men’s version?”
You scoffed. “No! Maybe you’re wearing the women’s version!”
He stepped closer, still pretending to squint like he was trying to detect clues. “I’m telling you, this cut is totally for guys.”
You looked him up and down, then smirked. “You sure about that? Those sleeves are kind of… fitted.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Wow, okay. I can’t believe my girlfriend’s trying to body-shame me in our matching pajamas.”
You grinned. “You mean my pajamas.”
“Our pajamas,” he corrected, rolling his eyes—but his smile gave him away.
The argument fizzled into quiet, the kind of silence that hums with amusement rather than awkwardness. You both stood there for a moment, mirroring each other in those ridiculous matching candy-cane sets.
Then his gaze softened. “You know,” he said, voice lower now, “you actually do look really good in that.”
You tilted your head, a small smile curving your lips. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said, his grin lazy but warm. “Like… dangerously cute.”
You laughed under your breath, leaning closer. “Well, so do you.”
He smiled wider, that mischievous spark returning to his eyes. “Guess that means we’re both winning.”
Before you could reply, he leaned in and kissed you—soft at first, then a little deeper when you smiled against his lips. When you pulled back, his hand still rested lightly on your waist, and the twinkle lights reflected in his dark eyes.
“Look at us,” he said with a mock sigh, glancing down at your matching outfits. “We’re like one of those cheesy couples you see in Christmas commercials.”
You snorted. “Please. Those couples wish they were us.”
He chuckled. “You think so?”
You gave him a teasing look. “We’re way hotter. And our fashion sense is obviously unmatched.”
“Literally unmatched,” he said, laughing. “Because it’s the same.”
You both burst into laughter again, collapsing onto the couch in a heap of plaid and candy canes. The room filled with warmth, soft lights, and the sound of two people who couldn’t stop smiling at each other—even when they were dressed like twins.
Soul
You stared down at the recipe on your phone, frowning. “It says we need… egg yolks, milk, sugar, cream, nutmeg, and… rum?”
Soul peered over your shoulder, brows knit in mild confusion. “How much rum?”
You scrolled up and down, squinting. “Uh… it doesn’t say? It just says ‘add to taste.’”
He looked at you, expression flat. “That’s dangerous.”
You grinned. “We like dangerous.”
The kitchen looked like a miniature lab—bowls, spoons, and measuring cups everywhere, a faint scent of cinnamon hanging in the air. Soul stood by the counter with his sleeves rolled up, whisking something with exaggerated focus while you poured milk into a pot.
“So…” you said, glancing at him. “Do you even know how to make eggnog?”
He didn’t look up. “Not really. You?”
“God no.”
He smirked, eyes flicking toward you. “Perfect. We’re qualified.”
You both laughed, the sound bouncing softly off the walls. You cracked the eggs, added sugar, and both of you started throwing ingredients together like mad scientists.
“More sugar?” you asked.
“Yeah, probably.”
“More rum?”
He hesitated, then shrugged. “We’ll know when it’s enough.”
You added a generous splash. Then another.
Then another.
Every few minutes, you both took a sip from the wooden spoon, grimaced, argued about the flavor, and adjusted something. By the time you reached the bottom of the bottle, the kitchen smelled faintly like a bakery that had just discovered alcohol.
You set down the spoon, laughing. “Okay, I think we overdid it.”
Soul took a slow sip from his cup, eyebrows raising slightly. “Might’ve. But…” he paused, smirking, “it tastes good.”
You tried yours and immediately felt the warmth bloom in your chest. You laughed, maybe a little too easily now. “Yeah. Surprisingly good.”
For a while, you just leaned against the counter together, giggling at your terrible handiwork. Soul’s eyes softened as he looked at you—the messy hair, the flour dusted on your shirt, the way your laughter seemed to spill into every corner of the room.
Then, quietly, he set his cup down, stepped closer, and kissed you.
The kiss was slow and certain, the kind that didn’t need to rush because everything around it already felt inevitable. When he pulled back, your heart was doing a small, chaotic dance.
“That’s the alcohol talking,” you teased, brushing your thumb across his jaw.
He laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Nah. The alcohol just makes me say it faster.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Say what faster?”
He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your skin. “That you’re beautiful. That I like being near you. That this—” he gestured vaguely between you and the messy countertop “—feels like home.”
Your chest warmed at his words, the mix of affection and rum making your pulse trip a little. You smiled softly, leaning into his touch. “You don’t need alcohol for that, you know.”
“I know,” he said, voice a low rumble. “It just makes me braver about saying it out loud.”
You grinned, sliding your hands around his waist. “So, basically, drunk or not, you’re hopelessly in love with me.”
He smirked, leaning down until your foreheads touched. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Pretty much.”
You laughed, the sound light and tipsy and so full of love it made his grin widen. “At least we’re bad at eggnog together.”
“Mm,” he hummed, kissing the top of your head. “Best failure of the season.”
And as the snow fell quietly outside, you both leaned back against the counter — two cups of awful eggnog, two flushed faces, and one very successful night.
Jongseob
The living room looked like a decoration explosion. Boxes, glitter, and tangled strings of lights were everywhere, and the faint sound of carols hummed through the speakers. You stood with your hands on your hips, surveying the chaos.
“This,” you said solemnly, “might take a while.”
Jongseob was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a snarl of fairy lights pooled in his lap like a glowing snake. He sighed, holding up the tangled mess. “Define a while.”
You chuckled, crouching beside him. “You’re doing great, babe.”
He gave you a flat look. “I’ve been fighting this thing for twenty minutes.”
You plucked the lights from his hands. “You just need a system. See? You pull this part here—”
“—and it knots again,” he finished dryly as the cord looped back on itself.
You both paused, looked at each other, and then started laughing. After a few minutes of untangling, tugging, and near-swearing, the fairy lights finally gave in. You held them up triumphantly, and Jongseob groaned in relief.
“Victory,” you announced dramatically.
He leaned back against the couch, smirking. “At what cost?”
You grinned and started wrapping the lights around the tree together, your fingers brushing now and then as you moved in slow circles. The soft glow began to spill across the branches, and the room grew warm and golden.
While he adjusted the top row, you dug through one of the ornament boxes. “Oh my gosh,” you said suddenly, holding something up. “Look at this little reindeer!”
Jongseob leaned over to peek. “That thing’s ancient,” he said, grinning. “Pretty sure that was Keeho’s from, like, middle school.”
“It’s adorable,” you argued, turning it around in your hand. It had a missing antler and a slightly crooked smile, but it was charming in a lopsided kind of way.
“Wait.” He rummaged through another box, pushing aside a tangle of tinsel and ribbons until he pulled out something small. “Found this—its little friend.”
You took it from him, smiling. It was a matching ornament, another reindeer but this one wearing a tiny scarf. “They’re a pair!”
“Or a cursed duo,” he said, raising a brow.
You ignored him, stepping closer to the tree. “We have to put them together. They belong side by side.”
He watched as you reached up, then joined you, holding one ornament while you hung the other. For a moment, your hands brushed, and you both froze—close enough to feel each other’s breath.
“There,” you said softly, stepping back to admire them. “Cute, right?”
Jongseob tilted his head. “Cheesy,” he corrected, smirking.
You gasped and bumped his arm. “You are terrible.”
He laughed, the sound warm and easy. “Maybe.” Then, without warning, he slipped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you against him.
You looked up at him, mock-offended fading into something softer. The lights from the tree reflected in his eyes—tiny gold and green flecks, bright and alive.
He leaned down and kissed you, slow and certain, the kind of kiss that didn’t need a reason. When he pulled back, his smile was small but sincere.
“As long as you’re happy,” he said quietly, “I’m happy.”
You felt your chest tighten, but in the best way. “Even if I make you hang cheesy ornaments?”
He chuckled, pressing another quick kiss to your forehead. “Especially then.”
You both turned back toward the tree, the soft glow wrapping you in warmth. The reindeer swung slightly on their hooks, side by side—like the two of you, imperfect but perfectly matched.
And for the first time that night, the room didn’t just look like Christmas. It felt like it.
🍎 ｡:*• ─ IT’S CHRISTMAS TIME ! › ( a symbol meme for muses who want to do something special and fun together this christmas / holiday season. )
send a symbol for our muses to:
🌲 ─ visit a tree farm to pick the perfect christmas tree
🎄 ─ decorate a christmas tree together
💋 ─ be caught standing under the mistletoe
🍽 ─ prepare the christmas dinner together
🍪 ─ bake & decorate christmas/holiday-themed sugar cookies
☕️ ─ drink something warm and/or festive ( either at home, at a coffeeshop, christmas market, etc... )
🏠 ─ decorate a gingerbread house together
🎬 ─ watch a christmas movie
🎭 ─ see a christmas musical/play at the theater
🔥 ─ have an indoor picnic by the fireplace and/or christmas tree
🌟 ─ drive around the city to see the christmas lights
✉️ ─ send each other a christmas card
🎅🏻 ─ be each other’s secret santa
🎁 ─ exchange & open chistmas presents
🛍 ─ go christmas shopping together
👕 ─ go out wearing matching christmas sweaters
🎉 ─ attend a holiday party together
📷 ─ have a holiday photoshoot
🎶 ─ go christmas caroling
💃 ─ dance around the living room to christmas songs
💖 ─ volunteer together at a local charity
✈️ ─ go on a christmas getaway
✏️ ─ create their own christmas/holiday tradition
😈 ─ decide who has been the naughtiest and the nicest and give each other rewards & consequences accordingly ( can be funny/platonic or sexy/nsfɯ, depending on muses’ relationship )
🃏 ─ wildcard ! choose your own activity !
One of my favorite Christmas gifts this year. My boyfriend @stretchlibbey handmade me this pendant. He picked the stone(snowflake obsidian, one of my favorite stones~~) shaped and polished it, then learned how to wire wrap it just for me~ I added it to my everyday necklace(My Pearls if you will lol) and I genuinely love it so much!
We also had a date to see christmas lights at the local public gardens, it was so much fun and I’ve got pictures Im thinking about posting later today UwU
Tony taking peter to a Christmas market and spoiling him
When Peter asked Tony about going to a Christmas market for a date he didn't expect to be herded onto a private jet by his boyfriend in order to travel to and to go around the Striezelmarkt in Dresden, believed to be one of the oldest Christmas market's in the world.
Although as they go from stall to stall with Tony buying him anything he shows and interest in maybe Peter should have realised that he is dating Tony Stark after all. And that when it comes to dates Tony really loves to pulls out all the stops to spoil him.
Mun Ari: Merry Christmas and Happy New year everyone! This beautiful commission was made by @vixen-ocs!! Thank you very much!!! Ahh~ they look so warm and cozy 🥹.
🚫 As always: the reposting, editing/tracing and the claiming of this picture as yours is strictly forbidden 🚫
