#fluffmas

COLD HANDS (AND FEET)

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Fem!reader

Summary: You’ve just moved to the North to marry Cregan and still aren’t used to the cold.

Warnings: Suggestive jokes, Reader is shorter than Cregan, Illusions to abuse (Not Cregan and Reader), Inconsistencies in the tense it’s written in (my bad)

Notes: Happy first day of Starkmas!! Just like Flufftober, I’ve decided to start out with Cregan, enjoy!

Word Count: 1.2k

STARKMAS 2025 , MASTER POST , ASOIAF MASTERLIST

˖ ࣪ . ❄️ ࿐𝓢O, HOW DOES IT WORK?

⋆˚࿔ down below, you will see a list of unrevealed prompts. i have spun a wheel, randomly selecting if each prompt will be “naughty” or “nice.” this determines the genre of that particular fic, the brother (matt or chris) have been selected at random as well, which will remain a secret until the prompt is officially posted. so until then, each one will be a surprise!

a naughty fic = smut

a nice fic = fluff

⋆˚࿔ warnings will be added to each fic, so please view and read with discretion! and as always, i’m making a separate taglist dedicated to just this special, so comment a “⛄️” to be added!

(no set dates, will be posted anytime throughout december!)

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒

𓏲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𓏲 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𓏲 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𓏲 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 𓏲

𓏲 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𓏲 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𓏲 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𓏲 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𓏲 𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞 𓏲

𓏲 𝐭𝐞𝐧 𓏲 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𓏲 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞 𓏲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 𓏲

*discontinued for now*

©𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐇𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎

(transparent ruffle dividers by @/cursed-carmine)

𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦…𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘣𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨

sub!ellie x reader wc: 2.7k cw: dry humping, oral(r!giving), fingering(r!giving)

this one's a bit short my apologies

The wind howled behind you, flinging snow in thick, chaotic spirals across the mountain trees. Your boots crunched the hard-packed snow on the cabin’s steps, the wood groaning softly beneath your weight. You shook out your coat on the porch, stamping your boots twice before pushing the door open, the heat inside smacking you in the face like a warm breath.

The cabin was quiet — that heavy kind of quiet that came with deep snow and isolation. The wood stove crackled low in the hearth, its orange glow flickering against the log walls. You could still hear the storm hissing outside the frosted windows. Your fingers ached from the cold, and your toes were completely numb in your boots. You’d been splitting wood for hours, clearing paths, trying to stay ahead of the weather. You hadn’t wanted her out there — not today, not after how restless she’d been in her sleep last night, murmuring things you couldn’t quite make out, twitching like she was back somewhere awful.

You had told her to stay home. Rest. That you’d handle everything.

You peeled off your gloves and rubbed your hands together as you stepped further inside. The floor creaked under your weight as you headed toward the staircase. You figured maybe a hot bath would be the fastest way to thaw the ache in your bones.

But halfway up the stairs, you paused.

There was a sound — faint, rhythmic. Not the crackle of firewood. Not the groan of wind. Softer. Like a muffled breath… or a stifled whimper.

You blinked, heartbeat picking up just a little. Quietly, you crept up the last few steps and turned down the narrow hallway. The door to the small bedroom you shared was cracked open just enough for the light to spill out into the dim hall.

You pushed it open gently.

And froze.

Ellie was on the bed.

Flat on her stomach, hips rolling in slow, clumsy waves against a pillow that had clearly been pulled beneath her. Her jeans were discarded on the floor beside the bed, one leg half-tangled in the blanket. Her tank top was twisted up her back, exposing a stretch of pale, freckled skin, soft and flushed. Her breath came in low, desperate puffs, her fingers fisting the sheets. Her shirt—your shirt, actually—was wrapped around the pillow she was grinding against, as if she’d done it on instinct. As if holding it made her feel closer to you.

Your stomach turned over.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there. Stunned. Struck silent by something so painfully intimate. Something so human.

Her hips bucked again, slow and needy, the heel of her foot digging into the mattress to push harder. Her face was turned slightly to the side, her cheek pressed into the pillow—until her eyes cracked open.

And locked with yours.

She jolted like she'd been electrocuted, gasping sharply. “Oh—oh shit!” she yelped, scrambling to grab the blanket and yank it up over her ass. Her face flushed bright red, panic twisting her features. “I—I didn’t hear you come in! Fuck—fuck, I’m sorry—shit, I didn’t mean to—”

“Ellie,” you said, blinking in disbelief, a slow, stunned smile creeping onto your face. You lifted a brow. “Were you… having fun without me?”

Her face went impossibly redder. “Don’t—don’t make fun of me,” she stammered, hiding half her face in the pillow like she wanted to disappear. “Jesus fucking Christ, this is so humiliating…”

You took a few slow steps toward the bed, your voice softening. “I’m not making fun of you.”

Her shoulders were tense, trembling. The blanket still clutched around her waist. She wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“I just—fuck, I missed you. You were gone so long. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About your hands, your voice, the way you hold me. I didn’t think you’d be home this early…”

Your heart twisted a little at that.

“Ellie,” you murmured. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“I wasn’t gonna, like, make you do anything,” she added quickly, eyes darting to yours in panic. “I just—ugh, god, this is so pathetic. You don’t have to say anything. Just fucking go. I’ll pretend it didn’t happen.”

But you didn’t move.

Instead, you sat down at the edge of the bed, careful, slow. Your hand brushed over her ankle. It was cold, her skin warm only where the blanket had clung to her.

“You miss me that much, huh?” you said softly.

She groaned and shoved her face into the pillow again. “Fuck. Stop teasing me…”

You smiled and leaned forward, your fingers trailing slowly up the back of her calf, over the swell of her knee, then pausing at the hem of the blanket still pulled tight around her hips.

She leaned in slowly, trembling like a taut wire, her breath short, raspy almost wheezing with how hard her lungs were working. You could feel it coming off her in waves, that nervous heat, that low smolder of wanting. She smelled like cedar smoke and skin. Like something desperate trying to stay soft.

Her eyes flicked between yourswild and searching before you closed the distance.

Your lips pressed together, gentle at first, but Ellie whined into the kiss, high in her throat, and you felt it shoot straight down your spine. Her hands were on you instantly, greedy and clumsy, palms warm, fingers calloused. She fumbled, grabbing at your breasts through your shirt like she didn’t know where to start, just knew she had to touch you. You let out a breathless laugh, and that only made her whine again deeper this time, needier.

“Come here,” she rasped, barely audible, tugging until you let her pull you on top of her.

You followed her down, your knees straddling her hips. The blanket twisted under you both, her legs spread open beneath your weight, her thighs already twitching with tension. You kissed her again, slower now, deeper. Her mouth opened for you without hesitation, lips parting on instinct, and you cupped her jaw to keep her right where you wanted her. Your tongue slid in—slick, slow, knowing—and she let out a helpless sound that vibrated against your teeth.

Her hips bucked upward frantically, searching for friction. She was trying to grind against you, even though her legs were shaking, even though her breath kept hitching and breaking every time your mouths met. Her hands slid under your shirt, shaking as they groped at your chest, her eight fingers trembling with urgency. She squeezed your breasts too roughly, like she didn’t know how to be gentle yet, and you hissed a little at the sensitivity—but didn’t stop her.

“Slow down,” you whispered against her lips, teasing. “God, you’re shaking.”

“I can’t,” she whimpered, voice cracking. “You’re so—fuck—please—”

You chuckled softly and dipped your head down, brushing your mouth along the sharp line of her jaw. She twitched when you reached her neck. One kiss—just one—and her entire body jolted like you’d shocked her. Her eyes fluttered shut, teeth catching on her bottom lip, her whole body quivering.

“Sensitive,” you murmured, grazing her throat again.

Ellie nodded frantically, almost ashamed. “Sorry fuck I’m trying—”

You cut her off with another kiss, slower this time, more controlled. She melted into it, losing herself, letting you lead. You rocked your hips forward then, lining up your center with hers and grinding down—slow, firm pressure.

Her reaction was instant.

She cried out against your mouth, hands flying down to grip your ass, squeezing hard as she tried to pull you closer, deeper, anything. Her thighs tensed under you, her hips lifting to meet your rhythm, her breath breaking in uneven gasps between kisses.

You tilted your head, kissing the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, then just beneath her ear where her pulse fluttered like a moth. She was flushed all the way down her throat, hair sticking to her temples, her skin damp and burning.

“You’re doing so good,” you whispered, voice low, brushing your nose against hers. “You want me to keep going?”

She nodded wildly. “Yes—yes, please. Just—don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

And God, part of you ached with how beautiful she looked like this—undone, messy, and open. The girl you’d known all your life, tough and guarded, now trembling beneath you in nothing but her shirt and her desperation. She wasn’t performing like so many others had. She wasn’t trying to be sexy. She was, in a way that felt so much more real.

You couldn’t stop looking at her. Couldn’t stop kissing her.

You had never touched her like this before. Never crossed that line. Three months ago, she’d collapsed in front of you, sobbing into your knees, asking—begging—you to stay. She told you she was tired of being alone. That everyone left. That she didn’t want to be left behind anymore.

You didn’t say anything that night. You just held her. But you stayed.

And now here you were, kissing her over and over on her mouth, her cheeks, her neck. Her hands still roaming, still trying to undress you even as they trembled with every squeeze. She ground up into you helplessly, her sounds high and breathy and soft.

You’d had your fair share of lovers—especially in Jackson. Lonely women, tired wives, travelers with too much whiskey and too few rules. You were good at this. You knew how to take the lead, how to read a body, how to pull moans like thread from between someone's lips.

But Ellie was different.

She wasn’t just wet. She was soaked. Sloppy. Every grind of your hips drew a whimper, every kiss a twitch. She was desperate—like her body had been waiting for this since the day you moved in. She clung to you like you were the only thing anchoring her to the earth.

And for a moment—just a moment—you weren’t sure if you could keep up the act. If you could stay calm, composed, experienced.

Because seeing her like this?

It didn’t make you feel powerful. It made you feel electrified.

Like you were teetering on the edge of something huge.

You pulled back just enough to look down at her. Her lips were swollen, her pupils blown wide, her hair a complete mess. She looked wrecked—and you hadn’t even really touched her yet.

“I want to make you feel good,” you whispered, forehead resting against hers.

“You already are,” she breathed. 

You nodded slowly, breath brushing hot against her cheek while your hand drifted down the flat plane of her stomach. You didn’t rush. You let your fingertips trace every shallow dip and every rise of her breathing, letting her feel the anticipation drag over her like warm syrup. Goosebumps surged across her skin in a wave, her lower stomach tightening, quivering with every pass of your hand.

Ellie couldn’t stay still—her hips kept grinding at nothing, lifting off the mattress in broken little jerks like her body was begging for friction anywhere it could get it. Her slick had smeared up the inside of her thighs from grinding on the pillow earlier, and now it glistened on her skin in the firelight. She let out soft, frantic whimpers every time your touch dipped lower, only for you to tease back up again, circling her belly button, dragging down the faint line of muscle that appeared when she tensed.

“Please…” she breathed, voice thin, already falling apart.

But she didn’t wait for you.

Her hand shot out, grabbed your wrist hard—almost painfully—and dragged it down between her legs. She didn’t guide you; she took you. She forced your hand exactly where she wanted it and shoved your fingers inside her in one desperate, trembling motion.

Two fingers. All the way.

Your eyes went wide as she gasped sharply, back arching, mouth falling open. She squeezed around you instantly—tight, hot, flooding—and her hips rolled up to meet your hand like she’d been starving for this.

“Jesus, Ellie—” you muttered under your breath, shocked at how ready she already was.

But she wasn’t hearing anything.

Her face was flushed, sweat beading at her hairline, her breaths coming out little and high. She started riding your fingers immediately—messy, uneven thrusts, her hips rising and falling in frantic, needy motions. Her nails dug into your forearm hard enough to leave half-moon marks, holding your hand exactly where she needed it, refusing to let you adjust or take control.

“I’m—f-fuck—” she stuttered, voice cracking. “I’m so close—don’t—don’t move—just—”

You stayed silent, watching her. Completely fascinated.

You barely had to do anything. She was using your hand like it was hers, grinding down, then lifting, then pushing herself back onto your fingers with a desperation that made your own breath hitch.

Usually, you would stop a lover who got this frantic. Slow them down. Take over. Guide them through it so they didn’t burn themselves out too fast.

But watching Ellie—Ellie—come apart like this?

Watching her lose every ounce of composure, every wall she’d ever built, every tough-girl, quiet, distant mask she wore?

It was intoxicating.

Her thighs shook violently as she fucked herself on your hand, her slick dripping down your knuckles, the sound wet and rhythmic in the quiet room. She whimpered each time she came down onto your fingers, her breath stuttering, her whole body trembling like she was fighting something too big for her.

And then she broke.

Her mouth dropped open in a silent cry before she sucked in a trembling gasp, her body clamping hard around your fingers. Her hips jerked, seized, then froze as the orgasm ripped through her. She whimpered—tiny, high, helpless—her hand still crushing your wrist even as she came.

When she finally sagged into the mattress, panting, she yanked your fingers out abruptly, her eyes glassy and overwhelmed.

You wiped a smear of slick on her hip and raised a brow, smirking. “You gonna let me do it now?” you teased lightly.

She shot you a glare that would’ve been threatening if her legs weren’t still twitching.

“Don’t—fucking—laugh at me,” she muttered, biting her lip, trying to regain control. Her hips, traitorously, kept grinding upward at the air—like her body wanted more before her mind could even react.

Your gaze dropped between her legs.

Her clit was swollen, flushed, throbbing visibly in the soft folds of her slick. Every breath she took made it twitch. She was soaked, messy, needy in a way you’d never seen her before. It pulled something deep and primal out of you.

You lowered yourself slowly, kissing down her stomach. One kiss at the top—she shivered. Another lower—her stomach jerked. Another just above her mound—her hand shot into your hair before she forced herself to let go.

You paused, breath warm against her skin. Her hips lifted again, impatient.

“Come on…” she whispered, voice hoarse. “Don’t—don’t tease me. Just—I need—”

You chuckled and gently took her hands, placing them back on the mattress beside her head.

“Be patient,” you murmured, kissing her mound—slow, warm, deliberate.

She was not patient.

She bucked wildly, her thighs pressing against your shoulders, her moans getting louder and more helpless. She couldn’t control her hips—every tiny brush made her twitch and gasp.

Then you pressed your tongue flat against her throbbing clit—just pressure—and waited.

Her entire body seized.

She froze like she was bracing for impact, hands gripping the sheets so tight her knuckles went white. Her hips stuttered, her breath catching in a sharp, broken gasp.

“Fuck—f-fuck—please,” she begged, voice raw. “Move—move—move—please—please—”

You smiled against her and finally swirled your tongue—slow circles, lazy and smooth.

That was it.

That was all she could take.

Her hands flew back into your hair, gripping tight as her hips jerked up uncontrollably. Her thighs clamped around your head as another orgasm slammed into her—hard and sudden and overwhelming. Her back arched completely off the bed, her eyes squeezing shut as she let out a strangled, incoherent sound.

She shook—violently—her whole body trembling as she tried to stay still but couldn’t. Every exhale was a broken whimper. She looked down at you through hooded, watery eyes, still clutching your hair as if you were the only thing keeping her anchored.

Her climax came in waves—long, shuddering rolls that made her thighs spasm around your ears. She kept whispering something—maybe your name, maybe “don’t stop,” maybe “oh god”—but none of it was intelligible.

And she looked absolutely fucking wrecked.

( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀)

mdni divider: @sylusz

cloud divider: @cursed-carmine

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

(dm or comment to be added. on my masterlist these are who have reached out to be tagged)

Taglist:

@colorfulcherryblossomtidalwave

@celinealways

sᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ sᴀɴᴛᴀ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴏsᴀʟ

Day 5 of fluffmas!

Summary: Matt proposes to you during a cozy family Secret Santa night, turning the holiday into the most magical moment of your life.

You were curled up on the couch with a warm mug of hot chocolate, the scent of cinnamon and pine lingering in the cozy living room. Matt’s entire family was gathered around the glowing fireplace, its gentle crackle adding to the holiday charm. Twinkling lights lined the walls, and stockings hung perfectly along the mantle. It was finally time for the big reveal, Secret Santa gift exchange.

You smiled as Mary Lou’s name was called, and you stood up excitedly, picking up the gift you had wrapped just for her. She opened the soft tissue paper, pulling out a pair of fluffy slippers, a matching pajama set, and a three wick holiday candle. Her eyes lit up as she looked up at you.

“Oh, sweetheart! These are perfect!” she exclaimed, standing up and hugging you tightly. “You’re such a sweet girl, thank you, thank you!”

You blushed and sat back down, heart full from making her so happy. One by one, gifts were exchanged, and laughter filled the room. Eventually, only one person hadn’t given their gift,Matt.

You turned your head and squinted at him, already grinning. “Oh my god, baby, you had me this whole time?”

He chuckled and stood up, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. “I’m gonna go get your gift,” he said nonchalantly as he walked out of the room.

You waited, giddy, your hands folded in your lap. But when he came back, he wasn’t holding anything.

You tilted your head. “Matt?”

He held his hand out toward you. “Baby, come here.”

Your brows furrowed, but you slid your hand into his, letting him guide you in front of the fireplace. Everyone’s eyes were suddenly on you, and the room fell unusually quiet.

“Matt, what are you doing?” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the soft pop of the firewood.

He held both your hands and looked into your eyes, his thumb brushing over your knuckles with so much care.

“I love you,” he began. “I’ve loved you since the moment I met you. And I’ve known for a long time that I want to spend forever with you.”

Your breath caught, eyes wide as realization began to sink in. Your lips trembled, and your eyes welled up.

You glanced over your shoulder, Mary Lou had her hands covering her mouth, already crying.

“Matty-” you whispered, your voice cracking with a soft pout, blinking through tears.

Then, he dropped to one knee.

From his back pocket, he pulled out a small velvet box, flipping it open to reveal the most beautiful ring you’d ever seen.

“Will you marry me?”

You gasped, a soft “oh my god” escaping your lips before you nodded quickly and shouted, “Yes!!”

You jumped into his arms as everyone clapped and cheered. He caught you with ease, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around as he kissed you deeply.

“I love you,” he whispered in your ear.

“I love you more,” you whispered back, still crying, still laughing, still processing.

Mary Lou came up, tears rolling down her cheeks. She hugged you tightly. “Welcome to the family, sweetheart.”

Jimmy, Justin, Chris, and Nick all came up to hug you, one by one. Nick, your best friend, grabbed your hands and jumped up and down excitedly with you.

“DUDE! You’re gonna be my official sister in law!” he shouted, and you both squealed like kids.

It wasn’t until all the commotion calmed that you looked down at your hand and really saw the ring.

“Wow, Matt. It’s beautiful,” you said in awe, your fingers gently twisting in the light.

He smiled, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Beautiful like you.”

He leaned in and kissed your cheek gently.

Chris walked up, phone in hand, grinning from ear to ear. “I got the whole thing,” he said, showing you the video preview. “You’re gonna wanna watch this back later.”

You laughed through the tears, snuggling into Matt’s side as he wrapped his arm around you protectively. The fire crackled behind you, your new family surrounding you, and your heart fuller than it had ever been.

Christmas had never felt so magical.

Fluffmas day 5!

⇢Read more fluffmas, HERE.

⇢Read slutmas, HERE.

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DAY 05 — FIRST CHRISTMAS TOGETHER

pairing: bf!rafe cameron x gf!reader

summary: you and your boyfriend spend your first Christmas together, just the two of you at Tannyhill. And later, at the beach.

contents: established relationship, fluff, smut, Christmas, S3!rafe/obx, public sex(empty beach), handjob, fingering

wc: 1.806

It’s been a few months since you moved into Tannyhill. It started with small things; a suitcase left in Rafe’s room for a little too long, a toothbrush added beside his in the bathroom, your shampoo slowly replacing his bottles. Then it became real. All your clothes filled half of his closet, your skincare lined the sink and you reorganized the kitchen cabinets because you couldn’t stand not knowing where things were. Slowly, the house stopped feeling like Rafe Cameron, the Kook Prince’s place and started feeling like yours together. Your relationship’s been going well anyway, so why not? Ward, Rose, and Wheezie were still in the Bahamas and Sarah was living with the Pogues.

That’s why this Christmas was different. It’s the first one you’ll spend together. Just the two of you. Your family is traveling, his was scattered across oceans and broken relationships.

On the morning of December 25th, you woke slowly. Draped across Rafe’s bare chest, his skin warm beneath your cheek, one heavy arm wrapped loosely around your back as if even in sleep he was aware of you. The room was quiet, washed in soft morning light filtering through the curtains.

You yawned, stretching your arms above your head, fingers brushing his shoulder before settling again. Then you lifted your head slightly and looked at him. You smiled to yourself.

Rafe’s eyes opened gradually, blinking against the light. It took him a second to focus, then he realized you were watching him and a slow, sleepy smile curved his lips. “Good morning,” he murmured, the word coming out as a low, half-formed mumble, voice still thick with sleep.

“Morning and Merry Christmas,” you replied softly, propping yourself against his hip to lean down and press a quick kiss to his lips. Rafe hummed quietly in response, hands tightening around you just a little.

“Merry Christmas,” Rafe answered, before burying his face into your neck and placing slow, lazy kisses there.

It took several minutes and more than a few of Rafe’s sleepy protests before you finally convinced him to get out of bed.

Downstairs, you pulled two mugs of hot chocolate from the fridge, the ones you’d made the night before, warmed them up and carried them to the living room.

The Christmas tree glows in the corner, lights blinking softly. Only four presents beneath it, two from you to Rafe and two from him to you. Originally, Rafe had hidden his gifts away in his office, but you’d insisted they needed to be under the tree for “the Christmas feeling.” He’d rolled his eyes, but he’d moved them anyway.

The TV played the movie you’d started the night before, the one neither of you had managed to finish before falling asleep on the couch. “So…” you said, cradling your mug, already glancing toward the tree. “Do you want to open the presents now?” Rafe huffed softly, amused. “You don’t even try to hide it,” he said. “I’m curious to see what you got me.” He shrugged. “Yeah. Go first.”

You set your mug down and stand, grabbing the first gift before sitting back beside him, the second one resting on your lap. Why two presents? Because you’d gotten carried away. And because you’d noticed something missing in the house.

You hand him the shopping bag first. Rafe untied the ribbon and pulled out a lightweight cotton flannel, soft to the touch, in a wide plaid pattern of beige and light gray — similar to the blue one he wore all the time. Resting on top was a Polaroid photo.

He recognized it instantly; the two of you, early in your relationship, outside a small ice cream shop near the beach. Sunburned, smiling, careless. He picked up the photo, thumb brushing over it gently, and looked up at you with a smile that reached his eyes. “Thanks, baby.”

“There’s another one,” you said, grinning, handing him the small red box tied with a green ribbon. “All right,” he said, taking it with a smile that looked almost boyish. Considering his past, you figured it had been a long time since he’d experienced a Christmas this warm.

Inside the box is a simple black key holder with five hooks. “This one’s for me too,” you laugh lightly, explaining. “We didn’t have one, and now with all the keys, we can’t just keep tossing them on tables.” There were one house key for each one of you, a spare, two car keys, and the key to Rafe’s bike.

He chuckled. “We both know you’re also going to steal the shirt.” Yeah, that’s true.

Then Rafe stands up and walks toward the tree, grabbing the two gifts he’d bought for you. He hands you the small bag first.

Inside is a little box. You open it carefully, revealing a delicate gold necklace with a small sun-shaped pendant. “I…” he started, his voice low. “I’ve gotten a lot better since I met you. You… kind of brought light into my life,” Rafe avoids your eyes as he speaks.

You smile, lean forward, and wrap your arms around him. “Thank you.”

Without another word, Rafe passed you the second gift, wrapped in festive paper. You open it to find a vibrant beach wrap, bright and soft. You smile softly, realizing he must have remembered every time you complained about wearing a bikini with denim shorts to the beach. “It’s beautiful,” you say, leaning in to kiss Rafe.

“I’m glad you like it,” he replied, returning the kiss. “I stood in the store way too long trying to decide,” Rafe wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you down with him onto the couch.

The movie kept playing in the background. Outside, the island was quiet. The Christmas lights cast a warm glow across the room. And even though it was still early morning, your Christmas already felt perfect.

But the day was only getting started.

It is nearly midnight now, and you and Rafe walk barefoot along the empty Outer Banks shoreline. The sand is cold beneath your feet and occasional waves that lap at your toes feel like ice. Rafe holds your hand in his, fingers laced together, while his other hand carries both pairs of your shoes.

You’re wearing the dress he’d watched you put on earlier that evening; a short, ribbed knit dress that clings to your frame before flaring gently at the hips. The high neck and long sleeves protect you from the biting wind, though you hardly need the warmth.

Even without turning your head, you can feel his gaze running all over you. It’s a look that says “damn, that’s my girl” without making a sound.

You turn your face toward him, and there are the blue eyes you fell in love with. “What are you thinking about?” you ask, a smile already playing on your lips because you already know the answer.

“Nothing,” he shrugged, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “Just admiring the view,” there’s a pause. “And noticing how there’s not a single soul on this beach.”

“Is that so?” You turn fully toward him then, circling your arms around his neck. Rising onto your toes, you kiss him softly, just a brush. “Mhm,” he murmurs against your mouth, his free hand finding your waist and pulling you flush against him to deepen the kiss.

“That lifeguard stand looks comfortable,” you whisper when you finally pull back, nodding toward the wooden structure a few yards behind you.

Within moments, you’re underneath its wooden stairs. Rafe presses you against the thick support pillar, his mouth finding yours again with renewed hunger. You run your tongue along his lower lip, and he yields, letting you take control, letting you set the pace that he would always follow.

Both of his hands are on you now, roaming up your back and lifting the rear of your dress. The knit fabric bunched at your waist, exposing you to the cool air. Your hands find his belt and his breath stutters for a second. You unbuckle and unzip his jeans with practiced efficiency, fingers working fast and sure, finding him already hard when you slip your hand into his boxers.

“Fuck, baby…” Rafe groans, his head falling back against as your thumb spreads the bead of pre-cum over his tip. From the very beginning, you’d learned how to make him feel good, just as he’d learned to satisfy you better than anyone else ever could.

You set a methodical rhythm, almost cruel to Rafe’s patience. You know all his expressions: the way his jaw locks when you deliberately slow your strokes, the shiver that ripples through him when you focus on the sensitive underside. With Rafe, you don’t need words. Your language is wordless.

He comes with a choked sound, a low groan he never intended to let escape, resting his forehead against yours. You keep holding his length, your hand moving slowly, drawing out every last pulse. When it’s over, his tongue slips into your mouth, kissing you with a passion that feels like devotion and consumption at once.

“My turn,” Rafe whispers against your lips.

His hand slides beneath your dress, pure intent. His fingers tease along the lace edge of your panties, then slip beneath the fabric to find you already wet. “Always ready for me, huh?” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

His thumb finds your clit, pressing in slow, tight circles that make your thighs tremble. His other hand pulls your dress higher, gripping your ass. He knows you now; knows when to accelerate, when to be tender and slow, when to add another finger and curl them just right to make your vision blur.

Your head falls to his shoulder as two fingers slide inside. You forgot you were on a public beach, forgot everything except the feel of him. How fortunate for the people who’d decided to travel for Christmas or stay tucked in their homes. And fortunate for you both.

When you come, the moan is ripped from your throat and carried away by the wind. Your fingers clench in his shirt, anchoring yourself to the only solid thing in a spinning world. Rafe murmurs praises into your throat, worshipful words you can’t quite make out but feel in your marrow. Even through the knit of your dress, he presses kisses along your shoulders and collarbone, ending with one deliberate press of lips against the necklace he’d given you hours ago.

“Home to finish this?” Rafe asks, lifting his head with a mischievous smirk that makes your heart stutter.

“You already know the answer,” you reply, chuckling softly.

And so you begin the walk back toward Tannyhill, your hands intertwined, Christmas lights winking from the houses that lined the shore. The first Christmas together.

𝗤𝘂𝗶𝗻𝗻 𝗛𝘂𝗴𝗵𝗲𝘀 𝘅 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

full fluffmas masterlist here

Pairing: Jackson!Joel x reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings/Content: Pure fluff, being snowed in together, domestic Joel, cuddling, kissing, soft intimacy, established relationship, mild language, warm/cozy vibes.

Summary: A heavy snowstorm traps you and Joel inside your Jackson home, leaving the two of you wrapped in blankets, warmth, and each other. With nowhere to go and nothing to do but enjoy the quiet, Joel turns a snowed-in morning into one of the softest, most love-soaked days you’ve ever shared.

Images from Pinterest. Divider credit: @/saradika-graphics Send a message to my inbox for requests & to be added to the tag list Author's Note: Welcome to my first fluffmas! Hope you enjoy! Taglist: @cozymochaa, @mystickittytaco, @whattheflipsiesss, @needz1nk, @haileycopter17, @isimpforfictionalmen, @isabellaboo2025, @missadangel, @rosharanfiction

Fluffmas 2025 Masterlist

The storm had been whispering about its arrival all week. Litter flurries brushing rooftops, winds picking up steadily each night. But Jackson had weathered every rumour of snowfall before. No one paid much attention.

But this time, it wasn't a whisper like everyone assumed.

It was a complete white-out.

By the time dawn even tried to pry the sky open, the road outside your house was buried deep in snow. The windows were frosted over in delicate patterns, like someone had taken the time to place them down on the glass. The fire had sunk to glowing embers, and the cold, seeping through every crack it could, woke you up before the sun could.