#jacksonjoel

“Why won’t you accept it? Your legs ain’t workin’ today, darlin’.”

“And who’s fault is that, Miller?” you roll your eyes at Joel during your fifth failed attempt to get out of bed. “You’re the one who wanted us to fuck in every position known to man.”

Granted, last night was fucking amazing. The only problem is that you’re expected to start patrol in thirty minutes, and your legs have decided not to cooperate after Joel spent the majority of last night railing you into next week. Tommy and Maria already have you in their bad books, and you cannot turn up late and makes things even worse.

“Let me handle it. I’ll talk to Tommy and get him to find a replacement. You’re stayin’ here today, no objections.”

You lean back against the pillows with a groan. Shit, he’s ruined you. Immediately, Joel pulls you towards him and you rest your head on his chest.

“No one knows about us, Joel. You can’t just rock up on Tommy’s doorstep and tell him I can’t go on patrol because I let his brother fuck me so stupid I pulled a muscle in both my legs.”

Joel scratches at the back of his neck, letting out a low chuckle in amusement. “Startin’ to think people already know. Walls ain’t that thick. You were screamin’.”

Your laugh soon turns into a wince as your legs start to protest. Joel slides out of bed and changes into a dressing gown before grabbing the walkie-talkie he left downstairs. Sadly, the conversation he is having with Tommy is too muffled for you to eavesdrop on. Your eyes drift shut, but dart back open a few moments later when Joel walks back into the bedroom, holding a bottle of cooking oil that most likely expired years ago.

“And what exactly are you planning to do with that?”

Joel smirks and shrugs, knees cracking when he crawls back onto the bed. “Massage oil. Turn over.”

You burrowed deeper under the blankets, trying to avoid leaving the cocoon of warmth that was circled around you, but it was no use. Your other source of dething was missing.

Joel.

You sat up groggily, rubbing your eyes from the sleep in them as you listened. The shivers were almost instant when the covers fell off your shoulders and down your torso.

A soft clink of ceramic came from downstairs. A quiet hum and something scraping across the table.

Then smell you grew all too familiar with. Joel was making coffee.

The thought pulled an effortless smile out of you - one that was slow and fond. You slid out of bed and bundled yourself in one of Joel's hoodies that was ridiculously large on your frame, but overshadowed by the faint scent of cedar and Joel's own musk that sank into the fabric.

Padding down the stairs to the kitchen. You found him exactly how you expected: sitting at the table, hair messy with some strands pointing in different directions, wearing sweatpants with a hoodie. He was hunched over a steaming mug, staring at the snowfall through the fogged-up window.

"Morning," you murmured softly as you made your way over to him.

"Mornin' sweetheart," he rasped, voice still thick from sleep and his eyes unbearably full of affection. He takes in the sight of you in his hoodie, and once you reach him, you wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind and bury your head against his neck.

"Still sleepy?" He questions with a hint of teasing, bringing you to let out a huff against his neck with a small nod. "C'mere," he says as he lets go of his mug and slightly turns in your direction, bringing you onto his lap.

You were seated on his lap with his chest against your side, and the portion of your legs below your knees were dangling off the side of his thighs. His arms wrap around your waist, and his chin rests on your shoulder while his body heat sinks into you like he was his own personal heater.

"How the hell are you always so warm?" You questioned with a chuckle, settling in his lap while an arm hooks around his neck.

"Just born that way," retorts low and lazily, like it was an obvious answer. "Plus, s'cause I've been up for a bit. Fire died down overnight and thought I'd get it goin' again before you woke up."

You slowly nodded, and Joel let out a slow exhale, lips placing a soft kiss against your temple. The storm outside howled suddenly, wind whipping against the windows hard enough to rattle the panes and you looked over to the window with a touch of concern.

"Don't worry," he says as he lifts the mug of coffee to his lips, taking a sip before setting it back down. "It ain't coming in 'ere."

You nodded and relaxed into him once again, breathing in the mix of his scent and the scent of the coffee coming from his mug. "By the way," he began, leaning back slightly and studying your face with a softness that made your heart stutter just a bit. "Tried the door. Didn't work. So-"

"-We're snowed in," you finished for him, and he nods, running his hand along your back. "Terrifying," you whispered dramatically against his ear.

Joel snorted and kissed your cheek, "smartass."

You quietly laughed, grabbing his mug, taking a sip before he could stop you. He didn't even bother protesting - just watched your lips on the rim like he was watching one of the prettiest thing's he'd ever seen, to which… you definitely were.

"You could've woken me up," you say softly, setting the mug down on the table.

"Could've," he agreed without hesitation, placing a kiss against your neck. "But you wouldn've crawled onto me all tried 'n sweet. Then we'd never get out of bed."

"And that's a bad thing?" You questioned with a raise of your brow, lowering your head against his shoulder.

"Sure is when I got things for us to do."

Your brows raised and you lifted your head to look at him, your hand running through his hair, "So you have an agenda, huh?"

"When it comes to you? Always," he retorts with a small chuckle, kissing the side of your neck, "Mostly invovles keeping you close. And gotta keep you entertained one way or another."

"Mhm…" you hum quietly, eyeing him with a small smirk. "What are we doing all day then?"

Joel shrugged lightly, rubbing his hands along your sides as he looks at you with a smile, "Stay warm…" he begins, placing a kiss against your chin, "…sit close…" A kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Hold you…" he whispered, his lips ghosting over yours, "talk. Nap. Kiss a lot. The normal."

You laughed softly, resting your hands on his shoulders, "Oh, really? That's your plan?"

"Mhmm," he hummed, kissing you once more, slow and deep. "Storm's a blessing as far as I'm concerned."

You eyed him for a long moment, taking a sip from his mug once more before setting it down and sliding off his lap. You tug his hand and smile, "Come on."

He raised a brow and looks down to your hand pulling his, "Where we goin'?"

"To make that fire you promised."

"Right," Joel grumbled, reluctantly standing and stretching, "Fire. Heat. Survival. Those things."

"Joelll…" you drag with a smile, giving him a gentle nudge.

"What?" He questions with a smile, clearly knowing what he's doing. "I'm plannin' on survival here. In bed, under blankets, with you on top of me, or under - that's your choice. That's my kind of survival."

You couldn't help but laugh at his antics. Rolling your eyes, a smile spreading on your lips, you nudge him again, "Get the firewood."

"Yes ma'am," he mutters with a smirk, placing a kiss against your forehead before walking away.

By the time Joel got the fire roaring in the fireplace, the living room felt warm again - soft orange light flickering across the walls, snow still falling heavy outside the windows. You dragged every blanket you owned onto the living room floor and Joel helped you arrange them into the coziest makeshift fort imaginable.

"Didn't realize we were buildin' a damn fort," Joel muttered as you tossed a pillow at him.

"We're trapped, baby," you said, crawling under the pile of blankets. "We're making the best of it."

Joel climbed in beside you, stretching out on his back to which you immediately rolled onto his chest, your head settling beneath his chin. His arms circled you automatically, "Mmm," he hummed happiley against the top of your head. "You were right… this is good."

"You're comfy," you mumble, burying your head against his chest as he placed a kiss to the top of your head.

"So I've heard," he retorts, his thumb stroking your back. "Reckon I was made for this now. Just holdin' you like this." He kissed the top of your head, letting it linger before his hand runs through your hair.

Outside, the wind whipped against the roof, but the fire crackled steadily, warming the blanket fort as Joel ran his head lazily up and down your spine. You could've fallen asleep but then he suddenly speaks up, "Tell me somethin'."

"Like what?" You question, lifting your head to look up at him.

"Anythin'," he murmurs, "I just… like hearin' you."

So you talked. About silly things, childhood memories, stories you hadn't thought about in years. Joel listened like each word mattered, kissing your hair every so often, humming low responses while his fingrs traced slow circles on your back.

Sometimes he talked too. About Texas. About what Sarah used to do during Christmas. At one point, you fell asleep against his chest. You didn't even realize it until you felt his gentle fingertips brushing against your cheek.

"Love you, sweetheart," he whispered softly, placing a kiss against the crown of your head.

“Quit makin’ that face,” Tommy called out the moment Joel rode through the gates. The sun was dipping behind the hills, casting long shadows across the snowy dirt, and Joel had barely swung out of the saddle before his brother was on him. “You’re scarin’ off the horses.”

Joel shot him a flat look and went right back to checking the strap on his saddle. “Ain’t makin’ a face.”

“You are,” Tommy insisted, arms crossed, grin growing wider - the kind of grin Joel always dreaded. “Which tells me you already know why I’m here.”

“I know trouble when it walks right up to me,” Joel muttered.

Tommy didn’t bother easing into it. Subtlety had never been his strong suit.

“We need somebody to play Santa this year.”

Joel froze. Just for a second. Then he exhaled through his nose and went back to fussing with the tack as if he could pretend this conversation wasn’t happening.

“No,” he said simply.

“Joel -”

“No, Tommy.”

“You owe me,” Tommy cut in, tone turning smug. “Unless your memory’s really gettin’ that bad.”

Joel narrowed his eyes. “For what?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Tommy said loudly, hand lifting theatrically. “Maybe for that time I took your patrol shift when Ellie was sick and you hadn’t slept in damn near two days? Let you get some rest? Remember that?”

Joel’s jaw flexed. “That ain’t the same.”

“It absolutely is. A debt is a debt.”

“What kinda man keeps tally over helpin’ his own family?” Joel grumbled.

“The kind who needs a Santa.” Tommy clapped him on the shoulder. “C’mon, brother. Kids’ll lose their minds if nobody shows up in the red suit.”

Joel huffed, shoulders sagging.

“Tommy…”

“Yup,” Tommy said, knowing exactly what that tone meant. “S’too late to back out. Already told folks you’d do it.” Tommy already walked backward toward town with far too much confidence.

“I didn’t agree to shit.”

“You did now,” Tommy smirked. “Unless you want me thinkin’ up extra chores for ya. I got ideas, you know. Real annoyin’ ones.”

Joel cursed under his breath, low and resigned. The kind of sound that meant he knew he’d lost before the argument even started.

“I’m tellin’ you right now - I ain’t built for this.”

Tommy beamed. “Nobody is, brother. That’s the magic.”

And just like that, Joel Miller - grumpiest man in Jackson - was the new Santa Claus.

“Well,” Joel announced, stepping out of the spare bedroom, the red suit hanging off him like a deflated tent, “looks like you’re gonna have to find yourself a different Santa. Maybe two, by the look of things.”

He tugged at the loose fabric around his middle, scowling. The coat sagged, the pants pooled around his boots, and the belt - meant for someone with a far more generous stomach - wrapped so far around him that the buckle nearly touched the back. If he moved too quickly, the whole thing threatened to slide right off.

Tommy wheezed a laugh, but Maria cut him a sharp look.

“Absolutely not,” she said firmly. She had Benji balanced on one hip, the child fast asleep, cheek pressed against her shoulder. “We’re not starting from scratch just because Bud Thompson had a belly like a damn barrel.”

Joel spread his arms, letting the oversized sleeves flop. “Maria, this thing could fit a whole other man inside it.”

“Then we’ll take some fabric out,” she shot back. “Simple.”

“And the beard?” Joel held up an empty hand, eyebrows raised. “You told me there’d be a beard.”

Maria exhaled heavily, the kind of sigh that meant she’d already fought three battles today and had no patience left for a fourth. “Got lost somewhere between last year’s clean-up and people not listenin’ when I said label the damn boxes.” She nudged Tommy pointedly, and he suddenly found the floor real interesting.

Joel crossed his arms, settling into his familiar, stubborn stance. “So I can’t wear the suit, and there’s no beard. Seems like a sign, if you ask me.”

Maria shook her head so sharply her curls bounced. “Not a chance, Joel. I’ve already got a solution.” She shifted the sleeping child, then dug one hand into the pocket of her sweater. “Here.”

Joel stared as she pressed a small scrap of paper into his palm. An address. A name.

He blinked slowly. “This is really happenin’, huh?”

Maria met his look with unstoppable determination. “She lives just across the street. You’ve seen her around. She can sew.” Then, with a pointed nod: “And you will go there. Today.”

Joel sighed - long, deep, defeated.

He didn’t say no.

The knock on your door was so loud and abrupt that you nearly poked yourself with the small tool in your hand. You’d been working on a bundle of pine-scented sachets - something the kids loved to tuck into their coat pockets during winter, something that made the cold feel friendlier and the world a little softer. They weren’t glamorous, but they kept the cabins smelling nice, and the children liked choosing their favorite shapes. Little stars, trees, even wonky snowmen.

You set the half-finished sachet aside and wiped your palms on your thighs before answering the door.

Your heart stuttered.

And then it dropped somewhere into your stomach.

Joel Miller stood on your doorstep.

Snow clung to the shoulders of his jacket, already melting into dark patches. His hair was damp from the flurries, a few errant curls flattening against his forehead. His broad frame filled the entire doorway, and his expression… well. You’d seen him look tired, stern, focused, irritated, all the usual Joel variations - but this one was new: a mix of annoyance and resignation, like he’d been personally dragged across town by Maria herself.

Which, knowing Maria, was very possible.

She had asked you a day ago if you could help Jackson with “a small Christmas task.” You hadn’t hesitated. You always helped, especially around the holidays. It made things feel… normal. Safe. You’d agreed enthusiastically.

You had not expected this to land on your doormat.

“Maria sent me,” he said without preamble, voice rough from the cold. He lifted his chin slightly, as if that were explanation enough. “Said you could sew.”

You opened your mouth but no sound came out. Your tongue felt glued to the roof of it. After a moment, you managed a tiny, croaked, “Yeah… yes. I can.” You cleared your throat and stepped aside, gesturing him in. “Um. Come in.”

He did, boots leaving faint trails of snow across your freshly swept floor. You told yourself not to care, not to be ridiculous, but your brain was already scrambling to tidy in your imagination. Meanwhile, Joel moved with the weary confidence of a man who had been in a hundred homes and didn’t quite know how to take up less space.

He gravitated toward the living room, gaze adjusting to your modest decorations - strands of fabric garland, a few paper cutouts you’d helped the children make, and a little wooden nativity you had carved the year before. Your sewing machine sat ready on the table beside baskets of thread, fabric scraps, and pins.

“Can I get you something?” you offered, eager to fill the silence. “I, uh - made a fresh batch of coffee.”

Joel looked at you over his shoulder. No smile, but his sternness softened enough to count as agreement. “Coffee’s fine.”

You escaped into the kitchen like it was a lifeboat. Your pulse thundered as you poured two mugs. His cup trembled slightly in your hand - not enough to spill, but enough that you cursed your nerves. When you returned, you handed him his drink and sank into your own chair with your half-finished mug.

“So…” you ventured, watching the way his broad shoulders angled as he took in the room. He wasn’t being rude. He was just… observant. But every time his eyes landed on something you’d put up - a garland, a candle, a decoration - it felt like he was silently assessing the kind of person who lived here.

You swallowed. “Maria said the costume needs a little… fixing?”

That was when you noticed the bag in his grip. A lumpy, distressed-looking thing that sagged like it shared Joel’s opinion about this whole ordeal.

He gave it a little shake. “Fits the whole damn Russian circus, far as I can tell.”

A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. You covered it with a cough. “May I… see?”

He held the bag out toward you, assuming you’d want to examine the fabric.

But that wasn’t what you meant.

“Oh - no. I meant… on you.” Your face heated instantly. “So I can see where it needs adjusting.”

Joel stared at you for a second - brows drawn, jaw ticking slightly - but he didn’t argue. Didn’t tease. Didn’t even sigh.

He just set down his coffee calmly, opened the bag, and pulled out the oversized red suit.

Then, as if he were performing a routine chore, he stepped into the absurdly large pants. They ballooned around his legs, the waistband climbing nearly to his ribs. The coat swallowed his frame entirely, shoulders drooping, sleeves hanging past his fingertips.

He looked like a child playing dress-up in his father’s clothes.

“Well?” he asked, deadpan, as if bracing for judgment.

You bit your lip, desperately trying not to laugh.

“Yes,” you said carefully, pressing your fingers to your mouth. “This… definitely needs fixing."

Joel stood in the middle of your living room like a man waiting for judgment. Broad shoulders squared, hands loose at his sides, chin tucked slightly down as if he thought making himself smaller might help. It didn’t. He took up too much space to ever disappear.

You moved around him with slow, practiced steps, the hem of the Santa coat gathered in your hands as you searched for the next seam that needed tightening. The fabric was thick and stubborn beneath your fingers, and every time you leaned in to pin a fold, you caught the quiet rise of his breath. He wasn’t talking. He rarely did. Which meant your living room was filled with the soft rustle of fabric and the far-too-loud echo of your own heartbeat.

It wasn’t awkward silence - Joel didn’t really do awkward. It was more like he occupied quiet the way other men occupied chairs. Naturally. Solidly. Without question.

But it left you with entirely too much time to be aware of him.

The problem - no, the danger - was that Joel had never looked at you like this before. Not really. He’d nodded at you in the street, offered those short, polite exchanges that Jackson residents traded like currency. But acknowledging you? Allowing you this close? Standing here in your house while you adjusted his clothes?

This was new.

You, however… you'd been aware of him long before today.

You’d tried to ignore it at first. He was just another handsome man in town - well, no, he was the handsome man in town, but that was beside the point. His perpetual scowl hadn’t helped your interest either. If anything, it should’ve killed it.

But then you’d watched him from the sidelines - the way he carried heavy crates without being asked, the way he fixed fences or repaired roofs simply because someone needed it. The softness he tried to hide but never quite managed. And Ellie… well, seeing him with her had undone you completely. That quiet protectiveness, the gentleness beneath the armor, the love he showed in ways that didn’t need words.

It had lodged itself somewhere in you, and unfortunately, it had never left.

And now he was standing in your living room, all warmth and size and the faint scent of winter woods clinging to him. Close enough you could feel the heat radiating off him as you circled, pinning and tugging, trying not to stare at the shape of him under the suit - broad chest, thick arms, the subtle dip of his waist beneath the ridiculous red fabric.

You needed distraction. Fast.

“You a Christmas person, Joel?” you asked, breaking the silence before it swallowed you completely.

He made a low sound. A grunt. It could’ve meant yes. It could’ve meant no. It could’ve meant please stop talking and finish this so I can go.

“Well, I am,” you continued, keeping your voice bright even though he made it feel like work. “Shocking, I know.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw one of his eyebrows lift. “Really? Couldn’t tell.”

Your head snapped up at the joke - an actual joke - and your surprise made him huff a breath that might’ve been a quiet laugh.

“Oh, don’t start,” you said, grinning. “Next year maybe we should dress you up as the Grinch instead.”

He made a noise like he was trying not to smile.

“Or Oogie Boogie,” you added, stepping around to his side. “At least we wouldn’t have to do much sewing for that.”

That pulled his gaze down to you, curious and faintly offended in the most endearing way.

You plucked a pin from between your lips, missing entirely the way his eyes flicked there for a fraction of a second. “You know. The Nightmare Before Christmas?”

“Never seen it,” he said, matter-of-fact.

You stopped mid-step and stared at him. “What? Joel. It’s a classic.”

He shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Hard to get your hands on DVDs or VHS these days.”

“Well,” you said, stepping back to check the line of the coat on his shoulders, “good thing we’ve still got time here. I’ll catch you up.”

He looked down at you, eyes warm in a way that sank too easily under your skin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said lightly, pretending the flutter in your chest wasn’t real. “Consider it Christmas homework.”

For the next twenty minutes, you found yourself doing something you hadn’t expected when you woke up that morning: giving Joel Miller a full plot-summary of The Nightmare Before Christmas.

It started innocently enough - just a little explanation of why Oogie Boogie would’ve been a better costume choice - but once you started, it was impossible not to keep going. Joel listened in that very Joel-like way: still as stone, eyes flicking to you occasionally, like he was making sure he caught the parts that mattered. Or maybe he was just being polite. Hard to tell with him.

You paced lightly while you spoke, hands moving as you described Halloween Town and Christmas Town, Jack’s crisis of identity, the stitched-together girl who quietly held him together while he unraveled. You drew a casual comparison between Sally sewing Jack’s Santa suit and you fixing Joel’s - though you very carefully avoided mentioning the part where Sally was hopelessly in love with Jack. No need to invite that kind of mortification into your evening. 

You managed to keep your voice steady even when glancing over at Joel standing there, warm and huge and patient in a way that felt unexpectedly intimate.

As you talked, you finished the last adjustments you could make with the suit on his body - pinning down an uneven seam at his shoulder, straightening the length, reworking a stubborn fold that insisted on sitting wrong. Each time your fingers brushed fabric near him, you had to fight the ridiculous urge to apologize for breathing the same air.

Finally, when you wrapped up the story - Joel now fully versed in stop-motion existential crises - you stepped back and let out a soft breath.

“That’s the gist of it,” you said, brushing invisible lint from your palms. “I’ll take care of the rest without you in it. Shouldn’t take more than a day or two.”

You offered him a smile - a genuine one, warm and a little sheepish.

And you got one back.

A Joel smile. The fleeting kind, almost shy, the one that tugged gently at the corners of his mouth before retreating behind that greyish beard. You felt it land somewhere low in your stomach.

Speaking of which…

“I didn’t see a beard in that satchel,” you said, nodding toward the costume bag resting by the door as he stepped out onto your porch.

“Tommy lost it,” Joel said with an easy shrug, grinning as if the entire thing was one big joke he didn’t mind being the punchline of. “Maria makes sure to remind him of it.”

You grimaced in dramatic offense - because no beard on Santa was simply unacceptable. Somewhere in your brain, a plan began knitting itself together.

“Well,” you said, lifting your hands as if already preparing ribbon and thread, “maybe I’ll figure something out. No promises, though.”

His eyes softened on you, just a little. “You’re doin’ enough already, dar-” He caught himself sharply, clearing his throat. “Miss.”

Heat bloomed across your chest before you could stop it.

“Thanks for your help,” he added, the sincerity unmistakable in that low rumble of his. “’Preciate it.”

“Couldn’t let Christmas be stolen, now, could I?” you said lightly, leaning into the doorframe in what was supposed to be an effortless motion - except your foot slipped a fraction on the rug. You caught yourself quickly, praying he hadn’t noticed.

His soft, amused chuckle made it very clear he had.

You groaned internally.

“See you ’round,” he said, backing away down the porch steps. He nodded once - that quiet, almost old-fashioned farewell of his - before turning and heading down the walkway, boots crunching lightly against the frost.

“Yeah.” You gave a small, lazy wave. “See you, Joel.”

You stood there for a moment longer, watching the broad silhouette of him fade into the dim winter light, breath fogging in the cold air.

Then you closed the door behind you and stepped back into your cozy Christmas cocoon.

Except now it felt… different.

Bigger. Quieter. A little too still without the weight and warmth of your personal Santa standing in the middle of it.

Two evenings later, you kept your promise. The satchel in your arms felt unusually heavy, but you didn’t mind; the weight made you proud. Inside was Joel’s Santa costume, freshly adjusted, and your pièce de résistance: a homemade beard. You’d collected wool from the community’s sheep, washed it, dried it, and fluffed it painstakingly into shape until it actually looked like a Santa beard, complete with a carefully fashioned mouthhole.

Your pulse raced as you knocked on the door, expecting the familiar broad frame of Joel to fill the doorway. Instead, you were met with a much smaller figure.

“Yeah?” Ellie’s voice carried that signature edge, the one that never revealed whether she was amused, annoyed, or bored. Her expression was equally unreadable, that teen veneer that always made you feel just slightly out of your depth.

“Hey, Ellie. Is Joel home? Got something for him,” you said, patting the satchel against your side.

Ellie glanced over her shoulder without missing a beat, hollering into the house. “Joel? A girl’s here for you!” Then she spun back to you, mouth splitting into a mischievous grin. “Got a date or somethin’?”

Joel appeared on the stairs like a specter summoned. “No need to wake the whole town. I’m right here.” He gave you a small, apologetic nod. “Sorry about her.”

“All good,” you said, smiling.

“I am right here, y’know?” Ellie’s eyes darted between you and Joel, the grin never fading. “Whatcha got for him?”

Joel’s hand went to cover the bag as if the mere thought of Ellie seeing the insides made him physically pained. “Oh, nothin’, just a -”

But Ellie was faster. With a swift grab, she snatched the satchel from you and bounded toward the kitchen, giggling. Joel groaned, running a hand over his face, clearly mortified. You followed silently, closing the door behind you, and took your place as an unspoken observer of this adoptive dad-versus-teen dynamic.

“NO. WAY!” Ellie shrieked, dragging the costume from the bag. She spun around in place, eyes wide. “Don’t tell me… it’s gonna be you this year?!”

“It’s not…” Joel began, his voice low and wary, but Ellie wasn’t letting him finish.

“Oh my god! All those kids bouncing around, telling you their biggest wishes?” Ellie laughed so hard tears pricked at her eyes. You bit your lip to hide your own smile, enjoying every second of Joel’s discomfort.

Ellie had wrapped the jacket around her smaller shoulders, watching the costume drape comically on her frame. She laughed again, examining the sleeves that were far too long and the coat that nearly reached her knees.

“Let Tommy ask me next time, I -”

“Ellie,” Joel’s voice cut sharply, commanding now. “That’s enough. A whole lotta work went into this. Be careful.”

His acknowledgment - a warning delivered with weight, but tinged with care - sent a warm flutter through your chest. You hadn’t expected Joel to notice the effort you’d put in, much less care about it.

“Hopefully it fits now,” you said, finally finding your voice again, offering a sincere, gentle smile. You had no idea the subtle effect it would have.

Ellie’s grin only widened. “Oh yeah, you better try it on now, Joel. C’mon!”

Joel’s gaze flicked between you and her, a silent plea for patience. His eyes lingered on yours for a fraction longer than necessary, as if asking for backup, but it was already too late.

“I… fucking… LOVE IT!” Ellie’s shriek echoed through the house, ricocheting off the walls and making the floorboards vibrate beneath your feet.

Joel appeared in the kitchen, now fully suited in the Santa costume, the classic red hat perched jauntily atop his head. Only one piece was missing - the beard you’d spent hours shaping, wool fluffed just right, held carefully in your hands.

“Swearwords, Ellie!” Joel barked, voice sharp, though the oversized coat and hat lent a slightly comical edge to his admonition.

Ellie spun around on her heel, grinning like she’d just won the lottery. “Sorry! Don’t want to end up on the naughty list this year,” she teased. “This is gonna be amazing.”

Satisfied with Joel in full Santa glory, Ellie abandoned the grown-ups entirely, leaving the kitchen in a flurry of small feet and laughter. She waved at you lazily. “See you, Miss!” And just like that, she was gone. Leaving you alone with Joel. Your heart thudded a little faster than it should have.

“You did good here,” he said, voice quieter now, more grounded, framing himself in the suit, still adjusting to the absurdity of the red fabric against his broad shoulders.

“Thank you,” you murmured. Without thinking, you reached forward to straighten the collar that had crept crooked under his chin, bringing you closer than intended. Your eyes flicked up briefly, catching his gaze for a heartbeat too long.

“You… want to try on the beard?” you asked, suddenly aware of how intimate the moment felt.

He offered a lazy, almost teasing smile. “Will not make my way ‘round it, will I?”

You straightened, pride creeping into your voice. “I promised I’d make this a proper Christmas.” Arms lifting, you carefully positioned the beard against his face. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. If anything, his quiet stillness made the closeness feel welcoming, almost warm.

You focused on adjusting it, hands deftly arranging the wool, but your eyes betrayed you, flicking up at him again. The warmth in his gaze made your chest tighten.

“Fits you perfectly,” you whispered, voice almost too soft for comfort.

He grunted, low and rough, but it carried an unexpected softness. “Not a little over the top?”

“On the contrary,” you said, feeling a surge of boldness. “Most perfect Santa I’ve seen in a while.”

His brow shot up, surprised, a corner of his mouth twitching. “That’s a compliment… coming from the Christmas expert herself.”

You smoothed an imaginary corner of the beard, eyes momentarily drifting to the hint of lips behind the wool. “Yeah,” you said, voice teasing but careful, “hopefully that earns me a safe spot on the nice list this year.”

The boldness evaporated as quickly as it came, and you stepped back a fraction, giving him just enough space to turn to the mirror on the wall. He studied himself for the first time in the full outfit, and a deep, amused laugh rumbled from his chest.

“Good thing the age of photography’s over,” he muttered, shaking his head. Then he turned back to you, tone more serious but warm. “Thanks for your work. That’s gonna be a real feast for the kids.”

You brushed it off lightly, crossing your arms as though shielding yourself from his praise. “Never mind that. Just… make sure you stick around long enough to get a taste of the eggnog afterwards.”

“Promise,” he nodded, a small, knowing tilt of his head. His eyes flicked toward your lips for a brief instant. Again, you did not notice.

Your ears were still ringing from the high-pitched shrieks and excited laughter ricocheting around the hall. Ballroom was what Maria insisted on calling it every year, but everyone in Jackson knew the truth: it was a repurposed barn, long ago cleared of hay and tools, its beams sanded smooth and its drafty gaps sealed as best as possible. You had spent the last week stringing up lights across those wooden rafters, weaving garlands and scrap-fabric ribbons along the walls. Now the whole place glowed - a wash of warm gold from the fairy lights, shadows dancing with every movement, DIY decorations swaying gently whenever someone brushed past them. It actually felt… festive. Almost normal.

And right in the center of it all sat Santa Claus.

Or rather: Joel Miller in a Santa suit, playing the role with an unexpected, honestly mind-melting level of commitment.

He’d been reluctant, sure. Practically kicking dirt at Tommy when he was first told. But right now? With the kids climbing over him like he was the last piece of playground equipment on earth, he was… good. Really good. Letting each child settle on his knee, leaning in to hear their rambling wishes, chuckling when they told him stories that made no sense, nodding solemnly when they declared their love for “Santa.”

You stood off to the side with a couple of friends, a cup of homemade eggnog warming your hands. Someone had apparently produced enough for half the settlement, and judging by the pleasant buzz radiating through your limbs, you were on pace to sample at least your fair share. You nodded along to whatever conversation the group was having, but your attention kept drifting - again and again - to the man in red.

God. How you’d prayed this crush would fade. How many times you’d told yourself it was just loneliness, or boredom, or the simple fact that there weren’t many options in a walled-off town. But this? The way your stomach flipped every time he laughed, the way your skin prickled with goosebumps every time his voice rumbled low across the room?

You weren’t sick. You weren’t imagining it. You were deep in it.

And the universe wasn’t helping. Not tonight.

Like earlier - when he’d finally taken a break and wandered toward the buffet. You’d been reaching for the gravy boat when he appeared at your elbow, close enough for the scent of pine and leather to brush past you. You’d nearly jumped out of your own skin when he said, “Mind passin’ that gravy?” Then, after taking it from your hand:

“Beard’s holdin’ up real good. Y’can barely smell the sheep anymore.”

He’d grinned, and you’d needed a full five seconds to relearn how to breathe.

And worse were the stolen glances. The ones he kept giving you across the room. They stretched a little too long. Warmer than required. Enough to plant a painful, throbbing what if that echoed through your ribs.

Now, three eggnogs deep, you were almost certain - no, you were doomed. Because you, without a single doubt left in your foggy, fluttering brain, had a full-blown thing for Joel Miller.

And you had absolutely no idea what the hell you were supposed to do about it.

The evening slowly softened into night. The last rounds of shrieking children had finally burned themselves out, scattering like tiny fireworks down the hallway as their parents herded them toward bed. Excitement still crackled in the air, but the barn-turned-ballroom was emptying one family at a time: teens sneaking away to do whatever teens did, parents promising they’d return for the “grown-up hour” and promptly passing out next to their kids, and the remaining handful of adults lingering in clusters of warm laughter.

It was quiet enough now that you were painfully aware Joel was still here.

He sat at the far table with Maria, Santa beard pulled down to rest against his collarbone, the coat rumpled, eggnog glass sweating in front of him. And there he was - Joel Miller - laughing. Actually laughing. Not the small polite chuckle, not the breathy huff he sometimes gave when amused. No. This was full-on, shoulders-shaking laughter, warm enough to curl around your ribs like a hug.

Maybe you should go. Crawl back home, sleep off the eggnog, convince yourself that this little crush was nothing but holiday mush and alcohol. Wake up tomorrow and remember that this was Joel, who nodded politely at you on the street, who thanked you for stitching up a suit, who smiled exactly twice in your presence and left you ruined both times.

Yes. Leaving would be smart. Wise. Adult.

“If that isn’t Santa’s little helper.”

Tommy’s hand landed on your shoulder before you could even step away. His grin was blinding. “You worked some real Christmas magic tonight.”

“Oh, that’s nothing,” you said far too quickly, heat crawling up your neck. “Joel’s a great fit -”

You choked.

“I mean, the seams! The suit! Didn’t need much adjustment.”

Tommy’s grin widened, like a wolf who’d scented blood in the snow. Mischief radiated from him like heat off a stovetop.

“How ’bout you join us for a celebratory toast? Proper thank-you for savin’ Christmas.”

Before you could protest, he tugged you into motion. One desperate swipe and you grabbed your mug off the table, mouthing an apology to your friends as Tommy delivered you straight into the empty chair beside Joel.

Too close. Way too close.

Joel didn’t look ridiculous, though he absolutely should have. Santa coat open at the chest, plaid shirt visible underneath, beard dangling around his neck like a lost accessory. Legs stretched long, ankles crossed, one arm hooked casually behind the back of your chair as though he’d claimed the space hours ago. He looked… comfortable. Warm. Settled.

“Look who’s here,” Joel drawled, lips curving. “Sally herself. Swoopin’ in to save Christmas once again.”

You laughed at his Nightmare Before Christmas reference - until he lifted his Santa hat off his own head and gently dropped it onto yours. The wool was still warm from him, smelling faintly of him. It slid down your forehead, itchy, thick, entirely too intimate.

Maria’s voice cut across the table. “Tommy? I need you with that thing.”

There was no “thing.” Obviously. But Tommy stood anyway, grumbling theatrically as Maria tugged him toward the kitchen. Joel watched them go, then looked back at you with a slight, knowing tilt of his head.

You swallowed.

“Pretty convincing Santa back there,” you said, nudging bravado into your voice. “Almost like you lied about not knowing what you were doing.”

“That so?” His smirk deepened. He didn't shift his arm from the back of your chair. Didn’t move at all. Just stayed close.

You nodded, lifting your mug to your lips. The sweetness clung to your mouth, making your pulse jump.

“Can’t fool me,” you continued. “You - Joel Miller - are absolutely not the Grinch you claim to be.”

“Hmm.” He nudged his glass with a finger. “If Christmas comes with eggnog and nice words like that? Could probably learn to like it.”

You grinned, emboldened by sugar and alcohol and the way he was looking at you now - head tilted slightly, eyes warm, like he’d carved out this small corner of the night just for the two of you.

“Want another?” you asked, pointing at his half-empty cup. “My treat.”

He chuckled. “Wouldn’t say no.”

You stood - tried to. But the eggnog had caught up with you, humming warm and dizzy through your limbs. The room tilted, your foot caught the edge of the chair, and in one humiliating, slow-motion arc - 

 - you fell straight into Joel’s lap.

Joel’s breath left him in a soft huff. Your hands flew up around his neck instinctively, fingertips brushing warm skin beneath his beard. You both burst into startled laughter - half embarrassment, half shock, half something new.

“Maybe no more eggnog for me,” you muttered, face on fire, trying to push yourself up - 

 - but his hands settled around your waist.

Not pushing. Not grabbing.

Just resting. Holding you steady.

“Hey,” he murmured, quiet enough for only you to hear. “Come back here a sec.” Your breath stalled. “Still figurin’ out,” he continued, voice lower now, warmer, “whether you made the good list too?”

The smile he gave you wasn’t his usual small one. It was darker, softer, curling at the edges like heat. A smile that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

You swallowed hard, pulse fluttering like it wanted out of your skin.

“Well,” you whispered, shifting just slightly - enough to tease, enough to play the part. “I guess that depends.”

His grip on your waist tightened a fraction. Barely there. But enough.

“Depends on what?” he asked, voice roughened.

You tilted your head, lips curling.

“On what a girl has to do,” you breathed, “to get on your good list.”

Your eyes searched his, trying to read the shadows flickering in the warm barn light, your hands settling more securely at the back of his neck. The movement brought you a fraction closer - barely anything, really - but you felt it like a shift in gravity. His exhale brushed your lips. Your pulse thundered.

The remaining noises in the barn - quiet laughter from the far corner, the clink of glasses from someone cleaning up - muffled into a soft hum. Everything else dulled beneath the rush of blood in your ears. You weren’t spinning from the eggnog anymore.

Joel looked at you like you'd stepped directly into his hands, as if he'd been waiting for that tiny lean-in. His fingers tightened at your waist, not rough, but unmistakably claiming - inviting you closer with that subtle, barely-there tug. His beard was still pushed down to his collar, leaving the strong lines of his jaw exposed, dusted with gray. His hair was mussed from the Santa hat, his cheeks touched pink from the heat and maybe the drinking and maybe… maybe you.

His gaze lowered to your mouth.

And before your brain could catch up to what your body already knew was coming, he pulled you in.

His lips brushed yours - soft at first, testing, warm with the faint sweetness of eggnog and whatever spice Maria had thrown into the batch. The wooly rim of the Santa beard, crushed between you and him, tickled your chin; his real beard scratched lightly at your upper lip. You melted into the uneven textures of it, the warmth of him, the sense that he could very easily turn this innocent kiss into something devastating if the room were even a little more empty.

But there were still people around. So the kiss stayed slow, and restrained… until his mouth tilted against yours and his tongue teased against your lower lip, just once.

You answered in kind without thinking.

That earned you a very low, very quiet chuckle from Joel - felt more than heard, vibrating right through your hands where they curled behind his neck.

He broke the kiss first, resting his forehead lightly to yours, breath uneven.

“Pretty sure that,” he murmured, voice roughened to something sinful, “puts you on the naughty list.”

A shocked laugh escaped you, breathless and unsteady. “Pretty sure kissing Santa in public makes us tomorrow’s town gossip. Christmas scandal of the century.”

“Mm.” He stole another short kiss, deeper this time. “Just makin’ sure everybody gets what they asked for.”

His hand slipped lower on your waist as he shifted beneath you, the pressure unmistakable, sending a pulse of boldness straight up your spine. You leaned toward his ear, confidence sparked by heat and proximity and the realization he wanted this just as much.

“Kissing’s not what girls on the naughty list wish for though,” you whispered.

Joel’s gaze snapped back to yours - darker now, hungry in a way that made your stomach flip.

“Well then,” he said slowly, voice a warm rumble, “Santa better walk his elf home. Make sure all her presents are waitin’ under her tree.”

“He better,” you whispered back, “or he’ll crush her Christmas spirit. And we can’t have that.”

In one fluid motion - so smooth it startled a small gasp from you - Joel rose from his seat, lifting you easily off his lap. You slid down against the length of him, breath catching at the difference in height, the way he leaned down to press another lingering kiss to your already reddened lips.

“Lemme help Tommy and Maria clean the rest,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek. “Can I drop by after?”

That was it. You had definitely fallen into an eggnog-induced fever dream. Joel Miller. Asking if he could come over. For… whatever came next.

You nodded quickly - too quickly - then tugged at the fake beard hanging around his neck. “Don’t let a girl wait too long for her gifts.”

The bravery in your voice shocked even you.

And with that, before you could combust right there in front of him, you turned on your heel, grabbed your coat, and forced yourself to walk - walk, not run - out into the cold Jackson night, heart hammering like bells ringing midnight.

Joel wasn’t entirely sure what the hell had gotten into him. The easy answer was the eggnog - or the music, the lights, that strange holiday softness that wrapped itself around Jackson once a year and made people act just a little foolish.

But he knew better than to lie to himself.

It wasn’t the alcohol, and it wasn’t the season.

It was you.

Maria had been right earlier that week - more right than he’d let on. He had noticed you before tonight. Not the way he’d noticed danger or trouble, sharp and immediate. No. You were the kind of person he’d caught bits of in the corner of his eye - working with the kids, helping fix things that broke, checking in on neighbors who needed something. Never loud, never demanding attention, but there. Warm in a way this world didn’t have much of anymore.

He’d heard your laugh a few times too - light, bright, always managing to slip under his armor before he knew it was happening.

And standing in your living room days ago, surrounded by soft lights and neatly stacked fabric and the smell of something sweet on the stove, it hit him like a damn punch to the ribs:

You made life feel normal.

Safe.

Like something worth coming back to.

Which was exactly why he’d tried, real hard, to keep some distance. He wasn’t built for delicate things. And the life he led wasn’t something he ever wanted to drag someone gentle into.

But you had a way of stepping right back into his orbit anyway - quietly, as if you belonged there and he was a fool not to see it.

And tonight?

Tonight had shoved whatever line he’d drawn clean off the table.

That kiss.

Your laugh against his mouth.

Your weight on his lap, your hands in his hair, the little whisper at his ear that damn near melted him where he sat.

He hadn’t planned any of it.

But if he was honest - which he tried to be, at least inside his own head - he wanted more. Wanted to see where the pull led instead of fighting it.

Why else would he be out here now? Trudging through ankle-deep snow, boots crunching through the white, breath fogging in front of him, headed straight for your house - the only one still lit on your quiet street. Yellow glow in the window, warm as a beacon.

Inviting. Comforting. Yours.

After helping Maria and Tommy clean up - and after both of them practically shoved him out the door with knowing smirks - Joel had peeled out of the Santa getup, stuffing it into a bag to return later. Now he was in jeans, flannel, thick jacket, hands buried deep in his pockets to keep them from shaking. Whether from cold or nerves, he didn’t examine too closely.

He climbed your porch steps with slow, heavy strides, breath steadying. He raised a fist to knock - 

But the door cracked open before he touched it.

You grinned up at him, haloed by the warm light inside. “Ho-ho-hello,” you teased softly.

Something in Joel’s chest loosened at the sight of you - hair still a little mussed from earlier, cheeks pink from alcohol or excitement or both, wrapped in a cozy sweater that looked far too inviting.

“Thought Santa might’ve forgotten me,” you added.

Joel opened his mouth, ready to give some clumsy Christmas jab back - but nothing came out. The sight of you, the heat spilling from behind you, the soft wintry smell of your home - it knocked every line clean out of his head.

“Promised, didn’t I?” he finally managed.

“You did.” You stepped closer, reaching up to brush the snow from his hair - gentle strokes that made him forget the cold entirely. Halfway through the motion, he caught your wrist, guiding your hand down. He lifted your fingers to his mouth and pressed slow, warm kisses to each one, lingering longer than he meant to.

“If you want,” he murmured, voice low and careful, “you can still tell me no. I can come by another night.”

You let out a soft breath, eyes bright. “Yeah, you could do that.” A beat. Then you tipped your head, lips curving. “Or you could just come inside now - before all the heat escapes and I end up freezing. Which means you’d have to warm me up all night.”

Joel huffed a quiet laugh, stepping forward, closing the last inches between you. “Ain’t got a problem with that,” he said, voice a touch rough.

You tugged him in by the front of his jacket, pulling him through the doorway. And the moment his boots crossed the threshold, he kissed you - slow at first, then deeper, as if he’d been thinking about it ever since you left the barn. Your back hit the door as you swung it shut behind him, breath catching, hands sliding up his chest.

“Merry Christmas to me, I guess,” you whispered against his lips, warm and a little breathless.

Joel smiled into the kiss, his hands finding your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world, before returning a low and satisfied:

“Merry Christmas.”

And merry christmas to all of you 🎄✨️ i had such fun to write this piece of fluff (and really need a nightmare before christmas rewatch now :D) and it really got me into the spirit! I hope, you can enjoy your holidays if you celebrate ❤️🎅🤍

my Masterlist

Taglist:

"Ellie's spendin' the night with Dina 'n Jesse," he said, clearing his throat softly. "Some kinda movie marathon with the three. Said she'll probably be home tomorrow mornin'."

You nodded with a small smile, lightly leaning back against his chest. His lips twitched into a soft smile, placing a kiss against your temple before his gaze drifted to the window, "Looks real pretty out there."

You followed his gaze towards the window. The snow had coated everything outside - porches, rooftops, fences, the big pine tree across the street. Streetlamps bathed the air in a warm, golden glow.

You hummed softly with a slight nod, "It does."

"You want to take a walk?" He asks, handing you the towel to dry your hands after doing the dishes. "We bundle up, and we can take a short walk."

You took the towel and dried your hands. You remained quiet for a long minute, weighing the options before nodding, "I'd love to," you say softly, a smile gracing both your lips.

Once Joel made sure you were properly bundled up, he opened the front door for you, brushing snow off the porch with his boot. Snowflakes clung instantly to your hair, eyelashes and scarf. When Joel turned to you, you could see the way his gaze almost instantly softened.

He stepped beside you, closing the door with a gentle thud. His breath misted in the air in little clouds. His shoulders, dusted in snow. Taking your gloved hand into his, he walks down the steps with you and begins walking down the street, boots crunching softly over the new snow.

"'S peaceful," Joel murmured after a moment. His voice seemed different out here - lower and careful.

Letting out a soft hum in agreement, and as the two of you continued to walk together, Joel’s gaze kept flickering towards your direction every time he probably thought you didn’t notice. But you noticed. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothin’,” he mutters, his shoulders tightening ever so slightly,

“You can tell me,” you pressed gently, and when he didn’t respond, you didn’t push any further. But your gazes lingered on each other. A flake ended up landing on the edge of your lips, and Joel’s breath audibly hitched as he watched you brush it away.

“It really is beautiful tonight,” you whispered, shifting your gaze to the snow falling slowly around the two of you, creating a blanket of white over everything.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Joel suddenly says, and you instantly shift your gaze to him. A small blush spread across your cheeks from his words, but could easily be dismissed as a result of the cold weather. Joel cleared his throat, looking away and continued walking by your side, “M’sorry, didn’t mean to-”

“Joel,” you say softly, not allowing him to finish his apology. “Look at me.”

Joel stopped in his spot, turning to you and lifting his brown eyes to meet your gaze. You lifted your hand and brushed the snowflake that landed on his temple away. He closed his eyes at the touch, jaw tightening as if fighting to say something. When he opened his eyes again, they were full of that familiar warmth he preserved just for you.

“Joel,” you begin softly as a smile graces your lips, your hand dropping down against his cheek. “I love you.”

It came out softly, but full of confidence and unwavering. The world around the two of you became silent, even as the snowfall began to pick up slightly. Joel took a sharp and shaky inhale, letting the words sink in. And for a moment, he didn’t move - like his body completely forgot how to work.

Then, his hands came out of his pockets, and one gently cupped your cheeks, his thumb tenderly brushing against your jaw while the other went to the back of your neck. “Darlin’,” he whispered, placing his forehead against yours, “I’ve been lovin’ you longer than I got any right to.”

Your heart swelled with love and ached with a softness that you could describe. You didn’t know what to say, and Joel took it as an opportunity to continue, “Didn’t say it before ‘cause I was scared as hell to lose you. Didn’t want it bein’… too much.”

You shook your head, your smile widening as your hands wrap around the back of his neck, bringing him closer to you, “You’re never too much. You’re everything.”

Joel slowly nodded before exhaling shakily, his breath warming the space between you as it misted in the air. “I love you,” he finally said. And it wasn’t anything uncertain or unsure. It was gentle, steady and certain. You didn’t give him a moment to second-guess his words. You leaned up and placed your lips against his.

He kissed you like it was the first and last kiss he’d ever get. Slow, full and meaningful. Snow melting on your lips as his hands cradled your face. When the two of you finally broke apart, his forehead rested against yours, breathing slightly ragged like he’d been running in a race.

Placing one more kiss against your cheek, Joel laces his fingers through yours and begins walking with you again. The two of you walked through the soft, glowing lights in the street, snow fluttering around you like feathers.

“Gonna say it again, y’know,” he suddenly says and you bring your gaze to his. You could see the way his lips were formed in the softest smile and you chuckled.

“Yeah?” You questioned with a hint of teasing in your tone. “You could say it anytime.”

“Oh, I plan too, darlin’,” he leans down, placing a kiss against your temple. “I love you.”

You smiled and held his hand tighter as the two of you continued walking together through the streets of Jackson, talking about anything that came to mind. And for once, you enjoyed walking in the snow, and didn’t pay much attention to the cold. Not with Joel there.

He was the only thing on your mind.

Fluffmas Day Six- Holiday Messes & Cookie Kisses: Baking holiday cookies with Ellie (Jackson!Joel x reader)

Fluffmas Day Seven- Among the Pines, I Chose You: Searching for the perfect Christmas tree (Jackson!Joel x reader)

Fluffmas Day Eight- Carved with Care: Joel teaches you to carve a small wooden ornament (Jackson!Joel x reader)

Fluffmas Day Nine- Painted with Love: Hand-painting ornaments together (Jackson!Joel x reader)

Fluffmas Day Ten- Lights, Ornaments, Smile: Decorating the Tree (Jackson!Joel x reader)

Fluffmas Day Eleven- Letters to Santa: Helping the kids write Santa letters with OC kid (Jackson!Joel x f!reader)

Fluffmas Day Twelve- Midnight Craving, Cozy Company: Late-night snacking on holiday treats (Jackson!Joel x reader)

Extra One-shots

Fluffmas Day Twenty-Four- Games by the Firelight: Family Christmas game & storytime night (Jackson!Joel x reader)

Fluffmas Day Twenty-Five- Christmas Morning with the Millers: Christmas morning with the Miller family (Jackson!Joel x reader)

You roll onto your side with a sigh, careful not to jostle Joel with the mattress moving with you. Joel is sprawled on his back beside you, one arm thrown over his head, and the other draped lazily across your waist. His breathing is deep and steady, the comforting rhythm you grew to love.

For a moment, you consider staying put. To let the craving bother you all night if it meant staying in his arms. Eventually, the debate ended with you deciding to get up. The second you moved his arm off your waist, it instantly returned around you, and he turned onto his side to shift closer. “Where’re you sneakin’ off to?” He grumbles quietly against your neck, burying his head there with a soft huff.

You froze as a small guilty smile made its way across your face, tilting your head in his direction.”Midnight snack.”

You feel him still behind you before he slowly shifts, propping himself up on one elbow. His hair is a mess, with curls flattened on one side and others standing up on the other. His eyes are half-lidded but opened enough to watch you, his mouth already tugging into a knowing smile. “And you thought you were gonna get away with this without me, did ya?”

You shrug innocently, biting back a laugh at the hint of playful betrayal spread across his sleepy face. “You looked so comfy. Didn’t want to bother you.”

He huffs quietly before rolling onto his back, stretching with a small groan, “Darlin’, I ain’t missed a midnight snack since you walzted into my life. It ain’t startin’ now.”

You snort as he stands, stretching his back with a grunt - to which, at this point, you always look over instinctively. He catches you staring at him and raises a brow, “What?”

“Nothing,” you say with a smile before propping yourself up on your hands. “Just admiring,”

He chuckles as he steps around to your side of the bed, leaning down until his face is inches from yours, eyes warm and playful. “You do that a lot for ‘nothing’.”

You roll your eyes, nudging his side with your hand as you get up from the bed, “Come on. Before I change my mind and steal all the snacks.”

“Now that would be unforgivable,” you hear him mutter from behind you, and you couldn’t help but grin at his playful protest to missing out on the snacks.

—

You walk together downstairs to the kitchen, hands brushing until he huffs and hooks his fingers casually into yours like second nature. His thumb rubs over your knuckles absentmindedly as you walk - both of you careful not to wake Ellie, who’s sleeping in her room and has ears of a hawk when it comes to anything homemade, especially desserts.

Once in the kitchen, you turned on the light with a soft flick of the switch. The room was dimly lit, a warm yellow light blooming across the counters and cabinets. Joel leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with a fond expression he doesn’t bother to hide. His eyes, now awake, track your movements as you rummage through the cabinets, and his lips twitch every time you mutter under your breath.

“Tell me you’re not lookin’ for those sugar cookies,” he says softly, an amused smile on his lips.

You stop your movements for a moment, before standing up straight and turning to him, a hand going to your hip, “Why?”

“‘Cause Ellie already stole ‘em.”

You fell quiet for a long moment before finally blinking twice, “She what?”

He hums softly, an amused smile spreading across his face before he could prevent it, “Mhm. Caught her with crumbs on her face. Acted like she was innocent and denied everythin’.”

You shake your head, laughing quietly as you cross your arms, “Unbelievable.”

The two of you stand there for a minute, your fingers lightly tapping against your forearm, before you finally move to the cabinet near the fridge and begin rummaging once more. Joel watches you for a moment until you pull out a brand new pack of Jackson-made chocolate and cookies that Maria brought the other day, but you hid from Ellie.

“There’s nothing left that isn’t hidden,” you say, lifting the packs triumphantly before setting them on the kitchen island. “You should know that Mr. Professional Smuggler.”

He lets out a snort, rolling his eyes as he walks over to you, leaning his hip against the counter. You open the container of cookies, taking out two, handing one to him before taking a bite of yours. He thanks you, and you shake your head, “Midnight snack rules. Sharing is mandatory.”

He rolls his eyes with a small smile, taking a bite from the cookie and slowly chews it. His eyes briefly shut like he’s savoring the taste more than necessary. You smile once you finish chewing, “Worth getting out of bed for.”

He hums softly before setting his cookie down and walking over to the fridge. He pulls out a container of milk, and you grab the glasses. He pours the milk into both glasses, sliding one to you. He sets the container down and reaches a hand over to you to gently brush away a crumb on your lower lip. “You’ve got crumbs on your mouth.”

“I do, huh?” You asked teasingly, voice soft and amused. “Think you can help me out with that, or you just gonna stare?”

His lips just curve into another affectionate smile before he leans down and kisses you - a slow, gentle kiss that tastes faintly of cinnamon and sugar. He gently cups your cheek, thumb brushing along your jawline for a moment before he pulls back. “There. All better.”

You lightly chuckle, nudging his arm with a smile. You shake your head before picking up the glass of milk, holding it out to him, “To midnight cravings.”

“To midnight company,” he corrects with a smug smirk, and you rolled your eyes before the two of you take a sip of the milk.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, soft murmurs flow through the room as you two spoke, shared cookies, or fed each other pieces of chocolate.

“Mmm-” he grumbles, still half-asleep and voice gravelly, “Where d’you think you’re goin’?”

You smile into the pillow, warmth spreading through your body as he presses his forehead against the back of your neck. “Nowhere yet. Just waking up.”

“You wake up too early,” he grumbles, placing a kiss against the back of your shoulder, arm tightening around your waist.

“It’s nine.”

“Exactly,” he mutters. You knew that his favorite part of waking up is having you in his arms. Hell, it’s your favorite part too.

But as much as you wanted to stay in his arms, you knew the two of you had things to do today. With a huff, you twist just enough to peek over your shoulder. His hair is a ruffled mess, one of his curls sticking up wildly, and his face is warm, sleepy and softened by dreams he’ll never admit he has. If you told him he looked adorable right now - which he absolutely does - he’d deny it with his whole soul, though you knew he loves you complimenting him.

You shifted your body in his direction and ran your hand softly through his hair. “We’re supposed to help Tommy and Maria today, remember?” You asked with a small smile. “With the supply shed?”

His brows furrow without opening his eyes, arm tightening around your waist. “Didn’t agree to that,” he mutters, burying his head against the crook of your neck with a huff.

“Yes, you did.”

“Nope,” he mutters once more, the sound boarding on a reluctant whine at the thought of getting out of bed. At the thought of letting you go.

“Joel,” you said, lifting a brow slightly, amused by the look on his face.

His eyes finally crack open. Brown, warm, and ridiculously soft for a man that appears so gruff and stern. He grunts and sighs, rolling onto his back dramatically like the thought was a personal attack. “Fine,” he concedes with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. “But there better be coffee.”

“There will be,” you chuckled, sitting up on the bed before swinging your legs off the edge.

He sits up with you as he runs a hand over his face, then through his curls, “And somethin’ sweet.”

“I made those cinnamon rolls last-” you couldn’t even finish your sentence before Joel was getting off the bed. The offer of your cinnamon buns woke him up faster than any alarm ever could. “Why didn’t you say that first?” He questions, looking over to you with a look of betrayal, “you love withholding critical information,”

You couldn’t help but laugh, climbing out of bed, and the two of you make your way downstairs to the kitchen.

Once the two of you ate and had coffee - Joel having coffee and you having hot cocoa - you bundled yourselves up in layers. Scarves, gloves and thick jackets. Joel insists on wrapping the wool scarf around your neck himself, pulling it snug enough that you swat at him playfully.

“Can’t breathe like this,” you say with a chuckle, voice slightly muffled by the scarf.

Joel just smirked, dropping his hands to his hips, looking far too pleased with himself, “You’ll thank me when you ain’t on the couch sick for a week.”

You bit your lip at his words, knowing it was true. Though he’d take care of you regardless and without complaint, you didn’t want to put either of you through that.

When outside, the sky is bright - not with sun - but bright with the way the clouds were in the sky, and snow was falling, which made the sky glow. It blankets the roofs, fences, and even the benches in front of the community hall. On the sides, kids were already making tracks in the untouched layers, their laughter carrying faintly through the cool air. Smoke curls from chimneys and drifts lazily upward into the air.

Joel’s gloved hand finds your instant, “Watch your step,” he mutters, making sure to have a tight, but comfortable, grip on your hand.

You rolled your eyes, a small smile forming on your lips, “It’s flat road.”

He gives you a small side-eye once he looks in your direction, “Still counts, smartass.”

You softly grin, bumping your shoulder into him, and he lightly bumps you back.

Tommy had warned the two of you earlier, in that cheerful brotherly way of his, that the shed door got ‘a little snowed in’. You pictured a manageable little drift. Close to something you could kick aside.

But when you and Joel turned the corner beside the stables, you both stopped dead.

The snowbank was more than a little snowed in. The snow was, at least, waist-length high.

“A little snowed in?” Joel questioned, letting out a heavy sigh. “Tommy’s a goddamn liar. Knew he was up to no good with that cheerfulness.”

You look at him as a small laugh escaped your lips before you could control it. “It’s not that bad.”

Joel spins towards you, giving you a look like you were insane. “You ain’t climbin’ that.”

“I can climb that,” you countered, a smirk forming as he stepped closer.

“You absolutely can’t.”

“Excuse you,” you say with a small, dramatic gasp. “I’ll have you know I can climb that perfectly.”

Joel raises a brow, stepping in front of the snowbank, crossing his arms before nodding his head towards it, “Sweetheart, you ain’t tall ‘nough to climb that. It’s almost doubled your damn height.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully at his tease before nudging his side to move him over. Joel let out a sigh, one that usually was an attempt to get you to stop. But it never worked.

Not with you.

As you were just about to make your first attempt to get through the snow, Joel was quick to move. And before you knew it, his arm was around your waist, and you squealed, “Joel!” Your arm instantly goes around his neck, one of his arms around your waist and the other under your knees.

“Not lettin’ you break your neck over somethin’ this stupid,” he mutters, adjusting your weight in his arms as you weighed nothing. “I’m too old t’be diggin’ you outta a snowbank.”

“Put me down!” You say with a smile, the protest clearly having little to no effect on him. “I’m serious!”

“Nope,” he retorts simply with a smirk on his lips, “‘N so am I.”

You push at his shoulder but he doesn’t budge - just tightens his hold around you as a smug smile makes its way onto his face and settles there. His arms are solid around you, strong, careful and impossibly protective.

“You’re ridiculous,” you huffed, your struggle against him ceasing as you settled in his arms.

“Maybe,” he mutters as he begins walking towards the snowbank like it’s the most normal thing to be carrying his fully-grown partner like some kind of overprotective Southern prince. “But I ain’t watchin’ you slip.”

Your heart skips a beat as the smile on your face grows impossibly wider. “You could’ve just let me climb it,” you muttered, voice softer as your gaze shifts to his face.

“I know, but I like this better.”

Joel sets his boot on the nearest packed step of snow, testing it before committing. He moves slowly, steadily and keeps your body held tight against his. You can feel the warmth of him through every layer you’re both wearing. “Hold on,” he murmurs.

“I am holding on,” you retort cheekily, arm tightening around the back of his neck, earning a face that just pours ‘smartass’.

When he reaches the top, the view unfolds. The snowy fields stretching behind the stables, the river frozen over in the distance, and the training yard empty. Everything looks peaceful and untouched. Joel adjusts his grip, “See? Easy.”

“You did all the work.”

“I don’t mind. At least it saved you from somethin’ stupid.”

You just gave him a look, and he smirked. Getting down on the other side is tricker. Joel steps carefully, but the moment he hits a softer patch of snow, his boot skins deeper than expected. “Shit, hang on.”

You cling tightly to him with a surprised squeal as he slides down the last few feet, both of you landing on a puff of icy powder - Joel making sure your head was protected in the fall. You ended up sprawled in his arms, both of you laughing and breathless.

“We’re tellin’ no one about this,” he mutters, releasing his hold on you.

You smirked and laughed, “Oh, I’m absolutely telling Tommy.”

“You- don’t you dare'-”

But before he could finish his sentence, you lips met his in the middle of his protest. It stops him cold. His breath catches as he brings a gloved hand to your cheek, his body melting just a little.. When you pulled back, his eyes softened, a dazed look on his face every time you’d steal a kiss he wasn’t prepared for.

“That’s cheatin’…” he mutters in a weak protest, and you chuckled.

“No, that’s distracting you, so I win the argument.”

He shakes his head, rolling his head with a smirk, “You’re impossible.”

“You love me.”

He huffs, cheeks warmed, and lightly red, “Yeah, I do. Always.”

Tommy and Maria are at the shed by the time you two made it to the door and Tommy waves his hands once you two made it inside. “Good, you two made it! Snow’s a bit-”

“A bit?” Joel cuts in, unamused and rolls his eyes, “That thing could bury a damn moose.”

“It’s not that big.”

You lightly smacked Joel’s arm, a smug smile on your lips, “See? Told you.”

Joel glares between the snowbank and Tommy like it was all part of a plan Tommy couldn’t help but pull them into.

Maria glances between you two, trying to hide her smile. “You carry them over it?”

“No,” Joel mutters, his gaze lowering and his cheeks starting to heat up.

And you couldn’t help but take the opportunity, “He absolutely did.”

Tommy and Maria both laugh and Joel groans as if you had just betrayed him - which in a way, you did. But he doesn’t let go of your hand. Not once.

Together, the four of you move boxes of winter gear, stack firewood, and clear out space for incoming supply shipments. Joel works steadily beside you, handing you tools before you ask, and keeping an eye on you every time you step on something slippery.

And every time you shiver even slightly, his hand is instantly on your back to check in on you. He’d ask things like ‘you okay?’, ‘You cold?" “You need my jacket?’

It was adorable. And very Joel-like.

The day passes with the four of you organizing and taking care of the supplies. You’re tired, cheeks pink from the cold and the work. Joel walks close beside you as you two make your way home, gloved fingers brushing against yours until they intertwine. Once making your way home, he places a kiss against your temple, sighing softly as he finally opens the door for you, the warmth of the house spilling out over both of you. You hear Ellie and Dina joking around in the living room, a welcoming sound as the door closes behind you.

And as you two make your way to the kitchen, you couldn’t help but let your gaze linger on Joel. A smile plastered onto your face and you never wanted it to leave.

You were used to winters with Joel by now. But each time, you couldn’t help but think:

If this is what winter is like with Joel, you never want it to end.