Joel “forgets” to trim his beard, so you get back at him and also “forget” to shave. Or, Joel is a bush lover and I stand ten fucking toes down yall can argue with a wall.
no warnings but it is suggestive so MDNI, this idea came to me when I was trying to sleep and refused to leave until I wrote it so. yeah.
wc: a little over 2k, meant for it to be shorter but i got a lil carried away LMAO
People think intimacy is about sex. But intimacy is about truth.
When you realize you can tell someone the truth, when you can show yourself to them, when you can stand in front of them bare and their response is you’re safe with me —that’s intimacy.
So why the hell was it so damn hard to tell Joel that you didn’t like how full his beard was getting? Gone was the usual soft scruff that you would wake up to scratching deliciously against your bare shoulder, or buried between your thighs to leave a soft burn that you would be reminded of all day. In its place was thicker, darker patches of hair filled in on his cheeks and jaw, with hints of silver peeking through whenever the light caught him just right.
And although it wasn’t the worst thing in the world because shit, at the end of the day he’s still your Joel, and can pull off a full beard, you still missed the patchy scruff. How hair refused to grow around a scar at his chin, or the way you were once able to see clearly how his Adam’s apple bobbed on the nights where you wanted to control the rhythm.
You tried to hint to him that he should cut it back; making a comment here and there about how much it had grown out. Like when you lifted a spoonful of whatever you were cooking for him to try, one hand holding the spoon while your other hand curled beneath his chin so he didn’t make you accidentally bump it, you had said something along the lines of it’s getting long.
He responded only to the taste of the food you were making him test taste; like your words hadn’t fully registered to him, and he’d blame it on the fact that your blunt nails were scratching gently beneath his chin like they always did. An absentminded motion that never failed to clear his head.
Or when he got home early one evening and the two of you spent the rest of the day lounging on the living room floor where it was cooler, beers sweating onto the dark wood as you leaned back against his chest. His head dipped occasionally to press a kiss to the spot behind your ear—absentmindedly and done during commercial breaks of whatever game you two were watching, it still made you shiver because his beard would scratch against the sensitive skin.
Of course, he didn’t think anything of it because he was used to that reaction to his kisses. A shiver, maybe a quiet giggle or two he’d be able to pull from you. Hearing you mutter a quiet, that tickles, like that was enough of a hint for him.
Shocker, it wasn’t.
the following morning, when you woke up draped in his shirt and laying half-on top of him, your back sore from not only just falling asleep on the uncomfortable living room floor with a blanket underneath you two like that would soften the hard-wood. Joel was still asleep next to you; oblivious and knocked out from the long night, and allowing for you to really take in the fullness of his beard. Fuck. It had really grown out.
Blinking through the bleariness of sleep, you allowed your thumb to brush against the part of his beard that now connected the fullness above his upper lip to his chin, and then brought the idea in your head. A way to retaliate. You were up and in the shower before he had the chance of realizing you were gone.
-
When the evening finally came and you and Joel were doing your own nightly routines of showering and getting ready for bed, the bathroom door cracked slightly for the two of you to be able to talk while he took his turn in the shower—alone, much to his displeasure when you declined his offer of joining in, because you weren’t about to ruin the surprise—, you stood at the end of the bed with a bottle of lotion.
The shower turned off and you heard him grab his towel while he continued on his rant about how a client he and Tommy were working with wanted them to tear down a wall that had important stuff inside it—you weren’t really listening—, and you had to force yourself not to give away your excitement when you heard him finally tug the bathroom door open.
And he sees it. You know he sees it because he suddenly becomes quiet, hearing whatever he was saying trail off into nothing. Watching like a predator, you feel his gaze burning into you from behind as you pump some lotion into your palm and lift a leg to prop up on the bed, under the faux innocent guise as something as pure as putting on lotion before going to bed. However, he wasn’t stupid. He knew you better than anyone; knew when you were teasing him. When you were throwing a metaphorical tantrum. He just wasn’t sure about the why.
He sifts through his head, thinking back on what he could have done today, and then the day prior, but he couldn’t come up with anything concrete. Anything that would warrant you, running your hands down your legs, spreading the soft buttery lotion over your skin while giving him a full view of the dark hair curling out from your panties. Shit. He was glad he bothered with pulling on a pair of boxers before leaving the bathroom.
Although you never fully shave anymore—he remembers you went to get a wax once and came back damn near in tears because you made the mistake of wearing jeans. Your inner thighs had been sensitive for hours after, and the regrowth was a bitch; constantly itching thanks to ingrown hairs, it pissed you off to the point that you swore off ever shaving down to the skin. So, you settled for trimming and, in general, keeping it neat and tidy.
You liked it like that; cleaned up. Trimmed. Fresh. Makes me feel clean, you told him one night after he’d tugged your panties down, practically drooling at the sight of your arousal soaking the thatch of hair you had trimmed up earlier in the day. So he watched as you almost tauntingly ran your hands up and down your bare legs, finding himself jealous of the way you squeezed the soft plush above the bend of your knee. He wished it was his mouth in place of your hands; kissing, nipping, licking and sucking his way up.
“Are you okay?” Your voice brought him out of his head and when he lifted his eyes from your leg, he found you already looking at him. The corner of your lip tilted, like you knew what he was thinking.
He nodded dumbly, lifting a hand to scratch at his jaw like he was trying—and failing—not to look like a creep. He was your husband, for fucks sake. He was allowed to look at you like that, right? “Yeah—uh. Just wasn’t expecting…” he gestured vaguely towards you, as if that was answer enough.
“Oh,” with a grin that told him you knew exactly what you were doing, yet your tone laced with faux innocence, you rub your hands together, allowing for the coco butter-y scent of the lotion to waft through the air. “I got new lotion today, figured I’d try it out—wanna smell?”
Your hands held outstretched in front of you, palms facing upwards as if that was where he wanted to bury his face right now. Instead, he fixed his expression and shook his head.
“Not talkin’ about the lotion.”
You, with your hands still out in front of you, your panties still hugging your hips, your tank top hiked slightly on one side, smelling like soap and fresh coco butter lotion, had the audacity to tilt your head in confusion. To give him a look like he was the crazy one here.
God, how he wanted to lick it all off of you—damn the chemically pungent taste it most likely had. You looked like a goddamn painting right now; one he’d hang in his room, lock away for his eyes to only ever see. The golden evening sunlight that came in through the slanted shutters of the room hit you perfectly. Brought out every little detail in you that he was still somehow managing to find years later; every little freckle on your skin, the shine in your hair, the way your lashes kissed the skin of your upper cheek, the way curls peeked out from your panties…
“You, um.” How was he going to go about this without sounding like an ass? He never cared what you did with your body—scratch that: he wanted you to do with your body, whatever made you comfortable. What you liked, he loved. He never commented on certain things, and when he did it was almost always a compliment. “Did you… forget something today?”
Had he not pressed his eyes shut for a second afterwards, as if scolding himself inwardly at how stupidly he was going about this, he might have been able to catch the way you had to bite back an ever growing grin; teeth catching your cracked bottom lip as you forced your expression back into that faux confusion.
You managed, however, and responded the same as before. “Did I forget… No, I don’t think so?”
His throat bobbed as he exhaled through his nose and peeled his eyes back open, the subtle pinch in the middle of his brows a dead give away that he was trying his damndest to figure out how to word what he was going to say next. “You’re not…” he tried, and the pause in between words left you feeling a scatter of goosebumps crawling up the base of your spine.
“You didn’t shave.”
Worded not so much as a question as it was a statement, you finally let your lips curl into a smile when he got the words out. Your arms lowered from where they’d been outstretched in front of you, and you didn’t bother so much as a glance down at your clothed cunt—didn’t need to, because you knew what he was talking about. Knew what he had seen, because you wanted him to see it.
You do, though, offer him a shrug; lifting one shoulder before going back to rubbing lotion on your legs with a tone that belied nonchalance. “No, I didn’t.”
Joel was biting the inside of his cheek now as his eyes followed the path of your hands. How the dying light of the day caught against your bare skin and made you glow; looking like an ethereal being. “Why not?”
He didn’t mean to sound so crass—if anything, his follow up question earned him a chuckle from you. He heard it, quiet, breathy, but there. Like you knew something he didn’t. Like you knew it came from a place of genuine confusion rather than criticizing.
“Figured I’d let it grow out a little.”
Oh. He was familiar with those words; given that he had echoed the same thing hours ago after catching on to the little comments you’d made throughout the day, when the two of you had turned the lights off in the living room and he spread a blanket beneath your bare back while he tucked himself between your legs. Figured I’d let it grow out a little, he said after you wrinkled your nose when his beard tickled the sensitive skin of your neck. You don’t like it?
Except the thing was, he liked seeing you like this.
The bed dipped beneath your weight when you finally moved to sink into the mattress, pretending to be oblivious to the way his jaw ticked to the side and his eyes darkened ever so slightly.
“That’s what this is about?” His voice deepened as he put two-and-two together, low in his chest as he stalked forwards, forcing you to tip your head back to look up at him with the same audacity of playing oblivious. “You don’t like my beard?”
You click your tongue at him and set the lotion aside before leaning back against your palms, the thick blanket covering the bed soft against your skin. “Well, I didn’t say that.” Because technically, you didn’t. “I just think it’s getting a little long.”
He grunts. The floor beneath his feet groaning when he takes a step towards you. “You’ve never had a problem with it before.” He says.
“It’s just…” pausing, you roll your eyes up to the ceiling like you were trying to look for the right word to say. “Wrong.”
He repeats the word with an amused scoff, like he knew what you were trying to say. “My beard is wrong?”
“Well, maybe not wrong,” oh, here you were already backtracking on your statement simply because he’d narrowed his eyes at you as he closed the distance. Your pulse jumping beneath your skin and you cursed yourself inwardly because you weren’t supposed to be the nervous one here. “But, like… not you.”
You continued digging your own grave and he gave a mused mhm, making you swallow and roll your eyes like you were still trying to maintain a unfazed appearance. Like you couldn’t feel the heat of his skin as he approached, still warm from the shower, his dark hair fixed in unruly curls from the towel he’d tossed aside.
“I’m just saying,” he let you go on. “Maybe a little trim.”
His big palms slide underneath your thighs and haul you up further onto the bed, splitting your legs on either side of him to allow him the room to settle with a lopsided smirk while his thumbs brush against the edge of your panties. “Sweetheart, you’re really bad at this shit.” He chides playfully, following his words with a press of his lips to your naval while his eyes peer up at you from beneath the fan of dark lashes, making your stomach flip. “If this is your way of gettin’ back at me, I’m gonna start growing out my beard more often.”
In an attempt to stifle the giggle threatening at the back of your throat as his hands curl beneath your thighs to hike them up over his shoulders, you huff. “Don’t you dare.”
“Not really givin’ me much of a choice here, darlin’.”
You’d beg to differ. “Gave you plenty,” you retort, “you just have a habit of not paying attention.”
He was about to give you all the damn attention you want with the way his lips were going. “You want attention?” His teeth grazed your hipbone as his thumbs tucked themselves beneath the hem of your panties. “I’ll give you all the attention you want, baby.”
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⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Joel isn’t afraid to touch you. When you’re walking together, his fingers hook into your belt loop or brush yours until you finally give in and hold his hand. It surprises everyone, but he’ll casually wrap his arms around your waist and kiss up your neck.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He likes having you close enough to touch. Otherwise, he gets an itch. He’ll call you out on it, too. "Don't go drifting off like that. I'll reel you back in, and you know it."
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He’ll stand behind you while you cook, one arm snug around your middle, the other braced on the counter, caging you in. You feel the faint scrape of his beard against your neck. “Ain’t got an appetite right this minute, do you? ‘Cause I got half a mind to keep you right here.”
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Once, after a rough patrol, you patched a cut on his knuckles. When you were done, he caught your wrist before you could pull away and pressed your palm flat to his chest. “Stay,” he asked softly. “It don’t hurt much. I just need you to stay.”
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ On long days, he settles you down on the couch, between his legs with your back to his chest. His hands rest heavy on your stomach, thumbs moving in slow circles.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Joel will pull you into his lap and run the back of his hand against your cheek. The soft rumble of his voice is quiet when he admits, “Feels right, don’t it?"
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He loves it when you initiate contact. Touch him softly, beckon him to you, and he'll be yours for the taking.
PAIRING: Ellie Williams x Reader
SUMMARY: You convince Ellie to keep the kitten.
CONTENTS: pure fluff headcanons.
˖᯽ ݁˖ Merri’s Notes. . . A hc continuation of this fic! My cat also eats flowers lmao.
Ellie Masterlist
ELLIE! who is kinda weary around Princess at first. Refusing to call her Princess at all firstly, but all because the kitten was very protective of you. Who didn’t think Princess liked her much, always hissing and trying to bite her when she tried to pet her.
ELLIE! who narrows her eyes at Princess whenever she wakes up to see the little furball curled up on your chest in the morning. Who puts the kitten outside the door when you’re asleep, her arms stretched out in front of her as it flails in her grip.
ELLIE! who ultimately feels bad when she meows outside the bedroom door, turning to see you fast asleep. Who sighs, getting up and opening the door, watching Princess jump onto the bed and lie down next to you.
ELLIE! who totally gets jealous of princess. Seeing her all cuddled up with you on the couch, all of your attention on the little thing. Sure it’s cute but… she has a right to be jealous.
ELLIE! who tries to gain back your attention, collecting your favourite flowers and putting them together in a little bouquet. Who does gain your attention and some kisses when she gives them to you.
ELLIE! who wakes up in the morning, Princess nowhere to be seen in the bed, you fast asleep next to her. Whose first thought is that she’s missing, quickly getting out of bed to look around the house before you wake up. Who stares, gobsmacked, at Princess sitting on the kitchen counter and chewing the petals on the flowers.
ELLIE! who stares at the kitten whilst she’s sitting on the couch, narrowing her eyes at her. The kitten just innocently chews on of the toys on the floor. Who won’t sit in her chair if Princess is sleeping on it.
ELLIE! who claims to not be a fan of her but sits next to her bowl in the morning, making sure she eats all her food to let you sleep in. Who nonchalantly throws tiny objects she finds on patrol on the ground for her before walking away like she didn’t think of the kitten at all whilst she was out. Not once actually.
ELLIE! who is found by you, asleep on the couch when you come out of the shower. Princess curled up by her head, purring away.
summary: after ellie embarrasses joel at the winter dance, you help take his mind off of it.
warnings: smut. fluff. angst. unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!). use of pet names (sweetheart, honey, my love, darling). praise. age gap (reader is in her 30s, joel is his age in the second season). no mention of y/n. [ 4k ]
You saw Seth's outburst at Ellie and Dina firsthand, and Joel's reaction was immediate — his body tense, fists clenched at his sides. He pushed his body away from the bar he stood at beside you, rushing forward and placing his hands on the older man, the entire town watching Seth fall to the floor from Joel’s forceful shove.
Ellie’s face was frozen in horror, but it was anger that burned through most vividly. She watched as Maria rushed to pull Seth away, then turned her eyes to Joel – the man who had become a father to her – standing there, silently waiting to ask if she was alright.
That’s when everything fell apart.
“I don’t need your fucking help.”
The entire hall fell silent, the weight of Joel’s pain hanging in the air, and he took a step back, his chest tightening with a pain that was sharper than any blade. His eyes locked onto Ellie, but all he found was a hardness in her eyes that he had never seen before. The harsh words hung in the air, and for a moment the world seemed to fade away. It was as if time had frozen, the silence so loud it deafened everyone in the hall. Then everything came crashing back. The hum of electricity, your breathing, the sound of Joel’s boots on the ground as he walked forward and out of the church. Acting on nothing but instinct, you gave Ellie a small, tight-lipped smile as you past her and followed Joel outside.
The sudden cold hit you as you walked outside, the temperature having dropped significantly despite it only being an hour or so since you entered the church. The lights of Jackson were dim compared to the lively glow of the dance. You spotted Joel's tall, broad figure stood by a lamp near the church, one hand running through his hair as his head tilted downwards.
"Joel?” You started, and his attention snapped over to you as you approached, head lifting to meet your gaze.
You heard the quiet sniffle that he tried to hide and watched as he brought his hand up to wipe away a tear. A beat of silence passed as you took a few steps closer, then another. And another. You stopped when you were less than a meter away, the light from the lamp illuminating Joel’s features. His face was weary and gaunt, the years showing themselves on his tired, sad eyes. You wanted to reach out to him… To comfort him…
"You alright?" You heard yourself ask, and the moment the words left your mouth you knew it was a dumb question.
He let out a scoff in response, hand dropping to his side as he moved to lean back against the wall of the building next to the church. He was quiet, his gaze falling to the ground, eyes glossy. You gave him a soft smile, a small one that held both love and understanding. Silence fell once more as you studied Joel’s figure, his shoulders slumped and head lowered in defeat. He looked broken, as if everything was finally catching up to him. And in a way, it probably was.
You knew better than to try and get Joel to talk about how he was feeling. He wasn't one to talk about his emotions, not even with you. Instead, you took in a deep breath and allowed the silence to envelope you both once more. You leaned against the wall beside him, not wanting him to be alone in that moment.
"She hates me."
You turned your head to look at him, hand reaching out to touch his, trying to ground him. "She doesn't. She's just angry because she wanted to handle the situation herself."
"I just wanted to protect her," he said, voice thick and full of emotion. “What that asshole said was out of line.”
“I know, my love.” You reached for his hand and laced your fingers with his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You did what you thought was right, and no one can fault you for that.”
He still wasn't looking at you, instead staring down at your hand, his thumb gently stroking over your skin as his fingers wrapped around your own. He was silent for a moment as he processed your words.
"But it still hurt her,” he admitted finally, his voice soft yet rough.
You nodded in understanding, your heart felt heavy seeing Joel this way. "I know," you replied gently, “But trust me when I say that she'll come around. She just needs some time to process everything."
Joel said nothing in response, his eyes now having returned to looking at the ground. You could tell he was still beating himself up over the entire situation.
"Come here.”
You let go of his hand and moved to stand in front of him, arms open for him to fall into. He didn’t hesitate, and you felt his head rest against your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, instantly feeling the dampness of his tears on your skin. You held him tightly, one hand moving to gently stroke his greying hair as the other rubbed circles across his back.
"It's okay," you whispered, trying to soothe his pain. "It's going to be okay."
You felt him take in a deep, shaky breath as he pulled you even closer, his grip on you tightening. He stayed as he was for a while, silent save for the occasional soft sob or quiet sniffle that escaped him. His weight against you was comforting, and you continued to hold him, providing a safe place for him to let out his pain and frustration.
He shook his head lightly against you, and you heard his voice, muffled by the fabric of your clothes. "I just... I want her to be happy. I miss her."
You nodded, and even though you knew he couldn't see it, he could feel it. "I know, honey. She just needs some time to cool off, that's all.”
There was a moment of silence as Joel held onto you, and you could feel the tremors running through his body as he tried to contain his emotions. You continued to run your hand up and down his back, not saying a word, just allowing him to feel whatever he needed to feel. After several moments, he pulled away slightly and looked at you, his face tear-streaked. Your heart broke seeing him like this, so vulnerable and hurting. So, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his temple, right above his scar.
"Let's get you home, yeah?”
He nodded, a final sniffle leaving him before he pulled back from the embrace. You interlocked your fingers with his once again as you turned and began walking together, the snow-dusted dirt crunching beneath your boots.
As you walked through the streets of Jackson, the town was quiet and peaceful, the only sounds coming from the soft crunch of snow beneath your feet and the faint music in the distance. Tall lamps on the sides of the roads gave off a soft, warm glow, and the houses had large porches wrapped around the outer walls. You could see glimpses of the town's residents inside their homes through the windows, warm fires burning in the fireplaces and the low hums of conversation. There was comfort in the silence, in the way your shoulders brushed every so often.
It didn’t take long for the two of you to reach home. When you stepped into the house, it was warm despite having no heat source on for a few hours. You flicked on the nearest lamp, letting the soft orange glow fill the room, and turned to Joel as you shrugged off your jacket. You saw the exhaustion in his features, the deep bags under his eyes and the slump in his shoulders. He shut the door behind the two of you and walked over to the couch, collapsing down onto it with a huff.
"I'm gonna grab something to drink, you want anything?" you asked softly, stepping closer to him.
He shook his head, but just as you were about to turn and head toward the kitchen, you felt a hand grab yours. Joel pulled you around, making you face him. Without saying a word, he tugged you closer until you were standing between his legs. You let out a small noise of surprise but quickly settled, your hip pressed against the edge of the couch. You could see Joel's face clearly now, illuminated by a shaft of moonlight streaming in from the window.
He was watching you closely, eyes roaming your face like he was trying to commit every feature to memory. His grip on your hand tightened, drawing you closer still. His other hand moved to rest on your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle circles into your jeans. You felt butterflies in your stomach as he looked at you, his touch sending electric shocks through your body. You placed a hand on top of his that was resting on your leg, gently tracing your fingertips over his knuckles.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Joel spoke quietly, his voice gruff but holding so much love. He lifted your hand, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss against the back. “I love you.”
It was like a bolt of lightning striking through you at his words. No matter how many times he said it, your heart skipped a beat.
"I love you too," you replied, your voice barely a whisper. You brought your other hand up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing across the scruffy facial hair along his jawline.
His eyes fluttered shut at your touch, and he leaned into your hand, seeking out your touch like a man starved of affection. You couldn’t deny that you enjoyed this side of Joel — the vulnerable, tender side that only came out when he was with you.
“Still can’t believe ya want me,” he mumbled against your hand, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. “Don't know how you put up with me.”
“Always have, always will,” you promised, gently running your fingers through his hair, the silvering strands soft against your touch. “And quite easily, believe it or not.” He cracked an eye open, looking at you like he didn't quite believe you. You smiled softly and cupped his face in your hands. “I love you. That’s not gonna change just because you and El are going through a rough patch.”
Joel let out a small huff at your words, and you saw the corners of his lips pulled up in a slight smile. He leaned into your touch once more, eyes closing as he savored the feeling of your hands on his face.
“She’s pissed off with me,” he said after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can’t really blame her.” He sighed. “I just... I dunno, feel like I keep messing up with her, ya know?”
“It’ll work out.”
Joel was silent as he looked up at you, his expression softening even more. He lifted a hand to rest against your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your cheek, the calloused skin rough against your own. You leaned into his touch, a sigh escaping you as your eyes fluttered shut for a moment. It felt nice to have these moments of comfort with each other, in the midst of all the chaos that was constantly happening around you.
"I hope so," Joel said after a moment of silence, and you both knew he was talking about more than just his relationship with Ellie.
You opened your eyes to look at him, feeling a little pang in your heart at the pain that was visible on his face. He looked tired, like he had been battling demons on his own for far too long.
"Hey," you said softly, your hand moving to cover his, "You're doing the best you can. You have to give yourself some credit for that."
Joel let out a scoff, his gaze drifting away from your face to look at something in the distance. "Doesn't feel like it."
You could feel the guilt and blame radiating off him, and it pained you to see him like this. You frowned at his words, not liking how he was talking about himself. "Stop that," you said firmly and brought your hand up to his chin, tilting his head to look at you again. "You need to stop being so hard on yourself."
He let out a gruff sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a hum, but he didn't argue. Instead, his thumb brushed over your cheek again, his touch gentle yet firm.
"Sometimes my best doesn't feel like enough, ya know?"
You nodded, understanding the weight of those words all too well. "I know, but it is," you promised him. "You may not see it, but you're doing more than enough." You lifted a hand to gently touch his shoulder, feeling the tension beneath your fingertips. "You're only one person, Joel. You can't save everyone."
His eyes flicked up to meet yours, searching for any sign of a lie or doubt. When he found none, he let out a sigh and leaned his forehead against your chest, his grip on your waist tightening. You could feel the tension leaving his body as he leaned into you. His head rested just above your heart, the steady rhythm of your pulse filling his ears. It was a comforting sound, grounding him in the moment, reminding him that he wasn't alone. And here in your arms, he felt safer than he had in years.
"I just want to protect you all," he mumbled, his voice slightly muffled. "I'm scared of losing you."
Your fingers running gently across his broad shoulders, tracing small patterns as he let his guard down. He was strong and capable, but even the toughest man could break.
"You've already saved so many people," you reminded him, your voice soft. "Including me." You leaned down so your chin rested atop his head. "You're not alone in this, Joel. I'm here for you. Always."
He finally lifted his head, looking up at you from where you were perched on his lap. His eyes were tired but filled with love. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind you ear, his thumb gently tracing along your jaw before sliding down to rest on your chin. The corners of his mouth tugged up into a small smile and his eyes were glossy. You could see the raw emotion in them. It was rare that he let himself be this vulnerable, and it only happened when he was with you.
He didn't say anything, his hand coming up to slide up your leg, fingertips leaving trails of heat in their wake. You shivered slightly at his touch, the heat of his hand seeping through your jeans. Your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers slid under your shirt, hand pausing at the spot just above the waistband, his thumb rubbing small circles into the sensitive skin. You felt yourself leaning into his touch, unable to resist the magnetic pull between you. This is what it meant to feel alive. To feel his hands on you, knowing that he was there, that you had each other.
It was a feeling you'd never get tired of.
He was watching you closely, his gaze filled with both heat and hesitation. You felt your heart rate quicken, the intensity of his look coupled with his touch driving you crazy. You knew he was asking a silent question, and with a slight movement of your hips, you gave him an answer.
His breathing hitched in his throat as you shifted on his lap, the movement bringing you even closer together. You felt his grip on your hip tighten, his fingers digging into your flesh ever so slightly. There was a moment of hesitation, a split second where the both of you held your breaths, and then he was pulling you down, crashing his lips against your own. The kiss was heated and hungry, as if he was starving for the taste of you. His tongue immediately sought entrance, and you willingly obliged, your own tongue meeting his in a desperate dance as your hands moved to cradle his face.
The two of you were pressed tightly against each other, and you could feel his body heat seeping through your clothes, the heat from his kiss adding to the flush that was probably evident on your cheeks by now. His hands were everywhere — on your hips, in your hair, slipping beneath your shirt to feel the soft skin of your back. The kiss was frenzied, the desperation in his touch sending your head spinning. You both needed this, needed the connection, the reassurance. He pulled back for a moment, his breath coming out in ragged gasps, but the look he gave you held a clear message — he wasn't done with you yet.
He kissed you again and you let out a soft moan, your fingers tangling in his long, greying hair. The feel of his lips on yours was enough to send you spiraling, the heat coiling deep in your belly. His hands moved back down to your hips, gripping tight as he pulled you flush against him, your body molding against the hard planes of his. You could feel him hardening beneath you, the knowledge sending tendrils of electricity throughout your body.
His hands slowly moved up your sides, calloused fingers skimming your ribcage, causing you to shiver. His touch was both rough and gentle, a contradiction that only served to drive you even crazier. You ground down against him, wanting nothing more than to feel closer to him, every touch and kiss leaving you needing more.
He pulled back momentarily, his gaze roaming over your face, taking in the flushed cheeks, the parted lips, the heavy-lidded eyes that were filled with desire. You began placing a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin as you went. The sound of your name slipped from his lips as you nipped at the spot just below his ear.
“God, darlin’," he murmured, voice thick with need. "You're driving me insane."
You pulled back slightly with a small grin. “Yeah?”
His eyes locked with yours, the intensity behind them making your heart skip a beat. "You have any idea what you do to me?"
You ground down on his lap again, biting your bottom lip as a groan left him. “I can feel the effect I have on you.”
His grip on your hips tightened, holding you in place as you rubbed yourself against him, the friction causing a curse to escape his lips. He dropped his head to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.
"You're gonna be the death of me, ya know that?" he rasped out, his voice low and filled with want.
“After everything you’ve been through, you’ll end up dying in a funny way — like slipping on a golf course or something.”
He huffed out a laugh against your shoulder, vibrations sending ripples of pleasure through you. He lifted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. He shifted against you, the action causing his groin to press up into yours, and you felt the hard length of him press against you, even through the layers of clothes.
Your breath hitched in your throat at the feeling, and he let out a soft chuckle. "You're hilarious, ya know that?”
You couldn't help but let out a soft moan, your hips involuntarily bucking against him, seeking that delicious friction. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, a gesture that only heightened the desire coursing through you. He shifted again, his grip on your hips tight as he ground up into you, his eyes never leaving your face.
"I have my moments,” you managed to gasp out, your hands going to his shoulders to steady yourself.
He chuckled softly, his gaze flicking down to your flushed face, the desire in his expression nearly pushing you over the edge. "Oh, I know," he murmured, his voice deep and rough. He shifted again, his hips rolling against yours, creating friction that had you biting back a moan.
His fingers moved from your hips up to your waist, the gesture almost reverent, like he was touching something precious. He tugged you closer, his body heat seeping through you even through the thin shirt you were wearing. Your hands slid down from his shoulders, moving to his chest and fingers playing with the buttons of his flannel shirt, a silent request to get his consent to go further.
His eyes flicked down to your hands as they played with the buttons of his shirt, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He gave you a quick nod and you felt his grip on your hip loosen slightly, allowing you to move freely. He leaned back, resting against the couch and watching you with an intense gaze, his eyes dark with lust. You slowly unbuttoned his shirt, the fabric parting to reveal a toned chest beneath, sprinkled with scars and dusted with a light covering of hair. You traced your fingers over his skin, feeling the heat radiating from him, his muscles twitching faintly under your touch. Your eyes flicked up to his face and you saw his gaze was hooded, watching your every move with rapt attention.
He was the perfect blend of strength and snacks, body holding a soft armor of fatherhood.
You pulled back for a moment, breath coming out in short gasps. Joel's eyes were still fixed on you, his breathing just as erratic as he attempted to control his own desires. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, the tension between the two of you at its peak.
Your pause was met with a slight frown from Joel as you pulled back, his hands sliding up your arms, gripping your elbows. "Ya alright there, sweetheart?" he asked, disquiet evident in his voice.
You smiled, giving your man a slow, short nod. Gazing down at him – eyes hungry, heart full – you saw the want mirrored in his face, raw and unspoken. Right then, right there, you were exactly where you belonged.
“Never been better.”
There was a moment of silence, Joel's gaze studying you intently, his hands still holding your elbows. He could sense the sincerity in your words, and it caused a slight smile to pull at the corner of his lip.
His gaze dropped to your hands as you began unbuttoning your own shirt, the action causing his breath to hitch in his throat. The sight of your fingers moving, the movement of the fabric sliding down your shoulders... it was all driving him crazy.
“I’m one lucky son’a bitch,” he muttered to himself, his eyes following your every movement.
You dropped your hands as Joel's replaced yours, working to unbutton your shirt, his fingers deft and precise as they popped open the buttons one by one. His eyes were fixed on your skin, his breathing increasing in pace as more was revealed. He gently pushed the fabric aside, his gaze roaming over the newly exposed skin.
“You’re so beautiful.”
You smiled softly and thanked him, leaning forward to press your lips against his — this time much more soft, despite the urge still being there. He returned the kiss with equal softness, his grip on your elbows loosening as he allowed the moment to settle into something more tender. His hand came up to cup your face, his touch light and almost tentative. The kiss was gentle, a far cry from the heated passion of before, but no less intimate. The feel of his rough-worn fingers against your face a comfort as he deepened the kiss slightly, his tongue brushing against your bottom lip, seeking entrance.
You parted your lips in response, letting him in, your breaths mingling. His kisses were slow and thorough, his touch tender but firm. You could feel the heat building again, but it was different this time — less animalistic and more forbearing. His tongue glided against yours in a slow, lazy dance, as if he was savouring the taste of you. His other hand slid around your waist, pulling you even closer, the heat of his bare skin against yours driving you crazy.
You could feel his body respond instantly to your movements, his grip on your waist tightening as he let out a low groan. His lips left yours, trailing down your chin to the sensitive skin of your neck. His hands slid down to your hips, pulling you forward, grinding himself up into you. His teeth nipped at your pulse point, a desperate moan leaving your lips as you found yourself once again caught in a vehement moment with your lover.
Joel’s hands moved to the waistband of your jeans, struggling to undo them as you continued to move against him. He pulled away for a moment, looking down at where his hands worked to achieve his goal of taking your pants off. He tapped your thigh, a silent signal for you to stand, and – with your help – he managed to successfully pull them down, watching as you kicked them off before settling yourself back on his lap.
Once you were settled, his hands were on you again, impatiently sliding up your thighs, leaving scorching trails in their wake. His eyes were dark with desire, his breath coming in laboured gasps as he looked at you, his fingers digging into your skin.
“Need you,” you mumbled, hands lowering to his belt and pulling at it. You could feel the hardness of him pressing against you as you slid his belt through the loops of his jeans.
“Yeah?”
You nodded desperately, hands moving to undo the buttons of his jeans. You didn’t care if his shirt still hung around his shoulders or if his jeans weren’t entirely off — you just needed him inside you. You were soaked, all because of Joel Miller. There was something about the way his voice sounded when he spoke, so sweet and dominating, that made pleasure burn through you, making you want him even more.
You leaned forward to kiss him, your lips meeting his instantly. He kissed you almost desperately, like he was starving and you were the only thing that could possibly satisfy him. Your hands switched between resting on his chest and shoulders, pushing your underwear to the side as Joel pulled pulled himself from his boxers. He reached down and lined himself up before allowed you to sink down onto him. Your eyebrows furrowed together in pleasure, having him fill you to the brim. No matter how many times Joel fucked you, you would never get over how good he felt.
"Good girl," he murmured, voice rough. "That's my good girl."
"Oh, my god..."
You took a moment to collect yourself before lifting up and sinking back down onto him. He could feel your hands on his shoulders, your nails clawing at his skin, and it only turned him on more. You moaned as you moved, the sounds of your sopping wet pussy filling the room.
“That feel good, sweetheart?" Joel asked, voice strained with how good you felt wrapped around him.
"S-So good," you nodded, eyes closed in pleasure and moans falling freely from your pillowed lips. "So deep."
"Fuck," Joel moaned in response, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. The backs of your thighs hit his as you bounced, and it left you feeling dumb, no thoughts left in your head apart from how pretty Joel looked beneath you. His own lips parted as he reached his hands up, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as he stared as your tits in awe. “Just like that, darlin’, shit-"
He could feel every little gasp, every moan, every whimper you made, and it was driving him crazy. Despite often struggling with reaching an orgasm at his age, he could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, and he knew he couldn't hold back for much longer. You leaned down, his face just inches away from yours, and pressed your forehead against his. Joel suddenly slid his hand down your body, his thumb finding your clit and quickly rubbing it. You moaned loudly, nails scratching down his chest and leaving red marks in their wake.
"F-fuck!" you cried, the pleasure consuming you. You sped up, moving harder and rougher. He loved the sound of your voice, the way it changed as he touched you, the way it got higher and more desperate as you got closer.
"That's it," he rasped. "Let me hear how good you feel." He suddenly grabbed your hip, using it as leverage as he started to thrust up into you, his body tensing at the movement.
“Joel-” you whined, one hand moving to the back of his neck. You stared into his brown eyes, seeing nothing but love and desire in them. He knew you were close, could feel it in the way you moved, and he felt his own body grow taut in response.
His name on your lips sent a shiver down his spine, and he let out a soft moan, his grip on your hips tightening just a fraction. He pushed himself against you, his chest rumbling beneath your hand.
"Fuck, sweetheart," he murmured, his lips grazing against your jawline. His lips began to trail kisses down your neck, his kisses open mouthed and hot. His beard scratched against your skin, causing a moan to leave you at the feeling. “Doing such a good job for me.”
“Fuck,” you cried out, tears welling in your eyes as you looked down at him. “Y’look so good, Joel– Oh my god.” Another moan left you. “Want you to cum so deep inside me.”
Joel let out a low grown, his eyes dark with desire as he looked up at you. "Sweetheart, you're killin' me here." He pressed his face into your neck, hot breath against your skin, his fingers digging even further into your thighs in a vice grip.
“Need it, Joel — please.” He nodded against your shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut as his arms wrapped around your wait, holding you to him. His thrusts sped up, a clapping sound filling the air around you as his breathing became more laborious. “‘m gonna cum-!”
You pretty much screamed his name as you did, legs shaking around his hips with your arms hugging his head to your chest. He felt you tighten around him, felt your nails digging into his skin, and he couldn't hold back anymore.
"That’s it, sweetheart,” Joel mumbled, running purely on primal instincts now. Your tits bounced as he continued to fuck himself deeper into you. “Gonna- Fuck. Gonna cum, darlin’.”
“Inside me, cum inside me,” you pleaded, pressing kisses up and down his neck. “Please.”
Joel grabbed ahold of your hips, grinding his hips deep into yours a few more times before coming to a stop. He came hard, his body tensing up as he buried his face into your neck, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as he rode out his orgasm. You felt his cum fill you up, letting out a hum of content. He was breathing heavily, his body still shaking from the intensity of his release, and he couldn't remember ever feeling this good, this wrecked, this satisfied.
“Did I ever tell you that you’re really sexy when you’re angry and protective?”
꩜ pairing: spiderman!ellie williams x female reader
꩜ warnings: explicit content, language
꩜ word count: 5.5k
꩜ synopsis: your campus crush is awkward, brilliant, and possibly allergic to eye contact. your city’s superhero is bold, brawny, and keeps saving your life. it takes a few close calls and some questionable physics to realise they’re the same girl—and she’s falling for you, too.
The first time Spider-Girl saves you, it's from a mugger in an alley behind the campus coffee shop. You're fumbling through your backpack for your pepper spray when she drops down like some extremely agile angel, all wisecracks and impossibly fluid movements.
"Hey there, citizen," she quips with her trademark enthusiasm, expertly knocking out the guy with a single punch. God, she’s always so extra on television. You didn’t think she’d be a hundred times worse in real life. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that walking alone at night is, like, really bad for your web of safety?"
You stare at her, dumbfounded, heart hammering from more than just the adrenaline. "Did you seriously just make a spider pun?"
"Maybe." Even through the mask, you can hear her intolerable grin. "You okay? No injuries? Emotional trauma? Sudden urge to take up martial arts?"
"I'm fine," you manage, though you're definitely not. She's hanging upside down now, her auburn hair falling in waves around her masked face, and something indescribable about her voice is making your stomach flip. You clutch your pepper spray tighter.
"Good. Great. Awesome," her extremely endearing stuttering doesn’t distract you from how delicious her biceps look in that top-notch suit of hers. "Um, you should probably get home. Soon. Don’t want to miss dinner. Most important meal of the day."
She swings away before you can thank her (or correct her on how the phrase is actually about breakfast), leaving you alone with your breathing irregular and a very inconvenient crush on a masked vigilante.
The second time is five days later, when a chunk of building facade decides to almost make friends with your head during the villain of the week’s rampage downtown. Spider-Girl appears out of nowhere, scooping you up in arms that are surprisingly stronger than anticipated (not that you’ve been thinking about her arms, haha, no way) and swinging you to protection on a nearby rooftop.
"We've got to stop meeting like this," she pants, setting you down gently. "People are gonna talk."
"Are you following me?" you gape at her, brushing dust from your jacket.
"What? No! That's—that's crazy talk. I'm a hero. Heroes don’t follow. They heroically arrive. At coincidental moments."
You purse your lips, evidently skeptical, "Right. Coincidental."
"Very coincidental. Cosmically coincidental, even. The universe is just really invested in us meeting, apparently."
While she goes off on a tangent about something too philosophical for your understanding, you’re more focused on scrutinising her mannerisms. There's something eerily familiar about the way she gestures, all animated hands and panicky grace, but you can't seem to place it. You table your suspicions for another time. That is, if there is another time.
And, oh boy, there is.
You're walking home from a last-minute convenience store visit when a car runs a red light, heading straight for you. It’s downright ridiculous. At this point, you’re convinced that you’re undeniably cursed. Before you can ponder over the pros and cons of becoming roadkill versus finally escaping the group project from hell, a blur of red and blue tackles you to the pavement, and suddenly you're staring up at the sky wondering if you've died.
For a moment, you're pressed chest to chest with Spider-Girl, her masked face inches from yours. You can feel her heaving, quick and shallow.
"Okay," you whisper. "Now I’m certain you're following me."
"I—" she scrambles backward, nearly tripping over her own feet. "It's not what it looks like!"
You shake your head, trying to gain sense of your surroundings, "It looks like you're stalking me."
"I prefer 'keeping tabs on.' For very legitimate reasons."
You let out a disbelieving laugh, studying her, "What's your name?"
"Girl, do you have a concussion?”
"Your real name, smartass."
She freezes, her frantic spiraling reaching an abrupt halt, "Come on, gorgeous. It’s not so simple. That's classified information."
"Of course," you stand with a defeated sigh, running a hand through your hair and trying not to fixate on how she chose to refer to you (gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous). "Well, thanks for the save. Maybe next time you could text me when there's danger instead of lurking like a weirdo?"
You're halfway down the block when you hear her call out: "I don't have your number!" You turn back, grinning, "I guess you'll have to ask for it like a normal person!"
The girl in your Advanced Calculus class is strange.
Not bad strange—sort of a cute strange, truly. She showed up six weeks into the semester, all quiet and nervous twitching, taking the only empty seat right next to you. She has freckles scattered across her nose and the greenest eyes you've ever seen, and she fidgets constantly, like she's got too much energy for her own skin.
"Ellie," she'd introduced herself on her first day, awkwardly extending a hand that was covered in small scars and calluses. "Williams."
"Nice to meet you," you'd replied, and something about her crooked smile made your chest tight.
She's brilliant in class—when she shows up, of course. Professor Martinez assigns a problem set on differential equations and Ellie solves them with an elegance that makes everyone lean forward to so much as catch a glimpse of her work. But she has her quirks like not making eye contact while explaining her solutions, and doodling in the margins of her notebooks—intricate patterns that look too similar to webs, you suppose.
Also, she stares at you. A lot.
"Earth to Ellie," you mutter during a particularly boring lecture on integration techniques. She's been gazing at you for the past five minutes, completely obvious about it.
She startles, knocking over her water bottle. "Shit, sorry. I wasn't—"
You stifle a laugh, "Staring at me?" Her face goes pink, about ready to burst if she could, "I was thinking about derivatives. Pretty intensely."
"Uh-huh, here," you hand her some napkins from your bag, helping salvage her soaked notes. "What's your take on the fundamental theorem of calculus, then?"
"It's... fundamental," she says, then grimaces when she seems to realise how that sounds. "I mean, it's inherently elegant. The way it connects differentiation and integration like two sides of the same coin."
You're impressed despite yourself, "Not many would choose to explain it that way, but it’s a fitting analogy."
"Thanks." She plays around with her pen and you wonder how someone’s fingers could be so long and slender and—
Oh my fucking god, please stop.
You snap out of your thoughts to come face-to-face with Ellie rambling, too engrossed in what she’s saying to notice how your neck is embarrassingly flushed. "I'm good with connections. How things relate to each other."
As if summoned by her words, her phone vibrates with what sounds like a notification. She glances at it offhandedly and her whole body goes tense.
"I-I have to—bathroom—emergency—" she's already gathering her things, moving with surprising dexterity despite her apparent alarm. At first, you can only blink at the sudden shift, thinking it's some kind of elaborate excuse or a joke you’re not in on. But she's already weaving through chairs, clutching her bag like a lifeline.
By the time you lurch to your feet, she's vanished around the corner, leaving behind only the ghost of her perfume and a rapidly cooling seat. Twenty minutes later, news alerts start buzzing about Spider-Girl stopping a large-scale robbery across town.
You start paying attention after that. Really paying attention.
From your elaborate observations, you’ve concluded the following: Ellie disappears from class every time there's a Spider-Girl sighting. She shows up the next day with new bruises she claims are from "aggressive skateboarding" or "really competitive rock climbing." Who does she think she’s trying to fool? Moreover, she knows too much about physics and momentum for someone who supposedly just likes math.
"Want to study together?" you nonchalantly ask one Thursday under the guise of Professor Kim sending out a particularly brutal assignment. In actuality, you were on the prowl for some hardcore evidence to back your hypothesis. "The library has those group study rooms."
Ellie's eyes light up, caught off guard by the offer, "Yeah, yes! Absolutely. I mean, if you want. I'm probably not that helpful, but—"
A pointed stare from you shuts Ellie up, "You're literally the smartest person in our class."
A sheepish smile is all you get in response. The study session is a disaster and the best three hours of your week simultaneously.
Ellie is smart, walking you through complex equations with a patience that makes you genuinely grateful to have her by your side, but she's also the most distractible person you've ever met. Her phone buzzes constantly—emergency alerts, news notifications, text messages that make her face go pale.
"Popular girl," you can’t stop yourself from teasing after the seventh interruption.
"Not really. Uh, I volunteer with this community safety thing. Neighborhood watch type deal."
"Neighborhood watch?"
"Mhm, very active neighborhood watch."
She's helping you with a particularly tricky problem, leaning close enough that you can smell her shampoo, when her phone starts borderline shrieking with alerts.
"Shit," she mutters, grabbing it, looking beyond apologetic. "I have to—"
"Go," you say, even though you're disappointed. "Your neighborhood watch thing?"
"Yeah. Last-minute emergency... watching."
She's halfway to the door when she turns back. "Can we do this again? The studying, I mean. Not the emergency part."
You try to bite back a more than pleased smile. You’re not successful. "I'd like that."
After she leaves, you sit in the empty study room for a while, thinking about the way she explained vector calculus like it was poetry, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about complex theorems, the way she looked at you like you were the most interesting equation she'd ever encountered.
Until reality punches all of the air out of your lungs: "Spider-Girl Saves Civilians Trapped in Terrible Industrial Fire."
The realisation hits you during the next class.
Professor Kim is explaining the mechanism behind projectile motion, and Ellie is taking notes with the intensity of someone who needs to understand exactly how objects move through three-dimensional space. Which is apt, you guess.
"The trajectory of any projectile can be calculated using these equations," Professor Kim drawls, writing on the board. "Accounting for initial velocity, angle of projection, and gravitational acceleration..."
Ellie's pen moves across her notebook, but she's not just copying the equations, you notice. She's modifying them, adding variables, and sketching what looks like trajectory paths between buildings.
Huh, that’s interesting.
"Miss Williams," Professor Kim’s voice booms throughout the hall, "could you share your perspective regarding the topic at hand?"
Ellie looks up, startled. "Oh. I-I was just thinking about how you'd need to account for air resistance in real-world applications. And wind patterns. And if you were, I don’t know, swinging between buildings, you'd need to calculate the optimal release point to maintain momentum while accounting for the pendulum effect of the swing itself."
It’s dead silent. You raise an eyebrow. The class stares at her.
Professor Kim clears her throat, "That's a good question. Yet very specific, Miss Williams."
"I just think about practicality," Ellie mutters weakly.
After class, you corner her in the hallway, determination oozing from the way you stride over to her. "Swinging between buildings?" you ask.
Ellie can barely hold it together, itching with the need to be anywhere but in front of you. "Hypothetically."
"Hypothetically," you echo, studying her face. "You know, I've been thinking about patterns lately, since our conversation. Like how Spider-Girl always seems to show up right after you disappear from class."
Ellie goes very still. "That's... cool."
"Is it? Because I've been doing some math of my own. The timing, the locations, the way you know exactly how web-swinging would work from a physics perspective."
"Funny story, I’m… ah… writing a research paper on Spider-Girl’s abilities—"
"You have the same voice as a certain superhero who's saved my life three times."
Her face goes pale. She opens and closes her mouth, unable to devise an escape plan. And she has tons of experience in those. "I can explain."
You lean closer, lowering your voice, "Can you? Because I'm starting to think my study partner is also the girl who's been stalking me from rooftops."
"I haven't been stalking you!" she protests, then catches herself. "I mean, I don't know what you're talking about."
You tilt your head, close enough to see the panic in her green eyes. "Prove it."
"How?"
"Kiss me."
"What?"
"If you're not Spider-Girl, then kissing me shouldn't be a problem. But if you are..." you let the sentence hang, your own pulse skyrocketing.
Ellie stares at you, bewilderment painting her features. "That's not—that doesn't prove anything."
"Doesn't it? Because I'm pretty sure Spider-Girl has been wanting to kiss me for weeks. The question is whether Ellie Williams wants to kiss me too."
The words tumble out before you can second-guess them—bold, reckless, and so unlike you. But for once, you don’t care. The hallway is empty, most students having fled to their next classes. Ellie looks around desperately, like she still believes that she can scheme her way out of this.
"I—" she starts, then ultimately stops. Her shoulders slump. "Fuck."
"Is that a confession?"
"It's an acknowledgment that I'm terrible at this secret identity thing."
You grin, pleased with yourself, "So you are Spider-Girl."
"Yeah." She runs a hand through her hair. "And I've been going crazy trying to keep away from you while also making sure you're safe, and I think I'm falling for you but I can't tell if it's because I'm Spider-Girl or because I'm Ellie, and—"
You kiss her.
It’s soft, at first, almost hesitant, but it lands with the quiet certainty of something long overdue. Her words die against your lips, a half-formed thought swallowed by the warmth of your mouth on hers. She lets out a soft, taken aback sound, something between a gasp and a sigh, and then she’s kissing you back like it’s instinct, like she’s been waiting for this as long as you have.
Her hands rise to cradle your face, fingers trembling just slightly as they settle against your cheeks. She leans into you, melts, and the world narrows down to the press of her body against yours and the wild, thunderous beat of your heart.
When you finally pull back—breathless and stunned—she doesn’t say anything. Just stares at you with wide, shining eyes like she’s seeing something brand new.
Like she’s never wanted anything more.
"Both," you whisper. "You asked if you're falling for me as Spider-Girl or as Ellie. For me, it's both. I'm falling for both of you."
Her smile, the brightest you’ve ever seen, could power the entire campus. "Really?"
"Really. Though I have to say, your secret identity skills need work."
"Yeah, yeah. I'm getting that." She ducks her head, but not before you catch the rising blush, equal parts pride and bashfulness. You’re not sure if it’s the jab, the kiss, or just you that’s got her blushing like that, but whatever it is, you want to see it again.
"We should probably talk about this somewhere more private," you say, glancing around the empty hallway.
"My apartment?" Ellie suggests, then immediately looks panicked. "If you want. For talking. Just talking. Very innocent talking."
You laugh, carefree, watching the panic bloom across her face like she’s just proposed something scandalous instead of, quite frankly, simply suggesting. It’s cute—dangerously cute—and a spark of amusement curls in your chest. "Ellie."
"Yeah?"
"It’s alright. I'm not going anywhere."
Her apartment is small and cluttered, textbooks scattered across every surface, equations scrawled on sticky notes stuck to the walls. Such a nerd, you think to yourself with barely controlled lust. There's a familiar suit hanging in the closet, and you stare in awe.
"So," you begin, settling on her couch. "How long?"
"About a year. There was this lab accident—" she sits beside you, close enough that your knees touch. "Radioactive spider. Very original, I know."
"And you've been doing the superhero thing since then?"
"Someone has to. The city's not exactly overflowing with good-natured people."
You drink in her face, taking in the small scar on her cheekbone, the way her eyes are alight with something unfamiliar. "Are you okay with this? Me knowing?"
"Terrified," her eyes widen a little, like she hadn’t expected you to ask. Like the idea that someone would care enough to check in hadn’t fully occurred to her. The tension in her shoulders eases, just barely, and when she speaks, her voice is softer. "But also... relieved? I've been wanting to tell you for weeks."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because people I care about get hurt. It's like a rule or something," her nails scratch at her skin anxiously. "And I care about you. A lot."
It slams into you—her honesty, raw and unguarded—and you have to swallow the rush of feeling that follows. You’ve waited so long for this, for her. Now, she’s here, and you don’t trust yourself to breathe too loudly in case the moment shatters. "How much?"
She looks at you then and the intensity in her gaze makes you forget how to function. "Enough that I've been taking patrol routes past your apartment building to make sure you get home safe. Enough that I nearly blew my cover multiple times because I couldn't stand the thought of you getting hurt. Enough that I've been falling asleep thinking about you and waking up wishing I could tell you everything."
Your lips quiver, "Ellie..."
"I know it's crazy. I know I've been lying to you, and that dating me comes with risks you never signed up for. I know you think I'm some kind of stalker. Fuck, I am—"
You kiss her again, slower this time, like you're trying to commit the way she tastes, the way she feels under your hands to memory. Her fingers tighten at your waist, tentative at first, then surer, pulling you closer until there’s barely any space left between you. You can clearly tell that she’s been waiting for some semblance of permission to want this as much as she does. She tilts her head, deepening the kiss with a quiet groan that makes your knees go a little weak.
It’s not a confession. It’s a surrender. A promise that neither of you quite knows how to verbalise so soon.
"I don't think you're a stalker," you mumble against her lips. "I think you're extremely awesome. And hot. And selfless."
Ellie chuckles, "And?"
"And I think I'm completely gone for you."
She pulls back to meet your eyes. "Both versions of me?"
"All versions of you. The hero, the student, the girl who makes terrible spider puns and gets flustered when I catch her staring."
"I do not get flustered."
"You look like a tomato right now."
"That's unrelated."
You throw your head back, and she grins, that same, crooked smile that's been driving you crazy for weeks. "I love your laugh," she appreciates softly.
"I love your brain. The way you see patterns in everything, the way you explained all of those formulae like they were beautiful instead of impossible."
"They are beautiful. Math is, like, the language the world uses to describe itself."
"See? That. That's what I'm talking about."
She shifts closer, her forehead resting against yours. "What happens now?"
"Now you stop trying to protect me from a distance and let me be part of your life. The real part."
"It's dangerous."
"So is crossing the street. So is falling in love with someone," you trace the line of her jaw with your fingertip. "I'm not asking you to stop being Spider-Girl. I'm asking you to trust me enough to let me choose to be with you anyway."
She's quiet for a moment, and you can see her calculating probabilities, a deep furrow set in her brows. Finally, she utters, "I've never had anyone who knew. About me, I mean. All of me."
You nod in understanding, "How does it feel?"
"Scary. Amazing. Like I can finally relax."
"Good,” you smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Because I plan on knowing you for a very long time."
"Show me," you say later, when you're curled up together on her couch, her arms around you and her chin resting on your shoulder.
"Show you what?"
"The Spider-Girl stuff. I want to see how it works."
She tenses slightly. "Are you sure? It's kind of intense."
"Ellie. I've been dreaming about this for weeks."
She's deeply amused for a moment, then she gently untangles herself from you and stands. "Okay. But if it freaks you out—"
"It won't."
She moves to the window, and you watch as she seems to almost, in a way, transform. Her posture changes, becomes more fluid, more confident. She presses her palm against the glass, and you see her fingers stick to the surface without any effort.
"Holy shit," you gawk.
"That's not even the cool part." She grins, extending her wrist. There's a soft thwip sound, and you jump back as a strand of webbing shoots out, sticking to the opposite wall. "Web-shooters. My own design."
"Can I...?"
"Touch them? Sure," she comes back to the couch, holding out her wrist. The device is sleek and mechanical, clearly homemade but extraordinarily sophisticated.
You run your fingers over the metal, marveling at the craftsmanship, "You built this?"
"Built, tested, redesigned about fifty times. Turns out web-slinging is more complicated than it looks."
"This is incredible. You're incredible."
She rubs the back of her neck, "It's just engineering."
"It's genius-level engineering that you did in your spare time while maintaining an impeccable GPA."
"My GPA is not impeccable—"
"Ellie," you look at her seriously. "You're amazing. Not just as Spider-Girl, but as you. The fact that you use your intelligence to help people, that you built all this to make the world safer... it's the most attractive thing I've ever seen."
She stares at you for a moment, then she's pressing her lips to yours, urgent and hungry. You respond immediately, your hands fisting in her flannel shirt as she guides you back against the couch cushions.
"I've wanted to do this for so long," she barely contains her whimper. "Every time I saved you, every time you smiled at me in class, every time you caught me staring..."
"I was hoping you'd stare," you admit, biting your lower lip. "I've been trying to get your attention for weeks."
"You always had my attention," her fingers trace the skin just above your waistband, and you shiver. "From the first day you sat next to me in class, I couldn't think about anything else."
"Then why didn't you say anything?"
"Because girls like you don't usually go for awkward nerds."
You giggle, bringing her face back to yours for another kiss. "This girl does."
"Yeah?"
"Hell, yeah," you tug at her shirt, suddenly desperate to feel more of her.
She helps you pull her flannel off, revealing a simple black tank top underneath. There are more scars here, small ones scattered across her arms and shoulders—evidence of her other life.
"Do they hurt?" you ask, tracing one with your fingertip.
"Not anymore. I heal fast now."
You lean up to kiss the scar on her collarbone. "I don't like the idea of you being hurt."
"I'm careful."
"You throw yourself off buildings for a living."
"I'm strategically careful."
You're about to respond when she kisses your neck, and whatever you were going to say dissolves into a soft moan. She's good at this, all careful attention and gentle pressure, like she's been thinking about exactly how to touch you.
"Ellie," you whisper, and she responds by trailing kisses down your neck.
"I love the way you say my name," she whispers against your skin. "Both when you're annoyed with me in class and when you're like this."
"Like what?"
"Desperate. Wanting me."
"I do want you," you thread your fingers through her hair, tugging gently until she looks at you. "I want all of you."
Something shifts in her expression, heat darkening her eyes. "All of me?"
Instead of answering, you flip your positions, pushing her back against the couch and settling yourself astride her lap. Her hands immediately find your waist, fingers digging in like she's afraid you'll disappear.
"Hi," you say softly.
"Hi yourself," her voice is rougher now, her breathing uneven. "This is... this is really happening?"
"Unless you want to stop."
"Fuck no," she sits up, bringing your faces level. "I just... I've imagined this so many times, but I never thought..."
"What?"
"I never thought you'd want me back."
You cup her face in your hands, thumb brushing over her cheek. "Ellie Williams, I've been hopelessly crushing on you since the first time you rambled about one of your silly interests. Finding out you're also the badass superhero who's been saving my life is just a sexy bonus."
She laughs, light and surprised. "Sexy?"
"Very sexy. The competence, the confidence, the way you move like you know exactly what your body can do," you roll your hips cheekily, and her grip on your waist tightens frenziedly. "It's incredibly hot."
"Oh."
"Tongue-tied?"
"Shut up," she says, but she's grinning as she pulls you down.
This time when your lips meet, it's different. Needy. Her hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing just under your ribs, and you arch into the touch with a sound that makes her eyelashes flutter.
"Is this okay?" she asks, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt.
"More than okay."
She helps you pull it off, and for a moment she just stares, dumbfounded. "You're so beautiful," she licks her lips, and the reverence in her voice astounds you.
"So are you,” you drag her into another makeout, rougher this time. She meets you halfway as you both start to move—slow, desperate grinding that leaves no room for doubt. Her thigh slots between yours, and the friction pulls a breathy curse from your lips.
Ellie’s hands are everywhere, the curve of your back, your shoulders, the line of your throat. She mouths at your chest through your bra, tongue dragging over the fabric until your head tips back and a shaky moan escapes you. She hums against you like she’s proud of your reaction and you’re already giving in, her name slipping like a prayer.
You pull back to meet her eyes. "I need you, Ellie."
Something in her expression shatters—restraint, maybe, or whatever thread of self-control she was still clinging to. Her jaw tightens like she’s trying to hold herself back and failing spectacularly. She exhales sharply through her nose, then grabs your hips with both hands, grinding up against you like she can’t stand even an inch of space.
“Fuck,” she mutters, like the word is forcibly ripped out of her. “Say that again.”
“O-oh,” you gasp at the delicious movement, clutching onto her helplessly. “N-need you, Els. Please.”
She stands without warning, lifting you with her, and you wrap your legs around her waist. The casual display of strength makes heat pool in your stomach.
"Show off," you tease.
"You like it."
"Wrong. I love it."
Her bedroom is small and messy like the rest of her apartment, but you don’t mind. She sets you down gently beside the bed, her hands immediately finding your waist again.
"Are you sure about this?" she asks, and there's a fond vulnerability in her voice.
"Ellie," you step closer, pecking the tip of her nose. "I'm sure about you.”
"I’m sure about you too," she smiles, and then she's walking you backward until your legs hit the mattress.
You fall together, a jumble of limbs and fast kisses and hands that can't stop touching. She's careful with you, gentle despite the strength you know she possesses, and something about that contrast—the deadly superhero being so tender with you—makes you feel cherished in a way you've never experienced.
"I want to make you feel good," she moans against your ear, and it sends shivers down your spine. "Will you let me make you feel good, baby?"
"E-Ellie," you can only manage to stammer, and she smirks deviously against your neck.
"Just like that."
Ellie doesn’t hesitate. Her hand slips beneath your waistband, knuckles brushing your skin as she works her way into your pants and under your panties. The first drag of her fingers through your slick makes both of you gasp—you at the contact, her at the way you’re already soaking for her.
“Jesus,” she remarks, almost in devotion, before slipping two fingers inside you, slow but unrelenting. Your hands dig into her shoulders, hips rolling up to meet each thrust, and she finds a rhythm that makes your head spin. Her palm presses snug against your clit, every movement measured and devastating.
"You're so responsive," she murmurs, pressing kisses down your throat. "So perfect."
"Not perfect," your reply is strained, hard to think with her touching you like this.
"Perfect for me."
When her lips follow the path her hands have traced, you're already trembling. She takes her time, building you up carefully, until you're writhing beneath her.
"Please," you beg for the second time that day, and she looks up at you with her insatiable, lidded gaze.
"Please what?"
"Please don't stop."
"Never," she swears, and then she's making good on it, using her mouth and hands to take you apart piece by piece.
She sinks to her knees like it's second nature, tugging your pants down completely with an urgency that makes you shy away. Her mouth is on you almost instantly, tongue parting you with aching precision, and the first slow lick is both torture and life-changing. Her hands grip your thighs firmly, anchoring you in place, as if daring you to pull away.
Not that you would, not when her mouth is right there, focused solely on your dripping cunt.
She moans against you like she’s the one being eaten out, the sound sending vibrations straight through your core, and you choke out a gasp. One hand trails from your thigh to slip two fingers inside you, easy from how wet you already are, and the combination of her mouth and the rhythmic movement of her fingers is devastating. She fucks you with purpose, stroking that perfect spot over and over as her lips wrap around your clit and suck.
Your hands find her hair, threading through it with desperation as you grind helplessly against her face, barely coherent.
“Mmm, yeah, good girl. There you go. Use me however you want.”
Your eyes roll back at her words.
The tension coils tighter and tighter, until it snaps all at once—a blinding rush of pleasure that leaves your vision white at the edges as your body bucks against her, undone completely.
She doesn’t stop until you’re gasping, overstimulated and twitching. Until you're crying out her name and seeing stars. Afterward, she holds you close, pressing soft kisses to your temple while you catch your breath.
"Okay?" she asks quietly.
"More than okay," you move in her arms, meeting her eyes. "Your turn."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to," you reassure her softly. "I want to make you fall apart the way you just did to me."
Her face contorts into something akin to burning desire and you grin as you begin to return the favour, taking your time to explore every inch of her skin, to learn what makes her gasp and moan and whisper.
She's beautiful like this, her usual composure completely gone. When she finally climaxes, it's with your name on her tongue and her hands tangled in your hair.
You collapse together afterward, sweaty and satisfied and completely content. She pulls a blanket over both of you, and you snuggle into her side, your head on her chest.
"Hmm," you sigh eventually, tracing lazy patterns on her skin. "This is nice."
"Nice?" she laughs, the sound vibrating through her chest. "I pour my heart out, reveal my secret identity, and give you the best orgasm of your life, and you call it 'nice'?"
"Best orgasm of my life? Someone’s cocky."
"Was it not?"
You grin, leaning up to kiss her chin. "It was incredible. You're incredible."
She tightens her hold around you. "I plan on doing that a lot more, just so you know."
"I’m counting on it."
You lie there in comfortable silence for a while, enjoying the feeling of being close to her. Eventually, though, a bunch of doubts and concerns start to creep in like phantoms in the night.
"What happens now?" you ask timidly.
"Now we figure it out as we go," she presses her face into your hair, inhaling deeply. "Together."
"Together," you agree after a few beats of silence, and you can't think of anything that sounds more meant to be.
Outside the window, the city hums with its usual evening hustle and bustle. Somewhere out there, people are going to need Spider-Girl's help. But for now, she's exactly where she belongs—in bed with you, planning a future that includes both sides of who she is.
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→ summary: Christmas is an important celebration for you and your relationship with Joel, even more so now that you're dating your very own grumpy and handsome Santa Claus. [based on the song "buy me presents" by sabrina carpenter.]
→ joel miller x fem!reader / cw: baking cookies, smut, kitchen sex, fluff, idiots in love, dirty suggestive comments, established relationship. wc! 2.6k
Almost two years into being Joel’s girl, and you're still not used to how domestic it all feels.
It's Christmas Eve, and you're in his kitchen—your kitchen, really, since you've been spending more nights here than at your own place for months now—attempting to bake cookies. The operative word being attempting. The first batch is currently smoking slightly in the oven, and you're pretty sure the dough for the second batch has the wrong consistency, but you're committed to seeing this through.
Joel walks in from the cold, stomping snow off his boots, and immediately wrinkles his nose. "Something burning?"
"No," you lie, yanking open the oven door. Smoke billows out, and you wave it away frantically. "Maybe. Possibly."
He crosses the kitchen in three strides, gently moving you aside to pull out the tray of definitely-burnt cookies. "Darlin', these are charcoal."
"They're rustic."
"They're inedible." You look at him, giving him your best unimpressed stare, but it's hard to maintain when he's grinning, that soft, affectionate look he gets that makes your stomach flip every single time. He's shed his heavy coat, left in just that damn flannel that fits him just right, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and jeans that sit a little lower on his hips than they used to. There's a softness to him now, he's put on a little weight since last winter, a comfortable weight that comes from regular meals and not constantly running for his life. It suits him. Makes him look comfortable, settled, happy.
Makes you want to climb him like a tree.
"You're staring," Joel says, setting the ruined cookies aside.
"You're distracting," you counter, turning back to your dough.
"I just walked in the door."
"Like I said. Distracting."
He moves behind you, his hands settling on your hips, chin hooking over your shoulder. "Need help?"
Your breath catches. He's warm and solid against your back, and you have to resist the urge to abandon the cookies entirely and drag him upstairs. "I've got it under control."
"Uh-huh." His lips brush your ear. "That why the first batch is currently resembling hockey pucks?"
"Those were a test run."
"Sure they were." His hands slide around your waist, fingers splaying across your stomach. "What're you making these for anyway?"
"The party tomorrow. I told Maria I'd bring something."
"Could just talk to Seth. He likes you, he would make some for you."
You elbow him gently. "That's cheating."
"That's practical." But his hands don't move, thumbs rubbing small circles through your shirt. "You know what else is practical?"
"What?"
"Taking a break." His mouth moves to your neck, lips dragging over your pulse point. "You must have been at this for an hour."
Your eyes flutter closed. "Joel..."
"Hmm?"
"You're not playing fair."
"Never said I would." He nips at your earlobe, and you shiver. "Come on. Ten-minute break. I'll even help you with the next batch after."
Why he always had to tease you like that? You wanted to say no and finally finish these cookies, get them in the oven, prove that you're capable of basic domestic tasks. But Joel's hands are sliding under your shirt now, callused palms against bare skin, and your resolve crumbles.
"Ten minutes," you agree, turning in his arms.
"Ten minutes," he confirms, and then his mouth is on yours.
The kiss starts slow—Joel's always slow at first, like he's savoring it—but it doesn't stay that way. Your hands fist in his flannel, pulling him closer, and he groans into your mouth, backing you up against the counter. His hips press against yours, and you can feel exactly how affected he is.
"Joel," you breathe when he moves to your neck, teeth scraping over sensitive skin.
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
"Need you. Now."
He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark. "What about the cookies?"
"Fuck the cookies."
He grins, wicked and pleased, and then he's lifting you onto the counter, stepping between your legs. "That's my girl."
His hands are on your thighs, pushing your long skirt up, and you're already working on the buttons of his flannel when you hear the front door open.
"Joel? You home?" Ellie's voice echoes through the house.
You both freeze.
"Shit," Joel mutters, stepping back quickly. You slide off the counter, tugging your skirt down and trying to look innocent. Joel's flannel is half-unbuttoned, his hair messed up from your hands, and there's no way Ellie's not going to know exactly what you were doing.
She appears in the doorway a moment later, taking in the scene with raised eyebrows. "Seriously? In the kitchen?"
"We weren't—" you start.
"We were just—" Joel says at the same time.
Ellie holds up a hand. "Save it. I don't want to know." She spots the burnt cookies on the counter and wrinkles her nose. "What the hell happened to those?"
"Baking incident," you mutter, face hot.
"Clearly." She grabs an apple from the fruit bowl, grinning. "I'm going to Dina's. Try to keep it PG until I'm gone, yeah?"
"Ellie," Joel says, his tone warning.
"What? I'm just saying." She takes a bite of the apple, backing toward the door. "Also, you've got flour in your hair," she tells you, then disappears before either of you can respond.
You reach up, finding the flour she mentioned, and Joel laughs. "She's right. You look like you've been in a fight with a bag of flour and lost."
"Shut up." But you're smiling. You brush the flour out, then move back to the counter. "Come on. Let's actually finish these cookies."
"Thought you said fuck the cookies."
"That was before we got interrupted." You shoot him a look over your shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll make it up to you later."
His eyes darken again. "That a promise?"
"Absolutely."
You work together on the next batch, and with Joel's help, they actually turn out decent. He's surprisingly good at this—careful and precise in a way that makes you think of him on patrol, every movement deliberate. You watch him roll out dough, his hands steady and sure, and you have to physically restrain yourself from jumping him again.
"You're doing it again," Joel says without looking up.
"Doing what?"
"Staring."
"Can you blame me?" You lean your hip against the counter, studying him openly. "You're pretty to look at."
He scoffs, but there's color in his cheeks. "Pretty's not the word I'd use."
"What word would you use?"
"Old. Tired. Got a fat dad bod."
"Hey." You step closer, reaching up to cup his face. "First of all, you're not old. You're mature. Second, you're not tired—you're relaxed, which is a good thing. And third..." Your hands slide down to his chest, then lower, fingers skimming over his stomach. "The dad bod is working for you. Trust me."
His breath hitches. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." You press closer, voice dropping. "You know what I was thinking about earlier?"
"What?"
"That is so difficult to get presents being in the apocalypse... maybe I will have to wrap myself for you."
Joel blinks, clearly thrown by the words. "What?"
"You know, it's Christmas and Christmas is an important date for us... You deserve a good present." You watch his face, enjoying the way his pupils dilate. "I don't believe in Santa anymore, but you could be my Santa and drink me like a warm glass of milk." You smile, trying really hard to be sexy and to not laugh.
"Jesus," he mutters, his hands finding your hips again.
"I know it's nothing new, but I think I had some ideas." Your fingers play with the hem of his flannel. "About how you're older, but that just means you know what you're doing. About how you've got this body that's just..." You press a kiss to his jaw. "Perfect. About how fucking hot you are when you're taking me apart."
"Darlin'." His voice is strained. "You can't say things like that when we've got cookies in the oven."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm about two seconds away from bending you over this counter and making you scream, and those cookies are gonna burn again."
Heat pools low in your belly. "The timer's set. We've got twelve minutes."
"Twelve minutes isn't enough."
"Then we'll have to be quick."
He stares at you for a long moment, jaw tight, and then he's moving. His hands grip your ass, lifting you back onto the counter, and his mouth crashes into yours. This kiss is nothing like the earlier one—it's desperate, hungry, filthy. His hands are everywhere, shoving your skirt up, dragging your panties down, and you're working on his belt with shaking fingers.
"You're sure about this?" he asks, his voice low.
"Joel, we've been together for over a year. I'm very sure."
"Just checking."
You pull him back to you, your hands tangling in his hair. "Less talking, more kissing."
"Yes, ma'am."
You open more your legs for him, making him gasp.
"Fuck," he breathes against your mouth when you get his jeans open, hand wrapping around him. "Darlin’, we gotta—"
"I know." You're breathless, already aching. "Please."
He doesn't need more encouragement. He lines himself up and pushes in, and you bite down on his shoulder to muffle your moan. He's big and thick and perfect, stretching you just right, and you wrap your legs around his waist to pull him deeper.
"Christ," Joel groans, his forehead pressed to yours. "You feel so fucking good."
"Move," you demand, and he does.
It's fast and hard and exactly what you both need. The counter digs into your back, Joel's hands are bruising on your hips, and you can hear the obscene sound of skin on skin, the wet slide of him inside you. He's breathing hard, muttering filthy things in your ear—how tight you are, how perfect, how he's been thinking about this all day.
"Joel," you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. "I'm—"
"I know. I've got you." One hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit, and that's all it takes. You come with a choked cry, clenching around him, and he follows a moment later, burying his face in your neck as he spills inside you.
For a minute, you just stay like that, both of you panting, hearts racing. Then the oven timer goes off, shrill and insistent.
"Fuck," you mutter, and Joel laughs, breathless.
"Cookies," he says, pulling out carefully. You wince at the loss, already feeling the mess between your thighs.
"Cookies," you agree, sliding off the counter on shaky legs.
Joel pulls the tray out while you try to make yourself presentable, tugging your panties back up and smoothing your skirt down. The cookies are perfect—golden brown, not a hint of burning. You catch Joel's eye and start laughing.
"What?" he asks, grinning.
"We just had sex in the kitchen to make sure the cookies didn't burn."
"Priorities."
You shake your head, still smiling, and lean up to kiss him. "Merry Christmas, Joel."
"Merry Christmas, darlin'." He wraps his arms around you, holding you close. "So, the cookies are ready for tomorrow, and I also have your present ready..."
You pull back, raising an eyebrow. "What? Joel! I told you I didn't want anything."
"Come on, darlin', it's small," he says quickly. "Nothing fancy. Just... something I made that I thought you'd like."
You soften, reaching up to touch his face. "You didn't have to."
"I wanted to." He presses a kiss to your forehead. "You gonna let me give it to you tomorrow?"
"Only if you let me give you yours."
"Deal."
You bite your lip, watching him. "Also, you know, like i said earlier, I don't need presents if you give me other things instead..."
"What kind of other things?" His eyes darken again.
"The kind we were just doing." You slide your hands up his chest. "The kind I want to keep doing. All night, if you're up for it."
"Babe, I'm always up for it with you."
"Good." You kiss him again, slow and deep. "Because I've got plans for you later."
"That right?"
"Mm-hmm. Involve you, me, that bed upstairs, and nothing else."
"Hmm, Christmas really is the best season ever," Joel murmurs against your lips.
You giggled, your cheeks red. "But so you know, that's all I need. You. This."
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression serious. "Sweetheart, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I hope you know that."
You smiled, nodding.
He kisses you again, softer, but still deeper. His hand slides down to your waist, pulling you closer, and you go willingly, wrapping your arms around him.
"Joel," you breathe against his mouth, and he groans, the sound vibrating through you.
"Yeah, darlin'?"
"So... about that thing I said, you, me, that bed upstairs, and nothing else, are you for us to start it now?"
"Fuck, yeah," he agrees, his voice rough.
He stands, lifting you with him, and you wrap your legs around his waist, laughing as he carries you toward the stairs. "Show-off," you tease.
"You complainin'?"
"Not even a little."
He takes the stairs two at a time, and by the time you reach the bedroom, you're both breathless and grinning. Joel sets you down gently on the bed, his hands braced on either side of you, his gaze locked on yours.
Your eyes wander through him, and you sigh. "Baby, I'm really into the dad bod."
He huffs a laugh, his hand coming up to tangle in your hair. "Still can't believe you like that."
"I love it." You lift your head and bite his lip gently, making him close his eyes. "Love that you're not all hard edges anymore. Love that you're comfortable, that you're here, that you're mine."
"I am," he says, voice rough. "All yours."
"Good." You kiss him while speaking, noticing his breath catches. "Because I plan on keeping you."
"Wouldn't have it any other way."
After, you're curled against his side, his arm around you, both of you sated and drowsy. Your head resting on his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, and it's the most comforting sound in the world.
"You know," you say after a while, your voice drowsy, "I was thinking."
"Dangerous," Joel teases, his fingers playing with your hair.
You swat his chest lightly. "Shut up. I'm being serious."
"Alright, alright. What were you thinking?"
You tilt your head to look up at him. "About our first Christmas. About how nervous I was to come to the party."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I was so convinced you didn't actually want me there. That it was just... I don't know, pity or something."
Joel's expression softens, his hand moving to cup your face. "I wanted you there more than anything. I was just too much of a coward to say it."
"You're not a coward."
"I was about you."
You smile, leaning into his touch. "Well, I'm glad we're both past that now."
"Me too."
You take a moment just to look at him, to smile at him, to memorize the lines of his face, the gray in his hair, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath. And all you feel is pure peace. Even at the end of the world, you dare to say you never felt happier and complete. So you just lie there for a while.
Outside, the snow keeps falling, blanketing Jackson in white. But inside, wrapped in Joel's arms, you've never felt warmer.
𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!
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tags: @ablondehoe @tinas111 (If you want to be added to the taglist, just let me know <3)
Pairing: Abby Anderson x Reader NOTE: English is not my first language! i’m so sorry if this is bland, or if there’s any grammatical mistakes, just remember i’m trying my hardest! Also, feel free to send requests! I can’t really stop you from reading anything..so if you’re a minor, just please don’t interact with me. WARNINGS: nothing! just pure fluff :)
ʚɞRoommate!Abby who gets very respectful if she notices you’re studying. If she’s listening to music she’ll either put on headphones, or shut it off completely. She’s constantly trying to be less of a distraction as possible, even if she want your attention.
ʚɞRoommate!Abby who is a pain to wake up. She insists on waking her up when you wake up, but she’ll fall right back asleep if you don’t steal the blankets off her, and her tough arms don’t exactly make that task easy, either…Even after that, you’re constantly checking if she’s actually stirred from her slumber yet. Though you do it anyway, Monday-to-Friday, simply because she asked.
ʚɞRoommate!Abby who pushed your beds together to make a mega bed, and it’s arguably her favorite thing about the dorm. She loves being able to sleep with you tucked firmly to her chest, and vice versa.
ʚɞRoommate!Abby who cleared up space in half of her dresser so you could use it alongside your own. I mean, she really only cycles around the 5 same outfits, so the change wasn’t necessary hard to adjust to. And you had way too much clothes, so it made your life easier, and that’s all that mattered to her.
ʚɞRoommate!Abby who often times get genuine twinges of jealousy if you’re cuddling a pillow, stuffed animal—anything that wasn’t her. She’d squint her eyes, bite her lip, and pretend she wasn’t mildly annoyed. Though she would never, ever admit that. Like ever.
ʚɞRoommate!Abby who becomes the biggest sweetheart when you’re under a thick wave of academic stress. You want cuddles? Babe, she’s been there. You’re hungry? She’ll order your favorite food. Your back is sore? She’ll massage it for as long as you need. She’s quick to reassure you that you’re gonna be okay and that you’re doing great if she notices you’re a bit down. All because she cares about you.
Likes, comments, and reblogs are deeply appreciated:)
reminder! i will take requests for Abby, Ellie, Vi, and Sevika headcannons as long as they’re not nsft!
synopsis – after years on the road, you and joel finally settle in jackson and there's nothing you love more than coming back from work to your old man wearing those glasses.
smut. fluff
the last of us masterlist
after traveling what felt like the entire world following joel, you both finally decided to settle down in jackson. it was peaceful, a not so small community anymore where you could breathe again, where you could do more than just survive. eat three meals a day. sleep through the night without one eye open. and with all that peace came space, to feel, to think, to finally let yourself consider what had been quietly building between you and joel all this time.
he was reluctant at first. the age gap weighed on him more than it ever did on you. you’d never brought it up, never even seemed to notice it in the ways he did. but you two had lived too much together since you first started traveling with ellie. that kind of bond didn’t come easily. yet joel didn’t think he had the right to want something as soft, as tender, as the love you showed him. and jackson helped him with that. the town gave him the kind of peace he never thought he’d earn. and slowly, as the years passed, joel softened and started to accept the life he deserved and appreciate the little things.
the way you massaged his shoulders after a long day of work, the way he always made sure you were warm in the mornings when he had to leave early, how you'd wake up tucked beneath an extra blanket. you built a life together made up of shared breakfasts and quiet evenings walking through the snow-covered streets of jackson, of fixing things around the house side by side, of laughter in the kitchen when something burned, and the way he'd kiss your temple like it didn’t matter.
—hi, —you said coming into the house. joel looked up from where he was sitting at the table, glasses low on his nose, hands busy with something that needed to be fixed. his eyes softened the second he saw you.
—hey, darlin’, —he said, —you’re back early.
—yeah, the snow is getting worst, there wasn't much we could do in the garden, —you replied, shrugging off your coat and hanging it up by the door.
joel gave a small nod, eyes following your every move, —i figured, —he said, —how’s the ground looking? any chance we can save anything before the winter really sets in?
you sighed, taking a moment to pull off your gloves and slide them into your pocket. —a few plants are holding up, but it’s mostly the cold that’s making it tough. i’m thinking of giving it another shot in the spring, once everything starts to warm up.
joel hummed. you approached him and hugged him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder. his hand, still holding the small tool, paused for a second before he gently placed it down, he took one of your hands in his, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.
—how was your day? —you asked.
—good, busy. dina told me the cracked main lines are full of roots. should've checked them but i forgot, —he rubbed his hands over his face, clearly annoyed with himself. you could see how much he cared about getting things right, about showing that he was still capable, still useful. he picked the piece again and fidgeted with it.
—it's okay, you can get it done tomorrow. the main lines aren't going to move, —you reassured him, your voice gentle, as you smoothed your hand over his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your palm.
—yeah, you’re right. tomorrow’s another day, —the therapy sessions were working, somehow, because never in your life would you have imagined the joel you first met would learn to take things slow.
you kissed his cheek, his beard tickling your lips, as your hand slid slowly over his chest. you couldn't help but smile at how lost he was in the task, not even seeming to notice the way you were touching him. you pressed a gentle kiss to the side of his neck, letting your lips pressed there for just a second before pulling back.
—joel, —you murmured. your fingers brushed against his before you gently took the small tool from him and set it on the table. you moved closer, slipping one knee over his lap, easing yourself down until you were straddling him. —are you planning on working all night?
joel's hands instinctively found your hips, steadying you, surprised but not willing to stop you. —was just about done here, —he said, —then i was gonna give you every bit of my attention. but i see you've got other plans for me.
you loved how he looked with the glasses low on his nose, made him look more domestic, but you gently slid them off, folding them and setting them on the table. his eyes followed the movement, then back up to yours, darker now but entirely focused.
—thought you liked those, —he murmured.
—i do, —you whispered, —but i'm afraid they might get in the way.
he hummed, his eyes fixed on your lips.
you unbuttoned the flannel he wore beneath his jacket. he watched you, barely breathing, his hands still resting on your hips but his thumbs began to trace soft circles through the fabric of your jeans. you sighed softly as the last button came undone, revealing his body. your hand moved over his chest, tracing the old, pale scars that marked his skin. your eyes moved lower, taking in the softness of his belly, the way he relaxed under your gaze instead of tensing. you bit your lower lip, what if you said this was the sexiest he has ever looked?
—i couldn't wait to get back home to you, —you brushed your nose against his, you hips started rolling against his own. joel swallowed, his hands flexed where they held you, fingers tightening just a little.
—yeah? —he asked, his voice low, a little gruff.
you nodded, and your lips finally met his in a kiss that felt like it had been waiting to happen all day. it was desperate, needy, but slow and passionate. your fingers sank into the soft, graying hair at the back of joel’s head, tugging gently, needing him closer. he groaned low in his throat, his hands working hungrily on the zipper of your jeans.
you lifted your hips from his so he could slid your jeans down your legs and immediately after, you straddled him again. as your fingers worked on the buckle of his belt and then unzipped his pants, joel's big hands cupped your ass, pushing you forward and encouraging you to grind against his crotch.
you whined, feeling the rough fabric of his jeans through the thin one of your panties. you pulled down his underwear, just enough for his cock to sprung free. you connected your lips with his again, his hands now on your cheeks as you lowered yourself just enough for his tip to go in. he let out a deep grunt straight from his chest, you let out all the air you had in your lungs in a moan.
you took all of him. joel let his head rest on your shoulder as his hands traveled down your body to your hips. he helped you move, at first just rocking your body back and forth against his. your lips, half parted pressed together, made it easier for your breaths to mingle. then, you lifted your body and then dropped back onto him. you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his lips while you repeated that same move again and again.
—fuck, yeah, just like that, —joel groaned in your ear.
you tried not to be so loud, you didn't want to attract anyone's attention or cause a scandal. but your cries and his moans eventually echoed on the walls of your living room every time you lifted yourself a bit more and then sucked his cock completely inside you again.
joel rose from the chair in one fluid motion, his strong hands holding your weight. with a sweep of his arm, tools and scraps went to the floor, forgotten. he laid you down on the now-cleared table, the wood cool against your back, contrast to the heat building between you as his cock never left your body.
—did so good for me, now let me take care of you, hm?
he grabbed your thighs with firm hands and guided your legs around his waist so he could go deeper. your heels pressed into his lower back as he leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours. the table cracked with each one of his thrusts and you feared it might break, it wouldn't be the first time joel would need to ask his brother for help in repairing a piece of furniture that you had broken since your arrival in jackson.
one of his hands sneaked in between your bodies and found your clit, his fingers moving fast and with urgency as he felt how you were getting tighter and tighter. you closed your eyes shut, feeling a little dizzy from all the panting as your body jerked and squeezed his own between your legs as you came. after that, he didn't last much longer and released himself inside you.
you both stayed there for a few minute. joel rested on top of you and with your legs still around him, you welcomed the weight of his body pressing you down onto the table. you played with his hair as he finally looked at you. you showed him a little smile and he gave a quick kiss to your lips.
—my body's gonna hurt so much tomorrow from this.
you giggled, —i'll make sure to give you the best massage ever.
you showed him a little smile, and he gave you a quick kiss to your lips. but as you pulled away, both of you noticed the mess of tools and pieces scattered across the floor, the work joel had been focused on before everything had shifted between you.
—i'm afraid you're gonna have to start all over again.
