Believing again 🎄🦌❤️🩹
joel miller x f!reader
SUMMARY: A little story told from reader’s POV, where one Christmas Eve changes everything for her and maybe for Joel too. Jackson becomes an unexpected lesson in warmth, family, and a kind of confort she never saw coming.
⚠️CW: Almost none, alcohol consumption, mostly fluff, bittersweet,unspecified age gap, a little angsty, mention of canon typical violence, jealous!Joel,found family, mutual pining.
A/N: I wanted to write something Christmas related and blend it into the series I have going, but my computer died and I lost a bunch of notes. So while those are on hold, I wrote this little thing on my phone. It’s not much, but if the holidays have lost their magic or you’re not into them maybe this will bring a little warmth. Happy Sunday/Monday let me know what you think! 🫶🏻
WC: 3.6 K ~
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Christmas in Jackson smells like pine, smoke, and whatever Maria’s been cooking since dawn.
I linger on her porch, snow packed into my boots, feeling more nostalgic than festive. But everyone was warned, so it’ll have to be enough.
I don’t bake. I don’t cook. Especially not for holidays that come with expectations and flour-dusted traditions I never signed up for. Maria knows this, but she still raised an eyebrow when I told her I’d “bring something.”
Something, apparently, turned out to be a bottle of Glenlivet I’d found two days ago on patrol with Andrew, covered in dust and tucked inside a frozen-out cabin. “It’s like it was waiting to be discovered,” he’d said.
So I figured that if it was that good, bringing it felt… appropriate. Honest.
I knock once, then let myself in before she can yell at me for freezing to death outside.
The house is loud immediately — voices overlapping, laughter, the clatter of dishes. Christmas lights are strung everywhere, warm and uneven, like they were put up by people who stopped caring about perfection halfway through.
“Hey look at you!” Maria calls from the kitchen. “You made it.”
“Barely,” I say, shrugging out of my coat. “I come bearing alcohol. No baked goods were harmed in the making of this visit.”
She laughs. “That might be the best gift here.”
I’m setting the bottle down when I feel it — that subtle shift in the room. Not silence. Just… awareness.
I look up.
Joel is standing near the table, sleeves rolled up, talking to Tommy about something I immediately tune out. He looks up at the same moment I do.
And pauses.
It’s not dramatic. He doesn’t stare or say anything. Just looks — at the soft knit of my light brown dress, the worn leather boots I bothered to clean, the way my hair’s actually brushed and loose instead of tied back in a hurry. He blinks once, like he’s taking stock of something he didn’t expect to see tonight.
Well yeah, Joel. I don’t live in patrol gear. Turns out I own a mirror—and I can look good when I want to.
His eyes flick away first.
Which is annoying, because it means I noticed—and he noticed I noticed him noticing. Whatever.
I knew Joel before Jackson felt like home.
Before the lights. Before the music. We’d patrolled together a few times—not exactly friends, I guess, but close enough to know how he works, how he watches everything, how he never really relaxes.
And how he saved my life.
Something he never lets me forget.
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It happened months ago, on a routine sweep that wasn’t supposed to be anything. Just another half-collapsed neighborhood on the outskirts, snow packed hard, houses frozen open like broken teeth. Quiet. Too quiet, in hindsight.
I was paired with Joel that day.
Which was… distracting, in ways I didn’t like to admit.
Not because he did anything. He didn’t. He never crossed a line, never looked at me longer than necessary, never spoke more than needed. That almost made it worse.
But the truth—the embarrassing, private truth—was that I’d had a tiny little crush on him. A stupid one. A quiet one. The kind you keep to yourself because you’re not fifteen, but you’re also not fifty-six like him, so he wouldn’t even see you that way. And because you don’t make messes out of things that aren’t yours.
Patrolling with him meant being hyper-aware of everything. His voice. The way he said my name. The way his jacket pulled tight across his shoulders when he moved.
I told myself it was harmless. I told myself it was already fading. He didn’t look at me like that—maybe because I was younger, maybe because I wasn’t his type, or maybe because he just didn’t like me. And I wasn’t the kind of woman who waited around hoping someone would change their mind.
If he wasn’t interested—fine. Life goes on.
But distraction doesn’t have to be romantic to be dangerous.
The house looked clear. Too clear. No noise, no movement. Just the creak of wood under our boots and the dust shifting in the cold air.
I missed it.
The sound.
The breath that wasn’t human.
The stalker came out of nowhere—fast and silent—and I only had time to turn before it slammed into me. We went down hard. My head hit the floor with a crack I felt more than heard, white light exploding behind my eyes.
After that, it’s fragments.
Joel shouting my name.
A gunshot too close.
Hands on my face, rough and steady, refusing to let me slip.
I woke up in Jackson.
Hours later. Wrapped in blankets I didn’t remember. My head pounding like it had been split open—which, apparently, it almost had.
They told me Joel carried me all the way back when I didn’t wake up. Wouldn’t put me down. Wouldn’t let anyone else take over.
When I asked him about it later, he just shrugged and said, “You should’ve been paying attention.”
Like that was the lesson.
Like that was the whole story.
So yeah—when Joel worries, it never sounds like actual worry.
It sounds like duty.
Like correction.
Like something he files away, only to bring up later—too late to argue, too late to admit he cared, even when he wanted to.
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“You clean up nice,” Tommy says easily, always the one without a filter.
“Don’t encourage her,” Maria replies. “She’ll start doing it on purpose.”
I snort. “Absolutely not.”
Joel clears his throat and gives a short nod, shoulders stiffening almost imperceptibly.
“Well. You made it to Christmas dinner alive. That’s something.”
I roll my eyes before I can answer, because Ellie barrels past me a second later, nearly taking out my knees.
“You’re late,” she announces. “I was gonna steal your seat.”
“Try it and lose a finger,” I tell her.
She grins. Joel sighs, like he’s already tired, but the corner of his mouth betrays him
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Maria’s at the counter when I slip into the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, finishing off a dish of mashed potatoes like she’s done it a thousand times before. The windows are fogged from the heat, the whole place smelling like food and something sweet I can’t quite place.
“I’m really glad you made it,” she says, smiling at me over her shoulder. “For a second there, I thought you might stay home.” Not surprised. Just… pleased.
“I thought the same,” I admit. “I almost turned around twice.”
Her eyes softened, understanding without pressing. Maria’s good at that. “I’m happy you didn’t.”
I lean against the counter, watching her cook, the kind of domestic calm that still feels unreal sometimes. “You know I’m not big on Christmas.”
She just hums softly and keeps working, like she already knows why.
Because Christmas reminds me of things that don’t exist anymore.
My family is gone. All of them. And it’s not the dramatic parts I remember—no blood, no screaming, no outbreak. Just the last Christmas before everything broke, when I was five and the world was still small and safe in my eyes.
I remember sitting on the floor in my socks, the heater rattling in the corner. The smell of something sweet burning in the oven because my mom always forgot timers. My dad letting me help wrap gifts even though I taped them crooked and too tight. Paper everywhere. Laughter. A stupid plastic star on top of the tree because we couldn’t find the real one.
I remember just being this very happy kid.Then the world ended, and Christmas became a reminder—not of joy, but of how much you can lose and still be expected to keep going. I know almost everyone feels the same: everyone has lost someone, and everyone pushes through… or at least tries.
“I know,” she says softly. “And you still came.”
I shrug. “Figured I owed you.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” she replies, turning then, meeting my eyes. “But I’m really happy you’re here.”
That does something to my chest I don’t like to examine too closely.
She reaches for a clean dish towel, wiping her hands. “Benji’s been fighting his nap all afternoon. If he’s awake now, he’ll make his presence known any second.”
Right on cue, there’s a small thump upstairs. Then a muffled sound through the ceiling.
Maria sighs, smiling already. “I’ll be right back.”
“Take your time,” I say.
She heads for the stairs, and I stay here just watching the trees outside the kitchen window. It’s nice, watching them sway in the wind from the warmth of the house, makes it feel even cozier.
That’s when I hear my name.
At first, it’s just a whisper drifting through the kitchen doorway, barely there—but enough to make me pause.
“…paired her with Andrew?” Joel’s voice, low and sharp.
I stop without meaning to.
Tommy laughs softly. “Relax. She can handle herself.”
“That’s not the point,” Joel says. “That kid’s reckless. If something goes sideways, he won’t see it coming. He won’t protect her.”
There’s a pause.
“She doesn’t need protecting,” Tommy replies, gentler now.
Joel exhales, slow and controlled. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”
I stay still, heart doing something stupid and inconvenient, staring at the countertop like it might give me instructions on how to react to that.
Because it’s not shocking he doesn’t like it. Andrew is not him—not that capable or aware, not controlling, not responsible, not… strong, broad…
… I cut myself off before I go any further.
But on the other hand, I don’t need protection. I can handle it. One mistake doesn’t mean anything—I was just distracted. Just… fuck.
And if I really think about it, this is entirely his fault. For, I don’t know, being… handsome. For furrowing his eyebrows like that when he spotted something. For letting his cheek dimple show when I made a bad joke he definitely didn’t want to laugh at.
Tommy’s voice pulls me out of my head.
“You seem to care about that girl, brother.”
Joel’s eyes snap to Tommy. My heart does a weird little flip.
“I’m just trying to keep her safe,” he says, a little too defensive. “She needs to be steady on patrol, and she needs a good partner. That boy is not it—that’s all.”
Tommy smirks. “Yeah… keep telling yourself that.”
Of course, that’s how it comes out.
Not jealousy. Not worry. Competence. Strategy. Like I’m another variable on a patrol map.
I tell myself I’m annoyed.
I don’t tell myself why I’m not.
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The house is loud when we all sit down. Plates clatter, spoons scrape bowls, and Ellie immediately starts reaching for the mashed potatoes like a tiny whirlwind.
Maria sits at the head of the table, smiling at all of us. “Eat while it’s hot,” she says. “I spent all morning making this, and I’m not doing it again for another week.”
“I’ll just eat it all now then,” Tommy replies, shoveling a forkful of turkey into his mouth.
Benji is restless in his high chair, reaching for everything in sight. He knocks over a small bowl of cranberry sauce, which Ellie gleefully licks off the edge before anyone can stop her.
“Ellie!” Maria scolds softly, though she’s already laughing. “Clean that up before it stains the carpet.”
“Seems she already did that,” I say, pointing at the saliva stains along the edge of the table.
“You’re a gross gremlin,” I add, teasing her.
Ellie sticks her tongue out at me, and I laugh. She’s like a hurricane—witty, sarcastic, and endlessly funny for a teenager. No wonder Joel’s eyes light up when she’s around. Like the world suddenly makes sense again, even when it wasn’t supposed to.
I reach for the cranberry sauce first, and our fingers brush.
“Come on, I was faster,” I say, smirking.
Joel glances at me, deadpan. “Faster don’t mean effective.”
Before I can react, he slides the bowl onto his plate. “See? Faster, not wiser.”
“Hey!” I jab him lightly with my elbow.
He looks at me, one eyebrow raised. “You’re a particularly annoying young lady.”
“And you’re a particularly insufferable old man,” I fire back.
He snorts. “Guess we’re even then.”
And then I notice him—the way his mouth moves when he talks, the slight pout, the bottom lip a little fuller than the top. I blink, trying not to stare, but I bite my own lips without realizing it.
He catches me, just for a second—eyes flicking to mine—but looks away before it becomes obvious. My chest does that stupid tight thing it always does when he notices.
Perfect timing, of course, for Tommy.
“Uh, you two, save some cranberries for the rest of us, will ya?” he shouts, brandishing a fork like it’s a weapon.
The moment shatters. I flush. Joel smirks faintly, just enough for me to catch it, then goes back to his plate like nothing happened.
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María sets down her spoon and clears her throat.
“Well, I know we already started eating like beasts this time, forgetting to make a toast… but I’d like to raise one—for Kevin… for Sarah… for Diane… and for Rob.”
The words hang in the air. Joel stiffens just slightly, a flicker passing over his face when she says Sarah’s name. My eyes catch it—the brief tightening at the corner of his mouth, the way he looks down at his glass for a second before meeting mine. The first time he told me about her felt like a confession; now, hearing her name feels like a piece of his story, just as my mom and dad’s names feel like pieces of mine.
I grip my own glass a little tighter. Diane and Rob. The names settle heavy in my chest. I remember quiet Christmas mornings, the warm smell of hot chocolate, the way my father would laugh at the smallest joke, the stubborn way my mother insisted on wrapping gifts perfectly, even though I’d tear them open in seconds. She always said it was fun to watch me rip the paper frantically, just to see what was inside.
María lifts her glass first. I grab the scotch I brought and hold it up too. Joel sits up a little, slow, like he wants to honor the memory. His eyes find mine for a moment, and I hold the look. No words are needed. We both know what each name means.
Ellie, refusing to miss out, leans over Joel and gives him a playful little tap on the arm, that mischievous smile of hers saying, “Don’t get so serious.” Joel responds with a faint raised eyebrow and a tiny smirk, and she giggles quietly to herself.
I lift my glass higher, feeling my hand tremble slightly. My mind spins. I’ve never liked Christmas. Never. But now… seeing this whole scene—seeing them remember, María keeping everyone together, the rickety Christmas tree with its unevenly blinking lights, the perfect chaos of the table—it makes me feel something I didn’t expect. Like… home. Even though everything’s broken, even though the world we once knew is gone, there’s still this idea of a founding family. Something to hold on to. Something that holds us back.
And as Joel looks at me again, and I look at him—thinking of María and her son, of my parents, of Sarah—I feel a warmth that’s both sharp and comforting. But… it’s a good kind of ache. One that reminds you there are still things worth toasting.
We clink glasses, the scotch catching the light. A small, sharp warmth spreads through me—not just from the drink, but from all of it: the memories, the people, the chaos, the quiet sense of being part of something bigger.
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Dinner finally winds down, though nobody seems in a hurry to move. Ellie insists on staying with Benji; he won’t stop begging for a sleepover with his cousin.
Joel stands up and stretches. “We should probably—”
“Go wash the dishes,” I say, cutting him off, a playful glint in my eye.
Before we can reach into the kitchen, María steps in from the doorway, smiling but firm. “No, you two are the guests. Don’t even think about it.”
“Absolutely not,” I retort gently grabbing her arm. “You cook, we clean. It’s simple math.”
Maria surrenders as Joel follows me into the kitchen. We start at the sink, warm water running over our hands, steam curling in the cold kitchen air.
A tiny splash hits his arm. I giggle. He flicks water back. Just a little—nothing over the top, just enough to make us laugh.
“Joel Miller,” I tease, leaning slightly closer than necessary, “you are ridiculously immature for your age.”
“I’m not immature,” he counters, eyes dark with amusement. “Just doing things my way. You always have to stick your nose in.”
“Because you’re doing it wrong,” I reply, nudging him lightly with my forearm.
He smirks, tilting his head. “Maybe… I just like it my way better.”
The warm water and soft laughter wrap around us, playful touches lingering just a second too long.
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Finally, we finish the dishes. I grab the towels and hand them to him, and we start saying our goodbyes.
“Thanks for dinner, Maria,” I say, hugging her lightly.
“Thank you for coming,” she smiles. “I’m glad you stayed.”
Ellie squeals, hugging me tightly. “Bye! Sleepover soon, right?”
“Absolutely,” I say, ruffling her hair, and Tommy waves, chuckling.
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Once everyone’s farewells are done, we step outside. Snow falls softly, dusting our coats and brushing against our cheeks. The Christmas lights on the houses glow warmly, casting uneven pools of color across the streets. Jackson feels… frozen in time, like the whole town has paused in the middle of this quiet, perfect Christmas night. Everything looks small, intimate, and somehow magical, with decorations that feel homey and lived-in.
“That whisky was good,” Joel says, grinning.
“Yeah, I can tell you liked it… a little tipsy, maybe?” I jab him lightly with my hip.
“Naw, takes more than a few glasses” he protests, nudging me back just as lightly.
“Not judging. I am too,” I smirk, leaning lightly against him.
We laugh, bumping gently into each other as we walk, until we stumble against a tree.
For a moment, we just stare at each other’s eyes. But then he pushes me gently against the trunk, and I can feel the warmth of him against the cold. I lift my arms, wrapping them around his neck, and my feet instinctively rise a little off the ground.
He stiffens slightly, looking at me like I’m about to open a door we don’t know will close after this—but I don’t care if it does. His eyes flicker from mine to my mouth, and I think he doesn’t care either.
I press my lips to his. Soft at first, tentative, as if testing the air between us. His hands slide to my waist, steadying me, and for a heartbeat he seems frozen, like he’s letting the world pause around us. Then he deepens the kiss, tilting his head, his lips parting, and slowly, deliberately, his tongue meets mine.
I grab the back of his nape, pulling him even closer, my fingers threading through his curls—soft, impossibly soft for a man so rugged. He traces small circles on my hips as I taste the scotch lingering on his lips, letting the tiniest moan escape me.
We break for just a second, foreheads touching, breaths mingling in the cold air, visible in little clouds. My chest is pounding, and there’s this strange, thrilling secret in the way it feels—as if the world can see, but we’ve carved this moment out just for ourselves. I realize: this is what was supposed to happen. It was obvious we would end up here, and yet, I never thought it would feel this inevitable.
He pulls back just enough to smirk at me. “You’re trouble, you know that.” Not a question—just a statement.
I tilt my head, smiling, breathless. “In a good way?”
“In a good way,” he replies, his lips brushing mine again before he lets me go, a last teasing touch lingering in his eyes.
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We reach my front door, snow dusting the rails and the steps softly. He presses me against the frame for a brief, lingering kiss, our breaths mingling in little clouds in the cold air. The warmth of him, the softness of his lips—it’s impossible not to melt a little.
Finally, we pull back, just enough to catch our breath.
“Goodnight,” I whisper.
He lifts my chin gently and presses a soft, lingering peck to my lips. “Goodnight.”
He starts to turn, and I linger in the moment a little bit longer, letting the warmth of him settle around me, until I remember…
“Hey, Joel! I see you tomorrow in patrol.”
He stops mid-step, brow furrowing. “Excuse me?”
“I asked Tommy to pair us up,” I say, smirking, “since you’re so jealous about Andrew.”
He shakes his head, laughing. “You sneaky little vixen, you heard that?
I grin, and before he can reply, he walks back toward me, pressing his lips to mine again, a soft, lingering kiss
“You’re impossible.”
I grin, and before I can reply, he shuts me up again—his hand locking at the back of my neck, holding me close as he deepens the kiss, fingers tangled in my hair. He kisses me like he wants it more than he’d ever admit, and I realize… I’ve wanted it just as much.
When we finally break apart, I smile at him, warmth blooming in my chest. Tomorrow, we’ll face the elephant in the room… but tonight, we just have this perfect Christmas Eve, a night that maybe reignited something I thought was long dead.
He brushes his thumb along my cheek, and this time, he actually makes the effort to pull away. I reluctantly watch him go, the green and red streetlights catching his hair, making it shimmer in the winter night.
“Merry Christmas, Joel.”
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”
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