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Joel and his daughters.

(insp)

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RAINBOW CIRCUS

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What do you mean, "we"? Are you shootin' monsters?

Pedro Pascal as JOEL MILLER HBO's The Last of Us (2023- ) — 2.01 “Future Days”

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Sir, we are not sick. Please don't. // Please don't do it. Please don't.

THE LAST OF US S01E01 THE LAST OF US S02E02

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THE LAST OF US 1x08 / 2x07

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Need some hurt/comfort after episofde 2... How about reader has a nightmare of Joel dying violently and wakes up alone ? She thinks the nightmare was a memory, and cries instantly, walking in a daze in the street in her pj in the cold, only for him to be there, sharing coffee on Tommy's porch

I’ll Always Come Home

PAIRING: Joel Miller x reader

WORD COUNT: 1320 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

You wake with a start, drenched in sweat, your heart pounding like a drumbeat in an empty stadium. The blankets are tangled around you, cold air whispering against your skin. For a moment, you can’t place yourself: is that moan,was that Joel? You inhale sharply, and reality crashes over you. You’re alone.

The nightmare steals your breath. You saw him,Joel Miller,his life bleeding away in violent spasms, his fist slamming against the ground as his blood pooled beneath him like a morbid crime scene. You heard him scream your name, a ragged sound that snapped you awake, terror clawing at your chest.

In the dim glow of the bedroom lamp, you recognize the familiar layout of your home in Jackson. The cracked plaster of the walls. His guitar leaning against the rickety bookshelf. The framed photo of your wedding day, his smile radiant, his arms wrapped around you. You reach for the sheets, your fingers brushing the emptiness beside you.

Tears spring to your eyes. You clutch the blanket and press it to your face, tasting the cold cotton. A sob rattles your body, and you can’t stop it. It feels like a betrayal: you, always so strong for him; you, the one he calls home. But the pain in your chest is unbearable.

Without thinking, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed,pitter-patter, pitter-patter,and stand. You leave pillows rumpled in your wake as you pad toward the door, still in your sleep shirt and pajama bottoms. The house is silent, save for the soft hum of the generator and the distant rumble of trucks on the outskirts of Jackson.

The door clicks shut behind you, and you step into the cold, night air. Your breath clouds in front of you, ghostly puffs disappearing into the darkness. The snow crunches under your bare feet, ice scratching your soles. You don’t care. All you can think about is how real it felt,how his lifeblood stained your hands.

You stumble down the street, shoulders trembling, tears freezing on your cheeks. You don’t know where you’re going; only that staying inside would be worse. You need him. You need to see his face.

The wind bites through your pajamas. You wrap your arms around yourself, rocking gently, hummed lullabies of comfort you’ve sung for him so many times. "Stay with me, Joel. Please stay with me."

The lights of Tommy’s house appear ahead, two windows glowing amber against the midnight blue. He’s likely up late, playing cards or talking with friends. You halt at the front gate, hesitating. You’re not a child. You’re not delirious,just scared. Ridiculous.

But then you’re moving again, crossing the yard, hands shaking as you push open the door and climb the porch steps in one unsteady motion. You hear the hiss of a propane stove, the clink of mugs.

There he is. Joel. His grizzled profile lit by the stove’s glow. He lifts a chipped enamel mug to his lips, steam curling like question marks into the air. He looks up and stops mid-sip.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he breathes, eyes filling with alarm. “What’re you doing out here? At this hour?”

You blink, overwhelmed by relief that floods every nerve. He’s alive. He’s safe.

“I,I had a dream,” you manage, your voice a cracked whisper. You step forward. He stands and is suddenly there, arms outstretched, anchoring you. “You were gone.”

He wraps you in his arms. His jacket smells like wood smoke and the faint tang of coffee. You push your face into his chest, sobbing. “I thought it was real.”

Joel’s hand moves to the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair. “Shh. It was just a dream, darlin’. I’m right here.”

His voice is a balm, low and sure. He leads you to the porch swing. The frigid night air nips at any exposed skin, but his body heat seeps through your pajamas, anchoring you in the moment.

He hands you a mug; hot coffee radiates through your chilled fingers. You sulk into the swing, letting the rhythm soothe you.

“You’re shaking,” he says, concern etched in the lines around his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Joel chuckles softly. “You never scare me.”

Heat blooms on your cheeks at his words. You meet his gaze, and in the lamplight, you see the way his eyes soften.

“I woke up and,you weren’t there. I thought…” Your voice catches. You look out into the yard, into the dark. “I thought you’d left me.”

He shakes his head. “Why would I ever do that? You’re stuck with me, remember?”

He nudges you playfully with his elbow. You manage a watery laugh, panic easing away. Forty-eight hours postpartum flashbacks of feral hunters, of losing Sam, of the last time half the world fell to ashes,it still haunts you. But here, in Jackson, you found safety. A husband. A home.

“Jackson’s cold,” you mutter, lifting the rim of the mug to your lips. The coffee is bitter, but you drink deeply.

“Told you you’d get used to it,” Joel teases, though his voice is tender.

“No amount of coffee will warm me up tonight.”

He leans closer. “Then get under my jacket.” He pulls yours off, tucking it around your shoulders.

You cling to him and he doesn’t let go when your lips brush his neck. In the quiet, other sounds reach you,the creak of the swing, a distant howl of coyotes, a truck’s engine low on the outskirts of town.

“Why don’t we head inside?” Joel suggests after a few minutes. “Caroline’ll kill me if she sees you freezing on my porch.”

You smile at the mention of your neighbor’s little girl, already asleep in her room. You stand as he rises, pulling you into his arms again.

“Come on,” he murmurs, one arm around you and the other balancing both mugs. “I’ll walk you home.”

Together, you trudge through the snow back to your place. His warmth sears into you, chasing away residual horror from the nightmare. When you reach the porch, Joel pauses and tilts your chin up.

“Listen to me,” he says, eyes fierce. “I am not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever. Good or bad, I’m yours. You’re mine. Okay?”

You nod, tears glistening. “Okay.”

He kisses you then: gentle at first, tasting of coffee and cold air, but deepening as your arms tighten around his neck. You feel rid of the dream’s shadow.

Inside, he lights the lantern on your kitchen table. The yellow light fills the room with warmth. You lean against him as he sets down the mugs and takes yours.

“Coffee’s still hot,” he points out.

“I know,” you whisper. “But I’m not thirsty anymore.”

He gives you that lopsided grin you fell in love with.

“Come here.” He beckons you to sit on his lap. You obey, the curve of his spine a cradle. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you in.

“Promise me,” you say after a moment, voice small. “Promise me you’ll always come back.”

He brushes your hair behind your ear. “I promise, every damn time.”

You close your eyes, pressing your cheek to his chest. He hums an old country tune,one you heard him sing once in the garden as tomatoes ripened on the vine. His voice is gravel, rough and comforting.

The nightmare is still there, buried beneath the blankets and the dark. But here, in Joel’s arms, you feel whole again. In a world that’s gone mad, you have this: a man who fights for you, who would die for you and, by God, always come back to you.

You drift toward sleep, wrapped in his warmth and the promise of morning light. Outside, snow continues to fall, blanketing Jackson in silence. But in your kitchen, all is bright and safe.

And you know, without a doubt, that Joel Miller will always come home.

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Hannibal (2013-2015) Supernatural (2005-2020)

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i think rich ppl should stop buying mega yachts and mansions and other boring shit and instead they should funnel money into their own production companies to make quasi-pornographic gay romance shows starring themselves as the leads

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They are expecting💜

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We now have three video game adaptations where unexpected yaoi is a central part of the plot

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just finished the Minecraft Movie and omg they were so yaoi

please yaoi artists get to it im fiending im actually begging they had so much chemistry

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Old man YAOI on Minecraft ? More likely than you think

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I changed the speechbubble to match their true essence, what do we think?

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anasui