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you came back wrong and i am racked with guilt because i cannot bear to see you like this and i should have let you rest. i loved you so much that i defied death itself but i do not think either of us are happy

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i don't know man, i just wish that we could [suddenly realising i'm coming dangerously close to expressing a real and earnest thought instead of filtering everything through several layers of intangible running bits] blow up the entire world. or something.

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mine, all mine | joel miller

Summary | You & Joel have been skirting around whatever this is for years, until he finally breaks and calls it what it is, in the only way he knows how.

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count | 1.2K

Warnings | Post-Outbreak, Jackson!Joel, possessive!Joel, rough sex, spit play, unprotected PiV sex, cumshot, cumplay, dirty talk, emotionally unavailable Joel, it's basically just 1.2k of filth tbh, no use of y/n

Authors Note | This one goes out to @undercoverpena who gave me the means to rewatch TLOU. This was the outcome. Enjoy the filth.

Divider by @saradika

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

He’s got your wrists caught together in one of his big hands, pressed down into the mattress to keep you still. Your thighs splayed wide, pressed down almost uncomfortably by the width of his hips. His cock is splitting you open and you’re so impossibly wet that you can hear it whenever he pushes himself back into you. He likes it, wild grin on his face whenever that lewd squelch makes itself known, he likes that only he can do this to you, only he can make you this wet, only he can get you to submit so completely like this.

It’s been two years of this. Two years of being pressed into his bed in the dead of night. Two years of dancing around what this is, but enjoying it all the same. You don’t think you need to label it, complicate it, not when it feels this good. You’d happily go the rest of your days not knowing what you and Joel Miller are if it means he’s going to stay like this. It started as stress relief, a lot like how it had been with the other people here in Jackson that had fallen into your bed - him, frustrated from patrol or whatever it was going on with Ellie, you, frustrated with… well, mostly everything these days. When he’s inside you, there are no frustrations, only the low thrum of pleasure across your skin.

Things have changed though, maybe in the past six months. He stands closer to you when you’re at the bar, sometimes puts a hand on the small of your back when someone else tries to talk to you. Subtle messages that say back the fuck off or she’s mine without needing to put real words to it. He doesn’t say it, even here, when he’s deep inside you, doesn’t beg you to tell him who you belong to, but then you suppose he doesn’t have to - you’ve not fucked anyone else since this started, no-one would hold a candle to him, and you know he doesn’t fuck anyone else either.

“You hear that?” His gruff voice asks, pulling you back to the present as his cock drags from your cunt, pushing back in slowly, and you do, that squelch of him pushing back inside you as deep as he can fit, you throw your head back, moan his name, “Yeah you do,” His face buries into your neck, teeth dragging across delicate skin, “Hear how wet I gotcha?”

You let your eyes open, fluttering slowly to reveal how close he is to your face. He’s so fucking beautiful like this - skin covered in sweat, brows pinched together in pleasure, his scars and his wrinkles visible so closely, the grey in his beard and the smattering of hair on his chest pressed against yours, you won’t ever grow tired of this.

“S-so fucking g-good, Joel.” You choke out on another drag of his cock, tip pressed right against the depths of you, dragging deliciously against that spot inside you.

“I know, baby, I know,” He coos, nudging the side of your face with his nose, hot breath so close to your ear as he continues the languid strokes of himself in and out of your spent cunt, “Bein’ so good f’me.”

His praise never fails to make you preen, face rolling to the side, exposing the side of your neck to him that he hasn’t already marked. You feel the tight grip around your wrists loosen, his hand taking hold of your chin instead, pulling you back to look at him, brown eyes glazed almost black with lust as he looks down at you. There’s something different there this time, sure he’s always been intense, but he’s looking at you this time like he wants to devour you whole - to cut you open and eat you from the inside.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” He whispers, hand around your face moving to shake you so your focus is on him and not on the way his thrusts have started getting harder, “Say it.”

“M’yours,” You manage to get out, but he shakes your head again, “Yours, m’yours Joel.”

“That’s right,” He bends, hand still gripping your chin, and licks into your mouth, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, teeth nipping gently, “My girl.”

You almost can’t believe it, like this is some kind of dream, your wildest fantasy come true that he does want you, that it’s not just your pussy he covets but everything else you bring.

“Y-you mean it?” You speak, breathless, “I’m yours?”

You bring a hand up to his face now, cradling a cheek, thumb tracing his bottom lip, but he’s shaking your hand away, his own still tight against your face, “Open your mouth,” but you’re confused about why, so it takes you a while for your brain to catch up, “Open your damn mouth baby.”

This time you do, lips parted, tongue out, Joel’s fingers sitting in the hinges of your jaw, dragging your head forward a little, then, he purses his lips, opens his mouth and lets his saliva drip from his own mouth into your, caught on the flat of your tongue. It’s hot, probably the hottest thing he’s even done. You curl your tongue over it, dragging your mouth closed to swallow it down, then, you open your mouth, stick your tongue back out and look him straight in the eye to ask for more.

“Fuckin’ filthy,” He mutters, but there’s a grin on his face, his cock still pounding into you, the feeling of your slick, made more by what he’d just down, gathering at the base of his cock, dripping down onto the sheets below, “Y’like that, huh?”

“Uh-huh.” Is the only thing you can get out before he’s doing it again, letting his own spit drip from his mouth into yours.

This time though, he doesn’t give you the option to swallow it. He lets go of your face, his tongue melding with yours at the precise spot that his spit had just landed on. It’s a filthy, wet, open-mouthed kiss, saliva gathering in your corners of your mouth as you moan into his when he shifts his hips just a little, tip of his cock now bruising into your cervix on every punch forward.

It happens all at once, his lips dragging from yours, his cock dragging out of your pussy as he pushes backwards, cock in his fist for barely a second before the first rope of his spend is spurting across your soaked and aching folds. Joel lets out a growl as the next lands across the soft skin of your tummy, the next between the valley of your tits. He’s dragging a tight fist up and down the length of his cock, squeezing lightly at his tip to empty himself of every drop of cum, painting your skin with it until he’s softening in his fist and you’re trying to catch your breath.

Joel lets his hands grip your hips, dragging his thumbs through the pools of cum across your lower body, rubbing gently through it to spread it as far as he can, “Look nice like this,” He muses, looking down at the mess he’s made of you, from the aching red hue of your spent cunt, to the milky white splashed across your body, “Mine.” He says, with a tone of finality.

“Yours.”

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It’s almost as if nobody wants to admit that they might not be prepared to do the work it takes to love somebody. And it can be laborious. To be intimate with someone who is flawed (which is the standard) requires us to expose our own flaws. We don’t talk about the heavy responsibility of that. We don’t talk about how we’re too lazy or too cowardly sometimes. We instead accuse love of being elusive. It isn’t. It is omnipresent. It asks us to be better people. And sometimes we flat out refuse.

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first thing id do as a skeleton is drink red wine from a goblet and have it spill out everywhere . second thing id do is play my ribs like a xylophone

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first thing id do as a skeleton is drink red wine from a goblet and have it spill out everywhere . second thing id do is play my ribs like a xylophone

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she has a flower for you!

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by the grit of sandpaper {masterlist}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: Joel Miller is a gruff as they come, the world having changed him for the worst. But settling in Jackson with his brother changed him for the better. He's known around town as someone to help, whether it be with home repairs, construction, and hand carved trinkets. An offhand comment from you inspires him to branch out and create helpful kitchen wares. And it seems everyone has been gifted one from him, except for you. It makes you rethink the casual friendship you had developed with the man that had just begun to expand beyond patrols.

Word Count: 12.6k - ongoing

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, pining, unrequited feelings, joel a little mean in this, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, mild injuries, confessions, lots of feelings, angst, hurt and comfort, joel miller's hands need their own warning, arguing, heated interactions, smut, p in v, unprotected p in v, oral (f and m receiving), jealousy, more to be added as the story develops!

A/N: hinted at this back around the holidays, but will soon be committing time to bring this to life!

ao3 link || main masterlist || ko-fi

fic teaser || fic teaser no.2 || sneakie peek

chapter 1 || chapter 2

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It’s another Sunday afternoon and you’ve barely moved from your spot on the loveseat as you stare out the window with a faraway look on your face.

You’ve been so quiet lately.

Eddie didn’t know what to do as he stood watching you from the kitchen with his second cup of coffee in hand. The frown etched on your face seemed to stretch further and further the longer he looked.

The sadness in your eyes growing darker with so many thoughts running through your mind.

“Sweetheart?”

Your head turns slightly in answer, eyes not lifting from their spot on the floor, afraid of what he might find there.

“What’s on that mind of yours?”

Too much and nothing at all

Static filled chaos

Echoing silence

“Just tired, Eds.”

Your eyes find his, a smile meant to reassure him painted on feels as heavy as a boulder sitting on your shoulder to keep up.

And he sees right through it, because he always does. He knows you better than anyone else.

You can’t hide from him.

He sits perched on the arm of the loveseat closest to you, a hand coming to rest on your back, pressing firm as fingers massage along the muscles there. You melt into his touch, face immediately finding his chest, breathing him in.

“How about I run to the bakery and pick up some of those croissants you love?”

You press further into him, the soft fabric of his hoodie kissing your face as his warm scent swirls through your head. Arms wrapping around his waist bringing him even closer.

“We can drive out to the lake and sit for a while like we used to? Maybe listen to one of our mixtapes.”

He laughs at the memory of those tapes. Especially that first one he gave you, when you were nothing more than friends fumbling around trying to figure out your feelings.

Songs that reminded him of you.

“How does that sound?”

Another bout of silence passes as you hold him, his hand still trailing along your back as he presses another kiss to the top of your head.

Your eyes close as you sink into the tenderness, the care he shows, something you feel undeserving of some days.

With a sigh, you pull back to look up into Eddie’s face, heart stuttering at the look you find there.

He presses a light kiss to the tip of your nose as you reply, “I’d like that.”

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me 2 joel 💋😇

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She made him laugh and then he fell in love. [art: calrart]

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Joel + Text Posts

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The Checklist | Joel Miller

Summary | Your new boyfriend Joel finds your hidden stash of porn, full of pages with their corners folded over, marking the things you like the most. Expecting him to feel bad about finding things you're into, things you haven't asked for from him, you're surprised when he offers to help you tick them off.

Pairings | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Warnings | This is basically just a kink fest. Explicit smut, oral sex, established relationship, orgasm denial, breath play, rough sex, exhibitionism, overstimulation, temperature play, free use, bondage, anal play, porn without much plot. Please see individual chapters for additional warnings. No Outbreak AU. No use of Y/N.

Authors Note | First of all, all credit for this idea has to go to @vickywallace who dropped this incredible idea into my inbox. Another massive shoutout to @undercoverpena for making this incredible moodboard and being my sounding board for these ideas. These are likely to be written out of order, as the inspiration strikes, but I'm excited to bring this to y'all!

To be notified when I post, please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs and turn on notifications.

Divider by @saradika

Main Masterlist

Chapters

Orgasm Denial - Beggin' For It

Bondage - Pretty As A Picture

Exhibitionism - Eyes Wide Open

Breath Play

Free Use - I Could Use Somebody

Overstimulation - Don't Say I Didn't Warn You

Temperature Play

Anal Play

Extras

Fic Moodboard by @hellishjoel

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crystal [no outbreak!joel miller x witchy!f!reader]

summary : Joel's live-in girlfriend is a little witchy. It takes some getting used to. rating/warnings: T [all from Joel's POV and is in third person, no physical description for reader, this is perhaps the fluffiest thing I've written to date, no outbreak, Joel gets Sarah and Ellie because I said so, Joel is so, so confused all the time but he is trying, brief discussion of my interpretation Joel's religious background] wc: 2.6k note: This isn't technically new, it's been on Ao3 since Halloween, but I wanted to share it here, too. Not betaed, all mistakes mine, and I really love this. I watched Practical Magic for the 900th time and I had no choice tbh. dividers and end banner by @saradika-graphics<3

masterlist | joel miller masterlist

It starts with the herbs.

Joel’s not much of a cook. He'll do it for himself and his babies and his brother if Tommy’s around, but it’s never anything extravagant. He just doesn’t have the time. He certainly doesn’t have the time to dry fresh herbs over the sink. 

But then she moves in, his little witch, and everything changes. She plants a big rosemary bush by the backyard gate, fussing at him when he gets too close with the weed eater. He’d never cut her damn plant down, but it doesn't matter--she all but hisses if he gets within six feet of it. 

The lavender shows up next at Sarah's request, just because it's purple. They plant it next to the rosemary, and he’s not allowed to get too close to that, either. 

One Saturday she and Ellie come home with armfuls of mint in little pots. Before he knows it, his backyard’s been taken over by plants he’s never even seen before. And after a while, they migrate into his kitchen, in the window above the sink in bunches. She fusses at him if he pokes at those, too. 

“Those aren’t for cooking,” his little witch scolds. He doesn’t know what the hell else they’re supposed to be for if not for cooking, but it doesn't bother him too much. He just likes to watch her and the girls grind them up and put them in bottles on Saturday afternoons, laughing and singing all the while.

There is a pink rock on Joel’s nightstand. He’s never seen it there before, and the girls tend to steer clear of his room—or they did, before it became her room, too. He supposes it gives off a softer, more inviting energy now. She's banished the treadmill to his home office, a little meditation stool in its place, and he admits it opens the room up a lot more.

But what’s with the rock? 

Joel has no particular religious beliefs. He grew up going to temple with his parents once a week, but the idea of God never made much sense to him.

He admitted this once to his father, who only chuckled. “Don’t make much real sense to most of us, I’d imagine. But your mother likes it, so we’re going.” He learned early not to stand in the way of a woman and God. Or gods, in his little witch's case.

He picks the rock up, running his fingers over its jagged edges and rolling it around in the palm of his hand. He only puts it back down when she flits past the bedroom door, wary of being fussed at for touching things that don’t belong to him. But no—that doesn’t seem right. She'd placed it on his nightstand. Surely she couldn’t expect him not to pick it up. 

There are more rocks over the next few days, springing up around the house like mushrooms after a long rain. He has to ask when he finds a smooth, clear, oblong thing in the front pocket of his jeans. 

He finds her in the kitchen crushing potato chips over an omelet and wraps his arms around her waist, settling his chin on her shoulder. 

“Mornin’,” he murmurs. 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” she says, and he can hear the smile in her gravelly, half-asleep voice.

He slips his hand into his pocket and pulls out the rock. “Found this,” he says, snaking his arm back around her waist and laying his palm out flat. The rock glitters in the morning sun. 

“Oh!” She turns around in his arms, eyes lighting up. “It’s clear quartz. I put it there so I wouldn’t forget. But then I let you sleep late and I forgot to tell you it was there. Whoops.”

“But what is it, honey?” He asks.

“Clear quartz!” She says again, as if he should know what that means. “You said the other day that you have a big meeting today, and you need all the luck you can get, and clear quartz is the best for luck. So I left you that!”

“But…how is it supposed to help?” He asks, and realizes too late it might not be the right question.

She scowls at him and reaches for the rock. “Well, if you don’t like it, I’ll just—”

“I didn’t say that,” he says, pulling the stone out of her reach and stuffing it back in his pocket. "I like it. Thank you."

She smiles as he catches her face in his hands and kisses her forehead. "I love it," he says, swiping his thumbs over her cheeks. 

The meeting goes well. And not just well—there are no points of contention, no arguing, no impossible timelines, no explaining to his client that no, it’s not possible to build their three-story house in less than a month. 

It’s the best goddamn meeting he’s ever had. 

He reaches into his pocket and curls his fist around the quartz. 

That cannot possibly be the cause of it.

The sly smirk and glimmer in her eyes when he tells her about it at dinner, though, makes him wonder. 

“Y’all playin’ cards?” Joel asks, neck craning from the stairs to see the three of them hunched over the kitchen table on a Sunday morning.

Sarah and Ellie burst into giggles. 

“Uh, sure,” Ellie says as she tries to catch her breath. “Cards.” 

His little witch doesn't answer. He rounds the table to see seven cards spread across the wooden surface. They don’t look like any playing cards he’s ever seen. Her eyes dart up at him, wide and worried like she's been caught. 

“I was just doing a reading. The girls came in and asked to see,” she explains, chewing on her lip and scooping the cards up despite twin noises of protest.

“Readin’ what?” He asks. Joel has never seen her so uncomfortable over anything. He nods his head toward the door. “Girls, go find somethin’ to do.” Sarah stands, but Ellie’ll have to be asked twice. She always does.

“Like what?” Ellie demands, unmoving. 

“Your room’s a mess. How ‘bout you both go do some cleanin’, huh?” He puts his hands on his hips. “Now, please.”

They move along, grumbling, and he sits in a newly empty chair. 

“Whatcha doin’?” He asks, because he really wants to know. “Those, uh, what’re they called? Tara cards?” 

Her giggles confirm he is not correct. “Tarot cards. Yes, they are.” 

“Why’re you actin’ so squirrelly about ‘em?”

“It’s stupid,” she sighs, hugging her arms to her chest. 

“It’s not stupid,” he says, curling a finger under her chin and pulling her to meet his eyes. “You can tell me.”

“Fine,” she says. “But no making fun of me, Swear?” 

“On my life,” he says, putting his hand over his heart. 

“I was doing a…it’s called a relationship spread. About us. Just to see,” she explains. He raises his eyebrows, but schools his features quickly to prevent any self-consciousness on her part. 

“Tryin’ to see our future?” He asks softly. 

“Not exactly. Just…if we’re compatible.”

Joel sucks in a nervous breath, internally fussing at himself for putting too much stock into this. “And…are we compatible?”

She gives him that sly little grin again, the one that pulled him to her like a magnet the first time she met, looking up at him through her lashes. “Very.” 

He already knew that, but it doesn’t keep him from letting out a nervous whistle. “Had me worried there, baby.”

One day, she’ll tell him that the cards didn’t tell her a damn thing. She hadn’t even gotten that far. But he’d taken her seriously, hadn’t teased her even a little, and that’s how she knew. That’s how she'd always known. 

Sarah comes home crying with Ellie’s arm slung across her shoulders, murmuring what he assumes are comforting words. He pauses, trying to keep himself from getting too worked up before getting more information. The papa bear in him wants to know who did this and who he needs to kill, but Sarah is a soft, squishy little thing. It could be anything from a skinned knee to boy problems, and not all of them warranted a reaction on Joel’s part. 

But before he can ask, his little witch bursts through the back door, her arms full of carrots she's just pulled from the garden. “What’s wrong?” She asks, dumping the carrots in the sink. “What happened?”

Joel stares at her. She's been outside this whole time.

“Joel?” She asks, pulling off her gardening gloves. He winces at the dirt falling from her coveralls.

“I—uh, Sarah came home cryin’-I don’t know yet. Ellie took her in the living room—”

“Thank you,” she says, kissing his cheek after she pulls off her coveralls off and leaves them in a pile on top of the dirt. He sighs as she scurries to the living room. 

“What’s wrong, lovely?” He hears her ask.

Joel busies himself with picking up her mess, only peeking into the living room once he hears Ellie exclaim, “Yeah, fuck that guy!”

“What guy?” He asks. She twists her head and glares at him, and he decides to leave them to…whatever’s happening in there. 

“So,” he asks a few hours later as he’s getting ready for bed. “Everything okay? She seemed better at dinner.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” his little witch says, waving her hand. “Nothing to worry about. I’ve got it taken care of.”

Unease strikes his belly. 

“What’s that mean?” He asks as he slips between the covers and pulls her close to him. The nights have gotten colder and she's always unnaturally warm. Like there's fire in her blood.

“Means I’ve got it taken care of,” she shrugs. “She’s feeling much better.”

“You think I should go talk to her?” He asks.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “She’s okay, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind her daddy checking in on her.”

He sighs, too. “They’re just gettin’ so big now. Real glad you’re around for that. Especially with two of ‘em.”

She presses a minty kiss to his lips. “Mm. You'd be doing fine on your own, but I’m glad I’m here, too. Go say goodnight.”

He finds her lighting incense when he returns. Sarah gave him a vague rundown of the situation—something about a group of boys being mean to her. It was probably a good thing she hadn't told him first. He has no problem striking the fear of God into a few teenage boys.

“How’d you know something was the matter?” He asks as he watches her wave the incense stick around the room. 

She shrugs. “Just a feeling.”

The girls come home from school three days later with a memo from the principal. 

“There has been an outbreak of mumps. Please make sure your child is up to date with all their vaccines,” Joel mutters to himself. He sidles up to her, stirring something mouth-watering in a pot. “You see this?”

“Mmhmm,” she says. “Such a shame.”

“Did I hear you talkin’ to Mrs. Talbot across the street about somethin’ like this?”

“Might have. She likes to talk my ear off while I’m in the garden,” she says, adding a healthy dose of Tony’s to the pot. 

“You know,” he says. “Strange that a bunch of these kids got mumps. They wouldn't even let Ellie near a school till I got her all up to date.”

“Super weird,” she agrees, not looking at him. “They’ll probably be fine. It’s sure gonna hurt for a few days. You hungry?”

Sarah is in a particularly good mood, and Ellie’s cackling as she sets the table. “No wonder Jason Hubbard looked like someone kicked his ass the other day! Him and all his stupid little friends.”

“Jason Hubbard, huh?” Joel asks. “Ain’t that one of those boys that was mean to you the other day?”

“Yeah!” Ellie says. She seems even more pleased than Sarah about the whole thing. 

“Yikes,” his little witch says, winking at him. “Karma, I guess.”

He has to work on Halloween. 

The girls are a little too old to trick-or-treat now, but he still feels bad. In the last couple of years, they’d taken to horror movie marathons and stuffing themselves with candy until their stomachs hurt and he had to send them to bed with a double dose of Pepto Bismol. 

Joel really doesn’t love the idea of leaving them home alone on Halloween night, either. Not that they’d never been alone before—they were certainly used to locking up before he got home—but people got weird on Halloween. 

“I could stay back,” his little witch offers. Because of course, she does. She’s made them into her little family, and she’ll do anything to make sure Joel isn’t worried the whole time he’s working. But this is, from what he understands, her high holy day. 

He can’t ask her to give that up, can he?

“You’re not asking me,” she says, unprompted. “I’m offering.”

He blinks at her. “How—”

“You think really loud,” she says, as though that made any more sense. “It’s fine! You go to work, we’ll watch scary movies and eat too much candy, and you can join us when you get home. Ain’t even a school night!” 

Joel chuckles. “I mean it, though, baby, you don’t need to cancel.”

“I want to,” she shrugs. 

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve you, but he’s glad he did it. 

The job takes forever, just like he knew it would. He gets home at eleven, knees and back aching, wondering if she still has some of that rosemary oil he can use. He expects they'll be in bed, but realizes that’s a foolish thought when he sees the kitchen light on and three heads bouncing around. 

He limps inside the brightly lit kitchen where they're mixing something bright red and icy in the blender, dancing around to the Monster Mash. 

“What’s goin’ on in here?” He asks, half-shouting over the loud buzz of the blender.

“Uh oh, girls, Papa’s home,” she teases. “Shut it all down.”

He leans against the doorframe and smiles. “Looks like a hell of a party,” he says. “Think I can get an invite?” 

“No!” Ellie shouts.

“Of course!” Sarah says at the same time. 

“Depends,” she says. “You like virgin strawberry daiquiris? You have to drink one out of this very fancy goblet and finish Dawn of the Dead with us.”

“New or old?” He asks. 

“Old,” Sarah says. “The running zombies are way too scary.”

The girls disappear, leaving them alone with the mess in the kitchen. 

“Go sit down,” she says, kissing him on the cheek. “I’ll get the rosemary oil.” 

“How do—”

“I just do, Joel, now go sit down with the girls, please. And take this, it’s good for pain.” She hands him a purple rock this time. He raises an eyebrow. “Amethyst, Joel, you know this.”

He laughs and shakes his head as she dashes up the stairs because no, he really doesn’t know that. 

"Come here, little witch," he says when she returns, and she lets him wrap his arms around her for a few moments before she wiggles out of his grasp to grab the rosemary oil. 

"Lift your shirt," she orders, and he does. He picks up the amethyst and rubs it in his hands, just to see her beam at him. It makes almost no sense to him, but that was okay.

Not everything needed to make sense to him. If it makes her happy, that's all that mattered. He understands now more than ever why his father went to temple so often.

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“my child is fine” bitch your child relates to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

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YES THESE R LPS PLS STOP ASKING ME