#game!joelmiller

[saintgoths]

☾༺♰༻☽ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴍᴇɴ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜰᴜᴄᴋ ʏᴏᴜ☾༺♰༻☽

mdni very 18+ - just nasty sex.

includes simon 'ghost' riley, joel miller, levi ackerman, carlos oliveira and will herondale.

feedback/comments would be appreciated :)

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY

Like the man he is, he would fuck you in a position that asserts his dominance, a possessive grip that puts you in a firm stance telling you that you’re his and no one can fuck you the way he does, with his hand gripped tightly around your hair while he plows into you, forcing you to roll your eyes towards the back of your skull. “Take it,” he grunts and loud you shamefully moaned, “you pretty girl, all ruined and tight for me,” he moaned.

Proud he feels the way your body trembles under his touch, the width of his cock opening your pretty little cunt while the increased wetness inflates around his shaft. “Atta girl,” he groans as the tip of his cock licks against the skin of your cervix, pushing you into an intense high while your knees steeply dig into the sheets of the bed.

Your moans pathetic as you could feel your body weaken as another strong wave of orgasm pushes through you, your nectar spilling all over his bed and cock as you release a loud cry of pleasure as the thick and hot spews of his lewd semen coat your walls, your sensations ecstatic as he finally lets go of your figure and watches it shamelessly pummel against the bed.

“Y’did so well babydoll,” he muttered ere he dragged himself off the bed.

POSITION REFERENCE

JOEL MILLER

He’s so possessive with the way he fucks his girthy cock into you, beastly you feel the arch of his shaft pull forward inside your tight cunt, his loud, prideful of the erotic noises that purrs out of his mouth, while the tightness of your pussy clenches around him swallowing his large size as he loses himself inside of you.

His arms possessive around your body while the balls of his cock wetly slaps against your ass. “You’re such a good girl,” he drooled and in response you release a shameful whimper answering with degrading and shameful words declaring how you’re all his.

“Daddy, daddy!” You wept, over-stimulated by the brute forces of his large shaft beating and possessively marking the balmy and tepid of your cunt.

“There, there,” he whispered, “so good, such a good girl,” he moaned and the second he felt the thermal wetness of his load fill the tight size of your cunt the softness of his lips pressed against your neck leaving a sweet mark of his love.

POSITION REFERENCE

LEVI ACKERMAN

He loves the way his hand perfectly wraps around your breast as you hungrily bounce on his cock, your back pressed against his chest while the juices of your pussy squelches around his shaft, your cunt compact while the veins of his long manhood stroked the walls of your heat.

You bite your lip while the pad of his fingers twirl around your nipples, your breast plump and delicate, fondled by the adept hands of Levi Ackerman, who had been drunk with eroticism, his eyes dark with stimulation with the face of his cock that pummelled against the soft knob of your cunt, you throw your head back, your mouth drooling with piquancy as you had now been capable to speak.

“C-captain!” You moaned, your cries shameless while the arc of his cock hungrily blow and stroke the soft areas of your pussy, he had been focused, with his member that had softly shook in your tight space, one hand above your pearl that had gently whirled, possessive and hoggish with the way your body rolled against his.

“Just like that,” he whispered, “keep going!” He moaned and in obedience you continued to bounce up and down his length, your eyes wet with desirous tears as your body heaved forwards, numb and intoxicated by the member that had filled your heat paired with the sticky cum that had greedily clung onto your walls, feeling the depth of loneliness the second he pulled his cock out, but now his lip had been pressed against your jaw, tender and supple.

POSITION REFERENCE

CARLOS OLIVERIA

With his big and strong arms, he holds you up while fucking his wide cock up your cunt, his shaft easily slipping and sliding and the tip of his member greedily licking the soft lumps of your pussy while you tightly wrap your arms around his shoulders, securing yourself against him while his fingers grip into your skin, “That’s it princess,” he murmurs into your ear while frantically bucking his hips forward searching and sailing for his climax while your sweet cries fill the room.

Your lips tight and eyes white while the head of his shaft lick the coat of your cervix, eager to spill and fill its juices and give into the animalistic nature to breed. “So good for daddy,” he moaned and desperately you nodded your head, and in bold need for his authoritative approval you obeyed every demand that left his tongue, “Say it, say your my princess,” he commanded and frantic you felt your tongue slip out of your mouth as you hopelessly tried to gather the words he imposed from you.

“I’m—” you cried out and before you could finish your sentence a strong shriek was pulled out from your mouth as you could feel his shaft move deeper inside of you, sending you into a bold crying hysteria, how shameless you looked, disoriented and a mess due to his touch. “I’m your princess!” You chanted while you could feel your orgasm explode and spill against the cold floors of your room; and sapped you had fully leaned against Carlos, your arms still hung around him, wasted.

“You feel that?” Carlos hummed as he slowly pulsed in you and weakly you nodded as you had recognised the soft sensation of his fluid filling your wet cunt. “Good girl,” he then kissed your cheek before he rested you against the bed.

POSITION REFERENCE

WILL HERONDALE

He holds onto you so fucking tight, craving and selfish with the way his fingers dig into your skin, so snug, he thought, so supple your cunt had felt around him, how well you had taken his size and how you were just for him, only his, restricted to be shared, he had hated the idea of you being somebody else’s, glad, that the pliable and wetness of your vagina was his to claim and he swore that nothing would take you away from him.

“My love,” he moaned, his hand cupped beneath your knees as your body had bounced against his, your walls had clenched around him, taut and firm and so soothing and narcotic like he was some ill-man, and the feeling of your opiate cunt being the only thing that could cure him, he loved it, and could care less that he moved like a starved man.

Beastly while the nectar from the previous orgasms had melted and thawed with each other and the cloying cries of your over-stimulated moans had been a glacé music to him, he could feel another round of his orgasm build up and with the way you had whimpered to his touch, and with the way your body had twitched under his grope, another ecstatic rush wanted to overcome your petite figure.

“Fuck!” You loudly cried out feeling the face of his cock slickly brush and speck against your spot and once more, your eyes rolled backwards uncaring if anyone in the institute could hear your lewd cries, prideful that you had been ravished by Will Herondale, having his shaft stroke and tinge every good nerve in your pussy while he whispered sweet and amorous words in your ears, talking you into another amative and carnal climax.

POSITION REFERENCE

♆

[joelsfavouritegirl]

domestic young!joel headcanons (i wanna be his housewife)

. for joel, if the domesticity isn’t there, he might not wanna be in the relationship and i’m not kidding

. why do i think that? for one, he’s definitely the type of guy to have grown up in your average family-type-shit household; dad wakes the kids up, mom makes breakfast, everyone sits together at the table and eats and chats. i like imagining that joel and tommy actually have a really good relationship with their parents (fully functional family, wow). the second reason is because i think joel just wants to be with someone. i don’t mean be in the dating sense, but just coexist with someone. somewhere where he’s able to say ‘yeah, that’s my girl, and i go home to her every day/night, and we live/cook/clean together. i do shit around the house, she does shit around the house, and we’re damn happy the way it is’.

. so here’s the shit i think joel would adore doing with you (or js watching you do them, or doing them for you)<3

. cooking (i have to get this one out of the way first bc you alr know what i’m boutta say); this man can. not. cook. no matter how capable he is in other fields, cooking is NOT one of them. he’ll try his very best, and he’ll prepare something if you’re too busy to do it, but you shouldn’t expect to be eating a fully edible meal once he’s done. baby boy will burn/spill anything you give him, and he feels bad every time. so, in order to prevent getting poisoned or having to clean up a huge mess every time, he’ll usually leave the cooking to you (or you’ll just order takeout, depends on the day)

. he does however love watching you cook. type of man to lean against the counter, arms crossed as he just watches his girl focus. whether you’re making something complicated from scratch or a simple grilled cheese sandwich, he’s thanking you for it and kissing you on the cheek, offering to clean up the dishes later on so you don’t have to do it

. the only way he’ll (somewhat) succesfully make something is if he’s doing it with you. baking is probably the thing you’ll do most together; pancakes, muffins, brownies whatever it is, he won’t mind making it with you. sure, he’ll be more of a distraction than help but if that’s not the greenest flag i’ve ever seen then idk what is

. another chore i think he’d love is changing the bed. idk why, it’s a very simple and small thing, but he knows how to make it fun. he gets a kick out of it when he sees you struggling to put the sheets on the mattress, cursing and grumbling to yourself. he’ll tease you, poke and prod at your side before pulling the thing down, then smothering you with kisses (which will probably lead to other things, and sometimes you need to switch the brand new sheets with other ones because this man is messy during sex and we love that here)

. another thing he loves? doing the laundry. why? because it’s easy to bend you over (just being honest)

. apart from cooking, i think he knows his way around the work around the house. his mama was a stubborn woman, and she’d be damned if she didn’t teach her boys how to take care of their own homes (which she (relatively) succeeded in doing)

. after you guys move in together (or you just start spending more time at each others places) he starts liking chores a lot more because he gets to do them with you<3

disappeared for 3 months and i’m sawry🫠 classes have been kicking my ass and i’m trying to get my shit together b4 i christmas hits. woke up and decided to write smth cuz i haven’t posted in a while, i apologise for the quality not being fantastic<33

[delusionalgummybear]

MY JOOOOEEEELLLLL!!! MY JOEEEELLLLLLLL!!!!

[xxhypersomnia]

Happy 2024! I finished this finally after lots of procrastinating. This figure gave me something to focus on when I needed it most. The Last of Us will always hold a special place in my heart. Thank you to everyone who brought this incredible story to life this year, making 2023 so goddamn incredible.

[westonspharmacyphotodept]

I saved her

(original game photography from The Last of Us Part II by @westonspharmacyphotodept -- all manual post-production using no presets, stock, templates or AI).

[tlouforage]

Snippet of a video edit for tlou that I may or may not ever finish :)))

[missmarveledsblog]

One stop shop for oneshots (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/366939191-one-stop-shop-for-oneshots?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=Missmarveled this is a collection of oneshots and teasers of future projects , a wide range of characters characters , readers can request character if they so wish and it varies from all media platforms as well as some of my own favourites . it will involve some dark characters at times too so be warned or enjoy . This will be filled with fluff, smut and angst all characters will be over 18+ too warnings if needed will be place over the one shot

[palioom]

fuck (for the game)

"To have him fuck his own fist because he couldn’t wait for her to get home?" - something from a Whiskey wip i have going on 🖤

Send me a word, if it’s in my wip document I’ll answer your ask with the sentence that it appears in

[joelscowgirl69]

STOPPP i love this

could you do something like joel’s love interest has strict parents and joel waits for her RELIGIOUSLY and proves to her that he’s a risk worth taking for but then the angst part is that the parents verbally and mentally abuse the reader into thinking joel will leave eventually but joel sees through her and offers her freedom by running away together. he gives her a life without fear❤️

“Run Away”

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist here

Summary: When your controlling and religious parents forbid you from being with Joel, he offers you the chance to run away with him.

WC: 5-6k

Warnings: smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, dirty talk, fingering, virginity loss, praise kink, creampie, grinding, inexperienced reader, undisclosed age gap, emotional abuse, misogynistic comments, religious beliefs, controlling parents, no outbreak

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You didn’t even know how you and Joel had become this—whatever this was.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen. Hadn’t even seen it coming. But now you couldn’t imagine your days without that invisible thread tying you to him, pulling you closer. It was terrifying. It was thrilling. It was the only thing that felt real.

Maybe it started months ago, when your parents hired him to fix a leak in the roof. A simple job. A stranger with a toolbox. But the way he looked at you—quiet, steady, like he already knew what you were hiding behind all that silence—set something off in your chest. The way he moved was deliberate, careful. Every swing of the hammer, every step on the roof—he did it like it mattered. Like he was trying to fix something more than just a leak.

It began with stolen glances. You’d bring him fresh, homemade lemonade after hours spent working beneath the brutal Texas sun. He’d smile, say thank you in that low Southern drawl that wrapped around your ribs like a rope. Another time, he’d cut his finger on a piece of jagged metal, and you’d rushed to help him, gently cleaning the wound with trembling hands and bandaging it while pretending not to notice the way his eyes never left your face.

At night, you’d lie in bed thinking about him. Thinking about the way sweat soaked his T-shirt, clinging to his broad chest and outlining every hard-earned muscle. The veins in his forearms. The callouses on his hands.

And God—his hands. So much bigger than yours. So rough. So capable. You imagined what those hands would feel like on you—rough against the softness of your thighs, warm against your bare skin. You pictured the way he might say your name, slow and deep, the way his eyes might darken if you touched him the way you wanted to

You didn’t quite understand what you were feeling at first. You’d never felt this way before. About anyone. Heat would pool low in your stomach. You’d press your thighs together, trying to relieve the ache, but it only made it worse. The slickness, the need—it terrified you.

Your parents would’ve gone ballistic if they ever found out the kind of thoughts you were having about him. Or any man, really. Because thoughts like that were sin. Especially for a girl.

Especially for you. The good daughter. The quiet one. The one who never talked back, never raised her voice, never strayed outside the lines they drew for you. You were meant to stay pure. Untouched. But every thought you had of Joel was a knife slicing through that expectation.

Your mother had caught you staring once—just standing by the window, watching Joel as he worked with sweat beading on his brow. There was something primal in it—watching a man work with his hands, muscles flexing beneath sun-warmed skin. It made your pulse stutter. Made your throat go dry.

“You wanna end up like your sister?” she hissed, voice full of disgust. “Pregnant and alone without a man because she couldn’t keep her legs closed?” She’d looked at you like you were something dirty. Something broken. “Go to your room. Now.”

The shame hit you like a slap. But beneath it, deeper still, was defiance. A flicker of something fierce. Because even if she saw filth in your desire, you’d never felt more alive than when Joel looked at you like you were something he wanted.

And so things stayed the same. For weeks.

You kept your head down. Pretended to be the obedient daughter they wanted. Pretended Joel wasn’t all you could think about.

Until one weekend, your parents left town. A rare thing. They were too overprotective to leave you alone often, but they trusted you. Thought you were too docile, too submissive to ever disobey.

That Saturday evening, there was a knock on your front door.

“Hey, m’sorry to bother you. I needed to pick up my toolbox before I leave,” Joel said, standing on the porch.

He was standing there, golden in the setting sun, hands shoved in his pockets like he wasn’t sure if he should be there—and all you could think was yes. Yes, please, come in. Stay. You’d let him in without hesitation. He walked through the house like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“So… I guess the job’s all done now,” you said quietly. There was a hint of sadness in your voice, something vulnerable. You’d enjoyed having him around. Just seeing him made your day better, made life feel like there might be something more beyond your parents’ rules.

Joel offered a polite smile. “All done. Roof’s fixed. Shouldn’t be givin’ y’all any more trouble.”

You hesitated, your heart thudding in your ears. Then, in a whisper, “I liked having you around.”

He paused, toolbox in hand.

“You, uh… thanks for the hospitality.”

He turned to leave.

“Joel, wait,” you blurted, stepping forward, your fingers twitching at your sides. “Please… stay. My parents are out and… I’d like some company.”

You didn’t know where the words came from. That shy, quiet girl who never spoke unless spoken to—she was gone. Replaced by someone bolder. Someone hungry. You were starving for connection. For warmth. For the one man who made you feel like you weren’t just a shadow in your own life. He looked at you like you mattered. Like you weren’t something to be scolded or hidden.

That night, Joel stayed. You watched a movie together, ordered food. Laughed. And when he finally stood to leave, he leaned down and kissed you. Soft. Gentle. But filled with tension—weeks of craving packed into one breathless moment.

His lips were dry and warm, hesitant at first—like he was waiting to see if you’d pull away. You didn’t. You leaned in. Melted. Every nerve in your body lit up like a struck match. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a claim. A confession. A promise.

It was your first real kiss. Not some silly little peck on the lips behind the church when you were eight that had you believing you were going straight to hell. This one meant something.

He kissed you like he wanted to fix every broken thing you never spoke about. And in that moment, you believed he could.

After that, Joel came whenever he could. Stolen moments while your father was at work and your mother was busy volunteering at church. Even if he could only stay for thirty minutes, he came. The drive from his place to yours took longer than the time you had together. But that never stopped him.

Every time he showed up, you felt like you could breathe again. Like you were alive. You counted the minutes together like treasure—every touch, every laugh, every brush of his hand against yours a kind of salvation.

He’d hold you close, bury his face in your hair, and inhale deeply—like your scent was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You loved how small you felt in his arms. How safe. Like nothing could touch you when he was there. He smelled like cedar and sweat, like hard work and comfort.

Sometimes he brought you sweets. The kind your parents never let you have. “Too many chemicals,” they said. Sometimes he’d take you for a ride in his truck, the windows rolled down, his hand resting on your thigh. Those touches were everything. Not sexual, just grounding. Reassuring. The weight of his hand on your leg told you: I’m here. You’re mine.

No matter what you did together, it always left you with that glow. That warmth that stayed long after he was gone. Like his touch lingered on your skin. Like his voice echoed in your chest.

But you felt guilty sometimes. You couldn’t offer him much. You couldn’t give Joel what he deserved. You couldn’t go with him on real dates, couldn’t sit across from him at a diner booth and laugh over milkshakes, couldn’t walk down the street with your fingers laced together in the open air like a normal couple.

You couldn’t even kiss him without glancing over your shoulder, checking the curtains, your breath hitching at the sound of every creak in the floorboards.

You wanted to show him off. You wanted to stand beside him proudly, chin high, heart full. You wanted to tell the world, he’s mine. You wanted everyone in that suffocating little town to know that this was the man that loved you.

But the world wouldn’t let you.

Your parents wouldn’t let you.

So you kept him a secret, tucked into the corners of your heart.

“Why don’t ya let me talk to them?” Joel had said once, tracing soft circles on your arm with his fingers.

“You don’t know them like I do,” you whispered. “There’s nothing you could say that’d change their minds. They’re too stuck in their own ways.”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.” And he kissed your forehead like that made it all okay. And for a moment, it did. His lips on your skin felt like a shield. Like maybe he could protect you from everything—even your own family. Even yourself.

That same day, while kissing on the couch, you’d let your hands slip beneath Joel’s shirt. You didn’t plan it. Your fingers just moved on instinct—drawn to the heat of his skin, the strength beneath it.

He didn’t stop you. Not at first. His breath hitched when your fingers skimmed across his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch. He let you straddle his lap, his hands firm on your waist.

You could feel him beneath you—hard, unmistakably aroused, pressing against the soft heat between your thighs through too-thin layers.

And still, neither of you said a word. You just looked at each other—his pupils blown wide, your chest rising and falling in tandem.

Eventually, like always, he’d gently pull back.

“It’s getting late,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “I should go before your folks come home.”

This time, you didn’t let the moment die. You reached for the buckle of his belt, fingers trembling but determined. He caught your wrist. Gentle. Careful. But firm, and placed your hand back on your lap.

“Did I do something wrong?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“No… no, baby. It’s not that.” He let out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to yours.“It’s just… not now. I don’t wanna rush it.”

“But I want to,” you said softly. “It’s not like you’re forcing me.”

“I know. I know. And I want it too. But not tonight.”

Things were as good as they could be under the circumstances. Bittersweet, but yours. Until everything shattered.

A pretty little box, tied in a ribbon, with a folded note tucked neatly inside:

For the sweetest girl in town –Joel

He exploded. You’d never seen him like that. He grabbed you by the shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. He shook you like he was trying to knock the sin out of you.

“Please stop! Dad, you’re hurting me!” you cried.

“What the hell’s gotten into that head of yours?” he yelled, rapping his knuckles against your skull like it was a door. “Is there anything even in there?”

“I told you,” your mother snapped. “We failed with this one too. She’s a filthy whore just like her sister. What did we do wrong?”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. The shame crawled up your spine like ice water, seeping into every crevice of your body. Your cheeks were wet, your throat closed, and all you could do was stand there—frozen. Trapped. Worthless.

“What do you think he wants, huh?” your father spat. “You think he loves you?” He laughed bitterly. Cold. Cruel. The sound scraped across your skin. “What do you have to offer? You’re just a stupid little girl.”

“All a man like that wants is your body,” your mother added. “And once he has it, he’ll throw you away.”

“It’s not like that! He loves me! You don’t understand!” you sobbed.

“You’re a disgrace. As a woman. As a daughter,” your father growled.

His fists clenched at his sides like he didn’t trust himself not to hit something. “Going after a man like that. You should be ashamed, acting like a worthless slut.”

“She is a worthless slut,” your mother sneered. “That’s why she acts like it.”

“No respectable man wants a girl like that,” your father said. “An easy woman with no self-respect. You’re an embarrassment.”

Then he yanked you by the arm and threw you into your room, locking the door behind you.

Neither of them spoke to you for two whole weeks. They wouldn’t even look at you. They acted like you didn’t exist.

You cried into your pillow every night, the silence of the house louder than any scream. You couldn’t see Joel. Your mother quit her church duties so she could stay home, always keeping an eye on you. You weren’t allowed to go anywhere alone. Couldn’t even close your bedroom door.

But every evening, just as the sun dipped below the horizon, you’d press your forehead to the cool glass of your window. And there he was. Joel. Leaning against the hood of his beat-up truck. He never stayed long, just long enough for you to see him. To know he hadn’t left.

He’d smile, mouth the words “hello baby,” and even though you couldn’t hear it, you swore you felt it in your bones, in your chest. He never missed a night. He never gave up on you, always showed up religiously.

He waited. Every single day.

After a month, the frost between you and your parents began to thaw—but only barely. They still hovered, still watched you like a hawk circling prey. Your mother called every half hour when you left the house, her voice tight with suspicion masked as concern.

But little by little, they let the leash loosen. Just enough to breathe.

And all you could think about—what you ached for—was Joel. His touch. His voice. His arms around you. But all you could think about—what your body ached for—was Joel.

The way he looked at you like you were something he chose, not something he stumbled into.

You were starving for him. And this time, you weren’t going to hold back.

It was now late in the afternoon. Your mother had gone to a bake sale at church, claiming she’d be gone for hours. You’d told her you’d stop by to help later, maybe sell some cookies, smile at the neighbors. But that had been a lie the second it left your lips. You had no intention of showing up. You’d already made your mind up—heart racing, pulse hammering beneath your skin. You were going to see Joel.

It was your first time taking the bus, and the nervousness made your stomach twist the entire ride. Your legs bounced, fingers twitching in your lap, trying to ignore the looks from strangers around you. When you finally got off a few blocks from his place, your hands were trembling, but you didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. You needed to see him.

The moment he opened the door and saw you standing there, his eyes went wide, like he didn’t trust they were showing him something real, and then he wrapped his arms around you. So tight. So desperate. It felt like he was trying to fold you into his body, like he could take you somewhere safer just by holding you close enough. You could barely breathe, and you didn’t care.

He held you like a lifeline. Like maybe if he held you close enough, he could shield you from the world. Or drag you into his chest and keep you safe there forever.

He held you like a lifeline. Like maybe if he held you close enough, he could shield you from the world. Or drag you into his chest and keep you safe there forever.

“Baby, what are you doing here?” His voice cracked with awe, like he’d been dreaming of you and didn’t believe this was real.

“I needed to see you, Joel, I—”

“I missed ya so much. You have no idea,” he said, clutching you tighter. “You’re all that’s on my mind. Day and night.”

He didn’t wait. He kissed you. Hard. Desperate. Like he’d been starving for you. His mouth found yours like a man breaking a fast, starving and half-mad with need. His kiss was messy, frantic, breathless—teeth clashing, tongues tangling, hands in your hair, on your hips, everywhere.

Heat surged through your chest, through your spine. He kissed you like he thought you might disappear again.

His arms lifted you, half-carrying you into the house as the door slammed shut behind you. You didn’t even notice where he was taking you—you just knew his mouth was on yours, and nothing else mattered. You ended up like you always did, tangled together on the couch, lips moving frantically, hands already searching.

Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, hungry and trembling. You dragged your palms across heated skin, over the rise of muscle and the scars that told a hundred quiet stories.

He shuddered under your touch, a sound tearing from his throat—low, rough, involuntary.

“I can’t believe I’m kissing you again,” he said against your lips. “Felt like I was gonna die without you.”

“Me too… I need you so much, Joel,” you breathed, dragging his shirt off and tossing it to the side. Your lips latched onto his neck, hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses leaving trails of fire in their wake.

“Mmm, baby, you gotta stop with that,” he rasped, breath shaking.

“I don’t wanna stop.” Your voice was already thick with want, your hips pressing down into his without you even thinking. And then you felt it—his hardness, thick and hot beneath you, pressing right against your core. You gasped and rolled your hips, needing the friction, the contact, the relief.

“Fuck—enough. That’s enough for now,” he said, voice soft but edged with warning.

“Please… it feels so good,” you whispered, your hips still grinding on the bulge in his pants. You couldn’t stop. It felt too natural, too right—like your body already knew what it needed, and it was him. Only him.

“Baby, I don’t want you doing anything you’re not ready to do. You don’t owe me anything. Not like this. We’ll do it when you’re ready.”

“It’s not that,” you said, sitting up to look him in the eyes. “I want it. So much. And I’m ready, Joel. I promise. I am.”

His gaze searched your face, so serious and gentle, like he needed to be absolutely sure. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. A hundred percent.”

He stared at you for a moment longer, as if he were memorizing every part of your face—your swollen lips, the blush in your cheeks, the vulnerability in your eyes. His jaw flexed. You could see how much it meant to him, how he was holding himself back, terrified of crossing a line.

He exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his breath for hours. Then, with careful hands, he eased you back against the cushions. The way he looked at you—like you were something sacred—made your heart twist painfully in your chest.

He hovered over you, kissing your neck, your collarbone, whispering, “Is it okay if I take this off?” as his fingers tugged gently at your shirt.

“Joel,” you whispered, “I want you to take everything off.”

He growled, low in his throat, and your shirt joined his on the floor. His hands were everywhere—reverent and hungry—cupping your breasts, lips finding your nipple, sucking with a hot, eager mouth.

His palms were rough, calloused, and warm as they molded to the shape of your tits like he was memorizing every contour. His mouth was fire—wet, open, relentless—his beard scraping your skin as his tongue flicked and circled, teasing the delicate peak with a maddening rhythm.

The sensation sent a shockwave through your whole body. His tongue was slow at first, teasing, swirling around the sensitive bud before latching on again, sucking harder, like he couldn’t get enough of you.

You gasped, back arching, overwhelmed by the newness of it all. Your nipples pebbled under his tongue, thighs squeezing around his waist, trying to ground yourself. It was all so much—so electric. You were trembling.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured between kisses. “The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. And you’re giving yourself to me, such a good girl.”

His lips trailed lower, kissing down your stomach, tongue teasing over your skin. Every nerve ending in your body was alive, lit up, aching for him. His hands undid your pants, dragging them down slowly, deliberately, until you were bare beneath him. Your legs trembled. You felt exposed. Vulnerable. You’d never been this naked in front of anyone.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice soft as a prayer. “We can stop whenever you want, yeah?”

Your fingers dug into the couch. The air was cold on your skin but his eyes were molten, and you felt like you were glowing beneath him. You should’ve felt shy, but with him looking at you like that? Like you were the most perfect thing he’d ever seen? You just felt wanted.

“I won’t ask you to stop,” you said. “I want it all, Joel.”

“Just relax f’me,” he said as he settled between your legs, pushing them gently apart. “I’m gonna get you ready, babygirl. We’ve got all night. No need to rush.”

His fingers hooked under your underwear and pulled it aside. You were soaked. Embarrassingly soaked. He groaned.

“God—that’s the prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen.”

The way he said it made your belly clench—filthy and reverent all at once, like he was worshiping at an altar.

Your cheeks flushed deep red. His bluntness, the way he said those filthy words with reverence—it made your head spin.

“You’re so wet, baby. It’s all soaked,” he muttered, staring at you like he was hypnotized.

You squirmed, embarrassed, instinctively covering your face with your hand.

“No, no,” he said gently, pulling your hand away. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s a good thing.”

“Is it?” you asked shyly.

“Yes. Means I’m doing my job right. Means you’re getting ready to take me.”

His thumb pressed against your clit, and you nearly jerked off the couch. Your hips bucked, chasing his touch, your body burning for more. He started rubbing slow, deliberate circles. The feeling was like nothing you’d ever known. You couldn’t quite understand such pleasure. White-hot, intoxicating, overwhelming.

“Feels good, love?” he asked, his voice low and patient.

“I—it…” you moaned, breath hitching. “It feels weird.”

He chuckled softly. “Bad weird?”

“N-no… it’s good. K-keep doing it.”

“Just relax, love. Don’t think. Just feel.”

You closed your eyes and let yourself go. Let his fingers carry you. Let the warmth spread and grow and gather. You’d never known sex could feel like this. You’d been taught it was about biology—about duty, about giving men children. Never about this. About trembling and pleasure and the way your thighs started to shake as he circled your clit again and again.

Suddenly, the pressure snapped. It tore through you like a wave crashing against the shore. Your body arched, a ragged cry escaping your lips. You didn’t fully knew what was happening in your body, but you felt the world stopping for a second.

He slowed his fingers and leaned over you, smiling. “Jesus, you look like an angel when you’re cummin’.”

“I-I don’t know what that was,” you gasped, eyes still wide.

“You’ve never had an orgasm before?”

You shook your head.

“Did you like it?”

“It felt so intense… like nothing before. God, it was amazing.”

He beamed, proud and hungry. Then his tongue flicked out, dragging a long, wet stripe up your slit. You shivered violently. It felt filthy and perfect and everything in between.

His mouth was merciless—tongue exploring every inch of you with patient, devastating precision.

The wet, firm drag of his tongue against your hypersensitive skin sent you reeling again, your back bowing with a gasp. He didn’t rush—just tasted you, slow and deep, letting his tongue slip inside you before licking up to your clit again.

“Mmm, you taste amazin’,” he growled. “Delicious little cunt.”

“Joel… I want your—”

“I know. We’ll get there. But I need to work you a little more. Gonna be a good girl and let me use my fingers?”

“Y-yes.”

His middle finger circled your entrance before sliding in. You gasped, the stretch making your body tense.

“You’re so tight, baby. You gotta relax if you wanna take my cock.” His voice was low, guiding. “Just breathe���yeah… slow breaths. Just like that.”

You forced yourself to breathe, your chest rising and falling in shaky rhythm. He eased his finger in deep, letting it rest for a moment before starting to move, slow and steady. The rhythm was hypnotic. Each stroke of his finger brushed something deep inside you that made your toes curl. You could hear how wet you were, the slick sounds obscene in the quiet room.

Then he added a second.

You whimpered. The stretch burned—but it also made you moan. He pumped his fingers in and out, watching your face, gauging every sound, every twitch of your body. It was almost too much—so full, so thick inside you—but the burn was addictive. Your hips started to rock on instinct, needing more, desperate for what was coming.

“You think you can take another one, love?”

“Yes—yes, please, Joel.”

His third finger pressed in. Your walls clenched, thighs shaking. He curled them just right, searching until he found the spot that made you gasp. Then he kept hitting it, slow and focused, coaxing more slick out of you, letting you fall apart all over again.

“I think you’re ready, baby… you’re all pretty and opened up f’me.”

He sat back, unbuckled his belt, and dropped his pants and underwear. And then you saw it—his cock, thick, hard, flushed red at the tip, leaking clear fluid. Your breath caught.

The sight of it made your pulse thunder in your ears—huge and heavy and veined, the head glistening, twitching as he stroked himself.

“We can stop if you want.”

“I want to. Please. Keep going.”

“I know it looks scary, baby. But I promise I’ll be real gentle. I won’t hurt you.”

He stroked himself slowly, one—two—three slow strokes, then guided the leaking tip through your folds, slick gathering on his cock as he dragged it through your soaked heat, teasing your clit with the swollen head. You were dripping for him, open and trembling, your body aching for the stretch of him. He positioned himself on your sweet hole.

“Just breathe, okay? I’ve got you,” he said, his voice low and tender, a deep rumble that vibrated through your bones, steadying your nerves. And then he started to push in.

It was too much. Too big. Too overwhelming. The blunt pressure at your entrance forced your body to open inch by inch, your inner muscles fluttering in protest and desire. Your hands clawed at the couch cushions, closed eyes squeezing. Feeling the pain of being split open. It felt like pressure, heat, stretch—every inch of him pushing you wider, deeper, fuller. You couldn’t stop the little sob that slipped out.

“Oh god—shit,” he groaned. “You have no idea how fuckin’ good you feel. So warm and tight… Jesus—Tightest little cunt I’ve ever felt.”

You whimpered. your thighs shaking, chest rising and falling with short, gasping breaths.

“Are you alright, love?” he asked, voice thick with concern.

“I’m alright… don’t stop.”

He kept his thrusts slow, gentle, controlled. Each push was deliberate, patient, giving your body time to bloom around him. He didn’t rush. He wanted you to feel every second, every inch, to take him fully, sweetly.

Only the tip first, only a little at a time, inch by inch. Letting your body get used to him. He wanted you to have the best experience possible, wanted you to enjoy it.

“My love… so good f’me. Doing so good. Takin’ me so good… Letting me fill you up all full and nice.”He breathed, voice trembling with restraint.

He kept carefully slamming into you, scared to hurt you. But you adjusted to him slowly. Your body learned him, molded around him, grew greedy for the stretch.

“Takin’ your virginity like this—fuck, baby, you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me.” He murmured, brushing your hair from your face.

The pain began to blur into pleasure, enjoying the way he felt. The stretch faded into fullness. Every slow drag of his cock against your walls made you clench tighter, made your toes curl and mouth fall open. Each time he pulled out even slightly, your cunt ached to pull him back in, to feel that deep pressure again. You couldn’t believe something so big could fit inside you. Could feel so good.

“Harder, Joel,” you whispered. “Please… harder.”

And he gave it to you. Hips slamming forward, the sound of his skin smacking yours echoing in the room, wet and rhythmic.

“You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart. So damn brave, lettin’ me have this first. So proud of you.” He muttered, pride and hunger thick in his voice.

It was deeper now, his cock bottoming out inside you. Your body welcomed him with every thrust, greedy, slick, shaking. Your head lolled back against the couch cushion, lips parted in ecstasy.

“You take this cock like it was made to be inside you,” he grunted. “Your cunt was made to take me.”

The filthy praise made your walls flutter, your nails dragging down his back in helpless, desperate pleasure. His name spilled from your lips over and over as he rutted into you—hard, needy, like he was trying to pour himself into your soul.

“I’m close, baby… I’m really close,” he panted. “Gonna pull out—”

“Inside,” you said quickly, clutching at him. “Inside, Joel.”

His hips snapped forward one last time, and he groaned loud into your neck as he came, deep and hot, emptying himself inside you with everything he had, painting your walls in white. You felt every spasm of his cock, every pulse of heat flooding your core. It made you gasp, your body clenching tight around him, milking him dry.

He didn’t pull out. Not right away. He stayed deep inside you, cradling your body against his, like he couldn’t bear the thought of being apart even for a moment. His skin was damp with sweat, his breath warm against your temple. He just held you, breathing hard, brushing his fingers through your hair. Slow, soothing strokes, like he was trying to memorize the texture of you, anchor himself in the reality of what had just happened.

“You okay?” he asked softly. “I didn’t hurt you too bad, did I?”

“I’m good—I…” You suddenly felt overwhelmed, a flood of insecurity creeping in. “I’m sorry.”

“Hmm?” he murmured, looking down at you.

“I’m sorry. I know I wasn’t very good. I’ll get better and then—”

“No,” he said, cutting you off. “Don’t even think that. Not for a second.”

He cupped your face, stared into your eyes. There was nothing but honesty in them, nothing but fierce, protective love. As if he could see every ugly thing you believed about yourself and wanted to tear it all down.

“Doin’ this with you was the most amazin’ thing in the world.”

Then he kissed you. Your cheeks. Your nose. Your chin. Your forehead. Each kiss was slow, deliberate, meant to heal. To tell you wordlessly that you were enough. That you were everything.

“I promise you,” he whispered, “I’ve never felt this good. Not ever.”

You stayed there, without any rush, any care in the world. Just being in his arms, safe. The weight of him on you was grounding. Protective. As if nothing could touch you so long as he was near.

His heartbeat thudded slow and steady beneath your cheek, the warmth of his chest wrapping around you like a blanket, anchoring you to the moment. In that moment, nothing else mattered. The world outside, the weight of your past, the fear of the future—it all slipped away in the comfort of his hold.

“I don’t want you goin’ back there…with your parents,” his voice was soft, you could feel the tremble in it “Come live here with me.”

“As if they’d ever allow it,” you said quietly. You knew all the risks. Their control. Their wrath. The strings they’d pull. The shame they’d sling like daggers.

“Then let’s run away. Together. Just you and me, startin’ over somewhere else.”

“Joel—”

“No. Don’t Joel me. Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t do it. You’ll be free, we’ll be happy together.”

“Because you’ll get bored of me. And you’ll leave me. And then I’ll be all alone.”

The confession fell from your lips before you could stop it, your voice cracking under the weight of your deepest fear. It was the kind of truth you never meant to say out loud, the kind that lived in the corners of your mind and poisoned everything good. The words felt like blood drawn from a wound you thought you’d hidden well. Your throat tightened. Eyes burned. You couldn’t look at him.

“Did they tell you that? Did they make you believe that bullshit?” He said it with anger—not at you, never at you—but at them. His voice was shaking, laced with fury that anyone had made you feel so small, so disposable. He hated the ones who planted that fear in your head like poison. His jaw clenched, and you felt it where your cheek rested on his chest. His hands were gentle even as his voice shook.

“Baby, I love you more than I love myself. What do I have to do to convince you?”

His hands braided your hair softly. Each motion was careful, reverent, like he was weaving pieces of you back together. Undoing all the harm they’d done, knot by knot. Each stroke of his fingers through your strands was a vow. The kind of tenderness you’d never been given. Not once. You closed your eyes and let the slow rhythm calm you, ground you.

“You’re the most important thing in my life, my top priority. All I want is to keep you safe and happy. You know I’d do anything for you.”

“When?” you asked him, barely above a whisper. The question trembled in the air like a fragile thing.

“You pack your things and let me worry about the rest. I’ve got you.” His voice was low, full of certainty. Not a single hesitation. Just a promise, and you knew, right then, he’d burn the world to keep you safe with him.

And part of you wanted him to. Wanted to watch him light the match, watch it all go up in flames, just so you could finally be free—with him.

A/N: Soo, to the person who requested this, I really hope i didn’t let you down and it was everything you wanted and more. Thank you so much for your request!!🫶🫶

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[joelsfavouritegirl]

pre-outbreak joel hcs because i’m bored out of my mind and fantasising about this man is 10x better than studying<33 (and because pixel joel deserves all the love in the world, my bb is barely on tumblr anymore since the show came out)

. opens doors for you, doesn’t matter where or when. you’re getting out of the car? he’s already on the passenger side, tugging the door handle open. you’re about to enter some building? he’s already pulling/pushing the door handle open, that small smile on his lips as he steps aside to let you in first, his hand by reflex guiding you in on the small of your back

. ALSO CAN WE TALK ABOUT HIS HANDS, on you at all times wherever whenever. i definitely think joel isn’t a huge fan of pda (he prefers keeping you to himself, i’ll die on this hill if i have to), but ohmygod his hands are always lingering. the small of your back as he leads you somewhere, your waist if it’s cold out or you just happen to be close to him, an arm over your shoulder as you walk/sit, it’s to fucking die forrr

. wouldn’t know how to cook shit (as confirmed by Tommy in tlou2). burns every possible thing he can, would barely be able to flip a pancake if you asked him to. he’d panic like a little kid left alone at the cash register, fumbling with the pan and spatula before it all somehow ends up on the countertop (or the floor).

however, a steak or grilled cheese from this man? all your problems are solved, it’s like he switches to some chef alter-ego whenever you ask him to make it. also acts like it’s the most non-chalant thing ever, trying to ignore the fact that he can’t cook to save his life yet he can make a grilled cheese you’d choose as your last meal if you could.

“holy shit… this is so good?!”

he’s just staring at you, confused at the shock on your face, “is… that a bad thing, sweets?”

“no, not at all. it’s just… this is fuckin’ delicious and… well, your history with cooking isn’t really the best, y’know?”

“shut up,” and he’s biting off half of your sandwich, chuckling as you swat him away annoyedly.

. also can we talk about this? mr let-me-have-a-bite-and-proceeds-to-eat-the-whole-thing Miller. is it like a universal dad thing or smth?

can’t trust him with cooking, can’t trust him with food at all really. it doesn’t really matter what you have (ice cream, a sandwich, some drink you just bought, he’ll eat anything), you can bet your ass he’s probably gonna ask you if he can have a bite/sip of it.

“no,” you retort, tucking the smoothie you bought from the stand literally five seconds ago behind your back, “you won’t like it. you’re just gonna drink the whole thing and i won’t have anything left.”
“c’mon sweets, you know i ain’t like that,” his hand is on his hip, a knowing smirk on his lips as he tries to defend himself/gaslight you (quite badly), “just a small sip. i promise. nothin’ more.”

and of course you cave. how could you not when he’s looking at you expectantly with those pretty hazel eyes you adore so much?

and the moment you hand him the drink half the liquid is gone. his lips wrap around the straw, practically inhaling the fucking thing. your face contorts, something in between shock and annoyance as he hands you back the now mostly empty cup.

“tastes like shit,” he remarks, tucking you under his arm.

love this man to death, idk how naughty dog makes pixels this attractive<33 would gladly share all my food with him and more

[daydreamingmiller]

joel miller in the last of us part one [7/?]

[joelscowgirl69]

IM SICKKKK this was so beautiful omgg🥹 im crying

never truly gone

pairings joel miller x reader

summary after a year of joel's death, the weight of his absence lingered, but in the quiet streets of jackson, amidst the fading light and the familiar strum of his guitar, you found him again—not in memory, but in something real, something whole, in the afterlife.

tags pure sadness, you and joel together with sarah reunite. heavily unedited.

masterlist

the pain was unbearable. it wrapped around you like a vice, suffocating, unrelenting. every breath came ragged, every movement slower than the last.

joel had been gone for a year. a whole year without him. you had fought to survive, fought to live in the world he left behind because that’s what he would have wanted.

you thought of joel’s house in jackson. it was warm then, before everything fell apart.

you could still see the soft glow of the evening sun slipping through the windows, casting golden light across the hardwood floors. that home was more than just walls and furniture.

it was laughter, late-night talks, love. it was joel.

you could almost hear his voice again, murmuring stories about sarah, the daughter he lost too soon, the wound he carried but never quite healed.

you remembered the way he traced the edges of her worn photograph, his fingers reverent.

"she had the brightest smile, lit up the whole damn place."

you had been careless. just for a moment. a single misstep in the chaos of the infected. as its rotting teeth sank deep into your arm before you could react.

the pain was sharp, burning, spreading like fire through your veins.

after much convincing, ellie pulled the trigger straight into your skull with very much pain and regret. you didn't want them to see you roaming around as an infected and of course they wouldn't want the same.

you opened your eyes and blinked, adjusting to the glow. you were back at jackson.

sarah.

the recognition was immediate.

she stood before you, her kind eyes filled with understanding. she was no longer just the girl in joel’s faded photograph. she was real.

"you’re finally here," she said gently.

your breath hitched, emotions flooding through you.

"sarah..." she stepped closer, reaching out. her touch was feather-light, grounding you in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. then, she smiled, a small, knowing smile.

"ever since my dad arrived, he’s talked about you nonstop. about how much you meant to him, how much he loved you." she paused, laughing softly, eyes glimmering. "he told me i’d like you."

your throat tightened, unable to process the weight of those words.

"and do you?"

sarah’s fingers tightened around yours, comforting. "i already do."

"we’ve been watching you, you know. dad and i. every day."

your breath caught in your throat. she continued, her voice soft with affection.

"even when you thought you were alone, you weren’t. dad wouldn’t let that happen. i wouldn’t let that happen."

tears welled in your eyes.

then, from somewhere ahead, the faint strum of a guitar floated through the air.

you stopped. sarah did too.

the sound was familiar, achingly so. the melody was slow, deliberate, each chord stretching into the next like a whispered confession. it was joel’s song. the one he always played when he thought no one was listening.

sarah’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening around yours.

"it’s him," she whispered.

the two of you followed the sound, drawn to it like a pulse, like a lifeline. the notes grew clearer, richer, guiding you through the winding streets until you finally saw him—joel, sitting on the porch, his guitar resting comfortably against his leg, fingers plucking at the strings like it was second nature.

he looked up, meeting your gaze. the music didn’t stop.

sarah squeezed your hand, smiling softly.

"dad’s been waiting for you," she murmured.

your throat tightened, everything inside you unraveling at once.

joel gave you that familiar, knowing look—warm, steady, grounding. and as the song carried on, winding through the quiet of jackson, you realized—

he had never really left. not in the ways that mattered. not in the ways that counted.

"hey, sweetheart."

the sound shattered you. a choked sob escaped, your body moving before you could think. you stumbled toward him, eyes blurring, heart pounding.

he stood up and caught you, holding you tight, gripping the back of your head like he couldn’t bear to let go.

"i’m here," he murmured, voice thick with emotion.

"i’ve been waiting for you."

your fingers curled into his shirt, your whole body trembling.

"i tried so hard, joel. i tried to stay strong, but it was" your voice broke "it was so damn hard without you." joel swallowed hard, his grip tightening.

"i know, sweetheart. i know."

you pulled back, looking into his eyes, searching for something, confirmation that this wasn’t just another dream, another cruel trick of your mind.

"i missed you so much," you whispered, voice barely holding together. joel exhaled shakily, lifting a hand to brush your hair back like he’d done so many times before.

"i missed you too. more than i can ever say." his hand trembled as he cupped your face, thumb running gently over your cheek, wiping away the tears you couldn’t hold back

"i hated watching you struggle," joel whispered. "seeing you hurt, alone. every day, i wanted to pull you into my arms, tell you it was gonna be okay."

"you wouldn’t let me give up, would you?"

joel shook his head, smiling through his own tears.

"damn right i wouldn’t."

sarah stepped beside him, looking at you with warmth. "see? told you he wouldn’t shut up about you."

joel chuckled softly, squeezing your arms. "she’s not wrong."

you blinked at him, overwhelmed by everything, the love, the pain, the relief.

"i thought i’d never see you again," you whispered. joel’s expression softened, voice rough with love. "you always were stubborn." he pulled you close again, resting his chin on the top of your head.

"but i told you, didn’t i? i’m never really gone." you let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes against his warmth, against the safety of him.

then, joel pulled back slightly, holding your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears. his gaze was soft, filled with quiet affection.

"smile for me," he murmured.

the words broke you completely.

you let out a choked laugh between the tears, shaking your head. "i can’t."

joel tilted his head, giving you that familiar, teasing look, the one you thought you’d never see again.

"yeah, you can." his forehead rested against yours, his voice no more than a whisper.

"you always could."

you tried. tried for him. tried for sarah. tried for yourself. and as your lips curled into the smallest, most fragile smile,

joel exhaled shakily, relief pouring into his expression.

"there she is," he said. but instead of letting go, his arms tightened around you.

"we’re finally together," joel whispered, his voice trembling.

sarah stepped forward, tears shining in her eyes, looking between the two of you.

without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around both of you, pressing herself into the embrace.

joel held you both like he never planned to let go again.

after all the loss, you were whole again. and this time, nothing would take him away from you.

[sperya]

When lost in darkness, look for the light, The Last of Us

[aldoongamer]

"WARNING: The Last of Us Remastered Part 1 - Prepare for Heartbreak!" Gameplay PS5 full HD 60fps

[cosmolog]

Just finished playing The Last of Us part 1 and the ending gets me every time. I love this game.

[kirsteng42]

Game Joel’s arms and hands are amazing!!!!!

oh my god