basically here to read and repost pedro pascal content i had to make a tumblr account (again lol) bc i had irls on twitter so i couldn't repost fanfics there oops 25 yo
This is how it feels writing a 12k joel miller x reader that was mostly developed during office hours, and was born from me being bored and miserable:
Anyways, i still don't know if it's finished as i wanted to give it a different ending initially but kinda like the current one, and need to polish it cause there are some parts where im not so happy with the writing, but i'm getting there😁
Some details:
Reader is a farm girlie and joel is a hunter who suddenly appears one day with blood on his hands, holding a dangerous secret.
Update: i have so many more ideas i think I’m gonna reshape it a little, and rewrite it where i don’t really like the wording, which takes time🫣 i don’t know when it will be finished, as work usually makes me wanna d word by the end of each day, but i’m sooo excited and cannot wait to shaire it!!!! I had some freaky ideas on the train i need to get on paper
This is how it feels writing a 12k joel miller x reader that was mostly developed during office hours, and was born from me being bored and miserable:
Anyways, i still don't know if it's finished as i wanted to give it a different ending initially but kinda like the current one, and need to polish it cause there are some parts where im not so happy with the writing, but i'm getting there😁
Some details:
Reader is a farm girlie and joel is a hunter who suddenly appears one day with blood on his hands, holding a dangerous secret.
I have like 4k words but im struggligg so much😭😭😭 not even the half of the story is ready, will i finish it or will it finish me that is the question. This is going to be a SLOW burn y’all, very very slowww
I have like 4k words but im struggligg so much😭😭😭 not even the half of the story is ready, will i finish it or will it finish me that is the question. This is going to be a SLOW burn y’all, very very slowww
When you decided to take a short nap in the afternoon in hopes that it would help with your unbearable headache, you didn’t expect to wake up in the evening to the sight of Reed hovering above you, brown eyes darker in the poorly lit room, studying your face carefully. You jumped slightly back, startled by his form.
“Jesus, Reed,” you sighed, trying to calm your racing heart as you pushed yourself into a sitting position, your head resting against the backboard of your shared bed. “Don’t you ever do this again.”
“Sorry, baby. You left out today’s dinner, so I brought some for you,” he said, gesturing at the tray he set down on the nightstand before he got too caught up in your sleeping form. “But I didn’t want to wake you up because you looked too peaceful.”
“That sounds weird.”
“What?”
“Watching me while I’m sleeping,” you answered and scooted to the side to make room for him. He took this as an invitation, and immediately climbed in next to you, his plaid pajamas already hiding his body as he pulled the covers over both of you. He reached out to pick up your dinner, holding it out for you to take.
“I was just admiring my beautiful wife. Talking about beautiful,” he started, leaning in to take a closer look at your face. “Do you still have makeup on?”
“Yeah, forgot to wash it off, but I’ll do it after I eat,” you mumbled as you picked up your fork and started to eat, careful that you wouldn’t leave any crumbs or grease on the sheets because you knew how Reed loved to keep his space clean and organised. Mostly his lab where he spent most of his days, but he loved tidy things nonetheless.
When you glanced to the side you caught the way he stretched his arm, reaching into the bathroom to retrieve a makeup cleanser and some cotton swabs. You stopped chewing for a moment, looking at him in confusion, but he just took the plate from you, placing it back on the nightstand, and he poured some cleanser onto the cotton.
“Reed, you don’t—” you tried to protest, but he shut you up with a soft and quick kiss. You melted into his body, eyes closing and only his warmth remaining.
“But I want to,” he pulled back, and started to wash down your makeup. You relished the way he took care of you so softly, his hand holding your jaw tenderly while the cotton was gliding smoothly against your skin. His face was so close that his breath was fanning against your cheek, concentration etched on his face, not wanting to screw this up. Not that it’s easy to mess up taking a makeup off, but you knew him well, knew how maximalist he is.
“Did you know that if you don’t wash off your makeup, it can clog your pores? It can cause irritation and even dryness or oiliness with the passing time. Also, your mascara can cause infections too if you leave it up or forget that it’s on,” he started to ramble, his brain switching into scientific mode again.
“Reed…” you warned him, but he just continued both his movements and his thoughts he had to give out of himself.
“It can break down collagen too which leads to more wrinkles. Not that you have a lot of wrinkles, I didn’t mean it like that. You always wash it off, or if you forget then I’m always here to remind you. But if you want to, I can come up with some kind of cream for it too, you just—” he was cut off by another kiss from you, this time a harder and more desperate one. The cotton swab fell from his fingers, his hand finding the back of your neck. When he leaned into the kiss, chasing more of you, you pulled back and glanced at him.
“Reed, it’s alright! You’re already overworking yourself, even though you say you don’t.”
“I’m just saying that if you want me to, then I can do it,” he said with his puppy eyes, throwing away the dirty cotton swabs and putting the cleanser back into the bathroom.
“I’m not going to argue over this. But I’ll start an argument if you don’t give back my dinner,” your tone was serious, and he quickly gave you back your plate. “Thank you!”
“Of course, baby. I wouldn't want to see you get upset, but I have to say that you’re cute when you do,” he said as he closed off the conversation, and laid down next to you, his arms stretching so he could hug around your whole body. It was a habit of yours, falling asleep every night like this, and you wouldn’t wish for things to be different.
Tags (let me know if you'd like to be added or if you don't want to be tagged anymore): @bergamote-catsandbooks, @rosharanfiction, @cozymochaa, @misstokyo7love, @canonisoptional, @picketniffler, @harriedandharassed
I'm so excited omg after i get payed (which is like one more week i think) i'm gonna go and get an ipad!!!! I really need a tablet cause i'm tired of bringing my laptop with me everywhere and it will be so much more comfortable to read on that one yayyyyy!!!
I've never had an apple device so it will surely take some getting used to haha
Summary: Joel's exhausted by the time he makes it to bed. But when a pretty little thing crawls in beside him, he finds the time for you, just like he always does.
Warnings: +18 MDNI, post outbreak, jackson!joel, unspecified age difference, joel pov, porn no plot, dry humping, slow and soft sex, smut with feelings, internalized shame, intimacy, unprotected piv, clit stimulation, kissing
Note: i haven't written for joel in monthsss but i hope you enjoy!!
WC: 2k
[masterlist] [AO3]
Joel’s the kind of exhausted that only comes with age.
Weary bones, heavy limbs, tired eyes.
He’s falling into bed as soon as he gets home, often forfeiting dinner in favor of blissful rest. Sometimes even before the sun’s fully set.
And today is just one of those days. He’d spent the night tossing and turning, trying to massage away a kink in his neck that persisted well into the afternoon. But he hadn’t had time to complain or think too much about how excited he was to crawl back beneath the sheets, because the northernmost barn was falling to pieces.
So, not only was he functioning half empty from the start, but the work today was also strenuous. Sawing raw timber to the perfect length, sanding down the sharp edges, hammering nails into plywood. A full day.
And when Denise had stopped him on his way home, waving him down with a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade in hand, she’d given him that bright, hopeful smile and said, “Little Sammy ran that damn bike into the back door again. Would you mind fixing the hinges?”
His back ached and his knees were creaky, but Joel soon found himself knelt on Denise’s porch, screwdriver and fresh nails in hand.
It didn’t take long, but it did take every last scrap of energy that remained inside of him.
Joel’s house was always quiet. Too big for him, really. Ellie was in the garage already, lights still on, up too late when she had early patrol the following morning. But Joel didn’t have it in him to remind her how important sleep was. Not when he was running on fumes himself.
So he dragged those tired, old bones inside. Kicked off his boots and jeans right at the door of his room, hung his flannel over the back of the chair at his work bench, and let out a long sigh as he climbed beneath icy cotton sheets.
He’s half asleep, eyes closed and muscles sinking into the mattress, when he hears it.
The click of the latch on the unlocked front door. The creak of your careful steps as you climb the stairs.
Joel feels you before he sees you. Too exhausted to pull himself out of blissful almost-sleep. The mattress dips beneath your weight, limbs outstretched, seeking him out of instinct.
This isn’t the first time this has happened. Not the first time you’ve found yourself peering out of your window next door waiting for him to get home. Not the first time you’ve ended up in his bed or in his arms.
And Joel knows he should put a stop to it—you’re too young, too sweet, too…good.
But he’s too worn out to fight his impulses. He’s tried for months to keep his thoughts pure when you cross his mind, but it’s been a losing battle from the start.
Especially when you’re like this. Warm and soft, pressed up against his side, wearing an old t-shirt he’d let you borrow the night before and not much else. A comfort that feels more like home than this house does.
The tips of your fingers tickle his forearm, rousing him just enough that he lifts the heavy limb so you can crawl right into his embrace.
Joel holds you tight. He always does. Biceps big and strong around your shoulders. He holds you like he might lose you tomorrow, because there’s a part of him that fears one day you’ll wake up and see something you don’t like.
He worries you’ll begin to see him for what he is; old, weary, tired. Not even half the man he used to be. Not half the man you deserve.
But for tonight at least, you still wear those rose tinted glasses. Pressing sweet kisses to his face; his nose, his forehead, his cheeks. Nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, making cute, whiny noises at the back of your throat. Like you’re desperate, unable to get close enough despite every inch being pressed against him, leg hooked over his hips.
You find a comfortable position and still beside him, letting out the same sort of long sigh Joel did just moments ago. But you don’t sleep—your breathing doesn’t even out, your muscles don’t go slack.
Joel knows what you need. Long before your hips tilt, before you press your center against his thigh, before you whisper his name in the dark.
“S’okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice deep and dark and sleepy. “C’mere.”
He reaches over and brackets his arm around your waist to drag you on top of him, your center already warm and wanting.
It’s starting to get out of hand, he knows. Starting to become a routine. But Joel doesn’t have many sweet thing in his life, not anymore, and he finds you near impossible to resist. “I’ve got you,” he says. “Take what ya need.”
You lay against his chest, ear pressed right over his heart. Joel kisses the crown of your head when your hips begin to tilt, rubbing yourself against the steadily growing bulge beneath the thin fabric of his boxers.
Soft, wanton sighs leave you at the sensation, and even with a barrier still between you he can feel your clit pulse against the underside of his cock.
Needy little thing you are. But Joel doesn’t mind—he likes the feeling. Of being needed, wanted. Especially by a girl as sweet as you.
You grind on top of him for a while. Not seeking release, not yet. Just feeling the hard warmth of him beneath you, savoring the weight of his big hands stroking softly up and down the expanse of your back.
He can feel your arousal growing with each pass, wetness slowly seeping through his boxers, slick and sticky. Joel nudges you gently with the tip of his nose, the prickly hairs of his mustache tickling the side of your face. “C’mon, sweet girl. Let’s get this shirt off, hm?”
When you nod, you pull yourself up tiredly. The movement is slow and thick like molasses, so Joel uses the last of his energy to help you.
His hands find the hem of the oversized t-shirt and pull it upwards, over your head to be discarded on the floor beside his bed. It leaves you completely naked, bared for him in more ways than one.
In an instant, you fall back against him, breasts pressed up against his chest. Your skin feels cool against his, smooth and pillowy. “S’warm,” you mutter, rubbing the side of your cheek against the coarse hair that litters his chest, graying in some places.
Joel’s cock throbs beneath you, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He just lets you settle back down and allows you to rest. His hands wander, though, the way they always do.
Sliding down your back, over the sides of your thighs, thumbs massaging gentle circles. He strokes his fingers gently back up to your shoulders and then brings them down your arms, smiling when he sees goosebumps rise in his wake.
When they settle back at your hips, his touch is a little more eager. Kneading at the softness, inching over the curve of your ass until that’s all his hands are filled with.
Joel loves touching you. Not just suggestively, but intimately. He loves feeling the closeness and the trust you put in him to take care of you, to keep you safe, to make you feel good.
He massages the supple flesh, holding you close, until his need for you begins to grow teeth, gnawing at his psyche.
Joel knows he shouldn’t. He knows that.
But he’s just so tired, and you’re so soft. Gentle and kind. And you make him feel loved—something Joel Miller has not felt for a very, very long time.
He guides you with his hands gripping at your curves, sliding your slick cunt over his aching cock. His breath feels hollow, stuck in his lungs.
When he lifts upward, just a little, enough to provide a little extra pressure, you mewl in response.
Joel is quick to soothe, shushing softly into your ear. “Shh, you’re alright. Hang on, sweet girl. M’right here.”
He knows what you need. It’s become a nightly ritual at this point. You come to him seeking connection, seeking the comfort of an older man. Most nights you just need to be held, to be nurtured, to be loved the way you deserve.
But other nights, Joel knows you need a little more. A connection that runs a little deeper.
He reaches beneath you, hooking his thumbs in the elastic band of his boxers and tugging them down his tired legs. Just enough to free his cock, already hard as stone just from your proximity.
Joel pulls your forward, up his torso, giving himself room to line his length up with your entrance.
He slides in real easy.
You’re already soaked, dripping with arousal. And the moment he’s fully seated inside you, stretching you real wide, filling up your belly, you let out a breathy whine.
It feels right, being here like this with you. It feels like coming home.
Joel moves you slowly, guiding each roll of your hips, slowing you down when you try to pick up the pace.
There’s no rush. Not here, not with him. He’ll get you there. He’ll get you what you need. What’s the sense in hurrying through it?
He wants to savor it. The feel of your sweet, soft pussy, clenching and leaking around his length. The way your stuttering breath tickles his skin. The way your hands grip him harder and harder, holding him impossibly closer.
He wants to savor the way you love him.
“Gimme a kiss, baby,” he whispers in the dark.
You turn your head, just enough so that he can press his lips to yours. In this, too, Joel moves painfully slow.
It’s not a claiming, it’s an exploration. His lips move against yours, memorizing the feel of them, the shape and the taste. He slowly licks into your mouth, tongue gliding against yours, breathing in your exhalation.
The building coil around his spine is anything but slow, however. He loves being here with you maybe a little too much. He loves you a little too much.
Joel thrust upwards, keeping a steady, unforgiving rhythm while he slides his hand between you. His fingers search blindly for your clit and he finds it in seconds, circling those slow, tight circles around the pulsing nerves.
Your sounds grow louder, release building. The sound of your joining echoes in the empty room, slick and wet and feverish.
He knows your close when you start manually breathing—lungs stuttering, chasing the delicious relief that only he can provide.
“You got it,” he encourages. “S’right there, baby. Give it to me.”
Your eyes stay locked to his, lips parting on a jagged moan. You don’t say anything; no warning, no begging. You just feel it, feel him, moving deep inside you, fucking you through it.
“That’s it,” he says, voice all soft and warm the way it only ever is when he speaks to you. “There you go.”
He doesn’t stop until you find the natural rhythm of oxygen again, until the shaking in your thighs relents to an easy tremble.
Joel feels that white-hot coil beginning to spool within himself, and pulls out of you with just enough time to shoot thick ropes of cum over your pubic bone.
He thrusts the underside of his cock through your syrupy folds, a gentle rocking until he’s spent. He somehow finds the energy for a few extra thrusts, smearing his release over your clit.
You don’t move an inch, and Joel doesn’t want you to.
Instead, you just lay there on top of him, sticky mess between you, your head resting delicately on his chest.
When you reach up to card your fingers through his graying hair, Joel feels his muscles go completely slack, tension bleeding from his weary bones.
“M’sorry I woke you up,” you say, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I know you were tired.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Joel says, and he means it. “I’ll always have time for you."
Rating: +18, MDNI, there’s nothing explicit but I don’t want minors on my blog so yeah.
WC: 643
Summary: feeling him embrace you from behind, steady and ardent, warming you on Jackson’s dark, freezing nights, gives you a sense of security that nothing has ever given you before. You can’t fall as long as he holds you tight.
A/N: first thing I finished writing since middle May lol it’s just a little drabble I wrote thinking about sleeping with the man of our dreams. Not edited, any mistake is mine. English is not my first language. Thanks for reading ♥️
dividers by @/saradika-graphics
Joel is warmth.
Warmth in your heart. Warmth on your cheeks. Warmth in your tummy. Warmth between your legs.
Every molecule in your body seems to be on fire. Every thought that crosses your mind. Because everything inside you melts, loses its shape to merge with his, bends and transforms to welcome him.
What Joel radiates isn’t just sensual heat, driven by impulses, by desire, by the mere sight of his features that seem drawn by a painter and sculpted by Michelangelo’s hand.
It’s not just that. It’s the way he makes you feel.
Safe.
In a nest where nothing bad can happen. Where you can let your guard down, lick your wounds, and show your vulnerability. It’s the warmth of a home you’ve chosen to live in together; it’s the comfort of a fireplace he installed just because you asked him to; it’s the dark, warm wood he used to build your bed. Solid, sturdy, reliable wood. Just like him.
Joel is like that. His love is all-encompassing, it knows no lukewarmness, no cold, nothing but burning fire, life, a heart beating fast, a broken voice, trembling legs, your bitten lips, your parched throat, hot tears streaming down your cheeks, and stammered pleas as he lies on top of you.
And God, feeling him embrace you from behind, steady and ardent, warming you on Jackson’s dark, freezing nights, gives you a sense of security that nothing has ever given you before. You can’t fall as long as he holds you tight. No scraped knees on the ice, no bruises, no cuts.
The effort you put in, the losses you faced, and everything you’ve been through have led you to him, where the feisty, ever-alert person you forced yourself to be can finally relax and let go.
The feeling of his skin, mostly covered by just a pair of boxers, on yours is more than just a turn-on.
And not only you he make room for his warmth. He welcomed your cold. He extinguished his own.
He put out the fury, the raging fire and left the warmth.
And it's a wonderful accord, your skins colliding, your lips seeking each other, your hands intertwining. And everything is calm in the urgency of having him. Everything is possible, exciting, alluring.
It is orange and pink like a sunset, silent and quiet like a sunrise.
It's as reassuring as his crooked smile and the little dimple that appears on his cheek. It's captivating like his eyes, which observe and study every inch of you, it's as steady and sure as his hands, which hold you grounded.
It's a pleasant tingling sensation, like his beard tickling your neck when he kisses you, like when you wrap your hand around the nape of his neck and encounter those little, soft curls at the base.
It's imperfect but as real and precious as every mark you carry, the softness of his belly, the wrinkles, the rough knuckles, the calluses, the marks of every time you both survived and fought to hold on to something that ultimately led you here.
Together you are understanding, patience, acceptance, trust, a warm breath of life that has lifted both of you out of misery and loneliness.
When you fall asleep next to Joel, you feel nothing but warmth. His skin, his flesh, blood flowing through his veins. Feeling him wrap you in sleep, one of his arm draped around your waist, the other one caressing your hair, his lips kissing the crown of your head, is like something primal and wonderful where you can truly feel that you no longer need any armor, as if those “no’s” you always say could only turn into “yes.” As if all the “I can’t”s you murmur to yourself had no choice but to become “I can do it.”
Npt: @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @sawymredfox @mcthsman @baronessvonglitter @ess-evo @tateypots @hanahleah @broad-shouldrs @peepawmiller @rosharanfiction @missadangel @joelmillerspnk let me know if you want to be added or removed, I’ll do it right away.
Mandalor Din Djarin, who never wanted the throne of the newly re- established planet of Mandalore, but accepted his responsibilities for the sake of his people, even going as far as to agree to an arranged marriage with you, the daughter of a high end political figure of a neighbouring planet, all in the name of good relations. Who, on the wedding day barely spoke to you (beyond what was expected), as it was obvious you weren't happy about this union either. Who, on the wedding night lead you to the royal suit, and when you began to tremble, assured you he would never force you to do anything you're not comfortable with, then, removed his helmet and turned his back to you in your shared bed to show you he means you no harm.
Mandalor Din Djarin, who tried to make these changes as easy as possible for both of you, giving you space when you didn't have to deal with royal responsibilities together or make public appearances. Who sometimes feels just as trapped as you, often longing for his simpler days of bounty hunting. Who accepts you both have to make the best of this situation and, after a period of adjustment, began to initiate simple conversations with you at dinner times in hopes to understand you better and vice versa. Who slowly began to see the quick witted woman beneath the "proper lady" image you no doubt had been groomed to present your entire life, and began to enjoy the exchanges every evening, and noticed that you too, had began to relax in his presence and even offer him genuine smiles; smiles he had not prepared himself for and made a warmth in his chest bloom every time.
Mandalor Din Djarin, who always makes sure to ask your opinion on matters of state during official meetings- against the whispered advice of some advisors, who'd implied you should just be there to "Look the part" and nothing more. Who had begun to value your input more than certain council members and makes no secret of it. Who, erupts in fury when one of the members dares to publicly disrespect your authority- calling you a foreign acquisition, who's sole purpose is to produce Mandalorian heirs. Who doesn't think twice before un-leashing the Dark Sabre and holding so close to the man's throat he can smell the skin burning, warning everyone present that the next time anyone dares to disrespect his Riddur, their Queen, heads will literally roll. Who'd dismissed the room and only begun to calm down when your hand settled on the un-armoured part of his shoulder and, instead of calling him "My Lord" (as you always had), you simply called him Din.
Mandalor Din Djarin, who didn't expect the shift between you both since that moment in the council chambers. Who found himself drawing closer to you as the weeks went on, noticing that you seemed just as receptive to him as he is to you. Who, on a number of occasions detected your rising pulse and quickening heartbeat through his helmet's sensors when you looked at him for too long. Who had woken up early one morning to find you, not sleeping on your side of the bed, but on his bare chest, his arm finding the curve of your waist in his sleep. Who dared not move, lest he wake you and ruin this surprisingly perfect moment. Who realised with startling clarity that, despite the rocky start of this arranged marriage, he'd fallen hopelessly in love with his Queen and he suspects you may feel the same way.
Mandalor Din Djarin, who, after an unexpected attack on the still growing capital city, almost lost you to an ambush while you were escorting the foundlings to a safe room. Who viciously cut down every enemy in his path to get to you, and only when the doctor had assured him you'd suffered no injury, did he drop to his knees in front of you in the privacy of your bed chamber, rip his helmet off and confess his love for you. Who's heart swelled when you dropped to your knees with him and through rolling tears, cupped his face and cried that you love him too! Who, that night made tender love to you in the marital bed, slipping into euphoria as he pulled orgasm after orgasm from your shuddering body. Who worshiped every inch of you and received just as much reverence from you in return as you both drowned in the intimacy of one another. Who held you while you slept, stroking his hand up and down your bare shoulder and felt, for the first time since becoming Mandalor, that as long as he has you by his side, maybe he can do this job after all.
