Discover Top Posts Tagged with #pedro smut

Ain’t no other man

Summary: On his sixtieth birthday, Joel can’t help but feel the weight of his years. For just one night, he wants to forget the number — and with you, remember what it feels like to be young again.

Pairing: Husband! Old man! Joel x Wife! reader

WC: 1.6k

Warning: 18+, smut, vulnerability, lots of pet names.

"when it's your turn, I hope you do a little better than me"

Joel you’re literally the father everyone would want, you have done so much more than better.

The Night We Met

Based on this lovely request, enjoy :))

Pedro meets a pretty young woman at a bar who seems to have no idea who he is. Intrigued by this, he ends up hooking up with you. Months into your relationship, you have something to confess.

Contains: smut, p in v, consensual protected sex, condoms, age gap (50&29), oral sex (f receiving), fingering, feral!Pedro, lying, angst, crying, bad conscience about age gap, bodily fluids, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, mild dom/sub dynamic, reassurance, aftercare, fluff, love confessions, nervousness, mild pain during sex, comfort

Wordcount: 12,656

Masterlist Wanna be on my taglist?

ok I don’t know what kind of au this would be in but I had a fantasy/vision this morning and I need to share it with SOMEONE. kinda freaky so bear with me.

picture this: maybe joel and reader have a couple kids. maybe he’s been feeling a bit insecure lately about him getting older, feeling self conscious about his tummy and his grey hair and maybe the fact that he’s losing a bit of stamina oops. then one day the kids are being badly behaved and he puts his foot down and reader gets so hot and bothered by him being discipline daddy and she knows he’s been feeling a lil insecure so later when they’re alone she lets him know that the things that make him look like a full blown dad are the things that make her the horniest and she says something like “when you put your foot down with the kids… it reminded me of the days when you used to punish me” and they do sex to one another and she gets spankings and light chokes and wifey reminds him she’ll always be his bad girl and he reminds her how bad girls get punished and hey by the way take my phone away

── Put your foot down.

no outbreak.

Pairing: Oldman!Joel Miller x wife!Reader

Content warnings: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. age gap (60s/20s), pet names, Daddy kink, aging insecurity, emotional reassurance, spanking, possessive/domestic sex, light chocking, praise & dirty talk, soft obsession, dom!Joel, sub!reader, Established Relationship

Word count: 1.194

A blurb since Joel Miller and dumbification have been simultaneously on my mind for a few days;

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apprx. 500 wrds.

mdni; dumbification, pet names, degradation, sloppy!joel miller

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"C'mon, baby, you ain't got a thang to say?"

Shit, you wish you did. The only things roaming through your voided head were pleasure, Joel's name, and the slow drag of his cock which made its mark among your bruised cervix.

Joel purrs out with his languid tongue, his breaths heavy along the back on your sweaty neck. He continues to tortuously lick and slobber along your shoulders like a dog. His cock dragged in and out of your cunt like you were his own fleshlight.

Whiskey Bent and Heaven Bound

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

Summary: She’s been riding his nerves for years, but when she waltzes into his bar in that little dress, pushing every damn button, Joel’s patience snaps. One jealous glare, one bar fight, and one heated moment against his truck later—he’s finally got his hands on the one thing he was never supposed to have. She may be forbidden, but tonight, she’s his to break.

Warnings: 18+ afab and fem reader, p in v sex, dbf fic, unspecified age gap, no description of reader but has big boobs and ass, dirty talk, no use of y/n, unsafe sex, oral (f! receiving), creampie, degradation, praise kink.

Word count: 3.5k

Joel Miller had never been a patient man.

Life had never given him the luxury of it. He had worked with his hands since he was young, learned early on that the world didn’t give second chances. He was a man of discipline, a man who knew how to keep his head down and his wants buried.

But she was making it damn near impossible.

She had been a teenager the first time he met her, trailing after her father, all wide eyes and laughter, running barefoot in the summer heat. He had watched her grow up, watched her turn into the kind of woman who could bring a man to his knees.

And now, she was back.

Older. Smarter. Dangerous.

Desperation and starvation (smut)

Sorry I haven’t posted in a while - got caught up in Christmas and work

Since y’all liked my last Joel miller smut - I’m back with another one!

“A man who yearns is a man who earns”

Warning: 18+, explicit content, obsession and yearning, p in the v and so on…

The air in the truck was thick with the silence of the road, a silence that Joel had once craved but now felt like a physical weight. Every mile marker he passed was another notch in the belt of his impatience. He’d been gone for ten days—a run to a supposed federation outpost up north that had turned out to be a bust, nothing but rusted-out cans and the ghosts of better days. Ten days. Ten days of sleeping on cold ground, of eating stale food, of keeping his senses sharp for clickers and raiders and every other nightmare the world had to offer.

But the real torture, the one that gnawed at him from the inside out, was being away from you.

He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white, the worn leather creaking under the pressure. He could almost feel you. Not just the memory of you, but a phantom sensation, a ghost of your presence that clung to him. He could smell the faint, lingering scent of your soap on his own skin, the one he’d washed with in a frigid creek three days ago, desperate for even that small connection.

He was obsessed. He knew it. It was a dangerous, foolish thing in this world, to need something, to need someone, the way he needed you. It was a weakness he couldn’t afford, a chink in his armor so wide a tank could drive through. But there it was. You were his soft place to land, his reason for coming back. You were the warmth in his bones when the world was nothing but ice and decay.

The thought of you was a constant, low-level hum beneath the surface of his consciousness, but when the loneliness of the cab pressed in too close, it roared to life. He thought about the way your hair fanned out on his pillow. The specific, sleepy sound you made when you first woke up. The way your hand felt in his, smaller and so much softer than his own calloused one.

And then there were the other thoughts. The ones that made him shift in his seat, the denim of his jeans suddenly feeling too tight. The ones that made his mouth go dry and his heart hammer against his ribs like a trapped bird.

He pictured you now, back in the house you’d made a home. Maybe you were reading by the light of an oil lamp, your brow furrowed in concentration. Or maybe you were in the garden, the dirt under your fingernails, a smudge of it on your cheek. The image that sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated want through him, though, was the one of you in his bed. Your bed. Their bed.

He imagined you wearing one of his old shirts, the fabric swallowed by your frame, the hem barely brushing the tops of your thighs. He could almost feel the heat of your skin, the way it would feel under his rough hands. He thought about the taste of the sweat on your neck after a long day, the little gasp you’d make when his mouth found that sensitive spot just below your ear.

God, he was aching for you. It was a physical pain, a deep, hollow throb in his groin and a tightness in his chest. He felt like a starving man who’d been shown a feast he couldn’t touch. Every night on the road, he’d lie awake, hard and frustrated, his body a traitor screaming for the comfort of yours. He’d close his eyes and it was your face he saw, your name he whispered into the darkness.

He finally saw the familiar outline of Jackson’s walls against the bruised purple twilight. Relief washed over him, so potent it almost buckled his knees. He drove through the gates, his hands moving with practiced efficiency, but his mind was already miles ahead, already inside the house, already with you.

He parked the truck, the engine sputtering to a silence that was immediately filled by the familiar sounds of the settlement. He grabbed his pack, his movements stiff with urgency. He didn’t stop to talk to anyone who greeted him, just gave a curt nod, his eyes fixed on the path that led to your door.

The walk was the longest part of the entire journey. Every step was an exercise in restraint. He wanted to run, to sprint, to charge through the door like a man possessed.

He finally reached it. He stood there for a moment, his hand raised to knock, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside him, but it was useless. He was lost to it.

He pushed the door open.

The light was low, a single lamp casting a warm, golden glow across the room. And there you were. You were sitting on the edge of the sofa, a book in your lap, and when you looked up and saw him, your face broke into a smile that was brighter than any sun he could remember.

He didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. The words were there, but they were trapped behind a decade of grief and a week of pure, unfiltered longing. He let his bag drop to the floor with a heavy thud, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

You stood up, the book forgotten. “Joel,” you breathed, your voice like music.

That was all it took. He crossed the space between you in three long strides, his boots heavy on the floorboards. He didn't stop, didn't hesitate. He closed the distance and his hands were on you, one cupping the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, the other wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

He claimed your mouth in a kiss that was hungry and desperate. It wasn't gentle or sweet; it was a kiss of a man who had been wandering in the desert and had finally found water. He poured all of his frustration, all of his fear, all of his obsessive need into it. He kissed you like he was trying to breathe you in, to consume you, to memorize the feel of your lips against his all over again.

You responded with an equal fervor, your arms wrapping around his neck, your fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck. You tasted like home, like safety, like the only thing that mattered.

He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He was still in his dirty road clothes, the scent of dust and engine grease clinging to him, but he didn't care. All he could smell was you.

“Missed you,” he rasped, his voice thick and raw. It was the biggest understatement of his life. He had been hollowed out without you.

“I missed you too,” you whispered, your hands stroking the back of his neck.

His eyes roamed over your face, tracing every line, every curve, like he was trying to commit it to memory all over again. “God, darlin’,” he murmured, his thumb stroking your cheek. “Thought about you every second. Drove me mad.”

He lifted you then, his arms easily hooking under your legs, and you wrapped them around his waist. He carried you towards the bedroom, his movements sure and driven by a singular purpose. He kicked the door shut behind him, plunging the room into near darkness, save for the sliver of light from the other room.

He laid you down on the bed, his body following yours, caging you in with his weight. He didn't speak anymore. He didn't need to. He let his hands and his mouth do the talking. He peeled away your clothes with a reverence that bordered on worship, his calloused fingertips tracing the soft skin of your stomach, the curve of your hips, the dip of your waist.

He was starved for the taste of you, for the feel of you. He kissed a path down your body, his beard rough against your sensitive skin, making you shiver. He took his time, rediscovering every inch of you, his touch a brand that claimed you as his. When he finally settled between your thighs, he looked up at you, his eyes dark and intense, burning with an obsession that was both terrifying and thrilling.

“Joel,” you gasped, your hands fisting in the sheets.

He didn’t wait for another invitation. He lowered his head and his mouth was on you, hot and demanding. He worked you with a desperate expertise, his tongue and lips driving you higher and higher, his hands holding your hips firmly, anchoring you to the bed as you writhed beneath him. He was relentless, a man possessed, drawing out every cry, every shudder, every moan until you were arching off the bed, your release washing over you in a powerful wave.

He moved back up your body, his skin slick with sweat, his chest heaving. He positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes locked on yours, searching. In that moment, you saw it all—the vulnerability, the possession, the all-consuming need. He was asking for permission, even as he was taking what was his.

You reached up, cupping his jaw, your thumb stroking the rough stubble. “I’m yours, Joel,” you whispered, the words sealing a pact you’d both known was true from the start.

With a guttural groan, he pushed into you, slow and deep, filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect, aching fullness that made you both gasp. He stilled for a moment, his forehead pressed to yours, his body trembling with the force of his restraint.

Then he began to move.

It wasn't slow or gentle. It was a hard, deep rhythm, a primal claiming that spoke of his desperation. Each thrust was a declaration, a promise, a prayer. He was a man erasing the past ten days, replacing every cold, lonely memory with the hot, living reality of you.

The bed frame groaned in time with his movements, a rhythmic protest against the force of his need. He was lost in you, his world narrowed to the slick heat of your body, the breathless sounds escaping your lips, the feel of your nails digging into his shoulders, urging him on.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. “You feel so good,” he gritted out, his voice a low, strained rumble. “So fuckin’ good. Like comin’ home.”

Every word was a lit match against your skin. He wasn’t just inside you; he was rewriting the very fabric of his being with you as his center. He was Joel Miller, the hard man, the survivor, the killer. But here, with you, he was just a man, and you were his religion.

He shifted his weight, propping himself up on one arm, his other hand gripping your hip, holding you steady as he drove into you, deeper, harder. The new angle sent a jolt of pure electricity through you, and you cried out, your back arching off the mattress. He watched you, his dark eyes fixed on your face, drinking in every expression of pleasure, every flicker of ecstasy. It was a look of pure, unadulterated obsession, as if he were committing this moment to memory, storing it away for the next time he was alone in the dark.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice rough with emotion. “Eyes on me, darlin’.”

You forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. The connection was electric, a raw, visceral thread that pulled you both deeper into the moment. He was watching you fall apart, and the power in his gaze, the sheer possessive adoration, was enough to push you closer to the edge.

“Mine,” he growled, the word a possessive brand. “You’re mine.”

“Yours,” you gasped, the affirmation a sacred vow. “All yours.”

That was it. That was the thing that broke him. His rhythm faltered for a second, a shudder running through his powerful frame as your words washed over him. He lowered his head, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, all tongue and teeth and desperate need. He was swallowing your moans, tasting your release as it built within you, a tidal wave gathering strength.

He reached between your bodies, his calloused thumb finding that sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. He circled it once, twice, in time with his powerful thrusts, and that was all it took. The world shattered.

Your orgasm ripped through you with the force of a storm, a blinding, all-consuming wave of pleasure that left you gasping and trembling. Your body clenched around him, a series of powerful, rhythmic spasms that milked him, pulling him right to the brink with you.

He let out a raw, guttural sound, half your name, half a curse, as your release triggered his own. He drove into you one last time, deep and hard, his body going rigid as he poured himself into you. It was a violent, shuddering release, a week’s worth of pent-up frustration and longing finally breaking free. He collapsed against you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, his face buried in your hair as his body trembled with the aftershocks.

The room was silent, save for the sound of your ragged breaths mingling in the air. The frantic energy that had fueled him was gone, replaced by a profound, bone-deep peace. He was home.

For a long time, you just lay there, tangled together, your bodies slick with sweat, your hearts beating a frantic, slowing rhythm against each other’s chests. He was heavy, a solid, grounding weight that you wouldn’t have moved for anything in the world.

Finally, he stirred, lifting his head just enough to look at you. The hard, desperate edges of his face had softened, replaced by a look of such raw, unguarded tenderness it made your chest ache. He gently brushed a stray strand of hair away from your forehead, his touch impossibly gentle for a man with such rough hands.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

You nodded, a lazy, satisfied smile spreading across your face. “I’m more than okay.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Good.” He shifted, rolling to the side but keeping you tucked firmly against him, one arm slung possessively over your waist, pulling you into his embrace. He kissed your temple, a soft, lingering press of his lips.

He was still here. Not the haunted, driven survivor who had walked through the door, but your Joel. The man who yearned, the man who was obsessed, the man who would cross any hell on earth just to get back to this. To you.

He closed his eyes, his breathing finally evening out, and for the first time in ten days, the silence in his soul wasn't empty. It was full. It was full of you.

#daddy pedro #pedro pascal #pedro smut #pedro x reader #pedrohub #smut story #smut tag #smutty fanfiction #smutty smut smut #smut #joel smut #joel tlou #joel miller #joel x reader

❤️Joel Miller Masterlist❤️

Go here for Pedro Pascal, Harry Castillo, Javier Pena, Frankie Morales and Din Djarin.

I’ll update the date here every time I update an individual work. If you’d like to be tagged here or in any particular work, let me know! Also open to requests 🥰

Updated: 17/08/26

Created: 28/10/25

COMPLETE

The Devil’s Smile - You and your children are rescued from a cult and go to stay with Joel. 18+only - complete (42 parts)

Where Our Shadows Meet - In 1870s Texas, Joel loses his wife and child and asks you to marry him to prevent him losing his daughter. 18+only - complete (25 parts)

The Circle - Two years ago you lost your son and Joel lost his daughter. Neither of you are sure the support group you both attend helps, but here you are. 18+only - complete (5 parts)

Guardian - Joel doesn’t want to leave you to go out on patrol. Not when you, and the baby inside you, are his whole world. 18+only - complete (2 parts)

When You Want It The Most - You and Joel had a deal - no kids. But nature finds a way to give and then take. 18+only - complete (2 parts)

Mama Lovin’ - Joel gives you what you need post partum. 18+only - complete (2 parts)

Safe Harbour - You’ve had a terrible day and you just need Joel to fuck you. 18+only - complete (2 parts)

The Favour - You need a favour from Joel. 18+only - complete (2 parts)

Wake Me Up When September Ends - It’s Joel’s birthday and the anniversary of Sarah’s death. Joel shows up at your door late at night. 18+only - complete (one-shot)

Wildfire - He’s a rancher, you’re an environmentalist. You hate each other, except when you don’t. 18+only - complete (one-shot)

The Christmas You Get You Deserve - Last Christmas, Joel lost you. Now he’s being forced into posing for a sexy Santa shoot and wondering if you might see it. 18+only - complete (one-shot)

Every Inch - When you get criticised for your weight, Joel shows you exactly why he loves you. 18+only - complete (one-shot)

The Fight - On the way to Bill and Frank’s, you and Joel have an argument. 18+ only - complete (one shot)

Season of Change - You’re a woman of a certain age and things in your body are changing. Fortunately, you have Joel Miller in your corner. Mature - complete (one-shot)

Slip N Slide - You, Joel and Sarah are spending the day at a waterpark. Sarah wants her dad to go on a scary slide with her. You just want her dad. 18+only - complete (one-shot)

WORKS IN PROGRESS

Hair Trigger - You’re new in Jackson and rifle training is mandatory for all adults. You want to be useful, but it’s hard when Joel Miller’s your instructor. 18+only.

A Different Kind of Love - Your husband’s been missing presumed dead for two years and you’re slowly falling in love with Joel. Then a face from the past returns. 18+only.

Sweet Poison - You’ve been infected and you need Joel to end it for you because you don’t have the courage to do it yourself. 18+only.

Blossoming - Libby Miller is five going on fifteen and Joel’s not ready for his little girl to grow up. PG fluff.

The Night We Met

Based on this lovely request, enjoy :))

Pedro meets a pretty young woman at a bar who seems to have no idea who he is. Intrigued by this, he ends up hooking up with you. Months into your relationship, you have something to confess.

Wordcount: 12,656

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