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fantasydreamland · 6 days ago

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Under the covers

Pairing: older!Joel x fem!Reader

Summary: you decide to give Joel a little blowie under the covers whislt he's busy talking on his phone.

Warnings: 18+. Cockwarming, Oral (m!receiving). Age gap (50s,20s), kinda freeuse with consent.

Note: hello! Welcome to my first pic, I hope y'all enjoy reading it and i humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3 💞💞

words: 2,063

Joel's thick eyebrows are knitted together slightly as he concentrates on the worn pages of "Moby Dick". He'd always found comfort in books, a quiet escape from the harsh realities of the world. His calloused fingers carefully turn the page, his eyes scanning the lines of dense text. The round frames perch precariously on his nose, slipping down slightly with each thoughtful wrinkle of his forehead. His eyes squint slightly behind them to read the tiny print. He looks almost scholarly, far removed from the tough, weather-beaten face everyone in town knew.

He continues reading silently, occasionally turning a page with a soft rustle of paper. Every so often he pauses to run a hand through his messy grey bed hair or adjust his glasses, completely lost in the world of Captain Ahab and the great white whale.

The sudden sound of running water breaks Joel's concentration. He glances up briefly, listening as the sink is turned on and the familiar sounds of someone getting ready for bed filter through the thin walls.

He settles back against the headboard, his focus returning to the book as he continues reading.

You stand before the mirror in your simple cotton nightgown, brushing your teeth vigorously. Your hair is down, waves falling past your shoulders. You catch your reflection - dark circles under your eyes from another long day, high cheekbones, and full lips wrapped around the toothbrush.

You finish brushing your teeth and rinse your mouth, spitting into the sink. You lean forward, splashing cold water on your face to wake yourself up slightly. You pat your face dry with a worn towel, hanging it back up neatly.

You exit the bathroom quietly, the cool night air of the bedroom greeting you as you step inside. Joel is still engrossed in his book, sitting upright against the headboard with pillows propped behind him for support.

You carefully crawl towards him on the bed, Your hair falls softly around your shoulders as you lean in towards him. Your voice comes out whispered and sweet. "Any good?" You ask, your lips already curving upward.

Before Joel can even respond, you close the distance between you two, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to his lips. It's quick and sweet, meant more as a playful interruption than anything else. You pull back just as quickly, smiling against his lips before settling back onto your pillow, watching him with amusement.

Joel blinks, momentarily startled by the kiss. He closes his book slowly, marking his page with a bookmark before setting it aside on the nightstand. A soft smile spreads across his face as he turns to look at you, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the bedside lamp. "Very good,"

Joel reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he leans in to kiss you back, this time more deeply and passionately than your initial playful kiss. His lips move against yours with a tender hunger, one hand sliding into your hair while the other pulls you closer against him. "Much better,"

You giggle softly against his lips, breaking the kiss to press a series of quick, playful pecks all over his face - his cheeks, his nose, his forehead. "Mmm, better than the book?"

Joel laughs softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he enjoys your playful antics. He turns his head slightly to capture your lips again, but you pull back playfully, keeping the kisses light and teasing. "Definitely better than any book," he admits with a smile.

Just as you're playfully kissing Joel's face, his phone suddenly lights up on the nightstand with a video call notification. The screen displays 'Sarah' - his daughter. The sudden ring breaks the playful moment, and Joel freezes for a second before reaching over to answer the call. "Hey sweetheart,"

Sarah's face comes into view on the screen, her expression bright and cheerful. She's obviously calling at a late hour, but she doesn't seem to mind. "Hey Dad!" she greets enthusiastically. "I was just laying in bed and thought I'd give you a call."

Joel props himself up against the headboard, adjusting the angle of the phone so Sarah can see him clearly. His voice is warm and loving as he speaks. "Hey kiddo. Shouldn't you be asleep already? It's kind of late for a school night,"

"Yeah, yeah. I know, Dad. But I wanted to talk to you before I went to sleep." She pauses for a moment before asking, "What were you doing?"

Joel glances over at you briefly before turning his attention back to the screen. "Nothing much, sweetheart. Just reading before bed." He replies casually, not wanting to mention the playful kisses and affection that had been going on before the call. "What about you? Everything okay at school?"

Sarah nods enthusiastically on the screen. "Yeah everything is good! I got an A on my math test today!" She beams proudly. "And my babysitter said she'd pick me up tomorrow after school so we can go shopping." She pauses before asking, "Are you coming home soon?"

Joel smiles softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he thinks about his daughter. "I'm actually on a business trip right now, sweetheart. But I'll be home next weekend, okay? We can do something fun then." He promises. "Is the babysitter taking good care of you?"

As Joel is mid-conversation with Sarah, he feels the sudden movement of the covers being lifted and someone slipping underneath them. He glances over confused, he sees you smirking under the blankets. Sarah is still chatting away innocently on the screen, "...Yeah Dad,"

Joel tries to keep his focus on Sarah's video call while feeling the covers moving around his waist. He lifts the blanket slightly to see what's happening below and he sees you crawling towards him with a playful smirk. He gives you a confused look,

Joel watches as you look up at him with a playful smirk, your finger pressed against your lips in a silent'shh.' He's utterly confused by your behavior. Sarah's voice breaks through the moment, "Dad, are you listening to me?"

Joel quickly looks back at the screen, trying to focus on Sarah's conversations while your hands start fiddling with his belt underneath the covers. He swallows hard, his voice slightly strained as he responds to Sarah.

"Yeah, sweetie. You were saying something about the school play, right?"

You continue working on Joel's belt buckle, your movements slow and deliberate beneath the covers. You can hear Joel trying to keep up his end of the conversation with Sarah.

Joel tries to reach under the covers to stop your hands but you playfully slap his hand away. Sarah continues talking, "Dad?" She calls. "Can I try out for the lead role in the school play?"

With his belt now fully unbuckled, you slide the zipper of his pants down slowly. Joel lets out a frustrated groan under his breath, trying not to be too loud on the call.

"Of course you can try out, sweetheart..." He's clearly having trouble focusing on Sarah's conversation now.

Without hesitation, you push your hand inside his open pants and start exploring further. Joel's breathing grows heavier, his jaw clenched in an attempt to maintain control.

On the screen, Sarah continues chatting excitedly about the upcoming school play, oblivious to her father's predicament. "I'm really excited,"

As you wrap your hand around his thick, growing erection, Joel lets out a silent groan, his eyes rolling back slightly. He tries to keep his voice steady on the call,

"That sounds great, honey. I'm proud of you..." His hand reaches out to grab your wrist, "Stop..."

You ignore his plea and continue stroking him, your bratty behavior coming out. Joel's grip on his phone tightens, trying to keep his composure while Sarah chatters on about costumes and rehearsals. "...And babysitter said she'd help me practice my lines"

Joel's eyes snap shut as he feels your warm, wet tongue teasing the tip of his erection. He bites back a moan, his hand instinctively reaching out to gently grab your hair, though he quickly releases it, remembering Sarah is on the call. "Mhm...that's nice sweetheart..."

Joel's breathing grows heavier and more irregular with each teasing lick. Sarah's voice drones on in the background about some drama with the costume committee.

As you start bobbing your head, taking more and more of Joel's length into your warm, wet mouth, he begins to pant heavily as he tries to focus on anything but the incredible sensation you're giving him. Sarah calls out again, "Dad? Hello? You okay?"

Joel manages to choke out a strained, "Yeah, honey, I'm here," his voice strained as he tries to maintain a normal tone while you continue sucking and slurping him softly under the blankets. As sarah continues talking about her day at school.

As you take him deeper, Joel's tip hits the back of your throat and you gag softly around him. His eyes roll back, a deep groan escaping his lips before he can catch himself. Sarah pauses again on the call, "Dad? You sound weird..."

Joel's breath hitches as you pull him out of your mouth with a wet pop, leaving a string of saliva connecting his tip to your plump lips. He tries desperately to keep his voice steady, "...I'm just tired, sweetheart. Had a long day is all." Sarah seems satisfied with that answer and continues chatting.

Joel's eyes snap open as he feels your warm spit land on his length followed by your soft giggle. He watches through slitted eyes as you stroke him slowly up and down, his mind reeling at how naughty and bratty you're being while Sarah chats innocently in the background.

Joel's grip on the phone tightens as you continue your teasing torture. You stroke him slowly, occasionally leaning down to lick or suck gently on the sensitive tip.

He tries to keep his responses to Sarah coherent, but his voice grows increasingly strained. "...Yeah...that sounds nice...honey."

You can feel Joel's cock throbbing in your hand as you continue your slow torture. You take him back into your mouth, sucking deeply before pulling away again to stroke him. His breathing becomes ragged, and he struggles to focus on Sarah's words.

Joel's jaw clenches as you continue your relentless teasing. You run your tongue up the underside of his length, wiggling it against the sensitive vein before sucking gently on the tip.

You wrap your hand around the base of Joel's cock and start pumping vigorously while sucking hard on the head. His hips buck involuntarily.

As Sarah continues chatting, Joel's breathing becomes rapid and shallow. He can feel his release building, his balls tightening. You sense this and quickly take him back into your mouth, sucking him deeply as he feels the familiar tingling sensation in his spine.

Joel's body tenses as he reaches the point of no return. With a final, deep thrust into your mouth, he comes undone. Hot, white strings of cum shoot down your throat as he lets out a muffled groan.

Trembling slightly from his intense release, he struggles to keep up with Sarah's conversation. His body is slick with sweat as you continue sucking gently, milking every last droplet from him. His breath catches in his throat while trying to respond to Sarah,* "...Yes...yes, honey...that sounds good..."

Joel watches you emerge from the covers, your body glistening with sweat. You look up at him with a playful smirk and wipe the side of your mouth with the back of your hand, catching the leftover cum. He swallows hard, finding your bratty behavior insanely hot.

Joel shoots you a warning look, his eyes dark with unspoken punishment promise. But he soon returns his attention to the phone call, trying to focus on Sarah's words. His voice is a bit rougher than before, giving him away slightly. "...Uh-huh...yeah..."

Sarah's voice comes through the speaker, slightly concerned "Hey Dad... wait, you sound kinda weird. Are you okay?" He clears his throat, trying to maintain his composure "Yeah, yeah I'm fine. The damn AC's broken, that's all... I'm just hot."

Joel shifts slightly, trying to hide his smile as you snuggle up against him. He can feel your body heat against his side, and it takes every ounce of his willpower to keep his voice steady as he continues talking to Sarah. "...Yeah...yeah..."

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fantasydreamland · 6 days ago

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Why do I have such high standards of romance?

Have you even seen Jamie and Claire?

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fantasydreamland · 7 days ago

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When I go to my drafts to read a story I saved and one of my favourite accounts is gone along with all of their fics 😭💔

#im so upset #fanfic #fanfic smut #game of thrones fanfic #lotr fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #game of thrones #house of the dragon #hotd #vikings #smut #fluff #angst #the last of us #bridgerton

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fantasydreamland · 9 days ago

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I'd like to request a smut fic where Joel and reader have been extra busy lately and that means no alone time for too long. When they finally get to it Joel ends up finishing unexpectedly too soon hahaha. He's embarrassed and downright mad at him himself for it, but reader finds it endearing really, that he's so into her and missed her so much that he couldn't help it but bust too soon lol. She reassures him it's okay and he ends up making up to her anyway, either with his fingers or his mouth 😏😏

All that want

Pairing: jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader Summary: A rare night alone ends faster than Joel hoped—but he makes sure you feel every bit of how much he missed you. Warnings: established relationship, explicit smut (+18), unprotected sex, p in v sex, premature ejaculation, embarrassment, reassurence, oral (f receiving), praises, gentle aftercare

The clink of dishware is the only sound in the kitchen, save for the slow hush of the wind outside. The sun is starting to set, brushing the wooden cabinets in warm gold. You’re standing at the sink, hands in hot soapy water, half-focused on cleaning the last of the dinner plates. The town’s quieting down for the night, and it’s the first time in a long while you’ve had even a breath to yourself.

Your back aches from work. You’ve been covering extra shifts at the nursery and helping in the community garden—planting, pruning, hauling sacks of soil that left your shoulders sore. Joel’s been on patrol more days than not lately, long routes that keep him away until late. Sometimes overnight. When he does come home, he’s tired. Bone-tired. Limps straight to the couch, boots half-off, rubbing at his knee with a wince.

And you—you haven’t had him to yourself in what feels like forever.

Not really.

There’ve been tired kisses before bed, half-conscious hands grazing each other’s backs in the dark. One shared bath where he leaned his head against your shoulder and barely spoke a word. A few mornings where you caught his eyes lingering on you before he laced his boots and went out the door—but that was it.

No touches. No tension relieved. No time.

Until now.

You feel him before you hear him—his solid warmth behind you, the weight of his presence like gravity pulling you backward. Then a hand finds your hip, slow and sure, and you don’t flinch. You lean into it, let out a long, quiet breath.

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” Joel murmurs, his voice gravel and honey.

You smile faintly. “I knew it was you.”

His hand drifts, thumb sweeping across the swell of your waist. “You always this sure about armed men comin’ up behind you?”

“With you?” you say softly. “Always.”

A beat of silence. You can feel him watching the side of your face, and when you turn, your eyes catch his and hold.

Joel looks tired. Lines around his mouth deeper than usual. His hair’s a little wind-mussed, curls flattened from a too-long day under a patrol cap. His eyes, though—dark and unreadable—those are what make your stomach tighten.

Something’s burning behind them. Need. Frustration. That low hum of wanting that neither of you have had the time or space to give in to. Not until this moment.

You set the dish towel aside and turn fully toward him, drying your damp hands on the front of your shirt as you look him over.

“You okay?” you ask.

Joel’s hand slides from your hip to the small of your back. He pulls you close, eyes still locked on yours. “Been thinkin’ about you all damn day,” he murmurs.

Your breath catches.

“Didn’t help that they paired me up with Seth. Man don’t shut up. Think he asked me how long you and I been together four different times like he forgot.”

You laugh softly. “What’d you tell him?”

“That it ain’t his business.”

He leans down, mouth brushing yours in a slow, barely-there kiss. You rise up on your toes to meet him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and for a few seconds it’s gentle—reverent.

But then something cracks open.

Joel kisses you again, harder. Mouth hungrier. His hands flatten on your lower back, pressing your body into his as his tongue finds yours with a groan that rumbles deep in his chest. You moan into it, clutching the back of his shirt, feeling the rise of his breath and the hard press of his body against yours.

His beard scrapes your chin. His scent—leather, cedar, something wind-blown and warm—floods your senses.

You pull back just enough to speak. “Ellie’s out with Dina, right?”

Joel nods, his lips already on your jaw. “Won’t be back ‘til late.”

You exhale sharply. “Good.”

That’s all it takes.

He grabs your hand and leads you out of the kitchen, footsteps heavy on the wood floor, urgency building between you. His fingers lace tight with yours—like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. You glance at the hallway mirror as you pass, catching the flushed look on your face and the way Joel’s towering behind you, eyes locked on your every move.

The bedroom door clicks shut behind you.

Then it’s just the two of you again. Quiet and breath and the golden dusk sliding across the bed.

Joel stops, chest heaving. Looks at you like he’s not sure if he should apologize or fall to his knees.

“We’ve gone too long,” he says hoarsely. “I’m sorry.”

You step toward him and take his face in your hands, fingers brushing the scruff of his beard. “Don’t be. I get it. Life’s been a lot lately.”

His eyes fall shut under your touch. “Still. Ain’t right, me not touchin’ you for this long. I shoulda made time.”

You shake your head. “You’re here now. That’s all I need.”

His hands move—slowly, reverently—finding the hem of your shirt, lifting it inch by inch until you raise your arms to help him pull it over your head. He lets it fall to the floor like it’s nothing, but when he looks back at you, it’s like he’s seeing heaven.

His rough fingers trace along your ribcage, skimming up your sides.

“Goddamn,” he breathes. “I missed you.”

You reach for his shirt next, unbuttoning slowly, watching as the tan fabric parts to reveal the strong line of his chest. That familiar scar on his stomach. The softness at his sides, earned from age and time, and the hardness beneath it that’s pure Joel. Always him.

He shrugs the shirt off and kisses you again, slower this time. Hands finding your waist, your spine, your ass. Your body slots to his like you never left each other at all.

But he pulls back, breath shaky.

“Tell me if you’re too tired,” he rasps. “We can just lie down. I just—I needed to touch you.”

You press your mouth to his ear. “I don’t want to lie down.”

You feel him shudder, feel the tension that’s been building for days finally ripple loose in his shoulders. His hands are already working the button on your jeans before you’ve even finished your sentence, and the look in his eyes—

It’s not just lust.

It’s relief. It’s hunger. It’s that wild, desperate love you see in him only when he thinks no one else is looking.

You kiss him again—longer, deeper—and start to pull him toward the bed.

And Joel follows.

The mattress shifts under your knees as Joel follows you onto the bed, shedding what’s left of his clothes in slow, sure movements. You watch from your back, your body already bare to him, skin flushed with anticipation and the ache of weeks gone without his touch. His eyes never leave yours, not even as he tugs his jeans down his hips and kicks them aside. He’s already half-hard, thick and heavy, twitching when your eyes land on him.

But his face—his face is what makes your breath catch.

That look again. Raw. Unfiltered. A little desperate.

Joel climbs over you, settling between your thighs like he belongs there—because he does—and braces himself with a forearm beside your head. The other hand moves to your cheek, thumb stroking gently as he leans down to kiss you. It starts soft, like he’s trying to remember how your mouth tastes, but within seconds it deepens—urgent, searching. His tongue sweeps against yours, groaning when your hands slide down his ribs and your knees part a little wider.

You can feel how tightly wound he is. His body strung up like wire, muscles tense with restraint. He’s trying to be slow, you can tell. Trying to savor it, to draw it out.

But the moment his cock brushes between your folds, slick and hot and aching to be inside you, Joel falters.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your mouth. “You’re so wet, baby…”

You nod, panting already. “It’s been too long.”

He presses his forehead to yours, trying to gather himself. His hips twitch forward, barely grinding against your core, and his breath stutters.

“Joel,” you whisper, hands sliding down to his lower back. “You don’t have to wait.”

He lifts his head, eyes dark, jaw tight. “I ain’t gonna last.”

You kiss the corner of his mouth. “I don’t care.”

He closes his eyes, groaning low like he’s angry at himself. “No, darlin’, I—shit, I wanted this to be slow, I wanted to take my time with you—”

“You will,” you promise, sliding a hand between your bodies. You curl your fingers around the base of him, and he hisses through his teeth. “But right now? I just want you. Inside me.”

That does it.

Joel’s hips lurch forward, guided by your hand, and the blunt tip of his cock pushes into you with a stretch that makes you gasp. It’s tight—your body unused to him after all this time—but so good. So deep. You feel him tense as he sinks in, groaning loud and unrestrained as he fills you to the hilt.

“Oh, fuck,” he pants, bracing himself on both arms now, head hanging low. “Fuck, sweetheart—Jesus—”

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “I missed you, Joel. Missed how you feel.”

He’s shaking above you. Physically trembling.

“Goddamn it,” he grits out, hips stuttering once, twice. “You’re so fuckin’ tight, so warm—I can’t—”

His voice breaks as he thrusts again, just once, and you feel it—his whole body stiffening, his breath locking up as a strangled noise slips past his lips. He buries his face in your neck, groaning loud against your skin, and you realize—

He’s already coming.

Hot, pulsing warmth floods into you, and Joel groans like he’s ashamed of it, like he’s fighting it even as it overtakes him.

“No,” he mutters, almost angry. “No, no, I didn’t—fuck, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

You’re still beneath him, stunned but somehow smiling, your hands stroking up and down his back as he collapses slowly against you.

“Joel,” you whisper, your voice breathy with surprise and affection. “Hey… hey. Look at me.”

He doesn’t move at first, still buried in your neck, cursing himself under his breath. His whole body feels tight with tension, guilt crawling over his skin like fire.

“Joel,” you say again, firmer now, fingers threading through his hair. “It’s okay.”

He finally lifts his head, and the look in his eyes is pure embarrassment. He looks younger like this—unguarded, vulnerable in a way he never lets anyone else see. You can feel how much he’s beating himself up over it.

“Shit,” he mutters. “That’s not how I wanted it to go. I wanted to make you feel good. Not—fuckin’ finish like a goddamn teenager before I even—”

“Joel.” You slide your hand along his cheek, eyes locked on his. “It’s okay. Really.”

He shakes his head. “It ain’t. You didn’t even—baby, I didn’t even touch you properly yet.”

Your smile softens. “You missed me. That’s what that was. You were so into it, so into me, you couldn’t help it. That’s… that’s kind of sweet.”

He stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. “Sweet?”

You nod, laughing softly, cupping his face with both hands now. “I’m serious. It’s sexy, Joel. You’ve been aching for me, haven’t you?”

His throat bobs. He doesn’t answer, but his eyes say enough.

You run a hand down his back, soothing. “You don’t need to be perfect. Just honest. And this?” You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Was honest.”

Joel groans, low and rough, and leans in again—this time kissing you with something different. Not hunger. Not frustration.

Devotion.

“I owe you,” he murmurs against your lips. “Gonna make it up to you. Lay you out and take my damn time.”

Your stomach flips.

“Promise?” you whisper.

“Promise.”

He starts moving downward then, sliding down your body, pressing kisses to your skin as he goes. Your breath catches as his mouth drags over your stomach, and you feel his hands gently urging your legs apart again, even as his softening cock brushes your inner thigh.

“Let me do it right,” he says, voice gravelly, thick with need and remorse and a deep, aching love. “Let me take care of you now.”

And you do.

You let him.

Because Joel Miller might’ve come too fast—but he’s not done.

Not by a long shot.

——

The room is still and quiet, save for the soft rasp of Joel’s breath against your skin. His body is warm and heavy where he’s slumped partially over you, chest rising and falling with the remnants of that release he hadn’t planned on. His hand rests low on your waist, like he’s afraid to let go just yet. Like if he moves too quickly, the moment might slip away and take you with it.

He hasn’t said much since the words let me take care of you left his mouth, but he doesn’t have to. You can feel the shift in him—his guilt softening under the weight of your acceptance, your touch, your quiet affection. There’s no disappointment in you, no tension left in your limbs. Just heat, need, and love simmering under your skin, waiting.

Joel kisses the inside of your thigh like an apology.

“You still with me?” he murmurs, voice low and thick, a little rough around the edges.

You nod, brushing a hand through his hair, dark and mussed from your fingers. “Still here.”

He presses another kiss, higher this time, just along the crease where your thigh meets your hip. “I hate that I couldn’t wait. I ain’t… I ain’t proud of that.”

“You should be,” you whisper. “It’s proof. How much you wanted me.”

Joel groans quietly, like he still can’t quite believe you’re not mad at him. He shifts lower, nestling himself between your legs with a kind of reverence that makes your breath hitch. His hands smooth up your thighs, warm and wide and steady now, coaxing your knees open just a little more.

“You said I could make it up to you,” he says, his voice a promise now. “So let me. Let me really take my time this time.”

And then he lowers his mouth.

The first brush of his tongue is slow. Deliberate. Not teasing—no, he’s past teasing. This is worship.

He drags the flat of it through your folds, humming low in his chest as he tastes you. The sound goes straight through you, sparks racing up your spine. You gasp softly, hips lifting off the bed, and Joel wraps his arms under your thighs to anchor you down.

“Easy,” he murmurs against you. “Ain’t goin’ anywhere. I’m gonna be here a while.”

You feel it—the truth of that.

Joel eats you out like a man starved, not with urgency but with intention. Every movement of his tongue is slow, sure, patient. He licks and kisses and sucks at you like he’s making up for every missed night, every morning you woke up tangled together but too rushed to indulge.

He knows your body better than anyone, and it shows. He takes his time circling your clit, not too soft, not too fast, just enough to make your toes curl and your hands reach blindly for the sheets. When he slips a finger inside, it’s like your body was already waiting for him—wet and ready, clenching around him instantly.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” Joel mutters, his voice husky against your core. “Goddamn, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so tight.”

You whimper, hips rising to meet his touch, needing more. He gives it to you—another finger, thicker, curling just right inside as his mouth returns to your clit. The combined sensation is overwhelming. Your back arches, eyes squeezed shut, breath breaking apart in shallow gasps.

Joel hums again, low and proud this time, and the vibration makes you tremble.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “Let me feel it, sweetheart. Let me feel you come.”

Your hand finds his hair, holding him there, hips rolling desperately against his mouth as the pressure builds and builds. He doesn’t let up—his fingers, his tongue, all of him focused on you, like nothing else exists but this. But your pleasure. Your sounds. Your taste.

When it hits, it’s like a wave breaking clean over your body.

You cry out, legs shaking around him, your whole body clenching around his fingers as the orgasm rolls through you. Joel keeps working you through it, tongue softening into gentle strokes, fingers slowing but staying inside until your grip on him loosens and your back sinks into the mattress.

He doesn’t rise right away. He just rests his cheek against your thigh, breathing deep, like you are what steadies him.

“You okay?” he asks after a moment, voice rasping.

You nod, barely able to speak, one hand sliding down to cup his jaw. “Yeah. More than okay.”

He kisses your thigh again, then slowly moves up your body, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake—your belly, the curve of your breast, the space between your ribs where he always lingers like he knows it makes your heart race.

By the time he’s face to face with you again, he looks calmer. Softer. Still Joel—but not the same man who’d tensed with guilt minutes ago. This one’s loose-limbed and warm-eyed, his forehead resting against yours.

“Feel better?” he asks gently.

You smile, fingers stroking his back. “You always make me feel better.”

His hand slides up to cradle your cheek. “I love you.”

You blink at the quiet certainty of it. “I love you too.”

Joel leans in to kiss you—slow and deep and languid. His tongue slides against yours, tasting your own release on his lips, and you melt into it, every muscle in your body humming with satisfaction.

When the kiss breaks, you speak softly. “You’re not allowed to beat yourself up next time that happens.”

His eyebrows rise. “Next time?”

You grin, teasing now. “You keep missing me like that, it might happen again.”

Joel chuckles—really laughs—and it’s the best sound you’ve heard in days. He buries his face in your neck, his body warm and solid over yours, and you hold him there, tangled up and sated and whole.

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fantasydreamland · 9 days ago

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Ugh I loooove needy joel

Can you please write some smut where reader gets Joel blindfolded? I think some sensory deprivation would drive him crazy

Restrained

Pairing: jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader Summary: You blindfold Joel and take control, teasing him until he breaks—desperate, trembling, and entirely yours. Warnings: established relationship, explicit sexual content (+18), dirty talk, dom!reader/sub!Joel, blindfolding, restraints, oral (m receiving), teasing, edging, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, p in v sex, soft afterglow, cuddling

You can feel it in the air the moment he closes the door behind you. That dense, slow boil of wanting that's been simmering beneath the surface all night — through dinner, through the wordless looks across the table, through the way he stood too close while refilling your wine, his hand brushing your hip as if he couldn't help himself. Joel's always been a controlled man with silent commands. But there's something addictive about stripping that away. About making him feel. Making him squirm. Making him wait. And tonight… you're going to do just that.

You've barely got your coat off before you're reaching for him, fingers curling into his shirt and drawing him into a kiss that lands hot and hungry. His hands are at your hips instantly, squeezing hard, possessive, like he's been waiting all morning to get his hands on you. But when he goes to take it further — tongue against yours, fighting for control in the way that he always does — you pull back, just far enough to catch your breath, just far enough to gain control over what will happen next.

"Sit on the edge of the bed," you whisper, voice a little breathless but certain. He pauses for a second — surprise flickering across his face — but beneath it, there's a gleam of curiosity. And warmth. He doesn't say anything. Just obeys.

You follow him slowly, relishing how he goes into the bedroom, sits, legs apart, big shoulders taking up too much space on the bed. He looks at you with that heavy gaze, head tipped to one side, like he's trying to read your move before you make it. You won't let him.

"Hands behind your back," you whisper, stepping into the lamp's light. "Do you trust me?"

His eyes darken right away. You know the answer already. But still — the way he nods, slow and certain, knots your gut. It's all you need.

You take the soft black cloth you stashed in the drawer some time back — a black tie that he found on patrol a long time ago and brought it home, worn thin but resilient. You move behind him, kneel on the bed, and draw his hands gently back behind him. "Let me know if it's too tight," you breathe into his ear, and he shudders as you wrap the cloth around his wrists, snug enough to restrain but not to hurt. He struggles once, twice, and then goes lax, low and quiet, sinking just a little further into immobility.

You move forward to stand in front of him again, slow, teasing, the movement of your clothes against your skin as you remove them whispering through the air. His eyes follow every piece of skin that you reveal, jaw tense, mouth hanging open. But he doesn't speak.

You can tell that he wants to.

You lean in closer, straddle his lap, knees bracketing his hips as you settle in against the bulge already straining hot and hard beneath his jeans. Your bare chest brushes his shirt, and he groans low beneath his breath — tilting his head like he's already looking for more.

Then, softly, you take the second piece of cloth — this one darker, heavier — and lead it gently over his eyes.

The sigh he lets out is low and gravel-edged, shoulders tensing under you.

"Trust me?" you say again, kissing the corner of his mouth.

"Always," he says, voice rough, almost reverent.

And with that, he's yours.

You move slowly with him — agonizingly, tediously — the way you know drives him out of his mind. Your mouth brushes the line of his jaw, then pulls down the column of his throat, pausing just beneath his ear where you breathe soft nothing into his skin. His heart beats erratically fast under your tongue. His hands twitch behind him, instinct fighting restraint, but you cup his face, compelling him to be still.

You play a game of it — mapping his body with your touch alone, having him guess where you'll go next. You trail your nails down his chest, drag them softly over the fabric of his shirt, then slip your fingers beneath the hem and work it up, slow, slow, slow, until his bare belly is exposed. Then your mouth is on him — teeth biting lightly, tongue drawing teasing circles just above the waistband of his jeans.

He groans — low and rough — hips bucking just a little, conflicted between needing more and knowing he doesn't get to ask for it.

"Please," he growls finally, voice torn, head dropping back. He can't see you, can't move his hands, and it's driving him wild. "Fuck, baby…"

You smile, unseen.

"I said wait," you whisper, fingers working at his belt, drawing it out just long enough to make him writhe beneath you. You pop the button, draw down the zipper with excruciating slowness, and then reach in, palm grazing the tense heat of him, still trapped in his briefs.

He bucks under your touch, a stifled sound tearing from his throat.

You rub him slowly through the fabric at first — teasing, slow — letting your nails drag very lightly across the head. Then you lean in, brush your lips against his, and whisper, "You like it like this? Not knowing what I'll do next?"

"Fuckin' love it," he growls, voice breaking. "You got me so hard I'm gonna lose my mind."

You kiss him then — hard and filthy — tongue sliding against his, fingers still stroking him until you feel the damp spot spreading under your fingers. And then, just as he's starting to pant into your mouth, you pull away. Stand up.

He gives a choked noise, confused.

"Don't worry," you murmur. "I'm not done."

You strip the remainder of his clothes away piece by piece, pulling jeans and briefs down his thighs until his cock springs free — tip red and leaking, thick and wanting. You hear the hitch of his breath, even blindfolded, even with his hands tied behind his back, and you know he's imagining your appearance on your knees in front of him.

You don't keep him waiting for long.

You lick up the length of him — slow and teasing — and he groans so loudly it's echoing off the walls of the bedroom. He's already shaking, trying to stay still, trying not to thrust forward when he can't grab your hair, can't even see you.

You dive deeper, bit by bit, tongue curling under the head before you hollow out your cheeks around him. He swears, a long, broken sound that turns into a groan when you pull off with a soft pop, then kiss up his thigh just to tease him a bit more.

He's tense from head to toe now — he's trembling with the strain of not moving, chest rising and falling, jaw locked shut. You can tell he's already close enough, just from the loss of control. Just from the absolute frustration of it all.

"Not yet," you whisper, lips grazing the base of his cock. "I'm not finished with you yet."

His legs tremble under your grasp now, thick thighs straining as he tries to prepare himself for what comes next. But that is what why it’s so enjoyable — he knows nothing. He can't see your mouth puffed out from sucking him, can't see the flames burning in your eyes or the wicked little smile on your lips. All he has is sound, sensation, the weight of your touch and the heavy ache between his legs where you’ve made him throb with need. You’ve reduced Joel Miller to nothing but breathless curses and twitching muscle — and you’ve only just started.

You sit on top of him again, knees spread wide on either side of his hips, your warmth bared and wet against the hardness of him. He grunts with the feeling — the hot, wet touch of your folds against the tip of his cock, refusing to let him in, but teasing instead — and his head falls forward on a sharp gasp, the blindfold shifting slightly with the impact.

"Jesus Christ," he growls. "You're so fucking wet…"

"Thanks to you," you breathe, nibbling the edge of his jaw. "Thanks to having you tied up and needing me so much.”

He snarls low, hips jerking under you, but you pin him down. You just keep your weight light enough to hover, your slick folds against him but never giving him what he wants.

"I want to touch you," he growls. "Fuck — please…"

"You can't," you remind him gently, honey voice. "Not yet. Not until I say so. Not until I let you come. Not until I'm ready."

You grind down a little bit harder, and he whimpers — actually whimpers — his dick so beautifully imprisoned between your folds, hot and wet and quivering under the pressure.

“Goddamn it—” His voice is fraying at the edges now, all that control burning away under the strain. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me…”

You smile and finally, finally ease up enough to wrap your fingers around him again. He’s so hard it’s almost painful — flushed deep red at the tip, slick with precum, the muscles in his thighs twitching as he tries to brace for what’s next. But he can’t see your hand. He doesn’t know how tightly you’re about to grip him. Doesn’t know that you’re about to slide your slick folds over the head of his cock again — this time slower. Lower. Letting him just barely catch your entrance.

When his head finally nudges against your wet entrance, you hear it — that harsh noise deep in the back of his throat, like he's unraveling. His hands are fists behind his back, his jaw drops open in a silent gasp, and you don't move. You remain motionless, wet around the head of his dick, holding him back, holding him still, and making him feel you shiver above him.

"You want it?" you whisper. "Want to feel me take every inch?"

He swears under his breath — gasping, helpless. "Please. Please. Baby, I can't take it anymore—"

You lower yourself down in one slow, steady movement.

His whole body tenses — chest heaving, jaw locked, the muscles of his neck rigid as he fights not to blow. You pull him deep, inch by agonizing inch, your nails rubbing along his chest as you ride him to the hilt and settle there, full and tight around his length, just letting him experience it. Your walls shake from the pressure, already starved for friction, and his cock thudding inside you so hard you moan before you can stop it.

"Do you feel that?" you moan against his ear. "That's how far you go. That's what you do to me."

He growls something not quite human — a mix of a grunt and a groan, his hips bucking up involuntarily. But again, you hold him down. You're in control. You squeeze around him, just to get him to wriggle, and he mutters a gagged curse that sends a shiver down your spine.

You start to move.

Not fast. Not yet. Just slow rolls of your hips, making him sense the way your wet heat tugs along every inch of him. He's gasping now, hips thrashing, straining at the restraints — and you know it's not just body anymore. It's in his head — the blindfold, the helplessness, the surging flood of sensation he can't predict or control. He's completely in your hands.

You ride him slow and steady at first — letting the rhythm build, the wiry hairs at the base of his cock teasing your clit. Whenever you rock forward, he groans in frustrated helplessness, and you can feel how close he is — his cock stirring in you, his hands knotting behind his back.

You don't want him to come yet.

You get off of him suddenly — pulling a raw, angry sound — and fall to your knees between his thighs before he can beg. Your mouth replaces your pussy, burning and moist and engulfing him whole before he can even half-form an idea of what's happening. His head recoils, the groan ripping out of his throat as if he's being destroyed by the sensation. How your mouth spreads around him, how your tongue wraps around the head, the jolt of cold from your slippery heat to the wet drag of your mouth…

"Baby— fuck, I'm gonna—"

You pull back again.

He curses harshly.

You're smiling now, eyes blazing, slick sliding down your legs as you slide back up onto his lap. “You come when I tell you," you whisper, settling back down on his cock. "Not a second earlier.

He's a wreck now — trembling, grunting, his legs shaking as you start riding him harder. Teasing is over. Slow is through. You grind down hard and hard and fast and desperate, squeezing around him on every stroke. His name slips from your lips like a prayer, and he's moaning, deep and shattered, lost in it — because he can't see you, can't touch you, can't fuck you the way he needs. All he can do is feel.

"Please," he groans. "Please let me—let me—fuck, baby, I'm so close—"

Your hand slips down between your bodies, your finger circling your clit in tight motion, and clench around him tightly as your own climax sweeps over you — hips bucking, thighs shaking, gasping his name as you ride it out on top of him.

And that's what breaks him.

"Come for me," you pant, still clenched around him, and Joel loses it.

He grunts, hips jerking up into you as his cock throbs hard inside, waves of burning release racing through you as he comes hard and helpless, his whole body shaking beneath you, his breath torn from his lungs as if he's suffocating on it. You can feel it — the heat, the spill, the way he keeps shuddering inside you even after he's come. He can't help it. He's gone.

You don't move. Just lie there, full and throbbing and softening around him, stroking his sweat-drenched hair as he pants against your neck, blindfolded and trembling and completely undone.

Eventually, when his breathing is easing and his hands are relaxing behind his back, you draw out the knot slowly and free him. You don't rush. You kiss his shoulder, his jaw, and then you slowly take off the blindfold.

His eyes fly open, hard and glazed, and when he lays eyes on you, it's like nothing's ever been more beautiful in his life.

"You okay?" you whisper.

He swallows hard. Nods. His voice is husky.

"You fuckin' destroyed me."

You smile and leave your lips on his.

"Good. That was the plan."

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