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teastainedprose · 5 days

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Too Sweet - Ch. 1 (Cooper Howard x Reader)

A settler selling wares in Filly catches The Ghoul's eye. Inspired by a Tumblr post asking for an angst fic to Hozier's Too Sweet. 1,753 words | [AO3] No warnings yet, only innocent flirting. Banner from @eupheme

The first time he spots you, Cooper thinks nothing of it. Sure, you look a little less worn down compared to the usual rabble roaming Filly. Certainly scrubbed a little cleaner than most but so were the rest of your companions. The lot of you are a curiosity for sure, but he's seen plenty of attractive women over the ages and known a handful carnally. He's not the sort of man to let a pretty face distract him. No, you don't get a second glance from the ghoul as he goes about his business.

It's not until your laughter catches Cooper by the ear that he starts paying attention. Jerks his head right round at the sunny sound, attention diverting from the bounty board as he watches you engage with a customer. You laugh again, a merry delight that lights your face right up while the elderly woman you're chatting with laughs along. She's made brighter for being so close to you while you've suddenly become the sun in Cooper's eyes. A brightness he has to squint at when he looks over again to drink you in. His long-dead heart decides that it's about time to do a little flip.

That's a sensation he's not keen on feeling. Cooper hums under his breath, frown settling on his worn lips. He tugs the brim of his hat lower, turning away as he tries to focus on the task at hand. No good can come of fancying any sort of infatuation on a smoothie like you. You're not the sort of creature deserving of the trouble he could bring.

Yet Cooper finds he can't quite help himself. Wasteland life is full of little pleasures and looking at you sure counts as a bit of pleasure. Why not indulge?

The rest of the day as he sits waiting for a client to show, his eyes flicker over you. Wherever you're from, it's certainly kinder to you than what most folks in the Wasteland see. You almost look as soft as some fresh-faced Vaultie, but he can see that your hands are well-worn as you exchange produce for caps. A farmer of sorts. Homesteader.

He listens with a keener ear to the gossip swirling about you and those in your group. A little settler band situated out east, closer to the mountains and closer to what manages to grow green. He picks up that your lot wanders in every few weeks with produce to sell, or trade to stock up the settlement the collective group runs.

Idly, he wonders what horseshit sort of ideology your commune might be sunk into, but if you're looking to spread a new sort of gospel none of your ilk seem keen on sharing it here. You're a welcome addition to the economy of Filly and it's clear that many enjoy the taste of hope this band of settlers bring in with their harvest. Cooper figures that's indoctrination enough from the harsh reality the Wasteland offers up.

Cooper finds himself wandering over to Ma June's place under the pretense of stocking up on supplies. There's suspicion in her eyes as he drops his intended purchases onto the counter but that's not out of the ordinary. There's always suspicion in the looks Ma June gives him, but she'll take his caps all the same.

"Say, now what's with that group of lil' farmers hauling in their produce like that? Can't imagine those soft-lookin' sorts making their way all the way here unmolested," he drawls out. His smile is crooked as Cooper counts through his caps to pay.

"Settlers, but the well-armed sort. No point in trifling with them. Too well-liked here for their fresh food supply they haul in," Ma June pulls the caps towards her, gaze fixed on the ghoul as she mutters. "They'll trade with ya, but keep out of their business. Ya hear?"

A hum escapes Cooper as he considers this, leaning onto the counter while glancing out the dusty window towards where you stand at the stall. He casually stashes his purchases into his saddlebag while going on conversationally. "Well- Is that so? They a regular sort of fixture here in Filly now?"

"Have been setting up that stall going on half a year now. Surprised you've yet to come across 'em. Best cherry tomatoes you'll find in the Wasteland." Ma June eases back, arms crossing over her chest as a sour look settles in place on her worn face.

Another speculative hum escapes Cooper as he digests this information before he tips his hat to Ma June and goes on his way. Which happens to lead him straight to your stall.

Once there, Cooper casually plucks up potatoes, a handful of cherry tomatoes, and okra. All of it looks as vegetables should, the sort he would have found at the grocery store before everything went to shit.

"How much for this lot?" He sets the small bounty atop the open space on the stall. Cooper gives you his Hollywood smile that would charm the pants off of any woman in bygone days, except now his face is a leathery wreck and his teeth are yellowed with age. Most people instantly flinch away in disgust.

Not you.

You smile like the morning sun towards him as you step closer while dusting your hands off on your pants. The bit of dirt smeared on your face only seems to enhance your features in Cooper's eyes. The look you give him is almost shy once you meet his gaze, smiling warmly up to him.

Cooper finds that curious. He's familiar with a scowl or grimace of disgust when anyone looks him in the face, but here you are gracing him with an easy smile. A customer is a customer, he figures, and he'll do well enough. Yet, your friendliness doesn't feel like an act. Even after all these years, Cooper Howard still can clock other actors.

"Fifteen caps for the whole lot, but I'll throw in an extra sweet potato for the smile." You wink. Wink right at him as your smile grows. "They're good for ya, handsome." You add casually, the smile tugging up further into a cheeky grin. Your expression shifts. Playful. Coy. Interested.

Ain't that something? Cooper doesn't falter at the full force of your attention. He's too old and worn for that, but he sure does grin right back with a twinkle in his eye. Even an old ghoul like him can enjoy a pretty thing like you openly flirting with him.

Now that he’s heard it, Cooper decides your voice is sweet as a silver bell. The sort of soothing tone that reminds him of rain softly pelting a windowpane. It's the sort of sound that makes him wish to stay and listen for a while, tucked into the warmth that he suddenly wants you to offer up. He wants to get you talking to hear more. Wonders how he can coax you into a conversation.

That’s a fucking stupid idea. Cooper mentally shakes himself free of the passing fancy, head tilting ever so slightly as he peers down at you from the shadow of his hat. "Mhm. Ain't trying to get me hooked now are you, sweetheart?

"Something like that."

“Well now, reckon vegetables ain’t the worst sort of vice a man can get lost in.” Cooper still can’t help himself. He lets his eyes wander right down your body before flicking back up to your face, what sort of vice he’s pondering made clear.

That flush on your cheeks blooms all the hotter as you laugh for him, the sound an utter delight when directed his way. You smile, sweet and shy now as you pluck up a hefty sweet potato to set beside the rest of his purchases.

“Oh, well-” You start, stop with a small shake of your head as you smile all the wider. Utterly disarmed.

Cooper counts out the requested coin with a speculative hum, mirth sparking in his eyes as it seems he’s rendered you speechless. It’s down-right adorable if he’s being honest with himself. You’re a right little temptation he’d like to play with further. A dangerous thought.

Setting the coins onto the counter, he's swift in sweeping up his new bounty and stowing it all away into a pouch within his saddle bag. This close you're too bright and Cooper knows he's in trouble. Best to break away before you pull him into your orbit in full.

“You take care of yourself now, sweetheart,” Cooper drawls. He tips his hat towards you and turns away with spurs clicking. You watch him go, cheeks still flaming.

You know who he is. The Ghoul, the most famous Bounty Hunter the radiated Wastelands has to offer. You've heard all the rumors and truer tales about him all your life but nothing could prepare you for seeing him in the flesh. A dangerous sort of creature. A man who always brings his bounty in.

You'd been watching him all day, stealing glances as you work. Now that you've seen him up close and personal? You're down-right fascinated. He’s nothing like the monster the stories painted him out to be. At least, he certainly wasn’t monstrous to you. There’s something captivating about him. Charming, even.

You’ve seen ghouls before, of course. You know their kind as some live on the settlement with you. The majority end up shambling and ungainly, limbs no longer listening as the radiation rot wars with their regeneration abilities. A confusion that makes most of them uncoordinated and awkward in their transformed bodies, but The Ghoul? He’s got a swagger to his step that reminds you of those cowboys you’ve seen on ancient holotapes.

He’s been lurking at the edge of your awareness all day, your head cocking in his direction to listen to the cadence of his voice as he bartered for bullets and talked business outside of the bar over yonder.

A thrill had jolted through you the moment he started to move towards your stall. The nervous energy thrumming through you had been made all the worse when you met The Ghoul’s gaze for the first time. A woman could find herself lost in such eyes and you’d certainly tripped right into them. Boldly meeting this stranger’s gaze and enjoying every second his attention was on you.

Shame he left so quickly. You sigh, turning back to count out bottlecaps he’d left as you turn your attention back to work. Best not to think about it. You’re unlikely to see that legend ever again.

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout fanfic #fallout writing #cooper howard #the ghoul #x reader #x you #I got 6 pages of writing and outlinings #wew #one day I'll finish a fucking fic #I'll just keep bouncing between this and Play With Fire #and finish..eventually #🍵 Too Sweet #there will be ACTION and SEX and ANGST #yeyeye #go big or go home I guess

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macfrog · 10 months

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sex on fire | masterlist

ceo!joel miller x f!reader | ao3 | playlist

you've worked for joel miller for three years now, as his personal assistant. answering calls, organizing his schedule, fulfilling every request he could dream of. it pays well, you know you're good at it, and you get along with all of your coworkers. there's just one you get along with...a little too well.

please check out individual chapter content warnings before reading!!! this series features adult content.

series warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel is late 40s), inappropriate work relationship, cursing, alcohol + dr*g use, displays of wealth, daddy kink, sugardaddy!joel, themes of abandonment, mentions of pregnancy & periods, smut, angst, fluff.

main series

chapter 1: you shook me all night long

chapter 2: state-of-the-art

chapter 3: mile high

chapter 4: la petite mort

chapter 5: faire l'amour

chapter 6: ace

chapter 7: 1691 maple

chapter 8: you'll hurt me if you don't trust me

chapter 9: little aphrodite

✨ chapter 10: champagne problems ✨

chapter 11: coming soon!

chapter 12

epilogue

bonus

➵ hanging on the telephone

drabbles

➵ joel taking reader on his sailboat

features ➵ sex on fire wallpapers by @dundienominee

➵ sex on fire moodboard by @5oh5

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katiexpunk · 5 months

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Sex On Fire, Part 3 | Pairing Firefighter!Joel Miller X Fem!Reader

Series Summary: You're a country girl in the big city, thanks to your generous aunt. You expected to have adventures your first year in New York, but what you didn't expect was for your hot, firefighter neighbor, Joel, to be part of them.

Part 3 Summary: You finally relieve the sexual tension between you and Joel. And once you get started, you never really stop.

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: ~6.6K

Warnings: Sexual tension. Finally relieved sexual tension. Size kink. Praise kink. No age gap mentioned. Pet names. Alcohol. Grinding. Explicit, unprotected m in f sex. Creampie. Fingering. Flirting. Feelings. Love. Dirty talk. Commanding!Joel. Soft!Joel. Semi-public sex. Firefighter kink. Uniform kink. Firetruck sex. Just lots of fucking, honestly. Oral. Sarah and Tommy make an appearance, Ellie get's briefing mentioned. Sex and the City references. Reader and Joel like orange chicken. Cannolis. Fire references. One reference to 9/11. New York City.

Authors Note: I have so much I could say about this one, but I'll keep it short. Thank you for your patience on this, and for all of the love. I hope you think the build-up was worth it. I love ya'll a milli.

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

Part 1 | Part 2

As soon as Sarah opens the door, she can tell something is different, she can feel it. She expected to find her dad engrossed in his usual weekend routine—perhaps watching a movie or reading a book—or even more so, she expected to find his apartment empty, with him being on call, but no. The fresh aroma of dinner and the faint smell of candles alert her to something more. Plus it’s quiet, a little too quiet.

“Dad?” she yells.

And shit.

You’ve got to be joking, you think.

Your eyes practically poke out of your skull as you attempt to adjust your dress, straightening and flattening the lace straps of your panties over your hips, your arousal still tacked on to your inner thighs. You frantically try to pat down your hair and wipe the indecent look from your face, but you think it might be obvious anyway. Months of wanting and need are hard to erase on demand.

Nearly getting caught, and hearing his daughter's voice, causes Joel to soften. He quickly pulls his pants up and buckles his jeans. He runs his fingers through his curls and braces for impact, rising to stand next to you in front of the couch, being sure to leave a decent gap between your bodies.

Sarah walks through the hallway and sees the dining table set for two in the distance, the candles nearly burnt to the end, but still flickering. She turns her attention to the living room, then to you and Joel, and oh, this is new. Her eyes catch a glimpse of the cocktails on the side table and then she immediately drags her gaze back to you both.

Caught off guard, Sarah hesitates in the living room, unsure of how to react. Joel looks at her but doesn’t quite say anything. "Hi, dad... I, uh, didn't know you were expecting company," Sarah stammers, feeling a flush of embarrassment.

Joel clears his throat, attempting to compose himself.

You smile warmly, trying to alleviate the awkwardness. "Uh, hi – you must be Sarah,” you sheepishly wave, “Your dad has told me a lot about you."

As Sarah steps towards you both, she can’t help but shake the feeling of intrusion. She forces a smile, trying to play off her surprise. "Hi. Um, it’s nice to meet you, too,” she pauses before adding, “I’m really sorry, I didn't mean to barge in. I just wanted to surprise you dad, but I’ll um… let you two enjoy your evening."

Joel, realizing he needs to address the situation, says, “Sarah, wait. Let me explain."

But Sarah shakes her head, not wanting to prolong the discomfort, heat creeping up to her chest. "It's okay, Dad. I'll catch up with you later. I told Ellie would meet up with her tonight anyway. I’ll be back, uh – later.” With that, she makes a hasty exit, leaving both you and Joel a bit surprised and amused. Did that really just happen?

In the hallway on her way out, Sarah can’t help but smile at the unexpected turn of events. She has never seen her dad with anyone since her mom ran out. Sure, it might be weird to think of her father with someone, but it’s quite the opposite. As far as she can tell, he seems happy. And if he’s happy, she’s happy. Plus, he deserves it.

++++

As Sarah exits the front door, you and Joel both stand there in charged silence. He turns to face you and takes a step forward to close the distance that he had intentionally created. He’s so close, enough so that you feel his belly rising and falling with this breath. You place your hand on his chest and feel the thrum of his heart beneath your palm before letting it slowly glide down over his taught muscles, your fingertips coming to rest on his pants, the tips of them gently tucked into the band below his belt.

There is so much you could say. So much he could say. Hell, so much you both should say.

You pause there looking up at Joel, waiting for him to say anything. An explanation, an excuse, something.

But he doesn’t.

Because he can’t.

Simply because for the past few months, you've dominated every corner of his mind, leaving no room for a single coherent thought to emerge. Every waking moment has been an incessant stream of you – your smile, your laugh, your perfect tits, and hell, even the thought of you spread wide on his couch, begging for him to take you. He no longer feels like a rational man capable of clear thought.

When his mouth goes to form words, nothing comes out. Although that’s not a total surprise considering most of the blood in his body is not in his brain, nor has it been for a while now. No, it’s all in his cock, and not being able to do anything about it has been slowly driving him over the edge.

The way you look at him is like an extra quarter being added to the coin pusher that’s already piled high with money, just waiting to topple over for the jackpot.

Joel Miller is a gentleman, yes. He’s also an adoring father, an excellent firefighter, and a good brother.

But right now, none of that matters. You have stripped him of every title, replacing his being down to one existential thing.

Need.

An animalistic, raw, burning desire courses through his veins for one thing and one thing only.

You.

And although he wishes it was a bit more seamless and romantic, right now he couldn’t care less. Coming down your throat isn’t enough. He hasn’t even fully had you yet, but he can already tell he’s hooked.

He’s an addict and you’re the drug. Enough will never be enough. Try as he might, he’ll always want more, more, more.

Starting right fucking now.

Joel looks down at you with dark eyes before he grabs you in a way that says he means business. One hand catches the back of your head, the other goes to your waist, and he pulls you taught against his chest, the pressure of it releases a little oof from your lungs, and he greets you with an intense kiss. You taste a hint of whiskey on his breath, and you wonder if he can taste himself on you.

This kiss feels different. The first couple were amazing, the best you’ve ever had if you’re being honest, but this one goes deeper. He kisses you with such an intensity that you find yourself questioning the laws of gravity – what goes up, must come down. Right now, you’re not sure if you’ll ever come down from the way he makes you feel, the way his lips on yours make you feel like you’re free-floating amongst the clouds.

“Mmm,” Joel moans, his lips barely separating from you. “Really had a different evening planned in my head, Darlin’,” he admits, words reverberating against your lips. He grazes them down to your jaw and places soft kisses along the square edge of it. His hot breath greets your ear, “But to hell with it…no more distractions, baby.”

All you can respond with is a moan of his name, lost in the haze of your arousal. You’ve been fantasizing about this moment for months; how finally having him deep inside you would feel. Now, your dream is materializing before you and you’re dizzy with fervor.

He continues to nip at your neck, his hands finding their way to the straps of your dress and before long he’s pulling them down, the silky fabric of your dress falling to the floor so you’re completely nude in front of him, bare save for the soiled fabric of your thong. He groans in approval against your skin before licking a broad stripe up the valley of your breasts, his hand coming up to thumb one of your nipples as he does.

“Ugh, yes Joel, I want you, need you so fucking bad,” you moan with your head tilted back as his mouth greets the tender skin of one of your breasts. His mouth navigates to the flesh of your nipple and you let out a desperate moan, tangling your hands in his salt and pepper-streaked hair.

“Yeah?” he says, a somewhat taunting tone to his voice, releasing your nipple from his mouth with a loud pop. “Love to hear you say that, baby. But I think you can beg a little better f’me, can’t you?”

“Want you so fucking much, Joel. Need to feel you inside me, it’s driving me insane not knowing what you feel like. Waited so long, please fuck me,” you add for good measure, not evening trying to mask the urgency behind your voice. You’ve never felt like this before, so full of lust, and need, your core burning at a red-hot temperature, dripping for him and only him.

“That’s better,” he says as he pushes you against the wall, not even bothering to notice the picture frames that fall to the floor as a result. He quickly spins you around, letting his hand drag from the top of your neck down the column of your spine, encouraging you to arch your back. Your cheeks meet the cool feel of the wall beneath you and the corners of your lips rise in a little smirk. Fucking finally.

He grips the sides of your waist, and palms down the length of your body, admiring the softness of your skin and the way your body naturally responds to his touch. Once at your hips, his fingers hook under the fabric of your panties and he rips the thin fabric, literally tearing it off your body.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groans. You stay pressed against the wall with your back arched for him and whisper something that almost sounds like a please. He unbuckles the metal on his belt and shoves his pants down his thighs in a haste. There’s something especially filthy about it – you fully nude in front of him, while his clothes barely cling on. He’s too voracious to fully undress or relocate to his bedroom. It has to be right here, right now.

With one hand, he grabs his heavy cock and gives it a few strokes. He uses the weeping tip of it and drags it through your already wet folds, collecting the mixture of your sick and his pre-come to coat the length of him.

He nestles himself at the entrance of your cunt, “Ready for me, baby,” to which you can only reply a muffled need you. He presses himself into your wet heat, and you let out a little moan, one mixed with a twinge of pain, but mostly pleasure. Tears prick in the corner of your eyes, and your jaw falls slack as he pushes himself further and further inside of you with every thrust. You’re already in ecstasy and he’s not even fully inside yet.

“Fuck, I can barely fit,” he mutters, “so tight, baby. Relax f’me” And something about his voice, the silkiness and commanding parts of it, causes you to listen. You take a deep breath and urge yourself to calm the walls that swallow him. And it works because, with one more thrust of his hips, his cock is buried to the hilt inside of you. You feel so full you swear you can feel him in your lungs, but it’s such an exhilarating feeling that you can’t imagine what it feels like to not have him inside of you.

“Taking this cock so god damn well, darlin’,” he mutters, his voice low. “Gonna move now, okay? Tell me if it hurts.” As he retreats, there’s a dull sting, stemming from a stretch you’re not used to, but it’s not particularly a bad feeling, just new. Your eyes flutter closed and he continues to work into you, acclimating your body to his. It doesn’t take long, your pussy responds to him in kindness, devouring it like it was made for him. Joel lets out his own wrecked groan of approval and begins to fuck you in earnest. Each movement of his hips smushes your face against the wall. The friction on your cheek should hurt, but it doesn’t. It’s adding fuel to the fire raging between your bodies.

With one hand holding you steady as he fucks into you, the other snakes around to the front of your body, and his thick fingers find your puffy and sensitive clit. He adds the slightest bit of pressure and begins to rub circles on it. “Oh my god, Joel, please – ah, please don’t stop.”

“‘M not stopping, baby. Feels too good,” he adds, his voice wrecked. The feeling of his warm chest pressed up against you, the fullness of him inside of you, and the attention he gives your body with his fingers is so intense you swear you see god.

You have given yourself many orgasms before, but you can tell that the orgasm that threatens to rip through your body is electric, different. You feel the familiar spread of pleasure that starts in your belly and emanates outwards, and within seconds you’re gone. Your breathing stops altogether, your ears ring, and your knees go weak as Joel fucks you through it.

Joel groans and drops his head to your shoulder. You coming on his cock nearly undoes him, gripping around the thick shape of him in a way he didn’t realize was physically possible. “Shit darlin’, so good for me, ‘m not gonna last much longer,” he says with an urgency behind his voice. “Where do you want me?”

“Come inside me, please want to feel it, need all of you,” you beg, and that’s all he needs to hear. He knows it’s risky, but he’s good with risk. Joel lives and breathes risk nearly every day of his life. Besides, no risk has never felt so fucking good.

You can tell from the way his breathing eradicates that he’s close. With a final stutter of his hips and his cock is deep inside of you, he empties himself, painting your cervix with so much come that your pussy can hardly hold it. “Fuck, baby,” he groans, panting against your skin. After he catches his breath, he holds your hips steady and slowly pulls out, a little glob of his release falling to the hardwood floors below as he does. Your palm comes to cup your sex as if to hold the rest of it inside of you, still wanting to have part of him inside of you, and you turn back around to face him. The feeling of the cool wall on your back offers a stark contrast to the heat of his body.

Now that you’re both finally satisfied, you stand there looking at each other. Part of you expects something to feel different, but it doesn’t. His hand comes to cup your cheek, and he plants a soft kiss on your lips. “We still have dessert, you know,” he says, gazing at you with a tenderness that causes your stomach to swoop.

You're beginning to understand that what you feel for him goes beyond mere physical desire.

What once started as a little spark in kindling, now threatens to burn the whole damn house down.

W I N T E R

As autumn relinquishes its vibrant hold on New York, a gradual transformation unfolds, marking the seamless transition into winter. The once-lush tapestry of fall foliage succumbs to the chill in the air. The streets, once adorned with a carpet of golden leaves, now echo with the crisp sound of footsteps on pavement.

Ever since your first official date a few months ago, you both have been inseparable, only parting to go to work. You take turns switching apartments, leaving practically no surface unfucked on – the couch, the kitchen floor, the dining room table – it’s all fair game.

You’ve both conceded that it’s best to do date night at home, given both of you can’t keep your hands off each other for long. It always starts out innocent, a flirty look across the table, a wink in the elevator, and before you know it his fingers are knuckle deep inside of you, curling against the spongey spot that makes you weak for him.

You and Joel haven’t officially put a name to what you are, or what this is, but for now you don’t mind. You’re content in your little cocoon of bliss.

It’s Saturday night, and Joel’s at the station for the weekend. You’re cozied up under a hand-knitted blanket, an early christmas gift courtesy of your aunt. Not by her hands, of course, she could never be bothered with such a thing. “Saw this at an adorable little market in Florence. New York is cold in the winter, stay warm. Happy holidays, darling. Love you dearly,” the hand penned note read.

You’re watching a rerun of Sex and the City, the episode where Carrie is high and yells “Fuck the chicken wings! Where did we put the fucking pot?” A half bottle of red and a handful of Sang Garden to-go cartons are spread out on the coffee table in front of you.

When you called to order, you didn’t have to even give them your selections since your voice is so obviously recognizable. The older lady on the phone – Mei, you’ve come to learn – is curt as usual, “Okay, see you in 10 minutes.” As you picked up your order, you couldn’t help but smile when you saw they had given you double the orange chicken and a side of fried rice, your new usual now that Joel is in the picture.

They even threw in a handful of extra fortune cookies, Joel’s favorite. Your heart swells to the memory of him telling you the history of the cookie, his mouth full of half of one, “they’re not even from China,” he told you, “Best guess is that they’re from Japan. Learned about it from the History Channel.”

He’s like that, an encyclopedia of random knowledge and facts, a geek in his own right. At first glance, he exudes an aura of calm competence and strength, but the deeper you get to know him, the clearer it becomes that he basically has the same energy of a golden retriever.

Midway through the episode, your phone buzzes with a text from him.

“Pretty slow over here tonight, what are you doing baby?”

“Just watching a show, wish you were here,” you quickly reply. You hardly have time to place your phone on your chest before he responds.

“Sex and the City or Friends?”

The smile that graces your face is like a teenager with her first crush. He knows you so well.

“Sex and the City. Ordered Sang for dinner, they gave me double the orange chicken and fried rice, and like a million fortune cookies. Did you eat yet?” you reply.

“Not yet. Gonna bring me some?” he replies, half-joking.

Now there’s an idea.

You unintentionally leave him on read, too excited at the thought of seeing him at work, as you throw your phone across the couch and toss the blanket off your legs. You package up the leftovers and change. Nothing too risque given it’s less than 20 degrees outside, but it’s an outfit you know Joel likes. A white tee-shirt, a soft cardigan, your favorite pair of jeans, and your waterproof booties. If there’s anything that you’ve learned since moving to New York, it’s that quality shoes are essential.

You snag your coat and scarf, bundling up against the crisp night air, leftovers in hand, and stride out the door. The winter chill doesn't bite too harshly tonight, making you skip the cab and opt for a walk – a bonus being the journey through Little Italy to reach the firehouse. The atmosphere in New York this time of year is nothing short of magical – street lamps adorned with twinkling lights, plush pine trees peeking from nearly every window. You always wondered what Christmas time in New York might look like, and now you’re glad you know.

As you make your way through the city, you pass by Ferrara Cafe and your attention is captivated by the sight of fresh cannolis being stuffed through the windows. A spontaneous decision leads you inside to snag a dozen or so as a surprise for Joel and the guys. He’s told you so much about them over the past few months, and as much as you’re excited to finally meet them, well – except for Lieutenant Franklin – you’re a tad nervous, too. With the firehouse now in view, that feeling only intensifies.

Since both of your hands are full, you place the paper bag full of cannolis between your teeth and use your free hand to grab your phone from your pocket. You type out a quick “Surprise! Come outside,” and finish the walk to the station. Standing near the front entrance with both bags in hand, your attention turned to the street, the door to the firehouse opens and a low voice greets you. Except it’s not…

“Well hey there, Darlin’,” he says, his voice slightly muffled from the toothpick in his mouth.

A cascade of dark curls crowns his head, his skin maintaining a sun-kissed glow despite the season. He boasts a broad, muscular frame, one that demands attention. The way he casually addresses you with a familiar "Darlin'" leaves you with little doubt. "You must be Tommy," you sweetly greet.

“And you must be the neighbor girl who’s got my brother stopping to smell the roses,” he responds with a little chuckle.

“Guilty as charged,” you smile, a little embarrassed, although you know you have no reason to be. You don’t miss the way his eyes drag up and down your frame. Joel had told you that Tommy was a bit of a flirt, and now you see why.

“Come on now, it’s cold out here,” he says, holding the door open for you. You don’t know Tommy, not really, but from what you can tell he probably has the same impeccable southern manners as his brother. You practically feel his eyes on your ass as you walk through the door. Okay, maybe not exactly the same manners.

Once inside the station, you let out a little sigh, happy to finally be back in a warm building. You turn to face Tommy and ask, “Joel’s here, right?” and before he can respond, Joel is within eyeshot of you, “Right here, sweetheart,” he says, looking at you in a way that makes your stomach flutter.

You swear time slows down as he approaches, like a real-life Hallmark movie. You see him all the time, but seeing him in uniform at the firehouse, causes a rush of arousal to flow through you. He plants a soft kiss on the top of your head, “what’s all this?” he asks.

“Oh uh, well, it’s dinner and a surprise,” you say, your voice slightly shrill; an octave higher than usual, a little caught up in your affection.

“Yeah?” he says, grabbing the bags from you, a genuine excitement to his voice.

“Orange chicken, some fried rice and a ridiculous amount of fortune cookies for you,” you continue, “and cannolis from Ferrara for you and the guys,” you finish.

“Cannolis!” Tommy exclaims, “Let me take this off your hands,” he says, snatching the bag from Joel, pushing through the both of you before disappearing to the kitchen to share the goodies with his team. While they’re both grown men, there are some things that will always remain true, and Tommy fighting his brother for sweets is one of those things. You smile in amusement and let out a little laugh. Joel shakes his head but you notice the corners of his lips lift into a smile as he does.

“Real sweet of you to drop by,” he says as he grabs your hand, and yanks it forward so your chest is snuggled against his. His lips fall to yours, and you let out a little moan at the warmth of them. While there are many things to love about Joel Miller, one of your favorites, especially this time of year is that he’s basically a walking space heater. His skin and touch always so warm, so inviting. He feels cozy. Homey even.

He intertwines his fingers through yours, and signals you to follow him, “Come on, I’ll give ya a tour.”

++++

Joel walks you down this hallway that's practically a living museum of memories. There are framed photos of the crew in their dress blues, badges marking moments of bravery, a worn-out flag from an engine that responded to 9/11, and even a tribute wall for the firehouse dogs that have been part of the family over the years. It's like each inch of this hallway has its own story, echoing with the sacrifice, tight bonds, and history that define this firehouse.

The air is alive with the sounds of camaraderie and the clatter of boots against the station's scuffed floors. As you pass by the living quarters, Joel points out the communal spaces where the team gathers after a call. You smile as you see all of the guys huddle around the kitchen table, the cannolis spread out on a paper plate in the middle of it. You hear one of the guys whisper don’t tell my wife about this one as he reaches for what you assume must be his second – third? – cannoli.

He guides you past the kitchen, where the lingering aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the savory scent of yesterday's family dinner. He pauses there to momentarily put the food you brought him in the fridge before continuing.

He shows you the training room, where the team hones their skills and drills to perfection. Joel explains the importance of constant readiness and practice.

You walk past a set of stairs, and he tells you that’s where the beds and showers are. “Can’t take you up there though or I might get a little bold,” he chuckles and you lift one eyebrow to him in amusement, wishing he would. You have to admit the thought of Joel fucking you with the rest of his team below, completely unaware, is kind of hot. It turns on more than it probably should.

Finally, the tour leads to the heart of the firehouse—the garage. The massive red fire trucks and the white ambulance gleam under the fluorescent lights. It smells a bit like gas, oil slick, and soap. You remember Joel telling you that they clean the firetrucks multiple times a day, something about the importance of taking care of the city’s multi-million dollar equipment, but you zoned out a little bit at the end of his speech, too distracted by his mouth as it moved.

There are giant puffy black uniform pants neatly puddled and unbuckled on the floor, ready to be stepped into for whenever the alarm signals.

You step further into the space, and Joel gestures towards the impressive array of equipment and black and yellow uniforms neatly hanging on racks, small locker shelves above each rack. You see that each hook has a last name above it. You see T. Miller above one, but you don’t see J. Miller.

You run your hand along the uniforms adorned on the racks, and look at Joel as you ask, “And where is your rack, Captain Miller?” and fuck, you haven’t called him Captain since that first morning in his apartment. Somehow your question sounds just as provocative as it did the first time you asked him, You gonna let me say thank you properly for last night, Captain Miller?

The memory of it causes his cock to flinch. He adjusts himself. You notice.

He clears his throat, and tilts his head to the adjacent wall. “Uh, mine’s over here. Keep mine separate so Tommy and I don’t mix ours up,” he answers. You walk over to his space, and see his name. There’s a black helmet resting on the hook, a large white plaque in the front of it with blocky letters that say “33”, his last name “MILLER” above the numbers, and “NEW YORK” below them.

Your hand darts out to touch it, and you trace your fingers over his last name. You pick it up and put it on your head, and look at Joel. “How do I look?” you ask, a cheeky tone to your voice, “think I pull this off?” Joel lets out a low groan of approval. Seeing you in his helmet almost does more for him than seeing you in his uniform shirt.

“Look mighty fine in my clothes, Darlin’,” he says while sauntering to where you stand and closing the gap between your bodies. His large palm reaches out to grab your wrist. He traces the pad of his thumb over your pulse and your breathing hitches in your throat. Even after all this time, his presence alone still has that effect on you. You’re convinced he could stop a Mack Truck on the freeway with his gaze alone.

“Yeah? Think I’d be good at putting out fires,” you ask, lifting your eyes to his, peering at him through your lashes, your view slightly obstructed by the plastic.

“I think you’re good at startin’ em,” he responds, amused. You give him a little smirk and pull your wrist from his grip as you walk over to the firetruck. You casually lean against it, feeling the cool metal on your back.

“Oh come on, I could put out fires! In case you haven’t heard, I own a fire extinguisher now,” you playfully tease, still keeping your eyes locked on his.

Of course he knows, he’s the one that bought it for you and walked you through how to safely discharge it.

You drop your gaze to his crotch and are pleased to see a hardness forming there, probably from the memory of his demonstration and how less than two minutes into it your lips were wrapped around his throbbing cock.

“You’re not paying attention, Darlin’, this is important,” he had said, not trying to stop you, not really, as you unbuckled his pants.

“I’m paying perfect attention, and I agree, this is important,” you responded, giving him your own lesson on how to discharge something.

Fresh off the heels of his little trip down memory lane, he walks over to you and meets you at the fire truck. His arm extends, placing his flat palm assertively on the metal above your head, revealing his sculpted bare bicep. You’re basically caged in by his body. Simultaneously, his other hand confidently finds your waist, and he tilts his face to kiss your lips. You feel his hard cock pressing back at you and it makes you whimper with desire. Your palm comes to grope the thick shape of him and he groans in response.

“Can’t do this here, baby,” he says. He takes a step back and you shrug against the firetruck.

“Hmm,” you respond. “I agree, this would be much better,” you say, stepping onto the firetruck. He’s not sure what comes over him, you just have that effect on him, but he follows you onto the rig.

It’s not as big as the outside might make it seem, but there are four decent sized black seats, two on each side facing each other. In between each seat is a row of radios, headgear, and caution vests.

Once on the truck, you think you might have to coax him to get what you want, but instead, you’re met with, “Pants off. Now. Gonna have to be quick about this, baby,” he says as he undoes the buckle of his belt and pulls his pants down, taking his underwear with it to reveal his massive package.

You do as he says, not having to worry about your panties, considering you opted for none. It drives Joel crazy anytime he sees you’ve gone commando. His helmet is still on your head, and your nipples are hard beneath your shirt. The sight of him alone has you wet and Joel can tell by the way your inner thighs gleam with slick.

He takes his place on one of the seats and holds his heavy cock by the base of it, positioning it straight up. “See what you do to me,” he groans, and gives his length a few strokes. “Come on darlin’, come take your seat,” and jesus. Commanding Joel is hot. You understand why they made him captain.

You position your legs to stand above him and begin to lower yourself onto his cock. Your eyes flutter closed at the sting from the stretch of him. You’re wet enough, it’s just that he’s so fucking big.

“Don’t close your eyes, baby. Look at me,” Joel says, and you do. He lets out a low wrecked groan of pleasure as your cunt swallows him. You feel the coarse hair at the base of him against your clit.

“You’re so good for me, so fucking good around me,” Joel groans, and you begin to slowly move up and down his shaft, “fucking made f’me,” his filthy words cause you to shudder and move faster.

“Touch your clit,” he orders. You steady yourself on his cock by placing one hand on his shoulder, using the other to rub your middle finger over your clit. You make figure eight patterns with your hips and it’s so good, so intense. His hands leave a bruise grip on your ass as he helps you grind into him. You’re close, Joel can tell by the way your walls clamp around him.

“Come for me, pretty girl, wanna see you,” he says, as he brings his mouth to your clothed nipple and offers it a gentle bite. You moan, a little too loud, caught up in the sensation of the thick drag of him in and out of your heat.

‘Gotta be quiet for me tho, darlin’,” he says as one of his hands finds its way to your mouth to silence you. With you now utterly quiet, the clapping sound of your thighs fills the air. He juts his hips up into you as you continue to ride him, and the tip of his cock brushes up against your cervix. With a few more strokes, you feel your sweet release rush through you like you’re nothing but a pool of gas ignited with a match.

“Atta girl,” he praises, “so good for me, so pretty when you come all over my cock.”

It’s not long before Joel feels his wave of pleasure build. You pant as you do your best to continue riding him through your fucked out state, a sheen of sweat on your neck and face. His grip on your body tightens, “ah fuck, fuck,” he moans as he releases hot ropes of come inside of you. His forehead drops to your chest and you card your fingers through his hair, enjoying the sticky and delicious feeling of being full of him.

Once he catches his breath, he looks up at you and your lips connect.

In the middle of your kiss, a sound you're both familiar with goes off.

The alarm.

The voice of a 9-1-1 dispatcher chimes through the speakers, “Engine 21, we have a stage three structural fire at 4145 Reed St. All units report.”

Shit.

You lift his helmet from your head and place it on his head before rising to stand.

“Off you go then, Captain, I’ll see you at home,” you say, rushing to get dressed as he does the same. You quickly jump off the truck and manage to sneak back into the firehouse unseen as the rest of the crew swirls down the firepole and rushes through the door to the truck.

Joel manages to get in uniform in record time, and is the first on the truck.

As the rest of the crew piles in, Tommy finds his seat next to Joel and gives him a knowing smirk. “Smells like sex in here,” he says.

Thankfully Joel is the only one who hears it. Joel feels heat rush up to his cheeks and before he can find the words to respond, the firetruck is barreling out of the station, sirens blaring.

You hear the loud call of the sirens fade in the distance as it drives further away, and you begin your walk back to your apartment.

++++

Once back at your apartment building, you don’t even bother to go to yours. You gather the mail that always inevitably collects on the floor by the entrance, and instead of stacking it into a pile at the base of the steps, you bring it up with you.

You lift the boring, grey door mat and reveal Joel’s spare key underneath it.

You slip the key into his lock and as it normally does, the space greets you with warmth. You grab a Bud Light from the fridge, and watch an episode of Friends before deciding to call it a night. You shower, once again using his shampoo and brush your teeth with the toothbrush that now permanently lives with Joel. You rummage through the wooden drawers in his bedroom and find the navy blue shirt with familiar blocky lettering that you’ve grown fond of.

As you crawl into his bed, you’re reminded of your first night in New York. And just like you did that night, you stare at the ceiling, paying no mind to the smile that’s been plastered on your face for not just the past three hours, the past few months.

You feel giddy, but not like a little girl seeing the stars for the first time, like a woman in love.

You’re doing it. You’re really doing it. You’re just not doing it alone anymore.

Maybe this was your aunts plan all along.

++++

Nearly 6am the next morning, Joel returns home to find you curled up, peacefully asleep in his bed. The now familiar sound of your soft snores fill the room. He hastily showers, and slips into the sheets with you, curling your body against his as he glides his arm under your pillow, being careful not to wake you. You let out a soft little moan, but for the most part are in the liminal space between your dream world and the real world. Not fully asleep, but not fully awake, either.

With his broad chest against your back, he uses his free hand to play with a loose strand of your hair. He can tell you used his shampoo again. He can’t help the dopey grin that erupts on his face.

He plants his lips against your temple.

It’s too soon.

He knows it’s too soon.

But maybe, just maybe…I mean, you’re asleep, right? You won’t hear. He has to get it out, the unspoken words burning in his chest.

He whispers a soft “I love you,” in your ear and allows himself to inhale your sweet scent mixed with lingering notes of him.

As he goes to roll over onto his side to go to sleep himself, he freezes as he hears you whisper back, “I love you, too.”

And boom.

With those simple words, the house – your heart – is no longer ablaze with a single flickering flame.

It’s on fire with an intensity you’re not sure could ever be extinguished.

END

Tags: @endlessthxxghts @sydneyinacoma @theoasisofthings @pedrostories @meabhogr @bastardmandennis @untamedheart81 @lavema @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @dugiioh @nervoushottee @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings @josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @peachmy @survivingandenduring @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @brittmb115 @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @javiscigarette @morallyinept @tobesolovelysstuff @notsosecretspy @alokaerza @ro-nahime-things @gwendibleywrites @morgaussy @missladym1981

As always, feel free to let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list, or removed (even if we're moots, no hard feelings). I'll still be using my tag list for now, but I just started a notifs blog, so will be transitioning to that eventually. Please follow @katiexpunkupdates to get notified when I post fics.xx

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller #pedro pascal character #pedrohub #pedro pascal #new york #firefighter smut #sex on fire #pedro stories

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kencoded-kengirl · 9 months

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nobody knows how to write succession sex oh my god. please stop writing stewy and kendall snuggling in bed. we all know kenstew aftercare comes in 1 form and 1 form only: kendall crying incredibly loudly and wetly into the pillow while stewy rolls over and watches tiktoks on full volume for about 15 minutes until he stops feeling completely burned out on kendall as a person

#kenstewy #kenstew #kendall roy #stewy hosseini #succession #fire all kenstew fanfiction writers I alone get them #don’t even ASK me about tomshiv sex headcanons. yeah #amperspeaks

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dancermk · 9 months

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I’m a little disappointed to see so much discourse, fandom competitiveness, and plain arguing going around at the moment in regards to queer film/TV. People complaining about too much sex, not enough sex, too cheesy, made for the hets, too happy, too sad, too realistic, too unrealistic, and a million other petty issues. I, for one, am a queer person in my 50s and I grew up with practically zero representation! Yes, we want to continue onwards and upwards with quality and varied shows BUT let’s be HAPPY we now have representation! Like, actual shows where the central characters are queer, not just a side character who gets f*cking murdered! There is room for all different types of representation - so enjoy the types you like, and let others enjoy what they like.

And on a side note: progress is progress and film/tv is a business that has to turn a profit! If some queer content is made to appeal to the straight community, and will also act as a means of reducing homophobia and increasing understanding, then that’s a good thing. That means in the future more and more content will include queer stories and representation. If only 10% (ish) of the population is the maximum target audience then shows won’t keep getting made!

There is a huge backlash all over the world right now - a “push back” by conservatives and religious groups that want to wind back the clock, and specifically the last decade of advances.

So stick together queers and LGBTQIA+ allies.

I’m super happy knowing I don’t have to wait years between content anymore. And I’ve loved all different types of shows over the last 5 years, for lots of different reasons!

Interview with the Vampire - is giving me the toxic, passionate gothic love affair I’ve always wanted. And addressing interracial relationships.

Heartstopper - is filling me up with pure joy and hopefulness for the future.

Shameless - gave me Ian and Mickey - unique, anti stereotypical gays with a tragic yet ultimately beautiful love story spanning 11 years

Lone Star 911 - is giving me TK and Carlos whose sexuality barely factors into the storyline! Yay!

Looking - gave me an authentic queer experience and an intoxicating love triangle.

Red, white and Royal Blue - gave me a sweet, cute romcom that allowed reality to be sidelined. Fun escapism!

Young Royals - had me captivated by first love and intense angst.

Fire Island - an underrated romcom that made me laugh so hard I cried.

Sex education - shoved the realities of sex in our faces and provided me with laughter and drama and a range of queer identities.

Gentlemen Jack -gave me historical lesbians with spectacular wit, and feminine power.

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg- because there’s SO SO SO many more shows I could mention! Don’t at me because I didn’t mention YOUR favourite. This is my point! There is SO much great content it would take all day for me to include everything. This is just a sample - and that’s f*cking brilliant!!

So maybe we could all start posting/tweeting etc about what WE DO LIKE / LOVE / MAKES US FEEL LOVED AND SEEN and put down the device if we’ve got nothing nice to say.

Sending everyone a love filled week! 💜

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faetreides · 2 months

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summary: king!aegon ii targaryen x afab rhaenyra’s child!reader

cw: CANON TYPICAL incest/targcest, boot worship, free use, public, voyeurism/exhibitionism (non con on the guards part 💀), hints of reader being just as much of a weirdo i’m sorry (rhaenyra can’t blame them tho), used a valyrian translator so if there’s any mistakes no there’s not <3, fucking on the iron throne as a celebratory end of work day thing, everything is 100% consensual on reader’s part, one use of “whore”, aegon’s pet names are all food related 🥴 (deadass almost had him call reader beer for the joke)

wc: 888 (🎱✨)

block & move on if uncomfortable !!

do not repost, translate, or give ai my work

last hotd fic for a bit bc i’m out of ideas

kinktober masterlist

“Ry paktot, ilagon ao jikagon, jorrāelagon (all right, down you go love).”

You and your uncle Aegon have the strangest end of day ritual. It always starts with you being shoved on your knees, his hands cradling your shoulders to protect you from the sharp iron throne.

All others are sent away from the room, save for a few guards that had been eyeing your body far too much for his liking. You were yet to be married but numerous whispers of your sexual exploits ran through the castle like wildfire. Aegon II Targaryen, was a king that one could not even sneeze in front of for fear of setting him off. So he is careful to keep those shrews' musings away from you, it was a feat of strength to coerce you into being as bold as you are now.

“Come now, elilla (honey). Clean my shoes so i can give your cunt the fucking it deserves.” He orders you, and you are all too eager, especially with the eyes of the uncomfortable guards on you.

You pray to the Gods that Aegon does not catch them looking with their peripheral vision, pausing your fun to murder more of the staff would really rain on your parade.

The shoes of your king are cleaned before you put your tongue to them, something that you’re almost disappointed by at this point. You are tempted to ask him to turn away the shoe shiner for next time.

His crown has the same red haze surrounding it that lives deep within Aegon, and it commands your attention all the same. You let your eyes softly fall shut as you run your wet tongue along the edge of his boot. The metallic tang has become an old friend, as well as any paltry specs of blood you find. You fear that you could possibly develop a craving for it.

You prostrate yourself before your betrothed as if you were a humming bird that had come face to face with Balerion himself. A house kitten mewling for the attention of a tiger. It is not unlike performing a blow job. Your lashes become the sheer curtains you look out of and your mouth fulfills its purpose.

You flatten your tongue and begin to dip into the crevices, getting every inch of his shoes slick with your spit. Aegon has his weeping cock in the firm hold of both of his hands, and he times his strokes to every flick of your tongue.

Your “services” last for what feels like an eternity. Your uncle’s eyes wander to keep the forcibly voyeuristic guards in check. You can hear their feet shuffling on the ground as they squirm behind you, and Aegon is so pleased by this that he returns his attention to his beloved pet.

“Prūbres (apple), that is quite enough. Come back up, darling.” He says while gingerly rubbing the heel of his boot into your cheek.

“Yes, qȳbor (uncle).”

You clamor into his lap, taking the initiative by lifting your previously stretched hole over his cock. One of his hands claws into the flesh of your hip to steady you, and the other positions his cock upright. Once you get past the pink tip, your walls are snugly wrapped around his entire length in seconds. You both groan as he bottoms out. Aegon wastes no time and digs his nails into your other hip, lifting you off of his cock until the tip catches against your entrance and swiftly dropping you back down.

“My whore, a jewel worth more than any found in my crown.” The word comes out between gritted teeth, but the thumb drawing loose circles on your pearl is kinder. “Not one of those filthy dogs will ever know the pleasure of a cunny as sweet as the one made for me.”

“They will not.” You whined, relishing in the red marks his nails were no doubt leaving on your jiggling ass as you bounced on his girthy cock. “Only you, qȳbor (uncle), only my king. They could hang for all I care.”

You have an awful habit for letting words flow from your mouth with no thought of their consequences. It’s not your fault though, you muse as Aegon scratches at your moving globes of flesh, your cunt takes priority more often than not. You ignore the spark that ignites in his soul at the foolish declaration.

His thumb stops teasing your clit and rubs it harshly up and down until your rapid bouncing ceases in favor of chasing that high. He only has to spank you a single time for you to shatter around his cock with an angelic and blissfully soft moan. You let your torso fall to his and you bury your face in his neck as his other hand travels to grope your other ass cheek.

Aegon spills into you with an embarrassingly long and loud groan, licking at the pulse point of your neck as he fucks himself into overstimulation. This is the only time he will allow the guards to drink your sex in, so they can gawk at the pure amount of spend that leaks out of your ravaged cunny. He pretends not to notice or enjoy the stares, spreading your fat cheeks to give them a better view.

“Leave us be.”

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thesweetnessofspring · 9 months

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Katniss actually said that if not for the existence of the Games and Panem's shitty state in general, that she, at 17 years old, could possibly be married and pregnant. Full-on teen mothering it with her dandelion in the spring if Panem could chill out for a sec and stop killing children. And then she proceeded to fantasize about Peeta and his child safe in the meadow. This thought alone gave her one of three nights of restful sleep without drugs post-Games during the series (the other two being when she was in Peeta's arms).

And yet when the Games did end permanently and Katniss indeed went ahead and married/committed to Peeta and had a family with him at about 30 years old, some people still did a surprise Pikachu face and complained it was out of character.

WHAT MORE DID SHE HAVE TO DO TO FORESHADOW THE ENDING?

#quote for those who want it:#(in reference to Peeta's baby bomb)#Isn't it the thing I dreaded most about the wedding about the future-the loss of my children to the Games?#And it could be true now couldn't it?#If I hadn't spent my life building up layers of defenses until I recoil at even the suggestion of marriage or a family?#(only change is the commas are taken out b/c tags)#girl basically acknowledged her trauma and said without it she could be married and pregnant at 17 that is WILD #having a secret toasting and then having sex with peeta (as this was the “it” she was referring to)#the hunger games #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #everlark #catching fire

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softpastelqueer · 10 months

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#lgbt #trans rights #lgbtqia #queer #gay #someone asked me to post the graphic on its own #I didn’t expect so many people to like this I spent like 5 seconds on it #the snake is the colors of the sex and magic colors #the fire represents gender diversity within the gender spectrum #the bottom text is in the colors of the original pride flags #mine #credit to twinkenjoyer for the idea #twinkenjoyer

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knightsickness · 10 months

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really really like how criston exhibits the medieval knightly virtues (generosity courtesy chastity fellowship and piety) more than almost any modern hero archetype and is unambiguously a bad person. he genuinely doesn’t believe he’s going to hell for killing a lot of people (that was for the greater good) he thinks it’s for having sex once

#values dissonance stuff with medieval fantasy characters vv interesting esp in relation to masculinity #good masculinity meant being chaste and temperate and a scholar but sex and violence and drinking was still manlier #even if it was officially ‘bad masculinity’ compared to evoking cain instead of abel. many such cases #daemon as an aspirational kind of bad masculinity but also a modern hero archetype as a rogue #criston struggles to maintain medieval good masculinity and a chivalric hero archetype that modern works basically never have uncritically #hotd #house of the dragon #criston cole #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire

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bbygirl-aemond · 8 months

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And if I say Criston and Alicent's relationship is founded upon & revolves entirely around their solidarity as two marginalized people who were both taken advantage of sexually by Targaryen royalty they could not say no to and who were then both humiliated and discarded as if that violation meant nothing, then what-

#it shouldnt be a hot take but just a reminder: if someone can have you killed for saying no then you cannot consent #if someone can take away your job and social status with a single word then you cannot consent to have sex with them #if someone hired you and can fire you at any moment if you upset them you cannot consent to sex with them #criston cole #ser criston cole #alicent hightower #alicent #criston #ser criston #hotd #house of the dragon #meta #hotd meta

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barbieaiden · 4 months

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he's considering the hottest way to kill tristan<3

#after they have sex. obviously #this render was just me messing around in blender but i think it's good enough to post right???#when life gives you lemon. listen to fire emblem three houses music and make kas renders #ts4 render #kas

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macfrog · 2 months

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hanging on the telephone a sex on fire one shot

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: your boss picks a convenient time to ask for a favor.

warnings: age gap eat my fuckin shorts (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, joel likes (semi) public sex again!, softdom!joel, fingering, unprotected piv, daddy kink, praise kink, cursing. takes place somewhere between state-of-the-art and mile high.

word count: 2.9k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

“Sh– Fuck – Shit –”

“So goddamn tight, baby, she’s so –” he pinches your hip with his left hand, presses harder on your clit with his right thumb, “– she’s so fuckin’ tight for me.”

“Daddy, I’m…I’m gonna c…Oh, shit, I'm...”

Joel tips his head back, two beats of cocky laughter pushing from his chest. Even with your vision quickly blurring, your eyes rolling shut, you can still see the way his jaw flexes with it, the way his Adam’s apple bobs. Can hear the curve of the words, shaped by the smirk on his lips.

“You gonna come, baby? That what you’re tryna tell me?”

Your hips circle, body clenching around three thick fingers. “M-hm,” you force through gritted teeth.

“Fuck, pretty girl,” he growls, feeling your little cunt squeezing down to his knuckles. “That two now, or three?”

“Th-three.”

“Three,” he whispers, though you know he already fucking knew. He just wanted you to admit it. Wanted to watch as your lips twisted around an answer, struggled through your orgasm quickly approaching. “’n how long have we been alone?”

Your head tilts onto your shoulder, hands reaching down to clutch around his big wrist. You grip onto the strap of his watch, the cold glass face shocking your burning skin.

Joel laughs again, a hot breath of air across your lips, but he doesn’t slow the snap of his fingers, the circles of his thumb. He takes your jaw in his free hand and turns your ear to his lips, whispering, “Asked you a question, baby girl.”

“F-uh-ck,” you whine, hips beginning to give. “I don’t know, Daddy, I don’t –”

His teeth nip at your lobe, lips press into the skin under your ear. A low rumble, wet on your skin when he murmurs, “Ain’t even been ten minutes.”

There had been no recovery time between your first two orgasms. The first bled straight into the next – Joel and his fingers had drawn them from your body before the elevator had even delivered Martha to the lobby, you’re willing to bet.

She’d buttoned her coat, announced that she needed some fresh air – offered for you to join her, and then shook her head when you called back from Joel’s office that you were fine, thanks, Martha.

Maybe she’s onto the two of you. Maybe she knows all the signs of a secret work romance. Hell, maybe Joel’s done this before. You don’t fucking know.

Reason (and perhaps a smidge of desperate hope) convinces you otherwise. Still – you can’t remember the last time the woman left for lunch alone. Can’t remember the last time she gave you two peace in Joel’s office for more than ten minutes, without popping her head in to gossip or roll her eyes at the pair of you.

You hadn’t been up to anything when she was here, anyways – but it didn’t take long after hearing that sharp ding and the signature rattle of the doors announcing her departure, for Joel’s hands to find your waist.

He made some quip, like, Maybe she’s got her own secret man she’s off to see, and you hadn’t the time to come up with anything worth half a laugh before he pulled you into his lap and slipped his fingers up the inside of your thigh.

When did this become what you do, anyway, you wonder? Sneaking around behind your colleagues’ backs; feeling brave enough to slip a palm down your boss’s front and cup his fucking dick through his pants anytime he looks at you a heartbeat too long. Letting the guy spread your legs on the desk you’ve worked at for three years now; letting him kiss and lick and feast between your thighs.

When did this become normal?

He’s intoxicating. He’s all you fucking think about these days. I’m bored, tell me something funny. Can I sit here while you’re on that meeting? When can we fuck next? No one ever fucked me like you do.

“Fuck,” Joel grunts, wrist slowing as the edges of your vision blur. “Like that, baby girl?”

“Just – just like that,” you beg, hands gripping around his shoulders.

“She likes that, doesn’t she?” Joel utters, pulling you closer. “Come on, baby, give me one more.”

The world halts for a second, splits in two, and crashes back together, throwing you over the edge. You come with a pathetic whimper, folding over Joel’s body and rocking uncontrollably, gripping onto his hair to steady yourself.

His arm wraps around the small of your back, holding you down on his hand until you loosen again – his fingers soaked, glistening. He slips them out, rubbing your clit slowly with his middle finger.

“Fuck,” you breathe, reaching for his hand.

His fingers knot around yours, your release slippery and warm on his knuckles. He takes your jaw in his other hand, pulls you in, and slips his tongue across yours. Something wet and needy, something as meaningless as it is meaningful.

Something which beckons your hands to his belt, your fingers slipping behind the thick leather.

The moment is interrupted by an annoying ping from Joel’s phone discarded to the opposite side of the desk.

Blindly, still with his lips attached to yours, he reaches over and swipes it with one hand. He breaks apart the kiss to look down, blinking at the screen. “Oh, shit,” he says, flatly.

You lean over, one hand still lazily playing with his, squinting at the upside-down text thread. “What?” you ask, fiddling with the undone buttons of his shirt.

“Shit,” again, hissed and now…irritated. “Did you–? I didn’t ask you to book a table at Ricci’s, did I?”

“The Italian place?”

Joel nods, hurriedly.

You shake your head, slowly. A little confused. “Why? What’s…?”

“I’m meeting a client there this afternoon,” he mutters, shifting in his chair. The movement rocks you back and forth, but Joel keeps a hand on your hip to hold you.

A weight you know all too well brushes the inside of your thigh. You both clock it. And then you both ignore it.

“Goddamn it,” Joel groans. “There ain’t no chance that Martha…?”

Your head tilts. “You know damn well you don’t trust anyone with that shit but me. No, it’s not booked. You never asked. But it’s fine, just call ‘em. These places can always make room, Mr. Miller.”

Joel squints, jaw lifting when you drag your nose along it to kiss his neck. His rough beard scratches your nose and chin.

But he’s squinting, when you pull back. Half-turning away from you, one eye closed; mouth twisted in a dumb smirk.

“What?” you ask, frowning.

“You can’t do it for me?”

Your eyes roll. “You fucked up,” you fix the tousled strands of his hair back into place, “fix it. You’re a big boy.”

“Willing to pay you a little extra,” he offers, pulling your hips down against his crotch. “Generous amount.”

“Generous,” you echo, letting him drag your slick mess all over his black pants. Your fingers slip beneath his belt, loosening the fly of his pants.

He’s hard already – solid and heavy when your hand dips below his boxer shorts and wraps around his warm cock. Turned on just by the feeling of you around his fingers, the sight and sound of you unraveling in his lap.

He hisses quietly when you pull him free; smearing wet onto your fingers as you drag your fist up and down. And when you look back up, he’s not watching his cock in your hands. Not looking at the skin exposed by your tangled underwear, your skirt sitting almost as high as your waist.

He’s looking straight at you. Your fluttering eyelashes, your tongue dabbing at the wet forming along your bottom lip. His eyes shoot quick as lightning from one to the other. “Like playing with it, huh?” he asks quietly. “’s your favorite thing in the world.”

You grin. “Like it better when it’s…” you push yourself up, running his wide tip along the seam of your cunt, separating your folds and pausing right below your vagina, “…here.”

Joel’s hands push heavier on your hips – lowering you slowly and gently enough that you could stop him, but sure and steady enough that he knows you won’t dare to. He breaches your opening, intrusion enough to stop your breathing, and slips in.

It glides in so smoothly, so easily that you barely feel the stretch at first. Still soft and soaked from your third release, your body pulls him in – until it starts to hurt.

A tiny gasp from your lips and Joel holds his arms out, letting you clutch onto the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. “Easy, easy,” he says, holding your elbows.

It’s only been a couple times. And as good as they were, you’re still not used to him. He’s still bigger than anyone you’ve ever had before; it still hurts just a little, anytime he pushes in.

But still, you smile bracing yourself now with two palms on his chest – his hair damp with sweat in little swirls on the skin below his clavicle. “Still not – callin’ them,” you pant, taking him halfway.

Joel clicks his teeth, studying your cheeky expression. “Be a big girl ‘n do it,” he whispers, eyes following the round trail of your fingers on his sticky chest. “Do it for your daddy.”

You look up at him, smirk tugging on the corners of your lips. “’n what if Daddy doesn’t deserve it? You – shit – you fucked up,” you repeat.

Joel’s hips lift from the chair, cock slipping deeper, painfully slow as it fills you all the way. When the coarse hair at his base meets your clit, your nails digging little curved marks into his skin, he smirks. “He feel like he don’t deserve it to you?”

“No,” you gasp suddenly, eyes screwing shut, “feels – feels so good, Daddy.”

“Uhuh. You gonna call the restaurant for him?”

Another splintered breath. He’s so fucking big, so uncomfortable when you’re sat on him like this. “Yeah,” you whine, “I’ll call ‘em, Daddy, please just…please…”

His chin lifts, lids flickering over inky eyes. “Ah,” he clips, still holding you up on his cock, “no begging. Not ‘til you call.”

And he drops his hips, holding you off his length as you shakily stand. He helps tug your skirt back into place, watches as you lean over him to reach for the phone.

You do your best to sound annoyed, covering the scratch marks of desperation in your voice when you ask, “What’s the number?”

Joel reads it out, standing up, too, and you rest your elbows on the desk, cracking your neck.

Some chipper voice answers the phone, belting down the line to thank you for your call and ask what he can do for you today. He’s too fucking enthusiastic, too distracting, and only when he pauses to check the system for any free tables do you notice the weight at your ass.

The cold of his belt buckle kissing the underside of your thigh, the peeling of your skirt up, up, up. Hands massaging your ass cheeks; then one cupping between your legs to nudge your clit gently.

You jolt forward, a warped sound crying from your lips. The guy says, Pardon me, ma’am? and you stutter your way through a sentence in reply as Joel hooks your panties to the side.

“We’ve got…let’s see…” The host hums some stupid fucking tune, clicks his tongue against his teeth while you tug on the phone cord – unable to stop from stealing a glance over your shoulder and yet unwilling to give your boss the satisfaction of knowing you’re watching.

Joel pulls the belt free from its loops, drops it to the seat of his chair with a thud, and lines up right behind you.

You cover the microphone. “This what you wanted?” you hiss.

He hums. “You’re the one who bent over, darlin’.”

“Asshole.”

“Way to speak to your boss,” he grumbles, and shoves in.

“Christ,” you yelp, and the host pauses again.

“Um…We have one o’clock?” he asks, keyboard clicking in the background.

Your voice catches, body bouncing against the desk rhythmically. The wooden edge shunts roughly against your pelvis, bruises likely blooming already with the rate Joel’s going.

He bends forward, his right ear lining with the phone. “Say again?” he whispers.

“One,” you repeat.

Joel shakes his head. “Too soon. Ain’t hungry yet.”

“It’s twelve,” you mutter, teeth gritted, “you might be hungry in an hour.”

“Hm,” he considers, leaning back upright. “Maybe, long as I keep myself busy.”

He thrusts forward again, pulling you by the waist until you’re flush against his chest. His hands slip around to cup your breasts, squeezing and pinching and holding you still.

“Anything – later?” you ask down the line, switching the phone to the opposite ear to let Joel in at your neck. His teeth graze the skin, sharp pain when the blood vessels splatter streaks of crimson.

The host offers up a table at two-fifteen, which Joel seems to like the sound of, given the moan he lets free when you ask.

“Two-fifteen’s good,” you say, dropping the phone to the desk when your boss’s hand sneaks around your hip. “Joel,” you gasp, holding your voice at as low a volume as you can, “Joel, I swear to – Jesus Christ, you’re gonna –”

He’s laughing, playing with your clit as he fucks you, lips buried into the crook of your shoulder. “You my good girl?” he asks, bending your bodies forward. “Then book the goddamn table.”

“Ma’am?” the host’s asking, when you lift the phone to your ear again. “You still there?”

“Still – still here,” you breathe, flattening the whine in your voice. Joel’s starting to falter, starting to lose his rhythm. You can feel yourself beginning to tighten around him, give in to the pressure between your hips.

“What’s the name, ma’am?”

“Huh?”

Joel laughs, lips against your ear again. “Tell ‘im, pretty girl. Tell him who your daddy is.”

“My – fuck – M-Miller,” you reply, knees buckling. “Miller.”

“Alright, a table for two for…Miller…And that’s M-I-L-L–”

“–E-R, yep. Miller.”

“Good girl,” Joel pants against your temple, bristles of his beard grazing your cheek. He wraps one arm tight around your waist, clamping you against his body, the other still toying with your clit. Hips snapping roughly into yours, he whispers sharp in your ear, “I’m gonna come, darlin’, gonna fill you up real good, alright?”

“Can you wai–?”

“Alright, that’s you booked in, ma’am! We can’t wait to –”

“Great,” you choke back, falling forward with Joel at your back, “thanks. Thank you, we’ll see you – see you –”

Joel reaches over your shoulder and jams a thumb into the hook of the phone. “Fuck,” he groans, holding you steady as his cock throbs and a wet heat floods somewhere deep inside you.

The handset slips from your grasp, clattering against the desk as your body falls limp, your pussy jolting around him. His hands are the only thing keeping you steady, keeping you from melting into a puddle at his feet. A love-drunk sigh, the word Daddy spilling out into the room – the last thing before your breath cuts and he’s dragging you back down into the chair with him again.

Joel sinks back into the leather, sighing as he settles you again in his broad lap. He kisses you until you stir – lips soft against your temple, your cheek, your neck, to bring you back to him. His cock’s still stiff, half-limp and shining at the bottom of his stomach.

“’s a good girl,” he coos, letting you collapse against his chest.

Your cunt pulses, clenching around nothing; Joel’s come and yours trickling into your underwear.

“I hate you,” you whisper, playing with his hands.

“I know,” he mumbles into your skull, “bad boss.”

You breathe a laugh. “Who’s the client?”

“Mm,” Joel muses, adjusting in the chair, “nobody. Canceled on me last minute.”

He grins when you snap upright, head cocking. “Are you fucking kidding me? You just put me through all that for no goddamn reason?”

“Naw,” he protests, frowning, “I thought the two of us could go.”

There’s a softness to his face which dampens the fire in your belly as quickly as it ignited. Something genuine, something honest. You know him well enough by now to tell when he’s asking something of you, and not expecting it.

You feel your cheeks heat. “To lunch? Together?”

He shrugs. “Why the hell not? We’re going to Paris together.”

You blink at him, considering it. He’s not fucking wrong, is he? That same fire strikes again – only, a little further north, a little harder to control. It tickles your lungs, shaking the breath as you suck it in. You cover yourself with a blunt, “Martha’s gonna be pissed,” laced through as easy-going a sigh as you can manage.

Joel laughs, nodding. “I am sure she’ll get over it. Quiet office for the afternoon. Paradise.”

You smile, looking down at your hands clasped around one of his. You give his knuckles a small squeeze, and mutter, “You’re paying, Miller. And I’m ordering big.”

If not for the dark beard on his cheeks, and the sudden protective movement of his hand over them – if not for the fact that you’ve never in all your time here seen it happen…you’d swear the man was blushing.

“Okay,” Joel says, cheeks lifting. “Anything you want.”

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