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katiexpunk · 5 months

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Sex On Fire, Part 1 | 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 1 Summary: You move to New York, after a little coaxing from your aunt. You meet your new neighbor, Joel, and quickly learn he's a Captain with the NYFD and good with his hands. Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word Count: ~6.7K Warnings: Sexual tension, sexual tension, sexual tension. This one is dripping in it. No age gap specified. No explicit smut (yet, there's uh...gonna be a lot in part 2), but a nice lead up to it in the end that will probably blue ball you. Groping. Alcohol. Hardcore flirting. Fleetwood Mac, The Rolling Stones, and Kings of Leon song references. Uniform kink. Joel has a hard on for seeing reader in his shirt. Reader's mom has passed. Texas/small town vibes. New York City. There are no specific descriptors for reader, except that she has hair. Ya'll, these two are just down for each other so fucking bad it's not even funny. Authors Note: This one is for my darling moot @darkheartgatita. Pia, thanks for putting Firefighter!Joel into my brain. I hope you enjoy. As always, thank you to my Slutty, Smutty, Sister @sydneyinacoma who inspires me every day and shares her filthy thoughts on the reg. And to everyone who gives my little blog love -- I fucking love you all so much. Part 2, Fall and Winter, will drop next Saturday.

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S P R I N G Spring blooms, bringing with it a new beginning for you. Of all the places you’d thought you would be, New York was not one of them.

Life back in Texas wasn't terrible, a bit dull sometimes, but not awful.

Yet, in the mundane moments, your mind often drifted to daydreams – visions of swapping your Levi's for a sleek black dress and trading quiet farmland for the lively hum of city bars. You’d think of Samantha from Sex and the City sitting on your porch at sunset, drinking Bud Light, wishing your fairy godmother would appear and magically turn it into a dry Martini.

That was until three weeks ago, when your rich aunt, visiting from New York, decided to sprinkle a bit of magic into your life.

“I’m gonna move to Italy for a while,” she casually said over family dinner as if she was just announcing that she was going to the store for milk. You should have been surprised, but she’s always been the kind to never stick around for too long. Single and child-free, she’s spent her adult life dancing to her free-spirited rhythm, bouncing around from one place to the next. Not because she had to, but because she could. You, on the other hand, were the total opposite. After your mom passed away, leaving the cocoon of the familiar felt like too much. Despite your aunt's protests and encouragement to just go, you resisted, not wanting to leave behind your dad and the comfortable life you'd known. But if there's one thing you've learned about your aunt, it's that she's relentless – and yanking you out of your comfort zone was precisely what she wanted, and she had just the plan to do it.

She handed you the keys to her Lower East Side apartment, turning your once silly little daydreams into a reality. “Sweetie, you need this – you’re meant for so much more, your dad will be fine. Please go,” she encouraged.

Despite your initial reluctance, you caved, and before you knew it, you were on a plane bound for JFK.

++++ You feel like a small fish in a big pond as you navigate the city. Trying to figure out the subway turns into a whole saga of you getting lost more than once. You eventually find the right borough, but not without a fair share of unhelpful people brushing you off along the way. Yep, you're definitely not in Texas anymore.

While walking through the city, it hits you that a new pair of shoes is in order; something made clear to you by the little blister on the back of your heel that’s screaming at you. Despite the annoyance, you’re enjoying the walk to the apartment, your new home. The city's buzzing with life, and even the faint smell of urine in the air doesn't bother you. It's a wild, trippy feeling to be in the city, to feel like the main character of your own story.

You grab your phone, itching to double-check the building your aunt texted and ensure you have the right address. Remembering her advice about the unassuming exterior but spectacular view, you get ready for the big reveal. The key affixed to a keychain with a little apple on it meets the lock, and as you turn it, the door swings open, revealing a spacious wooden staircase.

As you step inside, you notice there's a bit of mail scattered on the slightly dusty floor. You collect the envelopes and magazines with your aunt's name on them and neatly stack the other pieces for Joel Miller into a pile on the bottom step.

After climbing the – Jesus, really fucking narrow – stairs, you're faced with doors opposite each other. While a brief doubt nudges you to recheck the apartment number, your gut tells you that the door with the welcome mat showing lemons and a pot of fake flowers is the one — a stark difference from its neighbor with a simple grey mat and no decor. Trusting your instincts, you decide that the lively entrance is the one.

As you step inside, you're greeted by a cozy space that, despite its age, radiates warmth and character. The walls are adorned with paintings that seem to tell stories of bygone eras, while rays of sunlight filter through the window, revealing glimpses of the bustling cityscape below.

Though small, the apartment is meticulously decorated, each corner telling a tale of adventures and cultural escapades. Remnants of your aunt’s travels, collected with care, add a touch of global flair to the modest space. Posters from Broadway plays hang proudly on the walls, as do family pictures. It’s lived-in; the kind of lived-in that feels comfy and embraces you like a warm hug.

You look at the frames on the wall and pause when you see one of your favorites – a photo of you as a little girl, smushed between your mom and your aunt, a cake three sizes bigger than your tiny head lit up with birthday candles in front of you. You can't help but trace the edges of the frame with your fingertips, connecting with the warmth radiating from your mother's beaming smile. Miss you, mom escapes your lips as your eyes linger on the photograph for a heartbeat longer before the rest of the room demands your attention.

In the compact kitchen, a handwritten note from your aunt beckons, strategically placed beside a bottle of wine on top of a stack of takeout menus. Her words resonate with warmth and encouragement. "Welcome to your new home! I am so proud of you for taking me up on my offer. Disregard the bedroom chaos—I started painting the walls but didn't quite finish before taking off. Feel free to pick up where I left off if the mood strikes. And if you ever need a hand with anything, Joel Miller across the way is a nice guy. I've already told him that you’ll be staying for a while, or who knows, maybe forever. Love you!" The paper carries the unmistakable fragrance of her perfume, and a smile graces your face after you finish reading it.

Setting the heartfelt note aside, your attention shifts to the menu for Sang Garden, a vibrant pink post-it exclaiming, "Right down the street! Super yummy!" Hunger gnaws at your stomach; the last meal was a distant memory from this morning, and you're ravenous. Without hesitation, you dial the number on the menu, your choice a steadfast favorite: orange chicken. “10 minutes,” the older lady on the phone tells you, not bothering to say goodbye before hanging up. Huh, efficient, you think.

As the aroma of anticipation fills the air, you finish unpacking your suitcase and weave through your new space until your food is ready. Only having to go down a flight of stairs and less than a block down the street to pick it up is a new feeling for you. If you wanted something like this at home you’d have to drive at least 20 minutes to pick it up.

You finish the entirety of the meal within minutes curled up on the couch, Sex and the City on the T.V.. Your aunt was right, it’s good. Probably the best orange chicken you’ve ever had in your entire life; just the right amount of zest and sweetness. You can already tell you’ll be a regular. Everyone always talks about the pizza in New York, but nobody bothered to tell you about the Chinese. You can tell you’ll probably have a lot of moments like that, discovering new things for yourself instead of hearing about it from magazines or seeing the photos on Instagram.

With your belly now full of the sticky goodness, you settle into bed for the night. You stare at the ceiling, paying no mind to the smile that’s been plastered on your face for the past three hours. You feel giddy, like a little girl seeing the stars for the first time. You’re doing it. You’re really doing it.

The city is still thrumming to life, but the distant sound of sirens and honks eventually turns to white noise as you drift off to sleep.

++++

The next morning, you rise with purpose; new life breathed into you. You brew a cup of coffee and decide to savor it on the fire escape, enjoying the not-yet-thick spring, and still slightly chilly, spring air. As the city stirs awake beneath you, you’re determined to craft an agenda for the day. With another few days to spare before your new job starts, your thoughts drift to the bedroom, where the abandoned paint cans await.

It's been a while since you've had the chance to dive into something genuinely productive, or creative for that matter, and you decide that this is the perfect opportunity. Your aunt chose a deep, rich shade of green, one that harmonizes seamlessly with the space; not too dark, but not puke or pea green, either. It’s pretty. She always has had good taste.

And while you like the color, it’s not particularly one you’d like to see splattered all over your clothing, having only brought what you could fit into a small suitcase. Your aunt must have something, you think. The woman has more clothes than a department store and there is no way she could have brought them all to Italy, although you don’t put it past her to try.

You make your way to the guest bedroom and rummage through the dresser located there. The top drawer is full of nothing but scrapbooks, the middle drawer has only sweaters, but luck strikes in the bottom drawer, where you locate a handful of old shirts.

You pull out a dark blue, oversized “New York Fire Department” cotton t-shirt; the front of it has an emblem, and the back says “Rescue 1 FDNY” in faded blocky white letters, obviously well-loved. This will do, you tell yourself, quickly exchanging your tiny crop top for the large shirt. It hangs over your body, the bottom nearly hitting your knees. Why your aunt has such a large shirt in her collection you’ll never know, but you wager it’s probably from one of her many “friends” over the years.

++++

The sounds of Fleetwood Mac's "Rumours" fill the room, you stand in the center of the bedroom, paintbrush in hand, ready to transform the space. The nostalgic chords of Stevie Nicks' voice in Dreams infuse the air, blending with the scent of fresh paint as you dip the brush into the can, and begin. “Like a heartbeat drives you mad,” you sing, slightly off-key, but no one is around to listen and you don’t mind. “Thunder only happens when it’s rainingggggg,” you belt, using the paintbrush as a microphone.

While most of the paint makes it on the walls, you have to admit that painting isn’t your strong suit and a fair amount of it has splashed back onto your face, shirt, and even your hair. You’re having fun, more fun than you’ve had in a while, even if you make a mess while doing it. Not like you’re gonna see anyone today anyway.

“Players only love you when they’re plaaaaaying…” doing your best Stevie twirl.

More and more green covers the walls, but as you’re about to get started on the final white wall, you’re interrupted by a loud steady stream of knocks at your door.

You hit pause on the music, and make your way to the door, unsure of who would possibly be knocking. You peer through the peephole to take a look, but you can only see the back of a man in a simple white shirt, his back turned to face away from the door. You undo the chain lock and swing the door open.

As the man pivots to meet your gaze, his presence sweeps over you, an unexpected force that leaves you momentarily disarmed. He’s handsome in a way that unmoors you; a mass of a man with broad shoulders, sun-kissed skin, and sculpted biceps that redefine your sense of composure. Whoa.

“Hi,” you murmur, your eyes conveying a blend of softness and curiosity, "Can I help you?"

The man looks at you, and you feel yourself heat under the attention of his gaze. His eyes gently caress your frame; lingering a little too long on the emblem sewn into the fabric, just above your breast.

"Uh," he clears his throat, his hand rising to his face, fingers subtly grazing the beard hair on his cheek, as if grappling for words. "Yeah, well – no, uh," he stumbles, the words caught in a momentary struggle. "Hi, ‘m Joel Miller, I live across the way," he greets, angling his body to signal to the door directly across the foyer. “Oh right, my aunt told me about you you,” you say, introducing yourself, voice smooth like honey. “She mentioned you were a nice guy and to call you if I ever needed anything,” you say, taking up space in front of him by leaning into the door. “Just stopping by to say hi, then? Or do you need a cup of sugar or something like that?” you ask with a playful tone.

Suddenly, the last thing he wants to do is admit that there's something you could help him with—like turning down your music. He likes Fleetwood Mac as much as the next guy, but the last three days on shift have left him craving peace, not a soundtrack reverberating through the thin walls.

Plus, he wasn’t expecting you to be so damn attractive.

And he definitely wasn’t expecting to be wearing his shirt when you answered the door.

“Ha, no, don’t need any sugar,” he chuckles, “just thought I’d make myself known.” He pauses, eyes locked onto yours. You notice the subtle flecks of amber in his deep brown eyes and the furrow of his brow. He’s painfully handsome. Just as you’re about to say something, he breaks the silence first, “But I'll let you get back to whatever it is you’re doin’...you look busy,” he tilts his chin to the paint that’s splotched over your bare legs. You can tell he’s looking for the story behind the mess.

His left hand leaves his pocket and he places it on the doorframe. He leans into it, and your eyes catch the firmness of his bicep flexing under the strain of his lean before meeting his face once more.

“Cute shirt, by the way” he says, his voice low and even.

“Oh thanks, you like it?” you ask, pulling the fabric out in a tent from the center, noticing the little splatters of paint as you do. “It’s my aunt’s, I just borrowed it while I finish up some painting.”

“Yeah, I have the same one,” he adds, “looks a helluva lot better on you than it does me, though,” a little laugh leaves his chest and his cheeks flush, a little embarrassed that he just said that. Fuck, it’s been so long since he’s tried to flirt with a woman.

Your skin prickles with heat, and you’re suddenly very self-aware of what a wreck you must look like, but you decide to be bold anyway. “Maybe we’ll have to compare sometime,” you playfully retort.

“Yeah, maybe we will,” he responds, looking you up and down, hoping the meaning behind his words isn’t too obvious.

“Well if ya ever need anything, ‘m just across the way,” he says, dropping his hand from the doorframe, hitting his thigh with a slight sound of a pat. “Nice to meet ya, Darlin’,” he says. You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker down to your chest once more, your stiff nipples now peeking through the fabric. He turns on his heels and turns his back to walk back to his apartment.

“Nice to meet you, Joel,” you purr. His head peers over his shoulder back at you, and the corners of his lips turn up in a little smirk.

Oh god.

You’re so fucked.

++++

Later that night, you text your aunt that you just met Joel Miller. You curse her for not telling you how incredibly hot he is. You also tell her that you decided to finish the painting, sending a selfie of you in front of the freshly updated walls with the message. You also add that you borrowed one of her shirts and that you’ll do your best to get the paint out of it.

Her response causes your breath to hitch in your throat, and your stomach swirls into a tight knot.

“The walls look amazing! Oh and by the way, that’s not my shirt, it’s Joel’s. I must have forgotten to give it back to him; the shared laundry downstairs sometimes causes mix-ups. Be a doll and give it back to him, will ya? Oh and quarters for the machines are in the clay pot next to the door.”

Fuck. Of course you would answer the door to your incredibly hot neighbor, covered in paint, in his shirt. You shake your head in embarrassment.

You look down at the shirt and notice just how much paint is all over it. You strip it from your body, bring it over to the sink, and begin to scrub the paint out of it with dish soap. As you watch the paint fade into the warm water, you notice the tag on the inside of the shirt and the rank inscribed in permanent marker on it.

Your fingers prune in the water, but you eventually get all of the paint out of the fabric. Satisfied with your cleaning job, you hang it up to dry and scribble out a note.

The following morning, on your way out to explore the city, you leave it neatly folded on Joel’s doorstep. You don’t bother to knock, you’re certain you might combust from embarrassment if you did.

Shortly after, on his way to work, Joel opens the door and notices the shirt by his boot, a little envelope placed on top of it.

“You could have told me it was your shirt, Captain Miller.”

Joel smirks. The cat’s out of the bag on that little secret then. He places it inside and lets out a little sigh. The image of your perky nipples, exposed legs, and messy paint-riddled hair flashes in his brain.

God, he wishes you would have kept it.

S U M M E R

As spring transitions into summer, the city experiences a gradual warming trend. Cherry blossoms and tulips from spring slowly give way to vibrant green foliage. Parks become lively with people enjoying the pleasant weather, and outdoor events become more frequent. The temperature rises, and there's a noticeable shift towards a warmer atmosphere with longer days.

It’s a shift you also feel in yourself, having found your niche, carving out your place in the ecosystem of the city. You’ve gradually adjusted, figured out how to successfully navigate the complexities of the subway system, and are starting to rely less and less on Google Maps to get around. You frequent a bodega around the corner from you, know where to find a decent bagel, and are a recognizable regular at Sang Garden.

Your new job keeps you busy. It’s tough work being a bartender in the city, but it’s granted you more than one opportunity to meet people from all walks of life, people you’d never get the opportunity to meet back in your hometown.

People like the gregarious and charismatic trader, who’s more than happy to make it clear he works in the financial district, even when nobody asks. People like the countless young professionals unwinding after a long day with their colleagues; some with sexual tension so obvious you can taste it. Designers. Architects. Engineers. Writers. Musicians. Actors. You don’t like them all, but you don’t have to, you’ll never see most of them more than once anyway.

You quickly learn the art of making a good martini, one you think would make Samantha proud. It’s all so posh. So far from your usual. But the money is good, and without having to pay rent – a luxury you now realize; having almost fainted when your coworker told you how much he pays in rent – it allows you to pocket most of it.

Your first few months in New York have been good, although a tad lonely. Making friends was never really a strong suit of yours, and you’re finding the city to be a particularly hard place to get to know people in any real way. Most of your free time is spent curled up with a good book or watching Friends for the millionth time, wishing Central Perk was a real place.

You see Joel in passing now and then, the in-between times when he’s coming home from work, and you’re just leaving for yours. Sometimes you pass each other on the stairs, and you have to angle your bodies side-to-side just to fit on the narrow stairs as you navigate around one another. You sometimes have to collect your composure when you leave for work and notice the faint smell of his cologne still in the hallway, it smells so good it makes you dizzy.

You find excuses to talk to him every now and then – a squeaky fire detector, to hand him his mail, or even for a stupid cup of sugar. Every time you find yourself knocking on his door, the butterflies congregate in masses as if preparing to migrate. You feel like a school girl with a crush for the first time, but as far as you can tell, Joel doesn’t feel the same, and you’re okay with that. At least that’s what you try to tell yourself.

The exchanges are always short; little blips in the grand scene of time, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling like you might faint under the intensity of his scorching gaze. Which doesn’t help, considering it’s already sweltering outside.

You severely underestimated how hot summer would be. Of course, you’re used to the oppressive Texas sun, but something about the way the buildings and concrete reflect the rays makes it feel like New York is at least 10x hotter.

The temperature in your apartment isn’t much better than outside. The air hangs heavy inside as you lay on your mattress, clad in only a bra and underwear, on crisp white sheets, attempting to cool yourself with a damp towel on your forehead. You listen to the feeble hum of the wall crying out for help.

As luck would have it, the overworked unit decides to give in to the heat. Beads of sweat form on your forehead as you attempt to fix it, but it’s pointless. You stare at the lifeless unit, realizing that the city’s relentless heat has claimed it as a victim. Time for a new one.

Once the sun dips past the skyline, you venture out to your local hardware store to grab a new one. You wish you would have had some forethought to bring a cart or something, not thinking about the fact that you were going to have to carry the heavy unit eight city blocks. Coulda, shoulda, woulda, you think to yourself. Once back to your apartment, you balance the quirky box on your hip, holding it steady with one arm as you fumble to grab the key from your purse outside the entrance of the building. Your cheeks are warm, you’re drenched in sweat even at this hour, and your hair is starting to stick to the nape of your neck. You manage to grab it, but inadvertently drop it, your fingers clammy.

“Shit,” you mutter, frustrated and hot.

“Need some help there, Darlin’?” Joel asks, making his way up the stoop. You turn to face him and oh.

Of all the times you’ve seen Joel, you’ve never seen him in uniform. The sight catches you off guard. His crisp, navy blue uniform emphasizes his broad shoulders and neatly tucked shirt, the shiny FDNY badge on his chest. He flashes a charming smile, revealing a hint of dimples, as he picks up your fallen key with ease. You’re not sure how he always manages to look so put together, a stark contrast to the way you always seem to look in front of him.

"Rough day?" he asks, unlocking the door, and for a moment, you forget the oppressive heat, captivated by his charm. “Here, lemme take that for you,” he offers, and you kindly accept. You shift the box out of your arms into his, and your stomach swoops when you watch the way his biceps flex as he grabs the unit with ease.

Grateful for the assistance, you offer a sheepish smile, “Yeah, you could say that” you reply, opening the door, holding it open for him. He begins to ascend the staircase ahead of you, giving you a full view of his ass in his uniform pants; it’s toned, and his thick thighs match. You walk behind him, trying to ignore the stickiness that’s beginning to pool in your underwear. You allow yourself to perv out for a moment, at least while his back is to you. He’s just helping you out, stop being weird.

Joel waits at the top of the steps for you to open your door. Once unlocked, you enter and he follows behind you. “Oh shit, it’s hotter than hell in here,” he says once inside, the irony is not lost on you that a literal man who fights fires for a living thinks it’s hotter than hell. He bends to place the box down near the front door and rises to full height, bringing both hands to his hips. You notice the little sheen of sweat that has now collected on his thick neck, fighting the impulse to lap up the perspiration. “You’re telling me, I’m rendering lard,” you say, letting your Southern roots shine through. You cringe a little at yourself, watering your accent down to not stick out as much, but you’re reminded of the age-old saying you can take the girl out of the country…

You wipe the back of your hand on your forehead to push away the sweat that’s been collecting there all day and look at him. “Thanks for the help carrying it up,” you say, offering him a kind smile.

“No problem at all, need some help installing it? These units can be tricky,” he asks, trying his best to ignore the fact that your white shirt has gone see-through from your sweat, allowing him a perfect view of your breasts. No bra again, he notes. He shifts his stance a little, trying to prevent his cock from hardening at the sight.

“Are you sure?” you ask, a little unsure, but deep down you know you need the help. As much as you’d like to think of yourself as an independent and capable woman, you’ve never been one to be good with anything mechanical, and the heat has left your brain feeling like the static of a T.V. channel with no reception.

“Course. I’m a servant to public safety. Can’t have you accidentally pushing it out the window and crushing a person below, it’d be a lot of paperwork” he chuckles and takes out a knife from his pocket to undo the tape on the box. It’s an ordinary act, yet somehow you’re mesmerized by his dexterity and competency.

Midway through the process, Joel pauses, feeling the heat, and glances at you with a lighthearted grin. “Mind if I take this off?” he asks, tugging at the collar of the uniform shirt. You nod, suddenly feeling warmer than before. “Sure, go ahead.”

His large fingers fumble with the buttons on the shirt, eventually revealing a white tank top underneath. The fabric clings to him, highlighting his defined chest, and a little bit of belly. You practically drool at the sight, once again resisting an impulse to want to sink your flesh into the softness above his belt.

He has an awful farmer's tan, but he wears it well; his forearms are a nice shade of golden and his shoulders are pale. You see from the lack of collar on the tank that he has a bare chest. He throws the uniform shirt onto a nearby chair and goes back to work installing the unit. You watch as he works to position it in the window, stealing glances at his glistening skin as he does. You think you’re being sly about it, but Joel can tell, he can feel your eyes heavy like bowling balls on him.

“So, how long have you been a firefighter?” you ask.

“About 15 years,” he responds. “Sorta always knew I wanted to do it, I was a contractor for a while, but wasn’t my thing.”

“Oh no? You seem like you’re pretty good with your hands,” you reply, your words suggestive.

“Never said I wasn’t, Darlin,’” he replies, shooting you a wink.

He plugs the unit in, and the screen comes to life. He sets the temperature as low as it will go, and the fan on high; the unit is about to put in overtime to make the air tolerable again.

“Well, that should do it,” straightening back up from his bent-over position, clapping his hands together as if to dust the task off. “Probably gonna take a while for it to cool down in here. You’re uh, more than welcome to hang out at mine for the time being. Don’t need you overheating on me,” trying to mask his excitement at you being in his space by carding his fingers through his salt and pepper curls.

You glance at the unit, and you can tell he’s right. “Alright, why not,” you say, offering him a smile. “Just gonna use the restroom fast,” you say, looking for an excuse to make yourself at least somewhat presentable and confirm that you don’t smell like a sweaty subway car.

Inspecting yourself in the harsh, exposing light of the bathroom, you grimace at your appearance. Not that you’d been expecting to look your best, but still. You pat the extra moisture off your skin with a clean towel, when you notice that nipples are straining against the fabric of your wet t-shirt, leaving nothing to the imagination. You briefly consider changing shirts, but the cheeky side of you decides to leave it be. You give yourself a quick smile and internal encouragement in the mirror and you step out of the bathroom.

Joel waits in the foyer by the door for you, taking the opportunity to learn a little more about you, drinking in the details of your space for any glimmers of insight it might give him about your life.

He’s been in the space before, but it’s different this time – updated. It still has many of the same things your aunt had put up, but you’ve added new additions to the walls; photos of you with friends, and family, and vinyl covers in frames. His eyes gravitate to a photo of you at your college graduation; your smile ear to ear, a bottle of champagne in your hands. You always seem happy. He likes that about you. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t look for a photo of you with another guy, a hint that you might already be taken, but he’s relieved when he doesn’t find one.

The bathroom door opens with a soft creak, and you stroll out, shooting him a casual but confident smile. As you do, you casually tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, giving off an easygoing vibe. It's a simple move, but there's a certain charm to it that doesn't go unnoticed by Joel.

“Ready?” you ask, and he clears his throat, trying to hide his pleasure that you opted not to change your still slightly transparent shirt. “Let’s get outta here,” he says, yanking on the handle, the door groans and opens with a loud creak. “Don’t wanna hit traffic.” Oh god, that’s a dad joke if you’ve ever heard one. You try to hide the stupid smile that graces your face, but Joel sees it, and matches it. Your shoulder brushes against his chest as you walk through the door, and Joel straightens in response, a little tingle shooting up his spine from the brief touch. Get a fucking grip, Miller, he thinks to himself, pulling the door closed behind him.

++++

Once inside his apartment, you gasp. It’s not at all what you expected.

If his front doorstep was any indication, you expected his apartment to be full of Ikea furniture, bare walls, and maybe a fake plant in the corner somewhere. You’re pleasantly surprised when you find that it’s the exact opposite; you feel like you’ve just wanted into some swanky bar. The air smells like palo santo, but above all, it’s cool. You let out a sigh of relief.

“Can I get you a beer” he asks, and you nod your head in response. He walks into the kitchen, and you’re mesmerized by his space. It’s a similar layout to your apartment, but somehow it feels bigger, even a tad cozier, plus he has exposed brick, a detail you wish your apartment had.

“Your apartment is amazing,” you tell him, spinning around to get a full 360 view of the space. You hear him yell something like thanks from the kitchen.

You find your seat on the cognac-colored couch and run your hand up and down the texture of it. The leather is cool on your skin, and your body temperature slowly begins to return to normal.

Joel returns from the kitchen, and hands you a Bud Light. And for once, you don’t wish for it to turn into a martini. Now having spent a few months in the city, you’re starting to realize that you’re more of a bud girl than a cocktail girl, and that fairy godmothers are a tad overrated.

You’re not sure when he did it, but your ear tunes to the classic sound of Beast of Burden by the Rolling Stones playing in the background at a low volume, adding a funk you adore to the moment.

He finds a seat on the couch next to you and throws his arm behind you on the ledge. He crosses his legs over one another, and you squirm, not out of discomfort, but nerves.

“I am impressed with your apartment, it’s well decorated,” you compliment him, bringing the bottle of beer to your lips.

“Had a bit of help, ‘f I’m being honest,” he replies. Your stomach flips.

“Oh?” you say, a bit breathless, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Of course, he would have a girlfriend. You see it plain as day now, the feminine touches built into the apartment, hanging on the walls in plain sight, taunting you with the obvious. He even has like ten live plants for fucks sake. Joel Miller is taken.

“My daughter, Sarah,” he replies, bringing the beer to his mouth for another swig. You try not to make your sigh of relief too obvious. “Oh!” you squeak and turn your body to face him. You don’t know if you’ve scooted closer or if he did, but your thighs are now touching.

“She’s studying interior design. Begged me this past year to let her fix up my apartment, and well…I didn’t have the heart ta say no,” he replies. “Said my apartment resembled a frat boys bachelor pad,” he lets out a gruff little chuckle and you smile at him.

His arm drifts close to you, his hand nearly touching your shoulder. It’s not quite there, but you can feel the heat, the electricity, his fingertips shoot to your skin. So much for cooling down.

“Well, if you didn’t decorate the space, what’s your favorite part about it then?” you ask, taking another swig at the bottle. Joel stares at your lips as they latch around the glass, admiring how plush and warm they look. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t wonder what they might look like around his cock.

“Ah, good question,” he says, bringing his hand to cover his crotch with the bottle, all while subtly trying to adjust himself from his previous thought. He’s surprised he even heard your question at all. “Probably the table over there,” he says, nodding his head back to signal to the dining room.

“Made it myself,” he says, a bit of pride in his voice.

You crane your neck to look, but can’t get a good view with how plush the cushions are. You slightly angle your body upwards, coming onto your knee on the couch to look, bringing your chest closer to Joel’s face.

“Well I’ll be damned, you really must be good with your hands,” you playfully tease, letting your body sink by his side once more, feeling the warmth he exudes. Your words cause his gaze to go dark. “Mhmm,” he murmurs, taking another sip of his beer, sure if he said any more he might regret it.

You notice the music switches to Kings of Leon, a favorite tune of yours echoing through the air. “Oh shit, I love this song,” you exclaim, barely able to contain your excitement, much to Joel’s delight.

“Yeaaaaaah, your sex is on fireeeee,” you belt, and you inadvertently tilt your beer bottle a little too far down in the process of your solo, and a splash of beer pours out onto Joel’s lap. The action abruptly causes you to stop.

“Ah, I’m so sorry,” you apologize profusely, setting the nearly empty bottle on the coffee table in front of you, noticing the box of tissues as you do.

“Don’t worry about it, Darlin’,” he says, voice mellow, placing his beer on the table, too.

You frantically grab a handful of tissues and bring them over to the wet spot pooling on Joel’s crotch. “Here, let me,” you say, dabbing at the liquid, the realization not fully hitting you that your hands are literally on his crotch until – oh.

Joel’s been walking the fine line of a stiff one all night, and your simple gesture throws him over the edge, the dabbing causing blood to rush to his cock.

You continue to blot at the liquid and notice him stiffening underneath you. A heavy rush of arousal courses through you, and heats your core. Joel’s hand darts to grab your wrist, the size of it completely swallowing up your entirety of it, his fingers wrapped around it, and you’re certain he feels your pulse quicken under his touch.

You look up at him with big doe eyes, only to find his own pupils are blown open wide with lust, his jaw tense. His other hand finds the side of your face, and he holds you up to look at him. You both pause there, letting the tension of the moment swallow you whole. He looks at you like you're a juicy summer peach, ripe for the picking.

His grip on your wrist softens, and you flatten your hand to palm at his growing bulge. Joel lets out a deep groan in response to the full contact. “Shit darlin’,” he says, voice wrecked. His hand drifts to the column of your neck, and he begins to pull you up so you’re face-to-face with him.

The anticipation builds, and just as your lips are about to meet, a sudden shrill sound shatters the moment – the fire alarm.

“Fuck.” Joel groans.

TO BE CONTINUED - READ PART 2

Tagging moots and those who I think might like this: @endlessthxxghts @theoasisofthings @bastardmandennis @untamedheart81@lavema @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @dugiioh @nervoushottee @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings@josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @peachmy @survivingandenduring@darkheartgatita @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @dins-riduur-anthe @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro 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). Might transition to a notifs blog soon.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 #pedro stories

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fandom · 1 year

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Memes

At a certain point, it was just hard to keep up. They seemed to fall from the sky like fizzing raindrops, soaking everything in pure wildness—memes, that is. 2022 had an absolute bumper crop of memes. The fertile field of this year’s chaos was sown freely, resulting in some impressively widespread phenomena. Most of it remained pretty contained within the dashboard, but at the end of the year the biggest meme of them all broke containment…We’re getting ahead of ourselves here.

Cast your mind back to January 2022. We kicked off the year with Horse Plinko, which soon joined forces with Eeby Deeby in a frenzy of flaming gifs in which the poor horse plinko’d its way to Super Hell. Nothing has ever summed up the mildly deranged meme generation process on Tumblr so perfectly.

This era of memes merged smoothly with the Month of Blorbo. Can you believe blorbo from my shows is more or less purely a 2022 phenomenon? Granted, the original post happened in late 2021, but it was the new year by the time “blorbo” secured itself in our vocabulary. How did we even live our lives on Tumblr without the word “blorbo”? It’s impossible to even imagine at this point.

Springtime dawned with the rise of Live Slug Reaction, which dominated the dashboard as everyone rushed to plop that shocked slug in the corner of their favorite gay moments from TV and film. And in May came a very important event that would define the rest of the year on Tumblr: the launch of Dracula Daily, Affectionately dubbed “tumblr book club,” the serialized email newsletter found a hugely involved following on Tumblr and spawned an infinite variety of memes, beginning with the iconic paprika recipes.

The Summer of Morbius dominated Tumblr from June onwards, with everyone going bonkers with Morb-based puns, jokes about the film’s most ridiculous moments, and reblogging a single GIF somehow containing the entire movie that would crash your browser when it played on your dash..

The i love you x i love you y text post meme saw us to the end of the summer, and autumn came with the rise of the GOUGER. Or is it GOUGAR? Regardless, the strange but harmless creature took over everyone’s meme palette for a while, getting involved in increasingly silly scenarios.

This free-for-all was interrupted by the death of Queen Elizabeth, an event that was solemn everywhere else. . But on Tumblr, of course, users swamped the dashboard with Queen Liz-related memes and commentary. And crabs. There were quite a lot of those.

Later, in September, the Try Guys saga unfolding on Twitter and YouTube filtered over to Tumblr in the form of the “lost focus and had a consensual workplace relationship” meme, with Tumblr users casting various favorite co-worker ships in the roles of the controversial real-life pairing.

And finally, closing out the year, the meme you’ve all been waiting for: the one and only Goncharov (1973). Just in case you’ve been living under a rock, Goncharov is a movie borne out of the magic combination of a misprinted shoe label and Tumblr’s fertile imagination. Thanks to a fake movie poster by user @beelzeebub, which gave names and faces to the characters, Tumblr ran absolutely wild, churning out analysis, fanart, and even fanfiction at an astounding rate. This was by far the meme to win 2022: it gained coverage all over the internet, including the freaking New York Times, and even Scorsese himself acknowledged it. You did that, Tumblr. Goncharov forever, all hail the power of the Tumblr meme!

#year in review #memes #tumblr2022

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atlasxspeaks · 6 months

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Another silly headcanon for Spider (inspired by me finding all my baby teeth that my mom keeps in a box for some reason):

Every member of the Sully family has one or more of Spider's baby teeth. It starts all because of a misunderstanding.

Norm had told Spider that his front bottom tooth was set to fall out soon, something Spider didn't understand because Na'vi children don't lose their teeth. Norm skips over explaining that Spider once again is not Na'vi, and instead tells Spider to just bring the tooth back to Hell's Gate if it comes out while he's playing outside. When asked why, Norm and Max explained that he needed to keep his tooth so that the tooth fairy could come and give him a gift in exchange for his tooth.

Now, Spider has no frame of reference for anything that they're talking about. All his 5-year-old brain gets is that somewhere out there, there is a human who steals kids' teeth, and he's terrified.

Later that day, Spider goes careening through the forest and bursts into Mo'at's pod where everyone tends to eat lunch, yelling in broken Navi about a theft coming to take his teeth.

Jake immediately understands what he talking about, but he’s too busy laughing to properly explain. By the time he catches his breath, Mo’at, Neytiri, and the kids have both been thoroughly convinced that there is a theft among humans taking children’s teeth. In a rare moment of compassion towards the human boy, Neytiri assures him that she will protect his teeth. Jake decided not to tell them the truth and just let events play out.

Spider winds up losing his tooth later that day, roughhousing with Lo’ak, who takes great pride in telling everyone he will protect Spider’s tooth from this "tooth theft".

And thus brings the saga of the Sully family all coming into possession of Spider’s baby teeth (to keep safe from the tooth theft, of course).

Lo’ak gets Spider’s first baby tooth but winds up with 10 over the years (much to Kiri and Neteyam’s envy). To be fair, Lo’ak is responsible for most of them falling out anyway. He takes all of them after Spider loses his last one and weaves them into an intricate armband that he wears during festivals and special events to always have a piece of Spider with him.

Kiri has 3 of his baby teeth, the majority of which she keeps in a wooden chest she made for all her most prized possessions. The first one she got was one of Spider’s left upper canines that she wiggled out herself after nagging Spider about it for days. She used it as a charm on her anklet and never took it off.

Neteyam also has 3 baby teeth - all molars. 2 fell out simultaneously while Spider was eating Pali jerky. The first, however, fell out just before their first hunt. Spider had been wiggling it all night, and it fell out while Jake was checking their gear. Spider handed it to Neteyam, declaring that their hunt would be fruitful because that was his lucky tooth. Spider never shares what about the tooth made it lucky, but they both caught their first yerik that day, so Neteyam takes it with him whenever he goes hunting. After the humans return, he encases the tooth in amber into his bow, hoping that its luck will protect him in battle.

Tuk, Jake, Neytiri, and Mo’at each have 1, with Tuk getting the last baby tooth Spider ever lost. It was his left upper front tooth, and like Lo’ak, she was the cause of it falling out because she accidentally head-butted him while he was eating with a cannula. Thankfully, he didn’t choke on it, and now Tuk has it on her songcord, representing Spider as her brother.

Jake gets his tooth gifted to him by Spider after it falls out. It’s his other front tooth that Spider wiggled out himself and decided to give to the man because Lo’ak was annoying that day. Jake denies wholeheartedly that he cried afterward. He, too, adds it to his songcord on Spider’s 13th birthday, declaring that Spider is now a man since all his baby teeth are gone.

Mo’at has the second baby tooth Spider ever lost because she had to pull it out herself. Spider had fallen and chipped the tooth, causing extreme pain. Since Hell’s Gate has no dentist, Mo’at pulled the rest of the tooth out herself while Norm fretted behind her. Spider bounced back quickly, proudly showing everyone the new space in his mouth. Mo’at keeps the two pieces of Spider’s bottom front tooth and fashions them into earrings that she wears on his birthdays.

Spider gifts Neytiri her tooth, a small lower molar he lost while eating caramel that one of the scientists in Hell’s Gate made. He gives it to her for the human holiday called Mother’s Day but does it at the end of the day, right before Norm comes, to avoid rejection. Once he's older, Spider realizes he never saw the tooth again and figures she either threw it away or gave it to one of the kids to add to their collection. In reality, tucked away in a small box in their family pod, sitting next to the only picture Neytiri has of her sister, the last arrowhead her father ever made, and Jake's old dog tags, lies Spider’s baby molar.

#spider socorro

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mcyt-trios · 7 months

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PROPAGANDA:

Eclipse Federation:

i dont like them. they ruined my life. Subz and Vitalasy had already partnered in previous seasons but this one, Vitalasy ended up leaving for a few months, leaving Subz alone, and Zam ended up getting close to him after immense trauma at the hands of his former teammates. Zam has done SO many wrongs, including to Subz himself and Subz STILL took him in and made him join Eclipse Federation after Zam died 14 times in a row and got banned then revived by the same player who's been killing him all this time. And it could've been perfect but no, Zam had betrayed his previous team due to them using dupes via exploits, and now Eclipse Federation ALSO has exploits! And he decided that yeah his morals were more important than being loved! And so he murders Vitalasy when he's at his most vulnerable point, lets everyone gaslight him into thinking Vitalasy is an irredeemable evil monster who will never change, even as Vitalasy SAID he was ready to change before the betrayal even happened, Eclipse threw out their whole revenge plans because of Zam's positive influence and he just broke everything. Subz couldn't be with Zam but also couldn't see himself at Vitalasy's side, leaving him alone. Vitalasy hated Zam and yet never killed him or hunted him down, despite Zam acting like he did. And when Vitalasy left, banning himself off from the server, Zam had some time alone to think and realized he fucked up SOOOO bad. And Subz revived Vitalasy and told him to kill him. And ban him. His last wish. His Deliverance. And to make up with Zam. And Vitalasy tried, and they kind of did make up over Subz's death, but then Zam was like "actually im going to kill everyone and destroy the server now. because i want subz back and also because i always do extremely drastic things when i don't need to because i have unchecked mental illnesses i refuse to get help for". And surprisingly when Subz came back he didn't like that! And they ended in tragedy! Eclipse is fucked up. It's a trio that's always about the absence of one person, it's a team that could only happen in one timeline and it was doomed from the very start. But the love was there. It made everything worse, truthfully. But it was there. And that matters. Also as a fun fact Zam himself on twitter has referred to eclipse as a throuple, which is not canon but that's pretty funny. he also stated on stream he didn't want to get therapy because it'd ruin his lifesteal character. and there was a saga where they would "marry" (challenge lost kinda shenanigans) and zam was the only one happy about it. he's not normal. there's something wrong with him. love that for him though sorry for the block of text. I really dislike them. They're my beloveds :3

Big Eyes Crew:

best gas station owners you've ever seen

they started a business together and had beef with Boatem where Tango built a giant eyeball over their base which dispensed ravagers onto them. also they're called Big Eye Crew because Keralis and Bdubs both have massive eyes on their skins but Tango DOESN'T so he made big round red glasses for them all to wear and they're iconic frankly.

SILLY GUYS DOING SILLY THINGS

They made a gas station franchise so powerful there was a location on the moon

#mcyt-trios #mcytblr trio bracket #polls #round 2

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jo-harrington · 2 months

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Developmental Achievement (A Store Manager Verse Story - Steve Harrington/Reader)

Previous Part: Incremental Planning

Pairing: Steve Harrington x HawkTheaterManager!Reader

Summary: Steve messed up and now he needs to fix things if he wants to win you back, hopefully for good.

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. November through January 1986, Steve and Robin work at Scoops (OR DO THEY?), Reader works at The Hawk Theater (formerly at Dippin' Dots AND Wicks and Sticks; you job hop...it's a thing), Relationship Break, Hopeless [Romantic] Steve, Tie in with the Store Manager Verse

Note: So this is the end of our Steve saga of the SMVerse, kind of wrapped up in a neat little bow. Is it the best? Probably not, but it's silly and corny and cheesy and I needed all of those things yesterday and instead of RELEGATING IT TO MY FIRST FAVE...I'll inflict it upon Stevie. Tagging @dr-aculaaa and @loveshotzz because COME AND GET HIM. (@deathbecomesthem ...and a possible Easter Egg?)

You can find my masterlist here for more fics featuring pretty much exclusively Eddie Munson content but also a little Steve.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

Steve Harrington fucked up.

Ok. Ok. That’s not right.

Steve Harrington really fucked up.

If he was being honest, he always seemed to fuck up when it came to you, his...well...he could really only call you his ex now, couldn't he?

From rivals in ice cream where he missed every sign that you might like him, to sickeningly-sweet dates around Hawkins because he was being too boring of a boyfriend, and finally to Thanksgiving Dinner with his parents where he absolutely stuck his foot in his mouth.

He thought making a joke about your job-hopping was funny--from Dippin' Dots to Wicks and Sticks to KB Toys, it's lucky you decided he was worth sticking around for--but it only put you under his parents' scrutiny.

He got an earful as he walked you to your car after dinner was over. You stayed a few steps ahead of him until you got to the driver's door and turned to him with tears in your eyes.

"That was embarrassing, Steve," you said through clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry, I..." he was at a loss for words, especially making you cry. As strong as you were, you never seemed to be flustered at all; what was happening? "I thought it was a joke. We always laugh about it. I’m gonna work at scoops forever and you’re gonna work everywhere else."

"But it’s meeting your family, you shouldn't joke about...about what a huge flake I am that you're lucky I don't jump from boyfriend to boyfriend just like I go from job to job. They're never gonna look at me the same way again. You only get one first impression."

"You shouldn't worry about what they think about you. I've stopped caring about what they think about me too."

It went back and forth before you threw your hands up and got in the car.

You didn't even kiss him goodnight.

Then sometime during Black Friday weekend, you stopped by Scoops before your shift and broke up with him.

"It was nice, Steve," you said, barely able to look at him. "But uh...I don't know. I need to know I'm with someone who doesn't think I'm some kind of joke."

He chased after you, even with his manager screaming that if he left he'd be fired, and begged you to reconsider.

You didn't.

He watched you ride up the escalator to head to your shift.

And when he got back to Scoops, he was actually fired.

What a great day.

---

Of course, Robin quit as soon as Steve was fired.

"Can't stick it out without you dingus," Robin announced as she approached him in the parking lot shortly after, tossing her hat at him. "And you can't have Scoops without...Stoops. Get it? Because you're stupid. Scoops? Stoops? Stupid. Why aren't you laughing?"

It was pretty funny.

But Steve was heartbroken.

Unemployed and heartbroken.

Robin insisted that she could land them both jobs at Family Video--

"Keith hates me. Pretty sure he calls me Sleeze Harrington."

“Well he loves me. I can vouch for you, come on."

--but Steve was sure that he would have a better chance at winning you back if he kept working at StarCourt.

What an epic bust that was.

Not the job part.

Well, that too.

Most of the stores near the toy store were done hiring seasonal help, and the best that he could land was a temp job as a Mall Santa.

On the upside, it meant that he could walk around the mall on break in his Santa suit and watch you with you none the wiser until he could beg you to take him back.

"It sounds creepy," was the unfortunate response from Steve's newest friend and personal relationship expert, the Claire's Store Manager.

He stopped by before his shift to pick up some of his lucky strawberry lipgloss to make sure he was very pouty and puckery for the moment you realized you'd made a mistake...and after effectively getting it all over his fake beard, the Manager decided to take pity on him and listen to his woes while helping him clean up.

"I'm gonna need to start charging you for advice," she laughed and wiped him off with tissues from the ear piercing station. "You seriously need it if that's the idea you came up with."

"You're a real Lucy Van Pelt," Steve deadpanned. "I'll buy you cookies one day just...please...help me."

"Have you tried just talking?" she questioned. "Wasn't that your problem in the first place? Way back when? You didn't communicate."

"But they're mad at me, they don't want to talk. And I need to fix it."

"Then give them some space, and try again, ok? Give it a week or two. They probably just need time to cool down, sounds like you really hurt their feelings."

"And if they can't forgive me?"

"Then you move on," she sighed. "Sometimes things just don't work out and even though it doesn't make you feel ok, you have to be ok with it."

So he waited a week.

A week was long enough, right? His own personal Lucy said so.

He chose a day he wasn't scheduled at Santa's workshop and waited for you in the food court where he knew you'd seek refuge during your lunch break, just like the two of you had taken your breaks together. He wore his best polo, made sure his hair was perfect, applied some of his lucky lip gloss and waited.

And waited.

But you never showed up.

Not during your usual break. Not an hour later. Not even at the supposed end of your shift.

Maybe you were working a double?

So as much as he told himself he wouldn't follow you because it was creepy, he ran up the escalator two steps at a time to KB Toys where you would surely be.

Or not.

"They don't work here anymore kid," your former manager sighed after he asked about you. "I'm sorry."

"W-well where did they go?" he asked frantically, pathetically.

"Didn't say, not really my business to ask. Put in their notice...right after Black Friday, actually. Right before the Christmas rush too."

If he was heartbroken before...his heart was just gone now. Obliterated. Non-existent.

Along with any hope of trying to win you back.

---

Steve stuck through the rest of the holiday season at the mall; you could call him many things but a quitter wasn't one of them. However, come the new year, he needed a new job again, and he took up Robin's offer to butter Keith up and get in at Family Video.

He was offered an opening key shift, a decent employee discount, a better paycheck than both Scoops and Santa's workshop combined, and unlimited access to choose the movie playing overhead whenever he was in charge.

"You're lucky the other person I was about to hire bailed," Keith said after his first week. "Got a job at the Hawk or something. Can't blame 'em. Free popcorn and all that."

The distraction helped the heartache.

Surprisingly, he got a few phone numbers. Nothing ever came of them, nursing a broken heart the way he was, but it was nice. He'd been tempted to call you, several times in fact, but in the end he just decided fate knew better. Still, he denied himself the role of Hawkins' resident heartthrob.

"Are you hearing yourself right now?" Robin scoffed at him as he scrubbed off yet another phone number that had been written onto the palm of his hand by one customer or another. "Resident Heartthrob. Seriously? Ok Cassanova."

"What else do you wanna call it?" he asked, holding his arms out helplessly. "They can't resist the Harrington Charm, even when I don't want to use it."

"It's because you keep putting on sappy romance movies when you're here. Girls like that shit, a guy in touch with his feelings."

"First Nancy and then..." he trailed off, thinking about you sadly. He had to let you go.

"Are you kidding me?" Robin hit him upside the head and shoved him out of the way so she could start processing returns. "You can't even say their name? You need to get over it."

"It's hard."

"Were they your soulmate or something?"

"Robin, all men must...have someone who will never take advantage of a love bright as the sun."

"Love?"

"Someone to stand beside them."

"You're quoting the Monkees now."

"They were the one," Steve lamented. "And now they're--"

He trailed off as his eye landed on something outside the window.

"They're what? On the Last Train to Clarksville?" She made a buzzer noise. "Try again."

"No they're walking in right now, act casual," Steve announced and started typing away at the keyboard of the computer.

The doorbell chimed as you set foot inside Family Video and Steve glanced up to get a look at you for the first time in weeks.

Ok, so maybe he was being a little pathetic with this heartache.

Maybe it wasn't that bad for him.

It was pretty bad.

But when your eyes met, Steve could just tell...it had to have been just as bad for you too.

Because he knew you by now. How many months had you been dating? Dates and lunches and breaks spent together. Was it love? Maybe. Probably. Even if it wasn't, it was damn near close to it. So he knew the way your eyes lost their sparkle a little bit when they landed on him, knew the way your shoulders sagged, knew the words that refused to escape your lips when you saw him.

Stevie Stew. Pookie Bear. Dumb dumb. All the pet names he missed too.

Robin greeted you with an exaggerated lengthening of your name and a pointed glare shot directly at Steve.

"Hey Rob," you cleared your throat and offered a strained grin. "How are you? Didn't know you were working here."

Your eyes shifted to Steve and then back to Robin.

"Either of you."

"I've been here since before Christmas," Robin leaned against the counter as you approached and thumbed over her shoulder at Steve. "And of course dingus over here just couldn't stay away."

"You're the dream team, of course," you nodded. "Scoops Troop. But, uh, not anymore I guess."

"We're workshopping a new name."

The two of you laughed and then you excused yourself to peruse the shelves for a new movie. Robin even offered to show you some new tapes with a low pull it together hissed at Steve as she rounded the counter to show you a new display.

Steve willed himself to say something, Do something. Anything. Say hello, walk over and suggest a new movie, say that it was good to see you, that he missed you.

Communicate, god damn it.

But he was frozen.

Even more when you and Robin returned a few minutes later debating which John Hughes flick you should get: Sixteen Candles or Weird Science.

"You could always get both," Steve suggested, the words rocketing out of his mouth violently as you reached the register.

"Uh, yeah, actually..." you nodded. "That's a good idea, I think I will."

Steve typed in all the information and got your rentals rung out, and as he asked if you wanted candy or popcorn, you laughed.

"You know what, I'm actually all candy and popcorn'd out," your smile faltered when your eyes met again. "I'm...uh...you know."

"Know what?" Steve asked dumbly.

"I'm over at the Hawk," you nodded. "New shift manager and everything. I was...I was actually supposed to work here when Mr. Phillips offered me a dollar more at the theater. And the popcorn didn't hurt."

"I didn't know that," Steve shook his head.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

You and Steve stared at each other for another long, drawn out minute.

You opened your mouth to say something--

"Can we ta--"

--before Steve, idiot that he was, pushed your tapes across the counter at you and practically shouted at you.

"Your rental's due back on Friday by 2pm, enjoy."

Robin gave him the silent treatment for the rest of his shift.

---

"Do I show up with flowers?"

"Flowers?"

"What's that voice, you don't like flowers?"

"Not really."

There he was, back at Claire's the following day, sitting in the chair at the Ear Piercing Station as the manager restocked the jewelry wall. A bag of fresh chocolate chip cookies from the food court sat on top of the station and the two of them periodically reached in for a treat as Steve regaled her with his tale.

"I know they miss me, I just know it."

"Then why did you freeze up?"

"Because I'm an idiot. Help. Please."

So far, the manager hadn't really been able to offer him much advice outside of a shoulder to cry on and a listening ear. Especially now as he planned a way to win you back.

"Everyone likes flowers," Steve argued skeptically. "You're telling me Munson hasn't gotten you roses or something?"

The shop bell rang, a chain rattled, and leather squeaked, and instead of the manager answering with a gentle tone and an eye roll like she'd been doing all day, Eddie Munson himself chimed in.

"If I was a jealous man," he started with an exaggerated glare at Steve. "I would say you're here flirting with my girlfriend."

Eddie "The Freak" Munson was somehow the Dad to Steve's reluctant Mom when it came to the ragtag gang of Freshman that they shared role-model-ship of, and because of that their previous animosity had been turned into some kind of...agreement.

Could Steve say Eddie was a bad guy? No. Was he still wondering why the kids liked him so much? Yes. Could the two of them get along? Up for debate.

Which was why Steve wasn't so concerned when the metalhead was feigning some kind of intimidation tactic; they had an agreement that went from unspoken to shaken on come the new year: No fighting in front of the kids, no making fun of each other's hair, no stealing Eddie's girlfriend.

"What are you doing here?" the manager laughed at the two boys antics and crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't you have school?"

"I came to ask you a very important question," Eddie smiled a lovesick smile at her, Steve momentarily ignored. "But imagine my surprise when someone else is sitting in my spot."

"It's not your spot. And I'm giving him advice."

"Again?"

"He's hopeless, apparently."

"I'm right here," Steve exclaimed and got to his feet, ready to leave. "I didn't come here to be made fun of. I actually need help."

He didn't like the way Eddie clapped him on the shoulder, or steered him out of the store, or gave him a patronizing smile.

"Listen," Eddie started once they were out of the store. "I know you're having some issues but seriously, you need to get your act together."

"And how should I do that Munson? I've thought of everything and your girlfriend keeps telling me that my ideas are stupid."

"I'm sure they are stupid," Eddie nodded. "I trust her judgment."

"What would you do to win her back? If you fucked up?"

"I wouldn't fuck it up, Number one," Eddie smirked. "Even at the risk of jinxing myself there. Rule Number One in the Munson Relationship Doctrine, don't fuck it up."

"Well that page is missing from the Harrington Relationship Doctrine, because I clearly went and did that."

"Rule Number Two," Eddie continued, ignoring Steve. "Is by making a grand and personal gesture. Didn't you ask Nancy Wheeler to Junior Prom by having the cheer squad perform a routine just for her a few years ago."

"Yeah that took a lot of begging," Steve nodded eagerly, already formulating a plan. "But I could do it again if I--"

"I heard she hated it," Eddie shot a sour expression. "So no, not that."

"Then I'm out of ideas," Steve admitted.

Eddie threw his head back and groaned, and Steve was sure he heard him say something along the lines of and Buckley called him Hawkins Heartthrob.

"Listen," Eddie recovered, tightened his grip on Steve's shoulder with one hand, and jabbed him in the chest with the other hand. "Don't ever say that I didn't do anything for you ok? Where does your friend work? The Hawk?"

"How do you know that?"

"News travels fast when you're friends with 5 freshmen and Robin Bigmouth Buckley ok?" Eddie shook his head. "Now listen to me. Your friend works at the theater? Showing movies right? And what are movies made of?"

"Film?"

"Sure. And the kids...Dustin...what club is he part of at school?"

"Uh...Hellfire Club. Chess Club..."

"AV Club," Eddie insisted with an exaggerated nod. "And where do you work?"

"Family Video."

"And what is in a vid--you know what?" Eddie groaned. "I don't have time for this. How are you not putting two and two together Harrington?"

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be putting together."

"What they all have in common?"

Steve took a second as Eddie leaned closer expectantly, as though trying to transmit his idea through osmosis because Steve was just not getting it.

Until the osmosis was successful and Steve had his lightbulb moment.

"Oh!"

"There you go!" Eddie's face stretched with a feral grin. "I see the wheels turning. Ladies and Gentleman, I believe a plan is underway."

---

It took a little more than a week, the combined efforts of the AV Club and Hellfire Club, and a good chunk out of Steve's paycheck for supplies and to bribe them all and the projectionist at the Hawk.

But the plan was in place.

Steve found out your schedule, bought tickets for a 5pm show of Hey there, It's Yogi Bear.

There couldn't have been a worse movie to choose, but it was the only one he could buy out the theater for.

He showed up to the Hawk promptly at 4:30, got his soda and popcorn, and hung around the lobby impatiently. He was pretty sure he'd ruined his hair from the number of times he'd run his hand through it.

Slowly his friends started to filter in: The Sinclair kids and Max, Mike Wheeler and Will Byers with Nancy and Jonathan in tow--that wouldn't be nerve-wracking or embarrassing at all if the plan didn't work out. At some point, Eddie's van pulled up in front of the Theater and Dustin, Jeff, Gareth, and Dave all walked in bickering about nachos and sour worms, before Eddie and the Claire's Store Manager followed suit, Eddie telling his friends to shut up.

Steve was beginning to sweat at 4:55 when Robin ran in, hand in hand with a new girlfriend that he'd seen waiting for Rob when he dropped her off at school in the morning.

That he'd been maybe a little too in his own head about you to hear Robin rave about for the past few months. He really did feel bad about that.

"Thought you were gonna be late," he accused Robin.

"Me? Late?" she beamed. "Never. Do we have time to grab candy?"

"Just go," he waved them off, then shot Robin a secret thumbs up as she pointed to her crush excitedly, then got nervous when he spotted you across the lobby, talking to one of the ushers.

You faltered when you locked eyes with him, waved back when he sent you a little hello, and then you scurried into the box office.

He allowed himself one more moment of heartache. Then at 5 on the dot, Steve entered the theater and sat in the back row, as close to the projection window as he could get.

The previews started, and for a moment, Steve looked at all his...well, they were all his friends now, weren't they? Here to support him on this hare-brained endeavor. He suddenly felt loved in a way that he didn't think he'd ever felt before, not like this.

The only thing missing was you.

Suddenly the projection started skipping, and he could hear his accomplice in the projection booth shuffle around, then a door opened and closed.

"And so it begins," Eddie said dramatically a few rows ahead.

"Shut up, you're gonna give it away!" Dustin shouted at him.

Everyone started chattering until Steve sent them all a shhhhh when he heard the projection booth door open and shut again and your voice, clearly irritated, started speaking.

"What do you mean it isn't working? Did you try...I don't know...unplugging it and plugging it back in? Re-roll the film and try it again...here let me see..."

Steve felt himself shake with anticipation as the projector started up again, but the images on the screen were decidedly not Yogi Bear and Boo Boo.

"What the hell?" you exclaimed.

On the screen were pictures of you and Steve, all the polaroids and film strips from the little Photo Booth at Starcourt that you'd taken together over the months of your relationship. The ticket from the aquarium that he'd saved. The note you'd pinned to his back one morning when you hugged him before his shift that said "Steve Harrington is a loser."

He heard your snort as the scene panned up to a shot of himself sitting at the desk in his room writing a letter, shot on the Wheeler family's camcorder. The Steve on the screen looked up into the camera and startled.

"Oh," he laughed. "Didn't see you there. It's been a long time, hasn't it? I uh...I really wanted to talk to you and figured there wasn't a better way than writing a letter."

"Nerd," you called through the projection window, garnering laughs from his friends.

The scene faded to Movie Steve in a turtleneck skipping rocks at Lover's Lake in a very artistic shot that Director Dustin was apparently "proud of."

"But a picture is worth a thousand words so I'm pretty sure a video is worth a million." Movie Steve said your name sadly and looked deep into the camera. "I messed up, I was an idiot and a jerk and only took my own feelings into consideration when I made that joke to my parents. I don't care how they felt about you because I'm past the point of caring how they feel about me. My screw ups.

"And unfortunately I made the biggest screw-up of my life that night. I might not care what they think about me...but I care what you think about me."

The scene changed once again, Movie Steve leaning over the counter at Family Video filling out a form on a clipboard.

"There are a million better movies out there than this one you're watching right now Honey, but none of them are able to show just how truly sorry I am, and how much I miss you. I know that we still need to talk things out in person but I hope this shows how much I'm willing to put in the work so you'll forgive me."

A few rows ahead, he could hear Eddie speak along with Movie Steve, he leaned into his girlfriend and said "I wrote that line. Pretty good, right?"

"Uh huh," she pushed his head away from her. "Sap."

Eddie turned back to look at Steve and shot him a thumbs-up.

The scene changed one last time to a panning shot of Steve walking out of StarCourt mall towards his car.

"This is your chance to decide now. I wouldn't blame you if you chose never to talk to me again. I'll wait outside once your shift is over, but I'll respect your choice either way. I miss you Honey, and I love you."

Movie Steve got in the car and drove away into the sunset, only for the camera to pan over to Corroded Coffin playing a sweet ballad that Steve knew was your favorite.

The screen faded to black and the audience erupted into applause before the real previews resumed and the eventual movie.

Steve listened intently for some sign of life from the projection booth, but aside from a few footsteps and the door opening and closing again, there was nothing.

After the movie was over and all of his friends went their respective ways, Steve sat by his car until the end of your shift. When the last lights of The Hawk marquee finally turned off and the employees all started filing out, he knew he was holding his breath.

The last person out of the building was you, and as you turned around and spotted him, you stopped in your tracks.

Just like the other day at Family Video, it was a standoff between you and Steve, and although Steve wished that you would just come running into his arms to kiss him, insisting your forgiveness, he knew things were never that easy.

"That, uh...was something," you finally broke the silence.

"It was, wasn't it," he agreed.

"Was that your idea?" you asked. "Pretty sure those were all your friends in there."

"Yeah I bought out the whole theater."

"You bought...seriously?"

"I wanted to make sure you weren't embarrassed...in case anyone else saw."

"And I wouldn't be embarrassed by your friends?" you scoffed.

"Well they all helped me make it so I think I was more embarrassed asking them all for help than you." You let out a long sigh and put your face in your hands and Steve started talking rapid-fire. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I know that sucks when...when I already did. But I promise I'll do better. I'll be better. I'll be anything you need me to be, I just...I need you back."

You said something but it was muffled by your hands.

"What?"

"I said," you pulled them away and looked up at him with watery eyes, and he felt his heart drop again. "Do you really love me? You said so...at the end of that...whatever that was."

"I mean...yeah I guess I do."

"You guess?" you laughed.

"I do!" Steve said with more confidence this time. "I do love you. I'm...sorry I didn't say anything sooner."

"I'm sorry you didn't either," you muttered. You closed the distance and grabbed the lapels of Steve's jacket in your hands, as though you were about to shake him. "Do you know...the real reason I was upset?"

"There's...a real reason?" he asked.

"Why I broke up with you."

"Oh. Uh...no."

"I mean," you took a great breath of confidence. "Yeah I was mad because you made me seem like a joke to your parents on Thanksgiving, and I know...I know their opinion doesn't mean that much to you. But after I left it got me thinking...what if you made a joke like that...because I was a joke. And maybe thats why nothing was ever coming of our relationship because it was just...you didn't care about me. You didn't...love me, the same way I loved you."

Steve felt the invisible hand clench around his heart; it was like Nancy all over again.

"Loved?" he whispered weakly, the sense of deja-vu undeniable. "Honey..."

"So I had to end it. To protect myself. And I took a long hard look at myself when I got to work. The what? Third job I had since I started at StarCourt? I realized that maybe...I was a joke. Maybe you were right, that I was...this job-hopping, unreliable...thing and that's why I quit. And I started looking...for a management position somewhere so I could be better."

"But you were already great," Steve assured. "Can we get back to that...loved thing?"

"Steven..."

"Sorry."

"Let me finish."

"Ok."

"And you know what I found out since I've been here?" you asked. "I...kind of hate working at a movie theater. And I need to leave again. I'm...I'm a free spirit. I can't be tied down to one kind of job. I saw an ad in the paper for an arts and crafts instructor at the Park District and I sort of wanna quit before applying, I would be great at that."

"You would," Steve laughed, still unsure of where this was going.

It was always a bit of a rollercoaster with you though, and it was another thing about you that he loved.

"So...tonight seeing all of that," you waved an arm behind you at the theater. "Seeing you...realizing that you loved me all along...I don't know. I don't need your love to keep being who it is that I am, it's just nice to know that you love me, the same way I love you."

"Love me?" he asked hopefully.

"Yeah."

He whispered your name desperately and then cupped your face in his hands.

"I love you Honey."

"I love you too, Steve Harrington."

You pulled him into you and smashed your lips to his. The heartbreak faded away from both of you, and in its place, undeniable love and affection for each other.

Steve Harrington might have been many things, he might have fucked up.

But he was happy to say he was someone who could fix it.

With love.

#Steve harrington x reader #Steve harrington fic #Steve harrington fluff #store manager verse #stranger things fic #Steve harrington stranger things

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starsandsugars · 11 months

Text

Burning Desire

PAIRINGS: shiv roy/f!reader

SUMMARY: you had hoped that working on a work assignment with shiv might make her open up to you. Instead it lead to you 'opening up' in an entirely different way. (NSFW • MINORS DNI)

TAGS: coworkers hooking up, degredation, praise, office crushes, cheating (if you squint)

NOTES: hi guys :) this is my first fic I'm posting on tumblr and my first piece of smut so please be nice and I hope y'all like it!

Your heart hammered in your chest as you felt Shiv's hand press firmer against your mouth, forcing you to keep quiet even as she continued to pump her fingers into you at that ruthless pace. Each stroke of her fingertips hit that perfect spot inside you, drawing out animalistic sounds that were just barely concealed by her. Every little touch made you feel electric, every inch of your body practically vibrating from the pleasure.

As your head tilted back and knocked back against the door, you thank whatever God there was for putting you in this situation.

You had seen Shioban Roy countless times around the Waystar offices, normally in some meeting or getting into an argument with her siblings that half the staff had to witness.

You knew very little about her initially other than what was public knowledge. You had no reason to pay her any mind, but you always felt your eyes drawn to her anyway.

At first you reasoned it was because of the effortless way she commanded the room or the fact that, as Gerri's second in command, she was kind of your bosses boss but as your curiosity began to change shape it became harder and harder to deny.

You couldn't tear your eyes away from her if she walked by your desk, the simple twirl of her hips enough to take your breath away. When she leaned over her desk to talk to you, you just about lost your ability to think clearly. And the one time you saw her kiss her husband in the lobby it filled you with a feeling you refuse to admit even to yourself.

It was ridiculous, and beyond irresponsible.

For one, she was your boss. If that wasn't enough she was married - to the head of news at the company that you work for no less!

You did your best to convince yourself that it was just an office crush. She was a beautiful woman with a touch of power that turned you on more than you wanted to admit. That was surely all it was.

Or it least, that was all it had been, until you got assigned to work on an agreement that Shiv, as President of Operations was hwading. t really wasn't an overly complicated assignment, which is why Gerri handed it over to you, and you expected to be done with it in a couple of days.

As it turns out, that was far from the case. The other company refused to sign, and what could have been a couple meetings turned into long days and nights cooped up in Shiv's office hunched over paperwork.

Your silly crush hadn't gotten away, and had gotten even harder to manage. Now you were close enough to smell her expensive perfume, close enough to hear the edge her voice took when she was telling you to do something.

You tried to push it down, smother it, but the flame only grew brighter with each day you spent together.

Finally, after a million emails and a formally worded threat of litigation, the smaller tech company signed the contract and became a part of the growing monolith that was Waystar Royco.

You had never seen Shiv happier, practically beaming as she went immediately to gloat to her father. You took your things and disappeared back to your own office, expecting that would be the end of your Shiv Roy saga.

You were a little sad to see it end, but you're sure your vibrator will thank you for a break now that you won't have to constantly be so close to her so you prepare yourself to just move on.

You should have known things with her could never be that simple.

Just as you began to catch up with your other work you've been neglecting to help her she pops her head into your office.

"Come out with me to celebrate our win." She says without so much as a 'hello', "Drinks on me."

It wasn't a request so much as a command, but you found yourself agreeing anyway.

With that she turned on her heels, leaving you with a fluttering feeling in your stomach.

You were distracted the rest of the day wondering what she was up to. Did she really just want to celebrate? What was her game here? You knew the Roys well enough to know they never did anything without an agenda.

By the time she came to get you from your office at the end of the day you were all but convinced she was going to fire you. You went with her anyway, heart thumping in your chest as the two of you sat quietly in her private car.

She had her driver take you two to a high end bar that seemed to be pretending to be a dive bar. It was busy, with warm bodies and loud music everywhere. It could almost pass for a normal bar if it weren't for the suits all around and the fact that one of their drinks rang up for twice as much as your hourly wage.

She (thankfully) bought you your drink and turned to gave you fully once you had both settled into a leather booth.

It started off perfectly innocently, talking about you success with the deal and your future at Waystar. Your anxiety began to melt as you realized she really wasn't firing you. In fact, she seemed like she genuinely wanted to talk to you.

You talked your way through another 2 drinks each, both of you slowly opening up to each other. You told her about how much Gerri gets on your case and she tells you about her open relationship with Tom.

She drops it into the conversation casually but the way she blinks her eyes gives her away. She knows exactly what she's doing.

"I mean, I don't control what he does. Why would I let him control me?" She leans a little closer, and the finger tracing the rim of her drink turned into a heavy hand on your thigh.

Her voice lowers as she continues, sending shivers down your spine.

"I sleep with whoever I want. Whenever I want."

Your voice choked up a little as you responded, voice sticking in your throat from the sheer shock of it all.

"Yeah, me too." You manage, drawing a laugh from the redhead.

"Oh yeah?" She teases, eyes twinkling as she whispers into your ear.

"Why don't you come show me?"

Before you can even begin to think better of it her ingers splayed are across your back and she's guiding you to the back of the bar.

She opens a door knowingly and you realize she had planned this. If she had to have an angle, you were glad it was this one.

Once the two of you were inside she pressed you back against the door. The cold metal pulled a shiver from you, but the second her lips were on yours it's like every other sensation melted away. She kissed you like she wanted to consume you and you would be more than happy to let her.

As if reading your thoughts she bit your lip, pulling a little yelp out of her. She grinned and moved her lips against your neck as her hands slid up under your dress. You preened under her touch, breathy moans escaping you despite yourself.

It took only a moment for your panties to be tugged down your legs but she paused before actually touching you. You tired rolling your hips but all she did was brush your clit all too softly.

"Shiv, please." You begged, tapping into the want for submission she so clearly had in her normal life. The tendency clearly extends to sex because as soon as you give her what she wants she finally pushed her fingers into you.

She was clearly skilled with her fingers and she worked you up in no time. You moaned loudly, and she gripped your chin to warn you.

"Be. Quiet."

When you couldn't comply she shoved her hand over your mouth, gripping your cheeks to keep it in place. When you whimpered enough to be heard through her attempted gag she crowded you further against the wall.

"Shut up."

She spoke into your ear, equal parts threat and promise.

"Unless you want us to get caught. Maybe you'd like that. Maybe you want everyone to see what you let me do to you in this bathroom."

She strikes just the right spot inside of you and your thighs begin to quake, fingers clutching desperately to her shoulders. You know you should try to maintain some level of basic self respect but when she looks at you with those hungry eyes you just can't find it in yourself to care.

"God you're such a slut." She says, sounding pleasantly surprised. The words send sparks down your spine and you feel yourself tumble over the edge.

Your mind is hazy and your legs shake so badly she has to use her thigh to prop you up.

Once you had calmed down enough to do something that resembled normal breathing she let you go, smiling like she's just won some kind of contest.

"Good girl. I knew you had it in you." She says, and it's a struggle not to let the praise go straight to your head.

She starts to check her reflection in the mirror over the sink as you stay against the door, trying to make your brain work properly again.

Eventually you come to your senses enough to straighten up and try to appear half as nonchalant as she is.

You approach her, leaning against the sink as you watch her fix her hair.

"You're not going to let me return the favor?" You ask with a tone od faux innocence, trying to talk as if it were about a business deal instead of the most mind blowing orgasm of your life.

"Oh trust me, you're going to." She grins at you in the mirror. "But we're not doing this again in the bathroom. We're going back to my apartment."

She strides right out of the bathroom, knowing you were going to follow her without you having to say a word.

She's not wrong, and you chase after her before you even have the time to realize your panties are still discarded on the bathroom floor.

#shiv roy #shiv roy x reader #succesion #smut #succession smut #shiv roy smut #wlw smut #succession fic #tom wambsgans #kendall roy #roman roy

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