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a secret affair with my brother's best friend, that cocky jerk, Steve
You've had a secret crush on Steve for a long time, but you really didn't want him or your brother to find out because you know they would have made fun of you.
But you always expose yourself with your gaze because, for some reason, Steve is always hanging around your placeâŠ
And he obviously loves it because he's a cocky jerk who takes every opportunity to embarrass you.
here you go bae, hope you donât mind i adjusted things a bit!
OH MY FOD. every single one of those one shots looks amazing i cant waitttt wtf đ”âđ«đ”âđ«đ”âđ« girl ur a genius and i love you and ur mind
đđđđ đđđđđ đđ, I HATE HIM đ đđ đđđ đđđđ đđ'đ đđđđ, đ'đđ đđđđ đđđđ đ đđ WEEKS, đ'đđ đđđđ đđđđ đ đđ YEARS, đ'đđ đđđđ đđđđ TOO LONG
PAIRING older brothers best friend! steve x reader
SUMMARY in which you've had a crush on your older brother's best friend since you were kids. now grown up and returning home from college for the summer, bad decisions are made after you're forced into a motel together on a stormy night.
WARNINGS 18+ MDNI smut, she fell first he fell harder, fingering, unprotected p in v, spanking (like one time lmfao), dirty talk, nipple play, sweet stevie, close proximity, adult language, steve is 1-2 years older than reader
WORD COUNT 8.4k
Steve Harrington had been in your house for as long as you can remember, that eventually after years, you stopped thinking of him as just your brotherâs annoying friend who just so happened to be cute.
He existed naturally in the way he had become a part of the house itself like the way the kitchen light flickered above the stove your mother always nagged at your father to fix or that one warped floorboard outside your bedroom that always creaked.
Steve was just there. Mostly because of his emotionally negligent home life. He would always be draped over the couch with your brother with his stupid spiderman printed socked feet he'd get embarrassed about, kicked onto the coffee table. He would rummage through the cabinets for snacks he didn't ask for permission to eat or laugh way too loudly at midnight while your mother had yelled from upstairs for the boys to keep it down.
You grew up around the sound of his voice and the smell of his cologne that trailed through hallways after basketball games. Around the low rumble of his prized BMW pulling into the driveway to pick up your brother. His stupidly bright smile and the way he effortlessly moved through rooms had always irked you the most.
When you were little, Steve treated you in that affectionately dismissive way most young boys do with their best friend's siblings.
"Move, airhead," "Quit following us," "Tell your brother he still owes me five bucks!"
There had never been cruelty in his voice or irritation enough to hurt you. Sometimes when your brother got irritated with you or ignored you, Steve didnât and instead gave you a sense of understanding.
At ten years old, you were sitting cross legged in the living room, watching the two of them play video games on your brother's Atari for hours. When Steve handed you a third controller after your brother complained you were annoying, you pretended your heart didn't skip a beat. Despite being terrible at every game, Steve let you play anyway.
At twelve years old, you had scraped your knee badly against asphalt when trying to skateboard down the Harrington's driveway after overhearing Steve mention he thought girls who skate were 'cool.' You remember sitting on the pavement blinking back tears while your brother had cackled and Steve crouched down in front of you with a sigh.
"Why are you always getting yourself hurt." He'd said, his hands gently pushing your sock down to your ankle. "Were you trying to kill yourself?"
You had only shrugged out of embarrassment.
Even then, he had disappeared into his house before coming back with bandages and peroxide. The smell had been medicinal in the hot summer air and he'd sat cleaning the blood from your knee.
At fifteen years old, your crush had become something incurable. The year Steve had started driving. The year he started showing up on the driveway in his burgundy BMW with one hand lazily hooked over the steering wheel and his sunglasses hiding half his face while girls from school had prayed to get his attention. It'd also been the age silly jealousy had warped your heart.
You knew Steve Harrington was someone you'd never get close to touching. He belonged to everybody and that was the problem.
At sixteen years old, every girl in town had a story about him, but also forgave him too easily when he had reached that stage in his life where he'd been known as the charming, wealthy, party boy who knew his way around. Eventually, he'd calmed down despite having the certain cockiness to him you'd always known.
But there were fragile moments where the performance would slip.
Late nights when your brother had gone upstairs to watch TV, Steve would sink further into the couch with an exhausted look on his face. Sometimes your mother would hand him leftovers wrapped in foiled. He would just smile with gratitude and pull her in for a hug.
The nights he stayed over were your favorite.
One time you woke up at two in the morning for water. When you walked downstairs, you would find him knocked out on the couch with one arm thrown his face. He'd always been such a restless sleeper.
Looking back, maybe you had started loving him in those moments, not just a silly crush.
Deep down, you knew it was because you knew a version of him nobody else knew, a version that was just him and not King Steve.
You knew the way he got quieter when something bothered him, the way he tapped his fingers when anxious, and the way he hated going home more than he would ever admit out loud.
By your junior year of college, at twenty years old, you had gotten good at convincing yourself you were over Steve Harrington. Distance helped, especially when Purdue University was four hours from Hawkins.
Classes, new friends, late night walks across campus with music playing in your headphones, and boys who flirted with you had given you experiences that you almost forgot about a version of yourself that doodled in her notebook over a boy with big brown eyes.
Steve had become someone easier to manage when he had only existed mostly through rushed stories from your brother on phone calls.
Steve got promoted. Steve got into some fight at a bar and lost. Steve was seeing some girl. Steve bought a new car.
He couldn't touch your life anymore.
Until May.
Finals week had exhausted everyone by the time summer break finally arrived. Outside your dorm window, students drag bags down sidewalks, the sky gray and threatening rain. You can only hope the weather doesn't worsen.
The telephone begins to ring on your nightstand. Walking over and removing it from the hook, you wedge it between your shoulder.
"Hello?" You answer distracted, struggling to zip your duffel bag.
"Your brother's an asshole."
You freeze, stomach fluttering. His voice was still able to do that to you. "Well, hello to you to. You sound so surprised." You managed.
"I am," Steve replied. "He told me he forgot he promised to pick you up and he already made plans, which is now my problem somehow."
"Sooo, you're coming instead?"
"Yeah, unfortunately."
"You're such a gentleman," You croon, tossing your duffel bag aside. "Will you help me with my bags too?'
"You know I will." "I'm calling from this diners telephone box, had to take a bathroom break because the drive is so damn long."
"Tell me about it. Why do you think I wanted someone else to do the driving for me in the first place?"
"You sneaky little witch. Just using people arenât you?" He comments, making you laugh. "Anyways, I'm like twenty minutes away. Try not to bring your whole dorm with you."
The line clicks dead before you can answer and place the phone back into it's rightful place.
Immediately, you hate yourself for checking your reflection in the mirror to check your hair. On instinct, you reach for your lip gloss and swipe it against your lips.
This was so ridiculous. You were twenty, not fourteen anymore, yet you were hyperaware of everything about you all because Steve Harrington was about to drive four hours alone with you.
By the time you have your bags ready and make your way outside after checking out your dorm, you spot the BMW parked against the pavement. Girls passing turned to look as Steve stepped out from the driver's seat as rain began to fall. Some things never changed did they?
Your stomach drops at the sight of him. He looked different, less boyishly pretty and now more manly. His shoulders broader beneath his dark blue crewneck and fitting his arms just right.
Steve uses one hand to push back his damp hair from his forehead and his eyes land on you, making you freeze. He smirks, calling out, "Hey! You coming?"
You roll your eyes, walking over. "You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago."
"Sorry, traffic backed up from the rain." He frowns and takes a quick glance at his watch. "If we go now we should be fine though."
He takes the largest bag from you, tossing it over his shoulder, before you can argue. Steve opens the trunk, tucking in the bag and reaching a hand out in gesture for you to hand him the rest.
"Your roommates going to miss you at all?" He asks, shutting the trunk and locking it with the keys.
"Mmm, yeah I think so. One of them cried."
He lets out a low whistle, "Damn. You breaking hearts at Purdue now? I thought you were sweet?"
"Shut up." You snort. "I doubt she'll send a postcard anyways. She only used me for homework answers in statistics."
"No worries, we'll have a better summer without people like that. Like old times." He grins in the familiar way you knew.
Steve opens the passenger door and flashes you a wink. "After you."
You just smile, sitting down and adjusting the seat to your height as he shuts the door behind you, jogging around the hood of the car before the rain could get you both anymore wet.
Steve slides into the driver's seat, starting the heater to warm up. He inserts the keys into the ignition, giving it a couple turns, and sighs. "You hungry?"
"Ummm, a little." You confess.
"There's leftover fries in the bag from the diner if you want some" He turns over the seat as he backs the car out of is spot, managing to grab the paper bag sitting behind. "They got kinda wet though."
You eye the soaking wet paper bag and scrunch your nose, "What the hell, Steven. You're disgusting."
"What! They're still good!"
"Soggy fries are good? Would you eat those?" You deadpan, raising a brow.
There's a pause of silence until, "...Nah. Maybe you're right." He coughs and clears his throat. "We'll grab some dinner in a couple hours in the next town. Promise."
You laugh despite yourself and turn your head to look outside the window, watching as the campus begins to empty out, students hugging goodbye and loading up cars.
Steve glances at your direction briefly as you begins to make a turn out of the campus, "You going to miss it?"
"Huh? Purdue?"
"Mhm."
You hum, pondering for a moment. Sure, you'd been homesick when you'd started, but overtime you'd found another place and friends to call home. Out the window, you watch the buildings blur past as you drive farther. Finally, you admit, "Yeah, more than I thought I would. I'll probably try and make plans for my friend Beth to come down to Hawkins."
"Do you like being away?" He asks, one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel while the other tapped against his thigh. "From Hawkins, I mean."
Truthfully, no. You liked being able to ignore your feelings, but you didn't like not being able to communicate with loved ones mostly through mail and telephone.
"I like..." You stop to carefully consider your words. "being somewhere where nobody knows every single thing about me. So, no and yes."
"Yeah, that sounds nice. I don't blame you." Steve gives a faint smile.
The roads begin to stretch longer as buildings become fields then empty highways, Steve cautiously keeping distance from other cars.
You blow a puff of air, bored, reaching into the dashboard to search through Steve's collection of cassette tapes. Steve catches you from the corner of his eyes. He clicks his tongue, "Hey, you thief. What do you think you're doing?"
"Playing music?" You snip as if it's obvious. "It's too quiet in here that it's going to drive me insane."
"Is my own voice not enough for you?" He mockingly pouts but snatches the cassette of your choice out of your hand, inserting it into the player of the radio.
"You'll never be Bruce Springsteen, sorry to tell you."
"Are you still seeing that girl?" You ask, trying to sound casual.
Steve looked confused, "What girl?"
"The one Anthony mentioned. Blonde, brown eyes, in STEM..." You explain, listing of the traits your older brother had mentioned over the phone last Winter. You remember hooking up with some guy afterwards.
He huffs a laugh, "Oh. No."
"What do you mean no?" You press.
"That lasted like two months. It's been long done." He says casually as if it had been nothing. You truly thought he'd liked her, even if she'd been one of many girlfriends that wouldn't work out.
"What happened? I thought you liked her?"
He pursed his lips, "I mean, yeah she was nice."
Steve seemed almost reluctant, like there was more to the story than he wanted to give.
"Anddd?"
"And that's it." He sighs. "Look, I could give a thousand of excuses of why it didn't work but I can't besides saying I just wasn't feeling anything. Nice isn't enough and I didn't want to waste her time."
"Oh..." You say.
You'd be lying if you said you were disappointed at the fact his love life had once again failed. You're a horrible and selfish person, you think.
"Plus, I think I've made too much mistakes doing that in the past. It wouldn't be fair, y'know?"
"Growing up, Harrington?"
"Watch it," He scolds.
You stick your tongue out playfully before resuming your session of staring out the window in distraction of your nerve wracking thoughts and the fact Steve was sitting a foot away.
Shivering, the feel goosebumps rise on your arms and you rub your hands against them in hope to ease.
Steve seems notice and frowns, glimpsing at you before turning back to the road. "Are you still cold?"
"Nope."
"Liar," He chuckles. Turning the heater on with the dial, he reaches his arm behind his seat afterwards, grabbing hold of a folded up blanket and tosses it to you.
"Oh, no, no, Steve. You don't have--" You reassure, holding your hands up.
"I know, it's okay." He cuts you off. "Just give it back when you're done. We both know you're a thief."
"Yeah, yeah."
The droplets of ran pounds against the windshield, the dark clouds swirling in the sky as thunder erupts threateningly. It stirs fear in your chest, heart picking up its pace.
"Shit, it's getting bad." Steve points out. Trying to ease the mood, he jokes. "Think some force of nature is trying to kill us?"
"I don't know about me, but maybe just you. I hope the lightning picks you over me once we get out." You sass.
His mouth is gaped in shock. Finally, he says under his breath, "Psycho."
You try to focus on the music the next couple of minutes, but you canât stand the silence between the two of you.
After years, you always want to know every single detail about him, to hear him talk about the special things his life and what he has going for him.
Every time you hope itâs something good. Itâs all heâs ever deserved.
"How's work? Aren't you doing this whole coaching gig?"
"Don't forget sex ed teacher on the side. But, yeah, it's great so far." He seems to light up, happy you asked. "Really great."
He switches lanes before he continued, "For so long I was so confused and didn't know what I wanted, but now? I don't think I've been happier. Sure, my dad thinks the pay is shit, but at least I'm doing something with my life now."
âI think itâs good, Steve. Youâre starting somewhere and I think it fits you perfectly.â
Heâs shy then and goes quiet. You think the conversation is done with until:
"I- I really want to try college again. Get a degree in physical education. I know, it probably sounds stupid. I slacked so much in High School. I cared too much about the wrong things, now I'm paying for it."
Your heart breaks at his self deprecation. Heâs always struggled with his self esteem underneath all that confidence he paraded around with. Deep down, he just wanted to be worth something in anothers eyes.
"It's not silly, not at all." You study him, staring at the slope of his nose down to the shadow of stubble along his jaw. "A lot of people lose their way too like you did, and you found your way back. You're trying and I think that's enough to be proud of, Stevie."
Steve gives you a quick look of shock, blood rushing to his cheeks.
"Thanks." He coughs before the corner of his mouth quirks up. "You're still holding on to that nickname? Jeez, you don't change."
"It reminds me of Fleetwood, it's cute!" You protest.
"Okay, then." He simply laughs.
"The more you hate it, the more I'm going to keep using it."
"Uh huh,"
Rain slammed against the windshield so violently that Steve had to lean forward, squinting his eyes to get a good look at the road. The wipers moved back and forth as the highway stretched ahead, the only thing visible being the headlights illuminating the road and the flashes of lightning in the sky.
Suddenly, the car swerves slightly, making you gasp. Before your brain can process, Steve's arm is bracing against your chest and pushing you back against the seat.
"Fucking hell," He curses, glaring daggers at the truck that zooms past. Steve removes his arm and asks, "You okay?"
Placing a hand over your chest, you nod. "Shit, yeah. It happened so quick, I wasn't expecting it."
Steve hums in agreement and directs his attention back to the road where water pools and the wind starts push hard enough against the BMW that your stomach hurts.
"Damn it," He mutters, directing the car to pull off to the next exit that definitely wasn't part of your plans. "We're not going to be able to make it back tonight. I'm not trying to have us soaring off a cliff when there's idiots who can't drive."
You sit up straighter, frowning, "What're we doing then if not going home?"
Steve rubs a hand across his jaw tiredly, "There should be a motel like ten minutes off this exit. We can grab food before we get a room. We'll just leave in the morning when this calms down."
Calm down, you think. Sharing a room with Steve Harrington sounds terrifying in theory, but what other choice did you have? This was the practical choice, you'd be stupid if you let your feelings get in the way of your safety.
"Unless you'd rather we soar off the cliff to our deaths?" Steve jokes in attempt to lighten the mood.
You'll be fine.
You wave a hand in dismissal and laugh, "Whatever. Yeah, the motel should be fine."
"And if we get murdered? We'll just haunt Anthony and tell him this was mostly his fault."
That was not comforting.
The motel, when you arrived after thirty minutes of driving in pouring rain and a quick fast food pick up, was old but comfortable looking enough that you were able to feel relieved.
The sign buzzed as streams of water poured off the roof. The parking lot was nearly empty except for Steve's BMW and an old truck. Inside, the lobby air smelled faintly like burnt coffee and mildew.
"I'm scared Steve," You whisper, eyeing your surroundings as Steve signed the check in receipt. "What if we get murdered like you said--"
"Okay, first of all, I was joking." Steve says, taking the room key from the old woman behind the desk, who didn't bother to look up from her crossword puzzle. "Second, you watch way too much movies. I think they're starting to rot your brain."
"Have you seen 'Psycho?' That could--"
"Relax!" Steve gives you an incredulous look as if he's unsure whether to laugh. He grabs the greasy paper bag from you. "Let's go to our room, eat, shower, and before you know it you'll feel fine. C'mon."
When you and Steve walk outside and up the rickety stairs to unlock your room, youâre met with the sight of a muted floral bedspread and a television sitting on the dresser. One bed.
"Shit, I asked for a two bed." Steve scoffs and tosses your duffel on the bed along with his overnight bag. Thankfully he came prepared based on weather before he left. "You want me to go ask for a new room?"
Not wanting to complain, you shake your head nervously, "No, this is fine."
Steve just nods, seating himself down at the edge of the bed with a long exhale. You stand still, unable to move from your spot. Maybe it was because there was no brother nearby, no parents, and no friends, but just the two of you in such a vulnerable space.
Steve yawns with a stretch, "You can go ahead and shower first."
You nod, practically running to the shower. The bathroom fills with steam as you turn the faucet, undressing and stepping inside.
You find yourself standing beneath the hot water longer necessary, letting the heat unknot the stiffness aching in your shoulders. Your thoughts felt loud. This is ridiculous, nothing is happening and is going to happen. Steve is Steve, your brother's best friend who you've spent majority of your life trying not to embarrass yourself around. You're going to go back in there and act normal. You'll be back on the road before you know it.
When you finally emerged from the bathroom, the sound of the microwave beeps and you smell the delicious scent of fries and burgers. Steve turns his head, pulling both yours and his food out on to plates.
"You took forever. Were you swimming in there?" He says, handing you your plate before he goes to sit cross legged on the bed against the headboard.
"You're so dramatic, it was only thirty minutes." You join him and take a bite out of your burger.
"Thirty minutes too long," He quips, grabbing the remote and flipping through the television channels. "So, what are we in the mood for, Seinfeld or Beverly Hills? Take your pick."
"Seinfeld. I don't have the attention span for dramatics right now," You reply, stealing one of Steve's fries.
"Seinfeld it is," Steve muses and throws the remote away.
The tv plays on the next twenty minutes as the two of you eat, the episode plot being one of the character's apartments getting robbed, leading to an argument over who gets to move into a new apartment. You weren't paying attention much if you were being honest, more focused on the heat of his body next to you and trying not to seem obviously affected.
"Y'know..." Steve starts and you recognize his familiar tone of mischief. "this episode kind of reminds me of all the arguments you and Anthony have."
You turn to look at him, raising a brow. "Yeah because he's hardheaded."
"Must be a genetic thing." He muses, not turning his gaze away from the screen.
You gasp, smacking his arm. "Don't compare me to him! He's ten times worse than I'll ever be."
"Oh trust me, I believe you." He ponders for a moment before breaking into laughter. "Shit, remember when he jumped off the roof to backflip into my parent's pool?"
In fact, you do. It was one of your favorite embarrassing moments to blackmail your older brother with. He'd been bawling all the way to the emergency room while your mother laid it into him.
"Yes! He's was so stupid. I even told him it probably wasn't a good idea, but no, he insisted he'd look like those superheros from those comics you guys liked so much." You scoffed.
"Man, my mom was so pissed."
"Well, you technically encouraged him on, so I'd be too." He only laughs at your words, giving you a small nudge.
The conversation from there unraveled from one memory to another before you knew it as time passed. From middle school disasters of your brother getting into ridiculous fights, terrible haircuts you cried your eyes out over and threatened to never step outside again, and to Steve accidentally lighting fireworks too close to the garage one Fourth of July, the two of you laugh as you bond over the past.
Steve remembered everything which you couldn't decide was good or bad, especially since he remembered the most embarrassing moments like the time he and Anthony walked in on you kissing your James Spader poster in High School.
"You got so red that you yelled at us to get out," Steve cackled while laying on his side, hand rested under his chin, full attention now only on you.
"I was 15! That was traumatizing! How would you feel if someone walked in on you and found your old magazine collection under your bed."
"Shut up."
"Nope," You say, popping the p.
The both of you watch about three more episodes before trash is discarded in the can next to the bed and somewhere along the way the lamp on the nightstand is turned off, the room lit up only by the blue screen of the television.
"Anyone special in your life?" Steve randomly asks, sounding almost playful if you ignored the weird tone. "Only fair I ask you since you interrogated me earlier."
"Pft, no not really. Robin keeps trying to set me up with this guy though."
"Oh." There's a weird pause. "Are you gonna...see him or anything?"
You scrunch your nose and turn away from the TV. "Uhh I don't know? Why?"
Steve's teeth a clenched, body going rigid. He scoots away to give some space and now you know something is deeply wrong. "No reason just-- I don't know. Maybe you should let her."
"Steve, I don't even know the guy."
"So? If you like him then you like him" He shrugs, resting his weight by laying his palms flat on the bed.
Since when did he dictate what you do or don't do with your life and your romantic life at that.
You stand abruptly and cross your arms over your chest. âWhy the hell are you so mad? I never even said I liked him.â
"Whatever." He scoffs.
"Why do you even care?"
"I don't"
"Then why are you acting weird!" You yell, wincing. You don't need the owner marching down here and banging at the door.
He doesn't answer, turning back to the television instead. You know he's just trying to avoid the confrontation of whatever was going on in that head of his. You hated how stubborn he could be.
Fine, he wants to act that way? You'll let him.
"I need air." You announce and start to head towards the door, hand already turning the knob.
The seems to alert him because he snaps his heads, face falling. "Wait- shit- no. I'm sorry."
âLeave me alone.â You snapped.
"I don't know what's up with me, seriously." He pleads. You can tell he's apologetic and not just saying mindless sorrys just to get you to shut up. "Please, I'm sorry. It's raining"
You want to be mad and leave him alone in the dark, probably go to the nearest vending machine and grab a snack, sit somewhere so the rain doesn't soak you.
But you don't have it in you.
"Fine."
"C'mere." Steve said quietly, making your stomach drop.
He gestures with his hand, sitting upright now, facial expression calm and giving you the opportunity to say no. Except, you don't want to.
Your body is moving before you can stop yourself, sitting yourself back on the bed, scooting closer to him and sitting on your knees, brushing against his own. The feeling of his leg against you is enough to stir excitement deep in your belly.
Neither of you speak, the only sound in the room being your breathing, the rain tapping against the window with the occasional crackle of lightning, and your heartbeat thundering in your ears.
Was this actually happening or were you deluded?
ââM sorryâŠâ
âItâsâŠitâs okay, Stevie.â You say shakily.
âI just getâŠâ He doesnât finish his sentence, chewing his lip.
His fingers brush against your jaw, thumb caressing your cheek. You shiver at the contact. "What are you thinking?" He murmurs.
"That--" You swallowed. "that I don't know if I'm dreaming or not."
"I'm right here," He hums, his eyes gazing down at your lips. He nibbles at him bottom lip as if he were fighting temptation. "are you?"
"Am I what?"
"Here with me."
Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth and you nod, "Yeah...I am, Steve."
His lips slowly catch your own, molding together as you gasp against his, before slowly letting yourself melt into his warmth. Your hand catches against the front of his shirt as the kiss deepens.
It was warm and dizzying, so different and overwhelming compared to fantasies you'd imagined over the years.
You'd been completely wrong about Steve being a great kisser. He was momentous and no man you'd been with before could compare to the way his hands drifted down to your waist, drawing you closer onto his lap.
Steve rubs a hand up and down your spine, sneaking a hand under your top. His hands are warm against the coolness of your skin, his whole presence inviting.
His hand leaves and he pulls at the hem of your top. "Off." He orders, no questioning in his tone.
Inclined to listen, you throw your tank over your head, the air hitting your naked breasts and torso immediately.
You feel sheepish when Steve's hazel eyes unapologetically stare hard at your breasts, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. A soft sound leaves his swollen lips as he brings his hands up to give an experimental squeeze.
When you let a whimper slip, unable to contain it, Steve smiles. "So fucking pretty. Are they sensitive, hm?"
You bite the inside of your cheek, wanting to play around a bit just to see what he'd do, so, you shake your head. "No."
"Really? Not even if I..." He mused and pinches your nipples, causing you to jolt. "do this?"
"Shit!" You're so wet by anything he does, even a little bit of touching your damn tits had your panties sticking to your pussy. "Want more...please."
"Yeah?" Steve peppers kisses against your jaw and makes his way down to your neck, chest, and ending at your sternum. "Gonna suck these pretty tits then."
You suck in a sharp breath when his lips wrap around your right bud while his hand teases the left, thumb rolling it in between his thumb and index. He gives a couple of suckles and flicks his tongue against your right, moaning. Steve could cum in his pants right here right now by simply doing this, nothing else.
You mewl, your fingers gliding into his brunette strands of hair and tugging them hard. Steve hisses at the pain but makes no move to stop you, giving your nipple a scolding bite before moving to your left one to give it the same treatment.
If you weren't so distracted, you'd be nonstop apologizing.
Steve moves his right hand, exploring down your navel into your pj shorts. They come off and you're left in just your panties. Giving one last harsh suck to your breast, he pulls off to stare you deep in the eyes, his pupils dilated, "You're so beautiful..." Steve traces the outline of your clothed pussy with his fingers, ghosting over your sensitive clit. You shiver and dig your nails into his shoulder. "prettiest girl I've ever seen."
"You're just saying that," You giggle, avoiding eye contact as he takes off your panties, a your wetness clinging to it before snapping.
His thick brows furrow and says sternly, "I'm not. You know why?"
"...Why?"
"Because," He starts, teasing his middle and ring finger against your hole before dipping them inside with an obscene wet sound. Your breath stutters at feeling of them beginning to move in and out of you with practiced skill. "besides you obviously being fucking gorgeous, you're also the same person who has the biggest heart I know."
"Th- that's-- fuh-- ckk-- you." You moan, eyes shutting closed. He spreads his fingers, scissoring your walls and stretching them wide.
"Not at all. You? You look at people with the kindest eyes and care about everybody, you always have. You remember the smallest details people tell you, you sit with them when they're hurting, you're funny without trying," He laughs, finding your sweet spot and prodding at it. "and you make every room warmer when you walk in. I mostly like how you cry over the silliest movies."
"I do all that...?" You slur.
"Mhm. Dunno how you see the beauty in everyone but miss it all in yourself."
His praise hits you like a truck and you can practically feel a heartbeat within your cunt, your walls squeezing tightly around his fingers, not wanting him to leave.
Needing more, you begin to lift your hips up and down, bouncing and steadying your weight by grabbing on to his shoulders.
âYeah, thatâs it. Ride my fingers justtt like that.â He coos, meeting every roll of your hips with a curl of his fingers against your walls.
Your lashes flutter against your cheeks and you let out a low whine. Cunt sucking in his fingers, you lift the weight of your body up and down, up and down, attempting to reach the peak of pleasure you so desperately longed for.
âSteve. MfmhâŠfeels so good.â
âWhat does honey? Câmon, tell me.â He hums, pressing wet kisses against the nape of your throat until he elicits a whimper out of you, confirming that heâs found that certain spot that turns you into mush.
âYour fingers,â You pant, grinding harder down on his hand. âso thick and so deep in me."
You let out a ragged whine at the pressure slowly building up deep in your lower belly.â
Steve groans, smacking your ass in response. âLove that you talk so fucking nasty.â He begins to speed up, the pads of his index and middle pressing deep inside you. You arch your back with a cry. âYou close? I can feel it with how tight this pretty wet pussy is getting.â
You nod profusely, wrapping your arms around his neck and hiding your face in it with a moan. Your hips and thighs begin to ache, your movements beginning to slow.
âYeah, mhm- but canât- â You said, grabbing Steveâs wrist pleadingly. âSteveâŠâ
âYouâre already tired, honey?â He clicks his tongue in faux sympathy, but nonetheless holds you down to force you still, thrusting his fingers up into you. âWell, that canât do. Canât leave my pretty girl hanging.â
"'m cumming, m' cumming, oh fuckkkk--" The second his thumb hits your clit, rubbing firm circles, your orgasm crashes over you like a dam and you cum with a broken moan, your words spilling out.
He hasn't even fucked you properly yet and you already feel dumbed out.
Steveâs fingers continue for a minute to help you ride it out before he pulls them out, slipping them into his mouth. "So good."
You lift your head from his shoulder, mouth dropping in shock as he sucks your arousal clean from him. The heat of embarrassment hits you and you feel inclined to look away from the dirty sight yet you canât pull away.
His fingers leave his mouth with a pop and he moans in satisfaction. A dirty part of you secretly wishes heâd shove them in your mouth.
Steve shifts you off his lap and lays you down on your back oh so gently, kissing you in between words, âTrust me,â kiss. âI wanna get a real taste but,â kiss. âneed to feel you around me real fucking bad.â
He pauses, pulling away to look at you, "Only if you want to though. I don't want to pressure you or anything--"
You pull him by the collar of his shirt for another kiss and he instantly smiles into it, tongue sliding against your bottom lip for permission. Parting your lips, his tongue slips inside, the wet muscle flicking against your own as it explores your mouth.
You both pull apart, the two of you breathing heavily. A string of saliva being the only thing connecting the two of you now.
"I want to." You say finally, staring up at the man you've yearned so long for, the man who'd always been so kind to you.
A grin tugs at Steve's lips and he sits back on his knees to pull his shirt off by the hem, revealing patches of hair on his chest leading down to the delicious happy trail down his soft tummy into his pants (he always complained he didn't have abs, but if anything you thought it was the hottest thing).
You note the thick bulge restrained by his jeans and suddenly you feel intimidated.
You'd heard the rumors before, rumors that made you pout in jealousy at one point in your life where you felt you could never know Steve in such a vulnerable way. You wouldn't believe yourself a year ago if you knew you'd be having sex with your older brother's best friend.
The metal of his belt clinks and he yanks the belt out of the loops and pulling down his jeans. After his boxers are off, your eyes widen at the sight of the thick hard cock slapping against his stomach.
Steve grunts, giving it a couple tugs. Like you suspected, the dark patches of hair trail down to the pubic hair tousled around his cock. It's long in length and incredibly girthy, the veins running up until the pink swollen head leaking with precum.
The thought of him fucking your throat and guiding you by your hair while praising you with sweet nothings while you gag, turns you on more than it should and you clench your thighs together.
He takes notice of your nerves and frowns, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing!" You say too quickly.
He shakes his head, "I wanna make this as comfortable for you as possible, so I need to know what's" He gently taps your forehead. "going on in that head of yours. Okay, honey?"
You're quiet, unsure whether it's such a miniscule thing to point out in the first place. Giving in, you mumble, "You're just...huge."
Steve blinks before he bursts into a fit of laughter, his eyes crinkling. You're absolutely mortified. "Don't laugh at me! You told me to tell you."
He stalls his laughter and is immediately crawling on top of you, brows furrowed in concern. "No, no, I'm not laughing at you, honey. I'm more so with..." His eyes flick down to his obvious erection. "the situation, I guess."
"...Is it even going to fit?"
He huffs a laugh, leaning in to give your forehead a quick kiss, "I'll make it, don't worry."
Shit.
"You trust me, honey?" He asks one more time.
Exhaling, you nod. "Yeah, yeah, I do."
Suddenly, his face drops and he curses, "Fuck, I don't have protection." He drags a hand through his hair. "I'm so sorry--"
"It's okay," You smile. "I have an IUD, should be fine."
He pauses, processing the information before returning your smile. "Alright then, you're full of surprises aren't you?"
"I'd say so," You shrug.
Nudging your legs apart with his knee, he readjusts and rests his left arm beside your head and uses his free hand to wrap around his dick, guiding the swollen tip to your leaking entrance.
He slides it up and down your slit before dragging it up to your clit, slapping it firmly a couple times, sending a jolt of pleasure.
"Put it in!" You complained.
He taunts, "I thought good girls were patient?"
"I am," You pout, bucking your hips up. "But it doesn't mean I don't want you to fuck me sensele--"
You're unable to finish your sentence, words breaking into a high pitched moan at the feeling of his huge cock intruding, the hot skin of him filling you whole as he bottoms out.
"You were saying?"
"Just- just move, please."
Steve starts off slow, moving his hips back and thrusting forward with a couple shallow thrusts before he grinds against you deeper than his fingers had been able to reach.
Picking up the pace, he draws his cock out all the way to barely the tip and slamming back in to begin a series of devoted thrusts.
Mewling, you slide your hands to his back, nails scratching against the skin of his shoulder blades. You tilt your head back, exposing your neck to him as you shamelessly moan. (The both of you should be expecting a complaint from the motel owner later...)
He leans down to lick the base of your neck, tongue flat as he drags up to a stop and sucking multiple spots, marks blooming as proof of the passionate night that will soon become a memory.
You feel grief knowing this will be over in just a few minutes, but you won't worry about that now, you'll just make the most of it.
The bed creaks under your weight, the rhythm of him fucking into you relentless with the disgustingly filthy sounds of skin slapping against skin.
"So goddamn tight and wet," He breathes into your neck. "this all for me?"
"Yes, yes," You urge him on, bucking your hips up to meet his thrusts and he moans. "all for you, Steve- mmf fuck."
"Yeahhh?" You can feel him smile against your skin, giving a couple more kisses before pulling back to get a good look at you. "All mine?"
Word coils at your throat, unable to fully get anything out besides broken sobs.
"C'mon baby. Talk to me like the good girl I know you are. Need to hear how good you feel as I fuck this tight pussy."
"Love you," You drawl out with a whine, squeezing your eyes shut. "Love you so much, Steve."
Suddenly, his hips come to a stop and you're left in confusion until it hits you. Oh no.
Eyes snapping wide, your palm slaps against your mouth as you stare up at Steve.
He looks like heâs seen a ghost, eyes wide, hair tousled in a mess, and heâs so still you canât tell if heâs currently present in the moment or debating on packing and leaving you stranded in the motel.
You need him to say something, anything. Anything to reassures you didnât destroy everything.
Blinking back tears threatening to spill, you start, âSteveââ
"You love me?" He whispers.
Heâs going to curse you out, call you disgusting and a perverted loser whoâd been pathetically yearning for someone that knew he wasnât her own.
Donât leave. Please.
"I'm so, so, so sorry Steve. Please just forget I said anything, I didn't mean to--"
He shuts you up with his lips crashing against yours and his thrusts resuming, the wet slap of his balls mixed with your arousal against the fat of your ass.
You cry out in surprise, legs immediately wrapping around his waist as his cock drives hard and fast in to you.
His thrusts grow frantic at your words, his free hand sliding under your lower back to lift your hips high as he keeps your grip on your right thigh, driving his swelling cock deeper. He kisses you sloppily, swallowing your whimpers as he whines against your mouth.
His thrusts grow messy and his hips stutter. Breaking away from you, a groan rattles through his chest, "Fuck, baby, fuck, fuck-- I can't hold it--"
With every hit of the bulbous tip against your g-spot, you feel closer and closer to the edge.
"'M gonna cum, Steve!"
"Shh, I know, baby," His jaw is tight, attempting to restrain himself from finishing before you. "I got you, I got you. 'M close too...tell me where you want it, 'kay?"
"Shittt-- inside." You gasp.
He moans loudly at your words, eyes fluttering, that he almost came right there. "Ah, fuckkk. You sure?"
Instead of answering, you press the heels of your feet against the dip of his back, pushing him forward and deeper into you, profusely nodding.
He doesn't have to ask again and jackhammering his hips against you until finally the band deep inside you snaps and you cum around him with a high pitched whine, arching your back.
Ropes of cum fill you as he releases with a groan, stilling his hips deep inside you and grinding deep against you to ride both of your orgasms out.
"Fucking love you so much," He pants, kissing you from your cheeks, forehead, jaw, and finally planting several on your swollen lips. "love you, love you, love you..."
Your heart does a flip. Did he truly mean it? Your mind had barely begun to return back to it's fully conscious state after mind blowing sex.
Trembles coursing through your legs, they weakly fall from Steve's waist.
It takes a minute for Steve to gain enough energy to pull his cock out before breathlessly slumping the weight of his body next to you. He pulls you against his chest without hesitation, so naturally that you don't know how to move forward from here.
"Did you..." You finally say as his free hand rubs up and down your thigh soothingly. "did you mean what you said?"
He stiffens, "What do you mean?" He knows exactly what you mean.
"That..." You gulped.
"That I love you?"
"Mhm."
"Of course I meant it," He smiles when your finger tips graze against his face, dragging against his moles delicately. "meant every single word. You're everything, y'know?"
You stop your movements and blink.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" He laughs awkwardly.
"Umm, like what?"
He groans, dragging a hand up his face. "Like- I don't know! Like you regret it or something."
"No, no, no," You shake your head, internally cursing at your own dumb silence for making him think otherwise. "that's not it, it's just that...it's just I'm having a hard time processing what just happened."
"Besides the obvious?" He raises a brow.
Immediately, you smack his chest and he just chuckles, grabbing your wrist and giving it a brief kiss.
"You know what I mean you big dummy." You roll your eyes before your tone grows serious, almost shy. âJustâŠdid we do it becauseâŠ?â
Finally understanding where you were going, his brows furrow sternly and he shakes his head, âStop. Baby, I donât want you thinking we had sex because of some storm or because we got stuck in a motel.â
Your pulse quickens. âOkayâŠâ
âLike I said, itâs because I love you and have been for months now.â
His words hit you and you stop, thinking you misheard, âWait. What? Months???â
âAhâŠâ Steveâs cheeks grow hot with blood and heâs no longer looking at you now, distracted with the ceiling fan spinning.
Youâd assumed this was a very recent thing, not something that had been going on for the past year directly under your nose.
"Steve, when?"
"Um," He coughs. "around Christmas."
âChristmas???â You gasp loudly and he cringes. âThat was like six months ago!â
âIâm awareâŠâ
You canât help the stupid smile that grows on your face and you laugh, wrapping your arms around him and snuggling your face into his chest deeper, looking up at him. "Aww, Stevie you had a crush on me? Is that why you got all like that a bit ago?" You then pause, furrowing your eyebrows. "Are you actually being serious? If you're messing with me I'll shave your head while you're asleep."
"You wouldn't."
"Mmm, I dunno."
"Brat." He smacks your ass and you squeal, kicking him in the leg, causing him to grunt. "And duh, I'm serious."
He seems to ponder, sentimental at the memory of snow falling and your family gathered together when he'd been invited to celebrate with like every year. "I realized when you and Anthony were making the stupid gingerbread houses. Man, you're so competitive. You begged me to be the judge of who made the better house and everything. When I said you, you were so happy over something so silly and I just...I don't know, I guess it hit me."
You remember. You'd layered your house in pastel blue and pink frosting with gumdrops sprinkled across. You insisted yours was the epitome of a perfect house compared to Anthony's absolute mess that had no theme nor color coordination. So, you'd look to Steve who'd been wearing that sweater of his he'd looked ridiculously good in, with big eyes and hands clasped together.
"I had no idea." You whisper, running a hand through his messy hair. "I honestly thought you didn't care, that I had some stupid little crush for years."
"Years?" He asks in genuine confusion.
"Don't tell me you didn't know."
"No, swear." He then laughs. "Wow, years?"
Now you feel embarrassed, regretting you even said anything in the first place. "Shut up, Steven."
He gives a half smirk and flicks your forehead, "It's okay, I'm not judging. Just took us some time, that's all."
"...Hmph."
Moments pass and itâs silent but comfortable, easy enough to ease into together as you sigh into his chest, hiding your face into it as he holds you close.
If you could, youâd melt together and become one with him.
âFuck.â Steve curses. âHeâs going to kill me.â
You freeze, realizing what he means. Not wanting to worry about the issue of your brother at hand, you scoff. âSo?â
âSo?â He says exasperated, hiding his face in your hair, voice miserable. âSo, he might actually kill me. Do you realize that?â
âMaybe you deserve it.â
âHush.â
With confessions and sex, you wonder whatâs the next step in the both of yours complicated relationship you were sure wouldnât be exposed to anyone outside the two of you anytime soon. Privacy seemed the best route, especially if wanting to avoidâŠpotential conflict.
Sure, he confessed his love, but did he want to take this seriously?
âWhat are we exactly?â You blurt out.
He just stares out, mouth opening and closing and you immediately regret your words. âSorry, I shouldnât have asked. You donât have to answer thatââ
âI want to be your boyfriend.â He says quickly, flushing afterwards. âUmâ if youâll let me. I meant it when I said I love you. This isnât just messing around to me. Even ifâŠa certain someone beats my ass.â
You donât give a response for a couple seconds, leaving him holding his breath. Finally, you smile and lean up to kiss his lips then the tip of his nose in finality. âIs that a good enough answer?â
AUTHORS NOTE: soooâŠmaybe might write part 2 where anthony finds out and shit hits the fan? you can kinda tell i got lazy towards the end lol.
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ââââ hello, maya here! so i'm finally starting an in general taglist which will include ALL of my writing (with the exception of long fics, those will have their own personal taglists.) i've been pushing this off too long but since i have a couple one shots i'm posting soon and a couple of people ask if i'm going to make one, i'm trying to get this out of the way lol.
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SUMMARY in which your now ex boyfriend cheats on you with his so called 'work wife.' your solution? getting back at him with his new girlfriend's newly dumped ex, steve harrington. you'll get your revenge for sure.
WARNINGS 18+ MDNI cheating, teamed up revenge dating, fake dating, toxic exes, rom com, rightfully petty reader w/ attitude, angst, fluff, smut every chapter youâre warned lol, steve and reader are both idiots who eventually fall in love, adult language, smoking/drinking, inspired by olivia rodrigoâs âget him backâ
WORD COUNT ?
CHAPTER ONE 18+
CHAPTER TWO 18+
CHAPTER THREE 18+
AUTHORS NOTE: hello! this will be a small mini series, i am still very much focusing on 'i'm your man.' it's just good for me to have several projects to go back and forth on whether it's series or one shots, so that way i'm not forcing myself to write something i'm not in the mood for.
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Thinking about how sweet Steve would be once youâre hitting your monthly cycle.
How sweet and gentle his voice would be while rubbing one of his large veiny hands against your stomach to soothe the aching cramps wreaking havoc in your uterus.
Periods had always hit rough for you, cramps unbearable to the point where you were left dizzy, nearly nauseous. As your boyfriend, Steve made sure to always make it his duty to be an excellent caretaker during these difficult weeks. Whether it was spoiling you with your favorite cravings, restocking on your hygiene products, or even simply cuddling with you while watching your favorite movies, you were his number one priority.
Yet there was always one other thing that was his personable favorite of taking care of you.
âDid yâknow orgasms help with period cramps or whatever?â He blurts randomly.
Blinking, you manage to find your words. âWhat?â
âOrgasms. Something with endorphins and helping your flow. They call it a natural painkiller basically.â
âOh,â You raise a brow. âWhereâd you learn that?â
âHey, I teach sex ed. I know a thing or two.â He grins.
You sass, âYeah, yeah, we get it. Youâre âMr. Harrington.ââ
He rolls his eyes, smacking a pillow against you, pulling a small giggle from you. âSo, whaddya say?â
âAbout what?â
âAbout what I said, I can make you feel better like that,â He snaps his fingers for quick emphasis.
âI donât knowâŠâ
âWhy not?â He cocks his head, confused. âI mean, we donât have to if you donât wanna, baby. Iâm not going to force you to do something youâre not comfortable with.â
âNo, I know that,â You sigh, wracking your thoughts of how to exactly explain your dilemma. âItâs justâ just super messy to deal with. Blood is gonna get everywhere and itâs not exactly the most fun to clean up.â
âOh, thatâs it? I mean, we can just grab some towels then throw them in the wash later. Easy peasy.â
âBut itâs messy.â You repeat.
âSo what if itâs a little messy? Sâjust blood, baby.â
ââŠWonât you think itâs gross?â You question, fiddling with your fingers in your lap.
His eyes soften, realizing the root of the problem here. Gently, he reaches a hand out to caress the pad of his thumb against your cheek. âOf course not. All I care about is making sure Iâm able to help you out, and if this is the way, why not try it?â
âOkay,â You say finally.
His eyes light up, âYeah?â
âMhm.â You confirm, before starting again. âBut are you really sureââ
âBabe.â He interrupts you with a laugh. âIâd have to be the worldâs biggest wimp if getting a bit of blood on my dick grossed me out. Trust me, I want to do this.â
You look away, but his index and thumb firmly grip your chin, angling you to look at him. He leans in to kiss the tip of your nose, âOkay?â
You nod, âOkay.â
Steveâs lips then crash against yours, hands sliding down to the back of your thighs, hauling you up as you wrap your legs around his waist. Your giggles muffle against his mouth and you can feel him smiling in return.
You gasp when your back hits the mattress, Steve crawling on top of you. He makes quick work of unbuttoning your shorts, tugging them down along with your navy blue cotton panties.
Shivering from the cool air hitting your cunt, you open up your thighs wider, allowing your boyfriend easier access.
Steve only smiles down at you, his pupils dilated. His lips catch yours in a sweet kiss, teeth nibbling at your bottom lip before he gives quick pecks to soothe. âGonna make you feel so, so good, baby.â
Your body jolts at the feeling of the tips of his fingers gliding against your folds, coating them in a mixture of your arousal and the deep crimson of blood. Slipping two in, you whimper at the full sensation filling you deep.
âSteveââ
âShh, shh,â He coos, not breaking eye contact. âeyes on me.â
Steve pumps his thick and long fingers into your cunt, the obscene squelching sounds making you want to hide in embarrassment.
âFeel good?â He looks at you, thick brows pinched together.
You nod shakily, breath catching your throat. âMhmmmâŠâ
He hums. âUse your words, honey.â
Asshole. He knew what he was doing. Even when he was sickeningly sweet, he couldnât help but be a teasing shit.
âKeep goingâŠplease.â
You donât have to ask twice because not even a couple seconds later, he continues. His fingers drag against the sensitive walls, crooking them exactly right to press against that sweet spot deep inside.
Moaning, you buck your hips up, grinding against him. You wanted more than you knew you could ever have.
âMmmâŠlook at your sweet pussy suckinâ me in just right, baby.â
You whimper at his filthy mouth and he just laughs. âYeah, you like when I talk to you like that?â
âMhmmmâŠf..uh..Steve,â You slur, the intensity of his fingers shoveling inside, your cunt squeezing tightly around him, wanting to keep a part of him inside you forever.
âYou gonna cum already, baby?â He kisses the sensitive spot of your collar bone, suckling the skin and leaving a purplish mark as he coaxes your orgasm out of you. âI can tell. Go ahead, wanna feel you do it all on my fingers, then Iâm gonna have you do it on my cock, okay?â
His words at once are enough for a high pitched moan to leave your lips, your orgasm crashing down on you like waves, feeling more sensitive than you usually would.
You pant, aftershocks coursing through your body as you manage to say, âThank you, SteveâŠâ
Steve just smiles down at you, âFeel better?â Heâs already unzipping the fly of his jeans before you can even get another word out. How unbelievably lucky you are.
SUMMARY in which you're fresh out of a couple year long mental breakdown & trying to gain control over your life again. after realizing life has in fact not gotten better, you apply as a secretary for attorney steve harrington. he's demanding and quite frankly; a jerk. what starts as heated tension, shifts into feelings of choice & trust when walking into his office. itâs never felt so good to be perverse.
WARNINGS 90s timeline, mean asshole toxic slut steve you've been warned, reader letting people walk over her (please trust me on plot reasons and that girl will be getting character development in later chapters along with steve), steve is sexually frustrated, reader with agoraphobia & social anxiety, sexual tension, unprofessional workplace dynamics, adult language, smut will start next chapter
WORD COUNT 6.0k
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Something you learned about Steven A. Harrington was that he liked his coffee made a specific way. Which is also how you learned the man had a sweet tooth.
For someone so serious, it surprised you when he had insisted three packets of sugar and âmore creamerâ when you had given him his first cup on the day you had started working. You would find yourself fighting the twitch at the corner of your lip every morning you had started up the coffee machine.
Besides learning his taste preferences, you knew nothing about him from the few interactions you had shared with him. When working, you were stuck at your desk typing up papers on a typewriter (Mr. Harrington said the computers worked slowly in the building, but you werenât sure if that was entirely true), filing and scanning papers, or answering incoming phone calls.
Sometimes you overheard him on the phone while he was in his office with the door shut. Other times heâd call your name, enlisting new tasks for you.
It wasnât so bad, just boring.
You adapted to your new life slowly but surely during your first month. Claudia had been ecstatic, pulling you in for a crushing hug as she pressed millions of kisses over your cheeks. Despite your outburst, you knew you would always have your motherâs unconditional love. Dustin of course had talked to you as he usually did with playfulness, but he had been more distant lately, and you knew the reason wasnât because of schoolwork. Before you packed up a left to Indianapolis, you had stood in the doorway to his room while he had sat at his desk distracted with some science experiment. You had almost said something, yet you left instead without a word.
Indianapolis was more crowded than Hawkins for sure that you had concluded that you set yourself up for your worst nightmare. You had stayed in a hotel the first week while your apartment you had newly signed a lease for, was getting ready. The first week, you drove to work and avoided eye contact with people as much as you could on your way there and back. It wasnât until you had settled into the apartment the next week that you had started walking to work to force yourself into getting used to seeing other people and the world around you. The very idea of being perceived terrified you, but you moved here for a reason. Getting stuck in the same cycle would do no good.
"Miss Henderson, could you come here?"
Startled, the pen you were using to doodle slipped from your fingers. Finally, there was something to do at least. The past hour had dragged on endlessly with no calls, no papers, nothing but the sound of the clock ticking and your own thoughts.
"Coming!" You called, pushing your chair back.
When you step into his office, Mr. Harrington doesnât pay you no mind from where he stands in the corner, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hands carefully watering the orchids in the terrarium. He looked lost in another world, inspecting the green of the flowers roots with gentle care before soaking in the soil.
His hands are big and veiny, fingers long and thick. Nibbling at your bottom lip, you stare at them. You'd seen plenty of nice hands before in your life, but Mr. Harrington just so happened to have one of the nicest ones you'd seen. Would he touch a woman the same way he does so delicately with his orchids?
You could picture it now, rough fingertips gliding along the navel of a stomach. Would he be surprisingly sweet in bed or would he be cold like he is in the office when shoving them deep in-
"Miss Henderson, are you just going to stand there or are you coming in?"
Your ears begin to burn, "Yeah, sorry." Walking in, you quickly change the conversation. "Whatâre you doing?"
Mr. Harrington deadpans before turning away. "What does it look like Iâm doing."
Now you just feel stupid. "UmâŠgardening."
"Mhm."
A long uncomfortable pause stretched between you. You can't help your curiosity of the man, but also it was probably basic protocol to not know personal details of your boss.
"Do you like gardening?"
He adjusts the watering can. "I guess," A small shrug followed. "Iâm not really a gardener though. This just keeps my hands busy plus makes my office look nicer. Having routine is a good habit to have when your head gets all scrambled.â
"Oh," You shift your weight, considering. That made sense, honestly, you saw Steven Harrington as a man who was stuck up, not some guy who took care of something so delicate. "what are you then?"
Mr. Harrington finally turns to face you fully and squints at you, setting the watering can aside on a nearby surface. He huffs, "Didnât I call you in for something else? I don't understand the point of all this talk coming from you."
You winced. "Yes, sir."
"Right." He exhales, gesturing a hand towards his desk full of countless unorganized papers. What a messy man. "Anyways, go type up those documents in the folder I left, would ya? I need it done by one before I have to send it out."
"Of course." You nod quickly. Stepping forward, you reach out to grab a folder.
"No."
You jump. "Huh?"
He sighs. "Not that one, the other one."
"Oh, sorry." You chuckle shyly, putting the folder back. He doesnât smile back.
Your fingers hover over the countless papers and you suddenly feel unsure. Everything looked the exact same, not to mention that it looked like an E5 tornado hit his damn office and only took out his desk. He didn't even give you the specifics.
You make a wild guess, grabbing another nearly identical folder.
"No, that one."
"What one?" You ask in exasperation. This man was beginning to drive you up the wall.
"That. one." He says between gritted teeth. "The one by my coffee mug."
Brain foggy and overwhelmed, you grab another hopelessly, feeling as if your life was on the line. "This one?"
Mr. Harrington groans in disbelief. "The other one- No-"
The shrill ring of the phone blares, turning both your heads at the source of the noise. "Jesus fuckin' christ." He scoffs, shaking his head as he stalks over.
Snatching the receiver off the hook, he hands you the correct folder, scowling. 'Go.' He mouthed sharply.
You gulp, taking the documents weakly. On the way out, you make sure to slip out as quietly as you can, closing the door behind you carefully.
"Steven Harrington speakingâŠyes, yes, I wasâ" You don't bother to listen to the rest for your own good.
Dropping into your chair, you flip the folder open. Immediately, your stomach dropped. This was in fact not a document, at least not the kind you had gotten used to.
Instead of neat structured paragraphs, the pages are filled with handwriting that is slanted, the margins packed with annotations. Numbers are circled, underlined, and crossed out. On the corner, is a sticky note that reads, 'Retype letter.'
"âŠYou've got to be kidding me."
You glance toward his office, half expecting him to reappear and tell you that you grabbed the wrong one. To no surprise, he didn't. Instead, his voice continues to carry on faintly through the wood, calm and professional as if he hadn't just been about to crucify you over papers seconds ago.
Looking down at the horrific mess, your shoulders drop in defeat and you pull the typewriter closer.
It feels like hours of your fingertips clacking against the metal keys engraved with letters and numbers. To keep it short: You feel fucking exhausted. A part of you feels like you shouldn't complain about such an easy job, but was it really that easy with Mr. Harrington as a boss? If anything, you should be given an award for putting up with the man, you doubt anyone else could be able to do it.
The flush of the toilet echoes from the restroom along with the water running from the faucet. Paper towels are ripped before the door pushes open and out walks a woman with dirty blonde hair cut into a bob. She was on the taller side, only a little bit shorter than Mr. Harrington, dressed in black dress pants, a blazer with its sleeves rolled to her elbows, loafers, and a green plaid button up with a tie to compliment.
Your eyes follow her as she whistles, walking with a sort of awkward demeanor that made you feel somewhat not alone. The woman halts, blue eyes locking on to yours. You swear you stop breathing, already wanting to crawl into a hole for getting caught being a no good nosy secretary.
To your surprise, she smiles, casually pointing a finger. "Hey, you're Steve's new secretary, right?"
You blink, mouth agape dumbly. You snap out of it before you look like a creep. "Oh! Yeah, yeah, yeah. That's me."
"Seriously?" Her eyebrows raise and she begins to walk over to your desk. No, no, please don't do that. Don't start conversation- "When did you start?" Too late.
"I started last month," Your voice cracks and you want to slam your forehead against the typewriter.
"Ooo gotchu," She nods. You note the bit of smudged eyeliner and mascara adorning her eyes. You can't help but think she's the coolest girl you've ever seen. "I was out of town the whole month, so makes sense why we haven't bumped in to each other yet."
"Where'd you go?" This shit isn't your business.
"Hawkins." She blows a puff of air. "It's ass there, but I wan
'Think, think, think, Henderson. Try and talk like a normal person.' "I'm from there too. Trust me, I'm not the biggest fan eitherâŠ"
"No way, really?" She lit up. "Man, I guess we're both survivors, huh?"
No kidding.
You nod hesitantly before you change the subject. "I haven't seen you around before, do you work here too? Or are you one of Mr. Harrington's appointments for today?"
"Shit, what's wrong with me." She gives you her hand and you shakily take it. "Robin. I'm an old friend of Steve's, but also unfortunately the poor soul who has to work as his paralegal."
"Paralegal?" You feel stupid for working in a law office yet not being aware of the different branches of work besides the basics.
"Basically, I assist him through the tedious crap like looking into any cases brought to him or organizing any evidence. Just can't give any legal advice or represent anyone." She sighs.
You wonder how Robin knows Mr. Harrington asides from work to be on first name basis with the man, nonetheless, talk so casually. The thought of Mr. Harrington laughing over drinks with a friend is a confusing one. The only time you have seen him laugh this past month was when you tripped over the copy machine's wires. "ThatâŠsounds like a lot of work."
Robin shrugs. "It is, but on the bright side I make decent money."
"Do you plan on furthering into law? No offense! Nothing wrong with being a paralegal, I'm not seeing you less than attorneys or anything- " You rambled, but the sound of Robin laughing cuts you off.
"None taken. It's okay, socializing isn't the easiest for me either." You suddenly feel very hot at the fact she read you like a book. "Oh yeah, anyways. I plan on returning to law school, finishing some things up, then bam. Lawyer."
"Well, good luck." "I believe in you. Um. Even though I don't know you."
Robin laughs, "ThanksâŠ" Her eyes scrunch up, reading your tag on your desk. "Henderson."
Beep. Beep.
Robin rolls her eyes, glancing down at the watch on her wrist. "Damn it, I gotta split."
"No worries, I don't wanna take up more of your time."
"Trust me, you didn't waste a second of it." She winks. "I'll see you around!"
You half raise a hand in goodbye as you watch her leave. "See youâŠ"
You hope you'll be seeing a lot more of Robin around.
By the time you make it back to your apartment, your feet ache so badly that you almost consider tossing your heels out the window.
Your tiny apartment that you now call home greets you with silence and the smell of the heater hanging in the air. Youâll make sure to light up a candle in the meantime.
The walls are bare except for the calendar hanging beside the kitchen and the stacks of unpacked boxes shoved near the couch that you keep pretending youâll eventually get around to.
You reach the flick the kitchen light on and it buzzes twice before it comes to life.
Opening the refrigerator, youâre met with nothing. Looks like youâll have to settle for a cup on instant ramen tonight and a plan to the grocery store this weekend. You groan and drop your head against the fridge door. Maybe death wouldnât be so bad.
After changing into an oversized shirt with only your panties on underneath, you shuffle back into the kitchen to fill up a cup of noodles with water and place it into the microwave. It hums loudly as you lean against the counter and wait patiently.
Outside the apartment window, Indianapolis seems pretty busy tonight, considering you live near downtown close to popular nightlife spots. Music thumps nearby along with the laughter of people.
Everything was so unfamiliar here, you still werenât used to it. The smallest part of you even missed Hawkins small town life.
The shrill ring of the phone cuts through the silence, making you groan, "Jesus."
You pad over to the cordless phone and answer, "Hello?"
"Honey!" The sound of your motherâs voice immediately makes your shoulders loosen.
"Hi mom." You smile. "I've been meaning to call. Swear."
"Oh, none of that. I understand how busy you've been an everything with your new life and all." You can practically hear the frown in her voice. "You sound tired, everything okay, hun?"
"Sorry, itâs just been a long day." You sigh, walking back to the kitchen to keep an eye on your dinner.
"This is good for you. Good to be tired!" She encourages.
You laugh, tucking the phone between your chin and shoulder once the microwave beeps. "Yeah, yeah. I know."
"Sooo," Claudia drawls. "Howâve ya been? You liking your apartment alright? Have you settled in?"
You look over your shoulder at the pile of laundry abandoned on the armchair. "It's somethingâŠ"
"Itâs bad?" She pouts.
"No, no," You say as you make your way to the couch with your cup of ramen, curling your legs beneath yourself and turning the tv on with the remote. "Itâs just louder here, like, all the time. There just always people outside somewhere doing something."
She chuckles, "Well, honey, thatâs what happens when you move somewhere bigger than Hawkins. It must be a shock."
âI knowâŠâ
"Anyways, howâs your new job?" She presses eagerly. "The fancy law office."
Your nose wrinkles, but you find yourself smiling. "Itâs not fancy, mom. Itâs only me and my employer there when his paralegal isnât."
"Oh whatever. What does your boss have you doing all day? Any cool secretary things?" Claudia continues with a hum. "Are you answering phones? Filing papers? Wearing little business skirts?"
You choke on a noodle. "Mom!"
"What?" Claudia says innocently. "The secretaries in the movies always wear cute little outfits."
"Yeah, well movies lie ya know."
"Not true!" She denies. "Whatâs that boss of yours like? You havenât told me besides him beingâŠwhat twenty eight?"
You sink deeper into the couch cushions, shoveling more noodles into your mouth. You didnât know how to describe Steven Harrington in a way that accurately summed him up. Arrogant, cold, observant, and annoyingly attractive.
"Heâs a lot, I guess." You settle on.
The other line goes quiet until your mother bursts out laughing, "Oh dear god. That tells me everything I need to know."
"Itâs not funny," You grumble, fighting the twitch at the corner of your mouth.
"Aw, honey." She clicks her tongue. "Itâs okay, this isnât forever. You wonât have to deal with his control issues eventually. Youâll be back in the studio painting again."
The mention of painting creates a knot in your chest. Twisting and pulling a piece of hair nervously, you change the subject, "âŠHowâs Dustin?"
You know you caught her off guard because she takes a moment to answer. "Heâs alright."
"Is heâŠupset with me?"
"Hunâ"
"I know, I know." You squeeze your eyes shut, the words spilling from your mouth. "I know he seemed fine when I left and everything was âgood,â but I just know itâs not no matter how hard he tries to play it off. I was a bitchâ"
"Language."
"âbefore I left. Textbook definition of awful. Then I just packed my things and moved two hours away."
"Hun, you didnât disappear. Youâre just learning to adapt to life again along with finding new experiences. Iâm sure he knows that."
You stare down at your bowl and place it on the coffee table, pushing it away. Your appetite was suddenly gone.
The image of Dustinâs hurt expression when you yelled at him hadnât left your head since. Destroying good things was all that you were good at.
"Look," Claudia starts again. "Dustin is still a kid in a lot of ways and youâre his big sister. He most likely is stuck a bit hurt, but itâs nothing you canât fix."
Your chest tightens painfully and you feel nauseous.
"You should call him. Not tomorrow, not next week. Just call him, okay?"
You can't find the right words after a couple seconds, so you merely say, "Okay."
Your eyelids are heavy as you do your typical daily task of typing on the wretched typewriter. This morning had started rough when you slept through your alarm. By the time you had raced out of bed, you had thirty minutes before clock in. You almost walked out the door with your heels on the wrong feet. Luckily enough, Mr. Harrington didn't have the energy to lecture you today. Instead, he settled for an eyeroll and handed over files.
You hadn't slept well last night due to your guilty conscious reminding you, you were an awful older sister every time sleep almost overtook you. You would properly talk through things with Dustin when you found the time, you wouldn't push this off any more like a coward.
 Poor Dustin. He deserved better than dealing with your bullshit.
The sharp ding of the margin bell makes you sigh in relief. You were finally done with this stupid twenty page letter, all that was left was to make copies in the copy room.
Opening the lid to the scanner, you slide the papers in, facing them upside down. You rinse and repeat. You cross your arms over your chest, blowing a puff of air in boredom as you wait to replace the current paper scanning. You couldn't wait to go home and crash on the couch with a tub of ice cream while watching tonight's new episode of Twin Peaks.
"Andrea, I'm not having this conversation with you again."
Your head lifts.
"I told you to stop calling meâ" He hissed. "No, you cannot come down here. What's wrong with you?"
Who was Mr. Harrington talking to? His wife maybe? You don't recall ever seeing a ring on his finger, plus you can't imagine someone finding him likeable enough to spend more than ten minutes with him. How bizarre would that be.
"Fuckin' hell," He curses. "because I'm working. I don't exactly have the time to deal with your whining. Do you not have anything better to do that I'm always the center of your attention?"
You can't make out the muffled words crackling from the other line besides that her voice was wobbly and high pitched.
"Enough. Don't call again, Andreaâ"
You know it's not really your business but you find yourself walking closer to the door to his office. Pressing your ear against the wood, you listen.
"Steve, I love you." She cuts him off, sniffling. "Please, let's just meet up at my place tonight, yeah? Just talk about things. Don't be so rash."
You hear him scoff, "You knew what this was from the very beginning. Don't act surprised that I'm not coddling you. If you wanted a relationship, then you should've known I wouldn't be able to give you that."
There's a long pause of silence where the only thing you can hear is your breath. Then she's laughing hard, a couple of sobs slipping. Your heart squeezes.
"You piece of shit." She spits. "I hope you find yourself in my shoes one day and that your next source of entertainment destroys your heart. If you even have one in the firsâ"
In a quick flash, a pit in your stomach forms when your elbow slips against the door. The door is already swinging inward beneath your weight before you can catch yourself. Your knees hit the floor, your palms flat against it.
Mr. Harrington jumps, head snapping to your humiliating state on all fours, ass perked up in the air, your skirt riding up.
For several horrible seconds, neither of you moved. Even though you want to, you can't break away from his dark gaze. Mr. Harrington's jaw ticks and his hand curls tighter around the phone.
"I have to go," He says into the receiver without taking his eyes off you. "This is done and over with."
Before the woman could cry in protest, he slams the phone back into the hook. You collect yourself and stand, brushing your hands on your skirt.
Mr. Harrington doesn't say anything, waiting for you to explain yourself.
You start, "I wasn'tâ"
"Eavesdropping?" He finishes for you, brow cocked up. "You're a terrible liar."
There was no point in lying, you figured. "I won't do it again, sir." You murmur. "That was incredibly inappropriate of me."
Mr. Harrington's lips press into a thin line. He waves a hand, "Out."
You nod before turning to take your leave but halt when he says, "Miss Henderson, make sure to call the local provider and have them block that number."
When you do after finishing up your work at the copy machine, you come to the conclusion that Steven Harrington is more than closed off.
The following hours are filled with more boring work and you now having the uncomfortable knowledge that Mr. Harrington had a dysfunctional love life. Plus, you had accidentally fallen asleep more times than you can count.
You're mid yawn when the front door swings open, jolting you awake. A man appearing to be in his late twenties strides in, his wife accompanying him on his arm. By one glance, you can tell they're the type of people to sneer at people who shop at Kohls.
Cautiously, you speak. "Hi, is there anything I can help you two with?"
The woman jumps, head snapping at you, as if the fact you addressed them was the boldest thing anyone had ever done. Her husband doesn't even spare you a moment's worth of his attention, merely dragging his wife with him as they make their way to Mr. Harrington's office.
Jackasses.
You huff. "Well, okay then."
You rub your eyes sleepily and continue your typing you had abandoned. It's not long after Mr. Harrington is tapping his knuckle against your desk.
"Wake up, Miss Henderson. Three cups of coffee."
Mr. Harrington's brows are so furrowed that you're almost worried his face is going to be stuck forever like that. He looks more irritated than he usually is, chestnut hair ran through, and his foot tapping impatiently against the carpeted floor.
"Of course, Mr. Harrington." You nod, already setting the typewriter aside. Feeling courageous, you pry. "âŠ.Are you okay? You look stressed."
"Yeah, well I am" He answers shortly. Okay, so he most definitely isn't in a good mood then.
You frown, "Is this about those people who just came in?"
"If you must know," He sighs. "yes. I need them to leave as soon as possible."
"I figured. Are they like snobs or something? They looked like ones," You scrunched your nose thinking about how they clearly saw you as an inconvenience. "that man especially. When they walked in they looked kinda offended when I tried to help."
He shakes his head in disapproval. "Ignore them. They're my worst clients by far. They're the bane of my existence and I wish to never meet with them again once this is over."
Mr. Harrington might be snippy, but at least he wasn't a jackass to people when it came to status and money (yet that's also the bare minimum so maybe that's nothing worth praising for despite trying to see the best in people.)
"Never is a strong a word." But you couldn't blame him based on your three second interaction with them. "What aâ"
"Coffee, Miss Henderson. Coffee." Before you can respond, he's walking back to his office. The door slams loudly behind him. From the room, you hear the three of their voices speaking over each other and the occasional rumble of fake laughter.
You can't help but side eye the mask he puts on around others rather than truly saying what he thinks in his head. 'A people pleaser,' is what Claudia would call him. You were no better though, what right did you have to judge?
In the kitchen, the aroma of coffee grounds fills the air. After pouring the remaining liquid individually into three cups, you make sure to keep Mr. Harrington's coffee the same as usual and his client's without anything special since you were unsure of their preferences. You line the cups, pitcher holding creamer, and packs of sugar carefully on the tray.
Maybe you would've been a good part time barista in another life. On second thought, no thanks.
The tray is unsteady in your hands before you even push the door open with the side of your body. Immediately, the three of them turn their heads, but not before long before resuming their conversation.
"As I was saying," Steve continues smoothly, nodding to you in thanks after you make your way over to place his cup on the desk. "I'm going to need any documentation you can provide."
"Is that necessary?" The man rolls his eyes. Even on his high horse he probably thinks things can work out easily for him with no problem.
"Yes, if you don't want to lose this lawsuit." Mr. Harrington scolds. "Just get me whatever contracts, photos, witness info, anything you have, and I'll make it work."
The sound of the remaining cups rattle as you turn to put them on the side table between the couple. You don't have time to think when you feel your fingers slip from the rim of the last cup. Brown liquid sloshes from the sides, the cup toppling over as the coffee hits the white sleeve of the man's shirt.
Your blood runs cold.
No one is talking anymore, all eyes focused on the accident at hand. While the couple's jaws are open in shock, Mr. Harrington merely sighs.
"Oh, I'm so, so sorry!" You cry out, bringing your hands to your mouth. "Let me go grab some napkins real quick, again, I'm sorryâ"
"What the hell is wrong with you?" The man snaps, jerking back from the table, face twisting in disgust at the murky stain on the cuff of his sleeve.
You take a step back, eyes widening. "What?"
"Do you have any idea how much this is? Or do they not pay you enough here that you're so careless around something so costly?" You'd already come to the conclusion earlier that the two were uptight, but you hadn't realized just how much they disregarded people like you.
His wife puts a hand on his arm, urging him to sit back down. "Richard! It was just an accident, we can take it to the dry cleaners." She purses her lips together, looking you up and down. "Besides, she's not worth the anger."
Fuck her. Fuck him. Fuck everyone who sees you as someone incapable of feeling.
"No, it was careless, that's what it was. Don't try and defend it." He shoots back, shaking her off him in irritation. "If she can't manage something this simple, then she shouldn't be working a job anyone can do."
You don't flinch at the feeling of your nails breaking the skin of your palm. "IâŠ"
"You what?"
Your mouth goes dry. You've never hated yourself more than now. How pathetic were you to be everybody's doormat instead of yelling out what you really feel?
He scoffs, "Fuckin' ridiculous. Your secretary can't talk or what Harrington?"
"Sit down, Taylor. It's just some coffee." Steve says bored. "Let's get back to that lawsuit of yours, instead of throwing a hissy fit, yeah?"
The man opens his mouth to retort, but is interrupted by the meek sound of your voice, "I'll replace it, or pay for it somehow, MrâŠTaylor, was it? I really didn't mean to ruin your shirt."
"You?" He says incredulous, eyes wide before laughs with no humor. "Save it. I don't need money, especially from the likes of you."
You want to scream at him that he has no right to speak to you like that, to wrap your hands around his throat just to stop the insults he hurled at you. But you couldn't, no. All you could do was stand there, palms beginning to draw blood, body shaking furiously, and realize things will never truly change for you. You'll always be that girl who let people feast on her energy for their own sick enjoyment.
Hate. All you feel is hate deep in your soul.
"Enough."
Mr. Harrington stands, palms on his desk, eyes daggers at Mr. Taylor.
"Pardon me?" Mr. Taylor asks bewildered.
"You've made your point." Mr. Harrington's voice cuts deep. "I'd suggest that you not act like you hold some type of authority over my staff, am I clear?"
"Maybe I wouldn't have to if you hired someone appropriate for these types of positions."
"You're not hurt, and if a small stain is going to prevent you from continuing, we can reschedule. Otherwise, we're just wasting our time."
Mr. Taylor is red in the face, lip curling enough to bare teeth. Standing no chance, he grumbles and plops back into his chair with his arms crossed. "I'll remember this, Harrington."
"I'm sure you will." Mr. Harrington replies without an ounce of belief.
Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.
"Clean it up." Mr. Harrington orders you.
You nod heading out to go grab the stain remover for the coffee that had also managed to spill onto the carpet.
Suddenly, you overhear Mrs. Taylor chuckling, "Don't worry Richard, she may be clumsy, but at least she's a good listener."
Once you finish cleaning the mess, you leave the room without a single tear. You wouldn't give them the satisfaction of your tears at least.
It'd been an hour since the Taylor's appointment had wrapped up. You had been relieved, but you still felt shaken up. Outside, the sun had begun to set in a mixture of orange and pinks in the sky, announcing you had about another hour left before you could leave. You'd rather walk out right now rather than face Mr. Harrington again.
You knew you were capable of being mean, yet that side of you came out at the wrong times, like with Dustin. Why couldn't you return cruel behavior back to people who deserved it?
"Mr. Harrington?" You say softly, knocking on the door with papers in hand.
"Come in.â
Deep breaths. Just get in, hand it to him, then get out.
When you walk in, Mr. Harrington is seated at his desk with his head in his hands as if heâs lost all hope. He looked tired and incredibly human. Maybe this was bad timing.
"IâŠ" You swallow. "I finished typing up the brief you asked for."
Mr. Harrington raises his head and doesn't look at you as he grabs the paper. His eyes scan the document for a minute before he shakes his head. Opening one of the drawers to his desk, he snatches a red pen and pulls the cap off with his teeth.
He begins to circle several words like a madman, the red ink bleaching into the parchment so vibrant and bold, that you know something is wrong.
You feel as if you're intruding, mouth tasting bitter. You turn to the door, quickly trying to make your exit.
"Miss Henderson."
The pen thuds against his desk and you flinch. "Yes?" You say sheepish.
"Are you aware of how much typing mistakes you make?"
'Typing skills are mandatory.'
"No...no, I wasn't."
Mr. Harrington slides the paper to you, expression unreadable. "Look again."
Hesitant, you take a step forward.
You're so close that you can smell the scent of expensive musky cologne and coffee faintly in the air. Gazing down at the paper, all your mistakes are clear as day to you now and embarrassingly so. Some are spelling mistakes, meanwhile others were missing letters, repeated words, and sentences typed too close together.
Your face burns hotter with every line. "I'm really sorry, sir. This isn't acceptable of meâ"
"Are you also aware of the fact that your twirl your hair when nervous?" Mr. Harrington abruptly pushes up from his chair, dropping the professionalism from his voice and you gape at him. The past month you had only heard him as Mr. Harrington, but not Steve Harrington.
Your forehead creases, "What? No?"
"That you sniffle? Pull on the hem of your top? Tap your nails? Avoid eye contact? Click your pen?" Mr. Harrington circles around his desk, fingers trailing along the smooth wood, eyeing you like prey. "You've also been yanking at your sleeve for the past two minutes, by the way."
You release your sleeve like you'd been burned. "Mr. Harrington, I don't understand where this is goingâ"
He stops inches away from you and tilts his head, breath fanning against your face. "I could list more if that'd be any help?"
You shudder, lashes fluttering. "I'm sorry, I'll make sure to stop." You say automatically, wanting this attack on your abilities to be done with. Your ego was already bruised enough after today.
His face drops in utter disbelief and then he barks a laughs, "There it fucking is. It's a goddamn instinct of yours."
"I should go," You say, but your feet don't move.
"You spilled coffee." He ignores you. "Coffee. At the end of the day, it was an accident, was it not?"
Your shoulders tense and you nod. The room starts to feel like it's shrinking, the ceilings too low, and the walls closing in.
"Then why," He snarls. "are you apologizing to assholes like him and even offering to pay for a jacket he very much has the privilege to replace? Even I'm an asshole and you don't say anything but 'sorrys.'"
"I don't know," You lie.
"Nuh uh," He laughs. "Don't pull that crap. You do know, you just don't wanna say, yeah? People like Taylor can smell weakness for miles away and you fit into every damn box on the checklist."
"I wasn't being weak," You retort, surprising yourself, even him. "I was trying to remain professional, that's all."
"Were you? Because from where I was standing it didn't look like it."
You know he's right, you just hate that he's the first person to actually call you out.
"Go home." He says.
You blink, voice cracking. "What?"
"Youâre done for today.â His tone leaves no room for argument, already moving on, period, point, blank. Mr. Harrington walks back to his chair, seating himself and starting up his work again. âYouâre distracted and until you learn the difference between making a mistake and making yourself a target, youâre not useful to me here."
"But- but Mr. Harrington," You plead, your chest suddenly feeling very tight. "I can stay, I'm capable, please. I promise I'll do better, I swear."
"Promises mean nothing to me, Miss Henderson. End of discussion." He snaps. "Go. Home."
AUTHORS NOTE: FUCK it's done. it's been weeks i'm so sorry. lots of personal and college stuff going on. finally finished finals. also readers typing mistakes are due to her awful sleep schedule and rushing her work lmfao.
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SUMMARY in which you're fresh out of a couple year long mental breakdown & trying to gain control over your life again. after realizing life has in fact not gotten better, you apply as a secretary for attorney steve harrington. he's demanding and quite frankly; a jerk. what starts as heated tension, shifts into feelings of choice & trust when walking into his office. itâs never felt so good to be perverse.
WARNINGS 90s timeline, mean asshole toxic slut steve you've been warned, reader letting people walk over her (please trust me on plot reasons and that girl will be getting character development in later chapters along with steve), steve is sexually frustrated, reader with agoraphobia & social anxiety, sexual tension, unprofessional workplace dynamics, adult language, smut will start next chapter
WORD COUNT 6.0k
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Something you learned about Steven A. Harrington was that he liked his coffee made a specific way. Which is also how you learned the man had a sweet tooth.
For someone so serious, it surprised you when he had insisted three packets of sugar and âmore creamerâ when you had given him his first cup on the day you had started working. You would find yourself fighting the twitch at the corner of your lip every morning you had started up the coffee machine.
Besides learning his taste preferences, you knew nothing about him from the few interactions you had shared with him. When working, you were stuck at your desk typing up papers on a typewriter (Mr. Harrington said the computers worked slowly in the building, but you werenât sure if that was entirely true), filing and scanning papers, or answering incoming phone calls.
Sometimes you overheard him on the phone while he was in his office with the door shut. Other times heâd call your name, enlisting new tasks for you.
It wasnât so bad, just boring.
You adapted to your new life slowly but surely during your first month. Claudia had been ecstatic, pulling you in for a crushing hug as she pressed millions of kisses over your cheeks. Despite your outburst, you knew you would always have your motherâs unconditional love. Dustin of course had talked to you as he usually did with playfulness, but he had been more distant lately, and you knew the reason wasnât because of schoolwork. Before you packed up a left to Indianapolis, you had stood in the doorway to his room while he had sat at his desk distracted with some science experiment. You had almost said something, yet you left instead without a word.
Indianapolis was more crowded than Hawkins for sure that you had concluded that you set yourself up for your worst nightmare. You had stayed in a hotel the first week while your apartment you had newly signed a lease for, was getting ready. The first week, you drove to work and avoided eye contact with people as much as you could on your way there and back. It wasnât until you had settled into the apartment the next week that you had started walking to work to force yourself into getting used to seeing other people and the world around you. The very idea of being perceived terrified you, but you moved here for a reason. Getting stuck in the same cycle would do no good.
"Miss Henderson, could you come here?"
Startled, the pen you were using to doodle slipped from your fingers. Finally, there was something to do at least. The past hour had dragged on endlessly with no calls, no papers, nothing but the sound of the clock ticking and your own thoughts.
"Coming!" You called, pushing your chair back.
When you step into his office, Mr. Harrington doesnât pay you no mind from where he stands in the corner, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hands carefully watering the orchids in the terrarium. He looked lost in another world, inspecting the green of the flowers roots with gentle care before soaking in the soil.
His hands are big and veiny, fingers long and thick. Nibbling at your bottom lip, you stare at them. You'd seen plenty of nice hands before in your life, but Mr. Harrington just so happened to have one of the nicest ones you'd seen. Would he touch a woman the same way he does so delicately with his orchids?
You could picture it now, rough fingertips gliding along the navel of a stomach. Would he be surprisingly sweet in bed or would he be cold like he is in the office when shoving them deep in-
"Miss Henderson, are you just going to stand there or are you coming in?"
Your ears begin to burn, "Yeah, sorry." Walking in, you quickly change the conversation. "Whatâre you doing?"
Mr. Harrington deadpans before turning away. "What does it look like Iâm doing."
Now you just feel stupid. "UmâŠgardening."
"Mhm."
A long uncomfortable pause stretched between you. You can't help your curiosity of the man, but also it was probably basic protocol to not know personal details of your boss.
"Do you like gardening?"
He adjusts the watering can. "I guess," A small shrug followed. "Iâm not really a gardener though. This just keeps my hands busy plus makes my office look nicer. Having routine is a good habit to have when your head gets all scrambled.â
"Oh," You shift your weight, considering. That made sense, honestly, you saw Steven Harrington as a man who was stuck up, not some guy who took care of something so delicate. "what are you then?"
Mr. Harrington finally turns to face you fully and squints at you, setting the watering can aside on a nearby surface. He huffs, "Didnât I call you in for something else? I don't understand the point of all this talk coming from you."
You winced. "Yes, sir."
"Right." He exhales, gesturing a hand towards his desk full of countless unorganized papers. What a messy man. "Anyways, go type up those documents in the folder I left, would ya? I need it done by one before I have to send it out."
"Of course." You nod quickly. Stepping forward, you reach out to grab a folder.
"No."
You jump. "Huh?"
He sighs. "Not that one, the other one."
"Oh, sorry." You chuckle shyly, putting the folder back. He doesnât smile back.
Your fingers hover over the countless papers and you suddenly feel unsure. Everything looked the exact same, not to mention that it looked like an E5 tornado hit his damn office and only took out his desk. He didn't even give you the specifics.
You make a wild guess, grabbing another nearly identical folder.
"No, that one."
"What one?" You ask in exasperation. This man was beginning to drive you up the wall.
"That. one." He says between gritted teeth. "The one by my coffee mug."
Brain foggy and overwhelmed, you grab another hopelessly, feeling as if your life was on the line. "This one?"
Mr. Harrington groans in disbelief. "The other one- No-"
The shrill ring of the phone blares, turning both your heads at the source of the noise. "Jesus fuckin' christ." He scoffs, shaking his head as he stalks over.
Snatching the receiver off the hook, he hands you the correct folder, scowling. 'Go.' He mouthed sharply.
You gulp, taking the documents weakly. On the way out, you make sure to slip out as quietly as you can, closing the door behind you carefully.
"Steven Harrington speakingâŠyes, yes, I wasâ" You don't bother to listen to the rest for your own good.
Dropping into your chair, you flip the folder open. Immediately, your stomach dropped. This was in fact not a document, at least not the kind you had gotten used to.
Instead of neat structured paragraphs, the pages are filled with handwriting that is slanted, the margins packed with annotations. Numbers are circled, underlined, and crossed out. On the corner, is a sticky note that reads, 'Retype letter.'
"âŠYou've got to be kidding me."
You glance toward his office, half expecting him to reappear and tell you that you grabbed the wrong one. To no surprise, he didn't. Instead, his voice continues to carry on faintly through the wood, calm and professional as if he hadn't just been about to crucify you over papers seconds ago.
Looking down at the horrific mess, your shoulders drop in defeat and you pull the typewriter closer.
It feels like hours of your fingertips clacking against the metal keys engraved with letters and numbers. To keep it short: You feel fucking exhausted. A part of you feels like you shouldn't complain about such an easy job, but was it really that easy with Mr. Harrington as a boss? If anything, you should be given an award for putting up with the man, you doubt anyone else could be able to do it.
The flush of the toilet echoes from the restroom along with the water running from the faucet. Paper towels are ripped before the door pushes open and out walks a woman with dirty blonde hair cut into a bob. She was on the taller side, only a little bit shorter than Mr. Harrington, dressed in black dress pants, a blazer with its sleeves rolled to her elbows, loafers, and a green plaid button up with a tie to compliment.
Your eyes follow her as she whistles, walking with a sort of awkward demeanor that made you feel somewhat not alone. The woman halts, blue eyes locking on to yours. You swear you stop breathing, already wanting to crawl into a hole for getting caught being a no good nosy secretary.
To your surprise, she smiles, casually pointing a finger. "Hey, you're Steve's new secretary, right?"
You blink, mouth agape dumbly. You snap out of it before you look like a creep. "Oh! Yeah, yeah, yeah. That's me."
"Seriously?" Her eyebrows raise and she begins to walk over to your desk. No, no, please don't do that. Don't start conversation- "When did you start?" Too late.
"I started last month," Your voice cracks and you want to slam your forehead against the typewriter.
"Ooo gotchu," She nods. You note the bit of smudged eyeliner and mascara adorning her eyes. You can't help but think she's the coolest girl you've ever seen. "I was out of town the whole month, so makes sense why we haven't bumped in to each other yet."
"Where'd you go?" This shit isn't your business.
"Hawkins." She blows a puff of air. "It's ass there, but I wan
'Think, think, think, Henderson. Try and talk like a normal person.' "I'm from there too. Trust me, I'm not the biggest fan eitherâŠ"
"No way, really?" She lit up. "Man, I guess we're both survivors, huh?"
No kidding.
You nod hesitantly before you change the subject. "I haven't seen you around before, do you work here too? Or are you one of Mr. Harrington's appointments for today?"
"Shit, what's wrong with me." She gives you her hand and you shakily take it. "Robin. I'm an old friend of Steve's, but also unfortunately the poor soul who has to work as his paralegal."
"Paralegal?" You feel stupid for working in a law office yet not being aware of the different branches of work besides the basics.
"Basically, I assist him through the tedious crap like looking into any cases brought to him or organizing any evidence. Just can't give any legal advice or represent anyone." She sighs.
You wonder how Robin knows Mr. Harrington asides from work to be on first name basis with the man, nonetheless, talk so casually. The thought of Mr. Harrington laughing over drinks with a friend is a confusing one. The only time you have seen him laugh this past month was when you tripped over the copy machine's wires. "ThatâŠsounds like a lot of work."
Robin shrugs. "It is, but on the bright side I make decent money."
"Do you plan on furthering into law? No offense! Nothing wrong with being a paralegal, I'm not seeing you less than attorneys or anything- " You rambled, but the sound of Robin laughing cuts you off.
"None taken. It's okay, socializing isn't the easiest for me either." You suddenly feel very hot at the fact she read you like a book. "Oh yeah, anyways. I plan on returning to law school, finishing some things up, then bam. Lawyer."
"Well, good luck." "I believe in you. Um. Even though I don't know you."
Robin laughs, "ThanksâŠ" Her eyes scrunch up, reading your tag on your desk. "Henderson."
Beep. Beep.
Robin rolls her eyes, glancing down at the watch on her wrist. "Damn it, I gotta split."
"No worries, I don't wanna take up more of your time."
"Trust me, you didn't waste a second of it." She winks. "I'll see you around!"
You half raise a hand in goodbye as you watch her leave. "See youâŠ"
You hope you'll be seeing a lot more of Robin around.
By the time you make it back to your apartment, your feet ache so badly that you almost consider tossing your heels out the window.
Your tiny apartment that you now call home greets you with silence and the smell of the heater hanging in the air. Youâll make sure to light up a candle in the meantime.
The walls are bare except for the calendar hanging beside the kitchen and the stacks of unpacked boxes shoved near the couch that you keep pretending youâll eventually get around to.
You reach the flick the kitchen light on and it buzzes twice before it comes to life.
Opening the refrigerator, youâre met with nothing. Looks like youâll have to settle for a cup on instant ramen tonight and a plan to the grocery store this weekend. You groan and drop your head against the fridge door. Maybe death wouldnât be so bad.
After changing into an oversized shirt with only your panties on underneath, you shuffle back into the kitchen to fill up a cup of noodles with water and place it into the microwave. It hums loudly as you lean against the counter and wait patiently.
Outside the apartment window, Indianapolis seems pretty busy tonight, considering you live near downtown close to popular nightlife spots. Music thumps nearby along with the laughter of people.
Everything was so unfamiliar here, you still werenât used to it. The smallest part of you even missed Hawkins small town life.
The shrill ring of the phone cuts through the silence, making you groan, "Jesus."
You pad over to the cordless phone and answer, "Hello?"
"Honey!" The sound of your motherâs voice immediately makes your shoulders loosen.
"Hi mom." You smile. "I've been meaning to call. Swear."
"Oh, none of that. I understand how busy you've been an everything with your new life and all." You can practically hear the frown in her voice. "You sound tired, everything okay, hun?"
"Sorry, itâs just been a long day." You sigh, walking back to the kitchen to keep an eye on your dinner.
"This is good for you. Good to be tired!" She encourages.
You laugh, tucking the phone between your chin and shoulder once the microwave beeps. "Yeah, yeah. I know."
"Sooo," Claudia drawls. "Howâve ya been? You liking your apartment alright? Have you settled in?"
You look over your shoulder at the pile of laundry abandoned on the armchair. "It's somethingâŠ"
"Itâs bad?" She pouts.
"No, no," You say as you make your way to the couch with your cup of ramen, curling your legs beneath yourself and turning the tv on with the remote. "Itâs just louder here, like, all the time. There just always people outside somewhere doing something."
She chuckles, "Well, honey, thatâs what happens when you move somewhere bigger than Hawkins. It must be a shock."
âI knowâŠâ
"Anyways, howâs your new job?" She presses eagerly. "The fancy law office."
Your nose wrinkles, but you find yourself smiling. "Itâs not fancy, mom. Itâs only me and my employer there when his paralegal isnât."
"Oh whatever. What does your boss have you doing all day? Any cool secretary things?" Claudia continues with a hum. "Are you answering phones? Filing papers? Wearing little business skirts?"
You choke on a noodle. "Mom!"
"What?" Claudia says innocently. "The secretaries in the movies always wear cute little outfits."
"Yeah, well movies lie ya know."
"Not true!" She denies. "Whatâs that boss of yours like? You havenât told me besides him beingâŠwhat twenty eight?"
You sink deeper into the couch cushions, shoveling more noodles into your mouth. You didnât know how to describe Steven Harrington in a way that accurately summed him up. Arrogant, cold, observant, and annoyingly attractive.
"Heâs a lot, I guess." You settle on.
The other line goes quiet until your mother bursts out laughing, "Oh dear god. That tells me everything I need to know."
"Itâs not funny," You grumble, fighting the twitch at the corner of your mouth.
"Aw, honey." She clicks her tongue. "Itâs okay, this isnât forever. You wonât have to deal with his control issues eventually. Youâll be back in the studio painting again."
The mention of painting creates a knot in your chest. Twisting and pulling a piece of hair nervously, you change the subject, "âŠHowâs Dustin?"
You know you caught her off guard because she takes a moment to answer. "Heâs alright."
"Is heâŠupset with me?"
"Hunâ"
"I know, I know." You squeeze your eyes shut, the words spilling from your mouth. "I know he seemed fine when I left and everything was âgood,â but I just know itâs not no matter how hard he tries to play it off. I was a bitchâ"
"Language."
"âbefore I left. Textbook definition of awful. Then I just packed my things and moved two hours away."
"Hun, you didnât disappear. Youâre just learning to adapt to life again along with finding new experiences. Iâm sure he knows that."
You stare down at your bowl and place it on the coffee table, pushing it away. Your appetite was suddenly gone.
The image of Dustinâs hurt expression when you yelled at him hadnât left your head since. Destroying good things was all that you were good at.
"Look," Claudia starts again. "Dustin is still a kid in a lot of ways and youâre his big sister. He most likely is stuck a bit hurt, but itâs nothing you canât fix."
Your chest tightens painfully and you feel nauseous.
"You should call him. Not tomorrow, not next week. Just call him, okay?"
You can't find the right words after a couple seconds, so you merely say, "Okay."
Your eyelids are heavy as you do your typical daily task of typing on the wretched typewriter. This morning had started rough when you slept through your alarm. By the time you had raced out of bed, you had thirty minutes before clock in. You almost walked out the door with your heels on the wrong feet. Luckily enough, Mr. Harrington didn't have the energy to lecture you today. Instead, he settled for an eyeroll and handed over files.
You hadn't slept well last night due to your guilty conscious reminding you, you were an awful older sister every time sleep almost overtook you. You would properly talk through things with Dustin when you found the time, you wouldn't push this off any more like a coward.
 Poor Dustin. He deserved better than dealing with your bullshit.
The sharp ding of the margin bell makes you sigh in relief. You were finally done with this stupid twenty page letter, all that was left was to make copies in the copy room.
Opening the lid to the scanner, you slide the papers in, facing them upside down. You rinse and repeat. You cross your arms over your chest, blowing a puff of air in boredom as you wait to replace the current paper scanning. You couldn't wait to go home and crash on the couch with a tub of ice cream while watching tonight's new episode of Twin Peaks.
"Andrea, I'm not having this conversation with you again."
Your head lifts.
"I told you to stop calling meâ" He hissed. "No, you cannot come down here. What's wrong with you?"
Who was Mr. Harrington talking to? His wife maybe? You don't recall ever seeing a ring on his finger, plus you can't imagine someone finding him likeable enough to spend more than ten minutes with him. How bizarre would that be.
"Fuckin' hell," He curses. "because I'm working. I don't exactly have the time to deal with your whining. Do you not have anything better to do that I'm always the center of your attention?"
You can't make out the muffled words crackling from the other line besides that her voice was wobbly and high pitched.
"Enough. Don't call again, Andreaâ"
You know it's not really your business but you find yourself walking closer to the door to his office. Pressing your ear against the wood, you listen.
"Steve, I love you." She cuts him off, sniffling. "Please, let's just meet up at my place tonight, yeah? Just talk about things. Don't be so rash."
You hear him scoff, "You knew what this was from the very beginning. Don't act surprised that I'm not coddling you. If you wanted a relationship, then you should've known I wouldn't be able to give you that."
There's a long pause of silence where the only thing you can hear is your breath. Then she's laughing hard, a couple of sobs slipping. Your heart squeezes.
"You piece of shit." She spits. "I hope you find yourself in my shoes one day and that your next source of entertainment destroys your heart. If you even have one in the firsâ"
In a quick flash, a pit in your stomach forms when your elbow slips against the door. The door is already swinging inward beneath your weight before you can catch yourself. Your knees hit the floor, your palms flat against it.
Mr. Harrington jumps, head snapping to your humiliating state on all fours, ass perked up in the air, your skirt riding up.
For several horrible seconds, neither of you moved. Even though you want to, you can't break away from his dark gaze. Mr. Harrington's jaw ticks and his hand curls tighter around the phone.
"I have to go," He says into the receiver without taking his eyes off you. "This is done and over with."
Before the woman could cry in protest, he slams the phone back into the hook. You collect yourself and stand, brushing your hands on your skirt.
Mr. Harrington doesn't say anything, waiting for you to explain yourself.
You start, "I wasn'tâ"
"Eavesdropping?" He finishes for you, brow cocked up. "You're a terrible liar."
There was no point in lying, you figured. "I won't do it again, sir." You murmur. "That was incredibly inappropriate of me."
Mr. Harrington's lips press into a thin line. He waves a hand, "Out."
You nod before turning to take your leave but halt when he says, "Miss Henderson, make sure to call the local provider and have them block that number."
When you do after finishing up your work at the copy machine, you come to the conclusion that Steven Harrington is more than closed off.
The following hours are filled with more boring work and you now having the uncomfortable knowledge that Mr. Harrington had a dysfunctional love life. Plus, you had accidentally fallen asleep more times than you can count.
You're mid yawn when the front door swings open, jolting you awake. A man appearing to be in his late twenties strides in, his wife accompanying him on his arm. By one glance, you can tell they're the type of people to sneer at people who shop at Kohls.
Cautiously, you speak. "Hi, is there anything I can help you two with?"
The woman jumps, head snapping at you, as if the fact you addressed them was the boldest thing anyone had ever done. Her husband doesn't even spare you a moment's worth of his attention, merely dragging his wife with him as they make their way to Mr. Harrington's office.
Jackasses.
You huff. "Well, okay then."
You rub your eyes sleepily and continue your typing you had abandoned. It's not long after Mr. Harrington is tapping his knuckle against your desk.
"Wake up, Miss Henderson. Three cups of coffee."
Mr. Harrington's brows are so furrowed that you're almost worried his face is going to be stuck forever like that. He looks more irritated than he usually is, chestnut hair ran through, and his foot tapping impatiently against the carpeted floor.
"Of course, Mr. Harrington." You nod, already setting the typewriter aside. Feeling courageous, you pry. "âŠ.Are you okay? You look stressed."
"Yeah, well I am" He answers shortly. Okay, so he most definitely isn't in a good mood then.
You frown, "Is this about those people who just came in?"
"If you must know," He sighs. "yes. I need them to leave as soon as possible."
"I figured. Are they like snobs or something? They looked like ones," You scrunched your nose thinking about how they clearly saw you as an inconvenience. "that man especially. When they walked in they looked kinda offended when I tried to help."
He shakes his head in disapproval. "Ignore them. They're my worst clients by far. They're the bane of my existence and I wish to never meet with them again once this is over."
Mr. Harrington might be snippy, but at least he wasn't a jackass to people when it came to status and money (yet that's also the bare minimum so maybe that's nothing worth praising for despite trying to see the best in people.)
"Never is a strong a word." But you couldn't blame him based on your three second interaction with them. "What aâ"
"Coffee, Miss Henderson. Coffee." Before you can respond, he's walking back to his office. The door slams loudly behind him. From the room, you hear the three of their voices speaking over each other and the occasional rumble of fake laughter.
You can't help but side eye the mask he puts on around others rather than truly saying what he thinks in his head. 'A people pleaser,' is what Claudia would call him. You were no better though, what right did you have to judge?
In the kitchen, the aroma of coffee grounds fills the air. After pouring the remaining liquid individually into three cups, you make sure to keep Mr. Harrington's coffee the same as usual and his client's without anything special since you were unsure of their preferences. You line the cups, pitcher holding creamer, and packs of sugar carefully on the tray.
Maybe you would've been a good part time barista in another life. On second thought, no thanks.
The tray is unsteady in your hands before you even push the door open with the side of your body. Immediately, the three of them turn their heads, but not before long before resuming their conversation.
"As I was saying," Steve continues smoothly, nodding to you in thanks after you make your way over to place his cup on the desk. "I'm going to need any documentation you can provide."
"Is that necessary?" The man rolls his eyes. Even on his high horse he probably thinks things can work out easily for him with no problem.
"Yes, if you don't want to lose this lawsuit." Mr. Harrington scolds. "Just get me whatever contracts, photos, witness info, anything you have, and I'll make it work."
The sound of the remaining cups rattle as you turn to put them on the side table between the couple. You don't have time to think when you feel your fingers slip from the rim of the last cup. Brown liquid sloshes from the sides, the cup toppling over as the coffee hits the white sleeve of the man's shirt.
Your blood runs cold.
No one is talking anymore, all eyes focused on the accident at hand. While the couple's jaws are open in shock, Mr. Harrington merely sighs.
"Oh, I'm so, so sorry!" You cry out, bringing your hands to your mouth. "Let me go grab some napkins real quick, again, I'm sorryâ"
"What the hell is wrong with you?" The man snaps, jerking back from the table, face twisting in disgust at the murky stain on the cuff of his sleeve.
You take a step back, eyes widening. "What?"
"Do you have any idea how much this is? Or do they not pay you enough here that you're so careless around something so costly?" You'd already come to the conclusion earlier that the two were uptight, but you hadn't realized just how much they disregarded people like you.
His wife puts a hand on his arm, urging him to sit back down. "Richard! It was just an accident, we can take it to the dry cleaners." She purses her lips together, looking you up and down. "Besides, she's not worth the anger."
Fuck her. Fuck him. Fuck everyone who sees you as someone incapable of feeling.
"No, it was careless, that's what it was. Don't try and defend it." He shoots back, shaking her off him in irritation. "If she can't manage something this simple, then she shouldn't be working a job anyone can do."
You don't flinch at the feeling of your nails breaking the skin of your palm. "IâŠ"
"You what?"
Your mouth goes dry. You've never hated yourself more than now. How pathetic were you to be everybody's doormat instead of yelling out what you really feel?
He scoffs, "Fuckin' ridiculous. Your secretary can't talk or what Harrington?"
"Sit down, Taylor. It's just some coffee." Steve says bored. "Let's get back to that lawsuit of yours, instead of throwing a hissy fit, yeah?"
The man opens his mouth to retort, but is interrupted by the meek sound of your voice, "I'll replace it, or pay for it somehow, MrâŠTaylor, was it? I really didn't mean to ruin your shirt."
"You?" He says incredulous, eyes wide before laughs with no humor. "Save it. I don't need money, especially from the likes of you."
You want to scream at him that he has no right to speak to you like that, to wrap your hands around his throat just to stop the insults he hurled at you. But you couldn't, no. All you could do was stand there, palms beginning to draw blood, body shaking furiously, and realize things will never truly change for you. You'll always be that girl who let people feast on her energy for their own sick enjoyment.
Hate. All you feel is hate deep in your soul.
"Enough."
Mr. Harrington stands, palms on his desk, eyes daggers at Mr. Taylor.
"Pardon me?" Mr. Taylor asks bewildered.
"You've made your point." Mr. Harrington's voice cuts deep. "I'd suggest that you not act like you hold some type of authority over my staff, am I clear?"
"Maybe I wouldn't have to if you hired someone appropriate for these types of positions."
"You're not hurt, and if a small stain is going to prevent you from continuing, we can reschedule. Otherwise, we're just wasting our time."
Mr. Taylor is red in the face, lip curling enough to bare teeth. Standing no chance, he grumbles and plops back into his chair with his arms crossed. "I'll remember this, Harrington."
"I'm sure you will." Mr. Harrington replies without an ounce of belief.
Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.
"Clean it up." Mr. Harrington orders you.
You nod heading out to go grab the stain remover for the coffee that had also managed to spill onto the carpet.
Suddenly, you overhear Mrs. Taylor chuckling, "Don't worry Richard, she may be clumsy, but at least she's a good listener."
Once you finish cleaning the mess, you leave the room without a single tear. You wouldn't give them the satisfaction of your tears at least.
It'd been an hour since the Taylor's appointment had wrapped up. You had been relieved, but you still felt shaken up. Outside, the sun had begun to set in a mixture of orange and pinks in the sky, announcing you had about another hour left before you could leave. You'd rather walk out right now rather than face Mr. Harrington again.
You knew you were capable of being mean, yet that side of you came out at the wrong times, like with Dustin. Why couldn't you return cruel behavior back to people who deserved it?
"Mr. Harrington?" You say softly, knocking on the door with papers in hand.
"Come in.â
Deep breaths. Just get in, hand it to him, then get out.
When you walk in, Mr. Harrington is seated at his desk with his head in his hands as if heâs lost all hope. He looked tired and incredibly human. Maybe this was bad timing.
"IâŠ" You swallow. "I finished typing up the brief you asked for."
Mr. Harrington raises his head and doesn't look at you as he grabs the paper. His eyes scan the document for a minute before he shakes his head. Opening one of the drawers to his desk, he snatches a red pen and pulls the cap off with his teeth.
He begins to circle several words like a madman, the red ink bleaching into the parchment so vibrant and bold, that you know something is wrong.
You feel as if you're intruding, mouth tasting bitter. You turn to the door, quickly trying to make your exit.
"Miss Henderson."
The pen thuds against his desk and you flinch. "Yes?" You say sheepish.
"Are you aware of how much typing mistakes you make?"
'Typing skills are mandatory.'
"No...no, I wasn't."
Mr. Harrington slides the paper to you, expression unreadable. "Look again."
Hesitant, you take a step forward.
You're so close that you can smell the scent of expensive musky cologne and coffee faintly in the air. Gazing down at the paper, all your mistakes are clear as day to you now and embarrassingly so. Some are spelling mistakes, meanwhile others were missing letters, repeated words, and sentences typed too close together.
Your face burns hotter with every line. "I'm really sorry, sir. This isn't acceptable of meâ"
"Are you also aware of the fact that your twirl your hair when nervous?" Mr. Harrington abruptly pushes up from his chair, dropping the professionalism from his voice and you gape at him. The past month you had only heard him as Mr. Harrington, but not Steve Harrington.
Your forehead creases, "What? No?"
"That you sniffle? Pull on the hem of your top? Tap your nails? Avoid eye contact? Click your pen?" Mr. Harrington circles around his desk, fingers trailing along the smooth wood, eyeing you like prey. "You've also been yanking at your sleeve for the past two minutes, by the way."
You release your sleeve like you'd been burned. "Mr. Harrington, I don't understand where this is goingâ"
He stops inches away from you and tilts his head, breath fanning against your face. "I could list more if that'd be any help?"
You shudder, lashes fluttering. "I'm sorry, I'll make sure to stop." You say automatically, wanting this attack on your abilities to be done with. Your ego was already bruised enough after today.
His face drops in utter disbelief and then he barks a laughs, "There it fucking is. It's a goddamn instinct of yours."
"I should go," You say, but your feet don't move.
"You spilled coffee." He ignores you. "Coffee. At the end of the day, it was an accident, was it not?"
Your shoulders tense and you nod. The room starts to feel like it's shrinking, the ceilings too low, and the walls closing in.
"Then why," He snarls. "are you apologizing to assholes like him and even offering to pay for a jacket he very much has the privilege to replace? Even I'm an asshole and you don't say anything but 'sorrys.'"
"I don't know," You lie.
"Nuh uh," He laughs. "Don't pull that crap. You do know, you just don't wanna say, yeah? People like Taylor can smell weakness for miles away and you fit into every damn box on the checklist."
"I wasn't being weak," You retort, surprising yourself, even him. "I was trying to remain professional, that's all."
"Were you? Because from where I was standing it didn't look like it."
You know he's right, you just hate that he's the first person to actually call you out.
"Go home." He says.
You blink, voice cracking. "What?"
"Youâre done for today.â His tone leaves no room for argument, already moving on, period, point, blank. Mr. Harrington walks back to his chair, seating himself and starting up his work again. âYouâre distracted and until you learn the difference between making a mistake and making yourself a target, youâre not useful to me here."
"But- but Mr. Harrington," You plead, your chest suddenly feeling very tight. "I can stay, I'm capable, please. I promise I'll do better, I swear."
"Promises mean nothing to me, Miss Henderson. End of discussion." He snaps. "Go. Home."
AUTHORS NOTE: FUCK it's done. it's been weeks i'm so sorry. lots of personal and college stuff going on. finally finished finals. also readers typing mistakes are due to her awful sleep schedule and rushing her work lmfao.
