Song request: Chateau by Djo with Steve Harrington of course! But with OLD MONEY STEVE. smut if that's okay :) I love you!!
Chateau, Careless Whisper
Summary: Steve runs into an old fling from high school at a party. He's very sought after, but she doesn't know about his money and popularity, and he is intrigued to say the least.
CW: MDNI 18+, old money!Steve, fem!reader, old flings, fluff, angst, drinking, jealousy, soft(ish) smut
AN: I decided to add Careless Whisper by George Michael with this, it just fit with the plot in my head, sorry!
Standing in the warm, summer night in front of a château style home in August, 1990, you ran shaky fingers through your hair, and tugged your black dress down at the hem, smoothing it, then staring at the large, lit up house before you, nearly having an anxiety attack at the sight of it.
It was gorgeous- a diamond in the rough of Hawkins, Indiana. The exterior of the large home was crafted with white wood paneling, grey steeply pitched roofs and shutters, accompanied with tall, arched windows. You stood in the courtyard, a quaint and simple fountain in the middle, a walkway compiled of stone surrounding it that lead to a similar looking guesthouse towards the back, with lush green grass and trees all around.
Music roared from within it, and you took a deep breath, your skin buzzing with nervousness and anticipation. You took a moment to reach into your small purse, spraying a cheap, but decent perfume on your chest, then began to walk towards the tall, double front doors, your heels clicking under you as you headed towards the black tie event that you'd heard gossip about for nearly a week.
A man you'd never seen before greeted you at the entrance, wearing a black suit and tie, his hair slicked back neatly, carrying a tray of glasses half full of champagne, offering one with a warm smile.
You accepted it, perhaps a little too eagerly, but needed something to calm your nerves. You thanked him with a nod and a smile, and stepped inside.
The interior was lit up brightly with a soft yellow glow, the design of the home elegant, elaborate, yet quite modern with a humble feel to it, tasteful paintings hanging on the walls, and a grand staircase. A large crowd of people dressed in black, designer clothes were scattered about underneath a crystal chandelier, chatting amongst themselves loudly enough to drown out the music.
You took another deep breath, your anxiety nearly taking over, as you tried to calm yourself by remembering the five senses.
What can you taste? The bubbly champagne, of course.
What can you smell? A mixture of unknown women and men's perfumes and cologne- a bit strong and a little nauseating.
What can you hear? Classical music and obnoxious voices.
What can you see? A crowd of people that you could only assume were pretentious and full of themselves, yet cleaned up extremely well.
What can you feel? Goosebumps on your skin. You can feel the cold glass in your hand. You can feel the fabric of your dress as you smoothed it down your body again, feeling self conscious.
Your stomach did backflips as you made your way throw the crowd aimlessly, apologizing over and over again, trying to compose yourself, feeling exposed, like you didn't belong there.
You stood in the corner, people watching, feeling like a wallflower, a part of you looking for familiar faces, although you knew none would be there.
Another well dressed gentleman walked by you gracefully with another tray of champagne just as you'd finished your first, and you grabbed a second, feeling grateful for the slight buzz that ran through your body.
As you sipped the alcohol, trying to gain the confidence to approach someone in the crowd, someone else approached you to your left to greet you, a familiar voice that startled you, making you gasp.
"Woah, shit, didn't mean to scare you!" He smiled, putting his hands up in an attempt to steady you.
You chuckled, a hint of annoyance and disbelief in it, as you turned to face the old fling standing before you.
He was wearing a black suit and tie like the rest of the men, an expensive looking watch on his wrist, his classic long, sun kissed waves framing his face- and damn it, you couldn't deny that he looked striking, and his cologne of cedarwood and citrus was intoxicating.
"Harrington," you grinned arrogantly, raising an eyebrow and standing up straight, crossing one arm over the other.
Steve slightly bowed, reaching an arm towards you in a cheesy fashion as he held his own glass of champagne in the other.
You smirked at his silly action, feeling a little caught off guard.
"What is a guy like you doing in a place like this?"
"Well," he leaned back, taking a sip, "I could ask you the same question."
You gave him a skeptical look.
"Oh, well," he stammered, laughing awkwardly, "not that you're a guy, I mean, obviously you're not- you know what mean, right?"
You took another sip, chuckling at him, "You haven't changed at all, have you?"
Steve shrugged his shoulders, smiling sheepishly.
"You've still got the same big, long hair, same demeanor, still cocky... isn't that right?"
"Yeah, well I never lost my charm, so I guess I haven't really changed," he winked at you, "So, it's been what- four years?"
"Yep, four years since we last saw each other, through all the Upside Down shit. And six years since you... broke my little heart?" You crossed your legs and leaned back against the wall.
He frowned at that statement, making you feel a little bad, but you would never let it show.
"I'm just giving you some shit, Harrington. No hard feelings." You laughed.
He smiled again and nodded, running his hand through his hair.
Couples began to gather around the common area, dancing intimately to a slow song that started to play throughout the large house.
Steve glanced over at the crowd, then back at you.
"Might I say, you look ravishing tonight. May I have this dance?" He set down his glass and reached an arm out towards you, a hopeful look on his face.
"I think that's the weirdest fucking thing I've ever heard you say. What are you, Shakespeare?" You laughed, downing the rest of your champagne.
"Well, no. I just thought that maybe you'd like to talk, over there?" He motioned towards the flock of couples. "Cause, I know you've been kinda wandering around here awkwardly, wouldn't you like to be with a familiar face?"
He held a hand to you again, waiting for your response.
"Fine," you groaned, setting your glass down, "but that was uncalled for."
Steve smiled as he took your hand in his, leading you gingerly through the crowd, and they made note to move out of the way.
He intertwined his left hand with your right, placing the other along your lower back. You rested your hand on his shoulder, as he began to sway you gently.
"You know, you should feel lucky, Harrington," you remarked, grinning at him, "because I don't dance."
He ignored your comment, instead gazing into your eyes, softly smiling at you with his stupid, perfect teeth.
"You know, you should really just call me Steve now." He suggested, a voice of honey.
You scoffed, "Okay, Steve... just still feels a little weird to say your first name."
"And why is that?" He questioned, pulling you a little closer towards him.
Careless Whisper began to echo throughout the room, and the song was a little too fitting for the situation you were in, making you feel a bit unfocused.
"I don't know... maybe it has to do with the fact that you used me as a rebound for that summer in high school, only to tell me you couldn't get over Nancy."
Steve furrowed his eyebrows together, seemingly deep in thought before he answered, "I don't think that's necessarily true."
"And why is that?" You repeated his question, still swaying to the music.
"You weren't a rebound. I really do- I mean, did like you, a lot. I was just confused. I didn't even know what I was feeling. I haven't seen her in-"
"It's okay, Steve. It's been years. I'm over it." You chuckled nervously.
"Are you?" He asked, smirking at you.
You nodded, a hesitant smile on your lips as you took note of each other's faces.
"Best summer of my life," he admitted quietly, "I've always thought about you, was never able to get you out of my head, you know."
Your chest grew warm and bloomed at his statement, "Me neither."
He was a bit taken aback, but beamed at you.
"So," you teased, "considering that you're here, dancing with me, I'm assuming your dream of 6 kids, living life on the road in an RV didn't work out?"
"Nope." He enunciated the word with a pop of his lips, looking around the room.
You heard whispering around you, and looked around too, finding people staring at the two of you, practically gawking.
"Why the fuck are they staring at us?" You asked, glaring right back at them.
"I don't know, they're just weird people, I guess," Steve replied, looking back at you with an amused smile, "so, you never answered my question."
"What question?" You focused back to him.
"What are you doing here?"
"Well," you sighed, still lazily swaying with him, "I heard through the grapevine at work that a lot of, you know, big shots were gonna be here. I thought I'd take a chance at talking to one of them, try to score a job. I'm barely able to afford my own apartment. Hard to do that when you're just a waitress."
Steve nodded, motioning for you to continue.
"Obviously, I can't even do that," you laughed, "cause now I'm just here, dancing with you."
He smirked, staring at your face for a moment before responding, making butterflies dance in your stomach, only now realizing the close proximity of your faces.
"I think I can help with that."
"Really?" You perked up, "How?"
The song began to fade away, the crowd of people dressed in black beginning to gather in groups, chatting amongst themselves again.
Steve gently let go of you, pulling a card out of his coat pocket and handing it to you. It had his name and phone number on it, but no other information.
"Here," he placed the card in your hand, "why don't you give me a call in, let's say... tomorrow?" He suggested. "Tomorrow morning."
"Oh, okay," you smiled gratefully, putting the card in your purse, "well thank you, Harrington. I really appreciate that."
"Don't thank me," he took your hands in his as he spoke, "it's the least I can do for you."
You gazed at each other with stars in your eyes, squeezing his hands for a moment, wondering if he felt the same tension as you.
"So," he let go of your hands, "I hear they're shutting this party down soon. You should go before they do, beat the traffic, you know."
"Okay," you nodded, "well, thanks again."
Steve nodded back, and you began to walk away.
"Hey!" He exclaimed, making you turn around to look at him again.
"Call me, Steve, okay? Talk to you soon."
You scoffed playfully, and turned around to walk out the door, feeling excited, hopeful, giddy as you walked to your car, squealing in joy as you drove away.
You were awoken by the god awful sound of your alarm clock, groaning as you rolled over in your bed to shut it off with an annoyed smack of your hand. You closed your eyes, getting comfortable for a moment longer, before they shot open again, realizing that you had a very important phone call to make.
You sat up abruptly, snatching the comforter off of you, heading to your small kitchenette to make a cup of coffee, hastily pouring the creamer in, mixing and taking a sip, preparing for the call you were about to make.
A part of you wondered why you were so nervous to call him. Were you worried that he wasn't being serious when he said he'd help you? Was the job going to be a big flop? Or did Steve Harrington still make you feel nervous after all these years?
Maybe a mix of everything.
You picked up his card from the kitchen counter, walking over to the phone on the wall. With a big inhale, exhale, you picked up the phone and dialed his number.
It only rang for three seconds before he picked up.
He interrupted you, chuckling, "Finally, I've been waiting for you to call all morning!"
You laughed, "What? It's only 9 a.m."
"I know, I know," he emphasized his words, "I guess I've just been absolutely buzzing with excitement."
"Oh...kay," you teased, "why's that?"
"I don't know, just lonely, bored nowadays," he replied, "so, anyway, I've set up an interview for you at that coffee shop, you know, the one on 6th Street? There's this guy that's very interested in speaking with you."
"Oh, sweet, thank you! Um, what's the job again?"
Steve ignored your question, "So be there around 11. Also, give me your address. I'm gonna send a taxi over to your place to pick you up. Don't bring your car."
"Okay," you went on to give him your address, "but why?"
"I hope it goes great! Let me know after, okay? Talk to you later." He stuttered between his words and abruptly hung up the phone.
You removed the phone from your ear, staring at it for a moment, feeling puzzled to say the least, before you reacted.
You hung the phone back up on the wall.
"That was fucking weird," you continued to talk to yourself, heading to your bedroom, "who just hangs up like that? Fucking Steve Harrington. What in the fuck was that?"
You quickly took to getting ready, slipping out of your pajamas, showering, putting on some makeup- not too much, just the right amount.
"Business casual," you reminded yourself, "not too casual, but not too much."
You finished your hair and opted for a pencil skirt, flats, and a simple blouse.
You stood before your reflection in the mirror, repeating comforting words of affirmation to yourself, as you smoothed your outfit down and checked the time on your watch.
You grabbed your purse and ran out the door, down the stairs of your apartment and outside, to see a yellow taxi waiting for you in the parking lot.
You opened the backdoor and got in hastily, anxiety taking over again.
"Hi- hello, sir," you spoke to the driver, "the coffee shop on-"
"6th Street, I know." The cab driver smiled and began to drive.
"Oh, um- thank you." You responded and smiled at him, fumbling with your hair as he drove.
Once he arrived at the destination, you grabbed your purse, reaching in to grab your wallet.
"How much do I owe you sir?"
"It's been paid for, ma'am." He assured. "You have a nice day."
"Oh shit- fuck- I mean, thank you. You too!" You stepped out of the car, facing the coffee shop.
You smoothed down your outfit again, brushed your fingers through your hair and composed yourself, forcing a smile on your face, though your anxiety was through the roof.
You walked in, smelling freshly ground coffee beans and feeling the air conditioning in the shop blasting as you looked around the room for who you might be meeting.
It was easy to see who it was, considering there was only one person, sitting in the corner of the coffee shop with a shit eating grin on his face.
"Harrington?!" You exclaimed, a beyond confused look on your face.
He leaned back, his hair tousled perfectly, annoyingly wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, his hands clasped together.
"And remember, call me Steve."
You walked slowly towards him, wondering if there was a possibility you were hallucinating.
"Please, sit." He pulled out a chair for you, looking a little too cocky.
You reluctantly did as he asked, setting your purse down, keeping eye contact with him.
"What can I get you to drink? On me." He stood up, still grinning, like he'd won some sort of game.
"Um... just a mocha, thanks."
Steve nodded and walked to the front counter.
You sat deep in thought as you waited. Is he playing some mindgame with you? Is he still just an asshole? Why did he lie to you?
"Here's your mocha," he set it down on the table for you, "and I got one too, though I'm not much of a coffee drinker myself-"
"Why did you lie?" You interrupted him.
He sat down in front of you, furrowing his brows, "Lie?"
You nodded, impatiently waiting for a response, frustration coursing through your veins.
"Well, I didn't necessarily lie. I told you I'd help you, and you'd have an interview," he laughed quietly, "and, it was me the whole time!"
"Yeah, I've figured that out by now." You huffed. "Are you just trying to mess with me, embarrass me or something? If so, I'm just gonna walk out right now-"
"No, no!" Steve assured you, putting his hands up, "no, I'm sorry, I'm not trying to mess with you. I guess it was kinda stupid that I did it like this."
He took a sip of his coffee, leaning back in his chair, "For a job."
"Well," he sighed, trailing off for a moment, "please just listen to me. Just let me talk, and trust me. Please?"
You leaned forward in your chair, crossing your arms on the table and raised an eyebrow at him, "I'm listening."
He exhaled nervously, running a hand through his hair and scooting his chair closer to you, resting his hands on the table.
"So, during the time we kinda... drifted apart, I inherited some money. And if you remember, my dad had a lot of money."
You nodded, motioning for him to continue.
"Well, and please don't get mad, but that house party last night? It, uh... just so happens that house is... mine." Steve chuckled awkwardly.
You groaned, a look of worry on your face.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you that last night. It was just nice to see you again and talk to you, talk to someone that knows who I am as a real person and doesn't just try to talk to me for... my money, you know? And when you brought up that you needed a job, it got me thinking-"
You cut him off, "Thinking what?"
"Ugh, let me finish!" He groaned, "It got me thinking that I've needed someone to... run my house?"
"Yeah, like a house manager," he smiled, "you know, travel arrangements, manage my budget, organize parties or social stuff... I'm not exactly good at... those type of things."
"Yeah, I could see that." You teased, finally cracking a smile.
Steve scoffed playfully, "Shut up! I know, I know. The thing is, I've never hired anyone to do it because I don't really trust any random person with things like that. I saw a friend, someone I trust, and I thought, why not?"
He shrugged and smiled, waiting for your answer, his leg bouncing nervously.
"So," you sat up straight, crossing your legs, "would I be a maid, clean up after you? What's the catch?"
"No catch," Steve shook his head, "I already have a maid. You'd have to move in with me-"
"Woah, woah, woah," you interrupted, "move in with you-"
"Jesus, sweetheart, let me talk," he laughed, motioning his hands for you to calm down, "not in my house. I have a guesthouse in the back. It's got a kitchen, bathroom, bedrooms, everything you need for your own privacy. And you'd live in it for free. And I would pay you."
You perked up, "How much?"
"Let's say..." He thought for a moment, "$100,000? Just to start off?"
Your jaw nearly dropped to the floor, your eyes widening.
"Don't say no." He said kindly, smiling at your reaction. "Unless you want to. That's okay, too. I just thought... it's the least I can do. Win-win situation?"
You stared at your coffee in disbelief, your heart beating so loud, surely he could hear it. Time slowed down, the world coming to a halt. So much so that you hadn't even realized that Steve reached out his hands to hold yours gently through your shock.
"I'll do it." You exhaled and glanced back over to him, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.
"Really?" He beamed, squeezing your hands.
"Yes," you squeezed his back unknowingly, "only because I need this so badly. I could go back to school, I could take care of my family... Steve, I don't even know how to begin to thank you-"
"You don't have to," he reassured, "like I said, it's the least I can do."
You gazed at each other for a few moments, smiling so cheesy you almost couldn't stand it, and you again wondered if he felt the same tension between you as the night before.
It was only then did you finally notice that you were holding hands.
"So, um," you cleared your throat, pulling your hands back.
Steve did the same, his throat bobbing as there was an awkward bit of silence.
"So..." you finished your question, "when do I start?"
"Oh, today, if you want." He leaned back in his chair nonchalantly, as if what he just said wasn't a big deal.
"Today?!" You reiterated.
He nodded, a cheeky look spreading across his face again.
"Um, okay, but what about my stuff, my apartment-"
"The movers will take care of all that," Steve assured you, "you don't need to lift a finger. They'll start moving your stuff into the guesthouse today. If you want."
You wondered how any of that could happen so fast, but excitement pushed the thought to the back of your brain.
"Welp," he stood up, hands on his hips, "are you ready to go?"
You stood up after him, grabbing your purse, "Go? To your house?"
"Yep," he pulled his keys out of his pocket, swinging them around his fingers, "let's go."
You quickly followed him out the door, giggling with joy as Steve opened the passenger door of his red Cadillac for you. You got in, admiring the interior as he sat in the driver's seat and started the car.
"Steve?" You asked as he began to drive towards his house, the hot summer breeze flowing through each other's hair.
"This isn't gonna be, like... a weird sugar daddy situation, is it?"
He nearly choked on his own spit nervously, clearing his throat, "No, no, definitely not."
"Cause it's almost too good to be true, you know?"
"Definitely not." He repeated, looking over at you with a warm smile, then reverted his eyes back to the road, and you swore you saw a hint of a tense look on his face.
The next four months went by far too quickly. You were the happiest you'd ever been, feeling so grateful for the opportunity Steve had given you. You meticulously orchestrated the most extravagant house parties, took care of his finances, made sure his bills were paid on time, arranged his travel arrangements with perfection, and made his life much easier for him, which he showed great appreciation for.
The guesthouse you'd been living in was much more than you thought it was going to be. Two stories, fully furnished with the finest materials, a large kitchen with marble counter tops, the most luxurious bathroom, and the softest bedding you'd ever had the pleasure to sleep in, not to mention the insane salary, which Steve had already increased greatly on multiple occasions.
You were living the most amazing life, far past your highest expectations, but there was a feeling you couldn't shake, and you couldn't stand it.
Every time you put together a large gathering for a house party, you couldn't help but feel a little jealous when other women interacted with him, laughing at his jokes a little too loudly, having conversations with him a little too intimately, and dancing with him a little too long for your liking. But Steve still took the time to dance with you, of course, in a friendly manner, and you reminded yourself that he was a highly respected, well sought after man, and you just had to accept that. But god, did you hate it.
Every time Steve left for a business trip, whether it'd be a few days or a week, you found yourself feeling awfully lonely, isolated even. You kept busy by managing the house, doing your job, but you couldn't help but to feel insignificant, even abandoned, which you scolded yourself for, feeling embarrassed of yourself. He was your boss, after all. But god, you just fucking hated it.
But Steve did make up for it, of course. You never told him how lonely you were feeling, but he must have gotten the hint, as he would shower you with gifts. He'd bought you a new, much more reliable car in your favorite color. He'd gifted you a wardrobe of designer clothes, shoes and bags. He'd sent you on spa days that he'd pay for, massages, manicures, pedicures, and sent you to luxury salons to get your hair done. You hadn't even needed to touch your own money. You felt bad for all the gifts, telling him it wasn't necessary, that you were just there to do your job, but Steve always insisted, always reiterating that it was the least he could do.
The least he could do. Sometimes you wondered about that statement.
You were facing the fact that you, indeed, had feelings for Steve Harrington. And you wondered if you'd always had, ever since that summer in high school.
You felt ashamed of yourself, as it was so inappropriate to be in love with your own boss. But you'd known him long before he became a big shot, long before all these other people had known him, and so it was a difficult feeling to shake away.
You felt guilty for having these feelings, because Steve had done so much for you. You didn't want to be in love with him, as he showered you with things you'd only dreamed of. What if he meets the love of his life, and continues to be so generous towards you? That wouldn't be fair to them.
But at the same time, you couldn't tell him that you'd fallen for him. He'd always had trust issues, and you didn't want him to feel like you were taking advantage of him, or be accused of it. You didn't want to hurt him and break that trust.
It was all so conflicting, it drove you mad.
It didn't help that the two of you would spend your free time with each other, having dinner together at his large house, watching movies, laughing, friendly brunch dates, all of which included lingering stares, curling up on the couch a little closer together than platonic friends would do, Steve's endearing nicknames for you, his compliments, hands barely touching as you conversed, dancing slowly, warm bodies close together.
And you pondered the thought that maybe, just maybe, he was feeling the same electric buzz on on his own skin, the same butterflies in his stomach, the same fireworks, the same pull, the same tension as you did. Because you swore you could see it in his eyes when he looked into yours, in his smile, his body language.
Surely, you were just imagining things.
It wasn't something you could focus on right now anyway, so you shoved those feelings as far away as you could. You had a Christmas party to plan.
Steve's house was bustling with large crowds of people, holiday music softly playing throughout the large common area, a 20 ft large Christmas tree tucked away neatly in a corner, decorated accordingly with expensive ornaments, gold and silver lights wrapped around it, with a stupid little angel right on the top.
There was a fragrance of white pine, vanilla and cinnamon in the air. Cheerful, well dressed people chatted amongst themselves with an optimistic tone to their voices. Twinkling lights hung from the ceiling and red ribbons wrapped around the grand staircase in an elegant fashion. Your hand was wrapped around a glass of wine, and damn, did that cabernet taste a little too good.
All of this was happening because of your careful planning, but you definitely weren't feeling the holiday spirit.
You'd been standing by the Christmas tree alone for 2 hours now, sipping your fourth glass of red wine as you people watched with a bitter look on your face.
Despite how you felt, you were looking good. Really good.
You were wearing a satin red dress that hugged your body just right, a slit along the side of the dress to your upper thigh. Your hair was done elegantly, and on your lips was the perfect shade of red just right for your skin tone, fit with diamond jewelry and strappy heels- courtesy of Steve, obviously.
Speaking of Steve, you watched him in your usual wallflower fashion, conversing with people you didn't recognize, laughing, and having a grand old time with his usual black suit and tie, and his stupid perfect hair.
You took another sip, feeling a little forgotten about, and a little vulnerable as you stood alone, watching the party near its end.
A few minutes went by, and Steve suddenly gathered everyone around for a toast. You hesitantly walked towards the crowd, and watched as he thanked everyone for coming, thanked the chefs, the decorators, the butlers, and then thanking you, taking you by surprise.
"And I'd like to thank my beautiful house manager here," Steve gestured towards you, raising his glass as the crowd turned to look at you, "she single-handedly planned every bit of this get together, and I'm so gratetul to her for making this such a wonderful party, and for being my greatest friend. You're amazing."
"Cheers!" Everyone exclaimed, nodding at you in approval, and Steve winked at you.
You couldn't help but smile, your cheeks getting hot, taking another sip of wine, and for a fleeting moment, you didn't feel so alone anymore, so inferior.
That all came crashing down quickly.
Just as you thought Steve was about to take your hand and ask you to dance, another woman practically threw herself onto him, insisting she dance with him. He was a little taken aback, but reluctantly agreed to dance with her, and you swore that she had flashed you the most evil grin you'd ever seen.
Maybe it was the feelings you had for Steve, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe both, but rage coursed through your body at the sight. You felt annoyed, revolted, hostile, jealous.
You began to step backwards from the two of them, tears stinging the corners of your eyes, your lip nearly quivering as you backed away.
You made your way to a nearby table and downed the rest of your glass, setting it down as you glared at the two of them. Steve glanced over to you and caught your eye, his smile quickly fading and a worried, almost remorseful expression taking over.
You didn't want to act out, ruin Steve's party, ruin your friendship with him, so you stormed away, navigating through the large, drunken crowd and walking out the backdoor to head to your own private house, trying not to let hot tears spill down your face.
You walked in and slammed the door behind you, locking it and kicking off your heels. You turned on the lights and headed to your bedroom, sat down on the soft blankets of your bed, and finally allowed your emotions to pour out of you, sobbing to yourself and cursing yourself, mascara running down your cheeks.
Why am I like this? Why do I feel like this? I'm so stupid. So fucking stupid. We dated for 3 months when we were just kids. We hardly even kissed. What the fuck is wrong with me? I'll just have to quit. Tell him I'm moving. Find him a new manager, one he can trust. One that won't fall in love with him. God, how could I be so fucking ungrateful?
You sat up from the bed, absolutely bawling, and stumbled on the plush carpet to your full length mirror. You stared at yourself for a while, taking in shaky breaths, taking note of the expensive dress, the expensive jewelry, the expensive makeup- now a mess on your face.
"So fucking ungrateful!" You scolded the reflection in the mirror.
It was only then did you hear your front door close shut, and Steve's voice calling out your name softly.
Your heart dropped to your stomach.
You quickly wiped the smeared makeup off of your face and tried to compose yourself, taking a deep breath.
You walked out to the living room where Steve stood awkwardly, holding a ring of keys in his hands.
"Hey, Harrington." You tried to muster a smile.
He frowned at your greeting, looking concerned.
"Hey. Uh, sorry, you looked upset, and I heard you crying, so I kinda let myself in."
There was a moment of silence, and you felt that he was standing much too far away from you. There was a lump in your throat, too hard and too much to explain yourself.
"Are you okay?" Steve asked, cautiously taking a step towards you.
"Yeah," you wiped another tear from your cheek, smiling, "yeah, I'm okay."
"Are you sure? Cause, you know, you're crying."
Steve sighed, "Do you wanna sit?"
"Um... sure." Your voice cracked.
You both sat down on the loveseat in the living room. You crossed your legs, fumbling with the rings on your fingers and avoiding eye contact with him. He held his hands together.
"I'm sorry for running out," you spoke up, "is everything okay back at the party?"
"Oh, don't be sorry, sweetheart," Steve assured you, "the party is ending now. Mostly everyone is gone."
"Oh, okay. I hope it was a good one."
"It was great, you always make it great," he smiled, resting a hand on your knee, making you feel a little nervous, "but can I ask... why are you crying?"
You attempted to laugh, brush your pain away like it never existed in the first place.
"Honestly, I just felt overwhelmed, and probably had too much to drink."
"Yeah, probably," he agreed, "but... there's something else, too."
You shook your head slightly, tears stinging your eyes again, not responding.
"Was it because of that girl I was dancing with?"
You finally glanced over to him.
"No." You replied in a small, fragile voice.
Steve sighed, leaning forward and gave your knee a squeeze.
"Well... I won't bother you. Maybe you can talk to me about it tomorrow. For now," he stood up, putting his hands on his hips, "why don't you eat something, drink some water, and get some sleep, okay?"
You nodded, still sitting down, "Okay. I'm so sorry, Steve."
He didn't speak for a moment, only peering down at you with an empathetic look, before slowly leaning over and holding your face gently with his hands, pausing as his face hovered yours, and placing a small kiss to your forehead.
"You've done nothing wrong. There's nothing for you to worry about," Steve whispered against your skin, making you look at him in his eyes, "okay?"
You gave him a sad, half smile, still feeling guilty despite his words, "Okay."
He stood back up, and walked slowly to the front door, turning the knob and opening it.
The next day, your alarm woke you, not having dreamt at all. Your eyes burned from crying, and your lips were chapped from heavy breathing. You turned off the alarm and stared at the ceiling, lost in thought, remembering everything that had occurred the night before. The party. Steve's toast. The woman. Running away. Crying. Talking to Steve. His hand on your knee. His words of reassurance. His kiss on your forehead.
You tried to put the puzzle pieces together in your mind.
Shouldn't he be mad at me? He's my boss. He's given me everything, just for me to throw a drunken hissy fit. He should have fired me. Or at least been upset with me. Is he upset with me? No, he said he wasn't. Wait, does he have feelings for me, too? No he doesn't. There's no way. Is there?
You begrudgingly got out of bed, and walked towards the same mirror you had the night before, looking at the disheveled, emotional wreck in front of you.
You went on to do your usual morning routine of coffee, showering and getting ready, thankful that you didn't have a hangover, when there was a sudden knock on your front door.
You opened it hesitantly to find no one standing there, but a beautifully wrapped gift bag was on the ground, with a note attached to it.
You looked around outside, and grabbed the bag, bringing it inside and shutting the door. You took it to your bedroom and sat the gift on the bed, and opened the note that had your name on it.
I felt like I needed you to know that you're my closest friend above anything else. Take the day off, on me, okay? And please accept the gift I got for you, and don't say no, like you usually do. Consider it an early Christmas gift. Please put it on and meet me in my bedroom upstairs for a movie night at 8. See you then.
-Harrington (call me Steve)
You couldn't help but bite your lip and smile, your stomach fluttering and feeling excited, grateful for his generosity and patience with you.
You placed the note to the side and dug into the gift bag, and audibly gasped and nearly sobbed at the sight of what you pulled out.
It wasn't Calvin Klein, or Ralph Lauren. It wasn't a designer dress, or expensive high heels.
It was cheesy Christmas pajamas, and a pair of fuzzy slippers. Complete with a reindeer and snowflake design, and it was cheap, from JC Penny's.
You could've died happy right then and there, to receive such a humble and thoughtful gift from Steve. The old Steve, the Steve he still was, the one you'd always kept close to your heart for years.
You chose not to go out and treat yourself that day like he'd offered, instead, staying in your home, relaxing with some good books and watching TV. You tried to take a nap, but you were too overjoyed, too overwhelmed in all the right ways to even think about falling asleep as you watched the clock tick by, minute by minute.
At 7:50, you put on your pajamas and slippers, looking into the mirror, this time, with a much more optimistic look on your face. You decided not to opt for makeup, as tonight was movie night- a night of friendship, a night of Steve, a night that had occurred many times before during a summer years ago.
You exited your house and walked towards the backdoor of Steve's, nearly skipping with joy, and let yourself in.
You were surprised to not see any of his other staff around the house as you walked up the staircase, thinking he must have given them the night off.
You tiptoed down the long, dark hallway filled with glee, and saw a dim light coming from Steve's bedroom.
You approached the open door and gave it a little knock, making him turn around.
"Oops, seems as if there's been a wardrobe malfunction."
He was wearing the same fucking pajamas as you.
"Steve!" You laughed, eyeing him up and down as you walked in.
He lifted his arms up in the air and smiled.
"You like?" He motioned at his outfit, and bolted towards you, lifting you up and making you squeal.
"That's what I like to hear," he sighed with relief as he put you back down, "it's good to see you smile."
"Steve, you're such a dork." You giggled and shoved his shoulder playfully.
"The most handsome dork you've ever seen," he teased, "so, what do you wanna watch? I've got everything set up."
He motioned towards the wooden table on the bed. On it was a bottle of white wine accompanied with two glasses, a big bowl of popcorn, and an assortment of candy.
"I grabbed the cheapest bottle of wine I could find, I promise," he chuckled, running his hands through his hair, "tonight is gonna be like old times. Gotta remind you that I'm still a humble guy."
"I never doubted you were." You beamed at him.
Steve's cheeks turned red, and his body language went a little shy.
"So, I know I asked you what you wanna watch, but I picked up your favorite you told me, Heathers-"
"Yes!" You exclaimed, "yes, I love that movie!"
He smiled, "I know you do. Now... let's get comfy."
There was definitely something in the air, and it was heavy, as the two of you watched Winona Ryder act on screen, eating popcorn, laughing, finishing a glass of wine, and bodies increasingly getting closer and closer together throughout the movie.
You both lay back in his bed, eyes glued to the TV under soft blankets, when Steve reached his arm out behind you, and commanded a soft "C'mere."
You glanced at him, wide-eyed, as adrenaline raced through your body at his request, and you hesitantly scooted towards him a bit. You leaned down your head down gently to rest on his shoulder, but you were still much too far away from him.
Steve pulled you closer to his body, and hooked his other arm under your knees, curling your legs on his lap. You lightly gasped and chuckled nervously at the action, but he just let out a hum of contentment.
You reached an arm across him to hold his side, and nuzzled further into his warm chest. He placed a gentle kiss to your hair, and rested his face on your head, holding you closely to him with both of his arms.
Suddenly, it was really hard to pay attention to the movie. Suddenly, you almost forgot how to breathe. Suddenly, you were so close to Steve, but somehow still too far away. Suddenly, the world paused around you as you felt his soft heartbeat against his chest. Suddenly, nearly all your nerves ceased to exist. Suddenly, Steve felt like home.
The ending credits started to play on the TV screen. You had the nagging urge that you should let go of him, that movie night was over, but you didn't want to move, didn't want to let him ago, wanted this feeling and this warmth to last forever.
He sat up for a moment, and your heart dropped at the loss of his closeness as he grabbed the table from the bed and placed it on the ground.
You pulled away from him, preparing to say goodnight and go back to your own home, when Steve asked, "Where are you going?"
You glanced over to him, lips parted, but didn't respond, didn't know how to.
He took his shirt off, staring at you with soft eyes, and laid back down onto his bed slowly, patting the sheets, motioning for you to join him.
You eagerly did, as you crawled back onto his mattress, laying down next to him. He pulled the blankets over the two of you and pulled you in closer to him with strong arms until your faces were mere inches apart, nearly nose to nose, heads resting on soft pillows.
Steve ran his fingers up and down your back delicately, gazing into your eyes, you gazing back into his own, the only light in the bedroom now coming from the moon through the windows, enough to study the details of each other's faces in comfortable silence.
You traced your fingers along his back, breathing in his intoxicating scent, as he tucked your hair behind your ear and whispered to you, feeling his warm breath on your lips.
"You look so beautiful like this."
No more words needed to be spoken, as the moment the two of you existed in gave you all the answers you ever needed.
He held the back of your head, and with a shaky breath, pressed his mouth against yours gently. His lips felt like silk as you quickly kissed him back, cradling the side of his face with your hand.
He broke the long, drawn out kiss, opening his eyes slowly to stare into your own, as if to make sure it was okay, before doing it again, his fingers splayed messy along your cheek.
You hummed against his mouth, roaming your hand from his chest, up the soft skin of his shoulder, to the nape of his neck, the both of you kissing between heavy sighs, resting your foreheads against the other.
Steve sat up a bit, grasping your face and pulling it to his, kissing you a little harder, a little faster each time, soft inhales between them, and he pulled at your bottom lip, impatient, hungry, asking for more.
You gave into him immediately, eagerly, deepening the kiss and raking your fingers through his soft hair, pulling him into you as tongues collided, desperate but languid.
You whined into him and Steve swallowed the sound, driving him mad and making his breath shudder, licking across your bottom lip and sucking it into his mouth, letting it go with a pop.
You lightly gasped and grasped at the skin of his back, hands heavy all over each other as he tugged you even closer to him, pressing gentle but eager kisses along your jawline. You threw your head back to give him access, and he leaned his face into your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin. His hands roamed up your abdomen but stopped, and you quickly leaned back and pulled your shirt over your head, exposing your chest to him with needy eyes.
Steve groaned, whispering swears as you gave him permission to explore you, cupping your breasts and smoothing his fingers over your nipples as he continued to kiss and suck down your chest, which only made your body fill with heat, needing more.
You sat up and pushed yourself up against him, your lips finding his easily as you wandered your hands down his chest to the waistline of his pants, giving it a small tug.
He hissed against your mouth and broke the kiss, whispering, "Are you sure?"
"Please," you pleaded softly, "want you."
"Fuck," he let out a breathy laugh, "you're gonna kill me, baby."
You kissed along his collarbone, roaming your hands down again, and sighed as you felt his hard length against his leg, lightly stroking it.
Steve groaned at your touch, and frantically pulled his pajamas and boxers down his legs, throwing them to the side and freeing himself. He leaned down towards you again, making you lay flat against the bed, kisses sloppy and needy as he hovered over you, his hand smoothing from your breasts, down your stomach to tug at your own pants.
"Take 'em off." You whined on his lips.
He snaked his fingers in your waistline, and pulled your panties and pajamas down your legs swiftly, tossing them somewhere in the room.
He leaned back from you, lips parted, as he took in the sight of you, cheeks flushed.
You bit your lip and reached for him, desperate to feel his closeness, but Steve had other ideas.
He smoothed his calloused hands up and down your thighs, before spreading them open, murmuring helplessly to himself as he leaned down, pressing open mouthed kisses to the soft skin of your stomach, trailing his mouth down until he was above your heat, making you quiver underneath him.
He slowly traced his fingers down your lower stomach to the apex of your thighs, gently swiping them between your folds, cursing to himself at how wet you were.
You moaned, voice wrecked, arching into Steve's hand, giving yourself to him, a sign of permission.
He lifted a leg up over his shoulder and slowly slipped a finger inside of you, a second joining quickly, hooking inside of you.
You gasped loudly, and he leaned over and pressed his lips back to yours, an attempt to calm your reaction, to soothe you, as he thumbed at your clit, sliding his fingers in and out of you.
You moaned softly, your hands grasping and pulling at his hair, and he hissed at the action, and you took note of how much he liked it.
Steve pressed one more gentle kiss to your swollen lips, before descending down your body, kissing your heat and removing his thumb, replacing it with his tongue as he swirled it around your clit heavy, taking it into his mouth and sucking on it greedily.
You grinded against his face, coming undone and moaning a mixture of his name and expletives as your orgasm took a hold of you quickly, Steve humming against your heat, working you through your high until you were a panting mess.
He pulled his fingers out of you, sitting up slowly and placing them in his mouth, sucking on them and groaning at the taste of you.
"Good girl," he praised you through whispers, kneading his thumbs into the plush of your thighs, "you did so good."
You huffed, sitting up, your legs trembling and took his hard length into your hand, stroking it and kissing him desperately.
His breath stuttered against your lips as your grip tightened around him, hissing as Steve grabbed your wrist to stop you.
"Sweetheart," his voice was strained, husky, "if you do that, I'm not gonna last long."
His palms smoothed up and down your sides, then groped your breasts, making your breath hitch.
"Me neither," your voice thick with emotion, "need you."
"Sh, okay, I got you baby girl."
Steve laid you back down on the bed gingerly, and just as you thought he was going to hover over you, he laid down next to you, pulling you close to him, face to face, and lifted your leg to rest on his hip.
"Need you close. Okay?" He looked in your eyes, glazed over with lust.
You nodded, breath shaky, cradling his jaw with your hand as you felt his bare length press against your wet heat, squirming for friction. He snaked his arms under yours to hold you tight, his left hand on your lower back, his right grasping your ass.
He shifted his hips to align himself with your entrance, sucked in a sharp inhale, and pushed himself inside of you.
You both gasped loudly at the feeling, clutching at each other desperately, and Steve kissed you, swallowing your moans as he continued to inch inside of you, pushing in and out of you slowly until your walls took him in fully, his cock disappearing inside you completely.
Your bodies were flushed, skin warm as you felt him stretch you out every place you needed so badly, massaging your inner walls, the both of you in a state of utter bliss, euphoria and love, your lips kissing lazy and sloppy against each other, your slick making it easy for him to rock into you at a pace that wasn't too slow, wasn't too fast, but was amazingly deep and romantic.
You whimpered into his mouth as Steve continued to fuck into you, making him snap his hips into your spongy spot abruptly, and the both of you cursed, moaning each other's names, your voices stuttering, and your tongues gliding over each other messy.
Steve wasn't going to last long, you could tell by the way he bit back his moans, the beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, his hips jerking as you felt his length grow even harder inside of you.
Thankfully, you were on the edge too- heat beginning to pool in your lower back, your muscles tightening, goosebumps spreading across your skin as he continued to hit that delicious spot inside of you, the friction of his trail of body hair rubbing against your clit with each thrust, making you lose composure.
You raked your hands through his soft, mussed hair and tugged, earning a moan from him as he pressed open mouthed kisses along your jaw and neck, and Steve smiled against your skin when your walls tightened around him, getting the hint.
"You gonna cum?" He panted through thrusts, his voice gravelly.
"Me- jesus christ- me too," he rasped, "cum with me, please, you look so pretty-"
His words were enough to send you over the edge as the world crashed around you, tears prodding at your eyes as your gut tightened and shockwaves gripped every inch of your skin, your orgasm bursting within you.
Steve felt you tighten and pulse around him as he rocked into you through your high, kissing you feverishly along your cheek and neck. The sound of your voice when you cried out his name made him bite down on your shoulder.
His hips stuttered and with a few more deep, powerful thrusts, his vision blurred as he spilled himself deep inside of you, groaning against your mouth as you kissed him sweetly until his movements stilled.
You slumped into each other, your limbs liquid, as the both of you tried to catch your breath. Steve pressed his forehead against yours, eyes hooded and heavy, skin warm and sticky, feeling lightheaded, and you both let out a breathy laugh of relief, a content sigh, as if this is what the two of you should have been doing all along.
You both held each other this way for a while, in comfortable silence, enjoying the closeness of each other's presence, the warmth and coziness of one another's bodies, hands smoothing over hair and skin, lips kissing the other's softly until you both finally caught your breath.
Steve eventually slid himself out of you with an exhale, and you shuddered at the loss. He pulled you in tightly to him, cradling you, limbs entangled and he rubbed circles into your cheek.
"Can I talk first?" He asked in a hushed voice.
You nodded, pursing your lips.
"I trust you. I know you. And I don't want anyone but you."
You beamed at him, tears glossing over your eyes, your heart blooming.
You lightly gasped at his confession, and he waited patiently for your response.
You kissed him, long and drawn out before speaking.
You nodded eagerly, "Really."
"Good." Another sigh of relief.
"So," you traced your fingers along his back, "What happens now?"
Steve chuckled, "Now? Now, you're mine," he cradled the side of your face, "you don't work for me. You're my girl. You're mine."
You smiled, and you could've died happy right then and there.
"And I want to give you everything."
