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cupofjoekeery · 2 days ago

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first date

wc: 3.5k

summary: After being dragged to a bar by your friends you end up meeting Steve. It doesn't take long for you to fall head over heels for him whilst sharing fries and milkshakes.

cw: r shorter than Steve, drinking alcohol, r can be picked up by Steve, shy!reader, so cutie fluffy lovey dovey!!!!!

a/n: i have writers block ik i just did a date fic but it is what it is.

The first time you saw Steve was at a small quiet bar, one that wasn't filled to the brim with people. It was the only way your friends could convince you to get out– going to a lame bar that sold boring drinks. You weren't a party girl and that much was obvious the way you hid in the corner. Your friends all spread around the bar somehow finding a guy to take up their attention. Whether it was actual lust or a way to get a free drink you don't know, but you don't get much time to think about it once you feel a pair of eyes on you.

Turning your head to try and look at who it is watching you. When you finally catch him he is quick to look down, then turning his head back to his group of friends. He has two girls across from him and you think one of them must be his girlfriend, both too pretty to not be taken. Maybe you should tell them how their boyfriend has wandering eyes. You would want to know if your boyfriend was doing that.

Ignoring his eyes that are back on you, somehow burning through your clothes– a tight dress your friends forced you into. And yeah, maybe you should be going to guys and getting free drinks, but it wasn't something that came easily to you. Without fail your cheeks would burn red and the stuttering that came with it was never attractive. Is it really so hard to believe that you don't want to waste your Friday night trying to mesh with some stranger? Picking them apart to see if they are worth your time but still taking them home even when they're not.

The chair you're sitting on spins in a circle and it’s honestly doing wonders for your anxious mind, going in a soothing back and forth motion, legs dangling from how high it is to meet the bar. When you accidentally spin yourself too hard you see the guy still looking at you. But this time he lets out a laugh, and it slips out like he couldn't contain himself. It’s great how he hasn't even gotten to talk to you and you're already embarrassed with a red hue to your cheeks. Quickly turning yourself so your back meets his eyes and you stop spinning, yelling at yourself for starting that in the first place. Why do they have seats like this anyways?

You’re only on your second drink, nursing it a little too long that now the ice has mostly melted ruining the flavor a little bit. When you go to drink it, not wanting to waste your money, you almost choke on the watered down drink when the guy who won't stop staring at you is standing a few chairs away. His arms are resting against the bars counter and you can smell his cologne.

His presence surprised you but you’re quick to not show it. You might have profiled him wrong, if he was dating one of those girls you doubt he would be so close to you right in front of them.

“D’you want another drink?” He asks, and this time you can actually look at his face for more than a few seconds.

“Oh, um, sure. Thank you.” You give a light smile. Not wanting to give an impression that you are willing to give into him so easily. Perhaps that's what your friends were so quick to do, letting any guy who comes near with a nice smile and a paid drink stay to sit and talk.

“You don't come here often do you?” It’s asked after a quick order to the bartender and a beat of silence.

“Is it that obvious?” You ask, hoping the stress you get from his question isn't apparent on your face. “My friends dragged me here but I would rather be at home and they would rather be at a better bar.”

You don't know why you told him all of that, a simple yes or no would have sufficed. It might be the fact that your friends all left you so you haven't talked to anyone in a while. Or it could be that he’s really pretty and you actually would like to waste your time with him.

“Maybe just a little. You’re not having fun?”

“I appreciate my friend's effort but I am sitting here alone after all.” Your sentence ends with a small shrug.

His head tilts and it makes you blush, a small strand of hair falling on his forehead from the action.

“You’re not alone, you're with me.”

You’re not even sure what to say to that but luckily you don't have to answer, a girl with dark curly hair is walking up to the two of you.

“Eddie is making us play darts, did you wanna join?” She doesn't bother looking at you when she asks.

Steve however, is only looking at you. “Do you want to play?” He asks.

Your eyes widen a little at his question. You’ve only just met him and now he's inviting you to his big friend group that stays together at bars. It must be nice to go to a bar and not have anyone be taken away by men. Just sitting together playing darts in your own little bubble.

“Um, no thank you.” You give a polite smile with your head shake.

“We're good, thanks though.” He says as he finally turns his head towards the girl. It must be enough of an answer as she walks back to the table.

“If you want we could go somewhere else if you're not having fun here?” This earns an immediate nose scrunch from you. He doesn't say it in any weird suggestive tone but you've heard enough guys say it that your reaction is quick.

He must somehow understand your reaction as he explains himself. “Just for a bite to eat or something. Or we could walk around the block?” His hand is tapping along the counter and you think he might be just as nervous as you are.

After a second of thinking you agree. “Okay, that sounds nice.”

He laughs as you hop off the stool you were slightly still spinning on. “Which part the food or the walk?”

“Um, both?” If he wasn't so close to you he might not have heard it. Now that you aren't sitting face to face with him he realizes that you aren't nearly as tall as him.

“Let’s go then.” His hand goes to the small of your back, letting you go before him and it immediately burns through your dress.

Before you open the door a loud whistle is heard from his friends. “Look at Steve go, taking a girl home!” Says a guy with long dark hair.

The guy you now know to be Steve looks back at you with a small flush to his face and a tight lipped smile. One that says ‘let's get out of here quick’.

Despite being behind you his arm stretches out to push the door open and you both walk out. It’s warmer outside than it was in the bar, not enough hot bodies to fill it up.

“Let’s go get food first and then see how we feel about that walk yeah?” You nod and begin to follow him. You don’t know where you’re going but the way his feet go towards a direction so confidently makes you think he’s been there before. It’s not lost on you that this may not be your smartest idea to follow some guy around but Steve has a specific type of charm about him.

Still your countless hours of crime shows tell you to ask. “Where are we going?” Again it comes out so quiet.

“There's a nice diner on the next block over, it’s got like, everything ever. Thought it would be a good place for us to eat.” He says with a smile. You two are so close and his hand keeps brushing against yours and every few steps your shoulder touches his arm. But nothing happens and before you know it the bright sign of the diner is right in front of you.

Steve opens the door for you again but this time you thank him for it. When a hostess comes to the front Steve is quick to put up two fingers letting her know how many people. She simply nods her head and sits the two of you at a table. It’s small but you’re not starving so it’s fine.

Steve orders a milkshake and you get a coke. You’re still feeling a little something from the drinks you had at the bar but nothing to make you incoherent. The short table forces your knees to slot between Steves, every so often touching each other.

“Can you tie a knot with your tongue?” Steve asks as he eats the cherry from his milkshake.

“No, I have like, no fun tricks.”

“C’mon you gotta have something. Can you cross your eyes?” He says it as he sticks the stem into his mouth, working on tying it up.

“No.” You look so sad that you don't have something fun and before Steve can try to cheer you up your eyes widen. “Oh I can make a taco with my tongue!” You explain and proceed to show him. You can't smile while doing the trick but the way your eyes move shows him you are trying to.

“There you go! See you do have fun tricks.” He grabs the stem from his mouth and shows you that he tied it.

“How do you learn to do that?” It happened with his mouth closed so it’s not like he could learn by watching it happen.

“I dunno, I was just playing with a cherry one day and I did it.” He shrugs. You're leaning your head against your palm as you watch him and Steve wishes he could kiss you.

“Have I told you yet that you’re really pretty?”

His question catches you completely off guard. A fuzzy feeling fills you up as you grin. “No, not yet.” You say shaking your head lightly.

“Well you’re really pretty, and I'm glad you let me drag you out of that bar.”

The giggle you let out almost stops Steve's heart then and there. It sounds so sweet and gentle, something he could never get tired of hearing.

“You’re really pretty too and you didn't drag me out, I went with you willingly.” Now your pink pouty lips are on the straw slurping on your coke, are you trying to kill him?

“Well you’re a way better time than the losers I was hanging out with.” And thank god you stopped drinking your coke because he slipped his hand with yours and that would have been the second time he made you choke on a drink.

When the waiter comes by to ask about food his thumb is still drawing light circles across your knuckles, unwavering from his position even when handing her the menu. You two decide to share fries, not too hungry mainly wanting somewhere to sit and talk that wasn't the bar.

The conversation between you stays strong, both of you having something to say barely leaving space for silence. It’s nice and even when you finish the fries he doesn't try to leave. Now you're sitting with one leg over the other, however, your ankle is resting on his leg. He moves his hand from your hand to your ankle and the lazy patterns remain. When he laughs he gives your leg a small squeeze and you can already tell when you leave you're going to miss his hand on you. A comforting weight that feels normal, like something that's been there for forever.

A lengthy few hours have passed since you first started talking to Steve at the bar which means the diner is closing soon. When you get up from your seat and Steve reaches for the receipt you notice a photobooth in the corner of the restaurant.

“Steve! Look!” You don't give him any hints on what he should be looking at but he figures it out pretty quickly once you walk towards it.

He follows only a few steps behind you as you look inside to see if it still works. It has a decent curtain that actually covers the people inside, when you come out the big smile on your face tells him it’s in perfect condition.

“You wanna take pictures?” If Steve was being honest by the way you said his name he was hooked. Ready to do anything you asked of him. He’ll take 40 pictures with you if that's what you want.

“Can we?” If this date is going as well as he thinks it is, he can see himself in 10 years still never saying no to you.

“Yeah, cmon.” When he finally opens the curtains his smile slightly falters. The seat is extremely small and you're quick to notice his mood change.

“What’s wrong?” The worry you feel is written all over your face and Steve already wants to kick himself for letting you feel that way.

“No, nothing, it’s just small in here.” He says it as he sits down and you realize he’s right. It really only fits one person unless two small people are okay being squished together.

“Can I sit on your lap?”

Steve can feel that he’s not very good at hiding a shocked face. You’ve been so shy all night that your request catches him off guard.

“Yeah, come sit angel.” He says, patting his lap.

It’s like he knows that anything he does will get a reaction from you, he plans them at the evilest times.

When you sit he immediately wraps his arms around you. His body radiates heat and his cologne surrounds you in the best way. You start tapping the screen getting it going, a second longer and you might explode in here with his arms around you.

“Oh I need a dollar.” When you turn your head to look at him his face is mere inches away from yours. You know you’re not being sneaky when you switch between his eyes and his lips but at this moment you really don't care.

Steve lifts both of you up slightly, his arm still around you as he pulls his wallet from his pocket. It’s a quick motion but then he hands you his wallet. The intrusive thought of taking it and running flashes through your mind like a horrible idea that would certainly not get you a second date. But he was the one giving his wallet to a stranger. You guess you aren't really strangers anymore but when you leave this restaurant who knows if you will ever see him again.

You pick a dollar out of his wallet but let's just say you saw a few more bills than a dollar in there. Leaning over to slide it into the machine you hear a noise come out of Steve. But before you can ask if he’s okay the screen yells out numbers.

“Oh shit okay, ready?” He asks with a laugh. Both of you jumped at the loud sound.

“Not really but maybe smiles first?” Steve didn't even get a second to agree, the clock already counting down to let you know the camera was about the flash.

The first pose is both of you smiling, the second is you leaning your head on his shoulder, and the third is him kissing your cheek. It’s surprisingly a perfect set of photos despite the lack of communication. You don't give yourself a second to register his kiss on your cheek. The first time he has ever kissed you and it's captured perfectly on camera.

“Do we like?” You ask as the row of photos show on the screen.

“We like.” Steve says with a nod.

Leaning over again you press print on the screen and Steve gives you a light tap on your thigh. All this moving you're doing is not only making your dress ride up but it’s causing Steve issues. He didn't think having a pretty girl on his lap for 2 minutes would give him half a boner but here we are.

When you jump out of the booth and pick up the pictures Steve can hear your gasp.

“They look really good! And look, we got two.” You say as you examine the picture closer.

“Course they look good, we're the hottest people here.” He says as he gives the crown of your head a kiss. Your back is leaning against him and he has to be careful you don't feel anything.

When you look up and give him a playful eye roll he wishes even more that he would pin you up against the photo booth. The little thoughts of sweet kisses only reserved for the table you were previously sitting at. Each minute that passes your shy behavior fades and Steve is only getting more and more obsessed with you.

When you hear the loud lock of the kitchen doors you are quickly reminded that the restaurant is closing and they probably are waiting for you two to leave. It also lets you know that your fun night with Steve is nearing its end.

Both of you get the hint and walk out of the restaurant, hand in hand. It’s almost 12 am and you’re now on the sidewalk with Steve. You have a slight fear that he will ask you to come home with him, ruining the gentleman persona he put on.

“So, am I able to get your number or do you hate me and never wanna see me again?” Steve asks, pulling you closer into him.

“Hmm, I guess I could give you my number.” You’re gleaming right now and Steve sees it. It must be spreading to him the way the smile transfers to his face.

“Oh you guess?” His smile is so nice, everything about him is nice. He’s practically perfect.

You take a pen from out of your purse and grab the photo booth picture from his hand. Using the window of the restaurant you write your name and number on the back of the photo. Steve wonders if this is what hitting the lottery must feel like.

“So you’ll call me?”

“Yeah if I get bored or something I can give you a call.” This earns Steve a light hit on his arm and you a loud laugh from Steve. One you haven't heard yet but hope to hear more of. You hope to learn everything about him.

Both of you walk back to the bar, your respective cars still parked there. Unlike the walk to the restaurant your hands are intertwined the whole walk. You wonder if Steve will go home or stay with his friends. Playing a round of darts he didn't get to play earlier because you declined. All your friends left with the guys they picked at the bar which left you alone, there was no reason to stay. Unless Steve asked you to, that is.

Even then your social battery has been long overused, not used to long nights of talking to pretty boys or going to diners at 11pm at night. Steve might be surprised how unusual this night has been for you once he gets to know you more. Your weekend plans mainly consist of baking and reading, basically the complete opposite of this long winded night.

When you make it back to the parking lot silence finally falls between the two of you. Neither of you want to say goodbye quite yet so you say nothing at all.

“Are you gonna go back to your friends? I kinda stole you from your night out.”

“Nope, I think half of them left.” His head turns as he looks around for their car that was parked next to his. “And you can steal me anytime you want. I see them way too much anyways.”

“Okay, well I should probably head home.” You say as you start swinging your hand that's interlocked with his.

“Yeah, it’s late huh?” He uses his other free hand to grab onto your waist pulling you closer to him.

You decide to take the extra step of resting your chin against his chest looking up at him. Letting out a small hum in agreement but neither of you move. Steve should earn a million dollars for having the restait to not kiss you then and there. Instead he settles for a small kiss on your forehead.

Both of you have smiles that are stitched to your face and a warm feeling that won't go away even when you get home. A feeling that only comes when meeting someone new. The act of wanting to spend every hour together, learning all the likes and dislikes of the other person. As Steve walks you to your car it’s all you can think about.

Steve doesn't even get into his car until he sees your own turning at the light. Too stuck in a moment of pure bliss. Already thinking of what your next date will be and what he should say when he calls you tomorrow. Because he already misses your presence and he doesn't know if he can make it another day without seeing you.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #steve harrington fluff

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cupofjoekeery · 10 days ago

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GLITZ & GLAMOUR & GLOOM

boss!harry castillo x assistant!reader

chapter one — job no. 12

synopsis — you’ve quit your job and you now need something new. however your job interview with the expensive looking man is more confusing than it needs to be. sugar daddy!harry AU

word count — 3.5K

warning tags — nothing crazy for this chapter. 18+ for eventual smut. slight insecurity from the reader. talks about money issues.

series masterlist

You were so done with being poor.

That’s what you told yourself as you handed in your two weeks notice at your current–well, former now–job, ignoring your scowling boss, looking at you like a crazy person. You avoided his sharp eye contact, swivelling your head as you turned to exit through the creaking door.

“I hope you know what you’re doing!” He yelled back at you, his degrading voice vibrating off the walls of the room. Cringing, you darted out of the room, before he could spit anymore fire at you.

In all honesty, you had no idea what you were doing. You had hours, your coworkers were generally friendly, but you could not deal with one more measly paycheck, barely leaving you with any spare savings after every dime was spent on rent. New York was expensive and your degree felt more and more underused every day, with your time exclusively dedicated to organising grown men, who couldn’t tell their left foot from their right.

While you had a love hate relationship with being an assistant, it was time to get out of this job.

Briskly walking through the halls of your office, you quietly sat back behind your desk, feeling the burning gaze of your coworkers. You know what they think. Silly girl with silly dreams of more in the big city. It didn’t seem so silly before.

Now, as you try to remember your to-do list, you busy yourself back into your laptop screen, typing LinkedIn into the search bar.

“So, you finally did it.”

Yelping, you spin around in shock, completely unaware of your deskmate you had snuck up behind you. She flashed a kind smile, showing off perfectly white teeth, and sat down beside you. Her presence was usually friendly, however you couldn’t deal with any questions at this moment in time. “Yeah, hey, Marlene. She’s all handed in. In two weeks, I’m gone”

Marlene squeals, throwing her arms around you, squeezing you tight to her warm chest. “I’m so proud of you. I couldn’t imagine leaving here without a plan or new job lined up. You’re so brave.”

You grimace at her back-handed words, pushing them to the back of your mind. “Thanks, sweetheart. If you know of any assistant jobs going, please let me know.” You shake her limbs away from her body, giving her a tight lipped smile.

You aren’t sure if she replies, but she does leave you alone. You aren’t the closest of friends with Marlene, however you do appreciate her presence in the office. You were aware of her fortunate financial situation, seemingly able to afford luxury goods, like a Prada handbag one week, and a Gucci scarf the next. Most days, she eats out, always coming to work the next day with an eloquent story on the latest restaurant she had visited. Her hands remained freshly manicured, always patched as soon as any nail got chipped.

You were slightly envious.

You were aware that both you and Marlene were on the same salary, both being personal assistants to the financial managers. She must’ve had a second job, you think every time she comes in to work with a smile on her face. There’s no way she could be that happy tailing a pretentious, stuck-up piece of work for eight hours a day.

Unfortunately for you, your financial situation was slightly dire. The cost of living in New York City was becoming increasingly a problem, barely able to scrape by each week. Your tiny apartment ran cold most nights, unable to find the spare change to flick on the heating. The fridge was bare most weeks, besides from the odd condiment bottle and slab of butter.

It was not a glamorous lifestyle at all.

Marlene wanders off, seemingly done with the conversation. There was no point asking her for help. You sigh and stare back at your screen.

Maybe you need a new profile picture?

––––––

Staring out the window, you notice how the sun has already left the sky, with beautiful orange flecks reflecting off the little clouds. It was late and you have yet to let yourself finish your day. LinkedIn was a bust, with no one in your network of peers looking for any new assistants, so you decided that maybe you’d go back to study.

Scrolling through the course page of a nearby institution, you once again didn’t notice the presence behind you until it was too late.

“So, I was thinking–”

“Jesus, Marlene!”

“–and I may have thought of a job for you.”

You wince at her strange wording. Screwing your eyes up, you bring your fingers to your temples, soothing the frustrating seeping out of your pores. You were exhausted. The only thing on your mind was an ice cold margarita and your fluffy bed socks. “What kind of job is it?”

Marlene pauses, finding her words on the tip of her tongue. The delay worries you. “It’s an assistant job.”

You cock an eyebrow. “You sure? You seem unsure about that.”

“It’s just–” Marlene trails off, peeking around the room to see if anyone was listening. It was silly of her; everyone had left hours ago. “It’s not your regular assistant job.”

You roll your eyes, sick of her discrete behaviour. Standing up, you begin packing up your things, placing your worn books and pens away in your satchel, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t have time for this, Marlene. Just send me an email.”

Before you could walk away, you feel the light pressure of hands against your arms, holding you back. Squealing, you turn back to Marlene. “Marlene, st–”

“It’ll pay really well.”

“I–” You pause, unable to find the words to stop Marlene. Sighing, you give her a small smile, shaking your head in exasperation. “Fine. Hit me.”

Marlene grins widely, gesturing for you to sit with her once more. Her nails tap against the desk excitedly, waves of positivity oozing out of her. Hastedly, Marlene removes her phone from her pocket, pulling up an email. Suspiciously, she scrolls down to just the end of the email, and turns her phone screen so you can see the words in front of you. You pout in confusion.

Castillo Finance

Area of Expertise – Administration

Job title – Job no. 12

Marlene rambles away, as you try to read at the same. “I’ll send an email to my girl, because I know the lovely lady that works there– of course, I’ll need to explain it some more. It’s a bit different, but you’ll be fine. Oh, you’ll just love it. We can see each other more. Oh, I can’t wait!”

“Marlene, just wait–” She stops her spew of word vomit as you speak, flashing a smile.

“Yes?”

“What kind of administrative job?”

“It’s, uh– personal assistant! Very similar to what you do now.”

You don’t believe her and she knows that, but Marlene waves away your concerns. “You just head there tomorrow and tell the front desk you’re there to apply for “Job no. 12”, they’ll sort out everything for you.”

Job no. 12.

You squint as you check the address on your phone. Private equity. Now that’s a new one for you. Staring up at the towering building in front of you, you fear you have bitten off more than you can chew. You believe Marlene now when she said that this would pay well. The building is massive, easily one of the tallest in the area. Large windows stand up to the sky, presenting clean and glorious views into the foyer of the building.

Nervously, you walk through the doors and take in the expensive sights. Everything is pristine. The granite floors sparkle as you clack your shoes against the stone. Plush furnishings on the couches and throws light up the room, appearing as though it could be out of a magazine.

You walk up to the front desk, voice small, as you flash a smile to the administrator sitting behind the desk. She’s beautiful, with clean clothes and perfect makeup. If you saw her walking down the street, you’d assume she was a supermodel. You weren’t aware that real people looked like that. Coughing to clear your throat, you capture her attention.

Flicking her head up, she peers at you from over the top of her cat-eye glasses, staring at you like you were her lunch. You gulped as she spoke. “Can I help you, sweetheart?”

“Uh,” you pull out your email, staring at what Marlene had forwarded you. It wasn’t the same email she showed you in the office–for some reason, she never let you see the full email–but a new email, with the confirmation of your job interview. In the subject line, it had today’s date with an identification number. “I have an interview for job number twelve? My ID number is 478.”

The lady scoffed, turning back to her computer. You swear you could hear her mutter under her breath, but you couldn’t make out any words she said. However, it did seem unfriendly and calculated. She reads out your name and looks back at you, disapprovingly.

“Yes, that’s me.” You confirm your identity, shoving away any feelings of insecurity that were beginning to creep up on you as you watched the supermodel stare you up and down. She was most certainly judging how you looked.

Miss Supermodel, as you’ve decided to call her, scowls but nods her head. “Take the elevator to the right. Go to floor twenty four. Someone will direct you from there.” She waves you hand away, sending you off into the wild.

Unsure of whether to thank her or not, you decide on a polite nod, and make your way into the elevator, pressing the 24 button. Just as your fingers go to press the close button, you notice a man from the distance heading towards the elevator. Politely, you press your hand to the cool metal of the door, keeping the doors from closing and cutting him off.

As the man approaches, he notices the open door, and widens his eyes at the polite gesture. Grateful, he offers a small nod as he gets in, standing next to you, without trying to take up too much room in the elevator.

You grin to yourself. Trying not to stare at the man before you, you can’t help but rake your eyes over his body. He’s built strongly, an easy six feet tall. His eyes are warm and dark, like melting chocolate, begging you to just stare in, and fall deep into the pools of blackness. His clothes are clean and fancy, definitely something designer. He must be important, you think to yourself.

“Thank you for holding the door.” He offers, and you let yourself feel happy for a moment. It’s not like you care about what a random man in an elevator thinks about you, but something about making this specific man happy sets your insides alive. Without taking up too much space, he presses the 25 button, and returns to his original posture. Taking a quick peek at you, he clears his throat. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

You turn to look at the kind man next to you. He’s staring directly back, his eye contact strong and dominant, like he owns the place. It makes your heart flutter. “I’m here for a job interview.”

He smiles and turns away. “Ah.” The elevator goes quiet again as it reaches your floor, opening the doors onto floor twenty four. Just as you step out, you hear a quiet voice call out to you.

“Good luck.”

As you turn back, the elevator doors have already closed, and you are unsure if you had imagined it or not. Shrugging, you continue towards the front desk.

The lady behind the desk is, just like Miss Supermodel, absolutely beautiful. Her clothes are also designer, with not a single hair or thread out of place. She looks like she came directly out of a Vogue magazine.

Biting your lip, you open your mouth to speak, but are interrupted by a pitchy, male voice behind you. “Andrea, I need your help.”

The man pushes you aside, nearly tumbling to the ground, as you watch the show in front of you. A man, not older than thirty, but already going bald, is red in the face, his hands full of binders. He’s frantic as he pulls out what seems to be a contract, and shoves it into the lady’s–Andrea’s–face.

“Where’s Mr Castillo?” His voice comes out in exhausted gasps, like he’s just ran a marathon. However, by your calculations, he couldn’t have run more than one hundred feet.

Andrea shrugs, obviously annoyed by this mousy man and his antics. “Which Mr Castillo are we talking about, Sanders? Surely you can understand my confusion, as this is Castillo Finance.”

Sanders scowls at Andrea, pulling back the sheet of paper with a huff. “My boss Mr Castillo, genius. Have you seen him, or do I need a competent administrator to understand what’s relevant in the conversation?”

“I haven’t seen him today, Sanders, now get these contracts out of my face and maybe check his office.” She blinks at him like he’s a child. “On a different floor.”

Aggressively, Sanders gathers his office equipment and heads past the door, staring daggers at you as he leaves. You believe he must not have appreciated the eavesdropping, however you’ll never say no to free entertainment. Collecting yourself, you approach the desk once again, and go to speak. Andrea, however, interrupts you. “How can I help?”

Without thinking, you blurt out, “I’m sorry he talks to you like that,” before immediately regretting what you said. The air goes thick with tension, as Andrea stares back at you, eyes of glass.

“He’s a dick.” She says plainly, making a giggle slip from your lips. She smiles back, before composing herself, and returning to her professional self. “Now, what can I help you with?” She repeats herself, coughing as she watches you stutter.

“I’m here for a job interview.” You speak plainly, pulling up your phone once again. You give her your name and wait for Andrew to finish finding what she needs on her computer. All of a sudden, she stops cold, turning back towards you slowly. Her face runs white.

“You’re applying for “Job no. 12”?” Her voice comes out in a small whisper, which presses confusion into your brain. You couldn’t help but think ‘what the hell is so wrong with this job?’

You clear your throat. “Yes.” You pause. “Have I done something wrong?

“Of course not!” Andrea’s voice escapes in a cool laugh, but you can help but notice how forced it is. “It’s just, it’s a word of mouth job, and I’m just,” she looks you up and down like you said something crazy, or if you’ve worn something wrong, “confused.”

“It's a personal assistant job… am I wrong?”

Andrea looks back at you plainly. There must be some information you are missing here. You simply can’t understand why she is looking at you like you’ve got something on your face. “I guess so.” She eventually speaks, however her words are too plain for your liking. “I mean, yeah, sure, it’s a personal assistant role.”

Andrea stands, wandering over to a nearby office, muttering under her breath words you just barely catch. “Personal assistant job, pfft, it’s definitely a personal kind of assisting.” Opening the door, you watch as she says something to one of her coworkers.

For the third time today, you are met with one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen. Furrowing your brows, you observe how the two women whisper to themselves, before the new girl nods towards you, inviting you to join their discussion.

The new lady speaks at you, her voice so quiet you could almost miss it. “Who sent you this job?” She mutters.

You can’t believe the question. “My old co-worker, Marlene Beauregard.”

The two ladies gasp and turn to each other, a small smile whispering across their lips.

Andrea speaks up first. “And she told you…” She trails off, expecting you to finish her sentence.

“She told me that she knew of a personal assistant job for me–this “job number twelve”–and set up the interview with me.” You pause. “What’s going on?”

The new lady quirks a smile. “Nothing at all. I’ll call Harry. You’re going to be late for your interview.”

––––––

You stare forward at the third lady as she pours over your CV. Her office is sleek, but small, organised so as much furniture as possible can be squashed into the same space. The walls are a crisp egg shell white, with a luxurious window sitting behind her, overlooking the city. Across her desk is a name plate.

Liza Brown. Human Relations Coordinator.

She hums gently. “Impressive.” She licks her fingers and turns to the second page of your CV, another agreeable sound coming from her mouth. “Studied at NYU, very chic. Journalism, very trendy. This is a glowing recommendation–”

Liza takes your CV and holds it up to the light. For some reason.

“How long were you in your old role?”

You sigh. “Four years, but it was time to move on. They didn’t pay me very well and I wanted to use my degree.”

Liza smirks. “So, you are applying for a personal assistant role again? That’s not very investigative journalism of you.”

“I need a job.” You say plainly.

“So,” She eyes you up, “you thought job number twelve was the job for you?”

“Why does everyone–”

However, your words are cut off as the door swings open, and elevator man walks in, frantically rubbing down his blazer jacket. “Sorry I’m late, was on a call and–”

He interrupts himself as he looks at you, with recognition in his eyes. They’re just as warm and inviting as they were half an hour ago, except this time, there was a spark of something else in there. “It’s you.”

“It’s me.” You repeat, not breaking eye contact with him.

Liza interrupts, her voice laced with confusion. “Do you two know each other?”

“No–” Elevator man says plainly, turning away from you and making his way to the other side of Liza’s desk. “We simply met earlier, however, I do believe formal introductions are in order.”

He extends his hand out to you. “Harry Castillo.”

You take his hand and say your name, which he repeats slowly and surely, like he was trying to memorise the way it sounded in his mouth. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Liza writing something down at her desk.

Once again, Liza interrupts, coughing to capture Harry’s attention. “She’s here about job number twelve?”

Harry looks alarmed. “Job number twelve? The g–”

“The personal assistant role.” Liza cuts him off, her voice harsh, like she’s speaking a different language.

Harry furrows his eyebrows. “But I al–”

Liza presses again. “The personal assistant job. Job number twelve is for a personal assistant role. Your personal assistant.” She grasps your CV in her hand and tosses it towards his chest. “Look over it.”

Just then you realise she had scribbled some writing across your CV, however you can’t make out any distinct words before Harry turns away from both of you, his eyes scanning the paper. When he turns back, his eyes have lost friendliness. “Ms Brown? A word.”

You watch sheepishly as they exit the office. Unfortunately, the room is soundproof, unable to make out any words from their frantic conversation. It isn’t until they both enter the room again that you feel slightly calmer.

Harry stalks you like prey, his eyes scanning you up and down.

He’s studying you.

Finally, he speaks, his voice calm.

“Can you start in two weeks?”

You exhale a breath you weren’t even aware you were holding. Somehow, you had gotten a job, without barely trying. You couldn’t understand your luck. In the back of your head, you knew something was off, but in that moment, you couldn’t find it in you to care.

However you stop yourself. Dread fills you. You didn’t have a job for the next two weeks. You couldn’t possibly afford two weeks out of work. Your smile drops from your face, something that Harry doesn’t miss.

“Is there a problem?” He says it warmly, with genuine concern in his voice.

You sigh, frowning. “Two weeks? Is there any possible way I can start earlier?”

Harry seems confused. “Earlier? Why’s that?”

“I’m currently out of work and I–”

He understands, immediately cutting you off, focusing his attention onto Liza.

“Take down her information and get her onto payroll immediately. Talk with payroll and make sure she gets an advance check of two weeks of pay.” He looks you up and down. “And add on a bonus. Maybe a grand?”

You gasp, unsure of what to say. Before you can even manage any words, Harry winks, speaking softly under his voice. “Buy yourself some new clothes, something cute, and I’ll see you in two weeks.”

------

a/n – okay so i haven't published fanfiction for soooo long–since the incident we don't speak of–so i apologise if this is kinda rusty, however i enjoy writing it.

tag list – @joeldjarin @moyavsemoya @glitterspark @ro-nahime-things @throttlepascal @umadirectioner @roslynsworld @morganlolitta @isa942572

#harry castillo #harry castillo x reader #harry castillo smut #harry castillo fluff #harry castillo angst #pedro pascal

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cupofjoekeery · 12 days ago

Text

BAD COMPANY | steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: steve and you are forced to face the tensions of your almost-friendship in a trip he did not plan to join.

word count: 3.4k

kinda friends to lovers | no use of y/n | no mentions of specific race, hair type or body type.

warnings: this one shot and the content i write are +18, minors do NOT interact. a bit of angst, lots and lots of yearning. unprotected p in v. a bit of rough sex but nothing crazy. eddie is not good in this btw mention of platonic steddie. use of drugs (weed).

author’s note: well hello everyone :) i know i haven’t been here in forever but I wanted to write something and thought about this this morning. let me know what you think x

[dividers by @inklore & @cafekitsune]

Steve knew it was wrong; he just didn’t know what part exactly. He felt the knife of shame twisting in his stomach, sitting a few steps behind you in the shade while you looked at the waves in the distance. You hadn’t said much since you two arrived at the island, keeping to yourself in pretty contemplation, thinking God knows what, but he could imagine what perfectly. He felt so guilty for it, the way you were barely eating, the forced smiles you gave him after every failed attempt to cheer you up. Now you sat in silence once again, and it was killing him, maybe he was just trying to take responsibility for something he hadn’t done. He felt like shit because maybe he just pitied you, the poor girl who had been cheated by her long-term boyfriend. His best friend.

Well, he wasn’t anymore, was he? Not after he had been the one to find out and tell you the truth. No, despite the fact they grew up together, Eddie would never call him again. He would never make plans with him after Thanksgiving dinner, or get ridiculously drunk on the 4th of July, chilling by the Harrington’s pool. There will never be more summers of talking about the most philosophically useless bullshit while smoking some of Eddie’s stash in the garden, until feeling sleepy enough to nap next to each other under the sun. They would never catch up at the closest bar from his apartment to talk about work, you on one side of the booth while Eddie’s arm is around you and Steve is on the other side, trying not to stare at the way the colours of the stained-glass window reflect on your cheekbone. None of those precious things would ever happen again, and maybe not because of Eddie, but because of him.

‘Hello, you two.’ A young woman smiled at both of you, she was wearing a swimsuit under a long shirt, holding a pack of flyers on her hand. ‘Are you enjoying the island?’

You looked behind your shoulder to look at Steve, it was the first time you had addressed him in the last two hours, before looking back at the girl.

‘We’re fine, thanks.’ You said softly. It wasn’t rude, but the girl looked strangely at the both of you and the distance between your bodies, sensing the tension that was so obvious between you two.

‘I just wanted to invite you to the Paradise Party tonight.’ She offered you a flyer that you took politely. ‘We only have female DJs, and drinks are half-priced for the first hour.’

You nodded softly at the girl; it was probably all you could do before you looked away to your side.

‘Thank you.’ Said Steve then. He smiled briefly at the girl, who tried to return the gesture before walking away.

He repressed a sigh as he grabbed his water bottle when you offered him the flyer.

‘You should go.’ You said softly. ‘I don’t want to keep you from having fun.’

Steve took it slowly, searching for your gaze that you were so obviously hiding from him before you sat again with your back facing him. It was as if you knew he had something to say, because before he could even open his mouth you were standing and taking your clothes off, revealing the pretty bikini underneath. His eyes couldn’t help but follow all the lines under those thin strips of fabric, lines he had grown used to study in quick glances or instances where it would’ve been impossible for you or Eddie to notice. And as always, it was all sweet enough to shut him up.

‘I’m going to go for a swim.’ You announced anxiously, starting to walk towards the shore without looking at him.

‘Wait.’

He let out a soft laugh, before you looked back at him with those defiant eyes that had been ready to fight him every time he tried to console you, or apologise, or even talk to you about the situation.

‘What?’ Your hostile tone was appeased by the feeling of Steve’s skin on your back, you looked down at where his hand was, on one of the top’s straps where a plastic price tag hung. ‘Oh.’

The noise of the plastic being broken by Steve’s fingers seemed to bring you back to silence, because when he finally showed you the ripped tag on his hand you were only able to give him a little smile that didn’t make it to your eyes.

‘Thanks.’ You murmured.

‘You’re welcome.’ He said sincerely. ‘It looks good on you.’

You looked down at your body like that was the wrong thing to say. Steve swallowed hard, waiting for some sort of spiteful answer from you, but instead your face just flinched with bitterness.

‘Hm. Yeah. I bought it for the trip.’

Silence again, the hurtful kind, before you resumed your walk to the shore and he looked at you like he had done all these years: from afar.

Steve should’ve not been here. He shouldn’t have said yes when you asked him to join a trip that was supposed to be for you and Eddie, but no one else could do it in such a short notice. He got the feeling that maybe you thought no one else had wanted to.

He took out his sunglasses and sat down under the sun now, following your silhouette as you walked inside the sea. Another intrusive thought: the idea that something could happen to you, and the relief that he had worked as a lifeguard in Hawkin’s public pool as a teenager. But his skills wouldn’t be needed because you were fine, he thought as your body appeared on the surface after you had dived in. Some people could not be saved, he knew that now.

A couple of hours later you were walking back to where he sat. He had moved back to the shade, observing your movements as he wondered if your shoulders were burning, but you didn’t seem to mind. You dried your face with a towel before laying on the cold sand under the shade with your eyes closed. More silence as you took a deep breath, the minutes passed, then you were asleep.

He stayed in his place next to you, this time maybe a bit more relaxed as you breathed softly and your hair dried, messy and beautifully by the salty breeze. The frown on your face had dissipated and instead a sort of unconscious innocence replaced it, enhanced by the lack of make-up on your face. You looked more and more like the girl he had once met years ago on a Friday night outside a concert Eddie had made him come to, hanging out with your friends in the smoking area even if you didn’t smoke, long boots and a little skirt that he couldn’t stop looking at.

Steve looked down at the memory of it, because now that you were asleep it was easier to look at your body, but he didn’t want easier. He never did. That’s why when Eddie approached you to ask for your number, he still thought that even if you went to a few dates with his best friend, he’d still stand a chance.

It was bad, he thought as he looked up at you stretching and blinking softly. It was bad to be an awful boyfriend, but it was worse to be an awful friend. Your legs crossed as you moved to your side, eyes lost in thought as you looked beyond the sand, your arms were unintentionally doing that thing that pushed your boobs together. You were still ignoring him. It’d be like that for a while.

‘I wanna go back.’ You said an hour later. And just as quick, you both picked the things and walked back to the cabin.

Only the noise of your feet against the sand, and later the pavement, was everything that could be heard between you two. You had run out of water, so Steve couldn’t even offer you some to try to dissipate this useless tension. He thought about asking if you wanted to go for ice cream, but just the idea felt so childish in his head.

He was still trying to find something to say when you made it to the porch, as he searched for the keys in his shorts, completely unaware you had stopped a few steps behind him until he opened the door. You were frowning, lips partly opened as you looked at him with your piercing eyes, hesitation behind your semblance. His heart beat hard against his chest as he waited.

‘Do you know why he booked this trip?’ You asked then. He wondered if the question had been in the tip of your tongue the whole day.

Steve swallowed hard, looking at you with your messy hair and sunburned skin and sad, long eyes. Until he finally nodded.

You looked away, tears wetting your lashes just briefly before you looked back at him.

‘So, he was going to do it anyways.’ You murmured to yourself.

He looked down at the steps in front of him, the distance between you two. He felt embarrassed, what’s more important, the things we do or the things we don’t do?

‘I wouldn’t have let you say yes.’ He admitted then.

You crouched, right there in the middle of the sidewalk, thinking to yourself as you took a deep breath, shaking your head, probably missing the meaning behind his words. Thinking that you were stupid, probably. Naïve, probably. Everything except wanted. Seconds later you walked past him inside the house.

‘You would’ve if you hadn’t found out.’ You said.

No, he would have not.

The sofa bed was still open, the thin mattress where Steve had slept in while you took the room upstairs was a mess of bedsheets and cushions. Without his permission you threw your shirt on the floor and climbed wearing only your bikini. The waves were still calming out there, but as you laid on your stomach, displaying the lines of your pretty back and perfectly tempting ass for him, Steve was starting to lose his composure.

‘I’m gonna smoke.’ He announced then.

An arbitrary decision that could perhaps calm his nerves. He knew there was a lovely balcony in your room, so since you had decided to take his bed maybe he could treat every other place in the house like his as well. Go to that party, bring the DJ girl home, fuck her in the shower while you cried yourself to sleep, why not. It seemed to him maybe you wanted to be miserable.

‘Do you want some?’ He heard himself say as he took the joint out of the little tin. No, that wasn’t true. He was being mean, he was hurt. You were in pain. He could never leave you here all alone by yourself.

‘Hmm.’ He heard you say from the living room, sleepy pretty voice he hadn’t heard since Eddie and him were roommates. ‘Maybe.’

He walked back to the living room, finding you in the same position, except you were now laying a bit of your side, messy hair in the pillow, ass still a bit exposed, but you wouldn’t know that it was having an effect on him anyways.

‘Doesn’t it make you think about him?’ You asked then.

He felt his heart breaking a little bit. At your tone perhaps, at the sadness in your pupils, at the memories too. He finally nodded.

‘It smells like him.’ He said as he walked towards the sofa bed.

‘Right?’ You laughed. Precious noise, rare in these instances. You didn’t even move as he laid next to you, lighting the joint and inhaling first.

Then he passed it on to you. Laying on your back, his eyes focused on your chest, the curve of your boobs. That’s right Babygirl, that’s a deep breath, he thought. Your fingers brushing when you gave it back.

‘M sorry this has been such a boring vacation.’ You said then.

He shrugged, joint in his lips, not quite inhaling just yet, checking if he could taste you in it first.

‘S alright.’ He said. ‘I’m glad you invited me. Nobody wanted you to be all alone here.’

‘We paid a lot for it.’ You said looking at the ceiling.

Silence as he passed you the joint again, your eyes still focused on nothing, thinking about everything. Deep breath, a little sob you were hiding behind it but no tears.

‘I’m sorry, Steve.’

He didn’t say anything at first, thinking maybe he didn’t hear right, until you lifted your head to look back at him. The most ridiculous thing he had heard come out of your pretty mouth.

‘What for?’

‘Putting you in this position.’ You said. Eyes going a bit glossy, goosebumps all over your stomach, he noticed. The weed was starting to hit you. ‘I know he means a lot to you.’

He inhaled from the joint, his lungs burnt a little, but he also felt much calmer now, the illusion of control. You moved to your side, facing him. A natural shyness in you he hadn’t been able to decipher even after all these years.

‘You didn’t put me in any position.’ He said lying closer to you, taking the liberty of putting the joint in between your pretty lips, its tip turning orange as you breathed in. ‘I told you because I wanted to. It was the right thing to do. He shouldn’t have cheated on you.’

‘Agree.’ You said before exhaling the smoke away from him. ‘But I’m the one who feels like a homewrecker.’

He laughed softly as he stared at you, it didn’t make it to his eyes.

‘You didn’t wreck anything. It’s his fault.’ His hand started rubbing your forearm, you were boiling but full of goosebumps. Then a bleeding whisper. ‘Everything was so perfect.’

You nodded, eyebrows arching just slightly. A deep breath, his fingers cupping your chin for a second, playful and innocent, and then he moved back to put the joint away. Your eyes on him the whole time as he rearranged himself, looking from his face to his chest and then his crotch.

It wasn’t funny that he was hard. It would’ve been maybe once, maybe if Eddie was in the room, he would’ve made a remark, taking the embarrassment and tension away. But he wasn’t there anymore.

‘Do you remember that time you walked on us?’ You asked softly, voice a bit raspy, maybe from smoking or something else.

‘Sure.’ He admitted almost amused. Things teens do. Movie nights at the Harringtons, Steve’s parents away for the weekend. He had fallen asleep on the couch, but your sweet noises woke him up. Walking up the stairs into the guest room, you hadn’t even made it to the bed, laying on the floor, pretty breasts exposed as your legs wrapped around Eddie on top of you. Four pairs of eyes on him as soon as he pushed the door slightly.

Your gaze was still focused on the hardness underneath his shorts as he remembered fondly. Maybe you didn’t feel like looking back at him again, but he could live with this instead.

‘Did you ever think about that?’ You asked before biting your lip. ‘After it happened?’

‘Definitely.’ He admitted. You made a pause, hesitating as your eyes kept focused on his growing bulge.

‘Us?’ Your eyes finally lifted up to look at him.

‘You.’

‘Hm.’ You smiled softly as you looked at the mattress, shyness taking over you even if it didn’t have to, because you had nothing to be embarrassed about. ‘He talked about it a lot. It was kind of a thing for him.’

‘I know.’

That frown again, your confused stare. All he could do was stroke your cheek softly.

‘You do?’

He shrugged.

‘He didn’t have to tell me. I knew.’ You nodded, your skin soft under his fingertip. Your mind somewhere far away. Silence, until. ‘What did he say?’

‘He just wanted you there.’ You whispered. ‘All the time. Thinking about you sitting on the other side of the room.’

‘That’s why you’re so sick of me?’ He nodded at you, playfully. Silly smile on his face. Mean and yet so sweet and tender. ‘You were jealous?’

Your jaw barely clenching, but it was still there. The complexity of this thing that tied him to you.

‘Maybe. But so were you.’

‘Didn’t say I wasn’t.’ Then his other hand on your cheek. His eyes studying your precious face, seriousness falling over his already heavy eyelids. ‘He didn’t deserve you. That’s why I was never able to give him that. Watching you two again, that’s not…’ He shook his head. ‘I just couldn’t.’

You blinked softly, the hurt was there, throbbing in between your bodies. The wound of betrayal, the sorrow of knowing so much time had been lost. Then your hand taking his and your gaze on his eyes.

It started at your breast, the hardened nipple behind the fabric, he could feel it. The skin over your ribs, your stomach, all the way down until your dived his hand inside the fabric of your bottoms. Open palm getting soaked in wetness, messy cunt sensitive and sloppy.

You moaned softly. It wasn’t human really, to look at him like that. Not after all the glances you exchanged the last few years. He moved his hand slowly and you held his wrist firmly, grinding on his open palm beautifully, open mouth and skin burning with desire.

A louder moan, now he couldn’t take it anymore. His other hand undoing the knots on each side of your hips as you laid on your stomach. Pretty image he fought not to think about earlier when you threw yourself into the sofa bed.

His dirty hand stroked his dick as soon as he unzipped his shorts, now all stained by you. Hard, veiny, almost hurting by how much he wanted you as you looked at it from behind your shoulder.

Exposed fully, he looked into your eyes as he grabbed your ass cheek, opening you up a bit for his own perverse pleasure. Shiny cunt so wet and ready for him.

You flinched just softly once he was inside, but the moan that followed just after encouraged him to move. The perfect line of your arched back melting him as you moved too. He should’ve fuck you like this and make it as obscene as it had been in his fantasies the last few years, but he wanted more of you, and more of this, and more than sex.

Now his chest was against your back to get much closer to you, hips hitting your ass, noises of skin echoing throughout the little cabin. You were moaning a bit more, he was kissing your shoulder, you were salty, messy and unforgiving, like the sea. Panting, it sounded like you were about to cry, and he knew. His hands entwined with yours over the mattress, you weren’t going to slip from his fingers now. A kiss on your spine, his forehead against your back right after as he felt it coming.

‘Can I—’

‘Yes.’ You said against the bedsheets, one of your fingernails sinking into his palm. Painful but beautiful too. ‘Fuck, yes, please. All of it.’

Swearing under his breath, you opened your legs underneath him as if you knew. His hot cum making you cum, a loud needy whine and the feel of your tight fucking cunt wrapping around his dick in pulsing greediness.

Silence. Or at least the shadow of it, just deep breaths and the buzzing in your ears. Then, like a dying heartbeat, your hand squeezed his. He moved to one side and you followed his body with yours, scared frame melting against him, face hiding under his neck while all he could do was hug you.

‘I’m sorry.’ He finally whispered. ‘I should’ve fought for you.’

You shook your head as your hands wrapped him closer against you, still unable to face a world beyond this moment as his hand stroked your back.

‘You loved each other.’ You said.

‘Not more than we loved you.’ He whispered. ‘Or well, not more than I loved you.’

You took your face out of your hiding place, the hurt now replaced by that after sex laziness. Then he poked your nose unexpectedly and you smiled at him for the first time in weeks.

‘Would you forgive me?’ You said as you kissed his hand. An idiotic smile taking over his face just as the thought of that being now a possible occurrence to you, kissing his skin, searching for his touch.

‘There’s nothing to forgive.’ He stroked your cheek with his thumb.

I do no consent for people to plagiarise, translate, copy or repost any of my written work anywhere. I do not consent people to use any of my written work for AI purposes.

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