in june 1987, richard harrington gave his son a deal. figure out what he wants to do with his life before the end summer, or finally make his company harrington and son. (that, or steve joins the army.)
by fourth of july weekend, steve is kissing his friends goodbye, and taking the losing blow from his father. he accompanies his parents to mount auburn resort and ski, forfeiting the last of his adolescent freedom. lucky for him (and his sanity), a certain resort dance instructor needs his help more than she likes to admit it.
steve harrington x "baby"/fem!reader, dirty dancing!au
18+ mdni!!!!
warnings: based off of dirty dancing (1987) but gender bent !! slowburn, fluff, angst (i want the levels to be high lol), (eventual) smut, cursing, kinda enemies to lovers??, eddie x reader (minor/platonic), reader is called/referred to as baby (but otherwise has no other physical descriptions), pretty steve centric, prose heavy? more to be added w each chapter..
Chapter 1 (COMING SOON)
lmk if you wanna be tagged, or if u wanna chat!!! (inbox)
a/n: ehheheheheheheheheheh new serrrieiiiesssss. i have ~3k words down for just planning, and im carving out p1 as we speak. ive been in love w dd since forever, from the dancing, to the soundtrack, to the summertime. (it is literally -30 rn and i am missing my denim shorts ☹️) get ready for lake dancing and a forced proximity slowburn mwuah haha ALSO joe doing the lift im gnawing my pillows plsss
also copyright disclaimer! i am in no way claiming to own characters or story lines from stranger things and/or dirty dancing. divider is from @firefly-graphics <3
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content: contrary to popular belief, the fire lord can't have everything he wants. however, even he’d admit that what he wanted was troublesome in itself, which is why he forces himself to be okay with having you by his side as his advisor.
[tw: MDNI, longfic, angst/fluff/smut, slowburn apothecary diaries coded, so much yearning and longing, porn with plot, there is no power imbalance he’s afraid of your father, zuko’s a little shit tho, we’re already married in his head]
notes: this was supposed to be a oneshot but then ideas kept popping up in my head and i thought, why don't i just turn this into a longfic like defiance?? lol. the plan is to follow these two around throughout a couple arcs, with the first one being them trying to navigate their feelings and attempting to go back to normal while trying to fix the shit show in the silk district.
Content: contrary to popular belief, the fire lord can't have everything he wants. however, even he’d admit that what he wanted was troublesome in itself, which is why he forces himself to be okay with having you by his side as his advisor. [tw: MDNI, angst/fluff/smut, apothecary diaries coded, so much yearning and longing, slowburn, porn with plot, there is no power imbalance he’s afraid of your father, zuko’s a little shit, jealous!zuko, we’re already married in his head, found family trope(ish), zuko has daddy issues] wc: 4.3k
m.list | chapter three | chapter four | next chapter
You are mad at Zuko. Again.
He is a good person. He ended a war for fuck’s sake— one that lasted for over one hundred years. At sixteen, mind you. He could’ve easily said, to hell with you all, enjoy the dictator.
He doesn’t deserve this.
It was bad enough that the chancellor came along. You have arranged for Concubine Saiyo to accompany him, again. You also brought guards. Half a dozen of them. He’s staring at two of them right now, sitting way too close to you.
The strategist had sent them here, as if you alone weren’t worth a dozen soldiers yourself. He couldn’t even make it up if he tried— that’s the criteria that needed to be met in order to be accepted into the military’s elite unit.
He knows you could’ve easily declined the assistance, you just chose not to— this is you sending him a message. One he heard loud and clear last time, when you stormed back into his chambers after chasing that servant.
There was a sudden burst of light at first, making him turn to see what caused it. As he was doing so, the smell of something burning hit his nose.
You were burning his curtain to a crisp.
It wasn’t until the ash eventually got swept away by the wind when he looked at you, only to rudely be told to, “Get a fucking door.”
There was no forgetting the cold look in your eye or the sharp tone you used to cut into him in that moment.
“I won’t bother to remind you of your place, so let me remind you of mine— I’m here to keep you on that fucking throne. If your alliances were to have seen what that servant had just witnessed, they will question your intentions. They will question everything— starting with the fact that you still don't have an heir. You’ve come too far, worked too hard to mess this up. I won’t allow you to— I refuse.”
And then.
“Never. Touch me. Again.”
That was the hardest part to hear— he held you knowing he’d never hurt you, and yet, he still did.
You went on to pretend as if nothing had ever happened. No silent treatment. No smart, overly formal remarks meant to provoke him.
You continued to be his advisor.
Just not his friend.
—
Despite all the murderous air that’s recently settled in the Silk District, it’s still as magnetic as ever.
It was more than just brothels. It was endless entertainment. Sprawling markets. Exotic goods. Diverse cuisines. Festivals. You couldn’t even say the brothels were “just brothels”, the courtesans were gold standard.
It wasn’t just people from all over the nation that visited— it was people from all over the world. And for that, there’s many hotels, luxurious ones. The owner of the hotel you’re staying in was generous enough to completely shut it down for the Fire Lord’s visit.
Zuko usually doesn't require such excessive accommodations. There was a point in time when he didn't even have a roof over his head, let alone a bed. Not to mention he starved for the entirety of it— that’s not exactly something that leaves you.
It really doesn’t take much to make him happy.
He couldn’t say the same for most, if not all, the company he brought today, which is why he held off on saying anything other than a simple thank you.
The owner and the manager were waiting outside at the time of your arrival, more than happy to welcome their most special guests with refreshments. The soldiers were tasked to be Saiyo’s food taster for the trip. Yet you absentmindedly took on the task, taking a sip of the mango juice before grabbing another glass from the tray and handing it to her. You’re no stranger to travel, but you seem awfully familiar with the place.
Perhaps it has something to do with the man that just called out your name.
“My…” The man continues to walk up to you and Zuko can't help but notice how mesmerized the bastard looks. “You’re as lovely as ever.”
The look Zuko gave the guards was nothing short of startling. They knew he was a peaceful man, so the fact that he even had the capability of exuding such dark energy sent chills running down their spines.
Instantly, they unsheathed their swords and stepped forward. The worst part of it all, the stranger couldn’t feel any less threatened by the act. He holds his hands up in innocence and chuckles.
The man had long, brown hair with half of it worn up in a knot. Draped in a loose fitting robe that revealed a muscular physique. Tall. Green, cat-like eyes.
He’s very attractive.
Unfortunately.
“It’s fine,” you murmur, signaling for the guards to lower their swords. There’s not much enthusiasm in your tone as you greet him back, “Ryuko.”
“I must say it’s not very surprising to see you wearing the imperial crest on your robe, you’ve always been a clever one,” his grin grows, as confident as ever.
You have no idea how to respond to that. “And you’re…”
“The newest council member of the district,” he reveals, then redirects his attention to Zuko. “Your Majesty,” he offers a subtle bow, “Please excuse my manners— I was not aware I’d be running into an old friend today. It’s a pleasure to welcome your arrival to the district.”
The apology does nothing to ease Zuko’s irritation as he continues to assess the councilman like he was some threat.
“Likewise.”
It’s a harsh crowd, not that Ryuko cares. If anything, he expects it from those that come from the Royal Capital. Pompous fucks.
Oh well. Work is work. At least some parts of it will be more interesting now.
—
The Fire Lord can’t help but thank the gods for Concubine Saiyo’s penchant for gossip and general nosiness.
“It seems your old friend may have had a bit of a crush on you,” the concubine says with a light giggle.
Ryuko stayed for a little longer, revealing he’d be at the new facility for the majority of your week-long stay.
“You’re definitely not wrong,” you suppress a laugh, taking another sip of wine. “We were engaged at one point.”
Zuko stops mid-chew.
“Oh? May I ask what happened?”
“I had a bit of a rebellious phase and it came to an end,” you were comfortable enough to reveal.
The mood of tonight’s dinner leaned more towards the intimate side. You wouldn’t be the only one sharing personal details— the chamberlain was just complaining about his daughter not very long ago. Though you’re sure some of the wine you’ve been sipping on all evening helped.
“Care to share the details of this rebellious phase of yours?” the chamberlain shyly asks— it seems he had the penchant for gossip as well.
Since it’s the chamberlain asking and you’re looking to turn it into a learning lesson in your slightly inebriated state, you decide to humor him.
“Well,” you sigh, wondering where to start. “I moved here shortly after turning eighteen and stayed for a little over a year. It’s a wonderful place, really— very lively. Shortly after moving, I met a girl at the market. Her name was Cyra and she was a courtesan. Anyways, she was the first friend I made here—“
Saiyo puts a hand over her mouth. “Did she recruit you?”
“Saiyo, please,” Zuko snaps at her, already struggling with the fact that you were engaged. He did not need the image of you fucking more men in his head right now.
“I’m sorry, My Lord!” she squeaks out.
“I wouldn’t say she recruited me.”
“What?” his tone hardened, it goes unnoticed given everyone else’s shock. It’s a little insulting.
“Some of the girls in the brothel she worked for were firebenders and I ended up being an instructor of some sorts to elevate their fire dances. Fire dancing tends to be energetic, which is great for festivals, but not for the songs they sing and instruments they play. So, I helped them make their dances look more graceful.”
Their madam was quite generous with your compensation. You went on to give more private lessons at other brothels and somehow became a part of an underground society filled with the district’s elite. That was where you met Ryuko.
The people of the silk district didn’t care so much about what class you were in. If you had something interesting to offer, whether it be a courtesan who’s gained notoriety from simply being unforgettable or a fighter who people could confidently place their bets on, you were considered important.
Ryuko ran a fight club. He also accepted money from wealthy merchants and business owners on the side whenever they needed one of his fighters to do some of their dirty work for them— you only found out the morning his home was raided, which led to his arrest.
“And yeah— he went off to prison and I went back home.” The room’s silent, everyone‘s just staring at you with their eyes wide. “Anyways, that’s why it’s important to offer assistance, especially when it comes to a place like this. Not add more violence.”
The chancellor looks away in shame. Zuko’s not looking at you anymore, either. There is a lot he wants to say right now, many of them being questions like, who in their right mind allowed a fucking criminal to be a member of the council?
“Do you still love him?”
That as well. Thank you, Saiyo.
You hum. “I was young, I’m not sure if I truly ever did. Looking back, I don’t think the engagement would’ve lasted.”
“I see,” she took another sip of wine. “Well, I think it’s wonderful that you had the chance to explore the world for some time. I’m sure you have better judgement because of it.”
“Thank you. I’d say so, too.”
—
Accepting your fathers initial offer to bring guards was a decision made with a scattered mind and empty stomach.
The entire purpose of opening a rehabilitation program was so people could be treated with dignity and you didn’t consider how showing up with multiple guards would look up until the last moment. So to avoid looking wary of the very people you once ate meals and danced with, you only brought only one along and assigned him to the chancellor.
He’s not any more sheltered than Saiyo, and if the presence of a guard is what’ll prevent him from fainting at the sight of someone covered in tattoos, then so be it.
It didn’t take him long to figure it out.
“I can assure you I don’t need a bodyguard,” he forces out a laugh. “I understand you kids had your adventures, but—“
“Chancellor, you’re not referring to the time my father exiled me from the nation at thirteen years old, are you?” Zuko dryly asks, instantly killing the mood.
“No, no— never,” the old man stutters. “Your other adventures, w-with your friends!”
He hums. “I see.”
You stay quiet throughout the exchange, sticking to your new rule of only speaking to Zuko when you actually need to tell him something. Even if you had a change of heart, you’re not sure how that would go. He’s grown to be more sarcastic with his answers as of late, and you’d rather not be on the receiving end of it, for obvious reasons.
This is the first time you’ve felt any sympathy for the Chancellor. But at least he’s able to walk away.
The Fire Lord doesn’t allow you to do that. He spends the day quietly trailing behind you, keeping you somewhat within his reach. Not overbearing, but noticeable. To you, at least.
The new facility is bigger than the one in Republic City. A two-story with high ceilings and plenty of rooms. Lots of natural sunlight.
“They’re going to be living it up like kings in here, aren’t they?” Your comments directed more towards Jin, who’s been working day and night since his arrival. There’s a deadline and it seems like he’s trying to cut it in half— you appreciate a hard worker when you see one.
“Yes, they are,” he hums with satisfaction.
He’s a sweet man. You’re glad the Lord has been more receptive of him compared to last time.
“And here we have the meditation room,” Jin reveals. “It might be a little difficult getting them to calm their minds at first, but it’ll quickly become a favorite, as it did with—“
Jin’s cut off by random knocks. You both turn around to find the Fire Lord’s knuckles against the freshly painted wall.
It’s difficult to pinpoint what’s so awkward about it. It just looks odd. Could it be due to Jin’s immediate reaction? He fixed his posture, looking as if he were about to get yelled at.
“…Is everything to your liking, Lord Zuko?”
Your lips stay shut, averting your gaze from the man as he looks back at the director and makes an attempt at being polite.
“Mhm,” Zuko pulls his hand away from the wall, unaware of how uncomfortable Jin is at the moment. “Very sturdy.”
“Yes, my Lord,” he nods, a wave of relief crashing over him. “It’s wonderful for absorbing sound.”
“I see that— excellent work.” Zuko’s bored face doesn’t match his sudden enthusiasm. There’s a bit of a stare off afterwards, and that’s when Zuko finally notices how nervous the director is. It annoys him. “You may continue.”
“O-of course, my Lord.”
The tour goes on for another thirty minutes before you find yourselves in the backyard for lunch with the rest of the volunteers… and the Chamberlain, who you’re sure has been utterly useless in all the time you’ve been here. Still, he’s actually not all that bad to be around, and you hand him a plate.
You’re one of the last to go up to the long table that’s filled with various dishes, grabbing a little bit of everything as you walk along it.
Until you run into something at the very end, leaving you quietly startled.
“My apologies.”
“Oh.” You wouldn’t call your reaction to that familiar voice negative. You did refuse to apologize, though. “Didn’t see you there.”
“That’s alright,” Ryuko smiles, then cheekily adds another small portion of food onto your plate. “Are you on your break right now?”
“I guess,” you murmur, walking to the other side of the table, not missing how he just comes along. “May I ask why you’re following me right now?”
“Well, I was hoping we could talk.”
You deadpan. “We already are.”
“Privately,” he persists. “Just 10 minutes, please. That's all I need for an apology and explanation.”
“I’m not angry with you and there’s nothing to explain.”
“For you, perhaps. But for me?” He places his hand over his chest, eyes filled with that same stubborn look. “I’d really like to do the right thing here.”
At first you sigh, wondering why you can’t just eat your food in peace. Then you find your eyes trailing towards the table where the Lord and the Chamberlain are currently seated, along with the guard. It’s the one in the bun you’re worried about, but he seems to be in his own head right now as he silently eats, leaving the other two to conserve among themselves.
“Do you need to ask for permission?” Ryuko sounds slightly concerned when he asks.
You shouldn’t feel the need to, it’s not like you’d get in trouble. But the way your chest tightens is hard to ignore.
“No, never.” You rip your gaze away from the table to look at Ryuko again. “Fine. Ten minutes.”
—
Zuko’s not sure why you think he can’t see you. From his peripheral vision, he saw everything— you running into whatever his name is, the whole dance you two did around that table, and then you staring at him before running off with that man.
Or shall he say criminal?
It’s been over nine minutes since then and he’s currently counting down the seconds until it becomes ten.
Is that unfair? Sure.
Ten.
You may not be his lover, and made it clear that you never will be, but guess what?
Seven.
He’s still your boss.
Six.
You have a long list of duties and he is prepared to make that list even longer.
Three.
Two.
…One.
“Where are you going, my Lord?” the Chancellor asks, surprised at how he abruptly stood.
“You have a guard, you’ll be fine.” He waves a dismissive hand as he begins to walk away from the man he just offended.
The facility doesn’t have many furnishings at the moment, you could only imagine how loud his footsteps would be. Luckily, one of his many talents is the ability to go unnoticed, all thanks to his time spent as a fugitive. It’s not like he’s tiptoeing and hiding behind walls, either. He’s just quiet— even when his eye twitched after hearing a tone that was far too hushed for his liking.
It grows clearer the closer he gets, his footsteps leading him towards the second kitchen.
“…a chance?”
He's aware that finding a cramped, closed off corner to stand in isn’t very befitting for his role as the nation’s ruler, but it could be worse.
He could be a dictator.
“…I’m a man now.” Oh, shut up. “I can take care of you…”
“That doesn’t matter… It’s been years… I like my life in the Royal Capital.”
“What life is that of an Advisor?” Ryuko’s voice grows tense, as does the Lord’s fist. “You can’t tell me there’s a future in that… that man is going to chew you up and spit you out once he's done with you.”
You stutter and then there’s silence. Having to listen to someone dwindle you down like that pulls at his chest.
“You think he won’t? I was here for an entire hour and witnessed the way he looks at you… he thinks he owns you.”
“…why do you keep bringing up the Fire Lord? You keep talking about me as if I’m his pet… this facility was all my idea.”
Correct.
“And who’s taking credit for it?”
God he fucking hates this guy.
“I don’t want credit. Look, I— they’re probably looking for me by now already… I’m sorry.”
“You’re here for a week— let me prove myself to you.”
“I don’t know how you’d be able to do that.”
“I’ll find a way.”
In those last few minutes Zuko stood there in silence, waiting until the coast was clear for him to leave, he couldn’t help but think about what your ex-fiancé had said to you.
That man is going to chew you up and spit you out once he's done with you.
You had no idea how to respond to such words.
Did they hurt you?
Did you believe them, even for just a single moment?
There was a selfish part of him that wanted to believe you were hurt, for no reason other than knowing it simply wasn’t true. You’re one of the most important people in the meeting room. You said it yourself, this was all your idea. You’re no pet.
Saying such things to a proud woman like yourself was unkind, at best. The fact that someone thought they could do so sickened him. If you can’t accept all that Zuko wants to give you, he can only hope you at least use him as an example for how you should be treated.
—
“Do you ever miss living here?”
You softly hum in thought. “Sometimes. It was fun.”
“And now your life’s so serious,” Cyra blows out a puff of smoke, a wooden tobacco pipe held loosely in her hand. “I must say, though— the Fire Lord is quite handsome.”
You try to hold it in, but you burst into a small fit of laughter. She had already asked about Ryuko— you both had joked over his sudden delusions of getting you back. Now it seems like she’s moving to the newest topic.
“What’s so funny about that?” She sits up, handing the tobacco pipe to you.
You hope no one’s around to smell it on you by the time you step back inside from the balcony.
The owner of the hotel has arranged for a night of entertainment, minus the services, knowing he was being accompanied by a concubine on the trip. Seeing your old friend walk in with the rest of the entertainers was a better surprise than seeing your ex-fiancé. You had mentioned your visit in the previous letter you’d written to her and bought herself out for tonight just so she could sit here with you.
“Do you not think he’s attractive?”
There’s still a smile on your face when you finally answer, “am I blind?”
“For a moment, you had me under the impression that you were,” she laughs, laying back on the day bed and looking up at the stars. “Now that I’m here, will you tell me more about his less diplomatic side, since you won’t write about it in the letters?”
She catches on fast. You hardly mention him at all out of fear that the letters get lost in transit.
“Like what?”
“Just… random, stupid stuff.”
“Well… he gets in these moods sometimes, and it’s as if he’s a broody teenage boy,” you stifle a laugh. “It’s hard to take it seriously when I’m having to watch everyone tiptoe around a manchild.”
You tend to look away during those moments, such as today, because he’ll just become angry. Today was by far your most successful day.
He’s been in a mood since you’ve yelled at him. While you feel bad for those suffering around him, like the Chancellor, it’s better off this way. You’ve never had to threaten a servant like that before. It was subtle, of course, but a threat is a threat. Hopefully you never have to do anything like that again.
You don’t tell Cyra any of those details, though. It was best if you kept quiet on the matter.
“So the Fire Lord is a spoiled brat?”
You tilt your head and think. “A brat, yes. But I wouldn’t say spoiled. He likes his showers cold and prefers street food. I’m sure he’ll sneak out of here one night with a cloak just to grab some skewers.”
“He sounds like your type.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Cyra giggles and moves on, knowing you wouldn’t budge whether it was true or not. She looks back inside to take a peek at the Fire Lord. He looks bored and unimpressed with all the people surrounding him, even with the woman sitting by his side.
“Does he like his concubine?”
“He likes her enough,” you murmur tentatively. “That’s the one he frequents the most.”
“Is there any reason in particular?”
You all but shrug, knowing the thought of him waiting until he’s pent up and angry to visit his concubines is a thought she’d enjoy too much, being the crude woman she is. Instead you say something about Saiyo’s personality, rather than her… physical endurance, all while trying to move on to a new topic.
Everyone’s gone by the early morning. You didn’t notice how tired you were until you watched Cyra walk out of the lobby with a pair of heavy eyes.
You didn’t expect anyone to be awake by the time you got back up to the suite, but just as you begin to pour yourself a glass of water, you hear heavy footsteps.
Zuko almost stops once your eyes meet.
You’re guessing he’s here for the same reason you are. Given his high tolerance, he tends to drink the most during any occasion alcohol is served and you can imagine how parched one could get once the effects wear off.
You look away and continue to pour, thinking he’s too tired to offer more than the hum of acknowledgment he gave as he continued to walk closer, grabbing a glass for himself.
“Was that the friend you spoke of last night?”
The urge to let out a long sigh was one you had to fight. You were reluctant to answer him, he’s not supposed to speak to you with that much ease anymore.
“Yes. Were you interested in her services?”
He stopped and just blinked, looking at you in annoyance because you knew him better than that. “I was only curious about her because she’s friends with you.”
How aggressively wholesome of him.
“I see.”
“Yeah,” he says rather mockingly in return, giving you a taste of the treatment he’d been giving to everyone else as of late.
But then he rolls it back.
“If you want to spend a day or two with her this week, you could.”
“I don’t think that’d be necessary—“
He softly cuts you off. “It’s not, but it’s a chance to spend time with her before going back to the capital.”
You pick up the glass of water, thumb smoothing over the condensation as you take a moment to think about it. “What about the facility?”
“You’ve already done your part when you first suggested it.” There’s not much warmth in his tone. Had there been any, you probably would’ve thought he had an ulterior motive. “It’s just an offer.”
“Alright. I’ll guess I’ll take it then,” you avoid direct eye contact as you murmur. “Thank you.”
“Mhm.”
You miss the way his lips try to twitch into a smile, committed to keeping his composure despite the rush of tranquility you had just given him.
He still hasn’t bothered to remember your ex-fiancé’s name, but given his goal of winning your heart over in just a week's time, it’s safe to say he’s a man of persistence.
And so is Zuko, which is why he’s decided he is going to make that goal absolutely impossible to achieve.
Content: contrary to popular belief, the fire lord can't have everything he wants. however, even he’d admit that what he wanted was troublesome in itself, which is why he forces himself to be okay with having you by his side as his advisor. [tw: MDNI, angst/fluff/smut, apothecary diaries coded, so much yearning and longing, slowburn, porn with plot, there is no power imbalance he’s afraid of your father, zuko’s a little shit, jealous!zuko, we’re already married in his head, found family trope(ish), zuko has daddy issues] wc: 4.7k
m.list | chapter two | chapter three | next chapter
With a gate of its own that requires special permission to enter, the western part of the palace grounds is considered to be one of the most guarded locations in the world. It’s where you can find the Fire Lord’s most precious treasures, his concubines.
It’s also where you can find the orphanage he had built a few years ago— a decision he needed no advising on, as it was an idea of his own. There was no better place for a child.
Zuko doesn’t expect everyone to agree with every action he makes. In fact, he encourages everyone to think for themselves. By all means, ask questions, disagree with him, show him a different perspective— allow him to serve his people.
He is a fair man.
However, the number of individuals that were against building the orphanage made him question just who exactly was he serving, because at that moment, he was surrounded by a bunch of fucking monsters.
Apparently, placing children that were of low birth in the western court would’ve sent a ‘bad message’. In other words, it’d bring their value down to that of an abandoned child.
Do you know how morally bankrupt you’d have to be to think that? The entire purpose of closing off the area was to keep women and children safe, it shouldn’t matter if they’re biologically his or not. Even the strategist saw no validity in their concerns, and he’s known for rejecting proposals, for no reason other than finding joy in others' struggles.
Needless to say, he continued with his plans.
The circumstances of one’s birth and status becomes irrelevant once they become a child of the palace. Zuko made sure of that by making an actual title out of it, all while hoping it’d be enough to appease a few nobles.
He may have also let Aang take part and have a little fun with the drafting process. It looks ridiculous on paper— the document starts off by declaring them as the cutest members of the court— the failure to recognize them as such will result in the immediate loss of one's honor.
Jokes aside, the document is as valid as it gets and it has been advised that it be treated as such. It’s one of the very few documents that mentions the death penalty— testing the legitimacy of it is not a game you want to play with him.
The orphanage takes up a fair amount of space. The home itself is double the size of a high ranked concubine’s, with a decent sized vegetable garden obstructing the view of it. If some of the concubines are anything like their families, the last thing they need is the constant reminder that their chambers could be bigger. They are more than welcome to visit the children, though— many of them actually do, along with the servant girls.
And you, surprisingly.
Aside from all the planning, you never mentioned anything about the orphanage, let alone show interest in the matter. He just assumed you weren’t the maternal type, only to catch you there six months after the palace started taking in children. He then assumed you were just there to make sure everything was running smoothly.
Wrong.
He looked closer and the sight had him reconsidering just how much he knew you because you were clearly there to give a chubby, mindless baby a tour of the garden. You gave them a tomato to gnaw on while you pointed out all the different vegetables being grown, too.
The conversation he had with you shortly after sounded more like an interrogation.
“What are you doing here?”
You looked at the child, then back at the lord who just awkwardly stood there like a child lost at the market, before stating the obvious. “Visiting.”
“Yeah, but… why?”
Your brows raised, “Am I not allowed to?”
“I mean— yeah. Of course you are, but—” he paused and gestured at the child, “why did you give the baby a tomato?”
“Because she wanted it,” you said, voice calm despite growing visibly frustrated with the questions. He gave you a puzzled look, because babies can’t fucking talk, and you further elaborated. “She was reaching for it and I let her have it.”
He almost asked if you were worried about the child choking, but you obviously weren’t since they couldn’t even break the skin of it. You seemed quite confident in your ability to keep the little human alive, which also took him by surprise. “Wait— so you come here a lot?”
You let out a sigh. “Yes.”
The questions stopped there. He didn’t want to offend you or discourage you from making future visits.
Zuko still doesn’t know your visiting schedule, you never tell him when you go even after he’s expressed wanting to visit with you. He thought today would be his lucky day since your visits have been longer due to Mira being there, but the gods never seem to grant his wishes no matter how simple they are.
The next time he would see you is at the training site, speaking with your father. He was somehow able to give you and the soldiers his full attention, because he stopped talking to you for a split second to bark at one of them to fix their posture.
He took that as his sign to leave. The strategist apparently had eyes on every side of his head and for all he knew, he’d be the next one to catch some odd form of that man’s wrath.
. . . . . .
It’s easy to forget just how big the palace is, but unfortunately for your fathers assistants, they are reminded of that fact whenever he summons you. The task is time consuming, your location changes depending on what you’re working on, and a lot of the time, you are working on multiple things at once. What’s worse is half the time you’re too busy to go see him, making their efforts all for nothing.
Today’s unlucky assistant checked every single location there was to think of before giving the west wing a try. He wasn’t a fan of the guards there, they’ve always treated him as if he were trying to break in and steal one of Lord Zuko’s concubines.
You would’ve declined to meet your father today had his assistant not been in such rough shape. Not only was he tired, but he was also afraid thanks to the guards.
“How was your trip to Republic City?”
The question made your face momentarily drop— that’s what he wanted to ask? He could’ve written you a letter!
“It was busy, but good, I guess. Found some volunteers for the Silk District project.” You don’t spare him the details. Ever. He’s the type to nitpick at them in hopes of catching a mistake that could be pinned on the Fire Lord.
He raises a brow. “You’re not too tired, are you?”
“No,” you assure him. “Not at all.”
He gives you a suspicious look before continuing. “Good— anyways, I’d like to send a few soldiers with you on your trip to the Silk District. I’ve received word that it’s only grown more violent since the incident with the brothel workers and I wouldn’t be surprised if those beasts tried to target you.”
It’s like he forgot that you tried to kill him once. He also called you a beast that day… and an evil little bitch.
You smile. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he barks out an insulting laugh. “The Fire Lord may be a ruler, but don’t expect him to play the role of a protector, too. That man has a duty to stay alive and needs to focus on saving himself. You will have soldiers there to keep an eye on you.”
You let out a laugh of your own, letting it die out into a silence that ends up getting dragged out past the point of comfort. “I understand your concerns. However, that is not necessary and I’m going to have to respectfully decline your offer.”
“It’s not an offer—”
“Father,” you’re calm as you cut him off with a simple warning.
“No, listen to me—”
“I will break them beyond belief.” You casually threaten him, making it sound as if it were an event you were looking forward to. It makes the strategist quickly drop it— he’d rather not see you go through with that promise. You take a deep breath, pleased at how easy that was to settle, and move on as if you didn’t just threaten his men. “I am fully capable of protecting myself and will be just fine without soldiers. So please, don’t worry about me.”
You don’t know what kind of nonsense that old man’s head is filled with. He knows you're strong enough to protect yourself, he also knows you would never count on anyone to save you, and yet he still does… that.
Sending people after you, demanding your presence, making you accept his help.
He was worse when you were a child, there was a point in time where his control reached even the simplest parts of your life. But that wasn’t the part that infuriated you, it was the part where he’d say you had everything.
You couldn’t even let your mind wander without being interrogated over what thoughts were in your head.
You spent your entire childhood yearning for the freedom of adulthood, only to have it ripped away while reading an acceptance letter from the most elite subdivision in the military. To be accepted into a program was considered to be the highest honor. Yet, it was just another reminder of all the choices that you never had— it wasn’t even you that applied.
Your memory of what happened afterwards is vague. You just remember showing your father what an elite soldier looked like and the experience was enough to send him into a full-blown crisis. It left him panicking over just what kind of punishment was awaiting him after death— he was certain he’d have to answer to someone for giving the world nothing but evil children.
Needless to say, he didn’t push you to go to that program. You were going to be the next head of the clan regardless, which shows you’d done enough.
The thought of you training for another few years was also deeply unsettling.
Your father has toned down since then, but there’s moments when he reverts back to the man that raised you. He still wants you to join the military, except this time around he wants you to work for him and be his replacement once he retires, just as he was for his father. He never takes no for an answer, either, and will continue to bring it up. You understand the role of an advisor doesn’t last forever, but that doesn’t mean your time as one is coming to an end soon.
The constant pursuit of control is an exhausting one. It’s become a sad sight over the years, one that makes it hard to stay angry with him.
It’d be nice to watch him take a break for once.
Unlike your fathers assistants, you don’t have to mindlessly search for the lord. There are currently no meetings, which means he’s either in his office or his personal courtyard.
Hopefully he’s in his office, you’re least likely to be met with an unwelcome surprise there.
The courtyard isn’t that bad— it’s what his courtyard leads to: his chambers. Aside from the times he’s requested your presence, it’s a place you’ve learned to heed with extreme caution.
It doesn’t get easier with time. The moment you’re met with an empty office, you’re already cursing to yourself and begging the gods that he’s clothed today. Seeing the lord naked once is already far too much and it’s already happened a handful of times throughout the years.
There is a reason why fights break out so often between concubines. It’s the same reason why Zuko laughed when that man assumed he had a small dick, and it has nothing to do with his personality.
Getting the image out of your head is a task on its own and has driven you nuts at times. It’s as stubborn as the lord himself, lingering around and refusing to fucking leave.
You soon find yourself at the entrance of his chambers, nervous as you are frustrated that he refuses to get a door. His reasoning for covering the entrance with curtains is because he enjoys the extra airflow. There’s apparently also no need for a door when he already has one at the entrance of his courtyard. Which is idiotic, in your opinion, he never hears when you knock.
You make your presence known by calling out to him. No answer. You pull the curtain aside ever so slightly and take a peek. No idiotic lord in sight.
You prepare for the worst. The first step is taken and you call out to him again, this time it’s more of a warning. Your footsteps echo throughout the dim space, and with each second that passes, you find yourself feeling more and more like an intruder.
This really is the worst job sometimes.
You call his name, again. Nothing. Your eyes land on the hallway leading to his bedroom and the doors wide open. If he were in there, he would’ve come out by now.
He’s not here.
The conclusion brings a sigh of relief as you move on with your thoughts. There’s one other place he could be and that’s the western court, which leaves you torn. If he’s with a concubine, then that means you can take the rest of the day off. It’s getting later in the afternoon though and you’d rather not end up with more work tomorrow just because you made that assumption.
You turn on your heel and begin to walk out, too lost in thought to pay much attention to what’s in front of you. It’s not until you’re just steps away from the entrance when you're startled by a figure blocking it.
Startled may be an understatement. You let out this quick, blood curdling scream that left your throat raw afterwards.
You’re dying inside from the embarrassment and Zuko thinks it’s fucking hilarious.
“What kind of an intruder gets frightened like that?”
Your heart’s still pounding against your chest from the initial fear, making it difficult to answer back, let alone argue. “I was just— I’ve been trying to look for you— god I fucking hate you— you been standing here this whole time and you couldn’t even say anything?”
"It’s not like I was hiding.” His grin widens. “I expected you to be a little more aware of your surroundings.”
“Yeah? Well not everyone’s used to living in a cave,” you say bitterly, finally looking back at him again. “Sorry I’m not used to the darkness.”
He dressed down in training pants and a tunic, but clothed nonetheless. He must’ve been getting some training in since his hair’s up, too.
“I thought you only trained in the mornings?”
He crosses his arms and leans against the entryway, then shrugs. “The afternoon’s nice sometimes when it's quiet. One of the servants told me you were looking for me on the way there— you alright?”
“I’m wonderful.” You weren’t sure what kind of an answer he was expecting— he asked as if that wasn’t your job to look for him. “Was there anything that needed to be finished before the day ended?”
He hums and thinks about it, then shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Are you sure?” you ask, giving him a skeptical look.
“Positive.”
“I don’t believe you.” There’s a tinge of defeat in your tone and the little smile he gives tells you he’s in that little mood to fuck with you. “Zuko, I’m serious— I don’t want to have more work for tomorrow.”
Oh, wow. You’re actually saying his name.
He lets out this warm, airy laugh, further making a mockery of your suffering. “I didn’t even say anything.”
“You didn’t have to!”
“No,” he laughter dies into a low hum. “You’re all done for the day. Promise.”
You just stare at him for a moment. It’s not that you don’t believe him, you do. He’s just a pest and you can’t believe he’s in charge of millions of people sometimes.
“You should come train with me— I think it might help with whatever you got bottled up right now,” he casually offers.
“You scared me senseless and then you made me go around in circles trying to get an answer,” you slowly spell it out for him, not realizing it only fills his chest with a sick sense of pride. “This is because of you.”
“And now you can get revenge” he gives the solution easily, making it sound like the opportunity of a lifetime. “You won’t have to hold back on me, either. It’s probably been a while since you got to spar with someone without worrying about killing them.”
A smile manages to break through as you prepare to shut him down, yet words come out surprisingly sincere. “It pains me to say this, but I’m not sparring with someone as important as you.”
“That’s the sweetest thing you ever said to me, you know that?” he manages to get a little remark in right before you start listing reasons why.
“Aside from Uncle Iroh, you’re pretty all alone. There is no one next in line, not even a child— that you could’ve had by now, by the way.”
“Yes, I could’ve had multiple,” he comments in amusement.
“You have multiple meetings a week and they’re all with important people, too. Their job is to notice what’s wrong, especially when it comes to you. Any concerns they have, whether it be a scratch or bruise, can be made into a problem.”
“So what you’re saying is you’re afraid to hurt me?” he asks, words dripping from his lips like warm honey.
You’d think he’d be offended or maybe even start to make fun of you for thinking that, and you’re getting neither. He’s more flattered than anything right now.
“I would love to.” you coldly break it to him, then go on to say a bunch of things that you hope he doesn’t make fun of you for. “But it’s you who puts on the Fire Lord’s crown everyday and people are safe now because of that— they get to live their lives in peace. Even if it were something light, I’m not going to spar with someone who has a title that actually means something. It’s not like I enjoy bending that much, anyway.”
Zuko finds himself completely still as he takes your words in— not tense, nor shocked, just processing them.
He thought you were kidding when you said he was too important.
It’s not like his title was something you overlooked. He’s never even had to wonder if you approved of having him as the nation’s ruler. You’ve worked with him for years— of course he had your approval, of course you thought he was competent. He just never expected you to hold him in such high regard as the Fire Lord.
Taking responsibility for his family’s crimes has been nothing short of rewarding, but with it comes a certain guilt whenever he sat on that throne— it makes him wonder if it was time to shed some of that weight.
“Thank you.” His words come out tender, eyes golden and filled with awe. He’d like to say more, but something tells him that your words haven’t caught up to you yet, and so he clears his throat and moves on. “So what’s this about never having liked bending?”
“I don’t know, I just don’t really like fighting. All the running and jumping around is tiring” You murmur, just the thought of it makes you look miserable. “I only went to training because I had to.”
“I’m sorry about that,” he hums, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn’t around for a good chunk of time, but he’s heard about how brutal that training was— all the fainting and bloody noses due to exhaustion. “Are you happy now, at least?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re family was set on turning you into a fucking killing machine,” he huffs out a laugh, still surprised that you hated fighting this entire time. “Are you happy with where you ended up instead?”
“Mmm— yeah.” You pause and Zuko waits for the complaint. “It’d be nice if you made my job easier though and just answered my questions with a simple yes or no.”
“You know I like messing with you,” he murmurs, poking the tip of your nose and earning himself a little glare. “Makes my day a lot more fun.”
“I am not your jester.” You try to say it with a straight face, only for you both to end up having to suppress a laugh, then remember what you came here for just shortly after. “I guess I should get going then since there’s no more work for today.”
“Yeah— easy day.” He wishes you wouldn’t go right now. “…Are you returning to the north wing?”
That’s where your chambers are, on the complete opposite side of the palace grounds.
“Mhm,” you nod, shifting your stance— you can’t actually leave, he’s blocking the door.
“Your chambers are up to standard, right?” He doesn’t move, he knows exactly what he’s doing. “I remember you complaining about them once.”
“That was two years ago,” you kindly remind him, his ability to remember such a small detail leaving you slightly concerned. You only complained about a creaky cabinet. “But, nope. I’m very cozy there.”
“Can I see?”
“No,” you say as politely as possible. “Any other questions?”
He gives a contemplative hum— the longer it goes on the more concerned you grow. It’s not like you can leave since he hasn’t moved, so you’re forced to stand and wait.
Now he’s tilting his head and studying your face.
“Do you plan on ever asking anything?”
“I was still thinking about it. But since you’re in a rush right now, sure.” The fabric of his shirt stretches over his biceps as he crosses his arms, eyes lazily trail down to your lips. “Let me kiss you again.”
You let out a long sigh as you start to murmur to yourself. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“I’m not,” his brows furrow with the defensive response. “Just one.”
“Why?”
“I find it unfair that we both share the same experience, yet be in two different states of being— I was drunk.” It’s a pathetic excuse, one he just came up with.
“That’s your fault.” You almost mentioned the fact that he basically jumped on you and you had no idea about, but decided against it out of fear that it’d create an entire argument. “Besides, I was tipsy, too.”
“I still think you should let me kiss you,” he persists.
“Of course you do.”
“Can I?”
“You are a pest,” you murmur to yourself once again. “Would you like me to escort you to one of your concubines?”
“No, thanks,” he curtly says, before thinking again. “C’mon, I gave you a baby—“
You cut him off, because he did not— Mira is a child of the palace. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Alright, fine, sorry.” He lazily holds his hands out in defense. “It’s really easy if you close your eyes, by the way.”
“You're full of shit.”
“I am a man that would like a simple kiss.”
You look at him, then the entrance he’s blocking, then back at him again.
Zuko notices and smiles. “One kiss and you shall be released.”
You were right, he was blocking the door on purpose. Bastard. It takes you a moment to even take his wishes into consideration. It probably won’t be awkward afterward since it’s happened before, but then that opens the door to him asking again.
You look at him and he’s never looked more smackable with how unapologetic he is about it all.
“You’ll let me go after?”
“Mhm.”
You take more time to respond, clearly struggling with the idea of allowing something like this to happen. A part of you wants to make a run for it, but you also don’t want to find out if he’d actually catch you.
“Alright, fine,” you quietly say, already growing nervous from the grin that pulls out of him.
“Don’t look so scared,” he hums as he starts walking closer.
His words pull a slight frown from you. “It’s hard not to when you say it like that.”
He stops right in front of you and gently lifts your chin to look at him. “Like what?”
“That.” There’s less of a bite in your tone, he’s more intimidating when he’s this close. “Don’t make this any harder for me.”
He rubs his thumb over your chin, giving you a sympathetic look. “I like it when you’re sweet like this.”
Just moments later, both of hands are cupping your jaw and he’s leaning forward.
His lips are soft.
They’re not crashing into you this time and you can’t help but think about how they’re pressed against you so gently. Even with the way he takes his dear time, everything feels so light, it’s easy to breathe.
Slowly, he pulls away and you’re met with heavy lidded eyes. His hands are still cupped around your jaw, you’re not sure if you want them to pull away just yet.
His thumbs rub over your cheeks. “Would you be mad about one more?”
You know you should pull away, the disappointment for not doing so comes out in your voice. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“I know,” he murmurs, nose brushing against yours before pressing another kiss against your lips. “I’ll leave you alone after this.”
“I don’t believe you.”
His only response was another kiss. It starts off like the first, but becomes more familiar. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you in and deepening it, until the faint sounds of your lips parting and moving with his could be heard.
By the time he pulls away, you’re both slightly out of breath, and you’re wondering if this is where the line should be drawn.
Zuko’s thinking the exact opposite. “Still think we shouldn’t be doing this?”
“We shouldn’t be doing this at all,” you let out a small laugh.
His hold on you is firm and when you fail to turn your face away, he looks at you in amusement. “Why are you laughing then?”
“Because I was supposed to leave after the first one.”
“Sorry about that.” He smiles and presses a kiss against your temple. “You’re allowed to admit that you’re liking this, by the way.”
“I’m not doing that,” you say, words stubborn and final.
And Zuko laughs because you wouldn’t have the privilege to come up with such an answer if you were in another scenario. You’d be admitting to all kinds of things if he could have his way with you.
He of course doesn’t say that, being the gentleman that he is. “You’re a very cruel woman, you know that?”
You press your finger into his chest. “And you are a very selfish man.”
Which probably wasn’t a very good idea, the poking and the name calling. It seems to have put an inappropriate thought in his head given the groan he had to suppress.
“I am a very selfish man,” he says in a dangerously low tone.
And then his lips are on yours because for years he’s been deprived of one of the most simple joys in life: touching a woman he likes.
So he touches you gently. He kisses you deeply. He has been fucking starving, but he savors you completely.
Until there’s metal crashing down on the floor, followed by a yelp that makes you push him away, hard. The servant’s apologizing profusely for dropping the platter that was carrying his tea and for intruding.
Then she scatters away, ashamed and embarrassed. She was under the impression that all of the Fire Lord’s intimate encounters took place in the chambers of his concubines. She was also under the impression that he only had intimate encounters with his concubines.
Which is correct. It’s also why you take off running after her. If the details of what she had just encountered began to spread, you are fucked.
notes: god i need him so fucking bad i just know he'd talk u through it wait im the writer HE DOES talk u through it
Content: contrary to popular belief, the fire lord can't have everything he wants. however, even he’d admit that what he wanted was troublesome in itself, which is why he forces himself to be okay with having you by his side as his advisor. [tw: MDNI, angst/fluff/smut, apothecary diaries coded, so much yearning and longing, slowburn, porn with plot, there is no power imbalance he’s afraid of your father, zuko’s a little shit, jealous!zuko, we’re already married in his head, found family trope(ish), zuko has daddy issues] wc: 5.4k
notes: hi i was supposed to post this hours ago but my computer crashed and so did i 🙂 anyways be sure to check out the new tw's 😝 i feel like zuko's kind of a menace in this, kinda not?? idk lmk!
m.list | chapter one | chapter two | next chapter
Zuko goes through many, many different emotions upon waking up.
First it’s confusion— he’s so hungover that he can barely remember his own name, let alone where he is. Then it’s annoyance because he feels someone tossing and turning beside him, which eventually makes him realize where he’s at, and that’s in between two of his concubines that he has no idea whether he fucked last night or not.
Then it’s shame and embarrassment after remembering he basically threw himself at you last night and got kicked out of your room because of it.
He sits up with a groan, rubbing the sleep off his eyes before looking both ways, wondering how to get out of bed without waking the two women up. He may not be that into them, but he wasn’t heartless enough to rip them out of their sleep. Eventually, he throws the sheets back and climbs over Saiyo since she seems to be in a deeper state of sleep, and then quickly covers her again, before stepping into the washroom to ready himself for the day.
You and Hieto, the head of the Fire Nation’s Health and Wellness Department, were already waiting for him once he stepped inside the carriage. All Zuko offers is a light nod in his sorry state, too groggy to even say a simple good morning. Heito’s a true professional and greets the fire lord goodmorning, and you struggle to not look at him like he’s some diseased creature— which he’ll accept given what happened last night.
The ride to Republic City’s new rehabilitation center is quiet. The last time he was this quiet with you was the very first day you started working directly for him. He had already seen you around the palace grounds, but that was the first time you two had been face to face since you were children, before his father burned him and then banished him from the country.
You were staring at it— the scar that was left behind. Not in judgement. If anything, it was more from sorrow. Having all of your attention left him feeling more shy than he’d like to admit— afraid to say the wrong thing, which he knows is ridiculous given his place in the hierarchy.
One can never be too comfortable in his place, though.
At times you’ll make fun of him for being too traditional, maybe even more traditional than his father in certain aspects, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. With the state his grandfather and father left the nation, there was a lot needed of him in order to appease all the sides that they had split up through years of war and tyranny. The most important being the relationships he kept with seven of the big clans.
It’s been difficult at times in the past, especially with yours, but it was still the easiest way to keep the peace. It was simple— keep a few concubines, pass a few harmless bills, meet people halfway.
He’s gotten used to his duties over the years, yet he never truly gotten used to you. Or rather, the fact that he can’t have more. Having you as his advisor was the most Zuko was going to get.
There was one point where he was dumb enough to think it might’ve worked, but now, it’d be a political death sentence if you two had gotten together. Not only did your family hold enough power and influence, but they also refused to align themselves with others— not even with the Fire Lord. It has always left the other clans feeling unsettled.
For years, your clan has always gone along with the Fire Lord’s wishes— it has nothing to do with loyalty and all to do with the fact that they all just simply do their jobs, which they were scarily good at. Ozai wants war? Sure. Zuko wants peace amongst nations? No problem.
Usually that’d be seen as a good thing, but given how the army itself has looked up to your grandfather and your father, that was an issue. Nobody would be surprised if half of them were secret loyalists, and that terrified everyone— the thought of your clan branching off one day and successfully staging a coup.
Zuko choosing to have you as his advisor did absolutely nothing to ease their worries. You may have the same ideals as him, but no one forgot about the incident between you and your father when you turned 18 years old. You were young, ready for some freedom, and filled with rage after learning he signed you up for the military. Nobody forgot about the sheer amount of power they witnessed you exercise against him that day— sending bolts of lightning his way as you chased him down, yelling at him to take your name off of the roster.
You were going to kill him.
It was just one of the many, many skeletons that are hidden in your family’s closet.
Zuko wasn’t there to witness it, but it didn’t surprise him one bit. The only time you were allowed to interact with kids your age was during school and training, you were never allowed to go outside and play. Of course you snapped the way you did.
But that’s a story for another time.
For now, just know the man has no idea what the hell to say to you after last night. Especially not with the expressionless look on your face at the moment, making him wonder if he should just pretend like nothing ever happened, too.
He didn’t want to. You kissed him back with the same amount of eagerness before pushing him away, after all— he wasn’t going to forget that any time soon.
. . . . .
There’s a few rehabilitation centers scattered throughout the city, with each location having its own focus and goal. The one you arrive at is at the edge of the town, closer to the mountains, and can be considered to be a correctional facility.
To your surprise, the first one to greet the three of you is a very sober Aang. You’d think he’d be a little hungover, but a night out clearly doesn’t stop the Avatar from being a morning person.
Then there’s Zuko, who needs a fucking nap. You took one look at him in the carriage this morning and knew he didn’t even try. He tied his hair up in a bun and ditched the usual royal get-up for a tunic and training pants. The only thing that hints at him being the Fire Lord is the robe he threw on since it has the imperial symbol on the back, but even then, his demeanor was more of a prince slacking off on his duties.
Good thing the Avatar was there to remind the entire staff who they were all in the presence of.
“Alright, on your knees everyone!” Aang looks around behind him and shouts, cupping his hands together at his mouth so everyone could hear him loud and clear. “Lord Big Dick has arrived. Mhm, yup— look at him.”
There’s not a glint of joy in Zuko’s eyes as he walks further inside. It felt less like a government facility and more like a circus with all the clapping Aang is doing. As if he couldn’t be any more peeved at the moment, the employees do end up getting on their knees.
“Please stop bowing,” he murmurs, feeling his brain start to pound against his skull harder.
Aang crosses his arms and smiles rather proudly, further agitating the Lord. “Yeah, you see that? Sexy and humble.”
“I—“ Zuko cuts himself off, then takes a long, deep breath in hopes to ground himself. “Hey, Aang?”
“Yeah?”
“Stop talking.”
All the Avatar does in return is laugh. Getting on the Lord’s last nerve is fun, especially when you’re one of the very few individuals that can get away with it, but that grumpy Lord is still his friend, which is why he decides to lay off and take it easy on him for the rest of the tour.
The main difference between this facility and the ones back in the Fire Nation is that this one actually tries to help correct behavior rather than punish it.
Key word: Try.
Not everyone wanted to be saved.
What immediately caught your attention was how clean the facility was. It wasn’t some cold, dusty place where people were left to rot. If anything, the natural lightning and addition of indoor plants made it feel more like a nice getaway.
Of course, there were people still in confinement, but you were pleasantly surprised to learn that a majority of the people in the program were free to walk around. They all looked happy to be there, too— whatever they were doing was clearly working.
You and Heito spoke to a handful of the members, all of whom were eager to share their stories and most importantly, proud to talk about how far they’ve come. Most had similar stories of trauma and hardships, with their crimes being a direct result of being forced to suffer through it all alone.
Some have come to accept it, some have even forgiven themselves— then there was one guy that tried to take his anger out on Zuko. He wasn’t even mad about getting cussed out. His fathers reign of terror wasn’t that long ago— his family probably was the cause of all this poor man’s problem.
You will never understand how Zuko can stay so calm while having someone practically bark in his face, let alone allow them to. He got a reaction out of him once, and that was when he told him he had a small dick— Zuko laughed, because it’s really fucking not, then apologized.
The slew of insults ended with the one last final, “Fuck you— Your father ruined so many fuckin’ lives, I hope that evil bastard rots in hell.”
“Yeah, me too,” Zuko responds in a tone that’s way too casual, which throws the man off because he said a lot.
He was expecting him to respond with something more rehearsed. It didn’t even sound like he was trying to relate to the guy, his words just came off more as a parent tired of their child embarrassing them.
You’d think his father would stop being less of a thorn in his side given how he’s been behind bars for years now, but he still finds ways to inconvenience Zuko.
Just last week, he had to stand there and listen to another sob story about how he’s getting older and needed to be treated with dignity— his definition of dignity being released and put in a nice home, somewhere far away with lots of servants. His father does it every three moments. It’s the only time he requests to speak with him, actually.
He usually comes up with a respectful way to turn him down, since he’s the one that wanted to treat that evil piece of shit with dignity in the first place— a big mistake by the way, dignity’s been his favorite fucking word ever since.
Zuko wasn’t in the mood to fake being nice, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood to be rude, either. Instead he crouched down, looked him in the eye and made a joke that Ozai did not find funny.
“How about this,” Zuko began to strike a deal with him, bringing a glint of hope in his old man’s eyes. “I’ll let you out of here when the scar around my eye magically disappears.”
It took a moment for his father to process those words.
Zuko likes to describe his father as someone that gets deeply offended from the sight of joy— to the point where Ozai actually threatened to kill him once for laughing too hard when he was 7 years old. So, you can only imagine how enraged he was when he realized his son was poking fun at him and at the scar that was supposed to bring him shame.
‘Worthless, deformed bastard’ was one of the many insults his father threw at him as he walked away, yet the only thing that stuck to him was the grating pitch in Ozai’s voice as continued to have a meltdown. He can just hear his father yelling now, and it’s hurting his fucking teeth.
The member is still staring at Zuko in disbelief once he snaps out of it.
“What was your name again?” Zuko asks.
“…Haru?”
“That’s easy to remember,” Zuko says to himself, not exactly paying attention to Haru's sudden change in attitude. He never really cared for it to begin with. “If you ever find yourself interested in becoming an imperial guard, I’ll have a spot waiting for you.”
Haru looks at you and Heito in confusion, making you chime in. “You don’t have to. But, if you do, just know that everyone who works at the palace is well taken care of. Lots of opportunities for advancement, as well. I’m sure you’ll find it very rewarding.”
You couldn’t help but add that last part, knowing Zuko only offered him the job to fuck with Ozai a little. The former tyrant already has three big meals a day, clean clothes, a comfy futon and a couple of board games to keep him entertained, he can handle a little day to day banter.
The visit ends with a small chat with Aang and one of the program directors, Jin, in the courtyard. They were both aware of the rising tension in the Fire Nation, but didn’t know about the brothel incident in the Silk District until you told them— piquing Jin’s interest more than you had expected.
Zuko’s pretty much back to normal too, not that it makes much of a difference. He’s always been more of a listener and would rather let everyone else speak first.
And when he does finally speak, it’s because you’re asking him a question.
“What do you think of taking Jin back with us when we leave?” you ask him.
Zuko takes one look at the awkward man and almost rolls his eyes at how flattered he is that you want to take him home like he’s some kind of pet. He doesn’t even bother asking if he’d be okay with being borrowed, he’s clearly begging for it.
“Yeah,” he nods, faking the enthusiasm in his tone, then turns to Heito. “You already have a location in mind, right?”
Heito nods. “Yes, Sir.”
“Alright, cool.”
His tone came out clipped as he side-eyed the director, ready to tell him that he’s standing too close to you and that he is not your fucking type. The only thing that stopped him was Heito, who asked if everyone was ready to go— Zuko’s answer being almost immediate.
“Let’s go.”
. . .
The next day is spent visiting an orphanage.
At first, it brought that same heavy feeling the correction center brought, maybe even more since you’re around a bunch of innocent children. You’d say that it’s probably the highlight of your trip, though, thanks to all the little moments of joy they brought throughout the day.
From the start, you knew it’d be hard to leave once you saw how excited they were. Running up to you to show off their drawings, talking about their favorite subjects in school— also eager to tell their stories like the members from yesterday, just in their own way.
“E-Excuse me!” A little boy begins to pat on Zuko’s leg, trying to get his attention. “What happened to your eye?” he asks, unable to hide his concern.
It’s a question he gets every time he’s around children— he was pretty much waiting just for it at that point.
“Oh, this?” He crouches down with a smile. “I got burned in an accident when I was younger.”
Obviously not the truth, but that’s not a story you tell a five year old.
The kid tilts his head. “Does it hurt?”
“Nah, I’m alright,” he says, suppressing a laugh as he ruffles the kids' hair.
“Yeah, he’s strong!” another kid says, and Zuko easily agrees with that.
You would’ve laughed had you not noticed a girl, who had to be around three, trying to get your attention. She’s been staring at you for quite some time now and shuffled away when you tried to say hi, but you guess she finally mustered up the courage to say something.
“I like pink,” she quietly reveals, pointing at the lining of your robe. You’re still not wearing your nation's colors and opted to wear white and light pinks today.
“I like pink, too.” You smile as she makes herself comfortable, reaching out and touching your robe, intrigued by silky texture as well. “Is pink your favorite color?”
“Yeah!” She smiles back, quickly warming up to you. “Are you a princess?”
You laugh a little. “A princess? No, I’m just a normal girl.” Your mood’s immediately ruined when you hear Zuko snort at that— you don’t even know why he’s even trying to intrude on your conversation right now, this little girl clearly likes you more. “What?”
“You come from a family full of nobles,” he reminds you with a smug grin, then looks at the little girl. “She is a princess.”
She giggles and jumps around a little. “Are you a prince?”
He grins, like a fucking asshole. “Close— I’m a king.”
You roll your eyes, muttering “whatever” under your breath before a bunch of kids start asking him different questions all at the same time.
Aside from Heito, who left hours ago, the Fire Lord’s visit lasted the entire day. You were supposed to leave around lunch, yet you stayed for lunch and dinner. The little girl, who you came to know as Mira, stayed glued to your hip the entire time. At one point she took a nap in your arms after tiring herself out, but not before making sure you’d still be there when she woke up.
You guess the good thing about working for Zuko is that he doesn’t rush you while you try and fail to say goodbye to Mira. He stayed back, leaning against the door as he quietly watched.
“Are you coming back tomorrow?” she asks with a pout on her face.
Zuko also sees a slight pout on your face as you hesitate to answer. “I don’t know… we have a lot of work to do tomorrow. If I can’t, do you want me to send you letters?”
The kid lets out a defeated sigh. “But— but I don’t know how to read.”
“That’s okay,” you hum and rub her arm. “Your teacher can read it to you and you can tell her what to write back.”
Her eyes light up. “Really?”
“Yeah, of course.” You easily promised the girl, unaware of the fond look that always manages to appear on Zuko's face whenever he sees you at the orphanage back home. “You can tell me all about school and what you’ve been up to.”
Her little smile returns as she nods. “Okay!”
The little agreement between you made it easier for her to go back to her caretaker afterwards without crying. The man you’re now sitting alone with on the way back could say the same for you. You’d never admit it, though.
For a moment, he seriously thought you were going to bring her back home with you, given how quick you were to bring back the director from yesterday, too.
“You should’ve seen the caretaker's face when you decided she was going to read and write those letters for Mira,” he says, breaking the uncomfortable silence that set in once you stepped out of the orphanage.
You curse under your breath, you never even asked if she’d be okay with that. “I hope she doesn’t get tired from it. Fuck— what if she just throws my letters away? She’s gonna think I lied to her.”
“I doubt it,” he stifles a laugh. “You can always have one of the fire representatives make visits and handle the letters for her, if you want.”
“You actually think they’d do that?”
“Sure.” He shrugs. It’s not like they’d have much of a choice if it’s a direct order from him. “They deal with assholes all the time, it’d probably be a nice break for them.”
“I guess,” you hum. “I want it to be someone that’s a little more gentle, though. They’re all so serious, it’d probably scare her.”
“We’ll get someone that has daughters to do it, then,” he says, determined to help you keep your promise to the kid.
“Thank you,” you quietly say— had he been any further, he probably wouldn’t have heard you.
More silence. The discomfort it brought made it difficult to fully breathe. You had no idea what to say to him— especially not when that kiss started to replay in your mind. Heat creeped up your neck as you continued to push the image away.
Eventually, you come to the conclusion that there was only one way out of this mental torture, and that was to apologize.
“So uhm…” You barely look at him, instead you mess with your robe. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for being cold towards you these last few weeks.”
He raises his head, looking stupidly happy about being the one to receive an apology first. “You sure you’re not just saying that because you had fun today?”
“…Maybe.” A smile starts to tug at your lips, just glad he responded with something lighthearted. “I shouldn’t have dragged it out for that long, though. Sorry for making everything more difficult than it should’ve been.”
“Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t exactly making it easy for you when you wanted to stay back.” He leans back in his seat, remembering how he went straight to demanding that you come along. “It wasn’t fair of me to try to talk to you when I was drunk and mad, either. I’m sorry about that.”
“Thank you,” you murmur, still playing with the lining of your robe, “...for the apology and for throwing out the chancellors' request to investigate the damages done in the east wing.”
“No need to mention it.” He waves a hand, brushing it off as if he wasn’t startled by the sudden crack of lightning.
He’s going to pretend like he wasn’t considering filing charges against your clan, either— not because he felt that you needed to be reprimanded, but because he wanted to add a tally to his side of the scoreboard.
The funny thing is you still have no idea about your clan paying for the damages. Your father didn’t even have to ask if it was you. All it took was one of his soldiers mentioning the incident for his fatherly intuition kicked in, making him extend the training break so he could slip the lord some hush money.
Zuko politely refused at first, hoping it’d build some sort of trust with your father, only to quickly realize there was absolutely nothing to build on. He truly didn’t care to form alliances with anyone outside of his family.
“I appreciate your forgiveness, but my daughter is still indebted to you. I won’t be able to sleep at night as her father knowing it could be used as leverage to turn her into some useless concubine—“
Zuko’s eyes widened. “No, I-I would never do that—“
“Right, right.” He doesn’t believe him one bit. “Unfortunately, your words bring me no comfort, but neither does the word of god. So please, allow me to soothe my spirit by taking responsibility for my daughter’s mistakes.”
That entire interaction left Zuko staring at the wall for over half an hour, insulted and confused by the strategists' lack of trust in him.
He clears his throat, pushing past the silence before it grows uncomfortable again. “I haven’t gotten the chance to thank you for today and yesterday.”
You blink a couple times. “...For what?”
“You know.” Zuko does some awkward hand gesture and you still don’t know. “Like talking and getting to know everyone in the programs.”
“Oh… thanks,” you say, still confused as to where this is coming from. “I haven’t been doing anything different, though.”
“I appreciate it either way,” he says, somehow managing to be both vague and straightforward. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what?” you nearly laugh, convinced he’s talking just to talk at this point.
“Fuck— everything,” he huffs, unsure where to even start— you’re fucking perfect. “Always asking the right questions, coming up with solutions with everyone's best interest in mind— all the thought and effort. Even in conversations, you always know what to say. Heito sucks at getting to know people.”
“Are you sure you’re not just trying to get on my good side again?”
“No, I’m just— half the council doesn’t give a shit,” he admits. “At least you do.”
His comment about the council pulls a small laugh out of you, then dies down into a hum. “Of course I do. I can’t take it out on the civilians. It’s not their fault that their Lord is—“
“Is what?” he murmurs, daring you to finish that statement.
You innocently shrug. “A little moody.”
“That’s what I thought,” he chuckles. “Lucky for them his advisors on the public’s side.”
“Mhm— exactly.”
If only your father knew just how much Zuko agreed with him— it wouldn’t be fair to the world if he kept you locked away. He has you to thank for a majority of the good decisions he’s made. At this point, your opinion’s more valuable than his. He might get annoyed seeing other men stare at you sometimes, but it’s never stopped him from bringing you wherever he goes. He wanted you to be admired and remembered by others.
The idea of taking you in as a concubine has always been out of the question, despite what that crazy old man thinks.
“I can’t think of anyone more deserving of a crown.”
The carriage creaks.
You can’t help but just stare.
And Zuko stares back, because he fucking means it.
He’s also aware of how much you hate hearing this stuff. For some reason, it leaves you very, very vulnerable and that’s the one thing you don’t know how to handle.
Unfortunately, Zuko knows exactly how to break you down a bit. He enjoys watching you spiral, too. He’s just not sure which one’s worse at this point.
“That’s not,” The words die out in your throat, you want to crawl out of your skin. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Yeah, I know.” The soothing tone he uses does nothing to settle you, there’s not one ounce of remorse in it. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. I— are you dumb?” you struggle to find the words, and it’s an amusing sight to see.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t ask your Lord such disrespectful questions,” he playfully scolds you, hoping it makes you worse so he can show you just how little he cares.
“You have an entire courtyard of women waiting for that crown.”
“It’s not for them.”
“Yes, it is!” You can’t help but snap at him. “That’s the whole point of their families sending them here— to have your kids!”
“It’s not a requirement.”
“No, it’s not because it just happens when you do your part.” You continue to scold him, even more annoyed at fact that you even have to explain that “God, you’re so difficult— you have so many to choose from, why can’t you just fucking pick one?!”
“I like being difficult.” He looks away as he huffs out a laugh, knowing it’ll just get worse if he continues to look at you. “Nobody’s getting that crown.”
You let out a long sigh. “You can’t just joke about stuff like that.”
Zuko just nods and lets you believe whatever you want to believe.
He wasn’t kidding, though— that crown is yours. He’ll melt that thing down to a useless rock before anyone else could have it.
“I’m serious— the council’s already asking questions about the next heir.”
It’s only been brought up once, but once is enough to get the ball rolling. The topic will only become more frequent with time, and if they heard him talking like this, there will be a push.
“As if I don't have bigger things to worry about, like the crime rate shooting up,” he laughs bitterly.
He decided a long time ago that everyone was going to have to wait for an heir. He already has millions of citizens to take care of and he’s clearly not doing enough with the Silk District plummeting to hell.
It might be too late to try to look at the bright side, but you felt a little bad for the sudden wave of stress that topic brought over him. “At least you’re doing something about it.”
“I’m trying.” He turns to look outside the carriage and catches some of the moonlight peeking through. “Go easy on me in the mean time— I’m stressed.”
“Right.” You hold back a laugh and nod. “You say that as if I’m the one that starts the fights.”
“You should probably start remembering how important you are, then. I need you around,” he reminds you, this time around it’s said with a certainty that leaves no room for extra questions.
For once, you allow yourself to look at the way it highlights the features of his face— from his nose, to his eyes, to his jaw. So sharp. Yet even now in all his seriousness, there’s still something so soft about him. For the longest time you wondered what it was, only for you to remember what Zuko was like as a kid. He had his moments like any other child— cried a lot, too— but he always tried to do the right thing, even after all of the suffering he’s gone through.
He’s just a good person.
Time has only proven his father wrong— a child born with a heart of gold was the luckiest of them all.
. . . . .
Time moves slow when you’re miserable. It explains why you’re already boarding the air ship to go back home— the rest of the trip went by in a blink of an eye once you finally settled things with Zuko.
You didn’t expect much from this trip aside from touring facilities and learning about the new programs— now you’re leaving with more people than you came with. There’s a little over a dozen volunteers, one of them being Jin, the director from the correction facility.
At first you were worried Zuko would be stand-offish with him. It’s hard not to after catching him glaring at the guy, multiple times, for no reason when they first met, but he ended up being more preoccupied with something else.
He was more quiet than usual, troubled over whatever thoughts were running through his mind. Then from the corner of your eye, you catch him looking at you four separate times.
The fifth is when you finally give him attention.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stop by the orphanage real quick and grab Mira?”
“She’s a child,” you remind him, since he’s treating adoption like a grocery store run. “I can’t just rip her away from her home at the last minute. Besides, they probably won’t even allow that.”
Zuko can’t say he’s too surprised at the way you immediately lashed out at him. It’s been well over an hour since you’ve said goodbye to the kid and your eyes are still puffy.
“What if they did allow it?”
“Why are you even asking me this right now? I can’t adopt a child right now,” your eyes start to well up again, voice threatening to break in a whine. “Who’s going to watch her?”
He’s not used to seeing you cry and pauses in fear of saying something that’ll lead to actual tears. He probably should’ve worded it better from the start. This entire idea was last minute to begin with.
“I don’t know I was just thinking, since she’s the youngest and nobody wants to play with her, we can just move her to the orphanage at the palace. Most of the kids there are on the younger side anyway.”
“Wait.” The tears stop, you take in a sharp breath. “She won’t have to play in the corner by herself anymore. Do you think they’d actually let us do that?”
Zuko has spent the last 6 days watching you build a bond with a little girl who adored you from the start, then he had to watch your heart break in fucking half when you had to say goodbye— never again.
He will literally kidnap Mila if he has to.
It probably won’t be that difficult in your case, though. Her caretakers already know how much you adore her. They’ve seen the way her eyes light up when you’re around. She might not be going to a traditional family, but for all the selfish reasons people can have children, he sees nothing wrong with you taking her back home so she doesn’t have to play alone anymore.
So, yes, he thinks they will let you do that.
chapter recap:
- we met zuko’s dad and he lw hates him 🙂↕️
- more of readers backstory. she pretty much refuses to be with zuko bc her clans seen as problematic and since she’s not a concubine, it’ll probably set some people off. if the clans aren’t balanced, it could lead to a rebellion/someone trying to take the throne. readers also annoyed that he won’t fuck his concubines because not having an heir also causes civil unrest and could also lead to someone else trying to take the throne lol so she cares! she just wants to live in a peaceful country
- zuko hated seeing reader cry so much he gave her a baby (there’s an orphanage in the palace grounds that reader can visit her in)
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Content: contrary to popular belief, the fire lord can't have everything he wants. however, even he’d admit that what he wanted was troublesome in itself, which is why he forces himself to be okay with having you by his side as his advisor. [tw: MDNI, angst/fluff/smut, apothecary diaries coded, so much yearning and longing, porn with plot, there is no power imbalance he’s afraid of your father, zuko’s a little shit tho, we’re already married in his head] wc: 4.8k
m.list | chapter one | next chapter
“You want me to do your hair?”
His lips twitch, fighting back a smile. “Yes, precisely.”
You sigh as you step into the man’s chambers, walking up to the vanity that’s more fitting for a queen, in your opinion. If only people saw this side of the fire lord. Zuko, the pretty boy. He has zero insecurities over the scar his tyrant of a father left on his face, but he’d faint at the sight of seeing too much hair shed on the marble floors of his bathhouse.
“When you decide to have me summoned like this, do you ever wonder, hm— what would her father think?” you ask as you grudgingly pick up the brush and begin to run the bristles his hair.
“I do,” he dryly responds. “I like the way you do your hair, though, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell on me. You wouldn’t want me getting in trouble, right?”
Zuko might be the fire lord, but he still has to watch his relationships with the other clans in this nation— especially with a certain hot-headed strategist that just so happens to be your father. You can only imagine his outburst upon learning that his daughter is playing with the lord's hair, rather than playing your role as his advisor.
Most fathers would be pleased by the information— not yours, he’s a little more… strict. He already doesn’t like him from a joke made over a decade ago, suggesting you’d make a fine concubine, which wasn’t taken lightly.
Your father threatened to usurp the throne, sending a chill running down a then 21 year old Zuko’s spine.
There was no way in hell he’d hand you off to the imperial palace to become a concubine. You’re the only child of his that inherited firebending. If your father had it his way, you’d be a warrior, for fucks sake.
Lord Zuko may have a dry sense of humor at times, but you have your doubts about how much of a joke that statement was, especially with how much he likes to bug you throughout the day.
Perhaps another conflict should erupt— the man has too much time on his hands. Maybe then you’d fulfill your fathers wish of finally working in the military— put your talents to use, as he’d say.
But would Lord Zuko allow the gentle hands running through his hair to commit such violence? Or would that be when he’d draw a hard line with the aggressive strategist?
As progressive as he is, you sometimes wonder just how much it extends to you. Even as children, he’d go easy on you during trainings. He’s only grown softer with you as the years passed. Despite not being a concubine yourself, you wouldn’t be surprised if he saw you as one of the flowers in his garden— one he’s not allowed to touch.
You slide the hair stick through his headpiece, securing the top knot he had you redo. It looks the same, but you hold off on making a comment. “Is that better?”
“Much better.” His eyes meet yours in the mirror, lips curving into a sly smile. “Now— what are we doing today?”
We. You hate how much he likes to emphasize that at times.
“Well,” you sigh. “Aside from the usual council meeting, nothing much. Perhaps you can visit one of your concubines today… for once.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Are you saying I don’t fuck my concubines enough?”
“Precisely,” you say almost mockingly.
It’s all they ever complain about, and honestly, you’re sure you would, too, if you were one of them. Having to wake up and sit around all day, waiting for a man who never comes. And on the rare occasion that he does, he doesn’t stay long. He’ll show up, fuck the shit out of you for a couple rounds, then leave right after. Allegedly.
“Don’t you want an heir?” you ask.
“Depends,” he hums.
With the way he’s looking at you, you can already tell what it depends on, and it has nothing to do with his current concubines. Lucky for you, he never gets the chance to actually say it because he gets interrupted right after, putting a conversation you’d rather not have to a screeching halt.
“The council is waiting for you, my Lord.”
—
The silk district was notoriously known for two things: brothels and bandits. It was the wild, wild west compared to the other districts in the capital due to high crime and the growing wealth gap. The governments always kept a watchful eye on it, which was never enough in your opinion.
Are you surprised to hear that an entire brothel, including the madame, was discovered to be slain and robbed in the early hours of this morning? Absolutely not.
“Send more military officers to patrol the area,” the chamberlain says without hesitation. “We’ve been too lenient with them. If they want bloodshed, we’ll give them bloodshed.”
Yikes, he wants to rule the area with an iron fist when they’re already clearly struggling. You can’t help but think of how much of a dictator this guy would be if he were in Zuko’s place.
You make eye contact with the lord, who’s sitting at the end of the table right next to you. In that brief moment, he notices the concern in your eyes and gives you a subtle nod.
“Perhaps we can send more public aid?” you suggest. “They’ve been testing out a new rehabilitation program in Republic City as well. I’m sure the Silk District could benefit from—“
“Nonsense,” the chamberlain cuts you off, wondering why you’re even here right now— he thought you only assisted in matters within the court, not outside of it. “I-“
“Careful,” Zuko interrupts the man rather playfully as he continues to read through the scroll. “That’s the military strategist’s daughter you’re speaking to.”
The comment makes you nearly roll your eyes, knowing the only reason why he said it was because you’re having to constantly remind him yourself when he gets too close.
The chamberlain, however, straightens up immediately. You have no idea why it took him this long to realize it. He’s been here for nearly over a year, but at least he knows now. The chamberlain can be quite rude at times, you wouldn’t want him to slip up with your father in the room. Not only would that earn him an earful of insults that are as creative as they are hurtful, but it’d also be embarrassing on your part.
That old man embarrasses you enough when he’s around. Following you around like a lost puppy after meetings, asking if you’ve eaten and if your superiors are treating you right, while side eyeing the fire lord himself. You’d agree so yourself that he has too much power in the court. He enjoys holding it over everyone’s head even more. It’s sickening, really.
You look at the chamberlain, who is now pouting, and offer an apologetic smile. “May I continue?”
“Yes, of course,” the old man nods, struggling to hide his shame.
Always one for games, Zuko finds himself suppressing a laugh, which in turn makes the chamberlain’s slouch worsen. He’s grown to find more and more amusement in his daily tasks, a trait his father would definitely disapprove of— good thing he’s not here anymore.
The rest of the meeting went by as smooth as it could be, with the fire lord, of course, praising the chancellor in the end for being so well behaved, pretending to wonder what could’ve changed his usual demeanor. The usual teasings, all while you once again found yourself thinking of how light he’s become. Even after receiving such upsetting news, he stayed calm while finding a solution.
A humane one.
No longer the grumpy, angsty boy you grew up with. He’s actually quite charming. But you keep that to yourself.
The palace grounds are empty, as they should be during the afternoon. Everyone’s off either eating, napping, or tending to duties such as cooking or cleaning. It’s quiet, surprisingly peaceful. Your footsteps echo throughout the breezeway as Zuko defies the basic etiquette of walking ahead of you as a ruler should. Instead, the bastard walks a little slower than you. If given the opportunity, he’d turn it into a mini competition of who could walk the slowest, up until you both come to a full stop, with him looking at you all smug.
“Your chambers are this way,” you remind the said bastard as if he’d already forgotten.
He doesn’t bother to look back as he responds, walking down a gravel path leading directly to the flower garden. “How about we take a detour today, hm?”
You watch him for a moment, waiting to see if he’d stop. He doesn’t, and you shouldn’t be surprised by it. You’re able to catch up with him in just seconds given his slow pace, this time not bothering to walk behind him as he’s clearly in the mood to be extra stubborn today.
You’re all alone and away from the hearing distance of anyone else, yet you still choose to speak quietly as you start to gently tease the man. “What a surprise to see the king taking some time to enjoy his garden.”
He lets out a soft laugh that fades into a hum. “Only around a select few.”
“Oh, wow,” you pretend to be impressed. “How charitable.”
“It’s an honor that you think so,” he says, placing a hand over his chest to add to the theatrics, trying not to laugh once again. “Tell me, when was the last time you walked through here?”
You hum as you walk further into the sprawling garden filled with wooden arches covered with green vines and flowers in full bloom. “Can’t say I actually remember when.”
“That’s a shame. I had the gardener plant new rose bushes,” he murmurs. “Wanted to ask what you thought of them.”
“I think they’re lovely,” you admit, softly pinching a petal, rubbing your thumb over the velvety skin.
He smiles. “I figured.”
They were your favorite after all.
Why is he like this? The garden’s already filled with enough flowers. A new section wasn’t needed.
Again, he’s just bored.
In an attempt to keep the conversation from getting any more personal, you change the subject. “Are you looking forward to your trip to Republic City?”
At the end of the meeting, it was decided that he’d visit with the purpose of getting more information about the new rehabilitation program the city was rolling out. While the chancellor wanted to take a more aggressive approach, he decided to take a more peaceful route. It’s admirable how hands on he’s chosen to be since taking his father's place.
“Mhm. It’ll be nice catching up with some old friends while I’m there—“ he cuts himself off and looks at you with slight suspicion, “you’re going, right?”
You never said you would, nor did you want to, honestly. It’d be nice to take a break. “I’m sure you and some of your subordinates can handle it.”
“Weren’t you the one who came up with the idea, though?” his tone slightly clips as he reminds you.
“I was,” you respond tentatively, taking back your thoughts from earlier as you look him in the eyes.
This man looks like he’s about to throw a fit.
Zuko opens his mouth again, already knowing he shouldn’t be this pushy towards you, of all people, but he is far from perfect.
So with a forced smile and all the resolve in the world, he murmurs, “you’re going.”
You smile back despite feeling an annoyed heat creep up your neck, heart starting to pick up. “Alright.”
—
Imagine being the fire lord, a literal ruler, and getting the cold shoulder from your own advisor. Every answer is so curt and clinical, and it’s going to drive him up the wall.
Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord. Apologies, my lord.
Give him a fucking break.
As if you weren’t punishing him enough, you went ahead and had two of his concubines “accompany” him on the trip. It’s not like he can say no to that, either, since it’s considered to be one of his duties. Not to mention they both come from high-ranking families that would not be very pleased to hear of their neglect.
So now he has to deal with two spoiled, pent-up brats hanging on him during the entirety of this flight, all while trying not to glare at the biggest brat of them all— you, as you sit directly across from him, reading probably what’s some pathetic romance novel.
This is fucking ridiculous. You haven’t looked at him once since you first sat down.
You’re no better than him. There was a strike of lightning in the direction you walked off in, and given how it was a perfectly sunny day, he’s pointing his finger at you for the damages done in the east wing, despite keeping his mouth shut on the matter. Complain about being dragged to Republic City all you want, but you still have it better than most. If you really did have it that bad, you would’ve been punished for such an offense.
Like, seriously? Blowing shit up, like a fucking child— a terrifying one, to be frank, you are absolutely your father’s daughter— just because you had to do your job? Grow up. His grandfather’s statue was shattered in the midst of it all, thanks to you. You’re lucky he never liked the bastard.
In protest, you’re dressed like a noble's daughter rather than a member of the court. Wearing the finest silk and adorned in gold imported from the Earth nation, quietly refusing to represent your actual nation as you claim to be representing your clan— proof that you have enough power on your own to be acting like he’s actively denying you of basic human rights.
As if he even cared about your attire. Be his guest! You look fucking hot. Someone might even mistake you for one of his concubines, and he might just not correct them, since you think you’re more petty than he is.
Zuko gets pulled out of his thoughts when Concubine Aika speaks, still leaning against him and rubbing on his chest. She asked what book you were reading, which is when you finally looked up from it.
“It’s sort of an adventure novel.” You look at the cover, speaking to her with a certain warmth you’ve been depriving him of. “It’s about a girl escaping an abusive orphanage once she turns 18 and follows her journey for the next 10 years.”
So now you’re fantasizing about leaving him? Good luck with that.
“You look troubled, my lord,” the woman to his right, Concubine Saiyo, says. She’s leaning against him as well, now tracing her fingers along his jaw. “Are you alright?”
“M’fine,” he murmurs, trying to fix his face as he takes a sip of sake. “It’s been a long flight.”
“There’s a private cabin you can retreat to, if you’d like,” you suggest, going back to your little book, missing the way you just made the lord’s eye twitch.
“I know,” he says.
It’s his airship.
Without warning, he gets up from his seat. Was it a little rude? Perhaps. But surely the two women beside him could understand what feeling hounded could do to someone. They don’t, they do their jobs and get up as well, which he understands. However, Zuko’s not in the fucking mood right now and waves a dismissive hand.
“No need,” he curtly says, making his way to the back of the airship. “I just want to close my eyes for a bit.”
. . . . . .
The trip starts off strong with a banquet being held in honor of the fire lord's arrival.
Contrary to Zuko’s wishes, nobody’s stupid enough to mistake you for one of his concubines. At least not within the circle of people you’re mingling with tonight, who all recognize your family's crest engraved on your hairpin.
They were an ambitious bunch that spread all over once Zuko came into power— reaching amongst the highest positions within the military, medicine, and even education.
Funny enough, your position in the court was nothing special in comparison to some of your relatives’ achievements. Some are even bothered by the fact. Being the first of all your cousins to master the art of firebending, being your grandfather's favorite solely for bending lightning with the same grace as he did in his prime, all while excelling in your studies.
All of that potential, just wasted on being the lord’s “pet”.
You don’t have much of an opinion on the disappointment some of them have expressed in the past, though it would’ve been nice if their words had stayed behind closed doors. You didn’t want to hear any of it. If you truly wanted to make use of that said potential, you would’ve worked directly under your father as his subordinate.
Maybe it was the result of growing up feeling like you were enough. You have nothing to prove, and quite frankly, you’re content with having a role that really only requires you to share your opinions with a ruler that shares the same ideals as you… for the most part.
If only he’d also agree that you two spend way too much time together.
Luckily, you’re not required to be by his side tonight since you’re attending the banquet as a representative of your clan— something Zuko had no clue about until the moment you stepped onto the airship, which had him looking like he was about to blow a fucking gasket. He absolutely sucks at masking his frustrations. You’re surprised his concubines still had the courage to cuddle up with him. He looked like he was 2.5 seconds away from throwing you off the ship mid-flight.
Zuko would never do that, by the way, but you’re sure he was daydreaming about it.
But even then, with all the distance between you tonight, you can still feel his eyes on you. Just watching and waiting for you to do something he didn’t like. Very masochistic considering how he wouldn’t confront you if you did end up doing something wrong in his eyes.
You spend the entire night avoiding eye contact, which isn’t too hard given how all you’ve done is catch up with old peers from school and relatives who’ve decided to move here to start new lives.
The relatives you got along with, that is.
You were enjoying yourself. Truly. Until Sokka called you over to their table.
Funny how Zuko wasn’t looking at you then and was instead stuffing his face with spicy dumplings, then downing it with whatever liquor was in his cup.
You walk over with two thoughts running through your head— please don’t let this man be as drunk as Sokka and Aang, and don’t let this be a conversation about how work was been. Sokka tends to ask those things at the wrong time, despite his heart being in the right place.
This time around, it’s not Sokka.
“How’s our flaming hot lord treating you?” Aang asks, throwing an arm around a very drunk Zuko, who’s laughing his ass off over the avatar’s words for once.
Your lips may have twitched a little, as well. Only because Aang gave even less fucks when in an inebriated state.
“Oh, you know— the usual.” You let out a lighthearted laugh, and only you notice the way Zuko’s face momentarily drops.
The air around him quickly screams ‘don’t fuck with me’, then settles back into something more suitable for someone who’s already had half their water weight in alcohol.
“C’mon, you can do better than that,” Zuko forces out a laugh, leaning back in his seat.
You laugh a little harder. “Can I?”
“Yeah, you can.”
Sokka lets out this weird, giddy gasp because he loves drama, and cuts in. “Are you two fighting?”
“No.”
“No.”
You and Zuko look at each other after shutting down Sokka’s question at the same time. The fake smiles you’re wearing are not helping your case at all.
“Where’s Katara? I’ve been wondering where she’s been this whole time,” you ask in an attempt to keep the energy between you from getting any more awkward than it already is
Aang grows a little pale— the instant karma feels nice. “She’s a little sick tonight.”
There’s a bit of fear in his voice. She’s totally pregnant. Not that you say that. Instead, you just point in some random direction behind you. “That’s terrible— my cousin actually just mentioned a bug going around. I hope she feels better soon.”
“Thank you,” the man lets out a sigh of relief, allowing himself to be delusional for just one more night.
“What about Toph?”
“Home. Asleep.” Sokka rolls his eyes. “She’s like a little old lady now. You’ll see her tomorrow, though, she’s been volunteering at the center.”
“Volunteering or beating everyone into submission?” Zuko murmurs, and they all erupt in laughter. “She probably runs that place like the military.”
You find yourself starting to zone out as the conversation moves on to a different topic. You’d like to blame some of the wine you’ve been sipping on throughout the night for that. Everything starts to melt together— the live music, the endless chatter in every which direction. The only thing that pulls you out of it is seeing another one of your cousins who had just arrived, waving at you, and you don't shy away from taking that as an opportunity to excuse yourself.
Aang and Sokka were as kind as usual when you said your goodbyes. Zuko, on the other hand, was harder to read through the pathetic excuse of a smile he gave you. One only meant to save face.
If only he knew just how much worse he makes things sometimes. Although they’re rare, this isn’t the first fight you two have been in. Perhaps you have been a little petty towards the man, but it’s not you who grows so frustrated at someone’s anger that you begin to hold a grudge yourself.
You arrive back to your room in the early morning with the regret of not cutting yourself off from the drinks sooner than you did. You wouldn’t say you were drunk, but you were definitely tipsy as you started to shed layers of clothes and jewelry to get in the hot bath that had been prepared prior to your return.
Aang may be childish at times, but fuck was he a great host. Or maybe it was Katara who had all of these amenities set up for you. Candles and bath salts— you could die a happy woman right now as you settle into the stone tub, taking deep breaths, letting your muscles relax.
Twenty minutes in, you hear rattling and heavy footsteps that seem to hit the ground with more confusion than the determination an attacker would usually have. It forces you to leave the warmth of your bath, slipping on a robe. Getting hit with annoyance rather than fear may be a little foolish. Overconfident, even. But there’s still alcohol running through your veins, and you aren’t the pride and joy of your clan for no reason— you can absolutely hold your own in a fight.
When you walk out of the bathroom, you come face to face with exactly who you were thinking of.
“Fuck,” he looks away for a moment, regretting his decision thinking it was okay to just walk in.
Zuko didn’t think you’d be bathing, for some odd, stupid reason. Judging by the fact that he’s still wearing his usual day clothing and his hairs not up in a bun, it’s safe to assume he went straight here after leaving the banquet.
You let out a long sigh. “God— what are you doing here?”
You don’t even sound mad— just disappointed that you have to see him once more before you lay your head to rest, which slightly hurts the man’s ego. Truth be told, he came here to argue with you, but even in his drunken state, he’s finding it quite difficult to do so since he looks like a fucking pervert now.
“Your comment from earlier— what the hell was that about?” Zuko sounds more wounded than anything right now.
You cross your arms, leaning against the door frame that connects the room to the bathroom. “What comment?”
“The usual,” he says with air quotes. “Do you not like me anymore or something?”
“You’re seriously asking me that right now?” Your face twists, just dumbfounded at this point. “You ask me that as if I don’t work for you?”
He scoffs. “So what, you’re saying I’m not your friend now?”
“I mean, yeah— you are, but I’m still your subordinate at the end of the day,” you attempt to spell it out for him, trying to get it through his brain that he can’t just act like you two are a pair of besties.
But he just continues to argue with you.
“Really? ‘Cause last time I checked, people don’t fight their superiors.”
No, they do not. You’re not sure why you even tried to make that an argument, the line between you has blurred a long time ago.
“You know what, just— forget it.”
The thing is, you're not the best at taking accountability. Most of the arguments you’ve had with him have been swept under the rug after a while. Zuko's not having that right now, though.
“Hm— actually, no— I don’t think I will,” he stubbornly says. “You have been punishing me for fucking weeks now and now you just want me to forget it?”
Punishing him?
You roll your eyes, muttering “oh my god” under your breath, not even bothering to look him straight in the eyes anymore as you walk to the nightstand and pick up a small jar of body cream.
“We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow,” you say dismissively, rubbing the jasmine-scented cream into your hands. “I need to go to sleep, and so should you, honestly.”
It doesn’t matter how well he can handle his alcohol— he reeks of it.
“I’m trying to talk to you right now so I don’t have to deal with your attitude tomorrow,” he says, as if he hasn’t had an attitude himself the last couple of weeks.
“Don’t worry, you won’t have to,” you murmur back.
What feels like minutes pass after your pathetic attempt to settle your issues with him. At first, he just lets out a sigh, trying to keep his composure, but then he laughs under his breath.
“So that’s it?” he asks in a condescending tone. “We’re all good now?”
“Yes. Goodnight, Zuko,” you hum.
More silence follows after. You can just feel his eyes on you despite still facing away, now reaching for some hair oil, waiting for him to leave.
He never does. Even after working the product into your hair, you have yet to hear the door to your room close, making you grow wary.
There are many things telling you not to turn around at the moment— your blurred mind and tensed body. But even you make mistakes, lots of them with Zuko, and so you finally turn around.
His lips are on yours.
You don’t know how long he’d been standing directly behind you, you never even heard his footsteps. All you know is his hands are snaked behind your neck and he’s kissing you and you’re letting him.
It takes you a moment to realize you’re kissing him back— too focused on how soft his lips are, how his tongue glides across your lower lip before slipping inside, so commanding yet so gentle.
Then you sober up— pressing your palm flat against his chest and pushing him back so you two can look at each other, eyes wide and filled with instant regret.
“What the hell was that?” you try to snap at him, but the sharp edge was dulled from the start, already fearing what’ll change between you from this moment forward.
“I— fuck,” he stutters, taking another step back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
Immediately, you cut him off. “No, you shouldn’t have and you know that.”
“I know.” It sounds like a plea coming from him as his chest tightens. “I’m sorry.”
Even you start to look apologetic, which breaks his heart a little since you did nothing wrong. The one who crossed the line was him, after all. “You should go. You’re drunk.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it shortly after. There was nothing to say.
And so he slowly nods and turns around, still in shock by his own actions as he begins to walk away, leaving you to deal with the aftermath of what the fuck just happened on your own.
This was going to be the longest work trip of your life.
notes: i hope u guys enjoyed this first chapter!! this was supposed to be a oneshot but then ideas kept popping up in my head and i thought, why don't i just turn this into a longfic like defiance lol. the plan is to follow these two around throughout a couple arcs, with the first one being them trying to navigate their feelings and attempting to go back to normal while trying to fix the shit show in the silk district.
The iron door of the Capital City prison groaned with a heavy thud, echoing through the damp stone corridors of the Fire Nation capital’s most secure holding facility. Zuko stood in the flickering orange light of the torches, his breath caught in his throat. His father had welcomed him home. The people hailed him as a hero. He was the Prince of the Fire Nation again, restored to his birthright and his honor. Yet, as he walked down the halls, the weight of the crown felt like a leaden shackle.
He stopped first at his uncle’s cell. Iroh sat in the center of the room, his back turned, a mountain of silent disappointment. Zuko stood there for a long moment, the heat of his own shame radiating off him. He tried to speak, to explain the impossible choice he had to made under the crystalline catacombs of Ba Sing Se, but the words died in his throat. Iroh didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe with the heavy, rhythmic cadence of the Dragon of the West. He was simply a statue of grief.
Zuko hadn’t just come to see his uncle.
Gritting his teeth, Zuko turned away. He didn't have to walk far. The cell across from Iroh held the person who haunted his dreams almost as much as his uncle did.
His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, rhythmic drumming that made his hands tremble within the silk sleeves of his royal robes.
(Y/N) sat on a low stone bench, her silhouette framed by the flickering orange glow of a single torch in the hallway. Like Iroh, she had been stripped of her dignity, her hair matted and her face smudged with soot. She had been his shadow since they were children—the only one who didn't laugh when he stumbled through his forms, the one who had followed him into exile not out of obligation to the throne, but out of a fierce, terrifying loyalty to him.
She didn't look up when the light from the hallway spilled across the floor. The last time Zuko had seen (Y/N), she was standing beside Iroh in the tea shop, laughing at a joke the old man had made about a mislabeled box of ginseng. Now, her Fire Nation silks were tattered and stained with dust, and her face, once the only source of genuine warmth Zuko had known during his exile, was a mask of frigid indifference.
"I brought you something," Zuko said, his voice cracking slightly. He reached through the bars, placing a small silk pouch on the ground. It contained the dried fire-lilies she used to favor. "The palace gardens are in full bloom. I thought... I thought the smell might be better than this place."
Silence.
(Y/N) didn't look up. She didn't reach for the flowers. She remained perfectly still, her gaze fixed on a crack in the far wall. The silence was deafening. It was a physical weight, pressing against Zuko’s chest until he felt he might suffocate.
Zuko stepped closer to bars. "I know you’re angry. I know what this looks like. But you have to understand, I did it for us. For our future. We’re home. The Avatar is dead, I can get you out of here. I can tell Father that you were coerced by the Avatars friends. I can save you."
Still, nothing. Not a flicker of an eyelid or a twitch of a finger. Seeing her like this—a hollow shell of the fire she once carried—hurt more than the scar on his face.
Zuko felt a flash of the old temper—the desperate, scorched-earth anger that had defined his years on the search for the Avatar. "Talk to me! Say something! Curse me, call me a traitor, tell me you hate me, but don't just sit there like a statue!"
Across the hall, Iroh remained huddled in his corner, a silent witness to the carnage of Zuko’s soul. But (Y/N)—she was the one who was hurting the most.
Zuko sank to his knees, his forehead leaning against the cool surface of the metal bars. "Please, (Y/N)," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I missed you every day we were apart in the Earth Kingdom. When Azula told me I could come home, the first thing I thought of wasn't the throne. It was you. I thought we could finally stop running. I thought we could be happy."
He closed his eyes, remembering the time before banishment. You had always been the more disciplined bender, your flames a steady, concentrated gold compared to his erratic bursts of orange. You had sacrificed your standing, your family name, and your freedom to follow a disgraced prince into the unknown.
And he had thrown you in a hole.
One evening, after a particularly draining dinner with Azula and his father, Zuko marched into the prison with a different energy. He wasn't alone though. Mai followed a few paces behind, her expression one of bored detachment, though her eyes flickered with a hint of curiosity as they approached the cells.
The guards opened the door for him and Zuko stopped in front of (Y/N)’s bars.
"You’re being stubborn," Zuko snapped, his voice echoing in the hollow space. "The world is changing. The Fire Nation has won, and I am at the forefront of it. I’m not the confused outcast you knew. I have a place here."
He reached back and took Mai’s hand, pulling her slightly forward into the light. Mai didn't resist, though she looked at (Y/N) with a look that resembled some sort of pity.
"Look at me, (Y/N)," Zuko commanded, his voice rising. "I’m not alone anymore. Mai is by my side. She understands the reality of our world. She doesn't cling to outdated notions of 'shame' or 'traitorous' sentiment. We’re happy. I’m happy."
He squeezed Mai’s hand, perhaps a bit too hard. He leaned in, his face inches from the bars, his breath hitching. He wanted—no, he needed—(Y/N) to react. He wanted her to scream at him, to show a spark of the jealousy or rage that would prove she still cared. He wanted her to acknowledge that his new life, his "perfect" life with the perfect noble girlfriend, was a success.
"Mai and I spend every evening together," Zuko continued, his tone dropping to a cruel, performative intimacy. "She’s the one who listens to me now. She’s the one who supports the future of this nation. Unlike you, she didn't choose a losing side. She chose me."
He looked at Mai, then back to (Y/N), waiting for a reaction. He expected a flinch. A sob. A look of betrayal.
Instead, (Y/N) finally moved.
Slowly, with a grace that even the grime of the prison couldn't tarnish, she turned her head. Her eyes, once bright with the amber fire of the sun, were like cold ash. She looked at Zuko’s hand intertwined with Mai’s. Then, she looked up into his eyes.
There was no anger. There was no jealousy. There was only an overwhelming, soul-crushing emptiness.
She looked through him as if he were made of glass. As if the Prince of the Fire Nation, the conqueror of Ba Sing Se, was nothing more than a draft of cold air passing through the cell. She didn't look at Mai with spite; she looked at her with the same vacant indifference she gave the stone floor. It was the look of someone who had already buried a loved one and was now being forced to watch their ghost try to speak.
(Y/N) let out a long, slow breath—a puff of white vapor in the chilly cell. Then, without a word, she turned back to the wall and closed her eyes.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Zuko’s hand dropped from Mai’s as if it burned. The "victory" he had tried to flaunt turned to ash in his mouth. He realized in that moment that he hadn't proven his happiness; he had only proven how far he had fallen. He had brought his new life to the doorstep of his old one, and the old one didn't even recognize him.
"Zuko," Mai said softly, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. "Let’s go. This is depressing."
Weeks passed in a blur of meetings, war councils, and empty banquets. Zuko sat at his father’s side, listening to plans for the final incineration of the Earth Kingdom, and felt a mounting sense of dread. He was haunted by the silence of the prison. Every night, when he closed his eyes, he saw you sitting in that chilled room, your flames flickering out, your spirit retreating into a place he couldn't reach.
He tried to go back. He brought more than food—he brought news of the world, books from the library, even a small, carved dragon that you had cherished as a child. He spoke for hours, pouring his heart out, confessing his doubts about Azula and his fear that the Avatar might still be alive. He told you about the weight of the crown and the emptiness of the palace.
Each time, the result was the same. Silence. A back turned to him. A refusal to acknowledge his very existence.
He began to realize that your silence wasn't a punishment; it was a mirror. (Y/N) was showing him exactly what he had become. By choosing the Fire Nation over the people who loved him, he had rendered himself a ghost in his own life. He had everything he thought he wanted, but he had lost the only person who actually knew him.
One night, the anniversary of his banishment, Zuko returned to the prison. He didn't bring a tray or a gift. He didn't bring the guards. The air felt colder than usual.
He stood before your cell and didn't speak. For the first time, he simply stood there, letting the silence settle between you. He watched the way your shoulders rose and fell. He watched the way the dim light caught the tangles in your hair. He realized that you were thinner, your strength waning in the oppressive atmosphere of the jail.
"There’s a meeting tomorrow about the solar eclipse. They think the world is ours." He paused, his hand curling around the metal. "I don't think I belong here anymore."
For the first time in months, her shoulders stiffened. It was a microscopic movement, a tiny fracture in the ice of her composure.
"I thought I wanted my father's love," Zuko continued, tears pricking at his eyes. "I thought I wanted the world to see me as a Prince. But I'd give it all back. I'd go back to being a refugee in the Earth Kingdom if it meant you would look at me again. If it meant you would say my name."
He waited, his heart in his throat. He waited for a sign, a word, a single breath of fire.
(Y/N) stood up. You moved, your limbs stiff from the cold. You walked towards the bars of your cell, stopping only inches away from where his hand rested. For a moment, Zuko thought the wall was finally coming down. He thought you were going to reach out, to hold his hand, to find the connection that had been severed in the catacombs.
Instead, you looked him directly in the eye.
The depth of the grief in your gaze was staggering. It wasn't hatred. Hatred would have been easier to bear. It was a profound, mourning disappointment. You looked at him the way one looks at a shattered heirloom that can never be mended.
You reached out, your fingers ghosting over the edges of the metal bars. Zuko waited for your touch, your nails barely touching his shaking hands. A sob caught in his throat. "I'm sorry," he choked out. "I'm so sorry."
You pulled your hand back. The moment of connection vanished as quickly as it had appeared. You didn't speak. You didn't forgive him. You simply turned around and walked back to the center of the cell, sitting down and closing your eyes once more.
The silence returned, but this time, it was different. It wasn't a vacuum; it was a directive. You had shown him the truth: he was wearing a costume. He was playing a part in a play that had already ended.
Zuko backed away from the cell, his eyes never leaving your form. He understood now. You wouldn't speak to the Prince of the Fire Nation. You wouldn't speak to the hero of Ba Sing Se. You were waiting for the Zuko who had cared about justice more than honor.
As he climbed the stairs, the Prince’s gait changed. He walked past the guards without a word, his mind racing.
He went to his chambers and began to pack. He took only what he needed: a simple cloak, his dual broadswords, and the map of the Fire Nation. He looked at the ornate dragon headpiece on his vanity—the symbol of his status—and left it sitting on his bed.
The next day, during the eclipse, Zuko stood before his father. He spoke the truth, his voice ringing out in the bunker. He spoke of the cruelty of the war, the lies of the monarchy, and the greatness of the Uncle he had betrayed. He felt the fire of his own conviction burning hotter than any sun.
And when he left that room, when he escaped the palace and headed toward the secret tunnels that led out of the capital, he made one final stop.
The prison was in chaos. With the sun blocked out, the firebenders were powerless, and the guards were panicking. Zuko moved through the shadows like a spirit, his broadswords out. He reached the lower levels and found the keys on a fainted guard’s belt.
He didn't go to Iroh’s cell first. He knew his uncle was already gone—the bars had been bent outward by a strength that didn't require the sun. Iroh was free.
Zuko ran to her cell and threw the door open.
(Y/N) was standing in the center of the room, looking up at the small vent where the sky had turned a deep, bruised purple. She turned as Zuko entered, her eyes wide with shock.
"We have to go," Zuko said, unlocking her cell door before outstretching his hand. He wasn't wearing his royal robes; he was dressed in the dark, practical clothes of a traveler. His hair was messy, his face smudged with soot. "I'm leaving. I'm going to join the Avatar. He's alive and I'm going to help him."
She stared at his outstretched hand. The silence stretched between them one last time.
Slowly, her hand moved. Her fingers, cold and trembling, slid into his. Her grip was tight, desperate, as if she was afraid Zuko might vanish if she let go.
"Zuko," she whispered.
The sound of his name, spoken in her voice after months of agonizing quiet, felt like a burst of warmth in the frozen tundra of the North Pole. It was the only homecoming he had ever truly needed.
"I'm here," he said, pulling her close for a brief, fierce second. "I'm finally here."
She didn't need to say anything else. (Y/N) followed him out of the darkness, out of the prison, and into the strange, uncertain light of a world without a sun. As they ran toward the cliffs where his war balloon waited, the weight of the past years seemed to fall away with every step. The betrayal, the months of cold stone and silence—it was all behind them.
Behind the two, the Fire Nation capital began to wake up as the sun returned, but neither looked back. (Y/N) was looking at the horizon, at the clouds, and at the boy leading her toward a future that didn't have a throne, but finally had a soul. The silence was over. The fire was back. And for the first time in his life, Zuko knew exactly where he was going.
steve learns how to tie a tie by himself. where to get his hair cut, where to get the freshest veggies, when to let a doctor look at something. he learns, because he realises pretty early on that nobody is gonna save him from his life. there’s no spare father or mother waiting around the corner to change the oil in his car or make him his oatmeal in the mornings. he has himself.
then he has nancy, doesn’t have her. has dustin and robin, makes peace with two friends and a big empty house, doesn’t need anybody even if he loves them, and then boom. you. sitting in the back of a stolen RV trying to keep your own best friend alive, scuffed up and quiet, glancing at him through the rear view mirror with a purposeful smile, like you’re saying, hey, don’t worry. you are the first person steve has ever met to reassure him wholeheartedly.
then, you’re the first person to bring him a lasagne when he’s out of commission after the world ends and begins again. you’re the first person to ask to check his bandages, to rinse him off, to hum at his injuries like you wish you could take them away from him. you look after him. steve isn’t used to it.
the first time you offer to cut his hair, he tells you that you don’t have to go to the trouble. what, you say, laughing, the little pack of scissors already in hand, give you a trim? this is easy work, babe. steve sits in a chair in the kitchen with a dish towel around his shoulders that’s too small and bites his tongue to stop from crying as you rake the comb through his waves, quiet snip-snipping and the shush of hair falling to the floor. he gets a headache from the effort, and then you’re the first person to kiss his crown and bring him his innopran. you know it’s for his migraines. he doesn’t have to tell you, and you don’t need to ask.
steve asks you if you’d be interested in trying him on, if he could be somebody you want, is that totally crazy, because he’s weak now—he needs you, probably, after years of needing nothing. and you laugh like you’re dizzy and tip yourself over his shoulders, face in the back of his neck, bits of hair drifting into his lap. you and me, stevie, you murmur, hugging him tightly, this is going steady.
summary: your boyfriend begins to take notice of how often you accidentally fall asleep during the day and can’t figure out why - then he realizes it’s because of him.
warnings: angst, nightmares, mentions of blood and gore and such, some cursing, happy ending, steve is once again so damn boyfriend, probably more but that’s all i got for now.
word count: 5.3k
from jen: this was a request, and i hope i did it justice! it got way longer than i intended but i hope you guys like it. as always, with love <3
Steve loved naps as much as the next person. I mean, after a long day of unpaid babysitting, monster hunting and hours of dealing with irritating customers at his minimum wage job, he loved the idea of jumping into bed for a few hours of shut eye.
But he definitely didn’t love it as much as his beautiful girlfriend did.
He looked over at where you sat. It was early into the evening hours, you were curled in an adorable ball on the couch of the Squawk, wrapped in a handmade blanket he stole from Lucas to cover you with. Your hair was a little messy, pieces covering your face.
You’d fallen asleep barely a few minutes after Hopper ended the weekly meeting to discuss any new findings to get you closer to Vecna. It was pretty much all the same information as last week and at this point, it was more of a formality than anything else.
Everyone had quietly dispersed after his dismissal. Nancy and Jonathan went home together, El and Mike ran up to the roof hand-in-hand for some alone time, Dustin had quickly made his way to wherever he’s been spending all his time lately. That left himself, you, Robin and Lucas inside.
Steve was standing near the projector, cleaning up papers and blueprints left under the scope. Beside him, Robin helped clean up some of the snacks the kids left behind. It was quiet for the most part, only the sound of your sleepy breathing and the faint hum of the record Robin played for the radio.
Lucas was sitting across from you, and Steve noticed the way he kept glancing over at you. He was ready to ask what his deal was before Lucas spoke up.
“Should I like, wake her up or something?” Lucas asks, looking away from you and up at Steve.
His brows furrow, hands still moving papers into their folders. “What? No, she’s tired. Let her sleep,”
“Yeah, she’s sort of always tired,” Lucas mutters under his breath.
Steve can’t hear even an ounce of attitude in his tone but he’s also not understanding what Lucas is implying. Next to him, Robin huffs a laugh and he whips his head at her. He doesn’t like the idea of them having some sort of private conversation about you.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks. The papers are long forgotten and he crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes flicker from his best friend and the young teen.
“Nothing,” Lucas shakes his head quickly, scrambling to gather his things. Steve’s annoyance spikes: so they are having a private conversation about you. So what if you fall asleep sometimes? It’s not like you’re lazy – is that what they’re trying to say? That you’re lazy?
It’d be an insane implication considering how you’re almost always the first one out in the field during a crawl. El grew pretty attached to you after she closed the gate the first time and ever since then, she’s practically begged you to accompany her everywhere and now that includes the intense training she does with Hopper – not once have you missed a session. You tag along with Steve and Dustin in the van for the late night crawls, and you volunteer for stakeouts with Nancy when it comes to the military cordon.
The last damn thing you were was lazy and he wasn’t about to let anyone, his best friends included, imply otherwise.
Robin seemed to have sense his thoughts and quickly jumped to Lucas’ defense. She sets the bowls of half eaten snacks back on the table.
“That’s not what he means, Steve,” She assures and Lucas looks grateful. Still, he doesn’t soften but he lets her continue. “He’s kinda right though. I mean, I’m a little worried she’s got some underlying medical condition we don’t know about or something. She knocks out at the drop of a hat lately,”
“She does not,” He scoffs but his shoulders loosen. Just barely.
Lucas jumps back in. “I wasn’t trying to be a jerk, man. I’m just worried. What if she’s not just tired? Max still hasn’t woken up, it could be something like that,”
Finally, Steve softens. He sees the fear hidden behind Lucas’ eyes and he knows how hard his forced separation from Max has been. It’s been six months since that night at the Creel house and there was still no change for her. You and Steve have spent most of your free time with Lucas visiting her.
And no matter how scared Steve is of the possibility of you falling victim to Vecna’s curse, he knows this isn’t that. You don’t have visions, you don’t have nose bleeds and you very clearly have no issue sleeping. It’s been a rough few months and you’re tired. That’s all.
He hopes.
“She’s not Max, Lucas,” Steve says softly and watches the way his face falls. “She’s not going anywhere, she’s just napping, alright?”
The younger boy nods, and Steve knows despite his relent, he’s still worried. Robin gives Steve an empathetic smile and finishes cleaning up the dishes from the coffee table.
“Come on, I’ll drop you off at the hospital,”
Lucas smiles in return this time, happy to see his girlfriend even if she’s still unconscious. He quickly grabs his jacket and backpack, practically running out of the building. She turns towards Steve once he’s out of earshot.
“Maybe that’s all it is. But with our luck, it wouldn’t hurt to check in with her. I don’t think we can handle losing someone else,” She suggests with a shrug. Her words hit uncomfortably under his ribs, and he nods once before she’s turning to follow Lucas.
Steve turns back towards your sleeping frame, where you haven’t even twitched despite the entire conversation that took place around you. He leans down next to you, his hand raising to push the hair from your face. He watches your face and the way you look so peaceful.
The normal pinch between your brows is smoothed out, pretty pink lips slightly parted, there’s a tired flush covering your cheeks and your fingers are loosely gripping the blanket close to your chest.
He smiles to himself, but his mind begins to wander. Maybe they were right – you did fall asleep pretty often these past couple months. He’s not sure when it started but he knows there’s been times he’s noticed.
Whenever he lets you know it’s safe and just a waiting game now, you fall asleep in the passenger seat of the van during crawls. You fall asleep at normal group hangouts, head resting on his shoulder and both arms wrapped around his one. You fall asleep at times like now, after a meeting is over.
He shouldn’t be worried, he doesn’t have a true reason to be. When you’re awake, you’re here. You’re helping Nancy make plans, you’re helping El train, you’re helping keep the boys occupied when they get scared. You’re just a girl who likes extra sleep, that’s all.
Gently, his thumb glides across your cheek in a quiet way to rouse you awake. His other hand comes up and pulls the blanket from your skin. Slowly, your eyes flutter open and when they land on him, a sleepy smile covers your mouth.
“Hey, pretty girl,” He can’t help but wear his own matching smile. Your cheeks redden at his pet name, but he knows how much you love hearing it.
“Hi Steve,” You murmur. He’s pretty sure his heart just physically bursted in his chest – you always talk so softly, so sweetly to him. “Did I fall asleep?”
He hums and nods in response. His hand is still stroking your hair back. “Just for a bit. Everyone left, why don’t we go get somethin’ to eat before we go home, yeah?”
Almost immediately, you perk up. You’re pushing yourself off the couch, using his shoulders for balance. “Milkshakes too?”
There’s that adorable glint in your eyes and he knows for certain if you asked him to bring you the moon, he’d create a plan to have it in the palm of your hands within two hours.
“Of course we can get milkshakes, baby,” He promises. You gleam up at him, more than pleased, and rush to clean up the evidence of your nap. Once you’re satisfied, you’re slipping your hand in his and letting him lead you towards the car.
Steve feels content now that you’re awake and talking his ear off about basically nothing, but there’s still something that tugs at his chest. Part of him that thinks he should bring up your excessive napping, like Robin said, but you seem so happy. If it’s truly nothing, like he knows it is, why risk upsetting you and make you feel like everyone’s talking about your sleeping habits?
He glances down at you, and nods at the random piece of information you throw his way, and he’s made his decision. He’ll keep a better eye on you, but he won’t bring it up to you unless he’s left with no choice.
Later that night, Steve has you wrapped in his arms in your shared bed. The house is dark and quiet, only the sound of your favorite movie playing from the TV. You’d had dinner together at his favorite diner, with two milkshakes of course, and came straight home.
Your head lays on his chest, legs tangled with his and your fingers trace little shapes – Steve is pretty sure they’re hearts – across the skin of his arm that rests on his stomach. His other hand sits comfortably in your hair, gently running his fingers through it. He feels his exhaustion catching up to him and his eyes slowly begin to flutter.
He’s not sure when he finally falls asleep but he’s sure you’re bound to follow right after him.
One minute, Steve is laying comfortably with his beautiful girlfriend and the next, he’s laying in a pool of his own blood. His eyes are turned upwards, staring at the swarm of Demobats flying in the dark sky, flashes of red lighting are striking every few seconds and the light it offers shows him the amount of bats multiply as they get closer.
His breathing is uneven, he can feel the terror already carved into his stomach. His heart is racing and the sound fills his ears like ringing. He takes a quick glance beside him and sees he’s surrounded by dead bodies.
Robin’s body is covered in blood, her eyes open but lifeless – her blonde hair is stained red from the blood spilling from every injury on her body. Nancy is next to her in an almost identical manner. He feels his own face wet with tears, and it only worsens when his eyes move to the other side of him and he sees Dustin’s body. He has his homemade spear clutched between his fingers, like he was fighting to the last second. Lucas is next to him, blood staining his clothes and he’s gripping Max’s hand in his. Steve sees how all her limbs are broken, blood seeping from her eyes.
He wants to scream. It all happened so fast, but he was right there. How could he have let this happen? He’s supposed to protect them, and now they’re all gone. Brutally murdered right in front of him and he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t save them.
He hears the bats screeching and the Demogorgons roaring get closer and he knows he has to find a way out but does he even want to? All his friends are dead.
Suddenly, your face appears in his memory. He looks around around and you’re not here. You could be alive, somewhere out here alone.
Steve forces himself to sit up and nearly cries at the painful sensation that shoots up from his abdomen to his chest. He glances down at himself, sees how his shirt is torn so bad it’s basically ripped in two. He has angry red slashes he can only assume are from Demogorgons across his ribs. There’s smaller cuts, like bites from the bats on his arms and chest. His arms are scratched up, spilling blood all across his skin.
Despite all the pain, he has to get to you. He couldn’t save everyone else but he can save you. He has to.
Ignoring the echos of the monsters getting closer to him, he forces himself to stand – pushing down the pain spiking in his feet and up his spine from the sharp ground of the Upside Down. He tries his best to run further into the forest, but all he can manage is a limp. Still, he moves as fast as he can.
It’s so dark down there, he’s relying on the terrifying flashes of red lighting to give him some sort of light. He moves further and further into the trees, careful to avoid any moving vines, in search of you. He ignores the burning in his weakened legs and the sharp pain from his stomach injuries.
He doesn’t know how long he’s been looking for you when he finally hears it. It’s distant and quiet but he knows it’s your voice screaming for help. His stomach drops at the way you sound so scared. So weak and broken, but you’re trying. You’re fighting to hold on. It pushes him to move faster.
He forces himself to run towards your voice. He’s shouting your name, begging you to keep talking to him. He’s promising you he’s close, that he’s gonna find you and protect you.
“Steve!” He can hear your voice clearer now and he knows he’s closer to you. There’s a waver in your voice and he has to fight back tears. He walks a few more yards and finally, he finds you. His heart drops at the sight.
You’re near what would be Lovers Lake in your world, lying on your back and a palm pressed tightly to your stomach. He doesn’t know where the strength comes from but all the pain in his body disappears and he’s running to you.
He falls to his knees beside you, hands ready to grab you but he halts when he finally takes in your state.
There’s so much fucking blood.
Your hair is already matted from the blood spilling from the wound on your head. The palm pressing to your stomach is soaked in blood from the slash covering the entire right side of your stomach. Your short covered legs are littered with slightly smaller but deep cuts. But the worst is the one on your neck. There’s a gash that tears open the skin from just under your ear, all the way out to the middle of your throat. The wound is pouring blood, staining your beautiful skin he loves.
Steve lets out a sob at the sight of you and he doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s supposed to do. You glance back at him and the only thing he can see in your eyes in pure fear.
“I-I’m here, baby, I’m here,” He cries. Frantically, he looks around for something – anything – to help him but there’s nothing. Only himself. There’s tears streaming down your cheeks and he watches you cough up blood when you try and respond. “Don’t talk, don’t talk,” He rushes out. Steve tears off a large piece of fabric from his own shirt and forces it into a ball, pushing it against the wound on your neck.
You cry out from the pain of the pressure and he feels his heart break.
“I know, I’m so sorry baby, I have – I have to stop the bleeding,” His cheeks begin to stain from his own tears as he watches you struggle.
“C-Can’t bre-breathe –“ You’re coughing out the words and more blood stains your lips. His head nods in understanding and he’s racking his brain to come up with a plan. A way to get you out of here alive.
But he doesn’t even know if that’s possible. You’re bleeding so much, and the pressure of his shaky hands is barely enough to cover the wound on your neck. There’s still the injury to your stomach, the cut on your head, and the deep cuts on your legs. You wouldn’t be able to walk because of them and if he somehow managed to get you up, he’d have to carry you out himself.
He wouldn’t even be thinking twice if he didn’t have his own injuries. The slash across his ribs is screaming in agony at him and the bites along his own legs make him weaker. What if he can’t get you out? He can’t let you die like this.
“I’m gonna get you out of here, okay? I promise. You’re not gonna die in this fucking place,” He swears, carefully taking your hands and replacing his own to hold the fabric to your neck. He glances around to make sure there’s no monsters near before sliding one arm under your knees and the other under the back of your neck and moves to lift you.
Almost immediately, you’re screaming in pain. He nearly drops you out of fear from the loud sound of your pain. Your body is shaking from pain and you’re shaking your head at him, wordlessly begging him to put you down. He knows the two of you are far from the gate and if you were in this much pain from him picking you up, you were going to feel like you were being tortured if he carried you the two mile run back to safety.
He has no choice. Quickly, he drops back down to his knees and eases you out of his arms and back onto the bloodied ground. His vision is almost completely blurred from his tears. You’re gonna die out here, and he feels so fucking helpless.
“Baby please, I have to get you out of here,”
“You can’t,” You suddenly sob and he doesn’t think he can take much more of that sound. His body is shaking – from fear, anger, anxiety, every terrible thing someone can feel. “You were supposed to protect me, how could you let this happen?”
Blood still covers your body and you’re crying as you speak, but your voice is suddenly clear – as if there’s not a ten inch cut covering your throat.
He feels a pang in his chest. You’re right, he’s supposed to protect you. He dragged you into this and now you’re going to die, just like all his friends, and it’s all his fault.
“I’m sorry baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” Steve sobs, gently cradling your face in his bloody hands. Blood smears across your skin.
“You did this to me, Steve. Why didn’t you save me?”
From behind him, he hears the monsters screech and clamor again and he knows it’s only a matter of minutes before they get to you both.
“Please. Please don’t leave me,” He begs. His arms are still wrapped around you and he cradles you to his chest. His arms are covered in the blood leaking from your body and it feels like you’re beginning to slip out of his arms from the amount of blood but he holds on tight.
Until you go limp.
Right there in his arms, he feels the way your body stills and falls aimlessly into his chest. No, no, no. He pulls you from his chest and when he looks down at you, your eyes are shut and your chest is unmoving.
He calls your name helplessly, tries to shake you awake but you’re not asleep. You’re dead. His body shakes with sobs as he stares down at your emotionless face, stained with blood and all he can do is remember every time you smiled at him.
And how you’ll never do it again.
The monsters are so close now, probably only a few feet away and for the first time, he wants it to be for him. He wants them to kill him, force him to be with his dead friends .. with you.
His friends are gone, you are gone and he has nothing else to live for. His greatest nightmare just came true and there’s no waking up.
“Steve!”
Suddenly, Steve’s body is jolted upwards and he’s back in his bed.
He’s overwhelmed with the smell of your presence. The soft cashmere and vanilla scent that makes him feel like he’s wrapped up in his very own security blanket.
He can feel your hands across his skin, trying to bring him out of his dream and back to you. He can hear you murmuring soft comforts to him, even if he can’t fully grasp what you’re actually saying.
He tries his best to regain his bearings as fast as possible. His body is all but drenched in sweat, his clothes cling to his skin. There’s a distant ringing in his ears he can’t seem to get rid of but he looks around at his surroundings.
“Shh, it’s okay, it was just a dream,” Your gentle voice whispers comfortingly. You’ve managed to pull him into your arms, his face tucked under the crook of your neck and your hands slowly stroke his back.
He can’t help himself when his arms squeeze you tight, almost too tight. You don’t complain, you hold him just as close. He listens to the sound of your heart and does his best to use it to calm his own racing heart.
You’re here, you’re alive. It was just a dream.
“I’m here baby, I’m right here,”
He’s back on the verge of tears, this time out of relief instead of fear. His nightmares are something he’s dealt with since he fought the Demogorgon at the Byers house and it’s something he’s never gotten used to. He knows for sure it’s not something he ever will.
But you’re there every time, comforting him and reminding him none of it was real.
He buries himself further into you, and you can feel his nails digging into your skin but you don’t seem to care. You’ve dealt with your own share of nightmares but they never seem to be as bad as his.
You hold Steve in your arms for a long time before his breathing has returned to normal and he’s ready to talk about it. When the nightmares first started, he refused to tell you what they were about but it didn’t take long for you to realize it was because it was almost always centered around losing you.
Slowly, he pulls away from your neck and lays on his back, resting against the pillow but he keeps one hand holding yours. You’re still sitting upright, your free hand resting on his chest, just above his heart.
“D’you wanna talk about it?” You ask.
He takes a quick glance at you and sees the concerned look on your face. That pinch between your brows is back, and despite yourself, there’s a small frown on your lips. He takes a deep breath.
“It was the same dream,” He begins. “I woke up down there, dead bodies all around me and you’re screaming for me. And it ends the same way..” He hesitates for a second, looking back into your beautiful eyes he loves so much. “I can’t save you,”
He watches the way your eyes sadden and he hates it. He hates the way he feels like he’s burdening you with his stupid nightmares.
“It wasn’t real, Steve,” Your hand raises to cradle his jaw. “It’s never going to be real. You know why?”
Wordlessly, he waits for your response.
“Because you’ve saved me every single time. You saved me in the tunnels two years ago, you saved me from evil Russian soldiers, and you saved me from the bats down there last year,”
He feels his eyes burn but he lets you comfort him.
“You’re always going to save me, baby. There’s nobody else I feel safer with than you. Nobody,” You promise fiercely and it’s enough for him to let his tears fall.
There’s a faint voice in the back of his head that tells him he’s weak for crying like this in front of you but when you wrap him in your arms again and coo into his ear, he can’t seem to care.
Because he knows you’re right. He saved you all those times and he’d always do it. He’d rather die than let anything happen to you and even if he has to live with these nightmares for the rest of his life, he still wakes up to you every time.
It’s probably an hour by the time he’s completely calmed down from the nightmare and you’ve sat wrapped in each others arms the whole time. When you shift to lay more comfortably, Steve looks around the room again.
He notices the TV is still playing, but it’s no longer the movie he fell asleep to. Instead, it’s Friday the 13th. There’s two other VHS tapes beside the TV, ones that weren’t there before he fell asleep, and he also notices the array of snacks on your bedside table. When he glances at the clock, he sees it’s nearing 4:30AM and that’s well past when he’d fallen asleep but from the looks of it, you’d stayed up.
You don’t seem to notice his confusion until he shifts to lay on his side. Your head tilts up at him and he can physically see the sleepiness on your face.
“Have you been awake this whole time?” You blink up at him, but he notices the way you look almost guilty and that confirms what he’d been thinking.
You nod hesitantly. “Yeah, I-I couldn’t sleep,”
When you nervously bite your lip, he knows you’re lying and you know you’re caught when you see the way he tracks the movement.
Steve would probably be more inclined to believe you if he didn’t have the conversation earlier about you falling asleep so often during the day. But he also can’t make sense of it – you’re choosing to stay up at night and nap at random times instead of getting decent sleep at night?
You moved in with him a few weeks ago and coincidentally, that’s around the same time you started napping more. Could it be his fault? Maybe he’s hogging the blankets, or maybe he moves too much in his sleep. He knows he runs too hot for a normal person, and maybe you’re too uncomfortable to fall asleep.
His mind races with possibilities.
“Alright, what’s going on?” He asks and watches the way you swallow.
“Hmm?”
“Babe, you’ve been falling asleep in the middle of the day and tonight, you’re up and having your own movie marathon till 4am. Somethin’s up,”
He tries his best to ignore the anxiety simmering in his stomach.
“It’s nothing,” You say softly, looking away from him. Gently, he raises his hand to cup your chin and pull you back to him.
“Hey, whatever it is, you can tell me,” He sounds so gentle that it breaks you almost instantly.
“I don’t like to fall asleep at night,” Steve’s brow furrow at your words, but you continue, your voice timid. “I want to be there if you have a nightmare. I don’t want you to wake up alone,”
Instantly, Steve is filled with guilt. You’ve been sacrificing your sleep to comfort him – but he’d never want you to do that. His nightmares don’t happen every night but he’s sure you’ve spent every night the past few weeks awake just in case. Probably busying yourself with movies, or a book, or just simply watching him as he slept.
He feels sick.
“Baby, I..” He sighs and he’s not even sure where to begin, and you look even more guilty. “I don’t want you to stay up like that for me,”
Steve watches the way you look away from him, and you’re nervously picking down at your fingers. “I know. I just – when you wake up, you look so scared, and you’re so confused until you see me and what if I fall asleep and you have to deal with it alone?”
When you finish, you look back up at him and he sees the tears lining your eyes. He feels his chest tighten uncomfortably, because he can hear the pure love in the voice, but also the fatigue. You’re exhausted.
Gently, he says your name and presses a kiss to your cheek. “You don’t need to be awake for me to realize where I am. When I wake up and I feel you next to me, your warmth and your breathing – that’s enough for me, baby,”
You raise your hand to hold onto his that rests against your cheek and you sink further into his hold. “I’m sorry,” You whisper and he immediately shakes his head. “I just don’t want you to feel like you’re alone,”
“I know, and I love you so much for caring, but I need you to be okay too – not running yourself into the ground, trying to make me feel better,”
“I am okay,” You argue, but you both know it’s futile and when he tilts his head at you, you relent. “I’m sorry,”
He strokes the apple of your cheekbone. “It’s okay, sweet girl. I’m sorry I didn’t notice earlier,”
“It’s not y’fault,” You squeeze his hand once. “I wanted to do it. Being able to see you so peacefully when you sleep, where nothing can hurt you again .. After everything, it just makes me feel better too,”
Steve’s eyes soften even worse, because you love him so much more than he ever could’ve imagined. He knows the feeling, he’s overwhelmed with it every time he looks at you, but knowing you experience the same feeling – that intense need to protect and comfort him – every night, is enough to have him on the verge of crying again.
He leans down and presses his lips to your own. Every ounce of love and adoration coming from both of you is poured into the kiss. You’re both clinging to each other for the same reasons and he doesn’t ever want to let go.
When he pulls away for air, you have a dazed look in your eyes and he knows he looks the same way.
“I promise, I’m not going anywhere and definitely not while you’re sleeping, okay?” He murmurs against your mouth.
You nod, pecking his lips again. “Okay,”
“Promise me you won’t stay up anymore, yeah?”
You’re nodding again, arms wrapping around his middle. “I promise,”
Steve gathers you in his arms again, pulling you to lay on his chest while he settles on his back. “Good. Now let’s both fall asleep for the next twelve hours,”
You laugh softly into his skin. “It’s 5 in the morning. We probably have less than three hours before the kids are showing up on our doorstep with a new crisis,”
Steve huffs. “Let ‘em deal with it alone. You’ve got a lot of sleep to catch up on,” He smiles when he hears you laugh again, but you burrow yourself further into his arms. “Sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up,”
He’s not exaggerating when he says less than two minutes later, you’re snoring softly against his skin. It’s his turn to watch you sleep and even though he knows your fear won’t go away immediately, he knows now and he’s gonna do his best to make sure you’re okay.
said i’m the love of your life (about a million times), steve harrington
steve harrington x fem!reader (7.6k words)
in which steve is trying really hard to become your boyfriend, but you keep rejecting him over and over — yet it doesn’t seem like you hate the idea of him. but that’s okay, because steve’s never been one to give up so easily.
or 3 times you reject steve and the one time you don’t.
warnings: reader is crazy oblivious, angsty with happy ending, jealousy, vecna’s curse (reader), kissing, yearning, dustin being a sap for most part, robin is lovely, slow burn, anxiety and depression, friends to lovers, shit ending
☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩
You sit on the comfy old couch on the Wheeler’s basement, left corner pretty much already belonging to you from the amount of time you come over. It would be weird in any other circumstance, except it’s all because of the little gremlins that you’re supposed to call teenagers that are spread out all over the room.
Dustin is sitting by the other end of the couch, munching contently on some chocolate in a way that almost makes you smile. Mike and Will are both on the floor, sitting snugly against the armchair to Dustin’s left. And Lucas lays stomach down in the middle of the basement, not paying much attention to the movie and seemingly more focused on the fashion magazine in front of him.
You’re smart enough not to question why he’s suddenly so interested in gap’s summer collection. You can assume why, as his mood is gloomier than ever due to having a silly fight with max again.
It’s not something to get worried about though, he’s a pretty sappy romantic kid and you’re sure he’ll get her back in no time.
The door opening sounds through the basement, steps following down the stairs as Steve comes into view.
He throws the bag of popcorn to the two boys by the armchair, ignoring Mike’s complaints as they land right on his face.
“A diet coke for the lady.” He hands the can to you smoothly, though your gaze stays focused on the movie.
“Mhm.” It’s enough of a thank you to him, knowing you too well to disturb your focused moment.
Fishing out the bag of peanuts from his pocket, he throws himself rather loudly to the spot on the couch beside you, smiling at your annoyed tap on his leg for him to be quiet.
Without saying a word, he opens the packet on his hands, picking out peanuts one by one and cracking the shells open before handing them to you.
“Aren’t you gonna eat some too?” You say after a moment of realizing they’re appearing on your hand way too fast for you to be sharing.
“No, i’m good.” He affirms, so gentle it makes you momentarily glance at him.
Except seems to have the same idea as you, eyes focused on your face as if he’d been staring for at least a little while. It makes you grow all hot, though you blame it on the july weather.
Shaking out a confused nod, you turn back to the tv. Refusing to ask why he’s doing this. You really don’t want to know the answer.
It’s not that Steve’s not a nice guy, he’s always been kind to you for all you know. But then again you never really interacted with him back in school.
He’s just been extra nice for the last couple of months, and you would love it. You would. Except to you he pretty much seems to be obsessing over getting someone to date. And you don’t want to be one of them, not when he’s doing it all to get over someone.
Besides, Nancy is a really nice girl and the last thing you want is to get yourself into some kind of rivalry with her. That’s not you.
While you’re distracted you don’t notice Lucas approaching Dustin, whispering something to him while pointing at the magazine from before.
“Will you two let us watch the movie? Jeese.” Steve grumps, throwing you a ‘are they serious?’ look, although you know he doesn’t really care.
“Yeah so, about that- we gotta go!” Dustin suddenly jumps up from the couch, excited in a rather suspicious way.
“What?” You frown.
“We’re so sorry but i just found like the perfect gift for Max and it’s on sale! I need to go get it before someone gets their grabby hands on it.” Lucas points to the golden necklace on the catalogue.
It is pretty, you can’t deny that.
“Ok well, you two don’t take long cause the sun’s setting soon.” It’s a bit weird to be sounding like one of their moms, but you’ve gotten used to it.
“Us four, actually.” Dustin cuts in, pointing to Mike and Will you look like they are just as confused as you.
“That must be some heavy necklace for you to need four of you to carry it.” Steve answers amusedly, as if he knows exactly what the boy is doing.
Damn them and their way of communicating. Sometimes you really believe they were separated in birth, even with the age difference.
“Dude, you seriously are so out of touch. We need an extra opinion in case there’s no necklaces left.” It’s some stupid excuse, but you’re too tired and hot to retaliate.
“Just don’t take long. Your parents will all kill us if they knew we let you out till late.” You give in easily, finding yourself to be way more accepting than Steve.
“Be back before 8 or i’ll come get you!” Steve exclaims as the teenagers start running up the stairs.
“Yes, mom!” Dustin yells sarcastically.
Steve huffs beside you, not moving even a bit even with the extra space on the couch now.
“Could’ve at least called me Dad. Mom.” He scoffs the end of the phrase out.
“Oh no, you’re definitely mom.” You giggle, more bubbling out of your chest at his faux offensed face.
“Am not!” He squeaks.
“You sure are very motherly towards them. Sound exactly like my Mrs. Wheeler scolding at them.” You poke his bicep jokingly.
He rolls his eyes, though a little smile is at the corner of his mouth. He looks like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t for the next few seconds and you don’t wait to turn back to the tv.
“Does that mean you’re like the dad?” You freeze at his silly question.
Because he doesn’t mean for it to be silly and you don’t even have to process it to know it. He sure as hell doesn’t mean it in a ‘friendly divorced parents’ way.
“What?” You blurt, scraping your nails against the can on your hands anxiously.
He notices your demeanor, almost frowning but pulling the happy mask before his eyebrows get to pinch together.
“Like- cause i’m mom and all.” He laughs awkwardly. “We’re like their parents at the point with how much we babysit.”
“Right. Of course.” You smile tightly.
Your heart soars at the way he seems upset due to your dry tone. It almost makes you want to tell him that it’s okay, that you don’t mind it, that you wish you were actually a couple.
“I mean- i did feel like a dad with you bringing me a drink while i watch tv. You’d make a pretty good housewife.” Your eyes gleam when your comment lightens his smile.
“Look at us breaking stereotypes.” Steve muses, pretty teeth impossible not to look at when he smiles just for you.
You can only smile too, head leaning slightly back against the couch as your body feels suddenly aware that he’s close to you. Enough that your legs touch and your shoulders brush with every slight movement.
“I would make a nice housewife.” He affirms to himself, voice filled with ego.
“Yeah, don’t let it get to your pretty head.” You mock.
“You think i’m pretty?” He whispers, almost like a secret.
The air you’re about to let out catches on your throat, chest heavy in the worst best way. He’s so gorgeous - the most.
And you really want to feel it naturally, what he’s trying to give you. But you can’t. Because there’s always that little voice at the back of your head, like a string that makes you trip every time you try to go through the door that leads to him.
So you pull back, turning from his searching eyes and desperately trying to find something to say to make this less awkward.
“Oh look, Leia and Han are about to kiss for the first time.” Great. That so makes it better.
“Yeah.” Steve croaks after a moment.
It makes you want to dig into the couch, hide yourself inside the cushions until everything is okay. It makes it worse that he feels more hurt than angry at the rejection.
“I’m just gonna go to the bathroom real quick.” He gets up, almost skipping steps as he goes up the stairs.
There’s a bathroom in the basement.
“Steve-“
“I’ll be right back.”
You dig your nails into the palms of your hands, feeling like a jerk and definitely lonely and weirdly not because of the empty basement. It’s for the best.
You’re tiring, he’d get tired. You’d tire him, is what you tell yourself to make it seem like a good decision.
He only comes back to tell you he’s picking the kids up, not quite looking you in the eye but acting like normal all over again. Almost as if he still wants to be overly nice to you. Still opens the car door for you. Still puts on your favorite radio station.
☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩
“I just really have a feeling that he likes someone.” Robin rambles while organizing the mountain of tapes on their correct shelves.
“Steve?” You ask, shuddering a bit at the thought.
“Yeah, i mean- he hasn’t told me about any recent date. But then again i might have just made him think i don’t care about those.” She looks slightly apologetic as she says.
“I’m sure he doesn’t think that.” You reassure, rubbing her arm comfortably as you come closer to help sort.
Robin hums, putting on the expression she has when she’s trying to remember something.
“He did tell me about this girl. I didn’t think much of it at first but now that i’m thinking, he hasn’t mentioned anyone after that.” You try to process her words, trying to hide the way your stomach drops.
“And like he didn’t wanna reveal her identity. But he said it was someone he’s know for a long time, that he thought he finally found his person.” She goes on before adding, “‘said she’s different from other girls.” She scrunches her nose at the phrase.
“Oh yuck.” You laugh with her, forgetting the problem in question for a moment.
“So original of him, right?” Robin bumps her hip with yours.
“Please tell him to never confess to her by saying that.” You smile through it.
Then it hits you. Someone he’s known for a long time. He thinks she’s the one. Nancy.
“Actually, i was thinking you could talk to him.” She puts out, raising her eyebrows in question.
“Me?” You’re more confused than ever. Why would you need to speak to him? He can like whoever he wants to like. None of your business.
“As much as i want to find out who it is, i don’t think i’ll get it out of him. He acts all weird whenever i talk about it. And you’re his best friend, too. Maybe you could help him out.” She explains, though it seems like she’s holding back.
You’re Steve’s best friend. Did he say that? You hope he did.
It’s not a good idea that he might still be in love with Nancy. She’s got a boyfriend and they’re happy together.
“I guess that makes sense.” You agree, “Nancy would probably be upset if he tried something right now.”
“What?” Robin practically gasps.
“He seems like he wants to make a move, doesn’t he?”
“No, no, no- that’s not-“ Her eyes widen as she speaks, but the bell makes a loud noise as the store’s door opens, interrupting her mid sentence.
Steve smiles widely at you both, “I’m back!” As if you can’t see him right there.
It makes you smile a bit more, more so when he looks right at you. “You’re here. Hi.” He sounds rather excited about it.
“Yeah, Robin said i should keep you company since you’re covering for her.” You tell him.
“That’s nice of you, thank you.” He says.
“‘Course, it’s nothing.” You wave him off, sticking your hand into your pocket as you forget what to do with your hands.
“Okayyy…” Robin drags the word, leaving some kind of suggestion in the air. “That’s my cue to head out for a date with my lovely lady.” She bows dramatically.
“Yeah, okay. Brag.” Steve teases, though you see it in his smile that he loves that she’s happy.
“Bye, Rob. Have so much fun.” You receive a happy thumbs up before she’s out the door.
You smile to yourself, sorting through the tapes as you feel Steve come to stand beside you and let out a big breath before getting to work. Dramatic.
“Had fun with Buckley?” He asks, glancing at you with his soft deer eyes.
“I sure did. She’s much less boring than you.” You tease.
He brings his hand to his chest, “Oh wow, you wound me.” While giving you his best pout and it make it even harder for you to keep the friendly act going. “You totally love my company.”
“You’re okay.” You give in, refusing to look him in the eye as you know it’d crack your smile in one second. He notices.
“Did you have lunch?” He blurts randomly, as if remembering something.
“Uh- not yet, no.” You look at him amusedly.
“I brought you that sandwich you like, the one with the pretty wrapping. Cause, you know, i went there for lunch and i thought it would be nice.” He confesses nervously.
“Thanks, Steve.” You give in the urge to squeeze his bicep, your usual and mutual understanding thank you.
You let the comfortable silence fill the store, empty of customers due to it being lunch time.
Thoughts gear through your head, trying to put whatever you’re about to say in the right words so they don’t come out in a way that makes you look like a jerk.
Why couldn’t Robing be the one to speak to him? God, you feel like a mom having the conversation with her kid for the first time.
“So, there’s something i kinda need to talk to you about.” You start, words uneasy.
Steve nods slowly, as if processing. “‘Kay.” He urges you to go on.
“Robin tells me you like someone.” And fuck, you probably weren’t supposed to tell him she said that. Some good start you just picked for yourself.
“She does?” His expression seems to flicker with panic for a moment, before he practically shakes out of it and changes it into a confused one.
“Yeah, and i know it’s really none of my business but as your friend-“
“Best friend.” He corrects naturally.
“As your best friend,” The words feel nice to say, coming out too easy for the conversation you’re trying to have. “i feel like i have this duty to tell you when i think you’re gonna make a stupid decision. You know?”
Now he looks actually confused, eyebrows pinched together and thoughtless look. “Sure?”
“This to say that i understand you’re still on her,” It feels impossible to let her name out. “But i don’t think it’s a good idea to do something about it, quite unfair if i can be honest with you.”
“Wait, what?” He practically squeaks, dropping the tapes back in the cart. You try to understand why he’s avoiding it, but there’s no reason that comes to mind.
“Nancy.” You decide to be direct.
“Nancy? I’m not following, sweetheart.” The pet name rolls out his tongue easily and it leaves you in absolute despair.
“You’re thinking on making a move, are you not?” You try to have him catch up.
“No! I don’t know why Robin told you that, i really don’t. But i’m not doing anything with Nancy, there’s nothing with Nancy. Seriously.” He seems truthful enough as he speaks and you hate yourself for not fully believing him.
“But you like someone?”
He hesitates, “I do.”
“Oh, okay. Sorry for assuming, Robin didn’t actually say it was Nancy.” You give him a guilty quirk of the lips.
“That’s okay.” He reassures, sweet as always.
Steve shuffles on his feet, opening his mouth a few times as if he’s about to say something a but never seeming to muster the courage. You give him time.
“This girl-“ He cuts himself off, words coming out in a harsh breath, “she’s amazing. The most amazing girl i’ve ever met. And even though i have known her for a good while, i’ve looked at her with different eyes for the last few months.”
Your breath catches, you start to understand his words. Hate and love is what you have for them, no in between.
“She’s a breath of fresh air, although i do seem to be out of breath whenever she’s around. She’s the best with the kids, probably more caring than me. Has really good taste in music and movies - i wouldn’t have gotten this job if she didn’t make me decorate the name to every Star Wars movie.” He laughs but it seems more like relieved sigh.
You feel stuck to the ground, eyes wide and motionless. You don’t encourage him to go on, but he takes your silence.
“And most of all she makes me not care about what others think. Makes me wanna be a good person and nothing else.” He finishes, carefully leaning closer without stepping towards you.
You didn’t think this would happen like this, thrown right on your face like some splash of freezing water that leaves you freezing on the spot.
He’s lovely, his words are everything you’ve ever wanted to hear. But you’re filled with dread, because you know what’s about to come and you’re going to reject it.
“What do you say?”
It’s complicated, you’re not sure why you want to say no. You don’t fully believe him for one. It’s not fair to make him have someone who has doubts by his side.
“No.” You state, simply.
“What?” He asks, straightening up immediately and drily gulping.
You laugh, but it’s really more cause you don’t know what to say. “There’s no way you actually think we’d work.”
“Why not?” He sounds defensive, “I do think that, i think about it everyday.” His voice is more hurt than anything now.
“Steve, this is crazy. We’re best friends. No way.” You shake your head.
“Did you just hear all that i said? I don’t wanna be your best friend - at least not just that.” He exasperates, searching for your eyes when you refuse to look at him.
“Now, this was the kind of stupid decisions i was talking about a moment ago.” You scoff.
You’re trying to play it cool, but it’s like he sees right through it. He reaches for your hand, loosely enough that you can let go of it if you want.
“It’s not a stupid decision. If anything, it’s the best decision in think i’ve made in a while.” His thumb brushes your knuckles.
“I’m sorry.” You whisper, eyes feeling with tears at the confrontation.
He frowns, “Tell me you don’t like me.”
“What?”
“Tell me you don’t like me back and i’ll leave you alone.” He asserts, focused on making it work.
“Steve, that’s not the point.” You say desperately, “I’m not your usual, you’re interested by this idea of me because we’re close and you want someone.”
“Wow, that’s what you think of me?” He looks truly offended now.
You purse your lips, feeling unfair for acting like this. “No, i’m sorry.”
“But we’re so different, truly different. And i don’t think there’s anything you can do right now to change my mind.” You want to reach out and pull him into a hug, but it really wouldn’t be a good idea right now.
“Sweetheart-“
You’re saved by the door opening, two clients coming in. Steve looks the most disappointed. But not angry, and that’s always a relief.
“I’m just- gonna get onto that sandwich while you take care of that.” You look apologetically at him, smiling at him to try amend the situation.
“Yeah- sure.” He rubs his temple for a second before turning away from you.
You’re certainly a jerk after that. But it’s only a few days later when he starts acting normal again, sweet as usual towards you and keeping you close as his best friend.
☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩
A weird shiver runs across your back as you enter the abandoned house, even more when the big group turns into just you and Steve. The idea of the group being separated turns your stomach.
The flashlight on your hand doesn’t feel enough to light your path through the somber hallways, headache tingling on your temples as you try to find anything useful.
It’s not that things have been weird with Steve, which they have, but they’ve been weird with everyone. You lack the energy to try and even have a conversation with anyone. If you were to be honest, you’re not even sure why you’re here because your mind is all but up to having ideas that will actually help find Vecna.
It started a few weeks ago. The ultimate feeling of emptiness, like everything and everyone is moving and you’re stuck on the same spot. All the things happening in Hawkins don’t help your case either. Eddie being accused of being a murderer, sweet Chrissy’s death, Max almost being sentenced to that end too.
You don’t feel like you have a major thing ruining your life and making you miserable, but you feel sad even without it. And that leaves you to wallow in self pity and to think you aren’t anything but selfish. There are people who are in real danger around you and all you can think about is your unreasonable sadness.
The conversation at Radio family was a few months ago, not that you feel the need to track it. You thought you could pull yourself together after it, told yourself all you needed was time to get over it.
But all you can think about when he’s kind to you, when he brings you food, when his hand brushes your arm while he’s standing next to you — is that he actually mistakes it for real feelings for you. And the worst of it all is that you find yourself enjoying it, the idea of him loving you. Selfishly you wish he’s still confused, hoping he sometimes thinks about you at night like you think about him.
You feel his stare burn into the back of your skull as you walk slightly ahead of him, avoiding to walk beside him and having to make small talk.
The old wood board floor cracks under your shoes, filling the awkward silence that creates a barrier between the both of you. You stop in front of some type of wardrobe with glass door, pointing inside with your flashlight to get a look at what’s inside.
Steve keeps his distance, seemingly looking at the rest of the furniture in the room. “Someone sure liked bugs.” His face is scrunched when you turn to see, light pointed at a few glass jars with dead bugs inside it.
Your stomach turns at the sight, displeased but acknowledging hum ripping through your throat.
A small smile forms on his lips, “Scared?” He wiggles one of the jars, though the way he keeps it away from his body tells you he’s terrified.
In another occasion you think you would’ve made fun of him, teasing him relentlessly for being scared of dead bugs inside a jar.
“No, just gross.” You settle for answering, shrugging your shoulders without much emotion.
“Right.” He sighs, setting the jar down slowly before brushing his hands against his jeans. He stands a bit awkwardly, even more clueless than you about what to look for.
Your head aches all around, pressuring your eyes and temples.
You hear Steve hum to himself, a slight bored look as he seems to do it almost without noticing. He flicks the ruffles on a curtain with his fingers, immediately regretting it as dust spreads in the air and right on his fingers. You find yourself stifling a smile against your palm, realizing now you might have missed his antics a bit too much.
Palming his pocket, Steve pulls out a pack of gum that you know he carries around with him. You watch him awkwardly play with it after fishing one out for himself, taking a step towards you in false confidence after a second.
“Want some?” His arm reaches out to signal for you to take one, not leaving you much option but to accept it. Not that you could get yourself to anyway.
“Sure.” You reach to grab it, cursing when your fingers hit the it with too much force and it tumbles out of his hold.
Both of you bend to pick it up at the same time, but you’re the one who regrets it immediately. You don’t know if it’s because of the way his fingers graze yours or because of the hot liquid that starts running down your nose.
You flinch away immediately, head knocking against his forehead with force and making you stumble back with a pained groan.
“Fuck- i’m sorry!” He exclaims, a groan escaping his lips too as he reaches to touch his forehead with his fingers.
The hit makes your headache even stronger, eyes closed in attempt to make it go away. Although you’ve know for a while that it won’t. That’s also been going on for a few weeks, paired with nightmares that leave you sweaty and terrified to ever sleep again. It feels impossible to ever have a good dream again, not when your living life feels like a nightmare itself.
“Are you okay?” Steve’s panicked voice reaches your ears over the high stinging noise of your own head, eyes trying to get a good look at your face that you’ve turned away from him.
“‘M fine.” You try to dismiss, lifting a hand that helps nothing with keeping him away.
“Hey, don’t do that.” You know he means pulling away, grabbing you by the arm and gently pulling you to face him when you don’t necessarily go against it. “You’re bleeding.”
You’re reminded by why exactly you stood up so fast, and as if on cue the blood running from your nose touches your lips. He looks alarmed at the sight, eyes wide with worry and hands around your biceps with the most featherlight touch — you almost think you might be imagining him touching you.
“Here-“ Steve moves without thinking, stretching the fabric of his shirt sleeve so it covers his whole hand and bringing it to your nose.
His shirt will probably be stained forever, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it the least, cleaning the area around your nose like it’s his second nature to be attentive. He taps your skin with care, covered thumb brushing your lips to wipe the blood and lingering for a second too long.
Your hand rests on his arm as if it’s a natural instinct, watching the way his throat bobs when he accidentally pulls your lips open with a rather clumsy wipe and you grip his shirt lightly. “Sorry…” He mumbles, not needing to speak at a proper tone when standing so close, “for that and for hurting you.”
“Hurting me?” You throw him a confused look.
“Dunno if you remember but i hit you so hard your nose started bleeding just a second ago.” He tries to tease, smile tugging at his lips.
“I hit you.” You reason, huffing at the way he’s so sweet about it. Ready to take the blame when it’s not supposed to be his. “And-“ It was already bleeding before i hit you, is what you wish but step back from saying.
You don’t want him to think this is just like other people, the ones who get headaches and nosebleeds and visions and then get cursed and bones snapped to death. You can’t possibly be going through that — can’t believe you’re going through that.
“And it’s fine, anyway.” You settle for saying, brushing the possibilities off.
Steve hums, brows pulled into a frown that tells you he doesn’t necessarily believe you. But he doesn’t pressure you and you feel guilty for making him feel like he can’t do it just a little, like a best friend would out of worry. You’re quite sure all the pushing away and closing yourself off from him have taken a tool on making him think he can’t ask you about things.
You become too aware of how close he’s standing to you and how he takes in your features with soft eyes like he hasn’t been able to take a look at you in ages. Subconsciously, you tug his arm away and look at your feet.
He’s hit with how intimate the moment might have looked, arm dropping to his side as his mouth moves exasperatedly trying to find the right words. “I wasn’t trying anything, i swear.”
You know he wasn’t, Steve would never. Not after you told him not to, that’s not who he is. You just couldn’t handle it.
The gears in your head move as you try to keep yourself together, “Let’s just keep looking, Steve. Please.” You practically begging, eyes looking at his face for once.
“Of course.” He relents easily.
You’re taking steps away from his as soon as the words leave his mouth, flashlight on again as you suddenly find the celling so interesting. A simple excuse to have you look up and stop the tears from fully forming and falling down your face. Because why would you even cry?
The background noise of Steve’s presence suddenly disappears, you’re too embarrassed to look back and make sure he’s there.
The same shiver from earlier leads its way up your spine and forms a cold sweat. A clock ticks from the corner of the room, making your turn towards it with a gasp. That wasn’t there before.
And Steve, who was there just a moment ago, isn’t anymore. A panicked whimper pulls through your mouth, heart beating so hard against your ribcage you think it might crack a rib.
Cracking bones. You can already see it. Your own body getting the future it’s destined to have.
A hand finds your shoulder with a shake, pulling you out of what you can’t call a daze — because it feels more like a living nightmare. Steve calls your name, snapping his fingers in front of your eyes.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
You breathe in with force, ignoring the sweat that’s starting to drip down your back. “Yeah, i’m good.”
It gets harder to lie by the minute. You pretend to observe the empty corner of wall that just had a clock stuck in it.
He sighs from his spot behind you, “You can speak to me. You know that, right? Because i’m your friend, i want to be your friend.” He tries, as if he’s been holding back from speaking the whole time, “And i worry, so much it hurts. I’m sorry that i acted so impulsively before — but i’m not sorry for feeling it.” Not sorry for loving you.
“I know i can.” You nod, “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to make it weird, there’s just so much going on.” But you leave out everything else.
Steve waits for you to say something else, but it doesn’t come. You do your best at throwing him a warm smile, “This place just creeps me out, that’s all.”
He agrees, “That’s putting it lightly.”
You bounce slightly on your feet, not sure on what to say. It’s turned into this when you’re around him, awkward conversations and things left unsaid.
“C’mon, we should get some ice for your nose. I’m sure they’ve done enough searching for today.” He motions for the door with his head.
“Yep.” You walk ahead, once again ahead of him. It would make it harder to have his arm around your shoulder like it once was normal.
The imminent future makes it impossible to think of it as enjoyable. Him loving you means getting left without you, because your headache is stronger than ever, your nosebleeds are more intense and you think you’ve just had what all the victims had before they died — a vision.
Steve watches you refuse to walk beside him, finger coming to touch the spot on his shirt that’s stained with your blood.
☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩
It happens fast, too fast. One moment you’re with your friends, setting up a trap with Robin while Steve and Dustin bicker on the back about something you’re too tired to pick up on. The next, just as you reach down to pick up a tool, everything feels darker.
They all look at you wrong. Even Dustin, who’s ever so sweet to you, has his eyes set on you with an uncharacteristic angry expression.
At first you believe it, as if your mind has been telling you to wait for the moment they all call you out for your bullshit. Warning you that they have every reason to turn against you.
When Steve speaks you think your heart might beat out of your chest, harsh words slicing you like a knife against your back. Yet his voice doesn’t seem his, a rough undertone and malice that isn’t Steve’s — not even when he’s mad.
You feel stupid once you realize what’s happening, recognizing the cloudy sky that erupts with red thunder that Max has told you about. So you run ignoring the calls from your friends, because you know they aren’t real.
The day that you’ve known was coming is finally here, the dread on your stomach turning into the drop of it at the knowledge of what’s going to happen next. And the worst part is that it’s only now that you feel guilty for not telling anyone. About the headaches, about the nosebleed, about the nightmares.
A droplet of sweat makes it’s way down your forehead as you move as fast as your feet allow you to, thinking about how confused everyone probably is. Because how could they have known?
You hate the choice you made of not allowing yourself to process it. You wish you would’ve told your friends how much they matter to you, how it’s not their fault that you feel miserable. You think about telling Steve that you were just so scared of exactly the situation what you’ve come to be in that you couldn’t allow yourself to love him at your fullest.
It’s not like you know why you didn’t tell them. Was it because you were scared? Or was it really just knowledge of what you were designed to go through?
The anxiety building in your chest makes it harder to breathe, slowing you down in the process.
You feel helpless and alone, trapped in a part of your mind with your worst nightmares. A vine wraps around your ankle and yanks you with force to the ground, elbows erupting with pain as soon as you hit it.
But it doesn’t compare to what you feel once you spot him, the creature that you’ve all been looking for a long time but that you wish was nowhere in sight now.
You claw at the death grip of the vines around your ankles, clumsily making an effort to regain your blood circulation as a sob escapes your mouth. Tears fall down your eyes and across your cheeks at the sight of them not budging.
He calls your name, to which you shake your head with a shaky breath and try your hardest to ignore. Even when you feel yourself slide through the ground as the vines pull you towards him.
You can’t run from what’s been planned for you. It sounds through your head like a reminder, leaving a ringing on your ears.
The last thing you want to do now is give up, not without getting to tell everyone everything you want to say. You refuse to leave like this.
And it’s like some force seems to hear you, a familiar melody sweeping through somewhere around you. It’s your favorite song, the one you’ve heard countless times on your walkman and that you take the liberty to turn up the sound of the radio when in Steve’s car.
It brings a warm feeling in contrast to the cold that surrounds you.
Distracted, the grip on your leg loosens. With a swift movement, you slide the vines off of you and scramble to your feet. This time it feels freeing when you run, towards the sound and the image of your friends.
They’re right there, so close. You can see them looking up at your floating figure, voices panicked as they call for you.
So you fight against your sore ankles until they reach their limit and you’re falling again, but this time you have arms around you as you reach the ground.
You’re breathing heavily when you come back to reality, frantically looking around to make sure you made it. Steve has his arms secured around you as he situates you between his legs with his chest pressed to your back, his voice cracking once he says your name.
“You’re okay— i’ve got you. It’s okay, baby. I promise.” His mouth is close to your ear as he speaks, reassuring you over his own worries. “I’m right here, not letting you go anywhere.”
A sob bubbles out of your throat and you grip onto the arms around you, probably a bit too tight — to which he doesn’t complain. Your chest heaves with struggle to breathe, tears clouding your vision as they fall down your face.
You feel him press a hand to your chest, “Can you take deep breaths for me?” The touch grounds you as you nod in agreement. “Come on. There you go, honey.”
His heart beats at an erratic pace against your back, you can tell he’s trying his hardest to be calm for you. “Steve.” Your voice is hoarse, fingers shakily grabbing his that are still pressed to your chest.
“Yes, ‘m right here.” His voice breaks mid sentence, tone desperate.
“I’m sorry.” You manage to say, breathing starting to feel like an easier task.
“No don’t say that,” You can picture him shaking his head even without seeing him. “Look at me.” Steve turns you in his arms, never letting go of you.
“This is not your fault, okay?” He’s cupping your face with gentle hands, eyes red and teary as his lips turn into the saddest pout you’ve seen. It almost gets you to smile.
He brushes your tears away, “Does anything hurt? Tell me, baby.” Eyes inspect at your face.
You shake your head with a sniff, wincing slightly as the cold wind hits your arms. “No.”
“Here.” He’s quick to take off his jacket, draping it around your shoulder and helping the sleeves into your arms. “All good.” His smile is forced but a good way of lightening the mood.
Not satisfied yet, Steve pulls you into his arms once again for a proper hug now. He ignores then way your knee pushes into his thigh a bit too hard, pressing you as close as possible with his nose buried in your hair. You slump your weight onto him, hands sprawled on his back as you press an impulsive but small kiss to his neck.
He sighs, “Oh my god.” The whisper comes out before he can stop it, more to himself than anything else as he finally relaxes. As if still in disbelief of the whole situation that just hit him like a truck.
You stay in his arms for a moment longer, only letting go when Robin and Dustin come back from filling the others in through the walkie.
“Thank god you’re okay.” Robin smiles with worry all over her face, pulling you into a bear hug that Dustin joins into. She drapes an arm over your shoulders as you walk to the car, sharing the worry of leaving you alone.
Steve stops you before you get on the backseat, hand to your bicep protectively. “Stay at my house?” You don’t have it in you to deny.
“We’re going too.” Dustin quips as if it’s a given.
For once, Steve doesn’t answer with a remark.
He helps you in even when you protest, pulling your seatbelt on. For the whole ride there your head rests on Robin’s shoulder, sharing occasional glances with Steve as he looks at you through the rear view mirror.
Once you arrive at his house, it’s not long before the others show up. They elaborate plans, ones that you feel too exhausted to pay attention to but try your hardest to. You notice the way they keep a close eye on you, not letting you be alone in any occasion.
And as they settle on his living room, Steve grants you some privacy as he pulls you into his bedroom. The offer of a shower is something you can’t deny, fresh clothes that belong to him awaiting for you after.
You leave the bathroom with your hair still wet, dripping on his shirt on your torso. He’s right there, laying out blankets on the floor beside the bed.
“Hey, do you feel better?” He’s worried and looking at you with wide eyes.
You shrug, “Shower felt good.”
Steve nods, as if he wants to say something but doesn’t. “I hope it’s okay that i sleep here— i don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone.” He shifts awkwardly as he speaks.
“It’s okay.” You smile, slightly endeared.
It’s not that you think you’re going to get much sleep. But being alone right now is the last thing you want. You’re not even sure if you’re out of the woods yet.
Settling inside the covers of his bed, you hear him sit on the floor against the bed over the blankets. You don’t think he intends to sleep at all.
You try to sleep, you really do. But the fact that he’s right there after months of not allowing yourself to be close to him is killing you. So you move without thinking, finding yourself taking a seat beside him without saying a word.
He doesn’t budge, contemplating.
“I love you.” Steve cuts through the silence, frowning as if it pains him to.
Air gets caught in your throat, “What?”
“You told me i just needed someone. Maybe i do. But that someone is you, and i’m more sure of it now than ever.” Guilt forms in your stomach at your harsh words from before. He remembers. Word by word.
“You don’t love me, Steve.” You start with a shake of your head. “Not that way. Because it would never work.”
“Why not?” He exasperates sadly.
You don’t answer, turning your head away once you feel the tears build up.
“Stop doing that.” He’s gentle even when frustrated. “Why do you do it? You tell me you don’t want it yet i see the way it hurts you to say it.” A hand slips to your cheek, angling towards him.
“Because— you have this idea. Your whole suburban dream. I can’t give you that, it’s not me.” You brush your eye with frustration.
He gulps the lump in his throat away, “Don’t you get it? I want whatever you want. Whatever you want. I will do it. Because it wouldn’t make sense otherwise, not to me. I would do anything you want me to do, sweetheart.”
You feel tired of hiding it, the need you feel to have something with him. Tired of pretending you don’t want it as if something is holding you back from it. Your own mind, your own insecurities, your own doing.
So you don’t stop yourself this time. Your lips press to his in a long waited kiss, fingers grabbing his shirt by the chest. Steve hums in surprise but doesn’t pull away, hands coming to hold your face in a ghost gentle touch.
His heart beats fast against your hand, his nose bumping against yours when you smile against his lips.
“I love you, Steve.” You allow yourself to say.
“I know.” He references, smug smile full of affection. His face is still leaning towards yours, giving you a good look at his shiny eyes.
There’s no doubt he does too.
“I’m sorry.” You whisper, “For the things i said. And for pulling away.”
“Don’t be.” He reassures. “Didn’t deserve to have you just— whenever i wanted to. I shouldn’t have expected you to just take it. I needed you to know for sure that i love you. And if that meant i had to fight and wait, i’d do it. I did. I’d do it again. I love you.”
Steve’s thumb brushes against the pulse on your neck, leaving you space to lean against him.
“You’re still my best friend.” You mumble, head slumping on his shoulder.
“Don’t want it any other way.” A kiss to your head, then a pause. “We’re gonna get through this. You’re gonna be okay.”
You believe him through the doubt, humming against his collarbone.
“Sleep. I’m right here, baby.” The smooch he presses on your forehead is comforting, his hands pulling you down to lay against the blankets.
You fall asleep with your ear pressed to his chest, hand laying on his stomach as he hugs you close.
Steve doesn’t sleep, eyes wide through the whole night as you rest against him.
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summary: Peter Parker lost everything. The Avengers, Tony, his aunt, Ned, and MJ—all spelled away, till he met you. someone he'd eventually found comfort in. yet he never saw how you looked at him, too lost with his own ghosts to notice you were waiting.
tags/warnings: ANGST, cursing, reader is an idiot tbh, peter is also an idiot, peter is sad, based on the new bnd trailer but not accurate, also probably inaccurate timelines.
wc: 2.5k words.
a/n: AHHH HERE IT IS!! this one is for my day one fellow peter parker girlie @amoebadue. also i kinda don't like the ending so... yeah, and sorry for the long wait!!!
masterlist
Peter had told you everything.
Him web-swinging since he was 15, meeting Steve Rogers for the first time and getting his ass kicked, Thanos snapping half the universe, Tony’s gut-wrenching sacrifice that he said still keeps him up at night.
Even the spell ‘incident’ from four years ago where he lost the entirety of his world. Peter said it was still his biggest guilt—not being able to protect his loved ones when he could have.
Then smaller ones.
Aunt May, the small apartment they used to share, eating cheap Thai food because the two would likely start a fire sooner than something edible. How Ned is the only one who sticks by his side, with movie nights filled with salty popcorn and making set after set of Legos. And MJ.
Always MJ—the MJ.
He always speaks of her like she was an angel—a goddess that is perched so high on a pedestal it might as well block out the sun. With her sharp wit and pretty smile, he said that she was the only one who saw through him. The Peter behind the mask.
And yeah, you’re jealous.
It would be so much easier if she were this– bad person, but of course, she wasn’t.
You felt guilty for feeling that way, but another part of you just can’t help but feel hurt. Sometimes, it feels like he made you nothing more than just a rebound—a placeholder in the void that the spell left, even though nothing official was ever established—not even acknowledged between you two.
Maybe it was stupid. Hell, you were stupid.
Falling for someone who is so undeniably unavailable—still being chased by the ghosts of his past and his life full of regrets, he’s yet to be content with.
But how could anyone not fall head over heels in love when Peter is… Peter?
Total dork with that lopsided grin, always double-checking after a particularly brutal study session for your Immunoengineering course, the one who’d insist on walking you back to your dorms even though he lived alone at an apartment, blocks away in the opposite direction from you, his curls always sticking up in different directions no matter how many times he brushed them back.
It started when he was late to an introduction class for Biomechanics.
“Fuck…” he’d say under his breath, quickly looking around for an empty chair as the professor glared at him like he just blew up a lab.
Your eyes were on your computer, organizing the folders you’d just made, each titled after the courses you took in your first year, when a scrap of a chair made you look up.
You were confused about why the brunette in front of you was so flustered, as if he had just finished a marathon, though he wasn’t heavy breathing, and no drop of sweat was visible. Looking down as he motioned to the empty seat beside you.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked.
You shook your head, before locking your gaze on your computer again, as if he wasn’t there.
Since then, he has been your seatmate in that class. Then another when you found out that you both are in the same major.
You learned his name was Peter. A pretty smart guy, not so bad in the eyes, with a charming smile that is contagious, and stupid jokes so unfunny you can’t help but laugh at them.
But then it went on after the classes, too.
It was small at first, walking together to class, then the endless library sessions where both of you would always end burnt out after hours—he even got you obsessed with this deli owned by someone called Mr. Delmar (though it was weird how he always seemed to linger every time you’re there).
Then it grew; he would start to walk you back after those late nights, block after block. The city would unfold before you, neon signs buzzing, sirens wailing, groups of friends laughing freely after a night of drinks, and his voice would fill the silence.
Joking about how the previous lab practice was an absolute disaster and that the professor was a total bum for blaming your group when the problem was totally the improperly made bacterial cultures.
You’d giggle. “It’s fine, Pete! We should be glad he’s not failing us.”
His eyes widened—dumbfounded. “You’re too nice, you know?”
You only rolled your eyes, nudging his side with your elbow, making him playfully stumble as he grinned. You both burst out laughing after that.
And whenever you’d arrive in front of your building, he’d always make sure. “Text me when you’re in?”
“I will. Thank you for walking me home,” you smiled, earning one from him in return.
“Night.”
“Good night, Pete.”
You swear it didn’t feel weird before. Just two friends who don’t have any other friends except each other getting close, and surely Peter walking you home is just an act of basic human decency, right?
At least that’s what you told yourself—yet you keep on falling and falling every day.
The weeks blurred into routine—the nights spent together getting later now. Cloudy ones where Peter would share his hoodie because you forgot to bring a jacket. Bright ones, where he’d point out constellations when you’re both too tired to continue studying, yet secretly not wanting to go back to being alone. Even nights where you don’t utter any words to each other—only the too greasy fries and burgers being passed along as a silent witness of each moment you share.
One particular night though, he could sense how different you are compared to the rest of the nights. How you struggle to look him in the eye, way too quiet for someone who loves to laugh openly alongside him.
So stupidly gentle Peter stopped you as you were just about to go up to your dorms.
“Do you want me to stay with you?”
Your eyes widened, the dam that you built up since you woke up that day was now too close to breaking, and you nodded. Guiding him up to your rooms—his hands would hover just around you in case you needed grounding.
You finally let go the moment you stepped inside. Bursting everything that has been boiling up under the surface—under your smile that won’t reach up to your eyes fully, and he’d held you through it. Arms wrapped around you as you buried your face against his neck, muttering soft-spoken words as you apologize for wetting his sweater.
“It’s okay… I’m here for you,” as his hands would run along your back soothingly, calming you down.
He wound up falling asleep on your cramped couch that night. Saying something about how you needed someone to look after you as you rest.
How could you not fall for someone like him?
The line began to fade out even more.
What was once late nights in the library turned into shared company in one of your places. Yours when you’re feeling particularly lazy, or his when the both of you were craving that Chinese food just beside his building.
And then he told you everything. You were perplexed—almost laughing at his face till you realized that he was serious.
“You’re actually Spider-Man?” Your mouth gaped, your brain short-circuited like the neurons inside were just reduced to two and you’re struggling to wrap your head around it.
“Want me to show you?”
The next thing you know, you were screaming on the top of your lungs, clinging onto him tight as he swung you around the city. Shooting his webs effortlessly as he grinned. “You’re way too scared!”
“Of course I’m scared, you idiot! I am basically flying without any harness–” shutting your eyes and yelping as he drops from a building—swinging you back up the moment you feel like it was all over. Your legs were stumbling as you landed on top of a rooftop.
“Do not do that again,” you glared, making him laugh. Taking off the mask, his arm would still be wrapped tightly around your waist. Hand tucking your now messy hair just behind your ear.
“You’re a mess.”
You rolled your eyes to hide the fluster, thankful that the spot you were in was particularly dark. “Shut up. You ruined my hair.”
He also told you the secrets he kept alone. The spell and the years that followed him after first, then deeper—Tony’s last words and how he’s like a dad to him, how much he misses Ned and how guilty he is for probably making him think that he had no other friend growing up, and of course, MJ.
He laughed bittersweetly as he recounted how overprotective she was, always nagging and telling him to be more careful, yet never telling him to stop doing what he loved.
He told you how much he missed her arms around him, her soft and sweet lips, how she would make everything—the pain, the memories—gone in just one kiss.
The moment he showed you the letter he wrote for her from four years ago, you knew that you’re practically chasing nothing but a floating soul.
But you forced yourself to stay fine. To keep smiling and telling him that he did all he could, and you were there for him now. It felt more and more painful with each story he told you, but you can’t tell him to stop—you don’t want him to stop.
If it meant you had to hear about this ghost of a past just to let him stay, then you would.
So you swallow it. Every bile stuck in your throat, every confession you desperately want to say to him—you let it slide so that you can get more pieces of him.
And admittedly, it was so so incredibly stupid of you, but goddamnit– why was it so hard to hold him accountable? To finally be honest with yourself and let him go?
Then it happened. At some MIT students’ mixer party, he’d ask you to accompany him. Something about ‘networking before you graduate’ and ‘unwinding’—so you went together– well, not together together, but he asked you, so that had to count, right?
Now he’s at your door, smiling boyishly as he fidgets with the collar of his shirt. You let out a snort, before carefully fixing it up for him. Fingers lingering just above his chest too long for it to be safe.
You cleared your throat. “Ready to be functional adults?”
He’d chuckle and nod before you both walked towards the address that was sent.
The apartment was small, like any other student-owned place, but cozy nonetheless. The lounge hummed with lowly played music, conversations carried across by different groups of people, and there was a table filled with different alcohols and snacks.
Both of you instinctively took a deep breath, then your gazes landed on each other. He exhaled first, then you followed—these were the moments that made it harder to actually let go. How his shoulders visibly relaxed the moment he saw you, how his eyes softened like the pressure of the world and the mask were not there. For a second, it felt real. Like he was looking at your face for cues, and not the ghosts.
You felt your breath hitch, before you nursed it back to one of your rehearsed smiles. “Should we go look around?”
“Yeah. Text me if anything happens, okay?” he smiled back at you.
You nodded, before separating ways with him. You mingled with people, introducing yourself and your major, complimenting some girl’s hair, debating on which spot near the campus has the best pizza.
Meanwhile, Peter found his way to the table full of snacks. Already filling up a plate with your favorites, picking some up for him as well. Studying the choice of drinks and opting for a canned soda instead.
He watched as you weaved through the crowd. Effortlessly joining in conversations, with your laughter ringing through the crowd, he felt at peace. He felt like everything was going to be okay.
You found him already looking at you then. Immediately smiling, you excused yourself to the others so you could walk up to him.
Peter raised the canned soda and the plate of snacks, making you giggle.
For a moment, he forgot about the past. His mind and eyes were only on you.
But then, his gaze snags across the room—just for half a second—then it locks.
It was her.
He froze, plate and cans almost dropping to the ground if it weren’t for his super abilities. His heart lurched, breath caught, eyes zeroed in on the sight of her.
Narrowing your eyes at his sudden shock, you then followed his line of sight.
MJ.
She stood out like a beacon with her sleek black top—so perfectly fitted you would think it was made just for her. Her hair was tousled just right and effortless, not like yours, where you spent almost too long just to get it right.
Though she was not alone.
Beside her was a guy. Tall, broad shoulders, nice and bright smile, with his arm wrapped possessively around her waist. Her own hand sprawled on his chest, the two whispering something that looked too intimate, before laughing with each other.
You looked at Peter again. How his once relaxed body is now rigid, his lips trembling just like how it was the nights when the memories hit him the hardest.
Your own heart was hurting now. You thought that he was finally seeing you. Seeing what’s in front of him instead of the past—turns out you were wrong. Oh, so very wrong, you almost laughed at yourself.
You finally took a deep breath, composing yourself, before continuing towards him.
“You okay?”
He swallowed hard and nodded silently, eyes finally flicking towards you again—grateful for the interruption from his own thoughts, yet fractured.
Stepping beside him and looking at her again. “Is that her?” You knew it was, and you knew it would hurt the moment he answered, yet you asked anyway.
“Yeah…” his voice shaking.
“She’s happy. She deserves it.”
“And you don’t?” you asked carefully.
He looked at you again. Nostalgia and pain etched along his face. “Not after what I’ve done, no.”
You frowned. “Pete– we’ve talked about this…”
He finally gave you one of his practiced smiles, the one he gives whenever he doesn’t want you to worry.
But you’ve learned to see through it at this point.
“It’s not your fault, okay?” you assured again, fingers twitching to reach out to him.
He nodded, then looked at her again.
“You deserve to be happy, Peter.”
He only let out a shuddered breath. Letting a few beats slip out in silence.
“Let me walk you home?” he eventually managed to let out. Burying his feelings down.
“Yeah,” giving him your soft smile—no matter how painful it was, how foolish you were feeling—knowing that he just needed a timeout from the amount of feelings and memories crashing down.
And now, even when you’re the one he’s walking with, you know that he’s the man who can’t be moved.
soft dom stevie with reader who gets really sensitive/emotional after doing stuff because she gets scared he’ll leave now that he’s gotten what he wants and stevie is just so sweet and patient with herrrrr
I BEG
⌯⌲ Steve Drabbles Masterlist
Oh fuck this is hurting me right in the feels. Cause I'm imagining like S4 Steve where he's just got back into the dating scene, is bouncing around all over the place and then you just think he's in it for he sex when your just very into him.
Steve notices the way your mood shifts alarming fast.
You'd been - what he thinks is - fine just five minutes ago - more than fine, actually. Steve had pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, working himself deep inside you with slow and deliberate thrusts that made you sob and choke on his name. He'd been absolutely relentless, watching your with a dark focus, eyes glassed over, instructing you exactly what to do and when.
"That's it, sweetheart," he'd growled against your ear nipping away slightly, grinding his hips to hit that sensitive spot that made you clamp around him, sucking him in further. "Taking it so well. Such a good girl for me."
You'd come apart spectacularly in an almost pornographic manner, your back arching off the mattress, screaming out curses as he followed you quickly over the edge, groaning against your neck.
But now the high was fading, it was replaced by maddening silence. You curled in on yourself, pulling the sheet up like a shield to create distance from him, throat tight with tears you were trying to hold back.
Steve had pushed himself up on one elbow trying to get closer to you, the streetlight was cutting a line across his face from the window. He didn't look satisfied and sleepy anymore. His face had been replaced with worry.
"Hey," he said softly trying not to startle you. "Where'd you go?"
"Nowhere." Your voice betraying you as it cracked.
He shifts again, arms slowly coming around you and gently pulling you against his chest, but you flinch at his touch - it's small, involuntary - he starts to panic.
"Baby," he murmurs, hand finding your checking, turning you toward him ever so slightly. "Talk to me... Please?"
You shake your head, your eyes are beginning to burning. You'd been sprawled out begging for him twenty minutes ago - begging for the touch of his hands, his mouth and stretch of him filling you so perfectly that it hurt. And now you were shaking, terrified, refusing to look at him.
"You're scaring me," he admits, thumb stroking your cheekbone, you can hear the way his own voice to starting to break. "Did I hurt you? Was I too much?"
"No." The word came out broken, panicked but broken. "I just… It's stupid. But after. I started thinking."
"About?"
You squeeze your eyes shut, taking a small breath. "That you got what you wanted. And now you'll…"
"I'll what?"
"Leave."
The silence is heavy, making your brain race. But you feel Steve move - pulling you flush against his chest tighter, forcing you to turn around and look at him, he's arranging you like you weigh nothing, tangling your legs around his. He doesn't sigh. Doesn't get defensive. Just holds you so tight you could feel his heartbeat that's still racing from before.
"Hey... Look at me," he says gently.
You open your eyes finally and he's looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that matters.
"I - Your right I did get what I wanted... but your also wrong," he whispers with his lips pressed to your forehead. "Sure we slept together, it was amazing, but more importantly, I got you... That means more to me than anything, the sex is just a nice bonus. But I get to hold you like this, I get to sleep next to you, I get to be with you."
He starts to press small kisses all of you as your eyelids close and tears start to track down your face.
"The hardest part," he continues, voice rough, "is try to convince you to how much you mean to me, to get you to stay."
"Steve - "
"I love you." He tucks your head under his chin, one of his hands is stroking slowly down your back trying to soothe you, his other is it at your hip, just holding, trying not to let you slip away again. "I'm not going anywhere. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not even when you're annoyed at me. Not ever, if you'll let me."
You start sobbing now - ugly hiccup sobs into his collarbone. He just holds you through it, whispering nonsense praises into your ear, keeping you close, proving his words true with patience.
When you finally quieten, he's still there. Still holding on.
"Better?" he asks.
You nod, your fingers curling into his chest.
"Good." He kisses your temple again, settling both of you deeper into the pillows. "Sleep, sweetheart. I'll be here when you wake up."
Summary: Struggling to be intimate with Steve, even after something so traumatic, isn't so impossible when you have the most patient, loving boyfriend in the universe.
CW: 18+ MDNI!! undetailed references to past sexual assault on R (NOT by Steve), hurt/comfort, heavy angst, anorgasmic!reader, fingering (R), sex toy usage (R), R struggles with vaginismus, fluff, heavy petting, the sweetest most tender smut you could possibly imagine
AN: requested here :)
It isn’t that you don’t want to have sex with him— really.
Steve’s body has its own gravitational pull, and your central mass is one of its moons— you orbit him.
It’s something you think about often. Late at night, staring at the ceiling. Freshly dropped off from another of the countless perfect dates he’s taken you on.
His body; hot and soft and naked. What he might look like beneath his favorite yellow sweater and tapered jeans; your hand eventually slipping below the waistband of your shorts. You never seem to tense when it's your own hand.
And you’re beginning to wonder if that’s all you’ll ever get to have of him. In that way, at least.
Because every time a make-out session gets a little too heated, every time his hand travels a little too far up your thigh— you’re back there again: your choice, your autonomy— stripped from you by carelessly cruel hands.
Someone so far removed from Steve that they might as well be different species, but it doesn’t matter.
To your body? It feels the same.
You miss who you were before. And you know it’s only a matter of time before Steve starts asking questions you’re not sure you have the answer to; questions that even if you did, you wouldn’t be able to get the words out.
How would he look at you after that? Tainted? Broken— like something he’d like to return for something better?
Part of you— most of you— says no. No, Steve is a good guy. And yet.
And yet.
So it’s excuses. A lot of excuses. Until one night when you’ve used each one a few too many times. And Steve would never make you do something you didn’t want to; but he does want to know why.
Why you shut down. Why you don’t let him touch you the way he’s been used to with girlfriends in the past, despite being in a relationship with you for nearly a year.
And he’s not mad— never mad. Just asks you simply: “Am I doing something wrong?”
The way he says it cracks your resolve. He sounds sad— like this is something he’s been spiraling about; considering bringing up to you over and over before ultimately deciding not to. Until tonight.
“What?” You ask, caught off guard.
“It’s just— we’ve been together for a while now. And I feel ready to, y’know. Take the next step. But every time I try to initiate something with you it’s like— it’s like you go somewhere else.”
“I…” you’re beginning to panic. You’ve thought about how you might talk about this with Steve— dozens of times in fact— but doing it in theory is much different than doing it for real.
“It’s fine! If you don’t want to—” now Steve sounds like the one beginning to spiral, “you could never want to have sex with me and I’d still want to be with you— I love you—I just. I just want to talk about it. Is that... okay?”
And you know then that you can’t avoid it anymore. You almost feel guilty, as you begin to tell him: About the guy who so steadfastly assured you that you could trust him. About the fear, and the after.
About how you do trust Steve, and you do want him. But it’s hard, and you’re scared. And how even if you could convince your brain that he was someone who was undoubtedly safe, it feels as though you can’t quite get your brain to compute with the rest of your body.
Steve listens and he tries to understand. He doesn’t interrupt your train of thought and keeps a firm grasp on your hands while you recount everything; even when you have to take breaks. Even when you start to cry.
He’s silent for a long time when you’re done, pulling you into his arms to hold onto you tightly. His voice is steadfast despite the wavering when he whispers against your temple: “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you whisper back.
“No.” He says firmly but not unkind, “Don’t apologize for that. I can’t— I can’t even imagine what that must have been like.”
“I want to try.” You blurt, a little breathless, then continue when Steve's brows furrow, “I want to try— to have sex with you. I’m just scared.”
“I meant what I said earlier,” he levels you with his eyes, “it’s not a dealbreaker for me if you—“
“I know,” you interrupt, shaking your head, “but I want to. For me, too.” And then, after a pause: “It’ll take time. I just— need you to be patient with me.”
“Of course,” Steve nods his head minutely, “anything— of course.”
Your gaze lands back on the carpet where it’s been burning a hole for the entirety of your conversation; repeatedly finding it difficult to maintain eye contact with him. Why— you’re not totally sure.
“Hey, look at me—” he says, voice low enough to capture your attention again, “it’s whatever you need. However slowly you need to take things. Anything you do or don’t want to do. You call the shots, okay?”
You find your eyes welling with tears once again, but it feels different this time. It feels less like shame, and more like unconditional love. Less like fear, and more like hesitant optimism. However this goes, you know you’ll always have Steve.
"C'mere." He says, beckoning you with open arms. With your head against his solid chest you can hear him faintly sniffling.
"I love you. So much." He tells you, his voice thick with emotion.
"I know," your chin digs into his sternum when you look up at him, "I love you."
He leans down, kisses your forehead, and you promptly fall asleep.
"So it's a mental thing? Or a physical one?" Steve asks you a few days later, propped up on one elbow in your bed with you lying beside him.
"Both, kind of?"
How do you explain that you trust him so completely, but that your body keeps the score?
"It's like, my body remembers what it felt like, and it puts it's guard up. Even if I'm trying not to."
Steve nods like he's starting to understand.
"I trust you," you explain, "but my body doesn't know the difference between your hand trying to touch me versus… someone else. So I have to really get in the right state of mind first. That’s why I need you to be extra patient with me." You huff an awkward laugh, kicking yourself that you even need to be having this type conversation.
Why can't you just have and enjoy sex like everyone else your age?
"No, that makes total sense." Steve assures you, rubbing a soothing hand up and down your arm, "Can I ask you something kind of, uh. Kinda personal?"
You quirk an eyebrow at him, "Sure...?"
"Do you—" he clears his throat, "Do you have any problems, like— touching yourself?"
His question sends your stomach flipping; you can feel your cheeks burning fiery hot, "No, that's— that's really all I've done since it happened. But it took me a while to be able to."
"Right, of course," he shakes his head, "Would you be comfortable, maybe, showing... me?"
You choke on a glob of your own spit. "Showing you?"
"Yeah, just— like— how you usually do it. Touch yourself, I mean. Maybe that can be the first thing we do. That way it's something you're used to. Something you're already comfortable with."
"Yeah," sometime between the last few minutes and now you've become awfully breathless, "We could do that, sure."
Steve's face breaks out in a warm grin, "Okay. What do you usually think about?"
Your cheeks tingle with heat again, "... You. Usually."
His own cheeks redden at that; his smile turning shy, "Me?"
"Who else?" You laugh shakily.
"No, yeah, it's just— really hot. That you think about me."
When you're not sure how to respond, he says, "What am I doing? When you're imagining it?"
You push through the embarrassment of having to recall your fantasies to Steve, if only because he looks so eager to know.
"Well, um. Usually you're kissing me? Or, like. Touching my thighs. Sometimes I imagine that my hand is actually yours, or what you might look like, um, naked?"
If you were to glance down, you'd see Steve half-hard in his pajama pants. And you do, briefly.
He adjusts himself indiscreetly when he catches you looking, "Sorry," he mutters, suddenly bashful.
"No, it's— it's good. I'm glad this is attractive to you and not totally pathetic and humiliating," you chuckle self-depricatingly.
"Are you kidding?" He breathes. "This is the most turned on I've been in, like, a long time,"
"Do you usually use your hands? Toys?" He asks in the silence that follows his confession.
"Both. I have a vibrator that I like," you admit.
“Ah.” Steve doesn't talk again for what feels like hours but what is realistically more like three minutes. You can tell he's wrestling with something internally— you're just not sure what.
"Would you want to use it now? While I kiss you?" He asks you, barely audible.
He's looking at you with poorly concealed desire; you know he's only holding back so that you know he won't be disappointed if you deny his request.
"That would be nice," you tell him genuinely. "Would you kiss me for a while first?"
Steve's face lights up, "'Course, baby,"
He barely has to move in order to be crowding your space— one muscled arm slipping beneath your waist to pull you close and the other brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear.
"You tell me if you want to stop, yeah?" He reminds you. "Or if something doesn't feel good, or if you want me to do something else. You call the shots."
"Okay," you exhale against his lips. His kiss is hesitant at first in a way he usually isn't— but this time is different. More delicate.
He gains more confidence when his tongue brushes your lower lip and you open up for him. And then your hands are brushing his cheeks and roaming the solid expanse of his back.
Steve kisses you breathless; until your lips are swollen and you have to break for air.
"The vibrator," you pant, "Is in the top drawer." You gesture to the wooden nightstand closest to your side of the bed.
Steve pulls away just long enough to open the drawer and grab the small, dark blue bullet from inside of it. He hands it to you.
Your hands tremble as you push your sleep shorts and underwear down your thighs. "Can I keep the blanket over me?" You ask Steve from beneath your lashes.
"Yeah, baby, 'course. Whatever makes you more comfortable." He says, brushing the back of his knuckles across your face softly.
You nod in acknowledgement. When the bullet clicks on, the buzzing is deafening in the quiet of the room— the only other sound to be heard is your combined breathing.
Your legs rustle the top sheet as you spread them wide enough to fit your hand snugly between them. Your hips jerk slightly at the first brush of the toy against your clit.
Steve's breath hitches in your ear and you think maybe he's not sure if he should speak or not. His hands rub circles into your shoulders and arms instead.
You're already slick from all the kissing and heavy-petting from Steve, which is usually the most frustrating part when you're alone. You trail your fingers down past your stomach and below the blanket, collecting your arousal to lubricate everything a bit more.
The vibration against your core is powerful and deliciously pleasant. You throw your head back, sighing softly, "Will you talk to me?"
Steve chokes on a groan. He leans down, slots his face in the crook of your neck and speaks against your skin between hot, open-mouthed kisses, "You're so pretty, baby. So beautiful, touching yourself for me."
The smallest moan escapes you. It spurs Steve on all the more.
"What do you need from me, huh? You want me to keep kissing you?" He asks in a tone that sounds rhetorical but you can tell he's truly asking. His large hand engulfs your breast, "Or maybe I can taste these perfect tits?"
"Yes—" You gasp.
"To which one, pretty girl?" He huffs a low laugh beside your ear.
"My—" it's a struggle to get the words out, feeling suddenly bashful, "my tits, please,"
Steve's fingers worm beneath your t-shirt in an instant, "Good girl, baby. So polite for me,"
You can feel the ends of his hair tickling your chin, the bottom of your neck, as he slides down your body to take one of your perked nipples into the heat of his mouth.
It's one of the most sensitive places on your entire body. You've allowed Steve the privilege only once before. He moans around his mouthful of you and it feels so good that your entire back arches and you keen— loud and unabashed.
Steve's eyes flit to your face. He's never heard you make that sound before, and he's sure he'd do just about anything to hear it again.
When just external stimulation becomes insufficient, you reach for Steve's hand. His eyes widen a fraction when he catches onto what you're about to do.
"Are you—" he swallows thickly, "Are you sure?"
"Yes," you exhale, "just go slow, okay?"
"Yeah, baby— yeah. Okay," he nods emphatically, then stops to watch his hand disappear beneath the blanket.
Your breath catches in your chest at the sensation of his fingers against your entrance. You instinctively tense; anxiety beginning to lift its head in your chest. Maybe this was never going to work.
“Hey—” Steve’s voice pulls you from your potential spiral, “look at me? Good. It’s just me, baby. You’re safe.”
You nod, your eyes squeezing shut as you attempt to find your way back to the pleasure you’d achieved only minutes ago, letting a slow breath out through your nose.
“Would it help if I kissed you some more?” He asks.
You nod, reaching for him. His lips slot seamlessly against yours, and the taste of him— the smell of him— brings you back into your body.
One lithe finger slips past your entrance with a little resistance while you’re more focused on his tongue dancing against your own. You barely register it until the pad of his index finger flexes perfectly against your g-spot.
“Oh—fuck,” you gasp.
“You okay?” Steve checks. “That’s good?”
“It’s good, it’s—“ you pause, swallow, “it’s different.”
“Different?”
“Just feels better than when I use my own,” you admit.
Steve’s eyes shine; his skin glistening with perspiration. He curls his finger again, just to see what you’ll do.
“Oh, god—“ you whine, “Do that again, fuck—“
“So bossy,” Steve teases but obviously obeys. The fact that you’ve even gotten this far means the world to him— he’s ecstatic. “Jesus— you’re so fuckin’ wet. That all for me?”
You nod with your face pressed into his chest, “That feels so good, Steve—“
The closer you get to your orgasm, the more nervous you become. This is always the part where your body betrays you; even when you’re alone.
For the sake of not jinxing it, you don’t tell Steve that you’re close. Luckily for you, he can tell without you verbalizing it. Your moans grow louder— more primal in their pitch— and your legs are shaking like leaves.
“Fuck— are you close?” Steve’s voice is wrecked like he’s the one about to come. It makes arousal churn low in your stomach.
“I think so,” you sigh, your brows pinched in determination, “Oh god, fuck— Steve—“
“Don’t tense up, babygirl, you’re okay,” Steve keeps his exact pace; unwilling to risk changing anything and losing your high, “Just relax— there you go. I’ve got you.”
It’s equal amounts sweet and sexy and exactly what you needed in that moment. Your climax peaks and washes over you in waves— a sensation you haven’t felt in years.
You nearly scream when it happens; the sensation so overwhelmingly powerful between Steve’s finger and the vibration from your toy. Tears leak from the corners of your closed eyes. Out of pleasure or relief? You’re not sure.
You just know it feels great. Amazing, even.
The sound of Steve’s voice pulls you back to Earth again. Murmurs of sweet nothings in your ear: So good for me. You’re so beautiful, honey. I’m so proud of you.
It all sounds underwater for a few minutes, like your ears are stuffed with cotton. The tears increase steadily the more conscious you become.
Steve’s face morphs from mildly concerned to horrified when your chest begins heaving with sobs, “Hey! Hey, woah, what’s the matter, baby? Talk to me,”
His thumbs act to catch the salty drops as they fall; hands framing your face. “Are you okay? Did I— did I do something? I—,”
The sound of his voice shaking is powerful enough to allow you to suck in a breath and tell him, “No, it’s okay, I’m—,” hiccup, “okay. It’s—,” hiccup, “good.”
“You’re crying,” Steve states, like you somehow don’t already know.
“I love you,” you choke, “I just feel— so relieved.”
“Okay,” he all but whispers. Big, strong arms wrap you up and hold you close, “It’s okay, I love you.”
You don’t move from that spot against Steve for a full hour. Only when you inform him that your right arm has fallen asleep does he let go of you.
“Sorry ‘bout your shirt,” you chuckle nasally.
Steve looks down at the spot where his heather gray shirt had turned to a darker charcoal color— stained with the tears of the person he loves. “That’s okay, baby,” he grins, then asks more seriously: “How’re you feeling?”
“I’m alright, Stevie,” you say, a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry about…all that.” You gesture at the bed between you with your arms.
“Hey— no. None of that.”
“But—,”
“You have nothing to apologize for.” He assures you firmly. “Nothing at all. You hear me?”
Your eyes find a loose thread on the comforter to stare at instead of the intensity of your boyfriend’s expression, “Okay.”
“Let’s go order some food, how’s that sound?” He asks, rubbing his thumb soothingly over the top of your hand, “You’ve gotta be tired after that.”
The teasing smirk on his face earns him a soft smack to the chest, your cheeks flushing, “Not funny.”
“I’m not laughing!” He is. He’s actively laughing. And you love him.
what's love got to do with it || steve harrington x reader
authors note: heavily cinderella stories inspired (hilary, sofia). please let me know what you think!
• warning(s): angst, fluff - sort of proofread.
• word count: 10.3k
• summary: An 80’s Cinderella Story. You knew “King Steve,” but now that he’s back in your life because you’re fixing his car, can you accept him for who he is now?
Steve Harrington could’ve kicked himself for letting it get this bad. She was his baby after all, and here she was making sounds and overheating. Steve was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a mechanic. He tried his hardest to be Mr.-Fix-It, but this was one thing he just couldn’t get the hang of. He knows cars, but he doesn't know cars. He’s been putting it off so long that he hopes there isn’t irreparable damage, but between crawls, WSQK, and just life in general, he really hasn’t had the time to give the car the maintenance she needs, and it’s definitely long overdue.
So, when he pulled into ‘Midnight Motorworks,’ he secretly wished that they’d tell him the damage wasn’t that bad and he would be on his merry way. One vehicle down wouldn’t be good for the group, and everything was for the group's good these days.
The bell above the front door jingles to note his arrival. Despite the initial smell of fresh tires and oil, he noticed the entire shop smelling very floral - like a garden in the middle of springtime. He looked around. It was a small area, a few waiting chairs with tables - magazines on top that read, “10 Steps To A Fabulous Life!” and mini gardens under the windows. He wondered how, in the middle of fall, plants were doing so well. He’s never had much of a green thumb.
“I’ll be with you in a minute!” He hears someone yell from behind the door, which he assumes leads to the garage. The feminine voice surprised him, in honesty, he was expecting a heavy-set guy with a deep voice covered in oil with a deep voice to greet him. So, when you entered two minutes later, not a fat man with dirt everywhere, he almost took a double-take. You were in a long-sleeved black t-shirt and overalls that looked two sizes too big. He notices you look at him incredulously, and has this feeling like maybe he's seen you from somewhere but can’t quite place it.
“Hey,” Steve says, casually stepping forward.
You notice how his sunglasses pushed his famous hair back, and the corduroy jacket he wore made him look like a perfume model stepped straight out of one of the many magazines in the room.
“Something's wrong with my car, think I could see the mechanic?”
You roll your eyes and step back behind the counter to grab a file.
“Well, you’re looking right at her.”
You’re used to that. Being overlooked. No one ever comes into the shop and assumes you’re the one who fixes cars. And why would they? It’s not like you expected any different when you saw Steve Harrington enter the shop. Hawkins High King, Golden Boy, Steve The Hair Harrington…no, of course he would come in here and assume you weren’t adequate to fix his precious ‘83 BMW he drove into the parking lot.
Steve blinks. “You’re the mechanic?”
“Last I checked.” You replied snarkily. You tried to smile. You did. You’re trying to be nice. But you see this kind of attitude day in and day out, and the last person you want to hear it from is the ruler of your old high school.
He shifts, hand on one hip, a crooked smile on his lips. “I just - I figured -”
“That I’d be a guy?” You ask, eyebrows quirked.
You thought some time out of high school would give this guy a reality check, but no, here he was, just as delusional as he was in high school. Except this time, he had grown more into his looks, muscles defined, fuller lips, and a glint in his eyes like he could show you the world and then some. But that was none of your business…
Steve rubs the back of his neck nervously, like he got caught sticking his hand in the cookie jar.
“No, I just thought -”
“They usually do.” You roll your eyes and shove the clipboard at him with paperwork for him to fill out. You hand him the pen as well. He notices your rigidity but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gently takes it from you and sits down to begin to write. As he fills it out, he starts describing what’s going on with the car.
He clears his throat. “Right, so, there’s this noise.”
You lean against the doorframe and watch as he fills out the sheet. “What kind of noise?”
“Uh,” he hesitates. He didn’t want to sound stupid. “Like a ticking..? And it smells strange sometimes. And overheating..for sure, so…”
You notice how, when he writes, there are certain moments where he stops himself from using cursive, as if it were something he was trying to unlearn. You also noticed the expensive wrist watch compared to his beat-up shoes that look like they’ve been through hell and back. They almost look as bad as your boots, which you’ve had and held onto for the past five years. You could get more, but you’ve sort of grown emotionally attached to them.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” Steve asks.
This surprises you. He doesn’t recognize you? Doesn’t remember you? Typical.
“Let me see your keys.”
“What?”
“I’m gonna pull the car into the garage.”
He hands over the keys, and you hate how you notice the largeness and softness of his hands after they brushed yours. Compared to your hands, rough and dirty from the day's work, you almost feel bad accidentally touching him.
Steve watches you walk out to his car and start it. He never lets anyone drive, ever, so handing that over to you was a challenge. He watched as your hands caressed the wheel and you read the signs on the dashboard. He noticed your eyebrow quirk at the noises it started making, and your neutral expression soon turned into a frown. It’s like the car was music only you could understand. The noises were in a language only you knew. Your eyes lit up when you pressed on the gas, but your face ended up in a grimace as you drove it into the garage. He couldn’t see your face anymore.
When he finished the paperwork, he joined you outside but used the door connecting the waiting room to the garage instead of walking all the way around outside. More of the decor he noticed was flowers, an assortment, really. ‘You must really like them,’ he thought.
When he walked in, you had the hood popped, and you were looking under it like you were reading hieroglyphics from ancient times. He admired that he tried not to notice the way your overalls rode up as you bent over to check for something.
You stood back up straight and exhaled through your nose. He noticed that when you wiped your hands, a few rings adorned your fingers. He wondered where they all came from.
“You cooked it.” You say, looking at him expectantly.
His heart dropped. He’s not sure what that means, but he knows it can’t be good. His posture straightens; he didn’t even realize he was slouching.
“Excuse me?”
“Coolant’s probably leaking into the cylinders. Oils contaminated.”
Steve stares at you like you’ve grown two heads. Yeah, this is definitely not what he needed to hear right now.
“When’s the last time you replaced the water pump?” You ask.
Replace? Fix? Since when does he have time for that? He doesn't even have the time to entertain a thought about doing anything else other than babysitting, occasionally saving the world, and taking a few punches in the process. Life is way different than how he imagined - especially now.
“My what?” He’s lost in thought. How long was this going to take? How was he going to get around? “So what, it’s bad?”
“If the heads warped, we’re talking teardown. Machine shop. New gasket. New bolts. Weeks probably. Especially with the quarantine.”
“Fuck,” he sighs, running his hands through his hair. “But you can fix it, right?”
You didn’t tell Steve your name, but he noticed it on some trophy hung up on the shelf in the garage before he left. He explained to everyone his car situation, and Murray was able to find him a truck in the meantime - but it was beat up, and nothing like his BMW.
“Robin…” They were on a commercial break at WSQK. “Do you remember a Y/N? L/N? From school?”
Robin looks like she’s searching her mind like she has a mental Rolodex of everyone she’s ever met stored up there.
“Uh, yeah. She’s my year. We took this art class together once. Why?”
Steve shifts in his chair and rolls himself back and forth with his legs.
“She’s working on my car.”
“Oh,” Robin says. “Since when has she worked on cars? I thought she used to work at that diner on Hickory Road? Actually, I think it might be closed now, so of course she wouldn’t -”
“The diner!” Steve interrupts. So that’s where he knew you from. For a while, he used to go to this diner senior year, and you were always working whenever he came in. You guys would talk until one day, you wouldn’t talk to him anymore. He wasn’t sure why then, but he was definitely thinking about it right now.
For the next hour, Robin tries to get Steve’s attention, but he’s distracted. He’s either doodling, staring off into space, or running his hand through his hair exasperatedly. Every time she tries to call his name, he doesn’t hear it the first time and then just grunts in response to whatever she asks.
After the show, Robin rushes to throw her jacket on.
“All right, Stevie boy, let’s go.”
“Uh, go where?”
“To go check on your precious car. I know that’s all you’re thinking about.”
Well, that wasn’t all he was thinking about. You couldn’t seem to leave his mind. Why had he not recognized you?
When Robin and Steve walked into the shop, someone was sitting behind the desk. She was pale, had long black hair in two braids, and her rosy cheeks flushed when she asked them what they needed. Steve noticed that Robin couldn’t take her eyes off her. Steve went searching for you after confirming with the girl that his car was indeed there and being serviced.
Steve tried to be quiet, sneak up on you while you were in your element, try to see what you looked like when you weren’t looking at him in total disgust…but that plan failed when he tripped over cans and made about five fall announcing his arrival.
“Wow. You’re about as subtle as a bull in a china shop, aren’t you?” You ask, eyebrows quirked. There was a glint in your eye, as if you were mildly amused.
“Sorry.” He smiles shyly, attempting to clean everything up. You noticed his jeans hugged him when he squatted down to arrange the cans. That, plus the sweater he had on, made you remember why he was so sought after years ago. Hell, even now.
“So, how’s my baby?” You hated how your stomach dipped at that. Your cheeks flushed, but you turned before he could notice. You would not swoon over Steve Harrington. Absolutely not.
“Gasket’s probably blown. And if you keep driving it hot, the aluminum head could be warped.”
He swallows. “Warped like…?”
“Like it doesn’t sit flat anymore.” You meet his eyes now. “Which means it doesn’t seal. Which means you lose compression. Which means you don’t have an engine for long.”
Silence settles between you. You watch the realization hit him — not just about the car. About how long he ignored it.
He exhales slowly. “I didn’t think it was that serious.”
“You don’t wait until smoke’s pouring out to take warning lights seriously,” you say evenly. “They’re there for a reason.”
His jaw tightens slightly at that.
“I had stuff going on,” he says, and there’s something defensive under it. Not arrogant. Defensive.
You shrug. “Everybody does.”
That one lands.
“Y/N, did you grab the stuff on my list from the store like I asked?”
You watch as your sister enters the shop. She didn’t even look up at you when she entered, too busy searching her purse for something, but when she finally lifted her head, she noticed you and Steve staring at her.
“Oh my God, Steve Harrington!” Your sister rushed to him and wrapped her arms around him like she had just reunited with her long-lost love. Hell, maybe she had. You turned away and focused your attention back on Steve’s car. You tried not to notice the way he talked to her - animated, like he was telling the greatest story of all time.
Your sister was one of many of Steve’s conquests. You remember how charming he was, strolling her around school and you watch as he pulls out that same charm now. He hasn’t changed. Still the same old Steve Harrington. By the time they were done, and she was done gushing over him because she had a hair appointment to get to, your sister made her way back over to you. She looked at you in disgust, like she couldn’t believe how dirty you’ve gotten.
“Don’t forget dinner tonight. Mom says she wants Chinese.” She smiles in a fake way that makes you want to hit her. But you don’t. Because you're a civilised human being.
She totally deserves it though.
Steve watched as you turned back on your…sister? He doesn’t remember Shelby having a sister when he went out with her in high school. In fact, he really doesn’t see any resemblance at all. When he makes his way over to you, he watches you take a pull from the cigarette you just lit.
“These are so bad for you, you know.” He takes it from your hands and draws from it. “I didn’t know Shelby had a sister…I didn’t know you -”
“I know.” You take the cigarette back. It comes out sharper than you meant it to.
He goes still.
You immediately regret it, but you don’t take it back.
He clears his throat. “Look, I wasn’t trying to—”
“To what?” you challenge, finally turning fully toward him. “Assume I couldn’t do my job? Or forget I existed?”
His expression shifts. The cocky edge dulls.
“I didn’t assume you couldn’t,” he says. “I just didn’t expect—”
“It’ll take at least two weeks,” you say. “Maybe three. Machine shop’s backed up.”
Steve pauses. He notices your hair is in a different style than yesterday, and notes he likes it a little better like this; he can see your eyes more, but he also sees how you’re glaring at him. You weren’t going to continue that conversation even though he really wanted you to. You’re snarky, and you’re sharp, but you intrigue him.
“Are you always this hard on your customers?” he asks quietly, taking the cig back from you. He ignores the burning coming from his fingertips when they brush yours - and it wasn't from the lit ash.
“Only the ones who think they’re indestructible.”
A beat. He huffs out something that’s almost a laugh. “Trust me. I know I’m not.” He stalks away but stops right at the door. “And for what it’s worth, I didn’t mean to forget you.”
When you got home, you replayed your and Steve's conversations over and over again in your head. He had almost sounded hurt at the end of it. In fact, you hadn’t expected him to leave as quickly as he did. You fiddled with the necklace around your neck and rubbed it gently like you often did when you were thinking too hard about something.
The Steve Harrington spell is something you were no stranger to. You, too, had the schoolgirl crush on the “Golden boy” back in high school, but it wasn’t something you overly thought about. You hated his popularity, you hated his friends, but God, the jokes he told in class really got you through it. His laugh alone lifted your spirits when things were hard at home. Sometimes, just the daydreams - the idea of him was able to get you through the day. The idea that for once, something or someone as cool as Steve Harrington - would happen for you.
And Shelby never acknowledged you in school. So when she and Steve started dating, you weren’t even an afterthought. You weren’t jealous of her and Steve - but you did envy the life she got to so easily live. Popular, dating the hottest guy in school, every girl wants that. Wants to be noticed - wants to be seen.
And Steve did see you. Once upon a time.
You used to work at this diner down the road. It’s closed now, but it was your favorite spot a few years ago. It was a bit away from the school, so it wasn’t like one of those after-school hangout spots. While you were serving, Steve used to come in, eyes bright and shiny - hair perfect. He sat at the counter, which you didn’t expect - he seemed like a booth type of guy. Steve talked about basketball and homework. He asked you what your favorite classes were and why you liked working at the diner. He would come in, and you two would talk for hours. You two even talked about your parents and his - yours passed, and his…absent. You remember being able to empathize with one another. You had a feeling that his frequent visits were due to him escaping the silence at home.
So, like it always seems to, that schoolgirl crush became something more. You valued the friendship you seemed to have developed with him.
Right as you turned over to go to sleep, Shelby burst into your room like the hall was on fire. She had no regard for the peace and quiet you were holding on to and reached for your desk lamp to turn it on.
“So, Y/N,” she scrunches her face and says your name like it was the equivalent of moldy cheese. “When’s the next time Steve is supposed to come around?”
You scoff at her and roll over in your bed. “Get out.”
She rolls her eyes and starts pulling at things on your desks, absentmindedly shuffling papers, “accidentally,” dropping pencils and pens on the floor.
“I hope you don’t think you actually have a chance. I see the way you look at him.”
You throw a pillow at her. “Trust me, the only person in this room who wants him is you.”
She huffs like she doesn’t believe you. “Good. Because he wouldn’t want you and your grease-stained overalls anyway."
She leaves the room without another word, but her voice still echoes in your head. What does she mean by the way you look at him? You look at Steve as you would any other customer. As a means to get out. One more dollar added to the fund for being able to move out and start a new life outside of your stepfamily.
The phone rang next to you, breaking you from your thoughts.
It was Carlie. She was the second-best part about working at the auto shop. The first was that it was your father's, and you loved the work, being able to fix things, like how you wished you could fix your life, but the second was Carlie. Your best friend. She had been with you through everything. Your father's death, your stepmother and step-sisters' cruelty, hard days at work…she was there.
“Y/N! Do you remember a Robin? Buckley? She was in our class.”
You sit up straight in your bed, racking your brain, trying to remember. “Yeah, I think so, wasn’t she in band or something? Think we had a class together once, too, some kind of elective.”
“Yes! Well,” Carlie sounds exasperated through the phone, as she had just climbed two flights of stairs. That’s how she got when she was excited. “She came in with Steve today!”
“With Steve?” You ask. “What do you mean with Steve?”
You could feel yourself heating up. What was this feeling? Jealousy? No, you could not be jealous when it came to Steve.
“Uhm, like they're somehow best friends “with Steve,” and Y/N, when I tell you she got totally hot, I don’t know how I kept my composure today. I wanted to like literally jump her bones.”
Okay, right, well…no, there really was no reason to be jealous. Not that you were in the first place. All you wanted to do was close your eyes and forget about everything and everyone, especially Steve Harrington. But Robin? That seemed like an unlikely friendship to you. Not who Steve typically would hang out with. This surprised you. What happened to Tommy and Carol?
Steve debated visiting the shop. He knows you don’t like him. And to be honest, he’s not liking you a whole lot right back. Where do you get off on telling him that he thinks he’s indestructible? When did he ever say that? In fact, he was far from it. If anything, he’s learned the past two years is that nothing is indestructible. And everything is temporary. You don’t go from fighting monsters back to totally normal. If he wasn’t already, he definitely was ready for his car to be fixed.
“You know you don’t have to come here every day.” You say rolling yourself out from under the car.
“Actually, the last time I was here was like three days ago, so not every day.” Steve snarks back, taking a bite from a granola bar. When it finally registers what he’s seeing, his eyes widen, and his granola falls from his hands.
“Is this my car? You tore it apart!”
He feels as if he could cry. His poor beemer. He saw there were multiple parts on the floor around you and tools on your waist. You were holding a small piece in your mouth as you twisted something apart. He could feel himself harden in his pants slightly at the thought of what else your mouth could do. Why was he even thinking about that? He watched as you took the piece out of your mouth and put it where it belonged.
He still felt panic in his chest.
“That’s usually how repairs work, Harrington.”
He presses his lips together. “You don’t have to be condescending.”
“You don’t have to be reckless,” you snap back.
“Reckless?” He straightens. “She’s mostly fine.”
“And you drove it..or her…overheated for who knows how long.”
He gestures vaguely. “I had things going on.”
You wipe your hands on a rag. “Oh, of course. The world revolves around you. I forgot.”
He laughs once — sharp. “You really don’t like me.”
“I hate you, actually.”
“Hate’s a strong word.”
“I have strong feelings.” You say.
“Aw, tell me about your other strong feelings for me.” He smiles. You blush at his words, but roll your eyes regardless.
You step around him to grab a tool. He doesn’t move at first, so you bump his arm with yours. Your body shudders when you feel his hand move to your hip to help you slide past him. You ignore how warm and strong his touch feels.
“Excuse you.”
“Shop’s tight,” he says mildly. “You’ll survive.”
You look up at him from under your lashes. “You enjoying hovering?”
“I’m supervising.” He makes a move to check under the engine like he was some sort of inspector making sure you were doing your job right. You’ve had plenty of men come and do that to you - didn’t completely trust you with their cars - but the way Steve did it was almost playful.
“You don’t know what you’re looking at.”
He glances at the exposed engine again. “That’s… engine stuff.”
You stare.
He lifts a brow. “See? I know cars.”
“You drive cars.”
“Same difference.”
“It’s really not.”
He folds his arms. “You know, most mechanics try not to insult the person paying them.”
“Most customers don’t argue with the person rebuilding their engine.”
He tilts his head. “You rebuilding it? Or are you gonna call in a real mechanic?”
The second it leaves his mouth, there’s a beat.
He knows he crossed the line, but he’s gauging your reaction. Seeing how hard he can push before you really snap at him. For some reason, he’s interested in your limits.
Your jaw tightens.
“I am the real mechanic.”
His sarcasm fades just slightly — but not completely. He smiles cooly, hovering above you, staring down right into you. You don’t miss how your eyes fall to your lips and back to your eyes again. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’d try to kiss you. Part of you wishes you didn’t hate the idea of that.
“Then prove it.”
You step closer. Not intimidated. Not flustered. Okay, well, maybe a little flustered. You two were standing really close. You could practically feel the heat radiating off his body onto yours.
“You want technical?” you ask coolly, taking a single step back. There needed to be space between the two of you. Asap. “Head’s warped at least five thousandths. I won’t know for sure until the machine shop decks it. Gasket’s blown. Coolant’s been bleeding into the cylinders, which means you’re lucky you didn’t hydrolock the whole block.”
He stares.
You continue, relentless.
“I’ll replace the head bolts because BMW uses torque-to-yield. New thermostat. Probably a water pump since you clearly don’t believe in preventative maintenance. Then I’ll flush the oil twice so you’re not running milkshake through your bearings.”
Silence. You lift your chin. “Anything else?”
He steps closer — not backing down now, but not mocking either.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “You always this intense, or am I special?”
You don’t break eye contact. “You’re not special, Harrington.”
His jaw ticks at that.
“Keep calling me that,” he says softly, “and I might start charging you for the ego damage.”
You scoff. “Pretty sure your ego’s factory-installed. Hard to dent.”
He smirks. “You’d be surprised.”
There’s something under that line. Something not sarcastic at all.
You look away first.
“Come back in a week,” you say briskly. “I’ll know more.”
He doesn’t move.
“You sure you’re not just dragging this out to see me again?” he asks.
You blink slowly. “Trust me. If I wanted to see you, I wouldn’t need your engine to explode.”
Carlie’s at the edge of your bed, wolfing down an entire bag of Doritos.
“Speaking of Steve, he’s like even more hot now, right? He’s got this rugged, ‘I’m handsome, and I know it, but emotionally complex,’ thing going on right now.”
You finish your bite of ice cream. “When were we speaking of Steve?” you ask, laughing softly.
“Since we were talking about how great Robin was.”
“We weren’t talking about that either.”
Carlie makes a face and points at her hair. Because her fingers were full of Dorito dust, she needed help putting it up in a bun. This also meant that she just wanted you to play in her hair, so before you put it up, you started on one of her mandatory scalp massages, which she forces you to do in exchange for bringing you great snacks every time she comes over.
“So what do you have against Sexy Steve H anyway?”
You blush at that, but chastise yourself for it. Why are you blushing at the thought of Steve Harrington? “Uhm, you don’t remember him thinking I couldn’t do my job because I’m a girl?”
You could feel Carlie shake her head under your fingers. It made you lose grip of her hair. “Is that what he said, or is that what you heard?”
“Well, he’s also still full of himself. Just like in high school. Why do you care so much anyway? I don’t have to like Steve just because you like Robin. Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“I just think you should give him a chance. You haven’t talked to a guy in I don’t know how long, and I don’t know this banter you have with him is the only thing I’ve seen you light up about in months.”
You thought about it. It is true that ever since Steve has been stopping by, you’ve found a certain joy in your arguments. And while yes, some of your feelings towards him are rational and justified, there is a part of you that exaggerates it just to bit to get him to react. It’s hard not to see the boy you used to have that schoolgirl crush on, because when he stares at you deep into your eyes, or touches you a second too long, you swear you could feel those feelings come right back up again.
And that’s why you can’t let yourself fall for him.
He’s still the same, and not only that, but your sister's ex - and you do not want the drama of her and her attitude. Plus, this is all hypothetical; you’re just fixing his car. That doesn't mean that he's feeling anything else towards you.
You’re not even sure why you’re still entertaining these thoughts.
Steve’s back two days later. He knows you said a week, but something was pulling him towards you. He couldn’t seem to stay away. It’s like you were a magnet, and every time he wasn’t within five feet of you, you were all he could think about - all that was on his mind. Your quiet smile, your floral smell, the way you would curse to yourself when you messed up - the way you would banter with him like you didn’t have anything better to do…
“So…” Steve starts.
“So?” you ask. Twisting a bolt. You weren’t working on his car today; you were still waiting for the part to come in.
“This was your dad's shop, right?” He asks. He tries to be gentle - it wasn’t until he talked to Robin that he realized you used to work at this diner he used to go to sometimes. In all honesty, you were the only reason he went - he thought you were beautiful, but out of his league - and he didn’t recognize you when he came into the shop days ago. There was a big difference between the teenager you and the you now. You were still gorgeous, but the way you carried yourself with such confidence - it was ethereal. If he thought you were out of his league back then, you definitely were now.
Anyway, after remembering the tidbits you two used to talk about, he remembered you talking about your parents. It was a touchy subject for both of you - his parents chose to be absent, but yours, yours didn’t. And he remembered how awful that must have felt.
“Yeah, it was.” You say.
“And he taught you this stuff?”
You nod, trying to reach for a tool, and failing. “Make yourself useful and help, since you want to come to my place of work and be a stalker.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He says, grabbing the tool you were reaching for. You grab his hand and make him hold down a wire so that you can twist it with another.
“And what’s with the flowers? Is spring your favorite season or something?” He asks.
“You’re so nosy, Harrington.” He doesn’t know what you’re thinking, but people like talking about the things they love - and he has a sense that you don’t get to do that often. “My mother was a florist. Before she died, my house looked like a real life green house. I brought the plants here when my dad died to try to keep them both alive together.”
“Wow.” Steve clears his throat. “That’s beautiful.”
Steve could tell how heavily guarded you were. Not mean. At least, not right now. Not cold. Just… protected. Like every answer you gave had already been measured before it left your mouth. He watches your hands instead — steady, precise, confident. Nothing like the girl he remembered nervously balancing plates at the diner.
He held the flashlight where you needed it, any excuse to be close to you, really.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” you say.
You try to put some space between the two of you - but Steve was making it nearly impossible. And even though he wasn’t touching you, it’s like you could feel him all over you.
“You still hate when people hover?” he asks. You can tell he’s doing it on purpose now. Somehow, he knows the effect he has on you.
You glance at him. “You used to hover.”
“You used to pretend not to notice.”
“I noticed,” you say. “You ordered the same thing every time and barely ate it.”
He huffs a laugh. “I ate it.”
“You pushed it around.”
A small silence.
“You knew?” he asks.
You shrug. “You tipped twenty dollars for pancakes, Harrington. I’m not stupid.”
His ears go pink. “I thought you were out of my league.”
You pause. The wire slips slightly in your fingers before you tighten it again.
“You had a car and perfect hair,” you say flatly. “You were everyone’s league.”
“Not yours.”
You don’t look at him. Instead, you reach for electrical tape. Anything to distract.
“People like you don’t actually want girls like me,” you say quietly.
“People like me?”
“Yes, people like you - who choose people like Shelby.”
You finally are able to put some space between the two of you when you walk to the back of the shop to grab some more tools. You also go to wash your hands just to put some more space and time between the two of you.
“I came back for you, today, not Shelby.”
“Why?”
There was a pause.
“I don’t know,” he says quietly.
You blink — caught off guard — and immediately busy yourself cleaning your hands on a towel. You finally look at him again — not defensive, not sharp. Just tired. You hesitate. For the first time since he came back — really hesitate. Because this isn’t banter anymore. And you don’t know what to do with sincerity. There was something he was keeping from you. Things that have happened - things that might explain his knuckles, slightly rough - healed over more than once. The dark circles under his eyes that might not have been from partying like the old him…but more like late nights awake. It’s in his posture - how he stands ready for anything, not posed. You wonder what made him this way. Is it why he seems so changed?
Steve admires that even though there was so much going on, Dustin and his friends still had time for fun. Weekly, they’ll get together and play D&D, a game he still doesn’t understand - and Steve has somehow become Dustin’s designated driver. Steve wished he had time for hobbies, hell, and if he had time, what would he even do? Play basketball? Steve doesn’t even know what he likes anymore. He’s been obsessed with the idea of hanging onto the past - i.e, Nancy, that he hasn’t even had the chance to find himself again. He thinks about how passionate you are about fixing cars - he’s not sure why he’s even thinking about you right now, but at least you have something.
Steve feels like he has nothing. He’s not in school, he’s in a dumb cover-up job, Hawkins in a lockdown…this is not how he imagined his life to be.
Dustin runs out of the house, bookbag slung over his shoulders, disheveled, and forcefully pulls the truck door open.
“Damn, Steve, when are you getting your car back?” Dustin's nose turns up at the condition of the car while he throws his stuff in the backseat.
Steve starts up the truck. “Would you like to walk home?”
Dustin rolls his eyes and reaches for the unopened soda on the floor. “So, what’s up with you and this mechanic?” Somehow, he’s also found snacks he’s stuffing his face with.
“What do you mean?” Steve asks, slightly sitting straighter in his seat. “How do you know about her?”
“Robin.”
Of course. Robin was the last person to keep her mouth shut. Not that there was anything to tell, but the whole situation is just bizarre.
Steve clears his throat. “She’s just fixing my car. Not sure what you’re trying to insinuate.”
Dustin laughs. “I’m not insinuating anything - but I know you’re thinking something.”
Dustin watches as Steve's hands tense around the steering wheel. Not hard enough to where he seemed angry, but just enough to know what he was right, and a certain mechanic was on Steve’s mind.
As soon as Steve dropped Dustin off and got home, he immediately called Robin.
“What’s up, Stevie boy? It's kinda late.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “Robin, your bedtime is like 3 AM. You should be the last person worried about whether it’s late or not.”
“Whatever,” he can hear shuffling through the phone, like she was getting up to do something. “What’s so important you couldn’t wait until the station tomorrow?”
“What did you tell Dustin about Y/N?” Steve can feel his chest tighten slightly. What’s there to tell, really? You’re fixing his car? You’re driving him crazy? You make him want to pull his hair out and shut you up with a kiss all at once?
“Uhm, just the obvious sexual tension between the two of you. Plus seems like you’re spending every free moment over there.”
He’s ignoring that. “I think she hates me.”
Robin snorts through the phone. “Does she actually hate you, or is this foreplay?”
Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. “Rob- what? She’s holding a grudge from high school. I don’t know. We don’t really talk about it.”
“Well, you weren’t exactly the greatest guy in school, were you, Steve?”
It didn’t take a lot of convincing for Steve when Robin mentioned bowling. He hadn’t been out in a really long time, and this was the perfect chance. Sure, the food sucked, and the music wasn’t great, but hanging out with Robin was always a good time, and he loved Dustin, he did, but he also liked hanging out with people the same age as him.
So when he entered the bowling alley and noticed there weren't a lot of people, he was mildly grateful. Steve was in a mood to have fun, not put on the social butterfly he usually had to put on when he ran into people he knew from Hawkins High. They still expected him to be the same - still crack the same jokes, have the same inviting energy. But he wasn’t the same, and hated acting like it.
After he paid for him and Robin, he followed her to the lanes so they could put on their shoes. What he didn’t notice until he stood up, shoes tied, was that you and your friend were in the accompanying lanes. The look of surprise that came across his face was almost embarrassing, except for the fact that his eyes couldn’t leave yours. You looked annoyed, not shocked to see him. Maybe you had a little more time to register this than he did, because he knew that if you knew he was here, you probably wouldn't have come. In the same way Robin surprised him, your friend probably surprised you, too.
This was the first time he was seeing you outside of the garage, and boy, did you clean up nice. He knew you looked good before; he’d never say that out loud in fear of being hit over the head with a wrench, but you definitely looked good now. It wasn’t even about the clothes; it was about the confidence you wore. Like the other side of you, the one that didn’t live under hoods was finally poking her head out. And if he didn’t stop his eyes from wandering down, he soon wouldn’t be able to stop the blood rushing to his groin at the sight of your ass in those jeans.
Pissed was an understatement. You could have literally tackled Carlie like a linebacker with the amount of rage you were feeling right now. She did not tell you Steve would be here. In fact, you barely wanted to come at all. You weren’t that great at bowling, and you did not like not being good at something. So you avoided it. But Carlie insisted you come - said she didn’t want to be alone, and how was she going to have fun by herself? But here was Robin - avoiding the same looks Steve was giving her as you were giving Carlie. It seems as though he was just as surprised as you were.
“Carlie, I hope you know I’m going to kill you. Very violently.”
Carlie smiles and squeezes your hand. “It’ll be okay, I promise.”
The bowling alley smells like nachos and overpriced beer. You consider buying one just to get through tonight. You hate the way he’s looking at you. Like he wants to say something, but is holding back. You try to ignore him as the game begins, but you can literally feel his eyes bore into the back of your head.
You rolled horribly. You knocked down three, which is better than nothing, but the look on Steve’s face when you turned only fueled you more. When Steve went, you watched his arms, strong, long, poised - he looked like he knew exactly what he was doing. And he did. A perfect strike. When he turned, he didn’t look smug, like you thought; he looked…relieved, like maybe he wasn’t completely sure he could do it. He looked over to you, probably to gloat, but you rolled your eyes and sat down, waiting for Carlie and Robin to go.
Even though Carlie was on your team, she had basically ditched you to talk Robins' ear off. You couldn’t be upset. You were happy for her, and they actually looked really cute together. It was so easy for them - smiling, laughing…having a good time. You wished you had joined in, but there was nothing funny about this situation. Nothing funny about Steve. The way his muscles flexed, the way his hair was perfectly styled, the way his clothes clung to him like they were especially made for his body only. Ugh.
You watched as Steve made his way over to you.
“No. Nope. Go back over there, Harrington, you’re not on my team, and I will not be fraternizing with the enemy.”
He smiles as he sits down next to you. “So that’s what we’re doing? Fraternizing?” He watches as you tuck your laces into your shoes. Anything to avoid him. “Robin and Carlie are fraternizing, and they’re on opposite teams. Why can’t we?”
You huff. “Because they actually like each other."
You didn’t look at Steve to see if it stung him. You really didn’t want to know his reaction. Soon enough, it was your turn again, and you got the same score. Three. You groaned as you walked away. I suck you thought. Steve went after you, and it wasn’t a strike, but he did manage to get all the pins down in two rolls. It wasn’t fair. Perfect Steve winning. He and Robin were beating you in points, but Carlie was just as good as Steve, so she was giving him a run for his money, and your team wasn’t far behind. You and Robin were as useless as a hockey stick in a soccer game. The game was basically between Steve and Carlie.
You’re lining up your next shot when you feel him.
“Don’t,” you say immediately. You knew what he was about to do. Charming Steve would come to be your hero and help. You couldn’t think of anything worse right now. Just what you needed. Steve being right about something, too good for you, even. That he was better than you. If it wasn’t obvious, with your step-sister rubbing it into your face, it sure was apparent now.
“I haven’t done anything.”
“You’re about to.”
A pause. Then—He steps in behind you. Not touching. Not yet. But close enough that you feel the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your shirt.
“I’m just helping,” he says lightly.
“I don’t need help.” You did. But you didn’t want to admit it. It shouldn’t have felt this good to have him this close.
You grip the bowling ball tighter.
His hand reaches past you first — adjusting your fingers in the holes. You tense up. He was so close. Close enough you could feel his breath on the back of your neck. Close enough that you could smell his cologne and forget why you were so mad in the first place. Overpowering you, nearly. He smelled like clean soap and something warm and expensive.
“Loosen up.”
Your breath catches.
“I am.”
He huffs a quiet laugh near your ear.
His other hand hovers near your hip. You feel it before he even makes contact. It felt so familiar and strange all at once. Like it was meant to be, but foreign all at once.
“You’re pulling left,” he murmurs. “Your shoulders are angled.”
“I know how shoulders work, Harrington.”
“Well, you just know everything, don’t you?” That was intentional. You could tell. And then his hand lands on your hip. Firm. Warm. Guiding. Not inappropriate, but not innocent either. Your spine straightens instantly. His chest brushes your back as he adjusts your stance.
“Feet shoulder-width,” he says softly.
“Stop bossing me around.” is all you can manage out. But you knew he wouldn’t listen. His fingers press just slightly at your hip, shifting you an inch.
“There,” he says.
His other hand comes around your forearm, lifting it slightly. You are very aware of how big his hands are compared to yours. How they felt against your body should be illegal.
“Follow through,” he murmurs, almost against your hair.
You swallow.
“If I miss, I’m blaming you.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything else.”
The weight of that lands heavier than it should.
The lane suddenly feels too narrow. Too quiet. Robin and Carlie’s laughter feels miles away. You wonder if they see what’s going on or if they’re in their own little world. His hand slides from your forearm to your wrist. Slow. Intentional.
“Okay,” he says softly. “Go.”
You step forward. Release. The ball rolls straighter than it has all night. Pins explode. Strike. You freeze and smile. You did it. That’s the first time you’ve ever done that. He’s still behind you. Still close. His hand is still lightly around your wrist. You turn your head slightly.
“Told you,” he says.
You exhale shakily.
He doesn’t move away right away. And you don’t step forward. There’s a beat where neither of you speaks. Then—
“You can let go now,” you say, quieter than before.
His thumb shifts slightly against your pulse point.
“I know.”
Another beat.
Then he steps back. You almost wish he didn’t. Steve runs a hand through his hair, suddenly looking less composed than he did five seconds ago.
He makes his way back to Carlie and Robin, but wishes he could’ve stayed by you. You were slowly corrupting his mind like some kind of virus. He could barely keep his hands to himself, and he didn’t know how to feel about it.
Robin gives him a look, but Steve shakes his head as if to say, ‘Don’t ask.’
Steve watches as Carlie pulls Robin to the concessions, and Steve looks over to you, but you refuse to look at him. After five minutes of silence and your friends’ absence, Steve suggests that the two of you go to the arcade part of the building. He watched as you decided - like it was as hard as choosing between jumping off a cliff or skydiving. Ultimately, to his surprise, you said yes.
He followed you to the neon colored area where it smelled like stale popcorn and teenage boys. Luckily, you two were the only ones there. Steve listened to the song playing over the speaker - some tune from the top 100. He gets excited when you choose air hockey. It was his favorite arcade game. You choose one side, and he walks to the other. Immediately, you shoot the puck into his goal.
Steve laughs. “Oh, that’s the only point you’ll be getting, you caught me off guard!”
“How about you stay on top of your game then?” You bite back.
Steve shakes his head, and soon enough, you two are in a steady rhythm of back and forth. He watches you get scared a couple of times - nervous the puck would hit your hands, but really, he notices how competitive you are. There's a sparkle in your eyes every time you hit the puck. He watches as you lick your lips and smile every time it flings to his side, and it almost makes it in. He gets so distracted by this that he wasn’t pulled out of his trance until he noticed you jump up and down, hands in the air, because you got another point.
Your celebration was short-lived when he took his chance to score a point while you were celebrating.
“Hey!” you shout, staring daggers at him, playfully.
“How about you stay on top of your game?” he repeats back to you.
You roll your eyes.
You end up winning.
He wins basketball, and you call him a cheater. He laughs and calls you a sore loser. You playfully shove him. He catches your wrist when you do, and pulls you close. He’s surprised when you don’t push him away.
“Why can’t it always be this easy?” He asks.
You look down at the floor instead of up at him.
“I’ve changed since high school, you know, I’m not that same Steve.” Instead of your wrist, his hand holds your waist - scared you’ll slip away. And you did. You yanked yourself away and turned around, back facing him - the same position you were in when he helped you bowl, except this time the tension was coming from a different place.
You start walking towards the back of the arcade; you’re not sure where you’re going, but you know you want to put some space between you and Steve before you do something you might regret.
He follows you, though, ruining that plan of yours.
“Y/N, stop running away and tell me what I did so I can apologize for it.”
You still don’t turn around. Can’t bear to face him.
“When I worked at the diner,” You’re not sure why you’re deciding to open up. Maybe it was him helping you, maybe it was your competitive nature, and you getting to see a different side of Steve tonight - a happier one - that made you finally just want to let everything out in the air. Maybe it would have been easier if it wasn’t all bottled up. “Anyway, when you used to come in, you weren’t Steve Harrington - the King of Hawkins High…you were kind, and you were my friend. And then Tommy and Carol came in one day, and it was like the Steve I talked to was gone. They laughed at me, gave me shitty orders, called me ‘Diner girl,’…and you just sat there. Let it happen.”
“Y/N I’m…” Steve starts.
“And Shelby, she saw it. She made sure to remind me that I was nothing more than someone who would always be working for someone else - that someone like Steve Harrington would never look twice at me.”
“I did look twice at you.” his voice sounded like a plea - like he was begging you to believe him, to trust him. “You’re the only reason I ever even went to that diner.”
You turned at this. There was heat in your face, tingling in your fingers; it was like your body was feeling so many things at once that it didn’t know what to do.
“Well, you didn’t look when it mattered.”
He winced at your words.
“I remember that day,” he says quietly. “You didn’t talk to me the next time I came in, or ever again, really. I thought if I didn’t join in with them, it was better.”
You shake your head. “Neutral isn’t kind, Steve. Neutral is choosing them.”
“I was scared of looking stupid in front of them,” he continues. “And I let you take the fall for it. I was a coward, and I’m sorry. It wasn’t until some time after that happened that I realized how horrible they were - hell, how horrible I was.”
The honesty knocks the air out of your anger for half a second — and you hate that. A long pause stretches between you. The noise of the arcade hums around you, but it feels distant.
Your throat tightens. “You’re different,” you admit before you can stop yourself. You see the scar above his eyebrow, the hollowness in his cheeks, like he might forget to eat, or maybe he’s stressed…it’s obvious that he isn’t the same.
His eyes flicker. With hope, maybe, like he was finally being seen.
“But different doesn’t erase it.”
He nods once. “I know.”
“I hated you for that,” you say quickly - like saying it would make whatever is building right now go away.
“And do you hate me now?” he asks. He finally touches you, well, crowds you. Your back was against the wall, and his body was closer - almost pressing you against it. His fingers gently caressed the side of your face.
“Yes,” you say. But your voice was quiet, distant. You were lying, and he knew it.
“I would’ve stopped it,” he says quietly. “If I could go back, I would’ve stopped it.”
Your chest tightens.
That’s it. That’s the final straw. All the anger, the history, the tension from bowling, from the shop, from the way he looked at you tonight like you mattered. You don’t decide to kiss him — your body does. One second you’re staring at his mouth, at the way he keeps saying your name like it matters, and the next your hand is in his jacket, dragging him down to you. The impact of it surprises both of you. Steve stills — just for a breath — like his brain hasn’t caught up yet.
Then he moves.
His hand slides up to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek before he pulls you closer, and the hesitation disappears. The kiss turns urgent, uneven — all clashing angles and too-sharp inhales, years of things unsaid spilling out at once. You grab the front of his jacket, fist tightening, needing something solid to hold onto because the ground suddenly doesn’t feel steady. He exhales against your mouth — almost a sound — and his other hand finds the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, holding you there like he’s afraid you’ll rethink this and vanish.
You should stop.
You don’t.
Your forehead bumps his, noses brushing as you both try to breathe and fail, and the kiss only deepens — less angry now, more reckless, like neither of you knows where to put all of this feeling except here. When you finally pull back, it’s only because your lungs force you to. You’re both breathing too hard, too close, neither of you stepping away.
Steve doesn’t want to pull away, but he does - and he watches you retreat into yourself.
“That was...” you start.
He doesn’t say anything. Just holds your face.
You nod to yourself, pulling back. “A mistake, yeah, I shouldn’t have done that.” You push him away and start convincing yourself that that’s true. This is all happening so quickly. What were you doing?
You watch as Steve shakes his head. “No, what? Stop.”
You look up into his eyes and hate how sincere he looks. Could he really have changed? Is he really as different as he says he is? But then you think back to his and Shelby’s flirting…his comments about being busy and having a life…no, he has to still be the same. And if he was the same, that means you would get hurt again. And you already have enough to hurt about. You didn’t need Steve Harrington entering your life just to flip everything upside down. You hated how you felt like you were retreating to your junior year self.
“I’m not your do-over, okay? Or your redemption arc - you don’t get to practice being the good guy on me because you feel bad, I’m not -”
“Y/N, I’m trying to be honest with you here, and you just -” One step forward, two steps back.
Just then, the alarm on your watch beeped, letting you know that it was 11:30. Shit. You had to go. If you weren’t home by 12 your stepmom would kill you. Not that this was a conversation you wanted to finish anyway.
Steve watched as you pushed past him and briskly walked out of the arcade, presumably to find Carlie. He followed close behind.
“So you’re just going to run away? Is this what you always do? Run when things get hard?”
You ignore him and walk faster. When he finally caught up with you, he overheard you telling Carlie you had to go home. She and Robin were both sitting, sharing soft pretzels and pizza.
“Steve can take you home, can’t ya, Steve?” Steve’s eyes widen as Robin gives him a suggestive look. He looked between Carlie and Robin - neither of them wanted to end the night this early. If Robin was a late nighter, he was sure Carlie probably was too, and even though whatever just happened between the two of you just happened, he still wanted the night to last just a little longer.
“Yup,” he says, short, irritated, but not wanting the night to end like this. He watched as you looked between the pair - probably noticing the same thing he did, and rolled your eyes.
You didn’t say anything, probably because Steve was standing right there. But he could tell you were pissed.
“Have a good night, guys,” he says. “Get home safe.” He turns to leave knowing you have no choice but to follow. The walk to the car is silent, and not the comfortable kind. The kind where every step feels like a countdown. So, when he makes it to the beat-up truck, he makes sure to clean up the seat. He didn’t care about the mess when it was Robin in the seat. He got rid of what he could and left the door open for you.
You climbed into the passenger seat without looking at him, and he closed the door gently behind you. The only speaking you did was to tell him where your address was; other than that, he watched as you turned your body completely the right, your whole body leaning away from him, leaning on the window.
Steve didnt want to say the wrong thing. So he didn’t say anything. He felt like you were just going to twist his words if he tried, but he realized, now more than ever, that he needed to fix things. That he needed you in his life. He felt like you’ve slowly become the only normal thing - the one constant, something familiar, something he wanted to protect. That even with everything happening in the town, you were still there to ground him - keep him honest.
You were so heavily guarded - and he knew you had every reason to be, but he wished you’d let down your walls long enough to just trust him.
A red light stops the car. He finally turns to look at you fully.
11:47
“I’m not trying to practice being a good guy. I’m trying to be one.” he says. You turn to him slightly, and your throat tightens.
“That doesn’t get to start with me.”
“It’s not.”
The light turns green, and he looks forward again. It’s easier when his eyes aren’t on you.
“That kiss wasn’t about proving anything,” he says quietly.
You close your eyes briefly.
“Then what was it about?”
A beat.
“You.”
That’s worse. You check your watch.
11:55.
Too close.
You lean your head back against the seat.
“You’re still reckless.”
“And you’re still running.”
You glare at him. “You don’t get to psychoanalyze me.”
“You don’t get to kiss me like that and act like it meant nothing.”
11:58.
He parks.
“You didn’t even fight for me back then; it’s like you were okay with the friendship being gone.” you say, finally looking at him and actually seeing him. His cheeks were flushed and he kept biting his lip.
“I’m fighting for you now.”
“It’s too late.”
“No, it’s not. I don’t believe that. I think it’s just easier for you to run away than to be honest about what you’re feeling.”
“And you are?”
“I mean, yeah-” he starts, a little defensive now. “At least I’m sitting here saying it. I’m not pretending this doesn’t mean something.”
Your jaw tightens.
“You think showing up a few times and saying the right things counts as fighting?” you cut in. “You didn’t fight when it mattered.”
“I was seventeen,” he snaps, then, quieter, like he regretted it, says, “I was an idiot.” He grips the steering wheel tighter. “I’m not that guy anymore.”
“But you were,” you say, voice trembling now despite your effort to steady it. “And you don’t get to decide when that stops mattering.”
He exhales sharply. “So what, that’s it? You just get to punish me forever?”
Your eyes flash.
“I’m not punishing you. I’m protecting myself.”
Silence drops heavy between you.
The streetlight outside flickers across his face. He looks tired. Frustrated. Desperate.
“I’m trying,” he says quieter now. “You think this is easy for me? You think I like knowing I screwed it up back then? I’m here because I care about you. I cared about you then too, I just—”
MY MAN ON WILLPOWER
steve harrington x fem!reader (wc: 5.0k)
summary: steve harrington used to be literally obsessed with you, but you’re suddenly the least sought after girl in the land — or at least in hawkins.
warnings: pre-established relationship, set during season 5, no use of y/n, angst with comfort, swearing, non-sexual nudity, mentions of sex but no smut, miscommunication, use of pet names (honey, baby).
—
steve harrington was the blueprint of a perfect boyfriend.
keyword: was.
he always called every morning and night. always held your hand in crowds, and he drove you everywhere, even when you said he didn’t have to. he’d take you out for dinner, or sometimes he’d attempt to cook you dinner himself.
he took care of you in every way he could. he clung to your side every day, and held you close each night. you didn’t know how any of that could ever change.
you had started dating just a couple months before the earthquake that split your small town of hawkins, indiana four ways to sunday. back in january of 1986, steve harrington had been, at least in your eyes, the most perfect man on earth.
you had met him the same way he met most of his dates back then, by walking into family video, where he had been working at the time.
sure, you had heard of steve harrington before that. you went to hawkins high between the years of 1981 and 1985, after all. everyone knew 'king steve', even after he had lost the title, the friends, and the popularity, he wasn't exactly forgettable.
years of whispers in crowded school hallways, giggles between girls at the lockers beside yours, even you fell victim to that famed harrington charm when he passed you in the hallways, sending you a brief smile on occasion if your eyes ever met in a fleeting glance.
but you never had the pleasure of really knowing steve in high school, you just had the whispers and rumors and occasional 'hi' if you passed each other in the hallway.
four years of school together and steve harrington never seemed to spare you anything more than a quick glance in the sea of students flooding the hallways of hawkins high.
that was, until the day you walked into family video, searching for something to watch in hopes of filling up some of the spare time you'd had since graduating high school.
as you had headed for the stand where all the new releases waited, you noticed him — or specifically, his hair.
he had been standing behind the counter, dressed in a striped blue and white polo with that dark green family video vest sitting over it. his hair had been what made you recognize him, but you could also it was a little different — longer, definitely, and a little messier than in high school, like he wasn't trying as hard to style it anymore.
he was talking with a girl behind the counter with him, the both of them lost in a fit of giggles, too invested in their conversation to notice a customer had even entered the store.
you weren't bothered, instead you just began browsing the shelves. your fingertips danced along the plain covers, reading each title with a sigh before you found yourself in the romance section, reaching for a copy of grease, because nothing was better than a film you had already seen more times than you could count.
that was the moment steve harrington had noticed you. he stopped mid-sentence in whatever he had been saying to his co-worker and stumbled around the counter to head towards the romance section, running a hand through his hair and adjusting his vest so it sat a little neater on his shoulders, not that he had expected you to find the vest attractive in any way.
when he was just a few steps behind you, he cleared his throat and leaned against the shelf of tapes with his most charming smile. you jumped at the sudden sound, and spun around to come face-to-face with steve himself.
"oh!" you had gasped, still clutching grease to your chest, and for a moment steve had just stared, like he was a malfunctioning robot for about 10 seconds before he snapped himself out of it.
"uh," he cleared his throat again, curling his hand into a fist and using it to cover his mouth before he smiled again. "hi. can i help you find anything?"
the corner of your mouth twitched upwards before curling into a full smile. this wasn't quite the steve harrington you knew of from high school, there was something different. he seemed a little less cocky and sure of himself, a little less overly confident. you could hear it in his tone, see it in his smile.
"hi," you greeted cheerfully, then lifted the vhs tape in your hand. "just looking for some movies to rent."
"oh, yeah. well, it's a good thing we've got plenty of those here." steve chuckled, then squeezed his eyes shut to curse at himself silently, as if scolding himself for his not-so-smooth delivery just to state the obvious.
but then you laughed, a small chuckle, and steve opened his eyes again to meet yours.
"that is a good thing, huh?" you spoke, your smile still pulling at your lips as the words left them. "i'm not really sure what to pick, though. do you have any recommendations?"
steve's eyes went wide and his posture straightened immediately, like he hadn't expected to get this far in your conversation. "uh, recommendations? pssh— yeah, totally. what kinda thing are you in the mood for?"
you then spent the next ten minutes following him around the store as he pointed out a few different titles in almost every genre, though some of which he had admitted to you he hadn't seen, only to then suggest for the two of you to watch it together.
you had laughed lightly, not in a mean way, but almost flustered, a little unsure on how to answer. but the answer wasn't a no, you knew that much.
you had always thought steve harrington was handsome, and, yeah, maybe there had been a few times in high school where you had fantasized about being one of the girls he would hold hands with down the halls and take on dates around town, but you didn't want something with steve if it was just going to be a one-time date, or some shitty hook-up. you wanted something more, because that was what you had been searching for.
and that turned out to be pretty perfect, because steve had been searching for something more, too.
by the end of that month, steve harrington was your boyfriend, and you were his girlfriend, and you could've sworn life was perfect.
for a short while, at least.
toward the end of march, he disappeared.
not literally, and not entirely, but just enough for it to be noticeable.
the night before spring break, you had gone to hawkins high school’s championship basketball game in support of steve’s friends: lucas sinclair, who was on the basketball team, and robin buckley, who played in the school band.
then that night he drove you home, kissed you outside your front door, and promised he’d come by the next night to stay with you while your parents went out of town for the break.
he didn’t turn up.
you waited all night, perched on the edge of the couch, eyes drifting from the television and across the room to the phone on the wall, willing it to ring and hoping to hear steve’s voice telling you he was just running late and would be there in 15 minutes.
you didn’t see him again until a couple days later, the morning after the earthquake.
you didn’t sleep all night, you had been terrified. you watched houses you drove past almost daily being ripped apart, sirens wailed outside filling the usual quiet nights in hawkins with horror.
the town had been on fire, smoke billowing from every corner, and you had no idea where steve was.
when the knock on your door came early the next morning, your mouth felt dry and your stomach flipped, because you were somehow fearing the worst.
but when you pulled the door open to see steve, relief rolled over your body like a wave and you practically launched yourself into him, arms circling around his neck like you always would, only this time he winced.
gently, his hands came to your hips and he carefully pulled himself back, making your brows furrow and your mouth twist into a frown.
“you okay?” you asked softly, immediately concerned, and he nodded, though you noticed the way one hand hovered over his middle like he was shielding it.
your eyes flicked up and down his body, taking him in. there were scratches covering his face, and an unfamiliar tiredness behind his eyes, sunken in a way you could only compare to grief.
around his neck, poking out from beneath the collar of his polo, was a dark, angry red line, bruising and scarring the skin just beneath his throat.
“jesus christ, steve, what happened?” you gasped, fingertips reaching up to trace the mark gently, and he forced a smile.
“you should see the other guy.” he joked, but you didn’t smile. your eyes dropped back down to his waist, right where his hand still sat not-so-subtly.
you grabbed his hand and tugged him into the house, forcing him to sit on the couch and you rolled up his shirt to examine whatever he was hiding from you.
a large, white bandage circled his middle, faint red stains coating some of the fabric on each of his sides, and you looked up at him.
“steve, what the hell happened to you?” you asked, and he brushed you off, pushing his shirt back down and pulling you up onto the couch to sit on his lap.
“‘s fine, baby. i promise, i’m fine.” he told you, his eyes searching yours as his hands circled your waist and pulled you in closer. “just got a little held up. sorry i didn’t come by the other night.”
you sighed, but then leaned your head forward to press it against his forehead, kissing him softly, and steve relaxed against you immediately.
“it’s okay. i’m just glad you’re okay, stevie.” you mumbled against his shoulder, burying your face into his neck. “when you didn’t show up, then with all these murders… i got scared.”
“i know, honey, i’m sorry.” he squeezed you tighter, kissing your head. “i missed you so much, god, you don’t even know.”
and the two of you sat like that on your couch from what could’ve been anything from 5 minutes to 5 hours, and you were unaware that this was the beginning of something much bigger than the two of you.
—
six months into hawkins’ government issued quarantine, and things were already much more different than you realized.
you had moved in with steve. maybe it was a little soon, considering you had only been together for about 9 months, but his parents had skipped town before the quarantine was set in place, and he hated being alone.
he worked at the wsqk radio station now, still paired with his best friend robin, but now every night he came home to you.
at least, he used to.
he’d call you before he left for work, asking if you needed him to pick anything up on his way home in this strangely domestic way that made you forget you were just a couple of 20 year olds who had only been together for a year, it made you feel like he was forever. he was your future.
he’d step into the house and drop his keys by the door, the clatter echoing across the first floor before he’d find you, and his hands would be on you in an instant.
arms around your waist, pulling you into a hug, or onto his lap. his lips would meet yours, or his face would end up buried in your neck, depending on how his day went.
but he’d always come home to you, he’d grip onto you like you were the only thing worth holding on to, and he’d whisper that he loved you repeatedly, like it were a prayer.
that’s what made it noticeable when he began pulling away.
at first it was subtle; maybe he wouldn’t call before driving home, or he’d head upstairs and shower before coming downstairs to curl onto the couch with you. it was easy enough to brush off as a bad day.
but then there were those strange nights as the months passed. the nights when he’d come home unexplainably late, sometimes in the early hours of the morning when you were already asleep in his bed, arm reaching across his empty side of the bed as you awaited his return, even in sleep.
when he’d get home, you’d wake up to the sound of him shuffling around the room, shrugging off his jacket, unbuckling his belt, and soon climbing into bed beside you, pulling the covers over his body and pressing his chest up against your back, letting his arm slide around your middle as he'd leave a gentle kiss on the back of your neck.
you’d ask him about it in the morning, why he got home after midnight, and he'd tell you it was because of work.
you didn't know whether or not to believe him, because who works all night at a radio station? but other than that, he never really gave you a reason to be suspicious of anything, because he'd always be by your side again.
that was until november of 1987.
—
he's pulling away, you can feel it. you've been feeling it for the last month at least, maybe even longer. you can't remember exactly how long it's been since you'd noticed, but ever since you noticed, it's been all you can see.
he doesn't cling to you anymore. no hands on your hips while you're cooking in the kitchen, no pulling you onto his lap after work, no phone calls "just 'cause he misses you" no kisses on the back of your neck in the middle of the night. there hasn't even been any sex.
it's like there's been a stranger in your shared bed each night. he still sleeps beside you, but he's not close to you anymore. he doesn't hold you; he just lies on his back and stares up at the ceiling with wide eyes, as if he's lost deep in his thoughts.
when you ask, he just tells you he's busy with work, that he's been helping his friends with things, that he's "just tired".
you just don't understand it. he used to be literally obsessed with you, but now you're fighting for just five minutes of his attention.
he's almost always out of the house, and when he is at home, he's got that walkie talkie glued to his side, ready to take off the moment there's a crackle of static asking for his help.
it's a nightmare. you know his friends need him, but you need him too, and the more he runs after them, you wonder if it's just something to do with you.
you want his attention back; you want him to love you again.
it's like your devoted boyfriend, steve harrington, went to work one day and disappeared, only to be replaced by something that looks like him, moves and talks like him, but isn't him.
you tried everything you could think of; any kind of excuse for him to spend more than ten minutes with you for something that wasn't just going to sleep in the same bed.
you planned dates, but those plans always fell through when he'd get stuck "working late". you tried to get him to watch a movie with you on the couch, but he'd fall asleep halfway in, or he'd not have enough time because "dustin needed him for something".
you tried to tempt him, because you were getting desperate. you dressed in one of his shirts, no bra beneath it like he always loved, and a pair of lacy panties, just waiting for him to get home. ten months ago, he'd have told you he "couldn't resist you looking like this" and he'd have gone all in.
but when he got home, he hardly glanced your way as he took off his shirt and changed into pajama pants, slipping into bed beside you and keeping his back facing your way.
"stevie..." you'd whispered softly, leaning in closer so your chin was pressed to his shoulder and your voice right beside his ear. he hummed in response as you slowly kissed the warm skin of his bicep. "steve."
"not tonight, honey." he mumbled, burying his face into his pillow. "'m sorry. i'm just tired."
you frowned, your lips still glued to his skin, but listened. you respected his space. without as much as a sigh, you'd rolled over and curled into yourself, unsure of what you were supposed to do, because steve didn't want you anymore.
and that leads you to now. november 4th, 1987.
steve hadn't come home the night before, only arriving now, in the early afternoon of the next day, just to shower and change his clothes before he disappears again. and you've had enough.
you watch the way he brushes past you, pulling a jacket on over his sweater — your favorite sweater of his — and grabbing his keys.
"steve." you call out his name as he reaches for the doorhandle, and you're almost surprised to see him stop and turn to face you.
"yeah, honey?" his tone was sweet, almost familiar, but you could hear the tiredness behind it, like there was something forcing the tone out of him.
"don't 'yeah, honey' me, steven." you stated, and his face immediately scrunched into an expression that was a mixture of confusion, concern and surprise. "where the hell are you going?"
"work." he states, and you scoff, crossing your arms and giving him a look that tells him loud and clear that you don't believe him.
"you just got home from work." you point out, and he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "steve, just talk to me. please. tell me what's going on."
he sighs and shifts on his feet, pulling the front door open. "i can't do this right now, i gotta go."
he takes one step out the doorway, and you draw in a sharp breath.
"if you leave right now, i won't be here when you get back." the words leave your mouth before you even had the chance to think them over, because, frankly, you're just done. "i'm so sick of this, steve. you don't talk to me, you don't touch me, you hardly even look at me anymore, and it's bullshit."
the last word slices through the air like a blade, and steve freezes in his tracks, his blood running cold as he turns to face you again. bullshit.
"honey, please—” his voice comes out shakier than it was before. "can we... we can talk about this tonight. i promise. it's just, i have to go. please don't leave."
you don’t meet his eyes, you just cross your arms and look down at the floor, but you do give him a hesitant nod, because you don’t want to lose him.
steve looks hurt as he closes the front door, and you watch from the window as he trudges to his beamer in the driveway.
you almost wanted to leave, but then something in his tone, the desperation, makes you stay. you feel hopeful. once he gets home tonight, you'll be able to talk and work everything out.
except steve doesn't come home that night. or at all the next day. it's the night of november 6th when he returns, or the early morning of november 7th technically, and you're ready to fight with him, because he promised you would talk, then disappeared again, leaving you worried sick even when you don't want to be.
you sit in the living room, arms crossed while your leg bounces up and down with anxiety. you're not sure if he's going to come home tonight, but you're praying he does, because no matter how angry you are with him, you still love steve harrington more than anything.
then, when you were passed out on the couch, sometime between 4 and 5 a.m., the sky still dark outside, you wake up to the sound of his keys scratching against the door.
you stand up quickly and hurry across the room, pulling the door open without a moment's hesitation, and your breath catches in your throat.
he's a mess, both physically and emotionally, but he's steve, and he's standing right in front of you.
there's a fresh cut on one of his cheekbones, with a few more cuts and bruises covering his face, and you feel a sudden rush of deja vu. this was almost the same thing that had happened 18 months ago, and it makes your stomach sink.
he's dressed in full tactical gear; a brown leather jacket, a backwards cap covering his usually perfectly styled hair, camo print shirt, cargo pants and a red bandana around his neck. all of it is coated in a thick layer of some foul-smelling slime, but you still step back to let him inside the house.
he doesn't walk past you this time, instead of heading upstairs to the shower without another word, he collapses into your arms with a shaky sob, his hands gripping onto you tighter than in months as his fists gripped into the fabric of your sweater and his face slipped into the crook of your neck.
you hug him back, a little confused, and overwhelmed by both the sight before you and the stench that comes with it, but you still hold him.
"i'm sorry." he whimpers into your neck, and it all hits you at once.
you had never once seen steve cry, especially not like this, and now he was breaking down in your arms, crying into your shoulder and holding onto your body like an anchor.
"steve," you whisper out his name and his arms circle you tighter, almost like he's trying to melt into your body. "where on earth have you been? i've— i've been so worried."
he just cried harder, the two of you still standing in the doorway.
"i'm so sorry, honey. i love you so much." his voice comes out shakily, and you pull away from the hug to meet his eyes, cupping his slimy, tear-stained cheek with one hand.
"come on." you tell him, not responding to anything else he's said and just taking his hand to lead him upstairs to the bathroom.
you start running him a hot bath without another word, only glancing his way to tell him to take off his slime-covered war outfit and get in the tub.
"you gonna join me?" he asks shakily, like it’s a poor attempt at a joke, but there’s hope in his tone. you draw in a sharp breath before speaking tearfully.
"only if you promise to tell me what the hell is going on with you right now. because, steve, i swear to god—”
"i'll tell you everything."
and he does. finally.
with his back pressed against your chest, his body slotted between your legs, in the bath, he tells you everything.
years of trauma, from fighting monsters in joyce byers’s living room, to being tortured by russians, from being choked and eaten by killer bats, to coming up with the final plan to take down who he referred to as “vecna”.
and you listen to it all, and though it’s a little confusing, it makes sense. it fills in so many gaps and questions in your mind.
the scars steve could never explain came from monsters, his late nights at work were because of what he called “crawls”.
he tells you about the upside down, about el, about everything he never could before, and you listen, from the beginning all the way to the end, when he explains that it’s over, that they just destroyed the upside down, that el sacrificed herself, and that he and the rest of his friends were safe.
when he finishes talking, you don’t say anything. you stay quiet, taking it all in, thinking it all over, solving all the little things steve had said in the past that had left you confused, the times he had almost let a secret slip out.
it’s hard not to believe him when you’ve seen the wounds first hand, when the timelines add up perfectly, when he shows up covered head-to-toe in mysterious slime that really can’t be explained in any other way.
“honey?” his voice broke the silence, because had noticed the way you fell quiet. “you okay back there?”
“yeah. just— just thinking.” you whisper, and steve sits up straighter, no longer leaning against you, and he turns to face you, reaching for your hand.
“what are you thinking about?” he asks you. he laces your fingers together like he always used to.
“the fact that you’ve apparently been fighting monsters for the last four years of your life and you just didn’t think of mentioning it to me?” you said, looking up to see steve’s frown. “steve, i was so scared. you were disappearing, you hardly talked to me anymore i thought— i thought you were going to break up with me, or that you were cheating, or that you just… didn’t love me anymore.”
steve’s face softens, guilt immediately eating away at his features, brows knitted together as he attempted to slide closer to you in the tub. “oh, baby, no, no, no.”
his arms come around you, pulling you towards him as he peppers kisses all over your forehead and face. you finally let the lump in your throat go, tears flowing from your eyes as you sob into the bare skin of his shoulder.
steve cradles you, holding you so gently and refusing to let go.
“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry, honey.” he whispers into your hairline, letting his own tears slip free again. “i should’ve— i never wanted you to feel like this, i just wanted to keep you safe. god, i didn’t even notice i was hurting you, baby, i’m sorry.”
“i thought you didn’t want me anymore.” you whimper against his skin, lip quivering and voice shaky no matter how hard you try to stop it. “i really thought you didn’t love me.”
“no, honey, never. i’ll always love you.” he reassures you, arms tightening around your body. “i’ll always want you, ‘cause you’re it for me, okay? i don’t want anyone else but you.”
you draw in another shaky breath, but nod as your breathing begins to balance out again and you collect yourself.
“i love you.” he states, letting his hands loosen from where they were wrapped around you to pull back jist slightly, allowing him to meet your gaze, your eyes red and raw from the tears.
“i love you, too.” you reply, and steve smiles, leaning in to kiss you and you let his lips meet yours.
it’s soft, gentle, and somehow the first real kiss you’ve had in months. steve’s hand comes up to cup your cheek as he kisses you deeper, eyes closed before he pulls back and presses his forehead against yours.
“i’ve missed you, you know? i didn’t mean to push you away.” he mumbles and you nod. there’s a silent pause before you giggle quietly, and steve stares fondly, a little puzzled. “what?”
“just— i think we need to wash your hair.” you say. “you reek, steve.”
“thank you.” he mutters sarcastically, but his lips curve upwards. “you always know how to flatter me, honey.”
you just smile and hum in response, because even if the hurt is still at the surface, it’s slowly fading away, replacing itself with relief just because you have him back.
“okay.” steve says, reaching for his shampoo and pulling it closer. “how about we make a deal? you take care of me and help me wash all of this goopy shit from my hair, and i promise to take the best care of you the moment we get out.”
“hmm.” you let your eyes narrow and tap your chin as if you’re deep in thought. “how would you take care of me?”
“i’ll do anything you want, honey.” steve promises, lips traveling down your neck as he leaves wet kisses that make you giggle. “you want to stay in bed and cuddle for the next week? done. you want me to cook you dinner and watch a movie? on it. you want me to eat you out for the rest of the night? i’m on my knees already, baby. i’ll do anything to make it up to you.”
your hands drift around his neck, nails gently scratching against the bottom of his hair as you him him close and rest your chin on his head, his laugh sending vibrations up your neck.
“okay.” you finally say and he sits up to meet your eyes again.
“yeah?” he asks and you nod.
“yeah.” you confirm, tears sparkling in the corners of your eyes. you brush some of his wet hair away from his eyes. “and, for the record, all you have to do to make it up to me is be here. just be here with me.”
he nods, thumb stroking your cheek. “i can do that.”
you smile. he smiles back, then pulls you close again, into another hug, like he doesn’t want to let you go.
steve would gladly hold you in his arms for the rest of his life and he’d never get bored. not when he has you. and he’ll very gladly spend the rest of his life proving that to you.
that’s why he’s had a ring hidden in his underwear drawer for the last year, just waiting for the perfect moment.
now that he knows that hawkins, and the entire world, is safe from monsters and the upside down, he has a feeling that perfect moment’s going to come up sometime soon, and he can’t wait.
—
a/n: lowkey rushed the ending cause i got stuck i hope that’s not noticeable.. anyway i hope u enjoyed! comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3
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I can imagine mer!reader just getting visibly frustrated that she can’t get all her words right and explain her feeling. And Steve is there like “is okay, this is nice.” Because just being next to each other is enough.
beyond the sea au | fem, 1.4k
The ‘TV’ is fucking crazy. How do humans make it happen? It’s a black box and Steve points at it with a stick and suddenly it’s a mirror with people in it? Your jaw drops open as sound and pictures begin to come from it, wondering if they’ve somehow trapped people inside of it that are real small to act stuff out, but it’s too much like the photographs. You could barely wrap your head around those.
There are mergirls back home who can draw with talent so vast they practically create photographs with their hands. You’d thought that that was what happened in the books you'd been shown, at first, and that the person who’d penned the words beneath each one had perfect square handwriting, but Steve had explained slowly, painstakingly, that photographs are ‘printed’. He’d shown you with a potato and a bit of paint. He’d carved a smiley face into a blunt-cut potato and dipped it into paint (crushed colour with oil), then transferred it to a piece of paper over and over. That’s printing. Apparently, humans can do this at a huge scale with better potato carvings. The mergirls who draw use a similar method, taking sharpened rocks or crystal and carving their artwork into shale, or cave walls.
You’d been good at it, too. But you couldn’t have made something like TV.
“What?” you ask him, pointing at the woman on the TV. She’s dressed in a strange mass of weaving. It looks heavy.
“Dress?”
“Dress.”
“You like it?”
You wrinkle your nose. You don’t like that dress.
“What?” you ask, pointing again. The man on TV has a weird thing in his hand. It’s black and square.
“Uh, that’s a gun.”
“Gun?”
“It’s to hurt someone,” he says, his tone softening nicely. Steve speaks so very gently sometimes, it makes your stomach hurt, even if he’s not looking at you.
“What?” you ask again, incredulous. There’s a weird animal on the screen. It looks nothing like anything you’ve ever seen.
“That’s a horse. Horse.” Steve glances at you sideways. “They’re an animal. Like a fish. Dry fish.”
They certainly don’t look like fish. You glare at the TV. Nothing on here makes any sense, and all the humans talk too quickly for you to understand what they’re saying, to even guess at it. Steve seems like he’s waiting for you to ask, but you’re sick of saying what what what? What is that thing? You wonder often if Steve gets sick of swimming with you, mostly because you’re getting a little sick of it yourself, the same wall wrapped around you, your monotony broken only by his company, or Dustin’s morning lessons, but you feel so stupid. Learning their language feels impossible. These ‘words’ they show you on the whiteboard mean nothing to you —mermaids speak, and they use their hands when the waters rushing too quickly to understand low-pitched sound— and the TV… is it a play? Mermaids pretend in stories, sometimes, but not like this, with different skies and—
“Are you okay?” Steve asks, turning to you now.
He’s holding your spray bottle. Every few minutes he’s been refreshing your skin all the way to the tail. Your butt’s kinda dry, but he can’t be blamed for that.
“Hey,” he says, his fingertips running up to your elbow lightly, “are you alright? Are you– do I need to hold you back to the pool?”
You shake your head, pouting. Your face feels warm, now he’s asked.
“What’s hurting?” he asks, squeezing the crook of your arm kindly. “It’s okay, you can tell me. I can fix it.”
“TV.”
His eyebrows jump. “Huh?”
“TV.” You take on an exaggerated affect, acting it out for him. “Ah, what, what? TV… I no…”
“You don’t understand.”
You shrug, looking away from him, staring at all the weird things he has in this room, the land flowers in big glasses and the photographs on the wall.
Steve turns your cheek with a careful hand briefly. A one and done touch you wish you could feel again the second he’s moved away. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard, it’s still hard, and it’s not getting easier. Eddie convinced me the TV would help you learn but maybe… maybe it’s too much?”
“Eddie?” you ask.
Steve smiles weakly. “You don’t understand.”
You glare at him without meaning to and drop your gaze, hanging your head, vision filled by the dark colour of your scales and your soft tummy, the violent line of your scar getting paler each day. It’s healed, far as you can tell, but you haven’t been able to change.
Your eyes fill with tears. You don’t move, don’t sniffle or cry, but the tears are there and warm as they blur your vision.
“It’s okay,” Steve says, rubbing your elbow softly with his thumb. “You don’t have to know about the TV. You don’t have to feel bad for asking me what stuff is. ‘What’ is okay. ‘Ah’ is okay.”
“No okay.”
“Yes okay.” Steve takes a sharp breath, which makes you flinch your head back up. “Oh, no, why are you crying?” he asks, almost whispering. “Please don’t cry.”
You nod uselessly.
A careful thumb brushes away your tears. “No tears,” he says, still so soft as he draws a line down your cheek. “Why?”
You push your hand out away from your chest, fingers spread wide. “No, no, no,” you say, a few more weary tears filling your eyes. You hadn’t realised how frustrated you were getting and now you’re crying in front of Steve, who’s already completely burdened by you, who’s had to take care of you because of your own brash naivety.
“Please, honey,” he says, wrapping his arm behind your neck.
He pulls you into his chest, somehow tentative and all-encompassing at once. You can tell he’s not sure he’s allowed to touch you, read it in most of his holding, but he’s such a warmth, such a good soul, his hug could never be anything besides sweet. You thrust your wet nose into his neck and shake with a sob.
“It’s okay,” he says, stroking your arm. “I promise, it’s gonna be okay. Things aren’t gonna be this confusing forever. You’ll learn, you’re so smart, you’re nothing like me.”
“I don’t,” you say, sniffing pathetically. His murmurings haven’t made a lick of sense.
“I’m sorry.”
“No sorry.” It’s not helping. It’s not his fault, it’s yours.
Steve leans away. He takes your upper arms into his hands, and he looks you in the eye. “You,” he says, squeezing you gently, “are smart. You make me happy. I know you don’t know what I’m saying, so– so…” Steve licks his lips.
His fingers drift down to your hand. He pulls it toward his chest, laying it over his heart.
“We have fun!” he whispers emphatically. “We swim! You’re a good swimmer. Me, and Dustin, Eddie and Robin, we’re gonna work this out…” He lets out a breath. “Maybe we need more help. But you?” He clutches your hand against his heart. “You can be with me, and you don’t have to like the TV.” Steve springs up from the couch and shuts the TV off, leaving your hand warm and empty, your cheeks cooling with leftover tears, but a little smile forming on your lips.
He doesn’t mind that you don’t like the TV.
“Fuck it, let’s go swim.”
Your smile goes wobbly. “Rain,” you say, touched he’d even suggest it when he took all this care to get you inside. You know humans aren’t built for the stormy weather.
“It’s not gonna kill me, right? Okay, rain. Okay, swim. Let’s go out and swim. Just please stop crying, honey. It’ll be okay.”
“Fast, uh, hold?” you ask meekly.
Steve bends over you to hold you, laying one of those dainty presses of his mouth to your forehead as he does. He smells like his skin, like something vaguely sour mixed with the roll on soap you’ve seen him rubbing under his arms. Steve smells like warm bread from the morning and a muskier scent lingering on the threads of his shirt, holding you tight. You feel safer than you thought possible with your mouth jammed against his shoulder.
“What do you need?” he asks. You hug him around the waist. Need you, you think.
What comes out is very different. “Salmon,” you say decidedly. You’ve had enough of this. You need to get better.
Steve, thankfully, laughs into your hair. “Then let’s get you some salmon, baby.”
Hi Jade! I can’t stop thinking about the mermaid au it is so amazing!! I saw you were asking for requests and thought maybe you could do something where the pool or backyard needs maintenance and Steve needs to hide reader inside the house in the bathtub or something and she’s just super fascinated with all the inside items. Can’t wait to see what you write next! :)
beyond the sea au | fem, 1.3k
Steve wakes up in the night to the sound of water sloshing over the side of the bath. You’re still all cut up on your side, weak and prone to moments of dissociation, so Steve gets out of bed and eases open the ensuite door as quietly as he can.
You’re on the bathroom floor.
“Shit!” he whispers. “Are you okay? Ow?”
You nod. You do not mean yes. “No ow,” you say, holding up a bottle of shampoo to him. “Ah?”
“That’s shampoo. I put it in my hair.”
“Ah?”
He points at his hair. “To wash it.” You hold up the conditioner next. He points at his hair again. “It’s all the same stuff.” Steve gestures to the tub. “Help you back in?”
“Hold?” you ask, eyes doing something he’s not sure of.
“Hold into the tub.”
You point at the tub. “Ah?”
“Tub. Can I put you back in it?”
“No.”
Steve sighs in defeat. He gets to host the world’s first dry mermaid, apparently. “Okay, stay there, then,” he says, closing the en-suite door and locking it before sitting down with his back to it in case his mom hears the noise and gets the grand idea to investigate.
You move your tail. You seem to have a joint in there like a knee and can bend it, pulling what might be your thighs up and wrapping your arm around your ‘knee’. “You ow?” you ask.
Steve sort of wishes he hadn’t given you ‘ow’ in place of ‘hurt’. “I’m okay. I,” —he points to himself— “am okay,” he says, weight on ‘okay’, then pointing at his smile. “I’m okay. No ow.”
You raise your brows.
“Are you okay?” he asks, going through the pointing routine again.
“You okay,” you say, smiling.
“I’m okay.”
You wrinkle your nose with a huff, like you’re saying Don’t patronise me.
This might not be the best place for an English lesson, but Steve’s getting tired of not knowing what you’re saying, and what you need.
He points at himself. “Ah?”
You perk up.
“Ah?” he says. “Steve. I’m Steve. Ah, tub,” —he points at the tub— “Ah, ow. Ah, Steve.”
Your eyes light up. You point at yourself and say a word that’s soft and melodic. He assumes it’s your name. He tries to say it back.
You cup a handful of water from the tub and tip it down yourself. Steve has helped you out of the rash guard to let your skin breathe a little. He’s no doctor, but he assumes that it’s uncomfortable if not detrimental to your skin longterm. And like, hey. You seemed so happy to have it taken off that he’s not sure you’ll want it on again, but if Dustin’s gonna help, Steve — okay. Steve knows that you aren’t pornagraphic, but Dustin’s a teenage boy. He’s not gonna be able to talk to you if you aren’t dressed. And Dustin might be your only hope for continued communication. Robin seemed a little too freaked to start speech therapy.
Steve is admittedly in two halves. He can acknowledge that you have something super beautiful going on there, and that you aren’t shy about being exposed, while also feeling that he should be a proper gentleman about it and at least not linger on the curves and colours you’re made up of.
“You must be so bored here,” he says.
You grab a towel off of the rack and wrap it around your shoulders. Then you press your cheek to it and rub it.
“I guess you don’t know what any of this stuff is,” he says, more to himself than you. “It must all feel alien, for you.”
Steve gets up. He unlocks the bathroom door, tiptoes quick to the bedroom and checks that it’s locked. Then he pokes his head back in the bathroom where you’re waiting expectantly and asks you the million dollar question, “Can I hold you?”
He should’ve said ‘carry’. Steve thought for sure that he did say ‘carry’, at some point, but he’d been thinking about holding you up and his mouth made a mess and now ‘carry’ and ‘hug’ have meshed together into ‘hold’, so Steve should expect it when he leans down to pick you up and you wrap your arms around him in a pleased hug.
“You guys must be a pretty affectionate species, huh?”
You chirp.
Steve turns your face into his shoulder. “Shh,” he whispers, “not so loud.”
“Shhh…” you say back.
Steve puts you down in his bed. You laugh, but when you see his scared face you falter. “Shh, we have to talk like this,” he says, pointing at the door.
You aren’t stupid. You remember that there’s a woman here that Steve was hiding you from, and you shake your head sagely.
“Ah?” you ask, giving a little jump on his bed.
“That’s my bed. Bed.”
You’re pleased, slinking back in his pillows with the biggest smile you’ve ever shown him. You’ve kept the towel around your shoulders, and if you like that, you’re gonna love his blankets.
Steve brushes your hair back, readjusting the pillow behind your head. “Comfy?” he asks. “Okay?”
Your tail curls up. Steve takes it for an answer and pulls the sheet out gently from beneath you, then he shakes it out over you and lets it fall. Your eyes sparkle, darker than pitch as the blanket settles over you. Steve smooths it down. Tucks it in a little.
“There you go,” he says quietly. “This is like, my second favourite part of being a human. Getting all snug in bed. How long do you think you can stay here before you need to go back in the water?”
You shuffle further down, rubbing your cheek ecstatically against his pillow.
Steve sits by your side. This close, relaxed, with your face turned away, he can see a slit curving up the side of your neck just under your ears. Two, actually, parallel to one another.
He touches near them with his fingertip.
You smart, eyes whipping to him.
“What’s that?” he asks.
You touch your neck. “Ah?”
“Yeah. Ah? What?”
You put your hands together and mime a quick swim through water. Then you breathe deep and loud.
“For you to breathe underwater. That’s awesome. They’re your… uh. Shit, what’s the word? Sharks have them.”
You can’t know what he’s said, but your answering smile has a dubious amount of teeth in it.
Steve points at the bathroom, then touches your tummy. “You tell me when I need to hold you back to the tub, okay?”
You shake your head. Say a word that might be soft or no or why as you smooth your hands over the blanket.
“I know you can’t stay out here forever. The half of you that’s fish won’t like being dry. So.” He lays down beside you. “You tell me when, and I’ll carry you back to the tub.
Steve’s too afraid to fall asleep in case you haven’t understood him, so the two of you stay awake in the middle of the night, looking up at his ceiling. You disturb the quiet occasionally with words he doesn’t know, then turn to rest your forehead on his shoulder. “Hold,” you say.
Steve… he’s ridiculous, delusional, but he doesn’t think you wanna go back to the tub. He wraps his arm around your waist and listens to your breathing calm. You doze for an hour, your snores like the wind over an empty glass bottle, and after a while you rouse looking uncomfortable as you ask, ”Tub?”
