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quinnophile · 2 days ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 - 𝐕

pairing. emperor Geta x original character

synopsis. As whispers of her sudden engagement to the emperor spread through Rome, Diana struggles with the weight of a future she did not choose, clinging to the last moments of freedom with those she loves.

warnings. (general) violence, misogyny, infidelity, forced proximity, discussions of producing an heir, mental/physical abuse, forced marriage

word count. 3.8K

notes. If they’re allowed to have sharks in the colosseum, i'm allowed to have historical inaccuracies in my fic

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

All of Rome was alight with whispers of the emperor’s engagement. The people speculated over the identity of the mysterious bride, questioning why the match had come about so suddenly. Some believed it to be a love story, others a political move, and some dared to say it was a ploy for power. But none of it mattered to Diana.

She felt hollow. It had been weeks since that fateful dinner at the palace, weeks since she had last seen the emperors. And yet, their presence loomed over her, shaping her fate without ever stepping into her world again.

For the first time in her life, marriage was not a dream but a prison. As a girl, she had imagined love, a quiet life filled with devotion and companionship. Now, that dream had been stolen, replaced with a future that was not hers to choose. Acacius had tried, gods, he had tried everything—stalling, negotiating, even seeking an escape she knew he would never admit to. But the weight of an imperial command was too great to defy.

Now, with the wedding fast approaching, all that was left to do was prepare.

Diana stood before the mirror, arms raised slightly as the seamstress adjusted the delicate fabric of her gown. The dress was beautiful—layers of silk and embroidered gold, the very picture of regal elegance. But it did not feel like hers. It felt like a costume.

Lucilla sat nearby, watching with quiet affection. “You look stunning,” she said warmly. “It suits you.”

Diana forced a small smile. “That is its purpose, isn’t it?”

Lucilla chuckled. “You could wear rags and still turn heads.”

Diana huffed a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re trying too hard to make me feel better.”

Lucilla stood and approached, smoothing down the fabric on Diana’s shoulders. “Because you deserve to feel better,” she said gently. Then, her eyes welled with tears, her voice turning thick with emotion. “Oh, look at you. I remember when you were just a little girl, running through the halls, tripping over your own feet. And now… you’ve grown into such a remarkable woman. I’m lucky to have been here to see it.”

Diana’s own throat tightened. She turned slightly, meeting Lucilla’s gaze in the mirror. “I always imagined my mother would be here for this,” she murmured. “But if she cannot be, I’m glad that you are.”

Lucilla let out a shaky breath before pulling Diana into a careful embrace. “She would be so proud of you, my dear,” she whispered.

The moment was warm, bittersweet, and full of unspoken longing.

The sound of the door opening broke the silence.

Acacius stepped in, his presence instantly filling the room. The seamstress quickly excused herself, sensing the intimacy of the moment. But Acacius did not immediately speak. He stopped a few steps inside, staring at Diana as if he had been struck breathless.

Diana bit her lip, seeing the way his eyes shone, the rare vulnerability creeping into his features. “No,” she warned playfully, her voice breaking. “Don’t you start too.”

He let out a short laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “I can’t help it,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “You look… you will be the most beautiful bride, Diana.” He swallowed hard, exhaling sharply as if to keep himself steady. “Your mother would be proud.”

Diana let out a wobbly breath, her heart twisting at his words. “Thank you,” she whispered.

They shared a brief, fragile silence before he smirked, shaking his head. “I should have knocked that asine’s teeth out when I had the chance.”

Lucilla sighed heavily. “Acacius.”

“What?” he said defensively, folding his arms. “We’re all thinking it.”

Diana couldn’t even deny it, but her nerves twisted in her stomach at the reminder of what was to come. She shifted, smoothing out a wrinkle in her gown as if that could fix the mess her life had become. “I don’t even know him,” she spoke quietly. “How am I supposed to marry him?”

Lucilla offered a reassuring smile. “I watched them grow up in the palace, you know. The twins.”

Acacius scoffed, rolling his eyes as he felt her ever present tender-heartedness beginning to surface.

Lucilla shot him a warning look before turning back to Diana. “They did not have the easiest upbringing. They were raised in an environment of power and expectation. I am not excusing their choices, but I do believe there is more to them than what the world sees.”

Diana listened intently, her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress.

Lucilla reached out, gently squeezing her hand. “You have a kindness in you, Diana. Perhaps, in time, you will see a side of him that others do not.”

Diana said nothing, but she held Lucilla’s words close, knowing they would echo in her mind in the days to come.

———

The sun hung low in the sky, casting golden light across the courtyard. Diana stood in its warmth, but she did not feel it. Her hands clasped together, hidden beneath the long white folds of her bridal robe, the sheer veil draping over her face like a soft barrier between her and the world. At her feet, the bright yellow straps of her wedding shoes gleamed—a stark contrast to the weight in her chest.

Acacius stood beside her, silent, rigid. Lucilla, ever the reassuring presence, occasionally touched her arm as if to ground her. But no words were exchanged. What was there left to say?

She had grown up expecting the traditions of marriage—the arrival of her betrothed at her father’s house, surrounded by family, the blessings given, the love shared. But there was no father to receive him. No home of her own to give her away. And her groom was not a man she knew, but an emperor.

The sound of hooves against stone shattered the stillness.

A small group of riders emerged through the gates, their armour catching the afternoon light, their indigo cloaks billowing behind them. The Praetorian Guard. And at their centre, astride a dark horse, was Nicomedes Valerian.

The man responsible for all of this.

He dismounted with ease, his expression adorned with the same insufferable smugness that had never left him since the night he had found her. His gaze swept over Diana, pleased with the sight, before he turned to her guardians.

“General.” he greeted smoothly, as though he had not upended their world. “My lady.”

Lucilla, ever the diplomat, gave a polite nod. Acacius, however, did not move, did not speak. His gaze was ice, his body coiled like a viper waiting to strike.

Nicomedes only smiled, clearly amused by the hostility. "Ah, come now, Acacius. You make it seem as though I’ve done something cruel."

Acacius’s lip curled, but before he could speak, Nicomedes reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out a sealed letter. He extended it toward him, his smirk never fading.

"This arrived from the emperors personally," he said, voice smooth, almost casual. "I thought it best you receive it before the evening is through."

The general hesitated before taking it, his fingers tightening around the parchment. His eyes flickered over the seal—unbroken, untouched, yet something about it made the air between them heavier.

Lucilla’s gaze lingered on the letter before she turned back to Diana, her voice quiet, meant only for her ears. "We will not be far behind. We will be there for you in the morning." A reminder. A promise.

It was time.

The guards moved to the carriage, its wooden frame ornately carved, its curtains thick to keep prying eyes at bay. Lucilla squeezed Diana’s hand once, a final comfort, before she stepped back. Acacius’s expression remained unreadable, but his fists clenched at his sides.

He looked as if he wanted to say something—his lips parted just slightly—but under the watchful gazes of the guards, he held his tongue.

Diana hesitated at the carriage door. Then, suddenly, she turned back and threw herself into Acacius’s arms.

The force of it nearly knocked him back a step, but his hands instinctively came up to steady her. For a moment, he was completely still, caught off guard.

Then, he huffed a short laugh. "Diana," he muttered, amusement creeping into his tone. "You act as if you’re never going to see me again."

"Well, you never know," she replied, her voice muffled against his chest.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but he held her tighter. Just for a moment. When she finally pulled away, his grip lingered before he reluctantly let her go.

Diana gave him one last look before stepping inside the carriage.

As the door shut, she turned to the small window, watching as her guardians faded into the distance. The sorrow in her chest grew unbearable.

And in Acacius’s hands, the letter from the emperors remained unopened.

———

The streets of Rome stretched out before her, bathed in the warm hues of evening. Through the thin veil, she watched as they passed through the bustling city—merchants closing their stalls, children running between the shadows, laughter and conversation spilling from open doorways.

For a moment, she allowed herself to see the beauty in it. The way the golden light touched the stone, the way life never ceased to pulse through these streets.

But beneath the splendour, she saw the others. The sick huddled in corners, the beggars whose hands stretched out to passing citizens who paid them no mind. The hollowed-out expressions of those who had long accepted their suffering.

Her fate had been decided for her, and yet, compared to theirs, was she not still fortunate?

Or was she simply a different kind of prisoner?

Her fingers curled into her lap, her thoughts too heavy to hold.

The carriage came to a halt at the base of the grand palace steps, the rhythmic clatter of hooves giving way to a tense silence. Night had fully claimed the sky, its dark embrace illuminated by the flickering glow of torches lining the marble facade. The air was thick with anticipation, the gathered crowd pressing against the Praetorian guard, their hushed whispers a chorus of intrigue—soft, endless, like cicadas on a summer night.

Diana exhaled slowly, steadying herself. She could do this. She had to.

The door of the carriage swung open, and Nicomedes extended a hand to her. His smugness was ever-present, though now tinged with something more—satisfaction, perhaps. As she took his hand and stepped onto the stone, her white robes trailing behind her, he leaned in slightly, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

"I half-expected you to run," he mused, amusement laced through his tone. "I know that’s what Acacius would want."

Something about his words sent a ripple of unease through her, lodging itself deep in her chest. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, but she refused to let it show. Instead, she lifted her chin and forced herself forward, the heavy fabric of her veil obscuring her face but doing little to calm her racing thoughts.

It was only as she ascended the steps that she noticed him.

Geta.

He stood at the top, dressed in imperial crimson and gold, his figure imposing against the fire lit backdrop. His gaze was unreadable, his expression carefully composed, yet there was something in the way he watched her. A quiet intensity, as if she had stolen his breath for just a fraction of a moment.

Her steps slowed as she reached him, her heart pounding so loudly she swore he could hear it. With practiced grace, she lowered her head into a respectful bow, greeting him as tradition dictated. "Emperor."

His silence stretched for a moment too long before he inclined his head in return. "Lady Diana." His voice was steady, but there was something beneath it, a hesitation that hadn't been there before.

She couldn't help it—her eyes searched, her thoughts racing.

He seemed to recognise the question she did not voice, his lips pressing together as he exhaled lightly. "It is tradition," he explained, his tone quieter now, "for the groom not to see the bride before the ceremony."

She nodded, but the response did little to ease the tension wound tight in her chest.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world around them blurred—the expectant crowd, the whispering nobles, even the distant hum of Rome itself. All that remained was the sound of her own breath, the weight of his gaze, the strange, almost reluctant softness in the way he regarded her.

Then, without another word, Geta extended a hand toward her.

She hesitated only briefly before placing her’s in his grasp. His fingers were warm, steady, but unlike Nicomedes' touch from earlier, this was not a grip of possession or control. There was something unexpectedly careful about the way he guided her toward the palace doors—an understanding, a quiet restraint.

The torches cast shifting shadows across the marble as they stepped inside, leaving the cheers of the crowd behind. But even as the doors closed, sealing her within the imperial walls, the weight of the unknown pressed heavier than ever.

Diana stepped through the grand archway of the imperial palace, the golden glow of the torches illuminating the marble halls. Despite the nervous weight in her chest, she couldn't help but admire the sheer magnificence around her—the towering columns, the elaborate frescoes that told tales of Rome’s past, the sheer scale of it all. This was to be her new home.

She followed in Geta’s wake, her veil still draped over her face, her two guards keeping a close distance behind. The palace was alive with movement—servants scurrying through corridors, whispering amongst themselves, guards standing at their posts with rigid discipline. A sense of order and chaos woven together.

Then, an unmistakable ruckus echoed from the nearby halls—boisterous laughter, the clatter of goblets, the heavy beat of music against the stone walls. Diana furrowed her brows, tilting her head slightly as if to listen closer.

Before she could question it, Geta came to a sudden halt. She barely stopped herself from colliding into him, her long robes swaying slightly from the abrupt movement. He smirked, turning just enough to glance at her over his shoulder.

"Not accustomed to such grandeur, are you?"

There was something teasing in his tone, reminiscent of their first conversation in the gardens.

Diana, catching on to the playfulness of his words, straightened, a flicker of her former self pushing through. "Oh, I’ve seen finer," she said smoothly. "Where I’m from, of course."

For a brief moment, the weight of the evening lifted. Geta chuckled, the deep sound of his amusement settling between them like a familiar presence. They watched each other, the silent understanding lingering longer than either intended.

Then, as if snapping himself from a daze, Geta cleared his throat. "You should rest. Tomorrow will be a long day."

Before Diana could respond, the guards at her side stepped forward, prepared to escort her away. Her gaze lingered on Geta for a moment longer, following the direction he now walked—toward the source of the raucous celebration.

As she was led past the open doorway of the great hall, she caught sight of the spectacle within.

It was a banquet of indulgence—lavish food spilling over golden trays, musicians playing wildly, bodies entangled in laughter and drunken conversation. At the centre of it all, sprawled lazily upon a grand chair like a king at rest, was Caracalla.

Diana’s breath caught at the sight of him. The husband-to-be was surrounded by figures—senators, generals, concubines. His tunic was half undone, his goblet full, his demeanour one of pure satisfaction.

The sight made her stomach twist.

This was the man she was to marry.

She quickly looked away, forcing herself to walk forward, to keep moving. She would not think of it now.

The atrium was smaller than the grand halls she had passed, but no less elegant. A banquet had been arranged for her—platters of fruit, roasted meats, spiced wines, all untouched. The room was not empty; a small group of women, finely dressed and adorned with gold, rushed to greet her as she entered.

They fawned over her, their words a flurry of excitement.

"You must be exhausted, my lady!"

"Or perhaps she is simply too excited to think straight," another teased, her tone light.

Diana managed a smile, but it did not reach her eyes. She listened, nodded, allowed them to guide her to a seat, to prepare her for the feast, for the evening ahead.

Yet, despite the warmth of their presence, despite the beauty of the chamber and the soft candlelight flickering against the walls…

She had never felt more alone.

———

The great hall pulsed with revelry, the scent of spiced wine, incense, and sweat thick in the air. Goblets overflowed, laughter rang out, and the music of lyres and flutes wove through the chaos like a fevered dream. The celebration was in full swing, indulgence reigning supreme.

At the heart of it sat Caracalla, flushed with drink, his grin wide as he basked in the attention of senators, harlots, and sycophants alike. Dondas perched upon his shoulder, plucking at his golden chains as his master raised a goblet high.

Then, his eyes flicked to the entrance.

"Brother!" Caracalla called, his voice warm, full of drunken delight. He pushed himself to stand, swaying slightly, though he hardly seemed to notice. "Come, tell me! Has she arrived?"

Geta strode in, his expression composed but his steps just slightly unsteady, evidence that he had already begun to drink elsewhere. His eyes flickered toward Caracalla, then to the eager faces surrounding him.

"She has."

Caracalla beamed. "Good! Dondas has been waiting to see her again." The small creature chittered in agreement, reaching toward Geta as if to say he had been just as impatient as his master.

Geta tilted his head, offering the smallest smirk. "You should enjoy the night instead, brother. Your last night of freedom before the wedding."

Caracalla’s grin faltered, just slightly. "Ah, but I was going to go see her! It’s not as though I must wait until tomorrow."

Geta tensed for just a moment—so brief, so imperceptible, none but his brother would have noticed. He recovered quickly. "And ruin the anticipation?" he chided, shaking his head. "Besides, it is tradition for the groom not to see his bride before the wedding."

Caracalla narrowed his eyes, suspicious, though not fully serious. "Tradition?" he repeated. "Since when do you care about such things?"

"Since you decided you would be a ruler of Rome," Geta countered smoothly. "The people are watching, and they expect you to uphold their customs."

Caracalla exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes before waving his brother off. "Fine, fine," he relented, "you always find a way to spoil my fun." He threw an arm around Geta’s shoulders, pulling him closer, his grin returning. "But I suppose I should enjoy my last night as a free man!"

And so, he did.

The festivities continued in full force, the hall brimming with excess. Wine spilled, harlots danced, and men roared with laughter. Gifts were presented—gold, silks, rare oils from distant lands—all tributes to an emperor about to wed.

Geta drank. More than he should have.

For all his efforts to keep his composure, the wine loosened his tongue, his thoughts drifting into dangerous places. He sat beside his brother, their bodies slouched into the cushions of the settee, watching as men lost themselves in revelry.

"Tell me, brother," Geta mused, swirling the dark red liquid in his goblet. "Do you ever wonder if you’re doing the right thing?"

Caracalla, mid-drink, turned to him with a bemused expression. "What kind of question is that?"

Geta’s gaze was distant, unreadable. "This marriage," he continued, softer now, "do you truly believe it is what’s best?"

Caracalla let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "This—" he gestured grandly around them, "—was what you wanted. You. The senators. Rome. Diana was sent to us for this very reason." He smirked, tapping the rim of his goblet. "You should be toasting to the success of it all."

Geta’s expression did not change, but something in his eyes darkened. "Perhaps," he murmured, taking a slow sip. "And yet…"

He let the thought linger.

Caracalla’s gaze sharpened. "And yet?"

Geta met his eyes, the tension between them palpable. Then, just as quickly, he let out a breath, shaking his head as if dismissing his own words. "Nothing," he said smoothly. "You are right. This is what Rome desires."

Caracalla studied him for a moment longer, suspicion flickering, but the haze of wine and celebration dulled the edges of his concern. He scoffed, shoving Geta’s shoulder playfully. "You think too much," he chided. "Drink more! Enjoy the night!"

And so, Geta drank.

As another senator stepped forward, a new gift was presented—two exquisite golden bracelets, finely wrought, fit for an empress.

"You are a lucky man," the senator toasted.

Caracalla grinned, lifting his goblet high. “I am to marry a goddess!" he declared, the senator not realising the sincerity behind his words. "We have been blessed by her presence!"

Geta’s lips curled, his mind hazy, his restraint slipping further into the depths of his wine. He leaned back, voice deceptively casual.

"Goddesses," he murmured, "are meant to be praised by all."

The words seemed to hang in the air.

Caracalla’s smile faltered, his fingers tightening around the stem of his goblet. "What do you mean by that?"

Geta smirked, tilting his head. "As brothers, we have always shared, haven’t we?" His voice was smooth, unreadable, but his eyes held something else—something darker, something challenging.

For the first time that night, Caracalla was completely still. His drunken haze did not stop his blood from running cold.

"No," he said, his voice low, dangerous. He set his goblet down with a hard clink. "She is mine. My wife. She belongs to me."

Geta arched a brow, feigning innocence. "Not yet," he reminded, his smirk never quite reaching his eyes.

The tension between them thickened, the revelry momentarily drowned by the unspoken weight of the moment.

Then, Geta leaned back, letting out a short chuckle. "It was a jest, brother," he said easily, lifting his goblet once more.

Caracalla exhaled, his fists relaxing. He let out a loud booming laugh, capturing the attention of spectators nearby. “You truly know how to amuse me brother!”

His good mood returned and the music swelled again, the festivities resuming. But Geta…

He could not shake the feeling clawing at his chest.

Across the room, his gaze landed on one of his brother’s favourite concubines; a young man who had once been the emperor’s most treasured indulgence. Now, he was slumped against the cushions, struggling to stay conscious, his skin pale, his body thin, almost sickly.

It did not take much to know why.

A shadow crossed Geta’s face. He looked at his brother, still revelling, still laughing, still believing himself to be blessed.

And for the first time that night, Geta did not drink.

He simply watched.

#emperor geta #emperor geta x ofc #emperor geta fanfic #joseph quinn #emperor caracalla #arranged marriage #emperor caracalla x ofc #fred hechinger #frenemies #frenemies to lovers #general acacius #lucius verus #gladiator 2 #joe quinn #pedro pascal #paul mescal #marcus acacius #hanno #jonny storm

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linawritesficsies · 3 days ago

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s.h. | we need to warm up (one shot)

a/n: it's been a while since i posted a steve fic, so here it issssss. this is a combination of a friends episode and a scene from an old tv show i used to watch when i was a teenager.

warnings: being locked up in closed spaces, language, mentions of sex and injuries (freezing), english is not my first language. some stuff may not be accurate. MINORS DNI. credits to the gif owner!

summary: steve and you worked at scoops ahoy together and one day while you two were bickering about something silly, you got stuck in a walk-in refrigerator.

steve harrington x afab!oc!reader.

🚫do NOT copy, translate or put my work thru an AI.

Robin, your best friend, helped you get this job at Scoops Ahoy a couple of months ago. The work itself wasn’t ideal because you had to put up with a lot of annoying people (and cleaning toilets wasn’t very appealing either), but the pay was pretty good and it allowed you to combine it with your study schedule. The best parts were obviously the free ice cream and sharing shifts with your bestie.

You also had to share several shifts with Steve Harrington. You didn’t like him at first if you were being completely honest. You knew him from before because you had shared a few classes at Hawkins High, but you never actively talked to him. He was very handsome and charming, but his reputation of being a womanizer and a douchebag preceded him so for you that was enough to keep your distance.

However, everything changed when you took on this job. On the bright side, has had some personal growth over the last few months so this made spending time with him a lot easier. Of course, the King Steve persona sometimes came into the light and he could get insufferable, but you still enjoyed his company. You could say you had more of a ‘frenemies’ relationship. Definitely, one of the things that amused you the most was bickering with Steve, so when the work day was quiet, you’d pick a silly argument just for the sake of it.

Thus, that’s what led the two of you to discuss the topic of sex in the middle of one casual Saturday afternoon in mid-September at Scoops Ahoy. The weather was chiller than the one from previous weeks, but there were some people that weren’t going to let the climate get in the way of getting ice cream. You couldn’t blame them though. Robin was at the register machine, getting the customers’ orders and Steve and you were organizing the stock at the back of the shop.

“Harrington, are you really saying that kissing and foreplay are not as important as the sex part!?”, you exclaimed a bit too loudly while you glared at your coworker with a questioning look. He just quirked his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders meaning ‘Yes, I said what I said. Deal with it.’

You didn’t feel any shame talking about these topics. In fact, you were pretty bold. Especially with Steve. He had that vibe that made everyone around him feel comfortable with discussing or doing anything. Of course. King Steve, ladies and gentlemen.

“Why would I prefer the opening act when I know I’ll be seeing, I dunno, The Police soon?”

You let out a chuckle.

“You have been spending more time with Eddie, haven’t you?”, he gave you a mocking look. It was no secret that Steve wasn’t a fan of Eddie, especially because recently he had been stealing Dustin’s attention and that made Steve more jealous than he cared to admit. You couldn’t help but smile at the cuteness of Steve and Dustin’s relationship and his jealousy.

You grabbed one of the boxes with new ice cream flavours that were recently delivered to the shop because you had to carry them to the walk-in refrigerator, but since the two boxes were really heavy you asked Steve for help. At first he pretended to ignore you, but then he smiled teasingly and grabbed the other one to give you a hand. You had trouble deciding whether you hated that smile or you loved it… It was probably the latter.

As soon as you entered the refrigerator, the chilly air hit your skin. You carefully placed the box you were carrying on the floor and put the door wedge so it wouldn’t close while you were in there. The door was pretty heavy because it needed to stay shut in order to keep the temperature low, but also, the door handle wasn’t working pretty well.

“Anyways, for us girls they’re really equally important”, you resumed your little argument while you two arranged the ice creams on the various shelves, categorizing them by their flavor. “We can get all the information we need about the other person from the first kiss. I can’t believe you don’t like it.”

You looked at him from the corner of your eye and noticed that he rolled his.

“No, honey”, he paused and sighed. You screamed internally at the pet name. He usually called you by your name or ‘Smarty Pants’ whenever you gave him witty comebacks. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I do, but I’d rather get down to the real business quicker.”

“Well, hun, friendly advice, if you keep thinking like that, you’ll have to settle with solo concerts.”

Steve wanted to give you the middle finger so badly but couldn’t do it because he had his hands full so he had to contempt himself by sticking out his tongue in a mocking tone. You gave him a playful nudge on the shoulder and then he gave you another one back but Steve was stronger than you so you tripped backwards and accidentally kicked the door wedge and the refrigerator door closed.

“Fuck”, the two of you blurted out in unison; your heartbeats picking up rapidly. You exchanged looks and frowned your eyebrows at the same time. Under different circumstances, you would have laughed at the synchronicity.

“This is your fault.”

“How is this my fault, Harrington? You pushed me!”, you replied back while you got up from the floor and adjusted your uniform.

“You made me come in here!”

“I simply asked for your help!”

You decided it was useless to continue with this bickering so you kneeled down before the door handle to try to make it work. However, it was useless. The door refused to budge. You had repeatedly asked Keith, your boss, to call the repair guy to fix said handle but of course he never did. You cursed him under your breath while you got back up and started screaming and banging on the door.

“ROBIN! HELP! SOMEBODY”, Steve joined you but nobody seemed to hear. “HELLO, WE’RE INSIDE THE REFRIGERATOR!”, you both screamed over and over again.

“I hope Robin notices quickly we’re nowhere to be seen. If not, we’re going to freeze to death”, you lifted your hands to massage your scalp, trying to prevent yourself from spiraling. Extremely difficult task given the not so encouraging situation. You didn’t consider yourself a claustrophobic person but you weren’t a fan.

“Don’t exaggerate, Y/N. It’s just a little bit of cold”, he shrugged his shoulders and waved his hand dismissively, as if brushing off your very real concern.

If looks could kill, he would be reduced to ashes right now.

“Unlike you, I don’t have teenage-like hormones, Steve. I get cold easily.”

He was about to reply with another witty comment, but he noticed how anxious you were getting. He saw your right leg start bouncing rapidly and how you bit your fingernails—subtle things you did when you were nervous or distressed. He had noticed them before. He let out a defeated sigh.

“OK, I’m being serious right now: we’re going to get out of here in a heartbeat, don’t worry.”

You went back to the screaming and banging, hoping that someone outside would hear you at that very moment and get you out of there. Unfortunately, you were alone with the echoes of your voice and movements. Meanwhile, Steve was pacing the small place, thinking of any other possible escape.

After some minutes that felt like hours, the cold and the confinement were starting to take a toll on you. You sat on the floor with your back against the door to keep hitting it, more occasionally now. The Scoops Ahoy uniform was not enough to keep you warm; your body started trembling so you hugged yourself, keeping your knees close to your chest. Steve heard your shivering breaths. He scanned the ‘room’ one more time and saw the empty cardboard boxes stacked where you had been organizing the ice cream.

“We can use the empty ice cream boxes to keep us warm”, you gave him a questioning look. encouraging him to clarify. “We can break them down to sit on them and then put the other parts over our bodies”.

“God bless that big head of yours, Harrington.”, you smiled and tried to stand up but it wasn’t as easy as before. Your body was getting stiffer. Steve gave you a hand.

The two of you started tearing up the boxes and placing the flattened pieces on the floor next to the door and then cutting up bigger sections to use as makeshift blankets.

“Well, it’s better than nothing”, Steve commented once you were all set and you agreed, keeping the cardboard boxes as close to your body as possible.

It was far from being the perfect solution, but it worked… for a couple of minutes. Then, you started shivering again. You got up to the point where you could no longer feel your legs. You wanted to keep screaming and banging on the door but the little energy you had was starting to wear off. You decided to save it for later.

“Fuck, it’s so cold in here. I can’t stand it anymore”, you blurted out, more to yourself than anything and tried to rub your hands violently against your legs to get some warmth.

“Come here”, Steve whispered while opening his arms, motioning you to huddle closer to him so you could share whatever body heat you had left. It was true, Steve had a higher body temperature than any other person either of you knew but he wasn’t sure of how much that was going to last. He was feeling colder too.

You were hesitant to accept his embrace at first because you weren’t used to sharing physical contact with him but you quickly decided that it was worth trying it. Once you were beside him, he put his arms around your shaking frame and put two cardboard boxes over both your bodies. He rested his head on top of yours and you hugged him, wrapping your arms around his waist. Despite everything, this felt strangely nice and comfortable.

“We’re gonna get out of here, I promise”, he said after some silence and you could see the wisps of vapor that looked like smoke coming out of his mouth.

You were too tired and weak to say or do anything. It seemed the temperature kept dropping every second. There was some frost on your hair and your eyelashes. Steve had it on his perfect hair too. At this moment, you actually believed you were going to die there. You snuggled closer into Steve’s embrace; not that it was really possible because you were practically glued to him.

You slowly started to drift off; your eyelids felt like two bricks of concrete. Steve went into alert mode when he felt you relax under his touch. “Hey, Y/N. Can you hear me?”

You let out a barely audible “Mh” and he started rubbing circles on your arm, close to your elbow.

“Stay awake, OK?”

He knew you couldn’t fall asleep if you had hypothermia. He didn’t know why but he remembered one of his biology teachers who explained that your body functions would slow down even more, which could be deadly. He didn’t even want to imagine that happening.

At first, he didn’t want to admit he liked you because you were a pain in the neck, but then, as he spent more and more time with you, he learned you were funny, smart, and although you annoyed him to boredom sometimes, you were kind-hearted. Also, you had one of the most contagious laughs he has ever heard. And on top of that, you were insanely pretty.

This drastic situation helped him realize he didn’t want to lose you, in any way. He couldn’t.

“I can’t.”, you whispered once again.

“Yes, you can”, his hands moved upwards to cup both your cheeks now; his desperate eyes fixed on your face. “Open your eyes, please, darling”. You wanted to laugh at the nickname but you didn’t even have the strength to do so. His voice was trembling now too. He didn’t know if out of the cold he was feeling or of the fear of something happening to you. He placed a kiss on your forehead. “Come on, I wanna see those pretty eyes.”

“I’m cold, Stevie. I’m sorry.”

You only used that nickname to tease him because he hated it. Now, it scratched his brain just right. He didn’t fail to notice you looked so small, so fragile. He didn’t know how, but he could feel you slip away from him.

“No, no, no, no”, he blurted out quickly. “Y/N, listen to me. Focus on my voice and my hands”, he rubbed circles on both of your cheeks. “Don’t fall asleep. Talk to me.”

His serious but also desperate tone made you realize the gravity of your state.

“About what?”, you whispered as you tried to get your whole attention to his gentle touches and his breathing.

“About anything. Tell me a secret, a memory, an embarrassing story. Whatever comes to your mind, just talk to me.”

You gathered strength out of nowhere and opened your eyes. You saw Steve sigh with a little bit of relief. He also looked exhausted and cold, but there was something in his eyes that told you he was not giving up easily. You couldn’t say so for yourself, sadly.

“Your pretty eyes are the last pair I’m going to see”, you spoke slowly. Steve’s heart broke a little at your statement.

“No, don’t say things like that.. I need you to stay here with me. Please. I need you to stay alive so I can take you on a date when we’re out of here”, his voice and the movements on your skin were starting to slow down too. “I don’t want to leave this planet before kissing your beautiful lips.”

You gave him a weak smile.

“Do it now, Stevie.”

He lifted his eyebrows, thinking he heard you incorrectly. But then, you directed your eyes to his own lips, so he took it as an invitation and wasted no time. The kiss was slow and short but sweet nonetheless. None of you had much energy to keep going for longer, much to your dismay.

“That’s the way to warm up, right?”, he joked and you let out a choked laugh.

You went back to your tight embrace. You weren’t sure how much time you had left. You stopped trembling a couple of minutes ago and you knew that wasn’t a good sign. You thought about your family and your friends. One single tear fell from your left eye.

Just about when Steve was going to wipe it, you heard some noises on the other side of the door. You two looked at each other and Steve used the adrenaline rush to get back on his feet and helped you do the same.

“HELP, WE’RE STUCK IN THE REFRIGERATOR. PLEASE HELP”, Steve was the one yelling and you attempted to bang the door as loud as you could.

And then, the door finally opened. You squinted your eyes due to the sudden change of lightning and tried to make out the silhouette that was standing in front of you, but before you could see who it was or do anything else, your legs gave in and your vision went black, which resulted in you passing out on the ground.

Your eyelids fluttered open as the characteristic antiseptic hospital smell hit your nose. The sterile white walls were the first thing you saw. Your body still felt cold, even though you had several blankets wrapped around your frame. You turned your head to the side and saw Steve sitting on a chair, wrapped on a blanket as well. His eyes were closed and his head was slightly tilted to the side. He looked worn off but really adorable.

“Steve?”, you called his name but you didn’t recognize your own voice. It was really sore. The boy opened his eyes and gave you a sweet smile. There was a mixture of relief and concern in his look.

“Hey… You gave us quite the scare.” You apologized and he shrugged it off. “Your parents are already here. They’re filling out the paperwork.” He grabbed the chair and moved it forward to be closer to your bed. Then he grabbed your hand that was hidden under the blankets. “I should call the doctor to let her know you had woken up.”

You nodded but refused to let his hand go so he could stand up. His heart melted.

“We need to talk about our date”, you casually mentioned between giggles.

“You don’t waste a minute, don’t you?”, he chuckled, shaking his head. “I assure you, it’s going to be a date to die for.” Now it was your turn to laugh.

aaaand the end... i hope you enjoyed it! and as always, i'd love to read some comments with your opinions :) and i'm also taking request, so there's your chance to leave a nice ask 💗

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #stranger things #stranger things fic #x oc!reader #oc character #fanfics #fanfic writing #joe keery #x reader #fluff #angst #friends #frenemies #hurt/comfort #reader insert

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