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imaginesrus · 5 years ago

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When It All Comes Flooding Back

Vanya Hargreeves/Diego Hargreeves

The Umbrella Academy

Summary: Following on from the final episode of Season 2. The Hargreeves are staying at a hotel after finding out that once again they are not quite home. Vanya continues to regain her memories and while seeking relief finds the she is not the only member of the Academy having trouble sleeping.

Ao3 Link : When It All Comes Flooding Back

The revelation that their ‘home’ was not their real home in this reality had been disappointing to say the least. Once again they had ‘royally fucked up the timeline’ as Five so eloquently phrased it.

They had found a hotel nearby, not prepared to separate themselves again after they had just found each other. They had managed to find somewhere with enough rooms and beds to accommodate them all. Vanya was sharing a room with Klaus and Alison, while Five, Diego and Luther had reluctantly bunked together despite Five’s arguments that he as the senior member of the group should have his own accommodation.

The hotel receptionist hadn’t asked any questions when they had asked for the rooms, and it looked like the kind of place that wasn’t in the habit of asking too many questions which was just what they were looking for.

She had tossed and turned in her bed envious of Klaus who snored loudly from the couch, and Alison who looked just as perfect in her sleep as she did when she was awake. It seemed only Vanya was unable to find peace in sleep. She had gained and lost so much over the past few days she couldn’t keep up. Her heart still ached for Sissy and Harlan and the life she had given up to stay with her family.

Then there had been the new memories that she had regained, they were painful in a different way. She could feel them in her bones, the anger, the frustration that they brought with them. But they were also confusing, there were some parts of them that she couldn’t quite reconcile herself with. So many decisions that although she knew were her own it felt like a different person had made them. Not the person that she was now.

She wanted to ask the others about them, but she found herself holding back. She didn’t want them to be afraid of her again, the more she talked about what had happened in the past the more afraid she was that they would remember what she had done, and who she was. It made her heart pound and head ache. She had taken two aspirin already to little relief.

There were some in particular that she wanted to ask Diego about, but she wasn't exactly sure how to casually just bring it into conversation. Flashes of hands interlinked, his lips brushing against the column of her neck while her fingers twisted in his shirt. A heat rose to her cheeks and she groaned in frustration.

She huffed into her pillow, when in truth she wanted to scream. She rose to her feet quietly in hope not to disturb the others, the bed dipping as she did so, and she was grateful that Alison didn’t stir at the movement. She tiptoed around the small hotel room, shrugging on her jacket and shoes.

She opened the door quietly and closed it slowly behind her. The cool air against her face brought her some welcome relief.

She spotted a familiar shape further along the narrow balcony, resting against the railing, his head bowed down so that his hair covered his face. But she had a feeling that she would recognise him anywhere.

Diego.

He looks up, as if he can sense her presence, and she feels frozen. A familiar headache takes hold as more memories slot carefully into place inside her mind.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks her as he moves closer before leaning against the balcony next to her, looking over the car park below them.

She shakes her head pulling her lip between her teeth. He gives a chuckle, low and heavy.

“Yeah, me neither.” He had lost so much as well. He had wanted to stop everything from happening save the president, be the hero, and yet everything had gone to shit.

He had lost her asl well, the woman who had been trying to kill them, or perhaps more specifically Five. He had said that he loved her and she wasn’t sure how that made her feel. She shouldn’t feel a pang of jealousy at the confession, her heart also had been given to someone else, but it is there anyway and as these memories continue to make themselves known it only makes more and more sense.

He examined her carefully, “What’s going on in there?”

"Too much,” she sighs, pressing her forehead against the cool metal of the balcony railing. It was simpler when she couldn’t remember who she was. She was free. And now.

"I know the feeling," he mumbles, pulling a metal flask from his pocket and taking a sip, she looks up to see a grimace across his face. "Five has the worst taste." He holds out the flask and she eyes it carefully, before relenting and taking it from his hand. A peace gesture.

The alcohol burns her throat as soon as it hits and she gulps it down, before coughing as Diego grabs the flask from her hand before she can spill it.

When the burning starts to dissipate and she regains her breath, she manages a staggered, "That's awful." While Diego just nods in agreement before taking another swig.

And then it hits her like a train, the strength of the memory as it appears, neurones firing and connecting all at once as the piercing feeling at her temples returns.

She feels his hand grasp her arm, holding her upright, as the world becomes out of focus and her knees give way.

"You stole from Dad's office?" Vanya's eyes widened.

"What? It's not like it's hard. Klaus does it all the time."

"Yeah, but,"

"You want to try?"

She considers the bottle in his hand, a brown amber liquid, that is both tempting and forbidden. There is also the feeling of being included, she knows they all meet up without her when they think she won't notice, or perhaps they simply don't care. Diego's eyebrows are raised in a challenge, waiting for her to chicken out, expecting it.

"Give it here," she orders, pulling herself up straighter, despite still being much shorter than him. He chuckles handing her the bottle, watching her carefully as she takes a tentative sip, before spluttering and pushing the bottle back to him.

She expects him to tease her, to laugh at her and tell the others another example of how she is inferior to the rest of them, but instead he wraps his arm around her shoulder.

"Damn, Vanya, I didn't think you would actually do it."

She decides immediately she likes the feeling of his arm wrapped around her and leans into it. He tightens his grip for a moment and she is sure that she feels the pressure of his thumb against her bare elbow, moving gently across her skin. He has never acted like this before, she is sure he has never actually spent this long alone in a room with her since they were children. But then Luther comes barging into the room and he jumps away from her like he has been electrocuted.

“Dad’s coming and he is pissed!” Luther shouts as he eyes the bottle in Diego’s hands, rolling his eyes.

“I’ll distract him,” Vanya offers, earning a grateful smile from Diego, and a shocked look from Luther at her uncharacteristic boldness. “Go, put it back,” she tells him, ignoring the little butterflies that have taken residence in her stomach, when he smiles broadly at her.

“Thanks, Vanya.” He gives her a little salute before he leaves the room, leaving Luther shaking his head at the two of them and Vanya quickly concocting a plan to distract their father for long enough for Diego to make it back to the office.

“Are you okay?” Diego’s voice cuts through the memory and she feels the ground return beneath her feet, the solid arms wrapped around her preventing her from crashing into a heap on the cold concrete.

“Vanya,” she blinks her eyes open looking up at him, seeing concern etched across his features, while she stares blankly back at him, “Vanya!,” he repeats again, louder this time and the world finally comes back into focus. As he holds her steady she grips onto the balcony managing to support her own weight and he lets go, his hand still resting on her forearm.

She notices the flask has fallen to his feet, the liquid pouring out onto the pavement. “Five is going to kill you when he finds out,” she remarks as she nods to floor. Diego doesn’t even glance in it’s direction his attention centred on her.

“Let him. What is going on?” She takes a deep breath, the methodical pounding behind her eyes, continues to thump on. “Vanya? What was that?”

“I’m still remembering things.” She pinches the bridge of her nose in the vain hope that it may subdue the thumping and she almost considers taking another sip from Five’s fallen flask.

“I thought that everything came back?” He bends back down to pick up the flask, replacing the lid before pushing it back into his pocket.

“I did too, I mean there was so much, but I keep getting these flashes, memories of … before, back at the academy. It’s like everything in my brain is still trying to connect it’s…” she searches for the best words to describe the sensation of her head splitting in two, “overwhelming.”

Something crosses his face and before she can question it it’s gone again, pushed down somewhere. Diego has always been so difficult to read. She thought that she understood him back when they were children, but perhaps she had only ever been able to just scratch the surface.

“Maybe you should go back inside.”

“I’m okay, really,” she assures him, “just a little longer,” and while he does not seem convinced he leaves it be. They continue to stand there in silence, looking out over the empty parking lot. She feels oddly at ease. Perhaps that’s what gives her the confidence to say what she does.

“I didn’t understand it at first,” she muses out loud.

“Understand what?”

“Why you hated me more than the others did,” she replies quietly, eyes focused on her own fingers.

“I didn’t,” he tries to explain but she continues.

“When I first saw you at the electronics store there was something else there when you saw me, it wasn’t fear or disappointment like the others. It was something more visceral like ... betrayal.” She looks up from her hands to meet his gaze.

“And I needed you to accept my apology more than the others, and I didn’t quite understand why.”

She had looked out over that porch at Sissy’s farm, watching the quietness of the hills, feeling at peace with her decision, when he came to sit down next to her. Closer than he had before, no longer treating her as some fragile, breakable thing. A thing to be wary of.

He had been the one that she had felt the most confused about. She felt that in her gut they should be closer. But there were barriers between them she could ‘feel’ them.

The memories that she had regained so far had told her enough to understand.

She leant her head against his shoulder, needing to feel that connection again however fleeting it may be, half expecting him to pull away, but instead he moved his head to rest against hers, as they sat in silence.

She felt the same urge now, knowing all that she did, to reach out and place her small hand over his as it clung to the railing beside her.

“So you remembered … ” he asks her, as he holds onto the railing tighter, his knuckles becoming white with the pressure.

“Yes,” she replies quietly, barely above a whisper. “Sort of.” She knows what he is asking really. Whether she remembers him and the memories that they shared together, some good, some not so much.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her and she feels a weight lifted from her shoulders. Two words, that she has been waiting to hear since he left her on that evening, leaving her alone in a world where she felt so unloved. It is a weight that she inherited when those memories came back, and it was crushing. “For everything.”

“Me too.” She lays her hand across his, a thumb tracing the skin of his knuckles, encouraging him to release his grip, she wants to feel his hand against hers. The way he would take her hand in the middle of the night, when the thunder rattled the windows of the old mansion and he would whisper to her that everything was okay, it was just a storm and it would pass.

They always did.

She holds onto that memory, it’s a good one.

#tua #fanfiction #vanya x diego #vanya hargreeves #Diego hargreeves #the umbrella academy #tv

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imaginesrus · 5 years ago

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I just wanna believe that this moment means much more than we all might think..

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imaginesrus · 5 years ago

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All The Things (I Never Wrote)

Umbrella Academy

Diego Hargreeves/Vanya Hargreeves

Summary: She can hear the distinct clicking of the knife in his hand as it moves from side to side, between his fingers, precise and deadly.

Diego.

He had not lost the talent of being able to catch her by surprise.

Vanya enters her old room cautiously. She hadn’t set foot in there in so long it no longer feels like her own. Moving to her old window, pulling away the curtains to look out at the grounds. Feeling an odd sense of deja vu reminded of the times she would longingly look down at the other members of the Academy training, laughing at times to the utter dismay of their father, but together. While she could only imagine what it might be like to feel a part of something.

They would tell her how lucky she was that she was not forced to undergo the training regime that they were subjected to. Five was the only one who understood, would shoot her a sympathetic look whenever they left for another mission and she would remain at home. An ally in a lonely house until he disappeared leaving her alone.

“You left out some parts,” the voice takes her by surprise from the chair in the corner of her room, cast in the shadows, the sun streaming through the window unable to reach it. She swallows deeply, instead of on the figure in the corner of her room, on the sheet music still laid out on her desk. But she can feel his eyes practically boring into the back of her head.

She can hear the distinct clicking of the knife in his hand as it moves from side to side, between his fingers, precise and deadly.

Diego.

He had not lost the talent of being able to catch her by surprise.

She maintains her focus on the pile of papers, fingers moving over the paper, the softness beneath her fingertips, bringing back old memories she had tried to forget.

It was why she had written that book, hopeful that once she allowed those memories, her thoughts, to be committed to paper that she might be able to start to move on. To become her own person instead of living in the shadows of those around her.

“You read it?” she asks, catching his movement in the reflection of her vanity mirror as he shifts in the chair.

“The bits I could manage,” he replies, replacing the knife back into the harness across his chest. “A bit long and self-indulgent for my tates.”

She scoffs at the insult, he never did miss an opportunity to call her out.

“Well I didn’t write it for you,” she turns to face him, leaning back on the edge of her desk for support as she does so, “for any of you,” she clarifies.

He considers her answer giving a slow nod as he rises to his feet, moving across the room, and she is thankful that with the intensity in his eyes the knife is no longer in his hand. Her eyes flick towards the bedroom door, pondering whether to hold her ground or run away again.

“Didn’t stop you telling the whole world about us though did it?” The guilt feels heavy in her stomach.

“I wasn’t going to,” she admitted, casting her eyes down. She had looked at those typed pages in the weeks that followed pressing the final key. Whether now they were out if she needed to go further by sharing the story of her life with the rest of the world.

“It wasn’t about exposing you, or any of the others.” She had been angry, sad, confused when writing the memoir, but she didn’t place any blame on them, they were all just children. “It was about exposing him. The kind of man that he was. What he did to us.”

“Did it make you feel any better?”

“No.”

After it was published and she had done the obligatory rounds with it, and it was discounted in bookstores beyond the ridiculous, she had merely returned to her previous life. There was no grand retribution, she didn’t find herself in between the pages of her own book. She just moved onto someone else’s shadow and perhaps that was where she would always remain.

When she looks up he is standing right in front of her.

His hands move to either side of her resting on her old desk. He is closer than he should be. She resists the urge to reach out and touch the scar that runs along his temple, wanting to know who had left it there.

They were still teenagers the last time they were this close. She was as just as nervous then, her heart pounding in her chest as his hand had moved over hers, his thumb brushing over her knuckles, a touch that was surprisingly tender for him.

He had leaned forward to press his lips against hers. A sharp intake of breath and he pulled away, worry in his eyes that he had overstepped before she rose to her toes and returned the kiss feeling his lips curve in a smile against her lips.

The rest had been a series of late-night meetups, hushed whispers in corridors and hurried fumbles in the Academy's many, many hidden corridors.

But in the end Diego had always wanted to be a hero. To prove himself to a man who couldn't care less. And he had left to do just that, left her. Alone again.

He considers her carefully, as if he is not sure what to do, caught in the moment like she is. Before his face hardens again, forehead creasing.

“Good,” he pushes away from her, making his way to the doorway. The moment slipping past her again.

She hasn’t spoken to him, not really, in years and she feels the urge overtake her to ask him if she doesn’t now she doesn’t think she ever will.

“Those things I left out,” she speaks up, and he stops in his tracks, looking back over his shoulder at her. “Do you regret them?”

He pauses, his hand resting on the door frame, a sadness falling over his face, “No.”

“Me neither.” Those moments however fleeting had been too special, too precious to share with the rest of the world.

Thank you for reading, also if you have any further suggestions or prompts I would love to write more for this pairing.

#tua #the umbrella academy #diego hargreeves/vanya hargreeves #viego #whitekraken #diego #vanya #fanfiction #oneshot #angst

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imaginesrus · 5 years ago

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Favorite Character Meme ✰ [1/1] One Character: Steve Harrington ↳ I may be a pretty shitty boyfriend, but turns out I’m actually a pretty damn good babysitter.

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imaginesrus · 5 years ago

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Bad Decisions

Reader x Francis ‘Ajax’ Freeman (Deadpool)

Summary: You were one of ‘The Workshop’s’ experiments however all that was behind you until you come home to find a certain manufactured mutant bad guy sitting on your couch looking for information.

Author’s note: So I recently rewatched Deadpool and had forgotten how much I loved Francis/Ajax in this movie and then this idea took hold and I couldn’t let it pass. Sorry if you are subscribed just for the Steve content but I’m experimenting with branching out a little. If you enjoy this and would like more please let me know. Suggestions for content are always graciously accepted.

You had never expected to see him again. After all, you had kept up your side of the bargain.

Five years.

Five years chained and collared to a purpose you couldn’t care about. Five years fighting a battle in which you had no vested interest, except to make it back each time in one piece.

When your time had finally come and your debt repaid you bent that silver collar until you had felt it snap-in on itself with a satisfying crack. Freedom had never felt so good.

But as it turned out old habits were hard to break and despite the yearning, you felt to return to the normal life you found yourself feeling something missing, and that was how you had found yourself dipping your toe into that life again. You lied to yourself that it would be just one more job, just enough so that you had enough money to set yourself up then you would return to normal. You told yourself that this was different. You had the choice of what jobs you would take on, you were no longer anyone's puppet. You were crafting your own path and direction, just not the one you had ever thought you would.

Besides ‘normal’ was no longer part of our vocabulary, and when curiosity had gotten the better of you you had discovered that 6 years missing was as good as dead to those you had left behind. You didn’t belong there anymore.

You closed the door of your apartment behind you eyes closing as you leant your head against the door. All you could think about was running your bath and slipping into the warm water, allowing it to ease your aching muscles. Perhaps even opening that bottle of wine you had been saving, a thank you of sorts from a pleased client who happened to own a renowned vineyard as a side project.

But it seemed that there was to be a change of plans when you saw the very man who had started this all, sitting casually on your sofa as if he owned it.

Fucking Ajax.

And he had opened that bottle of wine.

Your eyes flicked to the knife block that sat on the kitchen counter, while your hand remained on the doorknob. He took his time taking a sip from the glass in his hand before placing it calmly on the coffee table, your coffee table.

There were two clear options, fight or flight. Neither one was particularly appealing. But you were damned if you were going to let them take you in again, turn you back into a slave.

“I’m not here for a fight, Sweetheart.” He said calmly, as he rose from the couch and instinctively you edged your back against the door.

He held up his hands, showing that he had no weapon. Like he needed one. You had seen first hand that his body itself was enough of a weapon. You had wondered whether lacking the ability to feel he had become more machine than man.

“So why are you here then?” You ask, trying to steady your breathing as he continues to advance towards you, his stance open and inviting as if you were friends. But you can see the calculation in his eyes, watching your movements closely, ready for you to run.

“Can’t a doctor check-in with his favourite patient?” He asks with a quirk of his eyebrow and you let out a laugh. Unable to remain silent on the absurdity of the whole situation. “Share a drink reminisce?”

“One, calling yourself a doctor is a little generous don’t you think? And, two, I am far from your favourite patient.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he replies with a smile, his eyes roaming over your body in a way you haven't noticed before. A way that creates a tangle of heat in the base of your stomach.

You focus again, pushing any of those ‘notions’ from your mind and coming back to the fact that he has advanced again, only a mere steps away and you still don’t have a plan, your gaze was drawn back to the knife block, out of reach.

“But maybe it is a little more than that.”

Of course, it is.

“Someone has been looking for me,” his jaw clenches and you revel a little in the thought that something has managed to get under his skin, “a frustrating little worm in a black and red suit.”

Now that rings a bell, in fact, the other night while you had been at Sister Margaret’s a man in one of those ridiculous superhero costumes had been asking around for someone. Swearing about revenge and retribution for what someone had done to him. You hadn’t paid too much attention, the bar usually attracted a few crazies in amongst the regulars but this one had been particularly determined to find a man called ‘Francis’.

“Wait, you’re Francis?” It was starting to come together now. He must have been part of the project as well, it was not surprising that Ajax was on someone’s kill list. You ruin numerous lives it is bound to catch up with you sooner or later.

“You’re the guy he is looking for?”

With that last question, the smirk is wiped from his face. His enhanced reflexes allow him to move quickly to box you in, his arms braced on either side of your body up against the door. His eyes dark as he stares you down.

Your heart is beating wildly and you struggle to maintain your focus. If you are to have any chance of surviving this encounter you need to remain calm.

“He was here?” There is a distinctive edge to his voice now, the casual friendliness no longer present.

“No,” you say, quickly shaking your head. “Not here. At that bar on the other side of the city, the dodgy one with the smart-arse bartender. It’s a good place to pick up jobs.” You explain quickly your mouth running away from you. Hoping that once you let him know that his trip to your apartment has proved fruitless that he will leave and you can start to immediately look for another apartment.

But he doesn’t shift his stance, leaving you blocked and trapped. His head tilts as he looks over you, and you feel even more nervous under his gaze.

“Still making use of those gifts then,” he smiles as his finger traces over your shoulder, travelling down your arm in a movement so slow and delicate it’s intention is explicit.

"Maybe you should give me a little demonstration?" He cocks his head to the side, examining you looking for a sign of weakness or hesitation, you refuse to give him the opportunity.

"How do you know I'm not already?" you quirk your eyebrow as your fingers twist just slightly. Your breathing remains controlled as you speak, taking satisfaction in the confusion in his eyes.

"Sometimes I forget that you can't feel anything. Not even the knife I've currently got pointed at your back. In between your L1 and L2 vertebrae if I 'm correct, but then again I'm not the doctor here. Now maybe this knife isn’t sharp enough on it’s own, but I’m sure I can put enough telekinetic energy behind it to sever your spinal cord."

Instead of retreating or freezing in place, he lets out a laugh.

“You have changed haven’t you?” You freeze as his fingers trace across your cheek, “Where is my timid little mouse?”

You turn your face away, breaking the contact as it stirs feelings you are not in the mood to confront tonight.

“She was lost after that first kill.” You admit, even though it was a blur, you remembered the look in their eyes as life fled their body as the results of your actions. A simple twist of your fingers had been all it took to snap a neck.

“Would you kill me?” amusement tinges his voice which makes you blood boil urging you to push the knife further.

“If I had to.” You tell him, even though the simple answer should be yes. Those years were stolen. Even though they were years that you would have never had otherwise. Ajax or Francis had always been an enigma to you. Never giving anything away of himself during your sessions.

You rise to your toes so that you can attempt to match his height. “You don’t hold the power here, not anymore.”

A smile broadens across his lips as he looks almost impressed.

“You know it wasn’t a complete lie when I said you were my favourite patient. Quiet, yes, but one of those spirits that are hard to break, I had to work hard to trigger that mutation. I had thought maybe after your mutation that you may work beside me, at the Workshop.” He sighed, “But a telekinesis mutation, much too valuable on the private market. Not that you have suffered for it. It looks good on you. And now that you are a free agent.”

You search his eyes for what was the truth and they were just as cold and unreadable as ever. Could he actually be deluded enough to think that you would join him?

“Drop the knife, Sweetheart,” he whispers in your ear and you are reminded of all the times he would call you that, even before he snapped the cold metal collar around your neck as you were delivered to who would be your handler.

‘That’s it, Sweetheart, hold still for me.’ The last thing you heard until your surroundings before everything became faded and blurred.

“Or I can make you drop it,” he warns.

You want to laugh at his continued blind confidence in his own abilities even in his vulnerable position. But you are cut off by his lips pressing against your own.

Even though you could feel the tension in the air, his kiss takes you by surprise. It may have been unexpected but it is in no way unpleasant, and you can chastise yourself later on your poor decision making as you move your lips against his.

You hear the knife clatter to the floor, your concentration is broken, as his hand grips your hip.

You can still taste the wine on his lips as your tongue darts out to trace across his bottom lip.

You should stop this, should push him away from you with your mind or body, whichever feels like cooperating, but there is a part of you that craves this. Perhaps the part of yourself that was twisted and moulded by the Workshop itself.

Besides, it’s been a while since you made an epically bad decision. You are well overdue.

#reader x ajax #reader x francis freeman #francis 'ajax' freeman #ajax imagine #francis freeman imagine #deadpool2016 #imagines

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imaginesrus · 5 years ago

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# art

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imaginesrus · 6 years ago

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I am so looking forward to the next parts of this,that midnight kiss was so precious...

Bullshit

Pairing: Eventual Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, underaged drinking, one of the saddest moments in Steve Harrington history.

A/N: Probs the longest build up for smut you’ve ever seen but hell, I needed backstory. So uhm, part one of an -at most- three part smut story.

—

Throwing rocks at your window was Steve’s thing. Even when he’s been dating Nancy Wheeler, or when he was with every other girl in Hawkins High, he was still throwing rocks at your window.

You’d grown up with him since your moms were the best of friends. You were just a year younger than him and they’d been shoving you together since you could toddle behind him as he toddled a little faster. He hated your presence for a while, pulling your hair and whining all the time.

Once you got older, you were able to put your differences aside and form a truly beautiful friendship. He made life easier and was always there when you needed a shoulder to cry on. In all respects except physical, he acted like a boyfriend to you. Crawling in your window on nights he wasn’t crawling into somebody else’s window, sitting with you at lunch, driving you home, and hanging at your locker between classes.

That was, until Nancy Wheeler. The taps at your window became few and far between, you found the seats around you at lunch were filled with strangers, he told you once that he wouldn’t be able to drive you that day and then he never drove you again, and you could always see him scooping Nancy into his arms over at her locker.

When he did come to visit your room at night, he would gush about Nancy or whatever. You didn’t have a crush on Steve, that definitely was not the case. You just couldn’t have those kind of feelings for someone you’d seen be potty trained. Even if you had been potty trained at the same time. No, the only reason you were upset was because your best, and really only, friend had abandoned you for Nancy freaking Wheeler.

You told yourself that you didn’t deserve the way he was treating you. You said that every night as you paced back and forth at the end of your bed. It was also the first thing you threw out the door when you heard the tapping on your window. The amount of scrambling and excited heart beating that happened was just plain embarrassing. There was no way that he didn’t know the kind of effect he had on you.

A little over a year into his relationship with Nancy and he came to your window without bothering to throw rocks. He just knocked, sitting on your roof until you threw the glass barrier up.

“I thought you were at that Halloween party?” You asked, stepping aside as he awkwardly climbed in through the small opening. He huffed, the dark shades covering his eyes fell off as he plopped onto your bed. His eyes were rimmed with red.

It took you all of a millisecond to decide that Nancy Wheeler would die a very painful death at your hands. Climbing onto the bed at his side, you leaned on one hand and ran your fingers through his hair with the other one.

“You look awesome as Joel Goodson.” A small smile pulled at a corner of his mouth, his tear-glazed eyes looked over at you before a tear fell and you quickly wiped it away with the backs of your knuckles.

“I’ve been a real bullshit friend this past year, haven’t I?” He spoke with his eyes closed, ignoring the pounding of his head and focusing on your fingers in his hair. You never said much when he came to you like this. But just your presence was enough to calm his nerves.

As much as you wanted to console him, you couldn’t lie.

“Yeah, the worst.” Your was tone teasing. He snorted a laugh, nudging your stomach with his elbow. Steve knew you were telling the truth, he knew because he had spent countless nights this past year laying in his bed telling himself he was going to do better by you. And then he saw Nancy and everything he planned to do crashed into a high powered fan. She consumed him, and he had tossed you aside.

Look where that had gotten him.

“It’s bullshit.” She said. That moment ran through his head on a loop, each time sending a sword through his chest and stealing the breath from his lungs. A whole year on bullshit.

The entire ride over here, he had battled with the tears that had pricked the back of his neck. They hadn’t fallen until he saw you through your bedroom window, sitting cross-legged on your bed, watching Bewitched reruns on the small black and white television in your room. It had been the living room tv before your parents got a newer one, he could still remember the absolute glee and excitement in your voice when you had called to tell him.

“She doesn’t love me.” He said out loud, eyes still closed, chest heavy with the weight of what he was saying. Your fingers stuttered in shock, stopping for a fraction of a second before you moved them again. You replayed every moment you’d seen of Nancy and Steve’s relationship in your head, trying to catch any minuscule signs that Nancy Wheeler didn’t love him.

Jonathan Byers. That was the only explanation. You made a mental note to run them both over.

“‘It’s bullshit.’ That’s what she said. Several times, in case I was mistaken she had said something else. She was drunk, but I know she wasn’t just saying shit. She was being honest.” It felt like your chest cracked in half. You scooted closer, unsure what you were supposed to say to make him feel better.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I’m sorry I pretty much ignored you this year and I’m sorry that I’m only paying you any attention now that Nancy has hurt me.” This time, it’s your turn to snort and poke his side. You flop onto your back beside him, moving your head to lay in the crook of his neck and your hand to grab his.

“I don’t think there is anything you could do that I wouldn’t forgive, Harrington.” You pull your intertwined hands up to kiss the back of his hand, unable to contain your grin when he brings your hand over to his lips.

“Let’s go to sleep, I think you need it.” The bed creaks and groans as you both shuffle around, rolling onto your sides to face each other. Your hands are still holding each other between you.

“Are you saying I look bad? Rude.” You turn your bedside lamp off without breaking contact, feeling comfortable in the dark with Steve just across from you.

“Shut up and go to sleep.” Steve chuckles half heartedly when you lightly kick his shins. He falls asleep first, his breathing slows and his hand goes a little slack in yours. You try to pull it away, wanting to flip to your other side, but his grip tightens the moment you try.

You’re almost afraid that he woke up, but his breathing never changes. Instead of flipping around, you slowly scoot closer so that your knees touch.

It reminds you of New Years in 1979. Steve had been thirteen, you were twelve, and the both of you were elated to bring in 1980. Both of your moms were already wine drunk in the living room, your dads were a little more sober as they sipped their beers, and you and Steve sat in his room with a stolen bottle of wine that had been left in the kitchen.

“Ladies first.” The neck of the bottle was grasped in one of Steve’s outstretched hands. His chocolate locks were trimmed and styled in a bowl cut, just the same as every other boy under the edge of eighteen in 1979. His grin was cheesy, his eyes were bright, and his voice was tinged with a note of mischievousness.

You didn’t want to go first. To be honest, you were afraid that your parents would be able to tell if you drank a drop of any of it. But, you took the bottle from him anyways and you took a big swig.

Your nose scrunched in disgust while your cheeks puffed out, full of wine that your adolescent taste buds hadn’t acquired the taste for. Shoving the bottle back into his hands, you forced yourself to swallow as he cackled on the end of his bed.

“If you thinks it’s so funny, you try it.” Steve put on a brave face, but you could see that he was just as nervous about it as you were. He also hid his disgust better than you did, deciding it was best to swallow as fast as he could in an attempt to keep it from soaking on his tongue.

Even though neither of you had a liking for it, there was no way you could hide a half drank bottle of wine and you surely couldn’t put it back in the kitchen, so you finished it off. Mostly because neither of you thought to just dump it down the drain and it seemed like a cool story to have for when you went back to school.

By the time 11:59 rolled around, your parents having given up on getting the both of you to come downstairs some time ago, you were both very drunk. It had been a very big bottle and, even though it was just wine, neither of you had ever drank before.

“Will you kiss me at midnight?” Steve asked, his eyes half lidded as he lowered his head to his pillow. For some reason, you both felt sleepy. Which wasn’t at all what you thought being drunk would feel like.

“Sure, but only because you’re the only boy around.” You slurred, also lowering your head to a pillow. You were so close that your knobby knees brushed against one another.

When you heard your parents yelling the countdown, you pushed your faces closer together so that his lips were within reach. In the end, he was the one to close the gap as your parents screamed their happy New Years.

Your lips bumped together kind of clumsily, whether it was due to your youth or your sobriety was something you would never be able to decide. It was short and sweet, a little more than the peck of lips you were used to, and when he pulled away his eyes were already closing.

“Happy New Year, (Y/N).” Steve mumbled, reaching out to grab one of your hands. You didn’t respond, finally surrendering to the tiredness the wine brought with it.

You never spoke of it, that small moment shared between you, but you thought of it often. Like now, your hands interlocked and your knees pressed together just like that night. You let the memory pull you to sleep, a warm feeling blossomed in your chest.

The sun woke you up the next morning, glaring through your window and piercing through your eyelids. You groaned and reached out, patting around to feel for your companion, only opening your eyes to the light when your blind search came up empty.

Steve was nowhere to be seen and for a moment you were afraid you had dreamt the whole thing. It wasn’t until you got out of bed that you saw the note on your vanity, scrawled on top was Steve’s messy handwriting.

I left to make an appearance for my parents and change clothes, I’ll come pick you up before school. Be ready! You’re always late. Love, SH

A smile twitched at the edges of your lips before you shook it off, placing the note on your nightstand as you went in search of clothes. If Steve really was picking you up this morning, you were already running late.

Ten minutes later, your toothbrush shoved into the side of your mouth as you ran a brush through your hair, your mother hollered up the stairs.

“(Y/N), Steve is here to take you to school!” The hairbrush clattered against the counter as you tossed it aside, spitting out toothpaste and rinsing your mouth out with a mouthful of water. It took you another five minutes to shove your feet into shoes, collect your books and things, and then rush down the stairs.

Your feet pounded against each step before you careened around the banister. Steve stood with your mother in the kitchen, chatting happily about applying for colleges and hopeful plans. His car keys dangled from his left index finger, his right hand shoved into his pocket. When he finally looked over at you, he smiled.

It wasn’t peak happy-Steve, but it wasn’t as fake and lacking as the small smile he’d given you last night.

“Finally ready?” He teased after saying his goodbyes to your mother. You waited for him at the front door, only opening it once he had taken the ten steps from the kitchen to the foyer.

“Leave me alone, Harrington.” You followed him onto the front porch, closing the door behind you. His BMW sat parked parallel to the curb, the passenger side closer to your house.

“I think I specifically said not to be late.”

“No,” you dragged the word out as you met his gaze over the roof of his car. You stood in the open door, your bookbag already tossed into the backseat. “You said ‘You’re always late.’ That doesn’t necessarily mean to not be late.”

You both ducked into the car, shutting the doors. Steve pushed the keys into the ignition and started the car. You were thankful for the warm air that blew out of the air vents, Indiana mornings could be a little nippy sometimes.

“I said ‘Be ready.’ Which does mean to not be late.” There was a smile in his voice, and when you looked at him there was a smile on his face. As the car started to move, you made yourself comfortable, glad to be back in the passenger seat of your best friend’s car.

Nancy Wheeler didn’t deserve this seat. Or your best friend.

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imaginesrus · 6 years ago

Note

Was Steve wearing lipgloss in season 3?

Steve’s just a pretty boy.

A pretty, pretty boy

with plush, pillowy pink lips

that are real good at catching the light.

(so maybe)

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imaginesrus · 6 years ago

Text

Siblings

Steve Harrington x Sinclair!Reader

Summary: Sinclair!Reader and Steve share a private conversation on the phone that might not be quiet as private as they both think.

Words: 802

Warnings: None just fluff.

“So I’ll pick you up at 7 okay?��

You lay on your bed, staring up at the ceiling while twisting the phone cord around your finger.

“Mmmm,” you hummed into the phone.

Sure the phone had cost you a decent chunk of your earnings but it had been worth it. With Steve working as many hours at the video store as he could and you the same tutoring, it was only really the nights when you could speak to each other. And your own phone had meant you didn’t have to have these conversations in the middle of the kitchen under the watchful gaze of your mom.

“I can’t wait to see you.” It had only been a couple of days really, but as summer was coming to an end and college was approaching you wanted to make the most of your remaining days at Hawkins. With your new boyfriend.

Steve Harrington and ‘your boyfriend’. Two things that still seemed a little weird to be going together. But after the events of Starcourt Mall, mainly him saving your life. It had almost seemed inevitable.

You hadn’t believed your brother, Lucas, at first when he came home one night proclaiming that Steve had ‘saved their asses’. Not the Steve you knew who swanned around Hawkins High School as if he owned the place. Although given his family’s reputation perhaps he did.

Then he started saying that Steve was sneaking them into the movies, and you shot him a look of disbelief until Erica corroborated his story, claiming that Steve was part of the ‘nerd patrol’ now.

You still had held some doubt until you saw, what you could only describe as the ‘dorkiest handshake ever’ between the once King of Hawkins High and your middle school brother’s friend Dustin.

Perhaps it had been the truth serum, the impact of crashing into a possessed Billy Hargrove or being chased by an enormous monster, but either way you had found yourselves huddled together in the back of an ambulance, his hand reaching out to brush a smudge of ‘something’ off your cheek, before your lips brushed against his and his arms wrapped around you.

It had evolved from just a moment of human comfort to something more. Late night calls, dates at the movies, holding hands, something you though was never possible and now couldn’t imagine never existing.

“Is it corny if I say I miss you too?”

“Absolutely, but I don’t care.” You rolled over on your bed, unable to shake the smile from your face.

Until you heard another chuckle on the line, one that didn’t come from you or Steve. There was a moment of silence, before you heard it stutter again through the line.

Erica.

You dropped your phone on your bed, as you sprinted down the stairs to find not only Erica but Lucas huddled around the phone receiver. There was a look of shock before they both dissolved into laughter.

You snatched the phone from Erica’s hand, speaking into the receiver, “Sorry Steve, I have to go kill my brother and sister now.” You manage through clenched teeth, a sugary sweet tone to your voice despite the intention.

“Okay, well I’ll see you tomorrow at 7. Don’t be too hard on them.”

“No promises,” you reply as you hang up the phone, your hands crossed over your chest as you stare down your siblings.

Erica and Lucas were usually at each other, but it seemed the prospect of teasing you had united them both. You swear Erica had not given Lucas nearly as much teasing as this about Max.

There is a steady blush creeping up your neck, as you try to go over just what you have said to Steve on the phone.

“You two are dead.” There is brief look of fear on Lucas’s face, Erica’s however looks like you have just set down a challenge that she is fully prepared for. A smile broadening across her face.

“Oh Steve,” she imitates, while placing a hand against her chest, “I can’t wait to see you,” she finishes with a swoon.

“Oh Y/N,” Lucas joins in spurred on by his sister’s confidence, “I can’t bear to be away from you.” Shortly followed by kissy noises.

“You two realise that is like super creepy.” You point between them, but they continue to make kissy faces and noises, which only deepens the blush across your cheeks.

“That’s it.” You shout, moving quickly grasping for the two of them, as they sprint up the stairs to their respective bedrooms. You bang on Erica’s door, almost certain that she was the ring leader.

“No more eavesdropping Erica.”

“Sure thing, ‘babe’,” she teases through the door, before dissolving into giggles again, as you drop your head against the door groaning in defeat.

Siblings.

MASTERLIST

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #stranger things imagine #sinclair!reader #post season 3 #fluff

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imaginesrus · 6 years ago

Text

YES!!!!

Is it bad that I really want more Steve-Eleven (and Max) interactions in S4? We all know he’s a father of 5, but I swear he only speaks to El and Max once or twice in S3 (“are you allowed to be here?” when he serves them in Scoops Ahoy)

I love his interactions with Dustin, but I really want him to have more interaction with his daughters

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imaginesrus · 6 years ago

Text

A Door Left Open

Thank you to everyone who has messaged me about the first part of this fic. It’s so encouraging to get requests and your very kind comments, I hope you all enjoy.

Summary:

A follow up fic to “Patch Me Up”.

Following on from the night Steve and the kids left Reader to save their friends. Steve is still hoping there may be a chance to redeem himself.

Words: 2081

Warnings: None, angst I guess, and a little swearing.

The all too familiar rumble of a car engine, filled the quiet street, and you pulled the curtains closed sharply. You pulled a record from your shelf, placing it on your player, gently dropping the needle as a car door slammed shut outside. As soon as the sound started to pour out of the speakers you turned up the volume, hoping that perhaps the signal that you didn’t want to come out would be clear.

You flopped back on your bed, staring at the ceiling. How the fuck did things get so complicated?

There was a quiet knock on your door, and you reluctantly got back up from your bed, turning down the music and opening the door wide enough to see who was knocking. Ready to give Steve Harrington a piece of your mind if he had managed to sweet talk your parents into gaining access to your door.

“Hey honey.”

It was your mom. She gave you an apologetic smile and you knew what she was about to tell you. You sighed opening the door wider to allow your mom to come in, while you slumped back down on the bed.

She went to your curtains, pulling them back open, a groan leaving your lips as you moved away from the light, closing your eyes.

“He’s here again, honey,” she said, the bed dipping as she took a seat at the edge.

“I know.” You sighed, getting up to sit next to her, intently focusing on the laces of your sneakers.

He had turned up at your house for a few days now, after you had refused to speak to him on the phone. It had been two weeks since he had been delivered to your doorstep by four middle schoolers after getting the shit beaten out of him by Billy Hargrove.

Two weeks since he had left you screaming at him in your driveway, while he drove off into the night.

“Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but maybe you should at least hear him out?”

“Mom, Steve and I haven’t been friends in a while, he isn’t the same.”

Neither were you. No longer willing to take things at face value, a question to everyone’s motivations.

“People change, honey, but he was always a good kid. With a hard life. Maybe he lost his way a little, but, like I said, people can change.” She gave your shoulder a nudge with her own, and you groaned.

“Plus I think if he turns up here one more time, your dad is going to lose it.”

Your mom had been remarkably restrained up to this point, she had been about to question you about it that first morning, until she saw the look on your face. Your father had briefly looked up from his paper, a scowl on his face, before he returned to his morning routine.

“Fine. I guess I can talk to him.” You try to ignore the smile that graces her face, always knowing that your mom had a soft spot for Steve, it’s probably the only thing that has saved him from your dad’s wrath.

“I’ll let him up.” She says, getting up from your bed, “Just remember to keep the door open, for your dad.” She added with a wink that made you groan inwardly, your cheeks flushing hot at the implication.

You flop back on your bed as your mind races through what just could come of Steve Harrington walking through that door into your room. The memory of screaming into the night in your driveway was still so fresh. A sick feeling in your stomach that the car that sped down your street was heading for doom. While you kneeled hopeless in your driveway.

You sat up again at the quite knock on the door frame. Your door opening slowly to reveal in the doorway an uncommonly sheepish looking Steve Harrington. He didn’t enter, instead leaning up against the door frame, waiting for an invitation.

He looked infinitely better than the night he had been laying on your couch while you tended to his wounds. The gash above his eye, had healed up, the bruising faded. His bottom lip still slightly swollen and marked.

“You look good,” you mutter while he stands just inside of your room, “I mean,” you examine the laces of your shoes again, “you look better.”

He pushes his hair back from his face, “Yeah. Thanks.” He shoved his hands in his pocket, shifting his position up against the door. “I had a good nurse.” He adds, with a smile, as if if he can smile enough you might just catch it.

You keep your face straight. Trying to quell that feeling in your gut that is relieved to see that he is okay. The deputy had told you as much as soon as you had finally worn them down enough that night to give you some information.

He had gone to the hospital, the police were with him, so were the kids and he was okay. Once that was confirmed you allowed yourself to give into that anger again.

“You going to stand in my doorway all afternoon?” There is an edge to your tone, as you set the rules about just who is in control here. Your letting him in, not the other way around.

He takes a seat next to you on the bed, the bed dipping under his weight as he maintains a safe distance between you both. You note how he chooses to sit next to you on your bed, not the safer option of the chair near your desk. You don’t know whether to be flattered by his bold choice of seating position or annoyed that he thinks he can win his way back so easily.

“I didn’t want to see you again,” you admit, moving away, putting a further distance between you, while you concentrate on the material of your jean shorts. Pulling at a loose thread, near the pocket.

“I know,” he sighs, raking a hand through his hair, “But, I couldn’t leave things the way they were.”

“You mean when you drove off in the middle of the night, with a possible concussion in a car full of kids to some undisclosed location, and I had no idea where you were, if you were okay, if they were okay.” The calm facade dissolves giving way to the barely concealed anger. The hurt and betrayal seeping through your words.

“I know,” he repeats, his head bowed, unable to meet your eyes.

“I was so fucking scared.” You berate yourself for the tears welling in your eyes, reliving the moment when you thought you might lose him again. “You just turned up at my door.” You sniff loudly, trying to keep yourself from losing your words to the sobs threatening to take hold.

His hand reaches out to lay over your hands in your lap, stilling your fingers from fidgeting.

“Some really messed up things happened and I couldn’t let you get dragged into them.”

“Tell me.”

“Y/N, we don’t need to-”

“Do you know how many times in my mind I had imagined what it would be like to have Steve Harrington turning up on my doorstep? To go back to how things were.”

It was embarrassing, how much you had wanted Steve, your friend back. But he was another person now, one who had ignored your in the hallways, who had point blank told Tommy he had no idea who you were.

You had cried into your pillow, every night for a week. Your mom sitting next to you, her hand gently on your shoulder, while you refused to tell her what was wrong. What you had lost.

“And it wasn’t even like you were gone, I still had to see you everyday, be invisible to you, and yet still want you to notice me like some … airhead.” You shook your head, embarrassed to let all of this out, but it was as if the floodgates had opened and you were powerless to close them now. Your emotions spilling out of your mouth, you couldn’t stop them now if you tried.

“And then, you asked for me, you came to me and I guess I felt, like maybe, for a brief moment things might go back to the way they were.”

He goes to speak and you put up your hand, stopping him.

“And when you left,” a sad chuckle leaves your lips, “same old King Steve. Using people for what he needs and just letting them go again.”

“What we were going to do that night was dangerous, Y/N. I saw an opportunity to protect you from it and I took it.”

“Protect me from what? Just tell me Steve. You want to make things right, then tell me.”

He took a deep breath, his hand moving to his hair again. As he looked out your window. “You wouldn’t believe me. I wouldn’t.”

“Try me.” You say determination written across your face.

And he does, the whole thing. The events of the Christmas previous, the lab, the killer dogs and the dirty secret that threatened to consume the town of Hawkins.

You try to comprehend what he has told you. How it could possibly be true. A little concerned that maybe Billy’s beating actually did cause some permanent damage.

“Steve-”

“Honest, Y/N, it’s true.” You meet his eyes. And true or not, he believes it. There is a fear there that is genuine.

“When we drove off that night we were going to try to distract it-them from attacking Chief Hopper and Eleven - the girl from the lab-, and there was a chance we wouldn’t make it back to the surface.”

You shake your head in disbelief, it’s like something out of one of your sci fi novels, so unbelievable that no-one, not even someone with the confidence of Steve, would use as an excuse to why they go driving into the night with a pile of middle schoolers. So unbelievable it has to be the truth.

“You had just helped me, despite everything, I couldn’t repay you by allowing you to involve yourself. To risk having you hurt. After everything I had done.”

“I can’t believe, all this time, there has been this thing around us.” To think that there was this other worldly force in their small town, and that so many people were involved in the cover up.

“It’s gone now though.”

“So things can go back to normal.” You give a nod of understanding. He’s said his peace, apologised and now you can go back to ignoring each other in the hallways. Pretending not to notice each other, not to care.

“Maybe that’s not what I want.”

“What?”

“Since that night, I kept asking myself how I ended up your doorstep. I mean you’re right we hadn’t spoken in two years. But I guess,” he takes a deep sigh, “I needed, to feel safe. The only place that has ever felt like home.”

The look in his eyes, makes your breath hitch. An actual genuine admission from Steve Harrington.

“Steve-”

“I was a massive asshole. I thought I had everything I wanted. I thought people liked me, loved me even, but it was all a lie. One I had fooled myself into believing. But when I was here, I felt it.”

His eyes meet yours and despite the fact that you want to look away, you can’t, this has been what you have been waiting for, isn’t it? You had played this conversation in your own mind so many times, exactly what you would say, and now you can only sit there.

“Not because I was King Steve, or popular, because I was me. Just me.” His hand moves over yours and your heartbeat speeds up, while you remind yourself not to fall back into old habits so easily. “And that that was enough.”

“What do you want Steve?” You ask, afraid of the answer. Afraid of the rejection, but holding onto a hope of something else.

“I thought maybe we could start with ice cream?” He asks, a smile beginning to form on his lips as you raise your eyebrow. “Mint Choc Chip right?”

You manage a nod, still not sure exactly what it is you’re agreeing to, but his warm smile makes you want to take his hand, and see where ice-cream with Steve may lead.

MASTERLIST.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #stranger things imagine #fanfiction #follow up fic

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imaginesrus · 6 years ago

Text

Nearly dropped my phone 😳😳

joe keery fans seem to be going through a lot right now so i feel the need to bring this picture back:

#for the record i dont think the haircut is that bad #doesnt photograph well #and as every hairdresser has ever said #its just hair it will grow back

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imaginesrus · 6 years ago

Note

43, 94 and 101 with Dom!Steve?🙈

Thank you Nonnie for the request.

43. Can we just stay home so I can fuck you brains out?

94. Buying Couples Items.

101. Dirty Talk

Words: 520

Warnings: smut, dom!Steve, swearing

“Can we just stay home so I can fuck your brains out?”

“Geez I don’t know Steve pretty sure that’s what we did last weekend.”

He gives you a pout, even a batting of his eyelashes.

“Come on.”

You pull him up from your bed ignoring his protests.

“You know I could convince you.”

His fingers play with the bottom of your shirt and you are pretty sure he could.

But you’ve been planning this trip for a while now and you don’t want to put it off again.

You swat his hands away, folding your arms across your chest.

“In the car Harrington.”

And with a hmmph makes his way downstairs.

He keeps asking where you are going, but your lips are sealed.

“Please,” he whines, looking up at you with those puppy dog eyes.

His hand covering yours on the gear shift, fingers smoothing across your knuckles as you attempt to maintain your focus on the road.

You start to lose your nerve as you get closer to your destination.

Whether you could make a last minute turn and do something more ‘vanilla’ like get ice cream, go to the movies.

But you steady your hand on the wheel, knuckles whitening as you turn right. Pulling into a car park in a very nondescript part of town.

You pull on the handbrake and Steve shoots you a questioning look as if you somehow ended up parked in front of the only adult shop in Hawkins by mistake.

You give him a cheeky wink, before getting out of the car as Steve fumbles with the belt buckle and his door handle, in his haste to get out of the car.

You lace his hand with yours as you enter.

The lady behind the counter gives you a simple nod of acknowledgement, which you return out of habit.

“This was not what I expected when you suggested we do a little shopping.”

Steve whispers in your ear. An edge to his voice.

Your eyes take in the assortment of items in the 'couples section’ trying to work out what some of them 'do’.

A couple catch your eye, but.

You wait for Steve to make the first selection.

Taking an item from the shelf carefully examining it in his hand.

“I bet I could make you scream with this one.”

You have no doubt he could.

And you close your eyes, your thighs squeezing together at just the imagery of you completely at Steve’s mercy.

His hand securing yours above your head, while the other traces the vibrator against your inner thighs.

Such a fucking tease.

You ignore the shiver that runs down your spine, the hand that Steve slips into the back pocket of your jeans.

“Make you beg,” he continues, “until your throat is raw.”

His fingers grip your ass through your jeans, pulling you closer into his body.

His lips against your ear.

“And when you are trembling, thighs shaking, fucking soaked just for me, maybe I’ll let you cum.”

You take the toy from his hand making your way to the counter.

“We’ll take this one.”

MASTERLIST

Smut Prompt List

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #smut #request fill #prompts

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