Imagines

The picture used does not belong to me.

The sun hung low in the Hawkins sky, casting a golden glow across the streets. You stood outside the roller rink, tugging at your jacket nervously, heart hammering in your chest. Billy Hargrove—yes, Billy Hargrove—had actually asked you out. And somehow, against all odds, you’d said yes.

A rumble of an engine pulled your attention, and there he was. His Chevy gleamed in the sunset, the chrome catching the light, and Billy leaned casually against the hood, hair perfectly styled as always. That smirk—cocky, confident, dangerous—spread across his face as he saw you.

“You here for me or the rink?” he teased, pushing himself off the car.

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite the nerves. “I’m here for you. Mostly.”

Billy chuckled, the sound low and teasing. “Good answer.” He held out a hand, and you placed yours in his, feeling the warmth and strength of his grip. “Tonight’s about us. Just us,” he said.

The roller rink was alive with neon lights and pulsing music. You could feel the bass vibrating in your chest as you laced up your skates. Billy was already on the floor, gliding effortlessly like he’d been born to do this. He winked at you. “Come on, don’t be shy. I’ll catch you if you fall.”

Laughing nervously, you stepped onto the rink. At first, your movements were clumsy, wobbling on the skates, arms flailing. Billy shot forward, catching your hands. “Not bad,” he said, smirking. “Better than I thought. But don’t get cocky—I’m still winning.”

“Winning at what?” you asked, trying to steady yourself.

“At keeping up with me,” he replied smoothly, twirling you around mid-skate. His hands brushed yours, fingers grazing, sending a thrill up your arm. “And maybe making you fall in love with me,” he added with a teasing grin.

You rolled your eyes, but your laugh betrayed you. “You’re impossible, Hargrove.”

Billy leaned closer, voice dropping so only you could hear. “Maybe I like being impossible.” His smirk softened slightly, eyes glinting with something unspoken. “And I like being around you.”

The two of you skated together, teasing, racing, laughing, and occasionally colliding just to brush against one another. At one point, Billy spun you toward the neon lights, catching you just before you could fall. Your hands lingered together for a beat longer than necessary, and he gave you that grin that made your heart race.

After a while, you both collapsed onto the benches, breathless and laughing. Billy passed you a soda, his fingers brushing yours. “Not bad,” he said, taking a sip himself. “For someone who just learned to skate.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t face-plant at least ten times,” you teased.

Billy leaned back, eyes on you, the neon lights reflecting in his gaze. “I might’ve let you… if I wasn’t having too much fun watching you struggle,” he said, smirking. “But you’re amazing. Really.”

Your chest tightened, the words hitting harder than you expected. “You… you think so?”

Billy nodded, leaning closer, his voice softer now. “Yeah. I’ve never met anyone like you. And tonight… I just want this moment. You and me. No one else.”

The music slowed, the rink dimming for the final song. Billy held out his hand, offering it to you with a sly grin. “Dance with me? Even if we’re on skates?”

You laughed softly, taking his hand. “Only if you promise not to let me fall.”

“I promised,” he said, twirling you gently. Your laughter mixed with the music as you glided across the floor together, the world fading until it was just the two of you, neon lights casting soft reflections across your faces.

At one point, Billy stopped, holding your hands and looking down at you. “I’m glad you came tonight,” he said quietly, a rare vulnerability in his voice. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

You smiled, heart fluttering. “I’m glad I did. I’ve… wanted to spend time with you, Billy.”

He leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Me too,” he whispered, and for a moment, the teasing was gone. The air between you was charged, electric. “Tonight… I just want us to forget everything else.”

The song ended, but neither of you moved. Billy’s hand lingered in yours, his gaze never leaving yours. “You know,” he murmured, “I don’t do this… slow, quiet moments often. But with you… it feels right.”

You leaned closer, heart racing. “Yeah… it really does.”

Billy smiled softly, rare and genuine. “Then maybe this is just the start… of a lot more nights like this.”

As the rink lights dimmed completely and the neon glow faded into the night, you realized one thing: with Billy Hargrove, every moment was thrilling, fiery, and unforgettable. And for the first time, you didn’t mind the danger.

Because tonight, it was just the two of you.

The picture used does not belong to me. This story contains supernatural possession and emotional intensity.

The air was thick with the smell of damp concrete and something… wrong. You could hear it in the low, unnatural hum that seemed to radiate from Billy. He was standing a few feet away, but it wasn’t really him. His body moved like a puppet, stiff and jerky, and his eyes—vacant and black at the edges—stared past you, through you.

“Billy…” you called, your voice trembling. Your hands shook, but you forced yourself to step closer. “It’s me. Y/N.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even flinch, though you thought you caught the tiniest flicker in his eyes. The Mind Flayer’s presence was heavy, twisting every movement he made.

“Don’t come closer,” a low, raspy voice emerged from his lips, not his own. “She can’t save you.”

Your stomach clenched, but you refused to step back. Not now. Not when he was so close, trapped in a nightmare. “I know you’re in there,” you said firmly. “I know this isn’t really you. And I’m not leaving. You hear me? I’m not leaving until you’re back.”

His head jerked violently toward you. “Y/N…” the voice was torn, a brief fracture of Billy’s own, human voice. Then it snapped away, replaced again by the cold, alien tone.

“I can feel you, Billy,” you said softly, kneeling so your eyes were level with his. “I know you’re fighting. I can feel you in there.”

His body twitched, muscles straining as if he wanted to push you away, and yet he didn’t. The creature snarled, a sound that made your skin crawl. “She doesn’t belong here,” it hissed, making his teeth grit painfully.

“I do belong here!” you yelled, voice cracking. “I belong with you. Not the Mind Flayer. You’re stronger than it. You’ve always been stronger than this!”

His eyes flickered again—human eyes peeking through the shadow—and your heart leapt. “Billy, I’m not letting you go. Not to it, not to anyone.” You stepped closer, gripping his shoulders, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Look at me. Look at me!”

The fight inside him raged visibly. His body jerked violently, and you could feel the battle coursing through him like fire and ice, darkness and light. Sweat and blood mingled on his brow, but still, you didn’t falter.

“Y/N…” a broken whisper escaped him, so faint you almost didn’t hear it. “I… can’t…”

“Yes, you can,” you insisted, your hands sliding to hold his face. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. Come back to me, Billy. Please, come back.”

For a moment, nothing happened. The wind howled outside, rattling the windows, and the shadows in the room seemed to stretch toward you, trying to pull him away. You whispered against his lips, tears streaming down your face. “I love you. Come back to me. Fight it, Billy. You’re stronger than this.”

A shudder ran through him. He let out a strangled growl, part creature, part human. The blackness in his eyes receded just a little. And then—he gasped, his own voice breaking through the alien one. “Y/N…?”

“Yes! It’s me!” Relief flooded you, and you pressed closer, holding him tight. “You’re back. You’re safe now. You’re here.”

The creature hissed, screaming through him, its hold weakening under the force of your love and determination. Billy’s knees buckled, and you caught him, wrapping your arms around him. He trembled violently, shaking as the Mind Flayer tried one last desperate effort to regain control.

“Don’t… leave…” he whispered, clinging to you. Human eyes finally returned fully, filled with fear, pain, and recognition.

“I’m not leaving. I’ll never leave you,” you assured him, rocking him gently. “You’re home. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

He buried his face in your shoulder, his trembling slowing as your warmth grounded him. The black tendrils that had flickered in his eyes vanished entirely, leaving only Billy—the real, living, breathing Billy Hargrove—in your arms.

“I… I’m… back?” His voice was raw, hoarse from the struggle, but undeniably him.

“Yes,” you whispered, stroking his hair and kissing his temple. “You fought it. You’re back. That’s all that matters.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling shakily, and you felt the tension leave his body in waves. The storm outside could rage all it wanted; it didn’t matter. Because here, in your arms, Billy was safe, human, himself again.

“I… I thought…” he started, voice cracking, “…I thought I’d lost you.”

“You’ll never lose me,” you said firmly, tears spilling freely. “Not to monsters, not to darkness, not to anything. I’ve got you. Always.”

He pressed a shaky kiss to your forehead, closing his eyes and letting himself be held. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “For… saving me.”

“No,” you said softly, cupping his face. “You saved yourself. I just helped you remember who you are.”

Outside, the wind roared, but inside, the room was quiet except for the sound of your steady heartbeat against his. The darkness was gone, the creature banished, and Billy Hargrove—messy, stubborn, human—was home.

You stayed like that for a long time, holding him, letting him breathe, letting the world outside wait. Because some battles weren’t won with weapons or magic—they were won with love, with persistence, with refusing to give up on the person who mattered most.

And you would never, ever give up on Billy.

The picture used with this one-shot is not mine. All credit goes to the original creator

The hideout had been quiet for a while now.

Too quiet, honestly—but after days of hiding, of whispering plans and listening for sounds that might mean danger, the silence felt almost comforting.

Steve sat on the floor, back against the wall, bat resting beside him as his eyes scanned the room out of pure habit. He hadn’t realized how exhausted you were until he glanced over at the couch.

You were asleep.

Curled on your side, arms tucked close to your chest, breathing slow and even. Your face was soft in a way it hadn’t been in days—no tension, no worry, just peace. Steve’s chest tightened at the sight.

You hadn’t slept properly since all of this started.

He stood quietly, careful not to make the floor creak as he crossed the room. There was a folded blanket nearby—one he’d been saving “just in case.” Gently, he lifted it and draped it over you, tucking it around your shoulders the way he always did.

You shifted slightly but didn’t wake.

Steve smiled.

He crouched beside the couch, resting his arms on his knees as he watched you for a moment longer. There was something about seeing you like this—safe, warm, trusting—that made his chest ache in the best way.

“You deserve a break,” he whispered, barely louder than your breathing.

He reached out, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face, careful and slow. Then, leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

It lingered.

Not rushed. Not dramatic. Just full of everything he couldn’t say out loud.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I always will.”

You shifted again, a tiny smile tugging at your lips even in sleep.

Steve stayed there a little longer, guarding your rest like it was the most important job he had.

Because as long as you were sleeping peacefully, the world could wait.

The picture used with this one-shot is not mine. All credit goes to the original creator

At first, you couldn’t stand him.

The hair flip. The loud laugh. The way he acted like the world revolved around him. Every time Steve Harrington walked into a room, your first instinct was to roll your eyes.

But somewhere along the way… things changed.

You started noticing the little things.

The way he always made sure Dustin felt included.

How careful he was when he handed Mike a flashlight.

The quiet way he stayed alert, watching over everyone without making a big deal out of it.

It wasn’t sudden. You didn’t wake up one day magically liking him.

It was slower than that.

Shared looks. Accidental brushes of hands. The sound of his laugh no longer irritating—but comforting.

One afternoon, you found yourself at the arcade, focused on a game while Steve leaned against the claw machine nearby, pretending not to care.

“Not bad,” he said, smirking when you won.

You snorted. “Don’t act like you weren’t watching the whole time.”

He lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay, fine. Maybe I was. You’re… actually really good.”

Your heart did that annoying little flip you tried very hard to ignore.

“Yeah, well,” you said lightly, “I’ve got skills.”

He laughed—and for once, it didn’t make you roll your eyes.

Later, you were sitting on the curb outside, unwrapping a candy bar when Steve approached.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Mind if I sit?”

You glanced up at him. “Depends. Are you going to be annoying?”

He grinned. “No promises—but I’ll try. Actually… I was wondering if you’d want to go on a real date with me.”

Your heart stopped.

“…You’re serious?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “Yeah. Just you and me. Dinner, a movie—whatever you want. I’d really like to take you out.”

You stared at him for a moment, surprised at how sincere he looked.

This was Steve—loud, confident, impossible Steve—standing there nervously, waiting for your answer.

And somehow… you were smiling.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I’d like that.”

His grin spread instantly, bright and genuine. “Really?”

You laughed. “Really.”

“Awesome,” he said, bumping your shoulder gently. “You won’t regret it.”

You raised an eyebrow playfully. “You better not mess it up.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

And for the first time, you didn’t feel annoyed by him at all.

You just felt warm.

Because somewhere between all the chaos, the teasing, and the quiet moments—you’d fallen for Steve Harrington.

And you were more than okay with that.

The image that I have used in this imagine is not mine all credit goes to the creator!

The van stopped too suddenly.

Your body jolted forward, shoulder slamming into Steve’s chest as the brakes screeched. The engine cut. Silence followed—thick and suffocating.

Then shouting.

“OUT OF THE VEHICLE! NOW!”

Steve’s arm came around you instantly, firm and unshaking, pulling you back against him. You could feel his heart pounding through his jacket.

“Hey,” he murmured near your ear. “Stay with me. Don’t say anything unless I do.”

The back doors were ripped open violently.

Blinding white floodlights poured in, making you squint as dark silhouettes of soldiers filled your vision—helmets, rifles, gloves already grabbing for people.

“Hands where we can see them!”

Dustin was yanked first. Then Lucas. Then Nancy.

Too rough. Too fast.

Your stomach dropped.

“Steve,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said, jaw tight. “I’ve got you.”

A soldier grabbed your arm suddenly, jerking you forward.

“HEY—” Steve barked instantly, lunging. “Easy!”

The grip on you tightened instead.

“Don’t resist,” the soldier snapped.

Pain shot up your arm as you stumbled out of the van, boots barely hitting the ground before another hand shoved you forward.

Steve was out of the van in a second.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER.”

The command cut through the chaos like a blade.

Every muscle in Steve’s body was coiled, ready—eyes wild, furious, protective in a way you’d never seen before. He stepped between you and the soldier without hesitation, placing his body squarely in front of yours.

“She’s hurt,” Steve said sharply. “You don’t get to drag her like that.”

A rifle lifted.

“Step back,” the soldier warned.

Steve didn’t move.

“No,” he said. “You want to point that thing at someone? Point it at me.”

Your breath caught.

“Steve—”

He reached back blindly, grabbing your hand, squeezing hard like an anchor.

“I said I’ve got you,” he muttered. “I mean it.”

The soldier hesitated, glancing at his superior. Another voice barked orders from somewhere behind the lights.

“Separate them!”

Hands grabbed Steve’s shoulders, trying to pull him away.

He fought.

“DON’T TOUCH HER!” Steve shouted, twisting violently. “She’s not a threat—none of us are!”

They shoved him to the ground hard.

“STEVE!” you screamed.

Before you could move, someone caught you again—but Steve was already back on his feet, blood on his lip, eyes blazing.

“BACK UP!” he roared. “I swear to God—”

He didn’t finish.

Because you were shaking.

Steve saw it instantly.

Your hands trembled. Your breathing went shallow. Fear—real fear—settled into your bones as soldiers closed in around all of you like you were criminals instead of survivors.

Steve stepped back in front of you again, slower this time, more deliberate.

“Look at her,” he said, voice shaking with barely contained rage. “She’s exhausted. She’s traumatized. If you put your hands on her again—”

He swallowed hard.

“You’ll have to go through me first.”

The soldier scoffed. “You think you can stop the U.S. military?”

Steve didn’t blink.

“I stopped monsters from another dimension,” he said flatly. “Try me.”

Silence.

Then—

“Enough,” a higher-ranking officer ordered. “Stand down. Process them properly.”

The pressure eased slightly. Not gone—but less.

Steve didn’t relax.

Not for a second.

They lined you all up, asking questions, shining lights in your faces, cataloging injuries like you were evidence.

Every time someone stepped too close to you, Steve shifted closer.

Every time you flinched, his hand found yours.

When they tried to separate you again, Steve snapped.

“She’s staying with me.”

“She needs medical evaluation—”

“So do I,” he shot back. “And you’re not splitting us up.”

The officer studied him for a long moment.

Then nodded once.

“Fine. Together.”

Steve exhaled shakily and leaned his forehead against yours for half a second.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded, eyes burning. “I am now.”

He kissed your hair softly, quietly, like the world wasn’t watching.

Later, wrapped in scratchy blankets under harsh lights, the adrenaline finally wore off.

Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Steve noticed immediately.

He pulled you into his side, one arm firm around your shoulders, the other rubbing slow circles into your arm.

“They’re not taking you,” he whispered. “I don’t care what they say. I won’t let them.”

You buried your face into his chest, breathing him in—dust, smoke, Steve.

“You’re safe,” he repeated. “You’re with me.”

And for the first time since the vans stopped—

You believed it.

Because even with soldiers, guns, and the whole world staring—

Steve Harrington stood between you and everything that ever tried to hurt you.

And he always would

The Picture I have used in this imagine is not mine! all credit goes to the creator!

Steve Harrington chose the worst possible time to do this.

That’s what he told himself as he stood outside the RV, fingers curled tightly around something small and solid in his pocket while the rest of the gang argued maps and exit plans inside.

The air felt different tonight.

Like the world was holding its breath.

You stepped out beside him, pulling your jacket tighter as the wind brushed past. “You okay?” you asked softly. “You’ve been quiet.”

Steve swallowed.

“Yeah,” he lied immediately. Then sighed. “No. Not really.”

You frowned, turning toward him fully. “What’s wrong?”

He looked at you for a long moment—really looked at you. Like he was memorizing every freckle, every expression, every second.

“You remember when I used to talk about the future?” he asked suddenly. “About the house. The kids. The dog?”

You smiled faintly. “Yeah. You never shut up about it.”

He huffed a breathy laugh. “Yeah. Well… turns out when the world keeps almost ending, you start wondering if you’re allowed to want things like that.”

Your chest tightened.

“Steve—”

He pulled the small box from his pocket before he could lose the nerve.

Didn’t open it.

Just held it.

“I’m not asking,” he said quickly, voice tight. “Not yet. I know this isn’t the time. I don’t want to put that kind of pressure on you before—” He stopped himself. Took a breath. “Before we go into something we might not all come back from.”

Your heart pounded.

“I just needed you to know,” he continued, eyes shining. “That no matter what happens tomorrow… you’re it for me. You always have been.”

Tears burned your eyes.

“Steve…”

He shook his head gently. “Don’t answer,” he said. “Please. I don’t want an answer yet. I want you safe. I want us alive. We’ll talk after.”

He slipped the box back into his pocket like it was too precious to risk opening.

“After,” he repeated.

You nodded slowly, even though every part of you wanted to say it right then.

The Upside Down didn’t care about plans.

Or after.

Everything went wrong fast—separations, collapsing ground, Vecna’s presence humming like a wound in the air. Red lightning split the sky as you and Steve fought your way through ruined streets, monsters screeching in the distance.

“You still with me?” Steve shouted, grabbing your hand.

“Always!” you yelled back.

You reached the old clock tower—broken, half-swallowed by vines. The place where it all felt like it was ending.

Steve stopped suddenly.

“What?” you asked.

He stared at the sky, chest heaving. “If we don’t make it out of this—”

“Steve—”

“No,” he said firmly, turning to you. “I need to say this.”

He took your face in his hands, dirt-smudged and shaking, eyes fierce and terrified all at once.

“I don’t care if the world ends in ten minutes,” he said. “I don’t care if this place tries to tear us apart. Loving you is the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Your heart felt too big for your chest.

And suddenly—

You knew.

The ground trembled violently beneath your feet.

You pulled him closer instead of letting go.

“Steve,” you said, voice steady despite the chaos around you.

He froze.

“I know you said not to answer,” you continued softly. “But if we don’t get another chance—”

His breath caught.

“I don’t want to wait for after,” you said. “Because after isn’t guaranteed.”

You reached into his pocket gently, pulling out the small box with trembling fingers.

He stared at it like he was afraid to breathe.

You opened it.

The ring was simple. Perfect. So Steve it almost hurt.

You looked up at him, eyes shining.

“Yes,” you said.

The word landed like a promise carved into stone.

Steve’s knees nearly buckled.

“Yes?” he whispered, like he was afraid the Upside Down might steal it away if he spoke too loud.

“Yes,” you repeated, smiling through tears. “In every world. In every lifetime. Yes.”

He let out a broken laugh that turned into a sob as he pulled you into his arms, holding you like he’d found his way home in the middle of a nightmare.

“You’re serious,” he breathed. “You’re really—”

You kissed him.

Hard. Desperate. Alive.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered against his lips. “We’re surviving this. And then we’re getting married.”

Steve rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, shaking.

“I’m gonna get you out of here,” he said fiercely. “I swear it. I’m not losing my fiancée.”

You laughed softly, gripping his jacket.

“Not today, Harrington.”

The tower groaned above you, Vecna’s presence looming closer—but for just a moment, in the middle of the end of the world—

There was love.

And hope.

And a future waiting to be fought for.

The Picture I used for this imagine is not mine all credit goes to the creator!

The tower was never supposed to be this unstable.

That was the first thought screaming through your head as the metal groaned beneath your boots, rust flaking away under your weight. The wind howled around you, carrying the distant sounds of Hawkins—sirens, shouting, the world on the edge of ending.

Steve was just ahead of you, climbing fast, bat strapped to his back, jaw clenched in concentration.

“Almost there!” he shouted over the wind. “Just a little higher!”

You nodded, even though your hands were slick with sweat and blood, even though the height made your stomach twist.

Vecna’s influence pulsed through the air like a heartbeat.

Then—

The metal snapped.

“STEVE!”

The platform beneath him gave way, the ladder wrenching loose with a scream of tearing steel. Steve’s foot slipped, his body pitching backward into empty air.

For one horrifying second—

He was falling.

You didn’t think.

You lunged.

Your hand shot out, fingers barely catching the sleeve of his jacket as his weight yanked your arm forward violently.

The impact ripped a scream from your throat as you slammed into the railing, ribs knocking hard against the metal.

Steve gasped.

“Y/N—!”

“I’ve got you!” you shouted, even as your feet slid inches closer to the edge.

Your grip burned. Your shoulder screamed in protest.

Steve dangled below you, boots kicking against nothing, eyes wide with pure terror.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked. “I’m so sorry—”

“Do NOT apologize,” you snapped. “Just—just look at me. Don’t look down.”

He did.

And the fear in his eyes shattered your heart.

Your boots slipped again.

“Y/N,” Steve said, panic rising. “You’re sliding.”

“I know!” you cried, digging your heel into the rusted metal. It bent under the pressure, screeching ominously.

The tower swayed.

You felt it then—the awful realization settling into your bones.

If he fell… You were going with him.

Steve saw it on your face.

“No,” he said immediately, voice breaking. “No—let go of me.”

“What?”

“Let go,” he begged. “You’re not dying for me. I won’t let you.”

You laughed breathlessly, half-hysterical.

“Steve Harrington,” you said, teeth clenched as your arms shook, “if you think I’m letting go, you don’t know me at all.”

Another inch. Another slip.

Steve’s hands scrambled uselessly at the air.

“Y/N, please,” he cried. “I can’t lose you. I can’t—”

“You won’t,” you said fiercely. “Not today.”

Your arm screamed as you shifted, wrapping your other hand around his wrist, locking both of you together.

The strain was unbearable.

Your vision blurred.

“HELP!” Steve screamed.

The wind swallowed the sound.

Your muscles burned, shaking violently as your boots lost their grip completely.

You were hanging now too—one foot barely hooked on a bent piece of metal, nothing but air beneath you.

Your forehead pressed against the tower, breath coming in broken sobs.

“Steve,” you whispered. “If we fall—”

“No,” he interrupted sharply. “Don’t say it.”

“I need you to listen,” you said, tears streaming. “I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time.”

His breath hitched.

“I love you too,” he said desperately. “So much. More than anything. That’s why—please—don’t do this.”

You shook your head, jaw trembling.

“This is me doing it,” you said. “This is me choosing us.”

Steve squeezed your wrist with everything he had.

“Don’t you dare let go,” he whispered.

“As long as you don’t.”

A shout cut through the wind.

“I’VE GOT HIM!”

A hand clamped around Steve’s free arm—strong, steady. Then another on your jacket, hauling you back inch by inch as the gang worked together, muscles straining, voices shouting.

The moment Steve’s boots hit solid metal, he collapsed forward, instantly reaching for you.

Your hands slipped—

And then—

Arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back hard.

You both hit the platform in a heap, gasping, shaking, alive.

For a second, no one spoke.

Then Steve grabbed you, crushing you against his chest like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“You almost—” he choked. “You almost fell.”

“So did you,” you whispered back, clutching his jacket.

Steve pulled back just enough to cup your face, forehead pressed to yours, tears streaking freely now.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he said brokenly. “Don’t ever do that again.”

You let out a shaky laugh.

“You first.”

He laughed too—breathless, hysterical—then kissed your forehead, your cheeks, anywhere he could reach.

“I’m here,” he murmured. “I’m still here.”

“So am I,” you whispered.

He held you tighter.

And as the tower creaked and the storm raged on, one thing was certain—

You didn’t let go.

And neither did he.

The image I used in this imagine is not mine! credit goes to the creator!

⚠️ CONTENT WARNING

This imagine contains:

Major character death

Vecna / psychological horror

Physical injury

Emotional distress and grief

Steve knew something was wrong the moment you went quiet.

The Upside Down was loud in its own way—distant screams, cracking lightning, the wet sound of vines shifting—but you were always talking to him. Whispering jokes to calm your nerves. Checking on him. Touching his arm to remind him you were there.

But now—

Nothing.

“Hey,” Steve said, glancing over his shoulder. “You good?”

You didn’t answer.

His heart dropped.

Your feet lifted off the ground slowly, unnaturally.

Steve’s blood turned to ice.

“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no—”

You were dragged backward, your body going rigid as Vecna’s presence flooded the air. The world pulsed red as his voice slithered into your mind.

So much love, Vecna murmured. That makes you easy.

“LET HER GO!” Steve screamed.

He ran.

He didn’t care about the pain tearing through his legs, the monsters closing in, the shouts from the gang behind him. All he saw was you—eyes glassy, tears slipping free as your body twisted against your will.

“Steve,” you choked.

That sound broke him.

He reached you just as you hit the ground hard, bones cracking with a sound he would never forget.

“NO—NO—NO—NO—” Steve collapsed beside you, hands shaking as he gathered you into his arms.

Your body was too still.

Too wrong.

Your breathing came in shallow, broken gasps.

“Hey—hey—look at me,” Steve begged, cradling your face. “Stay with me. Okay? Please—please—”

Your eyes fluttered open.

You smiled weakly.

“There you are,” he sobbed. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

“I’m scared,” you whispered.

Steve pressed his forehead to yours, tears spilling freely now.

“I know,” he said desperately. “I know. But you’re not alone. You’re with me. You’re always with me.”

Your hand twitched weakly in his jacket.

“Steve…”

“I’m here,” he said immediately. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your breath hitched.

“It hurts.”

“I know,” he cried. “I know, baby, I know—just hold on. We’re gonna get you help. We’re gonna—”

He broke off when your breathing stuttered.

“Hey,” he said sharply, panic taking over. “Hey—don’t do that. Look at me. LOOK AT ME.”

Your eyes focused on him one last time.

“I love you,” you whispered.

Steve’s chest shattered.

“I love you too,” he sobbed. “So much. You’re not leaving me. You can’t. I can’t lose you—please—please—”

Your body went limp.

“No,” Steve whispered.

Then louder—

“No. NO. NO—”

He shook you gently, desperately.

“Breathe!” he cried. “Come on—come on—say something—yell at me—do anything!”

The gang surrounded him, but none of them could pull him away.

Steve clutched you to his chest, rocking back and forth like if he held you tight enough, he could force life back into you.

“I’m right here,” he sobbed. “I’m right here. You promised me forever. You promised.”

His voice broke completely.

“You can’t die in my arms,” he whispered. “Please don’t die in my arms.”

But you already had.

Vecna’s scream echoed as he was driven back—but Steve didn’t hear it.

All he heard was the silence where your heartbeat should’ve been.

He pressed his lips to your forehead, shaking violently.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I should’ve protected you better.”

The Upside Down didn’t answer.

And when they finally pulled him away, Steve fought—screaming your name, reaching for you like the world had just stolen the air from his lungs.

Because it had.

The image I am using for this imagine is not mine all credit goes to the creator!

⚠️ CONTENT WARNING

This imagine contains:

Violence / danger

Use of supernatural powers

Emotional distress

Injury and fear

Steve Harrington didn’t notice it at first.

That was the scary part.

The warehouse was supposed to be empty—just another place the gang needed to clear before moving on. Dust coated the floor, and broken windows let in pale moonlight that barely reached the corners.

You walked beside Steve, flashlight steady in your hand.

Too steady.

“You okay?” Steve whispered. “You’ve been quiet.”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly.

Too quickly.

Steve frowned but didn’t push it. He’d learned—some people carried things they weren’t ready to share.

He just didn’t know how big the thing you were carrying really was.

The sound hit first.

A low hum. A vibration in Steve’s chest like something massive had just woken up.

Then the lights exploded.

Glass shattered. The floor trembled violently beneath your feet.

Steve reacted on instinct—grabbing your arm, shoving you behind him, bat raised.

“Stay back,” he ordered.

The thing crawled out of the shadows like it had been waiting. Twisted limbs. Too many joints. Eyes glowing wrong.

Steve swore.

“Run,” he said. “Now.”

You didn’t move.

Steve turned, panic flashing through him. “Y/N—GO!”

You swallowed, hands shaking at your sides.

“I can’t,” you whispered.

The creature lunged.

Steve swung—

And missed.

The impact threw him hard against a metal beam. Pain exploded through his shoulder as he hit the ground with a groan.

“Steve!” you screamed.

He tried to push up.

Couldn’t.

The monster turned toward you.

And something inside you broke.

Steve heard it before he saw it.

A sharp, piercing sound—like pressure snapping.

The air bent.

The creature was lifted clean off the ground, thrashing violently, suspended midair like it had hit an invisible wall.

Steve stared.

“…What the hell?”

Your nose began to bleed.

Your eyes—focused, furious, terrified—locked onto the monster as your hands trembled, raised instinctively.

“No,” you whispered. “Not him.”

The creature slammed backward into the wall with a sickening crack, collapsing in a heap of twitching limbs.

Silence followed.

Then—

You collapsed.

Steve forgot about the pain instantly.

He crawled to you, catching you before your head hit the floor.

“Hey—hey—hey,” he said frantically, cradling you. “Stay with me. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Your breathing was shallow, uneven.

Blood smeared across your upper lip.

Steve’s hands shook as he brushed it away.

“What did you just do?” he whispered—not accusing, just terrified.

You opened your eyes slowly.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” you said hoarsely.

“Find out what?”

You looked away.

“I’m like El,” you admitted quietly. “Not the same. But… close enough.”

Steve felt the world tilt.

“You mean—telekinesis? Experiments? The lab?”

You nodded.

“They called me a failure,” you said bitterly. “Said I wasn’t strong enough to be useful.”

Steve’s chest tightened painfully.

“And you just… lived with this?” he asked.

“I had to,” you said. “I was scared you’d look at me like I was dangerous.”

Steve stared at you.

Then he did the last thing you expected.

He pulled you closer.

“Hey,” he said softly. “I look at you like you just saved my life.”

Your breath hitched.

“You’re not scared?”

“I am,” he admitted. “But not of you.”

You finally met his eyes.

“I should’ve told you.”

“Yeah,” Steve said gently. “But I get why you didn’t.”

Later, when the others arrived, Steve didn’t let go of you once. He explained—badly, emotionally, gesturing too much—but he made one thing very clear.

“No one’s touching her,” he said firmly. “Not the lab. Not anyone.”

That night, as you sat beside him on the hood of the car, exhaustion weighing heavy on your bones, Steve nudged your shoulder.

“You know,” he said, attempting a smile, “this doesn’t change anything.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re still you. And I’m still—” he paused, then shrugged, “—on your team.”

Your chest warmed.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

He looked at you seriously then.

“You were never alone,” Steve said. “You don’t have to hide anymore.”

And for the first time—

You believed him.

The image used in this imagine is not mine the credit goes to the creator!

⚠️ CONTENT WARNING

This imagine contains:

Child in danger

Monsters / Upside Down threats

Fear and injury

Protective themes

Big Brother Steve

No romance. Platonic only.

You were only eleven.

That was the thought pounding through Steve Harrington’s head as he shoved you behind him, bat raised, chest heaving.

“You should not be here,” he muttered fiercely, eyes scanning the dark hallway of the Upside Down version of Hawkins Middle School.

The walls pulsed. The air tasted wrong.

But you were here.

And you weren’t scared of Steve.

You were scared for him.

You weren’t supposed to come.

The plan had been simple—Steve, Nancy, and the others would check the gate while you stayed behind with Dustin. But when the ground shook and Steve got knocked away from the group, instinct took over.

You ran after him.

Right into the Upside Down.

Now Steve was bleeding from his forehead, his bat cracked, breathing hard as something growled in the distance.

“Listen to me,” he said urgently, crouching to your level. “If I say run, you run. You don’t stop. You don’t look back.”

Your hands curled into fists.

“No,” you said.

Steve blinked. “…No?”

“I’m not leaving you.”

His heart clenched.

You were shaking. He could see it in your knees, your hands—but your eyes were stubborn. Brave in a way that hurt to look at.

“I’m supposed to protect you,” Steve said softly. “That’s my job.”

You swallowed. “Then let me help.”

The sound came closer.

Wet. Heavy. Wrong.

Steve stood quickly, stepping in front of you again.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered.

That’s when the creature lunged.

Steve swung—but the bat snapped clean in half.

“Steve!” you yelled.

The monster slammed him into the lockers, knocking the air from his lungs. He hit the ground hard, groaning, not getting back up right away.

Something inside you snapped.

You didn’t think.

You grabbed the nearest thing you could—a broken fire extinguisher—and screamed as loud as your lungs would let you.

“HEY!”

The sound echoed.

The creature turned.

You ran forward before fear could stop you, slamming the extinguisher into its side with everything you had. It shrieked, recoiling just enough.

“Y/N—NO!” Steve shouted hoarsely.

But you were already standing in front of him now.

Arms out. Legs shaking. Heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst.

“Don’t touch him!” you cried. “You want someone—take me!”

Steve’s blood ran cold.

“Y/N,” he said, voice breaking. “Get back here. Right now.”

You didn’t move.

“I’m not scared,” you lied through tears. “He’s my Steve.”

That did it.

Steve forced himself up, rage and fear colliding into something fierce and unstoppable.

He grabbed the broken bat handle, charged forward, and roared.

“BACK OFF!”

The monster screeched and retreated as Steve drove it away, adrenaline keeping him upright when pain should’ve dropped him. He didn’t stop swinging until the thing vanished into the shadows.

Then he collapsed to his knees.

You ran to him instantly, dropping beside him, hands hovering uselessly.

“You’re bleeding,” you whispered, terrified.

“I’m okay,” he said automatically—then stopped when he saw your face.

Tears. Fear. Guilt.

He pulled you into his chest despite the pain, wrapping his arms around you like he was afraid the world might take you if he let go.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he said, voice shaking. “Do you hear me?”

You nodded into his jacket.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered. “You’re just a kid.”

You looked up at him.

“You’re my family.”

Steve closed his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “You’re mine too.”

When the others found you, Steve had you tucked against his side, arm firm around your shoulders, daring anyone—or anything—to come close.

“You were so brave,” Dustin whispered.

Steve shook his head.

“She shouldn’t have had to be,” he said.

Later, when the gate finally closed and the nightmare ended, Steve walked you home, holding your hand the whole way.

At your door, he knelt in front of you again.

“You did good,” he said gently. “But next time… let me be the shield.”

You smiled tiredly.

“Only if you promise not to get hurt.”

He huffed a quiet laugh and ruffled your hair.

“No promises,” he said. “But I’ll always come back.”

And you believed him.

Because heroes weren’t always fearless.

Sometimes—

They were just eleven years old and refused to walk away.

The picture I used in this imagine is not mine! this is made by the creator!

⚠️ CONTENT WARNING

This imagine contains:

Threatening violence

Vecna / psychological horror elements

Fear, distress, and peril

Protective reactions

Please read with care 🤍

The Upside Down felt wrong tonight.

More than usual.

The air was heavier, thicker—like it pressed against your chest with every breath. Red lightning cracked silently across the sky, illuminating twisted vines and broken buildings that looked like Hawkins but felt like a nightmare imitation.

Steve walked beside you, bat slung over his shoulder, his free hand never leaving yours.

“Stay close,” he said quietly, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Like—really close.”

You nodded, swallowing hard.

Ahead of you, Dustin muttered something under his breath, Lucas gripped his weapon tighter, and Nancy kept scanning the shadows. Everyone felt it.

Vecna was near.

It happened fast.

Too fast.

The ground beneath you pulsed, vines snapping up like living things. You cried out as they wrapped around your ankles, yanking you backward.

“HEY!” Steve shouted.

Your hand slipped from his.

That was all it took.

You were dragged away, vines climbing your legs, your arms, pinning you against a ruined wall. Panic clawed into your chest as the world tilted, your vision blurring.

“No—no—please—”

“Y/N!” Steve screamed.

He didn’t think.

Didn’t hesitate.

He ran.

Vecna emerged from the shadows like death itself—towering, grotesque, his voice slithering into your mind before his body fully appeared.

“So fragile,” he echoed. “So loved.”

Your head throbbed as memories you tried to bury clawed their way to the surface—fear, doubt, pain.

You gasped, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“I can hear your heart,” Vecna whispered. “How it races when you think of him.”

Steve skidded to a stop in front of you, bat raised, chest heaving.

“GET AWAY FROM HER!”

Vecna turned slowly, amused.

“Oh,” he said. “The protector.”

Steve planted himself between you and Vecna, spreading his arms like he could physically block a god.

“You want someone?” Steve snarled. “Take me.”

Your heart broke.

“Steve, no—”

He didn’t look back.

His voice softened, just for you.

“I’ve got you. Okay? I promised.”

Vecna’s presence crushed down harder, the vines tightening painfully around you.

Steve swung.

The bat connected with Vecna’s arm, sparks of red energy crackling through the air. Vecna barely flinched—but Steve didn’t stop.

Swing after swing.

Pure fury.

“You don’t touch her!” Steve yelled. “You don’t even LOOK at her!”

The gang joined in—Lucas firing, Nancy shouting, Dustin screaming encouragement—but Steve was a force of nature.

Vecna struck back.

Steve was thrown hard into the ground, skidding across the concrete.

“STEVE!” you screamed.

He groaned, coughing, but forced himself up—bloodied, shaking, furious.

Vecna advanced again.

“You will watch,” Vecna said to you calmly, “as he breaks.”

Steve staggered back to his feet.

“You think I care?” he spat. “I’d die a thousand times before I let you hurt her.”

Then he did something reckless.

Something very Steve Harrington.

He ran straight at Vecna again.

The distraction was enough.

The gang cut the vines binding you, hands pulling you free just as Steve landed another blow—this one fueled by desperation and love.

Vecna shrieked, recoiling as the red lightning flared violently.

“NOW!” Nancy shouted.

They grabbed Steve—dragging him back as the ground split and Vecna vanished into the darkness, enraged but forced to retreat.

The silence afterward was deafening.

You dropped to your knees beside Steve instantly.

He was breathing. Bruised. Bleeding.

Alive.

“Hey,” he murmured weakly when he saw you. “You okay?”

Tears streamed down your face as you grabbed his jacket, pulling him against you.

“You absolute idiot,” you sobbed. “You scared me so bad.”

He smiled faintly, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Worth it.”

You laughed through tears, clutching him tighter.

“I heard him,” you whispered. “Vecna. He—he was inside my head.”

Steve’s arms wrapped around you immediately, protective and fierce.

“He doesn’t get to keep anything from you,” he said softly. “Not your memories. Not your fear. Not you.”

The gang gave you space, watching quietly as Steve rocked you gently, murmuring reassurances only you could hear.

“You’re safe,” he repeated. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You believed him.

Because if love could fight monsters—

Steve Harrington’s would be unstoppable.

The image I am using for this image is not mine! all credit goes to the creator!

The Upside Down was colder than you remembered.

The air clung to your skin like damp fog, thick with spores that made your lungs burn if you breathed too deep. The ground beneath your shoes squelched with every step, a sickening reminder that nothing here was meant to be touched.

Steve Harrington walked in front of you, bat in one hand, flashlight in the other.

And every few steps— He looked back at you.

“You okay?” he whispered for the fifth time in under a minute.

You nodded, even though your hands were shaking. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Steve didn’t believe you.

He reached back without looking, fingers curling around your wrist, grounding you instantly. His grip was warm, steady—real. A reminder that you weren’t alone in this nightmare.

“Stay close,” he murmured. “Don’t let go of me. Ever.”

As if you’d even consider it.

You shouldn’t have been here.

That was the thought looping in Steve’s head as the distant screech of something not human echoed through the trees. He’d promised himself—promised you—that he’d never let you get dragged into this side of Hawkins.

And yet here you were.

Trapped.

The gate behind you had collapsed after a Demobat attack, leaving nothing but pulsing flesh and darkness where your way home used to be.

Steve blamed himself.

“I should’ve gone in alone,” he muttered.

You squeezed his hand. “Stop. We both know that wouldn’t have happened.”

He stopped walking and turned to face you, eyes fierce even in the dim red glow.

“You shouldn’t be anywhere near this,” he said quietly. “If anything happens to you—”

“Hey,” you interrupted, stepping closer despite the fear clawing at your chest. “Look at me.”

He did.

You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing dirt and sweat away.

“I trust you,” you said. “And I’m not scared because I’m with you.”

That did something to him.

His jaw clenched. He leaned his forehead against yours for half a second—just long enough to breathe you in.

“Then I’m getting you out,” he said. “No matter what.”

The sound came suddenly.

Wings.

Too many.

Steve spun around, pushing you behind him instinctively, bat raised as Demobats burst from the trees in a shriek of fury.

“RUN!” he shouted.

You ran.

Branches whipped past, vines grabbing at your legs as Steve stayed just behind you, swinging wildly, cursing under his breath. One of the creatures lunged too close—

Steve took the hit.

The force knocked him into the dirt with a gasp.

“Steve!” you screamed, skidding to your knees beside him.

“I’m okay,” he grunted, even as blood soaked through his sleeve. “I’m fine— just— give me a second.”

But the bats were circling again.

Steve pushed himself up, planting himself in front of you like a shield.

“Get behind me,” he said, voice rough.

“You’re hurt!”

“I don’t care.”

His hands were shaking now—not from fear, but from adrenaline and pain.

“You’re not touching her,” he snarled at the shadows. “You hear me?”

Something snapped in you.

Fear turned into determination.

You grabbed a loose metal rod from the ground, standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

“I’m not leaving you,” you said.

Steve glanced at you—really looked at you—and for a split second, his expression softened.

“God,” he breathed. “I love you.”

Then the bats attacked again.

By the time it was over, the forest was silent.

Steve collapsed against a tree, breathing hard.

You were at his side instantly, hands trembling as you checked his wounds.

“You’re bleeding,” you whispered, tears burning your eyes.

“I’ve had worse,” he said weakly. “Remember the tunnels?”

You huffed out a shaky laugh. “Idiot.”

He smiled.

You wrapped your arms around him before the fear could catch up, burying your face in his chest. Steve froze for a moment—then held you back just as tightly, arms locking around you like he might never let go.

“You scared me,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I’m sorry.”

His voice cracked.

“I can handle monsters. I can handle pain. But the thought of losing you?” He swallowed. “That terrifies me.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him.

“I’m still here,” you said. “And so are you.”

He nodded, eyes shining.

You found shelter in an old ruined house—barely standing, but enough to hide for the night. Steve sat against the wall while you cleaned his wounds, hands gentle, focused.

“Hey,” he murmured. “You’re doing great.”

“You’re allowed to be quiet,” you said. “You know that, right?”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah. But I like hearing your voice. It keeps the dark away.”

When you finished, you curled up beside him, his arm immediately wrapping around you, pulling you close despite the pain.

“Sleep,” he said. “I’ll watch.”

“You won’t sleep?”

“Nope,” he replied. “Boyfriend duty.”

You smiled faintly, exhaustion pulling you under.

As you drifted off, you felt his lips brush your forehead.

“As long as I’m breathing,” Steve whispered, barely audible, “nothing in this world—or the next—is taking you from me.”

And for the first time since entering the Upside Down—

You felt safe.

The picture used in this imagine is not mine! all credit goes to the creator!

Steve Harrington was nervous.

Like—really nervous.

You could tell by the way he checked the mirror for the fifth time, ran a hand through his hair, then immediately messed it up again. He was wearing his best jacket, the one Robin said made him look “date-ready but not try-hard,” and his heart was beating way faster than it ever had before a Demogorgon fight.

Because tonight wasn’t about monsters.

Tonight was about you.

When he knocked on your door, he almost turned around.

Not because he didn’t want to go—because he wanted it too much.

The door opened, and for a second Steve forgot how breathing worked.

You stood there in a soft outfit you’d clearly overthought just as much as he had. Nothing fancy—just you. And somehow, that was worse. Better. Everything.

“Hey,” you said, smiling.

Steve’s brain short-circuited.

“H—hey,” he replied, then immediately winced. Smooth, Harrington. Real smooth.

“You look really nice,” you added.

Steve’s ears turned red. “Yeah? Uh— I mean— you do too. Like. Really nice. Not that you don’t always— I’m gonna stop talking now.”

You laughed, and just like that, his nerves loosened a little.

The drive was comfortable in the way only something right could be.

Steve had the radio on low, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping nervously against his thigh. He kept glancing at you, then quickly looking away like he’d been caught doing something illegal.

“So,” you said gently. “Where are we going?”

He grinned. “Surprise.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s either very romantic or very concerning.”

“Hey,” he said, mock-offended. “I planned this. Robin helped. Dustin was not allowed to help.”

“Good,” you laughed. “I value my life.”

Steve pulled into a small drive-in diner just outside Hawkins—string lights glowing, cars parked neatly, the air buzzing with soft music and laughter.

“I thought,” he said, suddenly shy again, “that this might be… easier than a big restaurant. Less pressure.”

Your chest warmed.

“I love it,” you said honestly.

His smile was immediate. Bright. Proud.

You shared fries.

Steve insisted on ordering for both of you but checked three times that he got everything right.

“You okay with a milkshake?” “What flavor?” “Wait—what if we get two?”

You ended up laughing so hard your sides hurt.

At one point, Steve wiped a smudge of whipped cream from your lip without thinking—then froze.

“Oh— sorry— I should’ve asked—”

“It’s okay,” you said softly.

His thumb lingered for half a second longer than necessary, and the air between you shifted.

Something quiet. Something warm.

After eating, he drove you to a small clearing near Lover’s Lake. The stars were out, the night cool but gentle. Steve grabbed a blanket from the trunk like he’d been planning this moment for weeks.

You sat together, shoulders brushing.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

“I was really scared to ask you out,” Steve admitted suddenly.

You turned to him. “You were?”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… I fight monsters. But this? This felt harder.”

“Why?”

He looked at you then—really looked at you.

“Because I didn’t want to mess it up.”

Your heart fluttered.

“You’re not,” you said quietly.

Steve exhaled like he’d been holding that breath forever.

The kiss wasn’t dramatic.

No fireworks. No rushing.

Just Steve leaning in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

His lips were warm and careful, like he was afraid of hurting you with something as gentle as affection. When you kissed back, his hand found yours, fingers lacing together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When you pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours.

“So,” he murmured. “Does this mean I get a second date?”

You smiled. “I think it means you’re stuck with me.”

His grin was immediate and radiant.

“Best news I’ve heard all year.”

When he walked you back to your door later, neither of you wanted the night to end.

Steve shifted on his feet.

“I had a really good time,” he said. “Like— really.”

“Me too.”

He hesitated, then added softly, “I’m gonna protect you, you know. Not because I think you can’t handle yourself. Just because I want to.”

Your chest tightened in the best way.

“I know,” you said.

He smiled—soft, sincere, completely yours.

“Goodnight,” Steve whispered.

And as you closed the door, you knew—

This was just the beginning.

The picture that is used is not mine! all credit goes to the creator!

⚠️ CONTENT WARNING

This imagine contains:

Bullying

Panic attacks / anxiety

Emotional distress

Mild verbal harassment

Please take care while reading. 🤍

You learned early on how to disappear.

How to keep your head down in hallways that felt too loud, too crowded. How to shrink yourself into the corner of a classroom, hoping no one would notice when your hands shook or your breath came too fast.

At school, you were the outsider.

The quiet one. The weird one. The one teachers forgot to call on and students forgot to include.

And then there was Jake.

Jake was everything you weren’t.

Popular. Loud. Confident. The kind of boy who walked through the halls like they belonged to him. Everyone knew his name. Everyone laughed at his jokes. Teachers let things slide when it came to him.

And for reasons you never understood—

He chose you.

It started small.

A comment whispered just loud enough for others to hear. A laugh when you dropped your books. A nickname you never asked for.

“Hey, freak,” Jake said one morning, leaning against the lockers as you passed. “You forget how to talk, or were you born broken?”

Laughter followed him like an echo.

Your face burned. You didn’t respond. You never did.

That was what made it worse.

Jake noticed everything—how your shoulders tensed when he walked by, how you flinched at sudden noises, how you sat alone at lunch pretending not to care.

To him, at first, it was just entertainment.

Until it wasn’t.

The panic attack happened during math.

The classroom was too warm. Someone kept tapping their pen. The air felt thick, like it was pressing down on your chest.

Then Jake spoke.

“Wow,” he muttered from across the room. “Do you ever blink? It’s creepy.”

Laughter erupted.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Your breathing stuttered. The room tilted.

You tried to focus. Tried to breathe. But your hands were shaking, your vision blurring, your lungs refusing to cooperate.

You stood up too fast.

The chair screeched. Everyone turned.

“I— I need—” you gasped, clutching your chest.

The world closed in.

You barely registered the silence that followed. Or Jake standing abruptly, his smirk gone, eyes wide with something dangerously close to fear.

“Hey,” he said, quieter than you’d ever heard him. “Hey—look at me.”

You couldn’t.

You slid down the wall, breath coming in broken sobs.

“I can’t breathe,” you whispered.

Jake was suddenly there—kneeling in front of you, blocking the view of everyone else.

“Give them space,” he snapped at the class. “Now.”

The teacher rushed forward, but Jake didn’t move.

“Hey,” he repeated, softer. “You’re okay. Just breathe with me, alright?”

You felt ridiculous. Weak. Exposed.

But his voice grounded you.

Slowly—painfully—your breathing steadied.

And Jake never laughed again.

After that day, things changed.

He stopped calling you names. Stopped making comments. Stopped letting others do it too.

When someone shoved past you in the hallway, Jake was there.

“Watch it.”

When a group snickered behind your back, Jake’s glare shut them up.

People noticed.

You noticed.

And it scared you more than his cruelty ever had.

One afternoon, he caught up to you after school.

“Hey,” he said.

You flinched.

He noticed—and it hurt him more than he expected.

“I’m not gonna mess with you,” he said quickly. “I just— I wanted to say sorry.”

You stared at the ground.

“I didn’t know,” he continued, voice strained. “About the panic attacks. About… everything.”

You finally looked at him.

His eyes weren’t sharp or mocking anymore. They were uncertain. Regretful.

“You made it worse,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said. “And I hate myself for that.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then he added, barely audible, “I don’t want to be that guy anymore.”

Jake started walking you to class.

At first, people thought it was a joke.

Then they realized it wasn’t.

He sat near you. Checked in quietly. Learned the signs—your tapping fingers, your shallow breaths, the way your eyes darted when you were overwhelmed.

And when it happened again—another panic attack, quieter this time—he was there before anyone else noticed.

“Hey,” he murmured. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

No judgment. No pressure.

Just presence.

Slowly, you let yourself trust him.

Slowly, he fell in love.

Not with the idea of being your hero—but with you. Your kindness. Your strength. Your quiet humor. The way you smiled when you felt safe.

One day, as you sat together on the bleachers after school, Jake spoke.

“I used to think being loud meant being strong,” he said. “But you… you survive things I’d never last through.”

You swallowed.

“I’m not weak,” you said softly.

He shook his head.

“No,” he agreed. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

His hand hovered near yours—waiting, never forcing.

When you finally laced your fingers with his, he smiled like he’d won something precious.

Love didn’t fix everything.

You still had bad days. Still had panic attacks. Still felt like an outsider sometimes.

But you weren’t alone anymore.

And Jake—once the loudest noise in your life—became the quiet you could finally breathe in.

The Picture that are used in this imagine is not mine! all credit goes to the creator!

You had chased criminals your entire adult life.

Petty thieves. Serial liars. Men who thought power made them untouchable.

But Matteo De Luca was different.

The name alone carried weight—whispered through police precincts and courtrooms like a curse. A mafia lord whose empire stretched across cities, whose hands were clean enough to never be proven dirty. No fingerprints. No witnesses that lived long enough to testify. A ghost wearing an expensive suit.

And you were the detective assigned to end him.

You first saw him through a rain-streaked car window outside a private charity gala. The building glowed gold, laughter spilling into the night like music, while Matteo De Luca stepped out of a black car as if he owned the world.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in black tailored perfection.

His dark hair was slicked back, sharp jaw shadowed by stubble, eyes unreadable even from a distance. When he smiled for the cameras, it didn’t reach his eyes—and something about that chilled you to the bone.

“Target in sight,” you muttered into your recorder.

But then— He looked straight at you.

Not through the glass. Not past you.

At you.

Your breath hitched.

For just a moment, the world seemed to tilt, like fate itself had leaned in too close.

Your investigation consumed your life. Nights turned into coffee-fueled mornings. Walls plastered with photos, maps, red string connecting names that always led back to one man.

Matteo De Luca.

Every lead brought you closer, yet somehow never close enough. He was always one step ahead—predicting raids, vanishing before arrests, turning enemies into allies with frightening ease.

Until one night, everything went wrong.

A tip led you to an abandoned warehouse by the docks. Intel said a weapons exchange was happening. Big enough to finally put him away.

You went in alone. Your first mistake.

The door slammed behind you.

Lights snapped on.

And there he was.

Matteo sat calmly at a table, hands folded, expression amused—as if he’d been expecting you. Armed men lined the shadows, guns trained on your heart.

“Well,” he said softly, accent rich and dangerous. “Detective.”

Your hand hovered near your weapon, pulse roaring in your ears. “You’re under arrest.”

A smile curved his lips—slow, lethal. “For what?” he asked. “Loving your job too much?”

You should have been terrified.

Instead, your chest burned with something else entirely.

He didn’t hurt you.

That was what confused you most.

He dismissed his men with a flick of his fingers and offered you a chair like a gentleman. Poured you water when he noticed your shaking hands. Spoke to you as if you were an equal, not an enemy.

“You chase monsters,” Matteo said quietly. “Do you ever wonder why?”

You didn’t answer.

“You believe in justice,” he continued, eyes softening. “That makes you dangerous.”

You hated that he saw you so clearly.

He let you go that night—no threats, no warnings. Just a promise whispered as you walked away.

“We will meet again.”

And you did.

Again and again.

Coincidences that weren’t coincidences. Conversations that lasted too long. Glances that lingered dangerously. Somewhere between interrogation and confession, something shifted.

You learned he funded orphanages anonymously. That he protected neighborhoods the law had abandoned. That he carried guilt heavier than his crimes.

And he learned your scars.

Your fear of failing. Your loneliness. Your stubborn refusal to stop caring.

The line between right and wrong blurred.

Until one night, in his penthouse overlooking the city, the tension finally snapped.

“You should hate me,” Matteo said, standing close enough for you to feel his warmth. “I am everything you stand against.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“Then why are you still here?”

Your voice broke. “Because when I’m with you, I don’t feel like I’m chasing a ghost.”

Silence stretched—heavy, fragile.

Then his hand cupped your face, reverent, trembling like he feared you might disappear.

“I would burn my empire for you,” he said.

And you kissed him.

It tasted like sin and salvation all at once.

The choice nearly destroyed you.

To arrest him meant breaking both your hearts. To love him meant betraying everything you’d sworn to protect.

In the end, Matteo made the decision for you.

He disappeared.

No body. No evidence. Just empty penthouses and silent phones. His empire collapsed without its king, leaving behind nothing but whispers.

Years later, you still felt him in quiet moments—in rain on glass, in the weight of unspoken truths.

Until one evening, in a foreign city, someone spoke your name in a voice you knew by heart.

You turned.

Matteo stood there, older, softer, alive.

“I kept my promise,” he said. “I left the darkness behind.”

Tears filled your eyes.

“And us?” you asked.

He stepped closer, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Some love,” he whispered, “is worth risking the world for.”

And for the first time, you let yourself believe him.