#the impossible one shot

[shepscapades]

I…. I d. I don’t…. I don’t..

[shivgirly]

PSYCH | 1x01 Pilot

[andorerso]

a 10-step guide on how to win over a woman, according to Cassian Andor (in/sp)

[jessmalia]

― Mary Oliver, Thirst

[peter and edmund version]

[sluttyhenley]

Pom Klementieff as Paris

MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE - DEAD RECKONING Dir. Christopher McQuarrie

[writingsfromhome]

Impossibly Real

A/N: cute little story about being in a rough dating world and having a nice neighbour friend.

Part 2

———————————————————

I memorize the face on my phone whilst standing in the middle of my building lobby. I study it as if I hadn’t been staring at his pictures since we both swiped right a couple weeks ago.

“Hot date?” A voice calls out. I look up to the source—one of my neighbours with takeaway in one hand and a case of beer in the other. The smell of his dinner makes my stomach rumble—I’d skipped dinner myself for this 8pm date.

“A very hot date,” I respond. Harry was one of the first people I’d interacted with when I moved to this complex a year and a half ago. He’d helped me move my boxed mattress in and I thanked him with a lukewarm beer. Ever since, we’d pick up on conversation every time we saw each other.

Most of those times were when we’d both be rushing out to work in the morning. Sometimes he’d walk to the tube with me, both of us going in opposite directions. Other times his girlfriend would pick him up.

“Let’s see,” he switches his beer to the other hand and holds his hand out.

I pretend to open the app and look for my date’s profile as if it hadn’t been open for the last three hours. He makes a sound of approval when I pass it over.

“Right?” I grin as he scans the profile.

I wasn’t always lucky in love. When Harry first met me I was fresh out of a 3 year relationship, and the only things to follow were bad dates and lonely nights.

“Likes pizza?” Harry says like he’d just caught sight of the guy’s private pictures.

“Yeah? So what?” I feel my defences go up. “Who doesn’t?”

“Yeah but that’s so…basic.” He hands the phone back. “That’s like saying ‘Drinks tea’ or ‘breathes air’.”

“No it’s not!” I wanted this to be a good one so badly, I wouldn’t hear any of Harry’s slander. “It’s relatable, and shows he’s down to earth.”

Harry groans. “Remind me what you do for work?”

I squint at him, unsure where he was going with his. “Analyst.”

“Ah,” he switches his beer back to his other hand and it snaps me out of the moment. I always lost track of time talking to Harry and this couldn’t be one of those times. I had somewhere to be!

“Ah what?” I glance at the door.

“As an analyst you’re used to reading into things-“

“Piss off!” I shut him down. “I’m leaving now.”

“I’m joking!” Harry calls out. “I’m sure he’s a great guy.”

I don’t respond to him as I walk away but he calls out my name.

“You look great, it’ll be a good date.”

“Fingers crossed,” I echo. “Enjoy your night.”

I find a taxi quickly and sit on my hands the whole way there so I don’t pick at my nails. There was no such thing as out of my league, I remind myself. He was just going to be a guy. A good looking guy.

***

“I’m getting a bit tipsy,” Dave admits. It was half past 9 and we’d had 5 drinks total, one of those being a nervous shot when he hadn’t showed up in the first ten minutes.

“We should get something to eat!” I suggest.

He grimaces. “It’s a bit overpriced in here.”

Oh. He was cheap.

That was rude. I snap out of my darkening thoughts. I couldn’t help it: not only was Dave late, he looked 5 years older than his pictures, which wasn’t a bad thing, but he was also 5 inches shorter than his profile stated.

It was awkward when he came in and I got up to hug him. I’d worn my 3 inch heels expecting to still come to his chest but we’d met at eye level instead. I didn’t want to make it awkward so I had sat down quickly. I regretted wearing these heels. They were chaffing against my feet even whilst sitting.

And the whole evening had been stiff conversation, like rubbing sandpaper against itself. It had ended in a dull evening. He was cute. That was all he had going for him.

“There’s a really good pizza place around here!” I say casually, like I hadn’t Googled the vicinity for an hour after we’d made plans. “I heard it was rated top 10 in the city.

His grimace comes back, it made him more unattractive the more he did it.

“I can go for some chips. There’s probably one down the road, you alright for a walk?”

“Great!” Maybe some fresh air and a change of scenery could spice the night up.

He pays the bill—maybe he wasn’t so cheap, I think. That is until we get to the chips shop and he hangs back for me to order for us. And pay.

I can already imagine retelling this date to my girl friends. They were all engaged or married so my dating stories were always amusing content for our hangouts.

Crossing from 20 to 30 made the stories more tragic than amusing, but I lived to laugh and that’s what I usually did after getting over bad dates like this one.

“It’s a nice night,” Dave says when we get our chips. He douses his in ketchup like a toddler would. Gah!

“It is…”

“Let’s take these outside.”

I’d rather not, with my heels digging into the backs of my feet and the blisters chafing against the fake leather. But I agree.

“So what’s with the pink?” He asks randomly.

“What?” I say over a mouthful of chip. I didn’t care how disgusting I was at this point. He’d done the bill-for-a-bill thing without asking and I’d lost any hope I had for the evening. I may as well be gross.

“The pink, you’ve got it at the bottoms of your hair and your earrings, your lips and your skirt and your heels-“

“I like pink.”

“That’s obvious,” he says dryly. “Is there a story behind it or something? Usually only schoolgirls wear their favourite colour that much.”

And usually only younger boys have fries with they ketchup rather ketchup with their fries, I want to say. But I keep my mouth shut.

“I think it’s overrated that getting older means getting all serious and boring. Pink’s my favourite colour and the world can know it. Be brighter for knowing it too.”

I keep my tone light yet Dave seems to takes my personal philosophy as a direct attack.

“But it’s a bit juvenile isn’t it? You don’t have to be boring just because you’re an adult but no one’s going to take you much seriously all dressed in pink. It’s a bit childish.”

“Not childish enough for you to want to go on a date with me,” I say. My pink hair was on display in my profile as well as many pink outfits throughout my linked Instagram. I know he’d seen it.

“That’s not what I’m talking about, not like that.” He backtracks. His face turns my favourite colour, even in the dark.

“When grown men are obsessed with Star Wars or Lord of the Rings or whatever, nobody bats an eye. They show up with fictional characters on their shirt and tattooed on their arms and it’s all dandy. But you think the world’s going to take me less seriously because I wear a lot of pink?”

“Okay I think there’s been a misunderstanding here.” Dave backs down like I knew he would. I’d known too many boys like him, who charged up when they thought they had an ounce of intellect over me. Reciprocate with even an ounce of assertive energy and they back down like a well-trained dog.

This night was tragic. My hopes up for nothing. And my feet were blistered for no damn reason.

“I think we’ve understood each other just fine.” I wipe my hands on a napkin and toss the rest of my chips away, ignoring the look Dave gives me. “It was a night, I’m going to head home now.”

“Look I-“

“Goodnight.” I walk away. I had no idea what direction but as long as I can end the night with the hope-zapper Dave.

***

On the lift up to my flat I look at myself in the mirror. Dead eyes, flushed and puffy face from the alcohol, and my hair was voluminous from the windy night air. I couldn’t wait to get to my flat and take my stupid heels off. They were so painful they’d now actually gone numb.

My phone rings as I get to my door. Dave. The nerve of that guy!

I put it on silent and fish out my keys but my phone buzzes a second time and I drop them.

“Fuck!” I say just as the door behind me opens.

“Woah!” Harry steps back into his flat after nearly tripping over my crouched figure.

“Ugh sorry,” I stand back up, keys looped around my finger.

“You’re back early.” Harry slowly eyes me from top to bottom. It makes my stomach feel like a washing machine on high. “Nice night with pizza guy?”

“Pizza guy was just like the others.”

I lean against my door and ignore my phone that’s now gone off for the third time in my purse.

“Fair enough. He did say he likes pizza.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” I whine. “I just wasted £30 on shite company.”

“Can I offer you a beer or have you had too many?”

I look down at my watch. It was half past 10, and I had work tomorrow but life was short and I was miserable so I follow Harry in.

“I’ll just toss this later.”

It’s only then I realize Harry had a trash bag in his hands and he was in his boxers and a robe. He rests the bag near his door and motions to the fridge as he walks down his hall. “Grab me one too?”

I’d been in Harry’s flat a few time, once when I baked too many sugar cookies for Christmas and he invited me in to eat with him. Another time when he was having a birthday party. I had thought it was cute his friends had done that for him old school. The last time was when my wifi stopped working one weekend and I had to ask him to use his. That was a nice day, both of us were going through busy season and had worked side by side on our laptops until Harry announced we were losers and should stop working to get dinner and watch a movie. That was one of my favourite days living in this complex so far.

I’m still standing in his kitchen when he comes out with sweatpants.

“Why are you still standing there?”

I look down at my shoes and so does he.

“Don’t you want to take those off?” Harry lifts one brow, confused.

“I’m scared.” I say. I didn’t know what I’d find. I felt like I was standing in a pool of blood.

“Why?” Harry was lucky he didn’t know the fear of taking off awful shoes after a long day of breaking them in. Men were lucky that way.

I shift my heel away from the back of the shoe and pain shoots up. It sounds sticky. I whimper. “Can you get me a chair?”

“What did you wear?” Harry’s staring at them with a mixture of fear and confusion. He carries one of his dining chairs to me. “Those are like, torture heels.”

“Tonight was torture.” I sit down and cross my foot over my knee. I take a deep breath. Harry hovers above me not able to look away. “Here goes nothing.”

I pry the shoe away and nearly cry.

“Oh my god!” Harry shouts. “Yo-you’re bleeding! What the f-“

“Oh my god,” I was dripping onto his floor. “Can I get-“

“Tissue!” Harry’s already throwing me his roll but I knock it away.

“I need help. Getting. To the bathroom.”

“Right right.” Harry kicks my shoe away and leans down so I can wrap my arm around his shoulder. I feel like an injured football player but so much more pathetic as I limp to his bathroom.

He sets me down on his toilet seat and blasts the tub with water.

“Sorry,” I limp to the edge of his bathtub and swing myself so that my feet dangle in. “I didn’t mean to intrude on your night.”

“I’m glad you did,” Harry’s voice still carries a hint of shock. “What is wrong with you? That’s diabolical you wearing shoes like that! What’s wrong with trainers? Or sandals? Don’t girls like strap sandals?”

“It just comes with being a woman okay?” I couldn’t answer all his questions. “I still need to take off the other one.”

I was more scared for my right foot than my left.

“Just…deal with that.”

Harry’s tub is filling with water and it stings everywhere it touches my foot. But especially my heel and all of my toes. I switch the knob to cold.

“Okay,” I take a deep breath. “The other fucking shoe.”

I can feel Harry peering over my shoulder. This one feels glued on and I squeal as I comes off. My foot looked like a bruised and crusted mess.

“Holy sh-“ Harry whispers. I dunk it fast in the running water and nearly topple backwards but Harry catches me with his knee and then stays there so I have somewhere to lean. It was nice.

“Bloody hell,” I swear as my feet sting and paint the water pink. “Genuinely so sorry about this.”

“Don’t be.” Harry shakes his head. “But please toss those shoes in the bin and never wear something like that again.”

“That’s impossible.”

“It’s not. It’s very possible.”

“I love heels! I just need to break these in.”

“They’re breaking you love.”

I feel him stiffen behind me which makes me suddenly self-conscious. I didn’t really read into his words, love was just a term of affection used around my friends. But apparently it wasn’t something Harry used lightly.

“They are. These ones are going in the bin, DNA and all.” I try to continue casually. This was so weird. Weirder than it needed to be given Harry and I were mates at most; I’d met his girlfriend, I didn’t think of him anything more than a neighbourhood friend. We certainly hadn’t hung out outside our flats before.

“Maybe burn them to be sure,” Harry finally responds. His voice is a bit rougher than before. “Don’t want to get accidentally framed with the free DNA.”

“I’m pretty sure I’d be too obvious a murderer to commit anything stealthily. They’d identify the pink-haired giant walking away.”

“You’re not a giant. You’re not even 6 feet.”

“I’m nearly 5’9 which is tall enough for a woman.”

“I don’t think so.” Harry brushes my hair behind my shoulder and a shiver runs up my spine. Maybe I should turn the icy water off. “Plus I like the pink. Makes you more interesting to look at.”

“So I’m not interesting to look at regularly?” I tease. I look up at him and the back of my head hits his thigh.

I see his adam’s apple bob and I suddenly feel vulnerable sitting here like this. I lean forward so my feet are steadied against the tub which is agonizing for my bloody feet but at least I wasn’t leaning against him.

“I said more interesting.”

The room grows quiet and I try not to read into it. Harry thought I was interesting to look at. Okay.

I turn the tap off and the silence in the room becomes unbearable.

“Have you got any plasters?” I turn inch by inch so I don’t slip on the lip of the tub or need more help from Harry. The energy in here was weird and him touching me was going to make it weirder.

“Yeah,” he’s eager to leave only to come back laughing. “They’re actually here. I…”

He opens a drawer and pulls a box out along with a tiny vial.

I take it from him, some sort of ointment oil. Why not.

“Motherf-“ I bite my lip as the ointment stings my cuts. “Why wouldn’t you warn me!”

Harry laughs again and it eases the tension a little. “I thought you knew it would burn!”

“I don’t treat cuts often jeez!”

“Sorry! That friend—you met him at my party, black curly hair, the one who does custom stuff?”

“Oh yeah I remember.”

“I helped him out one summer. I had to hand cut all these signs using one of those exacto blades? Cut my hands up so many times I had to buy something for them after one of them got infected.”

I wrinkle my nose at the idea of an infected cut and douse my other foot in the oil, swearing as I take the pain.

“I have a roll and cotton if you want to bandage your foot?” Harry suggests. “I don’t know if regular plasters cut it.”

“That’s so dramatic,” I usually stuck a couple plasters on and got on with it. But this was also the worst I’d ever had with breaking shoes in.

“Let me-“

“No!” I push Harry’s shoulder away as he leans down with the roll of bandage he’d procured. “Harry do not touch my foot!”

“I’ve dressed grosser,” he holds my heel gently and I try to yank it away again without falling into the tub but it’s impossible. I settle for pushing him away.

“Harry please! I’ve intruded enough stop touching my disgusting foot!”

“I’ve seen you wash it. It’s not disgusting, just bloody. Now stop squirming about!”

“Why are you…” I trail away because he wasn’t listening. He dabs my foot with a cotton pad and then begins the process of bandaging my heel and then my toe. I try not to squirm at how embarrassing this was.

Harry’s gentle and attentive as he moves on to the other foot which should make me feel okay but only adds to the humiliation. We were so not close enough to do this—I don’t even know if I’d do the same for him.

Another part of me knows I would. Despite knowing him in passing, plus a few solid occasions, I could tell Harry was one of the good guys. He was always chivalrous around the building, friendly in any interaction I’d seen with him, loved enough to be thrown a surprise birthday party, and caring enough to always ask about how I was doing. And to do this.

When he glances up I don’t expect it. Our gazes clash and the weird energy from before creeps in again.

“Sorted,” he lets my foot down gently.

“Harry I owe you like…a massive dinner, and drinks are on me forever forward.”

“That’s not necessary,” he chuckles as he puts his little first aid kit back. “Just don’t wear heels like that again please. It’s not worth it.”

“They’re so pretty though,” I sigh. They’re now discarded on the tiled floor, the insides bloody.

“Let’s get you that beer,” he holds a hand out.

“I can’t. I’ve kept you late and you probably-“

“One beer.”

“I don’t want to intrude-“

“Just one,” his tone is gentle but he’s not taking no for an answer.

“Fine!” I admit defeat. He helps me up and together I limp to his couch.

We sit in silence for a bit while we drink. I don’t know what he’s thinking about, but the events of the evening play in my head.

“He actually insulted me.” I blurt. Before he can ask questions I explain. “Firstly he was late, then he was droning on and on about shit I don’t even remember anymore. Then he was cheap about food, but because he paid for drinks he got me to pay for chips. Then he said I wear too much pink and nobody would take me seriously as an adult. That it was childish.”

“Really?” Harry leans forward from his end of the couch. “He said all that?”

“Yeah! I said men are allowed to wear their Star Wars shirts and Lord of the Rings bullshite. And when a woman wears more than one article of pink she’s childish?”

“What a prick.”

“I know!”

“You’re too good for someone like that.”

“Thank you,” I sit back, seen and validated.

“The pink makes you cool, stand out in a crowd. He’s just blind to look at you and think that. Or he’s just intimidated.”

“Oh yeah he lied about his height! So I stood there in those stupid pink heels taller than him.”

“That must have got him,” Harry grins. “I actually love that story.”

His words warm me.

“You’re so nice Harry,” I tell him. “Honestly you’re like a gem of a guy.”

“I’m not that nice-“

“Don’t tell me you’re a bad boy or something because you’re a solid good guy. Rare. Never change.”

“Hmph,” he clears his throat.

“Your girlfriend’s lucky. A lot of us have to put up with trolls before we find a good guy like you.”

Harry stays silent. Maybe I’d said too much. Maybe I should stop drinking.

“We broke up. Wasn’t good enough for her.”

Shite. Blistered, bloody, bandaged foot directly in mouth..

“I-I’m sorry. To hear that! Oh my god yeah I guess I haven’t seen her in a while-“

“Yeah been a few months now. I’m mostly over it.”

“How long were you two dating again?”

“Almost 3,” Harry twists his mouth to the side. I’d never seen him look bitter before. “I accepted it, the end of us. Until I hear from a friend she jumped right into another relationship. So…that must have been behind the scenes near the end of our relationship.”

Bitter indeed. “That’s a shitty way to find out too.”

“I wish she was just honest. Y’know like, I met someone else whatever. At least that way I took the hit at once and then got over it. Instead after a month of moving on I just got punched all over again.”

“That’s a dick move.” I agree. “I’ve seen you so many times the last few months why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs, “I didn’t want to bring down the mood. Felt too loaded for a conversation on the lift.”

“You could have saved it for a walking-to-the-tube conversation?”

“Then just part ways after dropping that on you?”

“Isn’t that perfect?” I tease and he covers his face. I change the subject. “My 3.5 year relationship ended when he said he didn’t see me as marriage material.”

“I thought it was a mutual breakup?” Harry asks. I’m surprised he remembers what I told him when I first moved in.

“I lied. I didn’t want you to see me as your pathetically lonely neighbour.”

He laughs at that. At least I’d gotten a smile back on his face. “I thought it was a bit suspicious but I didn’t push it. Every time I saw you when you first moved in it always looked like you cried.”

“Oh my god!” I cover my face. “Don’t tell me that! That’s so embarrassing!”

It was true. I cried for three weeks straight after the breakup but I also thought I was sly enough to get around unnoticed.

“It’s not a big deal! I used to worry about you.”

“That’s another thing that’ll keep me up at night now—but see that’s sweet! You barely knew me and you worried. Like! You were raised right.”

“Sure,” he smiles my way with a laugh in his eyes. He was enjoying making me squirm but it’s this smile, one I’d never seen before directed at me, that made me squirm the most.

“Okay now stop being sweet and kick me out.” I gingerly stand and suck up the fresh pain that comes back.

“You can stay as long a-“

“Harry.” I look at him seriously. “I know we both work demanding jobs, and that’s what we have to do tomorrow morning. It’s past midnight and I should go.”

He sighs and gets up to help me hobble to his door.

“Good thing I live next door—oh my shoes. They’re in your-“

“I’ll get them to you later.” He promises.

“You just want to try them on in private.” I tease as he opens his door. He waits while I fish through my purse again for my keys. I remember then the missed calls from Dave—that feels so long ago.

“I like my feet whole.” He chuckles. “Plus I’m tall enough.”

“Some girls think 6 feet is short.”

“How do you know I’m 6 feet?”

I turn my key and let my door swing open.

“I’m good at telling heights.”

“What’s your secret?”

“Well,” I turn back to him and put my hand on my head. “I get my height and then just measure against the person. I gauge the inches which if I’m close enough-“ Harry moved closer to me so there’s only a few inches between us. “Uhm. If I’m close enough it’s easy to count up or down.”

“So you count up-“

“Three or so inches.” I look up, determined to meet his eye. It was just Harry. I didn’t need to feel weird around my neighbour Harry.

But I can’t look away. I never noticed the depth of his eyes; they’re mesmerizing and I can’t look away.

“It’s a neat party trick.” He says so low, but we’re so close it’s loud as hell to my ears. Or maybe that’s the blood rushing through my head.

“Don’t really go to enough parties to turn it into a trick.” My voice comes out squeaky and I clear my throat. “Mostly useful to compare a dating profile to the real thing.”

“Hm,” he hums. His fingers toy with the pinks of my hair before draping it behind my shoulder.

“I should go.” I say for the millionth time.

He looks at me again and I forget why I should go. His gaze drops to my lips and I feel hot—hotter than the pain on my bloody feet.

“You’re the real thing.”

It’s unconscious, the way I arch up to him. It’s natural, the way he meets me halfway. It’s unforgettable, the way his soft lips feel on mine.

Until I lean my weight on my toes and I’m reminded of my broken feet, this evening, and who I was kissing.

I couldn’t be kissing my neighbour! I saw him nearly every damn day!

“Har-“ I push gently at his chest and he’s quick to move back.

“Sorry I-that-“

“No I’m sorry that was me-“

“We should…”

“Yeah.” I grasp behind my back until my hand touches my doorframe. “Um…thanks for everything. Tonight.”

“Yeah.” Harry’s flushed and somehow more attractive than I’ve ever noticed. He also has a smidge of pink lipstick at the corner of his mouth but I file that away for later. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight!” I turn and quickly close my door, knowing Harry was not going to be the first to leave. Despite my head telling me not to, I turn and peep through the peephole. He’s still leaning against his doorframe, head bowed, running his hand through his hair. I watch him mutter something and then go in. I stay there until the automatic light switches off and then sink to the floor.

Harry. Friendly, funny, neighbour Harry. He’d dressed my bloody feet, served me beer, and then kissed me.

I touch my lips. I wasn’t even mad about it. This was going to be complicated no doubt, but it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

***

I manage to avoid Harry for a week. Which is a pretty impressive feat given our doors nearly open onto each others.

But he catches me on the lift after work one day. There’s already two others beside me and Harry nearly misses the lift, slipping in just as it’s closing. He does a double take when he sees me.

“Hey.”

“Hey!” Everything was normal. Everything was fine.

“Smart choice of shoes.”

We look down at my Stan Smiths.

“I’ve learned my lesson…for now.” I look back up at the row of numbers. The lift stops on floor 5 and the couple get out.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He states simply when the door closes.

“I have not!” I finally look at him and nearly lose my breath. When did he become so attractive?!

“We see each other almost every day living the way we do. And you’re telling me we managed to miss each other for a week?”

I shrug, “it’s been a weird week.”

“When did the weird week start?”

Saved by the bell. The doors open to our floors with a ding, but Harry blocks me from my front door.

“Are you serious?” I try to sidestep him but he stays in my path.

“We should talk.”

“We’re talking now.”

“C���mon.” He sighs and moves out of my way. I sigh myself before opening my door and leaving it open behind me. He takes the hint.

“I want to apologize for that night.” Harry says. “I was just feeling vulnerable and it shouldn’t have happened-“

“You’re joking right? I was going on about how good you were and I got a little too into it I think. I totally kissed you so I’m sorry. For making it weird-“

“I kissed you,” Harry tries to correct me.

“No I kissed you so I should apolog-“

“No.” Harry cuts me off.

“Why are we arguing about this?” I throw my hands up. We’re standing in the entryway going back and forth about this. It was stupid. “We’re both sorry. It shouldn’t have happened. Let’s just move on okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees. “So we’re friends? You’re not going to avoid me in the building?”

“No.” I put my hands on my hips. “Cuz I wasn’t avoiding you in the first place.”

He laughs, throwing his head back and my breath catches. I lied. I wasn’t sorry I kissed him but I was sorry it ruined our friendship. Damnit.

“You’re impossible.”

“I thought I was the real thing?” I ask without thinking.

Slightly healed, but still bruised foot, directly in mouth!!!

“Impossible things can be real,” Harry’s mood changes. He stands taller and he takes a step towards me. “Do…do you want us to just move on?”

I don’t know how to answer that.

“I…we live right next to each other Harry. It’s-“

“Unconventional but not impossible.”

“Impossible.”

“But it can still be real.”

I can’t help it. I grin at how serious he was being with his play on words. He was serious about this though. It scared me a little.

“A date.”

“What about it?” I ask.

“We go on a date, see how things are. It they’re weird we go back to friends like we always were. If it’s good…”

“Okay. How about Friday?” I wanted this as much as it seemed like he wanted it. Dating was hard, apps were impossible. This good and kind man standing in front of me was impossible and real.

“Friday’s perfect. Wednesday would be even better.”

“Today is Wednesday.” I say before realizing what he meant.

“It is.”

“Okay. Pick me up at 7?”

“I’ll be on time.” Harry’s grin is contagious.

“Great.” I watch him walk back to the door.

“One favour?” He asks. I ask him what it is. “Wear something pink?”

“Most definitely.” My heart surges and I feel seen. So seen.

I think he was the real thing too. Impossibly real. And possibly something more than neighbourly friends.

Excited and hopeful were an understatement. I couldn’t wait.

[plutoswritingplanet]

Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt.5

a/n: if you guys start suspecting i have a crush on madelyn stillwell, no you don't, you didn't see shit, forgive and forget. Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: Blood and Violence (fr fr), Homelander being a Fucking Asshole, Very Questionable Corporate Ethics, Plus Size Reader, Explicit Language.

Summary: You know a slaughterhouse, when you see it.

Vicarious Masterlist

A series of loud, demanding knocks startles you right out of your dreamless slumber. The borderline panicked, rapid thumping against your door, forces you to open your eyes, squinting with a groan at the morning sun streaming through the gigantic windows of your room. The mascara from the night before sticks in clumps over your eyelashes, and you blink a few times, until black pieces fall onto your cheeks, where they're promptly wiped away by the back of your hand. There's a taste of stale vomit in your mouth, your stomach feels strangely empty, and you don't really want to remember where you decided to dispose of its contents. As you make your way towards the door, your calf cramps up, making you huff a silent curse through your cracked lips. 

- Fucking Christ... Where's the fire? - you croak out, as you open the door, eyes falling onto a familiar head of ginger hair sticking out behind the screen of a tablet. 

- The fucking Internet - Ashley answers not missing a beat - Someone uploaded a bunch of videos of you from the party, including one where you, like a complete dumbass, decided to smoke a joint. And one where...

She cuts herself off, as her face finally rises to look at you, her expression freezing in shock.

- What the fuck happened to you? - she asks, and if you were any less hungover, you'd notice the sliver of concern lacing her words. 

- What do yo...?

Your eyes follow her inquisitive gaze down, and there, your left tit stares back at you, peaking out of an almost finger shaped tear. Huffing in exasperation, you try to amend the situation, pushing the fabric around to cover yourself, only to feel the last of the stitches give out. You catch your destroyed t-shirt at the last second, as it all but falls off of your body. 

- Shit, I'm sorry - you mutter, giving up on salvaging the shirt, and focusing on saving what's left of your dignity. 

Ashley blinks a couple of times, her eyes dragging themselves back towards your face, as she swallows thickly. 

- Miss, um... - she clears her throat, frowns - Miss Stillwell wants to see you in her office, as soon as you can.

You nod in understanding, still too dazed to be properly worried by this sudden summoning. 

- Give me twenty - you attempt to smile, but your face hurts, and your throat is drier then the Mojave desert.

- Take thirty.

With that, Ashley turns to leave, not before throwing you one last, strange look. 

 Closing the door behind her, you let go of the shirt, letting it pool in scraps under your bare feet. You don't remember much of the previous night, but you sure as fuck know, how you've managed to end up looking like you do. Thankfully, you remember the exact moment, when you slipped out of Homelander's penthouse, your memories fading well after entering the elevator. The mention of the videos from the party being uploaded, stirs some form of morbid curiosity within you, and you pace around the living area of your room, trying to find your phone, before remembering, that you did, in fact, lose it. 

Scratching at the back of your neck, you grab your costume from the closet, and decide to take a shower,  after sniffing at yourself and realizing, that leaving the room smelling like a waste bin would be criminal. An hour spent under the hot water and a thorough teeth-brushing later, you're standing in front of Madelyn Stillwell's office, fingers running through your still slightly damp hair. She lets you in as soon as your fingers thrum against the door, greeting you with that familiar, corporate smile. Despite that, you'd have to be completely blind, not to notice the tension between her plucked eyebrows. 

- Ah, Fireball - her voice is strange as well, a measured expression of something stirring just under the surface. - Take a seat, please.

Her office is just as much of an overstimulating mess, as you remembered, and this time you plop down onto the large couch, noting, that it's much softer, than the one in your room. Stillwell paces the office, filling a glass with water from a dispenser, and placing it in front of you. Then, to your surprise, she grabs her laptop from her desk, and puts it next to the glass, the screen facing you.

You stare at your reflection in the black, and you're not sure who's looking back. Was hangover the domain of Fireball? Or Smirnoff? Perhaps that secret third thing, which almost gave Homelander what he wanted last night. A fight, a struggle, a quick fuck. As Stillwell sinks into the couch right next to you, you start to wonder, if you're going insane. Most likely. There is none other explanation for the turmoil you were experiencing. 

- I'm sure you're aware, why I invited you here today - she says, her slender hand dancing on the keyboard of her laptop. 

She's about to show you the videos from last night, you think with a sigh, already trying to brace yourself for the inevitable stern talk you're about to receive. This, and another several hours spent in media training with Ashley, which, might as well kill you at this point. And then, the screen flickers to light, and your heart stops in your throat. 

There, a freeze-frame from a CCTV camera looks back at you. A washed out, pixelated image of yourself, t-shirt torn, makeup running, you're sneaking away from Homelander's room, holding the scraps of fabric to your chest. The wobble in your legs is visible even through the shitty quality, and your heart sinks with the realization, of how exactly this situation looks like. Of how close to the truth this assumption really is. 

You swallow thickly, as Stillwell presses play, and the video version of yourself springs into action. Supporting yourself against the wall, you begin to make your way towards the elevator. 

The video plays footage of the empty corridor for a moment longer, but before you voice your confusion, the whole image glitches. Your eyes blink rapidly, as you observe with a shocked expression, as the wall next to the door cracks, pieces of paint and plaster falling to the floor in a cloud of dust. It doesn't take a genius to know, the impact has been made from the inside, and your brain does a flip inside your skull. 

Twenty sped up seconds of footage. That's how close you were to getting your head, supposedly, caved in by the Hero of America. The Mental Health King.

 Strange. You were sure you've navigated the situation the best you possibly could. Deescalated, rewarded good behavior, removed yourself as soon as possible. Perhaps you should've given him more? Physical contact most likely wasn't the smartest idea, he would've used it as an excuse, surely. But some more words of encouragement, something to calm the fire within him. Your thoughts are interrupted by the realization, that at the end of the day, it doesn't matter. You're alright, nothing happened. You did what you could, with what you had, and look at you, still standing, dignity (mostly) in place. 

Another reward, that might be the key. Homelander seems to be quite addicted to praise, and as much as you'd love to write him off as an imbecile, you know he's anything but. Before your mouth can open, however, Stillwell slides a folder towards you on the glass table. Your eyes fall onto the papers, and something twists inside your gut. 

- No matter, what you think happened last night. I would like you to sign those documents. - Stillwell says, her whitened teeth staring back at you.

Think?

Your eyes narrow, as your face turns towards her.

- Miss Stillwell - she cocks her head to the side when you address her - I assure you, nothing has happened.

She blinks a couple of times, her eyes involuntarily floating back to the footage displayed on the laptop.

- Homelander gave me a lift from the party, we talked for a bit. That's all. 

That is most certainly not all, and Stillwell knows. She must've done this before, her practiced expression of corporate politeness slipping for only a smidgen. Her lips smack against each other, and then the mask is back full force, her hand pushing the documents closer to you.

- I would still very much like you to sign this agreement - she says - Or, we will have to terminate your contract, and consequently withdraw all benefits enclosed in it.

- I just said, nothing has... - you cut yourself off, because of course. 

This isn't an NDA protecting Vaught and by extension, Homelander, from his actions last night. It's an insurance against future incidents. Which are apparently expected. 

You frown, hard, a pit forming deep within your stomach. Previously, perhaps foolishly, you thought your contract offered some sort of protection. Something, that would ward off potential advances. Stillwell has put so much effort in getting you to sign, to join Vaught if only temporarily, you were convinced you'd answer to her first. Stupid, that was plain stupid. After all, this isn't some wholesome family business. You're working under a corporation, that, for the most part, runs America like the fucking navy. 

You know a slaughterhouse when you see one. 

With a shaky hand, you grab an elegant, probably filthy-expensive pen, the overwhelming realization, that you're truly alone, hitting you like a truck. Next time Homelander decides to get his hands on you, no one will back you up. You're completely and utterly on your own. 

This can't be worth it. Your brain races in your skull, as you try to quickly form some sort of plan of action. Anything, that would help you face the incoming doom. 

- Miss Stillwell - your throat feels impossibly dry, and out of the corner of your eye, you can see her blonde waves move - I left my purse, and my phone back at my friend's house. Perhaps, you could arrange a meeting? So I can get it back?

- As soon as you sign - she says evenly, her manicured hand pointing to the documents with more urgency. 

How many times can you sign your soul off to the Devil, before there's nothing left? 

You're not sure which one of you lifts the pen, which one pushes your hand to glide the ink over this new pact of silence. It can't be worth it, it simply can't. No matter what you try to tell yourself, the vision of your happy friends from the party slips further, and further away from your grasp. You've always thought martyrdom is stupid, laughed at the Saints, at the historical figures sacrificing their lives for the greater good. And yet, here you sit, with Madelyn Stillwell's perfume in your nose, pushing away all sense of dignity in favor of what? A better wedding dress for your friend? Ridiculous. 

- Thank you - Stillwell swoops in, taking the pen away from your rigid fingers and swiping the documents from the table - That'll be all for now. You should get ready for the photoshoot after lunch. I'll get back to you about that meeting. 

Another thought wakes you up from your stupor so suddenly, it feels like a bucket of freezing water dumped over your head. Your knees crack, when you stand suddenly, nearly knocking your hip on the table. 

- Can I ask you one more thing? - your voice raises an octave as you speak, nerves bubbling up in your throat. 

Stillwell turns to you, her hair bouncing over her shoulders, and for just a second you're struck with how unabashedly stylish this woman truly is. Such a contrast with your usually disheveled appearance. 

- I need one more day off this week, or at the very least a couple of hours.

She frowns slightly, a barely visible twitch of her plucked to perfection eyebrow.

- Whatever for? - she asks, and you find a striking familiarity between her and Homelander, in the fakeness of her cheerful tone. 

There's no point in lying, not in this case at least, and you take a step forward, your platform boots padding softly over the fluffy carpet. She watches you carefully, holding your gaze with ease. 

- I'm sure you've read my file - you start casually, your voice growing more and more serious - It's a family matter. 

A flicker of recognition crosses Stillwell's features. Her lips pull back into a thin line, as she regards you in thought, toying with the pen in her hand. Manicured fingers scratch at the grooves in the metal casing, tap at the ferrule. Finally, she takes a deep breath, the satin shirt shifting over her chest. 

- I'll see what I can do - she concludes, ditching the corporate smiles, and the artificial nonsense, her expression bordering on sympathy. 

Anyone would be fooled, you're almost convinced yourself. But once again, this is not a family business down the street. This is an exclusive butcher's shop, and you're the new, hot, cut of meat, displayed in a case, ready for the taking. And as such, you give her a curt nod, the biggest display of gratitude you're capable of in this situation. Her eyes shift towards the doors of her office, and you take your cue with a polite smile. You both had things to prepare for, and you couldn't waste any more time sitting in one place, as the detrimental task of figuring out, how to navigate your approach to Homelander has been thrusted upon you. 

The door clicks softly behind you, as you exit the office, your legs carrying you towards the gigantic portrait hanging on the wall. Blue eyes stare back at you, pupils almost the size of walnuts. Nothing, not the lens of the camera, the printing paper, not even the sheet of glass can hide you from the empty, passive gaze looking past you, through you. In this picture, he looks almost human, his skin moderately textured, his hair in carefully styled disarray. An image of all that's American, all that's always been out of your reach. 

But you've seen the truth. The panting, hungry, terrifying superhero. You've seen his laziness, the unwillingness to work for anything of substance. Your eyebrows furrow, as you lean closer to the portrait, until the reflection of light disappears from sight, until you can see the texture of the paper beneath the glass. 

- If you're looking for a flaw, I'm afraid there are none - Homelander quite literally manifests himself in your peripheral vision, voice filled with arrogance.

Your entire body flies a couple of steps from the portrait, your heart doing flips so close to your throat, you're worried you'll actually throw it up onto the floor.

- Motherfu...! - you stop yourself, hand pressed against your chest - Don't do that.

He laughs in response, a casual sound, that definitely doesn't fit any of your previous encounters. Especially the last one. But to preserve your own sanity, you decide to play along for now. You're not about to hand yourself over, stick your neck between his teeth again. Besides, Stillwell is right behind that stupid wall, he wouldn't do anything too outrageous with her so close. Hopefully. 

- Whoa, jumpy aren't you? - his smile grows slightly sharper, as he approaches you, hands clasped behind his back - Let's have a little chat, before the photoshoot. 

With that, before you have the chance to react properly, he grabs you by the elbow, his hold just tight enough, that there would be no chance of slipping away. Your feet stumble against each other, as you try to regain your bearings, being dragged through the corridor. Your mind is already going haywire with all the possibilities, all the different ways this interaction may go, and you scramble to find a suitable plan for every scenario. Homelander looks thoroughly unaffected, his face devoid of any signs of tension, hell, you'd risk saying he seems quite relaxed. Which is beyond worrying. 

The room he pushes you into is completely empty, with some tables arranged into a circle and a bunch of chairs placed around them. A conference room, with the uglies fucking carpet you've ever had the misfortune to lay your eyes on. And then, after taking in the whole environment, your eyes zero-in on a small, black box, right in the middle of the table. Unassuming enough, but you know better. There's no such thing as innocent, as far as your "mentor" is concerned, and as images of the cracking wall flicker before your eyes, you bite down on your tongue. Homelander closes the door with a soft click, lingering for just a second, before turning to you, bright smile in place. 

- I just realized, I don't know the scope of your powers - he says casually, crossing the room, and standing in front of you - Soon, we'll be sent on missions together, I'd like to know what I'm working with. 

Fair enough. You are slightly surprised he even needs clarification, as before signing the contract, Vaught took full inventory of your abilities. The idea of being alone with him in a room still makes your fingertips tingle with nerves, but you swallow it down, like you seem to be doing to most things these days. Pushing your hair out of your face, you nod slowly, pretending this sudden shift in his behavior is not throwing you in a loop. 

- I'm pretty strong - you say, keeping your expression even, and don't even flinch, when he scoffs at your words - I heal faster. And I can use mild telekinesis, although it's really not... Um... Polished. 

To be quite honest, all you've managed to do, is move some objects around. It's not even useful enough to aid you in your day-to-day life. Usually it takes less effort to just, pick the damned thing up. Which is all that he should know, because Vaught knows. 

- Show me - it's not a request, his voice filled with a demanding tone, bordering on arrogance. 

You almost tell him to say please. Your mouth opens, the words ready to jump out from between a small smirk playing on your lips, but you swallow that thought thickly. There's a time and a place for educating his ignorant ass, and being locked in a tiny conference room might not be the right one. So, you shrug, the movement pushing your hair back over your eyes. 

- Which one? - perhaps, you'll allow yourself a cheeky smile, as a treat.

His smile sharpens to a worrying degree, and he claps his hands in front of his chest.

- I'm so glad you asked - his feet carry him straight to the box, and you might get a whiplash from all the confusion you're experiencing - I read your file. 

That raises an eyebrow. Realistically, you knew he would have access to your documents, your wole life exposed to his greedy eyes. And as such, this line of questioning surprises you. Although perhaps, it shouldn't. Since the very first moment you've met him, you had a sneaking suspicion, that he's just... Well... Lazy beyond belief. And your last interaction proved to you the sheer scope of his unwillingness to put any work in. With a raised eyebrow, you watch him open the black box with a soft click, taking out it's contents, his shoulders rolling, like he's preparing to lift some weights at the gym. 

Then, he turns back to you, a gun secured in his leather grip. 

- I'm interested in your healing abilities - he says, smile never faltering, the muzzle staring at you expectantly.

Now that gets your heart racing, but the reason might surprise him. Pain has been a constant companion in your life, and after discovering your powers, probably one of the few ways to keep yourself in check. That's why, your eyes light up at the sight of the gun, and all caution is thrown to the wind. You know, deep down, this is a test. How much can he do, how much can he hurt you. But you'll deal with the consequences after. 

If this will help placate him, lead him away from whatever happened between the two of you last night, you're more than willing to put yourself on the line. Better than the alternative, better than making use of that NDA you just signed. 

- Once, I got hit by a car - you remember with smile - And the next day went to class like nothing happened. 

The gun digs into the soft flesh of your stomach, as you step closer, looking up at him with an impassive expression, and Homelander's eyes light up like a kid's in a toy shop. Dangerous, your brain supplies, so very dangerous, but you've never been shot before, and to be quite honest, you're curious yourself. 

- Lift up your shirt - he says, voice dropping just a fraction - Wouldn't want to arrive to the photoshoot with a hole in that pretty costume, would you?

You do as he says, with a bit of a struggle rolling up the faux leather of your corset top. His eyes fall down in an instant, tongue darting out to wet his lips, as he drinks in the sight of your pliable flesh peaking over the hemline of your skirt. His free hand darts out, as if on autopilot, gloved finger running across the whole expanse of your belly, revelling in the way your muscles contract at the contact.

Too close, you face twists, as his touch brings back memories from last night, your body freezing up for just a second. You need to keep him occupied in some other way, and as such, your eyes roll on their own, whether pushed by Smirnoff or Fireball is anyone's guess.  

To your credit, when you grab the gun out of his hand with an almost laughable ease, he gasps, eyebrows furrowing at the sheer audacity of your action. But before he can have the chance to voice his irritation, you flip the gun in your hold, pushing it into the exposed flesh of your stomach. It's cold, hard, and your pulse spikes, as the anticipation flares within your veins. 

- What are you...? - you cut him off, squeezing the trigger.

The shot rings out, the bullet goes into your stomach, and the force of the impact sends you falling over the table. And, fuck, it hurts like motherfucker on a stick. The smell of blood floods your nostrils, and through your momentary shock, you try to blink back tears welling up in your eyes. 

- What the fuck?! - he cuts himself off again, a bewildered laugh sneaking past his lips, blue eyes drinking in the sight of your trembling form.

- You were taking too long - you try to sound indifferent, but your voice comes out as a broken whisper, spasm after spasm wrecking your body.

Blood trickles down your stomach, soaking into the fabric of your skirt, and as the wound slowly starts to close up, you can feel the bullet travel up, through the tissue. The sensation might be worse then the initial shot, and your face twists, as cold sweat pools over your creased forehead. Seemingly, you hadn't nicked any important organs, or so you hope. 

- Oh, does that hurt? - you barely register his mocking tone of voice, as he comes closer to your heaving form.

Homelander crouches down, wrenching the gun from your hand and throwing it on the floor behind him like it's a piece of used tissue. Then, with mild interest, he inspects the wound.

- Your bleeding - he notes, and you'd be foolish not to note the slight tinge of disdain coloring his words. 

- I'm not fucking bulletproof - you huff out, doubling over with a groan - I just heal faster.

He cranes his head to the side, eyes gliding over your pained expression. You're too focused on steadying your breathing, to notice the way his tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek in thought, but you're alert enough to recoil, once his gloved hand wedges itself under your chin, pushing your face ever so slightly upwards. You wish you didn't catch his gaze. The unrelenting curiosity, mixed with barely contained disappointment at your limited abilities. 

- Let's try one more thing, hmm? - he asks, although noth of you know, there's no way for you to refuse.

Homelander grabs you by the shoulder, hoisting you up, despite the weakness in your legs. You groan, as the bullet finally falls out of the wound, creating a small, bloody print on the carpet. His eyes float towards the slowly disappearing dent in your skin, his thumb rubbing over it with a bit more force than necessary, as if he's trying to milk as much pain possible, force you to react again. 

You don't give him the satisfaction, your eardrums buzzing, as you sway on your feet. Then, two things happen at the same time. His gloved hand pushes against your shoulder with enough strength, to force your body to uncurl, expose itself to his greedy eyes. And then, the center of your chest erupts with unimaginable, searing pain, as Homelander's eyes shoot red right at the middle of your collarbones. 

It's a quick, blink-and-you'll-miss-it kinda impact, but it sends you flying backwards, colliding with the table, and then straight to the floor. For the first half a minute, you can't breathe, your chest collapsing like a faulty mineshaft. The smell of burning flesh fills the conference room, and you would retch, if you could do anything more than flail your arms weakly, legs kicking out. 

He must've hit your trachea, you think, when your lungs fill with boiling blood. 

Homelander comes to stand next to your body, moving languidly, as if this is the most regular of interactions. His face blurs in front of your eyes, the fluorescent lights illuminating his blonde hair from above. You want to say something so bad, something smart and cutting, that would throw him off his rhythm again, but all that manages to push past your lips, is a broken gargle, as blood gathers behind your teeth. 

His face twists again, eyes taking on a freezing indifference, that is colder, more terrifying than any snowstorm. Looking at you for a moment longer, he finally snaps himself back to reality, a scowl placed over his features. 

- Get your shit together - he spits out through gritted teeth - The photoshoot starts soon.

The disgusted look he throws you, as blurry as it is in front of your eyes, makes your lips curl back into a snarl. You should've known better, you did know better, but it doesn't matter, because for some reason, when it came to him, you just can't stop your mouth from running wild. So, before he even reaches the door, your gargles form a single, spiteful word, that cuts through the smell of blood, and flesh, and burning. 

- Bitch - you seethe, blood gathering in the corners of your mouth, and you hear his boots stomp over, before you can see him. 

There's a moment of outrage, his eyes burning with that all too familiar, red burn. But then, it melts into something worse, something cold and self-satisfied. He lifts his boot ever so slightly, placing it down on your chest, keeping your body from moving on the floor. Homelander lingers like that for a split-second, eyes flickering all over your pained face. You know what he's looking for, and you refuse to give it. 

- I'll tell Madelyn to reschedule the photoshoot - he muses, lips curling back into a cruel smirk.

And then he pushes down with his foot, slowly, so you can feel every single creak and crack of your bones under his heel. He drinks in the silent scream, that tears through your body, as your ribs break under the pressure. Your eyes roll back into your skull, damn the car accident, you've never felt pain like this before. 

- Take the rest of the day off, alright kiddo? - he quips, his voice deceivingly kind.

Giving one last shove of his foot, he finally lets up, shuffling out of the room like nothing has happened, the cape swishing over your broken body, like a blessing from America itself. The door clicks softly, somewhere over your head, and finally, you give yourself the luxury of crying. Heavy, salty tears run down your cheeks, mixing with the remnants of last night's mascara. At least he won't see you like this. You try to ignore the possibility of him using his X-ray vision to preserve your own peace of mind. 

And as you lay there, feeling your bones, your tissues connect under the never stopping waves of pain, you realize something, which brings upon a new wave of tears tumbling down your cheeks, soaking into your hair, into the ugly carpet. 

This is the first time you've felt truly alive in a long, long time. 

[cakeyouareoh]

FRINGE

2.20 - “Northwest Passage”

[forged-in-kaoss]

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Double Trouble

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, abduction, drugging, anal and other adult content and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You meet a strange pair of men while waiting on your friends. (plus-sized, short reader)

Character: Lloyd Hansen, August Walker

Note: This is for the dick(s) and nothing else.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love coffee and that’s a lot and probably unhealthy. Take care. 💖

A droplet of cranberry tinged alcohol clings at the corner of your lips. You dab it away with your knuckle and flick away the moisture. You cradle the triangular basin of the glass as you admire the spectrum of alcohols behind the bar.

You tap a nail against the glass and drop your hand. You pick up your phone and check the latest message. Nadia’s last text alleges that their uber is stuck in traffic. You weigh the honesty in that excuse. You know her and Gemma isn’t a better influence. The two of them are chronically late.

You click your tongue as the bartender comes by, eyeing your drink. You’re not that thirsty. He smiles as asks how it is. You assure it’s good and go back to your tedious wait. If there’s one thing you hate in a person, it’s the lack of consideration that comes with being late. Yet it seems that all your friends suffer from it.

There’s not much to distract yourself with. You don’t want to sit there playing Wordle like some loser. If they could maybe plan ahead past their makeup you might not be the eternal loner. 

“This seat taken?” You’re startled by the question but at first don’t realise it’s directed at you.

The stool next to yours shifts and you look over at the man who perches on it. Shit. You pinch the stem of your glass nervously and clear your throat.

“Actually, I’m waiting for someone.”

“And what idiot is leaving a girl like you waiting?” He smirks beneath the thick bristle of hair above his lip. Not exactly your type.

“My friends,” you grumble, “you’re gonna have to move–”

He ignores you and signals to the bartender with two fingers. He’s unbothered as he puts in his order for a neat whiskey, pausing to angle slightly towards you, “you need a top up, baby girl?”

You consider him. He’s tall, built well enough beneath the black turtleneck, but his taste leaves something to be desired. His hair is neat and slicked back over shaved sides, and his blues eyes sparkle mischievously above finely chiseled cheekbones.

“Baby girl?” You scoff, “uh, no,” you drag your glass closer and scope out the bar, looking for a set of seats to move to. “Thanks.”

As you turn on the seat, a hand brushes your hip and the stool at your other side scrapes on the floor. You nearly topple from the height and twist to look at the man who’s claimed sentinel to your right. You get a look at his face and the mustache that trims his lip. Is this some sort of club? Did you not pluck well enough?

“Come on, sweetie,” the other man grabs the stool beside your thigh, and spins the seat to face the bar, “finish your drink. You look like you could use the company.”

“Um, no thank you, I–”

You gape at the second man. He’s even bigger than the first. His dark hair is slightly curled and a short stubble covers his handsome cheeks and square jaw. The cleft in his chin adds to his brutish allure and the strain of his shoulders beneath his jacket makes you gulp.

You go to swipe up your phone but the first man is quicker than you. He slides it out from beneath your fingertips and holds it away from you. You reach across him and the other man tugs your other arm.

“Hey, let go,” you hiss, “what are you doing?”

“We just wanna chat, baby?” The second man hovers his other hand along your lower back, “you can’t be sitting here all alone. You never know what creep will come to bother you.”

You snort. Really?

The first man, with the lighter brown hair, hums as he accepts his drink from the bartender. The second orders scotch as he tickles along your rear. You twitch and give a desperate look to the server but they only chuckle. Wait, does he think you know these weirdos?

“‘Where are you?’” The first man reads off your phone as he drags his thumb over the screen.

You look around as you catch the second man’s hand and struggle to keep him at bay. You don’t see your Nadia or Gemma. The place isn’t that big.

“‘Sitting by the fountain’,” the man clucks and peers behind him, “I don’t see no fountain.”

“Sounds like you’re in the wrong place, baby.” The hand pushes past you and squeezes your hip, “what do you think, Hansen? She’s got a bit extra back here.”

“Bit extra all over but you know I got a type,” the other man purrs then takes a long draw from his glass, winking at your scandalized expression.

“Pretty face,” the darker haired man comments as if you’re not even there, as if you’re a slab of meat or product on a shelf. “Sweet little mouth on her–”

“Wow, wow, alright, you creepers need to go. I’m not interested.”

“We don’t see anyone else lined up,” the second man latches onto your purse, “let us buy you a drink.”

“I have a drink. And I have friends,” you grasp at your phone but the first man, Hansen, keeps it out of your reach. “They’re waiting for me.”

“Looks like you’ve been waiting on them,” the man with his hand on your hip growls, “so why don’t you leave them hanging a bit longer?”

“I’m really not interested, alright?” You feel dizzy as you bat away his hand only to have the others land on your ass. “Would you keep your hands to yourself?”

You slap behind you and barely miss the man as he chuckles. He pulls back and thumbs at your phone. You whine helplessly and lean towards him.

“Gimme my phone.”

“I’ll give you your phone when you earn it.”

“Right, you two are fucked,” you utter, “keep it. It’s not worth it.”

“Walker,” the pervert with your phone says dully, “do it.”

You yipe as you feel a prick and slap your hand down on your thigh where the flesh stings. You look down as you press your palm to the hot flesh, a radiating pulse flowing through you. The other man, Walker, quickly hides the long nose of the syringe in his hand. Oh, what the fuck?

“Don’t get too worked up, honey buns,” Hansen spreads his hand across your back, “you’ll get yourself hurt.”

“You–” You bluster out, “what did you do?”

“It’s alright,” Walker coos as he rubs your arm, “you’re just gonna have a little sleep.”

“N-no,” the panic courses through you only to be hampered by a sudden wave of fatigue. You sway and plant your hand on the bar, “no, you can’t do this.”

“You gonna stop us?” Hansen chortles as he wraps his arm around you, “‘cause no one else is gonna.”

“I…” you begin then push the hell of your hand to your head as it swells.

“It’s alright, baby,” Walker taunts as your lashes flutter, “we’ll take care of you.”

🍸

“Ah, I think she’s waking up,” the voice slithers into your ear as your eyelids slit. “Doll,” fingers snap before your face and you murmur, your head lolling as you squint in the harsh glare of light, “there she is.”

A caress on your cheek makes you wince. You groan at the pain tugging in your shoulders and the heavy weight just behind your toes. You drone as you look down at yourself, your feet held wide by a metal bar attached to thick leather cuffs that buckle around your ankles. You peer up at your hands, each arm stretched at angle with your wrists bound to chains.

What is this? Where are you? 

Your eyes snap wide and you search through the haze. The cogs in your mind grind slowly as the recollection churns through. The men, two of them, you know them. Not truly but you recognise them.

You were at the bar waiting for your friends and they approached you. Then… the needle! This can’t be happening. It’s absurd. So ridiculous that it can’t be real.

“Come on, juicy,” the man with the sleek hair cut coaxes as he cradles your chin, his eyes boring into you as he brings his other hand around the back of your skull. He holds you steady as he smirks, “keep with it. Sleep too long and that heads gonna be pounding.”

“Who… who… why?” The questions bubble over and weakly fall from your lips.

“You don’t need to worry about all that,” he winks as his eyes descend to your mouth, “you were right, Walker, she does have a pretty mouth.”

“You’re always playing with your food, Hansen,” the other man appears behind him.

“Birds of a feather,” the one before you, Hansen, brushes up your chin with his thumb. You quiver and bat your lashes at him fearfully. “Ah, look at the sweet little pussy, she’s scared.”

"Stop…" your mouth is dry and clumsy as you try to speak.

"You really should be thanking us," Hansen drags his hand up to your cheek and gives a small slap, "my partner here was generous with his dose… just enough to dull the pain, sweet cheeks."

You murmur as he lets you go. Your head slumps weakly as you hang limply from your restraints. He moves back and they face each other for a moment, communicating with just a look.

You use all your strength to lift yourself on your toes, arms shaking as you try to support your own weight. Your meagre attempt collapses and you dangle once more, groaning as it jars you from shoulder to ankle. You whimper and throw your head back.

"Please," you breathe, "why..."

"Does it really matter why?" Hansen looks back at you as stretches his neck side to side, "it's not going to change what happens next."

"Who are you?"

"See, that doesn't matter either," he grins and glances at the other man, a few inches taller and even wider. "So, who's starting, Augy?"

"Don't call me that, jackass," Walker rolls his eyes as he removes his dark brown jacket.

"Was being polite, that's all," Hansen retorts as ge rolls his shoulders.

You quiver and furl your fingers to fists. You look along your left arm, then your right. You tug on one then the other. There's no escape.

"Baby," Walker frightens you as he nears, unbuttoning his tip button as his mouth keeps a firm line, "you don't wanna panic. It'll only make this harder."

"Don't know about you, but I can't get much harder," Hansen jokes lewdly before peel his black turtleneck over his head. He flings it and smooths his hair back into place with both hands.

"Charming," the other man comments as he stares you down and his fingers continue down the front his shirt, uncovering the thick hair along his chest and stomach.

You bite down as your eyes sparkles with tears. You sniff and try to bat them away with your lashes. This can't be real.

"Go on," Hansen teases, "big boy loves crying. Turns him on, doesn't it, August?"

“Lloyd,” The man closet to you, Walker, August, whoever he is, growls in response as he strips away his shirt. You smush your lips together and plead silently with your eyes. He tilts his head as he considers you.

"Since I won the toss," Lloyd comes around and drags his hand along your side as he circles to stand behind you, "I'll take the back."

You shudder as he drags his hand over your hair and presses himself flush to you. He might be shorter than the other man but he still towers over you. He inhales your sent as he tickles his fingers down your neck.

August reaches to his belt, sliding free a short blade from a sheath there. You wince as he raises it, showing the black steel before tracing it down the strap of your dress. He hooks it beneath and snaps it easily. The other is cut just as swiftly.

You dress slouches and Lloyd snakes his arms around to guide the fabric past your chest. You tremble as your strapless bra barely clings to you. He makes quick work of it, popping the hook free so the nude cups fall away.

August grips the crumpled dress with one hand and cuts up from the hem. He slices through and whisks away the fabric. Your skin prickles at your sudden nakedness, only the soft lilac thong left to hide in.

Lloyd runs his hands down your sides and claps against your ass, kneading the flesh as he purrs. 

“Tell me you didn’t wear these for a reason,” he taunts as he pokes his finger under the elastic of your thong.

“Not… for… you…” you eke out.

“Listen, toots, every part of you is for me,” he rebuffs as he pinches your ass cruelly. 

August trails the tip of the knife down your belly and slips beneath the thong. His silence is just as troubling as Lloyd’s slimy remarks. The disparity in their characters adds to your uncertainty. Neither can be bartered with as they work methodically at their mission; you.

The thong falls apart against the blade and you whine in horror. Exposed and helpless. You shake your head as you dip it to hide your face. The shame scorches your flesh and sizzles in your veins.

August sheaths the knife again as he steps closer. He frames your tits and hums, his large thumbs caressing the rise of flesh and circling your nipples. His touch sends a shiver through your ass Lloyd continues to grope your ass. Your toes slip on the floor as they crowd you.

The man in front of you watches as he toys with you, rubbing your nipples hard as a crack forms in his veneer, a dimple of amusement sinking into his cheek. He bends his head as Lloyd’s hands drag down your thighs and you peek past your hip as he gets to his knees. What’s going on?

August takes your bud between his teeth and suckles, tweaking the other as you cry out in surprise. You push your head back as fingertips dance along the back of your thighs and follow the creases below your ass. His nose tickles along your cheek and you squeak.

“Got me a whole buffet back here,” he snarls against your skin, his lips sending ripples up your back.

He presses his palms to your ass and spreads your cheeks. You whimper as August nips at you, his tongue swirling as a pluck tugs at your core. The storm of sensation has you off balance and shaking.

Lloyd leans in and you feel his humid breath against you. You wrap your fingers around the chains that bind you as his tongue flick along your puckered ring. Your head shoots up at the peculiar feeling. He laps more intently as he pushes his face further between your cheeks, holding you still as you twitch. 

August brushes his mustaches from one tit to the other, a flutter across the skin. He teases your other nipple as he did the first, fondling you with his other hand. He trails his fingers down your torso, dancing along your stomach and pelvis eagerly.

He dips between your folds and you gasp. He searched blindly until he finds your clit, toying with it as he sucks fervently at your chest. You moan as your insides twist.

Lloyd's tongue twirls and swipes all around, prodding at your hole as he drones hungrily. He shakes his head between your cheeks, the hair along his lip adding to the ticklish sensation. You puff out, little by little, weaving a finger into a link of the chain.

August follows the previous path of his hand with his mouth. He mirrors the other man as he gets to his knees. Your legs quake as his lips graze your pelvis and he nuzzles the trimmed triangle of hair.

He reaches his tongue down to meet his fingers. You murmur as you arch your feet, a cramp thickening behind your calf. He rolls his tongue around your clit as his hand trails back towards your entrance. His other travels along the front of his pants. 

To your horror, his fingertips slicken along your cunt. He pushes back and forth across your entrance and centers his middle finger. He eases into you with the thick digit, drawing another pathetic moan from you.

Lloyd drags his tongue along your cheek and pokes around your ring. You hold your breath as he circles it and presses against your hole. He pushes until you feel yourself opening then pulls back. He repeats the act several times, each time a squeak breaks free from you.

As he eases his fingertip inside, little by little, you quiver and let out a jittery whine. He gets to his first knuckle as the pressure in your core pulses.

August slides in and out of your cunt, a steady motion as your squeeze around Lloyd’s finger. Lloyd sinks deeper and you grit your teeth at the fiery intrusion. You hiss and huff, eyes rolling back as the duel of sensations battles within you.

You hear the soft clink of a buckle and the subtle whisper of a zipper. Your lashes part as August pulls his dick through the front of his pants. He grips himself, stroking his length slowly as he drinks you in. You feel his rhythm rock against you and it floods you with another swell of heat.

Lloyd tilts his hand, fucking your ass slowly with a single finger. It’s enough to drive you mad as your toes curls and your ankles bend against the bar. You whimper as your thighs knot and your nerves bounce off each other. 

August spreads his tongue wide, swiping it up and down as he rams his knuckles into you, faster, harder. You pant through your nose as you try to fight the building thrill as it blooms from your core and stretches in tendrils up your chest. 

They find a tempo, working in tandem as they work your holes. You can’t hold back any longer as the pressure snaps and red hot pleasure burns through you. You cum with a rolling shiver, twitching uncontrollably as your voice drones out mindlessly.

Lloyd rests his cheek against your ass and chuckles. He slips his finger out, a little at a time, and smears it along your skin. He tuts as nips your quivering flesh. 

“Coulda fooled me if you told me this was a virgin ass,” he pulls his face back and spanks you.

August pulls out of your cunt and flicks two fingers along your cunt as he leans back. You watch him shove his fingers into his mouth and purr as he wiggles his dick in his other hand. Lloyd stands as he smacks your ass again, that time with two hands.

You squeal as August rises too, letting his dick bob before him as he pushes his pants down his thick thighs. You shake your head as you stare at his size. He’s so big you hurt already.

Lloyd taps his fingertips along your shoulders and kneads the muscle. He parts and cool air ripples over your back. You hear him behind you as August stays in front of you. 

August places a hand on the front of your thigh and one along the back, he brushes them down to your ankle and unlocks the cuff there. He moves across the bar and frees the other. He brings his arms behind your legs and rises, hooking his elbows under your knees as he has you hanging from your wrists.

One hand drags down your back and curls you towards him. He feels beneath you and pushes two fingers along your cunt. He spreads you as he wiggles his hips, angling until he catches his tip between his knuckles. He stretches you around him, inch by inch as you swallow down a low moan.

The air shifts behind you and a cool slickness spills along the top of your ass and leaks between your cheeks. Lloyd pushes his fingers between the flesh and rubs the oil against your hole, once more dipping inside. You groan and bite your lip as you try to withhold the delight that smothers your horror.

As August buries himself to his limit, Lloyd adds a second finger, both stretching you. Their breath creates a whirlwind, swallowing you up.

Lloyd pushes in and out, spreading his fingers wide inside of you as you cling to him. You clench tightly as you quiver uncontrollably. He slides free and steps closer. He pauses as he undoes his pants, the fabric rustling against your ass as you grip the chains tight above you.

August stills you as Lloyd lines his tip up with your hole. The bigger man lowers you onto the other, both your ass and cunt straining to take them both at once. 

Lloyd frames the back of your neck and keeps a hand on your hip as he delves deeper and deeper. August rocks into you steady, an arm hooked around you as the other snakes under your knee.

They glide into you at the same time, filling you to the brim as you tremble. You’ve never felt anything so painfully pleasant. They buck in time with each other, burying deep, and easing back out. Sharp thrusts and slow retreats.

Your head falls back against Lloyd as he ruts from behind, your hips tilt onto August. You’re lost in them completely entwined in their bodies. Before, after, all that you care about is the present and the coil winding tighter and tighter.

The orgasm tears from your throat at once. You shake between them and cum in a violent tide. But they don’t stop. They build a furious temple, battering you raw and you’re suspended helplessly at their mercy. Of which, they have little.

“You don’t think this ends when you cum, do you, sugar tits?” Lloyd breathes against your hair, “this isn’t over til your gaping and dripping.”

“Mmm, baby, don’t listen to him,” August growls as he raises his hand to your chin and lifts your head, pressing his forehead to yours, “you can keep going, can’t you?”

You know your answer doesn’t matter. Even less even than their taunts. They won’t stop and you’re not sure you want them too.

[myreia]

— vi. the last

They stay. They go. Ebbs and flows, as certain as the tide that will take his ship to sea. Their responsibilities take them in different directions. This is the way it has always been, and in truth, they prefer it. Independent to a fault, wanderers in answer to different calls. But the time apart makes the time together all the more sweeter. Goodbye for now does not mean goodbye forever.   Till next we meet.

[gooperts-gunk]

im so crazy over the tragedy of everything q!bbh does being under a demon pretense even though he's a fallen angel.

do u think he just accepts the demon label because it's easier. do u think he believes it too, and catches himself in his thoughts with "oh, right. im not exactly that". and maybe he believes that he did this to himself? do u think what he did was to protect himself or someone? no matter the fall, he still has so much kindness to give and his brain just isn't wired the way a natural-born demon would be, he can't hold back instincts when time demands it, maybe that's why he fell in the first place.

and when he's finally bad, not good, it's treated like the end of the world, without empathy on why he would act out. do you think this keeps happening? the same scenario, multiple times, every timeline? he has to be used to it. so he has to take it in stride. he's good until he lashes out under extreme pressure, and suddenly he's called demon. and once again he's what heaven made him out to be. what he made himself to be, his brain would ruthlessly provide...

i don't think he wants to be that, though he hides secrets behind secrets of which neither identity is a home... but i don't think he wants to have to change, either. and i don't think that's wrong of him.

...you collapse atlantis ONE TIME and all of a sudden YOU'RE the bad guy and SURE it was FUN but REALLY now,--

[tomcruiseishot]

One shot: Ethan hunt x Rival Reader

I am shocked at the lack of Ethan hunt/Mission impossible fanfics on here. Anyways, I love a good enemies to loved so I decided to write one. Sorry if this sucks LMAO. If anyone likes this lmk i’ll write more.

WARNINGS: Kissing, Some blood, Mild language. This one is pretty PG-13. *Gif is not mine*

After finally arriving at the safe house, your feet are begging you to lay down. Unfortunately, you are covered in blood from todays mission and the last thing you want to do is go to bed without showering. The mission your on forces you to be in uncomfortable proximity to Infamous Agent Ethan Hunt. Even just hearing his name makes you irritated. This is not the only mission that you had to work with him. The two of you often get in each others way since you both want be making the decisions. What’s more aggravating is that no matter what you do on a mission, Ethan always gets credit for YOUR accomplishments. Anyway, instead of berating Ethan Hunt in your head, you really do need to shower. You slowly approach the bathroom. you hear the shower and realize ethan is occupying the only bathroom in the apartment. “Ethan hurry up, how much longer?”

The door opens and he leans against the white frame. You suddenly feel unable to breathe. He smiles at you with a hint of arrogance and an emotion you can’t quite place. “You missed me?” He sarcastically says, low and raspy in an attempt to not wake your sleeping colleague. Despite your best efforts you can’t help but watch the water bead of his chest onto his loose grey sweatpants. His abs are so defined they look sculpted. But you don’t have time for this. Besides, this is Ethan hunt we’re talking about here and you’re supposed to hate him. You try to think of something witty to say but your at a loss. “I need to shower Ethan, Im covered in blood and I’m tired.” He stares at you intently and you want to break his gaze but you keep from looking away. “You got pretty messed up out there.” He says. “Yeah no shit.” He chuckles lowly at this. “Listen. I know we haven’t always gotten along” he starts, “But you did really good today. We wouldn’t have killed the general without your quick thinking.”

I can’t believe Ethan hunt is being nice to me. When he says this, Your stomach erupts in a warm feeling that spreads throughout your veins and goes from your toes all the way up to your ears. I don’t have feelings for Ethan do I? We’re just talking agent-to-agent. He would’ve said that to anyone. His muscular arm brushes a tendril of hair out of your face and tucks it he kind your ear. You look up at him and begin to feel feel your stomach explode in butterfly’s. Suddenly you no longer remember why you knocked on the door.

Your legs start to feel like jelly but this time it’s not from exhaustion. He’s so close you can practically feel his breath on your face. He smells like a pine tree and his body heat makes you feel warm. He looks at you with something unprecedented: affection. For the first time you notice how handsome Ethan is. You begin to wonder what it would be like to press your lips against his. Ethan takes a brisk breath like he’s going to say something but then just stares at you, then nods in dismissal. “We’ll I should probably hurry up then.” He says. “Yeah probably.” You say chuckling.

He begins to shut the door. For some reason you’re filled with desperation for the man who you called your enemy 5 minutes ago. “Hey, Ethan?” He slowly turns back around and reopens the door. “Thanks for your help today. If I’m being honest I was pretty scared earlier and I don’t know what happened if you weren’t there,” The corners of his mouth turn up, “Hey, it’s my job. Don’t worry about it.” I start again, “But Im not just talking about the job. I guess what i’m trying to say is I’m really glad I met you. I mean glad know you-have you. you.” When he doesn’t respond you start regretting saying anything at all. “I’m sorry I don’t even know why I said that so I’m just gonna-” Suddenly he grabs your waist with his strong hands and pulls you in so close you can hear and feel his heart beat. He leans in and he puts his mouth on yours and kisses you roughly. You’re shocked but pleasantly surprised and immediately kiss back. Your whole body is tinging and it feels as if fireworks are going off inside the apartment. You grasp at his nape with one hand and with the other you feel the crevice’s of his abs that you’ve always secretly longed to feel.

He pulls away from the kiss and smiles at you with love and appreciation. He leans to whisper something in your ear. “we should take this… elsewhere.” You cock your head the same way a confused puppy does. “What, did you have something planned?” You both look towards the agent asleep of the bed. He looks back at you and his green eyes suddenly change to a hungry lust. You wryly smile. With one of his strong hands he forcefully pulls you into the bathroom and uses your body to shut the door. He raises your wrists above your head and pins you against the door with one hand, the other on the back of your neck. You wish this moment could last forever. He steps closer, roughly kissing you. He pulls back panting and looks st you with a small smirk. You smile then bite your lip. All you can think is you hope your friend isn’t a light sleeper.

[roboticsir]

big shot screaming, "put your hands in the sky,"

[hairmetal666]

Eddie is sixteen and his magic is incredibly volatile. He's powerful and he has trouble not accidentally casting when his emotions are high (which is always) or casting on a whim, not being careful enough of his words, and suffering the unintended consequences. Wayne ends up hiding the grimoires and family journals until Eddie learns a little more control, and is the first to realize that Eddie casts better while he's playing music. They develop a system, by no means perfect, where Eddie composes a song based on how the spell feels.

Sixteen is also the year Eddie falls in love. He's always known he liked boys, but never thought about relationships. He lives in Hawkins and is a witch, for god's sake. He sneaks off to Indy, goes to bars, but can't imagine having something like a boyfriend.

Jackson is new in town, already 17 but in Eddie's grade. It starts as friendship, but before long Jackson kisses him. Eddie thinks it's like a fairytale. It ends when Jackson's military dad is transferred to a base overseas. It's mundane. It rips Eddie's heart to shreds.

After, Eddie does a spell. He knows he shouldn't; he's too upset and his magic is unpredictable at the best of times. He doesn't care. He grabs his guitar, starts playing. The song is melodic, layered, sad. He starts babbling, casting a spell to never fall in love by creating the most beautiful, unrealistic boy in the world. He won't remember some of what he says--and that's a problem-- but knows he talks about a boy with a map of the night sky on his body, the loneliest king, the prettiest man in Hawkins, jock with a heart of gold, lover of nerds and small children, throws himself into danger with little thought for the consequences, shockingly kind, fantastically mean. He knows this person can't be real, too many contradictions, too many impossibilities.

Enter Steve Harrington.

Eddie knows Steve. Everyone does. And sure, the guy is hot as hell, but the worst kind of douchebag jock, so Eddie never really considers him worth thinking of. And that would probably continue, but his new Hellfire recruits think the sun shines out of Harrington's ass, and apparently Robin Buckley is his best friend. It doesn't add up and Eddie's usually great at math.

Time passes and he starts to get it. He watches Dustin and Harrington do the dorkiest, nerdiest handshake and the joy that contorts Steve's face. It's so fucking beautiful, Eddie has to look away. He comes upon Harrington and Erica Sinclair bickering, both smart-assing, listens to the way Erica giggles about it once she thinks no one can hear. Or when he watches Steve drop Max Mayfield at home--Max who Eddie has never once seen smile, who he's always been just a little bit afraid of--and she's laughing and teasing him, beaming.

It's inevitable when they become friends. Steve is a wonder. Constantly a surprise. So pretty it's like looking directly at the sun. When Steve tells Eddie that he's bisexual, it drops off his tongue with no hint of unease, no consideration for how he's upending Eddie's world view.

One night they're getting high, just the two of them, and he's asking if Steve wants to shotgun and Steve smirks and leans in, and then they're kissing. Doing way more than kissing.

They keep hooking up, but it's nothing. It's Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington who wants the all-American white picket fence, wife, 2.5 kids, and a dog. Not a dnd playing-metalhead-nerd-witch dude. And if Eddie feels himself growing inexplicably more and more fond, well, he's made damn sure love isn't in the cards for him anymore.

They're laying in Eddie's bed one night, Eddie tracing gentle fingers between the moles and freckles on Steve's back.

"That tickles," Steve murmurs. "What are you doing?"

"Mapping the constellations," he whispers.

Steve's laugh vibrates Eddie's ribcage, as does the rumble of his voice saying, "my mom used to do that when I was a kid. Said she was looking for the big dipper."

He presses his lips against the top of Steve's spine to stop from saying something unkind about his parents, who never loved their absolute gift of a son enough, leaving him lonely and forgotten in that big, cold house. He freezes as soon as he has the thought, remembers that spell. It's nothing, of course. The spell was to repel love, not get Steve Harrington into his bed.

They keep sleeping together, spend almost all their time together. Eddie's enamored but it doesn't matter. Steve isn't his, not really, and never will be. Eddie made sure of it.

But one day Steve comes over and sees this old Casio keyboard Gareth brought over.

Steve flips it on, starts hitting notes; at first dicking around, but then sliding into Clare de Lune.

"You play the piano?" Eddie asks. He knows he has a dopey smile on his face, his heart doing something terrible in his chest even though he's not in love.

"Took lessons until I was ten," Steve smiles up at him, blushing when their eyes meet.

Eddie has to walk away or he's going to do something like drop to one knee and propose. Steve keeps playing, transitioning from Debussy to something infinitely sweeter, so sad it makes Eddie's heart ache.

He stands in the doorway to his bedroom for at least thirty seconds, before storming back into the living room. "What are you playing?" he demands.

It startles Steve, whose fingers still as he looks at Eddie with giant eyes. "Uh, I don't know. It gets stuck in my head sometimes. I thought it was Ozzy or Dio or whatever. It only happens when we're together. You don't recognize it?"

Eddie recognizes it. Eddie recognizes it and Steve shouldn't know it. Eddie didn't write it down , just like he didn't write down the words of the spell.

"Get out," he says. Mean because he's trying not to fall apart.

"What? Eds, what're y--"

"No, you need to leave, Harrington. Right fucking now."

"Eddie, tell me what I did. Let me fix it, please."

"Not on you. But you have to go," Eddie is shaking and Steve's eyes fill with tears.

He doesn't fight, though. His mouth pinches and he shoves his way outside.

Eddie panics and cries, tries to remember as much of that fucking spell as he can before Wayne comes home.

The first words out of Wayne's mouth when he sees Eddie curled up on the couch are, "What'd you do this time, kid?"

He spills it all, every last detail, and Wayne listens in silence, eyebrows peaked.

"It's that Harrington boy?" He asks when the tale is told.

"How'd you know?" Eddie asks.

"Are you kidding me? I see the way you look at each other. You love him?"

Eddie nods, burying his face in his knees. "He doesn't want this, though. He only likes me because I fucking spelled him to."

Wayne rests a hand on Eddie's shoulder. "Kid, I thought I taught you magic better than that. Better go make things right while you can. Then we're going to have a long talk."

Eddie wants to ask what the point is in making it right. It's already too late, after what he's done. Still, he makes the drive to Loch Nora.

Steve opens the door in sweatpants and a stretched out t-shirt, his hair undone. He's sad, Eddie realizes.

"You here to tell me what I did yesterday?"

"Like I said, it wasn't you. Can I come in?"

Steve nods, steps aside.

"Well?" Steve prompts.

Eddie explains exactly what he did four years ago, what it lead them to. When he finishes, he braces for Steve's anger, for yelling. Instead, Steve throws his head back and laughs.

"You're not mad?" Eddie asks. "Or you're so mad that all you can do is laugh?"

"Not mad," Steve confirms.

"Why not? How can you trust me now? Trust this?" He gestures between them.

"I don't know, dude. It's not like you...designed me, or something. I didn't wake up one day when I was fifteen with a bunch of new moles. I told you about my mom. Plus, that would be medically concerning. And I definitely already had crushes on other boys. So, you didn't make me bi."

"What about being kind? What about the kids and being protective?"

Steve just shrugs. "I think a lot of that was due to Nancy, but I guess I can't stay it wasn't the spell."

"You're too calm about this. I took away your free will!"

"Did you?" Steve raises an eyebrow, way too unbothered. "Maybe the spell brought us together. Took a damn long time to do it, but I don't feel like I have no choice in this." He turns more towards Eddie, taking his hands. "I like what we have. But if you don't feel that way, we can end it."

It's Eddie's turn to laugh. "Not feel that way? Harrington, I don't know if you've heard, but you're the man of my dreams. I am, unfortunately, wildly in love with you. I just--this isn't what you want, right? Not forever. You want a wife. Kids. All that shit."

"Who says? We could have a family, Eds, if we want. Hell, we already do! We're raising six kids. And, yeah, maybe I will decide I want a wife and all that one day. I'm 90% sure nothing magical is stopping me. The only thing that is, the thing that matters, is that I want you. Not because of a spell." Steve smiles, face turning a delicious pink. "But because I love you too."

He squeezes his eyes shut to force back the tears that want to fall, kisses Steve instead. Their mouths slide together in perfect sync, and Eddie wants to get lost in it forever; in Steve's lips on his, the snag of his teeth, the way he clutches at Eddie's curls.

When they pull apart, Steve starts laughing again. "I can't believe I'm your perfect man."

"Oh my god," Eddie's face flares with heat. "You have to forget this ever happened. Your ego's too big as it is."

"Nah, this? This I'm remembering forever."

They kiss for a long time before Steve says, "I think I understand why that song was so sad now. You should write us a new one."

Eddie pulls Steve close, thinking that he'll write Steve whatever he wants for the rest of their lifetime.

[liverpool-enjoyer]

im scared yall im so so scared