#it chapter one fanfiction

[canislupus-exe]

In Your Corner | bill denbrough

>>gif credit to @/beenchillin on tumblr<<

fandom | IT: Chapter One

character | Bill Denbrough

reader | (disabled) they/them (she ver.)(he ver.)

requested | anonymous

warnings | cursing, ableism

word count | 1,131

keys | (Y/n) = Your name

summary | Hi! Could I request a Bill Denbrough x disabled!reader? Where Richie compares (y/n) to a bike and tries to ride their wheelchair while (y/n) is still in it- and bill tells him to fuck off? I just think bill would understand 🥺💕

editor | @feliscatus-exe

>> back to prev <<

Keep reading

You hummed quietly as you pushed against the wheels of your chair. Approaching your best friend’s driveway was the only way you could hang out with him, seeing how inaccessible his front door was. If you thought too hard about it, it didn’t give you the best feeling in the world, so you tried not to.

You saw him sitting on the floor, sketching in his notebook somewhat mindlessly. Upon hearing your quiet hum, he flipped a few pages ahead to a blank one. Looking up at you, he squinted from the sun shining in his eyes but smiled.

“H-Hi (Y/n). You’re the f-first to get here so we can wait for everyone else.” He said, standing up and moving to the couch his dad had put in the garage a few months ago. He realized how much more inclined he was to hang out there now that he was friends with you.

His parents were lovely, but he started to pick up on the sudden stiffness and overall negative feelings you had when they said certain things. About how they were sorry and glad Bill was so kind, which he was. It was one of his greatest qualities, but it was as if they only thought he was your friend because he was so kind.

“That’s alright. What were you drawing?”  You asked casually, backing your chair into the space of the wall that was just the right fit. You remembered when he moved aside a table so he could sit next to you. It was one of the moments that made you feel your heartbeat in your stomach, as he so often did.

“Oh, n-n-nothing. Just practicing shape l-language for objects.” He replied, sitting on the cushions in a way that made it easier to look at you. 

“Really? What are you trying to learn to draw?” You asked. He shrugged.

“Nothing in p-p-particular. I just think it’s a g-good skill to have.” He replies, closing his sketchbook and setting it aside. You smile and nod.

“Do you know when the other Losers plan on joining us?” You asked leaning on the arm of your chair.

“Right now.” A voice called from behind. You looked over your shoulder to the garage entrance, watching Richie, Eddie, and Stan enter. You smiled and waved, which only Stan returned. 

“What are we doing here? You never told us.” Eddie says, sitting on the far end of the couch. You were never sure why, but he always seemed much more tense. You could come up with a few reasons, but they weren’t good ones, and you hoped those weren’t the case.

“J-J-Just a movie night. I made popcorn and st-ocked the drinks.” Bill replied. You begin to self-propel toward the fridge in the far left corner of the room. You looked inside, seeing mostly cokes and water. You opted for the latter.

“Plus, if we run out, we can hop on (Y/n)’s wheelchair. They’re basically a bike.” Richie says with a snicker, placing both his feet on the back of your chair and causing you to become unsteady. You yelp in surprise, immediately swatting him off. You turn your chair to face him, a look of panic on your face.

“What the fuck Richie?” You shout. He raises his eyebrows.

“What?” He asks, lacking a single modicum of self-awareness. You’re so flustered and upset that you find it difficult to articulate your feelings. Bill stands up from the couch, stepping between Richie and yourself.

“Y-You can’t say shit like that Richie!” Bill exclaims, his ears turning red from anger as they always did.

“Why are you guys freaking out?” He asks, raising his arms in exasperation.

“C-Comparing (Y/n) to a bike? You don’t get why that’s f-f-f-fu-fucked up!?” He shouts, finding it harder to speak due to his anger.

“No? It was a good thing. Bikes are cool and they’d be helping us to the store.” He replied. 

“It’s fine Bill. Don’t worry about it…” You mumble, trying to maneuver around him.

“N-no (Y/n) I am w-worried about it,” Bill says, turning to look at you. There was a look in his eyes that made you feel warm and safe. 

“They said don’t worry about it so I think-“

“Fuck off Richie!” Bill yells as he whips his head around to stare at him, not a stutter in his voice. Richie backs away with his hands up in surrender.

“Whatever dude.” He mumbles, sitting next to Eddie on the couch.

You were thankful Bill was so quick to defend you, but the confrontation still made you uneasy and guilty. You wheeled your chair out of the garage and onto the driveway, stopping when you heard Bill coming after you.

“Where are you g-going? Are you ok-kay?” He asks, walking by your side. You sigh and stop wheeling yourself forward. You say nothing at first trying to figure out how to put your thoughts into words. Bill walks in front of you, so he can see you while you talk, a simple gesture but something so thoughtful.

“You’re the only one who treats me… Well, normal… Richie always has something to say, Eddie avoids me like he’s going to catch something and I just… I hate it.” You mutter, folding your hands in your lap. Bill sighs as he crosses his arms.

“I w-wish there was more I could do. I t-t-tell Richie all the time to quit his shit but he-“

“It’s not you Bill. You do more than enough. Sometimes it feels like you’re the only person I have in my corner.” You say, looking up to meet his eyes. He smiles, his eyes holding that same shine that made you feel so warm and safe.

“Y-You know, that’s exactly how I feel.” He replies. You tilt your head in confusion. Bill rubs his neck bashfully before shrugging. 

“You’re the only one who ever t-tells them to stop making fun of my s-st-stutter. Sometimes it feels like y-you’re the only one in my c-corner.” He replies. You smile, a warm glow rushing to your cheeks.

“We can be in each other’s corner.” You reply, giddily grabbing his hand. It takes you a second to realize what you’ve done before pulling back.

“S-Sorry I was just-”

“No! It’s okay!” He grabs your hand again, this time intertwining your fingers. “I l-like being in each other's corner.” 

“Pinky promise?” You ask, holding out your pinky. He chuckles and locks his pinky around yours.

“P-Pinky promise.” He replies.

“Now let’s go watch the m-movie. If Richie says anything else I’ll j-just kick him out.”

“Since when are you Mr. tough guy?” You ask with a giggle.

“S-Since I had to be in someone’s corner. I-it’s a tough job you know.”

[shining-just-4-u]

u ever read a fanfic so good that you want. fanfic of the fanfic

[ilyberrymuch]

you can also put in the tags how old you were, again im nosy lol

[skelavender]

god gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers 🙏

[fleetways]

Chapter 25: To Us

[courfee]

“Regulus would be proud of us,” James whispered quietly to no one in particular, still gripping onto the painting like a life raft. 

— Tender Curiosities, Baby!  @otrtbs

[heavenlyraindrops]

♱ Father Forgive Me (For I have Sinned) ~Chapter One ♱

Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Chapter One Warnings: Slight mention of blood, profanity, mild violence How to find the other chapters in my pinned post

♱Where the purest soul in Heaven falls for the Devil♱

[Chapter One]

♱♱♱

“What?” 

You stared at Adam incredulously, wings almost stuttering to a stop mid-air. He stared back, unfazed at your reaction as you backed away and up from him, mind reeling. You were both suspended in the air, held up by your moving wings, but you felt like you were going to plummet to the ground any second. 

The recently opened Pentagram in the sky flickered at the edges around the gaping hole that had allowed the angels to enter Hell. To be fair, you weren’t supposed to be there- you weren’t an exterminator, but Adam had managed to get you permission to join him, arming you with a spear and calling it protection. Plus, if you wanted to go, it wasn’t like the Seraphim would object. It wasn’t a secret, the soft spot they had for you- although, unlike Adam, you did your best to abstain from exploiting it for your every whim. 

“What’s the big deal?” He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t wanna marry me? I’m the First-“

“First Man, I know,” you frowned, voice strained, at his blatant arrogance. “But Hell in the middle of an extermination isn’t exactly the place to propose to someone, Adam.”

“I was gonna say First Dick,” he grumbled. “Why the fuck you gotta be so complicated? Just fuckin’ say yes. I’m the First Di- Man, you’re the purest soul in Heaven, it only makes sense-“

You balled your fists, forcing yourself to keep a level head. “Have you considered that maybe I don’t want to marry you?”

Adam almost seem to freeze in mid-air. His still beating wings gave it away. “Why the fuck not?” He snarled. You flinched, and his face softened slightly. 

“You know I won’t stop trying until you say yes,” he declared. You rolled your eyes, raising up and away into the red sky.

“Just stop trying,” you snapped, and with a powerful beat of your wings you set off into the distance, ignoring Adam’s calls, voice chasing after you, commanding you to stay back.

Your eyes streamed against the wind. You knew Adam liked you, he hadn’t exactly been quiet about it, but there was a lot of stuff he wasn’t quiet about- a lot of stuff which, ultimately, was a turn off for you. You were definitely never going to marry him, and the sheer audacity for him to propose to you so casually, in the middle of Hell, just pissed you off in a way you couldn’t describe. 

You sighed. There was no point dwelling on it now. A large silhouette in the distance began to form more clearly. A large- manor? Palace? You glanced down at the streets swooping away beneath you. They were deserted. 

Weird. You mentally shrugged. People probably just didn’t want to get caught out in the middle of an extermi-

BANG!

Angelic bullets? Your mind barely registered the thought. 

A searing pain stabbed into your wing, which went stiff. For a horrifying moment you were suspended in mid-air, your wings flapping frantically as you tried to stay up, a terrified cloud of feathers and limbs, before another BANG! tore through your remaining functional wing.

You screamed as you flapped your wings a few more pathetic times, careening straight towards the manor-palace. You crashed through a window, taking the curtains down with you, the glass showering you unceremoniously, cutting into your skin as you lay sprawled across the floor in a cloud of feathers. Your spear clattered onto the floor next to you, your wing twitching painfully. 

You barely even managed to notice your own blood until you focused your vision. The light from the broken window filtered across your body, a slit cutting across the dark, shadowy room. Your gilded blood glinted in it, seeping into the carpet and the curtains which were buried beneath your weak form, staining the pure white of your splayed out wings. 

A single white feather drifted down from the air and landed on your arm. You coughed. Gold sputtered from your lips and trickled down the side of your mouth. 

Charming, you thought dryly.

The door of the room opened. You could just barely hear the creak above the blood pounding in your ears. You gulped, hearing footsteps get closer and closer to you- 

“Well well well. What do we have here?”

I’m royally screwed, you thought, closing your eyes and waiting for the killing blow.

Instead, gentle, gentle hands touched your face, turning it towards the light and scraping hair away from your eyes. You flinched at the touch, then relaxed as the voice whispered something. You couldn’t make it what it was saying, but it was soothing. And calm. Your breathing evened out. You just barely managed to lift your heavy eyelids. 

“Who are you?” Your mouth formed the words but your voice couldn’t get them past your throat without them coming out cracked and gravelly. The voice hushed you. You couldn’t make out the person's face. They were just a pale, blurry silhouette, leaning over your body. 

“Close your eyes,” the voice said. “You’re safe now.”

You obeyed.

♱♱♱

You jolted, feeling a presence next to you. The warmth radiated off of them. You could sense their being there. 

It was a struggle to unglue each eye open, and when you did, everything was blurry- it took you a few seconds to even realize you were in a bed. The soft covers rustled against your cheek, until you sat up.  You blinked slowly and looked around, taking in your surroundings.

“Awake that quickly?”

You flinched, wings bursting out in alarm, unfurled over your head. The man sitting next to the bed you lay on raised an eyebrow, smirking. You gulped. “Who are you?”

“Never mind that.” He stood up, shaking down his rolled up sleeves. “How are your wings?”

You realized that they were still arched out from your back. You furled them back into your back, mortified. You also realized that they were painless. 

“They’re healed,” you said breathlessly. The man flashed a prideful grin, revealing his sharp teeth. You narrowed your eyes suspiciously.

“How?”

“Simple. I healed them.”

You frowned, pressing your back against the wall to get as far away from him as possible. He simply stood there, crossing his arms. You blinked, slowly. 

“Thank…you?”

“You’re welcome,” he said smugly. You tilted your head as he beckoned for you to stand up, which you did slowly. You glanced out the window. This one wasn’t shattered, and the curtains hung proudly. You were in a different room than the first. The red sky beyond glared at you tauntingly. 

“How long was I out?”

“Oh, not long. Don’t worry. The extermination’s still on.” He winked at you. “Your pretty self won’t be stuck here until the next one.” 

You remained silent, staring at him, begging to God that your blush wasn’t showing on your face. 

It must have been, because his grin only widened. 

“Why did you save me?”

“My own selfish desires, of course.” He flicked his hand at a pair of chairs. “Sit down.”

Not knowing what to say, you complied. He sat opposite you. You leaned forward slightly, scanning his face for a single expression that might betray what was going to come next. You found nothing. 

He sat back, completely relaxed, which unnerved you more than you could admit. The light hit off of his blond hair and pale skin that made him seem almost… angelic.  You knotted your fingers together in your lap, biting your lip and waiting for him to speak.

“So. An angel, huh? You don’t look like an exterminator. How’d you find yourself down here?” His voice seemed to darken a little with his next words. “Did you… fall?”

Your eyes widened in shock. “Of course I didn’t fall,” you spat. You weren’t usually hostile, but the anxiety of the situation was pressing down on you far too hard. “I got special permission to come down by the Seraphim.”

The sinner raised an amused eyebrow at your outburst.

“And who are you to ask me anything?” You continued, frazzled. “A mere sinner-“

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you.”

You clamped your lips shut at his tone. He smiled, satisfied, and continued. 

“So, the Seraphim. Why’d they let you down here? They’re not the type to bend rules like that.”

“How would you know?” You said. “I said I wanted to go, they let me.”

“They must have a soft spot for you, then.” His eyes narrowed. “Or, you’re important.”

“I’m nowhere near important,” you snapped, crossing your arms. He nodded slowly. You couldn’t tell if he believed you or not. 

For what seemed like another hour he continued to shoot questions at you, mostly about Heaven, and you hesitantly answered. You didn’t know why you stuck around as long as you did- refusing to acknowledge to yourself the sort of charm that beheld, the fact that he was so undeniably attractive, which you would never admit to yourself. 

You relaxed when you heard him speak next: “You can go now. The Pentagram will close soon.” Pause. “Can you fly?

You stood up, dusting yourself off, and nodded before turning towards the window, which had magically pushed itself open. 

“Wait,” he called out. You turned. “You should take this.” Your angelic spear materialised in front of you, dropping down into your hands. 

You clambered out the window and jumped off, before hovering before it and turning to face him. The beat of your wings made the curtains sway. He leaned out, staring at you expectantly, as if he could sense what you were going to say.

“Now will you tell me your name?” You asked irritably. He smirked again, showing his sharp teeth this time. Your heart thumped in your chest.

“‘Course I can, angel. The name’s Lucifer. Lucifer Morningstar.” His grin widened as he winked again. “Pleasure to meet you.”

The words knocked the breath out of you almost immediately. For a minute you froze, standing there like a deer in headlights before turning and swooping away into the red sky, towards the closing Pentagram. 

The name’s Lucifer. Lucifer Morningstar. The words echoed around your head relentlessly. 

“Fuck.”

♱♱♱

A/N: Stay Tuned!

Taglist: @ica1, @boredlime, @tremendoushearttaco, @sweetadonisbutbetter

[devilander]

in teaching you will learn (chapter 1)

18+ 3k. homelander x tutor f!reader. employer and employee sexual tension. abuse of power. fingering. AO3 link.

You accepted a job proposal to work as a History tutor to Homelander's son. It suddenly turns out to be more than you had bargained for.

prompt sent by @plasticfangtastic, thank you so much! beta'ed by @flaggermuser, love you!

Ryan was a very smart child. Powerful and smart, naturally, as any of Homelander’s offspring would be. So, to sate his endless curiosity, tutors—from the best universities, Homelander would settle for nothing else—of all subjects were hired to teach whatever was needed, whatever Ryan liked.

You had never imagined yourself in this position, History tutor to the Homelander’s son. But when you received Vought’s call, and they told you the paycheck that’d come with it, you immediately agreed. A non-supe, you wondered what it’d be like to deal with such a special kid, if Homelander would disapprove of your ways and send you packing on the first day. 

Insecurities were never your thing—you had received a M.A in History and Literature, for god’s sake! This was your turf. 

But… teaching a child? Whenever you would envision your future, you always imagined yourself as a professor, strict and serious, dealing solely with adults or, at most, young adults. 

You'd rise up, though, you knew it—even if you needed to spend all of your nights, from dusk ‘till dawn, watching videos on gentle parenting, endless courses on “childhood education” and teaching young learners. You would do it, and you would do it perfectly.

On your first day, you had a whole speech prepared, something about how much of an honor it was, how excited you were, how many ideas you already had; your stomach fluttered as you looked at his clear blue eyes, beautiful nose—

Homelander barely let you start. 

“Now.” He raised his hands, effectively shutting you up. “Enough with the yada yada, ‘kay? Let's get some things straight—all of your ideas gatta be approved by me first. And Ryan.”

“I'm sure, sir, I only meant—”

“And you'll not be berating him, for whatever fucking reason. You're not the boss here. I am. And, well, if he complains about anything, anything really, you’ll be… dismissed. That understood?” He had a congenial smile on his face, though you swore his eyes shined red, if only for a second. “Take care of my son, huh?”

He patted you on the shoulder and left. You just stood there, fuming and exasperated. If there's one thing you hated with a passion was condescending men; interrupting and disregarding your words as inane silliness. 

High and mighty as he was, Homelander was cut from the same cloth as them, it seemed. If it weren’t for your student debt piling up, you’d turn around and leave. As it were, you gritted your teeth and stayed. 

After that, though, you hardly ever saw him, and when you did, he only gave you an indiscernible look and a nod. 

Fine by me, you thought bitterly, mad at yourself that he'd surely noticed your flushed cheeks and quickened breath at your first real sight of him.

Ryan was sweet though. Sharp and eager to learn whatever you presented him with, such that you moved on quickly from fifth, sixth, to a seventh-grade curriculum. 

You found a happy medium—keeping it fun and educational. And you knew, you knew, whenever you were there, Homelander was watching you. 

And he was. Of course he was. He’d had his fair share of tutors Vogelbaum would present him with. Condescending little assholes, always thinking they knew better, reporting every minor thing he did, lecturing and punishing at their pleasure. 

As if he'd let his kid suffer the same fate. 

Education was, however, important, so he hired simpering tutors—a school would not do, no place was fit for Ryan—and those who didn't know their place were quickly taken care of. 

Yet you, the third History teacher hired (the first one was such a fucking mess—snapping his neck as soon as he left Vought was not enough for having the gall to rudely reprimand his son) were doing well so far. 

Oh, he had seen how you blushed and stuttered when you two met, and he had seen how you gradually steeled your eyes at his words. 

He had also noticed the sway of your hips, your pink, heart shaped mouth, the addictive sound of your voice—your scrunched up nose as you looked at him in poorly disguised anger.

So, yes, of course, of course he was watching, for more reasons than one. 

One day, when you and Ryan were talking animatedly about the creation of the American Constitution, Homelander decided to barge in, almost knocking the door off of its hinges.

You nearly fell off your seat in surprise, for a second scared and worried, until you saw his face. He looked as happy as a kid. Well, happier than Ryan. 

“Wowza,” he said. “What party do you two have goin’ on here? I could hear you from the hallway.” 

He could hear no matter how loud you were, but you got the gist. Smiling, though miffed at the interruption, you crossed the room, and he met you halfway.

“I was showing Ryan this book. Look.” He leaned down, his face touching yours. Oh God, oh God, wrong move. “It contains all of Thomas Paine's pamphlets published during the war in its original format. We were discussing how Paine's thoughts impacted on the Constitution’s writing.”

“Very nice,” he said, still so close to you the pure heat his body radiated engulfed your senses. And your body kept betraying, and betraying, and fucking betraying you.

“Oh, I love this part.” You thanked the heavens your voice didn't quiver, and started to read out loud. “Tyranny, like hell—”

“Is not easily conquered.” Homelander completed, and you looked up, only to find him already looking at you.

His hand then rested on your arm, lingering for a few seconds too long, his eyes locking you in place. You gulped, heart thumping in your chest—

“Dad,” Ryan bemoaned. Homelander dropped his hand instantly. “This is my class. You're interrupting us!”

Homelander frowned, then almost pouted. 

“Geez, buddy, what a way to treat your old man.” He crossed his arms; you contained a giggle. His eyes glinted mischievously as he turned to you. “Can I be your student for the day? I promise to behave.” 

“I don't see why n—”

“No,” Ryan exclaimed, interrupting you. “No, no and no!” 

Though he tried, there was no convincing Ryan. He wouldn't share the time he had with you. Inwardly, you smiled at the kid’s innocent jealousy; and thanked the heavens for the save, you certainly needed it. 

Huffing and stomping his feet, Homelander left the room, but not without giving his son an annoyed glare and you a look you couldn't—wouldn't—name yet. Maybe ever. 

Weeks passed, classes going smoothly despite your warring thoughts. You were attracted to Homelander, because of course you were; lucky you. Your boss, supe, leader of the Seven. The man who had so far threatened you, talked with you, touched you… 

Fear tinged with desire, confusion with curiosity. He was equal parts charming and infuriating. Would you dare to willingly put your hand in the mouth of the tiger? 

It became routine for Homelander to participate—or interrupt—your lessons to share his own opinions, much to Ryan's chagrin. And you… you were endeared. 

“Think you could've done a better job than Theodore Roosevelt? Really?” Your disbelieving tone didn't seem to put him off, just the opposite.

“I'm certain I could.”

His playful smile and arrogant tone annoyed you. Enchanted you. 

“Well, you should try for president, then,” you joked, catching yourself turning fully towards him. “You'll beat the records of votes and rule this grand nation!”

He hummed, winking at you. “Yeah, no. Not really in my… interests right now.”

“Would you make a Shermanesque statement on that?”

Homelander laughed, shaking his head. 

“Nah, maybe I’ll change my mind.” His eyes roamed over your body. “Couldn’t have that.” 

“What’s Sherman—Shermesque,” Ryan piped in, furrowing his brows as he stumbled over the word. “What are you talking about?”

“If nominated, I will not run; If elected, I will not serve,” you spoke at the same time and giggled, giggled!, together. Stop giggling like a schoolgirl, you chastised yourself, but you couldn't help it. There was such a thrill about flirting with danger in the flesh. 

Turning to Ryan, you explained. “It’s something William Sherman said. He was a popular general during the Civil War and was being considered as the Republican candidate during presidential elections. He, however, refused!” When excited, your arms had a mind of their own, and you found yourself gesturing wildly, enthusiastically. “His words became really popular from then on, such that it's now called a Shermanesque statement, and sometimes used by politicians and the like.”

Homelander couldn’t help but stare while you talked, entranced by your passionate speech, flushed cheeks and shining eyes. You were so fucking cute, deliciously captivating—even in your pitiful stubborn act, or all the more enticing because of it. He wanted to savor each and every moment you walked about the room; wanted to catalog your breath changes, the rises of your voice, your moving lips. 

Would you be just as responsive in another, more interesting scenario?, he wondered. Maybe you would want to take charge, bossy little thing you are. Maybe he’d have to bend you just shy of breaking you only to see you beg—beg him to fuck you, to let you come on his fingers, mouth and cock. 

His filthy thoughts raged on, only interrupted when you announced your time was up. Ryan groans in disappointment and Homelander has a hard time not doing the same. He hungers for more moments with you. Alone.   

“C’mon, kiddo,” he says, noticing Ryan stalling to tidy up his books and supplies as he liked to do. “You gotta get ready for your shooting today.”

Ryan grumbles under his breath. “I hate these commercials.”

Before he can answer, you approach, tousling Ryan’s hair and leaning down to look him in the eyes. 

“Hey, sweetheart, it will be okay. Just play pretend like we talked,” you said. “And if it gets too much, I'm sure your dad will take care of it. I'll bring you a treat tomorrow, how about that?”

He should probably put you in your place for daring to presume you know shit about him and his son—as if your puny mind could understand the greater beings they were. And yet, and yet… Ryan was smiling, rushing to embrace you though his quick heartbeat betrayed how nervous he was. You hugged him back, and looked at Homelander with such sweet grin that he—fuck, he felt fucking breathless.

He wanted to kiss you. 

When Ryan left the room, you snatched your purse, seemingly wanting to leave as quickly as possible. But Homelander stood in front of the door, unmoving, his jewel-toned eyes intensely fixated on you. 

A sudden heat spread through your body, and you let out a breathy sigh. And he noticed; eyes tracking over your face and chest, like undressing you with his mind. 

Perhaps he was. He certainly could. The thought made you desperate, you needed to run. Your apartament wouldn't be enough, maybe you should catch a bus to Jersey. Or a fucking plane to—Russia, or farther—

“Want me to give you a ride?” You were so distracted you barely heard his words, much less the double entendre. 

“What?” 

He snickered. “I said—”

“No! I mean yes. I mean no!” You shook your head, dizzy. “No, sir, I wouldn't want to trouble you.”

“Ah but there's no trouble at all, it'll take a minute. I know where you live.”

“You do?” A shudder ran through you.

“Of course, you silly goose. It's in your resume.” He tapped your nose, a gesture so off-putting you snorted, suddenly aware he'd closed the distance without you noticing. “Let's go, little miss mouthy. Don't make me insist,” he declared, voice still cheerful, but you caught the edge of it, leaving no room for argument. 

“Okay, okay… But only this time!” 

Homelander simply laughed. 

Reaching the balcony, you looked down and froze. Too high, too high!, your brain screamed at you. 

“Hehe, on second thought…” You looked at him pleadingly, a weird laugh bubbling out in sheer nervousness. You gripped the banister as if your very life depended on it. 

“Ah, ah. No takesies backsies.” He wiggled his finger in your face, and, for a single moment, two, three seconds?, caressed your cheek softly. 

Before you could react, he grabbed you by the waist and took off. Panic stricken, you hid your face in his neck, dangling legs instinctively circling his hips; much like a koala, you held on to him in all ways you could—even your fingers found locks of his hair to grip mercilessly.

Through the rush of the wind, you felt, more than heard, his laugh. 

It took some seconds to catch on to the overwhelming closeness between you two—how every inch of your body was adhering to his, how you could feel the impressive strength emanating from him, how his warm breath was hitting your neck, leaving shivers in its wake. 

You could feel it all. No matter the padded suit, you felt the tension in his muscles, the upheaval in his chest as he drew you even closer and fuck you couldn't fucking help clenching your cunt and exhaling right next to his year—

In a second, Homelander had you on the roof of your building.

You didn't want to look up, fearing what he'd throw at you, anger and indifference or lust and temptation. Both shook you to your core. 

“Wakie, wakie,” he said, breathless, a certain roughness to his tone. His hands squeezed your back with surprising care. Each second was too long, and yet not enough. 

And then you felt it, as you started to disentangle yourself from his body, his cock, hard and throbbing, poking your stomach, dangerously close to where you ached for it the most. 

You looked up. 

There was no smirk, no mocking eyes—only a stare so intense your heart skipped a beat. 

“Thank you, Homelander, for the—for the ride. I appreciate it, despite you almost giving me a heart attack at first.” You giggled, trying to dispel the mood.

“How about you thank me by inviting me in? Y’know what they say, actions speak louder than words.” 

“No, I…” you hesitated, trying to think of an excuse but your mind went blank. “No.”

Homelander cocked his head, dazzling smile turning a little unnerving. “No? Is that right?”

“How about another day? I can—”

“I didn't fucking ask for a bullshit, out-of-pity mock invite, did I? What is it, hiding some terrorists in your shithole apartment? Or mommy’s dead body?”

If it weren't for his looming over you, you'd crack a laugh—his mind certainly went places. 

“Listen—” You started again, only to be pushed until your back hit the roof's door, knocking the air out of you. 

“You listen,” he ground out, eyes a kaleidoscope of red and blue. It was painfully exhilarating. “Don’t try lying to me. I can sense you, I can fucking smell you, your pussy is soaked.” To prove his point, he removed one glove and opened up your pants; your panties were shoved aside as he squeezed two fingers inside you. You whimpered at the burn of his intrusion, but you were so wet the squelch was loud even to your ears. “You either invite me in or I'll rip your clothes off and fuck you right here. Your choice, sweetheart.”

Homelander was being nice in giving you a choice, despite the fact you were a rude tease, and a liar to boot. His fingers kept pumping in and out of you, and he found it so fucking hard not to go all the way, not to have you against this door while you moaned so, so sweetly. 

He needed you—to feel you clenching on his cock as you did now on his fingers. And you wanted him. Fuck, you were whining and opening your legs so he could finger you better, clinging onto his waist as your head rested on his shoulder. Still, you dazedly shook your head. What was the matter with you?

“Oh, please, please,” you half begged, half moaned, raspy voice driving him crazy. “We can't, I can't…”

“Give me one good fucking reason why not, huh. One.”

Instead of answering, you kissed him. He seemed surprised at first, but reciprocated in an instant. And it was all you expected it'd be, messy and passionate and hot; he consumed you, drinking in every part of you, all you had to give, and what you wouldn’t give, he would take. 

You gathered his face in your hands, wanting a little bit of tenderness in the violent chaos of you, a little bit of love—if you could.

His hand kept working on you, thumb rubbing your clit in circles and, before you ran completely out of breath, you came so hard your legs gave out. 

Perfect for Homelander to catch, hold you onto his body as you rode the waves of your pleasure—so beautiful he was enraptured. 

After a few moments, you whispered. “I can't let you in. If I do, I won't think straight, I'll just let you do anything you want to me.” 

“Is that a bad thing, sweetheart?”

“I'm… not used to this, I don't… I haven't done much of this. You never even asked me out!” You laughed. The good humor vanished as you continued. “I can't lose this job. I need it, I like it. If we do… What will even happen to me?” You cursed your own inability to talk about this, all your eloquence going to the drain when you needed to speak of something other than History. In those moments, you always felt like mimicking some speech taught to you long ago, as if talking about your own feelings was an unattainable device. 

Yet Homelander found it amusing. Apparently he'd gotten you all wrong, or at least parts of it. For all your bravado in speaking to him, in challenging him—in your fearlessness and spunk—you were inexperienced. Innocent. Shy. Wasn't that his fucking lucky day. 

“So the baby wants me to take her on a date first, that it?”

“I didn't say that.” You raised a brow, crossing your arms. “And don’t call me baby.”

“Also I boy-scout promise not to fire you if you are a bad lay, but I doubt that, baby.”

“Oh, shut up,” you said, though there was no bite to it, only a timid smile on your face. “Okay, alright. This weekend?” 

“Friday. I’ll send someone to pick you up. Wear something nice for me.”

Before leaving, he kissed you deeply, hands nearly shaking with yearning. He wanted to take it all back and drag you to his bed, absconding with you for a day or two. But he’d waited this long and he could wait a bit longer—he’d savor every second and make it worth it.

As you walked down the stairs to your apartment you sighed, drunk in the haze of disbelief; there was no way you could run now. It’s clear you have a problem. What you should wish for isn’t what you want.

[moog-rt]

GO TO HELL [ch. 1]

[Lucifer Morningstar x Fem!Reader]

Previous: Prologue

➨ Chapter One

Next: Chapter Two

Premise:

You love your friends. You really do. But sometimes it needs reminding when one of them accidentally sends you to Hell.

Despite falling into the hands of Hell’s loveliest princess, finding a way back to the world of the living proves difficult as you tiptoe around its king.

Warning(s): blood, gore, cannon-typical violence

If you'd prefer to read on Ao3, here is the link:

Otherwise, enjoy!

♡ ♡ ♡

CHAPTER ONE

Your head throbbed, and cradling it with your hand only turned it into a piercing pain rather than dulling it.

You were careful as you worked to stand up. It was hard to grab hold of anything sturdy enough to support your weight, and upon closer inspection, it turned out you were taking a power nap in a pile of garbage. And, boy, was that shit rank.

You stumbled your way onto solid ground whilst picking gunk-covered plastic from your shirt and hair.

The surroundings that greeted you were unlike anything you could imagine. The sky appeared polluted with red smog so thick you couldn’t see the sun, though it didn’t smell like the kind of pollution you were used to. Rather than chemical, it stank of smoke and decay.

Every breath you took of this new atmosphere felt thick and raspy. You weren’t sure you could really even consider it breathable. You were probably inhaling a handful of carcinogens by the second.

From what you could see through the gap of the two buildings that made up the alley you were in, there was a city. It was as if the materials of the buildings were selected to complement the sky. Everything was a different shade of red or burgundy. The plumes of smoke that tunneled up in the distance were mildly concerning, though they didn’t seem to be an immediate threat.

It was all enough to drive a clear sense of dread through your gut. No way in Hell were you supposed to be here. You should be on your way to Devon’s place- No, you were at Devon’s place, in their living room.

And now you were…well, you didn’t really know. That was kind of the problem.

The panic only truly set in after you tripped, scraping your knees on the filthy cement. You didn’t want to know what caused that dark brown, slightly chunky stain. Turning to face the lump that caused your stumble, your stomach plummeted. Face paled.

That was a corpse. A whole not-so-human corpse. Mangled and lying motionless in a pool of blood that was beginning to dry.

In an instant, you threw yourself off of the ground, backpedaling away from the body. What on Earth could have caused their limbs to bend in so many directions? On second thought, you hoped it would stay a mystery.

You couldn’t ruminate on it for long before you felt something large grab your shoulder, hoisting you around so your back was facing the alley. You winced as the grip grew tighter and looked up to see a green-skinned man with jagged teeth protruding from his mouth. 

In that instant, it felt as if your heart had been launched a thousand feet in the air.

His pitch-black eyes narrowed as he leaned closer to your face, and you couldn’t bring yourself to move or utter a single word. His grip moved to your neck, turning your head around so he could see you from every angle. And just when you thought it couldn’t get any more uncomfortable, he brought his nose to your cheek and inhaled deeply.

“A human,” he said in a grumbly voice. You could see a corner of his lips curl into a wicked smile. “That’s a first. It’d be a shame to let you go to waste.”

Go. You had to go.

To have a freeze-response in a situation like this was a death sentence. You hadn’t the slightest clue what this man’s–this thing’s–intentions were with you, but you had an inkling that it wouldn’t be pleasant.

You had to move. Even if it was just an inch, just enough to convince yourself that you still could. You would take either fight or flight over this.

“Is that soul still living?”

Your eyes flicked over to the source of the new voice. A tall, reptilian-looking creature with eyes that seemed to be bugging out of its head. They were no more comforting than the man who was only a few inches away from strangling you.

“Fuck off! I found ‘er. She’s mine!” Apparently, the lizard-man was enough to draw your assailant’s attention away from you.

Lizard-man did not in fact fuck off. That response was the confirmation that only further drew him in. Looking around, you noticed other inhuman creatures turning their attention toward the three of you.

The lizard-man made a sudden lunge for you, digging claws into the green man’s arms. He hollered out in pain with an endless string of curses.

In that moment, you felt his grip on you loosen, and you dropped to the ground like dead weight. This was your chance. Likely your only chance before both of them pounced on you at once. Maybe more by the looks of the other creatures closing in, as well.

Relief washed over you as you slowly moved your arm to push you up. The mental confines over your body had been released, and just in time. You were able to clumsily roll out of the way as the men threw each other to the ground, and with wobbly legs, you promptly hauled ass out of there.

You could hear screams of rage and surprise as you shoved through the people on the street, apologizing occasionally. You could feel dozens of pairs of eyes burning into the back of your head, and you were almost certain that some had given chase.

The odd buildings blurred past you. You may have caught a glimpse of a shop with televisions on display and another that looked as though human limbs were hanging on meat hooks, but this was no time for window shopping. All of it caused your head to spin from both physical and emotional whiplash.

The first corner you turned revealed a massive light-up sign that towered above everything else with text saying, “Welcome to Hell.”

What kind of twisted joke was this?

You ducked into another alleyway. Nobody was around, but you could still hear yelling close behind you. Your heart felt as though it stopped for a second as you took notice of a massive barricade blocking off the only exit. The first sliver of your luck finally showed itself to you in the form of a small gap that could be just big enough for you to fit.

You were forced to slow down in order to wiggle your way through it, allowing your pursuers to catch up. Just when you thought you had cleared the blockade, that big green hand wrapped around your ankle, yanking you back.

You cried out and pulled as much as you could until your foot slid out of your sock, successfully freeing you. Padding barefoot through this wretched city wouldn’t be pleasant, but you were sure it was better than whatever those things had planned for you.

As you pushed back into a sprint, you heard the green man’s voice screaming at the others about how he wouldn’t let them through before him. That was fine by you. He was much too big to fit through that hole, and you doubted he could scale the wall completely. If he was dead set on not letting anyone pass before him, then you probably had all the time in the world. Even so, you wouldn’t feel safe until you could get as far as your legs could carry you. 

So, ignoring your burning lungs and pounding heart, you pushed forward. Through the streets that grew more and more disheveled, collapsed buildings, cracked and upheaved asphalt roads. The lack of shoes only made it that much worse as your feet were getting sore. You were slowing down, but you refused to stop until you found someplace suitable to take refuge.

After the last main row of the city, there was a hill. And on top of that hill, there was a hotel.

Or so the sign on it said. Happy Hotel.

You could tell it was probably supposed to light up, but it wasn’t on, either because it was daytime (you assumed) or the bulbs were burnt out. Both seemed equally likely. The place was massive but appeared to be a hodgepodge of things all shoved into one, a cruise ship crashed into one side, a train on top of the roof… But despite its general run-down appearance, the stained glass windows remained untouched as if they were brand new.

It would be a gamble on whether this place was inhabited or not, but at least it was out of that shit show of a city. Probably the safest thing you’d come across thus far.

Besides, it was a hotel. Maybe you still had one of your cards in your pocket. If not, there was always Apple Pay, right?

The final push up the hill really did you in, leaving you panting and covered in sweat at the front door. You were dying to sit down and rest, but you wouldn’t feel comfortable doing so until you were inside. 

Seeing the building up close left you even more confused about whether or not the place was still running. The majority of the double front doors were stained glass with an apple shape in the center of each. It was quite beautiful. But at the same time, the edges of the frame appeared chipped and rotted, showing the building’s true age.

You were just thankful when the door creaked open without a fight. You didn’t want to resort to breaking in through one of those wonderful windows. With how loud it would be, you might as well scream out your arrival.

Aside from some of the detailed woodwork and repetitive apple iconography, the inside of the hotel was a bit sad to put it frankly. Little to no furniture. Cobwebs coating everything. The chandelier holding on by a thread (maybe the cobwebs were preventing it from falling). There was a minifridge, though!

You couldn’t imagine you would be lucky enough to find a cold bottle of water in there, but you decided to check to be sure. The cool air alone, wafting out as you opened its door, alleviated some of your discomfort. Unfortunately, there was no water or any beverage, for that matter. Inside were a couple of applesauce(?) cups and a styrofoam take-out container.

The fact that there was anything at all was concerning as it was a bit of confirmation there were already inhabitants. You would need to keep looking for a safe place to stay unless they ended up being the odd few in this town that weren’t out for blood.

On cue, cool metal prodded the back of your neck as you were closing the fridge, and you froze.

“What are you doing here?” asked the person behind you. Their voice was cold and harsh, and it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. So much for going unscathed.

“I was just looking for somewhere to rest. I’m sorry for intruding,” you said just above a whisper, raising your hands instinctively. 

“You want to stay here?” a chipper voice cut through the air, echoing a bit in the large, empty foyer. They sounded almost happy you were trespassing. “Vaggie, this could be our first guest!”

“Babe, the hotel isn’t even open yet,” the first voice sighed before the metal was pulled away from your skin. You took that as an invitation to turn around.

Before you stood two young women–you’d guess late teens or early twenties. They were the most human-like people you had the pleasure of coming across since waking up in a hot pile of garbage. The only thing that threw you off was their grey and porcelain white skin tones. It was as if they were pulled out of a black-and-white movie from the ‘50s.

You’d take what you could get at this point. At least they didn’t have scales.

“We’ll just have to move up our grand opening then,” the taller girl sang with a wide, sharp-toothed grin. She bounded over to you, squatting down to meet you at eye level. “Would you be interested in a shot at redemption? It doesn’t matter what you’ve stolen or who you’ve murdered. Everyone deserves a second chance!”

Was this chick for real? What did redemption have to do with a hotel? And why would you need to be redeemed?

Your mouth hung open as your eyes bobbed between the two strangers.

“Wait a second…” The shorter girl–who you realized was the one holding a fucking spear to your neck–suddenly went wide-eyed. “You’re a human. Jesus, she’s a human!”

The blonde stared at her for a moment before turning back to you with knit eyebrows.

“Really? How do you know?” she asked with a tilt of her head as her eyes darted all over you, looking for some tell-tale sign of your humanity.

In what world is it surprising to see a human? You hadn’t been shipped to Mars. That you were certain of. 

Then you came to your own realization. 

Devon must have drugged you! That was the only way this could make any sense. Was it acid? LSD? You’d have to ask them after you sobered up. Or maybe after you wring their scrawny little neck, because the therapy you’d need after this was sure to cost a fortune.

The hand that landed on your shoulder caused you to flinch. The shorter girl–Vaggie–was kneeling in front of you now. Her touch was delicate as if she was worried she’d break you if she put enough pressure. A stark contrast to the way she treated you a minute ago.

“How did you get here?” she asked in a much softer tone than earlier.

You let out a huff of air, a sorry excuse for a laugh. You smiled, shaking your head as your body slumped back against the fridge.

“I don’t even know where here is,” you laughed. “I was in my friend’s apartment one second and being hunted down by a mob of demons the next.”

The two exchanged a look before helping you to your feet. They settled you down on a couch, one of the few pieces of furniture they had, and got you a glass of water to sip on. The scrapes and cuts you had gotten during your chase, or possibly before it, were treated to, as well. The foot that lost its sock was particularly nasty.

They introduced themselves and explained that you were in Hell. You reckon you should have figured that one out from the big-ass sign you saw while running for your life.

In return, you told them the last few things you could remember before ending up here. Helping your friend with a demon-summoning ritual and getting dragged through a glowing hole in the ground as a result.

“Sounds like that backfired a bit,” Vaggie said. You couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Yeah, a bit. That’s what I get for doing my friend a solid, I guess,” you shrugged, leaning back as you gulped down more of the water. 

“Oh, don’t say that. At the end of the day, you helped a friend, and you found us! And we’ll definitely make sure you get home safe and sound,” Charlie grinned as she gently placed a hand on your knee.

You gave a small smile in return. You’re not sure how much you believed in her words, but it was sweet of her to try to reassure you. Her hope was almost infectious, and you could use as much of that as you could get.

“Also, you’re totally welcome to stay here for as long as you need! We’ve got plenty of rooms, and I’m sure we’ll start getting more furniture soon, and if there’s any food you’d like us to get, we can–”

“Baby, slow down,” Vaggie chuckled.

“Sorry…I guess I’m just really excited. You would be our first guest, and I’ve also never seen a human other than my mom before, and even she’s a special case…” Charlie said, looking off to the side as she brushed a blonde strand of hair behind her ear.

“The only humans we technically have are the ones that die and are deemed sinners,” Vaggie explained. “But they take on a new appearance. Usually, it reflects something within their soul.”

Huh.

“That’s…interesting,” you said, eyebrows tightly furrowed together. What does being a lizard man say about that dude’s soul? And what about being green? Maybe it was his favorite color? Or maybe he was green with envy. Haha.

“So what do you say?”

You looked at Charlie to see her holding her hand out to you. If the two of you were making a deal, she wasn’t really getting anything out of it. It was pure charity work…

“Please, let me know if there’s anything I can do for you in return,” you said, taking her hand.

With that, the two young women gave you a brief tour of the hotel. It was still a work in progress, but you could see Charlie’s vision. If they just cleaned it up a bit and filled in the space, it would look livable. You would be more than happy to help with that if you ended up spending enough time there, though you hoped it wouldn’t take that long.

If you weren’t back soon, your place would start getting cobwebs. You also couldn’t miss too many days of work…PTO wasn’t infinite, and you had bills to pay. Your coworkers would also have it out for you if you left them short-staffed.

What if they started putting up missing flyers? Hopefully, they wouldn’t blame the coworker you convinced to go home early. She was the last person you were spotted with in public, after all. No one knew you were going to Devon’s, so it was unlikely they’d take the blame.

Maybe the guy you had been in a situationship with for the last several months would be their suspect. Most of your friends knew all about him (primarily because you’d bitch and whine so much), and it’s not uncommon for people to point fingers at the ‘partner.’

He raised a few red flags here and there, sure, but what man hasn’t? None of them were even close to kidnap-murder level. Mostly just picking his toes in public and swearing on his life that his exes were the crazy ones, not him. Nothing necessarily surprising.

You needed to stop worrying and start embodying Charlie’s confidence in the situation. You would find a way to get back. You would not be stuck in Hell long enough to raise alarm. You just had to manifest it!

Eventually, your hosts showed you to the room you could stay in. It was one of the few furnished ones besides their room at the moment. They also gave you a change of clothes after realizing just how dirty (and smelly) yours were after waking up in a trash heap. Plus, you had two socks again!

You met back up with them in the foyer when you were finished. They wanted to discuss possible ways you could get out of Hell, which you had absolutely no problem with. The two of them brainstormed for a bit while you just sat back and listened in. Vaggie brought up that some upper-class ‘hellborns’ had ways in and out of Hell, but she didn’t have any specifics.

You felt bad not contributing, but what did you know about traveling between the living world and Hell? Jack, that’s what. 

“Do you think your dad would know? He’s probably had to get to Earth for some reason or another, yeah?” Vaggie asked, but she was met with a grumble of a response.

“I don’t know…” Charlie said with a frown, all her hopeful energy zapped away in an instant. “He’s never been super helpful with stuff like this.”

“Come on, babe. If anybody would know, it would be him,” Vaggie pressed. “He’s gotta have something we could use.”

Charlie simply groaned as she threw her upper body over the arm of the sofa and sat like that for a minute or two. It was possible that she wasn’t on very good terms with her father. Or he was just exasperating to deal with.

You sent a worried look at Vaggie, because what were you supposed to do in this situation?

“Okay, yeah. We can swing by my old house tomorrow and poke around,” Charlie said as she stood up.

“Great, but you,” Vaggie jabbed her finger in your direction. “Get ready to wake up bright and early. We’ll have to make you presentable first.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Next Chapter

[cryptidghostgirl]

Make You Wish Chapter Two -- Where Is She

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: really super mild versions of cannon violence.

Word count: 2,072

Previous Part: Make You Wish Chapter One -- Seven Years

Master list link:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Make You Wish Master List

A/N I accidentally posted this before I was ready tooo ahhhh!!! it's fine. Everything was already written I just had to format it properly and stuff.

Alastor had been at the Hazbin Hotel for only a few days and was already enjoying his time there greatly. It was an entertaining place, to say the least, and now that he had his feet under him, he was intent on making it even more so.

Charlie was pacing around the sitting room, stressed beyond belief. She had gone to speak to Adam the previous day to try and get his support for her plan, only to wind up with the news that the next extermination was coming in six moths, rather than the usual twelve. Alastor watched her duress in amusement as he sauntered into the hotel lobby, side stepping Angel, Charlie, and Vaggie to take a seat at the bar.

"It's nothing we can't handle," Charlie was explaining, trying to convince herself as much as anyone else in the room, "just angels cutting our timetable in half. But who needs a whole year to save souls? Am I right? And next time, when they cut the time in half again and again, we'll just handle it, right?!"

Vaggie got to her feet, grabbing her girlfriend by the shoulders and stopping her from her relentless pacing.

"Yes, we will." she confirmed.

"Oh please," Angel cut in from the couch, his eyes fixed on his phone, "ya had less than half a chance when you started all this salvation bullshit. And now...? Ain' no silver lining this time, toots."

"Sure there is." Charlie turned to him, "We just have to look a little harder for it."

"Well, while you're lookin', the rest of Hell is going nuts."

Angel turned his phone to Charlie, showing all the news headlines of terror he'd pulled up.

"People are already freaking out about the news. Look at what's happening in the Doomsday District."

He scrolled down to a video of a burning town just as a text notification popped up.

"Uh, what is a 'donkey show'?" Charlie asked in confusion, having read the text.

"Ah, heh, nothing." Angel pulled the phone from her line of sigh, trying to come up with a quick lie, "My boss, Val, is just freaked out about the news too. Like I said, everyone's losing their shit."

"Yeah, that is true." Vaggie hummed thoughtfully, a hand to her chin, "Sinners are desperate. Maybe desperate enough to try anything to escape extermination?"

"Speaking of sinners," Alastor said, drawing the attention in the room to him as he turned towards Husk who was busying cleaning glasses, "I think it's time I look up my old partner in crime."

"And what do I have to do with that?" the cat demon gruffly replied, not sparing Alastor a glance.

"Your partner in crime?" Charlie asked, taking a step towards the bar, "I always thought you... you know, worked alone?"

Alastor's grin widened.

"Oh never you mind, dear." he replied, throwing her a glance over his shoulder, "Just a lost soul I'm acquainted with is all."

"Yeah. You've been trying to get her to sell you that soul for what, the past seventy years is it now?" Husk scoffed.

Alastor's eye twitched slightly at the implication of his failure.

"If I wanted it, I would have it." he hummed threateningly, and Husk backed down.

"That's great!" Charlie exclaimed, "So she's a friend of yours? Do you think she'd help with the hotel? Oh! Or maybe that she'd want to be a guest?!"

"Charlie-" Vaggie began but Alastor quickly cut her off.

"I don't see a harm in asking." he cheerily replied.

"And you know her, Husk?" Charlie asked.

He looked up as he placed a clean glass on the shelf, shooting Alastor a glance before nodding.

"Do you think she'd be a good fit?"

He sighed, crossing his arms as Husk turned to face Charlie fully.

"She's a sweetheart, I think you'd get along well." he admitted, "But she's trouble, just like him."

Husk gestured towards Alastor and Charlie's smile widened.

"Well, with all Alastor has done for us so far, I think we could probably use more trouble like him."

"Oh you flatter me." Alastor waved her off, looking away in a false show of humility.

"No really." Charlie insisted, "You-"

"Show yourself, Alastor!" a dramatic call cut Charlie off mid thought.

----

"Um. Alastor?" Charlie hesitantly began, peeking out from behind his shoulder as she watched the havoc he was wreaking on the snake shaped sinner, "I think he's had enough."

Alastor cackled joyfully, not even watching as his shadows destroyed the air ship.

"Nah, he's got a few more hits in 'im." Angle disagreed, enjoying the show immensly.

The shadows tilted the ship forward, dropping Sir Pentious out through the broken windshield. He hit the ground with a thud, right before Alastor's feet. Stopping in his fit of laughter, he looked down at the man, spinning his microphone like a baton.

"Thanks for another forgettable experience." he teased as one of the egg creatures fell from the ship, splattering on the ground beside Charlie who took a step away.

"Thank... you..." Sir Pentious began, his voice pained as he raised his head slowly, "for letting your guard down!"

Almost before Alastor could register what was happening, the snake had grabbed onto his coat with his tail and torn a piece from its hem. Alastor took a menacing step forward, his eyes narrowed.

"Oh shit." Pentious' triumphant laughter died out.

Slowly, Alastor sprouted a pair of shadowy horns. With a snap of his finger, the ground under the snake detonated, throwing him up into the air and far away from the hotel with a scream. He watched as Pentious flew away, retracting his horns and standing with a hand behind his back. Once the snake was out of sight, he at last turned to Charlie and Angel, as well as Husk and Vaggie who had come out to join them.

"Well, it looks as thought I need a visit to the tailor." he hummed, "Husk?"

"Yeah?" Husk grunted.

"Where did you say she was again?"

"I didn't."

Husk crossed his arms defensively and Alastor took a step towards him, his smile a little smaller than normal. There was an odd air between the two of them, a tension every one present could feel biting into their skins.

"Whats that?" Alastor asked lowly, his head cocked slightly to the side.

Husk sighed.

"Last I heard she was working for some imp in Pentagram City." Husk reluctantly admitted, looking away, "As an assassin or something, I don't know the details."

"An imp, you say." Alastor thoughtfully replied, his expression unreadable.

"Look, Alastor." Husk turned back to his master, "Don't fuck this up for her. She seemed pretty happy last time I saw her. You disappearing like that wrecked the poor girl."

"Just means she'll be all the more happy to see me."

Alastor turned, beginning to walk away. At the sound of Husk speaking again, he paused, keeping his back to the quartet.

"Alastor, ju-"

Alastor turned his head, shooting Husk a critical look over his shoulder. It shut the cat demon up almost immedeatly.

"Best of luck, chums!"

"Wait, you're leaving?" Vaggie exclaimed, taking a step forward.

Irritation prickling beneath his skin, Alastor turned back to them once again. It had been seven years, he didn't know how much longer he could wait. Sure, he'd had time in Hell on his own, nearly twenty years of it. He didn't need her per-say, she just made things more interesting, more enjoyable. It just felt odd for them to be parted.

Sure, when they had first met, he had thought she was just an easy steal of a soul. Young, naive, frankly undeserving in his opinion of eternal damnation. But smart, smarter than she looked. Y/n had refused any and all deals with the man and so, he had taken it as a challenge. What had begun as a game: Alastor trying to gain ownership of Y/n's soul ended up as an after-life long friendship.

Alastor would never admit it to anyone but, in his absence, he had even missed Y/n the smallest bit. She kept things interesting, he told himself, that was all. Always causing discreet mischief, always quick with a joke. A true pleasure to have on the show, as he always used to say.

"Alastor, we need your help. We need you to do your job." Vaggie continued.

"We need a wall." Angel finished for her, gesturing to the portion of the hotel Sir Pentious had destroyed in his attack.

"Of course." Alastor replied, keeping an irritated remark at bay, "Can't let my new project fall into disrepair already. What would the papers say?"

With a snap of his fingers, minions made of shadows pulled themselves from the ground at his feet. So as not to give anyone another chance to stall him further, he quickly turned on his heel and walked off.

Alastor was a man of image, he kept his pace slow and firm. Couldn't have any of them getting any ideas in their heads about the nature of his relationship with Y/n. That had always been trouble in the old days. The minute people saw the pair together, they started assuming things. He had already decided he was going to be more careful about that this time around and this was the first step.

There was a slight bounce in his step as he headed into the city's center, an odd anticipation fluttering in his chest. Alastor pushed it to the side. It was simply the thrill of being back in his old stomping ground that was to blame. It didn't matter he'd already been back a few days and it should have worn off by now, he should just feel lucky to still be so entertained by this place he'd known longer than he'd even been alive. Right?

----

Y/n was sitting at Blitzo's desk, reading through paperwork he had neglected to fill out or file correctly. It wasn't like any one in Hell really payed their taxes, but the mess still stressed her out. She let out a sigh, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her eyes in irritation. She had never had to do this type of work before, not since she'd been alive anyways. How the times had changed.

Noise of Blitzo and Moxxie fighting filtered in through the closed door. It wasn't anything special, anything new. The pair were always at one another's throats, she wasn't worried. What would be worrying, was if things were quiet. This was just the way life sounded now: inelegant and brazen. Nothing like it used to.

The buzzing of her phone on the desk beside her pulled Y/n from her reveries and she picked it up. The collar lay heavy around her neck as she read the message. Y/n had made some bad choices along the way, figuring out how to be on her own. She wasn't pleased with them, but it was what she had had to do. Back then, she hadn't had the need to fight for herself in over sixty years. It was the only thing she could think to do.

She double tapped the text, marking it with a thumbs up before shutting her phone off and leaning her head down on the table. There was no point in wishing for things to be different than they were but, it was just that time of year and the text had pushed her over the edge. A few stray tears trickled out of her eyes.

"Goddamnit, Al." she sighed into the empty room, "Where the hell are you."

Silence pressed its hands against her ears, blurring her perception of the world around her. Y/n had a few seconds, a few nearly peaceful moments before, again, her thoughts were interrupted. This time, not by her phone but by Blitzo calling for her from the other room.

"Y/n!" he yelled and she lifted her head off the table.

"Yeah?" she called back through the closed door.

"Get your ass out here!"

"Why? A client? Can't you handle it?"

"Y/n!" he insisted again, a sense of urgency to his voice.

If this was anything less than an absolute emergency, he was never going to hear the end of it. She was not in the mood for his games today.

"Fine." she groaned and pulled herself from the chair, "I'm coming."

----

Next Part -> Chapter Three -- A Reunion

[tervaneula]

Ahhh heck it, it hasn't been that long since the new chapter but I'm posting this already because I love them too much. The dad and son ever 😭

[canislupus-exe]

In Your Corner | bill denbrough

>>gif credit to @/beenchillin on tumblr<<

fandom | IT: Chapter One

character | Bill Denbrough

reader | (disabled) he/him (she ver.)(they ver.)

requested | anonymous

warnings | cursing, ableism

word count | 1,131

keys | (Y/n) = Your name

summary | Hi! Could I request a Bill Denbrough x disabled!reader? Where Richie compares (y/n) to a bike and tries to ride their wheelchair while (y/n) is still in it- and bill tells him to fuck off? I just think bill would understand 🥺💕

editor | @feliscatus-exe

>> back to prev <<

Keep reading

You hummed quietly as you pushed against the wheels of your chair. Approaching your best friend’s driveway was the only way you could hang out with him, seeing how inaccessible his front door was. If you thought too hard about it, it didn’t give you the best feeling in the world, so you tried not to.

You saw him sitting on the floor, sketching in his notebook somewhat mindlessly. Upon hearing your quiet hum, he flipped a few pages ahead to a blank one. Looking up at you, he squinted from the sun shining in his eyes but smiled.

“H-Hi (Y/n). You’re the f-first to get here so we can wait for everyone else.” He said, standing up and moving to the couch his dad had put in the garage a few months ago. He realized how much more inclined he was to hang out there now that he was friends with you.

His parents were lovely, but he started to pick up on the sudden stiffness and overall negative feelings you had when they said certain things. About how they were sorry and glad Bill was so kind, which he was. It was one of his greatest qualities, but it was as if they only thought he was your friend because he was so kind.

“That’s alright. What were you drawing?”  You asked casually, backing your chair into the space of the wall that was just the right fit. You remembered when he moved aside a table so he could sit next to you. It was one of the moments that made you feel your heartbeat in your stomach, as he so often did.

“Oh, n-n-nothing. Just practicing shape l-language for objects.” He replied, sitting on the cushions in a way that made it easier to look at you. 

“Really? What are you trying to learn to draw?” You asked. He shrugged.

“Nothing in p-p-particular. I just think it’s a g-good skill to have.” He replies, closing his sketchbook and setting it aside. You smile and nod.

“Do you know when the other Losers plan on joining us?” You asked leaning on the arm of your chair.

“Right now.” A voice called from behind. You looked over your shoulder to the garage entrance, watching Richie, Eddie, and Stan enter. You smiled and waved, which only Stan returned. 

“What are we doing here? You never told us.” Eddie says, sitting on the far end of the couch. You were never sure why, but he always seemed much more tense. You could come up with a few reasons, but they weren’t good ones, and you hoped those weren’t the case.

“J-J-Just a movie night. I made popcorn and st-ocked the drinks.” Bill replied. You begin to self-propel toward the fridge in the far left corner of the room. You looked inside, seeing mostly cokes and water. You opted for the latter.

“Plus, if we run out, we can hop on (Y/n)’s wheelchair. He’s basically a bike.” Richie says with a snicker, placing both his feet on the back of your chair and causing you to become unsteady. You yelp in surprise, immediately swatting him off. You turn your chair to face him, a look of panic on your face.

“What the fuck Richie?” You shout. He raises his eyebrows.

“What?” He asks, lacking a single modicum of self-awareness. You’re so flustered and upset that you find it difficult to articulate your feelings. Bill stands up from the couch, stepping between Richie and yourself.

“Y-You can’t say shit like that Richie!” Bill exclaims, his ears turning red from anger as they always did.

“Why are you guys freaking out?” He asks, raising his arms in exasperation.

“C-Comparing (Y/n) to a bike? You don’t get why that’s f-f-f-fu-fucked up!?” He shouts, finding it harder to speak due to his anger.

“No? It was a good thing. Bikes are cool and he’d be helping us to the store.” He replied. 

“It’s fine Bill. Don’t worry about it…” You mumble, trying to maneuver around him.

“N-no (Y/n) I am w-worried about it,” Bill says, turning to look at you. There was a look in his eyes that made you feel warm and safe. 

“He said don’t worry about it so I think-“

“Fuck off Richie!” Bill yells as he whips his head around to stare at him, not a stutter in his voice. Richie backs away with his hands up in surrender.

“Whatever dude.” He mumbles, sitting next to Eddie on the couch.

You were thankful Bill was so quick to defend you, but the confrontation still made you uneasy and guilty. You wheeled your chair out of the garage and onto the driveway, stopping when you heard Bill coming after you.

“Where are you g-going? Are you ok-kay?” He asks, walking by your side. You sigh and stop wheeling yourself forward. You say nothing at first trying to figure out how to put your thoughts into words. Bill walks in front of you, so he can see you while you talk, a simple gesture but something so thoughtful.

“You’re the only one who treats me… Well, normal… Richie always has something to say, Eddie avoids me like he’s going to catch something and I just… I hate it.” You mutter, folding your hands in your lap. Bill sighs as he crosses his arms.

“I w-wish there was more I could do. I t-t-tell Richie all the time to quit his shit but he-“

“It’s not you Bill. You do more than enough. Sometimes it feels like you’re the only person I have in my corner.” You say, looking up to meet his eyes. He smiles, his eyes holding that same shine that made you feel so warm and safe.

“Y-You know, that’s exactly how I feel.” He replies. You tilt your head in confusion. Bill rubs his neck bashfully before shrugging. 

“You’re the only one who ever t-tells them to stop making fun of my s-st-stutter. Sometimes it feels like y-you’re the only one in my c-corner.” He replies. You smile, a warm glow rushing to your cheeks.

“We can be in each other’s corner.” You reply, giddily grabbing his hand. It takes you a second to realize what you’ve done before pulling back.

“S-Sorry I was just-”

“No! It’s okay!” He grabs your hand again, this time intertwining your fingers. “I l-like being in each other's corner.” 

“Pinky promise?” You ask, holding out your pinky. He chuckles and locks his pinky around yours.

“P-Pinky promise.” He replies.

“Now let’s go watch the m-movie. If Richie says anything else I’ll j-just kick him out.”

“Since when are you Mr. tough guy?” You ask with a giggle.

“S-Since I had to be in someone’s corner. I-it’s a tough job you know.”

[steddiehyperfixation]

don't you forget about me (part six)

(part one)(part two)(part three)(part four)(part five)

Steve allows himself a brief mental breakdown in the shower when he gets home. He lets the water mix with his tears as he curls his arms around himself and wishes with everything he is that they were Eddie’s. There’s nothing he wouldn’t give right now just to be held by him again, just to feel Eddie’s arms around him one more time. All it took was a tiny kiss on the back of his hand for Steve’s skin to remember just how much it missed that feeling. Now Steve’s entire body craves Eddie’s touch, and he shakes in its absence like an addict in withdrawal. 

Then he puts himself back together, gets dressed and styles his hair and heads off to work. 

They’d defeated Vecna before he could split the world into pieces or whatever his diabolical plan had been. So while Steve’s whole world may have been torn apart, while Steve’s whole world lays bruised and bandaged and amnesic in a hospital bed, the rest of the world carries on none the wiser. The rest of the world still rents VHS tapes and has movie nights and date nights and no fucking clue that they were seconds away from being dragged down into a hell dimension a couple weeks ago, so Family Video is still open for them. Fuck that. 

“You’ve gotta handle the customers today because if someone starts asking me stupid questions I can’t promise I won’t snap at them,” Steve tells Robin as he drives them to their shift. 

“Aw, but it’s so funny when you snap at them,” Robin quips. 

“Robin.” He gives her his best I’m so fucking serious look. 

Her humor dries up immediately and she nods solemnly. “Alright, yeah. I got it.” 

Steve sighs, pulling into the parking lot. “Thank you.” 

He busies himself with cataloging and reshelving and rewinding returns while Robin takes over the customer service part of the job. It’s mindless - mind-numbing - the monotony of the tasks exactly what Steve needs to dull out the thoughts in his brain and distract himself from the way the back of his hand still tingles from Eddie’s kiss. 

When the afternoon rush dies down after a few hours and the store is all but empty, Robin sidles up next to him where he’s putting away a stack of fantasy films. “Hey.” 

Her voice cuts through his focus and nearly startles Steve out of his skin. “Jesus! Don’t sneak up on me like that.” 

“Sorry.” She grabs half the stack of tapes and starts helping him shelve. “Just wanted to check in with you, we haven’t gotten much of a chance to talk today. How are things going with Eddie?” 

“It’s fine. He’s fine,” Steve grumbles, glaring down at the tape in his hands. It’s got a dragon on the cover. He thinks Eddie would probably like it. “He still doesn’t remember me, but he’s starting to see me as a friend now at least, so.” Steve shoves the movie into its spot on the shelf. “That’s something, right?” 

Robin raises her eyebrows at the sharp bitterness in his tone and how forcefully he put the tape away. “Okay. Yeah. So I see we’re in the anger stage of grief now,” she comments. 

Steve scoffs. If this is a stage of grief, he thinks he’s been going through them in the wrong order, or maybe all at once - a neverending ebb and flow of denial and anger and depression all swirled together into one fucked up cocktail of grief. “I’m not angry,” he says, rubbing his hands over his face. “I’m just tired- emotionally burnt out, I don’t know. I just miss him and it’s not fair and I’m so fucking sick of feeling like this.” 

“Yeah, that’s anger, Steve,” Robin says, infuriatingly blunt. She slides the last tape in her stack into its place and then leans against the shelf. “Did something else happen to set this off, or are you just generally overwhelmed?” 

Steve sags against the shelf beside her. “Both. I don’t know. It’s stupid, it’s so fucking stupid. He just- he kissed my hand this morning, that’s it, and it wrecked me.” 

“He what?” Robin questions, curiosity widening her eyes. 

“He kissed my hand,” Steve repeats. He sighs and adds context, gives her a full recount of the events of that morning.

“Oh my god?!” Robin practically squawks as she backhands Steve’s arm, which is definitely not the comforting words or touch he needs from her right now. 

“Ow!” he yelps, rubbing his arm. “What the hell was that for?” 

“Dude. He was flirting with you,” she tells him, eyes even wider now like she’s trying to explain to him something obvious. 

“What? No.” Steve shakes his head, looking at her like she’s crazy. “He definitely wasn’t.” 

“Ughhh,” Robin lets out a long, dramatic groan, dragging her hands down her cheeks and pulling down her eyes. “I cannot do this with you two again. He totally was.” She drops her hands from her face so she can use them to illustrate her point as she starts to lists off, “First of all, he literally called you daddy-” 

“As a joke,” Steve interrupts to protest. 

“Yeah, a flirtatious one,” Robin retorts. She continues, “Then he said you have a magic touch, and then his heart literally started racing for no reason-”

“Because I was stressing him out!” 

“Only after his heart rate went up in the first place, which, as I was saying, was for no reason other than the fact that you were smiling at him and holding his hand-” 

“That literally doesn’t-” 

“And then, he kissed your hand - pressed his lips to your skin - and told you that you were his good luck charm,” Robin finishes, looking smug like she’s said something novel and not just completely reiterated exactly what Steve had just told her only with more emphasis. 

He sighs wearily. “Your point?” 

“He likes you, dingus,” she says, whacking his arm again. “Don’t you get it? His mind may not remember still, but his heart is starting to.”

Steve doesn’t know what to do with that. A lump rises in his throat, a rush of jumbled emotions chafing against his already frayed edges. “Don’t say that. You don’t know that.”

“I think you should tell him what you were to each other,” Robin suggests. 

“Right, yeah, okay, sure,” Steve scoffs, somewhere between sarcastic and hysterical. “And while we’re at it, I think you should tell Vickie that you like her. Because telling people things like that is so easy, isn’t it?” 

Robin gives him a withering stare. “That is not the same thing at all, and you know it.”

“No, yeah, you’re right,” he agrees. “Because I know Eddie, and he would not take that news well. He already gets a little weird whenever I seem to know too much about him - if I tell him I know him biblically too-” 

“Ew, don’t tell him like that!” 

“Doesn’t matter if I tell him like that; I say we’ve been together for 9 months, he’s going to assume we’ve-” 

“God, okay, I get it!”

“See? It would freak him out,” Steve concludes, crossing his arms. “Even if he does…like me again or whatever, he definitely wouldn’t anymore and it would just generally make him uncomfortable. So I can’t tell him. I just have to keep waiting for him to remember on his own, even though it’s fucking killing me,” he says, his voice harsh as he tries to keep it from breaking. “It’s what’s best for Eddie.” 

“Steve-” Robin starts, frowning like she’s only just beginning to realize she may have pushed him too far, but whatever it is she was going to say is cut off by the ringing of the bell that announces the front door being open. 

“Customers.” Steve points his chin towards the couple who just walked in, a bitter jealousy boiling in his stomach as he watches them walk hand in hand towards the romance aisle. It’s not fucking fair. He shoves himself away from the shelves and mutters, “I’m taking my break.”

He stalks to the breakroom, closes the door, and sinks to the floor with his back against it. The tears in his eyes feel like they’re made of acid, like they would carve tracks into his skin if they were to spill down his cheeks. He wraps his arms around himself again. The thoughts in his head are made of acid too, bitter and burning and cursing everyone who gets to enjoy their lover's touch while he suffers without his. 

Steve’s brain feels corroded, corrupted. “He likes you,” Robin’s words echo there too, “his mind may not remember still, but his heart is starting to.” Would Eddie touch him now if he asked? Would he trace his fingers across Steve’s skin, kiss more than just the back of his hand? Steve digs his own fingers into his sides. He feels gross, he feels rotten. It wouldn’t be right to ask that of Eddie without him knowing the truth, to take advantage of him like that. It wouldn’t be the same, anyways. The superficial touch of a boy with the beginnings of a crush is not the tender lover’s caress that Steve craves. 

That is if Robin is even right about Eddie redeveloping feelings. Which she probably isn’t.

Steve’s just being stupid and selfish again. He wants to remove his brain from his skull so he can stop thinking, tear his heart from his chest so he can stop feeling; both so burned and decayed he thinks if he held them in his hands they would dissolve and crumble to dust and ash and sludge between his fingers. 

Fifteen minutes pass, and Steve forces himself to be fine. He peels himself off the breakroom floor and returns to work, continues the tedious tasks that he hopes will numb him out again. 

Robin catches his eye from across the room where she’s sorting a customer’s cash at the register. I’m sorry, her expression says, I didn’t mean to make you upset. 

Steve gives a tiny shake of his head and a small smile. It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault, his own expression reassures her. You meant well. I’m not mad at you. 

They don’t talk about Eddie again that day. The next time there’s a lull in customers and they’re able to chat again, Steve tells Robin he honestly just needs a distraction right now, and he lets her ramble on about Vickie and band and school and her impending graduation and the movie she watched last night and whatever other random thoughts are bouncing around that hyperactive head of hers. Her voice fills in the cracks in Steve’s brain, keeps it from falling apart completely. She’s always been good at that, and he’s grateful for it. 

Then he drops Robin off after work and he drives away alone in silence because all the songs on the radio are love songs, and he drives back to the hospital - back to the source of his grief again and again like some sort of fucking masochist - because Eddie needs him. Because Steve loves him.

~

Eddie cannot help the way his face all but beams the second Steve walks back into his room that evening. “There you are, Stevie! How was work?”

Steve returns the smile, genuine, but there’s a tiredness to it. “It was alright. Bit boring, really, uneventful. How are you doing?” 

“I’m good,” Eddie says, adding with a jaunty grin, “All the better now that you’re back.” 

It comes out a bit more flirtatious than he intended, but thankfully Steve just laughs it off. “Alright, smoothtalker,” he scoffs through a chuckle as he takes his usual seat by the bed. “It’s nice to see you again too.”

“Oh, the actual doctor came in to talk to me today. Good news, don’t worry,” Eddie tells him, the last bit tacked on quickly before that concerned crease can appear between Steve’s brows. “She says I’m healing up nicely, and I might be able to be discharged soon. A few more days’ observation and then they're gonna see how well I can actually move since, you know, the bats chewed through half the muscles in one of my legs. But, yeah, I could be out of here by the end of next week.” 

“That’s great, Eddie!” Steve brightens. 

“Yeah.” Eddie smiles. “I can’t wait to be somewhere familiar, feel normal again. Or, well,” he amends, smile falling a little as he realizes, “as normal as I can feel given that I’ll probably be walking with a limp for the rest of my life and be covered in nasty scars all over.” 

A strange expression crosses Steve’s face then, something happy and sad and sympathetic all at once, and his voice is soft as he says, “We’ll match.” 

Eddie blinks at him. “What?”

“The scars,” Steve clarifies. “The bats got me too, you know. I was lucky, it wasn’t as bad for me as it was for you, but, uh- yeah, we’ll match. See?” He stands and pulls his shirt up a bit. 

Eddie’s heart rate immediately kicks up again, blood growing warm, as his eyes snap to Steve’s stomach, to skin and muscle and body hair and- oh. Two giant, jagged red scabs cover Steve’s sides, the edges fading into skin bumpy and pink and white with the beginnings of scarring. The bite on Eddie’s own side twinges in sympathy. “That’s-” He swallows back the word hot, and breathes out instead, “Holy shit.” Without really thinking, he finds himself reaching out to skim his fingers over the ridges of Steve’s scars. 

Steve gasps - full body shudders - at the touch, and Eddie instantly pulls his hand back, afraid he’s hurt him. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“No, it’s fine,” Steve manages, though it sounds a bit shaky. “You didn’t hurt me, I just- I wasn’t expecting it.” 

Eddie tentatively starts to reach back out; Steve nods. He slowly traces the outline of the wound again, every uneven edge, feeling the evidence of hurt and the evidence of healing and the ripple of each breath Steve takes - breaths that echo in the quiet that falls between them. Eddie doesn’t realize just how intimate this silence has become as he runs his hands across Steve’s skin, until he glances up to find Steve just…watching him. It’s impossible to tell exactly what emotion is behind his eyes, but it’s intense and it’s devastating, and Eddie suddenly feels like he can’t breathe. 

“Uh-” A nervous laugh stutters out of him. He rescinds his touch. “Twin scars, huh?” he remarks, cracking a crooked smile and attempting to change this strange, suffocating energy with a joke. “Hell of a matching tattoo. Next time let’s just exchange friendship bracelets like normal people do, yeah?”

Steve huffs, a short burst of laughter that escapes from his chest like it’s been punched out of him. “Since when have you ever done anything like a normal person?” he teases in return as he pulls his shirt back down.

Just like that, blown away by Steve’s playful smile, the weird tension lifts. Eddie grins back. “Alright, fair point.” He adds, “Those are gonna be some pretty metal scars, Stevie.”

“Not as metal as yours,” Steve says warmly, settling back in his chair and kicking one leg over the other. “You’re the one that literally survived death, Ed. It doesn’t get any more metal than that.” 

“Now who’s the smoothtalker?” Eddie smirks, and he hopes he isn’t blushing. Steve Harrington calling him metal with so much pride and affection in his voice is doing numbers on his heart. Curse this stupid fucking crush.

Steve eyes divert briefly to the heart monitor, which has not once calmed down since the second he’d lifted up his shirt, and Eddie is so sure that he knows then, that he’s finally made the connection between what’s got Eddie’s heart racing, but he doesn’t say anything, just laughs it off again, smiling like everything’s completely normal as he looks back at Eddie and rolls his eyes and mutters in return, “Shut up.” 

“Make me,” Eddie mumbles, not quick enough to bite back the words before they fall from his mouth, only managing to lower his voice enough that maybe Steve didn’t hear him. 

“What?” 

“TV?” Eddie grabs the remote, pretends like that’s what he’d said in the first place. Real smooth. 

“Oh, sure.” Steve shrugs. If he noticed Eddie’s slip, he gives no indication of it. 

Eddie turns on the TV and they spend the next hour or so laughing and making fun of the bad acting on the show that’s playing. Easy, normal, platonic. Eddie’s heart rate stabilizes, remaining even so long as he doesn’t look too long at Steve’s smile. 

When sleep starts lapping at Eddie’s consciousness, he doesn’t fear it anymore. Silently, he holds out his hand, and Steve takes it, wrapping him in the warmth and protection that allows Eddie to let himself drift off undaunted. 

And in his dreams his hands skate across Steve’s skin again.

(part seven)

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[starkspi]

Trying to bribe @morningstarwrites with these sketches so I can read the new chapter earlier ha! Thank you for the inspiration, the challenge and the absolute joy this fic brings me. I’d kiss your brain folds if I could.

[bonchobrick]

Duke and Danny bestie fic im co-authoring with some cool people for Patrol Partners! :D

A fic where Duke knows a lot about Gotham’s new problem, ghosts. The Waynes think the worst and assume he’s had some terrible experience with ghosts in the past (in reality is just very happy to talk about his best friends culture and doesnt realize how odd it is that he knows all this stuff)

Or

Duke is pretty much just vibing, the bats are having a meltdown, and Danny is having a blast!

—-

Then Duke pops the question

“So, what are you guys researching?” He asks raising a brow to the papers littered all over the room

Collectively the entire room groans as Duke absentmindedly picks up a paper on the table with the failed, static over-run image.

“We don't know!” Steph bemoans frustrated

Tim starts, “There are new entities–”

“Creatures.” Bruce corrects

Tim casts a piercing glance at his father, “I am pretty sure those are entities. Eye witness reports state that they look fairly human-like–”

Bruce challenges him right back, “Eye witness reports were also very likely to be unfactual, they seemed partially intoxicated. It’s more likely they are some kind of mutated animal.”

His son’s teeth grit, “Even so we still can’t rule out–”

“Oh right, the ghosts are back in town,” Duke's comments, gaze absorbed in the static image

Silence drowns the room as their weary eyes blink at Duke, processing what he had just said.

Then it clicks

“R-repeat that?” Tim stares intensely at Duke

“Um, the ghosts are back? That's what these are.” Duke nervously replies confused, “It’s been a bit since they visited Gotham

Tim opens and closes his mouth, immensely struggling to find any words to say. It seems like the rest of his family is fairing no better, some of them letting out noises of surprise and shock with others trying to hear if they heard that sentence right.

“There used to be ghosts in Gotham?” Bruce says incredulously

“Yeah?” Duke tilts his head, “I mean they don’t like living here with the corrupt ectoplasm but I’m friends with a few ghosts?”

Jason springs on him with wide eyes, “What are ghosts like, personality-wise?”

Duke thinks and responds with the first thought that comes to mind, “Fickle, they can be super friendly or super destructive. They do whatever they’re in the mood to.”

“Are they aggressive?”

“Sure? Sometimes?” Duke blinks at them bewildered before a petty smile crosses his lips, “They can be, hmm, commanding.”

Dicks eyes turn cold and protective, “What–”

“Listen guys,” Duke backs away from the discussion going with his internal task list in mind, “I gotta go wrap up putting together all my documents for my topic on my science fair project so uh, see-ya!”

The second youngest bounces out of the cave and the rest of the family stare dumbstruck at him.

New entities (ghosts?) pop up in Gotham + Duke describes them as fickle and commanding =

Duke is being made to do things for Ghosts who can be kind and cruel which =

= Duke is being bullied by Ghosts?!

Not on their Bat-watch!

Damian is already sharpening his ‘not murder tools’, Tim has sprung into research on the bat computer and the rest of the family have already dipped into Gotham ready to search for these perps!

Paranoid Family #1 will help Duke’s ghost problem starting now!

( pssst heres the fic :)

[fleetways]

Chapter 26: The Hero