#the librarians fic

[dapper-nahrwhale]

Home is the first grave

(a leverage/the librarians crossover where Eliot and Jake are twins)

Eliot had spent most of his life learning how to appease angry occasionally drunk men. To force their eyes at him and not someone smaller and more vulnerable.

As always, the first angry drunk man was his father.

[link here]

Eliot had spent most of his life learning how to appease angry occasionally drunk men. To force their eyes at him and not someone smaller and more vulnerable

As always, the first angry drunk man was his father. In the small everyone-knows-everyone-knows-everyone-else-secrets little town he'd lived his whole life in, there was no escape. He'd been a protector his whole life. He had never known anything else.

Never.

Never .

Not since he'd been five years old and told he now had a little sister and he knew this is who he would have to be. For her. To cause trouble and force the eyes of an angry drunk man unto himself and not at her when they all screwed up.

It was one of many a game they played. Who can be quiet the longest. Who can hide the quickest. Who can run away the fastest.

Eliot always lost. It was his job . To lose the little games they made up and keep her safe from the angry drunk man.

He didn't always do his job. He didn't always want to do his job.

But he was a fighter. He was born fighting. He knew how to take the punches easily.

It was who he was , it was all he'd ever known.

The day his father sat him down after little Hannah was born and told him he's a big brother to a little sister now, and it was his duty to protect her, he never thought it would have to be from him.

But that's just how it went.

Eliot protected. He had to. It was all he'd ever known. And many a time, he did not want to have to.

Many a time he was exhausted and just wanted a break from it all.

(This is one of those times.)

“Go back inside, Hannah.” He hears the always creaky screen door open and the stomps of an angry 6 year old.

He also heard the clatter clunk of the old pick up truck tearing away down the dirt and mud driveway, most likely off to the bar.

Eliot is scrunched up on stairs of the back porch, knees tucked under his chin and holding them tightly.

If he held himself as tight as possible, he couldn't break.

He couldn't.

He scrubs the leaking tears away from his face. He's 11 now, he's too old to cry, even if his lip was definitely busted and his arm hurts funny and his head aches and he feels like tearing his shortly cropped hair out.

He covers his face with his hands and misses how his longer hair would cover up his face so he could hide his baby crying more easy. He didn't want her to see how much it was getting to him. He had to be strong, tough, he had to be able to fight. He couldn't afford to be soft and sweet. He had a family to protect.

“Ellie,” She says in the way only an exasperated world weary 6 year old in sparkly pajamas holding a stuffed pig can, “you're ah El- idiot .”

“Nice wordplay, make it up yourself, Hanna- Barbera ?” Eliot sniffed and gives a tight little smile at his own joke.

He can feel her eyes roll as she plops down next to him, “That's not my name.”

“And my name's not Ellie.” He says in a deadpan that he knows she thinks is his Serious Voice.

She gasps like that new piece of information upends her entire worldview. And because she's 6, maybe it does.

“Don't lie to me.” She grabs his sore face with stout determined fingers, dropping the stuffed pig in the dirt where it belongs.

“Ow-ow, ok fine, you're right. I'm Ellie. Ok, just lemme go.” He relents immediately.

“Fine.” She pushes his face away from her so hard he nearly falls over.

She takes advantage of his discombobulation and jumps into his lap, pig back in hand.

“I want Mama back. If she was here, maybe Papa would stop.” She settles down and starts absently playing patty cake with his hands.

He didn't ask stop what, he knew what she meant. Just stop .

But Mama couldn't come back. Hannah was very smart, smarter than Eliot that's for sure, but she still didn't really get it.

He didn't know how many more times he could tell her before she got it, “She's gone and she ain't coming back and the sooner ya grow up and get that then-”

Then Hannah bit his hand.

“Ow, what the hell?” He snatched his hands away from her mouth.

“Stop sounding like Papa an start sounding like Ellie! I told you you're ah El-idiot right now, not an Eliot!” She looked angrily up at him, and for good measure, stomped on his foot hard with her tiny sneakers. It didn't really hurt, but it was the principal of the thing.

“You're weird and I don't get you!” He shouted at her.

“You're weirder, El-idiot!” She screamed and slammed the screen door so hard the handle snapped off, locking him outside.

“Dammit, Hannah!” He tugged at the door but it didn't budge.

“I'm not talking to you or Pa anymore, just Brisket!” She hugged the stupid pig tighter.

“Brisket can't talk you know!” He banged at the screen. He didn't want to break it, because that meant he'd have to fix it but he was pretty pissed at her.

“Yeah she can!” Hannah shoved that stupid pig in his face.

“Uh-uh!”

“Uh-huh!”

“You're just mean because you don't got any friends like me and Brisket got!” She taunted him, accurately.

“I do too have friends! At least I got friends that are real.” Like Jacob, except not really, “Like you Hannah.”

“Well-well-well, we ain't friends no more when you're mean! ” She sputtered.

“Come on, Hannah! Open the door.”

“No!”

“The handles gone, I'm getting all bit up out here, come on.” He was, wafting away the mosquitos that had decided hed make a tasty meal.

“Nuh-uh."

“I'm sorry, I won't be mean no more, just please. I gotta fix it up ok?” He pleads. If it will get her to open the door, he'll do just about anything.

She hesitates, “Only if you do my hair all up for school tomorrow.”

“Ok.” He shrugs, he would have to do it anyways.

“And you gotta give Brisket a bath.” She adds with a thoughtful nod at the pig.

“No I don't.” That was in line he did not want to cross. It was just a damn stuffed animal.

“Yes, you do, or I ain't letting you back in.”

“Hannah.” Eliot gave his most stern dad-adjacent sternest look he could.

But by the cherry red rage flooding her face, it did not take well.

“I miss Jake more than I'd ever miss you !” She threw the door open to smack him in the face with it, “Ah least he's nice to Brisket!”

“Well, he ain't here either!” Eliot shouted back, holding his now definitely bruised nose. More so yelling at himself than her.

But she still cried the same no matter his intentions.

“Hannah, I didn't mean…” He reached out to brush away her tears and she ran.

He heard the thumping as she stomped upstairs to her room.

Well, that went. Badly.

“Stupid Jake, off at his stupid smartie school, makin me fix the damn door…” He muttered to himself as he set about fixing his mess.

Well, Eliot lied. He'd been a big brother for longer than 5 years old. He was born one, actually.

It's just. Jacob was smarter, he had a chance to get out of this little town that had its claws dug deep in them all. There's no other place Eliot can even think of calling home. He doesn't understand how Jacob was able to leave it behind so easily. Leave him behind.

He can get leaving behind their fucked up dad and this town too small for his big brain, but. He didn't realize he would be left alone with the rest.

There was no way Eliot would ever get out of this town. He'd live and die here, just like their daddy.

The thought made him sick.

At least Jacob got out, was at some fancy important private school for a semester. Maybe he'd come back, maybe he wouldn't. Eliot tried not to blame him for it.

Tried.

He couldn't help the course bitter feeling that flooded him intermittently.

He staved it off with projects around the house, with keeping Hannah occupied, with anything he could. If he sat and thought about it, he wasn't sure if he'd scream or cry or lose his mind.

He doesn't blame Jacob for trying to get out. He just wishes he could have gone with him.

It had been their own secret plan to get out of this town together. Out of this house, their room. All of it.

But that all changed when Mama died. It was sudden and unpredictable and everything just got worse after it.

And Jacob, always the more peaceful people person of the two, he couldn't always keep the peace. So it was up to Eliot to do that he was good at and fight.

And so, Eliot made damn well sure the eyes of the angry drunk man were always on him, not Jacob, and never Hannah. It was his job. And he'd be damned if he didn't do his job well.

So, really he can't blame Jake for leaving, just for leaving him.

-

(I've only seen the first episode of The librarians, so once I see more I'll do more!)

[angelwiththeblue-box]

my gift for the @the-librarians-gift-exchange!! so excited to finally post this, it was so fun to work on this!!! <3333

pairings: cassandra & ezekiel, ezekiel & everyone, team as family

word count: 1,249

rated: t for swearing

taglist under the cut

@blueskiesandstarrynights @sleepyandbi @canadiankat @thedragonemperess @depressedtransguy @disdoorted-crows @starchaserbaby @genuine-possum (lemme know if u want to be added or removed)

[alabamasweettea]

late nights

(he's so cute <33)

Fandom: The Librarian(s)

Pairing: Flynn Carsen/Guardian!reader

Warnings: none

Summary: "one bed" trope on a late night. that's really it.

.

.

she was annoyed, to say the least. and tired. flynn was keeping dreadful work hours; he'd been up since 9:45 PM, and now it was 2:30 in the morning. she sighed, going to prepare him another coffee preemptively. he'd need it soon, if not already.

the kitchen of the library was a truly interesting place, but one that no one spent much time in, and unfortunately it showed. the shelves and cupboards were covered in a thin layer of dust, and each porcelain mug was brittle, old. whenever flynn came down to scrummage around for food, he somehow managed to make it into a worse mess than ever. she only hoped charlene, the resident neat freak, would never visit down here.

"coffee!" the librarian remarked appreciatively, taking a lasting gulp of the warm liquid. it made his eyes brighten just a bit, but she could see that nothing would stem the tide of sleepiness once it hit. with a snap of her fingers, the desk reset itself.

"no more tonight, flynn. look at yourself." it was true. his brown hair was mussed, his tie was missing and three of the top buttons on his shirt were undone.

"oh, come on." she shook her head at his protest, holding out her hands. "you're my guardian, not my mom." he continued to grumble all the way down the hall to his bedroom.

"where do you sleep by the way?" she asked, legitimately having never seen him go to bed.

"jus' down there." he pointed, and she could hear the promise of sleep creeping into his voice. he leaned on her shoulder as they walked. it was a long hallway.

"this is mine." flynn grinned sleepily, head lolling slightly to the side. the door was tall, sturdy, made of oak. it suited him in a way she'd never thought of before.

"right. so, get some rest. i'll be back tomorrow." and she turned to leave.

"why not stay?" his eyes were looking the cutest she'd ever seen them, all big and brown and nearly begging in nature. "why go all the way home only to come back three hours later?" he leaned against the doorframe, eyelashes fluttering in an effort to keep himself awake.

"i'd be alright with that… surely you've got extra rooms in this place, right?"

"uhh, nope."

she rolled her eyes. "you're telling me there is a grand total of one bedrooms in this entire, world-encompassing, magical library?"

"uhhh, yeah." he was beginning to nod off, still standing. "i mean if you'll have me; i've been told i'm a pretty good bedfellow."

"by whom?" and the door closed behind them. flynn started to pull off clothing as soon as the door was shut, disregarding the guardian standing very uncomfortably in the middle of the room. jacket first, then shirt, then pants. then-

"wh- what are you-" he blinked, as if suddenly realizing. with a grin, "i'll keep these on." he stumbled over to the bed, which lay precisely in the middle of the far wall. it was relatively large too; well, at the very least not small.

"a- are you sure there's nothing? not even a couch?" flynn rolled his eyes very visibly and slipped under the covers. mumbling something, he he threw them off the side he wasn't under, inviting her to bed with him.

that… was starting to not sound so awful, especially when he smiled. she sighed and shook her head, peeling off some of the tight layers this job had her frequent. then, she snuggled into the bed. it smelled like him, just like most things did, but this time it was different. maybe it was that she was in her underwear this time. actually yeah, that was probably it.

flynn grumbled softly, shifting to wrap an arm around her waist. she stiffened at the intrusion- skin on skin with her librarian for the first time. he nuzzled into her neck, spooning her. they fell asleep together, cuddled up in the darkness.

when she woke up he was snoring quietly, cutely against her skin. a little groan escaped him when she tried to move.

"mmm, stay." he murmured, half asleep.

"morning to you too, sleepyhead." and she poked him in the side.

"h- ey!"

bonus bit that didn't quite fit in:

they lay together all day, only getting up when flynn's stomach insisted on food.

"mm! this is truly delicious," he was saying, munching on a heavily buttered grilled cheese.

"you know everything about the library, right?" the question caught the man off guard, and he nearly dropped the sandwich.

"uhh…" he gulped down the bite in his mouth,

"yeah. yeah, why?"

"so when you asked me to stay here, you knew i would have to sleep with you?"

here the author would like to remark that the sound of a heavily buttered grilled cheese hitting tile floor is an exceptionally strange one. :)

[noodles-and-tea]

Back at it with my enchanted merthur shenanigans

[kdsantell21]

Well, here it is y'all. The season 1 finale of "The Librarians: And the Knight Guardian"!

It's a twisty one y'all, and is gonna change everything.

[queenofglassbeliever]

from a Sarina and Jacob fic I'm working on.

M

"My destiny's here, but yours doesn't have to be." "I want to be with you." Hand raised; she rested her palm against his cheek. Assured eyes bore into his and just as certain as he melted into her touch, he was swayed by her sincerity.

U

Underground, beneath a mile of rock, Sarina was at ease. Which is something she never expected to feel in a space such as this.

S

She hadn't realized she’d been holding her breath. When Jake had asked her to meet him at St. John's Bridge she'd no idea what to expect. This room, this vast incredible room was something she could never have imagined.

I

In an instant, that excitement all but vanished from her face. Bewilderment darkened her eyes.

C

"C’mon, I think you’re really going to like this."

WIP Word Game

tagged by: @littleblackraincloudofcourse tagging: @heatherfield @queenofglassbeliever @thesecondbatgirl @noneedforbloodpressure @ossidae-passeridae @ouzoathena11 @mid-nighttiger @brachiosaurus-off @thegreencarousel and whoever else wants to (since all my willow mutuals are tagged but consider yourselves tagged again) rules: you will be given a word. then you share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that starts with each letter of your word!

The word was ECLAIRS.

from the P&P spite fic:

E

Each word was bitter in her mouth, each thought and feeling she felt at hearing their father’s casual disregard tasted like ash. She had known, of course, how little her father cared for her and her younger two sisters. It was evident in his actions, or lack thereof, towards them.

C

Christmas came and went, with it the Gardiners and Jane. The removal of Mr Bingley and the other Netherfield occupants from the neighbourhood had affected Jane tremendously, and she did not begrudge her sister the need for a change. But it did not surprise her either that neither of her Gardiner Uncle and Aunt gave their younger nieces any of the attention and consideration they gave their elder.

L

Lizzy’s chiding “Papa!” had too much laughter in it for Mary to take it seriously. Kitty reached out to clasp her hand. Mary gripped back just as tight.

A

And Mary, at least, was rather certain their father would accuse them of eavesdropping purposefully, ignoring the fact that this was the little patch of garden their mother had cultivated with much love and therefore Kitty’s favourite place to sketch and Mary’s safe haven. It was hardly their fault that the conversations from Mr Bennet’s study carried over into the area, especially when the window was open as it was now.

I

“I wonder at his coming here to find himself a bride.” Lizzy’s disdain was evident. Mary knew it well, for all her sister tried to veil her criticisms as advice.

R

Relief flooded her veins and she clutched at her Uncle's sleeve tightly, as if a child in need of reassurance, secure in the knowledge that her Uncle, at least, unlike her father, would give it. He pat her hand gently and then nudged her to her feet. Mary stumbled a little, and then on finding her footing, found her voice too. “Lydia!”

S

She might have been only fifteen, but Lydia was not unaware of the ills of the world. She did pay attention, even if she preferred to act as though life was a lark. “And we will take care of each other.”

Your word is MUSIC.

[navybrat817]

His Favorite Person

Pairing: Librarian!Ari Levinson x Female Reader

Summary: You want to be more than friends with Ari.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Fluff, sweetness, friends to lovers (of sorts), Ari Levinson (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: More Beach Fun Nonsense! Hope you lovelies enjoy. @lovebittenbyevans requested Librarian AU, friends to lovers with Ari, and to dig his Toes in the Sand (fluff) with prompt #7 in bold. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You stood on your tiptoes to reach a book on the top shelf. You huffed out a breath and tried to stretch a little bit more, but your fingers barely skimmed the spine. It would’ve been easier to ask for some help, but you didn’t want to bother Ari. You bothered him enough during his shifts.

You should’ve known he was only standing a few feet away, watching the display with a smirk on his ridiculously handsome face. “Need some help?” He asked.

Managing not to fall into the shelf from the slight scare, you pointed to the book you tried and failed to grab. “If you wouldn’t mind?” You asked, dragging your eyes from his chest to his eyes. It was like looking into a storm, but warmth lingered in a way that told you not to fear any destruction left in its wake. “Please?”

Rugged was the word that came to mind whenever you glanced at him. A dark beard to match his long hair and jeans that showed off his large thighs, he even had the sleeves of his tight shirt rolled up so you could see his veins. The man could've easily passed for an adventurer instead of a librarian and you were certain he caught you staring at him more than once.

It wasn’t polite to stare, but was it fair for him to be so good looking?

“Don’t mind at all,” he said, plucking it from the shelf and placing it in your waiting hand. “You could’ve just asked me to grab it from the start, but you just had to be stubborn.”

“I wasn’t being stubborn,” you argued. He raised an eyebrow in response. “You just have a lot to do and I didn’t want to bother you,” you said, hugging the book to your chest.

“You were being stubborn, you’ve never once bothered me, and it’s part of my job to help.” Ari made a show of looking around, his silky hair flowing with the motion. “But I guess you’re right. I have so much to do since it’s so crowded today,” he joked.

It wasn’t a secret that the library was hit and miss in town. So many wanted their stories electronically and didn’t appreciate the feel of a book in their hands. Ari did what he could though since he took over as head librarian. Between overseeing the daily operations and managing his employees, he took his job seriously. You had no doubt he’d bring a much needed spark back to the place.

“Yeah, well, thanks for your help,” you said.

“Another romance novel, huh? Didn’t you just bring one back today?”

Your face grew warm before you nodded. Of course, he’d notice that. “You know me,” you mumbled, hugging the book tighter.

He took a step closer, searching your face with a gentle gaze. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with reading what you love.”

There was no judgement in his eyes and that made the corner of your lips lift in a smile. “I appreciate that.”

Being single, reading books like that allowed you to dive into various worlds and experience love. You could immerse yourself and imagine having a partner who would not only overcome obstacles with you, but would ensure that there would be a happily ever after. In a world often dark and negative, the escape gave you hope that one day you'd manage to find someone who could love you so deeply. You didn't want to think that romance only existed in books.

If only you were brave enough to take a chance and ask Ari out.

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you,” you began, walking beside him to head to the front desk. He took up a good portion of the aisle with his beefy frame and you had to tell yourself again not to stare. “I spoke with my boss about adjusting my hours and they approved it! I can do Story Time on Tuesdays.”

“That’s great!” The smile on Ari’s face was worth moving your schedule around. “I really appreciate you doing that for me. I owe you one.”

You wished you would’ve teasingly suggested a date as a form of payment, but you shrugged. “You don’t owe me anything. You’re my friend and that’s what friends do,” you said, cringing inwardly. It sounded lame to your ears.

“Yeah. Friends.” His smile faded slightly as he walked around the counter. “Just this book today, right?” He asked, slipping into his professional tone. Still pleasant to hear, but a touch of the usual warmth was gone. Like you were just like every other person who walked into the library.

“Yeah,” you replied, passing over your library card. “Did I say something wrong?” You added, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No, you didn’t,” he said, his large hand placing your card on top of the book. He passed it over to you and you couldn’t ignore the jolt of electricity that moved through you when your fingers touched. “Why would you think that?”

“It’s just…” Putting him on the spot wasn’t your intention and you didn’t want to point out his slight change in demeanor. “You do consider us friends, right?”

You didn't have a lot of close friends, but you considered Ari to be one of them. At the very least, he was friendly with you. It was possible that you read things wrong. Engrossing yourself in one too many books could’ve blurred your version of reality.

“Of course, I do. You’re my favorite person,” he replied. You leaned on the counter with a relieved and dopey smile at his statement. Were you really his favorite person? “But just because you’re my favorite person doesn’t mean I have to be yours.”

“But you are my favorite person,” you blurted out, covering your mouth when your voice echoed. “Sorry,” you added in a hushed whisper. It was a library. You needed to be somewhat quiet.

He chuckled and leaned on the counter, too, his eyes zeroed on you. “Oh, I am, am I? So, you don't actually come here to borrow romance novels. You’re just really looking for an excuse to see me.”

Your heart pounded, but you took a breath to keep your cool and hopefully not make a fool out of yourself. “I come here for the books and to see you, Ari,” you said carefully, the corner of your lip twitching in a smile. “But you obviously want to see me, too, otherwise you wouldn’t have asked me to do Story Time.”

“Well, yeah,” he smirked before softly adding, “Seeing you is the best part of my day.”

How did your knees not buckle? “It is?”

“Yeah, it is.” He smiled, almost to himself. “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did, but you can ask me another question,” you teased.

He stretched across the counter a bit more. “If I'm your favorite person and you're mine, why haven't we gone on a date?”

For a moment, it felt like the room sucked up all the oxygen. Breathing should've been natural to do, but you couldn't inhale as you stared at him. Glancing down at the book to get your bearings, it dared you to take a chance. A leap of faith. With a deep breath, you did.

“Because I've been waiting for you to ask me out and you haven't yet. And I've been too chicken to ask you myself,” you replied. You regretted the words the moment he stood up straight, his expression unreadable. He didn’t actually want that, did he? “I’m sorry. Forget I said that. Please.”

A second passed and his lips slightly parted, but he didn't speak. His silence said it all. Nodding with a heavy heart, you turned to walk away from the counter. You could lick your wounds later as you read another happily ever after.

“Shit. Wait.” Ari moved with impressive speed to block your path, his grip gentle on your arms to stop you. “Did you mean it? You really want to go on a date with me?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I do, but I understand if-”

“Thank fuck,” he sighed, your eyes rounding at his words. “I’ve been wanting to ask you out for days and I got worried there for a moment with the ‘friends’ comment that you didn't want anything beyond friendship.”

Your stomach did somersaults. Ari liked you. He wanted to ask you out. God, you almost ruined things before they started. “I’m sorry I worried you, but trust me. I'm very interested in you, Ari,” you smiled, forgetting you were in the library as you stepped closer. “And if you ask me, some of the best romances come from friendships.”

“They do.” He smiled back, his cerelain eyes lit up like yours. “And our story will be more romantic than any of those books you’ve been reading.”

Biting your lip, you watched as his gaze dropped to your mouth. What would it feel like if he bit your lip? “I don’t know. That’s a pretty tall order.”

He brought his mouth to your ear. “I’m a very determined man,” he whispered. No doubt he felt you tremble in his grasp. “Saturday night?”

“It’s a date.”

A date and the beginning of your love story.

We know this man would plan the perfect date, right? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[libraryofgage]

Librarian Steve :)

Was talking to a friend about people (specifically this one kid that gives such Dustin energy hfjdks) I meet at work (I'm a librarian) and that evolved into this plot bunny so:

Librarian Steve, rock star Eddie, and the 5 times Steve pretends he doesn't know who Eddie is while they flirt + 1 time Steve reveals he knew about Eddie's rock star status the whole time

There is also, definitely, at some point, going to be a second part where the kids keep just barely missing Eddie and refuse to believe Steve is actually dating anyone but especially not Eddie Munson of all people

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't

One

Steve stares at the man on the other side of the circulation desk. He's wearing a Metallica shirt, ripped jeans, a guitar pick necklace, clunky rings on each finger, and an expression that says he's bracing himself for something painful.

Here's the thing: Steve knows who Eddie Munson is. It's hard to listen to alternative rock or punk or any other genre like that and not know Eddie Munson. It's hard to be a librarian who works primarily with kids in middle school and high school, all going through that painful, angsty phase that they express through music, and not know Eddie Munson.

So, yeah, Steve takes one look at the admittedly (incredibly) attractive guy and immediately knows he's Eddie Munson. Like, of Corroded Coffin fame. Of Rock n Roll Hall of Fame fame. Of platinum-level album sales fame. Of--okay, his point has probably been made.

Anyway, yeah, Steve knows this is Eddie Munson, and while he'd love to say he's a fan and smile at Eddie and maybe ask for an autograph, Steve also grew up as a Small Town Rich Kid. So he knows that look on Eddie's face, the one that says he's bracing himself for someone to start fawning over him and potentially ask for uncomfortable favors or his number or any other request that's definitely crossing the line into invasive.

Steve easily makes the decision to pretend he doesn't recognize Eddie. So, he puts on his customer service smile and says, "Hello, how can I help you?"

The sheer relief in Eddie's eyes is more than enough to tell Steve he made the right choice. "Right, uh, this is my first time here," Eddie says, shifting slightly before placing his hands on the counter and drumming his fingers.

"Oh, congratulations," Steve says, his tone and smile becoming more genuine. "Did you come here to print something?"

Eddie shakes his head, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a library card. "My friend has, like, a...hold? Yeah, a hold on something and asked me to pick it up," he explains.

Steve nods once and takes the card when Eddie offers it. He scans it and watches the computer load for a few seconds before opening an account window for someone named Asher Katz. "Since you aren't the cardholder," Steve says, navigating to the "Additional Information" tab in the account, "I'll need you to tell me the four-digit pin or code word connected to the account."

He clearly wasn't expecting that requirement, and Eddie flounders for a moment. "Is that a requirement?" he asks.

With an apologetic smile, Steve nods. "Yeah," he says, stretching out the word as he tries to think. "Oh, you could also call him and have him tell me the pin. Then I could confirm that it's okay for you to check out materials on his behalf."

"This is a lot of hoops for a book," Eddie says, frowning slightly as he takes out his phone.

"We have to make sure people's materials are secure. Also, we have to keep track of what people check out for the library's stats report at the end of each quarter."

Eddie looks like he understands about half of that, and Steve once again flashes an apologetic smile. After a few taps on the screen, Eddie glances around the library, ensuring it's empty, before putting the phone on speaker. The moment it picks up, and before Asher can speak, Eddie says, "Hey, man, I'm at the library. Can you tell, uh--" Eddie looks up to check Steve's nametag "--Steve what your pin is so I can check that book out."

A few seconds pass before Steve hears a sigh on the other end of the phone. "1234," Asher says.

"Seriously?" Eddie asks.

Steve glances at the account page, confirms the pin, and nods. "Could you also provide me with your code word?"

"Password."

"Dude!" Eddie says, staring at the phone like he's once again being reminded that his friend is a dumbass.

Steve checks the account again and nods once more. "Great, thank you. Could you confirm that...," Steve trails off, looking at Eddie expectantly.

Eddie blinks like he forgot Steve didn't know who he was and hesitates before clearing his throat and quietly saying, "Eddie."

"Thanks," Steve says, flashing another smile before looking at the phone and continuing, "Can you confirm that Eddie here is allowed to check out holds on your behalf?"

"Uh, yeah, that's fine, man."

"Great, thank you," Steve says, checking the card number once more before heading to the hold shelf behind the desk. He crouches and starts scanning stickers on the spines for Asher's last name and the last four digits of his number. Behind him, he hears Eddie say goodbye, his voice sounding a little strained for reasons Steve can't really figure out at the moment.

He finds the right book after a few moments and pulls it off the shelf. "Here it is," he says, walking over to the desk and pulling up the check-out window on his computer. He scans the library card once more, carefully pulls the sticker off the spine, and scans the book.

"It's due in two weeks, but if your friend needs more time, he can just give the library a call," Steve explains, passing the book and card back to Eddie with a smile. "Was there anything else I could do for you?"

Eddie just stares at him for a few seconds, his cheeks looking a little pinker than before, and Steve wonders if the building's A/C somehow gave up on life. Again. But he can hear it running so that definitely isn't it. "Uh, nope, that's it," Eddie says, gripping the book tightly in his hands, his rings pressing into the cover. "Thanks, Steve, appreciate it."

"Of course, man. Have a good day," Steve says with a genuine smile and wave as Eddie heads toward the door.

With a slightly awkward wave back, Eddie walks out the door, glancing back over his shoulder once before the door completely shuts. Once the library is empty again, Steve hears the door to the backroom open, and Robin practically slides up to the counter, leaning onto it next to him.

"Was that?" she asks. Steve instantly translates the question in his head: Was that Eddie fucking Munson?

"Yep."

"And did you?"

And did you just pretend you didn't know him?

"Yep."

"Did he?"

Did he catch on?

"Nope."

"Do you think?"

Do you think he'll be back?

Steve shrugs, glancing over at her. "Don't know," he says, pausing for a moment before adding, "He's hotter in person."

Robin barks out a laugh. "Maybe you'll actually get to flirt next time," she says, and Steve grins at her, kind of hoping she's right.

Two

Eddie returns exactly two weeks later, and Steve is lucky enough to once again be working a desk shift when he walks through the door. He's wearing a Nine Inch Nails shirt this time, and his hair is pulled back into a messy bun with strands escaping to frame his face. He goes up to the counter, focused on Steve and completely ignoring Robin sitting at another computer, and sets the book down. "I wanna return this. And get a library card for myself," he says.

Steve can't help a clearly amused smile as he takes the book and scans it in. "Do you have an ID with you?" he asks, sliding the book along the desk to rest next to Robin.

He ignores the glare she shoots at him before grabbing the book to place it on a reshelving cart for later.

"Yeah, do I need anything else?" Eddie asks.

As Steve shakes his head, he leans over to grab a library card application from a small organizer. He places it in front of Eddie and passes him a pen as well. "Just fill that out," he says, leaning forward on the counter as Eddie picks up the pen.

"So, uh, what can I do with a library card?" Eddie asks, glancing up at Steve briefly before focusing on carefully writing. His letters are blocky but awkward like he's consciously thinking about how he's writing each one.

Maybe he just doesn't want to risk his writing being recognized, too? From what Steve remembers of the signatures he's seen, Eddie's handwriting is fairly distinctive.

"You can borrow up to 75 materials at one time, place items on hold, use the computers, and you get one dollar of printing credit that renews each day," Steve lists, tilting his head slightly as he watches Eddie write.

"That's it?"

Steve snorts, raising an eyebrow at Eddie when he looks up. "Oh, that's not enough for you?" he asks, unable to help a slight grin, "You can use it at any library within our system, too. So you'll still have options if you get banned from this one."

"Oh? And what would I be banned for?" Eddie asks, his writing pausing long enough to meet Steve's gaze once more and smirk at him.

"I wonder," Steve says, not missing the way Eddie's gaze drops to his lips for less than a second before moving back up.

Holy shit, he's flirting with Eddie Munson.

"I can also help you find books to read based on what you've liked previously," Steve adds, somewhat clumsily pulling back from the flirting. It's only Eddie's second time here, and he doesn't want to let himself get too caught up in...well, Eddie when there's no guarantee he'll be back.

Eddie hums softly as he looks back at the application. "Oh? What would you recommend for me?" he asks.

"What's your favorite book?"

"The Hobbit."

"What did you like about it?"

"The adventure and the characters."

"Do you prefer fantasy? What about sci-fi?"

"Yeah, those are fine."

Steve hums softly, thinking as Eddie sets the pen down and slides the application to him. "Thanks. I also need to see your ID," Steve says, opening a drawer in the desk and pulling out a library card. He scans it, a new account window popping up and waiting to be filled out.

"What's the ID for?" Eddie asks.

"To confirm that you live in our service area," Steve explains, taking the ID when Eddie offers it. He glances at the photo briefly, confirming that it is, in fact, Eddie Munson, and then double-checks the address. It matches what Eddie wrote on the application, so he nods and slides the ID back to him.

"That's it?"

Steve nods, beginning to type Eddie's information into the account page. "Yeah, that's it," he says, glancing up and smiling at Eddie, "Anyway, I think you'll enjoy the Murderbot Diaries. It's about a cyborg that hacks its control module, thinks about maybe going on a killing spree, and then discovers TV instead. It then just goes on adventures through space while fighting, like, capitalism and corporations."

"Sounds pretty badass," Eddie says, leaning forward on the counter like he wants to get a peek at the computer. "How long is it?"

"It's mostly novellas, so they're quick reads."

"Got any copies here?"

Steve hums, entering the last of Eddie's information. "I can check," he says, "but first, I need a code word for your account. Like, if you forget your pin or have someone else come pick up a hold, this word will confirm it's you."

Eddie thinks for a few seconds, his gaze dropping to Steve's nametag once more. "Stevie," he says.

Steve's fingers falter, accidentally typing an incomprehensible key smash into the information field. He glances up at Eddie. "...as in Stevie Nix? Don't forget, this has to be something you'll remember," he says, raising an eyebrow.

With a playful grin and a wink, Eddie says, "Well, I think you're pretty unforgettable, Stevie."

A beat passes as Steve stares at Eddie, feeling a rush of heat to his cheeks. He clears his throat and looks back at the computer, hesitating for a second more before typing "Stevie" into the field and saving the account. When he's done, he slides the card to Eddie along with a Sharpie. "That's your card, please sign on the back."

He notices Eddie stiffen at the request, but Steve doesn't comment. As he instead searches the library's catalog, he tries to ignore the sheer panic coming from Eddie as he tries to figure out how to sign the card. Eventually, Eddie picks up the Sharpie and writes his name in the same awkward, blocky writing he used for the application.

"So," Steve says, getting Eddie's attention once more, "we don't have any copies of the first book here, but I can put it on hold for you. It should be here in around four days, and you'll get an email when it's available. Does that work?"

Eddie nods as he places the Sharpie down. "Sure, I'm happy to swing by and pick it up," he says, his tone and smile and the playful look in his eyes telling Steve there are more reasons than that for him to come by the library.

And as Steve places the book on hold for Eddie, he can't help a tiny, eager smile.

Three

The D8 sits innocently on the counter in front of Steve, marbled colors of blue and red with streaks of gold to complement the gold-painted numbers. Steve had immediately recognized it as Will's when he was cleaning the meeting room, and he knew the kid was probably losing his mind right now searching for it. He feels kind of bad knowing Will is going to lose all hope of finding it before his next visit to the library.

At the same time, though, he's looking forward to the expression of sheer joy on Will's face when he next comes in and Steve gives it back. Maybe it'll even score him a bonus point with Mike, and he'll be a little less of an asshole. Though, knowing Mike like he does, Steve is sure he'll just get jealous that Steve made Will smile like that instead of himself.

That kid is incredibly skilled at finding new grudges to hold.

"Whatcha got there, Stevie?"

Steve blinks, looking away from the D8 to find Eddie leaning on the counter, a familiar grin tugging at his lips. His hair is loose today, falling over his shoulders, and he's boldly wearing a Hellfire Club shirt, like he's confident that Steve won't recognize any of Corroded Coffin's merch.

Which, sure, Steve is great at pretending by now. Especially after he and Robin made a bet on whether Steve could keep the secret until Eddie asked him out. Steve has incredible faith in himself; Robin says he's too dumb and gay to last that long. So far, after around two months and multiple visits from Eddie, Steve is still going strong.

"A D8," Steve says, holding it between his thumb and forefinger so Eddie can see it clearly. "One of the kids left it behind yesterday."

"They were playing D&D here?" Eddie asks, tilting his head slightly as he holds his hand out.

Steve drops the dice into his hand, watching as Eddie inspects the gold numbers and hums softly with appreciation. "I host a weekly D&D program," Steve explains. "A group of regular kids plays, and they were getting a little disruptive when they played in the common area--" Steve gestures to the cluster of tables where the kids used to set up "--and the program gives them the meeting room for a whole afternoon."

Eddie looks up at him like he's just said he's a volunteer firefighter on the weekends. It's not an awe and appreciation that Steve really deserves, but he also can't help the slight puff of his chest when it's coming from Eddie. "Do you play, too?" Eddie asks.

"Sort of?" Steve frowns slightly, trying to remember how Dustin and Will explained his role during the campaign to him. "I'm, like, extras. Their DM, Will, wanted his, uh, NPCs? Yeah, NPCs. He wanted the NPCs to feel more real, so he'll give me, like, a little script before each session and then have me voice the NPCs and give me signals to guide my interactions."

"Signals?"

"Yeah, like, if I'm a shop owner and the characters bargain for stuff. He'll give me a signal of when their, like, rolls are effective or when they suck. And if I'm a villain NPC, he'll give me a signal of when to die and give dramatic monologues," Steve explains.

And Eddie grins again, his eyes practically sparkling with amusement and curiosity. "I kinda wanna hear a dramatic monologue," he says, propping his chin in his palm and looking at Steve expectantly.

He's clearly settled in to watch a show, and Steve isn't one to disappoint. Steve does a quick sweep of the library and confirms that it's just as empty as he remembers. Then, he sits up a little straighter in his chair, clears his throat, and tries to remember his whole dying monologue from the most recent session.

When he speaks, it's with a raspy voice, laced with pain and anger at being defeated, "Curse you, adventurers! You may have won the battle, but the war! The war yet rages, and you will be caught in its carnage! Savor this victory now, for it will be your last, and you will fa-"

Steve cuts off, grinning when Eddie blinks and pouts. "Why'd you stop?" he asks.

"Mike's character killed me before I could finish. Said my monologue was boring."

Eddie snorts, raising an eyebrow at that. "It sounds like your monologue was going to reveal info about the BBG."

"Yep. It was, but Will refused to tell them what the rest would've been, and Dustin threw his dice at Mike for killing me."

"He's lucky it was only that," Eddie says, completely serious, "I might've just killed him."

Steve can't help laughing, imagining Max leaping over the table to tackle Mike to the floor. She's done it before, actually, and the only thing that keeps her from attacking again is the knowledge that Steve will ban her from the library for at least a month if she gets violent again.

"He's lucky none of them want to be temporarily banned," Steve says.

"Oh? That's all it takes to get banned?" Eddie asks.

Steve smirks at the teasing lift to Eddie's question. "Yep, so you'd better watch yourself, Munson. I expect you to be on your best behavior," he says.

"I've never been very good at behaving."

"Great, you'll fit right in with the kids."

He looks up to see Eddie's smile growing wider, and Steve suddenly finds himself wondering how it would feel to kiss that smile away.

Four

Something library school never prepared Steve for is how overwhelmed certain days would make him. That's the thing about working with the public: some days are just never-ending, a line of patrons needing something practically wrapping through the stacks, meaning Steve can't turn off his customer service voice and smile.

Usually, he'll just escape to the back, lock himself in the employee bathroom, and take five minutes to cool down. Robin has gotten great at knocking on the door when the five minutes is up, pretending she needs to use the bathroom so the other staff members don't suspect Steve of breathing away a breakdown.

Today, though, Steve can't hide in the bathroom because of the music Robin is playing in the back. It's grating on his ears, scratching against his brain and down his spine like nails on a chalkboard, made all the worse by his interactions with an older patron with a voice that was rough and somehow rounded with sharp edges at the same time.

If Steve asked, Robin would definitely turn off the music, but he also saw her tense shoulders, how on edge she was, and how the music was the only thing helping her calm down. So Steve couldn't. Instead, he just said he was going to shelf-read the non-fiction section.

Because nobody goes into the non-fiction section. At least, nobody goes to the part of the section filled with encyclopedias. It's a safe corner, tucked into the back of the library where few people wander unless they're desperate for an outdated book of information that has no real bearing on their life.

So here Steve is, sitting on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest and his eyes closed. This part of the library is quieter, but he can still hear the general ambiance of the building: people talking in hushed voices, the keyboards clicking as people type, chairs scraping against the floor as people pull them out.

And quiet footsteps coming closer. They're accompanied by the gentle sound of metal bouncing against itself. Steve doesn't open his eyes, but he does know that it's Eddie, and he's not at all surprised that Eddie managed to find him deep in the stacks.

It makes him feel a little warm, actually.

When Eddie reaches him, he doesn't speak. He just sits next to Steve, close enough for Steve to feel his presence without their shoulders touching. And he seems content to stay in silence for as long as needed, but Steve doesn't want silence. He wants to hear Eddie's voice; maybe it will override the discomfort of the music and the patron from earlier.

"Could you talk?" Steve asks, his voice soft and barely audible.

But Eddie hears him and scoots a tiny bit closer, letting their shoulders brush.

"I have opinions about library shelving because of you now. Like, why are science fiction and fantasy shelved together as one category? They're two different genres; they represent different things. One is a reflection of our society and all that it could be, an escape into something new, and the other is a reflection of what our society was through the eyes of a new world. And, like, it's not even the ones you think. They both embody different lessons and values and pairing them together is, like, demeaning to the hallmarks of the genres and what they can do for readers."

Yeah, that definitely sounds like an opinion about library shelving and cataloging. Steve can't help a soft laugh escaping him as he finally opens his eyes and looks at Eddie. "What started this?" he asks.

"There are Star Trek novels right next to, like, Seven Blades in Black on the shelves, Stevie. It's horrendous. What the fuck?"

Steve smiles a little, gently knocking their elbows together. "Unfortunately, I can't control how our cataloging department works," he says.

"Sounds like a skill issue to me," Eddie says, "Maybe you should just get good."

Steve barks out a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand at how loud it sounds. He glares at Eddie, his eyes holding no real heat.

Eddie grins right back and leans in a little closer. "Feeling better, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice soft and gentle and brushing against Steve's brain like a cool stream of water on a hot day.

It makes his shoulders relax, something in his stomach uncurling and draining all the tension from his muscles. "Yeah," he replies, "thanks."

"Anytime, Stevie," Eddie says, smiling at Steve like he's capable of hanging stars in the sky, like he'd do a backflip with a broken spine if Steve asked.

And Steve...Steve finds himself getting lost in Eddie's eyes, and he has no plans to find his way out anytime soon.

Five

Most of the library staff hates reshelving books, but Steve loves it. He doesn't have to use his brain beyond remembering the alphabet, and he can listen to music while he works, easily zoning out so the time passes quickly.

Which is what's happening now. He's probably been shelving for a while, but he's been listening to a Corroded Coffin playlist the entire time, humming along to Hellfire and Chains. His head is bobbing along to the music as he works, and he turns to grab another book off the reshelving cart only to find Eddie standing right behind him.

Steve jumps, his heart leaping into his throat as he chokes on air and Corroded Coffin notes. Eddie is staring at him with wide eyes, somewhere between afraid and infatuated, and Steve can't help asking, "What the fuck, man?" in a whispered voice.

"Whatcha listening to, Stevie?" Eddie asks, ignoring Steve's question.

Oh. If he admits to knowing Corroded Coffin's music, then he'll probably be giving up the whole "I know you're famous" thing, and based on Eddie's somewhat terrified look, that's not a great idea right now. But he also can't lie about the music because Eddie's going to recognize his own songs.

"Uh, Corroded Coffin, I think? I heard Lucas playing one of their songs. It sounded catchy and he sent me a playlist he'd made on Spotify," Steve explains.

It's not a lie, technically. That is how he discovered Corroded Coffin, but that was almost two years ago now.

"And, uh, what do you think?" Eddie asks, glancing at the earbuds still playing in Steve's ear.

Steve studies him for a moment before smiling. "They're really good," he says, turning around to continue shelving books. "I like stuff from their second album best so far."

"Do you usually listen to metal and rock?" Eddie asks, glancing at the shelving cart before passing Steve another book.

Steve almost tells Eddie to let him do the shelving, but then he sees that Eddie passed him the correct book for this section, so he bites back the words. Instead, he nods and crouches to slide the book into a bottom shelf. "Yeah. More older stuff, I guess. Guns N' Roses, Metallica, Nine Inch Nails, Queen. That kind of stuff," he says.

"Holy fuck, you're perfect," Eddie says, his voice soft and full of awe and Steve is about to laugh when Eddie adds, "Marry me."

Steve blinks, nearly losing his balance and falling on his ass. He saves himself at the last minute, quickly standing up again so he can look at Eddie. "Seriously?" he asks, wondering if maybe he had just misheard.

He did not. And this is proven by Eddie moving around the shelving cart, grabbing Steve's hand, and getting down on one knee. "Incredibly. Your music taste is fucking immaculate, sweetheart. Also, you're funny, hot, and sweet, and I've recently developed a librarian kink, I think. So. Marry me," Eddie says before using his teeth to pull off one of the chunky rings on his left hand so his right hand doesn't have to let go of Steve.

He then holds the ring up, and Steve really shouldn't find that as hot as he does. Like. Really hot. And he almost considers saying yes. But then he fully processes Eddie's words and almost laughs. "You've developed a librarian kink? So, what, you'll drop me the moment another librarian starts ranting about the Dewey Decimal system?" he asks.

"Okay, fair," Eddie says, nodding once. "Let me rephrase that. I've developed a Librarian Steve Harrington kink. Only you, big boy. Nobody curses out the Dewey Decimal system like you, sweetheart."

That might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to Steve, actually. "It's a shitty cataloging system," he says without thinking.

Eddie nods in agreement, still on one knee, still holding up the ring (it's shaped like a coffin, now that Steve spares it more than a quick glance) and still looking up at Steve with an infatuated smile. "It is," he agrees, voice a little softer than before like he's ready to just kneel through Steve's passionate rant about it.

And Steve thinks that might be the final straw for him. "I'd prefer at least one date before marriage," he says, grinning down at Eddie and pulling him back to his feet.

Eddie follows his lead, standing a little too close considering Steve is, technically, still at work. He turns Steve's hand over so it's palm up and drops the ring into it. "Of course, Stevie. How about lunch tomorrow? My treat," he offers.

Of course, Steve says yes.

+ One

"I still think there are funnier ways to tell him," Robin says, crossing her arms and pouting as Steve leans against the counter, his back to the door.

Steve sticks his tongue out at her. "You're just mad you lost the bet," he says. Telling her she lost had made Steve's entire week, especially since it means Robin is finally (finally!) going to dress up with Steve the next time they go to a basketball game together. He's got a jersey and shorts ready for her; he's had them ready since the first game he invited her to. They have her name across the back, are the ugliest shade of mustard yellow he could find, and match his perfectly.

"That jersey is the work of the devil," she says, her nose scrunching in disgust at the thought of it.

Steve just grins. "You never know, maybe a nice girl will be enraptured by your awkward lesbian swag," he says.

Robin is about to answer when she looks over Steve's shoulder and grins, her eyes lighting up. Steve looks over his shoulder to see Eddie smiling at him. "Hey, Stevie," he says.

And here it is. The moment of truth. Steve grins right back at Eddie and turns around, letting him see the graphic on his shirt. It's one he bought at a Corroded Coffin concert a year ago. It has the band's first album cover emblazoned across it with Eddie front-and-center, playing his guitar with the other band members around him as bats swirl in a red haze above their heads.

Eddie stares at the shirt, his smile freezing on his face and his body tensing. Panic starts to fill his eyes, and he glances up, looking ready to explain himself only to stop when he sees Steve's soft, endeared smile. He pauses, studying Steve's expression for a moment before laughing a little awkwardly and tugging on a lock of his hair, using it to cover his mouth. "So, uh, you knew the whole time," he says.

"Yep," Steve replies, leaning forward on the counter so it's harder for Eddie to avoid looking at him. "I did."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Eddie asks.

"You didn't want me to," Steve says. Then he considers his words and corrects, "Or, you didn't want to be recognized. When you first came in, you were bracing yourself for it, and I figured you'd feel more comfortable if I pretended not to know you."

"What about all the other times?"

Steve shrugs, his smile becoming reassuring. "I figured you'd either tell me when you were ready, or I'd tell you when we went on a date because you'd probably get all in your head about having a secret like that while we were dating."

And Steve is right. Eddie would have freaked out over the secret, and he would have struggled with telling Steve at just the right moment, and time would have stretched on and on until it had been too long to tell him anything. It would have been agony for Eddie and left Steve concerned and just not a good time for anyone.

"So, uh, how long have you been a fan?" Eddie asks.

"Well, I wasn't lying about hearing your music from Lucas, but I did lie about the time. It was two years ago," Steve explains.

Eddie slowly nods and then starts to grin. "So, how's it feel dating a celebrity?" he asks playfully, leaning closer and wiggling his eyebrows at Steve.

"Like a Wattpad fantasy come true," Steve deadpans, nearly cracking when he hears Robin lose her shit behind him, her laughter turning into wheezes within seconds.

Eddie laughs, too. It's loud and bright and makes Steve feel warm and happy, like every problem could be solved simply by making Eddie laugh just like this.

Steve is eager to find out if that's true.

[buckrecs]

𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩 𝙛𝙞𝙘 𝙧𝙚𝙘 : 𝙅𝙪𝙣𝙚

masterlist | monthly fic rec masterlist

FLUFF

Exhausted by @moonvis

Uncle Bucky by @/moonvis

Trying To Study by @pitubea1910

Secure Your Back by @writingcroissant

poppies and babies’ breath by @lizzie-is-here

More than friends by @theeleggymeggy

Lovesick by @/theeleggymeggy

Protecting What’s His by @jobean12-blog (bodyguard!bucky)

Pieces of Us by @majestyeverlasting

As Many As You Want by @/majestyeverlasting

How I Met Your Father by @pomelo-villano

Nerd by @imgoingtofreakoutnow

Trouble Doubled by @certifiedskywalker

magnetic mishaps by @aneluvs

Angel Eyes by @killatravtramp

hint dropped by @rocketrhap3000

pre-mission blues by @buckysblanket (husband!bucky)

Nightmares by @waiting4inspiration

Safe and Sound by @talesofesther

voicemails by @lovelybarnes

Chicken Soup for the Soul by @sebbytrash

Baking (fails) with bucky by @winter-soldier-vibes

booked on a feeling by @intrepidacious (librarian!bucky)

Theater by @loving-barnes

Sleepyhead by @tom-holland-parker

A Good Man by @/tom-holland-parker

A New Uniform by @hopelessromantic423

Manicure by @itsapeterthing

Speechless by @/itsapeterthing

I’ll Stop The World And Melt With You by @shamevillain

Flustered 2 by @/lovelybarnes

Aroma by @navybrat817

The Animal Within by @/navybrat817

ending unplanned by @starryevermore (bookstore au)

only angel by @cherryrogers (40s!bucky)

IDGAF by @amandaoftherosemire

Sleepy by @sunflowers-and-bucky

Happy Beans by @/rookthorne (barista!bucky)

Imagine by @buckyalpine

Shy Boy by @hiddles-and-skittles

A Good Man by @beyondspaceandstars

Meet The Parents by @/navybrat817

before sunset, i fell by @atlaese (modern au)

Lemonade and shields by @/atlaese

Old Fashioned by @rookthorne

ANGST

Tip of the Tongue by @bucky-fricking-barnes

Who Did This To You? by @espinosaurusrexex

“Accidentally” by @/pomelo-villano

Just Tell Her by @girl-next-door-writes

New Love by @ro-is-struggling

jealousy, jealousy by @malum-forev

Jealous by @sweetbbarnes

A New Life? by @/waiting4inspiration (phoenix!reader)

We mend each other by @/talesofesther

Green by @/itsapeterthing

Smoke by @shurisneakers

The Ultimatum by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

feel me by @flordeamatista (siren!reader)

youngblood by @sebbies (boxer!bucky)

Safe Place To Land by @sunlightdances (modern au)

Too Much (Not Enough) by @touchstarvedirl

SMUT

Be it revenge or moving on by @writingsoftheloser

Cherry by @sweetdreamsbuck (camboy!bucky)

Your Daddy Did It Better by @princessbellecerise (billionaire!bucky)

Wrapped In Red by @/flordeamatista

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 50

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber, Steve Kemp

Note: getting close.

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

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

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You hate the smell of hospitals. It clings in your nose even after you leave. You can taste it. It dries out the mouth. It stains like the blinding lights against the sterile walls. Your vision is washed out in the hangover of your outing. 

The doctor took your blood. He asked questions too but you didn’t answer them. Ann did. Even if you had tried, you wouldn’t have gotten a word in. 

You left with another appointment scheduled and an endless list of rules. No caffeine, no lunch meat, no hot baths, only sleep on your side... Your body is a prison. It always has been but now, it’s like solitary confinement. Dark and isolating. You can’t see the way out. 

You sit in the back of the car, staring at the seat in front of you. Like a child. She didn’t stop you from sitting back there but you can’t sit beside her. Maybe she prefers it too. Her touch has always said more than her words. She despises you. 

The colours of the city blur. Pallid and dull with the late dregs of winter. You hug yourself and a new tide of nausea overwhelms you as you touch your stomach. You try not to. It’s a reminder. You’re not showing yet, not there, but in other ways. You can feel it even if you can’t see it. 

Ann sighs as she rolls slowly down the suburban street. You recognise the brick house. You rarely see the outside of it. She hits the button below the rear view mirror and the garage door opens. You know what they do. They don’t let you out of the car outside, only in the garage. They’re hiding you. 

As she pulls in, you slump against the door. She unlocks the doors and clicks the button on her belt. You unhook your own seat belt and follow her at a delay. It’s easier to just do everything she wants. 

She hums as she stands, “oof, I’m sore,” she complains, “will you get the door.” 

You nod and go to the button mounted on the wall. Before you can hit it, a grizzly voice wafts through the frigid air, blowing in with the wind under the open garage door. Your hand lingers before the close button but doesn’t hit it. 

A man ducks to see through, “hi, excuse me,” he says as he raises a hand above him to grip the metal, “I’m looking to deliver a package...” 

“Oh, a package?” Ann echoes, “I’m not expecting anything.” 

“Uh, yeah, it’s for... Dr. Steve Kemp?” He shifts the flat box under his arm to read it. “It’s pretty cold out here. Think you can take it off my hands?” 

“Why, of course,” she strides along the length of the car, “I’m his wife.” 

The man nods as she approaches and his grey blue eyes wander over to you. His dark stubble refines the angle of his jaw as a tuque covers his hair. You squint. He’s familiar but you don’t know how. He stares for a moment then hands over the package, “just sign here.” 

He takes out his phone and presents it to her. She drags her finger over the screen then pulls back to examine the box, “thank you, sir. Bit late for a delivery.” 

“Got backed up with the ice up on the freeway. Everyone’s taking the back roads today.” 

“Ah, makes sense,” she says, “well, you have a good day.” 

“You as well, ma’am.” 

He backs up and marches off without another look or word in your direction. She looks down at the box and rolls her eyes. She backs up.  

“Close the door. It’s freezing.” 

You tap the button and the door descends with the thrum of the motor above. You wait for her to go inside first before you follow. You hear the kids and Steve’s low timbre. You wonder why the courier didn’t knock on the front door. Maybe he did but couldn’t be heard. The TV is blaring as the kids giggle and holler. 

“Steve,” Ann calls out as you leave your shoes on the mat, “you got a delivery.” 

He doesn’t answer. She keeps on down the hall and drops the package on the side table against the wall. She stops to peer into the front room. 

“Honey,” she says curtly, “package.” 

“Alright,” he says, slightly agitated as he helps Harper build blocks into a castle. “Thanks. Any idea what it is?” 

“I don’t know. Looked like more of those magazines. Aren’t those supposed to go to your office?” 

“Could be an old subscription,” he shrugs. You stand back in the shadows but he finds you, “how’d it go?” 

“Fine. She’s on track. She’ll have a scan next week,” she sniffs. “You made a mess in here.” 

“The kids are bored. It’s too cold to go outside,” he grumbles. 

“As long as I’m not the one cleaning it up,” she tuts. 

“Love you too, honey,” Steve says dryly.  

“Got enough to worry about with the baby...” she mutters, “I’m thinking of sending out a card as an announcement.” 

“Ann, really? No one cares about a third kid,” he chuckles. 

“I care,” she snips. “Aren’t you excited?” 

“Of course I am. I just don’t see why it needs to be a whole broadcast.” 

You shrink away from their argument as the children give pause at their parents’ tones. They might be young but there’s an obvious tension there. You don’t dare interrupt. 

“It’s a big deal,” she growls. “It’s almost dinner time. Did you take out the chicken like I asked?” 

“I promised the kids pizza. Figured we’d order.” 

“Pizza? It’s so expensive these day--” 

A knock cuts her off and she winces. She huffs and shakes her head. “Busy day.” 

“Could be Jeff. He borrowed my drill.” 

“Tell him to keep it,” she ignores the door and struts back down the hall. “You never use it anyway.” 

You flatten yourself against the wall to let her pass. You stare up the stairs, wondering if you should just go and hide. When they need you, they’ll find you. 

“Get the door, will ya, sweetie?” Steve says. 

You hesitate. That’s all you are these days. A thing to be used. You’re not a person to them. Just a means to an end. You nod. 

You go down the hall to the door. You’re nervous. You don’t like strangers. You’ve had enough of them for the day. All those nurses poking and prodding and preening over that thing inside of you. 

Just get it over with. You make yourself open the door. 

Before you can say a word, you’re name whispers with the wind. You’re seized and pulled into a hug. You barely catch a glimpse before the woman has you in her arms. You can smell her. She always smells of cinnamon. 

“You’re alive,” she says. “Oh my god, you’re alive.” 

“Huh?” You wriggle in confusion, “Amber?” 

“I’ve been...” she loosens her hold but keeps her hands on your arms. “I’ve been looking for you. All these months. I’ve been...” her eyes gleam with tears. “I’ve been so afraid.” 

You’re frozen by more than the chill creeping in around her. Something cracks. Like a toothpick between your fingers, you feel it. All those weeks of hiding behind a wall, of telling yourself not to feel, to just get through it. It’s more than her being there, it’s the care and gentleness in her touch. That’s different. 

She lets you go and holds you at arm’s length, “hey, bub, what’s... you okay? Come on, let’s go home.” 

You blink at her. You look around at your eyes burn with a glimmer of tears, “what?” 

“Home, bubba. Please.” 

“Why?” You breathe. 

“Why? Because...” her voice trails off as you sense a shadow behind you. 

You turn as Steve stands in the doorway, his hands on his childrens’ shoulders. His eyes narrow and his jaw squares, “kids, go find your mother.” 

“Daddy?” Avery says. 

He hushes her and nudges them both down the hall. They run up the stairs and he turns to face you. And Amber. You don’t like the way he looks at her. 

“Ah, took you long enough,” he steps up next to her. “Right, dove? She really took her time. Almost like she doesn’t care at all.” 

You look between them, a sinking sensation rising in your chest. “What?” 

You can’t understand any of it. That wall is slowly crumbling. The only protection you have from any of this. The only thing keeping you from destroying yourself. 

“As if you do, doctor!” Amber snaps.  

He snorts, “as far as I have it, I’m the only one who ever tried to help you find her. Thanksgiving wasn’t that long ago, was it? You can’t blame me for your lack of follow up--” 

“Bullshit,” Amber snarls, her tone and words frightening you. “I’ve been searching for months. I’ve been tearing my hair out and you’ve had her all this time. Do you understand what that man’s been doing? He just sits outside my house and--” She throws her hands up, “you’re just like him.” 

“I’m helping this poor woman escape years of abuse and neglect. Neglect of her mental wellbeing, narcissistic abuse, using her to prop yourself up--” 

“I never—she's my sister. I take care of her.” 

“You do, Amber? So where have you been?” Steve chuckles. 

She lunges forward but doesn’t reach Steve as he steps back and she’s caught from behind. Another man stands behind her, his arm hooked around her middle as he restrains her. It’s him, the delivery man. You recognise him now. He was on her Insta. 

“Amb, please, calm down,” he holds onto her, “shhh, come on. Everyone, let’s be calm.” 

His voice alone puts his words into effect. You feel calm. He slowly releases Amber and squeezes her sleeve. He looks between you and Steve.  

Steve grabs your wrist and pulls you behind him, “I should call the police. You’re disturbing my family--” 

“She’s my family,” Amber growls. “Bub, please, come home.” 

“This doesn’t have to be hostile,” the other man says. “We came here to bring her sister home. That’s all.” 

“She is home--” 

“Ask her,” Amber cries out. “Look at her. I know she wants to come home. Right, bubba? Ask her. Ask. Her.” Amber’s close to tears as she begs, “please. Listen to her. Why does no one listen to her?” 

The words hit you like a punch in the gut. She’s right. No one listens, not if you don’t say what they want. No one but her. Your sister. The only person you ever had. The one who kept you behind her when your mother was having one of her fits, the one who told you to lock the door when the screaming got loud, the one who held you even when it hurt too much to be touched. 

The one who loves you.  

“Home. I want to go home,” you say and try to push past Steve. He turns and holds you, an arm across your chest. “No, home. With her. Amber--” 

You reach for her but he keeps you from getting to her. Amber extends her arm as you wriggle against the restraint. You stomp your feet and thrash. 

“This isn’t my home!” You holler. “This isn’t--” You’re breathless and dizzy. “Amber, help! Amber!” 

“Let her go, man,” the other man says. He’s taller than Steve. He steps up, filling the doorway. 

“Curtis,” Amber whines. 

“She’s not fit. She’s manic. Having an episode. You don’t understand. She’s in treatment. I’m a doctor--” 

“She says she wants to go.” That man, Curtis, grits through his teeth. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Ann snarls sourly as she comes down the stairs, “there are children in this house.” 

“Shouldn’t be,” Curtis sneers. “The meaning is simple. We came for her, we’re not leaving without her.” 

“And who the fuck are you, pal?” Steve puts himself between you and the door. Ann latches onto your wrist and tugs you back. 

“Let her go!” Amber cries out. 

You twist your wrist free as the room tilts and spins around you. Your head bobbles as you look around at the hazy figures. You back up and turn, racing away from the chaos. You hear your sister wail and that man she’s with snarls. There’s footsteps and a clamour. A mess all around. 

You hurl yourself upwards and stumble over the top step. You’re not thinking, just doing. You burst into the guest room and tear open the drawer in the nightstand. You grab your sweater and your journal and a few random pieces of clothing. You bundle it all up and charge back out. 

“Fuck off of her!” Curtis barks. 

“She’s trespassing,” Steve snarls. 

“Oh, stop it! Stop it!” Ann shrieks, “would you stress a pregnant woman like this? Oh my, oh my!” 

You barrel back down the stairs and stop at the bottom. You look at Ann as she touches her stomach. You curl your lip and the realisation startles on you. Locking you up in the room, not letting you out front, keeping you inside all day long... 

“What is all that?” She turns on you. “You’re not going anywhere.” 

“Come on, bub,” Amber shouts as Ann grabs your ear. “Let her go, you bitch!” 

Steve slips in his socks as he tries to hold her back. He flies back as Curtis throws him into the wall and stomps forward. Ann cries out and cowers away as the sting of her pinch throbs in the shell of your ear. 

“Shoes,” Curtis snarls, “go get em.” 

You look down as he glances at your feet. He turns back and grabs Steve by the back of his sweater and drags him away from Amber. He spins him by the shoulder and pins him to the wall. He snaps his fingers. 

“Amb, help her find her shoes.” 

Amber squeezes by and Ann moves toward you. Your sister puts her arm across you and steps up to the other woman. 

“Touch her again and I’ll rip your pretty hair out,” Amber lurches as if she might actually do it. Ann shies away with a screech. 

“Please, please, don’t hurt me,” she keeps her hand on her stomach, “you wouldn’t hurt a pregnant woman.” 

You shrink away and scuttle down the hall to the mat by the garage. You bend down the back of your sneakers as you step into them. You come back as Ann sobs. 

“Oh, please, we were only helping her,” she rocks against the wall. “Please, don’t hurt my husband. Steve, baby, are you okay?” 

“Fucking take her,” Steve shoves Curtis off of him as he kicks his foot into the wall. “She’s broken anyway. Can’t fix that.” 

Curtis staggers a single step and tilts his head dangerously. His hand balls to a fist. “That’s fucked up, doctor.” 

“Curt,” Amber puts her arm around your shoulders and ushers you forward, “let’s just go.” 

“Yeah, fucking run like you do from everything, Dove. Isn’t that how it goes?” Steve snarls. 

You stop beside him and waver. Amber stops too. You look at her and nod. You pull away and she lets you go. You face Steve with watery eyes. 

“You’re evil. I hate you.” You say. “You don’t deserve those children. Or mine.” 

His eyes flare and he stands straight. Curtis looms and you turn away. You walk forward and Amber follows. You don’t look back. You can’t. You’re going home. 

[dapper-nahrwhale]

Home is the first grave

(a leverage/the librarians crossover where Eliot and Jake are twins)

Chapter 2

[read it here]

When their Mama managed to herd them all in the old car to Sunday church services, the two of them would hide in the back pews together. And only then would Jake light up and talk Eliot’s ear off about whatever century stain glass or old creepy statues or fancy architecture or something else.

Hiding down in those church pews, it was like magic was real and nothing could hurt them.

The morning light glistened through the stained glass, a kaleidoscope of colors bursting on the brick white walls, all telling stories fragile as glass and paper ever could. The columns and pillars are taller than giants towering over them, the high and hallowed architecture singing loud and silent. Statues older than God line the halls, all praying for some kind of saving.

There were stories to be told behind everything.

But any time someone looked at Jake or passed by them, he'd bite his tongue, get all quiet, and look down at his dirty shoes. It was shame or guilt, something ugly and terrible that ate him up from the outside in. The bright smile and life in his eyes shriveled up and died.

It really was one of the most horrible things Eliot ever saw.

He'd never hated their father more in those moments.

Eliot would glare daggers at anyone who did look at Jake, but the damage was done. It was too late already. They'd got him thinking he couldn't, shouldn't, be smart and enjoy his little art things.

Sure, Eliot didn't get the appeal, but he could see clear as day how happy it made Jake. He just wishes Jake could see it.

But the worst thing is, he got it. Why he hid his talents. Why he didn't tell anybody just how smart he was, why he did all this. He understood, it's a small town and you gotta play your part in your own little boxes, if you stepped out of line bad things could come your way if you weren't careful.

Small towns could be your home or your grave, but it had to be something you carry with you. It just depends how close to the chest you play your cards. Community or cruelty. The rumors fly fast and hit hard, and you don't wanna get kicked out of the only place you've known. It's hard to love something so dearly, something that will kick you to the curb the second you don't stick to how it should be. It's hard to leave and it's harder to stay.

Jake saw value and beauty just about everywhere in the world. Eliot just wished he could see it all in himself.

Eliot knew all he was good for was taking a punch, but Jake was so much smarter than all that. He knew all this stuff about art movements, and about different architecture styles, and could recite poetry on the spot. He'd read books about different languages, research history about all sorts of things Eliot didn't have a clue about. It was so impressive and incredible and Jake didn't really think so.

He'd taught himself all kinds of stuff in secret, skipping out on football practice to stay in at the library. Reading all these old books. He could be something so much bigger than this little town if he'd just let himself.

If he'd just let himself take the more advanced classes, he could do some really impressive stuff and get a scholarship into some fancy college and get out of this two pony town.

Eliot knew he didn't have a chance in hell to get out of this town on his own. He knew that.

But Jake wasn't him, he was better than him. He could do what Eliot couldn't. He had a real shot at leaving. And the fact he refused to even think about it, pissed Eliot off more than anything else.

He said he had an obligation to his family, he couldn't just leave them.

An obligation to their dad. He couldn't just leave.

The company's been better. Eliot had heard Pop yelling on the landline downstairs about something or other going wrong. Pop ain't in charge of it yet, but with the way Grandpa's health has been going, it won't be too long now before he is in charge.

And that could only ever spell disaster.

-

He'd always blamed Jake when something went wrong. Never himself.

Said Jake was too weak and cowardly, that Eliot wouldn't always be around to cover for his screw ups. All he was good for was brick dumb muscle.

All he ever did was hide behind Eliot.

It was true, but only because Eliot refused to let them be seen.

Eliot would protect them as much as he physically could, but he couldn't protect them in the other ways.

Jake never took to fighting the way Eliot did. As a release, as a refuge, as a requirement. He was far from bad at it, but he lacked the sort of drive and insight that Eliot had. He didn't want to fight. He didn't need to.

He did it to survive, but he didn't enjoy it. Not to say Eliot did, but he always took pride in a job well done.

Boxing and football and wrestling were some of the sports they'd had their hands in. They were good at them, not great, but good. Jake had always been better at team sports and Eliot had shined solo. How it's always been.

But no matter what they did, it was never good enough for him.

It would never make up for the fact they were disappointments deciding to be different than he wanted them to be.

It was hard not to taste his resentment of them. Especially Jake. As much as he tried, he hadn't yet gotten thick enough skin to ignore all the slights and digs at him.

He'd ignore Hannah, blame Jake for every little thing, and push for Eliot to be just like him.

Living there was suffocating. It would kill them in the end, he knew it would.

-

Jake can smell his mom's chili recipe. The mix of sweet and spicy chili peppers, fresh tomatoes, an absolute insane amount of garlic, and simmering beef.

He hadn't had her chili in years. He can't even remember the last time he'd had it. The memory the smell conjures, chokes him all up.

He misses her more than he ever had. It's a cutting feeling, the yearning for days long past. When life was simple and love was easy. When the worst pain he'd felt was a scraped knee, when summer stretched on forever.

Then he remembered. It's summer. They're staying over at their grandparents house. It's morning. And he can smell his mom's chili.

He stumbles sleepily down the stairs to the kitchen.

The sun is melting down the curtains, the world glows in celebration, in mourning.

It's mourning.

The chatter and clunks from the kitchen as his Grandma and Hannah are crowded around the stove. Hannah's tall enough now that she doesn't need the dusty stool in the corner to see over the counter. And when did that happen, he looked away for a second and she grew up tall. He wonders what else happened to her when he wasn't looking.

The chili has to simmer and cook all day before it's ready. Really it should take a couple days to get the flavors just right, but he can't stand smelling it for that long he thinks.

It smells like longing.

It smells like home.

It's the morning of their Grandpa's funeral.

They don't talk about Eliot’s black eye or how Hannah won't meet their eyes or Jake staring blank at his book under the table.

They never do say things in such words. It's just not what they do, not who they are to bring such things up into the light. Those are reserved for quiet conversations in the dead of night.

They all know what's going on, they know they can't stop it, they know it's bad. They deal by not dealing with it. By pretending it isn't happening. By pretending everything is fine. They're very good at it now, they've had lots of practice over the years.

It festers like an old wound, unchecked and infected.

It always does.

-

It's really a beautiful ceremony. In the church they all grew up in, the one they hadn't been in since their mom died. It hasn't changed much at all. Same fire and brimstone pastor, same tittering old ladies gossiping, same everything.

Well, there's been a few changes in statues and other little things. But the bones of the building always stay the same. It was built like this, all the same.

He doesn't show up. They had been staying with their grandparents since they found the diagnosis earlier in the year. Only so much time was left. And he never showed up at all during it.

It was a strange adjustment. Took some getting used to, but now Eliot dreads going back to live with him.

It was nice to not have to fight so much all the time. To rest, to cook, to laugh.

He's going to miss it like a limb cut off.

It makes him feel like a piece of shit, that he is more torn up about what the aftermath of Pappy's death will be than him actually dying. Anyone seeing him cry would assume such, they wouldn't think he's grieving the wrong thing.

But they won't see him cry. He stands stoic and jaw clenched tight enough to crack, he can't afford to break. Not right now. He's holding Hannah as she's holding back tears and holding Jake's hand as he's holding the pew in front of them and staring at the ceiling.

The potluck afterwards is mostly somber, with a touch of revelry. There's food of all kinds, including the chili from this morning. They eat and tell stories and laugh and cry.

They decide to spend the final night there with their grandma. She had wanted them to come back to help sort through his things in the following week, but said she needed the house to herself for a bit. She sends them off with bread, and vegetables, and tupperwares of chili and soup and everything else.

The other two are fast asleep in the car as Eliot drives them back. It's a 45 minute drive, but he takes it slower than normal, appreciating the cool breeze of the night. The quiet and the winding road back home.

Eliot sees what he had been hoping to avoid. Their father, drunk as a skunk on the front porch. Waiting impatiently.

His cheeks are sunken and his eyes are hollow. And Eliot feels guilty deep down. He shouldn't have left. Look what happened. What he did.

It was his grandad, but it was his dad's dad first.

He shouldn't have left him alone.

“It's your fault you know.” Pop spits out at him as he comes up the porch.

“I know. Come on, go and get some sleep, Pop.” Eliot steps forward to try and get him inside. It's late and he's tired and stuffed too full of feelings and he doesn't want to do this right now.

“Don't tell me what to do, boy.” He shakily points the barrel of the shotgun next to him in Eliot's general direction.

Eliot stops moving. Staring down the gun, his heart thumps fast in his ears.

Eliot gulps down his fear because he wouldn't, “Pop, just. Just come on, let's go inside an-”

He can barely hear the click as he arms it.

Eliot choked on his heart leaping through his throat. He can't move.

“Whater you gonna do about it now?” He laughs. He pointed a loaded gun at him and laughed.

And Eliot is frozen. In fear and terror and confusion and everything.

“You should see the look on your face! You really think I'd waste a bullet on you? Ha.” But the gun is still there.

Well, he hadn't been sure if he'd really shoot or not. He had been praying on not, but he just couldn't be sure.

He had always been an angry drunk man. Eliot wasn't sure how far Pop would go if pushed. He wasn't sure how far he would go if pushed.

And the gun is still there.

Eliot can't move. His father is holding a gun up to his head and he can't do a single damn thing about it.

He doesn't know if he'd really pull the trigger. He might.

He might not.

But he might.

“Quit it Pop.” Eliot whispers, terrified to say anything louder. He can feel tears prickle and jump at his eyes. He can't cry now. He really can't.

“You don' tell me what to do.” He sneers.

“Okay, okay.” He placates, hands turned up, eyes down. He shoved his anger at this deep down. He can't be angry right now.

“From now on, it's gonna be different around here.” He says, like a smug sheriff.

“Okay.” It's getting hard to breathe. It's getting hard to move, to keep still, to live.

“You're gonna give me the respect I deserve, I'm the one that puts a roof over your heads, feeds you, clothes ya keeps you off the damn streets.” He brandishes the gun a bit more wildly at that.

“Okay.” It's all he can say with all his focus on the gun swaying in front of him, appeasing the angry drunk man has never been so difficult.

“Okay, okay, is that all you can say? You're so stupid, you can't come up with anything more clever in that dumb brick of yours, Jakey.” He taunts, stumbling around.

“M’ Eliot, not Jake.” He'd take a gun in the face any day over slander of his brother's name.

“Same fuckin’ difference. Pair of idiots the both of ya. Good for nothin’s.” And finally the gun goes down enough for him to take a swig from a bottle.

Then he goes down, the gun clatters to the floor and the bottle thuds.

Thank God.

Eliot clumsily fumbles with the shotgun in the dim light to disarm it without blowing his head off, eventually getting it.

He takes the bottle and throws it as far as he can in the distance.

Staring down at him, he feels his anger dissipate. He looks so small.

He still fucking held him at gunpoint.

His dad just died.

But he still just held him at gunpoint.

He sighs, and does what he always knew he was going to do.

He picks him up and drags him to bed.

He throws him in the cover and slams the door.

Gathering Hannah and Jake is easier by a long shot. Just shaking them awake in the car and gently telling them to get to bed, and off they go back to sleep.

Later on he's collapsed on his bed and covers his mouth tightly so he doesn't scream.

If it had been Jake or Hannah in front of that gun, he wouldn't even have hesitated to get in front of them and diffused the situation as quickly as possible. But since it was himself, he hesitated.

He hesitated.

He could have died. His dad could have just killed him if he'd said the wrong thing. He almost got himself killed. He's very lucky to be alive right now.

He doesn't know how much longer his luck will hold out for.

It can't be forever.

[uglypastels]

i have to say this, eddie love fucking you when you’re in a messy bun and your glasses almost falling down your nose. Chef’s kiss

Chef's kiss indeed and i hope this is ok, but this gave me major librarian!reader vibes, and I meant to make this pure filth, but as I started writing, I realised that I adore these two wholeheartedly, so please enjoy the fluff fest around it.

warnings: 18+ only MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. p in v sex. sex in a public place. unprotected sex (dzon't dzo it). swearing.

masterlist // inbox //

Working in the Hawkins Town Library, you got to be in the presence of almost everybody who lived there, from the youngest readers to the eldest. Everyone needed books for one reason or another, let it be homework research, recipes or just some entertainment. There were the quiet readers who settled themselves somewhere in a corner to spend the rest of the day with their noses in between the pages; the ones who search for hours for the one book they had their mind set on the moment they walked in; the ones that, for whatever reason, forget to stay silent. There were fans of fantasy as well as historical non-fiction, philosophy and romance. There was a place for everybody here. 

With such a variety in patrons, it was only natural you grew to have favourites. Some might be more self-explanatory than others. Of course, your heart doubled when Julie came in with her daughter, Sandy [who just turned six!], to pick out a new book every few weeks. Or old man Farrell who already knew all the facts in the books he checked out and was more than happy to share with you.

It could come to most people as a shock then that the person you looked forward to seeing the most was none other than Eddie Munson.

Surprisingly, he could be the definition of the perfect library patron. Besides the fact that he had never been late with book returns, when you started working there, the first few times Eddie came by, he scared you to death—so quiet was he, sneaking around the aisles and up to the counter to check his stacks of books out.

‘Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya there, sweetheart,’ he said as he put the books on the desk. 

‘It’s alright.’ You started picking up books from the pile, stamping in the date on the inside sheet. ‘Might have to consider getting a bell.’ You smiled, ‘that way I could hear you coming.’ 

‘Hmm, too bad I don’t have a bell.’ Eddie clicked his tongue but reached into one of his pockets, ‘but… would these do?’ He pulled out a handful of thin metal chains. They rattle around. 

‘Why do you have those in your pocket?’ You asked curiously as you gave him back the books. 

‘Always have them on me– I mean, on my jeans, but I take them off when I’m hear. Don’t want to disturb anyone.’ And with that, he gave you a shy little smile that made your heart melt. 

‘That is, actually, really sweet of you.’ If only more people were so considerate. ‘Thank you.’ 

‘Yeah, well, I have my moments.’ He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I’ll see you around.’

‘See ya.’ You waved as he walked away, barely able to contain the smile on your face that the metalhead had caused. 

Not a lot changed since that day, but your and Eddie’s conversations did begin to grow. You’d keep on talking while you checked out his books, sometimes for so long that another patron would have to interrupt to get their books. Then, Eddie would pop by your desk to ask for the location of some particular book— one you had never heard of, in all honesty, but he probably easily could have found it if he bothered to look through the cards. 

‘Excuse me, sweetheart,’ he’d clear his throat, ‘do you have any idea where I could find Carrots Love Tomatoes?’ 

‘Sorry?’ You must have misheard the title.

‘Carrots Love Tomatoes: Secrets of Companion Planting for Successful Gardening. It’s for my uncle.’ Eddie would clarify, reading the title out from a scrap of paper he had scribbled on. 

‘Right. Do you know who it’s by, perchance?’ 

‘I’m surprised you don’t.’ He reread the paper. ‘Louise Riotte– shit, I’m definitely mispronouncing that.’ He quickly spelt it out for you.

Well, you had to admit, you weren’t personally familiar with Miss Riotte’s work, but you knew this library inside-out and told Eddie to follow you into the section you thought it most likely to be. The non-fiction section was off in the corner of the library, with only rectangular windows blocks near the ceiling, letting in barely any daylight. The light was, instead, coming from the lamps above you; they flickered and buzzed on the off-moments. 

Eddie stayed a step behind you as you navigated through the shelves, muttering the alphabet to yourself repeatedly as you tried to find the RI– shelf. Once you finally found it, you realised it was on the top of the bookcase, where you couldn’t reach it. 

‘It’s up there.’ You pointed, thinking that maybe Eddie would just get it himself now. But instead, Eddie offered to pick you up. A bit flustered, you accepted the offer and tried to ignore the feeling of his hands on your hips, the way his rings dug into your soft skin. He picked you up, and you grabbed the book quickly. Once back down on the ground again, you handed it over to him. Eddie thanked you with a large smile as he looked at the book. 

He frowned. 

‘Something wrong?’ You asked. 

‘No, no, it’s all good, thanks. It’s just that…I don’t know…’ He looked at the book a bit longer. ‘Oh, you know what? I think I must have read it wrong.’ He looked down at the scrap of paper again. ‘...yeah. That definitely says Catcher in the Rye. Well, thank you anyway, sweetheart. Really ‘preciate it.’ 

‘You’re an idiot, Eddie Munson.’ You laughed. 

‘Uhm, I’ll have you know,’ he leaned against the bookcase by your side, ‘that this had actually all been an act of sheer brilliance.’ 

‘Oh?’ You were leaning against it, too, your shoulders almost touching. 

‘Yes. I would say that the way I got you here with me, away from all those people, is MacGyver-level brilliance.’ 

‘Don’t you think it might have been easier to just… I don’t know, just ask me to meet you here.’ You would have been going on a break soon anyway.

Eddie grinned as he leaned forward to you, ‘Now, what would be the fun in that?’ You could feel his breath on you. The scent of excessive bubblegum chewing greeted you. 

‘Fair enough,’ you tried to act cool, ignoring the hot flashes he was causing all over your body. ‘So, why did you want me to come out here? What couldn’t wait until my lunch break, Munson?’ 

‘Just wanted to say how cute you looked today.’ Eddie smiled, then, as if he remembered something– ‘Oh, and this–’ he leaned in, cupping your face in his hand, kissing you softly. 

So, perhaps, some things had changed over time. Smalltalk and jokes at the front desk turned into stolen kisses and hushed laughter in the dark corners of the library. Just as with everything around, Eddie was gentle and soft. His grip on you was there for support, to make you feel how much he wanted you near him. 

You pulled away with a small gasp, chest-beating fast, eyes fluttering open.

‘But I suppose I could have waited with that.’ Eddie said afterwards, his hand still on your cheek. 

‘I’m glad you didn’t.’ Your voice was hushed, but you kissed Eddie deeply instead of breathing in the air you needed. You pulled at his shirt to bring him closer, and his other hand reached for your waist, tugging at the hem of your shirt. 

‘You should probably get back,’ he muttered between kisses. 

‘Probably,’ you replied. Neither of you meant any of it, and you both knew it. You had no idea why you only saw each other at the library. Maybe because you always knew to find each other here; it was a certainty. Outside, it would be a mere coincidence to bump into Eddie. Here, you knew he would be here every week.

Maybe because it felt like a haven for both of you and it felt like a different reality—an escape from the real world. But it was precisely this that made everything else so fragile. Who knew what it would be like outside of these bookshelves? You didn’t want to know, so why risk it? What you had now, it was an unspoken agreement. One you both were more than happy with. It was special—a rarity. 

Everything- the kiss, the hold, the emotions, the heat- all intensified the longer you kept going. It was getting messy and rough. Eddie had locked you in between him and the bookcase. You could feel him all over you. His hair tickling your face, his cold rings on your skin, his clothes pressing into you, his— fuck, he was huge. You could feel him against your thigh, no hiding it. 

‘Fuck, I’ve been thinking about this the whole week.’ He breathed against your neck. ‘Haven’t stopped thinking about you.’ You would have told him the same if you could form an entire sentence. It was hard to concentrate daily when you had the memory of his touch plague you every day, and everything around you at your job was a heavy reminder.

‘Need… I need you, Eddie,’ you gasped out as he kissed your neck, right on the spot that made your knees go weak. ‘Please.’ 

‘Hmm, need you too, sweetheart.’ He was roaming his hand over your bare thigh underneath your skirt. Sometimes you wondered if anyone around had noticed that you really only wore them on days of Eddie’s library visits. Perhaps Eddie hadn’t picked up on that specifically, but he certainly enjoyed your style. ‘Drive my fucking wild in these short skirts of yours.’ The words rolled out of his mouth as he began unzipping his jeans. ‘Look so fucking good.’ 

‘Thank you,’ you moaned, giggling about how giddy you felt that he was complimenting you while preparing to thrust his dick in you. It was all so silly, so stupid. You were doing something incredibly risky, most likely illegal, but you couldn’t care one bit. All you could think about was how good he made you feel. How happy you felt with him. 

‘C’mere,’ Eddie groaned, pulling you up by your thighs, holding you against the shelves. Luckily, they were pretty sturdy, bolted to the ground, so his force pushing you against them barely mattered. On you, however, it was another story. 

‘Oh, fuck,’ you whimpered, trying to stay quiet at the feeling of him inside you. After letting you adjust quickly, he started thrusting in you hard and deep. The way he was moving against you, it made your whole body shake. You could feel your glasses slip down your nose. In the haze of it all, you had forgotten to take them off but were about to do so– when Eddie interrupted. 

‘No, keep them on.’ He kissed your cheek.

‘Why?’ you didn’t see a reason for them. 

‘Want you to see me fucking you.’ His smile was airy. ‘Besides, it’s hot as shit. The way you get so messy for me. And your hair,’ he punctuated each sentence with a deep thrust. One of his hands brushed some of your hair out of your face, ‘I wish I could take a picture of you right now. Would cum to it like every day.’ 

‘Gross.’ You joked, and in return, Eddie grazed his teeth over your collarbone, nipping at your skin slightly. 

‘Calling me gross as if you’re not getting fucked in the middle of the library.’ Eddie’s smile was contagious. As he continued, your glasses were falling again, but he quickly pushed them back over the bridge of your nose. ‘You’re fucking filthy, sweetheart.’ 

‘I’m–’ you gasped as he went deeper. 

‘Yeah, baby?’ 

‘I’m– I’m close, Eddie.’ You tried to whisper as best as you could, biting down on any noises that could be heard from afar.

‘Mmm, I know, you’re so tight. So perfect.’ he moaned through his last hard thrusts. You could feel your climax coming, knew how it would come, and quickly hid your face in the nape of his neck to muffle your scream of pleasure as it washed over you. Eddie rode it out with you, only moments behind. 

He held you briefly, letting you come down and stabilise your breathing. You smiled at eachother sheepishly and kissed deeply once more. There was nothing else to say.

Eddie pulled out, the emptiness hitting you immensely. It was a strange sensation, and you still didn’t feel quite yourself as your feet touched the ground again. But Eddie’s hands stayed on you for stability. 

‘You’re a dream, sweetheart. Just… unbelievable.’

Eddie brushed the loose strands of hair from your face again while you readjusted your glasses. There was nothing else to say.

Now came the awkward part where you timed your exit from the aisle and hid the guilty sex-glow look on your face. 

It was a slow day at the library, so no one awaited you at the front desk. You took your place and tried to shake off all your emotions, and it worked for the most part, except for the giant smile. That you just could not get rid of. 

It was still there when Eddie returned to you twenty minutes later, now accompanied by a new stack of books. 

‘Found everything you were looking for?’ You asked as you took the books from him. 

‘That and more.’ He leaned his elbows on the wood, grinning like an idiot. You had to tell yourself not to look at him, or you would get lost in those big brown eyes. 

‘I’m happy to hear that.’ You stamped the date into all the books and returned them to Eddie. ‘Here you go.’ 

‘Thanks, sweetheart.’ Eddie grabbed them under his arm. ‘Same time next week?’ He winked. Once, the words really were only meant for this little exchange. That had been all you were looking forward to—the small chat at the desk. Back then, you would have never imagined the things you would get up to with the metalhead in the barely visited sections of the library. 

‘See you, Eddie.’ You shook your head, still smiling, of course. And that was that. There was nothing else to say. 

At least, there wasn’t before. All those other times, that really would have been it. Eddie would have walked away, and you would have watched him do so while already awaiting his comeback. Yet this time…

This time, Eddie stayed in his place. 

‘Can I… help you with anything else?’ You raised a brow. 

‘Uhh–’ Eddie cleared his throat. ‘Yes. Yes, you could. See if I have these… these two tickets for this thing— a concert… and see, I have no idea what to do with this second one, so maybe you could help me with that.’ He spoke fast and like he was stumbling over an uneven pavement instead of words, but you followed it nonetheless.

‘Concert?’ You asked. 

‘Yes.’ He expanded with the name of a band you had never heard of before. ‘This weekend.’

You thought for a moment, or at least pretended to, as you already knew your answer. ‘I might have a friend who would be interested in taking that ticket off you.’ 

‘Any chance this friend of yours wears cute glasses, short skirts and works at my favourite spot in the city?’ 

‘She just might.’ You bit the inside of your cheek. 

‘Then it’s deal, sweetheart,’ Eddie slammed his hand on the table in excitement, then immediately cringed at the noise he made. That same noise seemed to have awakened a quick realisation in him: ‘Wait, we were talking about you, right?’

‘Yes, Eddie. I would love to go to the concert with you.’ You rolled your eyes at the needed clarification.

‘Cool, just checking. Great.’ he started walking away now. ‘Great. I’ll pick you up– wait; I don’t even know where you live.’ 

‘You can pick me up here.’

‘Do you live at the library?’ he asked quickly, and you were sure he was being serious.

‘No, Eddie, I do not, but I work weekends too. But you can bring me back to my place afterwards. Stay the night, maybe?’ Was that too much too quickly? You started to panic for a second, thinking you took it too far, but then Eddie replied, repeating his previous words.

‘It’s a deal, sweetheart.’

the end

thank you so much for reading!! please consider supporting with comments and reblogs <3 (maybe leave a review??) I would love to hear your thoughts

[formosusiniquis]

i'll play giles, you be spike

ao3 summer reading starts on monday, your local children's librarian (me) is grabby handing any inspiration they can and running with it.

"There's a vampire in the nonfiction section." Steve says in a harsh whisper that feels louder than if he’d just shouted it from across the room at Robin like he’d wanted to in the first place.

She finishes her spinny chair rotation before saying, "And other rejected Bailey School kid titles. What game is this?"

"It's not a game!” He drops the stack of go-backs he was about to put on the shelf in a thump on the counter. His preference for taking small stacks instead of wheeling the whole cart has served him well both for his sense of dramatics and for his ability to stealth. “There is a Kiefer Sutherland Lost Boys vampire in the nonfiction stacks. Or he’s really more like the dark haired one."

"There really is something for everyone at the library." She says with a dreamy sigh, bringing her folded hands up to her face.

"Robin! Could you be serious for five seconds?"

"Could you? Why are you jumping to vampire when it's obviously just a goth patron?”

He leans further across the desk so he can whisper more aggressively in her face. “Because he was in the 800’s Robin, nobody just goes into the 800’s.”

“Plenty of people go into the 800's, that's where all of the poetry and short stories are?”

“Oh yeah, all the poetry and short stories Diana buys. You tell me the last time you remember a new poetry book hitting the collection that wasn’t for Adelle back in Kids and maybe I’ll believe you about vampire guy.”

She sputters, because he’s right, and he had to listen to her complain about how she never would have heard of Gay Poems for Red States if their digital collection on Libby weren’t so much better stocked than their physical collection. And he’s right about this. 

“You’re not right about this, but let’s pretend you are. Why don’t you go out and live your Bella Swan fantasy then, dingus.”

“Because he’s super hot and intimidating-”

“-and you want him to bite you.”

“And,” he says loud enough that Mrs. Willis over on the computer shushes him. “And you don’t get to make fun of me just because some perky blonde hasn’t shown up to help you live out your little Tinkerbelle fairy fantasy.”

“Excuse me,” a warm, raspy voice pipes up from behind Steve, he doesn’t have to turn to be certain of who it belongs to. But he does, because he gets off on that edge of self-embarrassment and also it’s his literal job.

“How can I help you?”

The bulky leather jacket the guy has on, even though it’s May and basically already the summer, must have him hot. There’s a flush staining his face that is not a point away from Steve’s vampire theory even if he knows Robin is already thinking that it is. He’s wearing a shirt that says Corroded Coffin which is where vampires live, he knows that much even if he never can successfully keep up with Dracula Daily any year he tries.

“Yeah, so I made a bet with a friend that I could find a really specific piece of information before her by going to the library instead of using the internet.” Robin sucks in a sharp breath between her teeth, the sound of Steve’s wince. “I’m playing the long odds, Google kind of sucks now, so I think I’ve got a chance.”

“Steve can help you out,” Robin volunteers, standing up on the foot rest of her wheely chair to give his shoulder a shove. “He’s the best at finding things in the dark, secluded stacks where the cameras can’t see you.”

“Um…”

“Did you already know what you were looking for?” Steve asks, just to stop what is currently happening. “If it’s just the book not being where it’s at I can help you find it. Nonfiction is a pain, and people are always trying to be helpful and put things away; but I guess Hawkins Elementary isn’t teaching decimals like they used to.”

He couldn’t be rambling any worse if he were actually Robin and not the other timeshare owner of their worst brain cell.

Hot vampire guy just watches, a little amused but his smile is closed lipped, because he’s obviously trying to hide his vampire fangs. Not that Steve has a problem with being the hapless victim at the beginning of the Buffy episode, everybody has to go sometime and  if it’s via a hotter Spike it’s better than the way he always assumed he would die (as a casualty of one of Henderson’s sketchy science experiments.)

“I have a confession,” hot vampire guy says, they’ve made it back to where Steve remembers him standing before. 

“Yeah,” he prompts, idly scanning the shelf in front of him. Hopefully projecting whatever air of openness that gets strangers to confess their darkest sins to him unprompted at nine in the morning, so that this hot stranger feels comfortable admitting that he’s a sexy creature of the night.

“I don’t actually need anything from this row, our bet was actually about whether or not you and your coworker are an item.”

Well that wasn’t at all what Steve was hoping he would say. Hot guy -- probably a human hot guy since it is five o’clock and the sun is still high in the sky -- isn’t looking at him. He's straightening up the short story collections and bringing them up neatly to the edge of the shelf, letting his fingers gently flirt with some of the spines in lingering and wanting glances.

“Yeah, we're not together, and you're not her type. Sorry to be the bearer of that bad news.”

Hot guy sputters, mouth opening wide in his haste to deny his interest and revealing moderately sharp but definitely human canines and incisors.. Unfortunate, since Steve doesn't trust anyone who isn't a little obsessed with Robin like he is.

“She seems great,” he says when he's finished spitting all over the books, “she's just not really my type either. Seems like she's more into literary fiction and I’m looking for a guy who’s into campy horror and bad sci-fi.”

“The Star Trek novelizations aren’t bad sci-fi,” he says by rote, having spent too much time with the most annoying nerds in the world who only appreciated door stops that had ‘literary merit.’ Then the rest of the sentence catches up with him. “Oh!”

Hot guy smiles, and smug isn’t something that Steve usually finds attractive but it’s working on him. “I’m Eddie,” he says, “and if you’ll give me a second to win this bet you can tell me how you feel about maybe going out with someone who only plays a vampire on paper.”

[sugarsnappeases]

just had this thought of lily as a lit student volunteering at her local library and barty as this delinquent being assigned to do community service there. like she starts off with a bit of a ‘oh this poor criminal, i must save him’ mindset and then is constantly frustrated by barty as it’s clear that he just. doesn’t want to be saved. and he’ll deliberately mess up the book organisation systems and try to scam people by fining them when their books are nowhere near overdue so he can keep the money for himself. and lily is running around after him, huffing as she loudly puts the books back in their proper places, whacking him round the back of the head when she catches him trying to scam some old man. she’s screaming at him in the back room, leaning over him as he sits back unbothered on one of the chairs, shoving her finger in his face but he just grins and tries to bite it so she’s whacking him again and storming out bc he’s just SO infuriating. but then somehow he’s also going in depth with her about the motivations of iago in othello and whether the tragedy can be blamed entirely on him or if society itself plays a part in the plot’s development or animatedly discussing keats’ ode to a nightingale and the concept of negative capability and how it relates to the body. and she’s just completely fascinated by him, she wants to analyse him like one of the texts from her classes, she thinks she could write essay upon essay about his view of the world and the way his brain works and the tattoo she can always see just poking out of the top of his collar. and now she’s missing deadlines bc she wants to spend time w him, and laughing as he knocks over an entire bookshelf while trying to tell her about the book he’s just read, and really he doesn’t want to be saved but maybe he’s saving her instead…

[immacaria]

Soup Hour

For my dear @mathomhouse-e. I have only two words for you, dear: Soup. Hour.

_________________________________________________________

  Morpheus Endeles — or simply Dream — was not a man to indulge in frivolities. Despite not being as straightforward as his older brother or younger sister, he was also not known for tolerating things that had little interest to him. Most people would call him a cold bitch, but he preferred to call himself ‘selective’. 

  He didn’t have time to waste on things that didn’t matter to him or his employees. His time was to be spent creating, surrounded by art and beautiful things. If not that, it should be spent restoring antique tomes and discovering long hidden stories. 

  However, if pressed, Dream wouldn’t know what to answer about Hob Gadling. 

  They never met personally and, still, the man was a constant presence in Dream's life. The first time they talked it had been by accident, though it hadn’t been their fault either. One day, Dream woke up to a strange message that simply consisted of “Minestrone soup today. You?” and a picture of a steaming, mouthwatering soup right after. 

  At the time, Dream hadn’t known who Hob Gadling was and had simply answered:

  “I do not know you, who are you? And why are you sending me pictures of soup?”. 

  Not even a minute later, came the answer:

  “Death, are you joking with me?” and Dream knew exactly who to blame for this mishap. His dearest older sister, Teleute, had always been known for meddling in his business — Though, if he must confess, always having his best interests in mind. 

  After clearing everything up — That no, this wasn't Death's number, but rather her younger brother's — and directing the man to the right one, Dream thought that may have been the last he had seen of Hob Gadling. Oh, how wrong he had been. 

  The very next, at the very same time, another strange message woke him up. “Miso soup this time”, it read, being quickly followed by a picture of said dish. 

  To say Dream had been surprised to see another one of those texts wouldn't be a lie. To say he was utterly annoyed, would be too accurate. 

  “You already know this is not Death's number. Why still send me these messages?”, Dream had asked, mouth curling in displeasure as he read the following answer. 

  “Don't know, just thought I owed you a ‘thank you’ after your help yesterday. Didn't know what to say or get you, so soup, it is”. 

  And, despite not having been answered, the texts continued to appear the next day. And in the other one. And in the one right after it. And in the following days as well. 

  They always went through at the same time, somewhere around lunchtime, given or taken two or three minutes of difference. It was always soup and it never failed to wake Dream — Who, otherwise, would sleep until late evening, preferring to be awake when there was no sun or people to bother him. 

  Miso soup, chicken noodle soup, gazpacho, chicken and vegetable soup, zuppa toscana. If someone were to name a new type of soup, Dream was mostly certain that Hob Gadling would have tried that one already. Even the most obscure ones, like a duck blood soup, weren’t safe from him.

  Eventually, the wish to know why Hob only ate soup as lunch and why he still sent the photos to him won him over. There was something interesting about this man that didn’t seem bothered by short, curt answers — if there wasn’t even one to be read — and who seemed to cherish anything that Dream sent back. Then, talks about soup eventually become about anything else. Paintings, books they were reading that week, Dream’s nosy neighbour and the dog Hob adopted without meaning to. 

  The soup photos kept coming, marking what Hob affectionately called ‘Soup Hour’, but slowly started to morph into other types of food as well, some even being Dream’s own additions. 

  “What you looking at, boss?” Matthew said one day as Dream rolled his eyes at the screen of his phone. It portrayed another soup photo Hob had sent — A mushroom one, this time — and a single text underneath it (‘I think this one turned out quite alright, don’t you?’). They had been discussing the merits of always having soup for lunch and Hob had been a firm fan of how many different kinds of soup there were out there. A simple ‘No’ sufficed as answer enough. 

  “Nothing, please carry on,” he waved at him, putting his phone down and looking up at where both Matthew and Lucienne were waiting for him to pay attention. “What?”

  “Was that that Hob Gadling lad again?” Matthew asked, leaning over the table before Lucienne pulled him down. There was a small, knowing smile adorning her lips and Dream felt his eyes narrow at the sight of it. “What? It is him!”

  “Keep going, Matthew,” she prompted, but Dream didn’t miss the amused glint in her eyes as she looked between him and his phone. “You were talking about some partnerships that were of interest, I believe.”

  “Oh, yes, some clothing franchise wants to do a partnership with you and one of your nephews wants your help to promote one of his charity’s dinners,” Matthew continued, looking between the two of them with furrowed eyebrows before turning to his tablet again. 

  “Which charity? Which nephew?” Dream asked and his fingers itched when his phone trembled against the table top. He tried not to look at it, but, if Lucienne’s triumphant smile and Matthew’s judging eyes were anything to go by, he failed miserably. “Which franchise?” 

  “The cat one, Thomas and Dior.”

  Silence followed those words as Dream reached for his phone, deft fingers unlocking it at the same time Lucienne said something about taking a break. He nodded, not bothering to look up as he got up from his seat and left the room. Once his screen, two new notifications shone at him, daring and bright as the day. 

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Don’t you wanna come here and try it?’

  And, later when asked about this, Dream would simply smile and say nothing, but, for now, all he said was:   ‘Yes.’

[mumms-the-word]

in honor of that one post I can’t find for the life of me that’s like “not Gale with Tav but Gale with the Blackstaff librarian” please have this snippet of a thing I will never finish you’re welcome

Gale x fem!OC, no tags, just two academics being snarky with each other

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

When Gale approached the library, he found his way blocked by several—no, many whispering students and annoyed-looking professors all blocking the way. They were pressed as far as possible in tight packs around an open doorway, the library visible beyond, but not a single one would go inside.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, looking at one of the students he recognized.

“Oh! Professor Dekarios, it’s the new librarian. She just arrived today and she’s not letting anyone into the library.”

“No one? That seems a bit antithetical to the point of a library, don’t you think?”

“She says she’s reorganizing,” another student broke in, looking delighted by the chaos. “She’s already thrown out anyone who crosses the threshold and is threatening to seal the doors if anyone else enters to disturb her.”

“Is that so,” Gale said, raising his eyebrows. She sounded horrible. He couldn’t help but picture a matronly old woman, set in her ways, her hair in a strict and severe bun of gunmetal gray, jowls nearly to her shoulders. “Well, allow me to have a word with her.”

His announcement, though spoken at regular volume, sent a wave of tittering and excited whispers over his students. He ignored them as he waded between them to get nearer the door. One of the other professors saw him coming and quickly arranged the students around the door to get out of his way.

“You’ll not get through to her, you know,” his colleague warned. “She’s on a rampage in there and she seems to have focused all her magical study to the art of marching people directly out of her space.”

“Then I’ll try to be diplomatic and charming,” Gale said, a spark of his old hubris coloring his smile. He stepped over the threshold and into the library.

It was utter chaos, for lack of a better word. Nearly every shelf was empty of books, completely bare, while mage hands with dusters and cloths were busy dusting and cleaning the centuries-old wood. The books themselves were arranged in stacks of no real order or sense, some just three books high but many others towering as nearly as high as the first landing of the four-story room. Solitary books flew through the air at random intervals, coming to rest on top of one stack or another. The towering busts and statues of previous Blackstaffs and other wizards of note were also being thoroughly cleaned, though their bases also served to collect all the furniture in the room, apparently, save for the tables that were all but groaning under the weight of stacks of tomes. Gale had never seen the library in such a state of disarray.

No sign of the enigmatic librarian, though. He ventured further inside, glancing here and there to try and find her, again picturing the strict, no-nonsense older woman with a face like thunder.

At last he found a younger woman floating midway up a three-story set of shelves, her open robes billowing gently as her flying spell kept her aloft, her trousers tucked into her knee-length boots. She pulled a book from the shelf and turned it to examine the title on the spine, and then opened it to the first several pages.

“Excuse me,” he said, “I’m looking for the new librarian?”

She sighed and snapped the book shut with one hand, turning to peer down at him with a frown. “Yes?”

“The new librarian. Is she about?”

She looked at him as though he were being willfully deaf. “She’s floating approximately three feet and seven inches above your head, saer. Can I help you or are you simply here to complain about my methods like everyone else that has made it past those doors today?”

Gale blinked. “You? But I thought—”

“Did you need something, Professor?” she asked, cutting him off. “I’m assuming you’re a professor and not a student, since you’re wearing the academic stole and all that. Is there a book you require?”

A quick flash of irritation passed through him at being interrupted, but he quelled it. He’d traveled with more abrasive people in the past, he reminded himself, who were also prone to interrupt.

“Not one in particular,” he said. “I’m here to discover…well whatever it is you’re doing in here.”

“Whatever it is I’m—Oghma guide me,” she muttered. She sent the book floating away with a flick of her wrist and lowered herself to stand in front of him. “I am cataloguing. What does it look like?”

Gale paused. Now that she was properly before him, he couldn’t help but notice that she was rather lovely. And young, for someone put in charge of the entire library of Blackstaff Academy. She was several inches shorter than him, but that didn’t stop her from frowning up at him behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, her dark hair swept up into a mass of tight curls at the back of her head. Little curls were escaping here and there to frame her face or trail down her neck, but she didn’t seem to notice. Behind her glasses, her eyes were a curious shade of green and gold, the color changing slightly as she shifted her weight and a soft shadow from one of the shelves fell over her. The rest of her was still bathed in the warm light of early afternoon, a shade that complimented her dark olive skin.

She looked particularly irritated now and Gale realized he had been staring, rather than answering her question.

“I, um…” He quickly tried to recall her answer, and as he did, it struck him how ludicrous it was. “Sorry. Cataloguing?”

“Yes.”

“This library was already catalogued. Thoroughly.”

“Correction,” she said, turning to pick up two books from a stack and glance at their titles. She sent them floating away in different directions. “This library was already poorly catalogued. I’m cataloguing it properly.”

She walked away, moving to another set of shelves that she hadn’t yet touched. Gale followed after her, speaking as he went.

“With all due respect, it looks as though you’re doing a great deal of unnecessary shifting around. The current system has served us well enough these past, oh I don’t know, three or four hundred years or more. There’s no reason to change a system that works.”

“So I’m to believe we should just let old systems lie rather than improve them with new ones?” she asked, tucking a few books into her arms. “Come now, saer, that goes against the very spirit of academic and magical progress. And you call yourself a professor?”

“I am a professor,” he said, irritable. “Professor Dekarios. And I have enough sense to know that Mordenkainen’s Magical Theory Across the Twin Worlds goes in the M section.” Here he grabbed a book from the shelf right before she could collect it, holding it up as if it were proof.

“In the old system, perhaps,” she said, snatching it from his hands. “But in this new system it will go under section 300, subsection 20, sub-subsection 4 point 17 for non-practical magical theory from authors located outside the realm of Toril—”

Gale’s jaw dropped. “Non-practical? How—”

“—and I’ll thank you to cease disturbing me so I can put it in its proper place,” she finished with a huff, blowing some of her curls from her forehead. She sent the book away, arcing it high over his head so he couldn’t make another grab at it.

“Now see here,” he said, struggling to remain diplomatic.

“No, Professor Dekarios, you see here,” she said, bowing up and shifting her books to one arm to poke a finger in his chest. “Blackstaff Varja has tasked me with the revitalization and re-categorization of this library, a job I take very seriously, and I won’t have pompous, big-headed wizards swanning about telling me how to do my job!”

Gale could barely get the words out. “Pompous? Big-headed? Madam, you—”

“If you require a specific tome to study, by all means, let me know so that I can locate it for you, but if your business is simply to bother and berate me then I’ll be forced to eject you from the premises.”

“Eject me? You wouldn’t dare.”

“You wouldn’t be the first, I assure you,” she said, her eyes flashing.

He shook his head, irritation warring with something like awe in the face of her ability to be unrelentingly annoying. “You are—infuriating. How will the students and faculty here get any study done if all the books—” he pulled another one from the shelf, using it to gesture, “—are in the wrong places?”

“They will learn,” she snapped, reaching for the book, but he held it high overhead, just out of her reach. She nearly crashed into him, nose-to-chest, reaching for it. She quickly stepped back with another huff. “Return The Many Multiple Uses of Mordenkainen’s Magnificent Mansion to me at once.”

“Only if you put it back in the M section,” he said, keeping it aloft. “Where it belongs with the other Mordenkainen works.”

“But Mordenkainen didn’t write—oh for Oghma’s sake.” She slammed her armful of books down on a new stack and snapped her fingers, whispering a spell he didn’t catch. The book tugged away from his hand. Surprised, he let it go, and it flew directly into her waiting arms.

“I think that’s quite enough library time for you, Professor Dekarios,” she said sharply, hugging the book to her chest. “You are to be banned from this library for the remainder of the evening. Good day, saer.”

“You can’t—”

But apparently she could. All of a sudden he felt the back of his robes pull taught, as if an unseen hand were grabbing his robes like a tressym might grab the scruff of their kitten’s neck. The force pulled upward, nearly lifting him off his feet, and he was forced to take several awkward steps away, back toward the entrance of the library.

“I—you—unhand me!” He struggled against the hold as was about to cast something to dispel the magic when he felt something suspiciously like an invisible boot give him a kick on the arse. “Hey!”

“Good day, Professor Dekarios,” he heard her say behind him.

He was forcibly pushed out through the open doorway, nearly falling over into the waiting crowd of wide-eyed students. He adjusted his robes in a hurry, ready to march back in there and try again, but the library doors shut with a loud bang and soon the magical sigils to an arcane lock illuminated the surface.

No one would be getting inside now.

There was a hush behind him as he stared at the library doors, hot embarrassment turning his ears pink while his pride, unable to suffer total defeat, looked for ways to make light of the situation or diffuse it. After a moment, someone started to snicker and it caused the entire waiting audience to struggle to hold in their delighted snickers and giggles.

“Well,” one of his colleagues said, folding their arms, but Gale held up a hand with a sigh.

“Don’t,” he said. “The mortification speaks for itself.”

“If it makes you feel better, you’re the sixth faculty member she’s done that to today,” they said, unable to withhold a chuckle. “Though out of all of them, you’ve lasted the longest.”

“And we’re to endure her being our new librarian?” Gale asked, as other professors began to shepherd away the students, reminding them of their homework and studies. “Is it too early to consider a new teaching placement?”

His colleague just laughed and walked away. Gale was left standing in the hallway, watching the arcane lock sigils glow and glimmer against the wood of the door.

He wanted to be angry, even offended. The entire re-categorization of a library as old and complex as Blackstaff Academy’s would spell chaos and slow down every pursuit of study for months. But as he watched the sigils, as his minds eye placed him back among the stacks of books and empty shelves, his memory lingering on one dark curl resting against the curve of the librarian’s olive-toned neck, another bouncing at her temple, he realized he wasn’t exactly angry or offended.

He was intrigued.