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luveline · 2 months

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hi jade!! i love eddie and roan always, can we get a ficlet from their earlier days where roan is smaller. just whatever you want to write about, thanks love you💖

Eddie isn’t sure how you’ve ended up like this, but he’ll take it. He’s never laid in someone’s lap, at least not with a girl he was dating, never had someone like him enough to start scratching his back of their own volition. You draw sweetly gentle lines up and down the length of him with your nails, never pausing, an automatic expression of love.

He’s pathetic, pressing his face to your stomach. He really hopes you love him.

“Can I sleepover?” you whisper.

“You can move in,” he mumbles.

“You shouldn’t flirt so much.” Your hand climbs up to his hair, where you continue your awful lovely scratching. “Can I have a kiss?”

You shouldn’t be allowed to whisper like that. Eddie turns his face away from your stomach and lifts his chin. He’s spoiled —you lean down and kiss him. He doesn’t do any of the hard work.

“Daddy?”

Eddie touches your face and finally forces himself to sit up. “Ro?”

She’s wearing pyjamas you bought for her with good intention but misinformation, the legs pooling around her feet and the sleeves over her hands. Her smile showcases a row of pearly, baby teeth. She looks cute, but her hair is alarming.

“What have you done?” Eddie asks, cringing. “Babe, are those stickles again?”

“They’re stuck,” she says. She realises he’s alarmed and begins to panic, reaching up, “Oh no!”

“It’s okay,” Eddie says, quickly burying his own emotions. He should’ve done so from the start, but you’d yanked his defences down and left him a slovenly mess from all your sweetness. Plus, it’s not like he’s the calmest guy in the world. “Baby, it’s fine. Come here, let me see.”

“Wait,” she says tearfully.

“Baby,” he says again, softer still, “come here, I’ll fix it. I promise.”

“Cross your heart?” she asks.

Eddie pouts at her wobbly lip. “I cross my heart, Roanie. Just come sit down.”

You squeeze his thigh with a distinct sense of pride, though he has no idea what he’s done. Roan drags herself to the couch and Eddie picks her up to sit her between your leg and his, getting a better look at the problem, red, green, and yellow stickle bricks lost in her hair. It’s not as bad as it seems closer up.

He draws a line with tow of his knuckles across her shoulder. “It’s fine,” he says, kissing her cheek, “it’s okay, no biggie. I’ll go get a comb and we’ll brush them all out! Your beautiful hair will be fine.”

“Thank you,” she says.

You make a funny sound. “Aw, Ro.” You take a stickle brick into your hand carefully. “Can I help too?”

“Please, please.” She turns her huge eyes on you and grabs your arm. “Please don’t pull.”

“Never, babe.”

You and Eddie take some time to pull the bricks from her hair, their tines like Velcro stuck between her dark curls. It takes ages, and she grows frustrated, but Eddie holds her hand in his and says, “Just be patient, sweetheart, you gotta wait,” while feeling especially tender. He forgets sometimes that she’s not his mini me after all, that her experiences of fear are fresh and new. “It’s going okay, Ro, it just takes ages.”

“It’s hurting,” she whines.

He doesn’t believe her, but maybe it is a little uncomfortable. “Do you want to take a break? You’ll have to stay really still.”

“Please pull them out.”

“Alright, babe.” He tucks his hair behind his ears. “Let’s do this.”

Eventually, with Roan near tears and Eddie worried you’re overwhelmed, you untangle the three bricks from her hair and brush away the matted tangles. “Sooo silky,” you murmur, leading the comb down to her small shoulders.

“I think we’re done. You are restored to your former glory, babe,” Eddie says.

Roan lifts her hands up and feels along her head. “No bricks?”

“Totally fixed.”

Roan stands up on the couch. Eddie eyes her suspiciously, but she wraps her arms around him and kisses his cheek, reminiscent of how Eddie thanks her when she’s being good. “Thank you, dad.”

He snorts. Roan beams at him and spins on her socked foot to hug you. You don’t get a kiss. You look overjoyed anyhow, quick to wrap her up and pat her back. “Thank you,” she says.

“You’re welcome, princess.” You meet his eyes over her hair. “You’re more than welcome. No more stickles in your hair through, right?”

“Right,” she says with an eager nod.

Eddie shakes his head at you. This is the third time this month.

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lordgrimoire · 1 year

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A little text ficlet, inspired by Danny being the Wayne’s driver prompt by @stealingyourbones

Danny: What do you mean your in the ruins of Krypton?

Tim: I don’t know man! We’re just, stuck, it’s weird, Connors not doing so hot and while the ship is dead we still have radiation protection for now.

Danny: Give me five, I know a guy.

-Five Minutes Later-

(Knock knock)

???: Pizza Time!

Tim: who?

???: Howdy! Danny said y’all needed a ride? I’m Johnny, was hangin around here since I’m helping figure out Krypton’s scattered ghost problem.

Tim: (opens door camera to see a scraggly blonde teen leaning on a motorbike floating next to the ship) uuuuh.

Johnny 13: Sup! Want me to hook up to the front or back tow ya? It’ll take a few hours to get back to earth.

Tim: The front please, is there a way for us to talk to you without you having to shout?

Johnny 13: Yup! Danny should have sent you my number, I’ll hook ya into my helmet.

(Johnny 13 would be tasked with teaching inter dimensional and long term travel tactics at League seminars for the next two months, he was allowed to break all of Gotham’s traffic laws once a piece.)

#danielle fenton #dp x dc #danny phantom #dc x dp #danny fenton #batman #batfamily #dpxdc #teen titans

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cooliestghouliest · 4 months

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PUTTY, chapter one

(chapter one), (chapter two), (chapter three)

PAIRING: virgin!Eddie/former cheerleader!Reader

SUMMARY: Eddie has a little brother. Eddie’s little brother has a babysitter.

SERIES TAGS and C/W’s: mutual pining, experienced!Reader, inexperienced!Eddie but he’s eager to learn, mostly sub!Eddie, insecurities and self doubt, narcissistic and/or absent parents, jealousy, mean basketball players, hurt/comfort, they smoke weed, eventual smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI), uniform kink, dirty talk, foot jobs, hand jobs, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), public sex, sex toys, unprotected PiV. more to be added as this progresses!!!

WORD COUNT: 3.7k+

A/N: hi, my friends!!! this is a rewrite/repost and has been edited for a (hopefully) smoother, more enjoyable read. fun fact that this was one of the first Stranger Things fanfics i ever wrote. it was originally titled She Was Straight From Hell, But You Could Never Tell, and featured Eddie alongside an OC. i’ve changed it to be reader-insert, because that seems to be more in my writing wheelhouse nowadays. this fic will be multiple parts — it begins with backstory, but will eventually branch off into a universe of little smutty ficlets where Reader will corrupt virgin!Eddie as much as humanely possible.

—

Eddie hadn't known about the existence of his little brother until two months ago, when Al Munson showed up in the middle of the night with a small child in tow. Eddie didn't even know his dad was out of prison again, and yet here he was, in the flesh, a little boy with a mop of black curls resembling Eddie's own cradled in his leather jacket-clad arms.

Al was lucky Wayne was working or else this family reunion would have gone south fast.

While Wayne wasn't Al's biggest fan, Al was Eddie's dad, and Eddie would always hold onto as many moments with his father as he could get, no matter how sparse, and no matter how much of a self-serving piece of shit asshole Al Munson truly was.

But Eddie didn’t see it like that. Eddie saw it like this: His dad lived a hard life. His dad struggled with addictions. His dad lost a wife, just as Eddie had lost a mother. His dad tried his best with what he had.

Deep down, Eddie knew these were all just sorry excuses, but he kept that truth tucked away, not wanting to deal with the reality that Al truly only cared about himself.

He already had one dead parent. If he cut his dad out of his life, he’d basically have two.

"When'd you get out?" Eddie asked, stepping aside so Al could enter. His eyes followed the child, brows furrowed. The trailer was always Al's first stop on his freedom tour and the older man had always brought some sort of baggage along with him -- never a little kid, though. What the hell kind of trouble had his dad gotten into this time?

"Few days ago," Al replied, heading for the living room. He placed the sleeping child down on the worn sofa, then straightened and faced Eddie. "Listen, son, you gotta do me a favor. I'm not out long this time. I might've robbed an ATM or two last night. I'm kinda on the lam."

Al didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish at his wrongdoing.

Eddie was used to this. Even when Al was a free man, he was never a free man for long. He didn't think his dad knew how to coexist among non-inmate citizens. Eddie didn't think his dad even wanted to. Prison was a creature comfort for the elder Munson. Eddie wasn't necessarily mad at that fact. He was happy when Al was locked up, because then at least he knew where his dad was. Otherwise, Eddie worried his father would eventually get himself into a situation he wouldn't be able to get out of, and Eddie would really never see him again.

Eddie was also used to Al showing up after months and months, sometimes even years and years, such as now, always asking for favors.

"Who is that?" Eddie asked, pointing towards the couch, not being able to ignore the other human in the room any longer.

"Yeah, that's kinda what I need your help with.” Al rubbed at the back of his neck. "Well, no way to do this other than to just say it. That there's your little brother, Eddie. His name's Oliver. And I need you and Wayne to look after him while I'm gone."

"My... what..." Eddie stammered, face scrunching up. He expected Al to burst out laughing and admit he was just fucking around, and that this tiny sleeping stranger was actually just the kid of a fellow convict buddy. Maybe it was said convict buddy’s turn to rob ATMs tonight, leaving Al the babysitter. Irresponsible. Unlikely. And, turns out, untrue.

With Al's silence, Eddie knew his dad’s admission wasn't a joke.

Eddie was beyond confused now.

"Dad, how... you've been in prison for six years!"

"Conjugal visits," Al answered with a bit of a smug shrug.

Eddie shook his head in disbelief. "What the fuck? Wayne can't afford another kid that's not even his... and I'm in school still, I can't watch him... this isn't... I don't know how..."

But Al was already making his way to the door.

"I know you'll figure it out. I can always count on you, my boy," Al prided, tone cheery as if the favor he'd just asked of Eddie was to give him a quick ride somewhere or find an old family recipe.

Al wasn't acting like he was ditching another Munson offspring off on his older brother. He was treating this like an issue of minor importance, just a little speed bump on an otherwise flat road.

Al Munson was not an upstanding person. Never had been, never would be. Because of this, Eddie shouldn't have been surprised or appalled, but here he was, standing with his mouth agape. Surprised. Appalled.

His dad was out the door with a lighthearted, "See ya 'round, son," and Eddie was left speechless in the middle of the living room.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Wayne got over the new addition to the Munson household fairly quickly.

While he'd been livid at first, calling up all of Al's old friends he'd still had the numbers of to try and find out where his dumb shit of a younger brother was, Wayne eventually became resigned to the idea that he now had another little boy to rear and mold.

What else could he do?

Wayne took care of his kin, especially if they were innocent bystanders and had no say in being born in the first place. He'd raised Eddie, and although he knew the boy had his struggles, he didn't think he'd done too bad of a job.

Eddie never went hungry, always had clothes to wear, a bed to sleep in, and Wayne was the one who haggled Eddie's van down to a reasonable price so the boy could pay for it with his lunch box salary.

Wayne knew about the weed and the pills, but so long as Eddie stayed smart about where he was selling and who he was selling to, he didn't much mind Eddie's unconventional line of work. It helped his nephew stay somewhat social, and Wayne knew how important that would be for Eddie's future. If the boy was nothing but a lone recluse his whole life, he'd probably end up just like Al. Nobody wanted that.

Eddie was just about grown now. Sure, he was rearing twenty and still in his senior year of high school, but Wayne had an inkling that '86 would be Eddie's year.

Wayne had always thought about selling the trailer and buying an RV with retirement money once Eddie was out on his own. He wanted to travel the country for the remainder of his life.

The idea that he'd have to raise up another wild Munson for the next fifteen or so years caused a knot to form in his stomach.

Would Wayne even be around for that much longer? He may have been relatively healthy, and he was only in his mid 60's, but Wayne wasn't an idiot. He knew anything could happen at any time.

Wayne knew he needed help this time around. He figured he could count on Eddie here and there, but Eddie needed to focus on school this year if he planned on finally walking the stage. Because of this, Wayne decided to enlist the help of someone on the outside. Someone with experience.

So, he posted an ad in the Hawkins Post, looking for a full-time nanny for a five-year-old boy to start as soon as possible, and waited for a response.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Wayne didn't have to wait long.

Two mornings following the job post, shortly after he'd returned home from work, he heard a knock on the trailer door.

When he answered, he saw a pretty young thing standing on the front stoop.

"Hi!" you greeted, then immediately began to ramble. "Are you Mr. Munson? I hope it's okay I just showed up... there wasn't a number listed, only an address, and I didn't know if you wanted me to write a response and mail it, but the ad seemed maybe a little urgent, so I thought, hey, what's the harm in just... showing... up..."

You trailed off, feeling silly for word vomiting during your first impression. He was watching you with a small smile, eyes flickering with what looked like amusement, especially as your cheeks began to color to the soft red of embarrassment.

Listing no number on the ad was intentional. He hadn't owned a rotary phone in about ten years, after having tried to cut back on bills, and he knew not just anyone would make the trek to Forest Hills for a potential job offer. He’d figured only committed applicants that wouldn't waste his time would follow through.

"I have a lot of experience," you continued on at his silence, almost as if you couldn't help it, compelled to divulge all the information you could in the first three minutes of meeting. Wayne found it endearing. "I used to babysit for three different families when I was in high school. And I have two little sisters. My mom and dad worked a lot growing up, so I spent a lot of time with them. Didn't get paid, but... I made sure they didn't die or anything..."

From their brief interaction thus far, Wayne knew he succeeded in his method of weeding out flakes. You were obviously serious about the position. He felt he was a decent judge of character, and he'd learned in life that sometimes over-explaining was synonymous with caring.

"Sorry," you said, forcing out a little laugh. "I guess I could have just introduced myself. You didn't really need to know all that." You shot your hand out, giving your name. "I'm here about the nannying gig. Um, obviously. That is, if I didn't already scare you off."

Wayne took your hand in both of his own, shaking it. He placated you with a grin. "It's a lot harder than that to scare off a Munson, sweetheart. Let's go inside and meet Olly."

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Although Oliver Munson was only five, he had a spectacular vocabulary and a limitless imagination. Wayne knew the boy was a little charmer, quite like how Eddie was when he allowed himself to be, when the teenager wasn't drowning himself in existential teenage angst and nonsense.

You fell under Olly's spell almost instantly.

And it seemed the little boy had fallen under yours as well.

Oliver didn't stop talking to you while you were there, and didn't stop talking about you after you’d left, asking when you’d be back and if next time you could take him to the trailer park's playground and maybe you two could watch G.I. Joe or He-Man together afterward.

Wayne had taken your number down before you’d left and had told you he'd be in touch soon.

Later that evening, after Eddie had gotten back from his club meeting at school, Wayne took the trip into downtown Hawkins to use the payphone and ask you if you wouldn't mind starting as early as tomorrow.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

You were far from struggling for money.

Your father was a sought-after criminal prosecutor for the entirety of Indiana. Your mother was a real estate agent for high profile clientele who came from old family money; her father was CEO of a day trading business, and his father before him had been the same.

Although you likely would have never had to work a day in your life and could live a comfortable existence off of inheritance alone, handouts and the humdrum of an All-Play-and-No-Work lifestyle was never a dream of yours. That sounded so cookie cutter, so monotonous, so boring.

You liked to feel a sense of accomplishment. You liked setting goals and reaching them. You didn't want to freeload off of money that was gained from the capitalistic professions your parents were a part of. You wanted to be in control of your own finances and be the author of your own future, not have it already be etched into stone simply by being just another rich kid from Hawkins, à la the likes of the Carver's or the Cunningham's or the Harrington's.

You were ecstatic when you got the call from Wayne, asking you if you’d be willing to start the following day. He left for work at 2PM, so you’d have to be there before then, and would need to plan on staying until Wayne's nephew got home around six.

If you were to be completely honest with yourself, you felt a bit nervous, but the job itself wasn't the reason why that writhing feeling accompanied your excitement.

You had more than ten years of babysitting experience under your belt, and you were eager to get back into a job you actually enjoyed as opposed to trying out different careers to see what stuck and what didn't. Having graduated the spring before, you’d been taking an off year to save up money by working odd jobs around Hawkins to be able to buy your own apartment.

You’d worked as a florist for a few weeks, but it turned out your thumb was pitch black instead of green.

You worked as the personal assistant for a group of lawyers from a local law firm, but it turned out they just needed office eye candy and not someone to actually get any sort of work done.

You worked as a veterinary assistant, but it turned out the job was much more than just petting cats and dogs. You couldn't handle it when a sick animal would come in and there would be nothing anyone could do. Your heart broke more at that clinic than it had your entire life.

You were in between jobs when you’d decided to peruse the classified section of the Hawkins post. There, in the shortest blurb on the page, was a listing for a needed nanny, a full-time position offering negotiable pay.

The next bit was where the excitement wavered.

The listing was published by a Wayne Munson of the Forest Hills trailer park.

That had to be Eddie Munson's uncle. There was no way there were two separate Munson families living in the only trailer park in Kerley County.

You couldn't believe that you’d stumbled across this ad, that the geeky metalhead you’d crushed on since your freshman year of high school had a little brother you could be the potential nanny of.

You were two years younger than Eddie, but that hadn't stopped you from losing periods of time to daydreams about the way the wind ruffled his wild mess of curls on breezy days or the way his band tee sleeves always clung perfectly to the soft muscles of his biceps or the way his cheeks dimpled when he teased the other boys he sat with at lunch.

You’d always wanted to introduce yourself, but you didn't run in the same crowds -- you being on the cheer team and Eddie blasting Black Sabbath in the parking lot after his Hellfire meetings. You could never muster the courage. He seemed so carefree, so full of life, so effortlessly funny. Chrissy Cunningham, your best friend, had spoken to him once or twice and had told you how different he was than what other people said about him. He wasn't scary or mean or threatening, and instead was warm and silly and genuine.

But you knew how the people you spent your time around treated people like him. You knew your group of "friends" referred to him as a freak, a Satan worshipper, and did everything in their power to try to bully him into becoming a shell of himself. Thankfully, he never did -- it was almost as if Eddie absorbed the hatefulness and spent it tenfold by mocking the hilarity of the jock hierarchy that ruled the school, as well as using it to strengthen his own ability to embrace every misfit that walked the halls of Hawkins High.

You never introduced yourself because you were afraid he’d think you had an ulterior motive, that you’d be trying to talk to him as a joke or a prank. You knew the company you kept. You were sure Jason Carver had once or twice suggested you do just that, lead Eddie on and make a fool of him in front of the whole school.

You figured it'd be best to just stay away.

But now, you thought finding this ad was possibly a sign from the universe.

Maybe you were getting a second chance.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Eddie was running late.

He was supposed to be back home half an hour ago to relieve whoever Olly's new babysitter was of her duties, but the campaign had taken a shocking turn and Hellfire couldn't disband until it had commenced.

The night finally ended with Will's character decapitating Dustin's, and Eddie had to thwart an actual attack when Dustin leapt across the game table at Will in a bout of rage. Dustin was small but mighty, and Eddie had to physically wrestle the boy off of Will's neck, threatening to banish Dustin from the next few campaigns if he didn’t chill out. Henderson had huffed and puffed but had admitted defeat and apologized to Will for the attempted murder.

By the time Eddie arrived back to the trailer park, the sun had almost set. He pulled his van into his parking spot to the right of the trailer and shut it off. Stepping out, he swung his backpack over his shoulder, but came to a halt when he heard Olly's scream sound from behind the trailer.

Dropping his bag and beginning to run toward the noise, Eddie's heart fell to his stomach. Horrible images of what could possibly be pulling that sound from his little brother pervaded Eddie's mind. He had an overactive imagination to begin with, and something like this verbal cue only egged it on. "Olly!" he shouted, panic raising his voice. "Olly, are you okay?! What’s going on, where are --"

Eddie came to a halt when he found the boy in the backyard with a huge smile spread across his small, sweaty face. Olly had a fake crown on, one made of twigs and leaves, and he was carrying one of the biggest sticks Eddie had ever seen. He had a blanket tucked into the back of his shirt, the cloth a makeshift cape. A thin piece of metal, probably from one of the cars Wayne and Eddie sometimes worked on, was wrapped around his center, acting as armor.

Olly had just been playing.

Letting out a heavy breath of relief, Eddie noticed your frame just off to the side. His eyes started from the ground up, noting the shiny red Docs donning your feet, moving up bare legs that were covered mid-thigh by a short black skater dress, one that hugged your curves in a way that had Eddie’s mouth going dry.

By the time he reached your face, your eyes were wide with amusement.

You’d been watching as he slowly drank you in. He didn't mean to ogle. He had to shake his head a few times to clear it, and when he did so, the face before him started looking more and more familiar.

"Wait," he started, head tilting. He spoke your name, tone riddled with confusion. "From high school?"

You were about to answer when Oliver cleared his throat, obviously not wanting to be ignored or to have his playtime interrupted any longer. You looked down at the boy, who pointed up to his head at his crown. You got the gist -- Olly wanted the game to continue. You could indulge him. You’d been doing it all day, and honestly you’d been having the most fun you’d had in a while.

You turned your attention back to Eddie, fixing your posture and jutting your chin out slightly. "I don't know who that is," you began, voice lilting. "I am Princess Guinevere of Kerley County and this here,” you brought your gaze back down to Oliver, “is my most loyal servant, Sir Olly of Castle Munson."

Eddie couldn't help the grin that broke out over his face at your announcement. He then took a moment to fully take in the rest of your appearance. You, too, had on a makeshift crown, this one made up of cherry blossoms and daisies. You had a flowing blanket tucked into the back of your dress, cascading down your back like a veil.

No fucking way were you, last year's cheerleading captain and prom queen, standing in his backyard playing fucking knights and princesses with his little brother. No fucking way.

Olly broke the silence by shouting out, "Hey, Eddie! Who are you gonna be?"

Eddie tore his eyes from you to focus on his brother. He pursed his lips to one side in thought, trying to come up with a character. He was usually quick on his feet when it came to creative play, but he had just spent the last three hours DM'ing a month-long DnD campaign. His brain felt shot. He was pulled from his introspective reverie by your soft, suggestive voice — no, sorry — the soft, suggestive voice of Princess Guinevere.

"Wanna be my dragon, Eddie?" you asked.

Eddie wasn't exactly sure why that made his breath catch in his throat.

He nodded dumbly, silent, then forced himself to speak because he didn't want to look totally lame in front of a Princess. "Okay. Yeah, I'll be your dragon."

You graced him with a smile before Oliver's tiny but booming voice cut through the air of the darkening night. "HEY! Dragons don't talk!" the boy stomped his foot and hit his stick against the muddy ground in annoyance.

A laugh bubbled from your throat and Eddie grinned, jumping into a wide-legged stance before outstretching his arms, tilting his head back, and roaring.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #stranger things

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film-in-my-soul · 6 months

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Future fic- Steddie?!

I had a lot of fun with this :3

.⋆｡°✩ 2015. The time has come. ✩°｡⋆.

At a few years off from fifty, Steve Harrington thinks he should be well and truly through with feeling anxiety so strong it threatens to take him out at the knees. Demogorgans, demodogs, Vecna, seventh graders... he should be over it. And yet, he's thankful he's sitting because his joints are feeling a bit like jelly, and he's been compulsively twisting the ring on his third finger over and over again, the metal warm under his fingers from how long he's been spinning it.

Realistically, Steve knows he's got nothing to worry about. Nancy's been on top of things since he'd asked for her help six months prior, and Robin's been on the warpath since that morning, arms loaded with coffee boxes from Dunkin' and a gaggle of adults Steve still sees as snotnosed little shit-heads in tow. Everything is going fine.

And yet he's expecting a dozen different things happening that will mess it all up, including but not limited to the Upside Down rearing its ugly head and ripping a portal through the middle of the Byers-Hopper's backyard, a shady government worker descending on the ceremony to say "Actually, there's been a mistake," or even Eddie finally deciding after close to three decades he can do better. All highly unlikely, but they run marathon loops through Steve's brain as he sits, knee jumping up and down, twinging on every third repetition.

It's only mid-afternoon; he's still got an hour before he needs to be downstairs. Each second that drips by, slow as molasses, Steve regrets losing the 'who has to walk down the aisle' coin toss. He's about to make a break for the window, just to get out of the room that Robin had locked him in once he'd started pacing, when the sound of the door knob jiggling catches his attention and draws his eyes.

Steve watches, blinking and a bit dumbfounded, as the lock clicks over twice and the door creeps open at a snail's pace. It makes sense why the motion brings to mind someone sneaking in because they are. Emerging from the other side of the door, Eddie in a half crouch, butter knife still held up to the knob he'd just jimmied open, beams at him. His hair, just as long as it was in 1986 but streaked through with silver-gray, is pulled off his shoulders in an artfully messy bun; he's not wearing his suit jacket or tie, barefoot in his dark red undershirt and black slacks.

He's gorgeous.

He's also in so much fucking trouble.

"Are you crazy?" Steve whisper-yells, leaning forward almost so far he topples off the end of the bed. Eddie winks at him, holds a finger to his lips, and closes the door behind him as he frogsteps forward as quietly as he can, only answering Steve's rhetorical question when he reaches his legs.

"Crazy about you, maybe." He's smirking, hands on Steve's knees to keep himself balanced, obviously pleased with himself. Steve is almost exasperated enough to push him over. Instead, he smiles despite the cheesy line and huffs a fond sigh, eyes closing as his forehead meets Eddie's when he bends to lean against the other man.

"Nancy is going to murder you."

"Only if I get caught."

Steve shakes his head and sits back up, one eyebrow cocked.

"You think she's not going to realize one of the grooms has gone missing?"

Eddie's smirk widens, and Steve wants to kiss him so badly that he aches for it (still, even after all these years).

"Not when she's fighting with Mrs. Byers over how the catering needs to be arranged." He sounds amused at having used an opportunity to sneak away, but Steve winces. Between the two women, it's a toss-up who will win, but if he had to put money on it, it's Joyce all the way.

Steve is brought back into the moment as Eddie reaches forward, teetering just a little in his squat, taking Steve's hand, the same one with the ring that Steve's been playing with.

"It's gonna be weird, replacing this." Eddie traces over the raised surface of the black skull ring he'd placed on Steve's finger back in 1992, a promise they're finally fulfilling roughly twenty-three years later.

"I told you," Steve says, turning his hand to tangle his and Eddie's fingers together, "I don't care if we do it with this or ring pops, just that we do it." And he can admit, having a semi-traditional band in place of the heavy jewelry he's worn for so long will be strange.

The expression that takes over Eddie's face can only be described as gooey, and Steve can't stop himself from dipping back in and pressing his mouth to the corner of Eddie's lips. The kiss doesn't stray away from chaste, mostly because even though Eddie isn't dressed yet, Steve is, and if he has to have Max do up his bowtie again, he's going to die of mortification.

"I promised," Eddie says, soft and low, bringing his free hand up to Steve's jaw, tracing the apple of his cheek with his thumb, "I was gonna do right by you, Harrington."

Steve smiles. He turns his head into Eddie's hand and kisses the curve of his palm.

Then he pushes Eddie away and bites back a smile when he falls right onto his ass with a loud thump that will no doubt be heard from the floor below.

"Then get downstairs and help so you can make me an honest man faster."

Eddie's grin is wicked, even as he stands and rubs at what no doubt will be a bruise.

"You're gonna be kissing that better later." He says, just as a call of "Edward Wayne Munson, you get your sewer-rat ass down here right now!" floats through the floorboards.

"Promise, now go. I don't have a lot of interest in marrying a corpse."

Eddie laughs, ducks back in, steals a kiss, and then, far too spry for his age and shit lungs, races back out of the room. Steve watches him, relaxes back against the bed, and finds that all his previous worries have been stolen, too.

Ficlet Bingo! (Still Squares Left!)

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steve/eddie #stranger things ficlet #ficlet bingo

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aurumacadicus · 13 days

Text

65 for the ficlet pls! I’m loving what you’ve written so far!

Steve heard the door open and sighed, leaning forward so he could rub his hands over his face. He sucked in a breath and held it as his palms ran over his swollen black eye, forgetting for a moment that the bruise had stayed. It was a welcome change from the aches and pains he'd forgotten.

"Steve," Tony began as he walked toward him.

"I don't--" Steve cut in, then sighed when Tony circled the couch to face him, hands dropping into his lap. "I came here so I'd be left alone."

"I know!" Tony said, and it sounded as if he was carefully choosing his words. "I know. I just... you left so quickly. Once they said you could leave." He looked down at Steve with calculating eyes.

Probably cataloguing how Steve was lacking now, Steve thought bitterly. He sucked in as deep a breath as he could and let it out slowly. "You know, if you just wanted to gawk, I'm sure JARVIS got tons of video of me struggling with my fucking motorcycle, so--"

"How dare you," Tony snarled before he could finish, and Steve found himself jerking his head back to stare up at him in surprise in response. Tony's cheeks had flushed with anger, his hands had gripped into fists. He'd never seen him this angry before. "I didn't come here to--to fucking gawk, or. I came to see you because I was worried about you, you asshole." His eyes took on a particular gleam that Steve recognized as hurt. As not wanting to show he was hurt. "I thought, hell, maybe you'd want your boyfriend to comfort you while you were--but never fucking mind. Just wallow on your own, see if I care."

"Tony," Steve tried, concerned.

"I can't believe you'd think that's what I came in here to do," Tony continued, jerking his gaze away. "A wizard used magic to reverse the serum in you and you were sickly beforehand so I was coming to make sure that you were okay. I even thought, maybe you'd be happy to see me."

Shame curdled in Steve's gut. It wasn't Tony's fault that this had happened. He'd been nothing but concerned since he'd heard Clint call for medical. "I am happy to see you, Tony," he offered, but he wasn't sure how sincere it sounded when Tony shot him a wounded look.

"Sure," Tony said. He cleared his throat, looking away again. "Well. Far be it from me to bother you when you wanted to be alone. Natasha is leaning on that wizard, Thor has gone to talk to his mother, and Bruce is looking into scientific fixes. I'll be in the lab."

Tony turned to leave, and Steve couldn't stop himself from reaching out, grabbing his wrist. Tony stilled under his touch, but he didn't turn back, keeping his face turned away. Steve swallowed thickly, trying to push back his guilt at the fact that he'd been so mean when Tony had just wanted to help. This was his issue. He'd just thought he'd left it all behind him in the forties.

"I'm sorry," Steve said quietly.

"...I'm... sure this must be... difficult. For you," Tony answered haltingly. "It's fine. I overreacted."

He probably believed that, too, Steve thought, frowning. He lifted his other hand to wrap around Tony's wrist, pulling gently at his arm. "Come here."

Tony hesitated for a long moment, but eventually, after Steve pulled again, he allowed himself to be towed back around. "Steve," he sighed, sitting down beside him. "I'm sorry."

"I am too," Steve promised, hands reaching up to cup his cheeks. "Will you look at me?"

Tony looked at him from under his lashes, which was just as attractive as it had always been, but somehow more, now that Steve had to look up at him. "Weird seeing bruises on you," he finally murmured.

"Weird still feeling the bruises," Steve admitted. "Kiss it better?"

"Wish I could kiss everything better," Tony muttered, but he was gamely leaning in, and as careful as he was, Steve was still so unused to pain that he flinched a little. "Well, there's nothing wrong with your lips, huh?"

"Nope," Steve answered, tilting his head back so it wasn't such a strain on Tony's neck to lean down further and kiss him.

He felt the change almost immediately, aches and pains fading to dull pulses as his body began to work overtime trying to heal them. He was suddenly and incredibly hungry. He hadn't eaten since he'd left medical several hours ago. Tony also looked smaller, where he was staring up at him in shock, mouth dropped open speechlessly. For one hysterical moment, Steve remembered what Bucky had said after he'd rescued him from Hydra.

"Don't," Steve tried, but Tony began howling with laughter between semi-hysterical sputterings of 'true love? that asshole wizard said true love?' until he slid off of the couch and onto the floor.

#submission #aurumacadicus answers #saving-stark #1-161 stony ficlet challenge #stony #somehow this was a submission??? idk how tumblr works

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tennessoui · 10 months

Text

anyone remember the divorce lawyer au?

(first ficlet posted here, along with the explanation post) (1.5k)

“Of all the gin joints in the world, you walk into mine,” the very familiar and incredibly grating voice of Anakin Skywalker greets Obi-Wan mere moments after he settles into a seat at the end of the bar.

“No,” Obi-Wan says automatically, though he isn’t quite sure what he’s protesting. It’s an instinctive sort of no. A plaintitive no. A for the love of all things holy, I cannot be expected to deal with this now as well sort of no.

Even though, technically, Mr. Skywalker is right. Of all the damn gin joints in the world, he happened to walk into one already hosting Anakin.

“Well,” Anakin sounds considering now. He doesn’t particularly sound as if he’s planning on leaving. “I guess of all the dive bars in Vegas, you happened to walk into mine. But I’m pretty sure they sell gin here! Though I guess I don’t know how much gin needs to be sold at a bar before it’s classified as a gin joint.” Now his voice sounds even more considering. Closer too.

“What can I get you?” The bartender asks as she slides down closer to him. It’s not very loud in here, still relatively early and so not overly crowded, but she leans forward across the bartop as if having trouble hearing him.

Anakin sits down in the seat next to Obi-Wan rather aggressively, brushing their shoulders and thighs together. ��You can put his drinks on my tab, thanks,” he announces. “We’re together.”

“We’re not together,” Obi-Wan tells her. “But yes, you can put my drinks under his tab. Much obliged. An old fashioned, thank you. A double. No cherry.”

“You got it,” the woman says, turning away to make his drink.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes for a second to pray for patience before he turns to look at Anakin Skywalker.

He is just as beautiful as he was two weeks ago when he’d last stopped into Obi-Wan’s office, tearful, hungover bride in tow for a quick divorce before her plane ride back to Australia.

It isn’t fair.

“We could be together,” Anakin says. His eyes are dark, his head canted forward, his thigh still brushing Obi-Wan’s. “Just for the night.” “You know, I’ve always thought you were a lot less sober when you proposed to strangers,” Obi-Wan tells him drolly, accepting his drink from the bartender with a wave of his hand. “I’ve been picturing you absolutely sloshed stumbling down the aisle.”

“You’re not a stranger, Mr. Kenobi,” Anakin replies. “You’re my go-to divorce attorney.”

“Normal people do not have those,” Obi-Wan says, taking a sip of his drink. It’s strong at least, thank God.

“People get divorced all the time,” Anakin argues, leaning forward to rest his elbow on the bartop to look over at Obi-Wan. “You were the one that told me that divorce can be just as healthy as marriage.”

“Don’t remind me,” he mutters, taking another bigger sip. He really, really does not want to talk about marriage with Anakin Skywalker of all people.

Yet somehow the words slip out of his mouth and off his tongue despite how much he does not want to talk about marriage with Anakin Skywalker. “How do you do it then?”

“Do what?” Guileless, innocent. Hell, he probably just has to blink wide blue eyes at his fuck of the night and they’d follow him down the aisle as quick as they can stumble.

“How do you—” he waves his hand and takes another sip of his drink. “Convince people to marry you. You’ve got a politician, a bride to be, who knows how many bridesmaids, a foreign dignitary, a man old enough to be your father, a veteran all under your belt. How are you dragging them all down the aisle? You can’t be—”

He cuts himself off. That good in bed, he’d been about to say.

Anakin grins with his eyebrows raised like he knows it. “It depends,” he says. One finger traces over the countertop. The other hand falls to rest on Obi-Wan’s knee. “Sometimes we’re already in bed,” he murmurs, slow-like. “Sometimes we’re on our way there, in some dark corner booth and I’ve got my hands wrapped around her waist and she’s begging me to whisper dirty things into her ear, tell her what I’m gonna do to her. It’s sort of like marriage vows, you know? Dirty promises sound the same.”

He is far too handsome for his own good, Obi-Wan decides. If he were a little less attractive, he’d probably have a much harder time coaxing strangers down the aisle.

“I wouldn’t know,” Obi-Wan says stiffly, stopping Anakin’s hand from moving further up his leg. “I’ve never been married.”

The words are bitter; the wound is still bleeding. He downs his drink in one go and waves for another from the bartender.

“You have a girlfriend though, don’t you?” Anakin’s nose wrinkles. “You’ll marry her probably. You’re the marrying type.”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes. “She’s not,” he says shortly. And then, to rip the bandage of the wound completely. “And she’s not my girlfriend anymore either.”

Anakin’s eyes go wide. “What?” “I asked. For her to marry me. And she said no.”

“She said no?”

“While your disbelief is rather flattering, I’d like not to talk about it, thank you.”

“Why would she say no? To marrying you? Is she alright? Well, obviously not, but—I mean. I don’t understand. Or believe it.”

Obi-Wan’s lips thin, and he reaches into his pocket. “I assure you, if she’d said yes, she’d be wearing this right now and I would not be here.”

He puts the ring box on the bar in between them and accepts a new drink from the bartender. Anakin looks down at the ring box silently.

“Well?” Obi-Wan asks. He doesn’t know what he wants Anakin to say. He’s sitting in the tatters of his longest relationship, ended because she did not want to marry him in the end and he could not live with that. And he is talking with a man who gets married and divorced more than perhaps anyone else in the entire world.

What could he possibly want to hear from Anakin Skywalker?

“‘M going to get you wasted,” Anakin says, and Obi-Wan figures that’s good enough.

—----------

“Marriage is important to me,” Obi-Wan slurs out countless hours later. They have migrated from the bar to a low-level booth, and Anakin has his arm curled around the top of it with his fingers playing with the ends of Obi-Wan’s hair. “I couldn’t com…pro…mise.” He sounds the word out carefully and deliberately.

“You shouldn’t have to for something that’s important to you,” Anakin decides, and Obi-Wan nods. That’s what he thinks too. That’s why they’d broken up. That’s why Obi-Wan still has the ring.

“All sales final,” he quotes and rubs his hand over his beard. “What am I gonna do with it now?”

“Give it to someone else,” Anakin suggests once Obi-Wan picks up the ring box again to look at it. “Someone who wants it.”

“Nobody wants it,” Obi-Wan says. That’s the problem.

The other problem is that his drink is gone. This is a very big problem and easy to solve because Anakin’s drink is right next to his empty glass, and Anakin will let him have his drink, Obi-Wan is sure of it. Anakin has been very lovely tonight.

“That’s my drink,” Anakin says. “Get your hands off it.”

“I’ll trade you for it,” Obi-Wan mumbles, gesturing to the ring box. Anakin stills completely.

“You…will?”

“Yes,” he decides. And then a thought occurs to him, terrible and mean and brutal. “Unless you don’t want to marry me either. But you want to marry everyone.” He scowls, though he thinks it may look more like a pout. “Don’t you want to marry me?”

Anakin’s hand carefully resumes its light stroking of Obi-Wan’s hair. “Yeah,” he says. His voice is rough. Obi-Wan likes the way it sounds. “Yeah, I do.”

“Good then,” Obi-Wan says and takes Anakin’s drink. After all, what’s Anakin’s is now his if they’re engaged to be married. “I’m sure you know where the closest chapel is. Though I’m quite disappointed so far.”

“Why?” Anakin’s face is awfully close to his. When did he move? “Aren’t I providing for you like a good husband should, baby? You’ve got my drink and everything.”

“I was told you’d put your hands on my waist and whisper dirty things into my ear,” Obi-Wan says. “And so far you’ve just been playing with my hair.” “I like your hair,” Anakin says. “And I don’t want to tell you what I’m thinking of doing to you. I think I just wanna show you.”

Obi-Wan blinks. His face is hot. Anakin is flushed all over too, eyes focused somehow despite the amount of drinks he’s had. His breath smells sweet, like the cocktail he’s been drinking for the last hour. Now Obi-Wan’s breath probably smells the same. “Well, I suppose tomorrow morning I won’t have to ask you if your latest marriage has been consummated.”

Anakin smirks. “No, you won’t,” he agrees. It’s a promise.

#obikin #divorce lawyer au #basically they get married and fuck and then in thte morning anakin is like #um actually m gonna keep the ring #and i don't want to sign the papers #i wanna keep you as my husband #forever

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dandylovesturtles · 3 months

Text

Two of my AUs got into the prelims for the @tmntaucompetition - Sidelined AU and 100 Feet and a World Away!

(for those wondering, I asked for IMBI not to be entered this year; he'll be cheering on his bff Sprout from 2 Arms Left from his bed while he recovers ^^ )

Sidelined AU

After he acquires all pieces of the Dark Armor, Draxum becomes suspicious of why the Foot Clan is suddenly so eager for him to put it on. Instead of wearing it himself, he decides to sacrifice the captured Leo to it, hoping that once its hunger is sated he will be able to use its power for himself.

Things don't go as planned, however, and after a harrowing three days, the Dark Armor is finally subdued and Leo is rescued from its clutches - forever changed.

Info post - Tag link

100 Feet and a World Away

(a separated(ish) AU)

Though Splinter escapes Draxum with all four babies in tow, a few years later disaster strikes again: when he leaves them behind to find food, they are stolen by humans who are very interested in the strange mutants they have found. Raised in a lab, the boys are treated like animals and trained like attack dogs, never allowed to see the sun or each other. But something the scientists don't know is that the boys can talk - and that one of them has a plan to escape.

April O'Neil is an enterprising journalism student looking for her next big scoop. After she's sent a tip about illegal activity in a nearby lab, she infiltrates the building as a janitor. She's expecting to find bioweapons development or illegal animal testing.

Instead she finds Donnie.

Info post - Tag link

I'll probably be writing some ficlets for both of these in the near future, so please watch for that! Thanks to everyone who submitted my AUs! Hoping we can have fun with the competition again this year!

#tmnt au competition #100 feet and a world away #sidelined au #wheeeee at it again

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cricketnationrise · 2 months

Note

Dearest Cricket! Congratulations on 500 followers!! I would like to request Alex Claremont-Diaz, in Kensington Palace, at 11:11pm (this feels a bit like playing clue!)

Vibes/rating completely up to you!

❤️lizzie_bennetdarcy

omg it IS like clue, that's such a fun way to think about it. i'm feeling a bit wistful this afternoon, so have some post-canon, insomniatic, yearning Alex 💜🦗

read the rest of the ficlets here!

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

11:11pm, kensington

11:03pm

With one eye on the clock and the other—

Oh, who is he kidding? Alex has both eyes on the clock as he paces anxiously.

Only, it’s after eleven already, and Henry was scheduled to be back at Kensington at ten-thirty, and Alex flew across the ocean today just to surprise his boyfriend. And he’s tired. The worst part of insomnia is that he still gets sleepy. Still gets lethargic, his eyes stingy and droopy, his body feeling like a stretched out rubber band. It would be one thing if his inability to sleep manifested in such a way that he didn’t feel like he had to sleep. But instead he gets the worst of both worlds: exhausted and unable to just fucking rest.

It’s a small comfort that Henry deals with the exact same thing.

11:06pm

Alex wasn’t even going to be in London this weekend, originally. He had exams scheduled for Monday and Henry was… informed he’d be attending three back to back events as a representative for the Crown while Philip and Martha cooed and fawned over their newborn daughter and Bea was already confirmed elsewhere. Alex doesn’t mind the crazy schedule, is excited to meet Henry’s first nibling — but he hates that Henry was pulled away from their home without so much as a cursory check to see if his schedule would allow it. And Alex especially hates that he wouldn’t have been able to attend these events if his schoolwork allowed, that he wouldn’t be able to be a calm moment in the midst of the storm for Henry.

It was that, ultimately, that had him asking his professors to take his exams early, citing a family obligation — he didn’t lie, he just… didn’t correct his teachers’ assumptions that it was a Claremont-Diaz obligation — and flying into Heathrow this evening, a good-humored Cash in tow.

Alex’s head whips around at the creak of the floor from the hallway, but he slumps down again when the noise moves on. Just the night shift patrolling the hall.

11:08pm

The thing is, Alex doesn’t ever want Henry to have to be alone. Not if he can help it. That’s what being together means for Alex — that neither of them have to be on their own if they don’t want to be. And every time Henry gets called back to London for something like this, it’s like a little more of him gets washed away, eroded by the Crown’s expectations.

So if Alex can be there, next to Henry, holding his hand, being a bulwark for him against all of the royal bullshit—

Alex will move heaven and earth to be by his side without a second thought.

11:11pm

Alex sees the time and stops pacing.

June had been the one to tell Alex about the eleven-eleven tradition, back in Austin, before their parents had split. June used to yell out the time and make a wish, Alex! whenever they were in the same room. And Alex had closed his eyes and wished for all sorts of things: a bike with no training wheels, extra dessert that night, no homework on Friday.

It’s been years since he made a wish, since he pushed his desires out into the universe and hoped for it to return.

But Alex is right at the ‘not-giving-a-fuck’ level of tired, the point of the night where all he wants is to coil himself around Henry. So he closes his eyes tight, and wishes.

A simple wish, but earnest.

I wish Henry were here.

And like magic, like the universe heard Alex and decided to answer, he hears Henry’s voice, bidding Shaan goodnight, on the other side of the door.

#cricket writes #lizzie-bennetdarcy #ficlet fest 500 #rwrb

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minubell · 3 days

Note

Could I request another chapter of Rapunzel, Rapunzel?

Here's nobody new but instead just Mairon and his feelings.

#Tides of War #TOW Ficlet #Fourth Age #Sauron #Mairon #Manwe #This is his low point I prommy

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papasbaseball · 8 months

Text

Library Wingman (Extended) (Cardinal Copia x Reader)

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x GN!Reader

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Cussing

Summary: The Cardinal won't quit showing up to your job at the library. Does he want you fired or is he simply looking for a date?

Word Count: 1,526

Notes: This is a reupload of a shorter ficlet that I have fleshed out.

AO3 Link

Another quiet Thursday afternoon in a Satanic library. A library like any other. Sure it housed the most extensive collection of demonic texts and was frequented by members of His Infernal Ministry, but that didn’t mean that there weren’t rules to be followed. No eating, no drinking, and no rats. That last rule had been put in place because of one Cardinal Copia.

He was an unassuming man, not impressive in stature like his brother Papa Secondo or conventionally handsome like his other brother Papa Terzo. He was the runt of the litter in more ways than one, all of his brothers having already ascended to the infernal papal throne while he scrawled away in the library. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, he liked to reserve one of the study rooms for the whole day, locking himself away as he did who knows what (minus the rats now). Sister Sarah thought that he used the time to practice what it would be like if he ever ascended. Brother Martin laughed at that and insisted that he just wrote “I am a good boy” line after line in his journal. Whatever he had been doing it had stopped a week ago.

The monthly shift had occurred and you’d been moved up from cataloging to the main checkout desk. You liked cataloging, but the dank basement with no windows and mind-numbing fluorescent lights that thrummed a hazy yellow glow from years of use were driving you out of your mind. The front desk would be a nice change of pace, even if you had to deal with the occasional cranky sibling when they found out the book they were looking for was on hold for the next 3 months. What you hadn’t expected to deal with was Cardinal Copia coming in to watch you every day while he pretended to read.

The worry ate at you as you watched him stare at you but quickly hide his face behind the leather tome. He may be the runt of the Emeritus litter, but he could still get your sent off to laundry duty or excommunicated. You went over and over again the first time you’d seen him up on the main floor. Nothing about the interaction seemed offensive to you. You were reshelving some books when he had stepped into the aisle. His finger glided along the weathered spines, searching with such intent for some decimal number that he’d noted on a scrap of yellow paper in his other hand. He was so deep in his search that he didn’t see your reshelving cart. Some of the books you’d tried to fit on top of the cart were sent flying and the cart jolted away from you. He jolted too, losing his scrap of paper and, if he were a cat, eight of his nine lives. You scrambled to the floor, grabbing first for his paper. “Cardinal, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to disrupt you.” You offered him his slip of paper, your knees cursing the concrete and linoleum beneath them.

It is a mystery what you were expecting out of him from that small interaction, but his snatching the piece of paper and gathering all of his notebooks and pens to leave the library was not on your list of expectations. That was when the worry set in. When you began to lay awake at night, wondering if the next day would be your last.

This went on until today.

"Cardinal can I help you with something?"

Today was the fourth time he'd been in that week, a new record. Unlike the previous times, today a ghoul was in tow with him.

"Eh, yes. Just these books, thank you." Placing the books down, his hands busied themselves with straightening cassock and biretta, pulling at his already straightened sleeves.

The ghoul behind him, you thought to be Swiss, leaned over to whisper something to the cardinal. Copia looked up from his sleeves, eyes going wide at Swiss's murmurs. Pulling the ghoul down to his level, he cupped a hand to the side of his face, whispering back something.

"Was there anything I could help you find today? I know I'm somewhat new here but I actually know the library pretty well," you say. The whispering set you on edge. This was the end. He had brought his ghoul with him to drag you out of the library. Would you even be excommunicated or did he have some torture room in the catacombs where he’d flay you until you bled to death? You shuddered at the thought, very much wanting to keep all the skin on your body and your blood inside.

"No, just these books thank you."

You went back to scanning the books when you heard the clothed thump of Swiss smacking Copia's arm. Copia jolted and squinted at Swiss, trying to silently communicate something with those gloved hands of his.

Swiss huffed, pointing a finger at Copia. "If you don't ask them out I will."

"Ask who out?" you say, scanning another book. A little external spat hopefully.

Copia offered a nervous smile, looking as pale as a page in a new book on the shelves. "Sibling," he started, voice cracking in perhaps anxiety, "I was wondering if you would like to... if you would like to have lunch with me." He shut his eyes in anticipation of your reply but got Swiss's words instead.

"Lunch? What are you? A lawyer? Ask them to dinner, for fuck’s sake."

Copia's shoulders sagged as he looked up at Swiss.

Your heart twinged at the sight of the dejected cardinal. Was this the reason why he’d been staring at you for the past few days? Here he had been so enamored with you that he could not even continue with his work. A sense of shame washed over you as you had thought of all the nights you had boxed him into the worse assumption. He wasn’t really all that bad looking either. Truth be told, the mustache was starting to grow on you. "I like both lunch and dinner."

"Really?" Copia straightens, grinning happily this time.

"Do you want to meet in the narthex at noon? That's when my lunch break is."

"I know… I mean- Yes! Of course! I'll see you then!" He skitters gleefully towards the exit, not looking back.

"Uh, cardinal?" You call after him.

He quickly pivots, pressing his palms to his cassock. "Yes?"

"You forgot your ghoul and your books."

He hurries back, gathering up the tomes in his arms, apologies written on his face. "Come on ghoul!" He calls back, again dashing for the doors.

"I have a name you know!" Swiss calls after him.

You watch them both leave, feeling the presence of Sister Sarah and Brother Martin appearing behind you.

“A date with the cardinal? Aren’t you worried that he’ll put cheese on you and make his rats eat it off?” Brother Martin asks.

“What!?” You feel the adrenaline rush crash coming over you at the ridiculous question. “Didn’t you know that’s why rats are banned from the library?” Sister Sarah asks. “I’m afraid to ask…” “Sister Imperator caught him feeding cheese to his rat on top of the library’s oldest Satanic Bible,” she said.

Horror drained all the blood from your face. “He’s the Library Muenster?!” Bane of librarians’ existence and what you had previously thought to be an urban legend, you’d been told about the Library Muenster your first week on the job. Sister Marian, your mentor, had told you it had taken weeks to clean the entire library. They weren’t certain which books had cheese crumbs in them, so they had to clean them all. She said he’d never been caught, but the cheese crumbs had stopped after the mass cleanout.

Brother Martin laughed. “What? You didn’t put two and two together? You’re dating the Library Muenster now.” “Oh come on! He’s not that bad, is he?” You tried not to picture him eating a piece of Gouda over one of your many precious texts, a rat cleaning its face with a torn-off corner of one of the pages. “He stopped, didn’t he? He’s reformed now. He’s not the Library Muenster. And I am not dating him! We have one date.” They both chuckled quietly, Sister Sarah pushing a cart of books out to be reshelved, leaving you with Brother Martin. “Look,” he said, “I’ll help you keep your little secret - I can’t say the same for Sarah - but librarians will never forget what the Library Muenster did. Neither of us were here for the cleanout, but be careful who you tell about your little rendez vous.”

“I’m a library traitor, aren’t I?”

“You said it, not me.” With that, he grabbed the only other full cart of books behind the counter and left you there with your thoughts. Nothing will come of this. Don’t worry it’s just one date. The more you worried about him being the Library Muenster the more his face seemed to grow on you, that face that had stared at you for the past few days. “Your mustache better be worth it.”

#the band ghost fanfiction #fluff fic #humor fic #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia fanfiction

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