Eddie, my love || Eddie Munson x witch!reader (In Progress)
After facing the tragedy of losing her lover, y/n goes on the path of getting him back. No matter the consequences. (Future angst, smut, character deaths, violence, and I think that’s it. 18+ only!)
Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3
Chapter 4
When The Heart Beats || Vampire!Eddie x Reader
Summary: Unbeknownst to reader, she makes a deal with the Devil. Someone comes knocking, gently rapping at her window late one night. It’s Eddie, and nothing will ever separate them again. They’re meant to be, evermore. (Warnings: blood, violence, future smut, some angst, regular vampire activities, some religious elements, and death. 18+ only!!) (in progress)
Chapter 1 chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Drabbles:
Defining Eddie’s Curls
Vampire!Eddie
Imagine Eddie with a girly girl (Warning: some smut, 18+ only!!)
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Lloyd Hansen, Steve Rogers
Summary: Your new neighbour has no shame, but you find more than you can handle.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
"Where do I start with you?" Lloyd purrs as he drags his wet fingertips up to your knuckles. "I thought you'd be nice and blissful after I ate you all up but I guess we both know better."
You smirk and try to sit up. He shoves you back down; so easily it makes your heart somersault. The things he could do to you and what could you do to stop him?
"Hmm." He lifts a brow as he runs his tongue over his lower lip. "I'm an ideas man..." He slips his fingers under yours and swipes around your clit. "And I got a sweet tooth." He winks as he snickers. "So how about you give me another taste."
You nod and press down on his fingers. He tuts and shakes you off. You recoil, legs splayed unabashedly, and he smacks your pussy. You gasp, not just at the gesture but the tingle it sets off.
"You gotta ease me in," he pinches your thigh as he stands. "I just woke up so you gotta help me back to earth, sweetheart."
He grabs your wrist and tugs you up. You let him, standing on wobbly legs as you fight the urge to leap at him. You step up and brush your other hand up his stomach. He clenches and growls. He catches that hand too.
"You can't fucking help yourself, baby face. If every woman was like you... I'd be done for, huh?" He angles you around so his back is facing the chair. "Don't worry, I got a good seat for ya."
He sits and releases your wrists, his hands grazing yours. He shifts up onto the lounger, lifting his legs onto the end as he spreads his height out. His arousal flops onto his stomach and drags his hands across his chest and slaps it.
"Climb aboard, sweetheart." He drops one arm to lower the back of the chair until it's flat. "The SS Sex Stache is now taking passengers."
You make a face and giggle. He grins as his eyes scour you. You squirm and shimmy as the situation smacks you in the face. You're really here. You're really doing this. Again.
"Don't get cold cheeks on me, baby. You play with a man like that..." He lets the statement hang.
You shake off the nerves and hum. You step up and touch his shoulder. You feel his skin prickle and his muscle flex. You feel along his bicep, watching your fingers and the vein around his muscle.
"Pretty damn hot, huh?" He taunts.
You nod and knead his muscle, bringing your other hand to his chest. You lean on him and he taps your thigh. "Turn around, sweetheart."
Your lashes flutter and your smile blooms. You tickle his arm as you draw away and turn. You angle yourself over him as he guides you with a hand on your hip. He helps you straddle above his head as he adjusts himself on the lounger.
"I'm a nice guy. I'll share my breakfast," he kisses your thigh and his nose traces up your skin. "You can get a taste too."
He pulls you down until your lips are against his. You squeak at how cool his tongue is along your folds. Your clench then release, settling onto him as his mustache tickles further back.
You brace his stomach, feeling the thicker muscle there and the subtle softness woven in. He drags his tongue up and down then pauses. He feels along your side and dips his hand behind your shoulder. He pushes until you fold over him.
His dick twitches as you hover over it. You see him shiver as your breath glosses over him. You bring your hand along his firm thigh and wrap your fingers around his length. You squeeze and he groans into you cunt. You wriggle and press down onto him, smothering him as he hums in delight.
His hand moves to your lower back and spreads across it. His other reaches to stroke behind your neck as he urges you on. You brush your lips along his tip and feel him tense.
You're slow, more methodic than the day before. You think of the videos you watched on your phone and drag poke out your tongue. You run the tip down his length and stop right at his balls. He groans louder than before.
It's strange. The thought is a bit icky and yet the act has you rolling your hips over him. His hand slips further down to grope your ass as his tongue toys with you.
You swipe your tongue around his balls, one at a time. He pushes his heels down, jerking at each swirl. You giggle at how he reacts. To you.
You continue to tease him, flicking your tongue back and forth, then scaling up to his tip. He grips your neck as you press your lips around him and he urges you down.
You slide him into your mouth, just until he touches your throat. You pull back and he squeezes your neck. He tilts his lips from below you.
You clasp onto his thigh as you bob up and down slowly. His voice drones into your cunt as he laps at you. You quiver and rub against his mouth. He taps your ass in warning and pushes his face up into you. He's still in charge.
You delve back down and as he meets your throat, you don't relents. You take a breath through your nose and stretch out your neck. You ease him past your reflex though it hurts just a little. He growls and curls his fingers into your soft cheek.
You raise your self, little by little, and hold his tip between your lips. You descend once more, just as deliberately, and he shakes. You pull back again and he pushes you down impatiently.
He parts from your cunt for a second and murmurs, "faster."
You smile and plunge down again. The deep roll of his voice enlivens you. You pick up your motion, rocking your body in time with your head as you ride him as much as you play with him.
You grip him with your hand, pumping him in time with your mouth. He gulps and licks hungrily at you as your guts twist up. You feel it. That hot, vibrant pulse.
Almost there. Almost...
You whine around him as you cum, spasming against his face as you smear your delight all over his mouth and chin. He chuckles as he guides you through your orgasm. You quake and nearly collapse onto him completely.
He taps your hip.
"Stop." He rasps. "Stop, baby. You're gonna have a mouthful if you don't."
You slowly drag your lips off him, popping them off his tip. He growls and slaps your ass again. You sit up, resting lightly on his chest as you look over your shoulder at him. His hair is a mess, his lips are shiny, and his cheeks are flushed.
He kneads your ass with both hands and bounces it. He snarls.
"You want-- no, you need me inside you." He grins. "So go on and put me in that tight little snatch."
Your lips part as you stare at him. Your skin burns and your blood courses. You shakily mop the sweat off your forehead.
"Don't look at me all innocent. Just like this. You get on my dick." He pinches your ass. "I don't take kindly to being left hanging. Or throbbing in this case."
You turn back and look at his dick. It lifts slight and falls back down. Your body ripples in excitement and something else. A feeling you can barely understand let alone describe. This is a moment that can never be undone. A first that will, for better or worse, be etched into your mind and body.
You lift your knees over his shoulders and move down his body. You straddle above his pelvis as he runs his fingers up and down your back. You grab him and rub his tip along your cunt.
The sun glares in your eyes and sweat slakes down your back and chest. You glance up at the sky as everything comes clearer. As you put his tip against your entrance, you can hear every bird, every blade of grass, and smell every flower.
You exhale and look down as you push his tip inside you. You squeak as he grips your hips and grunts. You stop and squeeze him. He growls.
"Shit. You are so damn tight." He digs his nails into your hips. You try to lift off of him as your walls strain. He clucks and pushes you down. You whine again. "I hope you don't think that means I'm gonna take it easy on you." He urges you further onto him as you writhe and whimper. "You remember, you started this, sweetheart."
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Lloyd Hansen, Steve Rogers
Summary: Your new neighbour has no shame, but you find more than you can handle.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
Even after Steve relents, you can't sleep. You spend the night plotting. You need to be strategic. You need to escape.
There's one haven and it isn't so far, you just have to get in the front door. Better yet, the back.
It won't be so easy. You have to time your exit and weather through one more battle. And prepare.
When you're certain the house is still, you slowly shift the chair from in front of the door. You inch it back on the hinges and peek out. Steve might be deranged but he still has to work in the morning.
You tiptoe out with your towel and bath pouch. You slowly descend the stairs and dip into the first floor bathroom. You lock the door behind you and listen. Nothing. Alright.
You strip down and flip on the shower. You tidy up your shave and ponder over the curly hair along your pelvis. You trim that up too and exfoliate your entire body.
You finish up and take your time moisturising with scented lotion and pluck out any strays from your brows. You've never been this meticulous. Your nerves are bouncing from more than just the all too eventful night.
You sneak back up in your towel, freezing at the creek of a floorboard. You hold your breath and stare down the hall. Nothing.
You quickly barricade yourself in your room again. You strip away your towel, emboldened by your goal. You soft through your top drawer. You have exactly one bikini and it's nothing special. Simple, black, a ring between the cups and at the sides of the bottoms. Your mom bought it for you and you pretended to forget about it.
Now, is the hard part... Waiting.
☀️
You wake with a start as someone hammers at your door. Jeez. Somehow you dozed off.
You sit up, still in the black bikini, and rub your cheek. Your lashes flutter as Steve growls through the door.
"Gonna be late for work." He warns.
You don't answer. You stare at the door as he shakes it, trying to dislodge the chair. He growls.
"This really isn't professional." He barks. "You made a commitment--"
You didn't. You never asked for the favour he keeps throwing in your face. You never wanted anything from him. He's your mom's problem, not yours.
"You're going to go no where if you don't do anything... You're gonna age out of laziness real quick, girl." He snarls.
You flinch. There it is. Mask off. You've seen behind it this whole time but he's nasty, in more ways than one.
There's a clamour further down the hall. A door strains on it hinges as clumsy foot falls thump around. "Stevie! Please. You're making too much noise." Your mom whines. "My head is caving in, baby."
Steve sighs as friction drags down the door. "Maybe next time you'll slow down then, Melissa."
"Baby, don't be mean. I was missing you. I was all alone." She mopes. "And you took care of me, didn't you?"
"Don't." He snaps. "You're rubbing off on your daughter's. You know she walked out on me yesterday because she couldn't hand one day of work."
"Oh, honey, she's young..."
"She's an adult. You let her keep doing this and she'll end up just like you. Drunk and helpless."
"Steve!" Your mom exclaims. "That's mean."
"It's true. I didn't marry this, Melissa."
"And I didn't marry a jackass!" She shrieks and the sharp impact of flesh on flesh follows.
A low snarl rolls through the door and the tension pricks your ears. You can't tell who hit who but you're not brave enough to open the door. You swallow and stare at the chair.
"Get out of my house!" Your mother demands. "Now!"
"Your house?" Steve hisses.
"Get the fuck out!" She screeches and her heels batter the floor in retreat.
Her door slams and you sit in the silence. It's broken only by a heavy sigh. Your door handle jiggles once more and another deep huff blows out from his chest.
"You really wanna be like her?" He hits the door.
You flinch and listen to him storm off. Your stomach is bubbling and your skin is boiling. You can't make yourself move. Not right away.
If you weren't afraid before, now you're goddamn terrified.
☀️
It's probably not the best plan but you wouldn't say you're that creative. Typically, not this bold. Yet, the more you think about it, the more confident you are.
After yesterday, you know that you won't be turned away. You hope he thinks it's sexy. Or at the least, funny?
You sling a towel over your shoulder and step into your slides. You warily make your way through the house. It's like walking through a minefield.
You exhale in relief as you find Steve's car gone. You checked through the window but half-expected him to play some trick. Sooner or later, you will have to deal with him.
You strut down the sidewalk in your swish caftan and stop in front of Lloyd's gate. You didn't think of this. You wanted to surprise him...
Well.
You retreat and head to the backyard. You stand in front of the fence where all this mess began. You toss over the towel and your sunglasses, then your slides.
You're not the most graceful climber. You are pretty weak actually. You're breathless as you manage to hook your legs over the top. As you straddle the flat wood, you nearly trip from the dizziness.
This is the hard part. You could easily twist an ankle. You carefully lower both feet and hang from your hands. You're like that poster of the kitten; 'hang in there's.
You drop down and bounce off your heels onto your ass. Graceful. The very image of sexiness.
You get up and gather up your things. You catch your breath and approach the pool. You glance up towards the house. It's almost noon. He can't be sleeping that late... Right?
You put on your sunglasses and set the towel over the back of lounger, placing your slides on the stone. You peel off the caftan and drape it with the towel then recline over the long chair.
You try not to fidget in impatience. What if he doesn't come out? What if he's not even home? Well, you can't leave anyway.
You close your eyes as the sun beams down hotly. You're so tired, you could fall back asleep. The smell of coffee wafts through the pollen and sandals slap the stone. Don't panic.
"Well, well, well," Lloyd snickers. "Is this a wake up call? Cause little Lloyd's already up and at 'em."
You open your eyes and turn your head lazily. It takes everything you have not to squirm. He's shamelessly naked with a mug in hand. The hair on his chest makes you want to drag your nails down it. You bite your lip and smirk.
"I can see," you glance at his rigid length.
"I thought I heard the system chirp." He pauses to slurp. "So, you finally decided to come test the waters, huh?"
"Something like that," you purr.
"Well, sweetheart," he turns and sits on the other lounger. His dick stands against his stomach. "You owe me a show."
You tilt your head at him as his eyes skim your figure. You pout innocently. "What kind of show?"
He chuckles but doesn't answer. He watches you over the brim of his cup and he takes another gulp. Your lips part and your blood surges.
"Oh..." You slowly drag your and down your stomach and trace along the top of your swimsuit.
He nods as his gaze follows your hand. You stick the tip of your tongue out and quiver as your dip your fingers under the elastic. You bend one leg and your other slips over the edge of the chair.
"Goddamn, baby, how long have you been dreaming of this?" He leans forward as you feel along your pelvis.
"How long have you?" You counter, your voice willowy.
He growls and reaches to place his mug down. He keeps his eyes on you as he sits up and squares his shoulders. He leans back, his knees wide, and pushes his chest out.
"You wet?" He asks.
Your fingers glide between your lips and you hum. "Very."
"Uh huh? And what are you thinking of when you're all fucking dripping?" He teases.
"You," you flick your clit and whine.
"What about me, huh?" His dick twitches.
"About yesterday..." You quaver.
"Oh? Yesterday?" He lifts a brow. "What about today? Huh? Don't you want more than a taste?"
You nod and bite your lip again, rubbing yourself beneath the fabric. He clucks and stands up. He nears and you tense up. He tuts and points at you.
"Don't stop." He lifts your leg and sits on the end of the chair, hanging your leg over his knee. He pulls the fabric away from your cunt and exposes your glistening folds. "Jee. Sus. You're not lying." He pauses to listen to your slickness. "You are fucking desperate."
You nod and giggle, a thrill course up your spine. He puts his fingers over yours and guides your motion. You gasp.
"And what are we gonna do today?" He licks his lips. "Huh? Does good ole Lloydy Poo get a warm welcome?" He pushes your fingers down to your entrance. "Gonna get all nice and stretched out?"
You shiver and moan, nodding eagerly. "You can do anything..." You let your fingers dip just inside and clench. "You want."
He forces his fingertips in next to yours and you squirm at the tightness. He shakes his head and smirks.
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 noncon/dubcon, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: society is predictable but Ransom Drysdale is not. (friend’s dad)
Special shout out to @stargazingfangirl18
Characters: silverfox Ransom Drysdale
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!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
"Anyone who's anyone will be here. You have to come." Jane insists. "Cliches are dumb but that's just what it is."
She snorts and checks her manicure. She curls her pretty lip and extends her arm. She examines the pointed tips.
"What do you think? I think that twerp owes me my money back... Well, Hugh's money." She rolls her eyes. "But that old man won't be getting anything else from me."
"I think they look good," you shrug. You keep a short tip, nude gloss. You try not to hide your hands as you answer.
"I should've gone with the Paris Pink." She flutters her fingertips.
You nod and sip your pomegranate ices tea. The lime is a bit too much and the mint makes it bitter. Jane would send it back nothing short of a lecture but you can stomach it to save yourself the scene.
"You can all the way here from London? Why?" She scoffs as she drains her cocktail down to the ice for the second time.
"Family..." You utter flatly. That's all you need to say. Society doesn't care about your dying great aunt; not unless they're getting a cut of the estate.
"Ugh, don't remind me." She signals for a refill. "High is on my back about some degree. He said a gap year is usually only a year, not four."
When you first met Jane, you assumed this shadowy Hugh figure was some sugar daddy with a bag tied around her neck. It took a week to unravel the riddle. It's not that unusual for spoiled brats to call their parents by their first names. Your own mother hates being called mom or mother. You always found it awkward the way she wanted to be your friend more than your guardian.
"What would you study?" You ask.
"I don't care. He'll throw money at the dean and put me at a desk in the publishing house. But I guess I have to at least pretend I care." She scoffs. "The idiot actually went to his classes."
You nod. You did a bout at Oxford, stacking courses so you flew through a three year program in two. In America, everything feels so drawn out. Four years and not an entry job in sight. Well, not unless you have a Hugh in your bloodline.
"Giselle will just let me dip into the trust," she adds. "Wherever she's hiding now."
As detached as the quip is, the last comment suggests that her apathy is more a shield than genuine. Neither of her parents are very present and you know well how empty a big house can be. You stir your tea with the straw and hum.
"So, this party..."
"Event," she corrects you.
"Sure, is there a dresscode?"
"You're adorable," she mocks your accent. "Hon, throw on some Louboutins and a bikini under your dress. We'll be skinny dipping by the third round.”
You raise a brow and nod, sipping more disappointment from your glass. You can’t fault Jane for her conditioning; you’re not so different. You live in a bubble and you’re content enough to stay in it. Self-awareness is a double-edged blade. Another apt cliche.
“I’ll make an appearance,” you smirk dryly. She laughs.
“You’re so funny.” She shimmies her shoulders and once more frowns at her nails. “These really are hideous.”
💵
You never quite understood fashionably late. You always felt it inconsiderately selfish. Thus you arrive, fashionably on time. Not early, not late. Though your host is still in her robe and curlers.
“Are all you Brits so early?” She taunts as she welcomes you in.
“You said nine.”
“Oh, sure. That’s when the staff is expected. The important people will be here at ten. If that.” She leads you through the airy house.
The floor is parquet; old world and polished; the walls are slightly off-white trimmed in matching wood with intricate etchings, with ornaments in brass and gold. The attempt at warmth is left frigid by the perfection of it all.
You follow her up the broad staircase and she sniffs. “Hugh’s taste is awfully gauche.” She falls back to strut at your side and nudges you with her elbow. “Giselle let him do whatever to keep him off her back. He’s such a drag.”
You nod and narrow your eyes. You hoped your time abroad might be respite from the snobs back in London. This is just a different flavour.
“I love that outfit, by the way. Very… posh. Is that what you call it?” She runs her finger down your arm.
The vest and skirt combo is nothing special. Simple knit in a powder blue with a white collar. You’re sure she has much flashier attire in mind.
“Paul is coming. He said he got me a special gift. Which is great since Halton is off in Pasadena or wherever.” She trills and leads you through an open door.
Inside, there’s a sprawling room of blush and ivory. A vanity mirror with lights around it, a velvet stool, a fluffy sofa in rose, on top of a fluffy carpet in white. There’s shelves mounted on one wall displaying a variety of designer bags, propped up to boast of their expense.
“Sadie and Sawyer will be there too.” She says as she sits in front of the vanity. “Ugh, Tanya!”
A woman appears from the next room; a peak of a glittering bathroom behind her. She apologises as she approaches Jane and picks up a make up brush. Your host admires herself as the stylist tends to her.
“The twins are always so much fun. Technically triplets but Sterling is off with his sidepiece. That means LeeLee is going to be a mess.” She laughs. “You look confused.” She turns and the stylist avoids poking her with the brush. “You’ll learn real quick, hon.”
You tilt your head. “If it’s not my business, I don’t want to know.”
“Oh, but you must. Know your enemy,” she turns back to the mirror. “Tanny! The blend is off.”
“Yes, Miss Drysdale, but I haven’t had a chance-”
“Excuses!” Jane snatches up a sponge and leans in to blend the streaks of foundation herself. “Go tell Jilly that I need some vodka soda.”
You bite your tongue. It’s not unexpected behaviour. In contrast to some, she’s really not that bad.
“Lots of rich older men and dumb boys.” She fawns at her reflection. “I recommend the first. Get a nice bag or two. Some Monolos.”
You traipse around as you consider the poster of the famed blond bombshell from the 50s. You swear you’ve seen the same image a million times. Talk about cliches.
“Welcome to society, hon,” she chirps. “It’s gonna eat you up.”
💵
You’re not surprised when Jane quickly loses track of you. You made your rounds with her and quickly grew bored of the fake accents and James Bond impressions.
To be fair, you can’t quite place her among the sea of baby socialites. You keep clear of the cluster near the bar and the others speckled around the pool, eyeing the crystal ripples for an opportunity to show off their fresh spray tans.
The yard is lit by the pool lights and overhead lamps. The air stirs with the low drone of the Hot 100 beneath the trill of giggling and hum of deep voices. The affair is a sea of Gucci and Ralph Lauren suits paired with grey strands, and satin dress as shining as the perfectly highlighted waves and sultry black locks.
You sit on a cushions patio chair, one leg draped over the other as you mindlessly stare into the pampered wilderness. A splash breaks through your trance as a woman bursts out from beneath the surface and squeals about her extension. One of the younger men laughs and cannonballs in without stripping off a single layer. The hijinks have begun; the only one to make an early arrival.
You cup your chin in your hand and sway your foot, rolling your ankle as you take in the scene. It’s not much different than home. The same characters played by different actors. You don’t know why you expected anything different.
You check your watch. Would anyone even notice? Jane was tipsy when you got there and if you’re not playing along with the script, you’re left to the background.
A man lowers himself into the square chair close to your own. You stare off at the sky as he shifts in his chair. He leans forward as you sense him from the corner of your eye.
“You need a drink. You look thirsty.” He intones.
You ignore him and check your watch again.
“Waiting on someone?” He asks.
“Not you.” You say, tapping your fingers on the arm of the chair.
“Ooh, I like that accent. ‘Yeah, babay’.” He does his best Austin Powers, which isn’t very good.
You cringe and lean away from him, focusing on the vague face of the moon.
“You don’t gotta play shy, baby.” He reaches over and touches your hand. You snatch it away and slide forward in your chair, ready to flee.
A shadow steps up and swats the man in the ear. “Jacob, get out of here.”
“Ow! What the hell?” The younger man stands and turns on the other.; he’s older, a lot thicker than the younger one, and unaffected by his reaction.
“You’ve always been a little shit. Go.”
“Takes one to know one.” The younger, Jacob, sneers.
“Very original," the older man scoffs and steps closer, making the younger seem even scrawnier.
“Whatever.” Jacob glances at you then veers off.
You watch him run up to another girl and tug on the back of her skirt. You shake your head as you hover at the edge of your chair. The older man lingers.
“That one bugs you again, I’ll toss him in the pool.” He clucks.
“Uh… thanks. I don’t think it will be necessary.” You reply. You clasp your hands around your knee, shoulders tense, and stare off at the guests. “Appreciate you dispelling him.”
He pauses before he responds. “Anytime.”
You dip your chin and keep your gaze across the yard. You shift slightly and he exhales. His fingers trace the back of the empty chair.
“If you do… need me, I’m Ransom.” He drawls.
“Right. Thank you again.” You say stiffly.
He pushes away from the chair. “If you’re looking for an exit plan, cut up behind the hedges. There’s a side gate that leads right out front.”
You look at him. His brown hair is dusty with grey at the temples and his blue eyes gleam in the dim light. “Thanks.” You utter.
His brows lift and he winks. He turns and walks away, casually slipping his hands into his pockets. He’s not in a suit or button-up, rather a soft sweater in a shade of lamb grey and white slacks. He fits and yet he stands out.
He shoves Jacob as he passes him. The skinnier man spills his drink on himself but doesn’t fight back. He just moves on to his next target.
You skim the crowd and find Jane. She’s playing with a man’s tie as she sits in his lap in nothing but a string bikini. He’s older, slightly balding, and entranced by her. He reminds you of the banker your mother tried to set you up with.
You shudder and crane to examine the hedges. There’s a slight gap between where you could slip through and along the fence. You can’t help but wonder how that man knew about the escape. Still, you’ll keep that in mind for when things get a bit too intense.
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 noncon/dubcon, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: you meet a new friend as you start a new hobby, but they aren’t the only one interested in you. (best friend’s dad)
Characters: nomad!Steve Rogers
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!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
Your fictional dungeon excavation from the table is cleared away for its real purpose. Steve doles out the pad thai on plates in a shade of rustic red. You sit patiently as Saralie gulps another toxic glass of her mermaid concoction. You couldn’t finish your first.
Steve stirs around his noodles as you use the side of the fork to cut yours into shorter, contained pieces. It’s a much different atmosphere than your family dinners. You usually just made your own dinner and ate in front of the TV or your room. Since you moved out, not much changed, though sometimes you forgot to eat.
“So,” Steve clears his throat. “You go to the same college?”
You look at him, nearly flinching at his gaze.
“Uh, yes.” You answer.
“She’s studying the world.” Saralie chimes.
Steve furrows his brow.
“Ecology.” You explain. “I think I’d like to work in a wildlife habitat but I’ll probably end up at a desk writing reports on waste risks…”
He nods thoughtfully. “Either sounds productive. Typically, I need someone to give me the same sort of context for my projects.”
“Dad builds stuff.” Saralie says. “He built my tree house and all.”
“Well, not really. I draw up the designs. Do the planning. Coordinate all the different pieces; installations, foundation work, all that.”
“Oh, right. Cool.” You say.
“It’s boring. There’s not that many things that aren’t already built so I mostly do small updates or reinstalls. Again, boring.”
“So bored he barely works.” Saralie giggles.
“I’ve scaled back. Independent projects.” He shrugs. “I’m sure it’s all Latin to you.”
“Huh, I think it’s kinda… interesting.” You insist.
“He’s pretty much rebuilt half this house,” Saralie boasts. “Made my senior year pretty annoying having the second bathroom shut off.”
“You said you wanted that clawfoot tub,” Steve clucks.
“And I love it. Thank you, dad.” She grins at him.
His expression softens and he nods as he pokes around at his plate. Saralie sucks down a long noodle with a pop of her lips and you do your best to take a tidy bite of tofu and sprouts. She swallows and washes it down with her witch’s brew.
She makes a face and wiggles around. She slides her phone out of her dress pocket and blinks wide. “Wow, it’s late.”
“You know how I feel about your phone at the table.” Steve warns.
“I know, dad. Peter was just asking… he texted.” She shrugs. “I can’t believe we worked so long.”
“Um, yeah,” you squirm as she tucks her phone away in her overall style dress. “I guess I’ll pack up after this.”
“What’s Peter asking?” Steve interjects.
Saralie sends you a look then fawns at her father. “I sent him pics of the map. He was asking when we could play.”
Steve narrows his eyes. “Kid sure knows how to invite himself over.”
“I asked him first.” She argues. “Dad. He’s my friend.”
“I didn’t say no. You’re an adult.” He twists noodles around his fork, his thick fingers dwarfing the utensil.
You can appreciate his concern. Almost envy it. With four siblings, it’s easy to get lost in the rabble. Your parents either couldn’t or wouldn’t try to keep track of all of you.
“You can join in, you know? You could be our sorcerer!” Saralie suggests. “But you give more of a warrior vibe. Or a cleric.”
Steve chews quietly as his daughter laughs.
“And you can invite Uncle Bucky.” She teases.
He swallows. “You need to stop calling him a geezer. He’s still upset.”
“Well, he shouldn’t act like one,” she retorts with a cackle.
Steve’s cheek dimples and his brow tweaks, “you got me there.”
Saralie turns her attention on you, “you’re leaving before dessert?”
“There’s dessert?” Steve asks.
“If you’re good, yes,” she sticks her tongue out at him then looks at you again.
“Um, well, I should really catch the bus…”
“Out in the dark,” Steve spreads his shoulders and glances at the window. You crane to check the dark panes.
“If you stay, I can drive you,” Saralie offers.
You think of the man on your way over and shiver. It’s nice of her to offer but at the same time, they’ve already done so much. You chew your lip.
“It’s okay, I have my pass and…”
“It’s late. Where are your glasses?” Steve taps his fingers on the table.
Saralie blanches. “Somewhere.”
“You know you can’t drive at night without them. You should wear them more.” He chides.
“Dad, please…” she begs in frustration.
“I can drive.” He says.
“Oh! Or!” She claps her hands and turns fully to her dad. “Daddy….”
His lips slant. “What is it, princess?” He asks dryly.
She giggles. “Can we have a sleepover? Pweez?”
She pushes her lower lips out and clasps her hands tight. He considers her and a smile slowly breaks his veneer. A very subtle one.
“If you clean up after dinner and dump the rest of that toxic sludge,” he barters.
“You didn’t even try it!”
“I’d need a whole bottle of antacid,” he retorts.
“That’s not the juice, that’s your personality,” she chuckles.
His smile fades, “Love you too, Sara.”
“Love you!” She dances in her chair. “Sleep. Over!”
“Sara,” Steve hums. “You didn’t ask her…”
They both look at you. Suddenly, the room feels very small. You don’t have to work in the morning and you don’t exactly like waiting out in the dark.
“If it’s not too much trouble,” you say.
“It’s no trouble.” She chimes. “Oh, I’m so excited.”
Steve watches you. His eyes glimmer and you notice tension ease from his shoulders. You stir your noodles as you try to let go of your own anxiety.
🎲
“We can play my card game!” Saralie shimmies in excitement. “Peter refuses!”
“Oh, card game?”
“Yes. It’s so much fun. It’s a word game. It’s silly.” She explains as she leads you upstairs.
“Uh, sure. Sounds found.” You shift the strap of your bag up your shoulder.
She skips down to a door with her name on it. Each letter is etched in painted wood in a different colour; a small upside-down handprint is the second A. It’s cute.
“Hey,” the deep timbre startles you. Steve emerges from the door at the end of the hall. “I got you a shirt.” He nears and offers the navy blue tee. “Sara’s stuff won’t fit a mouse.”
“Oh, thanks,” you stop to take the folded cotton. Your fingertips brush his knuckle. “I… didn’t even think of that.”
“Dad thinks of everything. He thinks too much.” Saralie teases. “But he’s right. I still shop in the juniors. They have better colorus and they’re cheaper.”
“Um, thank you, again.”
“No problem,” he backs up. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
You turn back to Saralie. She’s so slight that even her overall dress can’t hide her bones. Despite that, she’s a ball of energy.
“We won’t, dad!” She grabs your wrist and pulls you through her bedroom door.
Steve’s grumble is cut off by the door shutting behind you. Saralie lets you go and throws up her arms. “Welcome to my hole!”
The bed is tall. So tall, you’ll need to climb into it but you can take the floor too. The duvet is decorated with a dainty pink floral, but a neon fluffy throw is crumpled over the top, a sharp contrast to the pastel. A canopy drapes from the corners in sheer rose and several stuffed creatures line the pillows.
The dresser and vanity are white and vintage looking. The mirror is hung with pearls and various amulets, the drawer bursting with swathes of fabric. The chair is velvet in the shape of a flower with silver legs. The space is a cluttered panoply of antiques and bright colours.
“I never had a sleepover before. Well, Peter slept over one night but dad doesn’t know that…” She lowers her voice.
You’re starting to get suspicious of Peter yourself. If there isn’t something going on, or if Saralie isn’t looking for that, it seems he might be. He’s awfully persistent. Then again, what do you know about guys?
“Alright, I’ll find my cards.” She says.
You put down your bag and hang onto the tee shirt. It smells like fabric softener and something else. Something warmer… maybe cologne?
“Oh, do you wanna get changed?” She asks as she sifts through her cluttered bookshelf. “The bathroom is the door to the left of us. Or I won’t look if you just wanna do it here?”
“Um sure, I’ll throw this on quick… if you don’t mind.”
“No, no. I can’t even remember where I put this darn game…” she bends to look on a lower shelf and knocks over tin. “Ohhh, shoot.”
You turn your back to her and switch out your shirt for the borrowed one. It’s soft, comfy. Better than your work shirt. You tuck the latter into your bag and turn to find Saralie cleaning up the dice scattered over her floor.
“I went a bit crazy at the game shop,” she giggles. “I got one in every colour.”
You chuckle and go to help her. “I haven’t even bought a set yet.”
“Well, I think I got you covered,” she trills.
🎲
Saralie snores. Not loudly. Her soft breaths blow out and squeak at the end. She’s right beside you, clinging to a stuffed hedgehog, as you lay restless in the strange place. You never sleep well in new places. Or really ever. Your roommates don’t help that struggle.
You roll onto your back and keep your eyes closed, letting the steady rhythm of her slumber soothe you. Still, you can’t settle. The more you long to just sleep, the more restless you grow. Until you can’t contain the nerves in your stomach.
You sit up and slide out of the bed, careful not to hit the floor so hard. You don’t know how she sleeps so high up. You grab your phone from where you left it on the dresser and sit on the beanbag in the corner.
You flick through, scrolling the mindless feed until you realise you’re not even processing any of it. You black out the phone and get up. Maybe you should’ve just gone home.
You have to try again. You need to sleep. You put your phone down and creep to the door. You listen through it before you go out into the hall. You creep down to the bathroom and lean on the door until it shuts. It snaps louder than you mean to.
You keep the light off and go about your business. Once you have an empty bladder, you’ll be able to relax. You wash your hands in the dim light of the moon pouring through the frosted window and shut off the tap. You dry off and slowly open the door.
You step out into the hall and nearly scream as someone grabs your shoulders and pushes you against the wall. Instead, you choke on your fear and whimper. You gasp and press yourself flat, closing your eyes as you brace for the attack.
They squeeze and jerk you slightly. A growl tickles your ears and something clicks. Your eyelids light up and you sheepishly flick your lashes up.
Steve has one hand on you as his other recoils from the light switch. You gulp as his eyes flash with realisation and he lets you go.
He steps back and pushes his messy hair away from his face. His eyes are dozy and there’s a subtle line along his cheek from his pillow. He’s in a pair of striped pajama bottoms and a loose tank that shows off the sides of his chest and muscular arms.
He rubs his eyes and drags his fingers down his cheek.
“I’m sorry. I was dead out and… I forgot…” He bats his lashes. “I thought… I heard the door. There was no light…”
“I’m sorry.” You eke out. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He sniffs and scratches his beard, his hand crawling down to rub his neck. He shakes his head.
“No, it’s my fault. I… I got a whole system and I’m here acting like some vigilante.” He huffs and drops his arm. “Are you okay?”
“I’m…” you hesitate. You feel the steel of his grip in your shoulders. “I’m fine. I just…” you glance over at the bathroom.
“Wow,” he cringes. “I’m… I’m a dummy.”
“It’s f-fine,” you assure him. “I’m just… going back to bed.”
“Of course.” He shifts. “Don’t let me keep you up.”
You nod and shrink down. You turn and scurry along the wall. You quickly dip through Saralie’s door and shut it gently.
You hear his sigh from the other side. The light limns beneath the door even as you climb back into bed. Saralie is still snoring. You stare at the bright line along the floor until it shuts off. You hear Steve’s footsteps as he retreats.
Well, you’re not too sure you’ll be getting much sleep.
I’d probably be knocked out so he’d have a better chance just sneaking in and snatching me haha. But I know that’s going to be so awkward in the morning. Steve is already strange and dad-like so this won’t help. But he can start by making some breakfast. That would make me feel better.
You’re starting to get suspicious of Peter yourself. If there isn’t something going on, or if Saralie isn’t looking for that, it seems he might be. He’s awfully persistent. Then again, what do you know about guys?
Alsooo he’s really going to like the reader. She isn’t too sure about Peter either. He’s definitely coming on strong.
"you should be at the club" i should be by the sea. i should be in the mountains. i should be at the moon. i should be awestruck and rendered speechless by the majesty of the natural world. if you even care.
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 noncon/dubcon, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: you meet a new friend as you start a new hobby, but they aren't the only one interested in you. (best friend's dad)
Characters: nomad!Steve Rogers
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!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
You blink away another yawn as the bus pulls up to the stop. Your shifts never quite align with the schedule so you end up waiting forty minutes for the next or walking nearly as long to get to another connection. After an opener, you’re more than ready to stay in one spot.
That won’t be the case but you’re not mourning your usual after work routine. Your binge watching can wait and you brought your snacks with you to share with Saralie. What made stacking shoe boxes and searching the backroom easier was the promise of seeing her again.
She texted you almost as soon as her dad drove away from your building. It was both surprising and not. You’re not used to anyone being so excited about, well, you, but that just seems to be her way. She can’t help but run at top gear.
Along with the invite to finish your maps, she sent over a dozen Pinterest references and as many Youtube and TikToks videos showing shading and plotting techniques. She’s thorough at least and her passion is infectious. You’ve been thinking about where you want to place a pitfall for days.
You flash your pass at the censor and find a seat near the middle of the bus. You hug your bag and stare at the stained toes of your sneakers. The rosy colour is faded and dingy. The little stars sewn to the sides are almost indistinguishable from the rest of the worn out suede.
The bus stops at the downtown centre and you get off ahead of your usual route. You’ll need to transfer to get to Saralie’s side of town. Your maps app says you’ll be traversing a labyrinth just to get to her cul-de-sac, too.
You board the second bus and sit against a window. A man, reeking of tobacco and with his phone on speaker, pens you in as he takes the seat next to you. You fidget and stare out the window as you try to ignore the blare of his cell phone. Even with your earbuds in, it’s distracting.
He shifts close to you. You press yourself to the side of the bus as he overflows onto your seat. His hand slips between his leg and yours. Subtly, he turns his palm out and feels your thigh. You wince and try to evaporate through the wall. You’re trapped.
You look around. Everyone is entranced by their phones or books or their riding buddies. His fingers curl further under you and your blood surges. You reach up to pull the cord then push on him with your elbow.
“Scuse me!” You squeak.
The bus stops and the man huffs. He slinks up to his feet and looms so you brush against him. You scurry to the doors and stop, looking back to see if he’s following. Another rider is getting off too. Thank god.
You thank the driver and step off. You stumble onto the sidewalk and wait for the bus to roll away. The other rider heads off across the street and you look around, disoriented. You check your phone. You’re three stops short of where you should be.
You shudder and follow the little arrow on your screen. You wish it was the first time you dealt with a bus creep. Well, if you had your choice, you would never deal with them.
You shake it off as best you can. It’ll be fine. By the time you head home, the bus will be mostly empty… and it’ll be dark out.
You walk around the suburbs, following the bright bus stop signs until you get to where you’re supposed to be. From there, you rove through the cozy avenues and terraces until you get to Morningside. You triple-check the number before you head up the walkway.
There’s a star ornament on the door. You glance around as you hover your hand, ready to knock. Something chirps.
“Come on in!” Saralie sings from nowhere.
You spot the doorbell cam and lean over to look in the lens. “Oh, hi.”
“Door’s open.” She chimes back.
“Right, uh, okay.”
You stand straight and grab the handle. You let yourself in and look around cautiously. You put your bag down and bend to take off your shoes. You set them on the shoe rack as a soft creak rises from the hardwood.
You look up, expecting Saralie, but find Steve in the archway just next to the entry. “Thought I heard the door,” he says.
“Oh, yeah, I… Saralie…”
“She’s in the kitchen making her unicorn juice.” He steps forward and picks up your bag. “I’ll show you.”
You stare at your bag and nod. He’s just being nice. He turns and heads across the entryway to the hall. His gait is tall and straight, his shoulders broad, hair curling slightly just above his collar.
“Thanks…” you murmur from behind him.
“No problem.” He says over his shoulder.
He turns through a doorway and you trail after him. You hear clinking as Steve puts your bag on the large wooden island where Saralie stirs a large jug of bright blue juice and ice. She brightens as she sees you.
“You’re here!” She chimes as she lets the large spoon fall against the side. She skips over and hugs you. “We’re gonna have so much fun.”
Steve hums flatly as you sense him watching. You peek over and your eyes meet briefly before he retreats. He lingers at the door. “Have fun. I’ll try not to get in the way.”
You feel bad as he disappears. It’s his house. If anything, you’re in the way.
“So um…” you face Saralie again as she lets you go. “What is unicorn juice?”
“Unicorn…” she scrunches her nose. “No! It’s Mermaid Punch. Ugh. Dad can be so clueless. Uncle Bucky calls it a Diabetes Cocktail.”
You chuckle. “Oh?”
“It’s just sparkling water, white grape juice, blueberry syrup, strawberries sliced up, boba, and ice. You can top it with whipped cream and pop rocks but I ran out of those.”
“Interesting.” You eye the jug. “Sounds like a belly ache.”
“And you sound like my Uncle Bucky,” she giggles.
You make a face. “Well, I brought snacks. I don’t know if they go with all that. Pretzel twists and some cinnamon donut holes?”
“Ooh! Delicious.” She claps. “Oh, let me show you the setup!”
She waves you out another doorway. You follow her into a dining room. It’s a very normal looking room. There’s a glass cabinet with fine china inside; specialty glasses for various drinks. And the table is dark hardwood with matching chairs, the seats upholstered. An area rug warms the space in shades of burgundy.
“I tried to get dad to let us use his drafting table but he has ‘work’.” She clucks. “But, he gave us some super cool rulers.” She lifts up a large triangular ruler. “He designs buildings and stuff.”
“Wow. That’s cool.” You say.
“He takes it very seriously,” she shrugs. “He wanted me to get into architecture but I went with music. You think he’d be prouder since he paid for all those piano lessons!”
“Music? That’s awesome.”
“Not as awesome as Ecology. I love the earth.” She cheeps.
“Um, yeah. I… guess.” Your parents weren’t as proud as your major.
“Anywho. I got out my fancy markers and pencils. Oh, and I was thinking when we finish the maps, we could do some figures next week or something? Paint them or whatever? Did you say you wanted to be a cleric?”
“I… keep changing my mind.”
“It’s fine. We can make a whole party!” She wiggles excitedly. “We definitely need a brute.” Her cheeks turn rosy. “Oh, but we can’t start without our goodies. Let’s get some juice and snacks.”
“Oh, sure.” You let her lead you back to the kitchen.
“How was work?” She asks as she looks for glasses in the cupboard.
“It was work. I just sell shoes.” You shrug.
“Nice. Last year, I was working at the ice cream place. I got so many free scoops. Then I started part-time at the music store. Which is so awesome. And Peter works there too.” She pours the punch, splashing some over the edge.
“Peter… he’s your friend you mentioned?”
“Oh yeah. He’s doing photography for some online magazine. I don’t know. He was a year higher than me in high school.” She explains. “But his Aunt May taught me piano for a couple years.”
“Nice,” you say and unzip your bag. “You don’t mind dill pickle?”
“Love it!” She assures you. “This is going to be so much fun. I haven’t been able to think of anything else. I even composed a dungeon song!”
“Wow.”
“I’ll play it for you later!” She hands you a glass. “But I need my keyboard not the piano.”
“That would be cool,” you smile. This is much better than hiding from your roommates.
🎲
You bend over the table, meticulously shading in the pit at the center of the final chamber of the dungeon. Your brow hurts from squinting as you lean on the paper. Saralie ran off to get her keyboard so you’re filling in some last minute details. It’s looking pretty good.
You set down the black pencil and search for a proper dirt brown. A shifting shadow frightens you and draws a squeak from your lips. You look over, still half on the table as you find Steve watching. You clear your throat and stand up.
He leans on the doorframe, his arms crossed, and his brows draw closer. “Where’s Sara?” He asks.
“Oh, she went to get something from her room.” You say as you nervously spin the pencil.
“Right. It’s getting about dinner time. I was gonna ask what you all wanted.” He reaches up to graze his beard, the friction audible as he toys with the greyest patch.
“Um, well, we had snacks.”
“Sugar.” He glances at the pretzel twists and half-finished box of donut holes.
“I can wait.” You argue. “We’re almost done.”
He suddenly jerks forward as Saralie appears behind him. He steps inside as her keyboard bounces off his hip. She giggles. “Oops, sorry! I wasn’t expecting a door!”
“Hm. There you are.”
“Sup, Dad? I was just going to show her my new ballad.” She brings the keyboard to the table and puts it flat. It’s almost bigger than her.
“I’m glad you girls are having fun.” He grips his hips. The gesture makes the veins in his forearms bulge, his button-up rolled to his elbows. “Are you hungry?”
“I could eat a goblin,” she trills as she flips switches on the keyboard. “You don’t happen to have any?”
“I forgot it at the store.” He shakes his head. “Pizza or Pad Thai?”
“Hmmm. Well…” She looks at you. “What does our VIP want?”
You clamp your lips together and shrug again. “I… I’m good with either.”
“If neither of you will choose, then I will,” Saralie insists. “Let’s get noodles. Extra spicy.”
“Sure,” Steve nods and drops his arms straight. “Anything else you ladies need?”
“All good.” You smile.
“We got it, dad.” Saralie chirps. “Unless you wanna look over the map and let us know all the structural hazards.”
“Ha ha,” he utters dryly. “Alright, I’ll go put the order in.”
He shows his palms and backs out. He turns and leaves. You look at Saralie as she laughs.
“He’s just being funny, you know? He’s always nosy.” She taps a key and switches the tone. “You should see him when Peter’s here. Won’t leave us alone.”
The detail about Saralie texting right after was my favorite. I used to do that when I hung out with friends because I’d have something I forgot to say. I stopped doing that though because I didn’t want to look desperate. I’d love a friend that is as eager to see me as I am to see them. That’s so sweet.
Also, is Steve trying to intimidate the reader? Cause he’s doing a good job. I bet he’s just surveying right now but he’s gonna freak her out haha. I love this, I really would enjoy sharing a hobby with a friend.
everyone needs to get weirder, yes, but also get kinder. get more supportive. get more loving. be good to your fellow fans, especially the creatives who give you art and gifs and fics and fancams and and and. treat each other well because on tunglr dot hell, we are all neighbors. and neighbors look out for each other
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 noncon/dubcon, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: you meet a new friend as you start a new hobby, but they aren't the only one interested in you. (best friend's dad)
Characters: nomad!Steve Rogers
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!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
The library is busier than you’ve ever seen it. It’s typically the place you come to get away. To get some peace and quiet. But not today.
Today the first floor is lively and thrumming. Today you’re looking for more than books. Just one thing, if you’re lucky. A friend.
You check your phone for the details of the workshop. You always wanted to try one of the community events but your anxiety always had you hiding in the stacks. Not this time; it’s free, it’s something to do, and it’s something you’re genuinely interested in! You have to do it.
You go to the community room where there’s a sign printed out in comic sans with game pieces beside the words; ‘Dungeon Mapping Tutorial’. You always walked by the campaign sessions on your way to checkout out your weekly haul but never had the courage to sign up. You didn’t know where to begin, even with a copy of 5e on your bookshelf.
This will be a good starting point. They have a character creation workshop next month. If this goes well, you might sit in on that too. Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s taking everything you have to ignore that tiny voice telling you to turn around and just go find a book.
You pass through the open door and look around the tables. There’s several already filled. The chatter already filling the room is intimidating. You gulp and find the only other lone figure in the room. A skinny girl with what the Arthurian legends would describe as flaxen hair; straight, limp, and blond. She wears a headband with daisies along the elastic and a floral blouse with a peasant ruffle.
You slowly make your way over to her as you clutch your cloud shaped purse. It’s kind of lame but you couldn’t resist the purchase. On one side, there’s a frowny face and the other a smiley. You stop across from her as she stirs around in a large pencil case; a classic Dr. Who TARDIS.
“Um, hi,” your voice creeps up your throat, barely cutting above the din. You cough and make yourself speak up. “Hi.” You say, bolder than before. “Do you mind… if I sit?”
She looks up and her blue eyes brighten. Her cheeks turn red, the pale speckle of almost golden freckles across her cheeks clumping together. Her features are sharp and frail, her chin pointed and long, her nose straight and just as narrow as every part of her.
“Hello!” She chirps. “Sure! All the other tables were full.” She beams.
“Thanks,” you hesitate before you sit. You don’t want to sit too far from her and make her feel awkward. You sit beside her, your stomach a flurry of nerves.
You put your bag on the table and watch her pull out a little plastic case of geometry tools. She’s so prepared. She has a compass and a protractor and a ruler in a bright shade of neon blue.
“To be honest,” she leans over and hides her mouth behind her hand. “The other tables are also a bit…smelly.”
You make a face and glance over at the table closest to your own. You can see a few sweat stains. You nod and smile sheepishly.
“I’m Saralie.” She introduces herself. “What’s your name?”
“Oh…” you offer your name. “You… brought so much.”
She looks down at her tools and giggles. “I did so much research! I was watching videos about it and they suggested all this stuff.”
“Really!?” Your excitement evades your anxiety. “Me too. I was watching this one girl. She turns My Little Pony toys into monsters.”
“I watch her too!” She chimes and bounces in her seat. “Have you ever played before?”
You shake your head. “No. None of my friends are into it. And… I haven’t really seen any of them since high school.”
“Yeah. I know about that.” She scoffs. “My Uncle Bucky offered to play with me but all his characters are just Aragorn from Lord of the Rings.”
You chuckle. “That’s way overpowered.”
“That’s what I said!” She claps and wiggles. “And my dad doesn’t understand it. But he drew me a character. It took me forever to get him to put the horns on her.”
You asked your brothers to play. Once. They laughed and threw a basketball at you. You have a cousin who does campaigns but he said he was full up and didn’t accept novices. Your sister rolled her eyes. And your parents asked you why you were wasting your time on make belief.
“That’s so cool. I made one in The Sims but… it didn’t really look how I wanted,” you rock slightly and glance around.
“Oh, I love Sims. I made all the Doctors.” She preens. “Hey… are you okay?”
You flinch and look at her. “Yeah?”
“You’re just… squirmy. Are you nervous?”
You nod and push your shoulders up.
“Me too,” she says. “That’s okay though. We’ll just stick together.”
“Okay,” you agree. You stare at her as she pulls out a pencil with a flower eraser on the end. “I… like your headband.”
“Yeah?” She touches one of the daisies. “My Uncle Sam calls me goblin.”
“Oh…”
“He’s silly.” She giggles. “I might be a goblin but he’s a crusty old troll. But… I like your necklace!”
You look down at the chain around your neck. It’s a Victorian cameo you found at the thrift shop. You touch it and run your thumb over it.
“Yeah, it’s… old.”
“I love vintage stuff.”
“Me too.”
“Did you ever go to the shop down by Florence? It’s called… The Loft. Yeah. It’s in the attic. They have cool stuff.” She asks giddily.
“No, I never heard of it.” You admit.
“Really? You’ll have to come with me some time.” She insists.
Your cheeks pinch. It’s quite a forward invitation but not unwelcome. “Oh… okay, sure.”
“But right now, a quest,” she proclaims and swishes her pencil around. “We must navigate the lands of another world!”
You grin. She’s amusing. “Any ideas?” You wonder.
“Hm. Do you like caves or castles?” She prompts and hands you a pencil.
“Thanks.” You take the pencil. “I’m open to either.”
“How about two floors! We’ll map out a castle then do the caves underneath! And the secret passage will be guarded by a giant spider.”
“Alright,” you lean in. “Sounds cool.”
“Cool? Me?” She sticks out her tongue.
🎲
“Dang! I can’t believe we ran out of time.” Saralie says as she holds the rolled up chart paper. “That was so much fun!”
“Yeah. It was.” You agree as you pass through the automatic doors. “You’re a really good drawer.”
“So are you.”
“If you say so. I think my rocks look like weird squares.”
“Practice makes perfect.” She says. “So, uh, do you wanna like finish these together?”
You look at her, sidling out of the way of others leaving the library. “If you want. We could meet up back here?”
“Sure. That works.” She shimmies excitedly. “So cool. My friend, Peter, was supposed to be here but he had something more important to do, I guess. Would it be cool if he joined?”
“Erm, okay.”
“You don’t have to say yes,” she says.
“No, it’s fine. Probably easier with more people.”
“Yeah, but Peter can be very opinionated,” she snickers. “Don’t worry, I’ll deal with him.”
A soft toot of a horn makes you jump. Her brows drop and she glances over. She bobbles her head sardonically then looks at you. “That’s my dad.”
“Oh?” You peek over as a large hand waves out of a car window. “Cool. Uh. I don’t wanna keep you.”
“Nah, he can wait.” She crosses her arms. “I was gonna drive myself but he ‘needed’ the car.”
“Right, er…” You sway.
“Wait, are you walking home?” She asks.
“No. I have a bus pass–”
“The bus! After spending time in the BO hot box? Nah. Come on. He can give you a ride.” She grabs your hand and tugs you toward the curb. You stumble after her.
“It’s okay. It’s just a few stops.”
“Then it won’t be too far out of the way,” she retorts over her shoulder.
She stops by the car and you collide with her. She keeps hold of your hand. “Hi, dad, my friend needs a ride.”
“Friend?” The man’s deep voice rumbles through you.
“Don’t worry. Peter bailed.” She tuts. “No, this is…” she introduces you and steps to the side. “She’s my new friend. My library friend.”
“Uh, hi.” You give an awkward wave to the man.
He’s not what you expect. Where Saralie is slender and spindly, he’s beefy and even sitting down, you can tell he’s tall. He has thicker, darker blond hair, with some patches of silver around his temples and chin. They have similar features but more fleshed out than her dainty ones.
“Sure. Not a problem.” He says and hits a button on the door. The locks unclick loudly.
“Thanks!” Saralie trills and drags you to the back door. She gets in first and hauls you in behind her.
“I appreciate it, sir.” You say as you shut the door.
“He prefers Mr. Rogers,” Saralie cackles.
“Steve’s fine,” he growls. “But I guess I’m acting chauffeur today.”
“Um… I can get the bus–”
“All good. Let me know where I’m going.” He checks his blindspot and slowly eases into traffic.
“Just down here and along Summervale, then left onto Emery.” You instruct as you tap your fingers on your cloud purse.
He looks at you in the rearview. “I know that area.”
“I really appreciate it. Thank you.” You eke out.
“Ladies,” he clucks. “Seatbelts on.”
“Yes, Captain!” Saralie laughs.
You grab your seat belt and click it in place, uttering an apology. Steve huffs as he grips the wheel. Saralie smirks and leans over. “He hates when I call him that but he runs the place like boot camp.”
“I can hear you.” Steve sniffs.
“I know!” She sits up and chuckles again.
“Hm. Well… seems like you had fun.”
“Sure did!” Saralie answers. “We made two maps. Well… we have plans for two maps.” She crinkles the rolls of paper. “We were going to meet up next week to finish, right?”
“Uh, yes.” You agree.
“At home?” He asks as he stops and flips his signal on.
“The library, unless… do you wanna come over? Dad just finished the pool install.”
“For all the effort, I won’t complain for seeing it used,” he drawls as he turns onto Summervale.
“Well, I guess I could…”
“Oh! I don’t even have your number.” She sits up and digs in her knapsack. “You’ll have to add me on everything!” She hands over her phone. You take it and type in your number. “Dad, you’ll never believe. She goes to the same college!” She takes her cell back. “And we never even met until today.”
“That’s awesome,” he says. “You need new friends.”
“I’ll tell Peter you said so.” She snips.
“I’ll tell him myself.” He counters.
You smile awkwardly. You're no stranger to parental spats, though mostly you avoid any conflict with yours. It never really gets you anything but a headache. Or indifference. If they’re not telling you what to do, your parents don’t care too much. You just have to turn in good enough grades to get your tuition paid. You can’t afford both that and your rent; even splitting it with three other people.
“Did your team lose again?” Saralie teases.
“They don’t play today,” he shakes his head.
“Is it Uncle Sam? Did he play another joke?”
“They aren’t jokes. They’re not funny.” Steve chides.
Saralie laughs. He snorts softly. You can see a hint of humour in his brow in the rearview. You exhale in relief.
He slows as he comes down Emery. “Further?” He asks.
“All the way at the end. The yellow building.”
He nods and keeps going. He pulls up in front of your building and he leans over to see through the passenger window. He hums.
“This it?”
“Yeah, that’s me,” you assure him and grab your purse. “Thanks again, sir.”
He sits up and taps his fingers on the wheel. “The west end of Emery is nicer.” He intones.
“Yeah, I know,” you say as you open the door.
“You be safe.” He says.
“Um, okay. Thank you.”
You get out and close the door. You go around the bumper and up on the curb. You head up the front walk and as you fish out your keys, you glance back. He idles exactly as he was, watching you. You turn and unlock the door and dip inside.
You peek out again. Once the door closes, he steers onto the street. It does make you feel better since you heard about what happened to your neighbour last week.
