#Guide to Upgrading Windows | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vivisviolets · 5 months

Text

━☆𓁺☆━ Magical messages for your Monday ━☆𓁺☆━ (⊹ timeless dw ⊹)

free channeled as i did my makeup weeeee

━☆pick the image you feel most drawn to sistaaas (gn term)~ or to become more clear for this channeled reading/future prediction, ask God/Spirit/your higher or future self for which pile would resonate best for your alignment~!!... And or just pick your favorite Powerpuff Girl ofc lollll━☆

━☆𓁺☆━ pile 1

━☆☆☆━

━☆ Pink, hearts, sparkles/sparkly (eyeshadow or sparkly dresses?- brooches?...), summer nights, fireworks, dreamy, grounded, Taurus/Virgo/Capri placements (Taurus midheaven, Capri rising/Moon degree, Virgo rising/Mars), divine feminine within masculine, house/collage party, business upgrade, phone calls, paid (family?$) vacation, past mommy issues ━☆

━☆I see a balcony, this could be the balcony of a new/different apartment that you are touring and settling on that is destined for you at this time in your life- for some this is an apartment at a party of some kind, hosted by a friend of a friend-... This is a balcony of a castle even- Disneyland? For my whole collective, this is a balcony that you are standing on at night, the sky is a fully darkened blue, and this is accruing in an environment where there are only a handful of stars or none at all... But there is something about the scene that is glittering- maybe dew drops on other balcony plants glistening from lit windows, stained glass,- for those at a party this could be what you choose to wear, eyeshadow, or some accessory,- for those in some place higher, or more royal I should say this is your dress or a clip on your suit-... For all in this collective, no matter the situation-... You feel like a princess. Or prince, or royalty, you feel high (maybe you are at this party💀- full or laughter and couches)- you feel on top of the world. Your world, that you are finally meeting- you are becoming aligned with your world... This might even be your first party, your first business trip/meeting, or your first apartment in a new town/place. You are looking from this balcony, up at the summer night sky, and down at the life below (windows, sidewalks, cicadas-)... You look ahead, past the balcony's edge- and you feel... At peace. Your eyes are sparkling, with tears for some of you, and for some, it's a feeling of satisfaction- you are here. In the weight of the past bundled up, and your whole future as open to you as the night sky, open to you and closer in reach- and you are here, right smack dab in the present, your present moment, your moment.

━☆"I feel nervous in a way that can't be named" - "-I dreamt last night of a sign that read 'The end of love'" - "we were reaching in the dark- that summer in New York" - "I've always been in love with you- could you tell it from the moment that I met you"━☆

━☆𓁺☆━ pile 2

━☆☆☆━

━☆ Green, connection to pile 1, 32, 222, 333(?), "finally here", garden, Paris, je t'aime(2006), fruit, park visit, "new job now colors", "you love her, don't you?" ━☆

━☆As I looked up from meditating on your energy, all I saw was green (the sunlight on my hydrangeas), you love nature and "organized plant life" (gardening I'm guessing) and you are finally in it! I keep getting phrases more so than just keywords so for some you may be a writer... And your work has finally become monetary "fruitful"! Or for some of you- you just have a "writer's heart" that I am heavily picking up on. -(Brontë sisters?? Wuthering Heights-?)- And I want to give you the message that you will have this same heart for years and years- and you do with it as you wish (keep it internal I mean), but this is just my message to you and what my own spirit guides are saying- tune into yourself and begin to express like my actual-writer group. I'm hearing that my writer group for this collective may even be your higher selves showing you what your future can be by stepping onto this path, and for those in my group already writing (and this could be anything, journaling, poetry, fan fiction, etc) you are now making steps towards this future-writer-self... I hope I'm making sense because I am not a writer lol (I am in my own way ofc I just don't describe myself as that... Yet!)- anyways, even if all that you are doing right now is just personal (for some of you, you already have a blog or page that you are posting on/beginning to, good for you!!), but if you continue to build your world, build your confidence/grow your confidence- this will in the future turn into a career I'm hearing, even if it feels slow going. I'm hearing it will result in journalism, a bigger blog, tons of kudos (~if you know you know), ko-fi, etc- I'm hearing you'll get those new pairs of shoes that you want (yes pairs, you'll have the income)- but back to nature~ you'll get that garden, it's already set in stone for you,- for some of you you'll also get that job involving nature/plant life/outdoors. I'm hearing it has something to do with the national parks/forest preserves, so you'll be getting that park ranger opportunity, fire watch (?), wildlife protection and observation- you got it-it's yours. For some of you, this is a position at a "big box store" in the gardening department, like Home Depot (US reader here- change the name for where you live)- you got it in the bag. I'm already seeing you pushing one of those big wooden carts around full of geraniums or something🌸. The point is, once you align yourself with where you want to be/go- you got it, it's yours. Arriving in even better a plan, and timing, than you were overthinking it would be.

━☆"silly boy- don't talk to me" - "I do better on my own- I don't mean to come off cold" - "shame I would've danced with you tonight"━☆

━☆𓁺☆━ pile 3

━☆☆☆━

━☆ -(*cw* 18+ near end)-(‼️**CW**‼️ vampiric energy ‼️ALERT‼️🗣)- Blue, clouds, sky, "sky high", birds, balloons, sunsets, the ocean, letters V, T, O, M, number 7, 777, 7171, sea turtles, tangerines, citrus, Pretty in Pink (1986) ━☆

━☆You're in the clouds- maybe you're high with a group of friends. I sense your crush, or someone you feel an attraction to when you get high- you're in a dreamy place, and the environment around you also feels a bit like a dream, you're at a fair- a fairground of some kind. It's dusk and by the beach, the air has turned crisper and you're in a jacket (bomber or jean), you're being led by the hand through the lit-up stalls, and the lanterns look like they have fairies made of light dancing in them- your head is spinning with the cold summer air as you are guided through the feet and shoes of others. This person guiding you sees you as theirs in this moment, whether they are one of your friends going solo with you, or the person who you have this scent of attraction towards- I'm not sure, I don't think you quite know either as they lead you with their back to you through the crowd. You two being connected by their hand reaching behind them to grip onto yours- the breeze flowing through the crowd dances through your loose hair whisps- your eyes are unfocused, and the air switches from clear and cold to warm and fried (because fairgrounds,- funnel cake)- your wrist stays pulled on, a clung-to-grip... This person, you do know them- and they want to take you somewhere while in this high, their own high makes them headstrong and determined I'm hearing, but again- I am unclear if this is someone in particular that you are attracted to, or a friend... Who most definitely has an attraction to you when you are both in the clouds... Together- you follow their grip on you, and what happens next-... I'll leave to your imagination ☁️💫

Ok I'm sobering from your energy- cuz your reading turned out too short for my taste and I want to try and "recall"/"remember" some of the details to better Identify this individual to you... You already know this person and they are within your friend group/you know them in a group setting (for only one or two of you- you are currently solo/on your own and this is describing your future friend group dynamic!),,, there is something dark about them physically or energetically- dark curly hair, dark/brown/hazel eyes, tan/dark tan skin I'm hearing. There's something noticeable to you about their jawline/chin/lips area- it's honestly giving Pretty in Pink energy- you have your eyes fully hazed over for this one particular person (also in your group- or this could even be a co-worker or someone you know from work) while this other person is energetically at your heels- it's giving you're gazing longingly at another while this person is staring hard at the back of your head. Ouch lol- but again the dark attributes I felt weren't just physical but also energetic... Yea, they're fun and have either a very charismatic personality or a more dry and witty charm to them (I'm hearing a bit of a drawl especially when they talk to youuu)- but their motives,,, their intentions boo-boo, I mean maybe you'd kinda like a bad little boy in the sheets- I'll leave it up to you, but I'll say just be totally freaking careful with your emotions and what you can actually gain from this person, cause,, I'm hearing the word "wipe/tissue"- this person is here for fun and then it's onto the next experience... They could get off on doing that actually 💀- but I mean you do you, just know what it is you're doing (it's giving vampire energy now... They want to take your precious energy under a cape before flying off out the window- OOF💀 babygirl-!)

*kept typing "?" when I wanted commas- this dude is confusing and not it tf- (I cannot go on any longer girllll😭)*

━☆"you would explain the current,Hoping I just stay the same and nothing will change and it'll be us, just for a while" "do we even exist? that's when I make the wish, to swim away with the fish"━☆

━☆

☆

━☆this was cool lol happy monday🎉☕️

#୨୧┈♡ vi post #୨୧┈♡ vi pac #୨୧┈♡ vi's art #pac #pac tarot #pick an image #pick a card #pick a card reading #pick a picture #pick a pile

123 notes · View notes

sliebman10 · 6 months

Text

Travel AU

A seat upgrade was literally the least they could do after canceling his flight and bumping him to the following afternoon, Remus thought huffily as he guided his rolling suitcase through the narrow aisle of the airplane.

He looked at his newly printed ticket, and realized he’d passed his row because he was so used to flying Economy or Coach or whatever they were calling it these days. Lifting his suitcase up, he stashed it in the overhead compartment and sat down in his seat. It was much wider than he ad used to and there was more room for his long legs.

There was already someone sitting in the window seat, fiddling with his phone. Remus sat down and took out his book and headphones before stashing his messenger bag under the seat in front of him.

He buckled his seatbelt, accidentally jostling the armrest and the man next to him turned toward him with a raised eyebrow,

“I’m…” Remus started but stopped short when he saw a pair of silver eyes staring at him. “Sorry,” he finished rather lamely.

The man shrugged. “It’s alright,” he said, his voice rich and posh sounding. “Are you flying alone?” he asked, taking in Remus’s restlessness as they both waited for the plane to finished boarding.

“Yes, I am…I was supposed to go yesterday but…yea. Anyway. You?” Remus said, cutting off his rambling the best he could under the penetrating gaze of this other man.

“I am…I’m on my way home from a business trip. Horribly boring,” he said, with a small smile.

“I was visiting my parents…also not a barrel of laughs,” Remus said.

“I’m Sirius,” he said, offering his hand.

“Remus,” Remus said, taking it.

It was like a dam broke. They spent the first hour of the flight talking about anything and everything. Remus could never clearly remember that conversation afterward, but it connected them as they flew across the country.

He also could never remember who made the first move, if it had been him or Sirius but soon after snacks and drinks were passed around, Sirius offered Remus half of his blanket and they curled up together to watch one of the movies. But soon enough, they were kissing like teenagers instead.

When they landed, they were reluctant to leave each other but life and responsibilities beckoned. “Can I have your number?” Sirius asked and Remus obliged. He didn’t think he’d ever hear from him again.

But then, the next day his phone rang. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” Sirius admitted. “Want to get drinks after work?”

Word Count: 431

@wolfstarmicrofic

#wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar microfic #meet cute #travel au

69 notes · View notes

bluediamondimpact · 7 months

Text

Benefit Of Using Hurricane Resistant Windows | Blue Diamond Impact

Don't hesitate any longer. It's time to embark on your journey towards a more energy-efficient and comfortable home with hurricane resistant windows installation.With minimized air leaks and decreased solar heat penetration, your HVAC system can operate more efficiently. Check out our blog for more deatails.

#Guide to Upgrading Windows #Impact Window installation #impact window installation cost #hurricane resistant windows #Impact Windows Miami #Impact Windows #Blue Diamond Impact

0 notes

art-by-jas · 29 days

Text

𝑈𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 (AO3)

𝘋𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘚𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘺 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘪 𝘑𝘳 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Word Count: 5k

Rating: M

Summary: As the new addition to the Manhattan SVU, Detective Sonny Carisi found it challenging to fit in without causing a stir. He had a chance encounter with you while doing laundry late one night in the new apartment he moved into. The following day, after a long shift working a case, he happens to run into you again at the coffee shop where you work.

As the clock strikes midnight, the old laundry room in the apartment building is illuminated by the dim, flickering overhead lights. The air is thick with the scent of damp fabric and the rhythmic hum of the aging washing machines.

The sound of rain pounding against the glass can be heard through the small, grimy window. There is a sense of calm doing laundry at this hour.

The door to the room creaks open, the sound barely registering in your consciousness as you sit hunched over your phone, thumb mindlessly scrolling through an endless feed.

“Hey, Ummm… I’m sorry to bother you, but do you have a few quarters? The machine decided to munch on mine! I just need a few for the dryer." A cheerful voice interrupted your dissociated episode of staring at your phone screen.

As you lift your gaze from the flickering screen, the unexpected sight of another person in the dimly lit room greets you.

"Yeah, sure," you say, reluctantly setting down your phone to retrieve a few quarters from your pocket. "Here you go," you say, passing the coins to the newcomer. "I have had that happen before; it is annoying as hell."

With a chuckle, the man reaches out his hand and accepts the quarters. "Thank you so much," he says, his warm smile brightening his face. An easy grace and a playful glint in his eyes gave him an endearing quality.

He glances at the whirring machines, watching the damp clothes spin inside. "Doing laundry at this hour? Couldn't sleep?" He opens the washer, transfers the wet clothes to the dryer, and feeds quarters into the slot. His strong, steady fingers move with precision, confidently guiding the process.

"Yeah," you reply. "Insomnia's been keeping me company lately. You?"

The man echoes, "Same here," as he closes the panel on the machine and presses the start button. The machine instantly springs back to life, its hum resuming with renewed vigor.

Turning back to you, the man's warm smile remains. "It’s my first day at a new location for my job soon," he explains, leaning against the machine.

"Sometimes I have late nights at the office, so my sleep schedule's all over the place."

"I noticed the room across from mine was being cleared out. Did you just move in? You don’t look familiar," you ask.

The man's soft, low chuckle sends a strange flutter through your chest. "Yeah, you caught me," he admits, smiling at you. "I just moved in last week, and I'm still unpacking, trying to figure out where to put everything." He pauses, meeting your gaze. "I'm Sonny, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Sonny. Welcome to the building. I know it's not much, but it's a nice little spot to call home." You introduce yourself to him as you move to shake his outstretched hand.

Sonny tips his head in acknowledgment, his gaze holding yours for a moment. "Thanks; I appreciate it," he replies, his voice low and soft. "I've lived in worse places, so this is a definite upgrade." Sonny runs his hand through his silvery hair. He glances at the machines, then turns to you with a casual curiosity. "So, I take it you've been here for a while?" he asks.

You nod, "Yeah, a few years now." The realization you’ve lived here long enough to be considered a "long-term resident" is faintly disturbing. You run a hand through your hair, feeling slightly disheveled. "It's a fairly quiet building, for the most part."

Sonny’s voice took on a thoughtful tone. "That's good. I've lived in places where the noise was constant. You could never get a moment's peace. It was maddening, to say the least." He turns his gaze toward the window, his eyes taking in the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the rain.

"If you don't mind me asking, where did you live previously?" You inquire.

"I used to live in Queens," he replies, "but it didn't work out, and my job ended up transferring me here instead," Sonny speaks, his fingers tracing an idle pattern on the cool metal surface of the washing machines. "But it's not all bad," he adds, a hint of optimism resurfacing in his voice. "New places can be good. Fresh starts, you know? Sometimes we need those."

A moment of silent understanding passes between the both of you before he speaks again, a half-smile playing at the corners of his lips. "And hey, at least I’ve got neighbors like you to keep the company."

You manage a small chuckle, the compliment sending a subtle flush of warmth through you.

Sonny's smile widens, his eyes holding yours for a moment. The silence returns, but it feels different this time—more comfortable, less isolating. The rhythmic hum of the machines continued to fill the room, like a shared heartbeat between two strangers in the night. The rain continues pattering softly against the window, creating an intimate atmosphere in the old laundry room.

The washing machine beeped, signaling that your laundry was finished and ready to be transferred to the dryer. He observes, watching as you transfer your wet clothes to the dryer. As you make small talk, time idles by while you wait for your clothes to finish.

"So," he finally says, "what do you do when you're not doing laundry at ungodly hours?"

The unexpected question momentarily catches you off guard, prompting you to pause and carefully formulate a response. "Well," you begin, a faint smile tugging at your lips. "When I'm not tackling the laundry, I'd like to think of myself as a fairly interesting person. I'm an avid reader, enjoy experimenting in the kitchen, and may or may not have been known to binge-watch an inordinate number of TV shows."

Sonny's smile reveals his rapt attention as he casually studies you, his eyes brimming with curiosity. "An avid reader, a connoisseur of the kitchen, and a TV aficionado," he muses, his voice laced with amused approval. "Quite the impressive trifecta you've assembled there."

Leaning in slightly, his eyes alight with curiosity, he asks, "So, what shows do you binge-watch? Because the answer will either make us friends for life or enemies for eternity.”

The playful challenge in his tone was unmistakable, and you can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement. "Hmm," you think about, pretending to ponder the question. "Well, I enjoy science fiction, thrillers, and the occasional drama. But if you must know..." You lean in. "My guilty pleasure is baking competition shows. There's something about the dough, sprinkled with the tears of defeated contestants, that really appeals to me."

Sonny's rich, hearty laughter echoed through the room. "Baking competition shows, huh? I enjoy those myself, but 'Cake Boss' is a bit much. I appreciate the artistry, but those cakes are just towering, frosting-laden monstrosities that make my teeth hurt. I'd much rather stick to perfecting my nonna's classic cannoli recipe."

You both exchange a knowing glance. "Ah, cannoli," I reply, my mouth nearly watering. "A classic Italian dessert. Do you come from a large, close-knit family that gathers for lively Sunday dinners?”

Sonny's broad, guilty smile confirms my suspicion. "I come from an Italian family, full of the loud, opinionated, and emotional dynamics you'd expect," he confesses. "And yes, our Sunday dinners are quite the spectacle—a lively blend of mouthwatering food, family gossip, and heated debates on everything from politics to the proper way to season a ragu."

Seeing Sonny's smile, you couldn't help but mirror it, the warmth and vibrancy of his family gatherings stirring a touch of envy within me.

"It sounds like a lot of fun," you say. "I'm a bit envious. My family is more... subdued, I suppose—less colorful." You chuckle as you watch him, for it’s his turn to retrieve his clothes and begin folding them. A few minutes pass, and you follow his movements of folding your own.

"Shall we head back upstairs then?"

Sonny agrees with a nod. "Yeah, we should probably call it a night—or morning, rather."

He passes your neatly folded clothes over to you, and his fingertips graze yours, sending a subtle shiver through you.

Your conversation flows effortlessly as you make your way back to your apartment. The dimly lit hallway cast a faint yellow glow, broken only by the soft patter of our footsteps and the occasional creak of the building's aged floorboards. Reaching your doors, you both pause. The silence between you grew comfortable, a lingering sense of familiarity and connection palpable. Sonny's gaze met yours, his eyes conveying a mix of reluctance and resignation.

“It was nice meeting you, Sonny,” you say with a smile.

Sonny's boyish smile returns, his warm gaze stirring an unexpected flutter in your chest. "Likewise," he replies, his pleasant, rumbling voice lingering in the air. "I'll catch ya around, alright? Have a good night."

“Night.”

He vanishes inside, the soft click of the door closing behind him echoing in the otherwise silent corridor.

------------✧♡✧------👮🧺💓🧑-----✧♡✧-------------

Rushing to the precinct, Sonny carries a coffee and takeout bag in one hand and his gym bag in the other, determined to be on time. Realizing the sergeant was not present, he saw no need to rush once he made it inside the bullpen. With a few minutes of free time, he decides to explore and familiarize himself with the layout. Several other detectives sit at their desks, filing paperwork as he looks around.

Two women's voices filtered into the bullpen. The first had dark hair flowing freely, slightly older than the other. The second woman's blonde hair was tied back, with a few stray bangs falling across her face.

As Sonny interrupts their conversation, he exclaims, "They shot at cops right outside the police station? So, they want us to know they're crazy."

"You must be my new detective," the brunette says.

Dominick Carisi, Jr. ” He introduces himself, "Call me Sonny. I brought Zeppoli," as he shakes their hand.

"I asked for an experienced, empathic detective, and they sent you," she says.

"I'm way experienced. Sensitive and moody, too, and I can do that whole empathy thing," he assures.

"Where are you from?" the blonde woman asks.

"Staten Island SVU for two months, Brooklyn for almost a month, and then Queens last week," he rattles on.

“So, they love you wherever you go, Carisi?" The brunette says he later finds out that this is his new boss, Sergeant Benson.

"Call me Sonny. I know I was supposed to start tomorrow, but I heard about the shooting over my scanner, so I came in. What's our read?"

Benson and the blonde, who introduced herself as Detective Amanda Rollins, brought him up to speed on the current case, explaining how it connected to a previous case from a few months ago involving Ellie Porter. Ellie had been the victim of human trafficking and gang-raped before being set on fire—a horrible crime.

Sonny also learned that the young woman they arrested that morning while 'serving’ a john appears to be associated with the same crew. Benson teams up with Sonny to go pick up the girl and instructs Sonny to follow her lead, warning that failure to do so would result in him being sent to the SVU in the Bronx.

Sonny nods, his expression conveying understanding. "Understood, boss," he replies firmly and resolutely. "You have my word. I'll follow your lead."

Benson drives Sonny and herself to Luna Garcia's house. The peaceful journey was accompanied by a pleasant, cloudless day. Sonny savors the warm sunshine and gentle breeze as they drive. His mind wanders briefly, but he refocuses when Benson speaks up.

"So," Benson begins, "you've worked with the Special Victims Unit before; how was that?"

Sonny gazes out at the passing cityscape. As Benson inquires about his past SVU background, he shifts his attention to her, offering a faint smile. "It was intense, no doubt," he replies. "But also immensely rewarding. Dealing with victims of such heinous crimes is grueling work, yet being able to provide even a small measure of comfort and justice makes it all worthwhile."

His expression softens, his eyes reflecting a glimmer of empathy and understanding. The memory of those past experiences still weighs heavily on him. "It can take a toll, though. The trauma those victims endure... it stays with you, you know?"

A brief sigh crosses Sonny's face, the weight of his memories momentarily visible. After a contemplative pause, his gaze returns to Benson, his tone shifting to a more conversational manner. "My time with the SVU has taught me a lot," he remarks. "How to handle sensitive cases, how to approach victims and witnesses, you know the drill."

Benson's gaze flickers to Sonny before returning to the road. “You seem to have the right mindset and approach,” she observes, 'but I need to ensure you play by the rules,” she says, offering him a kind smile. The drive to the girl's house was filled with pleasant conversation as they got to know each other better.

After bringing Luna back to the precinct, the detectives interview her, showing her a photo of Ellie. At first, Luna was uncooperative, insisting she would rather go to jail than provide any information. Benson tried coaxing her with a gentle tone, but this approach went nowhere fast.

Sonny then intervened, speaking to Luna in a manner he thought might appeal to her, before switching tactics and offering to help her obtain T-Nonimmigrant Status, but only if she helped and gave them a statement.

After Garcia's sudden change of heart, Serg pulled him to the side, outside of the interrogation room, and told him that what he had just done in there was not how they do things here in Manhattan. Sonny apologized and continued working Luna over.

As the day progresses, Sonny is introduced to his new colleagues, Odafin Tutola, and beat cop Nick Amaro, who originally was in the SVU but due to recent events was demoted.

Together, they planned for Nick to go undercover as a dirty cop looking for a handout with the information he has and a raid for later that evening. Sonny rubs his tired eyes, surprised by the eventful nature of his first day on the job. He stops at a nearby coffee shop to refuel before the eventful night, while Nick prepares to pull over Joaquin Menendez and warn him of the impending raid, a gesture of good faith to maintain their cover.

˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖

Sonny's fatigued senses were beckoned by the rich aroma of the corner coffee shop as he walked in the door. As he waits, his mind drifts—a mix of energizing adrenaline and overwhelming exhaustion swirls inside him.

Sonny's eyes widen in surprise as he recognizes you standing behind the counter.

“Hello, thanks for stopping by. What can I help- Sonny?”

Surprise flickers across his face, his blue eyes widening as they meet yours. "Hey," he says, a smile spreading across his face. "I didn't expect to see you here." Joy stirs in his eyes, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. He steps up to the counter, leaning against it lazily. A hint of weariness still clung to his features, but the sight of you brightened his mood considerably.

With a grin, you say, "What can I get for you? It's on the house."

Sonny's eyes widen in disbelief as he protests, "You can't be serious." A grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he shakes his head. "I can't let you do that. Let me pay."

Chuckling at the memory, you reply, "Nonsense, it's not every day you bond over doing laundry at midnight."

He laughs, Alright, alright," he concedes, "if you insist."

Sonny's eyes scan the menu, weighing his options. "I'll have a strong espresso," he declares. "Caffeine is all I've had today."

You frown. "That's it? Sonny, let me get you something from the bake rack. You can't survive on just coffee."

He chuckles faintly at your concern. "Alright," he surrenders again, a sheepish grin on his face. There's something about squabbling with you that feels oddly familiar, comfortable even. "Surprise me, then."

Sonny waits for his drink and glances around the cozy coffee shop. The walls are adorned with eclectic artwork, and soft music plays in the background, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere. Leaning against the counter, Sonny's gaze occasionally flits to you moving efficiently behind the bar. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the lingering scent of sugar and pastries filled the air. After a few minutes, you place a steaming espresso and a blueberry muffin on the counter.

Sonny smiles appreciatively as he sips the rich, robust espresso, then bites into the warm, fluffy blueberry muffin. He moans. "This is exactly what I needed," he says, savoring the perfect balance of bitterness from the dark roast and sweetness from the muffin. He settles into a chair near the counter, continuing to sip and nibble on his delightful breakfast.

The espresso's caffeine gradually revives Sonny as he leans back. Every so often, you'd enter the lobby with a rag to clean the tables and restock the napkins, making sure to chat with him whenever you could between helping other customers. As he watches you navigate the coffee shop, skillfully attending to other customers, Sonny couldn't help but admire the seamless way you worked.

However, he also noticed the subtle signs of tiredness in your eyes; he could empathize. Despite your exhaustion, you continue serving customers with a genuine smile. Sonny's admiration for you grew, not just because of your coffee-making skills but also for your resilience and warm personality.

Sonny gathers his belongings; his thoughts linger on his enjoyable coffee break. He makes his way to the counter.

"Hey," he begins, his voice slightly rough from the potent espresso. "I have to get back, but I just wanted to thank you again for the coffee and muffin. You didn't have to do that."

You dismiss his concern with a casual wave of your hand. "It's no big deal," you say with a warm smile. "I know you've had a long day, and I'm not letting you leave without something in your stomach besides caffeine."

Sonny chuckles softly, knowing that arguing with you is futile. He rubs the back of his neck, still marveling at your kindness. “I owe you one, you know?"

"I'll keep that in mind," you reply with a mischievous grin.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

During a nighttime raid, the SVU team discovers several undocumented girls as well as a 14-year-old named Missy Brooks. They also apprehend Joaquin, but Detective Tutola allows him to leave after he mentions Amaro's name, to make him think the whole Amaro undercover story was real.

At the precinct, Rollins notices Missy's cell phone background is a photo of an infant. She tells Missy that the police raided a house in May and found children inside. Rollins then asks Missy where her baby is.

Meanwhile, the TARU team examines the phones of the trafficked girls and discovers they all have the QuickRide app installed. However, Missy remains tight-lipped and refuses to provide any information.

As dawn approaches, Sergeant Benson instructs Sonny to go home and rest for the night, assuring him that the team has the situation under control. She promises to call Sonny once they gather more information and leads.

Sonny nods, visibly tired after a long day and an intense raid. Although he wanted to stay and help the case along, he knew Benson was right. He needed rest if he was going to be of any use.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Sonny trudges into his small apartment, shuts the door behind him, and leans against it for a moment, letting out a long, weary sigh. The quiet embrace of his apartment envelopes him, and the realization that he was finally alone after such a hectic day washes over him with a sense of relief.

The apartment fell into a peaceful hush, save for the whisper of Sonny's gentle breaths. Occasional murmurs from the air conditioner and distant city noises punctuated the silence. Sonny finally surrenders to a well-deserved sleep.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

When it rains, it bleeds. In Attica, Little Tino was viciously stabbed by three fellow prisoners and required emergency surgery, narrowly escaping death.

Meanwhile, in the Bellevue prison ward, someone fatally injects a lethal dose into Diego's neck.

Across town in Queens, Missy and a client are discovered shot to death inside a car.

Concerned for her son Noah's safety, Detective Benson calls his nanny Lucy, only to learn she has taken him to the DeWitt Clinton Playground. Suddenly, Benson hears the chilling sound of gunfire over the phone. Racing to the playground, she finds that, mercifully, no one has been harmed.

At the precinct, the squad regroups, and Sonny is introduced to Rafael Barba, an eccentric Assistant District Attorney. Benson then proposes a plan for Nick to meet with Joaquin again, leading to the arrest of both Nick and Menendez.

Time ticks by, and the squad tirelessly works to piece together the complex puzzle. Sonny can feel the exhaustion of the relentless investigation gnawing at his mind. He glances at the clock on the wall, surprised to realize hours had passed. Rising from his chair, he stretches his limbs, his muscles protesting the prolonged sitting.

Benson and Fin visited a now conscious Tino at the hospital, where they ran into his mother, who told them so information to further the investigation to arrange a meeting with a woman named Carmen on Craigslist to locate Selena.

In the seedy hotel room, Sonny prepares to play his part, pretending to be a disgruntled "John" seeking a rougher, more aggressive sex worker. As the knock on the door signals her arrival, Sonny puts on his creepy charm, complimenting the woman and touching her hair, though he feels conflicted about the situation. When she offers only a massage, Sonny becomes aggressive, prompting the woman to flee to the bathroom and call Selena. Moments later, Selena and her driver arrive and confront Sonny at gunpoint. However, Detectives Fin and Rollins intervene and apprehend Selena and her driver.

After escorting the group back to the precinct, the two detectives left Sonny to take a few minutes for himself. Needing time to refocus and regain his composure, Sonny stepped outside the motel and sat down, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. Knowing a visit to his favorite coffee shop would lift his spirits, Sonny soon headed that way, eager for the comfort of a familiar routine.

The familiar and comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee fills his senses. He notices you behind the counter, your smile effortlessly radiant as you greet him.

Taking a deep breath, he approaches the counter, his nerves and the events of the day already making him tense.

He returns your smile, attempting to appear composed despite the nervous energy coursing through him. "Hey," he began, his voice slightly strained. Sonny made his way into the shop, the familiar and comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee filling his senses. He notices you behind the counter; your smile is effortlessly radiant as you greet him.

"Hey there, can I get a repeat of yesterday?" Sonny steps closer.

"Of course, coming right up," you say with a grin.

Sonny leans against the counter, his eyes on you as you pour the black coffee into the cup.

You place the cup and this time a banana muffin in front of him. Sonny couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort. "Thanks," he says, his voice slightly rough. "You don't know how much I needed this today."

He accepts the cup and muffin, his fingers subtly touching yours for a brief moment, sending a jolt through him. The contact felt natural but also electrifying as if his body was hyper-aware of your touch.

He glances up from his cup and muffin, his eyes flickering over to the counter and you. The thought of asking for your number comes to him. He goes to the same chair next to the counter and begins to eat and sip.

After cashing out a customer, he notices you approaching him and takes a seat on the opposite side of his table.

"Hey," Sonny replies, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He studies you, noticing the little details he hadn't observed before—the subtle sparkle in your eyes.

"I hope I'm not interrupting your lunch," you say, your voice casually light. "But I wanted to check in on how you're doing. You look tired."

Sonny chuckles softly, surprised by your observation. "I am tired," he admits. "It's been a long day." The weariness has settled into his eyes, and his slumped shoulders probably betray his exhaustion. He takes another sip of his coffee. "But I appreciate you checking on me," he adds, his eyes meeting yours.

"How did your first day go? You mentioned in the laundry room that it was coming up soon." You ask.

"It was..." Sonny starts. Where to even begin summing up the events of the two days he’s had? It had been a whirlwind of chaos and danger. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, then replies. "It was intense, to say the least. Long hours, lots of work,” Sonny smiled slightly, touched that you remembered their brief conversation from a few days ago.

You let out a lighthearted laugh as you remarked, "Well, that's not at all mysterious and cryptic."

Sonny chuckles at your remark, feeling the tension in his shoulders lighten a little. "Can't give away all the secrets," he replies, his voice just slightly teasing.

Sonny appreciated that you didn't pry further, even if he could see the curiosity and maybe a bit of concern in your gaze. It was refreshing to be with someone who respected his boundaries and understood not to press for details. He takes another sip of his coffee, the conversation settling into a comfortable rhythm between you two.

"How was your day?" he asks, genuinely interested to hear about your life and experiences. Alone with you in the quiet coffee shop, he hoped to continue the conversation, savoring the chance to linger in your company.

“A customer ordered a drink with sparkling water. I handed it to her, but she immediately frowned and asked if it contained sparkling water. I reminded her that the menu clearly listed the ingredients. Ugh, it frustrates me when people don't read.” Your cheeks redden as you realize you are ranting. "Sorry," you say.

Sonny's exhaustion was momentarily forgotten as a soft smile tugged at his lips. Listening to your little story, he finds himself amused by your rant. He could see the frustration in your expression and the way your cheeks flushed just a bit. It was endearing.

"No apologies necessary," he says, his voice gentle. "I get it. Some people just can't be bothered to pay attention, even when it's spelled out right in front of them." He chuckles softly, enjoying the glimpse into your world. He wonders how many other little annoyances you deal with on a daily basis. He finds himself wanting to know more about your life—the things that made you laugh, the things that made you angry. And he couldn't help but realize that he found your rants quite charming.

"Besides the sparkling water incident," he teases, "was the rest of your day uneventful?" He leans back in his chair, his eyes fixed on you, enjoying the lighthearted moment amidst the day's chaos.

"Yeah, it's pretty dead today, which I'm thankful for; last week we were so swamped."

"Well, here's to a quiet day then," Sonny replies, his tone earnest. He takes another sip of his coffee, his eyes still lingering on you. He was grateful for the brief reprieve the calm atmosphere of the coffee shop provided—a chance to reset before diving back into the chaos of his day.

He glances at his watch, realizing he should probably get back to the precinct soon. But the thought of leaving the quiet comfort of the coffee shop and the easy conversation with you made him hesitate for a moment. He wants more time to talk to you and to know more about you. Taking a deep breath, he pushed his chair back, signaling he was getting ready to leave.

"Hey, Sonny..." You begin calling out to him before he leaves. "Can I have your number?"

Sonny stops in his tracks, his heart skipping a beat at your unexpected question. He turns back to you, surprised but pleasantly so.

"Uh...yeah, sure. I'd like that," he replies, a genuine smile spreading across his face. He quickly grabs a nearby napkin from the counter and fishes a pen out of his pocket. Writing his number onto the napkin, he can't help but feel a mix of nervousness and excitement. Handing the napkin over to you, he watches you closely.

"I'll text you later; you go save the city." You giggle as you hold onto the napkin.

Sonny can't help but smile at your words. There's something about the way you say it—so casual yet sincere—that makes his heart skip a beat. Your carefree attitude is a refreshing contrast to the seriousness of his job.

"And you save me a coffee for tomorrow," he replies with a wink before heading out the door.

He can't help but feel a little lighter than he did before—a subtle boost of energy and anticipation. He knows he has an exhausting day ahead of him, but the knowledge that he'll see you and talk to you again soon makes the idea of returning to work much more bearable.

Sonny enters the precinct, and the familiar sights and sounds immediately bring him back to reality. He put on his game face. He makes his way towards the squad room; a small smile still lingering on his lips, evidence that the thought of you had brought a glimmer of joy to his day.

Chapter 2

#law and order special victims unit #law and order svu #sonny carisi #dominick sonny carisi #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi x you #reader insert #svu fanfiction #fanfiction #Dominick Carisi Jr.

34 notes · View notes

oftenwantedafton · 1 month

Text

wither | steve raglan x female reader

a supernatural serial killer AU

rating | explicit

part 2/?

words | 7k

cw | violence

ao3 link

And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see. And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.

Revelation 6:7-8 KJV

When Steve wants something, he takes it.

The reaper dressed in the security guard uniform leans against the side of the brick building after his evening shift at the nearby mall, watching the man make what he mistakenly thinks is a secret transaction with another individual in the alley around the corner. The narcotics don’t interest him, nor does the cash being exchanged. He has his eye on something else, something bearing the chrome emblem of a horse. He drags a match along one of the bricks and lights a cigarette, calmly waiting for the deal to be concluded. His next victim emerges from the narrow gap between buildings a short time later, angling towards the adjacent parking lot behind the abandoned convenience store where he's left his vehicle.

Steve can still feel the heat from the engine through the hood he shoves the man’s face against; hears the faint ticking as it tries to cool. Ice creeps through his fingers and wraps around the startled car owner’s throat, swiftly choking off any protest he might have made. As much as he enjoys the thrill of the hunt, this kill is not destined to be a prolonged event.

The rear compartment space is limited, but still ample enough for the body he shoves inside. He fishes the keys out of the dead man’s pocket before shutting the trunk and unlocking the driver’s side door. Power locks. A nice upgrade. He slides behind the wheel, glancing appreciatively over the dark leather interior. He leans over to open the glove compartment, unsurprised to find a gun inside. He has no need of weapons, but sometimes they’re fun to use. He prefers instruments that lean more towards torture, though; the sound of prolonged agony is the sweetest melody there is. He decides to leave the firearm where it is for now, shutting the compartment door and starting the engine. The instrument panel emits a soothing blue glow. A lot more options than what the old sedan has, that’s for certain. He can explore those later. For now, he wants to see what kind of speed this automobile is capable of outside of town, away from authorities that wouldn’t allow it. He lowers the front windows and then shifts gears, smiling the second his foot touches the pedal. Powerful. He likes it already.

The killer takes a quick drag of the cigarette he’s nearly forgotten, flicking the ash outside before guiding the sports coupe back to the road. Weekend traffic restrains his speed as much as his own self control. He rifles through the radio stations while he’s waiting, thinking that lake he’d discovered while walking the woods the other day might be a good resting place for that carcass in the trunk. There’s a thick layer of algae on that stagnant water. No one’s going to be swimming or fishing in that any time soon. It‘s a suitable location.

Once he’s cleared the city streets, the murderer finally shoves down on the gas pedal, the nonskid soled black shoes that are required by his employer pressing until the engine hums at a higher and higher pitch, automatically shifting gears. The evening breeze stirs his hair and he smiles, enjoying the sensation. The vehicle was worth acquiring. He won’t use it all the time, but when he does…

His eyes flick from the windshield to the vacant passenger seat. He thinks you might enjoy the car, too. A little drive at night. How much he’d enjoyed that visit in his office the other day. Your heart pounding. The throbbing elsewhere. He’d felt it humming through him, too. Something there. A wicked chemistry. You’re forbidden to him; at least, that’s what that tiresome academy would dictate. And he’s agreed to play by the rules, for now. But not forever. You’re already keeping secrets for him.

Surely you’ll keep one more.

***

Retail therapy always elevates your mood.

You’re not a shopaholic by any means, but you like to treat yourself every once in a while. There’s a pair of boots that you’d had your eye on for weeks now, often stopping by after work to gaze at them. Impractical. Not the kind of thing you’d have much occassion to wear. But they’d been stuck in your mind and on Saturday night you find yourself going back to purchase those thigh high lace up black suede boots. Just carrying them out of the mall makes you feel naughty.

As you walk through the crowded mall parking lot, still a little conflicted over your purchase, you notice the car parked at the far end of the row you’re crossing. You don’t know much about automobiles, but this one stands out. Muscle car. Mustang. Newer. Pale green, like faded spearmint. Hood vents. The driver’s side window is rolled down and a trail of smoke escapes through it. You recognize the man behind the wheel.

Steve Raglan. That odd school counselor and security guard. He’s not wearing the uniform tonight, clad instead in a gray shirt. Your eyes meet through the windshield.

Your steps slow as you reach the open window. He smirks around the cigarette slotted between his lips and you feel that warm little hum in your core again.

“Hi,” you say, readjusting your grip on the plastic handles of your shopping bag. They’re starting to dig into your skin. The boots are heavy.

“Hi,” he returns, plucking the cigarette from his mouth. “Doing some shopping, I see.” His gaze doesn’t linger on the bag, tracking back quickly to your face.

“Yeah.” You shuffle your feet. Why does he always make you feel so awkward, like you should be the one leading the conversation? “No work tonight?”

“No. I’m off.” He takes a drag and you sidestep to avoid the cloud he exhales.

“You here to shop?”

“That, and…people watch.” The smirk is back.

“Find anything? See anyone interesting?”

“One thing. Anyone…maybe.” He hangs his arm out the window and flicks some ash to the ground. “Do you need a ride? I’m guessing you don’t have a car. And judging by the location of that bus stop behind me…”

“I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I’m sure you have better things to do on a Saturday night.”

“Sometimes. Not tonight. Hop in.”

You hesitate, looking at the leather interior. Thinking about being in such close quarters. That cologne you know he’s wearing. That scent of smoke. Another thrill vibrates through you. You find yourself walking around the car, lifting the door handle and settling inside, the bag tucked between your legs.

“Didn’t have you pegged for a goth girl,” he murmurs.

You’re decked out entirely in black: combat boots, jeans with rivets and chains, a snug top with lace sleeves, and a choker with a tiny metal bat dangling from the center. “You know today’s youth. Rebelling against societal norms.”

“You don’t strike me as the type to be a lemming and follow what others are doing.”

“I’m not, you’re right. I just really like the aesthetic,” you concede. “Gothic and horror stuff in general. I cut my teeth on slasher movies.”

“A girl after my own heart. If I had one, that is,” he winks cheekily at you and tosses the remains of his cigarette onto the pavement.

You’re not sure how to respond to that. To any of this. The attention. The…borderline inappropriate flirting? Or maybe you’re just that needy. Seeing things that aren’t there.

“So what did you buy?” He nods to the shopping bag.

“You first.”

Steve reaches between the seats, handing you a tiny paper bag.

“What did you get, a greeting card?”

“Something better.”

You reach inside and feel something glossy. A bumper sticker emerges, clutched between your fingers. There’s a chibi version of a grim reaper, and the letters printed in dripping crimson mimicking blood read Spoiler Alert: Everyone Dies.

“You’ve got a dark sense of humor, don’t you?”

“It was a toss up between that or Last Responder.”

“That’s…wow.” You glance at the driver.

“Think the school would protest if I decorated my office with that?”

“Uh, yeah,” you reply. “Just a tad inappropriate.”

“I’ll save it for my other vehicle. It’ll spice it up a bit.”

“You have two cars?”

The bearded man nods. “One I use for work, everyday things. This one…I reserve for special occassions.”

“So what’s the ocassion tonight?”

He grins but doesn’t answer. “What’s in your bag?”

You return the sticker inside the paper bag and hand it to Steve, who sets it back where he’d retrieved it, then lift your own into your lap, withdrawing the shoebox and cracking the lid. There’s a layer of tissue paper around the footwear that the older man shifts, poking to reveal what’s nestled underneath. One eyebrow quirks up and he makes a little humming sound.

“They’re boots,” you murmur, feeling yourself blushing.

“I can see that. Ever watch Pretty Woman?

“They’re not hooker boots,” you protest immediately, your face growing hotter.

“I never said they were. They’re very attractive. Where are you planning on wearing those?”

“I don’t know. I just…I couldn’t stop thinking about them. They’re so…”

“Slutty?” He supplies, seeing your mouth drop and chuckling, a gentle rasp of sound. “Relax. I’m teasing.”

“I’m not…like that. I’ve never even…” You let your voice trail off. It’s too embarrassing to admit out loud. “I just liked them.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“You make me feel like I should return them.”

“Don’t,” he says quickly, and your eyes latch onto his. “You should keep them. You coveted them.” He flicks the tissue back into place and leans to start the engine. As expected, it’s a deep purr. “That’s the reason I got this car. Not because I needed it. Because I wanted it,” he says.

“It’s pretty. I don’t know anything about cars, but…”

“Neither do I. I wanted it. I acquired it. That’s all there is to it. Enjoy those,” he says, nodding towards the box. “Well, I suppose I should get you home. Where do you live?”

You blink at the sudden shift in conversation but tell him your address, then close the lid of the box and shove it back into the bag, deciding to keep it on your lap this time.

“Seatbelt,” he says, thumbing the power button for the CD player before shifting gears. You hastily comply, struggling to balance the bag until Steve lifts it and sets it on the back seat.

“Thanks. Wait. Is this Nine Inch Nails?” You recognize the beginning of the song Terrible Lie.

“It is indeed. Mix tape. I guess you kids don’t call them that anymore, though. I burned a CD with a bunch of favorites.”

“You make yourself sound ancient.”

“That’s because I am.”

You consider the counselor, with his graying hair, noting again how near flawless his skin looks. The hands gripping the steering wheel don’t look old, either. The skin is pure milky white. There’s a branching vein near the knuckle of his index finger that you find yourself entranced by as Trent Reznor laments about his crisis of faith over the speakers.

“Did you hear me?”

“Hmmm? Oh, sorry. What did you say?”

“I asked how the assignment I gave you is coming along.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yes, oh, that. Have you given it any consideration?”

“No,” you reply honestly. “I had a lot of tests this week. And a paper due last Thursday.”

“Excuses,” he says, glancing over at you with a frown. The aviators reflect the red stoplight as he brakes the car, shifting his denim clad thighs. His legs are so long, wedged snugly beneath the wheel and against the sides of the center console and door. “Don’t procrastinate.”

“I’ll get to it eventually.”

“See that you do. It’s important.”

The easy banter you’d been enjoying earlier seems to have faded. He’s reminding you of your position. What your roles are. Anything else is certainly all in your own mind.

Depeche Mode’s Rush is the next track that plays. You try to imagine Steve seated at his PC, rifling through his collection of albums, deciding which songs are worthy of making the final cut. Scowling as he rearranges the order, exchanging this one for that. Maybe sipping a glass of whiskey while he’s doing it. Tie loosened. Removing his glasses to rub at the indents on the bridge of his nose. A stack of folders nearby. Bringing work home. Was he there alone?

“You’re daydreaming,” Steve observes, bringing you back from your reverie to realize a new song is playing. “Anything good?”

“Not really. Who’s this?” You ask quickly, pointing to the radio to cover for your awkwardness.

“Gary Numan. Dark.”

I've been waiting here Waiting for faith And the word to fall. Now the darkness comes And I'll pray for The end of us all

“I like it,” you decide.

“You in a rush to go home, or do you want to go for a little joyride? She’s pretty fun outside of town,” he says, shoving his gold framed glasses further back up the bridge of his nose.

“Uh…I guess,” you reply hesitantly. You’re having a hard time tracking what the man’s real intentions are. One minute he was formal; the next, anything but.

Don't let the light shine on me I am the poison that feeds life to you Don't let the light shine on me I am the demon that waits inside you

“You don’t know what to make of me, do you?”

The accuracy of that statement, so close to the thoughts you’d been having, disarms you. You stare at the bearded man and his gaze meets yours, and for the briefest sliver of a moment you swear you see something glowing behind those powder blue irises, making your breath hitch.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” you finally manage, gasping after the statement, suddenly greedy for air.

“Of course you haven’t.” He grins at you before returning his attention to the road. A modern acoustic cover of Don’t Fear the Reaper is playing now, the woman’s breathy vocals crooning over the speakers.

All our times have come Here but now they're gone Seasons don't fear the reaper Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain We can be like they are

You don’t recognize the road you’re on. Dark. Few streetlights. The breeze from the open window stirs your hair. The car accelerates. Where is he taking you?

Come on, baby (don't fear the reaper) Baby, take my hand (don't fear the reaper) We'll be able to fly (don't fear the reaper) Baby, I'm your man

“Mr. Raglan…”

“Steve,” he corrects. “You don’t need to cling to the door handle like that. You’re perfectly safe.”

You hadn’t even realized it, but your grip is indeed white knuckled. You can’t quite see the speedometer, the steering wheel is blocking your view, but you know he’s speeding. “I think you should slow down.”

“Hmmm,” he hums, the sound disapproving, but you feel the car decelerating and you exhale in relief. “You don’t trust me.”

“I do, I just…I think you should be careful.”

“Careful,” he repeats, the word carrying disdain with it.

“I mean…don’t you? It’s not worth wrecking the car. Or getting hurt. Or worse.”

“Hmph.” Another disgruntled noise, but he slows until he can make a u turn, reversing direction and returning to the town at a more reasonable pace.

You remain silent for the remainder of the ride. Your neck actually aches with how tense you’re holding yourself, your eyes locked onto the windshield.

Steve pulls along the curb outside your house. “This you?”

“Yes,” you reply stiffly.

“I…apologize if I frightened you. I thought you would enjoy…”

“It’s a nice car, and I’m grateful for the ride home. I just…I’m not used to this,” you finish, finally meeting his gaze.

“Alright.”

You release the seatbelt and accept the shopping bag back he retrieves back into your lap. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he says.

You rest a hand on the door handle, feeling like you should say something else. Now you’re feeling guilty. He’d just wanted to show off the car. What was wrong with that? You’re the one making it weird.

“You want to borrow this?” He hits the eject button and offers you the CD that had been playing, its surface blank and unlabeled.

“You don’t mind?”

“No. I can just make another, I have the playlist saved on my computer. Enjoy it.”

“Thanks.” You slip it inside your bag, then push the door open.

“Don’t forget that assignment.” His tone almost sounds normal now.

“I won’t.”

You watch the car depart, staring for a few moments before you turn to walk down the driveway.

Another surreal, bizarre encounter with Steve Raglan.

***

U.S. History just isn’t your thing.

You suppose you should know about what came before, what’s brought your country to the present, but your mind begins wandering several minutes into the lecture. It doesn’t help that your instructor is an elderly nun with a soft, creaky voice that reminds you of a rocking chair moving back and forth over a loose floorboard on an old farmhouse porch. You’re doodling, intending initially to get some work done on that career planning assignment, but instead you find yourself sketching random images. The entrance gate of the abandoned cemetery. The crow perched on that branch. Steve, leaning back against the crumbling stone wall, a wispy stream of cigarette smoke rising beside his features. A side profile of his Mustang. A close up of his intense eyes.

Too late, you realize your work has been discovered. Not by the instructor, but by that cheerleader that had gotten in trouble that day you’d had your first meeting with Steve. She cups her hand over her mouth and whispers to the girl seated beside her, and you quickly turn to a blank page, dropping your pen onto that lined surface. You hunch down further in your seat, hoping this will be the end of your shame.

Of course it isn’t.

Your notebook is snatched from your fingers just as the bell rings, signaling the end of class.

“Please give that back,” you say as you anxiously exit the classroom behind the group of cheerleaders, hoping a direct approach will be enough.

“Someone’s got a crush. A little old for you, isn’t he? Do you even know what to do with it? Or are you expecting daddy to teach you?”

“What’s going on here?”

Steve is approaching, threading through the students congregating outside the hallway of lockers, and you don’t know whether you’re relieved or not. This might only add fuel to the fire. Speaking of which; your cheeks are so hot you think you might combust.

“Nothing,” the girl says in a singsong voice. “We were just admiring the artwork. Have you seen it yet? Well, of course you haven’t. She just did it during class.” She hands the open notebook to the counselor, waiting for his response, a sickeningly sweet smile on her features.

His pale eyes flick briefly over the page, and then he shuts the book, handing it back to you.

“I would think that someone with your grades would be just a bit more concerned about your own coursework. Especially now that your position on the team hangs in the balance. It would be a shame if you didn’t have that to fall back on, wouldn’t it?” It’s the older man’s turn to smile, and it’s full of mockery. The girl grumbles but turns away, drawing her band of followers with her.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble once they depart.

“You should be paying attention in class, too.”

“I was going to start my assignment. The one you gave me. I got distracted.”

His stern expression softens slightly. “Pay attention. That’s for after school, okay? And you lied. You draw well.”

You clutch the spiral bound book to your chest. “It’s just amateur stuff. You know, she’s never going to let me live this down. She’ll be relentless now.”

“No, she won’t. She’s going to have her hands full with other things,” he murmurs.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just…do your schoolwork like a good girl,” he says, his voice low and hushed.

You feel your blush returning. “Okay.”

He nods, brushing past you. You catch a whiff of his cologne and your grip on the notebook tightens.

It takes every ounce of willpower not to turn and follow him.

***

He hadn’t expected that little display earlier.

Steve kicks at the body at his feet, eliciting a muffled plea behind the gag stuffed in the student’s mouth. One of his ties. Not his favorite, so no loss there. Neither is the one wrapped around the cheerleader’s eyes.

He glares at the captive young woman. The temptation to just end her existence is strong. But that would be foolish. Brash. He can still exact some revenge without going to those extremes. She has no idea who’s taken her. Doesn’t understand the cold sensation that suddenly grips her from deep within. A frost coats the floorboards of the gymnasium. Not the one in the school she’s currently attending; this is another one clear across town. Another abandoned venue. There are many of those kinds of places here. There has been a lot of struggle. Fluctuations in commerce and prosperity. A rise and fall in census. This old school was testament to that.

Death Incarnate carries the girl in the middle of the night, dumping her back where he’d taken her from, the lookout point that was a popular make out spot for local teenagers. It’s empty now, save for that ambassador of extermination and his victim. The high school senior is passed out now, making her body limp like a sack of potatoes. Easier to manage overall. He cuts through her bonds and drags his ties free. Those will be burned later, leaving no evidence behind. There are no fingerprints. No marks from the shoes he’s wearing. No evidence of any crime. Just this little decay that’s been seeded inside. She’ll dismiss it, at first. Play it off. But eventually it will catch up to her. And anything she might have done to reverse its course will be rendered long since useless. A slow revenge, but certain. He smiles bitterly before turning away.

The guidance counselor takes a long shower after he returns home, using the old sedan for transportation once more. For tonight, the new horse slumbers in the garage. He sinks into the couch across from the hearth once he’s finished bathing and watches the flames dance as he slowly consumes a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid reflecting the firelight.

He wonders what you are doing tonight.

***

There’s a birthday party being held at the local nightclub.

Nothing official, of course; all of the students are underage. But you hear the excited whispers. Talk of fake ID’s. You don’t want to go on the night that they’re planning on attending. You have no intention of celebrating the birth of someone who’s a virtual stranger. But the idea of getting into the club is one that festers in your mind. Reckless. But maybe that’s what you want. Maybe you want to do something unexpected for a change.

You don’t know what’s got into you, lately. Ever since you’d met Steve Raglan…

You’re fairly certain you’ve been overcharged for the false driver’s license card, but it does look convincing, you have to admit. Not that you’re an expert in such things, of course; but you think it might get you inside. Your parents are going away for a weekend. It’s the perfect time to go. You’ve been looking for an excuse to wear those new boots, anyway.

So that’s how it happens. You, standing at the bar with a vodka and Sprite, looking out over the crowd of dancers. The music is so loud it hurts. Like being at a concert, almost. You’re still not sure what you’re doing here. You’re not brave enough to dance with strangers. That’s why you’re trying out some liquid courage. You haven’t sampled alcohol that many times. Just at a holiday party here and there. Always under adult supervision. This was new. All of this.

You feel someone watching you. Your eyes slide to the side. It’s him. The career counselor. Nursing a drink of his own. Wearing dark rinse jeans and a black v neck tee, leaning languidly against the counter, one foot resting on the lower rung of the unused stool beside him.

You find yourself walking towards him. Careful, there. That drink is hitting hard already. You hadn’t eaten much today, too nervous to do more than nibble. The high heeled boots make you feel tall, elegant. They bring you level with the older man’s shoulders now.

“Well, look who’s here.”

“Hi,” you greet him. You don’t miss the quick beat of his eyes tracking down and then back up, admiring your appearance.

“You’re not allowed in. Fake ID? Naughty,” he hums, leaning close so you can hear him above the music.

“I felt like I deserved a night out.” You take another healthy swallow from your drink. It’s making you so warm all over.

“That’s not the only reason though, is it?”

You look at him sharply. “How did you…”

Steve grins. “You know, that gift of mine…”

“Reading people.” The song comes to an end and the DJ announces he’ll be taking a brief break between sets. Your ears are definitely ringing.

“Yes, that one.” He’s still leaning close even though he doesn’t need to speak as loudly to be heard.

“Alright, fine. There were a group of girls partying here for a birthday last weekend, and I was tired of feeling left out. But I didn’t want to spend time with them. I just wanted to experience it for myself. On my own terms.”

“By hiding at the bar?”

“I’m not hiding,” you protest, signaling for another drink. That one had emptied very fast. “I’m just getting acclimated.”

“Acclimated, huh?” Steve smirks, finishing his own drink.

“So, what do you think of my outfit? You like the boots?”

“They’re sinful,” he says, his eyes sparkling behind the lenses of his glasses.

“Yes, but do you like them?”

“Yes. Very much. I’m surprised your parents let you out of the house like that, though.”

You brush your fingers against the clinging black knit dress you’re wearing that ends just above where your boots begin. “They’re not home. Went away for the weekend.”

“How interesting.”

You grin around the mouth of your glass. “Why interesting?”

“Want to dance? I see the DJ coming back.”

You laugh a little at the idea. You’ve been doing a lot of that during this conversation so far. You find your lips constantly wanting to curve, the carbonation in your drink making you feel bubbly, the alcohol loosening your inhibitions.

“That’s scandalous, isn’t it? What would people say?” You inquire, feigning a shocked expression.

“They’re all strangers here. No one knows us.”

“How can you be sure, though?”

“Come with me,” he says, holding out a hand.

You hesitate, then reach for his fingers. They’re cool to the touch. Maybe from the glass he’d been holding. He leads you to a vacant spot on the outskirts of the crowd.

The stage lights shift patterns and the room darkens. You glance around nervously.

“Look at me,” your partner commands, and you find yourself gazing at the older man once again.

Your limbs feel stiff and awkward at first as you try to find the rhythm. Steve doesn’t seem to share your problem. Everything about him is fluid. Slinky. You try to match that grace. He captures your hand again and turns you around, bringing your back flush with his chest.

“Relax. Let yourself go.” His warm breath huffs beside your ear.

He smells heavenly. No smoke today. Just that fragrance you find intoxicating. You’re drunk off it. Off the music and the lights and the warm press of his body against yours. Somehow you’ve got more alcohol slotted in one of your hands. It goes down smooth. You’re liquid like that, now. Weightless. Floating.

Then anchored back to the ground. Leaning against the counter. The bartender looks slightly concerned but you wave a hand at him to indicate you’re okay. Steve is quiet beside you. Just looking. You like how he looks at you. Hungry. Hollowing you out. Carving a space for himself.

You don’t care about the other people in the club. You don’t really care what song is playing, either. You just know that you want to dance with Steve again. You face him the next time you venture back onto the dance floor. His hands are still cold. You feel like you’re on fire. You rest your palms on his chest, looking up at him through mascara coated lashes. His mouth is so close. Those full lips just waiting. What would it feel like, brushing against that facial hair? What would his lips taste like?

He leans close to your ear and you shiver in anticipation. ”I think it’s time we left.”

”Already? I was having fun.”

”I know. But it’s getting late. And you’ve had more than enough to drink.”

You grumble but acquiesce, allowing the older man to lead you away from the dance floor. “Sexy car tonight,” you murmur when you finally emerge outdoors, sucking in a lungful of fresh air and clinging heavily to your escort.

“Mmm-hmm.”

You watch him unlock the passenger door with hooded eyes, leaning against the side of the sports coupe. “Where are you taking me, Mr. Raglan?”

“Don’t call me that. Steve is fine. I’m taking you home.”

“Aw,” you pout. “I was really having fun.”

“I know. But you’re not going to have fun if you keep going like this. Lightweight,” he says, but there’s affection in his tone as he guides you to sit inside the car, helping you tuck your legs over the door frame.

You let your head rock aback against the cradle of the cushioned headrest. You feel like you’re spinning even though you’re just sitting still, and it’s fun. Steve glances at you after he slides behind the wheel, then shakes his head. “You’re lucky I was there. What if someone had taken advantage of you?”

“I’ve got that nail polish on that changes color when someone spikes your drinks. And no one wants me anyway,” you mutter.

“You’re wrong about that.”

“Oh yeah? You know something I don’t?”

He doesn’t answer, apparently focused on exiting the parking garage. You glance at the digital clock display on the dashboard, surprised by how many hours have passed.

“You’re not going to lecture me about this later on, are you?”

“No, I think your body is going to do that for you. Hangovers are miserable. You’re going to have a splitting headache at the very least.”

“I don’t want to go home. Can’t we go somewhere else?” You hear the slight whine in your tone and wince.

“Like where? It’s late. Not many places are open.”

“You could let me crash at your place.” Surprising, how casually those words escape your lips.

“You thought dancing with me was scandalous earlier. Now you want to spend the night at my house?” He doesn’t sound entirely displeased by the concept.

“Blame it on the liquor,” you mumble, letting your head flop to the side to regard the counselor.

“So much for keeping a low profile.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

You realize you’re leaving the busier downtown area and are being brought into the suburbs. No, even past that. There are more trees than houses, now. He’s not speeding this time, you notice. He looks very solemn, concentrating on driving.

“You go to that club a lot?”

“Never. It was my first time.”

“You trying to score?”

His lips twist in a wry smile. “I told you before. I like people watching.”

You grunt, shifting the position of your feet. The boots might be stylish, but they definitely weren’t comfortable.

“Feet bothering you?”

“How can you tell?”

“You’ve been wriggling like a worm on a hook ever since you sat down.”

“They’re alright,” you mumble.

“New shoes are always a pain to break in. They do suit you, though,” he adds.

The car leaves the paved road and travels along a dirt one. You can just make out the house nestled between the trees from the beam of the headlights.

“You live in the middle of nowhere.”

“I like my privacy.” He thumbs a remote tucked into the sun visor and one of the garage doors lifts. He parks beside his other car, the vintage sedan he’d previously mentioned, then kills the engine. The garage door finished closing with a resounding thud after he hits the remote switch and the older man’s eyes meet yours.

“You really brought me to your house,” you murmur in disbelief.

“That’s where you said you wanted to go. Would you rather I bring you home?”

You should say yes. This was escalating far past any casual flirting you might have done previously.

Instead you shake your head. He exits the car and you follow, groaning when you put weight on the heels again. There’s a short flight of steps nearby that leads to the interior of the house, depositing you into a hallway. Steve begins turning on light switches, then points to an open doorway further down the hall. “Bathroom. Which I’m sure you’re going to want.”

You did need to go. Bad. The alcohol had gone right through you. You brush past him and struggle to get your panties down, managing to sit on the toilet in the nick of time. You sigh with relief, glancing around the room. It’s a half bath, just the toilet and the sink. It all looks very ordinary so far. You’re not sure what you’d been expecting.

You finish voiding, the toilet still flushing as you begin washing your hands. You look at your reflection in the mirrored medicine cabinet. What the hell are you doing, exactly? First the fake ID, then the drinking, dancing with a member of the school faculty that’s old enough to be your dad, now this?

“You fall in?” Steve’s voice sounds from outside the door.

“No, I’m fine. I’ll be right out.”

“I’m getting you a big glass of water. You need to drink all of it.”

“Great, I’ll be living in the bathroom then,” you mutter as you open the door, flipping the lightswitch off again.

“Come sit down. Get comfortable.” He guides you to the living room and you sink down into the couch, not even bothering to straighten your dress beneath you. You’re starting to feel a little less pleasant than you had earlier. Not quite as buoyant.

“Here you go.”

You accept the glass of water he hands you, watching as he settles a respectful distance away at the other end of the couch.

“I’m gonna be honest, I thought your place would look different.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know. Like more modern, maybe? Very monochromatic.”

“So you’re disappointed.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I don’t even know what I’m saying,” you admit, taking another gulp of water.

“I tend to move around a lot. I don’t get too attached to personal possessions. Furniture and the like means very little to me.”

“Why do you move around so much?”

He shrugs. “It’s in my nature. Nomadic.”

“Doesn’t that ever get tiresome? Don’t you ever want to put roots down and just settle?”

“I haven’t found anywhere I felt tempted to do that yet.”

“So you’re gonna up and leave again, huh? Make me do that stupid assignment and then bail on me.”

His lips twitch in amusement. “I’m not leaving that quickly. I haven’t been here long. So yes, you are going to do the assignment, and yes, I will see the fruits of my labors.”

“My labors,” you correct.

“Our labors,” he amends.

You smirk before you drain the rest of your glass. “So what now?”

“Now you go to bed and sleep this off.”

“You’re no fun.”

“No? Not entertaining in the slightest?”

“Nope.” You lean forward and set the glass down on the coffee table, then recline back more slowly. You still feel lightheaded.

“Alright. Time to get you to bed. You can sleep in one of my shirts.”

“Where are you going to sleep?”

“There’s a second bedroom.”

“Hmph.” You allow him to steady you as you rise. “Your hands are so cold.”

“So many complaints,” he observes, pointing to the staircase. He waits for you to step in front of him, poised to catch you if you stumble. You manage the stairs even intoxicated and wearing the ridiculous boots and you swirl around triumphantly, finally losing your balance and falling against his chest.

His hands might be icy, but his body is warm. You find yourself staring at his mouth again. Wishing it was on yours. If only you were a little braver, you’d reach for it yourself. Stand on tiptoes and tug on the nape of his neck and bring it crashing down. But you’re not quite that confident yet.

“Let’s go,” he says, gently pushing against you. You huff but allow it, finding yourself in a room that’s more like what you’d been imagining. Black bed linens. Glass and chrome nightstands. Marbled lamps.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, not even bothering to move the comforter. You’re exhausted all of a sudden. Your energy is just sapped.

Steve kneels down and begins working on unlacing your boots.

“You don’t have to do that. But thank you.”

He doesn’t reply, continuing to tug on the laces until you feel the suede material give a little, releasing its tight clutch of your thigh and calf. You sigh rapturously when that first piece of footwear is pulled free. The other soon joins it, folded and tucked neatly underneath the glass topped nightstand.

You kind of wish he hadn’t been so businesslike about it; your heart is pounding, both fearing and hoping he’ll cross a line he shouldn’t. But he merely rises and retrieves a tshirt from the dresser and sets it beside you before moving towards the doorway.

“What if I need more help undressing?”

“I think you can manage.”

“I can sleep in the other bedroom, you know. You don’t have to surrender yours.”

“Figure it’d be better if you’re closer to the bathroom. It’s through that door,” he points.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Are you gonna come back after?”

“Why? Do you want me to tuck you in? Tell you a bedtime story?”

You bite your bottom lip. “Yes.”

Steve smirks. “I’ll think about it. Go get changed.”

The upstairs bathroom is far more luxurious than its first floor counterpart. There’s a walk in shower and a tub. You’re tempted to sample one of them, but you also kind of just want to rest.

Steve’s shirt is black, blank, a basic tee that hits you mid thigh and clings to your curves. You find a washcloth in the linen closet and scrub your makeup off. Deciding you’re ready, you return to your school counselor’s master bedroom.

You find him waiting for you, sitting in the spot you’d previously occupied.

“I used a washcloth to take my makeup off. I hope that’s ok. I put it in the hamper. And I just left my clothes on the edge of the tub for now.”

“That’s fine.” His features look more solemn now. No longer teasing. You move closer and he stands, flipping the comforter and top sheet back.

You hesitate, your fingers twisting, wanting to be filled. “You didn't get changed yet.”

“No.”

“I wanted to see your pajamas.”

“I sleep in boxers and tshirt. Nothing exciting.”

“For you, maybe.”

“Get into bed.”

“What if I say no?”

Steve regards you for a few moments, then grabs your wrists and pushes you onto the bed.

You squeak in protest, startled to feel the older man pressing you down into the mattress. His fingers are still freezing.

“Steve,” you say a little breathlessly.

“You’ve been a very bad girl tonight.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” You challenge.

“Nothing. You’re technically an adult. And I’m not your parent.”

“You’re supposed to set a good example.”

“Is that what you want?”

You stare into his eyes. The pupils are blown, twin raven dark circles of desire. “No.”

“Didn’t think so.” He grins and then releases you, climbing back off the bed.

You scowl, shifting until you’re lying properly, slipping your legs beneath the covers. “I didn’t get my bedtime story.”

“It’s late. You should sleep. You’re going to feel like shit tomorrow.”

“Was worth it though.”

“You say that now.” He reaches to draw the blankets over you and you grasp his forearm, halting him.

“I had fun tonight,” you say quietly.

“Yeah. Me too. Go to sleep now. I’ll see you in the morning.” His voice sounds raspy. He switches the lamp off and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

You’d thought earlier that you’d conk right out once your head hit the pillow, but now sleep evades you. You stare into the void above your head, and you think about Steve’s dark, wanting eyes.

Those cold hands, gripping you so tightly.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you

22 notes · View notes

autolenaphilia · 1 year

Text

It's remarkable how easy Linux Mint is to use, compared to Linux's general forbidding reputation. It was really easy to set up for me who has no coding knowledge. I had to fiddle with the boot order in my BIOS a bit but no biggie. Follow the installation guide on the website, and you will be fine. You can boot from an USB too, and test out the OS before installing it and wiping your drive. Transfer data to an external drive before you do.

And you probably won't have much trouble once it is installed either. The default settings are reasonable, and can be changed. It's a very easy to use OS. I have had no problems doing most of the ordinary things I use an OS for. My most used programs on Windows was already things like Firefox, VLC media player and Libreoffice on windows, and they function just as fine on Linux Mint (and are indeed installed by default).

Gaming has given me some trouble, but honestly Lutris has solved most of them. Granted I run mostly so old games on this laptop that Scummvm and dosbox is a solution for many of them. And installing 32 bit libraries has solved others (running the command in this link in the terminal solved so many issues alone). I play very old games, if you can't tell.

Sure, part of how Mint is so user-friendly is that it imitates Windows graphical user interface. But to be honest, it does mean users coming from Windows are already used to the interface. And Mint imitates only the parts of it that work, like the taskbar. And Microsoft has had a bad habit of making the gui look like a phone or a tablet for years now, so Mint does a Windows-like gui better than Windows at this point.

Mint is better than Windows in being a user-friendly operating system in general. Windows being spyware and full of bloatware is well-known and LInux gets away from that bullshit. And just how polite MInt is about updates is a massive improvement. No forced reboots here while an update takes ages to install.

Mint is a long-term support distro, which means it focuses on stability over the latest updates to packages and programs, introducing updates not when they are first released, but after a while when any bugs have been ironed out. And that improves the OS's stability a lot, which I value over getting bleeding edge updates. If you want updates as soon as they happen, and are willing to tinker a bit to fix things, there are other distros which use a rolling-release model.

It is less demanding on the hardware without compromising functionality. Like the majority of Linux distros takes up way less space on the drive and less memory compared to Windows, you can get more life out of an old computer this way.

There are so many older computers that still function fine hardware-wise, but since the specs on that hardware are too weak to switch to a newer more-resource hungry version of Windows, the machines are abandoned because the OS ends up unsupported and unsafe to use. Windows 10 support is going to end in 2025, it might be extended, but the end of w10 support is going to be a blood bath for this very reason. So many computers can't meet the specs for Windows 11 that the switch will be painful. And I would urge you if you are affected by this to upgrade to a LInux distro instead of getting a new computer just for windows 11.

#my writings #more like my ramblings #linux #linux mint #computers

203 notes · View notes

strangermarvelss · 2 years

Text

the pain of letting you go- e.m (epilogue)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x AFAB!Reader

Summary: a few years have passed since your lunch at the diner with eddie

Warnings: birthday shenanigans, fluff, domestic!eddie, best uncle steve and aunt robin ever, mentions of sex, suggestive language

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: the finale has arrived! thank you to everyone for the continued support, i have loved writing this series and loved hearing your theories and suggestions! reminder: if the topic is sensitive for you, please do not read. enjoy! :) -sava

september 1994

The fall leaves swirl around the backyard as you watch a gaggle of kids run past you, their giggles filling the blocked off outdoor space and warming your heart. You watch your son Christopher smile, the party hat situated on his growing mane of hair waving about as he runs with his friends. It was hard to believe that your baby boy was ten years old. Double digits. It feels like yesterday that you and Eddie were holding him in your arms, newborn home straight from the hospital and ready to begin your new lives as parents.

You find yourself half-paying attention to the conversations happening around you, the parents talking amongst themselves as you try to add to their different topics sporadically, silently wishing for some of your own friends to show up and save you. There was nothing wrong with the parents of your son's friends, other than how quick they were to gossip about and judge you a few years back. You were just wanting to crave any actual conversation with people you loved.

“Auntie Robin has arrived,” Robin announces from inside the house. You stand from your position on one of the chairs situated outside, sliding open the back door of your home to come and greet her. Bags are hanging to her sides as she lets out a small squeal, rushing over to hug you tight. Wrapping your arms around her, you return the gesture, happy to have her here to help endure the countless screaming children and judgmental parents that made your life all the much harder four years ago, but insisting that it no longer bothered you for the sake of the kids.

"Where's Vickie?" You question.

"She'll be by later, she's wrapping a few things up she had planned out a while ago. I tried telling her that the kids don't want to go to band practice on a Saturday, but she said they needed the extra practice before heading to their competition next weekend," she explains. She looks around the house for a moment, chin resting on your shoulder as she takes in the decorations.

“Can't believe it's taking me this long still getting used to the new house. The old one just held so many memories, ya know? But I do like the upgrade,” Robin tells you, breaking away from the hug and sending a smile your way. You take the bags from her and place them on the coffee table, guiding her into the kitchen for a snack or something to drink.

“It definitely was time for the upgrade. With my promotion money plus Eddie’s hefty contribution, we definitely could afford it,” you explain a bit, pouring a glass of water and offering it to her. She takes it and gulps it down, sighing in relief before her brows twist in a bit of concern.

“Speaking of, where is Eddie? Is he outside with the rest of the kiddos?” She asks, looking through the large window in the kitchen to try and spot him.

“Actually, I think he’s upstairs with-“

“Here we are!” Eddie blurts out, darting from around the corner and greeting you both. “Sorry to keep you waiting sweetheart. Kas here decided she didn’t want to wear the outfit Mommy laid out for her, so she gave Daddy some grief. But we worked it out, didn't we Kas?”

You reach out for the two-year-old, hands resting underneath her tiny armpits and bringing her close to your body, placing her on your hip. Eddie reaches out to plant a kiss on your lips, a quick peck before offering a hug to Robin. You raise your index finger and play with your daughter, tickling her chubby cheeks and watching her giggle.

“Now why didn’t you want to wear the pretty dress Momma laid out for you, babygirl?” You ask her, your voice pitched up as you stare at her in wonder. You turn to Eddie with a smile, taking in his slicked back hair and nicer attire before opening your mouth once more. “How’d you convince our little stubborn princess to wear it?”

“I may or may not have promised her a big piece of cake,” he admits, coming over and wrapping his arms around you. You shake your head, laughing as you play with your daughter’s hair a bit. Robin sets the glass of water down, looking between you two for a moment before reaching her arms out. You give in and hand Kassandra over to her godmother, watching the smile on Robin’s face grow as she begins to dance to the low music playing in the living room, extending your daughter’s arm in an attempt to dance around with her.

Robin makes her way into the living room, leaving you and Eddie alone in the kitchen. His hands find purchase on your hips, tugging you close to him as he dips down to take your lips in his again, making sure to take longer now that your hands are baby-free. You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, melting into the kiss as you taste his minty fresh breath. Eddie sighs, his fingers hooking into the loops of your jeans and trying to tug you closer, leaving no room between you as your bodies press together.

“Alright, alright. It’s still a kids birthday party after all. No need to scar any kids today,” you tease, pulling away from his as you play with his beautiful brown curls. He smiles as you, hands still on your hips as he traces random patterns into them with his thumbs.

“Okay, okay,” he says, admitting defeat. You chortle, looking deep into his eyes before pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek and peeling yourself from him. “I called for pizza on the phone upstairs, so it should be here shortly. Cake is still in the fridge, away from the tiny grubby fingers. Do you need me to do anything?”

“No, I think everything is handled right now,” you tell him, flashing him a smile. He comes over and presses a kiss to your shoulder, before you both turn to the sound of the door opening. You walk towards the front door, watching Steve and a very pregnant Nancy come into view, your smiles stretching as you greet them.

“How are you guys?! I feel like it’s been forever since we properly hung out, even if it was just three weeks ago,” you ask, retreating to Eddie, who is quick to wrap an arm around your waist.

“Yeah, I know! I’ve been pulling a couple weekend shifts at the Hawkins Post since my due date is coming up. Trying to get everything situated there before I start maternity leave,” Nancy explains, extending the gift resting in her arms to you. You're quick to put it on the table with the others, jogging back and nuzzling into Eddie's warm figure.

“I still can’t believe you took the job there after all the shit that went down during your internship back in ’85,” you let out, shaking your head. She laughs, rest her hand on Steve’s arm as she nods.

“Oh trust me, I know. I was really worried about going back but the new management is so much better, and with all the creative freedom I was promised and have now received, helped with the decision. Plus Steve here," she looks to him, smile big and bright as she rests a hand on his arm. "Helped convince me to move back and take the job. And I'm glad I did, I’m really happy there. Hey, is there somewhere I could sit? My back pain has been horrible since the third trimester started.”

Nodding, you lead Nancy towards the backyard, allowing her to take the seat you were sitting in before Robin's arrival. Meanwhile inside the house, Eddie clasps a hand on Steve’s shoulder, a smirk situated onto his face as the two boys watch you make your way outside. Eddie turns to Steve, who has a face full of admiration.

“Can’t believe you’re finally gonna be a dad man. I’m really happy for you and Wheeler. You have everything ready? The due date's coming up soon, right? Couple weeks now?” Eddie asks him.

“You know she doesn’t go by Wheeler anymore, right? Like we've been married for two years now man.” Steve chuckles out.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Old habits die hard I guess,” Eddie lets out, shaking his head as he walks into the kitchen.

"But yeah, we've got everything ready. Nursery is done and the bag for the hospital is packed. Baby proofing has been done for a bit now, so we're just waiting for the main event."

“That's really great to hear, I can't wait to meet the little guy. You want something to drink, man? We have sodas and water out in the coolers, as well as some juice boxes, and for us adults,” he pulls out a couple of beers. “We have brewskies.”

Steve reaches out, taking the beer from the metalhead's hand and clinking it against his. Twisting off the cap, he brings the glass bottle to his lips and lets out a sigh, relishing in the crisp taste.

“So how was the tour?” Steve asks. Eddie’s eyebrows lift as he tears the bottle away from his lips, nodding as he wipes the small amount of beer dripping from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

“It was awesome! We had an amazing turn out, which was metal as hell. Really happy it happened during the summer so I could take little man on the road with me for a few stops, and he loved it. It was tough being away from Y/N and Kas for so long though, so I’m glad to be back home for a good bit,” he tells Steve, smiling as he peeks out the window at the sight of you, hands moving everywhere as you animatedly talk with Nancy.

“That’s great, I’m happy for you man. And I’m really glad things worked out between you and Y/N. I know it was a bit difficult a few years back, but I had faith that the two of you would work your problems out and get back to being the annoying loving couple everyone knows you to be,” Steve teases. Eddie smiles, a blush creeping onto his cheeks at his friend’s kind words. He clasps a hand on his shoulder again, nodding at the words.

The sound of the doorbell pulls Eddie from the conversation, excusing himself from Steve as he jogs to the door to greet the pizza delivery person. Grabbing the multiple boxes of pies, he tips them and bids them a good day, shutting the door with his foot as he walks through the house towards the backyard, carefully gripping and balancing the tower of boxes.

“Alright kiddos, it’s pizza time!” Eddie shouts playfully, letting out a “woohoo” as he sets the boxes down and starts laying them out on the table. He flips open a box and takes a big whiff, sighing in content as the delicious smell flows through his nose.

You watch from your spot next to Nancy as the child line up by the snack table, Eddie taking orders and dishing out the slices, making jokes and hearing the kids roar in laughter. You can’t help but beam at him, which doesn’t go unnoticed by both Nancy and Robin.

“So how have things been now that Eddie’s home from tour? Happy to have him home?” Robin asks, handing your daughter back to you as she begins to cry and using her now free hands to scoot closer to Nancy, forming a small circle between the three of you.

“It’s been good! Like, really good. I missed him a lot but I know he was out doing what he loves and what was important to him. I'm just glad he's back now so the bed doesn't feel empty anymore. Not to mention that we've-” you look around you, making sure there are no children within earshot before covering your daughter’s ears. “We’ve been having sex like…non stop. It’s fucking amazing, like mind-blowing orgasms left and right, multiple times a day even, but I’m almost worried that I’m gonna get pregnant again if we keep going at it like we have been.”

“Would that be such a bad thing? Do you see yourself having a third?” Nancy asks, letting out some laughs. You bite your lip and think for a moment, before nodding.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to another. I mean, we have room for one more in the new house, so that wouldn’t be an issue. I think I’d want to wait a few more years before trying again though, that way I can soak up my time with baby Kassandra here before trying to tackle that all over again,” you answer, nuzzling into your daughter and tickling her sides, an adorable chortle coming from deep in her chest. The group of you laugh at your daughter’s cuteness, rubbing your finger at her chin to coax more giggles out of her.

“That’s really good! Happy things are working out between you too, really,” Robin lets out, rubbing your arm gently.

“Sorry to interrupt ladies,” Eddie cuts in, sliding in between the small gap of the seats and holding out a plate of food to you. Nancy takes the plate for you as you hand off your daughter to him, watching his eyes become bright and his smile stretching as he makes eye contact with her. He lifts her up into the air, shaking her around and pulling more laughter from her tiny body. You thank Nancy and take your plate, eyeing Eddie and Kas as your heart melts at their behavior.

The idea that your marriage nearly came crumbling down four years ago felt weird to think back on, considering how things have evolved since then. Some days aren’t as picture perfect as other, and the negative thoughts haven't left your head completely, but it isn't nearly as bad as things were all those years ago. You were content with where you both stood, with the two of you still attending therapy every few months and communicating with one another about certain problems that may arise. But ultimately? You were in a much better place than you found yourself at Christopher’s sixth birthday party.

Christopher runs up to you, smiling as he shows you his empty plate. You laugh at the boy, tussling his hair a bit as you pull him onto your lap and take a bite of your pizza.

“Hey Robin, do you mind taking a family photo of the four of us?” You ask, reaching over towards the outside side table and grabbing one of the disposable cameras you bought for the party. She nods, taking the device from you as you playfully pinch Eddie on the leg, waving him over as he dramatically gasps.

He sits down in the chair Robin was in, scooting it closer to you and turning it to face her. Resting Kassandra on his lap, he reaches around to lay an arm on your shoulder, bringing you closer as you all crouch into one another, the biggest smiles adorning your faces as you wait for the camera to snap the memory into existence forever. The flash goes off, freezing the moment in time before Christopher hops off your lap and takes off running after his friends. Eddie’s figure stays close to you, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your cheek before moving his lips closer to your ear.

“I love you so much sweetheart,” he whispers, pulling away with a grin. Looking into his eyes, you can't help the genuine grin that creeps onto your face, handing resting on his knee as your chest fills with awe.

“I love you too baby. Now give me my daughter and go get ready to bring the cake out, you big sap.” You tell him, before moving your own lips close to his ear. “I’ll show you just how much I love you later tonight, big boy.”

510 notes · View notes