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boraluv · 1 day ago

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the last word pt. 2

genre: 1.6k or so words of fluffy "bringing Hobi home to meet your parents for Thanksgiving" (see part one here)

Coffee mugs empty, you toss them into the trash receptacle at the corner of the park. Squirrels chitter at you and run in funny patterns, scooping up nuts and rustling fallen leaves. Hoseok is quiet. Maybe it's just the jet lag, or he's just lost in thought. His brain, always working out the world around him, amazes you and you know that when he wants to share, he will.

Comfortably, you lean into his arm as you walk side by side down the path towards Main Street and the car. “Tired, babe? Or just thinking?”

He hums, leaning back into you. “Ah, I just wonder what you were like growing up. If we had lived in the same place, would we know each other?”

His conjecture is familiar to you- you’ve pondered this before as well. The thought of never having met this man chills you, he’s one of the kindest humans - let alone men- you know. Hoseok’s presence in your life has been so healing. Confidence has never come easily to you. A people pleaser through and through, you’ve spent many of your adult years learning to set boundaries while still being kind and thoughtful. Reflecting back on earlier times, your high school years were sweet…but also painful. Dramatic about crushes, mediocre in certain classwork and awkward in social settings outside of your tight-knit friend group, it’s not a time you’d want to visit again.

“Oh, probably. I would definitely have crushed on you and you’d have been too busy dancing with the cool hipster guys to notice my little bookworm self,” you reply with a shrug.

“Aniyooooo,” Hobi murmurs. “I would have noticed you. No matter when our paths first crossed, your heart would call to mine and I would answer.”

You stop walking. Pulling his face towards yours, you push up on your toes until your noses meet in a kiss. “That’s SO cheesy. But I love it. And I am so glad, that even if it took years and oceans to meet, we did. Thank you for choosing me. And being here with me to meet my family.”

Hoseok’s dark lashes close over his eyes briefly. He smells like coffee and something woodsy. His arms around you tighten, feeling like safety and calm, a guardrail keeping you centered and able to be your truest self.

He speaks softly, just for you. “Of course, jagi. You’ve done so much to know my culture and my life. I want to know yours better, too.”

His words settle deep inside you, like feathers coming to rest -light and soft. Over time, these small assurances accumulate, hidden away from the world and treasured just by you- filling you full with love that is anything but heavy or jagged. This love of yours, still young and budding, holds strong by the gentle kindness of healing words. Nothing could have prepared you for a relationship like this and you thank God daily for the ways this man’s words and actions have mended the small tears and rips in your heart.

Overwhelmed by emotions you’re not ready to face on this dirty sidewalk, you swallow back tears and instead, press a quick kiss to Hoseok’s soft lips.

“Well, then. Let’s go to my parents. I think it’s time you officially meet them.”

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The two of you sit cozily in your car, heat and music blasting. Since this is Hoseok’s first time visiting, you decide to take the long way through town, so he can see more of where you spent your formative years.

That’s the public library, where I fell in love with books and thought my dream job was being a librarian.

My best friend’s parents live there- we had so many sleepovers in her attic, listening through cracked windows to the train passing over the river on hot summer nights.

The Chinese Buffet right on the corner? We always begged to eat out there with friends after church on Sunday. I’m sure the food wasn’t that good, but we thought it was a feast.

In the spring, bluebells cover the floor of the woods and I would spend hours roaming the paths and looking for fairies among the flowers with my friends, gathering bouquets to take home to mom.

Countless memories flood your senses with each curve of the road, reminding you of forgotten afternoons and past seasons of life. How strange, that all those versions of you still exist inside you somehow, and yet, the life you now live is so foreign to that young girl.

She had so many dreams. Most of those dreams faded or were trampled down by the harsh realities of the real world. She wanted, though, most of all, to be seen by people who love her.

Glancing into the rear view mirror, you imagine for a moment your younger self, strapped into the middle back seat. Her bangs are a little choppy and her headband (surprisingly) would have come back into style again. She glances up and meets your gaze, eyes open wide with joy…and hope. And you grin back. Because, after all this time, Hope found you… and gave you love.

You pull the car into the drive and settle into a spot. Even after all this time, it feels like you can breathe more fully. Your body seems to recognize the surroundings, heart slowing and breath evening out. Cognitively, you know the air makeup is the same here as it was downtown or even at the airport, but something about being here just feels comforting.

Meeting your family went smooth as a dream. Of course, your parents had already videochatted with you both and been introduced electronically, but with the internet lags and two dimensions, it never felt fully real. You dad shakes hand with Hoseok, smiling broadly, and your mom hugs him generously, as if he was an old family friend.

After setting bags in bedrooms and hanging coats up in the closet, the both of you are ushered to seats at the table, clean white plates anticipating a blanket of food. Water is poured into glasses, napkins placed on laps, and bowls of steaming dishes passed around while conversation flows happily. This could be so awkward, but any pauses are filled with smiles or another bite of warm bread.

You wonder if anywhere will ever feel like home the way this place does. Probably not. Cliche as it is, home is where the people you call family are. Each space you’ve called home as a child and now adult holds different memories, smells, and aesthetics - but this house, and your immediate family, will always be your most core “home.” It was not always easy (and heck, you still do sometimes fight with your parents, even now!) …but they’re still the people who have loved you from dirty diapers through horrible hormones and even your occasional adult angst.

Relaxed against your chair, you listen as Hobi slowly recounts a story from his own childhood in careful English. He pauses at the right moments, eyes sparkling, and your mom laughs. She’s just as taken with him as you’d hoped. Even dad is emotionally engaged, asking questions and sharing his own thoughts from time to time.

The meal winds down, and you help clear dishes to the counter by the sink. Your mother waves you away, saying, “we can clean up later. Let’s just spend time together right now.”

The old Wii is booted up. You laugh, dancing next to Hobi to the iconic silly jingle while you decide which game to play first. Being with him is easy and sweet. He beats you at table tennis (of course he does) but you school him at archery (you went through a big “Susan of Narnia” phase as a teen... but your parents wouldn’t buy you a real bow, so this was the compromise).

The November sunshine draws you outside. Donning coats and hats, Hoseok grabs your hand in his. You hold onto his usually firm arm, soft as a marshmallow in his puffer coat. “Show me the neighborhood,” he requests and of course you agree. “And I need the fresh air to help keep me awake,” he laughs jovially.

The street hasn’t changed, but some of the houses have new paint colors on the shutters or doors. Older neighbors have moved on to smaller homes or retirement communities, and new suburbans and children’s bikes decorate yards and driveways.

“That house was always my favorite,” you point towards a Victorian styled home. “It’s one of the older homes here, definitely historic.” The wrap-around porch always draws your eye, along with the painted gables. It’s easy to imagine Anne sitting in the upstairs window, day-dreaming, or Jo March writing hastily on the porch swing.

“It’s beautiful,” Hoseok comments. He stops to take in the expansive gardens and carriage-house turned garage.

“It is.” You agree, “I always said that if I moved back here, I’d love to live there. I think my childhood imagination thought it would be the perfect space to nourish creativity.”

The man next to you turns, eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Do you want that? To live here someday?”

You hum, tilting your head as you think. “I’d never pass it up, if I could, but it’s not the future I expect anymore. Every city I’ve lived in, I’ve found houses that I find beautiful - but even my most uninspiring apartments have had moments of growth. And the relationships really do matter most to me.” Squeezing his hand, you lean your head against his covered arm. “If I get to do life with you, I won’t care if I’m in an apartment in a big city or a ger in Mongolia.”

Eyes meeting, a spark catches between you for the hundredth time. “I feel the same, sarang.” comes the quiet reply. “I feel the same way.”

// 𐙚 𐙚 𐙚

TAGS: @yoongleskitten :)

#bts fanfic #bts fic #bts hoseok #bts fluff #boraluv writes #bts scenarios #hobi #jung hoseok #bts jhope imagine #reader x jhope #bts jhope #happy hobiuary #bts headcanons #new bts fanfic

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bonnie-is-bumbling · 2 years ago

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I regret buying a house. And it it's just cause of my own entitlement, so be it.

So I said in my introduction that I regret buying a house. And while I do LIKE my house, let me tell you why I'm not happy with having bought it...

When I bought my house, I was in a great spot financially, as my job during 2020 actually picked up and... Well, I made a lot of money! I was working for the railroad, and often going days without being home. (Oh no, I sense an incoming blog later about that job...) I was very pressured by my Boomer parents to buy a house while the gettin' was good. And on some fronts, they were absolutely right.

On the other fronts, they were balking at prices. They bought their house in 2004, and while prices weren't particularly excellent then, they were still a bit shocked. However, we moved on from that, and my dad, a master electrician with skills in plenty of other trades, helped me to find a house that was at least close to worth what it was listed for.

Living in rural Wyoming USA, my choices were especially narrow. But here's how I saw it- I had no partner. But I had a good job, everything I needed, friends and family around... I, at the time, had been comfortable with the idea of becoming a homeowner and settling myself. I was 24 years old, felt somewhere around 34 in honesty.

I settled on a 3 bed, 1 bath craftsman, built in 1900. Now, I DO love old houses. They're made of strong stuff, and often have unique architecture that's no longer put on new homes unless you pay extra money.

My father ran over this house with a fine tooth comb. And while I'm currently a little salty at my parentals (for reasons I won't elaborate here,) I'm incredibly thankful for my dad in this case. He told me the electrical, plumbing, and general structures looked fine, aside from some of the wallpaper, the back porch, and a beam in the attic. The beam had to be fixed shortly after I bought it, but it was handled by the seller.

The monthly payments and utility bills weren't all too bad. It was honestly made to sound like it would overall be cheaper than the apartment I lived in at the time. But oh man, that is not the case. Especially when the railroad would slow and I wouldn't be guaranteed work or a paycheck...

It took two bloody pay periods. I fell behind one time. I used my credit card to pay my bills, and so the dominos fall. As we know, 2021 introduced the start of the insane inflation we see in 2023. This didn't help. Breaking my leg didn't help. Being scammed by someone I thought was a friend and allowed to use my basement for a few months didn't help. Being a doormat and not charging fairly didn't help either.

I had set rent low, because I understood and still do understand that shit. Is. Hard. And it got harder.

My current roommate/tenant actually had to convince me to charge a little more, as I went months falling further behind and scrambling to keep the house, keep my truck, keep the lights on, keep trash service, internet, water... Essentially, my plate was full, and now late charges and collectors were coming my way, because even after getting and keeping a job, full time, I couldn't catch up.

This is the first month that I'm not paying mortgage twice in the month, and while it provides some relief, the honest truth is that the house has been the absolute bane of my existence. Maybe I'm not responsible enough. Or maybe I wasn't as ready as I thought.

I still don't have trash service. I take the trash to my dad's dumpster when a bag gets full. (That said, I'm lucky to have a roommate who, like me, doesn't tend to make a lot of trash. Between the two of us, we might make a bag a week. ) I almost lost both water and electric this month, but I managed to scrape by. Barely. It threw my bank into overdraft.

Had I not been destroyed by the addition of overdraft fees in the previous two years, I guarantee I'd have had the money to pay and maybe even do some work on the house... Speaking of the house! Let's just say two years of financial and mental health troubles will do a number on a yard and on a house. While relatively clean indoors, the carpet on the front porch is coming up. I don't particularly dig outdoor carpets, but I digress. It was there before I was.

The back porch, I'm terrified to let my 10 pound pekepoo go onto. But I don't have much a choice as it's the only way to the back yard. There's a tree looming ominously over my roof, which although only one, a shingle was blown off of. My yard looks like utter crap from the former friend's incessant littering... While he was removed in November, a rough winter hasn't helped. The man made up to three bags of trash a week on his own. And when you don't have trash service, it's a problem. It caused an earwig problem... while he did admittedly try to help fix a drain leak in the kitchen, he sort of made it worse. I still associate the space beneath the sink with the mold and earwigs I came home to. Even if it's clean now.

Earwigs are spooky. I don't do bugs.

So that's another thing potentially on my plate again this year, although his garbage is gone. But probably what scared me the most came up in March... Now, I'm aware than in the colder months, old houses are prone to a little condensation, as they just don't ventilate as well. And while I'm about 99% sure it was only because it was cold outside and Roomie and I were cooking, I'm terrified that the roof may not have been properly handled. I didn't get indoor drippings the last two winters, albeit they were mild, and this one was very much NOT mild.

This winter is one where my GMC Yukon with a V8 got terribly stuck in the bloody driveway, and the snow was up past my hips at times. I'm about 5'6"... Non Americans, please use google to translate that if it matters to you how tall I am. This winter is one that shut down an entire Wyoming town because the snow was too deep for our local plows to safely handle and they called in the highway plows one or two times. This winter damaged homes and cars.

One minor damage I did fix was when the cold made my outdoor water spigot so brittle that it cracked open, causing a nice watery issue on that ever so "stable" back porch. Thankful that it was nowhere near a door, but I panicked because at the time, I had four dollars in cash to my name. I was going to use it for snacks at work until payday, as I couldn't actually afford enough food for meals. I ensured my dogs could eat, and I always will.

Thankfully, that $4 was enough for what I needed. This was icy, cold, wet, unpleasant, and... I'm small. My body doesn't like to build fat or muscle. Not eating didn't help. I was rejected for SNAP. I hardly had the strength. While I got everything off the pipe with relative ease, it was taking the two faucets off of the old T-joint that I wound up having to call for help with. My dad sent his apprentice (who is both a neighbor and a friend in small town life) to help me with a tool more proper for the job at hand than my tiny adjustable wrench that was all I had.

I bloody hate asking for help. I feel so guilty and like a user, even if I know better.

There has been no further condensation in the door jamb that scared me, but I still intend to find a ladder tall enough for my little hiney to get to the attic, where I will brave the spiders and bugs to check on my roof. I'm not thrilled for it, but I know it's my responsibility. It makes me itch all over to think about it.

But in the end, the watery mess was stopped and dried. As weather has eased, I've taken my little yard tiller up to the job of a rake to help me clean up the front, back, and side yards. I'm working with what I have and... I have to keep reminding myself it's okay. My parents did offer me a bigger rake. With my roommate and I both working at night (he works 16:00-00:00, I work 22:00 to 06:00) it makes it hard to plan yard work together, but he is willing to help.

I'm going into Spring of 2023 with a LOT on my plate, and a lot ahead. I want to move to Colorado with my boyfriend. But when I bought the house, I promised the ghosts (whom I do believe are real, and do not believe to be malicious in any way) that I'd take care of the house. And damn it, I do want to! It was a victim of the "Landlord Special" plenty of times. I want to give it... Not the landlord special. Something I'd be proud to call mine is what I'd like to make that little, beat up old craftsman into.

I'm starting with the yard. My goal purchase is a new lawnmower, and I might know an electrician or two that can make me an outdoor outlet that's actually up to code so I can get one of those electric ones.

I've got a very basic smart home system, mostly just lighting and music so far thanks to a Google Nest device in my room, and one in Roomie's bedroom, and six, thus far, smart lights. I suppose my dream would be to keep the 1900 looks but throw in the technology and lighting of today. Maybe I can transform my regret into something I love, and feel good about either selling or renting... And while I'm here... Something I feel good about living in!

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scorpionyx9621 · 2 years ago

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So let me get this straight. Because I know it does sound bad. But I do have justification for my reasoning.

Overall is Sojioro a much better person with better intentions than Kunikazu? Yes absolutely I'll never argue that. Kunikazu is a greedy capitalist millionaire who funded the conspiracy to get Shido into power in hopes that he could get a political position.

Where I am saying that Kunikazu was a better parent than Sojioro is two fold. 1. It's mentioned by Haru multiple times that her father didn't use to be this power-hungry or corrupt. That he did genuinely love her and show her affection. By the time the game rolls around he's been fully entrenched into the conspiracy to get Shido into office that he's fully okay with using Haru as a political pawn to gain power. Even the Persona Wiki says as much

"Despite being a cold and heartless businessman with a feverish pursuit for power, accounts indicate that he was a significantly better person in the past who treated Haru with great care. This side of him was never genuinely shown on-screen however, and was only frequently mentioned in-passing. When Haru was young, she felt highly upset for him not arriving to cheer for her on her first sports day because he was busy with work. Big Bang Burger also used to be an honest company that he poured his heart to maintain, instead of the black company it is during the events of the game, indicating that he is nothing more than a man who is corrupted by the seeking of power beyond all belief."

Kunikazu Okumura isn't a good person by any stretch of the word. Yet it can't be denied that after his wife's passing he did everything he could as a single father to raise Haru to the best of his abilities and he did provide her with everything she needed. That's not to say anything for the person he became and the person we met in the game. Which if anything makes his and Haru's arc more tragic. Even though the game tells us rather than shows us. Ultimately Kunikazu pays for his greed and ambition with his life thanks to a Mr. Pancake Trash Man.

I'll never argue that Sojioro is a MUCH better person in basically every sense of the world than Kunikazu. Yet at the same time look realistically at his treatment of both Akira/Ren and Futaba on their initial meetings.

Yes I'm aware from all that Sojioro knew he had his friends drop off their delinquent son with them because he had just assaulted a politician. Sojioro has EVERY right to be suspicious of Akira/Ren. Yet at the same time he looks upon Akira/Ren with such disdain that he forces him to sleep in the cafe's attic which barely has heating and air conditioning and little if any furnishings. It quite literally isn't until we encounter Futaba that Sojioro truly starts warming up to us and starts treating Akira/Ren with genuine kindness. He's essentially treating a minor the same way the Dursely's treated Harry Potter by forcing him to sleep in a closet under the stairs. Does Sojioro come around yes he does but that's something that takes basically half the game to do so.

When we see how he treats Futaba he is a much more attentive and caring person towards her. Yet Sojioro allows Futaba to stay home from school after the death of her mother to the point she fails a grade. It's so bad it's to.the point social services almost gets involved. This isn't caused by ill-intent on Sojioro's part. He doesn't know what to do with or how to really talk to Futaba. Sojioro never meant to hurt Futaba in any way. He just wants her to not be hurt after the death of Wakaba. But it's to the point that it comes at the detriment of Futaba. Sojioro allows Futaba to basically rot away in her room to the point Futaba considers self-harming. Sojioro isn't even the one to pull her out of her depression. Akira/Ren and the rest of the Phantom Thieves are.

Both Kunikazu and Sojioro aren't the best fathers by any stretch of the word. While Kunikazu was objectively better at being a father from him being a more stable and reliable parent up until proceeding the events of the game, he ultimately became corrupted by his own greed and became blinded to the point he didn't care what happened to Haru. Whereas Sojioro failed in his initial attempts as a guardian from both a place of disdain for Akira/Ren and hesitation towards Futaba, Sojioro was able to turn it around and became the unofficial dad of the Phantom Thieves. You aren't wrong for disagreeing with me at all and in fact I encourage discussion and other points of view. I will say there is no one single correct way of raising a child but there most certainly is a ton of wrong ways to do so.

Don’t say Yusuke just ‘cause he’s the resident weirdo y’all need to put in WORK

Consider this your first assignment of Persona 5 College hahahahahahaha (idk what I’m talking about anymore 😁)

#prev tags #reponse to a response #please know i'm not trying to say you're wrong #i'm just a fool with a special interest in developmental psychology

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spookysnicket · 5 years ago

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ANON: Request for HCs (nsfw included) of Billy Lenz with a shy, touch-starved loner S/O who's self-conscious about her relationship inexperience?

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(Here you go love! I struggled with these for a bit, so I apologize if they aren’t all that great. I hope you enjoy though, and thank you so much for requesting! NS!FW warning, adult content below! HCs below the cut as always)

👁 For starters, Billy’s pretty much in the same boat. The closest he’s ever gotten to a stable relationship before you is, well, with his right hand. He’s horribly touch starved as well- seriously, have you seen this boy? He’d probably stop stabbing you mid-kill if you gave him a hug

👁 With Billy, it’s all or nothing. There is no in between. Either he’s smothering you to death with snuggles and sexual advances or he’s gone completely timid, full attic hermit, MIA. The on/off switch in his brain is sporadic, so there’s little you can do to push him to the side in your favor. You’ll have to adapt to and work around his ever changing emotional and mental states

👁 Keep that in mind when you consider that Billy is still a young man, and it doesn’t help at all that he’s a raging bundle of hormones personified. He’s been abused, neglected, and traumatized practically his whole life. He’s got a lot on his plate, and he’ll be plenty more than a handful for you at times. You’ll have to push your boundaries and test the pliancy of your patience to get through his most manic of episodes. The relationship can get one sided pretty frequently, but it’s for the sake of both your safeties

👁 Billy is EXTREMELY touchy. There’s something about human contact to him that’s utterly hypnotizing, and he’s going to use you to get his fix. Whenever he comes around, he’s always near or right next to you, holding or reaching out to grab some part of your body if you haven’t done so to him already

👁 Cuddling is perfect for the two of you when Billy’s less manic, which typically happens when he’s tired or right after sex. The usual position is with him curled into a ball, tucked snugly and securely in your arms, or with your bodies crossed up and intertwined like a human pretzel. Billy’s quite warm, so you likely won’t even need a blanket

👁 He will tease you using your touch starved nature, as if he isn’t the same way. There’s nothing stopping this crackhead from making fun of how “clingy” you are, regardless of the fact that he almost screamed last week because you weren’t in the mood to hold his hand or play with his hair

👁 Your relationship with Billy isn’t the pristine picture perfect example of a healthy couple. With all of Billy’s trauma and dubious mental health, it can be trying for the both of you. There are plenty of days where you’ll have to stand your ground or take initiative, but in the end it helps Billy learn what’s okay to do with you and what’s not (well, he tries to learn). It’s up to you to essentially mold Billy’s idea of a real relationship outside of the physical portions, and hopefully in doing so, help you figure that out too. At least you’re learning all of this together!

👁 That in mind, he’s also doing the best he can for you, too. Billy has experience with sorority sisters- real bubbly, upbeat, and confident girls- and he knows that you’re different. In that way, you’re much less foreign to him than the usual giddy college prep, you make more sense. He knows what it’s like to be lonely and dejected. He knows what it’s like to want to hide away, yet yearn to be with others. You’re easier to relate to, which therefore makes it 1000x easier for Billy to be able to adjust to you, and show his love to you in his own ways

👁 Now, this is still Billy Lenz we’re talking about. Don’t expect to find a dozen red roses waiting on the foot of your bed one night. His affection comes in the forms of using “I”s instead of “Billy”s when he talks to you, letting his body relax and lean into you rather than stiffening like a board during hugs, or coming down from the attic to seek you out for more than sex

👁 Billy isn’t gentle in the slightest, so there will be no tender lovey dovey hugs and kisses aside from any instances where you’re practically begging for some- and even then he tends to be a bit rowdy and brutish with his touch. On the flip side, you have to be very careful with giving him physical attention. He’s a big whiner, and if you touch him too harshly he’ll get real grumpy about it

👁 NS!FW: Completely disregard the end of that last fluffy HC during sex. Billy’s natural pacing is fast and hard, and he would go apeshit if you were just as eager, loud, and rough back. For the first few times it’ll just be him trying to get off as much as possible with your body, but if you give him enough reciprocation and encouraging signs that tell him he’s doing a good job, he’ll slowly start to fixate on your pleasure as well

👁 NS!FW: He is THE most vocal slasher during sex. This boy is in the negatives when it comes to any shame levels. Billy just really loves to talk, and especially so when he’s got you turned to a moaning mess, pinned on your back and looking up at him with stars in your eyes while he drives his thin, stuttering hips into you with a wild and uneven pace

👁 NS!FW: Despite knowing how shy and self conscious you may be, Billy’s got one massive degradation kink. He’s going to practically blabber out an essay through grunts and moans about how good his “pretty piggy” feels around him. He’ll shudder and scream out your name with every orgasm, and he doesn’t care if anyone’s around to hear

👁 NS!FW: Billy always wants to be touching you during sex, and is partial to any positions that have you both pressed flush together. The thought alone of your warm skin pulling from his own between a sticky film of sweat could make him nut on the spot

👁 NS!FW: Billy’s quite creative, and very open to trying anything at least once. Not sure what to do? No problem! He’s more than happy to take the reigns and fuck you as he pleases, but in a less frenzied state, he wouldn’t object to anything you’d prefer instead. I really see him as a dom-leaning switch, so he’d go absolutely nuts if you ever mention wanting to dom him or take the lead

#billy lenz #the moaner #black christmas #x reader #slasher x reader #slasher fandom #slasher headcannons #Headcanon #slashers #NS!FW #we love a little attic trash man #i dont feel like these are too good so im sorry (':#my writing has just been off lately and yall deserve better

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shameboree · 2 years ago

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ATTIC GOBLIN ?

YEAH SO when we moved in there was like this wadded up pair of pink panties in the basement that hadnt been there a few days before when we did our final walkthrough or whatever right. and then my fuzzy socks would go missing and some leggings and then our fucking FORKS which were DISCONTINUED so we cant even replace them!!!!! also the toilet paper would run out like super fast and i drink A Lot of diet dr pepper so i DO pee a lot but this was just fucken ridiculous!!!!! anyway so our one old roommate suggested ghost but me n polks were like fuck off this is OUR house!!

anyway so one day im slumped down on the couch w earbuds in having a good time and my friend kos comes downstairs to brew his sleepy ass some fresh shit tier coffee at like 5pm on a weekday. tbh i was talking about one of my homebrew blorbos being harassed and having just a great time with it so i didnt want to speak to anyone and just EXTREMELY avoided eye contact n sank as deep as i could into the bigass pillows of our honestly very nice goodwill upper middle class grandma couch. the point of that is when you walk downstairs and turn into the kitchen you cant really see me at this angle and i am DEAD SILENT bc my keyboard was apparently made of marshmallows or smth AND im metal gear box stealth mode trying to not be noticed here so i can talk about my barbies being menaced uninterrupted.

SO because of all that when kos came back downstairs for his coffee which had been brewing for probably not very long but i was in the Blorbo Zone where time is fake so i couldnt in good faith give an estimate he did NOT see me. well while hes in the kitchen puttering around i just start losing my shit on account of my blorbarbies in agonies brings me Such Joys and i think this startled him so bad he has to take a stress shower because i heard the bathroom door SLAM and the water start running. at some point after this polks comes home from work and starts pissed off nagging us over WHO MADE THIS COFFEE MESS IN MY KITCHEN!! kos comes downstairs for the Commotions and apparently the coffee pot was sitting on the counter with some fresh coffees while the rest of it fresh waterfalled all into our silverware and pots n pans spaces HOWEVER!! MYSTERY TIME!! he has not been downstairs since he started brewing his trash sludge.

INTERMISSION: THINGS TO NOTE ABOUT OUR HOUSE: the back door is literally INCHES from the downstairs bathroom. the attic is not a panel or ceiling access its just a door right by all our bedroom doors and it wont latch which was So Annoying bc the cats were UNREASONABLE THIRSTY to get up there so we had to install a loop n hook latch to keep it shut but whichever one of us did that goofed it up pretty bad bc the door is still perpetually cracked open like probably a full inch and a half. id love to take the credit for this but i think it was polks who is absolutely phenomenal at fucking up installations of things. OTHER NOTABLE THINGS ABOUT POLKS: her single biggest fear on this planet is shit like Crawlspace Man. just Some Guy living in your home without you knowing. also we have a dark little crawlspace down in the basement, for ambience

MOVING ON at this point i still dont give a shit about anything happening around me because i am inflicting sufferings upon my from scratch blorbo BUT my brain is putting the pieces together which i then immediately do a toddler vs 1000 piece puzzle it took you a year to assemble and just totally waste that shit from my thinkspace bc i wanna play DOLLS instead. polks and kos are also putting their little pieces together but they are Not braindead dipstick idiots like yours truly so they decide to check the whole haus bottom up, starting with the crawlspace. great news! the crawlspace is empty!! other older news: i def heard the cabinet ruining coffee fuckuper come down from upstairs.

i forgot to mention that for this househunt polks armed herself with our fucking broom and was wielding it handle side out because It Has Reach and a knife would Escalate The Situation. anyway they make their way upstairs and i am doing absolute jackshit nothing to help because, again, i am fucking brain poisoned to prioritize oc cummies over every single thing on this planet. its in my fucking genetic code. so while im fuckin useless theyre up there talking about how fucking weird this is and scuffling around or whatever but the second they go into the attic its dead silent and NOT because they go silent but because the attic is some fucked up sound void and past the first 3 steps you can hear total fuck all from outside. at this point my little toddler brain realizes this puzzle is actually indestructible so when kos and polkie are out of the void audible again i Already Knew i had to start being a fucking adult instead of playing barbies which DID feel like a personal affront.

tbh i dont even remember how polks reacted bc i was so CMON MAN!! at our attic dweller for cucking me bc now i gotta call the fuckin cops AND change the locks AND i still gotta get up at 420 in the mother blessed am for work, so basically this entire stunt was a hate crime against me specifically.

we dont really go in our attic much and never even bothered fetching the cats when they went up there but we HAD been up there before so when i went up there and saw fuckin blankets and takeout containers and also some clothes stuffed into drafty holes it was like, kind of Obvious that yeah some bitch was stealing my forks and not paying rent and eating all my toilet paper and FOR SOME REASON had the audacity to ALSO go ahead and pour out a cup of coffee in BROAD DAYLIGHT while we were OBVIOUSLY HOME. the fucking NERVE!!

so!! thats our Event that i honestly forget happened most of the time. we actually refer to them as Attic Dobby i think on account of my THIEVED socks but then of course attic dobby became sexy dobby as is the natural progression of things. we have many big tity dobbie drawings around the house and we love to show them to guests. i may have lost some forks i cant fucking replace so ill never have a matching set again BUT now my house has so many slutty big tit thong and louboutin adorned dobbys that kos and i have bonded so much over drawing that it all evens out in the end and i definitely dont get mad about the forks ever. less important than dobbys big naturals but still notable: exposure therapy works as polks no longer has the Crawlspace Man Terrors!

#LONG POST #i went off the fucking RAILS here i think. im runnin on 3hrs babes!!#ill share some sexie dobbi pics one day bc i know youre all BURNING for this content now #real sorry for people who follow me for shit like. cute kid shows. this is just Me #kels talks #im not fucking proof reading this shit im going to fucking BED #ANYWAY ANNA I HOPE U ENJOY THIS STORYTIME

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 4 years ago

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Dark Shenanigans - Nandor x (f)reader

Summary: It’s Nadja’s something hundredth birthday, with that said, you’re on a mission to make it great.

Warning: fluff, general vampire nonsense

Masterlist

“Yeah being a half vampire half human does have its perks. I mean for one I can do all that cool vampire shit and I can go out in the sunlight...so that helps for when they’re all being really annoying.” You admit with a casual shrug to one of the documentary cameras before turning to an isle of party supplies. “So anyways we’re at this store.”

The camera shifts to the multiple arras of supplies and materials at the local supermarket in Staten Island that you and your vampire lover’s human familiar, Guillermo, currently are. Specifically on the hunt for birthday decorations for Nadja and ghost Nadja who’s possessed a strange looking doll for the time being.

Since the other four actual full vampires can’t shop for themselves at this time of day or really in general, you and Guillermo have been given such an honorable task in making Nadja’s birthday the best one yet. Considering she’s the most well balanced in the head out of the four of them and is the only other lady of the manor.

“Hey Y/N, how’s this look?” Wonders Guillermo as he holds up a bunch of Mardi Gras beads of yellows, purples, and greens. “Comments, questions, concerns?” He adds with a small smile.

Eyeing up the beads, your head shifts over to the other various colors, “Hrmm, G I’m feeling the vibe you’re going for this year and I like it, but let’s go with Nadja colors.”

Guillermo’s dark eyes light up at your positive suggestion, “Right! So the red and black ones then?”

“Yup. She’ll love that shit.” You state with a satisfied nod of approval, “Let’s get some black and gold confetti from over there and oh, those masquerade masks look cool as fuck.”

You pick up and test out various masks in the background as Guillermo adds some bits of dialogue for the documentary crew, “Um yeah she’s really cool isn’t she.” He says with a smile while glancing at you then back to the camera, “Which is kind of odd since Y/N’s been with Nandor since 1793 so you’d think she’d be a little more like them but no, she’s super chill and really nice.” Suddenly his face goes a bit serious as he leans in to whisper, “But she did kill a whole street gang once when they threw a slur at me so I wouldn’t mess with her. For your safety.”

The camera pans back over to an oblivious you who’s put on a masquerade mask and is swinging a plastic light saber around with a whole lot more accuracy and grace then would a normal person. The camera then pans back to Gullimero, “Um, I’m just gonna....make sure she doesn’t smack anyone.”

——

Arms full of groceries of food for you and Gullimero, as well as random party decorations for Nadja’s birthday tomorrow night, you use the bottom of your boot to skillfully open the door as the documentary crew and Guillermo follows suit. Guillermo now on the verge of falling over with the large heart shaped pillow in his arms that’s covering most of his body.

You don’t feel tired in the slightest due to your half vampiric abilities so this is nothing to you, “Alright.” You state, turning on your heel to face the crew and Guillermo, “They’re asleep so we gotta be extra sneaky now, I don’t want Nadja catching us with all this cool spooky birthday shit. Everyone to the attic!” You whisper yell before leading the charge to the attic.

They all follow as quietly and as quickly as they can and then soon enough in no time are you and Guillermo back outside in the sunny garden trying to figure out if you should blow up the giant sea monster pool floaty.

“I mean it would look cool as hell and no doubt out-do whatever the fuck boring thing Lazlo probably has planned.” You quip with a shrug while the two of you stare thoughtfully at the small gloomy dark pond. “He’s got no chance with us. I’ve won best decorator and card maker for two hundred years in a row.”

Guillermo side eyes you in honest amazement, “Wow that’s a lot of years. And cards.”

“I know. I was an artist in the 12th century but my no good terrible good for nothing piece of garbage trash sexist human husband, who I was forced to marry when I was only sixteen, took all the credit for my artwork in that era.” You confirm with a growl, “But it stings less because once I finally grew into my powers and strength at eighteen I simply made his untimely demise look like an accident.” You add with a smirk.

“Oh, wow.” Mutters the intrigued familiar.

“Precisely. The old fool was thrown off his horse because I told Philip, the horse, to throw him off. And he did. Which killed the idiot so I got the house and all of his money.”

“That’s......neat.” Mutters Guillermo as he shoots the camera crew from behind you and him a nervous look. “Uh the suns going down so I should probably help Nandor out of his coffin.”

Raising your head to the sky you immediately see how the sun has begun to paint the clouds in beautiful colors of oranges, reds, light pinks, and darkening purples. “Oh, how bout that. Yeah alright let’s get inside.” You nod to Guillermo before turning to walk towards the manor’s giant mahogany doors.

——

Turning the handle and walking a couple feet into the large main room that holds itself as a sort of crossroads for all the other various connecting hallways and staircases. You don’t make it even three more steps towards the left ascending staircase before you hear the highly recognizable voice of your one and only.

“Y/N! My lovely wife and favorite person still ever so lovely!” Announces Nandor loudly with a grand smile showing off his pearly white fangs, “How I have missed you and your morning kisses. Where have you been off to?” He wonders softly as you smile a big dumb love-struck grin right back up at him, you’d absolutely die to hear that accent one last time.

“I can’t tell you right now it’s a secret!” You whisper yell back, causing his thick dark brows to scrunch up in confusion.

“But I am your lovely strong puff dragon Y/N.” Whines Nandor adorably as you roll your eyes at the cameras before looking back up at him.

“Fine. Come here then.”

In an instant he’s at your side, excitedly awaiting what secretive news you will tell him, “Okay, so we know it’s Nadja’s birthday tomorrow right?”

“Yes. I remember because she hasn’t shut up about it.”

“Right. So me and Gullimero got some fun surprise birthday party decorations and they’re in the attic and we can’t tell Nadja.”

Nandor gives you a knowing look of affirmation as he leans in closer to you, his demeanor suddenly shifting into a more saddened one, “You went shopping without me?” He says quietly.

Leaning up to give him a quick peck on the cheek your hands instantly find his, “Just for a little while, but I still need to find more stuff so....you wanna come?”

Nandor’s big dark eyes light up with joy as you hand him a kind smile, “Yes! Let us go in search of unknown treasures for our lady friend Nadja so she will not be mad at us for terrible dull gifts of friendship.”

Laughing you give his hands a playful squeeze, “Come on I’ll race you to Party City!” You say before leading him past the camera crew and Guillermo who simply watches the two of you leave, glad to have an hour of peace.

“There’s a whole city for partying? Y/N why have we never been to this place?”

——

“Y/N there are no people partying here.” Whines your vampire lover in puzzlement as he follows you from the entrance to a side isle. “You said this was a city for partying.”

“That’s just the name of the store Nans.” You retort with a small chuckle as he looks from right to left at all the color coded party plates and napkins galore.

“Well the title is very misleading.”

“Agreed.”

Turning to the right you guide him towards the decretory pirate themed isle in search of something that will peak his interest. Also you wanted so badly to make it to this spot but Gullimero was a man on a mission so your intention was thwarted for when you had Nandor with you.

Speed walking down the pirate themed isle you quickly halt all movement as Nandor’s large body stops within less than an inch from your back. Smiling brightly you snatch the desired object in front of you and as swift as a cat turn to face him.

“Have you come for a dual my old enemy?” You speak slyly, eyes narrowed as you hold the foam sword right in front of his face. “I sense a nervousness about you. Tell me, are you ready to face your inevitable bloody end?”

Staring at the pointy foam, his dark puppy eyes shift over to you as an adorable fangy grin breaks out across his pale face, “Seems you have come prepared, oh radiant and alluring seductress. Well, so have I!” Shouts Nandor before grabbing two foam swords from off the rack and swinging them in both hands like a mad man.

Taking a cautious step back you hold your pathetic five dollar sword in both hands like a true warrior ready for battle, “Only one shall leave this place alive.” You affirm with a smirk, “And it’s not going to be you.”

“Arrrrrggg.” Bellows your lover as he charges you like the true conqueror that he once was. But all to soon do you swiftly duck under his arms and swat him over his stomach with a confident thwack sound.

He makes a puny little “oww” as you turn around to face him once again, “Y/N you hit me kind of hard.” He complains, looking rather defeated and genuinely hurt that you could have intentionally injured him on purpose.

Bringing the plastic weapon down to your side once again, your face suddenly softens as you walk over to him, “Come here you big baby.” You quip sincerely as he leans down so you can give his cheek a quick kiss.

Rising back to his full height, Nandor almost blushes as the corners of his eyes crinkle into a happy smile, “Actually it didn’t hurt at all I just wanted you to kiss me.” Reveals the vampire with a proud grin as you simply roll your eyes.

“Should have known.” You add before turning and snatching up four more plastic foam pirate swords for the others. “Alright let’s get outta here, follow me my love, to the checkout line we shall purchase our weapons of war and partying on the high seas.” You announce with gusto as Nandor stands proudly at your side, ready to follow you anywhere.

“Yes. To check out.”

——

Kicking open the unlocked door, Nandor bursts into the vampire residence with bags full of goodies for Nadja’s birthday party. You right behind him but less dramatically, “We’re back!” You shout to no one in particular as Colin Robinson suddenly appears from out of nowhere, looking ready to leave with his funny little hat and usual beige jacket.

“Oh hey guys,” He starts with a friendly nod, “I’m just heading out on the town tonight. I guess there’s a fair or something in the park and I wanted to test my skill at the ball toss. I’ve been reading up on the body mechanics and how the game is set up which seems pretty basic all in all. Also I really want to win a stuffed bear this time, it might add a little pizazz to my room. Welp see ya’round.” Adds Colin before walking past the two of you without another word and out into the night he goes with some of the camera crew following close behind.

Nandor turns to you with a look of annoyance, “Jeesh I thought he would never leave. Let’s go to your room I want to kiss you some more now.”

“Why my room?”

“Because since you are half vampire you get to sleep in a bed and because I am a full vampire I sleep in a coffin.” Inquires Nandor while looking at you with those big beautiful dark eyes of his, “And my coffin is too small for cuddles so your room will suffice.”

“Yeah that’s a fair point.” You shrug before following him to your room.

After many cuddles leading to other more rated R type activities that lasted until just about sunrise, you finally got some well needed rest while the sun shone high in the sky until she began her dramatic descend back into oblivion. Opening your eyes you slowly rise from out of your comfy bed, already missing the presence of your obsidian eyed lover.

He gets too nervous about your closed windows for fear that the sun might burn him which would be impossible because you black out the glass. But alas, he’s very cautious about these types of things and won’t risk it for anything, though he feels bad about leaving you in the morning, you understand.

Suddenly it dawns on you that today or perhaps tonight, is Nadja’s birthday and you completely forgot to set up any decorations. Shit, how stupid. Throwing the blankets off of you, your feet move quick as you speedily change yesterday’s outfit for something a bit nicer and more clean.

Racing out of your room and into the dimly lit manor hallway, you make a bee line for the attic but before you’re able to reach the steps, Guillermo runs into you, just about knocking you into a wall of various stolen ancient weapons. Sharp ones at that.

That was close.

“Y/N are you okay!” Worries the familiar as you quickly gather your bearings.

“Guillermo! The decorations! Nadja’s birthday!” You whisper yell as the human man simply smiles. “Why are you smiling, this situation does not call for smiles.”

“Don’t worry. While you were sleeping I set up all the decorations.” He replies with a shrug, “No problem.”

“What? But that must have taken you all day, you could have asked me for help. I would have come.” Your brows furrow as he shakes his head, though you still feel bad for not helping with anything.

“Well I did try, but um,” Gullimero awkwardly clears his throat, giving the camera a quick glance, “Nandor was with you and last time I asked for you while you and him where having alone time he threatened to carve out my eyeballs and force feed them to me.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose in annoyance you take a deep breath, “Sounds like him. Very creative when he wants to be, alright, well....where’s everyone?”

“Oh, they’re not up yet. I was actually on my way to get you. I made blood popsicles and the pool floaty is all done and in the pond.” He says with a sense of pride for his decorating skills. “I think she’ll like what we’ve come up with this year.”

Standing in the living room with your three fellow immortals you search a dresser for her card, “Oh shit where’s my card? I could have sworn I had it yesterday on my dresser but I don’t remember seeing it there in the morning. Maybe it’s in this one?”

“Witches!” Hisses Nadja as you huff in frustration, where the hell did you put that damn card?

“Oh, Y/N my love,” Intervenes Nandor with a gentle tug of your sleeve, “I took it with me when I left your room before sunrise because I wanted to put my name on it too so she would know it’s from us.”

“What?” Replies Lazlo dramatically, “Now hold on just a damn minute, this card competition is individually scored so I won’t be having any of this nonsense. I worked really hard on mine this year.”

“Oh lick a donkey’s arse, look here,” You retort with, quickly holding up the card for Nadja, “there are two separate drawings on ours so either way if one of us wins she gets both our pictures. So you better hope your drawing doesn’t resemble a night clubs bathroom wall.”

“Yeah.” Mutters Nandor, who’s hiding behind you while resting both hands on either one of your shoulders as you glare at Lazlo.

“Fine.” Agrees Lazlo begrudgingly, “And mine will be amazing, this bitch of paper took me a whole six months to plan and produce. Can’t get quality this good anywhere else I guarantee it.” Adds Lazlo with a firm nod of self approval as you glance at the nearby camera.

“Right, okay everyone sit it’s time for presents. I want to know what you all got me.” Beams Nadja excitedly as she smiles a fangy grin in delight, plopping herself down in one of the arm chairs. Lazlo quickly finding the other one while you and Nandor seat yourself on the large couch. Colin and Guillermo finding somewhere to sit close by respectfully.

“Well, all I can say is hold onto your socks my dear cause this is going to blow you away.” Smirks Lazlo as he pulls a small box from out of his jacket pocket.

“If it’s a self made business card that says invitation to sexy town I will puke.” You deadpan while Nandor laughs from beside you, causing Lazlo to lose his smirk as Nadja hides her amusement the best she can manage.

“He he, sexy town, nice one Y/N.” Mutters Nandor with a proud grin as you raise a brow at Lazlo who’s giving you a hard glare.

“Oh, my dear pumpkin pie love, don’t listen to Y/N I will love anything you gift me.” Encourages Nadja with a bright welcoming smile, no doubt immediately boosting Lazlo’s once irked mood.

Rolling your eyes you shift a bit to find yourself leaning into Nandor’s body as Nadja opens up the rest of the vampire residents various gifts. A joyous fangy smile gracing her pale features every single time, revealing this birthday party was a thrilling success.

After much more fun that just about lasts throughout the whole night, and some rare but hilarious attempts at dancing between the five of you vampiric individuals. You’re feeling rather sleepy and you can tell Nandor is ready for a trip to dreamland as well.

Swaying to the lowly playing record instrumental, you hold Nandor tight while simultaneously enjoying the feeling of him so close, him doing just the same as he keeps you firmly pressed against his chest. His long dark hair tickles your face as he presses his head to your cheek, doing his absolute best to keep the flow without tripping up.

Sensing his growing fatigue, you gently squeeze his hand, “My love the sun will be up soon, let’s get you to bed, yes?”

A small lazy smile tugs at the corners of his lips while he looks down to meet your gaze, “But my dark angel I’m not tired. I want to dance with you a little longer.” He whines adorably before failing to conceal a big yawn.

Giggling, you lean back to slowly lead him towards the door, “That yawn says otherwise.”

“That wasn’t a yawn Y/N, I was just smiling really big.” He protests, though he still follows your lead to the door.

“I’ve never seen anyone smile like that.” You add with a raised brow.

“Well maybe that’s just how I smile.”

Letting out a breathy snort, you pull away from him to at last take his one hand, “Come. I can’t have a single ray of that dreaded sun to get a taste of your precious skin. Not on my watch.”

Glancing at the closed front door, Nandor squeezes your hand, “Well um, now since you’ve mentioned the sun...I think I’d like to go to my crypt now.” He says, the flash of worry crossing over his face for only a brief moment.

“You sure? I mean a sunrise is pretty beautiful if I’m being honest and I know you never get to see them...”

“Not funny Y/N. And not fair, you know I can’t because I am full vampire.”

“And you’re missing out.”

“And I’d like to stay alive Y/N.”

“Aren’t you dead?”

“Yes and I am your only husband so I need to stay not burnt to a crisp.”

Chuckling, you follow him down the hallway, “Oh really? Don’t want me finding myself with another vampiric lover? Some new beast to sweep me off my feet and take me away into the night.” You tease.

Side eyeing you, he frowns, “No. Don’t I sweep you off your feet?”

Stepping into his crypt you stop him with your hand against his bicep, “Always.” You whisper sincerely with a quick wink, causing him to break out into a big fangy grin.

“Good. And if anyone would try and whoo you I would make sure there would be no more whooing again!” Exclaims Nandor, making the candles rise in flame for only a short second at his rise in emotion for how much he loves you.

“I don’t doubt they would fall by your blade. Not for a second.”

#nandor the relentless #Nandor x reader #nandor x you #nandor x y/n #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows x reader #vampire fun yeah #love my big huggable vampire #:)

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allzelemonz · 4 years ago

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Mr. Mayor: Vlad Masters X NSG Reader

Decided to make it gender neutral despite the request because I love Vlad and I know other boys and enbys do too. Also made the reader Jack Fenton’s sibling because I think there’s a slap in the face situation part 2 later on.

Visiting your brother’s family was always great. Jack rambled on about something ghost related while Jazz caught you up on her academic successes and Maddie told you about the big new events you’d missed since visiting last. Your favorite part of the visit was taking Danny to hang out. Your nephew was your favorite, not that you’d ever say it out loud.

So taking Danny to the Nasty Burger to meet with his friends was right in your wheelhouse. Sam and Tucker seemed like really nice kids. You admired Sam’s taste in the weird things and Tucker’s understandable love for technology. In talking to the kids you remembered what Maddie had told you.

“So, the new mayor, not your favorite person?” You looked around at the high schooler's faces.

“He tried to make us wear school uniforms, started a curfew at four o’clock, and we almost lost the Nasty Burger.” Danny explained.

“Does he have some sort of vendetta against you or something?” You asked as you went to take a bite of a fry.

The teens looked at you skeptically. As if you knew something you weren’t supposed to.

“What?” You looked around. “Am I missing something?”

“He’s just a bad guy, that’s all.” Sam clarified.

“He’s the guy that’s been chasing after Danny’s mom since they were in college, other than that he never seemed that bad.” You set down the fry you were never going to get the chance to eat. “He and Jack always spent summers between semester doing stupid ghost expermments in th attic.”

“So you knew him before…” Danny stopped himself from finishing.

“Before?”

“Before college?” Tucker filled questioningly.

“Yeah, yeah, you knew him from when my dad went to college?”

“Not really.” You answered. “Just caught glimpses of him. I was in high school so I didn’t really pay attention to what Jack did.” You shrugged. “He seemed nice, but he stopped coming over so often for some reason.”

Once again the teens looked at each other as if they knew something special.

“All right, who wants to tell me?” You broke their little staring contest.

“Tell you what?” Tucker spoke in more of a series of squeaks rather than words.

“Yeah, there’s nothing to tell.” Sam covered.

You turned to Danny. “Nephew.”

He gulped and let out a nervous laugh. “It’s like Sam said, he’s just a really bad guy now.”

“Explain.”

The look of a disappointed (Aunt/Uncle/Auncle-This is the most common gender neutral term I’ve found) was something that could move mountains. Danny shifted in his seat clearly trying to come up with a convincing lie.

“Daniel, tell me.” You narrowed your brows and the kid looked white as a ghost.

Hold on, no. His hand was gone. The one that was resting on the table. Gone.

“Is this a ghost thing?” You asked.

Danny looked down at his hand and tried to play it off as if it was just a weird angle. It didn’t work. With all the nervous muttering and poorly formed excuses it was obvious they were lying.

“You’re half ghost?” It was hard to believe, but it was the only thing that the kids didn’t sound like they were lying about.

“Yes, just keep your voice down.” Danny warned. “Vlad is half ghost too, that’s how he became mayor and got all of his money.”

“So he’s bad because he played to his strengths?” You muttered to yourself.

You gathered up the trash around the table.

“Why don’t you introduce me to him, Danny. I’m sure he’s not that bad of a guy.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Sam chimed in.

“I may be related to Jack Fenton, but that doesn’t mean I’m an idiot.” You looked at Danny who seemed to forget that he could do ghostly things and was trying to hide in his shirt. “Come on, Danny.”

Reluctantly Danny left his friends to introduce you to his arch nemesis. A fourteen year old with an arch nemesis and it had to be your nephew. Town hall was busy, but that’s what town halls are like. Danny helped you walk through a few walls until you were outside of Vlad’s office. The fact that your nephew could just walk through walls was going to take some getting used to. Danny opened the door to see a rather handsome man sitting at a large desk with a fluffy white cat in his lap. He looked up at the sound of the door clicking open.

“Why Daniel, to what do I owe the pleasure?” His voice had a calming effect.

“My (Aunt/Uncle/Auncle) wanted to meet you.” Danny seemed tense in the way he spoke. “I’ll be at home.’ He muttered to you before leaving the room.

You closed the door as he left.

“Good to meet you Mr. Masters, I’m (Y/n), Jack’s (Brother/Sister/Sibling).”

“Oh, yes, I remember seeing you around.” Vlad recalled. “Please sit.”

You did so, taking the seat across from him.

“I wanted to meet you because I’d always been a fan of your work.”

“Oh, thank you, it's always nice to meet a fan.”

“And because I never got the chance to really meet you when you and Jack were friends.”

“I must say, I do regret not meeting you sooner.” Vlad leaned forward and rested his chin in his hands. The cat scurried away to a small tower by the window.

“Why did you and Jack stop talking?” You asked.

“Oh, college passed and we went separate ways.” He waved off the issues.

“That’s it?”

“Well, I used to have a bit of jealousy toward he and Maddie, but I feel it passing more and more with each word.”

“Each what?”

“Each day.” Vlad corrected himself.

“Right…” Your eyes wandered to the framed Packers jersey on his wall. “You’re a Packers fan?”

“Why yes.” Vlad smiled fondly at the jersey. “I’ve tried to buy the team itself, but no luck.”

“I’ve always been a bit of a fan, and I love the jersey.” You complemented.

“Say, would you like to accompany me to a game this season?”

You blushed red. A very attractive man just asked you to go to your favorite team's game.

“I, uh, I’d love to.”

“I have my own box, bottle service and all of the perks.” He bragged. “Afterall someone with your looks deserves nothing less.”

You let out a nervous half laugh. “Thank you, Mr. Masters.”

“Oh, please, Vlad.” He insisted.

“Right, Vlad.”

The name rolled off your tongue in such a pleasant way. Jack might kill you for this, but come on.

“If you’d like we go for dinner tonight as well.” Vlad offered.

“Sure.” You answered right away.

After having to interrogate Danny and his friends you realized you never really got to eat.

“Shall we then?” Vlad waited by you with his arm out to take.

You walked with him to a limo reserved just for the mayor. He sat next to you and gave great conversation. You discussed the Packers, politics of Amity Park, and personal preferences. Dinner was much of the same, but with more food. Vlad wasn’t like Danny had said. He was a gentleman. He may have acquired his money by not-so-legal means, but he was a nice guy.

The ride home was more conversation. Vlad bought the ticket to the game he’d promised and inquired about why you were in Amity Park.

“It was just time to visit, catch up with Jazz and Danny.” You explained. “I try to tune out Jack, he calls every week or so anyway.”

“And how long will you be staying in our fair city?”

“Around a week.”

“And I couldn’t persuade you to stay any longer?” Vlad offered.

“I, uh, I don’t know.” You thought. “Maybe.”

“There is a position open at city hall if it interests you.” He met your eyes. “I’d be happy to pull some string to keep you around.”

“I wouldn’t mind that.” You nodded along.

You hadn’t noticed how close the two of you were. Until Vlad’s hand was already cupping your cheek. He gave you a moment to react before he leaned in and pressed your lips together. It was a sweet kiss, timid. As if he hadn’t done it in a long time.

You scooted closer to him on the seat and wrapped your arms around him, one of your hands finding his pony tail to play with. Vlad rested his other hand on your side and pulled you a bit closer. You pressed further and intensified the kiss. Vlad obliged and kept the pace, kissing you with as much passion.

The car came to a stop and made you both separate. Time was cut short.

“I suppose I’ll see you soon?”

“Of course.”

“Lunch tomorrow?”

“I’d love to.”

Vlad opened the door for you to step out and gave you one last smile before the car drove away. You were definitely going to see him again.

#Danny Phantom #vlad plasmius #Vlad Masters #vlad masters x reader #vlad masters x male reader #vlad masters x female reader #x reader #x male reader #x gender neutral reader #vlad masters x gender neutral reader

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totallysharkycomplete · 4 years ago

Text

Waiting For You Part Four (Ford Pines x Reader) Our Year

Before the twins arrived she helped Stan set up the attic for them. She also made sure there was plenty of food and snacks. Also, she helped make sure the shack was tween proof, and there were no signs of the supernatural or paranormals.

Stan had hired help in the gift shop for the summer, which was new. Besides Soos who had been around for a few years now. He claimed it was because you were both so close to getting Ford back, and the kids would be enough work.

Life wasn’t much different with the twins around, maybe more fun, but not too different. Mabel decided to call her their honorary Grant. The only difference being having to wait until the kids were asleep before she and Stan head down into the basement.

She tried to distance herself at first, allowing time for Stan to bond with his grand niece and nephew. When Stan told her he was going to take the kids fishing she decided to stay home and work. A few days after that there was a loud crash and Soos announced that he had found a random hidden room.

Everything in her started to panic that he had somehow found Ford’s room, but was relieved when she saw it was those creepy wax figures Stan had forgotten about.

“Why are these in here?” Dipper asks.

“They stopped attracting tourists so Stan put them away. Also,” She leans down to Dipper to whisper. “I think they were kinda haunted.” She only half jokes. They had always given her the creeps.

“I thought you didn’t believe in stuff like that.” Dipper quirked an eyebrow.

Stan and her had agreed to play off all the weird stuff in Gravity Falls to try and keep the kids away from it.

“I don’t.” She lies.

---------- When Mabel announces she has been spending time with Gideon she advies her against it. “Mabel, not to be rude, I know he’s only a child, but he’s kind of insane. Also, he’s kind of like your Gunkle Stan's nemesis.”

Mabel ignores her warning. A few days later however she came back to admit she was right.

“Mabel, I know you’re very boy crazy at this age. You’ll quickly learn that if a guy makes you feel uncomfortable or creeps you out you shouldn’t force yourself to be around them.” She offers Mabel a Pitt Cola which she happily accepts.

“He was really nice until he was really creepy.” Mabel sighs.

“Some boys are just like that.” She tells her.

“What about you? You’re so beautiful and nice. Why don’t you have a boyfriend?” Mabel sits up, excited for an answer.

Her thumb comes up to fidget with the back of her ring. “Well, Mable, I…”

“Oh my gosh!” Mabel jumps up. “Is it because you’re in love with Grunkle Stan?”

She can’t help but laugh, causing Mabel to frown. “I’m sorry, Mabel, but no. I love Stan, yes. But I have absolutely no romantic feeling for him.”

“Don’t worry, by the end of this summer I’ll find you a boyfriend for sure!” Mabel doesn't listen as she protests, and scurries off. ---------- For some reason unbeknownst to her Stan decides to throw a party at the shack. When she asks him a reason all he replies with is, “Money!” Which seems about right to her.

She avoids the party for the most part. Taking the opportunity to sneak into the basement to tighten bolts and detangle wires. It's really all she can do at this point until the other journals are found.

When the party is over Stan makes his way to the basement. “You been down here all night?” She nods. “I could use some help cleaning up from the party.” She agrees to help since there is nothing left for her to do.

She starts throwing cups in the trash can and sweeping up. She unconsciously sighs.

“What’s that for?” Stan asks.

“What’s what for?” She replies.

“The sighing, am I too boring for you?” He jokes.

She stops cleaning and looks at him. “What else can we do, Stan? I feel like I’m just sitting around twiddling my thumbs waiting for something to happen. I’ve spent hours in the woods looking for the journals, hours looking around town, in the shack, but I always come back empty handed. I just don’t know what to do next.”

Stan walks over to her and takes the broom from her hands and sets it to the side, then wraps her in a hug. She hugs him back. “All we can do is keep on living our lives. We’ve done all that we can. I’m not saying we should give up or nothing, but right now we just have to live in the present ya’ know?”

She sniffs. “I know. It’s just so hard to, when it feels like we’re so close.” She put her chin on his chest to look at him.

He smiles. “I know what you mean.” He pauses for a second. “But right now, how ‘bout a dance? Didn’t get one all night.” Stan moves to turn on a slow song, before moving back to her and taking her hands.

She laughs but doesn't argue, laying her head against his chest. They slowly sway to the music.

“This year will be our year, promise.” Stan whispers. ---------- She’s sitting on the dinosaur skull talking to Stan when the twins come barling into the room arguing about having separate rooms. She can’t but smile and wonder if Ford and Stan were like this as kids. Right as Stan is explaining there’s not another room there’s a loud crash and Soos announces, yet again, he’s found a secret room.

Everyone makes their way to go see, and to her dismay she sees it’s Ford’s room. She watches as Stan walks in and grabs Ford’s glasses and tucks them into his sleeve while lying about not knowing what the room was.

She’s so lost in thought that she doesn’t even remember experiment 78, and how she had spent the day in Ford’s body before they figured out they could switch back.

She's leaning against the door frame watching as Stan tells the kids he’ll give the room to whoever sucks up to him the most. Even though she’s feeling upset seeing this room for the first time in a year she can’t help but laugh at Stan’s antics.

As the kids are off scrambling to reshackle the roof she sits across from Stan at the table. “Really?”

He smirks. “What? Just a little friendly competition among siblings.”

She lets out a laugh. “Were you and Ford like that?”

Stan looks at her smiling, but frowns a little before pulling a fake smile. “We, uh, we were best friends our whole childhood. As inseparable as kids can get.” He thinks for a second. “Did you ever want to have kids?”

She looks down at the table wistfully. “I did,” she says with a sad kind of smile. “We did,” she corrects herself. “We had talked about having kids once we weren’t so busy with work.

Stan can’t help but feel guilty. Maybe if he had never answered his brother letter her and Ford would be happily married with a family of their own.

“Don’t think like that Stan.” She frowns.

“Like what?” He tries to play dumb.

“I’ve spent almost every moment with you the last thirty years. I can read you like a book, old man.” She smiles at him now and reaches across the table to hold his hand. He grumbles but doesn’t pull away. “You know I love you, Stan. I don’t hold anything that happened against you, I’ve told you before.”

She pulls her hand away as Mabel runs into the room and starts talking to Stan. She gives him a smile before leaving the room.

Later she finds Stan sitting in his arm chair in front of the television. His favorite show is on, but he’s focused on the object in his hands. Ford’s glasses. Silently, she walked to sit on the dinosaur skull beside him and wrap an arm around him. They both look down at the glasses in silence. ---------- At first, she finds Dipper’s Guide to the Unexplained charming. He reminds her a lot of Ford. Charming, until he starts to point the attention to her.

“She’s lived without Grunkle for who knows how long. They aren’t married or romantically involved, yet she wears a wedding ring. Could she actually be the ghost of a lonely widow who died in this house?” Dipper came up with a whole bunch of crazy theories. He followed her around with a camera until she finally had to tell him to stop.

She pulled him aside to talk to him. “Dipper, listen. Your grukle and I are friends, and roommates. We live together because neither of us want to live alone.”

“But your ring.” Dipper begins to ask.

“My ring,” she gives him a sad smile. “Dipper my fiance gave me this ring and he’s… no longer with us.”

Dipper’s face turned white as he began apologizing.

“Dipper it’s alright. I’m sure you’ll find a real mystery in this town if you keep looking.” ---------- A few days later she's reading in her room when Stan calls her and the kids to the living room. “I need you to laugh at this with me!” He motions to the little Gideon commercial on the tv.

Her heart sinks as the commercial shows the Mystery Shack being destroyed by the tent of telepathy.

Dipper asks if they should be worried about that but Stan assures him the only way Gideon could take the shack was if he snuck in and stole the deed. There’s a loud crash and Stan gets up and you follow to find Gideon had actually broken in. Stan ends up chasing him out with a broom but Gideon gives a grave warning about how when he gets the combination to his safe, Stan will never see the Mystery Shack again.

She stops Stan as he locks the safe again. “Is it really safe? Should we move it to the basement?”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “The combination is in my brain, sweetheart. There’s no way he can get it there.”

For a second her mind thinks of Bill, but he’s been gone since Ford disappeared. She decided against mentioning it to him and trusts Stan to know what he’s doing. Unfortunately, she's asleep in her room when Bill invades Stan’s mind and the twins and Soos enter his brain.

While in his brain Mabel opens a door to see Stan slow dancing with their ‘honorary Grant.’ “Are we sure they aren’t in love?” She questions before moving on.

She came into the living room to see everyone cheerful, Dipper had his grunkle in a choke hold, and she smiled. Suddenly there was an explosion knocking everyone backwards. Gideon walked in with the deed in his hands.

Dipper looks confused and says something about Bill. Her heart drops at the thought of the twins having to have had to deal with him.

They flee from the shack and all they can do is watch as a wrecking ball knocks over the sign for the Mystery Shack. ---------- The new living situation was less than ideal. Staying with Soos and his grandmother was only a temporary solution until they got the shack back.

While Gideon held a press conference Stan, the kids, and Soos watched from the front, she tried to sneak in the back. However they were both caught and thrown off the property.

Back at Soos’s house she stood in the kitchen with Stan while he called the twin’s parents. She watched as he blatantly lied to them. He hangs up the phone with a sigh and she walks over and pulls him into a hug.

“What are we going to do, Stan?” She whispers.

“We’ll do what we have to.” ---------- She was right by his side as he explained to the kids that he had to send them home. It broke your heart just as much as his to see how upset they were. She was surprised to hear him say Gideon won before he stormed out, she followed him out the door.

“You didn’t mean all that.” She confronts Stan when she catches up to him. “I know you didn’t. Stan we’re so close.”

“What do you want me to say? What can we even do? We’ve lost the shack, the kids have to go home, and we’ve lost the portal!” He shouts but not loud enough for anyone else to hear.

“We can’t just give up.” She sniffs.

Stan calms himself when he sees she's about to cry, and gives her a hug. ---------- She gives both twins a teary goodbye before boarding the bus. “I love you two. Thank you for making this summer so memorable. I’m sorry it got cut short.” She plants a kiss to each of their heads before they board the bus.

She stands with Stan as they watch their bus drive away.

Back at Soos’s house she scribbles down ideas on how to get the house back, while Stan sits on the couch to wallow in his self pity. He grumbles something about hitting rock bottom and having no friends, no family.

“What am I, chopped liver?” She jokes, biting her pen in thought. He apologizes.

He stares at the Gideon pin in his hand before announcing he knows Gideon's weakness and tells you to hurry up as he runs out the door. ---------- Stan exposes Gideon for the fraud he is. They get the shack back and the twins get to stay. Even better, Stan tells her he’s found journal number two. She can’t stop from crying when he tells her.

Stan checks on the kids while she's checking on the portal. She doesn’t come up all night, until Stan comes down with journal number three.

“Is this real?” She asks in disbelief. “All three? We have all three journals after one day?”

“We have them all.” He confirms and flips them open to the corresponding pages. She watches as Stan examines the pages and presses some buttons, and the portal lights up. “It’s working!” He exclaims. Running towards the portal and she follows.

“Here we go.” ---------- It’s not long until gravity anomalies begin to happen.

“It won’t be long now.” Stan stated.

She smiled wide and nodded. --------- The next day when government vehicles showed up she tried her best to keep her calm. Stan kept his cool and they left.

“I thought this would happen.” She confessed when they’re alone. “The gravity anomalies happened back in the 80’s when we got the portal working but the government was less observant then.”

“Don’t stress it. Soon we'll have Ford back and we won’t have to worry about the government.” Stan grunts.

She tries not to stress but it doesn't really work. She decided to help distract herself by helping Stan set up for the party. They deserved to celebrate getting the shack back. However, she can’t but notice Dipper sneaking off to Stan’s room. She goes to tell Stan right away.

She agrees to keep an eye on the party while Stan goes to check the portal. Everything is going well until the earth starts to shake. It’s not time for this yet, she thinks and checks her watch. Everyone runs off and she makes her way over to stand by Mabel, when Dipper comes running around the corner a hoard of zombies behind him. She orders everyone inside and keeps the zombies away from the kids the best she can without a weapon. They end up trapped in the gift shop and one grabs Dipper. Before she can do anything Stan shows up to save the day. When they are almost safe in the attic Dipper says there’s no way you and his Grunkle Stan can deny the thing that goes on in Gravity Falls anymore.

“Kid, I’ve always known.” Stan confesses. Dipper looks at you and you nod.

“We thought the best way to keep you two safe from it was to deny its existence. We see that was wrong now.” She frowns.

After the whole karaoke ordeal is over Stan has the twins promise not to go looking for problems, Stan lies and promises he has no more hidden secrets. ---------- She stands by Stan as he pours the fuel into the machines.

“Everyday it’s getting stronger.” He comments as his pen, mug, and notebook fly through the portal. She grabs his arm and steps back. Her eyes were wide.

“Haha, yes!” Stan shouts and raises his hand up. A stray metal bar flies up and hits him in the hand.

“This is so dangerous.” She sighs while bandaging his hand.

“I don’t care if it’s dangerous. I don’t care how long it takes. We’re gonna pull this off, and no ones going to get in our way.” He says determined.

She nods, just as determined. ---------- Stan and her work countless late nights. Finally Stan poured the last of the fuel into the machine. “That should be just enough to do the trick.” Just as he says that the timer begins.

The two of them put the final touches on the machine and Stan hits the button. The portal lights up and begins to whir into life.

“Yes! This is it!” His hat began to rise off his head.

She grabs on the nearest desk to keep herself on the ground. In a few seconds gravity returns and she lands back on her feet. “Just eighteen more hours?”

“Eighteen more hours and this will all have been worth it. Stan straps on his watch with a synced up timer. “Finally, everything changes today.”

They share a smile together. ---------- Stan says he’s going to spend the day with the kids, but she refuses to leave the basement. The kids ask where she is and he just says she’s not feeling well so she’s laying down in bed.

She's standing near the portal but at a safe distance. “Just ten more minutes.” She fidgets with her ring. While staring at the portal she doesn’t notice Soos and the kids. They don’t notice her right away either.

She checks her watch. “Two more minutes. Where the hell is Stan?” Looking around she looks back in the control room to see the kids and Soos. “What the hell?”

They walk into the portal room and gasp. “Kids, Soos, you can’t be here. You need to leave now.”

“There! Dipper yells and runs to the override keys.” Before she can run over and stop them, they turn them.

She moves to stand in front of the emergency off switch. “Stop! You don’t understand!” Soos grabs her and holds her to the side. She tries to wiggle away but can’t get out of his grasp. “Stop! Please!” She cries as Dipper almost hits the button.

Stan burts into the room and stops him before he does think. Dipper begins to argue with Stan when gravity fails.

They’re all lifted into the air. She's holding onto the timer as Mabel makes her way to the kill switch. She is frozen in fear, but Stan launches himself forward and convinces Mabel to trust him. There’s a blinding light and a figure steps out of the portal.

“The author of the journals. My brother!”

#waiting for you part four #ford pines x reader #standford pines x reader #gravity falls #reader insert

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peachy-rambles · 4 years ago

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Kikis delivery service au? 👀 Please go on, that’s one of my favorites of the ghibli movies and I would love to hear your thoughts on it

(Also really dumb idea but Tommy as Gigi but he’s a raccoon. Who for? Yes. Regardless of who is Kiki- oooooh and there’s that artist lady with the crows-)

-inky

Ok so here's some thoughts I have about it off the top of my head:

When Phil was 13, he left home as young witches do (with his dove familiar, Wilbur) to find his way in the world and whatever his special talent was because every witch has a special talent. He finds his way to a big city and settles there, finding work at a garden centre. He was always good with plants and he enjoys his job, even if it's a lot of work. There's even a bakery down the street he often visits and becomes friends with the owner.

One day when Phil visits the bakery, he notices that the owner is acting different and seems much more quiet and closed off. It doesn't take much pressing from him to get her to tell him what's wrong.

"It's my son. He's sick and I can't afford the medicine he needs," she eventually admits.

Phil gets more details from her about her son and he heads back to where he's staying, pulling out an old book he'd packed before leaving. It's an ancient journal written by one of his ancestors about herbs, potions and brewing medicine. He gets to work, figuring out which potion he needs to make and collects the plants he needs to it from the garden centre. It takes a few trial and errors but eventually he successfully makes the potion he needs.

He brings it to the bakery's owner and gives her the proper instructions on how to give it to her son before leaving.

A few weeks later when he visits the bakery, the owner is delighted to see him and tells him that his potion worked! Her son is still recovering, but he was no longer sick and almost healthy again.

The owner brings Phil to meet her son, Techno, who just turned 3. Techno loves Phil right away, especially because he knows Phil is the one who helped him get better. Over the next few years, Phil often visits the bakery and will sometimes babysit Techno, spending time with him.

Eventually though, Phil figures it's time for him to leave the city and to head back home. Techno is naturally distraught and is angry at Phil, thinking his friend is leaving him for good. But Phil promises he'll send Techno letters and definitely visit whenever he gets the chance.

Phil returns home and makes good on his promise, sending Techno letters at least twice a month and Techno always writes him back (well, he tries his best, being only 5 and all).

But then...Phil's letters slow down to once a month. Then once every few months.

The last letter Techno receives from Phil is wishing Techno a happy 6th birthday, and how Phil will try to visit in a few weeks if he can.

He never does.

Despite this, Techno keeps sending letters, hoping maybe if he sends enough Phil will reply. But as more time passes, he realizes that's it's probably useless and knows that Phil won't reply. Techno doesn't give up completely however and once a year, he'll send Phil a letter, telling him about all the things that have happened to him in the past year. He always ends the letter by saying how he misses Phil and hopes he's okay.

Years pass and Techno grows up, eventually inheriting the bakery from his mother who passed away when Techno was 18. Techno is an amazing baker, but because of his giant size and generally terrifying appearance+social anxiety and awkwardness...he isn't good at running the bakery and interacting with people. So, he hires another local baker named Niki to help him out. They're both great bakers and work well together, but Niki is usually the one manning the front and interacting with customers while Techno stays (hides) in the back.

Eventually, Techno (and Niki) take on an apprentice named Ranboo. He's not the best at baking yet, but he has a genuine interest in it and is great at making cookies and decorating cakes.

One day, while Ranboo is helping closing up the bakery with Techno, he's notices a little yellow raccoon with a green bandana tied around it's neck, digging through the trash. It hisses and runs away as soon as it spots Ranboo, but it's back the next night. This time though, Ranboo is prepared and has a spare loaf of broad to offer the raccoon. The raccoon still hisses at him and runs off, but not before nabbing the bread from Ranboo.

This becomes a routine for about a week, Ranboo feeding the raccoon any spare food from the bakery. At the end of the week, Ranboo decides to follow the raccoon. Because it's clearly going somewhere with the food and the bandana around it's neck probably mean it belongs to someone.

That's how Ranboo meets Tubbo - a witch in training, who wasn't able to find a place to stay and has been wandering the streets for the past week. His raccoon familiar, Tommy, was taking the food that Ranboo gave him and giving it to Tubbo to eat since he had no money or food left.

Ranboo listens to Tubbo's plights and after thinking it over, Ranboo comes up with an idea: Tubbo could live with Ranboo in the spare attic above the bakery that Techno let's Ranboo stay in!

Tubbo doesn't hesitate and accepts Ranboo's offer. They do attempt to hide Tubbo's presence from Techno, unsure of how he'll react to a witch (or you know, just a strange random teenager living in his attic), but Techno catches them on the first day when Tubbo sneaks into the bakery to steal some desserts.

Techno isn't heartless so he let's Tubbo continue to stay with Ranboo, just as long as he helps around the bakery and doesn't get in anyone's way. Even though Techno seems to not mind Tubbo's presence, the others in the bakery still can't help but notice that Techno very much avoids Tubbo and they have no idea why.

Maybe Techno dislikes witches or is scared of them? But if he does, why would he agree to let Tubbo stay.

Of course we know why Techno is hesitant around Tubbo: it's because of Phil.

Techno doesn't hate Phil or hate witches because of Phil, but he is...hesitant to trust them or get close to them. Which is why he's so wary around Tubbo and does his best to ignore and avoid him. Afterall, Techno has no idea what happened to Phil or why he stopped sending letters and why he broke his promise to Techno.

The truth is, when Phil returned home all those years ago, it turned out that while he was gone his parents had made an arranged marriage for him to another witch from a powerful family. Phil didn't really have a choice and went through with the marriage. He didn't tell Techno any of this through his letters because Techno was just a child and Phil didn't think it was relevant to tell him.

All of Techno's letters that he mailed were all sent to Phil's family's house, which Phil no longer lived at (now living with his spouse) and Phil would always send Wilbur over to deliver any letters from Techno to him.

As time went on, Phil became more and more depressed with his living situation, especially because his spouse and their family weren't...the nicest.

Eventually, something happens with his spouse, which makes Phil snap and he runs away, leaving everyone behind. He travels for a very long time until he finds a little abandoned cabin at the edge of some woods, nearby a small quaint little town. Phil decides to make the cabin his own and it becomes home to him. He eventually builds a greenhouse and garden, turning his little cabin into an apothecary, where he makes and sells potions and medicines (he will also sell his plants if people are interested, but it's mostly the potions).

He eventually earns the nickname "the Crowfather" by the town and surrounding area, due to the amount of birds (mostly crows but other birds as well) that tend to hang around his cabin and shop. Sometimes you can ever catch him talking to the birds (usually scolding them for whatever reason).

Phil enjoys the life he's made for himself and avoids thinking about his past, but sometimes he'll remember Techno and feel some regret. He sometimes wonders if maybe he should send Techno a letter and tell him that he's okay, that he misses Techno and had full intentions of visiting him, but life had other plans. Phil has written many letters over the years to Techno, but whenever he tries to send one, he always backs out and ends up throwing the letter away.

Techno was just a child when he last saw Phil and has probably long forgotten Phil already, so there's no need to send him a letter. That's what Phil believes anyway.

Phil pushes any thoughts of Techno out of his head and tries to focus on the life he has now.

Eventually, Phil finds and takes in a toddler named Tubbo, who Phil recognizes as another witch. Phil raises Tubbo and trains him in the ways of witches, until the day Tubbo turns 13 and heads off to go on his own journey to find his special talent.

Phil has no idea that his apprentice ended up in the same city Phil did all those years ago, and somehow found the same bakery Phil did and is now living under Techno's roof and being looked after by him.

But Phil will find out when Tubbo sends his first letter to Phil, giving him all the details of his journey so far, including the bakery he's staying in and the owner - Techno.

#techza #technophil #asks and replies #peachy said a thing #peachy fic prompts #inky anon

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pedros-mustache · 4 years ago

Text

mr. grinch

summary: javi was never going to be the all-out-for-the-holidays type, was he?

word count: 2.7k

warnings: borderline soft!javi (the heart wants what the heart wants), specifically related to the christmas holiday, a disgusting amount of fluff, x fem!reader

a/n: wrote a post about this concept and decided that wasn’t enough. my forte is angst and pining, not fluff, so forgive me if this is trash.

also: this will be repeated in the future, i’m sure, but if you have at all interacted with/commented on/reblogged/liked any of my previous fics thank! you! i would reply to each and every comment however that would require exposing my main (as this is a side-blog) and that’s not gonna happen. please know that i see and feel your love! xoxo!

you long for the day after thanksgiving more than thanksgiving itself.

sure, you enjoy the november holiday; it’s not like you hate it. especially since getting married, since having kids, you find thanksgiving means a little more to you now than it did prior to adulthood.

you enjoy packing the kids up and traveling across town to your mother’s house for thanksgiving breakfast and then packing the kids up again and going to javi’s father’s house for thanksgiving dinner. you enjoy sitting beside your husband, your hand on his thigh, as you watch your children play with their cousins or be passed around by distant aunts and uncles. you enjoy knowing that you’re safe, that javi’s safe, that the babies are safe. you enjoy knowing that you’re loved.

really, thanksgiving is nice, a good reminder of all that you have to be thankful for. but it’s just that: nice.

the day after thanksgiving, though... that’s when the real fun begins.

since childhood, your family has waited to decorate for christmas until the day after thanksgiving, and you’ve brought the tradition to your new household. javi tells you that your excitement for christmas overshadows thanksgiving, and maybe it does, but you really don’t care. not when christmas is ten times more cozy and festive than thanksgiving could ever dream of being.

this year, you rise early on the appointed day and wake javi with a firm shake to the shoulder. he groans, rolls over to his stomach, and slips his head beneath a pillow.

“too early,” he mutters.

you exit the ensuite bathroom, rubbing your lotioned palms together as you prepare for a long day of unwrapping dusty boxes and fragile decorations. with a grin, you tap javi’s foot beneath the bedcovers. “get up before i sic the kids on you.”

he mumbles something under his breath, but the weight of the pillow muffles his words, so you leave him to his sulking. he’s never been a morning person, not in all the years you’ve known him. in a few minutes he’ll be up; you just have to give him time.

you find your son, tomás, awake and raring to go. six and a half years old and responsible as ever, it is his greatest joy in life to make his father proud. and though javier is a man of few emotional words, there’s a soft spot in his heart for both his children. today marks the first year tomás is old enough and capable enough to help his father with the outdoor decorations, and he’s already halfway dressed, his small feet shoved in tiny boots and his unruly hair snug beneath a baseball cap.

leaning against the doorframe, you watch as tomás struggles to get his arms through the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “you’re up bright and early,” you say, arching an eyebrow.

“wanna”—he bites his lip in concentration—“wanna help daddy today.” he drops his head with a heavy sigh. one elbow in particular remains stuck in the sleeve of his shirt, caught at a ninety degree angle.

you cross the bedroom to kneel in front of him and gently tug on his shirtsleeve. the arm once stuck at an uncomfortable angle flops to his side, and you smooth your hands over his narrow shoulders. “i’m sure you’ll be a big help, tommy. you just have to promise to do as daddy says.”

“yeah, i promise.”

with a squeeze to his arm, you cock your head to the open bedroom door. “go run downstairs and pour yourself some cereal while i get your sister up. daddy will be down soon.”

boots heavy around his ankles, tomás dutifully makes his way to the kitchen, his steps slow as he descends the steep stairs. his shoes clomp on the hardwood, and you hesitate, waiting to hear the cabinet doors open and shut, before moving to wake your daughter. you know by now that, though tomás thinks himself a fully grown boy, his legs often move faster than his brain, and you’ve had one too many tumbles down the staircase to show for it. the last thing you need today is a split forehead or bonked chin.

like her brother, julieta is awake when you enter her dimly lit nursery. she gives you a gummy smile when you reach down to lift her from the small mattress, and she gurgles happily as you change her diaper and dress her for the day. her arms flap against her sides in joy as you enter your bedroom and place her on your bed. with practiced effort, julieta crawls her way up the bed and presses her tiny fists against javi’s shoulders.

“come on, javier,” you say, pulling the covers away from your husband’s body. he groans in response, head still tucked beneath his pillow. “tommy’s already downstairs waiting for you.”

with a huff, javi turns to his back, drawing julieta with him, one broad hand splayed across her entire back. “getting up this early the day after thanksgiving is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“no—you’re just dramatic.”

“i think i ate too much pie yesterday.” he sits up with a frown. “i’m gonna have a beer gut like my uncle before you know it.”

“maybe, but i reckon you’ll still look cute.” you grab his wrist and tug him out of bed. he keeps julieta firm against his chest as he moves. “you know i don’t like to waste time, so please move that cute ass of yours downstairs. it’s past eight-thirty already.”

javi tosses a surprised look over his shoulder as you shove him out of the room, plaid pajama pants and all. “you think i have a cute ass?”

“shut up,” you grumble.

tomás sits at the kitchen table, bowl of cereal on his plastic placemat. he grins when javi enters the room, and a line of milk dribbles down his chin, which you are quick to wipe away with a stray napkin.

“hi, daddy.” rising to his knees, tomás swivels in his seat and braces his hands on the back of the chair. he watches as javi deposits julieta in her high-chair then sets about making his morning pot of coffee. “we’re gonna put the lights up outside today?”

without turning away from the coffee maker, javi nods. “yeah, champ. but, you know, i was thinking.” his eyes slide to yours as he shuts the coffee maker’s lid and flips the on button. “what if we did something... different this year?”

you still. julieta makes grabby fingers for the half of the banana that still hasn’t been sliced for her, and she kicks her legs against the high-chair. “different?” you narrow your eyes. “different how?”

“oh, i dunno.” javi leans back against the stove and crosses his arms over his chest. he has all the air of nonchalance, but you know this is a calculated attack. if you know anything about your husband, it’s that once he gets an idea in his head, he’ll work his way forwards and backwards to bring it to fruition. “just different.”

“so no lights?”

javi shakes his head in reassurance for both you and your son. “no, tommy, we’ll still have lights. just different lights.” for the crescendo of his argument, javi crosses the kitchen and crouches beside your chair. he squeezes your thigh, his brown eyes soft and pleading. “come on, mi vida, let’s spice it up a little bit. i’ve got it all worked out, so you don’t have to worry about anything.”

you toss your head back on a laugh. “oh, i’m sure i won’t!”

“trust me, baby,” he whispers, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, and, for a moment, focusing more on the patterns of your face than his end goal.

you feel your resolve soften. how can it not? javi is decidedly undomestic, even with a wife and two kids. oh, he loves you; he adores his children. but it’s been a long time coming to get to this moment—him on his knees with his own holiday decoration plans. you’d be a fool to turn him down.

you shut your eyes and give him a nod. “okay, fine. i trust you.”

javi pops to his feet with a loud clap and equally as loud, “alright!” he points to tomás. “finish your cereal, kid, ‘cause we got work to do.”

dropping a kiss to the top of your head, he makes for the stairs. his socked feet slide on the linoleum, which causes to tomás to laugh in amusement, but you’re too stunned by javi’s sudden change of mood that you can’t help but feel like you’ve been duped.

spice up christmas decorations? you can only pray that whatever he has in store won’t get you a stern letter from the homeowner’s association.

***

before beginning his mysterious outdoor decorating project, javi pulls all the boxes labeled christmas down from the attic. he helps you assemble the artificial tree in the corner of the living room, and he, though with a good measure of grumbling, adjusts and readjusts the garland draping the front door.

but as soon as you give him the go ahead, he pushes you inside, makes you promise not to peek until he’s finished, and, like schoolboys up to no good, hurries away with tomás.

as the door slams in your face, effectively cutting you out of the fun, you glance at your daughter and roll your eyes. “men,” you say, and she coos in agreement.

it’s easy to get lost in your work for the remainder of the afternoon. there’s tens of ornaments to put on the tree and the little village to set up along the front windowsill. julieta follows as you move throughout the house. she crawls, or scoots on her bum, or rolls behind in her baby walker. she’s primarily a happy baby, and after tomás and his terrible twos, you’re thankful for a reprieve from the incessant crying and surly attitude.

christmas tune after christmas tune drifts from the record player in the foyer, and you bump along to the music, finding the work of unpacking boxes and artfully arranging decorations is not so much work with a good playlist and a giggly baby on your hip.

after pausing for lunch, you resume with the finishing touches. the house looks cozy, you have to admit. the tree sparkles in its corner, and the quaint ceramic village display on the windowsill reminds you spending the holidays with your grandmother as a child. there’s miniature, stuffed snowmen in the kitchen that tomás made in school and papier-mâché carolers that javi’s aunt crafted in the hall. an advent calendar hangs from the back of the closet door, and a spring of faux mistletoe dangles over the dining room doorway.

you’re proud of your work, but more than that, you’re proud of the life you’ve made alongside your husband. when he’d proposed all those years ago (a dreadfully unromantic proposal of a ring simply slid across the table at a restaurant), he’d promised life with him wouldn’t be easy. he hadn’t been lying. still, you’ve made it this far, and you wouldn’t go back on your vows for the world.

it does surprise you that you haven’t heard a peep out of the boys for most of the day. tomás hasn’t so much as run inside to use the bathroom or grab a drink of water. either javi’s spicy christmas decorations were more labor-intensive than he’d originally planned, or he’d jaunted off to his father’s house to escape the responsibility, taking tomás with him. you can’t decide which possibility you’d prefer.

before you can pick up the phone to call your father-in-law, the garage door opens. javi sticks his head into the hallway, a wide grin on his face when he sees you.

“okay, we’re ready.”

you put a hand on your hip. “are you sure?”

“yeah, i’m sure.” he steps inside long enough to lift julieta from her place in the bouncy walker. he sets her on his shoulders, and she squeals as she grabs fistfuls of his hair. “i thought you trusted me?”

you place the phone on the receiver and grab your jacket. “don’t throw my words back at me, javier.”

he taps your ass when you brush past him into the garage. “you’ll love it,” he says. “but you have to close your eyes.”

“really? just how different are these decorations?”

“oh, it’s like nothin’ you’ve seen before, hermosa. now shut your eyes!” with an exaggerated sigh, you close your eyes. javi squeezes your shoulder, and you start to walk forward into the driveway. “tomás, keep a watch on your mother. make sure she doesn’t peek.”

javi maneuvers you until you feel the driveway beneath your feet give way to soft grass. he places julieta in your arms then squeezes both of your shoulders. you can feel the excitement in his fingers, feel it in the way he practically bounces with anticipation behind you. you have entirely no idea of what to expect, but if putting up christmas decorations has made javi this excited, no matter what the decor is, you’ll let him do it every year.

“ready, tommy?”

“ready!”

javi presses a kiss to the side of your neck, his arm winding around your stomach to pull you back against his chest. he is firm behind you, the solid foundation on which your family stands. “ready, mi vida?” his voice is low, and even after all this time, it still sends a shiver down your spine.

in lieu of answering aloud, you simply nod.

“okay. tomás, in three... two... one.” he squeezes your hip. “open your eyes.”

the air in your chest leaves in a giant whoosh as you take in his decorations.

“oh my god, javier,” is all you can say as you stare in dumb-founded shock.

javier laughs—a real, hearty laugh—as he watches your face. “isn’t it great?!”

it—it being a wooden cutout painted to look like dr. seuss’s the grinch.

it being that cutout pulling down a strand of illuminated colored lights from the gutter.

it being the most half-hearted christmas decorations you’ve ever seen.

“where on earth did you get that?”

“eddie from two streets away. i saw it in his yard and knew i had to have one, so he got another from his guy and gave it to me.” he shakes his head as he looks on in pride. “best forty bucks i ever spent. it’s been in the back of my truck for weeks!”

“you are so lucky that i love you, javier.”

he laughs again, squeezing you tighter against his chest. “hey! i put lights on the bushes for you. that’s gotta count for something?”

dropping your head against his shoulder, you nod. “it does. and the more i look at the grinch, the funnier it is.” you hold up a finger. “but i’m not laughing yet.”

you glance at your neighbor’s house, at the cookie-cuter lights lining the frame of their two-story, at the mechanical reindeer bobbing their heads up and down. you look back at your... grinch, at his twisted smile and tip-toed stance and the sad string of lights wound from his hand to the gutter. you snort in amusement.

“i’ve got to hand it to you—this is the most javier peña thing you’ve ever done. i’m almost proud.”

“i knew you’d love it.”

turning in his arms, you shake your head. “no, i just love you.”

javi smiles and lowers his head to kiss you softly. it’s his way of returning the sentiment, and you preen under his affection.

but then you pull away with a frown. “wait a minute.” laying a finger against his chest, you tilt your head toward tomás. “where have you been all day? this set-up couldn’t have taken more than half an hour.”

javi cringes and glances at his son. he rubs a hand across the back of his beck. “yeah, about that...”

tomás appears from his place plugging in the outdoor extension chords. “daddy took me to the shooting range!”

gaping, you sputter to form a coherent sentence. “you what?!”

“tomás,” javi whispers, swiping his palm over his son’s hair. “you weren’t supposed to say anything.” he looks up through his lashes with a wry smile. “we did—yeah, we did go to the range for a bit.”

“oh, javier peña, you are so lucky i love you.”

javi grins, captures your chin between his fingers, and kisses you again. “yeah, i am.”

***

taglist: @insideafictionaluniverse @ladytrashbird @generaldamneron

#javier pena x reader #javier peña #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #narcos #narcos fanfic #javier peña x reader #x fem!reader #pm writes

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two-creepy-nerds · 3 years ago

Text

The wind had a chill to it this morning while walking to work, leaves crunched under my boots as they made contact with the sidewalk. I stopped to admire this almost perfect autumn day, it would have been perfect if my boss hadn't called me at the last minute. Too bad for him though since I was doing what I did best on my days off which was going up into my attic and getting fucking high, while I listen to zeppelin and eat cheddar cheese. I took one last drag off my pen and headed into the portal to hell itself.

The Quicky Jizz was as bleak as ever, the fluorescent lights were making that god awful buzzing sound, and the only songs that played on the radio station were that one song about the cheerleader and some weird Indian version of thriller. The latter one isn't that bad but it only plays during a blood moon. The doors chime as I enter and my boss is behind the counter stocking the cigarettes.

"Glad you're here Josh there's a little situation in the ladies room, I'd say it's a code 5 to be exact."

This man spoke with the thickest Wisconsin accent I'd ever heard. I almost need subtitles to understand what he's trying to say sometimes.

"Yeah okay Tim I'm on it."

I grab the purification salts and the hockey stick we keep above the door in the office, and head into the women's restroom.

I can smell it before I see it and I can definitely hear it when the automatic lights flicker on. It's shrieks make my ears ring, fuck I really should have worn ear plugs. I kick open the stall door and I'm greeted by a fat grub the size of an obese corgi. It hissed and snapped its mandibles as it lunged towards me. I made contact with its head with the hockey stick sending the grub flying against the wall in the back of the stall with a wet smack. It slides down the wall and starts crawling towards me, I throw handfuls of the salt at it then try to hit it again with the stick. The salt burns and melts the grubs body and I inflict enough blunt force trauma that it finally stops moving. To really put the icing on top I take out the raid from my pocket and drown the grub in chemicals. I give it one last poke with the stick and a kick, then I take the grub and put it in a bag to take out back.

"Did ya get it?" Tim yells from outside the door.

"Yeah it's all taken care of." I kick open the door to the restroom, making Tim back out of my way.

"What'cha gonna do with that?"

"Follow me and find out."

The grub makes another loud splat when it hits the bottom of the metal trash can. I douse it with lighter fluid and drop a lit match into the can. The flames engulfed the grub as it made one last pathetic cry as it burned. Tim hung his head and said a little prayer for the grub under his breath, then relieved me of my duties before going back inside.

I take my leave and enjoy the rest of this lovely fall day as I walk the few blocks back to my house. The spirit of the grub hovers behind my left shoulder, snaps its mandibles and hisses at me. I should probably stop smoking the weed Tim keeps giving me.

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dadsbongos · 4 years ago

Note

Greetings! I got this idea for danganronpa AU where Nagito is like ghost "living" (or haunting idk-) his old house and the reader moves into that house and they slowly became closer and yk<3

hi i love this concept :)

Request for: Nagito Komaeda Warnings: nagito’s backstory, slight religious overtones, we breach minor ghost-fucker territory (but no actual ghost-fucking), no-killing game au also ~~~

The house itself was rather nice. Nothing too luxurious for who the previous owner was aside from the obnoxiously fancy chandelier hanging in the den.

The realtor was hesitant to explain that the reason it was selling so comically cheap was, in fact, due to the belief of a ghost. Not just any, however. It was the previous owner’s ghost.

People who even stepped into the house could feel his chilling touch. Hear quiet, shaky whispers in the night. The fireplace would crackle and burst to life at strange times with nobody near it. Visitors and almost-buyers alike would thrust their warnings to stay away upon anybody who so much as looked at the home.

But that didn’t matter much - a house was a house and it’s not like the ghost was malicious from description. Just… annoying. Perhaps a little eerie, but again, not harmful. Everybody escaped without physical injury. So, why not buy it?

Maybe the ghost just needed a friend? Death was probably a lonely time.

Bought on Tuesday. Moved in Wednesday. Finished unpacking… still pending.

It’s not like (Y/n) had anybody to impress anyways. She’d made the move for a fresh start; new faces, new stories.

The bumps began on Friday.

Sometimes they were taps. Sometimes crashes followed by the gentle rapping against the walls, as if to apologize for the loud noise.

She’d stayed through the month, undeterred by any of the ghosts’ activities.

Then the happenings seemed a little more… intimate.

A photo slowly sliding out from beneath the fridge, at first.

Three people in frame. From left to right, there was a figure with shoulder-length pink hair and a smile to make the heavens jealous - then white hair to rival a cloud-marshmallow love child, skin sickly pale and body wastingly thin - finally, brown hair with an ahoge sticking out like an antenna and posture that almost made him taller than the one in the middle. Well, not really, but attempting counted, right?

“Which one’s you?” she asked the air, whether she was too tired, or simply didn’t care enough, to be embarrassed was irrelevant.

A single droplet of water, from a leak she didn’t know existed until this very moment, fell from the ceiling before splotching over the face of the one in the middle.

“White hair, heavy eye bags?”

There was no response, but she took it as a yes anyway. What a pretty, pretty face. In a tragic way.

Because he did look rather ill. Frail build and purple hues under his eyes. Pretty but suffering - it made her feel bad. Of course, she already knew he was dead, but even so - suffering should always inspire empathy rather than romance.

And again, he was dead, so the likelihood of a romance between them anyway was slim to none. None. Unless she suddenly dropped dead, there would be no sweet kisses in the morning or gentle hugs from behind as one of them makes dinner. Maybe when she died, he’d be available for a ghostly date while the house gets put back on the market.

(Y/n) chuckled at the sudden thought of lightning cracking into her home, despite the sunny weather, and striking her dead where she stood. Ridiculous, but God liked ridiculous things.

The sudden thought hit her - what if that old photo was old old? Maybe he was eighty when he died and she just subconsciously signed herself up for a date with an elderly ghost?

Shaking her head, (Y/n) scolded herself for the thought. She’d already be dead by then, it wouldn’t matter what age he was...

Then, it was the scribbling on spare papers. Always specifically spares. Double copies she had put in recycling. Scraps. Even on the backs of paper-esque trash. It was an oddly considerate move for a ghost, though to be fair, she’d never met a ghost before and couldn’t tell if it was out-of-place or not for them.

The words always appeared when she was out of the room. Leaving to grab something and coming back to find the out-dated schedule for work out of recycling and on her desk with crayon sprawled over it.

Eloquently said, in her opinion.

“Hi?” she looked around the room, “Can you not talk? I thought people said they heard whispers…”

A bang in the other room drew her out. When there was nothing out of place, she returned to her desk only to be met with more words.

I’m Nagito Komaeda :)

“Dodging the question, huh?”

The process repeated. Bang. Nothing out of the ordinary. Return. New words.

Sorry :(

“Don’t apologize,” (Y/n) shrugged off before moving to her computer, “I’m just gonna look you up.”

A series of bangs - now that she truly listened, it sounded like a fist pounding to the drywall - resonated through the home. She did not get up nor did she pause her actions of Googling the man known as Nagito Komaeda.

Until a piece of paper flew in from the open door.

Bad idea

“Probably, yeah,” she huffed, moving back to her computer.

Nagito Komaeda, born April 28th, first popped up as the sole survivor in an old plane hijacking report. Both parents, all plane staff, and the hijackers left dead after the plane crash caused by a meteor strike. Then he came up as a survivor of an old serial kidnapper/killer. Then as a boy who’d inherited the entirety of his parents’ fortune and won a large sum from a lottery ticket he’d found in the trash bag he was stuffed in by his kidnapper. Then as a Hope’s Peak graduate under the title Ultimate Lucky Student.

Finally, as a 25-year-old man who’d miraculously survived ten years post-diagnosis with frontotemporal dementia and advanced lymphoma before his death.

“Holy shit,” she nearly choked on her own shock, “You weren’t boring, that’s for sure.”

Another paper, this time written in marker as if he could sense that she didn’t wish to get up. Another strangely considerate move.

Thanks

You’re not creeped out?

“I mean, it’s more sad than creepy,” her eyes scanned over a single line in the article once again.

“Nagito Komaeda, after all his fortunes and misfortunes alike, died at age 25, after ten years of illness, surrounded by friends who took the place of family. Out of respect, no interviews were conducted, but anybody, anyone at all even from a quick glance, could tell - Nagito Komaeda will surely be missed.”

Her eyes watered slightly as she clicked out of the Togami Publications, laughing at the pure awkwardness of her situation, “Oh my God, that’s really fucking sad. I’m sorry your life sucked.”

Another paper.

It’s fine

I was just wasting space anyway :)

“No, you were- “ she gestured to her computer screen before covering her eyes in shame of her tears, “You meant so much to your friends.”

She expected memorial posts, maybe not as many as there were, but she saw them coming. What she didn’t see coming, however, was that each and every one would be dearly heartfelt - not a single one was disingenuous or vague in the slightest. She also didn’t see herself crying by the end of her little search.

But there she was.

Something light floated into her lap. A tissue.

“Oh my fucking God,” (Y/n) choked up again, picking up the tissue with a small smile, “Stop, you’re a ghost, you’re supposed to be scary and making me leave, not helping me dry my tears…”

Another paper atop the slowly growing pile.

Was that a ghostphobic remark?

“Oh, I’m keeping that one,” she stood, sniffling as she wiped away her tears, and picked up the last paper, nodding to herself as she muttered, “Yep. This one’s going on the wall.”

Nagito stopped whispering because people ran when he did. His voice was always hideous, he didn’t to be reminded. Besides, (Y/n) seemed to prefer the paper method - she hung up her favorites along the walls of her office and if a visitor teased her about it she would ignore them. It was admirable, how their grins and giggles rolled off her back like water droplets over a duck.

He wished he could be like that.

Could have been.

He still had trouble with that.

Has.

Nagito looks up from his spot at the kitchen table where (Y/n) was cooking for herself. She seemed so at-peace in this house, and he’s glad for that. He never liked living alone and everyone else seemed to hate having him there. Not that he blamed them much.

Even so, he much prefers (Y/n) over any past guest as his living counterpart of the house.

She even leaves chairs open for him at the table; he smiles widely at the thought, patting his thighs and kicking out his legs in his seat- just like now!

She’d pulled out the chair upon entering the kitchen before calling out for him that she’d be cooking. She even knew he liked watching her cook!

It was selfish of him to crave so much attention, but in the end, Nagito was already dead so… did it really matter when he indulged in his wants more than he should?

Divine punishment isn’t real and he likes being around her, so why should he bother hiding himself away in the attic?

(Y/n) moved around the house with little to no liveliness, it made him chuckle. Her shoulders drooped and footsteps heavy, it was fun. To feel like he wasn’t alone.

He hoped she felt the same. That he was a friend… or, undead companion?

He hoped she would stay and not move out.

He hoped they could be real friends one day… if it’s not too much to ask, that once she dies, she’ll meet him. The real him.

That would be heaven.

#nagito x reader #nagito komaeda x reader #anon chatter :)#x reader #oh to have a polite nagito ghost you can pull out chairs for and look up his tragic backstory

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lovelylogans · 4 years ago

Text

spring cleaning

there’s a pack rat in the family. who it is will not surprise you.

part of the wyliwf verse.

warnings: food mentions, alcohol mentions, general messiness, jokes about hoarding

pairings: patton/virgil, offscreen logan/roman

word count: 2,412

notes: hi! this is just a quick little fic as i beta and finish off the next chapter of debutante. this is based off the gilmore girls season three episode twelve “lorelai out of water” cold open. takes place the spring after the main storyline, after alliance but before debutante.

⁂

virgil’s phone buzzes at 10:13 am on a sunny spring sunday. he pauses just after he drops off the brunch plates for mrs. torres, babette, and east side tilly, digging around in his back pocket to squint at his recent texts.

logan sanders: Please help.

any other time, this kind of text would probably send anxiety flooding his veins like ice water. as he’s been warned, sure, he’s a little anxious that he’s misreading the situation, but he shakes that aside and snorts.

“called it,” he mutters under his breath, before he wipes his hands on his apron and types out christ, you’re folding easy this year. is that a new record?

a brief pause. then, No, the record was twenty-four minutes. To be fair, that took place when I was ten years old, we were moving into the house, and you were already going to be involved, so I perhaps I should propose that does not count against my spring cleaning record.

ah, that’s right. god, helping patton move had kind of been a nightmare. helping anyone move is a bit of a nightmare, but with patton there’s a whole new layer of shenanigans.

Another buzz. Also, I need this to be hastened along. I have a Socratic seminar in English tomorrow, and though we have settled on a tentative truce I refuse to let Dee achieve the highest grade in the class.

he shoots back i’ll be there asap.

“jean,” he calls to the counter, but jean, having been warned as well, waves him off.

“i got it, at least he waited till the we hit the between-masses lull.”

“you’re the best,” he says, hanging up his apron and ignoring mrs. torres’ hoots about his arms—he's like ninety percent sure she’s spiking her own orange juice so she can have a screwdriver with her pancakes but he hasn’t caught her with a flask in hand yet—and heads out the door.

the citizens of sideshire are fully soaking in the pleasure of a sunny spring day—it’s one of those days, where the weather’s warming up slowly, but there’s sure to be more cold snaps before they fully settle into spring, so lots of people are taking advantage of it. families are sprawled with picnic blankets in the grassy town square. the “long-haired freak” (taylor’s nickname, not his. virgil’s pretty sure his name is dave, but also, he’s not totally sure his name is dave, and as such usually avoids any complications by saying “hey, man,” whenever virgil sees him) is out hawking fruits and vegetables from his garden. lots of people are out on walks, some with earbuds or headphones on, some calling out jolly greetings to other people taking advantage of a blue sky and temperatures that are soaring above freezing.

“hey, virgil.”

“hey, felix,” virgil says, craning his neck to catch sight of—well, he guesses felix and riley are technically his tenants? but that always feels weird to say—his neighboring business owners. felix is busy making sure a promotional poster’s taped to the window. “how’re things?”

“ah, y’know, y’know,” felix says, waving their hands around. “weather’s warming up, so we’re getting into busy season. guess people want to be able to flaunt new ink in the warmer weather, y’know?”

“hey, speaking of—” virgil says.

“oh, yeah,” felix says, scratching at the half of their head that was once shaved bald but is now growing in stubbly. “you wanna have riley do one this time? they can draw up some sketches for you, if you want. or i can, if you want, but it might be a minute ‘cause i’m all hands on deck for this massive full-back piece.”

“nah, riley’ll be cool, it’s been a minute since they’ve done one for me,” virgil says. “i’ll drop by later with some reference photos, ideas and stuff.”

“i’ll make sure they’re refreshed on what your style is before the consultation,” felix says. “appreciate the business.”

“appreciate you and your spouse taking over this empty shop so taylor didn’t get a chance to,” virgil returns, as he usually does whenever felix or their riley thanks him for something. he’s really awkward about accepting gratitude, he’s working on that with emile and patton.

“god, could you imagine taylor next door,” felix says with a theatric shudder. “bad enough he runs half the town.”

“i’ll call tomorrow to make the appointment?”

felix flashes him a thumbs up, and virgil raises a hand in farewell as he continues on his way.

he ends up pushing his sleeves up to his elbows as he walks to the sanders’ house, occasionally saying hey to other residents of sideshire, or tilting his face up to the sun.

this winter’s been brutal, even worse than it usually is for the northeast, with absurd amounts of blizzards and ice. on the days where it wasn’t shoveling ridiculous amounts of snow on the whole town, the sky had been gray and overcast, and what little sun there was could barely stream weakly through the clouds.

but now, the sun sinks softly into his exposed skin, warming him without overheating him thanks to the breeze, carrying the sweet scent of tentatively blooming flowers planted by particularly audacious gardeners.

it is a perfect, lovely spring day.

by the time he gets to the cheerful yellow clapboard house, he’s taken enough deep, calming breaths to ensure that he is a calming presence. he ascends the stairs of the wraparound porch—oh, huh, looks like patton or logan’s making an attempt at being a gardener, that looks like mountain mint—and knocks lightly on the front door.

“please come in,” logan shouts, sounding exasperated, and virgil obligingly pushes the door open.

he toes off his shoes, even as he overhears patton’s voice, cajoling.

“hug-a-world! c’mon, you’ve gotta remember your hug-a-world!”

hug-a-world, virgil mouths to himself, before it comes back to him in sudden, vivid technicolor and he rounds the corner.

and, sure enough, surrounded by the detritus of the sanders home, patton and logan sit in a hastily-cleared space in the middle of their living room, patton holding a stuffed ball tight to his chest.

“of course i remember the hug-a-world,” logan says, still with that tone of exasperation, but lessened now at the sight of a beloved childhood toy.

“you can’t make me throw away your hug-a-world,” patton declares viciously, which would almost be believably threatening if he were not clutching a stuffed ball made to look like a globe to his chest, and if his curly hair was not sticking up in a configuration that virgil thinks of as chaotically unruly, and if he were not wearing a pink-and-blue sweater he usually busts out around easter, and if someone did not know patton as a person. “you learned all seven of your continents on hug-a-world!”

see, without fail, almost every year patton gets suckered into the whole concept of the spring clean. and, without fail, logan or virgil will try to point out that he does this every year, and patton insists no, really, this time for sure he’ll get rid of some of the clutter around this house, it’s about time!, and then he gets sidetracked getting attached to objects he finds that he suddenly cannot bear to get rid of, despite the fact that said objects have typically been buried away in a dark closet all the rest of the year.

which means that logan and virgil sit with him and try to point that out, and patton wavers, before he decides to keep or donate or trash it, and it seems like it’s going okay, until the next thing he touches turns out to be another thing that he suddenly cannot bear to give up.

it’s gotten a little better since that time they introduced the marie kondo method, but also, that much worse, because of course he insists that everything sparks joy!

but this is way more mess than usual. there are cardboard boxes and piles of clothes and bits and bobs that are in piles that come up to his ribs. virgil squints it at it suspiciously.

“attic,” logan says wearily, in explanation. “he got boxes out of the attic.”

oh, shit, the attic. god, that thing is stuffed to the brim with boxes, no wonder the living room looks like someone upended the odds-and-ends drawer for a giant into the house.

“but—c’mon,” patton says, in that same sweetly coaxing tone that usually makes them all throw up their hands and leave the rest of this spring cleaning mess for next year’s spring clean. he holds out the hug-a-world to logan. “hold it. marie says so.”

“marie does not realize that she has a special case with my hoarder of a father and therefore should customize the approach of sparks joy, because you have too wide a definition,” logan says, but he reaches out and takes the hug-a-world with both hands anyways.

virgil examines logan holding it, thinking suddenly of a much tinier logan with a gap in his front teeth holding the same toy in the same way, though the fabric had been much more vibrant shades of blue and green then. there had been a solid stretch of time that the hug-a-world had been the toy that logan had hugged falling asleep, back in the poolhouse. he’d taken the hug-a-world to the diner and to school and all around the inn and to the princes’ apartment and back again.

a side of logan’s mouth twitches up, and then, as if suddenly conscious of it, he forces the corners of his mouth to turn down as he stares at it.

“remember?” patton repeats, staring at logan and the hug-a-world fondly. “we used to take turns to squeeze it as tight as we could and then wherever our pinkies would end up, that’s where we were going to go together when you grew up.”

“yes,” logan says, and then loses the fight against his mouth, because it twitches up into a smile again. “many a trip to uzbekistan was planned that way.”

“look!” patton says, pointing and tilting his head. “that’s canada, then, where’d your other one get you?”

logan moves his other pinky in order to squint at the faded fabric. “i believe that’s cambodia. possibly vietnam, i was rather splitting the border.”

“why not both?” patton says pragmatically, or as pragmatically as he can sound planning a potential trip based off hugging a ball.

logan hesitates, holding the ball.

“look,” patton says. “hey, how about virgil helps clean it up, and the hug-a-world can live in your room?”

logan chews at the inside of his lip.

“if it sparks joy,” patton sing-songs.

logan heaves a sigh.

“the hug-a-world will live in my room, then,” he says, before looking to virgil. “we’ve started a pile for you right here,” and pats a pile of what mostly looks like clothes that can be either repaired, repurposed, or sneakily donated.

virgil takes a breath, and says, “i’ll crack open a window and put on some music, then. patton, you take your allergy medicine today?”

patton tilts his head to think about it.

“that’s a no,” virgil says. “i’ll grab it on the way. water, snacks? we’re gonna be here for a while.”

“are we?” logan says doubtfully, twisting to look at him.

“we are finishing spring clean this year!” patton insists. “i mean it this time!”

logan arches his eyebrows at virgil, and virgil mouths play along, and logan sighs before he turns back to the pile, pulling out an old jacket at random.

“i have never seen you wear this. it should be donated.”

“that was from raf, we can’t just toss it!” patton cries out in dismay, and virgil heads for the kitchen.

he fills up three glasses of water, chops up some celery and apples, fills up three mini ramekins with peanut butter, and sets it all on a tray, along with the round white pill that patton takes for his allergies.

he plugs in his phone and scrolls to a roman-made playlist, lowering the volume so that they’ll be able to hear each other, and proceeds to make his meandering way around the piles of Stuff as best he can without knocking anything over.

on his way, he moves to crack open the windows of the living room, allowing the floral-scented air to waft into the messy room, to hear the chirping of the birds under patton and logan’s debating.

he pushes aside a pile of old books on the coffee table and sets the tray down, mostly ignored as logan manages to triumph and tosses the jacket into a box labeled DONATE.

virgil settles down next to his pile, sitting in criss-cross-applesauce, and gosh all of the clutter of patton and logan’s lives looms over them like a mountain at this angle.

“okay,” virgil says encouragingly. “good, that’s good! raf’s old jacket will probably make some other teenager very happy to have it.”

patton sighs, staring after the jacket. “yeah, i guess.”

“this is good,” virgil says stubbornly, before tugging at a piece of fabric sticking out at random and unearthing a blanket.

“oh, i was wondering where that got off to!” patton says, delighted.

“i thought that got lost in the moving shuffle,” virgil agrees, because the last time he saw this he was pretty sure it was tossed over the back of their rented apartment couch.

“so this blanket has not been washed in at least six years,” logan says.

“well, that can be fixed!” patton points out. “i say keep.”

“we’re never going to finish,” logan groans.

“of course we’re gonna finish!” patton says.

“yeah, logan,” virgil says unconvincingly. “listen to your dad.”

patton beams at him, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek; logan rolls his eyes, before he turns his attention to the blanket.

“so, you claim keep for your room,” logan says. “you already have so many blankets.”

“well, we can always use more blankets!” patton points out. “worse comes to worse, we’ll put it in the linen closet.”

logan tilts his head, before he sighs, and places it in a pile of other fabrics that they seem to have decided to keep.

“all right, fine,” he says, then fishes out another piece of fabric. “next item—”

“look how fast we settled that!” patton says brightly.

“pretty fast,” virgil agrees dutifully.

“we’ll totally finish spring clean this year,” patton says confidently.

(they do not finish spring clean this year.)

#my post #text #my fic #my fanfiction #the sideshire files #sideshire files #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #moxiety

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whump-town · 4 years ago

Text

See, How The Most Dangerous Thing Is Love

Where you go I'm going So jump and I'm jumping Since there is no me without you

She can’t stop running and, like an idiot, he keeps chasing.

warnings: i don’t think there is anything to warn against which seems odd... considering... but I did use some weird fucking metaphors and I don’t know if they make any sense...

Hotchniss

If the tension between Aaron Hotchner and Emily Prentiss wasn’t apparent upon their reunion following Elle’s leave, it was painfully clear after Tobias. Eggshells be damned. He inquires around her compartmentalization, tone dark, and judging where JJ had just meant to build a bridge. He had aimed to tear one down. To remind her just how out of place she is in this unit.

There can only be one lone wolf in the pack.

“You came off of a desk job--”

She narrows her eyes, feet shifting. He’d come out of nowhere, as she’s finding he often does, and that just aggravates her even more. She’s a trained spy and Interpol agent, he shouldn’t be able to sneak up on her. The shield she throws between them does nothing when he already has his own firm in place. Feet planted in preparation for her attack.

Her revenge is sweet.

It starts with the way her back draws tight as a bow.

“No, stop. Stop. All right everybody right now-- what’s my worst quality?”

The flip of her dark hair, drawing the limp branch of a tree towards her chest. Poised ready to strike out towards him and the tight coil of childish glee derived from mischief in her chest. Her words the fiery snap of its release, the edge catches his cheek to leave an open, jagged wound. “You don’t trust women as much as men.” The room’s attention lays in the silence of that lashing. Their eyes watching the dark crimson of his blood trickle down his cheek.

And he wipes it away. Unflinching as he powers on. He can see it in their eyes, the way they keep looking back at the wound on his cheek. Thinking about the words and their implications. How they each drew back and laid into him with their strikes.

He can see it in Emily, the way she awaits her second chance. She’ll draw that branch back again. There are more branches, he suspects, in her forest of mistrust and impatience with him. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have a few branches of his own he’d like to hit her with.

It is only in the most fundamental way that they trust one another.

“Don’t get me wrong, Johnny.”

A drop of sweat runs along his hairline and down the back of his neck. The heat of Alabama in August is worse than Virginia and even stripped of his suit jacket, the weather is insufferable. The rickety old pisshole of a house groans under the weight of the four adults standing in the attic. With no draft and dust covering every visible surface, it smells like something’s crawled up here and died. He suspects, if he were to look hard enough, he’d find that to be true.

Johnny and Mark Wrights have been murdering and raping teenage girls from the local high school. Grown men covered in grim and old denim-- the epitome of the white trash that comes to mind when they set out to solve these kinds of cases. It makes Hotch feel a deep shame for being raised anywhere near the south. Now, as he stands pinned to Johnny’s chest, the heavy scent of pig shit and sweat covering the man, he feels deep condemnation for the south.

He wants to get as far from this town as possible.

Prentiss’ gun is steady. As far as agents to come to have his back, he’s lucky that it’s her. Her brows raise a fraction when she steps into the room, surprised that it’s him. It takes him off guard that she’s choosing empathy with these men. She repeats her earlier statement. “Don’t get me wrong, boys,” she shakes her head and her eyes flicker to Hotch. “That’s my boss you have there.”

Johnny digs the barrel of his gun into Hotch’s face, the metal biting his flesh. He’s antsy. Emily must see that… surely, she must know that she won’t be able to talk her way out of this.

“Now,” she smirks. Her inflection has risen to nonchalance as if talking to a friend. Her shrug of indifference makes his chest feel dangerously tight. “He’s a dick,” she informs them. “Makes my life a living hell.” His eyes glued to her index finger. She’s talking and moving and if she’s distracted him with her words then she’s distracted the Unsubs too. “He’s got a little boy at home though,” her eyes flick to him.

He’s hit with a sudden understanding.

“So…” he watches her back once again. A bow, bending to snap. He ducks, this time, when her branch comes flying back at his face. Throwing his weight to the side, he takes Johnny by surprise, and before he can blink there are two quick shots that ring the end.

For a stunned moment, he’s laid out on his back. His eyes are on the ceiling just breathing and shaking.

She comes to stand at his side, offering him a hand up.

He takes it.

“Don’t,” she says before he can thank her. Her eyes are dark. She’s displeased. Not only with him and the stupidity that got them in this mess, to begin with, but for the girls. Emily had wanted to bring those girls justice. To sit at Johnny and Mark’s court hearings. To drink herself numb and to see them thrown in jail so they’d never see the light of day ever again.

Executed in the attack of some rickety old house just isn’t the same.

He nods his head.

They part ways.

But he can see her back.

And she sees his hands.

She lashes out and he pulls scabs apart. He agitates old wounds. His thumb works across his finger, picking at a scab, and then he draws blood and she watches as he dumbly looks down at his hands. As if he’s confused at why it would bleed.

A serial arson typically leaves little room for emotional collateral but, of course, he makes an exception. He digs his thumb into his finger, rubbing back and forth, voice breaking, and attention split as he makes connections that no one else sees. Gideon steps to his side, calming Hotch and stopping the trickle of blood over his callused hands. Holds his own hands over the wounds.

She sees that day, the scars that litter his ledger. The scabs… Aaron Hotchner is an open wound. He can’t let anything go. Won’t let the wounds heal. He needs the pain the way she needs the bows. She hates that she’s starting to understand this man that she hates so passionately.

Hearing him shout, the pain in his voice as he tears viciously after Evan Abby makes her falter. There he goes again, picking at wounds that should have healed. Who exactly is he saving? It’s not Abby. The man is a walking corpse, riddled with cancer. Watching as Hotch sinks into Morgan’s arms, his dread and hopelessness bringing him to his knees.

The blood falls down his hands.

But he picks at a wound that makes her bow and all is right, once again, in their little world.

“I want you on that plane with me.”

She finds him on a bender a few days later. The case is solved but that doesn’t mean she feels any better about the way that they left things. A boy swept up in their carnage-- “the boy brought me this last one. Didn’t even ask him to.” She sits down one barstool away from him and wonders if he’s thinking about that too.

But he’s scratching. Not at his hands but at the tumbler he twirls lazily around, mesmerized by the amber liquid in it. He throws what little is left into his mouth and grimaces, not at the taste but at the scab he’s just pulled free. She watches the blood fall.

He gets good at stopping her attacks.

“There’s nothing we could have done,” he breathes, the hurt in his voice the only reason she doesn’t shoot him down with a scowl. For some reason, he takes the seat across from her and pushes a coffee to her. She looks at the mug and then at him. His head dipped, eyes on the sludge he’s calling a peace treaty.

She wraps her hands around the mug. The effect of the warmth is immediate. “I know,” she admits, sipping at the liquid. God, that pisses her off. He always makes the coffee perfect. She can’t even make her coffee the way she likes.

He hums, shaking his head. “I think…” he glances at her and looks out the window. “I think I’m still trying to convince myself that.” The soft admission is so… unlike him. Where is the gruff push? The fire in his eyes. She finds only hard truth. Standing rooted where he is, he frowns with something he can’t convince himself isn’t worry.

Where does she go? Tonight, he will go home and find it empty. Which is fine because he can’t be around Haley and Jack on a night like this. He is no husband. No father. He needs to remind himself of the emptiness that is Aaron Hotchner. The pain and the torture. He’s not meant to be a father and he pushes his father’s legacy a little harder each day he pretends his marriage is a happy one.

If she can not get lost in these faux realities… What does she do?

Him. She does him.

For a month he convinces himself that he can fix the little pieces of his marriage but finds his hands covered in the jagged wounds of the glass carnage. As it turns out, some things simply refuse to go back together. He bleeds and bleeds and Emily, of all people, comes to mend his aches. Moving him away from the fragments, forcing him to let go.

The sex is harsh. He’s rough and she lets him. Urging him on with the roll of her own hips, his hair gripped tightly in her hand. They’ve hurt one another gravely and to know his weaknesses makes her that much better at drowning out his pleasure. She’s surprised to find that his mouth isn’t just good for smart ass remarks.

It sparks something deep within them both.

“Garcia thought she heard…” JJ tightens her mouth, forcing her smile down. She glances over at Garcia, the two sharing smiles that can’t be hidden. For the first time in a while, Garcia came with them on a case. Meaning their usual splitting of the rooms didn’t work so Emily, instead of rooming with JJ, roomed with Hotch.

Garcia smirks at Emily, “I just heard someone up last night.”

Emily knows exactly what they heard. She feigns innocence none-the-less. “Late?” she asks. “I was in bed as soon as we got back.” Which is true because she had Hotch pinned to the wall with a hand down his trousers before the door could swing completely shut behind them. It didn’t take long for him to flip the script and have her on the bed. “I doubt it was anyone from the team, weren’t you all exhausted?”

Garcia accepts that as an answer. For now, that’s reasonable enough. It’s rather silly, is it not, to assume something is going on between Hotch and Emily, of all people. They really sell their pitch with the heated, just under their breath, argument that they have only an hour later. Though it isn’t to save face but because he’s an asshole sleep-deprived and she’s, truly, exhausted for the same reason. JJ and Garcia both feel rather stupid for having thought the commotion the night before could be them.

Six months later, it happens again.

“We were arguing,” Emily offers with hefty-sigh. She’s not just selling her role. Lately, they’ve had to repeatedly come to a heated, uncomfortable debate. Their relationship, what it is and what is really isn’t, is being questioned. Are they enough to power through the last year? Should they be something that makes it through the next?

She rubs at her eyes, careful to keep her hair brushed over her neck. While she’d checked and double checked this morning for any marks on her neck, Hotch has been rather nippy (in all sense of that word) and the last thing she needs is explaining some rogue hickey he’s placed. Unlike him, she doesn’t have a high collar to hide behind.

JJ raises an eyebrow but says nothing. The two of them are going through something, the whole team has noticed. Though, if they’re honest, they don’t suspect the rocks and tumbles of a relationship getting onto its feet. They’re waiting for one of them to snap. Whether it be Emily, who will likely pack up her belongings and leave. Regardless of her love for the team. Hotch… well, he’s losing his grip on his so solidly built and reinforced shields. His pain and discontent are slipping through his armor.

“Arguing?”

Emily sighs, nodding. “He’s an asshole,” she mumbles. “What do you want me to say?” Her tone, tense and defensive, raises a little more attention than she meant it to. Lowering her head, she digs her fingers into her temples. She’s not sure if it’s better or worse that Hotch notices immediately as he walks into the room. There’s a tense moment, the two of them just staring at each other, before he clears his throat and jumps right back into the problem at hand.

The case always comes first. Their relationship after every other conceivable thing.

It makes sense, for them, until it doesn’t.

“This isn’t what you signed up for.”

Up until that moment, he’d considered himself hiding fairly well behind his scowl. Aaron is safely nestled where Hotch can’t hurt him and, what scares him even more, is how protected he is from Prentiss. Because Emily might have tears streaming down her face right now but he knows he’s looking at Prentiss. From the steel in her dark eyes to the conviction that feels, and is, so misplaced.

He swallows around the stupidity that tries to come fumbling out of his mouth. Something sentimental, foolish. “I don’t understand,” he manages. It has taken him his entire adult life to admit to that. To find the courage to say when he doesn’t follow and all for what? To sit here, at her hospital bedside, and grit out the confession. He can’t fucking say I love you but he can consume the poison of letting go.

To succumb where he should fight.

“Please,” she whispers, softly. But she hadn’t been the other half watching. Unable to do a damn thing while her screams, the muffled sounds of her body hitting the walls, had filled his head. He’d listened as Cyrus beat her. In a way, no he didn't sign up for this. No one in a relationship wants every thought about their partner to be about the end. Will it come soon? Leaving one partner to grieve the other longer than they knew each other? To answer to that mourning call-- what is left when all you are is taken? What parts of him are really her?

“If it’s what you want.” he rasps.

She turns her head, barring to him the sight of the bruise that takes up the right side of her jaw. That’s answer enough.

Dave takes her home from the hospital that evening, wondering what exactly it is that’s happened. He noticed the two of them today. He’s not stupid. “How are you feeling?” he asks, looking over at her on his passenger seat. Getting hurt happens but this is the first time she’s ever had to call someone to pick her up. Dave knows, in that way a parent knows that the silence of their children spells encroaching doom, who was supposed to drive her home tonight. One might call it, also, parental intuition.

She doesn’t lift her head from the window. Doesn’t even look at him. “Fine.”

Dave knows Hotch will answer with the same answer Monday when they return from the office.

Calling the two of them tense is an understatement.

Emily returns to work and they steer clear of her. The whispers follow her weary body around like a cloak. That she can manage. That is nothing.

It’s his absence that she feels.

Her coffee tastes odd. She’s grown used to the way that he makes it. Too strong and with no creamer but no matter what she does it just doesn’t taste the same. He’s even ruined tea. His mouth always tasted of Earl Grey or the bitter remnants of his coffee. Now, even smelling Earl Grey twists a knife within her. One she buried herself.

He’s fucking everywhere.

It’s driving her mad.

The worst part is that he’s not there.

In her bed, she rolls over. Throwing a leg over where his hips would usually be. She finds nothing but soft, used cotton. Not even the pillow carries the lingering scent of him.

His sweater hangs over a chair in her room but it’s absent of his warmth. She’s worn it too often and now she can’t even bring it to her face to pretend he’s here.

Nightmares plague her sleep and she wonders if this is penance for breaking his heart or if he’d just kept them away.

She watches, one night, as her nightmares crawl out of her ears sneer right back at her.

“Where’s Hotch?” Emily falls into step with JJ.

The blonde shrugs, “I called him twice. He’ll just have to meet us here when he wakes up.”

Though she falters, body stiffening and pausing, she tries to carry on unbothered. Seemingly unbothered by this progression. Hotch never lets his phone go to voicemail.

She’s the one that finds him four hours later. Lying supine, unresponsive in a hospital bed. The doctor’s words roll right off her, she takes in only that he will, eventually, be okay. And she wonders what it would have been like to really lose him. Not to just yearn for him but to not even avoid his eye in the hall. To hover with her finger over his contact and for there to be no possibility that he’ll answer.

Dead.

He could have died.

Stupidly, foolishly, she takes his hand. His eyes crack open and she pretends she doesn’t see his immediate relief followed far too closely by the pain. Physically brought on by the wounds of both her hands and Foyet’s. “I almost lost you,” she says.

He closes his eyes when she kisses him but when they pull apart he grimaces. Consciousness is painful, miserable. Her hand clutched by his, he manages a few weak breaths. Each one builds the strength to speak. “You can’t lose what you never had,” he answers, a moment later. By the time the cruelness of his truth has hit her, he’s slipped back under the drugs. His hand limp and clammy.

He’s right, though.

They both knew where he was coming in. The ins and outs of his embrace. That he’d pull her in and push her away in the same breath. Afraid, too afraid, to try at this again and, yet, he’d tried. He might not have had the strength to manage love but he’d held her through the nights. He knew her favorite foods and was never shy about tearing her apartment apart for missing the heating pad if she needed.

And what had she done for him?

She’d tricked him. Lured him in with the lies that she could do this. But she’s still drawn tightly. A bow that lashes out. Hurting others before they have a chance to hurt her and, as a result, she’s killed him more than Foyet could have dreamed.

Mostly, what he means is that she never allowed herself to have him. She never had him and, yet, she misses him every step of the way.

They have one another one last time.

She settles her hips over his and looks everywhere but the agitated, raised scars across his chest. He’s not cleared for strenuous activity but if he can’t have her, can’t feel her lips moving up his jaw and her fingers snaking up his side he’s certain that will kill him far sooner than any strain to his body. He’d rather die by her hand anyhow.

After that, there is no more, but it lingers thickly in the air.

She’s still Emily when her name comes out of his mouth. She still watches his lips, wondering if she were to capture them with her own if they would still taste the same. He looks for her first when things get dangerous and it’s his name she wakes up crying.

Haley dies. Emily puts distance between them but he still looks for her first.

“Please,” she places her hands on his chest. Forcing his body away even though just the feeling of her palms pressed to his chest sends yearning straight down her spine. “Aaron,” his name comes choked. “Please, if you knew me, if you had any idea of the things that I have done you’d run. I need you to run, don’t you understand that?”

He looks down at her, mouth open. Can she not see him? That he is a man made up of scars and scabs. A wound that bleeds. He picks and pokes and he bleeds all over everything. “I don’t run,” he says. He hadn’t run from the carnage of his marriage. Can’t she remember picking him up after that whole affair. Digging the glass from his hands where he’d stabbed and ripped himself to shreds to catch the falling debris of a life he thought he still had.

She deflates, sinking into the realization that her love is the worst thing for him right now. It’s a drug to him and she’s given him far too much. “I know,” she says, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Because you never know what’s good for you.”

His fingers ghost over her cheek and holds her face in his hand. “You let me decide what’s good for me,” he whispers. “I can protect myself, Emily.”

Not against this, she thinks. Not against her. He’s never known when to pull away and when to fight harder. It’s going to get him killed.

But it’s her laying on the ground, impaled, gasping for breath.

Hotch sees her blood all over Morgan’s hands. The hitch in the younger man’s choked breath as he recounts what happened. Attempting and failing to keep the details straight as he tells Hotch, in great detail, what happened. The way she’d lost reality for glimpses. Asked for him. Called out for Aaron, not Hotch, but Aaron. And Hotch doesn’t know what to say when Morgan rises to his feet and challenges-- “What the fuck was that about? What did you two do?”

But it’s fine because JJ comes out and places Morgan right back into his chair, silencing him with seven words. All hitting a little harder, too solidly across his shoulders. “She never made it off the table.”

Emily Prentiss never let herself love Aaron Hotchner but that never stopped him. And, in the end, she’d been there. Through Foyet, she’d been there. Where was he when she needed him?

He sends her to London with JJ, his goodbye rushed, and guilt.

She’s in London. He goes to Afghanistan. Neither make it home entirely alive.

She should have known.

Admittedly, she is a little wine drunk. Tipsy, really. Inhibitions lowered in the warmth of Dave’s living room. She’s missed them all so terribly that the ache of their absence being lifted has left her exhausted. She’d been in a near daze when she’d taken her wine and moved to the couch. Leaning into Dave’s side when he’d taken the seat beside her. While Jack and Henry recount the events of every day she’s missed according to their greatest accuracy.

Their silly little stories are well worth the soft laughter it draws from the others.

“Where are you going?”

So now, as she stands and leaves Dave’s side cold-- she’s not sure what she was expecting to find in the depths of his eyes but the fear is startling. “Water,” she says, holding up her empty glass. “Water and to pee, I’ve had way too much wine.” She tips the glass and winks at Jack. Trying her best to lighten the mood she hadn’t realized she’d tank just by standing.

Garcia peels herself from the chair she’s sharing with Morgan, ignoring the way he seems to startle at the aspect of losing her pressed into his side. “I’ll join you on the bathroom run, pumpkin,” she says, collecting her glass and Morgan’s from the table at their side. “Another drink, my chunky hunky?”

Morgan smirks but shakes his head, “no thanks, Baby Girl. Someone has to be sober for the drive home.”

As good as that plan sounds, Hotch still grunts. The room’s attention shifting to their leader. He’s been startlingly silent, even for him, all afternoon. Seemingly tucked away from every encounter they’ve had amongst themselves. “You’ve all had too much to drink to drive home,” he says. “You should… calls cabs.” The strength of his interjection leaves his voice as Emily meets his eyes. He lowers his gaze and with it, the point of his statement.

Dave does not fail to notice this. Clearing his throat, he agrees. “I’ll go call your cabs.” He stands, rubbing a hand down his face. Fingers working into the creases of his lips. “Aaron,” he nods his old friend over. “Give me a hand?”

That sets about the motion of the room.

Emily’s making her way down the hall when Garcia catches her. “What is it,” Emily asks, playfully. She waits for Garcia to catch up to her, holding out her hand for what she’s expecting to be a trip full of the secrets of her and Derek’s relationship. Something good. A win.

“Can you make him stay?”

Emily desperately wants to pull from Garcia’s hold. Her grip is intense, desperate. She tries to pull away from Garcia’s hold. “What?” she asks softly, looking over her shoulder for some help. “Who? Who needs to stay?”

The desperation in Garcia’s eyes is unsettling. She lowers her voice even more pulling them closer. Her voice breaks as she says it. Tears swelling and running against the mascara over her eyelashes-- “Hotch.” She clenches her teeth, showing the most self-restraint Emily’s seen since they stepped foot in this hall. “He left us,” she breathes, sadly. “A month after you were gone. I went to his office--” her eyes dart as she speaks. “I started bringing him coffee every morning to cheer him up.”

Emily swallows thickly around the guilt that creeps up. Her death had broken them. She’d known that, of course. She just hadn’t considered Hotch. Brave and strong and it’s so hard to tell when he’s hurting. Then to bare her lie? Another cross on his back. More weight on his shoulders.

“I went in--” the tears fall as Garcia’s voice shakes. “He wasn’t there. He’d cleaned his office up and you know how he is.” That big oak desk is always littered with paperwork. One side to the other. He stacks it everywhere. Leaving pens from one end of the room to the other. You can’t even sit on that old couch of his without getting stabbed in the ass by a pen he’s lost. “Clean,” Garcia whispers. “He just left, in the middle of the night. By the time we came in, by the time we could find him he was already over there. Afghanistan.”

The word makes Emily’s chest tighten. What the hell could he be doing over there? That station is always looking for profilers but it’s a death trap. Hotch had said it himself, warning her when they’d sent her the special request. They’ve been operational for five years and gone through seven profilers. All of which have died. No one makes it out of that station alive.

And he’d gone.

“Why would--” she doesn’t even want to finish the question. Doesn't want to put the truth into action. Admit that she knows exactly why he did it.

At least over there he’d die a hero. Leave his son a flag and another parent to bury.

It’s faster than anything he could swallow over here.

Garcia squeezes Emily’s arm, bringing her back to the present moment. To the thing in question. “Can you bring him back,” she whispers frantically. “Can you make him stay?”

Emily doesn’t honestly know. Has she ever been able to make him do anything? “Garcia, I--” Her mouth snaps shut as the man in question steps into the hall. His eyes dart between them and Emily feels rather like a mouse caught in a trap.

He clears his throat and scratches uncertainly at the beard he’s let grow back in. “I was just…” he looks at Garcia and then back at Emily. Clearly caught off guard. “Dave-- I… You’re, ah, the hotel is close to me. I thought I’d save you the cab fare if you wanted to ride back--”

“Yes.” Emily nods, far too quickly. “Thanks,” she says, looking anywhere but at him. “I’d, ugh, I’d appreciate that.”

Hotch looks between Garcia and Emily, before nodding and ducking his head. He leaves the hall, with a slightly awkward nod and steps out. Hands going to his pocket. Hiding.

“Will you try,” Garcia whispers.

Emily watches him walk away. The apprehension in his hesitant movements. His hand scratching at the back of his head until he can hide behind the shield of Jack’s eager talking. Sinking down beside the boy on the couch and hiding himself there. “I don’t know,” she admits, honestly.

The only person that can pull him from the ledge is Hotch and she’s seen him toe it once before.

Packing things up is simple enough.

Hotch stands towards the edge of the hall, Jack slowly falling asleep in his arms.

“Sleepy,” Emily asks Jack, running her fingers through his soft brown hair. Jack shakes his head but doesn’t raise it from Hotch’s shoulder. Hotch has wrapped him in his jacket rather than choosing to fight the boy into it. It’s more a blanket. She pulls it up around him a little better. “You’re not tired,” she asks. “I am. I can’t wait to get to bed.”

Jack smiles but doesn’t admit to the exhaustion weighing his little bones down. “Are you gonna sleep with us?” he asks. He looks down at her with the soft of his father’s. Same impossible depth is hidden behind light brown iris’. It breaks her heart to see the turmoil within him.

Emily frowns but she’s not forced to tell the little boy no. Instead, Hotch’s hand comes to the back of his head. Cupping his neck as Hotch turns to face her. “You don’t have to do anything,” he clarifies with an all too familiar look in his eyes. Mischief. A plan. “We do have the guest room. With clean sheets. You could come home with us.”

Home.

To a real bed.

“I…” she can’t force out the polite no her mother has solidified in her mind the answer to be. No because that’s not fair or right or-- she really wants to sleep in a normal bed.

He bumps her shoulder, “just say yes.”

She looks at him and then at Jack. It’s not a hard thing to want to go home with the two of them. After Foyet, she’d spent many nights camped out on their couch. Waiting for father or son to wake in a panic. He’d done the same in the hospital after Doyle, sleeping on an uncomfortable little cot just so the first thing she saw each time she woke up was someone she knew.

Now it’s different. The dynamic has changed. While he might not know the course of the night has changed, she does.

She just doesn’t know it’s a futile battle.

There is no use fighting over stupid things like sleeping. He tucks Jack into his bed and meets her in his room. She’s already pulled on his shirts over her head. Refraining, forcing herself from burying her face in the material.

It doesn’t stop her from curling into bed beside him. Pressing her face into his shoulder and focusing solely on his hand slipping under her shirt. “You tired…” he asks. She shakes her head. He hums as he thinks. Dragging his thumb over her hip bone, stroking the soft skin. “First crush,” he whispers, ghosting his lips over her neck.

She laughs at that, twisting in his grip to tilt her hips across his. Settling closer to his chest. Drawing her hand up she draws against his skin. “This girl named…” she taps at his chest as she fails to remember the girl’s name. “I can’t remember her name,” she admits, faintly. Blushing. “Does that surprise you?”

Hotch’s eyes have slipped shut, his face turned into her hair. He hums, scrunching his eyebrows. “Surprised about what,” he asks softly. “That you can’t remember her name or that it’s a she?” He pulls her closer, wrapping an arm around her hips.

Emily just… looks at him. He hasn’t even opened his eyes. He’s not even going to comment? She bites her lip and lowers her head back down. “What about you?”

“None. It’s… I’ve only ever--” he blushes, averting his eyes. “Only Haley and you.” He clears his throat… “That’s why I always tried,” he whispers. “Why I tried so hard…”

“It’s not like I didn’t try,” she defends, pulling away from his embrace. “I was trying to protect you from this whole mess. You’re the one who didn’t know when to stop.”

“I don’t know where you get off blaming me,” he says, pulling himself away. He sits up in the bed, turning himself so she can sit and stare at the wall of his back. Little scars marking up his back as he places his arms on his knees. “You ran, Emily. Every single time, you run. Not me.”

Neither look at the other.

“I’m sleeping on the couch,” he announces. “Stay. Don’t make me explain to Jack why you’re not here in the morning.”

She stays where she is. She turns this over in her mind. His words are an open palm slap to the face. She sleeps in his bed, holding onto his pillow and burying her face into the scent. She doesn’t leave but only because she doesn’t want to have to walk past him. This feels like winning so she stays. She eats breakfast with them in the morning, playing and laughing with Jack like she always has.

Like she always does.

“I leave Thursday, if you care.”

She says nothing which is perfect because he’s not sure he can handle anything she might think of.

She knows, without having to be told, that they blame her for not being to keep him here. And, maybe it’s her fault, because she didn’t really try, did she? She did what also does, she hurt him. Now she’s sitting here all alone, wondering what she could have done differently.

Everything.

“We’ll see you when you get home.”

She stands at the back of the group, watching the other’s pull him into hugs. Dave holds Hotch for a long moment, speaking softly so only the two of them can hear what’s being exchanged. Hotch pulls away from that hug with tears falling down his cheeks. “Don’t make me bury another son, Aaron. Please be careful.” And that’s when he sees her.

Derek pushes her forward and she feels all of them watching as she makes her way to him.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he confesses. He doesn’t care that the others are watching. They know enough. They’ve always known.

She feels guilty and she should. “You told me goodbye,” she reminds him. He’d kissed her right before they sent her to London with a packet of new names and passports. To be someone other than Emily. For a second chance. “It--” she looks away. She’s running, again, she knows. And she has to stop running. “It was the only thing that kept me alive, Aaron. I couldn’t let you leave without having told you the truth--”’

He glances up and back to her. Just for a moment, he wonders if the others should be hearing all this but--maybe they’re past all that. Pretending is how people get killed, they learned that with Emily, and he really doesn’t feel like being their repeat.

“I love you,” she confesses. “I know you love me, you always have. I’m sorry that I keep--” fucking it up. “I love you and I need you to come home, okay? So I can stop running.”

He doesn’t believe her. He wants to believe her but everything about Emily Prentiss always hurts and he knows it’s stupid to trust her. “Okay,” he says, afraid anything more will send her for the hills before he can even leave the country. And like an idiot, he bends his neck into her touch. Letting her rise up on her toes to kiss him. “I promise,” he whispers.

Jessica gets the call at midnight. The Bachelor finale had ended hours ago but she’d been sucked into some History channel rerun about ancient Mesopotamia. It’s the haze of the light hour, the warmth of the undertones of sand, the steady deep voice narrating, and the blanket curled around her shoulders that puts her to sleep. She doesn’t stand a chance after the day she’s had.

The call comes at 12:34 and the urgent ringing of her cell-phone makes her heart kick painfully at her chest. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes with one hand, she accepts the call without looking to see who it is. Not that her tired eyes would have recognized the caller anyway.

Not serving as a soldier, the process for notifying the family of any health changes requires a different take. For Aaron Hotchner, it’s put into the FBI’s hand. He’s their tool after all, not the US Army’s.

“I’m sorry to wake you, ma’am,” the voice offers.

Jessica scowls at the formality, sitting up on the couch and desperately searching for the remote. She kills the screen and the room is bathed in silence, aiding her ability to understand and think about what’s going on. “Ugh, can I help you?” She pushes her hair up out of her face, searching the ground and coffee table for a spare hair tie.

“I’m calling in regards to Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. I understand this number is supposed to be the personal line of Jessica Brookes? You’re his emergency contact--”

He deployed in October. Giving her only a week’s heads-up. He’d had the decency to look ashamed of himself, of the state of being he’s caused for them all. She’d understood his situation. Losing his friend had broken him irreparably and he’d wanted to talk about that even less than he had Haley. At least he’d warned her, she knows he hadn’t extended his team the same courtesy.

The man on the line goes on. Something about moving bases and a promise to get back to her as soon as possible.

“Thank you for your service,” the man concludes.

Jessica blinks, frowning at the phrasing. Aaron wasn’t serving. He was punishing himself. This was penance.

“Goodnight.”

She sits back on the couch, eyes vacantly taking in the wall in front of her. He’s on his way home. That’s good but she can’t help but… he’s hurt. Hurt enough for them to discard him back here. How bad is it?

Emily can’t deny her horror.

His eyes move to the blanket. To the empty space of where his limb once was. “It’s… It’s just a leg,” he whispers. He blinks heavily once, twice, and sighs softly as he fails to keep his eyes open. Humming, he parts his chapped lips but can’t find any more words. He’s too tired. “Could be…” his voice slurs and he exhales a heavy breath. “...worse.”

Emily wants to hit him but she’s done being defensive. She’s tired of being the first one to pull away. For once, she just needs to be the one that holds onto a hug a little longer. That lingers. “You could have died,” she whispers thickly. Gently, hesitantly she touches his hand. To her surprise he is the one to move, intertwining their fingers. She sits by his side, eyes glued the empty part of the bed. The nothing of where his leg is supposed to be. Does it really matter that much, though? A single leg?

Not to her. She’s had months to pretend. Every night she has escaped to a new reality with him. Come up with every variety of reality that might occur. What she’d do if he’d come perfectly fine and how they’d have kids and he’d never wake in the middle of the night with nightmares because she’d kill his monsters. How she would cope if he came home horribly disfigured or entirely different. Would it matter? They’d still be Aaron and Emily.

“I’ll never walk again,” he informs her. His head is tilted into the pillows, casually watching his news wash over her. He wants to know if she’ll stay if he can’t go. If all these years were about the chase, would she stay if he can no longer follow?

She sits down in the chair pulled up to the side of the bed. People have been in and out all afternoon but she’s the first one to receive this news. The other’s don’t really matter because he knows the script, can imagine how each of them react. Garcia will cry. JJ will too but not until she’s leaving. Dave will take it well but he’ll utter something strangely sentimental and sober with the realization that walking was never the priority of Hotch coming home. Morgan and Reid are his wild cards and he doesn’t want to tell them at all. But that’s just not how this works.

“At least you won’t go running off on me.”

He knows what she means, the implication and the diversion. With a huff he raises an eyebrow, “I’ve never been a runner, Emily.”

Emily.

No, she supposes, he never has. “If you can’t run,” she says, heart skipping around in her chest. She feels it pulsing in her throat, tossing itself around in her stomach. “If you can’t run then I won’t run.” She stands, swallowing thickly around the swell of fear in her throat. He watches her, looking up at her as she hovers for just a moment. When she kisses him there are no sparks. Something cold, icy runs it’s fingers into the grooves of her spine but she’s not gripped by any startling realizations.

It’s too late for that.

But he tastes like Aaron and to a girl who’s never had a home in one place, she’s only ever running. Here, against him, she knows what people mean they say a person can be a home. Because she wants to curl into him and forget the edges of Emily. Aaron. It’s always been Aaron.

It surprises him that she stays. She waited until things got hard.

“I’m going to have to go to physical therapy every week.”

She shrugs, “I’ve got a library of books waiting for me to read them. I’ll tackle my reading list.”

“I can’t walk,” he reminds her.

She raises an eyebrow, “so? I didn’t love you before because of your ability to walk.”

“Emily--” he needs her to understand this isn’t as easy as she’s making it. Using the bathroom, showering, sex isn’t even going to be easy. She can’t just brush it off like it’s not going to bother her. It’s bothering him! “Emily, I can’t hold your hand when we go downtown. I’m going to need your help taking a shower and getting to the bathroom. I’m going to have to look for a new apartment because the one I have, there’s no way I can work a wheelchair around in it. It’s-- I’m not the same! We’re not the same!”

She knows. Yesterday she asked Morgan to rig up something in the bathroom. She spent hours with Morgan trying to put a handle or a rail in beside the toilet without ruining the wall. Ordered a shower chair last week that Morgan is probably putting together right now. Garcia and JJ are looking for apartments with larger floor plans because she doesn’t want to be presumptuous and assume he’d want to move into a house with her. But she’s waiting for the right time to bring it up.

“Maybe that’s for the best,” she says. “That we’re not the same. I’m different too.” Does she need to create her own list? Dedicating it all to words for him to comb over. She can’t sleep through the night. Even though it had been a wooden stake that had “killed” she can’t hold a knife. Her hands tremble, this weakness she can’t explain. Her abdomen is just scars, riddled with ugly skin hardened by trauma. Is he prepared to see that?

“Look at me,” she says, squeezing his hand. “It’s been me and you for years. You’re the only thing I really know. So, I’ll take you as you come. However you come. You loved me when I ran, I can love you with a little baggage.”

He frowns, trying to find an out. Not or himself but for her. But she’s unwavering. “Baggage,” he finally caves. He smirks, shaking his head. “Of all the words in the language you know and you pick baggage?”

She cringes, shrugging, “I didn’t really think about it. It just came out.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

She smiles, “you love it.”

He hesitates for a moment but nods, “I do.”

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #criminal minds fanfiction #hotchniss

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