#and he’s just triple checking so he doesn’t get their pronouns wrong

[clownsnake]

wait new idea. scratch the original post. if I was toby fox I’d have Sans ask Kris their pronouns and if the player says she/he Sans directly addresses You The Player and says “hey, buddy, I wasn’t talking to you. Let the kid speak. Anyway, Kris, what’r your pronouns?” and then kris answers without a text box for us to see like they (and frisk btw) do sometimes. and sans is like “they/them, huh? Your pal would do well to remember that.”

If I were Toby fox I’d have a character ask Kris ‘what are your pronouns’ then the player has to choose between ‘they/them’ and 'they/them’

[easy-there-leftovers]

Mixed Messages

Written with season 1 Spencer in mind

Summary: The 5 times that you think you might hate Spencer Reid + the 1 time you realize you can't.

Alternatively; You're completely oblivious to your own growing feelings for Spencer that it constantly puts you in harm's way.

This can be seen as a prequel-sequel + sequel (?) to "A Question Unasked," but can be read independently of it.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem! (mentored by Hotch!) reader | cw: slight spoilers for s1e02, s1e04, s1e06, s1e10, and s1e18 | reader gets really mean in the later half lol |slight description of canon-typical violence, slight timeframe switches because it made more sense that way | word count: 8.9k (yowza--)

“It’s something, I know it is.” You mutter to yourself, rubbing the pads of your fingers together in an attempt to gather your thoughts. But you can’t. 

Can’t find it. 

Can’t find that one word.

“What do you call that thing when you–” you snap your fingers at your colleague. Your equal. “I’m sorry– what do you call the urge to do something or behave a certain way?”

This was your second case out on the field with the rest of the BAU since you’ve been recruited, and it had not been easy for you. 

The BAU always seemed like a prestigious unit to be a part of. Only the best of the best ever got to rub elbows up in that department, having been founded by Jason Gideon and David Rossi. 

Two of the most legendary profilers in the world.

And right now you, you haven’t been feeling the best. But Aaron Hotchner seemed to have thought otherwise.

Spencer thinks for a moment, trying to understand what you had just asked him while he stared at the board that still had the team’s ideas on it. 

“Actually, it could be a number of things; urges, cravings, stressors, compulsions–”

“That one! You’re amazing at this, Dr. Reid.�� 

After noticing your knack for the more analytical aspects of the job, your mentor, the unit chief himself, had assigned you to work with one Dr. Spencer Reid. Another fresh grad that could not have been any older than you, but certainly seemed way smarter. 

He said that you would work well together.

And you believed him.

You looked at the calendar that had been marked when the fires were started, fully missing how the genius had frozen at your praise, and you frantically reviewed the theory in your head. 

Double-checking, triple-checking, and nodding when you see it’s consistent.

You then hurriedly pulled up the recording of Matthew in his dorm. Hovering so close to the screen, that Spencer had to be equally as close to it, and by extension to you, in order to even try seeing what you were seeing.

 “Do you see it?” You look back at him, and his face is so close, you almost lose your nerve but thankfully, Gideon opens the door to check up on the both of you.

He pauses as if he’s seeing something he shouldn’t be, but carries on anyway.

“Don’t just look at the next move. It’s like chess, think three steps ahead.” He says it mostly to Spencer, you notice, but you also notice how he was slightly bothered by your proximity to his protege. 

He doesn’t say anything about it, but you’re working as a profiler now for a reason.

You move away a little. 

When he leaves, Spencer turns to look at you again and asks what you saw. 

“See this?” You ask as you point to the part where there were two, clearly lit windows on screen and he nods. “There are two fires, right?” He nods again.

“Now look at this,” You show him the part where Matthew gets wet with gasoline, and is eventually set aflame. 

“That was the third fire.”

You see Spencer’s eyes light up at your statement, and you hurriedly scrub back to where the unsub had been trying the door knob. Making sure to zoom in on the handle.

This time, it's the boy-genius that says it. “He turns the knob three times.” He looks at you to confirm his statement, and you nod. Looking into his eyes. 

Something you did out of respect.

“Right, so if we’re not wrong,” you use the pronoun on purpose, “the professor’s office should have something to do with the number three as well.”

He walks with you to the burned office, professor Wallace’s office, and there you collectively discover more of the same number. 

You have all the evidence you need.

***

“Sir Hotchner, we know why the profiles never fit.” It’s you who opens the door first, but Spencer is the one that carefully closes it behind you.

He looks at Gideon. “You were right to tell Morgan not to rely on precedent.” He then sets up the computer that you two had brought and you continue for him.

“So far, the fires that have been set are completely task-oriented.”

Hotch quirks his brows at that. “So once the fires are set, the unsub is done?”

You nod.

“Correct, sir. The reason why the profile never fit is because it contradicts the mold of a classic serial arsonist– his use of fire is the compulsion of a completely different disorder.” “Which is?” Gideon questions.

“An extreme manifestation of OCD– Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.” Spencer answers as he finally found out how to turn the computer on. The two of you exchanging lines in perfect synchronization.

“He does everything in threes. And if I’m right, he’ll have to kill again.”

The four of you discuss the behavioral evidence that had led to this discovery, with Spencer taking the lead as he mentions its possible tie to ‘scrupulosity,’ a type of OCD centering on religious obsession. 

As you continue though, and you know you shouldn’t take it to heart, but the way that Gideon’s constantly questioning your ideas and not Spencer’s was starting to make you feel uneasy. As if you were a bug under his careful scrutiny. 

Or was it the way that you sat?

 Granted, there were only three chairs in the area, so you had absentmindedly sat on the bit of the desk that had been uncluttered. No one else seemed to be bothered by it, and certainly not Spencer, who had cleared the area nearest to him just for you. 

So what…?

Being the non-confrontational kind, but not one to be pushed around, you take a mental departure from the discussion and start thinking about what else could be useful to the case. Bringing something new to the table that’s relevant.

You try to think if there had been anyone that stood out to you. Spencer had mentioned religious obsession, and the call from earlier definitely supported the idea, but you couldn’t single out one theology student that would fit that criteria.

You tried getting up from where you sat. Pacing has always helped you gather your thoughts, but you didn’t even need to take those few steps when you felt the cold sweat run down your back.

And it seemed like Gideon had noticed it. “What is it?”

You turned to slowly face the rest of them. “I think I know who it might be.” You groan as you think about it.

 “And it’s not a he.”  If you thought about this too late and another fire is happening right now– 

—-------

It wasn’t until you were on the flight home that you felt like you could breathe easy again. You didn’t have to be near Gideon anymore, giving you the side eye every time you were the least bit close to his protege.

You could just exist silently while you think about what to write in your report.

It wasn’t Spencer’s fault, nor his mentor’s, you thought as you stared at the somewhat empty file in your hand.

 You’re sure that Reid didn’t mean to take credit for the theory that you had essentially spelled out for him, and you’re also sure that Gideon was just a little uncomfortable with how unprofessional you might’ve seemed. 

Looking all cozied up with his golden boy. That had to be the only reason why he practically ignored you, but congratulated the boy-genius.

You sigh and wonder if you’ll ever get on his good side. Maybe you just needed to work a little harder.

As you nod at your resolve, it's your mentor that takes a seat in front of you.

“Congratulations on your second case.” You’re still a little starstruck, getting to work with him, but you manage out a polite, ‘thank you’ as a response. 

You try to make yourself look busy by rereading the other file that had been completed.

You already made a fool of yourself in front of one of your seniors, you didn't want to mess up in front of him too. Hotch could–

“I meant it, by the way.” 

You look up at him again. Eyes wide in question, and perhaps fear, as you realize you don’t understand what he’s talking about.

“You were focused on that calendar more than any of us, even before we landed in Arizona. You recognized the pattern before you even knew what it meant. And that definitely helped.”

“Oh.” Is all you could say, because what else could you have said?

A small laugh leaves your mouth. He recognized you for your efforts. Made it known that he saw what you saw, and that what you saw was helpful. 

Without the usual mention of the boy-genius.

It was a moment just for you. 

A moment where you vowed to work harder. Smarter.

And the moment you knew that SSA Aaron Hotchner was the best leader that you could ever have.

“Oh and agent?” Both you and Spencer look back to see your supervisor, but you see that it’s you that he’s singling out. “A private word, if you please.”

You nod without a second thought, despite not knowing what this other meeting could possibly be for. You were just as clueless as you were about the one earlier. 

What you weren’t clueless about was how you felt towards your situation. You had been assigned to work with Spencer so often that you were starting to get sick of it. 

Not a slight to his company at all, on the contrary! You actually enjoyed it! He was a fascinating and accomplished young man that charmed his way into your heart with his little fun facts and references. 

And if that weren’t enough, Morgan hadn’t exactly coined the nickname “pretty boy” just for laughs.

 Dr. Reid lived up to that expectation. 

With his soft brown hair, bright, inquisitive eyes, and how cozy he always seemed in his clothes— how could anyone dislike him? 

No, it was the attention that you were getting that was starting to frustrate you. Or perhaps the wrong kind of attention, would be more appropriate.

Lately, it seemed as if you were only being treated as an extension of Dr. Reid. As if you were always attached at the hip, and that you always knew where he had to be and what it was that he was doing. 

You don’t know where all this came from. Not even a little bit.

All you know is that it was slowly starting to rub you the wrong way, and that you wanted a semi-permanent departure from the situation.

But that didn’t happen because Spencer had just unknowingly shut down your only chance.

You digress, and put your feelings aside for now. You were at work, after all.

“What did you want to discuss with me sir?” 

Hotch makes the effort to clear away his desk for a bit, and places his hands on top of it. Grasping them together as he looks at you with his usual stern expression.

“We’ll be issuing you a gun soon. You’re qualified to own one after having enough hours on the field, and you’ve shown a respectable record, so please keep that in mind.”

Your eyes widen in glee. Those were just a few words, but you couldn’t help how your heart swelled in pride at them.

It wasn’t the gun that you were happy about, it was what it represented.

Being issued a gun by the bureau signified that you were officially part of the team, and that you were deemed a responsible enough member of the organization to be trusted with it.

You should be honored to be given this chance and yet it felt sort of wrong— something didn’t sit right with you.

“Sir, with all due respect, while I’m thankful for the opportunity, I don’t see why I’m being issued a gun when Dr. Reid has still yet to have one.”

He sighs at that, as if he had hoped that you wouldn’t ask, but he tells you anyway. 

“Dr. Reid has failed numerous firearm qualifications and will be retaking his test soon.”

You nod slowly, still not quite seeing the relation between the two scenarios.

He sighs again, but this time, with a small, tight smile. 

“We’ve been thinking that it would instill more confidence in him if you knew your way around a gun. He seems to have a great respect for you, and seeing you have one might help him a bit.”

You smile at that and respond good-naturedly. “Duly noted, sir! I’ll make sure he has the confidence that could rival even Derek Morgan’s.”

He shows you a polite smile and dismisses you promptly. Getting back to his stack as you nod and you make your way to his door.

It shouldn’t bother you, and it doesn’t, you think.

 A job’s a job. 

If it wasn’t going to be you, it was going to be someone else. You just so happened to have been given this particular job due to the presumed rapport you had with one another, and you saw no problem with that.

You trust your boss, and it’s not like you dislike Spencer, so it shouldn’t bother you at all.

And yet it does, ever so slightly, when you see Morgan and Elle, crowding and cooing around him like he was a baby when you make it out of Hotch’s office.

You’re confused at what it is that you’re feeling, but you hear something akin to the word, ‘math.’ What could they be teasing him about now? 

“Is something going on here?” You hope they don’t see how hard you’re trying to keep a straight face. Looking to and fro.

You’re at work now, and you can’t let your emotions get the best of you. 

 "Was just caught trying to add my stack onto pretty boy's plate." Morgan says with his usual chuckle.

You detect a slight hint of something else hidden somewhere in there, probably another inside joke that you weren’t in on, but you can’t bring yourself to pay it any mind. 

So you let out a small, ‘hm’ to let them know that you heard what he said, and you eventually turn your back to them to reach your desk.

You don’t see the way Derek shoots you a knowing look.

And you don’t see the way Spencer looks at you longingly either. Too busy burying yourself in another stack of files, sure to go overtime once again, to drown out the unknown feeling that was welling up inside you. 

Did you hate Spencer Reid?

“Isn’t it amazing he knows what he knows and he’s only twenty-four?” Gideon huffs out and gives Aaron a small smile in response.

“Imagine what he’ll know by fifty.” 

It’s times like these that you remember that he does have the capability to smile. Well of course he’s smiling, his surrogate son looked like he was having the time of his life, blowing out those trick candles. 

Everyone crowded around him.

Everyone but you and the two seniors.

You want this moment to be something that everyone can enjoy, and you know just how much it would sour Gideon’s mood if you were right over there. So you opted to take your place right next to Hotch.

And Hotch seemed to notice that.

“Why aren’t you with the rest of them?”

You really don’t want to answer that right now. Not when the reason is staring right back at you, waiting for your response as well.

“I can see the party just fine from here.” Is what you settle for, and look right at Spencer’s still heaving back to make a point.

Before he could question it any further, he’s called to the other side of the room where a phone call was waiting for him. 

Reid takes the opportunity to excuse himself and take his place by Gideon’s side.

“You having fun?” The elder asks and he nods slowly at that.

“Yes, definitely. I am definitely– having fun.” 

He punctuates each pause with a tight-lipped smile and a snark that is just itching to break free and you can’t help the little chuckle that escapes you. As it happens however, you quickly try to hide it behind a cough and a cover of your mouth.

You’re right next to Gideon, you need to look professional, you think, no matter how cute or ridiculous Spencer might look. 

You quickly try to find Hotch with your eyes to ground yourself. Trying your best to zone out and not pay attention to the conversation happening right beside you, but it’s getting increasingly harder to do that.

“I wonder where the cake was from.” The younger one asks absentmindedly, but you feel the twitch of your fingers at the question. 

Gideon subtly looks over to you, but he doesn’t answer him. Instead asking if he made a wish yet, which quickly changes the trajectory of Spencer’s questions.

You let out a breath of relief, but the moment is short-lived when you see the solemn expression on Hotch’s face.

“Sorry guys. Party’s over.” You put your game face on, and quickly excuse yourself from them to grab your go bag. 

What you didn’t see was that Spencer had failed to notice Gideon’s gaze because he had been looking somewhere else. 

He had been looking at you. Waiting for you to greet him with a happy birthday like the rest of them did.  You were the only one that wasn’t there, after all.

But you had already been looking at Hotch, and that, he notices.

***

The more cases you work for the BAU, the more you realize how much of your work isn't just the investigation anymore. 

You feel it when you still see the victims’ faces when you close your eyes. 

Feel it in the hammer of your chest when you have to face off another degenerate with a gun. 

Feel it in the tenseness of your shoulders when either Spencer, or Gideon, or Hotch, or any of them are looking at you because if they even have the slightest idea that you’re not doing fine, you’ll lose your place on the team.

If you even had one, that is.

It was a strange position you were in. Everyone was expecting you to be boy-genius’ sidekick or something. Having all these ideas of you being someone bigger and stronger than you really were. 

Someone that was smart enough to show him just where to look, but not smart enough for the rest of the local PD to listen to because for some reason, it was more believable when it came out of Dr. Reid’s mouth.

You still remember how Morgan rolled his eyes at you when you corrected him. ‘It’s a ballad, actually. Not a poem.’

What’s worse was that the only person that didn’t seem to have this expectation of you was Spencer himself because he had no idea that any of this was even going on. 

He didn’t ask for this.

He was just doing his job, just like you were.

You’re officially off duty, now that you’re on the flight back to Quantico. So you unfortunately no longer have the excuse to shut away your feelings for the sake of your profession. 

You sigh and figure that maybe a little shut eye could help, but that idea is completely thrown out the window when you hear the soft pads of rubber-soled shoes shuffling on the jet’s carpeted floor.

You look up to see the less than comfortable posture of one Dr. Spencer Reid. Obviously caught between trying to go back to the main space, and just staying near the tail where you were.

Your heart warms at the sight and you invite him over.

You were thankful that he took up on your offer. 

Even under the harsh lights of the craft, you still notice just how soft Spencer looks. Even softer now that he’s donning your gift, and rambling on and on about how cool the color purple was to him. Gesticulating with his hands in a frenzy and you relax for what feels like the first time in months.

If you didn’t work together, you realize, you could’ve been a lot closer. He’s everything that you liked about a guy. He was smart and sensible, with a childlike wonder for anything and everything. 

There was an endless amount of things that he could accomplish, with a brain like that.  

And he was only twenty-four.

He was just like you, so why weren’t you closer? You ask yourself this as you sigh out, but you immediately find your answer in the form of his and your mentor looking right back at you. Whispering amongst themselves and occasionally shaking their heads. 

Looking just like they had earlier when you had brought in Spencer’s cake before the rest of BAU had showed up for duty. 

You know that there’s no way Reid can see them. Not when his back is quite literally turned to them, so you opt to ignore it. Maybe it was all in your head.

And maybe working with him so often wasn’t so bad. 

After all, how could you hate Spencer Reid when he’s this happy from just a scarf?

You see the scarf again, soon enough. 

Maybe a little too soon.

The BAU had received an urgent call to McAllister, Virginia to investigate the supposed work of a satanic cult. Two bodies that had sustained identical blunt-force trauma to the head were recovered, one skeleton and one fresh, but the team was debating the involvement of the cult in the case.

“You're saying that there's no such thing as devil worship?” Elle asks with disbelief, but is quickly answered by Gideon.

“Not at all. But most of the satanism that we've seen is juveniles damaging property, desecrating churches, cemeteries,” He shrugs a little as he pauses.

“Besides,” you add. “Satanists, removed from religious stigma, are just ethical hedonists. They reject the perceived oppression of the Christian community by building their own, and indulging in more worldly pleasures. They’re not inherently violent.”

The elder nods at that, and you feel a bit proud of yourself in that moment.

“And to my knowledge, there has never been a proven case of a satanic ritual killing in the United States.”

“Well, maybe there is now.”

***

The scene is certainly interesting.

Gideon, Reid, JJ, and you were curious about the state of the older body, so you had made your way down the steep slope to check up on it. You get acquainted with the local sheriff while you’re there too and he explains that they found the body when they were doing their own investigation.

 Just seventy-five feet away from where they found Adam.

“It's a man. The male pelvis is more narrow and the opening at the bottom is heart-shaped, as opposed to oval.” Spencer announces as he prods at the body’s clothes with a stick, but he is immediately distracted by another element.

“Melted wax?”

“Candle wax?” JJ asks as she leans forward a bit to see it too. Spencer agrees.

“Candles are used in rituals.”

“They’re also used on birthday cakes.” Gideon is no longer interested in the scene and looks for something else that could be nearby. 

You, however, notice something different about the body. You were expecting it to look different.

If you were blitzed from behind, gravity tells you that you should fall forward. Chest on the ground.

But this skeleton’s chest was facing up. 

“Actually, they were originally used to protect the birthday celebrant from demons for the coming year. As a matter of fact, down to the fourth century, Christianity rejected the birthday celebration as a pagan ritual.”

You nod, seemingly not paying attention, but you add on to that. Much to Spencer's delight.

“Yeah, they thought that evil spirits lurked around the days of major changes so they lit candles for every year that had passed. Anway, sir, do you happen to have a good picture of Adam’s dead body?”

The sheriff narrows his eyes at the two of you, then looks at JJ who only shakes her head with a smile. 

“What kind of kids did you bring out here?” 

***

You’re surprised it took you this long to actually feel like you needed a gun. 

Hotch, as always, had paired you and Spencer together.

 Again. 

But this time, it was to go out on the field.

You had been left behind with him to continue searching the Jenson’s house. To look for anything that could concretely point to the group being responsible if the case ever went to court, but you and Reid found nothing.

And it was expected that you would find nothing. You and him had agreed that it was just far too convenient if you did, but then that kid— Cory— He asked you two to check the abandoned house farther up. 

A house that you’re pretty sure not even his father knew about.

And that’s when you got the idea. It was dark, law enforcers weren’t nearby, and you were trying to trace the tracks of an unsub that lived in an area only locals wouldn’t get lost in. You had every right to feel nervous. 

Especially when you had that sinking feeling that the unsub was the one guiding you right where he wanted you to be.

So when he led you to a house that had the goth kids’ insignia written in bright, red paint, you knew that you had to play along. 

But you also knew that whatever may or may not have been up there, the team wouldn’t want Spencer to see.

You didn’t want him to see.

So you look back at him, and nod. Giving him a look that told him that you would check the house alone, that you had a plan, and that he should stay exactly where he was until you gave him the okay clear.

By the time you got back down, he knew you saw it. 

You saw the girl, and you knew you had to get Spencer out of here.

Fast.

“Was she in there?” Cory grabbed you by the shoulder, and you could only gulp.

You had to think quickly, but you were also still so shocked to see her in– whatever state it was that you saw.

And then this kid was just pretending like he didn't know jackshit about it.

“She was in there.” Was all you could breathe out, vacantly looking past the kid that eventually let you go.

 You instinctively reach for your phone, speed dialing Hotch, but the service was so bad up here that it wouldn’t even go through. You had to clear the area, in case this goes haywire.

With no other choice, you said what you thought could get him out of there.

“Dr. Reid, I need you to check back downhill and see if the deputies have returned.” He looks at you incredulously.

“What? No! I can’t leave you here– ” 

“We need the rest of the sheriffs and the crime scene team here.” Looking dead into his eyes, he still doesn’t relent.

You need to calm yourself down. The more he thinks you’re not okay, the more difficult it’s going to be to convince him to leave.

He whispers your name as if it’ll persuade you. Grasping your shoulders like Cory did, albeit more gently.

“Right now, you’re experiencing an acute stress response, also known as the fight-or-flight response. It would be much safer for all of us to–” “Do as you’re told.” 

He freezes, but he’s still looking right at you. Eyes shaking in what you assume to be fear or worry, but he eventually nods and leaves. Constantly looking over his shoulder at you and he trips a little because of it.

You make sure that he’s out of sight before turning back to the football-genius. 

 You saw the gun he wasn’t so subtly concealing in his pants, and there was no way you were going to risk him hurting anyone else. You included.

You position yourself right in front of the house. If he makes a break for it and runs in there, it’ll be game over for just one cop and one manic robber. So you try to keep the open forest his only escape route.

That’s when you start cornering him. 

Telling him that you knew what the profile said about the killer and how it all seemed too good to be true. How the crime had to have been done by someone who was just as smart and connected as him.

How it could have only been done by him.

What you failed to take into account however was how Spencer would have definitely come back to check on you and report his findings.

Your heart drops as he stumbles into the fray.

Which is why you’re here right now.

Gun drawn at the kid, with his own resting right on your friend’s head. 

“She shouldn't have gotten mixed up in all this, it was his run! I didn’t mean to hurt her, but make no mistake– I will shoot your boy right now.”

You raise your hands and drop your gun in surrender. Scared of what he might do to him if you don’t.

—-

You hear Aaron Hotchner shout for you as he approaches uphill and you sigh. 

You’re fully expecting to hear a lecture, but not the look of deep impatience that graces your supervisor’s face.

 “Agent, I hope you understood what just happened.”

You shrink under his gaze, but he doesn’t let up. “Your actions during this operation put both you, and Reid, in serious danger.”

“Sir, but we handled it. I even made extra sure to evacuate Dr. Reid from the premises, I just wasn’t expecting him to come back and–”

“But that doesn't change the fact that he had a gun on Reid mere moments before you took him down. You were antagonizing him and while you may have been successful in apprehending him, what you did also put Reid at risk.”

This was unfair. 

He was talking like you hadn’t had the same gun pointed at you too. 

Like he hadn't made an effort to shoot at you.

There was nothing you could’ve said that could stop him, and you acted as fast as you could but you knew Hotch wouldn’t listen to any of it.

So you stayed quiet. Nodding along in understanding as he gave you a rundown of everything that you could’ve done better, and anything that you could’ve said differently.

Things that, he said, you could’ve done better while trying to keep yourself calm. 

Tring to keep yourself calm after discovering a dead body, and being threatened by someone that had your friend at gunpoint.

What’s worse is that not even a moment after Hotch left you to talk to the rest of the team, Morgan came and it looked like he had his fair share of complaints too.

“Sir Derek Morgan, I understand that you might be mad–” “Oh, so you know I’m mad?” You curse and groan out childishly, you know that, but you just really wanted to leave now. 

“Kid, I get that he jumped you, but you can’t just go rogue and expect everyone else to know what you’re doing.” 

You scoff.

“I didn’t go ‘rogue,’ I sent out Spencer to get backup so I could handle him myself. He would’ve been out of the line of fire. I did that to protect him–”

“No. You did that to play hero.” 

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. 

“Splitting up and acting on your own like that wasn’t heroic. It was reckless. Do you know how much sleep he’s losing right now and how much more he’s going to lose just when all of this hits?”

You shake your head humorlessly. Why is it always about him?

 You’re not responsible for knowing anything and everything about him, you’ve barely known each other for a year. Why is it suddenly part of your job description to be boy-genius' caretaker?

“He’s been having nightmares,” he says your name with a weight in it.

“Don’t give him any more reasons to stay up at night.”

And he just leaves you right there. Going up to the very guy you were talking about, who was being checked by the only medic the county had on standby. Probing to see if he was alright. 

And he seemed like it. If the way his face lit up at Morgan’s embrace or the way that he smiled when JJ congratulated him was anything to go by. 

Or the way that Hotch patted his back to soothe him.

 Or the way that Elle seemed to be intently listening to what he was saying–

He’s not your responsibility, so why the hell should you care?

God, it just wasn't fair.

And you know that. You know that he didn’t ask for any of this to happen, and that you should be happy that he’s fine–

But you can’t bring yourself to look at him for any longer. Not when he goes to look at you with that tight-lipped smile and raised brows that makes him look like he can’t do anything without you.

Not when it’s starting to look like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Not when it starts to feel like he’s doing this on purpose.

You’re starting to hate Spencer Reid.

After Morgan knocks some sense into the camera man that had been spying on the pair, Elle is the one that gives you his camera and makes her way to Spencer first. You know exactly what should be on that film, but you just wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

That maybe if you didn’t look at it any closer, you wouldn’t see anything that could make you hate him more than you already do.

That he had been behaving and just being the good, perfect boy that Gideon and Hotch, and everyone else, seemed to rave on and on about.

But you didn’t even need a proper light to see just what was on it.

And you made sure he knew exactly what he had done.

“I– I fell in–”

“Doctor Spencer Reid!” Seeing you walking towards him with an anger he had never seen directed towards anyone before made him freeze where he stood. Cowering under your gaze.

“What in the fuck was going on inside you goddamn head, huh?” Elle had already left by then to talk to the camera guy with Morgan just a few feet away to leave you two to it. 

She knew what was going to happen, and she was going to let it. It needed to.

“It was an accident, I swear! She pulled me in and I—” He tried to reason, but you were having none out of it.

“And you what? Decided that then and there was the right place to eat her face off? Might I remind you that you are still on duty and this behavior is completely unacceptable!”

 If this had been you, this is exactly what you would’ve been lectured about.

But Spencer feels his brows knitting together and he shakes his head in confusion.

“You’re-- not jealous about me kissing Lila?”

“You think I’m what?!” 

You cannot believe the gall of this man. 

Cannot comprehend how oblivious he seems to the severity of the situation. 

And for what, because some hot blonde just happened to give him the slightest bit of attention? That since the rest of the team wasn’t around, he could go ahead and play house with some model and waste all his training on the field for nothing? 

You shake your head incredulously at the thought. 

“I don't know just what the hell is going on in that fuckass head of yours, Doctor, but that little bone-headed stunt that you just pulled? Could’ve cost you your life and hers.” 

Spencer tried to quell your anger. Tried to apologize, but you just kept going. Seemingly growing more and more frustrated at his feeble attempts.

 “I couldn’t give less of a shit who you do and don’t kiss in your spare time, Mr. 187. But let me remind you of something in case that brain of yours got all scrambled from exchanging extracellular fluids with Miss Archer,” 

No longer caring for his aversion for germs, because he certainly stopped caring about that earlier today, you brought your index and middle finger up to rest dead center on his forehead.

He closed his eyes and whimpered at your touch.

“You are still being pursued by a psychotic killer who is going around, shooting people in the head. We’re lucky that the guy in the bushes was just some sorry voyeur doing his goddamn job, but if it had been anyone else, you would’ve been fucking–!” 

Spencer feels the contact get ripped away from him suddenly, and he instinctively chases after it. 

The realization of how insane that must’ve been however, makes him open his eyes. 

He sees Morgan pulling you into his chest as he strides towards Lila’s house. He sees you struggle against the hold, but as his friend keeps shushing you and repeating your name from inside, you eventually calm down and relax. Disappearing into his form as Derek’s back now faces him and he can’t see you anymore.

The boy-genius feels his heart clench at the sight. A feeling not so dissimilar to what he felt when the blonde first started kissing him. 

He didn’t know what to do then. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but some small, sick part of him just wanted your attention on him so badly that he was willing to do whatever it took for that to happen.

He had been waiting for so long–

But as he recalls how you were seething at him, how even though he had your eyes right where he wanted them to be, all he could feel was the heavy cloak of shame burdening him. Weighing on his form like the weight of his wet, pool bacteria-infected clothes.

And something tells him that no amount of bathing or scrubbing would ever rid him of it. 

He doesn’t even notice the rest of the team coming back to apprehend the trespasser until Elle picks up the roll of film that you had dropped when you were dragged away. Holding it out for him to take. 

He extends his hand out of instinct, but he crushes it soon after he recognizes what’s on it.

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Is all that she says as she leaves him frozen there too. 

***

Meanwhile, you were still in Derek’s arms. Crying like some young little fragile thing and you hated it. 

You didn’t even know why you were crying anymore because even you knew that breaking a code of conduct was nothing to shed a few tears over.

“Come on, sweet girl, talk to me.” Morgan coos as he continues to hug you, which makes you sob all the harder. Embarrassed that an authority figure just saw you lose your shit on the job, so you shake your head no.

He’s probably going to tell Hotch and you’re going to get transferred out–

“We can’t do anything if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” 

But somehow those exact words had you spilling your heart out on to him. Doing so in such a frantic state as if this was a one-time opportunity that you were never going to be granted ever again.

So much so that all your insecurities came out of your mouth in word vomit.

How you tried so hard to do everything right. How you fought tooth and nail just to make it onto the team. 

How even though you were just as young as Reid, everyone else seemed to dote on him more. 

How everyone expected you to know just as much, if not more, than him so that he wouldn’t feel so out of place, and how every time that you didn’t, everyone only seemed to care because you had put him in danger.

How none of your efforts were ever noticed because they would either be overshadowed by Spencer’s, or brushed aside because it was not enough to make up for something that could’ve gotten him hurt.

And most of all, how bad you felt because none of it was his fault, and you knew you were being unfair to him.

And Morgan listened to all of it. Listening and occasionally apologizing when he knew that he had been guilty of one or two of those transgressions.

Patting your back and giving you all the comfort that he could before he knew you had to refocus on the case.

When you see Spencer again, his eyes remain low and you can’t bring yourself to apologize in that instant because you were still on duty and work had to be done.

No matter how sorry and how pathetic you felt, it had to wait.

What you don’t see is how his gaze lingers on his friend’s hand. Absent-mindedly moving up and down your arm in, what he understands to be, a protective manner. 

—————

He was being a distraction. A liability. To the case, or to Lila, or to you, you’re not sure anymore, but you needed him out. So you did exactly what you were hired at the BAU to do.

You’ve always thought the art piece on Lila’s wall was bizarre. And now that you’re looking at it again with a much clearer mind, you finally see why.

You had asked for everyone in the room to take the wall apart, after gaining Lila’s approval, and you all pieced together the final clue.

 A mural depicting the birth of the star that is now Lila Archer. 

After Spencer points out that the man in the mural was his ex-classmate, Parker Dunley, the team sees no further reason to question his involvement and makes the preparations to leave. 

Yet something is gnawing at you, telling you that this can’t be it. 

And at this point? No one is going to listen to a theory you have because nobody listens to you once Spencer says anything.

So you suggest the next best thing.

“Excuse me?” Your unit chief raises his eyebrows at your suggestion, but you can tell that it’s mostly a formality.

“Sir, with all due respect, it is in our best interest to relieve Dr. Reid of his position as Miss Archer’s bodyguard. He is now a potential target, and he knows Parker Dunley best among all of you. He would be most useful to the investigation if he joined the others.”

Spencer makes no attempt to contest, wanting nothing more than to just get this over with and talk to you when it’s all done, and Lila doesn’t say anything either. Just wanting the ��traitor’ to leave her house and never come back.

Hotch senses this and sighs. He looks over to Gideon, who looks like he couldn’t care any less, and then back to you. 

“Alright then. You’re switching places with Reid. We’ll let you know if anything happens.”

He then discusses with the others that he’ll be joining JJ at the local PD while Morgan, Elle, Reid, and Gideon will be closing in on Dunley.

So that left you alone with Lila, which was going a lot easier than you had expected it to.

“I’m sorry about your boyfriend. If I knew you were a thing, I wouldn’t have tried so hard to kiss him.”

She seemed so guilty as she said it and you just shook your head, but you noted the use of the term, “try.”

“Oh Miss Archer, please don’t apologize. He's not my boyfriend. I was just really upset that he could’ve gotten you hurt when he was supposed to be protecting you.” 

You move to stand a little closer to her, still keeping a fair amount of distance so you wouldn’t crowd her. 

"Besides, I think he's more into you than you think."

Under more normal circumstances, you supposed that they could work. Spencer most likely only hesitated because he was holding on to some semblance of professionalism he could maintain with the beautiful woman.

In another life, maybe this would've panned out differently.

“I saw the way he looked at you, you know?” Now that interests you and you tilt your head at her. 

“Like he hated me?” 

Her laugh was empty as she shook her head. “You’re just like him.” Is all she said.

But before you could ask any further, a call had interrupted you. 

You looked at the caller ID and saw that it was the very guy you were talking about. ‘Dr. Reid,’ it read.  The sight makes you sigh.

You know him well enough that he would never call you for work, and that this must have been for something personal. 

‘Stay professional,’ you told yourself, so you drop the call.

If it had really been important, someone else would call you.

As soon as you move to put your phone down however, it rang again. You checked it and fair enough, this time it was from Derek Morgan. 

You bring the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Sweet girl, listen to me. We have a name, and it’s ‘Maggie Lowe.’ We’re on our wa—Christ man—we're on our way back over there, okay? Stay put and we’ll let Hotch and JJ know.” 

There’s shouting from his end that worries you, but you nod with a hum and end the call. 

You turned back to Lila and asked her very hurriedly if she knew anyone by that name, and her reaction tells you everything. 

You try to tell her that she’s the unsub and just while she’s still confused at your sudden change in demeanor, her phone rings. 

She shows you that it’s ‘Mags’, her friend, and you immediately try to calm her down and ask her to keep her friend on the phone. Expressing softly, but with great urgency, that it is imperative they keep her on the line.

Just as Lila answers, you immediately dial Garcia. “Oracle of Quantico, speak if you deign to hear the truth.”

“Miss Garcia, I need an emergency trace to a cell phone from Lila Archer’s phone.” 

You hear her gasp a little, reasonably concerned that you had been speaking so softly. A stark contrast to your usually strong and sure voice, but she steels her own and lets you know that she’s on it. 

You recite to her Lila’s phone number, having memorized it from her manager, and you instinctively look back at her to see her still pacing on the phone. 

You try to smile warmly, mentally patting her on the back for her efforts, and she nods back in response. Somewhat thankful for yours. 

As you wait, you suddenly remember Spencer’s phone call from earlier. Was this why he called?

Fuck, what if he wondered off and had been calling for backup but you just dropped the phone on him?

Maggie could be anywhere. It would be no surprise to you if she had actually gone back to find Dunley to eradicate any leads that could trace back to her. What if she was–

You’re quick to tune back into your own call however when you hear Penelope halt her typing and call out your name. 

“Is Lila’s address 6028 Pike Street?”

You don’t like where this is going. “Yeah.”

“She’s calling from inside the house.”  You sigh, in relief? In fear?

 “I’m sending you backup right now, please be safe, my love.” She says with a tremor in her voice and you drop the call immediately. Catching the attention of the blonde in front of you.

“Lila–” but then you hear a shout and a thud from another room and you shake your head. You didn’t need to ask how she got in the house because that wasn’t important anymore. 

The profile was. And the profile said that it was an erotomanic killer. 

You could work with that. 

—----

It didn’t take long for you to find Maggie. Well, you'd laugh if you could, because it was more like she found you. 

On the other end of her gun. 

With Lila in her arms.

There was no way that you could stall for however long it would take for the rest of your team to get here, so your best shot at surviving this was to talk her out of it.

“Maggie, put the gun down–”

“Don’t call me Maggie, you don’t know me.” She spit out, venom in her voice as she tried ushering Lila out with her.

“I know what it’s like.”

 You don’t know what the fuck you were saying, but you were panicking. It wasn’t your first time being held at gunpoint, it had happened so often that Hotch even claimed you were always begging for it.

But this was different. None of the right words were coming to you. 

You had to think of a way to deal with this, fast, and you didn’t know how to make it believable enough.

“No you don’t, little girl. Don’t pretend like you do.”

“But I do!” You put your gun down in a panic and held your hands up in surrender.

“I know what it’s like to l-” your mouth went dry. “To love someone– someone that doesn’t love you back.” 

You seriously don’t know what the fuck you’re saying. 

Maggie laughs at what you say though.

“Well it sucks to be you, but my baby loves me. Isn’t that right?” She makes a show of tucking Lila’s hair behind her ear, but even through her fear, she denies her friend. 

“I don’t, Mags.” Maggie’s jaw tightens at that.

“Yes you do, I know you do��� Don’t act like you don’t, you stupid, ungrateful–” you cut her off. 

“She doesn’t, Miss Lowe. And I know you know that.” She shakes her head, but still keeps her gun on Lila.

You push a little harder. “I know because I know what it’s like to love someone. To meet your match.” You approach her just a little.

She shifts the gun to you now, but you continue to push. 

“I know what it feels like to get tunnel vision. Where nothing matters, not even yourself, as long as it makes her happy. Keeps her safe. ” 

You look her in the eye, and you can tell that it’s not enough. You need to switch gears, but you can’t think of anything else to do.

“And– And I know what it’s like–to feel everything so strongly—so much so that you don’t even know what’s happening until it just is.”

You realize it now. It was all you

It was never about the teasing of your teammates, never about the expectation that Hotch or Gideon had.  

You never hated Spencer. You just wanted to belong. You just wanted to be treated like how he was. 

The realization makes your eyes water.

You didn’t even notice it, but as more and more words fall free from your mouth, all you can think about is him.

 About how you’re sorry. About how you never meant to hurt him. About how he doesn’t deserve your frustrations and that everything you did was just for him.

About how you could never hate anyone as loveable as him. 

You shake the thought away. Hands still up high.

Maggie’s eyes narrow, her finger twitching on the trigger. “You think you can understand me, huh? Talk your way out?”

You shake your head. “No, but I think I can reach you,” 

You take a step forward.

“I thought I hated him, Maggie. I thought he was doing it all on purpose. Kept thinking, ‘we were so similar.’ So why was it that being smart was special, and made everyone treasure him, but not me? And I think, maybe–”

You take another.  

“Maybe I was just scared. Scared that I wasn’t good enough. That I would always be overshadowed.”

Maggie’s grip on the gun tightens. “So what? You think that makes us the same?”

“No,” you say softly, taking another careful step forward.

 “But I do think that you’re the type of person that’s willing to do anything, no matter how desperate, to be seen.”

Maggie’s expression wavers, but the gun remains steady. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough,” you insist. “I know that hurting Lila won’t fill that void. It won’t give you what you’re looking for.”

Maggie’s hand trembles. “I would never hurt her--”

“Yes, you will. You will because you’re a danger to her, but that can change. You don’t have to hurt anyone anymore.”

Maggie’s face contorted with rage. 

“Shut up! You don’t know anything!”

When Maggie goes to shoot at you, you tackle the gun out of her hand. Wrestling her to the ground as you did.

 You look behind you and tell Lila to hurry and grab your gun from off the floor and leave, and she does just that.

 Not even sparing you, nor her ‘friend,’ a glance as she makes her escape to where you hope your team now was.

From outside, the team sees Lila holding a gun like a bomb in her hands, and running into the arms of Spencer Reid. The others that were still in their car quickly try to get out. To understand the situation, but then a single gunshot is heard from inside the house.

The rest of the team rushes in. 

Due to the results of my poll, there will be a part two! One where it's all from Spencer's point of view + the aftermath of this case lol

Please let me know what you think of this one though!! Or any ideas you might want to see in the second part, or literally anything at all--

Like my work? Consider tipping me!!

[nagito-kissmaeda]

Mr. Komaeda’s Lesson

THE FILTH ARRIVES

Summary: You should really proofread your assignments before submitting them... AKA: Professor Komaeda fucks you over his desk (literally my dream) Word count: 4258 Contains: she/her pronouns, explict sexual content, unsafe sex, professor/student relationships, gentle dom nagito (he’s very gentle i swear) Read on AO3  ミ☆ Please send me a DM or an ask if you’d like me to write something for you!

The soothing smell of camomile lemon tea wafts around the small office. The blinds are half open, casting the orange light of the setting sun across the smooth leaves of a peace lily that resides in a pot hanging in front of the heating unit. The warm air rocks it gently back and forth. The atmosphere in the room is light and pleasant, but it does nothing to ease your nerves. 

“Do you want some?” Professor Komaeda asks as he pours himself a cup of the aforementioned camomile lemon tea. He has a little teapot sitting on his desk, it’s very cute. 

You clear your throat, fidgeting in your seat, “No thank you, I’m fine.”

“Okay, let’s get started then, shall we?” 

You’ve been dreading this meeting for weeks now. Your professor had been very insistent that this wouldn’t be a discussion about the quality of your work, but more about what he could do to help you maintain focus in lectures. There was also a brief mention about your most recent assignment, he said that he wasn’t concerned, but did want to run through a few things with you. 

He was very polite about it, which makes the true nature of your distraction only more reprehensible. 

“So, first I want to start with a simple question. How are you doing?” 

“Uh, fine?”

He nods and takes a sip of his tea, “No problems outside of our classes? You don’t need to answer if you aren’t comfortable.”

“No i- uh. I’m fine outside of classes too.” You fidget again, twisting your hands in your lap, “I’ve been...tired? But that’s my fault, I stay up too late.” 

He hums thoughtfully and rests his chin on the palm of his hand, “Could that be having an affect on your focus? I can see that you have been distracted in our most recent lectures and just want to make sure it isn’t a fault of myself or my material.” He laughs a little to himself, “I know I can be a little boring sometimes.” 

Professor Komaeda is not boring. He’s probably the most engaging lecturer you’ve ever had, passionate about his subject matter and very enthusiastic about class participation. He also wears really tight trousers and has long dexterous fingers that you can't help imagining inside of your-

“I mean, being tired could be the problem?” A bold faced lie. 

“Well in that case there isn’t much more I can suggest than a good night's rest.” He gives you a long look that makes you squirm in your seat, “I only graduated a few years ago myself, I understand the urge to make the most of your day, but you can’t keep burning the candle at both ends.” He takes another sip of his tea, a drop misses his mouth and rolls down his chin. He catches it with his thumb, which he then brings up to his lips and sucks. You swallow deeply, tearing your eyes from where his lips are meeting his skin. Your knee starts bouncing. Nerves. 

“Would it help if you sat a little closer to the front of the lecture hall?”

It wouldn’t. Especially not on warm days when he loosens his tie and undoes the first three buttons on his shirt. You spent a whole lecture transfixed on the dip of his collarbones once. Not great for your note taking, “maybe I’ll give that a go next week” you say. Another lie.

“Okay, try that out and let me know if it helps.” He gently sets down his teacup and starts working his white hair up into a bun. His fingers are so delicate as he combs through the strands, pulling his hair up and away from his pale throat, exposing the length of it to your hungry eyes-

A noise escapes from your mouth. Almost a whine, but not quite. Professor Komaeda doesn't say anything, but his intense eyes meet yours for just a moment. You clench your thighs together.

“Are you ready to talk about your assignment now?” He asks, picking the teacup again. It’s decorated with sunflowers, almost criminally cute, “No reason to be nervous. I want to make it clear that this matter hasn't had any affect on your grade, just some advice for next time.”

You nod shakily. Despite all of his reassurances, you are still very nervous. Partially because you wanted a good grade, partially because you had worked on that essay day and night with the intention of impressing him. So stupid. 

He gives you a pleasant smile and rifles through his desk for a moment, pulling out what you quickly recognise as a printed copy of your essay, “Take a look, i want to see if you can figure it out first.”

“Um...okay…” You skip past the title page and into the meat of the essay, reading through all of your points and making sure there weren't any obvious spelling mistakes. There wasn't anything that you could see, “Sorry...um...what page is it on?”

His teacup clinks when he sets it down again, leaning forward on his elbows and resting his chin on his hands. You can feel your heart fluttering in your chest, your palms are getting sweaty, “It’s on the title page actually. I’m surprised you didn't notice it.”

You shoot him a quizzical look and flip back to the first page. Your stomach plummets. 

Titles have never been your thing, summing up an entire essay in just a few words isn’t easy, so you usually use a placeholder right up until you submit it. You remember changing it, you remember triple checking it was changed before you emailed it through. But something must have gone wrong because in big bold capital letters, the title of you assignment reads: 

ESSAY SO GOOD PROFESSOR KOMAEDA WILL FUCK ME OVER HIS DESK 

Your hands are shaking, the edges of the paper crinkling under your tight grip. You are going to fail...you are going to be expelled...you are going to-

“Ah. I see you’ve realised your mistake, hm?”

Your head shoots up, forgetting for a moment that he is still sitting across from you. 

“Professor...I-I’m...obviously I’m…” you can’t get out a goddamn sentence, your mouth has all dried up, “I don’t even...I can’t…”

You are taken aback, when Professor Komaeda giggles. It’s a light little sound, he covers his mouth with a hand, “You are very bold, aren’t you?” 

“I….” 

“No need to worry, I’m not reporting this to the dean or anything like that. I see no reason to expel you over a silly little mistake like this one.”

“You...You dont want me to drop you class?”

He laughs again, you shrink under the intensity of his green eyes, “I’m not going to make you, no. If the situation isn’t going to make it even harder for you to focus during lectures, you can still come to class. I won't stop you, it is your choice.”

He is being remarkably cavalier about all of this, it’s almost unsettling, but you don't want to drop his class so you can't help being grateful, “Thank you so much, I...I promise i won't do this again.”

Professor Komaeda hums aloud, eyes half lidded as he looks at you from across the desk, “Won’t do what again?” he asks, though honestly its more of a purr, “Won’t think about me fucking you, or wont make the mistake of writing it down?”

Hearing the word fuck drop from that perfect mouth of his sends you into overdrive. Your thighs are clamped so tight together that your legs are shaking, you can feel yourself breathing hard, “I...uh...I....” you swallow, “I won't do...either?”

“There's no need to lie to me.” He breathes, standing up from his chair and rounding the desk. You can feel yourself quivering in his shadow, he towers over you. Your breath catches in your throat when one of his hands makes contact with your chin, slowly lifting your head up until you meet his eyes. His expression is positively hungry, “I want to make something very clear. This is your chance to leave, if you do we will never speak of this again. If you don’t, well…”

All you can do is stare at him, mouth going dry with realisation. 

“Your essay was very good, by the way.” He leans down until his nose is almost pressed against yours, you can smell the tea on his breath. You can feel the warmth of his skin, you can count his eyelashes, “Good enough that i’ll fuck you over my desk if you still want me to.”

In a moment of hungry lucidity, you grab him by the tie and tug his lips down to yours. Colliding in a positively ferocious kiss. You feel him laugh against your mouth before he slips his tongue in between your lips and traces your upper row of teeth, his tongue is wet and warm, your thighs are rubbing together as you grow desperate for any sort of friction. Professor Komaeda must be in a similar state, because he grabs you by the waist and tugs you up to your feet. Pressed firmly against him like this, you can feel the evidence of his arousal through his slacks, a moan escapes you when you feel his hips buck. 

He laughs again, pulling away from your mouth to press a hot kiss to the side of your throat. You feel his long fingers toying with the hemline of your skirt, slowly slipping up underneath it, “These pretty little things…” he whispers, tugging on the top of your thigh high stocking and releasing it with a snap, “do you wear them for me?”

There’s no point lying anymore. You can’t stop shaking, “I...yes…”

You feel him moan against your skin, sinking his teeth into the join between your neck and shoulder, “Did you really think I wouldn’t take notice? Of the way you undress me with your eyes in class, of these tiny little skirts you started wearing?” He grabs a handful of your ass and you squeal, “you’re so gorgeous. You could have anyone in that class if you wanted, but here you are with me-“ he grinds up against you, cock warm and hard through his slacks, “-I don’t understand what I’ve done to deserve this.”

His voice is so soft and gentle, even while he’s palming your ass and grinding his hips against yours, he still talks like he’s giving a lecture on historical literature. It’s hot, how easily he is able to maintain his composure while you are little more than a quivering mess beneath him, but still...you want to see him come undone.

You hear more than feel your knees colliding with the wooden floorboards. Professor Komaeda is unable to give little more than a surprised look before you have his slacks and boxers shoved halfway down his thighs and his cock in your mouth. He lets out a shocked little moan, burying his long fingers into your hair as his hips stutter forward. Now that was the reaction you wanted. 

“Oh...ohhhh-“ he whines, slowly moving himself in and out of your mouth as you tease his head with your tongue, “ahh...your mouth feels so good, angel.” 

You were not expecting him to call you angel. It’s like a bolt of lightning to your cunt, your hands jump up the dig deep into the meat of his thighs as you moan downright salaciously around his cock. 

“I can feel you moaning.” He whispers, “I can’t believe how much you’re enjoying this” you look up at him through your lashes and see his cheeks are red, his perfect lips are swollen from his biting them incessantly. You moan again just from the sight of him, he hisses and his hips cant forward deeper into your mouth, “wow. You...You really like doing this don’t you? Wrapping your perfect soft lips around my filthy cock?” 

Filthy? That makes your eyebrows jump. You could always tell that your professor had some sort of inferiority complex, but you didn't realise it was...this intense.

“S’pretty.” You managed to slur around him, “Tastes good.”

He laughs again, it explodes from his mouth and shakes his shoulders. Unbridled, almost wild. He grins down at you, “I’m sure it doesn’t taste as good at you.” He purrs, tucking your hair behind your ear, “get up on the desk.”

Well, you weren’t going to say no to that. You give his cock one last long lick before standing back up from the floor, just before you hoist yourself up on the table, Professor Komaeda grabs you by the wrist, “Panties off, please.”

You feel yourself turn crimson, but dutifully shimmy out of your panties and let them drop to the floor. He smiles at you, hands curling around your waist as he leans into your ear, “that’s my girl.” He whispers, and lifts you up onto his desk. His hands are cold on the bare skin of your thighs peeking out from the top of your stockings, your stomach twists and curls as he slowly edges your legs open, and drops to his knees between them.

“Oh my god…” you squeak, he’s staring up at you with a look that is downright sinful and he doesn’t break eye contact, even when one of those perfect fingers slips inside you, “agh!” 

He chuckles warmly, gently thrusting his finger in and out of you, “you’re so wet, angel...I can’t imagine why someone like me is making you so aroused, but I’m not complaining.” 

His finger curls inside of you, and your hips jolt, “Mmph! Pro-Professor I-“ 

He smiles saccharinely as a second finger pushes its way inside you, “Nagito.” He corrects, pressing a hot kiss to the inside of your thigh, “We’re well beyond the need for formality. Don’t you think?” You cover your mouth to muffle a squeal as he adds a third finger. Your knees are wobbling and you can barely breathe, he’s just sitting between your legs and grinning at you, “Now let’s see if you taste as good as i imagine, hm?”

He pulls your clit in between his lips and sucks. You have to bite down on your hand to keep yourself from screaming, “F-Fuck...Nagito...I--hng!” 

“It is after hours, you know.” He whispers, you can feel his breath on your cunt and you shiver, “There’s no reason for you to restrain yourself.” He licks your clit again and moans, “Haa...It may be selfish of me, but i want to hear you. If you’ll let me.”

“Oh god-” You hiss out when his tongue starts circling around you, “-keep doing that, and you’ll hear me alright.”

Nagito giggles and peers up at you, “Then I suppose I'll get back to work.” He hoists your thighs over his shoulders, and starts eating you out in earnest. You lean back on your elbows, and watch his soft white hair bob between your thighs as his tongue works it’s magic, he alternates between running the flat of his tongue up the length of you and focussing directly on your clit. Your toes are curling, mouth wide open with a constant stream of moans and whimpers that you have no hope of stopping. It feels so good, you had dreamt about this alone at night in your bed and even in those fantasies it hadn't felt this good. 

His fingers slip out of you, but before you even have a chance to complain, they are replaced with his tongue. You moan so loudly that it rumbles through your chest, your hips rise up to meet his mouth and his hands curl around the soft flesh of your thighs, tugging you even closer. He groans. The wet muscle is slowly thrusting in and out of you when he presses down firm on your clit with his thumb, “I--mmph...Nagito m’gonna cum…” your hips are grinding relentlessly up against his face and you can feel your hair sticking to your forehead with sweat. 

“Cum for me, angel.” He whispers, thumb rubbing your clit in brutal circles, “I want to feel you squeezing around my tongue.” 

You throw your head back in a howl as his tongue slips back inside, the desk rattling with the force of your quivering hips. You can hear the slick sounds his mouth is making against your cunt, the way he is panting and moaning just from the taste of you. The tightness in your stomach grows unbearable, then he curls his tongue upward, and it snaps. You see whiteness behind your eyes, thighs shaking with the intensity of it. You can feel the vibration of Nagito’s moan inside of you and his fingers dig tight into the meat of your thighs. He’s enjoying your orgasm almost as much as you are. 

When he finally pulls away from you, the lower half of his face is glistening with your wetness. He gives you a pleased smile, eyes half lidded as he brings his wet fingers up to his mouth and licks them clean, “I knew you would taste good.” He whispers, wiping the mouth with the back of his hand, “Think you can cum again, angel?”

Just watching him suck on his fingers is enough to get you going again, “Yeah, I definitely can.”

He laughs and stands up from the floor. His cock is flushed red and dripping, you suddenly realise he hadn't touched it that whole time, he must be painfully hard at this point. You lick your lips, you can't help it. He follows your line of sight and smiles, “Be a good girl and bend over the desk for me, please.” 

You slide down off the desk, ready to follow his orders but quickly stop yourself, “Oh. One second.”

“Hm?”

You grab the teapot from the desk and quickly rest it on the windowsill, “Sorry. That was a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Ah, yes. You’re right.” His hand slips up to your cheek, thumb resting on your lips. He smiles when you pull it into your mouth and suck, “I’ll have to thank you for saving my carpet. Unless you see any other hazards, i would still like to fuck you.”

That word again. It sounds doubly filthy when he says it, the way his lips mold around it is downright sinful. A shaky moan drops from your mouth as you turn around and do as he asks, your breasts are squished up against the sturdy wood, and the desk is a little too tall for you, your feet are dangling just above the floor. You’re shaking with anticpation, and it grows even worse when you feel the warmth of Nagito’s palm caressing your ass, “For my own peace of mind…” he whispers, his other hand running a finger up the length of your sex, “When do you graduate?”

You laugh, “It’s a little late for that, isn't it, Professor?” you feel his hand still on your ass and you clear your throat, “Uh, this is my last semester. A few months.”

He sighs pleasantly, “Ah, that’s good. This has been very fun, though i'm not sure we should do it again.” You feel the head of his cock kiss your entrance and hiss through your teeth, “At least...not for a few months.” You can hear the smirk on his face.

“I’ve waited this long.” You say, grinding backwards into his cock, “I can wait again.”

He leans down until his mouth is right beside your ear, “Good girl.” He whispers, and finally thrusts inside of you. It feels so good, he fills you so well. Your cheek is pressed firmly against the hard wood of the desk and a pathetic little mewl escapes your mouth at the feeling. You cunt already dripping from your last orgasm, you take him so easily, so smoothly. It feels like he is meant to be inside you. 

You feel a hand on your lower back, pushing you further down onto the desk and Nagito hisses through his teeth. Pumping slowly and deeply inside of you, like he is savoring it, “You’re doing so well, angel. I--fuck...You’re so warm.” his breathing is laboured, the rhythmic sound of his hips hitting your ass is echoing around the room, “I still can’t believe you’re letting me do this to you. I must be the luckiest man alive.” 

“Please...more!” you whine, trying to force him deeper inside of you with the movement of your hips. 

Nagito lets out a strangled moan and starts pounding faster, one of his hands slipping down between your legs to circle your clit, you cry out at the extra stimulation, toes curling inside of your shoes. The desk is shaking with the force of his thrusts now, there's a cute little statuette of a frog that falls down to the carpet with a clatter, but he doesn't stop. 

“You feel so good, darling...I--I don't think i can-” a groan rips through him and you can feel his thrusts growing sloppier, “-you’re so good for...so perfect...I can't hold--ah ahh” he swallows, “Please, angel, i want to feel you cum again.”

You’re close, mouth raw from panting and moaning, legs going numb from behind suspended in the air. Then, the finger on your clit presses down firm and his cock grinds up against your g-spot. That is all you need, you come unraveling under him, the walls of your cunt clenching impossibly tight around him.

“Ah, yes!” He cries, grabbing your hips and pounding you desperately, relishing in the feeling of your hot, tight cunt. Milking him dry, “Good, girl. So good for me.” Then, he cums, you feel his cock throb deep inside of you as his hips stutter and slow. 

It is only now that you are hit with the realisation. You just fucked Professor Komaeda. Holy hell.

All you can do is lay there while he slowly pulls himself out of you. Wincing a little at the wierd feeling of emptyness. You manage to roll yourself over, laying flat on your back with your legs still dangling from the desk. Nagito laughs and presses a kiss to your cheek, “Are you alright?”

You laugh weakly, “We’re going to get in so much trouble.”

“Not if no one finds out.” He tucks some of your hair behinf your ear, “Don’t worry about it, I’m very lucky with this sort of thing.”

“I just dont want you to get in trouble.”

He giggles, “That’s very kind of you, but this was as much my choice as it was yours.” he runs his fingers down your cheek and gives you a gentle kiss on your lips, “I meant what i said, about meeting up again.”

You manage to pull yourself up until you are sitting upright, you give him a sleepy smile, “Yeah, me too. I like you a lot.”

“How very sweet of you to say, angel.” He presses his forehead to yours and tangles your fingers together, “Let’s get you cleaned up now, hm? Can’t have you walking home like that”

To be honest, you aren’t sure you can walk at all.

____________________________

A few months later, you are sitting in the local cafe and applying for some jobs on your laptop. You did well on your final assessments and graduated with flying colours. It’s only a few more days before you need to officially move out of the dorms, and finding a new apartment (along with a job to pay for it) has not been easy so far. 

You huff and push your hair back from your face. Your phone pings, and you ignore it. It’s been pinging for the past few minutes and you are not in the mood to check it. The job you are currently applying for made you retype all of the information in your resume even though you just uploaded it, and you are not happy. 

The phone pings again and you groan, grabbing it and flipping it over. It looks like it’s just the group chat, as loud as always. As you go to close the message notifications though, you see one from about ten minutes ago that isn't from your group chat. Your heart is racing. 

Hello!

I still have your number from when you asked for an assignment extension at the beginning of last semester. I hope you don't mind me using it. It’s been a few months, I'd like to see you again, if you wouldn't mind.

-Nagito

Oh shit. Your heart is beating a rapid tattoo in your chest. You had been so caught up in the job hunt and apartment hunt that you had all but forgotten about...this. You swallow and manage to force your shaky hands to type.

Oh hey!

It’s nice to hear from you. I’m free this weekend if you want to meet up, I still live in the dorms though, so it’ll have to be your place.

It's only about a minute before you get a reply.

Lol! I was thinking we could start with coffee, but I'm not going to lie and say i wasn’t hoping it would end up in my bedroom. 

This weekend works for me. I can pick you up around 11?

You smile at your phone, cheeks turning crimson.

Sounds good. I’ll see you then.

You quickly update his contact details in your phone from Professor Komaeda, to Nagito <3.

[leosfm]

alrite shoves kieran aside , hi pals  ! it’s me sage again, finally rallied myself up for round 2 ! meet one of my newer muses, leo . again, if plotting is your thing please hmu and we can work something out, i’d love to write with all of u !!  

[  kelsey merritt  .  21  .  gender  .  pronouns  ] just saw ELEANORA ‘ LEO ’ VALENTINE dragging their suitcase up the steps of BILLINGS  .  good luck living with HER  ,  word around campus is that they’re COMPETITIVE  ,  IMPULSIVE  ,  VIBRANT  &  SINCERE  .  makes sense they chose that house now  ,  doesn’t it  ?  let’s hope this new living situation doesn’t affect their JUNIOR year of KINESIOLOGY   .

BACKGROUND

was born in auckland, new zealand and moved to the states when she was 13. she’s still got hints of a cute lil kiwi accent!!

her dad was originally from miami florida and moved the valentine’s back to take over his dad’s law firm when he decided to retire

mom was born in the phillippines and was all about that pageant life , came really close to making it as the representative for miss universe

moved to new zealand for school and that’s where she met leo’s dad and eventually became an interior designer.

leo is the youngest out of 4. her three brothers happen to be triplets!! they’re 5 years older than her

they desperately wanted a boy.. cried when leo was born and refused to call her eleanora and thus the name LEO was born and it just kinda stuck with her??

though she’s pretty chill with all other nicknames. rarely goes by eleanora bc it just feels too formal for her

she grew up really close to her brothers but always kinda felt like the odd one out and left out. but it’s not like it was their fault, or that she blamed them. they were triplets and boys and 5 years older than her and were just naturally closer to each other.

while her whole family kinda poked fun at football when they first moved to the states, her dad and brothers ended up falling in love w it !  (leo ended up too but mostly so that she could keep up and talk to her brothers and dad about it :/ )

her brothers became .. sort of  royalty at their hs and eventually at their college too.

the valentine triple threat is what they called them… acting as quarterback, running back and center. it was like surgery watching the boys play, every move and pass was like second nature they knew how the other moved and could predict what the other would do even if the play went off book.

NFL teams had their eyes on the brothers even before all 3 of them got accepted to texas a&m on a full scholarship and played their first game,  time and time again proving they were destined to go to the NFL.

 now 2 of them play for the dallas cowboys and 1 plays for the 49ers. 

hollis was leo’s dream school and while her parent’s lived comfortably, it definitely wasn’t something they’d be able to afford without a full scholarship and a loan. BUT now that her big brothers are playing in the big leagues ? they’re treating their baby sis to her best life !

PERSONALITY

runs off of coffee and sarcasm

her room is probably filled with books - has an ever-growing pile of books that’s on her to-read list but probably hasn’t touched it in months and keeps going back to old classics

the type who cannot keep still. always needs to be moving, always needs to be busy, probably the type to bounce her knee a lot or get antsy during long car rides, rolls the window down and fidgets with all the buttons

is all around nice.. will probably always give u the benefit of the doubt

likes to be right.. would rather stick a pin in her eye than admit she was wrong about something!! :/

also v competitive and can’t back down from a dare

has a little bit of an insomnia issue so catch her sippin coffee or red bull to keep her awake during the day ! 

kinda has a habit with flirting with danger is just addicted to the way it gets her heart racing 

has the kinda personality that just makes u feel GOOD, u know jus has an infectious aura .. cld light up a room when she walks into it.. just naturally charming without trying. kinda person who has u still thinkin about her the next day after one (1) conversation.

is on the track and swimming team

is the student athletic therapist at hollis so if you’re on a sports team, she’s probably met with you at one point or another to either bandage your knee, give you an ice pack or check you out (figuratively & literally)

can also throw a mean punch… it’s been proven when someone on the opposing team slapped her ass on their way off the field and her fist collided with their nose

[dvp95]

quiet on widow’s peak (2)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, youtuber phil lester, dan howell is not a youtuber, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.2k (this chapter), 6.4k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

"Do you remember the Wilkins place?"

"I'm well, thanks." Martyn's voice is dry, and Phil finds himself grinning at the wall despite himself. "How are you?"

"Good," says Phil. It's mostly true, although he could do without the piles of clothes he's sorting through. He holds his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he picks up a top of Sophie's and starts a whole new pile that he's calling delicates, aka things he's absolutely going to screw up somehow. "People think the Wilkins place is haunted."

There's a beat. Presumably, Phil's brother is trying to fit the name into adolescent memories to see where it slots in. "Oh, that wreck in Rusholme? It hasn't been condemned yet?"

"Apparently it's still a hot spot for binge-drinking teenagers," Phil says.

"Well, sure. But haunted? Really?"

"That's what I said!"

Phil feels a little vindicated by the skepticism in Martyn's voice, to be honest. His friends hadn't taken his weird feeling seriously at all.

"I mean, it's a dump," says Martyn. "More likely to be haunted by a bunch of rats than anything else. Why haven't we heard this before?"

"According to my sources," Phil says, only feeling a bit ridiculous about referring to a bunch of strangers on the internet as 'sources', "the activity only recently started. Which makes me think that someone's lying, or maybe one incident kickstarted everyone else's imaginations?"

"Both could be true. Why don't you ask Ian to go check it out?"

It's not exactly a sore spot, but something inside of Phil still twinges at the question. "He's a little busy, isn't he."

"So am I," Martyn says in that same dry, familiar tone that makes Phil feel as comforted as his mum's fretting or his dad's bad jokes do. "And yet here you are, on my phone."

"You don't have a toddler," Phil points out.

"I don't? Yet here you are..."

Phil snorts a laugh and drops all of the socks he's gathered into an empty basket. It's as good a place to start as any. "Shut up, Mar. I'm at least six."

There are, literally, enough dirty socks and pants between the four of them that Phil has a whole load of just underthings. He spares a moment to be grateful to Sophie for not including her bras, because he'd have no idea where to begin with those. He sighs and picks up the basket, fitting it against his hip with one hand so he can hold his phone with the other.

"Well, I can ask around," says Martyn. "I think my friends might be past the point of sneaking into abandoned houses to party, but maybe they've heard something from their annoying little brothers."

"Ha, ha," Phil says dryly. "Think I should contact some of the people making these claims?"

"Deffo," says Martyn. "If you can record them, it'd be best."

"Yeah, that way I can use them in the video," Phil hums, setting his basket on the washer and opening every cupboard to try to find the detergent. "I mean, if they're okay with that, obviously."

"I actually meant because your bullshit detector is dysfunctional, so me or Peej will have to tell you if someone's lying."

"Wow, rude. Whose fault is that?"

"Yours," Martyn informs him dryly. "Just because I told you Santa would pull you up through the chimney doesn't mean you had to believe me."

Phil rolls his eyes, but he's grinning. Maybe it's just a big brother thing, or maybe it's their personalities, but Martyn isn't wrong - Phil has a hard time telling when someone is lying to him. Martyn was always good at lying with a straight face and seeing right through Phil's outlandish stories.

"I still blame you," says Phil.

"Alright," says Martyn. "When are you coming to visit?"

"Probably not ‘til after this one," Phil says slowly, glancing at the kitten calendar on the fridge. They'd let one of their milder housemates pick this year's after everyone got tired of looking at Chris' previous choice of nude knitted puppets.

"Yeah? You gonna head up north for this one?"

In the very last cupboard he checks, Phil finds the detergent. He wants to be annoyed about it, but the truth is that Holly's habit of switching around the kitchen when she's anxious has saved many a pack of biscuits from expiring behind some flour. Phil has never once been useful to anybody when he's having a meltdown, so.

Phil absentmindedly loads the washer while he considers Martyn's question. Maybe it would be best to check the place out for himself, see if anything's really going on. He likes being on-site best, trusts his own gut more than he trusts strangers' eyes.

The problem, of course, is that Phil's childhood home is up for sale, he has no money for a hotel, and Ian's gone and got himself a child. The last thing Phil wants to do is impose or, like, get roped into babysitting. A trip to Manchester might be out of the question for him right now.

"Maybe," Phil says, noncommittal.

Martyn sees through him in an instant, like always. "Want me to ask Mum if they've got any viewings next weekend? I'm sure you know not to trash the place."

"Have I ever once trashed the place? Don't answer that," Phil adds, remembering the shaving cream incident.

A huff comes down the line, and Phil feels the same pride at making his brother laugh as he had when he was seven and making weird noises out the car window. Yeah, he definitely needs to go to London soon, the Isle afterwards - he hasn't seen his family in way too long.

"I'll let you know what's buzzing, if anything," says Martyn. "And I'll call Mum for you and all. I know you get weird about asking them for favours."

"I get weird about asking anyone for favours," Phil says instead of a thank you, because if he gets weird about asking for help, then Martyn gets twice as weird about reacting to gratitude.

"Except me."

Phil smiles, watching the rainbow of socks and pants spin. "Yeah. Except you."

--

Laundry does end up taking Phil most of the day, but he doesn't mind much. It's the least he can do when Chris always does the first draft edit for him, PJ reminds him to take his EMF meter and his meds when he's packing for an overnight, and Sophie sends him pages upon pages of research while she's at work. He's so fond of these people, and he appreciates all they do for him, but being in debt to them - and not in sole control of his projects - makes Phil feel like he's got ants crawling up his arms.

While he waits out the machine cycles, Phil starts putting feelers out into this story. He checks the sources linked to him again and shoots off a couple of direct messages and emails to see if any of the people posting about the Wilkins place are eager to chat one on one.

He's got his laptop set up at the kitchen table and he's on his third coffee of the day when it occurs to him that he's not out of the woods of owing favours just yet. He clicks back into the Tumblr submission that started this spiral.

He decides that he needs to thank this person, at the very least, and maybe offer to buy them a coffee or something when he's in town. They did so much of Phil's grunt work that it feels weird not to pay them back somehow.

"Well, I can't exactly do your laundry," Phil murmurs to the screen. He hopes none of his other housemates are milling around to hear him.

Another click, and he's on the blog. It's minimalist and monochrome in a way that makes things easy to read, but not very interesting to look at. Phil's eyes start to glaze over as he scrolls through, because it's entertaining enough but - well. It's a typical Tumblr blog. That familiar mixture of memes and rants about social issues and some gifs from shows that Phil doesn't have time to watch. There are a lot of familiar walls of text tagged as personal posts, but Phil still can't parse them without really trying.

They do reblog Phil's video posts, though. That makes him grin.

He scrolls back up to the top of the page to shoot them a message and immediately gets distracted by the bio.

winnie. 21. any pronouns.

For someone who sent Phil a wall of text that could be mistaken for copypasta at first glance, it's surprisingly succinct. Phil takes another swig of his coffee and tries not to get caught up on the last part of it.

Any pronouns? What does that mean, any pronouns? What if Phil uses the wrong ones? He isn't exactly a queer theory student, and as much as he supports everybody under his little rainbow umbrella, he's got to admit that a lot of things still go over his head.

He dithers for so long that his laptop screen goes black, and he makes a face at himself in its reflection. Surely he's overthinking this.

Hi!, Phil types, and then accidentally hits enter. He was just trying not to send the fan a paragraph back, but, fine. Oops. So I'm looking into the things you sent me on the Wilkins place and I'm really impressed by the amount of time you put into this? Like it makes MY job a lot easier haha. Is he a triple-texter? He's a triple-texter. The first one didn't count anyway. So thanks!!!!! I'll def give you credit in the video, but is there anything else I can do to pay you back?

Not literally, he wants to add right after he's sent it. Oh, well. He can't just keep spamming this poor person's chat. He hopes it's obvious that he'd offer monetary compensation if he had it.

Phil leaves the Tumblr tab open and works on editing for a little while. It's almost frustrating how bad this video is, how little effort and energy Phil has started putting into these, and he doesn't know how to fix it short of rethinking his entire career.

He could easily keep churning these out for as long as people watch them, but. He's not having fun anymore.

The Phil on his laptop screen is asking questions, wandering around a cemetery just to see if anything will happen, and Phil can't help comparing it to things he did last year, the year before that, the year before that - it feels like his content is declining as his enthusiasm for the topic does, or maybe vice versa.

Phil zones out for so long that the dryer chime goes off from the hallway, echoing through the old, creaky house. He'd given up on sorting the loads after the fifth shirt that could belong to any of them, so he just takes his own things out and folds his housemates' clothes into one basket.

They can figure it out, he's sure. There's only two bedrooms between the three of them, so there's only two closets, and Phil has gone so long without knowing who's officially sharing that it would be awkward to ask now.

Phil swaps the load over and goes back to his laptop, even though the very last thing he wants to do is continue editing and uploading this mediocre video.

The thing is, Phil doesn't need his content to be perfect. He's happy to post things that just make him laugh or have a nicely spooky vibe or whatever, he doesn't need to solve mysteries every month or two. It's just that. He can hear how little he cares about it, lately. It won't be long before people notice, if they haven't already.

Phil sighs and exits the project. Maybe this video is best left unposted. He's not happy with it at all.

Maybe, if this Wilkins place video doesn't pan out, Phil can start redirecting his energy into a different type of creative output. He's got so many stories bouncing around in his mind, he just needs to figure out how he wants to tell them.

It sounds like his father's voice inside his head, telling him you can't chase ghosts forever. He wishes he still had the gumption to disagree with it.

His laptop makes a little noise, and Phil blinks back to reality. He has to click on a few different tabs to figure out where it came from, but then he realises that he's gotten a response on Tumblr.

Phil smiles despite himself and gets ready for another difficult-to-read message.

Sure enough: UHHHHHH hi hello what the fuck i didnt expect you to say anything this is so weird i am being so weird right now um like no problem? i was procrastinating an essay and this was more fun to research so you dont have to thank me or pay me back whatever that means like i was just fucking around its fine but thank you?????

Phil thinks about the four word Tumblr bio again and snorts. Maybe Winnie wanted to seem as cool and minimalist as their theme itself was.

Procrastination or not, I appreciate it!, Phil replies. Would it be ok if I use you as a reference?

?????????????? i mean yeah but what the fuck, he gets back almost immediately.

It's nice to see you know some punctuation! Sorry if it's weird to reach out like this, I just wanted to like acknowledge the work you put in. I don't have to mention you in the video if you'd prefer!

The sound of the front door creaking open and slamming shut interrupts Phil's nervous typing. He freezes for a moment, fingers still on the keyboard, but then PJ comes in the kitchen with a little salute and several bags of craft supplies, and Phil can breathe again.

It isn't that the other people who live in this house are bad people. Far from it. It's just that, of the people Phil has opted to share this large space with for nearly two years, only three of them have made any kind of effort to understand Phil. The others are nice enough, he supposes, but sometimes they come and go and new people replace them and - Phil isn't exactly good with change, is the thing.

So he relaxes when he can talk to PJ instead of making small talk with someone who thinks he's weird and too messy. "Hey! How's your day?"

"Better than yours," PJ laughs. He drops all the bags on the table and starts puttering around the kitchen. "Hungry?"

"Please. And it wasn't so bad, I got some work done."

"Yeah? Any new info on the new haunt?"

It's incredible how genuinely interested PJ always is in Phil's work. Phil grins down at his keyboard and shrugs a bit. "Some. Mostly just poking around right now, though. Mar's asking his friends too. Oh, and I thanked the person who sent it in."

"That's good," PJ says. He's putting the kettle on, because that's what PJ does when he comes home. "How'd they react?"

"Mostly confusion," Phil laughs. He glances at his screen to see if Winnie has responded - they haven't - and chews on his lip a little bit. "Hey, Peej? If someone says any pronouns are fine, what does that mean?"

"Generally," PJ hums, "it seems like it would mean any pronouns are fine."

"Oh, shut up." Phil runs a hand through his hair, always anxious about getting stuff like this wrong.

"I'm not joking," PJ says, although his tone is still light.

"Oh. So it just... doesn't matter?"

"Not to some people, I guess." PJ leans against the counter as he waits for the water to boil. At least he's smiling, although Phil can't help but notice that it's a little patronizing. "You do know that I'm not a gender guru, right? I'm barely a gender novice. I failed gender out the gate, buddy."

Phil knows his cheeks are pinking up a bit, but he rolls his eyes. "Shut up," he repeats. "You still know way more than me."

The shrug he gets in response makes Phil huff a laugh. This isn't something they talk about, but Phil has been present for enough of Chris and PJ's conversations that he'd gotten the idea.

He wonders if PJ cares that he's bringing it up. Is he making PJ uncomfortable? They don't talk about this.

"Stop spiralling," PJ says easily. His smile is warmer, now. "I don't hate you, nobody hates you, and the fan who doesn't care about pronouns certainly doesn't hate you. If you're that worried about upsetting them, though, you can always ask."

Maybe he's known PJ too long. He's grateful for it, still, so relieved that he doesn't have to voice the swirling anxiety of doing something wrong when he only has the best intentions.

"I guess I could do that," Phil mutters, embarrassed by how easily he's been read.

Winnie's responded by the time Phil looks back at the chat window, a lmao yeah ofc thats fine i just cant believe you want to, im not trying to b weird ive just been a fan for a really long time?? (used a comma for you too) (and brackets) (youre welcome) that makes Phil smile.

Awesome! And are the name Winnie & they/them pronouns fine to talk about you with, or do you prefer something else for this?

no yeah thats good idc how you refer to me, is Winnie's immediate response. It's stupid how much of a load feels like it's been lifted off of Phil's shoulders at that easy reassurance.

"You were right," Phil informs PJ.

PJ nods, solemn, as he stirs his noodles. "I often am."

"You're annoying, also," says Phil. "Hey. D'you wanna come up north with me?"

"Phil," says PJ dramatically, holding the wooden spoon up to his heart. "Are you asking me to run away with you?"

"No, absolutely not, stop making that joke." There's no way in hell Phil is going to keep putting up with this from both of them, and PJ is more likely to listen to him than Chris is.

PJ laughs. "Yeah, yeah. You going to see the haunt?"

"If my parents are okay with us hanging out for the weekend, yeah."

"Oh, okay," says PJ. "We're just waiting on confirmation that Kath and Nigel want to spend time with you? Might as well pack now."

"Your stuff's folded," Phil says helpfully. PJ throws a noodle in his general direction. It flops onto the floor between them, a sad, wet spiral of a thing, and Phil touches his nose at the same time PJ does.

"Well, one of us has to pick it up," PJ says in his Reasonable Adult voice, as if he hadn't thrown it in the first place.

Phil looks at his laptop, valiantly pretending not to see the floor noodle, and blinks.

and i mean i havent seen any of this shit firsthand but if you need to ask me anything about the stuff thats gone down im always free. like literally always.

[sugakookielix]

1/2) Oooo ships ima slide in here don’t mind me 👀. Hi! Hope I did this right. My pronouns are she/her. I have an ISFJ personality, I’m quiet and either happy/ calm all the time. I can be a bit of a crackhead. I’m kind and an awkward human being. I’m also loyal and introverted. I like drawing, painting, basically anything art related. I like reading, going on YT, doing 3D model stuff (MMD). I dislike being forced to socialize or talking/ ordering over the phone. Style (hope I did this right) +

gifs are not mine!

Who I ship you with:

Your personalities aren’t completely similar but you compliment each other nicely. Jin is definitely the more outgoing one in the relationship but he completely understands that you can be antisocial and won’t force you into social situations. He also doesn’t mind taking the attention away from you if a situation were to make you uncomfortable. That being said, he could also become quite protective when it came to you and the other members since he knows how they can get. He would be patient and wait for you to open up to him and it would be a pleasant surprise when you did. Overall, you two work well together and Jin finds you absolutely adorable, he may even become a bit clingy once you guys are further along in your relationship. 

His favorite things about you: Your style, the way you act around him once you open up, your calm personality

Your first date: Something simple yet shows that he is serious about you. He’d make the members leave or hide in their rooms for the evening so that he could invite you over. He would cook dinner for the two of you and then you could spend the rest of the evening talking or doing anything else you wanted. There would probably be a few of his famous dad jokes thrown in as well.

Mini Scenario:

Jin totally wasn’t freaking out about this date, no, not at all. He was perfectly calm while running around the house to make sure everything was clean, also yelling at the maknae to make sure he had everything before you came over. Yep, perfectly calm, there was no way that this date would go wrong. This was something he had planned out since the moment he asked you out and he was determined to make a lasting impression on you. Clean dorm? Check. Great food that he had slaved over to make sure it was perfect? Check. Forcing the members to go away and stay quiet so that they wouldn’t bug you and potentially ruin everything? Triple check. Yoongi and Namjoon were at the studio, Hoseok was practicing, and the maknaes were preoccupied with video games. Now all that was left to do was have dinner finished by the time you arrived. 

Jin had just finished everything when he heard the knock at the door. Quickly, he made sure everything looked nice and cleaned his hands off before dashing to greet you. “Hello! It’s so nice to see you!” he said with a smile as he left you in, closing the door softly behind you, “I hope you are hungry, dinner is ready!” In his attempt to impress you, he may have gone a bit overboard in terms of cooking for two people. Then again, it was better to have too much than not enough. 

It was mostly quiet while the two of you ate. Occasionally Jin would ask you if you have been doing anything interesting to try and start a conversation, or make a few jokes in an attempt to get you to laugh. He didn’t force you to talk to him though since he knew from when he met you that you weren’t nearly as social as he was. Not too mention the silence allowed him to admire you for your beauty, gazing at you with a cute smile, his cheeks puffed out from the food. It was actually pretty pleasant and the conversation between the two of you was nice, his windshield wiper laugh echoing through the silent halls as he told you another of his jokes. 

Once you guys finished eating, Jin cleared the table and left the dishes to soak so he could wash them later, not letting you help since you were the guest. He went and sat next to you afterwards as he looked at the time, since you guys had finished dinner a bit earlier than he had expected. “So, the others aren’t supposed to be back for a few more hours so what else would you like to do? We could watch a movie, or play games, just sit and talk more, whatever you want to do I’m all for it.” Anything you wanted to do, he would happily oblige if it meant spending more time with you. 

Hope you like it! Ship requests are OPEN! Please check here if you would like to request a ship of your own.

AN: I didn’t actually realize these would become so popular so ships may take a bit longer as I sort through all the requests. Requests are still open for now but I may take a break to focus on my currents asks and reactions as well. 

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, DIANA! You’ve been accepted for the role of DIANA. Admin Rosey:  There is a freshness and charm that Daphne brings to everything - her interviews, her conversations, her reasoning. This decision was not at all an easy one because both applications highlighted different aspects of her that we love and adore. But ultimately it was this voice, this distinctly Daphne voice that brought the decision to a close. She makes you fall in love with her that much more. I can't to see what she does when you bring her to life on the dash!  Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Diana

Age | 21

Preferred Pronouns | she/her/hers

Activity Level | y’all know, but I’m about to graduate college + be unemployed for a bit, so I’ll have writing time.

Timezone | PST

How did you find the rp?  | Div Stanning since 2017.

Current/Past RP Accounts | Castora’s account.

IN CHARACTER

Character | Daphne Adèle Allard / Diana

What drew you to this character? | Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Daphne knows this, even if the crown she wears is a halo of thornless roses – and she fucking loves that halo, no matter what the cost is. What draws me to Daphne is that even though she’s an impeccable pickpocket, even though she loves power, and even though she’s got plenty of vices despite her cherubic features,  Daphne loves. She knows what it’s like to suffer (even if it’s not like what others have gone through) and she wants to do something. She wants to help, but how much of that is her ego and how much of that is genuine is ambiguous. There’s that line between a good person and someone who does  good deeds that’s very blurred when it comes to Daphne, and that fascinates me. She looks like someone who would get chewed up and spit out by the mafia, but her light shines brighter. In some ways, she’s like an anti-Marie Antoinette; she’s got that aesthetic, but she’s too bright to do a “Let them eat cake” moment (even though I know she didn’t actually say that) or play peasantry at a fancy cottage. She’s privileged and beloved and smart enough to know how to combine the two.  I also find it fascinating that she almost wishes that she was that princess in an ivory tower – so everyone could be safe – and that while she embodies a little of that trope, she’s this really interesting reversal, where she’s both the princess and the dragon. There’s this interplay between the corruption of power and the trope that the people who don’t want power are the ones best suited for it; Daphne is not as angelic as she looks. She wants to save. She wants to be a heroine. She is hesitant of the power she wants to wield because she knows herself too well. But at the same time, there’s nothing wrong with wanting power. Power and goodness is a zero-sum game, especially in Verona. There’s also something relatable about Daphne that I really like, as her experience with getting bullied is reminiscent of my own. She’s incredibly beautiful, incredibly rich, incredibly powerful, and incredibly adored, but she’s still relatable, or at least, knows how to manage her image so that she comes across as aspirational and human, as well. Also, I adore that she’s 31. She’s got some naivete, but she’s a grown-ass woman with her own ambitions. In addition, her mob name is my name, and I’m shallow.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | (1)  A CROWN FOR YOUR PRINCESS – Daphne doesn’t look like it, but she’s got ambition. Right now, she has not let the fact that’s sees a member of organized crime taint her. She is deified, but there is yet to be blood on her hands. I think it would be interesting for Daphne’s mask of heroism to be pushed when she has to do something truly horrible, truly unforgivable in the name of the Capulet’s. Her desire to do good with her desire to get (and keep) her power at war with one another is interesting to me, and I think pushing her to define her moral compass (or lack thereof) and figuring out where she wants to go in the mob power structures could be interesting to play out. (2) A HEART FULL OF LOVE? - Daphne is a lover. She wants love. She wants it to be real. But she’s also engaged to a man that she doesn’t love and is fascinated by Renzo to the point that he’s described as her Achilles’ Heel. Beau can help her get everything she wants – on the paper, they are a fairytale couple – but he doesn’t inspire passion in her yet; at the same time, she would be upset if he were to step out on her. I think it could be interesting to see Daphne’s own feelings for Beau become more real and have to deal with the implications of real love. Because Daphne wants power. She wants to be a heroine. She wants to be adored. But all she’s let the world see is a mask, a symbol. Not a real woman. And it’s impossible to love a symbol; you can be cherished and adored, but never truly, heartbreakingly loved in the way that she wants to be. (3) O, DEATH – Something about Daphne’s bio that fascinated me is that it describes Beau as an Apollo figure whom Daphne sees more like Hades – a man of death, of isolation, and of riches. She’s darkness where there is light. But Daphne is more of the same – she is Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty, but she has her own affair with the darkness inside of her. She is a Persephone and her own Hades. She knows she’s capable of great horrors, and that she could destroy Verona if she wants to. It would be interesting to see Daphne be pushed to that darker place where she wants the city that she adores to burn. People want to destroy beautiful things. Daphne and Verona are both beautiful, and ripe for rot.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | (Devastatingly) yes.

IN DEPTH

Please choose between the interview or the para sample (or both, if you like!)

In-Character Interview: The following questions must be answered in-character, and in para form (quotations, actions written out if applicable, etc). There is no minimum or maximum limit for your response - simply answer as you would if you were playing the character.

What is your favorite place in Verona? She smooths down her hair, subconsciously rearranging the artful brown curls. Daphne doesn’t need to double or triple check in the mirror whether her lipstick is perfect or her eyeliner is crisp. She knows her angles. She knows herself. And she agreed to this interview. Not to talk about her love life, but to talk about the shelter she had just joined the board of. “I’m a Verona girl through and through,” Daphne laughs. “You’re a Verona native, too – right, Signora? You know that this city can be a lot, putting it mildly. And you know I’m just not being facetious when I say that it’s hard to pick a favorite spot. Hmm…but if I had to pick, I’d pick the Castelvecchio Bridge. For so long, it was a symbol of unity in our divided city. My parents used to take me on long walks around the city when I was little, and I remember stopping and looking out over the river. I just have fond memories of Verona at that bridge. And it’s so horrible what happened – the explosion. To have that bright for the city get taken away, it’s just horrible. I’ve been working with the Verona’s Children Relief Fund to help civilian parents who’ve lost their jobs due to the explosion. They’ve been working with families hurt by Verona’s mob war for over a decade, and really, they’re work is incredible. For example, Carlotta Alberti. She’s a single mother living in Borgo Roma with the cutest 12-year-old ever. Give me a sec –” Daphne pulls out her phone and shows the interviewer a picture of her posing with Carlotta and her son, Leo. “The warehouse Carlotta worked in was damaged during the explosion and it hasn’t been rebuilt. She’s got bills to pay. She’s got a kid to provide a future for. Through the Relief Fund, we’ve managed to set Carlotta up with an entry-level position at Falco & Company that has full benefits and room for her to grow.”

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

Daphne grits her teeth. She knows the interviewer means no harm with this question. It’s a chance to show that she’s vulnerable and that even though she’s been blessed to the Heavens with fortune, good looks and renown, Daphne Adèle Allard still has it in her to be a woman of the people. And a woman of the people is good, and kind, and loving, and doesn’t think badly of others. Still, the first thought that pops into her head is Beau. Arrogant, useless, cold-hearted man, Daphne thinks, careful not to let her absolute frustration with her husband-to-be show on her face. “That’s a hard question to answer,” Daphne starts. “Not because I haven’t made mistakes. God knows that I have.” Her heart thunders. Daphne Allard could never escape the feeling that she was on the precipice of destruction – not of herself, but of destroying others. “It’s just that I’m a perfectionist, you know? When I do something, I need to do it right because people are counting on me. A mistake is a ripple that can turn into a tsunami.” The interviewer nods, seemingly embarrassed at having to draw attention to the fact that Daphne avoided her previous question. “But if you had to say?”

Daphne only smiles. “Not coming back to Verona sooner. I love France with all my heart, but Verona is my home. I was away for quite a while. There’s this French saying – Petit a petit, l’oiseau fait son nid. Little by little, the bird makes its nest. And I really want to make my nest here.”

The lady nods. “So, are you excited for marriage then?” “You have no idea.” You really don’t.

“Have you talked about kids, yet?” “We’ve discussed it,” Daphne responds coyly.

What has been the most difficult task asked of you? When in doubt, pivot to the wedding – Daphne had learned this at a young age. Everyone adores a blushing bride. “This is a ‘I need to check my privilege’ moment, but can I say planning a wedding? There’s so much that goes into it. Finding a good venue, good security. Finding a dress when you’ve got curves is not as easy as Say Yes to the Dress makes it look. Beau and I are trying our best to plan a sustainable wedding. We haven’t announced the list of charities yet, but we intend to do a no-gift policy. Instead, we’d like to ask our friends and family to donate to an organization on the yet-to-be announced list.” Beau and Daphne had discussed no such thing….at least, not in earnest, but no one needed to do that. “Okay, but in all seriousness – one of the hardest things I’ve been asked to do is forgive. I was bullied a lot as a child because I dared to be fat. I looked different from the other girls at school, and they let me know it. I remember every taunt, every oink made behind my back, every time someone tried to put me on a crash diet. It took a toll on my self-esteem. Every insecurity I have got magnified. And I really hated those girls. And hate really hurts you; generally speaking, it hurts you more than the other people. Since my engagement, a few people who were not the nicest to me reached out to see how I was filling out my bridal party.” “Seriously?” She asks. “Seriously. For them, the past didn’t matter. But for me, it did. I couldn’t look in a mirror for a year, and even though I’ve moved on, and I love myself and I love my life and I found someone who loves me for me –” Oh, how she wishes that were true. “ – There was still this resentment in my heart that I struggled to let go of. Forgiving those small deep cuts when there’s no apology, no remorse, nothing, was difficult. But I had to do it for myself. Those girls – maybe they’ve changed; I’m an optimist who thinks people are capable of that. Perhaps I’m a bit old-fashioned? Regardless of who they are, I don’t have to go back to being that sad, lonely little girl because they messaged me.” She pauses and adds,  “I’m lucky, you know, that these are the extent of my problems.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues? Everyone and their mother wants to know the answer to this. Daphne has been answering this question for years. The Allard family had long ties to the Capulets, but Daphne was not going to go about advertising that or her own role in the mob. “The rivalry has been going on for years. There’s a lot of wounds on both sides,” Daphne starts. “I want peace for the people of Verona who’ve been caught in the cross-fire.” That’s why I am an emissary for the Capulets. To help, she thinks. I am a relatively high-ranking Capulet emissary because I want to be. She thrived in the darkness, in the cold, just as much as she thrived in the light. A lie. She shone in the darkness, but she craved the light. How badly Daphne Allard wanted to be bright, and shining, and good. “I’m just thinking about the Festival of Love,” Daphne starts, subtly pointing fingers at the Montagues. “So much chaos that didn’t need to happen.”

Extras: If you have anything else you’d like to include (further headcanons, an inspo tag, a mock blog, etc), feel free to share it here! This is OPTIONAL.

Her favorite movie is Amelie

Daphne patronizes numerous charities, but has no set one up in her own name yet. She wants to set up something that could help with homelessness in the city.

She is a Virgo (born August 29th)

Daphne is an ENFJ

She enjoys watching Bon Appetit videos

PLAYLIST (as in, a playlist Daphne would have on her Spotify account)

La Vie en Rose by Edith Piaf

Pavane for a Dead Princess by Maurice Ravel

Primadonna by Marina & the Diamonds

Petite Suite by Claude Debussy

Here Comes the Sun by The Beatles

Spring (Four Seasons) by Antonio Vivaldi

Waking Up Slow by Gabrielle Aplin

Elegie by Gabriel Faure

Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis Presley

Mother Goose Suite by Maurice Ravel

Non je ne regrette rien by Edith Piaf

[caeows]

      jeon jeongguk  .  cis male  .  he/him  ／  graeme bae just pulled up by blasting dirty little secret by all american rejects --- that song is so them  !  you know  ,  for a twenty three year old actor  ,  i’ve heard they’re really gullible  ,  but that they make up for it by being so tenacious  .  if i had to choose three things to describe them  ,  i’d probably say tousled hair  ,  triple dog dares and a closet full of black  .  here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble  !  

hello  !  i’m deni  (  she/her pronouns  ,  gmt+9 timezone  )  .  i’m best reached on discord at gayfairy#6371 for plotting  .  below the cut is  ...  a ridiculous amount of keyboard smashing but it was a holiday and i was feeling inspired so  !!  i included a few TLDRs for some quick scanning  .  there’s also some plots at the bottom i’d LOVE to see  .    looking forward to writing with you all  !

* ☆ ·˚  background.

you could say he was destined for the spotlight  .  

      an only child  ,  he grew up watching his parents performances on the stage  ,  accepting their kisses and gentle smiles before they set off for tours around the country and left him with his cousins  .  sure  ,  they were absent --- but they tried  --- and graeme knew he wanted to be just like them  .  when his parents delighted in his little home-staged sets he presented ,  they quickly enrolled him in acting classes and coached him through first auditions  ,  even moved back to korea when it was clear some american roles wanted to confine him to one note  .  after gaining exposure  ,  graeme shared the screen with one of the biggest names in the american industry in a dramatic hit that led to some ridiculous fanmail being sent to him as a kid  ,  then excitedly landed a role in a revamped science fiction film he was stoked af abouy !!! unfortunately  ,  the film was met with an absolute brutal blowback from fans  ,  some of that hot  ,  petty anger taken out on graeme  ,  and at thirteen years old  ,  his parents made the decision for him to step back and focus on school  .   (  he still holds onto those spiteful letters------  all that hate from grown ass adults thrown at a child  ) 

      performing arts high school  ,  but graeme stayed away from the public stage for a bit  .  worked on some sets as a tech to get a better idea of the film making process  .  kept a low profile occasionally caught by curious paparazzi at a basketball court or baseball game  .  recognizable  ,  but not to the point where he couldn’t be seminormal  .  there were a few bumps in the road  ::  leaked photos of a beer at a high school party  ,  couple of fake friends sliding in for clout  ,  people pushing questions like when are you returning  ??  how does it feel to ruin one of the most important films of all time ???  shitty  .  but  ,  with the help of his parents  ,  friends and coaches  ,  graeme returned to student films to grow more comfortable in front of a camera  .  his official comeback was in the background of a friend's directorial debut  ,  a lady-love drama critics salivated over but failed to earn is’ nominations  .  still  ,  graeme’s name was back and out there  .  jumping headfirst into the thing that scares him  ,  graeme’s slated for teen flicks  ,  romantic dramas  ,  action films  .  a diverse portfolio  .  people love a comeback  .     ------as if there was something wrong with what he did before  .  

TLDR.  former international child star who took a break after experiencing a massive fan-driven backlash  .  pseudo retired  ,  did the performing arts school thing  .  popped back on the screen about a year ago and working his ass off since  .  early career inspiration : jake lloyd  ,  natalie portman  , yeo jingoo

* ☆ ·˚  current.

      suddenly  getting all this praise and earning cash  ,  living on his own in a sprawling city of work and sin  .   hasn’t stop busting his ass  ,  no  ,  but maybe he’s found outlets for all his stress in  . . . less than healthy outlets  .  some of the headlines are way off the mark  ,  some a little too close to home  .  either way  ,  it’s not something his parents or his management company are thrilled about  (  doesn’t he want to be taken seriously as an actor ,  they say  )  and he does  .  of course he does  .  but what else does he have to sacrifice to be taken seriously ?  and how serious does any twenty-something year old wanna get  ?

      late hours on dance floors  ,  strips of things he doesn’t know the name of on his tongue  ,  lips on any pretty   ,  wanting pair he can find  .  he’s young  ,  virile and at the top of his game  .  who can blame him  ?  it starts with a string of tabloid images  ,  a rumpled and sleepy-eyed graeme leaving apartments that aren’t his in clothes he was spotted in the night before  .  zoomed-in  ,  fan-cropped photos on twitter of hickeys and swollen mouths and unbuttoned shirts  .  america’s sweetheart  ?  maybe  ,  but clearly not around the clock  .  him  ,  scaling rails of hotels and dancing on top of cars  .  grabbing mics at clubs and taking over DJ boots at parties   .  twitter explodes when he moonwalks through the airport one time and baristas trend his insane coffee orders  .  

      and even though he’s got his own name --- and a variety of different spellings  ,  hashtags  ,  and whatevers --- blacklisted on social media  ,  every now and then he’ll run along a stream of grueling comments  ,  petty nitpicks about his performances  ,  his looks  ,  his voice  ,  his goddamn smile and it’s-----   it’s rough  ,  even for someone who grew up in that environment  .  there’s days where he’ll hole up in his apartment and refuse to see anyone  ,  refuse to leave  .  the guy in the interviews with the wide smile and sparkle eyes is so  ,  so far away and people almost forget that he’s human  ,  too  .  he pushes himself out of that mindset  ,  sometimes with help  ,  but it’s always a shadow on his back  ,  waiting to catch him at his weakest  .  

TLDR.  tabloids gossip about speculated hookups and strange behavior  .  potential alcohol abuse  .  pushback from management and parents  .  anxiety towards social media  .  current career inspiration : ansel elgort

* ☆ ·˚  tidbits.

      sporty as fuck —— basketball  ,  soccer  ,  skateboard  ,  swimming  ,  climbing  .  says he would’ve been an athlete if not for movies  .  fit as fuck despite a steady diet of ramen and pizza  .  claims to like horror movies the most  ,  but he’s a total schmaltz snob  .  can hold a pretty tune well enough to pass  .  has a private twitter account for the memes   ,  public accounts are all operated by a social media manager so he doesn’t have to read comments   .  watches college basketball championships religiously  .  has very strong opinions about scented candles  .  likes sugary drinks more than coffee but claims to be a connoisseur  .  loves biopics  .  punk and 2000s emo rock fan .  gets anxious easily  ,  suffers through interviews and avoids personal topics as best as he can  .  is rumored to be difficult to work with  ,  but keeps to himself on sets save for a few opinions about blocking  and lighting  .  pan as fuck and fairly open about it  .  mom and dad are chill  ,  but don’t understand much of anything past bi  .  they get on to him more for his diet and job  .   when not on the court or working  ,  spends free time rewatching anime in the safety of his bed in an threadbare pair of boxers  ,  eating Doritos by the fistful and leaving his manager on read  .

      even his underwear is black  .  occasionally, he’ll change it up with a screen printed vintage t-shirt and wears whatever kind of fancy thing his stylist squeezes him into  .  otherwise wears by a black or white t-shirt  ,  black pants and combat boots  .  seventy percent of his sneakers have sharpie drawings on them and he’s got a lot of holes in his ears and another in a place you’d be lucky  (  or unlucky  )  to see  .  loves dangy earrings and wearing his hair loose  ,  a bit long with a mild perm  .  silver on his wrists and friendship bracelets from yesteryear but no rings  .  tattooed up  !  recently collaborated to design a line of temporary tattoos  .  extensive collection of sunglasses  .  hit up a lot of music festivals in the past but that’s died down in recent months due to a busy schedule  .  swung his way into VIP passes before  .  he was a total Warped kid in the past  ,  no shame  .  no longer does fan conventions because of a negative experience a few years back  ,  and even fan meets are a little awkward  ,  but he manages to push through  .  can’t drive worth a damn but he’ll kick your ass at any arcade game  .  occasionally  ,  he’ll stream over twitch but that’s becoming less and less common  . was banned from several dave & busters before he made it back on the screen  .  moody as fuck  .

* ☆ ·˚  plots.

      so  .  bonds  .  there’s a best friend who may not have been there since the beginning  ,  but they’ve been there when it matters  .  the friendship is new  ,  fresh  ,  and maybe graeme shouldn’t be as dependent on it as he is  ,  but he can’t help it  .  clinging to them like crazy --- let’s hope it doesn’t fall to the wayside  .  (  ? / 1  )  there’s several of his idiot friends who  ,  after being stranded on too many red carpets  ,  a hundred hotel rooms  ,  and hours of press junkets  ,  have learned to survive by snapchatting each other random dares throughout the day  .  (  1 / unlimited  )  there’s a few childhood friends who  ,  like him  ,  grew up either in or close to the spotlight and they have this  ,  like  . . .  support group kind of situation  .  i don’t know  .  graeme checks on them from time to time  ,  even as they’ve grown apart  .  (   2 / unlimited  )  he’s got some partying buddies who may not have his best interest at heart --- who may or may not stop him when he’s slurred out and whining about twitter trolls .  some gaming partners he teams up with over stream  ,  but lately they’ve drifted apart  .

      it’s such a cliche that his management’s set him up for a fake dating situation  .  if graeme wants the dramatic  ,  serious roles  ,  then he needs to show he’s a mature and capable young man  .  how else to do that than jump headfirst into a few awkwardly orchestrated dates with another hotshot on the radar  ?  (  ? / 1  )  but they’re not serious  .  so  ,  he hasn’t stopped hooking up  ,  or thinking about a one night stand that totally rocked his world  .   (  ? / 5 )  and  (  ? / 1 )  media and fans definitely know about a few of these  .  the jury’s out for how they feel about it  .  then there’s his competition  ,  actors in the same demographic targeting the same roles  .  it’s a tough business and they know it  ,  but the press picks up on all these weird quotes and posts that twist shit into beefs  .  what other misunderstanding will cause the casket to blow  ?  (  ? / unlimited )  there’s some co stars on old and upcoming films  .  people who see how hard he works and how much effort he puts into what’s seen on the screen  .  they tough out hard days on set and the press circuits during promotion  .  see him at his worst and best  .  (  ? / unlimited )

[seunghyuns-enbyfriend]

BTS Reaction to S/O Coming Out as Nonbinary

A/N: If you don’t like it, just don’t read it, thx, there’s no reason for anyone to hate on things they don’t like/agree with, so just go about your day, title says it all so don’t pretend I didn’t tell you what this is.  Follow my blog for more content like this and have a wonderful day.  Sorry if some of these are really similar, I wanted to point out the differences but I didn’t want to make the others too short, especially since my bias is first in the order I always go (fanchant order, for anyone curious before reading it, so no, I didn’t just put my bias first lol), I hope everyone enjoys this!

Kim Namjoon:

Mr. Big Brain here?  He’d want to know everything about it, he’d race through the google questions (on google, of course, I think he’d understand how tiring it is to be asked the same question again and again, I mean, the infamous dating question...) then approach you with any personal questions, sit and listen with wide eyes and open ears.  “Babe, I want to be an advocate for you, just tell me how you want me to do it.  I google’d the basics, here’s what I know, tell me if anything’s wrong.”  Starts talking about it more in interviews, using even more gender-neutral terms.  Takes to using your pronouns relatively quickly and feels like absolute garbage when he gets it wrong, spends the whole day making it up to you if he fucks up.  When someone talks shit about enbies, he’ll launch into a whole speech about why they’re wrong, overwhelms them with his off-the-cuff knowledge of the subject and ability to cite sources, will 100% speak over them if they’re continuing to say some dumb shit, especially if they cite “god”, and will talk about ancient cultures with more than 2 genders just to point out that it’s far from a new concept.  Will physically protect you if necessary, he may not be a violent person but he’s built like a protector.

Kim Seokjin:

“So...  You’re not breaking up with me, right?  I mean, obviously there are more important things than that but...  No matter what gender you are, you can’t resist my handsome face, right?”  Pouts and jokes and pulls you into a tight hug before seriously telling you that he doesn’t care what gender you are, he loves and respects you.  A bit more hands-off than Namjoon, will let you educate him and will google things if it seems important but to him, you’re just a person, and a person he loves very much.  All he cares about in terms of your gender is how that affects your relationship, so of course he’d work hard to get your name and pronouns and such right, and he’d learn how to comfort you through dysphoria, and how to properly correct people (by watching you, of course, or if you’re too shy, he’ll ask why you didn’t correct them then take initiative and figure out how to correct them himself).  When someone’s talking shit about enbies, he’ll be more the type to ask them why they think whatever their reason is comes before people’s happiness and mental health.  Doesn’t understand why people are so damn rude.  Will usually just take you out of confrontational/unsafe environments/situations but will fight if he has to.  Will definitely make computer-based puns, but only if you don’t find them offensive.

Min Yoongi:

“Ok, just tell me what to call you and how to talk about you.”  Quietly there for you.  In secret googles all the questions he knows are more general.  Will glare down anyone who talks shit about you until they’re intimidated into shutting the fuck up.  Will cover your ears and quietly give a very detailed and disturbing description of gender dysphoria he found online once they’re silent, take your hand, and walk away.  Quiet in his advocacy for you but won’t ever, ever back down unless you tell him to.  100% will get in someone’s face if necessary, will physically protect you in spite of his shorter stature.  Won’t take any shit from anyone about it and will cut people off if they treat you poorly, especially because of your gender.

Jung Hoseok:

Another silly boy, but unlike Jin, his first words will be, “You know...  I love you.  Your personality.  Who you are as a person.  Not as a [boy/girl], as you.”  Then he’ll start making jokes and talking about getting new couple’s clothes, mugs, etc.  I could see him messing up a little more than most of the other members, but he’ll always catch himself and apologize.  He gets a little carried away sometimes and I think he knows that.  Will be very careful when he’s not being playful, and will triple down on being careful when he’s talking to the public, if you’re out about your relationship and want to be out as nonbinary.  Won’t misgender you even if you don’t want to be out as nonbinary, but he will find ways to do that without outing you.  Will google things as they come up, and will talk to you about it.  Will confront hateful bigots calmly, but if they say anything about you specifically, he’ll lose his shit and go off on them, probably scare the shit out of them, too, since he’s usually such a happy-go-lucky guy.  Will go out of his way to make you smile when you tell him and whenever you run into bigots.

Park Jimin:

At first, he’ll think you’re going to break up with him, and he’ll freak out a little, tell you that he doesn’t care what gender you are because he loves you and he hopes he didn’t do anything wrong.  Will calm down once you reassure him you don’t want to break up, you just want him to know.  He’ll be so relieved, and he’ll remind you that he really does love you with all his heart and soul.  Will insist on learning as much as he can so he doesn’t mess up.  Kind of a big ball of anxiety for a while because he really doesn’t want to fuck up and lose you.  Will passionately tell bigots to go fuck themselves (maybe not in those exact words but well...) and whisk you away from them as quickly as possible.  Probably won’t refer to you using any pronouns until he’s sure, will always slow down as he begins talking about you, wording sentences in his head and checking them over against his internal list of things not to call you before he says them out loud, still double-checking before they come out of his mouth.  Very protective of you, doesn’t want to tell the world about your relationship even more once you come out to him because he wants to protect you from all the haters in the world and he knows he can’t.  Needs lots of reassurance that you’re ok and that you know what you’re getting yourself into, and that you can just block the haters.

Kim Taehyung:

“Woah!  That’s cool!  Does this mean I get to take you shopping for a whole new wardrobe?  We should get you some really cool new clothes!  We should, we should go shopping and get you a bunch of new clothes!”  Will kind of just roll with it, doesn’t understand why it’s that big of a deal but he’ll respect you through and through.  When confronted with bigots, he’ll look at them with that sad/confused puppy face and ask why they can’t just accept you.  Wants to show the world how brave and strong you are, but only with your permission.  As much as he doesn’t see why it’s a big deal, he does see that it is a big deal and that people are cruel about it, so he’s thrilled you trusted him with it and is so, so proud of you just for existing and being strong.  Wishes he could protect you but sees that you’re strong enough to protect yourself and him, and will cheer you on if you ever have to.  Prefers to take you away from hostile environments.

Jeon Jungkook:

“I should take new pictures of you.  Showing off the real you.  We can use a nonbinary pride flag in them.  That would be pretty cool, wouldn’t it?  Why wouldn’t I still love you?  You’re my muse, my model, my love.  Your gender doesn’t change that.  You’re still you, after all.  It’s your personality I love.”  Mature Kook hours right here, as much of a silly baby boy as he can be, he understands the gravity of the moment.  As the youngest, he probably has more understanding from the start, but he’ll do more research to make sure he didn’t miss anything.  Will roll his eyes at bigots before commenting to you, “It’s so funny how people can ignore other people’s feelings like that.  Come on, jagiya, let’s go be around people who respect others.”  100% doesn’t waste time on bigots.  Not afraid to act as your bodyguard or to let his bodyguard(s) do the dirty work if someone tries to hurt you.  Loves exploring your identity with you.

[forsythiias]

hey ! i’m rachel. i’m 20 - almost 21 ! - she / her pronouns, gmt timezone ( i live in ireland and spend like a week in england every month at this rate . u guys will get used to it ). a fun fact abt me is that i spoke to hugh jackman & gave him a wolverine pin rly recently . that’s all i got . anyway. i’m playing jellybean jones, the baby of the fp jones fam ! she’s my absolute KID and i would LOVE to plot , so please feel free to shoot me a message or smash that like button and i’ll come at you in the not so distant future. 

⌜   genderfluid, she / they / he   |   out of time by the rolling stones, the local record store, the pop culture fiend   ⌟   ⏤   hey, isn’t that FORSYTHIA PARTHENIA JONES? the NINETEEN year old SOUTH SIDER has lived in town for their WHOLE LIFE, and has always denied their resemblance to DIANA SILVERS. they’ve been a STUDENT & WAITRESS for a while now, and i guess it makes sense - they’ve always seemed so TENACIOUS & INDIVIDUALISTIC, though i have heard that they can be pretty GARRULOUS & ACERBIC. did you hear about how they SOLD JACKED CARS IN TOLEDO TO PUT THEMSELVES THROUGH COLLEGE? i always knew that there was something up with them. you can check out her pinterest board HERE and her stat page HERE.

you can CHANGE the world, girl,                                     you really, truly can.

part one of three : bullet point history. trigger warnings for talk of infant health issues.

august fifth, 2000. it was a sticky autumn night when FORSYTHIA PARTHENIA JONES entered the world with a pitiful cry. the only daughter of two south siders, gladys and fp, and the younger sister of a one jughead jones, she wasn’t born to MUCH ; which made all that she did have matter all the more. a mother and a father who loved her? check. an older brother she would someday idolize and love like no other in the world? double check. a small ventricular septal defect, discovered only after her birth? triple check.

forsythia was, it seemed, destined to be a sickly child. her first few months were dotted with trips to the emergency room and visits to a local doctor, something always seeming to be wrong. infant colic was ten times worse. she caught a chill when she was two weeks old and needed to spend a WEEK in the icu because of the resulting chest infection. the doctors who treated her at birth had been confident over time that the hole in her heart - jellybean shaped, on the very first ultrasound - would close by itself, as many do. hers, however, didn’t. as she got older, the effects became more pronounced. she kept catching chest infections. she couldn’t seem to put on weight. breathing was, at times, a struggle. and she was SLEEPIER than any baby they had ever known before. the original plan had been to wait and see and hope that her tiny heart healed on it’s own. at ten months old, it became apparent that this would never happen ; and the surgery was scheduled. 

your baby is supposed to be PERFECT. she isn’t supposed to take ill every few days and ultimately be wheeled into a room for open heart surgery. it was likely a very harrowing experience, and those first few months of her life were understandably marred - but if there had ever been any doubts before, it became clearer than day when she came out of surgery that the youngest jones was a FIGHTER, through and through. they’d been prepared for a month long wait to bring her home again - it ended up being a fortnight. she didn’t cry, after. she didn’t FUSS. it was as if she had known that the first little while had been tough, and was trying her hardest to make all of their lives that little bit easier. lord knew that the jones’ needed it, especially when the stress of all that was going on with her had combined with their bills. 

now affectionately named jellybean for the defect she had survived, she grew into a remarkably NORMAL child. there were differences, of course, between her and the kids that she grew up surrounded by - she required regular checkups, she needed to dress extra warmly in winter, and she always got that little bit more wiped out than everybody else - but anyone told the story behind the scar in the middle of her chest gaped in shock. the girl who swung from the lower boughs of the trees at the edge of sunnyside trailer park and sprinted after her friends at full speed had once had a hole in her heart? impossible. that sort of health issue was reserved for those with a lot less life in them than the high spirited girl that jellybean became known as being, and never once did she allow it to define her. she was a SPITFIRE, pure and simple, and she’s proud to say that never once did she let herself sit out of an experience just because she was worried about what would happen if she partook.

life was not all sunshine and adventure, though. not every child notices the cracks in their home life appearing. jellybean didn’t. not until the rug was pulled right from under her feet. to her wide eyed and rose colored self, everything seemed to happen overnight. one day, they were happy. the next, her dad was an alcoholic and she and her mum were in transit to toledo, where they would move in with stony faced grandparents who treated her with corporate coldness. she didn’t understand the why of it all - couldn’t have even hoped to, when she was still so young. the reality of her father losing his job and their lives going to shit thanks to it didn’t sink in. all she knew was that she had lost the father she idealized and the big brother that she had always wanted to BE. 

she spoke to them both on the phone, of course. she was even lucky to see jughead a couple times, though their grandparents never wanted to hear about it afterwards, no matter how excited she was. it must have been jarring for him the first time he turned up to find that the pigtailed little girl who loved kids pop that he remembered had sheared her hair and was now listening strictly to pink floyd and other classics. but none of it was the same. not really. it wasn’t having her family together. to say that her drastic transformation might have stemmed from a place of resentment towards whatever forces were at play in ruining her family - that starting to go by JB, so similar to the FP that her nana and granddad refused to allow be mentioned around them might’ve been an act of defiance - wouldn’t have been incorrect. she wanted things to go back to normal. the fact that they didn’t killed her.

and they never really did. she and her mom returned to riverdale, a new opportunity spotted, but things never went back to how they had been before. she learned not to talk about it, though - and now she’s older, wiser, and she knows how to hide her feelings behind an easy bluff. there’s nothing to do but make the most of what she does have, right? a new brother. a new life. a new self. she has to stop dwelling on what she used to have, she supposes ; though sometimes, it hurts to think about what she’s lost. 

part two of three : headcanons.

jellybean is gonna be a lawyer someday, but she NEVER really wanted to be one. her dream from ages 3 to 11, she wanted to be a princess. she overheard some of the older serpents sarcastically referring to the jones family as royalty, and she really chose to run with it - refusing to take off a makeshift crown for the first month and getting called princess jellybean by her father for the next few years. after that phase had passed, though, she found her real passion - and for most of living memory, she’s wanted to own a record store. nothing too extravagant, really, just a first floor, one room sorta deal - she’d plaster the walls with posters of the greats and keep the merchandise in crates resting on rickety tables, and every friday night she’d hold a jams night where people could come and lounge around the floor on beanie bags, listening to some of their favorites. she had it all planned, and it’s still something of a dream - but if there’s one thing that jones’ family knows how to do, it’s sacrifice their dreams for harsh reality. with penny peabody DISGRACED, the serpents and southsiders in general need someone who knows them to represent them, when things go to trial, and feeling a sense of duty to the people she was raised around, jb bit the bullet and stepped up. she’s got a love for arguing and a knack for winning, so much so that god HELP whoever goes against her in a courtroom, someday.

she has yet to officially join the serpents ( her parents wouldn’t approve of it, for one, not now, and there’s a whole host of OTHER reasons ) - but jb went right ahead and got a tattoo on her right hand anyway, cause as a jones, she’s still serpent adjacent. the only difference between the picture linked and the one she has is that hers is done in white ink - her way of keeping things lowkey while still honoring her heritage.

miss her with a motorbike. they’re COOL and all, but jb values her life a little bit too much to trust a two wheeled death trip waiting to happen. she’s more into classic cars, anyway, and has pretty recently invested in the frame of a 1979 pontiac gto from the scrapyard that she plans on fixing up to perfection.

her style is southside meets cute. of course she loves her leather and fishnet combos - but jb is ALSO a huge fan of dungarees and sloganed t-shirts in a whole assortment of colors. anything ‘edgy’ she wears ( big boots, mesh tops, the list .. could go on ) gets coupled with something a little less so ( pink scrunchies, colorful makeup, a disney bag … again, the list could go on ), and that makes her her.

and finally, for now, cause i’m not sure i’ve done a good job of conveying it - jellybean is a good kid. she REALLY, truly is. she’s got some bite to her ( enough of a short fuse that it’s advisable not to test her limit ) & wouldn’t be her fathers daughter if she DIDN’T, but she’s also genuinely sweet. being a serpent doesn’t equal being a bitch, and so long as people out there treat her with respect, she’ll do the SAME. jb doesn’t turn unless she’s given reason to … and if they do, she won’t hold back.

part three of three : wanted connections.

fp & gladys jones ! 

kids from the south ( or north ) side that are in or around the same age, who jellybean would have grown up with / went to school with !! they might have reconnected after she returned to riverdale and now know her as who she’s become, but they also might be people who she lost contact with for a LONG TIME and who never got to see her post transformation - any and all variance on this wc would be fun!

anyone attending carson college who she might, maybe, rub shoulders with !!  i’d love the most mundane of connections - maybe they sit with each other during lunch, or they help each other study, or one time, jb dropped a book on their head in the library and they’ve been friends / enemies since! gimme anything !

regulars at pops / the speakeasy. 

so .. she’s pretty self sufficient, and she’s paying her way in terms of college by working shifts at pops and picking up extras in the speakeasy. she’d know a lot of people from that, i’d wager, and i’m sure she has her favorites!

more people southside serpent adjacent who she can play off of !! one of jb’s goals in life is to become an OFFICIAL member of the gang, which she hasn’t yet - but she is something of a southside princess, and that means she’d know most of them in some way!

p much anything else !

[forsythiias-blog]

heyy there !! im rachel ( so new to being twenty i keep accidentally saying im nineteen / she & her pronouns / gmt ), and im gonna be bringing this lil serpent bb to life !! i hope y’all like her as much as i do, and if u wanna plot or anything, pls just hit that like !! 

*　benedetta gargari, cisfemale, she/her, canon　━━　riverdale’s very own FORSYTHIA PARTHENIA JONES is now nineteen years old. she has lived in town for all of her life, bar a few years break, and pop never forgot her regular ━ fried chicken, chilli fries and a cold nehi on the side. you’ll likely find the student and part time waitress hanging around pops / the speakeasy, probably playing whats new pussycat twelve consecutive times on the jukebox or trying to survive her coursework. her friends on the southside will tell you all about how she’s individualistic, tenacious and morally sound, but others might describe her as loquacious or acerbic. oh well, no matter how you feel about jb / jellybean, you can’t deny that with her debate skills, she’s gonna be one hell of a lawyer someday. you can check out her pinterest board HERE !

   it's the heat that drives the light, it's the fire that ignites,     it's not the waking, it’s the RISING.

part one of three : bullet point history. trigger warnings for talk of infant health issues. 

im gonna have to uh. ask for forgiveness in advance cause riverdale has nOT given ya girl a lot to work with in regards to jellybean, and the comics are another mess altogether. this is a history steeped in headcanon to flesh out what’s non-existent in canon, which i hope is all ok !!!!!!!!!! 

august fifth, nineteen years ago. it was a sticky autumn night when forsythia parthenia jones entered the world with a pitiful cry - the only daughter of two southsiders, gladys and fp and the younger sister of jughead, she wasn't born to MUCH... which made all that she did have matter all the more. a mother and a father that loved her? check. an older brother she would someday idolize like no other? double check. a small ventricular septal defect, discovered only after her birth? triple check.

forsythia was, it seemed, destined to be a sickly child. her first few months of life were dotted with trips to the emergency room and visits to the family doctor, something always seeming to be wrong. infant colic was ten times worse. she caught a chill when she was two weeks old, and needed to spend a week in icu because of the resulting chest infection. the doctors who treated her at birth had been confident that over time, the hole in her heart - jellybean shaped, on the first ultrasound - would close by itself, as many do. however, it DIDN'T... and as she got older, the effects of this became more and more pronounced. she kept suffering chest infections. she wasn't putting on weight. breathing was, at times, a struggle - and she was sleepier than any baby they had ever known before. the original plan had been to wait and see and hope that forsythia's heart healed. at ten months old, when it became apparent that this wouldn't happen, she had to have a surgery.

your baby is supposed to be perfect. she's not supposed to take ill every few days, and ultimately require open heart surgery. it was likely a very HARROWING experience, and those first few months of forsythia's life were understandably marred... but if there had been any doubts before, it became clearer than day when she came out of surgery that the youngest jones was a FIGHTER, through and through. they'd been prepared for a month long wait to bring her home - it ended up only being a fortnight. she didn't cry, after. she didn't FUSS. it was like she knew the first while had been tough, and was hellbent on making everyone's lives a little bit easier, afterwards. lord knew the jones' needed it, considering the stress of her early months was just ON TOP of the stress of money. 

now affectionately named jellybean after the defect she had survived, she grew to be a remarkably NORMAL child. there were some differences, of course, between her and the kids she grew up with - she required regular checkups, she needed to dress extra warmly in winter, and she always got a bit more wiped out than everyone else - but anyone told the story behind the scar in the middle of her chest gaped in SHOCK. the girl who swung from the lower boughs of the trees at the edge of sunnyside trailer park and sprinted after her friends full speed had once had a hole in her heart? impossible! that sort of health issue was associated only with those that had a lot less LIFE to them than the high-spirited girl that jellybean was known as, and never once did she allow it to define her. she was a SPITFIRE, pure and simple, and she's proud to say that never once did she sit out of an experience.

life wasn't all sunshine and adventure, though. not every child notices cracks in their home life as they're appearing. jellybean didn't - not until the rug was pulled right out from under her feet. to her wide eyed and rose colored self, everything seemed to happen over night. one day, she and her family were happy. the next, her dad had become an alcoholic, and she and her mum were in transit to toledo. she didn't UNDERSTAND the why of it all - couldn't have even hoped to, when she was still so young. the reality of her father losing his job and their lives going to shit thanks to it didn't sink in. all she knew was that she had lost the father she idealized and the big brother she wanted to BE.

she spoke to them both on the phone, of course. she was even lucky enough to see jughead a couple times - it must have been jarring for him, the first time he turned up to see that the pigtailed little girl who loved kids pop that he remembered had sheared her hair overnight and now listening strictly to pink floyd and the other classics - but it wasn't the SAME. it wasn't having their family together. to say her drastic transformation might have stemmed from a place of resentment towards whatever forces were at play in the ruining of her family wouldn't have been incorrect. jb wanted things to go back to NORMAL. it taking so long to do so killed her.

and what killed her more was that they never really did. she and her mom returned to riverdale, finally, but things never went back to how they were BEFORE. she learned not to talk about it, though, and now... well. NOW she's older, and wiser, and she knows how to hide her real feelings behind an easy bluff. there's nothing to do but make the most of what she does have and stop dwelling on what she used to, she supposes, so that's really all she's doing. 

part two of three : headcanons.

first things first - law. jb hasn’t always wanted to be a lawyer. scratch that: she never wanted to be one, right up until she announced it was her chosen major. when she was still in single digits, she wanted to be a real life PRINCESS. no reason, per say, other than overhearing some of the older serpents sarcastically referring to the jones’ as southside royalty, and really running with it. when she hit doubles, though, and started growing up, jb decided ( right around the time she chose to shorten her jellybean nickname ) that what she wanted more than ANYTHING was to own a record shop. nothing too extravagant, really, just a first floor, one room sorta deal - she’d plaster the walls with posters of the greats and keep the merchandise in crates resting on rickety tables, and every friday night she’d hold a jams night where people could come and lounge around the floor on beanie bags, listening to some of their favorites. she had it all planned, and it’s still something of a dream - but if there’s one thing that jones’ family knows how to do, it’s sacrifice dreams for reality. with penny peabody DISGRACED, the serpents and southsiders in general need someone who knows them to represent them, when things go to trial, and feeling a sense of duty to the people she was raised around, jb bit the bullet and stepped up. she’s got a love for arguing and a knack for winning, so much so that god HELP whoever goes against her in a courtroom, someday - but it’s more a duty thing than it is her passion. 

she has yet to officially join the serpents ( reasons tbd, though it’s not for lack of WANT ) - but jb went right ahead and got a tattoo on her right hand anyway, cause as a jones, she’s still serpent adjacent. the only difference between the picture linked and the one she has is that hers is done in white ink - her way of keeping things lowkey while still honoring her heritage.

miss her with a motorbike. they’re COOL and all, but jb values her life a little bit too much to trust a two wheeled death trip waiting to happen. she’s more into classic cars, anyway, and has pretty recently invested in the frame of a 1979 pontiac gto from the scrapyard, that she plans on fixing up to perfection.

her style is southside meets cute. of course she loves her leather and fishnet combos - but jb is ALSO a huge fan of dungarees and sloganed t-shirts in a whole assortment of colors. anything ‘edgy’ she wears ( big boots, mesh tops, the list .. could go on ) gets coupled with something a little less so ( pink scrunchies, colorful makeup, a disney bag ... again, the list could go on ), and that makes her her. 

and finally, for now, cause i’m not sure i’ve done a good job of conveying it - jellybean is a good kid. she REALLY, truly is. she’s got some bite to her ( enough of a short fuse that it’s advisable not to test her limit ) & wouldn’t be her fathers daughter if she DIDN’T, but she’s also genuinely sweet. being a serpent doesn’t equal being a bitch, and so long as people out there treat her with respect, she’ll do the SAME. jb doesn’t turn unless she’s given reason to ... and if they do, she won’t hold back. 

part three of three : wanted connections. 

kids from the south ( or north ) side that are in or around the same age, who jellybean would have grown up with / went to school with !! they might have reconnected after she returned to riverdale and now know her as who she’s become, but they also might be people who she lost contact with for a LONG TIME and who never got to see her post transformation - any and all variance on this wc would be fun! 

anyone attending riverdale college who she might, maybe, rub shoulders with !! i don’t know if there are any other law students here, but i’d still love the most mundane of connections - maybe they sit with each other during lunch, or they help each other study, or one time, jb dropped a book on their head in the library and they’ve been friends / enemies since! gimme anything !

regulars at pops / the speakeasy. so .. jb is pretty self sufficient, and she’s paying her way in terms of college by working shifts at pops and picking up extras in the speakeasy. she’d know a lot of people from that, i’d wager, and i’m sure she has her favorites! 

more people southside serpent adjacent who she can play off of !! one of jb’s goals in life is to become an OFFICIAL member of the gang, which she hasn’t yet - but she is something of a southside princess, and that means she’d know most of them in some way! 

p much anything else

i love her so much and just wanna throw her at everyone 

[feynites]

Tagging @selenelavellan for more Concert AU shenanigans!

NSFW again! <3

Deceit’s grandmother ends up visiting for about a week.

Fear gets home, and barely checks their text messages in time to avoid being surprised by Gran-Gran accosting them with hugs at the front door of the apartment. As it stands, they have some forewarning, and so they are ready for having their face pat and their person scrutinized, and the inevitable worried clucking over how ‘tired’ they look.

Near as Fear can tell, they have looked ‘too tired’ since highschool.

But Gran-Gran does not actually make that comment, this time. Instead she says they look ‘healthy’, which is a pleasant surprise. She still makes them sit down and eat half a mango cake, but that is not actually something Fear objects to. Des and Selene are home, and both look faintly mowed over; and Deceit is wearing an expression that says that the baby photo album came out.

Fear sighs, inwardly. That means their school photos were likely to be included. Eighth grade, when they tended to starch their shirts. And ninth grade, when they decided to use an eyebrow pencil to try and give themselves sideburns.

Their goth phase was not quite so embarrassing, all things considered.

“What are you and Nona fighting about?” Fear asks, while Gran-Gran sits with them in the kitchen, and nosily asks Selene about her cooking practices. Selene seems a little defensive, at first; just until she realizes that Gran-Gran’s not actually disapproving of anything. Then she relaxes, somewhat.

Gran-Gran sniffs.

“We don’t fight,” she claims, of course.

“Hypothetically,” Fear counters. “If you were to fight…”

The little old woman sighs, and then reaches over and pats the back of their hand.

“Hypothetically, Enfanim, that would be nothing for you to worry about,” she insists. “You worry enough. Now, where is Dirthamen? Is he still at work? Should we send someone to go and get him?”

“He should be home soon,” Fear assures her.

“Good. Don’t let that boy work himself silly, it’s not healthy,” Gran-Gran insists.

They fall into relatively pleasant silence for a moment, then. Until Deceit comes, and the conversation starts up again. By the time Dirthamen gets home, Gran-Gran’s energy is flagging; but as ever it seems to come rearing back up at the arrival of a person she likes, and she spends several solid minutes patting Dirthamen down, asking about his health and complimenting his new hair style, and telling him that he’s a good boy and she’s happy to see him.

She’s always very firm on those points, with Dirthamen. Fear thinks it must be good for him.

They give Gran-Gran their room for her stay. It’s the cleanest one, and contains the least amount of ‘contraband’. Des and Selene go back to their apartment for the night, so Fear climbs into bed with Deceit.

They love Gran-Gran. They really do. She’s a kind woman, exuberant, and it’s good to see her. She and Nona were always very welcoming to Fear. And to Deceit, too, for that matter; he doesn’t talk about it a lot, but Fear knows that his mother wasn’t the couple’s biological child. She worked for them, when she was a teenager, and then fell on hard times. Got sick, and the medical bills stacked up. Her own parents disowned her after she had Deceit. So Gran-Gran and Nona stepped in, and took her in, and treated her like their own. They helped raise Deceit – Harel – and became his legal guardians after she died. And when Fear’s own parents would lock them out of the house at night, Fear could go over to their house and they would always be welcomed in.

But that’s the thing, they suppose. Whenever they see Gran-Gran or Nona after it’s been a while, it drags them back. Makes them think about being a skinny fourteen-year-old, with bruises on their knees, overwhelmed by practically everything, it seemed, and living off of vending machine food and halves of Deceit’s lunches, bleeding through five pairs of jeans before Nona started stocking extra pads in their bathroom, and took Fear aside and told them to take as many as they needed. Shame and gratitude burning in their cheeks, like a fire lit on the hunger gnawing at their gut. Gran-Gran and Nona fed them, too, but Fear couldn’t always make it to their house. It depended on the day.

Climbing into bed with Deceit reminds them of the first time they did it. Back when their skin had always felt like it was trying to crawl off, and they’d been so nervous. Was their breath okay? What if they kicked him? What if they rolled over onto him? What if they were doing it wrong?

Deceit glances over at them, and without a word, snakes his arm around their shoulders, and pulls them to his chest.

Fear sighs.

“Cuddler,” they accuse.

“You’re warm,” he says. Which is a bold lie; Fear runs cold. They’re skinny and sharp and icy, their feet are almost always freezing compared to anybody else’s. But after a moment they just sigh, and rest their head against their oldest friend’s shoulder. Recollecting the fights they used to get into. Fear was not a kindly child, over-critical, paranoid, and anxious, prone to panic attacks and wild accusations, and Deceit was a chronic liar. He once spent a year trying to convince half the school that his father was a billionaire from Orlais. He would tell people his mother was still alive, and just ‘on business’. He spent a summer working as a counsellor at one of the seasonal camps just outside town, and when he got back, he told everyone he’d been abducted by aliens.

They’d both been so insufferable, no one else could stand them. It was how their friendship was born.

“What do you think Gran-Gran and Nona are fighting about?” Deceit asks them, quietly, after a minute.

Fear shrugs.

“Not sure. Possibly Nona started smoking again. Or Gran-Gran is trying to get her to sell the market stand again. Or they might just have gotten bored.”

They feel Deceit frown, more than they see it.

“I hope Nona didn’t start smoking again,” he mutters.

“So do I,” they admit.

They fall into silence. Fear waits until Deceit’s breathing has started to even out before they roll away a bit, putting enough distance between them so that they can fall asleep, too; lulled by the rhythm of Deceit’s breaths, but not distracted so much by the press of skin against skin.

They wake up the next morning with their head wedged between six pillows, and two extra blankets thrown over them. Deceit is already up, it seems. Fear blinks, and stares at the clock. Six am, but Gran-Gran’s an early riser, and they can smell something delicious frying in the kitchen.

Fear sits up, and feels a moment of earl-morning disorientation. Their skin feels too-heavy on their own muscles. Everything a little bit askew, warmed from sleep, but itching unpleasantly, too. Old bruises ache a bit. They have to take a moment to look around the room, and remind themselves that this is a space they belong in. That the nebulous, purposeless apprehension suddenly fishing through their mind, looking for something to drag them over the coals about, is unfounded.

You slept in.

You didn’t check on Gran-Gran in the night.

You didn’t go to that meeting yourself.

You didn’t properly check in with Des about his doctor’s appointment.

You barely spoke to Selene last night.

You didn’t text Nona to tell her where Gran-Gran is and see how she’s doing.

Worthless, worthless, empty sack of bones…

Fear pushes it aside. Not helpful, not true, they remind themselves. It’s not always something they believe, but they murmur it aloud, in turn, and that makes it stick a little more. They feel… no. He. He’ll be a ‘he’ today, he thinks. He feels rested, at least. And after a few more minutes, the unease abates, and his heart stops trying to claw its way out through his throat. He gets up. Makes the bed. Heads into the bathroom, to comb his hair, and brush his teeth, and contemplates a shower, before deciding against it. Fear triple-checks his breath, and decides some eyeliner is order.

Maybe a little lipstick, too. He feels better when the scar on his bottom lip is completely invisible.

No reason for it to feel better. He just does.

He finishes getting dressed before he emerges into the kitchen. Last up for a change, it seems. Deceit is in his striped shorts and black raven shirt, polishing off a plate of eggs. Dirthamen in his robe, sitting beside him, and he and Gran-Gran both look over as Fear approaches.

“Masculine pronouns today, if you please,” Fear requests, checking the stove, before sliding onto one of the barstools.

Dirthamen nods, and so does Gran-Gran.

“Neutral for me,” Deceit requests.

Ah.

They’ve been reverted to the highschool standard, then.

Fear checks his phone, while Gran-Gran plates up too much food for him, and then settles into the seat beside him. He leans over and kisses her cheek.

“You did not have to go to the trouble,” he says.

She waves him off.

“I like to,” she insists. “Harel helped with the chopping, so don’t fret. They found me a good stool, too.”

Fear glances over, and confirms it to be the one from the hall closet – purchased specifically for these sorts of occasions – before nodding, and tucking in. Nothing calamitous seems to have happened overnight, at least. He fires off a pair of ‘good morning’ texts to Selene and Des, and mentally reviews the day’s plans. Ignores the voice that tells him he’s probably just going to make a disaster out of all of them, and that he should stuff himself into a closet somewhere and just sit in the dark until the day is done.

Someone would just come and get him, anyway. And then worry. And besides, the compulsion isn’t all that strong.

“You look tense,” Dirthamen informs him.

Deceit shakes their head a little, though, and he immediately changes the subject; and Fear is glad, because they are not good at explaining these things. Not even to Dirthamen, who understands better than Deceit does, sometimes.

Dirthamen is a good person. Better than many. Better than most.

And you cannot even figure out how to keep his wretched brother from ruining his life.

He should probably take his medication today, he supposes. His prescription is on an as-needed basis, which can get a little tricky because, in addition to numerous other factors, his paranoia likes to insist that he’s medicating himself too much and that his drugs have been tampered with. Even when he knows better.

Halfway through breakfast he gets too nauseated to keep eating, though, and he knows that’s a sign. He excuses himself, heading back into the bathroom, and when he gets back, Gran-Gran only asks if he’s finished and if he would like her to keep the leftovers. Fear gratefully asks her to, checks the time, and then sets out. He has a meeting with their accountant today. Their official accountant, anyway. Fear and Dirthamen both keep track of the financials themselves. Too many stories about successful musicians who lost every cent they ever made are cluttered in both of their minds; and the money they make from their music exists independent of Dirthamen’s family.

Dirthamen catches him before he leaves, though.

“I transferred some funds to my brother the day before yesterday,” he admits.

Fear purses his lips.

Dirthamen’s funds are his own. They all have their own money. Much of it gets withdrawn in thirds automatically to pay their various expenses, but they all have checking accounts and saving accounts. Fear keeps track of them, though. At the end every month, Dirthamen’s personal accounts hemorrhage funds – usually because his father has started getting Falon’Din’s bills, and subsequently started roaring about how he’s not paying for this or that or anything else, and Falon’Din gets cut off and goes and bullies his brother into making up the difference.

“You should not give him money,” Fear says. He always says that.

Dirthamen lets out a breath.

“It is my money to give,” he says, which is also what he always says.

Fear’s on edge, though, and it’s a bad time for this. He levels a finger at Dirthamen’s chest.

“You need to start thinking ahead more,” he tells him. “I know you love your brother. But he is not the only person who needs you. Who might depend on you. One day we might all get into terrible trouble. What will you do if you have given everything to Falon’Din, then, and have nothing left to help the rest of us?”

Dirthamen’s brows furrow.

Fear regrets his sharpness, almost immediately. That’s not fair, he knows. It isn’t even a very good argument. Dirthamen should stop giving into his brother’s demands for his own sake; not for the sake of Fear’s dark anticipations. Whether they are reasonable or not. On days like these, it is hard for Fear to tell what is pragmatism and what is paranoia.

“Apologies,” he murmurs, immediately.

“I…” Dirthamen begins, and then hesitates. Fear reaches over, and clasps his shoulder.

“No. I apologize, that was unfair,” he insists. “I dislike you giving him money. He doesn’t deserve it. I will barely concede that he deserves oxygen, and even then, mostly just because you’re attached to him. But you are right; it is your money, and if you think he deserves it, then that is all that needs to be said.”

Dirthamen manages a hesitant nod.

“I know you dislike it,” he confirms. “I would not give him more than I thought I could spare. Even accounting for emergencies.”

“Good,” Fear agrees, and leaves it at that.

He will have to be careful, he thinks, in getting through the day. Avoid major decisions, and be as mindful as he can manage. And make sure his boundaries are respected. No going to the coffee shop on third street, he thinks. They make good lattes but the barista there is very chatty, and tends to take opportunities to touch him without his permission.

He takes the stairs down and out of the building, and sets off, banishing old memories that surface like sunken wrecks from the back of his mind. Ghost ships.

By midday, though, his mind is much less cluttered, and his steps are lighter. He handles his business e-mails, gets through his meetings, works on some compositions and updates the band’s website, and their twitter feed. He gets a few texts from Gran-Gran, which are about dinner plans and advice for spots to visit in the city; and he gets a few sexts from Des, and some questions from Selene, who wants to know what kind of food Gran-Gran likes and if she’s allergic to anything.

Gran-Gran is partial to a lot of baked goods.

Fear opts not to mention that.

He doesn’t intend to, but he ends up getting back home later than he planned. Traffic is a mess. There’s an accident on his usual route, and a train crossing through his detour. He listens to some of the band’s latest practice sessions, scrutinizing them beneath the rumble of the passing train. He taps the steering wheel with both of his index fingers. Restlessness is a common side-effect of his medications, but it’s also something that’s apt to come over him during the evenings.

He manages to school himself into a semblance of calm and collectedness by the time he gets home, however.

The apartment smells like Selene’s cooking. Some Dalish spices, that she never seems to use in over-abundance, but that always have very particular fragrances. Fear is ashamed at the momentary relief he feels; scents have a way of drawing the mind back to certain times and places, and he doesn’t think today would be a good day to be jolted back to highschool by the scent of Gran-Gran’s cooking.

Tomorrow, maybe, will be better.

He doesn’t begrudge himself the happiness he feels when he walks into the apartment and finds everyone there, though. Whole and well, with Gran-Gran in the sitting room, and Dirthamen cleaning up something for Selene while she moves around the stove, and Deceit working intently on something with their laptop.

Gran-Gran gets up to give him his ‘welcome home’ hug, and Des moves in after she does, grinning slyly as he claims a hug, too.

“Babycakes!” Des greets.

“Hi, Fear!” Selene calls. Dirthamen turns and smiles at him. and Deceit offers a vague wave, not taking their eyes off of their laptop.

Fear pats the back of Des’ shoulder, and then peels him off.

“There. Now shoo,” he instructs.

“You see?” Des says, gesturing towards him. “I told you. So cruel with my affections!”

Gran-Gran pats Des on the arm.

“He let you touch him. He probably loves you,” she opines, which Fear supposes is true enough.

“A man can dream,” Des permits, with excessive dramatics. Fear actually manages to get his coat off, at least, and he’s surprised to find that he’s less impatient with Des’ over-enthusiasm than usual. He still makes his way over to Deceit, though, and promptly commandeers the square of couch beside them; wordlessly invoking their long-standing agreement where Deceit will sometimes act as a barricade between Fear and everything else.

When Des sidles over, Deceit dutifully sighs, and puts away the laptop - they’re playing a game, Fear notes – and captures Des against his side, opposite Fear.

“It’s Fear’s personal space time, Des,” Deceit declares.

“Whoever invented the concept of personal space should be shot,” Des grumbles. But he doesn’t actually make a point of trying to get to Fear after that, either. There are plenty of other people to cuddle with instead, and Des makes full use of the opening Deceit has given him, and sprawls across his lap like a bored cat asking for attention.

Des is entirely the sort of person who needs four lovers, Fear thinks, if only to give him the sheer amount of affection he seems to need.

Eventually Deceit’s attention starts to turn a little romantic. One of their hands slips up under Des’ shirt, and they press some kisses to his forehead, and then once to his lips. But Gran-Gran, though never condemning of such things, is still Deceit’s grandmother, and grandparents tend to be a major deterrent towards feeling up one’s lovers. When Des’ own touch starts fumbling with Deceit’s belt, Deceit halts him.

It’s a herald of things to come, in the end.

The second night of Gran-Gran’s visit winds up filled with more stories. Fear excuses himself from it fairly early in, and retreats to his room and his computer. The night ends with Gran-Gran in his bed, and Des and Selene going home, and Fear sleeping with Dirthamen instead of Deceit, in order to try and avoid dragging himself back in time again.

Sex isn’t really on the table for most of them, for a variety of reasons. And it stays that way for most of the week.

The third night of Gran-Gran’s visit, Deceit and Des take her out on the town, and Dirthamen ends up having to attend a dinner function with his mother, and so Fear and Selene end up spending most of that time making him text them every fifteen minutes, and worrying. They put in a movie to distract them. It is not a very successful method of distraction, but eventually everyone gets home, again. Selene and Des stay over that night. Crowded into Dirthamen’s bed, too quiet to be fooling around very much.

Work and Gran-Gran eat up most of the rest of the week. And it is, barring some bumps at the start, a good week. Fear and Deceit fail to uncover the reason for Gran-Gran and Nona’s fight. But seven days in, there is a phone call, and Gran-Gran goes and takes it out on the balcony. And when she comes back inside she seems satisfied about something. She leaves in as much of a whirlwind as she arrived in, though she makes Selene and Des both promise to come and visit in Rivain when they can, and to meet Nona, who is apparently green with envy that Gran-Gran got to meet them first.

Her flight departs in the late afternoon.

Fear gets back from dropping her off at the airport. He gets inside, and veritably sags into his usual chair. The apartment feels normal again. All pleasantness of seeing Gran-Gran again aside, he appreciates that. There are unspoken rules to the division of space in the apartment that are inherently understood by the five of them. Gran-Gran, through no fault of her own, had upset that equilibrium. Fear is glad to have it restored.

And there are other benefits to not having a beloved, elderly relative sleeping in his room, too.

Benefits that become clear once the five of them are alone together in the apartment for the first time in a week.

Des – instigator that he is – seizes upon the opportunity at once.

“I want to be the filling in a sandwich,” he declares.

Selene makes a pained sound, and her unruly associate levels a finger at her.

“Selene wants to be the filling in a sandwich too,” he insists.

“Des!” Selene objects.

She also, conspicuously, doesn’t deny it, as Des just looks at her in that unrepentant ‘well you do’ manner, and causes her to drop her face into her hands.

“Do I have the energy to be the bun in two different sandwiches?” Deceit asks the ceiling, from where they’re slumped across the arm of the sofa. They narrow their eyes, intently contemplative, and then nod to themselves. “I don’t know for certain. But I know I have the energy to try.”

Dirthamen raises a hand.

“I do not think I could manage more than one sandwich,” he admits. “Provided we are using ‘sandwich’ as a euphemism for three-way intercourse.”

“We are,” Des confirms.

Dirthamen nods, and then after another, internally contemplative moment, four sets of eyes turn questioningly towards Fear.

…Ah.

He considers the matter himself. But the prospect doesn’t seem unpleasant. Maybe even welcome, in fact. Contact could help with reaffirming their bonds, and he is confident that the encounter will end if and when he needs it to.

“I can be a bun,” he permits.

“Dibs!” Des shouts, sitting bolt upright from where he’d been lounging against Selene in a shocking hurry. “Dibs, dibs, dibs!”

Selene looks at Fear.

Fear inclines his head.

“Alright, alright, you get Fear,” she allows. “Stop yelling ‘dibs’, he’s not a pudding cup.”

“He can be my pudding cup anytime,” Des declares.

There’s a pause.

“…That sounded much filthier than I expected,” Des concludes. He seems pleased about it.

“I am rethinking this idea,” Fear announces, which at least puts an end to the terrible jokes. He isn’t really, though. Or at least, not sincerely. After a moment he gets up to go and fetch everything they require. Condoms, lubricant, and a few other items which may or may not be needed. He asks Selene if she wants her strap-on, but she answers in the negative. He considers taking his own out of the box in the bottom of the closet, but then gives it some more thought, and leaves it be.

“Who is going first?” he asks.

“Des,” Selene immediately declares. “It’s his idea. If Deceit gets too tired to keep going, I’m pretty sure I’ll be less broken up about it.”

Dirthamen nods in sage agreement, while Des looks momentarily conflicted. But then Fear deposits their supplies onto the living room coffee table, and he seems to get over whatever internal debate he was having in favour of stripping out of his clothes.

Fear and Deceit follow suit.

“Ground rules,” Fear announces, handing Des a packet of condoms. “Frottage is acceptable. If you want to penetrate me, you will help prepare me, and it will be anal penetration only. I know you know what you are doing there, so I will not give you my usual lectures on the subject, or warnings about what will happen if you violate my consent in this regard and try to penetrate me anywhere else.”

Des blinks, and Fear looks him in the eye.

“I trust you not to injure me,” he admits.

Des brows furrow, just a little.

“I won’t,” he agrees, with a surprising lack of his usual slyness or innuendo. Fear nods, and then nudges him towards Deceit. The two of them start getting into things, and for a while, it’s not that different from their usual scenario. Dirthamen and Selene stay to watch, hands roaming slowly and gently over one another, as Deceit pulls Des into their lap, and starts stroking him.

Fear watches for a few minutes, before sliding a lubricated condom onto his fingers. He passes the packet over to Deceit, and take up a position in front of Des.

“So,” he says. “In or out?”

Des laughs, just a little breathlessly. His cheeks are flushed, and there is a definite gleam in his eye.

“You choose,” he decides. “I’ll enjoy it either way.”

Fear inclines his head, and after a moment more of contemplation, makes sure the lubricant is close at hand. Then he spreads his legs, and starts working the already-slicked condom down and down, between his cheeks. Des’ breath catches, and his cock twitches; and Deceit watches them both, before moving back a bit, to start opening Des up in turn.

It always feels odd, to begin something like this, Fear thinks. Sliding his fingers into himself is not precisely sexy. He doesn’t get a whole lot of sensation, in fact; when he does it right, the goal is more to make sure he is relaxed and liable to stay that way, stretching the muscles open, keeping everything as loose and slick as possible. Anal tearing is not good. Any part of the body which, by necessity of its designed function, comes into contact with fecal matter, is not a good place to injure. And these are not terribly sexy thoughts; though Fear thinks they are important ones, because a few minutes of passion isn’t really worth the subsequent agony that might come from forgetting.

But then Des slides a condom onto his own digits, and starts to help. And that makes it a little better. Des has very pretty eyelashes. Very nice hair. He runs hot, like Selene, and his gaze is intent, and his touch is careful. The feel of someone else’s fingers running over such delicate, sensitive areas is both perilous and stimulating. Fear knows he can’t handle it all the time. But… he actually does trust Des. He trusts him with Dirthamen and Deceit, and that is only the smallest step removed from trusting him completely, and Fear would worry more about him making comments about this for ages after the fact, than doing it wrong and putting Fear in the hospital.

And he knows how to angle his touch, to stimulate Fear from the inside. He has access to a better angle for it, too.

As Deceit works him over from behind, though, Des’ touch falters a little. His breaths turn ragged, and his hips shift more, and he gets a little less coordinated. A little more wanton. It’s a good look on him, though. Fear tilts his face closer, and kisses his forehead, and takes over again for a bit. Slow and steady. Deceit knows the right pace to set, and does a good job holding off, even as their cock starts to look painfully hard. Des’ too, for that matter. Fear guides Des’ hand to his own arousal, pushing more lube towards him. More is always better, in that regard.

“Touch yourself,” Fear instructs.

Des grins, just a little.

“Always so bossy,” he says.

Fear kisses his cheek, pressing close enough to whisper in his ear.

“Yes. Because I am in charge, here.”

Des shivers.

Deceit just hums in agreement, and starts to push their way into Des.

Synchronicity is important in this kind of activity. So is positioning. Des wants to be a sandwich, so, the three of them end up shifting around quite a bit, before getting everyone lined up. Luckily, Deceit is strong, and Fear is stronger; and Des is very fit. But it quickly becomes apparent that the best idea is for Fear to lie on his stomach, and Des to go behind him, and Deceit to go behind Des.

It’s a little more stressful, Fear finds, when he can’t see Des pushing into him. He takes a few deep breaths, focusing on the odd, heavy stretch, and the breaths brushing the backs of his ears. And he reaches back, and presses a hand to Des’ thigh, as Des kisses the tip of one of his ears.

“You feel so good,” Des tells him.

His hips rock, and then stutter, as Deceit enters him again in turn.

They keep going slow. It sounds like it’s driving Des a little insane, but in a way he enjoys. Fear takes deep breaths, that gradually turn more and more ragged. He gently cants his hips backwards, before long, as his perineum starts to respond pleasantly to the stimulus of Des’ thrusting. Once the warmth and pleasant slide has begun to settle into an easy rhythm, Fear slips a hand down between himself and the floor, and starts circling his clit, too. His vaginal muscles spasm, but with nothing inside, the sensation isn’t painful. Not like it would be with even a finger in there. Fear discovered the full scope of his vaginismus the hard way.

Des thrusts into him a little more firmly, at the same time Deceit does the same to him in turn, and Fear feels their shoulder drag across the carpet. He moves his hand away from Des’ leg in favour of propping himself up a little better. That’s probably going to leave some rug burn. But overall, the sensations are pleasant enough that he isn’t perturbed about it. He keeps on touching himself, imagining the picture Des and Deceit must make behind him. One he’s seen the likes of many times by now. It works more effectively on him than even the feel of Des’ thrusts, and before long, he comes, clenching down a little and wringing a gasp from the elf inside of him.

Deceit goes next. And when Des follows suit, he presses flush to Fear’s back; and Deceit obligingly clings to Des, in turn, and Fear just sighs, squished to the floor by the weight of two warm bodies. Des presses a lazy, sloppy kiss to his shoulder, and murmurs something completely unintelligible; squirming a little, still inside of Fear.

For a few minutes, Fear lets that stand.

Then he starts to sit up again, nudging Des off of his back. The man has gone limp. But Deceit helps shift him, and lets Fear up. Fear checks himself over. Rug burn, certainly, and his ass is a little sore. But not to a concerning degree. It was probably the weight of having two bodies pressing into him, aided by gravity, than anything else. He grabs up some wet wipes, and starts cleaning up before they can make a complete mess of the carpet. Handling Des, too, as Deceit draws in a few deep breaths, and then glances over to where Dirthamen and Selene are touching one another. Watching the three of them, still.

Selene’s face is dark, and her lips are slightly parted; and Dirthamen’s hand is thoroughly buried in her pants.

Fear is not at all surprised when Deceit grabs up the box of condoms again. He tosses some of the sanitary wipes at them, too.

“Clean up properly before you start again,” Fear insists.

Deceit just nods, and duly sets about that task, while Des lounges into Fear’s lap with increasing bonelessness.

“You’re okay?” Des asks him, after a minute.

Fear looks down, and resumes cleaning him up.

“Yes,” he confirms. “You did well.”

Des smiles. Fear imagines he’ll be insufferable about this for months, but he anticipated that going into this. The only two real possibilities were that Des would do well, and therefore be smug, or that he would do poorly, and Fear would end up in the emergency room, and their relationship and Fear’s assessment of it would require some serious review.

This is the good ending.

Fear lets Des cuddle his waist, and sprawl out, and even ventures a few fingers into the strands of his hair.

Meanwhile, Deceit busily sets themselves to the task of helping Selene and Dirthamen to finish undressing. The three of them decide to use the couch to their advantage. Prudent, Fear thinks. He will have to keep that in mind for next time. Selene bends over, as Dirthamen and Deceit prepare her. Fear keeps an eye on her face for signs of discomfort, and after a moment, realizes that Des is doing the same. But their lovers know what they’re doing. Dirthamen’s hands are gentle at her rear, and Deceit pulls back a little to engage in their usual practice of kissing and cuddling, caressing her cheeks and letting their hands wander to her breasts, before the three of them shift their positions around; and Selene settles slowly into Dirthamen’s lap, taking him into her rear by gradual increments.

Deceit takes up position in front of them, and uses their mouth on her, at first. Stimulating her while she adjusts to having Dirthamen inside of her, and Dirthamen, in turn, kisses the back of her neck, and wraps his arms around her. Murmuring things which Fear can’t quite make out.

Des starts touching himself again, as he watches them. His grip firm on his bare flesh, as Deceit checks their condom, and then moves upwards to start pressing into Selene, in turn. Selene gasps as she is filled from both ends; but the position on the couch doesn’t allow for a great deal of freedom of movement. Dirthamen cannot shift around very much, and Deceit has to prop their hands on the backrest. So Selene is pressed between them, the three of them shifting their hips in small increments, as Deceit’s recent activities keep them from mustering up their usual athleticism.

It is very pleasant to look at, though. Selene’s legs wrap around Deceit’s waist, and Dirthamen buries his nose behind her ear, and all three of them let out the occasional breathless, low moan when their movements start to align better, and Dirthamen slouches a little on the couch and shifts the angle, rolling his hips as best he can.

They are at it for a surprisingly long while.

Des strokes himself, and nuzzles his face against Fear’s stomach, and watches with half-lidded eyes.

The highlight, Fear thinks, is when Deceit starts to recover a little more of their usual verve, and begins lifting Selene’s hips up. Dirthamen starts helping with that, and between the two of them, they manage to move her up off Dirthamen’s cock when Deceit thrusts into her, and then back down onto it while Deceit pulls out. Selene starts making some very loud noises, at that point. Her hands searching for purchase, moving from the armrest next to her, to Deceit’s shoulders, to Dirthamen’s thighs. The muscles of her legs start to tremble, and Deceit starts calling her name, and Dirthamen begins to murmur his own pleas.

Des starts stroking himself more intently. Fear reaches down after a moment, though, and stalls his grip.

“Wait,” he advises.

Des licks his lips.

“What for?”

Fear runs his thumb over the back of Des’ hand, and the other man shivers, a little.

“Come when Selene does,” he advises. “Imagine you can feel what she feels.”

The idea seems to go over well. Des glances back towards the trio, and dutifully slows his strokes – just a bit. Toying with himself, trying to build up his arousal, without crossing the line. So that he can crest over it when Selene does. It’s nearly perfect, in the end. Selene stiffens, and cries out in a familiar way; and a moment later, Fear brushes a hand down Des’ chest, and Des pumps himself, and comes onto his stomach.

Fear gives him a moment more in his lap, before he goes and gets more wipes.

He keeps one eye on the continued activities of the others, though, so that he can see when Deceit and Dirthamen follow Selene’s example. Dirthamen takes the longest; but Selene grinds down intently against him, and whispers something in his ear, and he comes with a soft oath.

Fear contemplates the messiness of them all.

He’s probably going to have to help Deceit shower, if the state of them is any indication.

But it was… pleasant, he decides. Worth it. His own skin is tingling, and this will provide the fodder for many evenings where the only touch he is comfortable with is his own. He nods to himself in satisfaction, and then sets about helping with the final rounds of cleanup, and making sure no one injured anything unawares.

He sleeps in his own bed that night, and he sleeps very well.

 ~

 It’s about a month after Gran-Gran’s visit, and Fear is feeling more safely neutral and less reflective over many things again, when Des approaches them about the matter of his and Selene’s lease.

Fear hates Selene and Des’ apartment. This is not a secret. The building defies numerous health and safety code violations. It will not hold up well to earthquakes, the basement frequently floods – which contributes to severe mold problems – Fear is concerned about issues such as asbestos and lead paint, there is no air conditioning, the heating is terrible, security is a joke, and the wallpaper is eye-searing to behold. Fear would not feel entirely comfortable letting wild animals nest in that place; they absolutely object to Des and Selene living there.

But it is not their decision to make.

Even if the amount of money the two are paying for the privilege of ‘nearly dying from black mold spores’ is obscene.

Fear contemplates the matter carefully, after Des has left. They review the lease, and give further considerations to their plan for finding a suitable new home for all five of them. Deceit and Dirthamen have never been terribly particular about where they all live, just so long as it’s within relative driving distance of the studio, and isn’t next door to Dirthamen’s family (which Fear would object to themselves anyway). Dirthamen is, frankly, the kind of person who could survive in a Harry Potter-esque ‘cupboard-under-the-stairs’ situation if needed. Deceit, though more prone to enjoying certain luxuries and complaining about their absence, is very bad at the procurement end of things. ‘Get some place nice, Fear’ is the usual extent of his involvement on that end.

And Fear will get someplace ‘nice’, of course, because they are not letting them all live in squalor and danger, barely shielded from the elements. Fear did that for eighteen years. It was unpleasant.

They start looking for brightly-lit neighbourhoods, with reputable school districts, that would not demand heinous commutes of either Des or the band. They do a careful assessment of the financials involved, but also of the psychology involved. Selene is reluctant to move in with them. Reluctance is common of Selene. Fear understands caution, though they don’t always understand why she prefers some risks to others.

Manipulation is inferior to open communication.

Fear considers it anyway. They could easily file a report and actually push to get Selene and Des’ building inspected, and shut down for its violations. It would then only be reasonable to have Selene and Des stay with them while they looked for a new place. Or waited for their old building to come back up to code. That would make it much easier, Fear thinks, to convince Selene to make the move permanent. But… it would also be dishonest, and it would endanger the other occupants of the building, who live there mostly because they cannot afford to live anywhere else. Fear would not be able to find sufficient room and board for all of them.

They put the idea aside.

But they keep looking for houses.

The problem, they soon discover, is that most residences in neighbourhoods that are acceptable, have yards. None of them are the ‘yard work’ type, and hired help could pose a security risk. Fear supposes that they could repurpose some of the yards into low-maintenance rock gardens, or something along those lines, but that would depreciate the value of the property. They do not wish to pay for a yard they will only end up tearing out.

But most of the townhomes are insufficiently secured, and not big enough anyway. Fear is aware that most of them, should they live together, will end up sharing beds the majority of evenings. But everyone should have their own room and space, should they need it, as well. Retreats are mandatory. Des might complain, but he will not actually be deprived of affection or bed partners just because it isn’t a requirement of limited space – Fear hopes he learns this better as things go on.

They expand their searches to apartments, but most of the ones which meet all of their requirements are expensive enough to actually press their finances past the point of comfort. That makes them ‘high risk’, Fear thinks, because if they actually run into trouble, Dirthamen might do something stupid like go to his family.

Finally, though, their search turns up a good candidate. A two-story house with a finished basement, in a quiet neighbourhood. High, sturdy stone fencing, but very little in the way of yard; there are a few ornamental trees in front, but most of the landscaping has been taken over by a large garage, which could easily be repurposed as an at-home studio. Six bedrooms, three and a half baths… the kitchen is dated, but that is easy enough to rectify, and most of the failures are cosmetic.

It is well within budget, too.

Fear goes to inspect the property by themselves, for the first time. There is a security system installed, but it needs upgrading. There is no basement door, which is good, and the windows are too narrow for most grown burglars to fit through, even if they were broken or left open. Some of the windows on the second story are a little too large, but only in a way that makes Fear nebulously uncomfortable. The main window in their apartment’s sitting room does that sometimes, too. The building will require many modifications and a professional inspection, but Fear does a thorough tour before deciding that it may be suitable.

For the second visit, they bring Selene.

Convincing her to come is easy. Fear says “would you mind running an errand with me?” and Selene says “sure”, and then gets distracted talking about her part-time work up until the point where they are pulling into the driveway, with the real estate agent already waiting for them.

Selene blinks.

“Where are we?” she asks.

“A property,” Fear informs her, which earns them a wry look, until they elaborate. “I have been looking into purchasing an investment home. The market in this area is promising, and it would be more economically sound than continuing to pay rent.” There is a benefit to the concept of rent, of course, but Fear honestly would prefer investing their pay into equity over monthly bills that essentially vanish in terms of their finances.

Selene looks suspicious. But then the real estate agent approaches them, and the presence of the unfamiliar vashoth woman has her biting back whatever comment she had been on the verge of making.

As they go through the house, in fact, Selene becomes more and more interested in the building, and what Fear intends to change about it, and what the real estate agent is saying. Her eye for numbers make it easy to get her onto the track of considering the financial information and projections which Fear quietly hands to her, as they go along, and she seems very interested in the fact that renovating certain rooms – like the kitchen, and one of the bathrooms – will allow Fear to essentially customize the space.

And she likes the trees.

“I think it’s a good house,” she declares, once they are through.

Fear inclines their head.

“Yes, it’s the most promising one so far,” they agree.

There is a moment of silence. Selene shifts in the passenger seat.

“It’ll be more expensive for the three of you, though,” she reasons.

“We can cover it,” Fear counters. “And it may be much more worthwhile, in the long term.”

Selene nods, and glances at them. And then she shifts around some more.

“Des and I are renewing our lease,” she declares.

“On your deathtrap?” Fear mutters, signalling their next turn. Selene gives them a reproachful look.

“It’s not a deathtrap,” she insists.

“I disagree.”

“Well, it’s not your call,” Selene counters. “It’s ours. And it’s not that… it’s just that… look, there are some things that are… it’s…”

Fear waits.

After a moment, Selene lets out a gusty breath.

“You don’t want to live with us,” Fear surmises.

“No!” Selene says. And then shakes her head. “Yes! I mean… it’s complicated. Please don’t ask me why. It’s not you guys, it’s just… at the very least, we shouldn’t be rushing into things, right? I mean. Big decisions, and all.”

Fear glances at her, and finds her look away from them. Out the window, and towards the road.

They sigh.

“If you want to continue paying for the privilege of your deathtrap, I will not interfere,” they say. “But I cannot think of a single good reason not to allocate one of the rooms in that house to you. You spend enough time with us that it’s only practical. I wouldn’t expect you to visit any less just because we moved, the house isn’t even much further from your current domicile than our apartment is. And I would feel better if you worked from somewhere that is not rampant with toxic spores, and actually has a suitable work surface, so I would consider it a personal favour if you spent a good deal of time there, even if you would rather put your money towards your lyrium-dealer-adjacent-‘loft’.”

Selene blinks at them, and stills.

“What?” she asks.

Fear is a little taken aback by the sharpness in her tone.

“I… only meant that I would not stop you from keeping the apartment, either way…” they offer.

“No, at the end,” Selene says. “What the hell makes you think there are lyrium dealers in our building?”

Fear blinks.

“The fact that there are?” they offer. “The green patterning on the edges of your kitchen tiles? That is typically caused by chemicals that are used to reduce lyrium potency, reacting with the grout. It sometimes shows up in medical or scientific research buildings, too, but somehow I doubt that your downstairs neighbours are just really enthusiastic about the local science fairs.”

Selene looks more intensely disquieted than Fear expected.

“I didn’t think the carta operated out of this city,” she says.

Fear considers her for a moment, before they have to focus on the road again.

“They do not. Or, not as far as I know. Mostly because the criminal activities in this city are under the purview of elven organized crime families. They are responsible for the majority of bribes in the city, meaning the police tend to arrest carta members on sight, but somehow never seem to notice the lyrium dens or meth labs located in alienages.”

Some of the sudden tensing of Selene’s shoulders relaxes.

But only a little.

“Is something wrong?” they ask, after a few minutes of awkward silence.

Selene lets out a breath, and shakes her head.

“I just… didn’t think something that would be so close,” she murmurs.

Fear nods in understanding.

“This is one of the reasons why I think your building is unsafe,” they point out. But not harshly. Selene isn’t naïve, they know. The world is often replete with nasty surprises that none of them, on their own, are wholly capable of anticipating.

The rest of the drive back is quiet, though.

Selene doesn’t bring up the subject of leases and houses again. Fear takes Dirthamen and Deceit and Des to see the new place. Des, predictably, thinks there are more rooms than they need, and doesn’t like all the things that Fear has already decided to change. Deceit is much the same, but also claims one of the bedrooms and starts poking through catalogues, expressing opinions on refrigerators and bathroom flooring. And Dirthamen simply deems it all ‘acceptable’.

Selene and Des start staying over at the apartment more.

There is a fight between them, Fear thinks. Or… possibly not a fight. But an intensely emotional discussion. They are not present for it, but they can detect signs of the aftermath. Des goes looking for affection and reassurance, and Selene veers off, becoming more detached, more hesitant. Trying to gain some distance, perhaps.

Fear can understand that.

She still helps them make dinner in the evening, and sits with them for while on the balcony afterwards.

They contemplate matters.

“When I was a child,” they begin. “My parents were intensely unpredictable people. Their demeanours tended to shift depending on the state of our finances. When I was younger, they were more generous. Affectionate. Forgiving. But when I was around ten, my father lost his job – and never managed to find a new one in the bottom of all the bottles he checked. There were windfalls, and things got better when there were. But that happened less and less often, the older I became. Deceit’s grandmothers let me stay over, a lot, which was good. When I was fourteen they offered to let me move in. But I declined.”

Selene looks over at them, and hugs her arms around herself a little tighter.

“I’m sorry,” she offers.

Fear shrugs.

“It wasn’t as bad as some,” they allow. “The point is, every year, Gran-Gran and Nona offered to just take me in. After a while, I could hardly even pretend that my parents would try and stop them. That wasn’t why I hesitated, anyway. I think I always had a predilection towards neurosis, but. Finances are a difficult thing for a child to predict. I would have had better luck if my parents’ mood swings depended on lunar cycles or star charts. Those, I could have learned. Not knowing if I would go home and find a warm welcome, decent food, and off-colour jokes, or a locked door with a passive-aggressive note on it, or shouting and fists, made obsessing over everything that might negatively impact my living situation perilously easy.”

Selene puts a hand on their arm. When they do not brush it off, she leans into them a little. Pleasantly warm. Fear shifts her grip down just enough to lace their fingers together.

“I was afraid that if I lived with Deceit, and his grandmothers, that… one day I would go home to them, and they would just start screaming at me. Or lock the door. Turn me away. And then what would I do?”

They go quiet. Letting the admission linger. Trying not to remember the first time they had come home from school to find the house dark, and all the doors sealed, and that note pinned to the front one. If you’re not going to come home on time, don’t bother coming home at all. They had tried so hard to never be late, after that. It had taken them two years to figure out that the pattern wasn’t determined by the time Fear got home, but rather, by whether or not their parents wanted to stay out all night.

They preferred locking Fear out to leaving the doors unsealed, and risking someone sneaking in and robbing them.

“It is alright, if you are afraid,” they venture at last, to Selene. “I understand.”

Selene turns her face in towards their shoulder.

She doesn’t really answer them. She just cries on them a while. That’s alright, too, though. Fear was planning to do laundry tomorrow anyway. Eventually it gets too cold to keep lingering poetically on balconies, though, and so they nudge Selene back inside. She hugs them, says something utterly unintelligible into their chest, and then goes to find Des.

The two of them stay the night.

Fear is unsure what they will decide. Or. Well. What Selene will decide.

They buy the house, regardless.