#this is a joke. please never stop i need to get my serotonin from somewhere | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

catboyantichrist · 3 years

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Hi there! Can you please do relationship headcanons of a gender neutral MC with autism and ADHD dating the seven brothers? I’d love to see more positive writing of a neurodivergent MC and how each of the brothers would love and respect them regardless of their disabilities. Feel free to do this if you want to. If not, that’s ok! Have a great day! 😁👍🌷🌹🌺🌸🌼🌻🌷🌹🌻🌼🌸🌺

This ask literally made me squeal- my neurodivergent ass is gonna have way too much fun with this- LMAO Just a warning, I'm basing this mainly off of my personal experiences (I have ADHD and am possibly getting tested for atypical autism in the future.). Ill try to be as broad as possible but I'd just like to give a heads up.

Just know that if you don't relate to this post or something in it, that doesn't mean you aren't valid! Everyone experiences neurodivergencey differently ^^

☆The Brothers Dating A GN!MC With Autism & ADHD☆

Day-to-day life has always been a struggle. As it feels like no human truly understands why you function the way you do. From bosses, to teachers, to neurotypical friends. Life can feel draining and like a chore when you're living in a world that doesn't function the way you do.

Then your world literally changes. You're in the devildom now. Most people would be terrified that they're living in a house full of demons. But you weren't. You felt like you finally belonged, and eventually you finally found love. Something that people assumed you'd never be able to find. Well jokes on them because your lover treats you with so much respect and kindness, and of course you do the same. This is some of what your lover does that just makes your heart spin:

Lucifer:

-Much to your dismay, before Lucifer started to get to know you he was similar to the humans you've encountered in the past. This doesn't last long though as one of the brothers (most likely Leviathan or Mammon) try to explain. He begins to go a bit easier on you, and also falls for you.

-When you guys start dating, he makes it his goal to help make your day-to-day life easier. Dare I say, he takes pride in it. (Hahahah aren't I funny?)

-He notices how you need a schedule to function, but how much you hate schedules. So with your permission, he makes a loose schedule and follows it WITH you. It simultaneously helps you function more than usual, and it helps Lucifer take breaks when he needs to.

-You two begin to do everything together, as doing stuff together and holding each other accountable is a lot easier than doing it alone

-If someone ever dares to make a rude comment about you Lucifer will um... "take care of them".

-If you ever get overstimulated from the environment you're in, Lucifer keeps his office wide open as a quiet place for you. He keeps a weighted blanket, some headphones and any stim toys you usually use in a corner of his office. If you're not comfortable with them out in the open he'll keep them in a special box somewhere in his office that others can't get into.

Mammon:

-Executive Dysfunction gang! The both of you are relieved that you understand each other and some dumbass wont just go "jUsT gEt Up aNd dO iT!"

-If you guys are struggling with it at different times, you'll try to help each other do small tasks that require very limited effort so that one of you don't get overwhelmed and stressed out. If its a particularly difficult day, you'll just stay there to support the other if they want that.

-If both of you are struggling that day, you do nothing ✨together✨ and just vibe with each others company.

-This man brings you shiny things. They don't even have to be worth anything, they're just shiny. You proceed to do the same. You two now have a designated spot for shiny things you bring each other. If you have an interest in art, you and him will probably end up using the shiny objects as art projects.

-A LOT of impulse shopping. You guys enable each other. Although you quickly realize that you impulse shop for each other. Every second day you end up bringing each other gifts and laughing about it after.

Leviathan:

-Y'know that arm thing two neurodivergent people do when they find out that the other person is neurodivergent? Yeah you two did that. And still continue to do that. It's your greeting now.

-You two spend tons of time either cuddling and talking about your special interests together, or both of you are pacing around Levi's room talking about your special interests together.

-And if you end up having the same special interest?? Oh man the serotonin you two both get just being AROUND each other.

-If you have a hard time around tons of people (in general or just at certain times) he's more than willing to share his room with you and for you two to do online school together. I mean hey, doing school by yourself online is difficult. (Even if it's more comfortable for you both)

-Will he get you a matching pair of noise cancelling headphones if you have auditory sensory issues, or if you just like the pressure on your head. (I don't know if that's a neurodivergent thing but I will wear my headphones just so that I feel some sort of pressure on my head)

-You both communicate what you need, and whether you need alone time or not. Making sure not to trigger any form of rejection sensitivity dysphoria for eachother.

Satan:

-If you were one of those neurodivergent kids that spent all of their time in the library, going through books like wildfire in middle school, get ready for that to be reignited.

-You two will read together all the time, and if you're having a day where you're more fidgety and don't wanna stay still, Satan is more than happy reading to you while you pace around.

-Satan has a natural curiosity, and loves to learn about anything that he doesn't already know about. So if you have a special interest about your own neurodivergency, he is more than happy to listen to you ramble about your life experiences and symptoms.

-Honestly, it doesn't even have to be about neurodivergency, Satan is happy to listen and learn about anything you're interested currently.

-If you aren't big on physical affection from humans or, well... humanoid people, that's perfectly fine! That's what animals are for! He'll take you to a cat cafe and will enjoy spending time with the animals with you.

-Similar to Lucifer, if anyone makes a comment about the way you act, they wont live to see another day. Unlike Lucifer, the demons who say these comments don't even finish their sentence. They're dead before MC blinks.

Asmodeus:

-When Asmodeus finds out that you have sensory issues that affect what you wear, he decides to hand-make clothes with fabrics of your choice. He has no issue with you prioritizing comfort over appearance, but if you want to put effort into your appearance and texture is stopping you, he's more than happy to design some stuff for you.

-Asmodeus has always been a touchy person, but if you aren't comfortable with that he'd never force you to cuddle. If you are interested in physical affection one of his favourite things to do is put makeup on your face, or just touch your face.

-Speaking of which, if you ever impulsively cut your hair whether it be from breakdown, normal impulsivity, or sensory issues with your hair being longer. He'll always help you cut your hair. He wants to make sure that once you cut it, you wont regret it the next day.

-Depending on whether you like going outside or not (or if its depending on the day) he's more than happy to take you to the fall! He'll make sure you're always comfortable and if you need the attention diverted from you if you need a break!

-If you don't like going outside, Asmo will dedicate certain nights for just you two to hang out. He can always energy match you. Hyperactive? Oh he's right there with you bouncing of the walls. Calmer? He doesn't mind just vibing with you. Comfort? Oh you've come to the right guy.

-Asmodeus is very emotionally intelligent, it may have originally been for the wrong purposes (charming others) but now he can use it to help you work through issues with socializing with others, past traumas from other people, he'll always do his best to support you as long as you'd do the same for him!

Beelzebub:

-Beel is always well meaning, but whether you're neurodivergent or neurotypical, communication is key with him. So, if you're unintentionally blunt to neurotypical people, that's exactly what Beel needs and wants. He knows you don't mean it out of harm, you're just trying to state your boundaries.

-Do you need a weighted blanket? This man will become the weighted blanket. He wants to make sure you're comfortable at all times!

-If you have trouble eating, Beel is here to help. If you take meds for ADHD and they make you lose your appetite, or just general forgetfulness, he'll remind you to have at least some sort of small snack throughout the day. Nothing too filling, just enough so that you aren't running on zero food throughout the day.

-All the go-to and comfort foods that you had in the human world? Beel would make it his MISSION to get them, and TONS of it too. It's the only food in the house he wont eat because he knows how important it is to you. He will tear up a bit if you offer to share though.

-If you're in a hyperactive mood, or anxious, Beel will convince you to do some light exercise with him to help calm you down

Belphegor:

-If you have trouble sleeping, Belphie will definitely try and help. Ranging from cuddling, aroma therapy, getting Beel to do exercise with you. To more magical means (if you're comfortable with it) like sleeping powder.

-If you just have a different internal clock than the average person, that's fine too! It may be permanent but that's okay- Belphie will sleep at any time with you.

-Isn't generally a social person so if you're not that big of a fan of social interaction you don't have to worry. Belphie would even do online school with you!

-He would let you use his pillows and blankets to stim if that's something you're interested in. He'd also listen to you ramble about your interests while doing so! As long as you don't mind him talking about the stars afterwards.

-Definitely the most blunt out of his brothers, so communication wouldn't be an issue between you two. If his bluntness is a bit too harsh for you he'll try to tone it down a bit, but it would probably just end up as him trying to explain the reasoning behind the bluntness and how it's not out of harm.

#neurodivergent!MC obey me #obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader

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amysteriousmessenger · 3 years

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If you are accepting requests what about first date headcanons with the RFA (if that is too many characters what about just Yoosung? 😊) hope you have a great day xx

I hope this okay anon!! I added Saeran and V into this just for my own serotonin <3 oh to think about Saeran’s first date~ Reminder that I have a giveaway open!

Yoosung Kim First Date Headcanons

Oh, he is so nervous. He’s never been on a date before, so cutscene to him asking Zen and Seven what he should do: with Zen suggesting that he should be as suave as possible, presenting you with bouquets and chocolates and Seven telling the boy that he should only speak backwards to prove that he was cool. Definitely not trying to just make him look like an idiot.

He’s a poor student, so your first date would be somewhere relatively cheap, most likely the cinema and then go get some food afterwards! Yoosung would believe he had to be chivalrous and let you pick the movie and where you wanted to eat, and would try to pay for your ticket and food since he’s the one who asked you out.

He’ll be internally panicking the entire time in the cinema, wondering whether he was allowed to wrap his arm around you or touch your hand. He really wanted to, but he didn’t want you to think he was moving too fast. So, when you lean your head on his shoulder he swears his heart stops. He won’t move a single muscle for the rest of the movie because he doesn’t want to disturb you.

He’ll try to work up the courage to hold your hand on the walk home and he’ll actually manage it when you’re about two minutes away from where you live. It’s the thought that counts.

Zen/Hyun Ryu First Date Headcanons

On the outside, Zen’s cool and collected. He knows how to flirt and how to look good whilst doing it. He’s had a girlfriend before but that was a while ago, so he would be ever so slightly worried that perhaps he’ll be a little rusty. He spends extra long looking himself over in the mirror making sure that he looks his absolute best before he comes to meet you.

Your date would be an evening in the bar, sharing a couple of drinks and getting to be more comfortable in one another’s presence. Zen’s usually flirty, but he’s even more so after he’s had a couple of beers. He’ll be throwing compliments and winks at you like there’s no tomorrow: but that’s okay because you’re definitely enjoying the attention.

You’ll talk about everything under the sun, the RFA, his work, your hobbies, how much he hates Jumin, how weird funny Seven is.

Zen will make sure you’re into it before he touches you, but he’ll be quick to wrap his arm around your waist or lightly touch your hand, using his finger tips to trace around the inside of your wrist. He won’t admit it, but seeing you so happy for his affection and even reciprocating it flusters him a little because it’s so genuine and sweet.

Zen insists on walking you home, especially because it’s late and he wants to personally make sure you get home safe. He’ll swap between holding your hand and holding you by the waist as you walk, and will kiss your cheek before you go into your house. He doesn’t want to push his luck or overstep any boundaries, he’s a gentleman afterall, but he’s very pleasantly surprise when you pull him in for another kiss on the lips.

Jaehee Kang First Date Headcanons

Jaehee’s also rather nervous before the first date, but tries her best to keep calm. She figures that you wouldn’t have agreed to the date if you didn’t already like her, but she’ll still doubt herself in that you should be with someone more interesting and less plain.

She’ll invite you to a lunch date at her favourite coffee shop, and will enthusiastically explain all the different types of coffee beans and processes to you. Your heart flutters at the sparkle in her eye and she apologises for getting too excited, please reassure her that you love listening to what she has to say.

When you both order and sit down, Jaehee gives you the Zen DVDs she offered to lend you, and the two of you talk about the different musicals and extra behind the scenes, and Zen, and you promise to guard these DVDs with your life.

You listen as she slightly vents about Jumin, which is very understandable and you console her for having to catsit Elizabeth the 3rd once again. Jaehee gets a little bit flustered when you read across the table to hold her hand, but her gentle smile indicates that she’s enjoying the affection.

When it’s time for you to part, after Jaehee got another coffee to go whilst muttering that she just got another two emails from Jumin, Jaehee’s a little hesitant on the appropriate goodbye, she isn’t quite sure what to do since it was only a first date. The two of you hug, and she’’’ be so worried you’ll feel how much her heart is racing.

Jumin Han First Date Headcanons

Pulls out all the stops. You continuously assure him that he doesn’t need to and that you’re on the date to spend time with him, not his money. And whilst he understands that, he wants to treat you to a pleasant first date that you won’t forget and just believes that it should be standard to treat his partner.

He’ll have Driver Kim pick you up and bring you to Jumin’s favourite restaurant, where he’s (Jaehee) made reservations for the two of you. It’ll be an evening meal, shared over a bottle of horrifically expensive wine.

He’ll show you another one of his beautifully captured blurry images of Elizabeth the 3rd. He’ll even offer to show you the livestream he has on his phone, showing you watch Elizabeth was currently curled up asleep on the sofa.

He’s more interested in hearing about you than talking about himself. Jumin doesn’t mean to worry you with his forwardness. He’s very intent on being nothing like his father in terms of dating, and wants you to know that he doesn’t go into anything half-hearted, his lovelife included.

You offer to pay your share, but Jumin declines. He insists that he was raised to pay for his partner’s meal, but he appreciates the sentiment that you were not depending on him to cover your bill, even though he always intended to do so anyway.

You’ll share Driver Kim’s car on the way back, with Jumin taking your hand and kissing it as you left the car, telling you that he had a wonderful time and hoped that you did too, a small smile present on his face.

Saeyoung Choi First Date Headcanons

Seven is very stressed. Firstly, he can’t believe that he even asked you on a date, let alone the fact that you said yes. Who would want to date someone like him? He’s a mess. But regardless, he’s getting himself all worked up and it’s only a slap in the back of the head from Vanderwood that sorts him out.

Your first date would be to an arcade during the evening. You let Seven pick the date, and you laughed when you heard what he had chosen. It was so him: fun, childish, a bit chaotic.

He’s very good on the claw machines, and will make a point of winning you any stuffed animal you want. He’ll also just win any particularly cursed plushies that he sees. This means that you’ll end up with an entire bag of cute stuffed animals, a minion, a bootleg Shrek, a fish with no eyes and a random sock that somehow made it’s way in.

As a joke, you bring the bootleg Shrek up to your lips and kiss it before pressing it against Seven’s lips to also kiss the stuffed toy. His heart is racing and he sends a flustered, very speedy message of ‘ASDFGWESHARED AN INDRECT KIS WITH SHREK!!!’ to Vanderwood, and completely received an ‘I don’t care’ in reply.

The two of you take a selfie to send to the chatroom, and Seven’s heart is fluttering so fast, you’re so close to him and oh god he can even smell your perfume and it’s so nice and- Snap. You took the picture, and laughed at how Seven wasn’t even looking at the camera in the photograph, he was glancing at at you with the softest expression on his face. He’s so embarrassed.

You get a ride home in one of his babies, and once you collect all of your stuffed toys out of the backseat, you root around in the back and give Seven the bootleg Shrek you both kissed. He wishes you a goodnight and turns to turn the radio on after you get out the car. He wasn’t looking at you, so his heart was not prepared for when you planted a kiss on his cheek before promptly running back into your home. Oh. He’s fallen, hard.

Saeran Choi First Date Headcanons

Saeran had never been on a date before, he’d never even had anyone romantically interested in him or been romantically interested in anyone before he met you. There was no way he was going to ask his idiot brother for advice, even though Seven was quite literally begging him to do so. He’d relented to the extent of briefly looking it up online, but nothing seemed quite right.

He’d settle on a picnic and a walk around the park, since it was simple and sweet. He was a little nervous, so hoped that the flowers and sky would calm him down and he’d be able to talk to you about any flowers that the two of you found.

He’d make the picnic food all on his own (letting his brother eat any of the scraps from the preparation) after asking what your favourite foods were. He’s so happy to see you enjoying what he made, it fills him with a warmth he still cannot quite pinpoint, but he knows he wants to feel it again and again.

He’d take your hand in his as you walked around the park, where he could point out the different flowers and tell you their meaning, and how pretty they would look braided into your hair. When the two of you see an ice-cream van, he immediately suggests going over to buy some, and your heart clenches at the sheer childlike joy at getting to eat it. It’s so sweet and tender to watch.

He swears he can see a poof of red hair every now and then from behind a tree, or in the reflection of a shop. Surely not. He must be imagining things. He had better just be imagining it.

V/Jihyun Kim First Date Headcanons

V isn’t particularly picky when it comes to dates, as long as it’s doing something that you would enjoy. If you left it down to him, which you did this time since it was your first date and he was the one that asked you out, it would be spending time together at his house over a bottle of wine. He’s not as formal as Jumin, so he doesn’t mind you coming over straight away. V’s not expecting you to spend the time, so he’s already arranged for one of Jumin’s drivers to come and pick you up afterwards, as a personal favour to Jumin.

Genuinely, V just wants to know more about you. He’ll ask you about your likes and interests, what you hate, how you love, what your world views are, how you see yourself and what art means to you. He’s not a particularly great cook, but he’ll make dinner for the two of you and pour you a glass to go with it.

He doesn’t regard himself as an interesting enough person to warrant your attention, but he’ll answer almost any question you ask him about himself. He’s trying to be a more open and honest person, especially to you. Whilst there are some things he’s tentative to talk about, he’ll freely share his world and artistic views with you.

V will show you some of his photographs, and more intimately his paintings, in his studio and let you see his workspace. He’ll show you around his private collections and, if you’re comfortable with it, will ask to take pictures of you since there’s not enough time to paint you- although he definitely mentions wanting to do that at a later date too.

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gojos-sidepiece-69 · 3 years

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Tokyo Tech Training- Chapter 2

Your eyes snapped open and you met eyes with your lover from last night. Fuck. Did that actually happen? It shouldn’t have. Damn it. No, god, no. I got drunk and had an insane fever dream, that’s it. Your brain worked in overdrive trying to rationalize your decisions from last night. Intense waves of shame and guilt washed over you when you realized that you were, indeed, practically sober.

You woke up with no headache. Your hips, however, were a different story altogether. “Morning, sunshine,” your dimpled teacher said intoxicatingly. It was too early for his bullshit. “Please, Gojo. Not now. I’m going to go home and pretend this didn’t happen, okay? Great.” His grin widened as he pointed out, “Oh, so we’re on name-to-name basis now? I thought I was still your Sensei.”

You ignored him and firmly got up only to catch a glance of yourself in a full body mirror. You saw purple peeking out at you from under Gojo’s shirt. You pulled it down slightly and felt at your raw, sore love bites. “Sorry about those, I always like it a bit rough,” Gojo explained, still shamelessly man-spreading in his bed. “I could tell,” you deadpanned. You lifted up the hem of your shirt to inspect the degree of damage he had done to your hips, and it was bad. You could barely even walk straight. You were planning on a pleasant walk-of-shame home, but seeing the state of your condition, that was now out of question. As if he read your mind, he said “I’ll give you a ride back.”

You got a sneak peak into the Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer’s morning routine, which included putting on his dumb blindfold and dark navy uniform. He handed you your clothes from the previous night, taking extra care to comment about how he was upset he didn’t get to see you in your “cute little lacy bra.” Everyone had left earlier that morning, knowing from previous experience not to wake Gojo in the morning. In addition, they didn’t want to take their chances while their airhead of a teacher took the steering wheel, blasting trap music way too damn early. You, however, had the treat of experiencing this first-hand. “All aboard!” He said childishly as you stepped into his black BMW. He immediately turned the volume of his music all the way up, humming to Pick it Up by Famous Dex.

You closed your eyes, and muttered a silent prayer that you wouldn’t die in a freak accident on the way home. With your luck, Gojo would crash straight through a KFC Drive-Thru and laugh about it.

You were shaken out of this scary afterthought when you realized that Gojo was driving 65 MPH in a 35 zone. “What the hell? Slow down!” You yelled, but your driver only looked at you and laughed. “You didn’t have a problem with me going fast last night.” You gritted your teeth. Of course he was going to make your drive home as sarcastic and filled with as many horrible sex jokes as possible. The worst part was that you, at the back of your mind, were fighting back a small laugh. But you weren’t about to confirm that he was funny. So you slowly exhaled through your nose, until your breath hitched at the back of your throat.

Gojo’s hand had snuck past the gear and onto your knee. Keeping his (inexplicably blindfolded) eyes on the road, it slowly snaked up to your thigh and rested there. He could feel you tense up and smiled to himself. He loved the effect that even just his hands had on women. The sensation gave you flashbacks of the night before. He touched a bruise on your inner thigh that he had licked and sucked so tenderly last night, and you shuddered. He drew small circles, but didn’t go any further.

The tires screeched to a halt right outside Tokyo Tech, and you clambered out of his car as fast as you could. You left in such a rush that you dropped your “cute, lacy bra” on the passenger-side floor. You didn’t even notice. Luckily it was Sunday, and you wouldn’t have to worry about seeing your teacher until tomorrow. “Have a great day!” He yelled after you, and you flipped him off classily without so much as a backwards glance for your superior. As soon as you got to your dorm, you dramatically collapsed onto the mattress.

You were so tired from fooling around the entire day yesterday that you slept through Sunday in its entirety. You arose early Monday morning and groaned when you remembered that it was going to be your first Field Training day. And you were absolutely correct in thinking that you were most definitely not ready.

“Each of you will be assigned a Jujutsu Sorcerer to shadow for your field practice today. Watch how they exorcise curses, take mental notes, and follow each of their directions carefully. Megumi and Nobara, you’ll be going with Nanami. Yuji and Y/n, you’re stuck with me,” Gojo said, keeping eye contact with you for an uncomfortably long amount of time. You thought to yourself, I might as well just start calling it blindfold-contact, if I can’t see his gorgeous eyes. I mean, eyes. Gojo whistled and led you and Yuji back to his black car. Yuji ran like the track-star he was, yelling “SHOTGUN!” so loudly that you didn’t care to argue.

He threw the door open and leaped into the passenger seat, while Gojo took the wheel and you occupied the backseat. Yuji took the liberty of connecting to the aux, this time blasting Tetris by Derek King. Once again, it was way too early in the morning to be listening to songs about ass. But this issue did not seem to exist for the Tokyo Tech’s favorite resident ass men, Yuji and Gojo. Or as you liked to call them, Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb-ass.

Not even a comfortable minute into the drive, Yuji energetically bent over and picked up your forgotten bra. “Ooh, looks like Gojo Sensei is getting some! Who’s the unlucky girl?” Yuji joked around. “Oh, Gojo. GOJO,” the pink-haired puppy-boy fake moaned like an animal in pain while poking fun at his teacher. Your sensei, ever the enabler of horrible jokes, chuckled along. He glanced up into the rear view mirror and made eye contact with you, breaking it as soon as he swerved into the wrong lane. “At least tell me what she looked like!” Yuji practically bursted at the seams. Gojo sighed and offered a single comment to his student that was enough to temporarily stave off his curiosity and shut him up. “She had a great ass.”

You heard a genuinely amazed “Wow!” from your fellow first-year as blush once again danced onto your cheeks. You broke the car’s mounting tension by piping up and asking, “So where are we actually going?” Gojo explained that their Field Practice entailed an actual mission to retrieve one of Sukuna’s fingers. What the hell? You thought to yourself. You had barely one day of instruction and you were being thrown into the deep end already? Jesus Christ. But somewhere deep inside your mind, you knew that Gojo cared for his students and would never let any of them get hurt.

Rudely interrupting your thoughts for the millionth time, Gojo interjected, “But we’re stopping by the bakery first. I need my morning fix.” Your stomach grumbled at the thought of food just as you remembered you hadn’t eaten yet today. With one shitty parallel-parking job, you had arrived right outside the Ichiban Pan bakery. The three of you filed into the bakery, the bell on the door ringing as the sweet aromas supplied you with some much-needed serotonin. You walked up to the counter, and immediately noticed how beautiful the cashier was. She had long, dark hair and a figure that anyone would drool over.

To your surprise, she said, “Gojo...back here already? I knew you hadn’t had enough of me yet,” as she eyed him lustfully. “Of course I had to come back for seconds. Your goods were just so...soft and sweet,” he smiled coyly as he leaned onto the counter and shamelessly flirted back. The woman reached over and toyed with Gojo’s blindfold as his smile grew. She said, “So, when are we going to have some more fun?” He answered, “Always so eager, huh? Don’t worry, you’ll get your turn soon.” You couldn’t tell if your face was heating up with annoyance at the thought of Gojo delaying the mission to flirt with one of his girls, or at the fact that you felt...jealous. Jealous that you weren’t the only one he had eyes for, and envious that this girl was older and maybe even more attractive than you. She made you feel plain in more ways than one, and your mind started to wander.

Did Gojo touch her like how he touched me? How many girls has he had before? How many is he with right now? Damn it. You shook off the bothersome thought. Maybe it was your innate competitiveness as a Jujutsu Sorcerer, but you knew you had to get him back. Fair and square. You told yourself it wasn’t because you wanted more from him, but it was because you wanted to make him feel jealous in the exact same way. Whatever it was, whenever the time would come, you were going to leave him frustrated.

Three delicious dangos and thirty minutes later, you found yourself at the site of the curse: a closed off mall. While you were now right outside of the car, you could feel the cursed energy radiating out from its epicenter. “There’s one unregistered first-grade curse that you need to extract Sukuna’s finger from. And I’m going to osbserve,” Gojo said while he sat on the hood of his car. “You’re going to what? I’ve barely had ANY training,” you sputtered angrily, but Yuji was already pulling your arm and dragging you towards the curse. Well, you thought to yourself. Might as well prove yourself a worthy comrade to Yuji and a promising student for...he didn’t matter right now. The two of you sprinted forward as Gojo lowered a dark veil over the area, blackening the sky.

Yuji shoved the front doors open and leapt inside, and you jumped in after him. The lights were broken and flickering, casting an eerie glow over the abandoned mall. The escalators were still running, but you could hear distant crashing sounds. “This way!” Yuji yelled, as the two of you sprinted up the escalator to the second floor. The crashing increased in volume, and it was clearly coming from a destroyed souvenir shop ahead.

You laid eyes on the grotesque curse, which resembled a deformed, melting, red plastic mannequin that was at least twice your height. Its arms immediately extended and shot out at you, but you dodged out of the way. You hadn’t learned any techniques yet, so it seemed like you and Yuji would be teaming up and harnessing your raw cursed energy to deliver blows to the mannequin. The curse opened its mouth to reveal jagged teeth that caged in one of Sukuna’s fingers. “There it is!” you shouted. But in an instant, both you and Yuji were caught off guard and knocked to your feet by the mannequin’s extended arms.

They grew spikes that jutted out and beat into your sides. You yelped and coughed in pain, starting to see blood pool out from under your uniform. You gritted your teeth and tried your best to deliver blows to sever the curse’s arms, but it was useless. Yuji, too, seemed trapped in between the sharp spikes. After ten minutes of intense stabbing pains and useless struggle against this first-grade curse, Yuji piped up. “I think I’m going to have to let Sukuna take over and destroy this curse.” Your eyes widened. You had only heard stories of the demon king, and they were all horrific. But it was between that and death, and you both made the split-second decision. “Do it,” you nodded.

You watched from your position as Yuji let Sukuna take over his body. Black tattoos etched their way across his toned body, which was exposed to you after he carelessly tore his tightening shirt off. His smile grew wide and you heard a malicious laugh. “Fool,” Sukuna said directly to the curse, before ripping its right arm off with brute force. “You think you’re any match for me?” Before its arm could regenerate, Sukuna tore off its other one and freed you before tossing you aside like a corpse while informing you that you were “in his way.” You hit your head against the front window of the store and groaned. You watched the mannequin open it’s mouth and shoot out it’s razor-sharp dagger teeth at Sukuna, but he just grabbed onto the curse’s head and tore it right off with ease.

He reached two fingers into the curse’s mouth and extracted the finger, examining it with a slight grin before swallowing it. “Feels so good,” he murmured while throwing his head back and laughing loudly. A wave of confusion washed over you. If the job was done, why hadn’t Yuji switched back yet? What was going on? You shivered and backed up slightly as Sukuna turned his head to look down at you.

“You know,” he drew out a breath as he kneeled down and picked up a scrap of cloth from Yuji’s torn shirt. “I haven’t taken over a vessel in ages. And that means I haven’t had a woman in a very,” he stepped closer to you, “Very long time.” You looked up at him from the ground, taking in his mouthwatering physique. This curse made you forget about logic for a minute and revert to primal instinct. The first thought that ran through your brain was running your tongue over his abs. However, a second later, you had an even better idea. Why not let Sukuna have his way with me? That would show Gojo. I want him to hear me moaning while he’s still sitting in his stupid BMW, blood rushing to his dick as he thinks about me getting fucked stupid by the undisputed king of curses. That thought alone was enough to push you to answer, “And what do you want me to do about that?”

“You’re going to do as I say. Let me fuck you until you can’t remember your own first name.” Your heat throbbed at that, and Sukuna wasted no time binding your hands together tightly with the scrap of cloth. This was really happening. You were about to get destroyed by the legendary Sukuna in the shattered storefront of a souvenir shop. In the dark. Without any semblance of a warning, Sukuna ripped your uniform top right off of your body, leaving behind only scraps of fabric. You shivered at the sensation of being exposed to the cold. You looked up at him wearing only your plain black bra and uniform skirt, and his eyelids lowered. “Fucking slut,” he said, as he ripped off your bra with the same fervor. He smiled hungrily as your nipples perked from the chills, and groped at your breasts with both hands.

He admired how they fit perfectly within his calloused hands, and how he could feel your heartbeat rapidly soar. With fear. Humans really are useless creatures, aren’t they? He thought before he demanded, “Open your mouth.” You complied, and he slid two long digits all the way inside. You felt one hit the back of your throat and you moaned onto his fingers as they slid back out. He rubbed his fingers back onto your breasts, coating them with the wetness of your own saliva. You moaned loudly with pleasure, positive that your pathetic Sensei could hear you from outside.

“That’s good.” Sukuna approved of your moaning. The thought of him making you arch your back, screaming and crying for him pushed him on further. His hands aggressively found your skirt, tearing it easier than paper. He looked down at your soaked panties and felt the urge to make you feel small and embarrassed. “You’ve gone and made a mess of yourself. I’ll just have to get rid of them,” you saw Sukuna’s tongue move around in his mouth as he forcefully tugged off your panties. His hunger got the best of him, and he bent down to let his tongue take one long lap along your dripping cunt. “Fuck,” he breathed as you threw your head back, hitting against the wall. “I haven’t tasted a woman in so long,” he said, before bending back down and slipping his tongue into your slit.

His strong arms kept your shaking legs pried wide open for him, sharp nails tightly gripping into your thighs, and you could only groan louder. He continued to drink at your slippery juices until you screamed and came into his mouth. He licked his lips as he pushed your thighs back together and lifted himself up. “I’m not even close to finished with you yet,” he growled, sensing you getting slightly tired.

He lifted you up and threw you onto your stomach. You propped yourself up shakily using your elbows while he pushed your head down with one of his hands. You arched your back for him, granting him an easier entrance. Kneeling behind you, he teased his dripping tip at your folds while squeezing at your ass. The buildup was almost too much for you to take, so you began to whine “Suku-,” but before you could finish, he entered you roughly. Sukuna mercilessly railed into your pussy from behind, one hand simultaneously gripping your hair and pushing your head down, while the other dug crescent-shaped nail marks into your hips.

His pace was so fast that you could only scream and curse and whine his name, but he only laughed and threw his head back. “Sl-slower,” you begged, tears spilling down your face, but Sukuna maintained his speed. Your useless request only prompted him to move his hand from your hair to your throat, gripping you tightly. “Don’t ask me that again,” he growled, still thrusting.

You could feel his thrusts become more loose and sporadic, and finally he pulled out and groaned deeply while spilling his cum all over your thighs. You panted and stood up slowly, but you held back a shocked scream. You watched in horror as Gojo Satoru stood before you, blindfolded eyes trailing over the white, creamy liquid dripping down your thighs. You instinctively covered your breasts and cunt, managing a weak, “how long were you watching?” Gojo took a step forward. “Well, I decide to assess the situation for myself when I heard you screaming for mercy, so I came in at about the time...” he mimed checking a fake watch, “a 1000-year-old curse started pounding you from behind.”

You blushed, heart racing from the exposure and accidental voyeurism. You hadn’t expected him to actually come see you for himself. However, your eyes took a quick trip to see a growing bulge in your Sensei’s pants. You smiled to yourself as you thought, mission accomplished.

🌹

#gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru #gojo sensei #jujutsu kaisen #jjk anime #jjk smut #anime #chapter 2 #long fic #fanfic #writing #fanfiction #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna

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glitterblazercalum · 3 years

Text

got a river for a soul, and baby, you’re a boat

or: Oh, fuck. We showed up wearing matching couples’ costumes to this party by accident and now everyone thinks we’re together.” + cashton

hello and happy halloween everyone!! giant thank u to ainslee @ashesonthefloor for putting this event together!! and for forcing me to actually get this fic done, looking it over, and generally being a major source of serotonin in my life. another huge thank u to bella @clumsyclifford for being one of my favorite people and loving frat boys enough that it made me want to write a fic about them to annoy her <3 love you both <3

here is the link to the event masterpost bc I highly recommend checking out all of the other amazing fics:

https://ashesonthefloor.tumblr.com/post/633534107120549888/hello-welcome-to-my-halloween-fic-event

warnings: mentions of alcohol

word count: 2,872

without further ado, please enjoy the fic I wrote mostly all last night while looping drag me down for thirteen hours straight :))

Calum doesn’t know what fuckhead came up with the idea of having a joint Halloween party for Sigma Nu and Sigma Pi this year, but he really wants to fight them. He thinks he’d probably have a lot of people on his side, considering how much Sig Nu and and Sig Pi hate each other, so he tucks the idea of interfraternity war away in his head as a contingency plan in case the party goes to shit, as joint parties with any other frat always seem to. And it’s not like it’s a one night thing, because all three days of the “Halloweekend,” as Michael refuses to stop calling it, are supposedly going to be spent with Sig Nu, one party at their own house, and two at the shithole that he assumes is the Sig Nu house, in some deranged attempt at bonding. He’ll be lucky to make it out alive, probably.

Before college, he really never did anything of his own for Halloween, mainly used to being used as a prop or side character for his sister Mali-Koa’s elaborate costumes, or, after she’d moved out, sticking a pair of fake fangs in his mouth to hand out candy to the few kids who rang the doorbell despite his efforts to keep all the lights in the house off. Last year, as a freshman, he’d gotten roped into a group costume with some of the other Sig Pi pledges, and while his memories are...hazy at best, he vaguely remembers falling asleep in a Teletubbies onesie at the end of the night.

This year, though, no one has tried to tell him what to dress up as, so it’s now a few hours before the first of the three parties, and Calum still has no ideas for what he should dress up as. A quick Google search for “cheap easy costumes” hadn’t really been all that helpful, so he decides to ignore the problem and take a nap until he actually has to leave.

A few hours later, Michael barges into the room to drag him out of bed, and looks around for a few seconds before asking, “You don’t have a costume, do you?”

Calum groans, pulling himself out of bed and wracking his brain for an idea that he can plausibly bullshit in the next few seconds, because he can’t let Michael be right and have something to tease him about, so he blurts, “I’m going to be a salt shaker.”

Michael gapes at him a bit for a few seconds before asking, “What the fuck? What kind of costume is that? What are you even going to wear for that?”

Calum mentally kicks himself in the shin, as hard as possible, because he really hasn’t thought this through. Why couldn’t he have just said cat or cowboy or something even slightly in the realm of normal Halloween costumes?

“Uhhh.. y’know that baseball tee I have? The one with the black sleeves and white middle?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s in my closet, but continue.”

“What the fuck, dude? Give it back!”

“You haven’t noticed that it’s missing for like three weeks, I just assumed it was mine now. Tell me what the rest of the costume is,” Michael demands.

“I’ll just tape a piece of paper with a big ‘S’ on it to the front of my shirt, and then put one of those pots with the holes on my head. Bam! Salt shaker!” Calum says, moderately impressed with his ability to pull stuff out of his ass this quickly.

“What makes you think we even have a colander?” Michael asks, crossing his arms.

Calum gives him a blank stare. “A what?”

“That’s what the pots with the holes are called, you idiot.”

“You think Harry would live anywhere that didn’t have a fully-stocked kitchen? There’s bound to be one in one of the cabinets or something.”

“Fine. I’ll go get the shirt while you look for the colander.” Before Calum can object, suggest that he look through Michael’s closet himself and steal back any of his other clothes that have somehow wound up there, Michael’s already halfway down the hallway.

Sighing, he trudges down the stairs towards the kitchen, where one of the seniors, Niall, is sitting with his head in his hands, dressed as a pirate.

“Hey, dude, nice costume,” Calum offers as a greeting. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I can find a colander, would you? I know Harry—”

“Do not talk to me about Harry right now,” Niall says, and Calum stops his search for a moment to send him a concerned look.

“What happ—”

“That needy-ass motherfucker thinks that just because I didn’t want to do a couples’ costume with him, it means I don’t love him anymore! Never mind the fact that he literally mentioned this idea to me yesterday, well past the point where everyone finalizes their costumes.”

Calum offers him a sympathetic look and offers, “Couples’ costumes are boring and cheesy anyways. Neither of you are missing out on anything, at least in my opinion.”

Niall lifts his head up from where he’d been repeatedly hitting it on the table to smirk at Calum and ask, “Have a lot of experience with couples’ costumes, do you?”

Luckily, Calum has finally found the colander, so he opts to ignore the question and just leave the kitchen entirely.

When he gets back upstairs, Michael’s in his room, unabashedly checking himself out in the mirror that’s on the back of the closet door. “Yeah, yeah, your anime character of the year looks great, now get out and let me get ready.”

Michael scoffs, “Get ready, as if you’re even doing anything,” but moves towards the door anyway.

Michael’s right, the costume is ridiculously easy to throw together, and two minutes later, they’re both out the door, walking across Fraternity Row to get to the Sig Nu house, where the music is already blaring and strobe lights throw red, then green, then blue shadows across everyone’s faces. On his way to the kitchen to grab a drink, he sees Niall and Harry walk into the house, holding hands and laughing together, so he assumes that their fight has blown over as quickly as all of their other fights always seem to.

He sees a few different trays of shots and decides he might as well take one to get the night started off right. After, he realizes that he probably shouldn’t grab a beer now, Mali’s rule about sticking to one color of booze for the night ringing in his head, so he settles for filling up a Solo cup with whatever glow in the dark gin concoction is in all the punch bowls. He wouldn’t put it past the Sig Nus to poison the drink on purpose, but it tastes relatively normal, so he grabs another cup for Michael and attempts to leave the kitchen, steering around the couple sloppily making out in the doorway.

It’s harder to spot Michael than it usually is, considering that at least half the people at the party are wearing some type of wig, but Calum eventually makes his way back over to him. He’s talking to Niall and Harry, and they both offer him a smile before continuing on with the conversation. Once that reaches a lull, Niall leans closer to Calum and says, “Mate, you didn’t need to lie to me about couples’ costumes.”

Calum has no idea what Niall is talking about, so he shakes his head and asks, “What are you talking about?”

Niall cackles, and Harry turns to look at him adoringly before going back to talking to Michael, and Calum is more confused than ever. Niall grabs his shoulder and spins him around and points in the direction of a clump of people. “You’re salt and he’s pepper, right? That’s such an obvious couples’ costume, although you two do seem to have a bit of a disconnect on how much effort you put in. That guy really went all out. And dude, why haven’t you told us that you have a boyfriend? You know we’d want to know about that, give him the Sig Pi seal of approval and all that. Wait. Unless he’s a Sig Nu, in which case, I don’t want to know because I’d probably have to kick you out. That’s a joke, by the way.”

Calum barely has the presence of mind to mumble, “He’s not my boyfriend,” before crossing the room to get to the guy in the hyper-realistic pepper grinder costume.

The guy smiles as Calum approaches, and despite the costume covering most of his body, Calum can tell that he’s cute. “Why so salty?” Pepper Guy greets, the sunshiney smile still on his face.

Calum smirks and replies, “Maybe I just need some more spice in my life.” Pepper Guy laughs, and just like everything else about him, it’s cute, and Calum wants to hear it again. “I’m Calum, by the way.”

“Ashton. Nice to meet you, man.”

Calum leans a little closer so that it’s easier to hold a conversation over the loud music and asks, “What’s the deal with the super realistic pepper grinder costume?”

Ashton makes a strange noise, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and says, “I got it off some random sketchy website, but it was supposed to be a chess piece. Something clearly went wrong somewhere in production, and my friend Luke said that I might as well sharpie a “P” onto it and just go with it.”

Calum makes a noise of agreement, mind stuck on a dumb idea. Before he can reconsider, he sends Michael a quick text that says if u’ve already taken over as dj, can u play that come grind w me song? and a few seconds later, he hears the opening notes and grins.

“Hey, Ashton?”

“Yeah?” Ashton replies, as realization slips across his face.

Right in time with the singer’s voice, Calum says, “Come grind with me,” and he laughingly pulls Ashton towards the makeshift dance floor. Neither of them can really dance, so it’s a mess of laughter and limbs flopping around, but Calum feels an unmistakable electricity between them too, and once the song is over, they stay for the next few, enraptured by each other. When they finally exhaust themselves with all the laughing and mock-twerking, Ashton asks Calum if he wants a refill, and when Calum nods, he grabs his hand and starts pulling him towards the kitchen.

Once they’re there, Calum goes for another serving of the glow in the dark punch, which is steadily dimming as the glow sticks run out of light. Since that’s really the only light source in the kitchen, Calum doesn’t see Ashton until he’s turning around and Ashton is right in front of him, reaching around him for a cup. Calum’s kind of trapped with his back against the counter, Ashton’s pepper grinder costume tall enough to really block out the view of the rest of the party, and the world narrows, all of it contained in where their eyes connect, and then, after Calum has safely set his drink back on the counter, that narrow point expands just a bit to where their mouths land on each other’s. The colander gets knocked off Calum’s head as he lifts himself up to sit on the counter, wrapping his legs around Ashton’s waist to pull him closer, as close as he can possibly get him.

Ashton’s sucking a mark into Calum’s neck when Calum has his first coherent thought of the past few minutes and pulls back, breathlessly asking “Wait, wait, you’re not a Sig Nu, are you?” fully expecting the answer to be no.

Ashton steps back a little too, and it takes him a second to register the question before he groans, “Of course you’re a fucking Sig Pi, that’s the only explanation that makes sense for me never seeing you anywhere before. You’re too hot for me to not notice otherwise.”

Calum flushes and mentally curses out whatever idiots had started the rivalry between Sig Nu and Sig Pi before he grabs his stupid colander off the ground and gives Ashton an awkward wave goodbye.

Once he’s out of the kitchen, he quickly glances around in search of Michael, and when he can’t immediately find him, he just gives up and leaves entirely. Fuck Sig Nu.

He spends most of the next day bitching about his hangover, and then, a few hours later, bitching about his hangover while helping to set up the house for that night’s party.

He doesn’t really have much more of a costume for tonight, throwing on a gray shirt and sharpie-ing some whiskers on his face. Michael takes pity on him and makes him a headband with an approximation of what they both think mouse ears are, and Calum is mildly entertained by going up to everyone and saying, “I’m a mouse, duh.”

His heart’s really not in the right place to party tonight, which is probably breaking the cardinal rule of being in a frat, so he sticks close to Michael, who has taken over the role of DJ, once again. Zayn from Alpha Sig strolls over after about half an hour, devil horns askew, and quietly says to Calum, “Cat and mouse, huh? Didn’t think you had it in you, Hood, that’s proper cute. Not as cute as me and Lou, mind you, but still, I respect the effort.”

Calum is reluctant to look up and see who he’s accidentally matching with today, because, with his luck, it’s probably another guy from Sig Nu. When he does eventually look up, he immediately makes eye contact with Ashton, who happens to be walking by, dressed in all black and with whiskers sharpie’d onto his face too. Calum wants to bang his head into a wall because the universe clearly hates him if it’s having him match with Ashton again. Even beyond that, Ashton looks so good out of the stupid pepper grinder and in all black that Calum wants to make out with him again.

Ashton is clearly having similar thoughts when he gestures Calum over and leads them towards a little pocket of quiet space in one of the lesser used hallways.

Calum really wants to hook his thumb into one of Ashton’s belt loops, so he does, as Ashton looks him up and down a few times. “Is the mouse costume your way of telling me you want me to chase you?”

Calum murmurs, “Shut up,” before leaning in to kiss him, frat rivalry be damned. It’s just as good as it was the night before, maybe even more so, now that the pepper costume isn’t in their way. At this point, there’s no denying the chemistry. It can’t be blamed on being drunk since Calum’s been nursing the same beer all night, and the part of his brain that’s protesting against being this close to a Sig Nu is getting smaller and smaller as he and Ashton continue to kiss.

They stay in that hallway for the rest of the night, eventually sliding down to sit on the ground, legs pressed together, sharing stupid stories about their respective frats. Calum’s surprised when the music shuts off because it feels like it’s only been an hour at most, that’s how easy it is to talk to Ashton. Ashton heaves himself up and reaches both hands down to help Calum up, too.

“I don’t think there’s any way you can match your costume to mine tomorrow, but I’ll come find you anyways,” Ashton says, as he leaves Calum with a kiss on the cheek.

Calum’s too wired to sleep much, so he opts to help clean up the house instead, and that takes up enough of his day that when nighttime rolls around, he’s stood staring at his closet without a costume idea for the third time in as many days. After ten minutes of consideration, he digs through one of his drawers to pull out the fake vampire fangs that he had somehow remembered to bring with him, and he goes down the hall to ask Jack to put some fake blood on his mouth and neck. Jack always goes all out for Halloween.

Once he’s at the party, he doesn’t have to wait long to find Ashton, who looks incredibly good in his werewolf costume. There’s fake blood on him too, which is really the only way their costumes could be understood to be matching, or so Calum thinks. Tonight, Jack and Alex are the ones to tease him, “You know what, I agree. Jacob and Edward should have ended up together, Bella was boring as shit.”

Calum’s really not bothered by the comments at all, so much so that he’s already thinking of couples’ costumes ideas for next year when he finds his way over to Ashton and whispers, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Are you trying to make a move on me? I’m a respectable Sigma Nu, I don’t know if I can allow that.”

Calum laughs and tugs him out the door, “Told you I wanted some more spice in my life.”

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myheartrevealedocs · 4 years

Text

Untouchable Ch 11- Profiler, Profiled (S2E12)

Warnings: murder of teens, if you remember this episode then you know what happens to Morgan, but it’s never explicitly stated in this chapter

Ch 10 | Ch 12

~ ~ ~

“You didn’t tell Emily, did you?” Lydia accused, as her and Spencer took a stroll.

It was morning, before Spencer had to go into the office, and he’d offered to take a walk with her around a nearby park until then. They liked to take short adventures in the mornings now, since making evening plans was so touchy with their jobs. Lydia had never thought she’d be a morning person, but she jumped on any excuse she could to hang out with Spencer and just… be normal.

He swung their intertwined hands back and forth. “Not really. She accused me of being in love with you and I told her that she couldn’t tell anyone. But I never said that you reciprocated those feelings.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t know if I could trust her not to tell,” he argued. “If anyone on the team is going to find out, I want it to be from us.”

“Well, Morgan is really on my ass about this secret boyfriend thing.”

“I know. He told me about it. He asked me to help steal your phone to look through your contacts.”

She chuckled. “How did you respond to that one?”

“I said no.”

Lydia almost fell behind him because she was so distracted by his smile. His eyes would squint in the corners and he had a really prominent dimple when he was genuinely happy. She didn’t get to see that often enough. A laugh from him could give her a year’s worth of serotonin.

“I do, you know,” she mumbled, glancing away. Her heart was leaping out of its chest with every smile from him.

“Hm?” He squeezed her hand, gently.

“Reciprocate,” she explained.

He didn’t say anything, but his grip on her hand didn’t loosen. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, an embarrassed flush staining her cheeks, but he didn’t slow down or adjust his posture. So, she could only hope that meant he knew.

Not that she hadn’t been obvious about it before…

“I should go soon,” he admitted.

“I know,” she replied, nonchalantly. “If you end up getting a super awesome case, please convince Gideon I’m needed for some reason. I’m terribly bored.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re about to go into finals week for one of the most difficult semesters of college you’re ever completed.”

“Hey! I could still fail!”

“Please don’t,” he chuckled. “You’re on schedule to graduate in June.”

“But if I graduate, I have no excuse to see my cute tutor anymore,” she joked. “What’s the fun in that?”

“Your PhD,” he argued.

As they talked, they slowly made their way to the nearby subway station.

“I went on campus in person the other day to speak to one of my professors about my dissertation and I think she was trying to convince me to take over her job for her after she retires,” Lydia explained. “I was trying to tell her that I wasn’t anywhere near as brilliant as I am on paper, because I have your help, but she was pretty convinced I could do it.”

“I think you’d be a great professor,” he agreed. “It’s a job you could do while still being a contractor for the Bureau. What classes would you be taking over?”

She blinked. “Uh, Spencer? You don’t actually think I should consider that as like… an offer, do you?”

“Why not?”

“I’m 22! Who’s going to hire me as a professor?”

“Someone with eyes,” he retorted. “You’re brilliant and I don’t think your professor would joke around with you like that. Do you think it’s something you’d enjoy?”

She was shocked once more by the question. “Um… I don’t… Can I follow you to headquarters today?” she inquired. “I kinda want to talk to Hotch and Gideon.”

He nodded. “Let’s go.”

~ ~ ~

Lydia huffed, stepping away from Gideon’s office, coming up empty for the second time that morning.

“Are neither of them here yet?” Spencer asked curiously as she ended up at his desk.

“Nope. Looks like you’re stuck with me for a little while longer.” She leaned back against his desk, looking around the quiet morning office. She never got to see it like this. She would always rush in, the last one to enter the briefing, and if it was ever morning when she returned from a case, Hotch or Gideon would send her home to sleep.

“What are you thinking about?”

She raised an eyebrow at him, then shrugged. “How peaceful it is in here. I don’t often get to see it like this.”

“You don’t have to sit at a desk and do office work,” he contended. “This is what a non-case day looks like for me.”

She sucked in her lips, contemplatively. Unconsciously, her fingers went to her ring, spinning it in circles, as she often did around Spencer.

He had begun to like watching her think. Her little ticks were his favorite part about her. Mostly, because she was a pretty sheltered off person. She was a good liar, that’s for sure. The only time she ever lost control over her facial expressions was when she was lost in thought.

Perhaps he liked it so much because it was one of the few times he knew she was truly genuine. She wasn’t hiding anything at all. She wasn’t even thinking about putting up walls around herself. She was just… her.

JJ and Garcia ended up walking into the office together, both of them stopping when they saw Lydia in the middle of the bullpen.

“Lydia, honey!” Garcia called, approaching her at a scary speed. “What are you doing here? Do we have a case?”

She shook her head quickly, calming JJ who was probably concerned about the chance that there was a case she didn’t know about.

“I just stopped by to talk to Hotch for a moment. About my position and stuff.”

“Oo,” Garcia teased. “That’s exciting, isn’t it? Your birthday is in January, isn’t it?”

Lydia squinted at her. “Do you memorize everyone’s profiles?”

“No! But I have a calendar with all the birthdays on it because birthdays are important and I want to make sure at least one person in the office knows!”

“That’s sweet,” she admitted. “But this isn’t about being an agent, if that’s what you mean. Or… not exactly. I’m trying to figure out what Hotch plans to do with me if I become an agent. I’m not a profiler, so I don’t know if he’ll want me to stay in this unit.”

“Neither of us are profilers,” JJ said with a nod towards Garcia. “You’re important to our team, Lydia. He’s not going to get rid of you.”

She shrugged. “If I’m not needed for all cases, why keep me on this team? Why wouldn’t the Bureau want to send me somewhere where I’m more useful?”

“Why is this coming up now?” JJ inquired.

“I was just…”

“Lydia’s professor wants her to take over her job,” Spencer interrupted, impatiently.

“It’s not official,” she said, before either of the girls could say anything. “She merely mentioned that she wanted to retire soon and was asking me about my plans and whether I like the idea of teaching some of her classes…”

Garcia's eyes brightened. “That’s amazing, Lydia!”

“I don’t have teaching credentials! It wasn’t a job offer! For all I know, she could be joking!”

“If you did become a professor, would you want to work there full time?” JJ asked.

Lydia sighed. “No. I want to be here full time, but there really isn’t a lot for me to do on most of your cases. I mean, that case we worked in Ozona this summer? For the first half of the investigation, I was sitting in the station doing diddly-squat. My expertise is in crime scene analysis and maybe chemical warfare. I love you guys, but it’s starting to look like I need to get another job to go along with this one that allows me to leave suddenly, or I need to find work elsewhere in the Bureau.”

Garcia seemed to be contemplating this, looking for a solution. “Are you certain you don’t want to be a profiler?”

“Not really? Maybe I’ll change my mind in a year or so, but I’ve never dreamed of being law enforcement. It really isn’t my scene.”

JJ smirked. “We might corrupt you yet.”

Lydia was trying to come up with something to respond to that when Garcia perked up with a sudden thought. “Reid! You have to show JJ and Lydia the rocket you made the other day!”

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “Rocket, huh? Are we talking mentos in a coke bottle ‘rocket’?”

He nodded. “Basically.”

“I want to see the rocket!” JJ exclaimed.

Spencer agreed, making them turn around so he could set it up in private. The three girls talked for a moment more before he said, “Okay, okay. It’s ready!”

On his desk was a small, black, plastic bottle with a grey cap. The edges around the cap were fizzing with some sort of carbonated liquid.

“Nothing’s happening,” JJ muttered and Spencer quickly shushed her.

“Watch!” he cried in anticipation. His fingers wiggled with excitement.

The sound raised in pitch until the bottle detached from the cap and flew into the air. The two blonde women squealed with excitement and Lydia laughed, until the whole group heard a cry of pain across the room.

“Ooh! Ah, what-?”

“I’m so sorry, Emily,” Spencer apologized as the girls tried to hide their giggles.

“What was that?” she demanded, rubbing her forehead where the cup had hit her.

“Don’t you recognize a rocket when you see one?” Garcia teased, pointing at Spencer, who was clearly still guilty.

“I-I was merely demonstrating a physics law,” he stammered. “I-I-I didn’t mean to-”

“Oo!” she exclaimed, already on her way towards the group. “Show me!”

He started to set up again, making the girls flip away once more, much to Emily’s dismay.

“A magician doesn’t reveal his secrets,” Spencer told her and she rolled her eyes.

“But I thought you said it was physics.”

“Physics,” he agreed, before adding on, “...magic.”

Once they were allowed to turn around again, his hands were clasped in front of him, still eager to see the girls’ reactions.

Once more, it fizzled for a moment, before popping off of the desk and causing the group to spook at the sudden movement. More careful this time, they all watched where it would land, but apparently they weren’t careful enough, because upon its descent in front of someone’s foot, they all came to the realization that Hotch had just entered the bullpen.

He lifted up the discarded bottle in front of him and shook it in front of Reid’s face. Emily bolted back to her desk and JJ and Garcia tried to look distracted by something behind them, leaving Spencer and Lydia to face the unit chief alone.

“Physics magic?” he asked, understandingly.

“Yes, sir?” Spencer mumbled. He dropped his head ashamed, clearly having been caught showing off that trick before.

“Reid, we talked about this,” Hotch warned, dropping the bottle onto his desk.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Suddenly, Hotch’s features shifted into a more intrigued expression. “You're really starting to get some distance on those.”

Spencer’s proud smile was so adorable Lydia couldn’t stand it. She wanted to compliment him more just to see it for longer, but Hotch’s attention was suddenly on her.

“Ambers, are you here visiting?”

“No, sir,” she explained. “I came to talk to you, actually. If you’ve got some time?”

He nodded. “No problem.”

The two of them left the bullpen and walked into his office. When he finally turned around to face her, his face was split in a grin.

“You know, I think you’re one of the only people in the office who’s not terrified of me?” he admitted.

“Should I be?” she joked. “Are you going to fire me now for watching Spencer show off a small trick?”

He shook his head. “As of right now, you aren’t on duty. If I so choose, I can decide not to hire you again, but you’re a private and independent worker so I do not have any power to strip you of your job.”

“That’s kind of crazy to think about,” Lydia informed him. “And to be honest, that’s what I’m here for. I’m trying to figure out if I want to be an agent or not.”

Hotch looked a little surprised, but he nodded. “That’s reasonable. What are your concerns?”

She ended up speaking to him for almost an hour about the cases she enjoyed working and the ones she didn’t and about the classes and exams she’d have to take to be a profiler. It was really enlightening. Lydia had spent so much time dedicating herself to forensics and she didn’t want her skills to go unused for the rest of her life. And Hotch could see her desire to be useful in ways the BAU couldn’t provide.

“Lydia, I think I should speak to some of the other units and see if they could use your help as well. I definitely don’t want you to think there isn’t enough work here for you, but I don’t control when and how crimes happen. So, you’re right. Perhaps some other departments might also find you valuable and you can take on more cases without having to leave the Bureau.”

“That’s the thing, Hotch, and it’s an interesting offer, but the reason I like the Bureau so much is because I enjoy working with you guys… the team. I guess I’m just worried about everyone throwing me around as needed and not being able to work with you all anymore. But I’ll do what I have to.

“The point of this was because it was suggested to me to become a college professor, recently. That would also take a lot of work and it isn’t exactly what I want to do with my life, but I’d be making money reliably and I could still do this. Be here, for you guys, like I am now. And I’d like that, but I’d appreciate being able to see all my options. ‘Cause it’s kind of confusing, for now.”

He gave her a genuine smile and said, “We can work with confusing.”

~ ~ ~

That evening, Gideon’s contact popped up on her phone.

“Listen,” she picked up, “if Reid told you I wanted to go on a case, I was just joking-”

“Lydia, we need you. Now.”

She shut her eyes, tightly. She should stop assuming she knows what’s going on. “Okay, I’m on my way,” she told him. “What’s up?”

“Morgan went home to Chicago for his mother’s birthday,” Gideon began. “And he’s been arrested by Chicago PD.”

That was unexpected. “What for?”

“They think he’s killed a kid. We have a lot to do and I want you to stay with him while he’s in custody.”

“Shit, Gideon,” she mumbled. “You have to clear his name.”

“That’s why I need you,” he explained. “Get your ass to the jet, now.”

~ ~ ~

The team was basically silent for flight and drive to the station. They were exhausted from their overnight flight and worried for their friend. It was just too weird.

Lydia followed Gideon closely once they were inside the building. She was jumping to help. This standing around and waiting for news was killing her slowly.

“Special Agent Hotchner, FBI,” Hotch announced as he entered the bullpen. “I’m looking for Detective… Gordinski.”

“I got this, Chuck,” a man said, dismissing the man at the front desk. He was bald, with a polite smile on his face. “How you guys doing? Wally Dennison, CPD.”

His reception, however, was less than friendly. “Where’s Agent Morgan?”

“Detective Gordinski’s in with the suspect now,” he explained

“I need to see him,” Hotch responded, sharply.

“When my partner’s finished talking to him,” Dennison offered, his eyes shifting around the group. Lydia kind of wanted to sock him across the face, but knew that for the moment, Hotch could do a lot better to get compliance.

“I have your superintendent's personal cell number,” Hotch began. “And in the interest of not running roughshod over another police agency, I’ve resisted calling him so far�� I need to see Agent Morgan now.”

Dennison glanced at the team again. He was intimidated, Lydia was realizing. So, she let her strong desire to hit him really show on her face so that he didn’t think of disobeying anytime soon.

“I’ll get Gordinski. He’s the, uh, primary,” he conceded, before walking off.

“I don’t like them calling him a suspect,” Gideon grumbled and Hotch shook his head.

“Me neither.”

“Do you think I could get permission to survey the crime scene?” Lydia asked Gideon quietly.

“No,” he whispered. “And don’t try it. We have to figure out what evidence he has against Morgan from him or else it will look like we’re trying to disrupt the investigation.”

Lydia didn’t try to hide her disappointment. She was feeling antsy. Shuffling her feet anxiously.

“Hotch will bring you in with him,” Gideon told her. “Be understanding to him. Hotch can be a hardass sometimes and if Morgan is feeling cornered, he may resist that. Let him know that he can tell you anything. You’re on his side.”

“Okay,” she breathed. “Okay, I can do that.”

“Good.”

“Detective Gordinski, CPD.” The man approaching was far less welcoming than Dennison, but at least he wasn’t fake. The entire group sized him up as he held out a hand to Hotch.

“You think an FBI agent, a BAU profiler, committed a homicide?” he demanded.

“Actually, three homicides at least, over 15 years.”

“Y- You think he’s a serial killer?” JJ stuttered.

“This is ridiculous!” Spencer agreed.

Hotch stayed professional while listening, but Lydia could see how much he thought this was bullshit. “Has he been charged with anything?”

“I got 72 hours for that,” Gordinski evaded.

“I’d like to see him,” Hotch repeated.

Finally the detective stepped out of his way. “Be my guest.”

“Ambers,” Hotch called as he stepped forward and she quickly fell into step behind him, but she didn’t make it far.

“Hold on,” Dennison said, reaching out for Lydia’s arm to stop her. “We’ve only invited Agent Hotchner in.”

Before she could stop herself, she ripped her arm from his grip. “Don’t put your fucking hands on me,” she hissed.

There were wide eyes across the precinct, which Hotch used to his advantage.

“Ambers comes with me,” he stated, walking farther into the precinct and nodding for her to follow. He was ready for a fight with Dennison, but figured he should pull it away from the group. Especially if Lydia was going to act so brash.

“Agent Hotchner,” Gordinski shouted, following him down the hallway.

The two of them turned around, Lydia crossing her arms across her chest, as if daring them to try to stop her again. Gordinski and Dennison were frustratingly stubborn and she didn’t have the patience for it.

“We can’t just allow anyone to speak to the suspect!” he argued, his face red with fury.

“This is Lydia Ambers,” Hotch explained as she pulled out her badge for them to see. “She does contracted work for the Bureau and she’s very knowledgeable in conducting interviews as well as analyzing evidence. I’m taking her in to speak to Agent Morgan with me and then I’d like her briefed on the evidence and case you have made against him, along with the rest of the team, do I make myself clear?”

Lydia wished she could live in that moment forever. Their faces as they realized they had no power to stop Hotch were laughable. She could have sworn that there was steam coming out of their ears. And it helped satiate her need to hit Dennison for holding her back like a child.

Finally, Gordinski decided he was done analyzing her badge and handed it back to her which she took sharply, stepping out of his way so that he could show them the way to the interrogation room Derek was in.

He had Dennison do that and instead went back to speak to the rest of the team. Lydia watched him go for a moment, then followed them through the precinct and into an interrogation room.

Morgan was sitting down, looking over some photos. He looked nervous when the door opened, which shifted to relief, then confusion.

“Lydia?”

“Hey, Derek,” she said, gently. “Are you okay?”

He nodded momentarily, before looking back at the photos in front of him. “This kid.” His voice was careful and controlled. He knew things looked bad for him and there was perhaps guilt on his conscience. “I was with him yesterday.”

“So?” Hotch shrugged, knowing full well that Morgan needed to keep his head clear and prove his innocence.

Dennison was still hovering by the door, drinking a coffee. Lydia was trying very hard not to look at him, because his presence made her furious.

“So, he’s dead.” Morgan dropped the photo onto the table and Lydia instinctively reached for it.

“You shouldn’t-” Dennison began, but she flipped on him.

“If you so much as think about touching me again, I’ll break your nose,” she threatened. “Those are crime scene photos and as a part of this investigation, I have a right to look at them.”

He shut up quickly, sinking back into the corner of the room and she turned back to Derek who was completely baffled by her outburst. So, she tried to go back to her kindness tactic.

“May I see those, Derek?”

He nodded, lifting the stack up for her to flip through. Then, he went back to what he was saying. “I drove him home, Hotch, and Gordinski’s saying I was the last person seen with him.”

Lydia looked over them. Two were of the boy who’d died last night. Damien Wallace. He was lying in what looked like a dump. There were no evident wounds on his body, but his eyes were sunken and cold in the close up shot and his tongue was swollen, sticking out between his lips. If she had to guess, he’d been strangled.

There were photos of a different kid, that one clearly having been strangled by the marks around his neck.

And finally, there was a mountain’s worth of photos of him. Derek Morgan. They were all taken on the same day, what she could only assume to be yesterday. He was standing in a cemetery, looking down on a grave. He was leaning up against a car, outside of a dugout, watching a group of kids play football.

“Did Gordinski take these?” she inquired, sitting down at the table and laying out the pictures.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Dude was stalking me all day.”

Hotch also sat down at the table, looking at the collection. “Tell me the story from the beginning,” he insisted.

“I- I guess it starts when I was 15,” he started. “I was coming home from football practice one day. Me and my boy, we were goofing off, you know, we were throwing a football around. It landed in an empty lot and I snuck in to get it and I found this kid. The only person that I’d ever seen dead before that was my father… when I was ten. I mean, there I was, I was looking at this kid, and he was my own age, Hotch. Dead in this vacant lot. And he was never identified. Nobody knew who he was, nobody ever even reported him missing. And that, that just didn’t sit right with me. So I… felt responsible for him, I mean, I was the one that found him, right?

“I went around the neighborhood, door to door, trying to start a collection, and… eventually I got enough so I could bury him and… I gave him a little headstone.”

“What did you put on the headstone if he wasn’t identified?” Hotch asked.

“Just the date. I left room for a name in case he was identified”

“And you still visit him?”

“Hotch, I go see this kid every time I’m home. I just feel like he deserves to have somebody look in on him.”

The unit chief shrugged. “Gordinski must read that as a guilty conscience, a killer revisiting his victim. But that can’t be the only reason he suspects you.”

Morgan sighed loudly. “Believe me, that guy’s had it in for me my entire life.”

“He’s supremely confident that you’re his killer.”

He didn’t respond, but Lydia could see his frustration. He didn’t like Hotch questioning him. He likely thought it was an invasion of privacy, which Lydia could totally understand, but it worried her. If Morgan was keeping secrets from the team, things could end up ugly.

Lydia caught Hotch’s eye and glanced over at Dennison and the door, hoping he’d catch her drift and get him out of there. Luckily, Hotch understood and got up from his seat.

“Morgan, Lydia’s here in case you need anything. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Derek just nodded, dropping his head into his hands. With the detective and Hotch gone, Lydia reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry that this has happened.”

“Lydia, these boys are dying,” he said, his voice muffled by his hands, “and I can’t do anything.”

“The team is doing something. They’re going to figure this out. But obviously there’s a lot of history here that we don’t understand.”

“Yeah,” he replied, sitting up. “My history. The person I was then and the person I am now are completely different.”

“Believe me, I probably understand that more than anyone else on the team. I’m not here to force you to say something, but I want you to know, Derek… Those detectives out there only remember the old you. And when they realize that we don’t see you the same way, they’re going to try to warp the team’s perspective of you. They know things about your past that we don’t, don’t they? Gordinski and Dennison? I just think you should consider what that might be and whether or not you want the team to hear it from their mouths or from yours.”

He huffed. “Why should I listen to you about keeping secrets? I mean, no offense Lydia, but you aren’t exactly an open book.”

She nodded, rubbing her hands together as if to wash off old dirt. “You’re right. I’m not. But if it will help us help you, I will be. If it will convince you to tell me whatever it is that you didn’t tell Hotch, I’ll tell you everything about my life.”

He shook his head, for the first time, looking absolutely exhausted. “Lydia, this is my life. And I just want to keep my personal stuff and my work stuff separate. I need that.”

“What’s going to change if we find out?” she asked, honestly. “Are you worried that we’ll treat you different? Is it bad enough to get you removed from the Bureau?”

“No!” he cried. “No! It’s just that it’s my business!”

Lydia wanted to respond to that, but the door suddenly opened and Hotch was carrying in a new file.

“What’s that, Hotch?” Morgan questioned, getting up from his seat.

Lydia could tell something was wrong. Hotch had lost his carefulness. Up until that point, he gave Morgan the floor to speak, explain himself, try to determine what had happened. But when he walked in, his concern was elsewhere.

“You have a criminal record,” he stated.

Morgan glanced at the file and Hotch handed it over to him. “What? Where did you get this?”

“What difference does that make?” Hotch rolled his eyes as if he was actually dealing with a serial killer. Lydia couldn’t help feeling furious with him.

“Hotch, this was supposed to be expunged,” he insisted. “My record’s clean.”

“I asked you if there was anything you hadn’t told me.”

“A judge expunged this. It doesn’t exist anymore, man.” Morgan waved the papers in front of him wildly. “I was a kid, it’s nothing.”

“Aggravated battery?” Hotch demanded.

Lydia got up from her seat, trying to diffuse the situation. “Hotch, why does it matter? I mean, you know about my past. If this-” she pointed at the file “-is enough to accuse him of homicide, you should probably put me in a straightjacket now!”

He glared at her, but made no attempt to reprimand her. “Morgan, tell me about the charges.”

“Ok… I was with some guys, we got into a fight with some other guys. Rodney, this gangbanger, we got into it a little bit, we knocked each other around, he got a couple of stitches in his head so they made it aggravated. That’s it! If you want someone to look into, try him. He’s been following me around since I got home!”

“You should have told me,” Hotch argued. “You know how important accurate information is to victimology.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Morgan barked. “Victimology?”

“It’s very likely the latest victim was an attempt to set you up,” Hotch explained.

“Are you profiling me?” he demanded, angrily.

“Morgan, we need to look at-”

“No! We don’t need to do anything!” he shouted.

Hotch’s voice got dangerously low. “Derek, you’re in trouble here.”

Morgan laughed. “Hotch, I didn’t do this. I am not worried about Gordinski out there-!”

“You still have three dead children.”

“Okay. Okay! So you profile them. That’s the case.”

There was a beat. “Is there still something else you don’t want us to find out about?”

“Hotch, I don’t need the people I work with going into my entire world,” he insisted, repeating what he’d said to Lydia.

Hotch simply turned around and left again. Lydia figured Morgan would be angry, but was shocked to see him turn it on her.

“What the hell, Lydia? What, you two got some good cop, bad cop scheme going? You’re sitting here trying to convince me to open up so that you guys can make me a victim in one of your case files?”

She sat down, letting her body relax into a completely calm state. He hadn’t reacted well to Hotch’s aggression, just as Gideon thought he might, so he wouldn’t be expecting this.

“I’m not a profiler,” she replied, flatly. “So, no. I’m not playing good cop. Gideon told me that you were going through a lot and that you’d need someone on your side today. Just in case something like this happened. Just in case things got messy. I don’t want anything from you, Derek. I’m here to be your friend.”

He scoffed. “Two minutes ago you were trying to convince me to trade secrets with you!”

“Because, as your friend, I thought that was what you needed. Someone to talk to. Someone to know what was going on and defend you. I thought if I opened up myself, you might realize that we aren’t that different. I understand you more than I think you know.”

“How?”

She reached across the table to grab the abandoned juvenile record. “Aggravated battery, huh? You remember how you asked me what my childhood fear was and I said it was getting kicked out of school?”

His eyes widened. “For getting into fights…” he recalled.

“Yes, sir. And you laughed at me. Said you didn’t believe me. I get it. I’m not the same person I was in high school-”

“You flipped out on Dennison earlier,” he continued. “When he told you not to look over the crime scene photos.”

She nodded. “You should have seen the scene I made out in the bullpen earlier… He tried to stop me from going in to see you and I ripped my arm away. I don’t even remember, I was just seeing red.”

He chuckled, finally relaxing a bit and sitting down beside her. “So, you were serious? You really have some anger management problems?”

“Yeah… did yours start after your dad died?”

He looked down at his hands. “I was ten. My dad was a cop. We were out together and we saw a robbery happening in a store. So, he went to stop it and he got shot.”

Lydia cleared her throat. “Okay, my turn. When I was ten, I found my mom in the bathroom, lying on the floor, foaming at the mouth. She’d overdosed on her antidepressants. Not enough to look like a suicide, but enough for it to feel like it wasn’t an accident.” She shrugged, setting her forearms on her desk. “The first person I ever punched was some journalist who wanted to know if there was a chance my mom had been murdered. They wouldn’t leave me alone. For days.”

“I’d be pissed, too,” he admitted.

“I’d be pretty upset if my mom had been killed by someone else,” she conceded as well. “If I had someone to blame for my mother’s death other than my mother, I would probably have a criminal record, too… I would find a way to make them pay.”

He settled down even more, watching Lydia carefully to see if he could point out any ulterior motives for her to be there, telling him this. But he couldn’t think of any. She was being extremely genuine. A true friend.

“In order to get something like this expunged, you’d have to become a model student,” she reasoned. “What helped you keep going?”

“Football.”

She smiled. “That’s funny. For me it was boxing.”

He chuckled in agreement. “So, maybe you were right. We had similar childhoods. Do you still box?”

“When I’m upset I find a gym or nearby ring. It’s the only way I can stop myself from beating up the people who get on my nerves.”

He gave a genuine laugh as she said that. “Well, I’m sure you can find a boxing ring in Chicago, but I’m just putting out there that you have my full permission to sock Dennison if it comes to it.”

“Be careful,” she teased. “You’re already on his bad side.”

“So are you, it seems.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a problematic person.”

~ ~ ~

“Hotch wants to talk to you,” Gideon announced as he walked into the interrogation room.

Lydia hesitated to leave Derek, even if just for a moment. “What about?”

“I don’t know.” Gideon was evidently tired. The last time she saw him this washed up was when they were dealing with the Fisher King. “I’ll stay here, don’t worry.”

She locked eyes with Morgan. “You gonna be okay?”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” he grumbled.

She nodded finally and left, finding Hotch standing directly outside, looking through the double-sided mirror.

“I know I can be abrupt at times, but if Morgan is involved in something he doesn’t feel comfortable to tell us about, that is a concern to the integrity of the team and I need to know it,” he told her, not looking away from the window in front of him. “I don’t need people arguing with me while I try to figure out what that is. He may not be proud of his past, but we needed to know about his criminal record and you tried to prevent that.”

“What good has the criminal record done you so far?” she inquired.

He stayed stoic, not responding.

“Fine, Hotch. I’m sorry I lashed out at you. May I see my friend again?”

“No,” he replied. “I want you to stay with JJ for a little while and see what Garcia finds on him.”

“You’re having Garcia pull up files on him like a suspect?” Lydia demanded.

“He is not a suspect,” Hotch snapped, finally looking at Lydia. “But right now, we have nothing. The only evidence that the police have provided is the circumstances that point to him. We are profilers-”

“Then go be profilers!” she shouted back. “Three kids have been murdered. One of which, we know the name of. Damien Walters. Have you talked to his family? Maybe tried to get Gordinski to tell you more about his two John Doe victims? Right now, the only lead I see you following is the one where Morgan’s a suspect.”

“We came here to prove his innocence. Not solve a case.”

“As if you could prevent yourself from stopping a bad guy when you see one,” she hissed. “You have always respected my privacy on this team. Any one of them could probably google my name and find out about my parents, so there’s no reason for me to hide it. But you let me. Because there are some things that are hard to talk about. And sometimes it changes the way people look at you.”

“Do you think he’s willing to go to jail for those secrets?”

“No, but it hasn’t come to that yet! ...Trust him.”

Lydia had to step away, knowing she was about to say or do something she’d regret. How could they not understand?

She waved to JJ as she passed, but didn’t stop. She needed to go outside and take a breather. Take a few moments for herself. That was all.

She paced outside the precinct for several minutes, jumping around slightly, but it wasn’t enough. If she went back in there, she might lose it. She hadn’t blacked out during an episode in a long time, but in that moment, she felt capable of a lot.

Sighing, she tugged off her jacket, wrapping one of the sleeves around her hand to soften the blow. This would have to do for now.

~ ~ ~

When she walked back inside, Hotch and Gideon were with JJ, the three of them talking quietly. She quickly brushed her fingers through her hair and threw her jacket back over her shoulders.

“You guys are leaving him alone now?” she asked.

“He’s not being very compliant,” Hotch said, shortly. “We need to spend our time elsewhere.”

“Like?”

A new voice spoke up from behind Hotch. “You folks work with Derek Morgan?”

Hotch turned around immediately. “Yes, sir. Closely.”

“You knew him well as a teenager?” Gideon inquired.

The man had just been getting coffee and slowly approached them. “One of the finest boys I’ve ever coached. Football. I run a youth center.”

Gideon smiled politely. “I gather you were instrumental in helping to get his criminal records expunged.”

“I feel terrible about that now,” he admitted, shaking his head. He looked almost like a disapproving parent.

“You do?” JJ asked.

“Well, in view of what’s happened-”

“What’s happened is a mistake,” Gideon explained.

His eyebrows knit together. “I’m confused. I thought Stan said there was all kinds of evidence.”

As if smelling the probability that someone would disprove his theory, Gordinski appeared at his side. “There is. Thanks, Carl. You can take Miss Walters home now. I appreciate you bringing her in.”

“Of course, of course… Derek Morgan. It’s still hard for me to believe.”

“For them, too,” Gordinski dismissed.

“I can understand that. Derek had a way of charming people into looking past his deficiencies.”

Suddenly, Lydia had tunnel vision. She didn’t even hear JJ’s question, because she was solely focused on Carl’s behavior. His words bounced around her head: I feel terrible… all kinds of evidence… hard for me to believe…

Derek’s deficiencies.

“Derek was at the youth center yesterday, wasn’t he?” Hotch was saying when Lydia snapped back to herself.

“Playing football with Damien Walters and some other boys,” Carl agreed.

“Carl’s the one that saw ‘em leaving together,” Gordinski intervened.

“Did you talk to him?” Hotch continued.

“I was working inside. By the time I was done, they were leaving.”

“And when was the last time you did talk to him?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “Years.”

As he was saying that, he did something strange. He looked Hotch up and down as if sizing him up. It was almost like he was threatened by his presence.

Carl started to say his goodbyes to Gordinski and Hotch stepped away from the group, towards Derek’s holding cell. Before he could get too far, something came over Lydia and she ran after him.

“Wait, Hotch-” she called, stumbling up beside him.

“Yes,” he began, impatiently.

“I know I’m not your favorite person right now, but may I have permission to go with that guy back to the youth center?”

“Why?”

She paused for a moment, trying to piece everything she’d seen together in her head. “That interaction didn’t seem weird to you?” she demanded.

“Of course it did,” he snapped. “We find out there’s a guy in town who saved Morgan’s life and he doesn’t even talk to him anymore?”

“Not on Morgan’s side!” she retorted. “On his! He probably put a lot of effort into getting Derek’s records expunged. And then the second a cop tells him that Derek’s a serial killer, he doesn’t even ask for proof? And he’s talking about Derek’s ‘deficiencies’-”

“Maybe they’re not on good terms anymore.”

“And you think it’s Derek’s fault? I think it’s his. If he thought Derek was capable of murdering children, why would he let him hang around the youth center?” She took in a breath, not realizing she’d been running her sentences together. “Please? I’ll just talk to some of the kids and this way I’ll be out of your hair.”

He didn’t look pleased and Lydia thought for sure she was going to be sent away again, but Hotch just glanced over her shoulder and said, “Mr. Buford?”

She flipped around, just in time to see Carl stop by the door and turn back to them. “Yes?”

“May my team member come along with you to the center? Just to speak to some kids Derek was with?”

He didn’t look pleased. It took him several moments, just staring at Lydia to finally say, “Sure.”

~ ~ ~

She’d barely made it to the center when Hotch’s name appeared on her screen. She excused herself quickly, staying on the sidewalk outside the building as she picked up.

“What’s up?”

“Morgan’s disappeared. He ran from the station.”

“What?! What the hell is he thinking?”

“Do not tell Buford.”

“I won’t,” she told him quickly. “Do you want me to search nearby or…?”

“No. Stay put. I have reason to believe that Derek might come to you. Don’t confront him unless you think he’s going to do something dangerous.”

She tried once more not to lash out at Hotch for a lack of trust. “You think he’s coming for Buford?”

“Stay there,” he repeated.

Lydia put her phone down, trying to come up with the best way to see this through. Hotch wanted her to stay, but Lydia knew that Morgan was going to want to speak to Carl alone. And she should trust him to do that, right? And if she ended up hanging out inside the center, Buford might get suspicious… but Hotch was already super upset with her.

Pulling herself together, she made up her mind and walked inside. “Mr. Buford?”

“Yes?” he called from his office.

“It looks like my supervisor wants me back at the station.”

“Has something happened?” he asked, almost immediately. He was sitting up straight in his chair, staring at her intently.

“No, no,” Lydia dismissed as calmly as possible. “With the night falling so quickly, he’s considering wrapping up for the day. It seems,” she stated, glancing around, “that you don’t have too many kids here still anyway. I should come back tomorrow.”

His posture relaxed instantaneously. “Alright. Do you know how to get back?”

“Yes. My coworker is going to drive by and pick me up. Thank you.”

She left him there, stepping back outside and away from the door, so that if Buford decided to leave, he wouldn’t see her still standing out there. She made sure she still had a clear view of the entrance however. No one would go in or out without her knowledge.

It wasn’t until she was finally sure that Carl wouldn’t be able to see her that she noticed two people in a dugout across the street. It was too dark to make out anything other than their silhouettes, but she would bet quite a lot to say that was Derek over there. The other person was shorter and thinner. If she had to guess, one of the kids from the youth center.

They just talked for a while. Their close proximity made Lydia think the conversation was personal. And then, the kid left. Derek stood in the center of the dugout, just watching him go.

Lydia stepped out from her spot around the corner as he walked out onto the street and towards the youth center.

“Hey, Derek,” she started, softly.

He was stunned by her presence, but for the first time since she got to Chicago, he didn’t seem upset. He was resigned. He had a plan. And whatever he was going to do once he entered that building, he was committed to it. “Lydia, how did you find me?”

“I was following Buford… I didn’t trust him.”

Finally, she walked out to the center of the sidewalk, meeting him face to face. She glanced at the door before back at him.

“Do you want company when you go in there?”

He shook his head.

“Okay… I think Hotch is on the way. He thought you might end up here.”

“I know.”

“Should I let him in?” she inquired. “When he gets here?”

Morgan reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “He’ll know what to do. You just stay right here and wait until this is all over, okay kiddo?”

“Of course.”

She didn’t know what it was. Whatever Hotch or Gideon or any of them found out, she couldn’t see it. So, she worried that when he came back out he’d be a different person. And she wanted to give him a final hug before he disappeared behind that door.

But he needed to keep his thoughts collected right now. So she let him go.

By the time Hotch and Gideon arrived, she was just about ready to head in herself. Not for Morgan’s sake, but because Chicago in December was freezing cold. Alone, in the dark, standing on the sidewalk and freaking out about her friend was a bit too much.

Gordinski and Dennison were with them. And since Hotch wasn’t running the case, he listened to them when they asked the three Bureau members to stay outside while they figured out what was happening.

And they left with Carl Buford in handcuffs.

Lydia slipped right past them, walking into the youth center and up to Derek, in the center of the room. He had tears streaming down his face, but he looked at her with expectation. He needed to know that it was worth it. And it was.

She reached out, finally wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him in close. “You did it. You did your job today. You caught the bad guy. I’m so proud of you.”

She didn’t need to know what had happened between them. Buford was going down for the murder of three children. And Morgan… he’d be okay.

~ ~ ~

“Where have you been?” Lydia teased as she sat down across Spencer on the jet.

“Emily left me at Mrs. Morgan’s house,” he groaned. “I spent the evening with his sisters. I hear you let Morgan escape from the station.”

“Oh no,” she replied, shaking her head. “I got kicked out long before that happened.”

“Kicked out?”

She looked down at her lap, then turned around and glanced at Hotch across the plane. “Yeah… Turns out Hotch doesn’t like it when you argue with him in front of other agents. I have some things to apologize for when we land.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s got some things to say sorry for, too,” Spencer reassured her.

She simply shrugged, moving on. “Were his sister’s nice?”

He nodded. “After a little while. They were somewhat accusing when Emily and I started questioning them, but Emily convinced them we were there to help. They uh… they knew who I was. They said Derek talked about me sometimes.”

“You two have been working together for years,” Lydia said with a smile. “You really thought he didn’t tell his family about one of his closest friends on the job?”

“You think he considers us friends?”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “I know he does, Spencer. Do you?”

“Think he considers us friends?”

“Consider him a friend,” she clarified.

“Yeah. Yes, of course.”

“Good.”

Lydia reached for her bag and pulled out her laptop to work on her dissertation for the rest of the flight. Spencer had been right the day before to say that she was in the home stretch of her graduate work. And it would be quite the hard run. But god would it be rewarding.

...she hoped.

Once the jet landed and the team started to file off, Lydia picked up her bag, only to be stopped by Spencer. They were the farthest back, so everyone was stepping off the platform and couldn’t see them. She gave him a look of utter confusion.

“Your knuckles are bruised,” he said, quietly.

He always knew, didn’t he?

“I was upset after my fight with Hotch,” she explained. “I’m okay now, I promise. It’s really nothing.”

He hesitantly nodded. “Okay. Do you possibly want to get something to eat?”

She laughed, finally making her way out of the aisle and off the plane. “Spencer, it’s like 3 in the morning.”

“All I’ve had to eat for most of the day is cake,” he argued.

Cake? Lydia thought. ...Wait.

“You ate his mom’s birthday cake??”

~ ~ ~

Tags: @kris-stuff @wooya1224 @spencerelds

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neocityfics · 4 years

Text

2096: Zodiac

Chapter: Prologue < ❝ Chapter 1 ❞ > Chapter 2

➥ Chapter List

Genre: Cyberpunk inspired, mafia-esque, not-so dystopian, angst, slow-burn

Pairing: Doctor! Taeyong x Reader

Warnings: Moderate cursing, mention of death, vague description of surgical practice, being held at gunpoint

▶ Ambience

Pearl Park is packed with patients. Rarely do I take weekend shifts or visit on Saturdays, but a certain someone left early for additional hours at the clinic. I couldn’t help but follow him especially after yesterday’s events. The thoughts would not let go, an unpleasant growth at the back of my mind. It’s hard to know if I can trust him right now. I need more answers. Last night, he barely gave details, only rambling about how he had to wake up at ungodly hours for today. As difficult as it was, I urged him to go to bed to leave him alone. My own state of being was, and still is, disturbed by what I saw. The intricate design of circuit lines running down in strategic pathways down his arm, the broken-up metallic plates that replaced muscle, the seamless transition from a human shoulder to a mechanical limb, fingers cold to the touch. Something out of The Terminator movies.

There’s something odd about making myself wake early to get ready and coming after Lucas. Saturdays are for sleeping in, I always say to myself, a day to rest. Nevertheless, here I am slowly trailing behind him as he steers through the countless turns on the way to work. His thin light blue scrub stood out against the brown puffy jacket, making it easy to keep my distance without losing track of him. The pit began to form in stomach again. Please, let the destination be Pearl Park, nowhere bizarre. Whoever did whatever to his arm must have a reason to pick on Lucas. Granted he’s very strong and healthy, he’s the perfect candidate... for what? To become a government experiment? No, hopefully not. The top couldn’t give a damn about us, but when it comes to picking on the less fortunate to go farther with their lives in luxuries and power, they do so in under a heartbeat. If they have hearts, that is. It doesn’t make sense though, why would they want to make cyborgs? Or what if some random person just wanted to try their hand in robotics. Some grand experiment in trying to take over the world? Maybe I’ve watched too many sci-fi movies. The endless possibilities thoroughly occupied my head-- but that train of thought comes to a halt when I bump into the clinic’s entrance. Pressing a hand to my forehead and the other hand on the door handle, I steady myself. I’m already here?

Spotting the familiar scrub rounding the corner, I come close behind only to see Dr. Lee shoot a glare at Lucas. “You’re late,” the doctor’s voice raises sternly, “I expect better next time. We have important things to do later.” Later? My shoulders tense. It must mean he won’t join me for dinner with Sicheng. I wonder what kind of work Dr. Lee means. The doctor in question beckoned Lucas, in the middle of removing his coat, towards a darkened room meant for surgery. I sometimes clean equipment in that room, so it doesn’t make sense to meet in there when the clinic has designated meeting rooms. The two men walk inside and the door closes shut, and I stand there baffled. Hoping I could get by without looking suspicious, my feet slowly move closer to the room. All staff members seem busy with other things, some not sparing a glance as they rush stretchers to rooms. Thanks to that, no one questioned my actions, but it still feels risky. My body sticks tightly to the wall as I lend an ear towards the room. Taking a peek would be risky since my head would be visible and blocking light from outside, so I keep quiet and attempt to eavesdrop on their conversation, but to no avail. The bustling clinic muffles the dialogue between Lucas and Dr. Lee. Giving up, I relocate myself to the reception desk where I know they leave out a bowl of candies and chocolate for visitors. A little burst of serotonin never hurt anyone. Right?

▶ Ambience

As I work on a candy of choice in my mouth at a bench near the entrance, Lucas walks close to the reception desk and stops when he notices my presence. For a split second, his expression was shrunken in discomfort. Yet, in a flash, he paints that goofy smile to replace the former visage. “When did you get here? Did you even have breakfast? It’s not even 7:00am,” he shouts despite him standing a couple of meters away. Though embarrassing as it is to see annoyed nurses and doctors look our way, it’s nice to see his fun side come out despite the tension between us remaining thick.

“I’m just here to chat, you know, talk with some of my coworkers. See if anyone wants to hang out after their hours are done. I don’t really have anything else to do,” I lie through my teeth. I could be sleeping, but there’s too much I want to ask about your fucking cyborg arm, is the reality of my purpose here. But obviously, this is a public space, he’s working a job, and this is slowly becoming to feel like an obsession. The last thing I want is to worry about nothing, but I couldn’t help myself. Lucas is starting become more suspicious, I can’t lose him to something dangerous. Without thinking, I stare at his left arm. He’s wearing another long-sleeved shirt under his scrub to hide his arm. Realizing my intense gaze on him, Lucas takes long steps to the bench and sits down next to me, ensuring that his human arm nudged my left arm. It’s definite that he’s uncomfortable. “Sorry.” He shakes his head and lets out a hearty laugh.

A couple of pats on the top of my head remind me of my stiff posture to which I reply by relaxing. Lucas knows how to comfort others. He would’ve been a great doctor. Succeeding him clearing his throat, he softens his tone, “I’ll be at Sicheng’s tonight after my shift. I’ll only have half an hour to eat until I have to go somewhere. Tomorrow, I promise, I’ll tell you everything, but today isn’t a good time.” A pause ensues, the both of us holding our gaze at each other until Lucas breaks out in a grin again. “I’ll pay for dessert, too. My treat!” Nothing like paying for my snacks. There’s no way to win against this man and his kind heart. A short moment passes by after I scan his face. I scoff at his comment, mumbling a ‘fine’ while a laugh escapes and my smile matches his. Just as he opens his mouth as if to say more, a nurse hurries to Lucas asking him to help with getting clean water and towels for a pregnancy in one of the rooms. He leaves immediately after shooting me a gentler smile, my own quickly reciprocating it. There goes Lucas again, I think to myself. But as swiftly as Lucas left, another figure of interest comes into sight at the front desk. And here comes Dr. Lee.

On the inside, I want to trust him. From what all the nurses and staff tell me, he’s a top notch doctor from the best medical university in Seoul who decided to leave South Korea for Japan to join one of the Tokyo hospital teams. Things obviously didn’t turn out so well after 2094, and he’s stuck here in Pearl Park. He seems to be well-off, too, showing up in designer brands you’d see before the disaster. Makes you wonder how such talent ended up in the ruins. Though I feel bad for him as I do with Lucas and his crushed dream, the inexplicable hatred in me keeps expanding and it has everything to do with that damn robot arm. Since last night, it’s been taking up all the space for thought, eating away at me. I wouldn’t have woken up before 7:00am and walked all the way to the clinic if this never happened. Nevertheless, the surreal circumstances in front of me are reality. I suppose now’s my chance to wring out any more information of Dr. Lee since my Saturday schedule is free of activity. It might be best to avoid Lucas for answers given how he dodges my questions regardless of the well-known fact that my curiosity is ultra strong. The first thing to pop up in my brainstorm is the document storage room on the second floor. As an employee of a not so high-end clinic, it’ll be easy to get in. Staff won’t question me going through the second floor and security’s a joke. Of course, there are possibilities of getting caught especially trying to read classified or private information, but it’s worth the risk if I can start to understand Lucas’s situation.

I take to the staircase leading up to the second level, a quick minute up to another floor busy with patients. Today, it seems a lot of them have either a cold or a broken bone, judging by swarm of people by the x-ray room accompanied by the continuous symphony of sneezing and sniffling. Eyeing the room at the end of the hall and taking in a long breath in, I casually make way to the door, weaving through nurses pushing wheeled beds. This hallway is long, I tell myself as clinic members make beelines toward their next destinations and form a difficult sea. Before reaching the door, I peak over my shoulder at the other employees. No one seems to be suspicious, and no Dr. Lee anywhere. Perfect, too perfect. A sign next to the door reads “Staff Only,” making me feel better about what I’m doing. Assistants are considered staff, right? The musty smell of old papers and cigarettes of the room cause me to cough a little. I wonder where to even start when there’s hundreds of files stored in here. It could take all day to thumb through all of these files. Luckily for me, the file cabinets are labeled with categories, albeit some oddly named like pets. I don’t think we have a veterinarian sector or have partnership with one. After a few minutes scanning all the potential cabinets, one catches my eye. Medical staff, the label reads. Dr. Lee’s file must be in there, and to my delight, he was indeed part of the records.

▶ Ambience

With a small gulp, I pull out the bulky, tattered folder as the other files begin to expand and fill the now empty space in the cabinet. Curiosity leads my widened eyes to glide across this important folder containing a book of history and records for each staff member. Confidential. Maybe I’m in here, and Lucas, too, except this seems to be an older record. We probably didn’t make the cut because it only contains Pearl Park medical staff that have been serving for a long time, from before the disaster, in this folder. Flipping to a table of contents on the inside of the cover, I search for Dr. Lee’s name under Orthopaedic Surgeons towards the back of the pages. That’s definitely him from 2093, a year before the disaster. Handsome, frankly, but ugly for what I assume he’s doing to Lucas. With all fibers of my being, I swear this man is my enemy. Realizing I’ve been holding in my breath for a while, I let out some air and try to release the tightness in my muscles. I continue reading.

Lee Taeyong. Born July 1st, 2071-- he’s the around the same age as me at 25 years old. Graduated from an international high school in 2087. Graduated from a top Seoul university with a PhD in Biomedical Sciences in 2092. So he was done with high school at 16 and university at 21. Started Pearl Park 2093 as a starting job, and of course he still works here due to the disaster. Quite a remarkable career especially having an average of 426 surgeries a year since he started at this clinic. Absolutely phenomenal... that’s at least a thousand surgeries so far, depending on how 2094 impacted his work. Though so young, he certainly has the experience and professionalism to perform surgeries that could’ve been life or death. So perhaps he really is a force to be reckoned with, not some random scientist who just wants to fool around with an experiment. Especially with human life. With this information at hand, there must be a reason behind turning Lucas into some type of mechanical entity. Scrunching my face as my thoughts go into overdrive, I try to come up with a conjecture on this man’s motives. Do I go the route of the worst or the best case scenario? My session of attempted reasoning suddenly ceases as a booming voice hits against the door of the room. I’m not sure what he’s saying, but I burst into action as I rip out Dr. Lee’s page, shove the folder back into the cabinet sloppily, and hide myself behind a tall cabinet away from the door. At the sound of a loud click, I still my whole body, frozen as I listen for any more noise. The door seems to close behind the person with a loud thud. Instant recognition. The person’s voice is, with no doubt, Dr. Lee.

“Why don’t they clean this piece of shit room up, it’s a fucking dump in here... Let’s see.” The opening and closing file cabinets, shuffling papers, and soft, incoherent mumbling permeates the room. No more than a few minutes and he leaves. Before I move from my position, I puff my cheeks and push out the air from holding my breath again for what felt like eternity. Making sure for another thirty seconds that absolutely no one is there, I come away from my hiding spot and examine the medical staff’s cabinet. There’s one more thing that should be checked-- if my file and Lucas’s are in there. If we do have a record and his is missing, this could be an issue and a surefire sign I can’t trust Dr. Lee. Leafing through the files again, to my surprise, there is an updated 2095 folder towards the back of the cabinet for newer medical staff. Pearl Park isn’t considered a big professional clinic to come to. It’s dingy at best, so this comes a bit of a shock. I’d been expecting no records after the disaster as the clinic is critically understaffed. Teeth grasp at my bottom lip, my hands hovering over the binder cover. Here we go. After turning many, many pages, I find the Assistants page and see our names. My file doesn’t look like much as it contains basic information, when my shifts are, and the duties I originally had appointed to me when I started working. According to the list of all employee names, Lucas should be in here, supposedly a few pages after mine. Wong Yukhei. However, there is only remnants of paper stuck to the binder’s rings

Dr. Lee ripped his page out.

▶ Ambience

It feels strange to act like everything’s normal. Here I am, sitting next to Sicheng and Lucas as we make fun of pissy customers at Electric Egg and laughing ourselves silly. While our outside conversation makes me feel a little more at ease, the fact that Lucas’s information could be used for no good is begging to be released from my thoughts. I want to spill so much at this very moment with Lucas right here, but dragging Sicheng into this mess isn’t necessary. I’ll have to wait until dinner is done. Lucas distributes his tea eggs between the three of us, and we devour them before he has to leave for, well, whatever he needs to go to. Now’s my chance. As Lucas stands, I raise my voice, “I’ll stay behind with Sicheng for a bit. Come back home safely.” He beams at my comment, patting me on the back to comfort me. Without another word, he heads out of the street, turning the corner as Sicheng and I watch his shape slowly disappear. Sicheng taps me on the hand to get me to stop spacing out.

Sicheng takes on a soothing tone as he expresses his concern, “You sure you’re okay? You’ve been spacing out randomly...” Through the slightly sweaty bangs from cooking all day, I take in his worried face. Tilting his head after a moment of no response, he sighs. “I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but you’re not this quiet with us. You can tell me what’s wrong.” I nod, my eyes holding their focus on the table where the last tea egg lies.

“I can’t tell you anything more than except...” I delay the rest of what I want to say, I wasn’t without doubt if I should even bring up the conundrum. But alas, the bottled up information in me needed some form of freedom from my system. I decide it may be alright to let him know what’s happening at the surface of it all. “There’s something odd going on between Lucas and one of the doctors at the clinic. I can’t shake off the bad feeling I’m having, and I don’t mean to be nosy. But Lucas is important and I want to make sure he’s okay. You know he’s typically an open book, but I can’t read him anymore.” That was a lot to knock out of me, but to have someone else see why I’m so worried creates some kind of validation for the emotions rushing through my head. I realize how selfish I sound. I shrink into myself, waiting for Sicheng to say something. Anything.

Instead of silence, he scoots his chair closer to mine and I force myself to hold in a laugh because of the embarrassment from the loud noise. “I’m sure he has his reasons. You, him, and I. We’ve been friends for a couple of years now, Lucas isn’t the type to just leave anyone hanging without reason. Whatever it is, we need to be patient with him. As for you, you need to let things be from time to time.” He sits up straighter, leans forward, and continues, “You work hard with two jobs. Take care of yourself first and foremost. He’s his own person, you are your own. Don’t add to your mountain of stress.” Those are words I needed to hear, though they hurt. This whole idea that my best friend is turning into a cyborg seems to be a big deal, but for the sake of Sicheng’s safety, I can’t disclose that. Nonetheless, it does feel a bit... obsessive in retrospect. It’s a complicated state of affairs, and I don’t think Sicheng would be able to follow. It’s a see-for-yourself kind of deal. Not at all blaming him, his heart is in the right place. I give a simple head-shake, turning my attention to the last tea egg again. Gingerly, I pick it up and hand it to him.

His eyes open up in confusion. I let out the repressed laugh from earlier, a little heartier than I expected. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to dump this all on you. And I’ll work on focusing on myself more, you’re right. Lucas is a grown person, he can act on his own and tell me when he’s ready.” Sicheng loosens up, his hand extending to take the tea egg cupped in my hand. After taking a small bite, he gleams a big and toothy smile. As thanks, he lets me have the rest of the treat as one of the other employees at Electric Egg call for him to come back and work the stall.

▶ Ambience

Removing himself from his seat to stand up, he delicately flicks my forehead. He bids me a good night and says, “Take it easy, okay? It’s still Saturday, go get some sleep or go dance in your room, whatever it is you do these days.” We both send each other a tender laugh before parting ways. With a goodbye, I get up from my seat and head towards the direction of the apartment. It’s all smiles walking for a few minutes, reflecting on Sicheng’s words. My body felt a little lighter from releasing at least a small portion of my feelings. It starts to drizzle, a feeling I’ve always liked in Neostone but never when it pours too hard-- especially without an umbrella. I reach the last corner leading to my place when a downpour manifests. At the ping of my pocket, I quickly reach for my phone and take cover under a nearby entryway into a convenience store. Shit. Acid rain right now? My thumb gravitates to my messages. I should text Lucas and Sicheng to make sure they’re okay. I call Sicheng first to see if he’ll pick up. He does, sending a wave of relief through me as he says he’s safe in the closest store. On the other hand, Lucas did not pick up. I’m starting to wonder if this will be the new normal from now on. Panicking a bit, I text him and hope for the best, that he’s somewhere safe from the rain. The rain today is sort of acidic, I got an alert on my phone. Make sure you’re in a building. Send. We both keep the read receipts on, so if he doesn’t respond but sees my text, I might have to scold him the next time I see that annoying guy. I shove my phone back into my pocket and promptly took out the piece of paper that holds Dr. Lee’s information. I gawk at it, contemplating why I ever took it, and look back up. Fuck.

Staring in disbelief, the world around me slows. Cars pass by in slow motion and the neon signs twinkle in harmony by blending together. It’s the very same apartment establishment listed in the file. It’s a bit fancier than ours, which makes sense. Dr. Lee makes a bit more money than the rest of us. Fuck what Sicheng said, I need to see what’s happening with that suspicious doctor. Without further ado, I trudge through the acid rain, though I know it stings a little on my skin. It’s not too bad. Taxi cabs flip their middle fingers up at me, passersby calling out to warn or scold me, all while I snake through the lines of vehicles and cuss words thrown all around. The crackle of bright neon flicker crescendos as I come closer. Finally, I step foot onto the other side of the street, finding a heightening urge to find out the truth. Inside the lobby, the interior also seems to hold more life and care in it. This is definitely a more well-off micro-apartment complex than the one Lucas and I live in. The receptionist greets me warmly, a stark contrast from the subtle waves from the one we have. She doesn’t seem to question where I’m going or if I needed help, however, so I come to the staircase and take myself up to the tenth floor-- a very long way up.

▶ Ambience

Good grief, that was worse than the staircase at ours, I complain in my head, heaving heavy breaths as my feet begin to feel sore. I’ve reached the top. The address claims that Dr. Lee lives in room 1027. The gold colored plates on doors boast numbers in a sophisticated font, ascending as I progress the halls. Here it is. I approach the door, careful not to be any louder than I am right now, and I press an ear on the door. Muffled voices, one of them has to be Lucas. I can recognize his deep voice from a mile away. He has a tendency to mumble if he talks for too long, words becoming muddled. It’s like when he’s tired from work and almost crashes in my room, talking nonsense until I finally kick him out. From my pocket, I pull out a couple of paperclips and begin to bend them. Sicheng taught me this trick when we stole a bottle of painkillers from one of the pharmacies in Neostone’s uptown. One of my friends got injured during a fight between food stalls, and we were desperate to help him out. These kinds of skills really help out in this kind of life though I never imagined it was going to be this way. Click, click, click. The soft pop of the lock makes my heart race, and not in a pleasant way. Carefully, I turn the knob and push, using all the strength in my body not to cause a ruckus with my entrance. The sound of an electric drill becomes more apparent as the door swivels to give way to the apartment. It’s a lie when I said it’s a bit fancier. It’s way more lavish with a retro-futuristic style with warm colored furniture and decorations. There has to be some reason Dr. Lee can afford to continue living here since Pearl Park isn’t the biggest clinic and is located in quite a rough area. They don’t pay employees much, only an ample amount to get by with food and shelter. Maybe he was able to get a lot of money before the disaster happened. Enough with the admiration, I thought we’re past the need for capitalism, I reprimand myself.

There’s no Dr. Lee or Lucas in the parlor, but the whine of the drill grows as I explore further into the apartment, noticing the several doors. One clearly has lights on as the door is open, bingo. It must be them. Inching closer as quietly as I can, I hear Lucas lightly groan. Heart beating faster, I reach the room and squeeze through in case the door would make noise. Half of the room is blocked by a bulky bookcase which I hide behind, peeking through one of the cracks to look at the other side. What I see is horrendous-- Lucas sits on a reclined chair, thankfully unrestrained. Profusely sweating and wincing from pain, his jaw tightens as he clenches his teeth while Dr. Lee works another screw into his shoulder. In the most monotonous voice, he says to Lucas, “That should be enough for the shoulder. Think I’ll add more joints in your fingers so they have more flexibility. I was able to design more realistic-looking phalanges the other day, want to try?” Lucas simply nods at the notion, much to my disgust. Should I make my next move? Should I leave? I stand a bit higher on the tips of my toes to see more clearly.

Suddenly, the arm attached to Lucas begins to beep alarmingly. “The heat sensor... who’s there?” Lucas queries. Dr. Lee looks around the room, spinning in his chair while Lucas stands and starts to wander around the space. The staccato tones rapidly sound as Lucas takes long strides towards the bookcase, pulling out a few books to expose half of my face. His face crumples into anger at my presence. “Why are you here... Did you follow me?” I gulped. This is not good. Behind Lucas comes the other man, swiping books off the shelves to get a better sense of who’s behind the bookcase. His eyes open up more in surprise.

“You’re from the clinic.” he says firmly and quickly balls up the shirt on my shoulder into his fist, pulling me from my spot. The other hand reaches at his back behind a tattered lab coat to reveal a revolver, the one often seen in old classic films. Our eyes lock on each other, his fired up with murderous intent and wrath. The cold metal presses onto my forehead, but I keep my focus on his face. Lucas yelps on the side, but doesn’t come closer as to not escalate this whole situation. “An assistant. Why are you here? How did you get in?” My hands drift in the direction of the ceiling, a signal of surrender. Visibly shaken, Lucas taps the doctor on the shoulder and interrupts.

“[Pronoun] is a good friend of mine. Please don’t do anything rash, [pronoun] can be put to good use.” Lucas claims. I examine him with confusion written all over my expression, though he holds his guarded stare at Dr. Lee. I’m beyond dismayed that Lucas would try propose that I can be made into a pawn in whatever the motherfucker is planning. That might mean taking Lucas’s place with substitution of my flesh with peculiar machinery, or being the one to help out with Lucas’s... transformation. In any case, there’s no way I’d accept those fates. Dr. Lee maintains eye contact with me, but moves the gun from my face to his side. On cue, a sigh exiting my mouth.

He laughs rather nonchalantly, the clutch on his gun tighter despite being on the side. He’s ready to kill someone. “It’s tough doing things on my own, I do need another hand. Human hands, I must add.” Another chuckle echoes through the room, the unbearable discomfort consuming my emotions. Continuing on, the man adds, “I’m appointing you as my messenger. Send information to my other colleagues, then you may stay alive and see Lucas everyday. However.” Always a catch. The fist that kept me in my place releases the fabric that was bundled in it. It travels to the gun, the cock of the weapon raising my alertness. Though physically there’s no restraint on me, one wrong move and I’m dead. “If you can’t follow through with my instructions, expect a bullet wound or worse.” Absolutely out of his mind. But he leaves me having to accept this offer. Briefly, I steal a glance at Lucas whose angrily knit brows now angle upwards in a worried manner. I can’t die here, and the need for strength increases knowing Lucas might not be able to handle the pain of seeing me shot. He needs me.

Dr. Lee tilts his head, waiting for a response. The loaded gun taunts me, his impatience showing when he starts tapping it against his waist. Pursing my lips, I come to the only choice I could make. Shakily, my voice raises to both Lucas and the doctor’s surprise, “I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do.” Speaking it into existence is the last thing I want, but I’m already neck deep into shit that doesn’t directly involve me. Might as well drown in what I’ve started. He snickers in delight, earning puzzled looks from Lucas and me. Leaving us near the bookcase, he saunters to his chair, taking a seat. His grip on the gun subsides, putting the small killing machine on his desk littered with papers with the big red classified stamped all over them. The silence weighs down on us before it’s broken by the doctor, his hands folded together with the most poisonous smirk playing across his lips.

“Just call me Taeyong.” He fiddles with a pen from his desk and continues,

”Question-- have you ever gone clubbing?”

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despairdiseases · 4 years

Text

When you walk away (Nothing more to say)

chapter 11 - Knock Knock Get The Door It’s Depression

trigger warnings: cussing, coffee, a quick mentions of death, mentions of running away from home, mentions of injury (pieces of glass in a hand), some negative self talk, please let me know if i forgot something

summary: Remus finally decides to do something right...kinda

author’s note: Sorry it took so long the planets just weren't aligned right. No, but seriously, I'm really sorry haha, shit was just going on in my life and I got really stressed. Hope people haven't forgotten about this yet :|

Remus knocked on the wooden door again, frustration apparent in the sharp, loud pattern. C'mon answer. He knocked again, his knuckled started to ache. C'mon. C'mon. Come on.

The door opened, revealing a tired man who was clearly perplexed by the sudden visit, partly because he just woke up "Rem? Dude, it's, like..." Nate trailed off and looked at the clock on the wall, "Shit, it's gonna be midnight. What the hell happened to you, kid?"

Remus looked at Nate's baffled face, the concern apparent on his features enough for both of them. He rolled his tired eyes, still slightly puffy from the tears "It's whatever. Will you let me in or not?"

Nate was...unsettled, to say at least. He didn't care what Remus did, for the most part, it's not like he was a big part of his life, but this...this doesn't feel good. Remus wasn't joking now, which meant something seriously bad has happened. Nate learned that the hard way. Besides, Remus' attempts at running away stopped long ago, so it wasn't that, which...actually made it worse now that he thought about it. Nate stepped out of the door frame, a few raindrops falling onto the floor as Remus made his way inside.

The house was significantly warmer than outside, Remus noticed. Still cold, though, maybe that was because he spent an hour or two wandering outside in rain, his clothes felt heavy, probably everything including him was soaked with water. He could hear Nate walk up to him even though the violent beating of the rain, "So, I am assuming you're not here for a slumber party," the older man looked him up and down, making a mental note to ask about Remus' clenched fist later.

Remus scoffed, "Yeah, no shit."

Nate furrowed his eyebrows...no joke? He's not even trying to be sarcastic? Something...someone seriously messed up. He walked over to the kitchen, turning the kettle on, they will both need something to drink, "You want some coffee? Y'know, since otherwise you're probably gonna freeze to death," he tried to lighten the mood, Nate never did that, he was the cool guy, Remus always clowned around. He even made a morbid joke, hoping to at least hear Remus chuckle. Not even a proper response came back, just a hum of what Nate assumed was agreement. He took a jar of coffee from the cupboard. Remus was surprisingly quiet...too quiet. He was never good with serious stuff, no matter how much he tried to be, he thought Remus knew that. Hoped, Remus knew that.

He glanced into the living room where Remus was seated on the couch, a wet spot from all the dripping water forming around him, some from his hair even fell to the ground as he ducked his head further down, "What happened, dude? Was it Elise again?"

Remus tilted his head back, "No," he said with a groan, "You know she died when I was like fifteen," he looked at Nate, "Right?" Nate was never the type to pay attention but damn it, even he should remember that.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, you know how I am with memory."

Remus hummed in response. The same monotone tone he was humming in all the times before. Nate really didn't want to nag Remus about it for the fear of only making whatever was happening worse. Still, he needed to know what was wrong, otherwise he couldn't help him "You still didn't answer my question," Remus looked at him with a sour look on his face, Nate doesn't think he saw that ever since...shivers shot down his spine as he shook his head, that was a long time ago, Nate was reaching, "What happened?" he pressed on, a little uncertain if that was a right thing to do. For fuck's sake, didn't his school have a counselor or something?

Remus looked away, eyes overflowing of doubt. Nate sighed and poured the finished coffee into two mugs. A little spilled on the ground as he made his way to the couch to sit with Remus, though both of them paid no mind to it.

"Have you ever..." Remus started and didn't finish, as if he swallowed his tongue. Nate was sure Remus could come up with a more creative and gross metaphor if he wasn't a shivering cold mess, which Remus never was, until, well, now. Nate started at Remus, finally putting his acting skills to use and making himself look serious and worried. Not that he wasn't, but his default face was more of a resting-bitch face, as Remus always put it. He never was good at expressing himself.

"Did you ever...fuck up? Like, big time? Something that you couldn't fix?" Remus's voice cracked a little bit at the end. He tried to scratch his arms but his overly-bitten nails didn't allow it. Nate made another mental note to ask about that, maybe talk to Natalie about this, suggest getting the kid a therapist.

"I mean, duh. All people fuck up sometimes" he took a sip of his coffee, unsure of what to say. It was painfully obvious he was trying to play it cool while having to idea what to do.

Remus tsked as his body jolted from the cold, then continued, "No, I mean like," he hesitated for a second and thought over the words racing around his mind, "Majorly fuck up. L-like, something really important."

Nate honestly didn't know how to respond to that, but he tried, for once in his life, "Yeah, of course. Everyone has things that they regret, there's no shame in that."

No response. Nate waited a bit longer, hoping the silence would urge Remus to speak up, before sighing heavily - finally something he was good at - and pushing the now lukewarm coffee towards Remus, "C'mon, drink, it'll warm you up."

Remus didn't drink the coffee, instead talking again, which was a relief but it did nothing to ease the knots in Nate's chest, "Let's pretend you fucked up with a really important person. And ruined years of building a friendship. Do you...do you think there would be a chance to save something?"

"Huh, I never really..." he hesitated, "Fucked up that much with a person, I don't..." Nate put down his cup with a huff, trying a more assertive approach, "Look, Rem, you're like 14-"

"17."

"Doesn't matter. Listen. If the friend that you're talking about really is your friend, they will forgive you, people have arguments all the time."

"It wasn't an argument," Remus rolled his eyes, "It's my fault that this happened anyways, and even though I've known him for so long it feels like I don't know him at all and it's weird and I want things to go back to the way they used to be," his vision got blurry, but he didn't let himself cry, he had enough of that. He wasn't sure if the uncomfortable tightness in his chest was from the melancholy heartbreak or the fact that he was running out of breath.

Nate took a sip of his coffee again, it was apparent by now that this was a nervous gesture, but it shouldn't be, he should be confident and reassure Remus, but hell, this was a new level of teenage drama. He took a deep breath, "Sometimes things can't go back. Sometimes it's for the worse, sometimes for the best, but right now you can only focus on what will be and if you'll let this one thing break you."

Once again, uncomfortable silence filled the room. But not for Remus. He felt better, knowing that he wasn't bottling it up inside anymore. At least not all of it. He reached for the surely cold coffee.

A piercing pain surged through him, still clinging in his hand even as the mind-numbing, quick sensation came to an end. Fuck. He forgot. How could he forget? Stupid. Stupid Remus.

"Woah there, the hell is that?" Nate reached towards his arm as soon as he could process what was happening, at which Remus promptly moved further away from him and stood up, backing away from the couch slightly. Nate hesitated, "Remus," a troubled tone sounded the room, "Show me your hand, Remus."

Reluctantly, almost like half of him protested, he did. What good was it gonna do keeping it from him anyway? Nate knotted his eyebrows, "Oh, you clumsy idiot," he huffed at the sight of the tiny pieces of glass scattered around inside the palm, "I am not a fucking doctor, why didn't you just go- y'know what? Fine, stay here, I'll bring the first aid kit, it's gotta be here somewhere..." he walked down the hallway to what Remus assumed was his bedroom, not that he was familiar with Nate's house. And Remus was left in silence once again. Left to wonder how exactly he found himself here, and why he found himself here? Remus found himself thinking about the butterfly effect, that one small misstep on his side which caused his life to change in an instant.

It wan not often that Remus thought about his future, but the heartwrenching scenarios that could - and will, Remus was certain - happen couldn't help but slowly creep their way into his head, slowly eating him up from the inside like maggots, Remus could practically feel the dopamine and serotonin leaving his body, leaving an empty shell of the jokester he once was. Maybe he was exaggerating, Dee always told him he was a drama queen, so did Roman. It hurt to even think those names, has Remus really become that sensitive?

The tiny drops of rain drummed against the window as Remus heard a distant, quiet rumble of thunder. Huh, he's probably gonna stay here overnight, he wasn't sure Nate would even let him leave, considering what state he came to him in. Speaking of Nate...

Remus got up, looking at the wet spot left behind him on the couch before he walked further into the house, his ears picking up on a hushed tone behind one of the doors. He carefully put his ear to it, trying to pick up on the sentences being spoken.

"Yeah, he's here, no need to worry."

Remus' breath hitched in this throat.

He barely heard Nate sigh, "Natalie, it's past midnight, just let him sleep here."

Oh, was it really that late? Remus didn't notice...

"Yeah, yeah, I will, don't worry, g'night," Remus presumed that Nate hung up, because the next thing that came out of his mouth was, "Worrywart bitch..."

Remus knew he and ma weren't on good terms, the reason was there, so that wasn't much of a surprise. Still kind of angered Remus. He could hear footsteps coming closer, and stepped away from the door as it opened.

"Oh, Rem," Nate startled.

Remus groaned, "You took too long, I was tempted to just pull the glass out myself," he added a playful tone to the end to make Nate less worried.

Nate scoffed and walked back to the small living room where Remus followed him, "Yeah, like I'd let you do that."

Remus wanted to complain but shut his mouth instead, sitting back down onto the couch. He silently wondered...what was everyone doing right now. How they were...

He was getting sentimental.

#finally i can call myself a writer again #when you walk away (nothing more to say)#remus sanders #yes thats nate from sanders shorts #no hes not that important #...is that all the tags??#yeah i think so

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