#habit of finding that lingering bit of evidence that often turns a case around and it causes MORE work for the gestionnaires.

[archetypal-archivist]

Tommyinnit and Hermitcraft- Heartstone

So this builds off of the whole "Tommy has somehow found himself on Hermitcraft after the exile arc" thing that got really popular with @redorich and @petrichormeraki on tumblr. Basically it's an excuse to give Tommy therapy and 20+ parent figures. One thing that's a common thread in those stories is that Tommy is shocked that Hermitcraft has infinite respawns and all of the hermits are quick to reassure him that he really won't perma-die in their world. And I had the thought- well, what if he wasn't in their world anymore? And thus came forth 1500+ words of angst~

It begins like this. Evil X is stuck in the void, alone and with no one to talk to. He misses daylight, he misses touch, he misses hearing voices other than his own. One day, he sees something get shot through the void as if by slingshot, leaving a trail of code in its wake, tethering the whatever it is back the way it came. This is Tommy, and while he begins to get adjusted to Hermitcraft and company, Evil X watches as the string of code begins to imprint itself into the void, and eventually learns that he can interact with it, albeit only on the most superficial of levels. On Tommy's end, he slowly begins to heal from his time spent in the war zone that is the Dream SMP, making fast friends with Grian and several of the other hermits in the process. He goes pranking with his newest, winged older brother figure, laughs at the antics of Impulse, Tango, and Zedaph, builds a cobblestone tower with BDubs, etc. But for all that he's healing, such a process isn't linear. No one on the server can truly understand just what sort of stuff he has been through, and so he often finds himself alone, trying to deal with his wildest emotions by talking to himself.

One day, however, a little voice in his head starts talking back. It's rough and gravelly and not very nice at first, but it's faint enough that he chalks it up to his imagination and moves on with his life. He follows Stress around like a duckling for a day, plays squire for Welsknight, and has a roaring panic attack after an unfortunate spar with False leads to him getting flashbacks to the Pit with Technoblade. He retreats back to his tower for a good cry, and in the midst of his tears, he hears the voice again. This time it's a bit nicer, sounding unsure and a bit panicky as it tries to encourage him to stop crying, god this is awkward, kid, it'll be fine. Wait, are you a kid? You seem tall for a munchkin.

This time, Tommy knows that it isn't his imagination, but half of his old server seemed to have voices in their heads so he really isn't all that alarmed that he seemed to have developed one of his own too. And he does something that no one else does when Evil X reaches out- he starts talking back. It's rough going, at first, especially since both of them have abrasive personalities, but eventually they settle into a rough estimation of friendship that means more to them then they are willing to say. From Evil X's perspective, this is the first time someone has actually listened to him and hasn't been turned away by his violent streak, his bad manners, and lack of proper social skills. For Tommy, this is a chance to vent to someone who seems to understand his pain. It helps that neither of them are inclined to ask too many questions. Tommy, on his part, has no clue that Evil X is an actual person and not a voice in his head, while Evil X can't bring himself to ask why Tommy has left a trail of code in the void and why it's all so glitched. He especially fears asking about the perma-death clause that seems to naturally have occurred in his code.

He will come to regret this choice.

The day is like any other, at first. He begins his day with a slice of sweet melon and then flies off to whatever hermits are awake at the time to "share a meal with them." Really, it started as an excuse to make sure that Tommy was eating at least one meal day, even in his most dissociative of states, but has since turned into an opportunity to eat weird things in front of people to see their reactions. (Etho is his favorite. He's always up early and half the time, asks to try a bite of whatever Tommy is having. They both agree that spider eyes taste a lot like sour boba.) From there it's off to the shopping district to restock his dirt shop and claim his share of the profits from the hole-digging service he runs with Grian. After that, there's just enough time to complete an order or two and collect more cobble and dirt before he has to meet up with Grian to go on their biweekly End Busting session. The two usually have a lot of fun as they go about it, Tommy jokingly shoving Grian off the platform only for his adopted brother to catch himself and fly up to join him on the narrow platform spanning the emptiness once again. Every once in a while, Grian mock-threatens to do the same in return, but he knows better than to actually attempt it after he did it once and had had to catch Tommy when he started screaming and even after they had gotten back to solid ground, he wouldn't stop for the better part of half an hour.

On habits die hard, after all. Tommy may have been told time and time again by everyone on the server that infinite respawns are a thing, yes really, but he still has a hard time believing it. He actually has a rather insane number of levels racked up- even more than Xisuma, which is impressive- because in all the months that he has been on Hermitcraft, he hasn't died once. It's a combination of survival skills taught to him by Philza and his own paranoia which has kept him alive for so long, and most of the hermits agree that it is rather impressive, if not entirely healthy for him to be so scared of dying. (Doc once offered to kill him as evidence that yes, it really is safe here and you will respawn, but for all that death by crazy redstone machine might of been cool, Tommy took a hard pass on that. Grian low key took exception to Doc offering to kill his adopted little brother, really man? Not cool.)

Anyway, Grian and Tommy meet up in the End and start off bridging with the insane amount of cobble that Tommy has stored up. Usually Tommy is in front, placing the stones, and Grian is in back, watching out for any sign of a slip up, but this time they decide to switch it up a bit, head in a new direction, play around with who's doing what this time. It ends... poorly. They bridge out into the black, on and on and on, farther into the void than they ever have before. Slowly, the islands of floating white stone stop appearing with such frequency, but they become larger in size and stranger in shape. Every once in a while Grian will see what he swears to be a glowing white mountain of Endstone in the distance, although Tommy calls bullshit each and every time. They chalk it all up to bad luck and going nuts from boredom, but really, neither one of them knows how to quit while they're ahead. As the islands disappear altogether and all that remains to orient themselves is the tenuous lifeline of cobblestone beneath their feet, the unthinkable happens.

Grian slips. And Tommy, taught compassion by the very world that will now kill him, reaches out to save him.

For one, brief moment, the two brothers clasp hands- and then Grian's weight pulls Tommy right over the edge and down, down, down into the void below.

Grian fell out of the world.

Tommy fell out of the world... and into a new one.

----

Xisuma wakes up late that day. He's been doing that a lot, if he's honest, given how late he's staying up most nights finishing up builds and the like. Those hours of sleep have to come from somewhere, after all, and he's far from an early bird. He gives into the impulse to relax a bit, drinking some tea sweetened with just enough honey to rot his teeth, and then heads off to his computer room to start up his duties as admin for the day. It's the red lights that alert him to something being wrong, and at first, he thinks it's just one of hermits' cam accounts being buggy again. Perhaps it got shut off while the hermit was bridging through the void and the hermit in question simply hadn't retrieved it yet? But who would name their cam account Tommyinnit? The looming dread sits cold in his gut as he flicks his fingers to open up his admin panel... Best to check, just in case.

The death messages are clear enough- Keralis had just perished to a ravager yesterday, likely Tango's from Decked Out if he had to guess. Zedaph had been slain by a piglin twenty minutes ago. And Grian and Tommy had fallen into the void. But if that were the case... why had only one of them respawned?

On Grian's part, he comes to with a lingering chill deep in his bones and an awful headache. The bed underneath him is warm and the sheets are a soft rosy color, likely one of the ones in Scar's magical village if the persistent smell of spruce is anything to go by. He winces against the light filtering through the window and turns to the side, squinting at where Tommy had placed his blue bed right next to his, apology on his lips for his stupid mistake. The sheets are undisturbed. Huh. That's weird, he could have sworn that he and Tommy had set their respawn points at the same time. Maybe Tommy had just forgotten and he was back in his base or at spawn? Grian rises to his feet slowly, giving his body time to adjust to the colors and sounds of the Overworld, then flaps his wings and takes off to go looking for his Tommy.

He doesn't find him.

---

The reactions to Tommy's "death" are many and varied, although for the most part, the hermits are split into two camps- those that think Tommy is gone for good, and those that think he may still be out there somewhere. For the first few days of Tommy's disappearance, most everyone is in the latter camp. Xisuma spends hours upon hours scanning the code, becoming increasingly more frazzled and terrified as his lack of sleep gets to him. Tango and Doc join him in the endeavor, although none of them have any luck or are able to spot the piece of code that caused the problem. No additions, no changes to the text, nothing. Grian leads the other team, those who set out on foot and one wing and with pick in hand to scour the world for their youngest charge, taken from them too soon. They begin in a grid pattern, setting out in ones and twos to search the whole world, but as the distance increases, the neat, orderly flyovers turn into frenzied boosting as panic starts to get the better of them. Some of them hold onto their composure better than others, but Grian ends up flying over the same patch of forest three times because he can't see for his tears. False, Impulse, Welsknight, and Beef cross the Nether, fighting their way into Bastion after Bastion and leaving Nether portals in their wake. In their tracks comes the fliers- Grian, Ren, Iskall, and BDubs. Each one takes a portal and does a sweep through the corresponding patch of Overworld before picking a direction to continue the search. Cubfan, iJevin, and Scar take to the seas, Mumbo, Stress, xB, and Zedaph to the End, Etho down into the depths of the caves below. Strangely enough, there are a few hermits who don't join the search- Keralis, who got the unlucky task of taking care of Xisuma and the others searching through the code, Tinfoilchef, who doesn't provide a reason but everyone gives him a pass because of his age, and Joe Hills and Zombie Cleo, who refuse to explain themselves.

Eventually, the searches dry up. Eventually, some of the hermits admit defeat. Hundreds of thousands of blocks out from spawn, down to the bedrock below, beneath sea and sky and every place that lacks the sun. How far is too far? For Xisuma, enough is enough. Tommy is dead. The search is over.

He stops looking. And soon, others do the same.

And the tone of the server... shifts.

For the first time that any of them can remember, a person has perma-died. Sure, they've all heard the rumors, of servers where infinite respawns is not the norm, of servers where the world glitched and a creeper is supercharged enough to damage a player down to their code. But they'd never thought that one of their own would be on the receiving end of such a curse. And to the hermits, the possibility of dying themselves suddenly becomes all too real. The constant flying is the first to go, and for those that insist on it anyway (outside of Grian, who has wings), checking the elytras' durability becomes more than just a habit. Eating spider eyes and other junk is out of the question, now it's golden apples or nothing. The Nether is all but abandoned, as is the End, and everyone on the server either groups up so that they are never alone, or retreats into their bases, becoming true hermits befitting of their server's name.

The joy that had once been so characteristic of the server is gone, and in the hearts of all, there lingers the dread that any one of them might be next- although, there are still those that hold on to hope that Tommy may not be as gone as he seems.

---

The hermits who think Tommy is dead for good and have stopped searching: Doc, Etho, Xisuma, Welsknight, Grian, BDubs, Cubfan, TinfoilChef, Stress, False, Iskall.

The hermits who think Tommy is still out there, alive if still missing, and that the search should continue: Keralis, Mumbo, Tango, Vintage Beef, Impulse, Zedaph, Joe Hills, Zombie Cleo, Scar, Rendog, xB.

Doc and Etho are old. They don't like to admit it, but they've been around since the beginning, back when players were first learning how to jump servers and communicator technology was undergoing its first upgrade. They've seen a lot and know well by now that dead is dead. Tommy is dead. All that is left to do is mourn and move on, and they have shed their tears already. Call them cold for it, but in the face of a kind of drive that can keep a man going after his entire server has burnt down around his ears (Mindcrack will be missed), they know they need to keep moving forward. There are enough broken messes on the server these days, and it is through their efforts that shops remain stocked and the torches don't burn out. They hold onto normalcy with an iron grip and hope that some day, the rest of the hermits will join them in rationality.

Stress too has a comparatively healthy approach to all of this. She doesn't want it to be true, god no, but so far everything is pointing in the direction of Tommy being dead for good. She eats a couple dozen bowls of ice cream, has a some good cries, doesn't leave her base for a week, and even afterwards she can't bring herself to wear pink for a while. But she's mourning. She's accepted things. She lets her heart break, and as time passes, she lets herself heal. And that's enough for her.

Scar is of the opinion that Tommy is still out there, and while he clings to that hope with all his might, it's fragile and Cub just knows that his best friend is going to be cut to pieces when that hope inevitably breaks. So he takes Scar aside for a quiet conversation, to break his heart before the world can break it for him. Afterwards, Scar stops talking about Tommy as if he's coming back, but his smile is never as bright as it was before. And Cub's heart breaks too.

Team ZIT swings the exact opposite way as the rest and are firmly of the belief that permadeath is impossible and thus Tommy must be alive. The three of them aren’t known for their impulse control at the best of times, and with so many hermits having given up, the trio is rightfully vicious about the fact that the others, in their eyes, have abandoned their friend. Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango all kind of feed into one another and start doing lots of dangerous stunts, as if daring the universe to permakill them and prove them wrong. If one of them does something, the other two join in and escalate things, which gets impossibly dangerous very, very fast. Tango is furious, Impulse is bitter, and Zedaph is straight up heartbroken that his other friends would give up on another of their number. They do things like fly incredibly high, go cliff jumping in the Nether only to catch themselves at the last minute, and sprint across the End bridges. If they have doubts, they never voice them. Even when Tango feels like he’s burning up from the inside and wonders at his newfound hate. Even when Impulse is utterly terrified but goes along with things anyway because Tango is doing it and he can’t bear to leave a friend alone. Even when Zedaph looks at his friends and can’t help but feel scared of and for these strangers wearing the faces he knows so well. Even then.

Team ZIT often gets dragged into and starts lots of screaming fights with the other hermits who believe Tommy is dead, especially Doc, BDubs, xB, and False. False especially gets vicious, as while pvp is no longer permitted on the server, her tongue is as sharp as any blade. She believes firmly that the others are trampling on Tommy’s memory by insisting that he isn’t dead and she is determined to make them stop. And if they refuse to give up their foolishness? Well, all she might have left is her words but with them she will make them bleed.

xB and Vintage Beef are as close to neutral as you are going to get from those that get into regular arguments. xB thinks Tommy is dead until proven otherwise, while Beef thinks the exact reverse. As some of the more chill hermits, they often get dragged in to play negotiator so that the fights don’t turn physical. And some days, when someone says something particularly hurtful, they’ll close themselves up in one of xB’s bunkers and drink until they can no longer remember why they ought to be enemies. It’s hardly healthy, but they both agree that it’s better this way. Better to forget than to hurt, after all.

Grian is… somewhat the same. Sort of. He was traumatized by Tommy, the boy he adopted as his little brother, dying before his eyes, and he can’t help but blame himself. That is, when he can remember that Tommy is dead at all. After the fall, Grian’s mind was badly broken and he couldn’t accept that his little brother was dead for the longest time. He fell into two weeks of deep depression, barely eating or drinking, and eventually Iskall came and took care of him when he realized that he hadn’t seen his buddy in ages. Iskall nursed Grian back to health, only to feel his heart shatter in his breast when Grian turned to him, eyes feverishly bright and tone childlike, asking where Tommy was. The winged man’s mind couldn’t cope with the loss so it had shut down entirely, making him forget the tragedy that had occured. Iskall had deflected then, frantically trying to figure out what to say, but after a few days of Grian wandering about in a dreamlike state, his memory came back to him and he collapsed in on himself once more. The winged hermit is now locked in a loop of this, while poor Iskall is stuck trying to keep his friend alive and relatively sane.

Iskall, for his part, thinks Tommy is well and truly dead. In part because of his own certainty, in part because anything else would be even crueler for Grian. He doesn’t resent his friend for his break downs, just quietly bundles him up and clutches him close, coaxing him to eat and bathe, to put down the guilt and realize that it’ll be okay, the world won’t end with Tommy gone. He gently tries to nudge Grian down that path of acceptance of Tommy’s fate, and though he faces many setbacks, he tackles each one with a special kind of patience born of platonic love. They’re bros, despite everything. It’s only right.

Mumbo is, weirdly enough, on the side of Tommy being alive. Iskall doesn’t exactly approve and while he and Mumbo sometimes get into whispered arguments over it, they try to keep their little disagreements from Grian. Both of them only want to see their friend happy again, and will do just about anything to make it happen. For Mumbo, this means putting together crazy redstone contraptions to try and find Tommy again, as he’s certain that Grian’s little brother is still out there somewhere- and he has a piece that might prove it. Iskall comes over one day, face drawn and haggard from a night of soothing Grian through another set of screaming nightmares, only to find Mumbo waist high in redstone wiring, all hooked up to a strange portal design that looks too much like Doc’s infinity portal from season 6 for comfort. At the top of the arch is Tommy’s compass, needle whirling about like a hurricane, and while the portal isn’t lit, it does give off a faint blue-black glow. Iskall is frightened that Mumbo is tampering with something that could get him killed and Mumbo rushes to reassure him that no, the compass was specifically linked to Tommy so if Tommy was really dead, it would have been reset, right? He’s merely borrowing that tie to try and figure out where the two ends lead. Iskall is less than sure about this, especially since Mumbo is just as drawn and pale as he is, if a bit more covered in redstone, but they agree that fighting is pointless. They care about each other and about Grian too much to put any of them through that sort of pain- and besides, there’s more than enough fighting on the server already.

Ren too thinks that Tommy is alive and he is one of the ones who gets into regular fights. He’s a lover, not a fighter, but something about this whole situation just burns him up. When the pressure gets too much, he goes flying, tracing over those old familiar trails they searched so long ago, trying to see if there is anything they missed. There never is.

Welsknight has made his peace with Tomy’s death, though the server tends to forget that he and Tommy were closer than most. He alone knew that Tommy was once upon a time a boy called Theseus (a name given to him shyly when Tommy had asked him if there were any great heroes with that name that didn’t die). He alone knew Tommy’s love for horses, or that he would spend hours whispering horror stories to them when he thought no one would hear. Tommy was his squire, and although he had accepted the tragedy, he still wept for the hurt it brought him. He alone knew of the little grave he had dug under the willow tree in his castle courtyard and the headstone he had placed there, engraved with Tommy’s true name, death date, and supposed date of birth. He couldn’t have been more than 17, and perhaps that was what hurt the most. Every morning at dawn, Welsknight brings a bouquet of flowers to that little grave and says a prayer before disappearing into the morning fog. The flowers are always the same- forget me nots, for remembrance, violets, for devotion, and clover. (Think of me).

Tinfoilchef stays out of it- always has and always will. He’s too old to rush about searching or to feel as wildly as the others do. He feels, of course, but more so as the mountain does, steady and strong despite the winds that tear at its surface. Tommy is dead, but then, so are many of the people he has known in his life. It’s best to just keep plodding along.

BDubs is a mess. He had never spoken of it, but long before he had come to hermitcraft, he had had a daughter- a beautiful baby girl whose heart was too big for her chest, and she had died for that difference. He had grieved for years, but eventually the peace of the hermitcraft server had left him soothed, if a bit different than before. Tommy had been another chance at fatherhood, not that he could ever bear to call the teen that, even in the privacy of his own mind. Instead, he had taught the kid to build cobblestone towers that weren’t entirely offensive (if shaped a bit oddly) and had been the first to volunteer any time Grian was out and Tommy needed a place to spend the night when the nightmares were particularly fierce. They had so many fun sleepovers like that, and staring at those awful cobble towers in the distance, BDubs can’t help but bawl his eyes out at the memories. He waffles between taking the towers down or leaving them up- they really are ugly, and the feelings in his chest that they inspire are even more so, but somehow, he can’t bear to see them gone. Instead, he dries his eyes, flies off to grab a shulker of cobble, and sets about adding a few more to their number. A final remembrance for the boy he would have gladly claimed as his own, if only he hadn’t been too late. (He ends up building a lot more than a few).

Joe and Cleo are somehow the only ones who are actually neutral in the whole mess. Whenever they are asked their opinion on if Tommy is truly dead or not, the pair simply smile mysteriously and refuse to comment. Joe always seems to know more than he lets on and Cleo is his closest confidant, after all. Despite the anger and tears directed their way for refusing to commit to either side, the two keep their silence. (They know the truth of the matter, after all. Everything will be okay in time).

Xisuma has given up. Tommy is dead, and there is nothing he can do but spend days and days going over the code with a fine tooth comb, trying to find the glitch that cut the life of their youngest member short. Keralis takes it upon himself to take care of his long time friend, but it’s not an easy task, not when the other is so determined to make sure that such an incident never happens again. And Keralis can’t find it in himself to complain, especially since he is laboring under the impression that Xisuma agrees that Tommy is still out there and is trying to find him. It is only when Keralis mentions it in an aside, thanking the admin for his dedication, that Xisuma breaks the illusion and explains. Tommy isn’t just dead, he says tiredly, his very presence is well and truly wiped from the world’s code. All that is left of him is the faint impression his code had left behind, and trying to read it and understand what went wrong is a bit like trying to read small letters that have been drawn out in dry sand. Even for a voidwalker like himself such a task is near impossible, and Xisuma can only do so much. The needs of the many above the needs of the few- best to secure those he can now than worry over those that are gone beyond his reach. And Keralis can’t help but look at his friend with new eyes, a fleeting sense of betrayal in his heart. He had thought better of his Shishwammy, and he says as much. 

He cries while Xisuma watches on in solemn, mournful silence.

---

TBC  :)

[jinkisbelly]

Morning Coffee

Song drabble #4, In Case you didn’t know - Brett Young

Pairing - Jongyu, G, 700 or so words      Ao3 link

or For once, Jonghyun manages to finish a cup of coffee in the morning without the kids interrupting.

    Between work and the kids, he knew he didn’t openly appreciate Jonghyun as he should, at least not like he used to. While the way time changed things could not be stopped and how relationships shift over the years, one thing that hadn’t changed was how crazy he was about the man or how he was sure he’d never be able to live this life without him. The twins were still asleep thankfully late Saturday morning, a blessing in itself with how early they usually rose. Next month they would turn three, and God, they couldn’t already be three, could they? He paused then, one hand gripping the handle of the coffee pot and the other steadying Jonghyun’s favorite mug, and realized they would be. If it wasn’t for the stairs creaking as someone jogged down them, his husband by the rhythm, Jinki was sure he would have stayed in that exact position for a bit longer trying to wrap his head over how their small babies were almost three. He shook his head and slowly poured the piping hot liquid into the mug, the dark color swirling lighter with the right amount of cream and a dash of cinnamon he had already put at the bottom. By the time Jonghyun shuffled into the room, hair a mess on his head, glasses threatening to fall from the tip of his nose and mismatched slippers on his feet, the mug of coffee was already placed on the kitchen island in front of his favorite spot.

    Sleep was still so evident in his being, eyes half-closed, movements slow, but he perked up when he saw his mug. His smile was still so breathtaking so many years later, that warm swoop feeling in Jinki’s chest being on the receiving end of it. “Good morning.” 

    He had never been very vocal with his feelings, not in the way Jonghyun was, but saying he loved the man was just about the easiest thing he could do. He loved him dearly, so much so sometimes it ached in his chest if he thought about how much Jonghyun meant to him. At the beginning, he’d leave little notes about how he felt. Jonghyun had taken up the habit and started to leave poems for him, and still now, every so often Jinki would find one folded up under his phone on the nightstand in the morning in his light, quick hand. At that moment watching as Jonghyun practically curled around the hot mug, eyes fluttering shut as he breathed in the aroma deeply, Jinki wasn’t sure he wouldn’t sprout in romantic prose if he was honest with himself. Before the coffee cooled just enough for the man to begin to drink it, Jinki stepped forward, ghosting his fingers over the side of his face to curl around the back of his neck. Jonghyun made a soft, rather adorable, sound as he kissed him, but slowly returned it as his mind, still lingering with sleep, managed to catch up. 

    One hand pressed into his lower back, keeping him close even if Jonghyun hadn’t moved closer to deepen the kiss. When they finally parted, Jinki was sure his hair was more ruffled than Jonghyun’s had been with his case of the bedhead, and there was an alluring flush to the man’s skin. “What was that for?” 

    “I love you,” His thumb caressed over Jonghyun’s cheek, a smile tugging at his lips fondly. “I’m still so crazy about you and I just feel like I don’t tell you enough how important you are to me.” 

    “Oh, I love you too, but,” He chuckled lightly, bumping their noses just a bit, “You show me every day, Babe. I know, but thank you for telling me.”

    By the time the twins were beginning to wake up, Jonghyun had managed to drink half of his coffee while it was still warm, something that rarely happens nowadays with how often it was abandoned to take care of something for the children. Jinki pressed a kiss to his cheek, hand pressed down on Jonghyun’s thigh when the man began to move. “Finish your coffee. I’ll get them.” 

[makaylajadewrites]

What a Woman

Summary: JJ and Emily seemed to be paying extra special attention to Spencer, and it was hard to hide his discomfort and obvious surprise when they dragged him out of the conference room to have a “talk” as they both put it. But the idea they had in mind was something he would never consider, not even for a millisecond, and to even think of such a situation made his skin crawl.

“Will you at least consider it?” Emily asked desperately, both girls following after him as he searched for an escape in the precinct break room, gravitating towards the coffee maker instantly to pour himself a cup of the black sludge they called coffee in Philadelphia.

“Not even for a second."

Potential tws: hate speech/crimes, homophobia, transphobia, not so nice Rossi, smut

Word count: 7757

--

Traipsing through his routine in the morning was simultaneously painful and difficult. Every morning was the same; he would wake up at five thirty on the dot and complain and curse for ten minutes about getting up early, then he would drag his willowy frame through his apartment like a wandering specter. Once his Keurig was on, he would vanish into the bathroom where he spent nearly fifteen minutes showering, attempting to tame his wild hair, brushing his teeth, and, much to Derek’s admitted surprise, applying makeup.

Spencer didn’t wear a lot of makeup to work, and in fact it was hardly even noticeable. His under eye bags were dark, almost purple, and it seemed that his perpetual lack of sleep and constant stress from the job was what kept them permanent. But with the concealer and powder he liked to use, it diminished them somewhat, and at least made him feel a bit better about his appearance. It wasn’t socially acceptable for men to wear full faces of makeup just yet, and with Reid’s subtle nature, he would have to deal with it as quietly as he could.

But today, something was different

Derek looked up and greeted him with a fond, “Good morning, baby,” but his eyes quickly flicked downwards to take in the pink sheen over his diamond-shaped lips. Reid smiled shyly, leaning in to kiss him and when he pulled back, Derek looked somewhat dazed and surprised. But he said nothing, and Spencer was grateful for that. He turned away and proceeded to collect the coffee mug that Morgan had prepared for him while he was in the bathroom. Once Derek took his own shower and readied himself for the day, they set off to work

Now that they were a couple, Derek seemed to be having a difficult time in keeping his eyes off of Spencer, at home, at work, on dates… All the time, really. Spencer had questioned him about this with a bit of humor in tone, and Morgan explained that it was because he realized just how pretty Spencer was, from his fluid movements to his somehow graceful composure. But Reid was quick to shut that down, since he found it difficult to accept compliments regarding his physical appearance - especially his normal, every day appearance. He was too awkward, too stiff. He didn’t know what to do with his hands sometimes and his autistic tendencies would often appear in the expression of silent stimming, rather it be in the form of flapping hands or wiggling fingers. He was a freak, but Derek was appalled by that word and assured him that he was, honestly, quite precious. Derek always had an incredible protective streak, but Spencer never expected to be on the receiving end of that, especially not in such an intimate way.

It must have been his lipgloss today, because Derek was practically undressing with his clothes the second they stepped into the bullpen. Reid had a habit of wrapping his lips around almost anything he got his hands on, but even as frequently as he mentioned how unhygienic as it was, he still had a tendency of biting on a pen cap or keeping one of the little black coffee straws in his mouth - That probably wasn’t helping Morgan’s vivid imagination.

Prentiss had taken a keen interest in the couple, commenting briefly on the shared glances between them over the past month or so and often encouraging them to ‘get a room’ without actually understanding that they were in fact involved with one another. Spencer knew that they needed to be careful, hence his disparity towards PDA and any form of more-than-friendly interactions. They couldn’t afford to be figured out, not unless they both wanted to lose their jobs or be reassigned within the Bureau. But today, she just seemed desperate to point out the obvious change in Reid’s appearance, particularly his new addition to his usually bare face.

“Lipgloss today, Reid?” Prentiss asked, not unkindly and mainly more curious than anything.  Reid’s head popped up from where it was bowed down over his desk, a pen fitting between his parted, shimmering lips. He smiled around the cap, nodding his head shyly.

“O-Oh, yeah… I was feeling a little bold, today, I guess,” he said in a bashful murmur, his chestnut curls falling around his pretty face. He looked over towards Morgan, thick lashes batting innocently against his high cheekbones while he offered him a hesitant smile.

“I like it! It’s pretty. Brings out the color in your cheeks,” Emily observed fondly, and Spencer seemed to brighten up considerably. That was a considerable compliment, especially since he had the complexion of a zombie on his good days. He popped the pen out from between his lips, sitting up a bit straighter and crossing his slim legs effortlessly under his desk.

“You think so? I still think I look a bit washed out on normal days,” Reid said. Morgan looked a bit incredulous, but JJ happened to be walking by in that very moment with case files in hand.

“Reid, you know much I like to prove you wrong, but today we don’t have time. We have a case,” she said, patting the stack of files in her arm with one hand and clicking off up the stairs and towards Hotch’s office. The trio shared a look before getting up and heading towards the roundtable room in a group. They took their seats, side by side, but Reid wandered off towards the break room to fix himself another coffee before they had to get into the nitty gritty and bloody details. Because who could stand looking at mutilated bodies without overly sweet coffee? Certainly not Reid.

When he returned, everyone was inside and waiting for him, and he muttered a sheepish apologize while scurrying to his seat beside Derek who just acknowledged him with a fond smile. Rossi looked at him a bit strangely but said nothing, most likely noticing the lipgloss on his lips but ultimately diverting his attention to the case instead.

“Alright everyone, we have a case involving three murdered individuals in Philadelphia. They were all found in alleys with their clothing removed,” Garcia said, her full lips pursed. Some pictures showed up on the screen, revealing their nude and beaten bodies, with several stab wounds littering two out of the three. She left out a rather important detail though in her introduction, and almost immediately, Rossi seemed to catch on.

“Whoa,” Emily offered quite lamely, her brows furrowing together.

“They were completely castrated…” JJ muttered, feeling uncomfortable and knowing her male colleagues had to feel worse.

“Is that…” he started, only for Morgan to intervene before he said something potentially insulting.

“Are they transgender?” Morgan asked instead, and Garcia tilted her head slightly, indication of a mixed answer.

“Local law enforcement is saying yes,” Hotch responded with a firm nod.

“Maybe even drag queens,” Reid spoke up, his chin perched in his hand as he overlooked the file with a clinical expression on his face. “Do we know for certain if they were transgender or is local police just assuming they are? Because that makeup is… quite adventurous,” he said honestly,

“At this point, I believe it is just speculation. We’ll find out for sure when we arrive. Wheels up in thirty,” Hotch concluded, standing up with file in hand and leaving the conference room to organize their flight. Everyone else lingered, and Rossi just had to ask the question that everyone seemed to be dreading.

“You know a lot about makeup, Reid?” He asked a bit standoffishly, looking up and down Reid as if sizing him up. Spencer blinked, suddenly growing incredibly aware of the light makeup on his own face. God, this was uncomfortable, and even though he was a grown man, he felt like he had just been caught by his father, digging into his mother’s makeup bag. Subconsciously, he licked his lips in an attempt to destroy the evidence of gloss.

“Um… Just basic stuff, I guess.” Christ, it was like coming out as gay all over again. I sort of like guys… Maybe just a little. He swallowed and looked towards Morgan who was glaring holes into an unassuming Rossi. But Dave just frowned and narrowed his eyes a bit. “Uh huh,” He hummed, looking over Reid once more before leaving the room after Hotch. The girls looked after him incredulously and Spencer felt exposed, certainly uncomfortable, and definitely awkward.

“If he says another word to you, just let me know,” Morgan said, squeezing his shoulder in a way that didn’t suggest anything more than a protective, brotherly relationship. Spencer smiled slightly at him, and the girls agreed with similar statements. But he couldn’t get too caught up in his own feelings. They had a killer to catch, and if getting his feelings hurt along the way meant putting him away, it was a worthy sacrifice.

Right?

~

“I’m SSA Morgan and this is Dr. Spencer Reid. We’re with agents Hotchner and Jareau.”

Even though Philadelphia was only three hours, they couldn’t afford to waste time. They had landed in Philadelphia after an hour jet ride and almost immediately split up, Rossi and Emily visiting the most recent crime scene while Morgan and Reid tackled the M.E. Hotch and JJ had already set up at the precinct and were busy in the conference room, but as Morgan and Reid arrived, they were instantly approached by a deputy who questioned them, and he looked over Reid incredulously, and it was enough to make the young doctor uncomfortable. He probably had trouble believing that scrawny Reid was actually an FBI agent. But the deputy just hummed and directed the m towards the conference room where they could see their colleagues at work. It seemed that Rossi and Emily had beaten them back to the precinct.

“M.E. was able to tell us that all of our victims were biologically male, which we already knew,” Morgan informed the other four agents, and Reid was quick to jump in.

“All of the victims were wearing makeup, as we already stated, as well as colored wigs. Now, what’s interesting about that is that they were all wearing wig caps with glue or tape applied as well, which is a common trick that drag queens use to keep their wigs on while performing,” he supplied knowingly, his hands locking together in front of his chest. He knew that feeling this nervous was probably a bit dramatic, but it was almost like a personal attack on him - especially since he was beginning to believe that these victims were in fact drag queens, and not transgender or crossdressing individuals. The universe sure had a sick mind, and Rossi’s constant staring wasn’t helping.

“We can confirm this with Garcia,” Hotch said, and quickly took out his phone to dial their beloved technical analyst.

“Sir, yes, sir!” Garcia’s bubbly voice sounded from the phone, but the mood was far too somber for any of them to even think of responding to her quirkiness.

“Garcia, can you look into our victims and see if they were involved in the gay community, specifically as drag queens? Look into local gay bars as well as any other significant venues.”

“Ah, drag queens and gay bars, two of my favorite things in one sentence,” she cooed while her fingers flew across the keys.

“You know, it’s also possible some of them were involved in non-profits geared towards LGBTQ people. We—I mean, sometimes drag queens will get involved as role models for the kids who get rejected by their friends and families,” Reid said, cursing himself for his little stumble. Again, Rossi looked at him hard, but Garcia was quick to respond.

“Alright, my queens, all three victims were regular performers at a local gay bar known as Syndicate. And our second victim, Collin Knicks, took several trips a month to volunteer at a nonprofit in the Big Apple focused on preventing LGBTQ suicides and helping at-risk individuals.”

“There’s our connection,” Emily said with a nod of her head. “So it’s a hate crime.”

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” the local detective, Jim Stewart, said, his arms crossed over his chest. He frowned, looking over one of the crime scene pictures. “It’s possible he was interested in them sexually and when he discovered they were actually men, he became enraged.”

“I’m willing to bet that it’s a hate crime,” Morgan said confidently, and Reid instantly nodded in agreement, standing up a bit straighter in front of the map he had been glancing over.

“As am I. Twenty point four percent of all hate crimes are focused on an individual’s sexual orientation, and out of those 20.4, 56.7% were homosexual males. I don’t think it’s coincidence that all of these men were drag queens, and besides, not all of them were the overly feminine drag queens that can be mistaken for biological females. For example, our first victim was in a style commonly called camp, and in the drag community, that means overdramatizing feminine aspects of beauty. A lot of camp drag queens draw their inspiration from typical clown getups, especially in their makeup, but they also perform with clown values like comedy and satire.”

That left a few baffled individuals, in particular, Hotch, Rossi, and Stewart. Damn, he knew it was foolish to spout out information like that, especially since it implied intimate knowledge of the drag community. And again, it wasn’t a secret, but the less people who knew, the better, and the last thing he needed was his two superiors knowing of his pastime activity. He knew they most likely wouldn’t do anything about it, but he would rather Hotch and Rossi not know that he flounced around in women’s clothing and makeup in his free time.

Someone cleared their throat in a hope to dispel the awkward air that took over the room, and Hotch eventually, thankfully, decided to speak up.

“Alright, Reid. If this is a hate crime, how do you think the unsub targeted them? Through the clubs?” He questioned. Reid instantly nodded his head, pointing at the one bar on the map where all of the victims frequented for performances.

“Has to be. Syndicate, the bar, is at the center of all of the dump sites. They were all left in different alleys no more than two miles away from the bar, so I think it would only make sense to assume that this is where he is picking up his victims,” Reid said, his intelligence hardly surprising the rest of his team, “And since he’s been there before, I’m betting that he’s either a regular or he blends in.”

“Perfect… So how are we going to find a single fag in a bar full of ‘em?” The detective spat out, and his hate was pretty clear. If Reid wasn’t sure, he’d think that the detective could be their unsub.

“Watch your mouth,” Derek hissed dangerously, and Hotch was quick to cast him a sharp glare insinuating that he would get this under control, and if Reid knew Hotch well enough, he knew he would follow through with that.

“Do not refer to these victims as such slurs. Regardless of their sexual orientation or preferred gender identity, they were human and deserve respect,” He said both respectfully yet sternly, and the detective just shook his head with a huff.

“I just don’t understand what the world’s coming to. But fine, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. They were human.” Well, that problem was solved, for now at least. Reid feared that the detective’s clear disdain for these people - people like him - would rise to the surface again, but they would deal with that issue when it presented itself. They came to do their job, and regardless of how hateful some people could be, they couldn’t let that interfere.

Speculation wasn’t getting them anywhere, but over time, they were able to develop a profile, or at least a partial one; The unsub was a white male in his mid twenties to early thirties with homophobic ideologies that could possibly stem from religious beliefs. It was possible he was feeling homosexual tendencies and in an effort to dispel them, he killed the objects of his desire. Due to his ability to go to the same club on three different occasions without incident meant he blended into the crowd and was potentially a regular at the club. With nothing more to go off of, JJ and Emily seemed to be paying extra special attention to Spencer, and it was hard to hide his discomfort and obvious surprise when they dragged him out of the conference room to have a “talk” as they both put it. But the idea they had in mind was something he would never consider, not even for a millisecond, and to even think of such a situation made his skin crawl.

“Will you at least consider it?” Emily asked desperately, both girls following after him as he searched for an escape in the precinct break room, gravitating towards the coffee maker instantly to pour himself a cup of the black sludge they called coffee in Philadelphia.

“Not even for a second,” he dismissed easily, pouring sugar into his coffee which he was beginning to suspect was actually really mud.

“Spence, please? This could be our only chance of catching the unsub,” JJ tried, looking both exasperated and equally as desperate as Prentiss. He frowned and shook his head, reaching a hand up to brush his messy curls away from his face with fingers he now realized were shaking just slightly.

“Guys, please… I can’t. Do you realize the impact that could have on my career? My reputation,” he said, his voice raising just slightly in pitch out of frustration.

“Spence…”

“I said no,” he said more firmly with a sharp frown set on his lips. It was too much of a risk for him to take. If word got around at the Bureau that the Dr. Spencer Reid was actually a drag queen, he would be devastated and ruined. He knew they couldn’t legally fire him over it, but the Bureau wasn’t the most liberal place in the world, so they would most likely search for an excuse to get rid of him. And in all honesty, every single member of his team had done something that would deem firing - and he was not exception to that.

The day continued on as was expected, and when evening came around and they had no leads, Hotch gave instructions for them to retire to the hotel. They all stopped at a local Thai restaurant for dinner though, and despite Rossi’s occasional hard glances, he was feeling a little less exposed than he had been before. When they finally made it to the hotel, it was simply common knowledge that he and Derek would be rooming together. Nobody really knew for certain that they were in a relationship, and although speculation would continue to circle the unlikely duo, they would neither confirm nor deny it. So it was simple to make the assumption that Reid and Morgan would share a room, but not as simple to assume they would be sharing the same bed.

“JJ and Emily made the suggestion that I go undercover in drag,” he said softly, wrapped in his lover’s warm embrace with nothing more than a pair of boxers on. He needed this… A sense of relaxation and a stress free environment where he could just wind down for a little, at least until the morning when he and Derek would both have to snap back into work-mode.

“Not such a bad idea, actually,” Derek said thoughtfully, and Spencer only proceeded to smack his muscular bicep. Derek only chuckled in respond, his arms squeezing slightly around his lithe lover in a form of comfort and reassurance. “But I won’t pressure you. We can catch the unsub without that, but I won’t say it wouldn’t be a helpful way to get him on our radar.”

“Derek… You know I can’t,” he murmured with a frown in place. Derek leaned in close and kissed his pouting lips, and somehow that was enough for Spencer to believe that anything was a good idea, at least until he sobered up from the sweet moment. “You know what that would do to me… I can’t.”

“And like I said, I’m not going to pressure you. But I will ask that you think about it, for the sake of our victims and their families.” Derek was obviously pressuring him, just not in a direct manner like the girls had done. At least Penelope wasn’t in on their little idea…

“Don’t try and guilt-trip me,” Spencer lectured weakly, pushing away from Derek’s embrace and rolling over, his back to the other man. He didn’t know what he was going to do. It would definitely help them, but was it worth it to put his own self at risk? It was in his job description, to put his life on the line to save others. But he was beginning to question the flexibility of those rules. Morgan followed him as he turned away, curling behind him and holding him close, pressing a kiss to the top of his shoulder.

“I’m not. I’ll respect whatever decision you make,” Morgan mumbled into his skin. Spencer sighed, hugging a spare pillow close while his lover’s hands laid over his stomach, feeling the concavity of his thin frame.

“Rossi’s been looking at me weirdly all day, and I don’t think my knowledge of makeup and drag queens and my ramblings of gay hate crimes really helped,” he admitted, and Derek just chuckled, the light stubble on his chin scruffy against his shoulder.

“Rossi is a conservative middle aged man with a Catholic-Italian upbringing. Are you surprised?” He asked and Reid just hummed a sound of amusement.

“You’re right… Doesn’t make me feel any better though. He seems both intrigued and suspicious, and almost disgusted in a way. I don’t know if he really feels that way or if he’s just surprised.”

“It’s probably a mixture of both,” Derek said honestly, his hand now moving up and down Spencer’s bare torso. “But you shouldn’t worry about it… I know you look up to him, but if he really does feel that way towards gay men, I don’t think you should torture yourself like that. It’ll only hurt in the end.”

“You’re right… Maybe I’m just overthinking it too,” he murmured, and Derek tilted his head slightly to nip at the shell of his ear, a sharp gasp responding to his ministrations.

“Want me to help you stop thinking for a bit?” Derek whispered, his breath hot against his neck. And Reid could only shiver in response, nodding his head immediately. Those hands traced along the expanse of his torso, thick fingers brushing over his sensitive nipples and over the contours of his ribcage. He could feel himself getting aroused, his boxers getting tighter around his growing erection.

“Oh, god…” Spencer breathed as Derek’s hand dipped down to squeeze the bulge through his boxers, his thighs quivering out of pure instinct. Derek always had the ability to make him shake, and even light touches could send him over the edge. But not tonight - he wanted this to drag out for as long as possible, so slow was good. His partner kissed his shoulder and neck, his tongue dragging a line from the base of his neck and up the length of his jugular to the underside of his jaw.

“You’re so pretty, Spence…” he murmured, his hand dancing across the fabric of his Dr. Who boxers, the TARDIS overlapping prints of itself in a spiral of blues. He stifled a groan as Derek’s hand finally delved beneath the waistband, grasping his cock at the base and squeezing before moving upwards. And just to be a tease, the bastard completely avoided the tip.

“Derek, please,” Reid whined, his legs kicking out childishly. Derek chuckled, kissing his jaw and on the next upward stroke, his thumb slid over his head, teasing the slit delicately before he went back to just fondling him. Spencer let his head tilt back and turn, his own lips seeking Morgan’s. Derek was quick to fulfill that wish, their lips meeting in a sloppy but still passionate kiss. Derek purposely set up a quickened pace of stroking then, and Spencer moaned into the kiss.

“Don’t make me gag you, Pretty Boy. You know how much I love those lips,” Derek chastised gently, his free hand connected to the arm underneath of Spencer slid across his chest, teasing his nipples. “By the way, I really like the lipgloss today… Couldn’t stop thinking about your mouth wrapped around my cock.”

Spencer choked on a moan, his hips jerking forward. Derek sure had a way with words.

“You don’t realize how gorgeous you are sometimes… You’re absolutely stunning, Spencer.”

“Derek,” he moaned softly, one of his hands raising to muffle the noises passing his lips. “‘M close…”

“Come for me, baby boy…” Derek encouraged, kissing up his neck and suckling on the skin near the junction of his neck and shoulder, but not hard enough to leave a mark. Spencer did just moments later, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, as he released in Derek’s palm, legs spasming and toes curling. He panted heavily, and in the afterglow, he hardly noticed Derek leaning away to wipe his hand on a tissue from the bedside table. He gathered Spencer in his arms and held him close, nuzzling his neck.

“You’re too good to me,” Spencer murmured softly, beginning to move to face him. “Your turn?” He asked, looking a bit confused when Derek shook his head.

“No, baby, that was all for you. Just relax, okay? We both need it,” he said, turning Spencer’s head to kiss him just one more time before they got comfortable in their spooning position. It was one of Spencer’s favorite positions to sleep in, mainly because it made him feel safe and warm. And god, was Derek good at it.

“Alright… Goodnight, Derek,” he said softly, “I love you.”

“I love you too, pretty boy,” he responded, “Get some sleep.”

~

The next day came, and JJ and Emily were relentless, as Spencer had expected them to be. He was beginning to get a bit frustrated with them, but that night when another victim turned up, a confirmed drag queen still in her performance outfit, he began to feel inclined to help in any way he could. He talked to Morgan in private throughout the day, and as he had previously stated, he would support Reid no matter what he chose to do.

God, this was so difficult. The pain these victims must have felt; the fear, the horror, the fact that they were alone… He had been through experiences where such emotions presented themselves in his own life, with Hankel, the bullying he suffered throughout high school, yet none of it could even compare to having his life snuffed out simply for being himself. That was enough for him to finally cave and let them know he was willing to do it - for the victims. They deserved that, in the very least.

“Hey Hotch, we were thinking, what if we sent someone in undercover?” Prentiss started, skirting around and avoiding targeting Reid immediately. It would probably be best to mention the idea delicately, since Hotch and Rossi had no idea of his pastime activities. They were both bound to be surprised and maybe even a little offset, but Spencer was willing to suffer a bit if that meant getting justice for the victims and their families.

“Who did you have in mind? Neither you or JJ could do it, since our unsub is targeting gay men dressed as women,” he said, looking a bit confused and glancing back and forth between the two women before his eyes fell on the lithe man partially behind him who raised his hand like he were swearing his oath in court.

“M-Me, sir, I’m offering,” Reid said, and oh, how comical Hotch’s face would have been in any other situation. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head, his lips parting just slightly in shock and his overall demeanor simply befalling his previous state of serious to shock. Rossi looked on with a mirrored expression, but his was less drastic, most likely because, and Reid assumed, that he had his suspicions already. “It’s… something I do in my free time anyway. Drag, I mean.”

Hotch cleared his throat quite awkwardly, proving to be even more awkward than Dr. Spencer Reid himself, and Rossi simply nodded mutely. Stewart looked shocked, and the deputy who had regarded Reid oddly before glanced back and forth between the doctor and the detective. “W-Well… I’m certainly shocked,” he admitted, shaking his head and frowning at the doctor, clearly having some suppressed judgement for the younger man.

“At this point, it wouldn’t hurt,” Morgan tried to offer, and Hotch nodded slowly as if contemplating this idea. He looked to Reid, still recovering from the shock but regarding him with a serious expression. “Could you do it tonight?”

“Absolutely,” Reid said with a firm nod, “I don’t have any of my… equipment, but a quick trip to a drugstore can solve that. I can just fix my real hair, since it’s long enough,” he said.

“No, call Garcia immediately. We need this to be as smooth and genuine as possible if we want to catch the unsub,” Hotch instructed. He supposed it would be easier with his own supplies, and definitely more convincing since drugstore makeup didn’t always cut it in drag. He stepped out of the conference to let his revelation settle with his two unknowing team members and the local detective and deputy. He dialed Garcia.

“Hi, baby boy, what do you need?” Garcia asked, her bubbly voice as happy and unassuming as usual. He sighed and felt his cheeks flushing pink already.

“H-Hi, Garcia. Is there anyway you can go to my apartment and, um, pick up my… supplies? I need them,” he said, hoping she understood what he meant since the idea of asking for makeup in the middle of a police precinct was not at all flattering. She giggled through the speaker.

“You mean your makeup? Are they sending you under?” She asked him curiously, another giggle following.

“Um… Yeah, yeah they are. I mean, I agreed to it, but I don’t really want to. Look, I just need this to be as easy as possible. Could you bring them? Please?” He asked desperately, and she responded in the affirmative. He lowered his voice to a near whisper for his next request, looking around frantically. “Also grab my curly brown wig. A dress will probably be best and a pair of heels, but not too tall. Okay?”

“Gotcha, Bria. I’ll be there in a few hours,” she promised him before they both said their goodbyes and hung up. Reid sighed and dragged a hand down his face, feeling a rise in his stubble and knowing he would need to shave before tonight. He would get there eventually, but he had to face his team again. He entered into the conference room and instantly, he felt how thick the tension was. He shivered, knowing that he had probably caused it and frowning at the looks on Rossi’s and the detective’s faces. The deputy looked a bit conflicted, and overall, emotions were pretty ranged among the group. Hotch maintained that serious expression, but it looked somewhat angered. JJ and Emily looked angry too, but with more distress than pure rage.

But Derek Morgan? Now that was rage.

He looked murderous, his hands balled into fists at his side, clenched so tightly his hands were shaking just slightly. His brows were furrowed, mouth set in a heavy frown. His dark eyes were narrowed into dangerous slits, and the tension in his jaw was scary.

“What’s going on, guys?” Reid asked meekly upon his entrance, and Derek instantly looked at him with a slightly softened expression before looking back to the detective and Rossi.

“Nothing. We’re leaving, to scout the bar before we send you in tonight,” he said, and Hotch was quick to join them in their departure. Reid cast a glance back towards the conference room as they fled from the precinct, and he wondered he would have the power to fix this, particularly with Rossi, when this case was done and over with. He sure hoped so, because he didn’t think he could work with a man who acknowledged him with nothing but disgust in his eyes.

~

By the time they were finished with the scouting, Garcia called Morgan and let him know that she was about an hour out. Reid immediately asked to be taken to the hotel so he could get ready, and fortunately, Hotch didn’t question this request. He was actually very good at not mentioning the whole thing, most likely because Hotch didn’t do well with his team members’ personal lives, especially not with confidential information like Reid had so willingly shared with him and Rossi for the sake of the case. Reid only hoped that in the end, it would bump him up a bit on Hotch’s respect totem pole to counteract against the criticism and negativity he was sure to receive in the aftermath.

“Do you need help with anything?” Morgan asked when they were in the hotel room together, and instantly, Reid shook his head and smiled, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

“I’ll be fine. Just make sure that Garcia is… discrete when bringing my stuff in. I’d rather the city of Philadelphia not know that an FBI agent is about to go undercover as a drag queen,” he said softly, and Morgan smiled softly, approaching the slightly frazzled doctor.

“I will…” he said, raising a hand and rubbing it along Spencer’s now-bare bicep. Morgan’s touch sent electricity sparking along his skin, and he shivered slightly, a frown marring his features.

“Hey…” Derek started, choosing his words carefully to avoid upsetting Reid, who was quite sensitive when it came to the approval of others. He had been searching for it all his life, so of course he was sensitive. "Rossi and Stewart are just bigots. They’ll see, after we catch the unsub how valuable your input was. And if they threaten you in anyway, you can see to it that I’ll take care of it.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Reid dismissed as he shrugged the shirt off completely, halted in his undressing with the conversation at hand.

“Yeah, I do. Because you’re my man, and it’s my responsibility to keep you safe,” he said tenderly, and Reid just smiled and shook his head, turning away from Morgan and heading towards the bathroom. He was about to close the door only for Derek to block it with his foot, peaking in at his lover. “I love you, Spencer.”

“I love you,” Spencer said in response, leaning into the doorway and pressing their lips together before pulling back and meeting his eyes. “Now get out so I can get ready.”

Morgan didn’t question and immediately, Spencer set to work. He let the shower water warm up while he shaved his face, skillfully avoiding leaving any nicks or razor burn in his wake, and that was because he had done this a thousand times for this very reason. He rinsed his face off, reveling in his boyish appearance for a few seconds before undressing entirely and hopping under the steady stream of water. He washed himself up as usual but the majority of time was spent shaving his legs and underarms. It had been a couple weeks since his last performance so quite a bit had grown in that small time frame (primarily since he was a man, of course). Fortunately, he didn’t have chest hair or incredibly dark arm hair, so he never had to worry about that.

By the time he was finished, he could hear Garcia’s voice through the bathroom door. Wrapping himself in a provided bathrobe, he emerged and saw Morgan, Garcia, JJ, and Emily all sitting around the room, talking amongst themselves mainly. When Derek noticed him though, he smiled that show-stopping grin and approached the young doctor, slinging an arm around his shoulders and leaning in close, too close to be platonic, and instantly Reid tensed at the feel of his lover’s lips against his cheek. “Secret’s out, baby boy,” he hummed in his ear, and instantly his cheeks flushed and he looked down in embarrassment. The girls all squealed though, clapping their hands excitedly as if watching a rom-com.

“Congrats, guys,” Emily said happily.

“I knew it, I just knew it,” Garcia hissed at them. “You didn’t even have to tell me.”

“You guys aren’t as subtle as you think, that’s for sure,” JJ added in humorously.

“What about… Hotch and Rossi?” Reid dared to ask, and JJ immediately shook her head.

“They don’t know.”

“Figured we’d leave the hardest for last,” Derek said softly, kissing his lover’s cheek. A chorus of ‘aw’s’ met the action and Spencer playfully shoved Morgan away, his cheeks pink but a smile lingering on his lips. He tightened the robe around himself, sitting down on the bed beside Garcia. JJ and Emily took up the other bed, and Derek stood at the foot of both. He was worried about the repercussions of this little undercover mission, and as crucial as it was bound to be, he was still afraid of what could come from it. Because no matter how successful a person was, if they made one wrong move, their entire career could crumble. Reid didn’t want to fall into that category.

This wasn’t about to get any easier though. He had to do this. Spencer had work to do, and with a firm nod of his head and a newfound look of determination on his face, he began to gather his makeup.

He would become Bria soon enough, all it took was a lot of makeup and a little added confidence.

~

“Bria’s here, babies,” Reid’s voice sang out as he erupted from the bathroom in a flurry of long brown curls and strawberry body spray. He spun around in three inch heels, black in color with a strap around the ankle. The edges were scalloped over the closed toes and the heel of his foot. He wore a black body con dress with mesh sleeves and mesh over the chest, dipping down in between his breastbone. But since he obviously didn’t have breasts, he put his silicone breasts in place in the dress to further blur the truth of his masculinity. In truth, it wasn’t apparent that he was actually a drag queen at first, because in truth, he looked like a woman ready to hit the town. Damn, he felt like he could conquer the world like this.

“Yes, baby!” Garcia cheered, the other girls looking just as excited. Derek just looked slightly baffled yet enamored, as he always did when Spencer dressed in drag. But Reid had a job to do, and he couldn’t let anything distract him. Emily approached him and fixed a microphone to the front of his dress, the black apparatus blending in with the dress (which was partially why he asked for a black dress). As well as that, he wore a little earpiece as well, and fortunately his wig was able to cover that without issue. JJ and Emily were dressed up in typical club outfits too, and Morgan was dressed a bit nicer in a maroon button down and black slacks which really accentuated his muscular thighs… Reid looked away almost as soon as he noticed his eyes lingering, clearing his throat a bit.

“You guys are going in too?” He asked them, the three of them nodding simultaneously.

“Just in case anything goes wrong,” Emily said in her businesslike voice, all of them knowing that, despite the somewhat ridiculousness of the situation, this was a serious mission at hand, and lives could be at stake.

“I can’t wait to see Rossi’s face,” JJ admitted sheepishly, and Garcia giggled beside her as they all flooded out of Derek and Spencer’s hotel room to head to the bar together. But before they left the hotel, Derek pulled Spencer aside and grasped his biceps in his hands, scanning his lover’s face worriedly.

“If anything goes wrong, just say my name, pretty boy, okay?” Morgan said, and Spencer swallowed nervously before bobbing his head instantly.

“I will.”

Rossi and Hotch were already there by the time the group arrived, set up in a van outside for reconnaissance. With Garcia’s help, they had access to the cameras located in and outside of the bar, and with four of them on the inside, there would be no blindspots. When they arrived, Garcia departed from their group to slip into the van, and like she never left, the group of four sauntered into the bar in increments like they belonged.

All of their victims had been alone or had just performed at Syndicate, so they all had themselves placed strategically around the bar with all eyes on Reid as he stood alone at the bar, nursing a drink which appeared to be a daiquiri, but was in fact a virgin one. He still needed to fit in, but he couldn’t let alcohol distort his senses. He needed to be alert and focused, else they risked losing the unsub or a life - or both.

After about twenty minutes of standing alone at the bar, occasionally faking texting on his phone, a man began to approach Reid, albeit slowly, and through his earpiece, he could hear Hotch’s voice filter through to the rest of his team, “Heads up, someone’s taking an interest in Reid.”

The man in question was tall, about the same height as Spencer in heels, and he was broad shouldered. He wasn’t muscular per se, just bigger in size but not overweight by any means. He sidled up to Spencer’s side, laying his hand over top of his on the bar top and smirking at him. “Hey, baby. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing all by yourself here?” He asked.

Now, in any other situation, a single Reid would have been flattered, because in truth, nothing about this man screamed unsub. He was charming, not overbearing in anyway, and frankly, his cologne smelled nice. Spencer’s lashes fluttered in mock surprise, his pretty pink lips turning up into a seductive smile. “Nothin’… Looking for a man like you to whisk me away for the night,” Bria purred in response, and he swore he heard the sound of someone choking on a drink in his ear.

“I think I might be able to help you with that. But first, what’s your name, princess?” The man asked. Bria giggled, walking her fingers up the man’s forearm and meeting his eyes.

“You can call me anything you want,” she whispered, “But Bria will do.”

“Bria… A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. I’m Stephen.”

“Well, Stephen… What do you say we get out of here?” Bria asked softly, her hand now resting on the back of his neck. Internally, Spencer wanted to shiver and crawl out of his skin, but he kept telling himself he had to do this. He wasn’t entirely sure if this was the unsub just yet, but something deep in his gut was telling him to run, and Spencer trusted his fight or flight response more than anything. But keeping up the act, he sauntered away from the bar and led Stephen into the ally behind the bar.

Almost instantly, he was slammed into the brick wall, a solid oomph sounding upon his impact. Before he had a chance to catch his breath, he was thrown down to the ground and kick after kick was delivered to his torso and face. He knew that his team was most likely unable to decipher what exactly was going on, so in a panic, he cried out, “Derek!”

It take long for them to react to that, fortunately, because the back door of the bar swung open and his colleagues emerged from within the bar, guns drawn. At the opening of the dead end alley, Hotch and Rossi stood with their guns out as well. Reid, blood dripping from his nose, crawled away from the seething unsub and in Derek’s direction. Morgan immediately holstered his gun and approached Reid, helping him to his feet. Hotch apprehended Stephen, forcing his hands behind his back and cuffing him while reading his rights. Spencer looked to Derek with wide eyes, a smile growing on his lips as the realization caught up with him, and without him alone, they risked the lives of more people. He threw his arms around Derek’s neck and laughed his joy into his neck.

~

On the flight home, now dressed in his usual style, Spencer wandered down the aisle with a mug of coffee in hand and a tissue stuffed up in his bleeding nose. He hadn’t broken it, fortunately, he had just been kicked hard enough that it felt like he had. He joined the group at the table, Derek at his side and the Emily and JJ across. Hotch and Rossi were near the back of the jet, talking quietly amongst themselves while Hotch did paperwork as he usually did.

“Props to Dr. Reid for catching the unsub with some feminine mystique,” Emily said with a cute bow in Spencer’s direction. The doctor just smiled, leaning into Derek just slightly and exhaling a soft sigh of contentment.

“I’m just happy I was able to help, even if it was a… unique situation,” he said, happy that he had been able to catch a monster and take away his ability to hurt anybody else. Derek chuckled and held his hand under the table, squeezing slightly. He felt accomplished. After years of hiding himself and being ashamed of who he was in his professional life, he felt like he had defeated his own demons. He raised his eyes up and connected gazes with Rossi for a millisecond before the older man looked away.

It looked like he still had one demon to face.

<-Part 7: Origin | Part 9: Demons->

[qvid-pro-qvo]

Hopefully I’m doing this right 😅. Could I request a fic with Barba with the prompts “I brought you an umbrella” and “Here, drink this.  You’ll feel better,” where Barba found reader walking home in a downpour after her car broke down? Thank you in advance 💖

rafael barba x gender neutral reader.

word count: 2275

rating: teen, for implications a good compliment can give (flirtationship galore, implied sexual content if you squint).

-

Rafael watches the people outside like it’s his job. He’s in the middle of a five-minute break, perfectly scheduled out before he dives back into the caseload in front of him, and he often chooses to allow his gaze to linger out the windows of his offices. It’s a way to pass the time, to allow his brain a bit of a respite, and as long as he does so with the blinds mostly closed off, no one notices.

But he notices. He notices you. Perhaps a little too much.

After all, in this moment, you’re hard to miss. It’s a downpour outside, and most of the New Yorkers gathered around One Hogan Place have an umbrella up to catch the droplets. But not you. Not you, no, you’re sprinting to the curb, desperately trying to wave down a taxi. Unfortunately, they don’t see you. The rain is thick, and the only reason Rafael really notices is his angle. The droplets aim downward, and he doesn’t have to peer through them.

It helps that he recognizes you. The public defender’s office is notably involved with SVU despite the Unit’s best efforts to fight them at every turn, and you often come through their doors with your chin lifted, your eyes scanning the environment like the desks themselves are an obstacle to tackle. He often shakes your hand, because he’s polite like that, but that’s where the kindness usually ends. Your charges usually end up being some of the more intense, and he knows that their crimes are usually matched with your verve.

You’re a damn good lawyer, he’s realized. And when you come through those doors, he notices the sharp sighs of the detectives around him. Liv, especially, who often pulls Rafael aside to assure him of the quality of the evidence so he can face you.

And outside of the courtroom, there’s a cordial tone to your interactions. A softness to your smile, as the two of you chat about things in the elevator. There’s a mutual respect for the process, a mutual fight that makes his heart race faster when he sees you stand in the courtroom, give a sharp, closed-lip smile, smooth suit jacket down, and deliver your opening.

“Members of the jury…”

Your hair is noticeably flatter, your clothes are soaked. He takes a moment to mourn the undoubtedly expensive blazer on your back, the shirt that could be salvaged but in that moment is nothing more than a formality. And he watches as you, and your strong will, lift your chin and start walking.

Wait. Walking?

He has your number, because of the job, and he finds himself pulling out his phone, giving you a call. He hears it ring, once, twice, three times before you pick up, and he can see your hand rummaging around your blazer before pulling your phone out.  

“Barba,” you say, and any energy you had from waving down the taxis sounds leeched from you. And in the fall rain, there’s a shiver in your voice. “What a surprise. I thought our next face-off was rescheduled.”

“Cold there, counselor?” he responds, and your little snort makes him smirk. “One Hogan scare you that much? Get out of the rain, stay under the awnings.”

“You make a habit of watching the unfortunate shortcomings of members of the New York Bar Association?” Your voice is wry, and he can hear the rain clearly pounding against the pavement.

“Only the ones who look truly stranded. Come to the overhang, let me help you out.”

“Help me out?” But even with your look up in the approximate direction of his office, the raised brow you surely have, he can see you start maneuvering over to the front doors of the building. “What, you’ve got a car that’ll take me home?”

“I can order you one,” he offered. “Or a coffee, if that’ll make you feel better about taking help from the enemy.”

You stop for a moment, and your face is clear from this distance – he’s looking down at you now, and you’re looking up into the rain, the droplets landing on your features. He offers a wiggle of his fingers, for some banal reason like childishness, and you wiggle yours back, shaking your head before pushing on.

“The only enemy I have is my own stupidity. It’s what I get for assuming a check engine light shouldn’t be checked,” you counter, and he can picture the roll of your eyes, a brilliant color emphasized by the brightness of your intelligence. Perhaps it’s the rain that’s making him feel a little romantic, wax a little poetic, but either way, he likes listening to you. Particularly when the rain fades away to a distant murmur once you get to safety.

“What do you mean?” he reaches for his coat, for the umbrella resting against the corner of his desk, and starts making his way down to the front of the building. When he passes by Carmen’s desk, she offers him a raised brow, obviously concerned that he even dared leaving his office this early in the day. “Hold my calls, Carmen, I’m taking lunch.”

“Anyone in particular?” she asks in return, but he’s already pushing past, offering a shake of his head in response.

She doesn’t look too convinced.

When you speak again, there’s a tone to it that takes him by surprise. It’s not warm, but… friendlier. Not as world-weary as you started to sound. “Taking lunch? Didn’t realize I meant that much to you.”

“I’m not heartless, unlike the rumors have you believe.” He laughs at himself a little, thinking about when he first arrived to the Special Victims Unit. Heartless wasn’t right, but. He was definitely… more forceful than he should’ve been.

“I never thought that.” You’re quick to dismiss it, which shocks him.

“Are you saying I’m not intimidating?” he asks, and at that point he’s making his way to the lobby, and he can see you through the glass doors. Up close, you look even more soaked, if that were possible, and you have your blazer wrapped around you like a shield.

When you chuckle, the thought of cold fades away, especially as he opens the door and he hears it full force. “I’m saying that you’re a softie, actually,” you laugh.

“Bold words from someone I wiped the floor with in our last match-up,” he retorts, and when he responds you jump, spooked by his sudden appearance behind you.

Your glare is playful, and you reach up to wipe rivulets from your face, shaking your head at the mere sight of someone who isn’t damp to the bone, at his biting words. “Wiped the floor with me? God. I’ve changed my mind. You’re an asshole, then. A real piece of shit.”

“I brought you an umbrella. How much of an asshole can I be?”

-

You have a hard time hating Rafael Barba. But you suppose, in the end, it’s for the better.

You don’t want to hate him, you suppose. You do know that he’s not heartless. And much of the ire that’s directed at him is because he’s a good lawyer, because he has a good relationship with Special Victims Unit, because he’s, in the end, a man who gets the job done. The snide remarks you shoot at him during cases are only banter after all, and you admire the way that he gives as good or even better than he gets.

Your little crush on him is short-lived anyway (or at least, you try force it to be). His sharp green gaze and the quirk of his lips he always walks around with is infuriating during trial, and the unfortunate way he’s always incredibly put together in three-piece suits with suspenders makes your public defender’s salary whimper and hide in a corner. And you don’t really pay too much attention as he walks by, and you don’t take to heart the handshakes after tough cases or the nods he gives you in the halls of the courthouse, or the way he’s given you an eye roll in chambers, or…

Anyway, he’s hard to hate. He’s, under all of the pomp and circumstance he parades around with, a good person. He could be above it all, especially to you. He could be a dick, and he could be a piece of shit, but he’s not. You think it’s because you bring a lot of respect to the table. More than someone like Buchanan.

And he does bring you an umbrella. And… is that coffee, in his hand, too?

He offers it to you, and there’s a brilliance to his whole being at the thought of him being the deliverer of fresh caffeine. Warm caffeine. You find your eyes drawn to his hand holding the cup. “Please tell me…”

“I’m not a monster. Not taunting you.” And when your eyes meet again, he almost looks bashful, perhaps. That’s the word. Embarrassed? You don’t know what crosses his face, but. You like it. Looks like it humbles him. Or it’s just good to look at. “Here. Drink this. You’ll feel better, think more clearly than you have been for thinking you could escape my kindness.”

No maybe. Don’t think about it. Just accept the damn umbrella, you think to yourself, and with a smile you reach for it and the coffee, sighing.

“I suppose you’re not the worst you could be,” you return, lifting your chin. You open the protection, lift it over your head, and try to ignore how pointless it seems now. “What do I owe you? My firstborn? A shitty cross?”

“Just the promise you won’t walk,” Barba returns, and you feel warmth suddenly spike through you, especially as his eyes scan your… unfortunate state. It makes you blink, a couple of times, the water that’s still dripping from your hair, the frizz that surely has overtaken any product you attempted to comb through with your fingers that morning. “I can call a car…”

“My apartment isn’t that far, Barba. And I’ll give you the umbrella back.”

He seems to consider the prospect. He looks you up and down again, and something twists on his features, something that looks a lot like pity. You want to pull away, then, but then his face shifts. There’s something playful on his features, and you find your lips curling despite yourself.

“Let’s play this out, then,” he offers. “You don’t want to impose, I insist. We’ll banter, back and forth, until we finally settle on this: I need lunch anyway, I’m sure there’s a spot by your apartment, so I’ll order myself a car and you can tag along to make it back to your place. And that way, the umbrella never leaves my sight, so I don’t have to accuse you of stealing and sic SVU on you.”

A laugh is startled out of you. You shift in your wet shoes, your wet clothes, and the thought of home in a warm car is definitely appealing. “Well. I guess that’s settled, then. Why anyone bothers to argue with you when you come to the natural conclusion on your own is beyond me.”

It’s a poke that’s followed by a prod of his own. “Knowing you, I’ll get a fight all the way to the curb when the car comes up.”

You grin. Take a sip of the coffee, brilliantly hot.

“A coffee, an umbrella, and a ride,” you count off on your fingertips. “Well. I definitely owe you.”  For a moment you bite your lower lip, watch as he lifts the phone to his ear. You can’t impose, you can’t assume. “Let me pay for lunch, then.”

He’s on the phone, so he can’t answer right away. But the offer piques his interest, raises his brow. And when he organizes the ride he needs, and puts his phone away, there’s a glance around, as if a member of SVU could run up at any moment and accuse him of fraternizing with the enemy.

“Lunch,” he hums. Then, in a perfect mimic of you, lifts his chin, stares you down, and nods. “As long as you join me.”

Another laugh, almost a giggle. It’s the cold, the delirium of wet, surely. “Then my apartment is our first stop, Mr. Barba,” you counter. “Because God forbid I get caught having lunch with an A.D.A. and in wet clothes.”

There’s something at war in the lawyer before you, but a smile seems to win out. There’s a fire in his eyes, now, like a match has been lit, one that settles as his hands go to the pockets of his coat. “Like wet clothes would stop you from outshining me anywhere we go.”

And when you blink, and blink again, the mood shifts. The lunch feels imperative, important, and your grip on the umbrella tightens as you look at him. He looks back, green eyes a startling shade of emerald, brought out by the warm color of his tie, a contrast to the dreary world around you.

“I don’t think that’s true,” you finally respond. And you let your eyes do a slow scan, letting yourself feel comfortable with the motion. You look him, up in down, his pristine three-piece suit your full view. “But we can test that theory.” You glance toward the curb, where the car he’s called pulls up. “Clothes first. Then lunch, and we’ll see whose eyes we draw.”

“Deal.”

The rain is unimportant, the clothes are unimportant. All that’s important is the destination, and the feeling of his hand on your back the two of you walk through the downpour.

[draconivn]

C.01 | Imperfectly Perfect

SUMMARY: Masamune always held to his beliefs to be the ideal leader. His goal in allying with Nobunaga was to learn how to govern his people better, all the sacrifices he would have to obtain just to make sure he could create a world where people wouldn’t go hungry. Then one day, he meets a woman, and she unknowingly turns his world upside down. MASTERPOST: LINK

CHAPTER ONE

It usually would have taken another three days to arrive to Azuchi, but for the sake of the merchants that Masamune and his men had encountered, it took another day of travel to ensure that they were able to make it safely. 

Not once had they come across the trio ever again, only remaining on guard in case another attack were to happen like that again.

“Masamune, you’re late,” comes that familiar lecturing tone.

Masamune sighs and frowns, striding into the Main Hall of Azuchi Castle and taking a seat among the room of warlords. “Give me a break, Hideyoshi. I just got here half an hour ago.”

Ieyasu frowns from his spot. “What did you do, fall in a hole?”

“We were escorting a convoy of merchants here. They got attacked by some fishy bandits,” Masamune explains. “We took an extra day to make sure they could keep up.” 

“Some fishy bandits?” Hideyoshi arches a brow.

After the attack, Masamune had spoken with the merchants, who explained that the incident was the one of many other attacks going on across the country. Many of the targets had been primarily merchants carrying large loads of goods to be traded or delivered to other parts of the country, though it was always at random.

“I can assure you it’s not completely at random,” Mitsuhide hums. 

Brows raise, looking to the silver-haired man.

“Well, it seems that since Masamune has already told one of the reasons for this meeting, I suppose we can get into further detail about it.” Mituhide proceeds to pull out a map from his robes, unfurling it so that he could lay it across for everyone to see. It had been a map of Japan, with X marks on it in several places. “After tracking these attacks, it seems that they’ve been targeting checkpoints or commonly-travelled roads. We’ve yet to obtain information as to who had done it, because, as what happened with Masamune’s encounter, these so-called bandits are often killed if they fail in their task.”

“Any civilian casualties?” Hideyoshi inquires.

“If they were just merchants or regular civilians, none, aside from the little scrapes and bruises. Anyone of higher skill, of course, at least manages to live another day. Many of these are coming from territories we’ve obtained in campaigns from the past six months, and are often incoming to Azuchi. But given the frequency of these robberies and the pattern they use, they’re unable to find checkpoints since Lord Nobunaga has abolished them and turned to popularly travelled roads.”

“That could prove very troubling for trade here,” Mitsunari comments. “It could scare merchants from travelling to Azuchi and cut back on the flow of resources by land.”

Nobunaga remains silent the entirety of the report, listening to the information and watching his council debate about it.

“Any idea when the next attack might be?” Ieyasu speaks up.

“We haven’t heard about any new attacks in the recent days other than the one Masamune reports having experienced, so it could be any day. Originally, a pattern had indicated a span of two days, however, we have already reached four days since then. As these are typically large amounts of goods being transported, they will need storehouses in several parts of the country to bring it back to.”

Ieyasu’s eyes narrow. “You have suspects, don’t you.”

“That is, if you don’t mind convicting a man before he speaks his inner thoughts, Ieyasu,” Mitsuhide responds. “But of course, that can change with the smallest bit of information to tip the scale.”

Hideyoshi frowns. “Spit it out, will you, Mitsuhide.”

“My, my, Hideyoshi, what did I do to earn such ire?” He picks up the map to roll it up. “For now, we only have two suspects. One is a new ally of the Oda clan just south of Echigo, Lord Yamamoto, who came to us about six months ago. Word was before he joined our forces, they had adequate resources, but only enough to get by until the next season. They approached the Oda with the intent to get assistance so that their lands wouldn’t die and would also flourish after seeing the way Azuchi has become quite the boon.”

“Though as our ally, they could still gain profit by trading, but that doesn’t clear them out of the possibility that they’re trying to get resources without going through everything the right way."

“And the other?”

“You might recognize the name, Masamune. The Kagerou Clan in the Akita province, just north of Oshu.” He watches the curiosity flash over Masamune’s expression, though Ieyasu speaks the unspoken question.

Masamune’s eye narrows. “That’s not their style, last time I checked.”

“Why’s that?” Hideyoshi asks.

“Even though they’ve been invaded a lot over the years, the Kagerou clan seem to have enough resources by being in mountainous terrain surrounded by forests. They’ve always been an offensive defense type, ensuring that no one dares to try to enter their lands, kind of like a fortress to protect all of their resources. It wouldn’t make sense for them to try anything like that.”

“So why are they a suspect?”

Mitsuhide looks to Nobunaga, searching for approval for his next words. When he receives a nod, he turns back to the other warlords. “They’ve sent a request to form an alliance with the Oda with the reasoning of searching for additional protection, so that other territories would not touch their lands. Negotiations are currently underway, but as you can see, time is of the essence.”

“Hmm. Well, it may not be like them, but neither is forming an alliance after all these years,” Hideyoshi remarks.

"Are we going off the fact that their habits are not like them to do or do we have evidence to start suspecting them?” Ieyasu asks.

“We can only suspect that the Kagerou is not as transparent or forthcoming of their reasons for an alliance. As for the other… well, the only basis we have is Lord Yamamoto being a former vassal of Takeda Shingen before he turned over to the Oda after Shingen’s death. Based on your messages, Masamune, I’d say you have some information regarding this matter.” Mitsuhide returns to his seat, giving Masamune the chance to speak up.

It’s already daunting with this much information, the tension in the air already thick. 

Curiosity lingers in every direction about what to do with the first situation, but there’s still the situation that Masamune’s to report.

“Conscription orders were recently sent out in Echigo and Kai. I’ve had my scouts check into whether it was coming from Sanada’s corner to confirm it, but it’s definitely coming from the main dens. Some of the men are already saying they can’t wait to serve their old lords again, and have already started heading up to the castles.”

A pin could drop in the room and be heard in the silence that follows Masamune’s words. 

However, on the dais, the corners of Nobunaga’s lips are curving upwards. “Masamune, find out who's the commander putting out these orders. Mitsuhide, Ieyasu, continue investigation into our thieves.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Hideyoshi, prepare the men. Mitsunari, you’re in charge of logistics.”

“Yes, my lord.”

With a resounding chorus, the war council’s dismissed and each of them start to pile out. 

The long journey definitely warrants a rest for Masamune, directing himself to his manor where his vassals are getting settled in. "I'm back," he announces, nodding to Kojuro who meets him at the entryway. "Anything happen while I was gone?"

"Welcome back, Lord Masamune. Nothing to report. Lunch will be a bit late, however, as the maids will be heading out to purchase some missing ingredients."

He purses his lips. It's already nearing the lunch hour but it's likely they will be another hour or so. "Do they have a list? I'll head on out."

"Are you sure you won't want to rest?"

Masamune waves it off to dismiss the question. He could hardly be bothered with sitting around or laying in bed when his vassals were going to be hungry. "It's nothing. C'mon, you're coming with me too."

[moondustaeil]

chanson gothique ; Nakamoto Yuta

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ⋅ chanson gothique pt. 2

⠀  ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

⠀ about  

⋅  genre : the little mermaid with a twist : angst 

⋅  characters : Siren!Yuta x reader , mentions of Yuto (pentagon), nct members

⋅  word count : 8.5k

⋅  warning : slight abuse, flashbacks announced by {fb} , a/n abt continuation at the end

⠀ ⠀

⠀ summary

⋅ The steps of time had seemed to have taken a stop when you fell. The beautiful princess that was you, spent only one spring with Yuta. Japanese lullabies sang by the love of your life slowly lured you into a different lifestate, even if he said he longed to see your tears, he couldn’t let you drown.

⠀ ⠀

⠀ previously [ x ]

⋅ Yuta always longed to see you smile. His wish was to marry you one day and walk as a human next to you for the rest of your lives. Little did he know you were a princess, destined to marry someone else. Slowly, as seasons change, so does he. Until your tears are what he longs to see.

“beautiful things only have one spring”

Yuta’s hand was removed from your ankle once you were deep enough in the water, you would no longer be able to escape from this, your chance had been close to non-existent. The second it happened had passed by at a fast rate, but now that his actions were over, time couldn’t go any slower.  He had been so eager, that he lost the control he had over himself, but kept all control he had over you instead.

The struggles your body offered as self-protection were halted, your body turning completely still once your eyes had connected with Yuta’s for the last time. Because of the situation, you hadn’t been able to see the pain hidden in his eyes, perhaps it was because the multi-colored orbs were too intense to reveal emotions.

Yuta’s hands that once touched your body in order to take you to the underwater world, no longer had the urge to touch you. They just hung like lifeless puppets from the strings that he called his arms. He could control them, but it was better if he let go of all controls for now. The damage done had already gotten over the limit.

“Oh my god, Yuta. Is that princess y/n?!”

The familiar voice made Yuta turn around almost right away, though he didn’t see the mermaid who it belonged to. He was about to label himself as someone who hears voices in his head due to stress or trauma. He turned away after checking once more if no one was behind him, once he had turned to you again, he quickly dismissed the label he had given himself.

His fellow Japanese friend, Yuto, was closer to you than he should have been. The inattentive tips of his fingers going to your body for an examination. Standing up for yourself to reject the touches was impossible in this situation, but Yuta would help you to get rid of the unwanted attention. 

Yuta pushed his friend away from your body, not harshly but more as a warning that touching was forbidden. He didn’t want anyone to come near you, let alone touch you. The only one allowed to touch you, was him. “Stay away from her,” he spoke out loud with a clear voice so that he couldn’t be misunderstood. 

The eyes of his friend Yuto expanded slightly at the sudden snap. It was unexpected and so unlike Yuta to behave this type of way. It was unseen by everyone aside from you. Though, Yuto didn’t know what all went down above the water because right after the winter, Yuta never hung around with his friends and family anymore. All he did was swim in the dark parts of the ocean, and sit on the rock to wait for his y/n.

It was clear to Yuto now, he had figured out what happened to his friend. It was something that would make Yuta stand alone in life, his family and other friends would all ban him from the bright ocean and send him to the place where creatures like him lived. The most feared place by the good creatures of the ocean.

“sirens don’t belong here, neither does the princess,” Yuto said before he swam away, he wasn’t feeling fear but didn’t want to get involved in the dark situation. As dark as his presence was, it was only a presence, unlike Yuta who’s personality revolved around darkness and negativity. Thus, his presence would never live up to Yuta’s

The words left Yuta speechless, but there was no need to say anything to anyone. He was left alone again, left alone with you, but your lungs were getting filled with water and it wouldn’t be long before he actually was alone.

Now that your body was here with him, he had no idea what was supposed to follow. His siren abilities had only shown themselves the moment he fully transitioned, but no one guided him in how he had to use them and what the aftermath of those abilities were. 

Some calculations went on in his head and he realized that he didn’t want anything happening to your body when he wasn’t looking. Then he looked at the seaweed down the bottom of the ocean, he had an idea. 

His fingers for the second time wrapped around your ankle, tugging you down with him towards the bottom of the ocean. He had looked past the bruises that had already started to form on your skin because of his harsh touches. He reached down to measure and once he knew it would work, he wrapped the seaweed around your ankles. Tying them together while the roots of the seaweed were still planted in the bottom layer. 

Once done, he swam up so that he could be face to face with you again, a soft sigh passing his lips as he looked at you. So many thoughts ran through his mind when he looked at you, so many memories filled his head. In each memory, either of you smiled but now it was all over. You no longer were able to smile, he became too bitter to find a reason to smile.

Yuta leaned towards you and pressed his slightly chapped lips to the skin of your cheek. His lips lingered there as he remembered how his lips had kissed yours, a moment he hadn’t been able to think about yet. But now that he did, he could remember the softness of your lips, he could remember how in love and alive he felt at that moment. He distanced his lips from your cheek once he had snapped from his little haze, only a small smile could appear on his lips.

“I have to go now. Same time tomorrow, right y/n?”

He looked at you as if he expected for you to return the words and tell him yes, but the realization of what had happened seemed to hit him right in the face once again. After one more glance at your face, he turned away and started to swim away, into the darker parts of the sea.

It was five hours earlier than the time Yuta said he would be back to see you, but the man just couldn’t help it. It had grown out to a habit he couldn’t get rid of: his mind always told him to more often or sooner, just in case. Though this time, there was no ‘just in case’. You were no longer able to leave, but also no longer able to live.

“hey y/n! You’re here” Yuta said with a smile as he swam towards your body, feeling a spark of happiness when he saw you in the water. But the smile disappeared when he saw the things he did to you yesterday: tied with seaweed, your eyes closed as your head hung low. 

A wave of guilt washed over him when he saw you like this, but the other side of him remembered how Donghyuck told him that you were not just any human. You were the princess of this country, engaged to a Canadian prince named Mark whom you would marry in the summer and move to his kingdom with. At first, it had been disbelief, Donghyuck was a jokester but then the evidence made it undeniable.

You broke his heart and threw it back into the water, leaving it there to drown.

Yuta got a bit closer to your body, just enough to from far away hold onto your hand. The skin felt much more different than it did yesterday, yet reality stayed away from him, to him you were still the same human and you surely weren’t going to die like this.

He ran his fingertips over the back of your hand lightly, looking up at your face after he had looked at your hand for a couple of seconds. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, he just couldn’t get the words to leave his lips, no matter how badly he wanted to say them to you.

“I have to go, I’ll be back soon” he mumbled instead of trying a little bit harder to say what he wanted to say originally. He let go of your hand, making it slowly drop back to where it lifelessly hung next to your side. But before that had even happened, Yuta was already gone again.

His tail moved in the water as he was rushing to get to the surface, the place where he saw you for the first time and saw you alive for the last time as well. Once his head was out of the water, he looked into the direction of the castle he had seen so many times. All of those times, he was so dumb as he had even seen you running in that direction, especially when you were in a rush. And after almost a year, he finally knew better. You came from the castle, from the family who had control over this country, maybe betrayal was just in your family.

His eyes shifted from the castle towards the rock that still looked the same as it did nearly a year ago, only you wouldn’t be sitting on it anymore. In his imagination, you still were sitting on it every day, with him being halfway in the water just so that you two could have your usual cozy moments.

{fb.} “What would you do if I had legs? Or if I was human” Yuta asked curiously as he leaned against the rock for more support, his eyes looking up at yours to read your expression while he popped a question. The question caught you off guard, it surely wasn’t an unexpected question, it was the opposite of that. It was one of the questions that came into your mind at least once a week, if not more. But Yuta meant the question, he often enough had heard Taeyong’s stories from other people, about having legs and being human for a day. And even if it meant having no voice, it would have been alright as long as he could be with you. You were worth it

You thought about the right way to answer, making the silence sit between the two of you for a short period. It was hard to answer the question, as it wouldn’t make a change but at the same time, everything would be different. “Nothing would change I think about you, not even a pair of legs,” you said. You would still love Yuta the same if he had legs, it would only make things easier.

“What would you do if I had a tail?” You asked him in return, the imagination of you being a mermaid was something that didn’t pop up often, but you knew connections worked from two sides. Maybe being a mermaid was different than what you expected from it, you had no idea. And it was something Yuta didn’t think about either, mostly because he already knew what life as a mermaid was like.

From his facial expression, you could see that Yuta was also considering an answer. Instead of staying quiet, he hummed as he was thinking, making the silence stay away from you. “I’d come here with you every night, just like we do now. We would watch the world while our paradise awaits underwater. But we have all of the time in the world, and I want to spend all of that time by your side” He said, giving you the most unexpected answer. But the most genuine answer at the same time. {fb. end}

Yuta looked up once he was pulled out of his thoughts by the loud sound of the clock, indicating that a new hour had begun. He realized he had been staring at the rock the entire time while he was in his thoughts about him, and you, the two of you together.

He took another glance at everything that suddenly seemed to matter in the outside world: the rock you usually sat on, the castle where your princess life was hidden from him behind its doors, the sky that you two would glance up to each time you needed time to think of the answer to a question. Things that were so habitual that they didn’t seem noticed, until now.

Yuta disappeared underwater again and immediately went towards you to see how you were holding up, swimming even faster than when he had to get to the surface. And there you were, in the same position that he left you in earlier. 

“I’m back” He said as he grasped for your hand gently again, holding it in his a bit more secure than he did before. “I went to our place, but it was empty...especially without you,” he said, telling you where he had gone in hopes that you’d suddenly open your eyes and speak back to him. Although, like he expected, you wouldn’t say anything anymore.

For three long hours, Yuta stayed by your side. He felt even more lonely than all of the times he was alone at the beach, waiting for you to make your appearance. Maybe back then he thought that you’d return to him alive and well, but you returned damaged and as if you were living your last moments as a plant.

When he left, he felt guilty for leaving you all alone in the middle of the sea, but relief washed over him when he realized he didn’t have to uselessly talk to someone and wait for a reply. The mixed feelings were hard to comprehend and could keep his mind running all day.

The dark part of the sea greeted him once again, just like it did every morning and every evening. As much as he hated the place, it was where he belonged.

“Yuta, Taeyong says he wants to talk to you”

Yuta’s eyes snapped from you towards the mermaid that the voice belonged to. Seeing the oldest mermaid in the group of friends there made him sigh, Taeil may always be like the fun older brother, at the same time he was always there in situations where advice was always a must.

“Do I have to?” Yuta asked and rolled his eyes at Taeil’s words, he didn’t want advice, neither did he want a lecture about becoming a siren instead of a mermaid, he didn’t want to get scolded about what he did to you. He already knew about all of those things, knew they were wrong but it was too late to turn back anyway.

Taeil simply nodded his head “you have to” he said. For Yuta it meant that he would be seen by a lot of his other friends that he hadn’t seen ever since he turned into a siren. They probably would leave him behind, drop him like he never belonged in their lives. It would be like a walk of shame on the way to Taeyong.

The older man waited for Yuta, but Yuta wasn’t ready to go yet. He turned towards you again and gave you an apologetic smile, one that you didn’t return, unlike other times. “I have to go y/n” he whispered in a softer voice, he ran his fingertips over your hand one more time before pulling away so that he could go to Taeyong.

He swam away together with Taeil so that the two of them could go to Taeyong, Taeyong would probably be accompanied by Doyoung who was able to interpret what Taeyong wanted to say. Doyoung always seemed like the one who judged others, but together with Taeil, he was good at giving advice and being realistic.

When they arrived, Taeyong had already been prepared for Yuta and the conversation they would have. A couple of mermaids had come to him to tell the news about Yuta, how he had changed so much and then how he had lured in the princess of the country above the water.

Yuta and Taeyong greeted each other with a small bow, doing the same with the other two men around. It seemed friendly until Taeyong’s face changed into a more serious one. His lips moved as he was starting to tell something, leaving Doyoung to say the words out loud so that Yuta and Taeil could understand it. 

“I made a pact with the sea witch to have legs for 24 hours, to feel like a real human, in exchange she would take my voice as one of her sons apparently needed it. I said yes, not for a girl but because I thought it was my purpose in life. As I had the chance to walk through the town, I realized it wasn’t what I wanted. Yes, the humans had more luxury but at the same time, humans passed each other by. They depend on each other and yet too unfriendly to say anything to each other. I regretted giving up my voice to have legs because I was lonely in the world filled with humans”

Doyoung’s voice told the story as Taeyong was mouthing the words without sound, it was nearly as if he was a mute but no one ever said it like that. Even though the words didn’t come from him, everyone looked at Taeyong. He showed the emotion that Doyoung lacked because it wasn’t him who went through that. Taeil had heard the story more often but it still was something he listened to each time he heard, it kept him a reminder to keep his fins into the water just like humans said to keep their feet upon the ground. The raw truth in the story was something Yuta was all ears for. It was like he was figuring out a riddle because he didn’t know the exact reason behind the sudden storytime.

“What are you trying to say?” Yuta asked once the story was finished, he understood the general message of the story and knew it was a shame that Taeyong gave up his voice for 24 hours in a paradise that seemed more like a lonely hell. But, it wasn’t like he was going to the sea witch to make a pact with her about a pair of legs. He would have considered it if you were still up there waiting on the rock for him, but now that you were under the sea and only half living, he had no urge to walk on legs.

Taeyong smiled slightly when he heard the question, there wasn’t much of an age gap between the two of them, they were even born in the same year with just a few months apart. Yet, Taeyong had always been a responsible man, with a specific personality which sometimes got him caught up in impulsive decisions such as the pact with the sea witch. Aside from that part of his personality, he was a born leader, capable of things that the other guys in the friend group weren’t capable of. Taeyong looked at Doyoung and nodded as a sign he needed someone to interpret the words for him once again.

“That your impulsive decision to lure in princess y/n will bring you more bad than good. I knew you loved her so much and unwillingly turned into a siren because of that. But the country will start looking for her, if there are suspects then it’s the end for you. You killed the princess.”

Yuta’s facial expression didn’t change from the neutral one during the entire explanation given by Taeyong, although once he heard the last few words, he turned his head away. If shame, guilt, love, and adoration could be mixed into a potion, then it was a potion that he drank. He felt guilty sometimes but had been so selfish to lure you along with him. He didn’t even know why he did so: was he going to kill you? Keep you alive somehow or turn you into a siren? It was all things he didn’t think of beforehand.

He killed the princess

He killed you

Once the shameful feeling had minimized a little bit, he dared to look at Taeyong again to ask another question. He had understood the point and inwardly agreed on how his decision was impulsive and not thought through properly. “What will happen to her now, and to me?” He asked, fearing what would happen, fearing that he would lose the last remaining bit he had of you, fearing he’d lose himself to once again another version of himself.

“What happens to her is your choice, you are the siren who turned her into this. What will happen to you, is something that I cannot see or decide for you.”

The voice of Doyoung paused as Taeyong’s lips were parted but didn’t mouth out the next word even if it was clear that he still wanted to speak. Taeyong swam towards Yuta, inspecting the younger man’s hair, eyes, and his tail. The things that had changed about him, of course, Yuta was aware of those things. Afterward, took in the general presence of Yuta like it was important research that he was doing. “What's wrong?” Yuta asked, worried that something was wrong and he felt slightly uncomfortable being the main point of the attention.

“Nothing. Seems like the water is washing out the dirt” 

Was all that Taeyong had left to say, leaving Yuta completely confused about the meaning of those words. Once Taeyong nodded, everyone got the hint that it was time to go again, Taeyong sometimes appreciated time alone, to have the last hope on learning how to speak again.

Straight from Taeyong’s talk, Yuta headed to you again because he just couldn’t leave you alone. The talk didn’t bring any clarity to him and yet at the same time, he understood the point and realized his mistake more than ever. In all of the things that had been said, only one of those things overshadowed the other points that had been brought up.

‘you killed the princess’

His eyes took in your appearance, it was a nearly sickening sight compared to all of the other times he had seen you. Your nightwear seemed to float around your body slightly, and your skin had begun to discolor itself to something that seemed like a grey-ish tint if that was even possible. You didn’t look like a princess right now, not even a crown could make you look like a princess at this moment.

“I killed the princess” 

The words sounded harsh and yet they weren’t harsh enough to make him realize who he actually killed. To him, you weren’t the princess who was going to get married and run a country. To him, you were y/n: the love of his life and the girl he wanted to give up his everything for. Even when he found out about your actual social status, he had a hard time believing it.

“I killed the princess!”

Yuta repeated louder and took your hands in his, instead of a safe and secure grip, it was tight and it squeezed your hand together like the bones were non-existent. The siren in him took over and strongly dragged your body closer to his. Both of his hands placed on your lower arm as he tried to contain the last bit of control he had over himself. 

“Didn’t you hear me!? I killed the princess, y/n”

He screamed at the top of his lungs, his hands each moving in a different direction as he twisted the skin of your arm slightly. A gesture he didn’t expect to make and didn’t realize he was doing it until he felt your skin under his hands. That’s when it all seemed to come down on him, turning him into a different person again.

A gasp left his lips as he quickly let go of your arm, both of his hands clasping together so that he wasn’t able to hurt you as fast as he did just now. “y/n, I’m so sorry. Oh no, I’m so sorry” he said as a sob left his lips unexpectedly. He wanted to help you but he wasn’t able to trust his own hands anymore, hurting you was the last thing he wanted to do. Even if he seemed to forget about his other and much bigger mistake.

He panicked more and more each second that he stayed longer, he had to look upon you and your arm, hoping a bruise wouldn’t start to form or that the pain wouldn’t make you hurt too much. He couldn’t look at you anymore, not like this. He swam away as quick as he could, maybe it was time to make a pact with the sea witch.

While he had been missing you, a whole day had passed

While he had been missing you, four days passed by

While he had been missing you, a week went by

Yuta hadn’t shown himself to you anymore ever since the talk between him and Taeyong, or maybe after what he did to your body. It was a combination of factors that added up together. He didn’t know what he was feeling but it surely wasn’t happiness or any other positive moodlet for that matter. He didn’t deserve to feel the happiness anyway, and was ready to feel conflicted for the rest of his life. Maybe, he just didn’t have enough courage to see what he did to you, or maybe he finally realized properly that you were the princess. And he killed you.

Throughout the week, he kept on reminding himself that everything would be okay. At the end of his long days, he knew that you remained the same way he had left you. His heart made him keep the memories of you close instead, telling him lies for the last bits of his heart to remain undamaged. 

He felt lonely with no one around, without his friends and family, without you that he would see every day. But he was still living like this each passing day, he was surviving even though he had no idea how he was managing it.

For the third time that day, his tail helped him to swim past the home of the sea witch. In the past week, he had passed by the place numerous times with the goal of going inside. But each time, something made him change his mind. He was scared, not of the sea witch but of her abilities and power over everyone.

He knew the business the sea witch dealt in, it was one with many risks of betrayal, and he would probably get tricked into something somehow. As much as he was willing to give up his life to save you, he didn’t trust the sea witch and didn’t want you to be the one who fell into the dirty traps the witch set up.

At the same time, something had to happen and he knew it. He could barely leave you the way you were now: this was going to be your real death, you were going to drown after a long time, unless he made you drown. And drowning you, was no option, he loved you too much to let you go.

You weren’t allowed to drown, simply because you deserved to live a life, like the life you had before you and him met. A life that he took away from you, because he was selfish and angry at you for lying about your identity. Luring you into the underwater world had been something he didn’t plan beforehand, it happened when he saw your tears: tears that he should be crying because it was you who hurt him and not the other way around. It was in the spur of the moment, his newly developed siren abilities had taken over but he hadn’t known the consequences.

A minute after he swam by the home of the sea witch, he turned back and swam past it again in hopes that this time his intuition would take over and basically drag him inside the place. Hoping the sea witch came out was no option, she barely was seen around, not even in the darker parts of the sea like here. She probably lived from the potions she made or remains of her victims. Yuta had no idea but he could already imagine it. 

“Go inside!” Yuta yelled to himself and just swam in without hesitation this time, not allowing himself to turn back anymore. It was scary from the moment he swam in, it seemed so dark, he was surrounded by darkness and sounds that he didn’t know where they came from, but they surely weren’t pleasant to hear. 

He looked around but didn’t see anything that could make him identify the room more, swimming a bit further inside but let out a wince when he seemed to bump himself into something that felt like cold bars. It was like his signal that he really had to go now, this had not been a good idea. He turned back to where he came from, trying to follow his guts to find the way out again.

Once he saw a little spark of the flowers that grew outside the home, he started to swim faster, feeling nearly euphoria that he could escape. Although he hadn’t noticed that suddenly a black presence stood in front of his sight, making him swim right against the form. When they collided, Yuta felt flesh and skin like he had, making him slowly look up. 

When his eyes came to the normal level, he was faced with a pair of yellow eyes, almost like a green neon that reflected in the darkness. He knew it wasn’t another siren that he was meeting. The darkness started to disappear and instead if became slightly lighter, revealing how he had bumped into a female. With two legs to walk, just like you had two legs that you could walk the earth with.

“Who might you be, young man?” She asked, her voice was so sweet that it sounded fake. But he still wondered how a human would get to this place, and why she wasn’t surprised that he had a tail. “Nakamoto Yuta” he answered in a neutral tone.

His body turned again as the girl swam towards the special kind of table placed in the middle of the place, it wasn’t a table but at the same time, it was. It looked like something that belonged to a ship, and not to a random object that would be underwater. “You’re the new siren that killed princess y/n” She pointed out right away, the words made Yuta lower his head instantly. And because of that, he didn’t see how the girl changed into a different form... the form that revealed how she was the sea witch.

Yuta felt ashamed of who he was, he no longer was the Yuta he was before, now he was the siren that killed the princess. Deep inside, he was Yuta who killed y/n but it was something more hidden. Everyone, including himself, got the message of him being a siren that killed the princess first.

“What can I do for you, Yuta?” She asked as a small smirk secretly played on her lips, she knew that she could easily mislead people and expected Yuta to be one of those fools who fell for it. She was surprised that Taeyong hadn’t been along with Yuta to stop him from making stupid deals, but it was a good thing as it meant her plans could be like the way she wanted them to go, and it probably meant that Yuta was alone in life. Banned from being with his family and friends.

Yuta pondered if he was supposed to tell what was going on, but the sea witch knew the situation so she probably knew what he wanted. She just wanted to hear him say it so that he could fall into another moment of pure guilt. “Princess y/n, I can’t let her drown,” he said. Bowing to the sea witch as a sign that he was desperate and would give up a lot just to have you alive and well again.

“What idea did you have in mind?” She asked and hummed as she moved to where she kept the remains of her victims, making Yuta gag at the sight of just scattered body parts or pieces of fabric. 

He pulled himself together and bit the inside of his lip, as much as he wanted to escape, he knew he had already come this far and wouldn’t let himself back out at this point. “I want y/n to be alive again, instead you can kill me” he said, sounding more desperate than he had ever been. Your life was precious to him, even if he wasn’t there to live it with you.

The sea witch seemed to consider the words or at least that’s what the thinking-like expression on her face revealed in Yuta’s eyes. Now the only thing was to get a positive answer and actually receive the right deal they made. But like he partially expected, the sea witch shook her head, defending the motion with a “no.”

“Please, I really need y/n alive. I will give you all of the gold and silver I own, and my life.” He said and clasped his hands together in a nearly begging motion, his eyes looking right into the sea witch her yellow-colored eyes. He didn’t look at the rest of her face, just her eyes. “Isn’t that enough?” He asked, just hoping he would get a yes so that both you and him got what you each deserved.

“No, it would be enough. It’s just a bit too, innocent” She said with a small chuckle, only laughing at how pathetic the begging of Yuta was. Power was something she longed for and people like Yuta always would beg even if it was useless. “Let me think of a better idea for the two of you” she said, her eyes tearing from Yuta’s as she started to roam around in her home. 

Yuta watched as she looked at some of the bottles with seeming potion inside of them, he wondered what she would suggest as an idea, an idea that probably would make things go even more wrong for either of you. 

“Listen to my suggestion” She said, speaking up after a few awful minutes of silence, the minutes that had seemed to pass by like years did if it was from Yuta’s point of view. Yuta looked at her with intense eyes, he was angry at her but too scared to do anything other than actually listening.

She grabbed two of the special looking bottles from the shelves she had and put set down onto the big table, setting them down in the middle so that Yuta could see them clearly. “This potion is for the princess to drink. Only to be used outside the water, which is also the place where you will leave her. The other potion is what you will have to drink, right after the princess drinks hers. I won’t take your life, so I made it easy for both of you” She said, her hand resting underneath her chin to keep herself steady as she leaned on the table. 

In all of those years everyone had warned each other about the sea witch, Yuta had listened each time and nodded when they said to never make a deal with her. Yet he found himself nodding and making a deal with the sea witch, exchanging the potions for all of the silver and gold he had owned or gotten from you. They were things you thought he would like, and he collected them but now they had to be given away.

That same evening he brought all of the silver and gold to the sea witch, not realizing he could be smart and keep some to himself. He had just done what he was supposed to do, fair and square. He was happy when left for the final time, in his hand the potions that you both would drink from tomorrow. He just needed one more day with you before you would start to hate him and before he would get his punishment.

Yuta’s eyes never closed that night, even if it had been dark which normally would make him close his eyes automatically, in the darkness he had been staring towards the two bottles almost all night. 

He wondered what effect the bottles would have on him and you, he hoped that you would come to life again and pick it up with where you left off, while he would drink the punishment potion and suffer. But he was still lucky, at least the sea witch spared his life even though that was equally bad as not having you around anymore. After that, he could go back to his old life.

Although his life would change a lot: his friends would completely drop him because after all, he was a siren, and you would probably end up hating him and marrying the prince. Those two things were enough punishment to last a lifetime, but he deserved that and was going to accept it.

He would be sad to know you would marry the prince and move out of the country, he would never get the chance to see you again unless it was in his dreams. If he was lucky enough to still get happy dreams instead of nightmares.

Things in his life were so unsure right now, that he began to doubt everything and search for a bad and positive side in everything. Usually, it was the bad one that was the clearest, but then he’d say it was because he deserved the negative thoughts and experiences.

He closed his eyes for the millionth time but still rest wouldn’t replace the nervous feeling in his body, this way the night would last even longer than those nights where it was just tossing and turning. Now it was more than that, it were the feelings and the thoughts that made it worse than just a sleepless night.

Yuta got annoyed by his own uncontrolled behavior and left the dark part of the ocean, he swam past the night part with a big avoiding turn away from you, he still didn’t want to see you until it really was morning. The time he would spend his last day with you and hopefully send you off to the happy earth again in the evening.

He could hear the voices on the beach even when he was still underwater, he didn’t recognize the voices but heard your name falling from different voices a couple of times. He came up the surface silently, luckily they probably wouldn’t see him there anyway. He listened and watched the scene unfold in front of him:

“She can’t be here,” Mark said as he followed Sicheng onto the sand, sighing deeply as he didn’t even get how Sicheng came onto this weird idea that you would be at the beach or even in the water. “She can be here, Mark. She came here often. I’m her best friend, I would know” Sicheng shot back to Mark with a slightly annoyed look. Yuta looked up when he heard Sicheng saying the name: he had known Sicheng because you always told him stories about your Chinese best friend Sicheng, and the guy next to him probably was Prince Mark that you were engaged to.

Yuta heard the prince sigh once again, Mark’s covered feet kicking the sand as he had given up on finding you already, you were gone and maybe just because you weren’t ready to marry him. “What did she do here?” He asked Sicheng, catching up with the Chinese man who walked towards the rock. Sicheng shrugged his shoulders, even if he knew, he wouldn’t say anything because it was a secret between you and him. “Just get away from the stress of being a princess. She didn’t want a princess life but had no choice” he explained to Mark who just nodded at the words. Mark understood you, but he had wished you would have told him instead of just leaving everyone worried and clueless.

Suddenly a female voice appeared in the middle of the talk between Sicheng and Prince Mark, also surprising Yuta by the sudden female voice as he hadn’t heard it before. “Come back to the castle, Sicheng and Prince Mark. Our y/n isn’t here” The voice said and as Yuta looked into the direction of the voice, he could see a shiny crown on top of a female’s head. It was your mother, the queen of the country, the mother of the love of his life. Yuta couldn’t look anymore at her even if she didn’t see him, it would make him more guilty and ashamed even if soon the problem would be considered fixed.

Both of the men continued to look around the beach for another slow-passing minute, but they both gave up and left the beach together with your mother. Leaving a speechless and ashamed Yuta behind as he was starting to realize that he took you away from the people who loved you, the people who raised you, the people you grew up with. Just to have you all to himself, or take life away from you... He still hadn’t figured out why he did it exactly, it was a question to himself that he would never get an answer to.

Yuta turned away and left minutes after the men did, he would only once again return to this place and that was to bring you back to where you belonged. After that, he would no longer bring up his own emotions, would keep them hidden underwater, in the dark part of the sea, where he belonged.

Once he was safely in the water again, he still couldn’t bear to see you, even if he knew this was the last day he could spend with you. But what was he supposed to do? Drag your body around the sea for hours, showing you every bit of the sea that you’d never seen, it wasn’t as if you were able to see it now. Neither was he able to talk to you for hours, talking but never getting a small reply because you were half dead. 

So, he figured out that it was better for himself if he only came to see you a few hours before it was time for you to drink your potion. He wasn’t sure if by that time, he would be ready to let you go but his steps of time were running out and he didn’t want you to fall for a second time. He had to let you go.

The duration of the build-up to your department seemed to take centuries. Especially because Yuta had been waiting and waiting, staring at his surroundings for hours without actually being able to see or look at them. It was pointless, and he knew he could bring you back to your country now, but his body wouldn’t let him. 

He looked down and noticed a reflecting piece laying on the bottom of the sea, slowly he swam towards it and picked it up with his right hand, holding it between his fingers as he inspected it. It was a piece from the mirror that he had received from you long ago, the same mirror he held when he looked at the man bun you had made into his red hair. He twisted it in his fingers and looked at his reflection. All that he saw was another person looking at himself, if that was something that made sense but it was what he was feeling. 

The first thing he noticed about himself were the tired-looking mixed eyes that he had, eyes that he wanted to cry through but you had already cried the tears that he was supposed to cry. Though soon his eyes fell to his hair again, the hair that you always loved to play with, the hair that turned black just like his heart did. Because of tiredness, it had slipped from his eyes how one half of his hair seemed different than the other, the same way as his eyes appeared to be.

A loud whimper left his lips as soon as his grip tightened on the little sharp piece when he looked at his hand again, he noticed how it had left a cut onto his skin. It felt more painful than the time when he damaged his black fins, but it felt less painful than the things his heart had to get over. He applied some pressure on the cut with his other hand, silently cursing himself for being such a fool.

He dropped the piece again, letting it fall back right where he picked it up from. But the sight only made him transfer into his own thoughts once again. His mind going to a memory where you two talked about heartbeats and what would make your heart race, never had been discussed what would make your heart stop. And Yuta wasn’t sure if this day would make his heart race or stop. If he could turn back time, he would have asked but it came too far for that.

When he looked up again, he decided that it finally was time to let you go again, it had no use if he kept you here longer, at least not for you, for him it meant more time with you even if he didn’t care to come too close to you. He took the bottle that was made for you before he left what he called his home, the sudden contrast between the light and dark parts of the sea dawned onto him. Everything in his life used to be so bright, now everything was dark and negative.

As he swam over to you, he looked at all of the places he and his friends used to hang out. Or thought back of moments when he was swimming there because he was on the way to you. He saw your body after a couple of seconds of swimming and swallowed away the lump in his throat. 

“It’s time for you to go home,” He said softly as he came closer to you, his hand stroked over your cheek lightly, he could feel the tears welling up in his eyes Yet, he didn’t allow himself to cry over this yet. He swam down and removed the seaweed that he had tried your feet with, both of his arms quickly going up to wrap around your body.

Hesitation filled his mind and yet with you in his arms, he swam towards the surface again, ready to bring you back to your home. It didn’t take long but he made time go slow by imagining how sad he would be without you in his life. 

Once he reached the surface with you, he swam towards the rock and used his strength to get both of you on top of it. He let your head rest on his lap so that it didn’t feel uncomfortable for you. His hands ran through your hair carefully, trying to be careful so that he wouldn’t hurt you as he got out all of the knots. He would have used his fork if he hadn’t given it to the sea witch together with the rest of his belongings. 

“Thank you for being by my side, princess.” He whispered to you as he continued to stroke your hair for a couple of seconds, the feelings coming back to him like the waves had hit him in the face many times before. “And I’m sorry for making you listen to my song” He added, he knew if he hadn’t been singing then you wouldn’t have ended up like this.

The potion was next to both of you on the rock but it was something he forgot because he was having his last true moments with you right now. A moment between only you and him, with raw emotions like the waves and heart-wrenching feelings as he was broken but had also broken you.

“I don’t know how I’ll survive, I will be lonely, but I’m fine with being alone.” He whispered, his lips pressing to the top of your head that felt wet and cold because of the circumstances you’d been in for a long time. The moment between you and him was broken when the loud clock announced a new hour, one hour closer to a lonely tomorrow.

He reached over and took the potion in his hand, looking at the bottle but didn’t have any doubts with what the sea witch had sold him. He popped the bottle open, not even seeing the slight smoke that escaped from it as soon as it was opened. His eyes were on you again, his teeth tugging on his lower lip until he felt the slight pain from it.

“goodbye my y/n, please never forget how much I love you”

Yuta whispered to you, his lips kissing from your forehead down to your lips, giving your lips one last kiss. In your head, the first would always stay the last, but Yuta would always remember the last time his lips touched yours. Your lips were cold and didn’t move back against his, but he liked to pretend if the love was there anyway.

As soon as his lips left yours, a quiet sigh left his lips. It was really over now, it hadn’t been over until this moment. A moment he had always feared and would forever fear to relive again.

He brought up the potion in his hand again, bringing it towards your lips as you weren’t able to move. He placed the lid of the bottle against your parted lips, tilting the bottle until the dark liquid was transferred from its glass bottle to your mouth. Yuta’s emotions left his body when he healed you, simply because his mixed feelings caused him to shut everything off in his heart.

Once you half of the liquid had been gone from the bottle, he put it away and looked down at you, your lips dark just like the color of the potion. And a small dribble of it running down your chin, which he wiped away with his fingertip. 

Unlike the sea witch said, he didn’t leave you behind there, he had made the promise to at least stay with you until your eyes opened again for the first time, just to make sure that you would be safe and alive again. During the wait, he was silent, the only sounds coming from the waves and the slight breeze. He never broke his eye contact with you, though his eye contact was one-sided. Your eyes were closed while he just stared at you for the longest time, a couple of hours passed by like that.

When your eyes opened themselves for the first time again, Yuta had seen it, and it was like meeting you all over again, falling in love with you all over again. The tears that had always been cried for him, now ran down his cheeks instead. Seeing the tears made your hand reach up to wipe away the tears of the man above you, but before you could, his hand carefully brought yours down and made it rest on top of your heart. 

Through his tear-filled eyes, his healing smile shone bright 

⠀

⋅  A.N : you have reached the end of Chanson Gothique now, as the end is as much of a cliffhanger one as last time, I am willing to write a third part that will have a real ending to the story. If you would like a third part of Chanson Gothique, please let me know! thank you for reading

[manyothermusingsofmine]

Superstition ||

Hey guess what I write fanfic. I’m glad to be done with this one because it took an eternity

Summary: the newest arrival to the BAU team needs to prove her worth by solving a four victim counting homicide. Despite having the help of the team and especially Dr. Reid, will her selfdoubt get in the way of solving this case? 

Warnings: mentions of poisoning and violence

“A good Tarot Reader never gives false hope or leaves a client feeling disturbed.”

― Leslie Anne Franklin

 “So we’re dealing with poisonings?”

The team turned to JJ- it didn’t seem all that out of the ordinary for an unsub to use poison in a kill, but the body count the unsub had created in less than three weeks was a good enough reason for the authorities at the scene to call in the BAU.

“It’s likely to be a female unsub,” Reid concluded. “Statistically women are more likely to use poison than men.”

“Not exactly,” a new voice chimed in, causing the team to turn towards the door where the woman who had spoken immediately felt a blush coming on.

“Ah, I mean… While women use poison more often than men, most female unsubs are most likely to use a gun for a murder. Poison is actually option number 6 among women- I’m sorry for interrupting, but you were kind of treading on my grounds,” she said sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck while looking at agent Hotchner for help. He nodded.

“This is agent Cleo Dewitt, assigned to this case as her field of expertise is toxicology. She’s also coming along because I am supposed to tell her department whether or not she would be fit to be a profiler.”

A few quick hello’s were tossed around as Cleo shyly took the only remaining seat between Spencer and Emily, ignoring the few curious glances as she focused on the rest of the briefing.

A few mentions about the victims were tossed around, that they were all elderly people with close knit family connections. It wasn’t long after the team boarded the plane and the files were handed out among the members, all of them looking over the notes provided. It all seemed pretty clean cut for as far as mystery murders could be with an unsub still on the loose. There was one thing that struck all of them as odd, though.

“It says there was a tarot card found at the scene of the fourth crime,” Spencer noted, watching Cleo as she turned a page to look at this particular card.

“The Ten of Pentacles. Whenever a tarot card is used at crime scenes it’s mostly the death card despite that not actually signifying death, but why would you leave a card that signifies wealth at a crime scene?” Cleo asked, looking up to notice everyone was looking at her. “I’ve… Tarot is interesting, honestly, if you don’t let it actually dictate your free choice in your future” she explained, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks once more.

“It doesn’t just mean wealth in this case, the card is upright which means a gain of wealth, if it were upside down it would be a loss of wealth. Whatever this unsub is trying to say, it’s with this particular card,” Reid added.

“And chances are we’re dealing with an angel of death, here” Cleo added carefully after her cheeks had turned less pink.

After the plane had landed and the team had quickly settled down among the local authorities, the team was split up into smaller groups to cover as much ground as needed. Cleo and Spencer were assigned to check with the morgue about the causes of death and if that would say anything about the unsub.

Reid had noticed that the new agent had yet to look more comfortable than she had at the start of this case, and decided to try his best at some casual small talk; not that he was particularly good at it.

“So, uhm… are you settling in okay?”

“I… guess. Mh, you think I would be used to settling into a new team quickly just from, you know.. Life in general. Yet it always takes me at least a week to fully adjust. I mean, I do fine fitting in with local authorities, it’s not like they expect you to become their best friend in the few days you’re around to help them. I just… do acquaintances better, I suppose. Better than full on friendship which takes time..”

Reid couldn’t help but smile at that, the notion so similar to his own feelings. The silence between them wasn’t awkward, rather pleasantly welcomed by both as they hopped out of the car.

“Miss Dewitt? Please don’t hesitate to reach out to me, if necessary,” Spencer offered, giving her a friendly nod.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Dr. Reid. But for now, we have to figure out which poison the unsub uses, and why.”

The answer to that only resulted in more questions, mostly of the kind of why the unsub went with this particular MO. Four people had been killed by receiving multiple high doses of heparin, spaced out over the week until the internal bleeding the overdose caused eventually ended their lives. It definitely wasn’t a very painless way of losing their life.

The duo remained silent as they made their way back to the central gathering point, with Reid carefully watching Dewitt to figure her out. He noticed her nails, the small inconsistencies in shape and length being enough for him to conclude they were naturally grown. They were painted and clean. Yet he concluded from merely observing her during the conversation with the coroner that she was once a nail biter.

In that entire conversation there had been several moments where the other FBI agent had her thumbnail between her molars, without actually biting down; a sign that she had shifted the focus towards this new gesture. The desire to bite apparently still lingered in her system, and it had been a difficult habit to knock.

“So what do we do now?” Cleo asked while they were leaving the building.

“The others are crossing the town, interviewing people, getting a feel for the crime scene.. I guess the best thing for us to do is to go back to our make do base and see what we can find in the further evidence that has been collected there.”

Cleo nodded, simply following behind him and getting into the SUV that would take them back.

Aside from the slow, rhythmic tapping of four fingernails against a hard surface and the occasional rustling of paper, the make shift desk at which Reid and Dewitt had settled to once again look over the evidence was comfortably quiet. Not to say there wasn’t any tension between the two, because there was, but that was more from their desire to solve this case quicker than the pace it was currently going at.

Reid did most of the reading, only occasionally peeking up from the files he went through at incredible speed, to find his colleague staring intently at the tarot card pinned to the evidence board. Something about it was clearly annoying her.

“What are you thinking about?” he eventually asked, smiling carefully and friendly when she looked up, seemingly a bit confused and startled from her thoughts. “Ah, uhm…. It’s just..” Cleo muttered, taking a deep breath before continuing,

“Something just feels.. off. I mean there’s no such thing as an ordinary FBI case, but this… this isn’t even a straight up angel of death scenario. It’s…”

Spencer waited for a moment, and decided to ask when she didn’t continue.

“What’s bothering you?”

“Well… We have four victims here, no sign of anything missing from the house, no sign of any heroic help and according to the families no heritage money is missing either; You would think the unsub is an angel of death just from the number of victims, but then why isn’t anything missing?” Cleo asked, looking at Dr. Reid with a puzzled look mixed with worry on her face.

“What if my conclusion is wrong? What if we’re not dealing with an angel of death like I had originally thought? Because if we are, then what is this unsub even after if not heritage money or praise?”

She groaned, fidgeting with the pen in her hand as her attention was turned back to the tarot card.

“That card is going to drive me up a wall. Why the Ten of Pentacles? Somewhere in that card is the solution to this case and if I could only figure out what the answer is- Oh my god I am so sorry!”

Between talking about what was bothering her and focusing on the card, Cleo had fidgeted with the pen so much that it somehow managed to hit the desk and fly off from her grip; landing precisely on the file Reid had been holding before he finished reading the page. Had it been a mere second or so later he would probably have flipped the page over, most likely sending the pen even further into orbit.

Without so much as a second thought he plucked the pen out from in between the file, sliding it back towards her over the table with a calm gesture.

“I know you didn’t do that on purpose,” he assured, giving her a calm smile. “And I also know that statistically you won’t be able to pull that off again, but mind your pen next time, will you?”

“Again..” She muttered, staring at her colleague as something fell into place.

“Reid, you’re a genius.” “Provably, even, but why?”

Cleo rose from her chair, grabbing the first marker she could find as she jolted down the tarot card name and with that several meanings as well. 

“The reason you have various people in tarot card reading is because the meaning isn’t so one note. To different people a tarot card can mean different things, sometimes even something different from their original meaning. So yes the Ten of Pentacles means wealth gain but another meaning is along the line of hoping that something that worked in the past will work again.

Okay, okay, so- Tarot cards, tarot card reading, they all have to do with the occult, with spirituality, with- with psychics! Reid, I’m going to need that eidetic memory of yours; please tell me you read the witness statements.”

“I did.”

“Did the families of John Hamwey, Rachell Gillings, Amber Rankin and Steve Deeks  say anything about them being superstitious?”

“Uhm, yes. John had an irrational fear of black cats, Rachell didn’t have any mirrors in her house, Amber wore a rabbit’s foot with her at all times and Steve had a horseshoe on the outside of his door-“ Reid halted for a moment, looking at Cleo as he did.

“The unsub is a psychic. like the Tillie Klimek case. According to legend, Tillie pretended to have precognitive dreams, accurately predicting the dates of death of her victims, when in reality she was merely scheduling their deaths. Contemporary accounts tell her cheerfully telling her husbands and neighbors that they were going to die, but there is no record of her claiming to be a psychic; our unsub is.”

He quickly worked through a few files, already having discovered an overlapping name before  reaching over to the phone and quickly dialing the number to get Garcia on the line as he did.

“Garcia, can you run the name Leon Wells through the system for me? He’s been at the victims houses in regular intervals before the killings.”

“Leon Wells, born and raised in Warren, Arkansas. He’s 35 years old, has one criminal record on his name of forgery. he worked for an IT company that went bankrupt four months ago, now he owns a very well running company that provides funeral services.”

“No wonder that runs perfectly, he’s providing the clients himself!” Reid said, with Cleo already making calls to the other members of the team to have the guy arrested and brought in.

Only after the chaos of their joined realization settled down and the rest of the team gave back the call that Leon had been caught did the two remaining FBI agents calm down themselves, clearly relieved.

It was roughly two hours later that everyone was getting settled into the jet to make the journey home from Warren to Quantico. Spencer was further in the back, making himself a coffee as most of the others were asleep. Only Derek and Cleo were still awake.

Morgan calmly joined Spencer to get a drink as well, staying close to his friend as he sipped his drink.

“Well, that was a tough one,” Spencer mumbled as he stirred into his coffee, looking up at his friend. “I’m glad that is over.”

“Mhh, someone doesn’t seem to be looking so glad,” Derek said, casually nodding over to one of the chairs where Cleo was staring out of the window in deep thought. Spencer let his gaze linger, internally debating whether or not to approach her. Maybe leaving her alone would be the best option, if-

“Go,” Derek encouraged, very gently nudging Spencer forward a bit, “You’ve been with her for most of this case. If anyone can pull what’s bothering her out of her it’s you right now. Go on.”

Spencer gave in, slowly wandering over and taking the free seat next to Cleo, taking a sip of his coffee first as he thought of how to even begin a conversation like this. Awoken from her thoughts by the sudden weight next to her, Cleo turned her attention to Dr. Reid, giving him a tired smile that didn’t really reach up to her eyes, her gaze troubled and almost sad.

“That was a tough case, right? I’m glad we caught the guy.” “Yeah…” “You…” his voice wandered off a bit. How was he going to explain his concern?

“Is something wrong?” “I didn’t exactly lead the team in the right direction, now did I?”

She folded her hand under her chin, staring out of the plane’s window as she sighed, with Reid shifting more towards her to regain her attention, waiting for her to explain.

“I concluded that it was an angel of death, and… I guess in truth I wasn’t wrong. But the gain only being to make money off the supplies offered for a funeral? Well, some help I am, huh, leading the case into almost the right direction but not quite. My instincts aren’t supposed to be wrong-” “They weren’t,” Spencer interrupted, wanting to break through to her circle of thought. “It were your instincts that told you something was off, and you listened. If your gut hadn’t told you there was no gain, we wouldn’t have started looking in another direction. And I’d much rather work with someone who admits her profile might be wrong than stubbornly continuing along the path she has set- that would actually have driven us in the wrong direction and Leon Wells would’ve continued killing.”

Cleo looked at Hotch, who’s back was turned towards them, a moment of hesitation on her face before turning back to the person next to her. She searched his face with her gaze for a moment, looking for anything that would either soothe or aggravate her worries.

“So… do you think he’ll let me on the team?” “That’s not for me to decide, but I hope he does. He does want to speak to you when we get back. In his office. Not to freak you out, or anything,” Reid said, looking at his empty cup.

“I’m going to get another drink. Would you like anything?” “Yes, please. A-“ “An earl grey tea, well steeped. I’ll be right back.”

Cleo couldn’t help but give a genuine smile, much more calm now than she had been before as she resumed to look out the window. Things would be alright.

  “It's only by becoming familiar with poisons that you can make the best antidotes.”

― Aprilynne Pike, Destined

[alwayshalloweenchan]

Devil Devil

Summary - A bonus scene taking place at the end of Lucifer episode 9 - Homewrecker.  Maze wonders up to the penthouse only to find Lucifer alone brooding in the dark.

Fic written for @clairvoyance-art on Tumblr who requested Deckerstar or Mazikeen for the @lucifersecretsanta exchange, so I gave her a bit of both.  Happy New Year and my profound apologies for this gift being so late!

   The elevator doors opened, revealing the darkened penthouse suite as Mazikeen stepped out.  She needed some fresh air and a moment to herself.  The celebration party was raging on downstairs as the humans raved over Lux’s last minute salvation from possible destruction.  

In the past, the scent of sweat, lust and liquor flowing as bodies swayed rhythmically to the loud pumping music of Lux had been a comfort to her.   Unfortunately, this was no longer the case.  

Truth be told, she wasn’t even sure why she was still at Lux as often as she was.  It was no longer her home or even her place of employment if she wanted to use such a tedious human description to describe her attachment to the club.  

Perhaps it was force of habit, or a feeling of duty and loyalty that still lingered no matter how hard she tried to remove it from her life or more specifically from it’s owner.  To say that Maze wanted nothing more than to free herself of her attachment to Lucifer in every sense of the word was certainly a half truth.  Her life and Lucifer’s had been entwined for far too long for her to pretend that she could sever that connection as easily as she had severed his wings on that beach years ago.  

Did she want freedom and the power to control her own life and choices, of course, but did she want to abandon Lucifer and cut all her ties to him entirely while they occupied the mortal realm?  The answer to that was well…the answer to that was complicated. Maybe that was why she needed these temporary escapes from the debauchery downstairs even though she was still pulled here night after night.  She desperately wanted a life of her own while she was here on Earth, a life defined by her own choices, but she also didn’t want to let go of her past entirely because after all that was what had defined who she was now.  

Life had been so much easier in Hell.  There she knew her place, knew her job, and there were no difficult choices to be made.  It was just day in and day out of delicious endless torture.  A part of her still strongly craved that brutal satisfaction from another soul broken; another punishment fulfilled.  To her dismay though, there were things here on Earth she was starting to enjoy just as much.  Coffee shops, after parties, pop tarts, the list could go on and on.  It seemed unbelievable that just a short while ago, there was nothing she wanted more than to get back home to Hell.  Now, when or if that time came, she couldn’t deny that part of her would long for pieces of the mortal realm.    

Lucifer had been absent from Lux all evening after he had called her earlier in the afternoon to tell her the news. Chloe had somehow found a loophole in the system and had been able to preserve the club.  So she figured he was out playing detective as usual or maybe even celebrating this unexpected victory with her away from the chaos and crowds downstairs that seemed to make Chloe uncomfortable.  

Maze begin to head toward the balcony, but halted after a few steps surprised to see a figure silhouetted on the couch in the middle of the room.

She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped short noticing that Lucifer had yet to even observe her presence in the penthouse.  

Something was wrong.  

That fact was evident not only in the pained expression on his face, but also obvious from the rigid stance of his body on the couch.  He looked like someone had beaten him down, although she saw in evidence of physical discomfort.  Still she fought the urge to rush to him and check him over.  Chloe was no where in sight so he was safe from mortal peril and any divine attack wouldn’t have left him sitting here quietly in distress as he so obviously was.  

Which left only one option, this was some sort of emotional torment that was inflicting Lucifer.  Maze had to bite her tongue to keep herself from groaning out loud.  If it was some sort of drama like this, there was usually only source of that drama for Lucifer.

She longed for the time when things were simple and they were here for one purpose and one purpose alone, fun.  L.A. had been a non-stop party indeed for them, a never ending escapade of sex, alcohol, drugs, and more sex.  But all of that was B.C. as she liked to put it, before Chloe.  

She had been so sure that Chloe would be nothing more than a toy for Lucifer, something to hold his fancy for a time, and then to be left forgotten in the corner as all the others had been.  

Certainly, there had mortals like Delilah, that had caught Lucifer’s fancy for an extended time.  He had his fun with them and sent them on their merry ways after he grew bored with them.  Chloe should have been the same because at first should couldn’t understand what fascinated Lucifer so deeply about her.  By Maze’s count, she should have been out of their lives within a month.    

It hadn’t turned out at all as she thought it would though, and to make matters worse, she now found herself entwined in Chloe’s life as well.  When had everything gotten so damned complicated?

She thought about turning around and quietly back tracking to the elevator, but Lucifer would certainly hear her this time.  She would end up looking like a coward running away from a problem.  Decidedly, problems like this were Linda’s territory and better left there, but there was no Linda in sight, and Maze would be damned if she acted cowardly in any situation.  So she steeled her shoulders, crossed her arms, and put her game face on, before loudly clearing her throat.  

“What’s the matter with you, kill another sibling or something?”  

A low blow for sure, but Lucifer would except nothing less from her, so she played her part.  He barely moved at the statement, merely tilting his head in her direction.  

“Oh, hello Maze.  What are you doing skulking there in the dark?”  

Maze sauntered forward and poured herself a drink as well before heading over to him and perching on the arm at the opposite end of the couch.  

“I could ask you the same thing.”  

Lucifer shook his head letting out a small snort, as he took another swig from his own glass.  

“Well it is my home after all and last time I checked I didn’t ask you to pay a visit.  Don’t you have some humans to hunt or something as you so eloquently put it?”  

She started to answer but stopped as she saw him pick up his cell phone which had been turned over on it’s face next to him on the couch seat.  It was too quick for her to read the contents but several text messages from Chloe were scrolling down the screen.  

His eye brows scrunched together as he glanced at the phone, that tormented expression once again flitting across his face.  As if she had needed a confirmation of what or more specifically whom the problem sourced from, she had it now.  Still, Lucifer would never come clean or be open with her about the details, so there was only one course of action available.  

Maze threw her head back and downed the contents of her glass before getting to her feet.  She begin to head toward the half empty decanter on the table next to Lucifer.  As she reached her hand out towards it, she instead made a quick jab and snapped the phone out of Lucifer’s grasp.  

She moved backwards away from him as quickly as possible while scanning the messages.  She barely had time to read the last message from Chloe before glancing up to see a very angry Lucifer about two inches from her face.  

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing Maze,” he roared at her.  His eyes flashing red with hell fire as he ripped the phone out of her hands.  

She was breathless for a moment not only from the twinge of fear that she still felt when he was truly angry as he was now, but also the equal excitement she felt to see him in this state.  The beautiful and terrifying fallen angel that she had pledged her being to all those millennia ago skimming just across the surface.    

She didn’t falter though or even take a step back from him.  “I could ask you the same thing,” she yelled back.  “What are you thinking Lucifer?  Only about yourself as usual, what a big surprise.”  

She waited for the incoming volley of anger from him, but instead he just stood there for a moment.  His eyes fading back into the nearly blackish brown color of his human form.  He seemed to be folding in on himself as he pinched the bone between his eyes and sighed.  

“Yes I know Maze.  No need to remind me, all I ever think about is myself.  Just a big bad selfish devil here, never pretended to be anything else.”  

He turned from her and headed out toward the balcony.  She saw a faint flicker of light in the darkness as he lit a cigarette and leaned against the railing.

To say she wasn’t fond of this facet of the new version of Lucifer would be an understatement.  His moods seemed to flip flop at any given moment.  One moment he was a seething cauldron of anger and then in the next he was filled with quiet self loathing.  

She sighed as well and headed out to join him as the warm night wind ruffled through her hair.  It would have been so much easier to fight about this, but lately nothing was ever easy with Lucifer.  

“You want to talk about it or something,” she grunted putting her back to the glass railing as she leaned into it.  

He looked over at her arching one eyebrow as he took a slow drag on the cigarette.  

“Oh offering to lend an ear are we?  How thoughtful of you; Dr. Linda would be ever so proud,” he snarked back at her.  

She chuckled to herself, “Yeah well, if it’s all that bad maybe you should go see her.  This kind of crap is more her speed.”  

Lucifer gave her a quick glance through the side of his eyes without fully turning his head to her.  

“Well you see Mazie that’s just the problem, she’s partially to blame for this terribly uncomfortable situation.”

He ran his hand through his hair, ruining its perfect sculpt and causing a few errant dark curls to stick up in the process.

Maze snorted, “Linda told you to stand Chloe up?”  

Lucifer shook his head and flicked his half finished cigarette over the balcony.  

“No of course she didn’t tell me to stand the detective up, don’t be ridiculous.”  

He turned and headed back into the penthouse and begin to pour himself another glass of scotch.  Maze followed him in and sat on the couch.  

“Well then would you care to elaborate, because I’m kind of in the dark here.”  

Lucifer didn’t say anything but took his drink and sat down at his piano, setting it down and opening the cover.   He begin tinkering with a few of the keys, but not really playing any harmony so to speak.  

“She asked me why I don’t show my real self to the detective.”  

“Shit,” Maze thought silently to herself.  There it was or at least part of it, and this she could understand that at least.  

She thought of how she had held her breath when she unveiled her true form to Trixie.  But the child had just smiled delightedly up at her as if it was an everyday occurrence to be starring at a demon’s true face.  

She had known there was a reason she had chosen Trixie as her first friend after all.  But she also knew how Linda had had quite the opposite reaction to Lucifer’s reveal.  

She had been angry at first with Linda for that weakness, but had handled the situation with kid gloves.  Not only because Linda, like most other humans was fragile, but also because so was this thing called friendship.  Maze didn’t have an easy time connecting to others and to lose one of her few friends would have too difficult to face.  

She wasn’t sure she understood all the nuances of friendship, but she understood loyalty and so she didn’t take any bond lightly.  

She knew that if Lucifer showed that face to Chloe and her reaction was the same as Linda’s or worse, it could crush him.  

She knew he thought of himself as a monster in some respect and that face was just a reminder of all that he had done and all the had been done to him.  Just the thought of anyone thinking of him as a monster, let alone Chloe, made her want to put her fist through the wall.    

He was playing a sad slow melody on the piano now, looking down at the keys and avoiding eye contact with her.  

“Maybe you should you know?  Just get it over with - like ripping off a bandage.”  

Or a wing, she thought to herself, when he looked over the piano and leveled a wry gaze at her.  

“Right Maze.  Because being myself has been such a hunky dory experience for me in the past.”  

Maze walked over towards the bar.  Well at the very least if he just got it over with  they’d know one way or the other what the outcome would be.  She glanced at her reflection in the glass behind the bar.  

As much as she had grown fond of Chloe, she still felt she might not be able to control a part of herself if she did dare to hurt Lucifer that deeply.  

He had shown his resilience time and time again despite all that had been thrown at him, but she had a terrible feeling that this might be the one thing he couldn’t bounce back from.  

She looked down at her feet but not before catching a flash of her true face in the glass.

Despite her best efforts, she felt that anger bubbling toward the surface.  Only now that anger wasn’t only directed at Chloe.  After all, none of this would have happened in the first place if Lucifer hadn’t decided that Chloe was worthy of all this effort.  

Maze stalked back over the piano and slammed the cover shut nearly smashing Lucifer’s fingers inside it.  

“Lucifer this is ridiculous.  What are you going to do anyway if you show her and she accepts you?   You’re the lord of hell and she's a human.  You can’t just pretend that you can ride off into the sunset with her and live happily ever after. You’ll blink your eyes and her time on Earth will be over, and knowing Chloe she won’t be heading downward when she dies.  You’ll never see her again.  There’s not going to be a happy ending for you!”  

The words were out her mouth before she even had a chance to try and filter them.  She watched his face slowly shift from shock, then briefly to profound sadness, before finally settling into that stone mask he wore when he wanted to hide from the world.  

“Lucifer, I didn’t mean it, I…”  

“Save it Maze.  Firstly, I have no idea what you’re talking about.  Has everyone gone mad?  I’m bloody well not looking for anything and certainly not for that.  I’m having fun here is all and I don’t want that fun spoiled.  Secondly, I don’t need any lectures from you.  You’re the one playing house with the detective and her spawn.  You’re the one who has changed here.  Abandoning m…Lux that is, to go off and make human friends as you put it.  As if a demon needs friends, absolutely absurd!”  

Lucifer stood up so fast and hard that his piano bench toppled backwards, hitting the marble floor with a dull thud.  He stormed over to the bar and hunched over spreading his arms wide he leaned into the mahogany wood.  

Maze just stood next to the piano looking at the fallen bench on the floor, listening to Lucifer pant quietly as he tried to calm himself.  

He was right after all -what more was there to say?  What had started as a fun little diversion here on the earth, had turned into something else.  They were both changing and whether it was for the better or worse would remain to be seen.  

She watched as he reached over the bar and pulled out a fresh bottle from behind the counter.  He walked back over to the couch, poured himself another glass and took his place once again among the shadows.  

Maze knew this was a signal that this particular discussion had ended or at least that he was finished playing a part in it.  

Still, as she had said before, she was never one to walk away from a fight, or at least walk away without having the last word.  

“At least tell Chloe you’re sorry, you big ass.”  

With that she headed toward the elevator.  She stepped on as the doors opened and turned around.  She took one last glance at Lucifer as the elevator doors began to slide shut once again.  

He may as well have been made from the marble and wooden furnishings that surrounded him; sitting silent and still, surrounded half in shadow, half in light, caught somewhere between heaven and hell.