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lovepotionsandlust · 4 months

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All Of The Ways We Differ pt. 2

“Now what exactly was that?” Hermione raised her eyebrows at you crossing her arms. Your eyes were still on the parchment, re reading the note over and over in disbelief.

“It would appear my predications would get me an exceptional mark with Trelawney.” Ginny teased, causing Hermione to push further.

Your head was spinning to the point you could barely hear either of them.

“All students report to your dormitories immediately, await further instructions there from your prefects” Shouted McGonagall.

***

You barely had slept that night, every room buzzing with news of all students needing to return home for the next week to allow repairs of the great hall. In addition to the news that Umbridge placed her resignation; classes needed to be rearranged for the remaining months of the school year. Filtch couldn’t have been more upset if Peeves had hung his equipment from the moving stair case once again.

You busied yourself with packing what you could in your bag, mind racing with thoughts of Fred. Before the sun had even arose, you were on your way back home. Hoping to give yourself ample time to get yourself ready. Your family had yet to return from their travels, giving you the relief of no interruptions or questions from your parents. You did not say a single goodbye to any of your friends on the way out of the castle.

“what’s gotten into her?” Questioned Ron

Ginny and Hermione shared a knowing look.

“I guess only time will tell.” Ginny dismissed any further questions adding “we better get back to the burrow to ensure Fred and George aren’t on a milk carton somewhere after mom was through with them.”

***

As Ginny, Harry, Ron and Hermione approached the burrow, there was an eerie calm to the air. Fred was sat on the front stoop, staring down at his hands.

“What a bloody brilliant show Fred! Has mom not heard yet? What, are the owls celebrating as well and not delivering the post?” Ron shouted as he approached his older brother. Fred looked up showing a deep purple bruise below his left eye.

Giving a warning look to Ron, Fred exclaimed “well if she didn’t know she would now.”

Hermione rushed to him inspecting his face “Looks better than I thought you would, im just glad you have both eyes at this point.”

“Mom had heard before we returned home, Dad took her to the house of Black to calm down a bit.”

As Ron, Hermione and Harry ushered past him to the house, Fred reached out and stopped Ginny before she could enter the door.

“Did she get my note?”

Chuckling Ginny shook her head, “Really Fred? You have mom raining hellfire down upon you, got expelled, and your worried about your date?”

He nodded before standing up from the stoop.

“Come on Ginny, you’re her best friend, she had to have said something.”

“After she read that note, and it had been announced we were all returning home, she packed so fast that I don’t believe she ate last night or this morning. Luckily I had read the note over her shoulder or I would have no idea what is going on.”

“She didn’t eat? Is she Okay? I hope I didn’t make her too uncomfortable with that kiss on the cheek. Why didn’t you check on her?” Speaking so fast Ginny could barely understand him.

“Woah, Woah slow down Romeo.” Ginny was taken back by how concerned he was about you, she almost pitied him. Wanting to relieve his anxiety, she closed her eyes and sighed. “If you ever utter a word of what I am about to tell you Fred Gideon Weasley, I will set your hair on fire in your sleep. I will tell mom it was a failed experiment. Got it?”

He swallowed hard nodding, awaiting nervously for what information was to come.

“She fancies you Fred, she always has.”

His face lit up before she continued, “But that is my best friend, if you mess this up, Azkaban couldn’t keep you safe from me.”

He did not say another word, hurrying himself back inside to try to get rid of this black eye before his night with you.

***

Grateful as ever to be back in your empty home, you wasted no time getting into the shower. Your favorite music playing from the other room. Trying to calm your nerves as you brushed through your hair.

“what if he doesn’t like me? What if I get to talking about something ridiculous and he realizes how weird I am? What if I fell flat on my face in front of him as I entered the three broomsticks?”

You took a dep breath looking at yourself in the mirror, attempting to bring yourself back down to earth. Pointing at yourself in the reflection “now listen here, no boy has ever turned you down. You have always been the heart breaker, never the heart broken. You could have any man, their best friend, and their brother if you wanted to. Get your ass in gear and show him exactly what he’s after.”

Having a small pep talk with yourself seemed to help. You were finally ready as the clock neared time to leave to make your trek to Hogsmeade. Looking over yourself in the mirror one more time. You had decided to wear your favorite jeans, that hugged your curves in all of the right places. A deep maroon sweater that cut into a dep V in the front. Quickly sliding on your black boots and pulling your favorite hat from Molly over your head, you were ready. One more deep breath, and a quick check of your lipstick in the mirror. It was time to face the music.

***

Fred sat at the back booth, foot tapping in anticipation of your arrival. Hermione had given him her best attempt to heal his black eye. Remained still was a faint purple and yellow abrasion below his eye. He only hoped you would not notice. The bell above the door caught his attention, searching for you in the crowd he lifted his head. To his dismay it was the group of sixth year girls, who even on a bad day,had followed him around like a group of lost puppies. He knew with what had happened at the castle yesterday, that they would all flock to him, and flock they did.

As you entered the dimly lit room, you spotted that tall head of red hair straight away. Swarmed by gigging girls, twirling their hair around their fingers. “Fred you have to sign my text book, after yesterday you are basically a celebrity.” You couldn’t help but wonder how many paper birds did he send out. You listened cautiously from a distance.

“Listen ladies, I appreciate your kindness I do, but I am actually waiting for someone.”

“Oh.. like a date?” asked one of the girls attempting not to sound disappointed.

“If I am as lucky as I think I am, yeah actually.”

The girls all nodded, swallowing their pride. Starting to file to their own table one last girl stopped, feeling brave she brushed his hair to the side. “well if your date doesn’t show up, I’ll be in the booth over there.” She winked at him strutting away, clearly adding an extra wiggle to her hips.

Fred had never felt so uncomfortable.

“Hey handsome got time for one more autograph for a fan?” you teased.

Your voice rang through him like a shock wave. Standing instantly from his seat, he gestured towards you.

“Anything for my fans.” He smiled down at you, that’s when the fading bruise caught your eye. You grabbed his chin angling his face so you could get a better look. His cheeks went pink making it harder to assess the damage.

“Molly?” you questioned, knowing how feisty she could get.

“Well she did not take too kindly at me being expelled right before we graduated.”

“frying pan?”

“text book” he shrugged.

“serves you right Weasley”

You locked eyes for a moment, suddenly realizing you were the only people still stood in the walkway. You both sat, nervously awaiting the other to say something, anything. Two pint glasses being slammed down on the table startled you.

“Brought you the usual dears, anything to eat for the two of yas?”

The waitress looked back and forth at you both, impatiently awaiting an answer.

“Did you eat today?” Fred looked at you with that look, in which told you that you could not lie to you. It also just become apparent to yourself that you had not.

“Not yet, can I just get the special?” looking back at the waitress to evade Freds gaze. She nodded, taking his order and promptly leaving to the next table just as quickly as she had arrived. A small shift had now made you hyper aware that due to his long legs, Freds right leg was slotted directly in between your own. Making you sit up straighter in your seat.

Clearing your throat you asked, “so how badly did George get it? I can’t imagine you took all of the blame.”

“He was able to duck faster than I was, but dad stepped in after she made contact.”

“Well, if you need somewhere to ride out the storm until she cools off, my parents are not back yet, my couch is open.”

Smirking up at you, “Food isn’t even here yet and you are trying to get me back to your place? Did not take you for that kind of girl.”

He raised his glass to his lips to sip on his drink, looking far too proud of himself. Waiting until you could tell his mouth was full you decided to respond. You leaned in slightly so only he could hear you.

“See now, I was really just hoping you would throw me on this table and show your fan club who the real VIP is.”

This made him choke on his drink, coughing still he looked up at you with a glint in his eyes.

“Not many people can beat me at my own game Darlin, color me impressed.”

“We have not even started playing yet Freddie.”

Before he was able to respond the waitress set your food in front of you. You quickly thanked her. Popping a fry in your mouth you attempted to look as innocent as possible, as Fred watched you closely.

“now what am I going to do with you?” his eyes darkened slightly as he shifted lower in his seat pressing his leg further between yours.

***

The rest of the meal went along comfortably. The sixth year girls left defeated before the next round of drinks had been placed before you. You discussed your families, ambitions outside of school, the way Fred had lit up about his joke shop dreams gave you butterflies. Before either of you had noticed, all other patrons had exited, and the chairs were floating to flip on top of the surrounding tables.

“not too often we get to see such young love in here. Its on the house dearies. Yous just get home safely now ya hear me?”

Her sentiment of young love catching you both off guard, unable to look at each other just yet, Fred moved to stand.

“I should probably walk you home now.” He said extending his hand to you. You nodded, standing along side him, his hand finding its way to your lower back, guiding you through the door.

“Thank you for meeting with me tonight, I was not sure you were going to show up if I’m honest.”

You continued walking alongside him looking over, “Why wouldn’t I? The hero saves the day, least I could do was join him for a meal as a thank you.”

A sly smile spread across his face. “A hero huh?” Puffing his chest out he added “no worries miss, I will keep you safe.”

The back of your hand met your forehead dramatically, pretending to faint you fell into his arms. Causing him to stop walking. “Oh please, sir, save me.”

You both laughed, staring up at him, a brief moment of silence fell over you. Brushing a strand of hair from your face he searched your eyes.

“I really want to kiss you right now.” He watched you intently for permission.

Your hand shifted to rest on the back of his neck, pulling him in. Allowing your lips to collide with his. It was like nothing you had ever experienced before. The fireworks you were feeling put the twins show in the great hall to shame. Every sense was instantly heightened, goosebumps arising across your skin. Slowly pulling away from one another, he rested his forehead against yours, brushing his nose against your own. You both could not help but smile.

“You truly have no idea how long I have been wanting to do that.”

You giggled softly biting your bottom lip. “I think its time you got me home Freddie.”

***

As you walked back to your home, fingers intertwined a comfortable silence washed over the two of you. Snow had softly began falling, for a moment Fred stopped walking. Confused you turned to face him, when he reached up gently pulling your hat down further over your ears.

“can’t have you catching a cold. Don’t know if anyone told you but I am here to save the day.”

Rolling your eyes at him you continued walking. Although you could not ignore how your stomach had flipped with how gentle he was with you. “My knight in knitted armor.”

You weren’t sure if it had been the drinks you shared or how close he was to you, but your head was buzzing. As you approached your front steps you felt him halt. You turned to face him.

“You ok Freddie?”

Nodding, he took a deep breath, gaining composure. “I have to be honest with you.”

It had felt as if the world had stopped spinning. You attempted to keep your breathing steady as you awaited his response. The longer he took to speak, the more your self doubt kicked in. Turning his back to you he finally spoke.

“It has always been any girl I wanted, when I wanted.” He paused, shaking his head. “I am not trying to sound crude, but you saw how those girls were earlier.” He turned back to you gaging your facial expression, you attempted to give a weak smile so he would continue. After a deep breath he continued. “All of those other girls were just an impulsive moment, an indulgent want. Then I met you.”

A breath you did not know you were holding let go. As he stepped closer to you, visibly as nervous as you felt.

“I know this sounds mental, but ever since I met you... It felt as if after a long sweltering summer, I finally felt the cool relief of rain. If I go up there with you, I want- no I need this to be different. If you feel the same I need you to tell me, and if you don’t, I really need you to tell me.”

For the first time since he began speaking he looked up at you from the bottom stair. You could see he was trying to be strong, but his eyes told a different story. This was the first time you had ever seen him look scared, you had always seen him so confident, almost invincible. That is when you realized just how serious this was for him. You moved, now standing on the same step as him. He looked as if he was bracing himself for impact. You raised your hand to touch him when something you never expected happened. He flinched, closing his eyes. Gently you touched his face, causing him to look down at you. It pained you to see him so scared, so human.

Speaking softly, you locked eyes with him. “Fred Weasley, I want you to come upstairs with me.”

#fred weasly x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #george weasly x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley #harry potter #harrypotterau #fanfiction #weasley fanfic

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cosette141 · 1 year

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When You Wish Upon A Star | OUAT fanfic

Fandom: Once Upon A Time

Author: cosette141

Words: 8k

Summary: When David learns that Killian killed his father, David doesn’t forgive him. Killian is desperate to get his best friend back, but when David and Killian suddenly wake up in each other’s body, they might not even get themselves back. Oneshot (Captain Charming)

AO3

He smiled.

His sword sliced between the man's ribs.

And he smiled.

"Killian?"

Killian jerked from the memory—the horrible memory—the bloody worst thing he's ever done—from seeing the man—David's father—Emma's grandfather—die at his feet—at his hand—

—and he'd smiled—

"Killian!"

Killian jerked again, this time seeing Emma standing in front of him, her hands on his face, making him look at her, where they stood outside the door of her parents' loft.

"It's okay," said Emma softly. "We will get through this."

Killian swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest, his black, dead, cold heart, very much doubting that they would make it through this.

He's only gotten back from the mess with Gideon, from his return to Neverland and his very-near death. Emma's parents' Sleeping Curse has been broken for two days now, but they haven't seen them since.

The moment David had seen Killian again…

David and Snow both awake now, embraced their daughter together, pulling Henry in with them as well. Killian had stood unsure behind them. Emma had told him that David knew about his sin—what he'd done to David's father.

When David pulled away from his daughter, his eyes bright, his smile wide for his family, he then looked at Killian for the first time since the night he'd given Killian his blessing to marry his daughter.

David's eyes locked on his, and Killian stopped breathing.

The prince left his family to approach Killian, stopping in front of him.

"Ma—" began Killian, stopping himself from 'mate,' something he hasn't censored since Neverland. "D-David," he began unsteadily. "I… I can't even begin to tell you how sor—"

His words were sharply cut off when David's fist connected with his cheek, sending him crashing to the floor in surprise.

By the time Emma had helped him up, David was already gone.

The bruise on Killian's cheek was gone now, healed by Emma's magic, something Killian had asked her not to do.

He deserved the pain.

And he deserved the scar of it.

Hell, he deserved David's sword through his own ribs.

(Again.)

Despite Emma and Snow's attempts to get David and him in the same room, David hadn't gone anywhere near him ever since.

On this specific occasion, Emma and Snow have secretly planned for him to stop by, not telling David to avoid him leaving. But, in Emma's words, they were planning to "lock them both in the same room until they work this out with magic if they had to".

"You can do this," encouraged Emma softly, her fingers in his, and Killian still couldn't believe that he had her forgiveness.

He had everyone's except David, which was shocking to him in its own right.

But if he could have anyone's right now, it was David.

The man who had slowly become a friend, a brother, and now… nearly a father-in-law. (He tried not to think about the strangeness of that). He'd take strange.

He just wanted David back.

So, Emma knocked on the door, and it opened quickly, revealing Snow. She gave Killian a pitied smile. "Come in," she said softly.

They did, Emma having to tug Killian along.

Just as David got up from the couch, and froze.

His lax expression immediately hardened, a contempt aimed at Killian that hasn't been in his eyes since Neverland.

"What the hell is he doing here?" demanded David, shooting an accusing look at his wife and daughter, whom both winced.

"David," said Snow in a soft chastisement, yet still gentle. "I know you're hurting, and I know… I know what Killian's done is…" Killian flinched. "But… he's changed, and we've seen him change…"

"He saved your life in Neverland," Emma reminded him, something that both men revealed over a dinner months ago. "He saved all of us, he died for us," she said, voice choking up at that, "and he's so sorry—"

Killian felt the muscle in his jaw twitch, needing to speak for himself. Despite how much he appreciated their help. "David," he said, eyes burning. "I am… I can't even… I am so sorry," his voice choked. "I… I was… I wasn't m-myself back then. I was a… monster. A… villain," he said, the word sending a shiver down his spine. "And I… if I could take it back, I would in a bloody second—"

"Well," David cut him off. "You can't."

With that, he shoved past Killian, grabbing the door and slamming it shut.

"Dav—" began Snow, about to go after him, but Killian held up his hand to stop her.

He opened the door, rushing after David.

He found him walking swiftly down the sidewalk, his silhouette only lit by the moon and the stars, and Killian called, "David!"

David kept walking.

"David, please!"

Killian took David's arm to stop him, only for David to turn sharply toward him with a scowl, and Killian winced, stepping back.

"David," stressed Killian, every bit of regret that was killing him coming out, roughing his voice. "I am so bloody sorry," he choked out, a tear burning down his cheek. Because the worst thing he's ever done, he's done to his very best friend.

"Really?" asked David, whirling on him, eyes filled with anger and pain. "Were you sorry when you assisted me in finding the monster," he ground out, making Killian's eyes burn, "who killed my father? Trying to convince me to stop looking because he was standing right next to me?"

"I told you," stressed Killian, face breaking with the utter pain making him want to explode. "I didn't realize that I—" He couldn't even say it. "I didn't realize it until afterward, until August gave me that damn page—" He shut his eyes, letting out a defeated breath. "David, I swear to you, I have never regretted anything more than what I did to your father." Another tear burned down his cheek. "I was… I was a monster," he admitted, the words burning through his lips. "I… I wasn't myself, I… I didn't… I—" He remembered that phase, that… condition he was in. Ruled by pain and darkness and misery, and…. Emptiness. He didn't even feel like a person. "I just… I just wish you could see it from my perspective," he whispered brokenly.

"What do you want from me?" snapped David coldly.

"I… I want you to tell me what I can do to earn your forgiveness," breathed Killian, another tear burning down his cheek.

"You can't."

With that, David turned and walked away, leaving Killian frozen to the ground, feeling like he was hit with something so much more painful than David's fist.

It was hours before Killian went home, finding Emma having waited up for him on the couch.

She opened her mouth to ask something, but at his face, closed it, mirroring his sadness.

She embraced him anyway, promising him that David would come around.

They retired to their bedroom not long after, and Killian shut his eyes.

Just as he began to drift into a restless sleep, he felt something shift in his chest.

But he was asleep before he could question what it was.

-.-.

Killian felt himself wake slowly, reminded of the days as Captain Hook, where every day was just another day without color.

He sighed, wondering how the hell he was supposed to fix this with David.

He lifted his left arm to prop himself up to get out of bed, only to realize that he felt something he hasn't experienced in centuries.

For years after losing his left hand, he would still almost feel his fingers, even if they weren't there.

But…

He hasn't felt his phantom hand in ages.

So why…?

He opened his eyes, looking down, wondering if he went to bed with his hook again.

Except…

His hook wasn't there.

Neither was his brace.

Instead…

There was a hand.

He stared in shock.

He shook himself; he must still be dreaming.

But… this didn't feel like a dream.

He lifted his right hand, staring at two hands.

What…?

He closed both hands.

The fingers listened.

Two hands.

But… that wasn't all.

He suddenly realized something else wrong.

He was in Emma's parents' loft.

No—worse.

In her parents' bed.

Killian jerked out of the bed, whirling around, terrified to see Snow or David.

But the bed was empty except for him.

The whole apartment was, in fact.

He breathed out in relief.

Killian was also wearing… David's bedtime wear?

His heart pounded. "What the bloody—"

But he froze.

That wasn't his voice.

It wasn't even his accent.

It actually sounded like…

He couldn't breathe.

Killian all but ran to the bathroom.

Shutting his eyes, he winced, then opened his eyes in front of the mirror.

He felt his jaw drop.

But not his jaw.

Because staring back at him, his own bloody reflection, was David.

-.-.

David groaned.

His head pounded.

His brow furrowed with the pain, the awful ache behind his eyes that he didn't think he'd drunk enough to cause. He breathed slow, trying to quell the sudden rush of nausea, but it passed after a few breaths.

Perhaps it wasn't alcohol—it also could have been stress, as Snow seemed to go on and on about how much stress he'd been putting himself under, especially while they'd been under the shared Sleeping Curse. That mixed with Emma's—thankfully sidestepped—fate and everything about his father...

Familiar, stark anger rose under his skin, remembering the conversation with Hook from last night.

Hook.

He could hardly even picture the man without feeling a blinding hatred. Someone he nearly treated as a brother, as his closest friend, had killed his father. His good, innocent, finally decent father. He had ruined his father's chance at redemption, ended his life in cold blood and left David and his mother with unbearable pain that never, ever truly left either of them.

And now?

Now, Hook was going to become his son-in-law.

His practical son, who had murdered his father.

Murdered Emma's grandfather.

Her grandfather, whom she could have met if it hadn't been for Hook.

And his father would never see justice from the cold-hearted, soulless pirate his daughter had so unfortunately fallen in love with. And how she, and her mother, could still look at Hook, after what he'd done?

David groaned again, his hand rubbing at his eyes, where the intense throbbing was at its worst.

He must have woken Snow, because a hand was suddenly gently on his face, thumb brushing over his skin. David smiled a little at Snow's touch.

"You okay?"

David's eyes snapped open.

That wasn't Snow's voice.

That was Emma.

His heart suddenly pounding in his chest, he blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling.

He wasn't in bed with Snow.

He was in bed with Emma.

Which meant…

That hand on his face…

Horrible, terrible, wrong panic shot through him.

"What's wrong?" came Emma's voice again, and David turned his head, eyes flying wide. Emma was lying in the bed next to him, her hand still on his face with a touch that was far too tender for a father and daughter.

That cold panic ran through his entire body.

He was in bed with his daughter.

Why the hell was he in bed with his daughter?

She was staring at him with rich concern, like there was something wrong with him, a sort of lovingness in her eyes that should not be directed at her father.

He was in bed.

With his daughter.

In bed.

No.

Nonononono—he wasn't even going there. There was no way. He—something must have happened last night, he got drunk or injured—head injury, it had to be—no, he must have just been closer to Emma's house than home, and… and, they let him sleep it off… or… something...

But damn it, it did not explain the fact that his daughter was leaning over to kiss him.

David jerked away, moving quickly away from her before she could.

Stark hurt gleaned in Emma's eyes at his recoil. She reached for his face again, but he flinched back. "I don't understand," she whispered, voice hurt. "Did I do something? What's wrong?"

Everything.

"Killian?"

That gave him pause.

Panic rushing to a halt, absolute confusion filling its place, David asked, "Why did you just call me—"

He froze.

His voice.

That wasn't his voice.

He didn't have an accent.

Trying to sit up, because something was horribly, horribly wrong, David faltered, his left hand for whatever reason having gone completely numb. Had he slept on it? He looked down, intending to shake feeling back into it.

His heart stopped.

His hand was gone.

His arm simply… ended.

Fear and shock flooded him.

"Killian…?"

Holy lord.

Shock widening his eyes even more with the sudden horrible understanding, he turned a bewildered gaze onto Emma. She was looking at him with nothing short of fearful concern. She saw him stare in shock at his—at Hook's—left arm, and her brows kneaded with sad understanding. She suddenly touched his left arm, fingers feather-light where the wrist ended in a stump. "Did you dream about it again?" she whispered.

David blinked.

He was Hook.

This can't be happening.

"Do you want to talk about it?" asked Emma, now concerned for a different reason. From her tone of voice, this wasn't an uncommon topic for first thing in the morning.

David shook himself.

He was in Hook's body.

Emma reached for him again, and David reflexively began to move away but Emma's cell phone suddenly rang from the nightstand. She looked from David to her ringing phone, and with a slightly apologetic look she sat up and answered it.

David blinked, trying to figure out how the hell to explain this to Emma.

"What?"

David looked at Emma, seeing her brows shoot up.

"Um, okay," said Emma, biting her lip. "Weird." She sighed. "I'm sure it's fine… Yeah, let me know," she said, and hung up the phone. Looking at David, she said, "That was my mom."

Putting the whole trapped-in-a-pirate's-body thing aside for half a second, David felt fear shoot through him. "Snow? Is she all right?"

Emma looked a little surprised by his fear. "Uh, yeah, it's just… weird. She said David just… took off without telling her where he was going."

David froze.

He had a clone running around?

Wait.

If he was in Hook's body…

No.

Absolutely not.

"Mom said she took Leo for a walk, but by the time she came back he was gone. He didn't even take the truck or his phone." said Emma.

Hook had been in bed with his wife.

David was off the bed in seconds.

"Killian?!"

Getting a furious heat every time he heard that name, David tried to keep his calm. If he could track down the damn pirate, he could make him undo whatever spell or potion he used to trap them like this and no one will be the wiser.

Dammit he wasn't about to tell his daughter they were just in bed together.

"Where are you going?" asked Emma. "You don't seem like yourself," she said, her brow lifting like she does when she's trying to catch someone in a lie.

She doesn't know the half of it.

David paused, trying to come up with an excuse to leave. "I—I'll go look for Ho—David," he said awkwardly.

Emma's brows kneaded. "I thought you said it didn't go well last night," she said sadly.

David froze.

No, it didn't.

He swallowed.

"Maybe my dad just needed to blow off some steam and go for a run or something," suggested Emma.

David thought fast. "Without his phone?"

Emma's brows lifted with surprise. "You finally stopped referring to it as a talking phone, huh?"

David blinked.

Right. Hook.

He cleared his throat. "Just in case something's wrong," he tried again. Because oh, when he found him, something was going to be wrong, all right.

Emma stood, walking around the bed to him, putting her hands around his neck. David tensed but she didn't try to kiss him. "Killian, I know it's killing you that he's upset. You've barely slept all week."

David tried not to react.

"One day," she whispered, "he'll see you the way he used to. The way I do. I know it. Just give it some time. He'll forgive you."

No, he won't.

David swallowed. "I'll go find him and… fix this mess."

One of the messes, anyway.

Emma sighed.

-.-.

Killian stopped, ducking into an alley, panting hard.

He was only lucky that Snow hadn’t been in the loft—or gods forbid, in bed. He grabbed a pair of David’s shoes and bolted.

There was zero chance he was going to risk Snow kissing him. He was lucky as all hell that she wasn't in bed when he woke up.

David hated him already.

Bloody hell.

He was David.

How the devil did this happen?!

Killian stared at his hands.

His hands.

There was a piece of scrap wood on the ground at his feet. Killian picked it up, holding it between his hands. Felt it in his left fingers.

For half a second, he wanted to breathe out in relief.

Two hands.

Tears sprung to his eyes.

The last time he'd had two hands was when he made the bloody deal with the Crocodile, and he hadn't even been able to enjoy it for a full day.

But these weren't his hands, they were David's and damn it this was so wrong.

He dropped the wood, scrubbing his right hand over his face.

Regina.

That was it.

He could go to Regina. This had dark magic all over it.

Killian left the alley.

Not a moment later, he was tackled back into the alley.

His back—David's back, that was—slammed into the wall, and Killian grimaced, fighting the—

—incredibly familiar hand on his chest.

He blinked, freezing his movements.

In shock, he stared at himself.

It wasn't the first time he stared at himself, and the last time he'd even knocked himself out.

But this time, this other him looked absolutely murderous.

"What the hell did you do?" snarled the Killian before him.

"I…" breathed Killian, in utter shock.

His doppleganger shoved him harder against the wall, making him cringe. "Don't play games with me, Hook!" growled the other Killian. "Switch us back, now."

Killian blinked.

Switch…?

Suddenly, it clicked.

If Killian was in David's body...

That must mean…

Bloody hell.

"David?" breathed Killian.

His brows rose in a duh look, and Killian suddenly realized what people meant by his expressive eyebrows.

"Switch us back," growled David, shoving him again, pinning him with Killian's own right hand, "or I swear to god I'll—" He reared back his left, stopping abruptly when he realized he had no hand.

"Works better when there's a hook at the end of it," muttered Killian. Except, he paused, because David wasn't wearing his brace.

It was only recently that he'd started to remove his brace at night. It had taken him so long to even allow Emma to see it, to see… beneath it, but he never wanted to make it a normal occasion. But after his return from the Underworld, Emma had finally coaxed him into feeling… accepted by her. It was proven to him that, at that point, after everything he'd done, all the sides of him she's seen… nothing would push her away from him.

That by no means meant he was excited about the whole town seeing it.

"Where the bloody hell is my brace?" he growled.

"I don't give a damn!" snapped David right back. Shoving him again, he said, "Change us back! I'm sick of looking at you and I don't want to have to do it every time I look in a mirror!"

Killian shut his eyes at the contempt in his voice. Swallowing, he said, "Mate, I—"

"I am not your mate!"

Boy, it was weird hearing that line from his own voice.

"David," he altered, "I don't know what the bloody hell you're talking about because I didn't do this!" he said angrily. "What could I possibly gain?!"

"I don't know," hissed David, "two hands?"

Killian's jaw snapped shut.

It was a low blow, and it hurt.

"I told you," said Killian when he could find his voice, "I didn't do this. I woke up in your body, confused out of my bloody mind."

"Well I woke up in bed with my daughter," hissed David.

Killian's brows shot up.

Bloody damn hell.

"Did you tell her you weren't me?" he demanded.

"Before or after she tried to kiss me?" snapped David.

Killian felt his heart drop down to his boots. "She what?!"

"She didn't," added David in a mutter, making Killian nearly breath out in relief. "And no, of course not! You fix whatever spell you used and I don't have to tell her anything!"

"In case you haven't noticed," shouted Killian right back, "I'm not a bloody magic user!"

"You don't need to use magic to make a potion," growled David.

Killian let his head fall against the wall, shutting his eyes in frustration, finding it bloody ridiculous that he was pinning himself against a wall. "How many times do I have to tell you I didn't do this?!"

David glared at him for a solid minute, and Killian glared right back. After a moment, Killian watched the fire waver in his—David's—eyes. "You didn't, did you?"

"No."

After a moment, David released him. Killian fought the urge to rub the pain from his shoulders.

A little of that glare back, David muttered, "Well this is just great."

Sick of being treated like this—however much he deserved it—Killian narrowed his eyes. "I'm not happy about it either."

Slight silence spread.

Killian was the one to break it. "We should tell them," he said quietly.

"I am not walking up to my wife looking like you," snarled David, "to tell her I'm me!"

The angry heat under Killian's skin made him retort, "Afraid she'd prefer it?"

He hadn't clapped back with that kind of line in years, and he winced the moment it left his mouth. David's constant verbal punches shorted his temper and Killian suddenly wished he could take it back.

He wished he could take so, so many things back.

Angrily, David fisted Killian's own right hand, making Killian brace himself but David stopped himself. "You're damn lucky I'm not going to punch my own face."

Killian winced. "I'm sorry," he sighed shortly, because dammit he was doing a great job making things better with David. "But you have a point. I'm not sure Emma or her Highness would know exactly how to… be… around us at all," he admitted. If they were stuck like this—god forbid, forever—Emma would never kiss him again. And she'd be right to. He's in her father's body for the love of Davy Jones.

David huffed out a breath. "Any bright ideas, pirate?"

Killian bristled a little, hating how the title always sounded like an insult. "We should find someone who does practice magic," he said.

"Gold?" suggested David, and Killian wrinkled his nose hearing his voice call him anything except the name he created for the monster.

"The Crocodile? You're not serious," said Killian in disbelief.

David shook his head. "You're right. Bad idea."

"Regina?" suggested Killian.

David sighed. "Let's hope she knows what the hell happened."

-.-.

They walked the few blocks to Regina's house.

Along the way, neither of them spoke other than Killian's quiet request that David keep his left arm beneath the sleeve of his jacket at all times.

David huffed a "Fine," but said nothing else.

David knocked on the door. They both waited until it opened, revealing Regina.

Her brows lifted in unimpressed surprise. "Um," she said, looking from both of them and back. "What?" Confusion and disinterest colored her tone, sounding like she was distracted by something else.

"We…" began Killian, but David cut him off.

"Morning... love," he greeted, making Killian wince at the unsteady way he phrased the epithet, shooting him a confused look. "We had a theory about how to handle our current crisis," said David smoothly as hook, and Killian raised his brows.

Killian blinked.

So that's why the walk over here was so silent.

David spent the whole damn time crafting a lie.

Regina crossed her arms. "I'm listening."

"We were wondering about… could you cast a temporary, I don't know, body-swapping spell?"

Regina lifted her brow. "Body-swapping? That's your idea?"

"One of them," said David.

She looked from Killian to David, as if she sensed something off, but not what. "Like Pan did?" she clarified.

"Exactly like that," said David, brows rising. Killian's interest perked even more, having forgotten about when Pan switched bodies with Henry.

"Yeah, well that's because he was Pan," deadpanned Regina. "I have no idea how to do that kind of magic. Gold needed his dagger's power to undo what that creepy little brat did to Henry."

Killian shut his eyes.

"Gold—ah, Rumplestiltskin," echoes David.

"Yep."

A slight silence.

Then—

"Well, we'll keep thinking," said David awkwardly.

Regina nodded impatiently. "And then try a phone."

She shut the door. Hard.

David raised Killian's eyebrow.

Before he could say it, Killian said, "No."

He wasn't exactly surprised when David ignored him.

-.-.-.

The bell to the Crocodile's shop rang as they walked through the door.

Killian felt himself go instantly on edge just being in the very room.

"Gold," called David.

The curtains leading to the back of the shop moved aside and the Crocodile walked through them. He eyed both Killian and David in surprise, then suspicion, then…

He smiled. "Well, isn't this interesting."

"I knew he was bloody responsible," growled Killian.

Rumplestiltskin turned his unsettling smile onto Killian. "Captain. You look… different."

"Did you do this to us?" demanded David.

Rumplestiltskin raised an eyebrow. "And why would I waste any of my valuable time doing something so pointless?" He watched Killian seethe. "Though, I see the entertainment factor."

"Obviously you know we're… like this," said David. "If you didn't do it, how can you tell?"

"Other than the fact that neither of you walk like you're supposed to and you," he said to David, "clearly don't know what to do with a missing hand?" Turning a sick smile onto Killian, he sneered, "Maybe you can give him some pointers. Or, well. One."

Killian jerked, but David grabbed his arm. "Get yourself killed when you're not in my body," he hissed.

Reluctantly, Killian stayed put.

"Look," said David with waning patience. "You returned Henry to his body when Pan switched them. Get your dagger and fix us."

Gold smiled a tight-lipped smile. "What's in it for me, dearie?"

"Either do it for us now," said David firmly, "or we find Belle and ask her to convince you to. You're walking on thin ice with her as it is."

Gold's smile disappeared. "Very well." He walked into the back of the shop, returning a few moments later with the dagger. He held it between the two of them. He closed his eyes, and Killian suddenly felt a sensation that he was falling.

But as quick as it came, it abruptly stopped, like he hit a wall.

Both he and David stumbled. Killian caught himself on the counter, but David missed it—Killian understood that all too well—and he fell to his knees.

"What the bloody hell happened?" demanded Killian, staring at David's hands. He looked at the man himself. "I'm still you."

"And I'm still you," muttered David, using his right hand to get to his feet.

"Peculiar."

Both men looked at him.

"What is?" asked David.

Gold pocketed his dagger. "Looks like I won't be able to help you after all."

"Why the hell not?" growled Killian.

"This type of magic is some of the only magic I cannot touch," explained Gold, and by the victorious smile on his face, Killian knew it was the truth. "The only similar magic I've seen is that infused with the genie lamp our friend Aladdin found himself in."

"You're saying this is like wish magic?" said David blankly.

"That is exactly what I'm saying," said Gold.

"And you can't fix it," confirmed David flatly.

"No." He looked between them. "Magic is a fickle thing, dearies. Sometimes it finds you. And if you happen to wish something badly enough—"

"I made no such wish!" exclaimed David. "To be—to be him?" he breathed, making Killian stiffen. "Why the hell would I wish—" He turned to Killian, fury in his eyes. "Unless you—"

"Ma—" Killian caught himself from using the forbidden nickname. "David, I told you, I have no bloody reason to be you! I didn't bloody make any sort of wish last night!"

"Well neither did I!"

"Well one of you did," said Gold, making them look at him. "Magic like this only affects people strictly involved. One of you made it and you'll have to see it through. It happened for a reason and until that reason is met, this is how you'll remain."

"We don't even know what the hell kind of a wish it was," stressed David. "See what through?"

"That, dearie, is not my concern." said Gold. "Best figure it out soon, or it will be a very uncomfortable wedding."

Gold walked back into the back room, leaving Killian frozen in horror.

The wedding.

If this magic has to run its course, if it takes until they see it through—

What if it takes too long?

What if they're stuck like this forever?

David whirled on him. "You wished to be me?!"

Killian's eyes narrowed. "I didn't bloody wish for anything except you to—" Killian hesitated.

David froze. "You did wish something," he breathed. "What? What the hell did you wish, Hook?"

Killian blinked.

He remembered the conversation last night, how he felt, how desperately he wanted David to forgive him.

"I… I might have," he admitted, seeing David narrow his eyes. "But I didn't bloody realize I was wishing it!"

"What the hell did you wish?"

"I just wanted you to forgive me." said Killian in a defeated voice.

David held his gaze, furious emotion in Killian's own blue eyes.

"Then I guess we're staying like this forever."

And with that, David walked away.

Killian shut his eyes.

-.-.-.

Killian had to run to catch up with him.

"David," he called.

He kept walking.

"Please," he tried, and he picked up his pace, feeling a terrible sense of deja vu.

"What?" snapped David, whirling around.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," he said.

"Just like you didn't mean to put a sword through my father?"

Killian's eyes screwed shut.

A million different apologies rushed through him, but he swallowed them all. They won't work.

"I know you won't forgive me," said Killian heavily. "After what I did… I get it." A cold feeling settled inside him when David made no move to argue. "But if this… this wish or this whatever it is, is waiting for you to forgive me to break it... then maybe you can just... say it. Without… without being sincere."

David held his gaze, and Killian couldn't get over how weird it was to see David's emotions in his eyes.

But David sighed. "Fine." With complete insincerity, he said, "I forgive you."

The way he said it held such disgust that Killian wasn't surprised in the least when the curse wasn't broken.

Quietly, Killian said, "You might need to mean it, ma—" Killian caught himself, "David."

David glared at him.

A long moment passed.

"I can't."

Killian felt his shoulders fall. He shut his eyes. "You're not even going to bloody try?"

"Like you tried to spare my father's—"

"Enough!" growled Killian. "I said I was bloody sorry!"

"Sorry doesn't bring my father back."

Killian shut his eyes.

He was not having this conversation again.

He couldn't.

As heartless as David thought he was, he had one, and it was currently in pieces.

"David," said Killian heavily. "Your wife is going to want to see you at some point!"

"Then we find another way."

"The bloody Dark One couldn't do it!"

"Well then you shouldn't have wished it in the first place!"

Killian wanted to scream.

"I just wanted my friend back!"

The words came out before Killian could stop them, and he saw David pause.

Then, he looked Killian in the eye.

"And I just want my father back."

Killian felt ice slide through his chest, much the same as his sword had cut through David's father.

David huffed a sigh. "We're going to have to figure this out together," he said, like the idea did not excite him in the least. "But I… I need to get some air. Meet me in one hour at the Blue Fairy's. We're going to find a way to break this damn wish, and then I never want to see your face again."

David walked away, and Killian shut his eyes, trying to will away the burn behind his eyes.

-.-.

David walked through the trees of the Storybrooke woodland, trying to shake the angry heat in his veins.

He needed to get away from him.

The forest always felt like a calming place to him, so he attempted to calm down enough to face the bastard again and get this over with.

David came to a stop at the edge of the lake, accidentally catching a glimpse of his face—Hook's face—in the water.

With a growl, he kicked a rock into the water, watching the reflection shatter in ripples.

"No!"

He fought the ropes of the mast, securing him tightly to his own bloody ship. The Dark One's magic held him tight—too tight.

Milah's heart was in the imp's hand.

She couldn't breathe.

He himself couldn't breathe.

She crumpled to the ground.

The magic released him, and he ran, panic consuming him, catching her before she could hit the deck.

"I love you."

And just like that, the Dark One crushed the heart, killing her in an instant.

Despair, horrible, blinding, despair—

David gasped, hands flying to his aching head, only his right hand making it.

He watched her body fall into the water with a splash.

Kept his eyes on her until she disappeared beneath the waves.

A horrible sense of loneliness.

And he looked down at his left hand—or, where it had once been.

It hurt.

It hurt so horribly.

But it was nothing compared to the loss of her.

David fell to his knees, eyes screwed shut.

But the ache faded away, as did the visions.

He stared at the water, seeing Hook's reflection.

What…?

What did he just see?

Were those…?

Hook's memories?

The woman.

Somehow he knew her name was Milah.

The one who was killed, and launched Hook on his quest for revenge.

He could still feel the emotions from the memory.

Hook's emotions.

The sense of loss, the empty loneliness in his chest.

He had nothing.

No one.

David blinked, staring at Hook's face in the water.

David himself had dealt with loss before.

He'd lost his mother.

But… he'd never experienced having nothing.

He'd had Snow, and the dwarves and the Kingdom. He'd never once been truly alone.

He'd never experience the sheer sort of loneliness that Hook's memory brought. It was such a strong hurt that it felt physical.

David swallowed.

But he shut his eyes, tearing his gaze away from the water.

It felt horrible.

It was horrible, how Hook had once felt.

But he was a pirate.

He's taken so many lives.

He was a villain.

Loneliness didn't condone murdering an innocent man.

That didn't condone murdering his father.

David picked himself up, faltering when he forgot he didn't have a left hand.

He sighed, and he started back.

-.-.

David saw Killian—or, himself, as it was—waiting for him just outside the mansion.

Killian had his hands in his pockets, leaning against a tree. When he noticed David, he seemed to tense, and straightened immediately.

David felt the angry heat he'd tried to shake off the past hour return at the sight of him.

"Let's get this over with," snapped David.

Wordlessly, Killian nodded, and they both started up the steps to the mansion.

Once David walked through the door, Mother Superior was standing in the foyer already. Her brows crinkled when she saw them.

"I thought I was needed," she said softly. Looking between the two of them, her brows rose a little. "Oh," she said with a little surprise.

"How you and Gold can notice it in a second," said David, "and my daughter couldn't after ten minutes, I'll never understand."

She smiled a little. "Those of us who have been with magic longer sense it easier." She clasped her hands. "I'm assuming you came to get changed back?"

"Can you?" asked Killian.

She pulled out her wand, shutting her eyes and holding it between them like Gold had done with the dagger.

Her eyes opened. "Wish magic."

"Yes," said Killian, "the Crocodile told us that much. He either didn't know how to fix us or didn't want to."

"I sense he has told you how to solve your problem," she said quietly.

David fought the urge to groan. "We were wondering if there was another way. Without… fulfilling the wish."

Her brows crinkled. "With a wish this strong?"

David's brows rose, looking at Killian.

…Who suddenly found the floor incredibly interesting.

"What do you mean?" asked David.

"A wish fueled with this much emotion is near impossible to break before fulfilled," she said.

David blinked.

Emotion?

Hook wished for his forgiveness that badly?

Shaking away the wonderment, David said, "Near impossible. You said near." Raising a brow, he said, "There is a way, isn't there?"

Blue hesitated.

"What is it?" breathed David.

She sighed. "The only way to break it would be to drink broken magic."

Both David and Hook simply blinked in confusion.

"Drink what?" Hook asked.

"It would be impossible in the Enchanted Forest or any other realm," said Blue, "but this is a land without magic. At least, outside these city limits. If you were to take the well water, where our magic here originates, pass it over the town line and then drink it, there is a great chance this will be broken."

"We can't just walk over the town line?" asked David.

"For a wish this strong," she repeated again, making David try his best to ignore how Hook went rigid, "you'll need the strongest, most pure magic here to break. You cannot break this spell without broken pure magic. And it must be retrieved together."

David sighed. "Okay. Well water, town line." He nodded. "Easier than I thought."

Blue regarded him, and then Hook, with a thoughtful gaze. Almost like she knew something they didn't.

But David was already walking away, determined and ready to get this over with.

Not too far away was one of the two town cruisers.

David always left a spare key under the rim, and when he got to the car. He retrieved it.

With a sigh, he waited for Hook to catch up.

They needed to do this together, it seemed, which really ruined David's plan of getting it all himself.

David let himself into the car, watching Hook silently get in the passengers seat.

David reached to close the door, but remembered.

No left hand.

With a sigh he reached his right hand to pull the door shut. Then, he grabbed the seatbelt, pulling it over himself, his left arm moving to help it, but again—no left hand. He tried again, but the belt retracted completely.

"This is impossible!" growled David.

A slight silence spread in the passenger seat as David tried to get the seatbelt with one hand.

"You get used to it."

David paused at the quiet voice, seeing Hook not looking at him, and instead at David's own left hand. He was opening and closing it.

Just because he could.

David finally got the seatbelt to click in. He looked at Hook, seeing a familiar emotion in his eyes to something David felt in Hook's memory.

But then, he remembered himself.

Remembered the man sitting next to him was his father's murderer.

And he put the car into gear, pulling onto the street, doing his best to do everything one handed.

Hook didn't say anything else.

Just kept opening and closing his hand in silence.

-.-.-

They walked through the woods in silence.

David took the lead, letting Hook slink behind.

He really did look miserable.

But David didn't let himself fall for it.

He killed your father, he told himself firmly.

David tripped, nearly falling, but caught himself.

"Woah," he said, catching himself on the side of the ship, staring his five-year-old eyes onto the water.

"Careful, there, Killian," said his father, standing beside him. "You'll get your sea legs one day, m'boy."

"Will you teach me to sail?"

His father ruffled his hair. "Of course, my son."

David gasped, his head pounding.

He woke up in his cabin, but Liam wasn't in his bed across from him.

He sat up. "Father?" he called.

Liam, a few years older than him but not even yet a teenager, came in. "It's just us, Killian. Remember?"

"He'll come back," he replied with a sureness that shook. "He told me he's gonna teach me to sail."

Liam took his shoulders. "Killian, he sold us to the ship. He isn't coming back. But I will never leave you." He smiled. "I'll teach you to sail."

Sadness, fear, emptiness.

Desperation.

"You won't leave?" he whispered.

"Never."

David fell to his knee.

"David?!"

"Liam!"

He was turning black. The poison was taking his life.

"He wouldn't have if you hadn't goaded him into it."

No.

He couldn't lose him.

No.

The boy led him to the water, the blackness was receding.

Liam was saved.

His brother was all right.

His fractured world put haphazardly back together.

"Killian, I'm sorry. You were the honorable one. Not me."

Killian smiled.

They were in the cabin.

Liam couldn't breathe.

He fell.

"Help!"

Killian cradled him.

Tears burned down his face.

He was gone.

He was dead.

Killian was alone.

David felt a sharp shake.

"David!"

David opened his eyes, seeing himself—or, as it was, Hook—leaning over him with stark concern.

David blinked, headache receding.

"Are you all right?" asked Hook shakily. "Don't tell me I'm bloody dying," he said, almost like a joke, but the fear in his eyes gave him away.

David was still reeling from the memories.

How could one person lose so much?

And for his father to walk away from him when he was just a child?

To lose his brother as a teenager?

And then to fall in love, only to have her killed before his eyes?

Hook's emotions in the memories were still inside him.

He killed your father.

"David?!"

David shoved him off, getting back to his feet, even when he forgot yet again how difficult it was without a left hand.

He started walking again.

Hook hurried to catch up with him. "You're not going to bloody tell me why you just collapsed?"

"Tripped."

Hook glared at him.

But he let it drop.

David suddenly wondered if the pirate was seeing his own memories.

He walked faster.

And he tried not to think about the horrible emptiness he still felt linger from the memories.

They made it to the well not long after.

David began to pull the bucket of water up, only remembering that he was missing a hand.

Again.

Wordlessly, Hook took over.

David stared at the trees.

He took a swig of rum, straight from the bottle.

He used to be proud of his tolerance. Now he's annoyed he's too good at drinking.

He was alone.

In every sense of the word.

He was in his cabin, sat behind his desk.

He thought of his brother.

Wondered how disappointed he would be in him.

He thought of Milah.

Looked at his hand. His hook.

He wondered if she would still love him like this.

He missed her.

He took another swig.

He killed four people today.

He felt nothing.

He hasn't felt anything in centuries.

He'll kill again tomorrow.

He'll feel nothing again.

He'll continue his search for the Crocodile.

He only hoped that once he's dead, maybe he will feel something again.

Something other than hatred.

And he learned something tonight, something he's known forever but only admitted tonight.

He didn't hate the Crocodile any more than he hated himself.

"Got it."

David jerked, eyes flying open, glad the tree had been at his back. His head throbbed.

David cleared his throat.

Hook nodded toward the town line without looking at him.

David stared after him.

He killed your father.

The words don't hold the same amount of heat.

David swallowed, and he followed.

-.-.

Hook was standing at the edge of the town, before the line.

He had the bucket in his right hand.

David walked to him.

"Let's get it over with, shall we," said Hook quietly.

David moved to nod.

"I found this."

August handed him the page.

He looked.

And he recognized David's father.

Horror sank through him.

No.

It couldn't be.

Please, no.

He couldn't breathe.

His legs were numb.

How could he do this?

How could he ever have done this?

How could he have been such a terrible, vile person?

He was just beginning to feel redeemed.

He's hated himself so much.

He still did.

But he had just begun to feel proud.

He had just gained David's approval.

He never even thought he could gain him as a friend.

Panic shot through him.

David.

No.

No, no, no….

How could he do this?

He could remember it, he could picture it.

The sword in his grip, the steel sliding into the man's body.

His eyes burned.

He wanted to scream.

David feels two hand grab him before he can fall.

"David?! Mate?!"

Hook steadied him.

David looked at him.

Felt the panic from the memory.

"David," breathed Hook. "What's happening? What's wrong?"

David, in all his life, had never felt that.

Felt a hatred that strong, directed at himself.

Felt a constant uphill battle to do better.

And felt such utter remorse, such panic, such desperation to lose the people he had been almost too afraid to let into his life after so much loss.

This was a man who was broken more than David could ever imagine.

A man who realized how far wrong he had been, and clawed his way back to right.

David had known Hook wanted to make things right, had regretted what he had done, but he didn't understand just how deeply he did.

And suddenly, his headache grew tenfold, accompanied with the strict feeling of falling.

David watched Hook's eyes screw shut before his own did, both men nearly collapsing from the pressure.

When David opened his eyes, he was facing the other direction.

And standing where he had been was Hook.

Hook grimaced, his hand to his head, slowly opening his eyes. When he saw David, his eyes widened. "Bloody—" He looked to the town line. "We didn't even do it," he breathed. "How…?"

"I never knew."

Hook paused, brows lifting. "Sorry?"

"I never knew," said David, tossing the bucket to the ground. "How much you lost."

Hook tensed. "What..?"

"I don't know how, but… I could… see some of your memories," said David.

Hook went rigid.

"Hook," said David, tensing Hook even more. He sighed. "I can't forgive what you've done."

David watch despair descend in Hook's eyes. "I… understand," he said quietly.

"But I do forgive you."

Hook's brows shot to his hairline.

"Killian, what I saw, what your life was," he said slowly, "I don't know how I would have lived through it. I can't say that I'm okay with the fact that you…" He didn't phrase it but Hook flinched a little. "I guess I'm trying to say that I could see it from your... perspective. I could feel what you felt. You aren't that man anymore."

Hook looked at him with such hope that David had the stark reminder of the memory of Killian as a little boy.

"I'm sorry for how I spoke to you," added David. "Especially about your hand. It was uncalled for."

Hook shook his head. "It wasn't. David, I really do wish I could—"

David slapped a hand over his mouth. "Do not finish that thought."

David removed his hand, and Hook smiled.

A little piece of his heart falling back into place.

--.-.-.

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coffeeangelinabox · 7 months

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Febuwhump #19: Please, don't

My first veeerrrryyyyy slight cheat. I'm doing 18 and 19 the alternate way round for the simple reason that I have a good idea for this and it's Sunday so I have time to do it properly.

All the warnings. This is extremely non consensual and gratuitously so.

None of them are the type to back down. Forcibly portkey'd to Malfoy Manor, bound with a nasty set of incarcerous jinxes and staring down a visibly delighted Lucius Malfoy, Sirius still looks around the dining room with completely unfeigned disinterest.

"You've had the place done up," he comments idly. The drawl he spent years exorcising from his voice creeps back in.

If they had hoped Malfoy would be distracted by bantering back and forth until James and Peter could effect a rescue, they were out of luck. Instead, his smirk merely widens and he continues to stare.

Sirius tilts his chin, gritting his teeth and angles himself fractionally forward. He's humiliatingly unscathed. Knocked out from behind before he'd known they were there. They'd barely arrived. This was supposed to be simple reconnaissance, three teams of three, in and out of a set of suspected Death Eater meeting points. It was not supposed to be a social call to the heart of obviously hostile territory.

Lily has a cut across her cheek and her wrists are bruised. She'd fought like a wild thing, and would have been able to make a break for it...if it had ever been in Lily Potter to leave people behind. She will not sacrifice people for the greater good, and even now she doesn't regret her choice.

Remus was the only one of them who had surrendered, though, in his defence, the wand held to Lily's head hadn't given him much choice. It hadn''t stopped the bruises and rough treatment. He isn't sure what they know about him, though it's obvious there's a traitor deep inside their inner circle. No one outside of the nine of them had known their exact locations and timings. Dumbledore maybe. Or Moody. But to Remus' knowledge, James and Gideon Prewitt had planned this one. It narrows the suspect list down to nine people. Eight. He bares his teeth in a snarl he wishes it were the right time of the moon to make more lethal.

"Now," Malfoy finally breaks the silence. He steps closer and runs the tip of his wand over Sirius' face. Sirius arches back with a sound of disgust. Malfoy simply follows his movement, it isn't like he can go far. "As uninvited guests, I do hope you are going to be entertaining."

"Oh, of course," Sirius says. His tone is still light, but Remus has known him too well and too long not to see the tension thrumming beneath his skin. "I know some good jokes. What's the difference between a Slytherin and an idiot?"

Malfoy raises his hand and Sirius doesn't so much as flinch, then he lowers it with a chuckle. "No. I wouldn't sully myself by touching any of you."

For a second Remus almost relaxes.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Lily demands. "None of us are going to tell you anything. It's a lot of trouble to have us dragged here just to kill us."

Malfoy smiles. "As I said, Mudblood. Entertainment."

And just like that, it's not relaxing at all.

A few waves of Malfoy's wand later and Lily has been moved over to the table, fixed down, spread eagled. A few well placed diffindos remove her clothes and cut thin lines into her skin. She glares up at Malfoy, there are tears in her eyes, but she doesn't let them fall. "Go on then," she snarls. "Only way you can get a woman anyway, to force her."

Sirius lunges forward with a snarl, but finds he can't move his feet, Remus strangely can, but Sirius' protective positioning of earlier puts the other man in his way and he can't get to Lily and they can't make him watch this-

Malfoy holds up a hand. "I won't touch her."

They both look at him, distrust an almost tangible thing.

"If you do exactly as I say."

Remus hisses out breath between his teeth. Lily doesn't look at them, and the mere fact that she doesn't immediately tell them not to worry about her, not to give up anything curls something cold around his heart.

"What do you want?" Sirius says after a moment, voice low.

Malfoy's sneer widens. "You both pleasure the filthy little Mudblood. The one who makes her cum wins a blowjob from their failure of a friend."

"Then you'll let us all go, I suppose."

"Exactly."

"We all know that's a lie."

Malfoy shrugs. "Why would it be? When the Dark Lord wins, you will all be valued soldiers in his army. I wouldn't spill magical blood so cheaply."

"Even-?"

"Even hers. Why make an enemy of you, Black? Or of Potter."

"And if we refuse?" Remus asks quietly.

"Oh, my point about not spilling magical blood unnecessarily stands. You two can still walk out of here, unscathed. After, of course, you watch as many men as I can find willing to risk catching whatever a Mudblood little slut is carrying fuck her raw. Then I'll cut her guts out. You can take whatever's left with you."

Lily's breath hitches. Remus watches a single treacherous tear run the the wrong way down her face and into her hairline. Sirius must see it too because before Malfoy can notice the weakness he's pressing himself forward, arching sinuously.

"Waste of having the Black heir really owe you a favour, Malfoy. Wouldn't you rather have my," he pauses and gives Malfoy the bedroom eyes Remus had watched him use for years to charm various Hufflepuffs off to Greenhouse Three after dark. "gratitude?"

"No." Malfoy says bluntly, not moved at all. "I want you to realise that following orders is your best, your only choice. It'll help you later."

The seduction falls away, nothing more than a thin veneer and for a moment, Remus is certain that Sirius will start screaming and swearing. And that will do none of them the slightest bit of good. "Padfoot," he says quietly. Then, to their tormentor. "Alright. We'll do it."

Malfoy moves out of their way and gestures with a flourish towards Lily. Their hands are still bound, but they can suddenly move. Remus, for the first time, looks at her properly. He feels his ears redden with embarrassment. His own and what is radiating from her.

She is undeniably beautiful. Creamy skin and tumbling red hair in a fiery wave. Her emerald eyes are gleaming. The faint dusting of freckles across her nose is repeated on shoulders and inner thighs. Her breasts are round and full and high and the pinked nubs of her nipples are tight from cold and fear. Spread as she is, he can see every part of her, and Merlin help him, but the way she closes her eyes as he looks, flush spreading from cheekbones down her throat and chest makes something hot and primal inside him want to claim her.

She's his best friend's wife. He can't imagine that James would want him to make a different choice, but, frankly, he'd rather take his chances with a cruciatus.

Sirius drops down to his knees between Lily's legs. "It's okay," he says, a soothing rumble in his voice that tells Remus he's said these exact words before. "This is fine, Evans."

A noise creeps out of her. "Potter," she corrects in a thread of a whisper.

"Lils...I can't call you Potter while I do this."

"At the moment," Malfoy says waspishly, "you're not doing anything."

All three of them flinch and Remus too steps closer. He doesn't kneel down, opting instead to lean over her, shielding as much of her body from Malfoy's gaze as he can. "We'll make this good," he promises against her lips and then kisses her gently, chastely.

Her eyes flicker open and there's real violence in their depths. Remus nods in silent, mutual agreement. As soon as they have opportunity, they'll take Malfoy apart. Bloodily. Unpleasantly. From the feet first so that Remus can hear him scream.

Then she tenses with a moan as Sirius abruptly gets started.

Remus feels slightly put out for a moment. He hadn't known they were ready to start, and he hastens to catch up, mouth fixing quickly over one of those hard pink nubs and he begins to torment her with tongue and teeth, laving over her chest, seeking out every bit of salt from the fear-sweat that has been slicking her body for the past twenty minutes.

He lets himself fall into the rhythm, both of pleasuring a beautiful woman and competing with Sirius Black. Sirius is their most likely traitor. Remus will not willingly suck his dick. He will not. So he has to win this. It's as simple as that.

Sirius is undoubtedly the more experienced lover of the two of them, but he's appalling selfish and he rushes. Remus can't expect him to be different in bed, and he has a number of advantages, even fully human his senses are fractionally better than average. He can hear Lily's heartrate increase, smell not just her arousal, but her blood as it pumps through her. He can discern the tiny differences in her moans and whimpers.

He kneels besides Sirius, and puts his tongue to work.

Sirius has his mouth fixed over Lily's clit, sucking, pulling her pleasure from her by sheer brute force. Letting them live is stupidity, it can only be because the traitor is in the room with them. His fury at Remus for doing this to him, to Lily and James, translates into the ferocity of his movements. When Remus' head pushes up besides his, he cedes the clit to him and pushes back against her hole. He allows the very barest of transformation to padfoot and pushes his now much longer and wetter tongue into her, swirling hard within and Lily lets out a shattered mewl.

He dares to feel pleased with himself for a second as she stutters out a syllable that can only be part of his name. She's becoming helplessly aroused as he stabs his tongue in and out of her, fucking her with it. He wishes he had his hands free to knead her ass, her breasts. She arcs almost off the table with another cry and another gush of wetness.

"Siriu- ohhhhhhhhh, 'Mus. Like that, like that-"

James is like a brother to him. Harry is practically his son. Lily...Lily should never be this. But Sirius cannot deny that her desperate groans are spurring him on just as much as his desire to protect and his fury at the situation, and he feels his own cock rise in his pants.

"I don't," she twists on the wood. "Don't, please..."

Sirius pulls back. She knows they have to, knows the consequences of not following this instruction will be worse, but he echoes her anyway. "Malfoy. Please. Don't- don't make us do this. Anything else."

Remus has always been more ruthless.

As Sirius moves, he chases the spasms of her pussy with his tongue, drinking her down and with a groan Lily falls over the edge moaning and whimpering and writhing.

Malfoy claps his hands like he's at the theatre. His eyes spear Sirius. "Anything else, Black? Very well. You don't have to touch her again. Just blow your friend and we can all be on our way."

Sirius stomach sinks in a completely different way. He hates losing, all four of them were always competitive with one another.

I thought you said you could play chess, Padfoot.

My grandmother is better at gobstones than that.

Only four Os? I got five!

And worse. Remus is the reason they are here. Remus violated Lily. Remus forced her to a climax she didn't want. Remus is the reason so many of Sirius' friends have been lost in this war.

Remus unfolds himself and stands. Sirius doesn't look up at him.

If he refuses now, it will likely be Lily that pays for his habitual insolence. She is worth nothing to Malfoy and everything and then some to Sirius' only family. He shuffles forward and grins up at Remus with a few too many teeth.

"Let's see how long you last, Moony." His voice sounds wrong, but probably (hopefully) that will be put down to the stress of the situation and later he will force Prongs to see that they can't trust Moony. And that Moony knows exactly how to break him. He'll make him see that they have to rethink the Fidelius Charm plan.

He leans forward and, thank Merlin, Remus is wearing robes, not some awful muggle trousers. It's easy enough to get at him, to use his tongue in the slit of his boxers and lick a stripe up his cock.

To Sirius' eternal shame, Remus is not the slightest bit turned on. His small cock, flacid and curled, fits easily on his tongue. Maybe he deserves this anyway. Traitor Moony might be, but he's the monster that enjoyed what they did to Lily.

Remus however, doesn't manage to maintain his disinterest in the face of Sirius' concerted attention. It doesn't take long until he's reduced to an incoherent, dripping mess. Sirius' actions are almost violent. Remus has come to blows with Sirius and felt less attacked than how he feels right now as Sirius slurps at his dick as though he'll die without it. As though wishing he could punish Remus for something. He swallows against pleas. Trust Sirius to use seemingly losing as a new way to attack.

Lily is crying properly, her reserves totally eroded, and Remus realises that he is too. Malfoy is smirking at all three of them. Remus supposes that whether or not Sirius is technically on his team the Malfoy-Black rivalry has enough layers that he can still enjoy Sirius brought low in this way. Thinking of who - what - Sirius has given his allegiance to, Remus instinctively pulls back. Just as Sirius does something with his tongue, flattening it against the vein on the underside and tightening his lips to produce an almost painful sense of suction. He cums as he pulls out, splattering his seed all over Sirius' face.

He's the enemy. This is his fault, but Remus can't help the stab of guilt as his friend looks up at him, betrayal naked for all to see. If Malfoy wasn't still watching and laughing, he'd beg him to stop looking at him like that - please, Padfoot. Don't. I didn't mean-

Instead, he looks away.

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 3 years

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The Perfect Storm: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, talk of being raped at age ten, very implicit rape at age ten, talk of no one believing that the rape happened, rape trauma

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

You got to the place where Laura was found. She was dumped in the woods not far from a bridge, and the thought gets you angry. You know that the unsubs thought of Laura as a target or as a piece of trash, but it breaks your heart to see her discarded like this. Gideon and Derek go on up ahead to meet with Detective Robert Portillo to talk about Laura. You stand on the edge of the bridge and stare at her body over the landing.

She deserves to get justice.

“Special agents Gideon, Morgan, and Y/N,” Gideon introduces.

“Detective Robert Portillo. This is the fifth girl on my watch in the past two years, and we still don't have a viable suspect,” he sighs.

“We think you're looking for two men,” you speak up and head over to the group.

“Really? Based upon what evidence?”

You take a deep breath and head down to the place where Laura is. Due to your heightened emotional state and her spirit lingering around, you’re able to grasp more than what you originally thought you could. Laura’s eyes are wide and begging, but you force yourself to look away from them. You slap on some white gloves and pick up her wrist that have ligature marks on them. You run your thumb over the wound and just sigh.

You can see her screaming out for help while her rapist shows her just how much power he has over her. A single tear slides down your cheek as you keep your eyes closed to watch what happened to her. Gideon sees this act of emotion and turns to the detective to keep the ball rolling.

“Well, given the level of sadistic torture and desire to document their crimes, we're confident this was done by a killing team. She's got deep lacerations on her neck, chest, and thighs. From the color of the bruising, torture went on for several days.”

“CSI believes the cause of death was ligature strangulation, and it is consistent with the other victims,” Derek adds.

“Where’s her pearl ring?” you ask and open your eyes. You wipe away the ghost of the tear and gently place Laura’s wrist on her body. You stand up and turn to face the three men. “She was wearing it when she was attacked.”

“No other evidence has turned up. They've combed the area in a quarter-mile radius.”

“Why would they need more trophies, Gideon?” Derek wonders.

“Women like jewelry. They could have given this to a woman as a gift. Some psychological torture of knowing that the woman they killed is part of whoever wears it,” you shrug.

“Like the Green River killer?”

“Yeah. He'd leave jewelry for his female coworkers and then become aroused when he saw them wear it.”

“After everything they do to these girls, why do they leave them in these horrible positions? Haven't they suffered enough?” Detective Robert Portillo asks.

“This is the ultimate degradation to the victim and her family. It’s also a shock value for whoever finds them, and it sends a message to the police,” you state.

“What’s that?”

“Look what we can do. You can’t stop us,” Gideon says.

You’re going to get a heart attack by staying out here for much longer. You yank the gloves off you and place them in your pocket so you can dispose of them when you get to the police station.

“I think I’ve gotten as much as I can over here. I’m going to hitch a ride back to the station if that’s alright? See if Spencer needs any help?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Gideon nods.

One of the officers gives you a ride back to the station, and you’re grateful for the silence even if it’s only for ten minutes. You take a deep breath and exit the car before heading into the police station. Elle and Hotch are already inside while Spencer and JJ are in another room. You have to pass by Elle and Hotch to get to Spencer, so you sneak past them as quietly as you can in hopes you don’t have to talk to them.

You’re not yourself, and you absolutely hate it.

Elle and Hotch don’t notice you when you walk past them, but when she turns to the room Spencer is in, she does.

“Are there new victims?” she asks without acknowledging you.

This is one time you appreciate her hostility to work with you. Ever since she got shot, she’s been acting different and been kind of short with you. Maybe it’s because she knows you can read more than the average human, so she is trying to stay away from you as much as possible so you don’t read her. You’re not in the mood to deal with anyone’s problems but your own.

“Garcia just sent a list of all the unsolved rapes and murders in the past three years. There are two that are particularly interesting,” Spencer says.

He turns and spots you, giving you a warm smile. You give him a half-hearted one before looking away from him. He knows you’re hurting and it sucks he doesn’t know how to help you.

“They look the type. Anything else?” Hotch asks from over your shoulder.

You jump from surprise and he gives you an apologetic smile.

“Well, aside from sharing similar physical traits, they were also posed. The only difference is they were manually strangled, which I think is why Jacksonville PD didn't find a connection.”

“Did we find DNA on the first two?” you ask.

“That's the thing. It didn't match the recent kills, but check this out. What if the dominant one allowed the submissive one to rape the first two victims in order to sort of draw him in, and then once he's hooked, he began keeping the prize all for himself?” Spencer theorizes.

“Did you tell Morgan and Gideon about this yet?”

“They’re still at the crime scene,” you state.

“We confirmed that Laura Clemensen had good relationships with her family and friends. She got good grades and stayed out of trouble just like all the other victims.”

“Did you guys notice that the package sent to the Clemensen family was only sent to Mary?” JJ asks.

“What about the first DVD?” you ask shyly.

“Right here,” she says and holds up the first DVD. “Why are they targeting the mothers?”

“The mother asked God to forgive the people responsible,” Spencer thinks out loud. “The family that received the first DVD went on TV pleading for their daughter's life. That must have made the unsubs angry.”

“So, what, sending the DVD to the mother is a message in itself?”

“A very clear one. They don't want or need forgiveness.”

Theories are tossed back and forth, but they kind of go in through one ear and out the other. You’re zoning in and out of the conversations because your head is pounding and throbbing from the memories of your forgotten childhood. No one notices that their psychic is in so much pain--so much so that she is drowning in her own memories.

School has been great for you ever since you got relocated to a new school. You’ve always been the new girl every couple of years because your dad likes to travel around the country for his work. He picks up your entire family and forces them to move around with him. You don’t mind much because you get to see so many new things and meet so many new people. It doesn’t bother you much. Your peppy attitude annoys most of your foster siblings, but you don’t care not one bit.

School is amazing and you can’t wait to go home and tell your parents everything that happened. You grip your backpack and turn your excited walk into a light jog. Your school is within walking distance, and since you’re ten years of age, your dad feels like you’re able to walk home by yourself.

You’re only one block away, you should feel safe. You should feel safe in your own neighborhood. You should feel safe knowing all your neighbors are good people who love to spread happiness and kindness. So why do you feel so… unsafe?

You look behind you to see a black van about four car lengths away from you. Your psychic abilities tell you that something is wrong with the way they are driving slowly behind you. You’re only one block away from your home, so all you have to do is get to the front door and everything will be fine. That light jog turns into a terrified fast walk. You don’t want to see what would happen if you start to run.

The van gets closer the closer you get to your house. It’s within view, so you think you’re safe, but boy, are you wrong. You wanted to push out the creepy black van from your mind, so you didn't see it rushing over to you. The van screeches next to you and the side door slides open. There are three men in the back and one driving. One of the men jumps out and grabs you, easily lifting you to your feet and shoving you in the back of the van.

You don’t even have time to scream.

The door slides shut as the van screeches away.

“Please let me go!” you beg. “I want my mommy!”

“Don’t worry, kid,” one of the men grins. “We’re going to take good care of you.”

The man who grabbed you places his hand on your thigh.

You’re pulled back into reality by Spencer when he grabs your arm. You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt the line of salt grow cold from the air conditioning unit. Your memories of that fateful night are coming back to you in pieces, determined to break you down into a fine powder.

“Are you okay?” he whispers.

You just shake your head no.

“I am here for you in whatever you need okay?”

This time, you just nod.

“Guys, we have another victim,” JJ announces.

You have to pull yourself together if you’re going to help these poor women from suffering the same fate as you did.

“We're up to seven victims now?” Elle asks, shocked.

The new victim is shown on the monitor, and you have to look away from her.

“The humiliating posing of the body can't be a coincidence. It's just too unique,” Spencer observes.

“Look at the bruising on the necks,” Derek says. “Looks to me like the first victim struggled. I'd say the killer probably lost his grip a couple of times and really had to fight these women.”

“That's why he switched from bare hands to a ligature. It's more efficient, controlled, and it doesn't sacrifice his sadistic need for a slow death,” Hotch pieces it together.

Because the DNA didn't match,” Spencer speaks up. Jacksonville PD just didn't put it together.”

“Yeah, and since they weren't looking for 2 offenders, the signature indicates these women had the same killers. We just need to figure out who the hell they are.”

“Well, Jacksonville PD searched everywhere, even swamps, and still didn't find the victims' vehicles. I got Garcia tracing VINs, but my guess is they dispose of the cars just like they do the women.”

“Yeah, but the bodies are easy to find. Why do they go to so much trouble to hide the cars? And where are they?” Hotch asks.

“If I were them,” you speak up, and everyone looks at you, “and I wanted to get rid of a car easily and without trouble, I’d take it to a junkyard or a third-party dealership. Looking for a needle in a stacks of needles. One car in a sea of them. That’s where I’d start.”

You have to wait for Gideon and Derek to come back from the crime scene, and while you do, you look up dealerships and junk yards that are nearby. It doesn’t take them long to get back, and before you know it, you’re giving the profile.

“The dominant one is the mastermind,” Elle begins. “That's not to say that the submissive partner is in any way pure or innocent in this exchange. If their criminal desire wasn't present, their partnership wouldn't work.”

“The offenders share a common delusion. It's one that you and I would never accept, but it's this bond that justifies their actions,” Derek adds.

“So, we're looking for two sick minds who complete each other?” Detective Robert Portillo asks.

“It's kind of like the perfect storm,” Spencer answers. “Once these deviant personalities collide, they're deadly and unstoppable.”

“Like the DC snipers or the Columbine assassins,” Hotch says. “Sometimes they've met in childhood. Other times, they can be related like the Hillside stranglers, Angelo Buono and Kenneth Bianchi—psychopathic cousins who terrorized women in Los Angeles. The dominant partner makes the submissive one feel invincible. That's his reward for doing as he's told. Unfortunately, there are countless opportunities for these twisted minds to meet, and once they've pulled off their vicious acts, the two accept this as common behavior and become bored with normal activity. They live only for their new reality. They're obsessed with it... addicted to it. And there's a fierce loyalty between the two. The submissive one, however, is usually less intelligent and easier to catch, and once caught, he is easier to turn.”

“The lack of remorse increases their aggressiveness. Sexual sadists will stop when they're caught,” you say. “And the need to psychologically torture the families—”

“Sorry to interrupt,” JJ says.

She pulls Hotch and Gideon to the side to speak with them, and judging by the looks on their faces, it’s not good. After a moment, Hotch addresses the room.

“Thank you for your time. Excuse us.”

He motions for your whole team to follow. Only when you’re in one of the conference rooms does JJ show news footage to everyone.

“If you've seen my daughter, please, Tiffany's all I have. She went for a run last night, and she never came home. She's my baby.”

A woman is crying on screen as she talks about her daughter, Tiffany. She must be a new victim. If she’s on the news, why weren’t you told about this? Who kept this from you?

“Why weren't we told about this before she went on the news?” Gideon wonders.

“Because we didn't know about it. Tiffany was abducted from Middleberg.”

“That's nearly an hour away, and it's outside of Jacksonville's jurisdiction,” the detective says. “Are you sure these are the same offenders?”

“She's their type. They grabbed her while jogging, just like their third victim. Middleberg's only an hour from here?”

“If they see this, it's just a matter of time before they send a DVD,” Hotch sighs.

JJ takes out her phone to call the news channel that decided to air the press conference with Beverly.

“Jennifer Jareau, FBI. You just aired a press conference with Beverly Spears. I need to speak to her immediately.”

She leaves the room to take the call outside in private.

“These guys are impatient. They just dumped Laura Clemensen's body twenty-four hours ago.”

“Which means they're more dangerous than they were yesterday, and Tiffany Spears is running out of time,” Hotch sighs.

wanna be tagged? add yourself to this document! if your tag has a strike through it or it’s not linked, it means doesn’t work. find out why!

*if your tag is bolded, then the tag isn’t working. you have until next episode to get it fixed otherwise you’ll be deleted from this list*

@averyhotchner @lets-be-gay-for-the-angel @fan-girl-97 @inkstainedwritergirl @estrela-rogers @kwbaby24 @redsalv20 @joonie-centric @xs @sixpencespencee @boygenius-reid @meganskane @prophecyflame @happynekochan1 @babydee17 @darlingisntit @fandoms4ever97 @spencerreid-187 @snakeythesnake @nomajdetective @scarletstarrs @hc-geralt-23 @fairytalesforever

#the perfect storm #series rewrite #criminal minds series rewrite #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fan fic #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #cm #season 2 episode 3 #s2e03

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spiltscribbles · 3 years

Note

Im so excited!!!! Here’s a little “It’s always been you. You and only you.” sprinkled in with Green-Eyed Epiphany

~Notes: OMFG bubby!!!! You are so beyond adorable! Thank you So SO much for the sweetness!! I really hope you like this XS and fingers crossed this fits the promptXS <3 <3 <3

Prompt Smash Game | Send Me A Prompt💜 | A Reblog Is Like A Huge, Warm Hug!!!

~R: my mom’s working the night shift at the clinic👀👀

~S: Kinky😏

~S: I can be there in 15

~R: make it 20 and get Chinese x

~S: sometimes I think ur j using me for the food

~R: and bring henny😈

It’s seventeen minutes since Remus sent the last text when the front door of his modest ranch house begins to thump with a familiar wrapping that’s three quick knocks followed by two slower ones, and he has to wrestle down the eager grin from his face when he swings it open to find one of his closest friends standing at the threshold in that customary weathered, leather jacket that he found two summers ago when Remus had taken him thrifting for the first time, and an impish sort of smirk that definitely would look ridiculous on anyone else, but only makes Sirius all the more maddeningly attractive.

“What took so long?” Remus asks mildly, pulling him indoors by the sleeve and gesturing for him to set the goods on the kitchen counter once they cross the small foyer.

“You wound me, Lupin.” Sirius retorts, quick-silver eyes flashing before he pins him against the island and puts his hands on either side of his waistline with more gentleness than Remus would’ve expected before they began this whole sorted affair— Okay, maybe that’s the wrong word for it?

It’s not an affair, or tryst, or carrying on or whatever the fuck else Lily says when she’s teetering on the wrong edge of tipsy and thinks it’s her right to call Remus out on his bullshit— on his stupid, beyond obvious crush he’s been fostering for one of his closest friends since junior high.

It’s none of those things— It’s not nearly as dramatic.

It’s just— Just that yes, Remus has been harboring a tiny infatuation for Sirius ever since that first day of the seventh grade when he had moved to this tiny, coastal town after his parents divorce. But how could he have not? Sirius is hilarious, and a genius, and so gorgeous that sometimes it feels like his insides are twisting up whenever he glances over at him. And on that first day, he had just caught Remus’s eyes from across the library shelves before classes begun, and smiled in that uniquely electric way of his, and asked if Remus could put slime in a very specific locker, (Snape’s), for a very specific reason, (Because he kept following Lily around like a creep), on account to no one suspecting the new kid. And yeah— Remus was lost on him an embarrassing amount from then on.

Sure, it can be regarded as kinda pathetic on Remus’s end— kindling this nest of emotions so close to the chest— but also it’s not as if he’s been lovestruck by his crush, like it’s some sort of waterlogged scarf he’s got dragging him down. His attraction towards Sirius is like a soft melody that’s swelling in the backdrop of all their interactions, nothing overwhelming— not a flood plane, not yet at least. It’s warm, and it’s familiar, and it’s persistent like a flutter of a humming bird’s wings. And Remus doesn’t mind pining over someone as fantastical as Sirius Fucking Black.

Graciously, in some strike of incredible luck, Sirius never caught on to Remus’s silly feelings, not until that night when they were watching an old movie in Remus’s basement while James and Lily were celebrating an entire year together— save for all their sudden stops and just as speedy starts— and Peter was visiting his grandmother in Tampa Bay. It was the first time they had been alone together since Remus broke up with Caradoc for the final time, and Sirius just looked so fucking good in that casual, white v-neck and his skinny jeans that make him look like some echo of James Dean on his best day. And Remus isn’t sure who exactly moved forwards first, or how the fuck Meg Ryan wandering the Seattle streets was some sort of aphrodisiac, or why Sirius— who could have any guy he would ever want— was actually humoring him, but one second they’re lying down on the sofa— Remus caged between Sirius’s expanse and the cushions behind them— and the next he’s tasting PBR on Sirius’s lips, and has got a fist full of his dark hair, and is thrilling at the feeling of Sirius’s thigh between his legs. And yeah— it just happened like those sort of things are want to do, and by the end of it they were sticky and breathless and diffident in ways they never been around one another, in ways Remus reckons Sirius has never been around anyone.

But the next weekend, when Sirius’s latest sorta— but not really— boyfriend had canceled on their dinner plans, Sirius wandered over to Remus’s bedroom window and it was another tumbling of frenzied hands and loosen buckles and thrusting hips. And then it just became an easy release— a sort of poetry, an understanding in all but name.

And that’s fine. They don’t have to talk about it. Remus knows that Sirius isn’t the type to settle down with a partner, to go bowling for a date, or texting countless messages that amount to nothing at all at the end of the conversation, or putting up with another dude’s parents taking photos of them before leaving to prom or homecoming or whatever the fuck else. And Remus is sorta sick of the idea of love, of trying so hard only to end up heartbroken and eating a gallon of Chubby Bunny in his favorite sweats and cursing John Hughes for pretending Hollywood romances can happen to ordinary high schoolers.

So yeah— This thing they’ve fallen into with each other is good. They’re friends— best friends— and they have fun and they’re apparently really fucking good in bed together, and Sirius never looks at Remus with pity when he spots him gazing at his profile absentmindedly, and he doesn’t mind when Remus traces invisible designs against his skin when they’re soaking in the after glow, and he never treats him any different. Sirius still slings his arm around Remus’s shoulders when they walk down the halls, and he still buys him his favorite chocolates when he feels poorly, and he still faces Dorcas's disapproving wrath when he drags Remus out of the library to have a little mischief— whether it’s smoking a blunt in the abandoned skatepark in town or playing some stupid prank on those assholes in their year.

For all intent and purposes, they still behave the same they’ve always acted around one another, but just with the miraculous addition of mind-blowing and dulcetly ductile sex.

This is good, this is fun, this is completely untethered from the bull shit of romance.

And if Remus mouths against the juncture of Sirius’s neck a little too intensely— trying to pry off the memory of the hickey Sirius had been sporting after spending the weekend with Gideon Prewett— Well no one has to be any the wiser, and by the sound of Sirius’s hitched breaths, he seems not to mind even slightly.

“Except my apology?” Remus asks, more coy than he ordinarily acts as he drops his arms around Sirius’s neck, and leans on the balls of his feet to whisper against his temple.

“Oh, you’re such a bastard,” Sirius retorts, labored as all get out, kneading his fingers into Remus’s ass that’s only covered by the thin layer of his plaid pajama bottoms. “You are going to have to do a lot more for me to forgive the lip.”

Remus laughs in a stammering sort of way as Sirius tugs him along, walking backwards to his room that he’s become incredibly intimate with since the first time they did this three months ago.

“Sirius, the spring rolls— they’re gross if we have to heat them up again.”

“I’ll postmate us knew ones,” Sirius insists, covering Remus’s mouth with his own with fervor. “C’mon babe, do not tease me like this.”

Sirius must’ve caught his mistake, because he suddenly goes as red as Remus feels— The pet name was to close for comfort considering their strictly friends with benefits nature, but Remus is already half hard, and he really does not want to end this, so with a sly wink, he returns to nipping at Sirius’s jawline, rutting against him in a very unambiguous way. “Fine, if you really don’t think you’ll need the nourishment for your stamina?”

The words have their intended effect, and Sirius makes a small growl deep in his throat before practically tearing off Remus’s shirt, and dipping beneath the waistline of his pants, scooping him up and racing to the bed.

And they get lost in one another beneath the pale glow of Remus’s lamplight and the moon spilling through the window, relearning each others every patch of skin for minutes on end that wax and wane like the delta of ocean waves, unspooling into something tangible and tantalizing with every kiss punctuated with teeth that Sirius trails across Remus’s collarbone, and the way Remus palms greedy hands up and down Sirius’s back until he gets the hint and undresses.

“Well come on, you’re not an invalid, Lupin.” Sirius jeers and Remus chuckles as he follows suit until they’re both finally, blessedly nude. And with an easy assurance of them having done this more than a dozen times now, Remus crawls into his lap and kisses him straight on the mouth, preening how Sirius moans against him— canting up wantonly and grabbing at his hips with a sort of intensity that will probably leave bruises in the shape of the pads of his fingers, and Remus absolutely adores the idea of that, feels something hot and needy and desperate unfurl in his gut as he presses their mouths more forcefully together, going buzzed when he gets to relish in the sensation of their tongues running against one another, and the taste of the ridges on the roof of Sirius’s mouth, and the slide of the soft skin of his inner cheek— gasping when Sirius pulls away abruptly, panting an almost reverent, “Mother of God, Remus,” and tackles him flat on his back before they commence, with the addition of both their hard, leaking cocks thrusting against one another and Sirius’s hand in Remus’s hair pulling that bit more forcefully while his other one roams the dips and planes of his side— skirting against the divots of his stomach muscle before he wraps it around the pair of them and begins to pull in earnest, to the rhythm that Remus swears was strung from the heavens above.

“Oh— Oh, yeah— Sirius,” Remus breathes out in a haggard sort of way, words that he refuses to ever call a mewl even if they’re stretched out and crackle with emotion.

“Yes—, just say that again,” Sirius practically demands, his mouth completely covering his ear in a wet, hot heat— his teeth scraping against the soft shell. “Remus, baby, just say my name, tell me you want it.”

And God, Remus is feeling so heady— like he’s floating and he couldn’t possibly come back down— that he probably would’ve listened to anything Sirius asked of him, especially if he does that thing again, when he squeezes the slick length of them with a tad more force than they usually play at. “Sirius, Sirius. Sirius, please, I’m close,” Remus shrills in an unsteady staccato— his normally smooth tenner going pitchy and pleading, and he can feel his toes curling, can feel the eminent release coming— What he does not expect is to feel something poking at his entrance, didn’t expect to be struck dumb by the sensation of the tip of Sirius’s large, dry finger poking right there, right against the fluttering hole, while he’s still pumping them in tandem, and the second it hooks inside Remus goes a startling sort of static , sees blasts of white blotching his vision and his head thrown back and his dick spirting out heavily against Sirius’s deliciously defined torso.

And he’s just breathing heavily now, during the come down, can barely make out anything through the heavy weight around him, the one cushioning his head— but he does graciously feel Sirius’s cock fucking into his own hand against Remus’s thigh and then idly the feeling of his come splattering him, but then after that he can just barely hear the distant padding of feed against floorboards, followed by a wet washcloth being dabbed against his skin. So when he finally forces himself to focus, he sees Sirius cleaning himself off, wrapping it into the pair of joggers Remus was wearing earlier and tosses it to the corner of the room.

“Rude,” he scolds with no heat, shuffling closer to him when Sirius lies down besides him once more and circles an arm around his torso.

“THat’s what you get when you’re acting like a lazy fuck,” Sirius counters, smug as all get out while he threads a hand in Remus’s hair.

“Hmm, didn’t see that in the papers recently. Is it a new law?”

“Yeah, actually just past on the senate floor.”

“Interesting… Well considering that only one of us has a senator for a father, I really have to ask to see the power-point you shared with him to get this bill through the stalemate,” Remus’s head bounces against Sirius’s chest from the force of his laughter at the barb.

“Oh, stuff it, Lupin.”

Hiding his smile into Sirius’s skin, Remus does as told, and they both just lie there, as if everything’s gone suspended just for the pair of them, just so Remus can count out the beats of Sirius’s heart pulsing against his sternum, and can feel the way their legs tie into one another, and can feel Sirius mouthing against his temple, blowing his curls with every exhale.

And Remus thinks that he’d do anything to remember this exact moment for every single day from here on out.

But then the quiet is abruptly and permanently punctured by the sound of his phone chirping, and he has to breathe in deeply before separating from the warmth of Sirius, and fishes down for the device that’s still crammed into the side of his bed from where he had hidden it after that initial text.

“Is Dearborn still on your ass to try again?” Sirius asks, a bit stilted.

Remus wonders if he’s just imagining the tension twisted in the question, but reasons that Sirius’s never been Caradoc’s biggest fan, so he just shrugs it off— really doesn’t want to get into some stupid argument about his asshole of an ex when he’s still feeling so content. “Nah, ’s James. Still trying to force me to go to the homecoming dance with you guys.”

“Oh,” Sirius retorts, lips pinched while watching Remus redress. “You should go, Marls is pregaming and you know she always gets the good shit.”

Remus shakes his head while puttering over to find a new pair of sweats and a sweater. “Nah, just not feeling it this year— Erm, you’re taking Gid I assume.” He’s not sure why he asks it, supposes he’s always a glutton for some pain and shitty feelings to inspire his playlists habit, but also maybe it’s him trying to sober himself. Trying to remember that despite this— despite everything they just did and how easy it’s always been for them to fall into step with one another— Remus isn’t good enough to be seen with Sirius in the light of day. He’s probably not handsome enough or cool enough or something else that makes Sirius absolutely revolted from the thought. Probably that he’s beyond bookish, and looks painfully virginal and isn’t nearly as sly or snarky as his other conquests.

Truly, Remus should just be thankful that Sirius wants this at all, he shouldn’t be so crazed over the why nots of the situation— it’ll only kill him trying to be something he never could actually affect with any credence.

Schooling his features to something passably indifferent, Remus pivots to face him again, is startled when he finds Sirius still naked and staring at him with a burning sort of intensity in his storm cloud eyes.

“He hasn’t said anything, but I guess he’s assuming as much,” he finally says, running a hand through his overgrown fringe, that familiar twitch of the corner of his mouth grabbing Remus’s attention. The one that tells him Sirius is actually irritated about something he’s not letting himself say out loud.

“Erm, good? Gid’s a decent guy.” Remus mutters, head ducked once it gets to a point that he can’t stand Sirius looking at him like that— Not after how blissed out and ferocious he had been groping every inch of Remus only moments ago. “You guys are nice together.”

And it’s like the breath before the worst of storms when his words collapse between them, making the pregnant silence go suddenly suffocating.

“Right,” Sirius intones once Remus levels their gazes, hurriedly standing and collecting his own clothes, fracturing the moment completely. “Right. Whatever, yeah. I’ll go to the fucking dance with fucking Gideon Prewett. That’s good.”

“Sir—“

“No, it’s fine. You can just stay home, and mourn over that douchebag Dearborn some more, even though you ending it with that dick was the best decision you could’ve made, Remus, and I’m not even saying it just because I’m petty. He is a prick, and you need to finally get a clue how much better you deserve, damn it!”

Remus’s head feels like it’s swimming. Why is Sirius so angry all of a sudden? Does he not like Gideon? Why can’t he just cut it off like so many times before? And why the hell is he petty over Caradoc? The entire situation feels like someone’s just handed him a wedge of Swiss cheese and told him to knit it back together.

“What is up your ass?” He decides is an appropriate enough question for his floundering, and shutters back only slightly at how fuming Sirius looks when he rounds on him— clothes disheveled and fearsome glower heavy on his face.

“Whatever Remus, if you can’t see that Dearborn is bad news—“

“I’m not pining for Dearborn,” Remus interjects, really doesn’t feel like listening to one of Sirius’s ridiculous diatribes about him, not now. Not when he’s still so bewildered by everything else. “Why would you think that?”

The fire in Sirius’s eyes vanishes as quickly as someone blowing on a candle, and it’s his turn to gawk, gaping at Remus, shoulders dragged down and eyes wide. “Wait— You’re not?”

“No…. I haven’t even thought about him for weeks.”

“Oh.” Sirius looks contemplative for a moment, before the righteous anger that only he could ever wear with such conviction, melts over him once more. “All right, then what the fuck is this?”

Remus stiffens, feels his veins lace with ice, an his breath catch somewhere in his throat, really does not think he’s ready for this conversation. “This?”

“Yes, Remus, this!” Sirius demands, sounding harsh in comparison to the barely croak Remus had spoken with. “Listen I don’t care if you want me to wait some more, if you need to lick your wounds or whatever. But why are you like pushing me on other people? Why do you want me not to be around? why do you want me to go out with other dudes?”

Remus lies back on the chest of drawers now, feels beyond dazed. “What the hell are you talking about, Sirius?”

Sirius clenches his teeth right then, the hinge of his jaw going taught

before he skulks closer, not letting Remus drop his gaze. “Is it me? Is it that you just can’t see me that way? Are you just stringing me along or something? Because I really didn’t think that was your style, but if it’s that, then Remus—“

“Stringing you along?” Remus asks in a voice barely above a whisper, just needs to feel his lips forming the absolutely risible words, even if it makes it so something dark passes across Sirius’s beauteous features.

“Remus, I swear to God! Stop repeating everything I’m fucking saying!”

“Then start making some damn sense!” Remus snaps, suddenly heated as he straightens and pins him with a proper scowl. “What in holy hell are you going on about?”

“God! Do I have to spell it out!” Sirius barks, cutting the final step dividing them and grabbing for Remus’s shoulders with a tight squeeze. “I know you just wanted to fuck around with someone after Dearborn showed his extreme dickitude, and listen, I was so fucking ecstatic that you wanted me for it. But I can’t do this in-between shit anymore! I’m sorry, but I can’t! And I get if this is annoying, but I’ve been crazy for you for so long. And I just can’t keep myself at an arms length anymore, not now that we’ve really had each other, not after you let me actually touch and taste and fuck you and— Damn it, this isn’t coming out the way I wanted, all right! Damn it, maybe Evans was right and I should’ve made queue cards like some dumb ass— But then James pointed out how unromantic that was, and Marlene said—“

Gently, Remus puts his shaking fingers against Sirius’s lips, effectively killing off anything else he’s about to say. And slowly, everything is beginning to slot into place, and he’s so spiteful over how they’ve been such idiots this entire time— swears to put salt into Lily’s coffee next time he sees her.

“I didn’t know you actually were into me Sirius.”

Stunned, Sirius’s dark brows hike up to his hairline. “How the hell didn’t you know?” He demands against Remus’s fingers, thunderous and insulted looking.

“Because you never fucking said as much!” Remus defends himself, feels a mangled sort of laughter squirming out. “God, we’re idiots.”

“We’re?” Sirius asks, hesitant and red faced before Remus moves his hand to peck softly against his mouth.

“I’ve been half in love with you for years you absolute ass-wipe, it’s always been you! You and always you.” Remus tells him breathily, still fighting down the last remnants of his actual, god forsaken giggle— like he’s thirteen again and getting buzzed off his mom’s peach wine coolers. “I only never said anything because I never thought I’d have a chance with someone like you— Someone so— so— Someone so amazing.”

The smile Sirius favors him with right then is something absolutely incandescent, and his eyes shimmer with a very distinct sort of joy that Remus wonders if anyone besides him has ever witnessed. “Then you’re definitely the biggest idiot between us, Lupin.” Sirius declares, knocking their foreheads together, and lacing his hand into Remus’s own before squeezing meaningfully.

“Fuck off,” Remus snorts, presses forwards for another languorous kiss, not feeling in danger of being swallowed whole any more— finally letting himself drown and knowing that Sirius will be there to pull him back up no matter what.

“Oh, I could get used to this,” Sirius smirks, snakes his arms around Remus’s waste that bit tighter.

“Hmm, there is the problem that I usually don’t put out until at least the third or fourth date,” Remus says mildly.

“Pff, ‘s fine, Lupin,” Sirius insists, grinning beatifically. “I like you being a hussy for me!— Oof, careful with the merchandize, you were speaking some real exaltations about that part of my anatomy not too long ago.”

Moving his knee from the point at hand, Remus sticks out his tongue at him. “See if you ever get any ever again, Sirius Black.”

When Sirius laughs, it sounds like the strike of lightening against unmarked land, and the honey cloaked side of a knife’s edge, and like everything splendid Remus has ever known. And he thinks that yes, he could get used to this right back.

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #REMUSXSIRIUS #SIRIUSXREMUS #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #Spilt Ink

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meganwritesfanfics · 4 years

Text

Unspoken Engagements Part 3 (Dr. Spencer Reid x Reader)

Dr Spencer Reid x Reader

While Spencer is away on a case, his brand new fiance is kidnapped and held captive. It is a race against the clock, for the team to hunt down the unsub, and save the Reader before it is too late.

This story takes place in season 1 of Criminal Minds. Baby Reid!

Thank you all for the amazing support! I’m glad you all love Reid as much as I do! Keep up the comments! I will also be adding a tag list. Thank you so so much!

Part 1/ Part 2

Word Count: 1641

Part 4

Garcia let out a stifled cry as Morgan held onto her tighter.

“Are you sure?” Reid said his voice shaking as he stood up.

Before Gideon has a chance to speak the computer screen behind him turned on.

“There were two videos on that flash drive.” Gideon continued as a tech pulled up the first one. It was grainy and blurry, but it looked like it was someone holding a handheld camera pointing forward. The time stamp was for the day the team had left for Washington. It took a moment for the camera to focus, but when it did, it was focusing on a single person walking down the street, Y/N. She was talking on her cellphone and from the time stamp Spencer knew that he was on the other end of the phone call.

“I’m the one she is talking to on the phone.” Spencer said as he cleared his throat, trying to keep his emotions at bay.

“Are you sure, Reid?” Hotch asked.

“Yes, we talked about me going to Washington, I asked her why she wasn’t at work. She told me she was getting coffee. I told her I loved her and I…” His voice cracked. And that’s when the video cut out. When it came back on, it was at a completely different angle, this time it looked like the person was walking and holding the camera. It was only a matter or moments before Spencer recognized Y/N’s shirt, the one she was wearing that day. The team watched at the person holding the camera ran into Y/N. They watched as coffee spilled down her before the struggle began.

“How many coffee’s did she have?” Elle asked.

“Oh my god.” Garcia explained angrily and the whole team turned to look at her, as the tech paused the video.

“What is it babygirl?” Morgan asked.

“Nothing, it’s I…” Garcia started specifically avoiding eye contact with Spencer.

“Garcia if you know something…” Hotch started.

“I don’t know if it has anything to do with her being taken, but I know why she was at the coffee shop. Her boss, that douche down in organized crimes, makes her bring coffee for the whole team, every morning without fail, and if she forgets, he sends her out to get some. He treats her like shit?”

Reid could feel his blood start to boil. “That’s how the unsub knew where she would be, he knew that every morning she had to go get coffee.” Hotch watched as Reid’s hands balled into fists.

The video started again and they watched as Y/N’s body started to go limb. The camera angle then changed to show her face and Spencer watched as Y/N mouthed his name before the video went to black.

“He had to have drugged her, I have seen Y/N in action, there is no way she goes down that easy, not without a fight.” Morgan said. He had moved from his spot next to Garica, to the back of the room pacing. “What’s the other video?”

For a moment Gideon hesitated, he looked at Reid with sad eyes. “Reid, this isn’t pretty, what he has done, what he makes her say…”

“Play it.” Reid insisted and he heard a small gulp come from Garcia.

When the video was pulled up, Reid felt like he had been punched, all of the air left his body. He had to hold back gasping out loud. Garcia on the other hand did not, she let out what could only be described as a gasp and a sob mixed into one. The girl on the screen barely looked like Y/N. One eye was black and swollen, her lip was busted and bleeding. Her hair had blood in it, especially near the parts where it looked like chunks of hair had been ripped out. And there were bruises around her neck where it looked like someone had been choking her. Her face had mascara running down it, and her cheeks were still wet with tears

“I’m sorry I can’t.” Garcia said as she quickly left the room crying. Morgan started after her when JJ stopped him.

“I got it.” She said tears in her eyes as well.

Morgan then took a seat next to Reid.

“Hello Spencer.” Y/N spoke, her voice raspy. Reid could tell that there was something behind the camera that she was reading. “If you are seeing this then that means Penelope received my present. I hope you had a nice time in Washington. While you were away I decided to pay your little whore of a girlfriend a visit. I need to show you who she truly is. I need to show you that she doesn’t deserve…” Y/N gulped trying to hold back her tears. “I need to show you that she doesn’t deserve you. She is a whore and a slut.” Reid could feel the tears forming in his eyes. He could see how terrified she looked. “She isn’t worthy of your love. I am going to show you. You are going to see.”

There was a moment of pause and the sound cut out. Y/N was talking to someone behind the camera and she was sobbing while she was trying to talk.

“She’s saying, ‘please stop this, please don’t make me do this. Don’t do this to him.”’ Spencer said as he read her lips. The more he watched her cry, the more he felt his heart breaking. “Just kill me, just kill me please don’t do this to him.” As Spencer said this he broke finally unable to keep his emotions back and he crumbled laying his head on the table sobbing.

“Gideon, let’s stop this we can…” Hotch started as Morgan laid his hand on Reid back.

“No it’s fine, it’s fine.” Reid said trying to compose himself. “I just…” He started before he stood up. “I’m sorry, I thought I…”

“Why don’t we all take a little break.” Hotch suggested looking at Gideon who nodded in agreement.

Reid quickly bolted out of the room.

“Morgan, I need you to watch Reid,” Hotch said. “This is going to be incredibly difficult for him, and we need him to stay as calm and clear headed as possible. Whomever took Y/N clearly has some sick obsession with Reid.”

“That’s an understatement,” Morgan scoffed. “Aaron, we need to catch this guy, I mean she hasn’t been missing for more than a week and look what he has done to her.”

“I know, Gideon, Elle, and I are going to review the footage. I need you to go be with Reid for a while, I will catch you up later.”

Morgan nodded as he started to leave.

When he exited the conference room he expected to see Reid at his desk, but he wasn’t there, in fact Morgan couldn’t see him anywhere. As he made his way down to the desks he saw that Reid’s gun was on his desk.

Now Morgan was starting to get nervous. That’s when JJ walked in wiping tears off her face.

“Did you see Reid?” Morgan asked.

“Only for a moment, he came out set his gun down and took off, he looked pretty pissed.”

“Oh shit!” Morgan said finally piecing together where Reid was going. Quickly he grabbed Reid’s gun and took off running heading towards the Organized Crime Unit.

Meanwhile Reid had reached Organized Crime and was heading straight for Y/N’s boss.

“Agent Reid what a plea…” The man started when Reid decked him in the face, satisfied by the crack that came when his fist collided with the mans nose. “What the fu…”

“You didn’t even report her missing you asshole!” Reid screamed, and by now the other members of the Organized Crime unit had gathered around.

“Who!” And that earned the man another punch to the face. Reid’s knuckles felt like they were on fire, but he didn’t care, he was so angry.

“Y/N! She hasn’t shown up to work in days and you didn’t do anything!”

“She’s missing, we thought she quit, she left her gun and her badge on her desk. We thought she couldn’t cut it.”

“She was out getting you all your damn coffee, and that’s how she got taken, because the unsub knew her routine and knew that all of you assholes make her get you coffee. You know she is twice the agent any of you will ever be!” By this time Morgan had made it to the room and pushed himself between Reid and Y/N’s boss.

“Reid!” Morgan screamed looking at him shocked. He didn’t know the kid had it in him to hit anyone.

Spencer didn’t say anything as he left heading back to the BAU.

“Your partner hits like a girl.” Y/N’s boss laughed slightly but it was cut off by Morgan pushing his forearm into the man’s throat and slamming him into the wall.

“Listen here you dick. If Y/N ends up dead, I will make your life living hell. And as for my partner, if his fiance dies because of your sexist ass, I will make sure the next time he comes to visit he is packing.”

Then Morgan left quickly following Reid. As he caught up to him Reid slowed down so they could walk together.

“I’m sorry about that I just…” Reid started.

“No apologies necessary kid, if you didn’t I would have, and I would be surprised if Hotch doesn’t report him. Here.” Morgan handed Reid back his gun.

“Thanks. I left it because I was afraid of what I might do with it.”

“I know Reid. But let’s be honest, even if you did have it, you would have missed.” Morgan laughed as he tousled Reid’s hair causing him to smile slightly.

***

Tag List: eevee0722, paulaern, eternalharry, tanyaherondale,

#dr spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #fanfiction #derek morgan

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steele-soulmate · 2 years

Text

Tattooed Wings, CHAPTER 27, Peter Steele & OFC, Soulmate AU

SUMMARY: Mary Claire Bradley meets her soulmate- literally- the famous Peter Steele of metal group Type O Negative. But will obstacles including trauma, stalkers, and toxic family members get in the way of their life?

WARNING: mentions of child rape (nothing graphic) PTSD, milk kink, soft smut, grinding, assault

WORDS: 2379

“Sweetheart?” Peter asked me as he was pulling out of his parking space, one hand on the steering wheel, his other hand resting on my popped out stomach. “Do you want to go to urgent care? You’ve been through a traumatic experience- are you sure little girl’s alright?”

He got his answer in the form of a strong kick right where his hand was positioned over my tummy.

“I really want to sleep,” I answered drowsily, interlacing our fingers together. “And tomorrow I can call da and ask him if it’ll be alright if I stay home from set up tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he smiled. “I’m sorry, but I just need to call my sister real quick.”

“Which one?” I asked as he dialed.

“Cathy,” he explained. “She looks after my apartment while I’m out.”

“Hey there, baby brother!” a woman answered the other line. I felt awkward as Peter greeted his sister.

“Mary Claire was assaulted tonight so I’m going to crash at her place tonight in case she needs anything,” he explained.

“Oh no! Is she alright? Is the baby alright?” Cathy asked.

“Hi Cathy,” I greeted her. “I’ll be bruised tomorrow, but other than that I should be fine.” I saw Peter glanced at me before cupping my cheek. “Physically, I’ll be okay. The bruises will heal.”

“It’s not the bruises that I’m worried about,” Peter muttered. “Hey Cathy, can I ask you a favor?”

“Say no more Peter,” Cathy said. “You take care of your girl and I’ll look after your kids.”

“Kids?” I interrupted, peering at my soulmate with squinted eyes. “You never said anything about having kids.”

“Smokey, Felix and Mittens,” Peter told me, a small smile on his face.

“What is up with kids getting oddball names these days?” I scowled. “High school is going to be horrible for them, the poor things.”

Peter and Cathy both started to laugh as my soulmate pulled out his phone and flipped to the photos, where he tapped on one before handing it over to me.

“Oh, you’re a crazy cat daddy!” I exclaimed at the sight of three young cats. One was a dark smokey grey, the second was black with white socks and the third had a patchwork quilt like pattern on its fur.

“Get off my lawn, you darned kids!” Peter joked, getting another laugh from his sister. “No really sweetheart, I grew up with cats- it’d just be weird not to have a cat.”

“Oh,” I smiled. “Gideon- my older brother, he once found a cat while walking home from school and he puts the poor kitty into his backpack. He gets home tells mom that Mr. Patches followed him home.”

Peter laughed again before being cut off by a “MEOW” that came from Cathy’s end.

“Sorry, that was Felix,” she apologized.

“KITTY!” I gasped with excitement, clapping my hands together.

“Felix wants me to tell you that he misses his daddy to pieces right now,” Cathy said in a motherly tone of voice.

“How’d you figure that out?” Peter asked.

“Well, Felix is sitting by the front door crying,” Cathy said point blank.

“Poor kitty,” I cooed softly, wincing as little girl punched my insides. Peter automatically began to rub calming circles into my stomach, successfully calming little girl down.

“Take it easy in there, won’t you now, little girl? Mommy has had quite the night,” Peter chuckled quietly, rolling to a stop at a red light and leaning over to place a kiss onto my stomach.

“Peter, do you want me to drop off some clothes for you at her place for you?” Cathy then asked.

“Uh…” Peter glanced over at me.

“Sure, the address is 6578 Sweetwater Lane, suite number 382, and it’s in Upper East Side, zip code 90012,” I rattled off to her. “I can text it to you, if you need.”

“Oh, no need!” Cathy said. “I got it right here- 6578 Sweetwater Lane, suite number 382, 90012, right?”

“That’s me!” I grinned. “I’ll tell the front desk to let you up when I land, okay?”

“Great, thanks!” The three of us chit chatted for a few more minutes before Cathy had to say goodbye. The second she hung up, my chest was tightening again. I let out a little gasp, my hand flying back up to my heart.

“Sweetheart?” I could practically see the worry in Peter’s voice as he turned onto Sweetwater Lane.

“I’m fine,” I panted. He didn’t look convinced as he turned into the parking lot. The next thing I knew he was carrying me through the front door, Jackie looking on worriedly as I curled up into Peter’s arms.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he murmured as he dropped me onto my bed. “I’ll be back in a minute, yeah?”

“Please don’t leave me!” I begged, latching onto his wrist and trying to drag him back into me. He sighed before kicking off his boots and crawling into bed with me, wrapping his strong arms around me as I snuggled into his side.

“I got you sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing my forehead. “You’re safe now.”

~xoXox~

I drifted in and out of sleep for the next several hours. Peter only got up to use the bathroom and to grab a snack- I also heard him talking to Jackie and Sammi, probably telling them what had happened during our first date. At one point, he came back into my bedroom, dressed for sleep in sweatpants and an oversized shirt. I just sat up and reached under my pillow for my nightdress.

“Peter, can you help me dress for bed?” I asked him. He nodded, approaching the bed and held his hands at the ready. I began to unbutton my dress before letting him take over. He at last had me in only my bra and underwear, but he kept his respectful green eyes on my face as I reached around to undo my bra. I sighed with relief as my bra slipped off and I held my arms up for my nightdress to be slipped over my head.

“Peek a boo,” he teased me when my head had popped out of the neck hold. I giggled, pulling the rest of the nightdress down, sighing as the soft cotton kissed my skin.

“I see you,” I rhymed to him with a little smile.

“Hey sweetheart, are you hungry?” Peter wanted to know. “I think Jackie is making burgers.”

“I’ll try to eat,” I muttered. “My body is still in ‘fight or flight’ mode, so anything I eat will probably come right back up again.”

“Fuck,” Peter sighed, scooping me into his arms and exiting my bedroom. I only let out a soft coo as I rested my ear over his heart, losing myself in the beat.

THUD THUMP

Sure enough, Jackie was in the kitchen while Sammi lounged on the couch, her sketchbook and colored pencils in hand. Both sisters looked up as Peter entered the common area, sitting himself in the armchair with me in his lap still.

“Is this okay, sweetheart?” he asked in a soft voice, his nose gently tracing the mermaid tattoo behind my ear. I only whimpered out a meek little “Yes” in response before straddling his lap and curling into him.

“Hey MC, since you and Peter will be staying home from set up tomorrow, do you have anything in mind that you want to do?” Sammi asked kindly, trying to start up a conversation.

“Bake some more bread, maybe watch a movie or two?” I shrugged.

“What movie do you want to watch, sweetheart?” my soulmate murmured gently, his hands rubbing calming patterns into my back.

“Disney Pixar’s Monster Inc,” I answered automatically. “It’s a really cute movie. And maybe Tangled…”

“I haven’t seen those movies yet, sweetheart,” he informed me as Jackie came over with a bowl.

“Chicken noodle broth,” she announced. “It’s the only thing our big sister can keep down following a panic attack.”

“Come here now sweetheart,” Peter cooed, taking the bowl and beginning to feed me. I just sank into the love he was showing me, humming in content as he spoon fed me. My hands were fisted into his hair, my eyes closed as I slipped into a half awake, half asleep state of mind.

A knock sounded at the door and Sammi jumped up.

“I got it!” she announced, skipping over to the front door and opening it. “Hello?”

“You must be Mary Claire,” greeted the woman on the other side of the door. “I’m Cathy, Peter’s sister.”

“Uh, I’m Sammi, actually,” my baby sister corrected her. “Won’t you come in?”

“Hey,” Peter whispered, setting the bowl off to the side and adjusting me to a more comfortable resting position. “How’s things?”

“Uh…” Cathy stalled, shifting between Sammi and I as my baby sister collected the broth bowl and took it into the kitchen to be stuck into the dishwasher.

“OUT OF THE KITCHEN!” Jackie yelled, chasing Sammi out of the kitchen. “I swear, if you’re not going to bother learning how to cook, you don’t belong in the kitchen!”

“Alright, alright, keep your hair on, I was bussing MC’s broth bowl!” Sammi yelped as she hid behind Cathy. “Don’t kill the busser! Besides, you don’t chase MC out of the kitchen!”

“Because I know what the difference is between the cheese grater and a serving spoon is,” I deadpanned, deciding to alert everyone to being awake. “How long was I out for?”

“About forty minutes,” Jackie called out from the kitchen. “Do you want more?”

“No thanks,” I called, cuddling into Peter more, resting a hand onto my stomach and cooing as I felt little girl moving around.

“Are you alright in there, little girl?” Peter murmured, also placing his hand on my stomach.

“Hey Peter, where can I put your stuff?” Cathy asked, holding up a small duffle bag.

“I can put it on your bed, alright MC?” Sammi announced, taking the bag and bouncing off without waiting for a response.

I remained quiet as I listened to Peter and Cathy talking about random things- Cathy’s daughter, who had completed her residency and was now a full-fledged doctor at Lincoln Memorial, family get togethers of the past, prank wars that Peter instigated in his youth, among other things. I wasn’t paying much attention, drifting in and out of restless sleep as I nestled in the safety of my soulmate’s arms.

I woke up a while later to Peter placing me back into my bed, pulling the blanket up over me before climbing in. I made a soft noise as he maneuvered me onto his lap.

“Sweetheart?” Peter murmured, his hand on my shoulder. “Can I see your tattoos, please?”

I stood and slipped out of my nightdress, baring my near nude body for his gaze and his gaze alone. I stepped between his knees and took his large hands into mine. I took a deep inhale of breath before looking into his emerald green eyes.

He touched my right hip, where the words “Once Upon a Time…” were written in fancy calligraphy. He then switched over to the other side, where his spider tattoo rested. His eyes darted up to the right side of my collarbone, where the words “I’m Not an Angel…” were written. Next, he picked up my left wrist and admired the charm bracelet that was tattooed onto my skin with charms such as Rapunzel’s lantern, Eeyore’s tail, Dumbo’s feather, Tinker Bell’s wings, the enchanted rose, Snow White’s poisoned apple and Cinderella’s glass slipper were inked dangling from the bracelet. He glanced up at my arm and ran his finger across the watercolored Rapunzel on my bicep, smiling as he compared the inking to his own soulmark. His eyes darted up to my soulmark of a heavy masculine bald eagle on my right arm and a panther on my left. Peter’s eyes darted down to my thighs, where he carefully fingered the mermaid scales on the right side. He then looked to my right arm, where there was a mermaid tattoo, also done in a watercolor style. He turned me around and placed a hand on the angel wings that decorated my back, dragging his fingers down to tickle the butterfly that rested just underneath the feathers. His hand then went up to my shoulders, where there were dual tattoos that matched each other perfectly; they were from Tangled, the one on the right shoulder was the sun motif and the others on the left were a grouping of three floating lanterns. He finally yanked me closer to him where he pushed back the red curls from my left ear to admire the mermaid stamped behind my ear.

“Fuck,” he murmured, turning me again so that I was now facing him. “You’re perfect.” He took my hands into his and kissed the tattooed backsides of them, resting his cheek on the alpha symbol.

“I’m far from perfect,” I whispered, amused by how affectionate he was being towards me. I suddenly got an idea- I pushed him flat onto the bed and climbed into his lap before smuggling under his baggy shirt and popping my head out the neck.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” he asked as I shifted, already feeling comfortable with how close my soulmate was to me.

“I’m cold,” was all that I said before kissing him. “Good night.”

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

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PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@starchild0985

#Peter Thomas Ratajczyk #Josh #Kenny Hickey #Johnny Kelly #Mary Claire Bradley (OFC)#Peter Steele #Type O Negative #Heavy metal #Soulmate AU #Age gap romance #Smut #Matching tattoos soulmate AU #Tattoos #Mentions of child rape (nothing graphic)#PTSD #Milk kink #Soft smut #Grinding #Assault

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prurientpuddlejumper · 3 years

Text

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 16

<- Part 15 | Part 17 ->

Summary: A flirtatious moment in the hospital garden turns sour.

Warnings: Brief nsfw themes, injury-recovery angst, post-traumatic stress/flashbacks, graphic past injuries, KISSING, hurt/comfort. Love and fluff.

3,700 words

After being gutted left him with a limp, a cane, and an overbearing sense of weakness, Frederick Chilton began copying Hannibal Lecter. His patterned suits, his clean-shaven face. The mimicry wasn’t deliberate exactly, but he looked to a man who radiated calm dignity and strength, and tried to capture some of it for his own.

It didn’t work. Frederick Chilton was still Frederick Chilton.

But shaving the beard did make him look younger. The razor glided over his smooth cheek as he cut through the facial hair that had grown unruly in the hospital. A new man stared back at him. One not traumatized by Gideon’s knife.

Only a few months later, he was shot in the face, and let the stubble grow back to distract from the scar. To obscure the hollowing where maxillary bone was missing. Like a chameleon, Frederick was always changing—hairstyles, wardrobes, colognes—always imitating someone, drawing the eye away from a flaw, never comfortable with himself. Ever improving. Refining. Hiding.

Every day, the burn ward’s physical therapists had him using one exercise machine or another. A pedaling machine lowered over his bed so he could build muscle while lying on his back before he was able to walk. The next step was a tall, rolling frame that he strapped into like a fighter pilot hanging from a parachute harness, which allowed him to take a few weightless steps. His legs shook. His feet did not know how to align themselves on the ground anymore. He hissed curses when you cheered him on just for shuffling one foot forward along the smooth grey linoleum.

One damned foot.

As if he couldn’t walk before. As if one shaking, machine-assisted step was an accomplishment. He was an overgrown baby in a Jumperoo.

While he could not walk on his own yet, he could get into and out of a wheelchair without screaming bloody murder. This allowed him a new level of freedom, if not autonomy. He still required two nurses to lower him into the chair. Still needed help getting to the bathroom. But he could at least use the bathroom instead of a bedpan and catheter.

Healing came at a cost.

Until now, he had caught flashes of his reflection in polished surfaces. Warped teeth in a metal IV pole. The fuzzy silhouette of a mask in the black of his computer screen.

He stood with his hands on the bathroom sink, staring. The nurse at his left elbow tugged him, told him it was time to sit back down in the chair. He needed support to stand, a babysitter to ensure he didn’t fall, and she was tired of waiting.

The thing staring back at him did not move.

When he took the compression mask off for the one hour per day he was allowed to remove it for cleaning, he somehow expected to find his own face beneath it. Skin. What he saw was a stranger. Gnarled scars made an uneven backdrop for one dead blue eye and a skeletal grimace. His own bones were buried somewhere underneath like bedrock, but the flesh was rearranged and distorted.

If he had met this man a year ago, Dr. Chilton would have felt inward pride at his ability not to sicken at the sight. He would have shaken his hand with a smug, professional detachment that said, “I am accustomed to horrific things in my line of work—abnormal psychiatry. This does not shock me as it would a layperson.”

He was a creature to be pitied.

Then a familiar reflection appeared out of the blind spot of his left side. Your image wrapped its hand behind the broken stranger, and he felt it land on his lower back. Warm. Comforting as your face, which was knit with worry. You told the nurse you could handle it from here, and she retreated out to his room.

When she was gone, Frederick began to laugh, dark and cruel, eyes never leaving the matching set staring cruelly back.

“What is it?” you asked, tightening your grip on his arm as he began to tremble.

“Do you think I look younger without a beard?”

The laugh cracked in his throat. His shoulders heaved as he finally looked away. It was too embarrassing to watch a grown man cry.

***

The heat of July was not easy on a body that could no longer sweat and was covered head to toe in a compression suit, but Frederick Chilton was thrilled to be outside. As the automatic sliding doors opened, he breathed in deeply through the nose and exhaled the spinning summer fragrances with a blissful sigh.

You resisted the urge to tease him. Of the pair, you were the more outdoorsy by far, and the last time you dragged him camping, he’d managed to complain the entire two days. He was not, generally, one to appreciate sunshine and birdsong. But this was different.

It was his first time away from the lifeless hospital air—the same smells day after day—in four months.

Now a breeze hit his face—a breeze! He had forgotten what that felt like—and brought with it the smell of cut grass and flowers, and exhaust fumes from the nearby roadways. The scent of gasoline urged his stomach to wring itself empty, but it was faint and easy enough to shake off as sparrows chirped and flitted about the hospital’s “meditation garden.”

Gently curving paths snaked through the landscaping of lush greenery and small trees. Few flowers were planted, out of respect for patients with allergies, but a fountain at the center babbled soothingly. The walkways were wide and smoothly paved, so the grey wheels of the hospital-issue wheelchair rolled over them easily, performing their function despite being over-worked and worn down, not unlike the staff. The black rubber handle grips had a dull patina from hundreds of hands, yours being the latest to circle around them as you pushed.

It was nice to have a private courtyard to enjoy the fresh air without the eyes of the general public watching.

Frederick was able to wear clothes from home now, but they had to be loose-fitting and short-sleeved to not interfere with his treatment. In a navy polo shirt and athletic shorts, he felt horrifically under-dressed, and did not want to be seen that way. The fashion crime was almost as bad as the face he could not bear looking at.

An elderly patient and what appeared to be her adult daughter sat on one of the benches between two daylily patches, blooming garishly cheerful red and gold. The daughter looked up, and Chilton looked away.

“You are certain you checked the bedroom closet? Left-hand side, second drawer to the bottom?” he asked again, agitation rising.

He was looking for the more fashionable Chino shorts he rarely wore, preferring to overheat in long pants than expose his pale, door-knob knees to imagined ridicule. You told him the housekeeper must have misplaced them.

He clenched his fist as tightly as the pink, shiny-scarred claw could manage and went on a gruff, impotent rant about the help growing careless without him to keep them in check. (If anything, the “help” were desperate to keep you in check without him there to manage your habit of leaving everything out—your clothes on a chair, the cereal box on the counter.)

“I know, I know. Awful,” you nodded along to the music of his words, if not the lyrics. You wished he would change the subject, but he pressed on with his investigation of the Case of the Missing Shorts.

“Mrs. Pérez brought a load of laundry down from the bedroom last Wednesday,” he noted. Frederick had taken to watching the security feeds remotely from his laptop. “Has she been using the cheap dry cleaner on Cherry Street instead of the good one so she can skim the difference? I have explicitly instructed the staff not to use them—they have lost or ruined several articles over the years. Inform Mrs. Pérez that I will not stand for lazy—what?”

Your tense smile began emanating a tenser whine.

It was rather suspicious.

Frederick watched you for a moment, puzzled, and then resumed, “The new security guard shares my pant size. Perhaps—”

“I DID IT. I brought them to Good Will.”

“You what?!”

Clicking the wheelchair brake, you doubled over the back of it, laughing at your childish ruse and how seriously Frederick had taken it. God, the man could never let anything go! “Over a year ago! You never wore them!”

“Come here.” His clipped tone did not invite argument.

You walked around to the front of his chair, the repentant pout on your face strongly undermined by rounded cheeks that were barely holding back a chuckle.

He growled with affectionate anger—the kind where he wanted to grab behind your knees and pull you into his lap, telling you with a low purr exactly how much trouble you were in. Except at the moment, your weight crashing onto his skinny, bony lap would have bruised a femur and torn five stitches. And if he was not confident enough for a kiss, he was in no condition to promise punishments of that nature.

So he gave your rump a sharp smack and tried to make his mouth smirk in that playfully disdainful way that said, “I love you, but I am going to kill you. You know that, right?” Sometimes wanting to kill someone can be such a personal, intimate love language.

“Doctor Chilton!” you gasped, feigning shock. “Such a naughty patient. I have told you time and again, this is simply unprofessional.”

The old woman and daughter had moved on, leaving you alone in the garden.

He let out a soft huff of amusement, catching on to the new game you were playing. Back when he was the administrator of the BSHCI, you would often saunter into his office playing the oversexed patient to his sleazy therapist. Now the roles were reversed.

“You protest,” he said in a low, lecherous tone, “and yet you continue to lavish extra attention on me. Do not think I have not noticed.”

“I don’t know what you could mean,” you deflected coyly. “Please keep your hands to yourself, sir.”

He grabbed your hand and spun you to face him, skeletal fingers interlocking with yours. Even through the compression glove, you could feel how skinny they had become, knobby knuckles protruding.

“Doctor,” he corrected.

You swallowed. “Doctor.”

“Why deny it? You guard all my treatments for yourself like a prize when other nurses could do it. You crawl into my bed to warm me with your body heat—hardly standard practice. I think you like the attention,” he said, giving your ass another lurid slap.

“D-Doctor! I’m not supposed to—we’re not supposed to…”

“If you worked at my hospital, I would fire you for such fraternization. Yet you call me unprofessional.” His hand still rested on your ass.

“You would fire me, doctor? Why fire me when there is so much I could offer?”

“And what is it you would offer me?” he asked, voice thick with meaning. His fingers kneaded the fat of your ass gently. It would have been harder, more possessive, if his hands were at full strength.

Not long ago, getting an erection had been painful, though he’d had several corrective surgeries since then, and the grafting had time to heal. Perhaps the sunlight was sparking him back to life. He was in a flirtatious mood—more excited than you’d seen him in a long time, and you were not about to tell him to slow down.

“Anything you want, doctor.” You lowered yourself in front of his chair, kneeling between his legs and looking up at him expectantly.

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

No one else was in the garden, and statues and shrubberies hid it from the road, but it was not entirely private. Anyone could walk in or see from a window of the tall buildings. You were just pretending. You weren’t going to slip his cock out right there and suck it for all the world to see. And yet… it had been so long. The thought of your moist lips closing over his lonely, aching hardness, your head bobbing in his lap…

“You… are fascinated with me, nurse,” he observed, licking his non-lips. His composure was holding, but barely. “You have seen many patients, but never one as badly burned, have you?”

“No.”

“Does it excite you?”

You took a moment before answering. Part of him resented you for still finding him attractive. At his lowest, he even blamed you for wanting these brutal injuries to happen. A bird sang a few metallic notes on a nearby branch before fluttering down to drink from the fountain. You stroked the top of his narrow thighs, careful not to push too far by going near his cock, but he showed no sign of hesitation today. The heat in his eyes as he watched you was not accusing, but hungry.

“Yes,” you panted. “You are striking. I’ve never met anyone so strong, so resilient.”

“Do you dream of kissing me? Your most striking patient?”

“Yes.”

The sun beat down hotter, but it was only your own internal temperature rising. The birds seemed to pause in their songs, and the leaves on the trees ceased to flutter.

You had waited so long—was he really asking?

His gloved hand reached down between his legs, and nailless pink fingertips stroked the side of your face thoughtfully a few times. Then he motioned you to get up off your knees, offering his hand as a symbolic gesture only. You put some of your weight on the padded rubber armrest as you stood.

“It will not be pleasant. For either party, I imagine,” he said, breaking character.

“It will be for me.” Your voice was soft.

“I do not know what to do like this. Mash my teeth against your face?”

You laughed a little. It was probably more nuanced than that, but that sounded basically accurate. “We’ll find out together.”

He looked off into the distance, toward the humming road weaving through the city. A warm breeze brought the smell of sea off the harbor: salty, humid, and stagnant with rotted fish and garbage. “The memory of your lips against mine is already fading,” he said. “That memory is all I have left of them. Whatever this will be, it will not feel the same.”

“I know.” You rested a hand on his shoulder. The dark blue polo was informal for his old life, but the woven cotton texture was rich compared to the thin hospital gowns you were used to him wearing. The last kiss you shared with Frederick was preserved behind a glass display case in your memory palace. A new kiss might break the hermetic seal. You could forget what it felt like to kiss him before. But it seemed worth the price to build new memories—a future just as full of love as the past.

He looked up at you like a broken ceramic being pieced back together with gold. His eyes shone with love, but his shoulders were slumped low.

“You may say I’m a slutty nurse for wanting to kiss my patient, but you’re to blame!” you said, playing the game again. “How could I resist your charm? I bet you seduce every nurse—I’m only your latest conquest!”

A smile tugged the corner of his mouth.

“No, my dear,” he purred, grabbing your arm and pulling you down to him until your face was inches from his. “Only you. I only want you.”

“Can I kiss you?”

He breathed in. He nodded.

You leaned the final inch down, and pressed your lips to his teeth.

The Red Dragon’s teeth sunk through flesh and tore deep. Coppery blood flooded his mouth, the taste so metallic and strong it drowned out almost everything else out—the pain, the unnatural tearing, little pops of veins, ligaments, and muscles stretching to their limits before giving up, his own screams. The truth of his face with all its illusions of grandeur was revealed before him: it was just meat. Nothing but raw, shredded meat.

“NO!” he screamed, and pushed you hard.

It was different than the peevish denials other times you’d tried to kiss. He pushed you away with so much force you staggered backward, and his wheelchair nearly tipped over. It reared on two wheels like a panicked horse and would have fallen except the worn brake gave way, and he shot backward several feet until the vacant bench stopped the chair’s momentum.

“No, no! Get away! No!” he begged no one, shaking and thrashing so violently he risked ripping his healing scars.

His back, legs, and arms were glued to the wheelchair, and he couldn’t escape. No—could have if he were desperate enough, strong enough. But he was terrified of ripping his skin off. The thought made him break out in a cold sweat and made it difficult to think straight. Dear god, he was afraid something happened to his back. Of being disfigured again.

He was afraid to die, but he dreaded even more the thought of surviving yet again to find another piece taken from him.

Not another. Not again.

If he cooperated, he had to be spared this time. He would cooperate. Do everything The Red Dragon said, and fate would be merciful. He had to go home. He had to go home. To see you again. It was not fair that he survived two attempts on his life only to die here. It was not fair! He was going to get married to the love of his life. Things were finally going right. The Dragon’s shadow fell over him. The acrid stench of his breath as he leaned down toward Frederick’s mouth—

“Frederick!”

You ran after him and tried to restrain him before he climbed out of the wheelchair and fell to the pavement, but it only made him struggle harder. Fuck. You weren’t sure if touching him again was a good idea, but you didn’t know what else to do. He was going to hurt himself.

“Shh, I’m here.”

Crouching next to him, you tried to keep him seated, murmuring soft, reassuring words. Eventually, he stopped thrashing to escape, his jerking limbs resigning themselves to passive trembling. His eyes were open, but they didn’t see you. They didn’t see anything but a dark room with a flickering projector.

You laid your head on his lap. “I’m right here. It’s OK. You’re safe, Frederick. You’re safe. Shh, shh...”

It took several minutes, but his breathing began to slow, and he began to calm down. His fingers found your hair and stroked it, mindlessly running over the contour of your scalp. Familiarity. Recognizing you, he grasped at your shirt to draw you closer, clutching you like a teddy bear to his chest. It was an awkward angle, but you shifted so your butt was partially supported by the bench he’d crashed into, and used the chair’s armrest to hold yourself in the bent position. Frankly, even if every muscle in your body cramped up, you weren’t going to leave him as long as he needed to hold onto you.

Finally, he whimpered your name and asked what happened.

“I… kissed you. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.”

He sniffed and wiped his face, which he discovered was soaked with tears, and looked off into the trees. You sat back onto the bench, straightening your crooked spine, but keeping a firm hold on his hand, staying close as he returned to reality. He would be embarrassed. Add this to the growing list of Ways Frederick Chilton is Broken and Useless. But for now, the humiliation was dulled by the fact that he was not in that room again, with the projector flickering. You stayed that way for a while, sitting in the dappled shade of the garden and the warm breeze, the fountain burbling a constant, relaxing, tuneless song.

“The last man to bring his lips to mine bit them off.”

“I’m so sorry, Frederick. I shouldn’t have been so stupid...”

He squeezed your hand. Straightened up in his chair. “I heard the FBI has the video. Have you watched it?”

You shook your head, then quickly added, “No,” aloud, knowing his vision was poor and still focused on the tree branches swaying and morphing in the wind. Jack Crawford had offered, but you didn’t want to see it. You couldn’t bear to.

It had been hard enough hearing him describe how Francis Dolarhyde glued him naked to his grandmother’s wheelchair and made him watch macabre home movies of the families he had slaughtered. His voice was too calm, too distant from the memory as he dictated graphic details for the Journal of Psychology, desperate to tell his story, grab his fame before he died.

You should have known how your mouth coming at his would make him feel. You were so caught up in your romantic imaginings, you forgot how kiss-like that moment of horror must have been, just before the pain.

The nightmare his life had been for months already, and would continue to be. The scar tissue that wouldn’t fully mature for two years. Two years wearing a compression suit to help them heal. Years of follow-up procedures so that he can continue to move. To breathe. To hear. Longer until he could get a new face. His entire life altered forever.

It started with a kiss.

“We don’t have to kiss. I should never have pushed you to,” you apologized, wincing preemptively.

You expected him to be angry. To sarcastically tell you, “Now you decide we don’t have to? Now that it is too late? What fine timing.”

“I am not weak,” he bristled instead, but his agitation only spanned the length of a breath. He squeezed your hand softly, and pulled you halfway into his chair to wrap his arms around your waist and back. “I did not think that would happen either,” he spoke comfortingly into your hair. “Attempting it for the first time in a wheelchair was a mistake. I should have been more aware of that, but I grow tired of not being able to show my affection. You are not the only one impatient for my recovery, darling. I want to try again.”

“Now?” You pulled back, widening your eyes at him.

“No,” he said plainly. “I think not.”

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

@beccabarba / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind / @neely1177 / @onerestein / @dreamlover31 / @isvvc-pvscvl / @shroomiehomie / @storiesofsvu / @welcometothemxdhouse / @feedthemadness-sweetie / @law-nerd105 / @amelia-song-pond / @michael-rooker / @xecq / @madpanda75 / @alwaysachorusgirl / @bananas-pajamas / @leanor-min / @mad-girl-without-a-box / @katierpblogg / @worldofvixen / @sassyada / @barbingchilton

#Frederick Chilton x reader #my writing

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melanielocke · 3 years

Text

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 28

AO3

Taglist: @alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised@alastair-appreciation-month

Previous Chapter: Chapter 27

Next Chapter: Chapter 29

Ultimately, Thomas had to admit there was no way he was getting back to his bedroom without help, and his father drove him even though it was usually close enough to walk. Alastair and Lucie were still there, in conversation with Barbara, but Thomas barely had the strenght to stand up, much less join the conversation, so he only kissed Alastair quickly and went to bed. He would have a conversation with his parents about their protectiveness tomorrow, he told himself.

He slept restlessly that night. He dreamt of the land in between, of the dark ruins and the castle they would become. At some point the dream became increasingly weirder as he ended up running from an army of evil socks. It took a few moments when he woke up to realize that it was a dream, there were no socks attacking him. How did an army of socks even make sense?

He was drenched in sweat and felt disgusting. Part of him wanted to get out of bed to shower and clean up, but that also sounded like a lot of effort and Thomas didn’t feel like he had the strenght to do much more than move from his bed to the couch. Part of him considered just staying in bed, but bed was too wet and gross. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to sweat this much, he never sweat much when he worked out.

He managed to find a towel to dry off with and a clean pajama to change into, and went to the living room carrying two plush owls. After boiling some water and making tea, Thomas collapsed onto the couch. That appeared to be enough exercise for today.

It wasn’t much later when his parents came into the living room, and Thomas braced him for the inevitable worry.

‘How are you feeling, Tommy?’ his mother asked.

He could lie and say he was feeling better, but he also didn’t think he’d be able to get off the couch. They’d see through him anyway.

‘Like a wet towel,’ Thomas said.

Sophie picked up the thermometer and said down next to him.

‘I can take my own temperature,’ Thomas said, a bit more harsh than he’d intended.

His mother looked hurt, although she tried to conceal it. Thomas was adept at looking behind the masks people put on, or perhaps he just was more sensitive to the parts of someone’s body language other people didn’t think about. This would have been a lot easier if he didn’t notice how he made his mother feel.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s just that… I don’t like being taken care of. I don’t like being treated as if I’m helpless.’

‘But you are sick,’ his mother said, a bit unsure. ‘You don’t have to do everything by yourself.’

‘I know,’ Thomas said. ‘But I’ve been sick so often and it just hurts so much. I feel like I’m that sick child again.’

‘I never realized you felt that way,’ his mother said, thermometer in her hand, not sure what to do with it. ‘Of course you can take your own temperature. But you can’t do anything on your own, Tom, especially not now.’

‘I know,’ Thomas said. ‘I hate that, I always have. I know you all had to make changes for me, but I never wanted that. And I know that’s not your fault or mine or anyone’s, but I hated being a burden.’

His mother cupped his cheek with her hand. ‘You could never be a burden, Tommy. But why didn’t you tell us you felt that way? I know we can be protective, and there were certainly times where we had to call back your sisters, but we never realized it bothered you.’

‘I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, or anyone else’s,’ Thomas said.

Perhaps the main reason he and Matthew weren’t as close as they used to be was that Matthew was naturally inclined to take care of other people. And sure, that was sweet, and not a bad characteristic at all, but it did clash with Thomas’ need for independence.

His mother took his hand. ‘You know you can tell us everything, right? I never meant to hurt you, I just want to protect you.’

‘I don’t need to be protected,’ Thomas said. ‘I know I’m sick right now, but it’s always like this. And I understand, I know you’re worried, and I know how exhausting and terrifying it was to take me to all those different doctors when none of them could tell you what was wrong with me. But that passed, and I grew up. I’m not a sick child anymore.’

Thomas put the thermometer in his ear, and took it out when it beeped to read it. ‘39,5,’ he said. ‘That’s worse than yesterday.’

‘Maybe we should take you to see a doctor,’ Sophie suggested.

‘They’ll just tell you I have the flu and need rest,’ Thomas said. ‘Or if this is something supernatural, there won’t be much a doctor can do. If anything, Jem can take a look and see if I need to go to the hospital, right?’

‘Of course,’ his mother said. ‘I’m just scared. I hope you understand that.’

‘I do,’ Thomas said. ‘I know, I’m scared too. But I think I’d prefer if you just left me. I know I can’t do everything myself, I could barely get from my bed to the couch. But if I need anything, I’ll ask.’

‘Alright. You ask what you need for. But don’t be afraid to ask, I know you prefer to solve everything by yourself and sometimes you can’t. Do you want anything for breakfast?’

‘I have no appetite whatsoever,’ Thomas said.

‘I can make you some soup if you want,’ his mother suggested. ‘It is important that you eat and drink as much as you can.’

‘Maybe later,’ Thomas said as he attempted to drink his tea.

He was a bit dehydrated, he guessed, which was no surprise. He was so cold and shivering, maybe tea would help him get a little warm again.

‘Do you have another blanket?’ Thomas asked when he’d found a comfortable position on the couch.

He was still cold, his teeth clattering, and he wasn’t exactly comfortable. He found the box of paracetamol on the table where he’d left it and swallowed two, hoping that would lower the fever a bit, but so far no success.

His mother returned with another blanket and a wet towel. Thomas gratefully put the blanket over his feet. It was one of the disadvantages to being so tall, he always needed longer blankets, a longer bed, everything. It was all very inconvenient. He put the wet towel in his neck, and wiped off his forehead a little.

‘You’re not feeling any better, are you Tom?’ his father asked.

‘Not really,’ Thomas said.

‘Lucie just called. She and Cordelia want to go after Tatiana. Will and Tessa are going with them, at least they need someone to drive them. Would you be alright if I went with them? It is probably silly of me, but Tatiana is still my sister and I think there’s a part of me that hopes she is not lost.’

‘I understand,’ Thomas said. ‘If Babs or Genie did something like this I would try everything to get them back. Although I really can’t picture either of them doing this.’

‘Me neither. But I guess I felt the same about Tatiana. She was always very well behaved as a child, she could be sweet even. Eager to please father. I know Gabriel has completely given up on her, but I can’t. I will only go if that’s alright with you though. If you need me here, I’ll stay.’

‘Mom will still be here, won’t she?’

‘Yes, and Alastair and Jem are staying too. They think it’s best at least one person who knows how to wield a weapon stays here with you, and I don’t think Alastair wanted to leave your side either.’

‘I hope he doesn’t worry too much,’ Thomas said quietly.

‘We all worry,’ Gideon responded. ‘He’s a sweet guy, it’s obvious you two like each other very much. And he and Jem are on their way here. We’ll keep in touch.’

His father hugged him, and Thomas noticed there were tears in his eyes. If they failed, then this might be the last time he saw his father, Thomas realized. If they failed, he would die, probably within days. It still confused him, how Jesse had been sick but had died of getting lost, but Thomas was about to die of this sickness. Or did the thief have any more surprises?

‘I love you, Tom. Please don’t die.’

***

Lucie woke up early in the morning to start working with the locket. Barbara remembered everything now. It had taken some work from both her and Alastair and even now Lucie was still tired from using so much power. She could command someone to live, but only for a couple of hours at most. It wasn’t the same as resurrecting someone, she couldn’t bring someone back from the dead, but she could make them experience what it was to live again. It was not the same as simply making someone visible, it was much more than visibility. It was also exhausting and she could only do it so often.

Lucie herself hadn’t seen the memories, she couldn’t keep Barbara in a state of living and follow Alastair into the memory at the same time. Alastair was the only one who had seen the but he’d shared everything that was important. They had a better grasp of who the thief was now. Her mother was still working on her memory, and Lucie wasn’t sure why Barbara’s entire memory had come back when her mother still only remembered bits and pieces.

Barbara had been a servant of sorts in the palace. He mainly chose women he considered attractive for those positions, it seemed, and she’d overheard some conversations he’d had with more powerful souls while sweeping the floor. Everything combined, they’d concluded some souls could work their way up in his realm, and they’d concluded the thief had been mortal once and therefore could be killed. They’d gotten an idea of his power, and Lucie began to suspect it was much like her own magic, even if he was still far more powerful. It made sense that she was his granddaughter. He had the power of shapeshifting too, something Lucie didn’t think she could do, but something her mother used to do. Before she lost her magic. Lucie wondered if there was any way she could get it back.

If anyone could stop him, it was them. Cordelia’s sword, Lucie’s magic, those were weapons he couldn’t have that much experience with, right? Tessa might have only been able to seal him, but Lucie suspected her power was different from her mother’s even if it was similar. And Tessa had been on her own.

Alastair hadn’t found any information of other people trying to fight or stop him. He had figured out the thief was immortal, but not invulnerable, and although they weren’t absolutely sure, they suspected cortana would hurt him.

‘The trickiest part would be to find him,’ Alastair had said. ‘But I’ve seen quite a bit of the realm now, maybe I could.’

But Thomas had gotten even sicker, and therefore Tatiana would need to be found first. That was the plan. Find Tatiana, stop or at least slow down her plan so Thomas wouldn’t die, and then enter the realm of the thief to kill him. The only missing piece of information was where to find him, but Lucie’s best guess would be the ruins, except as a full castle in his own realm.

Lucie turned the locket around in her hand. It was pretty, she guessed. She knew it was supposed to open, but she couldn’t figure out her way around the lock. Somehow it seemed sealed shut.

She would need to get it to work before they could find Tatiana. Jesse had written something about how only she could make it work. Had he made this thing himself, or had Tatiana? But then why would she be able to use it? Lucie concluded it had to have something to do with her power.

‘Any progress?’ Cordelia asked as she came downstairs, dressed for battle?

Her hair was a bit messy still, braided, but not well and strands were falling out of her braid. She was wearing a loose brown tunic that was tucked at the waist over black leggings, clothes she could move in even if they did not offer much protection. Not that other clothes would, they didn’t exactly have armor lying around.

‘Not yet,’ Lucie said. ‘What did you do to your hair?’

‘I prefer to have it out of my face, but this looks like nothing. I hate to admit it but I cannot braid my own hair,’ Cordelia said.

‘Doing your own hair is harder than someone else’s,’ Lucie said. ‘Come here, I’ll fix it.’

Lucie undid Cordelia’s braid, and then went to find several hairbrushes, hairpins and elastic bands. Instead, she braided Cordelia’s hair into a crown shape, using pins to keep everything in place, finishing with some hair spray.

‘You won’t worry about your hair getting in your face now,’ Lucie said.

‘Good. It looks nice, I like it. Have you figured out how to summon Jesse?’

‘I think I’m supposed to open the locket,’ Lucie said. ‘But I can’t. You’re stronger than me, can you try?’

Cordelia carefully pulled at the locket, but it wouldn’t budge. ‘Didn’t Jesse’s note say you had to open it?’

‘Yes, but I’m not sure how. I’ve tried asking it to open, but that didn’t work. I’m considering traveling to the land in between and trying it there but that would mean I’d bring Jesse back there.’

Cordelia gazed at the ceiling, something she and her brother often did when they were thinking. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t ask the locket. Maybe you should ask a ghost.’

‘A ghost?’

‘If only a ghost can use it, then you’re the only living person who can use it. At least around here.’

‘Perhaps. It’s worth a try. But if that’s how it works, Jesse really should have been less vague.’

‘He could have been scared Tatiana would find it. Assuming she doesn’t know how it works or how to use it. Or that Jesse changed something so that only a ghost could open it.’

Lucie wasn’t sure what to think of any of these explanations, all she knew was she was getting tired of all these vague explanations where she had to figure everything out on her own.

She found Jessamine in the bathroom upstairs, looking at herself in the mirror and doing something with her hair. What it was, Lucie couldn’t tell, it looked the same as always.

‘Jess, can you help me with something?’ Lucie asked.

‘What do you need?’ Jessamine asked.

‘Please open this locket for me,’ Lucie said, handing Jessamine the locket.

Jessamine pulled at the edges and without too much effort the locket opened. Jesse appeared by her side.

‘So you did find the locket,’ Jesse said. ‘I’m not sure how much time we have. My mother moved. A part of the ritual needed to be done in Thomas’ proximity, but she’s past that now. She’s currently in a hotel in Inverness, and I can give you an address and room number. That’s where she has set up everything to complete the ritual. If you do nothing, the exchange will be complete at midnight.’

Jesse wrote down the address on a piece of paper and Lucie wondered if he could only do that because he was near her, or if that was how much stronger he’d become.

Lucie frowned. ‘Why do you not wish to save yourself?’

‘I never wanted anyone to die for me,’ Jesse said. ‘So many died. That boy in the lake. The thief asked my mother for a gifted child and she decided to try if she could drown a boy who was a competitive swimmer. I don’t know how many before that. I don’t want to bear that guilt. I just want to move on and forget about this life. I’ve always liked the idea of reincarnation. So many lives cut short, it’s nice to think I might have another chance. I would choose that over continuing the life I lost.’

Lucie understood. She would never wish for someone else to die so she could live. She just wished there was a way to save both Jesse and Thomas, but even with her power she couldn’t bring people back from the dead.

‘How do we stop her?’ Lucie asked.

‘Tatiana has to be the one to cast the spell. That’s why she hid from you, so she could speak the incantations to bring me back and kill Thomas from a safe place. She said he’s fallen ill due to her progression, is that true?’

Lucie nodded. ‘He has a fever and seems to be getting worse.’

‘When my mother finishes the incantation at midnight, Thomas will die. The spell requires that it is done just before midnight in this world, so if you stop her but she escapes, you’ll buy yourself at least a day. But in the end, you’ll want to stop her for good.’

‘Can we do that without killing her?’ Lucie asked.

‘Only if you destroy the thief,’ Jesse said. ‘But if you keep her a prisoner until you do that you’ll have the time you need. If you can, please don’t hurt her. I know what she did is awful, but she’s still my mother.’

Lucie nodded, she suspected Gideon wouldn’t want them to hurt his sister either if there was a way to stop it. Abducting her seemed like a decent solution, if they could make sure she was unable to finish the incantation then at the very least Thomas would not die.

‘So if we stop her, then things will remain as they are?’ Lucie asked.

‘I think so, yes,’ Jesse said. ‘I’ve grown so much stronger the past day, but I am not yet alive. I think Thomas will not die, but he won’t get better either until you find a more permanent solution. And Lucie, I am yours to command if you need me.’

Jesse began to flicker. ‘I need to return. My mother will find me missing. You’ll have to hurry, it is a long drive to Inverness.’

Jesse disappeared. A drive, which meant they’d need at least one person with a license to come with them. Lucie and Cordelia were both too young to drive. Lucie returned to the living room, where her parents, uncle Jem, and Alastair and Cordelia were discussing strategies.

‘I found out where Tatiana is,’ Lucie said. ‘Jesse gave me an address. It’s a drive of several hours and we’ll need to be there by midnight as that’s when Thomas will die if we don’t stop Tatiana. However, if we stop her from speaking the incantation, then the whole thing will be postponed until she does say them before midnight.’

‘So if we abduct her, that will buy us time,’ Alastair concluded. ‘But it will not end the whole thing?’

‘No, Jesse didn’t think so,’ Lucie said. ‘Either way, we have no time to lose and need at least one person to drive. Who is coming?’

‘We’ll need at least one person who can fight to stay behind,’ Alastair said. ‘In case it is a trick, in case something will come for Thomas and it’s not the sickness that will kill him.’

Lucie suspected Alastair did not want to leave Thomas. They hadn’t been together long, but they’d fallen into couple mode quite easily, with Alastair staying by Thomas’ side as much as he could.

‘You’re not coming with us, then?’ Cordelia asked.

Alastair refused to look her in the eye. Lucie had noticed it was something he struggled with, especially when things got too stressful.

‘I think it is best if I stay with Thomas,’ Alastair said.

Cordelia frowned, tried to find her brother’s gaze. ‘Alright,’ she said. ‘I trust you know what’s best.’

‘I’ll stay too,’ Jem said. ‘It’s been too long since I’ve fought anything, but I hope I can help take care of Thomas.’

‘I’ll drive,’ Will offered. ‘I’m sure Gideon will want to come, although I don’t think he’ll be able to reason with his sister anymore.’

‘I’m not letting you go alone,’ Tessa said.

‘You’re not letting me?’ Will asked.

‘I know how reckless you get. You haven’t changed that much since we met,’ Tessa said. ‘And Lucie is not much different. I’ll need to come to keep you all in check. Besides, I stopped the thief once. I’m starting to remember how I did it, even if it wasn’t enough in the end.’

Lucie worried about her parents coming, they did not have any special powers and were out of practice with their weapons, but she had to agree her mother was a bit more level headed.

‘You can borrow a dagger if you want,’ Alastair told Will. ‘Lucie has one already, and Cordelia has cortana, but I think it is wise to bring something so you can defend yourself. Just be quick about it, Inverness is a long drive and you only have until midnight.’

#Thomas Lightwood #Lucie Herondale #Alastair Carstairs #Cordelia Carstairs #Thomastair #Lucelia #the last hours #tlh #fanfiction

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