#and like the way i stim with my blanket is slowly slowly slowly ripping it apart so one day it might no longer be a lump of fabric

[boomerang109]

i think the main thing id tell my child self is that most things that feel forever are not, that it really is going to be okay. and my baby blanket? that is forever. i brought blankie to college and now i know it brings me so much joy and relief because im doing something called stimming and being an “adult” or having roommates doesn’t have to take that away

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I’m Here

CW: Negative stimming including stimming resulting in self-injury, pet whump, death of parents, grief, ableism, past noncon references, r*pe survivor having severe PTSD flashbacks, memory of shock collars, derogatory language, dehumanization, meltdown/panic attack, whump of a minor referenced repeatedly. 

This is Chris in a very dark place - stay safe.

Directly follows Found Out, Akio, and Chris Sees.

Come on, 223499-

I'm Tristan! My, my, my name is Tristan, Tristan H-Higgs and I l, I, I live at-... but, um, no, no, at my, my my aunt's ap, apartment now-

Tristan Higgs is a fucking corpse, kid. You don't have a name anymore.

No, I'm, my, my name is, is, is-is-

 Your name is for your prospective to choose. Now let me show you how we shut you up.

 The boy is screaming, twisting, writhing in pain on the floor, clawing at the black collar around his neck, desperate to somehow escape it, but there isn’t any way out. He digs his fingernails down his skin but it’s still there, the collar never leaves, you’re only safe with your collar on, no wait that hadn’t happened yet-

Oh, that’s nice. Time for the Drip for you. 

N-no, no-

Welcome home, 223499.

M-my name is, is, is Tristan-

Chris slams the door on his way into the bathroom, locks it behind him, sweeps everything off the counter with a crash, plastic bottles of soap bouncing, a toothpaste container clicking against the tile, the toothbrush holder shattering and sending shards of ceramic pale on one side and rainbow-painted on the other everywhere. He stares at them clicking over the floor before they stop, some of them skimming the tile all the way to the wall. 

Inside his head, there is a cry, bubbling up behind the wall that his life has been hidden behind, deep inside the cold pale light that all the worst things drown in. 

Beneath the Drip, the needle in his arm, beneath the pain, the fear, the hands that moved over him and the bodies that moved inside him and the voice in his ear whispering, pet, pet, pet until he was one, until he wasn’t anything else any longer, until he was ready to be overwritten.

My, my, my name is Tristan Higgs, my name is, is, is Tristan, my name is-

Didn’t I tell you Tristan Higgs is dead, trainee? All that’s left of you is my pretty little whore. You wanted it so bad you signed up for this. Now get on your knees and show your handler some respect.

No, pl-please, please I don’t-, I, I, I don’t want to, I-

What you want doesn’t matter anymore, 223499. 

Please-

What you want is irrelevant, trainee. Now let me show you what I want.

Inside his head there is a boy, screaming, his wrists forced down by larger hands, body rocked in a rhythm of terrible pain while a stranger who will be his entire world whispers in his ear, I paid extra for this and you did not disappoint, darlin’.

There’s a boy alone in a white room, painting with his own blood on pristine white walls, just to see color, just to see something, anything, that isn’t nothing at all. There’s a boy, alone, whispering apologies to the parents he is losing, their memories slip-sliding under the surface until they are gone.

There is a boy, screaming.

Chris screams with him, their voices in tandem, in echo, but it's the same voice, and the scream was always him, always Tristan Higgs inside him, buried beneath it all.

Chris screams until his throat is raw, bashes his hands into the mirror until it rattles under his fists, rocks forward to knock his head into it. Again, and again, and again, rattling it inside the frame, trying to force a break. The chaos inside him is too much, too strong, and at the center of the train tracks is her face, always her face, her hands, her lips moving and fighting to speak, her face. 

 I love you, baby, I l-love you, it's okay, it's okay-

 Mom, please, pl-... please, no, no no no, I’m, I’m s-sorry, I’m so so sorry, I’m, I’m sorry-

 Sssshhh, baby, it’s-... it’s okay, it’ll b-be okay, Tris, Mommy loves you, h-honey, Mommy-... loves you s-so much-... Her eyes shining like marbles, her blood on the wall, burbling from her chest as she fought and fought to breathe and then she stopped and her eyes, her eyes stayed open…

 He laid with her and she was so cold and no one came to help him and no one came and they were both so cold and he stayed with them all night, wailing into her shirt soaked in blood, into his side, laid down between them and tried to keep them warm with blankets but they were gone and it didn’t matter and it was-

 If it weren’t for you, she’d still be alive.

 His aunt looks at him with hate or stares through him and there’s no routine and there’s no therapy and Aki is gone and his phone is gone and he hurts himself desperately just to feel something other than the chaos and the noise and the cracking, shrieking angry pain inside him, the guilt the blame the hate and oh, how he hates himself for not staying still the one time it counted and no one is coming and no one loves him anymore because they’re gone and his aunt doesn’t love him because he should never have been born-

 If he weren’t born she’d still be alive-

 "It's not okay!" He screams again, tearing at his hair, clawing at his arms, dragging deep red welts down on each side, trying to dig the pain out from inside of him. “It’s not okay, it’s, it’s, it’s not, it’s, it’s not, not, not, not-not-not, not okay, not-”

 Please, pl-please, let, let, let me go-

 Told you to stop rocking, didn’t I? You did this to yourself. Be still, statue boy.

 Pl-please, I, I don’t know how-

 You’ll learn.

 His head snaps to the side with the imagined memory of a slap to the face, his breath catches with the pale shade of the shock collar lighting him up, nerves sparking shrieking agony, the needle in his arm, it's in his arm again this isn’t freedom he’s just gone crazy from drugs again and he’s on the Drip again and he was never not on the Drip he was, was never free no one saved him no one is coming-

 He rocks forward, again and again, banging his head into the mirror until there's blood, until it cracks, bad luck for seven years, Tris, sucks to be us, and they laughed, the two of them, carefully picking the shards up to put in the wastebin and Aki grinned at him, unbothered, because his mom would probably forgive them and it wasn’t a big deal-

 Let’s, let’s, let’s make up a, a routine, Aki, yeah?

 Yeah, sure, but can we like… be normal teenagers for a half-hour first?

 Um, how, how do we-

 I thought we might start by watching TV and not doing our homework. You know, get crazy with it. Maybe even go super crazy and eat leftover pizza.

 Chris's lips curl back from his teeth and he stares at himself in the mirror, his wide green eyes and pale eyebrows that darkened a little with age, blue hair that hangs around his face, frames the lines of his cheekbones. The gash along his forehead where he hit the mirror hard enough to open it, bright red blood welling up and slowly seeping out.

 He lifts one hand, pressing his fingertips to the crack in the mirror that matches the cut in his forehead. There’s a little bit of blood there, and it smears under his fingers. For a second, he’s fascinated by it, the liquid that slips along, ripples his reflection.

 It doesn’t feel like part of him. It’s just something he can control, when he can’t control anything else.

 Behind him, the doorknob rattles, but Chris barely notices. “Chris?” It’s Jake’s voice, and Chris swallows, ignores the push, the urge, to let him in. Instead he keeps looking at himself, tries to see the boy inside his head, the boy in the room, under the men, the boy screaming in his head while his mouth learned to say all the words they wanted.. 

 Come here, pretty-... oh, look at you, so full of tears for me, hm? 

 On your back, gorgeous boy.

 On your knees, pretty pet.

 What you want doesn’t matter anymore.

 No isn’t an option for you any longer.

 Don’t I always give you options, pretty thing? You can choose to be good, my good little slut, or…

 “You, you, you can choose pain,” Chris whispers, finishing the sentence that started in his handler’s voice, in his mind. “Too, too, too… pretty to, to be for anything else. Too pretty… too, too pretty for, for, for…”

 He nails the dismount for the first time on the the bars, his body does exactly what he wants, and he looks up to see his mom cheering for him, and he jumps up and down, hands moving, rocking with his happiness, and his team cheers for him, and his scores are really good so he can go to state and he’s so happy-

 He’s so happy-

 She’s so proud of him-

 There’s a hand in his hair, jerking his head back to look up at his Sir, who smiles down at him, and Tristan can barely see him through his tears. He’s tied down and he can’t escape and he doesn’t know it’s his Sir, yet, he was still Tristan then but his Sir’s hand is in his hair and he whispers, God, I love that you came already flexible for me, sweetheart…

 Please, n-no, please, I don’t want, want this, please, I-I-I don’t, I, I-... I need h-help, I didn’t… sign, yet, please call, call, call the the the-the cops-

 Sssshhh. Sir’s finger to his lips, and he didn’t dare bite, even then. Hands on his wrists, forcing them down against the table. His back arches, trying to get away, and his Sir laughs at him, low soft chuckle, and boy weeps, turning his head to the side. You’re going to be perfect, sweet boy, I can already tell.

 No, no, no no no, no, pl-please don’t, please, please, no, no, g-god, oh oh oh god, oh god, no-

 I paid extra for this, and you did not disappoint.

 The pain, when it comes, is blinding and never-ending and Tristan Higgs is screaming. 

No one cares.

No one will come to save him.

 Chris groans, pulling at his hair, trying to rip it out by the roots to settle his jangling shrieking nerves, scratching his fingernails down his cheeks as deep sa he can, smacking his hands again and again into the broken mirror, shrieking at the pretty face split apart by the cracks. A piece of the mirror falls out into the sink, and Jake is still talking, trying to open the door, but Chris isn’t listening.

 He can’t hear Jake over the sound of his own mind turning against him, spitting memories he’d thought were gone, but no, dead things don’t always decay, sometimes they just wait to come back and tear out your throat and show you how it’s all your fault.

 What about you, Tris? Mrs. Nakamura’s voice is gently teasing, soft and unassuming. She’s sitting with a book in a soft cozy chair somewhere with nice warm lights, and everyone watches Tristan’s hands move to tap on himself without judgement, without shame. We all know Aki can’t take his eyes off of that pretty Nicole girl-

 Mom. No. Please, please do not talk about this. Oh my god. She’s just my teammate!

 I’m just being silly, Aki. 

 It’s, um, it’s okay, Mrs. Na, na, Nakamura. I’m just-... nobody for, for, for me, right now. Tristan’s face is red, he’s blushing, and he hasn’t really thought about it much, beyond just thinking everyone is pretty, but he hasn’t told his mom yet, and-

 Oh, well, maybe later. You two are so busy getting ready for state, anyway. 

 He can hear Jake back on the stairs, now, thumping down them and away, and Chris’s hands move rapidly over the sink and counter, avoiding the bits of shattered mirror. He’s standing in ceramic but he doesn’t notice, he doesn’t care. His body doesn’t belong to him, anyway, his body belongs to his handler his owner his rescuer his anyone but him it’s not his it’s not his body, they took his body and he doesn’t get it back…

 He wants his body back.

 He yanks open the drawer, shoving through the disposable shaving razors that Jake buys, the nail-clipping kit he keeps in here, a stupid little comb that he can’t see any use for, rolls of gauze and bandages, tossing them to the floor, until he finds what he’s looking for. 

 A pair of scissors, used mostly for gauze and bandages, big shining metal scissors that weigh heavy in his hands.

 Chris stares up at himself in the remaining mirror, pulls a hank of his hair out straight with one hand, and clips right through it with the scissors. He lets out an exhale, and grabs another bit of hair, and does it again.

 Blue drifts down to gather with the broken glass in the sink and on the floor, piling higher and higher as Chris keeps cutting, staring into his eyes and not looking at how even the cut is. He looks at the bloody mess on his forehead-

 Mom, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I, I, I moved, I’m so so sorry, I’m sorry…

 It’s okay, baby-

 Blood on the wall, he stayed there all night and no one came. She was cold, he couldn’t keep her warm all by himself.

 “It’s, it’s not okay,” Chris whispers, and Sir’s hand is heavy on his neck, look at how you ruined yourself since you left me, darlin’, but his Sir can’t stop him because his Sir is dead, too. Everyone who cares for him dies but Jake and Antoni and Laken and maybe they’ll die, too, because of him, because he’s too pretty to be for anything else-

 There’s blood on the featureless white wall and he pulls it through his fingers and it’s something that’s not white, he barely recognizes it as his blood, it’s just bright red and feels good under his fingers, the blood cools and dries so he hits his head and makes more, and more, and more-

 He keeps cutting, until what’s left is a shaggy, unkempt mess, different lengths all over, and all his hard-won long hair is gone. He has wisps that hang over his forehead, little bits that tickle the tops of his ears. He cuts until it’s just little scruffs, barely blue at all. 

 He drops the scissors into the sink on top of the pile of blue hair, runs his hands back through his hair, watches more loose bits drift slowly downward.

 He lifts his hands and takes out his piercings, one by one, dropping them into the sink with the hair, until his ears are bare, too, and his eyebrow. Nothing but a thin narrow face, nothing but freckles that stand out too much, nothing but big eyes and chin. 

 He pulls his shirt off over his head, and then his compression shirt. Takes off his pants and his boxers and then straightens to stare at himself naked in the bit of mirror still left.

 “I, I’m good for you,” He whispers, tilts his head just right, looks up at himself through his eyelashes. His look is warm and liquid and well-trained, a show of desire he’s never once felt. He bites down on his lower lip, just so, hand moving as if to brush a bit of hair back - but the hair he might have touched is gone, it’s in the pile in the sink. 

 The look is ruined by what he’s done.

 Good.

Wide green eyes, yeah, let’s see those eyes nice and empty for me, trainee, but they’re red-rimmed and shadowed, full of pain. His eyelashes - inhuman, unearthly, pretty boy - are barely visible. Freckles that stand out too much, I’m going to kiss every single one until you understand how beautiful you are, Chris, okay? scattered over his nose and the angled cheekbones. Narrow chin, perfect for gripping and moving his head around, smeared with drying blood. Bleeding from the slash across his forehead, running slowly down to stain his pale eyebrow darker, to run into his left eye, what the fuck did you do to yourself, trainee?

 “Not, not a trainee,” Chris whispers. “Not a, a pet. Not Tristan. Not, not, not. I’m, I’m Chris, I made myself, I’m, I’m, I’m, I’m, I’m... I’m I’m Chris, I’m, I’m Christopher fucking Stanton, I’m-... I’m Chris.”

 Big scratches down his cheeks, his neck, bright red welts that might turn to bruises, that he could open into bleeding, he could make himself so ugly no one ever wants him again. “Not, not, not so pretty anymore,” He whispers, and his throat closes up against the words, but it feels good, it feels important. “Not, not, not pretty, now.”

 Not worth dying over, not worth breaking, not worth noticing, not worth taking, not worth buying, not worth rescuing, not worth being arrested for, not worth saving, not pretty enough to hurt, not pretty enough to love. 

 You fucking freak, I don’t know how Ronnie managed to think you were so great, you can barely brush your own teeth.

 How the hell did she love you? You ruined her life.

 If it weren’t for you...

 The door suddenly jolts open, and Chris doesn’t flinch - he doesn’t look back - only stares at himself, rocking slowly forward and back on his toes and heels until his head bumps the cracks in the glass like the cracks inside of him, his hands twisting at the ends of his wrists to smack rhythmically into his sides, his hips, harder and harder, fighting to find the same soothing rush that motions like this normally bring. 

 It’s too loud, inside of him. It’s too much. He can’t stop the trains roaring up out of the light, bringing everything into the darkness where he only wants to hide.

 “Holy shit, Chris,” Jake whispers, standing behind him, eyes wide with shock. “Wh-... why did you… Oh, Chris, no. Oh, no, oh fuck, Chris, you hurt yourself, you haven’t done that since-”

 Chris turns, ceramic crackling underfoot, sharp little spikes of pain in his feet, and looks up into Jake’s eyes. “Tris, Tristan Higgs was pretty,” He says, weakly. “I don’t want to, to, to be pretty anymore.”

 Oh, darlin’, aren’t you just pretty as a picture.

 Open up, 499.

 He’s such a sweet, handsome boy, Ronnie, you’d never know he had, you know...

 You can just say it, you know. It’s not a dirty word. 

 You’re too pretty for anything else, 499, you were always going to be somebody’s slut.

 You want it-

 I, I don’t want to-

 No one gives a fuck what you want.

I don’t, don’t, don’t want to, please-, pl-please, please stop, please please stop touching me-

What do you say, trainee?

I want this. I want you.

Good boy.

 A shudder ripples through him, a memory of pain, long gone but still written over every inch of his body. Broken, and dirty, and used until he forgot how to be anything else. He feels suddenly exhausted, weighed down, too heavy to move. There’s a weight on his chest and every breath takes an effort, takes determination, and he is losing the battle. 

His lip wobbles, and he feels infinitely young, like all the years didn’t happen, and he’s still just Tristan Higgs in the end, ready to be broken, bent, and twisted. 

He looks at Jake, and his brother blurs with tears. “He was, was, was too pretty for an, anything else, I d-don’t want to, to-to-to be pr-pretty like him anymore-... s-so I made, made, made myself uh-ugly-”

 Jake sweeps him up and Chris lets himself be swept. The cry is bubbling up again and he wails into Jake’s shirt, gripping into the fabric and twisting his hands, tears rolling down his cheeks and stinging into the places he scratched himself. He’s pulling, tapping, rocking his bloodied head into Jake’s shoulder, fighting the trains in his mind that aren’t thoughts but memories, each one fighting to be the first to hurt him by coming back to the surface. 

 They crash into each other, into the wall of cold white light. They break through.

 Inside him the boy in the black collar is screaming, the boy in the collar is crying, the boy is laid back on silk sheets and cries tears he has to keep inside his head while his face is smiling and his voice makes all the right sounds, the boy has his wrists and ankles locked down to keep him still, the boy is curled up between his parents waiting for someone to come and nobody is coming, the boy wears a suit in court that itches and he can’t stop shaking his hands and the judge doesn’t like him and the social worker doesn’t like him and the boy is curled up on a bed in a windowless room missing his friends, the boy hits his head and hits himself and the words are gone and the boy is screaming the boy is screaming the boy is screaming-

 Mom, can Tris sleep over tonight?

 Again, Aki? Well, I guess I don’t see any harm. You’ve got half your closet in Aki’s room by now, anyway. Call you mom and ask her, Tris, okay?

 You fucking freak, I wish you had died with your bastard father instead of her.

 I hate you, I, I hate you so, so, so-so much-

 You should hate your fucking self, Tristan.

 I love you, kiddo. It’s you and me, right?

Right, Mom. You, you, you and, and me.

Til your dad comes home, anyway. Can’t wait ‘til he’s working days and we’re not alone at night, huh?

Your prospective will choose your name.

I, I’m a… number. My name is… 223499, Romantic designation, Facility 001. I am a pet and… and… a toy. I am an active par, participant in fulfilling m-my, my, my owner’s desires-

I paid extra and you did not disappoint.

On your knees, gorgeous boy.

I think we’ll play a game, sweetheart.

Show some respect, 223499.

Come here, darlin’.

Good boy

I love you, Tris

Good pet

It’s, it’s okay, it’s-... okay, I l-love you, it’ll be okay-

Good boy

The boy is screaming for help and nobody is coming to save him-

“I’ve got you,” Jake whispers, holding him tightly, and Chris buries himself into the warmth, the familiar scent, the feeling of Jake’s arms is branded deeper than anything else in the world. I will rescue you, I’ll come back to you, Chris, I promise, I’m here.

I want you I love you I’m here.  

“You made Chris, and you’re still Chris. This is just all the shit they took from you, that’s all. It’s okay, you can cry, Chris, go ahead and cry. It’s okay, it’s hard when it comes back, and Kauri and Ant and Laken and I, we’re all here with you.”

Chris sobs in Jake’s arms, bleeding all over his shirt, but Jake doesn’t care. He holds him anyway. There’s a throbbing pain inside his head, but it’s not stronger than the memories, and the cold white light isn’t holding them back like it used to, anymore.

Her face, her hands, the blood coming out of her, the silent house around them. 

Her face.

Her eyes.

She loved him.

Oh, no, did you fall down? Oh, it’s okay, honey, I’m right here, I’ve got you - it’s hard the first time, but we get back up and try again. Here, let Mommy give it a kiss - there, all better, right?

Therapy is rough sometimes, sweetie, but listen - we can do this, together, Tris. We can do the hard stuff if we do it together. D’you want a hug? Yeah, hugs can help make it better, right? That’s what moms do.

I heard the thunder, baby. Go ahead, climb in, I’ve got you, c’mere, I’ll hold you.

I want you I love you I’m here.

I l-love you, it’s okay, it’s okay, I love you, Tris...

“I, I, I don’t want to, to be Tristan Higgs,” Chris cries against Jake’s neck, shoulders shaking, rocking, rocking, rocking in his arms. Jake’s hands are up in what’s left of his hair, feeling the short, chopped strands, rubbing over the nape of his neck, soothing the twisting hurt and fear inside him. “I don’t, I don’t, he, he, he, it was his fault, for, for, for for for moving when he had to, to be still, and I wasn’t, I didn’t do it right, and they, they d-died because of me… I l-loved, I was, they, they, they shot them and-and left me and, and, and no one came, nobody came to help, no, no, no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“I know,” Jake murmurs. “I know. It wasn’t your fault, you were just a kid. It wasn’t your fault, Chris, whatever happened, it-... it wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault. You’re whoever you want to be, Chris, but Tristan is still a part of you, okay? We have to work on making everything integrate, work together, or it’s going to keep hurting. You have to get past the conditioning to forget, or it’s going to… get worse.”

Chris whimpers at the idea that he could feel any worse than this. “I don’t, don’t… don’t want to, to, to to to lose her again,” Chris whispers, shaking his head. “Don’t want to, to lose y-you-”

“Never. You can’t ever lose me, you’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere. Let’s clean up this mess, Laken is probably dying to talk to you-”

“No,” Chris whispers, begs without a voice. “No, not, not them, not… not yet.”

The scream is bubbling up again, the boy in the cold white room is rocking, rocking, rocking with his hands tied behind his back, can’t touch can’t hurt can’t feel can’t think someone help me but nobody is coming except the handler with his smile and his pain and his hands-

“Okay. No problem. Cleaning first. I’m going to bandage you up, and I’ll clean up the mess while you sit and maybe drink some water. But… can we… can we do one thing? Will you let me do one thing?”

“Wh, what?”

“Will you let me fix your hair?”

Chris pulls back a little to look up at Jake, and he smiles faintly back down, sympathetic and loving, and it’s not okay, but Jake is here, so it’s… it’s better than it would be if he were alone. “Um… y, yes, you, you you you, you can fix it.” 

“Okay. I love you, little man. You weren’t supposed to see it so soon, we were going to get you ready, and it’s going to hurt coming back, but I promise… I promise it’s good for you to have it. Okay? Do you trust me, when I say that?”

Chris meets the sincere love in those blue eyes. “I, I trust you.”

He does. But he doesn’t believe him.

It’s okay, baby, it’s, it’s okay…

It’s not, and it never was, but… he remembers her face, at least. He remembers her voice.

He remembers her.

I love you, Tris, I’m so proud of you for doing the hard things, and I’m right here with you. I’ve got you, sweetheart. You and me, right? We can do all the hard shit as long as we do it together.

His fingers twitch, and he buries himself against Jake and sees her eyes full of tears and dying and her chest covered in blood and the blood on the wall and she tells him she loves him and then she doesn’t tell him anything anymore and her body is cold and Tristan curls up between them, blood drying on the wall and no one comes until the sun is shining and the blood is dry but Tristan is still crying-

Chris begins, again, to scream, but this time Jake is holding him, this time someone’s here, this time there’s someone who isn’t leaving, this time he can wail with arms around him and this time he’s not alone.

The boy is Christopher Stanton and he is Tristan Higgs and the boy is screaming and his brother came to help him and his brother is holding him tight.

I love you, Tris. I’m so proud of you.

I’m here, Chris. I’m not going anywhere.

I want you 

I love you 

I’ve got you 

I’m here.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp  , @finder-of-rings  , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly  @newandfiguringitout  , @doveotions  , @pretty-face-breaker  , @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @moose-teeth  , @cubeswhump  , @cupcakes-and-pain  @whump-tr0pes  @whumpiary  @orchidscript

[tomsoffie]

caught in the act | p.p

Pairing: Peter Parker X Avengers!Reader

Summary: staying out past curfew leads to an unexpected fuck

Warnings: SMUT!!!!, dom!peter, foreplay, clit stim, the works ;)

-

It was late, you weren’t sure but you knew it had easily flown past the tower curfew for young adults. Ever since the Corona Virus had broken out across the world, Tony had made it specifically crystal clear that he wanted yourself and Peter home by 8:30pm or 9:00pm at the very latest. That was your curfew. And this wasn't the first time you had broken it. 

You were meant to be home by around seven, but being a teenager and all, the world likes to bring much more interesting things into the life in front of you as if to distract you from responsibilities, and in your case curfews. Now you were stumbling through the tower in the dark, only wearing a midtown hoodie that came just above your knee, no underwear, not even any shoes to accompany it. 

Prayers were so clearly answered as you managed to make it through the lobby and towards the first floor of stairs without the security lights switching on, before sprinting your way to the second floor. 

You were relatively new to the Avengers team, having been a part of the crew for just over a year, but only having moved in three months ago. Therefore, despite Tony’s accusations, you were staying with Peter for the time being. It worked out, you had known each other since the first year of high school and worked pretty good in the playing field, and not to mention being the same age. 

You expected by now Peter would have been asleep, so you were careful to keep your motions quiet and calculated as your hand landed on the door handle to your shared room. It was then until you stopped, hearing what sounded like a pained grunt come from behind the door frame. Of course it wouldn’t have been rare for Peter to come stumbling in late hours of the night after defending the city, another reason as to why Tony had set you both a curfew, so you subsided to noise and flung open the door, ready for a shower and some sleep. 

What you saw after that was completely unexpected. You were waiting to see Peter sitting on his bed, licking away at his wounds while he winced because he hated the sight of blood. But, what you got instead was the rather rare sight of Peter thrashing around trying to pull the bed sheets over his naked body. The lamp from his desk fell to the ground, knocking over what you presumed was a tub of lube in the process while the obscene sounds of the porn video you now realised he was watching echoed out through the room. 

“Y/N, WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“Dude, ssh!” you groaned, shutting the door behind you, “you’re gonna get me caught!”

“I thought you were already asleep!” he whisper yelled, slamming his computer shut and throwing it to the end of the bed. 

“Were you touching yourself?” you asked, feeling a little bad for addressing the elephant in the room, but you knew if you didn’t do it now you wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. 

“...No.”

“You totally were though,” you scoffed, walking over to your side of the room and opening your drawer to get some clothes out.

You could feel Peter’s eyes on you from across the room as he shifted uncomfortably. In a way you felt bad, again, for barging in on him, you knew you wouldn’t exactly be happy if he had done the same to you, but it was that or getting caught by Tony. 

“You’re n-not um, w-wearing anything under that, are you?...” 

His voice caught you off guard a little, eyes drifting from the neat pile of clothes in your draw to his dark eyes that stared you down from across the room. 

“No, actually,” you giggled, “don’t go skinny dipping with people who you know will steal your clothes I guess” you shrugged, returning your attention back to picking out an outfit for after your shower. 

“I’m heading in the shower in a second so you can do your thing.” you gestured towards him with your spare hand while the other closed your drawer. 

Peter was still staring at you, hadn’t even blinked since you walked in and you were beginning to wonder whether he was okay or not. You paused in your tracks, tilting your head slightly. 

“You alright there, Parker?” 

“Y-yeah uh... Just wasn’t expecting you to actually n-not be wearing anything” he coughed lightly, shifting uncomfortably in the sheets. You cocked your brow, a striking idea entering your head, although risky, it still seemed fun. 

Dropping your clothes down on the floor, you grabbed the hem of the jumper and swiftly pulled it up and over your head, tossing it down to join the clothes on the floor. 

“Y/N, whoa, what the fuck?!” Peter cursed, covering his eyes with one hand. 

“Drop the act Peter we all know you wanna see what’s underneath” your tone had dropped dramatically in pace and he could feel by the way the atmosphere changed that you were standing inches away from him. He didn’t respond for a moment, so in an act of encouragement you softly placed your hand over his and helped his eyes come back into view. 

Peter was already hard under the cover of the blanket, but seeing you bare chested right in front of him only made him grow to a painstaking extent. He knew you were gorgeous but seeing you like this, this was something else entirely. Your nipples were beautiful, carefully perked from the cool breeze of the open window, breasts full and round. 

Peter didn’t realise he was practically drooling until your hand came up to shut his jaw, “careful, you’ll catch flies” you smirked, before turning and walking off towards the bathroom. Peter couldn’t let you go now, not with the ideas you’d put in his head. 

In a flash you felt your body being jerked backwards, a firm hand on your wrist while the head of anthers skin pressed up against your back. You could feel the raging heat of his cock touching your back, sending icy shivers up your spine. 

“Leaving so soon? After teasing me? I don’t think so, princess” His tone had changed dramatically, deep and rough as his hands slid to your front, dropping between your legs to feel your clit pulse under the pressure of his finger. 

“Fuck, Peter,” you sighed, knees weakening under the feeling of his hands being so dirty in your honour. 

“You like that?” he asked, although rhetorical, only continuing to go with his better judgement. He held you close with the hand against your heat while the other slowly guided you back towards his bed, your knees giving way as they met their end and you collapsed into his lap. 

The pressure caused him to whimper involuntarily, but quickly shifted back to being completely in control as he slid a finger down between your already soaked folds to slide it right inside you, causing you to jolt in his lap.

He had you pinned down against his warm skin, pressed his nose against your ear so you could hear him crystal clear when he said, “God you’re already so wet for me, I wanna hear everything, princess, make those pretty noises for me.” 

“God, fuck- Peter!” you moaned as he invited another finger inside, pumping them deliciously in and out hitting that sacred spot inside you every time. 

“That good baby? Tell me how good it feels, be a good girl.”

“F-feels so good, Peter,” you compromised, your head falling back onto his shoulder. “R-right there,” 

“God you’re so tight around my fingers,” he groaned, spreading his thighs a little so you could get more comfortable. His cock was pressing hard into your lower back causing some discomfort, but you weren’t sure what to do about it in your current situation. 

“P-pete, please,” you gasped, hands landing on his thighs as your back arched against his chest. “want your cock.” 

“You sure you can take it, baby girl?” he chuckled, almost devilishly, pulling his fingers from your heat. 

“Yes, Peter, please.” You nodded frantically, partially in desperation from being ripped away from the beauty that was Peter’s fingers. 

“Because you asked so nicely,” he whispered, lifting you up and placing you down on his bed, spreading your legs out wide for him so he could get a perfect view of your heat. “I might do just that.” 

You whimpered softly, sending the blood right to his dick. Peter couldn’t deny he’d only ever wished and dreamed of seeing you this way, and now those fantasies were about to become a reality. Reaching over, he grabbed the bottle of lube from the floor, dousing a decent amount onto the tip of his cock. You watched, mouth agape as he spread it around, making sure it was everywhere before his eyes met yours. 

“You ready for me? I don’t plan on going easy.” He cocked his brow, gripping his dick with a force and guiding it towards your entrance. You were needy, he could tell, leaning into his touch trying to gain some kind of friction. 

“If you’re gonna be a slut, you’re only gonna have to wait longer,” he teased, drawing his hips away from your core. 

“Promise I’ll be good for you,” you pleaded, eyes wide, hands gripping the underside of your thighs to keep them spread wide for him. He hadn’t asked much of you, and already you were at his mercy. 

“Only because you promised,” he winked, before ramming his cock deep inside of you. He would have taken the time to be patient, making sure it didn’t hurt, but he was so desperate for release he could barely contain himself. 

“Fuck!” you yelped, along side Peter who moaned out, right beside your ear.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you moan... It was like a fucking melody,” you gasped between breaths making Peter smile. 

“Well get ready to hear a whole lot more of those melodies, baby.” 

Peter was doing as he had planned, thought and dreamed and that was showing you the best time he possibly could. Peter knew how to fuck, which was something you were so unaware of. But he was sure showing you the best time in a long time. He didn’t go so hard it hurt, but the way his body reacted to your sounds was like a symphony. He was hitting all the right spots, kissing all the right places and thrusting at such a reckless pace it was almost tender. 

At this point you were using each others bodies to your own personal advantage, so desperate for a release it was almost painful, but you loved it. The way his cock stretched inside of you when he almost hit his high, pressing just right against that sweet spot. He loved the way you clenched him, only edging him to that milking state even quicker. You were so ready to take his load. 

Despite the motions, the sight was heavenly. His expression was so fucked out, hair falling out over his forehead, eyes clenched shut and when they were open they were so blown full of lust and desire, like an animal. At this point your thighs were shaking, muscles torn as he pressed his chest down on top of you, moaning deep into your ear. 

“Fuck! Baby! Y/N, you’re so good!” he’d moan to the beating of his thrusts, earning an equally fucked out sound coming back from yourself. 

“I’m almost there, Peter!” 

“M-me too, baby, almost- fuck!”

“Mmm, Peter! I’m gonna cum!”

“Cum for me sweetness, cum all over this cock, make it yours.” 

The choice of wording that spilled from his lips only spurred you on more, egging your release right until the very end until finally you felt the coil snap, your dignity pouring out all over his length. Peter didn’t fall very far behind, not long after your own high he was spurting his seed into your warmth. It was there you were left a sweaty, panting mess, having just fucked your best friend with absolutely no regrets. 

“You should go skinny dipping with me some time,” Peter plucked up, dragging his weight up and off your chest with a fucked out smile on his perky lips. 

“Took the words right out of my mouth.” 

[lokiwritess]

Colors - Commander Colt

So... I fell in love with another clone today and it’s all @cxptain-rex​ fault. Anyway Colt is alive and well, haven’t you heard? I’m not sure I got his character right? Let me know what you think xx

"Commander, we need to relocate you to a different station." 

The curtain before his bed was hurriedly pushed away by one of the human nurses, that the Kaminoans had imported directly from Coruscant. He wondered what was going on outside. 

How long had he spent, staring at nothing, just pressing down on his makeshift bandage, and listening to more wounded people being brought in? Was the battle finally over?

"Why? What's happenin' out there?", Commander Colt slurred, numb. 

Maybe now someone would answer his questions, or treat him or do anything but let him wait in silence, alone with his own thoughts.

He didn’t understand how he even made it into that bed in the first place. 

He'd come face to face with that Assasin, but somehow he'd made it back to the medbay only half-dead, left to contemplate how he was even alive.

Was that a blessing or a curse?

Images kept flashing in his head. His dead brother's, his men, the walls glowing the color of freshly spilled blood in the light of two sabers.

Maybe dying at their side would have been better than what awaited him. Or maybe that was just the blood loss talking. 

"Don't worry, Commander, the battle is over. We simply have too many injured patients. We're receiving help from other healers, so we're going to relocate you to one of them to get you the help you need immediately."

Colt managed a slight nod, watching through hazy eyes as the nurse made the preparations to move him and left him in the care of a medical droid.

For a fraction of a moment, the ARC-Trooper felt fine, peaceful even, like he could just fall into a dreamless sleep and wake up completely healed. He watched tiny droplets of his blood, cascading down his fingers onto the almost too white sheets that he'd hurriedly been covered with. 

Somehow, he found it extremely amusing to see the sheets of white being tainted by his blood. If the Kaminoans could see this, they would surely faint at the sight, after all, he was destroying their perfectly sterile environment.

Everything on Kamino was either too white or grey.

"Commander? Commander Colt? Can you hear me?" 

The voice that called out to him was new. He realized that immediately because it sounded sweet and lively. Foreign in a place like Kamino. Out of place.

Lively. Nothing about Kamino could be considered lively. 

"Blood pressure is dropping. Get him into that OR now!"

The words that the new voice used didn't sink in properly. Was he dying?

Was that against the rules of the GAR? Could he be demoted for that?

Colt didn't really care, not at that moment, feeling so warm and tucked away safely in his own head. Like a big, comfortable blanket had been wrapped securely around him.

That feeling was foreign to him as well. A strange sensation he wasn’t used to but enjoyed nonetheless. So he decided that just for a second he was safe enough to allow his brain to wander freely.

Somehow he came to think of colors again.

Maybe dying meant he would see something other than grey and white again.

What an exciting thought, that for a second, seemed like a reason worth dying for.

------------------------------------

Nothing could have prepared him for the way he felt when he woke up. Everything was too much. Too many people, too much movement, so many signals from the world around him.

The safety and warmth he'd felt had been ripped away. Reality took over where fantasy was too tired to work.

And everything hurt.

"Commander Colt? Can you hear me?"

Colt faintly recognized the voice he heard, calling out to him. It'd been the last voice he'd heard before his brain took over, yet now it sounded less like he was stuck in a dream. It sounded real, so real that he realized it was coming from right beside him. 

Just turning his head seemed like almost an impossible task to the usually strong Commander, but tired curiosity got the best of him. Every muscle in his body felt unforgiving and unmoving, as heavy as the durasteel that the LAAT Transports were made of. 

Yet when he finally laid his eyes on you, he felt some of the weight drop, pain replaced by (only partly stim-induced) wonder.

You were definitely foreign to Kamino and he definitely hadn't ever met you before. He would have remembered your face, no matter what. Even just the first impression you made on the trooper screamed that you were… different, standing out against your sterile white surroundings.

The fogginess of his brain made it hard to keep his eyes focused, but he wanted nothing more than to keep looking at you. After so much time with the Kaminoans, and their boring white and grey world, you were like a breath of fresh air in the Commander's lungs. 

You were color, he decided, because of the way your stunning *eye-color* eyes glowed as you looked at him. And you were Warmth. He couldn’t explain why, but the temperature around you must surely be the exact opposite of the rainy and harsh planet as well. He could just feel it.

Maybe he died after all?

"Welcome back to the world of the living, Commander Colt. You sure made it hard for me to keep you here."

He was entranced, watching as the corners of your mouth pulled upwards into a smile that could only be described as magical.

The inside of his chest burned, flaring up with the overwhelming desire to talk to you, but unfortunately for the trooper, his brain and mouth were not on the same page just yet, leaving him to stare in silence.

"I see you're still enjoying the effects of the anesthetic, Commander. Don't worry, when they wear off there's more where those came from.", you joked, glancing at the charts in your hands again.

When you let your gaze connect with that of the drugged-up Commander again, he looked back at you in awe, clearly still struggling to process things.

"Well, the good news is, surgery was a success. All internal damage was successfully repaired. The bad news is, you're going to need some time to completely heal from a wound like this. So you'll be staying here for a while.”, you explained, slowly sounding out the words in the hope that the trooper would be able to follow them more easily.

Colt needed a second, but then he nodded. Because he did feel tired enough to sleep for at least three rotations. Yet there was a small selfish part of his brain that just wanted to continue listening to your voice.

"Wh- Who are… you?", he managed to press out, realizing just how exhausted he really was.

"My name is Y/n, and it looks like I'll be your healer until you're back up on your feet."

" 's... pretty.", he slurred. 

Embarrassment seeped into the mind of the Commander, even through the fog of medication. He most definitely had wanted to say anything but that, but the words had slipped from his mouth before his brain could catch up.

It was worth it, if only for the sparkle of surprise in your eyes and the small laugh that escaped your beautiful lips. Oh, what a heavenly sound.

“Alright Commander, get as much rest as possible. I’ll be back in a couple of hours to check on you again. And remember, if your medication wears off, there’s more where that came from. Just contact a nurse.”, you mused, turning away with a smile that immediately etched itself into Colt’s mind.

[glowingspence]

Little hands

Rossi and Hotch take in one last kid - Spencer.

Part 3 Chapter 5

Summary: JJ apologizes and Derek takes Spencer to the office after he asked for it for so long

Word count: 2157

Category: Hurt/Comfort / Light Angst

Ao3 Read below the cut:

"So what are we choosing?" Kate asks standing next to JJ in the line for donuts.

"Something with strawberries"

"That sounds fun I am sure they have that." She tries cheering her up. If anyone of the kids is affected by Hotch and Rossi scolding it’s JJ and while Rossi gave in already telling her it's not as bad, that she was right to include Spencer in the tradition Hotch still shows them the cold shoulder. Not entirely but a kid knows. And especially a kid as sensitive as JJ.

"So what's eating your mind?" She asks when she sits down with her at the small table at the mall.

"Nothing"

"You can tell me" They had spent the afternoon together. Walking through the mall,looking at clothes, buying a few crystals and now eating donuts together but JJ didn't seem to once be able to get pulled out of her guilt. "You know when I was a kid - I was about your age I would snuck out of the house and I would walk this long dark path through a forest and when I would reach the end there would be a field with horses and my parents never wanted me to go there because the man who would own thos houses had a criminal history and I didn't understand that. I would always go there and one day my parents found out and they were furious and I would still go there and years later I found out that he was falsely framed and always the nice man I fought he was but my parents couldn't know that and looking back, I would have done the same thing as a parent."

"Papa is angry"

“But don’t you think he has a valid reason to be?“

“That makes it worse.“

“Did you apologise?“ Kate asks looking at JJ who plays with the napkin in her hand, clearly not seeming like she has an appetite.

“Multiple times.“

“To both of them?“ JJ shrugs and then takes her drink taking a sip. “Is there maybe a chance you forgot apologising to Aaron?“

“Spencer?“ Derek calls through the house. He is grateful to be able to live in such a great place but the size doesn’t make it easier to find your little brother that tends to not respond when he is being called.

“Downstairs“ Emily calls from her room and Derek is lucky and finds him curled up at the end of the house on a small armchair.

“Here you are.“ Derek rubs his hands together for a moment before speaking up again to catchhid attention.

“I am busy right now. Don’t you see?“

“I have a surprise for you“

“I don’t like surprises.“ Spencer states in a monotonous voice turning the page of his book.

“I will bet you like this one.“ Derek steps closer and waits for Spencer to give him his attention. “I bet you won’t turn my surprise down.“

“What is it?“ Spencer quizzes looking away from his book.

“We will drive down to Aaron’s work now.“

“Really?“

“Yes come on. Shoes on, jacket on, off we go.“ Spencer doesn’t even question if David knows about the plan and just rushes behind Derek and is excitedly flapping his hands while Derek tries buckling him up. “One moment sitting still so I can see if everything sits right okay?“

“Can’t sit still right now.“ Derek presses Spencer with a hand on his chest against the seat and checks if the seatbelt is buckled up correctly. “Oh you are strong.“

“One day you will too.“ With that Derek closes the door and walks around the car reading Emily‘s message,

“Aaron is gonna be pissed.“

“RIP to you“

He ignores it and gets into the driver seat checking Spencer’s backpack if he has everything that he needs.

"How long will we drive?"

"Half an hour"

"Can we listen to music?"

"Sure" Derek connects his phone to the radio and starts playing his playlist much to Spencer's disapproval as they pull out of the driveway. "What?"

"It's not music"

"You sound like Dad already"

"I am not that old"

"Not what I meant" Spencer leans down pulling Sima out of his backpack, clinching the stuffed animal to his stomach, rocking back and forth slightly. "Tell me when you feel uncomfortable"

"I don't" The younger brother stays quiet for a long moment and then starts giggling out of the blue and doesn't seem to be able to stop.

"What?" Derek can't stop the smile creeping on his face either.

"What? What? I am going to the FBI" He exclaims, pronouncing especially the “the”.

"You need to find a hobby if that makes you that happy"

"You need to find a hobby if that makes you that happy. I have a hobby"

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah. I read and I draw"

"You draw"

"You draw?Yes"

"You any good at it?"

"You any good at it? I don't know"

"I am sure you are. You can show me when we come home."

"I am sure you are. You can show me when we come home. I am sure you are. You can show me when we come home."

"You sure you are okay kid?"

"You sure you are okay kid? You sure you are okay,kid? Good. Good. Have a lot of happy feeling."

"Keep stimming" Morgan tries suddenly getting anxious that this is too much for Spencer.

"Keep stimming. Keep stimming."

"Do your hand thing" Instead of flapping his hands what Derek hinted at he starts hitting his head.

"Hey! We don't do that." Derek reminds him a little bit louder than necessary but it got the kid to freeze in his actions. "What do we do instead? We do this" He takes one hand of his steering wheel for a moment and rubs it with pressure over his own chest. "Copy what I am doing"

"Copy what I am doing?" He does but then goes back to flapping his hands.

"That's okay too just don't hit yourself"

"Can I come in?" Rossi is standing in front of Emily's door.

"Yes"

"What are you doing?" He asks when he enters the room and sees her sitting on her bed, her Ipad leaning on her pulled up legs as she takes one of her headphones out.

"Watching a show."

"What is it about?"

"What do you want?"

"Can we talk about what is going on with you?"

"No." She doesn't look up to him. "I changed my mind, can you please?"

"Kiddo I am not here because you are in trouble"

"I want to be alone now"

"I thought we figured out what was wrong and talked about it?"

"Seriously Dave just go"

"No"

"What is your problem?"

"My problem is that my daughter won't speak to me."

"Not my problem. Go now please."

Patiently Derek stands next to his car waiting for Spencer to get out of it. "What's wrong?"

The kid just shrugs and keeps playing with Sima. "You can take her, we can take your whole backpack."

Slowly Derek gets down on one knee next to the car and opens his arms, "Come here" Hesitantly Spencer gets out and leans against his chest. "What is it?"

Instead of talking he hides his face against Derek's neck. "You need a moment, is that it?" Spencer nods and Derek grabs his own jacket, placing it over Spencer's shoulders before picking him up again, pulling it now higher to cover parts of his face, giving him a chance to hide away from the world.

Derek had watched Spencer doing this countless of times with blankets and clothes or even grabbing Dave's hand and placing it on his face while cuddling with him because if there was one of millions of things that prior families got wrong about Spencer it's that he does not dislike physical contact, he dislikes unannounced physical contact.

If they tell him beforehand, if they ask him if they can hug him, if they ask if he wants to be hold he will almost always agree and after he learned that no one is touching him without a warning he got very quick with initiating it himself especially when he gets overwhelmed.

He throws Spencer's backpack over his shoulder, and places his free hand on the bag of Spencer's head as he walks towards the building and he can feel him gripping his shirts and slightly hit his head against Derek's shoulder when they enter the building.

"How can I help you, Sir?"

"My name is Derek Rossi Hotchner. I am a visitor for Aaron Hotchner with the BAU."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"He is expecting me. I am his son. It should be noted in his file."

"Oh yeah I just read it. I need your ID and then you are good to go. Who is the little one in your arms?"

"Spencer Reid,I hope he is noted already too?"

"No I am sorry" Derek hands her his ID. "How old is he?"

"Seven"

"What damage will he do right?" She hands him two visitor badges. "I assume you already know this but you two need to get through security over there and then you are good to go."

"Thank you Ma'am" Nervously Derek walks over to the security.

"Sir I need to look into your backpack and you please walk through the metal detector, and your- whatever too"

"Is it okay if he stays on my arm? He is not doing well with this" Derek voices his concern. "The metal detector will detect metal either way"

"Don't lecture me about my job"

"Derek!" He hears a familiar voice and when he turns around he sees Gideon approaching them. "What are you doing here?"

"Visiting Aaron" Gideon pulls out his badge and leads them through the security. "Thank you"

"No problem, who have you got there?" He asks with a smile when they are standing in the elevator and Derek slightly pulls the jacket down revealing Spencer's face or everything that isn't converted by his hands as he starts whining and pressing against his older brother again to shield old the lights.

"May I introduce? Spencer"

"Nice to meet you,Spencer" Anxious Spencer looks in the opposite direction. "You were also shy in the beginning," Gideon tells Morgan. "The FBI building was not at all your favorite place you wouldn't wander around you would stay in your dad's office and in your dad's office only"

Shyly Spencer turns his head around looking at Gideon and when they leave the elevator he points at him. "That's Jason Gideon. He is a close friend of Aaron and David. David and him have founded the BAU together." Derek explains.

Carefully Morgan pulls the jacket off his shoulders but doesn't take it off completely so he can pull it over him again if he gets overwhelmed. He sometimes thinks his parents think way too complicated when it comes to soothing Spencer.

"I heard you like reading" Insecure Spencer nods and leans his head down on Derek's shoulder, seeming like he was ready looking around but still faced the older man. "What's your favorite?"

"Have you ever heard of David Rossi? The kid reads it as his night time story" Derek jokes and can already see in the man's eyes the lecture his dad now expects.

Derek takes it slow with walking to the bullpen letting Spencer look around and the other agents on Aaron's team look up, eyeing them but no one approaches them, giving Derek the chance to get up to his office first.

"What are you doing here? Is everything okay?" Worried Aaron gets up from his seat.

"You forgot something"

"What did I forget?"

"Taking Spencer here."

"I was busy-"

"Yeah you are already busy when you are on cases for weeks, it won't hurt you to at least take a few hours and do this right?"

"Derek I do not appreciate this tone"

"You won't listen to us when we say it otherwise." Gideon steps inside placing a hand on Derek's back. "It's true, don't defend him."

"I wasn't going to."

"Papa!" Another voice fills the office and JJ runs inside reaching for him to pick her up.

"Is everyone here?"

"Hey Derek" Kate greets him and steps inside too seeing Spencer and Derek. "Oh how adorable"

"Why- oh angel" He only realizes now that JJ is crying. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"I am sorry for sneaking away the other day"

"It's okay, you already got your punishment."

"But you are still mad"

"Not at you, It's okay." He tries soothing her. "It's okay, pumpkin. You are okay, I am not mad."

Spencer meanwhile let's Derek cover him again and Kate walks over giving Derek a gentle squeeze at the arm.

"You are all good, it's okay" Hotch repeats to the sobbing girl in his arms. "I am not mad at you I promise."

[comfortmarvelimagines]

When You Can’t Find the Quiet pt2

yoyoyo sorry this took a lot longer than i said it would, i rewrote it three times and it STILL sucks but uh here ya go i tried

“Fuckfuck Mr Stark I-I think they’re dead! Ohmygodohmygod,” Peter crouched down, moving to shake you back to consciousness.

“No, Pete, they’re fine. Don’t touch them. The complete removal of stimulation when I activated the blackout protocol probably gave their brain permission to turn off… Or something like that. I’m not a doctor.”

“They’re probably exhausted.”

“Yeah, well, then, that too. Problem now is getting them and your mask out of the school with minimal pain to them and no harm to your identity.” Peter could hear footsteps in the background of the call. Tony was pacing, thinking.

“What if I just… Put them on one of the projector trolleys! There should be lab coats in here somewhere, what if I covered them with that so that no one sees? It’ll be like one of those super cool spy movies!”

“You know, for someone so smart you really are dumb sometimes. You are not smuggling them out of the school like a corpse, the last thing May needs is a call to the police station because you’ve been arrested on suspicion for murder.” There was a pause, neither of them knowing what to say. Needing to feel like he was somehow helping you, Peter bent down and gently pulled your hand from your mouth, now that you were no longer biting on it. It was still bleeding.

“I, uh, we need a band-aid in here.”

“That’s what you’re concerned about right now? Look, do you know anyone you can call, a parent, that can take them home?”

“Uh, no. Last time Ned called their mom when they were gettin’ really anxious and kinda stimmy during an assembly she… She kinda didn’t care? Like, she didn’t come and pick them up or anything, and y/n said it wasn’t too pretty when she got home… And I thought about going to the nurse earlier, to see if there was someone else, but come to think of it I don’t know who you could call. They don’t have anyone else, really.”

“Okay. Okay. So you need me to come and get you…” Peter swore he could make out the clinks of a suit piecing itself to Tony. “When’s the next class end?”

“Ummmm,” Peter pulled the phone from his ear, tapping the screen, “Three minutes.”

“Sweet. I think the only way you’re gonna get them out of there is if you take the mask off. Reckon you can get them to the front office in like, 90 seconds before hell breaks loose?”

He didn’t finish the sentence before spiderboy was out the door, phone in pocket, you in his arms.

***

The phasing out of unconsciousness was, sometimes, the worst part. It was like becoming aware of everything that hurt more and more acutely until it was almost overwhelming again, but not actually being able to do anything. The need to get out never went away. It was just paused for a second. Occasionally, you were lucky, and the pain wasn’t quite there before you managed to fall asleep properly, but today was not one of those days. Your head felt like someone had repeatedly dropped a brick on it. Nausea came over you in waves. As you became increasingly more aware of your body, other things began to trickle in; the muted sounds of kids yelling in the corridor, the hum of the lights (which, incidentally, were enough to make your eyes burn even through your eyelids), the click of a keyboard, adults talking- no, arguing, the smell of disinfectant and GOD these sheets were so BAD…

As much as you felt like dramatically waking up with a gasp and flinging of cheap blankets, like in the movies, the most you could manage was a half-hearted groan and weak attempts to pull as much blanket as possible over your head. The tapping sound next to you stopped.

“Mr Stark!”

You knew immediately that it was Peter. As much as you could tell he was trying to be quiet, his whisper-screaming wasn’t really cutting it. Another groan left your throat, this time completely involuntary. Footsteps. A click. Your eyeballs weren’t on fire anymore, thankfully. Still no way in hell were you about to open them. More footsteps, heavier this time.

“Hey there, kiddo, nice to meet you. Obviously not nice circumstances. Pete and I are gonna get you out of here, okay, but it’s probably gonna hurt a bit before we can fix it. Alright?” The voice hesitated, as if waiting for your consent.  “Oookay then. Here’s what we’re gonna do. Pete’s gonna help you sit up. Then we’re gonna get you out to the car. Pete said to try to touch you as little as possible, so do you think you can walk on your own?” You thought for a second. Your legs felt like jelly, but you didn’t want anyone anywhere near you. Even though it was splittingly painful, you managed a slight nod.

Peter’s voice sounded, closer to your head. “On three, I’m gonna hold your shoulders and pull you up, ‘kay? Ready one, two, three.”

Sure, you knew it wasn’t going to feel wonderful, but that didn’t make it any less stomach-churning. Dizziness took over and you overbalanced to your left, face-planting into something… Soft? Nice. Good feeling. You hummed in contentment.

Peter sounded like he was trying to muffle a laugh. “Oh my god, Mr Stark, they like your shirt. Good luck getting them off now!” He was still whispering, but it was enough for you to realise what you were burying your face in. Did you care enough to sit back up? Absolutely not. Apparently Peter had moved on, because he went on to ask if he could take the shitty school blanket off your head and replace it with his hoodie, so that the light outside would at least have some sort of filter. You answered by humming again, so he took it as permission. Better. Smelt like Peter. No longer wanted to rip the skin off the back of your neck. Somehow, the good fabrics helped to cancel out the other Bad things. The nausea wasn’t quite as all-consuming anymore.

Cool hands met yours. You recognised them- Peter. Another countdown, and you were pulled to your feet. It didn’t quite feel like you were attached to the lower half of your body, somehow suspended but tethered at the same time. Slowly regaining feeling in your feet, you shuffled forwards. “Good to go, kiddo?”

If inside the nurse’s office was tolerable, than the outside was a burning pit of hellfire. The disorientation from not being able to see from the jumper over your head was panic-inducing, but when you pulled it aside everything was too much. Flick right wrist, flick left. Click your fingers, twice. Repeat. The light on the ceiling, flickering. Like the one from the train. Make it stop. You felt like your head was imploding, starting from right behind your eyes. Get out. Need. To. Get. Out.

Peter was near you, saying your name, but it merged into everything else. Not knowing what else to do, he pressed his fingers to your shoulder blade to trigger you into moving forwards. He knew he shouldn’t touch you, but what choice did he have? Your eyes were glassing over and the only way to make it stop was to help you get out, seeing as you weren’t quite there enough to do it yourself. Rather than the jump that he was expecting, you followed the pressure; for whatever reason, it seemed to ground you a little. Tony was close, to your left. You didn’t realise how you’d gotten to where you were, but all of a sudden the fingers on your spine were pushing down and it was cool. Dark. Not completely, but worlds better than before. Now that you were sitting and it didn’t feel like you were spinning, out of control, it felt safe to pull Peter’s jumper back over your face. It wasn’t quite a blanket, but combined with your hoodie it was better than nothing.

“Hey, y/n, I’m so sorry about… Everything. I know today has sucked but you’re doing so well,” Peter’s voice dripped with guilt. You swayed to your left, nudging him in thanks. You sat in comfortable silence for a minute, until the door to your right opened and Tony sat down.

“Everyone doin’ okay?”

“Shhh! You can’t be loud yet.” Peter knew the drill. No loud noises until you said so.  

“I, uh, got a band-aid.” Much quieter this time.

“Give it here and I’ll put it on their finger.”

They both leaned across you, making you into some sort of human sandwich. But the pressure was nice, secure. Despite what Peter would tease you about later, the disgruntled noise of protest you made when they moved off was NOT deliberate.

“Do they like deep pressure?”

“Ask them, not me. They can answer. Also, where did you learn about DPT?”

“Pete, I know people, read things. You may think I’m old but I know how to use the internet.” You felt the older man sit back in his seat, no longer talking over you. “Y/n?”

“Hmm.”

“Did you want us to sit closer to you again?”

“Hmmmm.”

“That was a ‘hm’ of approval,” Peter clarified as he shifted closer.

“What are you, some sort of y/n translator?” Just as he said that, the car started moving. Feeling you tense, Peter pushed further into you and you gave easily, falling into Tony’s side.

You’d forgotten how soft the fabric was.

It was less than a minute before you were out cold, in a much more pleasant way this time.

***

You absolutely hated how groggy you were after a sensory overload. Some Bad Brain days were manageable- far from comfortable, but enough for you to get to where you had to be and crash when you got home to try and sleep it off. When it got as bad as it had that morning, it felt like all the energy had just leaked out of you. It was strange. Even on the okay, the good days, you never really sat still. Peter noticed it too, that for once you weren’t even happy stimming or calm stimming, just humming.

The transition from the car to the inside of the compound was considerably less stressful than the one from the office. You were okay to hold Peter’s hand and tap with the tips of your fingers as he followed Tony into the elevator, up and down a hallway. When he let go for a second, to hold the elevator doors for you to get out, trepidation for the unknown in an unfamiliar environment began to set in. Without consciously meaning to, your hands started twisting each other, pulling, until the bones rubbed; an anxious stim. “Hey, y/n, is your tangle in your bag?” 

You shook your head.

“In your pocket?” 

Same response. 

“Uh, Mr Stark, do you have like… I guess you don’t know what a tangle is… Like, something they can stim with, with both hands?” Peter had softly taken your hands in his, loose enough for your fingers to flick and tap independently without hurting yourself. He’d seen how you used to come to school with bruises up to your wrists from stimming like that, and it was MJ that had produced a tangle from behind her book one day. Since then, they had easily become your favourite stim toy, your friends always making sure you had one in your bag, your locker and your desk at home, as well as spare ones on them just in case. Of course, it just so happened that now you had none.   

“Hang on a sec, we’ve got a bunch of stuff in here,” Tony opened a door to reveal a completely dark room. Illuminated by the sliver of light seeping from the outside, he opened a drawer from a storage chest built into the wall to show an array of tangles, tactile fabrics, chewelry, just about anything small you could possibly stim with. You felt the grip on your wrists release as Peter grabbed a bumpy tangle- the best kind- and handed it over to you before shutting the door.  

“FRIDAY, turn on the sensory room lights.” An entire wall of bubble lights lit up in response. They gradually changed colour, but you were too excited by the pile of blankets by the adjacent wall. As you sat down on the padded floor and began pulling one over your head, Peter found his voice again. 

“Dude… Where did you get all this?”

“I’m Tony Stark, I can get anything I want,” he paused. “But seriously, after Germany I did some research into sensory difficulties. I figured that if you were ever struggling with the whole ‘dialled to eleven’ thing, some of this might be useful. Obviously, you haven’t needed it but turns out it’s not such a bad thing to have.” 

As you soon discovered, the blankets were weighted, and between that and the calm lights and the tangle in your hands the sound of their conversation didn’t make you want to scream. You started rocking from side to side, legs crossed. The foggy heaviness was still there, but the good stims were starting to make you feel safer, more okay, more yourself since your brain wasn’t perpetually in flight-or-flight mode. Peter came over and sat down next to you and you threw yourself onto him in a hug. 

“Squeeze?”

You nodded in response. Somehow, he made it out under the now three blankets over your head and wrapped his arms around you. Peter was safe. Tony, standing awkwardly to the side and watching, was safe now too. Sometimes the world and your brain just weren’t quite compatible, but with friends like yours and people that got it, you knew it’d be okay. 

tags: @inumorph @autistic-patti @crystallstaircase @rebel-by-default