I was out walking my service dog, Molly. I have epilepsy and severe anxiety, and she helps me know if a seizure could be coming, and calms me down when my anxiety acts up. This woman asked if her toddler could pet her, and got PISSED when I said 'no'. She followed me for five blocks, screaming at me. The kid was chill, but this woman just kept calling me names. I was in tears and panicking. I felt her grab my shoulder, and then her hand was ripped off. It was the Red Hood and Nightwing. Red Hood was restraining the woman, and Nightwing talked me down from the edge of a panic attack, which could have triggered a seizure. The woman was arrested for harrassment, and Nightwing walked Molly and I home. The baby Robin joined us at one point, and asked a lot of questions about Molly and her training, but he never asked to pet her. As they were leaving, he asked Nightwing about training Batdog as a servuce dog!
Could you do a fic where Peter ends up using his safeword?🥺👉🏻👈🏻
Of course! Thank you sm for the prompt you sweet little bean ❤️ I’m gonna set this in a sort of grey-area between Homecoming and Infinity War, as a set-up for the use of the safeword. I hope you like it!
TW: Reference to bodily harm (the building collapse) | PTSD mentions/depictions | Use of a safeword | Brief rough sex description | Panic/Panicking | Mild humiliating/degrading dirty talk.
Stay safe, my lovelies!
“That’s it, sweetheart. Real good for me - Fuck, yes - Take it, baby”. Tony’s words are growled into his ear, backed by the warmth of his panting skimming the hinge of his jaw as fingers twist in his hair, tugging his head back. The sting is just the right side of painful, forcing him to arch his spine, to push his ass back onto Tony’s thick cock.
Post-mission fucking has become kind of A Thing these days, ever since Peter nearly got taken out during a mission and Tony had lost his shit, freaking out before pressing Peter down into their bedsheets, driving his cock so deep Peter could almost taste it.
They haven’t even made it to the bedsheets, this time. They’re not even home. The concrete of the floor scrapes his palms where he scrabbles for purchase, desperate for leverage against the brutal way that Tony fucks into him, like he’s nothing but a tight, hot sleeve for his cock.
“Still so loose and sloppy, baby. My cock really ruins you, huh? Leaves you open and gaping like you’ll never be tight again” and Peter cries out, because its so fucking good. Good enough that the dust and rubble around them almost doesn’t bother him. He’ll feel gross later, and demand a shower, but right now the thick, hard tip of Tony’s cock is abusing his sweetspot, and his mind is a mantra of fuckyespleaseharderohgod.
The hand in his hair stops pulling, and presses his face down into the dirt, hard enough that the floor is like sandpaper on his cheek. There’s a chunk of beam keeping his hips up enough for Tony to shift, forcing his legs together so his thighs are squeezed shut, and he’s trapped.
Peter’s heart ticks up a notch.
“Bet if I held off even for a day you’d come crawling on your knees, begging for it” Tony rumbled against his neck, teeth skimming the vulnerable skin there as he draped himself over Peter, pinning him down with all of his weight. Still wearing the suit - Its a considerable poundage to bear, Peter’s back and thighs instantly tensing with the strain.
It would be hot, any other time. In the safety of their own bed, with soft sheets and luxury pillows. Now, its dirt and dust in his nose and the darkness of the crumbled building around them, Tony’s weight squeezing his ribs down around his lugs, trapping his limbs so there’s nothing he can do except lay there.
Peter sucked in a sharp breath, breaking off into a sobbed gasp as Tony pressed him down harder, trapping his arms underneath his chest as he sank his cock deep into his plaint little body, forcing it to part around him, as deep as it seemed he could go and then even deeper.
“T-Tony” Peter rasped, whimpering and writhing under the larger man, sucking in heaving breaths as the trembled. Tony cooed at him, pressing his cheek down into the dirt, braced on his forearm as he squeezed Peter down.
“Fuck, darling. So tight. Like I’ll never get my fucking cock back” Tony snarled at him, words thick-sweet and breaking through the sudden roaring in his ears. Peter twisted and mewled, trying to get his arms out from underneath him, but Tony clicked his tongue chidingly and ground his hips down, shoving Peter back into the dusty concrete.
“P-Please. I can’t - Its too much, Tony” he rasped, trying to get the right words out between hitching sobs.
“Aw, poor baby. Still not used to taking it big, huh?” Tony cooed, patronising and full of faux-concern as he rolled his hips, grinding Peter into the dust like he was typing to leave an imprint of him there. Peter wailed and shook his head as much as he was able, ignoring the way that the rubble dug into his soft cheeks and rubbed the skin there raw.
“N-No. Tony I can’t...I...Ple- Huntsman” he manages on a broken cry, and in a movement too quick for him to even register, the weight lifted off him, gone in a gut-wrenching moment of relief. He was distantly aware of the slow, dragged slide of Tony’s cock pulling out of him, leaving him open and gaping and exposed.
“Hey, Pete, Peter. Hey, baby. I’m here. Stay with me” Tony breathed, kneeling down in the dirt besides him with his still-hard cock slapping against the pelvis plate of the suit smearing the gold there with cum and lube. Peter squeezed his eyes shut and shifted, squirming in the dust to curl into a ball as he sucked in billowing breaths, trying to calm himself down.
“I’m sorry” he whimpered, tucking his arms around himself for protection. “I didn’t mean - It was...”. He can’t finish the words, can’t admit that even in the middle of getting dicked down by Tony, the Vulture haunted him. The feeling of his own crushed bones was a ghost he couldn’t shake.
“Oh, sweetheart. My precious boy. Its okay, you’re okay. You can breathe, in and out, nice and slow. In...Out. Good” Tony’s gentle, low murmuring was easy to latch onto, a strong contender against the hammering of his heart and the roaring of his rushing blood. He felt sick, dizzy, and before he even realised what he was doing, he was reaching out for Tony.
Warm, flesh fingers curled around his own, holding with careful tenderness. Peter forced his eyes to open a little and noted that the suit had bled away, leaving Tony on his knees in the dirt in the slacks and shirt he’d been wearing before Director Fury had come storming into the Tower.
“Am I okay to come a little closer?” Tony asked softly, and Peter gave a hitching nod, closing his eyes again as he shook on the floor, trying desperately to shake the feeling of being trapped, crushed. It felt like the slabs of concrete were still there, digging into his fragile skin, grinding his bones together.
“I’m here, baby. I’m right here” Tony shushed his increasing sobs, thumb gently rubbing the side of Peter’s hand, giving him plenty of space but sitting close enough that Peter could scent his cologne, his sweat from the mission and their fucking.
There was a scuffle, the sound of a belt, and then Tony was talking again, gently. “Hey, baby. Do you think you can put your head on my leg? The floor is all dusty” Tony soothed, and Peter sniffled but shifted, obligingly lifting his head enough that a thick, strong thigh could take up the space between his scraped cheeks and the dirt.
“There’s my good sweetheart” Tony praised, still gently rubbing circles along the side of his hand. Peter’s breaths were less laboured now, but he still felt hot and humiliated, embarrassment leaking into the space that the panic left behind.
“You did so well, darling. I’m so proud of you. You know that, right? My precious little darling. So good for me” Tony hummed, one hand hesitantly settling on his shoulder, featherlight and giving him plenty of time to express that he didn’t want it. He kept his touch light, thumb sweeping gentle arcs across the muscle.
“I’m okay” he sniffled, opening his eyes. Tony had tucked away his cock and was sat on his ass, body leaned slightly away so he wasn’t looming over Peter, gaze soft and concerned. “I’m sorry. I just - It was the dirt, and I couldn’t move, and it-”
“Hey, baby. You don’t have to tell me, okay? You don’t have to explain it. You did so well, you used your safeword and I’m so proud of you. Take deep breaths, baby. Nice and slow. We can stay here for a while”. Tony’s hand swept a little lower, brushing his hip, and Peter could feel the tickling coolness of nanotech blanketing his bare ass, covering his exposed hole, as light as his touch.
“How about when we get home, we have a nice, hot bath, hm? Bubbles, that smelly shit you keep bullying me into buying...”
“That you secretly like because you use it when I’m not there and think I don’t notice” Peter responded in a wet mumble, shoulders hitching slightly on a soft giggle. Tony had made a big show of fussing and sneezing and sniffing himself the first time Peter insisted on having a ‘proper’ bath, but the younger boy knew his mentor had secretly grown to adore them.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I still say if I wanted to smell like that, I’d go sit in a florists’ shop for a few hours” Tony shot back, but his voice was light and amused as he continued to pet at Peter, feeling the way the boy’s rabbiting heartbeat began to slow as he calmed.
“As opposed to smelling like grease and rust?” Peter asked, voice a little rough from his crying. It felt like they’d only been sat here for a few minutes, but when he caught sight of Tony’s watch, he knew it must have been at least half an hour since his freak out. When he shifted, he felt cold and sore, arousal gone and leaving discomfort in its place.
“You wound me” Tony huffed at him dryly, hand sliding slowly and carefully up into his hair, scrubbing through it gently and using his thumb to sweep aside clumps of dust and rubble. “You feel okay to get up, sweetheart?” He asked after a pause, and Peter nodded, groaning softly as he uncurled, he and Tony using each other to wobble to their feet.
“I’m -”
“If you say you’re sorry again, I will be forced to do something soppy and over emotive” Tony warned him, and Peter closed his mouth, flushing, before opening it again.
“Thank you” he said instead, and Tony gave him the most achingly sweet smile.
“Anything for you, darling” the older man murmured, ducking down to press a sweet, loving, gentle kiss to Peter’s mouth as his fingertips skimmed his hips, dragging the nanotech up and over his body, ready to take them both home.
Hey everybody guess who’s back from hiatus! Okay, so this is a bit of a long one, which I’m actually rather pleased about. I took a break to let my creative muse simmer, and I think it turned out pretty good! Hotch kind of gets more of a spotlight in this chapter, which is important to me because I want to emphasize reader’s connection with the other characters and not just Spencer. What can I say? I’m a sucker for slowburn. Anyway, hope it was worth the wait! (This hasn’t been proofread so it might not be.)
Taglist: @dreamwritesimagines @rhabakoli
AoG Taglist: @pancakefancake @prettyboyspenerrr
Wordcount: 3844
Warnings: Generally disturbing themes. Mentions of death, sexual assault, drowning and other dark themes.
“War is what happens when language fails.”
-Margaret Atwood
You had never been more terrified of an assignment than this one. And that was saying something.
Through everything that had happened to you in your line of work, there had always been an element of a safety net. Despite all the danger, despite the horrors you saw every day, there was some comfort in the knowledge of two things. The first was that you would get to go home at the end of the day to your loving bed. The second was that you were not the target. You were not the target.
“Are you sure about this?” You asked Hotch, trying to hide the slight wavering in your voice.
“You’ve seen the pictures, Agent Y/L/N. I don’t think I need to tell you how sure of this I am.”
You swallowed thickly, holding the glossy images between your fingers. You hated the texture of them between your hands, had never liked the sticky grip of a fresh printed photograph stealing your fingerprints, so easy to mark up. It stressed you out. These photos did a little more than stress you out though.
“How…this is…”
“Uncanny,” Hotch finished for you.
You two were alone in his office, which should have meant bad news to you on any day, but you had hoped for the best. You had thought maybe he was going to tell you off for helping Reid prank Morgan. Perhaps he had actually called you in to tell you some good news. That had been too happy to hope for though.
“Yes. Uncanny,” you echoed.
“The message seems clear enough though.”
“Say it,” you whispered.
Hotch looked reluctant, like the words would sound almost as bad coming from his as they would from you.
“This unsub is obsessed with you.”
Every girl looked exactly like you. Some of the more recent kills had even been made to look more like you. Hair dyed, styled. One with colored contacts to turn her eyes your same vivid hue. No one could blame you for the single tear that slipped down your face and landed on the dark, lemon scented wood of Hotch’s desk. No one could blame you for your complete inability to look away from all of your dopplegangers.
No…not dopplegangers. Replicas. Created to be perfect mirror images of you.
You felt like you were going to throw up.
“Who-“ You cut yourself off.
“We don’t know.” You had never heard Hotch speak so softly, his voice a gentle murmur. “Agent Rossi and myself are the only two who know about this right now. We thought we should tell you before the rest of the team. We’ve been looking through old cases trying to find someone who escaped but we haven’t met with any luck. Which leads us to believe…”
“That it’s someone I know in my personal life.”
“Most likely.” Hotch’s face was grim, his mouth a thin line.
It aged him, you realized. Every time one of the members of his team was in mortal danger, the years seemed to pile on, making him seem 10, 20, 30 years older than he was. It was jolting to realize that Hotch was not all that old, not in the grand scheme of things. That to Rossi, he was young, comparatively. For a moment you felt you were closer in maturity to Jack, his son, than you were to SSA Aaron Hotchner.
“I’ll go tell the rest of the team,” you whispered.
You tried to move, but you couldn’t seem to do it. For a moment you simply did not have the willpower to rise up out of that chair, an island keeping you afloat just off the continental shelf of the ocean that was Hotch’s desk, a buffer between you two. The terror held you in place, eyes still glued to those pictures, to the broken bodies in them.
“You don’t have to,” Hotch offered, throwing you a lifeline. “Agent Rossi and I can handle it.”
You should have taken it. Should have fallen to your knees and blubbered out your gratefulness. That’s what any sensible person would do. Anyone who had not read too many fantasy stories of heroines who put on a brave face and too many textbooks about how the shock could make you numb to things. If there was anyone willing to play their own brain it was you, and right now you were ready to play it like a fiddle that would be too shocked to process your own grief and terror.
“No. I can do it.”
You wiped your face clean, unashamedly whipping out a compact mirror to make sure you still looked presentable. You didn’t have to bother hiding anything from Hotch. He could care less how much or how little you cared about your appearance, as long as you remained professional. You had always liked that about him. How comfortable he was to be around when it came down to it. How trustworthy.
You didn’t look like you had been crying. That was good. You would lose the respect of 75% of the office if you did, and that was a convenient thing to have sometimes.
“Let’s go,” you said, finally finding the willpower to stand.
You didn’t look at the photos. You couldn’t. Not if you wanted to hold on to the shellshock, the numbness that would buoy you through this briefing.
The bullpen wasn’t ready for your announcement. You could see them all gathered around Spence’s desk, speculating. You knew what they were doing because you had done the same thing on a few occasions. They were trying to figure out why Hotch had called you in, laughing to themselves, smiling. You almost couldn’t bear to tell them, to wipe the smiles off their faces.
You took a deep breath, squaring your shoulders.
Spencer was the first to notice. To see the stone look carved into marble features and to freeze, his amber eyes going dark. It didn’t take the others long to notice, to put together your clenched jaw and Spencer’s tense posture. If there was one thing they knew better than serial killers, it was the face of a bearer of bad news.
“What happened?” JJ asked.
“We have a case. Briefing room, now.” You got there before Hotch could.
There was no hesitation, only an icy edge to the air as you all headed to the briefing room, closing the door behind you. You let Hotch do the setup, the man knowing you well enough to know that you wanted those pictures behind you. You couldn’t look at them while you told the team. It was bad enough seeing Garcia’s gasp as she pieced it together, and Spencer…You could barely look at Spencer, first to pick up the pieces, first to figure things out, first to have a thousand emotions flicker across his face. He was angry, he was sad, he was sick, he was terrified.
You tried to start, but the words stuck in your throat, so Hotch gave you a push.
“We’ve all dealt with unsubs of a more personal nature in the past. As you can all see, this is, unfortunately, one of those times.”
“This unsub has a connection to me. Obviously.” You tried to keep the words from shaking, gripping the edge of the table to hide the tremors running through you while coaching yourself to get a grip. “At first, he chose victims who look like me. He’s become more manic though, with less time between kills. It’s no longer enough to wait for girls who look like me. He’s desperate enough that he doesn’t care what they look like, but meticulous enough to model them after me. Additionally, he is still careful enough to pick girls with similar lifestyles. Low-risk victims with strong educational backgrounds, all the same age as me.”
The words were starting to run dry as it felt like the world might slip out from under your feet. You were sure your legs were going numb, sure that someone was freezing all the blood inside your body in some kind of twisted science experiment. You knew he had frozen the bodies, kept them for a while to do things you didn’t want to think about right now. Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh, you had to make it through this briefing, had to make the words keep coming, but how.
“We believe this unsub is obsessed with Agent Y/L/N, and knowing this we can only assume that as his cooling off period decreases the danger to Y/N increases. There is some good news though. The unsub seems to be deteriorating, which could lead him to make a mistake.” Hotch took over.
“How did so many of these bodies turn up without us noticing?” JJ asked, horror in her eyes.
“The unsub crossed state lines. He’s clever, very much so. Medical reports indicate that he keeps the bodies frozen for a period of time before dumping them, and there are signs of sexual assault, though it appears to have been done with a blunt object. Some of the bodies he brought across state lines, which only further complicates things.”
“But we’re going to catch this psycho, right Hotch?”
Morgan’s righteous anger was normally calming, but now not even he could reach through your panic.
“We’re doing everything in our power to track down this unsub now that it has been brought to our attention. I fought for them to let our team have this case, so I expect you all to be at the top of your game. Agent Y/L/N, for obvious reasons, will not be apart of the investigation, but rather will be in protective custody.”
You swiveled, your legs nearly giving out beneath you but not quite.
“No she will not be,” you protested.
“This unsub is targeting you directly. The safest place for you to be is-“
“Surrounded by my team. At best, cooped up here. But I refuse to be sidelined and tucked away in some safehouse Hotch. You said I probably know this guy. So who better to help track him down than me?” You appealed to Hotch’s sense of reason, that sense that always won out with him. “You need me for this Hotch. You can’t find this guy without me.”
Just when you thought Hotch would agree, Spencer stood from the table, slamming a hand down with more aggression than you thought him capable of.
“Absolutely not!”
You felt the blood rush back to your extremities as it rose to color your face, Spencer’s protest bringing you back to yourself. You clenched your fists, turning the full might of your own fury on him even as he stared at you with eyes that seemed to blaze with fire.
“Reid, she has a point. She’s the only one who knows the unsub-“
“So we’re just going to use her as bait?” You had never seen Spence so livid, his eyes tearing up with the emotion. “I won’t let you put her in danger like that, Hotch. She shouldn’t be anywhere near this case.”
“I’ll be wherever I need to be, and right now that’s here, Spencer.”
There were few people who could match Dr. Spencer Reid. His mother was one of them, an unstoppable force. The eccentric, immutable Gideon, you had heard, was another. You were the third, fire rising to meet fire, washing out any trace of ice, any danger of drowning that might have existed before this moment, this challenge. There were a lot of people Spencer Reid was good and entitled to boss around, but you were most certainly not one of them.
“It’s too dangerous, I won’t let you-“
“Won’t let me? Well I’ve got news for you Spencer, you’re not my boss. You have no claim over me, no say in what I do or don’t do. I’m helping with this case because if you ever want to find this guy, you need me.”
Spencer looked like he was going to say more, but Rossi interrupted him. A dangerous thing to do for anyone other than Rossi.
“She’s right, kid. I hate to say it almost as much as you do, but she’s right. A case like this, could be anyone. You know that. You also know it’s entirely possible that she’s the only person in the entire world who can connect the dots. We’re not just throwing her to the wolves though. We’ll keep her safe.”
You had never seen Spencer looked so betrayed as he had now, looking first to Rossi, then turning to the rest of the table in a silent plea for support. He found none. Reluctant as the team was, you had made your point.
Turning on his heel, Spencer stormed out of the room. You had half a mind to follow him, but it was Rossi who held you back.
“Let him go. He’ll come back soon. He won’t be able to leave you alone at a time like this.”
You didn’t know where Rossi’s certainty had come from, but you could hear it in his voice, and you decided to trust him on this. After all, you would have to trust your team on a lot until this guy was safely behind bars.
The next few days were taxing, to say the least. You had gone through just about every person you had ever met trying to figure out who the unsub was. People you were close to, people you had barely known, and everything in-between. You were about ready to give up, nearly asleep with your head on Garcia’s desk as she cast her sympathetic gaze your way.
“Honestly, it really could be anybody. Sometimes these guys just see you smile at them once in the street and they’re insane for you. They’re wacky.”
“You can say that again.” You sighed.
You were in an extra bad mood tonight. You and Spencer hadn’t been talking lately, not since your fight over whether you should be involved in this. Despite the fact that you were confined to Garcia’s office and that Hotch wouldn’t so much as let you go home, Spencer’s vow of silence did not lift. It seemed as though he was refusing to condone your involvement in this with words.
Which was just as well, you didn’t need him. That was what you were telling yourself. You were just cranky and on edge because of everything else going on in your life. Heaven only knew you had a right to be.
“Boy genius still not on speaking terms with you?”
To add to your stressors, Garcia had been getting unnervingly good at guessing your thoughts.
“I don’t want to talk about him right now. Any activity from the unsub?” You quickly changed subjects.
“Well I haven’t heard from them in a while, but let me ask my brown sugar.”
Deftly pressing buttons, Garcia dialed Morgan, putting him on speaker so you could hear too.
“Hey baby girl.”
“Hello my gorgeous chocolate thunder. I was wondering, could you perhaps update me on the situation?”
“For you? Anything. We just got done talking to the M.E. about the newest body. Apparently he’s now taken to dressing them up as cheerleaders, presumably in reference to Y/N’s high school cheerleading career. Anyway, not much else has changed about his M.O., nothing we’ve noticed yet anyway-“
“Wait…Morgan…did you just say he’s dressing them up in cheer uniforms?” You asked.
“I sure did. Why? Does that mean something to you?”
“Morgan…I was never a cheerleader.” You felt like all the air had been swept out of your lungs. “I don’t think this is about me.”
The team had all headed back to Quantico at record speeds, made faster by the fact that the unsub had been getting closer and closer to Virginia in his killing sprees. They were now assembled in front of you in the briefing room, but this time you hoped to shed more light on the situation.
“When I was 16, I fell in with a bad crowd. Well, not a bad crowd, but you know. Not my kind of people. I was a quiet book nerd and they were party people. Anyway, I was going through some things and I wanted to be cool, so I let them convince me to go to this party. Long story short, it wasn’t fun. The highlight of the night though, I remember, was this girl. Amber Melfort. She and her boyfriend got into this big fight, and it was obvious he was drunk. He hit her, hit her pretty hard, and she fell. Fell into the pool, and didn’t get back out.
Her boyfriend, as you may have figured out, was not a class act. I think he thought that if she really was dead then if he left her there nobody would know it was him. I don’t really know what he thought, to be honest. Don’t really want to know. Anyway you slice it, that didn’t sit right with me. He walked away, but I dived into the pool, fully clothed, and managed to drag Amber out. Did CPR, got somebody half-sober to call 911. At the end of it all, Amber pulled through and her boyfriend, Matt, got kicked off the football team.”
“No offense, but I’m not sure I see how this is related to the case.” Emily’s eyebrows furrowed.
“Amber was a cheerleader,” I said. “Whatever this is about, it isn’t just about me. It’s also about Amber.”
Emily’s eyes widened in understanding, as did everyone else’s at the table.
“It’s certainly worth looking into. Reid, you and Dave go interview Amber Melfort, find out whatever you can. Morgan, Prentiss, I want you to find the boyfriend and make a house call.”
You all collectively scattered, and you and Garcia went back to researching whatever else you could.
“Alright, looks like Amber lives alone not far from here. Apparently she’s been dating a life guard, irony of all ironies, and according to her social media…Oh, major bummer. Turns out up until a couple months ago they were engaged until she broke it off because he was cheating on her.”
“Poor Amber,” you said.
The girl deserved a break.
“Yeah. Okay, so anyway, she hasn’t had any contact with the boyfriend, Matt, in years. He doesn’t live too near here either, which might be why the killings started further out but seem to be circling in.”
“Any stressors in Matt’s life?”
“Oh beautiful baby doll you know that I already looked and weirdly, I have not come up with much. It would seem that, to all appearances, Matt is living the perfect life. In fact, he even just got married. And other than their status as Facebook friends, he and Amber no longer have any kind of connection. He hasn’t even liked any of her posts in over a year.”
You felt the wind get knocked out of you. “I guess my theory was wrong then.”
“Seems like that might be the case. I’m sorry angel cakes.”
You were more than ready to give up. You had been ready to give up for weeks, but now? Now you were convinced you were going to be drowned and buried in a cheerleading uniform.
It didn’t make sense. All of the signs had pointed to a connection to Amber, right down to the drownings which you hadn’t been able to connect before the cheerleading outfit. You were at your wit’s end when your cellphone began ringing.
You did a double take when you saw the number. Spence rarely called, but right now he was angry with you. It didn’t make any sense for him to call. Unless…maybe he had found something. Heard from Amber that there was someone else who was a potential danger.
You picked up the phone, hoping against all hope, only to be filled with cold fear.
“Y/N, it’s Dave. My phone is dead, but we’re on the way to the hospital. Spencer’s been hurt.”
“I’m on my way.” Screw the unsub, you were not leaving Spencer alone in some stupid hospital.
“Okay. Let me know when you get here.”
When you arrived at the hospital, you found Dave quickly and he explained everything that had happened to you. Amber had been the unsub all along, dealing with her trauma the only way she knew how.
Her fiancé cheating on her had been the stressor. Apparently Matt had been cheating on her way back when and that was what they had been arguing about at the party just before he struck her, nearly dooming her to a watery grave. In a twisted reenactment, she had been playing out her memories by killing not herself, but the girl who had come to save her, all in the hopes of gaining your attention. She had become obsessed with you and with your work, and ultimately it led to her revealing herself and having a shoot-out with Spence.
“Is he okay?”
“The doctors think he’s going to be fine. She only grazed his arm,” Rossi reassured.
You breathed a sigh of relief. “Can I go see him?”
“Yes, I think they’re allowing visitors now.”
You didn’t stay behind to listen to Garcia’s speeches about charts before charging ahead.
“Spence.” You breathed a sigh of relief seeing him awake.
He looked towards you and for the first time in days, a hint of a smile pulled at his mouth.
“Hey,” he said. “Did you bring me Jell-O?”
“No. But I can,” you said, turning to go get some.
“No! I mean, that’s okay. Don’t leave yet.”
He looked so pale under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital. A white bandage wrapped around his arm and nearly matched his skin as well as the sheets. The dark marks under his eyes stuck out even harsher for it.
You drifted over to his bedside, taking a hesitant seat in the hard, alcohol scented chair next to his bed.
“Listen…Spence…I’m sorry,” you confessed. “I’ve been stupid. When I heard you were hurt, all I could think about was how if you died I wouldn’t have gotten to tell you…Well, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you that I’m an idiot. You were only trying to protect me, and I’m sorry for not seeing that and respecting it.”
“No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry at you, shouldn’t have wasted all that time being mad at you for being right. In the end, you were the one who solved the case and the one who saved the day. Even when you aren’t in the field you’re a brilliant agent, and I…I was just worried. I thought maybe I could lose you, and if I did…I don’t want to think about what would happen. So please forgive me for being so selfish and stubborn.”
You smiled softly at him, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze.
“Forgiven.”
He smiled widely at you, a smile you hadn’t seen since before the threat to your life. “I’ll take that Jell-O now.”
“Coming right up.”
“The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.”
‘Oh it’s you, plant.’ is nothing Flowey had expected to be greeted with... and it didn’t just cause him to freeze, no, it gave his insides a horrible, tight and nasty yank.
Flowey’s eyes widened in horror, when he realized that this wasn’t Axel... or, well maybe it was him, what did he really know, but one Axel he had never met before. “You have to take care of nothing-!” He actually had wanted to shout back at the other, but found that his voice was coming out as a mere, gravely whisper, when the shimmer of a well-cared of knife faced him from the phalanges at the other ones boot.
“What are y... you..?”
The shine reflected in his beady eyes for a moment-
For a moment, he was pinned by red eyes. For a moment the person, who lifted to heights he couldn’t even dream to ascent in a natural form anymore, looked smaller, their outside skinny, brown, shaggy hair all around their head and a smile that made every fiber of his being curdle in mortal, absolutely raw fear.
His breath hitched in a horrible shudder, when he realized Axel really wanted to kill him. The other approached him to plunge that fucking- (KNIFE KNIFE KNIFE KNIFE!!) deep into his being and (SLICE HIM DOWN, ONCE, TWICE, THRICE, HE WAS FLUNG AROUND BY THE PAIN AND THE CUTS AND HE FELT HIMSELF DISINTEGRATE INTO NOTHING BUT ROTTEN DISGUSTING PULP-) - -
Before the other could reach him, he almost clawed his way under the earth and still huffed and puffed down there shuddering, somewhat maybe a length of the other ones body under the surface.
“S-Stop it.. SNAP OUT OF IT!” He whisper shouted... he just couldn’t get enough air!!
In his room, the crown prince sat on his bed. Bony fingers clawed through silver locks as he struggled to breathe. It felt like there was CHAOS happening around him, like he was trapped inside of a box and he couldn’t get out. He was panicking, as the darkness inside of him started to crawl inside of him like a spider.
Knees were tugged CLOSE to his chest, eyes stayed wide. He could see it, the darkness s u f f o c a t i n g him and causing the walls around him to close in on him little by little.
‘You know you’re better off alone, Riku . . .’ The voice in his head hissed, forming a dark, shadow-like figure that waltzed slowly around his room. ‘You’re just here until they decided you’re nothing. . . Who am I kidding . . . He already has.’
“St-Stop . . . Stop it!” He pleaded as tears lined their away along with his eyes. His fingers twisted in his hair tighter while he kept his eyes locked straight on the wall that was becoming darker by the second. He couldn’t escape this, he could NEVER escape the very things that tried to tear him apart every single day of his life. He normally could hide it, swallow it until he couldn’t feel it but tonight. . .
He was DROWNING.
‘Terra knows it too. . .’
“N-No . . . Terra woudln’t- . . . He couldn’t do-!” Trembling hands fell from his hair so that he could look at them. Riku watched them in silence as the memories of him, his friends, and his time with Terra slipped through his fingers like sand.
‘Couldn’t what . . .? Throw you aside. . . ? Sure he could. Sora did it . . . All of your friends. . . He’s next, then you’ll be all alone . . . Just like you DESERVE.’ The voice in his head laughs and Riku . . .
“AAAH!!!!” Screams into the dark void of his room while trembling hands clutch the side of his head like a lifeline.
Hey so here’s a thing with Aurum. Let’s see, trigger warnings... anxiety, minor panic attack, I think those are the only notable ones but if I missed any lemme know.
The gang had been eyeing you all day. Carefully watching you, and you were never left alone. You knew they were doing it, and you knew why, but it still made you a little uncomfortable. But you couldn't just say that! They were just worried, they meant well. Still though, it wasn't helping to have the constant sense of eyelights on your back.
You wished they wouldn't tiptoe around you, but you also understood. None of them really knew where you're head space was and no one present at the moment was the type to come right out and ask. So they watched, looking for any sign or clue as to how you were. But you gave nothing away, not yet. Forcing yourself through the motions of normal, even if you felt like an after image of yourself. Even if your skin felt itchy in a way that couldn't be scratched physically. Even if your eyes ached and your chest knotted up. Everything was fine. You were fine.
You were a liar, and they all knew it.
You needed it. You needed these lies.
You'd break without them.
So you went about your day. There were always plenty of chores to be done, keeping busy was easy. Sorting and piling the wood Ten cut, and bundling tinder. Scraping the skins of the latest hunt so the hides could be used. Feeding and brushing all twelve horses. Picking up this, folding that, you skittered around camp, movements edging into manic before you'd still.
A deep breath. Center. Focus. Let go.
It was so so hard.
Your hands trembled.
You clenched your fists and grit your teeth, then let out a long slow breath. And back to it. As you passed Cook you heard him, even if the words sounded distant, an echo from far away, even as he stood next to you. Water. He needed water for dinner. You smiled and nodded like everything was all right, and grabbed the bucket as you headed out of camp towards the river.
Absently you realized you'd forgotten to toss your shoes back on, the pain of cutting your foot distant. Removed from yourself as you were, you hardly managed more than a distant acknowledgment. A whisper in the back of your mind.
You got hurt again.
Who's going to have to heal that, huh?
Always have to make a burden of yourself, don't you.
Your chest was tight, you couldn't breathe, you couldn't see. You didn't even notice the frigid water, didn't realize you'd reached the river until you were slipping. Your cut foot slid out from under you, and your knees buckled. Your gasp and your fall were cut short, the arm suddenly around your waist an iron support.
“Gotcha,” the smooth baritone in your ear so familiar. So safe. You choked on the sob you couldn't quite release.
He shifted behind you, arms moving until he had you safely lifted and settled in his hold. He stepped back, turning to carry you back to shore. How had you made it halfway across without even noticing? What the hell was wrong with you?
“None of that,” Aurum admonished, “I don't know what you're thinking, but I know you shouldn't.”
He moved effortlessly, even holding you. Every step sure and confident, as he made his way to an old felled tree, worn smooth with time. Finding a good spot he sat, and shifted you again, turning you so he could catch your eye. Rich whiskey gold eyelights met your gaze.
“Now then, you wanna tell me what's weighin' so heavy on that pretty mind, meae vida?”
You broke. The weight you'd carried all day too much in the face of his honest love and concern. You clung tightly to him as you sobbed, fingers digging into his shirt, face buried into his clavicle. Between tears you whispered of your pain. Of the stress and exhaustion weighing on you. The frustrations and failures, of every stumble and misstep, real or perceived. Of your fears and suffering.
For the first time in weeks, you were honest.
The truth hurts.
The truth heals.
Phalanges tracing soft circles along your back he listened. He said nothing, but you knew you were heard. Aur was good at that. At making you feel heard. Present.
Like you mattered.
Like you were real.
You shifted, leaning back a little, his arm supporting you so you didn't tip yourself onto the rocks below. His other hand cupped your cheek, thumb tracing under your eye.
“Feel better?”
A teary giggle and a sad smile, “Not really.”
“Anything I can do?”
You met his eyelights once more, the radiant depths searching, caring. You sighed a deep shuddering sigh before leaning back into him. Wrapping your arms around his rib cage, you rested your forehead against his sternum. He hummed as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in just a little bit closer, resting his head atop yours.
You stayed there for a bit, just basking in the comfort of his presence. He made things feel so easy. No pressure, no expectations, just there. Just present with you in the moment. It was nice. You'd just started to fall asleep when he shifted you.
“I may not have my brother's talent, but I still should look over that foot of yours. Last thing we want is you getting some kind of infection. You humans and your delicate bodies,” he shook his head but you could tell by his eyes and his tone he was teasing.
He settled you on the log, kneeling down to get a good luck at the foot you had cut. He tsked as he pulled out a handkerchief, dampening it before carefully wiping at the cuts. Though clean they still slowly oozed just a little blood, and you were finally starting to feel the sting. Aurum glanced up at you, and you gave a tentative smile.
“Go ahead,” you spoke softly, voice hoarse, “May as well get it done.”
With a small nod he focused back on the cuts. A soft golden glow enveloped his hands and spread to the foot they cradled. Slowly the wounds closed, flesh knitting under his careful concentration. You loved watching magic in action, and healing magic was especially interesting. The pain faded and you let out a soft sigh in relief. You hadn't;t even realized how badly it had hurt until it didn't anymore.
“Shall we get you back to camp?” he asked, “I'm sure everyone's anxious to have you back where you belong.”
You gazed silently up river for a moment before looking back at him and nodding, “Yeah, okay. I think I'll be okay now. I guess I just,” you trailed off a bit before continuing, “I guess I just let too much build up. Let myself get overwhelmed, ya know?”
He tilted his head and gave a commiserating smile, “Yeah, I get it.” His smile brightened slightly, that glint of mischief lighting his eyes. You barely had time to squeal as he suddenly lunged and scooped you up once more. Laughing he spun a few times, making you dizzy, and lightening the mood.
With a grin and golden flush he gazed down at you, eyelights soft and fuzzy with affection.
“I love you, ya know? We all do.”
With watery eyes you smiled back at him, “Yeah. Yeah I do.”
And you did know. It got hard to accept sometimes, but you knew.
I've had a panic attack almost every day these last couple of days and will have another temporary job, so i won't really be able to write much. I'm trying my hardest! I'll probably open asks once I'm down to less than 5 asks, or June. Whichever comes first. If you have an ask you'd really like, email me and I'll add it on the list. I'm currently working on an ask for the v3 guys with a male reader (you know who you are, asker >n<)
Barry had to admit, he wasn’t expecting to have another panic attack so soon. He figured after everything, talking to Kara, hanging up his suit, he would be golden. He woke up in a pool of his sweat and his heart racing. He quickly got up, took a shower and was a bit less tensed. Then it hit him once he was out of the shower, the fear of losing Iris, Cisco, Caitlin, Joe, Kara, Hal (well “technically” he already lost him but that was something else for a different day), Wally, Bart, his dad, the list went on.
He ended up in the fetal position, just only with a towel on, on his bathroom floor and him sobbing. It was weird and it was definitely strange since he had never done that in YEARS. He quickly got up, threw on his clothes and ran to Iris’s place, not caring about anyone seeing him, he needed to talk to someone who can calm him down.
Once he got there, he knocked on her door and shifted his weight as he waited for her to answer. “Come on, Iris. Please be home.” He knocked once more, hoping that she wasn’t gone or worse, a lot worse. He shook his head, resting it against the door as he propped himself up with both hands on each side of the door. “Iris!”
