#SO OF course I gotta draw the others wearing their trauma shirts too

[plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms]

Nemesis: Retribution (4)

Summary: 10 years after the Avengers had left you for dead during a mission gone wrong, you unexpectedly re-enter their lives. Wholly unrecognizable from the person they used to know and now with a new team behind you, they ask for your help to stop a chain of syndicates who were manufacturing and peddling the super soldier serum. You were determined to say no until the chance at the vengeance you had been chasing for years was added to the offer.

Fandoms: Avengers, Marvel, MCU, The Punisher, Daredevil

Pairings: Female Reader x (Frank Castle, Billy Russo, Matt Murdock, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Pietro Maximoff)

Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT. SHAMELESS SEXUAL BEHAVIOUR (18+ ONLY. I WILL BLOCK YOU), voyeurism, exhibitionism, authority kink, praise kink, spanking, slight dom themes, polyamorous relationships, reverse harem, blatant disregard for canon timelines and events, angst, Punisher canon level of violence and gore, strong language, mentions of trauma, mentions of character death, fluff if you squint, 

A/N: Slowing it down just a bit to move plot along. Freaking out on the reblogs and comments are encouraged and will be rewarded with cookies. Seriously though, I love hearing what you guys think and use some of it to make the next chapters better. I adore you all! Have at it!

No permission is granted to repost, steal, or translate my work. Not even a credit makes it okay. Tumblr is the only place I post my writing. If you see it anywhere else please report it.

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1:4 Apple Crumble

Steve Rogers had kindly offered for you and your team to stay at the Compound. For however long this mission would take, you were all going to start running straight at it early tomorrow. In terms of the mission, he was relieved to have your help. The sooner the serum was out of circulation the better and they truthfully did need your help. This underground world was more your scene now and you could better navigate it.

On a personal level, he was glad that you were sticking around even if it was on a contract. He would take whatever opportunity he can and make the best of it. That's how he's always been and he wasn't going to change that now.

He told himself that it was because he was the Captain that he was at your door this late after you all had agreed to part for the night. It was out of consideration that he carried with him some of his own clothes to offer you in case you needed something to change into. It was out of a need to clear the tension with you now that you were going to work as a team again that he was knocking on your door.

That was all.

You opened the door a moment later wrapped only in a short towel and with your hair still dripping wet from the shower. The smile that rose on your face was sly as you leaned on the doorframe with your arms crossed and your hip cocked to one side. He swallowed.

Maybe that wasn't all.

"What can I do for you, Cap?"

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was far too distracted by the little droplet that rolled down from your temple to the valley of your breasts. He shook his head and cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus only on your eyes and not the inappropriate answers that sprung to mind at your question.

"I brought you a change of clothes in case you need it," he managed to say. "And I wanted to talk to you if you're not too tired."

You opened the door wider and took the clothes from him without a word, turning into the room toward the bathroom. You casually dropped your towel to the floor and Steve choked at the sight of your bare back, a small set of black panties the only stitch you wore. The breath in his chest released only when you disappeared into the bathroom, the door cracked open offering him enticing glimpses as you moved around.

Steve hurriedly closed the door behind him and as he made his way further in, he caught sight of an open go bag beside your bed with clothes clearly visible. There was also a shirt and sweats beside it, the design he knew belonged to Pietro. He felt a little embarrassed. Of course Pietro would have already beaten him to it and that your team always came prepared. Still there was a satisfaction that bloomed in him when you stepped out clad in his shirt, the hem barely reaching mid thigh and bare feet soundlessly crossing the carpeted floor until you came to sit with him on the sofa. You tucked your legs under you and rested your head on your hand over the back of the seat.

"Gotta say I like this look, Steve," you grinned at him.

He chuckled, self-consciously rubbing at his beard and pulling at the hair at the back of his collar. The light dusting of red on his cheeks didn't go unnoticed by you.

"What? You don't like the all American apple pie look?"

You hummed and took a leisurely look at him from head to toe. Rugged and imposing as he appeared, the heat on his face intensified at your obvious appreciation and the way you swiped your tongue along your bottom lip. You were biting your lip when your eyes met his again, trying to stop yourself from laughing at how flustered he was getting and how much you were enjoying it. You've always found Steve handsome and he made apple pie look damn good, but this look on him was just so dangerously delicious.

You had a type.

"I'm more of an apple crumble kind of girl. I like the texture better," you winked. "And I don't mind a little beard burn."

"Will your team mind that I'm talking to you without one of them here?"

You raised an eyebrow and held his unsteady gaze, clearly understanding he meant more than just your professional relationship with the three men.

"You're curious."

"It's none of my business. That's not what I came to talk to you about," he stammered, unaccustomed to how forward you were.

"What did you want to talk about then?"

"I wanted to apologize properly and thank you for agreeing to help."

You groaned and threw your whole body back on the seat, causing Steve's shirt to ride up just shy of completely flashing him. You sat back up and pinched the bridge of your nose, letting out a long breath. It was only the fact that it was Steve that you were even entertaining this conversation.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Steve," you firmly dismissed.

"I do, Nem. We all do."

"Fine. List down what you're sorry about. Let's go through it one by one or we can draw lots to make it interesting."

"Nem," he said, low and clear with warning yet imploring you to listen. "Can you take this seriously for one second?"

The ever present smirk on your face dropped as you sighed heavily and ran a hand through your hair. For the first time since he's seen you, your expression softened a fraction and a shadow of the person he used to know passed across your features.

"Listen to me, Steve. I don't blame any of you. I'm not angry at any of you. I honestly have no room for more anger even if I wanted to be."

In the beginning you were. There were days while you were getting tortured that you hated them while you pleaded to the heavens for them to rescue you. It had taken a decade and three incredible men for that inferno of fury to turn into a manageable bitterness.

"Do you know how tiring it is to be so fucking angry all the time?" you chuckled darkly. "It took a while, but I learned to prioritize what I choose to be angry about."

"Salvacion," he muttered and you nodded, your eyes staring blankly forward.

"I've carried that name for a decade, Steve. That asshole has to die by my hands."

Steve saw now how selfish he was for forcing the conversation with the purpose of earning your forgiveness. It was for easing his own guilt that he was doing it when instead he should have just been thanking you for what you did and had to endure.

"Why didn't you ever come back?"

"I tried, Steve. When I was recovered enough I tried to go back. Did you know my sister had a girlfriend?"

He shook his head, throat suddenly closing at the sight of absolute misery in your eyes. He regretted starting this conversation even more.

"Jill. She was amazing to Lily and she was like a sister to me too," you smiled a little, not in your usual sarcastic way but with a hint of gentle fondness before your expression hardened once more.

"I saw her and I just couldn't bring myself to face her. I'm the reason the love of her life is dead. I couldn't, Steve"

It started off with the fear that they might have killed Jill too. You told yourself you had to know, but truthfully you were trying desperately to find a connection to Lily. You found her visiting the graveyard, laying flowers on two stones and spending the afternoon sitting on the ground tearfully talking to the dead. The shame burned through you and from then on you made it your sole purpose to destroy the man who took Lily from you both. Until then you had no right to face her. You had no right to return to the life you once knew.

Steve noticed that you weren't crying although the look in your eyes was swimming with grief. He expected you to cry, but somehow seeing you with dry eyes only made you look more in pain. You only clenched your fists, your shoulders tense and your jaw stiff. Steve decided he would tell the others instead of having you go through this conversation again.

He would do that for you.

You woke up surprisingly refreshed the following morning, strangely lighter than you have felt in the past decade. You didn't expect for that talk with Steve to have such an impact on you. You smiled ruefully, remembering your many counseling sessions with Curtis before and that maybe you were finally seeing his point.

FRIDAY had directed you to the larger conference room for today's briefing session with the rest of the team. You were wearing another one of Steve's shirts paired with your usual cargo pants, a fact that didn't go unnoticed judging by the raised eyebrows and teasing smiles. Billy in particular was leaning in to whisper to Matt what was going on.

"You don't have to tell me. I can smell it," Matt chuckles, crinkles visible at the edges of his dark sunglasses. "His cologne is quite distinct."

You smacked Billy on the arm, but laughed with them as well before throwing a wink at Steve who proceeded to blush a deep red. As you took your seat, a cup of coffee suddenly materialized in front of you accompanied by Pietro's ever bright smile. You smiled gratefully and took a sip, eyes slightly rounding in surprise at the taste.

"You remembered how I took my coffee."

"I've forgotten nothing about you, little star."

You haven't taken your coffee that way in so long. It's been just strong plain black coffee lately, the lack of sugar and cream where you lived with the boys being a factor. It had seemed pointless to eat something sweet when there was a permanent sour taste in your mouth from life. Now though you couldn't seem to help taking one sip after another, licking your lips before going in for more.

Right now this tasted right.

You didn't notice that Billy was smiling adoringly at you and sharing a look of approval with Frank as the briefing began, happy that someone aside from him was spoiling you. You certainly didn't know that Matt was smirking because he heard your heart literally skip a beat at the sweet gesture.

It took hours for the meeting to wrap up, but there was still more to do before you could actually take action. A number of the Avengers were sent out to gather more intel while the rest would stay to make further preparations.

"I only really need to talk to Frank a bit more," Steve said as he approached your group. "Why don't we have Pietro show you guys around the Compound? There are some improvements I think you'll find interesting."

Your tour guide for the afternoon appeared beside you, taking your hand in his and bouncing on the balls of his feet in his excitement. He was just too cute that you couldn't help but let out a small smile. The effect he had on you remained it seems.

"A tour would be really helpful for me," Matt easily agreed.

"And I go wherever the pretty girl goes," Billy added, slinging his arm over your shoulders.

"Great. Surrender your weapons and you should be good to go," Steve asked with a pointed look at both you and Billy who groaned in answer.

Billy was ready with a string of complaints and counter arguments when the clang of metal on the glass conference table stunned him into silence. He watched in complete disbelief as you removed every gun and blade attached to your body, efficiently dismantling them and lining them up on the table.

"Is she?" Matt murmured, leaning closer to Billy.

"Yeah."

"All of them?"

"Yeah."

By the time you stepped back, there was practically a decent sized armory on the table. How and where you managed to fit all of it on your person was a mystery to them.

"You missed one," Billy said, snapping out of his daze.

He stepped in front of you and casually slipped his arm up the front of your shirt and under your sports bra. His fingers grazed unnecessarily close to your now hardened nipples and he simply winked when you raised an eyebrow at him. Billy pulled out two small throwing daggers soon after and placed them alongside your other weapons.

"Oh yeah. I keep forgetting about those," you chuckled.

"Do you always come armed to the teeth?" Bucky snapped, clearly bothered by the display.

"She doesn't want her team to carry extra ammo for her, Sergeant," Billy scowled at him, the obvious animosity surprising Bucky. When he turned back to Pietro, his expression was back to his usual playful one. "So how about that tour?"

Frank turned to Steve when you had exited the room. "You gotta teach me that trick, Cap."

"What trick?"

"First time in 10 years I've seen her take any kind of order without a knife fight first," he said, cracking a smile and shaking his head.

It turns out that coming back was doing some good for you and this made him more comfortable around the Avengers. He wasn't about to braid them friendship bracelets but he was less inclined to pop a cap in their ass. At least for the time being.

Walking around the Compound brought back some of that wonder you felt when you first stepped in, but it recalled everything you had lost. Sensing the sudden tension in you, Billy gripped you by the waist and pulled you into his side. He kissed your temple, a silent reminder of what you had gained.

Pietro had been an absolute sweetheart, specifically describing what was in the area for Matt's benefit and pointing out the changes to you. The training area was your last stop, the place you had spent the most time in during your short stint here. There were loud sounds coming from the area and walking in you saw fresh-faced recruits in paired off sparring sessions.

Your full attention was on Pietro as he happily listed off the new features and answered questions from Matt and Billy, the latter now in businessman mode as he thought of what he could implement for Anvil. You were having an unusually pleasant time until a familiar shrill voice demanded your attention.

"Well look what the street cat dragged in. Y/N?"

You knew that voice. A decade with torture and trauma included apparently couldn't change how much her voice grated at you. The cold smirk made a reappearance on your face as you slowly turned to face her, the three men with you were instantly alarmed at the change in your demeanor.

"Kim," you nodded.

"Thought you were dead."

"Thanks. Can't say I thought about you at all though."

"I see you're still pathetically clinging to Pietro."

"What can I say? He's really cute," you said with a wink at Pietro who seemed to enjoy the compliment.

She sneered at you, her irritation rising when you weren't backing down like you used to do. She couldn't quite put her finger on what had changed about you, but you seemed rougher around the edges and far too cocky for her liking. Luckily, she still remembered a sure-fire way to take you down a few pegs.

"I'm teaching a class on hand to hand combat. How about we show them a demonstration on what a real fight looks like?"

You giggled as your smile grew, a disturbing sight that made even Kim doubt herself for a moment. You nodded your head in easy acceptance and she looked like she was pleased at herself for getting this opportunity. Before you could step forward though, you found Matt's walking stick blocking your path.

"What? It's not assault if it's provoked," you grinned at the frown on his face.

He hated it when you found loopholes, but he relented with a heavy sigh. He was too used to this. He leaned toward Pietro and told him that he should inform the Captain.

"Get some snacks too, roadrunner," Billy chuckled, delightedly watching you strip off your shirt and walking confidently towards Kim on the sparring mats.

Pietro had returned a moment later after completing his task, actually handing Billy a bag of fresh popcorn. The smile on his face froze when he caught sight of your bare skin. So far all he had seen as evidence of your torture was what was visible on your neck and face. He had stupidly brushed that fact aside, too excited to have found you again. Now the vicious marring on your beautiful skin was a cruel reminder of their failure as your team. They had failed you.

He had failed you.

Back in the conference room, the same feelings were shared by two super soldiers. They had pulled up surveillance on the training area after Pietro's message, just in time to see you take off that shirt.

Bucky felt the air leave his lungs at the horrific sight. He was alive and you had paid a heavy price for saving him. He could barely keep his eyes on you, the shame burning through him. He didn't want to imagine the amount of pain you had to endure to sustain those injuries.

"Don't you people dare look at her with pity," Frank warned. "Those scars are a testament to her strength. She's damn beautiful."

Steve agreed. He'd caught a glimpse of your scars last night and jarring as they were, your complete lack of self consciousness to them just made you more alluring. Looking back at the screen though he was concerned that you could hurt yourself. Kim was a top agent now, high enough in the ranks to be training recruits and leading missions. She had proven herself deadly in combat, but the way you were grinning was chilling in itself.

"One question before we start," you said.

"What?" Kim scoffed, flipping her braided hair over her shoulder.

"When's your next mission?"

"2 weeks. Why?" she answered, perfect brow raised in confusion.

"Just calculating your recovery time," you shrugged. "I'm nice that way."

Kim predictably charged at you then, growling and cursing at you under her breath. You smirked, standard SHIELD movements were easy to read for you. You stayed completely still and relaxed in your stance as she lunged at you with her fist. You timed your movement precisely, sidestepping at the absolute last moment. One hand grabbed at the back of her head, forcing it down to ram against your oncoming fist with a sickening crack.

Broken nose.

Kim shrieked in pain as the blood gushed from her nose and she tried to pull away from you. You didn't let her. You pulled her down by the shoulder to bend her over before driving your knee up her midsection. She wheezed at the impact, the mat below her smattered with her blood.

Bruised ribs. Maybe slightly broken.

You unceremoniously threw her aside, letting her fall groaning on her side. You clicked your tongue, watching her struggle and turning to the class she was supposed to be teaching.

"Lesson 1, kids," you waved your hands in Kim's general direction. "Don't end up like that."

Broken ego.

You turned to go back to your boys when the glint of metal caught your eye. You tilted your head just in time for the dagger to zip past your eye line, only thinly scratching at your cheek. Your hands reacted on instinct, reaching for the small hidden pocket along the waistband of you pants. You flicked the thin blade with deft fingers, embedding on the mat and landing it purposely close to Kim's eyes that it cut through her fake lashes.

"Nem!" Steve's unmistakable voice boomed through the speakers. You had forgotten that they had FRIDAY everywhere. "We said no weapons."

You rolled your eyes and smiled cheekily at the cameras. "It's just a nail file. I don't like keeping blood under my nails."

"You call that training?" Steve groaned rubbing his eyes and turning to Frank.

"I call that anger management," Frank said, amused at how unpredictable to handle they already found you when they've barely scratched the surface. He noticed how Bucky looked furious, his metal hand clutching a little too hard onto the table. "Don't like what you see, Sarge?"

Bucky didn't answer. He didn't tell them that he didn't like what he saw because he knew he was a major contributor in what caused it. If only he had been kinder, gentler, more honest. Maybe things would have turned out differently.

He walked down the hallways much later gripping a first aid kit in his metal hand and nervously running the other through his cropped hair. The cut on your face was barely anything, but he needed an excuse to talk to you. He was afraid you would turn him away, but he was terrified that you wouldn't. He didn't know what to say to you. He didn't know how to begin to apologize for everything he's done. His palm grew sweaty and beads were beginning to form on his brow.

He was only a few steps away from your bedroom door and he was sorely tempted to turn back around when he noticed that it was cracked open and he could hear voices from inside. He should have followed his instinct to keep his distance but a high whine that definitely came from you pushed him to peak through the small opening.

What he saw made his already thumping heartbeat grow quicker. His eyes grew wide and his throat went dry. Whatever he was expecting, it definitely wasn't this.

You. Stark naked. Grinding your mound on someone's face.

You looked absolutely glorious as you wound your hips in your chase for release; head thrown, back arched, and lips in a dreamy smile. The view he had of you, facing him and deep into your pleasure, was enough to cause his pants to tighten. He couldn't see which one of your teammates was beneath you, the bedframe blocking his view. Whoever they were, Bucky was jealous. He wanted to taste you too.

He felt that stirring of longing again now as he watched you in the throes of passion with another man. He felt it the moment you stepped back into their lives. He felt it during the 10 years they thought you were dead. And he felt it when you were still in training as a recruit every time you smiled at Pietro and Steve.

You picked up your pace and he could see muscular arms reach up to grip your waist and pull you down harder. You were panting curses, your breathing turning erratic and Bucky could see your thighs begin to shake. The sight of you coming undone has to be the most entrancing thing he's ever seen.

Movement from you and your partner pulled him from the hypnosis caused by your erotic display. His face heated up, deeply embarrassed at having watched you for so long and finding enjoyment in basically violating your privacy. He was about to leave when the man whose face you had been riding, came up to kneel behind you.

He pulled your hips back against his own, sliding his hard length easily into your dripping cunt causing you to moan so deliciously that Bucky felt a shiver run down his spine. You reached your hand up to grip the back of his head, letting him bury his own in your neck as he set a languid pace with his thrusts.

Your head rolled to the side and your eyes opened, locking directly with Bucky's. You smirked and reached down to circle your swollen bud, pressing your back further against the hard body rutting behind you and purposely putting on a show. You winked at him.

He bolted out of there.

"That wasn't very nice, honey," the low voice was thick with lust in your ear. His breathing was growing labored too, finding your heat wrapping around him overwhelming.

"I don't see you stopping, Captain."

"How can I when you're gripping me so tight?" He snapped his hips earning a sharp moan from you. "Did you like that? Torturing my best pal with me balls deep inside you?"

You sighed and closed your eyes. Apple pie Steve wouldn't have whispered such sinful things to you, but this Steve could make you cum with just filthy words alone.

"Yeah, you did. Look at you clenching and soaking my cock from having Bucky watch you. You like being bad to him, honey?"

A sudden smack to your ass had you snapping your eyes open. He chuckled into your neck, biting down hard on the juncture as he felt you gripping him even tighter.

"Answer," he growled, landing a harsher smack to your bottom.

"Yes! Yes, Captain, I did."

"Good. Will you be good for me now, honey? You caused a bit of trouble today." His thrusting was still slow, making sure you felt every ridge and vein with each stroke as he drove you into a stupor. "Will you be a good girl for your Captain now?"

"Yes, Captain."

He smirked against your skin, pleased at your compliance. He was reveling in the power he had over you. Frank had said that you never took orders without a fight, but here you were being so good for him. Pliable. Yielding. He was enjoying it.

He gathered your hair in one hand and pulled, your back arching beautifully and emphasizing where his cock was buried deep inside you. With each thrust his cock came out glistening with your slick. The image made him lose control, abruptly escalating his pace to rail feverishly into you.

He had you gasping and clutching at the sheets instantly, begging for him to go harder and push you over the edge. He bent over you and reached around to rub furiously at your throbbing clit.

"Cum like a good girl, honey. Cum around my cock," he commanded. "I wanna feel you fucking drown me."

You came, lights dancing in your eyes and your head empty of all thoughts aside from the pleasure that racked your body. He followed soon after with a loud grunt, the sensation of you fluttering around him too much to resist.

He fell on top of you, spent and satisfied. Your sweat and heavy breaths mingling together as you both tried to return back to the world. You liked the heavy feel of him on top of you, strangely finding comfort in the weight.

He dragged you with him when he rolled off you, spooning you and planting kisses on the back of your shoulders that had your skin tingling from his beard.

"When are you going to put him out of his misery?"

"When it stops being fun?" you chuckled.

Steve wasn't going to push the issue. He knew that it was up to you whether you forgave Bucky or not and when that would be. It would be on your own terms how things moved. Just like what happened between you two. He wasn't expecting it, but the heated argument about the injuries you inflicted on one of his best agents had somehow escalated into him spanking you and you growing wet from it.

Not that either of you were complaining.

You turned around in his arms to face him, looking up at him with a taunting smirk. "You sure your old heart can take being in a polyamorous relationship?"

He chuckled and pecked your lips before going back in for a much deeper kiss that had you swooning. When he pulled back, he was looking at you lovingly.

"I'm known for waiting too long about things like this. I lost my shot at you 10 years ago. I'm not missing out on you again."

His words were firm and genuine. He honestly thought that he would mind having to share you with several other men. He thought that he would feel jealous and possessive. Instead, he felt reassured. He knew that wherever and whenever he lacked, someone else would pick it up and he would be the same. There was a sense of relief knowing that you would always be taken cared of by people who felt the same for you as he did.

"Well then you have some making up to do for waiting so long," you said nibbling at his lower lip.

He groaned and grabbed your thigh, hitching your leg up on his hip. Your thighs and core were still sticky and slippery from both your releases. His tongue dove into your mouth and he could feel you moan against his lips as he ran the tip of his cock against your still sensitive core. Your nails dug into his back as he sunk in, fitting perfectly inside you.

"You're running with a super soldier now, honey," he said, eyes burning with want. "I can do this all day."

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A/N: Some asked about Jill and Kim so here you go, lovelies. Come freak out with me in the comments and reblogs. Thank you all for the support! More coming soon. 

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Mostly You

Persona 4 | Souyo | Third year, pre-relationship | Rated F for Fluff

Happy birthday, @livefreeordie13! You are my friend, and I like you a lot! \o/

For prompt #6: “I think about you all the time.”

---

It was Yosuke’s turn to call him today, so Souji sat on the floor of his bedroom, patiently folding paper cranes while he waited. 

They had spoken to each other on the phone nearly every day since Souji had left Inaba, and Souji was grateful that Yosuke always seemed eager to hear from him. Even if it was just a quick call after school on his way to Junes, or while he was drifting off to sleep after a long day—Yosuke made time for Souji, and that meant the world to him.

The ringtone Souji had specifically assigned to Yosuke started playing, and Souji smiled, like he always did. It was a song Yosuke had shared with him to cheer him up when things had been at their worst, and now Souji knew every word and every note of the track. 

“Hey, Yosuke,” Souji greeted warmly, putting his phone on speaker and setting it on his desk so he could keep folding. 

“Hey, Partner!” Yosuke said happily, and Souji smiled again. He would never get tired of that enthusiasm. “What are you up to?” 

“Cranes.”

“Haha, again? Are you trying to set a world record for ‘most paper cranes folded’ or something?” 

“No, but now that you say that, it sounds pretty good. I think that’ll be my goal now.” 

Instead of dismissing the joke like Souji expected him to, Yosuke said, “Well, if anyone can do it, it’s you. I believe in you, Partner!” 

“Thank you,” Souji said dumbly, becoming flustered for a moment before he could think of a better reply. “If I do break the record, you’ll be the first one I invite to the party.”

“The party?” 

“Yeah, to celebrate my success.” 

“Oh man, a party thrown by you? I can see it now. It’s gonna be a total rager,” Yosuke laughed.   

“Of course. It’ll be the most enraged of ragers.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!” 

“Honestly, it would probably just end up being you and me sitting in a room drinking something like, not even alcoholic, and we would try to clink our glasses together and probably spill lemonade everywhere—”

“When did it turn into lemonade?”

“—and then you’d be all ‘Congrats, Partner,’ and yeah, that would probably be it.” 

Souji expected Yosuke to laugh at the image he had created, or to call it lame and throw out ideas for an actual rager… 

“I mean, as long as I’m there with you, I’m down for whatever.” 

Souji dropped his paper crane. 

Why? Souji mentally asked Yosuke, picking his crane back up off the floor. Why must you say such cute things?

Not about to say anything remotely like that out loud, Souji asked, “So what are you doing right now?”

Not seeming to notice the abrupt change of subject, Yosuke answered, “I’m doing homework! Kind of.” 

“Are you just doodling in the margins?” 

“Not just the margins, Partner—the whole paper! Because, you know, there’s no notes on the page…” 

Souji sighed. “Do I need to hang up so you can get your homework done?”

“No! No no no! Please don’t hang up! I’ll actually do it later, I promise!”

“Calm down, I’m not actually gonna hang up on you.” 

“Okay, good.”

“That does remind me, though… Lately I’ve been daydreaming in class a lot. Sometimes I’ll just completely space out, and by the time I space back in, I realize I haven’t been paying attention for an entire lecture.” 

“For real? Did my bad habits rub off on you?”

“Why do you sound like that? What are you doing now?”

“Finished drawing. Balancing a pencil on my nose. Crap! I dropped it. Anyways, you’re supposed to be the good student between the two of us, man! We can’t both be slacking off!” 

“Sorry, Yosuke.”

Before Souji could say anything else, Yosuke suddenly asked, “What do you think about?” 

“Hm?”

“When you’re daydreaming all that time—what are you thinking about?”

“Well… I think about last year a lot, and how I wish I was still there with everyone, and I think about recipes I want to make, and movies I want to see, and what I want to do after high school, and… you. Mostly you, actually,” Souji accidentally admitted. 

“Me? What about me?” 

Now that Souji had let the cat peek its head out of the bag, he wasn’t entirely sure he would be able to keep the rest of it in the bag for much longer. 

“I think about all the crazy and terrible and amazing times we had together last year, and how I wish was still there with you. I think about recipes I want to make for you to try, and the faces you’ll make when you’re eating them. I think about movies I want to see, whether or not you would like them, the discussions we would have after we watched them together… I think about how badly I want to do whatever it takes to have more of you in my life after I finish this stupid third year… Yeah, all the time. I think about you all the time.”

“Partner, that’s… um, unexpected. I’m sure someone like you has better things to think about than me.”

Souji shook his head. “No. I don’t. Not more important than you, no.” 

“You’re exaggerating, right? To make me feel good?” 

“I’m not. Does it make you feel good?”

“Well, yeah, sure it does. Being on someone’s mind makes me feel special, y’know? Especially your mind.”

“You seem surprised, Yosuke. You really don’t have any idea how important you are to me, do you?” 

“I guess not? I don't know, it’s just… hard to believe. Do you know why I always make sure we talk to each other like this? I mean, obviously I don’t want you to be lonely, and I want to make sure you’re doing okay, but also like, I just don’t want you to forget me.”

Souji scoffed, immediately covering his mouth afterwards because he definitely hadn’t meant to do that, even if what Yosuke had said was completely ludicrous. 

Forget you? With the amount of running around you do in my mind, how on earth could I possibly forget you? 

Souji quickly tried to find a way to convey that sentiment to Yosuke in a less creepy way. 

“The only way I could ever forget you is if I had a major head injury, like blunt force trauma, and I forgot everything… or, if I, you know, died.” 

“Partner! Don’t say shit like that!” 

“My problem isn’t forgetting you; my problem is remembering you too much. Seriously, it’s constant. But actually, yeah, no, I don’t want to think of you any less, not really…”

“Heh, is this what it feels like to be flattered? You’re really something else, Partner. Oh hey, I’ve gotta go; my mom’s calling me for dinner.”

“Okay,” Souji sighed, feeling like he had sort of just poured his heart out (in a subtle yet super vulnerable and embarrassing way?), and yet the conversation had not come anywhere close to a satisfying resolution. “Tell her I said hi.” 

“Will do! She’ll be thrilled, haha. She’s actually trying out one of the recipes you left her, so I’ll let you know how it goes. Don’t worry though; it’s definitely not gonna be as good as when you make it.” 

Souji rediscovered his smile, happy that Yosuke would be thinking about him after he hung up—comparing his mother’s cooking against Souji’s own while he ate, remembering the times Souji had made the dish for him, coming up with an evaluation to share with Souji after the meal was done… 

“Your loyalty is appreciated.” 

“All right, Partner, thanks for talking to me.”

“Yosuke? I’m sorry if anything I said was too weird.” 

“All you ever say is weird stuff, man. I’m used to it.” 

“Pfft, okay, bye.” 

“Talk to you later!” 

Yosuke hung up, and Souji finished off the crane he was working on, setting the red paper bird on his desk in a row with several other red cranes. He took a photo and sent it off to Yosuke with the caption: “It’s like your shirt.” 

Satisfied with that, Souji stood up so he could go make his own dinner, but a text from Yosuke stopped him in his tracks. 

Instead of a reply about his picture, he opened up an unexpected picture from Yosuke. 

It was of his notebook, the one he had been doodling in at the beginning of their conversation. 

The first thing that caught his eye was a big-headed (chibi?) doodle of himself (the distinct bowl cut was a dead giveaway) in the middle of the page, holding his sword and wearing his TV World glasses. He also appeared to be on fire? Or maybe that was a representation of Persona power? 

Whatever it was, it was adorable.

Souji’s gaze flitted across the full page, his breaths growing more shallow as he took it all in: Izanagi and Jiraiya doing cool(?) action poses next to each other, a bento box that looked very much like the ones Souji used to prepare for Yosuke every day, a half-melted snowman wearing Souji’s grey scarf and Nanako’s Loveline hat, a Mega Beef Bowl from Aiya’s and stick figure versions of all their friends drowning in it… 

It took Souji a minute to realize it, but every single doodle across the page was somehow related to himself, and the memories he and Yosuke shared together. 

In the bottom corner of the page, one doodle was squeezed in that must have been the last one Yosuke drew. It was the two of them standing side-by-side in front of a house (but it didn’t look like any house that Souji recognized?) with their arms around each other’s shoulders. They were wearing big happy faces, and one of Yosuke’s arms was in the air, as if he was waving. 

The circular sun with squiggly rays coming out of it was in the sky above them, smiling and wearing sunglasses, ironically. There was a thing in front of the house that Souji didn’t recognize at first until he saw the bike next to it; it was a half-pipe. 

Then Souji squinted at another part of the doodle and zoomed in on the image, not quite believing his eyes.

In the front window of the house, there was a cat peeking through, big and fluffy just like Souji liked. 

Was that supposed to be… their house? 

“No way,” Souji whispered to himself.

Then he scrolled down to the caption and completely lost his breath. 

“I think of you too.” 

And with that, Souji’s fate was sealed—he was going to be thinking about Yosuke—his Partner who he was in love with (who thought about him too!)—nonstop for the rest of his life. 

[spidercakes]

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Tony gives him a once over and Peter feels a little self conscious on account of he’s the only one here wearing color. Well, a bright color. Carol is technically wearing color but her flannel is a dark blue and he hardly counts the yellow on her Nirvana shirt. “Come on, Peter. It’d be kind of fun, giving you a punk makeover. Bet you’d look real good in Nat’s clothes,” he says, drawing Peter into his lap. How is it that even Rhodey, who by all means is kind of a prep, is also not wearing color?

“I don’t know if I could pull that off,” he says honestly. He likes his pastels and his skirts and his soft aesthetic. Tony looks good in the leather and spikes and the eyeliner but Peter is pretty sure he’d look like he was playing dress up.

“I’m sure you’ve got something in your wardrobe that’s not pink. Humor me a little and give it a try,” he says, pressing a kiss to Peter’s cheek.

“Is anyone going to ask why the hell he offered up my clothing?” Nat asks, arms folded across her chest.

Bucky looks her up and down. “I don’t know, probably because he’s wearing the pink version of your outfit,” he points out. They both look down at each other and huh. Nat’s fishnets are black, so is her skirt and crop top, but it is pretty much the same as Peter’s except his skirt is pink and his shirt is white.

“This is kind of punk looking,” he says and Tony raises an eyebrow.

“Sweetheart, the black fishnets do not make that punk.”

*

When Tony sees Peter the next day he lets out a soft laugh. “Babe, that’s adorable but its so not punk,” he says, circling his arms around Peter’s waist and drawing him in.

Peter looks down at his outfit. “There is so much black here! Pretty sure this is like... all the black I own. And I think the shorts might be Liz’s, there’s like... not a lot of dick room.” But he can make do on account of he’s got no hips so it works out, if only barely.

When Carol sees him she snorts, “aw, he tried so hard! Its so close!”

“What’s wrong with this?” he asks, looking down at his outfit. He’s got the fishnets he worse yesterday, presumably Liz’s high waisted black shorts, and it took him forever to find those black garter belts to hold up the thigh highs he put over the fishnets. He only has them because he went through a very brief goth phase he no longer has picture evidence of, thank god. He even managed to find a black choker, he’s seen Nat wear those it counts!

“Well,” Tony says, “might be this very pastel pink shirt.”

“I don’t even think I own a black shirt! I did a lot of digging through my closet. I found things in there that should have never been there to begin with. I found the unicorn phase I went through when I was thirteen. I think this should count if for no other reason than I had to suffer looking at all that,” he says, pouting.

Tony grins, clearly having a good time with this. “No dice, baby. You can do better than this, I know you can.” Peter huffs because he found his unicorn phase. He should be spared a bad grade in punk due to psychological trauma suffered in his attempts to get there.

When Nat shows up she snorts, “aw, that’s so cute he almost managed it. Kind of. If punk were more pastel goth looking, anyway,” she says, looking as amused as Tony.

“This is why we call you pretty boy Parker,” Bucky adds, walking up behind her.

“You what?” he asks, looking to Tony, who rolls his eyes.

“That’s what he calls you because he keeps trying to make fetch happen,” he says.

Peter perks up, “you guys have seen Mean Girls!” he asks, excited. Usually their taste in movies is way different so its strange to find common ground.

One of Tony’s hands slip from his waist to his ass, “of course we’ve seen Mean Girls. What kind of savage hasn’t?”

“I haven’t seen it. Also how the blue fuck did I end up looking more punk than you?” Rhodey says, appearing from around the corner. Peter looks him over and he resents that Rhodey does look more punk than him and all he’s done is throw on a pair of black jeans, a black v-neck, and a leather jacket.

“You know what, I can do better than this,” Peter says, determined to outdo Rhodey of all people in punk looks. He can’t possibly go around knowing that a damn football player managed to out punk him.

*

He’s pretty confident that he’s at least managed to outdo Rhodey today in punk aesthetic and he had to steal a sweater from MJ to do it but he managed so. This time when Tony sees him he doesn’t immediately laugh so there’s that, but he does look amused. “Well, you definitely outdid Rhodey,” he says, gesturing to him.

Peter huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, “Tony, he’s literally wearing a letterman jacket. How could I not outdo that?” he asks.

“I had my doubts. You still look more like a soft boy going to the library but you’re not too far off,” he says, hooking an arm around Peter’s waist and drawing him in.

“Its all black! I had to steal this sweater from MJ,” he says, pouting. And he had to go digging back through the depths of his closet to find the garter belt with the flowers on it and he thinks he did a good job.

Tony snorts and starts laughing. “That explains why it looks familiar. Punk is more than a lot of black though, but you’re getting there,” he says, grinning.

Peter curls his arms around Tony’s neck and leans in, “And here I thought you might approve. Guess you don’t get to see what’s underneath now,” he says, laughing when Tony gives him a panicked look, pulling him back in when he goes to move away.

“Oh, no, no it fine,” he says, kissing Peter softly. “Really.”

“Is it? Because he looks like he’s about to spend a few hours in the library and dressed comfortably,” Natasha says, frowning at him. Tony gives her a look and she rolls her eyes, “you can’t just approve because you want to get laid, Stark. Here,” she says, pulling off the thick belt she’s got wrapped around her waist and putting it on Peter. “That looks better,” she says, nodding in approval.

Tony frowns, “huh. It actually does.”

Peter looks down and sure enough it does look better and come on. “A belt? Seriously?”

“Quit whining, I sacrificed my look for this Parker. Be grateful,” Natasha tells him.

Tony pulls him back in, hands settling on his hips. “So I get to see what’s underneath later, right?” he asks and Peter rolls his eyes.

“Horndog,” he accuses. Tony shrugs, unrepentant and Peter lets out a long suffering sigh, acting put upon. “Fine, I guess,” he says and Tony grins, eyes lighting up with excitement.

*

Tony snickers as Peter stretches out on his bed. “What, didn’t have that in pink?” he asks as he climbs onto the bed, sliding a hand up Peter’s thigh. He can’t believe it took him this long to find a pair of black jeans in his wardrobe and he actually really likes them.

“Yeah, I have it in pink, and mint green but I decided to wear the grey one,” he says as Tony’s hand slips up the sweater in question.

Tony’s lips quirk up, “the pink one would look cute with these jeans,” he murmurs as he leans in to kiss him.

Peter smiles, “I thought you thought I owned too much pink?”

Tony shakes his head, “nah. It looks good on you. Gotta admit, you in Carol’s Nirvana shirt, my jacket, and Bucky’s pants was a hilarious sight though.” Because they’d all given up hope that he could manage punk on his own and it turns out the look isn’t for him. As he suspected he looks like he’s playing dress up but he did snipe a skirt or five from Natasha and she can’t complain because he knows she stole at least two of his sweaters and a pair of jogging pants. They’re totally even now.

“Next time we should give you a pastel makeover. See how you come out,” he says, laughing at the way Tony wrinkles his nose.

“Oh, it looks fine on you but I draw the line at pastel anything. If you’ve got red I’ll let you put me in whatever, but leave the pastels at the closet door,” he says.

[lovedsammy]

head above water; [commission for samwinchesterlesbian]

This was the 2nd commission from @samwinchesterlesbian, still focusing on Sam + trauma and Casifer. I went with their instances of interaction in 11.14, 11.18 and 11.22 (I believe). This took forever because I’m sick as hell with the flu, but I hope it has some sense of clarity to it! Giving this a trigger warning for implied/referenced sexual assault (this is Lucifer after all) so please be careful when reading. Nothing explicit, I promise, but just in case. Also a lot of Sam & Cas friendship and Sam reflecting on Cas’s situation and paralleling it to his own. 

-

In hindsight, Sam knows that he should have seen this coming. After all, what was the saying? The Devil always had a way of getting his due? Standing here with Lucifer before him, inhabiting Castiel’s body, Sam guesses that saying was more than accurate. He just stares in disbelief at his friend, or the man that he recognizes his friend anyway, when Cas starts, quite eerily, laughing. He should’ve seen it, then, the odd behavior coming from Cas. Because Castiel, while much less reserved than other angels, was mostly stoic in nature and not easily amused. So the laughing in of itself was an oddity, especially when Sam had just bared himself, heart and literal soul to the angel, offering to let him use his soul for the power to save his brother. Castiel was perhaps not only the sole angelic being that he trusted, but the only one he’d ever entrust with the safety of his soul. Cas was his friend. Cas would not laugh at his declaration of trust, no matter the situation. So, really, the alarm bells should’ve been shooting off at that instant. But it isn’t until he’s pressed against the pillar with Lucifer’s fingers curled in his shirt that it hits him. The fear, the absolute horror of it all, keeps him from trying to fight back. Even if Lucifer weren’t pinning him in place right now, Sam doesn’t think he’d be fighting, or running, for that matter.  

He’s rooted to the spot in absolute terror. 

“Lucifer,” He realizes, and saying it aloud only makes it more real.  

“In the flesh.” 

There’s an absolute glee in Lucifer’s eyes, a personal enjoyment he gets out of wearing Castiel, and more so the fact that he can use Sam’s friend to violate him. Sam’s thoughts are racing a mile a minute, and his usually quick brain was having trouble processing. Was Lucifer so desperate to escape the cage again that he took over Cas’s -- Jimmy’s -- body, even without consent? What did that mean for Cas? Was the angel just gone? Worse? Could two angelic beings even possess the same body? He doesn’t have long to think about it, because he watches the way Lucifer’s hand loosens on his shirt and instead moves lower, down to the base of his stomach. Sam wants to hurl, unbidden memories coming back to him: of Lucifer’s hands going even lower, touching him in places that made Sam want to dissolve into nonexistence. Of how Lucifer could force his body to react no matter how much Sam tried to fight it. Sam had never known as much shame or felt as dirty. He was tainted by the Devil, in every sense of the word.

He’s brought back to the present when a fist pushes its way inside his gut, past his clothing and skin and muscles and organs, down into the very embodiment of his being itself. The pain is unlike anything he’s ever felt on the physical plane. He can vaguely remember Cas doing this once before when he was soulless, but it hadn’t been on the same level. Cas had been gentler, kinder, not intending to harm. But Lucifer… he was the opposite. Sam’s body remembers then, with the forceful limb inside him, the countless years and decades that the Devil had done this on a different realm, over and over again.  

The body remembers what the mind forgets.  

Sam throws his head back and screams. 

He’s not really aware now, not anymore. His soul is like a frayed nerve, inflamed and raw from the violent intrusion, trying to shrink away from the Devil. It scorches and burns and freezes all at once. A burning cold. It recognizes its torturer. Lucifer strokes it in a way that one might mistake as fond, except it’s more possessive than anything. The touch says, ‘you’re mine, and I can do anything I want with you.’ And sadly, his soul will remember every instance of this violation, even if Sam’s mind and body will not.  

When Sam wakes, Lucifer is still in front of him, on his knees, his face closer than Sam’s comfortable with. Sam can’t help it -- all of his bravery leaves him, and he puts his hands up placatingly, attempting to plead, skirting back as much as he can. “No, no,” He whispers. “Please.”

But it’s not Lucifer. It’s Cas, who is fighting to reign Lucifer in, to hold him back. Sam feels a sting of betrayal when he learns Cas voluntarily let the Devil in, but he tries to convince Cas to eject him all the same. Because of course it had gone that way, right? Lucifer prided himself on ‘consent’ but that was only after he’d found a way to play on the insecurities and doubts already there, and taken advantage of them. It was dubious at best, and… well, Sam knew the worst. He’d experienced it. Castiel’s intentions had been good, so of course the Devil had preyed upon those and convinced the angel to let him in. That part was done and over. What mattered now was not that Cas let Lucifer in, it was encouraging him to cast him out.

“You have to fight, Cas,” He tells the angel. “Eject him now!”

Except Cas can’t. He’s already using every bit of his strength to protect Sam. And in any case, they needed him to save Dean. Sam would have to find some other way to get rid of Lucifer, at least for now. And when he gets his chance, he catapults Lucifer far out of their vicinity, drawing the angel banishing sigil in his own blood.

 The reprieve does little to ease Sam’s troubled mind. He feels like his entire foundation has been rocked. Lucifer was walking the Earth once again.

-

Holy fire and an entrapped Cas - it felt like history was repeating itself. But it is Lucifer still wearing his friend, whose cocky grin he sees when the vessel turns to face him and Dean, unperturbed by the flames surrounding him. Sam fights down the shudder when they lock eyes, and squares his shoulders, features determined. Castiel was trapped inside his own body with the Devil for a room - well, mind - mate, and Sam knew firsthand how much of a terror that was. Even if Castiel didn’t realize it now, it was, and Sam wasn’t going to expose him to more of that than he already had been. Sam circles the Devil, still somehow managing to feel like prey rather than a predator, still the victim despite Lucifer being the one restrained. That’s always how it was. No matter how much power Sam obtained, Lucifer was still stronger. He never deluded himself into believing otherwise. There was no beating the Devil. 

They’d thought that maybe, just maybe, they could reach Cas long enough for him to expel Lucifer. Unlike Dean, however, Sam knew Lucifer’s games, and even though Cas was apparently staring right at him, body jerking as he fought to keep control, the younger Winchester hadn’t believed it was him as quickly. Lucifer liked to play with his targets before he pounced. Chances were he was just pretending to be Cas, continuing to string them along. The warding was beginning to fail, too, which would leave them without protection.

Not even Crowley also taking a dive into Cas’s body could expel the Devil. The hold that Lucifer had on Cas was just too strong. Sam no longer has any capacity for feeling bitterness or anger at Castiel -- all he can feel is sadness and empathy. How useless was the angel feeling, how unsalvageable and unneeded, that he’d no longer try and fight the epitome of evil residing inside of him? Sam knew that feeling well, too. Just one more thing for himself and Cas to bond over, he guesses.

And when Amara takes off with Lucifer as her prize, Sam releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. And he’s far more ashamed to acknowledge that the relief of being away from Lucifer overwhelms the depths of concern he has for Cas.

And he hates himself for it. 

-

Rescuing Lucifer from Amara is just rescuing Cas, plain and simple. Or that’s what Sam tells himself. He’s doing this because it’s necessary, and the pliant body he’s got slung over his shoulder in support is still the body of his friend. It didn’t matter who was currently in control. He can feel the chill emanating from the vessel, and inhales through his nose to calm his breathing, and keep his body sturdy. He knows that Lucifer can feel it, the way Sam’s heart races, the way his palms go clammy with anxiety, but luckily, for once, the Devil says nothing of it.

When they finally get back to the Bunker, Chuck - God - smiles sadly at Sam when he stands outside the door of his occupied bedroom. 

“I won’t let him hurt you,” He says, placing a comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You don’t need to worry. He has no power here.” 

Except he does, Sam wants to insist. He has all the power in the world. It didn’t matter that the Devil could physically hurt him. Every second that he was within Sam’s vicinity, every second that he walked free, was a demonstration of his power. He was inhabiting Sam’s friend, and now his bedroom, the place that Sam felt safest in. The place that Sam let Cas in to. Lucifer knew that. He had to. This was just how Lucifer was – he exploited Sam’s vulnerabilities, took away the things that made him feel safest. He didn’t want Sam to feel safe, not even in his own home. Not even with God present.  

Later, when he bypasses Sam on the way to the library, Sam tries to make himself seem smaller, pressing himself into the cold wall to let the Devil pass. Lucifer pauses mid-step, smiling in the way that makes Sam’s skin crawl.

“I’ve gotta say, your bed is extremely comfortable, Sam,” He practically purrs. “No wonder Cassie enjoys it so much. It smells just like you.”

 He laughs when he glimpses Sam’s traumatized expression and saunters off again, his grace creating a soft, crisp wind about the place that only Sam can feel. It’s intentional, and it works.

 Sam stays pressed against the wall until his heart is no longer trying to work its way out of his body and his legs feel solid again.

[breadkneewrites]

Keep Yourself Alive

kathleen aka @losingmymindtonight i borrowed this scene-by-scene style from you and was slightly inspired so this is for you, my love. ily ❤🤠

..

It takes a month for Tony to notice something’s wrong. 

It’s been a month since Peter’s death was reversed, and Tony just now noticed something’s wrong. 

I guess you could it boil it down to ‘he’s a bad father (-figure).’

..

A week after Peter is brought back and carefully swaddled in blankets on Tony’s couch, Tony notices that the kid carries around one of his blankets. 

It’s a ratty, old thing that smells like stale whiskey (from worse times -- before Peter) and is covered in not-a-few stains (nothing disgusting, mind you). Pepper gave it to Tony a few months after her initial signing as his personal assistant, claiming, “ you needed some blankets to make your house a home.” At the time, he thought it irrational and used it only when he was having a bad day. 

Now, it seems, the old thing has a new owner. Pepper notices every night when she comes home from the office. She tucks it further around Peter’s shoulders, plants a quick kiss on the his head, and passes to change into her sweatpants and slippers.

Honestly, Tony just thought the blanket thing was similar to how children carry around a teddy bear when they’re, like, two. One night he asked Pete about it, and the kid shrugged it off.

“I can buy you a new one. You don’t gotta use that old thing. Pepper gave me that years ago.”

“I like it,” Peter said plainly, shrugging. The blanket was tightened around his shoulders as he said so. The motion seemed protective, like the old cloth was going to be stolen from him. Tony just stretched his hand to ruffle the kid’s hair lightly, ignoring the way Peter’s soft flinch made his heart twinge. 

“Alright, but let it be washed with tomorrow’s laundry. It smells of booze.” Tony paused, his eyes crinkling with a smile, “my fault.” 

“I don’t mind it.” Peter doesn’t seem to have anything else to say after that.

Tony draws his hand away and lets it fall to his side. 

..

Two weeks after Peter is brought back, Tony sees the kid biting his nails. 

It started as a small thing. Tony would see the kid pick at his thumb and gently slap his hand away from his mouth. He usually followed this up with a joke.

“You’re gonna lose all your nails there, Pete.”

“What? Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize I was doing it.” Peter drops his hand and wipes the spots of blood on his blanket. Tony watches him do so, idly wondering if the blanket’s been washed yet. 

“You gonna stain my blanket too?”

“Sorry, Mr. Stark!” Peter jumps off the couch and runs the blanket to the kitchen sink, throwing it under the hot water. He recoils with a hiss as it hits his hand. Tony rushed forward to inspect the burns. 

“Hey, you alright, kid?” He flips Peter’s hands and notes the way the nails have been chewed to shreds. Deciding not to comment on them (he’s pretty sure Peter’s not in the mood for a little lecture), he reaches behind the kid to turn off the water. 

“I’m fine,” he mumbles. The blanket is partially soaked now, and Peter looks at it. His shoulders tense briefly. “I’ll just hang it up to dry. The blood’s probably gone now.” He pulls his hands away from Tony and gathers up his blanket (it’s far, far too big for him). 

Tony watches him stumble to the living room.

..

Three weeks after Peter’s brought back, the nightmares start. 

The kid’s always had nightmares, always about his Uncle Ben or Aunt May, so Tony honestly doesn’t think much more of them. It’s become habit for him to wake up in the middle of the night (or, more recently, stay awake) and rush into Peter’s room to pull him into an awkward hug. The kid sobs and shakes as he struggles to explain what happened in the nightmares each night, and Tony tries to soothe him.

“Shush, Pete. You don’t gotta tell me. Just breathe, okay?” Peter would never answer, but stops trying to tell Tony what’d happened. Now, he just curls against Tony’s side and digs his fingers into whatever shirt Tony is wearing as he tries to catch his breath. Tony always feels warm when he does that. 

Maybe he’s just selfish.

Tony will brush the curls off Peter’s sweaty forehead as he struggles to pull Peter into a more comfortable hug. Some nights, however, Peter is violent. 

Tony shuffles in the room and quietly tries to soothe the kid by waking him with a gentle shake, moving to curl into the bed with him, and Peter will claw his way out of his grip. He scratches (he doesn’t really have fingernails that can hurt anymore) and scrambles to get away from Tony, his body a wreck of shivers. 

Sometimes, Tony has to wrestle Peter into his hold to get him to stop yanking at his own hair, pulling at it like it will snap him out of his fear. The screaming is the worst. Peter will scream in absolute terror, the sound gut-wrenching, and throw himself to the other side of the bed. Away from Tony. Am I the monster?

It takes a while for Peter’s eyes to clear up, the confusion and fear gone, and he chooses to crush himself against Tony in a smothering apology. His throat is too destroyed to say anything, so he just attaches himself to Tony’s side and curls his fist into the man’s shirt.

Those nights, Tony is reminded how he’s a bad father (-figure). (He would never call Pete his kid - he obviously wouldn’t want him to.)

After Peter is calmed, he will silently detach himself from Tony’s side and sink into his mountain of blankets (more had joined the first). 

Tony gets up and leaves the room.

..

A month after Peter’s brought back, the panic attacks start.

Usually, they’re short and sweet. He sees something that reminds him of Titan -- of space and the war he wasn’t meant to fight -- and he’ll start breathing heavily. His hands shake and he curls them into fists, the blanket is wrapped more firmly around his shoulders, and he cries. Tony sits next to him and talk about things that are not related to the attack, rubbing his back in slow circles. 

Pepper thinks Tony needs to put the kid into therapy. He needs it. He does, and Tony knows it. But he’s already considered himself a bad father (-figure), and Peter already declined the offer, so Tony just tucks his feet up on the couch next to Peter, turns on Star Wars, and talks shit about the plot-holes. 

“This isn’t even a plot hole,” Tony begins, the blanket scratchy on his hand as he rubs comforting circles on Peter’s shaking back, “but why the fuck do the Stormtroopers always miss? Solo is right there? He’s literally right there.” He points for emphasis and Peter follows the direction of his hand to the screen. A smile briefly twitches his lips. A better attack then. 

“I-It’s science fiction,” Peter retorts. Tony ignores the stuttering (he’s learned that’s another way to just throw his progress backwards) and opens his palm in exasperation as Han Solo dodges yet another laser-bullet-thing. 

“It’s dumb. Anyone could’ve made that shot.” Pete just sends him a watery smile and draws his ragged blanket closer. Tony keeps rubbing his back, well-aware of the bumps he can feel on his spine. Not eating enough. Gotta tell Pepper this one. She’s gonna freak. 

Twenty minutes later, Tony drops his hand and Peter shoves his legs onto Tony’s lap. 

..

It takes one month, four days, and several nights of sleeplessness for Peter to finally tell Tony what’s wrong.

It’s nothing he didn’t already know. He knows the tell-tale signs of PTSD. Hell, he struggles with it every damn day. But he wanted Peter to tell him. To come clean -- to ask for help. It’s what he needed to do. Shoving the kid into a therapist’s office and a handful of pills wasn’t going to help the kid grow from his trauma. It’d just hide it. 

Then again, Tony’s never been good at handling his own problems. He’s probably just wrong. 

“Mr. Stark?” Tony glances over at Peter one day while tinkering on a new suit. It’s nearly finished, but it’s not like anyone but Tony could see that. Parts were strewn around the lab haphazardly. Peter hugs his blanket tighter, his chewed fingernails digging into the scratchy material. “Can we talk?”

Tony tosses his screwdriver onto the nearest table and wipes his hands on his work cloth. “Yeah, Pete, what’s up?” Peter’s eyes flick around the room, full of internalized panic. Dread creeps up Tony’s spine.

“I think,” the kid pauses, swallows, and continues. “I think I need help?” His tone raises in a question as he drops his eyes to Tony’s new suit and back up to settle them on his mentor’s face. “I don’t know what to do.”

Tony moves to gently wrap his arm around Peter’s bicep and tugs him towards a couch he had put in the lab so Peter could sit and talk to Tony as he works. After settling on the couch and tucking his socked feet under his body, Peter twists to look at Tony, determined. “I need help,” he repeats. 

“Alright, but you’re going to have to give me more to work on than just that, Pete.”

“I-” Peter scrambles for a place to begin. “I can’t sleep, at night, and-” Tony keeps quiet as the kid tries to sputter his way through this. He needs to be able to say it (at least, he thinks the kid’s supposed to). “I think I need help,” Peter just says lamely. It takes a couple of pauses for him to continue.

“Ever since what happened with Thanos, I can’t stop thinking about it. Dying. I’m scared, Mr. Stark. I can’t--” he waves his hand around in an attempt to explain, “I don’t know what to do.”

Tony moves to wrap the kid in a crushing hug. “Just saying it, Pete, is a good start.” That’s all the kid needs to spill everything left unsaid.

“I keep using this blanket to hide, because I feel like he’s gonna get me. I can’t stop biting my nails because if I do, then I won’t know if I can still bleed or if I’m still dust.” Tony tightens his grip at that one. “The nightmares,” Peter chokes out, “are always of him. Titan. The snap. You--” 

It feels like a cold slap to the face, but he should’ve expected it, honestly. Of course Peter is terrified of him. He’s a monster. He let Peter die. Let him fade into dust-- didn’t help him-- let him fall--

“--you dying.” Peter finishes, snatching Tony’s attention. “Mr. Stark, I don’t want you to die.” Somehow, in Peter’s confession, he’d pressed closer to Tony so he could curl that fingernail-bitten wrist into his sweaty, dirty shirt. 

“I’m not going to die, you hear me? I’m right here.”

Peter falls asleep curled next to Tony, his face stained with tears. Tony drops his hand from the kid’s back. After a moment’s thought, he decides to put it back.

..

Tony Stark may be a bad father (figure), but as he moves to wrap the blanket around both him and his kid, he feels like everything will be alright. He might not know what to do about his own PTSD, let alone Peter’s, but they’ll get there somehow, someday. Tomorrow, he’ll ask Peter about joint therapy.

They’ll get through it. Together. 

Maybe he’s not so bad of a father after all. 

(He’s never been right before.)

[occhiolismatic]

I know that Tony didn't have the arc reactor when he met Peter but... Can you even imagine the nerd-boner it would give Pete? 😍😍 I could imagine him cumming on it even.

Of course Tony didn’t havethe arc reactor when he met Peter. Gone but not forgotten, the little glowingreactor that once protected Tony’s heart left behind scars reminiscent of atrauma-filled past, and Peter was what? 15 in civil war, which took place twoor three years after Tony underwent surgery to remove it, putting Peter at aroundthe age of 13 when it was removed? But consider modern day Tony with that shinyring, upgraded, still preventing fragments of shrapnel from reaching his heart?Although necessary for survival, after years and years of having it, Tony hatesit, wants it gone, but modern day Peter? Peter loves it. YEAH, it’s upsetting knowing Tonywould be dead without it, but that hunky piece of metal interests Peter to a T.

“Can… can I touch it?” Peterasked, his question becoming worthless, as evidenced by the pointed fingeralready dinking the metal in Tony’s chest. “Woah- Mr. Stark-”

Tony reached out, large handstaking hold of Peter’s, engulfing them into his own, one on the bottom, theother on the top. “Yes, Peter, it’s shiny. I am more than fully aware.”

Tony lay sprawled with Peter stashed between his legs, the boy’slittle butt peaking in the air as he nuzzled himself further against Tony’storso, obviously to get a closer look at the intriguing invention keeping Mr.Stark alive, obviously. It hadn’t been sexual, not at all. Justmoments ago they were laying, cuddling in each other’s arms to the sound of amovie in the background, food and drinks littering the room, and Peter had evenbegun to doze off, his cheek resting against Tony’s side, dangerously close tothe softly purring ring wrapped around the other man’s heart. He would havepassed out, gone to sleep right with Tony, the man slowly diving into a dreamalongside Peter as well, but once the teenager noticed the faint blue lightunderneath one layer of cloth and connected the dots, he realized he had yet tosee the reactor in person. The older man was always clothed during sex, wearinga suit or something that covered the reactor, that or he had Peter so whipped,had fucked him too much for the boy’s own good, the kid had probably seen thereactor before, kissed it too, but he couldn’t remember, not with the circuitlooping against his ear. He wanted to run his fingers over the cold metal, grazethe sides where it met Tony’s skin. So he asked. He sat up, removed theblankets from their bodies, the heat automatically dispersing, and rolled intothe other’s lap: “Mr. Stark, can I see the arc reactor?

Certainly not about to turn down the sparkle twinkling inPeter’s eyes, Tony agreed, sitting up to angle his body more forward. Peter,almost like an impatient little puppy, sprung at Tony’s chest, lifting theshirt covering the other’s sternum, pulling it up to meet Tony’s neck where theolder man took hold of it, biting into the cloth with his teeth so he couldforce the blankets down at his waist. Face illuminating with blue, Peterstared, doe-eyed and soft, one hand still gripping onto Tony’s shirt even whenhe knew the other had it handled, and he didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t abad thing, it was just.. amazing? Spectacular? A work of art? “It’s so pretty,”Peter began, mind running a thousand miles a minute. 

“Could say the same aboutyou,” Tony added, dropping the shirt back to his collarbones with a pat. Peter, too awestruck to pick up on the compliment, might’veblushed, the red in his cheeks overtaking the teal basking his skin. So yeah, there they were. Peter prodded the reactor with a sharp fingertip, tapping the metalonce and then twice to listen to the sounds vibrating, bouncing back into hisear, and Tony, peering down at Peter’s tiny fingers, let him.

Peter knew all the facts, the magnets, the vibranium, it’scapabilities, the energy it housed. “Mr. Stark, I gotta say, I knew it wasstunning, but..” He looked up at Tony with careful, aureate eyes, even exchangedsmiles, Tony telling him it was okay. “Mr. Stark, you’re so smart. I don’tunderstand-”

“You don’t have to understand-”

“Just, like.. woah you made this, you know? It’s so fetchingand sleek,” he let out a gasp when Tony playfully ruffled the boy’s hair. It wasn’t enough to break his attention from the fine details of the reactor though. “It’s.. comparatively one of the most intricate pieces of technology I’ve ever laideyes on, and you… you? made this, and it’s keeping you alive, and you wouldn’tbe here without it and it’s just..” He poked it again, thrusting his facecloser to its epicenter, squinting to narrow his gaze up and under each tinycrevasse.

Tony smiled, “It’s also a bomb, Pete. Weaponized correctly,and you’re touching an explosive, one that many would love to have their handson. You’re just lucky, now aren’t you? Fortunate, some would say.”

Peter swallowed, leaning away from Tony’s torso with aknuckle in his mouth.

“You’re hard, aren’t you?” Tony casually said, arms limp athis sides with Peter slightly nodding in embarrassment.

“It’s just! It’s so pretty, and you’re so attractive andintelligent and I couldn’t.. I couldn’t just stop myself, not when your fancyarc reactor is engraved and polished and-”

“And you’re sitting on my lap?” Tony blinked, faceemotionless yet entertained. “Is that it?”

Peter scoffed, crossing his arms, finding it almostunbearable not to gape open-mouthed at Tony’s carved chest, the tiny,superconductor sculped perfectly for him, “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not, baby, it’s cute that yougot a nerd-boner,” he teased.

Tony’s language, while stirring up the fascination burningin Peter’s shorts, forced the boy’s fingers further into his own mouth, deeper,harder, much like the bulge now pressing against Tony’s thigh; Peter’s hardon.After a moment’s hesitation and a gentle murmur of encouragement, Tony guidedPeter’s shrill fingers away from the reactor and to the boy’s pants, giving himthe ultimate “go to” to touch himself, right there on top of Tony where the mancan see Peter in all his glory, and Peter, raising his knees from the bed toslip off his clothing,  to discard it to the floor, tossed away for tomorrow morning,wasn’t going to reject the offer. Once bare from the waist down, it was allover. Tony threw his hands behind his head, arms bent at the elbows, and satback watching his baby boy jack off on top of him, the reactor in his chesthoming Peter’s eyes like glue, and Peter touched himself all over, easing thestress in his groin, leaning forward with lustful, plumps lips pulled betweenhis canines. Peter did the work getting himself off, stroking away from hisbody towards Tony, flicking his wrist in heavy, unorganized motions, sliding aloose finger into the slit of his head while kneading the bed with his toes,and Tony carried the foolish sentiments, purring words of praise but also ofdegradation as he tells the kid where to touch himself.

“Underneath, baby boy, daddy knows where his little bratlikes it, there you go, just like that.” And Peter listens, too enticed bythe blue smolder cast upon his dick, incandescent and pretty, to do anythingelse but massage his perfect little cocklet.

Peter might try to babble about how incredibly smart Tonyis, talk about the unimaginable and how he can’t even begin to fathom how Tonydrew up the reactor’s design, but he wouldn’t be able to. He can’t talk whendaringly sweet pants heave and fight for release through Peter’s mouth, drawingin and out of his lips with each brush of fingers against his hard dick,seemingly choking himself because goddamn, Peter’s never seen anything morealluring than Tony with the reactor, smirking up at him, accompanied with an egofueled by pride and possessiveness. 

And when he cums, when he can’t take theweight in his belly any more, he’ll let go, go completely wild with animalisticmoans, jerking his hips forward, lips wet and eyes glassy; splatter the reactorand Tony’s chest with sticky, white streaks, spattering the vibranium, his cumdripping off the sides, sinking into the sealed cracks, even going as far as toreach Tony’s face, lightly shooting himself onto his cheek or just barelygracing his curled, smug-drenched lips.

[princess-miabug-blog]

My Little Me

I’m a little overwhelmed because there seem to be so many rules and acronyms and titles for stuff that I’m not entirely in the know with. But I’m here because I know some people use Tumblr to express themselves and their little sides. So, here’s the thing, I’m gonna do my best to get used to this and learn stuff, but if you’re a jerk to me I’ll just figure out how to block you. I don’t deal with jerks.

So here’s some basics about me, I dunno what the best term is here because I’m not into nothin’ adult at all when I’m in my little space. I dunno if Little is the right term or what everyone seems to have their own variations of definitions and frankly labels are annoying. So instead I’m just gonna talk a little about me. If you don’t like the way I do that, tough.

My little age is 2 years old, and her name is Mia. We used to roleplay on Second Life a lot, That has been the only forum really where we’ve been able to be little. So this is all new, but I have no intentions of being taken advantage of, used mistreated or manipulated. We’ve been hurt by a lot of Second Life parents, and had a whole lot of real world stuff happen that was crazy and hard over the past few years, so we drifted away from letting Mia be in little brain, things were too heavy.

So I joined Tumblr in the hopes of getting reacquainted with my little self, to hopefully meet other nice littles, hopefully make some friends, and maybe to help myself find a Daddy. I guess this is where I explain the things I’m looking for. 

In a Daddy -

First off, I’m not looking for a partner, relationship, date, romance, or anything sexual. I’m looking for someone who wants to love me for who I am, purely platonic, parental only, love.

I’m looking only for an online connection, the reality is that feelings can change, but I can’t and won’t guarantee that they will or they won’t, but I do not want to be pressured over it. One day at a time.

I’m looking for real, open, honest - even if it’s hard, communication. Lying to me will throw up my walls and I will retreat. Trust is HUGE, and hard for me, I really want it, and need it, but getting there isn’t easy for me, so if it gets damaged, it’s over.

I want someone who will ask me about my day, who will read me stories, who will roleplay with me and treat me little, but someone who will talk to me and listen to me and work with me on things I do and do not feel comfortable with. I need someone who understands boundaries and will respect them, as I will respect theirs. I need someone who I can depend on to be there when things are really hard, but also when things are happy and good. Someone who will plan things as a Daddy, and pay attention to my efforts, give praise, etc.

The no no’s, breaking trust, manipulating, controlling or dominating. I have past trauma, so when it comes to things like rules etc I’m a good girl, but sometimes I make mistakes, test limits,or try to push myself out of old hardwired roles, I need to feel like I have safe choices. This is huge for me. It’s something we would have to talk about topic by topic, if you can compromise with me I will do my best to do the same, so long as it doesn’t cross a personal boundary. I respect that there will be hard NO lines, and I need my Daddy to respect my hard No lines as well. PLEASE please please please stay away from me if you have any interest in sexual interaction /romantic interaction with me as my little, that will ALWAYS be a no, never.  There’s a whole lot more, but that stuff takes time and getting to know each other to get through, so for now I’ll leave that there.

In friends -

Non sexual, don’t care your gender, your preferences, your, color, ages etc. I DO care if you are toxic, controlling, manipulative and unable to let your adult brain manage things if you get to a hard place. being a little for me is no excuse to treat people poorly or not do your best to communicate, it might not be easy but I need people to not come at me kicking biting scratching or screaming if they are dealing with emotions. I will not tolerate abuse in ANY form. Friends do not treat each other that way and I won’t treat you that way either. Don’t push your viewpoints on me and I won’t push mine on you, have your opinions and share them that’s fine, I will too, but it stops there and if it gets aggressive, hurtful, or rude I will walk away. I like RP, and rping playtime is neat, it makes me use my imagination, but sometimes it’s hard for me to get there. I used to love roleplaying making stuff in the kitchen, of course that gets messy so I don’t do that in the real world because I have to clean it up and I don’t wanna do that! But it’s fun to “make cupcakes” with random (pretend) items and let the little sneak out. I would love to get back in touch with the rp imagination and little side, play pirates, plan parties, tea with stuffies, jump in puddles, play with matchbox cars, dress up and roll in the grass, etc.

That’s a start, now more about Mia/us

I see Mia as a separate part of me that is little, but she’s also very much part of me, so we’re not disonnected.

Mia/We do not wear diapers or pull ups. Mia in RP ONLY would MAYBE like to rp potty training and pull up overnight with the right person who she explicitly trusts not to make her feel bad or weird about any aspect of it. We have NO desire at all to actually wear or use them in the real world, and won’t ever do that.

Mia sometimes uses a binky, but not often as they bother our mouth and we worry about our teeth.

We did have a sippy cup but it got cracked, so no more. She’s 2, and we’ve thought about bottle use, but haven’t ever, so it’s a maybe

Mia LOVES being able to see herself as little and wear little clothes in the world of Second Life, because we can not wear little little clothes in the real world, the expense is too great, and I think that’d make the adult side feel awkward and ashamed. However, we do own some onesie pajamas, and fun socks and animated character pajama bottoms that we love, and some animated character t-shirts, but dressing little little is not possible for our real world times.  So if a Daddy were willing, we would LOVE to have time to play and roleplay in Second Life, that would be HUGE.

She also LOVES using her voice morpher to sound really little, her little voice is really adorable we think, so being able to use it through discord or Second life would also be HUGE for us.

Things Mia loves

Purple, but it is a very particular purple, it can’t look PINK to her because she hates pink, she says pink will give you the pinklepox!

hippos, puppies, and other animals

shortalls with tutus

going barefoot

dressing up fancy and then goin puddle stompin

stars

candy! She’s a picky eater though, and that even applies to being picky about candy.

crafty things, makin stuff! She LOVES to make homemade things for gifts, especially when the big people in her life LOVE them and appreciate them, even if they are terrible.

being read to

slow back scratches shape drawing, or tickles, you can knock her out to sleep like that.

I gotta take a break, that’ll be it for right now I’ll try and add more later <3

[robininthelabyrinth]

@legendsofsuperflarrowmemes - fill #2, for prompt #99

Fic: prompt 99 (ao3 link) Fandom: Flash/Legends Pairing: Barry Allen/Mick Rory/Leonard Snart

summary: Coldflashwave. Mick and Barry tag team Len. Or dp.

A/N: this one is for @kickingshoes, who at some point said something about wanting to draw more Len/Barry/Mick action, so - for inspiration!

Warning: adult content

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

“We just want you to feel welcome,” Barry says earnestly.

“Know you didn’t have the easiest time of it, with the Legion,” Mick adds.

“Given that you were fighting basically everyone all at once,” Barry says.

“Partially my fault,” Mick notes. “The Legion being sucky for you. But in my defense, you were a dick when you were brainwashed.”

“So we thought – what would make Len happy?” Barry continues.

“We discounted the obvious,” Mick says.

“Ice, cold gun, etc.” Barry agrees. “Too straightforward.”

“And I got to thinking,” Mick says. “What would Len have missed?”

“And he came to me and suggested that to help you recover in your post-brainwashing period, when you didn’t remember me at all, maybe I should be more thoroughly involved in your recovery.”

“It’s very important to have familiar objects around during recovery,” Mick agrees. “My shrink’s told me so a million times.”

“So, really, it’s therapeutic, too. But in a good way!”

“Therapy for everyone, really,” Mick says. “It’s both a gift and group therapy.”

“Everyone’s been on me to go to therapy, actually. So you’re really helping me out here, too,” Barry says.

“All for the best,” Mick says. “See? Properly heroic-like of you, just the way you turned out in the original timeline.”

“Well, anti-heroic, really. Len’s always been ambiguous, even with the Legends.”

“Yeah, true.”

“You’re both totally insane,” Len says. “Untie me this instant.”

Barry pets his head. Len’s hair has grown out a bit, so it’s nice and fluffy, and the salt is thoroughly intermixed with the pepper.

He’s at just the right height to pet him, too, since Len is on his knees on the bed, naked, with hands bound behind him and legs bound apart.

“We gave you a safeword, boss,” Mick reminds him. “You want out, you can always use that.”

“Maybe I want you to come to your senses regardless.”

Mick and Barry exchange smirks.

That most definitely was not the safeword they agreed on, and that meant fun time was on.

“I don’t think that’s what you want,” Barry says casually, letting his hands continue to caress Len’s head, slipping down to circle his temples, his cheeks, a swipe of a thumb across his plush lower lip, red as if he’d been biting them. “I think you want something else.”

“I agree with Scarlet here,” Mick says. “He’s got a point.”

“He does not. I want you to untie me and I want to get out of here. That’s all I want.”

Mick knows for a fact that Len can dislocate several joints if he wants to get out of rope bindings. He nods shallowly at Barry, who relaxes, the worried expression fleeing his face like it’s never been.

“I think we know a bit better than you what you want,” Barry says confidently. Len always did like him best when he was being all cocky.

“There’s only one problem,” Mick says, reaching out and running his fingers down Len’s spine, watching his partner shiver a little at the ghost of sensation. “See, Barry here and I agreed to split you –”

Len snorts.

Mick smirks. He knows Leonard Snart better than anyone else, dead or alive, and if there was one thing the man can't resist, it's a godawful pun.

“– but we can’t really decide who gets what,” he continues after a moment’s pause. He’s running his hands along Len’s hips, now, thumbing at the indents made by Len’s hips. Squeezing just a little. Barry’s still stroking Len’s face; Len’s eyes are fixed on him, pupils dilated.

He’s been hard since he woke up in this position, so that much isn’t new.

“At first, Barry here suggested that we split the difference,” Mick continues, dropping his voice down low to the register he knows Len likes best. “He generously offered to take that pretty mouth of yours, fuck you quiet like I know he’s been dying to since day one, make you gag on him and come on your pretty little face –”

Len swallows. His nakedness means he can’t hide it when his cock twitches, no matter how expressionless he tries to keep his face.

“And me, of course, I’d get to fuck your tight ass. Maybe I’d eat you out first, get you all sloppy and open, and then I’d just slide right in. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You always have. Hell, I’m amazed you didn’t jump me out in that battlefield, back in World War I. Must’ve been an epic struggle for a slut like you, seeing what you want in front of you and not getting it.”

Len presses his lips tighter, but his cheeks are flushed.

Barry’s not unmoved by Mick’s recital, either; he’s gone bright red and he’s breathing a bit hard, shifting a little from foot to foot. He’s only wearing a set of sweatpants and a long-sleeved STAR Labs t-shirt, all the better for easy access, and there’s a pretty decently sized tent in the front of them, smear of pre-come starting to darken a spot in the front.

“But then, see, I thought to myself that that was just limiting ourselves,” Mick continues, stepping forward, cupping Len’s chin and forcing his gaze up to meet Mick’s eyes. “I’m gonna wreck that pretty little ass of yours,” he purrs. “Me and Scarlet, both of us. Forget all that bullshit about trauma recovery that those assholes on the ship or in the lab were spouting. That’s what you really need, to get that scheming little brain fucked right out of you. That’s what you want.”

He reaches out blind and catches Barry, reeling him in. “That what you want, Lenny?” he asks, turning his face away from where he’s still got Len’s chin pointed up at him. He pulls Barry into a kiss, makes it deep and long and wet, makes it good, forces Len to watch him slipping the speedster some tongue, watch how Barry moans and wraps his hands around Mick’s neck, how he rubs against Mick’s body desperately. Mick’s in a pair of jeans, the old ones that were always Len’s favorites, rough in texture but worn soft by use, the ones that are so tight they look like they’ve been painted on. His cheap white tank shows off his arms, his burns that he’s so proud of, and it’s already been soaked through with sweat, translucent all the way down to his chest.

Len makes a choked little mewling sound.

Gotcha.

“Don’t worry,” Mick says, pulling away from a panting Barry, who’s eyes have gone gratifyingly wide. “I’m not gonna make you beg for it – ” This time, his voice promises, dark and silky. “– I’m gonna let you show us how much you want it through your actions. That’s the important part with Lenny here, Scarlet; you gotta watch what he does.”

Mick wraps an arm around an unresisting Barry and pushes him forward until he’s right in front of Barry, dropping Len’s chin – Len doesn’t move his head an inch – to push Barry’s sweats down his thighs, letting his cock bob free right in front of Len’s mouth and his balls all tight up beneath them.

“Barry here’s just begging for it,” Mick says. “Can’t you tell?” He drops his hand down and gives Barry’s cock a quick pull.

Barry moans.

“Maybe I should just get him off myself,” Mick muses. “Don’t need you, do I?”

Len licks his lips.

“But you want him, don’t you?” Mick smirks and pulls his hands away, leaving Barry swaying.

He pops the button of his jeans, drawing both Barry and Len’s attention to his hands as he slowly drags the zipper down and pulls out his own cock. He’s bigger than Barry, thicker by far. Barry’s maybe a little longer and curves to the side, he observes, unlike his own. But you know what they say - variety is the spice of life.

“You want this, too, though,” he says. “So lucky you. You get both. Get us nice and wet, boss; you’re gonna want us ready to go later.”

Len glares up at him, eyes narrow and dangerous, but that doesn’t keep him from opening his mouth when Mick guides Barry into his mouth, or from hollowing out his cheeks as he sucks on his nemesis’ cock.

“You’re gonna think of this every time he looks at you on the battlefield,” Mick whispers in Barry’s ear, and Barry groans and jerks his hips forward.

Chuckling, Mick moves himself forward, too, grabbing the back of Len’s head to pull him off with a pop. “Don’t forget me,” he reminds his partner, and then he releases him.

Len so revved up, he doesn’t even take the time to roll his eyes before he’s on them, head bobbing up and down on Mick’s cock for a minute before turning his attention to running his mouth down the side of Barry’s. It’s the hottest thing Mick’s ever seen, including porn, and Len’s taking it like a pro.

“We’re gonna do this again,” he says. Promises. “Next time we’re fighting, Flash is gonna kidnap you, pull you away into a closet, and he’s gonna steal me away, and you’ll have both hands free that time, too – gonna let you jerk us both off while we’re waiting for you to suck us off – you wearing that stupid parka of yours –”

“Jesus, Mick,” Barry says. He’s got a hand clenched on Len’s shoulder for balance, the other one holding onto Mick’s arm. He’s got sweat rolling down his face. “You’ve got a dirty mind.”

“You can’t say you didn’t think about it,” Mick retorts. “Now, Lenny, show him what you can do, will you?”

Len hums in agreement and slides Barry in deeper in a fluid motion, gags himself on Barry’s cock until his nose is pressed up into the patch of hair right above Barry’s cock.

“Holy crap!”

“Bet you didn’t think that was possible outside of porn,” Mick laughs. He certainly hadn’t, not until the first time Len’d done it for him – it’d been a surprise to them both, a surprise they’d both taken their sweet and most enjoyable time in exploring.

“Fuck – I’m not – it’s gonna –”

“Go for it,” Mick says, stroking his own dick. “Come in his mouth. You’ll get it back up by the time we’re ready to fuck him.”

That just gets Len to suck even harder.

“I want –” Barry pants. “You said earlier –”

Mick laughs. Kinky little speedster. He can see why Len liked him so much. “You wanna come on his face, huh?”

He reaches out and grabs Len’s head, one hand on his head to steady him and the other by the chin, pulling his mouth open.

“He wants you to,” he says to Barry, who’s started thrusting helplessly into Len’s slack mouth, fucking in good, using him just the way Len liked it. “C’mon – mark him up – have that image in your head every time you go after him, every heist, every team-up, every meeting out all alone in the woods –”

Barry pulls out and strokes himself once, twice, and then he’s coming.

Mick knew that encounter in the woods was more charged than either of them had been admitting.

“There you go,” he says, running his thumb along Len’s lower lip, catching some of the come that was dripping down and smearing it in.

Len’s panting now, all defensiveness gone, expressionless mask a distant memory. His cock is red and dripping.

“Wonder if you remember the first time we did this,” Mick muses, pulling away to grab Len. Len makes it easy, wiggling into position, letting Mick lift him onto his cock. “I used a toy on you, slide it right in alongside me. You remember that?”

“Yeah,” Len says. “Yeah.”

“Think you can do it again?”

Mick’s glad they stretched and lubed Len up earlier, because he’s still slick inside, still open, and he’s able to just slide right in to Len’s groan of pleasure.

“Mick,” Len pants. “Mick – Mick – Mick –”

Mick loves having Len moan his name like it’s the only thought left in that brilliant brain of his.

“Barry’s next,” he says in Len’s ear. “Look at him, he’s getting hard again already, just at the sight of you. He’s gonna climb onto this bed and I’m gonna hoist you up, and he’s gonna slide in right next to me. You’re gonna be filled up, Lenny, just the way you like it.”

“Oh god,” Len groans, and lolls his head back.

He’s definitely not objecting.

Barry does just as Mick says, stretching Len open first with his fingers, sliding the narrow digits right in beside Mick’s cock, and then replacing them with his cock.

Even Mick has to groan when Barry slides in, the tightness doubled, the feeling of Barry’s cock hot against him.

“You like that, don’t you?” he says, barely knowing if he’s talking to Len, or Barry, or himself. “Yeah, you do –”

And then Barry starts fucking vibrating, and they’re both thrusting and Len is shouting and coming all over himself, Barry’s hand on his cock and Mick’s arms around him and Mick’s only a few minutes behind.

Barry pulls out, still hard, and jerks himself off all over the two of them, lying there curled up on the bed. He’s got a thing for marking people, their little speedster. Possessive little superhero.

Mick grunts and pulls himself out, too, enjoying the sight of how his come drips out of Len’s ass to mingle with Len’s own, and Barry’s too.

“Nice,” Mick says.

“We are definitely doing this again,” Barry says.

“Naturally,” Len says, grabbing Barry’s arm – wait, when did he get out of the ropes? Goddamn sneak thief – and pulling the speedster into his arms, very pointedly snuggling back against Mick with every evident intention of the three of them staying put. “I need a lot of therapy. We all do.”

“Group therapy really is the most effective,” Mick says.

Barry rolls his eyes and laughs, but he stays, which is what’s important.