#you gotta snatch him up or else he’s gonna be playing good luck babe while crying in bed

[sneakingpasta]

Adachi: This guy hasn’t made a move on me, kinda weird 🫤🫤🫤

Kurosawa every waking second: HeY yOu WaNnA eAt BrEaKfAsT wItH mE eVeRyDaY? tAkE mE oUt To EaT wHeN yOu GeT yOuR pAyChEcK bOoBoO 🫣🫣😙😙🤭🤭

[obsessive-ego]

Spying

Nsft content

Beetlejuice spies on you looking for dirt, gets something much better

I apologize for this

It was a rather quite day, you were Chilling on the couch playing your switch, just messing on animal crossing. Earlier that day beetlejuice told you he was gonna duck out and scare the piss out of your neighbors, you thought nothing of it since he does it all the time. Unbeknownst to you it was to cover up him spying on you, the ghoul was quite curious on how you act with him not around, you said you were the type to not have secrets. You were a odd one, tough, but jumpy, easy to mess with, but able to defend yourself physically and boy did he find that out the hard way when you sucker punched him. But you were an open book, no secrets, no dirt?but there had to be something, right? something juicy he could bug you with, yeah being lewd and gross made you flinch and gag, but he wanted a more personal touch to your teasing, something really secretive, that would you die if he found out.

To you beetlejuice has made himself invisible, as much as he hated being invisible, especially to his favourite breather, this was important. So he sat right by your side, watching your every move, he didn't really get the whole animal crossing thing, but it made you smile, and that was enough for him, though he rather watch you play resident evil.

You put the game in sleep mode, stood up and stretched, making a rather loud lewd noise, beetlejuice's eyes go wide at this, and you just laugh at your own stupid actions, since you thought you were alone, it honestly didn't matter what you said or did without your smart mouthed undead roommate. You were on the move and so was beetlejuice, you headed for your room, grabbing an over sized tee shirt and a pair of panties.

"What are you up to sugar? Real cute choice I gotta say~" beetlejuice cooes in your ear, not that you could hear him, but you do brush the hair covering said ear aside, feeling odd chill down your spine, you dont think much of it.

With your clothes in hand you head to the bathroom with the ghoul hot on your trail, then it clicks, you're gonna take a shower, you NEVER did that when he's around, you either showered when he was out scaring or chilling with the Deetz. This was just too good, he's gonna get a little show of his cute breather stripping down and soaping up. If you could see the ghoul now, buzzing with excitement, hair a beautiful mess of vibrant electric pink and green, drooling as his excitement grows. You plopped your change of clothes on the ground along with a towel to stand on so the floor doesnt get wet.

You strip down without a thought in your head, oblivious to the wolf whistles and lewd comments. You hop in the shower, beetlejuice doesnt follow, as much as he'd like to get super up close and personal to you in such a state, hes not a fan of water, so the ghoul settles watching your silhouette while he sits on the sink.

"Ya know doll, I'd love to be that little bar of soap, kinda jealous of it to be honest, lucky fella gets to run over all your goodies" he laughs.

A few moments and ALOT of lewd remarks later the running water stops, and a hand reaches out from the curtain looking for a towel, without a second thought beetlejuice hands you one. His stomach drops, FUCK, hes so busted, but yet say nothing, the ghoul sighs in relief, thank god slash satan for your oblivious nature.

Pulling the curtain aside, you step out and sit on the edge of the tub, towel wrapped around your waist damp hair clinging to your face.

"Looking like a snack sugar" he whistles.

You pull out a bottle of body lotion and his eyes go wide, he couldnt have chosen a better day to pull this spying mission. The demon watched intensely as you rubbed the lotion into your skin, starting with your arms, then moving to your legs, you drop the towel without second thought to rub lotion between your thighs, stomach and breasts. Beetlejuice was drooling over your little show, heavily debating if he should jerk off now or wait to see what else is on today's menu.

You get dressed in the change of clothes you brought, taking the clothes you wore earlier with you as you head to your bedroom, you chuck them into your laundry pile and plop down on the bed, beetlejuice follows and plops down next to you, you shiver but think nothing of it.

"What ya up to now sweet stuff? You gonna do something embarrassing so mr BeebleBoose can have some dirt on ya? Or are you-" the ghoul stopped once he notice you get up, curious to what you were up to, he watched as you pull a tool box from under your bed, weird, opening the box his jaw drops, you pull out your vibrator, a beautiful bright pink vibrator, with a nice bulbous tip. Were you going to? Was he really that lucky? This day kept getting better.

You remove your panties and sit back down on the bed, laying down against your pillows you spread your legs open, beetlejuice was sitting on the far end of the bed, a perfect view, he was already half hard thanks to that little show in the bathroom.

You pause, then sigh, with a light click the vibe buzzes to life. Beetlejuice whines while he watches you trail the vibrator up and down your folds, the settling on the clit, you sigh at the pleasant sensation, beetlejuice groans, god slash satan how he wanted to tease you with that toy.

"Come on Sugar dont be a tease" he whines biting his knuckles.

As if you herd him you move the toy to your opening, your were already plenty wet, you've been riled up all day to be honest, unknown to your demon pal was how much you liked them, and how warm they made you feel, the way he would make you laugh, his stupid smug grin, his bizarre mood ring hair, yeah he was a creepy gross perv, but it suited him. You were plenty hot after how clingy his was this morning, and took an opportunity to let off some steam when he decided to leave.

Slipping the toy inside of you, you gasp and sigh at the familiar feeling, beetlejuice groans at the sight of his sweet breather, about to become an absolute mess right in front of his eyes, no idea what he did to deserve such a stroke of luck.

Speaking of stroke, beetlejuice already had freed his cock from his pants, lazily stroking it to match your rather slow pace.

"Taking it nice and slow huh babes~? Take your time, I can do this all day~"

Stopping you slow movement of the toy, you take a deep breath and crank up the intensity, with that you gasp and utter a soft "fuck", you hands hover over the vibrator as if you were debating to continue, with a deep breath you mutter to yourself "fucking disgusting" with that you go back to pumping the vibe in and out at a faster pace, gasping, you bite you knuckles.

Beetlejuice kept up with your pace, thrilled you decided to speed up, As hot as this was though, what did you mean by 'disgusting'? Because for the demon's point of view this sure wasnt, but he could do without you biting your hand.

"Come in babes, let me hear that pretty voice, you dont have to be quiet sweets, let me hear that beautiful sound~" he purrs

As if you could hear his suggestion you remove the hand from your mouth and utter more curses, beetlejuice couldnt help but smile at the mess you've become, hair a tossed mess, face flushed, panting and moaning, though, he'd rather have been the one to have caused it, how he wanted to rip that toy out and replace it with his throbbing cock, which is bigger, he would add. Drooling at the thought of pounding you into the mattress, rubbing his scratchy beard between you neck and shoulder, having you moan out praises to how good he makes you feel, god he could have cum from that thought alone, but no, he NEEDED you to finish first, he NEEDED to see what cute face you make when you cum.

Hearing you gasp, and moan like this was music to his undead ears, he couldnt help but run a hand up you leg, you flinched of course, but your legs have been twitching since you started, so you thought nothing of it.

"You look so good like this sugar~ a complete mess-"

"BEETLEJUICE!"

The ghoul jumps, you cant see him, right? You would have said something earlier if you could, no, he was still invisible to you, so-

"Please, Beej, right there, please" you moan, back arching.

No way, NO WAY, you were thinking of him?! This was too good, perfect, his sweet little breather, his 2nd bfffff forever wanted him, wanted him BAD. All of Beetlejuice hair was the brightest electric pink it's ever been, drooling like a mad man, he picks up the pace on his strokes, watching you moan and buck your hips, you were so close and so was Beej.

"Beetlejuice please, ah, f-fuck, Beetlejuice!" You came, bucking your hips hard, using the vibrator to ride out you orgasm, Beetlejuice wasnt too far behind after hearing you shout his name when you came he blew his load too, smearing his mess onto his pants as he watches you regain yourself.

Once you caught your breath you sat up, removed the toy, and groaned, you toss the toy to the far end of the bed where beetlejuice sat with the thought I'll clean it in a sec, you get dress proper with your invisible audience watching with the utmost smugness, today turned out way better then he expected, knowing what he knows now he's gonna push his luck with you way harder then before.

You leave the room to find your phone, leaving beetlejuice alone, he glances to the freshly used vibe, sill wet, now we cant have that can we? As a true friend and gentlemen he should clean it for you right? It's the least he can do after that lovely show right? Before he could even grab it you were back in the room, snatching the toy and head to the bathroom, beetlejuice sighs, cant win 'em all huh.

As much as he'd love to lick it 'clean' he can do with the loss, after a show like that, having you moan and shout his name while you got yourself off, that is just too good, knowing his cute breather wanted him as badly as he wanted them.

Bonus

"HONEY I'M HOME!" Your living room fills with green smoke, looks like beetlejuice was done messing with your neighbors, in reality making himself visible to you again.

"You seem to be in a good mood" you smile trying to wave away the smoke.

"You bet your cute little rump sweet stuff" he pulls you into a tight hug spinning you around. "An absolute perfect day babes" finally placing you back on your feet, you stumble, feeling dizzy.

"Sounds like you had fun, wanna talk about?" You laugh, his excitement was always so contagious.

The whole evening Beetlejuice went on and on lying through his teeth about how he tormented your neighbors clinging to your arm, the whole night he had his hands on you one way or another, knowing that you wanted him in more ways then one.

[old-read-all-about-kpop]

hello may i request a stray kids reaction to there S/O practicing witchcraft thanks love-Witchy anon / 🌙 anon

A/N: Wait. With you putting your label, does this mean I have my first anon who I can identify with ease?? If so sksjsbskksnsk!! Anyway, this idea of yours is really interesting. I would have never thought of doing this kind of concept. I stan your brain love! I hope you enjoy my take on writing it! 💓

Chan

You were making a potion that would heal Chan’s sore throat. He was being a big baby and refusing regular medicine so you had to pull out your mini caldron and brew him a “peculiar tonic that tastes good”. His words exactly in his sick state. You added the last ingredient and stirred. You then spooned some in the medicine cup, pouring the right amount as if it was a normal medicine.

“Here, Chan. Drink this and you’ll feel better in minutes.”

“Does it taste good?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t taste it.”

“Why not?”

“Chan I’m not about to play 21 questions with you. Just drink it.”

He started whining. “It probably tastes more gross than regular medicine! I wanted it to taste better!”

“Chan, I will not hesitate to turn you into a sloth and have you drink it!”

“You wouldn’t do that to me.”

“…”

“OH MY GOD YOU WOULD, WOULDNT YOU?”

Woojin

You guys were dealing with a lot of bugs in your new home. There were mainly centipedes and spiders that crept around your house, and you hated it. You hated bugs. So, you thought of a solution. You decided to cast a spell to kill any that could be hiding/lurking around your home and to repel any that might try to come near your house. The minute they passed by the threshold of your home, they’d die.

“Babe, is it really that serious that you need to cast a spell to keep the bugs away? You know I could protect you.”

“I know that, Woo. But you’re not here all the time. And, besides, they don’t come out when you’re around. They wait until I’m alone to attack. So, this is war.”

“Sooo you and the bugs are having a war?”

“Yes. They started it, and I’m gonna finish it.”

Woojin simply kissed the top of your head and patted your back. “Good luck with that, babe.” He chose to keep his comments to himself and decided to just let you be, chanting spells to cast away harmless bugs.

Lee Know (Minho)

“Baaabbbeee, I said I was soorrrryyyy!” He continued to bang on the glass. But it was all in vain.

You simply sipped your tea, welcoming the silence. You were being petty but you didn’t care at that particular moment.

Minho, in his usual adorably hyper manner, was poking your face. He was trying to get your attention. But, you were indulged in your reading. So, he decided that he was gonna snatch the book out of your hand. Unfortunately he ended up knocking your black tea out of your other hand, causing it to spill on your brand new book, staining the pages.

You snared at your boyfriend. As if knocking your tea out of hand wasn’t enough, staining the couch and your clothes, but then your book just had to become stained as well.

But, now you sat on your now-clean couch, reading your now-clean book, all while sipping a new cup of tea thanks to the tidy spell you casted. And it was all achieved while you casted the glass prison spell on your boyfriend. You weren’t gonna keep him in there long. Half of the thirty minutes you wanted him locked up already ticked by.

“Baaabbbbeeee!”

Oh how you loved the soundproof prison. You blew Minho a kiss, not hearing his whines and complaints.

Changbin

“Sooo you think this is funny?”

You were red in the face, falling over from laughing. “I’m sorry! You look adorable though!”

“Change me back, y/n.”

You pouted. “But you look so cute.”

“I’M NOT STAYING LIKE THIS! This tail is making me feel like I have a permanent itch between my butt cheeks!” He whined out the last part, his ear twitching. You almost squealed from how adorable it was.

You threw your head back and groaned. “Fine!” Suddenly a lightbulb turned on in your head. You grabbed for your phone.

“Oh no! Don’t you dare!”

“It’s for memories.”

“That’s what your brain is for!” Changbin ran out your shared bedroom, refusing to let you get a picture of him in this form. The guys won’t ever let him live.

“Changbin, please! If you let me take a picture I’ll change you back!” You yelled, running after him.

“I’d rather go out in public looking like this then allow you to take one hundred pictures of me! Because we both know you are not going to take just one!”

You cackled as you tried to corner your pretty kitty.

Hyunjin

The space of the living room was filled with Hyunjin’s lovely laugh. He was feeling kind of down that he couldn’t get the tone of his rap right so you thought you could cheer him up. So, with your wand in hand, you created bubbles that resembled his members. You made them animated, doing silly dances before disappearing in the next ten seconds. You’ve been doing this for a while now, your arm feeling a little tired. But, with the sound of your boyfriend’s joyous laughter, it was worth the pain. You didn’t mind sucking it up if it meant hearing your favorite sounds.

You suddenly felt a pair of lips on your cheek. You turned, being met with Hyunjin’s beautiful eyes. His gaze was gentle and rich with love. Love that was only for you at this particular moment.

He gave you a chaste kiss on your lips. He pulled away with a big smile. “Thank you for doing this for me, baby. You really brightened up my mood.”

You blushed. “No need to thank me, babyboy. I’d do anything for you.”

“Anything?”

You gave him a questioning look. Were you about to regret your choice of words?

“Then…could you create a fire-breathing dragon?” His eyes held child-like hope and expectation.

You chuckled. “Of course, baby.”

Thrilled to hear you accept his request, Hyunjin cuddled into your side. He patiently waited for his mind to be blown by your amazing talent.

And that was how you spent the afternoon. You took as many requests as Hyunjin gave you. The gloom that hung over his head was long gone, and you couldn’t be happier.

Han (Jisung)

After Han decided to dye his hair a different color after coming out of nowhere with the blue, you were sad. You didn’t feel as though you got acquainted enough to blue-haired Han.

It was in the middle of the night when you were playing with your sleeping boyfriend’s fluffy hair that a brilliant idea sprung into your mind. A smile that almost looked identical to the Grinch’s spread across your face.

You slowly separated your body from Han’s, careful not to wake him. You grabbed your spell book from the drawer of your nightstand. You flipped through tens of pages before finding what you were looking for.

Weaving your fingers through Han’s hair once again, you muttered the spell that would surely present you the outcome you deeply desired. Your eyes grew to the sizes of saucers as you watched the strands of your boyfriend’s hair shift. In seconds, his hair went from orange to the beautiful black-blue color you fell head-over-heels for.

You smiled happily, landing a kiss in Han’s hair. You admired your work. Before you would fall asleep you would make sure to change his hair back to its former color. As sad as the thought was, you didn’t wanna risk raising any suspicions.

Maybe you would even make this a nightly thing. For a second you pondered over it, soon enough agreeing to the idea as you marveled at your snoozing prince.

Quickly you reached for your phone, choosing to snap a picture of him. It could not be avoided.

You put the photo as your lock screen before changing Han’s hair back to its former color. You watched as each strand transformed back to the lighter color. It caused a satisfying feeling to envelop you.

You put your book away and rested you head on top of your boyfriend’s. The slow breaths Han took began to lull you to sleep. With a final kiss to his temple, you let sleep take over your senses, a small smile present on your lips.

Felix

(I love this gif so much 😂 You gotta love flirty Felix)

You were getting ready for you and Felix’s date. With your wand in hand, you had your entire wardrobe on display. Whatever you didn’t want to wear was placed back in your closet neatly.

Right now you were faced with three outfit choices. Finally you decided to wear the most casual-looking one, since Felix said it wasn’t gonna be a date requiring a fancy getup.

But then you were faced with another dilemma. The color wasn’t working for you. It was a dusty rose, and even though you initially liked it when you first bought it, now it looked unappealing. So, you whipped out your wand, knowing an easy solution to your plight.

“Babe, are you done yet?” Felix’s deep voice could be heard behind the door. He slowly enter your shared bedroom, freezing immediately after entering.

“I’m almost done, love. I just need to change the color of my top.” You were indecisively switching between blue and green. You huffed in annoyance, wondering if you should just give up and find a different top to wear.

“Go with the green, darling. It’s your color.” Felix smiled warmly, catching your eyes in the mirror.

You changed the top to green, squinting at the top. He was right, the color did well for your skin tone. Earth tones always served you well.

“Alright, let’s go.” You grabbed Felix’s hand, kissing his cheek as well. “Thank you for your assistance, baby.”

“No problem, babe.”

Once you reached the front door, he asked you a question. A devious glint was in his eyes. “So…what else can you do to your clothes?” He wiggled his brows with a smirk.

You scoffed. “Boy, if you don’t…”

Seungmin

Seungmin was beautiful in your eyes. You complimented him all the time, causing the young man to bashfully thank you. You just couldn’t help but to gush over how handsome he was.

One day, your boyfriend was looking really good. You felt as if compliments would not suffice nor be able to fully express to how much you were affected by his beauty. So, you decided to do something extra.

He was in the bathroom, spraying cologne on his body. You smiled, unable to contain your excitement to, firstly, see his gorgeousness again, and, two, to execute your plan as Seungmin’s hype man/girlfriend.

He then began to leave the bathroom. You hurriedly grabbed your wand and shouted a spell, startling your boyfriend.

Over his head, a flurry of rose petals fell over him from thin air. He couldn’t help but smile at your silliness but he also couldn’t help looking a little perplexed. He knew that you never pulled out your wand unless it was absolutely dire. So what was so dire about having rose petals rain on him?

“I know you’re more than likely questioning me and my mental state so let me explain.” You sat up, a full-blown smile across your face. “You look really really good today and I felt as though I needed to something a little extra to fully show you how handsome I think you look.”

Seungmin’s cheeks reddened like strawberries. He couldn’t help but let out a laugh, feeling extremely shy all of a sudden. You simply admired him further. You gave yourself a mental pat on the back for a job well done.

Seungmin calmed down after a few more moments. His cheeks were still painted red. He smiled shyly at you, looking more precious than ever. “Thank you, y/n.”

You smiled from ear-to-ear. You ran over to him, wrapping him in your arms. “You’re welcome, handsome.”

Seungmin chuckled, embracing your lithe body tightly. You were a silly witch, but he loved you more than life itself. 

I.N (Jeongin)

All day you’ve been walking around Seoul. You were shopping for groceries, toilet paper, paper towels, face masks (sheets for Jeongin and wash off ones for you), and new toothbrushes. You hummed quietly to yourself, a small smile present on your face. You were so happy today that Stevie Wonder could see your chipper mood.

Once home, you started unpacking your purchases. You placed them at their correct places around the house. Once done, you decided to prepare supper. You knew Jeongin wanted some fried chicken, so you decided to go with that as tonight’s menu.

You were working hard in the kitchen. You made ramen and cracked two eggs in it. One would be for you, and the other for JeonJeon. Almost all the chicken was fried. And then the ramen was simply simmering. You decided to wake up your boyfriend.

You peeked in the breast pocket of your shirt. In a cute ball, your precious boyfriend was sleeping soundly. You were in awe that he’s been asleep all this time; you were sure he would have stayed awake from all the movement that you were doing. You didn’t really wanna wake him up the longer you stared at him. But he had to eat. He had practice in the morning.

You craned your head down. “Jeongin,” you whispered. “Wake up, baby.”

He mumbled something before curling up in a tighter ball. Your heart squealed. You tried again in getting him to wake up.

“Jeongin, baby, the chicken is getting cold. You gotta eat.”

Upon mentioning chicken, your slumbering boyfriend woke up. He wasn’t fully awake but he wasn’t sleeping either.

“Come on, baby. Let me get you out so you can wash up.”

Jeongin nods his head. You grab him gently and place him on the floor. With a snap of your fingers, Jeongin grew back to his height right before your eyes. He smile sleepily at you. He then rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“The food smells good.”

You chuckled, flipping the last pieces over in the oil. “Go and wash up, babyboy.”

He nodded his head before placing a soft kiss to your cheek. You fought off the blush that was about to take over your cheeks. Luckily, your sleepy boyfriend didn’t notice and had left the kitchen.

You couldn’t help smiling with contentment. You had the perfect day, having your boyfriend right in the comforts of your pocket. Nothing could possibly beat today.

[danijimenezv]

The Intention is What Counts

Prompt/Summary: “You know, I am so romantic. Sometimes I think I should just marry myself.”

Pairing: Clint Barton x reader

Warnings: Like, two swear words maybe. A lot of bad luck.

Word Count: 3024 words

A/N: This is for @buckyofthemyscira 5K Disney Challenge. Feedback would be really appreciated!

Mornings in the Avengers Tower were usually quiet; Steve usually went out to run with Sam, Tony and Bruce spent most of their time in the lab, and the rest of the members either slept in or stayed chilling in their rooms. Natasha was usually the latter, unless she felt like doing something else.

That morning, she exited her room to look for breakfast, but frowned in confusion when she heard a conmotion in the kitchen. Though, Natasha smiled as soon as her brain registered the scene she had just walked in. Clint was with his back to her, whistling a melody while he cooked something, a frying pan lying forgotten on the floor, which was probably the guilty of the previous noise. It was rare to see him up so early, but Nat had a fair idea about why. Clint took a sip from his cup of coffee before arranging the food on a plate.

“I hope you’re planning to share that.”

He turned around to face his best friend, chuckling under his breath, “Sorry, Nat, not this time.”

“You’re cooking for Y/N?”

“Yes.” his eyes lit up in excitement, “Today’s our three-year anniversary.”

“Uh, Clint–” Nat frowned, but Clint continued obliviously.

“And breakfast in bed is just the first thing in the list.”

“There’s a list?”

“Of course. I have the whole day planned out, with a lot of small surprises for Y/N. And then, drum roll please…” he stopped for dramatic effect, causing Nat to roll her eyes playfully, “To finish this special day, I made a reservation in her favorite restaurant.”

“The fancy Italian about two blocks away?”

“That one.”

“Wow.” she chuckled, deciding not to burst his bubble with the reality, she would let the whole day play out, “I’m sure Y/N will love it.”

“She will.” Clint stated confidently, “You know, I am so romantic. Sometimes I think I should just marry myself.”

“You might as well, Romeo.” she couldn’t contain herself, “I’m pretty sure you need a partner in bed for your breakfast plan to work.”

“Don’t touch it.” he scolded Nat when she tried to snatch a toast from the plate, “And I do have a partner in bed. I left her sleeping in.”

“Better check again, Barton.” Natasha sing-songed, “Last I saw her, she was all ready and leaving the tower.”

“What?” Clint’s blue eyes widened.

“Go check your room if you don’t believe me. She already left.” she shrugged and grabbed the tray of food, “I’ll take this, thank you.”

Clint hung his head in defeat as his best friend skipped out of the kitchen with the tray. He decided then to check the room he shared with his girlfriend, just to see if what Natasha said checked out or not. If Natasha was wrong and he had to cook everything again…!

However, once he reached the room, he noticed the bed neatly made, and no sign of any living person in it. He sighed deeply, running a hand through the blond strands of hair, before going back to the kitchen. In his rush to get back, he spilled a bit of coffee, but he didn’t seem to care. He left his cup of coffee on the counter, wiped his hand to get rid of the liquid and grabbed his phone, dialling the too familiar number. It rang four times before she finally picked up.

“Hi, babe.”

“Hi, Y/N.” he smiled automatically at the sound of her voice, “Where did you go?”

“I’m on my way to work, like every day.” she answered slowly, confused as to why he would even have to ask.

“Why did you leave the Tower like that?”

“I’m sorry.” Y/N apologized, “If you were up early I figured you had something important to do, and something came up at work, so I really had to get going.”

“It’s fine.” he dismissed with a sigh, “I was just hoping to see you before you had to leave, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.” Y/N promised.

“I’ll hold you to that.” he grinned shyly, “Have a good day at work, babe.”

“Thanks, Clint. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The call disconnected, and Clint sighed once again, though he decided not to dwell too much on it; Y/N was gone, and Natasha was already taking advantage of the breakfast, so there was no point. He only could hope the rest of the surprises he had planned went well. Looking down at the counter, he finally noticed where he had placed the cup of coffee. As the liquid trickled down one side of the cup from where he had spilled it, a paper-like material stopped it from spreading over the surface.

“Ah, crap.” he muttered, taking it off the now ruined picture of Y/N and him. Why hadn’t he put it in the frame as soon as he had it printed, it was beyond him.

After putting it in the sink and throwing away the photo, Clint stomped like an angry child and went to the living room, where Natasha was lounging casually on the couch, with the tray of breakfast on her lap. The sight of it only reminded Clint of his earlier misfortunes, making him glare at her as if it was actually her fault.

“It’s 8 am, Clint.” Nat rolled her eyes, practically reading his mind without having to look up at him, “Not everything is lost.”

“You mean yet.” he snapped in annoyance, “Why is everything going wrong? For once in my life, I had everything carefully planned, and it’s all going to hell.”

“I think that’s the problem. You planned it too much.”

“I was trying to do something romantic for our anniversary.”

“You know, today’s not really your anni–” she tried, but Clint continued whining without paying much attention to what she had to say.

“It’s a special day, and I wanted to prove it to her, but I can’t seem to get anything right.”

“Barton.” Natasha stopped him, “First of all, calm down.”

“I am calm.”

“No, you’re not. Second of all, are you really gonna let that small incident ruin your whole day?”

“I also ruined the picture I was planning to frame as a gift.”

“You can print it again.” she offered, “Everything has a solution, so stop bitching about what happened.”

“You know what? You’re right, I won’t.” Clint nodded decisively, “Besides, it’s our anniversary. Nothing can ruin that.”

“That’s the spirit. Now, show me the rest of the list.”

A few hours later, after distracting himself from his failed romantic morning, Clint exited the training room with renewed energies. His talk with Nat had really lifted his spirits once again, and he was feeling hopeful the rest of his surprises would work out perfectly and Y/N would love them. As he skipped through the halls, Nat noticed where he was heading, knowing what he was about to do, and gave him a thumbs up in encouragement, before going back to her own stuff.

It was almost noon, so it was about time to continue with his master plan.

“Y/N, babe.” Clint greeted overly excited, causing a giggle to burst from Y/N as she picked up the phone call.

“Hi, Clint.” she chuckled, and he could picture her shaking her head in amusement perfectly, even if he couldn’t see her, “Just a quick question, are you drunk? Or high?”

“I’m not even gonna be offended.”

“It’s a serious question, sweetheart.”

“Don’t worry, I’m totally healthy right now.”

“I don’t believe you.” Y/N answered back.

“Your lack of faith in me is insulting.”

“But I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt for now.”

“Thank you.” he smiled, “So… did you get them? Tell me you did and tell me that’s why you’re in a great mood right now.”

“Hey, I’m always in a great mood.” she complained.

“Y/N.” he deadpanned, his mood dropping considerably as he feared the worst.

“I got… what, exactly?”

“Please tell me you’re messing with me.” he pleaded.

“Clint, I’m sorry, babe, but I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You didn’t get the flowers?”

“What flowers?”

“Your favorite! I asked to have them specifically delivered to you at work!”

“Sorry.” she mumbled, “I haven’t gotten anything.”

“Jesus Christ, this can’t be happening.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Clint brushed it off, but with each passing second, he was losing it, “It was nothing.”

“The intention is what counts.” Y/N comforted him, “Just, for the record, I know I would’ve loved it, so thank you.”

Clint smiled, this time less excitedly than before, but tried to dismiss it. After all, he didn’t want to make his girlfriend feel guilty or bad for something that wasn’t her fault at all. He had planned a great day for her, and that was what she was gonna get, even if he had to change a few plans and improvise.

“Y/N, uh…” he hesitated as he continued, “Are you free right now?”

“I can get off work for a while. Why? Do you need anything?”

“I was just thinking…”

“What did you have in mind, Hawkeye?” her interest was officially picked, and he could hear it clear in her voice.

“We could go for a picnic to Central Park or somewhere else. We haven’t done that in a while.”

“It’s been years since we’ve had a picnic. Actually, I think we haven’t had one, like, since our third date or something like that.”

“Yeah, I thought it would be nice, you know?”

“It would, but, Clint, sweetheart… have you seen the sky today?”

“The sky? What about it?”

As if on cue, a loud thunder sounded and heavy rain started to fall. Clint shut his eyes closed and cursed loudly.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me!” he yelled, “What did I do to deserve this?!”

“I’m sorry.” his girlfriend’s voice sounded sympathetic once again, “We can have a picnic this weekend. No big deal.”

“It won’t be the same.” he muttered bitterly, but thankfully, she didn’t hear what he had just said.

“Hey, it’s fine, Clint.” she tried to calm him, “Yeah, it would’ve been nice, but it’s not the end of the world.”

“I know, I know.”

“Tell you what.” Y/N commented, “I’ll get lunch here at work, but we can do something for dinner. Deal?”

“Deal.” he gave up.

“Look, I gotta go, but I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

“Sure. You get off at 6, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, I’ll be there.”

“You’re the best.” Y/N hung up without another word, leaving him to sulk.

“Of all days, why today?!” he huffed, throwing his phone to the side, which landed on a couch.

Unbeknown to him, Natasha and Wanda had been there to watch the whole thing, and, even if they only heard one side of the conversation, they could imagine what had happened. Natasha had told Wanda everything that had happened so far, but at the moment they didn’t know how to help Clint. He had been really excited about the whole day and his plans.

Suddenly, an idea popped up in Wanda’s mind, and she rushed excitedly to join Clint.

“Clint, I have an idea.”

“Not in the mood, Wanda. Sorry.”

“No, idiot. I’m talking about Y/N.”

“What about Y/N?”

“I know what you can do to make it up to her, for whatever other plan didn’t work now.”

“What?”

“There’s a bakery a few blocks away. You could order something for her and have it delivered to her workplace.”

A huge grin overtook Clint’s face, and he hugged the girl tightly, “Wanda, you’re a genius! Thank you!”

He didn’t let her say anything else, before he rushed out of there to get a look at what he could order for Y/N.

“Y/N, there’s an order for you.”

She looked up from what she was doing, in time to notice one of her coworkers, and close friend, smiling kindly at her, with a small, white paper bag in one of her hands. It had the logo of a nearby bakery.

“Thanks, Ellie.”

Y/N got up from her desk and walked to her, and took the bag from her hand. A sweet smell immediately filled her nostrils, and she impatiently opened the bag. There was a plastic box inside, with a slice of what appeared to be chocolate and caramel cake, along with a spoon for it and a card.

“This is from Clint.” she informed her friend, after reading the note, “It’s so sweet of him.”

“Okay, first the flowers and now the chocolate cake?”

“The flowers never came.”

“But he still tried.” Ellie reasoned, “Okay, what did he do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Flowers and dessert?” she smirked, “Obviously he must’ve done something and now he’s regretting it and asking for your forgiveness.”

“He hasn’t, Ellie.” Y/N shrugged, “It’s not like we had a fight or anything. Not that I’m aware of, at least.”

“So why is he doing all this?”

“I’m as lost as you.”

“Well, make the most of it, because it’s not every day you get dessert while we’re in this hell hole.”

“Shut up, our boss might hear you.”

“Relax, Y/N.” she waved her hand in dismissal, “But really, enjoy it while it lasts.”

“I assume you’re staying because you want a bite of this?” Y/N pointed to the cake.

“Well, duh. It looks amazing.”

With a soft giggle, Y/N opened the plastic and got the spoon. She took a mouthful of the cake, the sweetness of the chocolate exploding in her tongue immediately, though, she frowned as she recognized another taste, and it wasn’t exactly caramel.

“Ellie.” she handed her friend the rest of the cake, “You can have it all, but I’m gonna have to ask you a favor.”

“What is it?”

“I’m gonna need to call me an ambulance, and then call Clint to meet me in the hospital, please.” she said, as calm as she could, but she could already feel her heartbeat speeding up.

“What? Why?!”

“Because that’s a chocolate and peanut butter cake.” she informed dreadfully, “And I’m allergic to peanuts.”

Clint ran as fast as he could through the hospital halls as soon as he got there. The moment he had received the call from Y/N’s friend, he knew he had screwed up. Y/N and him had been together for three years, how could he not remember that she was allergic to peanuts? Well, if he had actually read what the dessert was, he would’ve known, but he was so desperate to get it that he only saw the pictures of the cake when he ordered it.

He was so busy with his own thoughts that he almost collided with a pacient that was coming out of one of the rooms, accompanied by a nurse.

“Woah, easy there.” Y/N chuckled, stopping him, “Hi, Clint.”

“Y/N.” he pulled her in a crushing hug as he was filled with worry once again, and then pulled away to examine her closely, “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Does it hurt? Can you breathe? Do you–”

“Clint.” she interrupted, “I’m fine.”

“It was just a severe allergic reaction.” the nurse mentioned, “But she called in time, so it was nothing serious.”

“Thank God. I’m so so so sorry.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart. Look at me, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, but you could’ve been hurt, you could’ve died.”

“Relax, babe. I’m big enough to know how to deal with my allergy.”

“I’m still sorry. I swear didn’t know it had peanut butter.”

“I told you I’m okay.” she turned to the nurse, “I’m free to go now, right?”

“Yes, darling. You’re okay to go now, but don’t hesitate to come back if anything else happens.”

“Thank you so much.”

The nurse walked away from them, smiling at their interaction. Once she was gone, Y/N threw her arms around his neck, pulling Clint closer to her. He rested his forehead on hers, while his arms snaked around her waist, holding her against him.

“What am I going to do with you, Clinton?”

“I’m sorry.” he repeated.

“Shut up.” she leaned forward to place a chaste kiss on his lips, “You can make it up to me by taking me to dinner. I’m starving.”

Clint pulled away with a guilty look on his face, making her raise an eyebrow in suspicion.

“About that…” he breathed out, “I made a reservation at your favorite Italian restaurant, but… I called earlier, and they say there’s no reservation under my name. I’m sorry.”

“Clint, I don’t need it to be at that restaurant. Just having dinner with you is perfect for me. Thanks for the gesture, but really, we can go anywhere else. It’s fine by me.”

“I know, but still.”

“Okay.” she stopped him, completely decided to get some answers out of him, “It’s not that I don’t love what you’re doing for me. Or what you tried to do.” Clint chuckled softly at her acclaration, “But what’s going on with you today? Why are you doing all this?”

“You really don’t know?”

“I love you, but sometimes I don’t understand how your mind works.”

Clint frowned, looking deeply into her eyes, “Y/N, it’s our three year anniversary.”

“Uh, no, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is!”

“No, sweetheart. That’s next week.”

“What?” Clint took a step away, staring at her in pure shock, “But last year–”

“Last year we celebrated it early because you had to leave on a mission, remember?”

Suddenly, it all came rushing to Clint’s mind, and he gasped in disbelief, causing loud peals of laughter to escape past Y/N’s lips. His cheeks heated up slightly in embarrassment as his girlfriend continued laughing and shaking her head.

“You’re hopeless, Barton.” she joked.

“If our anniversary is next week…” Clint continued, ignoring her previous sentence, “That means… I still have a week to make it perfect!”

“Hey, hey, wait.” Y/N called, already picturing the disaster and chaos that could mean, “Maybe this time we can plan it together, so I don’t end up in the hospital, yeah?”

“Fine.” he groaned, but accepted her deal, knowing he would be nowhere without Y/N in his life.

Tags: @buckyofthemyscira, @thinkwritexpress-official, @missflashgeek, @sebbytrash, @captainrogerss, @a-little-hell-to-raise, @percywinchester27, @buckysberrie, @docharleythegeekqueen, @becs-bunker, @jadalecki-jackles, @scarlettsoldier

[iphoenixrising]

Dr!Tim Drabble: Robin

Well, Babes. You both must have fucking read my mind and shit because really. I kind of started this to be such a teaser when BOOP I got this ask and my fucking heart here. You’re right on the same page when it comes to Dr!Tim getting the real Robin experience, yeah? Lol. So, just a note. B’s bad guy persona is Matches. The dude with the epic porn ‘stache. Dick’s persona is Robbie Malone, which is pretty obscure and I looked it up on a good wiki to make sure.

HOWEVER *ahem* An incredible artist @kaciart did a thing here: http://thingsfortwwings.tumblr.com/post/55338349568/kaciart-it-was-never-made-clear-whether-tim-knew. Which helped the muse.

So… so there’s that. XD Hope it's as good.

**

The Robin in Gotham that night is just a little bit taller. Not by much. He's hesitant, a newbie to the vigilante game, and even if he's got a grapple on his belt, he only uses it once. Only a drunk or two catch him strafing across rooftops, the flicker of yellow, red, and green against the lamplight.

The rest of the city is asleep. As luck would have it, he stumbles on some baddies with a leg up on him, tossing a pellet in the right spot with knockout gas to make carrying him through the night that much easier. When Robin comes to, the blurry residual clears and behind the whiteouts, his vision is sharp. Being handcuffed in a crummy warehouse in the Narrows is not really the way he'd hoped to spend his first real experience in the tunic.

(And if he embarrasses the name, a certain little demon will probably eviscerate him.

"I allow you one night–"

"To my credit, I really thought those ninjas would go down easier."

"May I remind you–"

"I know, I know. It's not one of my hobbies. No more almost getting killed under your name, I promise.")

But a single dim bulb hangs with enough away to reveal the long, lean line of muscle still half in shadows watching him from behind whiteouts.

"Been a real pain in my nut, Robin." Is more dangerous behind the synths, more casual when the Red Hood, notorious enforcer for the Black Mask, straightens up and starts to move forward. "Gettin' in my fucking business means I gotta make an example outta ya, so’s no one else thinks they can stop the trade, you feel me?" Robin's eyes narrow but his pulse is picking up, his muscles tighten against the ropes.

“Or,” he tries with a bravado he doesn’t necessarily feel, “you could cut this chase short and let me take you in so you don’t make it worse for yourself.”

The sound is probably a snort but the synths make it hard to decipher.

“Mmhm, an’ any other damn day, ya might be right. But since I know the Bat is outta town, and the rest a’ yer little cape n’ cowl crew are busy, n’ yer own yer own, little birdy. Even fucking better, I got me an old friend in Gotham t’night, and I gotta say–” the way Hood moves, hips swaying, something of a swagger, all indications the vigilante has a plan, makes Robin catch a breath with what the hell else?

“Ya might be in over yer head.”

And oh God.

He’s in for it.

(Teasing his boyfriends can have some interesting results, so even with the plan they’d had for him tonight, there were so many things they hadn’t told him.)

Because the shift in the shadows and the crimson slash is just what the bad guy ordered, and the man coming out of the shadows to stand beside Hood is nothing short of mouth-wateringly dangerous– all done in sharp black and red.

Something in Robin’s abdomen goes unbearably tight when Renegade puts the intense focus of those whiteouts right on him, folds his arms over his chest, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

Even while he might be melting into a puddle of oh God, please, please, I’ve been a bad Robin, he can maneuver his hands well enough to get into the green gloves for the small lockpick set he’d completely kyped out of B’s utility belt the last time they’d had a little snatch n’ stitch. Since he’s completely used to working with fine instruments wearing gloves, working the small end into the handcuffs is easier than he’d originally calculated.

(So much win going on right now.)

“So nice to know you’ve got friends in town, Hood. I hope you have an itinerary to show him the sights. Robinson Park is really nice this time of year.” He tries to keep the banter, give himself time he needs to work the cuffs.

(Still, watching them walk toward him like a fucking bad ass wet dream is really making the night look up regardless of how things are going to go from here.)

“Too much mouth on ya, Robin,” and the flex of hips and thighs, the glint off the gun in Hood’s hand, the feral-looking smirk on Renegade’s face make him take a pause to work his fingers into the back of the utility belt, bite down on his lower lip to try and get–

Yes.

“Looks like we need to shut him up, Hood,” is Renegade’s deep response, that tone rolling around in the abandoned warehouse, makes a shiver work up his spine.

Which causes him to drop the pellet he’d been holding, the little ball rolling right under his chair.

Fuck. That’s bad.

He tries to think fast, using his weight to throw his chair back, out of the way of the little blast and following plumes of smoke. It’s really nothing more than dumb luck that the chair is probably older than all of them and pretty much breaks into kindling on impact.

It’s even luckier that the small blast is inconsequential but the smoke screen gives him the opportunity to wiggle enough to get his cuffed wrists down far enough to get his feet over them so at least his hands are bound in the front.

Rolling to his feet, he tries to duck away from the chair in the thick smoke, cape hitting him in the back of the ankles, and fucking right, he didn’t even lose the lockpick.

(“Damn. Good one, Baby Bird. Didn’t see that shit coming.”

“This is going to be much better than we thought, Jay.”

“Fuck right, Dickie, now we gedda chase.”

And with that little revelation, Robin is thinking, looking around at the high windows, making plans.)

He flips one of the few bat-a-rangs in his utility belt, awkwardly holding it up to throw with his bound hands. He manages throw far enough to knock it into an empty crate further down than where he’s hiding, but it draws the attention of the “baddies” coming through the dissipating smoke after him.

It does the job and he sees the outline of Hood and Renegade change course, closer to the sound.

“You’re only making it harder on yourself, Robin,” Renegade purrs low, his footsteps not even making a sound when he shares a side-eye with Hood and moves around to take the back for the element of surprise.

“When we catch ya,” Hood is cooing through the synths, popping the clip out of his .45 to make sure again he’s toting blanks (the one in his boot has the rubber rounds should things get dicey and they need ta make with the real crime fighting) before he circles around the smoky pile of old pallets and crates laying in dusty ruin, “we ain’t gonna be nice ‘bout it, you feel me, Robin? Gonna make ya one sorry lil’ bird.”

(But he totally hears, “gonna fuck ya until ya scream for it, Baby. Gonna make ya come ‘til ya can’t even stand up no more.”)

The handcuffs finally pop as the two bad guys jump in their planned strike, coming down on a whole lotta empty pallets with only a bat-a-rang there for them to stare at.

“Little motherfucker,” is all he needs to hear, shoving the handcuffs in his belt (in case he needs to have a plan) and pulling the grapple while his pulse throbs in his mouth and his adrenaline kicks up a notch. He’s got to shoot and reel himself in before they get to him, got to get out the upper windows and climb to the roof, got to at least get a few buildings over before they catch him.

(And he completely has a new appreciation for the reinforced jocks they wear under the suits because the things is literally killing him right now.)

The bang makes him flinch regardless, and with that, the jig is completely up. Two heads swivel toward the sound, trace the line up to the window sill where the hook sinks deep, and the shadow of the cape flares out like wings as the grapple pulls Robin from the ground and away.

“Fuck this is gettin’ good,” Hood breathes out, already pulling his own, watching the flex of Timmy’s thighs in those fucking tights and his ass outlined in Robin Red.

The window breaks with his momentum, and Robin pauses on the broken sill long enough to grin widely down at them, “I really need to be on my way, but we should do this again sometime!”

The cap flaps around the green tights and black boots as Robin scales the ancient fire escape and disappears out of sight.

Renegade puts a hand on his wrist, stills Hood from raising the grapple for the ole’ point-n-shoot. “Let him get a little bit of distance, Jay. He’s putting a hell of a lot into this.”

“Big Wing,” and even with the whiteouts on both sides, he knows how dark Dickies eyes are, is pretty sure his are just as dark. “ we’re gonna destroy that ass, you feel me?”

“You know we are. Damn, he looks cute in that suit.”

“Cute? Nah, ain’t where I’m at right now, yeah? Motherfucking sexy is ‘bout what I’m feelin’.”

“Fuckable, sure, but wow, he wears it so well.”

“Don’t tell Demon. That little shit won’t never let this happen again.”

“Right. We play it out with our boyfriend, fuck him on a safe rooftop, then take him home for a soak in the tub and cuddle-palooza.”

“You better fuckin’ add pancakes ta that list, Dickie. I like seein’ ‘im all full n’ sleepy after we fucked ‘im but good.”

“Done and done.”

In a smooth move, Hood raises the grapple again and loops his free arm around Renegade’s waist, pulling his Baby Boy right into his body.

The two vigilantes pause in the moment, and Renegade raises both hands quick, hits the right spot on the back of the helmet to release the catch, pulls the damn thing off so they can have just a second–

And anyone looking in the dilapidated warehouse down by Dixon Docks in that exact moment would be scandalized to see the Red Hood and Renegade writhing against one another, caught up in the taste of one another, just a tease before the grapple starts to reel.

**

Robin is panting with the effort, tries not to get tangled in his cape, tries to keep his eyes open to everything around him with the sharp vision he gets behind the whiteouts.

Luckily for him, he’s shaking off the residual of the sedative and this area of the city is one so absolutely familiar, he already knows he’s got an edge.

The same spots from those days when he was a kid with a camera, hiding while he followed the flying vigilantes are obviously still there, could still give him a place to duck if he thinks his pursuers are getting too close. If Dick and Jay had really been paying those old photographs in the shoebox enough attention, they’d probably be able to pick out the majority of his hidey-holes and make this game come to a quick and abrupt end (he’s hoping they don’t because he’s really, really enjoying this).

But, he’s already evaded them three times and he’s still too damn far from his apartment to believe he’s anywhere near home free.

Which is why he’s wasting time ducked down between two massive air conditioning units on the Mylar building instead of in Renegade and Hood’s path. A few feet away is an old bridge the maintenance crew used to get up to the next roof, giving him an out to use the grapple for a swing and give himself away.

He waits until the shadows recede and he can’t see either of them before he darts out and takes the bridge at a run, making a leap that immediately gets his adrenaline back up.

His chest is heaving a little because the climb is about a bitch.

A hard jerk on the suspension bridge takes him by surprise as both “villains” land it on either side of him, effectively boxing him in.

Well, fuck.

He pulls the grapple since, you know, the jig is up, but an escrima stick knocks the damn thing from his hand, and no amount of time he’s spent in the gym or hard-core parkour is going to get him out of this little sitch.

(Dammit. Trapped.)

Renegade clicks his tongue, “tsk, tsk, Robin. Nice try, but you should have tried to stay ahead of us. That might have gotten you home free.” And the two start advancing on him, getting closer. Robin looks from one to the other, bites down on his lower lip–

Until the plan pops into his head.

“Gonna enjoy this, little bird,” Hood drawls out, “after the run ya gave us.”

Panting, Robin tries to make the move subtle enough to miss, back up just a step, tries to make it look like he’s searching for a way out when he looks over the bridge and all the way down.

The action works because both villains jump for him at the same time, trying to keep him from throwing himself over, and it gives Robin just enough of a chance to let his knees give out from under him and fake fall to the wobbly bridge so Renegade can careen over his head at the same time Hood smacks into him, landing the two in a heap right at Robin’s feet.

The knock of Hood’s helmet against Renegade’s forehead gives him a crucial moment to slam the handcuffs he’d kept down on the Red Hood’s left wrist and Renegade’s right one, pushing the sides closed to cuff the two together.

(Oh fuck is he winning here.)

He’s already moving back while they untangle themselves and stare at their cuffed wrists before slowly, ever so slowly, turning to him.

“Well, damn.” And if he didn’t know better, he’d say Hood was, well, impressed.

(I have other hobbies, asshole, remember?)

“The surprises keep coming,” Renegade already climbing to his feet is grinning widely, Hood following in a smooth motion. “Too bad it isn’t going to save you, you know.”

“I just need to keep you two on–”

When he would have finished off the banter portion with on your toes, what he gets is the terrible sighing sound breaking the night, followed right by a sharp twang that is all too fucking familiar.

(Why do bridges have a tendency to break while he’s on them? Seriously now?)

His whole body jerks up, head turning to the sight of the old bridge coming apart and falling from under him, making him gasp in hard enough to hurt, making his knees knock, making a hard reality of Oh God, not again.

But cuffed arms brace under his and the bang of grapples firing shakes him out of breath-stealing panic, Hood and Renegade working in tandem to send the three of them flying through the night while the bridge crumbles to Gotham’s dirty sidewalk below.

Effortlessly, the villains land them on the Mylar, setting the three of them down in the shadows where one side of the building keeps it absolutely hidden away.

“Holy shit,” Robin pants out, held up between Hood and Renegade, his chest heaving under the tunic. “That...was not part of the plan.”

“Good to know,” Renegade lays his forehead against the base of Robin’s neck, exhaling slowly, moving his free hand down to push the cape out from between their bodies, to twist it around his hand for the next step.

“I’ll fuckin’ say,” Hood deactivates the helmet and tosses it down, moves a step closer to sandwich Robin between the two of them. With just a dom, his eyes are dark blue without the flecks of jade which means he’s probably still riding a little bit of the adrenaline from the almost-oops.

Robin looks up and over when Hood holds up his cuffed hand and arches a brow. “Still, ya gonna have ta work on them plans, Rob, if ya wanna get the better of us, yeah? This ain’t bad, but that don’t mean–”

And Robin gasps when his gloves wrists are gathered up by the cuffed hands, pulled over his head to stretch his body taunt.

Renegade is leaning down to talk against his ear, growling low and so fucking dangerous, “–you’re going to get away this time. Sorry, little bird. Looks like we win.”

**

Apparently things like capes are weapons and should not be used against him.

Or...well, maybe he’s going to re-think that since his wrists are bound together tight before they even worked the tunic open.

Renegade is keeping Robin’s bound arms down with a knee and a gloved hand over his mouth to make sure the noises are nice and quiet, kept between just the three of them. Hood had picked the cuffs in approximately two seconds to give them both a chance to get to work on making sure the young vigilante knew he was fucking around with the real deal.

The utility belt came off, lying just out of reach and Robin’s thighs spread open with less fight than anticipated.

The struggling, the writhing against Hood’s crotch, the straining muscle and taunt hold is just this side of perfect. For a little show, Hood pulls out a wickedly sharp knife, the glint dull in the night, leans down over Robin’s body and slides the sharp end of the blade right over the base of his throat, bare now that his cape is gone.

(But even though Timmy’s is half-assed struggling, he ain’t scared. No fear in those eyes, yeah?)

“Better be a good little bird, Rob. I like ta keep m’ implements nice n’ sharp. Don’t wanna make me slip by accident.”

Renegade’s hand on the younger vigilante’s mouth pulls so the head tilts back, eyes looking up. “I’ve known Hood for a long time, kid. You don’t want to see the master at work.”

When the struggling stops and the only thing Robin is doing is panting against Renegade’s hand, the sharp edge eases up slightly, slides down his chest, the tip fitting right under the tunic’s laces.

“Atta boy. Make it easier on yerself. Ain’t nobody gonna find ya, so don’t gotta have it rough unless ya wanna.”

“He might like it that way, Hood.” The first lace gives without hesitation. “Maybe we should go a little hard on him to find out.”

The second lace.

“But lookit how cute he is, Baby Boy. Gonna show ‘im just how things gotta go down on our side a’ the law, ain’t we? That don’t mean we gotta get nasty ‘bout it long as he behaves himself.”

The third.

Finally, the two villains are finally getting a little skin, and a gloved hands runs down Robin’s collar bone, moves to thumb and tweak until the little nub under is tight.

The hand on Robin’s mouth tightens down when the moan cuts through the stillness.

“He needs to learn, Hood. He can’t mess with business and get away without paying the price.” The thumb on Robin’s face moves over the domino and the whiteouts slide down, showing half-mast eyes, darkening by degrees.

“Mmhm. That’s the thing ‘bout Gotham, ain’t it?” And the hands moving down, pull hard, rip the tunic until there’s nothing in his path except the tights and reinforced jock. “Always got consequences, Rob, and you? You ain’t any different.”

The telltale tremble in his thighs makes the Red Hood grin wide and white (don’t be breaking character yet, Baby Bird. We gotta whole lotta play still left), and he’s nothing but a nasty bastard when he runs both hands up the inside of those thighs, grips tight to make sure there’s gonna be bruises there tomorrow.

Since he and Dickie pretty much engineered this whole thing (and made a suit with strategized weaknesses), the tights give under his hands, ripping open from the waist to the knee. He hands a sizeable strip to Renegade and leans down over Robin’s body, giving a little bit of distraction while his partner in crime moves just long enough to tie the strip in their little vigilante’s mouth.

“Much better.” He palms the grapple in his freed hand, and pulls out the line, throws the hook to catch on the lip of the roof and wrap the other end to keep Robin from going anywhere. Renegade pulls off the head piece, is in just a domino so he can flick the catch of his suit and pull it down to bare a tantalizing v-ee of his chest.

With the suit ripped away, helpless to whatever they planned to do to him on a roof in the middle of Gotham, Robin is gagged and panting, his chest stuttering with it, going pink down his collarbone and upper chest.

(Fingers slide into one of his bound hand, and the metal ball gives a soft jingle. All he has to do is drop it if he needs to stop, all he has to do is give the signal. He’s in control, he’s in control, he’s in control–)

And the feel of Hood’s gloves on his hip bone, tearing the strap on the reinforced jock makes his hips twitch, makes him unconsciously arch into the touch even when his hard cock springs up into the cool Gotham air.

“That’s smart kid. This’ll go easier for you if you try to enjoy it.” Renegade palms the vial in his suit and holds it up where the can both see it, smirks at the muffled noise right beside his thigh.

Hood grins back at him and pops the lid, dribbles lube on his fingers and lifts one of Robin’s calves for Renegade to hold. He hoists the other, runs his slick fingers over Robin’s balls, tugs a little, slides his forefinger up the underside of the vigilante’s straining cock, just a tease.

Getting his suit down far enough with one hand, Renegade shakes Robin’s leg, palms the side of his face to turn him, gets a load of those eyes, “My partner here is going to give you the fuck of a lifetime. And you? Are going to suck me while he does it.”

The jock is gone, and Robin gasps in hard through his nose, those eyes rolling over the length, teeth biting down on the gag in his mouth. He watches, mesmerized, as the gloved hand strokes himself, makes himself harder, gives Robin a preview to what he’s about to get.

When Hood spreads him open wider, slick and blunt finger sliding in, moving fast and hard, making Robin’s spine arch while he watches Renegade jerk off right in front of his face, mouth watering for it, his cock aching, his body clenching when one finger becomes two, and the desperation for more is starting to take over.

Pulling against the zip line isn’t doing anything for him because he can’t move, is caught between them, is already making noises with his body anticipating Hood (Jay) making him utterly senseless while he sucks Renegade’s thick cock to the fucking base.

(This is the best thing to ever happen.)

A jerk of his hips and a third finger slides in, gives him only a few thrusts against his spot, just enough for Hood to smirk and finally pull out.

“Gonna keep ya nice n’ tight fer me, Robin,” and while he’s been prepping the vigilante, he’d pulled himself out, lubed himself up to press right against the prize waiting for him. “But don’t worry. Since yer being a good, little bird, we’ll make sure you get yers.”

And Robin throws his head back, body arching in a clean line as well as he can with his legs caught and hands restrained. His fist tightens on the bell, keening through his gag as Hood pushes in, gives a few slow back-and-forths until he’s balls deep with a long moan.

“Lookit you taking all of his dick on the first go,” Renegade purrs down at him, and thumbs the gag out of his mouth, puts a finger over his lips. “Good for you, little bird. Now you’re going to give me mine. Don’t make me have to tell you to be very good.”

Renegade pulls with fingers on his jaw, and Robin opens up without a fight, taking the wide head in, moaning around it. Hood finally gets the point that he’s sure he isn’t going to come immediately when he moves, changing his hold to fit the bend of Robin’s knee and hoist his hips up higher, makes sure he’s in as far as he can possibly go (just the way Timmy likes it), then pulls back, starts up a few slow-n’-easies before he picks up the pace.

And Robin’s eyes are fluttering behind the domino, sliding his tongue around Renegade’s cock, leaning closer when he can take more, when he can take it deeper--

And suck.

“Holy–” and the villain’s hips twitch, a gloved hand threading into his hair, holds him still as hips twitch and fuck his mouth in shallow thrusts. “Fuck, know what you’re doing, don’t you Robin? Ah, you’re going to love my cock by the time we’re done with you.”

“Ya kiddin’ me, Baby Boy? Fuck him and you’ll be in love with his ass. Like a fucking vice.” And Hood leans over Robin’s body to get a better view of Renegade’s hips twitching, cock sliding in and out of his mouth, of Robin’s cheeks hollowing, of his jaw moving, of the tight nubs they’re both absently working.

In a calculated move, Renegade gives Hood a wink, and they both draw back, leave just the tip in him, gets a low noise for the effort, and fuck back into him with a vengeance.

“That’s right, little birdie. Found yer sweet spot, yeah?” And the strokes inside him are long and firm and fast, his spot abused by each one, making the pressure in his belly start to burn.

Renegade keeps up with a smooth, steady pace, sliding over his tongue, spilling pre-come in his throat, staring down as he pants, watching Robin take every fucking inch.

He’s moaning around the width in his mouth, in his throat, trying to suck, trying to scream while his cock throbs and the R still partly on his chest gleams in the night.

Hood’s balls slapping against his ass, and Renegade panting, groaning out above him, and a gloved hands fists him at the base, starts stroking him in time with the hits to his spot.

And the rhythm is driving, pound, rushing, his pulse racing in his ears, struggling to get a breath, but it’s all toomuchmoremoremore that he can’t think past the need to come, whimpering in his throat when he can, and trying to move his hips up into the fist pumping him and down into the pound thrusts driving him closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s right, give it up, Robin,” Renegade pants, groans down at him, working his hips, fucking into that throat, “you’re gonna take everything we give you, and when you go back to the Bat, you’ll remember just what you get when you stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Hood draws back to fuck in hard, tightening his hand down and speed up. “We’re gonna make sure this lessons sticks, Baby Boy. Fill ‘im up good, make sure he knows what happens ta bad little birdies.”

Robin screams around Renegade’s cock when fingers tease the tip of him and hips ground into deep, trying to move but he’s helplessly caught.

When Renegade leans down over him, talks low and feral, fucking into his mouth with fast, hard jerks, getting harder against his tongue, when it’s those blue eyes with the haze of need and want, (when it’s Dick talking to him), when the words, “come for us, baby,” are breathed so soft and fond, his body lets go, the knot of tension exploding, sending tingling pleasure from his ass to his cock to his nipples and spreads out until his eyes are rolling back in his head and all he can do is suck Renegade’s come down his throat while the pleasure loops around and keeps him going.

“Fuck, baby,” (Is Jay instead of–) Hood yells to the night sky, Robin’s body milking him, tightening down so hard, so fast, so wet, that he comes with a jolt, burying himself deep to fill the vigilante up.

And while Gotham remains completely serene at this time of night, three (two, technically) caped crusaders are laying out on the roof of the Mylar building in a tangle of limbs, panting, and weak, and so amazingly sated.

Boneless and content not to move another inch in his life, Tim manages to slide a gloved hand out of the knot made from the cape, and wipe his mouth, absently keeping track of his heart rate.

Dick is curled around his upper body, idly running fingers through his hair, the Renegade costume zipped half-way up his chest so he doesn’t get a whole lot of roof rash. On his other side, Jay has a heavy arm over his bare hips, a leg thrown over his and the Kevlar feels just as good on bare skin as it always does.

“That? Was fucking amazing,” he murmers, drowsy, shivering slightly now that he realizes he’s pretty much naked on a roof in the middle of the city after being fucked out of his mind, and somehow--

This is his life.

So it’s good when his vigilante boyfriends recover enough to maybe get them the hell off this roof before people like, office staff start coming into the Mylar’s upper floors for work.

Dawn is riding the horizon when he’s pulled to his feet and wrapped in Robin’s cape, rocking a toga to cover the torn suit and tunic, and carried off by his vigilante boyfriends so he can be absolutely lazy and just let Dick then Jay take him flying.

He has to make his body work when maneuvering through the window with shaky legs. Jay gives the helmet a toss in pretty much the direction of the kitchen table before picking Tim up by the back of his thighs, and let their doctor squawk but still flops his upper body flops over Jay’s shoulder.

Dick has the Renegade suit hanging off his hips, moving around the kitchen bare-chested with a domino, making coffee that is desperately, desperately needed.

“I’ll be there in a sec! I was promised cuddles, Jay, and I expect you two to deliver.”

“Bath first, Big Wing. Gotta let Timmy take a soak. Getcha ass in here so’s we can wash ‘im but good.” The abrupt smack and corresponding yelp from the path down the hall toward the direction of the bathroom makes Dick smirk and quickly scoop the grounds in while trying to get a glove off with his teeth.

“‘Sides, we might need ta give Sweets one more go ‘round, you feel me here, Dickie?”

“Wh-what?! How do you even expect me to get hard right now?!”

The bath is running in Tim’s massive tub (the real benefit to the apartment after all), and the sounds of Kevlar and Nomac sliding off of skin a soft sight when Dick comes to join them.

“You know, Timmy,” is a followed up by a very Dick Grayson smile, all full of bedroom eyes and promise, “we do have our ways.”

So if the tub sloshes over, and the neighbors complain about the noise this time of day (again), if maybe there might be...another suit buried in the back of their closet a few days later, if maybe he takes more detours when his boys are on the job and he can have time to scout hiding places and perfectly sized niches, when he can calculate more routes and moves.

He’s going to say, it’s always good to have a plan because of things like bleeding vigilantes—you know, on my fire escape. But in reality, it’s because now that he’s worn the tunic, flown through Gotham, and he’s pretty damn sure he’s got enough skill to make them work a hell of a lot harder–

Next time.

[general-du-vallon]

the last one of @c-b-strike​‘s prompts, I’ll just have to get some more :) Porthos has a secret admirer who writes him nice letters and lovely poetry. There are shenanigans to figure out who on earth it is. Hint: it’s Athos. [posting properly this time I’m such a dumb ass]

Porthos gets a fair amount of post, which is unusual in this day and age but between GP and other doctorly stuff, uni stuff, trying to get his name changed on everything stuff, he gets a bunch of letters. He’s got a knack of telling what’s in the envelope and most of the time he’ll just confirm he knows and chuck it on the pile in the wire basket he keeps on the kitchen counter for it all. This one is different. It’s not the handwritten envelope, stuff from the GP often comes like that. Nor is it the fancy script, contrary to stereotype his doctor has a very nice hand. Nor is it the lack of return address, he asked years and years ago that his GP office send stuff anonymized and they’ve never stopped. No, what makes this one different is that it’s in a lilac envelope and is sealed. A proper old fashioned wax seal. With an imprint of lips. It says S.W.A.L.K underneath in the same fancy hand. Porthos sits at the breakfast table and stares at it.

“What’s that, baby?” his mum says, coming in already dressed for work, yawning. She’s in court today so he’s made her coffee in a carry-out mug and a bacon butty in a greaseproof-paper bag to take with her. She spots it and smiles, kissing his hair on her way through. “You’re good to me, Porthos.”

“I dunno,” Porthos says. “I mean I know I’m good to you, you deserve to have people be good to you, I dunno what this is though.”

“Is Aramis up and out, or abed till two?” Marie-Cessette says.

She’s lived with them for the past four years, moving in after a rough patch when she’d just needed a week or two to get back to her feet. Porthos has since converted what used to be a conservatory into a bedroom and ensuit bathroom and kitchenette for her, her old bedroom now a livingroom. He has effectively persuaded her to stay forever. She’s had no choice but to get used to Aramis’s frankly very weird sleeping habits. Porthos shrugs, still examining his letter. He doesn’t want to break the seal that seems like bad luck.

“What’s swalk?” he asks his mum, instead. “Is it, like, post office code?”

“Haven’t you read Going Postal, baby?” Marie Cessette asks, tutting at him.

“When I was about thirteen. Why?” Porthos says, running through various Terry Pratchetts before he thinks he’s got the right one, looking for... “Oh, sealed with a loving kiss.”

“There’s a Terry for everything,” Marie Cessette says.

She kisses his hair again on her way out, talking to Aramis briefly in the hallway as she leaves.

“Am I late?” Porthos asks when Aramis zombies his way in, hair a nest.

“No. Coffee? Anne called, gotta take Lou to school,” Aramis says, making for the coffee machine. He lets out a distressed sound, finding no coffee there. Porthos holds up his mug (mostly full) and Aramis comes to guzzle that, slumping at the table. “You think you can call Athos about the coffee machine today?”

“He’s coming over for breakfast, sometime. Whenever he wakes up,” Porthos says.

“Academics. Tch. Why are you always up so early, if you can sleep for hours like Athos does?”

“I teach, he doesn’t. I write better in the morning, if he tried to write in the morning it’d probably end in some kind of pencil related injury, he’s worse than you are,” Porthos says, running his thumb over the letter seal.

“What’s it?” Aramis says, taking the letter from Porthos’s grip. “Hmm, cool. Advert I guess?”

He snatches up the knife Porthos was using for butter and slides it under the seal.

“No!” Porthos says, snatching it back. “It’s mine, it’s illegal to open someone else’s post! You broke it!”

Aramis picks up the seal and flicks it over his knuckles, then flips it to Porthos with a shrug. It’s intact, all one piece. Porthos sets it on the table by his plate and pulls out a sheet of paper. A bunch of pressed flowers tumble out with it, which makes him smile. He picks one up.

“Porthos, what is the letter? I’m going to stab you with a butter knife,” Aramis says, impatient as always.

Porthos looks at the letter, flushes dark and, just for the sake of it, refuses to tell Aramis a single thing. He gathers up his seal and the flowers and the letter and takes it all back to his bedroom, ignoring Aramis’s indignant cries of distress and his knocking when he follows Porthos up. Porthos slides the bolt across with a grin and sits on the bed. Being able to blush on command is the best skill he ever learnt. He opens the sheet of paper again. Last time he noticed it was a poem but not much more, this time he reads it. In neat, small letters, each carefully and painstakingly written out (Porthos can see faint, pencil lines left delineating little boxes for each letter) it says:

Roses are red, violets are blue, I’ve never met anyone

Quite like you. Share my breath, take my hand,

You’ve always been my dearest friend,

Beautiful grace.

Whoever wrote the letter seems to have given up there. Porthos can see pencil marks where things have been erased, but can’t make anything out. He stares at the paper, then turns it over. There’s no signature, not even a ‘from your secret admirer’. He checks the envelope: it’s clearly marked for him. He got a secret admirer letter once, in year nine, but it had just been from Flea who felt bad he hadn’t got any valentines. Their school did a thing where you could send an anonymous rose and she’d had a whole bouquet and he’d had none. He recognised her handwriting on the note, but he never told her he knew. Or that he had received a rose, after school, given to him shyly by Jamie McNab who he played football with and who also sometimes snuck into the LGBT club things. They’d dated for a whole week. Other than that, though, most of his partners haven’t really gone in for romantic gestures. d’Artagnan, his current date-friend-person, sometimes sends him heart emojis and always buys him cake wherever they go (and when there’s going to be no cake d’Artagnan usually brings home bakes along, sometimes from his wife. d’Artagnan bakes better than Constance, though Porthos will never say so). That’s sort of romantic. Not anonymized poetry romantic, though. If that’s even what this is. Porthos has a look at the envelope again and then reads the poem. The doorbell goes and Porthos wanders down, leaving the paper and envelope on the bed.

“Hey, Athos,” Porthos says, embracing the grouchy man standing on his doorstep, engulfing him. When he emerges from Porthos’s arms he looks a tiny bit less grouchy.

“Ugh,” Athos says. “Hungover.”

Porthos heads for the kitchen to make coffee on the stovetop. Athos grumbles after him, a long string of complaints (too light, too hot, where’s Aramis? I’m cold, hug me again, why aren’t you hugging me?) trailing after him. Porthos pauses to hug Athos and then sits on the countertop. Athos stands beside him, eyes half closed.

“Good night at least?” Porthos asks.

“Ish,” Athos says. “Some of my undergrad students showed up.”

Porthos gives a dramatic shudder and presses a hand over his heart in horror. Athos shoves him off the counter for it. Porthos sits at the table and watches while Athos first downs far-too-hot coffee and then pokes his head in with the coffee machine and prods about a bit.

“Why don’t you pull it out from under the cupboards?” Porthos asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

Athos straightens and bangs his head, curses at Porthos, then pulls the machine out muttering something then eventually admitting to not thinking of it. Porthos has seen Athos do amazing things, build everything from a little boat with a wind up ‘motor’ out of debris on the beach all the way to, well, the conservatory extension on the house. He teaches architecture but he’s done engineering stuff, mechanics, set design, carpentry. He’s been at the uni for three years, which is the longest Porthos has known him stick to a job.

“What’ve you done to this, babe?” Athos mutters, not really paying attention. He only calls Porthos ‘babe’ when he’s distracted.

“Dunno, blame Aramis or Mum. I usually just do it in the cafetiere or the fancy stove one,” Porthos says.

“Your mother is never to blame.”

“Aramis, then.”

“Mm. That sounds true.”

“You’ll never guess what I got in the post this morning,” Porthos says, and tells Athos about the letter.

Athos bumps his head again and swears. Creatively. In four languages.

“Uh, it was definitely posted, huh? Stamp and all?” Athos asks.

“Yeah,” Porthos says. He hadn’t looked close but he noticed the stamp. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing. Just, I had one once,” Athos says, vaguely, going back to the coffee machine. “Why aren’t you grading or something?”

“Papers are boring,” Porthos points out. “Besides, I want you to help me solve this mystery.”

Athos does not help. That’s ok, though, he’s got to finish fixing the coffee machine or pay the gambling debt he owes Porthos from the last teachers’ poker night, so Porthos has a captive audience for his thoughts. Athos manages to get his fingers slammed in a cupboard or something.

“So, Netflix and chill tomorrow?” Porthos says, when he’s done going through possibilities (not many).

“I’ve told you, that really doesn’t mean watching TV with ice cream,” Athos says. “And, no, I have a date with my sofa, we shall become one. I’m done, this should work now I’m gonna test it I want a cappuccino.”

Porthos gets the little coffee pod thing from the drawer his Mum keeps them in (he knows better than to steal Aramis’s coffee, last time he did that Aramis threatened to cut his fingers off. He was very convincing). When he gets close enough, to pass over the coffee, Athos wraps an arm around him and kisses his cheek.

“What’s this for?” Porthos asks, leaning into the hug.

“I’m affectionate sometimes,” Athos says, defensive. Then he grimaces. “Plus I may not be the most with it, today. I thought you were going in for a hug.”

“I was handing you coffee. This is nice, though,” Porthos says.

He can’t help laughing and Athos prods him in the ribs and wriggles away, making his drink and stalking off to the livingroom Porthos and Aramis share.

**

The next letter is ee cummings. Porthos lies on his bed the evening it arrives and presses it to his chest, shutting his eyes. He knows the poem, knows the words. Like they’re soaked through into him.

in the rain-

darkness, the sunset

being sheathed i sit and

think of you

the holy

city which is your face

your little cheeks the streets

of smiles

your eyes half-

thrush

half-angel and your drowsy

lips where float flowers of kiss

and

there is the sweet shy pirouette

your hair

and then

your dancesong

soul. rarely-beloved

a single star is

uttered,and i

think

   of you

There’s a post-script taking issue with ‘rarely-beloved’. Porthos is pretty sure that’s not what ee cummings meant but he appreciates the ‘always beloved, really’ all the same. He’s not sure why but he hasn’t told anyone about these, not since telling Athos about the first one. Aramis asked questions but gave over when Porthos admitted it was an advert and he’d been winding Aramis up. Aramis had been on his way to church with Marie-Cessette at the time and in response he’d just said he’d pray for Porthos’s soul. Porthos rings Athos, now.

“Have I mentioned how much I like ee cummings recently?” Porthos says, as greeting.

“Nn,” Athos says.

“Are you hungover still, from the day before yesterday?” Porthos asks, laughing. It’s Sunday, he hasn’t seen Athos since Friday night when he’d had to literally carry him from the taxi to the bedroom after karaoke night. “You drink too much.”

“I’m a fish,” Athos says. “cummings?”

“Another anonymous note,” Porthos says, and reads it out, taking his time and making it all musical the way ee cummings does on the recordings.

“Oh fuck,” Athos says.

“What? It’s nice,” Porthos says. “I think it’s someone who knows me.”

“Because of ee cummings? Christ, Porthos, that’s such a cliche poet for love poems,” Athos says.

“Yeah, but I really like him,” Porthos says.

“No shit, I never would’ve guessed, you never ever mention him,” Athos says.

“You’re in a right mood. I was gonna invite you to Netflix and chill, I have Ben and Jerries, but I’m gonna invite my Mum instead,” Porthos says.

He hangs up before Athos can tell him, yet again, that he’s using that phrase wrong. His Mum is quite happy to watch the new Ghostbusters and eat ice cream with him, just like when he was a kid only now there are women in it. She didn’t know Leslie Jones was in it and when she comes on screen his mum cheers. Then spends most of the rest of the films letting Porthos know just how attractive she finds ‘Leslie’. Porthos is a little unsure how to feel about agreeing with that. They both enjoy watching Chris Hemsworth, too, one of, Porthos is sure, approximately three men in the world his mum finds attractive.

“You feeling alright, baby?” she asks him, over the credits.

“Mm? Yeah?”

“You’re very quiet, tonight,” she says. “You’ve never been quiet.”

Porthos’s mind flashes back to the time his Mum came charging down to the kitchen in a rage for him having a party after she’d said no parties, when she was right upstairs, and then been incredibly miffed to find it was just Porthos and Flea there. He was never the quietest, that’s true enough.

“Just thinking about poetry,” he says.

“You should do some writing again,” She says. “You write beautiful things.”

“Mum,” Porthos groans, slumping down into her sofa. “I don’t write poetry. I was an angsty teenager when I did.”

“Poetry is very cool,” she says.

“I teach it, I know this,” Porthos says. “Oh, I was teaching a class on Maya Angelou Friday. I know you love her.”

“I do. Are you taking your Athos out to dinner tomorrow? Has he asked you on a date yet?”

“Mum!”

Porthos goes upstairs and shuts his bedroom door. He can still hear her laughing.

(He can’t hold it against her, she got a call from a client today, he knows it’s a sad case, laughter is good).

**

The third letter ends up in his intray at work, no stamp. No one can tell him how it got there. He doesn’t ask too extensively because he doesn’t really want to draw attention to the fact that he’s receiving love poetry. He’s beginning to be a little uncertain about it. Romantic things in real life feel a tiny bit creepy. Or, another possibility that has crossed his mind, something a young person might do. God he hopes it’s not one of his students. He puts up his ‘in a meeting’ sign and flips the lock on his door and then opens the letter, spreading the paper on his desk.

The arch of your step blazes, you shine, burnishing gold.

I will press my cheek to your cheek, skin against skin,

Hold close to me I will bear the weight of you, joy with

the feel of you, of your heart beating against my palm.

Every moment soars, I soar with you, you are unquenchable,

Bright catch in my heart sheer blue skies.

I touch my lips to hold your smile to mine, your love

Against my breast I hold you there, hold you. Cannot

Hold you.

Porthos carefully folds the paper and tucks it into his pocket. He can see a shadow at the door, behind the comic he has up to block the window. He’s about to go let the student in when an acerbic grumble comes and then a thump on the door.

“Porthos, let me in, are you wanking in there?”

Porthos leaps up and throws the door open, ready to drag Athos in and chew him out for saying that in front of a student, but the only other person out there is Treville, busy having hysterics. Porthos scowls at both of them. Athos looks up at him, unblinking, his eyes look red. Porthos gestures him in and points him to the chair in the corner then turns to Treville, now catching his breath.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Porthos says. Treville’s his head of department but he dated Porthos’s mother once (he assures Porthos that has nothing to do with Porthos being hired here) and Porthos has known him for decades. “What do you need?”

“Nothing,” Treville says. “I was stopping by for a chat but it can wait, seeing as you’re... busy.”

Treville breezes away, cackling to himself. Porthos heads back into his office and shuts the door, leaving the ‘in a meeting’ sign up. He’s in a meeting with Athos. A meeting about why Athos’s eyes are red.

“Are you drunk?” Porthos asks.

“No.”

“Hungover?”

“No.”

“Should I be worried that I genuinely have to ask those questions in the middle of a work-day?”

“No. It’s not a problem.”

“So.”

“Would you believe hayfever?” Athos says, giving a hopeful little smile. Porthos doesn’t answer, he’s not going to bother with that. Athos drops the smile and looks at his hands, frowning. “My head of department observed my teaching this morning. The seminar didn’t go very well.”

“Oh, ok,” Porthos says. Athos usually cries after being observed, that’s ok then. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not even in the slightest.”

“Ok, let’s talk about my thing, then. I’m still getting poetry in the post, unsigned. What if it’s one of my students?”

“It’s a juvenile thing, to send anonymous poetry,” Athos says, surprisingly biting. “It’s a bit pathetic if it is a grown man. Or woman. Or… enby.”

“I dunno,” Porthos says, a little taken aback by the anger in Athos’s voice.

“Truly, what kind of adult does that? It’s pitiful. Is it even good poetry? Not that it makes a difference.”

Athos has a lot more to say, ugly things pouring out of his mouth until he’s breathless, arms around himself, choking on sobs. Porthos gapes at him for long moments before shaking off the surprise and going over to soak up Athos’s tears. It’s like grief pouring out of him into Porthos’s sweater, one arm still tight over his chest the other clinging around Porthos’s waist. Porthos cries, too, helpless, having no idea why Athos is so distraught.

“It’ll be ok, it’ll be alright,” Porthos says, rocking Athos, arms around him. “I’ve got you, I’m here. We’ll be ok. We’ll be ok.”

Athos nods, shuddering. Porthos sniffs and wipes at his face, looking around for tissues. There’s a box on his desk but he doesn’t want to let go of Athos.

“It was quite a nice poem,” he whispers, instead.

“I don’t want to know,” Athos says, shivering but crying less now.

“Can I read it to you?”

“If you must.”

Porthos takes it from his pocket, unfolding it carefully, and read it out. Athos goes quiet against him, under Porthos’s hand, and sighs when Porthos is done reading.

“You make it beautiful,” Athos says.

“What do you mean?” Porthos asks.

“When you read it, it’s beautiful. I’m sorry I came in here and fell to pieces, I’m sorry I was rude.”

“That’s ok. I’m not sensitive about the odd poetry letters,” Porthos says. “Is it bad that… I quite like them. I like being thought of. I don’t know who’s sending them.”

“Would it change things?”

“I don’t know. Are you ok?”

“I’m ok.”

“We’re ok, yeah? Yes?”

Athos nods and sits up, letting Porthos go get the tissues. Porthos kneels beside him, worried by the rush of uncontainable emotion. Things going wrong and being observed when things are going wrong is stressful but that felt like it had been building a while. Porthos decides to be more insistent about Netflix and chill, in the future. Maybe he’ll take Athos to dinner. Ice cream, TV, and proper meals. That’s what Athos needs. And possibly less coffee and alcohol but that’s fairly a given with Athos.

**

The next letter comes soon, dropped in the letter box while he’s at work, a page torn out of a lined pad this time but the writing no less careful and neat. No more familiar. No more telling. Porthos reads the poem written on the scrap sat in the back garden.

I think I was searching for treasures or stones

in the clearest of pools

when your face …

when your face,

like the moon in a well

where I might wish …

might well wish

for the iced fire of your kiss;

only on water my lips, where your face …

where your face was reflected, lovely,

not really there when I turned

to look behind at the emptying air …

the emptying air.

Sadness settles over Porthos’s shoulders with the closing of the poem. Carol Ann Duffy, he’d know her anywhere. He can remember listening to the radio, an interview with Jackie Kay, and being astounded that she and Carol Ann Duffy were both queer. Lying on his bedroom floor, nineteen, and being struck dumb by it. He thinks of Her and Late Love by Jackie Kay, two he’s read often. Love poetry is so longing.

He’s still sat out there, staring at his love poem, when his mum gets back and comes to ask if he’s planning on making dinner. Which means he is to cook for her, so long as he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t. He puts in his headphones and calls Athos. There’s no reply so he sends a text and puts on the radio while he cooks. Athos still hasn’t texted back by the time dinner’s ready, or by the time he heads up to bed. He sends another text before falling asleep, though it’s not unusual for Athos to not text back so he doesn’t worry. When the morning passes without a reply he’s a little confused, and when Athos leaves the staff room as Porthos enters, as if seeing him coming, not even pausing to say hello, misgivings set in. By the next morning he is one hundred percent certain that Athos is giving him the silent treatment.

“What kind of grown ass man,” Porthos rants, to d’Artagnan, “gives his best friend the silent treatment? I don’t even know what I did.”

“Doesn’t seem right,” d’Artagnan agrees. He’s had a glass of wine and he doesn’t drink much so he’s now tipsy. He scooted around to Porthos’s side of the table and has laid his head on Porthos’s shoulder, knitted their fingers together. He’s not very interested in Porthos’s dilemma. “Damn shame.”

“You’re not even listening,” Porthos says.

“I’m sorry,” d’Artagnan says, tipping his head back on Porthos’s shoulder to look up at him then pressing a kiss to his neck. “I’m a little drunk. I can tell you’re not very happy, maybe I can cheer you up.”

“No thanks,” Porthos says, sighing.

He wouldn’t mind something… to be held, some kind of physical intimacy, but with d’Artagnan that usually comes with sex, which isn’t on Porthos’s agenda tonight. d’Artagnan sits up, yawning, and suggests they get the bill. It’s not d’Artagnan’s fault. When Porthos started dating him, Porthos made it clear that he didn’t want that kind of relationship. He didn’t want to be anyone’s emotional support, didn’t want that kind of intimacy, didn’t want that from anyone. He can’t now just expect it all to change because his best mate’s being a dick. He drives d’Artagnan home and goes to sit on the sofa in his mum’s living-room and watch TV with her.

“What sort of mothering are you after, Porthos? I’m tired,” she says.

“None,” Porthos assures.

Untruthfully. His mother’s a wonderful, amazing woman, she brought him up on her own and gave him all the love in the world. She’s always made Porthos feel like he’s the best thing to happen to her, made him feel intelligent and special and beautiful. But she’d also had her own life, her own things going on. He hadn’t always got what he needed from her. She hadn’t always had the time or inclination or patience to give him hugs, listen to his stories, give him attention. She’d made sure he had people in his life beside her, love from other people. He never lacked. She just hasn’t always mothered him, as much as she’d tried to be a mother she was getting her PhD, going to do law exams and working in a solicitors’ office until she could afford to become a barrister, working for various causes, meeting people. He remembers fondly her whirlwind romance with Anette, who had plenty of time for Porthos and motherhood. Marie-Cessette breaks into his thoughts with a sigh, arms coming around him and pulling him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” She says. “What happened, baby? I’m here.”

“Athos being childish, he’s not talking to me or something I don’t know,” Porthos says. “Bit tired.”

She tuts and assures him everything will be fine, then switches the TV to the news and carries on eating crisps, one arm around Porthos. He sits with her for a while, letting his eyes go heavy and the comfort of her closeness soothe him toward sleep. She gently chastises him for scheming to fall asleep on her sofa and reminds him that she can no longer carry him to bed. He goes up, bumping into Aramis on the stairs. Aramis embraces him absently, phone held to his ear talking to someone. He pauses, letting Porthos go and taking him in, frowning. Porthos waves him away and carries on to bed. He sleeps well and wakes up refreshed.

*

In the morning there’s another letter, stamped and everything. Porthos examines it, it has a seal again, a heart this time, and SWALK written across underneath. There’s something different, though. Porthos looks again, frowning, and thinks back. This one, he decides, has a stamp but also has been stamped. The others just had a stamp. No wavy black ink lines, no round post-office sign, nothing. They were probably not posted.

“Ether clever, or a little bit daft,” Porthos says. “Or both. What a waste of a good stamp.”

He’s sitting in his and Aramis’s livingroom, on his own, Brooklyn 99 on the TV but on low, he’s rewatching series three on Netflix and he’s seen it often before. He carefully removes the seal, keeping it to put with the other, and draws out the paper. It’s thin, this time, almost tissue, and there are love-heart candies that spill out with it. They all just say ‘love’ on them. He eats one while he reads.

To hold your hand on a sunny day,

Like our fingers are dipped in the sunshine,

Warmth thick across your broad shoulders,

Lighting your cheek and eyes and the beauty

That you bring everywhere you go.

You bring colour when you pass, riots

Of flowers bloom in your wake you make

Me see so much sheer beauty, you are beauty.

Pitch-perfect, rich toned, every note in place,

The music winds down, and I

Oh, I miss you. I cannot touch you, my hand

Is cold from where I am not touching you.

The heat between your shoulder blades and the way

Your shirt draws the lines of your body, I

Can’t reach out.

I am dust, you bring my earth rain and teach me

Growing things and your sunshine blooms me.

Beneath you I am blossom, breathed into wind.

But I miss you, I cannot hold you, I am

Un-courage.

Courage holds your bones strong where I shatter,

Your eyes bright with everything that matters,

Words come brave and bright and you stand,

I see you tall and unwavered, against the setting

Sun. Warrior, battle-hearted, strung with

The roar of the sea.

Porthos frowns. Then he folds the paper. This one is right. He doesn’t give up, he is like the sea. He doesn’t back down. Nor does he let people get away with being arseholes to him. Besides which, he knows exactly who calls him ‘battle-hearted’. What a stupid phrase.

*

“Athos de la Fere you coward!” he roars, bursting into Athos’s office.

He’s built up a good head of steam on his way in and now he’s ready for battle. Athos looks startled, eyes very wide, gaping up at Porthos. The student he’s got with him looks even more shocked. Bugger.

“Doctor Vallon,” Athos says. “Good of you to drop by. However, you have interru-”

“Yes, I can see,” Porthos says, turning to the student. “Sorry about that. Athos, you better find me when you’re done.”

“I better had,” Athos agrees.

Porthos nods firmly and leaves for his own office. He has a class to teach, he gathers his things and turns up early, setting up with the white board and projector. He has two back to back and then a meeting and when he returns to his office, Athos is there, the visitor chair drawn up to the desk so he can mark papers, a huge mug of coffee at his elbow.

“Hello,” Athos says, looking up. “Are you done with the dramatics?”

“Me?” Porthos says, outraged. “You!” Porthos can’t quite say it, he’s not sure he believes it. “You stopped talking to me, avoided me. What the hell? You’re an adult. You can’t punish me with refusing to respond. And- ”

“I know,” Athos says, holding up a hand and getting a word in edgewise. “The internet informed me. I hadn’t actually meant to give you the silent treatment. I have anxiety.”

“Athos!”

“I projected thoughts onto you and thought I was making myself as little nuisance as possible.”

“Right.”

“I’m sorry. It’s a reason, not an excuse. Not ‘I was right because of this’ but ‘it was me, not you’. I love you. I wouldn’t hurt you on purpose for the world, Porthos,” Athos says, very earnest.

“I didn’t eat enough food, I was hungry and tired,” Porthos says, grudgingly.

“Just … in general?” Athos asks, frowning.

“I was emotional.”

“Oh. Sorry. I brought you a chocolate bar to apologize but I sat on it and it melted. It was a bit gross.”

Porthos laughs, forgiving Athos easily in the end. He looks so bewildered and helpless about the chocolate bar. Porthos perches on the edge of his desk and huffs, shaking his head.

“You’re something else, de la Fere. What am I gonna do with you? All that poetry, my god. I’m right here, just talk to me for heaven’s sake,” Porthos says, too fond of Athos to be anything except awfully warm about it.

Athos turns around and tries to leave the office. All he manages is to walk into the door because he’s not looking where he’s going and Porthos closed it. Porthos goes to grab him and make sure he hasn’t hurt himself then hug him, laughing. Athos pushing his face against Porthos’s shoulder and his arms come up around Porthos’s back to hold onto his shirt there and probably wrinkle it.

“I am inept,” Athos says.

“Completely. In every lovely way,” Porthos assures. “Fuck me am I glad it were you and not someone creepy.”

“I am creepy.”

“Not really.”

“I was… So drunk. I forgot I sent it, that first time, until you said. I put a stamp on and just slid it in your door on my drunken meander home. I meant to sign it, I think,” Athos says. “Then, I guess I liked the idea.”

“You write terrible poetry,” Porthos says, admiringly, stroking Athos’s hair. “I adore it. I really like them.”

Athos nods, laughing a little. He huffs again, sighing, leaning into Porthos.

“I really do love you,” Athos whispers. “I can’t seem to help myself, you just engulf my entire life and all my thoughts.”

“I bloom you,” Porthos says, comfortably, incredibly pleased with himself. “Turn you all blossoms. Sounds so sexy, gonna tremble you all apart till you’re just petals, darling.”

Athos finally removes his face from Porthos’s jumper and breathes in, closing his eyes, lips against Porthos’s cheek and beard and then against his lips, careful, questioning. He thinks ‘yes’ and then Athos asks and Porthos says it aloud, and Athos’s lips are back, mouth against Porthos’s.

[punkscowardschampions]

Rio & Buster

Rio: Oi, McKenna! Has Nancy got butch or did I see you out in my ends last night? Buster: Calm it Cavante 🤒 you got a lingering enough look to answer that yourself and you know it Rio: Well, when you see a ghost, like. Call it disbelief, didn't know mans were allowed to haunt anywhere but Chelsea? Soho, if your boys are feeling really wild Rio: Get lost on your way to 11, did you? Buster: I got bored ghosting the elite figured I'd give a new hunting ground a go like. Plenty to be said for slumming it down 24 so I've been told. Buster: Once I've had my go on Bonos specs I'll pass them down since you can't tell me from my twinnie Buster: Can't escape those hand me downs even as the eldest in your ends, eh? Rio: Figures. Yeah, I can see you with the wanky red getup and the hound dogs...Tally ho! Rio: Not everyone can hang but you didn't get glassed, or mugged, so you musta passed for scum enough to keep your chainz...Congrats? Don't know how you feel about that either way Rio: Its a look I could rock Rio: No shade to Nance, been a while since I've been seeing double though, init...You didn't forget the postcode, so what's your excuse? Buster: Been fantasizing about me a lot then? 😉 Buster: Musta been the peeps in proximity 😂 Buster: Same. Lucky us. Buster: Who needs one. Come and go as I please, don't I? There was nothing to take my fancy down this way Rio: If I was into Poshos, I'd go for the real deal, wouldn't I? Rio: Nah, ain't no one out here got your back, don't let the 🍀 genetics we share fool you, I'd pay to see you get a whuppin' 😏 Rio: Not even your twinnie then, nah? Waste Buster: 👑 Buster: Drop the 💰 then. I know you've got it Buster: Here's the thing, in the city we have things called phones and laptops. Proper useful they are Rio: Tempting offer but I got better. Rio: You'll be the first to know if I get desperate, yeah? 😉 Rio: When's the last time you phoned home? Rio: What I thought Rio: Aside from being boring/bored in the big city, what's your bag these days Rio: assuming you ain't still playing dress up and five aside like the good ole days Buster: Tempting offer but I don't need to resort to the dregs of Dubo quite yet 😏 Buster: I live there I don't have to ring in Buster: 24 isn't my area as you so often remind me Buster: Armani usually Buster: Why you so interested? Bored/boring in the mountains, yeah? Rio: Yeah, but she don't, tit; don't play dumb, boy Rio: Being polite, I still got the manners I was raised wit Buster: Let her take the plane or pick up the phone. She knows where I am, I'm not the one who moved Buster: My au pair musta skipped 'em. Can't get the staff I guess 🤷 Rio: Good to know she still the mature one, even if you FINALLY got taller than her, huh Rio: Even rich white boys can't have it all Rio: What a world, eh? Buster: Woe's me Buster: must be 'cause you snatched up all the 🍀 Buster: damn irish Rio: not sorry 😏 Rio: lemme guess, you make your own luck, right? Buster: Didn't think so. Save the regret for the 🐵 you were with Buster: 🤞 Rio: save it, end of. don't do that shit. what's the point? Rio: 🙉 Buster: 🙇 save the speech while you're there 😴 Rio: oh honey, i know talking instead of grunting n bein monosyllabic is hard but do keep up 🙄 Buster: What's the point? Buster: Nothing in it for me, is there? Rio: You won't get if you don't ask Rio: Try it sometime, you might surprise yourself Rio: and any poor girl you're attempting to chat up Buster: Like I said, no point. I get everything I want without trying already Rio: So you reckon Rio: but if you do, why you such a mardy cunt? 🤔 something ain't right, chief Buster: Yeah. I wasn't asking for your opinion sweetheart so no need for you to reckon anything Buster: 🤔 must be a reflection of who I'm speaking to Rio: 'Course Rio: Its always someone else's fault, ain't it, that's rule no.1 of your type Buster: Nah not always just rn 🤷 Rio: well i'm down the wright tonight so best steer clear and find somewhere else to be the life and soul 👍 Buster: will do Buster: no shortage of better offers 💋 Rio: right, you're draining the dregs, i'd say enjoy but is that even possible for yas? Buster: You done? You're draining my battery Rio: no, not yet Rio: granny saw your instas and she said you better visit her and grandad before you leave Rio: enjoy 😂 Buster: I'll be far too busy with my poor neglected twinnie what a shame Buster: thanks for the continued heads up of where to avoid though 👍 Rio: You're aware she lives with them, yeah? And the party scene, ain't hers, so like fuck is she gonna come meet you when you're already too many drinks and bitches deep 😂 Rio: Poor baby boy Buster Buster: Let me worry about that Rio: I know you will Rio: Might never happen, smile some! Buster: Cheer yourself up first babe Buster: I'm perfect here Rio: To be sure Rio: I'll get the 🐵 to do his level best Buster: Yeah he'll need to try very hard Buster: Unlucky there Rio: you could give him pointers on being try-hard, fancy that excuse for not seeing your fam? Buster: I'd have to get you outta the way first, doing your damnest god love ya Rio: hahaha mad deflection skills bruh Rio: i'm outy, you two can have all the alone time, seeing he's caught your eye so Rio: i'm not in that deep, i'll let you have him, on the house Rio: welcome to ireland 🍀 enjoy ur stay Buster: thanks but no thanks. Do your own dumping Buster: you love to keep that 💰 close, eh? Buster: 👋 Buster: Catch me spending mine when you're over pretending your parents are broke Rio: we ain't the ones pretending, new money Rio: they'll never accept ya, enough to give anyone the complex you rocking better than any of those brands, boy Rio: ✌ Buster: 'Course not 👍 Buster: Didn't ask 'em to but didn't ask for your diagnosis either and here we are Buster: 😯 Rio: Your rents did, that's the real kicker Rio: you didn't ask for none of this, be sure to feed that line to your real therapist when the time comes, Patrick Buster: good old copy and paste has me covered Buster: thanks again for the concern Rio: someone's gotta Rio: you hit 16 and they take away your fit au pair, what you gon' do but turn out like this? Buster: girl you're obsessed. My back ain't even the best part Rio: 😵 boy, you're twisted, forreal Buster: 👌