#askfic

Ele fica todo interessado e doido quando vê ela e Harry toda nervosa perto do Louis gostosão atiçando ela. Ela relutante dizendo que agora era a tia dele e ele rebatendo falando que ela não era nada dele a não ser que aceitasse ser a mulher dele, deixando ela toda manhosinha e entregue pra ele. Louis fodendo H de tudo que é jeito enquanto ela chora de tesão e ele usando ela todinha fazendo ela de depósito dele mandando ela guardar tudo pq a buceta apertadinha dela agora era só dele.

24. 'tender' with them please?

Thank you 🥺

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Gabriel's strength isn't exactly a surprise to her. It's easy to forget admittedly when most chances to show it come as Hawk Moth and can be attributed purely to the Miraculous. But though it's not showy there's a lean muscle Nathalie's been finding harder and harder to ignore the movement of under his suits.

And well. He is tall in a way that makes her feel small despite her own above average height. That contributes.

Back in the old days she remembers him carrying bolts of fabric himself. Too impatient to wait for help, or too absorbed in whatever ideas he'd had to think of it.

So the ease with which he lifts her up doesn't shock her. Somewhere in the back of her mind she absently notes that that seems about right.

What she doesn't expect is the care he treats her with. His hold on her is firm but not hard, and his arms around her are almost like an embrace despite the physical necessity of their position.

He's almost tender as he lays her down onto the bed, careful as any parent with an infant.

A barely-there brush across her forehead, as if checking for a fever, is accompanied by a murmured. "Rest, my Nathalie,"

Oh, anon! 💗💗💗💗adkahdshdhdkhkhdYESSS. I LOVE this idea!

And I’m SURE he would be the happiest trophy husband. And also the kind that's showy. Has so much fun going over the top with it, being gossip material. All cliché-y, and Diva-like. Basically confirming what everyone thinks about him (about them) precisely because it’s the diametrically opposed to what it really is.

Doing things like:

Mowing the lawn in mini-mini-shorts. Working on his tan on their lovely backyard on the sunny Sunday Summer mornings (in that exact spot where –coincidentally– Mr. Walker, their blatantly homophobic next door neighbor, would have to get out of his own backyard with his eyes closed not to see). Being reaaaally polite with everyone around (Mr. Walker included), smiling and waving his hand like “Hiiii, Janice! How did that new face treatment go?” because they live in a Nice Place now, six years after Robert Harrington made Steve climb his way up the company ladder right from the bottom “Exactly like everyone else”, both as a punishment and a trial; after working their asses out of their shitty one-bedroom apartment, having to prove themselves in every single step (as Steve and Billy, but also as SteveandBilly), but,

Here they are.

And now Steve has a very good job, one he’s genuinely good at, one that pays for much more than hardly the bills and maybe having dinner out from time to time. And they’re happy and they are together and they fucking made it, despite barely anyone around them given two shits. Now, Steve slicks his wild hair back from Monday to Friday, wears the nicest suits, so fitting and sexy and oh so preppy Billy sometimes gets a hard-on just from seeing them all together in the dressing room, hanging in a perfectly tidy line, made of the same material of sins.

So. 

He just doesn’t see the point in not treating himself every once in a while.  Make Steve run late for work or not getting there at all. In no letting himself enjoy the way those tailored beauties emphasize the shape of Steve’s glorious ass. Enjoy the certainty that in a big, stylish, impeccably neat office downtown, Steve’s dad is rolling his eyes all the way back into their sockets.

And also.

In not letting himself revel in the exhilarating feeling of sliding full into this ‘hot-mess trophy hubby’ persona almost everyone around them assumes he is. Steve’s Harrington boy-toy. “That California scum. Must be real good at sucking dick to get a deal like that.” Make the rumors roll down the small streets of Hawkins and under the door of his own father’s house. Thrive in the knowledge that every time Neil Hargrove hears any or those rumors or gets even the tiiiniest glimpse of them two together, going out and about holding hands,  feels like he’s about to puke his guts out thinking about what his son has ‘become’.

And aside from that, he kind of––enjoys, this trophy husband thing, to be honest. It’s been ten years since they got together now. Billy likes to keep things spiced-up. So when Steve is promoted and they move to be close to the new office, along with the house Billy buys a pair of powder pink slippers, fluffy ball of floating fur on top, and a see-through, fur-riveted robe to match. Some days he goes to his morning cockteling&tanning session in the backyard wearing only that (“Heeeey! How ya doin’ Mr. Walker?”). Kisses Steve goodbye long and filthy at the door, where everyone can see, opening the robe wide to wrap it around them both together, pressing their bodies flush, biting at his ear and whispering “Bring me a diamond when you come back, honey bunny” making Steve snort but say "You deserve a million of them, babe" making Billy melt, feel a bit like he's dripping love out of all the pores of his body, making a puddle that will permanently stain the glamorous white marble of the entryway as he waves Steve goodbye, scratches with feign indifference at the trail of fair hairs coming out his flashy-green pants to counteract the way Steve's killer smile makes him blush as hard as the first time, a whole decade away, that cold November night when he grabbed Billy by the collar of his T-shirt and said "I'm gonna kiss you. And then you're gonna punch me. And I don't care.”

It’s like a fucking fairytale. The way things were going? The most Billy expected out of life was live if fast, die young, leave a beautiful corpse behind. But now, he’s got the guy of his dreams. He’s got a life he could have never dreamed of. He’s got Steve, now. Steve, who’s good, is caring. Always fights him back. Doesn’t buy any of the shit he tries to pull off. Steve, who's got lips like that moment the earth forgets about gravity when you’re riding down the hill of a rollercoaster. Got eyes that can rip out of you promises you never thought you'd make (like: I do and forever and not even death). That always see Billy when they look at him.

And now, he gets to wake up every morning before he does, put the Moka pot on the stove. Gets to see Steve’s sleepy face right after rolling out of bed, hair still untamed, pouty lips, bare feet dragging over the floor. See the way he beams, smile wide and devastatingly sweet when Billy tells him “I made you coffee, babe”. Gets Steve kissing him like a daydream, laying him over the kitchen table, fucking him before even touching breakfast with his fancy pink robe on.

And Billy thought he would have to change. Give something, to have something. Didn’t really mind. Too lucky to complain. Thought he would have to stop being mean once they got married. Play the tamed part. Thought he was going to have to behave to fit into the rich and respectable life they had landed at. But. No-No. Rich people? They’re way meaner than regular people, turns out. Billy’s just been upgraded to play for the Asshole’s World Championship Cup.

And he’s always been good at sports.

So he goes to the hair salon the afternoon before any important event. Gets a facial. Does his nails. Buys new clothes. Gets all Pretty Woman on himself just so Steve can show him off. And oh. OH. OHHH. Steve does show him off. To his dad. His mom. The whole party. Doesn’t give a fuck about whatever people keeps on whispering behind their backs. Offers his arm to Billy and Billy clings to him, keeps his chin up. He’s never been as afraid of anything as much as Steve not loving him back. He’s fearless now. Because here they are. So he lets Steve walk him through the crowd as the King he was born like. Brilliant. Proud. Letting Billy to deal with the vultures if he fancies to do that.

“Awwww. But look at you!! Anyone can tell you two are soooo in love!”

Fake boobs. Fake Louboutins. Fake Smile. Billy is Queen Bee now. He’s got this.

“Oh, no Miss Treadaway. I dearly appreciate you noticing how good my acting skills are. But it’s exactly as you said to Miss Walton the other day. I only married Stevie here because he’s got a big dick and it’s loaded. And he only married me because of how good I look on all fours. You’re too perceptive to hide it!”

But with Steve’s parents? With Steve’s parents Billy is relentlessly n i c e.  When Robert Harrington won’t even look at him. When Crystal Harrington blows saccharine all over him like in a bad magic trick, deceivingly sweet when she says, “Well William. Maybe it's time you get a real job too now our Steven is running his own branch" cold war buzzing between them when Billy spreads his most honest, open smile, not a millimeter of animadversion showing “But I already have a real job, Crystal. I take care of your son. And there’s also, you know, that side thing I do of running Garage” making her fingers clutch hard around her cup of fine champagne, making Steve’s lips fight to repress a grin, eyes fond, and soft and in love. And Billy will do whatever it takes, endure whatever he has to, if what he gets in return is this:  the way the narrow space keeping them apart feels like inevitability when they're about to kiss.

And everyone thought he was going after the money, when they married. Most still do. But Billy never actually asked for diamonds. Well, not for real. But he gets one anyway. Tenth anniversary and counting. It shines unreal on his finger, as much as this life he has now, as the liquid shine of Steve’s eyes when he says “They come from fire, just like you. I always thought they would fit so well. And looks like I was right” and just a few years before, Billy would have said “This is too much, I can’t take it” too afraid Steve would get the wrong impression too, too afraid to not be up to him. But now, he understands, that this is just another way Steve is trying to take care of him, to show him love. So now, Billy lets Steve spoil him as much as he wants. Take him out for dinner without reason. Hand him a sealed envelope saying, “What about showing me that ocean you love so much?” Kissing him in front of everyone, all the time, ringed fingers intertwined.

Lets him buy them a California King just to make a stupid joke, get Billy Hargrove to blush.

“We can ditch all of this, if you’re not happy. You know that, right? I don’t care about anything else as long as it’s you and I”

Billy shakes his head. “I am happy, pretty boy. Happier than I ever thought I could be” Tickles Steve’s nose with the fluffy, pink fuzz all around his robe until he sneezes and chuckles. “But I wanna know,” he says, tone pouty and tragic “It is true, what everybody says? Am I really a trophy husband?”

Steve shuffles closer, rumbles low in his throat. It’s an early Sunday morning. They’re gonna spend all time left until breakfast fucking in bed. Then cockteling&tanning together ‘till lunch. And then, after, he’s sure he can convince Steve to put on one of those gorgeous suits, let Billy grind against the soft fabric, make a mess out of him. Make him beg and squirm. Pull down his fly real slow, down on his knees. Suck him off. Eat him out. Make him moan I love yous brighter than diamonds when Billy gets inside him. But right now, Steve just kisses him silly, lowers down the covers to take a look down, at his leopard print, see-through, hideous new briefs. The cheapest ones he could find.

Because Billy’s trash. Will always be trash.

“Oh yeah, babe. You are. A fucking trophy. The best anyone could have”

But he’s posh trash now.

💎

“That is a deliberate misquote,” Percy rebuked, though he seemed to be resisting a smile more than he resisted Vex’s (meager) strength pushing him down.

“Mmm – I still don’t hear anything that’s not a lame excuse.” Vex crawled atop him, sliding her fingers under the edges of his waistcoat.

“I’m not making excuses, I’m just– nnnh, hhm…” Percy arched his neck back as if supplication to the ceiling would grant him grit. “Ah, aah, hah.”

Vex’s nails performed a gentle dance against the crisp fabric of his shirt. “Nearly there, Percy dearest,” she encouraged with a grin.

His arms clutched defensively across his middle, but she could still tickle his lower sides in that spot that always made him– yes, twist just like that, and whine in that adorably high pitch. And if she could push a little higher, get under his elbows guarding his ribs…

“Ohoh, no. No no no!” Percy’s glasses were falling askew on his nose. His hands were too preoccupied to fix them, though, as he squirmed with increasing desperation and grabbed ineffectually at the creeping fingers hidden under a layer of clothes. “Vex. Veh-ex! Ahah, darling, stop, p– ple– plee-heease!”

“La-a-augh for me,” Vex sang happily, determined not to stop until the Lord of Whitestone was a disheveled mess beneath her.

“What happens if I try right...” The grin in Midoriya’s voice was audible, and that alone was enough to make Todoroki scrunch his eyes shut and clench his shoulders, bracing himself. “...here?”

Todoroki’s breath hitched and lips pressed together as Midoriya’s fingertips wiggled featherlight along the hot-and-cold student’s belly. He could feel the urge to laugh bubbling up in his chest, but Todoroki stood--well, lay--firm, only reacting in the flush of his cheeks and quick breathing through his nose.

“Wow,” Midoriya nodded, upping the tempo of his fingers and delighting in how Todoroki curled up in suppressed laughter. “Five out of five. Remind me to update the ‘special abilities’ section of your hero notes.”

Todoroki almost snorted at that, but held out. Being silly with Midoriya like this was fun on its own, but the thing that kept Todoroki from cracking, letting out so much as a giggle, was the knowledge that, for every spot he lasted without laughing, he would earn another minute to tickle Midoriya silly. He’d already gotten five; he was eager to see how far Midoriya would push the game.

set in the world of metanoia - non cannon

thank you, anon! this was very sweet and made me smile, i’m so happy to be back! please enjoy a 100800 word merlin/lancelot drabble set in 4x02, which probably ended up being more fluff than whump, but features dizzy!merlin all the same. <3

drop a character and/or ship + one word into my askbox, and i’ll write you a 100 word whump drabble!

~~~

For all his bravado upon waking up - not that Lancelot minds a proper breakfast before continuing the fight - Merlin is still not up to full strength as they make their way back towards Arthur and the knights.

They ride quickly, horses thundering through the forest. The knights are down one of their best men, something Merlin feels deeply guilty about, and they’re fighting magic without the aid of a sorcerer. Time is of the essence, and they’re both acutely aware of it.

Lancelot watches him closely though. If they had been able, he would have forced Merlin to spend another day at the riverbed, letting his body recover under the protection of the Vilia. By all rights, Merlin should be dead, and it is nothing short of a miracle that he is here at all, not least twisting in his saddle to grin at Lancelot as they soar over a fallen tree trunk.

Here he is though, and Lancelot cannot help but return his smile. Merlin had been so pale the night previous, ice cold to the touch. Lancelot’s heart had frozen with him, stricken at the idea of losing the man so soon after reuniting with him again. He blinks, clearing his head of the thoughts. Merlin is here, and alive, and Lancelot’s heart remains safe in his hands.

After a full half day’s riding, Lancelot orders Merlin to stop.

Though he looks annoyed as his horse trots back a few steps, Merlin does as he is told. He was not in the habit of disrespecting the knights anyway, but he would certainly never argue with Lancelot, saviour, protector and ally that he was.

“We don’t have time to rest,” Merlin tries to protest, though Lancelot all but ignores him.

“We will neither of us be much use to the king if we arrive dead on our feet,” Lancelot says, dismounting and tethering his horse nearby. “We will stay only an hour or so, not least to give the horses a rest too.”

Merlin, as fond of arguing as he is, cannot find fault with his logic, so hops off too.

He had expected the ground to feel steady beneath his feet, but instead the world spins a little, and he throws his arms out, trying to right himself.

“Merlin?” he hears Lancelot call, sounding distant despite being only a few feet away.

The forest around him blurs, a mix of greens and browns, and the bird song echoes over and over. He closes his eyes, shakes his head, tries to clear his vision, but it makes things worse. Merlin only knows Lancelot is approaching him when the flash of red before him grows larger.

Lancelot approaches him cautiously, uncertain of what is happening. Merlin has grown pale, nowhere close to last night’s troubles, but pale all the same, and his legs look like they can barely hold him up. He thinks that maybe Merlin is just a little dazed; they’d been riding all morning without stopping, and Merlin had been at death’s door only half a day ago.

Still, just in case there is magic involved, and one could never be certain with Merlin, Lancelot’s movements are slow, and he calls his name with a soft voice.

He reaches out to touch Merlin’s elbow, and this seems to ground him; Merlin’s eyes open and focus in on him, and Lancelot offers him a warm smile for his troubles. Merlin’s own face splits into a grin in return, and once again Lancelot heaves a sigh of relief.

This boy will be the death of him, and he doesn’t even mind.

“Sorry, the forest started spinning,” Merlin explains, reaching out to grab Lancelot’s forearm for added stability.

“No apology necessary,” Lancelot says, carefully leading him over to a nearby tree and pulling him into a seated position beside him, leaning against the firm oak and hoping their pause will help Merlin recover.

Without warning, and Lancelot thinks perhaps without meaning, Merlin’s head drops on to his shoulder. Merlin doesn’t move it instantly, and Lancelot doesn’t do or say anything, and so Merlin leaves it there. Watching the world sideways is fine as long as it is still, and Lancelot’s shoulder is a nice place to be.

They sit there in silence for longer than either of them intended, really. They know they are needed by the knights, and they will resume their fast pace shortly, but it is nice here in the forest together, the midday sun beating down on them, the only sounds the cracking of twigs and the rustling of the trees.

Merlin relishes the sun on his skin, feeling it replenish him down to his very soul, and Lancelot relishes the feel of Merlin next to him, alive, well, breathing.

(If I’m being annoying asking these questions please tell me and I’ll stop.😅)

You okay dude! Makes me hap that people like my agents, head canons, and their relations!

Marie and Four are really close, I might even say Marie likes Four better then Three! Marie cares very deeply about Four. She might have even like- liked Clover a bit after she saved Callie but kept quiet about it, plus Marie is unsure of dating anyone and Clover loves Elly. Despite that, Marie is uber duper protective of Four and would be there for her in a flash! Marie loves her company and she is a good friend to vent to. If you fuck with Clover, Marie will fuck you up. Period.

Four is very appreciative of Marie and loves to see the squid sister laugh and smile. It was all she wanted from Marie when saving Callie. She sees Marie as like a mother figure or chill aunt since she doesn’t really have a family, a close mentor(or one that loves her). Four would take a bullet for anyone, and for Marie, she would take as many as her body can handle. Clover loves to joke around or vent to Marie or even Callie since they double team all the time.