#alexwrites

[kittycatcuntboy]

finally a pt2 to this!

"you stare straight at me. "i know you're a cuntboy"

"h-huh?" i freeze, i can't believe you just said that. staring at you wide-eyed, jaw open, i try to ignore how my cunt responds to you talking about her, how her lips drool and stain my boxers. how..

you laugh, "god why are you all so fucking dumb." one of your soft hands reaches out and mockingly caresses my cheek, "i know all about your pretty pink pussy, it's so obvious! did you really think you look like anything other then a silly little fakeboy?"

i whimper slightly as you give my needy clothed pussy a few slaps and try to defend myself "i-i'm not a-"

"boy? aww good girl you're quick to accept that..i guess i should give you a reward"

you rub my pussy a few more times before your fingers find their way into my boxers, spreading my sticky lips.

"oh wow, you really like this, huh sweetie..you're so wet for me, you hear that?" you laugh again and rub your slick fingers together, making a noise that makes my cheeks even redder.

"s-stop i-"

you raise an eyebrow, "come on darling, you and i both know you don't really mean that. your cunt's gushing all over me..i think i need to give you what she wants."

"oh fuck!" i gasp and twitch around your two fingers as they shove into my tight pussy. "t-take them out i-i can't-"

pumping into me a few times, you curl your fingers and lean into my ear, "honestly it doesn't matter if you think you can't. you will. i'm going to make your slutty hole take me until i can't anymore."

[todoizu-trash]

Tododeku christmas hcs

I need Izuku and Shouto having a quiet Christmas date. Maybe Izuku had planned a more elaborate date where they’d go out for dinner to a fancy restaurant and he would confess his feelings just in case somehow Shouto still wasn’t aware how gone he is for him. But after everything that happened, after surviving the war, he changed his mind and decided the only thing he needed was to be in Shouto’s presence and know that he was safe, that they both were. 

Instead, they get takeout and stay in, a whole night devoted to just talking and getting reacquainted with each other again

[willgrahamscock]

https://at.tumblr.com/willgrahamscock/amatesura-michelangelos-david-mads-mikkelsen/d8mhqe7olpd0

^ ur tags on this post are evil i need to read fics inspired soley by them

THIS wonderful gifset made by @amatesura ? you know what anon, willgrahamscock will write it for you if enough people want it. 

A little bdsm during therapy is actually very useful for Will’s progress. 

[alexisdrawstrash]

More Sweet Than Bitter

read on AO3!

Thank you @lumiereswig for tagging me in this challenge!

A combination of prompts 1 and 2 of the BATB 12 Days of Christmas fanfiction challenge. Snowfall and cinnamon. Naturally, fluff ensues.

————

It wasn’t all that uncommon for Cogsworth to be woken up with kisses peppered across his freckled face, even if he was due to be up first. The man’s eyes fluttered open with the first break of dark skies, deep orange seeping through the windows and tinting the entire bedroom in warm hues. It was one of those mornings where the kisses fell behind schedule. But as soon as the man so much as tilted his head towards the opposite direction, it’s as if time stopped, and the harsh, frigid winter air escaped his aching chest all at once.

Lumière’s back arched beautifully, soft hazelnut blonde threads splayed against cooling gold bedsheets and the feathered clouds of silk tucked beneath his hip. His chin was nested right above the hollow space of his collarbone, and his eyelashes fluttered at even the slightest dimming of the rising sun. His lips were chapped from the morning wind and his breathing grew increasingly more shallow. A loose, uncurled fringe of hair draped over his face.

Henry Cogsworth had never bared witness to something more beautiful.

He thinks of no other alternative but to lean over and run his fingers across his bangs, pulling it away to kiss his forehead. Lumière lets out a soft inhale, and a slight twist of an ankle producing a painless crack ensued as the man’s lips curled upward. His eyes didn’t open just then, however. He was still caught between deep sleep and the red replacing a docile night’s darkness behind his eyelids. He ignores Cogsworth shifting the sheets and leaving the warmth of their bed, bringing him to pull up the sheets over himself, groaning at the loss.

An hour felt more like a moment as Lumière’s hit by the insisting sun itching away at him to finally abandon his haven of sleep, dawn creeping into a muted grey sky. He lifts his body upward, hair a mess and takes a moment to process being awake. And not long after, processing coming awake to floating snowflakes, descending onto the balcony edges and windowsills with such elegance only possessed by frosted rain, and occasionally tiny artworks of nature as fleeting as snowfall itself. Lumière can’t bring himself to leave at that moment. He looked younger, gaze fixated on the tiny snowflakes in a way a child would perch over the arms of a cushioned seat and stare at the snow for minutes on end before begging his mother to let him frolic in it.

His gaze is broken with the click of a doorknob, followed by Cogsworth greeting him with a metal tray. Lumière gave him a tired smile, tracing his left shoulder with his fingers and relaxing his posture. They exchange loving eyes before the man shifts his gaze down at the porcelain mug set over delicate lace over its tray. Inside it was a brew of heated milk and chocolate spiced with cinnamon powder and extract of a fresh vanilla bean. Lumière placed a pillow against the wooden bed frame and leaned back onto it, poised and admittedly curious.

“What’s this?”

“A fitting change to your usual breakfast,” Cogsworth teases. His usual was a cup of black tea, curtesy of Mrs. Potts, and not much else. The butler was unreservedly convinced that man functioned in the mornings on giddy optimism and sheer insolence. Alas, there were often moments where he did worry about Lumière’s health, and his recurrent neglect of food if otherwise not given to him resulting in him losing more unnecessary inches around his waist. Lucien Dupont, la lumière de la cour , a frail man no matter how lively he was, and Lord knows he was never one to deny himself of a little indulgence.

“Potts?” He asks.

“Me!” Cogsworth failed to mitigate the enthusiasm in his tone before he spoke, but he knew better than to waste time and brainpower taking it back. This moment would not be ruined by him and his refusal to be someone other than head of the household.

“I preferred not to wake you, given how the Master has allowed us a day off.”

“He has?” Lumière sounded surprised at this. The castle had changed so dramatically this past year, even he still struggled to adjust to it. Cogsworth nods, laying the tray on the nightstand in front of him. “Nevermind it,” he hums, “I must work anyhow. You take this day in stride, hm?”

Lumière chuckles at the emphasis on ‘you.’ “Are you actually Henry? I was half expecting you to drag me off to work and accuse me of laziness just now.”

“I made this drink and I can take it away,” Cogsworth warns half-seriously. “We weren’t yet lovers then—“

“Ah ah ah,” Lumière corrects, “we weren’t yet official, you mean.”

Cogsworth wraps his hands around the mug, glaring at Lumière, but he can’t help but soften his expression at the sudden fit of laughter that came over the smaller man. Lacing his fingers around the handle and stabilizing his grip with the palm of his other hand, he takes the mug and holds it up to his lips. A delicately fragrant aroma lingers and pairs agreeably with the sharp bitterness of the cocoa, sweetening it slightly. He nods in approval and places the mug back onto the tray, met with a huff and a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll be going.”

“Ah!” Lumière takes hold of the cuff of his sleeve, bringing him to a halt, and raises his head towards Cogsworth. A chaste kiss, an oddity for a man the likes of Lumière.

Bittersweet, and lovely.

[northpoems]

a poem for the first week of isolation

[the-battle-of-our-hearts]

In The Dead Of Night

It was 1:25 when Kirishima glanced at his clock. 

1:25 in the morning, that is, and the sky outside was a swirl of black and grey clouds, covering the stars and the moon. Kirishima couldn’t sleep, so he resorted to catching up on all the missed messages from the class group chat, which was mostly just Kaminari ranting about something that made no sense. He sighed and switched his phone off, falling back onto his bed with a thump. 

He wondered for a moment if anyone was still awake.

Did he mean anyone, or was it someone specific?

Kirishima thought about it for a moment. 

It was obviously Bakugou, it always was - right now there was no one else Kirishima actually wanted to be awake, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. Bakugou needed his sleep. And besides, if Kirishima woke him up, he’d probably kill him. 

The reason he couldn’t sleep wasn’t clear; nothing overly traumatic had happened recently and he’d been doing fine. It might have been the insecurity of losing against Midoriya in training, and then Todoroki, and then Bakugou. But that was just training, right? Not a big deal. Kirishima knew he was strong and he was confident that soon enough he’d beat all three of them. Preferably without having to use his unbreakable form.

There was a knock on his door, and it jerked him out of his thoughts. 

“Yeah?” He called out, trying not to be too loud. He didn’t want to wake anyone up.

“Let me in, dumbass,” came the gruff voice of his best friend. He’d know that voice anywhere. It was one of his favourite sounds. Not that he’d ever admit that, of course. 

“Ah, yeah- hold on.” Kirishima scrambled out of his bed and opened the door, and of course Bakugou was stood on the other side. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all either, which was odd considering he’d said he was going to sleep at 9:00pm. Earlier than pretty much everyone else. 

Bakugou barged his way in and sat unceremoniously on the end of Kirishima’s bed. “So, why aren’t you fucking sleeping?” 

“What...? How did you even? Wait, actually, nevermind. You’re too observant anyway. Why are you here, Blasty?” Kirishima said in a rushed, quiet voice. He was still quite confused about why the blond boy was even here.

“To talk. Why else?” 

“That’s... fair enough. Talk about what?” Kirishima looked at him expectantly. He honestly didn’t know how to feel about him being here; it was a mix between confused, awkward, and overwhelmingly happy. He enjoyed all the time he got to spend with Bakugou, that was obvious by now, but in the dead of night? It wasn’t normal behaviour. 

“Why you’re not sleeping. Didn’t I already say that? Idiot.” Bakugou scowled at him, but didn’t move from his spot. “It’s because if what happened today, isn’t it?” 

Kirishima blinked. “Uh... yeah. I think. Maybe. Probably not.” 

“Pick an answer and stick with it, Shitty Hair.” 

“Right. Yeah. Okay. So, erm, yes?” Kirishima’s voice was awkward and he spoke fast. 

“That’s fucking stupid. You know you’re strong. Doesn’t matter anyway, was just stupid Deku and fucking half-n-half.” Bakugou held eye contact with him and, in that moment, there was no where else Kirishima would rather be looking. 

“Yeah. Thanks. I, uh. Yeah.” Kirishima couldn’t say anything coherent, apparently, as he looked into the burning eyes of his maybe-crush. 

Bakugou snorted. “Whatever, dumbass. I’m going to bed.” He got up and made toward the door.

Kirishima grabbed his wrist. “Wait.”

Bakugou looked down at his wrist and blinked, before looking back up with a quizzical expression. “What now?”

“I... thank you. Katsuki.” Kirishima responded hesitantly, trying not to look away in embarrassment. What if he’d messed up? What if he ruined it?

Bakugou’s face softened. “Yeah. Night, Ei.” He let Kirishima hold on for a few more moments before moving away, closing the door behind him. 

Kirishima stared at the door, hand still in the air, lingering in the place where Bakugou had just been. “Night,” he breathed.

How he coped with this was still a mystery to him.

@shippeh @maplefudge @arxaris @kirishimas-headband ta da 

[alexjosten]

Neil needs a fresh start. He has a new name and a new job in the middle of nowhere, miles away from anything to do with Exy. The only person he speaks to is Andrew, who knows nothing about him... until Neil's past catches up with him.

Read Chapter One of Push to Talk on AO3 here.

-

My @aftgreverse fic is finally here! My story was inspired by @requiemofkings‘s Firewatch prompt, but you don’t need to know anything about the game to read the fic and there are no spoilers. The story is finished and chapters will come out on Wednesday and Sundays. Enjoy!  ♡

[haven-in-writing]

Mercy Mercy Me

Sam Wilson x reader

Warnings: none just fluff!

Song: Mercy Mercy Me Marvin Gaye

Prompt: 5. “Please tell me he isn’t doing his victory dance behind me”

For my girl @thinkwritexpress-official thank you for this it was so much fun to write!

________________________________________

It was a normal day for Sam Wilson. Running with Steve, coffee at the Lu’s diner, watching Steve embarrass himself in front of a literal angel.

Scratch that last part.

He had never seen someone as beautiful as you. The way your dress hugged your curves in all the right places, the halo of light glowing around you, making you radiate a warm sheen that he could feel in his toes. Sam could feel his soul yearning to be with you. Practically crying out for mercy.

The only thing ruining the picture perfect moment was that Steve was the one making you laugh and not him. Sam didn’t notice that Steve had been acting as his wingman, realizing that you were practically his dream woman, but better. Steve could see Sam slowly creeping to hear the conversation taking place, knowing that you would catch on to who was behind you, he kept talking about Sam.

“So y/n, if you could go on a date with any of the avengers, who’d you choose?” Steve asked, subtly hinting that Sam was behind you, and winking when your cheeks began heating up in realization.

“Definitely the Falcon, he’s my favorite!” You gushed to Steve with confidence flowing through you as you answer.

You could see Sam start gyrating his hips, waving his arms around in celebration in Steve’s sunglasses. You laugh quietly and say just loud enough for him to hear, “Please tell me he isn’t doing the victory dance behind me?”

Sams reaction was immediate, spotting how you were staring at him through the reflection of Steve’s sunglasses, his hands mid air, hips mid gyration.

You turn and face him as he gives you a beautiful gap toothed smile and the two of you laugh, forgetting Steve as the world melts around you. The two of you were so lost in each other’s stares, Steve’s subtle throat clearing barely got y’all to snap out of it.

“So if I asked if you would come to dinner with me tonight, would you say yes?” Sam asked gently, stepping closer to you and smiles.

“I most definitely would say yes,” you grin back at him as you take his hand in yours, passing your phone to him.

His smile gets larger, if possible, and hands you his phone so you can exchange numbers.

“Y/n l/n, I’m lookin forward to that date,” he says after looking at your contact.

“Me as well, Sam Wilson,” you reply, your heart giddy as they begin to leave. You walk away and whisper a quiet but excited ‘yes!’ that Steve could hear. He smiles even larger as Sam lets out a large ‘Whoo!’ that makes you laugh lightly.

Oh mercy mercy indeed.