Brain Goes Brrr 🤤🤤

"can i kiss you?" vi asks, close enough that her lips are a mere inch away from yours. the scent of alcohol hits your nose, hitting you with a little piece of reality that nearly winds you.

you swallow, looking at vi through your lashes, and try not to fall into this trap. because that's what this is; a trap geared towards your downfall.

but vi's staring at you, her gaze so sweet with how disarming her puppy dog eyes are. it breaks you down from the inside and deconstructs you until you're only pieces of yourself. but you have to hold it together because you can't do this; you can't be involved in this.

"vi," you murmur, moving back a little so you can breathe. "you can't. it won't—it's not fair."

"...i know," vi whispers, after a brief moment, and closes her eyes. then she's closing the gap between you two, but only so she can rest her forehead against yours. "i know."

tears burn behind your eyes and sit tight in your throat, your hands curled into fists at your sides.

but you say nothing and simply allow both of you to exist in whatever piece of time this is.

this is so beautiful that i cant even find the words to describe this!! im mesmerised 🫠🫠

@privateanxieties

would you, maybe?

Summary: Peter really, really wants his vampire girlfriend to bite him. He finds out it’s more than just a sex thing.

Pairing: tasm!Peter x vampire!Reader (she/her); 18+ mature, smut, established relationship, possessiveness, dirty talk, blood sharing; there is a kink here but I don’t know what to call it. If anyone knows, please share with the class.

Words: 7.2K

——————————–

He’s tried everything except asking.

The idea got lodged in his head weeks ago, in the most innocent way possible - a hug. She’d just come back from visiting her family overseas and hadn’t fed while there. Her parents weren’t especially fond of her peculiar dietary choices. Namely, they thought drinking from the tap was far superior to the bottled nonsense from which their daughter got sustenance. She didn’t like feeding off of humans, even the willing ones that supplied her relatives with blood in exchange for the pure thrill of it. Some people were freaky, she explained, and they simply enjoyed feeling like they were a part of something special. He bought half the explanation. From the way her eyes were avoiding his, he guessed there must’ve been more to the story. In any case, she’d said she wasn’t fond of drinking straight from the vein and he took her word for it. For that reason, part of him was unsure about what he wanted to ask; but there was another part too - one that had taken in a sight he couldn’t forget.

Upon her return, he’d pulled her into the bone-crushing hug that he’d always craved but could never have, because minding his strength always came first. Vampires, he’d come to learn, were pretty durable. And he was glad that was the case for many reasons, but of course, his mind immediately went to other potential applications of that durability.

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i love him, your honour 🤭🤭

omg @literaila you never fail to describe this man so well!!

i know you 

tasm!peter x fem!reader 

summary: 

“i’m peter.”

“and?”

“i wanted to introduce myself.”

“i know who you are, peter.”

warnings: college party, mentions of biology, peter is a bit of.. a… so-so, um, embarrassment 

*

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yesyesyes!! @ohbuckie’s ideas >>

I’m thinking teenage Becca angst where she gets into a minor car accident and hits a pole or something bc it’s winter and slippery and she’s totally fine but the car is totaled but all Bucky hears in her phone call is “hit a pole with my car” and he’s losing it.

OKAY FUCKK (i literally did not even consider proof-reading this so if it's ass. Lol. we all have our moments i guess.)

Bucky sits next to you in bed, wearing just boxers, crew socks, and his charming wire-frame glasses. With soft muscles on display, you're thankful that Becca won't be home from her friend's house until later.

"I'm gonna smoke in a minute, if you wanna come out with me." He offers, and turns to look at you.

You stare at his lips, at his scruffy facial hair that makes him finally look like somebody's dad, and at the tattoos that creep up his neck and behind his ears. You almost forget to respond. "I'm okay tonight."

He nods in understanding and swings his legs over the side of the bed, sifting through drawers to find sweats and a hoodie to protect himself against the chilly winter weather. He takes a preroll from the nightstand drawer and leans over the bed to kiss you carefully before he steps out.

It only takes a couple of minutes before he comes back in, hysterical. He smells like weed, which is to be expected, but you know he couldn't have finished the joint he took with him so quickly.

"Bucky, what's wrong?"

"You have to drive- Rebecca crashed her car, she's-"

"What?" You stand from bed quickly, pulling on the first pair of pants you find, which happen to be Bucky's plaid pajama pants. All of the worst possibilities flood your mind. You start to choke up. "Is she okay? Where is she?"

"She's by, um, fuck, she's by the convenience store. Please, you need to drive."

"Bucky, is she fucking okay?"

"I don't know!" He shouts, and you forgive him quickly for yelling when his voice cracks and he wipes a tear from his cheek.

You slide on a pair of shoes and hop into the car, following Bucky's navigation instructions and screeching the car to a stop when you spot her car and then her, standing with her arms crossed on the sidewalk, analyzing the wreckage her poor CR-V has been reduced to.

Bucky's already holding her face, inspecting every inch of her, asking her if anything hurts by the time that you get out of the car. You take an extra jacket from your backseat and wrap it around her before Bucky envelopes the both of you in a massive hug.

He sniffles and holds her head against his chest while she cries, too.

"Are you sure nothing hurts? Not your head or your spine or your chest or anything? How fast were you going—did the seatbelt get you?"

"I swear I wasn't speeding or anything, it's just slippery, and I've never driven in the winter before, and-"

"It's okay, Becca, I know. It's alright." He kisses her head and squeezes her tighter. "That's not what I'm asking. I just want you to be okay."

"I'm okay, dad."

You notice Bucky's hand shaking almost violently when he moves it to zip her borrowed jacket, and you know it isn't because it's cold outside. "Can I go sit in the car?" She asks quietly. "I'm so fucking cold."

You nod and kiss her forehead. "Of course you can."

She climbs into the backseat and shuts the door, and you watch her reach into the front to turn up the heat. You turn to Bucky and wrap your arms around his neck. He drops his head and starts crying again almost immediately.

"I know, Bucky, I know. It's okay—she's okay." You rub his back and he quickly starts fully sobbing.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm not trying to cry-" He tries to breathe deeply but it hardly works. "I just feel like I'm gonna fucking throw up. I'm just always so scared for her and I was so afraid of this happening and I know that it could've been worse, but-"

"It's alright, Buck. We'll handle it. Right? She'll be okay."

He nods and swallows thickly.

After about another hour of reporting her accident, calling a tow truck, waiting for it to arrive, and helping Bucky quit imagining all of the ways in which it could have been detrimentally worse, you end up at the emergency room.

They examine her quickly and give her a Tylenol for the sore bruises on her chest from her seat belt. While Bucky's outside smoking a cigarette and you're waiting for the final results of the x-ray they took of her chest, she tells you that she just wants to go home. You agree.

She practically lays across the backseat when you finally make it to the car.

You arrive back at home almost three hours after you first left, with Becca half asleep in the backseat and Bucky anxiously holding onto the handle on the door. You say goodnight to her downstairs, but Bucky walks up to her room with her, bringing her a glass of water and an ice pack for her swollen—not broken, thankfully, just painful—ankle.

You brush your teeth and resume the position that you took a few hours ago, this time feeling significantly more tired. He joins you soon enough, resting his head on your chest silently, firmly planting a hand on your waist.

"I love you." He whispers against you, kissing your shirt softly. "I'm really glad Becca's okay."

"I am, too." You push your hand down the back of his shirt, rubbing your thumb across the soft skin of his back, mulling over the stress of the night.

He sighs. "I wish I'd finished that joint, though. Probably wouldn't have cried so much."

pls the way i smiled whilst reading this 🥺😫

and the way it’s written!!

so good <3

Sleepy kisses in the morning with Bucky plsssss 🥰🥰🥰

sleepy

bucky x f!reader

wc: drabble! 665

a/n: why are drabbles so fun!!! reminding me i'm so alone lmao

𝐢 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤.

Bucky has always been an early riser. Always.

It's ingrained in his bones– wake when the sun does, sometimes, rest when the sun does.

Until you, he never knew time could be a friend. Not someone to fear constantly looming over his shoulder. The sun wasn’t as cruel as he once revered it, his bones can breathe. Bucky sleeps now– sometimes, later than you. The sun be damned.

Watching him sleep was one of life’s little heavens. The once labored breaths that carried him through so much torment eased, gently warming the insides of his lungs and exhaling to tickle the skin of your neck. His eyelashes twitched faintly, caressing the flush of his high cheekbones as if the sunlight filtering through the curtains was made for him.

And those lips– perfectly pouted, pink, plump, precious– taunted you so cruelly. The sun teasing his skin peeking out of the sheets was always followed promptly by the pads of your fingers trailing his body. Now is no exception, dusting along the black and gold garnishing his bicep, ghosting over relaxed pecs. Your hand travels, tracing along the stubble of his jaw, feather-soft up to outline his mouth.

There is hardly a sight prettier than your sleeping super soldier coming alive at the delicate exploring of your fingertips. As much as you love him in the bliss of his slumber, it was torture knowing what a slowly rousing Bucky meant.

It isn’t until your lips meet the warm skin of his throat that he surrenders to the promises lingering in the morning air.

The black of his fingers slowly spread up your arm, goosebumps and a shiver answering his touch.

“Fivemo’minutes,” he grumbles. His eyes remain closed, but his body trembles in lieu of a slow-moving stretch, wrapping himself tighter around you and bringing your wandering hand to his lips.

Faint teases of the pillows of his lips pepper up your arm. “Jus’five, baby,” he mumbles dancing across your jaw, “w-wanna,” moving to the swell of your bottom lip, “...needa sleep,” he exhales against the corner of your slowly spreading smile, a low whine pressed one, two, three times, needily slanting his eager lips to yours.

You giggle against his mouth, hands carding gently through his short locks and scratching along his scalp, holding him close.

“Mmm. Don’t do tha– s’not fair, m’tryin to sleep baby,” time has also shown him: he’s a really terrible liar.

His body melts against you, sandalwood and warmth overwhelming your senses, his lips showing no sign of ever wanting to be anywhere else, doing anything else but tasting the beauty of another morning with his girl.

You pull away, much to his displeasure, a low moan echoing pitifully within his chest. He reaches for you, lips chasing after your evil little smirk he’d be greeted with if he just opened his eyes. “Oh, okay. M’sorry. Go back to sleep, fivemo'minutes, Bucky.”

One cerulean eye shoots open, a scowl meant to intimidate you mocks your chastising remark. Your eyebrow quirks up, lips curled into a grin that lets him know just how bad of a liar he is. Bucky attacks with a growl against your shoulder, his thick, chorded body pushing you onto your back as giggles and squeals light the room.

“Y’can’t do this to me,” his lips continue, caress after caress greedily melding against your own. And his eyes are open– sleepy, but open. The sun greets him like it always does. Twinkling, heavenly against the blue truths of his honest eyes watching you bathe in his love. “It’s Saturday, supposed to do nothin’ but sleep with my girl between my sheets,” his lips stop for a moment, sleep-ridden cheeks jutting out while smiling down so adoringly at you. Never stop. Thank you. Couldn’t want somethin' any more, five minutes is never enough.

Your fingers tangle within the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him close. Your lips meet his. His eyes flutter closed. A relieved groan leaves his body.

The sun watches.

so sexy

drummer!steve rogers’ instagram.

commissions :)

this so perfect. peter is so perfect. @literaila is so perfect. i have no words.

i’ll tell you in the morning

tasm!peter x reader

summary:

“you’re going to fall through the couch.”

“the couch would never betray me.”

warnings: overly considerate peter, scheming reader, fluff and stuff

*

“you’re supposed to be in bed.”

his voice rolls, like a click on a cassette, and you know that peter is not really there.

because it’s all a little blurry. his voice, the door opening, the feeling when he kneels down next to you, his breath hot in your ear.

it’s all some remanent of a dream. a brief moment where you might wake up, but decide not to.

“i’m serious,” his voice ebbs and flows, waving in and out, like your consciousness. “you know i don’t like it when you wait up for me.”

you groan and roll even further into the couch. your face is smushed, and your hair is a mess, sweaty because you’re drowning under every blanket in the house. it smells like cotton, and peter’s deodorant, and potato chips that you probably dropped through the cushions.

you dig your nose in deeper, trying to get back to that dream.

peters probably not actually there, you think, because if he was he would’ve kissed you awake. his hand would be lazily running through your hair, and his body would be pressed against yours. you would be cuddling by now.

real peter is much nicer than dream peter, who shakes your shoulder, albeit massaging you right afterward. “c’mon, bug, we’re going to bed.”

“sleeping,” you mumble, pulling away from him.

dream peter continues to try and wake you up, while you wonder—amidst the dream, no doubt—when real peter will be home. you want to be drowning in his collarbone instead of your own sweat.

there’s a kiss next to your ear. “you’re going to fall through the couch.”

“the couch would never betray me.”

“we’ll see if you’re saying that in the morning, when your neck is bent the wrong way,” he whispers, and rests his head against yours. you feel it as he breathes out, relaxes. almost like he’s purring into your ear.

so you keen into him, a bit awkwardly, considering that it’s his forehead. “why’d you wake me up?”

“you can’t sleep here.”

“c’mere,” you murmur to him, your hand wrapping around the back of his neck, fingertips just brushing his hair. “cuddle with me.”

“being cute isn’t going to stop me from moving you.”

“peter,” you try and push him away, “go to bed.”

“why are you out here?” his nose trails down your hair, to your neck. “it’s almost four in the morning.”

you ponder this, and decide that you don’t really remember what you were doing before you fell asleep here, with your hand shoved in the crook of your neck. “the beds cold,” you slur, head falling back into the cushions as you doze.

“that’s because all of the blankets are out here. why didn’t you turn the heat up?”

he’s playing with some baby hair by your ear now, trying to lull you to sleep, probably, because he loves you.

“i was waiting for you,” you whisper this like a prayer, “and now you’re here.”

“you waited in the wrong spot. i would’ve come to bed with you. there’s no room for me here,” he smiles when you finally turn your head towards him. he’s got a smudge on his nose, and his eyes are sunken in—aged from exhaustion.

“i know.”

you’re both whispering. trying not to wake that drowsy, lovesick part of yourself right now.

“hmm?” he leans into you, nose brushing your cheek. almost like he’s breathing you in. “what, bug?”

“i wanted to fall asleep with you.”

then his eyes are wide open, and he leans back, brows furrowed in a tight line. “i told you i was going out.”

you muse at his confused face, and lean back towards him. “i know. i didn’t know when you’d be home.”

“you could’ve called.”

“i’m not going to interrupt your repertoire with a burglar at midnight. it’s rude.”

“not to me.”

you tsk, and lean away, back into the pillow comforting you while simultaneously scheming to ruin your morning.

“you need more sleep than i do,” peter adds, trying to keep you awake with his sheer willpower, his hands squirm under your shoulders. “we’ve talked about this.”

“no, you threatened to tell my mom—“

“that’s not what i said,” peter interrupts, groaning into the sofa.

“that i wasn’t getting enough sleep. and i said that you could make your own decisions, but that i wasn’t going to stop waiting up for you.”

“it makes me feel bad,” he ignores your gentle protesting. “i don’t want to keep you up.”

“peter, it’s not like you’re out dancing with strippers.”

he laughs, unexpectedly. and you grin back at him, with a sheer conviction undiluted by any hints of remaining sleep.

“you’re up helping people. i don’t mind waiting for you,” you emphasize this by leaning in to kiss his forehead, tasting sweat and not minding at all.

“you’re going to be tired tomorrow. when did you fall asleep?”

you acknowledge your win for what it is, and sit up on the couch, looking around your apartment like you can’t remember where you are. “probably an hour ago. i didn’t know when you’d be home, and i waited a while, but then i moved to the couch so you’d have to wake me up if i fell asleep.”

“so this was an elaborate scheme, huh?” peter laughs at you as his teeth graze your cheek. his chaste kiss makes you warm.

“i learned from the best.”

peter chuckles against you, and the two of you sit like that for a moment. calculating each others breathing like there’s something you might miss, however brief.

and then you smile at him, and he smiles back. “bed?” he asks you, softly, fingertip running against the skin of your jaw. you nod.

his arms wrap around you as he picks you up, your head rested comfortably on his shoulder, legs wrapped around his waist.

“i’m leaving you on the couch next time,” he threatens as he walks, “just so you know.”

“then we’ll both wake up with sore backs. not just you.”

peter snorts. “i didn’t say i would be there.”

“like you can sleep without me.”

he doesn’t say anything to that, but you feel him murmur in your hair suspiciously.

peter sets you down on the bed softly, pushing your legs so you’ll lay down, then covering you with the comforter. he tucks you in like any average middle aged dad.

when you grin he nods, very satisfied with himself.

“i’m just gonna change,” he says, taking a step back.

“hurry. i’m tired.”

“now, look who’s talking,” he shakes his head, but moves swiftly to the bathroom. you hear it as he runs the sink, as he bangs his foot on something and curses, and when he pads back into the bedroom, looking like a young child sneaking out of bed in his pajamas.

you laugh. “where did you get those?”

peter looks down to himself. to the many cartoon styled spider-man’s dancing across his cotton pajama set. “what? this old thing.”

“i don’t think i can be seen in public with you if you’re wearing that.”

“we are in the privacy of our bedroom,” he points out.

“i don’t think i can be in the same room with you if you’re wearing that.”

peter shakes his head, pouting like he’s disappointed, but he slips the shirt off, a concession he’s apparently willing to make.

though you don’t doubt that there are ulterior motives to this move.

“c’mon,” you whine to him, “i’m cold.”

“you’re so needy.”

you roll your eyes, but sink into him as he shuffles from beside you, laying his head near yours. “you’re not coddling me.”

“i’m so very sorry, my dear,” he whispers, and wraps his arms around you.

“shh,” you nuzzle your nose into his neck, and murmur against his hot skin. “i want to go back to the dream i was having.”

peter must be laughing at you, you can tell, even slightly asleep, because something jostles you.

“what was it about?”

you smile against him, listening to his heart like a hymn you’re devoted to. “i’ll tell you in the morning.”

he whispers something, brief, a whisper in the quiet of the room. but you feel the words as he settles into the bed, his calloused hands running over your skin.

and you fall asleep; hands clutching the others heart.

*

love love love it so far 😍🫶🏽

serendipity

series masterlist  |  main masterlist | ask box  |  taglist

pairing: photographer!peter parker x photographer!reader

warnings: explicit language, mentions of drinking, clowning business majors

summary: you’re an upcoming photographer in search of experience, and peter happens to need assistance. by a stroke of luck, he takes you on.

a/n: i know y’all love the smaus and i do too so i really hope you enjoy! make sure to read the character intros if you haven’t already <3

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i 100% agree

there’s only a few fic authors with quality stories that do it for me

is it just me or is the quality of fanfiction on this site just not as it was pre 2019

valkyrie is hot 😍😍

the way you set the scene + the feelings they provoke 🤭🤭

your beauty never ever scared me

ship: vampire!valkyrie x reader

summary/request: a cozy night in with your wife. sequel to your little heart goes pitter-patter

word count: 1k

warnings: smut (18+), vaginal fingering (reader receiving), alcohol consumption, bloodsucking, soft vampire wife

masterlist | monsterfucker celebration 2022 masterlist

The dancing of flames in the fireplace casts shifting shadows throughout the library. They flicker across Valkyrie’s skin, illuminating her face in an orange hue. She notices you staring at her. She always does. 

“I know you can’t take a picture, but my portrait is upstairs,” she grins. “It’ll last longer.”

“What’s the fun in that?" 

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