Hi! Hello, how are you? Welcome to my little section of the void. This is not a well thought out, aesthetic blog. This is my corner of chaos.
This is not a blog that welcomes interaction with minors. I am over 40 years old, and I have nothing to discuss with anyone under the age of 18. I reblog fanfiction, GIFs, and pictures that are NSFW, and should not be viewed by children. I will block anyone under 18, or without an age in their bio. Please respect that.
I'm a Virgo, Leo moon, Gemini rising, Libra dominant. Basically, I think too much, daydream all the time, show off when I can, and try to do it as stylishly as possible. I love pretty things. I fall in love hard, lovers as well as friends. I'm share too much, but I'm very closed off. I work hard, and play equally as hard.
I reblog a lot of my favourite hotties, be they actors, musicians, what-have-you. I don’t speculate or indulge in gossip about their private lives, nor do I have any interest in doing so. I’m a fan of their work, and find them exceptionally easy on the eye. That’s literally it. If you want drama, please go elsewhere.
I have Bipolar Disorder II. I’m not at all secret about that, nor do I hide the fact that I have bad days. I try not to let it bleed into my online presence, but sometimes I just need to vent. I apologise in advance. Sometimes I will disappear for months at a time, because my mental health dictates that social media is a horrible place to be when I am depressed. I am on discord, if you want to be able to keep in touch with me on there, let me know.
Most of all, I just want this to be a safe place, a happy place, and a peaceful place. For everyone, not just for me. I want to laugh, I want to play, I want to thirst, I want to encourage and I want to support.
So, let's have some fun 💜💜 My inbox is always open! Let's get to know each other 😊
I mean, in some very interesting Technically Correct ways, they didn't actually die? Now, they're very much no longer alive. But the forces involved are such that they didn't get any of the usual cellular processes of death, they simply went from biology to physics in less time than it takes a signal to travel down your optic nerve.
getting lost in boston is fun because I turned around on a street corner three times and some guy yelled "hey stupid! the bus is that way!" very helpful interaction and accurate insult, 10/10 no notes
one time I walked around a building a couple times looking for a bathroom and this guy went "this bitch thinks she's on a merrygoround, where the fuck are you tryna go? bathroom? one floor down to the right behind the door that says bathroom."
My very first time in Boston. I was absolutely miserable, trying to drag my giant suitcase up a lengthy set of stairs in the pouring rain. This guy who had already reached the top looked back at me with the most pure expression of disgust I’ve ever seen in anyone’s eyes, marched back down the stairs, grabbed my suitcase, carried it to the top, left it there for me, and walked away without ever saying a word. I think about him often.
For the people in the notes going "why is Boston like this": a) the insults are a way to show you have no ulterior motives when helping someone (and don't need to be thanked or repaid), and b) Boston was settled by the Irish
also the Italians. mixing Irish and Italian sociocultural attitudes had the effect of multiplying the Sass Levels by the power of infinity, in the sense that you get all of the clever dry wit of the Irish and all of the bitchy gossipy condensation of the Italians rolled into one very stereotypically overly-friendly American package.
also worth noting that who you are to them doesn’t matter. they’ll talk to strangers like that and will also talk to their best friends like that. they’re just Like That.
Being delivered to mafia Steve as a birthday present - with a pretty bow (and nothing else)
Oh yesssss 🥴😮💨🫠
I’m imagining you kneeling on the floor in the middle of his study, trembling and silently crying as you hug yourself and try to cover as much of your nudity as possible.
You can’t help but recoil when Steve’s fingers tickle along your bare shoulder as he slowly circles you—the penultimate predator.
He tuts at your attempted retreat from his touch as he comes to a stop in front of you. His fingers catch beneath your chin, not only to tilt your tear-stained face up, forcing you to meet his gaze, but to reel you in closer, too, so you’re only inches away from his pelvis.
“You’ll learn very quickly not to try to run away from me, sweetheart… I don’t take kindly to defiance, no matter how small the act.” His touch was surprisingly gentle as he drew his knuckles down your cheek. “And something tells me that a delicate thing like you wouldn’t be very good at enduring my brand of punishment.”
You shudder at the steel in Steve’s voice, the hard glint in his eyes.
His outright threat.
Your breath hitches on an aborted sob as he drags you even closer to him, until your face is pressed against the growing bulge at the front of his slacks.
But this time, you don’t try to pull away. Swallowing down your tears, you force yourself to go pliant and sink against him even more.
Steve huffs a quiet, delighted laugh, his voice much warmer now as he coos, “Good girl.”
This Steve has been eating away at my whore brain 🥴 So, naturally, I had this thot…
You’re perched on Steve’s lap at one of his clubs so he can steal moments of enjoying you in between business—how good you look in the dress he picked out, how soft the skin of your bare thighs are beneath his fingers, how you’re trying so hard not to curl in on yourself and risk his displeasure even though he can tell you’re extremely uncomfortable.
God, you’re just so fucking sweet.
Needless to say, Steve is enjoying himself. Until the business associate across the table from the two of you makes the mistake of looking at you. Of commenting on Steve’s pretty new toy. Of reaching out and brazenly touching your cheek.
Which is the last thing he ever does with that hand.
Or at all.
It happens so quickly, Steve shifting you off his lap, pulling the largest knife you’ve ever seen from behind his back, and stabbing it through the asshole’s hand, pinning it to the table top.
But that isn’t enough retribution for Steve. Before you can blink, he’s on his feet, reaching across the table, and snapping the man’s neck with his bare hands.
You watch in horror as his former business associate slumps across the table.
Dead.
Right out in the open, surrounded by a club full of people, very few of whom seem even a tiny bit surprised or disturbed by this display.
You’re not quick enough—or in your right mind enough—to suppress the terrified whimper that bubbles up as Steve retakes his seat and sweeps you back onto his lap.
“Shhh,” he shushes you with a gentle caress up your side. Until his big hand—one of which he just used to kill someone—is softly cradling the side of your neck and reeling you close.
Steve nuzzles your cheek with a quiet hum, breathing you in on deep breath before letting it out on a sigh.
His fingers tickle beneath your chin, turning your wide, disbelieving gaze his way, and he grins at your complete and utter shock.
“No one touches what’s mine,” he winks before running his thumb along your lower lip then reaching for his drink.
Rewinding back to that first night with mob!Steve 👀
Once you figuratively roll over and show your belly, so to speak, things escalate quickly. You’re on your feet now, practically pinned against the wall by Steve’s sheer size and bulk as his big hands take their time learning the curves of your body.
You’re trembling so hard you know he can see it, but you’re so out of your depth that you can’t help it.
You’ve never been touched by another before, not like this, and you don’t want to be here. You don’t want to be his gift. You don’t want to be anyone’s possession, least of all a ruthless mobster’s.
But maybe, just maybe, if you’re good for Steve, if you let him use you and you don’t fight him—because you already know he doesn’t like to be defied—maybe he’ll at least let you go once he’s done.
Once he’s satisfied.
A tiny spark of hope ignites in your chest at the thought, and you can’t help but tremble this very thing as Steve touches his lips to the spot where your shoulder meets your neck.
“W-will you let me go? After?”
You feel the way Steve goes absolutely still against you, and you instantly regret your question. It takes everything inside of you not to flinch away as he slowly raises his head and looks you in the eye.
For a long, tense, terrifying moment, his handsome face is a mask of stoic indifference, giving nothing away.
Distantly, fleetingly, you think that this is why Steve is so deadly. So notorious and widely feared. The best at what he does. Because his enemies never see him coming.
After another long, drawn out beat, Steve smirks at you, lips twitching at the corners and eyes shining with a wicked kind of mirth.
You can’t help but get the sense that it’s almost like he knows something that you don’t.
Once again, he shocks you with the gentleness of his touch as he draws his knuckles down the slope of your cheek.
“I’ll tell you what, sweetheart,” he starts, his voice tinged with condescension. “If you don’t like what I do to you, if you don’t enjoy it at all, if you don’t beg me for my cock, or to make you cum, then sure, I’ll let you go.”
At the sound of your breath hitching at his lewd words—at the sinful picture he paints in your mind’s eye—his smirk morphs into a wolfish grin.
Because if there is one thing Steve Rogers knows for sure in this moment, it’s that he’s going to fucking ruin you. He’ll have you begging and cumming and boneless—utterly annihilated and so thoroughly claimed—before the night is through.
And that’s without even fucking you at all.
Because splitting you open with his cock for the very first time? Sheathing himself inside that tight, virgin pussy of yours?
Claiming you as his—and only his?
Well, Steve is saving that for your wedding night 😏
I FEEL THE SAME WAY. I’m so so feral over him 😩😩😩 I just wish I could hit on a verse title that I love. That’s currently annoying me so much lol. Titles are either super easy for me, or I’m super blocked on them 😒
Summary: Your father sends Bucky to bring you home.
Word Count: 300
Playlist Prompt: Say Something - A Great Big World & Christina Aguilera / “It was over my head”
Warnings: Mention of arranged marriage (not to Bucky), mob AU, possessive behavior, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: Day 17 of the June Jukebox Scribbles Challenge by @societynsoelsscribbles . ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications as I no longer do taglists. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
You didn’t even make far when Bucky Barnes found you.
Of course, your father sent his best enforcers to track you down. He probably thought it would soften the blow since it was Bucky. You trusted him most of all out of his men.
Bucky looked almost bored leaning against his car, his hair blowing in the light breeze. You liked the leather jacket on him. You half expected him to show up on his bike, but that wouldn’t be practical if you tried to fight.
He’d win anyway.
“I’m not going back,” you told him, your eyes as defiant as your tone.
He sighed, but he made no move to grab you yet. “You shouldn’t have run.”
“And my dad shouldn’t try to force a marriage on me, but here we are,” you snapped.
You stupidly thought Bucky would speak up for you when your dad said the alliance with a total stranger would strengthen the families. It was a foolish thought. You weren’t together.
But you hoped…
And I am feeling so small
It was over my head
I know nothing at all
You backed up when Bucky suddenly moved toward you in purposeful strides. There was violence in his eyes. But he would never hurt you.
“And you should’ve trusted me to handle it,” he said through his teeth.
Your heart pounded. Bucky hardly ever let his emotions show. That was a reason why your dad liked him. He was lethal. Efficient.
Cold.
Not like this.
“I-”
He gripped your chin tenderly. “Do you really think I’ll sit back while you marry someone else?”
Your eyes widened.
Did… Bucky want you?
“Get in the car,” he ordered gently. “And trust me.”
You didn’t want to go back.
But you had to trust that Bucky had a plan.
He has to have a plan, right? Love and thanks for reading. ❤️
Since we been getting a bit hollywood, I'll leave this with you:
You're a stunt coordinator on a film featuring lead! Nick Fowler who starts to notice your inside jokes with one of the camera techs (Jensen)
Thanks for your patience on this one, Roo! For some reason Nick doesn't like being jealous of Jake. 🤣
What Does It Mean?
Warnings: Jealousy, Language. Please let me know if I missed any.
A/N: Reader is big, tall, female. No other physical descriptors used.
"CUT!"
Nick is startled out of his thoughts by the director's angry voice.
"Fowler! What the hell? This is the third time you missed your cue today!"
"Right, sorry," he shakes his head. "Can we take a break or something? Let me get head on straight?"
The director facepalms. "You know what? Take the damn day. We're losing the light and we'll try again tomorrow." Turning to the crew he shouts, "fuck it! We're going to film the scene with Spectre and Barton. Let's go, people!"
Nick's face burns with embarrassment, especially at the grumbles and complaints of the crew. He's supposed to be a leading man and he's screwing up like he's never been filmed before.
And it's all because of you and Jensen. The two of you kept saying things that seemed nonsensical, but you treated it like you were having normal conversations!
What does "in doom god we trust" even mean? he thinks to himself. And what's with constantly getting Jensen's name wrong? It's just plain unprofessional but he laughs!
As if you knew he was thinking about you he hears, "let's go, Jenstein! Work fast and you might get a second juice-box!"
"Yes, Captain, Supervisor! Supervisor Captain!" Jensen laughs as he packs up his camera.
It shouldn't bother Nick. There are plenty of inside jokes he's not in on that don't bother him. But, for some reason, you make him want to be in on it.
Well, not "some" reason. He knows the reason: he's attracted to you.
He's spent months at a time working with leading ladies that are all Hollywood Pretty and, after a while, they kinda start looking the same. All concerned about looking their best on and off the camera because they know they're always being looked at, always being photographed or filmed. He's felt that pressure, too. It's why he can't enjoy the pizza he loves so much. Never know when you'll get "caught".
But you? You don't need heels to be at eye level with him. You're comfortable in your skin and don't stress a bad hair day. You're so different and it makes him want to get to know you better.
And maybe, just maybe, if he can figure out what you and Jensen are talking about, he might have reason to talk to you outside of the stunts you're setting up. With Jensen, it's all jokes and fun. With him, it's all business. And that's eating him up.
Reaching my mid-40s was a luxury I almost didn't allow myself. But I can say with absolute sincerity, that I am the happiest and calmest I have ever been. I love my white hairs (and celebrate each new one), I adore my laugh lines, and while I'm not thrilled about the thicker waistline, I'm glad I'm fit, and healthy, and here.
when someone is completely fucking wrong about your blorbo but you don't want to argue about what basically boils down to opinions about shit that doesn't matter so you just sit there like
May I pretty please request a short blurb of Bucky with a reader who has an abnormally high sex drive?
Bucky With a Girlfriend Who Has a High Sex Drive
WC 919 (yay I’m getting better at writing shorter fics!)
TW established relationship, super-soldier stamina, very very suggestive
Bucky thought he had a high sex drive.
He had enhanced stamina, enhanced recovery, enhanced everything, and for a while he assumed that meant he was a problem. He wanted you too much. There would be too many mornings where he woke up hard against your thigh, too many nights where kissing you once turned into him pinning you beneath him until the headboard creaked.
He had even warned you when you first started officially dating.
He did it like he was admitting to a terrible flaw instead of looking at you with those beautiful blue eyes and telling you he wanted you all the fucking time.
“I’m not exactly normal about… sex,” he’d said, thumb dragging over your wrist. “The serum changed things. Stamina. Appetite. Um… drive.”
Your mouth had twitched into a smile. “Appetite?”
His ears had gone pink, but he held your stare. “Yeah.”
You had looked him up and down, shameless enough to make his teeth clench.
“Hm,” you’d said. “We’ll see about that.”
Bucky had been so sure. He really thought the serum meant that he’d have to tone it down.
Then, after months of being friends with benefits, he learned what you were like when you were in a relationship.
You might have an even higher sex drive.
You’re not exactly louder about it. Sometimes you were sweet. Domestic and barefoot in the kitchen, wearing one of his shirts, humming into your coffee like you hadn’t dragged him in bed three times yesterday.
But then you’d look at him over the rim of your mug.
That look.
Bucky would recognise the mischief in your eyes low in his stomach before you even opened your mouth.
“Buck,” you’d say, soft and sweet.
And he’d groan like a man already defeated.
“Again?” he asked once, voice rough, half laughing into the crook of your neck while you climbed into his lap like the answer was obvious.
You blinked at him, looking at him with innocent eyes and bare thighs bracketing his hips. “Is that a no?”
His hands tightened on your waist so fast it gave him away.
“No,” he said immediately. “No, of course it’s not a no.”
You smiled, smug and pretty, and rocked down against him until his head tipped back against the couch.
Bucky had been tortured, frozen, shot at, thrown through walls.
Nothing humbled him like you wanting him.
You got him messy. Everyone thought Bucky Barnes was disciplined, but you got him undone.
You got his mouth open. You got his hair ruined. You got his metal hand gripping the couch hard enough to make the frame creak while his flesh hand slid between your legs and found you already soaked for him.
“Jesus,” he breathed, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You’re gonna kill me.”
You hummed, pleased, rolling your hips against him. “I thought you had enhanced stamina.”
His laugh came out broken. “I do.”
“Then keep up.”
His eyes went dark.
“Yeah?” he murmured, and the next second he had you under him, your back pressed into the cushions, his body heavy between your thighs. “That what you want?”
You reached down, wrapped your hand around him and watched his eyes nearly roll back.
Every time, that was your favourite part.
That ruined, hungry look when he pushed inside you and had to pause like he was praying for control he didn’t have. Not that you even wanted it.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
You smiled against his mouth, moving around him just to feel the shudder move through his whole body.
“Still think the serum makes you special?”
Bucky groaned, dropping his forehead to yours.
Then he started moving.
Slow at first, because he was still your Bucky, because your pleasure was a mission he intended to complete with military precision. But then you hooked your legs around his waist and pulled him deeper, and the sound he made was almost inhuman.
“You’re greedy,” he said, kissing your jaw, your throat, and the corner of your mouth.
“You love it.”
His hips snapped forward harder, and you gasped.
His mouth brushed your ear.
“Fuck,” he admitted, voice low. “I do.”
Boy did he love being wrong about your sex drive.
He loved that you wanted him past the point of reason. He loved that you could make a super soldier sweat, make his thighs shake, make him press his face into your neck and laugh breathlessly.
He loved dragging you into bed after dinner because he had looked at you too long. Loved waking up to your mouth on his throat and your hand sliding beneath the waistband of his sweats. Loved the mornings where he ended up late because you had tugged him back by the chain of his dog tags and whispered, “One more.”
One more was never one more. Bucky learned that quickly. Not that he would have it any other way.
And every single time, he pretended to complain. He’d groan your name, call you trouble, tell you that you were going to get him fired from the new avengers, as if they could ever afford to fire him.
Still, his hands would already be on your waist, his mouth already open against your skin.
He would already be hard again, heavy and flushed between your thighs, because the truth was embarrassingly simple:
Bucky thought he had a high sex drive. Then he met yours.
He realised, very quickly, that he had been outmatched.
—
Note : I’m supposed to post a John Walker kofi request today, but I'm still unhappy with it so I’m gonna look at it with fresh eyes. Probably going to post that Sunday/Monday now!
