Okay So I Have No Idea Why But I'm Going To Start Writing Smut Here Too (also Fluff, Maybe Angst). I

I just found out Cillian Murphy likes Arctic Monkeys so he is now my favourite

Why are people criticising Lando for being open about the mental and nervous pressures of F1.

Two days ago people were up in arms over the impact Logan’s dismissal will have on his mental health.

Last weekend the trophy was lauded for highlighting the struggles and sacrifices top athletes go through.

Not long ago we found out about what the pressure of F1 was silently doing to Valtteri.

Read Jenson and Mark Webber’s books. They couldn’t eat before races because they were scared it would make them overweight, meaning every race was hangry and at real danger of passing out.

Lewis has gone through phases of pushing everyone away, including his Dad, because he thought he needed that solitude to achieve a “champion’s mentality”.

Nico Rosberg walked away from the sport as he couldn’t face putting himself or his family through the sacrifices to be a champion and the personality changes it caused all over again.

People need to accept that this is a sport, it is tough and it leads the drivers to dark places.

Would you rather drivers be silent and not disturb your personal enjoyment of the sport or can you accept that they push themselves to places you couldn’t?

When I first started martial arts my teacher taught us, when things get tough your brain will tell you you can’t, because it wants the easiest most comfortable option. Your body can and will do what you ask of it, pushing past the mind is the hardest part.

Time to accept and support or shut up.

I would also like to add the one when on the path way they race you, get in front of you and THEN start going like a snail

ME TOOOOO 😭😟😞

i miss stucky so bad ☹️

He's beauty he's grace..he has a snatched waist😏

The lean. That's it. It screams "c'mere babygirl" and nothing will ever change my mind on that.

Reblog this with your favorite picture of Emily Prentiss that screams lesbian the most

Mine is this one because, honey, you’re not fooling anyone with that fleece, you might as well just write dyke on your forehead

I have two moods.

1. Constant panic and worryng about every little detail

2. It is what it is

REBLOG IF THIS RELATES TO YOU:

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

Have I read this like a thousand times? YES. Is it still the best story I've ever laid my eyes on? DEFINENTLY.

Spring Chicken

He's not the Winter Soldier anymore... but he's no spring chicken, either. Happy birthday, Buck 😘

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (hands au)

Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Minors DNI. Oral sex (m receiving), orgasm delay/edging, ruined orgasm, banter, lingerie, PiV. Bucky tries soooo hard not to cum lol. They're in love, your honor 💗

Word Count: 1.7k

@buckybarnesevents Bucky's Birthday Bash 2023

my masterlist

northbound & reaching

Brooklyn Dodgers. Boston Bees. Chicago Cubs. Detroit… fuck. The Detroit whats? Bucky squeezed his eyes closed and tried to think. 

He had to make this last.

Detroit Tigers. Damn it. He shouldn’t have had to think so long about that one. Should’ve been able to remember it. Oh, god. Keep going, keep going. What next? 

There were the Phillies, in Philadelphia, of course. Stupid name. And then the Pirat— 

“Fuck,” he hissed, his hips jolting up on their own. “Baby, baby, slow down, I can’t—”

From the floor between his legs, you looked up at him and smiled. Well, it would’ve been a smile— he could see the crinkles by your eyes, knew what those meant— but you couldn’t exactly smile with his cock in your mouth.

Bucky’s spread thighs trembled, the tide inside him rising as you pulled back once more with hollowed cheeks. Grabbing fistfulls of the comforter with both hands as an anchor, the plates of his left arm shifted and whirred, betraying just how hard he was working to hold back. He didn’t think he could. He wasn’t gonna make it. 

Maybe it would be okay; you probably wouldn’t mind if he came now. Okay. Okay. Bucky took a deep breath, but just before he gave in and let go, you were gone— your wicked mouth replaced by your hand, squeezing tightly at the base of his cock.

Bucky groaned. “God damn it.” His dick flexed helplessly in your grip as you kept his orgasm at bay, and only the slightest, weakest dribble of cum flowed down his length and over your hand.

It was embarrassing; you hadn’t even been sucking on him for very long, and here was, ready to blow. Was blowing. Did this count? He didn’t think so— if anything, it only left him even more frustrated and horny. 

To tell the truth, he’d been close to the edge ever since you stepped out of the bathroom wearing… whatever you were wearing. He’d never seen anything like it; strappy, with sheer black lace that somehow covered you while still letting him see everything, he couldn’t wait to get his hands on it. It would be so easy for him to rip right through the flimsy fabric— but no, he couldn’t do that. You hated when he accidentally tore your clothes, so he’d never do it on purpose. 

But god, he wanted to.

It had taken him a moment to pick up his jaw from the floor when you approached him, and you used that time to your advantage— his brain was still struggling to compute when you pushed him down onto the bed and dropped to your knees between his legs.

Bucky’s left arm whirred as he leaned his weight back onto his hands. His cock jumped again, and he exhaled slowly— had to stop thinking about it. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing.

No, that tiny bit of release hadn’t done anything to dampen the desperation he felt in his gut. Baseball. He was supposed to think about baseball. 

“Buck,” you said softly, your voice lifting at the end. A question. He squinted one eye open, keeping his gaze focused squarely on your nose. Not on your chest, and definitely not on your peaked nipples that stood out under the delicate design. Fuck. Your mouth was still dangerously close to his cock, your breath hot against his spit-slick skin. “Do you want to come?” you asked.

Jesus Christ. Didn’t matter if he wanted to or not— he was going to if you kept this up. “I… I mean…” He shuddered, goosebumps blooming on his skin.

“I thought you wanted to wait,” you murmured, dragging your lips along one side of his length. The vibrations of your words rumbled through his dick and straight up his spine. “If you wanna come, you can.”

“I don’t…” Deep breaths. Deep breaths. “I don’t want it to be over.” He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling— safer that way. Maybe.

“Baby, it’s your birthday,” you simpered, mischief in your voice. Bucky gulped. “I’m not going to stop after you only come once.”

“Can’t say that,” he whined, his hips jerking up reflexively.

“Can’t say what?” you asked coyly. “That it’s your birthday?” You let go of his cock and sat back on your haunches. He wished you hadn’t— the pressure had been helping— “Sure, you’re no spring chicken anymore, but there’s no reason to be embar—”

“You know what I meant.”

“—rassed. Look.” You glanced pointedly at his cock, and the slick patch it had leaked against his thigh. It twitched hopefully at the attention. “Most impressive hundred-year-old dick I’ve ever seen. I—”

Bucky sighed, opening his eyes only to narrow them at you. “Exactly how many hundred-year-old dicks have you seen?”

“Enough,” you said with a shrug, then rose to your feet. “Enough to know yours is my favorite.” With a hand on his bare chest, you guided Bucky back to lie flat on the middle of the bed, then climbed up to straddle him. You settled down flat on top of him, almost like a hug… except your tongue teased his lips until they opened for you, and there was that lace, all that goddamn lace. It felt strange against his skin, different, and maybe he would’ve liked it if he didn’t resent it so much for separating you from him.

“Gonna tell Steve you said that,” he mumbled against your mouth.

With a playful gasp, you pulled away from him. “You would never,” you said, but when he met your eyes, your expression softened. You lifted a hand to brush his hair off his forehead, tucking a longer piece behind his ear. 

So tender. So gentle. 

Bucky pulled his lower lip between his teeth, struck with an entirely different, yet equally overwhelming, feeling. “I love you,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you. The words were never enough, but they were all he had.

You knew that, of course— and the smile you gave him in return was so sweet that it made his heart ache. But before he could think of something smart to say, one corner of your lips lifted slyly. 

Oh, no.

“Don’t go soft on me now, Barnes,” you said, and he jolted when your fingers wrapped around his cock again. “Oh, good,” you smirked. “You’re not.” 

You sat up straight, showing off the expanse of the— bodysuit? That sounded like the right word. Bucky couldn’t help but reach for you with both hands, thumbing over your nipples before giving in to temptation and pawing greedily at your breasts. 

Fuck baseball. No more distractions; Bucky needed to burn this into his memory, keep this image of you safe there forever. Confident and beautiful and better than he ever dared to dream, you rose up on your knees and lined him up. You’d have to pull the fabric to the side, he guessed. Would be easier for him to just rip it off— then he’d be able to get your tits in his mouth, too. But no. He couldn’t. Almost idly, he pinched the lace-covered peaks between his fingers, and— oh.

You swept his cockhead through your arousal— and he could feel it, because there wasn’t anything covering you— even though you hadn’t moved the fabric— what? 

You lowered yourself onto his cock, wiggling your hips a bit as you leaned back and took all of him in one slow motion. From this angle he had an unimpeded view of how he disappeared inside you, fitting perfectly into the cut-out section in the center of the gusset. 

“Oh, god,” he groaned again, rubbing his face with one hand. 

He wasn’t gonna last, and you knew it. You giggled when his breath stuttered, clenched around him when he grabbed your hips roughly. His fingertips dug into your skin, but he hesitated. 

“C’mon, baby,” you encouraged softly. “Let go. Fill me up.” 

Bucky groaned, a mix of exasperation and pleasure, and cursed under his breath. “Fine,” he said. “Fine.” His hands on your hips weren’t enough; he planted his feet flat on the bed. “Fucking take it, then.” 

After holding back for so long, the pace Bucky set was unforgiving. Between his sharp thrusts up into you and the way he moved your hips to meet them, he chased his high with no reservations. It didn’t take him long at all to find himself on the precipice once again; this time, he jumped over headfirst. His face scrunched up with pleasure, his muscles began to shake, and he couldn’t muffle his moan as he spilled inside you.

Bucky didn’t know exactly how much time had passed, but he was still catching his breath when you started to move again. Just a slow circle of your hips at first, then a subtle grind that would’ve been barely noticeable if he wasn’t so oversensitive at the moment. He sucked in a shallow breath and opened his eyes. 

“No time to waste,” you said. “We’re behind schedule.” 

He had to blink a few times before he could actually see you. “Hmm?”

“One orgasm for every year, right? Tradition, or something.”

Bucky huffed out a laugh. “Dunno where you heard that one,” he said, slurring slightly. “’S impossible.” His words didn’t seem to discourage you in the slightest; if anything, you began moving a bit quicker. “You’re gonna kill me,” he groaned.

“Only one way to find out.”

He couldn’t even pretend to scowl.

“Besides,” you continued, “you haven’t unwrapped your gift yet.” 

Maybe Bucky’s brain was still buzzing with post-orgasm static, but he couldn’t remember seeing any presents in the room. His brows furrowed, but you looked exceptionally pleased with yourself when you took both of his hands in your own and led them to your chest. You used his hands to pull at the neckline of your bodysuit— the elastic stretched a bit under the slight tension, then stopped. 

You didn’t speak, but Bucky heard you loud and clear. With a crooked grin and a sharp snap of his hips, he tore the lingerie to shreds.

He didn’t know how many rounds this old body could go before it tapped out, but he figured his birthday was as good a time as any to find out.