#2623

[harveyphotography]

Quartieri Spagnoli - Napoli (Agosto 2023)

[albertxylin]

Yoghurt Communion

The doctor says mum should eat more yoghurt. She hates it. She's always been sensitive to sourness, Always found it overwhelming, Never managed to eat anything with lime without pulling a face. We buy the kind that is equal weight sugar and yoghurt, And even then it is a struggle.

I decide to remind her, Decide to have yoghurt with her every day, And thus a ritual is born. We head to the fridge late at night, Her with flavoured fruit yoghurt, Me with plain greek, And we chat as we eat, Toasting to our health. What is holy if not each other?

[art3you]

Cindy the Skull from Disco Elysium just standing there in the rain, and her dark eye make-up is running. The background is brown, with a thick cloudy streak of orange and the sky is dark purple. The rain is just a little bit Dr. Suess styled.

[tmt-sketch-a-day]

Sketch a Day 2623- Trash- 3/15/23

[my-chaos-radio]

Release: January 14, 1991

Lyrics:

She's taken my time.

Convince me she's fine.

But when she leaves I'm not so sure.

Its always the same.

She's playing her game.

And when she goes I feel to blame.

Why won't she say she needs me?

I know she's not as strong as she seems.

Why don't I see her cry for help?

Why don't I feel her cry for help?

Why don't I hear her cry for help?

I wandered around

The streets of this town

Trying to find sense of it all.

The rain on my face,

It covers the trace

Of all the tears Id had to waste.

Why must we hide emotions?

Why must we never break down and cry?

No need to feel ashamed. release the pain. cry for help.

All that I need is to cry for help.

Somebody please hear me cry for help.

All I can do is cry for help.

Cry for help is all I need.

All I need is a cry for help.

Cry for help is all I need.

All I need is a cry for help.

Why must we hide emotions?

Why can't we ever break down and cry?

All that I need is to cry for help.

I will be there when you cry for help.

Why don't I hear her cry for help?

All that I need is to cry for help.

Somebody please hear me cry for help.

All I can do is cry for help.

All that I need is to cry for help.

I will be there when you cry for help.

Is it so hard to cry for help?

Songwriter:

no need to feel ashamed.

(all I need is a cry for help.) come on and release the pain.

(cry for help is all I need.) put your trust in me.

(all I need is a cry for help.) my love is gonna set you free.

Rick Astley / Rob Fisher

SongFacts:

👉📖

Homepage:

Rick Astley

[pupgrandma2]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: MFK Crossbody purse .

[lostdrarryfics]

Hi I need some help finding a fic on AO3 that I read like 1-3 years ago! Pretty sure it’s longer/possibly chaptered, and most likely rated explicit/mature/not rated. Either one or both Harry and Draco are Veela (pretty sure? Might be some other magical creature). Takes place mostly in France at some sort of opulent Malfoy chateau/manor. There are some d/s dynamics but I can’t remember if it was actually tagged. They end up going at it in the bathtub and Harry gets pushed underwater for a bit during it. Other than that I remember Narcissa was good and a pretty major character, and there may have been a scene/chapter where they celebrated Christmas together and Harry got emotional because like ✨found family✨, but I may be confusing this scene with another work.

Thank you for your help!

Sorry, we could not find this fic. Maybe one of our followers can help!

[nocontextmythical]

you want to be wowed.

[drrafaelcm]

Indeferido pedido para suspender sentença que anulou licitação de saneamento básico em Mairinque (SP)

Continue reading Indeferido pedido para suspender sentença que anulou licitação de saneamento básico em Mairinque (SP)

[ravidsjfhewruv]

operates flights to several locations including the United States If you plan to travel with and have questions you can dial their customer service phone number at By contacting their customer service staff you can ask questions and get all the information you need to enhance Conclusion Connecting with a live person at doesn't have to feel daunting Armed with the right knowledge and approach you can effortlessly navigate their customer support by dialing This ensures that your travel planning remains as smooth as possible team is readily available to assist you so don't hesitate to reach

[silvereyedowl]

[source]

NGC 2623: Merging Galaxies from Hubble

Credits: ESA, Hubble, NASA

[obsessedwhyyes]

The Learned Observer

Fic Request: Voyeurism

Summary: On a sleepless night, Gale notices the distinct sound of hushed voices outside his tent. It couldn't be you and Astarion… could it? When he decides to take a peek - to satisfy his scholarly curiosity, of course - he gets more than he bargained for.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2623 Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader, implied Astarion x Gale x Fem!Reader Content: Gale's POV (first person), voyeurism, dry humping, handjob, public sex, male masturbation, a little bit of jealousy.

A/N: Gale, in my humble opinion, would not use the word, “cock.” I cannot express how hard it was to not use the word, "cock" in a smut fic. I frigging love that word. Anyways, writing entirely in Gale’s voice was honestly the most fun mini challenge I’ve set myself so far, and I would gladly do first person BG3 companion POVs again. Thank you, dear anon, for the request!

Another sleepless night.

The orb pulses beneath my skin, each throb a reminder of my predicament.

I implore my mind to wander to the events of our journey, to the challenges that lie ahead, in pursuit of a worthwhile distraction. But the orb’s hunger grows stronger, like a raging maelstrom, each tribute to its insistent pull a mere ripple against the tide of its endless consumption. Perhaps I should consult the others about–

… Voices drift from outside my tent before I can finish my thoughts. Curious.

Hushed laughter and whispered words. Astarion's distinctive timbre and… you.

The sound is soft, subtle - a quiet exchange. Yet, here I am, catching fragments of something private, something perhaps not intended for outside ears.

I shift, the faintest spark of curiosity pulling me from my solitude. It's innocent, surely - a late-night conversation, perhaps a shared joke. And yet, as the moments pass, I can't ignore the intimacy in your laughter, the way Astarion's voice drops to that silken murmur he reserves for his attempts at enticement.

Just a glance, I tell myself. Merely to understand what could be so amusing at this hour.

Slowly, carefully, I draw back a sliver of canvas, just enough to peek through.

My breath catches as my eyes adjust to the firelight outside. There, on the other side of the campfire, resting against a fallen log, you sit beside him, close - very close - your faces inches apart.

Your legs are entwined, and there’s an intensity in the way you look at each other. I’m taken aback by the hunger in the kiss that follows - one neither timid nor restrained. Your hands begin to explore each other with what I can only call fervour - the kind of urgency I hadn't known either of you possessed, let alone with each other. 

The way you move together speaks of raw desire rather than tender affection - this is clearly a new physical relationship.

When did this start? How did I miss the signs? Though perhaps I was too caught up in my own concerns to notice the lingering glances, the way you always seemed to find reasons to be near each other…

I tell myself it’s simple curiosity that keeps me here, observing. A certain academic interest, if you will. After all, Astarion has always been something of a hedonist - a man who indulges in his desires with a recklessness I sometimes envy, though rarely approve. But to see him like this - in action, as it were - offers a unique perspective on his character.

You murmur something I cannot make out, a teasing lilt in your voice, and Astarion laughs in that rakish, honeyed tone of his, as though thrilled to have you so wholly entranced. His hands grip your waist, and with a practised grace, he pulls you into his lap, the hem of your skirt spilling around you both. As his hands settle on your hips, you grind against what I can only assume to be a prominent hardness in his trousers, judging by the satisfied smirk on his face. 

You seem eager, pliant under his touch, responding in ways I confess I hadn’t thought you capable of - no, not like this. Not with him.

My heart hammers in my chest, a tension spreading through me that’s… increasingly difficult to ignore. And yet, I remind myself, this is mere observation, nothing more. A clinical exercise in understanding the intricacies of interpersonal attractions between a vampire and a mortal; the undercurrent of danger that befalls such an arrangement.

He holds you with a blend of confidence and entitlement that borders on decadent, his mouth at your neck, lips brushing against your skin with a maddening leisure that’s somehow indulgent and teasing all at once. His fangs linger there and, for a moment, my heart stops - surely he wouldn’t… Ah, no. No, he’s not feeding. He merely kisses your neck, fangs scraping lightly against your throat - close enough to tempt and tantalise. I see the goosebumps flare on your skin.

He whispers something low and unintelligible, and you let out a soft giggle, yielding in a way that speaks of trust - trust that’s he’s earned, somehow, despite his nature.

And then your hand drifts between you both, touching him through his trousers.

Gosh. I hadn’t thought you so bold.

Astarion’s body arches into your touch, his gaze darkening as he watches you with a hunger that’s both terrifying and… strangely beautiful. I find myself entranced, my breath shallow as I observe the way your fingers trace over him, the way he leans into you. The noise he makes when your fingers flex, squeezing him gently over the fabric… Gracious. 

There’s a strange, reluctant curiosity building within me. I should look away. I should grant you both the privacy you likely assume you have. And yet, my gaze remains fixed, drawn to the details of your encounter: the way his hands tighten on your waist, the way your breaths synchronise, the way he murmurs softly into your ear…

I am aware - painfully so - of the ache low in my body that has built with each passing moment, each glance, each touch. I am no stranger to restraint - I have spent years tempering my desires, sacrificing comforts in the pursuit of knowledge, of power. Yet, here, now, I feel that restraint begin to falter; to dissolve like ink in water, dispersing until it is all but unrecognisable. It has been so long, after all. So, so long.

When your hands move to the waistband of his trousers, my breath catches. Gods above, surely you won't, not out in the open... but yes. Yes, it seems you will.

When you pull him free, well - I’ve always wondered about vampire physiology, purely academically, of course. But the sight of him prompts rather less scholarly thoughts. He’s impressively endowed - perhaps it is wishful thinking to believe that this is but another gift of his condition. It’s fascinating how vampiric transformation affects every part of the body - he’s almost luminescent in the firelight, every inch of him perfect and unmarred. I notice the veins that trace along his length, faintly visible beneath his skin. He is, even now, a study in confidence, exuding a subtle power that one can only achieve when utterly comfortable in one’s own skin.

Your hand wraps around him, sliding up and down his length at a teasing pace, drawing forth a sound I have never heard our pale companion make - a soft, broken gasp, caught somewhere between a moan and a sigh. It sounds almost reluctant, as though he hadn’t meant for such a sound to slip past his lips. He twitches under your ministrations, and his grip on your hips tightens enough that there will surely be bruises tomorrow.

My fingers rest at my thigh, trembling ever so slightly. A small part of me - a remnant of reason, perhaps - tells me to pull back, to look away, to let this moment pass without surrendering to the need that has taken root within me. But my body, the traitorous thing it is, does not heed such commands. Instead, I find my hand drifting lower.

My fingers trace over the fabric of my trousers, over the aching hardness beneath. A gentle palming, barely enough to ease the tension that coils tighter with each passing moment as I watch the scene unfold.

Your hands elicit quiet murmurs from Astarion that grow deeper and more insistent with each passing moment. For a moment, the two of you share a look - one of conspiratorial mischief, perhaps - and then a soft, shared giggle, the sound mingling with the crackling of the fire. 

You're so utterly engrossed in him; so utterly unselfconscious.

You shift, a question in your eyes, and as he nods, giving his assent, you rise just enough to shift, positioning yourself over him. Your skirts drape around you both, providing a veneer of modesty, though there's no mistaking what follows when you sink yourself down on to him. The way your lips part in a gasp as he enters you, the way his head falls back with a victorious grin - it makes the tightness, the great ache between my legs, almost unbearable.

I find my hand slipping beneath my waistband.

Just a little relief, I tell myself. Just enough to ease this maddening tension.

There is a certain poetry to it, I suppose - this surrender to the pleasures of the flesh. I allow myself to imagine, as my hand finds the throbbing heat of my arousal, what it might feel to be in your place, to have someone look at me with that same confidence, to experience touch imbued with the certainty of one who knows precisely how to elicit pleasure - a knowledge gleaned from centuries, no doubt, of indulgence and conquest.

It’s enough to leave me aching for more than mere observation.

The fervour with which you move against him… it’s hypnotic, each roll of your hips drawing forth increasingly wanton sounds from you both. Astarion's carefully crafted demeanour gives way to something more roguish, a playful daring that glints in his eyes as you rise and fall and rise and fall on his length.

I find my hand instinctively matching your rhythm, every shift and motion, as though I, too, am bound to the undulating tempo that you and Astarion have created.

Gods… what must it be like to be him? To have someone so openly, eagerly drawn to you, meeting every touch with matching fervour? To hold someone close and feel their raw desire, the thrill of each laugh, each gasp, offered without hesitation? I wonder what it must be like to inspire such a response, to be desired so freely, without need for pretence or restraint?

With Mystra, I was ever the pursuer, striving tirelessly to earn even the barest hint of her approval, each moment together feeling like an examination I desperately hoped to pass. But Astarion… well. He needn't chase or convince. Despite his vampiric nature - or perhaps, in part, because of it - he is simply desired, freely given all that I once had to beg for. The inequity of it all would be rather poetic, if it weren't so personally vexing.

“A-ah!”

Your gasp cuts through my ruminations, pulling me back into the scene.

Astarion’s hand has slipped between you, guiding you to that final crescendo with a practised touch. The sight of it is utterly spellbinding: his fingers moving with a precision that speaks to centuries of experience, knowing just where to press, where to linger. The control he exercises over you is enviable, each movement of his hand coaxing you closer to that peak, his attention wholly focused on your reaction, even as your hips rock back and forth on his length with an increasingly frantic, unrestrained urgency.

The way your eyes roll back... Gosh.

The expression on your face, one of pure, unfiltered abandon, is a sight to behold.

Your body trembles as you reach your peak, and a sound - a cry, too loud in the stillness of the night - escapes your lips. Astarion’s palm clamps over your mouth, a futile attempt to muffle you in the throes of your climax. Though he hushes you, his expression suggests that he is not in the least bit concerned. In fact, he seems rather pleased - more than pleased, really. 

There’s a thrill in such a public display for him too, no doubt.

I swallow, the sound almost too loud, my heart pounding against my ribs as though it seeks to betray me. Astarion's head tilts slightly, his gaze flickering to the shadows, and for one heart-stopping moment, I think he has sensed me, that his attention has shifted from you to this invisible interloper, the scholar caught red-handed in his quiet act of voyeurism.

Could he... sense me here, lingering on the fringe of his private moment? Could he smell the stir of my own arousal, feel the faint tremor of my breath as I fight for composure? For several heartbeats, my hand freezes. I dare not even breathe.

But then his attentions return to you, and I breathe a sigh of relief. 

He brings his hands to your hips, holding them firmly in place as he drives himself upwards into you, deeper, with mounting desperation. It seems he seeks to chase his own release, content with the pleasure he has wrought you.

You respond eagerly, pressing closer, your own sounds growing louder, heedless of who might hear, and I can see that thrill in his face - the satisfaction of knowing he’s eliciting every reaction from you, drawing out each gasp, each shudder.

My hand glides hastily across my arousal, my own breathing growing ragged as I watch his control begin to slip. Even from here, I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his head tips back in pure abandon.

In the final throes, he presses himself against you, buried firmly to the hilt. It’s almost animalistic, all thoughts, all calculated movements, making way for one singular goal: to empty himself into you, filling you with all he has to offer with breaths rugged and low. All composure is stripped, replaced with instinct and pure need.

I find my own movements quickening to match his pace, as though some invisible thread binds us all to this moment. My hand tightens as I lose myself in the same tempo, every sound from you both spurring me closer. The sight of his final shudder, the look of utter satisfaction crossing his face as he reaches that height, is enough to tip me over the edge.

For a heartbeat, the night seems to hold us all in perfect suspension - your quiet gasps, his satisfied murmurs, my own silent echo of shared pleasure - all woven together in this clandestine tableau.

Only then, as the euphoria begins to fade, does a most uncomfortable awareness creep in.

Gods above, what have I... A scholar of worldly acclaim, reduced to voyeur, caught up in base desires like some common... No. Best not to dwell on such things. Though I suspect sleep will prove rather elusive tonight, haunted by questions of propriety and... other matters.

With a groan, I roll onto my back, the orb’s steady throb now a minor annoyance compared to the tangled thoughts that flood my mind. Perhaps I can chalk this entire… incident up to fatigue, a wandering mind, even a fevered dream. Yes, that must be it. The product of a restless night and, possibly, a touch of indigestion. After all, who could believe that I, Gale of Waterdeep, would be brought so low as to... well, that.

As morning light spills across camp, I attempt a façade of normalcy, willing my cheeks to cool and my mind to settle. Just as I convince myself the night’s events were nothing more than a peculiar dream, Astarion sidles up, his expression one of leisurely amusement.

"Restless night, Gale?” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear. His gaze is as sharp as his tone, a knowing glint in his eyes that makes my stomach twist in the most uncomfortable way. "I thought I heard a... stirring from your tent."

The corner of his mouth quirks up in that infuriatingly smug way of his, and I nearly choke on my response. 

He knew. 

Astarion knew. 

I force a cough, pretending to inspect the morning sky.

"A dream," I reply a bit too quickly. "Perhaps the cheese at dinner was... overly ripe."

But Astarion merely chuckles, a wicked sound, before strolling away with a satisfied air. And as I watch him saunter off, I’m left to question just how much of the night was a dream - and how much, mortifyingly, was very, very real.

Masterlist can be found here!

No Pressure Tags: @roguishcat @davenswitcher @silverfangmarks @sparrowbard @chonkercatto @stokzr @trafalgarussy @asterordinary

[buckyshoneybunny]

Beautiful

 Bucky Barnes + Curvy!Female!Reader 

Summary- Bucky proves to you that you are beautiful. 

W.C.- 2623 

Warnings- Fluff, tiny bit of angst(?), smut, 18+ Mdni! Oral (female), fingering, P in V sex, unprotected sex (don’t do that) 

A/N- First time writing smut, hope you like it. This got a little personal 😬 but to all my fellow curvy + plus size girls you are beautiful 😘. I’m thinking of writing a series, with either Alpha, roommate, neighbor, or biker Bucky, I can’t pick. Any suggestions or ideas, I will gladly listen. Also, thank you so much for all the love on my first story!! Please don’t post or steal my work, feedback is welcome. Hope you enjoy!  

Masterlist

You took another deep, shaky breath as you studied your reflection for the hundredth time in the last five minutes. Tonight was the big night; you and Bucky were going to be taking the next step in your relationship. After many dates and late-night talks, you were finally ready to take the next step. Bucky, the ever so perfect guy he is, was patient with you, assured you that he was perfectly fine waiting until you were ready. 

You and Bucky were making out on your couch, you straddling his lap, when you pulled away with a gasp. Bucky starts kissing down your neck, as his hands start to slide up your shirt you freeze.  

Having noticed this, he immediately stops and pull back to look at you. “You okay, peach?” You look away. 

He gently cups your face, his cold, metal hand soothing your burning cheeks. “Talk to me Babygirl, what’s wrong?”  

You bite your lip. “I don’t think I’m ready yet,” you whisper. “I know I should have said something sooner instead of waiting until we’re both worked up but I-” 

“Peach, breathe,” be cuts off your nervous ramble. He rearranges you both so that you’re not positioned over his bulge. “It’s okay, if you aren’t ready then we wait, okay?” He says softly. 

You glance down at his lap feeling guilty. “But what about-” 

“No, don’t worry about that. It’ll go away shortly. How about we cuddle and watch our show? I’m dying to see what happened to Angela,” he suggests. 

You nod after a moment and hug him. “Thank you, Bucky,” you mumble into his neck.  

“Anything for you, peach” 

It wasn’t because you were a virgin or wanted to do things the ‘proper’ way, although you never told Bucky why, he guessed it was because of how insecure you are of your weight. Okay, yes, you were a little curvy, yes multiple guys had laughed at you when you tried to get their attention or looked at you in disgust whenever you tried to wear something that showed a little skin. 

Yes, you were insecure about your weight, but that wasn’t the reason you wanted to wait. Bucky had made sure you knew he loved your curves, no matter how hard you tried to hide them. You often chose pants over shorts and never wore tank tops, but it wasn’t because of your weight- the team made sure you knew they loved you for you, you felt comfortable around them- no, it was because of your skin. 

See, you weren’t one of those girls who had smooth, shiny skin, and that’s why you never showed off anything more than your arms. You had cellulite, bumps everywhere, and pimples in places you wished you didn’t. Not one spot on your body was smooth or clear, it didn’t matter where you shaved or moisturized, every time you slide your hands up your arms or down your legs it was bumpy. You tried everything under the sun but nothing helped, only few things made it a little better, you couldn’t even use your favorite scented lotions that often because it only made them worse. The tan on your skin helped hide it, but it was still there. 

A ding from your phone pulled you back to the present, you picked it up and noticed Bucky had texted you. 

💖My love- Hey, peach! I’m really excited for tonight, and since tonight is a very special night, I got you a little something (with the help of Nat of course), check your closet 😉.  

You walk into your closet to see a long, white, plastic bag hung up with your other dresses. When you unzip it, you can’t help but gasp.  The dress is a long, V-neck red satin dress with double slits. Phone in hand, you text him back. 

You-This is gorgeous Buck, but I don’t know if it’ll look right on me. 

💖My love-I know it’s way out of your comfort zone but believe me, you’ll be the sexiest woman to have ever existed, you already are but you’ll look even more gorgeous. You don’t have to wear it but I hope you do, see you soon, peach 😘. 

Trusting Bucky, you decide to wear it. You put on some plum scented lotion, damn your skin- at least it’ll be soft-, and put the dress on. It fits perfectly, your tan hides your skins secrets and the dress hugs your curves, for once you actually feel sexy. You take your hair out of the French braids and spray on some watermelon scented perfume. Right as you finish putting on your heels, there’s a knock at the door. You grab your clutch and look at yourself in the mirror one last time. Taking a deep breath you open the door. 

Bucky’s eyes widen as he takes you in, you do the same when you see him. He’s in a perfectly fitting suit that shows off his defined muscles, it’s cotton and black, he has a white button up under the jacket with a red tie.  

“How do I look?’ You ask nervously. When he doesn’t answer you start to overthink.  

“God damn,” he mumbles under his breath. His eyes sweep over your body again. “I don’t think I have ever wanted your thighs wrapped around my head more than I do now,” he says distractedly, staring at your thighs.  

“Bucky!” You gasp and playfully smack his chest. He grins, grabbing your wrists, he puts them around his neck as his hands settle on your waist.  

He chuckles. “Seriously though, you look absolutely gorgeous.” He kisses you then slides over to kiss your neck; he breathes in deeply and groans. “Mmm. You smell delicious,” he mumbles against your skin. He slides his hands up your sides.  

“Cut it out, we’re gonna be late,” you giggle and move before his hands can reach the bare skin of your arms, avoiding his touch. He notices.  

“Alright, alright, come on, peach.” He grins and leads you to the elevator, his hand in yours.  

As the elevator closes, he asks, “When the hell did you get that tan?” 

“When everyone was gone on that one mission.” 

“Damn, I missed this gorgeous body half naked in the sun?” He playfully pouts.   

You snort and shake your head. 

Once you both get to the restaurant, the hostess takes you to your table. It’s the fancy Italian restaurant that takes months in advance to get a reservation.  

As the waiter leaves with your orders you ask, “How did you get a table here? It takes months in advance.” 

“Tony called in a few favors,” he grins. “I want tonight to be special,” he adds softly. His hand covers yours on the table. You smile at him and interlace your fingers together. 

“How come you won’t let me touch you?” He blurts out.  

You give him a confused look, “What do you mean? You’re touching me right now.” 

“No, I mean, you won’t let me touch your bare skin. At first, I thought maybe you had scars or something, that maybe that’s way you never wear shorts. But seeing you tonight, in that dress, I can’t fathom why you would hide your body.” He pauses for a moment. “Is it because of me?” He whispers, you can see the vulnerability in his eyes. 

You quickly cup his face, “God no Bucky” You take a deep breath. “It’s just...” you trail off, unsure of how to put it. 

“What, peach? Please, tell me. I understand you wanting to wait for this long, I respect that, but every time we kissed or got a little handsy I could see that you wanted to keep going but you always stopped.” 

You sigh. “Part of it is my weight-” he goes to cut you off but you keep going. “But you’ve helped me feel more confident in my weight, but the insecurities are still there. The main reason is my skin...” 

“Your skin?” He deadpans. 

“The bumps everywhere, cellulite, and pimples everywhere Bucky. I don’t have that smooth clear skin like Wanda or Nat. That’s what I’m afraid of, that you’ll see the marks, feel the bumps on my legs, stomach, hell even my ass. That you’ll see the pimples in places that shouldn’t have any and you’ll break up with me or be disgusted,” you rant.  

“Okay, Y/N, deep breath. First of all, if I ever look at you in disgust, HYDRA must’ve taken over me. I love you and a few bumps and pimples won’t change that.” He holds your hands in his.  

“It’s more than just a few Bucky.” He narrows his eyes as he studies you. The waiter brings your food, Bucky starts to shovel the food into his mouth.  

“Eat,” he says around a mouthful of garlic bread. “I need to get you home to prove to you how beautiful you are.” 

Once you both are done, he pays and all but drags you out to the car. He pushes you up against the side of the car, smashing his lips to yours.  

“If you’ll let me, I want to show you how much I love you and this body.” He says breathlessly. “Please,” he adds, almost whining. You nod.  

On the drive back, you get a burst of confidence. You glance over at Bucky, he’s tense, barely maintaining the speed limit, desperate to get home. You look down and see a very large, very noticeable bulge. Fuck he looks huge. 

You reach over and place your hand on his thigh, slowly sliding it up. Bucky glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Peach,” he warns. You cup his bulge and he inhales sharply. You trace your finger over him, teasing. You cup him again and squeeze, right as he stops for a red light. He groans and bucks his hip up into your hand, his reaction sending a shoot of arousal through you. 

Once you finally reach the tower, he drags you to his room, once inside he shoves you against the door and devours you mouth with his. He spins you around and grabs the zipper of the dress.  

“You sure you’re ready, peach?” You nod. “I need words baby,” he whispers against your neck. 

“Yes Bucky, I’m ready.” He, painfully slow, pulls the zipper down. The dress pools at your feet, he turns you back around. 

His knees almost buckle. You’re standing there in nothing but a baby pink lingerie set and black heels. “Fuck peach,” he moans. He drops to his knees and kisses your stomach. “These curves” he grips your hips, “This ass,” his hands move to squeeze your ass, bordering painful. “This body, baby, I’m never letting you keep it from me again.” His kisses his way down your stomach. “You many have bumps and pimples, and cellulite, but that just add to the uniqueness of the gorgeous body. Y/N, baby, you are perfect, so fucking sexy, just looking at you I could cum in my pants.” He throws your right leg over his shoulder.  

“Bucky,” you whimper. He noses your panty covered clit, inhaling deeply. 

“Fuck, you smell so good.” He pauses, “Do you have plum scented lotion on?” 

“Yeah...” You answer hesitantly. 

He shoves his nose in the crease of your thigh. “Fuck, I didn’t know they made that,” he groans.  

“You like it?” You giggle. 

“I fucking love it, peach.” He licks your cloth covered core, making you moan. He pulls your panties to the side and growls. “This has got to be the prettiest pussy I have ever seen Babygirl.” That’s the only warning you get before he’s eating you out like a starved man.  

He swirls his tongue around your clit before sucking it into his mouth. He brings his metal hand up and slowly inserts his pointer finger. You buck against his face, you lace your fingers through his hair, him being the only thing keeping you upright.  

“Fuck you taste so good, so fucking tight,” he moans into your pussy, sending vibrations through you. He slowly adds a second finger, then a third. Curling them to hit that spongy spot, making you see stars.  

“I-I’m close... Please don’t stop Bucky,” you moan.  

“Wouldn’t dream on it Babygirl, cum for me.” 

You go limp against the door as you cum, gripping his hair tighter, almost to the point of painful, but it only makes him harder. He continues to fuck you with his fingers, helping you ride out your high. Once you come down, he pulls away and stands up. You yank him down by his tie, crashing your lips to his, moaning at your taste on his tongue.  

“How ya feeling, peach?” He whispers against your lips. 

“I want you inside me, now,” you answer. 

He chuckles, “Yes ma’am.” He quickly sheds the rest of your clothes and shoves you on his bed, not before smothering your chest in open mouthed kisses though.  You lean up on your elbows to watch him undress, gasping as his cock springs free from his boxers.  

“Don’t worry, it’ll fit,” he winks and joins you on the bed. Siting on his haunches, he wraps your legs around his waist and shoves his knees under your thighs. He rubs the head of his cock through your folds, teasing you.  

“Bucky please,” you whine. 

“I like the sound of you begging,” his voice deep and rough. In one smooth motion he enters you. You gasp and he moans once he’s fully sheathed inside you. 

“Fuck you’re so big,” you moan and dig your nails into his back. He stays still, letting you adjust. When you buck your hips up to let him know you're ready, he just groans and buries his face in your neck. 

“Fuck, give me a minute,” he mumbles, already pussy drunk.  

You giggle and card your fingers through his hair. After a second, he pulls almost all the way out and sets a punishing pace.  

“God damn you’re tight, almost made me cum like a horny teenager.” You moan at his words. With atilt of his hips, the tip of his cock pounds into your g-spot.  

“James!” You moan, nails dragging down his back.  

He shivers. “Fuck, say my name again.” 

“James harder! I’m gonna cum, James, please let me cum.” You whine in his ear.  

He groans and fucks you harder. “Cum for me baby, cum all over my cock like a good girl.” 

Your thighs squeeze his hips. Back arching, head thrown back, nails digging into his sides you cum, squirting all over his cock.  

“Holy shit,” he moans as he watches you. He continues to fuck you through your orgasm, just barely hold his off. His thrusts grow sloppy. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum baby, where do you want it?”  

You lock your ankles on his lower back, your hands grip his ass, nails digging into the plump flesh. “Inside, please, James, I want your cum in me” 

“Fuck! Y/N!” He roars as he cums. He buries himself as deep as he can as ropes of cum shoot into you. He collapses onto of you, panting. You rub his back and scratch at his scalp as you both catch your breath; he places open mouthed kisses on your neck. He sucks a hickey on your neck, you shiver.  

“Believe me now when is say you’re gorgeous?” He picks his head up to look at you. 

You lean your forehead against his, “I don’t know, I think I might need some more convincing.” He grins, already getting hard again thanks to the serum.  

“My pleasure.” It was going to be a looong night. 

Needless to say, you were much more confident in your looks after that. 

[art3you]

Cindy the Skull from Disco Elysium just standing there in the rain, and her dark eye make-up is running. Her hair is how it usually is, spiky and pushed back, in defiance of the rain. The background is brown, with a thick cloudy streak of orange and the sky is dark purple. The rain is just a little bit Dr. Suess styled.

More simply drawn (really the brush is just chunkier so there is less room for details) Cindy turns to greet the police, with her eyes rolled back and her hands reaching like claws. Says “Hello officers...” In this drawing her hair is floppy.

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic june 20 - response - 2623 words - nsfw content!

about love against all odds feat. injury related prematurely retired football player james that settled and raised a son and international football star regulus

for regulus pencil mustache truther @veryinnovative, my football (players) loving wife @rottin6 and my number 1 enabler @itmeanssungod

James is kneeling behind Harry on a picnic blanket with Lily when their last guests arrive. “There they are!” Sirius’ voice carries easily over the meadow and just as expected a few seconds later there’s a big, black scrub of a panting dog in front of them, curious to see what Harry and James are up to, which is flying a kite. 

“Oh my God– Hi!” Lily says, getting up. Which is a bit enthusiastic for the fact that they’ve seen Sirius and Remus only last weekend and should have been James’ first clue. Though, admittedly, he was a bit busy angling the kite and also angling Harry’s face away from Padfoot’s butt to avoid suffocation.

“Moony couldn’t make it today unfortunately,” Sirius says, closer now, “but I’ve brought substitution.”

James isn’t proud of the way his entire upper body whips around, Harry included, who lets out a small yelp at the sudden motion. “Sorry, mate. Sorry. I’m—”

Lily is already there to take over, nudging James to get up who’s working very hard on closing his jaw and not staring like an idiot.

Because standing there besides his brother is Regulus. Hands shoved into the pockets of his slacks, paired with a simple back t-shirt and green Adidas trainers. He does not look like he belongs onto a colourful picnic blanket in a park in London yet there he is.

He’s sporting a pencil stach now. Regulus had been convinced Sirius had already used up all the genetic material for pronounced body hair on the first way around, leaving behind very little for his younger brother. James, being on the hairier side as well, used to tease him about it endlessly back when they were in school. But it seemed to develop now in his late twenties. James has only seen it on the TV in a few matches and on one or two instagram posts but the real deal is even worse. Regulus looks criminally hot with it. The whole picture of lithe muscle, strong quads and stronger calves, curly hair, the occasional tattoo. He’s every young heterosexual woman’s wet european football boyfriend dream and James’ gut is swooping.

“Reg.”

“Hi, James,” Regulus responds, much more articulated, sporting a hint of a smirk. 

Oh, he— “Bastard,” James mutters, low enough so Harry behind him won’t hear and then he’s grinning and yanking Regulus into a firm hug.

They all have a late lunch together at a nearby restaurant and Regulus is patiently letting Harry talk his ears off about Ninjago and preschool and Ron and Moine. Lily is taking him over the weekend and James bids his goodbye with a loud smooch to his son’s cheek. 

And just as James is about to invent a crazy, elaborate story about how he has something back at his house he’d meant to show Regulus for ages without making it interesting enough for Sirius to tag along, this one simply taps two fingers against his eyebrow in a mock salute before making his way in the other direction, Padfoot trotting along dutifully. “Why do you think I hid him from you all Thursday? Have fun, kids!”

Regulus groans pathetically and turns to hide his face into James’ shoulder.

“I told you we can’t keep it a secret from him forever. He probably knew all along,” James chuckles and takes Regulus’ duffel, “C’mon, love.”

It starts in the elevator up, is a wonder they make it past the hallway and into the bedroom. It’s very much overdue and heated and desperate all the way through. 

James might or might not have pinned Regulus one too many times into the mattress and offhandedly commented something along the line’s of Regulus being his and cuffing him to the bed if he needs to. And it’d worked because Regulus had moaned so prettily, eyelids fluttering and hips bucking, cock twitching and all James could think about then was where’s the fucking lube.

Saying that, he doesn’t quite expect Regulus to bring it up after the fact.

James is absolutely blissed out, breathing only just levelling out as he traces the shape of Regulus’ kiss bitten lips.

“You know I can’t stay, Jamie.”

He shrugs easily, kneading Regulus’ muscled thigh where it’s slung over his hip, “We’ll come with you then.”

“To Portugal?” Regulus’ eyebrows rise as he props himself on his elbow, his tone flat. “And then to France in a couple of months when I switch clubs? I don’t think that’s such a good idea given Harry is five.”

“Au contraire—”

Regulus rolls his eyes and slaps him on the naked shoulder. “Moving every few years? And during the nationals not to mention,” he tucks an errant strand of hair back from James’ forehead, “Multiple continents, who knows which timezone. That’s no life for a child, James. And I haven’t even brought up Lily yet. She’s just as much part of his life as you are and it works out wonderfully for the time being with you two living so close. It’s what Harry deserves.”

And deep down James knows Regulus is right. And if he’s completely honest with himself, it isn’t the life he truly wants for himself either. That’s why he’s here and Regulus is out there. James knows it isn’t what’s best for Harry nor for himself and yet. And yet no matter how many times they have this conversation it seems endlessly irrelevant when Regulus is looking down at him this way. The shine of the sunset through the window is catching in his pillow mussed curls, in the dark lashes framing his blue silver eyes and rivalling the flush of his skin with its own red hue and James thinks Regulus looks like home. Like anything he could still want in life besides what precious he already has.

James heaves a heavy sigh and hungrily swerves his eyes over every single of Regulus’ features, committing them to memory. Because that’s all that’s gonna stay when Regulus inevitably leaves again. But that’s not what James wants to think about right now though.

“Regulus.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up,” James replies happily and pulls Regulus in by the back of his nape before his indignant expression can even fully form. Every single one of Regulus’ helpless sounds get swallowed eagerly and filed away for later. For a moment James is tempted to ask Regulus if he can get out his phone and record but he thinks better of it.

They have sex for hours. 

James sucks all coherency out of Regulus through his cock and then fucks him so stupid, legs spread and pushed into the mattress, spit pooling out of the corner of his mouth, tears wetting his cheeks, cum smearing across his stomach, that he gets him to promise to stay. It’s futile and just a heat of the moment thing but it drives James so wild he almost blacks out when he eventually spills deep inside of him. There’s black dots and stars dancing in his vision when he watches it leak back out of Regulus’ puffy hole and a strange sense of satisfaction and dread mixing in his belly. 

After a quick entangled and still very much nude power nap James arranges them a platter of fruit and crackers and cheeses. They shower and James changes the sheets only for Regulus to prop himself up on his side and watch intently as he edges James until he’s the one whining and crying. He’s using ridiculous amounts of lube, his hand is so warm and slick and squeezing just right and his thumb is swiping teasingly along the slit exactly how it makes James go insane and then he’s taking his hand away and James curses, already feeling another tear running down his cheek. His thighs are trembling, his knuckles turning white where he’s clinging to the headboard. Regulus is staring at him out of lidded, expectant eyes and James’ dick is aching and it’s all so sick and hot James has to bite his tongue hard not to tell Regulus he loves him right then and there. 

He’s shown mercy, at last. Regulus makes him cum down his throat and over his face, there’s milky white running down the side of Regulus nose and James pulls him in with shaky arms for a downright nasty kiss.

They sleep until 2pm the next day and have a lovely, slow day bickering in the grocery store isles, preparing dinner together and not at all watching the movie that’s on the TV while they make out and frot on the couch like teenagers. Like back when they were teenagers. 

Sunday morning Lily brings Harry before she’s heading out to brunch with her FLINTA boxing club and James’ heart riots in his chest when he watches how easily and adorably Regulus and Harry interact. 

They meet up with Sirius and then drive Regulus to the airport together.

Goodbye is a bumpy thing. Harry is pure popcorn caramel sweetness between Regulus’ knees when he crouches down to hug him and James’ embrace, he knows, is much longer than socially acceptable. He vaguely notices Sirius distracting Harry, babbling to him about the stuffed toy assortment from a nearby shop as Regulus and James hold onto each other like they’re in a long distance relationship and not…well, whatever it is they can afford to be with Regulus visiting the country about three to five times a year.

There’s a fist clenched in the soft material of his t-shirt and James buries his nose in the curls of Regulus’ temple and inhales deeply. A spot he’s going to see sweat soaked on a flat screen and not getting to smell or touch or kiss for the unforeseeable future. At least that’s what he thinks for now.

Eventually they part and after a strong, swaying hug from Sirius and a few words about making him proud out on the field and seeing that physiotherapist about his shoulder and a safe flight Regulus is gradually disappearing into the distance with the grating velocity of your standard airport escalator. James doesn’t know who thought it was a good idea to be able to watch a loved one slip through your fingers at this agonising tempo but he’d like to have a word with them. His heart clenches in his chest, his lip already feels raw from worrying it with his teeth and James thinks, the warm weight of his son pressed to his chest, that, even though it might not seem that way, Harry is probably more holding him right now than the other way around.

And life’s a funny thing sometimes. 

Because, like every time when Regulus bids his goodbye, leaving behind not exactly shards but rather yet another pin in James’ heart, wrapped around by a red string Regulus indisputably, invariably takes along across the ocean every time, it bleeds and burns and burns so badly that they get ice cream. Sirius slaps him between the shoulder blades, pays for his chocolate mint and hazelnut, tells him he’s such a dad for his choice and, together with Harry, tries distracting him as best as he can manage. 

And so begins a week of moping and then one and a half of delusion and overcompensation, full of fun trips and adventures, and then another few of avoidance, full of social media free zones and grinding through work and scheduling all kinds of appointments to fill their freetime until—

Until one day he can’t avoid it anymore.

A bright, blinking LED sign in the form of an incoming call on his phone screen that’s making James’ heart stutter in his chest. He’s just sat back down in front of his computer in his home study after lunch break and started wiggling an USB stick into a port when the vibrations had made his head shoot up.

It’s just the three letters of Reg and a silly photo of when he was seventeen, pulling a face at James taking a picture of him on his digital camera.

Regulus never calls.

James isn’t sure he’s breathing.

It’s barely been about two months, not close to visiting time again, and Regulus usually never calls so James sits there absolutely dumbstruck and convinced the universe is pulling a sick joke on him.

The call ends abruptly and James blinks harshly. He fumbles for his phone and clicks into his call history. Incoming call from Reg in red font, signalising it’s been missed, followed by the exact time of the day it is at the moment. 

James presses on the little phone icon.

It only rings once before there’s a voice on the other side of the line.

“James?” Regulus sounds slightly breathless. James hasn’t heard his voice over the line in about seven years.

“Yeah?” James says back. His heart is pounding in his chest, his blood rushing in his ears. Then James realises he should probably say something more. “Err, Hi. I’m—” he sighs, clicks his tongue, clears his throat, tries again. “Did you just call me?” “Hi,” Regulus says back, still breathless and it sort of sounds like he’s smiling. James blinks again. “Yeah, yeah. I did call.”

“Oh,” James makes. His heart does a little spin in his chest. “Uh, what’s up?”

“I’m coming to England,” Regulus declares, giggling. James’ heart tries to leap out of his chest at the sound.

“Cool, cool. You got another away game?” He winces, closes his eyes, “Sorry, I haven’t been keeping up with your matches lately.”

“No, James, I’m– wait. Okay, rude, first of all—”

James snorts and rolls his eyes, now grinning against the phone as well. “Sue a guy for being heartbroken.”

“Yeah, I just might,” Regulus quips. “But…what I was initially going to say is, No, James, I’m not having an away game in England.”

“No?” James asks, confused. Nationals are still a while away so that can’t be it.

“No. I’m having a home game in England,” and James wonders how something so soft spoken can pack such an ear-ringing gutpunch.

“I’m— Regulus, what,” James stands up, his chair loudly scraping against the hardwood floor. “Are you saying…”

A single chuckle works its way out of Regulus and over the line to James, “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”

James’ heart is sprinting away from him. He’s sweating. His breath is coming faster and he feels like he should run a lap around the property. Or six. “Regs, love, please spell it out for me because I’m not entirely sure I just hallucinated what you—”

“Arsenal made me an offer,” Regulus says and James hears angels singing in the background, “A better one.”

“Oh, fucking Christ,” James pinches the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead, “Reg, I swear to God if you’re joking right now I’m personally flying over and—”

An exasperated noise, grin evident in his voice nonetheless, “I’m being honest, James, God’s sake. You can fucking look it up online, they probably already posted about it.”

A breath punches out of James, he sinks back down into his desk chair. There’s a polaroid of him and Regulus from Halloween a few years back, alien and a scientist. It was a fucking mess scrubbing all that green paint off again and it didn’t help that Regulus abandoned his sponge in favor of grabbing at James’ hardness through his briefs. It had been the first night they kissed since they were teenagers. 

With a sudden clarity, all the tension floods out of James’ body with a slightly delirious laugh and he leans his cheek into the warmed glass of his phone screen, “You’re coming home.”

Regulus sounds equally giddy, equally drunk on love and fate. “Yeah, Jamie, I’m coming home.”