The Five Kage
The Five Kage
Hey quick question for artists
If I can’t see your adult character’s face and I don’t know anything about them, purely talking body here,
Could I tell they were an adult?
Yes, some people are small/dainty, but even a small/dainty person does not look like a child.
Follow-up: if the answer is yes, how many of your female characters is it? If it’s one and only one that’s fine, we can chalk it up to it being that character and call it a day. If not, I would like to suggest uh fixing that
Eiza Gonzalez icons
like or reblog if you save/use!
credits: demiscarefully/benzosdavis on twitter
You are so much tougher than you are aware of and you are afraid because you always underestimate your own strength.
-J.Wool, Soul Whispers
All writing belongs to me.
1780's Italian Gown
by Simulated Styles
I'm baaaaaccckkkk! 🥰 And while I've been away, I've been cooking up something I hope you'll like as much as I do!
more info & download below the cut! 😘
As you've probs gathered by now, late-18th Cent is my favorite era. While I was geeking around through some historical gowns online, I found this Italian Gown on The Met’s website (check it out!) that I just needed to have in-game for living out my French Rev realness. This project started as a quick little skirt-edit/frankenmesh/MM-ification of the Maria Dress by the amazing @sifix over at TSR (original here). However, the only original mesh part of Sifix's left now is the ruffled neckline and little bow... 🤣 All else is from scratch, including a complete uv_1 remap, hand-painted textures, and custom thumbnails.
Since my least favorite part of the CC-making process is choosing different color combinations for swatches, I decided to do something a bit different and allow you all to do that work yourselves... Through multiple, stack-able overlay accessories, you can customize this outfit and create your own swatches to your liking!
Here’s what you get:
A full-body Italian gown featuring a zone front and split-bum-pad silhouette for female-frame Sims, in 25 solid swatches
Two accessory overlays that add stripes to either the entire gown or just the petticoat, in 25 swatches (these overlays conflict because having one color stripe on the gown and a different on the petticoat is super ugly...)
An accessory overlay that changes the color of only the petticoat, in 25 swatches
An accessory overlay that makes the ruffle detail on the petticoat ivory to match the neckline and bow (I thought one color on the petti and a different on the ruffle looked ick)
*all accessories located in the facial piercings category (I assume if you're playing an historical save you don't use those slots anyway?)
Through different combinations of the above, you can make over 67,000 unique gowns! (but like who’s counting right)
Some other things you might like to know:
download contains one merged package file
base game compatible
teen-elder, female-frame, disabled for random
all LODs, morphs, shadow map, specular, normal map, & custom thumbnails
DOWNLOAD HERE @ SFS
Guys when I tell you I am obsessed with this one I mean I am OBSESSED with this one - let me know if you are too!
Special thanks and credits:
@sifix - for the original mesh (even though it is barely recognizable now 😅)
@simsfromthepast - beautiful 1780's Hat and Hedgehog hair used in photos: download those here
Characters I will swear are bisexual until my dying day:
Description - Your first encounter and time alone with Samuel Wilson proves to show you the kind of life you are in for.
Pairing - Black Female Reader x Sam Wilson, Black Female Reader x Tony Stark (Platonic)
Word Count - 1.4k
A/N - I was in a bit of a mood this morning 😅 love the idea of Sam Wilson in nice suits with money and power to buy the world. Sorry for any typos!
Warnings - smut (18+ only), finger sucking, fingering, age difference (reader is in her early 20s, Sam is late 30s-early 40s), pet names, ring kink, use of the name sir
Sam Wilson wears his suits, and he wears them well because he wants to remind people of who he is. He is a self-made man and one who doesn't play when it comes to his career. He breathes opulence but he shares that air, Wilson will never withhold what he has from those he loves.
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Twenty-four-seven he was adorned head to toe in designer with cufflinks priced more than half of anyone's closet, fine fabrics and jackets from other parts of the world, loafers polished down so you can see your reflection on the surface.
Though that list is short and those residing on it aren't exactly known, it was for good reason.
Samuel Thomas Wilson
He lets you call him whatever you like, but he won't answer you if you call him Samuel. Even the first time you met the man at that expensive gala, his name paired with the likes of Stark and other wealth accompanying.
You don't remember what it was for, some sort of benefit but you were there as a guest. That night you never considered catching his eye from across the room. Certainly not in the dress you had for years or the heels you borrowed from a friend.
Behind a sharp glass of amber, Samuel murmured your name to himself. "That's a beautiful name, Angel." And you fought the urge to down the rest of your liquor because of his eyes, his voice, that pet name. Poor thing. You didn't know it yet but he decided then.
"Name's Sam, you can call me whatever you like."
You were to be his.
"Oh, Tony…" You didn't know what to say, your heart rate kicked up when you thought back to his presence in front of you. His rich scent, his smile, even the way his hands wrapped around your fingers when he greeted you.
Tony was the one that spilled it out for you, "Listen honey-bee—" He liked calling you that ever since you wore these earrings with little bumble-bees on them, never forgetting it.
"Wilson asked about you the other night, he's wondering if you're interested in chatting with him again."
Being alone with him? How would you do it? You weren't very used to this kind of attention. And Stark's brown eyes soaked your reaction all up. There was an unreadable pull to the corners of his lips. He could appear teasing or simply amused. You didn't know which.
You didn't know what he already knew.
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Samuel had you in one of his day rooms. There were plastic bags with logos printed on the surface of each, silk ribbons secured around the handles, and all littering the hardwood floor.
You were dizzy counting them, losing track of all the clothes, all the shoes, the jewelry. You'd think the man waved his hand at any item you showed interest in. Any time you stop and let your eyes wander.
You didn't have to say anything, either. You think about how he knew, how it didn't take you to spell it out for him. Samuel could just read it from your face.
He liked to watch you gawk at all of those presents, eating up the fascination in your eyes. And it didn't matter that he paid anything else off for you.
Any debt or bill due, you never saw the balance, all your fees at university seemingly erased. Samuel plucked every stress-inducing financial due from your fingers.
His arms encircled your body, pulling you close so your back was secured to his chest. And you felt yourself lose count of those bags on the floor when he brought his hand to the top of your thigh, positioning your legs to layer his.
The solid muscle that was Sam, you felt you would break in his arms if he wanted you to. If he wanted to keep you there he would, but he was slightly open, giving you an option.
You didn't make any move, didn't want to, especially when Wilson's lips found the space behind your ear. "You get everything you wanted, Sweetheart?"
He held you close and carried on with layering your skin in kisses, holding himself there just to push those shudders from your body. Your hands wrung together in your lap, and Sam drifted from the top of your thigh to hold onto them.
But he still laid a firm hand around you, over the fabric of your dress, and with his thumb brushing over your exposed skin. You gazed out the stretching glass window in front of you, watching the afternoon sunlight, the trees swaying in the breeze.
You couldn't quite find your voice then, so you nodded, tapping your fingers on his skin. He hummed real low in his chest and felt it transfer through your back. "'M'glad, I'll give you whatever you want, Angel. You just gotta tell me."
A flutter soars through your chest and you work to not let it overcome you. He chuckled against your neck, feeling the warmth of your body skyrocketing.
"You tell me anything and I'll take care of it for you, okay?"
His hand released yours and he laid his large palm over your thigh once more, inching so very close to the hem of your dress, teasing the space between your legs.
"Yes sir," You breathe out, watching your thighs part more for him. You don't know what had gotten into you then, it was as if they moved on their own accord.
The smell of him, he was all over you, on your skin, and in your hair. You knew he would be long after you part later that day, his essence clinging to your bones.
His rings brushed along your inner thigh, the chill of the metals pushing you back against him, back into his groin, and forcing a growl from his lungs.
"Lean onto me, Baby."
Samuel shifted a little so that your legs would hook around the outside of his, his hold on your centering between your legs. His biceps encircled your shoulders and you just feel your nails dig into the fabric of his pants.
You listen to him and soon enough his cheek is pressing over your temple, the neat facial hair dragging along your brow. Your lips part when you realize the weight settling in your stomach.
"Mm, just like that."
But you soon let go, not wanting to ruin the expensive material. Sam inhales slowly, murmuring that it's okay, "Don't worry about these pants, Angel, hold onto me if you need."
He was stiff and prodding your lower back, not looking to move away anytime soon. Your teeth chew the inside of your cheek when you think about it, the expanse of him, how heavy he seems.
"I can feel you through your panties. You're soaking aren’t you?"
You both watch his fingers dip down and rub, and rub, over the wet patch on the fabric of your underwear. He doesn't let up, and he makes sure to drift upward to apply pressure to your clit. Your hips chase after him, a whine is bitten down in that quiet room.
He pulls his fingers out of your panties, placing them on your lips and he says to you, "Get them wet, Baby." And you don't even register how quick you are to obey the man, accepting his thick fingers into your mouth and getting them dripping wet with your saliva.
Sam pushes forward and dips his fingers under your hem, under the waistband of your panties, and resumes that same touch. Rubbing and rubbing.
"That feel good? Hm?" He kisses your neck, that hurried pulse against his lips. His eyes watch yours slide shut, and your breaths pick up to an uneven measure.
Samuel grips your thigh and he takes his fingers away, grasping your cheeks and smearing your spit over your lips. "Good fucking girl," he grunts. And he says it one more time so that you can hear it.
"My darling girl."
His palm lays flat on your stomach, and those fingers drop down to your pussy, spreading your lips open and stretching inside. He strokes your walls to the point that you leak, covering his skin and allowing him to move more.
Your head falls to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, hazed eyesight capturing the ornate ceiling with the sparkling chandelier. His eyes are half-lidded, and never leave where his fingers reside. Not his thumb massaging over your clit, not his rings sliding into your dripping pussy
"Just let me take care of you, Angel."
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Taglist - @brandycranby @emyearns I really wasn’t sure who else would like to be tagged in this. Let me know if you are interested!
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French Open: Unseeded Czech Barbora Krejcikova defeats Anastasia Pavlyuchenkova to win women’s singles title
Barbora Krejcikova defeats Anastasia Pavlyuchenkova to become the first Czech player to lift the Suzanne Lenglen Cup since Hana Mandlikova in 1981; in an emotional speech, the 25-year-old thanked her former coach, Jana Novotna, who died of cancer in 2017 Barbora Krejcikova’s dream French Open run ended in a stunning victory as she claimed her maiden Grand Slam title after overcoming Anastasia…
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Pairing: Francisco Morales and Lizzy Miller (named reader). Word Count: 1.6k Warnings: Oral (m receiving). Cum play (blink and you miss it). Author's Note: Set three or so weeks after Stop Fighting It. Frizzy's first sexual encounter.
MASTERLIST | FRIZZY 'VERSE MASTERLIST | Ko-Fi | Ao3
Frankie’s truck is parked in front of the house when you pull up and you barely put your own into park as you throw open the door and run up the front steps.
He’s there, greeting you to your own home before the proper key has even been found, and pulls you inside before closing the door on any prying eyes.
“Hi,” you find his lips, “we have maybe an hour before Will gets home, I don’t know about Benny.”
He shakes his head, hands grip your waist as he pushes you down the hall, “Benny said he’s going to the gym for an extra session tonight.”
“Still maybe about an hour before Will gets here.”
You both reach for the doorknob at the same time and electricity bolts through you at his touch, spreading heat through your veins.
Fuck, you want him.
Crossing the threshold, his hands are everywhere—tugging at the hem of your shirt, fiddling with the button of your jeans—and, God, so is he. Big and broad and unable to make a decision so he says, “tell me what you want, Lizzy.”
“Sit down,” you say, pushing him towards the bed.
The change in angle makes you feel powerful as he sits, his soft hair flowing between your fingers. He moves as if to pull you down, let gravity take you both to bed but you whisper, “no,” into his lips as you scratch your chin raw against the rough whiskers of his beard.
His hands are on your hips, a loose grip that travels searing across your back. His mouth tastes like peppermint covered coffee and the faintest hint of tobacco. It might be your favorite flavor in the world; you can’t imagine tiring of it as you kiss soft and small now against the corner of his lips. The edge of his facial hair. Down the side of his coarse jaw and into the crook of his neck as you pull his head back to expose the skin—taught and tan—to your lips.
Pressing a kiss underneath his chin down to the hollow of his neck, you lick a stripe back up over his Adam’s apple before—
“Fuck,” his whispered rasp reaches out to you.
—kissing his chapped lips gently again.
“Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to do that?”
His hum is all the confirmation you need after weeks of stolen kisses and a string of text message confessionals, “wanna bite it too, don’t you, Miller?”
“Don't fucking tempt me, you taste good enough.”
His laugh is a low rumble, “says the girl who’s still got Reese’s on her tongue.”
“Shut up, baby,” you’re kissing down again over the flat planes of his cotton covered chest as you sink down in front of him.
“What are you doing?” He asks like he doesn’t know. Like he’s completely oblivious to the motives of a woman on her knees.
You hold his gaze, “do what I told you to do.”
He responds in a growl—compliant and soft—as he stands to your attention.
Swallowing thickly as he looks down at you, his hands steady your shaking fingers over the button of his pants, “you don’t have to do this.”
“Do you not want me to do this, Frankie?”
“I do, you’re just—“ another swallow, “—not obligated.”
“I'm aware of that,” you push against his large palms with the backs of yours, “so you gonna help me or what?”
Shoving your fingers to work the zipper, he undoes his button with steady ease and waits for your movements to join him at the top of his waistband.
He hesitates again when you meet him there, nails raking softly down his knuckles as you find his nervous brown eyes again.
“Talk to me.”
He shakes his head, “just nervous.”
“We have been sexting back and for—“
“This is just the first time you’re seeing m—“
“I literally walked in on you fucking your hand once.”
He bites his lip, dragging a steadying breath, “I'm not circumcised, Miller.”
“Is that all?” You release the breath you held and pull the fitted fabric down as he sits, your eyes rolling back before finding his nervous gaze again.
“Baby,” you smile at him, “it's fi—oh.”
“You’re—um…big—” You swallow, mouth watering, “—er than I’m used to.”
“Like I said,” he’s sheepish, his large hand cradling your jaw as he pulls your eyes back to him, “you don’t have to do this. Not tonight.”
“Hey,” you turn your face to kiss his palm, “just relax.”
It’s easier said than done but he melts under your touch as you reach out to gently pull his foreskin back, “is this okay?”
Face soft and warm, a slack jawed Yes falls from his lips as your thumb presses against the weeping head of his thick length.
You press the flat of your tongue against the base of his shaft and trail it up to the tip before taking him slowly in your mouth.”
“Li—Lizzy,” his words are choked on a question and when you look up at him—pulling off of him with a pop—his chest is heaving.
“Was that okay?”
“Perfect, it’s just,” his fingers card through your hair, “it's been more than a few months.”
Reaching up, you swipe your thumb along the swell of his cheek, “you’ve told me.”
“I’ve never really felt like anybody enjoyed doing this with m—“
“Relax, I initiated this.”
He nods his head with a lick of his lips, “okay.”
His breathing stutters as you take him in your mouth again, inching yourself down around him in curiosity of how much you could take. He hits the back of your throat with a soft curse, his grip tightening against your scalp as you ease up. Your hand glides up easily in the wake of your mouth, your front teeth dragging softly against the edge of his tip as you suck his head back.
His moans are small, building in his tightening belly with one hand on your head and the other resting gently against your arm.
“Beautiful,” he whispers, “so pretty with my cock in your mouth, fuck.”
“There's that dirty mouth,” you say, taking a breather while your hand continues to twist and pump along his shaft, “say more.”
“You thin—fuck—“ you sink down on him again, maintaining eye contact, “—think I’m too big now, wait until I cum.”
Your hand is pumping him faster, spurred on by his words as you blink doe eyes up at him.
“I've thought about this mouth so many times,” he sweeps his finger tips against the corner of your lips, “specifically about how spit and my cum would drip from the corners.”
Eyes fluttering shut, you continue working him; your tongue flicking across the salty pre-cum of his head and you hum.
“Fuck, you liked that, didn’t you?” His voice is low, almost impossibly so, “answer me,” he commands, “take me deeper if you liked that.”
You comply, conceding control of this moment over to him under his deep voice and the tone that sounds like bells of praise in your ears.
“That's my girl,” his voice is wet and when you look up at him, his eyes are glassed over, “tell me where you want it, baby girl.”
Taking his hand, you push deeper on him before bobbing back up to circle the tip with your tongue.
He swells in your mouth, bursting hot against the back of your throat and he was right; the corners of your mouth drip with him as your hand pumps him through the last of his orgasm.
He pulls you away from him, cradling his cock in one hand as he fists your hair in the other, and hisses at the sensitivity before looking you over.
“Open up,” he whispers, “I wanna see.”
Proudly, you open your mouth and stick your tongue out for him; showing the remains of nothing but the spend on your face.
His arm flexes, guiding you up to meet him as he bends to you and licks into your mouth with a contented hum.
“Get up here.”
“No,” your head shakes, “we should clean up and go act normal.”
“I want this to be normal.”
You stroke his hair as you stand, knee to knee with his bare legs, “I kno—“
“Fish?” Benny calls out.
“Go,” he whispers.
“Hey,” he calls you back to him as you turn, “face.”
“Shit—fuck,” you grab a towel, wiping at your face quickly, “how do I look?”
He’s standing—adjusting himself in his pants—when he looks over to you again, an up and down, “I’m not the person you should be asking that question of, I'm still thinking about my dick in your mouth.”
A knock at the door makes you jump, Benny’s lilting tone filtering through, “hey, Lizzy, you in there?”
Frankie’s eyes find yours, an apology painted across them. This isn’t how he wanted Benny and Will to find out either.
“Yeah, Ben,” you call out.
“Fish too?” You can hear the smile on his face.
“Yeah, Ben,” Frankie responds and your baby brother’s giggles filter through the wood between you.
“Good for you, sis.”
“Fuck off, Benjamin.”
But he’s walking away, his voice growing distant and giddy, “Will, guess what.”
“I know this isn’t how you wanted them to know,” Frankie crosses from the edge of the bed, “but now that they know, can—“
“We're not going back to bed, Francisco.”
“—I take you on a date? A proper one?”
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"Come here, baby, let your mistress take care of you. You just need to sit down and spread your legs so I can see your cute little pussy. I'll just touch it with my fingers, okay? I'll rub your clit gently until you're begging for my tongue."