#link's clear frames

[lallyloo]

[x]

[kaluwa-del-conte]

Beautiful.

[secretmellowblog]

Wow guys I just found this great character analysis of Jean Valjean! This person lists out SO many of his important character traits, I definitely recommend reading this article if you want to understand Jean Valjean's psychology:

[hottestthingalive]

my hot take as a doctor who fan is that doctor who has never been good or had consistent characterization or plotlines--you just had more tolerance for it being worse when it started, and have more sympathy and nostalgia for older seasons now.

[wonder-worker]

"Hannes Kleineke cites Dean and Canons of Windsor MS XI.B.6, rot. 2, for evidence of a deathbed codicil by Edward IV concerning a dispute between the knights and canons of Windsor"

remember when I said that we don't know what Edward IV's deathbed codicils were as they haven't survived? that there is no reason to automatically assume they were relevant to his son's minority? that it's entirely possible that they weren't very important at all considering how dismissively Croyland spoke of them ("some codicils thereto", with no emphasis or elaboration whatsoever)? I LOVE being proven right <3

[grasslandgirl]

beautiful stranger, here you are (in my arms)

[ACoFaF. Binx/Andhera. Cinderella AU. 6k words.]

There’s a knock on the door.

Binx peers through the window- a young man, hidden beneath the dark hood of their cloak. It’s beautifully made, heavy fabric embroidered at the edges: not frayed or muddied at all, save for a few spots that probably came from their trek through the woods to her cottage. Same with their boots: solid, beautifully polished leather, without a scuff or scratch on them from work or wear. Their hands are twisted together, just barely visible in the dim morning light, peeking out from beneath the split of their cloak. Their face is entirely hidden by shadow, and maybe Binx should be suspicious of a young man of means clearly wandering down from the castle at such an early hour to her doorstop, but she’s long since learned to trust her gut.

So Binx opens the door.

------

or: what if Andhera was Cinderella and Binx was the Prince and Andhera was the Prince and Binx was the fairy godmother?

happy happy happy happy birthday my dearly beloved and treasured casey @aberfaeth <3 here’s to next year’s fic that i’ll start writing too late and rush to finish it in time for ur birthday again sfkjvnskfjbnsfb WHOOPS

you can read beautiful stranger, here you are (in my arms) here on ao3 !!

[ghost-t-cryptids]

Look at my dumb ideas

[lallyloo]

[x]

[rafayelxsylusho]

This was created because I'm ovulating and I was inspired by this art (link here).

What happens when you catch each LI humping a pillow? 🥵🥵

FOLLOW EKAY!!! art is amazing!!!

Full pictures are on Bluesky and X.

"What the hell?" That definitely sounded like Caleb, but the way he called your name was different. Not playful or teasing like usual. It was raw, desperate, almost pained. For a moment you think Caleb must have heard you come home and is calling for you from the kitchen. But the sound comes again, louder and it's clear something is very wrong.

You freeze on the stairs, hand tightening on the railing as you realize the noise is coming from upstairs.

Against your better judgment, you find yourself moving up the stairs, footsteps silent on the carpeted steps. You creep closer to his bedroom door, which is slightly open. You hear him grunt, followed by the creaking of bedsprings. Your stomach twists into knots as you push the door open a little wider, peeking inside.

The sight that greets you steals the breath from your lungs. 

Caleb, is on his knees on the bed, holding with both hands a pillow that is clutched tightly between his legs. His abs flex and tense with each thrust of his hips, the defined lines of his six pack glistening with a sheen of sweat.

A deep moan tears from his throat, your name falling from his lips like a prayer and a plea all at once. "Y/N..." he grunts with a sharp buck of his hips. The metal dog tag you gave him, the one he never takes off, swings and clanks against his chest with every movement.

His face is flushed a deep red, eyes open in concentration as he loses himself in his own twisted fantasy. His dark brown hair falls messily over his forehead, a few damp strands clinging to his skin. He looks lost in his own world, chasing some dark desire that you can only imagine involves you.

You stand there frozen, feeling a confusing mix of shock and embarrassment. You know you should look away, give him privacy, but you can't seem to tear your eyes from the sight of him so consumed by lust.

His breathing comes in ragged pants, chest heaving as he continues to grind against the pillow.

You don't know whether to be flattered, terrified, or turned on. Probably all three. But most of all, you are stunned. You had no idea Caleb was this intense.

The sound of the pillow rubbing against his heavy balls up to the tip of his cock, already slick with precum, makes you squeeze your thighs together.

"Fuck, pipsqueak..." Caleb grunts, "You feel so fucking good, baby. So tight and perfect around my cock." He gives a sharp thrust and the pillowcase darkens with his precum.

His filthy whispers fill the room, painting a vivid picture of the act he wishes he was performing on you. "Gonna fill this sweet little pussy up. Pump you so full of my cum, you'll be dripping with it for days."

Your cheeks flush hotly at his words. You've never heard Caleb speak like this before. It's raw, it's real, and it's terrifyingly intense. A dark shiver runs through you as you imagine him saying those things to you, doing those things to you.

Caleb seems to be chasing something, a release he desperately needs. His grip on the pillow tightens, knuckles turning white as he holds on for dear life. The bed frame creaks beneath him, "Fuck, I need it... I need you... Gonna cum... Gonna fucking cum..." he snarls, hips jerking erratically now. The pillow case is thoroughly soaked, the spreading dark patch testifying to his desperation.

A gasp escapes you as you take an unconscious step forward, the door swings open a bit more. In that same moment, Caleb's head snaps up, eyes flying open wide as he realizes he's no longer alone.

But it's too late. Far too late to stop the inevitable. With a deep moan that echoes off the walls, Caleb's back arches as he finds his release. His hips jerk forward one last time, and thick ropes of pearly white cum erupt from his cock, splattering obscenely across his stomach and chest.

Some of it even reaches his flushed cheek, a single strand dangling from his jawline as he pants harshly, struggling to catch his breath. His pelvis is glazed with his cum, the patch of hair there dripping with his seed.

For a moment, time seems to stand still. Caleb stares at you, eyes blazing with emotions, shock, embarrassment, but above all, hunger. It's like he's seeing straight into your soul and you are frozen in place, your own breath coming in shallow gasps. You don't know what to say, what to do. You are not sure if you should run, scream, or...god help you...take a step closer and let him pull you into his arms.

So you do the only thing you can think of.  You step out of the room, you let the door swing shut behind you with a soft click. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest as you stand there, back pressed against the closed door. You can still picture the look on his face, the raw need that contorted his features. It will be burned into you mind forever.

How can we go back to the way things were after this? 

Your heart skips a beat as you hear an unfamiliar noise coming from Sylus' room. It sounds like...grunting? You pause midstep, standing still just outside his bedroom door.

There's a strange, rhythmic creaking of bedsprings that makes your brows furrow. What on earth is Sylus doing in there at this hour, especially if he's not a morning person? You've never heard him make noises like that before. Perhaps surprising him like this wasn't the best idea after all.

You open the door slowly, maybe he is having a nightmare you tell yourself. Your heart lurches into your throat, eyes widening in shock. He is not having a nightmare, but something far more...intense. He's kneeling on the bed, gripping a pillow tightly between his thighs. The way his arm clutches it, fingers digging into the fabric, suggests a desperate, almost feral need.

His other hand is fisted in the sheets behind him, knuckles white from the force of his grip. The bed creaks and sways with his movements, the rocking of his hips unmistakable even in the dim light. He's panting, low grunts and growls rumbling from his chest as he grinds himself against the pillow, chasing his pleasure.

Shock roots you to the spot, hand still on the door handle. He's looking down at his throbbing cock, watching it, each slow thrust. His hips roll slowly at first, the movement controlled as he builds towards his peak.

"Fuck, kitten," he grunts, "You take me so deep, all the way into that tight little throat. That's it, open wider, take every fucking inch..."

You feel heat between your legs at the sound of his filthy words, arousal dampening the fabric of your panties

Suddenly, his thrusts turn quick and desperate, the arm gripping the bed slipping a bit. The sound of the pillowcase rubbing against him and the slap of his cock against his stomach fill the room. Beads of precum smear across his skin with each thrust.

You can't look away, even as your cheeks burn and your core throbs with need. You know Sylus is seconds away from coming, his thrusts becoming desperate.

He is fully lost now head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, you bite your lip hard, stifling the moan that threatens to spill out. You are not even touching yourself but you can feel your body responding to his fantasy as if it were real. As if you were the one on your knees, choking on his thick cock, gagging for his seed.

You gasp softly as he orgasms, his long moan of "Take it all, kitten... suck me dry" echoing through the room. The sight of his hot cum splattering across his stomach and staining the sheets is shockingly erotic.

There's so much of it. Thick, creamy ropes of cum paint his skin and the pillow beneath him. You can't help but picture how it would feel, the weight of it heavy and warm on your tongue, sliding down your throat. The thought makes your mouth water.

His cock pulses and throbs as he rides out his orgasm, spurting the last few weak drops of cum onto the pillow. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, arm gripping the sheets trembling slightly.

You are about to close his door when you hear his voice again. You freeze, hand still on the door handle, as he speaks.

"You, watching me, made this much more pleasurable, kitten. Don't walk away now."

You should have known you couldnt slip away unnoticed.

Fuck

Three weeks, that's how long you were on a mission and apart from him.

When you open the front door and walk in you notice the house is quiet, too quiet, as you set your bag down by the shoe rack, kicking off your boots.

Your heart flutters with anticipation as you tiptoe down the hallway, the wooden floorboards creaking softly beneath your feet. The early morning sunlight peeks through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the house as you approach the slightly open bedroom door.

"Y/n...fuuuuuuuck"

He couldn't be...was he?

He was.

Your mouth falls open in shock when you see Zayne. He's on his hands and knees on the bed, a pillow placed between his legs. One hand grips the pillow tightly, holding it firmly against his body as he slowly thrusts his hips, his hard cock trapped between the pillow and his pelvis.

His other hand clutches the bedsheets in front of him like a lifeline. His black hair falls forward, hiding his eyes as his broad shoulders rise and fall with each breath. The room is filled with the soft, rhythmic sound of the bed creaking with his movements and the stifled groans that escape his lips. The sight of his muscular back moving with each thrust sends a shiver down your spine and ignites a fire low in your belly.

You realize that he's not just turned on, but he's already found his release once, the pillowcase, now soaked with his essence, testifies to it. He's using the damp fabric, slick with his cum, to bring himself to the brink again.

His cock, the tip an angry, almost painful shade of red, pulses and throbs with need. His balls draw up tight, and his toes curl.

His face, usually so stoic and controlled, is flushed and you can tell he's on the very edge of another orgasm. Your heart pounds wildly as you watch him chase his release, his hips moving more urgently now. His hand claws at the sheets, bunching the fabric in his fist.

Your own body responds with a deep throb of desire. You can feel the dampness pooling between your thighs, the way your nipples strain against the fabric of your bra. But you remain still, a silent witness to the intimate moment, not wanting to startle him.

He yanks the pillow closer, using it for more friction, more stimulation. "Fuck..." he growls "Always so fucking tight... such a dirty girl...making me cum twice"

Contrary to before, he doesn't hold back his noises this time. A guttural moan, tears from his throat as he finds his release. It's followed by a litany of curses, each one punctuated by the jerking of his hips and the pulsing of his cock.

"Fuck... shit... damn..." he growls, "Take it... take my fucking cum..." You are sure the sight of him losing control, surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure, will be seared into your mind forever.

You step into the room and walk towards Zayne, eyes drinking in the sight of him, back glistening with sweat, his hips still twitching with the aftershocks of his climax. As you approach him, he slowly turns his head, his eyes blinking in surprise and confusion as they meet yours. He's still gripping the sheets and pillow tightly.

Without hesitation, you reach out and swipe a finger along the tip of his softening cock, collecting the pearly drops of his release that cling to the sensitive skin. Then you bring your finger to your mouth, keeping eye contact with him as you slowly lick it clean, savoring the salty, slightly bitter taste of him.

"Surprise, honey," you say softly, a playful smirk playing at the corners of your mouth. "I'm home early."

You sigh softly as you remember the last time you saw Rafayel, just a few days ago. He had been absorbed in his painting, hunched over a large canvas propped up in his art studio.

You open his front door and walk inside, a basket of freshly prepared food tucked under your arm. You walk to his studio but he is not in there.

An unusual sound drifting down from upstairs makes you stop in place. It's a soft, strangled noise.

Was that a whimper?

Your brows furrow with concern and you set the basket of food down quietly on the staircase, not wanting to disturb whatever may be happening, but unwilling to ignore what sounds like distress.

Climbing the stairs quietly you approach Rafayel's bedroom door. The whimpering grows louder, now unmistakable. Your hand hovers over the doorknob and you take a deep breath, slowly turning the doorknob. As you push the door open just a bit, you peek through to see Rafayel.

It's not his face flushed a deep shade of red that extends to the tips of his ears or the sweat dripping down his chest that makes your heart skip a beat. It's the way he's positioned on the bed, with a pillow clutched tightly between his legs, his hips rocking and rutting against it with desperate, needy thrusts. His left hand gripping the pillow tightly, keeping it firmly in place as his other hand braces against the mattress, holding himself up.

Desperate whimpers and whines spill from his lips as he grinds his hips against the pillow, his eyes screwed shut in a mix of pleasure and what looks like anguish.

Rafayel pulls the pillow closer, the tip of his cock becomes visible with each thrust. It disappears and reappears, glistening with precum as he thrust against the fabric. It makes your face flush hotly, your eyes going wide as you instinctively press a hand to your mouth to stifle any sound.

"Please... please cutie... let me cum..." Rafayel whimpers "Please, I need it so bad... I can't... I can't hold back anymore..." You've only witnessed him in this state once before, and the memory of that intimate moment together flashes through your mind. The raw need in his eyes as he begged you to let him find release within your warmth and tightness.

A single tear of frustration trickles down his flushed cheek, glistening in the soft light. His abs clench and flex with each thrust against the pillow. "Fuck... I can ... smell her..." he chokes out, his voice breaking with need. The pillow is now soaked with his sweat and the weeping tip of his cock.

It's clear that Rafayel is thinking of you, craving you, desperate to fill you and but he is also having trouble reaching his peak, so you decide to help.

You walk softly towards the bed, as you approach, his thrusts against the pillow falter, then stop altogether. He looks up at you with wide, teary eyes, his cheeks burning an even deeper shade of red.

That's when you see the raw vulnerability and need in his expression, the way he's stripped bare of all his usual composure and confidence. It's both humbling and deeply intimate, a rare glimpse into the true depth of his desire for you.

Sitting down gently beside him on the bed, you lean in close, your lips nearly brushing the shell of his ear and in a soft, encouraging whisper, you breathe out the words:

"Keep going, Raf. Cum for me."

Those three simple words, spoken with such gentle encouragement, seem to be the final push Rafayel needs. His eyes flutter closed, a look of pure bliss spreading across his face.

With a hoarse cry of your name, Rafayel's body goes rigid, his hips jerking forward as he finds his much needed release. Thick, hot ropes of his cum spurt from his fat cock, coating the pillow and his hand as he grips it with white knuckles.

"Such a good boy, Raf," you coo softly, reaching out to gently brush a damp lock of hair from his forehead. Your touch makes him shiver, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours.

You're glad you brought food, because you know you will both need it after the long day and night ahead of you.

You slip the key he gave you into the lock and turn it slowly, easing the door open as quietly as possible. The apartment is dimly lit and you can hear the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic, but otherwise, it's quiet.

Closing the door behind you, you pad softly into the kitchen. You have a plan, start on breakfast, then wake him so he can eat something. He's probably exhausted from his mission, and you want to make sure he has a nice, relaxing morning. Maybe he forgot you were supposed to have breakfast together this morning.

You open the fridge and start gathering ingredients, eggs, bacon, some fresh fruit. You had found a recipe online that looked delicious and you thought he might enjoy it.

The sound of something slamming softly against the wall grabs your attention. Concerned you walk towards his bedroom, leaving the ingredients on the kitchen counter, the sound growing louder with each step. Gently you turn the doorknob and ease the door to his bedroom open, just a little bit at first. But once you open it a little bit more the sight that greets you makes your breath catch in your throat.

Xavier is sprawled naked on his back, body bathed in the soft glow of the lights filtering through the window. His legs are bent, knees up and feet flat on the bed. Nestled between his thighs is a pillow, and you can see his hips rocking slowly, rubbing the pillow against his lenght.

Your gaze is drawn to his cock, standing proud against his stomach. You can see pearly drops of precum dripping from the swollen, flushed tip, trailing down and pooling in his abdomen.

Unconsciously you lick your lips, imagining the taste of his skin, the feel of his body against yours.

Xavier grips the pillow tightly with both hands. His long fingers dig into the fabric as he pulls on both sides, tightening the pillow around his throbbing cock. The soft material squeezes his shaft, providing a delicious friction that has him gritting his teeth.

You can see the desperation in the way he's chasing his pleasure, the hunger that drives him to seek more, always more. His eyes are clenched shut, lost in a world of sensation and desire. A part of you wonders what he's thinking about, what fantasies are playing out behind his closed lids to have him so worked up. 

You don't have to wait long for an answer.

"Fuck, bunny..." he grunts, voice breathless. "You feel so fucking good...ngh...take it all, just like that. Squeeze me... You ride me sooooo good... fuck, you're so tight...so perfect..."

There's no doubt about it now, in his mind, he's with you, lost in a fantasy starring none other than yourself.

His words dissolve into a moan, the sound vibrating through his chest. The signs of his impending orgasm are unmistakable. His thrusts become erratic, the grip on the pillow tightening. His breathing grows ragged and shallow, each inhale ending on a sharp grunt or a moan. The muscles in his thighs and stomach tense and flex.

"Fuck,... I'm... I'm so close... Ah, shit..." Xavier pants. He throws his head back, hair splaying out around him like a halo. "Don't stop...! don't you dare fucking stop..."

And in his head you don't stop because the next second he comes undone. His back arches sharply, pressing himself against the pillow, as thick ropes of hot, sticky cum spurt from his throbbing cock.

The headboard slams against the wall with the force of his thrusts, the rhythmic banging keeping time with the throbbing pulses of his release.

His chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath. The pillow is a mess, soaked through with his release. He collapses back onto the bed, a blissful smile playing at the corners of his lips.

For a moment, you're stunned speechless, hardly believing this really happened. Did he really just...?

Before you can overthink it, Xavier's head turns towards the door, his piercing blue gaze locking onto you. A slow, lazy smile spreads across his face, the smirk of a predator who's just spotted his prey.

"Come here, y/n," he purrs, "I noticed you were there before I came, but I wanted to keep the show going for you."

Of course he noticed you standing there, his hunter's instincts always on high alert. It's no wonder he's the best deepspace hunter. Now all you had to do was walk to him.

Easy...right?

[chiscaralight]

cw: nsfw sukuna x fem!gamer!reader. i hc that sukuna would like prsk and dti lmfao. overstimulation. choso and gojo ver linked at the bottom!

college athlete!sukuna who spots for for the first time on the field. you’re sitting in the bleachers, alone like a loser. most people tend to come with their friends to watch them play, but even in the sweltering sun, you’re still what, playing a game on your phone? he scoffs under his breath and turns his head back to his teammates, locking in for the rest of the friendly match.

college athlete!sukuna who starts to see you everywhere, nose deep in your phone, laptop, switch, whatever it is. it pisses him off for some reason and he can’t pay attention to the group of girls trying to get his attention. what is so important about those damn games?

college athlete!sukuna who slides into the seat next to you a couple of weeks later. you don’t say anything, eyes focused down on your device while the light from your screen reflects off your thin-framed glasses. he clears his throat, but no answer from you. his brows furrow.

college athlete!sukuna who finally gets your attention once you clear the level.

“what the hell are you always playing?”

the question alone has stars sparkling in your eyes as you explain the well thought out lore of your current favorite game franchise. he rolls his eyes at first at your enthusiasm, but he ends up actually getting quite invested in the storyline.

college athlete!sukuna who lets you download games on his phone, only agreeing to play them if you teach him. it leads to a couple of days where the two of you just sit together, his thick fingers trying to maneuver the small device that infuriates him so much it makes you laugh. there’s a solution you have for that, so you tell him to come over later in the evening.

college athlete!sukuna who’s not that outdated, he has a ps5 himself. he plays a sports game with his friends once in a while, but it’s not something he’d say he does often. so he’s a little unsure when you slide the controller into his hand and nudge him to play for a bit while you go change.

college athlete!sukuna who can’t focus on the game, he’s practically undressing you with his eyes. you’re wearing such thin clothing, a slightly loose tank top, and some much too short shorts. unlike him, you’re much too concentrated on the game, missing the way he licks his lips at the sight of your thighs.

college athlete!sukuna who places the controller down practically 4 minutes after you join, claiming he has something else he wants to play.

college athlete!sukuna who ends up with his hand down your underwear, toying with your clit. he makes sure to drag his fingers up and down your slit extra slow so you can focus on your game. but you’re shifting around quite a bit, mouth ajar and eyes struggling to stay open when he slides one in. you're clenching around him a couple of times, before finally letting out a shaky moan.

college athlete!sukuna who’s managed to drag you away from your game with his tongue, fail screen displayed on the tv while his head is deep between your legs, holding your thighs apart while he eats you out. those talented fingers of yours are scratching at his scalp and tugging on his hair, pulling him closer as you start to hump his face.

college athlete!sukuna who’s a little more surprised when you ride him with such ease, your pace fast and steady while he grips the fat of your ass. his eyes are moving between your face and tits that are bouncing oh-so-well, and he just can’t help but fuck up into you, matching the rhythm you’ve set.

college athlete!sukuna who smirks at you across from the class when he sees you the next day. you’re not playing anything this time, eyes surveying the students in the lecture hall until they find his. even with your shirt covering you up so well, he knows just where all the hickeys and bite marks he left are placed, giving you a wink when he sees your smile grow.

college athlete!sukuna who comes over more often, only agreeing to actually play if his cock is sheathed in that ‘gamer pussy’ of yours. and he’ll lean you back, making sure your legs are resting on his arms while his controller is under you. you whine, telling him this isn’t a good position to play, but he retorts by telling you it’s a good position to fuck. your silence is enough for him to fling the controller away and drill into you full nelson just like he wanted to.

college athlete!sukunawho won’t tell you that he does play those games on his phone when the two of you are apart. he’s taken a special liking to one:

Hatsune Miku: Colorful Stage!

what? he’s an athlete. it’s brain-stimulating and it’ll help him keep up his rhythm in the field!

speaking of stimulation, college athlete!sukuna just loves to overstimulate you. he takes pride in the fact that he's one of the only things that can draw you away from an intense match, and he'll make sure you as many times as he sees fit.

college athlete!sukuna who will hand you the disc version of a game you’ve been waiting for for months but couldn’t camp out to get, claiming it wasn’t a big deal. it was actually, he stood in line for almost 8 hours and missed a class, but the way your smaller body was brimming with excitement was enough to put it behind him

college athlete!sukuna who won’t refuse your lips wrapped around his cock as a form of thanks, heavy hand pushing you further down his thick cock while your tongue struggles to move around. such a nasty thing you are, but he’s cumming in your mouth all the same when you moan around his cock.

college athlete!sukuna who suggests that you play roblox tonight while he watches. you agree, knowing it’s just a ploy for him to tell you that you're bad at outfit picking and pick up his controller (yes his, he has a designated controller now) to show you how to get first place in Dress to Impress. and he won. such a clean victory deserves a reward, right? so you’ll have to sit on his face, but not now. he’s about to start another round.

college athlete!sukuna who’s face is blank while he watches you sleep. your shirt is ridden up and your controller is barely hanging from your limp fingers. he’ll turn the console off before scooping you into his arms and depositing you in bed. he’s about to shut the door and go home, but your whiny voice calls out to him to stay.

college athlete!sukuna who bites at your shoulder softly to wake you up. he has an early practice today that he has to leave for but he wants to see you there later on. and no devices, he wants you watching him the whole time.

choso ver here!

gojo ver here!

geto ver!

another sukuna linked to this one here!

[steveyockey]

In the absence of a clear and obvious angle to attack Bushnell’s protest, most likely due to his status as a serviceman that would make outright insulting him or suppressing the news itself scandalous, discussions on Western shores have now taken on the familiar framing of mental illness. In Time Magazine’s write-up of Bushnell’s death, the article finishes with a link to the suicide hotline, and asks readers to contact mental health providers if they are experiencing a “crisis.” Mark Joseph Stern, a writer at Slate, seemingly unasked, also wrote on Twitter/X:

“I strongly oppose valorizing any form of suicide as a noble, principled, or legitimate form of political protest. People suffering mental illness deserve empathy and respect, but it is wildly irresponsible to praise them for using a political justification to take their own life.”

Conviction does not exist to the American. To be willing to die in a selfless act for what they believe in only exists for those outside America's sphere of influence. Many will recall reporting on those who self-immolated in protest in Iran and in Russia for instance where this sort of approach, unwilling to engage with the root of its cause, would not even be entertained, let alone written and published with sincerity. The Arab Spring began with a self-immolation. The self-immolation of Buddhist monks in protest of South Vietnam’s persecution became defining images of the war and its corruption. Within America’s walls however, there is a belief, unspoken and ingrained from birth, that democracy allows for everyone’s voices to be heard and that its representatives are inherently inclined to respond to the people and their widespread wishes.

Desperation at inaction or complicity in terror and atrocity need not apply. Everyone incensed by their government to such an extent must simply have something wrong with them. To be able to go about one’s day knowing that children are screaming from the hunger that is eating their insides and that pregnant women are eating bread made from animal feed, and that the United States is supporting Israel’s creation of this famine, is apparently the real sign of well-adjustment.

Seamus Malekafzali, “The Words Burned Through His Throat: The Sacrifice of Aaron Bushnell,” February 26, 2024.

[thecoochiefairy]

thugga. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 2.3K word count. blackfem!reader, drabble, boyfriend! onyankapon, grumpy!onyankapon, sweet!onyankapon, dominant!onyankapon, exhibitionism, couch sex , black woman, vaginal penetration, rough, lil bit of sweet talkin’, hair pulling, creaming, choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk/aggressive dirty talk, condomless sex, creaming, slapping ass/face, kissing, just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ day 484848489 of liyah’s faithful celibacy pact meaning she’s having the most nasty, egregious thoughts. come back to enjoy my black man fantasies. the links inspired this fic ofc, just wanted to put something out while working on an upcoming full fic. aight, bye.

link. link.

YOUR BOYFRIEND WAS A DEMON. And the worst part about it? He didn’t even have to try. 

Those eyes—he gave them to you at the worst times, and this was truly bad timing. Your elbow leans against the pink of your desktop, slender eyes drooping against the screen of your alabaster IMAC. You’d been on a work call for the past hour, and you were already feeling irritable, tired—over it. The only upside was being allowed to have your camera off. 

Your fingers rake through the dark ocean of your curls, a huff blowing through your nose as you unmute your mic to respond to your boss. But before you could—Onyankopon entered the kitchen.

You knew him, loved him, seen him enough times to know what he looked like with your eyes closed. You just couldn’t understand why he looked so good right now. He’d currently been in and out of the living room as he was attempting to fix the sink, on the phone with one of his friends to pass the time. But he made something so simple look so—sexy. His deep voice carries within the ceiling as he sends a voice memo, his big tatted frame turning a deep caramel beneath the lights, grey sweats showing off the print of his bulge. Your eyes watch his full lips move, the shadow of his grill melting in gold, mouth surrounded by the facial hair on his sharp jaw as forest  green gloves cover his palms. 

You were supposed to be focused on the main speaker of the call, watching the mouse move along the shared PowerPoint for new renovations within your company—but your eyes can’t help but peer over your desktop, watching him work. 

He’d move to the left, his toned body contorted in a way that made your tongue dry, your thighs involuntarily squeezing into each other. His back flexed taut as he reached under the cabinets, heavy hands twisting the pipes below, continuously talking within his phone atop of the counter. 

It’s when he begins pacing throughout the kitchen, tool box now in his hand and his phone pressed against the shell of his ear, that he catches a glance of you—his eyes locking onto yours. Despite his neutral expression, it’s clear that he’s caught you, and your slender eyes glazing over his body tells him everything going on in your head. He knew you.

You almost forgot your boss had asked you something.

Your voice is soft as you mindlessly reply to the computer, “Uh—no questions, at this moment. Sorry.” 

Your boyfriend's gaze is now on your figure, taking in the soft slope of your waist, up to the thick swell of your thighs and hips beneath your loose shorts. He admired you just as much as you did him, if not more. 

“Come here.” 

That’s all you hear. 

You quickly mute the microphone, your voice soft as you reply, “Ony—not now, baby.”

An eyebrow raises at your words. Head now tilted to the side, his dark eyes roam your figure as you sit at the desk, taking in his jersey you wear, leering at the way he knows your body becomes tense underneath.

“You tellin’ me no?” 

There’a a pause, and your silence speaks for itself. There it is—his eyes narrow, his jaw clenches, and that glare comes upon his expression. 

You tried. You really did. But listening might’ve been better than telling him no. The sound of the computer chair creaks beneath you, the tips of your toes just barely reaching the floor as your fingers clamp along the ink branded onto his bicep—your face screws into a pout, your whimpers gaining strength with each bounce on his dick. He’s watching, keeping you at one angle from the way he clamps his palm against the back of your neck, helping you come down.

Your boyfriend was strong, weighted in the right places. Every movement is calculated and precise—a machine. He knew your body better than you did yourself, knew what you wanted even if you didn’t say it—just by the way he’s got you pinned down, legs spread around his lap, one heavy palm against the side of your throat—he’s got ownership of you in moments just like this, when you’re at his hands—his mercy. 

Your brain registers the voices along the zoom call, but your sense is gone in the moment. His hand squeezes at the nape of your hair, your palms finding a resting space on his shoulders as you drop your hips down, a huffing whine passing your lips as your thighs ache in discomfort.

His eyes are glued to your face, your lips parted, your cheeks flushed, the way your eyes roll and thighs tremble around him like a vice— he’s proud about it. Onyankopon’s free hand comes under your thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he holds you. Plop, plop, plop—you’re light to him, almost effortless, and he moves you with ease, always. 

You’re his toy for the time being.

The sound your skin makes, clapping against his in a wet applause from the cream that mixes along his tip, has you burying your face within his neck as you quietly mewl, “U—Ughn…” 

It’s embarrassing with the way he can have you whining. There’s a low chuckle from him, the grip on your hip tightening as you can feel his breath against your ear. Your boyfriend's eyes are all over you, taking in the way you cling to him—the way he’s got you shaking in his lap. 

“You’ gettin’ tight, Mama.”

He murmurs to you, “Gon’ head and put your mouth by my ear.”

And you do—your lips drag along the brown of his skin, finding his lobe as one of your hands rubs along his facial hair. Your eyes roll back again as you whimper, “Oohshit,” your gasp sucking between your lips as you keep your body moving.

His hand comes down, a resounding smacking sound as it connects with the flesh of your ass— it’s loud enough that in that moment, you worry that they can hear it through your microphone.

“Don’t get loud,” he grunts, “You bein’ too good for allat.” 

His words were always worse than the pleasure he gave you. It ignited something within you, something filthy, something horny. Something that could have you forgetting you were on a work call. 

They make you bring your head up, pressing your hands along each side of his face, rubbing continuously at his ears—your skin resounds a loud secretion against his abdomen as you bounce yourself with more effort, eyes rolling as you rotate your hips, “Ohmyg-Ony.”

His face contorts into a snarl, and you can see the gold chains around his neck shift in a way that leaves you mesmerized.

He’s gripping your flesh like a vice, fingers sinking into the fat of your ass, pulling you down as he takes your own mouth, biting, biting, sucking on your bottom lip while he thrashes you onto his tip—your folds kiss at his balls every millisecond, your clit throbbing in return. 

“Youn’ even care, you’ goin’ crazy on this dick—my good lil’ bitch.”  

He’s holding you by your throat now, squeezing as he knows you’re unable to stop moaning. Your own palm comes over your mouth, trying to muffle the whimpers and cries that spill through as you can still hear the voices from the other side of that computer, though faintly. 

“Yeah,” he spanks you in reward, “That’s a good look on you, pretty girl. You listenin’.” 

“I love this dick, baby.”

You gasp into his ear, “I love it sooomuch…”

His grip on your neck tightens, and his eyes are on you now—completely. 

“That’s what I wanna hear. You love this big ass dick.”

You’re so horny. Your hands reach for the back of the chair to hold onto, placing your feet onto the sides of Onyankopon as you rock yourself down, eyes peering behind your shoulder to watch the way your ass claps on the way down. You groan, the sight making you go harder by the second.

Your boyfriend's eyes are focused on the way he splits you open, his gaze hungry, like a predator looking at his prey. His palm comes up, hand connecting to your face as he grunts, “Keep bouncin’ on my shit,” the sound loud and firm enough that the voices stop completely from the computer.

“Everything okay over there?” 

It takes everything in you to keep quiet, your hand clamping over your mouth as Onyankopon responds, “Everything’s cool. She ran to the bathroom.” 

“Alright…we’ll get back to it then.”

The other voices faded back into conversation, and the attention was now back to you, your boyfriend's gaze locked on your form.

“Keep fuckin’ me like that.”

The words are hushed, inaudible compared to the conversation taking place in your headset. He’s not being gentle with you, he never was, and he didn’t plan to start now. He’s just lifting and dropping you on his lap.

“Feels good, huh?” You can see the look on his face, “Soun’ like you wantin’ it.”

“Feelsgood,” you can only cry back in a whisper, you brain firing off babbles as you drag out, “Mmph-shit-ah—,” clamping your mouth shut as you watch yourself—you won’t stop, your legs shake each time the back of your thighs meet with the front of his.

His own thighs are tense to the touch, Onyankopon’s face flushed the same tone as your cheeks, his jaw clenched. 

“Oh—goddamn, look at you,” he’s watching you, too, the way your body slides against him, and the way his grip has your skin painted red. 

He’s groaning, and you can feel the way he thrusts up into you, his hand reaching up to your face, his thumb sliding across the side of your lips. 

“You bein’ good as fuck right now. Just takin’ this muhfuckin’ dick—I’ll kill a nigga behind this pussy.” 

He’s whispering the words into the shell of your ear now, each breath tickling the hairs along your skin. His face is close, so close to yours that you can feel the heat radiating off of him— you could taste it. 

You whimper so softly to him, “Keep sayin’ that,” bouncing, bouncing away.

He grunts, “You hearin’ me, huh? I’ll kill a nigga bout’ this shit.”

He’s saying it to you like a secret, his hand coming up to your chin, tilting your face towards him.

You frown, tears welling in your eyes as you warm, “Baby—I’m…” you moan to him, pressing your face back into his throat as your entire body vibrates. 

“You finna’ cum, I know. Stay here.” 

Onyankopon’s words are simple, but the command in them is clear. His arms wrap around you, nose pressed into your hair as he huffs, “Stay. Don’t be movin’.” 

It’s easy for him in this position, the way that his hips grind up into you, leaving you unable to move at all. Both hands are wrapped around your throat, keeping you in place as he fucks you through your orgasm.

Your body shudders, throat vibrating a moan. Onyankopon’s grip is as strong as it’s always been, his fingers tight enough on you that it’s beginning to make your skin tingle. 

“You close.” 

He’s not asking a question, but telling you so. He can see that you’re on the edge, the way the tears are welling in your eyes, how your thighs are trembling against his. 

You softly sob, voice whiny as tears shudder your vision, “Gimme’ a kiss, Ony.”

“C’mere then. Like you ’suppose to.” 

He pulls you closer, his lips connecting with yours in a slow, deep kiss. It’s enough to bring another shudder through your body, your own hands grasping at his shoulders in an effort to ground yourself. 

“You got it baby— I know this pussy all for me—Lemme’ feel that shit.”

He’s continuously murmuring against your skin, his hand running down the back of your neck, “Come on now, Mama. You’ right there, I know you’ is.” 

His lips brush over your ear, “Let it out. I’ll listen.”

You gasp, one so deep within your chest you nearly lose your breath. Your toes curl as your body vibrates in violent waves, knocking your face within his as you moan out your sobs, the sound dragging with each syllable of it. Your arms cradle his upper body, shaking so bad that holding onto him keeps you from becoming faint. 

Everything is hazy for a few moments. He holds you against him, arms wrapped tight around you as his lips brush over the side of your face. You’re drenching his tip, thighs soaked from the arousal that slicks along his dick, so wet that you can barely feel him anymore. 

His hands keep you from trembling as he whispers against your skin, “You makin’ a mess all over me, Mama. Pretty ass mess.” 

He’s watching you, taking in the way your face contorts, how your body spasms against him—the way all your words are reduced to nothing but soft sobs and whimpers.

You exhale as you feel your body coming down, keeping yourself held onto him regardless. Your breathing is softer, and your face flushes, a small—embarrassed groan pushing from your lips as you immediately bury your face within his throat.

He can’t help the low chuckle that escapes him, a heavy hand running over the back of your hair, fingers brushing through the tresses of it. 

“You gon’ be all shy now?” 

“Ony,”  you pressed your face under his jaw, grunting as you could feel the vibration of his chuckle, “What if they heard me?”

“Then they heard you. Not my fault you’ loud.”

“Onyankopon.”

“You was’ on some typa’ time, girl.”

“Oh my god. I’m logging off.”

You quickly turn towards your computer, clicking on the exit button of the meeting. You slip off of his lap, “Consider yourself a stranger. I don’t know you! Goodbye!” 

You’re already walking towards the bathroom, ignoring his voice as he smirks, “Ooh, girl—Look at allat’ ass—I’m still feelin’ X—Rated! Come back!” 

“No!” 

Onyankopon chuckles, “Aight. Love you too, then.”

[maenefa]

Why does Eowyn want to die?

Because Aragorn won’t love her? Because she feels trapped in her feminine gender role?

These are the explanations we get in the text. However, none of the characters really acknowledge Eowyn’s darkest fear: being taken alive by the enemy.

There are some bad takes on Eowyn that boil down to patronizing her and downplaying the seriousness of her problems. People say that she had a naive desire for glory and Faramir teaches her that war isn’t actually fun. Then there’s the whole “Eowyn was a deserter who selfishly ran away from her duty” argument.

You can only say these things if you ignore how dire the situation was, how close Sauron was to winning, and how gruesome Eowyn’s fate would have been if he won. She knew that death or capture likely awaited her, and she knew that dying in battle was the least bad option. (She also knew her own worth and believed that she was too useful a warrior to be left behind with the civilians. And she was right.)

Eowyn’s actions are ruthlessly practical! She wants to die fighting because that’s better than waiting around for The Horrors. Let’s be real, Eowyn is too sensible to be suicidal over an unrequited crush.

Here are some of her most revealing quotes:

“All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honor, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more.”

“And those who have not swords can still die upon them.”

“Nor is it always evil to die in battle, even in bitter pain. Were I permitted, in this dark hour I would choose the latter.”

“But I do not desire healing…. I wish to ride to war like my brother Éomer, or better like Théoden the king, for he died and has both honour and peace.”

In the end, Eowyn only stops wanting to die after Sauron is defeated. Just before the Ring is destroyed, she tells Faramir:

“I stand upon some dreadful brink, and it is utterly dark in the abyss before my feet, but whether there is any light behind me I cannot tell. For I cannot turn yet. I wait for some stroke of doom.”

Eowyn can’t turn to light and life until the war is over. Hope is too painful; death at least offers “honor and peace.” This passage is so important because it EXPLICITLY links Eowyn’s despair to the outcome of the war and makes it clear that she is not simply having a meltdown because Aragorn rejected her.

There are two important moments where Eowyn is threatened with violence. The very first time we meet her, we are told by Gandalf that Wormtongue planned to turn her into a sex slave after Saruman conquered Rohan. Even though this threat is dismissed quickly, it’s a disturbing reminder of what could happen to Eowyn if Sauron wins.

Then we have the most triumphant moment of Eowyn’s story: her battle with the Witch King. Once again, Eowyn is not threatened with death, but with captivity and torment:

“Come not between the Nazgûl and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shrivelled mind be left naked to the Lidless Eye.”

Eowyn laughs at him and makes sure to announce that she is a woman before killing him. Her victory is all the more satisfying because the Witch King has just threatened her with captivity, loss of agency, the violation of her body and mind—all threats that Eowyn has faced before. But the Witch King’s words continue to haunt Eowyn and us. He threatens to withhold death; and death is therefore framed as an escape, a gift. Eowyn is taken to the Houses of Healing, but she is obsessed with returning to battle and fighting until she dies.

When Eowyn says that she fears “a cage,” this is a brilliantly simple metaphor for the entire spectrum of oppression she has faced: from the well-meaning restrictions of her culture to the horrifying enslavement threatened by Wormtongue.

Once the war is over, Eowyn is able to laugh at her fears. She teases Faramir: “And would you have your proud folk say of you: there goes a lord who tamed a wild shieldmaiden of the North!” Her fear of being caged has been turned into a bit of flirtatious banter. She feels completely safe with Faramir, and the idea that he “tamed” her is nothing but a joke between them.

[thekinslayed]

A Kitten Among Dragons

summary | In an attempt to close their growing distance, Aemond visits his sweet sister to find her accompanied by a furry friend.

pairing | prince regent!aemond targaryen x younger sister!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! v innocent reader, dry humping, making out, aemond teaches his sister dirty things 🫢, slight manipulation, big bad aemond creams his pants LMAO

wordcount | 3.4k

note | this idea came after my heavy disappointment of not having the cats included in the show mixed with the hc that peepaw def favors his granddaughters :) didn't intend this for be this smutty, but i got carried away oopsie

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated! (divider graphic link)

It was hard to deny that Aemond had neglected you as of late. Between organizing battle strategies with Cole, sitting on his brother’s council, and dealing with his own... problems, the second son hadn’t so much spared a brief visit to his younger sister to check on her wellbeing. It was a notion so unlikely of him, you were his favorite after all. This headache of a war was driving them apart, and he would be direly bereft if he would lose you next. Anyone but you. 

But duty was always calling, even more frequent now that he was regent. Hence, as soon as he had dismissed his council, his feet led him quickly to your door. What greeted him was most certainly a surprise, with you on your knees on the floor, bent over while fixating on something underneath your bed.

“Come, kitty! Why do you hide? There is nothing to be afraid of!”

When his initial shock had surpassed, his confusion promptly followed. Aemond cleared his throat, gathering your attention. You turned your head to look at him, greeting him with a quick “Oh hello, Aemy”, before returning your attention to the floor. Your arm was buried underneath the wooden frame in an attempt to reach the little creature, making you huff in exertion.

“What are you up to, my sweet?” your brother asked, approaching your kneeling form. He was tempted to mirror your position to take a peek, but he remained standing. 

“I– Gods, hold on, I can feel her. Come on, little one!”

His brow raised when you finally pulled out the critter from beneath your bed, a triumphant smile spreading on your face. It must have been one of the cats brought by Otto after Aegon had hung all of the ratcatchers. They were littered about the keep, some quite diligent with actually catching vermin while most merely hung about and shat everywhere. Such creatures did not interest Aemond, hence the look of contempt on his face at the one you carried like a babe. 

It was a furry little thing, fur white as snow, but its paws gray as though they were dipped in ash. A green ribbon was tied around its neck, no doubt of your doing. “Why are you keeping one of those things? They are not to be pets,” he scolded, which earned him a frown from you.

“She is my pet. Grandsire gave her to me before he left,” you reasoned, sulkily walking away to plop down on your chaise. Your brother had followed suit, settling beside you to watch you play with the feline on your lap. It looked to be quite young, quivering on its frail legs in an attempt to stand. You watched it with a fond smile, stroking its soft fur. “I have little companion as of late, though she has kept me quite entertained,” you told him.

He couldn’t deny the pang of guilt at your words. Before the war, you had been practically glued to the hip. His days were spent by your side, in the quiet aisles of the library, under the warm sun in the gardens, even in the skies with Vhagar. You would wake early enough to catch him training in the yard, before sharing a meal immediately after. Aemond was your constant companion, your fiercest protector. The war had changed much of that, and he was the only one to blame. 

The prince scooted closer to your side, breathing in your sweet scent. It was one he dearly missed, had thought about on the journey from his victory in battle. “I am sorry, sister. ‘Tis my fault, I have neglected you too much,” he said, covering your hand with his calloused palm. The sparing glance you bestowed him was an arrow straight to his heart, and a stab to his soul when you pulled away, lowering to sit on the floor to play with your kitten instead. It was silent, save for the quiet giggles that bubbled from your lips as it chased the frilly handkerchief you dangled around. 

He figured you were right to keep your space from him, to save yourself from being tainted by his blood-stained hands. You were so good, so pure. You were the best of all of them. It was by some miracle that an innocent being like you was born into their sludgy, miserable lot. You were saved from the madness of a Targaryen, and the greed of a Hightower. No, you were formed from the Mother’s rib, brought into the world with lightness and purity. 

His mother was right to keep you sheltered away, brought devoutly under the faith of the Seven so you may be guided into the righteous path. Perhaps they just might spare you from this brutality, this hell. They may have not saved poor Helaena, but Aemond prayed there was still hope for you. 

A little feline was what you are, in a den full of dragons. Despite the dragonfire in your blood, the egg in your cradle did not hatch. It only hardened into stone after years of hoping, of fruitless waiting. It was what tethered you to Aemond in the first place, forming a formidable bond in your shared isolation. And then he claimed Vhagar, had lost his eye, and then he was not the same. You remained devoted to him regardless, uncaring of cutting yourself on his sharp edges. He was all broken glass, and you were the most pristine porcelain no hand could ever forge. 

“They have brought Aegon back, haven’t they?” you asked quietly, still focused on your cat. Aemond helplessly stared at the back of your head, clenching his fist to prevent the urge to caress your head. You wanted your space, and he would respect that.

“Yes, have you gone to see him?” he replied, to which you responded with a shake of your head. “No?” Your pale tresses swayed with your movement, light and soft like feathers. You had ceased waving the embroidered cloth in your hand, fidgeting with its laces instead. Aemond could only watch as you shifted to hug your knees, head dipping. 

“I am frightened,” you whispered. 

“Of what?” he asked in concern.

“That I won’t be able to recognize him.” Your words made him pause with an odd throb in between his ribs. There was no doubt the state of unrepair the elder was in. All marred flesh, and broken bones. He had lost half a head of hair, and his right ear melted like the Conqueror’s armor that had been plastered to his flesh. It was no sight for you to gaze upon. 

Aemond had a hand in his brother’s agony, there was no denying it. But the fool was in his way. Aegon had been told to do one thing, and yet he had failed to even accomplish such a simple task. He was not needed on the field, nor anywhere else, really. Rook’s Rest was not his battle to fight, but Aemond’s. Although, the younger might have him to thank in the grand scheme of things. His brother’s idiocy made him regent, protector of the realm. Aemond had expected you to be proud of him, to be the first to run into his arms in glee with his new position, but you couldn’t be any farther away from him now.

“My own family has felt like strangers as of late. Mother won’t let me come to the Sept with her anymore, Helaena hasn’t been herself since….” you mentioned, finally turning to face him. Though it had only been as quick as a blink, for you have reclused yourself once more, returning your gaze to your pet. It was amusing itself now, rolling around on the embroidered carpet while wiggling its legs. “I scarcely recognize you.”

His frown deepened at your words, even more so at your indifference. It was true. He had not been himself as of late. He had let his weakness get to him, had allowed his temper to go unmanaged. In a pathetic attempt at reprieve, he let his feet lead him to a place that had scarred him, to a person whom he sought a false sense of comfort. She would never give him that, nor the touch that would effectively soothe him. He had only ever found it in one person, in you. Yet he would not begrudge you, despite all his greed.

But Aemond was weak for all that you would give him, if any at all. He could never go long without the sweet home he found in your arms, in every kiss you would bestow on his scars. In a bold attempt, he reached forward to place his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it softly. “I am still me, hāedar,” he said, gentle and warm. Such manner of speech was unlike the cold, one-eyed Kinslayer, but here, in the quiet of your chambers, he was neither of those things. Not in your presence. A budding hope only ever sparked brighter when you met his good eye, wide-eyed like a doe. You had mother’s eyes, beautifully round, yet none of the sorrow that dampened her brown orbs. Aemond could only hope it stayed that way. 

You leaned into his touch when he cupped your jaw, pressing a soft kiss into the inside of his wrist. It was then your brother finally sank to the floor, sitting flush beside you. With a gentle urge, he opened his arms, beckoning you closer. You were all too eager to bury yourself into his warmth, arms finding their home around his neck. Your melancholic sigh wisped the ends of his hair while he planted a kiss on yours, aquiline nose breathing in the familiar scent of rosemary in your hair. “I prayed for you, lēkia,” you mumbled, lips pressed into the pale expanse of his neck. Your warmth was immediately missed as soon as you pulled away to look at him. “I prayed the gods would protect you in battle, and they did,” you told him, to which he smiled at fondly. Though it was shortlived, for you had frowned at the thought of your other brother who laid in your father’s bed, barely holding onto his life. “Though I hadn’t prayed enough for Aegon, and look what happened to him now.”

Tears had started to dampen the corner of your eyes in a flash, lips quivering downwards. One had been traitorous enough to roll down your cheek, leaving its trail on your flesh. Aemond was quick to wipe it away with his thumb. Large, calloused hands cupped your face, urging you to look at him. “No, sweetling,” he soothed, planting a kiss on your cheek. Thin lips caught every salty droplet that escaped your eyes, shushing the sob that had you hiccuping. Your brother pulled you in close, flush to his chest, to his heart. The heart that only ever beat for you. “Be easy on yourself, sister. The gods have decided our brother’s fate, there is naught else you could’ve done.” His tone was firm as he spoke, though never harsh. With a sniffle, you nodded, before planting a kiss on Aemond’s cheek, a sign of your silent gratitude. The small touch alone had warmed his entire being, had his blood running hotter than it already did. It was agonizing that you remained unaware of what you do to him, of how easily you could make him weak. He could only sigh as you planted your forehead against his. “C-can you do that again?” he whispered. “Please?”

You obliged, planting a kiss on his cheek, then one on the other side. His arm kept you close, silently urging you to swing your leg over his hips to straddle his lap. His loins were starting to stir underneath your warmth, only taking a mere second the moment he felt your weight. Such was your power. You continued to pepper kisses across his face, unaware of how your brother could feel the pulsating from your pearl. With a tilt of your head, you pressed your lips against his in a peck, taking him by surprise. “Aemy,” you had said against his lips. A dreamy hum was his only response, his good eye closed from the dizzy haze you left him. “Do you suppose we could try what you taught me last time?” 

The devil between your thighs resisted the urge to smirk at your request, oozing with desire. He raised a brow at you in question, tilting his head to the side. “Last time?” he asked, feigning curiosity. You bit your lip timidly, absentmindedly trailing your fingertip in circles on his collar. 

“Yes, when you showed me how to…” you trailed off, looking at him with hope. 

“How to what, darling? Tell me,” he urged. You shifted about in his lap, timidly looking away. A squeeze on your hips encouraged you to use your words. “To do that thing with… with my tongue.”

Aemond’s grin widened at your words, utterly triumphant. With a nod, he urged you closer, reconnecting his lips to yours. He started with a simple kiss, then with a thumb on your chin, he propped your mouth open and his tongue slithered into your warm cavern. It had prompted you to do the same, following his lead by licking into his mouth. The hot muscle was quite rough with the little dots that functioned to make you taste, and he had such a distinct flavor that felt quite different from your own.

You tried to keep up with his pace, adorably enough, visibly out of breath once you both pulled away. Your cheeks held a slight tinge of a flush, running straight across the bridge of your nose. Aemond pinched your cheek between his fingers, nudging his nose against yours. “You are quite good, sister,” he teased, chuckling amusedly when you blushed. Your lips stayed connected for longer, exchanging tongues and spit in an easy, unrushed manner that made Aemond feel woozy as though his body was lightened by poppy milk. Through the blissful fog he found himself in, the silver-haired prince started to feel your hips squirm, subconsciously rubbing against his cock.

With a whine, you pulled yourself away. “It hurts,” you frowned, brows furrowing in confusion.

“What hurts, my love?” he asked, ignoring the thumping in his ears in anticipation. He had to be patient in his efforts, calm, lest he scare you away.

Your fingertips found the hem of your skirts, lifting the green fabric to your hips to expose your smallclothes. A damp spot had created a mark in between your thighs, glistening with your arousal. Aemond gulped, resisting the urge to palm the growing stiffness in his breeches at that moment.

Gods, you were going to be the death of him.

“Does it always hurt?” he asked, mouth growing dry at the sight of you. 

“No, but it did the last time we did this. Though it has grown quite uncomfortable this time around,” you pouted. 

What a sweet, innocent little thing you were. There was no doubt you held no knowledge about these things. Your sheltered upbringing and strict lessons from the Septa have left you thinking that the ways of the flesh are of sin, only to be done between man and wife. But gods, there was a world out there Aemond wished to show you. Mother would have to forgive him for many things he has done, including teaching his sister such debauchery. Better him than anyone else, he supposed.

“I can help take that pain away if you want,” he offered. 

“Won’t that be wrong, brother? Septa Luelle said—”

“I know, sweetheart, but it won’t be anything like that, I promise.” Your eyes flickered to look into his good eye as you contemplated, resolve crumbling with the comforting smile he offered you. It only widened as you nodded, his slim cheeks dimpling in satisfaction. His hand on the small of your back urged you to press your weight back onto his lap, guiding hands shifting your hips back and forth. You had gasped upon contact, amazed at the stiffness that had grown in between his thighs. 

“Were you hurting too, Aemy?” you asked, worry painting your features. Aemond bit back a groan, nodding his head meekly.

“A bit, but I am starting to feel better, sister. All thanks to you,” he responded. His words made you smile, encouraging you to move your hips at your own pace. You mewled, throwing your head back in delight. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

With a furious nod, your hips quickened as the funny feeling in your tummy grew. You held onto Aemond’s shoulders to steady yourself, while your brother rested his head on the chaise’s cushioned edge. It was soon evident you were growing tired of using your thighs, and so he planted his feet firm onto the floor, and Aemond’s hips lifted to meet yours. Your arousal had started to stain the front of his breeches, dampening the dark fabric with your cunny’s tears. The thought of tasting it on his tongue was enough to make his cock jump in his trousers, his tip no doubt weeping tears of its own. How wonderful it would be to get a taste of your sweet ambrosia. 

“A-aemond…” you moaned, burying your head into his neck. You held onto him as though you were about to drown, clutching onto the smooth leathers of his doublet like a lifeline. Your release must be steadily approaching, apparent in the steady whines that fell freely from your lips. It began to grow in volume, and Aemond had planted his lips back onto yours to swallow down your moans.

You lapped at him with desperation, spit smearing past your lips, though neither of you cared. Your release broke through you with little forewarning, coming with a cry of his name. Aemond had always thought you beautiful, but as your eyes screwed shut and your jaw fell slack, he was sure there was no other mortal being who could ever come close to your beauty. You looked like a goddess reborn, with your flushed cheeks and glistening lips. The sight of you alone drove him to his end, creaming his trousers like a pubescent boy. It left a clear stain on his trousers, yet he cared little.

“That felt quite nice, won’t you say?” he asked, equally dazed from the high of his release. You bit your lip, nodding, before burying your head into his chest with a giggle. Satisfied, Aemond caressed your back comfortingly, planting small kisses into your hairline.

There was no way for him to ever let go of you, not when he had you moaning his name so sweetly like this. You were his and his alone, his little kitten. He would find a way to make your union happen, to have you both married under the eyes of the Seven before his enemies’ corpses go cold. Hells, he would marry you now, if you wanted. He would find a Septon the moment you asked for it, or have the robes readied if you wished for a ceremony done by your Valyrian ancestors. He would do it all, and he can, now that he was regent. Mother would surely be displeased, with the growing animosity between her and Aemond, and the fierce protectiveness she held for her youngest daughter. But she would have to accept it either way. Who else was more suited to be your husband but he? Aemond would rather see the realm burn twice than have you married off to some insignificant lord. No, none else would hold a truer love for you than him alone. It’s been proven by the gods deeming it fit to intertwine his soul with yours. 

A scratching by his side had pulled him from his reverie, turning to find your little feline. You took her into your arms with a coo, practically shoving the furry thing into Aemond’s face with a grin.

“Pet her,” you urged gleefully. You stayed settled on his lap, much to his delight. Aemond shook his head to refuse, but he could never really deny you, could he? Sighing, he caressed the cat, scratching the spot in between its ears per your instruction. It purred with his touch, reminding the dragonrider of his mount whenever he would do the same with her maw.

“Hm, she’s quite like Vhagar,” he mused. It didn’t take long for him to enjoy playing with the furry thing, spending the rest of the remaining daylight by your side.

Perhaps cats weren’t so bad.

[pralinesims]

WATERDROP OCCULTS - Maxis-Match Eyes

Making occult (replacement) eyes always stresses me out a lot, so that's one project group I usually procrastinate on, but the recent 2 weeks I found some motivation to finish all the occults for my Waterdrop eyes and well, here they are! I tweaked them a lot and finally am satisfied with their looks. In combination with the human eye set they're now a full, proper match to all of the occult categories, hope you enjoy ♥

Things you should know:

For fem + masc frames, infant-elder.

Features a clear, gameplay-friendly sclera.

Alien = 9 colors (+ an evil clone swatch) Vampire = 1 neutral, 8 glowy colors with a custom emission map Mermaid = 9 colors Wolf = 13 neutral, 4 glowy colors with a custom emission map

Available as default, non default & facepaint variations. The facepaint versions are compatible with the basegame.

Compatible with HQ mod, pics taken without it.

Additional info can be found at the download link, please read everything if you're unsure about pack dependencies!

Thanks so much everyone for liking the Waterdrop eyes, I hope you'll enjoy the new occult addons as much as I do! 💋

➔ DOWNLOAD (Patreon FREE)

If you like, please consider to support my work 🖤 ● ALL MY CC DOWNLOADS

[lovscb97]

— stray kids links [maknae line]

tags: maknae line!stray kids x fem!reader, established relationship, use of nicknames (baby, angel, puppy, sweetheart, etc), thigh job, oral sex (f. receiving), face sitting, squirting, oral sex (m. receiving), slight exhibitionism, unprotected sex (do not plz), rough sex, degradation (slut, whore, etc), dirty talk, punishments, begging, orgasm denial, creampie, pain kink, titfucking, praise, hand kink, shower sex, overstimulation, etc

wc: 2.95k

add. notes: hello,..,,...,... sorry for not posting consistently n for taking so long to do this i have been busy w exams as i said but i am almost free!!! in honor of that n both my links posts for skzenha hyung line reaching 2k+ notes, i present to u skz maknae line links :3 also im sorry 2 that anon who recommended i use reddit links i Did put one in from redgifs but tbh im lazy to find good stuff on there so most of this is from twt skjdjfhjhg i hope that is Ok.. anyways enjoy ehe

hyung line ver.

. . .

⥽ … HAN JISUNG: 

link one.

one thing jisung will never say no to is a thigh job from you. he loves the feeling of your plush flesh enveloping his cock, squeezing it ever so slightly between your legs to give him that delicious pressure he so desperately craves. it's always after a particularly rough day that his eyes will light up at your offer too, and before you know it, you're both stripped down and laying on the bed, your frame resting on jisung's warm body as he bucks his hips up to chase the friction which will provide him relief at long last. sometimes, he'll ask you to do the work for him, enjoying the way you move your figure up and down his hardened length until you grow too tired, which just draws a small chuckle from his lips before he's pressing a kiss to your cheek and going back to the task himself. it always ends with him finishing between the crack of your ass, his groans reverberating through the room as he cums.

"oh, fuck. that's it, baby." your boyfriend moans below you, his pretty face contorted in pleasure as you move your thighs up and down his shaft, biting your lip at how his tip nestles itself against you. despite having been too lazy to let him fuck you, your juices still pool between your legs, acting as clear evidence of your arousal and helping in slicking up jisung's cock that's twitching from your onslaught ministrations. "sungie, 'm tired." you whine after a while, your muscles aching from the way you've been lifting them up and down for the last five minutes, to which jisung just huffs out a laugh. he wraps his arms around you, hugging you close to him and presses a kiss to the side of your face that has you smiling. "alright, lemme take over." he starts. "but, once i'm done, you're not going anywhere until you cum on my tongue." he whispers, sending shivers up your spine.

link two.

the first time you tried face sitting with jisung, you were hesitant. what if you suffocated him? what if he couldn't tap out in enough time and died? how would you explain that to your family at his funeral? despite your overthinking, jisung hushed away all your concerns, caressing your cheek with his thumb as he flashed you his signature smile after claiming all he needs in life is your pretty pussy smothering him. you'd gasped at his crude words and smacked him on the arm, but something about his admission had you thinking. after that, it didn't take much longer for you to give in to his fantasies, and once you got into the rhythm of it, you found yourself riding his nose and tongue often. jisung claimed you were his stress relief, and that eating you out made him feel like he was on cloud nine. you doubted his exaggerations, but as long as it made your boyfriend happy, you didn't mind.

obscene slurping fills the room, paired with your cries that bounced off the walls as jisung's tongue flicked through your wet hole. he'd been going at this for the past half an hour, hungrily lapping up at the essence dripping out of you and spreading it all over his face with the way he forced you to rock your hips back and forth. "ah, 'm close." you whimpered, making the mistake of looking down at your boyfriend who's currently got you perched on his mouth. his doe eyes make contact with yours, and you physically melt with the way he's glancing up at you so eagerly. if anything, after your announcement, his actions only get harsher and rougher, and it isn't long before you're squirting all over his face. jisung doesn't mind though, making sure to drink all of it up as he pulls you back down for another round, promising to make you cum even harder this time.

⥽ … LEE FELIX:

link one.

felix is a sensual lover through and through. he treats you to your favourite meal, buys you the clothes you want, takes care of you on your period, and of course, fucks you like he means it every single time. his favourite thing to do, however, is have you on your back with your legs spread and core on display in front of his awaiting mouth. he'll start by pressing wet kisses to your inner thighs, sucking ever so gently on the flesh just enough to make you squirm and grow wet. when he's got you leaking on the sheets, that's when he'll part you by the knees and dive in, warm tongue flicking out to caress your clit with its tip as you writhe under his hold. he does it so passionately too, enjoying the way you spray on his tongue and let out low noises which echo through the room alongside his lewd actions. he'll always milk at least one orgasm out of you before he even thinks of sinking inside you, but if you're being honest, you're sure doing that is much more pleasurable for him than actually fucking you.

"mm, lixie, baby. that feels so good." your mouth parts open in a soft gasp, feeling the way your boyfriend nudges his nose against your nub as he sticks his tongue out to lick inside your opening. you're sure that you're a mess of your own juices and felix's spit by now, but neither of you seem to care with the way he's swirling his wet muscle against your folds, too engrossed in his goal of making you cum all over his face. every so often, he groans lowly into you, causing the vibrations of his noises to rush through you as you clench around nothing. "c'mon, angel. give it to me." felix mumbles after pulling away momentarily, making direct eye contact with you as he moves back to push his tongue right against your swollen bundle of nerves. a few more deep licks and sucks from him have you falling apart in a silent scream, felix helping you ride out the tides of pleasure before he kisses his way back up your body. he's all smiles when he reaches you, which only prompts you to pull him in close to you. god, how you loved him.

link two.

your boyfriend may be the epitome of perfection, but one thing you debate felix loves as much as you are his gaming sessions with his friends. it's gotten to the point where he'll spend hours on no end punching buttons on his controller and cursing at enemies in front of his computer screen, too focused on his current round to pay you any attention. you've thought long and hard on how to get him to stop or at least give you some of his focus, and the only solution is obvious: sex. so, when felix is in the middle of a break, you take your chances, sinking to your knees and situating yourself underneath his desk much to his obvious confusion. his eyes widen when your fingers quickly make work of unzipping his shorts and tugging them down, small hands running across the fabric of his boxers as you bite your lip at the way he chubs out instantly. before he can even protest, you're yanking them off and taking him in your mouth in an instant. safe to say, his game is long forgotten after that.

felix's brows shoot up when he returns to find you waiting for him under your desk, mouth going dry when he sits down and you immediately go to take his cock out. the first press of your soft lips against his semi-hard length almost sends him spiralling, and he blames that on the fact that he hasn't touched you properly in the last day or so. he reckons that's why you're being so needy right now, watching with hooded eyes as your warm mouth wraps itself around him. he hisses at the sensation, heart thumping against his chest in alarm when his friends ask if he's okay from the other side of the call. "y-yeah, just stubbed my toe." felix lies, biting back a groan at the way your tongue licks at the underside of his dick. "pay attention, baby." you hush after pulling off of him, not even giving him a chance to recuperate before you're pushing him back in your mouth. he can hear his friends scolding him for being afk from his headphones, but their complains are far from his attention. all he can do right now is try not to cum on call, sinking back in his gaming chair as he locks gazes with you.

⥽ … KIM SEUNGMIN:

link one.

you know seungmin like the back of your hand, so you're well aware of the fact that he takes very lightly to your teasing and efforts to rile him up. on days where you decide to act out in front of his friends, he'll clench his jaw and go quiet in public, grip around your thigh tightening at most as he monitors your next moves carefully. nobody will suspect anything of it due to his nonchalance, but once he's got you back in private, that's when his facade comes crashing down. you won't even be able to speak before he's dragging you off to your shared bedroom, ripping you out of your clothes and manhandling you onto your stomach. you get no chances to protest either as he slides in without warning, your pained yelp for him to slow down falling upon deaf ears when he snaps his hips into yours with erratic thrusts. he'll degrade you and edge you until you're crying, truly looking to break your mind and body by the time he's done. he knows you'll misbehave again in the future, but in that very moment, at least he's got you right where he wants you: spread-legged and taking his cock like the slut you are.

"s-slow, minnie. hurts." you hiccup, broken words muffled when your boyfriend just pushes your head down into the sheets at your efforts to ask him to go easy on you. his scoff can be heard from above you, and you whine at the way his movements seem to pick up even rougher than before, arms pinned to your side as seungmin's body weight cages you in underneath him. "oh, please. you like the way it hurts, like it 'cause you're nothing but a whore." he taunts, his voice dripping with venom as you simply moan at his words. his balls slap against your clit with the way he's thrusting in and out of you, and all you can do is lay there and take it, your high rapidly approaching for what feels like the nth time today. "don't you dare fucking cum." seungmin growls when you clench down on him, leaving you begging wetly as your limp limbs give out on you. you're about to tether off the edge when he pulls out suddenly, laughing sadistically at your protests before pushing in once more to resume his actions. he repeats this over and over again, eventually filling you up but leaving you denied as punishment.

link two.

you've recently discovered your favourite way of making seungmin cum, and that's with your tits. it's especially on days when you can't be bothered to undress and get in the mood whilst your boyfriend is feeling insatiable that you'll resort to this, stripping out of your shirt and getting down on your knees in front of him. it doesn't take long after that to have seungmin's leaking cock snuggled between the valley of your chest, both your tits squeezing it in a soft hug as he groans with closed eyes. some days you don't even bother taking your bra off, using it as leverage for making sure his dick stays between your breasts. it's even more enjoyable for you despite not being able to cum, because the way seungmin becomes reduced to a whining mess through your actions fills you with pride. if you're feeling particularly like putting in the work, you'll wrap your lips around his tip just before he's about to cum, feeling it twitch against your tongue as your boyfriend empties himself in your mouth.

it's two in the afternoon when you find yourself giving seungmin his fourth titjob of the week. he's got you in front of him while he's seated on the couch, legs spread as his hard length stays encompassed between your chest which rubs itself up and down. despite being a mess of spit and precum, you're mesmerised by the way your boyfriend's aching red tip catches between your boobs, biting your lip before sneaking a glance up at his fucked out face. it's seldom you see him so desperate, but recently you've been blessed with the sounds of his airy moans more often, realising that this activity may have become his favourite way of getting off. "doing so good, puppy." you coo, not missing the way he twitches between your breasts at your words. his last straw is when you wrap your lips around his tip and suck slightly, a barely audible warning escaping him as he creams onto your awaiting tongue.

⥽ … YANG JEONGIN:   

link one.

jeongin is well-known for having large hands and slender fingers, his long digits always being the main reason behind your fascination with his body. you like the way they wrap around your waist or back, making you feel protected whenever your boyfriend is near you, especially when you're both out and you can feel other men staring at you. it reminds you you're his. it's in the way that they're so much bigger than yours too, easily being able to take both your hands in only one of them. something about it turns you on to no end, which is why you often find yourself with your hands pinned behind your back in one of jeongin's, a sinister smirk etched across his beautiful face as he fucks deep into you. he'll mock you for your little obsession, the way his voice is laced with condescension leaving you pooling wet around him which only makes him tsk and ram into you even harder. deep down though, you know he adores the way you're so easily pliant for him.

"innie! innie, please." you choke out into the pillow that's currently got your face stuffed in it thanks to your boyfriend, hearing him sneer at the way you try and move around under his hold. jeongin has both your arms gripped in just one of his hands behind your figure which is laying on your stomach, his movements quick yet deep with the way he rolls his hips to drive his cock into you. "like my hands, sweetheart? like them so much that you're dripping ever since i pinned them behind you, huh?" he mocks you, grunting as he speeds up his thrusts. the way he's drilling into you makes you see stars, and the dirty sound of skin slapping being the only thing resonating throughout the room besides your moans is all is takes for you to cum around him soon enough. you reach your peak with a wail of jeongin's name on your lips, clenching when you feel his fingers squeeze in below your body to flick at your swollen clit. "don't run, take it." jeongin growls, pushing your head into your sheets once more as you drool all over the comforter.

link two.

you're not sure when it started, but recently, having sex in the shower has become a reccuring occasion for you and jeongin. maybe it's the fact that you're both busy throughout the day and it saves time to engage and clean up together under running water simultaneously, or maybe it's because jeongin is just always looking to fuck you with his high sex drive, but it's definitely become a game changer for your relationship. you know he likes the way your tits are lathered with soap, bouncing from the frequency of his thrusts inside you as you lean a hand against the wall to support yourself. jeongin also always makes sure to steady his grip on you before fucking up into you under the warm stream coming out of your showerhead, groaning into your wet ear as he pulls you back by his large palm splayed across your hip. he likes the way your moans echo off the walls in the small bathroom you both share, always making sure he's giving it to you good regardless of where you both may be.

the splatter of water cascading down your bodies drags you out of your thoughts, a low noise rumbling from the back of your throat as you feel the heavy drag of your boyfriend's cock pushing in and out of you. he's got you arching your back, pulling you back on him every now and then in a way that makes his cockhead press up against that spot inside you deliciously. if you were in a hurry to go somewhere, you know you surely would've been late with the way you keep cumming and asking him for more, unable to satiate the spiking desire that's been burning through you since this morning when jeongin opened the door and asked if he could join you in rinsing off. "fuck, angel. not gonna last long." jeongin swallows, mouthing at your shoulder as you let your head fall back against him. "don't care. cum in me. cum inside, baby. please." you keen at a specifically harsh thrust, mewling when jeongin's thumb finds your engorged nub, rubbing it in quick circles to get you there at the same time. a scream rips out of you as the coil in your stomach eventually snaps, and you shudder as jeongin's seed spills warm inside you.