#Pepper FF

[kafuthesilly]

GAGHh been doing lots of things lately so i didn't have time to draw

But heres this goofy thing for an AU I'm doing rn,,

[piquusworld]

lalala

[dr-peeber-hater]

Yesterday my boyfriend figured out that I don't like dr pepper and damn near lost his mind. He follows my Tumblr. And my reddit. Most of my handles are dr-peeber-hater. HOW DID HE NOT KNOW

(for the record, I don't like dr pepper because I only like warheads soda and grape soda. And even then, only really warheads. The carbonated part of soda always burns my mouth for some reason)

[scenetocause]

no one asked for this but i was in the kitchen makin instant ramen and poleaxed by the thought of landoscar puppy play post-melbourne in the style of a fic i thought was gemjam's but now can't find where mark webber gave his then-protegee mitch evans a collar to help with homesickness anyway whatever have some fuckin words

edit: fuck's sake cassian obviously it was a collar and a kiss by zeraparker

mild warning for hopelessly undernegotiated kink

"Don't you ever get homesick?" Oscar could count the number of people he'd less like to be having this conversation with than Lando Norris on one hand and one of them's the bored immigration officer who had to tell him he'd not got his passport stamped right in Doha.

Lando snaps his gum, looking up to the ceiling like he's actually thinking about it. "No? Not really. I was sick of fucking Bali over Christmas, jesus and I don't want to go back to Dubai but like, home is everywhere innit?"

"No." Oscar closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose. Obviously Lando doesn't experience this, he could literally drive to his parents' house on half a tank of fuel, straight out of the MTC car park. Straight from Oscar's flat, where for some reason he's letting Lando crash as though him seeing the post-Australia comedown is a good idea.

"Hmm." Hearing Lando think is always disturbing. "Well, what can I do about it?"

Oscar has to open his eyes again in disbelief. 'What do you mean do about it?"

Seeing Lando cocking his head on one side, like a dog, makes something painful sear across Oscar's temples. "You're sad, I want to fix it. Max always-"

"Don't tell me about that." He can't hear about Max Fewtrell right now. The guy haunting the garage all weekend was enough. Oscar doesn't need a reminder he's not Lando's first anything, needs to keep the thoughts about breaking up with his girlfriend so they can properly be a thing to himself.

"Well." Lando is literally sitting on his hands. "Then you have to tell me about it yourself."

Thing is, this is too much. It's not the kind of thing he should share with Lando. Lando who he just got team-ordered for, Lando who he needs to match the tyre management of, Lando who will sit there and smile angelically and get his fucking way on anything they ever diverge on about feedback.

Oscar's clenching his jaw so hard he can almost feel the ache where they took his wisdom teeth, though. Another thing he didn't know he'd really miss this much.

"You can't fucking laugh at me." Why's he said that, for fuck's sake? Lando laughs at everything, would probably do it at a funeral in his weird, stressed-out way when he doesn't know how to socially behave.

"Ok." Lando's eyes are very big and he's looked up from his phone. "I can order TimTams on Uber Eats?"

That's actually quite sweet. But not what Oscar needs right now.

"Just - stay here." Lando's fucking weird, he's probably into some of this shit himself. If not something freakier, lying around his Monaco flat in a gimp mask, suffocating himself or god-knows-what shit.

It doesn't take long to find the box. Oscar's consciously never accumulated too much stuff in this flat, like he might have to move out of it any time. Like everything might have to go in a suitcase because the contract review board said it's over, kiddo, go back down under and pretend you understand your dad's business enough to pay him back.

It's not got very much in. Oscar doesn't like to wear too much, when he's like this. Just a t-shirt and shorts or his boxers. He doesn't think he's ready for Lando to see him shirtless, like this, make his eyes crinkle up in glee at how much of Oscar he can touch.

It'd be better if Lando did it, if someone put it on for him but that's too complicated to ask for, so Oscar does it himself, mostly. Puts the soft shorts on, an old Prema shirt that's a little too tight to wear outdoors but feels comfy, soft, reassuring on his skin.

The ears are easy but the collar. He can't do that, himself. Can't give himself the ball, the well-chewed, if pristinely laundered, beanie toy. Whines, unhappily, about it.

"Osc-" obviously, Lando heard him. The sounds of him chaotically standing up, nearly falling over Oscar's rug and stumbling towards his bedroom door, are already clattering through the flat. "Can I come in?"

He just whines again, an animal thing. Oscar needs permission, like this, doesn't give it.

"Ok you better not be dying because I never finished the first aid-" Lando stops in the doorway. "Oh."

Oscar sinks to the floor, his knees bending beneath him, shoving the box at Lando before he folds down on his knees and elbows, looking up at the guy he's supposed to do anything to beat.

"Good..." Lando moves his mouth around for a moment, licks his lips. "Puppy?"

He doesn't have a tail to wag, although he has thought about one of the plugs, sometimes. Objectively, the bit of Oscar's brain that's still somewhat functioning says wiggling his arse must make him look ridiculous, especially when he paws at the box and whines again.

Lando crouches down, touches the ears. "Do you want to go out?"

Oscar cringes back, shaking his head violently. God, imagine the headlines.

"Ok." Lando does his head-cock thing again, then sticks his hands into the box. "Do you want your collar?"

It's pretty shameful, the way Oscar crawls forward so easily, smushes his face against Lando's knee and maybe he should have asked about this properly but Lando goes easily, scritching behind Oscar's ear. "Oh you're such a good boy, look at you."

Lando fumbles the collar for a second, not getting the buckle right the first time and it's nearly uncomfortable enough Oscar stands up, right back out of it but then it goes and it's snug and tight and good, Lando's hand in his hair.

"Are these your toys?" Lando shifts to kneeling, lets Oscar get his head right in his lap, nuzzling against Lando's stomach through the pouch of his hoodie. He doesn't need to answer that one, it's pretty obvious.

"Well, I don't think Oscar would want you breaking his stuff, so I'm going to leave the ball here." The third person is a jolt, like a nod to camera but it feels right. Oscar is elsewhere, can worry about that later.

"Come on then, good dog." Lando stands up, with the beanie toy in hand. It's a koala, a stupid joke. "Come and play, then."

It's not a comfortable flat to get through on your hands and knees, hard wooden floor jarring him in a way that'll probably bruise a bit, tomorrow. Lando's walking easily, waggling the beanie like he thinks he needs to keep Oscar interested.

Not Oscar. Puppy. It feels good.

Lando pushes the coffee table away, scraping on the floor in a way Oscar's landlord will probably have an opinion about when he comes to pay the deposit back. But puppies don't worry about that kind of thing, so Oscar just crawls over to where Lando's sitting, legs spread and outstretched, on the rug.

"Come on," Lando holds out the beanie, waving it by Oscar's mouth. "You want this, yeah?"

Oscar growls, nips at it. It's not the toy he wants, really, just the -

Ah, perfect. Lando pulls Oscar forward by the toy, right on top of him as he leans back. Oscar can paw him like his, Lando laughing delightedly and twisting away.

It's - he's seen the video, McLaren posted it for some national day or something last year - the same way Lando plays with his family's dog. Silly, rolling around the floor, letting Oscar half-hump him while Lando's shrieking and trying to get out of his grip, only to dive back in, wrestling with Oscar.

The rug scoots across the floor under them and they nearly crash into the telly, Oscar ending up on his back, against the sofa, Lando tickling his tummy but the toy in Oscar's mouth, triumphant.

"Are you submitting? Are you letting me lead the pack?" It's a bit on the nose but yeah, maybe. Oscar kicks out a leg, half-heartedly, to show he isn't always going to be ok with that.

"What a good boy." That, he is always ok with. More than human-Oscar would like to admit.

Lando lies down next to him, face a bit flushed and eyes bright from playing. "Always wanted a dog. You can even come to all the races."

[jesperr-fahey]

drawfee fans help me i'm confident that jacob drew final fantasy xiv fanart on an episode at some point. but i cannot find it!! i watched the two fanart episodes but it wasn't those. help

[silyabeeodess]

MASTERPOST CHAPTER 3

Page 7 to Page 13 CHAPTER 5

And so ends the Fusion Future Arc!! Thanks so much for everyone following this so far! :)

Edit: Since Poppy's nano power was already mentioned in a previous chapter, I removed the text box noting it here. 

[bbrookie-lynn]

Help writer's block is ruining my life rn

Literally all I want right now is a nap, caffeine, another nap, some more caffeine, and the fucking motivation to write for once in my life. It’s been months since my last chaotic burst, I’d like the next please.

[punkrockisafulltimejob]

I firmly believe that the removal of the audio jack from phones is what led to the epidemic of people deciding they can listen to whatever they want out loud in public. You can't just walk into the dollar store and get a cheap pair of earbuds to plug in to your phone, you have to either find a pair of Bluetooth headphones or a conversion plug to allow you to use the standard 3.5 mm jack via the charging port. It didn't help that I'm sure many, many, many of us were listening to audio/video out loud at home during the covid shutdown, and the behavior probably carried over when we started going back into public settings. But would that behavior have carried over if we didn't remove the audio jack in the first place?

Furthermore whoever removed the audio jack from phones should be grilled in front of congress. The fact that I need a dongle to listen to music on a modern telephone while 20 years ago I could have simply plugged a universally standardized cord into the audio jack everyone knew how to use is an anti-human move that should be punished.

[pepper-steam-milkshake]

AITA for telling them to be fucking quiet because im trying to be awake in my room late at night

hi. i (college-age, gender) live in dorms. quiet hours are at ten pm. for the past several minutes i have heard fucking hammering in the room above me. being promptly fed up with this shit, i sent a message to the discord along the lines of “hey can you stop fucking doing that it is 11:30 at night and i can hear you, if you dont im coming up to exchange some words, sincerely the person in the room below”. i have received no response.

some facts

- this is not the first time they have made loud noises above my and my roommate’s room in the middle of the night

- i have not said anything to them before, supposedly she has once

- she is also a very nice and doesnt seem like a confrontational person

- i have tolerated this. for half a year

- again quiet hours are at ten

- it deadass sounds like they are fucking hammering at this hour

- just because im not sleeping doesnt mean i dont deserve quiet

- considering going up to go “hi can you stop”

[rainisawriter]

what's your favorite beverage and does it change seasonally? I adore PSLs and have been thinking of getting into iced coffee with other flavors so I can have it outside of the fall

My favorite beverage will ALWAYS be Dr. Pepper

But since I can only have one every blue moon, I also enjoy sweet tea and sprite (no caffeine version)

I love pumpkin spice drinks, but it's hard to find non-coffee versions lol I'm really not a fan of coffee. I do love the vanilla bean Frappuccino from Starbucks and the oreo or strawberry slush from Kung Fu Tea. Honey milk tea or chocolate milk tea with Boba are also amazing 👏

[wigetino22]

Padre amado celestial porfavor pegale al hijueputa caremonda chupaverga mamahuevo sapo retriple triple hijueputa consumidor de series como 9-1-1 y cualquiera que diga que los policías son re bacán unos terribles rayos y/o algun tipo de desastre que solo le afecte a el Y a su CASA

[theinfinitedivides]

apparently Ji Won has no spice tolerance. idk if i should be laughing about that but i am

[evolution-shack]

Me doing art again? In your dreams /hj

[novaursa]

Legacy (the judgment)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: what was promised

- Next part: high heart

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi

The throne room was filled with an oppressive air, its gilded walls and high ceilings doing little to mask the dread that radiated from every corner. The Iron Throne loomed at the center, its jagged blades catching the low light, casting specters over the assembled crowd. Tywin sat upon the throne with his customary air of authority, his expression a mask of calm indifference as his sharp eyes surveyed the hall.

To his right, you sat in a high-backed chair, your posture regal despite the lingering discomfort of childbirth. The seat felt hauntingly familiar, the same place you once occupied during your father’s reign, though the room had changed. Gone were the dragon motifs and Targaryen heraldry—now replaced with the lion banners of House Lannister. Yet, the weight of the past lingered, a silent reminder of the cycles of power and loss.

To Tywin’s left sat Cersei, resplendent in a golden gown that mirrored her father’s austere demeanor but failed to hide the venom in her gaze. Her green eyes were fixed on the empty space where Tyrion would soon stand, her lips curling in disdain.

The other judges sat further below, Lord Mace Tyrell looking uncomfortable in his ceremonial robes, his ruddy face betraying his nervousness. Beside him, Prince Oberyn Martell leaned back in his chair, his expression one of casual amusement. His dark eyes flicked to you, his lips quirking into a faint smirk as if to say, How fitting that you’re back here, of all places.

You met his gaze briefly but offered no response, your attention shifting as the heavy doors of the throne room groaned open. A ripple of murmurs swept through the crowd as Jaime entered, his golden hand gleaming in the torchlight as he escorted Tyrion toward the throne.

The crowd fell silent as Jaime stopped before the throne, his green eyes flicking briefly to you. His expression was unreadable, but there was a tension in his movements, a subtle stiffness that betrayed his unease. Tyrion, by contrast, wore a mask of sardonic calm, his lips twitching with what might have been amusement as he glanced around the room.

“Lord Tyrion Lannister,” Tywin’s voice rang out, deep and commanding, silencing even the faintest whispers. “You stand accused of regicide, the murder of King Joffrey Baratheon. How do you plead?”

Tyrion raised his chin slightly, his sharp eyes meeting Tywin’s unflinchingly. “Not guilty,” he said, his voice clear and steady, though a flicker of defiance danced in his tone.

Cersei scoffed audibly, her hand tightening on the armrest of her chair. Tywin’s gaze remained fixed on Tyrion, his expression unmoving as he nodded to one of the attendants. “Proceed.”

The trial began with a parade of witnesses, each more damning than the last. Servants recounted Tyrion’s sharp words to Joffrey, the veiled threats that had peppered their interactions over the years. Cersei herself gave testimony, her voice thick with feigned grief as she painted her brother as a monster, a jealous schemer who had always resented Joffrey’s ascension.

You watched in silence, your hands folded neatly in your lap. Though your face betrayed nothing, your heart clenched as Tyrion sat through the onslaught, his expression growing darker with every word.

Oberyn leaned forward slightly, his fingers tapping idly against the armrest of his chair as he observed the proceedings. He caught your gaze again, his smirk returning, but this time there was something sharper in his eyes, as if he were silently assessing your thoughts.

When it was Jaime’s turn to testify, he hesitated for a fraction of a second, his gaze flickering to Tyrion before he spoke. “My brother has always been… direct,” he said carefully, his tone measured. “But he is no murderer.”

Cersei’s scoff echoed through the hall, but Tywin silenced her with a single look.

The trial continued, the accusations piling higher, the weight of the evidence threatening to crush Tyrion beneath its sheer enormity. You shifted in your seat, your gaze drifting to Tywin. His face was as unreadable as ever, though you had spent enough time with him to sense the faint strain in his posture, the unspoken calculation behind his silence.

As yet another witness took the stand, you glanced at Tyrion. His head was slightly bowed, his hands clenched on the table before him. For all his bravado, that strain now was beginning to show.

The sinister athmosphere in the room grew thicker with each passing moment, the weight of the accusations pressing down on everyone present. And yet, through it all, a single thought echoed in your mind: This is a performance, carefully orchestrated, a game with stakes higher than anyone here realizes.

The sound of the witness’s voice droned on, but your focus remained on the players of this deadly game, each one a piece on the board, moving toward an end that none of them could fully foresee.

The memory was vivid, as if it had only just occurred. You had been in Tywin’s chambers, a place that had become strangely familiar to you in recent weeks. The hearth was ablaze, its warmth filling the room as you cradled your newborn son in your arms. Damon stirred slightly, his tiny fingers curling around a strand of your hair as you hummed softly, swaying gently to soothe him.

Tywin sat at his desk, his quill scratching against parchment as he worked tirelessly on matters of state. Scrolls and letters were piled neatly before him, his focus unshakable as always. The faint clinking of his signet ring against the inkpot punctuated the silence. Despite his formidable presence, there was a strange domesticity to the scene, a quiet rhythm that had developed between you.

But the peace of the moment was fleeting. You had been turning over your words for days, waiting for the right time. Finally, you spoke, your voice soft but steady.

“What will you do with Tyrion?”

Tywin didn’t look up immediately, the quill pausing only briefly before continuing its path across the parchment. “Tyrion will stand trial, as is proper.”

“And then?” you pressed, shifting Damon slightly as you sat on the edge of a chair near the hearth.

He set the quill down, his sharp green eyes meeting yours, a flicker of irritation flashing across his face. “Justice will be served.”

You exhaled slowly, your fingers brushing over Damon’s soft hair. “Justice, or Cersei’s version of it? You know what she wants.”

“Cersei’s emotions are irrelevant,” Tywin said firmly, leaning back in his chair. “She may cry for blood, but she does not dictate the law.”

“Does she not?” you countered gently, though there was an edge to your tone. “She’s already laid the groundwork, turning the court and the people against Tyrion. And you’ve allowed it.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent, his gaze locked onto yours.

“Tyrion is your son,” you continued, your voice softening. “You may not show it, but he is. And whether you care to admit it or not, he’s more like you than anyone else.”

Tywin scoffed faintly, though the reaction was muted. “Tyrion is a disappointment. He always has been.”

You shook your head, cradling Damon closer as you leaned forward slightly. “He is clever, resourceful, and determined. Just like you. You may not approve of how he uses those qualities, but they are the same ones you value in yourself.”

Tywin’s gaze darkened, but he said nothing, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as he regarded you.

“If you allow Cersei to destroy him,” you said quietly, “it will only weaken the family. Tyrion may not be the son you wanted, but he is the son you have. He has proven his loyalty to this house time and again, despite how you’ve treated him.”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line, his silence heavy with unspoken thoughts.

You looked down at Damon, his small, peaceful face a stark contrast to the tension in the room. “You care deeply for legacy, Tywin. I know that better than anyone. But legacy is not just power and gold. It’s the people who carry your name. Tyrion is part of that legacy, whether you wish it or not.”

Tywin’s expression was inscrutable, his eyes flickering briefly to Damon before returning to you. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, measured. “What would you have me do?”

“Ensure the trial is fair,” you replied without hesitation. “Keep Cersei’s emotions from poisoning the outcome. And if he is found guilty—if there is truly evidence to condemn him—don’t let it be her hands that carry out the punishment.”

Tywin studied you for a long moment, the flickering firelight casting shadows across his stern features. Finally, he leaned forward, his hands clasped on the desk. “You presume much, Y/N.”

“Perhaps,” you admitted, your tone unwavering. “But I speak because I know you value strength and reason above all else. Tyrion embodies both, even if you refuse to see it.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze dropping briefly to the papers on his desk. When he spoke again, his tone was quieter, almost contemplative. “You are more forthright than most. It is… refreshing.”

You blinked at the unexpected compliment, but before you could respond, Damon stirred in your arms, drawing both your attention. Tywin’s eyes softened imperceptibly as he looked at the boy, and you seized the moment.

“For Damon’s sake,” you said gently, “keep this family intact. He deserves to grow up surrounded by strength, not destruction.”

Tywin’s gaze lingered on you and Damon for a moment longer before he straightened, his mask of composure returning. “I will do what must be done.”

It wasn’t the answer you’d hoped for, but it wasn’t a dismissal either. You nodded, knowing you had planted a seed, even if Tywin would never openly acknowledge it. As the memory faded, your attention returned to the present trial. Tyrion stood before the court, defiant and alone, but you held onto the faint hope that your words had reached the man seated on the Iron Throne.

Witness after witness had been paraded before the court, each painting Tyrion in a darker light. You sat silently to Tywin’s right, your composure a carefully maintained mask, though inside, you felt a growing sense of unease.

Tyrion had held himself together remarkably well through most of the trial, responding to the accusations with biting sarcasm and cold wit. But now, as another name was called, you noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor.

“Shae,” the court crier announced.

The air in the room seemed to freeze. Tyrion’s head snapped up, his mismatched eyes narrowing as Shae stepped forward. Your own heart sank as you recognized her, the woman Tyrion had once confided in, loved even. She was dressed plainly, her usual warmth replaced by an icy resolve as she avoided Tyrion’s gaze and walked to the stand.

You cast a quick glance at Cersei, seated on Tywin’s left. Her satisfaction was evident, a smug smile curling at the corners of her lips as she watched Shae take her place. It became painfully clear that Shae had been turned, manipulated into playing a role in this farce of a trial.

“What is she doing here?” you muttered under your breath, your voice barely audible. Tywin didn’t react, his gaze fixed on Shae as the questioning began.

“Shae,” the prosecutor began, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “You served as a handmaiden to Lady Sansa Stark and were in close proximity to Lord Tyrion during his time as Hand of the King, is that correct?”

“Yes,” Shae replied, her voice trembling slightly, though whether it was from fear or anger, you couldn’t tell.

“And during that time,” the prosecutor continued, “did you observe any… troubling behavior from Lord Tyrion?”

Shae hesitated, her hands twisting in her lap. “Yes,” she said finally, her voice growing stronger. “He… he was cruel. He spoke of Joffrey with hatred. He said he wanted him dead.”

You felt Tyrion’s entire body stiffed from where you sat. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the table before him, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked as though it might shatter.

The prosecutor pressed on, his tone becoming more insidious. “And did Lord Tyrion ever discuss how he might carry out such a desire?”

Shae looked down, as though ashamed. “Yes. He told me… he told me he would strangle the boy. With his own hands.”

The words sent a ripple through the courtroom, gasps and murmurs filling the air. Tyrion’s face twisted with a mixture of rage and pain, his control slipping with every word.

You leaned forward slightly, your heart aching for him. It was clear to anyone who truly knew Tyrion that the accusations were absurd, but in this room, truth mattered little.

“Why are you doing this?” Tyrion’s voice cut through the noise, raw and trembling with fury. He stood slowly, his gaze locked on Shae. “Why are you lying?”

Shae flinched but didn’t look at him. “You broke my heart,” she said quietly, the tremor in her voice betraying her conflicted emotions. “I loved you, and you threw me away like I was nothing.”

Tyrion took a step forward, his voice rising. “I sent you away to protect you! To keep you safe from them!” He gestured to Cersei and Tywin, his voice dripping with contempt. “And now you stand here and spit their lies like a puppet.”

Shae’s gaze finally lifted, but it was filled with a mix of anger and shame. She opened her mouth to respond, but Tywin’s voice cut through the tension.

“Enough,” he commanded, his tone icy. “The witness will step down.”

Shae hesitated, her lips trembling as though she wanted to say more, but she obeyed, retreating from the stand. As she passed Tyrion, she avoided his gaze, her steps quick and unsteady.

Tyrion turned to the court, his eyes blazing with fury. “Is this what passes for justice?” he spat, his voice echoing through the hall. “A parade of lies and manipulations, all to satisfy Cersei’s thirst for vengeance?”

“Mind your tongue,” Tywin said coldly, his gaze hard.

Tyrion laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and mirthless. “Why? So you can pretend this is fair? So you can continue this charade as if the outcome hasn’t already been decided?”

The dread in the room was set ablaze, the air crackling with the weight of his words. Tyrion stepped forward, addressing the gathered lords and ladies. “I did not kill Joffrey, but I wish I had. Watching him die gave me more satisfaction than I’ve felt in years.”

Gasps erupted from the crowd, and even you couldn’t suppress the flicker of shock that crossed your face.

“I wish I was the monster you think I am,” Tyrion continued, his voice rising, his anger boiling over. “If only to tear this family apart the way it’s torn me apart.”

You could feel Tywin’s gaze shift toward you briefly, though you kept your eyes on Tyrion, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I demand a trial by combat,” Tyrion declared, his voice ringing out like a bell, silencing the murmurs in the crowd.

The room fell into stunned silence. Even Tywin’s composed mask slipped for a fraction of a second before he regained control. Cersei’s face twisted in fury, her hands clenching the armrests of her chair.

You exhaled slowly, the weight of Tyrion’s words settling heavily in the room. The game had just changed, and the stakes had risen higher than ever.

The cold stone walls of the dungeons were damp, the faint sound of dripping water echoing through the halls. Jaime Lannister made his way down the dimly lit corridor, his expression was a mix of frustration and concern, his strides purposeful as he approached Tyrion’s cell.

Tyrion sat on the small bench inside, his head leaning back against the wall, his eyes closed. When Jaime’s footsteps stopped just outside the bars, Tyrion opened one eye, his lips curling into a wry smile.

“Well, well,” Tyrion drawled, sitting up and gesturing grandly. “The Kingslayer graces me with his presence. To what do I owe the honor?”

Jaime sighed, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “What are you doing, Tyrion? You had a way out, and you threw it away.”

Tyrion chuckled humorlessly. “Ah, yes, the way out where I grovel before our dear father, admit to crimes I didn’t commit, and let him send me to the Wall to freeze my arse off for the rest of my days. Tempting.”

Jaime gripped the bars tightly, his expression hard. “It was better than this! You think I don’t know what Cersei is planning? She’ll name the Mountain as her champion, Tyrion. Do you really think you can win against him?”

Tyrion shrugged nonchalantly, though there was a flicker of unease in his eyes. “I’m not dead yet, am I? And who knows? Perhaps the gods will favor me.”

“The gods?” Jaime’s voice rose, incredulous. “You’ve never put stock in the gods, Tyrion, so don’t start now. This isn’t a game anymore.”

Tyrion leaned forward, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, it’s always been a game, Jaime. You’re just upset because I’ve decided to play by my own rules.”

Jaime slammed his golden hand against the bars, the sound ringing out in the still air. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Father was going to spare you. He wouldn’t let you die. All you had to do was plead guilty, and he would have sent you to the Wall. But now…” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Now, you’ve spat on his mercy, and you’ve undermined all the efforts made to protect you.”

Tyrion’s smirk faltered slightly, and he raised an eyebrow. “Efforts? What efforts?”

Jaime leaned closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Our stepmother—Lady Y/N—has been working tirelessly to sway him in your favor. She’s risked more than you know to ensure you had a chance. She even convinced him to temper Cersei’s influence over the trial.”

Tyrion froze, his gaze sharpening. “And you think that would have worked? You think she, of all people, could change Tywin Lannister’s mind?”

“She already has,” Jaime shot back, his tone firm. “Father listens to her more than you realize. More than he listens to anyone.”

Tyrion blinked, genuinely taken aback by the revelation. “I suppose the dragon has tamed the lion after all,” he muttered, half to himself.

Jaime’s jaw tightened. “And now, with this stunt, you’ve disregarded all of it. You’ve thrown her efforts—and any chance of clemency—away. Cersei will use this trial by combat to destroy you. She’s already chosen the Mountain. Do you have any idea what that means?”

Tyrion’s expression darkened, and he let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, I know exactly what it means. Cersei’s idea of justice is ensuring my head is mounted on a spike. She’s wanted me dead since the day I was born.”

“And now you’ve handed her the perfect excuse,” Jaime said, his voice heavy with frustration. “Why, Tyrion? Why do this to yourself?”

Tyrion’s gaze hardened, his voice low but laced with venom. “Because I’m tired of being her scapegoat. I’m tired of being the monster everyone blames for their misery. If I’m to die, Jaime, I’ll die fighting. Not crawling to our father for scraps of mercy.”

Jaime shook his head, his frustration palpable. “This isn’t bravery, Tyrion. It’s foolishness.”

“Call it what you will,” Tyrion replied, his tone defiant. “But at least I’ll die on my terms.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching heavy between them. Finally, Jaime straightened, his expression grim. “If this is truly what you want, then so be it. But don’t think for a moment that you’re the only one paying the price for your pride.”

With that, Jaime turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. Tyrion watched him go, his smirk fading as he leaned back against the wall, his thoughts a tumult of defiance and regret.

The warm midday sun streamed into the garden, the air heavy with the scent of blooming flowers. You sat on a stone bench beneath a canopy of vines, cradling a cup of water in your hands as you gazed out over the vibrant greenery. Despite the serenity of your surroundings, your thoughts were troubled. The trial had left an unsettling tension in its wake, and your concerns for Tyrion weighed heavily on your mind.

The sound of footsteps drew your attention, and you turned to see Prince Oberyn Martell approaching, his movements as graceful as ever. Dressed in his signature Dornish attire, the colors of House Martell proudly displayed, he carried an air of effortless confidence. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief as he gave you a slow, exaggerated bow.

“My lady,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “Or should I say, my queen in all but name? How lovely to find you among the roses.”

You managed a faint smile, though your unease lingered. “Prince Oberyn,” you greeted him, gesturing for him to sit beside you. “What brings you to my quiet corner of the world?”

He sank onto the bench with the ease of a panther, his gaze fixed on you. “I wanted to see how the most intriguing member of this… lion’s den is faring after yesterday’s entertainment.”

“Entertainment?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “You speak as if it were a play, not a trial.”

He chuckled, leaning back against the bench. “Was it not both? The intrigue, the betrayals, the grand declarations. It had all the makings of a fine Dornish tragedy.”

You sighed, your fingers tightening around the cup in your hands. “It was no tragedy for you, Oberyn. But for others…”

His smile faded slightly, and he tilted his head, studying you. “You’re worried for the Imp,” he said, his tone more serious.

You nodded, your gaze dropping to the cup. “Tyrion is… not without his faults, but he doesn’t deserve this. Cersei’s hatred for him is blinding, and my husband—” You hesitated, then sighed. “Tywin will allow this charade to continue if it suits his plans.”

Oberyn’s lips curled into a sly smile. “And yet, you sit here, torn between loyalty to your husband and concern for your stepchild. You are a fascinating woman, Y/N.”

You gave him a sharp look. “This is no game, Oberyn. Tyrion’s life is at stake.”

He nodded slowly, his expression turning thoughtful. “You are right, of course. It is no game. But perhaps you’ll find solace in knowing that the Imp’s fate may not be as grim as it seems.”

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Oberyn leaned forward, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “I will be Tyrion’s champion.”

The words hung in the air between you, their weight sinking into your chest. You stared at him, a mix of surprise and apprehension crossing your face. “You would do that?” you asked quietly. “Why?”

He tilted his head, his smile returning, though it was tinged with something darker. “You know why, Y/N. Elia. My sister, murdered by Gregor Clegane under orders from your husband. Our nephew and niece, butchered. This is my chance to avenge them.”

You swallowed hard, the name Gregor Clegane sending a chill down your spine. “And you believe you can defeat him?”

Oberyn’s smile widened, his confidence radiating from him like the sun. “I know I can. The Mountain may be a brute, but he’s slow, clumsy. I’ve trained my whole life for this. I’ve dreamed of this moment.”

You hesitated, your concern growing. “And if you fail?”

“I won’t,” he said simply, his tone unwavering. “But even if I did, what better way to honor my family than to die fighting for them?”

You shook your head, your hands trembling slightly as you set the cup down. “This isn’t just about you, Oberyn. If you fail, Tyrion dies as well. And I… I cannot bear to see another innocent life taken in this pit of vipers.”

Oberyn reached out, placing a warm, steady hand over yours. “You have a kind heart, Y/N,” he said softly. “But kindness alone will not save him. Justice will.”

You met his gaze, the intensity of his conviction almost overwhelming. “I hope you’re right, Oberyn. For Tyrion’s sake, and for yours.”

He smiled, squeezing your hand gently before releasing it. “You’ll see, Y/N. By the time this trial is over, the Mountain will fall, and justice will be served.”

With that, he rose gracefully from the bench, offering you a slight bow before turning to leave. You watched him go, your heart heavy with conflicting emotions. As you gazed down at the roses blooming around you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the thorns were drawing closer.

[liveontelevision]

Another Lucifer Rant | Lucifer x Reader

I'M BACK BABY

Give this man a dorky partner ffs.

Lucifer Rant (Pt. 1 kinda)

Warnings: SMUTSMUTSMUT +18, Fluff, Some mentions of overstimulation

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Imagine Lucifer at his best. Sure, when you first get together, it's rocky. He needs someone to help him rediscover himself, and that takes a lot of time and energy from both of you. But after a few years, you start to see who he used to be; When he was an elder angel, daring to break the rules and pursue his dreams no matter what. It occasionally led to some destruction, but seeing him now able to recover from it so easily? It melts your heart. You were sure he wouldn't withstand the failure, but he can handle it. He can handle it because of you.

You praise him for branching out into other inventions and creations, but you'll always love his little ducks more than anything. That being said, you're not the only one seeing his creativity thrive. Hell managed to become a brighter place, with golden decorations and structures that were purely made for public enjoyment. Maybe Charlie's rubbing off on him, but he's finally taking charge of his realm and focusing on his subjects. Seeing Charlie at her best only fuels him more. She's living the life he wanted to when he was her age, and now, he had some catching up to do. He was determined.

PDAs:

With his confidence growing, he starts becoming more comfortable with PDAs. You never minded them, but it was nice to see him letting out his emotions in any way. He started off by holding your hand around others. Even though he would always become a blushing mess, even pulling away if he got too embarrassed by you smiling so geniunely at him, it was progress. It then became something he almost whined about when it wasn't happening. He wants you to hold his hand until it's uncomfortably sweaty and even after.

Lucifer would give small pecks to you as well, on your cheek when you walked in the room, your hair if you were sitting and he had access to the top of your head, and when he was in an especially good mood, a sweet peck on the lips before he'd leave.

Truly, the hardest part was saying I love you. In public and in private. What a strange phrase to get so flustered over when youve been with someone for years, and it did take years, but when he said it to you for the first time you damn near cried. After that, you would try to pepper it into conversations casually, in hopes his embarrassment or shame in the phrase would dissipate. Eventually, it did, and he grinned every time you'd say it, eager to return the phrase.

Now, you do your best to respect his boundaries, but one day it just slipped out of you, in front of a few residents and staff, one of them being Charlie. You didnt realize what you had done wrong, and honestly most of the others in the room didnt either, but once you saw Lucifer's overwhelmed expression it clicked that you may have messed up. You looked around to gauge the room and casually walked over to his shrinking form.

"I'm sorry, my love." You leaned in a bit to whisper to him," Do you need to step out? Should I say anything?" You did your best to stay calm, to be his anchor in this situation, but he cleared his throat and picked up his voice a little louder than your previously hushed tone. "L-Love you, too..! Sweetheart.." it was a small intimacy, but dear lord, were you proud of him. You could tell he struggled to do that, even if no one else paid attention to it. His eyes darted to Charlie, who was suddenly meeting his gaze from the other side of the room, and her eyes were absolutely wide and full to the brim with pride.

You had a few conversations with Charlie about everything. She didn't want too many details, just an update on how he's handling himself when she's not around. As he would get better with confiding his feelings to others, he would eventually talk to Charlie about issues and concerns, but for now, you were happy to relay the news to her.

He's her father, of course she wants nothing more than for him to be happy. It's not like she didn't see his struggle, so she couldn't help but feel pride for this little affection and any of his progress. She was quickly pulled away by Vaggie to avoid an outburst of happy tears in front of everyone, which Lucifer didn't mind. You gave him a quick peck on his forehead after looking around the room and took your seat next to him, continuing a conversation that you barely remember starting.

There were some situations where he would let you perform the PDAs. Sometimes, you would push his limits just to see how far he'd go. He wasn't super into movie nights, but Charlie really loved the idea of watching and discussing movies with wholesome values; an exercise to get people to know eachother amd have healthy debates on certain topics that definitely wouldn't turn into arguments. It happened about twice a month, good movies becoming harder to find in Hell.

You sat next to him close enough that your plush thigh was against his leg. He didn't seem to care too much, I mean, he loved it, but he didn't get too flustered. You would reach your arm around the back of the couch to simulate wrapping your arm around his shoulder, brushing your fingertips across the back of his shirt every now and then. The first time you did it, it took him by surprise, but after that, you could see the enjoyment of your touch.

You made sure to sit on the couch behind everyone else. Otherwise, he would feel the need to constantly look over his shoulders. You would try a few things, like placing your hand over his, then interlacing your fingers, then bringing it to your lips whenever the screen would go black and plunge the room in darkness. He seemed to handle it pretty well.

One night, you'd start off by leaning towards him and sitting on your legs, resting your head on his shoulder. He would respond by hesitantly placing his hand at your waist. You snuggled into him a bit more, making him redder in the face, but also giving him a subtle you're doing great.

If he did ever get too uncomfortable, he'd pull a blanket up and around both your shoulders, giving him a sense of security. On another night, you tried to pull him into you. It happened throughout the movie. You would pull him in by his waist, and he would scooch closer to you, then he would prop his arm up behind you and press his cheek against your shoulder. This was definitely a favorite position of his. Some tiring days, he would nod off. You made sure to wake him before anyone noticed.

Privacy:

After a while, he'd especially love touching you in private. When you would sit on his little couch and work on your own things in his office, he would take breaks and come over to lay his head in your lap. If he's lucky, you'd be reading or doing something where you only needed one hand, so your vacant fingers could be used to lightly comb through his hair.

He would take any chance to be above you, leaning down over the couch when you were sitting and giving you light kisses, or wrapping his arms around you while he stood on the elevated platform his workbench was set on.

With all the issues he had to overcome, you noticed he never really seemed too upset over his height. He was an angelic all-powerful beast, it's not like he was forced to look that way. I mean, you saw him shapeshift, he could easily add a few feet to his height. Actually, sometimes it seemed like he enjoyed the height difference. Whenever you would have to bend at the hips to give him a level kiss, he would make the goofiest grin. Or when you'd wear heels, he would constantly offer to fasten them on your feet and shower you with affection, then in public, he'd place his hand around your hips instead of linking your arms like usual.

Goofy Stuff:

His overly confident mask that he would use to intimidate others and laugh off serious situations was finally becoming more sincere. You loved seeing him that way, bringing smiles to everyone in the room when he spoke. When it was just the two of you, all his energy went into making you smile. And it always worked, he would make you giddy.

He loved to simply be around you. When you had to get ready for some kind of event, he would sit next to you at your vanity, simply watching you doll yourself up. He'd praise you, "you look so beautiful, darling~" then he'd tease you, "you know, i think that color would look much better on me." And you weren't one to back down, applying a thick layer of gloss to your lips and pulling him in to transfer as much as you could onto his lips. You pulled away, unphased, and went back to your makeup. "Hm! I agree! I'll let you wear it more often, then." He'd stammer out some sort of angry reply and cross his arms over his chest, having to admit defeat.

When you'd come home and would need to wash your face, you'd repeat your skin care routine on him. He didn't need it, but he loved to feel your hands touch and massage his face. In exchange, you'd force him to let you groom him (preening his wings, maybe cleaning up his eyesbrows, styling his hair in new ways, etc.) If you had the energy for it, that is. It was like clipping a cats nails. But the reaction and the outcome were so worth it.

You'd do his makeup on occasion, sometimes going far too dramatic for his taste just to watch him struggle to admit it wasn't his style without insulting you. You'd admit it was on purpose, and he'd tackle you playfully. Like before, you both ended up with the same lip color afterward.

You loved to get eachother flustered, sometimes youd pat him on the bottom when moving past him just to see him dramatically gasp." My love, we're in public! Right in front of Keekee??" He'd dramatically gesture to the cat who quite literally left the room while he was talking.

He'd blow into your ear when you were distracted, sending a chill down your spine. You'd knock your head into his on purpose, and he would swoon, crying out about being mistreated. Truly a theatric man.

Overall, he was finally bringing a geniune confidence to the table and you couldnt be prouder of him.

18+ Intimacy:

He was quick to discover he liked all the fluffy, cuddly stuff, but it took him years to rekindle any kind of sexual attraction to anyone. It was another big insecurity that he had, wondering if it was one of the reasons he drove Lillith off. It's not like he had anything to compare his work to, but he definitely didn't need to worry. Practice makes perfect. (And he was with Lillith for thousands of years.. so... plenty of time for practice.)

At first, you'd take the lead. You didn't mind. You loved taking care of him. After he'd suggest you two become more intimate, you'd still have to stop after some deep kisses and light grinding. Not that he would finish so soon, he just didn't have the stability to even imagine going through a night with your intimate gaze on him for so long. After a while, you'd start sitting on his lap, constantly reassuring him and giving him praises for doing so good. "If you need to stop, let me know, my love. Tap me -" you would lead his hand to the top of your thigh, " - if you can't find the words, okay?" He would let out a nervous chuckle, subconsiously giving your thigh a soft squeeze at the motion before nodding his head.

You had to talk him through everything, and dear lord, did he love hearing your voice. As ironic as it is, he would melt at any praise you gave him." You're doing so good, sweetheart," "You like that, love? You look so beautiful right now~", "Mmm, keep that up, you're doing so well." No matter how much you tried to keep your voice calm and sultry, he really enjoyed and almost preferred your hitched breath and sweet words directly by his ear. The phrase that got him going more than anything? "I love you, Lucifer." The combination of those words and hearing his name slip from your lips almost always made him whimper quietly.

When you first heard him whimpering, you would subtly check on him, making sure he was doing okay without embarrassing him and calling it out. Oh, he was doing okay. More than okay.

You would usually proposition him, but sometimes, he would blatantly ask you if you two could be intimate. It was always so cute when he did that. But one day, he asked shyly for you to sit, then he hesitantly sat on your lap. Your rosie cheeks grew even redder, and you placed your cool hands on your face to try and calm yourself. It took you a second to finally look up at him, his expression even more embarrassed than yours. You hated to admit that it made you feel better, but it really did. You took your hands and placed them on his cheeks, which were much hotter than yours. He rubbed his face into your palm, his hand holding your wrist to keep your touch close.

After a moment, he'd lean down to kiss you, it was just bliss. The rare view he had, looking down to meet your eyes, left him happy to give in to his more intimate desires. After being seated on your lap for so long, and finally adjusting to the unconscious grinding that would go on, he'd start to reach for the edge of his pants without much thought. Once he had pulled out his shaft, your eyes would quickly widen and break away from the kiss to assess the situation. Before you could, he lifted your head back to look into his eyes, suddenly glowing red. "P-Please, can I.. i don't know if im ready for, b-but- I need - " his eyes were a threatening color, but you noted that he was still struggling with this decision. He still needed some time before letting you touch him that way.

You pulled him in for another kiss, "I won't look or touch, okay? That's what you want?" You clarified, running your hands through his hair. He nodded shyly, his hand still holding onto himself. You smiled and reconnected your lips. "Okay, love. I don't mind at all - " you reassured him, taking his free hand and kissing his palm. Looking up at him through his fingers, you grinned into his hand, grazing your teeth down his wrist." I would be honored, actually." You say bravely, the situation giving your boldness a boost. He would let out a nervous laugh that seemed almost too loud, then follow it by sucking in his lips to not embarrass himself anymore than he already has.

Keeping up with his speed, you did only what he was comfortable with. Doing only what he wanted from you. It made you almost arrogant to feel him stroke himself and whimper into your lips, getting off just from your kisses alone. You would break away only to leave some soft kisses on his neck. You attempted to leave a hickey or two below his jawline, but he quickly tapped your thigh, wordlessly telling you that was too much. "Good boy~" you'd breathe against his neck, seeing his chest heave at the words. You moved down to his collarbone and chest, slowly beginning to suck in and bite his porcelain skin there. He let out a muffled agreement and nodded his head, more accepting of somewhere that would be easier to cover. You left almost too many bruises on him after that. To be fair, any blossoming mark was exentuated against his sensitive, white skin.

It didn't take too long for him to finish after that. He let out a gasp, then a muffled moan as you felt some of his fluids leak onto your stomach. He didn't even let himself get over his high before pulling a tissue out of thin air and cleaning you up. You let your head lean back, looking towards the cieling as he situated himself, keeping your promise to not look until he's ready. "O-oooh dear.. That was... Gross, right? Sorry.." You quickly look at him and scoffed, holding onto his face and pulling it close. "Don't say that, Lucifer..! Thank you for trusting me with this..." You brushed your thumb across his cheek, his expression still disheartened." I wouldn't have let that happen if I didn't want it, you know that. Besides, if you're really concerned, i'll just have to join you next time." You teased a sly smirk across your face. His eye twitched, and you could feel the heat in his face return." Good lord, I don't deserve you." He squeaked out before standing up and almost tripping over himself, complaining about his stiff legs right away.

Side note: I feel like when he would complain about being sore at all, you'd joke at him and say things like, "Oh, don't be a baby." And he'd reply with a joke, "Woah there, save the dirty talk for the bedroom." And that's what triggers you to start calling him baby any chance you could get, especially in the bedroom.

Going all the way was a big step. He was more comfortable starting on top of you,  but just like before, he realized how much he preferred, loved, to have you ride him. You made sure he had the tapping system in effect, but he would constantly check on him the first time he asked to try it this way. You were almost ashamed to admit you got a bit carried away. With you almost hitting your high, you probably took on more than he could handle. You didn't realize until you looked down at his face. His eyes were shut tight, a tear or two rolling down his heated face, and his lips were parted and letting out pathetic little noises. A face that some might see as a demon drunk on sex, but you knew you had taken him a little too hard. You slowed down, his breath finally becoming lighter." I-I'm sorry.. I-I -" his voice was raspy as his began apolgizing." No - don't be. I'll be gentle." You finally started back up, a slow grind, after letting him catch his breath. "Remember to use your words, baby - " You took his hand and planted it on your thigh as another reminder to communicate his thoughts. He nodded, a slight hitch in his breath as you spoke. You went on to cherish a more intimate night with him.

That's how it started, but as time went on, your playful relationship came to the bedroom. Lucifer would be in the middle of grinding his hips into yours, attempting to say something flirtatious in your ear when his voice would crack, or he'd say something that didn't come out right. You'd cover your mouth in an attempt to not laugh." Oh, cmon! I'm trying to be sexy here." He'd waggle his eyebrows at you and youd bring him into a smiling kiss. "Well, i'd say you're doing a great job, babe." You spoke so sincerely afterward that he'd become a little flustered. "O-Oh.. you.. think so..?" You hummed against his ear,

"Nope~"

He'd let out an aggravated groan and start to get off of your lap." No-no! I'm sorry, i'm kidding! You're sexy, come back!" You'd laugh out, reaching for his hips and planting him back onto your lap." Damn right, I am." He'd grumble, smashing his lips against yours in a suddenly intense kiss. In all honesty, probably to shut you up.

---

You love him so dearly. You barely realize how much he loves you, maybe due to how badly he struggles with his words. As time goes on, all Lucifer wants is to give himself to you. Give every little bit of his love to the one who's spent so much time caring for him and helping him become a better person. He'd sometimes consider that he could never be able to return the favor.

But he would. You knew he could.

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I'll still take requests for some Luci prompts if anyone's thirstin'

Also, I have over 100 followers?? Which i wasn't expecting to happen when I first made this account (literally made it just to look at Hazbin smut if i'm outing myself) So thanks for all the support! This is such a great community 🥹

[mdsbabygirl]

FOREPLAY WITH HIM...

Pairing: bllk/TR/jjk men x fem!reader

Genre: fluff/Smut

Cw: cutesy, lovey-dovey shit, the characters will be mentioned below the fic, fingering, clit play, penetrative $ëx, etc..

Note: this fic is heavily inspired by another ff that was ab geto, and this "foreplay" thing YK... Anyway, I don't remember who is the original creator of the fic, so if you know, tell me so I can tag them or link the og work. Thnx

Fore play w isn't just your usual oral or fingering before fucking, it's much more than that. It starts in the morning, when he tightly hugs your body, and caresses your sides, gently grazing over your curves, as he pressed light kisses on your sleeping form to wake u up. "Good morning angel! Did you sleep well?" He asks, his voice still hoarse and deep.

Fore play with him isn't just your usual prep before doing the deed, it continues throughout the day in many forms. Whether it's the little kisses he peppers on your neck when you're making coffee accompanied by his usual back hugs or the spontaneous kiss he'd press on your knuckles while looking in your eyes ever so lovingly, just because.. that was his reasoning, you're a goddess descended on this mortal earth, and all he wants to do is worship you, make you feel loved and cherished.. that was his reasoning, his mission in this ephemeral life.

Foreplay w him, would also take place when y'all would be all cuddled up, your arms embracing each other, legs tangled up together, to form a cocoon of trust and safety, one of love and affection, where the both of you can relax and enjoy each other's company. He'd press gentle kisses on your forehead, his big hands softly massaging your back, he might also him a little tune for you, his voice feeling ever so sweet, the melodies erupting from his throat, a soothing balm for your ears.

Foreplay w him is also when his hands would slip inside your shirt, caressing your soft skin. His long fingers would slide all the way to your chest, gently squeezing the soft mounds of your boobs. A few breathy whimpers would erupt from you, which make him smile lovingly. He'd press a kiss on the corner of your mouth, whispering so sweetly to you "I'm here sweetheart! Don't worry, I'll make you feel good baby", his tender gaze mixed with his deep voice, sent shivers down your spine, your core starting to feel warmer than usual.

"Kiss me honey!" He'd gently tell you, his gaze softening upon seeing the way your breath hitched. As you leaned in, your breaths tangled in the air between you, the softest, most delicate of sighs escaping your lips. And then, in a slow, sensual dance of tongues and lips, your mouths met. It began as a feather-light press, a light brushing of lips, before the contact deepened. Your mouths opened to each other, your tongues tracing gentle circles and swirling in a tender, erotic dance, the slow, languid kiss drawing out the anticipation and desire between you.

Foreplay ofc didn't stop here, not when you were both hot and bothered, way too needy for each other. "Baby.. can we?" He'd gently ask, his eyes still keeping that same loving and tender gaze, even if they were full of lust. Oh..how lovely! Ig that's what it means to be truly loved.. one puts their needs after their loved ones'.. "how sweet!" You'd coo, your hands cupping his cheeks, pulling him in for another slow kiss, "ofc love! I'll make love to you!" You said, your voice ever so sweet, sent jolts of excitement to his cock, making it even harder than it already was... How sweet!

Now, that's where the traditional foreplay would start ig.. he'd undress you in a languid, tender way, making the air between you thicken with intangible longing. He'd kiss his way down your body, leaving a trail of reddish marks on your tender skin, his digits would trail over your tits, his thumbs gently rolling your hardened nipples. "You're so perfect..kiss.. so pretty..kiss.. my lovely y/n.. I love you!" He'd mutter in between kisses, the combo of his huffed voice and his hand's ministrations reducing you into putty in his hands.

He lowered his head, his eyes never leaving yours, your back arched, a soft, breathy moan escaping your lips, as he finally reached the source of your most powerful yearning. His tongue flicked delicately at your clit, and you felt a shiver race down your spine. The rhythm of his lapping grew purposeful, the sensation building within you with each deft, loving stroke.

Simultaneously, his fingers, coated in your wetness, slipped between your legs, finding the slick entrance to your most intimate space. Slowly, he eased first one, then two fingers inside, his movements gentle and unhurried, arousing you with each languid thrust.

Once, he's made you cum and still on his knees, he'd move up until his swollen, pulsating length was right at the entrance of your dripping wetness. You could see the love and tenderness in his eyes as he began to ease inside you, slowly and deliberately.

You both gasped as the tip breached your barrier, and his entire shaft slowly filled you. The sensation was a mixture of exquisite pleasure and tender intimacy. Your cunny gripped and quivered around him, inviting him in even deeper.

Your lovemaking was now slow, unhurried, and languid, as if you had all the time in the world. Each gentle thrust elicited soft, breathy moans from both of you. Him, being the attentive lover he was, would pause and wait for you to adjust before he would continue his slow, deliberate pace.

As his hips ground against yours, an all-consuming sensation coursed through both of your bodies. The world outside your love cocoon faded, leaving only the intense, white-hot core of your connection. A guttural cry tore from his throat as he unleashed a torrent of hot, thick cum into your quivering depths. In that final, blissful moment, he looked at you, with his tender and adoring gaze, he caressed your face, "I love you sweetheart! You're amazing!" He'd whisper before collapsing into your arms, your intense lovemaking had tired him, and so it did to you.

How wonderful it is to love and be loved...

Isagi, Kunigami, Chigiri, Yukimiya, Chifuyu, Hakkai, Takemichi, Mitsuya, Pahchin, Nanami, Geto, ur favs

© mdsbabygirl do not copy or translate my work without my permission.