#response to anonymous

[mcfriggingonagall]

go 5 seconds on hotd twitter and you'll see plenty of team black fans making fun of "jaeheadless" and "jumphera", or straight up bullying actors. Like sorry to break it to you but this fandom is rotten on both sides, and team black does indeed have his fair share of unhinged assholes.

Oh yeah that's Twitter for you no argument. Twitter is full of brain dead idiots which is why I never use my account

[wernerherzogs]

some of my fave buddie fics for anon in no particular order! please mind all the ratings, tags, and warnings of these works while browsing:

plot-focused:

about the present series by Amiril

The day of the shooting, Eddie got stuck in a time loop. But that was three months ago. He's completely fine now.

boys, when my baby found me by nondz (pinkjook)

Three months later, things are mostly back to normal.

And then there's an accident.

the city is a jungle and i’m a beast by putanauhere (TRUST ME.)

“There are no wolves in Southern California,” Buck states, another bit of trivia. He just doesn’t know it’s a lie.

The Things All Come and Gone by moodlighting

“I didn’t—it’s not that I couldn’t be alone,” Buck explained, pausing to find the right words. “I just. Wanted to be here.”

I Broke What You Gave Me, But You Kept Giving More by rcdwings

Evan Buckley wakes up without eight years of his memories with some guy named Eddie Diaz on his bedside. Which could mean nothing.

lonely little love dog by littleghost

When the 118 is closed for reconstruction after an earthquake, Buck is a floater for different stations around the city. He tries not to let it get to him. Much.

kerosene by mandolare

He doesn’t— need more of Eddie. This is enough. This is plenty. This is more than anyone else has of him; he can deal with the marrow-deep want that’s begun to choke him every once in a while.

all my little words by youbetsya

Eddie: Did you just send me an email??

Buck: yeah lol

Eddie: Why…

I dont think you’ve ever emailed me actual words before. Just stuff to print when your printer is broken

Buck: did you read it?

Eddie: Not yet

Too busy trying to figure out why the fuck you’re emailing me

Buck: just read it dude 🙄

instructions on not giving up by Wildehack (tyleet)

Eddie gave up in July.

Live and (Don't) Let Die by xylodemon

The guy gets straight to the point, asking, "What do you need?" in a dull, bored voice.

"My best friend is going to die. I want that to… not happen."

"No small feat, bringing back the dead. And it comes at a cost."

It's Eddie. Buck says, "Yes," without a second thought.

good pretender by likeshipsonthesea

“Okay, but what are the rules?”

Ravi stares. “The rules for…?”

“Casual sex.”

Ravi continues to stare. It is 5:39 in the morning.

i can tell just what you want (you don't want to be alone) by Talls

In which Eddie keeps secrets and Buck is incredibly normal and rational and even brave about his reaction to this.

here’s my hand, there’s the itch by signetsealed

"I wasn’t kidding when I said I could talk about Chris all night,” Eddie says. His voice is quiet and close in Buck’s ear. “But that’s not why I called.”

been lost for a while by trysetmeonfire

Eddie's wife has been dead for two weeks. There's a firefighter in bed five. These are not necessarily related facts, but Eddie will have a hard time separating them out, later.

Downward Facing Doggy Style by Survivah

Eddie and Buck pick up a new hobby while Chris is in Texas.

slaughterhouse by kithmet

Eddie announces he’s leaving. Buck, naturally, begins a slow descent to madness.

Choosing Joy 'Verse series by ithilien22

In which Eddie mends fences with Chris, starts something new with Buck, and navigates the complex emotions he has around his parents.

 the sweetest apparition by hyruling

Eddie moves to Texas. Buck keeps accidentally telling people Eddie's dead. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

pluperfect by unreckless

Buck is always good for a ride to the airport. He’s good at lots of things, like being a good friend and goodbyes.

beating the horse by doitgently

Eddie is moving to Texas. Buck finally figures out what he wants.

Burn a bridge, learn how to swim series by WatermelonShots (AvocadosUnderTheEaves)

In which there is some unexpected making out, some pining, one third of an existential crisis and a lot of unhelpful advice. Not necessarily in that order.

you drew stars around my scars by ladieslunching

Someone at the 118 doesn't know how to leave Buck's clipboard alone. Buck would be a lot more upset about it if it didn't bag him the love of his life.

Hot Ghost Problems by ebjameston

The ghost would prefer to go by Buck, if Eddie wouldn’t mind.

ripples all the way down by iriswests

This is the tumultuous road to finding out what Buck truly wants, paved by pebbles.

throw a bone, i’m finally home by fleetinghearts

“Oh, Buck,” Eddie says softly, torn between unbearable fondness and an ache that threatens to crack his breastbone.

when everything's on fire by beartowns

Eddie and Chris move in with Buck after a fire. Buck breaks up with his boyfriend, buys a house with Eddie, and realizes he's in love. In precisely that order.

ice cream before dinner by cloudydaisies

The problem is—well.

Actually, backtrack for a sec. There were a few problems.

Eddie’s got a whole lot of them, lately, and maybe that was The Problem.

Something in the Air (Is Giving Me Bad Ideas) by paramountie

After Christopher comes back from Texas, Eddie makes an important decision: he is not going to blow up his life anymore.

crossed the muddy line by Anonymous

Eddie Diaz is from El Paso, Texas; a fact which accounts for both more and less than he ever expected it to.

the tortured poets department by colonoscopys

The first time Buck touched him, Eddie blew an ambulance up.

still by brewrosemilk

For the first time, Buck longs for a bullet wound to treat. Dirt to dig at. A door to break through. Something. There’s nothing.

somewhere to stand and stay by teaspoon

“What are you doing right now?” Eddie asks. He sounds distracted; Buck can tell immediately that he’s driving.

authentication by v_greyson (greyson)

"Yeah, Eddie picks the guys so I don't make stupid decisions," Buck says, flicking through menus to pick a new racetrack.

The combination of Hen munching peanuts and looking back and forth between them makes Eddie feel like he's a zoo exhibit. Best Friends, captured in the wild, still feral, exhibiting behaviors heretofore unknown to science.

"Well, good luck with - all that," Hen says pointedly to Eddie. She is definitely not talking about the video game.

keeping score by arcanaphora

After getting dumped, Buck is left with two tickets to a weeklong cruise. Eddie steps in to support a friend in need, but complications arise when his friend becomes his fake husband. All's fair in love, war, and trivia.

if i said you could never touch me by marviless*

Eddie pulls back from him with a half-confused, half-concerned furrow in between his eyebrows. “Buck?”

Buck sags against the wall. “Sorry,” he says, wiping the back of his forearm against his forehead in a mixture of frustration and newfound exhaustion. “Sorry.”

Counting Pulses by tinyydancerr*

Eddie Diaz’s life is going great. He’s in therapy, he’s got a great girlfriend, a great kid, his friend is getting married to the woman of his dreams, and his best friend just came out to him.

Now his best friend is dating their new friend.

Things are going great. He promises.

porn-heavy (only a few of these are straight up pwp though):

Feel You Forever by semperama

“Is this…” Eddie meets his eyes again. “Is this new?”

a mess of my creation by Anonymous

They’re in the fucking bunk room. There’s someone snoring in the bed over by the bathroom, a good twenty feet and two beds away, and Buck doesn’t know if it’s Hen or Chimney or Bobby, but they’re in here, they’re asleep, and this is awful, this is so fucking unprofessional and if they get caught they are going straight to HR.

blood in the highs and count the stars by seachanged

“Go on,” Eddie says, nosing into the soft spot under Buck’s jaw.

Buck laughs, a little hysterically. ”You’re not serious.”

look straight ahead if you like it slow by hattalove

“This gets you going, huh?” Eddie grins, propping himself up on his elbows so he can move higher on the bed, reach the pretty pink bow of Buck’s mouth. “Devotion? You being it for me?” He stretches up toward Buck’s ear, whispers: “Monogamy?”

hang me up on your bedroom wall by eddiegettingshot

“You’re going to be a great father someday,” Eddie says eventually, because he’s worse than he used to be and Buck’s reverent eyes make him feel—they just make him feel.

“Eddie, I—”

“You are,” he repeats, firm. “Don’t you think I’d know better than anyone?

buck and eddie's red hot infidelity summer series by cranberrymoons

He’s not thinking about it. He’s not. He’s definitely not.

the moon like a spotlight by dykeries

Three months after Eddie moves to El Paso, Buck comes to visit.

this ecstasy, this forgetfulness of living by glorious_spoon

"You guess," Eddie repeats under his breath, but he sounds amused. He sets the boxes down and kicks the door shut behind him to wind through the chaos of Buck's half packed away kitchen. "You're insane."

love's not a game by thatbuddie (talktothesky)

“So that goal, huh?”

Buck groans, his hands clawing at the sheets beneath him as his toes curl up, the fire that’s been building up inside him for what feels like hours sizzling and uncontrollable in its path through Buck’s body.

i might kiss you on the back of your neck (because it’s christmas time) by sibylsleaves

Five Times Captain Diaz and Recruit Lieutenant Diaz fail to sleep together and one time they do.

would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses? by brattybuckley

Evan Buckley is currently on cloud nine. 

Well–

Honey on the Vine by sirencalls

Buck wakes up to an Eddie with stubble for the first time in months and refuses to let a good opportunity to go waste.

lock me down tonight by lecornergirl

Buck tells everyone Eddie talks him into it, but when it comes to Eddie, he’s never needed much convincing.

Mind Blowing Mess by EtoileGarden

"I’d like to have a threesome. I think.” 

“You think?” 

“Yeah,” Taylor eyed him for a moment, and then leaned a little further over the table, her chin in her hand. “Have you ever had one before?”

songs and poems and promises by lesbianrobin

“It’s crazy how different sex is with men,” Buck says, and everyone around him groans.

rodeo queen by okanus

“What’s the saying again? Save a horse…hm, y’know, I don't quite remember the rest of it.” Eddie can’t help the smile curving up the corner of his mouth.

“You’re an asshole,” Buck says, scowling. The tips of his ears are pink.

yes god don't speak by detectivemeer

“You’re staring.”

“What.” Eddie says. “No I’m not.” 

[chatting-with-peppino]

*Gustavo can hear gentle metal thumping, it sounds robotic*

- @thealwayshappyanon

❝*Sigh* that was one hell of day I sure hop-❞

❝Eh!?❞

[corruptimles]

put that fucker in lethal company. it's who he is. /silly

[dailydamnation]

These two. These two people who only manage to (barely) function as humans by remaining in absolute 100% control of themselves at all times.

They have not only admitted to each other that they have nightmares, but have made a promise to help each other through them.

And Scott takes one look at famously-hard-to-read Illyana and knows exactly what's going on.

I love them so much.

[zevrra]

same anon from before :3 but another thot

HEAR ME OUT. i saw a tictok the other day about how jayce just does what he’s told and oh em geeeeee commanding jayce to mess Vik up ie. kissing him up and down, jacking him off all while you watch. SCREAMING WITHOUT THE S

includes: [nsfw!!] [18+ only, mdni!!] jayce is an obedient little thing and does what he’s told! :3

ft. jayvik x gn!reader

extra(s): thank you so much for this request anon! this was a lil fun to write ;3 i hope you enjoy tho!! feel free to request for more! (i also barely skimmed over this so forgive any errors kshdjh <3)

“jayce, you’re such a good boy and you listen so well,” you muse, running your fingers through thick brown hair. his soft, hazel gaze stares up at you from his seated position before you, his head resting on your knee. “always so eager to please, hmm? but it’s not me who needs attention tonight.” you add as you rub your thumb across the high of his cheekbone.

jayce had been to another council party and had come back home to you and viktor rather…tipsy. honestly, he was actually really drunk and far more clingy than he normally was as his head rests in your lap. if it were any other night when you didn’t have reports to go over and present before 6 am tomorrow; you’d be all for jayce’s little advances to join in on his and viktor’s fun. but tonight he’d just have to enjoy viktor’s company alone.

“listen to me, pretty boy. i want you to make vik feel good, can you do that for me?”

jayce looks at you with slightly saddened eyes as you caress his face. his pretty, begging eyes were sure to work on you if viktor had not stepped in. “are you sure you cannot join us?” he asks, his own hand brushing along jayce’s bangs as he leans back against your desk.

“i’ll just have to watch tonight.” you respond with a smile.

and that was far easier said than done.

for jayce, he still wanted to have you involved in any way he could get you— and that came down to you ordering him around like a lost puppy. he wouldn’t move, kiss, or touch without your instructions. he wanted to obey every word you spoke while you watched from the sidelines. and vik was no help at all either; he wanted all of this. wanted your gaze to watch their every move while jayce followed your every order to make him feel good. wanted to know you were included just as much as jayce did. and after some pretty pouting and a mix of pleas, you finally agreed.

so between paragraphs breaks of whatever paper you had written up days before; you would take a glance at the men leaning against your desk. coming to said break, you look up from your notes as viktor is pressed against jayce’s chest while jayce trails kisses against his neck, his hands roaming over viktor’s thin waist. somewhere along the line you had managed to get them to strip their shirts off, without tearing any clothes thankfully, but jayce still refused to advance unless you told him so.

“kiss him baby.” you order jayce who happily obliges.

jayce turns viktor’s face towards him, kissing him eagerly as he caresses vik’s jaw with one of his big hands. their tongue’s clash together as they make out and jayce eats up every groan he draws from vik. you watch as jayce presses viktor back up against him, gripping his hips from behind, as the two kiss each other like they were both air they needed to breathe.

you glance briefly away to go over the next paragraph on your notes. you find yourself reading the printed words faster than before solely so your eyes can find the two of them just a little bit faster.

“blegh, i can taste the liquor you drank jayce.” viktor gripes as he breaks the kiss, sticking out his tongue a little. he could clearly taste the strong alcohol lingering on jayce’s tongue; and it almost made you want to taste jayce too, just to confirm.

“m’sorry v…” jayce apologizes with a little drunk pout before chasing after viktor’s lips once more. he returns to kissing viktor as you finally finish the paragraph as your gaze settles on the two once more, while their eyes fall closed as they kiss. you watch as jayce’s tongue runs over vik’s bottom lip before diving between his parted lips and you have to stifle your own whine watching them. you wish you could be jealous but you’re the one who declined in their activity so you’d just have to continue to watch, for now. thank god it was a tasty sight to behold.

“take his pants off, jay. he’s so hard.” you softly instruct, gesturing to the strain on viktor’s pants. even out of the corner of your eye you could see the bulge inside of his pants, begging to be freed. jayce is quick to have his hand travel down the front of vik’s thin torso, fumbling with the belt of his pants, as vik breaks their kiss once more to groan deeply at jayce’s large hand brushing up against his erection. and you can only watch for so long as jayce attempts and fails a few times to undo vik’s belt before you finally reach out with your free hand to unclasp the belt for jayce. who quickly does away with the it, muttering something incoherent about how horrible the design was, while smoothing a hand down the front of vik’s pants; giving him a firm squeeze. you smile at the noise vik makes.

“jerk him off for me pretty boy. make him feel really good.” you sigh, reluctantly turning your eyes to your notes once more.

you glance quickly over your notes while out of the corner of your eye you watch jayce practically manhandle vik. he’s unceremoniously yanking down the other’s underwear and by the sound vik makes you know jayce has wrapped his fingers around his cock. your eyes scan over the paper in your hand as your leg subconsciously bounces. and if listening to viktor softly whine wasn’t enough to distract you, the sound of jayce whispering sweet nothings while stroking viktor off was for sure making it a little harder to pay attention to the paper in your hands. and while you do manage to read the last few words of the paragraph (and you’ve probably had to re-read it a few times) you thank god; for there’s only one more paragraph left now. you debate going over it as quick as you can, finishing off the notes right then and there but before you can, viktor's voice draws your attention to the two once again.

“j-jayce!” viktor whines, throwing his head back. his fingers grip jayce’s forearms, while jayce continues to stroke him off, practically standing on the tip of his toes as he craves more and more from jayce. pleasure written all over his face as his amber eyes stare at jayce’s fingers rubbing over his tip. you knew how sensitive he was and so did jayce, clearly targeting his weak spot; even when drunk he was damn good with his hands. the sight and the noises slipping from both men made your thighs ache with need. you couldn’t deny your own growing want inside of you as you simply watch the two.

“your hand will not be enough jayce.” you mutter, eyes fluttering up at jayce’s drunk gaze. he glances at you just as he plants a heavy kiss against vik’s neck as his hand falters just a little at your words. realization breaks through the fog of his inebriated mind at what you’re telling him to do and he’s quick to act. he repositions viktor to take his spot on the desk and in one swift motion he drops down to his knees, adjusting viktor’s bad leg onto his shoulder to rest, while his hand wraps around the base of vik’s cock once again. without hesitating jayce is just as quick to wrap his mouth around the thick of vik’s head, swallowing him down until the very base.

at this point, you’d rather chew on glass than read these damn notes anymore but you manage to rip your eyes away from them one last time, skimming over the words as fast as you can, retaining absolutely nothing, just to finish off whatever paragraph you had left. finally done with these damn notes, you toss them onto the other side of the desk not being used, and hurriedly stand up. you strip off your shirt before joining viktor’s side. your fingers push through jayce’s dark hair while you capture vik’s lips and you eagerly get to swallow his moans this time. you can just barely taste the lingering liquor on his tongue from jayce but it’s still there; just enough as you press your tongue against vik’s.

viktor and jayce share a groan as you join their little entanglement. you press your other hand against vik’s thigh as jayce continues sloppily sucking him off. vik breaks your shared kiss with a whine. “thought you were just watching tonight?” viktor mutters with a sharp cry as jayce sucks, particularly rough, against his tip.

“yeah well, you two are gonna be the death of me.” you respond before diving back to his lips once more.

after the three of you finished fooling around for the night you’d definitely have to re-read over those damn notes again before tomorrow morning…you weren’t getting any damn sleep tonight.

[bigidiotenergytm]

Does Poseidon like Hatsune Miku??

the more important question is.......

how many times does zeus play world is mine before the rest of olympus tries to overthrow him again?

[starmocha]

Xiiiiiuuu 💕

it's a brand new Monday, I had a dream with zayne that left me with some searing doubts and i wanna make it everyone's problem:

seeing the guys breaking for being so pent up after days apart from mc is cute and all

but what about a really pent up mc who's also ovulating and she hasn't seen her men in almost a month coz of a silly, classified mission that had her traveling everywhere and put her in a routine where she was too exhausted to do anything else but sleep once she was at the hotel

any kind of text she exchanged with the guys would sometimes get real flirty (initiated by her coz they're all gentlemen and the thing that mattered the most was if she was OK) but she'd end up falling asleep and frustrating herself

so when she comes back, she's pampered by them and they're really just happy she's back and she's ok but this girl is ravenous, and she's climbing on top of them and straddling them and grinding her hips and she's so eager that they have to hold her in place so they can even take a proper look at her face coz really, they can wait, she's tired, they don't have to do anything, they're just soooo fucking happy to be holding her again

and she's looking at them like they're all made of stars and love and she leans in, steals a kiss and while her face is red, cheeks hurting, her voice does not tremble at all when she whispers that she wants to feel them everywhere, and when theur hold on her gets a little tighter, fingers digging into her flesh, she adds that she wants to feel them in all of her holes 🙂

my question is: which of the guys just fucking loses it the hardest? i think all of them would short circuit a bit and almost cum on the spot tbh but they'd fulfill all of her wishes coz they just love her so much

(I'm blaming zayne for this question. blaming him and the desperate way he's always kissing mc. you fall asleep listening to silent poem for the billionth time and this is the result. damn you sexy snowman)

✨HAPPY MONDAY EVERYONE✨

I love a take charge MC. We stan. Get that dicc, girlie. 👏

Ok I accidentally wrote more than yap, so............I had a lot of thoughts........ 🙂 this will be on ao3, too.....

I feel like Xavier would break first. She just needs to mess with him a little and she'll get what she wants lol whereas Sylus would probably have the most control. Of course, he would lose it, too, but only after making sure she is truly wet for him. Anyhoo.................................

tit for tat

Xavier gets hard instantly, because what did his girl just fucking say to him? He knows they've been on different assignments lately and have had minimal contact, but surely that wasn't the reason she came back so... frisky, right? He's stammering, hands on her waist as she assaults him with kisses. It's not that he wants to stop her, but he wants to make sure she realizes what she is asking of him.

He's trying so hard to be a gentleman, but with the way she's grinding down on him, kissing him so hard, and then having the audacity to tease him finally made him snap. Before she realizes she had flipped a switch in him, he had pressed her down into the couch cushions, and he gives her The Xavier Stare Down™. She breathes in sharply. She's familiar with the way his eyes darken. In typical Xavier's fashion, he makes sure her legs are spread for him, and he chastises her, "You shouldn't have teased me so much. I would have been nicer to you."

She acts coy, letting him think he has control over her, but little does Xavier know, she wanted mean Xavier to take over. She anticipates he's going to help her relieve all of her... pent up energy.

sex on the beach

Rafayel is flustered. She had just said what?!

This isn't what he had thought would happen tonight. He had planned the perfect welcome home celebration for Miss Bodyguard. An exclusive reservation at one of the top-starred seafood restaurants, a walk on the beach, catching up under the stars, slowly reigniting the flame between them...

But she's in no mood to take it slow. She practically jumps him the moment they are back in his studio, and he finds himself dodging her advances, hiding behind canvases and the couch as she prowls to him like a lioness with her prey. He has never seen her like this before, and before things could escalate any further, Thomas calls his phone, immediately cockblocking the poor girl to her irritation. Normally, she likes Thomas, but this time, she is already planning his early retirement as Rafayel's agent.

After hanging up, Rafayel takes control of the situation again, saying with feigned disappointment that since the mood is ruined, they might as well still head out and continue with his original plans. She begrudgingly agrees, but throughout the whole dinner at the restaurant, Rafayel could see how frustrated she is. Not at him, per se, but she seems anxious to speed through dinner as quickly as possible.

Later when they walk along the beach together, his hand intertwined with hers and Rafayel is describing what he did during her absence, how boring everything was without her, and if it weren't for the secrecy of her mission, he would've bought a ticket and flew straight to her immediately. This makes her pause, and Rafayel looks at her with confusion.

She starts tearing up suddenly and asks why he was avoiding her earlier then if he claims to have missed her just as much as she had missed him. Immediately, he starts to panic a little, never expecting her to cry. He starts stammering out an explanation, saying he didn't think she was thinking clearly and he didn't want to take advantage of the situation.

She stops him. Suddenly, Rafayel finds himself pushed back, landing in the water, completely soaked. Before he could react, she straddles him and gently holds his chin up, making him look at her.

He realizes she was faking everything the whole time. He scoffs in disbelief, feeling foolish for falling for her ploy. "Crocodile tears, Miss Bodyguard?"

"How else would I get you to take me seriously?" she purrs against his ear, and his breath hitches. Her arms are around his neck, body pressing closer to him. She is just as soaked as he is now, he realizes, feeling the wet fabric cling to her body, his mind shifting focus to the slow grinds of her hips against him and his heart accelerating with every roll.

"This area is private," she whispers into his ear, noting the way it almost immediately turned red at her suggestive words. "Remember when I ordered a 'sex on the beach' earlier during dinner?"

"...Y-yeah..." His throat is dry, his mind already knowing what she is about to say next.

"I wasn't asking for a cocktail."

Immediately, his hands slip under the skirt of her dress, and he pauses almost as quickly, meeting her seductive gaze with surprise. "When did you—"

"They were already soaked before we left the studio. Seemed silly to change when you're just going to take them off anyway, right my fishie?"

He's going to lose his mind, but he gives into her spell, gladly and willingly ready to submit to her whims, to fall deeply into lust with her and drown in this pleasure.

on the same page

Zayne is picking her up from the airport and she nearly jumps on him. At first, Zayne thinks she's just excited to see him again. He misses her, too, and just kisses her back as normal.

Or so he thought.

The moment she gets in his car, she's grabbing his tie and tugging him to her into another heated kiss, surprising him with her boldness. He struggles to stop her, reminding her that they're still in public.

"So, if we're alone, then it's no problem, right?"

He knows what she's suggesting, but he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he buckles her seatbelt for her, intentionally ignoring the pout she gives him. During the drive back to their home, though, she notices how his large hand is covering her thigh, stroking and squeezing every so often. She steals a peek at him, but Zayne remains pokerfaced, and in fact, he is just conversing with her about mundane things. Still, she can't ignore the way his hand feels on her thigh in this moment, already wishing they were home now so he could pry her legs apart and see just how wet she already is for him.

The minute they are home and alone inside the house, Zayne drops his gentlemanly act. She is all over him again, more eager than before, because within the privacy of their home, there is no reason she needs to be discreet about her intents, right?

He lifts her into his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist as he presses her to the closest wall and his lips are all over hers as well. They're getting breathless, becoming delirious with desire for one another. He hears what she says, what she wants from him.

How convenient that this is what he wants, too, and if she's giving him her permission, then who is he to deny her this?

what an honor

Sylus is just delighted, because what did she just say to him?

He hasn’t misheard her, but he couldn’t help but messes with her a little, never imagining there would ever be a day that he would hear such bold, crass words out of the lovely Miss Hunter’s mouth.

"Sweetie, some men might misconstrue what you had just said—"

"You and I both know there is only one man I would say this to."

Fair point. He feels rather honored that she desires him in such a way, and he would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about her recently in a more... intimate nature.

He gets pulled back to the present, falling prey to her relentless kisses. He had missed the way her body feels on his, loving how she is finally being greedy and selfish, acting on her instincts and wanting to use him for her pleasure.

What she wants, he will give it to her.

And if what she wants is him... well then, he has always ever been hers and no one else's.

complete authority

Caleb is going to lose his fucking mind.

With their mismatched schedules lately, it's been difficult to see one another. Instead of arranging a day to meet up in Linkon or Skyhaven or even elsewhere in the world, Caleb comes home one day to find her already in his house in Skyhaven, waiting for him on the couch.

She has a key.

His home is her home.

And Caleb... well, Caleb is also hers. All hers. And she wants him now.

When he approaches her, she is already grabbing the lapels of his jacket and pulling him down on top of her. She's kissing him with so much force, not even bothering with the "hello, how are you" small talks. She needs him now. He's getting lost in her, enjoying the feel of her beneath him. He's kissing her back, getting pulled into the same haze of arousal as her. Things get even more heated as the minutes pass, their breathless gasps and moans filling the silence in his home. By now, he is practically humping her, because fuck, he's pent up, too. It's been weeks apart and the company of the Farspace Fleet is nothing compared to being with her.

His hands are tugging down her skirt, but he freezes when she tells him that.

"A-all of them?" he questions back, red-faced, half out of embarrassment, but the other half was complete arousal at the thought that she would let him use her like that, wanting him to fill all of her.

Feeling his bulge against her own arousal, she smiles back to him mischievously. "Did I stutter?"

He laughs and presses his forehead to hers before kissing her quickly. "You little... alright, be a good girl."

He's kissing her back with the same fervor, reminding her, "Whatever you want is what I'll offer to you."

And that includes the authority to command him.

[shweshisketch]

Your art is very pretty (and cute. I'm in love. ❤️)

I’m flattered 🫣 have a little sora as thank you

[canisalbus]

everywhere I go I see them. Merry Christmas!

.

[murkshade]

if you are still taking these: Softstar/Foxstar hypokit (if not, feel free to delete)

[rippersz]

thank you for blessing us with your Lilia fics 🥹🫠

Here, have another. - Rip x

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𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙍𝙤𝙨𝙚

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✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

(Lilia Calderu x Fem!Reader) (Song Fic; Fluffy; Character Study; Angsty; Love Confession) (~3.4k words)

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There was a time once in history when Lilia Calderu wanted to be a performer. 

She sang the songs and recited the rituals of her coven, she honed her voice for incantations and for spells, and when the time came for her to grow up, it was rumoured that her talent was so strong, so steady and intense, that even the goddesses could hear it. For a while, it made her popular. The girls loved to listen to soft lullabies before bed, the superior witches enjoyed her singing at their events, even her maestra, at times, asked for a little tune to help get her through the rest of the evening. Most nights, when everyone was already fast asleep, Lilia would lie awake in her bed and try to picture a life of free vocal pleasure. A life where she could be an adored witch and an even better performer, one with the light feet of a dancer and the voice of an angel. A woman so good she could travel the continent, go beyond Sicily, see the fruits of the world, and be loved by all for what she could do.

It was, for what was really such a short period of time, a lovely existence. Then, gradually, unexpectedly, and terribly, her life began to pause and resume out of order, transporting her to versions of herself she had yet to meet. And though she did see those unfamiliar places, the world beyond Sicily, she was never faced with the loving, excited crowd. Most times, it was pitchforks and threats, angry faces of strange men and women, children with teary eyes, and licks of fire cast toward her body. She had never seen such fear in her life, never felt hatred so strong it seemed like a physical presence, and after a short while, Lilia Calderu realised that instead of becoming a beloved singer and performer, she was destined to run and hide for most of her life. 

It came as no surprise that when the gaps got so powerful, so frequent and so bad that sometimes she didn’t remember an entire day, the coven lost their combined interest in her talent. It fizzled out and eventually became a secret kept to herself. A faded myth that some girls chattered about to newcomers. The only person who heard her sing from that point forward was her maestra. The old woman didn’t care for Lilia’s reputation, she only cared for her talent. Both within magic and outside of it. So sometimes after their lessons, unpredictably to keep Lilia on her toes, her maestra would request a song. On one afternoon it would be a ritual tune, on another it would be a chant, and some evenings she asked Lilia to sing something–anything–just so the two of them could enjoy a bit of peace. 

And so Lilia would sing. She would sing, sing her heart out, and she would watch the way her maestra closed her wise eyes and swayed back and forth to the sound of Lilia’s music. Those moments in her life were the ones most cherished. When she closed her eyes, they were just as vivid as the day she experienced them for the first time: the soft waves of the ocean kissing the shoreline and the great rocks of the coast, the setting sun nearly over the horizon, filling the atmosphere with great wisps of pink and purple-tinged stratus clouds, the air smelling of whatever the cooks had prepared for supper. Her maestra in her chair, tipping her head back, enjoying the lilt of Lilia’s voice until she faded into silence and the old woman opened her eyes, straightened her posture, and gave Lilia only two claps before rushing her off inside. She could picture their moments in the garden just as easily, the birds and the wildlife scurrying in the underbrush and the burrows and the trees, the smells of rich forest plants, vines, and flowers, the way the sun reflected off of the gazebo’s carved stone pillars, the familiar comfort of the bench whenever she sat down across from her. It was a unique paradise, a home she understood she would never have again. 

And a community she would never have again. 

Once the coven forgot about her voice, she mainly used it for herself. On slow walks around the grounds, she would hum, during her soaks in the bath, she would whistle, and whenever she had a moment alone in a secluded place, a place of utter tranquillity, of silence and precious independence, she would belt. She would belt and she would croon in every key she could and she would do it until her throat hurt or it got too late or she couldn’t think of anything else to perform. 

That’s why you never interrupted her singing in the shower. 

It was loud every time, louder than the water and the washing, and it would reverberate off of the tiles and the mirror and it would hit your ears through the thin walls, but you never dared ask her to stop. You couldn’t. 

No, not that you couldn’t because Lilia would most definitely stop if you wanted her to but that was just it - that was the last thing you wanted. 

Lilia’s voice was polished marble. It was richer than sweet chocolate, huskier than the tang of whiskey, more gentle than the fur of a kitten. It was steady, it succeeded in its rhythm, its measure, its keys and its choruses and whenever you heard the shower curtain slide open and the water turn on, you knew to prepare yourself for a performance. 

And always, without fail, it was a performance you got.

Sometimes it was a happy one, a joyous loud one where her voice went gravelly as she tried to emulate a rockstar. Sometimes it was an angry one, when she sang with a growl and a bite to her lyrics. Sometimes, most times, it was sad and melancholic, ringing and chirping like an operatic bird, and tinged with so much history and pain that you worried if she was as alright as she claimed to be. Perhaps, you thought, it was a form of therapy. That was her release. To spread the swirl of talent and desperation that built up in her body, eager to be revealed to the clouds, the cosmos, the world. It was her history, coiled up like springs, and every time she disappeared into that unique space of music, it was like they all burst up at once. History springing everywhere, bouncing from the tiles, painting the foggy air of the bathroom as Lilia stood beneath hot water and opened her mouth and released. 

You imagined her there, shaking with the force of her own voice, closing her eyes, curls wet and plastered to the back of her neck, her shoulders, and letting the power take hold - not in a witch’s way but in a mortal’s way. In a way that spoke to centuries of pain, of wonder, of exploration. You couldn’t remember the moment she told you she liked her water scalding hot, but you never had a doubt as ‘steamy’ seemed to be the bathroom’s atmosphere whenever she walked out from a shower. The two of you mutually agreed to disable the second smoke detector in the flat that, for some reason, was on the ceiling in the same hallway and would have no doubt gone off every time Lilia wanted to wash up. 

It was quite endearing to see her slip out followed by a gust of steam, sporting reddened skin and messy damp curls plastered to her head and neck. She looked like a wet puppy. A wet puppy that was very hard to look at, partly because she needed the privacy to get dressed but also because she often walked out in nothing but a towel. A single red bath towel, wrapped around the top of her bust that fell below her knees. The first time you’d walked into the hallway and saw that, you backpedalled into your room so fast you nearly fell and cracked your head open on the floor. It was embarrassing sporting a blush for the rest of the evening, but she didn’t seem to notice - or perhaps didn’t care. 

And why would she? You were two women. You could be normal about things like that. About bodies and nudity and the curves of the female figure and the curves of Lilia’s body specifically.

Yes, absolutely. Normal. You could be normal.

You could be normal about the shower singing. 

You could be normal when Lilia sang of love.

You could be normal when she sang of love in different languages like French and Latin and Sicilian and Greek and something else, something ancient, that you’d never heard before.

You could be normal when her voice dipped into a low husk as she cooed, emulating the style, the niche, of a beautifully dressed jazz singer in a dimly lit jazz bar.

You could be normal when she hummed something light and sweet beneath her breath, dressing her voice up as the garlands of Spring. 

You could be normal when she poured her entire heart into a note. 

You could be normal when she stole your mind away with a whistle.

You could be totally normal about things like that. 

You could be totally normal about it all.

Totally normal. 

Yeah.

Nothing but normalcy. 

───༺༻───

You had a favourite song. 

It was stupid. So stupid. You weren’t sure how you allowed it to happen, but it happened and because of it, you were screwed. Screwed. So stupid…

You had a favourite song. 

She sang it the same way every time, with soft prolonged vowels and crystal clear tones, like windchimes and violins. She sang with heart, with soul, her tongue was fluid in the first verse, her inflection lilting and gentle in the second, and her mouth shook with power as she belted the third. A mezzo-soprano through and through you came to learn after looking it up one day (just another example of your foolishness). 

You had a favourite song. 

It was cold honey in her mouth, made for her voice, crafted for most of her range. For the sweet and soft, the careful and gentle, to the rough and loud, strong and courageous. She could roar and whisper, cry and laugh, be righteous and upset all at once. It was so moving the first time you heard it, the spoon you were washing fell right out of your hands. 

Some say love, it is a river

That drowns the tender reed

A sharp breath. A trip of your body as your heart ran right to a stop. 

Some say love, it is a razor

That leaves your soul to bleed

You’d heard her sing about romance before, in all possible forms and ways, but you never expected those words from her lips. 

Some say love, it is a hunger

An endless aching need

They were familiar. You already knew them. You’d learned when you were young, when you still had the chance to sing with your mother, with your grandmother, and harmonise when you weren’t too shy. Granted, none of you could harmonise very well, but that wasn’t the point. All that mattered was how you knew it, sang it, together.

I say love, it is a flower

And you, its only seed

Your mouth moved with hers, only silence flowing from your throat, and you closed your eyes as your body melted against the sink. You followed her pause, her break, imagining the instruments there to fill the blank space, and took a deep breath when she continued.

It's the heart, afraid of breaking

That never learns to dance

It felt so nice to listen, to recognise the music and the shifts, and you pressed one hand to your heart so you could feel its beat as you heard. So you knew that it was still going, that you hadn’t died and Lilia wasn’t an angel singing you to Heaven. 

It's the dream, afraid of waking

That never takes the chance

You’d never told Lilia about your music taste. You feared that saying anything would result in an accidental slip and that your soul would spill out before you could do anything to keep it inside. You couldn’t have that, you couldn’t ruin everything you built, so you sat in your songs and you listened to the ones she sang, remembering the lyrics and copying them into Google as soon as you had a moment alone. You connected in silence. You appreciated her compassion by listening at night, before sleep, and betrayed your heart by wishing she was there next to you to sing it rather than in the other room, already drifting away into dreamland. You wanted to cross the bridge, to bring your adoration up to her and put it in her lap and tell her how in awe you were, but you never felt like it was your place. 

It's the one who won't be taken

Who cannot seem to give

Then she opened her mouth and sang out your childhood, the sum of your warm memories, and suddenly you were crying like a baby in your little apartment kitchen, looking around through a curtain of tears at everything you’d made together. 

And the soul, afraid of dying

That never learns to live

Was it going to kill you? Keeping it inside? Telling yourself that being normal about Lilia, resisting the temptations of love, was better than being rejected? That’s never how the stories ended, did they? If no one confessed, then it was a life lived wrong. If things were unsaid, it was an opportunity lost. If you didn’t tell Lilia, then it was another dead end. 

When the night has been too lonely

And the road has been too long

Oh her belt. Oh she way she sang. Harrowed, lost, speaking of times she was familiar with, loneliness that she knew like the back of her hand, a road she’d been travelling since the day she was born. 

And you think that love is only

For the lucky and the strong

Something she never had, something she could never keep for herself, no love for Lilia Calderu because she was not lucky and she was rarely strong. She lived her life in pieces, luck was not a friend, and she ran from every place where she found solace, and strength was never a lesson learned. 

Just remember in the winter

Far beneath the bitter snows

But that didn’t mean time stopped moving or stopped passing. It didn’t mean the world took love away on purpose. She knew this. She understood that life was meant to be lived a certain way, and that for her it was different. But who needed linear time when she had nonlinear time? Who needed order when she experienced the bits out of order, over and over, and found that still, in every space, in every world, she maintained her talent and her passion? 

Lies the seed that with the sun's love

In the spring becomes the rose

Who needed desolation and exhaustion and hopelessness when hope was so strong? So eager to persevere?

Why did Lilia need to believe that she could not be loved if you were there to love her? 

“Darling? What’s wrong?” 

You were dry-heaving, clutching at your chest like it would stop the breaking of your heart, the cracks and the fractures, and you were so loud that you didn’t hear the bathroom door open. Tears made your cheeks warm and your breaths, your sobs, turned you red. The world was numb, only a collection of brief sounds, but Lilia’s voice, as it always did, pulled you back. She was blurry behind tears, but you looked at her anyway, pitiful and sad, and didn’t even bother to hide when she ran forward in her towel and tugged you into her warm arms. 

“Did something happen?” She whispered, patting at your hair, doing all she could to soothe you, and you could only cry harder against her shoulder. 

Smelling her shampoo, feeling the natural warmth of her soft skin, revelling in the grounding sensation of loose drops of water smearing from her hair onto your head and neck, unable to hold yourself back from wrapping your arms around her and holding on like she’d fall to sand otherwise. These were the things that made you break. 

“I love you,” your voice was barely there, not even a whisper, as you spoke against her skin. “I love you.” 

“What? What are you saying, honey? Speak up, baby, let me help you.” She sounded so worried, so pained, so shocked but determined to help, and you shook your head to rid yourself of fog. 

“I love you.” It was a croak. “I love you.” A louder croak. Until you were repeating it into her shoulder, falling apart against her body, clutching her like a dead man to life. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you Lilia. I love you Lilia. I’m so sorry, I love you.” I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. It was all you knew. It was all you felt. 

“I’m in love with you.” A huff of breath, a final stutter, as you swallowed harshly and sniffled and cleared your throat. Your eyes burned something fierce, still red and puffy and wet, but you kept them open and stared at the side of her neck when you said it again. “I am in love with you.” It was a shameful whisper, an out of place declaration, but you were overwhelmed and she was there to hold you and you felt like nothing else mattered in that little moment. Only your love for her. Only Lilia. 

She was quiet. Her hands still moved, running along your back over your shirt, patting down your hair, resting her chin on your shoulder. She was quiet. 

“Was it the song?” She whispered, and you nodded. “Was I too loud?” 

“No,” you said too quickly, loosening your grip, preparing to move away, but Lilia didn’t budge. Not a single muscle moved. And so you held on again, surprised, and admitted softly, “You were perfect.” 

She was still quiet. For a little while, that’s how it was. Your heart began its slow recovery, piecing itself together, readying the battle stations for the moment she properly rejected you, and you shook lightly in her arms while you tried regulating your emotions. And Lilia was still and quiet. Petting you, holding you, not worried at all about her towel or how much water was getting on the floor. You were going to mention it, going to try and move on from the moment so you could return to the way things were as if you hadn’t just poured your soul out to her like you always told yourself you wouldn’t, but then something happened. 

Her throat moved against your ear, a light buzz, then a louder one. 

“Lies the seed,” she sang softly, “that with the sun's love… in the spring… becomes the rose,” she trailed off, slowly, into a gentle hum, and your heart trembled, barely holding on, and you almost choked on your breaths when Lilia finally moved. 

Her hands were gentle, detaching you from her, slowly pulling back so soft damp palms could move up to cup your cheeks. There was only one place to look, into those deep amber eyes, and you felt your expression crumble when you saw the quiver of her lips, the tears, the furrow of her dark brows, the way her curls stuck to the sides of her face. No makeup, no armour, no magic, bare for the world to see, open and vulnerable in a way never experienced, felt, witnessed before. You looked at her, stunned, and saw the fear and the hesitation in her gaze. She was so scared, so worried about the consequences, about what would happen if love once again only favoured the lucky and the strong. But the desperation lurked - the same need you saw in yourself. The knowledge that to keep it inside was to kill. 

And why succumb to death when you could love instead? 

“You are my sun,” Lilia breathed, raspy and gentle, her chest heaving with breath. Her cheek twitched like she wanted to smile, but you were frozen, and you could only look at her like a lost child. “And I love you.” 

And she loved you. 

And she loved you. 

And she loved you. 

Lucky and strong.

Your rose. 

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The Rose by Bette Midler you will always be famous... - Rip x

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[wernerherzogs]

thought you might enjoy this edit :) https://twitter.com/deanvrse/status/1916125342995190098?s=46

AND U WERE RIGHT.

[chatting-with-peppino]

*there are the gentle clanks of somebody setting up putting plates and the loud sounds of children playing coming from the daycare*

- @thealwayshappyanon

*She opened her eyes and shuffled groaning a bit*

❝Eh-???❞

[corruptimles]

lethal company emmet is one of the funniest concepts ive seen on my dash in a while, i love him....... i wanna see him pokemon battle one of the CREATURES™️

theres two routes depending on if you want to interpret that Emmet was sent to a Pokemon multiverse version of Lethal Company,

or just actual Lethal Company

[klanced]

“Keith is not a tsundere he just sucks” you know and understand more than a simple mortal mind could ever dream

i feel like a quintessential part of understanding keith's character is realizing that he is generally okay at socializing with people (he just doesn't like dealing with strangers), but there is something very specific about lance that makes keith fumble every single interaction they have