#I'M NOT SORRY

[trombonechurchill]

Thirsty Thursday

tagged by the ever wonderful @ambernotember, @leashybebes, @chimneyz, @buckevantommy, and @quintessenceofdust88, thank you thank you I need all the nudges I can get I wanna get this fic done

And in that spirit (hah), some more Bartender!Buck and Totally Human Man!Tommy from An Educated Thirst ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Tommy's still lingering at the threshold when Buck turns around, his keys in his hand as he watches Buck. Silhouetted by the outside light, Buck can't make out much of the guarded expression sketched on Tommy's face, just the heavy sigh as he shifts in the shadow of the door for another moment before speaking. "Well, I should get going-" "Don't!" Buck blanches, flinches at his own reaction as he nearly knocks himself over turning so fast, pinning Tommy with a stare as he hovers still stuck in the damn doorway. He wants- He wants so much, but he wants Tommy not to go the most. "Stay- stay for a drink." Buck's grasping at straws, can't help but notice the way Tommy's face shutters, how Buck's mouth keeps scrambling. "Please. As a thank you, let me make you a drink. Night cap, what-whatever you want to call it." He's all but begging. He's not too proud to admit it. "I shouldn't." It's all Tommy says, but he hasn't moved yet. "I-" Buck licks his lips, watches the way Tommy tracks the movement with his eyes. "-I don't want to be alone yet. Please. One drink." "This is a bad idea, Evan," Tommy says quietly. His keys are still in his hands. "One drink," Buck repeats. Tommy sighs, wavers. Glances at the driveway, at Buck. At the threshold the toes of his shoes are just barely touching. Like he's braced on a precipice. Buck mentally eggs him to cross it. Tip over. Let go. "I'm not the sort of person you should be inviting into your home, Evan." It's the weakest excuse Buck's heard in his life. "You drove me home," Buck points out, grins at the way Tommy's shoulders slump in resignation. "Please, come in, let me make you a drink." It's like a spell's been broken as Buck says it. Tommy takes a shuddering breath, a deep one that expands his ribs, deep into his lungs. Eyes still locked on Buck as he finally steps inside and closes the door. "If there's one benefit to living in what's basically a frat house, it's that we're always fully stocked," Buck explains, happily crouching down to rifle through the under counter cabinet they keep the alcohol stash in. He only wobbles a little bit as he bounces back to his feet with several bottles and a triumphant noise, giddy with the way Tommy's eyes track him around the kitchen, the way his hands flex like he's mentally trying to stabilize Buck from across the room. "That is absinthe," Tommy notes warily. "Very astute of you."

np tagging everyone who tagged me eheeho and @setmeatopthepyre, @dark-alice-lilith, @emphasisonthehomo, @fake-mouthstatic, @aesthetictarlos, @disaster-j, @cliophilyra, and @exhaustedpirate <3

[cheriikisses]

keep going I'm almost there

[esmiara]

"Wake up, Osamu..."

[cherrie-blue-s]

You will be missed

[obsessiveandutterlydelusional]

Quiet as worship.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

Summary:

You and Wanda have spent the last year walking the tightrope between secrecy and devotion—navigating judgment, age gaps, and quiet mornings that feel more sacred than any spotlight. To the world, you're just two successful women in different stages of life. But behind closed doors, you're something far more intimate. When you return home during one of Wanda's livestreamed interviews, the quiet ache to be close becomes impossible to resist. And under the desk—where no one can see—you remind her exactly who she belongs to, even when the camera’s still rolling.

A story of stolen moments, soft worship, and the kind of love that doesn’t need an audience to feel real.

TW: NFSW, oral sex (w!receiving), fingering (w!receiving), age gap relationship (legal, duh), secretish relationship, praise & worship kink (implied), power dynamics, dom!wanda, sub!reader, established relationship, fem!reader, public sex?(concealed), A/U!Celebrities, MDI.

Word Count: around 1k (it's a short one)

A/N: honestly, i've never really written anything before, (unless you count making "fanfics" on youtube when i was like 13.) i've been obsessd with elizabeth olsen lately, and really just wanted to write something short for wanda. i don't expect this to really blow up or anything but thought i'd share and may write more fics if this gets any attention. feel free to comment your thoughts or critiques, i also barely know how to navigate anything on tumblr when it comes to posting so if you have any tips for that, greatly appreciated. enjoy! :)

You and Wanda had been navigating the blurred line between secrecy and intimacy for nearly a year. It wasn’t a tabloid-worthy secret—not exactly—not to those who mattered. Your families knew. So did your closest friends. But the rest of the world? The fans, the press, the ever-watchful industry eyes? They didn’t know. Not yet.

You both guarded it tightly, like something too rare and beautiful to survive under public scrutiny.

And truthfully, it wasn’t the kind of love story you could explain easily.

You were 21—young, ambitious, a rising force in music with a voice that turned heads. Acting had become your latest frontier, a new stage to conquer. Wanda was 30—powerful, poised, and captivating in ways that made people go silent mid-sentence. She’d lived through storms, carried shadows she rarely spoke of, and moved through the world with a calm intensity that demanded respect.

And that nine-year gap between you? It made people talk. Judge. Assume.

Her friends whispered their theories—maybe she was chasing youth, maybe it was a passing indulgence. Your family masked concern with logic, lacing their doubt with patronizing smiles. Too young. Too complicated. As if love bowed to reason.

But none of it mattered. Not anymore.

Because it worked.

The late nights. The quiet mornings. The language spoken in glances and silences. It bloomed into something undeniable. And after nearly a year of proving the world wrong, even the skeptics had started to soften. They saw it now—the connection, the depth, the truth.

A month ago, you moved in—into her secluded home nestled in the hills above L.A., wrapped in silence and red-hued sunsets that lasted just a little longer when she was beside you. It felt seamless. Like gravity.

Today had been ordinary, in the kind of way that only shared lives could make beautiful. You’d spent the morning in the studio, lost in harmonies and half-written lyrics. Wanda had stayed home, preparing for a livestreamed interview for a film she’d done more as a favor than anything else.

Before the call began, she left you a voice note—low, calm, clipped in that no-nonsense way she got when she was focused.

“I’ll be live when you get back. Mic and camera on. Be good for me, okay?”

There was a softness beneath the command, and you’d smiled at the sound of it.

You got home quietly, careful with your keys and the sound of the door, trying not to disturb her. But curiosity had a gravity all its own. You told yourself you just wanted to see her.

Drifting down the hall, you paused at the half-open door of her office. Warm light poured out, casting long golden shadows. And there she was.

Wanda sat like she owned the space—back straight, voice smooth, answering questions with calm poise and piercing intelligence. Her hair, back to its deep auburn, framed her face in soft waves, new bangs brushing her brows and easing the sharpness of her features. She wore a loose black pantsuit—elegant and commanding, clinging to her in ways that made your pulse stutter. She didn’t have to try. She just was.

And you stood there, breath caught in your throat.

She hadn’t noticed you. Her eyes were on the screen. But yours? They were only on her. The curve of her mouth, the angle of her jaw, the way her fingers moved lightly across the desk—it all drew you in. Unintended seduction. Unintended, and yet devastating.

Your body responded before your mind could argue. Quietly, you stepped inside. No grand plan—just a hunger to be close. You dropped to your knees, heart hammering, and crawled beneath the desk. Her mic was angled high, her camera facing away from the lower half. She wouldn’t be visible from this angle. Neither would you.

It wasn’t about teasing. It wasn’t about interruption. You just needed to be near her.

Face to face with her knees, you reached out, fingers ghosting over her ankles and slipping under the fabric of her pants to stroke the warm skin of her calves.

Wanda didn’t flinch. Didn’t skip a beat. But a subtle smile ghosted her lips—so faint it might’ve gone unnoticed.

‘I knew you’d find your way under my desk.’

Her thighs shifted, parting slightly, creating space for you. Space you moved into with reverent ease. You rested your head on her inner thigh, looking up through your lashes, just watching her speak—captivated. Worshipful.

Your hands trailed up, fingers pressing softly into the fabric of her slacks, drawing lazy circles on her skin beneath.

And Wanda responded in the quietest of ways.

A shift in her chair. A hand sliding down, curling beneath the desk to cradle your jaw. Another tangling into your hair, fingertips gripping gently. Guiding. Not forcing. Just showing you what she wanted.

Your cheeks burned under her touch, the intimacy of it pulling a shiver through you. You hadn’t expected this—thought maybe she’d hush you away with a glance. But Wanda rarely did what people expected.

Hands shaking just slightly, you moved to the waistband of her pants, undoing the button with deliberate slowness. Her hips lifted, offering permission, as she kept speaking to the screen with barely a hitch.

“So you could say the character’s inner struggle is something many of us can relate to…”

Her voice stayed calm, even as you slid the zipper down.

You pulled her pants and underwear just low enough, breath catching at the sight of her—already wet, already wanting. She was flushed, beautiful, and utterly composed.

Leaning in, you pressed soft kisses to her inner thighs, rewarded with the quietest sigh. A gentle tug at your hair—impatient.

You obeyed.

Your mouth found her center, tongue teasing a long stripe through her slit, savoring the taste of her. She shifted, hips rolling forward, breath catching as you sucked lightly on her clit.

“Mm… the theme of self-discovery was important to explore…”

A subtle breathiness laced her tone, barely there but so present to you.

The wet sounds of your mouth were louder now, shame and desire twisted together in your chest as you tried to stay quiet. Your fingers joined the rhythm, slipping into her slowly, curling up to find that one perfect spot.

She gripped the chair arm harder.

“It’s about… facing your fears. Finding courage to be who you truly are…”

You looked up at her—sweat at her brow, jaw clenched, chest rising with uneven breaths. She glanced down, and her green eyes met yours—dark, desperate, hungry.

She was close. So close.

“This film really shows the power of… of collaboration…”

Her thighs trembled around your head, clamping tighter. Her hands clenched, one still buried in your hair. She was trying so hard to hold it together.

“And—ah—it’s been an honor to work with such an incredibly talented ensemble…”

Her voice broke for a fraction of a second.

You knew that sound. That edge. She was there.

“Thank you for having me,” she said quickly, managing a final smile for the camera. “It’s been a pleasure.”

She ended the stream in one swift motion—shutting the laptop before anyone could respond.

In a blur, she pushed her chair back, pulling you from under the desk and onto her lap with startling strength.

Her lips grazed your ear. Her voice was low, dark, commanding.

“Naughty girl. You just couldn’t wait, could you?”

A shiver licked up your spine.

“You know this isn’t going unpunished.”

And you knew. God, you knew. But you didn’t care. As long as it was Wanda... You’d take anything she gave.

[a-total-idiot]

👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹

[sunnysunsins]

Prompt: "switch clothes"

A spicy bonus and no-text versions under the cut

Silly bird only now realizing his wife is hot smh smh

And cleans:

the struggle of fitting his 4(?) pairs of wings in the dress

[squarecloud73]

*I worship you Tumblr please don’t remove it

I think the best part of Kabru’s scary blue eyes joke, is out of everyone, he himself fears them the most :D

[rlynumpen]

Fall.

[thevoidstaredback]

Part 3

Now, Danny has a horrible sense of time. If he can't see the stars, he can't tell time without a clock. But, he was sure it'd been hours by now. Hours of sitting in the dark, ignoring Cassandra and they still weren't leaving him alone.

And Danny was hoping to sleep that night. Looks like that's not happening.

At some point, Danny couldn't say when, Cassandra had left the closet, though they left the door open. They'd come back in a bit later. They told him that they'd unblocked the door, but that no one was going to come in.

Danny hated that. He'd curled further into himself.

He'd toyed with the idea of just going intangible and invisible and just noping out of there, but he wouldn't be able to until Cassandra left him the hell alone. Something they were very much not doing.

"I know it's hard to be in a new place," this was another attempt to get him to speak. It would fail like all the other times. "We're not trying to hold you here against your will. You're not a prisoner."

Distantly, he wondered what Talia had told Damian about his coming to stay the summer in Gotham. Danny was very much there against his will, only going along with what Talia wanted because she had people watching his actual family. She wanted him to get along with Damian, to become an ally to the Bat that he can call upon at any give and time. She wanted him to be at their every beck-and-call like he refused to be for the League. Deathstroke wanted him to kill them from the inside out.

It's a miracle those two ever got along long enough to agree to use their collective DNA to create him. A clone he may be, but he still has two parents.

"I don't know what lie you guys were told," he whispered into the darkness, "nor do I care. Stop trying to get answers because I'm not giving them to you."

"You're scared, I get it-"

"I'm not fucking scared!" He shouted, "Get the hell out and leave me the fuck alone!"

He breathed heavy, hiding his face back in his arms. He heard Cassandra stand, open the door, leave, and close the door behind themself. Then, following their footsteps, he heard the door to the room he'd been forced into unlock, open, and then close again.

Invisible, he uncurled and left the closet. He was quick to lock and block the door again. Then, he activated his flight ability and used the broken window to climb up onto the roof.

It was night. No matter that Bristol was across the river, not even attached to Gotham Proper, he couldn't see the stars through the smog. Not even from the highest spire of the Manor.

"This sucks," he whispered.

A snort from the window in the tower below him. "Don't I know it." Danny stiffened, but didn't otherwise react. "The name's Jason. Don't use the roof to hide from vigilantes." They pulled themself out of the window and climbed up to sit near him. The closest they could get was the roof top. They whistled appreciatively. "You must have the best balance in the word to be sitting up there, kid."

"Don't call me kid."

They shrugged and sat down, "Cass said you've been hiding in your closet all day," they said, "She also said you told her you're not scared."

Danny scowled. "Did she also tell you that I told her to fuck off? Because I thought I was very clear about that."

Jason didn't react to the language he'd used. "She said you're acting pretty scared."

"I'm not-!"

"'Scared'. That's what everyone says."

"You're not listening." Danny growled at them. They shut up. "I'm not scared. I'm avoiding you because I don't want to be here."

It was quiet for a moment. Then, "Then leave."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

He didn't say anything. It would get back to Damian who would tell Talia. She'd probably kill Jazz or Dani out of spite.

Jason hummed. "I think it's a bit more than that."

"Think what you want."

"I will." They stood. "I'm gonna go tell the rest you've left your room. Dickie bird's been sulking for hours because you won't talk to him. Everyone's been excited to meet their new brother-"

Danny's powers lashed out as he bristled, freezing the spire and rooftop he and Jason were on. "I'm not your brother!"

"Woah!" Jason threw their hands up to catch their balance. "Chill, dude."

He scowled at the pun. It was funny, but he hadn't felt like laughing since Talia dragged him away from his home with little to no notice.

Jason caught their balance, then sighed. "Don't stay out here too late, yeah?"

Danny watched them pick their way across the ice before climbing down to the tower window. He let his invisibility wash over him as he got more comfortable on the rounded off spike he'd claimed. He'd stay out as long as he damn well pleased, Jason. No one gets to tell him what to do.

Part 5

[thefreakandthehair]

you could be bad, but I wanna find out.

written for @steddiemicrofic ‘guard’ | wc: 532 | rated: mature | tags: goalie!Steve Harrington, fan!Eddie Munson, alternate universe- no upside down, different first meeting, meet ugly (but it's still cute), bars, alcohol mention, description of sexual activity, humor, big mouth!Eddie Munson, long-suffering besties Gareth and Jeff

The bar is buzzing with excited fans, humming with an energy that makes Eddie feel looser and lighter than the Budweiser ever could. Surrounded by a sea of black and red jerseys that line the long, narrow bar, Jeff and Gareth laugh and shake their heads. 

Eddie hasn’t stopped rambling since the Blackhawks won, and he has no intentions of stopping anytime soon. 

Not after a win like that— a shutout win that tore the roof off of United Center. 

And certainly not after the Blackhawks goalie guarded the net like it was his treasure and he, its dragon. 

Sure, it helps that Steve Harrington is definitely the most beautiful man to ever grace an ice rink, but it’s the competence that gets him. Watching Harrington bend and stretch his limbs into pretzel-like shapes, coming up with the puck and an unhinged grin, really gets his motor running.

“I mean, did you see him?” Eddie asks for maybe the tenth time since sitting at the shiny, shellacked bar. “Jeff, you get it, right? You see what I’m seeing, right?” 

“I see a guy who’s really great at his job, and I see another guy who sounds insane. Guess which one you are?” Jeff snorts into his beer and takes a sip. 

“Gareth, buddy, surely you can understand where I’m coming from. Remember the first time you saw Lars Ulrich?” Eddie turns, knocking his shoulder against Gareth’s. 

“Duh, dude,” Gareth leans forward and yells in response, the bar erupting into cheers and more drunken celebrations. “The difference is that I wanted to be Lars Ulrich. You want to fuck Steve Harrington.” 

Eddie clutches his chest in feigned offense and feels himself being pushed against the bar as the building fills up with what must be the final wave of fans leaving the stadium. The bartender nods behind him with a knowing smile and passes a draft beer over Eddie’s shoulder into a large, veiny hand. 

“Okay, fine,” Eddie concedes, resting his own drink on the bar. “You’re right. The way I would fuck Steve Harrington is obscene. I’d let him violate whatever obscure, unknown Bible Belt laws he wanted. He's a ride I wouldn't survive. The wheels would come right off.”

“Uh, Eddie?” Jeff tries to interrupt but Eddie’s having none of it. 

“Nope, I’m not done. That split save? The way he guarded his crease? And for a fucking 36-save shutout? Holy shit.”

“Ed—” Gareth tries but Eddie steamrolls him, too. 

“What is it you call it, Gare? A competency kink? Well, sure. Fine. Call it what you want, but he’s so good at what he does. I need him in a way that would disappoint my grandmother, and not just because she was homophobic."

A hand— the same hand that had reached over him to grab the glass just a few minutes ago— pats him on the shoulder and when Eddie turns around to see who the fuck is touching him, he nearly falls off of the wobbly stool.

Steve Harrington grins, a drink in one hand and the other still resting on Eddie’s frozen frame. 

“I think your grandmother would’ve liked me,” he shrugs. “I have a way with families.” 

[fern--theplant]

[gremlin-bot]

[sannencarts]

One should always be careful when making deals with the devil. You never know when they'll decide to keep you.

[aestheticofstars]

Hiding In The Blue animation meme with my wof OC Asterism.