#moms demand action

[everlastingrandom]

Some good news from a few hours ago! In surprise move days after Allen mall shooting, Texas House panel OKs bill raising age to buy semi-automatic rifles. The bill still has a way to go before getting passed, it is now moving up to the Calendars committee.

I do want to hype this bill up because the ripple effect it could have on the gun control laws in other states if it is codified would be absolutely massive.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

[Herb Block Foundation]

* * * * *

Americans want gun control.  :: May 1, 2023

ROBERT B. HUBBELL

MAY 1, 2023

         Americans mourn for the victims of the weekend gun violence in Texas and the Texans forced to live in a society that glorifies guns above public safety. The details of two shootings over the weekend are horrifying. In the first, neighbors asked a man shooting an assault rifle in his front yard at 11:00 PM to stop because he was waking sleeping infants in the neighbors’ home. The man with the assault rifle then executed five of the neighbors in their home—including an eight-year-old boy. The gunman remains at large. Governor Abbott said nothing for 24 hours (other than releasing a photo of his golden retriever). When he finally commented, he tried to diminish the horror of the executions by describing the victims as “illegal immigrants.” See Business Insider, Gov. Abbott Calls Texas Mass Shooting Victims 'Illegal Immigrants'.

         In a second killing, a man on a date was scammed out of $40 by someone pretending to be a parking valet. When the man learned he had been scammed, he shot and killed the scammer, then returned to the restaurant to finish his dinner with his date. He has been arrested.

         When everyone is armed, the temptation to solve every disagreement by resorting to arms is overwhelming. The killings are sickening, and the lawless situation is dispiriting. But . . . there is reason to hope. All Americans are tired of the senseless killings that are the inevitable result of an armed populace. Fox News conducted a poll that confirms that a majority of Americans—including Republicans—now favor enhanced regulations of firearms. See Mom’s Demand Action, New Fox News Polling Confirms Popularity of Gun Safety Laws Among Democrats, Republicans, and Gun Owners.

         Moms Demand Action summarizes the key points of the Fox polls as follows:

87% of Americans support requiring criminal background checks on all gun buyers, including 83% support from gun-owning households.

81% of Americans support improving enforcement of existing gun laws.

81% of Americans support raising the legal age to buy a gun to 21, including 76% of gun-owning households.

80% of Americans support allowing police to take guns from those considered a danger to themselves or others, also known as Red Flag laws, including 76% of gun-owning households.

61% of Americans support banning assault rifles and semi-automatic weapons, including 50% support from gun-owning households.

         But Republican legislatures are not able to restrain themselves. They are captives of the NRA and the minority of Americans who value guns above all else. The Fox poll suggests that Republicans are vulnerable on a core issue going into 2024. They have picked the wrong side on guns and reproductive liberty. And the economy.

         The fact that Republicans seem hell-bent on creating the worst platform possible for 2024 does nothing to reduce the sting and sorrow of the latest mass shootings. But there is a path forward for Democrats as Americans come to understand the dark future that Republicans are plotting.

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[eugenesisland]

A stage full of morons, cheats and liars

Not a single useful human being in the bunch.

[musiqjukebox]

[feetonthegroundtx]

97% of the problems we are having was caused BY ALL OF HUMANITY since the Industrial Revolution

[ninecentgirl]

Cheers to those who Mother Us!

Please join with me and give a loud cheer to all the fabulous people who mother. There is a long list of who I could applaud, for starters my own mother, but there have been many who have nurtured my heart, soul, and body through the years. I imagine you too have a lengthy catalogue to applaud. Mother’s Day is the perfect day to reach out with acknowledgment for those who hugged us through the…

[yawpkahrma-blog]

Make Them Look At The Carnage Up Close

I survived an act of gun violence in 1984 when I was held up and shot in the head at point blank range. The bullet remains lodged in the brain. Members of our American family – including our children – are being shot down every day. It is time to make those preventing a safer county to get a close up look at reality. James Brady and author, circa 1990 Make the NRA and their GOP sycophants look…

[feetonthegroundtx]

BAMBOO CAN SAVE THE WORLD

[rafedarling]

𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞

request: open

pairing: drew starkey x actress!reader

summary: new parents and beloved hollywood couple drew and you take to the jimmy kimmel live stage to discuss your latest movie project together, which releases in may. between balancing new parenthood and demanding film schedules, you two finds yourself sharing a funny, heartfelt stories about life on set with their baby girl, emma starkey. a viral behind-the-scenes video brings laughter to the show, as you discuss how parenting has influenced your lives and careers. based on today drew interview on jimmy kimmel live interview.

warning(s): english is not my native language. fluff, humorous parenting moments, discussions of balancing work and family life.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy

gif: rafedarling

“Ladies and gentlemen, our next guests are not only Hollywood’s favorite power couple but also the stars of the highly anticipated romantic-action film Against All Odds, which hits theaters this May. And if that’s not enough, they’ve recently stepped into the chaotic world of parenthood with their baby girl, Emma. Please welcome Drew Starkey and Y/N!”

You can hear the audience roared with applause as Jimmy Kimmel welcomed his next guests.

You and Drew walked out hand in hand, smiling and waving to the audience. Drew’s free hand rested on your back as he guided you to the guest couch. The applause was deafening, with some cheers and whistles peppered in. You laughed as Jimmy gestured to quiet the audience.

“Wow,” Jimmy said, shaking his head.

“You guys have the crowd in a frenzy. I mean, Hollywood’s hottest couple and now officially parents? Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” you said, smiling at the crowd. “It’s been a crazy year.”

“Yeah,” Drew chimed in, “between the movie and the baby, I’m not even sure what sleep feels like anymore.”

The audience laughed, and Jimmy leaned forward.

“Okay, we have to start with the most important question: How’s parenthood treating you? You’ve got a baby girl, Emma. How’s life with a newborn?”

Drew chuckled and ran a hand through his hair.

“It’s… humbling, to say the least. Being a first-time parent is no joke. I don’t think I could survive it without this one,” he said, nodding toward you.

You playfully nudged him. “Oh, stop it. You’re doing great.”

Jimmy smiled. “Okay, Y/N, your turn. How’s life as a mom?”

“It’s amazing,” you said, your voice softening.

“I mean, it’s exhausting, but Emma’s such a sweet baby. Watching her grow and discover the world makes all the sleepless nights worth it.”

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “Sleepless nights? Drew, are you pulling your weight with those 3 a.m. feedings and diaper changes?”

Drew grinned, holding up his hands defensively.

“Absolutely. I’ve mastered the art of the one-handed diaper change. My record is forty-three seconds.”

The audience erupted in laughter, and you rolled your eyes.

“He’s not lying. But let’s not forget the time you forgot to put the diaper on at all.”

The crowd gasped with laughter as Drew shook his head, groaning.

“Okay, in my defense, I was running on two hours of sleep. And the burp cloth worked just fine… temporarily.”

Jimmy laughed, slapping the desk. “You’re officially a dad now, Drew. Forgetting a diaper is like a rite of passage.”

Drew nodded solemnly. “It’s a learning curve.”

Jimmy turned his attention back to you. “Now, let’s talk about Against All Odds. The trailer has everyone excited. What can you tell us about the movie?”

You leaned forward slightly.

“It’s a romantic-action film about two rival spies played by Drew and me who are forced to work together on a mission to stop a global threat. Of course, things get complicated when they realize they have a shared past.”

“Ah, a little romance, a little action,” Jimmy said. “And a lot of explosions, I’m guessing?”

“Definitely,” Drew said.

“The stunts in this film are insane. We’ve got car chases, hand-to-hand combat, and this one sequence where Y/N literally jumps out of a helicopter.”

The audience gasped, and Jimmy’s jaw dropped.

“Wait, wait. You’re telling me Y/N did her own stunts?”

You shrugged with a smile. “Most of them, yeah. The helicopter scene was terrifying, but the adrenaline rush was worth it.”

Jimmy turned to Drew. “And how did you feel about your wife jumping out of a helicopter while pregnant?”

“Oh, that scene was filmed before we knew about Emma,” Drew said quickly.

“But I still worried about her constantly. Every time she’d do a stunt, I’d be off to the side like, ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’”

You laughed. “He was basically my personal cheerleader-slash-bodyguard.”

Jimmy shook his head, smiling. “And Y/N, how was filming while pregnant? Did the crew make accommodations for you?”

“They were amazing,” you said.

“They adjusted the schedule so that I could rest when I needed to, and they made sure I always had plenty of snacks on set.”

“Snacks were essential,” Drew added. “She had a bag of trail mix with her at all times.”

Jimmy laughed. “It sounds like the two of you had a lot going on behind the scenes. Speaking of which, I have to ask about the viral video. You know the one.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. Drew laughed, shaking his head.

“Oh no. You’re not really going to show it, are you?”

“Of course I am!” Jimmy said, grinning.

“For anyone who hasn’t seen it, this is a behind-the-scenes video of Drew and Y/N on set. Drew’s building a baby crib, and Y/N is… well, just watch.”

The screen infront and behind you lit up with the video. The audience howled as they watched Drew hammering away at a crib while you sat on a couch with a breast pump. The rhythmic “whirr, whirr” of the pump provided the perfect comedic soundtrack as Drew worked intently. At one point, you casually scrolled through your phone, looking completely unbothered.

When the video ended, the audience erupted into cheers and laughter. Jimmy was wiping tears from his eyes.

“So my question is… is this what you do on set?”

“Well,” Drew said, still chuckling, “Emma needed a crib, and we didn’t have one on set. So, naturally, I decided to build one during a break.”

“And I,” you added with a grin, “was taking care of my part of the parenting duties. Multitasking at its finest.”

Jimmy shook his head, laughing.

“You two are the epitome of modern parenthood. Drew, do you moonlight as a carpenter now?”

Drew smirked. “Not yet, but give me a few more months of parenting, and I’ll be building treehouses.”

The audience laughed again, and Jimmy leaned back in his chair.

“Okay, last question: How do you balance it all? Filming, parenting, being a couple; what’s the secret?”

You exchanged a glance with Drew before answering.

“Honestly, communication is everything. We make sure to check in with each other and divide responsibilities as evenly as possible.”

“And coffee,” Drew added. “Lots of coffee.”

Jimmy nodded sagely. “Coffee and communication. Words to live by.”

The interview wrapped up with more laughs, and even a clip from Against All Odds. As the applause filled the studio, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the life you and Drew had built on and off the screen. together.

[baby-yongbok]

Home By 10

Boyfriend!Bang Chan x afab!Reader

✦ Genre: Smut [MDNI] - dom!Bang chan x sub!Reader ✦ WC: 2k ✦ Summary: "I'll have her home by 10, sir" turns into "She isn't coming home tonight" ✦ CW: Unprotected sex, kind of rough sex, finger rimming (very light thumb in the ass action. very light), fingering, ass slaps, name used: Chan is referred to as Chris, baby/babygirl, my girl

✦Masterlist✦

Chris who meets your parents for the first time when you're staying at their place while your apartment gets some repairs done. 

Chris who your dad says has the firmest handshake he's ever felt and easily has him smiling seconds after meeting him. 

Chris who laughs when you nag at your dad to just let the two of you leave. He's still striking up conversation with Chris about his major and his plans for after university. Your boyfriend just smiles and answers, pushing up his glasses a bit while excitedly explaining all of the things that he has planned for after graduation in a few months. 

Chris who your mother keeps saying is so much better than your ex in looks and manners. You scold her for it when she mumbles it to you for a third time, hoping that your boyfriend didn't hear her but one glance at him tells you that he heard her loud and clear. 

Chris who smiles brightly when he shakes your father's hand and declares a soft “I'll have her home by 10, sir”. You almost believed it when he said it. Almost. But he's got your dad fooled. Hook, line, and sinker. 

Chris who opens his car door for you just as he always does. He guards the top of your head to make sure that you don't hit it and closes the door behind you. Just like he always does.

Chris who relaxes into the dark leather of his seat when your father closes the door. He sighs, smiling at you just as brightly as he did earlier. “Baby” He coos, rubbing his hand over your thigh. “Missed you.”

Chris who drives you all the way to his shared apartment for some alone time since his roommate is out tonight. He drops his keys onto his dresser and kicks his room door shut behind the two of you with ease. 

You sit on his bed, watching as he slips off his loose button up shirt, his hat and glasses. That's not the same man that was standing in your living room. “Well don't you look different?” You tease and he smiles, it's bright but his eyes are dark. “Do I?”

Chris who lays back on his bed and pulls you into his lap. “So what was it that your mom was saying?” He asks while playing with the lace at the hem of your mini skirt. “Something about me and your ex, right?” 

He smiles, enjoying the reaction he gets out of you. “You weren't supposed to hear that.” He leans up and kisses away your cute pout while lightly squeezing the plush of your thighs. 

Chris who only lets you deny answering him one more time before he stops asking and starts demanding an answer. “Baby, just tell me exactly what she said.” You huff a sigh, arguing that he knows exactly what she said. 

Chris tsks, tilting your chin up so that you can catch his dark gaze perfectly. “Ah ah ah, I wanna hear it come out of your mouth baby. Tell me what your mother said.” His hand slides up under your skirt, disappearing under the lace.

Chris who coos so sweetly when you finally comply “That's it, babygirl. So she thinks that I'm better than your ex. Better mannered, better looking, Is that right?” You pant in his lap, barely able to answer as his fingers work smoothly inside of you. He had his methods of getting you to talk.

“Words, sweetie, talk to me.” You moan out a broken 'yes', nodding with your eyes closed tight. “Do you agree, baby?” He scissors his fingers inside of you then presses up into that spot, that one fucking spot. “Do you think that I'm better?”

Chris who has you moaning 'yes' over and over again as he curls his fingers into your sweet spot. He's gripping your hip, guiding you to ride his fingers while he kisses deep red marks into your chest. “Yeah? My girl thinks I'm better? What am I better at, huh?” He whispers, nibbling on the shell of your ear. “Kissing you? Touching you? Fucking you? Tell me, baby.”

Chris who flips the two of you over and presses the side of your face into the mattress with a fist full of your hair. He scratches at your scalp with one hand while the other flips your skirt up. He groans at the view of your ass, landing a hard slap on each cheek. “You need me to show you that I'm better, baby? Need me to remind you who's been making you scream on their cock? You want it? Tell me you want it.”

Chris who pulls your panties down your legs and sniffs them before throwing them onto his nightstand. You aren't getting those back, you know that. He lands a harsh slap everytime you whine for him to fill you. He spreads your cheeks, spits down onto your tight asshole and spreads the slick down to your pussy with his thumb, cursing at the sight. 

Chris who teases your pussy with the head of his cock. He runs the leaky tip over your clit and up through your folds just to push against your entrance and repeat the process. You groan and moan his name, begging him with such a sweet tone that he nearly gives in. “Be patient, baby.”

Chris who sinks into you just a bit just to pull right back out with a distressed groan. He watches the way your cunt stretches around him, taking each inch smoother than the last. He teases you over and over again until he gives you everything in one smooth go. “Look at that pussy take my cock, fuck, baby.” 

He moans a sweet strangled sound, Something that you could listen to over and over if your own moans weren't so loud in your ears. He spreads your ass again, pressing his thumb over your tight hole and rimming it with the pad of his finger and pressing in just a bit. “So fucking tight.”

Chris who grabs your hips, fingers digging into the plush flesh while he thrusts into you. He watches the bounce of your ass when your skin meets his, he groans at the jiggle of your thighs and the arch of your back. He throws his head back, moaning profanities through gritted teeth. 

“Chris, Chris, baby, harder please please, more.” You're babbling, drooling into the bedding and your boyfriend smiles, it's fucked out and cocky. His tongue dips out of his mouth to lick at the corner of his lips and drives his cock into you at a harsh pace, one, two, three times before stopping and holding you against him. “You gotta earn that shit, baby. You want me to pound you? Want me to fucking ruin your cunt?” All you can do is moan and nod, exhaling shakily. He grabs a fist full of your hair, pulling your head back. “Fuck on me, baby. Ride my cock, lemme see you fuck yourself.”

Chris who holds your hair up into a ponytail while you fuck back onto him, you move your hips in smooth circles as you rise and drop your ass against him. He watches the way you move, the way your ass just keeps fucking bouncing. Your cunt clenches around him, your moans echo through his room and he convinces himself that you've earned a proper fucking.

Chris who lets your hair go, timing the drop of your head to the mattress with the snap of his hips so perfectly that it has you screaming into his comforter. He pulls you forward a bit, changing the angle just enough for his cock to bully your sweet spot. You're unraveling beneath him, moaning, drooling, fucked out and fucking pretty.

Chris is no better above you, he's moaning, grunting, biting his lip and squeezing his eyes shut in a nearly futile attempt to keep his composure. He takes each heavy moan of his name as a queue to give you more and more.

Chris who pulls you up so that your back is to his chest while he's still buried inside you. He smiles that cocky smile when you groan at the position change. His arm hooks around your stomach and his other hand finds purchase around your throat. “Feel that? Feel how deep I am, baby?”

He moves slowly, letting you really feel the way his cock drags along your walls before he resumes his previous pace. He feels like he's in your fucking stomach. It feels like his cock is splitting you open and your clit throbs at the pressure. “Louder, c'mon.” He grunts, squeezing the sides of your throat just enough to give you a head rush. “Don't hold back, baby, louder.”

Chris who can tell by the way your pussy flutters and squeezes him that you're getting close. “Shit, babygirl is gonna cum, yeah? Tell me how much better I am whIle you fall apart on my cock.” You whimper, babbling about how good he's fucks you but nothing you say makes sense. “Can't even fucking talk.” His hand goes from your throat to your chin to turn your head to the side. “Look at me”

Chris keeps his rhythm only faltering for a second when you clench around him. “Whose cock makes you cry like this?” He kisses away a tear as it falls then follows with a soft kiss on your lips. You swallow the spit thick in your mouth and whimper a pathetic ‘yours’. 

“Whose the best fuck you ever had?” He pounds an equally as pathetic ‘you’ from your spit slick lips and he smiles. “Whose cock are you gonna cum on? Hm?” 

Chris who doesn't even let you mumble another pathetic whine before he's bending you in half so that you're face down, ass up for him all over again. His hand stays on the side of your face, keeping you in place while his other hand grabs your hip. You're locked in. His thrusts are brutal, relentless. His black tee is between his teeth as he pounds you. Your screams echo and seep into the neighboring apartment but he doesn't fucking care. 

“C'mon, let me feel you, baby.” He reaches under you, strumming your clit like one of his guitars and you fucking sing like one. You cry out so beautifully that he can't help but harmonize with you. “Chris, Chris, Chris, b-baby m’ cumming.” You scream and he drinks it all up. 

Chris who can barely hold himself together while you tremble beneath him, gushing and creaming on his cock. “Holy shit, you're gonna make me fucking cum. This fucking cunts gonna make me cum.” He's messy, licking drool from the corner of his mouth and taking his turn at becoming a babbling mess. He grunts and thrusts and gets closer and closer to falling apart. 

“Don't you dare waste a fucking drop that I give you, you hear me? Take it all, take all my fucking - shit shit shit, I'm cumming.” He spills into you, eyes rolling back, bottom lip between his teeth and a groan so guttural it makes you moan. “You fucking emptied me, baby, fuck.” 

Chris who pulls out slowly and spreads your cheeks again to see your mixed arousal drip out of your messy cunt. He stuffs it back in with his fingers cooing a teasing warning. “I said don't fucking waste it.” He punctuates his sentence with an ass slap and you jolt at the sting. “I'll just have to keep filling this hole, huh? Gotta fuck you full until you follow the rules.”

He falls into a rhythm of fingering his cum back into you and ‘accidentally’ pulls another orgasm from you. He chuckles, low and seductive as he slips his fingers between his lips to taste the sweet mix. “That's my girl”

Chris who cleans you up. Changes his bedding then cuddles you against his chest. You're still hazy, breathing softly into him while he grabs his phone and unlocks it. “Babygirl” he calls as he holds his phone up and clicks a picture just as you look up. He checks the photo, smiling at how fucked out you look even after he's cleaned you up. 

“I'll send it to you.” He kisses your forehead, locking his phone. "You can show it to your dad when he asks why you didn't come home tonight.”

Divider credit to owners [unknown]

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[helpimstuckposting]

From Santa

Prompt: Magic | Rating: G | Wordcount: 2,957 | AO3 | @steddiebingo

Steve was seven when he found out that Santa did not exist. He tried, once, the whole ‘Santa’ thing. After hearing the stories from kids at school, he ran over to Melvald’s and bought a tin of cookies with his allowance before skipping excitedly home. Some of the kids mentioned feeding the magic deer, because flying took a lot out of them obviously, and Steve wasn’t quite sure what magic deer ate, but he left out a few carrots in the yard just in case.

He was so excited, setting out the cookies in front of the big tree in the living room and hoping he’d wake up to find a present underneath, just for him. Maybe it would be a cool Hess Truck like Tommy wanted, or maybe it would be an action figure, or comic books, or maybe his parents would come home. The other kids said Santa was magic, that he could do anything, so Steve wasn’t picky.

He went to bed excited and could barely close his eyes to sleep, but the other kids said Santa didn’t come if you were awake so Steve tried his very best. He finally fell asleep with the taste of ginger snaps on his tongue (there was a whole tin, and Santa had hundreds, maybe thousands of cookies every night, so he didn’t think Santa would mind one less).

He woke up to a spotless and quiet house, no puddles from snow on Santa’s boots, no bites out of the cookies, and no present under the tree. No parents either. Steve didn’t have any more cookies that day. He couldn’t bear it.

When his parents arrived a week later, Steve was greeted not by hugs and exclamations of how much his parents missed him, but by his mother loudly and forcefully demanding answers to why her yard was scattered with gross old carrots, drying and cracking and covered in mud from the melted snow. So he told her. He told her about Santa and how he wanted him to come, how he went to bed early like a good boy, and waited all night. How he didn’t show up.

She laughed.

It was cold and icy, like the shards still hanging from the gutters on their roof. She told him he shouldn’t be impatient for his presents — they were in the car like always — and really, Steven, it doesn’t look good for a boy to be so demanding, and the presents certainly weren’t from Santa because the man did not exist.

Santa didn’t exist.

So yes, Steve knew from a young age that the jolly man in the coat and hat was simply a lie — told to children to excite them and give them something to look forward to. He didn’t really get it at first; were the presents not enough? Was the week off from school not exciting? Did they not look forward to Christmas morning without the story of a man sneaking down the chimney? But he’d also fallen for it. He was so excited, he liked the idea of feeding the magic deer, and leaving a treat out for someone delivering gifts out of kindness. He liked the story, that a man with so much power wanted to use it to make children happy. He liked being thought of, liked being remembered by someone he didn’t even know, liked that it was a reward for being nice throughout the year.

But it wasn’t true. And that was fine, Steve tried to convince himself. He still got the presents, and he still got his parents, even if they were a week late. He still got a hug from his nanny, and his mom let him have the rest of the ginger snaps, and he didn’t even have to clean up the carrots from the yard.

His parents left again, and school started again, and it was fine.

It was fine, until Tommy came barreling through the door with his Hess Truck held high and the praise of Santa spewing from his lips, and Steve noticed that not everyone shared in Tommy’s delight. Most of them did, and a lot of them brought their favorite toy to school just like Tommy, but a few kids (maybe three) sat still in their chairs — like they could avoid any questions if they blended into the background. They ducked their heads and they sank in their seats, and Steve wondered if they also found out Santa wasn’t real.

But Tommy singled one kid out at recess. He dragged him out, to the center of the playground, and told everyone that Santa didn’t go to trailer parks, that the kids in Forest Hills didn’t get presents from Santa, because only good kids got presents, and how could they be good if they lived in a junk yard. Those words didn’t sound like Tommy, but he was always repeating things his dad said, copying him and taking his word as gospel.

The kid, scrawny with a shaved head and angry brown eyes, sank into his shoes. Not in retreat, not in a cowering way. He sank into his shoes like he was grounding himself, like he was making sure his footing was firm and steady, and he shoved Tommy right into the ground.

Of course, only then did a teacher interject, and only the boy Steve didn’t know the name of was dragged away to the office. Tommy angrily scrambled to his feet and spat at the ground where the kid had stood, remarking that he was right and the Forrest Hills kids were definitely on the naughty list, Steve, wasn’t he right? Did he see that? What a freak that kids was.

Steve rolled his eyes and didn’t say anything. He knew interrupting Tommy was just more hassle than it was worth, and Tommy was wrong anyway because Santa wasn’t real. He’d figure it out eventually, Steve supposed, but he wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.

It was his walk home that gave him an idea. He saw the bus pass by as he trudged along, down the road and off in the direction of Forrest Hills trailer park. He wondered if that kid from recess was there, if he saw Steve out the window as he passed, if he really didn’t get any presents. He thought about all the gifts his parents gave him that were still packaged up in his closet because he had too many and he didn’t really like them all. And he thought about how much he wanted someone to think about him on Christmas, with no other purpose or desire but to make him happy.

So, with an inkling of an idea creeping its way through his head, he ran the rest of the way home and pulled out the phone book from the hallway table, as well as his yearbook from the previous year. There weren’t many numbers from Forrest Hills, but he did find the three kids from his class and a couple from the year above. He picked out which of his unopened presents he thought they’d like the most, and he wrapped them crudely in leftover paper he found in the study. He ripped off a few pages from the note pad by the phone, and wrote out in his best writing:

From Santa, sorry I was late

And then:

P.S. my elf wrote this

Because his best writing was still pretty bad.

It took him a couple days to plan and gather things, but in the dead of night — after his neighbors clicked off their porch lights — he piled all five presents into a little red wagon and tied the wagon to the end of his bike. He took off toward Forrest Hills, a little list of names and addresses crinkled in his pocket. He tip-toed around the dirt paths, freezing in fear every time his little wagon’s wheels squeaked, and placed the presents and the notes from ‘Santa’ on the doorsteps that matched his little list. He checked it twice, just for fun.

He felt lighter on the ride back home, and not just because his wagon was empty.

Steve was seven when he decided to become Santa himself.

It wasn’t obvious, the next day at school, and Steve didn’t do it just to listen to kids whisper about Santa visiting Forrest Hills a week late, but he did notice something. The three kids who had sunk low in their seats the first day back, who avoided talking to the others to brag about their presents, were no longer trying to blend into the background. They sat comfortably in their seats, and whispered among themselves, eyes twinkling a little more than they had a few days ago. Steve was ecstatic. He sat, buzzing silently with excitement as he tried to keep his face blank and neutral. Santa had to be kept secret, after all.

He did it again the next year, adding the newest kids to his list from the years below him, and saved up his allowance to get some cuter presents for the girls; some nail polish and art supplies, some coloring books and beads. This time he wasn’t late, and his handwriting had improved a lot from the year before (though he still blamed the elves for his wonky letters).

He had fun, learning how to wrap the paper around each gift, saving up his money to pick out presents he hoped the other kids would like, wondering what their faces looked like when they opened the door to find a present on their front step.

He was a little worried that the kids would be concerned Santa hadn’t made it inside, being magic and all, but he also noticed that none of the trailers had chimneys so maybe that was okay. He also learned that most of the kids in Forrest Hills did get presents, and he felt a little stupid for assuming they didn’t just from Tommy’s dumb comments, but he also knew they weren’t the fancy presents other kids got like bikes and new games.

He tried making his Santa presents a little more extravagant. After all, why would Santa give Tommy a brand new Lego set, but give Willie across town a pack of baseball cards? Steve just wanted to even the playing field a bit, knock Tommy down a peg or two when he tried humiliating another kid on the playground and that kid said Actually Tommy, I got the new Hess Truck from Santa, too! And Steve remembered wrapping it up, much neater this time, and almost getting caught on the stoop when a dog started barking at him. He muffled a giggle into his hand when Tommy floundered for something to say, coming up empty handed.

As the years passed and the kids in his grade stopped believing in Santa, he scratched their names off his list. He kept adding to it as well, though. He paid attention to the new kids in each grade, noticed if they had a little less than those around them, noticed if they were on the outskirts or if they looked a little nervous as the holidays drew nearer and nearer. He left presents for the Byers one year when he heard that Jon’s mom lost her job after his dad left. He left presents almost all over town, had the phone book highlighted with every address he wrote down in his notebook — a much needed upgrade from the crumpled piece of paper in his pocket. He wrote a list, he checked it twice, and he made sure to slip through the dark like a shadow, avoiding anything that might give him away.

He was always surprised when no adults tried to stop him. Surely, the stoop presents were well known throughout town by the time Steve reached high school, but maybe they didn’t want to know who was behind it. Maybe they wanted to keep the magic alive, too. Either way, Steve played a successful Santa for nearly two decades before anyone found out.

It was Eddie.

It was always Eddie.

Eddie, the boy who knocked Tommy clear to the ground that first winter. Eddie, the boy who made Steve want to help. Eddie, the boy who received the first ever gift from Hawkin’s own Santa, though Steve kind of hoped that was a secret he could keep.

They were putting up the tree in their apartment, the first Christmas they were spending together. Eddie had brought several old ornaments from the trailer, ones that he stole from right under Wayne’s nose because lord knows the man wouldn’t want to part with them if he didn’t have to — a collector, that man was. Steve picked up one that, at first, had been unassuming, a clear bauble filled with glitter. Hanging it on the sad twiggy branch of their Charlie Brown tree, however, he noticed a little piece of paper inside. It was aged and a bit crumpled, but not too shabby for how old it was.

From Santa, sorry I was late, it read in squiggled, messy handwriting, the wonky letters leaning to one side more than the other.

P.S. my elf wrote this

Steve stared at it for entirely too long, catching Eddie’s attention as he hung the last ornament.

“Wayne made that one, if you can believe it,” Eddie said, tapping the plastic bauble with the nail of his pointer finger. “I mean, not the note,” he clarified, “that was Santa.” He whispered the last part conspiratorially, as if letting Steve in on a huge secret. Steve felt like he was going to cry, suddenly, the tears pricking behind his eyes. With a start he realized, selfishly, that he didn’t want Eddie to know. He wanted to keep this mystery alive for just a little longer, like a parent too sad to let their child grow out of the world of magic and wonder, like it was too soon though the secret had been brewing for nearly twenty years.

Eddie wrapped a cautious arm around Steve’s shoulders, unsure of where his sudden teary-eyed expression came from. Instead of facing his questioning look, Steve tucked his head into the crook of Eddie’s neck and listened as the man regaled him with the story of his first ever gift from the Santa Claus.

That year, Wayne had lost his job as a trucker because Eddie had fallen into his lap. He couldn’t leave the kid all alone, had to stay and take care of him, and he was between jobs until the holiday snuck right up on them both. They had a tree, just as shabby and sparse as the one they currently stood in front of, but there was no money to spare for gifts. Wayne had apologized, and Eddie had been very understanding for an eight year old — after all, he had been learning not to rely on adults, anyway.

He’d gotten in trouble when the school year resumed, however, for shoving an insufferable Tommy Hagan to the ground during recess. Of course Tommy hadn’t gotten in trouble, since vigilantism was an under appreciated form of justice, Eddie declared. Steve snorted into Eddie’s neck, just imagining the ranting tirade the skinny boy with a shaved head must have gone on, trying to defend himself to the principal.

Eddie was furious as he got back home, pissed off at Hagan, pissed off at his parents, pissed off at the world. And then — what to his wondering eyes did appear — two days later, Wayne had opened the door to the shittiest wrapped present he’d ever seen. Steve bit his tongue. It was for Eddie, according to the name scribbled onto the wrapping paper, and the little note declared it was a lost gift from Santa.

“Like magic,” Eddie smiled.

Steve had no idea that was his first Christmas at Wayne’s, and he had no clue what that first shove on the playground could lead to. He could still picture Eddie’s scrunched brow as he glared daggers at Tommy, could still remember the way he sank into his shoes and grounded himself for a fight, like he was used to it, like he knew what was coming. He wished he could picture Eddie’s face as he realized Santa hadn’t forgotten about him.

“Anyway,” he said, startling Steve from his thoughts, still tucked away in Eddie’s neck, “Wayne kept that note, and I think he’s got the one from the next year, too. He’d saved enough money for a couple presents that year, but I think he was grateful for a little extra help.”

Steve pictured himself, a tiny little thing, curled up in the living room, all alone on Christmas Eve as he wrapped up presents and wrote out his Santa letters. He remembered feeling less alone for the first Christmas in forever, because he was too busy sticking too much tape onto glittery wrapping paper and worrying about not getting caught to care that his parents weren’t home again.

He thought about the bag full of presents, tucked away in the back of the closet so Eddie wouldn’t find them, and his list of kids he collected from the library’s giving tree. He had planned on sneaking out, planned to slip away from Eddie’s prone form and deliver the gifts alone, like always, but Eddie squeezed his shoulder and kissed the top of his head and he realized that he didn’t have to be alone anymore. Maybe this year there could be two Santas, delivering gifts to the children of Hawkins in the dead of night. Maybe this year he could have some help. Maybe this year, there could be twice as much magic as the year before.

—

Bingo Prompts

[evieolo]

Shaky

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Contains: SMUT!/softdom!matt/fem!receiving/overstimulation/stomach bulging/size kink/squirting/fingering/p in v

A/N: THANK YOU @lustfulslxt for proof reading me you’re the best!!!

"Strip," Matt demands. You've been concealed behind the walls of his room for seconds, and his mood has drastically changed from what it'd been minutes ago when he was joking around with Chris and Nick.

"What?" Your voice is small, wondering partially if you'd heard Matt right, but the logical side of you knows your brain wouldn’t make up these types of words from him.

"I said strip," Matt deadpans, crossing his arms over his chest like a disappointed soccer mom. His voice has dropped to a dangerously low octave, causing your stomach to be sent into a frenzy.

"Matt. Chris and Nick will hear," you press, looking up to his furrowed expression. He pulls you in by your hips, with his palms on your ass giving no support to your spine. Your back arches as you stumble forward into him, pressing your chest into his.

Your lips are so close together. Fuck. You're practically kissing, this upturns your need for him, skyrocketing from a one to a ten in a matter of seconds. You attempt pressing your thighs together to alleviate the burning tension of your heat, but Matt stops this action, kneeing his thigh between your two legs, only increasing the throbbing sensation of your core.

"Matt…"

"Strip and I’ll make you feel good, baby," he mumbles, speaking against your neck as he nips at your skin, biting and leaving marks while his hands roam your body, feeling at the skin under your tank top.

While Matt makes art of your neck, your hands make quick work of your jeans, skillfully unbuttoning them and wriggling them off your hips in a solid motion. Your panties follow, too slowly for Matt who rips them down your thighs and pushes you to step out of them, effortlessly closing the gap between the two of you and his bed.

You fall back, thighs hanging over the bed's edge with Matt hovering above you.

"M’gonna eat you out, sweet girl," he mumbles, kneeling at the foot of the bed and propping your thighs over his shoulder. Matt sucks his cheeks, gathering spit in his mouth before harshly spitting a jewel of it directly on your slick. This sends a shiver up your spine, added with the need to be touched.

"Please Matt - I need your tongue."

Matt silently obliges, pressing a kiss to your clit before sucking it lightly. The stimulation causes your hips to jolt up, and your slit bumps Matt’s nose. He makes a ‘tut’ sound twice with his lips, snaking his hands around your thighs and pressing your hips down into the mattress. Then he starts eating you out, lapping your wetness like a man starved.

"Matt! Matt!" You nearly chant, the unwavering need to jolt your hips up denied by the force he puts on them. The heat building in your stomach threatens to snap remarkably fast, the lewd sound of Matt's mouth against your slit shooting straight to your core.

Matt removes a hand from your shaking hip, using his free hand to stimulate your clit. This sets you off the edge, the band in your stomach immediately snapping, waves of euphoria washing over you. Rubbing a palm over your clammy cheek, Matt admires you like a piece of art, "Fucked you dumb after one orgasm?" He scoffs, pushing you roughly further onto the bed.

"N-no," you stammer.

Matt breathes out a "good," ridding his hard-on of the clothing concealing it. "Ready?" He asks, his voice showing care for the first time that night. You nod weakly, and Matt pushes closer to you, rubbing his dick against your slit. You let out an open-mouthed moan when you feel him against you. "Shut up," Matt grunts. The last thing he needed was a noise complaint from his brothers. He aligns his tip with your hole, momentarily pausing so you can brace for the stretch, and pushes in slowly.

You’d had sex before, yet nothing ever braced you for Matt's stretch. He was big, pushing into your heat agonizingly inch-by-inch until he bottomed out with a guttural moan.

"Fuck, this pussy’s gonna milk me dry," Matt curses, pushing your thighs up, readying you for a mating press, and pressing his lips to yours harshly.

He envelops you in the kiss, his lips moving harshly against yours proving his dominance, though, with your hazy state of mind, he doesn’t need to. Subconsciously you grind your hips against his, needing more friction.

Matt notices this, moaning at your movement before pulling out to his tip, pressing your thighs back, and stretching your quads in a burning mating press. He leans forward, pressing his chest against yours, and slams himself into you, his cock head easily hitting your cervix. You nearly scream at his rough antics as he sets a rapid thrusting pace, instantaneously bringing back the knot in your stomach. Your moans raise in volume, letting out yelps, whimpers, and chants of his names until he’s tired of hushing you and clamps a hand over your mouth.

"You want the whole neighborhood to hear how good I fuck you, baby?" Matt grunts.

You struggle to form an answer, unsure if it's the rate of how he’s fucking you or his hand over your mouth, but give up on the protest once you realize you won't be choking a single word out. “Gonna cum, baby?” Matt coos. You nod from under his hand, and he removes his palm. “Open,” he demands.

You oblige, too fucked out, too focused on his cock hitting all the right spots to realize what he’s doing. You open your jaw, and a jewel of his spit falls into your mouth. You barely fathom what's happening before he’s telling you to swallow. “Be a good girl for me, gonna be a good girl and swallow?” He moans. Your brain is hardly functioning, you moan out a “yeah,” remembering the simplest of bodily functions, and swallow his spit.

To Matt, this is the hottest thing he’s ever seen. He watches you roll your head back, and your legs start shaking, almost enough to set him off course. “M’cumming,” you whimper, the words barely getting past your throat before you're enveloped in a trail of moans.

As you orgasm around Matt’s cock, he doesn’t slow down, if anything, he speeds up. Not leaving a second for you to come down from your high, only elongating the pleasure.

"M-Matt, s-slow down, t-too sensitive," you wreathe. All he does is fold your thighs further against your torso, still fucking into you relentlessly when he sees a bulge in your stomach.

This inflates his ego to the max before he speaks up, and you realize what he’s referencing. “Can you feel me up here, baby?” He coos, pressing into your lower stomach. The feeling of overstimulation, Matt fucking into your cervix, topped with the pressure of his palm, tightening the grip of your walls around him becomes too much.

You whimper, trying to squirm away from his touch, but you're under him, trapped in his tight mating press. “M-Matt, don’t do that,” you stammer out in a wave of moans.

Matt grits his teeth and presses harder on your stomach, still hammering his cock inside of you. Your legs start to shake, vision partially blanking at your upcoming orgasm. “F-feels different, Matty,” you cry out.

Matt doesn’t stop, keeping the pressure on your stomach persistent. “Just let go, baby,” he ushers, chasing his own orgasm.

“Matt, I-“

You’re cut off by your orgasm, squirting all over his cock.

Matt is amazed by the sight, he practically cums on the spot when he feels you spasming around him, releasing inside of you and thrusting two more times to fuck his seed into you before pulling out and lying down next to you on the bed.

You nestle yourself into his chest as you come down from your orgasm, taking heavy gulps of air to alleviate the dizziness in your head. Matt strokes your temple, brushing your hair off of your clammy forehead with the pads of his thumbs.

When you speak up, it's a question, “Matt, what-“

He cuts you off with a chaste kiss to your lips and looks at you with admiration. “You squirted, baby, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he gushes. Your cheeks flush at the realization of what just happened, and you bring your hands up to cover your face.

“Babe, what are you doing?” Matt teases with amusement.

“That’s so embarrassing!” You squeak.

Matt laughs and pries your hands off your face, pressing a reassuring kiss to your temple. “It was hot,” he repeats.

You sit in silence for a minute while you both ground yourselves, until Matt props himself up on his elbows. “Shower?” he suggests, tilting his head in your direction.

Your hair is tangled from moving frictionally against the mess of blankets, there’s spit on your chin (he doesn’t know if it's yours or his), and your legs are still shaking. Matt chuckles, bringing your attention back to him. “What’s so funny?” You pout, Matt smirks. “I fucked you so good your legs are still shaking.”

You cross your arms. “That’s not funny.”

“Shower?” Matt says, repeating his ask.

“Bath,” you correct, “M’too sore.”

A/N PT2: I finally finally got my “writing groove back” so hopefully I’ll be coming out with a lot this and next week. ALSO we’re going to ignore the fact that men literally don’t last as long as Matt did in this fic and pretend Matts just chill like dat for dramatic effect. Ok, perfect, yay! Love you guys 💋💋💋

🏷️ @cheriematt @sturnzsblog

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[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

Ruffled Hair and Genuine Smiles

Riddle x !Mother Figure! Reader (platonic)

It was after Riddle's overblot, when you crouched next to him on the ground as he cried and gently wiped his tears before offering the warmest hug he's ever gotten in his life, that he first felt that warm feeling in his chest.

You went on to offer to help him make the tart Ace demanded as an apology; pointing out that Ace had plenty of help making his and therefore Riddle deserved at least one person to help him.

When it came to baking the tart, Riddle had that unfamiliar, warm feeling in his chest the whole time you two were working.

You giggled when he got flour on his cheek, and when he pouted, you smudged some on your own as well so the two of you would match.

Riddle was stunned by your action, but he found himself letting out the most genuine laugh he's laughed in ages.

When Riddle mentioned the oyster sauce you gave him a strange look before shrugging and telling him to go ahead and add it. (It would he Trey, the one who told him this little 'trick', that would be tasting the consequences)

You could see Riddle trying his hardest to be better after his overblot, so you made sure to let him know you saw his efforts. Sometimes you did this with words, and other times you did it by fondly ruffling his hair.

It doesn't matter if you're all that much older than Riddle or not, at this point he was starting to unconsciously see you as a mother figure.

On the rare occasion that he didn't already have his tie tied perfectly and positioned just right, you would come up and do it for him. (there's that warm feeling again)

On test days you'd meet up with him after school to see how he did. When he did well you hugged him happily. When he did poorer than he hoped, you still hugged him: reassuring him that this wouldn't be the end of the world. "We all fall short of our goals sometimes. It's a part of life and it's how we learn. Look at your test. The ones you got wrong are marked. You can take this information and use it to do better next time. You know what you struggle with, so work on it. There will be plenty more tests for you to ace in the future, but you won't be able to do so if you allow yourself to be put down by this one. I believe in you, Riddle; and I'm proud of you whether you get 100% or not."

Riddle was stunned by your words and ended up crying in your welcoming arms for a second time.

Anytime he would slip up and get angry, you'd gently calm him down and help him find a better solution than yelling.

Anytime the Equestrian Club would have a competition of some sort, you'd be in the front row of the crowd: camera in hand. Somehow, he could always hear your cheers over the rest of the crowd.

Riddle somehow got a button torn off his uniform jacket once, and you offered to fix it for him. The next day, you showed up to Heartslabyul bright and early in the morning (with the slightest dark circles under your eyes from staying up all night making sure your stitches were perfect) Jacket in hand.

He didn't realize until later in the day when he reached his hand in his pocket that you had left a little note. "Have a good day, Riddle! Good luck on your test! :)"

Anytime Riddle would have to call his mom, and inevitably be left upset afterwards, you'd always be there for him with your arms open.

"Oh" he thought, finally piecing his feelings together. That warm feeling in his chest every time you did something for him that showed him you cared. . .that's what it's supposed to feel like to be loved by a mother. Not cold and harsh. Soft and warm.

Nobody dares utter a word when they see the usually uptight Riddle not so discreetly looking for you after class on test days: 100% score in hand. Nor do they utter a word when they see how excited he looks when he finally finds you and shows you the test. And they certainly don't say anything when you get away with ruffling his hair and giving him a soft hug.

"I'm proud of you, Riddle." This is a sentence his real mother has never once uttered to him, at least not genuinely. It's come to the point that any time he hears those words he can't help but feel inadequate. That's what his mother always made him feel when she said those words in that ingenuine tone of hers.

But when you said it?

When you said it in that oh-so-gentle tone with that oh-so-genuine smile. . .

Riddle felt love

He finally felt like someone was truly proud of him, and he was proud of himself too.

He accidentally calls you mom once, but instead of looking at him disgustedly or yelling at him as he expected; your laugh flows airily through the air like a wind chime. It's not in a condescending way, but rather one that conveys a sense of fondness. You simply ruffle his hair and smile.

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[loveesiren]

𝘊𝘩𝘰𝘪 𝘚𝘶-𝘉𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘴 𝘚𝘮𝘶𝘵 𝘏𝘊𝘴

As requested, here is Subong vs. Thanos 🙂‍↔️ These are so fun to make lol

Warnings: Smut, MDNI 18+, lil bit of bondage, pill poppin purple boy

Choi Su-Bong

⊱ Subong, who has never given a fuck about a girl or her interests, wanted to know every single detail about you because he just found you so fascinating.

⊱ Subong, who wanted to make an actual effort to keep you in his life, learned to cook, just to impress you. He even learned a few Italian words just to use when he served you his famous fettucine alfredo that was mid at best but you loved the effort.

⊱ Subong, who became an avid gift giver. If he wasn't in debt before, he certainly was now. Every time he saw something that reminded him of you, he'd get it. Any time he passed a shop displaying a gorgeous dress, he had to buy it. He just loved spoiling you.

⊱ Subong, who had never given a fuck about the state of his apartment, had suddenly become embarrassed the first time he invited you over. His mom was almost ecstatic to get his call as he stood in the aisle of the grocery store, asking her what he needed to deep clean his house.

⊱ Subong, who once he read your "I'm on my way home" text, immediately sprang into action, drawing you a bath, adding your favorite bubbles, and pouring you a glass of wine to enjoy so you could unwind after work.

⊱ Subong, who sat next to the bathtub, rubbing your feet as you bitched about your stupid coworkers.

⊱ Subong, who told you to relax as he laid you down on your bed, trailing kisses down your skin and savoring your taste.

⊱ Subong, who took his time getting to know every inch of your body because he just loved the way you melted under his touch.

⊱ Subong, who made a playlist for everything, including having sex with you specifically. You loved the way his tongue moved to the rhythm of the music against your body.

⊱ Subong, who took his time. Making sure every inch of you was cherished before he even thought about his own needs.

⊱ Subong, who moves slowly, but with passion as he makes love to you.

⊱ Subong, who always keeps a hand on your cheek, his forehead pressed against yours, as he moved in and out of you because it kept him grounded, reminded him that this was real. That you were really here, his only treasure.

⊱ Subong, who was sure to pull atleast three orgasms from you so that you could sleep easily, cleaned you up as you laid still before presenting you with a fresh pair of silk pajamas, because his girl deserved it.

Thanos

✞ Thanos, who watched you through blown out pupils and hooded eyes.

✞ Thanos, who kept his hand on your ass whenever the two of you were in public (in private too, let's be real), to make it known you belonged to him.

✞ Thanos, who wore sunglasses as he sat in the club, holding your hips tightly as you grinded on his lap. Other girls would shoot their shot but he just dragged you on his lap, his hands groping your tits as he made it known he didn't want another bitch on him.

✞ Thanos, who popped pills with his friends and laughed loudly, making himself the center of attention. Tucking you under his arm because he didn't want eyes on you. Not because he was jealous, but because you were his and his alone. He didn't want others gawking at you.

✞ Thanos, who made out with you in the back of the car as you were driven home for the night. His hands reaching up your skirt, moaning into your kisses loudly, surely making it awkward for the driver.

✞ Thanos, who loved seeing his ringed fingers wrapped around your tiny throat.

✞ Thanos, who throws you on the bed and demands you strip.

✞ Thanos, who pops another pill as he watches you do whatever he asks.

✞ Thanos, who loved nights like this, mostly because you loved it too, groveling on your knees as you begged to please him.

✞ Thanos, who loved the feeling of your plump lips wrapped around his aching cock.

✞ Thanos, who loved cumming on your face and tits, cuz you just looked so damn sexy covered in him.

✞ Thanos, who didn't let you clean up because he was far from done.

✞ Thanos, who grabbed a handful of your hair, forcing you to stand before he bent you over the bed (or the nearest surface) to examine how much that pretty pussy was oozing for him.

✞ Thanos, who had since moved on from handcuffs, loved using rope and wire to tie you up in whatever position he chose. Whatever position he could could nail you the deepest in.

✞ Thanos, who gave you no warning before he stuffed his cock deep inside you, barely giving you a moment to adjust to his size.

✞ Thanos, who was quick to set a brutal pace, biting into your shoulder as he humped you like a dog.

✞ Thanos, who wasn't overly concerned about getting you off, he needed this more, and you loved when he used you like a toy.

✞ Thanos, who wrestled with the thought of where he should cum. Inside of you? On your ass? Stomach? He just loved the way you looked cover in his cum.

✞ Thanos, who ultimately always opted to finish on your body, rubbing his cum into your skin like his own personal brand of lotion.

✞ Thanos, who left you tied up and covered in cum as he laid beside you and lit a cigarette.

✞ Thanos, who took long drags of his cigarette as he stared at your silent, pleading eyes. If you were good, and didn't bother him, he'd allow you to shower once he was finished.

✞ Thanos, who decided if you didn't stay silent like a good girl, would have to punish you all over again.

✞ Thanos, who if he was feeling nice, would untie you and carry you to the shower, where you could clean both yourself and him up for the night.

© loveesiren 2025 - do not copy, translate, transfer, or repost my work without my permission. if you find my work on sites other than through links i've provided, please notify me.

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[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #16

"Aren't you curious?" Sam asks. "You gotta check it out!"

Danny is not, in fact, curious. He's watched everything his adoptive parents have done for the past six years wildly oscillating between amused and apprehensive.

The Fentons are eccentric, to put it mildly; obsessive, to put it insultingly. But when he's flipped through their papers, the formulas—while far beyond his comprehension—don't look like those of crackpots.

He wouldn't be here if they were merely that. He's not that lucky.

"We should go," he repeats, hands rubbing at his upper arms as a sudden chill works its way down his spine. And then, just as he recognizes the sensation, the world goes eerily still.

"Hello, Danny."

The creature steps forward from behind him. It passes by Sam's motionless body without a glance in her direction. It makes sense. In this silent, stationary world only the two of them truly exist.

The creature looks different this time. Its visage is that of an elder on the brink of death. So decrepit is it that the fluidity of its movement is the most unnerving aspect of its being. But its eyes are unchanged from the child that once came to Danny when he was at his lowest, piercing and red as blood.

Danny bows deeply at the waist. "Creature," he says, as politely as one can when using such a moniker.

The thing cocks its head.

"To receive such a greeting. I am honored."

Danny winces. "I am grateful," he admits. "You have done me a great—...you helped me. Thank you. And uh," his shoulders droop. "Sorry. For before."

They both pause to recall the eight-year old who once hurled curses and daggers alike.

"I have made grown men fear anew what lies in the dark." The Creature says. "You need not apologize for the actions of a scared child."

His eight year-old self would've bristled. He would've demanded retribution for such an insult. He was no average child. He had been raised to surpass the tolerance of any grown man.

His eight year-old self had been scared shitless, yes, but he would've died before admitting such a thing.

Danny isn't that person anymore.

"Yeah but. It was pretty rude." He rubs at the back of his neck. An easy tell. He's allowed that now, to tell and have it be easy.

The Creature seems to be cataloguing these differences. Whether or not it is displeased by these changes, it is difficult to tell. It would be rather ironic if it were upset, considering its technically the creature's fault in the first place.

Danny considers pointing that out, but the Creature is as unconcerned with small talk now as it was six years ago.

"I did you a favor, Danny."

Danny swallows. "Yes," he acknowledges.

"And now you will do one for me."

Danny closes his eyes. Just for a moment.

He'd known the second the Creature had re-appeared. He'd buried the knowledge of the deal he had made only so far as he could enjoy this new life without mourning its inevitable end.

He was built to be a weapon, and his decision had only been to trade the hands of who wielded him. A desperate choice, made by a desperate child.

I wanted to say goodbye! Danny Fenton wails, pushing his hands into his hair. I wanted to hug my Dad. I wanted to hug my sister. I wanted to hug my Mom. I wanted to hug my Mom. I wanted to hug my Mom. I want to hug my Mom—

Danny's hands are trembling.

Oh, he thinks. I did not bury it far enough.

Still, he opens his mouth and answers what has not been asked:

"Yes."

The Creature raises a hand and points past Sam, past Tucker. He points at the portal to the Ghost Zone. His parents' magnum opus.

"Go."

Danny nods, automatically. "I will go to the tunnel."

"You will enter."

"Yes," Danny agrees, blankly. The Creature provides no further instructions. Instead it watches him.

It doesn't work. Does the Creature not know it doesn't work?

It watches him. It waits.

So Danny approaches.

Confusion and fear keeps his steps slow, but the curiosity he never could quite kill keeps them steady. He's ashamed at how fast his heart beats, not because he is nervous but because some part of him, the part that never quite settled in this quiet midwestern town, is excited.

He spent the first eight years of his life fighting to keep it, and the sick part of him that trilled with delight at every blade ducked in the nick of time, every cliff he scaled bare-handed, every time he held his breath for deeper and longer than before—

goes abruptly silent as he reaches the mouth. He places a hand at its lip and peers into the yawning darkness before him.

There was a system of caves he regularly traversed, in the life before this. It was in those caves that he made the deal with the Creature, who brought him here.

"Wait," it says now. It hovers beside him, its purple cloak just skimming the floor.

"What are you?" Danny asks, staring into the tunnel.

"You know what I am, Danny," it murmurs. "Answer her."

"What?" Danny turns.

"I said," Sam exaggerates, "Aren't you curious?"

Danny's mouth is dry. The jumpsuit crinkles in his hands.

"Go."

"Danny?" Tucker asks. Sam lowers her camera.

"Go."

"...You know what?" He pastes a smile on his face. "You're right. Who knows what kind of awesome super cool—" too much, tone it down "—things exist on the other side of that portal?"

It's his idea. Whatever happens next, it was his idea.

His choices. His fault.

He pulls the suit on, letting Sam yank the sticker off. His friends stand together, and he lets himself look at them, take them in, just for a moment.

He steps inside.

Maybe. Maybe this isn't the end. Maybe he still gets to have this. Maybe maybe maybe.

In a previous life, he thought the caves would be his tomb.

But he made a deal. He escaped. He became Danny Fenton.

This is not the cavern of his childhood. He learned the crevices of those walls twice over; once by torchlight, then with the tips of his fingers and a cloth tied over his eyes.

Danny Fenton has a family. Danny Fenton has friends.

He trips on a wire. He feels the chill of unfamiliar metal even through his gloves.

Danny Fenton has hope.

The wall gives way under his palm. Something beeps.

And Danny Fenton dies.

[sunnycantaloupe]

"Since when was this marriage valid?!" Piece 1

Leona's segment

This with Leona, where he snuck out of the castle as a kid and met you for the first time. It was a rocky start and you got off on the wrong foot, with you accidently tripping over his tail and scraping your knee. Your mother always told you to collect debt if it's due, so you said you'd only forgive him if he "married" you (you didn't think candy was enough, give yourself a break). After a lot of back and forth, he agreed.

The next time you met him, you upheld the proper proposal traditions (you asked your mom and she laughed it off and told you, not thinking anything of it). Bringing a bracelet you spent all night making, you gave it to him as a proposal gift. With some paper and charcoal, you wrote up a fake marriage certificate and you both signed your name at the bottom, your ability to read and write not very good.

With that, you forgave him. Turns out you just wanted to know what it felt like to get married. You made him keep the certificate because you knew you'd loose it somehow. Only then did you actually give him your first and last name, since he demanded it because of your poopy handwriting. You didn't think to ask for his. Surprising to both you and him, the rest of that day was enjoyable since you actually got to know each other a little bit.

After that day, your mother got a better job opportunity and you moved far away. As you grew up, you finally realized the weight of your actions. You weren't too worried though, because you doubted the both of you would even remember the entire thing and you were sure he lost the fake certificate and proposal gift. Even though life went on as normal, with you eventually moving back with your mother to Sunset Savana, you never forgot. Neither did he.

...

It's been 20 years, and Leona is 29 now. Stuff happened in life, but he got through it. That was one of the few good things about being the second born. You weren't expected to do much, which meant you didn't have to do much. Unfortunately, with him being royalty, he was expected to get married some day. With his brother getting worried about him about him ending up alone for the rest of his life (*scoff*), he was set up with countless arranged proposals with the hope that he'd find "the one" somehow.

Now, don't get it twisted. Leona didn't want to get married in the first place and he had no care for it. However, if he was going to get married, he refused to marry someone so...annoying. The first suitor was annoyingly agreeable, the second one very clearly only cared about one thing, and the third was forced into this as well and they mutually agreed not to go anywhere with it. It had been months, and Leona was tired. As he lay in bed after a date with his 4th suitor (someone who he swore wanted him dead-), he recalled a memory.

You. He was 9 at the time and snuck out of the palace. He ended up at a small park where you tripped over his tail. As compensation, you demanded that he "marry" you, stating that "My mom told me that when there's debt that's owed to you, collect it.". As a kid, he hated it and found it bothersome. As a teen, he found it embarrassing, and as an adult? He thought it was funny. So funny in fact, that it gave him an idea.

He never threw them away, your proposal gift and the marriage certificate. He was going to, but the memory of someone so bluntly demanding something of him was amusing, and it helped keep him just a tiny bit humble in some ways. So, he put both items away in a lock box, where he kept other life memories that he deemed important. He knew where they were. The marriage certificate did contain both of your signatures, and there was a proposal gift given, so technically it was valid.

To his utter surprise and relief, it worked. His brother got off his back, and all was good. Well...until the royal ambassadors and council demanded that you live in the palace, with you being his spouse and everything.

...in his defense, he didn't expect them to actually take it seriously. Don't worry though. Do this favor for him, and he'll repay this debt. He'll repay it by making sure you're taken care of for the rest of your life.