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amethystarachnid · 3 months ago

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Hi I hope you're still accepting requests. I have a request for a Tony Stark x Fem reader - FORCED WEDDING. Their parents force them to get married for business stuff. Tony doesn't like Y/N at all but being a people pleaser, Y/N agrees to get married. Y/N is really nice to him and slowly starts catching feelings for him here and there (or maybe put a little flashback where Y/N liked him since the beginning or something like that) Being the reckless playboy that he is, he doesn't care about Y/N at all and and is very cold to her. (Some angst maybe) After a series of bad experiences like Tony not valuing Y/N or flirting with other women in front of her (or more), Y/N slowly loses hope and gets heart broken (but their parents don't care). Y/N decides to leave him for good and starts acting distant and cold. Y/N gets ready to leave and lead her own life but something really remarkable happens (you can make it whatever you want) and then Tony actually starts falling for Y/N. He regrets his behavior and tries to win Y/N back by doing his best. Obviously Y/N agrees after a lot of tries and they live happily ever after. (I hope it's not a boring storyline for you to write🫠)

You're a very good writer. So you know better. Make whatever changes necessary and add whatever you want but DO NOT INCLUDE PEPPER POTTS.😂 You can write it whenever you want. No rush at all. I just want you to bring this story to life. Thanks!💛

FORCED MARRIAGE

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: angst, romance, little fluff

ᯓ★ Word count: 9k

ᯓ★ Summary:what the asks said lol

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think, just a little spicy scene at the end

ᯓ★ Man, I seriously need to get better at giving titles to my stories...

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The weight of the diamond on your finger feels heavier than it should. You stare at it, twisting it slightly, watching how the light catches on the sharp edges. It doesn’t feel real, even though the band digs into your skin like a cruel reminder. You’ve dreamed of wearing Tony Stark’s ring before—many times, in fact—but never like this. Never with him sitting on the opposite end of the limousine, arms crossed, eyes focused on the flashing city outside rather than on his new wife.

You don’t expect him to look at you. He hasn’t since the ceremony. Not even when you said, “I do.”

The vows had been meaningless. Promises recited with the enthusiasm of a death sentence. His lips barely moved around the words. His eyes were flat, empty. You knew, standing at the altar in a pristine white dress, that this was just another transaction to him. Just another Stark Industries deal.

You try to ignore the sharp sting in your chest as you sneak a glance at him. He’s still dressed in his tux, but he’s already undone his bowtie, the top buttons of his shirt loosened. His posture is relaxed in the way that tells you he’d rather be anywhere but here. The silence stretches between you, suffocating.

“Are we going straight to the penthouse?” you ask softly, voice barely audible over the hum of the car. You’re not sure why you ask—he doesn’t care where you go.

Tony finally shifts, looking at you with disinterest. “Where else would we go?”

You swallow. He’s right. The honeymoon suite is waiting, though there will be no honeymoon. No whispered affections, no tender moments. Just the formality of sharing space with a man who resents you.

“I just—never mind,” you murmur, pressing your hands together.

A bitter smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Go ahead. Say what’s on your mind. This is a marriage, isn’t it? We should be able to talk.”

You hesitate. What’s the point? You know how he feels. He made it painfully clear the moment your parents arranged this.

“I was just trying to make conversation,” you admit.

Tony laughs, but there’s no warmth in it. “You don’t have to do that. We’re not friends.”

The words slice through you, but you force yourself to nod. “Right. Of course.”

The car slows, pulling up to the towering glass building that is now your home. Your stomach twists as the driver opens the door for you. Tony steps out first without offering a hand. You don’t expect him to. You step out carefully, clutching the fabric of your dress, and follow him into the lobby.

People stare. They recognize him. The famous Tony Stark. Billionaire, genius, playboy. Notorious for avoiding commitment. And yet, here he is, walking beside his new bride with all the enthusiasm of a man heading to his execution.

You step into the private elevator, the doors sliding shut behind you. The ride is silent. You steal another glance at him. His jaw is tight, his hands shoved into his pockets. He doesn’t look at you.

Finally, you reach the penthouse. The doors open with a soft chime, revealing the luxurious suite. It’s beautiful. Elegant. Expensive. But it feels cold.

Tony walks in first, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto the nearest chair. He runs a hand through his hair, sighing like this is all a massive inconvenience. “You take the bedroom,” he says flatly. “I’ll sleep in the guest room.”

You blink. “But—”

He turns to look at you, his expression unreadable. “What? Did you actually think we’d be sharing a bed?”

“No,” you say quickly, even though the thought had crossed your mind. Not because you expected him to want you—but because you had hoped, foolishly, that maybe things wouldn’t be so bad.

Tony watches you for a moment, then shakes his head. “I don’t know why you agreed to this.”

You smile, but it’s forced. “Because it’s what our families wanted.”

“That’s bullshit.” His voice is sharp now, eyes narrowing. “You could’ve said no.”

And yet, he didn’t. He could’ve fought harder. He could’ve refused. But he didn’t. He let it happen, just like you did.

You look down at your hands. “I’m a people pleaser,” you say quietly. “It’s what I do.”

Tony scoffs, turning away. “That’s pathetic.”

The words sting, but you don’t react. You can’t. If you let yourself feel everything at once, you might break.

He walks toward the bar, pouring himself a drink. He doesn’t offer you one. You’re not surprised. You watch as he downs the whiskey in one go, then pours himself another.

“You don’t have to be so cruel,” you say softly.

Tony freezes. His grip tightens around the glass, and for a second, you think he might actually apologize. But then he laughs—low and humorless.

“Cruel?” He turns to face you, leaning against the counter. “I married you, didn’t I? That’s enough.”

You clench your hands into fists. “Is it?”

His eyes darken. “Don’t start acting like this is something it’s not. You knew what you were getting into.”

“I know,” you whisper. “But it doesn’t mean it has to be this miserable.”

Tony doesn’t answer. He just downs another drink before disappearing into the guest room, slamming the door behind him.

You’re alone. On your wedding night.

You close your eyes, exhaling shakily. You should’ve known. You did know. And yet, your heart still aches.

Because despite everything—despite his indifference, his resentment—you love him. You always have.

And now, you’re trapped in a marriage with a man who will never love you back.

---

The morning light filters through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, but it does little to warm the hollow feeling in your chest. You barely slept. Every time you closed your eyes, you were met with the image of Tony walking away from you, his words from last night echoing in your head.

"I don’t know why you agreed to this."

You don’t know why you thought today would be different.

When you step out of the bedroom, the penthouse is silent. For a second, you wonder if he even stayed the night. Maybe he went out. Maybe he found another way to escape this situation.

You wrap your arms around yourself as you head toward the kitchen. You move on autopilot, pulling out ingredients to make breakfast. Not because you expect Tony to appreciate it, but because it’s something to do. Something to ground you in this strange, unfamiliar reality.

The smell of fresh coffee fills the space, and you set two mugs on the counter—one for you, one for him, even though you know there’s a good chance he won’t take it. You try not to care.

The sound of footsteps makes you turn.

Tony walks in, looking as disheveled as ever, his hair messy, his shirt from last night still on, though wrinkled now. He doesn’t acknowledge you as he heads straight for the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water.

“Good morning,” you say cautiously.

He doesn’t look at you. “Sure.”

You wait, hoping he’ll say more. Maybe something about the night before. Maybe something—anything—to ease the tension between you. But he just leans against the counter, unscrewing the cap of the bottle.

“I made breakfast,” you offer, motioning toward the plates on the counter. Scrambled eggs, toast, and some fruit. It’s simple, but it’s something.

Tony glances at it, then back at you. “I don’t eat breakfast.”

It’s a lie. You know it is. You’ve seen enough interviews, enough photos, enough snippets of his life to know that he does. But you don’t call him out on it.

“Right,” you murmur. “Well… it’s there if you change your mind.”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes a sip of water and walks toward the living room, already pulling out his phone, his attention elsewhere.

You watch him go, the lump in your throat growing heavier.

This is what your life is now.

You knew Tony wouldn’t love you. You knew he wouldn’t want this. But some naive, hopeless part of you thought maybe—just maybe—you could at least have something. A civil relationship. A fragile sort of companionship. But he won’t even give you that.

You sink into the chair, staring at your untouched breakfast, your appetite gone.

The rest of the day is just as cold.

Tony barely speaks to you. When he does, it’s short, dismissive. He spends most of the day locked in his office, working on something for Stark Industries. You stay out of his way, not wanting to push him, not wanting to make this harder than it already is.

You try to make the penthouse feel more like home, but it’s impossible when the man you’re supposed to share it with treats you like a stranger.

By the time evening rolls around, you’re exhausted—not from doing anything physically demanding, but from the emotional weight of it all. You sit on the couch, flipping through TV channels, but nothing holds your attention.

Tony finally emerges from his office, looking irritated as he checks his watch.

“I’m going out,” he announces.

You blink, turning to him. “Oh.”

You hesitate, debating whether or not to ask, Where? But you already know the answer.

He’s going to drink. He’s going to distract himself from this reality. Maybe he’s going to find someone else—someone who isn’t his wife.

Your stomach twists. “When will you be back?”

Tony sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Don’t wait up.”

The door closes behind him.

And you are alone again.

—

Days turn into weeks, and nothing changes.

You try. You really do.

You greet him in the mornings. You make coffee. You attempt conversations over dinner—when he’s actually around for it. But every effort is met with indifference.

Tony treats you like you don’t exist. Like you’re just a piece of furniture in the penthouse. Like you’re nothing more than an obligation he was forced into.

He comes home late, smelling like alcohol and perfume. You don’t ask where he’s been. You don’t ask if he’s been with someone. You don’t want to hear the answer.

The worst part is, he doesn’t even try to hide it.

One night, he stumbles into the penthouse at nearly three in the morning. You’re still awake, curled up on the couch, waiting—though you don’t know why. Maybe because some part of you still clings to the idea that this marriage isn’t completely broken.

Tony barely acknowledges you as he kicks off his shoes, running a hand through his messy hair. His tie is gone, the top buttons of his shirt undone.

“Did you have a good night?” you ask softly, the words tasting like poison on your tongue.

Tony scoffs, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the bar. “It was fine.”

You watch as he pours himself a drink, his movements slow and careless. Your hands tighten into fists.

“How long are you going to do this?” you whisper.

He pauses, looking at you for the first time in what feels like forever. “Do what?”

“Pretend I don’t exist.”

Tony lets out a dry laugh. “I’m not pretending.”

The words hit you harder than you expect.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Tony—”

He raises a hand, cutting you off. “Look, I don’t know what you want from me, okay? I didn’t ask for this. You didn’t ask for this. We’re stuck. That’s it.”

You stare at him, your heart aching. “I just want—”

“What? A real marriage?” He scoffs. “That’s not going to happen.”

Your breath catches.

Tony shakes his head, downing the rest of his drink. “Go to bed, Y/N. Don’t wait up for me next time.”

He walks away, disappearing into his room.

You stay on the couch, staring at the empty glass he left behind.

You don’t cry. Not yet. You’ve spent too many nights crying yourself to sleep already.

But as the silence of the penthouse presses down on you, you realize something.

No matter how much love you have for Tony Stark—

He will never love you back.

---

The days blur into a cycle of indifference and quiet heartbreak. You’ve stopped trying to make breakfast for him. You don’t greet him in the mornings anymore. You don’t stay up waiting for him at night.

Not that he notices.

Tony spends most of his time at the office or out at events, playing the role of the charming billionaire, the playboy, the genius. To the rest of the world, nothing has changed. He’s still the same Tony Stark. The only difference is that now, he has a wife he never wanted.

And you?

You’re just existing in his world.

There are moments—fleeting, painful moments—where you think maybe he’ll soften, maybe he’ll acknowledge you in some way that doesn’t feel like a reminder of your worthlessness. But those moments never last.

Like the time you showed up at one of his galas.

Your presence wasn’t required. You knew that. Tony never invited you, never even mentioned it. But it was a Stark Industries event, and you were a Stark now, whether he liked it or not. So you dressed up, put on a brave face, and arrived with the hope that maybe—just maybe—he wouldn’t ignore you for one night.

That hope didn’t last long.

The moment you stepped into the grand ballroom, you felt the weight of a hundred eyes on you. People whispered, curious about the woman who had somehow managed to tie Tony Stark down.

But Tony?

He didn’t even look at you.

He was in the center of the room, drink in hand, surrounded by people who hung onto his every word. His smile was dazzling, his laugh effortless.

And standing beside him was a woman—tall, blonde, stunning in a dress that clung to her body like a second skin.

You recognized her.

Vanessa Harper. A model, a socialite, someone Tony had been seen with more times than you could count before the wedding.

And the way he looked at her—

It was different.

His arm brushed against hers as he leaned in, whispering something that made her laugh. His hand skimmed her waist, subtle but intimate.

He didn’t even acknowledge your presence.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to step forward. People greeted you, offering polite smiles and empty words, but your focus remained on him.

When you finally reached his side, your heart pounded in your chest. “Tony.”

He turned, finally noticing you. For a second, just a brief second, something flickered in his eyes—surprise, maybe. Annoyance.

Then it was gone.

“Oh,” he said casually, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re here.”

Vanessa looked at you, then at Tony, amusement dancing in her eyes. “You didn’t mention your wife was coming tonight.”

Tony smirked. “Didn’t think it was important.”

The words cut deeper than they should have.

You forced a small smile, ignoring the way your chest tightened. “It’s a Stark Industries event. I thought I should be here.”

Tony hummed, as if he couldn’t care less. Then, just as easily as he had acknowledged you, he turned back to Vanessa.

And just like that, you were invisible again.

You stood there, hands clenched at your sides, as Tony continued to flirt with her right in front of you.

He laughed at her jokes, touched her arm, leaned in close like she was the only person in the room.

Like you weren’t his wife.

People were watching.

Whispers spread like wildfire, murmurs of pity and curiosity.

You couldn’t breathe.

Your nails dug into your palms as you forced yourself to step back. To turn around. To walk away before the humiliation consumed you.

You didn’t even make it out of the ballroom before the first tear slipped down your cheek.

—

You don’t wait for him that night.

When you get home, you strip out of your dress, wipe the makeup from your face, and curl up in bed, staring at the ceiling.

You tell yourself you won’t cry. That it’s not worth it. That you knew this was coming.

But the tears come anyway.

Because it doesn’t matter how many times he hurts you, how many times he reminds you that you mean nothing to him—

You still love him.

And you hate yourself for it.

—

Tony doesn’t come home that night.

Or the night after.

You don’t ask where he is.

You already know.

---

The phone rings twice before your mother picks up.

“Y/N,” she greets, her voice smooth, controlled. Like nothing is wrong. Like she doesn’t know that you’re crumbling.

You’re already crying before you can speak. Silent tears slip down your face, your chest tight and aching. You’ve held it in for too long. You can’t anymore.

“Mom,” your voice cracks, “I can’t do this.”

A pause. Then a sigh. “Oh, sweetheart. What are you talking about?”

You grip the phone tighter, your fingers trembling. “This marriage,” you whisper. “It’s killing me.”

She says nothing. You hear the faint clink of a teacup being set down, the rustle of fabric. Then:

“Don’t be dramatic.”

You let out a choked laugh, but there’s nothing funny about this. “Dramatic?” you repeat. “Mom, he doesn’t love me. He doesn’t even like me. He treats me like I don’t exist.”

Another sigh, this time more impatient. “Y/N, you knew what this was when you agreed to it.”

“I—” You shake your head, pressing your fingers against your forehead. “I thought it would be different. I thought maybe we could at least—” Your breath hitches. “I thought maybe he would respect me.”

Your father’s voice cuts in this time, deep and firm. “Respect is earned, Y/N. You knew marrying into the Stark family was a business decision, not a fairytale.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I don’t care about business,” you whisper. “I just wanted to be happy.”

“Happiness is a luxury,” he says. “You have power now. Wealth. Influence. You’re part of something bigger than yourself.”

“I don’t care about any of that!” you cry, gripping the phone so tightly your knuckles turn white. “I’m miserable! I can’t live like this! I want to leave, I want a divorce—”

“Absolutely not.” Your mother’s voice is sharp now, cold.

Your breath catches. “Mom—”

“You will not humiliate us,” she says. “Do you have any idea how much is at stake? Do you think you can just walk away because your feelings are hurt?”

Your stomach twists. “It’s not just my feelings—”

“You’re our daughter, Y/N, but you’re also part of an empire now,” your father interrupts. “And empires don’t crumble over foolish emotions.”

Your lips tremble. “You don’t care,” you whisper. “You don’t care that I’m suffering.”

Silence.

Then your mother says, “You’ll learn to live with it.”

A single tear slips down your cheek.

You nod, even though they can’t see you. “I understand.”

You hang up.

And then you shatter.

You sob into your hands, curling in on yourself. You were foolish to think they’d care. Foolish to think they’d choose you over money, over power, over their damn industry.

You have no one.

Not Tony. Not your parents.

No one.

—

That’s the moment you decide.

You’re done.

Done crying. Done trying. Done hoping for something that will never come.

If Tony doesn’t want you—if your own parents don’t care about you—then fine. You’ll stop caring, too.

—

The change is immediate.

You stop waiting for Tony to come home. You stop caring where he goes or who he’s with. You don’t set the table for two anymore. You don’t check his schedule to see if he’ll be at dinner.

You become distant. Cold. Detached.

And for the first time since your wedding, Tony notices.

At first, he seems relieved. Like your silence is a gift, like he’s finally free of your presence.

But then the days pass, and the atmosphere shifts.

You don’t speak to him unless necessary. When he walks into the penthouse, you barely look at him. When he makes coffee in the morning, you don’t acknowledge him.

You become a ghost in your own home.

And Tony—Tony doesn’t like it.

One night, he comes home late, as usual. You’re in the bedroom, brushing your hair in front of the mirror, your face blank, your eyes lifeless.

He leans against the doorway, watching you.

You ignore him.

Finally, he says, “You haven’t been nagging me lately.”

You meet his gaze in the mirror, but there’s no emotion in your eyes. “I guess I realized it’s pointless.”

Something flickers across his face. He opens his mouth, then closes it.

For the first time, he looks… unsettled.

But you don’t care. Not anymore.

---

You move through the penthouse like a ghost, your presence barely noticeable, your emotions locked away. The woman who once tried to love Tony Stark—the woman who once waited up for him, made his coffee, and longed for a shred of warmth—is gone.

In her place is someone colder, someone who has finally accepted the truth.

There is no marriage here. There is no love.

And now, there won’t even be a contract to bind you to him anymore.

The divorce papers sit on the dining table, neatly stacked, waiting. You’ve spent the last few weeks preparing for this moment. Meeting with lawyers in secret. Finding a new place to stay. Ignoring your parents’ warnings that leaving this marriage would be a disaster for them.

You don’t care anymore.

You refuse to live like this—trapped, invisible, unwanted.

So you’re leaving.

No matter what it costs.

—

Tony doesn’t notice right away.

He still moves through his routine like nothing has changed. He still stays out late, still acts like your presence is an afterthought. But you see the tiny moments of confusion. The flicker of frustration when you don’t react to his usual carelessness.

It’s almost funny.

He spent months acting like he didn’t want you, and now that you’ve given up, he’s irritated by it.

But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except getting out.

—

The night you decide to tell him, it’s raining. The penthouse is dimly lit, the sound of the storm echoing through the large windows. You sit in the living room, the divorce papers on the coffee table in front of you, waiting for him.

When he finally walks in, he barely glances your way. He tosses his keys onto the counter, shrugs off his jacket, and heads toward the bar to pour himself a drink.

“Tony.”

Your voice is calm. Steady.

He pauses, glass in hand, before finally looking at you.

You gesture to the papers. “We need to talk.”

His eyes flicker to the stack of documents, then back to you. A slow exhale leaves his lips. He already knows.

Still, he walks over, setting his glass down beside the papers. He picks them up, flips through them lazily, and then—

He laughs.

A low, bitter chuckle, like this is some kind of joke.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters.

You don’t react. “I’m leaving, Tony.”

He sets the papers down, his jaw tightening. “You think I’m just going to sign this?”

You lift your chin, meeting his gaze. “Yes.”

His eyes darken. “No.”

A small, humorless smile tugs at your lips. “You don’t get a say in this.”

His fingers drum against the table, slow and deliberate. “You married me. That’s a commitment, sweetheart.”

You flinch at the nickname, at the false sweetness in his tone. He’s never called you that before. Not in affection. Not in anything real.

“You don’t even want me here,” you say, voice hollow. “You never did.”

Something flashes across his face—something unreadable. But then he scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re being dramatic.”

You stare at him for a long moment. Then you reach forward, grab the pen beside the papers, and slide them toward him.

“Sign them.”

He doesn’t move.

Your fingers tighten around the pen. “Tony.”

His jaw clenches. “No.”

You swallow. “Why not?”

He looks at you, really looks at you, and for a second—just a second—you think he might actually say something real.

But then he smirks, that same arrogant, careless smirk he’s always worn. “Because I don’t like losing.”

You let out a breath, shaking your head. “This isn’t a game.”

“It’s always a game,” he counters.

Your throat tightens. He’s doing this on purpose—pushing, prodding, trying to get a reaction. Because if there’s one thing Tony Stark hates, it’s losing control.

But you won’t play his game anymore.

So you stand. “I’m done, Tony.”

He watches you, his expression unreadable as you turn away.

“You walk out that door, and you’re on your own,” he says.

You pause.

Then, without looking back, you whisper, “I always was.”

And then you leave.

—

The streets are slick with rain as you drive through the city, your mind racing.

You should feel relieved.

You’re finally free.

But your chest aches, your hands tremble against the wheel, and for some reason, your eyes won’t stop burning.

Why?

Why does it still hurt?

Why does some stupid, broken part of you still wish he would have stopped you?

You take a shaky breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter. No. You won’t think like that. You won’t let him have that power over you anymore.

You glance at your phone, debating whether to call a hotel or go to your new apartment—

The headlights come out of nowhere.

A blaring horn.

Screeching tires.

The impact is instant.

The world spins, glass shatters, pain explodes through your body—

And then everything fades to black.

—

Tony is still staring at the divorce papers when the call comes.

His phone buzzes on the counter, and for a moment, he considers ignoring it. But then he sees the number.

Unknown.

Something uneasy twists in his stomach.

He answers.

“Mr. Stark?” a voice asks. “We need you to come to Metro General. Your wife has been in an accident.”

Tony’s breath catches.

“What?”

“She was in a car crash. It’s serious.”

His grip tightens on the phone.

“She’s in a coma.”

---

The hospital room is too quiet.

Too still.

Tony sits beside your bed, hands clasped together, eyes fixed on your unmoving form. There are too many machines. Too many wires. The steady beep of the heart monitor is the only reassurance that you’re still here, still breathing.

You’ve been like this for days.

And Tony has never felt more helpless.

He’s seen destruction. He’s seen death. He’s cheated both more times than he can count. But nothing—nothing—prepared him for this.

For the unbearable stillness of you.

For the crushing weight of regret pressing against his ribs, suffocating him.

The doctor’s words keep playing in his head.

“She’s stable, but we don’t know when she’ll wake up.”

If she’ll wake up.

Tony grits his teeth, gripping the armrests of his chair. No. He won’t think like that.

He won’t lose you.

Even if he never deserved you to begin with.

—

The first night, he doesn’t leave the hospital.

The second night, he cancels all his meetings, ignores every call, and stays right where he is—beside you.

By the third night, he realizes something terrifying.

He can’t lose you.

Not just because of guilt.

Not just because of regret.

But because somewhere, in the mess of this forced marriage, between the cold words and cruel indifference—

He started to fall for you.

And he was too much of a coward to see it until now.

—

He doesn’t know when it happens.

Maybe it was the way you always looked at him, even when he didn’t deserve it. Maybe it was the way you tried—really tried—to make this work, to reach for him, even when he pushed you away.

Or maybe it was the way you stopped.

The moment you went cold, the moment you gave up on him—on this—something inside him cracked.

He just didn’t understand it then.

But he understands now.

And he’s going to fix it.

—

When you wake up, your entire body aches.

Your vision is blurry, your throat dry, and for a moment, everything feels unreal. Like you’re floating between dreams and reality.

Then you hear a voice.

“Y/N?”

You blink. Slowly, your eyes adjust, and then—

Tony.

He looks exhausted. His hair is a mess, his clothes are wrinkled, and there are dark circles under his eyes. But none of that matters because the look on his face—

You’ve never seen it before.

Relief.

Genuine, overwhelming relief.

“Hey,” he says, voice rough, like he hasn’t spoken in hours.

You try to speak, but your throat burns. He notices immediately, grabbing a cup of water and helping you drink. His hands are gentle, careful, like he’s afraid you’ll break.

You clear your throat. “What… happened?”

His jaw tightens. “Car accident. You’ve been in a coma for five days.”

Five days.

You inhale sharply, memories crashing into you all at once. The rain. The headlights. The impact.

Leaving Tony.

The divorce.

You shift slightly, ignoring the pain that shoots through your body. “The papers—”

“Forget the papers,” Tony cuts in.

You frown. “Tony—”

“No,” he says, firmer this time. “You almost died, Y/N.”

You swallow, looking away. “I know.”

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I—” He hesitates. “I screwed up.”

You close your eyes. “Yeah,” you whisper. “You did.”

There’s a long silence. You don’t look at him, but you can feel his gaze on you—heavy, uncertain.

Finally, he speaks. “Give me a month.”

You blink, turning your head toward him. “What?”

He leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. “One month,” he repeats. “Let me fix this. Let me prove that this marriage doesn’t have to end like this.”

Your heart clenches. “Tony—”

“If, after a month, you still want to leave,” he says, voice quieter now, “I’ll sign the papers.”

You stare at him. “You don’t want the divorce.”

His eyes meet yours, raw and open in a way you’ve never seen before. “No,” he admits. “I don’t.”

Your throat tightens. A part of you wants to laugh at the irony. The moment you stop chasing him is the moment he decides to chase you.

But another part of you—one you’re not ready to acknowledge—wants to believe him.

Wants to believe that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t over.

You inhale slowly. “One month,” you say.

Tony nods.

Your lips press together. “Then you sign the papers.”

His jaw clenches, but he nods again. “Then I sign the papers.”

You look away, staring at the ceiling.

One month.

You don’t know if that’s enough time to change anything.

But for some reason, for the first time in a long time—

You think you want it to be.

---

Tony doesn’t waste any time.

The very next morning, he’s already in your hospital room before you’ve even properly woken up, holding a cup of coffee that he shoves into your hands before you can protest.

“I bribed a nurse for it,” he says, sitting down in the chair beside your bed.

You eye him warily. “Isn’t there a rule against giving caffeine to patients?”

“Probably.” He shrugs. “But I figured you could use it.”

You hesitate, then take a small sip. It’s perfect—exactly how you like it. The realization makes your chest tighten.

“Thanks,” you mutter, keeping your eyes on the cup.

Tony leans back in his chair, watching you. “So, uh… how are you feeling?”

You exhale slowly. “Like I got hit by a truck.”

His jaw tightens. “Yeah.” He looks down, tapping his fingers against his knee. “I, uh… I did some reading. About recovery. Apparently, physical therapy helps a lot.”

You blink at him. “You did research?”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking slightly embarrassed. “I might have gone down a rabbit hole.”

The mental image of Tony Stark, billionaire genius, spending hours reading about post-accident recovery makes something in your chest ache.

You push the feeling down.

Before you can respond, there’s a knock on the door, and a nurse steps in with breakfast.

Tony moves quickly, taking the tray from her before she can set it down. “I got it, thanks.”

The nurse gives you a knowing smile before leaving.

You glance at Tony. “What are you doing?”

“Being a good husband,” he says, setting the tray on your lap.

You stare at him. “Since when?”

Tony meets your gaze, something serious flickering in his eyes. “Since now.”

—

The next few days are… different.

Tony is there. All the time.

He brings you coffee every morning. He helps adjust your pillows when you shift uncomfortably. He stays up late when you can’t sleep, talking to you about everything and nothing.

It’s strange.

You don’t know what to do with this version of him. The one who suddenly cares.

And part of you doesn’t trust it.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask one night, after he’s helped you walk across the room for the third time that day.

Tony looks at you, and for once, there’s no sarcasm, no bravado—just quiet honesty.

“Because I don’t want to lose you,” he admits.

Your heart stutters.

You don’t respond.

You can’t.

—

When you’re finally discharged, Tony insists on taking you home himself.

You sit stiffly in the car, staring out the window as he drives.

“I was thinking,” he says after a while, “you should come with me to a gala next weekend.”

You frown, turning to him. “A gala?”

“Yeah.” He glances at you. “It’s one of those boring business events, but I figured it might be good for you to get out, you know? See people.”

You arch an eyebrow. “See people? Or let them see that we’re still married?”

Tony’s grip tightens slightly on the steering wheel. “It’s not like that.”

You scoff. “Sure.”

He sighs, glancing at you again. “Y/N, come on. It’ll be fun.”

You stare at him. “Fun?”

“Well, as fun as these things can be.” He smirks. “Plus, you’ll get to see me in a suit. I know you secretly like that.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he says, “you’re still here.”

For now.

But he doesn’t say that.

And neither do you.

---

The gala is everything Tony warned you it would be: crowded, extravagant, and loud.

The lights are blinding, the conversations blur into a cacophony, and the air feels thick with wealth and power.

You're used to this world. You grew up in it, surrounded by the glittering faces and the endless speeches about success and influence. But tonight, it feels different. Tonight, you feel like an outsider.

Tony stands beside you, his hand lightly placed on the small of your back, guiding you through the sea of well-dressed guests. His presence is the only thing keeping you grounded, and you can't help but feel the weight of his attention on you.

His hand stays there, warm and reassuring, but it's more than just that. His touch—his whole demeanor—is… different.

Gone is the usual cocky, sarcastic Tony Stark. Gone is the man who would flirt with anything that moved and ignore you in favor of his latest conquest.

Tonight, Tony’s focus is entirely on you.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice low, as if he's genuinely concerned about how you’re holding up.

You glance up at him, surprised by the softness in his tone. "I'm fine," you answer, though you're not sure if you believe it yourself.

He looks down at you, his eyes filled with something unspoken. "You sure?"

"Yeah," you reply, offering him a smile. "Just not a big fan of crowds."

"I get that," he says, his hand giving your back a reassuring squeeze. He doesn't let go.

You both make your way through the room, and the murmurs of the guests around you grow louder. It’s clear they’re talking about you—about your marriage, about how strange it is to see you with Tony, considering the stories they’ve heard.

But Tony? He’s not listening to any of them.

Every time someone tries to engage with him, he brushes them off politely, always redirecting the conversation back to you. He’s unusually attentive, asking you questions, making sure you’re comfortable, making sure you feel seen in a room full of people who likely don’t even know your name.

It’s a side of him you never thought you’d see.

And it's almost making you second-guess everything you thought you knew about him.

"Can I get you something to drink?" he asks after a few minutes, his hand still lingering on your waist.

You shake your head. "I'm okay."

He nods, looking pleased that you didn’t need anything, but he still seems restless. It’s as if he’s determined to prove something to you, or maybe prove something to himself.

You wonder if he’s thinking about the same things.

Just as you’re about to speak, you see her.

Vanessa.

A striking woman, tall, elegant, with a platinum blonde updo and a smile that could melt ice. You’ve met her before—at one of Tony’s events—but tonight she’s practically glowing in her dress, her eyes immediately locking on Tony when she sees him.

And you know the look she gives him. It’s the same one she’s given him every time they’ve crossed paths. The one that says she wants him, and she wants him now.

Tony notices her at the same time you do, but this time, his reaction is nothing like it used to be.

Instead of leaning in, making a joke, or greeting her with a flirtatious smile, Tony straightens. He subtly adjusts his posture, his hand tightening around your waist, pulling you just a little closer.

Vanessa approaches them, a smirk already playing at her lips. "Tony," she says, her voice smooth as silk. "It's been too long."

"Vanessa," Tony replies, his voice distant, cool.

You can feel the tension in the air. You can see it in the way Tony’s jaw clenches, in the way his eyes stay locked on Vanessa but refuse to soften.

And you realize, with a jolt, that Tony isn’t just ignoring Vanessa—he’s actively pushing her away.

"How’ve you been?" she asks, her eyes flickering to you for a moment, before settling back on Tony.

"I’m good," Tony says curtly, then without missing a beat, he shifts his attention back to you. "Y/N, would you like to dance?"

The question catches you off guard, but you find yourself nodding. "Sure."

Tony gives you a small, reassuring smile, one that feels different from the others. There’s something softer in it. Something more honest.

Before you can even process it, Tony’s already guiding you toward the dance floor, leaving Vanessa standing there, her mouth slightly agape, her eyes narrowing in something like confusion or frustration.

But Tony doesn’t even glance back. He doesn’t give her a second of his attention.

It’s a subtle shift, but it’s a powerful one.

And for the first time since you’ve known him, you can see the depth of his sincerity.

As you step onto the dance floor, Tony takes your hand firmly in his, positioning you against him with a confidence that feels both familiar and strange. He’s not treating you like a business arrangement tonight. He’s treating you like… well, like someone he cares about.

“Don’t worry about them,” he says quietly as you begin to sway together, his voice low enough that only you can hear it. “Let them talk. We’re here for us.”

You blink up at him, surprised by his words. You hadn’t realized how much the whispers in the room had been bothering you until now. The pressure of their eyes, the feeling of judgment. But Tony, as always, manages to take the edge off.

“I’m just…” You pause, unsure of how to put it into words. “I don’t know how to do this.”

Tony meets your eyes, his gaze intense, as if he’s considering everything that’s led you both here. “You don’t have to be perfect,” he says, squeezing your hand. “Just be you. And I’ll be me.”

It’s such a simple statement, but it carries so much weight. For the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe—just maybe—this marriage, this mess of a relationship, might be worth something after all.

The song continues, slow and soft, and you let yourself fall into it, the world around you slowly fading. You focus on Tony’s presence, the warmth of his hand, the rhythm of his movements.

It’s easier this way.

Maybe it’s because of everything that’s happened. Maybe it’s because you’ve both been through so much already. Or maybe it’s because, for the first time, Tony is showing you a side of himself you’ve never seen.

His attention is entirely on you. His eyes never leave yours, his hand never lets go.

The woman who once held his attention effortlessly is nothing now, a distant memory.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice low, “I don’t want to lose you.”

You stop, your breath catching in your throat. You look up at him, searching his face for any sign of the old Tony—cocky, aloof, distant. But there’s nothing there.

His expression is raw, vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache.

“I’m here,” you say softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time since you’ve known him, you believe it.

You both keep dancing.

---

Tony doesn’t get a free pass just because he was nice for one night.

You’ve been burned too many times before.

He might have ignored Vanessa, might have acted like a devoted husband at the gala, but that doesn’t erase the months of indifference, the way he used to treat you like nothing more than a business transaction.

So you make it difficult for him.

You don’t reject his gestures outright, but you don’t encourage them either. When he brings you coffee in the mornings, you thank him politely, but you don’t smile. When he pulls out a chair for you at the dining table, you sit without a word. When he lingers too close, when his hand brushes against yours as if testing your reaction, you pull away before he can get too comfortable.

Tony notices.

Of course he notices.

But instead of getting frustrated and giving up—like the old Tony might have—he tries harder.

At first, it almost annoys you.

He follows you around the penthouse, trying to engage you in conversation. He asks about your day, about the books you’re reading, about the movies you like.

He never used to care about any of that before.

One evening, you come home from a short walk and find that your favorite meal is waiting for you on the dining table. The scent fills the air, warm and inviting.

You look at Tony, suspicious. “What is this?”

He shrugs, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Dinner.”

“You cooked?”

Tony scoffs. “Do I look like I know how to cook? I had it made.”

Of course he did.

But the fact that he remembered what you liked, that he went through the trouble, makes something uncomfortable twist inside you.

Still, you keep your expression neutral. “Thanks,” you say, sitting down.

Tony doesn’t join you right away. He just watches, waiting for your reaction.

It’s frustrating.

Because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Because part of you is still scared.

Because if you let yourself believe that this is real—if you let yourself fall for him again—you don’t know if you’ll survive it when he inevitably stops trying.

So you keep your walls up.

And Tony keeps fighting to break them down.

—

He never misses an opportunity to prove himself.

You go out to a small café one afternoon, needing space, needing time to think. You don’t tell Tony where you’re going, but when you step inside, you see him there.

Waiting.

He’s sitting at a corner table, already sipping on a cup of coffee, and when he spots you, he waves like he just casually happened to be there, like he didn’t deliberately track your location and get there before you.

You exhale sharply, marching up to him. “Are you following me?”

Tony grins, unfazed. “I prefer the term ‘coincidentally appearing where my wife is.’”

You fold your arms. “You do realize this isn’t normal behavior, right?”

Tony leans back in his chair, studying you. “Maybe not. But nothing about us has ever been normal.”

You hate how easily he gets under your skin.

Still, a tiny part of you—one you refuse to acknowledge—likes that he’s trying.

You sit down across from him, sighing. “Fine. If you’re going to stalk me, at least buy me a coffee.”

Tony smirks. “Done.”

—

As the days pass, you start to see it.

The change.

It’s not just in the grand gestures or the obvious efforts. It’s in the little things.

The way he listens when you talk.

The way he doesn’t interrupt or dismiss your thoughts.

The way he notices when you’re tired and gives you space, but also notices when you’re upset and refuses to let you wallow.

He’s not just trying to win you over—he’s genuinely trying to be better.

But you still don’t have the answer to the one thing that matters most.

You don’t know why.

Is he doing this just to keep up appearances? To avoid the scandal of a divorce? Or is there something more?

You refuse to let yourself believe in the latter until you’re sure.

Until you have proof.

—

The end of the month approaches faster than you expect.

And Tony? He doesn’t slow down.

If anything, he becomes even more present, more insistent.

He takes you out—to dinners, to museums, even to a drive-in movie one night, which surprises you because you never expected Tony Stark to be the type to sit through a two-hour film in a car.

(He spends half the movie making sarcastic comments about the plot, but you catch him sneaking glances at you more than the screen.)

He also starts touching you more.

Not in a way that feels demanding or forceful—just small, lingering touches. A hand on your lower back as he guides you through a room. A brush of his fingers against yours when he hands you something.

It’s subtle, but it’s enough to make your heart ache.

Because if this isn’t real—if this is all just a temporary act—then he’s being cruel without even realizing it.

So, on the final night before the month is over, you ask him the one thing you’ve been too afraid to say out loud.

“Do you love me?”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy, impossible to take back.

Tony freezes.

You watch as the cocky mask he so often wears slips, as something raw flickers in his expression.

He doesn’t answer right away, and the silence is suffocating.

But you don’t look away.

You need the truth.

You deserve it.

Finally, Tony exhales, running a hand through his hair. When he speaks, his voice is quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

“I didn’t think I could.”

Your breath catches. “What?”

He looks at you, and for the first time, you see it—everything he’s been holding back.

“I never thought I was capable of it,” he admits. “Loving someone. Being loved.” His throat works as he swallows, his gaze never leaving yours. “I pushed you away because it was easier. Because I was terrified.”

You don’t know what to say.

Tony takes a step closer, his voice steadier now.

“But then you left.” His jaw tightens. “And I realized that losing you was worse than anything I was afraid of.”

Tears burn at the back of your eyes. “Tony…”

“I love you,” he says, the words breaking something inside you. “I love you, and I’m sorry it took me this long to figure it out.”

You should say something.

But the emotions overwhelm you, your heart pounding too loudly in your chest.

Tony hesitates, his eyes searching yours. “If you still want me to sign the divorce papers, I will. I won’t force you to stay in something that hurts you.”

Your breath shudders.

This is the moment you’ve been waiting for—the proof that he’s changed, that he’s not just doing this for show.

Because if this were just about avoiding a scandal, he wouldn’t give you a choice.

And yet, here he is, handing you the decision.

You exhale slowly, blinking back the tears.

“I don’t want you to sign them,” you whisper.

Tony’s shoulders relax, relief flooding his face.

You take a step closer. “But I need time. I need to trust that this isn’t just temporary.”

Tony nods, his hands reaching out to gently cup your face. “Take all the time you need.”

And when he kisses you—soft, slow, filled with everything he’s been too afraid to say—you finally let yourself believe that maybe this could be real.

---

Tony is patient with you.

At first, you expect him to push—because that’s who he is. But he doesn’t. He lets you come to him on your own terms.

It starts with small moments.

A kiss in the morning when he brings you coffee, just a quick press of lips before he murmurs, “Good morning, sweetheart.”

A lingering touch at dinner, his fingers brushing against your knee under the table as he listens to you talk.

A slow, lazy kiss in the hallway after an evening out, his hands resting at your waist like he never wants to let go.

The tenderness in his touch, the warmth in his gaze, the way he looks at you like you’re the most important thing in the world—it all makes you realize that this isn’t an act. This isn’t temporary.

Tony has changed.

And more importantly—he loves you.

That’s why, one night, when he kisses you deeper than usual, when his hands slide up your back, pulling you flush against him, you don’t pull away.

You let yourself want this. Want him.

Tony notices the shift immediately. His breathing turns heavier, his hands trembling slightly as they roam your body, like he’s savoring every inch of you.

He breaks the kiss just enough to search your eyes. “Are you sure?”

You answer by kissing him again, tilting your head to give him everything.

It’s slow at first, every touch a reassurance, a promise.

But then, it turns into something more.

Something desperate.

Something you’ve both been holding back for far too long.

—

You don’t leave the bed for hours.

And when you do, it’s only because Tony insists on carrying you to the shower, pressing lazy kisses to your skin as the warm water cascades over both of you.

Afterward, he tucks you into bed, pulling you close, his arms around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs against your hair. “And I’m yours.”

It’s the first time he’s ever said anything like that.

And you know he means it.

—

A few days later, you attend another event with him.

This time, things are different.

This time, you don’t feel like just a business partner standing at his side.

You feel like his wife.

Tony barely leaves your side the entire night. His hand rests on your waist, his thumb stroking absent patterns against the fabric of your dress. He kisses your temple in between conversations, leans down to murmur comments in your ear that make you laugh.

You feel adored.

Cherished.

But then, you see her.

Vanessa.

She’s standing near the bar, watching Tony like she always does.

You know that look. You’ve seen it before.

The difference is that now, you do something about it.

When Tony turns his attention to greet someone, you make your way across the room, walking right up to Vanessa.

Her lips curl into a smirk. “Oh? Finally ready to fight for him?”

You tilt your head. “No. Just ready to remind you that I’ve already won.”

You don’t give her a chance to respond.

Instead, you turn on your heel, grab Tony’s hand, and pull him with you toward the nearest bathroom.

He barely has time to react before you push him inside, locking the door behind you.

Tony raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Well, this is a surprise.”

You don’t answer.

Instead, you kiss him.

It’s different from before—fiercer, more possessive.

Tony groans against your lips, backing you up against the counter. “Jealous, sweetheart?”

You nip at his bottom lip in response. “Shut up.”

He grins, but it quickly fades as your hands start to wander.

The rest of the world ceases to exist.

—

When you finally leave the bathroom, everyone knows.

Your hair is slightly messy, your lipstick smudged. Tony’s tie is loose, his expression smug as he keeps his arm around your waist, walking you back into the event like nothing happened.

Vanessa glares.

Tony leans in, whispering against your ear, “That was hot.”

You smirk, gripping his hand tighter.

And from that moment on, there’s no doubt left—

Tony Stark is yours.

And he loves it.

176 notes · View notes

boowritess · 9 months ago

Text

i love love love the headcanon of the 141 not having kids and babies and ewey.

i think that john price is still very relevant to that. kinda. i don't really seeing him having a pet honestly. unless you wanted one... sure... but nah y'know... he's old tired af. maybe a cat. probably definitely a cat.

but it's been you and john for as long as you can remember.

happy to be in each other's presence from morning to night, or simply just exist in a shared life that means you two don't have to always be around each other.

you could be shopping and he could be sleeping. he's outside tending to the stuff he had supposed to finish before he left deployment while you're reading on the couch inside. he's on a long deployment again, and you're at work.

plus the prospect of kids just never seemed to work into the schedule. "nah," john says to one of your friends, "can handle kids fine, but when i'm home, this old mans bones are good for sleep and not much else. i mean the breeding kink can get me goi-" john grunts when you elbow into his side.

"crude." you huff with an eyeroll.

"but true." he says into his beer as he takes a sip, eyes sparking with mischief.

your friend turns to you. "but doesn't it get lonely?" they asks. "wouldn't you want a little one running around?"

and well sometimes the days may be lonely for you when he's gone...

but that's become impossibly hard to focus on when your phone is being constantly blown up - not by price though. by the 141.

it's never really anything outrages or civil conversation. it's gaz asking which tie he should wear at an event because price said the black one but gaz doesn't really like the black one. then it's johnny sending you a video of him besting his previous time on a training course. though it doesn't stop there. ghost is messaging late nights for him but mid-day for you, asking about how to deal with insomnia. ghost is asking you because he knows you're awake and the others are asleep, he doesn't want to bother them.

you answer every single one, with so much care and attentiveness. you save every picture, every video and boost about their achievements to other people as if they were your own. however, people always assume you're talking about little kids not grown ass men.

yet on days when you're at home or you've come home from work. you're hardly surprised to find one of them had invited themselves into yours and johns home as if it was their own.

sometimes it's gaz crashed out on the couch who's in a desperate need of a shower but definitely needs sleep more.

or the sounds of soap in your fridge, raking around to find something to eat. "lass, ye out of cheese-" he ate the cheese. the whole newly bought block of it.

gaz and soap like to hover around you when they're home. whereas ghost helps price around the house.

but when it's just you and ghost, the oldest boy. it's quiet. there's no forced conversations but probably a few shitty jokes. it's you or him making food and the other doing the dishes. yet ghost opens up and the conversations turn into some of the most randomist, boyish, silly conversations.

when everyone's at home, it can actually be pretty hectic. so you go do the grocery shopping, but you take ghost along cause he's a little like you in regard for a need of quiet time.

oh and can't forget the days you go out by yourself only to come home with a few other things. socks for john - socks for all of them. you bought johnny a new pair of jeans and gaz a couple of shirts. and simon some more sweaters.

christmas, easter, new years - every single holiday is always hosted at yours and price. where everyone comes. farah, alex, laswell and her wife. rudy and alejandro making their way- then of course your boys...

and it's there where you've kinda realized.

you and john do have kids.

just in the form of grown men.

which both you and john don't seem to mind.

you end up shrugging your shoulders as you look at your friend, "honestly i have my hands full when they're all home. so... i'm good." you say with a hum, sipping from your own drink with a small smile as john just chuckles softly.

a/n: realized I never posted this. oh well. the no baby saga continues with john price. drink water be well ya'll xx

#boowrites #captain john price #captian price #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #john price #captain price x reader #cod #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish

389 notes · View notes

hotvintagepoll · 1 year ago

Text

Propaganda

Greta Garbo (Camille, Anna Karenina, Queen Christina)—Enigmatic and alluring and made me bisexual. The perfect example of the eroticism in silent films that literally transcends text. Could literally not change anything about her expression but you knew by looking at her eyes what she was thinking. She’s so gorgeous.

Audrey Hepburn (My Fair Lady, Sabrina, Roman Holiday)—Growing up, Audrey Hepburn desperately wanting to be a professional ballerina, but she was starved during WWII and couldn't pursue her dream due to the effects of malnourishment. After she was cast in Roman Holiday, she skyrocketed to fame, and appeared in classics like My Fair Lady and Breakfast at Tiffany's. She's gorgeous, and mixes humor and class in all of her performances. After the majority of her acting career came to close, she became a UNICEF ambassador.

This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Garbo:

A cold-ass Swedish WLW Sphinx. Had plans to murder Hitler that she never got around to. "She will remain always a child of vikings, moved about by a snowy dream."

First of all, she's on the money; that's how much of a treasure she is. She's beautiful in such a distinct way you need very few lines to draw her. (Drawing by Einar Nerman) She managed to be mesmerizing in both silent and sound films. She kissed a woman in Queen Christina (and probably several more in real life). She was super dry and really funny in Ninotchka. She got the hell out of Hollywood and stayed out, living for almost 50 years after her retirement.

Garbo is one of the many reasons why I'm gay. If you haven't seen Queen Christina please do, She is so gender in that film. Also her accent makes it sound like she's always talking in cursive and it's so hypnotic (or at least I think so).

She's a gay introvert, like all of us here on Tumblr.

Probably a lesbian, absolutely a mood when she retired

Mysterious and aloof, charismatic and enigmatic, with beautiful androgynous characteristics, Garbo is undoubtedly the most eccentric and unique Hollywood vintage star. Her aversion to fame and stardom makes her even more desirable to the audience, and her insane chemistry with the camera, an actress one of a kind! Her particularity and her oddity is what discerns her strongly from her hollywood co workers at the time, noone was like her and would never be like her. I think, to the utmost extent, that she deserves the title of the hottest vintage star, even though that would be an understatement of what she is!

SO gorgeous, her thick Swedish accent makes will turn your brain into pudding

Audrey Hepburn:

"She may be a wispy, thin little thing, but when you see that girl, you know you're really in the presence of something. In that league there's only ever been Garbo, and the other Hepburn, and maybe Bergman. It's a rare quality, but boy, do you know when you've found it." - Billy Wilder

Raised money for the resistance in nazi occupied Hungary. Became a humanitarian after retiring. Two very sexy things to do!

where to begin......... i wont her so bad. i literally dont know what to say.

My dude. The big doe eyes, the cheekbones, the voice. The flawless way she carried herself. She was never in a movie where she wasn't drop dead gorgeous. Oh, also the fact she raised funds against the Nazis doing BALLET and she won the Presidential Medal of Freedom for her humanitarian work.

"It’s as if she dropped out of the sky into the ’50s, half wood-nymph, half princess, and then disappeared in her golden coach, wearing her glass slippers and leaving no footprints." - Molly Haskell

"All I want for Christmas is to make another movie with Audrey Hepburn." - Cary Grant

I know people nowadays are probably sick of seeing her with all the beauty and fashion merch around that depicts her and/or Marilyn Monroe but she is considered a classic Hollywood beauty for a reason. Ironically in her day she was more of the alternative beauty when compared to many of her contemporaries. She always came off with such elegance and grace, and she was so charming. Apparently she was a delight to work with considering how many of her co-stars had wonderful things to say about her. Outside of her beauty and acting ability she was immensely kind. She helped raise funds for the Dutch resistance during WWII by putting on underground dance performances as well as volunteering at hospitals and other small things to help the resistance. During her Hollywood career and later years she worked with UNICEF a lot. Just an all around beautiful person both inside and out.

youtube

No one could wear clothes in this era like she could. She was every major designer's favorite star and as such her films are time capsules of high fashion at the time. But beyond that, she had such an elegance in her screen presence that belied a broad range of ability. From a naive princess, to a confused widow, to a loving and mischievous daughter, she could play it all.

Look at that woman's neck. Don't you want to bite it?

#audrey hepburn #greta garbo #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 5 #Youtube

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loveemagicpeace · 1 year ago

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🍯Astrology Notes🍯

🪴Virgo rising- are very caring people. They take great care to ensure that you have everything you need, especially for your health. They will be able to tell you a lot about various medicines.

🌱Gemini rising- funny as fuck sometimes. They are people who talk and don't stop. You can discuss all possible topics with them if you want. They have a very open mind. But when it comes to being able to do something, sometimes they are not so open to new things. Let's say one difference between them and Sagittarius is that they are not traveling types and they don't like to travel that much.

💫You will feel most comfortable talking to people with whom you have the same compatible moon and mercury in your house. for example: mercury in the 9th house and the other person has mercury in the 1st house. With this you can see what topics you can discuss with others.

🪐People who has saturn in 1st house looks better when they are skinnier. Because their bones and body structure are more beautifully emphasized. Many times they can have weight problems(they can quickly lose weight from worry).

🍀Earth signs look very down to earth even when they are joking around. Even when they make a crazy joke, they still look down to earth.

🐚Scorpios quickly stop trusting you. You just have to do one thing and they are done trusting you. When they see that you are dishonest to them in any kind of way, they will not trust you anymore. Especially when they get to know someone from the beginning and notice that they didn't tell them something or hid something from them, and as I said, it could be just one small thing like say you're going to say you're eating pizza, but in reality you're eating hamburger. It is small lie. But this is sometimes also one of the reasons why pisces and scorpio don't go so well together. Because pisces tend not to say everything while scorpios are. Many times, pisces swim off into their fantasy world and sometimes get lost in it. Scorpios are always looking for the truth in everything. I have seen successful Scorpio/Capricorn couples many times.

🍁Fire signs are actually very active people. So you have to prove them love with actions. They want to see how much you are willing to do for them and how much you are willing to risk. When you go beyond your limits and do something really crazy for them, they will really appreciate it.

💷2nd house represents your money & 8th house where you invest money. The 2nd house reflects your underlying relationship to money and patterns around money are often deeply ingrained. With the Moon in Cancer here, your emotional wellbeing rises and falls with your bank balance, both of which may be subject to flux. You can be a rags-to-riches success, but with Saturn in the 2nd you might always feel poor, the millionaire who still buys the budget range at the supermarket. The 8th house is concerned with debt and our relationship to institutions which provide loans, mortgages, and overdrafts. Capricorn on the cusp of the 8th suggests paying your dues and insisting on a proper contract, Sagittarius here you can invest a lot in travel or even illegal things.

☀️The Sun is the central flame of our vitality. Acting according to your Sun sign and engaging in activities denoted by the house it occupies are important ways to increase your energy and vigour. For instance, with Sun in the 1st, you might need time alone in order to recoup your energies - the presence of others can drain you, Or with Sun in the 6th, maybe you like to spend spare time working in the garden or catching up on DIY. The Sun in Sagittarius might mean you like to explore far afield; if in Aquarius maybe you like to holiday with a group of friends. Sun in Scorpio- working in the shadows or researching something no one knows about is best for you. Sun in 7th house you like to devote a lot of your time to your partner.

🧸Some signs are naturally more work-oriented and some more suggestive of needing a slower pace. Capricorn (or its ruler Saturn) is often highlighted in the charts of anyone with a strong work ethic - by contrast, Leo, Libra, or Pisces might engender a bit more need for time off, to play, relax, or dream. Each Zodiac sign has its ideal gap year or holiday. The fire signs might favour adventure breaks, the air signs a chance to meet new faces, the earth signs maybe an eco-trip; and the water signs a sojourn by the sea or in quiet, restful places.

🩰The IC and the 4th house describe home, both as a physical place and as an inner sense of roots, safety, and foundation. If you have Jupiter in the 4th, it might feel natural to you to travel around or you might even choose to live abroad - or with Uranus here, you may experience many changes of home(many unexpected moves). With the Sun or Moon in the 4th, you might be so strongly connected to home and homeland that uprooting yourself will not be easy - your Sun here suggests your life revolves around home in some way, the Moon that your emotional wellbeing is closely tied to it. With Pluto you can feel that your home is intense and that you are always transforming through it (but it can also leave bad memories). With Mercury can mean that you change your home a lot. With Mars you may feel that your home is often chaotic or aggressive and you are looking for a home where you can become independent. With Neptune many times your home is confusing, strange. Many times you find your ideal place somewhere by the ocean. With Venus your home is loving, genuine and you have loving parents to whom you love to return. But it can involve a lot of money or love based on it. So you can feel that your parents never really appreciated you if you didn't have money.

🧚🏼‍♀️About Aquarius: I want to say one thing about them. I would say that if they really really want they will do it. But most likely they are independent people & lost souls sometimes. I think that they are scared of attachment. So that's why they are rather alone. They are looking for someone. Who will be goofy as they are.

💌I think Valentine's Day is for Libras. Libra is a sign of love, romance,beautiful things. And if any sign is inclined to & like to celebrate this day, it's definitely the Libra. But I find it a little strange that it is in Aquarius season.

💘Cupido is definitely a Sagittarius sign. Although people don't believe that Sagittarians are so loving and romantic, but they really are. Cupido shoots into the hearts of people who are meant to be together. If you hit a sagittarius deep in the heart with your love, then you can see the true side of them. Then you can see how loving they are.

🌅The people you attract into your life are usually connected to your North Node.For ex.: North node in Virgo in your 8th house- you will mostly be attracted to people who have a virgo placements, scoprpio placements, or pisces/ taurus placements.

🌊Pluto symbolizes power in whatever house it is. The power you feel in yourself and the people around you. Strong experience of feelings. For ex.: 5th house - privacy, romance, jealousy, strong emotions, strong happiness, attitude towards the things you do, you feel strong love, devotion. Obsession with changing partners maybe or affairs idk. 6th house - obsessed with perfection, control, work, high expectations. 7th house - you attract a lot of possessive partners, obsession with your partner, but at the same time you can be afraid to get into a relationship, mistrust. 8th house rulership- curious, constant control, secrets, power over your secrets, emotional transformations, many dark things, connection with birth and death, great interest in hidden things. 10th house - people can see you as a strong opponent, driven for a career, they can see you as a person who has a lot of secrets, you can present people with challenges. Big influence.

-Rebekah🧚🏼‍♀️🩰🌙

#astrology #zodiac signs #energy #my notes #astrological houses #astrology observations #birth chart #planets #love

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kannouo · 8 months ago

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This Is Halloween!

fandom: obey me pairing: demon brothers x gn!reader. summary: how each of the demon brothers celebrate halloween. warnings: slightly suggestive on some parts, but not much. A/N: nobody asked for this i just really love halloween. had a lot of fun with writing these!

LUCIFER

• Predictably, Lucifer is very vocal with his complaints about this holiday. However, no matter how much he has to say about how pointless or childish these traditions are, you will always catch him going along with it anyway.

• "I don't see the appeal of these silly decorations," he says, and then spends the evening decorating the front lawn with elaborate props. "Why should we spend so much money on sweets if we're just going to give it all away?" He asks right before buying multiple bucket-fulls of candy because he wasn't sure how quickly they'd run out. "These costumes are ridiculous," he sighs, and later you find him trying on some newly-bought fake vampire fangs.

• He would only fully dress up if there was some kind of costume party orchestrated by Diavolo or the like. And when he does, he goes all out. Did you think the Avatar of Pride was going to settle for cheap, store-bought costumes? No — he's going to make sure his look is spectacular. You aren't sure how he's so good at special effects make-up.

• Dressing as a vampire is a pretty standard and basic choice, but Lucifer really brings it to life. To be honest, he already sort of dresses like a stereotypical vampire anyway, but he goes all-out this time. A long black cloak and formal outfit with red accents, some foundation for the illusion of paler skin, and some very well-done fake blood dripping from his lips. He probably carries around a goblet full of red wine just to really sell it.

• He doesn't need to do much else. He already has the good looks, black hair and red eyes. If you find him particularly attractive in this costume, you can expect him to teasingly indulge your fantasies throughout the evening and well into the night.

• If you let him buy garden props or decorations around the house, he will somehow find the most genuinely terrifying things out there. He very much enjoys the fear his very well-placed jumpscares and strangely realistic-looking skeletons spark in you and his brothers.

• A downside is his lawn decorations absolutely scare off a good amount of trick-or-treaters. Oh well. Beel will eat all the candy he bought instead, so at least it won't go to waste.

"Where did you get such good fake blood?" You question, wiping your thumb over Lucifer's bottom lip. He smirked, and you caught a glimpse of the fangs you'd helped him put in earlier. Trapped between him and the wall at your back, you allowed yourself to lean your head back as he kissed you. Only... His lips tasted... coppery? You pulled away for breath and stared at him. "It... it is fake, right?" "...Lucifer, please tell me that's fake blood."

MAMMON

• Hell yeah, Halloween! Sexy costumes, parties, sale opportunities! Mammon loves Halloween.

• Takes a bunch of Halloween-themed modelling gigs, since the season means anything related to it will sell way better. He can even make some extra money by making crappy T-shirts and charms and selling them to people who are crazy about this time of year.

• What Mammon doesn't love about Halloween, though, are two things. Horror and witches. Specifically witch costumes, because sometimes they look too realistic to a witch he's had "dealings" with in the past and trigger his fight or flight panic response. Maybe just choose something else to dress up as when you're with Mammon.

• As for horror, Mammon will deny to the grave that he's scared of horror movies, but he is, and he hates the uptick in scary films and horror attractions. He tries to avoid going near them or talking about them in general, because if you were to ask him to watch a horror movie or to come with you to a haunted house attraction, he has to say yes. He can't have his human thinking he's scared of something so silly! So for that reason, he tries to steer clear of the subject altogether.

• Mammon doesn't need a motive to dress up. It's Halloween, of course he's going to. The costume he chooses is likely to be something related to whatever is trending that year. If a new movie just came out that's all the rage online, he'll dress as a character from it. Aside from that, I can see him doing a werewolf look. He might even wear a collar if you ask.

• Will lose all ability to speak if you show up in a costume, too. It doesn't even matter if it's actually revealing at all, no matter what he will be absolutely floored. If it is something a little riskier though, expect him to get kind of possessive and very protective. Especially in public. His brothers think this behaviour is hilarious. "LOLOLOL, MC has a guard dog!" "Shaddup!"

• Super eager to answer the door to trick-or-treaters, but there has to be a rule set in place that he isn't allowed to go out there and demand money in exchange for candy from anyone who looks old enough, otherwise he will do just that.

• Takes all the candy from those "take one!" buckets left outside of people's houses and probably gets some kind of curse put on him because of it. Mammon becomes one of Lucifer's decorations that day.

You approached a smaller house with one hand intertwined with Mammon's, and a candy bag in the other. You were already a little sceptical as there weren't any lights on, but to your delight, there was a fake cauldron set up outside the door with a sign reading "please take one!" You picked out a candy bar of your choosing, only for Mammon to grab the bag from your hands. "Wha—" To your horror, he reached his arm in and scooped out all of the candy into the bag in chunks. "Mammon!" You scolded. "Shhh!" He shoved the — now full — bag back into your arms and grabbed you. "Just go!" ...You're pretty sure you saw the light of a doorbell camera as you both ran from the scene of the crime.

LEVIATHAN

• Levi does not like Halloween.

• I mean, any other time of the year normies make fun of cosplay and refuse to participate in it! But on Halloween night, it's suddenly okay?! And he's expected to greet all these snot-nosed little kids at the door and give them treats?! Absolutely not. He holes himself up in his room until Halloween night is over and done with, but honestly, it's not much of a difference to how he usually is.

• I can see him enjoying the decorations aspect of it, though. Even if he won't willingly participate in anything else, you can expect his room to be fully decked out in Halloween props and decor. He definitely buys stickers off of Akuzon to put on the windows.

• Another aspect he does actually like is the horror marketing, specifically if it's revolved around horror games. His idea of getting into the Halloween spirit is inviting you on a horror game binge in his room, but most of the games he chooses are very obscure and disturbing. If you like stuff like that, great! If you don't... ah... I'm sure he can find one that's a little less upsetting for you.

• He's too embarrassed to wear a costume in public, but if he were to dress-up at all, it'd be in cosplay. Maybe of Ruri-chan or one of his other beloved anime characters. It isn't horror-themed at all, but whatever, it's still a costume. He'll let you see him in it if you ask nicely, but he won't be going outside his room with it on. He also didn't need to order anything, he already had all of these cosplays hidden away in his closet for... personal reasons.

• Might actually get a kick out of one other thing — pumpkin carving! He'll carve a video game character into it instead of an actually frightening or classic Halloween design, but it turns out really good anyway.

• If anyone organises an apple-bobbing contest, he absolutely dominates. You're pretty sure being able to breathe underwater is against some kind of rule because he just doesn't need to come up at all, he'll dunk his head in and not come out until he gets an apple.

• Levi is the house leaving out "take one!" buckets.

After the umpteenth time of Levi insisting that this next game will be "more up your alley," you started to lose faith. All of these Devildom horror games seemed especially gore-y and cruel in a way that would not fly if they were released in the human realm. "Maybe... this one?" Levi hovered over another horror game he already downloaded and selected it. As soon as it booted up, the background 'music' on the title screen had the most horrific and genuine terror-filled screams you'd ever heard in your life. You winced and he immediately went back to the homescreen. "...Let's just play Devilkart," he conceded. "Yeah. Let's."

SATAN

• Doesn't mind Halloween as a whole, but gets really into certain aspects of it.

• Satan is another one likely to get in the "Halloween spirit" by binging horror media for the whole month, in his case, books. Most conversations with him in the month of October will lead back to the latest horror novel he's reading and his thoughts on it. He might recommend it to you if he knows you like horror, but if you don't, he'll also go in-depth about the plot.

• He really enjoys elaborate Halloween props, but if you set up one of those jumpscare machines to pop out at him, he will destroy it on instinct. Will later deny that it scared him at all, though.

• He likes all of the human-world Halloween traditions and tries to organise them for him and his brothers to participate. Apple-bobbing, pumpkin carving, ghost stories, you name it; he'll push for everyone to take part.

• Satan would only dress up if you managed to convince him to do so or if, like Lucifer, there was some kind of event that required all attendees to be in costume. Either way, he figures out he actually enjoys it way more than he thought he would. He dresses in a stereotypical 'detective' outfit and gets really into character. He even carries around a fake pipe.

• ...Might dress up as a cat. It depends on his mood. He would much prefer to see you dressed as one, though. If you do show up dressed in some kind of 'sexy cat' costume, he will drag you away with him at the earliest convenience.

• He and Belphie put a smoke machine in Lucifer's room while he was busy decorating the lawn.

• Doesn't like handing out sweets. If he's the one answering the door, you'll have to stop him from trying to give the kids fruit instead of the candy you already bought. "These are unhealthy. We shouldn't be encouraging such young children to have bad eating habits—" "Satan, just give the kid a snickers."

"Just put them on? Please?" You pouted, holding a black cat headband in front of his face. He glanced between you and the cheap cat ears for a moment, before sighing and grabbing them off of you. You grinned as he put the headband on his head, then stared at you with raised eyebrows and an unimpressed glare. "Happy?" "Very," you nodded. Then you reached to pull out your D.D.D. "Now meow for the camera." "Don't push your luck."

ASMODEUS

• "In girl world, Halloween is the one night a year when girls can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it." — Mean Girls, 2004.

• Granted, he's not a girl, and he'll dress exactly how he wants any other day of the year too. But still, Halloween is special! He has so many things to choose from. Sexy cat? Sexy nurse? Sexy cop? Sexy—

• Like Mammon, he might choose a costume based on a popular or trending movie, just with his own special Asmo-touch. He won't settle for cheap, store-bought costumes — even if he'd still look damn good in them — and probably makes his outfit himself. Try and tell me you can't see him dressing as Barbie. You can't, because he would.

• He does Halloween-themed makeup looks throughout the whole month of October. You can expect his Devilgram to be filled with pictures of cute Halloween nail designs he did, and a matching makeup look. If any sort of event happens and you're going — he'll insist on dolling you up for it himself! He's your personal makeup artist.

• Isn't a fan of horror movies, horror attraction or those creepy decorations Satan and Lucifer keep buying. He might accompany you to a haunted house though, so he can dramatically throw himself at you whenever he encounters something even mildly frightening.

• If you convince him to do pumpkin-carving (despite his insistence that it would ruin his perfectly manicured nails), he carves a some kind of cute design, like a pretty flower. He would carve his beautiful face into it, but... he isn't quite at that level of expertise.

• Asmo is very excited to hand out all the candy! All the kids that come to the door look so adorable in their little costumes! And if you think you saw him sneak a few sweets for himself when he's supposedly on a diet, no you didn't.

"Aaaah! MC, save meee!~" Asmo came running down the hall of the haunted house attraction, jumping into your arms and clinging to you for dear life. As you looked in the direction he came from to see what could have possibly startled him so badly, you saw nothing but a tiny, fake spider prop. "...Asmo, it's a plastic spider." "But it looks ickyyy!" He whined. "Can I hold onto you until we get through this hall? So you can protect me!~" "...Fine." "Oh, MC, my hero!~" He began to pepper kisses all over your face. "A—Asmo! Where do you think you're touching?!"

BEELZEBUB

• You can probably see where this is going, but yes, he will eat all of the candy you buy.

• He doesn't mean it, honestly. But it just smells so good and it's right in front of him. Pumpkin carving is also impossible with Beel for this reason. He will just eat the whole pumpkin. It's best to hide all of the sweets from him until Halloween night, but considering his excellent sense of smell, even that won't work for long if he wakes up in the middle of the night with a craving.

• He does his best to be helpful where he can, however. He's very tall, so he'll help with putting up decorations in high places. He's also capable of carrying large props to and fro with minimal effort, so Lucifer found him very useful for setting up the lawn decor.

• Beel doesn't mind dressing up if it'll make you happy. He also doesn't really care what his costume is. If you take him out to choose, he'll constantly turn the question of what he should wear back on you, because he really can't decide and honestly doesn't care that much. You could point to the most ridiculous-looking Winnie the Pooh costume and he'd shrug and say "okay."

• That being said... a bear costume would suit him pretty well. Imagine seeing an absolute beast of a man dressed as Winnie the Pooh and absolutely downing pots of honey. People are just kind of like huh... that's a really dedicated Winnie the Pooh cosplayer, I guess. Another costume I can see for him is a zombie because... "eating brains"? Idk.

• He also isn't a good choice to compete in apple-bobbing competitions for obvious reasons. If you thought Levi would dominate, wait until Beel starts consuming the entire container of water and apples. The apple-bobbing event had to be cut short.

• He doesn't mind horror movies and attractions. He won't go to them of his own accord, but if you take him along, he'll hold your hand the whole time so you don't get too scared. The only downside is that the scare actors will probably be too terrified of him and his RBF to actually jump out and scare either of you, so... it kind of just feels like a tour of some weird abandoned house.

You flinched and covered your eyes as the screen before you displayed yet another jumpscare. You couldn't help but curse Levi for recommending this movie... what is wrong with the Devildom film industry?! You heard Beel's crunching on chips cease next to you for a moment before he shuffled closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you to rest against his side. "Beel?" "Shh," he lifted a few more of the chips from the bag to his mouth. "You're okay." Usually, him talking with his mouth full would diminish how he was trying to comfort you, but... you had to admit, you felt much safer snuggled against him like this. "...Thanks." You try to ignore the crumbs he's getting on you.

BELPHEGOR

• It's Halloween?... Okay? Snooore.

• He's about as apathetic as you would expect. He doesn't care what day it is, he's going back to bed. Will not assist any of his brothers in decoration, except for maybe Beel if he's feeling awake enough. But Beel doesn't usually require that much help anyway.

• Belphie isn't going to buy himself a costume. You'll have to get him one. "Belphie! I got something for you to wear!" "Yeah? What?" The look he gave you when you held up the disney princess gown suggested he didn't quite think it was as amusing as you did. Still, if it's all you got him, he probably would wear it.

• Obviously, the most fitting costume you can buy him is one of an actual sloth. Just make sure it's comfortable enough, and he'll be wearing it long after Halloween is over. Another costume he'd appreciate is a zombie similar to Beel's or a mummy, because then he can just lay down, sleep, and excuse it as the fact the thing he's dressed as is literally dead.

• Is not affected by jumpscares in the slightest. He might watch a horror movie with you, but he probably won't accompany you to any attractions unless you carry him. If you do get him there, though, he'll make fun of you for being scared and keep hiding behind corners to make you think he disappeared or went ahead without you.

• Apple-bobbing? Pumpkin carving? Costume parties? Eh... Beel, MC, can you guys handle this for him? Pretty please?

• Isn't too thrilled about answering the door, but he will do it if you pester him. He kind of just chucks a bunch of random candy into all the kids' bags and probably scares one or two of them off by making a poorly timed, slightly threatening joke. You have to remind him they're children and don't understand he's kidding.

• That doesn't mean he'll stop. He's now just scaring them on purpose because it's funny.

"Belphie, wake up!" You lightly slap the back of his head and he jolts awake, shooting you a glare. You frown right back at him. "We're going to be late to the party." "Why are we even going?" He whined, rubbing his eyes. "Because we were invited? And it'd be rude to not at least try and show up?'' "Whatever..." You hit him again as he went limp. "Stop doing that. I'm a sloth. Sloths sleep." "Get up, Belphegor! I am not carrying you all the way there!"

#obey me #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #tbh the hol is already a halloween attraction but #whatever #obey me headcanons #obey me shall we date

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pantheraviva · 6 months ago

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merry christmas/happy holidays! to celebrate, i drew brite again + attempted to write a little reader x bright drabble. enjoy!

Anyone who works at Site-19 knows Dr. Jack Bright has a certain... reputation, for being a playboy. Well, playboy isn't exactly the right word. But he certainly isn't the type to just pick one person, or hell, pick several people to settle down with. You were sure he'd made out with at least one person from every department you knew existed, the ones you didn't know existed, and the ones that would make your head implode if you even thought of them existing.

There was one small problem.

You desperately, desperately want to be one of those people.

You aren't quite sure when it started. Maybe it was back when you were an intern, hearing stories of his crazy antics throughout the decades for the first time. Maybe it was when you caught his eye in the hallway, realizing his eyes were a deep, deep red, red as the ruby of SCP-963. Maybe it was when you had an unexpected conversation with him in the break room and realized he actually was capable of acting like a reasonable person and not a chainsaw cannon-wielding, Pokemon spawning, pandemonium causing, anomaly of a person. Maybe it was after several of those conversations after you kept running into him around the site. Maybe it was when he called you his friend like it didn't feel like a nuclear bomb settling in your chest.

When it started didn't matter. What mattered was that it is the Foundation's Christmas party, and you are going to get that kiss.

Your eyes dart around the room, trying to find him. It doesn't take too long to spot the bright (ha!) ginger hair of his current body, chatting with Director Kondraki and some other personnel near the soda dispenser. You zigzag your way through the crowd, your eyes locked in on your target. As you draw closer, you see him, holding a red cup filled with... something, wearing a blue sweater that read "[ ] Nice / [ ] Naughty / ✅ Keter" and you fondly scoff. He must've gotten it made just for Christmas. "Hey, Dr. Bright? Can I borrow you for a second?" you ask. He turns from Kondraki to you, those deep red eyes meeting yours once more, and you steel yourself to not tear away from his knowing gaze.

"Yeah, what's up?" he replies conversationally.

You turn over your plan in your head. "I need to talk to you about SCP-3671," you say, cursing yourself for not thinking out your excuse more. You weren't even assigned to that SCP, you just heard about its vendetta against Dr. Wright from your co-worker. "The vengeful cereal box!" Bright says with a laugh, and you want to capture that chuckle in a little bottle in your heart forever. "Alright, alright, lead the way. Kondraki, you still owe me." He pointed at the Site Director before looking at you expectantly.

You lead him to the other room, the one where you spotted a mistletoe hanging in the door frame. It's a stupid, stupid plan, but you were getting desperate, and no self-respecting SCP researcher was going to get caught just asking Bright for a smooch--or maybe that was just a you problem--you did have the tendency to overthink matters of the heart. He leans on the door frame. "So, what's the matter with 3671? Did it brutally tear apart Frank yet?"

"Uhm, actually," you say, then you point above the both of you to the mistletoe, hanging innocently.

Bright doesn't even look surprised. You recognize his expression as barely masked playful amusement, like he just thought of a new prank to pull. "Oh, would ya look at that."

...

That was it? THAT WAS ALL HE HAD TO SAY? Oh, would ya look at that. You tried not to show your disappointment, but he looks down at you and his playful expression immediately softens.

"Don't look so sad, jeez," he huffs. "If you wanted to kiss me so bad you should've just said so."

You sputter, seeing your plan fall to pieces. "I- but- you-"

He crosses his arms and looks through you. "Yeeesss? I what?"

"You're... you... and I can't just ask, because, well..."

Bright leans forward slightly. "Because I'm practically a living legend and you feel like dirt beneath my feet even though we work in the same god damn site and drink from the same coffee machine?"

Curse him for being able to read you like a book. "Yeah..."

"Oh, don't worry about it," he said, patting your shoulder. Then his hand slowly moves up to lift your chin up to face him.

"So, just so we're clear. Are we here to talk about the sapient cereal box, or did you bring me here to kiss me?"

You glance away, your face feeling as hot as the surface of the sun. "The- the second one."

"Well then," he says with a cheeky grin. "Let's do this, yeah?"

You nod shakily.

You've had daydreams about kissing Jack before. You supposed he'd be good at it, seeing as he had decades of experience under his belt. But you severely, severely underestimated him.

Jack hums softly as your lips meet, and his hand moves from your chin to caress your face. His other hand, still holding his cup, snakes around your waist and pulls you closer. Your lips move in tandem against each other, and you're nearly overwhelmed with the complete ease he has at making you fall apart without using his teeth or tongue.

You pull apart after a moment, softly panting.

"Wow," you say.

"So it does work," Jack muses, removing his arm from where it was wrapped around you, and you mourn the loss.

You quirk an eyebrow. "What works?"

"This," he holds up his cup, filled with a shimmering, clear liquid. "I snuck in to use SCP-294 before tonight's party and I asked for a cup of "the stuff dreams are made of." I thought it'd get me high, or something."

You laugh disbelievingly at the absurdity and utter cheesiness of what he just said.

"Are you serious?"

"I am! Do you want a taste?' he said, eyes darting to your mouth and his tongue running across his bottom lip. You can probably see where this is going.

"Yeah, sure thing, Jack."

He doesn't even hesitate to put his lips on yours again, coaxing your mouth open with that clever tongue of his. And oh, if you thought the last one was good, this was divine. There's something possessive in how he hums into your mouth, and you're sure everyone in the room is watching. He nibbles on your lip as if to say 'Ignore them, only pay attention to me, me, me,' in the insistent way he does during your little conversations. Bastard probably wanted to show off. You find that you don't mind. You taste the stuff dreams are made of as he gently pushes you against the door frame and rubs soothing circles on your hip. It tastes, oddly enough, like cereal.

#this is my first fic please dont stone me #this is what i am doing on the day before christmas yes #dr bright #dr jack bright #brightisms #dr kondraki #scp fandom #scp fanfic #bright x reader #dr bright x reader #vivart

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yuujispinkhair · 2 years ago

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Champagne & Sunshine

You're on vacation with Yuuji, sipping champagne and bathing in the sun. But the drink isn't the only thing you get drunk on. -> This is part of my Blog Anniversary Event (closed). @bleach-your-panties requested the song "Champagne & Sunshine" by PLVTINUM feat. Tarro.

Pairing: Yuuji x Reader (female) Genre: smut + fluff Word Count: 1.4k Warnings: 18+, alcohol, smut, dirty talk, oral, praise, creampie. All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

"That champagne tastes really good. I could get drunk on this!"

You smile at Yuuji over the rim of the champagne glass you are holding while lounging on the sun terrace of your beach resort. It's your first holiday with Yuuji, and both of you wanted something fancy.

Yuuji's eyes meet yours, sparkling golden, just like the champagne in your glass. A cheeky grin lifts his lips, and you already know he will say something dirty when he leans closer to you.

"Or you could get drunk on my cock, cutie. That drink makes me horny as fuck."

You know it's not just the white wine he is sipping. Yuuji and you have been all over each other since you arrived here. Far away from all the stress of everyday life and from all the people who disturb your alone time. Here in this fancy hotel, you just have to put a "do not disturb" sign on your door, and you can fuck the whole day. A fact that you make good use of.

Even now, here on the sun terrace, you can't keep your fingers off each other. Your hand lazily traces Yuuji's defined abs while drooling over how sexy he looks with all his muscles and tan skin on display. And his large hand keeps straying to your bikini-clad ass, squeezing it and leaning closer to whisper dirty things in your ear, how he wants you bouncing on his cock while he gives you creampie after creampie.

"Let's go to our room, princess. Maybe we'll find a place where we haven't fucked yet."

You have to run a bit to keep up with Yuuji's large steps as he pulls you along in his excitement to get you alone, his large hand wrapped tightly around your smaller one, his red swim trunks already tented with his growing erection, only barely covered by the baseball cap he holds before it.

You chuckle softly as you stumble after your sexy boyfriend, already creaming up at the thought of Yuuji's gorgeous fat cock for you to play with as much as you like.

The moment you enter your hotel room, Yuuji pushes you up against the wall, moaning loudly in your mouth as his lips capture yours in a hungry kiss while he presses his tall, buff body against you, his large hands grabbing your ass and lifting you up so easily as if you weigh nothing.

But you are just as hungry for him, wrapping your legs eagerly around his hips, gasping in delight when you feel Yuuji's hot, hard cock rub against your core through the thin layers of the swimming clothes. His abs and pecs press against your skin, hot and firm, making you want him so bad that you feel dizzy.

Yuuji's kisses taste like white wine and bubblegum, just like himself, sweet but with an underlying naughtiness that drives you insane in the best way. He licks deeply into your mouth, so sweet, so sexy.

You can feel his smile against your mouth when your hands wander over his broad muscular back and down to his firm ass to grab it and squeeze it while you press your body against him, caressing his tongue with yours, rubbing your horny pussy against him as if you are in heat, letting him feel how much you already soaked your bikini panties because of him.

And he moans, his hips bucking against you, always so honest about his attraction to you.

"Fuck, cutie, I can feel how wet you are! Need to see that pretty pussy and kiss it and fuck it and make it all sticky with my cum."

God, you love how shameless he is, how he just says whatever is on his mind, no matter how dirty it is. So in love with you and so horny for you.

"Damn, Yuuji... carry me to the bed, please hurry up, baby! Need your pretty mouth and your pretty cock!"

He answers you with a low moan as he tightens his strong arms around you and carries you towards the bed while you make out with open-mouthed French kisses.

But you never make it to the bed.

Yuuji stumbles over a pair of sneakers lying in the middle of the room, making both of you tumble to the ground, landing on the plush carpet right in front of the large bed.

You scream and laugh breathlessly at getting pressed down by Yuuji's heavy body, looking up at his boyish grin and the sparkle in his golden eyes when he asks,

"You ok, cutie?"

You nod,

"Yeah... you too, baby?"

He doesn't have to answer. His large hands tearing down your bikini top to free your tits is answer enough. His lips wrap around one nipple, sucking on it, making you moan and arch your back.

More kisses land on your tits. Yuuji's hot, velvety tongue laps at your erect nipples while golden eyes look up at you, driving you crazy. When he pulls away, there's a thin thread of spit still connecting his lips and your swollen nipple.

"Fuck, princess, I can't wait anymore. Need to fuck you right here on the floor, baby."

He moans and smiles at the same time as he pushes his red swim trunks down, freeing that wonderful, fat cock, so hard for you that he's leaking pearly pre-cum all over himself.

You barely have time to salivate over the sight in front of you, Yuuji's broad figure, his buff pecs, his flexed abs, and his gorgeous fat cock, before he grabs your bikini bottoms and pulls them down.

His warm lips follow your panties on their way down, kissing down your thighs and your calves, trailing his hot tongue over your skin before he throws the panties to the side and grabs your ass, pulling you towards him with one firm move, making you moan his name at how strong he is.

You sob loudly, tugging on his soft, pink hair, when Yuuji's pretty face presses between your spread legs, kissing and licking your hot wet pussy just like he said he would.

You taste yourself on his tongue when he kisses you again a moment later, deep and passionate, as he pushes his fat cock into you with one needy thrust and a loud moan.

Both of you can't hold back, unable to go slow here on the bedroom floor. It's a rough fuck, needy and dirty, both of you meeting each other's thrusts eagerly, moaning unashamedly in between hot kisses. Yuuji snaps his hips almost desperately, fucking you so good and so deep that you see stars anytime his fat cockhead rubs against your sweet spot.

Your fingers dig into the buff muscle of his broad back, your legs wrapped tightly around his hips as if needing him even closer when he is already balls-deep in you, pounding your pussy with his hard, needy thrusts. You can already feel your high approaching, getting fucked out of you by your eager, horny boyfriend, who always knows how to use his cock to make you fall apart.

"Fuck, baby! Yeah, yeah, like that, my sweet girl! Pussy getting so tight, ah ah fuck! Yeah, milk my cock, baby! Wanna give you all my cum!"

You don't know if it's his dirty talk or his fat cockhead pounding your sweet spot, but you cum so hard on Yuuji's gorgeous cock that you scream his name and shake under his muscular body, your pussy milking him so wildly that he cusses and cries out your name just as loud as you did with his.

You still pulse and clench around him as he fills you with his thick, hot cum, pumping you full of it, thread after sticky thread, giving you the creampie he promised you.

His heavy balls slap against your wet pussy, while you tug on his soft pink hair, moaning his name and thanking him for how good he fucked you.

Your lips move slower against each now, the heated kisses turning into a slow makeout session with whispered love confessions while Yuuji is still deep inside you, not caring that his cum is slowly seeping out around his fat cock, making a mess on the hotel carpet. He can clean that later.

"Hmm, that was fucking amazing, cutie. You wanna go back to the sun terrace now?"

You shake your head, tightening your legs around Yuuji's hips, trapping him right there on top of your body, biting your lip cheekily as you look up at your boyfriend.

"No, I don't want to go back yet. Let's take a shower together first, ok baby? Will you give me more, please, Yuu? I'm not drunk enough on your cock yet."

And Yuuji grins at you, pupils dilated and his strong cock already twitching again,

"Fuck... you're so damn fine, baby! Well, in that case, let me make sure you get so much of my cock you will have a hangover tomorrow."

WRITING THIS MADE ME FERAL!! Thank you so much for requesting this song!! Anytime I hear it, I think of dirty scenarios with Yuuji bae, so this was SO much fun to write!! I hope you enjoyed it too!!

Comments and reblogs would be sweet!!

#yuuji x reader #yuuji x you #itadori x reader #itadori x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #itadori smut #yuuji smut #yuji x reader #yuji x you #yuji smut #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #yuuji x y/n #itadori x y/n #yuji x y/n

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crescencestudio · 6 months ago

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๋࣭⭑ Devlog #45 | 12.02.24 ๋࣭⭑

well, this is more like a half devlog if i'm being honest

Hi everyone! Man, it's been a while since we last talked, huh? Somehow my last devlog to you all was end of August, and now we're all the way in December. It's crazy to know I was in my cave for that long LMFALSIDJF

I don't usually do devlogs starting the last two months of the year---usually because I end up getting busy, and with it being the holidays, I just give myself the devlog off as my one little "holiday treat."

This year, it's a bit different since I haven't given you all a devlog in quite a while. I have exciting and boring news to share with you all this month! First off for exciting news, as I'm sure you've all heard....

I'M A DOCTOR!!!!!!

That's RIGHT. The step away from Alaris was everything I needed to be able to crunch my dissertation and graduate this semester. To say it was painful would be a complete understatement. For context, people usually spend about 1 year writing and defending their dissertation. Since I last spoke to you all, I ended up analyzing, writing, and defending my entire dissertation in the span of about 2-3 months. Basically every moment that I existed as a living being was spent working on my dissertation (if I wasn't working), and even a month after I defended I'm in disbelief that I was able to pull it off.

But here I stand before you all, finally free from the confines of academia after a grueling 4 years.

I have worked on Alaris the entire time I've been in PhD school, and so there's literally no one here who knows me outside of being a PhD student. So it's crazy to enter a new chapter of game dev where I no longer have to balance work, PhD school, and Alaris. And instead, I can be a normal person that just balances work and game dev.

That being said...

I know I had told you all I would be back in the Alaris grind in November since that would be around the time when my defense would be. And while I've literally tried my damnedest to get back on the game dev horse, it's been a Fckn Struggle, everyone.

I don't think I realized how hard I was working myself until this past month rolled around and I entered recovery mode. Admittedly, I actually think I was working myself harder when I was balancing Alaris with work and PhD stuff than when I was crunching a 1 year dissertation project into 2 months. And this might not be a new revelation to some people---even earlier this year, I remember getting comments of like "wow, you're working so fast/hard!" "omg how are you getting all this done?" "you need to be nicer to yourself, i don't think you realize how much work you actually do" etc. etc.

But I think because I enjoy game dev so much, I didn't see it as working myself hard. Now, though, after getting some clarity and seeing how much that was affecting my physically, I really want to make it a point to take care of myself better and not push myself too hard (life is too short and healthcare is too expensive LMALSDF).

So, while this isn't me saying Alaris is going on hiatus or anything scary like that, I do hope you all can extend a bit more of your patience and understanding at least until the end of this year for me to get back into the swing of things. I have genuinely been thinking about Alaris a lot---the script and scenes I want to write, CGs I want to draw, etc. But I just haven't had the physical energy to do it.

I'm hoping writing this devlog will help me get back into the swing of things this month. But I do want to be transparent that the holiday season tends to get busy for me, so I don't want to make promises of working on Alaris at any kind of full capacity.

Luckily, a lot of Alaris is done. If you all remember, the only route that needs to be written at this point is Aisa's. And half of the routes have been programmed! While Etza and Kuna'a's routes do need to be cleaned up and edited, a lot of the foundational work, which is most time-consuming for me is done. So I do still hope to get Alaris to you all (at least the Central routes) in early 2025!

Thank you all as always for being patient and understanding. As I get back on the Alaris horse, I also hope to get back into answering your messages <3 Hope you all are staying warm and having a restful holiday season.

#alaris #devlog

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gyllenhaalstories · 6 months ago

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OH, THE MISTLETOE — JERRY BRINSON 🎄

summary: you have been invited to your friend's work party for christmas and she played santa's little helper to match you with her coworker.

warnings: i tried to keep the story accurate to its setting in the 1960s but i'm sure there are anachronisms, mention of divorce, alcohol & food, mostly fluff, smut, (pussy eating & fingering). 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 4070

gifs credits: @/stephendorff (cropped) / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: in the original script, jerry works at, and i quote, 'a mid-range sporting good store' so i kept this detail rather than what was shown in the movie, it suits my man better. this is what my brain chose to write after months of not even forming a coherent sentence... so ambitious and exhausting. i lost count of how many things i googled to make sure they existed in 1960s (and how many photos of jello salads i looked at). i suggest listening to vintage oldies to enjoy this fic to the fullest. ❤️💚 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

"Take those cookies to the table, will you? I'll drop our coats off at the back of the store. I cleaned it well before the end of my shift yesterday, so don't worry about dust and grime. I'm not quite sure what type of dust golf clubs can leave behind anyway..." Your friend spoke, mostly to herself, as she held on to the platter of baked goods while you removed your winter coat.

After a swift exchange, you watched her head towards the back of the sporting good store while you followed the path of a few other people who brought food for the potluck.

Jerry emerged from the back store where he, too, had put away his winter clothes. He stopped by the mirrors to neatly fix his hair. He arranged his clothes too, he did not look all that bad for a man who had spent a solid hour shovelling snow off the side walk before the guests arrived.

In order to convince you to attend the Christmas party with her, your friend made you a promise. She swore she would stay with you until she found someone else you would get along with, forbidding you from looking sad and lonely all by yourself in a corner of the store until she would be ready to leave. She could be quite convincing, your friend.

But she also lived with her head up in the clouds, you doubted you would find friendship in a group of employees and their partners who decided to hang out together one last time before the Holiday break.

Jerry quickly greeted his colleague, this bubbly young lady who always had a topic to babble about. His poor attempt at small talk quickly took a turn when he felt dragged by the arm in the opposite direction of where he was headed. This colleague of his briefly explained that she had someone he absolutely needed to meet.

"This right here is none other than Jerry Brinson. He's the best vendor we've ever had at the store. But I already told you that, haven't I?"

Your eyes widened in surprise when your friend came back with a mysterious man on her arm. You fought a giggle when you noticed that this same man seized the first opportunity he saw to withdraw himself from the forced embrace. You stretched out your hand to shake his. Jerry's grip was firm, it conveyed a level of confidence that did not match the hesitant smile on his face.

"I wouldn't say that, you're good too." Jerry replied with a light shrug.

"Nonsense." Your friend brushed off his not-so heartfelt praise before she shamelessly continued her sales pitch. "Jerry could sell snow boots to a polar bear if one ever rang the bell on the counter... Oh! Speaking of which, did you read it in the papers?" Jerry and you shook your heads simultaneously. "Apparently they've spotted one of those up north, near the big river."

Again, Jerry and you seemed connected. You both shot her an incredulous look. "I don't think there are polar bears in Montana."

Jerry timidly nodded his head in agreement. If there were bears around, surely they were not white. And surely they would not walk in a random store right in the middle of Great Falls.

Your friend sighed at your ungratefulness. She tried so hard to set you up with good company and there you were, ruining her attempts. She gave you an obvious glance of encouragement, which you met with an annoyed eye roll. Right when you thought things could not get more awkward, your friend excused herself when she spotted her fiancé entering the already crowded store.

You stood alone with Jerry. The conversation immediately fell flat. You both exchanged shy and avoidant looks while everybody else mingled cheerfully. Jerry took a moment to study you, from head to toe. You would have caught his eye, even without the intervention of the self-proclaimed cupid's assistant he called his coworker. The manager's daughter, in fact. After a while, he broke the heavy silence. "I don't know who I'm waitin' to impress here." Jerry chuckled, visibly no less uncomfortable than when your friend carried the entire discussion.

"For what it's worth, there's no need to impress her. You can't out talk a chatterbox." You glanced over your shoulder, the social butterfly you called your friend now paraded her partner left and right. You turned your attention back to the man before you.

"Wasn't talking about her." Jerry replied bluntly. "But it's good to know she's always like that. Talking is great, it gets you to connect with the client. It makes it easier to sell what they want rather than what they need, but she..." He marked a pause while he racked his brain in the search of polite terms. "She's got a lot of enthusiasm."

"Spoken like a true salesman."

"What can I say? You got the employee of the month for the twenty-something time in a row standing right in front of ya."

You arched a playful brow. "Only twenty times?"

"Oh, yeah, that's when the boss started this gimmick."

Your genuine laugh made his shoulders relax. You could tell he was not one to brag, he made that clear when he did not allow your friend to stroke his ego by listing out all of his exploits.

"Wanna grab a bite?" He suggested when he noticed that several other guests already lined up by the tables.

You happily agreed. You waited in the queue, filled your plate with a few bites of the most appetizing dishes then you walked back to your initial spot. You looked over your shoulder, expecting to see Jerry following you, but he was taking his sweet time. When he finally walked back, he balanced a precarious plate of food in one hand and a beer in the other all the while he chewed on something. He looked like a chipmunk with full cheeks, you laughed at the imagery.

"You know... If I gotta sell one thing tonight, it's those cookies." He pointed at the folding tables by the wall.

On the red table cloth, no dish was left untouched. Not even the several variations of Jell-O salads that left you wondering how many of those concoctions were too many for one single party. You distinguished a familiar serving platter that looked rather empty.

"Have you tried the cookies? You gotta try them." Jerry set his beer and his plate down on the nearest surface he could find, which turned out to be a pile of shoe boxes. He reached a hand behind your back, with the intention to guide you to the array of miscellaneous meals that composed the potluck. But he quickly withdrew himself. "Wait."

You nodded. This time, you watched him make his way through the crowd as if he was playing hockey on ice. He glided expertly and he avoided the attempts at pointless chitchat from friends and colleagues.

Jerry returned with a pyramid of cookies on a paper napkin. "I could've eaten the whole platter, they're delicious."

"I know." You spoke before Jerry even had time to hand you the bigger half of the cookie he just broke in two. He looked up from the napkin, his head slightly tilted. "I baked them."

"You did?" He watched you take a bite, you did not eat with as much appetite as he did. He assumed you were already aware of your delicious talent. "Gotta have to teach me." For a second, you noticed the way his gaze appeared vacant. His mind drifted to the thought of his ex-wife, Jeannette, when she revealed she had been teaching that old Miller guy how to swim. The mere comparison between this party he shared with a lovely stranger and what happened before his divorce left a bitter taste in his mouth.

You frowned, the desire to inquire about this sudden change in his expression tickled your mind but you decided to stay quiet.

Jerry put on a small grin, picking up where he left off. "I'd like the recipe, if you don't mind sharing it. I'm sure my son would love it a lot more than the cake I baked for his birthday last year. Christ, that was a disaster." To put it briefly, he was glad he knew how to extinguish a fire.

You both chuckled, Jerry went on to explain how he swapped the sugar and salt, amongst other mistakes. You listened intently to more of his stories about his son. He loved his child dearly, that you could tell. You could also tell that your friend had lied to you. While boasting about her handsome colleague, she made a point in explaining how he seemed like a quiet man unless a conversation about sports sparked up. You witnessed the complete opposite.

Eventually, the two of you decided to sit down on one of the benches by the shoe racks. The anecdotes started to blend together, to the point that even Jerry realized that he was becoming bothersome. "You still sure I can't outdo your friend? 'Cause it feels like I've been talking your ears off."

You grabbed the last cookie he had brought out to share together. You nodded at Jerry when he insisted that you needed to let him know if he got you bored out of your mind with his stories about his wild life. In the distance, you caught a glimpse of your friend's approving smile that beamed brighter than the Christmas lights hung around the store for this special occasion.

*~*~*

"There you are."

You turned around to look at Jerry who leaned against the door frame. Above his head, you noticed that somebody had hung a garland of mistletoe.

"Thought you had sneaked out on me." Jerry's chin pointed in direction of the pile of coats. He then apologized for getting distracted by a conversation with his boss. "Wasn't far from the truth, huh?"

You shook your head and finally found your coat, you put it on. "It's getting late, better make it home before I have to walk in two feet of snow." Jerry echoed your laughter.

He nodded understandingly when you explained that your friend promised you a ride home, but in the end she insisted on staying at the party with her fiancé. Jerry expected a question that never came. "I'll drive you."

You quickly declined his offer. You did not live too far away, you did not want to bother him. Excuses.

"A pretty dress like this wasn't made for a hike in the snow." More excuses.

You tilted your head and, with a deep sigh, you accepted.

"Stubborn." You heard him whisper the word when you brushed shoulders as Jerry reached through the pile to dig up his coat. His keys fell from the pocket, so he bent down to pick them up from the floor. "Those shoes weren't made for walking outside either, darlin'."

You conceded, you would not make it the whole way back home in such an outfit.

"May I interest you in a brand new item we received? It just got invented by a smart fella from Maine. They're called ski boots. They're boots... For skiing."

"Revolutionary." You faked a dramatic gasp, successfully pulling another chuckle out of Jerry. "I'll have to visit the store again, then."

"I work five days a week, miss. I'll be happy to assist." With a wink, he offered you his arm to hold.

You glanced up at the garland of mistletoe one last time. Jerry put on his coat without bothering to zip it closed and he led the way to the exit. When the door shut behind the two of you, the infernal chattering noise finally quieted down. Jerry and you exchanged a knowing look with a mutual appreciation to for the newfound tranquility outside of the party.

*~*~*

Jerry parked in front of your apartment building. He hurried to the passenger door that he held open for you. He expected an invitation that did come this time.

You stood by the car, locking eyes with Jerry for a moment. "A handsome face like yours wasn't made to freeze out in the cold now, was it?" You smiled as you began to walk towards the door of your apartment.

The sound of Jerry's footsteps in the snow confirmed he followed you closely. You exchanged another longing look while you unlocked the front door of your apartment. You let him walk in first, he quickly untied his shoes and he placed them besides yours on the entrance mat. He helped you with your coat that he hung according to your instructions.

You noticed that Jerry was chuckling. "What is it?" You asked with a confused frown.

"It's real quiet in here." He admitted and you wholeheartedly agreed.

You brushed shoulders again as you made your way to the radio in your living room. You tuned in to your favourite radio station. It played Christmas music, the perfect ambience to calmly extend the party that started at the store. "Better?"

"Better indeed, darlin'." Jerry flashed you a smile that made you feel warm all over. Silence crept in the room, except this time it was much more comfortable than when you first met at the beginning of the party. Still, Jerry insisted on breaking it. "Smells really good in here." He could discern the scent of freshly baked goods, he assumed it was the remnants of the cookies, but there was something else to it.

"I made some mulled wine earlier, I haven't cleaned the pot yet. It's such a hassle." You shrugged before your eyes widened in surprise at your own realization. "There's some left, I could warm it up for us. How does that sound?"

Jerry's enthusiastic nod of approval brought the two of you in your small kitchen. He tried to stay out of your way, using your fridge as an arm rest while he watched you grab a ladle and two mismatched mugs.

You stirred the spiced wine slowly, waiting for it to come to temperature while Jerry entertained you with more anecdotes.

Until he switched it up with questions that encouraged you to tell your own stories too. He sipped the wine from the mug you handed him and he listened intently to every detail about your life that you shared.

You set your beverage down to finally tackle the dishes. Before your hands met with the water running from the faucet, you were gently nudged away.

"Let me help." Jerry left you no time or space to be stubborn or to turn him down, he put on the pair of rubber gloves he saw on the counter. You both laughed at the ridiculous sight while he scrubbed the pot clean.

You poured more dish soap so he could scrape off the spices that had gotten stuck. Soon enough, Jerry was done and he removed the gloves before setting the pot on top of the fridge. You placed your hand on his arm, your thumb gently caressed the soft material of his blue polo shirt. "You know you didn't have to do all that." Keeping you company, driving you home, now helping you with these trivial tasks... "I appreciate it."

He pressed his lips together, his head dipped in acknowledgement of your sentiment. Jerry's eyes flicked from yours down to your lips and back up again. "I don't usually do that."

"What, wash dishes?" You returned with a chuckle.

"No, that I do a lot of." He admitted. All these years of being a father and yet he could not comprehend how many dirty dishes one child could leave behind. He blinked away the thoughts of a sink full of plates and glasses. "I meant... Kiss." He leaned closer to you. "I don't kiss a lady on the first date."

You felt heat rising to your cheeks, your own gaze fell to his mouth. "Oh, that's too bad." His defined cupid's bow faded when he smiled at you.

"I could make an exception, y'know."

You hummed in response, locking eyes with him for a moment. You had only just met, yet it felt like you truly knew Jerry with all the talking you both did this evening. Ultimately, your friend's plan to set you up with her handsome colleague had worked. You would figure out a way to let her know at another time. You had much more pressing plans...

Jerry pressed his lips on yours. His eyes closed, his heart skipped a beat.

The kiss was tender, but it quickly lost its hesitation when you erased the remaining distance between the two of you.

He held your face in his hands to kiss you a second time.

The two of you slowly deepened the kiss, with Jerry's head tilting to the side to let your tongues dance together.

His hands fell to your shoulders and then they caressed down your body, following your curves. He guided your hands to rest on the small of his back before he placed his own on your hips.

Jerry gently pressed you against the counter. His forehead met yours while he tried to catch his breath.

Your mouth found his again and again, until he left a trail of kisses from your lips to your jawline and all the way down to your neck.

Jerry sprinkled open-mouthed kisses on your skin, as he inhaled the soft scent of your perfume. He pulled away to lock eyes with yours, searching for an ounce of hesitation or perhaps a drop of regret for the passion growing speedily between the two of you.

All he found in your beautiful eyes was a reflection of desire that shined in his own gaze. You leaned your head in his hand while he held your face again. You nodded softly.

He reached for your hand that he brought to his lips for a kiss. You watched his grin grow on his face as he leaned down. All the way down until his knees met the floor. He let out a huff of air. "I'm not as young and fresh as I used to be."

You rolled your eyes and laughed at his joke, as if he was a frail old man.

He popped the collar button of his polo open and he looked at you. The dimmed light of the kitchen made his eyes glimmer. His fingertips caressed up your legs, from your ankles to your knees. Jerry's eyebrow arched on his forehead, creating a wrinkle you so badly wanted to kiss.

You tilted your head, confused by his unspoken request.

He answered all of your questions when he started kissing his way up the inside of your thighs. His hands splayed on your skin, gently grabbing at the supple flesh.

"Wait," you caused Jerry to pull back in a quick motion. "Let me just..." You brushed all of his sudden worries away when you tried to pull your tights down. You struggled awkwardly. "Sorry."

He chuckled with you and gently pushed your hands out of the way. "Let me do it." Jerry insisted. He concluded the struggle was not worth the wait. "Do you have more than one pair?"

"Yeah, why?" You replied, stumped by his question. Then, you heard the noise of fabric ripping and your eyes widened.

"That's why." Jerry answered bluntly, tickling the now exposed skin of your thighs with his warm breath. He kissed his way to your covered core, he grunted at the sight of your red and lacy underwear. He gave you an apologetic glance before he ripped the delicate material too.

You parted your legs to give him more space.

"It feels like the mistletoe hung up at the party was a good omen, doesn't it?" He murmured. He pressed the lightest and softest kisses possible on your core while you giggled at his words. "May I?" He asked for permission another time.

"Yes please." Chills ran through you when he kept going, kissing you more and more hungrily. If what he said was true, that he did not kiss on the first date, it made this moment all the more special.

Jerry explored you gently with kisses and licks that sufficed to get you worked up.

You bucked your hips against his face, chasing more. You mewled in bliss whenever his tongue or his nose would bump against your clit.

Jerry understood that you craved more than the sweet attention he gave you, and he happily obliged. There was something about you, about the evening you unexpectedly spent together, that made his heart skip a beat. The discussions and the longing stares you shared would have made it nearly impossible to walk out of your apartment without getting a taste of you.

You gripped on the edge of the counter with your left hand, determined to stay upright although your knees were turning into jelly. Your other hand found his head and, after ruffling his hair a bit, you guided him.

Jerry moaned against you, the vibrations reverberated through your entire body. He loved the way you showed him how to make you feel good. He lapped at your essence, he tried to commit to memory the ways you liked to be pleased.

You pulled on his hair a bit, without caring much about the way your skirt swallowed him whole. You looked down to watch his legs shift as he tried to find a more stable position.

His tongue worked through your folds, circled your clit, dipped at your entrance. Jerry's hands found your thighs again so he could pull on the skin to allow him to devour you like a starved man. It had been so long, too long since he had done something of the sort. He could only wish you two would meet again. In the meantime, Jerry was desperate to make you tip over the edge.

You let out a song of moans, breathlessly chanting his name. You felt the muscles of your lower stomach tighten as the pleasure built up. You were so close...

Jerry replaced his tongue with his thumb, so he could catch his breath. The featherlight strokes on your clit made you shiver. Jerry dove back under your dress, flattening his tongue to lick over your folds and his finger too.

You let your head fall back when Jerry made you come on his tongue. Jerry's moans and yours blended into a beautiful symphony as he continued until your legs were shaking like a leaf.

He finished with a kiss on your clit, so you could feel his lips curling into a proud smile.

Both of your hands relaxed when the tidal waves of your orgasm became calm again. Rather than gripping on his hair, you ran your fingers through them. "Come here..." You said, the tone of your voice sounded shaky. Your chest heaved with each breath you took.

Jerry's head emerged from under your skirt, you chuckled at the sight. His hair looked a mess, totally dishevelled. The hair pommade he used to comb his hair over evidently could not sustain such a blissful moment.

A frown flashed on his forehead, his glistening lips formed a small pout. "What? Is everything alright?" He sounded a tad bit concerned, afraid that he did something wrong. Although, judging by the way your body reacted to him and by the moans you sung at his ear... Jerry could tell that that everything was indeed alright.

You nodded slowly while you caught your breath. "More than alright." You reached a hand to smooth his hair. Your hand caressed along his cheek until your fingertip tilted his chin up.

Jerry's gaze met yours, his hands stroked up and down your legs. You barely had time to catch a glimpse of his dimples that his head disappeared under your dress again. He left a trail of kisses on the inside of your thighs that grew gentler and gentler as he approached your core again.

"You're still trying to impress me?" You asked, before a small gasp escaped you as his mouth met your more sensitive place.

Rather than answering with words, Jerry's laughter resonated through you like the jolly music that still played on the radio. He lapped at your essence once more, inviting you to impress him with how much you could take.

#jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal smut #jerry brinson smut #jerry brinson #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #jake gyllenhaal x you #jerry brinson fanfic #jake gyllenhaal x reader

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2demondogs · 7 months ago

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With Chrismas around the corner (not really but basically), i would love an Arthur x GN!reader where Arthur proposes to reader for Chrismas and they obviously say yes because, well, it's Arthur, who wouldn't?

Anon did you read my mind. I was just thinking about proposal fics when you sent this ask because I have yet to stumble on one somehow... I'm sorry this took forever btw T-T

Shoutout to my platonic boyfriend for helping me with ideas because I got writer's block <3

Words: 3k oh my good lord Tags: canon divergence (it's just people leaving the gang a chapter early), Arthur does not have tuberculosis, INSTANT spoilers for character death, cheesy shit

It's been too long, you're realizing, since holidays like Christmas felt like special things. There is a double-edged feel to this one — it is the first since Hosea's death, since leaving the gang — but it is the first, in a very long time, that you've spent in the so-called right way: in a warm house with four solid walls and someone you love, how those fanciful books Mary-Beth used to talk your ear off about always wrote.

The house is warm enough, anyways.

There's work that needs done on the cabin. Some of the wood is rotting out and chipped at the corners, forming into sharp splinters that you've brushed against one too many times, but it is a house. You haven't had this pleasure since before joining the gang.

Sometimes, with how content Arthur seems at baseline, you wonder if he's had this pleasure since early childhood. On quieter evenings, ones less reserved for happiness than this one, there has been clipped discussion about how Arthur has never had domesticity like this. Silently, it was an admission of how good it is to share this freshness with you.

During a ride into town, he'd admitted that he had never picked up painting because it was the sort of thing only steady folks got to enjoy. You'd gotten him a set of oil paints when no one was looking — he's worth much more than a few measly dollars, but that means little if you haven't got them to begin with. Some habits die hard; he was happy you remembered what he'd said only a few hours before.

Come the new year, Arthur plans to find work that will pay. New things are a luxury neither of you care much to indulge in, but the repairs will take lumber and maybe a few extra hands. Ones with more expertise, at least, because Arthur's houses usually have not had foundations.

You could simply move now that time has passed, yes. You could find somewhere much farther away, maybe even New York, and pack yourselves in alongside the other sardines bustling about a city, undetectable in uniformity. Shave beards, got jobs, change clothes, cut hair and color it, too, if paranoia strikes— but keeping low to the ground has worked itself out so far, and there is no more of that deathlike stagnation in the air of this place.

Sentimentally, you think this Christmas will seal off whatever makes this cabin yours. Shadows linger, there's been a few odd creaks that've spooked the horses, and maybe it's going to shit a lot quicker than either of you want to admit, but it's your shit-house and the shared stubbornness between you has always brought you nothing but closer to one another.

Arthur is tired of running, and so are you. Last week, he talked about writing to Mary-Beth and Simon, maybe checking if Kieran — the utterance of the man's proper name was a confirmation of the last of that stockholmlike regret having worked out of his system — had broken and followed his little girlfriend. It wasn't said with malice, just some amusement.

"Why do you think he would?" You'd asked.

"Dutch only saves people who don't ask for it," he'd said, and that wistful look in his eyes vanished before you could ask what it meant.

Maybe it's the hard work that makes it feel like a real, true holiday. Pearson and Grimshaw stopped working everyone harder in the winter over the years, once the familial glamour faded with each new addition to the gang. It was no longer a tight-knit group, but a posse, more or less, of runaways and strays all against a big, evil thing like the rest of the world, or whatever it was that Dutch grew to fear.

Since November, Arthur has been saving the best catches to be salted and stored for Christmas dinner. Each addition is cleaner skinned and cut than the last, and the newfound worst of them ended up being ate upon his return from hunting. You've both been saving back herbs since summer, dried and ready to be crumbled into the heated up pot come time for a real feast. Cornbread was made by hand for the first time since you settled down here, drizzled with honey from the general store a ways out.

The latter was Arthur's only specific request for a fancy dinner. If you hadn't gotten him a single gift save for making it, he'd still be happy as a clam.

He's been putting that goddamned honey on everything. You're glad he seems to be enjoying things again, not as tightstrung as he was before you'd made off with him. That's how it feels, anyways, after the long and struggling conversations that were had before the decision was made. Family or life? It's a hard question for someone who has such little concept of either.

Now, the grey hair in his beard is catching the light from the fireplace where he's sat himself on a chair before it. They'd sprouted through the sun-bleached blond atop his head has been looking lighter and lighter in recent months, grey finally catching up to the discoloration and giving him some malcolored sort of tabby look. It's a good one on him, as much as he complains about looking old as dirt and that it's all formed by stress.

For all the lacking color, it adds a ruddy warmth to his face. Daydreams of growing old together find you when you focus on it, or on his wheezing laugh that's gotten worse with the cold weather. Despite the woolen vest he's been sporting, his fingers are as chilled as yours whenever they've brushed. Idly, you wonder if he's gotten whatever Hosea grew into, then remember they were never by blood.

Arthur hadn't wanted you to get him any gifts. When you asked if he would get you something, he'd flushed and changed his mind, apparently already having done it.

Whatever it is, it's good-sized, wrapped in one of the dustcloths you'd gotten him alongside the paints. He's been spending more time painting, lately, tucked in the treeline and looking over the cabin or deeper into the woods, studying something plein air the way those professionals do. He'd propped it against the wall this morning, and once you've settled on the floor before the fireplace — too cold outside not to crowd close to it — after dinner, he looks between you and the cloth like he isn't sure what to do.

"D'you wanna do the honors?" He asks, and grins although the twitch of his eye tells you he's covering timidity with faux cockiness.

"You go ahead," you say, half because he's closer. Tormenting him in small ways must be part of any good gift.

The painting is an image you recognize. A photo that one of the girls took for you months before things went down the hole, using the camera Arthur was loaned by some feller in town who wanted photos taken for a book. He never returned it, and it more or less became something he tucked beneath his cot and let the elements beat around. You can't remember, now, who it was or where he went to get it developed.

The little inkling of pride you felt knowing he kept putting off getting the negatives developed — not enough money, not enough time — yet was gone the next morning to have yours developed returns, now.

It's a much nicer rendition of it, your clothes not dirty and his arm around your waist, the other holding his hat to his chest. It's clear he preferred to give your portrait more detail, his own lagging somewhere behind in clarity and looking closer to the photo. You suppose it's easier to look at someone besides himself, but there's a clearer enjoyment in the lines of you, more care taken in the color mixes.

Ignoring the dense joy of the implications of that, of how obvious it is, proves difficult. Your cheeks twinge some from the wide smile before you realize you're even reacting.

"You'll be a big name someday," you say, and he may as well shrink in on himself beneath the praise, although he's heard it plenty of times before.

"Naw," he waves a hand. "Quit that."

"Really, Arthur." Scooting closer, laying your hands over his knee. He's moving his jaw when your eyes meet his, lays a hand over one of yours, heavy and warm. "It's beautiful. I love it."

"Good," he says. His jaw clicks. "I— uh, I love you."

The hunting knife you got for him seems small, though relatively equal. Arthur looks as pleased as ever studying it, half-mumbling appraisals of yeah, nice and sharp, sturdy to himself that likely would've stayed inside his head, if it weren't for wanting to show you he liked it.

A bone handle, which he feels over with his fingers before noticing it's engraved, fits easy in his palm. You were afraid you push your luck with maintaining its quality too far adding the tiny, vague bear shape next to the deeper cut of his name. Already impressive was the fact that you hadn't ruined it with the letters, being one of your first expeditions into anything of the sort.

"I would've gotten you one of those folding knives," you explain. "But they don't hold up as well, and I know you have one."

The army knife was Hosea's.

"Needed me a new huntin' knife," Arthur says. You know, because he's complained about his current one being close to snapping with all the skinning he does anymore. He squints at the handle, turns it over in the light from the fire. "Did you engrave the handle?"

"Yessir."

He smiles. "It's real nice," he says, pats his palm with the blade softly. It makes a dull noise, sturdy metal on skin. "Why a bear?"

"They remind me of you," you admit. Really, you'd spent a long time considering what else to add, because only his name seemed so plain; although he wouldn't be opposed to flowers or vines, they are a little more intricate than a simplified bear head. "Big and strong. Hairy, too. I'd like to hug one."

He snorts a laugh, but it seems thin. His eyes are fond enough on you that it couldn't be any rejection of your words, and so you brush it off. "You wanna hug a bear?" He asks.

"In a perfect world," you amend. "Don't they look warm?"

"You'd better stick to me," he says, smooths a palm over the thigh of his jeans. The nicest pair he owns, he promised you, because he feels ridiculous in slacks and seems to think you care what he wears.

Beyond thinking everything looks well on him, at least. You often find yourself concerned with that thought.

"I got you somethin' else," Arthur starts, running a finger over the bunched inseam at his own knee. "Well, uh— it's f'both of us, really."

Isn't that intriguing, you think, but your silent, undivided attention seems to make him outright nervous, so you say: "Oh?"

Some conflict happens over his face as he pulls his vest collar away and reaches into the inner pocket, takes out a stack of thin papers that he glances over before apparently relenting to something. Confusion finds you, until he takes a deep breath and holds them towards you.

"Read these," is all he says, and he sounds like it's almost painful.

He's written much, much more than that. Your stomach turns, once or twice, realizing they are pages from his journal. Uncertain why, until the first entries which are skittering on affectionate fade into ones much more flowery. They are all about you, days you'd spent together or times you hadn't, the things you've given him over the years and the things he wished he could've given you.

Each page makes your chest feel tight with a panicked joy, as if his hands were not fiddling with the new knife to occupy — distract? — himself but clenching hard at your heart.

One, near the beginning, says he thought of pickin' a pretty lil' flower, God bless it, I feel ridiculous; on the back of the next is pressed a variegated tulip, crumbling with age but holding firm to whatever adhesive glues it to the paper. Again, that creeping smile, like thyme. Another entry is entirely about your hair, because it had brushed his arm. Only a few sentences made up that page, below the cursive a choppy sketch of your horse.

Certainly, Arthur stays busy in his head. You've always known as much, but never figured any of it was about you. Not like this, anyways, though the dates spread from the week before Blackwater and you can only wonder what laid in that journal he lost before.

"Oh, Arthur," you start, looking up from a third-way through, feeling giddy but not wanting him to watch you so intently while you finish them. No wonder he was shy. It's his heart. "You're so sweet."

"Finish readin' 'em," Arthur says, doesn't meet your eyes at first. When he does, they're gentle. "They get sweeter, y'know, better finish 'em. 'Cause of that."

He is nervous. Hardly moving, besides the tongue running over his teeth beneath his lips, and the rambling every time he opens his mouth. You don't mind, never have. He's endearing like this.

Outings you'd went on infrequently, the dates of his favorites underlined, you're noticing, based on the tone of his words in them; his worries and fears about courting you, and some of what you mean to him though, with its succinctness, you have a feeling he wouldn't dare put all of his genuine love to findable paper; things he likes about you, and one page where he admits that he cannot keep himself from documenting you in every other entry, which tells you this small collection is hardly everything. The previous entries turn over in your mind again, and you are struck on a random page for a moment as their meanings take hold, realizing they were especially sliced from his journal to show you.

The entries leading to the last are what set your mind and pulse ablaze. From the first appearance of the word marriage, you swallowed your idea of what may be coming — Arthur's breathing changing beside you doesn't help any, and it certainly does not help that he leans down once you've reached the last page, plucking it from your hands. Before he does, you notice quite a few crossed out lines, scribbles as if he were frustrated with not being able to find the right words.

"Think I've got the balls on me to read this one aloud, at the very least," he says, voice laced with a chuckle. Breath comes uneasy, but you collect yourself enough to gather the pages back into a neat, ordered stack in your lap. "Unless you'd rather spare me," he adds, nudges your knee with the toe of his shoe.

"No." Your voice sounds strange, even to you. "Do me the honors."

Arthur bites his cheek, nods and lets it fall as he smiles. Still, his hand finds the back of his neck, the page held between two fingers that remain surprisingly steady. The knife lingers in his hand beneath it, and isn't it just like him to propose holding a weapon.

Propose. It takes its first toll on you, rolls over your back in shards of tingling.

"December twenty-fifth, eighteen ninety-nine," he starts, eyes flicking to your face every other word until the intensity of your gaze must make him too anxious. "It's a nice little life, livin' with the one I love," — rubbing his mouth, sighing some — "Jesus, I always gotta be sappy." You laugh, though it comes out more forceful than you intended, and relax some until he continues. "The thought of another day where anythin' could happen 'n' we ain't bound is somethin' I hate."

Arthur pauses, stands up and places the journal entry on his chair. You take his hands when he holds them out to where you sit, grunting when he hauls you off the ground with more force than you expected, feet shuffling into place to stick all-too-close to his. His hands are burning, skin feverish when you grab his wrists, as if you'd ever want to stop him as he eases onto a knee before you.

And his eyes throw you off balance, too, catching the light just enough that you can tell they are stinging. So are your own, now that you think about it, but intelligent thoughts go out the window once you sense him about to speak.

"I wanna be 'til death do us part," Arthur confesses, fumbles to catch both of your hands in his in an awkward, squeezing hug of a hold.

The way your bones catch on one another, well— it's not a sensation you'll forget, like the first time he kissed you and you felt it still a week later, warm pressure on your mouth if you got too lost in the memory. He looks as good, looks so nice, and you know your fingers would be shaking if he weren't crowding them together, steady.

When he says your name, the blood is rushing through your ears too loud to hear it clearly; you almost want to ask him to do it again. "Will you marry me?"

Nodding, face slack before it spreads in a grin. "Yes," you say. "Of course I will."

His is hidden by how he lets go of your hands, catching them before they fall in stupid, limp joy back to your sides. He lays kisses along the knuckles, all three rows of them. It's so awfully saccharine and yet you could never tell him to quit being sweet— not now, not as he stumbles to his feet after you pull him up and shake off his hold to grab his face, tugging him into a kiss.

Arms come around your waist, squeeze tight enough to hurt, or to hold in place. Arthur runs a hand over your back, breaks the kiss to slide a hand into your hair and press your face to his chest, caging you in his arms. He smells warm, like good cologne, and you know he's been planning this.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #gender neutral reader #neutralreader #arthur morgan #ask #oneshot #fluff #sfw #rdr2 #reader insert #proposal fic

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fatphobiabusters · 6 months ago

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I keep yo-yo dieting as early as age 12. Currently in my mid 20s. The lowest weight I even been is 180. Highest was somewhere in the 200-mid 200s.

And ughhhhh I’m so tired. I’m so tired of the anxiety about food and weight. I keep having periods where I love my body and eat anything I want, but then anytime I accidentally overeat and feel nauseous, I come crashing back down and feel so gross.

It majorly dosnt help that half of my family are fat phobic and food obsession health. Like, a family member literally said multiple times I should get a ED to help me lose weight……Since I can’t metaphorically leave my house, I’m stuck….:idk what to do? It feels like I’m trap in a never ending circle.

This isn't an easy situation, and I bet a lot of people are in this boat with you. I wish your family would listen to your feelings and treat you with compassion. Nobody, including you, should be encouraged to develop an eating disorder, let alone by a member of their own family. You deserve to live a life that doesn't involve being told to abuse your body into temporary thinness.

Fatphobic family members definitely make life as a fat person harder, and that's often elevated during the holidays. Here's some coping mechanisms you can try to help you while interacting with your family:

Find a space you can go to by yourself to cool down while dealing with fatphobic family members. Maybe that's sitting on a porch, taking a walk outside, or even hanging out in your room. Having stuff with you to help you destress while you're cooling down can also be beneficial. This could be headphones for listening to music, a sketchbook for drawing, a stim toy, etc.

If this is a temporary situation, like being at a family member's house for dinner, and you're also with somebody you trust, make a plan with that person for when family members bring up diet culture. A secret word, a tap on the shoulder, a text to their phone that let's them know you want to leave/change the conversation. Even just knowing you have somebody there with you who understands how you're feeling can be helpful.

You can try to change the subject when your family starts talking about weight. You can also do this subtly if you need to by switching to a topic somewhat related to the original conversation. For example, if somebody is talking about exercising in a diet culture manner, you could ask if they go on walks and where their favorite place to walk is. If somebody is talking about their diet recipes, start talking about a new recipe you've tried recently that your family members "have to try." If a family member says they've gained or lost weight, ask them what else has been happening in their life. And if changing the subject doesn't work, there's hopefully the options of putting on headphones or leaving the space.

Surround yourself with as much fat positivity as you can. That's easier said than done, but even a few fat positive posts may help you turn around a bad day. You could also try creating some of your own fat positive posts/works, if that sounds fun to you.

If this is possible, you can set goals for what you need to do to leave your family home and live away from your family. Mark those goals on a piece of paper so you can check them off. Every time you get closer to your goal of living away from your family, that progress will likely help you have the strength to deal with your family members for the time being. These goals can be saving a certain amount of money, finishing the next semester of school, finding a better job, etc.

These are just a few ideas off the top of my head. Any followers who also have tips, please let us know in the notes.

As for accidentally overeating and feeling nauseous, I relate to that not being a great feeling. Try to ride out that feeling of discomfort. Tell yourself that the feeling will pass whether you act on that feeling or not. As somebody who knows a lot about OCD recovery, you have to teach yourself to sit with the discomfort (or the uncertainty, in the case of OCD) and let that discomfort pass. It will take time to get better at this, but you deserve food no matter what.

-Mod Worthy

#fatphobia #internalized fatphobia #diet culture #ask #cutepastelstarsailor #Mod Worthy

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tlbodine · 7 months ago

Text

Tips for Talking to Conservative Friends & Family

In the wake of the election, with the holidays around the corner, some of you may be wondering how to deal with friends, family members, coworkers, etc. who voted for Trump and/or who espouse his policies.

This guide is by no means meant to be authoritative and won't work in every circumstance. I accept no responsibility for what happens if you use any scripts and it goes horribly awry. But I did want to share some of my personal experience in this vein, as someone with a great deal of conservative people in my life whom I generally love and respect and would like to maintain a civil relationship with (and, hopefully, bring them back to center if not my side). I've had decent luck with these strategies in the past.

First: Only engage if it is safe to do so.

Do not get into political discussions that might endanger your job, your living situation, your access to care, or your physical and emotional safety. However, do engage if you are able to do so safely and your doing so might help someone in a more vulnerable position. What the fuck is privilege for if not using it to protect people?

Second: Identify your goal.

Do you want to de-escalate a situation so someone can get out of immediate danger? Do you want to establish a boundary? Or do you want to actually attempt to convert someone over to your side? Each goal has different tactics. Be realistic with yourself about what you're going to accomplish. If you do not have a close relationship with the person, you are extremely unlikely to change their mind about anything, and it's frankly not worth the effort. Let someone who is close to them do that work. De-escalate, set a boundary if possible, and gtfo.

But if you do have a close relationship -- if this person generally likes and respects you -- then you might have a shot at challenging their views.

We're going to assume a scenario where you're dealing with people you know and who you can generally count on not to be immediately aggressive. Somebody else will be better-equipped to talk about strategies for dealing with protests and people on the street etc.

De-Escalation & Setting Boundaries

This is your first line of defense against family members acting shitty. If someone tries to start a debate, makes an off-color joke or comment, or is otherwise behaving inappropriately, try:

Let's not talk about this over dinner.

I don't think this is appropriate conversation right now.

That's an awful thing to say.

I don't understand that joke, can you explain why it's funny?

I'm sorry, I won't listen to any more of this (leave the room)

That's not okay.

What you want to do here is make an appeal to correct standards of behavior. You want them to feel ashamed for acting out of line. In order to make this work, it is essential that you:

Remain calm and keep an even, light-but-firm tone of voice. It needs to be clear that you're not joking around, but you also cannot sound upset. (Yes, this is really hard. I'm sorry.) Practice your very best "I'm not angry, just disappointed" tone for maximum effect. If you can manage it, eye contact and a neutral or even slightly concerned or sad expression will make it even better.

Avoid insulting or attacking them. Do not say things like, "Stop being an asshole" or "I can't believe you're acting like this" no matter how much you want to. Do not say "That's racist/sexist/ableist/homophobic." These types of replies, no matter how accurate, will make them defensive, and defensive people shut down and stop listening. If you come off as angry, that gives THEM permission to be angry right back. But if you come off as the normal one, them getting angry makes them look like a dick.

Do not laugh. Avoid the urge to chuckle nervously or joke it off. It WILL feel uncomfortable. It WILL be awkward as fuck. That's the point. They are misbehaving by violating a standard of appropriate behavior, and you are setting down a boundary. The awkwardness will fade and, frankly, they'll often start behaving better pretty much immediately.

Follow through on your consequences. If you say, "Dad, if you continue to bring up Trump, I will not call you anymore," you have to stick to it. Holding firm to your boundaries is HARD AS FUCK but if you don't do it then all you do is teach them that they can wear you down. Think of it like training a dog. Consistency is key.

You're not going to change anybody's closely-held beliefs with this strategy, but you WILL make a case for what is allowable around you. If you model this behavior, and encourage and embolden other people you know to do the same, you might be surprised. A lot of times, people's inappropriate behavior is a boundary-testing mechanism -- they tell the racist joke because they want to see if they can get away with it -- and if you shut them down, they often just...stop. Or at least retreat into their little hole to talk to fellow gremlins instead of you.

Challenging Views, Changing Minds

Okay. You actually want to engage them in conversation. You want to challenge their views and help them change their opinion. How do you do that?

Again, it's essential that you remain calm. If you can't have this discussion without getting heated, it's not the time to have the discussion. If they start to get heated, be prepared to de-escalate and walk away: "I cannot continue this conversation with you right now. Let's talk again some other time when we've cooled off."

But if you can keep calm, here is what actually works (sometimes):

Listen to them. No, really. Hear them out.

Help them feel heard by empathizing with them. Repeat back your understanding of what they said and how that must feel.

Remind them that for other people, THEY are feeling xyz emotion, too.

Ask them questions. Instead of telling them they're wrong, ask questions that will lead them to draw that conclusion themselves.

Make appeals to emotion rather than starting with facts and logic. You'll know what kind of emotion to draw on because you've been listening to them and empathizing. Hint: almost always, bigotry (at the personal level) is rooted in fear.

If this is going well, THEN you can start citing some sources, statistics, and facts.

Invite them to share THEIR sources with you.

Thank them for doing such a good job at being calm and discussing this with you, reaffirm your close relationship, and encourage them to come talk to you about this at any time. It's very possible that you are the only person they might feel safe bringing this stuff up to now and you want to keep that channel of communication open.

Very often (not always, or often), conservative-leaning individuals are people who lack the education or knowledge that left-leaning people do. They may be accustomed to being insulted, yelled at, and made to feel stupid. They are conditioned to believe that folks on the left are smug, holier-than-thou, stuck-up assholes. Whatever you can do to poke a hole in that perception will simultaneously make it easier to talk to them AND cause them to question that rhetoric the next time they encounter it.

This tactic won't always work. It probably won't work at all the first conversation. It's something you'll have to chip away at over time. But sometimes, it's worth it.

And if it's not? Well. As they say.

#talking to conservatives #surviving thanksgiving #communication tips #us politics #election 2024

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scarletttries · 2 years ago

Text

Woo Jin NSFW Alphabet (Bloodhounds)

Pairing: Hong Woo-Jin (Bloodhounds) x Reader

Rating: Fluffy Smut

Word Count: 3.2k

Author's Note: As promised here is the NSFW Woo Jin Alphabet. I love these boys so much I might have to do some fluff alphabets for them too, and I think I'm going to do some Peacemaker and Stranger Things fluff alphabets too so watch out for those! I'm on holiday at the moment and am finding alphabets much easier to write than full fics so please feel free to request a fluff or NSFW alphabet with any character you might enjoy! :)

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

A man who knows how to be charming, even when he's just rambling like an idiot, Woo Jin's aftercare involves a lot of talking. Be prepared for him to recap his top moments, ask your opinion on every little thing he did, making sure he knows exactly what to keep and what to change up next time to keep becoming better and better for you. He gets clingy too, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you flush against him, spooning you as he chirps excitedly in your ear about how amazing you were and how much he loves that he gets to do this with you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Woo Jin's body is a testament to the efforts he's put into it day in and day out, but he still feels surprisingly insecure for a man in such good shape, like no matter how strong he is, he'll always be surrounded by people that are stronger. Thankfully the first time he takes off shirt in front of you, maybe he's invited you to a boxing match for the first time, and you jaw drops, eyes racking over his chiseled chest and abs, he suddenly feels so much better (you can guarantee he won the fight that day.) From then on he'll find any excuse to take his shirt off in front of you, spurred on by the wanting way you lick your lips, knowing you'll be curled up against him in no time.

Speaking of your lips, Woo Jin can't imagine a pair could ever be more perfect. He was a goner the first time he saw you smile, and when you laughed at something he said? Heart eyes for days! The sound of you giggling at his jokes is his favourite in the world and every time you smile at him he feels ten foot tall. The first time he worked up the nerve to finally kiss you, he almost couldn't believe how warm and soft your mouth felt against his, an inviting feeling he now can't go a day without. And when you map a constellation of kisses across his chest, sinking to your knees to put your lips to work, well let's just say that boy has never been happier in his life.

C= Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Woo Jin isn't exactly shy once you're at the stage of sleeping together, and he absolutely loves feeling like he's marking you as his by cuming inside or on you. When you first start sleeping together, he's worried about finishing inside you, instead letting himself spill over your chest or stomach, quickly offering to help you clean up as an excuse to get to feel your skin even more. But when you first ask him to cum in inside you, the feeling of being buried inside you as you both cum together, well that might just be his favourite, feeling totally connected to you and as close to you as he possibly can. Sometimes he'll aim to get straight into a second round so he doesn't have to choose between being inside you or all over you.

D = Dirty Secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Woo Jin's got a big mouth that's always running, and a big appetite, and all that leads to him having an oral fixation when it comes to you. He could happily make out with you for hours, feeling positively obsessed with having your lips on his, constantly interrupting your day to steal a kiss if he thinks it's been too long. In bed he'll constantly give you hickies across your chest where only you can see, or if the pleasures too much he'll just barely sink his teeth into your shoulder, his mouth needing to feel you at all times. If you return the favour, biting and sucking on his neck when he's inside you, prepare to hear the most strangled moan of your name as he desperately fights back his immediate climax. He'll be praised you every second as well, telling you how perfect you feel, even when his mouth is full and you can barely understand a word.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

Woo Jin has a little more experience than Gun Woo, occasionally meeting women in bars and bringing them home for the night when he was younger. You'd be his first real relationship though, the first person he's wanted to sleep with again and again, and to keep impressing. He'll know enough from his previous encounters to make your first time together very special, but from then on his focus is learning everything about what you like, figuring out exactly how to make you cry out his name as loudly as possible.

F = Favourite Position (this goes without saying)

Honestly, it is probably just his head between your legs, watching your whole body shake as he makes you cum on his tongue for the second time today. But he also loves being behind you, wrapping his arms around you so you are pressed to his chest so he can keep cover your lips, neck, shoulders with his kiss while he fucks into you. He loves the strength he feels from being able to move your body around in bed, his muscles coming in very handy when he wants to pin you down and keep you exactly where he wants you, to make sure you feel absolutely everything.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Woo Jin barely has a serious bone in his body, his happy grin on his face in every moment you two spend together. He would throw out the most ridiculous compliments and praises when you're in bed together, the whole interaction so fun and lighthearted even though it clearly also means so so much to him. He'll be giggly and euphoric afterwards too, practically play wrestling in bed with you just to keep having a reason to feel you beneath him.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they?)

Woo Jin cares a lot about style and fashion, taking a lot of care in the way he looks and always keeping everything tidy for you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Woo Jin might not show intimacy in the serious way others would, but it doesn't take long for you to realise his lighthearted jokes and the way he messes around when he's getting undressed with you is his way of his being vulnerable and connecting with you on the level he feels most intimate at. He might try and be more romantic and serious if you wanted, but it's hard not to feel special when he gives you that goofy grin he doesn't get to wear very often and saves for his perfect moments with you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He's an excitable kind of guy, so Woo Jin's no stranger to his own company, entertaining whatever thoughts he can conjure - from the day you met, I can guarantee you that every image will be of you, he's just that obsessed. He'll definitely fantasize about you whenever you have to spend any length of time apart, getting easily riled up when he starts thinking about how much he misses your lips all over him.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

If you're into it, Woo Jin can enjoy getting a little rough and possessive in bed - he loves being able to pin your hands above your head as he bucks his hips against yours, asking you to tell you him that you're his over and over again. Boys definitely got a praise kink too, every time you tell how good he's making you feel he'll make it his personal mission to somehow make you feel even better. And oh my god if you called him 'Sir' in bed, that bit of marine pride would drive him absolutely insane.

Finally, if you agreed with it, I think Woo Jin would love to wake you up by going down on you, wanting you to wake up in the best possible mood, and feeding into his love of feeling like you and your body are all his.

L = Location (favourite places to do it)

Despite his attitude I think Woo Jin would mostly play it safe and have the most fun just sharing nights together in either of your apartments, where he can really take his time and feel safe to explore everything with you. The exception to that is when you come see him at Boxing matches, or even just training at the gym, he'll always want to show off for you, and gets all excited seeing you cheer him on, supporting him and thinking he can do anything - when he wins, he'll definitely sneak you into the locker room for a private moment so he can show you just how much he appreciates your cheerleading.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Honestly it would be a shorter list to write what you do that doesn't get Woo Jin going! As above, any time he sees you cheering him on or supporting him it definitely turns him on, your support making him feel so good and loved. The same goes for when he's able to make you laugh with his silly comments and jokes, it just makes him feel like you really get him and that he can be himself with you, every opportunity to be open and intimate with you one that he wants to really make the most of. It comes from a place of feeling a bit insecure in himself, like he's been a runner up his whole life and finally here comes you, making him feel like a winner and the luckiest guy in the world every single day.

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

We've established Woo Jin can get a little insecure and jealous, so he wouldn't want to do anything that would feel like sharing you with someone else, wanting you to belong solely to each other. Other than that the only thing that could really turn him off is if he thought you weren't really feeling it, your comfort and pleasure the sexiest thing in the world to him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

This man lives to give. He needs something to occupy his mouth at all times, and there's nothing he loves more than putting his tongue to work between your legs, feeling you tremble at his touch, hearing you moan out his name and tell him he's the best at this. He's constantly telling you how good you look during sex, and that doesn't stop when he's going down on you, the vibrations from his non-stop monologue of flirting teasing every nerve in your body. You'll see flashes of that cheeky smile as you tell him you're ready for him to fuck you, but he just shakes his head and tells you he's not done yet.

He'll be eternally grateful when you return the favour too, the moment your tongue meets his tip maybe the only time in his life when his mind is blank and he finally stops talking - only for a moment before the praises spill out again amongst pants of your name, and confessions of just how much he loves you and how lucky he is to have you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Woo Jin is an athletic and agile man, and that would carry through to the bedroom. He's so excitable that it's like a whirlwind as he rips off clothes and covers every inch of your body in his kisses, pace frantic and rough when he's finally inside you. Sometimes he'll slow it down though, when you roll on top of him first thing in the morning or he comes home from a particularly long day, drained and looking for the comfort of you slowly riding him as he spends the whole night chasing your lips with his, arms wrapped around you so you never get too far away.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) -

Woo Jin is so obsessed with you that sometimes he just needs a quickie; he knows you only have ten minutes before you need to be out the door to meet your friends, but he's been craving you all day and he feels like if he doesn't get to feel and taste you for another five hours it might just kill him! He's strong enough to press you up against the nearest wall, wrapping your legs around his shoulders so he can taste you before he brings you to his waist and pounds into you mercilessly, making sure you're both satisfied but you still get to leave on time - even if your legs feel more like jelly than you would like.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Despite having lived an incredibly dangerous life (with some very close calls) Woo Jin has learned nothing - he will take any risk and experiment in any way you suggested if you asked him with a smile. He wouldn't necessarily be the one to suggest something new, but he'd definitely take the risk of being together in public somewhere if he felt like he really needed you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Woo Jin trains to bounce back quickly in the ring, between rounds of boxing, so he's always ready for a round two pretty quickly, never wanting the moment between you two to end.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He wouldn't own any toys himself, but if he ever found out you had a vibrator he would beg you to let him use it on you, absolutely mesmerized by your reactions to its touch. He would definitely want to introduce it to your sleepy morning sex, just to help you wake up in the happiest way.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

It takes one look at Woo Jin's devilish smile to know this man would be the worst (and best) tease. He'd love touching you oh so gently and watching you react, joking about how badly you need him when he's barely even done anything. Lives for making you beg for him to actually fuck you, teasingly saying he thinks you're not ready and need him to make you cum again on his fingers. When he's feeling particularly mischievous he loves being able to pin your hands and straddle your hips, taking his sweet time sliding into you and watching you squirm, unable to move your hips to hurry him along.

When the tables are turned however, he is an absolute baby. He gets so pathetic when you make him wait, if you hover him with your entrance just out of reach, chuckling at his attempts to lift his hips to feel you. Very quickly starts pleading and begging for you to touch him, telling you how bad he needs you because only you can make him feel this good.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Woo Jin has a big mouth, that never stops running - his moans are loud from the minute you shift onto his lap until his final thrust, interspersed with the a long stream of the sweetest words you could ever want to here, praising everything about your body, your personality, your soul and the way you look and sound and feel around his dick. Even afterwards the compliments don't stop coming until he's fallen asleep for the night.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for this character) -

Even though it's inevitable that sometimes you have to spend a little bit of time apart, Woo Jin views missing you as completely unacceptable. So whenever he has to be away from you, he'll start a video call with you and just talk to you all day while he's out living his life, like a little one person vlog. He just wants you to see everything about his day and know exactly what you're up to, even if the call has to last all day. Any time he's in his little apartment alone and you can't come over he'll get you on his phone, propping you up so he can see everything you're doing and vice versa.

It wouldn't take too many weeks of this constant company before one night he starts pleading about how much he wishes you were sleeping over, and you can see him subconsciously palming himself through his pyjamas. So you'd slip your camisole off your shoulders and ask him exactly what he'd be doing if he was with you right now, his eyes bulging wide at the realisation that this is actually happening. Now if you're apart he can't sleep without touching himself over the phone to you and telling you all the ways he wants to make you feel good when he sees you tomorrow.

X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

Woo Jin's pretty tall and muscular, so every part of him would probably be a bit bigger than average ;)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Woo Jin's craving for you is relentless, most of his waking moments filled with thoughts of your beauty and kindness, and often that translates into wanting to please you and feel you. If you ever made the slightest suggestion that you were in the mood, he'd be immediately ready to go, but sometimes all he wants to do is cuddle up with you, resting his head on your lap while you play with his hair, or having you lie against his chest while his fingertips lightly trace shapes on your arm - it's all wonderful quality time for him.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

It tends to be the two ends of the spectrum for Woo Jin - half the time he'll be immediately unconscious, the other half he'll be so excited about having a great time with you that he'll be buzzing with energy, playfully rolling around with you in bed and smiling ear to ear as he pours out every thought he's ever had and tries to learn absolutely everything about you.

#writing #fanfiction #one shot #requests #bloodhounds x reader #bloodhounds kdrama #bloodhounds netflix #bloodhounds imagines #bloodhounds #woo jin x reader #woojin x reader #hong woo jin #hong woojin #hong woo jin x reader #woo jin imagines #woo jin headcanons

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