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bluudsucka · 22 days ago

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juna - bo chow x tomboy!reader

chapter I - chapter II

summary: you were never in touch with your feminine side, being raised by your father and older brothers you knew built a tough exterior. always opting for wearing male clothes and sporting a short haircut, but that was until you stopped at the new local convince store and met bo.

word count: 7k

warnings: smut, female reader, awkward/shy reader, slight mentions of race, loss of virginity, oral sex, noncanonical setting, unprotected sex, slight age gap (nothing too crazy reader is in her early twenties while bo is in his late 20s/early 30s), mentions of other characters

author's note: i had a lot of fun writing this! this is my longest fic i ever wrote so far, so thank you for reading and thank ya'll for the support! <3 (i was also listing to juna by clairo while writing bits of this haha)

“You make me wanna go dancin’, you make me wanna try on feminine, you make me wanna go buy a new dress, you make me wanna slip off a new dress...”

The blistering summer sun nipped harshly at your skin, sweat from the heat and a hard day's work clung onto your chest and forehead while driving your father's rusty car, you'd hope you could pick up a breeze to cool you down.

That of course didn't happen.

He sent you into town with a shopping list of materials your household needed - and seeing as your mother passed last year - it was your duty as a woman to go out and shop for the boys, as your father so 'eloquently' put it. His remarks about your gender bothered you seeing as you were responsible in the cooking and cleaning while also being responsible with manual labor on the farm too.

It was common to help your two older brothers fix run down and broken appliances such as rickety barn doors, leaky faucets, and wobbly banisters. Your hands were covered in cuts, scabs, and blisters from hammering away for hours. It didn't help that during those hours of work your brothers would tease you about not being 'girly' enough, jesting that you were more of a man than them both combined. It also didn't help that your family's budget was tight, meaning you had no choice but to wear their hand-me-downs.

With a tired sigh you pulled yourself out of your thoughts, finally entering the town. The dusty and bustling streets was lively today despite the cruel heat wave that clung on the Mississippi air, breathing in the hot oxygen was like swallowing thick molasses.

Parking the beat-up blue car, you adjusted the dingy green bandana that rested on the temples of your forehead, soft and short curls wrapping around the fabric. You tried your best to style it more feminine after your father cut way too short for your liking - but half of you still felt insecure about the hairstyle.

Your eyes would gaze upon the ebony beauties that would waltz around town with frilly hair pieces and intricate styles, their long, gorgeous dresses flowing in the wind as men would stop and stare - you would stare too. Sometimes you would daydream about being in a moving picture playing the leading lady that had a lover who would do anything for you; give you flowers, love, and affection. The kind of guy who wouldn't be embarrassed about being tender on you.

Slamming the car door after jumping out the sizzling leather seat of the car, your rough hands dug into the front pocket of your oversized denim overalls. Your eyes scanning the chicken scratch of a list your father wrote on stained paper, passing through the crowd, trying your best not to bump into anyone.

nails (three 100 pack)

gun oil

chiken chicken feed

red paint

game meat

horse fed feed

fox repellaint repellent

Walking towards the general store you normally shopped for your items; you noticed something strange; it had completely changed since you last stopped by. The store was bigger - more cleanly. Items within the store wouldn't be organized, as medicine would often be found next to the rat traps, but now just by gazing around the store everything was neatly placed in spots that...Made sense.

You also noticed a man that you hadn't seen before, he was hunched over stacking cans of peas next to the tidy stack of caned carrots. Before any words could slip out of your lips he turned to face you, as if he could feel your eyes staring at the back of his head.

He was handsome, strikingly so.

His jet-black hair was neatly styled, and his lips held a light welcoming smile. He wore a crisp white button up with an onyx-colored vest on top, protecting the white shirt from the grime and dust. Rubbing his hands on his grey pants he lifted from the ground, rolling his shoulders and neck as he stood at his full height.

"Welcome. What can I help ya' with?" He asked, a low southern drawl boomed from him, the sound of his voice made you jump. You didn't expect him to have such a sultry voice. Your warm skin on your cheeks began to tingle as your eyes quickly darted towards your muddy shoes.

"U-Um, I'm just shoppin', sir. Thank you!" You rushed out, stumbling over your words as if you just learned how to talk an hour ago. His lips stretched into a kind and toothy smile, and he nodded his head, dark eyes not breaking contact with your frame.

"Well, if you need somethin', lemme know."

And with that he turned onto his heel and continued to work, you quickly scanned around the store looking for everything that you needed on the list. You wanted to leave the store as soon as possible, not because of the handsome man's actions - but because you felt as if you looked...Terrible.

Your undershirt was a stained long sleeve, a once white fabric now faded into a dingy tan color due to dirt, sweat, and age. The shirt hung off your shoulders, it was your older brother's before it was handed down to you, the piece of clothing was basically swallowing your feminine frame. The muddy overalls that you sported was from your other brother, the second oldest, and it was big on you too.

Wearing these clothes strangers would sometimes mistake you for a boy, which didn't bother you at all, but the thought of this attractive shopkeeper mistaking you for one sent a wave of anxiety through your body. Grabbing the gun oil, the multiple boxes of nails, and fox repellent your hands were already full.

You looked around for a basket to hold your items, but none were found. You stood in the middle of the store your face twisting in confusion as you looked around one more time just to make sure you didn't overlook the baskets to hold your stuff, and the man noticed this.

"Sorry, I just open this place up, last owner's baskets were full 'o holes. I had to toss 'em, won't get new ones till next week."

"O-Oh, it's fine."

"Here." he said as he strutted towards you, his arms stretching wide. Your eyes landed on his toned forearms, they looked strong and powerful, and you couldn't help but to gaze at the vein that pressed against his pale olive skin. Standing in front of you the stranger tilted his head in confusion, and you finally realized that he was signaling you to place the items into his arms.

With a strained and awkward chuckle, you blurted out an apology and gave the items to him.

"Don't worry, I'll place ya' things on the counter so you can shop around some more." He assured as his long legs strutted towards the register that rested on a mahogany table. He noticed you standing stock still as your fingers fidget between each other. Leaning on the wooden table with crossed arms he sent you another gorgeous smile your way.

"You new to town?" He asked, his voice was alluring and warm, you could hear him talk all day if you could.

"No, I live on the outskirts of town with my brothers and Pa, w-we got a farm..." You blurted out, the words rushed from your mouth like a running faucet, which made the man chuckle.

"Hm, and they just let a pretty girl like yourself go shopping alone?"

Your eyes widen like saucers and your already racing heart sped up even faster, it felt like you were moments away from a heart attack. You opened and closed your mouth in quick successions, as if you were a fish out of water.

You were.

You never heard a man refer to you as pretty. They called you strong, reliable, tough, hardworking - but never pretty. Noticing your anxiety rising he spoke again, this time more carefully.

"My name's Bo Chow, I'm from around these parts but I just open this store few weeks ago," He then paused as if scanning his thoughts to find the right words to say to not scare you off. "You said your family has a farm? Ya'll got chickens and such? I'm lookin' into finding a stable source for eggs, got an ice box comin' in later today and I wanna stock up."

"Oh, um. Yeah, we got chickens. Lots of 'em, mean bastards." You mumbled, spitting out a mild annoyance you had with the feathery animals, one of them bit you on the thumb this morning.

Bo blurted out a laugh from your comment, his chuckles crashing into you like a wave, and it made you smile. With fidgeting fingers, you told him your name, which he repeated three times, each time breathier than the last. He told you that your name was beautiful - that it suited a beautiful girl like yourself.

Bo noticed that you were on the shy side, so he toned down his flirty advances towards you, but he still let it be known that he found you attractive. Slowly you eased out of your shell and continued to shop, placing each item on the counter as words and laughter exchanged between you two. Completing your shopping list you paid for the items, Bo carefully bagged them into thick brown paper bags, his dark brown eyes trailing your face as he soaked in your beautiful features.

It stunned him that such a pretty girl was so shy, it was if you were completely unaware of your beauty. With small smile you grabbed the paper bags and Bo reached for the horse feed that rested on the counter.

"Lemme carry this out for you; it's pretty heavy."

"No, n-no! It's fine I can make two trips."

"Nonsense, what kind of man am I to let a lady carry all these bags by herself?" He replied as strong arms lifting the feed as if it weighed nothing, a rush of lust bloomed within your chest as thoughts of his arms holding you tight crept within your mind. But those thoughts were quickly replaced with embarrassment, and you avoided eye contact with the man as you both walked out of the store towards the car.

Placing the bags in the passenger side of the vehicle Bo shot you a smile, which made you gaze at your shoes again, your boots kicking the dry dirt beneath your feet. Crossing his arms against his chest and without thinking he said: "I know some fella is really lucky to have you."

"I-I ain't with no one, not like that." You whispered, biting your lip as you leaned against the hot car door, your eyes meeting his for only a split second before looking away. You had a boyfriend in the past, but the only thing you did with the man was kiss and hold hands, you weren't really attracted to him, and he was only with you for 'convenience' - according to him. So, it didn't hurt you none when he dumped you for another girl.

But you did enjoy landing a right hook square against his jaw after that nasty breakup though.

Just because he deserved it.

"W-What about you? I mean, I'm not sayin' a fella is lucky to have you, unless there is--ain't nothin' wrong with that if there is--I mean--"

"I'm divorced; my ex-wife works at the general store on the white side of town." Bo chuckled, cutting you off from your rambling. You whispered out a meek apology and silence soon followed. The muffle sounds of people's chattering, cars honking, and wheels racing on the dirt road eased your thumping heart a bit. With a sigh Bo tilted his head, his eyes traveling up and down your body as he tongued the inside of his cheek.

"...I know some fellas who own a juke joint, just outta the way of town. They play some real good music there - and the catfish they serve is fresh, pipin' hot never cooked in stale grease, unlike the fish fry across the street." He said as he pointed his head towards the run-down restaurant that was packed to the brim with people. You giggled at his comment - he was right - despite the popularity of that place, their food was disgusting. With a pause his face twisted in deep thought, finding the next words that he truly wanted to say.

"We should go there sometime - the juke joint," Bo casually said, his hands now tucked in the pockets of his pants. "Up to you, of course." He quickly added trying his best not to lay it on thick. Your body stiffed and you scrunched up your face in concern and without thinking you blurted out: "You ain't crazy, right?"

Bo was a handsome man, the kind that you would daydream about as you hammered and worked your days away. It made no sense to you that such a gorgeous man like him would ask you out, he seemed like the type to be paired up with a woman who wore frilly dresses and expensive perfume.

Not a woman in old, dirty hand-me-down male clothes.

He shrugged his shoulders as an airy laugh escaped his lungs, you noticed that he laughed a lot.

The sound of it was music to your ears.

"Just think about it, okay?" He asked softy, which earned a nod from you. With one last smile he began to walk towards the store backwards, his chestnut-colored eyes not breaking contact with yours.

"And make sure your brothers help you with movin' allat stuff."

The drive back home was felt quicker than it actually was, your mind raced with thoughts of Bo. His soft smile, his strong muscular arms, his beautiful deep brown eyes, his thick southern twang with each word he spoke - even though you just met the man you were already falling for him, and you considered his invitation to the juke joint.

Once pulling into the long dusty driveway of your home a quick realization set within you.

How would you take him up on that offer?

Driving back and forth from town wasn't manageable; your father's car drank up gas like it was nothing - and gasoline was expensive. You sighed at the missed opportunity to ask how communication would work between you two. With a lull of your head, your eyes landed on the grocery list that rested on top of the items you bought. Reaching for the stained paper your heart fluttered as you read the numbers out loud, his name scribbled on the bottom of it.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

A few blistering weeks had passed and your relationship with Bo blossomed as you both spent hours talking on the phone, and you were starting to enjoy the tedious shopping trips your father would send you on - that meant you were able to see the shopkeeper in person. But when driving into town wasn't needed you settled on calling the man after finishing your chores.

You learned that the Bo's family was from China, a long way from Mississippi. You would ask about the country and if it was any different from here, his deep voice would sigh and reminiscence about his homeland. His family moved here when he was only a small boy and stated that he lost his accent in exchanged for the Mississippi drawl from living here so long - but he still spoke perfect Mandarin.

You noticed that his flirty persona would slip as he displayed a sillier side to him. Cursing and complaining about customers leaving messes around his store or local vendors who tried to rip him off, his soothing voice would slip into speaking his native tongue, the sound of those foreign words would caress your ears and make your heart flutter. You would ask him to teach you some words and phrases, which he gladly did.

Most of them were curse words though.

You would butcher the unfamiliar words with your southern accent, but he was patient with you as he chuckled out the proper pronunciation of those dirty words, praising you when you finally articulating them semi-perfectly.

He would ask you about your day as well and you told him everything, down to the exact minute you woke up. He would let out a sharp whistle hearing all of the manual labor that you were responsible for - flirting with you about how you needed a break often saying things like: "Sounds like a hard day, you probably have knots in your shoulders - I could fix that, y'know."

Which you would reply: "You givin' out massages now?"

And in turn he would tut out a quick comeback along the lines of: "Only to those who deserves them. I've got magic hands...And a soft spot for women who pretend not to need them."

You would choke and stumble over your words, quickly changing the subject towards something else. Tonight, you were on the phone with Bo, listing intensely at the story he told - your sore hands shooed your nosy brother away as he gave you a lopsided smile. You told your brothers about Bo, and they teased you relentlessly about him.

"So, when am I gonna see you again?" Bo asked, making you bite your lip and shrug as if he could see you.

"I don't know...Maybe soon?" You whispered you didn't want it to come out as a question, but it did, and you mentally kicked yourself for it. You remembered his offer to take you to this 'mysterious' juke joint, it sounded like fun. You love to dance even though you were self-conscious about doing it in front of people, often swaying your hips as you hummed a melody you heard on the radio while cooking or doing chores by your lonesome.

"How...How 'bout we go that juke joint you were talkin' about? That sounds like fun."

"Ah! Lil' miss busy body finally wanna come dance with me?"

"Oh, haha," You sarcastically laughed, picking at the skin of your thumb. "How 'bout next weekend? Does Saturday work for you?"

"Of course, I'm free Saturday..." He then paused and you could practically see the wide smile that clung onto his face.

"It's a date, then?"

"Y-Yeah, it's a date."

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

Your fingers fidget and twist around each other, the crunching sound of rock and dirt beneath your feet grounded you somewhat, but your palms were already beginning to sweat. Passing through parked cars and couples grinding themselves onto each other, you finally made it to this aforementioned juke joint, the booming sound of music and shouting made a lump rise in your throat.

Stepping towards the large open double doors sat a stocky man. He nodded and waved as people enter and exited the makeshift club - his head snapping forward as his eyes landed onto you. With a wide and friendly smile, he tilted his straw hat with thick fingers - lowering his head in reverence as he spoke.

"Hello, missy. Ain't seen you around here before," His head rise again, making heavy eye contact with you. You figured that this large man was a bouncer, here to try and keep troublemakers out of the juke. "Word gets around, huh? Each weekend more and more people come - since it's your first time here I recommend trying the Irish whiskey. It got some kick to it, haha. All thanks to those twins, of course."

"Y-Yes, will do. Thank you." You mumbled, your shy eyes looking down at your feet. The muddy boots that you wore everyday were replaced with emerald green heels, the shoes hurt your feet, but the sales lady reassured you that they'll break in quickly.

Shuffling around the man you stumbled into the crowded club, your eyes scanning for Bo, but you couldn't find him anywhere. A lost and confused look plastered onto your face - you were starting to feel overwhelmed as second thoughts rushed through your mind. Deciding that you should just leave you quickly turned on your heel, but you bumped into a soft body, strong yet comforting arms steadied you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" You repeated with a strained voice, shouting out apologies over the loud Blues that reverberated on the wooden walls.

"It's okay, you alright?" A womanly voice calmly spoke. Your eyes were met with deep mahogany brown irises, her features were beautiful, welcoming. Yet an air of sternness and confidence oozed casually from her as she adjusted her dark blue dress. Her natural hair was done up neatly, framing her face in a way that only enhanced her beautiful features. You couldn't help but to gawk at this woman. Noticing this her smile only soften as she awaited your answer to her question.

"Oh, um. Yea', I'm okay. Thank you," you choked out, your awkward eyes darting around the room as you peered into the dancing crowd. "Have you seen Bo around?" You added with a bite of your cherry red stained lips - for the first time you were wearing makeup.

"So, you're her? He's gamblin' with that drunk 'ol fool in the back." She stated, giving you a friendly grin. She turned her head and stopped a man dead in his tracks as he gave her a look that was tinged in nothing but respect.

"Yes, Annie?" The man asked.

"Take her to Bo and them, would you?" The woman, now known as Annie, casually said which earned a nod from the man. You gave your thanks to Annie as she winked and disappeared into the crowd. You followed the man, pushing pass people dancing and drinking with apologies falling from your lips, bumping into them accidently. But most of them were either too drunk to care or too busy dancing to notice.

"Damn, Bo. I thought you said you was good?" A commanding voice boomed, which followed by a chorus of laughter from multiple men. The music wasn't as loud within this hidden room, the muffled hymns were drowned out by lighters flicking, glass bottles clanking, and cocky chuckles coming from each man that huddled together around the small table.

"I am, but I'm already known' that Slim is cheatin." Bo sighed in annoyance, a cigarette hanged limp between his plump lips as he tossed a card down on the table, stress pulling at his chiseled features and smoke plumed from his mouth with each word he spoke.

"I ain't cheatin'." A man, who was much older, confidently stated as he took a long swig from his metal flask - licking his lips to taste the alcohol that slipped pass his golden capped teeth.

"You is." Bo shot back as he took a drag from the cigarette, pulling it from his lips with an index and middle finger, and leisurely blew the smoke into the already thick hazy air.

"No, I--"

A sharp wolf whistle cut off the older man's defense, which cause the men to snap their heads towards your direction. The whistle came from the man standing, his hands reaching for the red brimmed hat that rested on his head and placed it over his chest, shielding his well-tailored suit.

"Ain't you a pretty lil' thang?" He spoke as his dark brown irises slowly ran up and down your body, he was absolutely undressing you with his eyes. You wore a thin silky emerald color dress that loosely hung onto your body - but the soft fabric outlined and accentuated your curves. Your short hair was styled in finger waves, mimicking how women would wear their hair in the many magazines you had hidden away in your bedroom.

With long mascara covered eyelashes you blinked awkwardly, turning your head to look behind you, confused if the man was talking to you. Bo looked at you with awe, he couldn't recognize you at first but looking deeper at your dolled up face he could see those same beautiful features he'd grown fond of.

You looked amazing, like a movie star that jumped straight out of the silver screen.

"Y-You talkin' to me?" You asked the man, pointing at yourself with your head tilting to the side, the dangling silver earing you wore had small green gems, the light catching the dark color - making the jewelry sparkle. The jewelry grazed the warm skin of your bare shoulder as you lulled your head back into its natural position.

"My, my. And she's humble too," he laughed as he reached his hand out for yours. With sweaty and shaky palms, you placed your hand within the stranger's grasp, it seemed like he didn't care about your drenched soaked palm as he placed a kiss on your trembling hand, the feeling of his moustache lightly tickled your skin. "My name is Stack, baby." He said as he shot you a wide smile, showing off his golden capped teeth that shined under the ember light of the club. But before you could open your mouth Bo quickly cut into the conversation, swatting away the advances Stack was planning on making towards you.

"Watch yourself - she ain't like that, Stack." Bo hissed tossing his cards on the table, quitting from the game which made Slim smile ear to ear from the easy victory.

"Why you care, ain't you married?" Stack jested back, his voice dripping with charisma, sending a wink your way after finishing his sentence.

"Divorced." Bo said curtly.

Stack raised his hands up in a playful display of defeat, his face twisting in mischief as a chuckle fell from his plump lips.

"My bad, Bo. I ain't know you like the sistas." Stack chuckled as he pulled the empty chair from the table, claiming his seat as nimble hands collected the scattered cards - preparing to shuffle them for the next game.

"I ain't know you like 'em either." Bo replied, sitting up from his chair as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, stopping right at the elbows - his cigarette still hanging limply from his mouth.

This statement earned a raspy roar of laughter from Slim as he clapped his hands together, the sound of his foot stomping made you jump a bit. Stack's once confident persona melted as he shot glares at Slim and Bo, which only made Slim laugh even harder.

You were oblivious to their 'inside joke'.

"Whew, you have fun you crazy kids," Slim sighed out, taking another swig from his flask. "And you: get outta ya feelings, boy. Shuffle them cards." The older man places a hard pat on Stack's shoulder, which only made him grunt in annoyance.

"I think you had too much to drink, old man." Stack seethed as he quickly mixed up the cards in his hands.

Putting the cigarette out in the ashtray Bo's striking features eased with happiness as he laid his eyes on you. Holding his arm out for you to grab onto, both of you exited the small gambling room - now out on the bustling dance floor. His eyes were trained onto your face as he pulled you closer towards him, the bloom of attraction and arousal tugged within Bo as he bit his lip.

You were looking damn good tonight.

"I see why you didn't want me to pick you up - you're somethin' else, you know that?" He smiled, the dimples of his cheeks deepening as you shrugged your shoulders at his words, your eyes gazing at him. He looked handsome as always, but tonight he looked dashing. Noticing his eyes that flicked towards your body, you took a step back to show him your full outfit.

"You like my dress? I bought it earlier today - I wanted to wear somethin' new." You gushed out and with a twirl you showed him the back of your dress that exposed the bare skin of your back, but you didn't notice Bo's eyes landing straight on your ass that poked against the thin fabric. Sticking his thumb in his belt loop, he adjusted his pants - he really wanted to see what's under that dress - but alas, he wouldn't outwardly say that to you as his own worrying self-conscious crept in.

Bo wasn't bashful nor shy when it came to intimacy and sex, he was open about his wants and desires. But you were the polar opposite, so he tried his best to keep those lustful thoughts about you to himself, toning the flirty banter down to a minimum. But that was becoming a challenge tonight with how sexy you looked, and it didn't help much that Stack's actions made him a tad bit jealous.

Bo knew you desired him just as much, but he knows it'll take a while for that shell of yours to crack.

Low strumming of guitar strings pulled your attention away from Bo, your eyes gazing at the makeshift stage ahead of you, watching a man that was around your age plucked the metal strings of the instrument. With a low hum you noticed the once lively dancefloor coupled up in pairs, while the singles made their way to the bar to fill up on drinks. With a thumb on his bottom lip Bo, smiled at your sudden ramped attention towards the slow music.

"That's Preacher Boy, he's mighty fine at playin' that guitar," Bo walked forward towards the dance floor with your hand in his. Both your fingers interlocking with each other's. "Care to fancy me a dance?"

You couldn't do anything but to excitedly nod, the butterflies in your stomach were becoming unbearable. With strong arms Bo held you flush against him, you could feel his lean body through his clothes - both of you swaying to the rhythm of the song. Tough hands rested on the small of your back, his calloused fingers resting dangerously close above your ass.

You wouldn't mind it if he rested his hand there.

With threaded fingers he guided your steps, you tripped over yourself for a bit - but you quickly found the rhythm again. Your head rest on his shoulder while he placed his on top of your head, the tender lyrics about love and not wanting to let go echoed through your mind, the lovesick song made your heart swell.

Bo then pulls away from your body, but only for a bit - he twirled you around, making you giggle at the action and with skillful movements, he pressed your backside onto himself. His hands guided your hips against his and you could feel his growing bulge pressing against your backside. You shiver in delight at the feeling of him pressing against you, his lips also pressing against your ear as he sang along the lyrics - switching some of the words with Mandarin. He was singing the song directly to you.

Your loins were on fire, and you tried the ease the ache between your legs by grinding yourself onto his stiffening member. Bo took quick noticed of this, his fingers pressing down on your hips as he steadies himself.

Helping you grind yourself on him.

Turning around to face him again you wrapped your arms over his shoulders, still pressing yourself firmly on his body. Your lips ghosting over his - he leaned forward in an attempt to close the sliver of space between your lips, but you pulled away with a slight grin that danced across your cherry red lips.

"Do you think I'm pretty even when I don't look like...This all the time?" You asked him. Though you enjoyed dressing up and doing your make up - a part of you also found comfort in wearing clothes that weren't 'conventionally' for women. You were shy and sometimes you had some bouts of insecurity - but that was every woman.

You hoped that Bo could understand that.

"The moment I laid my eyes on you - when you came into my store - I knew then that I wanted you," he paused as his brown eyes stared into yours intensely, every word he spoke made you lose your breath. "You're more than pretty; you're beautiful - gorgeous. Doesn't matter what you got on."

With quivering lips, you kissed him, Bo's lips were soft, and his kiss was steady as he guided your unskilled mouth against his - deepening the kiss even more. His warm hands trailed over the exposed skin of your back, the feeling of rough fingers made you spiral, and you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second. Bo could feel your wetness too - pressing his thigh in between your legs and against your aching core.

You moaned into his mouth, and you held onto his shoulders for dear life, you needed to feel this man inside you - you were growing desperate to relieve yourself from the intense arousal that bubbled in your core.

"C'mon, lemme take care of you, baby." Bo whispered.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

Slipping away from the crowd, you and Bo found an empty room upstairs of the juke, away from prying eyes. The room was dusty, and the air was stale and thick - as if you both were the first people to enter in years. The slow love song that Preacher Boy sang was now replaced with loud, intense melodies and the once tender lyrics now oozed with raunchy double entendres.

Pressing your back against the wall, Bo's nimble hands ran over your body, stroking and squeezing all of your curves as if his life depended on it - his hands stopping at your breast, cupping them gently through the fabric of your dress. His faced rested within the crook of your neck as his lips sucked at the exposed skin, slightly nipping you with his teeth. Your hands race through his black hair, the strands threading through your fingers as your nails softly scratched at his scalp.

"You see what you do to me, girl?" He asked as he reached for your hand, placing it over his clothed bulge that strained against his pants. You bit your lip as your fingers rubbed against his hard member, his hips bucking into your hand as you pressed down on his dick.

"I-I gotta tell you somethin'."

"What is it, baby?" He asked in between fevered kisses on your neck.

"I ain't never did this before." You sighed out breathlessly. Kissing and grinding wasn't intimidating to you - you've done that before.

But sex, actual sex, was a whole different ballpark. You weren't 'saving' yourself for marriage or anything like that; you never had the opportunity to be with anyone sexually. Until now, of course. Bo stopped in his tracks and pulled away from your neck, his eyes that were filled with lust a second ago soften while his hands rested at your sides.

"...You a virgin?" He asked, which made you whisper out a yes. His eyebrows knitted together as he stared down at you, still pressing himself against your heaving chest. "Sure you want this?"

"Yea', I'm sure...I like you, Bo. A lot, I wanna do it," you paused - your eyes looking away from him and in attempt to try to break the rising tension from the realization of you never having sex before, you spoke again. "Just be patient with me."

"I'll be gentle I promise, baby. It's just like dancin', follow my lead - I'll make sure you feel real good." Bo whispered as his hand caress your cheek, his thumb rubbing circles. Leaning in he kissed you again, but this kiss was different than the last - it was slow and gentle.

You kissed him back and his tongue swipe at your bottom lip, asking for permission to deepen the kiss, and you let him. Both of your tongues danced in unison, the taste of cigarette smoke with the hint of peppermint lingered on your mouth with each kiss. His hands reached for the hem of your dress, pulling up the fabric exposing your bare thighs and thin cotton underwear.

His hand rubbed your leg, stopping at the waistband of your panties, his finger tracing over the band and stopping at the wet spot of the fabric. Slowly his fingers pressed against your clothed clit, rubbing small yet firm circles on the sensitive bud, earning a shallow moan that escaped your chest.

"Does it feel good, baby?" Bo asked as he continued rubbing your pussy through your panties. You groan out a breathy yes, encouraging him to keep going.

And he did.

Your hips bucked against his hand, while his free hand pinched at your right nipple with attentive fingers. The sharp feeling of his pinching sent a wave of pleasure towards your loins and your hands gripped onto his toned biceps. With skillful and experienced hands, he stuck his thumb within the waistband of your soaking underwear, slipping the fabric off your hips towards your already shaking knees, his fingers now rubbing against your exposed pussy.

"Oh, Bo. T-That feels good." You whimpered as he continued his movements - now picking up speed, making you moan even louder.

You were glad that the music was blaringly loud.

"Fuck...You're already so wet." Bo muttered as his fingers swiped across your aching entrance. He was practically straining against his pants, but since this was your first time, he didn't want to rush. He remembered his first time having sex - it wasn't terrible, but it wasn't great either - even so he still looked back on that memory fondly. The feeling of reaching that level of ecstasy sticks to a person and he was honored to be able to help you achieve it. It was daunting knowing that he's your first, but it also lit a fire within him.

He wanted nothing more but to pleasure you, to make sure that your first time is special. Trailing gentle kisses down your body Bo got on his knees, tugging the panties off of your legs as he did so. Your hands gripped onto the hem of your dress in a tight fist and your eyes followed his every movement.

"I wanna taste you, baby. Can I taste you?" He asked desperately, his eyes looking up at you as if you were an angel in disguise - as if you were a work of art.

You nodded your head, but he didn't move.

"Use your words, sugar."

"Y-Yes, you can taste me." choked out awkwardly, you never talked dirty to anyone before but the act of doing it only made you hornier. Bo smiled wide at your answer, placing a feather light kiss on your thigh and on your sensitive bud. The feeling of his lips on your pussy made you shiver in excitement and slowly he began to lick you.

The tip of his tongue skillfully circled your clit, only stopping to drag it across your soaking pussy. He moaned against your core - savoring sweet taste of your juices that filled his mouth. You bucked your hips against his face, riding on his experienced tongue as he continued repeating his movements.

Chanting out his name with a groan your hands ran through his hair, it took everything within you not to pull at his dark tresses - but the sensation of his tongue lapping up your pussy made your head spin. Working over your core Bo slowly slipped his middle finger inside of you, stopping at the second joint in case you couldn't take the feeling. To your surprise the feeling of his finger inside you didn't hurt; in fact, it felt amazing - it felt heavenly.

Careful and slow he moved his hand, pressing the finger in and out of your pussy as his lips sucked at your swollen and sensitive clit. Lulling your head to the side you rocked your hips to match the pace of his hand, biting your lip as a wave of pleasure washed over you. Bo then added another finger which made you squeeze your thighs against the sides of his head, holding his head in place with a vice grip.

His middle and ring finger worked your over your core, the digits now fully inside of you. Picking up the pace with his fingers your pussy, guttural moans turned into high pitched groans as your left hand scratched at the wall behind you. An unfamiliar yet intense feeling tingled at your core, and something within you desperately needed the feeling to be alleviated. It was as if Bo read your mind and his tongue swirled over your clit and within an instant a wave of euphoria crashed into you as a loud cry fell from your lips, your body shaking intensely like a leaf in the wind.

You came.

Bo's mouth pulled away from your dripping pussy, he didn't want to overwhelm you as his now slick fingers lightly stroked your tender button, easing you through your orgasm.

"Just like that, baby. You got it...Good job, great job." He praised. Looking down at him Bo's chin and the collar of his shirt was soaked with your juices, and it slightly embarrassed you with just how wet you truly were. But that feeling of embarrassment quickly dissipated when he stood up again, his lips crashing into yours - kissing you with fever.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, with shaky hands you locked your fingers together at the back of his head, deepening the kiss. Something about tasting you on his swollen lips made your pussy tingle with a need to be filled again.

"Bo...I-I need you."

"I need you too." He whispered back between kisses. Your hand reached for the buckle of his belt, fumbling over your own fingers as you tried to free him from his pants. Bo held your hands in his, guiding them in unbuckling the belt.

Finally, being able to free himself from his belt, he led your hand in his pants. You could feel just how hard he was. His member was thick and heavy and feeling the warmth of it on the palm of your hand made your mouth water in the anticipation of him fucking you. Pulling his pants off his waist, Bo's dick sprung free.

With strong hands he lifted you up from under your arms, making you gasp. Following his lead, you wrapped your legs around his hips as he pressed his lean body against yours, pressing you on the wall to steady yourself. Your sweaty forehead rested on his as you both watched him stroke himself, pumping his dick with his hand, precum making a natural lubricant.

With cloudy eyes you watched Bo lining himself towards your aching core he slowly entered you, his head rested on your hot and sweat slicked shoulder and the feeling of his cock entering your tight pussy almost made the man topple over. He was stretching you out and the raw sting of pain mixed with pleasure crashed into you like a tidal wave, your nails clung onto Bo's shirt, scratching at his skin through the cotton fabric.

"Shh, it's okay, I got you." Bo reassured as he paused the movement of his hips - resting his cock inside of you - allowing both of your bodies to adjust to each other. You were so tight, so warm, so wet. It felt like he'd just stumbled into heaven, and it took everything in him not to buck his hips until you were ready. With a nod of your head, you signaled him to continue, your tense muscles melted as he placed a long kiss on your jaw as he slowly began rocking his hips back and forth, fucking into you as softly as he could.

High pitched grunts fell from your lips with each thrust he made, and his thumb rubbed small and supportive circles over the skin of your thighs that wrapped around his hips, grounding you and easing the tense muscles within your legs. Bo began chanting your name, telling you how good you felt, and asking you if he felt good inside you too.

The pain of his cock inside of your once unexplored sex subsided and was now replaced with nothing but pleasure. You moaned against his plump lips as he groaned out curses in Mandarin at the sensation of your pussy squeezing around his member; his hips thrusting into you rapid but steady pace.

"Bo, I think I'm almost..."

"I'm almost there too." Bo mumbled as he rested his forehead onto yours and with a few more thrusts you felt the familiar feeling of a knot formed within your abdomen and with shaking legs your mouth hanged open slack as a silent scream pushed through your convulsing body - the high of reaching your orgasm made you hold Bo in a vice grip.

He cursed in pleasure as his own orgasm crept up on him, backing away from your tight grip with strong arms he pulled himself out of you, pumping his cock within his hand until he reached his climax - coming in his hand as he rested his head on your shoulders, your eyes watching him stroke himself. The sounds of heavy breathing filled the air as your head spin from experiencing your second orgasm.

Your sweaty body leaned against the wall and with a deep sigh Bo steadied his breathing, rolling his shoulders as your eyes met with his. You noticed a bit of blood that was in his hand and the odd sensation of slick clung on your inner thighs, putting two and two together you looked away from him, embarrassment blooming within your already racing heart. But before you could blurt out an apology, Bo kissed your lips - pulling you out of your self conscious state.

"That's normal for your first time. It's okay, baby." He reassured. Cleaning you and himself up with a small cotton handkerchief, you jumped at the soft fabric rubbing against your sensitive sex, which earned a sympathetic chuckle from Bo.

"Hopefully next time we do it we'll have a bed. My back hurts..." You whispered as your hand pressed on the small of your back, getting fucked against a hard wall feels good in the moment, but you know you'll be stiff as a board the following morning.

"Next time?" Bo asked as a mischievous grin tugged at his lips.

"I-I mean if you want--"

"I'll make sure we'll have a bed, and besides I promised you a massage, remember?" He smiled and you smiled back at him. After getting cleaned up, you and Bo rejoined the bustling crowd of the juke joint, hand in hand.

You were counting down the minutes until your next 'encounter' with him - and so was he.

#bo chow sinners #bo chow x reader #bo chow x you #bo chow x y/n #bo chow smut #bo chow x reader smut #black reader #bo chow x black reader #bo chow x fem!reader #bo chow x black!reader #bo chow x oc #sinners fanfiction

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kissktten · 4 months ago

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crushing on oblivious! bllk guys

part two (๑´ㅂ`๑)

characters: michael kaiser, ness, nanase, kunigami

this contains: reader is lowk like barbie. so many different jobs lmao.. anyways, lot of fluff and gn! reader :P oh, and reader is smoking a cigarette in ness’s one.. sorry it was the best thing i could think of hehe.. and in kunigami’s one you’re a cosplayer! :3

extra: yes, i really like michael kaiser, how could you tell?

kaiser doesn’t care about you. you’re just some random lowlife who sits around near the stadium to eat lunch. who eats in such a grimy place, anyways? and why are you so loyal to that bench? despite these questions, kaiser pays no attention to you. not until he catches sight of you one day. it’s only then, when he realises— you’re a freaking journalist. you’re writing away with one hand, the other clutching onto a fork as you balance your hunger with work. the man approaches, raising an eyebrow as you seem to stiffen. he says nothing, half relishing in the way you suddenly look so.. awkward. he grunts in slight annoyance as you stand back up, quickly walking away from him— leaving your beloved journal behind, only your lunch in hand as you practically speed down the street. he debates following after you, his slim hand reaching to pick up your journal. it’s cute, he notes; not something that he’d use, but he supposes that it suits you. the next time kaiser sees you, you’re at the same bench. looking around for your journal, he figures. he chuckles inwardly as a yelp escapes your lips— took you long enough to realise he was behind you. how can a journalist be so scatterbrained? well, it’s lucky that he was holding onto your little journal. “here,” he says, lips curling into a charming smile. that smile falters when you snatch the journal back from him, making yet another quick retreat. over the next few days, you don’t visit that usual bench. part of him wonders if he scared you off— he laughs at the thought, stepping out of the main building. kaiser feels.. oddly surprised when he sees you back on that bench. your eyes meet, and you give him a strange look. you really are strange, kaiser thinks to himself. the same thought crosses his mind when he sees you at one of his games— oh, right. you’re a journalist. but when you give him that familiar strange look, he finds himself hoping that you came for a different reason. not that he thinks you would, anyways— you’re always running off like a mouse.

ness thinks that you’re really cool. you seem to be a super bit fan of soccer— ‘cause he always sees you at his games! he never gets close enough to even think of saying something to you— but he really wishes he can one day. when that day actually does roll around, though, ness freezes. you’re in the car park of the stadium, leaning against a wall with a cigarette perched between your lips. you exhale slowly, the smoke drifting out through the night air and he swears his cheeks have turned red. you are so cool, he thinks to himself. “you need something?” you ask, your gaze drifting to meet with his— wow, you’re so much prettier up close. ness shakes his head, looking back at you. “..do you want one?” you raise an eyebrow at the man, and for a moment, he stands there in slight confusion. does he want a cigarette? normally, he would deny it as soon as possible. but now, he finds himself nodding hesitantly and stepping closer. his cheeks only flush further as you lean towards him, pushing off of the wall and plucking the cigarette out of your lips. wait, wait— this isn’t what he agreed to! what was he thinking, anyways!? he’s never smoked before! his eyes widen, but when he sees you smile, your expression brightening just a little, he relaxes. “if you wanted to talk you could just say so.” you say, looking back at the man, and he swears you’re dangerous. after that incident, he’d find himself looking out for you after matches— and he wonders if you’re waiting for him, or maybe if you like watching his games. should he say something? he smacks himself mentally for even thinking that, and smiles brightly as he approaches you again. you’re probably just very interested in soccer.

nanase doesn’t know what to feel about you. after training, he likes to visit the cafe down the street. you work there, and he’s discovered that you’re really good at making coffee. you draw cute little flowers and hearts on his cup sometimes, and nanase thinks his heart flutters when he notices it! you look so good, too— and, and— you’re standing in front of him again, holding a notepad in your hand, nodding slightly as he orders. he knows that you know he’s going to get the same as usual. you’re somehow always the one to serve him, but he’s not mad. in fact, he thinks he likes it. he feels weird when you return after a little while, and he feels even weirder after you leave. nanase gets these weird feelings around you, but he’s not sure why. maybe it’s the way you smile at him, or the cute drawings. or maybe he’s just overthinking this and you’re nice to everyone! yeah, that’s what it is. but when he sees your number scribbled onto his receipt with a heart beside it, his knees practically buckle. is it casual? is this casual!?

kunigami saw you for the first time at the gym— well, it was you, but you were cosplaying one of your favourite characters. when he stepped inside, he really didn’t expect to see (character) standing right in front of him getting ready to work out. the next time he saw you was after training one night. he was walking down a street, footsteps heavy against the pavement and his shoulders sagging before he hears.. heavier footsteps? he turns around, and flinches slightly at the sight of you— in full armour with a massive sword in your arms. he blinks back at you for a moment, slightly confused. “are you.. okay?” stupud question, but he’s curious. you nod, giving him a cute little peace sign and he thinks your demeanour is much from the outfit you’re wearing. you seem quite.. shy, almost. which is funny for a person in full armour. he lifts a hand, gesturing to his face for you to pull of the helmet. you comply, feeling your heart race just a little— you really didn’t expect to run into kunigami tonight. you came back from a con, feeling tired and super heavy— definitely not ready to talk to your secret crush. you look back at the man, and the.. strangely shy expression on your face is very out of place. you both stand there awkwardly for a few moments, before you quickly put your helmet back on and walk past him, saying something about “being in a hurry.” after that interaction, kinigami’s scrolling on tiktok; and he nearly drops his phone when he comes across your account. ah, so you’re a cosplayer; he clicks onto your profile, deciding he’d like to see some of your recent posts. what did you mean by saying “just ran into my crush in cosplay nobody talk to me” on your newest video? he wonders how many other people you ran into tonight.

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becausebuckley · 1 month ago

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michelle's buddie fic recs: week 19!

slightly shorter list than usual, sorry about that - i had a major thesis deadline last week, so i've both been reading less and haven't been keeping track as diligently as i normally do, whoops. still, i hope you enjoy these!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

a man in finance | carpediaz/@sofa-king-lame | 13.9k | M

The one where Chimney finds Eddie a man in finance. Trust Fund. 6'2". Blue eyes. And he's an asshole, but only for like...five seconds (until he finds out about Chris). Eddie falls hard and fast, but it's ok because Buck does too. this is such a wonderful one!! i love how this author incorporates side characters into these alternate universes (loved lucy's appearances here, and chimney is always so fun) and the buddie dynamic is just lovely <3

cool and chill things to say to your best friend who you've accidentally been having phone sex with when you pick him up at the airport | hwaelweg/@the-hwaelweg | 6k | M

in which we explore the intimacy of having someone's voice in your ear, accidentally falling into phone sex, and edging Eddie Diaz until he can admit he's a good person. i love the distinction between facetimes and phone calls here and the intimacy of it all is just <3 also very hot!!

good things come to those who wait | ithilien22/@ithilien-writes | 2.6k | E

Turns out, Buck likes when Eddie makes him wait for it. (And they're embarrassingly in love about it.) this has such lovely buddie characterisation!! the best combination of domestic fluff and smut <3

i looked at your face & i knew that i'd found it | fleetinghearts/@shitouttabuck | 3.3k | GA

it might be just slightly obvious that buck really, really likes to talk about eddie. such great firefam feels!! buck constantly yapping about eddie is one of my favourite things ever and i love how this fic captures it <3

if i have your heart forever | ipretendtobesane/@usercowboy | 9.2k | M

The day Eddie returns to Los Angeles for good and the day he realizes he’s in love with Evan Buckley happen to be the same twenty-four hours, which makes sense, really, if you think about it. He was coming home. To Los Angeles, to the 118. To Buck. this is the loveliest gentlest fic <3 i love both buck and eddie here, but eddie's realisation felt especially natural and in character!!

sobriquet | rainbowninja167/@rainbowtitania | 18.4k | T

5 Times Buck Called Eddie by a Nickname + 1 Time He Didn’t. this is just so, so, SO much fun!! such a fantastic writing style, and i love how it incorporates humour specifically <3 so good!!

something so lonesome about you | serenelystrange/@serenelystrange | 7.9k | E

Buck signs up for a Christian Dating site, and accidentally stumbles into the man of his dreams. i loved watching buddie's relationship grow in this one! and what a hilariously wonderful fic premise <3 brilliant!!

the way that you hold me tight (there's no other place in the world where i rather would be | The_Lonely_Wolf_Needs_A_Star | 4.2k | M

10 hugs throughout Buck and Eddie's relationship. this was a reread! i'm such a sucker for buddie fics focused on physical intimacy and this hits the spot every time <3

u/minutetomidnightenthusiast's reddit post history. | dylaesthetics | 6.7k | M

the emotional rollercoaster of Eddie's Reddit posts throughout the history of knowing Buck. this author's reddit fics are the gift that keeps on giving <3 i love how this one and the previous one compliment each other, i highly recommend reading them both!!

#friendly reminder that i also occasionally put together lists for certain requested tropes/themes #which you can also find under my rec list tag!#in case you're looking for more to read :)#buddie #buddie fic #buddie fic rec #911 abc #911 fic #911 fic rec #michelle's recs #fic rec list

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vampsired · 10 months ago

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Random things about JJK characters

cast ᯓ✦: gojo, geto, shoko, nanami, haibara, utahime. BOLD = favs

GOJO SATORU

1. Will interrupt you with the loudest ‘WHAT?’ if he couldn’t hear the start of whatever you were saying.

2. Chokes on food and drink too many times to count

3. Has a violent pollen and dust allergy but still loves flowers and is the first to go headfirst into old dusty places (twin)

4. His jokes almost always fail… horribly

5. Sun burns easily

6. Doesn’t know how sit like a normal human being and hates sitting still for too long; just asks to go to the bathroom to get a lil stroll in

7. Addicted to sweet stuff

8. Gets everyone sick when he’s sick, but always denies it

9. Hates silence, he’s mr yapper #1 - (haibara is #2)

10. Whenever he gets a crush or a slight interest in anyone, it’s everyone’s problem and everyone has to hear about it

11. Violently extroverted and the biggest hypocrite you have ever met

GETO SUGURU

1. Tackles people as a form of bonding and he loves poking people bc he knows it hurts

2. Laughs a little too hard at jokes Gojo makes which were not funny at all so he doesn’t feel bad

3. Smacks his hair into peoples faces whenever he goes to redo his bun

4. Thinks different hair textures and types are so cool

5. Owns an electric guitar (rockstar geto🥴)

6. Defo wants to own a motorcycle or alr has one

7. Obsessed with horror movies that it’s almost borderline worrying

8. Loves breakfast foods

9. Can sleep anywhere, no matter the surface or what going on around him

10. Gives the stankest side eye whenever someone comments on his bangs

11. Has a very good spice tolerance ~ puts hot sauce on everything

SHOKO IEIRI

1. Notorious for eye-rolling

2. Loves medical shows and cackles whenever someone (namely gojo) gets disgusted by the portrayal of organs

3. Hates cooking

4. Complains about having a dry throat worried she might’ve contracted a cold while smoking right infront you

5. Can’t nap unless she’s extremely tired, like she can’t nap until her body is borderline shutting down (same)

6. Always says she’s going to stop smoking, stop eating junk food, stop having energy drinks, stop ordering out - but never sticks to it

7. Trips over stuff constantly and stubbed her toe alot

8. Has a obsession with minture stuff

9. If she wears makeup, she always removes it off her mole and quite likes even tho she was told to remove it when she got older (she never did <3)

10. Yells at the TV whenever something she’s watching annoys her

11. Giggles at the nude medical diagrams in textbooks

NANAMI KENTO

1. Absolutely loves the smell of books

2. Has prescribed glasses for reading and writing but doesn’t wear them unless he’s by himself

3. Knows cool random facts

4. Hates when people touch his face

5. Doesn’t particularly like hugs unless it’s from someone he likes

6. Loves cats

7. Very peculiar about shoes

8. Enjoys poetry and horror mangas (exchanges mangas with suguru)

9. Very talented at drawing, haibara always asks him for help to draw little stuff on cards or to show him how draw small things on his book in class when it’s boring

10. Absolutely hates liars. When people drag on jokes with lies for a little longer than needed; he hates that too

11. Hums sometimes and gets v embarrassed when he’s caught + he tells no one his music taste, haibara probs noticed it tho

HAIBARA YU

1. Very passionate about Spider-Man (me too bro) - loves Miles

2. Cuddles with a stuffy or pillow whenever sleeping/napping

3. Hates long car rides because he feels cramped

4. Day dreams with his eyes wideee open

5. Whenever he wears socks on wooden floors he’ll slip atleast once

6. His eyebrows furrow whenever he’s thinking

7. He’s such a bad liar, it’s acc so funny bc he can’t contain smirking

8. Accidentally wears mismatched socks and some teachers sanctioned him for it

9. Quotes well known saying wrong

10. Always is dropping his pens trying to spin them in his fingers like nanami can, but can’t rlly get the hang of it

11. Loves juice, his favourite is mango and apple juice. He doesn’t really care for orange juice.

UTAHIME IORI

1. Plays with the ends of her hair a lot of the time

2. Always cold

3. The worst person to send notes to because she makes it so obvious

4. Has beautiful handwriting

5. Is very bad at understanding sarcasm and also gets very mad when sarcasm is used to point out a stupid question

6. Scared of dogs IRL but loves watching cute dog videos

7. Violently dances to girly songs

8. Loves hugging her girl friends for a long time, find it awkward to hug guy friends in general but doesn’t mind it

9. Jumps up and down and air punches when describing a situation which annoyed her. (realll)

10. Dress to Impress fiend alongside Gojo and Haibara, (Suguru helps Gojo, and Nanami helps Haibara ~ however they both dont like the game but have good opinions)

11. Is the type to get irrationally mad at that one friend who purposely gets them mad (Gojo)

🔗 divider link (credits) masterlist send requests ᡣ𐭩

reblogs are heavily appreciated ᡣ𐭩

AN: the support I’ve been getting recently has actually surprised me, thankyou so much everyone <3

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yourheart-inmyhands · 1 year ago

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Hi hi!! I was just wondering if you could write general hcs (or longer blurbs) of the Harbingers (Childe, Dottore, Pantalone, Capitano, Arlecchino and La Signora) with a dumb and naive fem! Reader? (Gn is fine) Perversions such as stalking, manipulation, and non con elements + etc. are a-ok! 👌(^◡^ ) I want the entirety of the Yandere-ness!!!

Much love 😈

hi this request was so cool!! i don't usually do more than 3-4 characters per post so i did a few this time, if you wanna swing back around and request the rest of the characters i'd be more than happy to write it for you :D

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including implied being held against ones will, subject to unwilling experiments, delusional behaviors, obsessive tendencies, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Childe:

Oh Celestia you couldn’t be any more perfect could you? That wide-eyed, dumb little look you gave him whenever he was talking about his missions, eager to listen but to stupid to understand. He just adores you, his big hands cupping your face, squishing your cheeks to make you look even sillier. Childe just can’t get enough of you.

You’re like a little puppy dog to him, so cute and silly yet so unknowing. He can’t help but want to smother you in hugs and kisses when you’re around, doting on you and making sure no one ever lays a finger on you aside from him.

It’s when you’re not around that things are different with Childe, it’s like he’s gone haywire, feral without your company. He wears a little locket on a chain attached to his belt, it has a picture of you and a lock of your hair inside. He makes sure to keep it well protected, occasionally spraying it with your perfume or beauty products so it smells like you. As soon as he’s back home with you though he’s the same sweet, overbearing Childe he was previously.

Dottore:

He takes full advantage of the situation, subjecting you to minor experiments, most of which are harmless. Dottore always has his eyes on you, whether his actual ones or the ones of his segments. Even in your sleep there’s some variation of him watching you, settled at your bedside with a notepad in hand, camera just beside him. It’s like every second of your life is being recorded for Dottore, because it is.

He’s also obsessed with your body, giving you regular weekly check ups. He tells you that it’s normal, that all proper adults get checkups this often, even when the check ups push beyond the normal means. It’s not just the normal things like checking your heart rate and ensuring you’ve got no lumps, bumps, or growths. It extends into things like how fast your hair and nails grow, any changes caused by the experiments he does, changes in your natural body scent, and other random things.

Dottore also takes care of any and all medical needs you have, he’s become your personal doctor. Anything and everything you do is under his control, he picks when and how often you sleep, what you eat, how much daylight you get, and what you do on a day to day basis. The best part is you’re too stupid and naive to muster up the courage to say anything.

Pantalone:

This man, in all his wisdom and cash, adores how you let him do anything he wishes with you. You’ve become his little doll to dress up, style, and control. He makes you the perfect little partner, picking out all your outfits, regularly rotating the clothing in your wardrobe with new outfits, he’d be criminal if he let you wear the same thing twice.

Pantalone takes you everywhere with him, flaunting his perfect little darling to others. He makes sure to use big, extravagant words when talking about you to others so that you don’t understand, it’s usually all good though so no worries. If there is any reason he can’t take you with him, you can expect him to leave a comprehensive list and schedule for you, keeping his control over what you wear even whilst he’s gone.

He uses your stupidity against you, betting things on which of you will be right or if you can answer correctly. You’re wrong every time and he loves it, and yet despite being wrong every time, because you stood no chance at knowing the right answer, you fall right into the same trap over and over again. He just adores you so much, and he’d do anything to keep you by his side, forever.

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amethystarachnid · 7 months ago

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Hey, can I request for you tony stark x f!reader, they work together in the lab and they love each other but never admit, one day reader tell them that she's dating and tony will be so jealous and after some investigation (nothing creepy, just tony being cute and cautious) he'll see that her boyfriend is not a good guy and start to show her that he's the right guy for her (bringing her favorite coffee and flowers, little gifts, things like that) eventually she'll see that he's not good and break up with him, tony will comfort her and they will confess their love and be happy together

ENOUGH

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

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

ᯓ★ Genre: angst and some fluff towards the end

ᯓ★ Request from: normal request

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 13k (I swear it's worth it, this fic means a lot to me)

ᯓ★ Summary: You always had a strange feelings towards Tony, but you were too scared to recognize them because you didn't want to ruin your friendship. As you find yourself falling for another man you think you've found your forever, but your forever isn't supposed to make you feel happy, loved? So why does every interaction with Cole make you feel bad, sad? You feel like you're losing yourself but, luckily, Tony is right there to help you find your way back.

ᯓ★ TW(s): toxic and manipulating relationship (y/n and another guy, not Tony)

ᯓ★ I'm sorry this took so long but I 'used' your ask to write a fic that means a lot to me because I really want to spread awareness about this subject, and I hope you all understand that love is supposed to make you feel happy and secure, nothing bad. <3

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ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

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ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The lab is quiet at this hour. Most of the team has called it a night, but you’re still here, engrossed in calibrating a particularly fussy piece of Stark tech. It’s late—late enough that the hallways outside are dark and empty, but you don’t mind. Working in the stillness of the lab, the gentle hum of machines and the cool blue glow of screens, is soothing.

What you do mind, however, is the way Tony keeps glancing over at you, like he’s waiting for you to say something. It’s unnerving, that knowing look of his, like he’s daring you to meet his gaze.

You can’t stand that look. It gets under your skin, tugs at something deep inside you that you refuse to acknowledge, but it never stops. It’s been years of this—working side by side, sharing laughs over takeout boxes in the lab, enduring countless sleepless nights debugging Tony’s latest invention or patching up battle-worn tech. The two of you have always been close, closer than most. And you’ve done an excellent job of pretending that’s all you want.

But there’s something about tonight that feels different. Maybe it’s the way he’s watching you from his desk, his eyes tracing over you in a way that’s just a little too warm, a little too careful. Or maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t said a word for the past ten minutes—an unprecedented stretch of silence, for Tony.

“You’re staring,” you finally mutter, not looking up from your work.

“And you’re pretending not to notice,” he replies, tone light, but there’s an undercurrent to it that makes your heart pick up. “Is that how we’re doing this now?”

You raise an eyebrow, trying for indifference. “Doing what?”

“Working in silence. Not our usual style, is it?”

You shrug, forcing yourself to focus on the small circuit board in front of you instead of the steady heat of his gaze. “It’s late, Tony. And we’ve been at this all day.”

“Right. Right, it’s late,” he says, stretching out the words as he leans back in his chair. You can see his smirk from the corner of your eye. “You, of all people, should be in bed by now. I distinctly remember you threatening to crash at eleven.”

“Guess I changed my mind.”

“Guess I knew you would,” he says, and now he’s leaning forward, arms braced on the desk in that familiar, frustrating way that makes him seem both casual and intensely focused. He’s watching you like he’s studying you, reading every flicker of your expression like it’s one of his schematics.

It’s maddening, and it’s also just a little intoxicating. You try to ignore it.

Instead, you clear your throat and look down at the circuit board again. “So, what’s the deal with this, anyway?” you ask, tapping it lightly. “Doesn’t look like your usual tech.”

Tony hums thoughtfully, rolling his chair closer, until he’s beside you, watching as you work. His proximity feels warmer than it should, his arm brushing yours as he leans over your shoulder, peering down at the board.

“It’s… a prototype for something I’m working on,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, soft rumble. “Something for field ops. You know, keeping our favorite Avengers safe.”

“Right.” You nod, but your fingers tremble slightly as you work, acutely aware of the warmth of his breath on your cheek. “Safety first.”

Tony chuckles, the sound so close it reverberates right through you. “Always,” he murmurs. “Even when certain people in this lab seem determined to work themselves to exhaustion.”

You roll your eyes, fighting the smile that tugs at your lips. “Look who’s talking. When’s the last time you actually slept, Tony?”

“Touché,” he concedes, leaning back slightly but still close enough that you can feel his presence, as constant and undeniable as gravity. “But I’ll have you know, I managed a whole hour of beauty sleep last night.”

“An hour? Impressive. Almost enough to be functional,” you tease, daring to glance up at him.

His smile softens, a small, fond twist of his lips that catches you off guard. There’s a gentleness in his eyes that you’ve seen before, but rarely for this long, and never with you as its sole focus. It’s the kind of look that makes you wonder—no, that makes you hope.

“You know,” he begins, his tone quieter now, almost hesitant, “you don’t have to stay up all night with me. I’ve got this handled.”

You blink, taken aback by the sudden shift in his voice. “What, you’re trying to kick me out now?”

“Not… exactly,” he says, and you swear he looks almost flustered for a split second before he covers it with a wry smile. “Just… you don’t have to be here, that’s all. It’s late, and you could be doing anything else.”

A part of you aches at his words, knowing how easy it would be to walk out, to go back to your quiet apartment and let this night pass like so many others. But the thought of leaving him here, of letting the comfortable silence between you slip away, makes something twist painfully in your chest.

You shake your head, more to yourself than to him. “I know I don’t have to be here, Tony. But… I want to be.”

The air between you shifts, charged with something heavier, something unsaid that has been building for months, maybe even years. His gaze softens, and for a moment, you think you see something flicker there—hope, maybe, or fear. Whatever it is, it leaves you feeling exposed, as if he’s managed to see right through you, right past the walls you’ve so carefully built around yourself.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice rougher now, his eyes searching yours.

You swallow, suddenly feeling like you’re standing on the edge of something that you’re not sure you’re ready to confront. “Yeah,” you reply, voice barely above a whisper. “Besides, you’d probably break this thing if I left you alone with it.”

He laughs softly, and it’s enough to break the tension between you, at least for now. But there’s still a lingering warmth in his gaze, a subtle shift in the way he looks at you that makes your heart hammer in your chest.

“I suppose I should be grateful, then,” he murmurs, his tone just a little too casual, like he’s trying to hide something. “You know… you’re the only one I trust with my projects. With my, uh, less-than-brilliant ideas.”

“Less-than-brilliant?” You arch an eyebrow, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, even though your face feels like it’s on fire. “Is Tony Stark actually admitting that he’s not perfect?”

“Careful,” he warns, but there’s no heat in his words, only a soft amusement that feels almost… tender. “Don’t let it get to your head. I’m only admitting it because it’s you.”

You laugh, the sound half-nervous, half-genuine, and it’s enough to break the tension just a little. You glance back down at the circuit board, taking a steadying breath as you focus on the familiar rhythms of your work.

But out of the corner of your eye, you see him watching you, a soft smile playing at his lips. It’s a look you’ve seen countless times over the years, but now, in the quiet of the empty lab, it feels different. It feels like a promise, like a question he’s too afraid to ask but too stubborn to let go of.

And in that moment, you realize that you’re afraid, too—afraid of the way he looks at you, afraid of the way your heart stutters every time he laughs, every time he brushes against you, every time he gives you that damn smile that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

But more than anything, you’re afraid of what it would mean to say it out loud, to let the words slip past your lips and into the air, to admit that maybe this thing between you is more than friendship.

So, instead, you keep your head down, pretending not to notice the way he leans just a little closer, his shoulder brushing yours in a touch that feels almost intimate, almost deliberate.

And, for now, that’s enough. For now, you’re content to let the silence between you speak the words you’re both too afraid to say.

Tony Stark isn’t jealous. Not really. Jealousy is for guys who don’t have a tower with their name on it, a suit that could blast a hole through anything, and—let’s be honest—a jawline that does all the heavy lifting in the charm department. No, jealousy is beneath him. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself every time he sees you walk into the lab with that soft, distracted smile you’ve been wearing lately.

That’s not a work smile. That’s not even a Tony-just-said-something-obnoxious-but-funny smile. That’s a someone else is putting that smile on your face kind of smile, and Tony hates it.

He doesn’t say anything, though. Not at first. You’re your own person, after all, and if some guy—Cole, his brain spits out bitterly—if Cole makes you happy, then who is Tony Stark to interfere? Besides, you’re glowing these days, more relaxed than he’s seen you in ages. It’s probably just paranoia. His inner demons twisting things into shadows that aren’t really there.

Except Tony Stark is rarely wrong.

It starts as a nagging thought, one he keeps pushing away. He tries to focus on his work, on the new suit he’s been designing, on anything that doesn’t involve picturing you laughing at someone else’s jokes or holding someone else’s hand. But every time Cole comes up in conversation, every time you casually mention something he said or did, Tony feels that tiny itch in the back of his brain grow stronger.

Something doesn’t add up.

“Cole’s great, Tony,” you tell him one night, completely oblivious to the way his jaw tightens when you say the guy’s name. You’re sitting across from him in the lab, fiddling with a new circuit board. “I mean, he’s sweet, and he listens, and—God, I think I might actually be falling for him.”

Tony’s stomach drops. He’s heard you talk about Cole before, but this is different. There’s a softness in your voice, a vulnerability that makes his chest ache. You’re not just infatuated; you’re serious about this guy.

“That’s… great,” he says, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Really. I mean, falling for someone? Huge step. Big deal. Congratulations.”

You glance up at him, frowning slightly. “You don’t sound too thrilled.”

“What? No. Thrilled is my middle name. Anthony Thrilled Stark.” He gestures dramatically with his hands, trying to play it off, but the look you give him is skeptical at best.

“Tony…” Your voice is softer now, concerned. “Is something wrong?”

Wrong? No. Everything’s fine. You’re dating a guy who he’s never met but already hates, and Tony’s spent every spare moment pretending it doesn’t feel like he’s losing you. Nothing wrong with that.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he lies. “I’m just… you know, being overprotective. It’s kind of my thing. But if you’re happy, then I’m happy.”

You give him a small smile, the kind that twists the knife a little deeper, and go back to your work. Tony watches you for a moment longer, then turns back to his own desk, staring blankly at the screen in front of him.

He tells himself to let it go. To trust you, to trust that you know what you’re doing. But the nagging itch in the back of his brain refuses to fade. Something about this guy doesn’t sit right, and Tony Stark didn’t get to where he is by ignoring his instincts.

So he starts digging.

It’s not creepy. Not really. It’s not like he’s hacking into the guy’s emails or anything (although, let’s be honest, he could). He’s just doing a little background research. Running some basic searches, cross-referencing public records, scrolling through social media. All perfectly legal. All perfectly harmless.

At first, there’s nothing. Cole looks clean—a little too clean, actually. No embarrassing Facebook posts from his college days, no bad reviews from ex-girlfriends, not even a speeding ticket. Tony doesn’t trust it. Everyone has skeletons in their closet, and the fact that Cole’s closet seems spotless only makes Tony more suspicious.

Then he finds it. A single thread, barely noticeable, buried in the endless digital clutter. It’s an old forum post, years old, from someone who claims to have dated Cole. The details are vague, but the tone is unmistakable: bitterness, regret, and a warning for anyone who might follow.

Tony narrows his eyes, digging deeper. The more he finds, the worse it gets. Cole’s spotless public image starts to crumble under closer scrutiny. There are patterns—subtle, but there. Former coworkers describing him as manipulative. An ex-girlfriend mentioning how he’d gaslight her during arguments. A series of short-lived jobs, each ending under murky circumstances. Nothing outright damning, but enough to paint a picture Tony doesn’t like.

He sits back in his chair, staring at the screen. His chest feels tight, a mix of anger and something else—fear, maybe. He doesn’t want to be right about this. He doesn’t want to believe that you could fall for someone like that, someone who might hurt you. But the evidence is staring him in the face, and Tony Stark has never been good at ignoring the truth.

The next day, he watches you more closely than usual. You’re in the lab again, humming softly to yourself as you work. There’s a lightness to you that makes his heart ache. He doesn’t want to ruin that, doesn’t want to be the one to bring you down. But he also can’t stand the thought of staying silent.

“Hey,” he says, leaning casually against your desk. “You free tonight?”

You glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Why? Got another groundbreaking invention to show off?”

“Maybe,” he says, smirking. “But actually, I was thinking dinner. My treat. You, me, and a bottle of ridiculously overpriced wine.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “As tempting as that sounds, I already have plans. Cole’s taking me out.”

Of course, he is. Tony’s smirk falters for a fraction of a second before he covers it with a shrug. “Right. Well, rain check, then.”

“Definitely,” you say, flashing him a smile before turning back to your work.

Tony watches you for a moment longer, then turns and heads for his office. He needs a plan—a way to bring this up without sounding like a jealous idiot or an overbearing dad. But as much as he tries to think of the right words, they won’t come.

That night, he paces his workshop, trying to talk himself out of doing something stupid. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe Cole isn’t as bad as he seems. Maybe Tony’s just projecting his own insecurities onto the guy. But then he remembers the forum post, the warnings, the pattern of behavior, and his resolve hardens.

He picks up his phone, hesitating for only a moment before dialing your number. You answer on the second ring, your voice warm and familiar.

“Tony? What’s up?”

“Hey,” he says, trying to sound casual. “You busy?”

“I’m with Cole,” you say, and there’s a note of hesitation in your voice, like you’re not sure why he’s calling. “Why?”

Tony swallows, gripping the phone tighter. “I just… wanted to check in. Make sure you’re okay.”

There’s a pause, and then you laugh softly. “I’m fine, Tony. Really. You don’t have to worry about me.”

But he does. More than he wants to admit. And as he listens to your voice, so full of trust and affection, he knows he can’t keep this to himself for much longer.

“I’ll let you get back to your date,” he says finally, forcing a smile into his voice. “Just… take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will,” you promise. “Thanks, Tony.”

He hangs up, staring at the phone in his hand. The weight in his chest hasn’t lifted. If anything, it’s heavier now.

Because Tony Stark isn’t jealous. Not really. He’s just terrified of losing you to someone who doesn’t deserve you. And the worst part? He doesn’t know if he can stop it.

You never thought it would feel like this—being with someone, falling for someone. Isn’t it supposed to make you happy? Isn’t it supposed to feel safe?

But with Cole, it’s… complicated.

At first, everything seemed perfect. He was sweet, attentive, always quick with a compliment or a thoughtful gesture. You’d convinced yourself he was everything you could ask for in a partner. And maybe for a little while, he was. But now, months into your relationship, cracks have started to show.

It starts small. The occasional offhand comment that stings more than it should. A subtle shift in tone when you talk about your work in the lab. You brush it off at first, telling yourself you’re imagining things. But then it gets worse.

“Late again,” Cole remarks one evening as you walk through the door, exhaustion tugging at your every step. He’s on the couch, his arms crossed, eyes sharp and unyielding. “How many hours did you spend with Stark today?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and accusing. You swallow hard, setting your bag down by the door. “I wasn’t counting, Cole. You know how it is—we had a lot to get through.”

His lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, with a pointed sigh, he gets up and walks into the kitchen. “Sure,” he says over his shoulder, the word dripping with bitterness. “Because Tony Stark is the only person in the world who needs your time.”

“Cole…” You trail after him, your voice quiet. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Do I?” He turns to face you, arms braced against the counter. “Because it feels like I’m sharing you with him. And you don’t seem to care.”

The words hit you like a slap. “That’s not fair,” you say, your voice trembling. “Tony’s my friend. We work together. You knew that when we started dating.”

“And maybe that was a mistake,” he snaps, his eyes narrowing. “Because it’s pretty clear where your priorities are.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the words don’t come. The guilt that’s been gnawing at you for weeks rises to the surface, sharp and suffocating. You do spend a lot of time in the lab. You do lean on Tony more than you should. Maybe Cole’s right. Maybe you’re the problem.

“I’ll try to do better,” you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Cole’s expression softens, just slightly, and he steps closer, cupping your face in his hands. “That’s all I’m asking, Y/N,” he says, his voice low and soothing. “I just want to feel like I matter to you.”

You nod, forcing a smile even as something inside you twists painfully. “You do. I promise.”

But as the weeks go by, it becomes harder and harder to keep that promise. Cole’s demands grow more insistent, his comments more cutting. You start to dread going home, knowing there��s always another fight waiting for you. And worst of all, you begin to pull back from the one place that’s always felt like home: the lab.

Tony notices, of course. He notices everything.

“Morning, sunshine,” Tony greets you one day, setting a steaming cup of coffee on your desk. “Extra caramel, just the way you like it.”

You look up, startled. “Tony, you didn’t have to—”

“Of course, I did,” he interrupts, flashing you that trademark smirk. “What kind of friend would I be if I let you suffer through the day without caffeine?”

Despite yourself, you smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he says, leaning against your desk. “Although, I have to say, you’ve been a little MIA lately. Should I be offended? Or are you just trying to make me miss you?”

You laugh softly, but the sound feels hollow. “Just… busy, I guess.”

Tony’s eyes narrow, and you know he doesn’t buy it. But he doesn’t press. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. “Oh, and I got you this.”

Your brow furrows as you take the box, opening it to reveal a sleek, silver keychain in the shape of a tiny wrench. It’s beautiful, understated but thoughtful, and it makes your chest ache.

“Tony…” Your voice catches. “Why?”

He shrugs, his expression softening. “Saw it and thought of you. That’s all.”

You bite your lip, overwhelmed by the gesture. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

He watches you for a moment, his eyes searching yours. “You deserve it,” he says quietly. “You deserve more than coffee and keychains, Y/N. Don’t forget that.”

His words linger long after he’s gone, echoing in your mind as you work. You wish you could tell him everything—about Cole, about the fights, about the way you’ve started to feel like a stranger in your own life. But you can’t. Tony has enough on his plate without dealing with your problems.

So you keep it to yourself, even as the weight of it threatens to crush you.

The gifts keep coming. A bouquet of your favorite flowers on your workbench one morning. A set of noise-canceling headphones to help you focus. Little things that remind you someone cares, even when you feel like you’re drowning.

Cole notices, of course. “What’s with all the stuff?” he asks one evening, eyeing the flowers on your kitchen counter.

“Just Tony being Tony,” you say, trying to sound casual. “He likes spoiling his friends.”

Cole’s jaw tightens. “Friends,” he repeats, his tone sharp. “Right.”

You don’t argue. You don’t have the energy. Instead, you turn away, pretending not to notice the way his expression darkens.

One night, after another fight with Cole leaves you feeling hollow and drained, you find yourself sitting in the lab long after everyone else has gone home. Tony walks in, a takeout bag in one hand and a familiar, comforting smile on his face.

“Figured you’d still be here,” he says, setting the bag down in front of you. “Dinner’s on me.”

You look up at him, tears threatening to spill over, and for the first time, you let yourself lean into his presence. “Thank you,” you whisper.

He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He doesn’t push. He just sits beside you, eating in comfortable silence, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe again.

Tony Stark doesn’t say the words. He doesn’t tell you that he thinks you deserve better than Cole, that he thinks you deserve better than him, even. But he doesn’t have to.

In every cup of coffee, every flower, every small act of kindness, he’s telling you that you’re worth more than you’ve been made to believe. And slowly, you begin to believe it too.

For now, it’s enough.

The atmosphere at home feels suffocating these days. The relationship you once cherished with Cole has become a minefield, every step fraught with tension. You’re constantly second-guessing yourself, careful with your words, trying to avoid setting him off. But it never seems to matter. Lately, even your best efforts only seem to fuel the simmering resentment in his eyes.

And Tony’s gifts? They’ve only made things worse.

It starts small, like everything with Cole does. A passing comment, offhanded and laced with sarcasm.

“Another coffee from your friend, huh?” he remarks one morning, his voice just a shade too sharp as he watches you take a sip from the steaming cup Tony had left on your desk.

You force a smile. “It’s just coffee, Cole. Tony’s like that with everyone—he’s generous. You know that.”

His lips twist into a tight smile. “Right. Generous. Just funny how his generosity seems to center around you.”

You bite your tongue, unwilling to let this spiral into another argument. Cole isn’t entirely wrong—Tony has been more attentive lately, but it’s not what Cole thinks. It’s just Tony being Tony, looking out for you the way he always has. There’s nothing wrong with that. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But Cole doesn’t drop it.

The next time Tony leaves you flowers, Cole’s reaction is colder, sharper.

“Do you think this is normal?” he asks, his voice low and tight as he stares at the bouquet sitting on your kitchen counter. His fingers drum against the edge of the counter, his jaw clenched. “Your boss giving you flowers?”

You take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “They’re not romantic, Cole. They’re just… thoughtful. Tony knows I’ve been stressed lately, that’s all.”

“Yeah?” He steps closer, his eyes narrowing. “And what’s he doing to help with that stress, huh? Bringing you coffee? Flowers? What’s next, jewelry?”

The accusation in his tone stings, and you feel your patience slipping. “Cole, you’re reading way too much into this. Tony and I are friends—nothing more. I shouldn’t have to explain that to you.”

“Maybe you should,” he snaps, his voice rising. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing.”

You flinch at the harshness in his tone, the knot of guilt and frustration tightening in your chest. “This isn’t fair,” you say quietly. “I’ve never given you a reason not to trust me.”

Cole scoffs, shaking his head. “It’s not you I don’t trust, Y/N. It’s him. Guys like Stark don’t just do things out of the kindness of their hearts. There’s always an angle.”

You want to argue, to defend Tony, but you know it’ll only make things worse. So you say nothing, letting the silence stretch between you like a chasm.

The next day, you try to keep your distance in the lab. Tony notices immediately.

“Okay, what’s up?” he asks, leaning casually against your desk as you work. His tone is light, but his eyes are sharp, searching. “You’ve been weird all morning. Did I do something? Forget your birthday? Make a terrible pun that offended your delicate sensibilities?”

You force a laugh, shaking your head. “No, it’s nothing. Just tired.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, clearly unconvinced. “Tired, or ‘I’m avoiding something and don’t want to talk about it’ tired?”

You sigh, setting down your tools. “It’s complicated, Tony.”

“Lucky for you, I’m a genius,” he quips, giving you a crooked smile. “Try me.”

You hesitate, chewing on your lip. Part of you wants to open up, to tell him everything about how things have been with Cole. But another part of you is terrified of what that might mean—what Tony might say or do. So instead, you give him the barest truth, the safest version of the story.

“Cole’s just… he doesn’t love the gifts,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Or the coffee. Or… well, you.”

Tony’s eyebrows shoot up. “Me?” he repeats, clearly taken aback. “What’d I do?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly. “It’s just… he thinks you’re too generous. That you’re overstepping.”

Tony stares at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N, if my coffee and flowers are causing problems for you, just say the word. I’ll stop.”

You shake your head, your chest tightening. “That’s not what I want, Tony. You’ve been… you’ve been amazing, honestly. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His gaze softens, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. Then he smiles—a small, gentle smile that makes your heart ache. “Well, for the record, I don’t plan on going anywhere. But if you need me to ease up, just let me know, okay?”

You nod, trying to smile back, but the guilt gnaws at you. You hate that Cole’s jealousy has made you second-guess Tony’s kindness, that it’s made you feel like you have to choose between the two of them.

Things with Cole only get worse. The arguments become more frequent, his words sharper, more cutting. He starts keeping tabs on your schedule, questioning every minute you spend in the lab. And when you do come home, he’s cold, distant, like he’s punishing you for something you can’t quite understand.

One night, after another fight leaves you in tears, you find yourself staring at your phone, your fingers hovering over Tony’s contact. You want to call him, to hear his voice, to feel the comfort of his unwavering support. But you don’t. Instead, you curl up on the couch, clutching the tiny wrench keychain he gave you like a lifeline.

Tony doesn’t press you, but he doesn’t back off, either. If anything, he doubles down on the small gestures. He brings you coffee every morning, just like always, but now there’s a little note attached—a joke, a doodle, something to make you smile. He leaves snacks on your desk when you’re too busy to eat, reminds you to take breaks, and even surprises you with a new toolkit when your old one starts falling apart.

“Can’t have my favorite lab partner working with subpar equipment,” he says when you thank him, his tone light but his eyes serious.

Every time he does something like this, it chips away at the walls you’ve been building around yourself. Because Tony doesn’t just make you feel appreciated—he makes you feel seen, like he knows you better than anyone else in the world.

Cole notices, of course. And he’s not happy.

One night, after you come home with another gift from Tony—a small, sleek notebook engraved with your initials—Cole snaps.

“This has to stop,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. He’s pacing the living room, his hands clenched into fists. “I’m not going to sit here and watch you let some other guy spoil you like this.”

“Tony’s just being nice,” you say, your voice shaking. “He’s my friend, Cole. That’s all.”

“Bullshit,” he spits, turning to face you. “He’s not just your friend, Y/N. No guy spends that much time and energy on someone without expecting something in return.”

The accusation makes your stomach churn. “That’s not true. Tony’s never—”

“He doesn’t have to,” Cole interrupts, his eyes blazing. “You think I don’t see the way he looks at you? The way you light up when he’s around? You’re already halfway out the door, Y/N, and you don’t even realize it.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You want to deny it, to tell him he’s wrong, but the truth lodges in your throat, heavy and suffocating. Because part of you knows he’s right.

Tony does look at you like that. And you do light up when he’s around.

But that doesn’t mean you’ve done anything wrong. It doesn’t mean you deserve this—Cole’s anger, his jealousy, the constant feeling that you’re walking on eggshells.

“I can’t do this right now,” you say, your voice breaking. You grab your bag and head in the bedroom, ignoring Cole’s protests as you leave.

It’s been days since the last fight with Cole, but the weight of his words hasn’t left you. He’s been quieter since then, distant but simmering. Every interaction feels like walking a tightrope—one wrong step, and everything will come crashing down.

You try to focus on work, on the comfort of the lab and Tony’s steady presence. But when you’re home, the walls close in. Cole’s criticisms have sunk deep, making you question everything about yourself. When you’re not fighting, there’s a suffocating tension, a calm before the inevitable storm.

One night, after a long shift at the lab, you come home to find him waiting in the living room. His expression is dark, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“You’re late,” he says flatly, his voice devoid of warmth.

You sigh, setting your bag down carefully by the door. “I told you I had to finish something important with Tony.”

“Of course,” he snaps, standing and pacing. “It’s always Tony, isn’t it? Tony this, Tony that. You spend more time with him than you do with me. Do you even want to be here, Y/N?”

The accusation cuts deep, but you’re too tired to argue. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

He stops pacing, his eyes narrowing. “Barely. And when you are here, it’s like your mind’s somewhere else. Admit it—you’re thinking about him.”

“Cole, that’s not fair,” you say, your voice shaking. “I’ve told you before—Tony’s my friend. That’s all.”

His laugh is cold, bitter. “You really expect me to believe that? After everything? The gifts, the flowers, the way he looks at you? Hell, the way you light up when he’s around?”

“Stop,” you plead, tears welling up in your eyes. “Just stop. I can’t keep having this same fight with you.”

“Then maybe you should leave,” he says harshly, his words like a slap.

The silence that follows is deafening. For a moment, you wonder if he means it. But then his expression softens, and he steps closer, reaching for you.

“I didn’t mean that,” he says quietly. “You know I just… I just get jealous because I care about you. Because I don’t want to lose you.”

You nod, even though your chest feels tight and the words taste bitter.

You let it go. Again.

The breaking point comes a few nights later. You’re in the kitchen, making dinner, when Cole comes home. He’s earlier than usual, and you can tell right away that something’s off. His movements are sharp, his expression stormy.

“Hey,” you say cautiously. “Everything okay?”

“Funny,” he says, dropping his keys on the counter with a loud clatter. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“What do you mean?”

He holds up his phone, and your stomach sinks when you see what’s on the screen: a photo of you and Tony in the lab. You’re laughing at something he’s said, your hand lightly brushing his arm.

“Where did you get that?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says coldly. “What matters is that while I’m here, worrying about us, you’re out there playing happy little lab partners with Stark.”

“That’s not what this is,” you say, your voice trembling. “You’re blowing this out of proportion, Cole. It’s just a picture.”

“Oh, it’s just a picture,” he sneers. “You’re unbelievable, Y/N. Do you even hear yourself? Do you even realize how disrespectful this is to me?”

You open your mouth to respond, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

“I’m done,” he snaps, his voice rising. “I’m done being the guy you come home to while you spend all your time with him. If you want Tony so bad, why don’t you just go be with him?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

“Cole…” you start, tears streaming down your face. “You’re twisting this into something it’s not. I love you.”

“No, you don’t,” he says harshly. “If you did, you wouldn’t make me feel like this. Like I’m nothing to you.”

Something inside you snaps.

“I’ve done nothing but try to make this work,” you say, your voice breaking. “I’ve bent over backward to prove myself to you, to make you feel secure, and it’s never enough. Nothing I do is ever enough for you.”

“Maybe because you’re not enough,” he says, his words cutting like a knife.

The room spins, your chest tightening as the weight of his words crushes you. But then, through the haze of pain, something shifts.

You realize you can’t do this anymore.

You can’t keep living like this—walking on eggshells, shrinking yourself to fit into the narrow mold of what Cole thinks you should be.

Without a word, you turn and walk to the bedroom, grabbing a duffel bag from the closet.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice panicked now.

“I’m leaving,” you say, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. “I can’t do this anymore, Cole. I can’t keep sacrificing myself for someone who doesn’t even see me.”

“You’re overreacting,” he says, his tone shifting to pleading. “Y/N, don’t do this. Don’t throw everything away.”

You stop, turning to face him one last time. “You did that all on your own.”

And with that, you walk out the door, the weight lifting off your shoulders even as your heart shatters.

It’s late by the time you arrive at Tony’s penthouse, your hands trembling as you knock on the door. The ride over had been a blur, your mind racing with everything that had just happened. You have nowhere else to go, no one else you can turn to.

When the door swings open, Tony’s standing there in sweatpants and a hoodie, his hair tousled from what was probably a rare early night in. His eyes widen when he sees you, and then his expression softens, concern etched into every line of his face.

“Y/N?” he says gently. “What’s wrong?”

You try to speak, but the words get caught in your throat. Instead, a sob escapes, and before you know it, Tony’s pulling you into his arms.

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs, his voice soothing as he holds you close. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

For a long moment, you just stand there, letting yourself break in his arms. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t ask questions. He just holds you, his presence steady and grounding.

When you finally pull back, wiping at your tear-streaked face, he guides you inside, leading you to the couch.

“Take your time,” he says softly, sitting beside you. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath, and then the words start pouring out. You tell him everything—about the fights, the jealousy, the way Cole made you feel like you were never enough. By the time you’re done, your voice is hoarse, and you’re trembling from the weight of it all.

Tony listens quietly, his jaw tight and his eyes dark with anger. But when he speaks, his voice is calm, steady.

“Y/N,” he says, reaching for your hand. “You didn’t deserve any of that. Not a single word, not a single moment.”

The sincerity in his voice breaks something inside you, and fresh tears spill over.

“I just… I thought I could fix it,” you whisper. “I thought if I tried hard enough, I could make him love me the way he used to.”

Tony’s grip on your hand tightens. “You shouldn’t have to try to earn someone’s love,” he says fiercely. “You deserve someone who sees you, who values you for exactly who you are.”

For a moment, you don’t say anything, letting his words sink in. And then, for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel a spark of hope.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “For everything.”

Tony smiles softly, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Always.”

And as you sit there, wrapped in the safety of his presence, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’re finally free.

Tony watches you carefully, his expression soft yet laced with worry. You’re sitting on the couch, bundled in one of his blankets, your eyes puffy from crying but starting to regain some of their warmth. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze steady and unwavering.

“Y/N,” he begins gently, his voice low and calming, “you don’t have to decide anything tonight, but… I want you to know you can stay here. For as long as you need. No questions, no pressure. Just stay.”

The weight of his offer makes you pause. It’s so simple, so heartfelt, yet so overwhelming. After everything that’s happened tonight, the idea of being anywhere but here—with Tony, with his steady strength—feels unbearable.

“Tony, I couldn’t,” you say, shaking your head. “This is your home, your space—”

“And now it’s your space too, if you need it,” he interrupts, his tone resolute but kind. “Come on, Y/N. You just walked out on a toxic situation, and you don’t need to figure everything out overnight. This place is big enough to lose half the Avengers in; you’re not crowding me. Besides…” He shrugs, grinning playfully. “I could use a roommate who doesn’t hack into my suits for fun.”

Despite yourself, you let out a soft laugh, and Tony’s smile widens, his expression lighting up at the sound.

“Okay,” you whisper, nodding slowly. “Just for a little while.”

Tony leans back, his relief palpable. “Good. And don’t worry about anything. I’ve got guest rooms, extra pajamas—hell, I’ll even share my secret stash of premium ice cream. No strings attached.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You have a secret ice cream stash?”

“Like I’d survive this crazy life without it,” he quips. “Come on, let’s raid it. Ice cream fixes everything.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re sitting side by side on the couch, each armed with a pint of ice cream and a spoon. The TV plays in the background, some cheesy action movie neither of you is really watching. You’ve spent the past ten minutes venting, pouring out everything you’d been bottling up for months—the fights, the manipulation, the way Cole made you feel small and undeserving of love.

Tony listens intently, his expression shifting from anger to sadness to something else entirely—something softer, more protective. Every time you mention Cole’s name, his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt. He lets you talk, lets you spill everything, and when you finally fall silent, he speaks.

“Y/N,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with both anger and sorrow, “I can’t tell you how much I hate that you went through all of that. And I’m trying—really trying—not to go full Iron Man on this guy and teach him a lesson he’ll never forget.”

You chuckle weakly, shaking your head. “Please don’t, Tony. He’s not worth it.”

“No, he’s not,” Tony agrees, his tone firm. “But you are. You’re worth everything, Y/N, and you deserve so much better than the crap he put you through.”

His words hit you hard, tears threatening to spill again. But this time, they’re tears of gratitude, of relief. You don’t know what you’d do without Tony’s unwavering support, without his ability to make you feel like you’re not alone.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “For all of this. For everything.”

Tony smiles softly, reaching over to give your hand a gentle squeeze. “Always.”

The night stretches on, and eventually, exhaustion starts to creep in. You’re still on the couch, your ice cream forgotten on the coffee table, and the steady rhythm of Tony’s voice is like a balm to your frayed nerves. You don’t even realize how tired you are until your head starts to droop, leaning closer and closer to Tony.

Before you know it, you’re resting against his shoulder, your breathing slow and even as sleep takes over.

Tony freezes for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy. But then he looks down at you, his expression softening into something indescribably tender. He can’t help but smile, his heart swelling with emotions he’s spent years trying to keep at bay.

God, he’s in love with you.

He’s known it for a long time, but seeing you like this—vulnerable, trusting, safe in his presence—it hits him all over again. You’re everything to him, and if he’s being honest, he’s more than a little relieved that you’re finally free of Cole. Not just because of what Cole put you through, but because now there’s a chance—a tiny, fragile chance—that you might one day see Tony the way he sees you.

But tonight isn’t about that. Tonight is about you.

Carefully, Tony shifts slightly, wrapping an arm around you to make sure you’re comfortable. He grabs the throw blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over you with practiced ease. You murmur something in your sleep, nuzzling closer to him, and his smile grows impossibly wider.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” he whispers, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

He sits there for a long time, holding you as you sleep, his mind racing with thoughts of the future—of what he can do to help you heal, to make you feel whole again. Because if there’s one thing he knows for certain, it’s this:

He’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you never feel unloved or unworthy again.

Life at Tony’s penthouse is different—quiet, comforting, and safe. For the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel like you’re holding your breath. No more walking on eggshells, no more second-guessing yourself over every little thing. It’s strange, this newfound sense of freedom, but slowly, you’re beginning to settle into it.

Tony, of course, makes it easy. He’s there in every way you need, whether it’s with his quick wit that always coaxes a laugh from you, or the way he seems to sense when you’re overwhelmed and knows just when to step in—or back off. He never pries, never pushes, but he’s always there.

A week into your stay, he insists on taking care of what you’ve been dreading.

“Y/N,” he says one morning over coffee, “I’ve got it handled.”

You frown, looking up from your mug. “Got what handled?”

“Your stuff,” he says casually, as if it’s no big deal. “I sent Happy and the team over to Cole’s to grab everything that’s yours. No way I’m letting you go back there and deal with him. Ever.”

Your stomach twists at the mention of Cole, but the weight lifts just as quickly at Tony’s matter-of-fact tone. He’s already handled it, just like that. No drama, no arguments, no lingering ties to your old life.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you stammer, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness.

Tony shrugs, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Say thank you, and maybe bake me some cookies later. I hear you make a mean chocolate chip.”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “Thank you, Tony. Really.”

He winks. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

When the boxes arrive later that day, it’s bittersweet. You’re relieved to have your things back, but seeing them stacked in the corner of the guest room—the room Tony’s insisted is now your room—feels surreal. This is your life now, and it’s so different from what you’ve known.

Tony gives you space as you unpack, but he hovers nearby, always ready with a joke or an offer to help. When you pull out a framed photo of you and your family, your hands freeze, a lump forming in your throat.

Tony notices immediately. “Hey,” he says softly, stepping closer. “You okay?”

You nod, blinking back tears. “Yeah. Just… it’s a lot.”

“I know,” he says gently, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Take your time. And if you need a distraction…” He holds up a box with a grin. “I’ve got a few boxes labeled ‘miscellaneous,’ and I’m dying to know what you kept in them.”

You laugh, swatting his arm. “Nosy.”

“Hey, I’m offering my world-class organizing skills here. I’m practically Martha Stewart.”

His antics make it easier to get through the day, and by the time you’ve unpacked, the guest room feels less like a temporary space and more like a home.

Living with Tony is… easy.

He’s nothing like Cole, and that contrast is both liberating and disorienting. He doesn’t criticize you for sleeping in or for spending hours tinkering with your own projects in the lab. He doesn’t demand to know where you’ve been if you step out for a walk, or guilt you for wanting time alone.

Instead, Tony encourages you to take up space, to be yourself.

“You’ve got ideas, Y/N,” he says one day as you both work in the lab. “Brilliant ones. Don’t hold back just because you think I’ll be offended. Hell, half the time, you’re smarter than me. And trust me, that’s a compliment I don’t give lightly.”

You smile, the warmth in his words chasing away the lingering doubts that still sometimes creep in.

“You really mean that?”

“Always,” he says firmly.

And it’s not just his words—it’s his actions, too. Every morning, there’s a cup of your favorite coffee waiting for you, often accompanied by something small and thoughtful. One day, it’s a book you’d mentioned weeks ago. Another, it’s a tiny model of a starship from your favorite sci-fi series.

And sometimes, it’s flowers.

You find a fresh bouquet on the kitchen counter one morning, the note attached reading:

“For the brightest part of my day. -T”

Your heart swells, and you catch yourself smiling like a lovestruck teenager.

Not everything is smooth sailing, though. There are moments when the shadows of your past creep in, moments when Cole’s voice echoes in your mind, making you second-guess yourself.

One evening, after spending hours in the lab with Tony, you sit at the kitchen counter, staring at the empty takeout container in front of you. Guilt gnaws at the edges of your thoughts. Cole’s voice whispers in your ear: You’re wasting time again, Y/N. Neglecting the things that really matter.

Tony notices immediately.

“Hey,” he says, setting down his tablet and moving to your side. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

You hesitate, not wanting to burden him. But Tony doesn’t let it slide.

“Y/N,” he says gently, his voice coaxing. “Talk to me.”

“I just… sometimes I feel like I’m not doing enough,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like I’m wasting time, or I’m not…”

“Not what?” Tony prompts, his brow furrowing.

“Not enough,” you say, your voice breaking.

Tony’s expression softens, and he crouches beside you, taking your hands in his.

“Y/N,” he says firmly, his voice full of conviction. “You are more than enough. Anyone who made you feel otherwise was wrong. Dead wrong. And if I ever meet him…” His jaw tightens, but then he exhales, forcing himself to relax. “Let me rephrase. If I ever meet him, I’ll shake his hand for one reason only—because he was stupid enough to let you go, and now I get to remind you every day how incredible you are.”

You blink, his words sinking in like sunlight breaking through a storm.

“You really mean that?” you ask, your voice trembling.

Tony grins. “Of course I do. Have you met me? I don’t say things I don’t mean. Now, come on. Let’s grab dessert and watch something terrible on TV. My treat.”

He pulls you to your feet, and for the first time in a long time, you feel light—free.

As the weeks pass, you start to feel more like yourself again. Tony’s unrelenting support, his thoughtfulness, and his ridiculous sense of humor remind you that life doesn’t have to be heavy, that you can be happy without fear of consequences.

And through it all, Tony is there—steady, reliable, and quietly, hopelessly in love with you.

It’s an ordinary evening at Tony’s penthouse. You’re in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, a soft smile on your face as you watch Tony make an attempt—well, a valiant attempt—at cooking dinner. He’s muttering something about how much easier it would be if he could just program JARVIS to handle all his culinary disasters, and the sight is enough to make your chest feel warm.

For months now, you’ve been living here, slowly piecing yourself back together. Tony has been your anchor, your constant, and somewhere along the way, the feelings you’d kept buried for so long started to resurface. At first, you chalked it up to gratitude, to the safety he gave you, but now you know better.

You’re in love with him.

It terrifies you—because the last time you opened yourself up to someone, it left you shattered. But this is Tony. He’s nothing like Cole, and deep down, you know he never would be.

Still, you haven’t told him. Not yet.

The sound of your phone vibrating on the counter pulls you out of your thoughts. The number on the screen is unfamiliar, but without thinking, you answer.

“Hello?”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end, and then a voice you haven’t heard in months makes your blood run cold.

“Y/N,” Cole says, his tone smooth and familiar, and your stomach clenches.

Panic floods your veins, your breathing hitching as you freeze in place.

“Y/N, it’s me. Look, I know you don’t want to hear from me, but I just… I need to talk to you. I need you to understand—”

Your mind races, and suddenly, the walls of Tony’s penthouse feel too close, too confining. Before you can respond—or hang up—the phone is gently taken from your hand.

You look up to see Tony standing beside you, his expression calm but deadly serious.

“Who is this?” he says, his tone steely as he presses the phone to his ear.

There’s a pause, and you watch as Tony’s jaw tightens. He glances at you, his eyes softening briefly before his face hardens again.

“Cole,” Tony says, his voice low and dangerous. “Yeah, I know who you are. And you’re going to listen very carefully. This is the last time you’ll ever call her. If you try to contact her again—in any way—I’ll make sure the authorities know exactly who you are and what you’ve done. Am I clear?”

You hear muffled protests on the other end, but Tony doesn’t let him get another word in.

“Good,” Tony snaps, and then he ends the call, tossing your phone onto the counter.

The room falls silent, save for the sound of your uneven breathing. Tony turns to you, his expression softening immediately.

“Y/N,” he says gently, stepping closer. “Hey, it’s okay. He’s not going to bother you again. I promise.”

You nod, but the panic is still bubbling under the surface, your hands trembling as you try to process what just happened.

“Come here,” Tony says softly, pulling you into his arms without hesitation. His embrace is warm, solid, and for the first time since you heard Cole’s voice, you feel like you can breathe again.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice shaking.

Tony pulls back just enough to look at you, his brow furrowing. “Hey, don’t apologize. None of this is your fault. Not a single thing.”

You nod, but tears spill down your cheeks anyway. Tony reaches up, brushing them away with his thumb.

“Listen to me,” he says, his voice steady but full of emotion. “You’re safe here. With me. He doesn’t get to have any power over you anymore, okay? Not while I’m around.”

You sniffle, managing a small nod. “Okay.”

Tony’s arms tighten around you, his chin resting on the top of your head.

“You’re stronger than you know,” he murmurs. “But you don’t have to do this alone. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

His words sink into you, grounding you in a way you didn’t realize you needed.

After a few moments, you pull back slightly, looking up at him. “Thank you, Tony.”

He smiles softly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “Always, sweetheart.”

And in that moment, as you look into his warm brown eyes, you feel something shift. The fear and panic begin to fade, replaced by something else entirely—something safe, steady, and unwavering.

It’s love. And this time, it feels like it could be yours.

Tony Stark steps out of his sleek black Audi, the hum of the engine fading as he straightens his suit jacket. The dimly lit street in front of Cole’s crummy apartment is a far cry from the luxury of the penthouse, and the contrast isn’t lost on him. He checks his watch briefly—he doesn’t want to take too long. Not when you’re back at home, waiting for him to start your movie night.

He sighs, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the discomfort of what he’s about to do. This isn’t his style, not anymore. But for you? For you, he’d tear apart the world.

Walking up the cracked concrete steps, Tony barely glances at the graffiti-covered walls or the muffled arguments echoing from other apartments. He finds Cole’s unit easily enough; Happy’s intel was, as always, flawless. Without hesitation, he knocks sharply.

The door creaks open, revealing Cole’s confused face. It takes him a moment to recognize Tony, but when he does, his confusion morphs into unease.

“Tony Stark?” Cole asks, his voice unsure. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Tony doesn’t bother with pleasantries. “We need to talk.”

Cole scoffs, attempting to mask his nerves with bravado. “I’ve got nothing to say to you. And Y/N—”

“Stop,” Tony cuts him off, his tone sharp as a knife. He steps forward, his presence filling the doorway. “You don’t get to say her name. Not after everything you’ve done.”

Cole backs up slightly, his bravado slipping. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but this is none of your business.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, his expression calm but ice-cold. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. Y/N is my business. She’s under my roof, and she’s finally starting to feel like herself again after everything you put her through. And then you had the audacity to call her?” He steps closer, his voice lowering to something almost lethal. “Big mistake.”

Cole tries to put on a sneer, but it doesn’t quite land. “What are you gonna do, Stark? Use your money to buy me off? Intimidate me with your Iron Man shtick?”

Tony smirks, pulling a sleek envelope from his jacket pocket. “Actually, yeah, I am.” He tosses the envelope onto a nearby table. “Inside, you’ll find a one-way ticket to France, fully paid for, and a sizable amount of cash to make sure you don’t come crawling back anytime soon. Call it my version of charity.”

Cole picks up the envelope, flipping through the contents with a scowl. “And what if I don’t take it?”

Tony steps closer, his voice dropping to a low, deadly tone. “Then I’ll make sure everyone knows who you really are, Cole. Your manipulative, gaslighting, toxic little games? They’re over. If you so much as breathe in Y/N’s direction again, I’ll ruin you in ways you can’t even imagine. You won’t just lose her—you’ll lose everything.”

Cole glares at him, but the fear in his eyes is unmistakable. “You can’t just—”

“Oh, I can,” Tony interrupts smoothly, leaning in so his face is mere inches from Cole’s. “And I will. Because she deserves peace, and I’m going to make damn sure she gets it. So take the deal, Cole. Consider it the best option you’ll ever get.”

For a moment, the room is silent. Cole’s jaw tightens, but he knows he’s been cornered. With a muttered curse, he throws the envelope onto the table.

“Fine,” Cole snaps. “I’ll take your stupid deal.”

Tony straightens, satisfaction flickering in his eyes. “Smart choice. Now, pack your things. Your flight leaves tomorrow morning. And remember…” He pauses at the door, glancing back over his shoulder. “Stay gone.”

Without another word, Tony leaves, his steps confident as he heads back to his car.

By the time Tony returns to the penthouse, the tension in his chest has eased. He knows Cole won’t be a problem anymore, and that knowledge alone is enough to make him feel lighter.

When he steps into the living room, he finds you curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over your legs and a bowl of popcorn in your lap. You look up as he enters, a soft smile spreading across your face.

“There you are,” you say warmly. “I was starting to think you bailed on me.”

Tony grins, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby chair. “Bail on movie night? Not a chance.”

He sits down beside you, grabbing a handful of popcorn and leaning back into the cushions. The tension from earlier melts away entirely as you press play on the movie, your laughter filling the room moments later.

Tony glances at you, his chest tightening—not with worry, but with something far sweeter. You’re here, you’re safe, and you’re smiling.

And he’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way.

The morning sun filters through the penthouse windows, bathing the living room in golden light. You’re seated on the couch, your laptop balanced on your knees as you scroll through apartment listings. A knot tightens in your stomach with every tab you open, but you keep going. This is what you need to do, you tell yourself. It’s time to stand on your own two feet again.

Tony strolls in, coffee mug in hand, dressed casually in sweatpants and a faded band t-shirt that somehow looks effortlessly stylish. His hair is tousled, as if he just woke up, and the sight makes your heart ache more than you’d like to admit.

“Morning,” he greets, his voice warm and gravelly. He nods toward your laptop. “What’re you working on?”

You hesitate, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. “I… I’m looking for apartments.”

Tony freezes mid-sip, lowering his mug with exaggerated slowness. “Apartments?” he echoes, his tone carefully neutral.

“Yeah,” you say, forcing a smile. “I mean, I’ve been here for months now. You’ve been more than generous, Tony, but I think it’s time I find my own place. Get back to normal, you know?”

Tony leans against the counter, his gaze fixed on you. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and the silence stretches just long enough to make you squirm.

“Normal?” he finally says, a hint of teasing in his voice. “What’s so great about normal? I thought you liked our penthouse movie nights, me burning half the dinner, and JARVIS randomly suggesting we upgrade the toaster.”

You laugh softly, but your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “I do like all that. It’s just… I can’t stay here forever. I need to prove to myself that I can do this on my own.”

Tony’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. He sets his mug down on the counter, crossing his arms. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Y/N. Least of all me.”

“It’s not about proving something to you,” you say, your voice quieter now. “It’s about proving it to myself. I’ve been leaning on you for so long, and I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done. But…”

Tony’s lips press into a thin line, and he nods, cutting you off gently. “But you’re ready to spread your wings, find your own space. I get it.”

He’s trying so hard to sound casual, but you see through him. His eyes don’t quite meet yours, and his usual easy confidence seems dimmed.

You hate how much it hurts to see him like this. And worse, you hate how much it hurts you to even consider leaving.

“Tony, it’s not like I’ll be far,” you say, trying to ease the tension. “I’ll visit all the time. You’ll probably get sick of me dropping by unannounced.”

Tony finally meets your gaze, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Not possible. But, hey, if that’s what you want, I’ll support you.”

The words are so simple, so Tony. He’s always supported you, always put your needs above his own. And maybe that’s part of why leaving feels so wrong.

Over the next few days, you keep searching for apartments, though your heart isn’t in it. You don’t want to leave—not really—but the fear that’s been gnawing at you since Cole resurfaces every time you catch Tony looking at you a little too long, or when his hand brushes yours during movie night, or when he smiles at you like you’re the only person in the room.

You’re falling for him. Hard.

And it terrifies you.

You’ve been burned before, shattered by someone you thought you could trust. And even though Tony is nothing like Cole—even though he’s shown you nothing but kindness and care—part of you can’t help but think that loving him would leave you just as broken.

So you push him away, bit by bit.

Tony notices.

One evening, you’re in the kitchen, preparing dinner. You don’t hear Tony approach until he’s standing next to you, leaning casually against the counter.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he says, his tone light but probing.

You glance at him, forcing a smile. “Have I?”

He nods, studying you with those sharp, perceptive eyes. “You’re pulling back. I can see it.”

Your hands still, and you grip the edge of the counter. “I’m not pulling back,” you say weakly.

Tony sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N, if you need space, just say so. I’ll back off, no questions asked. But if this is about more than just apartments…” He trails off, searching your face.

You shake your head quickly. “It’s not about anything else.”

His eyes narrow slightly, and you can tell he doesn’t believe you. But he doesn’t press further.

“Okay,” he says softly. “If that’s what you want.”

That night, you lie awake in your bed, staring at the ceiling. The guilt churns in your stomach, warring with the fear you can’t seem to shake.

You think about Tony—his laugh, his kindness, the way he makes you feel like you’re worth something.

And then you think about Cole, about the way he made you feel small, worthless, afraid.

Tears prick at your eyes as you realize the truth: you’re not pushing Tony away because of him. You’re pushing him away because of you. Because you’re scared of letting yourself be loved, scared of what it means to let someone in again.

But deep down, you know that Tony isn’t Cole. He never has been, and he never will be.

The thought stays with you as you drift off to sleep, unsure of what tomorrow will bring—but certain of one thing.

Tony Stark has your heart. And maybe it’s time to let him keep it.

The new apartment is nice. Spacious enough, with lots of natural light pouring through the big windows. It has the kind of charm you’d usually love—cozy corners for reading, a kitchen you can actually picture yourself cooking in. But as you stand in the middle of the living room, surrounded by neatly stacked boxes and the faint smell of fresh paint, it feels hollow.

Tony is across the room, carefully setting down a box labeled "fragile." He straightens up, brushing imaginary dust off his hands, and gives you a lopsided grin. “Well, that’s the last of it. You’re officially moved in.”

You force a smile, nodding. “Yeah. Thanks for all your help.”

“Anytime.” He pauses, his smile faltering slightly as his eyes flicker over your face. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie, avoiding his gaze.

He doesn’t push, just nods slowly. “Right. Well…” He glances around, shoving his hands into his pockets. “How about one last night at the penthouse? A farewell to the old place before you settle in here.”

You hesitate. You know he’s giving you an excuse, a reason to stall without outright saying it. But the idea of leaving this quiet, empty apartment for one more night in the warmth of his home… in the warmth of him… is too tempting to resist.

“Okay,” you say softly.

Tony’s face lights up, and it tugs at something deep in your chest. “Great. Let’s go grab takeout and pick a movie. Your choice this time.”

That night, you’re lying in bed in Tony’s penthouse, staring at the ceiling. The sound of the city hums faintly in the background, but your mind is far from quiet.

This doesn’t feel right. None of it does.

Moving into the new apartment, leaving behind the safety and comfort of Tony’s home—it feels like you’re walking away from something you don’t actually want to let go of.

Your chest tightens as you think about him, about the way he’s been your constant these past months. The way he’s shown you kindness and patience, reminding you of your worth when you’d forgotten it. The way he looks at you, like you’re the most important person in the world.

And the truth you’ve been avoiding hits you like a freight train: You’re in love with him. You have been for a long time.

The thought makes your heart race—not with fear, but with something else entirely. Something that feels a lot like hope.

Unable to stay still, you throw off the covers and swing your legs out of bed. You need to tell him. Now.

But when you open the bedroom door, you find him standing there, in his plaid pajama pants and an old band t-shirt, looking startled to see you.

“Tony?” you whisper, confused.

“Hey,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh, I wasn’t spying or anything, I just… I wanted to check on you. You seemed off earlier, and I thought—”

“You were standing outside my door?”

“Yeah,” he admits, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Okay, it sounds weird when you say it like that, but I didn’t want to bother you if you were sleeping, so…”

Your heart swells at the sight of him—this brilliant, confident man looking so adorably unsure of himself.

“Tony,” you say softly, stepping closer.

He takes a deep breath, his expression turning serious. “I need to say something,” he says, his voice quieter now. “And I know the timing sucks, and I’m probably going to mess this up, but… I’m in love with you, Y/N. I’ve been in love with you for a while now. And I know you’ve been through hell, and the last thing I want to do is make things harder for you, but I can’t keep it in anymore.”

Your breath catches in your throat, but Tony doesn’t stop.

“I get it if you’re not ready, or if you don’t feel the same way, but I needed you to know. Because having you in my life has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and—”

You don’t let him finish.

Closing the space between you, you press your lips to his, cutting off his rambling with a kiss that’s soft and certain.

Tony freezes for a moment, his brain seemingly short-circuiting, before he kisses you back with an intensity that makes your knees weak. His hands come up to cup your face, holding you like you’re something precious, something he can’t quite believe is real.

When you finally pull back, his eyes are wide, his expression caught somewhere between stunned and elated.

“I want to give this a chance,” you say, your voice trembling slightly. “I’m scared, and I need to go slow, but… I want this. I want you.”

Tony’s face splits into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen, and he looks at you like you’ve just handed him the universe.

“As slow as you want,” he says quickly, his voice full of breathless excitement. “But, uh… can I have another kiss? Just, you know, to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

You laugh, your heart lighter than it’s been in years. “Yeah, you can have another kiss.”

And when you kiss him again, it feels like coming home.

Life with Tony Stark as your boyfriend is both everything you expected and nothing like you imagined. He’s indulgent, affectionate, and relentless in making you feel like the most important person in the world. But there’s also an unshakable tenderness in how he supports you—helping you unpack not just the physical baggage of your life but the emotional scars left behind by Cole.

It starts with the small things.

In the weeks following your confession, Tony seems to be on a personal mission to make you laugh every day. He whisks you off to rooftop picnics, surprises you with coffee at exactly the right time during your workday, and keeps gifting you little trinkets he claims “just reminded me of you.” One morning, you wake to find a tiny key-shaped necklace on your bedside table with a note attached: “You already have the key to my heart, but this one’s cuter.”

He doesn’t stop there. Every chance he gets, Tony casually reminds you of your beauty. Whether it’s a whispered “God, you’re stunning” as he watches you brush your hair, or a grin as he walks into the room and says, “How are you real?” he refuses to let a day pass without telling you how much you mean to him.

At first, it’s overwhelming. You’re not used to this—to being loved so openly, so freely, without conditions.

And sometimes, the habits Cole drilled into you creep in.

One night, you’re cooking dinner. It’s been a long day for both of you, but Tony insists on helping, chopping vegetables while chatting animatedly about a new design he’s working on. You laugh at his enthusiasm, but there’s a pang of guilt in your chest as you glance at the cluttered counter.

“I should’ve cleaned up first,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this mess.”

Tony pauses, knife mid-air, and looks at you with furrowed brows. “What?”

“It’s just… messy,” you say, gesturing vaguely at the kitchen. “You’ve had a long day, and—”

“Whoa, hold up,” he interrupts, setting the knife down. “Y/N, I’m not exactly allergic to a few crumbs on the counter. And even if I were, it wouldn’t matter because I’m here with you.”

You glance away, embarrassed. “I just don’t want to inconvenience you.”

Tony steps closer, gently taking your hands in his. “Listen to me,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “You’re not an inconvenience. You’ve never been an inconvenience. If you leave a mess, we clean it up. If you’re tired, we order takeout. Whatever it is, we figure it out together. Okay?”

You nod, blinking back tears.

He leans down to kiss your forehead, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You don’t have to shrink yourself for me, Y/N. Not ever.”

Moments like that happen often.

You find yourself unconsciously deferring to Tony’s preferences—asking him what he wants to watch, what he wants to eat, what he thinks you should wear. It’s not intentional; it’s just a habit born from years of trying to keep the peace with someone who made you feel like you could never do anything right.

Tony, of course, notices.

“Okay, hold up,” he says one evening, holding the TV remote hostage as you try to hand it to him.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“I’m not making this decision,” he declares. “You pick the movie.”

“But—”

“Nope.” He cuts you off with a cheeky grin. “Your turn. I’ll watch anything. Even one of those rom-coms where everyone falls in love during a snowstorm and learns the true meaning of Christmas.”

You laugh despite yourself. “You hate those movies.”

“Not true,” he says with mock seriousness. “I love them if you’re watching with me. So what’s it gonna be?”

It’s a small thing, picking a movie. But when you make your choice and see the way Tony smiles—like he’s proud of you for speaking up—it feels like a victory.

Tony’s affection isn’t just verbal.

He’s incredibly touchy, constantly finding excuses to hold your hand, drape an arm around your shoulders, or pull you into a hug. When you’re working late in the lab, he sneaks up behind you to kiss your temple or nuzzle your neck, murmuring something about how much he loves seeing your “brilliant brain in action.”

And he adores cuddling.

One lazy Sunday morning, you wake to find him practically glued to your side, his arm slung around your waist and his head resting on your shoulder.

“You’re clingy,” you tease, though you make no effort to move away.

“Clingy?” he echoes, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know this is a highly advanced form of affection distribution.”

You laugh, running your fingers through his messy hair. “Oh, is that what this is?”

“Absolutely,” he says, leaning into your touch. “Can’t let my girlfriend forget how much I love her. It’s a full-time job.”

Your heart swells at the word girlfriend. It still feels surreal, hearing him say it so casually, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Over time, you start to notice a shift within yourself.

The habits you developed around Cole—the constant second-guessing, the need to please, the fear of taking up space—begin to fade. It’s not an overnight change, but it’s there, thanks to Tony’s unrelenting patience and love.

He doesn’t just tell you that you’re enough; he shows you, every single day.

One evening, you’re sitting on the couch together, your legs draped over his lap as you sip a glass of wine. Out of nowhere, he says, “You know you’re amazing, right?”

You look at him, surprised. “What brought that on?”

“Just felt like saying it,” he replies with a shrug, though there’s a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You’re smart, funny, gorgeous, and you have this way of lighting up a room without even trying. I don’t think I’ve told you that today, so…”

You set your glass down and lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“For what?” he asks, his arms sliding around your waist.

“For loving me the way you do.”

Tony pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression serious. “Y/N, loving you isn’t something I do. It’s who I am.”

Months pass, and the two of you settle into a rhythm—a life filled with laughter, love, and the occasional mishap (usually involving Tony’s cooking experiments).

You start to feel like yourself again, like the person you were before Cole, only stronger. And every time you catch Tony looking at you with that soft, adoring expression, you’re reminded that this is what love is supposed to feel like.

Safe. Supportive. Unconditional.

And every day, you fall for him a little more.

Girls, boys, people, never ever doubt your self worth, and more than anything don't let anyone make you doubt of it. Because you're worth it, you're worth everything. Remember, if he hits you, it's not love, if he makes you feel small or underserving or bad, or anything like that, it's not love. Love is supposed to turn you to the best version of yourself, to make you happy. Always remember that <3

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heartoftheserpent · 2 months ago

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Awake in the middle of the night thinking about Harry and Sirius and for once I’m not complaining about the writing I genuinely think this is one of the best and most striking and poignantly written relationships in the whole series

- neither of them have any real reason to immediately trust each other as they do

- Harry doesn’t have a good relationship history with parents; the Dursleys were awful, obviously, but his other interactions with parent figures have very much colored inside your lines, so to speak.

- Dumbledore cares, but at this point (book 3) he and Harry aren’t really closer than a typical Headmaster and student.

- Molly and Arthur care, but they very much stay in their lanes; even after knowing Harry’s guardians starve and confine him, yes they write to Dumbledore and ask if he can stay more, but when they are told no, they don’t go out of their way to check up on him or even owl him during the summer.

- Hagrid is closer, but he mostly seems to trust that Harry can take care of himself. In fact, most of the time, their relationship is Harry helping him, not the other way around, and Hagrid doesn’t seem to find that strange.

- even the first night they truly meet, Harry immediately agrees to live with Sirius despite having had one (1) intense conversation with him where Sirius was very much on the teetering edge of sanity, unclean, vicious, mysterious, and broken

- to the point that THAT VERY NIGHT, going to live with Sirius is a strong enough thought to summon a Patronus for him

- This instinctive and immutable trust and liking goes both ways - in a series that can often be mean spirited, I’m often struck by just how much these two LIKE each other

- Sirius’s devotion to Harry is something I see as weirdly overlooked by a lot of characters; the man not only spent twelve years in Azkaban, but broke out, and spends the rest of his life wholly devoted to Harry’s well-being. Living on rats, starving in a cave for a year, just to be close if Harry MIGHT need help

- this isn’t just how godfather/godchild relationships are written in these books, either. We have two other examples (Snape-Draco [EDIT: I forgot this was fanon lol] and Harry-Teddy) and while both seem affectionate, neither seem like “tear down the world and rip myself apart to keep you from harm.” Heck, Teddy doesn’t even live with Harry, and his parents are dead.

- this is what’s really getting to me today:

- all the characters involved seem to see the Harry-Sirius relationship through their own perspectives so strongly that they miss important features of it (again, this is a writing element I really like, and haven’t seen mentioned much if at all)

- Hermione sees Sirius as well-meaning but perhaps not to be listened to…. Which is how she treats her own parents tbh, fine with not only ignoring their authority but also their autonomy if she thinks it’s necessary

- Ron seems to think of him as a fun/cool older brother. He’s the only one who comments on Sirius being so dedicated as to live in a cave and eat rats, but his astute comment is, “he must really like you, Harry.”

- Remus (in my opinion) seems to view their relationship as the same as his own with Harry - I.e. “friend of your parents who cares but in a normal way with normal boundaries”

- Molly famously does not think highly of this relationship, and I do think that says a lot about how she thinks you should treat Someone Else’s Child.

- except Sirius doesn’t treat Harry like he’s someone else’s responsibility, he’s the most involved parent we see in the series, up to and including the Malfoys

- This is more striking when you pair it with the insouciant playboy vibes he had as a young man!!!

- I honestly wonder whether even James and Lily would have been surprised at the level of devotion he shows. Would they have expected that from him? Would even they be impressed? Would they have joked about making Sirius the godfather when he was the reckless, feckless, fun-loving one, and have marveled at the way he stepped up to the plate?

- the trust, respect, liking, and devotion goes both ways!!!!

- Harry never doubts that Sirius has his well-being in mind (we’re going to set aside a couple of hate crime writing moments in ootp)

- in GoF, when his scar hurts, he remembers that he can write to Sirius and he’s thrilled. He trusts Sirius’s advice completely even after meeting him once. And when that letter results in Sirius coming back to England, he immediately lies and tries to send him away for his own good. And Sirius’s response? “Nice try.”

- They already instinctively know and trust each other, they’re already both acting out of care, no one has ever stepped up like Sirius and Harry RESPONDS to that so beautifully

- this continues in ootp with Harry not hesitating to risk his life to save Sirius; Hermione points out (accurately) that Sirius wouldn’t want him to. It doesn’t matter. This is the only person who has ever loved him fully and unselfishly.

- And of course, that winds up in the opposite, with Sirius sacrificing himself for Harry instead, and Harry having to watch

- This is easily the most traumatic moment in the whole series for Harry, culminating in his meltdown in Dumbledore’s office and severe depression and malaise at the beginning of HBP

- idk i just can’t stop thinking about them

- About how it’s the closest, most fiercely loving parent/child relationship in the whole series and all the other characters fail to see that based on their own biases

#Harry potter #sirius black

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ieetbeez · 4 months ago

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Small Rant About RE

Hello gang... This has been on my mind for awhile. Today we're talking about Resident Evil and particularly Leon stans. Now I'm gonna come out and say I am one of them! I love that silly little blonde man and he's like number 1 on my favorite capcom white boy tier list next to Cody from Final Fight/SF.

tw: mentions of rape, pedophilia, incest, abuse, and my opinion

Let me make it clear, I'm not kink shaming, I'm not advocating for censorship. Art and literature shouldn't be censored. Sex is cool. Kink is cool (when safe and consensual).

I'm gonna be one of those fans real quick and say, I've been an RE fan since I was like 7. That doesn't really mean much since I can't drink legally but I've been in love with Leon since elementary school. I watched my Dad and brother play RE6 co-op and man... Aka I've been in the fandom for a fat minute. Before the RE2 remake came out I'd see the occasional Dead Dove fic but that's whatever. But I have never seen this much dark romance about Leon of all people!

Like. Call it the T-Virus the way it's everywhere I swear I can't scroll down the damn tag without getting hit with a sexual crime. And let me say, I'm not new to fandom culture. I take don't like don't read to heart (I'm super picky LMAO). And I understand that, that's just how big fandoms are, more people, more bad eggs. I'm sure the majority of y'all are sweet people.

BUT I feel like I shouldn't have to say that romanticizing things like pedophilia, rape, abuse, and incest is disgusting in the big year 2025 but here we are. Honestly, I feel this way about a lot of the fics of other fandoms I'm in. I feel crazy seeing it everywhere and it makes me feel like some sort of sexual puritan. Am I insane for wanting freaky smut and not ...freaky smut??

There for sure is a bigger conversation here about how easily accessible porn is and how quick people to fall into these pipelines. Or how booktok caused a rise in the normalization of dark romance troupes and just pure porn writing (I still hate icebreaker). Or how quick form constant content is slowly leaking it's way into everything. But we’d be here for forever…

And like, it's just completely out of character?? Like if you're gonna write about that can it at least be in character? Wesker fits the dark romance thing LEAGUES better. But LEON?? THE POLICE OFFICER?? Did you even watch a walkthrough? Leon is a sweet upstanding guy with lots of trauma, that is the last thing he'd do to ANYONE! Not saying fics have to be completely accurate all the time but there's literally nothing fun about "Omg what if Leon RAPED you!?" HES NOT THE EVIL RESIDENT HERE GUYS! At some point it's not even about Leon (or whoever the fic is about) anymore, it's just someone wanting to share their sexual fantasies online.

These topics are almost never written with any care and are insanely insensitive to the survivors of these acts. I don't know, sexual crimes are literally some of the most deplorable acts of hatred and depravity someone can do onto another person. I can't imagine getting off to the suffering of others (in a heinous crime way not BDSM way) (BDSM is cool). Have some fucking empathy and stop thinking with your goon wad guys <3

Like at least take it to AO3 so that I can filter it out or smth...

Edit: I just woke up and remembered what else I was gonna say.

You can tell a lot about a person by how they treat their fictional characters. Another thing I don’t like are the Gooner mods for the games. Like they’re fun every once in a while and like if it’s a capcom game you have to expect it. At some point though, it just stops being sexy and feels gross or uncomfortable.

Idk maybe I’m in the minority here but there has never been a single time where I was playing any RE game and thought to myself, “man… I wish I could see Leon’s end rod whipping in the wind rn…” Obviously, I wanna see that man oiled up butt booty naked doing jumping jacks like as most normal people do but… zawg…

That’s also like an actual person?? At least for the remakes. Maybe this just isn’t my dove to eat but the treat Leon like some sort doll. I know it’s kinda weak to be like this for a fictional person but yeah </3

#resident evil 2 remake #resident evil 2 #resident evil #re2 remake #RE #RE2 #re2 leon #re4 remake #re4 leon #re4 #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #FREELEON2025

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dfortrafalgar · 1 year ago

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Hi, saw that your request were open so I was thinking on asking you for Law X fem reader where law has a crush on reader and starts hanging out and sees that one of reader’s guy friends is being way too touchy and starts touching her butt, he is also being mean to her and at one point even hits her in the head.

How would he react, I was thinking of a fluff ending.

thank you so much for your request anon!!! i really loved this one, it was super fun to write! it was definitely a bit of a struggle though, as much as i enjoy writing heavier topics, physical abuse is tricky for me to deal with, but i hope the fluff at the end delivered some resolutions <3

also, i actually really really like Bellamy as a character. i think he's super cool, but i couldnt think of anyone else who could really fit in the role he's playing in this fic LOL

Rectify

Law x Fem Reader

Law’s feelings for you are forced to clash with a loathsome person in your life.

Warnings: descriptions of brief physical abuse, implications of past abuse, very mild suggestive language, modern setting, hurt/comfort, fluffy ending

By the time Law realized his crush on you had surpassed its normal, healthy limit, it was far too late for him. It certainly didn’t help to see you sitting next to Bellamy, tossing joking remarks back and forth. All of you were in the same friend group, so it was truly impossible to avoid your interactions with the much larger, stronger, arguably more handsome man. And the thought began to make Law’s blood boil.

Because Bellamy was everything Law wasn’t.

You and Law had been friends since childhood, growing up in the same neighborhood and running with the same crowd. You were familiar with his best friends and his dad, just as Law was familiar with your closest peers. Law liked to think that, as the years went on, the two of you grew closer and closer. You were always far nicer to Law during his awkward teenage years, and there were a few times where the raven-haired boy grew hopeful that you might one day return his budding feelings for you, but that day never came. And then you started college… and then you met Bellamy.

On the contrary to the black-haired medical student, the blonde was known around the entire campus as ‘The Hyena,’ and for good reason. He was ruthless in every sport he played, a malicious, sadistic grin constantly pulling at his thin lips striking fear into the hearts of his opponents. He was strong, freakishly so, with muscles that could rival that of an Olympic weightlifter. His blonde hair was a hit with the ladies, and partnered with his darker skin tone and his assortment of badass tattoos, it seemed like a no brainer that women would be falling all over him.

Law just internally hated that one of those women seemed to be you.

Despite you having confirmed on multiple occasions that you and Bellamy were simply friends that you met in one of your classes, and that you truly had no interest in men like him, Law couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in his chest.

Bellamy certainly seemed to like you. A lot.

Law watched from across the room, a plastic cup still completely full of an unidentified cocktail in his tattooed hand and the large group of friends you shared laughing and chattering around you in the living room of the house party, as one of Bellamy’s large, strong hands began to circle around your waist, gripping the soft flesh of your ass through your pants. The sensation made you jump, trying to scurry away from him with a nervous smile on your soft lips as you awkwardly laughed at the feeling, but Bellamy tried to pull you in closer. The couch cushions sunk under his weight, creating a deep divot that made it hard to stand up.

You lightly shoved Bellamy’s chest, mumbling something about standing to get another drink, before you were finally able to haul yourself up from the warm sofa and make your way toward the kitchen in the back of the house. Law stood from his metal folding chair, abandoning his cup on a random end table. He followed you diligently into the kitchen.

“Hey,” he muttered.

“Oh, hey, Law!” you returned his greeting, mild surprise filling your eyes. “I didn’t hear you behind me!”

The man shrugged, leaning against the counter. You awkwardly fiddled with a glass bottle of beer, using the edge of the counter to pop open the metal cap. Law eyed you suspiciously.

“You don’t drink beer,” he stated, watching as you simply held the chilled bottle in your hands without making a move to drink it.

You smiled in response, but the gesture didn’t reach your eyes like it normally did. “I know… I just needed to get some air away from the living room for a little bit.”

Law couldn’t hold back the question fighting on his tongue. “Is Bellamy bothering you?”

Pointed stares were shared between the two of you before you finally, lightly, shook your head. “No.”

“Are you sure?” Something told him you were lying to his face.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you groaned. “Law… I know you don’t like him… but he’s really not that bad.”

“You didn’t seem to like it when he touched your ass,” the med student grumbled.

“Law, I don’t want to fight,” you retorted, firmly. “I don’t like it when Bellamy touches me, anywhere. I know he’s into me but I’m not into him, but I don’t want to cause a scene at a party I was graciously invited to.”

You had a point. Liquor was running as free as tap water within the stale, stuffy walls of the house, and saying or doing something that could potentially cause a fight wouldn’t be ideal. Especially since the police had already been called multiple times to a house just a few steps down the sidewalk from this one.

Law wished he could open his mouth and just tell you, tell you everything that had been on his mind, how he realized just recently (and yet somehow far too late for his liking) that he’s madly in love with you, how he doesn’t want to see you be treated poorly by someone who you call a friend, how he wished so desperately that you would see him in the same way, how he longed for your touch. But instead, he stayed silent, watching as you anxiously eyed the brown glass of the untouched beer bottle you still gripped in your hand, as if the bottle was the only thing keeping you glued to reality.

“I’m fine, Law,” you blurted. He hadn’t said anything more. With your eyes cast down to the floor, you left your beer bottle sitting open on the countertop before retreating back into the thick of the party.

The raven-haired student waited a few moments before returning as well, his metal folding chair unfortunately having been taken by two sweaty economics students locked in a very passionate, very inappropriate, makeout session. He pushed his way through the mingling crowd back toward the couch where he spotted you perched on the arm of the sofa this time, Bellamy practically flush against your body on the end cushion, his palm on your ass, fingers squeezing intermittently. The blonde was locked in an intense conversation with the man in front of him, and the look on your face screamed uncomfortable. Law felt his stomach flip over. Your eyes caught him again, and you frowned. A frown so deep that it left shadows under the creases of your lips. You looked… aged. Stressed. Afraid.

But Law kept his distance.

You didn’t want a scene to break out. You could handle yourself on your own.

Bellamy’s hand trailed from your ass down your thigh, your skin still protected by the rough denim of your jeans, but that didn’t stop his fingers from crawling around the front of your body and dipping between your thighs. The feeling of his intense hand trying to pull you apart in front of another man, without your consent, made you visibly tense up and pull away from him. Your motions finally made the blonde’s attention snap to you, his dark eyes narrowing and somehow becoming even more villainous.

“Don’t run off,” he snapped. “You’re sitting right here with me, all pretty like that.”

You steeled yourself. “Then I don’t want you touching me like that. We’re not an item, Bellamy.”

“I don’t care,” he huffed back. “I’ll touch you however I want.”

The music of the party, the chattering voices slurred with alcohol, faded completely around Law as he watched the argument unfold before his eyes. The only sounds entering his ear drums were the disgusting words leaving Bellamy’s mouth, the demands, the insults. The dim lights of the living room did very little to hide the way your face contorted in discomfort, trying to pull away from the blonde athlete even more.

“Bellamy, I said no,” you snapped.

No one seemed to be paying any attention to what was happening, all eyes everywhere but where they should have been. When you were being closed in on by a man much larger than you, no one was looking. You were alone.

And Law was somehow so far away.

“I don’t remember ever needing to listen to you,” the hyena chortled, his voice gravelly and nasally. “You should be lucky that you have a guy like me who’s into you. You’ll never be able to do better than me.”

You opened your mouth once more to shout a retort, but you were cut short. Bellamy’s clenched fist connected with your lower jaw, swiftly knocking you to the ground in a stunned shock. You fell like a lead brick, hitting the ground with a force that Law somehow felt through the soles of his shoes, rattling his bones and making his head spin. Your hands blindly scraped against the floor searching for your bearings, completely disoriented from the blow that had just met your bone. You brought one of your hands to your mouth, cupping your palm over your lips as your eyes closed, trying to block out every overwhelming color and sound filling your brain with a nuclear buzz.

And yet. No one. Noticed.

Law cleared the floor in an instant, just as Bellamy was yelling something about your worth being determined by your partnership with him. The fist inked with DEATH clocked the blonde in the temple, the short, stubbly blonde hairs leaving phantom singing pain on Law’s fingers. The hyena stumbled backward, catching himself on the arm of the sofa you were previously sitting on.

For a brief moment, the med student was gloatingly proud of himself. His father was a retired marine after all. Law knew a thing or two about a good punch. His thoughts were quickly retired, however, as he crossed the crowded floor to your side, quickly helping you to your feet and pushing through the crowd with you hunched over in his arms, tripping over your heels as he rapidly escorted you to the door.

Don’t cause a scene.

Bellamy didn’t follow, and Law counted his blessings. “Hey, your apartment’s on this street, right?”

With a hand still cupped over your mouth, you nodded. Your eyes were barely keeping themselves open, what was visible of your face contorted in a muted agony.

If Law was any less collected, he would’ve stomped that hyena’s face in with the heel of his boot.

The two of you were barely getting anywhere with your afflicted state. Law scooped you into his embrace, your legs wrapping around his hips and free hand clenching the soft fabric of his shirt as he carried you back to your apartment with one of his arms carefully supporting your rump. Thank goodness you lived so close, in a converted townhouse on the corner of the same street. Law still lived in on-campus housing across town, which was less than ideal for his tastes. He helped you fish your key from the pocket of your pants, keeping you in his grasp while he pushed the door open and entered the narrow entryway of your home. Your roommate was gone for the week visiting family on the other side of the country, so your place was completely dark and quiet.

Law flipped the light switch on just in time to watch you scurry to the first floor bathroom as soon as your feet touched the hard wooden floor, leaving the door open as the light in the smaller space flicked on as well. He quickly followed, standing in the doorway as you finally pulled your hand away from your mouth.

A few droplets of blood were dotting your palm, but when you opened your mouth, a worryingly large glob of bright crimson exited past your lips and splattered in the white porcelain of the sink. Law’s stomach lurched as he watched you try in vain to spit out the metallic liquid, your entire face scrunching up as the nauseating sensation and taste. Your shoulders shuddered with the feeling of your gag reflex bobbing in the back of your throat, forcing your stomach to hold its contents as you released drops of bright red into the white porcelain of the wash basin.

The med student’s first thought was that one or more of your teeth had been knocked loose or even came out permanently, but nothing solid landed in the sink. As you began to calm down from your spitting into the basin, your eyes began to well with overwhelmed tears. You gazed at Law in the mirror, his golden eyes locked on yours as a small dribble of blood and spit slid down the skin of your chin.

Wordlessly, your friend stepped into the bathroom with you, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and wetting it with warm water from the tap, wiping away the bloody drool that left your lips.

“I know it hurts, but I need you to open for me,” he muttered, gently holding your cheek in his hand as the other one balled up the toilet paper and discarded it into the open toilet bowl.

When you opened, Law reached into the back pocket of his speckled jeans and procured his phone, clicking on the flashlight without looking at his screen. He shined the light into your mouth and, to his relief, didn’t see any chipped, broken, or missing teeth. He did, however, see a substantial gash on the side of your tongue. You must have clamped down hard on the muscle with your teeth thanks to the force of the punch. The thought made a silent rage build in Law’s gut. He turned you around and closed the toilet lid, sitting you down and proceeding to rummage through your medicine cabinet.

He handed you two pieces of gauze wrap from below your sink. “I need you to hold these against the cut on your tongue, okay? Don’t remove them until I say so.”

You diligently followed his orders, taking the dry cloth from him and inserting it painfully into your mouth to rest on the stinging wound that cut your muscle. You watched as he continued to rummage through your supplies, pushing aside boxes of tampons and toilet cleaning chemicals and finally finding what he was hoping he would see- a brown plastic bottle. He stood from his crouching position, the bottle in his firm grasp. He spun the item around to gaze at its expiration date and hummed approvingly under his breath. He quickly exited the bathroom, leaving you alone for a few fleeting moments.

While he was gone, you were able to take a better look at your face. While one of your cheeks was puffed up slightly with the clump of gauze against your tongue, you could still make out the swelling of your skin on the same side. A large, black and blue bruise was quickly blooming along your jaw and up your cheek, your fractured capillaries leaking into your epidermis.

Law finally returned, a very small cup in his right hand and a bottle of diluted bleach in his left from the kitchen. You watched as he poured a small amount of clear liquid from the brown bottle into the small cup before running the sink tap and filling it the rest of the way with plain water. He handed the cup to you with no instructions before lightly spritzing the porcelain basin with the diluted chemical, running the tap once more and washing your blood away, making sure to scrub the entire bowl. He finally turned around to face you.

“I need you to swish that in your mouth for a few seconds, and then spit it out in the sink,” he directed. “It might taste kind of bitter.”

You carefully pulled the gauze out of your mouth, wincing as some of the light fibers pulled against your wounded muscle, but followed his directions and tossed the contents of the small cup back into your mouth, swishing with your cheeks puffed, trying to focus the liquid onto your wound. Just as Law warned, the taste was bitter, vaguely salty, but definitely not pleasant. Law finally stepped aside from the sink after a long 30 seconds and let you spit. Both the gauze and the clear solution you rinsed your mouth with were lacking blood, meaning your wound was already on the clotting and healing path.

After sputtering for a few moments, the faint smell of diluted bleach filling your nose from the sink, you placed the cup down on the counter and gazed at Law, who watched you with a keen eye. “What was that?”

“Hydrogen peroxide and water,” he uttered. “To disinfect your tongue. Luckily, peoples’ mouths tend to heal much faster than other body parts, so after a day or two of discomfort, you should be back to normal.”

Cleaned and disinfected, you finally started to let your mind sink on the gravity of the situation, your heart rate increasing and your eyes once again growing heavy and blurry with impending tears. You watched as Law, avoiding your gaze with a deep frown on his lips, grabbed your rinse cup from the counter and turned to head back to your kitchen. You quickly grabbed the fabric of his shirt sleeve to stop him in his tracks, the fuzziness of your vision causing the colors of his form in front of you to waver and warp, but that didn’t stop you from wrapping your arms around his lean torso in a hug, the warm wetness from your eyes soaking the cotton of his clothing.

“Please don’t leave,” you uttered into his chest, your body trembling. With the adrenaline finally subsiding, the pain radiating from your jaw grew more and more noticeable. Every movement seemed to irritate your bruised bone, and talking felt like trying to articulate with a lead weight attached to your mandible.

With your face smushed into his clothing, you didn’t see when Law placed the cup back down on your counter, only hearing the soft tap of the plastic against the linoleum surface. His arms carefully, as if to not shatter you where you stood, wrapped around your waist, one hand coming to rest comfortably in between your shoulder blades, his fingers sprawling out over your spine before retracting and collecting some of the fabric from your own shirt into his inked fingers. It felt like his hand was made specifically to bring you comfort.

—

It took some time for you to calm yourself down enough to relocate from the bathroom doorway to the small living space you typically shared with your roommate when she was home. You listened with your head resting on a soft pillow and an ice pack nursing your jaw as Law busied himself between your bathroom and kitchen, washing the cup, cleaning off the bathroom counter and sink for a second time, and disposing of the small garbage bag where your bloody gauze had ended up. Your living room was dark, with the only light coming from the kitchen, just enough to catch glimpses of Law’s shadow moving about the space. Your face ached from the force of crying against your bruised jaw bone, your eyelids uncomfortably sliding over your corneas, dry and fragile after expelling what was easily the rest of the water in your body.

After what felt like an eternity, Law finally emerged from the kitchen, carefully approaching your laid out form on the couch. He kneeled in front of you and adjusted the ice pack against your cheek slightly, the tenderness of his fingers ghosting over your own. Your heart galloped in your chest.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into that mess,” you groaned, forcing your dry eyes closed to avoid Law’s pensive stare.

“You didn’t drag me into anything. I acted on my own,” he replied stoically, his hand remaining within close proximity to your own. His tattooed fingers flexed a few times, eager to take your hand in his, but he eventually relented and let his limb fall back to his side.

You shifted uncomfortably on the couch, curling your legs up toward your chest. “But you could’ve gotten hurt.”

Law bit the inside of his cheek at your words, his own chest clenching in disdain, not for you, but for the hyena that had left you feeling such a way. “I don’t care if I get hurt if it means you stay safe.”

When your eyes opened, they were small. Weak. Like you had been fighting some unknown battle in your skull for as long as you could remember. You truly looked tired and ragged, and Law wanted nothing more than to hold you in his arms until all your life’s woes flushed away like the aftermath of a rainstorm.

“Law…” you began, your mouth opening and closing a few times, at a loss for what to continue with. “I never really liked Bellamy.”

The man stayed quiet, his lips pulled in a taut line.

“But sometimes, when you get really uncomfortable, all you can do is laugh and smile. Because you hope that acting friendly and cordial and cute will keep you safe from danger.” Your voice was so fragile, your words mumbled as you continued to cradle your jaw with the thawing ice pack against your skin. “I never wanted to hang out with Bellamy, but he scared me so much and I just… didn’t know how to say no. I didn’t want to get hurt.”

Again.

Law’s own jaw clenched, suppressing a bubbling rage as he relived the blonde’s actions from a few hours prior. A deep-rooted maniacal side of the medical student wished he could gut the D-1 athlete in his sleep, but what good would that do? It certainly wouldn’t help you in the way you needed it. And the fact that your attempts to protect yourself had only led you to getting attacked in the first place made his blood boil in his veins. But he needed to stay calm for you. Anger solves no issues. He learned that from Cora, his best friends, and now you.

A bout of anger got you out of the situation you were stuck in, and now you needed comfort.

“What…” he began, stumbling. “What do you want from me? To help you?”

After a few brief moments of silence, the only sound cutting through the darkness being the faint wrrr of your air conditioning unit, you finally spoke up. “Can you spend the night with me?”

Law blinked once, then twice. “Here?”

“Yeah. In my room.”

He gazed at you through the darkness, his golden eyes widened. “Are you sure you’re okay with that?”

You emitted a small gust of air through your nose. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

Fair enough. “Do you have anywhere you want me to sleep?” he asked, helping you sit up against the couch cushions and carefully easing the ice back off of your jaw. The swelling had gone down substantially, but it would still take a week or two for the bruise to fully heal.

One of your hands remained planted against his shoulder, gripping the cotton of his shirt. “In my bed. I feel safe with you, Law. It’s really okay.”

After receiving your words of affirmation, Law stood from his crouched position and guided you to stand through the darkness, his hand in yours and the other clutched around the ice pack. He discarded the item on your kitchen counter to be dealt with in the morning, keen on getting you comfortable under your secure blankets. You gladly followed him, stepping carefully through the dark home into your bedroom where you blindly navigated to your bedside lamp, pulling down on the cord to activate the light. The warm orange glow flooded the room, making the two of you squint your eyes.

Law could finally see just how bad your bruise really was. A large, black and blue swollen welt tinged with red the exact size of a harshly clenched fist was carved across your skin. The sight of the impact was much more swollen compared to the other side. You had taken a hit most street thugs hadn’t ever dealt with.

“It’s really bad, isn’t it,” you asked, voice still paper-thin and anxious.

“It’s… definitely a decent injury,” Law responded bluntly, inwardly cursing himself at his awkward language.

You didn’t hold it against him, however. Instead, you stripped off your clothes, crawling into bed and leaving the other side open for Law.

“You’re really okay with this?” he asked, one more time.

You nodded. “Yes.”

Law followed your initial lead, taking off his jeans, followed by his shirt and socks, leaving only his boxers covering him. He carefully crawled into the space in your blankets you had left open for him, laying on his back like a plank with his hands awkwardly draped over his abdomen. You pulled down on the cord to your lamp once more and flooded the room with darkness.

The med student felt the mattress dip as you moved closer to him, effortlessly draping yourself over his body, as if you were made to fit into the crevice of his neck. His hands found their position around your back and waist yet again, surrounding you in the comfort you had been longing for all night. You nestled your face into the soft skin of his neck, slow, deep breaths setting a hypnotic, drowsy pace for the both of you to fall into slumber.

No words had to be exchanged, not until the morning at least. Your legs tangled together and your hearts beating in sync did all the talking for now.

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