#Bodega counters

[ccmicheau]

[goatsandgangsters]

last week I didn't go to my usual bodega where I'm buds with the cashier bc I was craving other stuff for lunch (yes I felt guilty about it)

I went in today and one of the guys behind the counter said "welcome back!" and I'm like oh god the flattering yet mortifying ordeal of being a regular

[bunnyboy-juice]

i was having a really bad day/morning but I got a hoagie from a new (to me) place and getting it was weird cause of a silly mishap but also i am stoked cause ive literally only wanted turkey avocado sandwich for the last 4 days :3

[demonic0angel]

Normal City spirit Danny except villain attacks are pretty much like horrific migraines or something for the poor dude. So basically he becomes Gotham's warning system. Like it takes a while for people to realize they've got their own mothman now except theirs is a white haired boy who looks like he's going through hell.

(At this rate, I should publish this lmaooo. A series of short events where Gotham Spirit City Danny watches over random Gothamites. It gets long 💀. Also, cw: kidnapping and physical violence towards a minor at the end)

Joel the gas station employee eyed the homeless looking teen that was across the store. Said teen was staring at a pack of yogurt covered pretzels, looking dazed as he just stared mindlessly.

Joel wanted to ask if he was actually alive, but decided not to, since this was Gotham and everyone was crazy.

He continued to count the coins in the tip jar, but out of the blue, he heard a voice.

“You should go to the back room.”

Joel looked up. “Sorry?”

The teen stared at him with bright blue eyes like glowing stars. In fact, he kind of looked like he belonged to the Waynes. But that wasn’t possible, because Joel didn’t recognize him at all.

Unless he was new? But surely not… Bruce Wayne usually gave some warning before. And this kid looked homeless.

“You should go to the back room,” the boy said again.

They stared at each other. Then Joel nodded stiffly and went. He wasn’t about to question the sudden order. Not in Gotham. But before he could leave entirely, the teen called out again, “I like your pin.”

Joel turned again slowly. “What?”

“I like your pin,” the boy said, pointing to the pin in Joel’s apron that said, ‘he/him motherfucker’ over a trans flag.

Joel blinked and then smiled. “Thanks!”

The boy gave a small smile back and waved a hand for him to shoo. Joel raised an eyebrow in exasperation but nodded and moved.

Just as he ducked behind the counter to move to the back room, there was a commotion and a sudden eruption of noise and gunshots nearby. It was clearly some sort of robbery, since there was a pretty successful bodega nearby that was run by an asshole. Several bullets hit the glass of the gas station window, striking exactly where Joel was standing just moments ago.

Joel’s jaw dropped.

When he looked back at the shelves, the kid was gone and so was the bag of pretzels. The perfect amount of pay was left on the counter. Extra tips included.

————

Lina stared at the boy who was sitting on the swing. However, he wasn’t swinging, just staring at the night sky.

When she looked up to see what he was looking at, she saw a surprisingly clear sky with sparkling stars. She watched in wonder for a moment before she looked away.

Lina wasn’t supposed to be outside right now, but her friend had told her that there was a cat that wandered around the playground at night. Lina had wanted to see it, so she snuck out. Now she kind of regretted it, being so cold while it was night. But since she was already out, she was determined to wait for the cat to come out.

“Mister,” Lina said, because her mom always told her to be polite, “Are you going to swing?”

The boy turned to her and then asked, “Want me to push you?”

Lina perked up and nodded. They switched places and the boy pushed her on the swing gently. He didn’t push her as high as he could’ve, but she didn’t mind. She was still waiting for the cat. Lina told the teen as such, and he smiled at her gently, freckles across his face glowing ever so slightly like stars whenever her flying shadow passed over his face.

“That’s nice, Lina. I’m sure it’ll come soon.”

And sure enough—

“Meow!”

“Kitty!” Lina called, and she jumped off the swing in her excitement. But before she could crash onto the ground, she was plucked from the air and gently deposited onto a flat surface. Lina turned to thank the boy, her heart pounding, but when she whirled around, he was gone.

She blinked. Where was he?

Something soft brushed against her legs and she looked down, where an orange tabby was rubbing against her ankles, mewing softly for attention.

She pet the cat for a little while. A feeling washed over her, like a gentle call from her mom to come home, and Lina said goodbye to the cat and turned back to the empty playground.

“Thank you, mister!” She called. She knew it was him who had brought the cat here. A feeling like fondness washed over her again and Lina skipped all the way back home. Her mom was still asleep and the TV was still playing, but things were good. Lina crawled into her mom’s arms and slept the entire night away, dreaming of cats and stars.

��———

Elizabeth sighed as she tried to straighten her poor back. Ever since last year, her bones seemed to be feeling weaker and weaker by the day. She suddenly missed her husband, when he would’ve held her hand and they would’ve walked to wherever their hearts lead them together.

She clutched her cane and started moving again.

“Excuse me,” a voice called. “Do you need some help?”

She turned and stared at a young man. He looked scruffy and somewhat dubious, but Elizabeth had an excellent judge of character. In his eyes was a sort of kindness that she hadn’t seen in a long time.

She nodded. “Please. I’m trying to get to my doctor’s appointment.”

He tilted his head but reached out to steady her gently. Together, they walked slowly as he supported her. “Why not call for a taxi, ma’am?”

“It’s not dependable,” she said. “And I cannot get off or on easily. It’s easier to walk.”

That was a lie, but what could she do? She was too tired and too weak to call for a taxi and exit on and off of it by herself.

The young man nodded. “I see. Where’s your doctor appointment, ma’am?”

She pointed to the direction and together they walked. At first, it was pleasantly silent, but she eventually asked, “Tell me about yourself, son.”

The young man laughed lightly. “There’s not much to know. I’m just someone who’s trying to get by and help others.”

“That’s a good cause, sonny. This world could always use more kindness,” she patted his hand with her crooked fingers and he gave her a small and brilliant smile.

“I’m glad. I hope to make a difference every day.” She was focused on their feet as she tried to keep steady as to not inconvenience her helper. “Oh look,” he suddenly said, “we’re here.”

She looked up and true to his word, they were in front of the clinic she used for checkups. She blinked.

She was old, but surely she wasn’t old enough to hallucinate, was she? How on earth had they gotten here so fast?

She wasn’t able to question it as the young man led her inside. Elizabeth confirmed the appointment and she had expected him to leave once he had completed his task, but he stayed with her throughout. He sat down with her in the waiting room and they chatted about anything and everything under the sun.

Elizabeth had no children and no siblings. Her husband had died and her friends were also getting old. She was lonely, but this young man was accompanying her throughout the appointment and she felt endlessly grateful that Gotham City had not snuffed out another bright light just yet.

When she was called in, the young man still followed her inside and talked to her physician for her.

She was suddenly reminded of her father, who had died when she was 42. Her father had done everything he could to provide for her and her mother until he died from murder. She was starkly reminded of his protection and how she had mourned it when it was lost.

Elizabeth felt for the first time in a long time, like she was a young girl being protected by her father again.

When the appointment was over and Elizabeth was prescribed new medications, she was led outside by the young man again.

“Thank you so much, dear,” she said, a little teary eyed, “I appreciate the company and the help.”

The young man guided her to her apartment and said, “I’m just doing whatever I can as one person in this world. It’s the only thing I can do, y’know?”

They parted on good terms and it was only later as she sat in her home, that she realized that she had never asked for his name.

There was nothing to remember that kind young man by other than her waning memory and his act of kindness.

In her pocket, however, was a mysterious card for a free taxi service funded by Wayne Enterprises.

————

Tom and his friends were playing a game of heroes, with Red Hood as the hero and the other Bats as the villains. Tom was lucky enough to win the game of rock-paper-scissors and was Red Hood, valiant and brave with a pair of guns in order to protect Crime Alley.

“Alright, Batman!” Tom crowed. “This’s the end of the line for you!”

Maria, the only girl of the group, glared at him theatrically and flapped the ends of the jacket tied around her neck. “Red Hood, I’ll defeat you! For Justice!”

She waved her hand and their friends, who filled in the place of the other Bats, rushed at Tom with a war cry. Tom grinned and ran away from them with a loud laugh.

They passed through several alleys in their game of play, passing by no one but a boy with black hair and a girl with red hair. Tom didn’t really pay attention, just trying not to be tagged. But it didn’t matter, because no matter what, Red Hood was always able to get away and save the day!

Tom cheered as he pretended to shoot the Bats with his toy guns that he got for Christmas last year, and his friends all groaned and pretended to die dramatically. George, who was playing Red Robin, engaged in a fake battle with him as the others laughed and watched.

Tom was completely enthralled in their pretend play, when he suddenly froze with the sound of a car door being opened far too close and the sound of footsteps.

Oh no. Tom immediately grabbed at George and they were bolting down the streets they came from. They ran like their lives depended on it, because it quite literally did. But it was too late. Davis, one of the slower runners, was captured.

Tom turned and gasped at the sight of Davis struggling and kicking within the hold of a trafficker. “No! Get away from him!”

“Get the kids!” The man shouted as Davis screamed, and they all screamed as more men rushed into the alleys to grab them.

Tom screamed for Red Hood, Batman, anybody and popped off his fake guns. It did nothing but make loud sounds from the tiny amounts of gunpowder in it that Tom was saving. Still, he needed to do something. The sounds didn’t scare the men as they grabbed at him next.

Tom scratched and bit and struggled, but it was useless as he was hauled into the back of the van. Even as he knocked against the van’s door, making even louder noises to draw attention, it was hopeless as he was tossed inside. Jim, the smallest member of their group, was crying and Maria was knocked out, slumped next to a shuddering George. Alan and Davis were also captured and they were trembling.

There were also two other people, one with black hair and one with red hair. They seemed angry, and the teenage boy seemed especially cold while the young woman looked furious.

Tom glared at the traffickers. “You won’t get away with this! Red Hood is going to kill you!”

After all, Red Hood hated anyone who hurt kids. With him in Crime Alley, kids were now secure and safe under his protective wings.

Tom was immediately backhanded. He fell back, pain bursting from his cheek and he whimpered, tears in his eyes. Alan grabbed at him worriedly and pulled him away from the traffickers’ hands.

“Shut up, brat! Just wait and see! The Red Hood ain’t shit in these parts!” Then the door of the van closed. Tom and George lunged forward to bang on the door to no avail.

“Red Hood! Red Hood!! Help!”

As the van began to move, Tom choked back his tears. No, he couldn’t cry.

He was Red Hood for today. He was supposed to be brave.

Maria woke up then and started crying. The sound set off the other kids and Tom barely resisted crying too. Suddenly, the woman with red hair in the corner of the van opened up her arms. “Shh, shhh, come here.”

Realizing that there were adults in the situation, Jim and Maria went into her arms. She rubbed their heads and soothed them softly. Alan and George looked at her and the boy next to her with hope.

“Hey! Can’t you get us out?” George asked urgently.

The woman shook her head, but gave a small smile. “We’ll be okay. You just have to have hope.”

Tom bristled, scared for his life and irritated by the presence of other adults. His tears hadn’t fallen yet, but it was a very close thing. “So you don’t have anything? Figures.”

The boy spoke up, “Red Hood will come get you. You’ll be just fine.”

Tom looked down at the dirty floor of the van. How could he believe that now? He wanted to believe it, but what would he do if it was only false hope? If he and his friends got hurt, it would’ve been his fault because he was the one who led them too far away from home.

The boy gave a small smile, similar to the woman next to him. In fact, they were both weirdly comforting and familiar, like old family friends. He opened up his own arms and said, “Come here.”

Tom inched closer and leaned against him, as George and Alan also came closer. Davis squished himself between the two and all of them were being comforted by the two older people. Tom sniffed, and the teen started talking in a comforting tone, rubbing at his back.

“You’ll be okay. Close your eyes. When you wake up, Red Hood will be here to save you… that’s it. It’s alright, we’re here to protect you. Gotham City is on your side, little ones….”

When Tom snapped awake, he was shocked to find himself being held and carried by Red Hood. “Red Hood?!”

Tom startled, but the Red Hood just readjusted his grip and said, “Careful, kid. Your friends are over there.”

Tom leaned over Red Hood’s broad shoulders and looked for his friends. True to his words, they were next to Batman and the other Bats and Birds. Maria was being held by Batgirl and excitedly gesturing, while his other friends were chattering away to Batman, who was smiling.

Red Hood began to approach them.

“You did good,” Red Hood suddenly said. Tom looked up at him and the Red Hood tilted his helmet downwards at him. “You made a ruckus and got my attention. Good job.”

Tom looked guiltily down at his hands. “No… I was the one who led my friends too far… I got us captured.”

“It’s not your fault,” Red Hood said. “You’re not to blame because some sick ass— er, some sick jerks decided to take kids. You did good and that’s final.” He ruffled Tom’s hair.

Tom giggled and then nodded, chest warm. He couldn’t believe he was meeting his idol and was saved by him too! Then he asked, looking around for the woman with red hair and the other teen, “Where’re the other two?”

“Other two?” Red Hood asked curiously. “We only saw you six kids alone in the van.”

Tom paused for a moment and then shook his head. “Never mind. Musta been my imagination.”

Gotham City was a mysterious place. Who was Tom to question it?

However, he still silently thanked the two strangers. He was sure that they had been the ones to help them.

Some distance away, two spirits stood on the roof of a nearby building and watched the commotion.

“It’s a good thing we were able to find Jason in time, huh, Jazz?”

“Mhm. I’m glad those kids are going to be okay. Thank goodness the Bats responded in time.”

“Of course. With my protection and your help, we’ll help them save this city. So…. Meet up next week?”

“Yep! See you then, Danny!”

[slaygentford]

Armand's podcast chiarobscuro on obscure art history is just him speaking in a monotone for 1 hour about 1 page of 1 illuminated manuscript nd it's coincidentally number 1 trending on pods because people use it as a sleep aid. but then sometimes in the middle of it he'll say something incredibly disturbing and a cult (haha.) following starts claiming there are hidden subliminals in it which are allegations Armand never acknowledges and which people on twitter roast but reality shifters on tik tok get increasingly into. Daniels podcast by/line is beat out consistently by pod save America which is totally fine and not contributing to his alcoholism or his divorce or his psychosexual obsession with armand. he won't listen to armands podcast as a point of principle except for when he puts it on to fall asleep and then gets weirdly turned on and then pavlovs himself into arousal every time he hears armands voice. one sided psychological torture. Armand's cult (haha.) following continues to grow until lestat's podcast lestat (self-titled) filed in culture & the arts blows up and usurps him even though its an hour and a half one-man monologue about quite genuinely nothing at all, though worryingly often, his mother. and Louis? well Louis isnt privy to any of this because he has a child to raise and zones out whenever lestat starts talking about renting out a bigger recording studio for his podcast so that he can have guests on and invest in sound equipment FOR CLAUDIAS FUTURE, OF COURSE. her college fund Louis! the dividends will go toward her college fund. ahaha. what is the definition of this: dividends. Louis gets curious and listens to lestats podcast but gets distracted by recommended for you: chiarobscuro, finds it interesting enough that he doesn't fall asleep, and mentions it offhandedly to lestat after telling him lestat (self-titled) is cute. lestat is distracted by the high of being told Louis likes his podcast but wakes up in the middle of the night sitting straight up in bed when he remembers Louis said "chiarobscuro" in passing at precisely 7:46am this morning. lestat who has armand in his phone represented by the 🕴🏼emoji from college (Louis doesnt know he knows him, lestat has never once mentioned him) calls him from the bathroom at 4am and demands he immediately end his podcasting career. armand who of course answered at 4am counters that they meet in a neutral location to discuss terms. at 5am lestat and armand meet at a park. lestat rages, scaring off several sunrise joggers and their dogs. armand allows this to happen in silence and then says look across the pond. at which point lestat does and sees a bedraggled 50 year old white man plodding along with bodega coffee. you needn't worry about your Louis, says armand. I have a different project. I have been implanting subliminal messages in my podcasts in order to lure Molloy into my thrall. lestat, grudgingly impressed, concedes and stops to get coffee for the family before going back home. Louis and claudia are delighted by the impromptu breakfast and lestat is offered a special shower time reward. before disrobing, and working quickly, he hacks Louis' phone (passcode claudia's birthday) and in a fit of true selfless sacrifice deletes not just Louis' subscription to chiarobscuro, but his podcast app as a whole--damning his own podcast to never again be heard by Louis but removing armand permanently from their lives forever. he joins Louis in the shower, stunned by his own genius. perhaps he will have that worm molloy on his show in order to thwart armands plans. lestat 2 armand 0. it's almost enough to ease the burn of armand telling lestat in their audio production class in college that he's too dumb to start a podcast

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Touch (Part 2)

Miguel O'Hara x reader

GIF by milesmoralespilled

(AO3 Mirror), Part 1, Main Masterlist

summary: Miguel tries to win you over. It doesn't go as planned.

warnings: pwp!!, light f-dom, praise kink, fem receiving oral, slight m-sub, lots and lots of begging. Miguel is a switchy mess bc i said so. 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: I am so normal about him!

wc: 2.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You avoid him like the plague. 

The next day, he wakes up to an empty house with you leaving for work earlier than usual. He traipses around the apartment, looking for you before he realises he is chasing your ghost: the traces of scent left on sheets. And he is shameless when he walks into your shared bedroom, rolling around in your heady perfume and pressing the rumpled bedsheets to his nose. Aching, always. 

His own work takes him out of the apartment for most of the day, but he makes a point to slip away early. Little things, mostly: the bodega down the street for your favourite noodles, fresh lilies from a florist on the way, and some chocolate and sweet things to say sorry. He sets up in the kitchen, putting the flowers in water; hands flying on the chopping board to make dinner in time for when you come home. 

Miguel is a careful man; very particular about the way he lives his life. As such, he hunkers down a plan to apologise, showering you with affection and attention to make up for the past few weeks. He wants to be home when you get back, welcoming and warm before he slips out for his… night shift. His other job, that you are just as important as, a fact he wants you to remember.

He can hear you a couple floors down, the tell-tale click of your heels down the corridor and into the elevator. He scrambles to the front room, lounging on the sofa but ready to take your coat off and ask about your day. To go through the routine you had before all the late nights and lonely evenings. 

"Evening, mi vida." He looks expectantly towards you as you walk in. "How was work?" 

You kick off your shoes and breeze into the bedroom - without so much of a glance at him. Deflating, he watches as you shut the door behind you. Miguel sinks into the sofa cushions, sighing in frustration. 

~~~

And it stays like that for the next couple of days: you make it a point to ignore him. Short curt responses after work; Yes Miguel, No Miguel, I put it on the counter, Miguel. He misses the pout of your lips, the pet names, hell, he'd take it if you shouted and screamed at him to take the edge off. Nary a Miggy in sight. You give him nothing. 

Ever perceptive, he notices the little things. You still make his lunch when you can, and leave out food for him when he has a late night and forgets to eat. Small, gentle reminders that you care for him. Not that he ever doubted it, of course. 

When he clambers in through the back window, the one you always leave open for him, it's late. He clutches his side, groaning at a nasty bruise at his ribs. His mask comes off in the dim light, and he rubs his temples. Sore and exhausted, he pads through to the kitchen. 

Despite the lack of adrenaline, his senses are perfectly attuned. He smells it first: the sticky scent of arousal, so fresh he can taste it in the air. There's rustling, and as he pads closer to the bedroom door, he is almost bowled over by the obscene sounds of your fingers buried in your cunt. The door is slightly ajar, and he watches you on silk sheets with the light of the moon spilling onto your frame. One hand clamped over your mouth, the other curling into your pussy, and your eyes screwed tightly shut. His legs weaken at the knees when he realises you're in one of his sweatshirts, desperately humping your hand for release. 

For the past week, you've barely spoken to him, let alone touched him. He's reminded of that when his cock throbs in his suit. He palms himself absentmindedly, the heel of his hand providing juust the right amount of pressure, before catching himself. He feels like a pervert, watching you get off like this, desperate to bury his tongue between your thighs. Space, you need space, and he is trying his hardest to give it to you. Shaking his head, he tears himself away. 

Until he hears a heart-wrenching moan erupt from beyond the door, that is. You curse quietly, Spanish swear words you've clearly heard from Miguel. He doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry when you quicken your pace - trying to chase that high. You're frustrated, he can tell, removing the hand at your mouth to squeeze your tits through his sweatshirt. 

With a flash of pink tongue, he wets his lips and gently opens the door wider, leaning on its door frame. You are too occupied to notice him watching, hand on his cock through his suit. And he just waits for a moment, eyes hungry as he matches your speed when he rubs himself through the fabric. Your hips arch slightly, making his cock jump. 

"Mierda, baby." He breathes and your eyes snap open, as you remove your hand with a hiss. 

Miguel stands at your door, windswept hair, beautifully flushed and ruined - all from just watching. He continues to palm himself shamelessly, never breaking eye contact. 

"S'not enough, is it?" He says, shakily. 

He's right and you know it. You can't cum, no matter how hard you try, because it's not the same. Not the same as your boyfriend's long fingers and thick cock pounding into you, persistent. 

He stalks closer and repeats himself. "Not enough for my princesa, hmm?" 

You groan, covering your face. "Miguel-"

"-fuck off, I know, I know." He sinks to his knees in front of you, by your side of the bed. "Let me help you, mi vida."

You hesitate. He looks gorgeous in the half light: hair tousled, looking up at you through heavy eyes. Despite your better judgment, you get closer, legs spread and hanging off the edge of your bed. 

"You want me to beg? Because I will, princesa, I will. Te necesito tanto, tan desesperadamente. I need you so much it hurts. Look, please," He reaches over to paw at your thighs with big, gloved hands. The scent of your cum is overpowering this close - heady and addictive with his enhanced senses. 

"...l-look at what you do to me. Turn me into a mess, can't think about anything else. Solo en ti, princesa. Only you." 

You card your fingers in his hair and he is reverent. Migeul babbles in broken English like a madman, barely taking a breath. You feel the familiar heat of arousal in your gut. He's making you wet, without even trying. 

Cruelly, you jerk his head into your pussy, and he laps you open with a ready tongue. He moans into it, sucking at your clit and lips as you hump his face. His own hips cant at the same pace you've set, rubbing his tented lower half onto the bed frame for some relief. 

Slobbering and messy, he moans into your cunt - hands on your ass to push you further onto his face. He's eating you out like a man starved - and the noises he makes are pornographic. You squeeze your thighs around his head, and he almost cums right then, his hips bucking dramatically upwards with a groan. Watching him unravel is too much to bear, and so you tug at his hair, separated with a wet pop. Head tilted slightly back, chin and mouth glistening with your wetness, he flashes his fangs at you with a lazy grin. You're both panting, breathless from the carnality of it all. 

You clench around nothing; so, so close. 

He wipes his slick mouth with a forearm, before placing his head by your knees. 

"Look how pretty you are, mi sol." He slaps your pussy, watching it pulse in response. "So wet. Is this all for me?" 

Hesitantly, you bite your lip and nod. Miguel rubs circles into the meat of your thigh, sucking hickies into the skin. 

"I can make you feel so good," He whispers into your skin - so tender it makes you shiver. "I just want to make you feel good. Whatever you want, I'll give it to you. Sé que soy tuyo para siempre mi señorita hermosa. I'm yours… fuck… I-I'm yours…"

You won't be able to wrench him from your cunt; you know that much. When he gets like this, delirious from the heat of your two bodies together in the low light, he turns into something else entirely. Maybe it's to do with his changed DNA, something more than human at the crook of his chest - animalistic and primal. 

You cradle his cheek, so he's forced to look up at you. 

"I want you in me, Miggy. Want it to hurt."

His eyes flutter shut as he nods frantically, moving to stand up. You help him out of his suit, snug around his crotch until his cock springs free. His tip is an angry red and weeping so much precum it spills onto the sheets. His frame is delicious; broad shoulders and strong arms, stocky with the muscle of his thighs and solid middle. Miguel is beautifully tan, with the prettiest cock you think you've ever seen. Long, thick, and curved to the side. You've dreamt about the way he hits your spongy walls in all the right places. 

He helps you out of his sweatshirt, with expert fingers. He practically drools at the swell of your tits, kneading them with one palm as he clambers over you. There's a content sigh as he rubs his cock, sticky with precum, over your slit; head back and hips moving like water. He pulls a moan out of you when he finally - finally - fills you up in one swift movement. 

"Mierda, baby, does that feel good?" He croons, rubbing slow circles into your clit. His answer comes when you clench around his cock, creating a creamy ring around its base. He crouches to nip at your skin with his fangs, rolling his hips into yours. 

He knows your body better than you do, and it feels good. You claw at his back in pleasure, babbling his name into the crook of his neck. But it's not enough. It's like he knows when you're on the edge, about to come, slowing his hips until they simply grind on your clit, rutting against you. It's cruel, and it causes tears well up in your eyes. 

"F-Faster. Please." He just keeps grunting, barely speeding up. A slow, steady, relentless pace, picking up his hips until his cock is almost out of your hole, before filling you in one firm movement. 

He keeps going, and going, until your hips shake and your bodies heave with the effort. His back is red and raw with scratches as your pleas fall on deaf ears. 

"Harder, Miguel. Please, baby, I need it. F-Faster. Want it to hurt." You sob softly, drunk on pleasure.

He kisses up the tears that fall. "I know, mi vida. But it's not what you need right now, hmm?" 

He whispers soft praises into your tits, your collarbone, the fat of your cheeks. Anywhere and everywhere that needs it: so he can tell you how beautiful you are and how much he cares for you. He swallows up your moans with his lips on yours, sending you over the edge. That tight string at your gut snaps, and you cum so hard you see stars. 

He doesn't stop, picking up the pace in the aftershock of your spasms. You can tell he's trying hard not to follow, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. When your orgasm subsides, he pulls out with a shaky moan. 

"One more, f'me, baby. Una más para mí, just one more." 

You hum into his kiss, and he hooks his hands under your knees. Placing your legs over his shoulders, he sinks back into you with a satisfied grunt. Now, he pounds into you - the slap-slap of your ass against his hips resounding in your little bedroom. You make a mess, creamy cum spilling where your bodies connect. You force him deeper, harder, with a hand on his neck. 

"M'close, Miggy." You tug the hair at the nape of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. 

"Good girl, good fucking girl." His hips stutter when he feels you clench at his words. "I want to cum with you, princesa. Can I cum? Please, baby, c-can I cum?" 

Gently nodding, you wrap a hand around his throat and pull him in for a kiss - so consuming and heady it makes you want to sink into his skin. You clamp down on his cock, and his pace slurs; before Miguel spills his warm cum deep into your cunt. His hips still, and he curls into you, deepening the kiss. 

Exhausted, you separate, side by side. Still sticky with his cum, he wraps you up in his arms, pressing shaky kisses to your temple. 

"I love you." He says, gently. 

"Doesn't feel like it, sometimes." You breathe. 

You both lay there, completely still. He furrows his brow, terse with the words he wants to say but can't. All he can do is pull you closer, and envelope you in the warmth of his skin. 

"Miggy?" You say after a while. 

He hums. 

"I love you too." 

_

_

_

[castillon02]

When Jason starts to prioritize cooperation as well as vengeance, Tim suspects Jason's self-control still isn't that great. Since he's Tim, well...

He conducts some tests.

Hood is about to murder someone that they need information from when Tim calls out, "Hey, Hood, has anyone ever told you that you're a Decepticon wannabe who probably fucks himself to the sound of his own robot voice?"

Hood stills.

The drug dealer who sold tenth-grader Benny Garcia fentanyl gapes in a way that shows off his recently-missing teeth.

Hood drops the dealer in a heap and turns his shitkicker combat boots in Tim's direction.

Tim bolts. Batman will swoop in to continue the dealer's interrogation; he and Hood have figured out a good-cop-bad-cop thing, though Batman still seems bemused about the chance to be 'good cop.'

Hood races after him.

---

Tim makes it to a safe house off of Robinson Park. He probably lost Hood about half an hour ago, but it never hurts to be careful. Especially when---oh, shit.

"This place is filthy," Jason says, sitting on the kitchen counter that Tim never uses and looking with disdain at Tim's collection of empty energy drink cans, takeout boxes, and crime yarn. Jason's not wearing his helmet or domino, and he taps his boot heels softly against the cabinet door like a little kid. Not exactly danger signals.

But for a moment, all Tim can look at is the boots. It's stupid; the knife at his neck was closer to fatal. But the kicking had hurt the worst.

"Since you apparently have time to run your mouth," Jason says, "and since someone stole my target, it seems like we both have time to clean up in here. I went out and got trash bags." He nudges a box on the counter next to him. The trash bags are the sturdy kind, not the flimsy cheap kind or the extra-strength hide-the-body-parts kind.

Tim has been meaning to get trash bags for this place for three weeks. It's just that he doesn't visit often, and when he does it's usually when he's injured or tired, and he could get things delivered but that's a paper trail he could avoid if he just made time to visit the bodega down the street... "You're a trash bag," he says, even though it doesn't make sense.

Jason rolls his eyes. "Just for that, we're mopping the floor too. Luckily, I came prepared." He hops down from the counter and opens the little mystery closet next to the fridge. Inside: a broom, a Swiffer, a bucket, a pack of scrub brushes still in their plastic, and a jug of bleach.

Ohhh, that's why the closet is so narrow. It's supposed to hold cleaning supplies. Right. Tim definitely knew that. Tim definitely doesn't just have a roll of paper towels...somewhere...that he sometimes puts dish soap on.

He squints at Jason. Still no green danger-eyes. "Darcy and Elizabeth would never let you be part of a throuple with them," he tries.

Jason pulls out a trash bag. "They've got issues anyway."

"Helen Keller would make up new words so she could sign how ugly your face is."

"She was a socialist," Jason says. He holds the bag and gestures at Tim's kitchen table. "So we'd probably just talk about organizing the working class. I don't think looks would come into it. Also, way to be a dick."

"You're so pathetic that Jane Eyre would give up on you like she didn't give up on Rochester," Tim says, figuring he did the research for this attack, so he might as well use it.

Jason actually laughs a little bit. "First of all, there's a lot of power exchange going on in that decision, so jot that down," he says. "Second of all." He looks Tim in the face. "If I start to lose my temper, I'll leave, okay? Or you can just ask me to."

"Even if I asked right now?" Tim asks.

"Even if you asked right now," Jason confirms, though he eyeballs Tim's mess.

Jason's still holding the trash bag. Hands out, open body language, seemingly not homicidal.

Tim had planned for a lot of things with this encounter, including a body bag. Trash bags weren't one of his considered variables. He starts picking up empty cans. "This one can be for recycling," he says, dumping the cans into Jason's bag. New things from old materials. Jason likes that symbolism shit, right?

(Though...new things. Old materials. If there's anyone who ought to be good at that, it's someone who got raised from the dead.

Tim smirks and keeps the thought to himself. Operation: Limitless has been a startling success; he doesn't need to verbalize all his inside thoughts now.)

("Kid, I can tell you're thinking about a zombie joke," Jason says anyway. "You can only tell me after we've brought this shit-heap back to life.")

[deepdisireslonging]

Cake or Cookies

A good round of sexy texting during girls’ night leads to sexy personal time when Bucky gets home.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x curvy!Reader

Warnings/Promises: food mention, descriptions of injuries (canon-level), dirty talk, sexting, SMUT, oral (both receiving), implied further smut

Word Count: 3080

Note: They can pry the Avenger Apartment/Tower from my cold dead hands. Everything’s fine, everyone is fine; what trauma? Why can’t we have nice things? I went hunting through some of my lost prompts and found a couple to squeeze together. Happy reading!

Girls’ night in the Tower was bound to be dangerous. It was usually when Natasha came up with the next round of pranks to play on the boys. And when Wanda took it upon herself to create the best pillow fort to watch movies in. Her magic made it easy to pile the couch pillows and blankets into what looked more like a cozy cave than a fort. And Maria kept track of where to find any films not already stored in Stark’s library.

You were in charge of snacks. Drinks were cozy only: tea, hot chocolate, and coffee. Alcohol parties were for other nights. Snacks ranged anywhere from home-made chips to hors d'oeuvres (fancy and simply indulgent), to the smorgasbord of mass produced favorite snacks you raided from the corner bodega. But you were stumped when it came to tonight’s desserts. The bodega’s sweet treats were present, cheap candy and the like, but you were stuck between the roll of cookie dough and a box mix for cupcakes.

Stumped, you didn’t acknowledge the warm body that ghosted up behind you until a hand slid across your waist. “It’s girls’ night. What are you still doing here?” Sitting down the treats, you turned in Bucky’s arms and scratched your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

He lightly kissed your forehead. “Needed a break from Tony. Can you blame me?”

“Not at all.”

You both inhaled deeply, cheek to cheek. The last mission had been a rough one. Most of the team had come back banged up. And you still had a nasty scrape of road burn up one leg. Which is why you were wearing the equivalent of biker shorts. Pepper had gotten them for you sometime after the social media trend of those leggings ladies liked to tease their S.O’s with. They were surprisingly supportive of your form. You usually wore them underneath your gear because they were borderline indecent. But, with one of Bucky’s oversized shirts covering your figure, nobody had commented.

Except for Bucky as he slid his hands down your body to rest over the curve of your ass.

“I thought these stayed out of sight?”

You teased a glance up at him. “Usually, yes. But It’s girls’ night. We all wear the equivalent of our pajamas since you boys will be out. You are all going out, right?”

He nodded. “Yes. Eventually.” But he didn’t move. He hugged you closer, brazenly tilting your head to one side with his nose so he could kiss the underside of your jaw.

“Y/L/N!” Natasha waved from the living room. “Are we ready to go, or what?”

A smile spread across your face. You lightly pushed Bucky away, making him whine. Natasha was already starting the voting poll for the evening’s movies when you turned back to the counter. “I’ve got to bake before the party starts. Do you have a preference for what sweets you’d like to be left over? Cookies or cupcakes?”

Bucky pressed up behind you, resting his large hands on the counter on either side of you, and griding his front into your ass. “Cookies. There’s enough cake in this kitchen already.” He slapped your ass, following with both his hands taking tight squeezes of your flesh.

As you gasped, he rushed out. The wink he shot you from the door warned you that the tease would not be the evening’s last.

Fifteen minutes later, the cookies were out, the movie was in, and everyone was settled into their favorite pile of pillows.

Five minutes into the movie, the texting started.

Lover Boy <3: “How’s the movie?”

You rolled your eyes as you turned your phone on silent. If Okoye heard your phone again, you’d never get it back. “We’re watching Magic Mike. So… It’s going well.” You added a smiley face with its tongue sticking out for good measure.

Bucky’s messages popped up every few minutes. You kept your phone screen towards you to see the notification light up your screen without bothering the other women.

Lover Boy <3: “Should I be jealous?”

You: “Nah. Their gyrating doesn’t do it for me.”

Lover Boy <3: “Good to know.”

Lover Boy <3: “Is there anything in the movie that does ‘do’ it for you?”

You smothered a chuckle into your blanket. Each passing second that you took to come up with a teasing reply was surly wreaking havoc on your man.

You: “Maybe. Who wants to know?”

His reply was slow in coming. When it did, you almost fumbled your phone into the floor.

Lover Boy <3: *image incoming*

The picture you received was of Bucky’s hand resting on the top of his thigh. They were out to dinner somewhere, the edge of the table blocking your photo view from the rest of the guys. In the curve between his forefinger and thumb, his bulge was the center of attention. You stuck a sucker in your mouth to cover up your gasp. But the other ladies were too busy hooting for the first dance scene to notice.

You: “Just him? I must be slipping. Especially since I thought you really liked my shorts earlier.”

Lover Boy <3: “I like those shorts because I like taking them off. Girls night got in the way.”

You: “You’ve got to come home sometime.”

Lover Boy <3: “Then what do you have in mind?”

You turned off the flash for your camera and waited for the TV screen to illuminate your face. Sucker holding down your tongue, you sneaked the pic. Before any of the girls could see and tease you. While it sent, you sucked on the round sugar treat. You imagined Bucky’s cockhead on your tongue, as you knew he would too. His reply came in seconds.

Lover Boy <3: “Minx”

You: “And?”

Lover Boy <3: “When I do get home, I’m going to taste something sweeter. All night long.”

Lover Boy <3: “If you can handle it.”

Biting your lip, you smiled into your blanket.

You: “We both know what I can handle. But can you handle what I want to do to you?”

You: “Bet I can blow you so good you forget how to speak Russian before morning.”

You: “Actually, bet I can make you forget all your languages.”

Lover Boy <3: “An official bet?”

Now it was dangerous territory. Neither of you would wager anything that would show in public. Or bring attention from the team inside the tower. But Bucky’s winnings had a steep cost on your ability to walk the next day. Yours usually meant him taking a few days off to spend time together in some distant cabin.

You: “Do we have time to disappear to the Rockies when I win?”

Lover Boy <3: “We just finished a mission. I’m sure I can convince Steve to leave us alone… at least for several nights in a row when I win.”

It was on.

He played dirty by escaping to the bathroom to shoot you a picture of his cock. It was already thick for you, proud and flushed in his palm.

You also escaped. But the picture you sent didn’t require you to take your clothes off. All you did was tug down the front of his borrowed shirt, and splay your fingers wide between your breasts.

You: “Can’t wait to squeeze you between these.”

Lover Boy <3: “9hey now…”

Good. His texting was already stumbling.

You: *picture incoming*

All you did was rest your hand over your throat. But Bucky’s reply of a bunch of scrambled letters made you laugh. You returned to the movie.

You: “Can’t wait for you to get home. But we’ve got about 3 more hours of movies to watch. Think you can last that long?”

Lover Boy <3: “If I have to. Might have to take care of myself before then.”

Wanda looked over as you squirmed in your seat.

You: “You can’t wait for me? I’ll wait for you.”

When the movie lit up enough, you took a picture of the pillow between your thighs.

Lover Boy <3: “Promise?”

You: “Say please.”

His reply, despite the distance between text and actually hearing his voice, dripped with promise. You bit your lip, hearing his growl in your head.

Lover Boy <3: “Since when do get to make the demands around here?”

Lover Boy <3: “Please.”

You: “Since I’m home. Away from the consequences of mouthing off at you till later.”

Lover Boy <3: “You’re not sharing this conversation with the ladies are you? You’re not usually this… sassy.”

You: “This sass is rated E for everyone. But, no. This conversation is just between us.”

You: “I have to stop texting. Natasha is beginning to notice.”

Lover Boy <3: “Until I get my hands on you:”

It was several minutes until you checked your phone, waiting for the others to drop their questioning looks. When you did, you had to smother your moan. He sent one last picture of his tongue out between his fingers. A promise of delectable problems to come.

***

Somebody texted the guys when the movies were almost over. They arrived halfway through you girls cleaning up.

“How was the double feature?” Tony asked. He snagged a remaining hors d'oeuvres off the tray before Maria could stick it in the fridge.

You didn’t hear the reply. All you could focus on was how lust-blown Bucky’s eyes were as he stared you down from the other side of the room. You pressed your thighs together. If the way your chest heaved was any indication, you were in for a long night. Steve barely gave you a glance when you walked past him. Bucky gliding past made him give your departure a second look.

The hallway to your room was dark. The lights that illuminated the floor wouldn’t engage fully unless there was an emergency. Which meant that your shadow was faded against the wall. And it was fractured into several clusters of shadows at reach installation. You didn’t look back. It was part of the game. You couldn’t hear him, but sometimes you could have sworn your shadows had an extra layer.

When you reached for your door handle, another hand beat you to it. Bucky pressed up behind you, pushing you into the room and pinning you to the inside of the door as he locked it. He slid his knee between your legs. Fascinated, he enjoyed the show as you slid the apex of your thighs across the muscle he gave you. He stopped your movements with a hand on your hip, while the other lifted your wrists above your head.

“Did you actually wait, or was that a tease?” He reached into your shorts, groaning to find your slick there. While you trembled, he loudly sucked his middle finger into his mouth. “Oh, ангел, I am going to ruin you. For teasing me like you did.”

“You – you started it. Technically.”

He brought one of your hands down to rest over the front of his pants. “Maybe. But you laid down the gauntlet. How do you want to do this?”

With a grin, you wriggled out of his grasp. You walked backwards towards your bed. Bucky stalked slowly after you. Turning, you ran your hands down your sides, to your hips. And back to the curve of your ass. “Cake?” You smoothed your hands up from your rear to your breasts. “Or cookies?”

Bucky groaned. “The whole damn bakery if I can get my hands on it.” He guided you onto the bed, crawling over you in a way that stole your breath. When you tried to roll him onto his back to begin the challenge, he chuckled. “Nuh-uh. Challenger goes second.”

“But-“

He silenced you with a kiss. As he deepened it, hands kneading into your flesh and removing your clothes, your rebuttal died on your tongue. He barely pulled back enough to remove his own clothes. It wasn’t long before he was working his mouth down your body, kissing and sucking and nipping at your skin until he made it to your sex. 

Sometimes part of the challenge included a timer. Like that one gala when he dared you steal away with him during Tony’s speech, and cum before the ending round of applause. With his head buried under your dress, he won with enough time to participate in the applause for a speech you didn’t give a damn about. You didn’t find out till later that Steve had kept track of when you two disappeared and reappeared. Bucky wrote the time on your bathroom mirror as the time to beat. It had yet to be broken.

Tonight wasn’t one of those times. There was all the time in the world. All night to edge or overstimulate each other to your hearts’ content.

Breathing warm air over your sex, his grin between your thighs sent a ripple of goosebumps over your skin. You weren’t sure which was more disarming: his knowledge of your body and its sweet spots that he could make you cum in minutes, or that same knowledge used to bliss you out over hours till you couldn’t remember more than screaming his name. With his tongue, he began the challenge. As if you weren’t soaked already, he made a mess of you. Curling his fingers through your folds. Delving his tongue deep in search of the ability to taste you for days. When he scraped his teeth across your clit, the electricity tightened your fingers in his hair.

He wasn’t drawing this out. A man on a mission, Bucky was doing everything he could to bring you to the brink as fast as he could. The speed that you hurtled toward release stole your breath. That was his plan. Shock you while trying to beat his time so that you wouldn’t be able to speak. And then he’d win double the bragging rights.

And, damn him, it might just work.

Hungrily, he slurped up your pleasure. Adding a third finger to his onslaught, he curled them all to make you see stars. His metal arm flashed out to pin down your hips before you could arch away from him. The metal was cold, frigid, against your flushed skin. The difference in temperature was enough of an overload to your sparkling nerves that your eyes screwed shut. You babbled a series of sounds, making Bucky hum in delight.

But when he came up for air, gently stroking your folds to ease you down, you surprised him.

“Is that all you got, Barnes?”

“Fuck. Seriously?” He rested his cheek against the inside of your thigh.

You did your best to steady your breath. No point in revealing those six words were all you could manage. After another moment, you curled your own finger. You summoned him to hover over you, dangling his dog-tags in your face. Catching one between your teeth, you gripped and pushed his shoulders until he was on his back.

It was your turn to kiss down his body. Across his collar bone and pecs. Down that center chasm between his abs. From one hip bone, down his V, and up to the other side. As you took his length in hand, you had to smile. The poor man should have let you pleasure him first, instead of torturing himself and his cock with waiting. Gently, you circled your thumb around his tip. It dragged a groan out between his teeth. Good. The more vocal he was, the better you could track his ability to speak. Or lack thereof.

You set the challenge into the back of your mind and got to work in pleasing your man.

The first movements were gentle. And careful around how sensitive he was. Still, each touch and twist kept his voice active. He tried to watch you, but kept dropping his head back in pleasure as you quickened your movements. While he was laid back, you shifted your position.

His head snapped up, and he cursed loudly in Russian as his cock was enveloped between your breasts.

Darting out your tongue, you kitten licked the tip of his cock when it came into range. It gave you no small pleasure to watch your man, the Winter Soldier and former Commando, fall to pieces because of you. He cursed louder in English, Russian, and… was that German? But the more you jerked him between your breasts, the more his vocabulary scrambled together. You waited patiently. His metal hand twitched towards to before fisting the sheet. His flesh hand reached back for the pillows, sheets, headboard. Anything to ground himself. Then you struck. You let go of your breasts and dipped low enough to swallow him down. He roared as he bumped the back of your throat. Planting his feet on the bed, his thighs trembled with keeping himself from thrusting into your mouth.

That was fine. You moved enough for the both of you. And, just as his Russian was little more than the most strained of curses, you settled his balls into one hand, and slid the other up his torso. Your nails lightly caught his skin over his heaving breaths.

The high-pitched hiss from the depths of his lungs was your only warning before he filled your mouth.

Your ministrations slowed. You took every ounce of his pleasure, and smiled around his cock as you sucked your way off his length.

He dragged you up to bury his face in the crook of your neck. His lips trembled while trying to say something. Anything. But all he could do was pant into your skin.

You smiled. And kissed the underside of his jaw. While you both recovered, you murmured gentle reassurances between breaths.

“You cheated,” he finally managed.

“Oh? When did I manage that?”

Running his fingers through his hair, he stared you down. “Those damn shorts.”

With a laugh, you nipped at his chest. “What? You did get to take them off, like you wanted. And I can’t help it if you decided to run your hands all over me and get yourself hard. It jazzed me up too. So, in my mind, we’re even.”

“Fine.” He tilted up your face to kiss you. Mumbling against your lips, he complained, “you’re using alotta words there, ангел.”

“And you’re still capable of Russian.”

Bucky grinned. “Then I guess this challenge isn’t done.”

And it wasn’t until long into the night.

***

Ангел: angel

***

Masterlist

Marvel Masterlist 

[st4rbwrry]

━━━ ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠 & 𝑤𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑠 ♱ t.f

warnings 𑄽𑄺 4.6k. fem reader, lowercase intended, she/her pronouns, black coded, university setting, violence i.e fighting, readers obsessed & it's lowkey giving omega/alpha trope lmao, public sex at a skate park, running from police, oral [ m.], riding, titty sucking, praise, minors aren't allowed!

━━━ ꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 .ᐟ ꒱ ; this is a repost of one of my old fics so enjoy!

blood. it's seeped into the pearl white t-shirt of the man walking down the hall past you, dripping from his mouth, the look in his eyes careless as he held onto the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. to this day it felt like you were seeing him in slow motion. you could still hear how fast your heart paced, the intense eye contact between you two, your sneakers squeaking against the university's floors, hallway empty other than you, and the professor beside him.

his other hand was buried into his jean pockets, strolling with his chin up as if he wasn't phased by his injury, like he barely felt it. the dark-haired man burned his eyes into you, side-eyeing you and your skimpy cheer uniform, wanting to smirk at how entranced you were by him but couldn't given the pain on his face. for some reason you wanted so badly to ask if he was okay. clearly, he wasn't. the man had just been in a brutal fight where a student cut the side of his mouth with a switchblade. this you found out later in the day at lunch. people wouldn't stop talking about it. fushiguro, they called him. it was only his last name, simply because that's all people would refer to him as.

there was no explanation for your sudden infatuation for him. it was nonsensical. you never felt anything like that before, and you've only looked at him for literally no more than ten seconds. it was even more intense the moment you walked past each other, both of you looked back to catch another gaze for a few seconds, only you were too stunned, eyes widening and quickly whirling your head back around. he was suspended. why? he wasn't even the one to start the fight. since he had a reputation, it was easy for the school to see him as the bad apple. you actually despised the fact that the culprit who started the brawl was back in school only a week after while fushiguro remained absent.

i want to see him again. he's all you could think about. this town wasn't too big, so it's odd that you haven't gotten even a glimpse of him the entire two weeks he's been gone. not while walking the streets, not the mall where every person in town visited—then again he didn't seem like the type to do that. not the tattoo shop you worked at part time . . . nothing. friday comes around and you're stuck at work, the usual. since the shop you worked at didn't close until 2AM, your manager decided to let you out an hour early just to rest up for the weekend, thankfully off.

for some odd reason, you weren't tired, even after working a full week on top of dealing with courses and mastering cheer routines. balling the plaid black and white flannel your hands created sweater paws with tighter in your fist, you stroll peacefully down the sidewalks looking at the pretty city lights, blasting rock music until coming into view with an overnight bodega, wanting a few snacks for the night since you knew you were going to be up reading on your phone until possibly five in the morning.

you're greeted by the owner, smiling and waving, making sure to turn down your music to listen in on your surroundings. grabbing mostly chips and beef sticks, you hold all of your junk to your chest while making your way over to the refrigerators, needing a real drink since you haven't had one since jesus invented the calendar. trailing your fingers across the cool cans, you scrunch your face up at any budweiser, yards, or bud light. beer? hell no. wine sounded more like it. as you go to reach for a bottle, you catch a glimpse at a buff man at the front counter; midnight hair, all black clothing, knu skool vans, and a skateboard clutched between his right underarm hand. his items are being rung up, but you can't stop staring, squinting your eyes knowingly towards the stranger. why does he look so familiar?

"see you around, fushiguro," the man waves off, your eyes widening at the name, nearly tripping over a rack full of peanuts as you watch him nod once and exit the store, seeing the side of his face where his recent scar laid.

he's already out the store, and you rush to the counter, checking out after having to show your i.d. for the wine, saying goodnight as you snatch the clear plastic bag with a 'thanks!' and rush towards the mysterious man halfway down the block. he has his airpods in, so he doesn't hear how loud you're breathing or the thuds of your sneakers hitting the gravel. you practically bunny hop beside him making the insanely huge man jump a little, thick brows scrunching with annoyance at the inconvenience beside him. he pauses his music, never stopping his tracks as he continues to walk with you beside him.

"hey, stranger," you cheekily grin.

"hey," his voice is gruff, slightly scratchy. you clear your throat, ignoring the whiplash you were just given. "what are you doing out this late? pretty girls should be home around this time. it's not safe."

wow, protective already. you raise your brows at his sentence, slightly shocked he didn't tell you to fuck off—at least with that wording. wait, he called me pretty?!

"pretty girls have adult responsibilities. i just got off of work. besides, shouldn't reckless students be on house arrest around this time?"

he ignores you, so you come up with something else. "how's your scar?"

"it's a scar," he sighs.

"when will you be back in school?"

"not sure."

"in my opinion, i think that jackass dick sucker should get his shit kicked in. what fucktard cuts someone in the face?"

the man stops abruptly, causing you to let out an 'oof' as you bump into his side, the man giving you zero attention as he drops his skateboard on the ground to use, stepping onto it and begins to stroll away.

you drop your mouth open. "rude!"

"why are you talking to me?" he doesn't even have to yell, his voice is deep enough for you to still hear him. huffing, you jog towards him, trying your best to keep up with him.

"i like you!" you groan, irritated that he was being so ignorant, and that he was making you run in a goddamn skirt.

fushiguro laughs, and the reaction stuns you, as if he wasn't capable of such an action. "you don't know me. we go to the same uni, that doesn't make us friends."

"i'd like to be your friend, though, asshole."

"i don't need any friends."

"a girlfr—"

"no," he shuts down sternly, stopping at a walkway, looking both ways before crossing the street. you roll your eyes, chewing your inner cheek when you notice he's heading to a skate park just across the road, dark and empty, a few street lights illuminating just enough light for him to see the cemented ramps.

like he's getting away from talking to me that easily. you let a car pass by before rushing behind the muscular man, fushiguro seeing your presence once more and releasing an exasperated sigh. he just wanted to be alone. "guessing 'no' isn't in your vocabulary," he scowls, taking a seat at the edge of a ramp.

"no," you say, a cocky smile following.

he scoffs, digging into his grocery bag for a pack of skittles and a green apple flavored vape pen, laying on his back on the gravel to stare up at the moon, blowing out the vapor he sucked into his mouth. you pout your lips, taking a seat next to him, reaching into your bag for your wine, knocking a few sips down in silence.

"what's your deal?"

"i just find you interesting."

"no one talks to me. so why are you?"

"not even pretty girls like me?" biting your lip, you scan over his face, and it remains the same; stagnant. "i know there's women bowing at your feet to fuck you."

   toji rolls his eyes, a habit. "whoever i fuck is none of your concern."

   "so he's not a virgin, duly noted," you whisper to yourself.

   "name."

   "[♡]."

   "cute," is all he says before standing to his feet, taking one more puff out of his pen before grabbing his skateboard and positioning it on the ledge of the ramp, steadily dropping his foot and falling down. you watch him with fascination as he skates, laying your chin in your palms with your elbows on your knees, leaning in like an attentive child. he looked so pretty under the moonlight.

   this daydream ends when you notice a group of four men far behind bushes, titling your head to see them clearly. one of them, lanky with shoulder-length blonde hair, is seen handing the person before him a clear bag with tablets in them, and in return, gets cash. they're dealing drugs. minding your business, you turn your attention back to fushiguro whom notices this, and easily you can see the anger flash in his eyes as he jumps off his skateboard and lands on his feet beside you. it's not until the group of three approaches the two of you that you see why he's mad.

   the guy dealing drugs just so happened to be river, aka the asshole who slashed his face. he stalks closer with a nasty laugh, clicking his tongue as he keeps mainly his attention on the big man beside you. "fushiguro!"

   "toji," he corrects, not fond of people using his last name. toji, you repeat in your head. hot.

   "good to see you all healed."

   "healed is an understatement."

   awe shit, you just know some shit is going down. you gather yourself, standing nearby but not too far behind him.

   "the fuck do you want?" toji snarls, and you swallow your own lips, barricading an inappropriate sound.

   river holds up a few clear zip lock bags stashed with drugs from his hoodie pocket, jangling them with a grin. "selling the goods. do you want some? ohh, wait. that's rude of me, i forgot you lived in a household full of mentally unstable people who feen for drugs."

you couldn't help but fix your posture and stand in front of toji before he beat the asshole to a pulp. by all means, don't hesitate. but, you wanted your turn first. toji doesn't allow it to phase him, since he's heard similar things a million times. what's funny is that this kid barely knows him, yet he seemed to acquire so much intel on his life.

"watch your fucking mouth," you seethe, face close to his and fists balled up. "before i cut your tongue out, then what will you have to talk shit?"

"out the way, bitch," river snarls, his hand wrapping tightly around your arm to yanking you to the side. "none of this has to do with you."

murder could sum up the stone cold stare in toji's eyes, the man inhaling before kicking his skateboard away, emerging forward with his head slightly cocked to the side. until you make this direct back to you by standing back in between again, scowling up at river who's ready to strike you this time, but, doesn't have the chance as you ball your fist and punch him hard across his jaw, not once either. the second hit is an uppercut. then comes the finale; kneeing him in the dick where he stumbles to the ground with a strained grunt.

toji stares down at the back of your head with an impressed raise of his brow, an ounce of his anger sufficing.

"last thing i am is a bitch. i'll fuck you up if you say some stupid shit like that to me again. the fuck," you're not even half done, marching forward until toji grabs your forearm and stops you, whipping your head around to catch his gaze, telling you to chill out without saying it. really, he's amused. but this isn't your fight.

he crosses around you, crouching down to river's level, latching his hand around his collar and dragging him to his feet without any emotion implanted on his face. it's all in his eyes. he's pissed that he insulted you. furious that he scarred his perfectly imperfect face. the nerve.

"the only reason you're alive is because i couldn't kill you on school grounds. don't think you're getting away so easily after what you did to my fucking face."

punch. the hit is so hard it makes you jump, practically hearing the bones in river's nose crack as toji hits him again, and again, again. all in his face to make a point. he's bleeding excessively, his so called 'friends' waiting until he's half beaten to try in step in.

"step back unless you wanna get fucked up next," he points, voice ravenous, making the two men freeze nervously. you shift in your spot, pushing back the acknowledgment of dampness between your legs.

"like i was saying," toji sniffs, ducking when river makes a lousy attempt at throwing a punch, toji grabbing his wrist, balling it in his palm as if it were a piece of paper, twisting his arm as river screams. toji pins it behind his back, shoving him down on the ground where he then presses his right shoe on the side of his bruised face. "don't look so tough without your knife now, huh? you're stupid to even try that on someone you just met. you don't know me. you don't know where the fuck i'm from."

   "fuck. you," he spits out blood over toji's vans. you hold a hand over your heart dramatically, upset about him ruining his shoe. not so much about the fact that he's brutally assaulting a freshman, a kid. a kid whose also old enough to know right from wrong. he stepped into the wrong territory like an adult, so now, he'll get his ass whopped like one. he's lucky toji didn't press charges.

should i kill him? he wanted too, badly. the kid ruined his face, a scar impossible of fading into nothingness. it's there for life. he's an idiot kid. besides, he couldn't traumatize you like that. actually, he's scared you've seen worse. sighing, he picks the boy up once again and shoves him in the arms of his friends who weakly support him. river's sight is barely there, heaving over the gravel.

"i advise you not to cross my path, since i'm back tomorrow."

you gasp, catching everyone's attention. "you are?! oh my god."

toji's eyes widen the moment you squeal happily and jump into his arms, wrapping your legs around him. he's stuck, hands instinctively going to your waist, watching one of the guys before him turn beet red and quickly divert his attention to a tree. toji now realizes your skirt is riding up your ass, rolling his eyes and turning the other way, setting you down and tugging it back in its position with a clench of his jaw.

river stands from his feet, shoving away his friends and holding his gushing nose while staring dead at his partner who was beginning to grow a boner. he scoffs, disgusted. "tomato, quit acting like you don't jerk off to porn every week. it's just an ass."

"a nice one," the other says, boldly.

toji folds his arms across his chest, you mocking him by doing the same, waiting for the group to disperse. river, their wonderful leader, steps up to toji who ups his chin, ready to clock him, as if what he had gotten wasn't enough.

"this isn't over."

"yeah, they all say that. just make sure you take that advice seriously if you'd like to see another day," toji grits his teeth, river holding back his tongue, letting out a small 'tsk' before stumbling off with his posse.

"bitch ass," you mumble.

"enough," he snaps his finger in your face. you swallow, his hard stare and sudden closeness makes your stomach do backflips. fuck, he's so hot. "you're stupid for attacking him. he could've hurt you."

"stupid for standing up for myself? nah. as for him hurting me? you wouldn't have let that happen."

"says?" he sassed.

"i can see it in your eyes," toji's eyes divert to your plush lips, watching you move closer until you're chest to chest, feeling your hardened nipples graze him through your lace crop top. "you want me, therefore, you gotta keep your prize clean."

the sound of a switchblade catches him off guard, seeing you pull the weapon from your back, grabbing the bottom of your skirt and shredding off a long piece straight across.

"what are you doing?"

"your knuckles are bleeding," you say, tucking the blade away before grabbing his hand which he's stubborn on releasing strength before finally relaxing his hand, letting you bandage it. when you lower your lips to his palm, he feels his chest warm up, your teeth locking onto a piece of the fabric to pull the knot you made tighter. "all done."

you stroll away from him, taking a seat in your original position, wine and his skittles in your hand.

"hey, didn't you but your own shit?" he growls, stomping near you, the barbaric man so intriguing to toy with. he snatches them from you, sitting down and popping some into his mouth.

"share atleast." you pout.

he sighs. "hold out your palm."

giddy, you do as he says, toji pouring the contents into your hand, swinging your legs as you happily enjoy them.

"prize."

"huh?"

"it's what you said earlier. that i have to keep my prize clean. is that your way of saying you're rewarding me?"

"i think you're a cool ass person underneath that cold," you poke his chest. "quiet exterior. i salute you for not taking shit from so many people that look at you like a threat instead of a person. maybe i'm exaggerating, maybe i'm delusional, but . . . i feel like i see myself in you. or at-least the person i'm trying to become."

"vacant?" he jokes.

"admirable," you correct with a tiny smile, toji blinking. finishing your drink and tossing your head back, you hum contently from the feel of nighttime breeze. "from what i've heard, you deal with a lot, so i admire you for still being you aside from, you know, bullshit."

"that was sweet, i'm disgusted."

you hit his shoulder, sucking your teeth as he laughs wholeheartedly. he sits up, dark eyes hunting you like prey as you run your fingers through his straight hair, leaning closer to press a gentle kiss to his healing scar.

"i'll kill him for this," you fume silently, highly upset that a human being could do this to another. you knew it hurt like hell that day, he just didn't want to show it.

"it's nice to have someone care, i've never had that."

"me neither," those single pecks of kisses turn into multiple, the alcohol in your system giving you the balls to direct the situation, holding his face still in both your hands before gently kissing him. "let's care for each other."

toji grabs the back of your neck and pulls you in, opening his mouth to slip his tongue over yours, moaning through the pain on his face and deepening the kiss, free hand groping your ass over the thin black skirt you wore, thighs covered in fishnet stockings. you exhale, disconnecting your lips, licking them to relinquish the taste of him, desire fueling you completely. you sit on your knees, ignoring the pain of the concrete, deciding to shrug off your flannel and bundle it up beneath you; substitute for a pillow.

he's gawking at you like a hawk, groaning as you trail your lips over his neck, kissing, sucking, all while unzipping his jeans and pulling his heavy cock out, brick hard for a good minute now. it rose when you told him you'd kill river just for cutting his face. couldn't help it.

"been thinkin' about you all week," your head lowers, and his skin prickles with heat the moment those full lips encase his cock. you whimper with satisfaction before wrapping your dainty fingers around, barely fitting.

"me fuckin' too," his jaw drops, tossing his head back while leading his hand to your head to gently guide you, hissing once he easily hits the back of your throat that compresses around him salaciously. he hasn't gotten head in a while, almost forgot how good it felt. so much better than his hand. you moan from the approval, gyrating your hips in the air after feeling how soaked you were. your head bobs and your lips glide to his exact desire.

his thigh twitches the more you gag or swallow him down, a lewd pop sounding the empty park as you kiss along the underside where a prominent vein pulsates, sensually kissing at his tip, slicking the point of your tongue between his slit which makes him gasp, the sensation ticklish. you took pleasure in giving men head, making you drunk off it every time.

"ooh, fuck," toji throws his head back, slowly thrusting up into your mouth, hearing him hit into your throat, pupils flipping white. you moan when he whispers 'baby' or whimpers out a 'stay here' before holding your head down for a second or two, keeping that warmth around his cock a little longer, letting you go and to his surprise, not coughing.

you leave your tongue to drool over his tip, licking your swollen lips before hiking up your skirt, toji holding the back of your thighs as you arch above him, chest in his face, gasping as he latches his mouth over your nipple through your shirt. tearing open your stockings, imbedding his fingers into your skin, so fucking soft it makes his dick jump. you smelt nice, you looked pretty, you made him feel good . . . a prize indeed.

  arching your back, you keep your left knee to the ground while your right foot remains flat, leg bent as you lift your ass and slick your entrance over his timid head, biting hard on your lower lip as you sink yourself down, clenching tight. the burn is pleasurable, so fucking thick you weren't sure if he'd even fit.

"you can do it, be gracious. aren't you rewarding me?" toji drags his teeth over your neck, behind your ear, clasping your hair once again. he's right, you totally can. it's just been a while since you've had anything remotely close to his size. you slowly work your hips to accommodate him, shuttering the lower you reach, taking a minute until he's somewhat in.

"feel that? how deep i am?" he taunts, hands gripping your hips to sink you down entirely, closing his eyes in bliss. you cry out.

toji finds it amusing that you're so fussy and talkative while engaging in conversation, but when he's smacking your ass and grunting by your ear each time you drop your ass down onto his jean covered thighs, grinding on his cock pruriently, you're not much of a shit talker. instead, you're sensitive, extremely. he rushes his fingers over your clit; you're crying. he pulls your hair; you're whimpering. he tongues your nipples over your top; you're screaming. he couldn't think properly. he's done this plenty of times, many women. with you, it's different. is it because there's an actual connection? he's fond of you. how the fuck was that possible after being in your presence for only two hours?

"yes, yes, yes," the deluge of whines makes the black haired man spellbound. your nails are forming crescents into his shoulders the faster you bounce, the two of your breaths mingling in the air, panting quicker.

"fu—fuck," toji's brows curl, paying close attention to the lecherous noise of your pussy taking him, dripping down his lower half like a faucet. "i'm getting fucking close."

"fuck me back," you plead, shifting forward as a way of telling him to lay down. he sighs shakily, your voice so goddamn venereal it's killing him. he tells you not to stop, laying on the gravel and bending one of his legs he uses to push up into you, getting rougher, bruising your flesh as he fucks you hard until you salivate, tongue sticking out and pupils scrolling back into your skull.

"good girl, cum for me," he hovers his hand inches away from your ass before hitting you over and over, your small hands compared to his balling up the black shirt on his chest, hips buckling and downright filthy moans leaving your throat as you cum to his command.

"the hell are you kids doing?!" a flashlight shines over the two of your faces, and you swear your heart falls to your ass. it's a cop. shit. gasping, you hide and hop off of him without hurting him, toji laughing as the two of you scramble to gather yourselves.

"go, go!" you yell, yanking his arm as you both run out of the park, toji being sure to snatch up his skateboard, leaving everything else behind. sprinting, the two of you rush past bushes, cars, and streets until you come in contact with a dark alleyway.

"fuck, we got caught," you laugh as you check the corner of the graffitied passageway in search for the cop you're almost sure didn't have the patience to chase either one of you.

a rough hand grabs onto your cheek, turning your gaze back to him, eyes sparkling under the dimly lit street lights. a solemn looks paints his features, fingers digging into your cheeks to make your lips pout. he traces his thumb over them, and you can tell what he wanted, reading him so well. he pushes you down to crouch before him, snagging your hair to lock you still while pulling his aching cock back out. by docility, you spread your lips apart, welcoming him with pride. he wastes no time, sliding his dick as deep as he desired and pounding until he's satiated. keeping that hand in your hair, the other resides below your chin, cupping it gently while fucking your mouth savagely.

"baby, fuck," he's spent, knees bending as he cums with a breathy moan, head resting on the wall behind your body. it's a lot since he's still sailing through his orgasm, slowly rolling his hips. you fall back, gulping before sucking him clean, making sure to hollow your cheeks, giggling when he whines. he's glaring down at you, always, dark hair dismantled over his forehead. you kiss his tip, licking your lips before tucking him back into his jeans and zipping him up.

toji helps you to your feet, wrapping his hand around your neck before kissing you tenderly, melting in his hold.

"good girl," he slips his tongue in your mouth, squeezing any part of you he liked. everywhere, basically.

good girl.��it has you throbbing all over again. his praises felt warm. made you feel submissive, small, obedient. "wanna come to my house?"

toji nods, smiling shyly. "sure."

"can i tony hawk my way there?!" you ask excitedly.

toji raises his brow, shrugging with a chuckle. "okay?"

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 4: You Want to Live Where?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you neve expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy.

Word Count: 7.6K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual tension. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

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Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

You lay down the $2.50 map of NYC that you bought at the bodega next door to Butcher's apartment building on the giant threadbare wooden table that serves as the group dining room table.  Everyone was still in Jersey, for what reason you didn't know, but it meant that the apartment was silent.

Aka. Ben wasn't here to drive you to murder.

After Annie and you had said goodbye, she went back to Vought Tower because Ashley had called and complained about something that you couldn't hear over the sounds of the city outside the coffee shop. You were hoping that she'd text you later to dish about Ashley's probably insane request. While you kept your promise to Butcher about plotting out where the carjackings were happening and noting the auto shops nearby.

He had left you the complete lists of where the cars were stolen, what time, and how many. It was your job to mark them on the map and see if any of them were like the others. He was getting frustrated with how little the team could find on the electric wielding supe who was jacking cars, and you wanted to help out as much as you could. In a few days you were going to go to the auto shops in the same area to see if anyone heard anything about him.

Best case scenario someone would give you a lead, worst case scenario you were back to square one.

You lean down over the table, making the first mark on the map where the initial carjacking took place. It was at the top of the map which meant that you were practically laying on top of the table to reach.

The door to the apartment behind you opened but you didn’t think about it, too absorbed in making the correct tick mark.

"Don't stop on my account Doll." You hear Ben's low rumble break through the silence of the apartment.

You fight the urge to audibly groan when you realize that he's back from Jersey and here to make your life a living hell.

You stand up and turn around to face him. He’s wearing his Soldier Boy suit, standing  inside the front door and looking just as handsome as he always does, as much as you hate to admit that. He's got some soot smeared just under his left eye, and the left sleeve of his suit is singed, but other than that he looks okay.

“I thought you wouldn’t be back for at least another hour-“ You begin to say, but Ben interrupts.

“I missed you Petals.” He smirks wider, setting his shield down against the base of the kitchen counter. “You and that perfect ass of yours.”

“Where is everyone else?”

“Fuck if I know. After I bagged the supe I didn’t ask questions.” He shrugs moving into the kitchen to pour himself a drink.

You roll your eyes and turn back to the map laying on the table, making another tick with the red marker in your hand where a car was stolen, but avoid bending over the table. “So which supe did you go after? The electric guy?”

“No this girl had fire shit coming out of her hands.”

"Oh guess you've got a new girlfriend, huh Gramps? Though I will say you definitely have a type. First Countess and now-"

"Jealous?" Ben responds from right next to you.

You weren’t expecting him to be so close, so close in fact that you could practically feel the heat of his skin through the air between the two of you from where he leans over the table looking at the map. It immediately reminds you of this morning when he pinned you to the counter, how his body felt pressed against yours, and how his gaze seemed to hold you in place. His eyes really were beautiful, more green than you'd ever seen anyone have, but you were biased because your favorite color was green for obvious reasons.

“You’re doing it again Sweetheart.” Ben smirks, his eyes shifting to where you pretend to study the map with a newfound fascination.

Don't look at him. Don't look at him. Don't look at him.

"Doing what?" You ask making another tick on the map as you go down the list Butcher made last night when you were researching.

"Thinking about fucking me." Ben says.

"No I'm not." You reply tapping the map with your red pen.

"You're a terrible liar doll. It's what I love about you." He laughs, but then takes a sip from his glass. "Um." Ben pauses. "How was your day?" Ben says it slowly, awkwardly, like it's difficult for him.

"What?" You turn to look at him, surprised.

"How was your day?" He repeats. Ben's green eyes are shining in the soft light coming from the lamps lit around the apartment, his dark hair softly curling around the back of his ears. Again you're struck by how normal he looks. Because despite wearing his supe suit, Ben looks relaxed, calm, sipping from the amber liquid in the glass like he belongs here and not forty years ago.

"Why are you asking me that?"

You were confused. Ben had never asked you about your day never seemed to care about how you were. You remember earlier when Ben asked if you would be at the apartment later, like he genuinely wanted to know what you were doing.

This is weird.

Ben shrugs.

"It was okay." You say slowly, narrowing your eyes in suspicion. "I fixed a shipment of African Violets-"

"African what?"

"African Violets." You answer. "It's a flowering plant, has fuzzy leaves. We always sell out of them. I have some in the windows at my apartment."

"The purple ones?" Ben interrupts.

He noticed that?

"Yeah." You blink in surprise. "And I got coffee with Annie."

Where she mocked me endlessly for kissing you and liking it.

"Did Hughie go with you two? Kinda seems like he doesn't do much without her say so." Ben laughs at his own joke, the ice in his glass clinking against the sides as he tilts it back to catch the last few drops. "Poor bastard's pussy whipped."

You can't help, but snort. You knew how Annie seemed to have a bit of a hold on Hughie, but where Ben saw Hughie as being "pussy whipped" you saw Hughie as being in love with Annie and willing to do things for her.

"No he didn't come with us and I think that he'd disagree and say that he loves Annie. When you were with Countess didn't you guys do anything together?"

"We did lots of things together." Ben's eyes darken slightly. "Things I wouldn't mind showing you."

You shake your head at him and nudge his shoulder. "Come on. You didn't go on dates or anything?"

You were probably crossing a border by asking Ben about Countess. You'd never asked him about her before, had heard about how the relationship exploded, LITERALLY.

Not to mention she was probably the closest to love that Ben had ever come. Maybe you were just curious, curious if Ben had actually cared about her, if he'd actually had feelings or if it had been a lie.

Ben hesitates for a second. "Why do you care?"

"Just making conversation." You look back down at the map noting the streets that run within the circle of carjackings.

It can't be a coincidence given how many auto shops there are within this circle. Someone has to know what’s been going on.

He hesitates and you wonder if that’s because it’s painful to talk about her or painful for him to open up. "Once or twice." Ben says finally. "We didn't really do that."

"Oh."

"We went to premieres and fucked a lot." Ben doesn't seem that disappointed by it, as if he thinks that is what a healthy relationship should be.

Didn't need to know that. What else did I expect? He said that he wasn't into emotions earlier today of course he doesn't care about that. He's so confusing. He told Hughie that he loved her and that he wanted to have kids with her, how is that born from going to premieres and fucking? Kinda feels like you'd need to spend more time together and have deeper conversations for that to happen right? You know what? I'm not gonna judge his relationship, maybe they had a great connection or whatever.

You think about your only serious relationship which was 7 months with your high school boyfriend Newton. You thought that you loved him, and then he broke your heart. But Newton and you had done more than go on one or two dates, it had been a relationship, you had depended on him, told him things about yourself that you didn't tell anyone else.

"How about you?" Ben's fingers trace one of the roads along the map.

"How about me what?" You put another 'x' over another place where there was another carjacking.

"Have you ever been in a relationship or have you just been waiting around for Jake to fuck you?"

"I don't want him to fuck me-"

"Sorry. You want him to make love to you." Ben says make love like it's a curse word.

"You're not making me want to share anything about my life with you."

"Come on Petals, I shared my deepest darkest secrets with you." He nudges you with his elbow.

"I wouldn’t say that you telling me that you and Countess fucked and went to a premiere together is your 'deepest darkest secrets.'" You make air quotes with your free hand. "But, I’ve only had one serious relationship and it was in high school."

"And?" Ben presses

"It was 7 months lasted just until he went to college. What else do you want me to tell you?"

"Why did it end?" Ben pours himself a new glass of whiskey.

"Why does that matter?"

"Come on doll."

"I-" You bite the inside of your cheek in contemplation. I can't believe I'm about to say this. "He wasn't a supe and when I finally told him that I was a supe he didn't react appropriately and I locked him in a tree." You make another tick on the map.

"You locked the fucker in a tree?" Ben snorts into his glass.

"Yep."

"Why?"

"Because he asked me if I could shapeshift and made a few comments about my body." You say it quietly more to the map than to Ben.

Ben's hand gently comes under your chin turning your face towards him. He looks pissed, his green eyes dark as he gazes down at you. "What did he say about your body?" Ben's voice is more of a growl than anything else.

His touch was gentle, almost caring, and he’d never tried to do that before.

"Nothing worth repeating-"

"Tell me." Ben breathes. "Please."

"Just that I could lose a few pounds and make myself a little more busty."

Ben doesn’t move. His jaw clenches tightly, muscles tensed, eyes hardening. “He said that to you?”

You nod because you’re not sure what to say. Ben was acting different all over again.

“Fuck him. He’s wrong.” Ben says, voice tight. “He’s an insignificant asshole who didn’t understand how to speak to a woman and who deserved to be locked in a tree. Hell, if I had been there I would have beat him with a tree.”

“I’m not exactly sure you know how to speak to a woman either Ben.” You crack a smile remembering every time that Ben had made an inappropriate comment to you.

“Well I’d never call a woman fat. And he must have been blind because you have the most perfect body-“

“Shut up.”  You roll your eyes at him, but all he does is grin.

Ben stands there for a minute, still holding on to your chin, his skin burning through yours where the two of you are touching. Your eyes shift down to his lips for a millisecond thinking about how soft they were last night and Ben clocks the movement.

You wonder if he wants to kiss you as much as you want to kiss him. If he's remembering the kiss you shared with him last night, if it felt as good for him as it did for you, because it couldn't have been just you.

You hated seeing this side of Ben because it constantly gave you whiplash.

Was he a jerk or was he actually deeper than you thought and he locked it all underneath the macho bullshit?

You pull back, letting his hand fall from your chin to continue working on the map, but can’t fight the way you miss his touch against your skin.

An awkward silence follows and you keep looking at the list that Butcher gave you to avoid looking at Ben, going down the list with the marker checking them off. Because you knew if you looked at him again you would definitely try to kiss him and after what he just said to you, you really wanted to.

Deep down you wonder if that was him trying to connect with you, trying to not be such a jerk or if he was changing tactics to try and get you to sleep with him, just like when he remembered how much you liked ABBA.

There's no way that he actually pays that much attention to me, that he actually cares enough, right?

Finally you ask. "How was your day?" It comes out hesitant, as if you can't really form the words. Honestly it was weird to ask him something so mundane, without it being sarcastic. Saying anything was weird after the moment the two of you just shared.

"Better now that I got to see you doll." Ben catches your eye with a wide smirk, slipping into old habits.

Why do I even try to-

"It was okay." He follows up with a shrug. "Firey bitch got a few hits in."

You glance over at where his suit is singed over his left arm, and then raise your eyes to the soot smeared under his left eye, wondering if it actually burned his skin. "Are you okay?"

Sometimes it was easy to forget that he was almost indestructible. And after all the tapes that you'd seen of Ben being tortured in Russia, you did hate it when he got hurt. He didn’t deserve that, not after what he'd been through.

"I'm a little harder to roast alive, but I like that you worry about me." Ben leans further towards you, so close that his breath tickles the right side of your neck.

"I'm not worried about you." You turn to glare at him.

"You know when you lie you get this little scrunch right here." Ben's finger gently touches the space between your eyebrows making your face turn bright red. "It's cute."

"Don't touch me."

“I think you like it when I touch you.”

“No I don’t.”

I do.

“Then why does your heart start beating a little faster when I do?” Ben smirks as if he thinks he’s caught you.

“To pump all the hate faster through my body.”  You snap. You move around the table to the other side to get further away from him and his stupid perfect face. “And if you couldn’t tell I’m working on something and I’d like to be done with it soon so I can go home.”

“You sure you don’t want to take a break? I’ve got to take a shower. Might help you relax a bit.”

“I’m perfectly relaxed!” You snap back, crushing the writing utensil in your hand. 

Ben looks from the ruined red marker in your hand that drips ink down your skin and then back up at you. “Are you? Because that pen says otherwise.”

"Don’t you have anything else to do? Like get someone pregnant with Homelander 2.0?” You say, wiping the ink from the pen on an old rag that hangs from one of the chairs.

At the mention of his son, the expression on Ben's face turn murderous, and you can't help but feel a little guilty. It was a low blow. You hadn’t meant to bring him up, but Ben always had a way of getting under your skin worse than anyone else. Ben never talked about him or brought him up in conversation. You knew why. Ben might not have said it aloud, but you saw how he acted whenever his son was brought up in conversation, how he seemed just a little more tense than usual and almost a little more quiet.  You knew that he was hurt by what had happened even if he didn’t want to admit it.

You figured that finding out that he had a son that was made in a lab without his permission was enough of a slap in the face, not to mention the whole thing about Homelander being the replacement for him and being the reason why his team was "allowed" to stab him in the back and send him to Russia in the first place.

Fuck.

"I didn't mean that Ben. I'm sorry." You say touching his wrist before you can stop yourself. As much as you didn't get along with him, he didn't deserve to be reminded of something like that.

"Why the fuck should I care?" Ben yanks his wrist back from you, his tone harsher, no longer teasing. The humor is gone from his eyes and the guilt builds in your chest as you look up at him.

"Because I know that you're still a little upset about everything that happened with Vought and Homelander and-"

"Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?" Ben spits moving around the table to tower over you.

It's the first time you'd ever seen him really mad at you, the only other time was when you met for the first time and he tried to rip you in half, but got a face full of tree branch instead, the night Homelander finally got put on ice.

"I'm not some fucking pussy that talks about their feelings or someone who gives a fuck about anyone else." He continues, eyes blazing. "I don't give a fuck about feelings or emotions or any of that shit. So do me a favor Sweetheart, don't put me on a fucking white horse, don't romanticize me, and don't turn me into something I'm not. Because the only thing that I want from any woman is to fuck them. Don’t forget it." Ben pushes past you to go to his room, slamming the door so hard the entire apartment shakes.

Well that went well.

By the time you finish the map and make a complete list of all the auto shops contained within the large circle you marked on the map when you connected where the car jackings were happening, everyone was back and Ben was gone.

He had left about thirty minutes after he yelled at you, didn't look in your direction once as he stomped out the door of the apartment wearing his signature leather jacket and dark t-shirt jeans combo.

You assumed he had a tinder date or he was just trying to get away from all the noise. Bagging the supe had definitely  boosted morale. Even Butcher seemed less moody than usual, the dark cloud that hung over him dissipating for a few hours while everyone laughed and ate greasy pizza.

But despite the happy atmosphere in the apartment, you couldn’t help but think of Ben. Yes he yelled at you, but you shouldn't have brought up Homelander. It wasn't your business and Ben might have tried to cover up what he was feeling with his usual angry, loud, and sexually forward advances, but you could see that he did have emotions, he just tried to hide them.

He just needs to drop the bullshit macho attitude.

You didn’t think that it was weak for a man to show his emotions, if anything you thought that it showed emotional maturity and it was nice to meet a man who was actually open about what he was feeling rather than keeping it locked away and repressed.

Sometimes you thought you could see the man that Ben was, when everything was quiet and it was the two of you, but then he'd make a pass at you or revert back into whatever the hell kind of person he was a few hours ago when he yelled at you for apologizing.

For APOLOGIZING of all things.

You walked back to your apartment quickly and quietly, taking note of the place that is overgrown with weeds where you had fought the muggers last night. The bodies were gone now and you wondered if they were at the hospital or in prison. The blood stains on the ground where Ben beat the man were still on the pavement, and again you thought whether or not the man was alive.

You doubted it.

When you round the corner and approach your apartment building you notice that someone is sitting on the front steps, but you don’t pay any attention to it, you just continue to walk forward.

“Hey Petals.” Ben leans back on the steps smoking a blunt. His hair is more tousled than usual as if someone has run their fingers through it and you assume that the reason why he left earlier is because he had a “date.”

You watch the way the thick darkened strands lay on his head, admiring how it looks in the light that comes from the street lights that line the sidewalk. You were trying not think about how it would feel to brush the strands back from his face, to twist your fingers in his hair.

No. Not thinking about that right now.

“What are you doing here Gramps?” You cross your arms over your chest and use his nickname to offset the annoyance you feel when he calls you 'Petals.'

“Well I left some clothes here this morning and thought I’d come up to get them.”

“I can just bring them to the apartment-“

“You could.” He interrupts, taking a hit from the joint. “But I didn’t want to put you out.”

“How chivalrous of you, but aren't you the guy who forced me to let him crash on my couch yesterday?”

“Well I could have slept in the bed with you, but you were so adamant about me ‘respecting your boundaries.’”

"Thanks." You force a smile. "Fine, you can come up for two minutes-"

"If you make it 10, I promise I'll make it worth your while." Ben's lips pull into a mischievous smirk around the blunt perched between his lips.

You roll your eyes and pass him as you go up the concrete steps, feeling his gaze on your ass the whole time.

When you finally get up to your apartment Bean greets you at the door, purring loudly and rubbing against your ankles. You stoop down to pet him, running your fingers through his thick gray fur.

“Hey buddy. You missed me huh?” Bean purrs louder and pushes his neck into your fingertips to signal you to keep scratching him.

Ben walks past you to the couch where his clothes are waiting but instead of picking them up, he sits down and grabs the tv remote before propping his feet up on your coffee table.

“What are you doing?” You look up at him.

“One of my old films is playing tonight. Thought you’d want to watch it.” The tip of the blunt burns bright red like a beacon in your apartment.

“No. The only thing I want is for you to leave.” 

Ben huffs out a cloud of smoke. “Look I know you like me-“

“I don’t.”

“You do.” He smiles. “So why can’t I stay here?”

“Because this is my apartment!”

“I can pay half the rent if you want me to.”

“It’s not about the money-“

“Then why?”

“Because this is my home! This is where I come to get away from people. This is where I come to decompress when you piss me off! And I don’t want you to live here because you’re a huge dick, stuffed full of macho shit, who keeps trying to sleep with me!” You shout, standing from the ground to plant your hands on your hips.

Ben only smiles as if you've complimented him. "Come on, was last night all that bad? I didn't bother you-"

"Because all we did was go to bed, if you stay here, that’s you 24/7. I need a place to get away from you." You emphasize again.

"Your bedroom isn't far enough away?"

"Nope."

"Come on Petals. I'm not so bad. At least I'm nice to look at." He smiles wider.

"You're not making me want to let you stay here."

Bean saunters over and begins to rub himself on Ben's ankles, purring loudly like the traitor he is. "The cat wants me to stay." Ben quips looking up at you while he scratches Bean under his chin.

"The cat doesn't get a say." You cross your arms over your chest. “And why do you want to stay here anyway? You’ve got tons of money! You don’t exactly need a roommate. And you certainly don’t need to live back at the apartment with Butcher and the team.”

Ben frowns for a minute as if what he’s about to say next is difficult. “I just-“ He sighs. “I don’t want to live alone okay?”

“What?” You blink in shock. It was the last thing you were expecting him to say.

“The lab and all that shit-" Ben looks away from you and takes a hit from the joint. "It- fuck." He mutters it more to himself than to you, eyes leveled at the hardwood floors.

It was the first time you'd seen him look a little bit vulnerable, surprising since he'd yelled at you a few hours ago when you'd accused him of having feelings. The truth was you felt bad for Ben. He was all alone, didn't have anyone left, his old boss literally took his genetic material and made a monster, and he was stranded in a world that he didn't know anything about. And maybe he didn't want to admit it, but maybe Ben was lonely. Which made the whole bed hopping thing make sense.

You examine his posture, notice how he still won't look at you, and how he almost seems to be ashamed that he admitted that.

“I’m just not sure it’s a good idea for us to live together.” You say quietly.

“Why? Because you think I’m going to try something while you’re sleeping?” Ben looks up at you suddenly angry. “Do you really think that I’d do something like that? I mean I’m a lot of things Petals but a fucking rapist isn’t one of them.”

“No I don’t think you’d do that Ben.” It was the truth, Ben might be obnoxious and inappropriate at times, but you didn’t believe that he would ever force you to do something you didn’t want to do.

“Then why?”

“Because we don’t get along. You’re-“ You wave your hand up and down at him.

Yes I know that gesturing to all of him isn't an answer, but maybe I'm trying my best.

“I don’t know what that means.” Ben raises his eyebrows as if trying to solve the secrets of the universe.

You sigh, blowing out a breath. "I just don’t think we’re a good fit for roommates.”

“Because?”

“You’re loud, and you always have those women with you. You smoke and drink and you put your feet on my furniture! Not to mention you don’t really seem to like plants all that much-“ You gesture with your hand to the room covered in plants in different stages of growth.

“I like plants.”

“Uh-huh? What plants?”

“What?”

“What kind of plants do you like?”

Ben blinks for a second. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“That’s another thing! We drive each other crazy Gramps. I don’t think this is a good idea. Not to mention you wouldn’t have a room, you’d be out here on the couch.”

I mean did he want to sleep on that couch? It was sort of comfortable, but not live on forever comfortable.

“It’s not a bad couch?” Ben says it like a question.

“I got it free from a guy with a foot fetish, Ben. It’s a bad couch. I just-“ You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. “You really want to live here that badly?”

“It's quieter here than it is at the other apartment."

“Nothing about Mike’s singing in the morning is quiet.” You crack a smile for the first time since you saw him sitting on your front step.

“It’s not so bad. There was this hero in the 70’s who could super screech. Fucking blew out my eardrums one time.” Ben shrugs. “Plus I don’t want you to miss me.”

Your smile drops into a frown. "I wouldn't miss you."

"I think you would doll."

You stand there for another minute considering what it would be like for him to live here.

I can't believe that I'm considering this. That would mean that he would be a pain in my ass 24/7. Him drinking, smoking, and doing God knows what on my couch. And why does he want to live on the couch anyway? It sucks. He could live anywhere he wanted and yet he wants to live here with me? Kinda feels like there's another reason for this.

"If I say yes there are some ground rules." You bite the inside of your cheek, rocking back on your heels.

"Like?"

"No sex."

Ben rolls his eyes. "I don't know why you're so against you and me-" He begins to say, but you interrupt him.

"I'm talking about you. You’re not allowed to bring any of your harem into my apartment."

“Want me all for yourself huh Petals?” Ben smirks stretching his hands back behind his head in a way that makes the end of his shirt pulls up enough for you to see the sliver of skin just at the top of his jeans and a peak of his muscular abdomen.

Keep it together, it’s just skin.

You frown at him until Ben finally sighs.

"Wouldn't it be our apartment if I lived here?" He raises an eyebrow.

"No women." You say firmly.

“Fine.”

“No going in my room under any circumstances.” You point down the darkened hallway as if he didn't know where it was.

“But what if-“

“No going in my room under any circumstances!” You repeat.

Ben mutters something under his breath.

“I’m sorry I didn’t catch that.”

“I said okay.” He grouses.

"And no killing my plants." You look at the ones growing on the coffee table where they could be easily pushed off by his large feet, narrowing your eyes.

“What if it’s an accident?”

“Too bad. And how do you accidentally kill a plant?”

“I don’t know there’s a fuck ton of them in here! I could step on one or trip. Not to mention in the shower-“ He begins to shout.

“It’s you that wants to live here! And if you want to, you have to follow my rules.”

“You really are a bossy little thing. Didn’t think you’d be into domination.” Ben cocks his head to the side examining you.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Because you’re so damn guarded. It’s like trying to get into the U.S Mint.”

That made you pause. He wants to know more about me? What?

Bean purrs louder and brushes up against your legs as if asking your permission for Ben to live there.

This is insane. Why here? Couldn’t he go off and live with Legend or something?

“Are you sure you couldn’t just live with Legend? Y’all seem to get along better-“

Ben shudders. “I never want to live with him again. I stayed over at his house a few nights one time and walked in on him naked and covered in cool whip.”

“I don’t think you have the right to kink shame other people-“

“He was alone Petals.”

“What?”

“There was no one else there.”

“Okay yeah that’s weird.” You snort.

“Then again if I walked in on you covered in cool whip I think it would be a nice surprise.” Ben winks at you as he takes another hit from his blunt.

“Keep dreaming Gramps.”

“Oh I see it in my dreams all the time.” He tilts his head to the side, his eyes tracing the curves of your body.

You sigh exasperated. On one hand you felt bad for him and were kind of flattered that he was willing to confess that he didn’t want to live alone to you. And on the other hand you didn’t want him to live with you because you knew he would drive you to the brink of insanity. And you were already close enough to that.

“Fine.”

“Fine like you’re going to pull some cool whip out of the freezer?” Ben perks up.

“No. Fine as in you can live here and pay rent. But, if you break any of the rules or if you start driving me more insane than usual, I reserve the right to kick you out on your ass.”

“Can I make a counter offer?”

“Nope.”

Ben sighs mulling it over, before he stands from the couch and holds out his hand towards you. “Deal.”

You take it hesitantly. Sometimes you weren’t used to how warm Ben was. You figured that it was because of the nuclear radiation, but you didn’t mind it. In fact, you kind of liked it. Plants and cold didn’t mix and you noticed that you didn’t do well in the cold either, which meant that Ben’s body temperature almost seemed to soothe you.

And you noticing how warm he was again lead back to the memory of him pinning you against the counter earlier, how warm his body was when it curved around you, how he dipped his head down towards yours, how he-

I’ve got to get this under control. You grit your teeth together to avoid the strawberry bush on top of the refrigerator to go back into full bloom.

“Well now that this is all sorted out, I’m going to go to bed.” You let go of his hand and try to step around him, but Ben blocks you.

“Come on roomie, watch a movie with me. This is a good one.” Ben nods his head back to the tv, where the opening credits have started to play.

You’d never seen this film before, but wondered why Ben was so adamant about you watching a movie with him. You’d seen most of his others and hadn’t been impressed with his acting skills. You assumed he kept getting roles because of who he was.

What? Does he think that watching a film with him in it will make me sleep with him? I wonder if he does that on his Tinder dates, gets them all hot and bothered with his old films and… I am not thinking about this right now.

“I don’t watch much tv.” You lie, eyes shifting back to the dark hallway and the solace of your bedroom. In your bedroom you couldn't make the mistake of kissing Ben, in there you could only fantasize about it.

“There’s that adorable scrunch.” Ben coos poking his finger directly between your eyebrows, signaling that he knows you lied.

“Fine.” You sigh, swatting away his hand. “I’ll watch the stupid movie. But can I change first?”

“Sure.” 

You vanish down the hallway and into your room, looking around at the familiar objects inside. You take in a soothing breath, feeling the energy from the plants in the room sink into your bones and take away your anxiety and nervous energy. You gently touch the petals of a honeysuckle on your chest of drawers to perk it up, the happy yellow blooms making you smile.

I don’t have to go back out there. I can just hide in here forever.

It seemed like a good plan, but apart of you felt guilty, because Ben was asking you to do something that was normal with him instead of asking you to sleep with him.

Maybe he’s trying to have a sort of friendship. Maybe I should be supportive of that and-

“If you’re debating whether or not to come out of your room naked, the answer is yes.” Ben shouts from the living room. "I can check the freezer for cool whip for you."

Never mind.

When you finally come out of your bedroom you’re wearing a pair of your softest sweatpants and a maroon t-shirt with a picture of a potted plant on the front, toting your latest crochet project- a black cardigan with small white flowers the size of the tip of your pinky that you were making for Annie's birthday that was coming up in a month.

Before you hadn't minded that the only place to sit in your living room was the couch. Annie and you had spent many nights sitting on it drinking wine and watching ridiculous movies, but now you wished that you had tried to shove another armchair into your living room, because the only place for you to sit was beside Ben.

Ben, who now had shrugged out of his jacket and was looking much too good for someone wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He grins when he sees you and pats the cushion next to him.

"Come on baby, I don't bite." His grin turns wolfish. "Unless you ask me to."

You shake your head, but sit down beside him, bringing your legs up underneath you and place the cardigan on your lap before finding the cold metal of the crochet hook in the bundle. Ben's thigh is almost touching yours, just an inch of space between the two of you, but you can still feel the warmth of his body in the space.

"What the fuck is that?" Ben zeroes in on the project in your lap.

"I'm making a sweater for Annie's birthday. It's next month." You don't bother looking up at him, instead you try to find the stitch where you left off.

"And you call me old." Ben laughs.

"Keep talking Gramps and I'm gonna make you a pretty pink hat with big yellow flowers, tie it to your head while you're sleeping, take a photo, and make it your profile picture on Tinder."

"You've seen my pictures on Tinder?" Ben leans towards you and wiggles his eyebrows. "Were you fantasizing about me Petals?"

"Have you ever had a filter or did it get thrown away when you got the Douchebag iOS 8 upgrade?" You ask beginning to work down the row of stitches.

"I have no idea what that means." Ben frowns in confusion.

"Ask Hughie. Now be quiet I'm trying to watch the movie."

Ben chuckles and leans back on the sofa.

The movie was better than the others you'd seen. Ben was playing a man who was surviving in an apocalyptic world following the fallout of nuclear war that turned everyone into mutated creatures. It was broken up by flashbacks to a perfect world where Ben was in the military and had the perfect nuclear family.

There was something about seeing him in the flashbacks with the family that made something stir in your chest. Seeing him so gentle, playing with his kids, sitting at the breakfast table with his wife- it reminded you of how Ben acted with you sometimes, when he acted calmer and less like the macho asshole he was around Butcher and the rest of the team.

It made you think about what Hughie said that Ben said about having a few kids with Countess.

He’d probably be a good dad.

You think to yourself finishing the row and starting the next one, the bright blue metal crochet hook weaving the yarn together.

That must have been painful, to find out that she never loved him. I wonder if he waited for her to come get him everyday.

A part of your heart broke for him despite how much he annoyed you. You couldn’t imagine someone you loved letting you down like that, leaving you behind and not coming back.

It would be like me waiting for Annie each day and then find out that our friendship didn't mean anything to her.

You could see Ben glancing over at you every few minutes as if gauging how much you liked the movie, and it was hard not to smile.

“What?” You ask, threading your hook.

“Are you paying attention?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like it?”

“Huh?” You look up from your crochet at him. You weren’t expecting him to ask you that. “Um yeah. I like this one. I can't believe they got Charleton Heston to star in this with you." You say watching Ben and Heston on the screen. Heston was playing another survivor who was leading what seemed to be the last group of survivors in New York. Ben's character had just discovered them living in the sewers and was happy to learn that he wasn’t the last man on earth. “You like Chuck Petals?”

“My dad did. We used to watch all his films, but we never watched this one.” You look back down at your crochet, smoothly working down the row. The rhythmic motion of the hook and the yarn is serene and calming. It’s why you started in the first place, because after a long day it was the only thing that lowered your anxiety.

You hadn’t thought about your father in years, hadn’t tried to watch one of the films he loved so much in ages, sometimes it was too painful to think about your parents, hard to think about what happened to them.

“What was he like?” Ben asks.

“Charleston Heston? I hate to break it to you Gramps, but if you’ve forgotten what he was like and you were in a movie with him I’m pretty sure that’s a sign of Alzheimer’s.” You reply without looking up.

“Your old man.” Ben rolls his eyes.

“Oh.” You bite the inside of your cheek. “He was a dad.” You say it hoping that Ben won't press you for more answers.

“And?”

“Why are you asking me that?” You insert the hook into the sweater, not looking up at Ben.

“Humor me.”

“I don’t really want to talk about him.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like to.”

“Why not?"

“Because I don’t!" You shout, shoulders tensing. "Why? Do you like talking about your dad?”

Ben’s mouth dips down into a frown. “Not really.”

An awkward silence grows between the two of you, broken only by the dialogue between Ben and Heston on the screen.

“My parents died when I was 12.” You whisper, continuing down the row of stitches until you get to the end and flip the sweater around. "I don't like talking about it."

Ben presses his lips into a tight line. “I’m sorry.”

“I’d say it’s okay, but it’s really not.” You begin the next row of stitches, not looking up at Ben. You hadn't talked about your parents with anyone since you were in a relationship with Newton. Annie of course knew, she'd been there with you the whole time, through the funeral, through the aftermath when you had horrible nightmares, through the fallout with your brother when he vanished for a month and didn't seem the same when he came back, and she always made sure that you were okay. Annie was more than your best friend, she was family.

Another silence builds as the two of you watch the movie continue. Heston had just revealed that it was his fault that the nuclear fallout took place and that he was secretly a Nazi. You were sure that there was going to be an epic fight scene within the next few minutes.

“My mom died when I was young too.” Ben murmurs still looking at the screen, barely audible over the music as it begins to swell.

You stop crocheting to look at him. “I’m sorry.”

He nods once, not looking at you, taking another hit from his blunt.

And as you sit there examining him, you wondered if Ben, despite everything he said and everything he did, if he was just as human as you were.

A/N: I realize that this might be becoming a lot of domestic fluff and soft Ben and I'm not sorry. 😂

As always thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist please let me know! :)

Taglist:

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[luvjunie]

— Unforgettable ( 1 )

part one • part two • part three • part four

pairing: e-1610!miles morales x fem!reader

contains: miles rizzing you up after knowing you for two seconds, a beef patty changing the entire course of trajectory for your life. nothing too major

summary: a bump in with a certain boy at the bodega threatens to ruin your previously perfect afternoon until he offers to fix it. you assumed things would end there, and then you ran into him again. wc: 1,634

a/n: this was originally going to be one long fic but i decided to split it up, and i’m estimating around four, maybe five chapters in total. also, chapter one is cute but i thought i should let y’all know that two of them will contain some angst/conflict! this is the first series i’ve ever written so it won’t be the best, and i’m still deciding if i like how i mapped out the rest of the story so please bear with me if updates are a tad irregular 😅

next

To think, a damn beef patty is what started it all.

A beef patty that had tumbled out of your hands, down the sweater you’d just taken to the laundromat— your favorite one, at that— and onto the dirty bodega floor when a hard surface came in contact with you on your way to leave.

“Oh shit—“

“Jeez, what the hell man!”

You lunch gone and your good mood with it, your head lifted a great distance from the murder scene at your feet to meet the apologetic face of who had committed this unjust crime against your rumbling stomach.

“I am so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going…” The boy in front of you murmured sheepishly, palm dragging at the back of his neck.

Lips pursed, your forefinger and thumb pinched at the bridge of your nose as you willed yourself to refrain from cursing him out. New york already had enough of that, you decided as he continued apologizing.

“It’s my fault. I bumped into you, it’s fine.” you grumbled curtly, clearly irked. Shifting the blame onto yourself was your best attempt at keeping your anger at bay. The last thing you wanted to do was cut up in this nice man’s shop, especially not on a Sunday.

With a heavy sigh and a scratch to your brow, you crouched down and swiftly scooped the discarded meal off the floor with a napkin. Great, money down the drain.

“Let me buy you another one.” He said to the top of your green adidas beanie, palms pushed together to accompany his plea.

“No need.”

“I really wanna buy you another one.”

You shot up and tossed the remnants into the trash, your frustration evident in how much forced you used. “Dude, it’s—“

“I’m buying you another one.” he insisted, chin raising when he hollered at the clerk. “Yo, Lenny, lemme get another beef patty, man.”

He shuffled past you before you could decline again, the man behind the counter already sliding a fresh one past the register after having witnessed the run in.

You stared at the back of this stranger, brows furrowed incredulously. He was nice, which was unusual for someone in this city, so your innate response was to be annoyed at his persistence. People were always bumping into you and ruining your day, but no one had ever offered to fix it before.

“That’s the last one I got for the day, Miles.” Lenny, the owner of the shop informed apologetically, his Jamaican accent heavy on his tongue. He knew the boy usually came into his store around this hour for one thing, and it was always for one of his beef patties.

“It’s cool, don’t sweat it.” Waving him off, Miles slapped the cash down onto the counter and snatched the pastry up.

“Here,” He turned to you just as you were brushing your hands off onto your dark-wash jeans, breath held with what he hoped would be a peace-offering, extended out to you. “I’m sorry, again.”

You looked up at him, then back down at the patty in his hand before you gently accepted it, the pads of your fingers lingering in his palm when you did so.

“Thank you,..” trailing off, you blinked up at him, a silent request for his name. He was tall, kind of lanky, and had the prettiest brown eyes you’d probably ever seen. They stared back at you, appearing puzzled before he put the pieces together.

“Oh!— Miles.” he answered with a warm smile, hands tucking into the pockets of his jacket. It was green, your favorite color.

“Thank you… Miles.” you returned his smile with a smaller one, something about it contagious.

Caught up in the way you said his name for a moment, it wasn’t until you were already halfway out the door when he realized you hadn’t told him yours.

“Wait! I didn’t get your—“ he called out to the air, the bell on the shop’s door a taunt of his failed attempt. “Name.” he murmured, shoulders falling with a sigh.

He felt eyes on him and turned to the side, lips smacking against his teeth in annoyance at who’s stare he’d caught.

“Don’t be mad at me, man. You gotta step ya game up.” Lenny threw his hands up in surrender and stifled a laugh, shaking his head at the boy.

Even though he had nothing to be smiling about when he exited the small store—seeing as he was out of five dollars and still hungry—Miles found himself walking home that day with a smile etched onto his face, a little pep in his step and something to keep his mind busy.

Nothing happened, that was obvious, but for some reason he felt like this wouldn’t be the last time he saw you.

—

Exactly one thing was on your mind the next time you entered Lenny’s shop, and he already knew what it was before you’d opened your mouth to ask after approaching the register.

Well, maybe two things, but the second one wasn’t necessary to get into.

“Comin’ righ’tup, sweetheart.” He nodded at you.

“Thanks.” You smiled sweetly, idly tapping your hands against the counter during your short wait.

The white parchment paper cradling your all time favorite snack slid over to you a minute later. You paid quickly, your stomach rumbling just from smelling the savory treat.

Just as you went to turn around, you spotted that same boy who’d ran into you a week ago and nearly ruined your day. Miles, you remembered his name was, as you stuck an apprehensive hand out in front of you, patty pulled close to your chest and brows raised in warning.

“Chill,” He laughed, his hands shooting up in defense. “I’m out your way this time, promise.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, his playful demeanor rubbed off on you. “You better be.”

“Please don’t tell me you got the last one.” He pleaded with hopeful eyes, but wishful thinking never did much for him.

“She sure did.” Lenny called from behind the counter, eyeing Miles closely to see if he’d take the bone he threw. He then ticked his head to the side with a slightly widened stare, as if urging the disappointed boy to make a move.

“Woops.” Using your fingers, you ripped a piece off the patty and popped it into your mouth, shrugging as you brushed past Miles, who had just caught on to what the shop owner did for him.

With your back to him as you pushed the door open to outside, you missed the two fingered salute Miles shot towards the man as a thank you.

He followed after you, swiftly shouldering himself through the closing door and sliding outside, into step with you.

“Tell you what, I’ll give you my number for half of it.” He offered with a boyish grin, long legs able to keep up with ease.

You nearly choked, steps halting when you spun around to face him. What made him think you wanted his number? And maybe you did, because you definitely thought he was cute, but that was besides the point since he didn’t know that.

“Are you flirting with me?” you asked, and he perked up a bit.

“Depends. Is it working?”

You rolled your eyes. “How about my name first?”

He shrugged, leaning back against the side of the building a bit. “I kinda assumed that was a package deal, seeing as I’ll need something to save your contact under.”

Okay, you’ll admit it, that was smooth.

You put your hand on your hip, patty in the other with your head tilted in thought. “Somehow, I feel like this deal benefits you more than me.”

“That‘s possible.” Miles chuckled, and you can’t believe that’s all it took to convince you. How pretty he looked when he laughed. How good your name sounded rolling off his tongue when he’d repeated it back to stake it within his memory.

You quietly hummed to yourself, contemplating. You’d never accepted a guy’s advances this easily, and figured you’d test him in a way he’d most likely fail.

“Quick, what’s my favorite color?”

There was a pause.

“Green.”

Your jaw dropped. “What— How in the hell?” You gaped at him. “How did you know that?”

“You give away more than you know with your eyes.” He grinned. “Saw you eyeing my jacket last week, and you’re doing it again today. And your beanie, too.” With a raise of his eyes from yours, he pointed out the forest green hat pulled snug over your head and your hand mindlessly went to touch it. “But honestly, I was only like, seventy percent sure, so maybe you can call it a lucky guess.”

You quirked a brow. “Oh, so you think I’m checking you out now?”

“No, but I wouldn’t mind.”

Well, you’d managed to lose at your own game, fair and square. Holding his gaze for a minute, you had to restrain a smile from splitting through your calm and collected facade and shooed away the urge with a clearing of your throat.

“Phone.” You held your hand out, beckoning him for it.

Fetching it from his pants pocket, he did the same to you with his other hand, palm upwards. “Patty.”

Huffing in frustration, you awarded him the half he earned and snatched the device, ignoring the triumphant look on his face as you punched your digits in.

—

It was pitiful. It barely took anything for you to take interest in a guy in general— but even if your standards were ridiculously high, there was no doubt that Miles would have weasled his way into your thoughts regardless.

You’d checked your phone at least six times in the past hour in hopes of seeing a text, coming up with unconvincing excuses like checking the time, or the weather— all while blatantly pretending to be oblivious towards the possibility that a message from an unknown number might just be there, too.

And then it came.

[Unknown]: Best patty I’ve had in a while. Food always tastes better when it’s not yours :)

He had you on your stomach, features pulled into a hopeful smile with your legs fluttering in the air off one message. You’d remind yourself to get a grip in due time.

Who’s this?

You knew damn well who it was. But you wouldn’t be who you were if you didn’t play hard to get.

[Unknown]: Damn, you forgot about me that quickly?

You clicked the info button in the top right corner of your phone and saved him as a contact before you replied.

Maybe. Remind me of your name again? Micah, right?

[Miles]: Okay, now that’s just hurtful. I do not look like a Micah!

You laughed to yourself at that, flopping onto your back as you typed a response. In the back of your mind you wondered if things would progress any further than this conversation.

But if only you could’ve time travelled and spoken to your future self, because she would’ve told you that forgetting about a boy like Miles Morales, or trying to, would be impossible.

tags: @cctoma

[copperbadge]

Nashvillains, I have a question about zoning.

I keep seeing bars and venues with like... auxiliary food. Like "oh we don't serve food here, but you can bring food in from" and then one of three options:

1. The food truck in our parking lot that clearly is not driveable anymore

2. The backyard shed attached to one wall which smells amazing but looks like it came from Home Depot in the 80s

3. The grocery store next door that doesn't sell groceries so much as "has a grocery shelf and a massive hot deli counter."

All of this is fun as hell, don't mistake me, but between Springwater with Red's Hot Garden Shed Chicken, No Quarter with Brave Idiot permanently parked out back and ditto Honeytree Meadery with Bad Luck Burgers and Basement East with Chivanada, plus a few get your snacks at this nearby bodega! Brew"pub"s I've had recommended, I'm sensing a pattern.

Is it super hard to get a food license here, or harder for bars, or are there loopholes for "non permanent" kitchens? Or is it just mutually beneficial evolution, like why serve food if a food truck is willing to set up permanent shop, and why roll around if you can make all your bank off the drunk people at this one bar?

The food truck fan in me is curious and the researcher in me is hungry.

[moralesmilesanhour]

teamwork (makes the dream work...?) pt. 2.5

summary: you bump into Miles at the bodega. whoops.

wc: 900+

warnings: implied food insecurity, wasted sandwich </3

prev next

…Or so you thought.

Standing right in front of you in the crowded bodega ordering a beef patty was none other than Mr. Morales himself, drowning in a huge black puffer jacket. As soon as he finished, he stood off to the side, eyes glued to the floor and shifting from one foot to the other.

“What you want, miss?” The man at the counter broke you out of your reverie, looking impatient.

“Sorry, just a BLT, please,” you called out over the din of music and loud conversation. The man nodded, yelling out your order to two other men standing over a hot stove beside him. 

You moved to the side, near the snack aisle where Miles was standing. His eyes seemed to remain on the ground, so you sneak glances at the side of his face, starting from his ears. They were pierced, but currently barren. You move up to his cheek, where a stray lash has fallen. The boy's lashes were just long enough to brush it. They fluttered as his pupil darted to the side, and you realized that you were making eye contact.

"Whoah, can I get my face back?"

Miles had caught you just before your eyes could flicker away. He had that same ‘the sky is blue’ look that he gave you on the first day you were seated together. You quickly turned away without a word, opting to examine the snacks lining the rack behind you.

“No ‘hello’?”

You spun around, bag of Takis in-hand.

“What?”

“You just gon’ stare into my skull and not even say ‘hello’?”

You scoffed at the boy’s sudden interest in etiquette.

“Fine, hi.”

One of the cooks called out both of your orders, sliding them across the counter wrapped in aluminum foil as the two of you went up to the front.

“Bye.”

Miles grabbed his food first before weaving through the crowd towards the exit.

That is, until you try to squeeze out of the door before him. Your face plants into the plush material of his jacket before you stumble onto the cracked sidewalk outside, your poor sandwich open on the ground before you could even take a bite.

Groaning, you hear a few ‘Ohhh’s behind you as you squat to pick the two halves up to throw them out. This was supposed to be your dinner.

Miles watches you toss them into a nearby trash can, and makes a decision.

“Yo,” he waved you over. His face looked like it was holding onto a laugh, and you rolled your eyes.

“Now is really not the time, Morales.”

“So I guess you not tryna eat, then?”

You paused, and looked at the boy skeptically. He didn’t seem like the type to be above making you eat things off the floor. As if you had communicated with him telepathically, Miles shrugs his shoulders and nods.

“That’s fair,” he says to himself. 

Your eyebrows raise in surprise when he makes long strides over to you instead. He carefully opens up the aluminum to reveal the golden pastry inside, and you watch him carefully split it in half with his fingers before offering the piece. You look up at Miles, then the patty, then back up at Miles. His expression softened into a knowing look.

“I’m not gonna ask for no money back, if that’s what’s on your mind.”

Finally, you take it. It was either this, or Takis and sleep for dinner.

 “Thanks.”

The sky had taken on a deep blue shade, and worry crept onto your features as the street lights began to flicker on.

“I gotta walk home,” you said flatly. “See you tomorrow–”

“By yourself?”

Even as it got dark, you could make out the deep frown on Miles’ face.

“It’s not that far, relax.”

“How far?”

Your tongue pushed against the inside of your cheek before you muttered, “Three blocks…”

Miles stuck his hands in his pockets. “Look, ion like yo’ ass, but I can’t have you walking around here by yourself in the dark. Lemme walk you two blocks,” he put two fingers for emphasis, “at least.”

You tilted your head at him, but agreed. 

“Slow down,” you complained as you struggled to keep up with the long-legged boy. The both of you had been walking for barely twenty minutes, but your feet were already starting to hurt from having to jog up to him.

“Walk faster,” Miles laughed. 

Silence settled in between you as the streets got quieter, save for the bustling of traffic in the distance.

“Is it true what people say about you?” you ask, suddenly breaking it.

“Be more specific.”

“Like, are you in a gang? You don’t gotta tell me which. And how the hell you flunk outta school on purpose? Do you really do graffiti-”

“First of all, I’m not in no fuckin’ gang,” Miles had stopped walking abruptly. “You see any tats on me?”

“You’re wearing a coat.”

You hear Miles suck his teeth, and snicker.

“Well, I don’t have one. My momma would put me in the dirt if I did,”

He resumed his speed-walking, and you break into another light jog to stay next to him. “The other two are true, though.”

“Why?” you ask, a little out of breath.

“Do you know how to use complete sentences?”

“Why’d you flunk on purpose? Graffiti, I can understand. That, I can't.”

Miles was silent for a few moments, and you considered retracting the question before he finally replied.

“Visions…wasn’t really for me.”

You want to press further, piece together how a kid with a strict mother and a knack for advanced calculus could just…decide that school ‘wasn’t for him’. But the way he mumbled his answer told you he wouldn’t divulge any more, and your house was just up ahead. You’d walked all three blocks.

“This is me,” you say as you slow your pace. “Thanks again.”

“Yup, g’night,” Miles calls behind him, already strolling in the opposite direction.

-

Whew, okay! I hope y’all enjoy this one even though it’s technically not a full chapter. Now I’ll ACTUALLY give myself a week to work on the next one lmao. As always, feel free to leave any reactions, questions, or comments in replies/tags/my asks! thx for reading <3

[the-broken-pen]

“Oh my god—“

“Not quite, love” The antagonist smirked. “If you ask nicely, however, I may be inclined to play along.”

“You’re—“

“A villain, yes.”

The protagonist tried to stop their hands from shaking as the antagonist looked them up and down.

“Why are you in my neighborhood bodega?” The protagonist said finally, and the villain quirked a brow.

“Even famous people need to eat,” the antagonist tucked their hands into their exquisitely tailored suit.

The bag of chips in the protagonists grip crinkled, and the villain inspected them.

“Not the healthiest choice.”

They gave an unamused laugh. “The cheapest.”

The antagonist’s eyes ran over their face, as if taking in their slightly gaunt cheeks.

“Heroism doesn’t pay well, it seems.”

The protagonist looked them up and down.

“Villainy does, it seems.”

At that, the antagonist chuckled, eyes glimmering like they had finally found something to peak their interest.

Behind them, the check out counter beeped and spit out a receipt, which the antagonist promptly crumpled and threw away.

“I’ll be watching,” they said with a nonchalance that did not match the threat of stalking, and disappeared out the sliding doors.

The protagonist stood in front of the machine, slightly awe struck and slightly afraid, until a clerk sidled up to them.

“Old friend?” The clerk asked.

The protagonist glanced over at them, then back towards the door.

“Not quite,” they answered.

They paid for their chips and left, hands pink with cold by the time they got to their apartment.

Attached to their door was an cream colored envelope full of money, and a note in elegant handwriting that simply said “Buy yourself more groceries. Your fridge is a tragedy.”

The protagonist never quite got rid of the antagonist after that.

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

5 Times You Stole Eijiro Kirishima’s Hoodie | Part 1: The Convenience Store

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Eijiro Kirishima x Femme Reader! 💋

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Tension, Hero Situations, Eijiro Kirishima is a Pro Hero

Link to My Master List 😬

5 Times You Stole Eijiro Kirishima’s Hoodie

Part 1: The Convenience Store

It is a rainy Tuesday night and you are absolutely exhausted from work. On your way home to your apartment, you decide to stop by a local bodega for some junk food. You have been looking forward to binge watching a trashy reality TV show all day long, and some potato chips would be the perfect snack to munch on as you enjoy the juicy TV drama.

The bodega’s glass sliding door opens with a squeak as you hastily fold up your dripping umbrella. You shiver as the cool store AC hits your wet skin, and goose bumps flare across your bare arms. The day had started out deceptively warm, and you hadn’t dressed for the weather. You are deeply regretting the choice to wear the navy sleeveless dress that is now clinging to your body and dripping a puddle onto the dull bodega carpet. Oh well – you will be home in just a few minutes and will be able to step into a hot shower soon enough.

You grab a shopping basket and wander the aisles, eager to satiate your cravings for salty crisps. The store is unusually empty for the hour – the sudden rain must have kept most people inside. The only other people present are the elderly cashier, and a man pursuing the energy drinks in one of the freezers. The other patron is keenly focused on a bottle of purple Gatorade - intently reading the ingredient list on the drink’s packaging. You pay no attention to this other customer as you locate the snack aisle and load up your basket with chip bags boasting a variety of fun flavors (BBQ chips?? Yes please!). The aisles are tall – stacked ceiling high with boxes and bags containing every flavor of chip one could imagine.

SMASH! A loud crash reverberates throughout the tiny store, followed by the sound of small objects scattering across the vinyl floor. A deep voice booms out: “This is a hold up. Give me all the money in that register. And make it quick – I don’t think either of us wants any trouble.” You freeze; blood running cold in your veins as you quickly put the pieces of the situation together.

“I swear old man – I’ve got a special quirk that will make your life all kinds of painful unless you Hand. Over. The. Cash.”

You move slowly along the aisle, looking for a gap in the snack shelves so you can better assess the situation. Through a small space between cereal boxes, the situation comes into view – the man that you had seen shopping for sports drinks is now standing menacingly over the check out counter. He is around six feet tall with sharp features; a simple black domino mask obscured his eyes. Clad entirely in black, he stands with his right arm gripping the linoleum countertop, the other poised grotesquely above the cashier’s balding head. It takes you a moment to put together exactly what you were seeing – the villain’s right arm was a gigantic crab claw! If the situation weren’t so tense, you would have died from laughter. The scene is ridiculous – the man’s arm (claw) is twice the length of a typical human arm and had a bright, shiny red hue. This kind of mutation quirk always gives you a start – the unnatural way the man’s body blends seamlessly with the extra large claw is uncanny.

            The shop cashier looks up at the villain with terror in his eyes. He seems absolutely frozen on the spot as the masked robber clicks his claw menacingly. With a start, you notice that the inside of the claw is wickedly sharp. The villain flashes it dangerously towards the cashier’s neck to drive a sense of urgency.

            You assess your options. Your quirk isn’t particularly powerful, but it definitely has some use here. If you could just get a little bit closer to the situation, you could probably use it to distract the villain long enough to get the cashier out of harm’s way. You stretch out your hand to activate your quirk, but stopped dead when you feel a warm, rough hand clamp around your mouth from behind.

You try to scream, but the sound comes out muffled. Adrenaline floods your veins as you prepared to fight for your life. You hadn’t heard someone sneak up behind you, and you squirm in an effort to get away. An arm reaches out to steady you, and it’s owner whispers: “Sorry to startle you – I’m here to help.” The soft, gravely voice sends a fresh wave of goose bumps down your chilled skin. You turn to see one of the year’s top heroes - the Red Riot - crouched over you in the snack aisle. You’d recognize that trademark red spiky hair anywhere. Your body starts to relax a bit – things are under control and a hero is here!

Over the past few years, Red Riot has been making quite a name for himself in the media as a dependable, chivalrous hero. You’ve often watched his battles and rescues play out on the television – not only was he a skilled hero, but also he was kind and genuine. His interviews were your favorite – he always found such nice things to say about his teammates and the people he rescued. And he wasn’t bad to look at either.

He’s clearly not on duty – his usual simple costume has been traded in for a black t-shirt, jeans and a soft red hoodie. Your heart skips a beat. He’s so totally hot. When he realizes you’re not going to scream and give away his position to the villain, he releases you from his embrace. He smiles reassuringly, and the warmth of his grins reaches his eyes.

“I’m going to get you out of this.” He promises.

For a second there, you completely forgot about the convenience store hold up occurring feet away from where the two of you were crouched. Your senses are clouded by the closeness of Red Riot, who is still holding you steady with his muscular arms. When he realizes his touch is lingering a bit longer than necessary, he quickly pulls away. He shifts to peer over your shoulder through the small cereal box window. The movement brings him ever so slightly closer to you, and you find yourself inhaling the sweet scent of clean laundry. You lean the tiniest bit closer to him.

But back to the situation at hand – you can hear the crab clawed villain barking commands at the cashier. He wants all the money from the register as well as a roll of lotto tickets. He must be either extremely overconfident or incredibly good at crime – because this man is taking his time! Red Riot scowls as he watches the scene unfold. You can see his body tensing as he prepares for a confrontation. With a look of determination, he turns to you and whispers “stay quiet and out of sight. I’m going to go distract the villain and try to de-escalate the situation. If things get physical – run. There’s a dumpling shop across the street – get someone there to call the police.”

His red eyes bore into your own. There’s something so intense and hot about him. You feel a strange connection pulling you closer to this man, closer to the heat of his body.

            “W-wait.” You whisper. “I can help!”

            You point to the man with the crab claw – he still has the Gatorade bottle in the pocket of his pants. To his left you see a palette of energy drinks waiting to be restocked. “With my quirk I can control small amounts of liquid. I can distract him by levitating all those energy drinks at once. I’ll suspend them in the air and bring them all crashing down on top of him, giving you time to get the cashier out of harm’s way.”

            Red Riot smiles appreciatively. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid I can’t ask you to put yourself in danger like that. I’ll handle this on my own. Just keep quiet and get across the street, okay?”

            You make a face. You don’t understand why he won’t let you help. After all, the villain seems untrained and unfocused. His claw hand can’t do much damage to a bunch of small, moving targets.

            “Trust me.” Red Riot reaches for your hand. He places the pads of your fingers on his palm. You can feel him activating his hardening quirk beneath your fingers as his skin slowly becomes rougher. “I was built for this.”

            You nod, unable to argue. His quirk makes his skin feel smooth and strong like the bark of an oak tree. You press your fingers lightly into the center of his hand, but there’s no give. Reflexively, he closes his fingers around your own, causing electricity to shoot through your hand at the intimate touch. Red Riot’s eyes widen, an apology already at his lips. You quickly slip your hand out from his grasp.

“Good luck, Red Riot.” You tap the hardened skin on his forearm. “You’re right – definitely built for this.”

            He grins, seemingly basking in the compliment.

            “That’s right – just leave this to me!” He whispers back. “Stay safe, okay?”

Red Riot army crawls down the aisle. You watch as he slowly steps out from behind the shelves and approaches the counter confidently, grabbing a bag of BBQ chips on the way. The poor cashier is now filling a grocery bag with money from the register as the crab armed villain hulks over him, sneering and clicking his claw. The villain doesn’t even seem to hear Red Riot approaching him from behind.

            In two strides, Red Riot closes the distance and reaches out to tap the villain on his crabby shoulder.

            “Excuse me, sir. I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the counter. Other people want to check out.” As he says this, he pointedly tosses his bag of chips onto the shiny linoleum counter.

            The crab villain whirls around, face full of fury. His eyes widen and his face contorts in fury when he realizes whom he’s talking to. The villain wastes no time – he propels himself away from the counter, whirling his deadly sharp arm towards Red Riot.

Crack!

The arm makes contact with Red Riot’s rock hard skin. The hero smiles smugly, his right arm taking the brunt of the blow.

“Why don’t we take this down a notch, sir? I’m clearly a match for your quirk, and the police are already on their way. There’s no need to fight, we can just talk - ”

            The villain moves surprisingly swiftly, shifting around Red Riot’s outstretched arm and reaching to position his claw around Red Riot’s neck. The hero’s facial expression shifts to surprise – he wasn’t expecting a villain with such a cumbersome quirk to be able to move so languidly. The crab villain slowly starts to press down his claw around the hero’s neck. Red Riot is making a face that clearly says “Oh, shit.”

You turn and desperately reach your hand through the gap in the cereal box display, pointing your fingertips at the villain and willing your Quirk to activate. Almost instantly, the Gatorade bottle resting half full in the villain’s back pocket lifts into the air as all of the liquid rushes towards the top of the container. You focus all of your concentration on the bottle.

Unfortunately, you never had a lot of opportunity to train and refine your quirk as you had pursued an educational track that prioritized tech and computer skills over quirk competence. However, you had a grasp on the fundamentals of how your quirk worked – and you figured if you could just distract the crab villain for a moment, you could give Red Riot a chance to regroup.

The villain pressed his sharp claw further around Red Riot’s neck. You could hear an ominous cracking notice – and you hoped desperately that the sound wasn’t the hero’s thick skin crumbling beneath his assailant’s grasp. You began to feel a sickening mix of adrenaline and fear coursing through your veins and you try to renew your concentration. The liquid inside the bottle begins to boil – the water fizzing and popping in the small confined space. You shakily will the bottle to float up and behind the villain’s head.

Red Riot uses his hardened hands to try to break the villain’s grasp, but the crabby grip holds fast. The villain is intensely focused on trying to crush Red Riot’s windpipe, and so he is completely taken by surprise when the bottle of Gatorade explodes and hits the back of his head with a splash of scalding purple liquid. The villain howls in pain – both hands reflexively flying to cradle the back of his burned head. In his pain and fury, he unwittingly releases Red Riot from his grasp. The red headed hero is quick to take advantage of the situation – dropping to the ground and sweeping a strong leg beneath the villain’s own. The crab-clawed villain comes crashing to the ground with a large “thud.”

Red Riot wastes no time, dropping on top of the villain to pin disproportionate arms to the ground.

“Sir, you’re under arrest for armed robbery and for engaging in combat with a licensed hero. The police will be here shortly to take your statement - but in the meantime please stop resisting.”

You breathe a sigh of relief as Red Riot continues to hold the villain tightly to the ground. Behind the counter’s register, the convenience store clerk still stands frozen, holding a wad of bills in bills in a vice-like grip.

You hear the metallic slide of the store’s automatic doors followed by several pairs of heavy boots off to your right. Within a few seconds, a team of police officers comes into view, their starched blue shirts bright in the florescent lighting.

At the sight of the police, the crab villain finally seems to give up fighting – his body sagging to the ground beneath Red Riot. The hero holds his position, eyeing the villain’s mutant arm warily. Even from a distance, you can tell his hardening quirk is still activated – he isn’t taking any chances.

“Great job, Red Riot! We’ll take it from here.” A tall officer with a glinting badge steps forward and uses a length of metal cord to bind the villain’s large clawed arm. “We’ve been after this guy for weeks!”

Red Riot smiles as he steps back and lets the police team capture his assailant. He turns and meets your eyes through the space in the cereal box wall. He grins at you, his dark eyes wink a quick “thanks” in your direction as he detectives whisk him away for questioning.

“Miss – are you alright?” You let out a small squeak of surprise, turning to find a short female officer with a tight bun of dark hair coming around the corner of the aisle. You look down at yourself – crouching like a wild animal in a soggy, rain-drenched dress.

“I’ve definitely had better days.” You laugh, allowing the policewoman to help you to your feet. You feel the adrenaline slowly start to melt away, leaving you feeling shaky and a bit lightheaded. You can’t think of the last time you used your quirk, so you’re sure the little stunt you pulled to save Red Riot has impacted your stamina.

“Mind if we ask you a few questions about what happened here?” The officer asks, motioning for you to follow her to the front of the store where the crab villain is being checked for weapons.

“No, not at all!” You wrap your arms around yourself and attempt to bring some warmth back into your body.          

The police had a lot of questions. Apparently this villain had been evading them for quite sometime. He had been robbing convenience stores across several cities. He was quick, efficient, and sometimes even deadly – having injured half a dozen clerks and store patrons in his mad pursuit of cash.

“We heard that you used your quirk to get Red Riot out of a spot of trouble.” The policewoman with the bun taps a pen to a pad of paper thoughtfully. Her tone isn’t accusatory; she’s just stating facts. “The unsanctioned use of a quirk in combat is illegal, but since you were put in a potentially life threatening situation and you were in under the supervision of a pro hero, the Good Samaritan law should cover your actions today.”

 You feel the last bit of energy absolutely drain out of you and you reach out to grab a nearby store shelf for support. Illegal? The thought of breaking the law hadn’t even crossed your mind. You had just acted on pure instinct when you saw Red Riot in trouble. You start to shiver more violently as the weight of what you’ve done fully sinks in. The policewoman quickly waves to another officer and you find yourself being guided to a chair.

“Miss - it seems like you’re in shock. Please take some deep breaths and we’ll get you to a hospital shortly to get checked out, alright?” The officer pats your hand kindly and pockets her notepad. She walks out of view to call a medical team with her colleagues and you are momentarily left alone in the corner of the store. You stare at the ground, your head feeling fuzzy and cold. It was so stupid to use your quirk so recklessly like that! You admonish yourself silently. You’re sure that Red Riot could have gotten himself out of that bad situation given time – he was a top hero after all! You were just so worried and eager to help…

A soft material engulfs your shoulders. “You’re freezing! Here – take my sweatshirt.” You turn and see Red Riot standing behind you, his strong hands pressing his large red hoodie around your shoulders. He smooths the plush material around you, and you shiver at the contact.

“I couldn’t possibly take this!” You said weakly despite your body hungrily leaning into the warmth of his touch and the offered piece of clothing.

“It’s too late – it’s already yours. Consider it a thank you for saving me back there.” Red Riot grins, showing off a row of pointed teeth. You gratefully accept the gift – tucking your arms into the floppy sleeves. You’re practically swimming in sweatshirt.

“I really shouldn’t have done that.” You look down, ashamed. “You had the situation under control, and it was irresponsible to use my quirk like that. You even told me not to help earlier.” You shake your head, and then blush when you realize you’re probably showering the chivalrous hero in raindrops.

“Don’t beat yourself up about that at all! While it’s true that a Pro can always break out of a tough spot, someone once told me that ‘meddling where you don’t need to is the essence of a hero.’ You moved without thinking to help me when I needed it. That took guts.” His grin widens. “I’m so lucky that such a strong person was looking out for me from the cereal section.”

You laugh, cheeks blushing at the compliment. He’s just so…handsome, grinning roguishly at you with his deep, dark eyes.

“Your quirk is really strong, too. What was that – liquid manipulation? Have you ever trained your quirk?” You’re taken aback by the sincerity of his interest in your small little quirk.

“Not really – I had the standard quirk class in elementary school where we are evaluated and learn how to control the basics of each of our quirks. Beyond that, I never had much interest in it. I can make small amounts of liquid float, boil and freeze. It’s not particularly powerful, but I can make a mean pot of soup with it.” You smile, appreciating the attention you’re receiving from the hero. “I went to a specialty high school focused on business and marketing, so I pretty much avoided any quirk training or hero-focused track. Exploding that little Gatorade bottle was probably the crux of my power.”

“Well it was incredible! I feel like you’re really underselling yourself – I see so much potential in you and your quirk. With just a little training, I think you could really do some damage.” Red Riot says excitedly, talking animatedly with his hands. You laugh, picturing yourself in some ridiculous hero suit parading around the city splashing boiling water on legions of seafood-themed villains.

“Surprisingly, the hero life is just not for me!” You grin before a wave of shivers wracks through your body. Is this from shock? Or is it the damp cold of your rain soaked dress finally catching your attention.

Red Riot instantly notices your discomfort and shakes his head thoughtfully before saying: “Stay here a minute, I have an idea.” He scampers away and you’re left alone again. You focus on taking a few deep, calming breaths as you zip the hoodie up to your chin. You inhale deeply and realize that the red fabric smells comforting and sweet – a combination of mint and cedar wood. You deeply breathe in the scent of Red Riot, and you feel your panic ebb away. You’re steeped in exhaustion as you slouch against the hard plastic chair.

A moment later, Red Riot re-appears, holding a steaming Styrofoam cup. “I made you some peppermint tea.” He says shyly, holding out the hot cup. “It always makes me feel better after a fight – I thought it might do the same for you.”

You take the cup gratefully and tip it back for a sip. He holds out a hand to stop you. “Careful, it’s hot. Give it a second to cool so you don’t burn your mouth.”

“Thank you so much, Red Riot. I really appreciate all you’ve done today.” You’re too tired to care that you sound like a fan girl.

“Hey, call me Eijiro. After what we’ve been through together, we should be on a first name basis.” To your surprise, his cheeks tint pink as he shares his first name. You smile softly and share your own nickname. He repeats it back to you, seeming to like the way your name rolls on his tongue.

“It’s nice to meet you Eijiro.” You feel the warmth of the tea sinking into your icy hands.

“So what were you buying here at the store anyway? Let me go get you a cart and – oh, hold on!” He absentmindedly leans in close to you, reaching out to pull a stray wet strand of hair away from your face. He tucks it gently behind your ear. “We should really get you a hair dryer or something!” He laughs, “You’re still soaking wet!” Despite just having met, the touch is so intimate and familiar. You lean towards him, wanting him to touch you again with his strong, capable hero fingertips.

“Red Riot – the press is outside waiting to interview you.” A police officer calls over, snapping you both back to reality. “They’re eager to hear about how you apprehended the villain. For the sake of her privacy, let’s leave this young lady’s roll in the capture out of it.”

Eijiro snaps to attention, his hand still hovering close to your face. He turns to give the officer a thumbs up. “Sounds good to me! I’ll be right there.”

He moves to look at you again. His eyes are wide and his expression intrigued. “They’re going to take you to the hospital to make sure everything looks okay. They’ll probably keep you overnight for observation until you’re out of shock. I’m sure they’ll take good care of you, cutie.” He stands to walk out of the store. “Thanks for saving my life – I hope to hear from you soon!”

And with a wave, he strides away towards the press team waiting outside. You look down into your tea, confused and quietly delighted at his hope to hear from you. You have absolutely no idea how you would ever contact him again, but the sentiment and the term of endearment he had used is sweet. Ever the chivalrous hero.

The next few hours are a whirlwind of tests and scans and interviews with police officers and doctors alike. Despite your protests, an ambulance whisks you away to the closest hospital and you are kept under observation just as Red Riot - Eijiro ­- had predicted. The staff is courteous and sweet, praising you for your roll in the incident when the police officers tip them off. You’re given comfortable clothes to borrow and access to a hot shower adjacent to your hospital room.

When you finally sink into the hospital bed, it’s pitch black outside. You flick on the grainy old TV that’s mounted above your bed and flick through the channels until you stop to see a familiar face on the local news.

Red Riot is smiling down at you from the TV set, his eyes warm as he answers the questions of various reporters.

“I was just shopping for some ramen when I noticed the villain. Weird coincidence that I just happened to be at the same store as him!” The hero laughs, rubbing his hand behind his head. “I’m thankful to the store patrons and the clerk who stayed calm as I handled the situation.”

“Red Riot – did you have any difficulty subduing the victim?”

Eijiro pauses to think for a moment before carefully saying “There was a moment that he had the drop on me, but a really cute shopper distracted him for me and allowed me to get the upper hand.”

“You’re so humble, Red Riot. I’m sure you had everything under control.”

Eijiro shakes his head. “I don’t want to encourage recklessness, but I do want to make it clear that you don’t need to be a Pro to be someone’s hero. The woman who helped me today – her bravery and willingness to act even when things were scary is what true heroism looks like. I’m grateful to her, and I hope that I’ll be able to see her again soon.”

The reporters continue to fawn over Red Riot for a few more minutes – peppering him with more questions that he cheekily answers. He avoids revealing any additional details about you despite the reporter’s needling and prodding. Soon the news broadcast ends, and the anchor appears on screen and starts discussing upcoming movie releases.

You sit with your mouth gaping open. Had you really made such a lasting impression on the sturdy hero? You feel your heartbeat increase at the thought, causing the heart monitors strapped to your chest to peep and whir. A nurse appears at your side in an instant, and you bashfully explain to her that you are fine – just a bit overexcited from the day’s events. Once she is assuaged, you return to flipping through channels before settling on reruns of The Bachelor. This wasn’t the soapy TV series you had been looking forward to all day, but it was as close as you are going to get at this point. You let the show run and before long you are dozing in the propped up hospital bed, dreaming of seafood villains and heroes with bright hair and dark, endless eyes.

When you’re finally ready to check out from the hospital the next day, the nurse at the front desk presents you with your belongings. Your wallet, your high heeled work shoes, and an extra large bright red hoodie. “Oh – I forgot about this.” You gratefully accept the sweatshirt and shrug it on. It swings around you like a trench coat, fluffy and warm. You can still smell traces of cedar wood on the collar.

You walk out of the hospital and into a surprisingly sunny day, metallic sliding doors parting for you as you exit. You sink your hands into the hoodie’s overlarge pockets and are surprised to feel a rectangular square object tucked into the deep right pocket. Had Eijiro left a piece of gum in his hoodie? You fish it out with your index and pointer fingers – it’s a small folded up piece of paper ripped from a notepad. Upon closer inspection, you notice that it’s branded with the convenience store’s faded logo. You guess it was ripped from the clerk’s register notepad.

Curious, you unfold the small wad of paper. Written hastily across the note is a messy scrawl of digits and the words: Would love to take you to dinner some time, cutie. Thanks for rescuing me. – Eijiro.

            Oh my God. He gave you his number. A warm blush creeps up your face as your eyes run across the note over and over again. What a crazy 24 hours it has been! You reach into your purse to grab your phone. With shaky hands you add “Eijiro Kirishima” as a contact in your phone, adding a few rock emojis and a bright red crab emoji beside his name. He’d probably find that hilarious.

            You draft up a fresh text to the red headed hero and type: “In need of rescuing tonight – the villain: hunger and boredom. In need of a hero who knows the perfect ramen spot.” You hit send and hold your breath. What if he’s on patrol tonight? You worry. What if he was just being nice and doesn’t actually see you again?

            Your worries are totally baseless, because within seconds you have a reply: “I’m more than up for this mission – meet me in front of the convenience store at 8. Wear the sweatshirt so I’ll recognize you in the crowd?” He ends it with a winking emoji and your heartbeat quickens. You officially have a date set with Eijiro Kirishima – the Red Riot.

Your hero.

Thanks so much for reading!!!

---------------------------

Other Kirishima Stories:

Headcannon: Kirishima LOVES wearing Bakugo's clothes.

🦈❤️Boyfriend!Kirishima ❤️🦈

A Long, *Hard* Night with Eijiro Kirishima (A18+ - MDNI!!!) 💋

Link to My Master List 😬

[pinksugarscrub]

Compromise

Hobie Brown x fem! reader

This is my response to the 2024 elections

word count: 1,065

~

The sky managed to encapsulate your mood perfectly. Dreary and dark with clouds soaked to the brim like sponges.

Tick

The city was surprisingly quiet. The bodega closed and Midtown students stuck indoors due to the incoming storm

Tick

You hated how quiet it was.

Tick

With a loud sigh you press down harder on the volume button. Music flooding your ears at a decibel that surely wouldn’t be healthy in the long run.

She meant well. Gwen always meant well you reasoned but that didn’t make the ache in your chest lessen.

Cold and half eaten, your dinner rests on the counter. A loud tick! managing to slip past the chorus of your favorite song.

It was his song first.

With a groan you switch to another song. A different song.

‘What if you’re too different?’

The ache in your heart makes itself known again. Traitor.

‘What do you mean?’ you laugh awkwardly.

Gwen’s eyes furrow and as much as MJ wants to speak up, she doesn’t. Just keeps her head down while idly skimming through the popcorn.

‘I mean, think about it.’ Gwen shifts. Facing you while you prepared another batch of hot chocolate. ‘He goes to protests. You do petitions.’

‘I don’t see a problem with that,’ you answer. Confused as you watch the milk bubble.

‘Ok, let me rephrase. He’s determined in his views while you are the least confrontational person I know.’

MJ cringes as she crushes a kernel between her fingers.

‘What are you going to do when you have a disagreement?’ Gwen asks.

‘Look, what are you getting at?’ you huff. Glaring down at the chocolate tablet as you plop it in the pot.

‘I don’t think this guy is right for you.’

The room goes quiet. The cozy atmosphere you worked so hard on achieving vaporizing into thin air.

This was supposed to be a relaxing night after exams. It was supposed to be an escape with your friends. Not…this.

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Gwen starts. Fingers digging into the couch cushions. ‘Hobie sounds like a really sweet guy. I'm just…worried.’

‘Gwen maybe we should-’

‘No,’ you interrupt. Glancing over to MJ’s hunched form. ‘I want to hear what she has to say. Go on, say it.’

The words sound so much more condescending than you had intended but there’s an anger bubbling alongside the milk.

Gwen, never one to back down, straightens in her seat. A stubbornness you praise but now feels like a nuisance.

‘He’s anarchist! You’re a pacifist. You may want the same things but you will both do very different things to get them.’

‘You guys.’ MJ’s voice strains to be heard above the hurt. ‘Please.’

‘I don’t want you to lose your dignity over someone just because you want to please him.’ Gwen continues as her eyes narrow. ‘You’re already listening to punk music which you used to detest and what about the clothes you’re starting to buy?’

‘What about it?’

‘It isn’t you!’

‘I’m allowed to change my mind!’

‘Are you?’ She scoffs, ‘or is he doing that for you?’

You jump as a loud boom shakes the picture frames on your wall. Frantic you slid off your seat to place some distance between you and the balcony window.

One drop turns to two. Then three. Then it’s pouring so hard you feel like water will stream through any second to create an entirely new ecosystem in your living room.

Maybe the reason you were so angry, was because you knew she was right.

Slowly settling on the edge of the couch you stare at gloomy New York and she stares right back. Taunting you. Mocking you. Asking when it was your turn to break and let the tears fall.

You’re too different.

One hiccup turns to two. Then three. Then tears roll down your face while water trickles down the window pane.

You never should have yelled. You were just angry and rightfully so but Gwen was worried. She always worries. She always means well.

The lock to your apartment turns. Wet boots squishing against the welcome mat.

“Lovie it’s dangerous to leave your door unlocked. If I had been a…”

Hobie is at your side within seconds. Fruity drinks long forgotten as he pulls you into his arms.

You’re not sure what to do. The selfish parts of you don’t want to stay buried. They want to grab onto him and never let go. But how unfair would it be to keep him from finding the happiness he deserves?

“Hey, hey,” he whispers. “Talk to me darling.” Kissing the crown of your head and running his hands up and down the length of your arms.

You shake your head. A hiccup stuck in your throat as the tightness in your chest grew.

“Alright, ok. I’m right here.”

He gently coaxes your arms to wrap around his waist. When you finally respond he presses your head to his chest.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

God, who were you kidding? He was perfect for you in every way.

Hobie sways the two of you on your feet. Rubbing between your shoulders and taking deep even breaths. Soon enough, yours matches his own.

Droplets hit the rail of your balcony and suddenly you can hear the city again. Car horns and kids running down the street. The sun peaking through the clouds before hiding behind complexes and office buildings.

Slowly you pull away. Cinnamon and leather, your new favorite scent.

“Atta girl…” Hobie’s eyes are filled with worry as he reaches for you cheek. “You ready to talk?”

He smiles slightly as you nod. Pinching your cheek and forcing your eyes on him. “I’m all yours.”

You tell him everything. How sorry you are for snapping. How confused and scared you are to lose him. A future you envision and a life you want to share.

You don’t expect him to walk away but you certainly don't expect him to slide one of his rings on your finger.

“Who said I couldn’t change my mind too?” He mumbles. Kissing the knuckle adoring his ring. “Love is all about compromise innit?”

You’re left at a loss for words.

“I can’t promise you perfection. Gwendy’s right. We’ll always have our problems but at the end of the day…”

Your heart lurches as he places a kiss on your lips.

“I’ll always want you.”

-

We're not talking about sunsets, are we?