#click vinyl flooring

[enmansiflooring]

Do you want to know more about the LVT flooring?

Luxury Vinyl Tile combines the stunning look of wood and stone with unmatched durability and easy maintenance. Perfect for any room, LVT offers a variety of designs and installation options to fit your style and needs.

[floorings101]

Modern Architectural Trends: The Rise of Vinyl Ramp Profiles

In the ever-evolving landscape of modern architecture, the pursuit of inclusive design and accessibility has become an integral aspect of creating spaces that cater to diverse needs. Among the innovative solutions contributing to this ethos, vinyl ramp profiles emerge as versatile and aesthetically pleasing components, seamlessly blending functionality with design. This article embarks on a journey into the realm of vinyl ramp profiles, exploring their significance in modern architecture, their adaptability in design, and their transformative role in fostering accessible environments.

Vinyl ramp profiles represent more than just a means of facilitating mobility; they embody a commitment to breaking down barriers and ensuring that spaces are welcoming to everyone. As we delve into their applications in modern architecture, we will uncover the versatility of these profiles in both design and function, examining how they harmonize with the principles of inclusive architecture.

From residential spaces that prioritize ease of movement to commercial environments striving to comply with accessibility standards, vinyl ramp profiles play a pivotal role in shaping the accessibility narrative. In this exploration, we will unravel the various design possibilities these profiles offer, providing architects, designers, and homeowners alike with insights into how vinyl ramp profiles can be seamlessly integrated into modern architectural styles.

As we navigate through the intersections of form and function, this article aims to showcase the transformative potential of vinyl ramp profiles in modern architecture. These unassuming components not only bridge physical gaps but also bridge the gap between practicality and aesthetics, demonstrating that accessibility in design can be both purposeful and visually appealing. Join us on this journey into the world of vinyl ramp profiles, where inclusivity meets innovation, and spaces are crafted to be truly accessible for all.

Versatility in Design and Function

In the dynamic realm of modern architecture, the integration of accessibility features has evolved beyond mere functionality to encompass a seamless fusion of design and purpose. Vinyl ramp profiles stand out as exemplars of this paradigm shift, offering unparalleled versatility in both aesthetic adaptability and functional efficiency.

Inclusive Design Principles

Adapting Spaces for Accessibility:

Vinyl ramp profiles serve as instrumental elements in the implementation of inclusive design principles. They provide a means to seamlessly integrate accessibility features into the architectural fabric, ensuring that spaces are welcoming and navigable for individuals with varying mobility needs.

The adaptability of vinyl ramp profiles allows architects to envision spaces where accessibility is not an afterthought but an integral part of the design process.

Seamless Transitions with Vinyl Ramp Profiles:

The versatility of vinyl ramp profiles lies in their ability to create smooth transitions between different elevations without compromising on design aesthetics. These profiles can be tailored to match the existing flooring, ensuring a cohesive and visually pleasing integration.

By facilitating seamless transitions, these profiles contribute to a design ethos that embraces diversity and prioritizes the creation of spaces where everyone can navigate with ease.

Aesthetics and Material Options

Exploring Design Possibilities:

Vinyl ramp profiles come in a myriad of designs, allowing architects and designers to explore a spectrum of possibilities. From sleek and minimalist to textured and patterned profiles, these elements can be customized to align with the overall design language of a space.

This exploration of design possibilities goes beyond mere accessibility solutions; it transforms these profiles into design elements that contribute to the overall visual identity of a space.

Vinyl Ramp Profiles in Harmony with Modern Architectural Styles:

Modern architecture often embraces clean lines, open spaces, and a minimalist aesthetic. Vinyl ramp profiles, with their contemporary designs and material options, seamlessly align with these architectural styles, becoming integral components that enhance rather than detract from the overall design vision.

The ability of vinyl ramp profiles to complement modern architectural styles further emphasizes their role in creating environments that are both accessible and visually cohesive.

In the synthesis of design and function, vinyl ramp profiles emerge as transformative elements that go beyond their utilitarian purpose. They embody the essence of inclusive design, where accessibility is seamlessly woven into the fabric of architecture, ensuring that spaces are not only accessible but also visually captivating. As architects and designers continue to explore the potential of vinyl ramp profiles, the boundaries of inclusive and aesthetically pleasing architecture are continually pushed, fostering environments that embrace diversity in both form and function.

Application in Residential and Commercial Spaces

Vinyl ramp profiles, with their versatile design and functional adaptability, find compelling applications in both residential and commercial settings. Their ability to seamlessly integrate into various architectural styles while enhancing accessibility makes them invaluable components for crafting inclusive environments in diverse spaces.

Residential Accessibility

Integrating Vinyl Ramp Profiles for Home Accessibility:

In residential architecture, the need for accessibility often arises without sacrificing the aesthetic appeal of the living space. Vinyl ramp profiles offer a discreet yet effective solution, allowing homeowners to create barrier-free transitions between different areas of the home.

Whether incorporated into entryways, thresholds, or indoor spaces, these profiles become discreet aids that enhance accessibility without compromising the overall design integrity of a residence.

Design Considerations for Residential Spaces:

The adaptability of vinyl ramp profiles extends to various design considerations within homes. From ensuring wheelchair access to different rooms to creating smooth transitions in bathrooms and kitchens, these profiles cater to the diverse needs of residents.

Homeowners and designers can select profiles that complement existing flooring materials, ensuring a cohesive design that prioritizes both aesthetics and accessibility.

Commercial Accessibility

Enhancing Public Spaces with Vinyl Ramp Profiles:

In commercial architecture, where public accessibility is not only a necessity but often a legal requirement, vinyl ramp profiles play a pivotal role in creating universally accessible spaces. Entrances, corridors, and common areas benefit from the seamless integration of these profiles, ensuring equal access for all.

The discreet nature of vinyl ramp profiles allows businesses to prioritize accessibility without compromising the overall ambiance of their establishments.

Compliance with Accessibility Standards in Commercial Design:

Vinyl ramp profiles contribute to compliance with accessibility standards such as the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA). By providing a gradual incline for wheelchair users and individuals with mobility aids, these profiles ensure that commercial spaces are welcoming and inclusive.

Their use in commercial architecture signifies a commitment to social responsibility, creating environments that cater to the diverse needs of patrons and visitors.

In both residential and commercial applications, vinyl ramp profiles transcend their functional role to become integral components of architectural design. As architects, designers, and homeowners embrace the principles of inclusivity, the incorporation of these profiles ensures that accessibility becomes a seamless and harmonious aspect of the built environment. From private residences to bustling commercial establishments, vinyl ramp profiles exemplify the transformative potential of design solutions that prioritize both form and function.

Conclusion

In the tapestry of modern architecture, where inclusivity is a guiding principle and design innovation knows no bounds, vinyl ramp profiles stand as silent champions of accessible spaces. As we conclude our exploration into the transformative role of these profiles in contemporary architecture, it becomes evident that they are more than functional necessities – they are integral components that bridge the gap between universal accessibility and striking design.

Vinyl ramp profiles exemplify the essence of versatility, seamlessly adapting to both residential and commercial settings. In homes, they discreetly enhance accessibility, providing smooth transitions without compromising the aesthetics of the living space. In commercial environments, these profiles become symbols of a commitment to inclusivity, ensuring that everyone, regardless of mobility, can navigate public spaces with dignity.

The beauty of vinyl ramp profiles lies not only in their ability to facilitate accessibility but also in their capacity to harmonize with modern architectural styles. From minimalist designs that complement clean lines to textured profiles that add visual interest, these elements showcase how inclusive design can coexist seamlessly with the overall aesthetic vision of a space.

As architects, designers, and homeowners continue to push the boundaries of what is possible in modern architecture, vinyl ramp profiles remain at the forefront of this evolution. Their discreet yet impactful presence signifies a shift towards environments that prioritize the needs of all individuals, creating spaces that are not just visually captivating but universally accessible.

In the journey towards a more inclusive built environment, vinyl ramp profiles serve as a reminder that thoughtful design solutions can transcend their practical roles to become transformative elements. By weaving accessibility into the very fabric of modern architecture, these profiles contribute to a world where spaces are not defined by limitations but enriched by the diversity of those who inhabit them. May the integration of vinyl ramp profiles continue to shape the narrative of modern architecture, creating environments where everyone is not only welcomed but empowered to navigate and thrive.

[dinncon]

carpets and flooring

Discover a wide selection of high-quality carpets and flooring options available in your local area. Our collection features a variety of styles, colours, and materials to suit any aesthetic and functional requirement. Whether you are looking for plush carpets to enhance comfort in your living space or durable flooring solutions for high-traffic areas, we have the perfect products to meet your needs.

[medinaflooringcontractors]

Budget-Friendly Tile Installation: Tips for Saving on Costs

Before diving into any purchases, thorough planning is crucial. It's beneficial to research the costs associated with different types of tiles, as they can vary widely in price. Consider options like SPC vinyl click flooring, which offers durability and an attractive appearance at a fraction of the cost of traditional materials. By comparing prices across various suppliers, you can snag the best deals available.

For more information visit us:

https://ext-6485574.livejournal.com/412.html

[digital-1-marketing]

Invest in SPC Vinyl Click Flooring: Long-Lasting Solution

SPC Vinyl Click Flooring is a revolutionary product, providing an excellent alternative to traditional flooring types. Combining the strength of stone and the resilience of plastic composite, it offers unbeatable durability and an aesthetic appeal that’s hard to surpass. This innovative floor covering material is crafted with a dense core that resists impact, wear, and water damage, thereby offering an extended lifespan compared to other flooring options.

[floorings101]

[faeriekit]

#i'm very pro danny accidentally adopts a whole bunch of talons previous installments

*

The next day, the body was back.

The green was gone from its eyes, but the awareness wasn't; it spent about an hour watching people go around outside Danny's apartment, which was new behavior. None of the corpses that shadowed him had shown any interest in garden-variety humans before. Now it sat at the window and watched families come home from school or head to their afternoon shifts.

That went into Danny's notes.

After that hour, it taught itself to flush the toilet repeatedly, rearranged the contents of Danny's half-assed linen closet (again) and then stood hovering over the safe where Danny had stashed the ectoplasm.

"...Okay," said Danny.

The dead body croaked. It was a new sound, but there was no context for it. Danny just kind of...wrote it down and hoped for the best.

The day after, Danny woke up at a very reasonable ten forty eight in the morning to find stray corpses feeding each other spoonfuls of ectoplasm in the kitchen.

At that point he kind of had to throw out the notes on how much each one was dosed with, because what the fuck.

"Really?!" Danny shouted, spooking the bodies into fleeing behind chairs and doors and back into his closet again. The only one that didn't flee was Danny's ringmaster corpse of the hour, of course. "You really couldn't wait??"

It stuck out a withered black tongue out at the mortician, who was, really, the victim in all of this. A victim to his parents' whims and a victim to the dead people who followed him around all the time.

This was how Danny found out that, when it doubt, the corpses could just tear through solid steel if they were motivated enough. The finger-marks were so deep and so embedded that they actually looked more like rough claws in the metal.

Great.

Danny ordered a new locking cage for the fridge on Prime and darted off to work. One of his regulars was on the table, though, so Danny just ended up doing what he would have at home— sewing up a gash in its neck and reattaching dead fingers back onto dead stumps.

On the third day, in which four of Danny's frequent fliers had learned from the first how to flush the toilet (and therefore raise the water bill immensely) Danny got a ring from a dark voice he (almost) recognized.

"Is he here?"

Danny squinted, jerking the phone further under his ear as he whipped up some scrambled eggs. The dead girl leaning over his shoulder leaned a little closer to watch the egg froth up. "Is who here? Who is this?"

"This is Batman. Is— the body requisitioned from your facility currently at your place of residence?"

Danny fully let go of the whisk. It landed haphazardly in the glass bowl he'd been stirring in. "What on Earth is a Batman?" he asked, incredulous.

"I visited your workplace previously."

Oh! "Yeah, the cop's friend. I remember now." Danny pulled the whisk out of the liquid eggs and held it out to the body. The unusually animate cadaver mostly prodded the whisk wires and paid no attention to him. "No one's here but me, though. Not that it's your business...?"

"And there are no non-living bodies currently in your apartment?"

Danny ignored the flushing noise in the other room. "I don't know, dude. They practically live in the walls at this point. Don't come over unless you have a warrant."

The call ended with a click.

His omelette turned out amazing, by the way. In case you were wondering.

On the fourth day, the ectoplasm was gone, because the corpses had apparently all taught each other how to lockpick the container in the fridge.

"Okay, some of that was meant to be my dinner. No more lotion at the funeral home now, okay? Now you all can be ashy forever. I'm so serious," Danny complained to the only visible dead person in the room.

The dead person held up a cracked egg. It was probably a gesture of peace, but now there was egg on his vinyl flooring to deal with. And. It wasn't exactly all that comforting in the end.

On the fifth day, Danny awoke to the sensation of a hand jamming itself through his neck until it punched into the mattress beneath him.

Fuck.

[floorfolio]

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[dulcento]

cw ۫ ꣑ৎ actor satoru gojo x fem. reader, angst, foul language, hurt no comfort, feminine pet names, mentions of cöck, he just sucks ◟ 2.3k wc

lola’s lip service : beta read by the lovely @kisstoru, thx bunny xxx

as the music in the club shifts to a sensuous beat, it pales in comparison to the steady drum of anger coursing through your veins at the scene filling your vision.

if the grip on your martini glass was any tighter, jagged shards would scrape your hand, vodka searing each gash as if they were set on fire.

and yet… that’d be nothing compared to the sting of watching your boyfriend, a famed actor satoru gojo, flirting with another woman twenty feet away from you.

your relationship with the white-haired man started rocky, for obvious reasons. coming from two different worlds would cause a strain on any relationship. satoru, being used to the limelight and attention, saw nothing wrong with late nights out in los angeles, liquor, and various women throwing themselves at him under the guise of being his ‘fans’. after all, it came with the lifestyle of being ‘the sexiest man in hollywood’.

you, on the other hand, saw everything wrong with it.

you’ve lost count of how many times you and satoru would argue over the violation of your boundaries. yes, your boundaries because if you’ve learned one thing while being in a relationship with satoru… boundaries? he doesn’t know the meaning of the word. like now, as you gawk at the sight of satoru’s slender fingers gingerly tucking that girl’s hair behind her pierced ear, fingertips grazing over the industrial bar through her cartilage.

bile rises from your gut, threatening to make your dinner reappear in chunks at the lustful gleam in his eyes as his cerulean attention flints to that girl’s cleavage. your body heat reaches scorching temperatures, a thin layer of sweat materializing on your flesh from the maelstrom of emotions clouding your psyche. fury, sadness, with a heaping dose of disappointment crawls up your throat, constricting your airway, making it hard to breathe, pressure building behind your sinuses.

damn it, not now, not—

your thoughts short-circuit when you catch a glimpse of that girl pressing her tits against satoru’s sculpted chest, his sizable hand resting on her waist, pulling her closer. it was as if your tears disintegrated from your very eyes, filling your scleras with flames, pupils dilating in ire. slamming your glass on the round table, you shoot up to your feet, saint laurent heels heavily clicking against the vinyl flooring as if they’re made of lead, bringing you closer to the object of your vexation.

“yeah? you wanna taste, pretty gi— hey!” satoru yelps when your hand curls around the back of his leather jacket, yanking him away from the disgusting atmosphere he created with that girl. “‘toru, let’s talk outside,” your tone signifying no question was asked, and judging by his threaded brow raising at said tone, he knows it was a demand.

“hm? what about?” satoru teases, playfulness dancing in his cyanic irises. your gaze hardens into an ominous glare, “now, satoru,” ice wrapping around each syllable of his given name. his lids widened slightly, a shiver of fear running up his spine before retracting to their relaxed state. he can feel the eggshells cracking under his feet. satoru decides it’s better to tread lightly as to not spur you on… for now.

he nods, leaving cash on the bar top for his tab before rising to his feet from the uncomfortable stool. as he moves to walk behind you, a hand lands on his bicep, the muscle dwarfing the sickly appendage almost comically. “leaving me already, handsome?” a voice, akin to nails on the chalkboard rings in your ears, making your nose scrunch up in distaste.

satoru’s attention catches hers, a stupid smirk curling up on his face. “sorry baby, gotta talk to her real quick,” he replies, coyness infesting his tenor, your neck cracking with how hard you did a double take. hearing ‘baby’ roll of satoru’s tongue, all honeyed and sweet, towards some trollop, makes smoke come out your ears.

“i’ll be here,” she giggles, the sound making your ass itch. satoru winks… winks! at her, turning around to face you. he flinches back once he sees how close you are to him. “whew, you scared me, baby,” his blood pressure leveling once more. he should be scared, you think to yourself, eyes scanning his frame before walking towards the exit, satoru trailing behind you.

the velvet-padded door opens, causing the autumn breeze to kiss your skin, tapering off the jitters in your bones a tad. silent tension blankets you and satoru as the constant thump of footfalls fill the dead air. satoru, can’t help but admire you from behind. you can almost feel his eyes fucking you from top to bottom as you both walk together towards the parking lot.

is he that fucking clueless about your mood?

leaning your ass against the hood of your bentley, crossing your arms over your ample chest, “explain,” stern vocal cords slicing through the air like a katana through flesh. satoru’s features screw up in mockery, “whaddya mean, princess?” faux ignorance laced through each vowel, creases forming in between your brows. your acrylics dig into the plump flesh of your tricep, leaving crescent marks on your once unblemished skin.

it’s times like this when you wonder how you fell in love with satoru.

letting out a huff, pinching the bridge of your nose, you utter, “this is not the time to act like something’s funny, satoru.” a child-like frown downturn on his face, grumbling, “you’re no fun, baby,” as his spine straightens. you feel a sliver of your irritation subside at him taking this conversation seriously. you try not to get your hopes up too much. one minute he’s communicating and listening, the next minute he’s cracking jokes, dismissing your worries as quickly as they came.

“it was jus’ a little flirting, baby. what of it?” satoru nonchalantly smiles, his mitts residing deep in his jean pockets, indifferent. you scoff. so much for him taking things seriously.

“seriously?” you question, annoyed.

“why? jealous? awww, don’t be jealous, baby. you know—” you cut satoru off by slapping away his hand as it was about to cup your cheek. “jealous of who, exactly?” you spit, vexed by his mocking tone. he chuckles, “oh come on, you’re a smart girl. figure it out,” twirling a stray lock of your hair around his finger. you push his hand away once more, fed up with his antics.

“do you just not give a fuck about me?”

satoru’s grin drops from his face at your pained expression. exasperation covered his own as you snapped at him. “what’s wrong this time?” he inquired, shifting his weight to his other leg. with how hard you rolled your eyes, you’re surprised they didn’t fall out of your skull.

this time?!

the vein on the side of your neck bulges at his complete lack of awareness. “just answer truthfully. why were you flirting with that girl?” at this point, you’re over it, over him. there’s no use in beating around the bush. no use in acting unbothered when you are bothered. satoru stares at you, boredom etched on his face. “it’s not rocket science as to why,” he scoffs.

if you didn’t have self-control, you would’ve punched him square in his gums. “apparently it is ‘cause i don’t understand it,” looking into his eyes, demanding an answer. the fact that after a year of being his girlfriend, having the same fights over and over, he still can’t comprehend why you’re upset right now.

and that fact hurts you.

“i felt like it. besides, she made it easy for me,” satoru shrugs, adjusting his sleek rolex before smoothing down his black shirt. “i mean, i can’t help that i’m handsome, baby,” pearly white grin spreading across his soft lips, singular dimple making an appearance.

a harsh laugh rips through your sternum. did he just say that out loud? you think to yourself. in this moment, friends, family, and media blogs warning you about this man, come back to haunt you in despicable ways. you feel like a fool. a complete bozo for thinking he had a shred of respect for your relationship.

what did you expect from a man tmz calls ‘satoru hoejo’?

“why did i ever bother with you, huh?! what made me think you, out of all people, could fucking understand how a fucking adult relationship fucking works? a fucking man-child is what you are, asshole,” you belittle, red hot disdain slinking into each dig you bark.

blood sloshes in your ears, your ragged breathing louder than normal as you try to uncurl your hands from their white-knuckled fists. satoru’s cool gaze studies your demeanor, chiseled arms crossing over his chest. internally, he is reveling in your outrage. he can’t help the way his cock stirs behind his fly at the fiery pitch your tone adheres to.

before he can stop himself, satoru teases, “heh, you’re so cute when you’re mad.” at his verbiage, you freeze, feeling as if a bucket of cold water was dumped over your head, clothes sticking uncomfortably to your shivering skin. you just don’t understand. how can someone who’s supposed to protect your heart, continually handle it as if it’s not fragile? you wanted so badly to believe he was different, so badly to hope he’d give you what you’ve been searching for. but as you notice that playful arrogance twinkling in his light irises, you’re made keenly aware that he’s not who he portrayed himself to be.

“and on that note, we’re done satoru. tell that girl, with the change machine between her legs, to take you home,” rounding the front of your car, reaching the driver's side door, wanting to be alone and forget about the last hour of your life.

try the last year of your life.

you couldn’t even curl your hand around the door handle before satoru grabbed your arm, halting your movements. “what are you telling me?” tightening his grasp on your elbow, agitation seeds planting in his voice. snatching your arm away from the beginnings of a vise-like grip, “fuck you,” you fume.

a cracked chuckle vacates his larynx, “fuck me? is that what you’re telling me? after i gave you things the next woman would kill for?” satoru can’t believe how irrational you’re being right now. he doesn’t know what this is. are you jealous? insecure? or just downright insane, acting this way over something so small? sure, he flirts with other girls. so what? it’s not like any of those girls meant anything to him. it’s all fun and games to him. and if he pisses you off in the process, that’s fine with him. nothing like a good pounding into the mattress to dampen your fury. and it works, every. single. time.

except now.

“what did you give me?! a fucking migraine? yeah, that’s about as much as you’ve given me throughout this entire relationship.”

“yeah? so that necklace with my initials on it, those fucking diamonds on your fingers, that fucking car! you got that all by yourself?” he scoffs, snidely.

“here, take it all back!” you seethed, ripping off your necklace and chucking it at his face. he will not have that kind of hold on you. it’s all fake. the love, the care, the feelings… none of it was real. “what else do you want? my shoes?” slipping out your heels, throwing them at his feet. “my purse?” shoving your prada bag roughly into his chest. “w-what else huh? you… you already took my heart. not like i’ll ever get that back,” fresh crystalline drops filling your eyes as they burn with the weight of your fractured heart.

satoru stands there, statue stiff, regarding the scene in his eye line. a pang of… something pierces his chest seeing you cry, fat tears gliding down your cheeks, leaving streaks in your makeup. he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing, throat tight, feeling as if he scarfed down a wine cork. satoru has never seen you cry, the sight so foreign, urging that pang to sink its fangs into his heartstrings, tugging on them brutally.

as you wipe the salt water away, satoru’s fingers twitch. his nerve endings screaming at him to comfort you, to be the first man to dry your tears instead of causing you to produce more. but, he stays glued to his spot, helplessness encasing his aura as he rubs the back of his neck, fingers grazing the buzzed hair contaminating his undercut.

“(name), i—”

lifting your manicured hand, you cut off his verbiage firmly, done with him. “don’t. i’m done with your empty words, your empty apologies, your empty fucking heart. i’m done with it all,” you reiterate, voice nasally as your tears invite all your congestion to come out and play. sniffling, you strap your heels back on your feet, cringing from the gravel stabbing your feet as it gets compressed by the sole of the torture devices.

snatching your purse out of satoru's mitts, he grabs your wrist to stop you. “you’ll… you’ll miss me,” satoru spoke, as if he was trying to convince himself of that fact more than you. his azures narrow at how ridiculous his feeble attempts echo through the still atmosphere, gritting his teeth as that feeling of desperation rears its ugly head.

“i’d rather adjust my life to your absence than lower my boundaries to allow your disrespect.”

the finality of your tone is like a dagger through each chamber of his heart, with each palpitation bursting like a balloon. satoru’s clutches slacken, urging you to remove your wrist from his calluses and enter your car. through the cotton stuffed in his ears, all he can recall is the rumbling hum of the engine, tires screeching from speeding away as the distance, both proverbial and literal, between the pair increases.

nippiness pricks at satoru’s skin, creating goosebumps to rise. whispers of his regrets flirt with the breeze, each insensitive action he bestowed upon you coming home to roost. tension formulates behind his sockets, his stomach dropping as the heavy lead of despair stacks in his gut.

“dammit…”

© all rights reserved to dulcento, 2024

[goldberrg]

surely "bestfriends"

summary : You and Billy have been best friends for a while, but when he comes over unexpectedly.

TW's – cursing, sex (in details)

The end of your pencil tapped against the edge of your desk, the side of your head resting on your hand. Your leg bounced to the same rhythm as your pencil, while you listened to your teacher finish up telling you guys about a project. You were all reading "Pride and Prejudice", or at least had read it, and now needed to do the final project for it. You were aloud to work in groups of up to four, but you knew you'd only be working with one person – your best friend, Billy Hargrove.

Billy's step-mom, Susan, and your own mother were close friends. They worked together, and when you had been invited over for dinner the first week they moved to Hawkins, you and Billy had clicked. The two of you spent most of the night in his room, flipping through his vinyl's and helping him hang up his posters. You couldn't help but mock him about the clichè Playboy posters he had, and all the random crap in his room. But the two of you hit it off, becoming close friends quick.

And now he was your partner for every english assignment, art project, and science project. Those were the three classes you shared together. The first time you tried pairing up with someone other than him, a girl named Cheryl, he didn't speak to you for three whole days. Even when he drove you to and from school, he blared his music so loud your ears rang for hours afterwards.

Only after the project was over, and you showed up at his door with two tickets to see a movie.

Once your teacher had finished giving out her information and instructions, the class dispersed to get with their groups or partners. You leaned your head back, already finding Billy getting up from his seat behind you. He tossed his backpack onto the now-vacant desk beside yours, slamming his body into the chair with a grunt. This was your cue to get up and go get the poster board you would need for the project. You returned with a plain, white board compared to the other varying colors of purple, green, blue and red.

— Get your gross feet off the desk. — you ordered, glaring down at Billy since your hands were preoccupied. Billy rolled his eyes, but complied and removed his feet, the legs of the chair falling back onto the floor.

— Alright, doll, what's the plan? — Billy questioned, reaching into your backpack and pulling out your personal copy of the book. You'd already read the book various times throughout middle school and early high school, so you and Billy switched off borrowing your book.

— I figured I'd paint the board, sort of like a collage. Have different things on it. — you explained, looking down at him from the other side of the desk.

— Sounds good to me. We have two weeks, right? — he asked, quirking an eyebrow up at you.

— Yup, so if you don't finish the book by then, I'll kick your fucking ass. — you hissed, watching as he paused his skimming through the book.

— What?

— There weren't any lions in the book, jerk. You have two days to finish it. You're three fourths done, because that's how much we've read together, so you can finish a hundred pages by Thursday. — you sighed, rolling your eyes.

You walked over and sat in your own chair.

— Yeah, yeah, alright Your Highness. — he grumbled, closing the book and tossing it on top of the poster. — What else? We're doing the whole 'main characters, theme, plot, climax' stuff, right?

— Of course that's the only word you'd remember. — you grinned, shoving his shoulder as he laughed. — The dramatic structure, yes. And all the other stuff. We'll split it up. — you said, putting the book away. — You're coming over after dropping Max off, right? — you asked, standing up.

— Yeah. Most likely around 4:00. — he said, standing up as well when the bell rang and slinging his bag over his shoulder. — Let's go, doll.

Once Billy dropped you off at home, you laid the poster board on your bed and your backpack by your desk. You decided to shower and change into comfy clothes before Billy came over, after all you had about an hour. So you grabbed a pair of skull pajama pants and a big shirt, before heading into the bathroom. You turned the water on high, stripping off your clothes from the day, leaving you in your underwear. Grabbing your moms essential rose oil, you dropped a couple drops into the shower before leaving it slightly unopened on the rack next to the shower. The smell would help relieve the tension of the day, and get you focused for schoolwork. Finally, you took off your bra and underwear, stepping in.

The hot water hit you in the face, and you welcomed it. Scrubbing your face, you made sure to get your mascara and concealer off so that when you got out you wouldn't look horrifying. You let the water travel to your hair, smoothing it down your shoulders. Steam filled up the bathroom, the smell of rose invading your senses.

The roaring of the water was so loud that you didn't hear your front door open or Billy shouting for you name.

Billy pulled up to your driveway, hopping out of his car and heading up to the front door. Max had been dropped off at Mike's, not Dustin's, so it was a lot closer than he thought. He decided not to stop at home afterwards, and just head straight to your place. So he got there around 3:20, rather than 4:00. Not that big of a deal.

Banging on the door, Billy waited a minute or two for you to answer. When you didn't, he tried again, but louder. After the third time, Billy just barged in, rolling his eyes at the fact it was unlocked.

— Hey! Y/N? — he called out, hearing the shower running. Kicking his shoes off by the door, Billy tossed his jacket onto the back of your couch. He didn't hear a response from you, so he headed towards the bathroom. Knocking on the door with his knuckles, he leaned against the frame.

— Come in! — Billy's eyes shot open, looking at the closed door in shock.

As you were putting shampoo into your hair, you heard a knock on the bathroom door. You looked over at it through the glass doors, thinking of who it could be. Your mom wouldn't be home until later, and an intruder wouldn't fucking knock. So you probably lost track of time, and it was Billy.

— Come in. — you called out, not minding if he did or not. The glass walls were textured and opaque so he wouldn't be able to see anything porn-worthy.

And the two of you had paraded around in front of each other with your underwear on before, it wasn't much different. There was a pause before the door creaked open, and the outline of Billy came in.

— Sorry I'm early, doll. — he said, his voice darker than normal. — It didn't take as long to drop Max off. And I figured I'd stop by right after to get a head start on the project, maybe hang out for a while. I didn't realize you'd be naked.

— It's fine. — you laughed, opening the door slightly so you could poke your head out. He was sitting on the sink counter, shirtless. Every other girl in Hawkins was wet for Billy Hargrove, how could they not be? And of course you fell into that category. But you couldn't express it like they could, even though you were closer to him than they were. A few times a week, you'd find your hand sneaking down your underwear, his name leaving your mouth as you writhed against your sheets.

— Don't take too long, alright? — Billy pleaded, when he looked up and saw you looking out of the shower. His cheeks were red, but you passed it off as the hot steam. — Why the hell does it smell like roses in here? There aren't any flowers. — he questioned suddenly, lifting his nose in the air and diverting his eyes away from your wet neck.

— It's my momma's rose oil. I use it to relax. — you said, a 'duh' tone to your voice as you closed the door. — And I'll take however damn long as I please.

— Course you will. — Billy grumbled, and you smirked to yourself. You washed away the shampoo as Billy fired off more questions. — Why do you need rose oil to relax? Doesn't that burning water help?

— Not entirely. It helps my muscles from being hunched over all day, and the steam helps with my nose. But the rose oil adds the extra flare. It's rejuvenating.

— Rejuvenating? The hell's that supposed to mean? — Billy ridiculed, hopping off the counter and moving closer to the door so he could hear you better over the shower.

— It's like... I don't know Billy! — you huffed, opening the door suddenly and popping your head out. You were startled when you came face-to-face with him, noticing the way his eyes darted down to your nearly exposed chest and back up. — It helps with headaches, my skin if I apply it directly onto it, and the smell is just nice. Don't you think? It's just fucking relaxing. Unlike you right now. It's amplified in the shower, so I apologize if you're not getting the full treatment. — you snapped, getting frustrated. Having Billy so close in an intimate setting was rough, especially when you couldn't touch. It was like a goddamn museum, you can look, drool and adore. But if you touch, you're getting arrested.

— I'm getting the full treatment just fine, baby. — Billy snickered, leaning closer to you as his eyes dragged up and down your hidden form. Your face heated up, and you shot your hand out, shoving his face back.

— Pff, yeah right, Hargrove. — you scoffed, closing the door and diving under the water. Your breathing was heavy and you tried to mellow it out by focusing on your conditioner.

— You still with that Caden guy? — Billy suddenly asked, his voice now on the other side of the doors, causing your eyebrows to furrow.

— No, I broke it off two weeks ago. Remember? He couldn't decide if he wanted me or Jenny more, even though he was fucking her the whole time.?— you laughed dryly, running the conditioner through your hair as you shook your head at the memory.

— Good. — Billy muttered, but you still caught it. — You could do so much better than him.

— Yeah? — you laughed, shaking your hair to even out the conditioner. — Like who, you?

— Exactly like me. — you stopped, and turned to the end of the doors. There was an audible zipping sound, causing your heart to speed up.

— That so? And what makes you think that, Billy? — you called out, biting your lip and turning to face the water again, washing out the conditioner, in hopes of calming yourself. Your heart hammered against your chest when you heard the shower doors open, as if it was about to leap out of your throat. You didn't turn around however, opting to close your eyes as the water hit your face.

— Cause. — he replied simply, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

Your eyes shot open as rough hands gripped at your hips, spinning you around. Your arms collided with Billy's chest, your head tilting up to look at him. His blond hair was beginning to stick to his face, and his blue eyes stuck out more than ever against the tiles. You weren't given anymore time to admire him, because his lips were on yours instantly. Both of you were swallowing water, your lips pushing against each other desperately. Billy walked the two of you backwards carefully, making sure you didn't slip, until your back hit the wall. You were now out of the harsh spray of the water, and you broke away to gasp for clear air.

— Are you.. — you attempted to ask, not wanting him to regret this, and have the friendship ruined.

— Yes, yes I'm sure, Y/N. — Billy said, not giving you the chance to finish. His hand reached up, pushing your wet, dark hair out of your face before leaning back down to capture you in another demanding kiss. Your fingers tangled in his damp curls, tugging slightly when his hands gripped your waist tightly.

Billy moved his hands under your thighs and crouched, indicating you to jump, and you did. Your legs tightened around his waist for dear life, knowing that if either of you gave out it'd end in a naked hospital trip.

— Fuck. — you moaned out, breaking the kiss as his cock rubbed against your pussy, tilting your head back. Billy ducked his head, attaching his mouth to the center of your throat, biting the thin flesh before sucking it. You whimpered, moving your body up and down the slick wall slightly, giving the both of you more friction. His nails dug into your ass, pinning you to the wall so you couldn't move.

— Don't do that, princess. — he warned lowly, vibrating against your throat. You could feel the occasional pulse of his cock against you, and you wanted nothing more than for it to be in you. Whether it was your mouth or pussy, you didn't care. You just wanted it.

— Billy, please. — you whined, after having waited patiently for him to finishing sucking on your neck.

— What do you want, baby. — he growled, pulling back to look up at you. You didn't answer him, instead you held onto his shoulders tightly so you could unwrap your legs without death. Once your feet were safely on the ground, you flipped the two of you, so his back was against the wall and your back was facing the water. Giving him a smirk, you kissed the corner of his mouth before getting on your knees. Billy's tongue darted out, licking along his lips while looking down at you, his hand running through your wet hair. Grabbing his dick in your hand, you pulled at it a few times, twisting your hand along the base. Leaning down, you gave the tip a few kitten licks, gathering the pre-cum onto your tongue. Looking up at Billy, you waited until his eyes fluttered closed before taking the beginning of his dick into your mouth.

— Ugh, Y/N. — Billy grunted, his hold on your hair tightening. You smiled internally, licking the underside of his cock, and then left to right in order to ease your mouth farther down. It took a few minutes, but soon enough the tip had gone past your tonsils. Your eyes were watering, and saliva was dribbling out of the edges of your mouth. Billy's hips bucked against your mouth, his tight grip on your hair giving you a steady rhythm. Continuous moans streamed out of his mouth, and eventually you were roughly pulled off of his dick.

— Not yet, baby. — he said, more so to himself than you. You understood what he meant, and grinned in satisfaction. Putting his finger under your chin, Billy guided you to stand up. Holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger, Billy pulled you in for a slower, more passionate kiss. Your hands rested on his chest, relishing in the warmth of the water and his body. His free hand traveled down the small of your back, tickling you as he went, before gropping your ass.

— Billy.. — you gasped, your voice breathless. You grinded yourself against him again, growing impatient. You looked into his eyes, chewing on your bottom lip to keep in your needy whines. Billy simply smirked down at you, fully aware of what it was you wanted – no, needed.

— Hmm? — he hummed, a wicked grin on his face. You let out an impatient huff, ducking your head to harshly bite at his shoulder. Billy hissed out, the hold on your ass tightening before it released. You thought he was just gonna move you two, but instead he brought his hand down in a harsh slap.

— Ah, Fuck. — you cried out in shock, arching your back.

— Don't bite. — he warned, and then he finally pushed your body against the wall on the side, the cool tile instantly calming down your burning ass cheek.

— Then fuck me already, you jerk. — you snapped, running your thumb over the bite mark on his shoulder. Billy's eyebrow rose at your bold statement, and you simply grinned up at him. His fingers ran down your stomach, tracing at your curves and marks of imperfections. He kept eye contact with you as his middle and ring finger dipped between your folds, slowly dragging from your entrance to your clit. Your body jumped at finally being touched, a sigh leaving your mouth. His thumb rolled around your nub, your hips jerking occasionally, while his middle finger worked it's way inside you. A small grunt sounded in your throat, and you held onto Billy's shoulder, leaning your head against the wall. Once his middle finger was in to the knuckle, he pushed in his ring finger and began pumping them in and out of you, curling them.

— Ugh. — you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulder. Billy started kissing his way around your jaw, neck and chest, occasionally licking your nipple for fun. He added his forefinger after a minute, another moan escaping. You bit your lip, hard, holding in another whimper.

— Why are you being so quiet, princess? It's just us. — he mused, biting at your earlobe.

— I don't wanna boost your ego. — you snickered, yelping when his thumb pressed down on your clit and his fingers dug inside you even more.

— Yeah, well. — he laughed, shaking his head. — You can't hide the sounds you're making down here. — he snickered, slowly pulling his three fingers out of you and bringing them to his mouth. His tongue moved between his fingers, licking your juices and the shower water off of them. You watched, mesmerized.

Once his fingers were cleaned to his liking, he gripped the back of your thighs, having you jump up again. He gave you a nod, questioning if you were ready or not. You nodded yours quickly, having been ready for this for months. Aligning his cock with your entrance, Billy didn't have the ability to ease himself in because of your guys positions. So with one quick thrust, he was inside you, his hand splayed out against the wall and the other gripping your ass.

— Fuck. — you screamed, throwing your head back, crying out when it hit the wall. Billy was big, bigger than his three fingers. Your arms pulled him closer, trying to even out your breathing and relax your muscles around him. Billy didn't move, small moans being breathed into the crook of your neck.

— I'm sorry, doll. — he whispered, knowing it hurt. You didn't have lube or a condom, and not much preparation.

— No, no, don't apologize. — you said quickly, squeezing yourself around him to emphasize. — It's fine. You can.. you can start.

Billy removed his head to look at you, but when you gave him a nod he started moving. He thrusted slowly, not wanting to lose his grip on you or push your body. Both of you were breathing heavily, and you moved your body along his, matching his thrusts with your own.

— God. — he moaned, pulling his cock farther out before slamming back in, continuing the movement over and over again. Your nails scratched their way over his shoulder blades, biceps, back and anywhere they could reach. The pain was decreasing as the thrusting went on, and when Billy moved you slightly to the left, slamming back in, your eyes shot open.

— Holy fuck, right there, Billy! — you shouted out, arching yourself into him.

Billy smirked up at you, licking his bottom lip and doing as you said. He quickened his pace, no longer hearing your hisses of pain, and thrusted into you quickly. The sound of his skin slapping against yours, as well as the sound of your back hitting the wall, echoed throughout the bathroom, overpowering the shower.

— Ugh, god. — Billy grunted, throwing his head back. — I can't hold out much longer, Y/N. — he moaned, looking down at you just as you opened your eyes to look at him.

— I'm close too. — you whimpered, hiking yourself higher up on the wall, screaming out when his cock hit the spot again, but deeper. — Fuck, fuck, fuck. — you moaned, a streamline of curse words leaving your mouth. — Billy, I'm.. — you tried to warn him, but a high pitched moan escaped before you could finish as the heat in the bottom of your stomach exploded. A wave of warmth washed over you, your toes curling and your thighs squeezing around Billy, pulling him closer. You mouth fell open, letting out a small, quiet gasp as you orgasmed.

Billy pulled out quickly, feeling his own orgasm wash over him, and his hot cum sprayed over your stomach and the tops of your thighs. Your head fell to his shoulder limply, your body slipping down the shower wall, as it shook from your orgasm. You could see your thighs wiggling, and Billy gently lowered you to the floor. When the cold shower water hit you, you welcomed it, letting the cum wash off of you.

— Hey. — Billy whispered, his arms wrapping around you from behind. — This isn't a one time thing. I want you to be mine.

— Good. — you grinned, a giddy feeling coming over you, more intense than your orgasm. You turned around to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck. — Let's go take a nap, that project can wait until later.

[vxsellie]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ PIERCINGLY PERFECT !

pairing : tattoo artist!ellie williams x fem!reader

synopsis : pretty self explanatory

a/n : this might be shitty i'm so tired, but i started thinking about ellie as a tattoo artist and i can't get it out of my head

wc : 3.5k

for the past few years, you've been absolutely dying to get a tramp stamp done.

not only did you pick out an intricate design with meaning, but you also are very aware of how sexy they look. you've wanted to get one for so long that it was bound to happen at some point. apparently, that point is today — a random friday night at about one in the morning. frankly, you're lucky the shop was even open so late.

a bell dings loudly as you push the door open. you made sure to wear low rise pants and a cropped shirt so you wouldn't be put in the awkward situation of having to strip in front of the artist.

"hello there, ma'am." the man behind the desk welcomes you.

he doesn't even look up at you as he continues to fumble with something behind the register. the heels of your shoes click against the tiled floor as you approach him. he has ink all up his arms and neck, coating his skin in art. you love it.

"do you guys take walk-ins?" you ask as you allow your eyes to scan the interior of the building. the walls are a deep red, the floors checkered tile. the countertop is black, covered in stickers.

"mm," he hums, still not looking up, "sometimes. but usually not this late."

you frown, "do you think you could make an exception?"

"i dunno." he shrugs.

you groan, frustrated. you wanted this tattoo done today, otherwise you'd have to wait another few weeks until your schedule is empty enough to fit in an appointment.

you continue to examine the shop, your eyes tracing all the posters and vinyls tacked into the walls. to the left of the counter, there's a doorway. beads hang from the top of it, draping down to sway across the hard floor. nosily, you peek inside. you can make out the outline of a few laid back chairs and shelves on wheels.

the man finally looks up, noticing your staring. he rolls his eyes. "the reason we don't take people so late is because none of the artists want to give you a fuckin' tattoo past midnight."

"then why are you even open?" you point out, turning away from the door to scowl at him.

"listen." he snaps. "you're probably just some drunk ass collage student wanting to get your boyfriend's name tattooed across your tits. now get back to your dorm before curfew or i'll kick you out."

"i date women, asshole." you tell him, leaning forward on the sticky counter. "i'm not drunk and i'm not in college either, so stop making these whack ass assumptions about me and give me my fucking tattoo."

he narrows his eyes at you, his brow furrowed in rising anger. when he opens his mouth, you expect more argument. you expect him to either curse you out or kick you out, nothing less. but instead, he turns his head slightly, never taking his eyes off you, and calls a name over his shoulder.

"williams!" he calls out, his voice carrying through the building and past the thinly beaded doorway.

"what?" a female voice responds from the back. her tone is laced with annoyance, as though the man has already managed to piss her off.

"you willin' to take another?" he asks.

you hear her groan before the sound of her footsteps can be heard marching toward the front of the shop. thick boots thud against the floor, growing nearer. you hold your ground, not sure if this is some sort of trick to get you out of here. then you hear the beads rustle and look over to see a woman emerge from the doorway.

she's wearing baggy brow cargo pants, a thin black tank top, and chunky black combat boots. her hair is brown, cut short above her shoulders as it's held back in a tiny half-up bun. her pale green eyes bore into you as she crosses her arms over her chest, analyzing you.

you feel queasy. you can tell she's trying to decide whether or not you're worth it. you try your hardest to appear worthy of her time, but you're unsure of what that looks like.

"what do you want?" she asks you, her eyes trailing up and down your body as she rounds the counter. "something small and easy, or a big sleeve?"

"neither." you respond. "i wanted a tramp stamp."

she raises a brow at this, her interest seeming to instantly pique. she continues to stare, taking in your appearance. after a long moment, she gazes over at her coworker and shrugs. "yeah. i could take one more."

"make it quick." he scoffs, typing something into the computer. "not only has she been a complete bitch, but i wanna close asap. my dog needs fed."

"don't rush me." the woman snaps at him, rolling her eyes at his audacity.

she goes back around the counter and pushes past the beads and enters the back room. you trail after her, making sure to shoot a harsh glare at the man as you pass him. he seethes with anger at this, knowing he can't do anything.

the back room is exactly as you'd envisioned. the floors and walls are the same, made up of checkered tile and deep red paint. the walls are coated more heavily in decor, though. art and band posters and funky lights nailed into it. there are four of those laid back chairs, small swivel seats beside each one for the artist. and behind it, the supplies are kept on little shelves.

the woman crosses the room, walking over to the station in the back corner. she sits in the swivel seat, rolling it over to the shelves as she dismissively gestures for you to sit on the large black chair.

"i'm ellie willams and i'll be your artist for the next hour or so." she says, the words professional despite her tone sounding uninterested. she grabs a pair of clear gloves, slipping them down over each of her hands.

"uh-huh," you mutter as you sit on the edge of the chair, unable to pay much attention to what she's doing as your eyes roam the decor of the shop. it's awesome.

"which style do you want?" she asks, holding up a few reference photos of her art for you to get an eye of what you'll be given. the work is stunning, her penmanship flawless. she shades beautifully and her details are painfully intricate. you can't help but stare in awe for a moment, allowing you gaze to linger.

you point to one of the pages, "this one. i like the detail."

"perfect," she grins, setting the other photos aside, "that's my personal favorite as well."

she prepares the supplies, gathering all the correct necessities. as she does, the two of you continue to speak. she asks for more detail on what type of tattoo you're looking to get and you explain, showing her pictures and sharing your ideas on what you'd envisioned. she nods along encouragingly, her hardened facade slowly fading as you get to know her better.

as it turns out, she was the one who helped decorate the interior of the shop. she was the first person employed by the old man who owns the place, joel. after being hired a year or two back, he allowed her to do the majority of decor. the two of them painted the walls and laid the tiles themselves. ellie speaks so fondly of him that you’d assumed they were related, though as soon as you addressed she tensed up and bluntly corrected you. sensitive subject, apparently.

she spent her time drawing out your design while you ask her random questions about the shop as well as ellie herself. her hands work diligently as you lean back against the cushion. you tip your head back, gazing up at the ceiling as you blurt out a string of conversation.

you've learned a fair amount of things about ellie — such as boring things like her favorite color, food, movie, etc. and also more creative things like her favorite decoration in the shop or what her favorite tattoo she'd ever done is.

you find ellie to be a rather interesting individual. she wears a hard mask fabricated by her facade of indifference. though, with each question, her mask begins to crack. she huffs out chuckles and quirks small grins before she quickly cover it with a hardened expression. each time she slips up, you fight back a smile.

after about twenty minutes spent of talking and perfecting the sketch, you finally agree on a design. it's absolutely stunning, the floral prints and the swirls all perfectly constructed with careful attention. ellie seems pleased with her work, as well.

"ready?" she asks, spinning around in her chair to face you. she wears two clear gloves on each wrist, tattoo gun in her right hand.

you trace your gaze down her body, taking in her appearance shamelessly. her black ribbed tank is tight on her torso, fitting her muscles perfectly. at her hips, a pair of dark baggy jeans crowd her legs. you find yourself nodding without even fully processing her question, far more focused on the way ellie looks.

she raises a brow at this, knowingly. "okay then."

she scoots her chair forward, small wheels rolling against the floor. she flips the switch and the gun whirs to power. you're instantly snapped back to reality, your eyes darting up to her face. "wait, wait, wait."

"had a feeling you'd say that," she tuts, turning the gun back off. "having second thoughts?"

"of course not." you scoff. "i'm definitely getting this tattoo. i just wanted to know how you'd like me to sit."

she raises a brow, amused. "just—" she pauses, thinking. "okay, i have an idea. turn around and, like, straddle the back of the seat. i'll try to get the best angle to do this."

you do as you're asked, moving to straddle the seat, sitting backward. you arch your spine to give her a better angle of your lower back. you hear shuffling as she tries to figure out the best way to do this. you remain in the same position, patiently waiting as she puzzles this out.

you cross your arms over the back of the chair, leaning your chin on them. "what? have you never done a tramp stamp?" you call over your shoulder with a light chuckle.

"not technically." she responds, honestly.

you tense up. "wait, what? what do you mean not technically?"

"i've tattooed someones entire back before — which includes the lower back. but not only that area. so," she says, "not technically."

you let this information sit as ellie continues to shuffle around behind you. you can feel as she gets into a comfortable position, her sitting in her own swivel chair, pulling it up behind your seat.

her hands are cold as they brush the skin of your back, pushing your waistband lower on your hips. your breath hitches at the action and you tell yourself it's because of how cold her fingers are.

"ready?" she questions with a light chuckle.

you nod, "yep."

the sound of the tattoo gun whirring into motion fills the room. you feel one of ellie's hands hold you by the hip, the other bringing the needles down to your skin. the stinging sensation causes you to tense a bit, but you quickly get over the initial shock.

it's indescribably painful, but you've gotten tattoos before. it can't be that bad. can it?

"you good?" ellie asks from behind you.

"yeah." you respond, your voice pitched higher than you'd meant it to be. you clear your throat. "yeah, i'm good. didn't expect it to hurt so bad, that's all."

she removes the gun from your skin, it continuing to whir in her hand. "we can stop."

"no." you say instantly. "we already started and i really want this tattoo. we are not stopping. just— distract me. talk about something random so my mind can focus on something else."

"okay." she agrees, leaning back down and continuing with her work. you wince, expression contorting. "if it makes you feel any better, i almost passed out when i got my first tattoo. i was sixteen so i wasn't exactly prepared. i hadn't eaten anything beforehand and just showed up, begging for someone to give me a sleeve."

you huff out a laugh at this, struggling to imagine ellie battling with pain. "what'd you get?"

she shifts, holding her right arm out for you to see, halting her tattooing for a moment as she allows you to gaze at the ink. it's a long piece of fern twisting to her forearm, a moth positioned at the top of the plant.

"there's not much sentimentality to it, just thought it looked cool." she admits, retreating her arm back to where it'd been as she continues.

"that's a big size for your first tattoo." you point out. "you never regretted it?"

"nah, not really." she says. "i like it."

you hum, mind wandering as she continues to tattoo your lower back. her left hand remains on your hip as her right one works. your eyes flick around the wall in front of you, taking in the posters and shelving that litters the wall in front of ellie's station. one thing in particular catches your eye.

on the top shelf, a framed photo sits atop the wooden surface. you squint to try and make out what it depicts. your eyes widen when you recognize one of the two people on the picture. ellie and some older man stand side-by-side, a huge grin on her face. she looks younger, but she has her tattoo so you know she's older than sixteen. it was likely a year or two ago, if you were to guess.

you nod your head in its direction, "who's that?"

elie pauses, looking toward the content. "joel."

"your boss?"

"my friend." she corrects, voice coming out a bit harsh but less so than it had before when he came up in conversation.

you want to push for more information, but you know better than to tempt the person tattooing you, so you drop it. instead, you allow your gaze to trail around to search for something else of interest to you. band posters, vinyls, license plates, and maroon paint cover the wall. you quickly grow bored of the decor, turning your mind elsewhere.

"why'd you decide to be a tattooist?" you ask, filling the air with random questions.

"mm," she hums, "when i was younger, i wanted to be an artist. but i was told that it was impossible to make a living off something like that, so i began searching for other lines of work that could incorporate my love for art. and somehow, i landed on this."

you knit your brow, "that's horrible. you could totally make a living off your art. you're really good, y'know."

"thanks, but i don't know how much i believe that." she says with an airy laugh.

"no i mean it." you insist. "your work is super fucking good. plus, your passion for art only adds to how meaningful it is."

she sighs, "yeah but still. i might be good, but that doesn't mean anyone would actually buy my work."

"i would." you tell her.

ellie's hands pause, pulling away for a moment. silence fills the air, thick and heavy in its significance. the lack of response weighs on you, making you wonder if you'd said something wrong. you open your mouth, ready to apologize and take back whatever you'd said that was so wrong. but ellie beats you to it, speaking before you get the chance.

"thank you." she mutters. "that means a lot, actually."

you're shocked by her soft tone so you turn your head to look at her over your shoulder. she's blinking, expression contorted into one of gentility that almost looks foreign on her features. she shakes her head quickly and returns to doing your tattoo, only needing to add a few final touches before it's done.

knowing how close you are to the work being finished, you decide not to ask any more of your pestering questions. you'd been told a lot by various people in your life how obnoxious you can be when trying to befriend or get to know someone. so you stay silent, hating the idea of ellie finding you annoying.

her hands are gentle despite the painful tool in her hands. even if she hadn't told you about her love for art, you're sure you would have figured it out anyway. she treats her work like every piece is the most important one, benevolent in her act of raising it into its full potential. nigh like a child. she's leaned forward, her face close to your lower back as she focuses on the smaller details. your skin crawls with the feel of her warm breath caressing it. goosebumps trail up your spine.

"are you cold?" she asks, likely just having noticed your goosebumps.

"hm? oh, uh, no." you stammer out, instantly embarrassed to have been put on the spot while knowing ellie's mere proximity is the cause. you decide to blurt out an excuse, a lie. "just tickles."

she chuckles, "didn't take you to be the ticklish type."

"really?" you ask, interest now piqued. "what'd you take me as?"

"well judging by how you stormed in here demanding a tattoo and getting into an argument with my coworker, i'd have thought you were more of a badass." she says. "based on first impressions alone, you're rather intimidating. but now that i've got to know you, i know better than to be intimidated by you."

"what? i'm still intimidating!" you exclaim, now offended by her quick dismissal of your priorly deemed badassery.

"mm, no." she laughs. "you have more depth than just being some tough woman. you like to ask questions and learn about the people you meet, you can stand up for yourself while still taking good care of your dignity, you have a good eye for art and know what makes it notable, and you're ticklish."

you frown. "didn't know i was such an open book."

"you're not, really." ellie says, pulling away from your back and whirring the tattoo gone back to idle. she leans back in her chair, raising a brow at you. "i just know how to read you."

you narrow your eyes at her playfully before shifting around to stand from the cushioned chair. the tattooed area already aches with your movement but you ignore it, too excited to see the work to care much. you cross the tiled floor to where a full body mirror is nailed into the wall. you turn around, peering over your shoulder at the new tattoo.

ellie remains at her station, but watches you closely. she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she watches your every movement.

the tattoo is absolutely stunning. the dark ink forming beautifully intricate swirls and floral designs. you stare at it for a long moment before turning back around to face ellie with a wide smile on your face. "i love it."

she mirrors your grin. "i'm glad."

you walk back over to her station, sitting down on the edge of the chair. your back faces ellie as she adds ointment and a clear adhesive. her fingers are cold, never failing to make your heart stutter in your chest. you ignore it, focusing on something else entirely.

"how much do you think it'll cost?" you ask as she continues to gently rub the ointment into your skin. "a few hundred, right?"

you hear ellie chuckle. "i've got it, don't worry about payment."

you instantly whip your head around to face her, your back twisting slightly. but she continues to work despite this. you stare at her with wide eyes. "you're not making me pay?"

"nah," she waves a hand dismissively. "you're fun to be around. plus, it's so late it'll just add more time to my shift waiting for you to work out everything. not to mention my coworker is ass at counting money. i'll just pay for you, easy peasy."

"you don't have to do that, ellie," you tell her, "i can pay for myself. you don't need to do this for me."

"i know." she says, looking up to meet you eyes with her own pale green ones. naught but sincerity shadows her gaze. "i know i don't have to, but i want to. i insist."

you hold her gaze for a moment longer but quickly realize there's no way you'll win this argument. she's decided. you slump your shoulders in defeat, turning back around to face forward and allow her to finish your wrapping. "fine." you grumble.

"y'know most people would be overjoyed to—"

"on one condition!" you interrupt her, your mind instantly formulating a plan to make it up to her.

"yeah? and what's that?"

"you let me take you to dinner." you declare, peering at her over your shoulder. this time, you're careful not to twist your back. "let me take you out. i pay."

her eyes widen, but you can see the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. "fine then. who am i to argue with you?"

you grin victoriously. "next friday. i pick you up."

"it's a date."

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 taglist : @luvsturniolo @zzombiegirl

[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 😬

[digital-1-marketing]

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In this article, we delve into the often-overlooked world of Vinyl T Profiles, shedding light on their importance, applications, and benefits in achieving flawless flooring transitions. From defining boundaries between different flooring materials to concealing edges and providing a safe, smooth transition between surfaces, Vinyl T Profiles play a pivotal role in elevating the visual appeal and functionality of any interior space.

Join us as we uncover the versatility, practicality, and design possibilities of Vinyl T Profiles, showcasing their transformative power in creating cohesive and visually stunning flooring installations. Whether you're embarking on a new flooring project or seeking to enhance an existing space, understanding the significance of Vinyl T Profiles is key to achieving professional-looking results that stand the test of time.

So, let's shine a spotlight on these often-underappreciated elements and discover how Vinyl T Profiles can elevate your flooring transitions to new heights of sophistication and style.

Understanding Vinyl T Profiles

Vinyl T Profiles, also known as transition strips or T-moldings, are essential components in flooring installations, particularly in spaces where different types of flooring materials meet. These profiles typically have a T-shaped design, with a horizontal top section that spans the gap between the two flooring surfaces and a vertical stem that fits snugly into the gap.

The primary function of Vinyl T Profiles is to create seamless transitions between different flooring materials, such as vinyl planks, laminate, hardwood, tile, or carpet. By bridging the gap between these surfaces, Vinyl T Profiles not only enhance the visual appeal of the transition but also provide a smooth and safe transition for foot traffic.

Vinyl T Profiles come in a variety of shapes, sizes, and designs to accommodate different flooring thicknesses and aesthetic preferences. Common variations include flat-top T Profiles, which provide a clean and minimalistic transition, and ramped-edge T Profiles, which offer a gradual slope between flooring surfaces.

In addition to their transitional role, Vinyl T Profiles also serve practical purposes, such as covering expansion gaps, preventing tripping hazards, and protecting the edges of the flooring materials from damage. Some profiles may even feature built-in channels for concealing wiring or cables, making them ideal for use in commercial settings or home entertainment areas.

Overall, understanding the purpose and versatility of Vinyl T Profiles is essential for achieving professional-looking flooring transitions that enhance both the appearance and functionality of any space. Whether you're renovating a residential home or designing a commercial space, Vinyl T Profiles are indeed the unsung heroes that ensure your flooring transitions are seamless and visually appealing.

Applications and Installation of Vinyl T Profiles

Vinyl T Profiles find a wide range of applications in various flooring transitions, offering seamless solutions for both residential and commercial spaces. Understanding how to select and install these profiles is crucial for achieving professional-looking results. Here's a closer look at their applications and installation process:

Practical Applications:

Transition Between Different Flooring Materials: Vinyl T Profiles are commonly used to transition between different types of flooring materials, such as tile to vinyl, hardwood to carpet, or laminate to tile. They provide a smooth and safe transition while maintaining visual continuity between the surfaces.

Expansion Joint Cover: In floating floor installations, Vinyl T Profiles can cover expansion joints along the perimeter of the room, allowing the flooring to expand and contract with changes in temperature and humidity without causing damage.

Edge Protection: Vinyl T Profiles also serve to protect the exposed edges of flooring materials, reducing the risk of chips, cracks, or wear over time. This is especially important in high-traffic areas or where the flooring meets other surfaces, such as walls or stairs.

Installation Process:

Measure and Cut: Begin by measuring the width of the gap between the two flooring surfaces where the Vinyl T Profile will be installed. Use a fine-tooth saw or a utility knife to cut the profile to the appropriate length.

Prepare the Subfloor: Ensure that the subfloor is clean, dry, and free of any debris or adhesive residue. If necessary, use a suitable adhesive or double-sided tape to secure the Vinyl T Profile in place.

Install the Profile: Position the Vinyl T Profile over the gap between the flooring materials, ensuring that the vertical stem is inserted securely into the gap. Press down firmly to ensure proper adhesion or use screws or nails for additional support, depending on the profile's design.

Finishing Touches: Once the Vinyl T Profile is installed, make any necessary adjustments to ensure a snug fit and smooth transition between the flooring surfaces. Clean any excess adhesive or debris from the profile and surrounding area to achieve a clean and polished finish.

By understanding the various applications and following proper installation techniques, you can effectively utilize Vinyl T Profiles to achieve seamless and visually appealing flooring transitions in any space. Whether you're renovating a home or completing a commercial project, Vinyl T Profiles are indeed the unsung heroes that ensure your flooring transitions are both functional and aesthetically pleasing.

Benefits and Advantages of Vinyl T Profiles

Vinyl T Profiles offer a multitude of benefits and advantages that make them indispensable in flooring installations. Here are some of the key advantages of using Vinyl T Profiles:

Seamless Transitions: One of the primary advantages of Vinyl T Profiles is their ability to create seamless transitions between different types of flooring materials. Whether transitioning between vinyl planks and carpet, laminate and tile, or hardwood and vinyl, Vinyl T Profiles ensure a smooth and visually appealing transition that enhances the overall aesthetics of the space.

Durability and Longevity: Vinyl T Profiles are constructed from durable materials, such as PVC (polyvinyl chloride) or aluminum, which are designed to withstand daily wear and tear. They provide edge protection for flooring materials, reducing the risk of damage from foot traffic, furniture movement, or other impacts. Additionally, Vinyl T Profiles are resistant to moisture, stains, and fading, ensuring long-lasting performance in both residential and commercial settings.

Design Flexibility: With a wide range of shapes, sizes, and designs available, Vinyl T Profiles offer unparalleled design flexibility to suit various aesthetic preferences and flooring applications. Whether you prefer a flat-top profile for a minimalist look or a ramped-edge profile for a gradual transition, there's a Vinyl T Profile to complement any design style or flooring type.

Easy Maintenance: Vinyl T Profiles are inherently low-maintenance, requiring minimal upkeep to maintain their appearance and functionality. They can be easily cleaned with mild soap and water or a gentle household cleaner to remove dirt, dust, or debris. Unlike traditional transition methods, such as wooden thresholds or metal strips, Vinyl T Profiles are resistant to warping, rusting, or corroding, making them ideal for high-traffic areas or moisture-prone environments.

Versatility: In addition to their primary function as flooring transition strips, Vinyl T Profiles offer versatility in other applications, such as covering expansion joints, concealing wiring or cables, or creating decorative accents. They can be installed in various locations, including doorways, entryways, hallways, or stairs, to achieve a cohesive and polished finish throughout the space.

Overall, the benefits and advantages of Vinyl T Profiles make them indispensable components in flooring installations, providing both practical functionality and aesthetic appeal. Whether you're renovating a residential home, commercial space, or multifamily property, Vinyl T Profiles are indeed the unsung heroes that ensure your flooring transitions are seamless, durable, and visually stunning.

Conclusion

Vinyl T Profiles may often go unnoticed, but their significance in flooring installations cannot be overstated. As the unsung heroes of flooring transitions, these versatile accessories play a crucial role in achieving seamless, durable, and visually appealing transitions between different types of flooring materials. From providing edge protection and covering expansion joints to creating smooth transitions and enhancing design aesthetics, Vinyl T Profiles offer a multitude of benefits and advantages that elevate the overall quality and functionality of any space.

As we've explored in this article, Vinyl T Profiles offer durability, design flexibility, easy maintenance, and versatility, making them indispensable components in both residential and commercial flooring projects. Whether you're renovating a home, designing a commercial space, or completing a multifamily property, Vinyl T Profiles are indeed the unsung heroes that ensure your flooring transitions are both functional and aesthetically pleasing.

So, the next time you embark on a flooring project, remember to give Vinyl T Profiles the attention they deserve. With their ability to create seamless transitions, enhance durability, and elevate design aesthetics, Vinyl T Profiles truly stand out as the unsung heroes that make all the difference in achieving professional-looking flooring installations.

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXIII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... J'onn broke the news that Danny thinks he's going to be forced into combat in exchange for his medical care. Everyone disliked that™.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

COME GET YOUR NEW ART HERE 💥🍳!!💥 IT'S FIBERCRAFT!!Shoutout to @rainbowbeansprout for crocheting a fic accurate injured ghost Danny!! That's outstanding!!

💚👻👽👻💚

So, Wally broke all of the bones in his legs yesterday.

Which is…not ideal. Still. He’s pretty used to it at this point, though, and he’s already mostly healed.

It’s just that. Well.

…The rest of healing is kind of…time-consuming.

So Wally’s in basketball shorts and a mask and a t-shirt he’d started using as pajamas when he was in college and he’s on the med floor of the Watchtower, and yet another physical therapist is helping him bend his leg back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, because he’d tripped in the middle of the Speedforce and busted everything hip-down.

So. (Back, and forth. Back, and forth. Back…) This sucks.

“Do we have to do this every time?” Wally asks, as if there isn’t a team of medical professionals kept on hand to deal with Superpower-wrought Super Medical Problems.

“Do you have to shatter your legs every time?” the PT asks back wryly, which, hey! The pressure pressing up against his bare foot is an additional stressor to the sass. “Bend this more for me, Flash. You can do it.”

Wally grumbles, and pretends the angle his leg is bending at doesn’t make him wince. Wow is he going to have to build his flexibility back up again.

The physical therapy room looks just like any other gym, basically; a lot of squishy mats in playful colors, a lot of grippy tape; a LOT of wipeable vinyl surfaces that can be sanitized at a moment’s notice. It smells kind of weird and plasticky and kind of like alcohol cleaner.

It’s not his favorite room in the Watchtower, but, eh. It could be way worse. What’s unusual is the whirrr of the door opening and closing in one of the private care rooms for another patient, since, you know...HIPAA and all that. Wally assumes. Or is it costume confidentiality once you leave Earth's atmosphere...?

Usually everyone knows who’s stopping in for PE through the sheer power of the Justice League gossip groupchats. (There’s at least nine. Wally’s in four of them. He aspires to be in two more by April.) There hasn’t been a big fight that requires long-term medical care in a while, and there’s no one Wally can think of who’d need this kind of recovery.

Something’s buzzing at the outside of his awareness, though. It sounds kind of…

Wally perks up. “Hey, the alien kid’s here!”

The PT holding Wally up at the waist hums. Her name is Cindy, and judging from their previous conversations, she thinks that Wally is the dumbest man alive. “There’s a million of those, Flash. Which one?”

“The one who bit Superman,” Wally adds.

Judging by the face Cindy makes, this clarifies nothing.

“Most recently,” Wally stresses, carefully not wincing as his leg gets stretched out again, only to be pulled back into position as tightly as before. “OW. Cindy, you’re killing me.”

Cindy makes a strangled noise. She asks: “What, again?” which is how Wally remembers that he got torn back out of the time stream not all that long ago, and it may be a big gauche to joke about your own death with the people who care about it.

Whoops. Wally winces. “…Nevermind?”

The other PTs make various fussy and annoyed noises, but the alien kid is wheeled onto the other side of the medical floor’s only gym. (The actual training floors are on another level. Wally wishes he was there. Alone.)

(Without four PTs clinging to his legs at all times.)

Wally waves. It’s a nice enough gesture, and now that the alien-phantasm-turned-flesh-and-blood-boy is more physically embodied than he used to be, the boy even deigns to carefully wave back.

The kid’s PTs—Wally thinks at least one of them is from the team that supervises Bart and his super-powered-leg-problems—end up encouraging the alien kid’s chair round to the soft mats where the kid can lay down. He ends up in the exact same position Wally is—horizontal on the floor, legs forcibly pinwheeled by enthusiastic but firm PTs.

Wally can physically feel the kid’s astonishment and discontentment buzzing in the air as he figures out what’s being done to him. Wally can’t help but laugh.

The kid angles his head towards the speedster. His face still looks—well, it looks…bad. It looks bad, unhealed and still threatening to weep neon green body fluids; there’s a wet, living crack running up and down his face that makes eye contact kind of hard. His hands are all spidery—this kid can probably hold and grip things, but the previous breakage have left his hands a little too easy to splay, a little too oddly-angled. He’s too thin to keep himself fully upright for long. When he looks at you, his eyes shake like a poorly lined-up television signal.

Martian Manhunter had said that he’d once looked like a healthy, happy human child. His current form is a reflection of the injuries he’d experienced since.

...What a thing for a kid to go through. Wally wouldn’t wish this sort of injury on anyone.

“­Alright, up you go,” the PT above him—Rhys, Wally remembers at the very last second—orders, and Wally is prompted to let the man help him back upright. “Over to the bars for you. You think your legs are up to bearing that kind of weight as you try out walking?”

“…Sure,” Wally lies to Rhys. It’ll be fine. Probably. By the time he gets over there, his legs might have already speed-healed by then. “Hand me the—?”

“Yeah, yeah, here’s the crutches. Don’t destroy yourself trying to make this happen, okay?”

So Wally gets set up at the glorified playground equipment in his least restrictive gym clothes, one long iron bar under one arm, and one long iron bar under the other. Two full-size physical therapists spot him as the speedster completes the most strenuous task available to him at the moment: walking across a very short distance without putting his full weight on his legs.

Wally puts one shaking leg in front of the other. The steps are slow. The urge to zoom to the end of the little bowling lane he’s stuck in—and therefore shatter his legs under the speedforce, again—is irresistibly temping.

Healing sucks. And Wally’s even got the longer end of the stick.

In the end, Wally sticks the landing. He is unreasonably sweaty. He is miserable. But he makes it to the end. Every one of the witnessing PTs applauds as if this is a great success. It’s literally not. It’s the inevitable result of pushing himself too far for the third time this year.

A question buzzes through the air, fluffing through Wally’s hair and the little fine hairs up and down his body. It’s nothing but inquisitive—whatareyoudoing whatareyoudoing?

Wally lets the PT maneuver a chair underneath him. It gives him enough breathing room to turn his upper torso, and he ends up catching the eye of the little alien kid in the corner. He’s sat on a yoga ball, two members of his medical team and one of the kids’ PTs trying to get his attention back to his exercises.

“Hey,” Wally realizes suddenly. “Your casts are gone!”

The kids’ legs are actually bare, which Wally’s never seen before. They’re twiggy, sure, stretched taut over a bone frame, and discolored and pale, but they’re legs. Wally hadn’t even known the alien had possessed legs until he’d formed a physical body months and months ago.

“Dude, that’s great!”

Happy/smug/proud vibrates through the room, making Wally’s teeth buzz. The kid smiles through a half-split lip, and bounces on the yoga ball ever so slightly.

“Good,” the kid says, surprising Wally, his PTs, and the kid’s usual medical team. He was talking already?! He thought J’onn had said—

“Hurt?” the boy asks, concern/concern flooding through the air. Oh. Right. He’s probably here for his busted legs; it would make sense that by virtue of the setting, Wally would be injured too.

And, sure, Wally busted his legs, but he at least heals with all the swiftness of the speedforce. “Meh.” Wally waves off the question. “I’m fine. It’ll be quick for me; some rehab and some lunch and a few days off, and I’ll be in shipshape.”

Wait. Wally’s eyes scrunches up. Is using wordplay appropriate with this kid…?

“Pain?” the kid asks, and turned his attention to the closest member of his medical team. “He pain?”

The medical professional sighs, which finally clues Wally in that the man is no longer masked. Hey, the kid is out of medical isolation! “The Flash has his own medication, thankfully. His doctors know what to do.”

The kid frowns. He doesn’t get it. He looks at Wally, and he looks at the staffer, who shrugs. “It’s the usual indicator word he uses for pain medication. He’s wondering if you’re hurt enough to need some.”

Wally hums. On one hand, it’s sweet that the alien kid is worried about him. It’s a huge step upwards from the alien who spent all his time hiding in abandoned meeting rooms and occasionally biting Superheroes.

On the other hand, the kid doesn’t just look worried that Wally might not be getting care; he looks scared.

Something happened to this kid. Something he can't shake off.

Wally breathes in, and breathes out.

—And breathes in sharply when Cindy starts wiggling his feet. She doesn’t respond at all to his glare, because she is a professional, and he is not a big baby of a superhero.

Mean.

“I’m fine,” Wally finally responds, trying to alleviate the kid’s concerns through sheer vibes-telepathy alone. Who knows if it’s working, but it makes Wally feel better about trying at the very least. “I’ve got my own team to fix me up, and they do a good job of taking care of me. Even if they’re bullying me at my most vulnerable.”

“Anything for you, boss,” Cindy volleys back cheerfully. “Gimme your other leg.”

The tension in the air slowly dissipates. The kid doesn’t stop shooting occasional looks at the unadorned, half-out-of-uniform Flash, but he does let Bart’s little PT team get to working on stretching out his previously-bound now-physical legs and getting him upright—if only for a few seconds at a time, balanced precariously by humans who actually touch his back and arms and hips and legs.

Wally’s session wraps up before the kid’s does. He’s not in any rush. He gets onto the walking crutches Rhys leaves out for his temporary use and lopes over to watch, occasionally hooting and applauding when the kid pulls off something no one’d been sure he could do.

The double handed high-five Wally offers him at the end is punctuated with shaky eye contact, two working hands, and a green-threaded beaming grin.

*

Diana cheerfully digs into her kebab lunch, plastic cutlery pushed to their maximum limit before threatening to break under her prodigious strength. “You know, Batman,” she starts, beaming, “My charge gave me his name the other day.”

Bruce sets down his muenster-ham-and-whole-wheat sandwich mid-bite. “I’ll need to hear everything,” he says immediately, to which Diana tuts.

“Oh, Batman, I could never break his trust like that,” she says, sweet as anything. She finesses a bite of lamb from the skewer and takes a neat bite.

“…Wonder Woman,” Batman says.

“Hm?”

“Diana.”

“Is there something you needed, Bruce?” Diana asks, pleased with herself. There genuinely is very little that could be done with a vague description of a now-altered human form and a first name alone; besides, she genuinely does feel that hearing the boy’s name come from others’ lips would be upsetting for him. Danny offered his name to Diana alone, and so it shall remain until hers alone he offers it to others.

Still, she is not above bragging.

“I need information.” Bruce’s face underneath his mask is stone.

Diana dips a second chunk of lamb into a little container of tzatziki sauce. “Well, then,” she points out, “Shouldn’t you spend some time building rapport with my charge, then?”

The feared Batman of Gotham, father of a half-dozen highly trained heroes, bristles like a wet cat. The demeanor is almost comical. He knows what he looks like to non-Gothamite children. He knows his suit will make this fight for common familiarity an uphill battle.

Diana smugly works through her lunch and ignores Bruce’s silent brooding as he does the same.