okay how about butcher convincing soldier boy to join him again for one last mission, but when ben sees the new adition to butcher's team he's like woahhhhhhh new mission! new mission!
how after season 3 of the boys, ben will swear never to trust anyone again after the butcher situation— even his so called deranged son.
but things happen, and ben finds himself, once again, going against his own blood in pursuit of being a good person and "saving the world" big woop.
he's working with the boys again. it was stupid, he knew that even if his brain has been frozen for decades.
with his normal squared shoulders and perfect soldier posture, he strolled like he owned the place through whatever bunker butcher and his no good friends were cooking shit up in for the last couple of weeks.
his gaze first shifted to the french one and his girlfriend, who were seemingly arguing in some fucked up form of sign language he definitely didn't understand.
a few feet away from them was starlight and her scraggly little boyfriend, the one who always seemed like he wan't trying to look scared. the soldier gave the unearthly power of hearing heartbeats to his son, so he could tell hughie was putting on an act by the way his heart start pounding as his boots started on the concrete.
to his surprise, a trio instead of a duo were seated to ben's right. mother's milk, butcher who walked behind mm to start taking apart his gun. in contrast to the two burly men, was a smaller woman who he had for sureeeee never seen before.
you were adorable– thats how he'd describe you. you sat criss cross on a swivel chair with what ben learned to be a "laptop" on your lap. makes sense.
you looked at him with the same false confidence that hid behind hughie's eyes. but when he looked at you he saw something deeper. like your big, bright eyes held admiration towards him.
ben stomped his combat boots straight towards the pretty girl, and because of where she was seated, she had to tilt her head almost straight up to look at the man in front of her.
the solider noticed the strain on her neck immediately and crouched down to her level. he got pretty close– close enough where m and frenchie gave each other a side eye across the room.
"i don't think we met. who are you, sweetheart?" his voice was deep, sooooo deep. you thought maybe he should be called the deep because of the growl behind his words oh goodness-
butcher cleared his throat behind you after you let a few too many seconds go by without answering solider boys question.
"tha's our girl behin' the scenes eh?" billy gestured towards you and you let out a smile and nod toward ben and stuck out your hand to introduce yourself.
ben shook your hand gently and noticed soft your palms were, especially for someone in this kind of buisness.
ben smirked at you. you could feel the heat rise to your cheeks jussssst a tad. i mean c'mon you were fascinated with supes. and he was like the most famous to ever live of course your flustered!
soldier boy clicked his tongue at you before standing back to his full height again.
There's a pack with the date on it in the freezer, so thaw it, warm it up in a double boiler, and give it to him. Don't heat it up in the microwave just because it's a hassle! After he finishes eating, make sure to burp him. You know what I mean? Please.
you drive up to the lumberyard, wearing your prettiest dress, flaunting your big diamond ring on your left hand. You hold Toji’s lunch in hand, having brought him several homemade meals for his long work day. You’re very aware how much your husband can eat, especially when working himself so hard. The strong earthy smell of wood fills your lungs, the loud buzzing of chainsaws making your brain rattle. It’s a miracle he didn’t come home with a headache every day.
One of the men sits a pile of wood, half-eaten sandwich in hand, dirt under his nails and wood chips under his boots. He squints his eyes at you for a few seconds before recognizing you. He swallows his food, shouting over his shoulder, “Fushiguro, your wife is here!”
“Thank you,” you giggle, walking past him and towards your husband. His eyes locked with yours, a smile adorning his face when he threw his hard hat to the floor, scooping you off of your feet. “Toji! I have a dress on!” You squeal.
“I’m sorry, baby.” He lets you back down on your feet. “I just missed you.” He presses a kiss to your lips. “Mmm, don’t you look gorgeous.” His eyes rake over your body from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.
“Do you like the dress? It’s new.” You smile at him, grabbing his hand.
“I love it,” he growls in your ear, squeezing the back of your thighs. “I could eat you up right now.”
“Behave, Mister,” you warn.
“Yes Ma’am.” He smirks at you, kissing your cheek.
“I would love to spend your lunch with you, but I need to run some errands, get the house cleaned.” You hand him his lunch.
“Awe, come on! Not even five minutes? You know…there’s a lot we can do in five minutes—”
“Oh my gosh, Toji!” You slap your hand over his mouth, earning a laugh from him. “Stop that!”
“You act like I haven’t said worse. We both know how you like to be treated in the bedroom—”
“Stop!” You slap your hand over his mouth again, looking around the yard to see if any of his coworkers heard.
“Okay, okay, I’m just teasing you,” he snorts, hands settling on your waist.
“You’re so annoying!” You whine, playfully slapping his shoulder.
“You love it.” He presses a long kiss to your lips. “Now go and do what you need to do, baby. I love you, and I’ll see you at home.” He pecks your lips again.
“I love you too.” You squeeze his hand before turning to walk away only to feel Toji’s hand smack your ass. “Toji!”
“Alright, I’m actually done this time! Swear!” He throws his hands up in surrender. He watches as you walk away, solely focused on the way your ass moves in that new dress, hypnotizing him.
“Hell of a woman you got there, Fushiguro,” his colleague states, standing beside him.
Toji glares at him before smacking him upside the head. “Point your fucking eyes somewhere else, yeah? That’s my wife.”
you don't have to look outside to know which car's music is shaking the thin foundation of your tiny apartment like a leaf. you slip outside in record time, ignoring the judgmental looks your roommates give you as you haul your weekend bag out the door.
something about this little routine sparks butterflies in your stomach every time. you just can't find it in you to shake the excitement you feel every friday, knowing he'll be out front by the time the sun sets. parked sideways with his hazards on and the roof down, music cranked so high you can feel the bass in your chest.
toji's car is probably the flashiest thing about him. polished, modded, and complete with a sound system that'd put an auditorium to shame. he leans over the door to give you a once over, mouth curled up in that lazy grin that makes your teeth clench.
"get your sweet ass over here." he urges, crooking two fingers towards himself before turning the music down. he pops the driver's side to stand and greet you properly, arms wrapping around your waist as soon as your body meets his.
“i missed you.” you sigh suddenly feeling emotional now that you're wrapped in his arms you can still smell your perfume lingering between the fibers of his hoodie. even through the different layers of soap, and smoke, and his own cologne. you're so relieved to see him that you almost feel like crying.
“fuck, baby.” he laughs softly, petting the crown of your head. you do this every single time, and he absolutely loves it. “you saw me last week, yeah? don't cry.”
you stand there for a while, rocking side to side in the parking lot until your chest loosens and the moisture beading at your eyes is gone. your knuckles ache right in the marrow from how hard you're clinging to him. toji doesn't mind, threading his fingers into the space between yours with a fond laugh and a kiss to your hairline.
That is, until you said his name like the letters embodied it.
See, Toji has always had bad memories associated with his name. In his vocabulary, it was a word to be spat out, to be muttered upon like it was a curse—and to many people, it truly was. If the Time Vessel Association assigned him to be the assassin, well... let's just say the target most likely wouldn't live to see another.
So when you said his name for the first time, with that friendly smile on your kindred face, his heart skipped a beat.
Yeah, that's right. The battle-hardened tough ass killer who had always claimed that love was bullshit named Toji Fushiguro had his heart skipping a beat when you'd opened your mouth.
What the hell?, Toji had thought as he watched the back of your departing figure animatedly talking to your friend until you disappeared by the corner.
And the same went when you came up with a nickname for him.
The two of you were strolling around Ameyoko; the night was young and it was a Friday. All your friends were out or studying for the upcoming test and Toji was free of any missions that day. And so he mustered up the courage and asked you—with the difficulty and awkwardness of typical Fushiguro—and you agreed with a beam that resulted in a warm bloom in Toji's metal heart.
You were looking around at stores in slight wonder, your eyes widening in curiosity or delight every so often at the small papers and trinkets you'd see inside. Toji was enjoying the sights too—except he was looking at you, admiring your naturally kind stance, and stealing glances when he couldn't resist. He noticed that there was this subtle glow you emitted that seemed to magnetize things to you—little children who would smile at you when you wave at them, small dogs that would come up to you and rub against your ankles as you scratched them behind the ears and cooed. You didn't know it, but you were magnetizing Toji in too; the man was falling bit by bit and he wasn't sure if he wanted to stand back up again.
"Hey," you smiled warmly,—there goes that smile again, he thought—waving a hand in front of his face. "Earth to Toji?"
Toji blinked, looking away and forward in embarrassment. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, just..." he snuck a look back at you, finding your softly grinning face already lighting him up like electricity zapping the tips of his toes and traveling up his spine. "admiring the view."
"It is beautiful, isn't it, 'Ji?" you said, breathing in deeply. "Nighttime in Tokyo is really something else."
Toji however, couldn't focus on anything anymore except to walk straight.
Ji? he thought, his eyes dazed. She called me... Ji?
He blinked, warmth blooming in his chest and spreading up to his cheeks. It sounded beautiful in your mouth, like dandelions swaying gently under the fresh spring breeze. Like the sun setting after a long day and casting a golden glow on the city. Like the stars sprinkled across a shimmering night as the moon settled high in the sky and coated the world in silver.
Toji kissed you real hard that day.
And now, 30 years later, here you were, sitting on the kitchen counter and humming with a book in your hand, that damn smile still on your lips, still the same even after decades of aging. Toji thought you looked even more angelic than usual.
"Hi ma," he breathed, his eyes going soft and melty.
"Hi, sweetheart," you greeted, hopping off the counter to place a gentle kiss on his jaw. "How was your sleep?"
"Not so good," Toji exhaled, pressing your hand to his lips and trailing it to rest on his cheek. "I didn't get to wake up with you on my side,"
You laughed, lightly patting him with the hand on his face "Age grows you softer, my dear."
"Not age," Toji said, wrapping you up in a delicate hug and rocking you back and forth as the early sun rays filtered through the window to bathe you two in a soft glow. "Just you,"
"Oh, Ji."
And his heart never failed to skip a beat to that nickname.
MASTERLIST
dividers by @fae-and-wolf
tags: @cloudykumo (I finally got around to write something :') )
playing with toji’s monstrously big tits. ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧
you’re perched on toji’s lap, legs draped over one side as he leans back against the couch. the two of you are supposed to be “talking seriously,” or at least that was the plan before you noticed his really, really tight shirt showing his… muscles.
“so, you think this plan’s actually gonna work?” he asks, his arms were crossed. not really noticing your hands creeping closer to him, or the way your fingers twitch, itching to explore a little.
“probably,” you murmur, tilting your head like you’re considering something super deep, “i guess so, who knows.” your fingers brush lightly over his chest, just barely teasing the fabric of his shirt, feeling the firmness underneath.
he frowns. “what the—are you even listening to me?”
you don’t even look at him. instead, your hand slides a little further until your fingers are pressing against one of his pecs. “huh,” you say thoughtfully, “sure sure i’m listening.”
“oi woman, what the fuck are you doin’?” he snaps, frozen for a second.
“they were calling me!” you say, tilting your head like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, fingers still pressing lightly against him.
“what the fuck do you mean, ‘calling you’?” he blurts out, blinking at you like you just announced you’d discovered a secret alien language, his hands frozen mid-air now as he tries to process what you’re actually doing.
you look up at him, one hand giving his chest a squeeze again, feeling him tense under your fingers. “like… your boobs. they were calling me.”
“can you—fuck, woman, let go.” his eyes go wide, then narrow. “and boobs? what the fuck are you saying? these aren’t fucking boobs—”
“sure they are,” you say, mock-serious, squeezing again, this time a little harder. “pretty sure these are boobs. feels like boobs.”
“they’re not boobs, they’re… chest muscles. pecs. goddamn it.” he growls, one hand finally trying to push your hand away, but you’re just too quick.
“pecs, boobs… tomato, tomato,” you shrug, pressing your cheek against his shoulder for extra leverage. “they just… feel like boobs, look at how big they are! i had to check!”
“check?! oi, woman, that’s assault!” he’s flailing a little, trying to get your hands off him without hurting you, but you’re laughing too hard to stop, hair falling over your face as you wiggle a bit.
“i had to answer the call. they were lonely,” you say, squishing the other one for good measure, watching him groan in defeat.
“fuck. alright, alright, that’s enough. stop.” he mutters, rubbing his face with one hand.
“noo, why?” you tease, leaning back but keeping just enough contact to make him groan again. “ugh, they’re bigger than mine.”
he glares at you, but there’s no real heat behind it—just that mix of exasperation and disbelief that makes it impossible not to giggle at. “you’re insane. absolutely batshit insane.”
“thank you,” you say, patting his chest lightly one last time before finally sliding off his lap, grinning. “i try.”
he flops back into the couch, muttering under his breath, “don’t do that shit ever again.”
“no promises,” you say, sticking your tongue out at him.
how toji likes to assert his dominance over you in small ways
being the crafty man he is, he finds a childlike joy in placing all of the silverware and cutlery a shelf or two too high, easily out of your reach. cue your voice calling out to him for aid, clambering over the counter like a liability to yourself before he tugs you off the marble and hands you a glass. “might have to put a couple inches in ya if this is such an issue.”
he’s always got his hands on you. you could be making breakfast, and he’s peppering kisses along the column of your throat. on a train-ride together, his chest is pressed right against your back, keeping you rooted in place. if you’re out with your friends, a textured palm is resting on your thigh like it belongs there. you’re far from timid, but toji has a way of making you faint of heart with just the feel of his hand coiled around your waist to keep you flush against his muscled side, leaving you lightheaded and dizzy under his featherlight touch.
whenever you’re acting out and mouthing off, he has no issue putting you right in your place with a click of his tongue and chides that shut you right up. heat rises to your cheeks and you can’t help but stare at the ground as he scolds you, though part of you finds his firmness unfairly sexy.
you never have to know where you’re going as long as his hand is in yours, your personal six-foot something gps that leads you to whatever shopping center or cafe you’re set on visiting while he sorts out the logistics.
getting you all hot and bothered, whether it’s in the bedroom or in public, is a pastime of his. just one fan of his breath over the crown of your ear and you’re stumbling over your words and fuzzy-brained. he’s just such a fucking flirt, voice all gravelly and suave, even if he’s talking about the weather. and what’s worse is he knows it, too.
toji is a large man, larger than most, so when he gets handsy it’s almost like he’s manhandling you for the fun of it. tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of flour, wrestling you to the ground in somewhat alarming ease, picking you up and spinning you around for a kiss—it’s all dizzying.
every once in a while, he’ll ask to pick out your outfit for the day. in all his nude glory, he’s plastered against the headboard as you twirl around in a sundress he thought made your legs look nice, then calls you over for a kiss before you make your way out for the day.
he’s the kind of guy who likes it when you smell like him, swapping out your bodywash with his own or even spritzing his cologne onto your things. it’s borderline territorial, so everyone you encounter knows you’ve got a boyfriend waiting for you back home. he’s even showed up at your job a couple of times just to hand off your lunch to you and kiss you far too provocatively before your coworkers.
toji expects you to come and sit in his lap after a long day. he isn’t much for words, so he finds himself twirling your hair between his dextrous digits as you ramble on and on about your day, losing himself in your effortless beauty and barely hanging onto a word leaving your lips.
fushiguro toji who doesn't play games. you hadn't heard from him all day. there was no good morning test, no small talk that filled the silence, yet at 6:43 pm sharp, like every day, there was a knock on your door.
when you opened it, there he stood. his shoulders broad, a jacket slung over his form, his hair tousled. a grocery bag hung from his fingers, and the familiar scar on the corner of his mouth twitched when he saw your face.
"i figured ya haven't eaten," he said, his voice rough like he hadn't talked much today; he stepped past you easily, his free hand finding your neck to squeeze once in quiet acknowledgement.
you narrowed your eyes at him, his palm heavy on your nape, "you could've at least texted me today, said something."
"why?"
"because—" you faltered, caught off guard by the straightforwardness of the why, like he didn't just take your passive aggressiveness at face value, "i don't know. it would've been nice."
he raised his eyebrows, "you thought i wasn't comin' or what?"
you shrugged, because you didn't know if that was what you thought. because you were used to flakiness, used to being forgotten, used to men who said a whole lot and followed through on nothing.
exhaling, his hand squeezed down again, "if i didn't give a damn, i wouldn't be here, woman. i don't waste time on people i don't care about. ya think i move for just anyone?"
fushiguro toji who didn't scare easy. not from blood, not from death and sure as hell not from you crying. unlike anybody before, he didn't hover and didn't ask you if you were okay every five minutes. he didn't because it was clear you weren't, because he knew that your pain needed out, because he wasn't going anywhere.
he leaned back, his arms crossed as he watched your chest heave wrecked breaths, sobs stuck in your throat. he waited, no matter how long it took, waited and sat there and watched over you until your body opened up, arms unravelling from your knees. he dropped down next to you, his huge body shadowing you, stance wide, hand finding your thigh. his fingers splayed out to ground as much of you as possible.
"g'on, get that shit out."
you pushed at him, fist finding his arm easily yet with no budging. so, you hit again, intent to find him softening underneath your anger, again and again, and again.
he rolled his eyes, huffing in something almost akin to amusement, the pelting of your fists against his bicep barely more than little pecks left by a fluttering bird, "you done swingin'?"
he let you, still. you didn't scare him, not even close. how could you when he had seen worse? had been worse?
fushiguro toji who didn't get jealous per se. he didn't get into pissing contests with other men when you were approached, who lied about his height, who felt the need to prove that you were with him. at the end of it all, it wasn't about him feeling like he was less.
it was simple, really.
you were welcome to test his boundaries, you were. if you wanted to flirt around, feel like you still had options, make a point to him, then you could go right ahead. he had no interest in stopping you, didn't need to tug you close or make a scene to know that you felt the heaviness of his eyes following you.
he'd sit back in the chair, his legs spread, one arm slung over the backrest of the chair next to him as he watched you: the way you leaned a little too close, laughed a little too much, watched the way that guy inched a little closer to you.
and when you glanced back at him, his gaze already rested on you as you had known, though not with furrowed eyebrows as though he were mad, not bothered. just a heavy stare that spelt more promise than any threat, and if it had the guy's shirt get a bit damp, then all the better for it.
he leaned down to you when you found his side like a butterfly, his breath hot against your ear, "he touches you again, i'll break his fuckin' hand."
to him, it wasn't about feeling less, at all. people just tended to forget, and he was just there to remind them.
fushiguro toji who walked on the outside of the pavement. he stood behind you in a crowd, sat closest to the door in any establishment you were in: his back to the wall, one leg stretched out, the other braced like he was ready to get into action any moment.
he scanned every room like a slumbering weapon, muscle memory kicking in in the way he watched every person that walked in. you felt it in the silence when somebody got too close and he shifted his weight like he was calculating how fast he could drop them. sometimes, when he was bored, he also thought about how quick he could do it for the fun of it.
he never told you you were safe with him — he didn't have to. one day, you just realised that you had never once felt unsafe with him.
fushiguro toji who didn't hide his scars. who chose to let you see them, who chose to allow you to take a peek at his innermost workings, rusted and half-broken. he wasn't somebody who opened up usually; life had a habit of teaching him that no one stuck around when shit got heavy so why would he?
yet, sitting at the edge of the bed, his shirt off and the disfigured marks on full display, he didn't dodge your questions.
fushiguro toji who showed you what it meant to keep choosing you. because he carried more than anybody you had met before, because he wasn't heartless, because he learned to wear the cold like an armour, efficient and far-removed. because with that quiet violence simmering underneath his skin, it was leashed by pure will and determination only.
because living life like that, every day was a conscious decision to hold back. because there was a twisted kind of loyalty within him, raw; one that was forged from the same ruthless intensity that he used to destroy, except now it was directed to protect you.
toji fushiguro the type of man who is all rough and tough on the outside, but all soft and doting when it comes to you, and only you.
the big, feared sorcerer killer is an absolute gentleman to you. he’d come home with red covering his skin like it had just rained blood, but he’d always clean himself up before he snuggled up into your warm, awaiting body.
he’d breathe low into your comforting warmth, hugging you close to him like you mean the world. like you’re his world. in which you probably are.
your smile alone could chase away all the traumatizing shits he has to go through every day. your gentle caress of a hand easing his mental stress.
and your kisses. god, your kisses. toji believes it could put even a raging lion to sleep. because most of the time it does just that to him. and he’s not ashamed of it one bit.
“hey, baby,” and how he just loves when you call him that.
he didn’t give you any answer, just a soft hum and his face forcing its way to the crook of your neck, smelling the sweet vanilla on your skin that’s just always gets him intoxicated. always makes him crave more and more.
he wouldn’t let go of you one bit. big, beefy arms caging your lean frame. “missed you,” he’d say between kisses to your neck, and you mentally melted away from how soft and tender he sounded.
and that’s how he’d spend the rest of the evening, with you in his arms sharing warmth he had to miss when the sun rises.
tangentwithtanner
stormborns
