Between a Rock and a Hard place
I haven't written fanfiction in almost 8 years. regardless. No one really asked for this but me lmao. Benzo X Reader X Vander ahead. I ended up writing more than intended so this will be a few chapters and uploaded to AO3 once I revive a dead account.
Also Reader is FTM. there will be NSFW as I am horny for big men.
(may reformat this post later.)
Chap 1 - Junkshop
Youre still a bit new to this.
This whole... living rough thing. All it took was a couple of bad debts, a job loss, and shitty ex, that led to you fleeing your already fringe home for the underground.
You had only stepped into The Lanes a handful of times on riskier outings with your wont-be-fiancee back when things were.. well. Fun.
Even though it has been a year since he not only rejected your proposal, but expelled you from his "family home" (one of twelve properties) you still feel an ache when you remember the genuine joy you had felt at times. His denial came as a complete surprise.
But what can you do?
Whatever. The Lanes actually weren't that bad. Your dwelling felt homely. What was once the pump station of the eastern ventilation shafts had been repurposed, apparently many times before, so by the time you came across it it was uninhabited and covered in cobwebs and mold. But with time and patience and a whole lot of stolen floorboards, you made it yours.
The work? Well. Could be better. It took some time before you figured out what a "normal job" was down here. And it wasn't retail. You had gotten lucky at first, working the fish market in the slightly fresher air that was pushed forth by the seas breeze, but the gig didn't last long when your boss started losing money.
The second job was the first risk you had to take, smuggling, and you have never feared for your life truly till that damn job. The first punch you've ever thrown, and the first time you got your ass beat, and the first time you were introduced to those who really control the underground. Yeah. You didn't last in that either.
Now the third job? You dunno, it's not even a job, it's making ends meet. You weren't big or strong enough to be hired muscle, not fast or agile enough for the thieves and smugglers, and you outright weren't ready for the brothels.
So you just... pocket things. Small and innocuous that noone would notice. A basket here, a tool there, a forgotten ring on a table or dropped weapon. You've pilfered many corpses, keeping your eyes from their faces in shame as you took all they probably had, and what they died for.
Be it bullet holes or malnutrition, they weren't using it anymore. The gears keep turning.
Whatever had no use to you and your home would hopefully be sellable. And that's where you are now. Selling. Sometimes you just have your junk on a rolled out cloth for passers-by to glance at, there were a few shops here and there that took the right wares.
And just your luck, for once, you have a score coming in the form of a thiefs cache left abandoned. You didnt know what half the shit was but you knew this could sustain you for a little while. Taking a handful of devices, some intricate gears and metal tubes with odd keyholes along them, and dumping them into your rucksack to toddle through the city.
There was one shop you had in mind for these doodads, having to bounce between many to avoid getting traced to anything you've stolen, but this one guy seems to have an inclination towards stuff that sparks with mystique.
Benzos
It's a simple little shop tucked away in the alleys with a wide, intricate patterned window made of the underground's typical melted bottle glass, the awkward ripples of the melt obscuring the view on both sides save for the flickers of old bulbs and candle light.
You were surprised to not see the small boy you had met the one time you came by, the one who gave you the most withering look when you presented the wares you were selling and asked if you were serious. Getting shot down by a child hurt just a bit more, but you think maybe this time you’d have enough experience to try and haggle with the little shit.
It was not the child though, but an adult man. Immediately you thought perhaps this is the man ‘Benzo’ so named as the shop. He was a heavier set individual hunched over a pile of metal instruments and tools on his workbench, however he turned to look over his shoulder when you stepped inside.
After a quick up-and-down look from the man he Nods at you, insinuating he's sized you up as someone he can handle, and makes to put away some of what he was working on as you step to the center of his little shop.
"Welcome in!" he all but barks as he spins on the pivot of his chair, now facing frontward at the desk that bisects his shop. His accent thick with the slur of a once broken jaw, and his demeanour stands firmly with one foot on either side of friendly and sceptical. "Here to barter, I presume?"
You nod again, and struggle to find your voice before clearing the lingering grey muck from your throat.
"Yeah, I um- these, I bought some stuff" you begin as you unsling the bag from over your shoulders. He leans in, curious, and pulls a pair of small round lens glasses from a drawer to set on his rounded nose.
You retrieve the items in odd handfuls and scatter them on the available counter space before him, making a melodic sound as different metals rattled together.
Benzo, or at least you're assuming this man was Benzo, picked up the tubes first and began to turn them in his hands, slowly scrutinising the odd hole shapes, seeing what he could twist off or peer into.
The tubes are moved to the side and the first bit of apprehension settles in you. As he reaches out to check the gear pile he quirks a crooked grin.
"Odd assortment you got here" he comments "sure as shit aint the leftovers from your workshop, yeah? where'd you find these?"
He sounds somewhat impressed and hope wrestles its place beside your anxiety.
"I um.. I just found them.. I don't think anyone owns-"
He interjects, "Stolen then? I do charge extra to launder wares, you know, " his accusation scandalised you. For once these things weren't stolen! They were abandoned.. or at least you're sure they were.
"No! Not stolen, I just.. they were in a crate in an empty chem distilling house I was checking out"
He lets out an "aah" of understanding before gathering more gears to check over. These too are moved to the side with the tubes. Now you are unsure if this means the two were sellable or if this was the rejection pile now.
He continues his prodding with an air of harsh humor, perhaps sensing the eb and flow of your tension. "Didn't think so, you don't look cut out for topside targets" its a jab that does hurt in ways he wouldnt understand. Burning just a little as small bubbles of nostalgic memory flittered about in your mind.
"Hah.. yeah. I don’t think I could survive up there" you try to joke back but it is delivered so flatly that he gives you a moment's glance before slowly taking one of the devices you brought in.
Benzo seems to know exactly what these items are as he turns an aged dial on the back of one, it sputters, but the distinct grind of tiny machinery inside can be heard. You hear him mutter a curse to himself with a chuckle and he shakes his head.
"Alright then, what's the set up? Who's looking to offload this shit?"
Suddenly that tense worry in you pulls ever more taut. "I.. what-"
"Think im blind, luv? All this kit is from Piltover, as I said. It takes work to make stuff like this disappear. Are you their runner? Or just the idiot they sent to find the cap val?"
You felt very small and words failed to collect into a sentence you could voice. Just small questions in your confusion.
"Cap? Huh?"
"How much for it? Whoever you're runnin this for should come talk to me face to face"
"-its mine"
"I don't believe ya"
You feel heat creep up to your cheeks and your eyes wet. But do what you can to steel yourself, tighter smaller breaths, you look away from his increasing scowl and step back just a bit.
"I-Its true. I dont even know what it is"
"More money than im willing to hand out to just anyone" he sounded almost indignant about it. Suddenly you were a risk to him.
no. No! You cant let the deal drop. You needed the coin badly.
"Undercut me then!" You snap back at him.
"Hm. I will then"
"F-fine. I just. Whatever you can do please-"
His chuckle at you is almost cruel as he flicks his spectacles off and onto the table beside the pile of offending junk. "Three silver" he shrugs at you.
Your heart sinks into your empty stomach.
His offer so low its essentially an instruction to get the fuck out of his shop. But you freeze. Battling the grief. You could go to another shop, do this all over again, maybe hold back the little machines and sell the pieces off bit by bit. But something strangles you in place.
It was just unfair. And you drained from this interaction so fast, as everything else in your life now does down here, that part of you just.. gave up. You thought of the slog of sitting for hours waiting for downcast eyes to focus on anything other than a purple vial, of waiting out the hungry ache. Now knowing these are from piltover you probably can't just sell them on the street like that anyway.
Your voice is a hoarse note when you completely bow your head.
"..three.. I can take three" you conceded.
It's apparent that he was expecting you to pack up and go, but he leans back on his chair and surveys you again.
He doesn't speak. Just let the silence linger as you struggle to keep in the burning tears that blur your eyes. It was humiliating. You can't stop the instinct to wipe them away.
The distinct sound of that man sighing across the room somehow made you shake ever so. "Kid. Look at me" he commands, and his tone has changed towards you. No longer so harsh or accusatory.
You hazard a quick glance up through your bangs but cant hold his eyes long. His expression something morose and a bit regretful.
"Look. I- I didn't mean to be so- ya know. This just looks a bit suspicious. Come now and tell me, what have you gotten yourself into here?"
You're not sure what it was, maybe the way his demeanor softened, or the little pink on his cheeks that exposed his bashful nature. Something fatherly that felt honest. And that's all it took for your floodgate to burst.
You told this man, this stranger, if he's really Benzo or not did not matter, about the tumultuous last year of your life. Losing your home and love, adapting to the grey and its sickness, the many nights you lay awake starving and missing the stars. You make a pitiful mess of yourself as he can only listen to your blubber, and when all you could get off your chest was lifted, you slumped over his counter to sob.
Maybe luck is on your side a little, as this man is just as capable of being gentle as he was of being brutish. His wide, heavy palm rests on your shoulder and rubs in an assuring motion, and he awkwardly lets you cry till you're empty.
The man, who you learn really is the Benzo who owns this shop, almost completely switches away from his gruff persona. Leaving you for a moment to hobble to his door and turn the sign to ward off interruptions. He fetches you a hot mug of tea, and pulls a short stool out for you to sit on by the counter before he takes his place opposite you again.
Your sniffles now subsided, and catharsis warming your muscles, you felt maybe a little less shit now. Especially when he's already apologised a good few times.
"Look... if i'm being honest. I don't think I can give you the true value for these here. You'll be robbing me!" He offers, turning one of the mechanical devices in his fingers. "But for the gears and vials i'll do 20 silver"
Its more than enough. That's a little over a fortnight of meals, and to this you emphatically agree. Benzo holds out a hand to shake, but as you reach towards him he retracts for a moment.
"Ah, ah, ah! Just a minute. I do have another offer to make though" he begins. "I might know a guy who knows a guy with spare rooms. Youre a good kid, just on a stretch o' bad luck. What do you say, you get me the rest of that cache and I set you up somewhere more comfortable?"
Its a surprising offer that leaves you momentarily breathless. It feels like for the first time since leaving Piltover someone was actually looking out for you. Your eyes mist up again, but you smile. All but lunging over his countertop to slap your hand into his in a firm shake.
"A deal!" You could almost laugh at the relief.
"A deal, then." Benzo, too, seems pleased with the arrangement. "Don't start crying' on me now, I got a reputation to uphold. People usually leave here with black eyes not red, luv" he says with a hardy laugh.
He's a strange man, doesn't seem to take much shit, but can melt like butter under the right circumstances.
Benzo fetches a sizable pre-pouched bundle of coin and slides it in your direction, judging by the weight it was definitely more than 20, but you say nothing to his knowing smile. It disappeared into the depths of your rucksack in a blink.
You are readily composed when you slide off the stool, your mug now cold and empty, and the evening green glow starting to shine through the window guides your departure. Benzo waves you off, turning back to his desk with one of those mechanical devices youve left to him.
As the door almost closes behind you lean your head back into the store momentarily.
"What even are those things, by the way?" You ask
It rattles in his hand as he slides a thin pick along a seam and scratched out dirt and rust.
"Uh.. I definately wont say theyre not potentially explosive"
Worrying. You don't ask anything further, but consider the remaining devices with caution. You thank him one last time before closing the door with a thud.
The walk home is quiet in a comforting way, less lonely, your mind buzzing with optimism. A new home would be wonderful, and Benzo has given you more than enough money to take a couple days to think it over really. It's not that your current dwelling is terrible but it could be better. You could live without fighting off large bugs and the lack of amenities does make some of your daily doings harder.
Running water would be nice.
You detour through the food market and indulge greedily. Carrying home a collection of wrapped breads and cured fish to feast on over the next few days, warm and almost giddy. And when you rest at night you do not miss the stars at all, instead you dream of the welcoming warmth of a home.
