#Deals On Gas and Electricity | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

itneverendshere · 5 months ago

Note

okay we know rafes help reader in situations like with electricity and no car and such. but maybe it’s the first time where he knows he’s in love with her and she’s the one for him, where she doesn’t go to him for any help. and it’s maybe like not having enough money to buy groceries for herself, or how she walks to work still bc she can’t afford gas. and he gets so mad, and she thinks it’s an inconvenience to him. but it’s actually because rafe will always be there for her, and no matter what the problem is , he can fix it just for her

you got me overnight - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader(bartender!reader universe) warnings: first fight and confession 🫂

Rafe knew convincing you he was worth a shot was the easiest part of your relationship.

You were absolutely perfect, made to be his. He could picture you right now, the way you’d smile at his stupid jokes, the warmth of your hand in his, or how you’d send him those random "good morning" texts that hit him like a gut punch every time. You were everything. It wasn’t just the way you looked, although that obviously had him floored, but the way you thought about things, the way you cared about people. It was all of it. You gave a shit.

That was something new for him.

He never thought he’d get someone like you, someone who made him want to be better. It was months later, and he was hooked.

Totally gone. You were the real deal for him. Every time his phone buzzed with your name on the screen, it hit him in the chest. Hard.

So when you dropped it on him, casually, that you were walking to work because you didn’t have the gas money while he’d been away on a family holiday, it set off something inside him.

You said it like it was no big deal, like it was just another part of your day. He was losing it. The idea of you walking to work, sweating it out while he was chilling on vacation, made him feel sick. He couldn’t wrap his head around it.

Rafe’s jaw clenched. He didn’t understand why you didn’t tell him earlier, didn’t ask for help. Why didn’t you call him? He could’ve handled it in a second, no problem. You didn’t need to be doing stuff like that.

“You’ve been walking to work?”

“Yeah… it’s fine. It’s not far,” you replied, brushing it off like it was nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing. Not to him. He knew how far your walk was.

He knew it wasn’t just around the corner. And you didn’t have to be doing this. Even if he hadn’t been there for the past week to give you a ride as he usually did, he could’ve taken care of it even if he was miles away. He was always here for you, even if he wasn’t physically there.

Rafe gripped the counter tighter, trying to keep his frustration under control, for your sake. “Why didn’t you say anything? You didn’t tell me you were low on gas.”

You gave a little shrug, as if that was the end of the conversation.

“Didn’t wanna bother you. It’s not your problem.”

Didn’t wanna bother him? Not his problem? You were his problem, the best kind of problem, and he couldn’t understand why you thought you had to handle everything by yourself. It pissed him off—not at you, but at the fact that you were doing this, struggling in silence. It was like you didn’t trust him to be there for you.

You didn’t trust him enough to lean on him when you needed something.

“What do you mean it’s not my problem?” His voice came out harsher than what he'd hoped for, and you froze, eyes wide.

“Whoa. Chill,” you said, holding your hands up defensively. “I didn’t think you’d get so worked up about it. I can handle it.”

But that wasn’t the point. You shouldn’t have to handle it. Not when you had him. You were supposed to lean on him, to come to him when things like this came up.

That’s what being together meant.

It was crazy to him. Every part of him wanted to protect you, to make sure you didn’t have to deal with anything like this on your own. The thought of you walking to work—tired, probably stressed out—while he was away doing nothing important...he hated it.

"You don’t have to handle it, though," he argued, voice softer now but still frustrated “That’s the thing. You don’t get it, do you? I want to help. I need to help. When you're struggling, that's my problem too. I wanna be there for you. Always.”

You looked at him like he was overreacting like he was making something out of nothing. “Baby, it’s not that serious. It’s just a couple of walks. You’re acting like I was in danger or something.”

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm down, but it wasn’t working. "It's not about the fucking walks. It's the fact that you didn’t even think to tell me. Like I wouldn’t care.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples like you were tired of this conversation already. “I didn’t wanna bother you. You were on vacation. I didn’t want to stress you out over something so small.”

He didn’t know why it pissed him off so much, but it did. It was gnawing at him like a splinter under his skin, “You’re serious? You didn’t think it was worth mentioning?”

You shifted on your feet, already defensive. “I don’t know. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. I figured I’d just handle it.”

“That’s exactly the problem!” he snapped, stepping closer to you, his hand gesturing wildly. “You figured you’d handle it? What the fuck? Why would you think I wouldn’t want to know about something like this?”

“Because it’s stupid gas money, Rafe!” you fired back, your frustration bubbling to the surface now. “I didn’t wanna bother you with something so small! You were gone, and I didn’t want to make it a whole fucking thing.”

He could hear the irritation in your voice, but it just made him angrier.

You thought you were protecting him from being “bothered,” but all it did was make him feel like you didn’t need him. Like you didn’t think he could help, or worse, like you didn’t want him to.

“Small? Are you fucking kiddin’ me? You walked to work for how many days, in the heat, probably tired as fuck, and you think that’s small?” His voice was rising, and he hated that he couldn’t control it, but he was too worked up now. “It’s not about the gas money. It’s the fact that you didn’t tell me. You kept it to yourself, like I’m just some fucking dude who’s not in your life like that.”

You crossed your arms, your own frustration clear. “Rafe, you’re blowing this way out of proportion. I didn’t need to tell you because I can take care of myself. I’m not helpless.”

“That’s not what this is about!” he nearly shouted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “This isn’t about you being helpless or not! It’s about you letting me be there for you, letting me help you when things get tough. Shit. That’s what this is, what we are. You don’t fucking get it.”

“I do fucking get it, Rafe!” you snapped back, stepping closer to him, your eyes burning with misplaced anger. “But I don’t need to run to you every time something goes wrong. I’m not gonna fall apart because of a few days without a car.”

He was grinding his teeth now, trying to keep his composure but failing miserably. “It’s not about falling apart. It’s about the fact that you didn’t even think to lean on me! You didn’t trust me enough to just call and say, ‘Hey baby, I’m low on gas. Can you help?’ You shouldn’t have to figure it out on your own.”

You threw your hands up, exasperated. “I did figure it out! I walked. It wasn’t some huge disaster. I made it work.”

“But you shouldn’t have had to!” he yelled, his voice echoing in the kitchen. “Why can’t you get that? You don’t have to handle shit like this alone! I want to be there for you. I need to be there for you. Don’t you get that?”

You flinched at the volume of his voice, but you didn’t back down.

“You’re acting like I don’t care about us because I didn’t ask you to bail me out. I care, Rafe. But I can deal with things on my own, too. I’m not just gonna dump every little problem on you like it’s your job to fix everything.”

Rafe shook his head, running his hands through his hair for the millionth time, pacing now because he couldn’t stand still. “It is my job, though. That’s the whole fucking point. I’m supposed to be the one you come to when things go wrong sweets, big or small. I’m supposed to be the one who makes your life easier, not the guy you hide stuff from.”

You let out a frustrated laugh, disbelief coloring your tone. “Hide? Seriously? You think I’m hiding things from you? It was gas money, Rafe, not some deep, dark secret.”

“It feels like it, though!” he shot back, voice cracking slightly, betraying the emotion he’d been holding back. “It feels like you don’t trust me. Like I’m not… like I’m not enough for you to depend on.”

You went silent at that, your arms dropping to your sides as you stared at him, the tension between you thick and heavy. “That’s not fair,” you said quietly, shaking your head. “You know that’s not true.”

“Do I?” his voice cracked slightly, “Because it doesn’t feel like it. I’m out here thinking I’m the one who’s supposed to have your back, but you’re just out there, dealing with stuff alone. It makes me feel like… I don’t know. Like I’m not even part of your life like that.”

“That’s not what this is,” you said, stepping toward him now, the fight draining out of your voice. “I didn’t ask you because I didn’t want you to worry. Not because I don’t trust you. I thought I was helping by not making you deal with it.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “Helping? You think it helps me to know you’re struggling and didn’t say anything? That’s not helping. Shit, that’s torture, baby. I’d rather know and fix it than find out after and feel like an idiot because I wasn’t there.”

You sighed, rubbing your face with both hands, exhaustion settling in. “Rafe, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I didn’t think it was that serious.”

“It’s serious to me,” he said, his voice almost a whisper now, the anger ebbing away, leaving only the hurt behind. “Because I love you. And when you love someone, you don’t want them to handle things alone. You want to be there. Always.”

You froze, eyes wide as you stared at him. What? He hadn’t planned to say it like this, not in the middle of a fight, but there it was—out there and real.

“I love you,” he repeated, quieter this time. “And I need you to understand that means I’m here. For all of it. No matter how small it seems.”

He said it. He loved you. Maybe it wasn’t the best timing, but at least it was out of his chest. This man who had always been so intense, so fiercely protective, was looking at you like you held his entire world in your hands. And you did.

He loved you. That word—love—felt huge, almost too much. But it was what you had felt for him too. It was why you held back from asking for help, not because you didn’t trust him, but because you didn’t want to burden him with every little problem. You thought you were protecting him. Now, standing there, you realized maybe you’d gotten it wrong.

“You l-love me?”

“Yeah. I thought that was obvious by now.”

“Rafe…” you started, but he shook his head, his jaw clenched like he was bracing himself for rejection.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled, turning away, his hand running through his face. “You don’t have to say anything. I just—I just needed you to know.”

“No.” You stepped forward, reaching for his hand before he could pull completely away. “No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to just say it and walk away like I’m not standing right here.”

His gaze shot back to yours, confused and a little bit guarded, like he wasn’t sure what to expect.

“I love you too,” you said, the words feeling right as soon as they left your lips. You squeezed his hand, needing him to feel it. “I love you, okay? I didn’t ask for help because I didn’t want to drag you into my mess. I thought I was being strong, handling things on my own. I never wanted you to feel like I didn’t need you. I do need you,” you continued, stepping closer, your voice trembling slightly. “And I know now that I should’ve just called. That I should’ve let you help me, because that’s what we do. We’re a team. I just didn’t want to be a burden.”

Rafe let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world had just been lifted off him. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tight against his chest, his grip almost desperate. You melted into him, burying your face in the crook of his neck, feeling the calming thrum of his heartbeat.

“You’re not a burden,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “You’ll never be a burden. I just—I need you to let me be there for you. I don’t care what it is. Big or small, I wanna know. I wanna help.”

You nodded against his chest, breathing in his familiar scent, letting the warmth of his skin calm you.

“Okay. I promise.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. There was something in his eyes now that hadn’t been there before—relief, maybe, but more than that. Love. He felt you relax against him, your body molding into his.

“Say it again,” he murmured, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You chuckled softly, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under your palm. “I love you, Rafe.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. “I need you to get something,” he said softly, his voice much calmer now “When I say I love you, I’m not just saying it. I mean it. Like… for real. I’m in this, all the way.”

You blinked up at him, your eyes wide “I—” you started, but he shook his head, cutting you off gently.

“No, listen,” he interrupted, “I’ve never felt like this before. You’re everything. And I love you for it. I love every single part of you.”

He felt his chest tighten as he said it, like the words were coming from somewhere so deep inside him that he hadn’t even realized they were there until now. But they were, and they were real. He didn’t just love you—he needed you. He wasn’t sure if you’d even processed it yet. Then, slowly, you grinned, your eyes glistening just a little.

“This just… it feels so big. Holy shit, bigger than anything I’ve ever felt.”

“That’s because it is big,” Rafe said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he pressed his forehead against yours again. “It’s the biggest thing in the world to me. You are.”

Your breath hitched, and he could feel you trembling slightly in his arms. You reached up, cupping his face with your hands, and for the first time since the fight started, Rafe felt like you were really seeing him. Not just in that moment, but all of him—the guy who was scared out of his mind at how much he needed you, but who was willing to do anything to keep you close.

“I love you too,” you said it again, your voice shaking a little as you said it. “I’m sorry.”

“We’re in this together,” he kissed your knuckles, his own fingers gently brushing through your hair. “No more going through stuff alone. Not you, not me. We’ve got each other now.”

You smiled, and Rafe felt like he could breathe again, really breathe, for the first time all night. “Deal,” you whispered.

And right there, he knew that everything was going to be okay.

Because you weren’t just someone he loved—you were his person.

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ghostbsuter · 1 year ago

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Water drips down in the corner, the steady dop drop drop— does wonders for the bat.

Batman has been taken, tied up, and undressed of his utility belt. It takes him a second to figure out who took him, by the large but empty and run down warehouse, the sound of the shore not far away.

The docks. He shuffles, bound and comm off.

Then, the steel enforced door slams open and Joker enters.

"Batsy!" He calls, overjoyed. The man walks to the bound vigilante and crouches to his height.

"It's been so long, hasn't it been?"

The vigilante grunts. "Joker."

"Today will be different." He goes on, "today, we have," the crime Prince drums his fingers on Batman's thigh. "A guest!"

He freezes at that, Joker has a civilian.

(Oracle sends out the message, her voice firm, and the coords are shared to the rest of the clan in seconds as she looks at her monitor. Batman's red dot at the harbour bright.)

"I'm a guest now?" The voice of a child asks, it brings slight confusion that the boy wasn't tied nor harmed in any way.

It's relief that he seems okay, but the danger of standing next to the Joker has Batman wiggling in his restrains.

"Is that a promotion or demotion for son?"

A brief look of annoyance enters Joker before being smoothed out, the boy is dealing with a delicate time bomb. Uncomfortably close to the madman.

(He hurries in the process of breaking free.)

"My son! My blood!" Sings the clown, throwing his hands around the boy's shoulders and prancing around.

Which brings another question.

Son?

Cool lighting hits the boy's head and the tuffs of pink, blue and green become more obvious, hidden beneath black hair previously.

Joker and Harley have a child. A son.

He will visit harley later. The boy comes first.

"Dante! Danyal! Daniel?" Joker croons, shaking the boy. "What was it again?" He stops, turning his son toward him with a grin.

(Robin drops down behind him, hiding, katana ready to be swung.)

"Danny, actually," the child— Danny– shrugs off the hands and steps back. Unflinching from the judging stare, simply waving off the hands creeping to his throat.

"Danny," the name is tested, and the Prince of Crime hums to himself. "We can always replace it as Joker Jr! It fits you better than Danny."

(Red Robin and Spoiler get on position above them, ready to pounce from the construction pillars.)

"Yeah, I don't know about that." He chuckles nervous, catching Batman's eyes and—

His eyes alone scream of fear, scared– scared—!!

"We will get you an acid flower, a new suit as well, the hoodie looks horrible on you." The man notes, humming.

"I prefer hammers." Danny replies with tense shoulders.

Joker clicks his tongue, "You always went after your mother." he hisses, outright glaring at his son now. His hand tightened around the crowbar he'd gathered not long ago.

"I mean," he hesitates, eye trailing off the Joker and over his shoulder. "I did come out of her."

The sound of a loaded gun shatters the silence, and Joker is pulling Danny, switching their positions and pushing him right in front of the gun in Red Hood's hand.

"Always a coward, hiding behind others, aren't you." Danny stops himself from squealing. That's the Red Hood!

(Escrima sticks light up with electricity as Red Hood speaks.)

Joker is ticked off, party ruined and surrounded now that he looks around.

Oh well, he can get his son on his villain path another day.

Cackling, he evades the escrimas, dodging the wonder boy and evading the twin attacks from above.

He pulls out a trigger and presses the bright red Button.

"Have fun bats and birds!"

The warehouse is completely flooded with fear gas, scarecrow wouldn't be mad he sacrificed one of his warehouses, will he?

It's all blurry. In one moment, his view is shrouded, and he's coughing. In another, he gets picked up and brought outside, the Joker gone.

An oxygen mask is placed on him by a paramedic, being handed off to an ambulance that had been called.

Peeking around, he sees Red Hood (!) still lingering around. Danny catches his eye and with a wave, the man is walking towards him.

He simply crosses his arms and tilts his head, waiting.

"Could I get a picture?" Danny blurts out, flushing after and coughing, holding the oxygen mask in his lap.

Red Hood makes a show of his shoulder sagging before crouching down and leaning toward him.

Later, Danny will look at the picture with a boyish grin, crooked and charming.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

A continuation

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robotpussy · 2 years ago

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ok this is the first time ive ever had to do this but I really need the help right now. i know its going to be hard to get the full amount in the time that I have but any help would benefit me so greatly. i am putting the explanation under the cut as it is very long but TLDR:

I got into the film school of my dreams on a scholarship, but student finance will not pay for the full course fee because my university is independent, (£20k, SF can only pay £14.4k) so I have to pay the remaining fee (£5.6k) by June 1st. I cannot graduate if I don't pay this fee and I am under 2 months away from graduating. all evidence and explanation is under the cut.

gfm is here if the link above doesn't work

thank you to anyone in advance.

I have been studying filmmaking for 2 years at university and I am 2 months away from graduating. I got into this university through a scholarship that reduced the standard course fee in half. Usually, Student Finance/the government will pay for these course fees, but because my university is private, they are unable to pay the fee in full. My course costs £20k and Student Finance will pay £14,400 of this. This means I have to pay £5,600.

Here is the evidence and proof that I did get into my university on a scholarship and what my university offers in terms of fees:

I have been looking for financial support for 2 years (before I even started attending but had a confirmed place) and it has not been enough. I have contacted my local authority for years about the grant I am entitled to as a foster care leaver and the most I could receive was £2,000 that ended up going to paying my gas and electric bills.

I have also gone to many charities to ask them for support and many of the responses I got were "go to your local authority". I did find one charity that was willing to help me but the sponsors of the charity decided that I would receive a laptop and they would pay for the travel costs to my university for a year instead. I am eternally grateful for that but now I have nowhere else to go for this.

I would really appreciate any help I am already having a extremely hard time dealing my current eviction and I am on the verge if being homeless I would just like to get something off my back and I would rather graduate and get this over with. I am still actively working to find places that are willing to help me but in the time that I have now I would appreciate it if I could get something in the meantime.

#mine #ive been trying to get help for years and I either wasn't eligible to get any money or it wasn't enough this is literally my last #resort. i didnt want to do this but I have no where else to go. i only have a week #i know its gonna be hard to get the full 5k in a week but anything I get from this will help me so much.#i have been talking to my school for MONTHS and they said I have to pay it in the month of June and this is the date they have #given me. i have tried

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lvis44 · 2 months ago

Text

Cabin Fever - Pt. 2 // LH44

Lewis Hamilton x Y/N

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol Consumption, Angst, Lewis being an ass, allusions to mental health struggles, 18+ MINORS DNI, not edited

Word Count: 5.3k+

Summary: He's your Sister in Laws best friend, you shouldn't even have to deal with him. Always seeming like a cocky arrogant prick, and now here he is crashing your family Christmas. Can you handle a full week of Lewis Hamilton? Or might he not actually be as bad as he seems?

Notes: Part two for you lovelies! I don't have much to say other than I am already working on part 3 and writing lewis as a bit of an ass is quite fun! As always ignore the fact that I cannot keep a tense for the life of me, Im grateful you guys seem to love me anyways lmao.

As always, I am not a professional writer and all of this is a work of fiction and is strictly for fun. Enjoy!

Your room is freezing when you wake in the morning, the room eerily silent. You groan, rolling over to grab your phone while trying to keep as much of the comforter over you as possible.

“Fuck.” You mumble to yourself when you see that your phone hasn’t been charging all night, despite being plugged in.

You sit up, looking around the room, reaching over to flick on the lamp beside your bed, nothing. You evidently lost power overnight. You're surprised that in a house this lush there isn’t already a generator going but you suppose someone needs to start it, or it only powers certain things. One thing you know for certain is your room is freezing. You make your way out of bed and over to the fireplace in your room, hoping there is wood nearby to warm you up. You can’t help but let out another groan when you see the electric starter on the gas fireplace, no use if the power is out. You decide to go see if the rest of the house is a little warmer, or if you can at least be miserable with someone else. You rummage through your suitcase to find a warmer set of pajamas, settling on a thick pair of flannels that have kept you warm for nearly a decade. Once you've changed you grab the throw blanket off the back of the nearby chair, wrapping it around you like a cape and decide to make your way down into the house.

The house is completely silent as you wander down the stairs, evident that everyone else is still asleep. It doesn’t surprise you, you haven’t been good at sleeping recently, always waking up much earlier than you would like to. You imagine everyone else stayed up for a while after you disappeared to your room the night before, possibly all nursing a slight hangover this morning with the amount they could drink from your experience. You quietly make your way to the one room you had become familiar with the night before, the den. You stop in your tracks the moment you enter the room, surprised to find Lewis on the couch. He’s got a blanket draped across his legs and a large fire going in the fireplace in front of him. You stand frozen in the doorway for a moment, not sure if you should join him or run back to your room to avoid interaction. You finally decide it's far too cold to let his arrogant attitude keep you from getting a little bit warmer. Before you risk settling into the den alongside him you decide to go in search of a way to possibly make a warm beverage. As you make your way past him and towards the kitchen you mutter out your most polite “good morning” to which you only receive a subtle hum, almost as if he didn’t even know the sound had left his body. You roll your eyes, a constant with him around, finally making your way into the kitchen to rummage. Nothing in the kitchen works and even the hot water heater seems to be electric, the water coming from the pipes being ice cold.

“There’s a kettle on the fire, tea bags and mugs are next to the coffee maker.” Lewis’ voice calls out through the quiet house. You can’t help but wonder for a moment if someone else has woken up and he is directing them instead but as you stand there you hear nothing else. You quickly grab a tea bag and a mug, making your way back to the den and the warmth of the fire as rapidly as possible.

“Thanks.” You say quietly, offering him a small smile.

“Yeah,” He says, his gaze never leaving the fire in front of him, “should be ready in a second.”

“Okay.” You nod, settling on the floor in front of the fire despite the many cush couches and seats available.

The two of you sit in silence much to your pleasure, perfectly content to listen to the crackle of the fire instead of jabs and insults from the man behind you. The sound of him getting up from his seat draws you out of the trance that the soothing fire had put you in. It takes you a moment to realize that he is grabbing the kettle, the sound of water bubbling now coming over the sound of the crackling wood. He wordlessly fills his mug, setting the kettle and pot holder down on the hearth in front of you before moving back to his seat on the couch. You lean forward to grab the kettle, your blanket falling from your shoulders as you do so, exposing you to the still rather chilly air. You can feel his eyes on you as you pour your water and you can’t help but assume he has taken note of your worn out flannel pajamas, having noticed that he was dressed in what appeared to be a brand new Dior sweatsuit. Once you return the kettle to the hearth and adjust your blanket you turn to look at him over your shoulder, a deep smirk evident on his features.

“What?” You ask, your tone already argumentative.

“The second your blanket fell you started grumbling about winter and being cold. Not a fan I take it?” He chuckles.

You hadn’t even realized you were complaining as you made your tea, your cheeks flushing slightly at the realization.

“Moved away from it for a reason.” You mumble, returning your attention to the fire in front of you.

He doesn’t respond, allowing you to both sit in silence and enjoy the warmth and peaceful air before your family swarms the house. Just as you finish your tea you hear him start to move behind you, catching your attention. You glance back to him, seeing him folding up the blanket he had been using.

He notices your attention, turning toward you after he throws the blanket over the couch, “Snow looks like it’s finally stopped, gonna go out and shovel so I can finally get out of your hair.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at his comment, choosing to move past it, “Dylan has a plow, he’ll be up soon.”

“It’s blocked in the garage, gotta at least shovel our cars out before we can get it out.” He tells you, grabbing his phone from the table and walking away towards his room just off the den.

His habit of leaving the room without a final thought or exit bugs you more than it should, just another thing that makes him seem arrogant and aloof. You decide to just settle in again in front of the fire, more than happy to allow him to dig the plow out of the garage, you figure he’ll appreciate the workout anyway. It doesn’t take long until you hear him reammerge from his room, the sound of snow pants swishing behind you. You focus on the sounds of him putting on his boots in the foyer mixed with the subtle murmurs of people waking up throughout the house, disappointed that your silence has come to an end. Not long after you hear Lewis shut the front door, your dad is appearing in the den, a thick robe over his pajamas.

“Hey Kiddo, how long have you been up?” He asks, his voice pleasantly quiet.

“Maybe an hour or so, honestly not sure.” You say, leaning slightly towards him as he bends down to squeeze your shoulder.

“Power has been out since you got up?” His voice stays soft as he sits down in a chair near you.

You hum, nodding before gesturing to the kettle still sitting in front of the fire, “There might still be some warm water in there if you want to make some tea or something.”

“It’s a nice fire you’ve got going here.” He tells you as he gets up to check the kettle.

“Lewis had it going when I got up.” You admit, unsure why you bothered, probably so it didn’t come up later.

“Where is he?” Your dad asks, wandering into the kitchen to find a mug.

“He just went out to shovel, I guess the plow is blocked in the garage, we’ve gotta move cars or something before we can get it out.” You tell him as he emerges with only a tea bag, stealing your empty cup from the table beside you making you laugh, “Yes, I’m done, thank you for asking.”

Your dad just chuckles, pouring himself a cup of tea, leaving your used bag in the cup, “Well after I get some caffeine in me I’ll head out to help him, there’s a ton of snow out there and it sounded like it was going to be really wet.”

“Dad, no, I’ll go change and we can force Dylan to help when he gets up.” You immediately argue, not wanting to go shovel with Lewis in the slightest but far too aware of your fathers back problems to allow him to shovel after a storm like this.

“I’m not a cripple, Y/N, I take care of our house back home during the winter, I’m perfectly capable of helping out here.” Your fathers voice is stern, his choice of words causing you to cringe.

“I know, I just, I worry about you, I don’t want you to be in pain for the holidays. Lewis is an athlete and Dylan and I are still young enough that we can bounce back. Just stay inside and help keep Tom sane while Beatrice and Vanessa freak out.” You try to reason with him, your voice quieting towards the end of your argument, unaware of who may be awake at this point.

“Fine, but if you guys need any help you let me know. Maybe I can get your brother's generator running, I would be shocked if he didn’t have one with all this.” He concedes, gesturing around to the lavish yet dark house surrounding you.

“Yeah, I was surprised there wasn’t something for the heat at least, seems very unlike Dylan.” You say, still confused by the complete lack of backup power.

Before your father can even respond you hear Vanessa's voice coming down the stairs, shrill and unforgiving for the hour of the morning.

“It’s all out Dylan, the tree in the foyer isn’t even on!” Vanessa's voice is grating, causing you and your father to exchange a look.

“Babe, it’s okay, I’m sure it will be back on soon.” Dylan's voice follows behind her. You can tell he’s only just woken up, not ready for this much drama.

“You put on the kettle for Dylan, I’m gonna go shovel.” You tell your dad with a pat on the shoulder, a teasing yet knowing smirk on your face.

“Sounds more like a whiskey kind of morning for him.” Your dad murmurs, making you laugh as you leave the room.

You can hear Vanessa freaking out in the kitchen, you manage to narrowly escape any interaction and make your way to your room to bundle up to head out to shovel.

Once you step outside you can feel just how much the temperature has dropped from the night before, your nostrils immediately stinging. You burrow your face further into your jacket, grabbing one of the shovels off of the porch and making your way down to the driveway. You notice that Lewis has made good headway so far, the porch and path fully cleared off as well as his car. Much to your surprise when you step around his tall Mercedes, you’re met with him cleaning off your small rental.

“Is somebody dying inside?” Lewis asks when he notices your presence.

“What?” You ask, caught off guard.

“I know you’re not out here for my company Y/N, what's up?” He pries, not looking at you as he finishes removing the snow from your car before throwing the scraper in the back of his car again.

“Uh, I just came out to help.” You tell him, awkwardly holding up your shovel in his direction.

He looks in your direction, his eyebrows slightly raised in a surprised and disbelieving expression, “Okay then.”

He doesn’t say anything else, picking up his shovel from where he’d rested it in the snow bank and continuing to dig out your car. You follow his lead, beginning to chip away at the pile in front of the garage. You feel like you’re barely doing anything as you watch his large shovel fulls fly into the yard, making the snow you’re moving look like a joke.

“Thanks for cleaning off my car.” You say, trying your best to be polite.

He just shrugs, a grunt leaving his chest as he throws a particularly heavy load of snow, “Need to move it anyway.”

You just nod, continuing to shovel in silence. He has your car completely freed from the snow and is onto shoveling out a parking space off to the side by the time that you finish the small patch in front of the garage, you feel like your help is barely needed but you figure it’s better than nothing. Much to your surprise Lewis is the one to break the silence next.

“Is V inside freaking out?” He asks, leaning against his shovel to catch his breath for a moment.

You laugh quietly, nodding, not wanting to say anything that may make him defensive over his friend.

“Yeah, I kinda figured,” He says, returning to moving snow, “she can be like that when things aren’t perfect.”

You just nod, very aware of exactly what he is talking about. Only a few moments pass before you hear his voice again.

“Grab our keys from inside? Mine are in the bowl by the front door.” His question is barely a question, more of a demand but you just nod, figuring he’s doing all of the heavy lifting anyway.

When you step in the front door, Dylan is quick to rush into the entryway, “Hey, I’ll get the plow out, you guys really don’t need to keep shoveling.” His face is apologetic but you can tell he’s stressed.

“It’s alright, we’re just gonna move our cars so you can get the plow out.” You tell him, grabbing the keys from the table.

“Okay, thank you, tell Lewis thank you too. I’ll be out to plow once everything calms down a little bit in here.” He says, pulling you into a hug.

“Take your time, I think we’ll be in soon.” You say as you pull away, squeezing his arm with a sympathetic smile.

Back outside Lewis has successfully cleared out enough space for both of your cars to move to and get the plow out of the garage.

“Which one do you want me to move to?” You ask him, approaching him with his keys out for him.

“I’ve got it, you can go inside.” He says, pushing off from where he had been leaning against his car, taking his keys and waiting for yours.

“It’s fine, I can move a car, Lewis.” You say with a bit of a huff.

“I know Y/N, but I’ve got it.” He says back, annoyance creeping into his voice rapidly.

“Okay, fine, thanks I guess.” You snap, handing him your keys and turning around to head back inside. You hear him let out a small scoff as you walk away.

By the time you make it into the kitchen, a full meltdown is occurring. Vanessa and Beatrice are freaking out to your mother about not being able to make a proper family breakfast and Tom is berating your brother for not having fixed the generator before everyone arrived. Your parents are doing their best to get everyone to calm down, your mom trying to figure out something to make for breakfast while your father attempts to defend Dylan. You stand in the doorway for a moment, taking it all in, very ready to turn and run from it all.

“Holy shit.” His voice is close behind you, so close you can feel the warmth of his body as he approaches the same scene you’re now witnessing. You turn to look at Lewis, momentarily sharing a rare knowing glance.

“Happy fucking holidays.” You say sarcastically, raising your eyebrows before stepping into the kitchen, leaving him to take his own moment before joining the insanity as well.

“Hey Dylan,” You call out loudly, trying to cut through the shrill arguments occurring, “do you think you guys have any cast iron pans around here?”

“Uh, yeah, we do, why?” He stutters briefly, thrown off by the interruption from the argument he’s been having with his father in law.

“Cool, can you grab them for me?” You say calmly, not explaining before turning toward Vanessa, “Think you have eggs and bacon in the fridge?”

“Yeah I did but I’m sure it’s all gone bad now and we can’t exactly cook it.” Her response comes out whiny and you have to take a deep breath.

“The fridge is a big cooler, it’s plenty cold in here and in there, it’s fine.” You try to explain to her, moving to the fridge to grab some ingredients quickly without letting the cold air out.

You spot the eggs and bacon, also grabbing the first bits of fruit that you see, piling everything up on the counter behind you and sending your brother a look.

“Lewis,” You call to him, catching him off guard, not expecting you to speak to him, “can you go make sure the fire is going good? I need it really hot with a good amount of coals.”

He just gives you a look like you have multiple heads before slowly nodding and making his way toward the den. Vanessa still seems to be on the verge of tears as she sits at the kitchen island, evidently having decided that the whole trip is a wash because of this little hiccup. Your brother and father quickly catch on to what is going on in your mind, your dad grabbing a loaf of bread and stacking slices of it in tin foil as your brother begins laying bacon in one of the cast iron pans you made him grab. Once his bacon is all laid out you grab the pan from him and make your way to the den, passing Lewis on the way who once again looks at you like you’re insane. You’re pleasantly surprised by the fire he’s produced when you squat down in front of it, the pan of bacon in one hand as you grab the fire poker with the other. You begin to move the logs around, trying to make a nice bed of coals for your pan before you hear his voice arguing from behind you.

“Hey, you just asked me to make a nice fire and now you’re destroying it, what the hell is this?” He sounds childish, like he’s genuinely frustrated that you’re ruining the admittedly beautiful fire he made.

You shake your head, finally placing the pan of bacon down on the hot coals before standing to face him, “We’re gonna cook like we’re camping so your best friend doesn’t lose her absolute mind. Can you handle that?” Your voice is low, a bite to it caused by him not being able to go with the flow for a moment.

“Jesus, okay captain.” He shoots back sarcastically as you walk back toward the kitchen.

“Okay V, bacon is on the fire, it’s gonna take a minute longer than usual but once that’s going I’ll get some eggs on as well and I think my dad already has the toast ready to go in.” You say, keeping your voice calm as you wrap an arm around your sister in law, “How about we get some fruit cut up to tie us over?”

The hug she wraps you in makes your heart clench, as annoying as her behaviour about the situation is you can feel in her hug that it was genuinely taking a toll on her.

“Thank you, oh my god I love you so much, best bonus sister in the world.” She says, squeezing you tight.

“Thank my dad and Dylan, they’re the ones that made me go camping so much as a kid.” You giggle, squeezing her back while sending both the men a slightly unimpressed look before cracking a smirk. They both knew you were joking, some of your fondest memories were from those camping trips.

“Oh, wait, Dyl, isn’t there a case of Champagne in the basement? We could do Mimosas!” Vanessa suddenly perks up, her mood shifting quickly.

“Yeah babe, there is, I'll go grab it, be just a second.” Dylan says eagerly, evidently pleased to see his wife excited about something for the first time all morning.

“Glad to see one of your kids has got some problem solving skills, not the one I would have expected though.” Tom grumbles from the corner of the kitchen as Dylan disappears into the basement, your stomach clenching at the obvious distaste for the both of you in his voice, “I have been telling him to get the generator looked at for months, yet here we are. Hell, I could fix the thing if the damn kid had any tools.”

“Dylans got tools,” Lewis pipes up, having just walked back into the room, not even waiting for the evident rebuttal your father was about to lay out, “he’s got a whole workshop in the back shed. Breakfast is gonna be a while, maybe you and I can get it running.”

“Finally, some initiative, you’re a good man Lewis.” Tom says, already pushing off the counter and heading to suit up for generator repair.

“Dad.” Vanessa groans, pressing her forehead into her hands.

You can see every word your father would like to say bubbling at the surface, only keeping them inside for the sake of civility for the holiday, your mother quietly stewing from where she stands cutting up fruit. As Tom makes his way out of the room, Lewis moves over to where you and Vanessa are standing.

“Fair warning V, I don’t know the first thing about generators so I claim no responsibility for anything that happens, but he needs to get out of this damn room before it gets worse.” He tells her softly, squeezing her shoulder.

“Thank you.” She whispers softly, grabbing his hand to squeeze it back.

“By the way,” His voice is slightly louder now, his attention directed at you “I threw a few more logs on the fire to keep it hot, your bacon might need to get flipped soon, it was starting to get pretty violent.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks.” You say, surprised he even let you know, you would have sooner imagined he would let you burn it just to see you be yet another disgrace of the day, simply for his amusement.

When Dylan returns from the dark basement you are whisking eggs alone in the kitchen, his arms are full of Champagne bottles as he looks around at the empty room, evidently confused.

“Sorry that took so long, hard to navigate in the dark, where-” He begins.

“Mom, Dad, Beatrice, and V are all in the den watching the bacon cook.” You laugh, catching on to his question.

“Tom and Lewis?” He asks, immediately suspect.

“They're outside trying to fix the generator.” You say sheepishly, knowing he would hate it but not wanting to lie to him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He says under his breath, turning away from you for a moment.

“I know, I know, but Tom was going to go absolutely insane in here and as much as I dislike him I kinda think Lewis was trying to save your marriage.” You say quickly, trying to calm him down.

Dylan lets out a sigh, setting the heavy bottles down on the counter, “They better not hurt themselves fucking around with it. Besides they literally can’t fix it, it’s missing a part from the manufacturer, which I told Tom, but no, he has to go-” He begins to rant.

“Hey, Lewis at least kinda knows engines and if they can’t fix it, at least it keeps them busy for a while. Also just keep in mind that Dad would be just as overprotective of me as Tom is with V.” You try to diffuse the situation.

“Never thought I would hear you defend Lewis.” Dylan grumbles, ignoring everything else you had to say.

“I’m not,” You quickly defend yourself, “I’m just trying to give you the whole picture.”

“I’m glad you’re here, this family drives me insane sometimes. Nice to have someone normal.” Dylan admits to you quietly, not even looking up at you as the words leave his mouth.

“You may want to recalibrate on what you consider normal,” You start with a laugh, moving around the island to wrap him in a hug, “but I’m happy to be your partner in crime. Now, I’m gonna go cook some eggs and throw this bread on the fire. You pop some champagne and grab the oj and the fruit off the back deck.”

“Why is all of it on the back deck?” Dylan asks, doing his best to ignore the sappy sibling moment.

“It’s like a walk in refrigerator, even houses this nice only get those during the winter months.” You say teasingly as you walk away with your pan and bowl of eggs.

By the time breakfast is ready, Lewis and Tom have made their way back into the house, Tom finally conceding that he can’t fix the generator without extra parts. You are proud of Dylan as you see him bite his tongue, evidently having things to say but instead just thanking his father in law for trying. Vanessa is overjoyed with breakfast, thanking you profusely and taking a billion pictures because ‘it's just so rustic’, making you laugh every time she excitedly mentions it. Once again you feel yourself wanting to say something when you notice Lewis not touching anything that was made, sitting at the table with just a bowl of fruit and a mimosa, but you decide against it, deciding to just let breakfast progress peacefully. You do still find yourself hoping that he will leave the second after your brother finally gets outside to plow.

Once everyone is done eating you find yourself offering to help Beatrice clean up at the same moment as Lewis, she of course takes both of your offers happily, both of you sharing a less than pleased glance. As you begin to pile dishes into the sink, only able to rinse them with cold tap water, you hear a humm.

Your brothers voice cuts your thoughts off, talking to Lewis, “Hey man, I was gonna head out to plow, and I know you already shoveled and thank you so much, but I was wondering if I could convince you to hop on the skidoo while I’m on the hill, Vanessa freaks out when I plow the hill alone and I don’t think we need anymore drama this morning.”

“Yeah, no problem mate, just give me a minute.” Lewis says calmly.

“Guys, shhh.” You hiss from your spot at the sink.

“Well no shit.” Lewis mutters from behind you, where he stands wrapping up the bowl of fruit salad.

“Is that the heat?” You ask excitedly, whipping around to face them.

“Sounds like it.” Lewis chuckles, not looking at you, instead turning to open the fridge to put the salad away, a smile crossing both of your faces when you see the light illuminate the interior.

“Powers back on!” You hear your fathers voice call from the other room.

You decide to leave the dishes for another moment, heading into the den where everyone else has settled for the time being. When you enter you hear the TV click on, your father immediately finding the local news.

“The snowfall is the worst we have seen in almost a decade, nearing four feet in under twenty four hours. The winds were devastating, taking out power to most of the surrounding rural neighborhoods. Emergency crews are on the ground to aid in snow removal and extraction for those trapped indoors. If you are in a safe and warm location we urge you to stay inside, do not attempt travel, and wait for further updates.” The weather reporter's voice carries through the den, the TV cutting to scenes of parts of town that you had driven through absolutely ransacked with snow and downed trees.

“Lewis, darling, I know the snow has stopped but you have to stay, I would be worrying about you the whole time you were out there.” Beatrice says, her voice sounding overly desperate like calling someone home from war.

“It’s just a drive, Bea, I’d be totally fine once I made it to my house.” He argued patiently, his voice behind you.

“But the drive, you never know what will happen, and what if you get to your house and something happened there, then you have to drive all the way back here. I would be worried sick.” Beatrice continues to argue as if its her house, you know Vanessa would never turn Lewis down but the audacity of her mother doesn't cease to amaze you.

“Y/N and I got my car out of the snow this morning, if we can get the driveway plowed I’m good to go. Between my driving skills and the four wheel drive I’m sure I will be more than fine, I might have to sit through some delays but that will be it.” He continues to attempt to reason with the distraught woman.

“Lewis, she’s right, they’re telling people to stay put. It’s not worth the risk.” Vanessa pipes up, siding with her mom.

You can hear him let out a heavy sigh and you know he’s getting ready to concede, you don’t think you’ve ever actually seen him disagree with Vanessa or tell her no to anything she wants.

“I don’t want to intrude, I know you weren’t planning on having me here. You guys should really have your family holiday the way you planned it.” He argues one last time, the weakest argument yet.

“Nonsense, you are family. I’m always happy to have the son I never got around.” Tom says eagerly. You cringe internally at his words, for both Dylan and Vanessa, you can even see distaste on Lewis’ face when you steal a glance at him.

“I do genuinely need to get to my house at some point, but I’ll stick around a little longer if it would make you feel better.” Lewis finally concedes, looking less enthusiastic than you had anticipated.

You quietly announce that you are going to go finish the dishes, wanting to get away from everyone for a moment. You’re only allowed to be alone for a moment before Lewis is joining you in the kitchen, much to your dismay.

“You’ll survive.” You hear him grumble as he begins cleaning up the kitchen behind you.

“I didn’t say anything.” You snap at him, unhappy with being attacked unprovoked.

“Didn’t have to, I know you don’t want me here.” He says firmly.

“It’s not my house, Vanessa can invite whomever she pleases.” You say, continuing with the dishes.

“Yeah, she can, doesn’t mean you’re happy about it.” He argues.

“Because you’re just buzzing to spend more time with me?” You question him harshly, finally turning to face him as you dry your hands.

“Oh fucking dying.” He says sarcastically, an over dramatic pained look on his face.

He doesn’t give you time to respond before once again he is leaving the room without a word.

“It’s only a week Y/N.” You mutter to yourself, taking a deep breath before busying yourself with cleaning. Maybe you can keep yourself so busy you won’t have to interact with him at all.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 days ago

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Three's a Crowd 2

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Abnesti, Steve Rogers, Steve Kemp

Summary: You’re offered a deal without all the details.

Note: happy friday

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your eyes stray to the table of cookies again. In the rush of days, blending together with back to back shifts and disparate hours of sleep, you lost track of yourself. When you finally thought to eat, you found an empty cupboard and just as desolate bank account. Rent, electricity, all that ate away at your already leaking reservoir.

Your stomach grumbles and you clasp your hands together, pushing on your middle to ease the clenching. You're so hungry you can barely focus on Caroline. You blink and make yourself listen. You don't want to be disrespectful.

If Kelsey is on shift tonight, she'll let you snag a bag of fries at least. Not the best meal, but something.

You feel weak the more you think about food. A bit dizzy. As you push your shoulders back, your eyes meet another pair. Steve smiles at you from behind his square glasses. You rock and give a sheepish grin.

You do your best to stay alert. You have a half-shift after this and you're not sure how you'll get through. You should have skipped today.

When at last the session lets out, you hurry to join the line, checking your phone for the time. You don't want to miss the bus.

"Working after?" Steve startles you as you shuffle up the table and reach for a cookie. The white macadamia are your favourite. You keep from scarfing it down as you so desperately want to.

"Um, yes," you reply.

"Bus?" He takes a cookie and bites into it with a hum. You're salivating.

"Yeah," you cough. "I should go catch it."

You wrap your cookie in a napkin and step out of queue. He follows.

"Would you like a ride?" He offers.

You nearly trip, "oh no, I couldn't. That's so kind though."

"I don't mind." He drawls. "You work a lot?"

"I guess. But really, you don't have to--"

"You look as if you might fall asleep on the bus," he muses.

"Oh, no, I'm... fine."

"Well, I do hate to keep you then but I hoped to speak with you about something."

"Me?" You utter in surprise.

"Yes, well, we all know each other here. I just thought... well, we all seem rather lonely, don't we?"

"Sure, uh," you look down at the cookie then him. "Alright, I'll take the ride. Can I give you some change for gas."

"Please, don't you even fret," he waves you off.

He follows you to the door and holds it open. You go ahead of him and nibble on the cookie, unable to resist anymore. He points you across the lot to the same car he drove past your window. The memory makes you cringe.

You stop outside the passenger door and chew furiously. He climbs in the other side, "coming?"

"I don't want to get crumbs in your car."

"No worry, please. It's cold."

You look down at your sweater. You're shivering. You're not so much used to the bluster as done fighting it. You cover the cookie and put it in your pocket. You dust off your chest and hands before you get in.

He turns the engine as you buckle your seat belt. A smooth hum rolls through the car. It's so nice you feel as if you might mess it up just by looking.

"Um, so," you begin as he backs out. "What did you want to talk about? I hope... when I asked about your wife, I didn't mean to upset you."

"Oh no, that's what these meetings are, right? We're supposed to talk about all that." He steers and glances over at you. "I appreciated you asking. You're a really sweet girl, you know that?"

'Sweet girl.' The way he says it makes you feel even small. That and how big he is. "Thanks, Steve..."

"I was only thinking. About you," he keeps one hand on the wheel as he leans his other elbow on the arm rest. "Working in that window. Two jobs, you said?"

"Yeah, one's only part-time."

"Still a lot." He remarks.

"But er, well, it's not... you don't need to worry about it."

"I do," he insists.

"Why, uh, well, we don't really know each other." You say as you peer put the window, your words sending a chill through you. You don't know much about Steve and you're in his car.

"I know you work hard. I know things have changed a lot for you since your grandmother passed. And you know how I understand that. That I'm going through the same..."

"Yeah, everyone in the group, I guess, um," you babble dumbly.

"I was only thinking... well, you lost more than your grandmother. You lost a whole life. You've had to adapt a lot more than the rest of us." He pauses and your stomach growls loudly. You wince. "Is that cookie all you've had?"

You shrug, "Steve, I hope... I hope you don't think I'm that helpless."

"Helpless, no, but we could all use help from time to time." He slows as he rolls into the lot of the fast food restaurant. The ride was a lot quicker than the bus. "Which is what I'm offering. Help."

"Ah, oh," you sink. "Is it that obvious?"

"You had a nice wool coat a month ago. You didn't have to fight to stay awake. You... spoke a lot more--"

"Right," you sniff. "It's nice of you to offer but I gotta learn to do things on my own now."

"Do you?" He angles in his seat. "Sweetie, it's no big deal."

"It is to me. I don't even know-- what is it? A job? You know I don't have a degree."

"Mmm, no," he pokes the tip of his tongue out and looks away. "Not a job, but... it isn't safe for you to be taking the bus so late. And definitely not good to be sitting in that cold window for hours."

"Steve, please, you're embarrassing me."

"I... I don't mean to so I'll be honest. I lost my wife, I miss her terribly. And you lost the person who took care of you. So we could... help each other fill that void."

You squint at him then your phone. You have ten minutes. You sigh.

"I don't know--"

"I am trying to be delicate here but... there's men who pay for girls like you. They pay a lot."

"What?" Your voice cracks. "You-- I'm not a prostitute. I--" you pull on the door handle but it doesn't budge. "Let me out. I can't believe-- I never even-- how--"

"I know you haven't before. Which is what I'm saying. I'll pay to be your first--"

You turn to him and hit his arm, "that's...wrong."

"I know. I'm just so... I would make it special, sweetie."

He reaches for you and you push yourself against the car door. Your eyes prick and you swat his hand away. You're humiliated that he would even think you would do that.

"Steve," you reach into your purse and take out a handful of change. You drop it in the cupholder and turn to unlock the door. He touches your shoulder and you shrug him off as you escape. "Thanks for the ride."

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godmadeaterribleerror · 7 months ago

Text

Chapter 2 - A New Kind of Tension

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Chapter title from American Idiot by Green Day.

Word Count: 5.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Soldier Boy is woken up, and you have to deal with the pitfalls of your idea. Contains usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn.

Read on A03!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 3

Want to be tagged? Just ask!

When he was forced into this type of sleep, Ben didn’t dream. This type of sleep was more like death, with no part of him alive in any way that mattered. But in the few seconds before he woke, with chemicals leaving his system and consciousness returning, he felt pain.

Borderline unbearable, exhaustive and consuming pain. The last few times he had been woken up, the pain had made the bomb in his chest start to tick, tick, tick, building up and up, off the beat from his heart until they found a rhythm, and he would explode.

It never relieved all that pain, but fuck him if it wasn’t cathartic.

Every time he had woken up in Russia, he’d fought the scientists like a fucking animal. When that assfuck, traitorous Brit and his cum guzzling team had found him, Ben hadn’t hesitated to use teeth and fire, hellbent on getting out, on getting home. This time wasn’t any different, the beat in his chest was already banging against his ribs, save for the stark exception of his surroundings.

He wasn’t in a clean lab or disgusting tube. He was in a suburban living room, complete with potted plants, one of those new and weirdly flat TVs, and some of the most boring paintings of roses he had ever fucking seen. Not a single person was in sight, no tubes were hooked to his body, and no cannon barrels or gas-filled vents sat in his vision. A small part of him hesitated, wondering if he was suddenly dreaming, his body having adapted to fight back and allow him some hazy peace. But the fever in his chest was growing, and there was no goddamn world where he would ever find suburbia and floral-patterned carpets peaceful. No, this was someone’s attempt to trick him, to make him compliant. Maybe Vought, maybe the Reds, maybe the CIA, didn’t matter. They all died the same.

The nuclear explosion from his chest lit the room, tearing out of him with a rush. Ben braced himself for bullets and grenades as his captors realized their little plan had failed, but none came. And as the dust cleared, he realized that not only were there no soldiers dropping from the sky or weapons hurling at his body, but everything was… exactly the same. Well, the plants had been burnt to a crisp, but that was the only evidence of his power having ripped through the room. The TV was still smooth and clean, the sofa hadn’t moved an inch, and the paintings hung evenly on the walls.

What the fuck.

He paused, the drum in his chest having stilled, and listened. Bird song, running water below the floor, electrical hums through the walls, and…

There it was.

Heartbeats.

Five heartbeats. All sped up, all bouncing around in the chests of their owners. Three moved heavily and quickly, one rapid and staggered—that one reeked of terror—and one beat only a single mark off from steady, almost as if it were devoid of any fear. Interesting.

Ben searched the room for a camera, but settled on looking in the direction of the heartbeats.

“I know you’re there,” he drawled. “I can fuckin hear you. Come out, you pussies.”

There was a pause, all five heartbeats having stuttered at his words, before a door creaked down the dark, sconce lined halls, and footsteps sounded towards him.

The people who stepped from the shadows into the living room should thank the Lord that Ben didn’t kill them the moment they were in the light. Grace Mallory, the thin-lipped bitch, watched him wearily, with the backstabbing Billy Butcher to her left. Only a step behind them was the blonde broad that had blasted him in the face at Vought Tower, accompanied by her and Butcher’s gangly cocksucker. The only one he didn’t recognize stood at the very front, a woman who was looking at him with sharp eyes, arms crossed in front of her body and legs planted apart. This was the holder of the steady heart, unsurprisingly given her collected stance and cold gaze. It was almost amusing, the way she was looking at him, like she was a lion and he was a gazelle, like if she glared her lovely eyes at Ben enough, he might drop dead. But he turned his eyes from her tiny fury to Butcher and Mallory, giving them a smirk that made his murderous intentions clear.

“What the fuck is this?”

It was Butcher who answered, returning the false smile. “This is an intervention, mate. You have a problem, and we’re here to help.”

“The only problem I have is you. If you had half a brain, you’d start running.”

“Really? Because to me,” Butcher’s smile didn’t falter as he gestured around the room. “It seems like you’re having some performance issues.”

“Don’t make him angry,” the cocksucker mumbled from the back. Butcher only rolled his eyes in response.

“This, Soldier Boy, is an opportunity. We’re giving you a second chance to help us with Homelander.” Mallory said, watching Ben carefully.

“A second chance?” It was Ben’s turn to roll his eyes. “You should be grateful that I might not kill you all when I leave.”

“I’d start playing nice, Soldier Boy.” The blonde stepped forward with a scowl. “You don’t have the upper hand here."

"Oh, please, you blast me down once and think you’re some sort of god? You caught me off guard that time, doll. This time, you won’t be so lucky.”

Blondie opened her mouth to retaliate, but Butcher snorted first, a newer, more twisted grin on his face.

“Starlight’s no god, but she is,” Butcher nudged the steady-hearted newcomer forward. “Meet your new babysitter. Go on, Love, say hello.”

The woman stumbled slightly at the push, her already strong frown deepening, and had barely turned her anger to Butcher when Ben started to laugh. All eyes fell to him as he gave a loud snort of amusement, a broad grin on his face.

“Jesus,” he wheezed. “Didn’t think you were funny, Butcher, but that’s a fucking riot.”

“We’re being serious,” Starlight snapped. “You answer to her now.”

“Yeah,” Ben rolled his eyes, giving his alleged keeper a once over. “Sure. Sunshine over here is going to stop me from ripping all your heads off your bodies. Fuck, she won’t even stop me leaving this room.”

“Wanna bet?”

Ben paused as the woman spoke for the first time. It wasn’t just her heartbeat that was level and even. Her voice was smooth, unbreaking and calm with not a trace of anxiety. Her eyes were still watching him coldly, her pretty face set like a mask.

“Excuse me?”

“Would you like to bet that I can’t stop you?” She repeated slowly, as if he were a child. “I’d advise you not to, but I don’t think you’d care for my opinion.”

“You think you can stop me, Sunshine? Are you fucking stupid?”

“No, but I don’t think my intelligence matters here. You’re not walking out that door.”

Part of Ben wanted to start laughing again. At her blatant lack of self-preservation to go up against him and not flinch. At her smooth claim of intelligence but painfully clear lack of understanding about the situation she was in. At her companions, who had all stepped back, undoubtedly realizing that their gambit had failed and leaving her in his line of fire.

Part of him wanted to be quick and brutal, make her an example before he left. But it wasn’t worth it, and her face was too nice to ruin, so he settled to just walk past her. He’d kill Butcher on his way out and figure out what he wanted to do from there.

He only had to take three long strides to reach the hall, making to just move past the woman, but she side-stepped, blocking his path. Ben looked down at her, finding his amusement at her misguided boldness fading into annoyance.

“Move, Sunshine. I’ll only ask once.”

She met his glare, no break in her resolve. “I’d say the same to you, Grampa.”

“I’m warning you. I’m not above hitting a lady.”

“I thought you were only going to ask once.”

That was it. Ben moved to grab her, to shove her aside and end her pointless little charade. He didn’t have time for her frivolous, self-indulgent bullshit, he had tried to warn her, and at this point her blood was really just on her own hands.

It happened fast. He reached to push her, she didn’t flinch, her face looking almost bored as Ben lunged, and his hand had barely landed on her arm before he let go, recoiling from her with a roar.

“What the fuck!” He looked at his hand, now raw and red, with blisters fading as soon as they had formed. His gaze shot to the woman’s unbothered face, she herself having neither flinched nor wavered. “Did you just fucking burn me?”

“I warned you,” she said. “I don’t play games I can’t win.”

Ben looked past her, where the small group remained, having retreated down the hall. Butcher’s face was painted with deep amusement as Starlight and Mallory held twin looks of satisfaction. Only the cocksucker still looked afraid, but his nervous eyes were trained on the woman, as though she might blow to pieces at any second.

“Somebody better start talking,” Ben growled.

“We tried to tell you, Governor,” Butcher said with an overly dramatic sigh. “She’s in charge here.”

“You think this will hold me? I-“

“You were unprepared, we got lucky, it won’t happen again. We all heard the speech you gave Annie.” The woman cut him off with a snort. “You need to start getting it into your head. You do not have the upper hand. The sooner you do, the sooner we can actually do something productive instead of peacocking like idiots.”

Ben stared at her, the drum in his chest growing loud once more, his anger serving as fuel. He didn’t bother to try and control it, simply letting it set to his heart and build and build. Just before the sound could drown out all his other senses, he heard the woman yell.

“Everyone out!” Her voice was slightly alarmed, but laced with no panic. And as the door slammed down the hall, Ben realized her heartbeat hadn’t retreated. She was still right in front of him. He hoped this hurt.

As the smoke cleared, Ben opened his eyes to, tragically and annoyingly, see the woman completely intact, unbothered, and in one piece. Most he could tell, she had only taken a step back.

“Are you done?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Bitch,” he said. “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“Lovely,” she sighed. “You just tried that. Didn’t work. Won’t work. Not on me. Like I said before you started acting like a toddler, the sooner you accept that, the sooner we can help each other.”

“How could you possibly help me?”

She grinned. “I’m so glad you asked. Hughie! You’re up!”

The skinny little coward appeared over her shoulder, anxiety painted over his face. “Can’t Mallory or Butcher do this?”

“Nah, Mallory has a powerful resting-hater-face, and Butcher would get himself killed all over me, which would be gross. I don’t need that right now.”

The cocksucker pouted. “Annie?”

“No, I don’t think he’s her biggest fan, especially after the whole tower thing-“

“Stop talking about me like I’m not right fucking here,” Ben cut in.

“Fine, you baby. Hughie,” the woman nudged Cocksucker forward. “Give him the pitch.”

Ben didn’t listen to Cocksucker as he rambled, catching only the beginning and electing to ignore him once the words “article B-55XP2 allows” were said. Instead, he focused on the woman, whose brow was furrowed as she listened to her companion talk. Small tendrils of smoke were rising from her body, and Ben noted the way Cocksucker stood off to the side, attempting to somehow paradoxically hold and elude both Ben’s and the woman’s attention. Her lips were in a tight line now, and she was hugging herself slightly, curving into her own body. The smoke from her had begun to choke the room, and though Ben could hear her level heartbeat, he could also hear her gnaw on her lower lip and the tap of her foot on the floor. When her gaze abruptly slid to his, Ben held it unblinkingly, and the crease in her brow only deepened.

Before Ben could figure out what sat behind her sharp eyes, Cocksucker let out a cough and said a name that made the woman turn.

“Can you turn it down, please?”

“Oh, shit. Sorry, Hughie,” she mumbled, taking another step back as Cocksucker gave a nod of thanks.

“So the big thing to know…” Once again, Ben didn’t hear whatever it was being said. No, he was now fully staring at the woman, her name playing in his head. It wasn’t a supe name, like how Butcher had referred to Blondie. Almost every supe Ben had known preferred being called by their fancy little brand name, but he hadn’t even learned if this bitch had one. Fuck, he hadn’t even heard of her. Last time he had been introduced to a large number of new players, most of them weak, whining pussies with pathetic powers, but this woman was far from pathetic. He hadn’t heard anything about a fire-supe, let alone a doll faced, angry, bitchy one who had to have the resting heart rate of a whale. He bet he could pick it up to match the Cocksuckers, if he really tried. He bet he could make her scream, maybe from being ripped limb from limb, maybe from cumming her brains out all over him. A smirk started to grow on his face as he imagined it, her ice-queen demeanor crumbling from his irresistible charm-

“Are you fucking listening?” The woman herself broke him from his thoughts, her fingers snapping in his face.

“No,” Ben sneered. “Why should I?”

“Well, if you’d pay Hughie half the attention you seem to be paying to my tits, you’d be able to answer your own dumb question.”

“Don’t fucking flatter yourself-“

“Please, I’ve been told you stick your dick in anything with a hole.” She cut him off again, an action that, if she kept it up, would result in her being punched. “Tell you what, I’ll get you a real nice watermelon to play with if you just fucking listen.”

“Fine.”

She paused, but was thrown for only a second. “Ok, great, Hughie-“

“But you do the talking.”

She almost snorted. “Are you that fucking crow-brained that you can’t listen unless it’s something shiny?” She paused. “Sorry Hughie. No offense, you’re plenty shiny.”

The Cocksucker, Ben knew his name was Hughie at this point but couldn’t find himself fucked to use it, just shrugged. “No offense taken.” His attention shifted back to Ben. “Will you really listen if she talks?”

“She talks like a person. You talk like a boring army manual.”

“Could’ve just said book,” Cocksucker said with a frown, but stepped back nonetheless.

“This is fucking stupid,” the woman said with a glare that was somehow stronger than before.

“You wanted me to listen to your stupid little sales pitch, Sunshine. This is what will make me listen.”

She rolled her eyes further back than Ben had ever seen before, but started to speak, her voice dripping with contempt.

“Here’s the deal. You help us with our Homelander problem, we give you immunity for all the definite war crimes you’ve committed and keep you from being Sleeping Beauty for a third time. You’ll stay here, with me, until we have a clear and safe shot at Homelander. You’ll do your little Oppenheimer magic trick, and we’ll take care of the rest. After Homelander's dead, you’ll be free to leave America for good, and live out your shitty immortal life on some stupid island where no one knows who you are.” As she came to the end of her speech, Ben grinned at her.

“See? Wasn’t so hard.”

She didn’t even blink. “Any questions?”

“Questions? Nah. But you should know, this is fucking stupid, and I’m not participating in it. All I’ll get is a vacation, and I could have that right fucking now.”

“Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you can’t leave this room, let alone go on vacation. And I’d say what you’d ‘get’,” she used air quotes, and Ben wondered if he could throw her out a window. “Is us not knocking you out right now.”

“Also immunity,” Cocksucker piped up.

She nodded. “Also immunity. We’re offering you this once.” She gave him a sickly-sweet smile. “Act now and we’ll throw in a second watermelon.”

“I’ll fucking break out.” Ben snarled.

“Take your best shot. This safe house is more durable than a cold-war bunker, inside and out.”

“I’ll kill your team.”

“Try it. I’ll burn off your money maker.”

“I’ll heal.”

“Doesn’t mean it won’t hurt.”

“I’ll go back to Vought.”

“Please, you hate them almost as much as me.”

“I doubt that.”

Her voice was coated in visceral, hot rage when she answered. “Don’t.”

Ben paused at that, squinting at her. “Why do you hate them?”

She shrugged. “Not your concern. But for the record, if you did try something that ass-brained, I wouldn’t just burn your face.”

Ben almost flinched when he saw her eyes flick down.

“What if I fail?”

“You won’t.” Her tone made it clear that there wasn’t room for debate.

“What if I want to stay here after, then?” Ben snapped. “I just spent forty years away. I’m not going again.”

“Fucking earn it.”

Ben let out a slow breath. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew when he was backed into a corner. But he had been against walls that were far more dangerous, and far more painful. He would play this little game until he figured out how to take her, the only player aside from him that mattered, out. But he wasn’t going to make any of this pleasant. If they wanted pleasant, they shouldn’t have crossed him in the first place.

“I want my fucking shield and suit back.”

She smiled with teeth for the first time. “I’ll see what I can do.”

——-

This had been a mistake. Now that everyone had left, you could admit—to yourself and no one else—that this was a stupid, arrogant mistake.

The first day had been… rough. There were three bedrooms, all with identical queen beds and equally generic decor. Solider Boy had insisted on laying on all of them to “test their durability." When you had told him they were all the exact same, he had called you an “uncultured hick." You had explained that you were from Boston and currently lived in New York, two urban areas that rendered “hick” an unsuitable title for you, offering “street trash” as a replacement. He told you he’d call you whatever he wanted, utilizing his nickname of “Sunshine” once again. You reminded him of your threat to burn off his favorite part of himself, he said that you would be only depriving yourself of it, and you left the conversation before you could make good on the promise.

Eventually he came down the stairs and gruffly told you that the bedroom with the attached bathroom was his, before stomping back into the said room to do something undoubtedly disgraceful .

Day two was only worse. You had collapsed in the bedroom with the five horse paintings, as it had been closest to the stairs, and you were exhausted from a day of verbal sparring and worrying if you’d have to go back to MM, tail between your legs, and admit you’d been wrong. Now, having gotten a whopping 4 hours of restless sleep, you just wanted coffee. Mallory told you she would send someone to drop groceries overnight, the safe house door having a bank-like slot for packages, and she had made good on her word. You had been able to tell this because when you walked into the kitchen, it looked like a food bomb had detonated.

“What the shit is this?” You said, your voice more tired than angry.

Soldier Boy, sitting at the counter, glared at you. “You’re up late.”

“It’s 7am. In nobody’s world is that ‘late’.”

“I’ve been up for 2 hours.”

You shrugged. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“I had to eat a sandwich.”

“Yeah, that happens.” You survey the mess for anything that you can use, hoping to see a box of cereal buried somewhere. You find what you’re looking for, along with some coffee that you put into the filter and stare at with blank exhaustion. In your sleepy haze, you block out Soldier Boy’s ramblings of hunger and shitty, crunchy peanut butter, hoping he tires himself out and leaves you alone.

You were startled out of your head by the sound of your name.

"Huh?"

“Whatever you’re making, I want some too.” That gets through to you, and your head snaps up.

“How do you know my name?”

"Cocksucker said it."

"Cocksucker?"

"The little puppy that follows Butcher and Starlight around."

"Hughie?"

"Sure." He rolled his eyes. “So, what are we eating?"

"We?"

"I asked you, very nicely, to cook me some of whatever you're making too. Or are you fucking deaf?"

“I’m not cooking anything.”

His brow knit in confusion. “You’re not going to eat? I thought all the feminist shit stopped that.”

“I’m going to eat, Jackass. But I’m not going to cook anything, I’m just going to throw cereal and milk into a bowl. You can do that yourself.” You decided not to touch the feminist comment, focusing on pouring your coffee instead.

“Well, what are you going to cook for lunch.”

“Well, if Mallory followed my list, I’ll heat up chicken tenders.”

“Dinner?”

You tilt your head. “Not sure. That’s like, twelve hours away.”

“But you’ll. You’ll cook something.”

“No.”

“Why?”

You sighed. “I don’t know how to cook.”

“What?!” He looked horrified now. It would almost be funny, if it were any other circumstances. “How?”

“I never learned.”

“But you’re a woman!”

“Yeah, no. We’re not having this conversation.” You turned on your heels to leave the room, coffee in hand, trying to ignore the hot feeling bubbling under your skin. You paused only to call back over your shoulder. “And clean up your fucking mess!”

Thankfully, after that, the morning was uneventful. You avoided Soldier Boy, he avoided you. All the way into lunch, you were almost able to forget your situation.

Almost.

“Fuck!” You tripped over a bag of apples on the floor, your eyes having been glued to your phone as you entered the kitchen. You looked around, seeing the mess from this morning sitting just as you’d left it.

“Keep it down!” Soldier Boy’s voice carried down the stairs. You ignored his request, raising your voice to a shriek.

“Get your manwhore ass down here right now, before I make you!”

You stepped further into the room, the bubbling feeling returning, and surveyed the area that somehow looked worse than before. Picking through the melted frozens, scattered produce, and loose cans and boxes, a dirty knife and plate on the counter.

“What the fuck is a manwhore,” he grumbled as he walked through the door.

“What the hell is this?” You ignored his question, gesturing around you.

He frowned. “The kitchen.”

“No, you ass. Why is all the food still out.”

He glared at you. “Because I’m already doing enough for your sorry ass, I’m not cleaning too.”

“You didn’t even put away your dishes!”

Soldier Boy just gave you an annoyed look, turning to walk away. Your vision went red.

“Shit!” He howled, running backwards into the room before turning with a glare. “You bitch!”

It took you a second to understand what he was talking about. You only managed to clue in from the fading scars on his face, and the realization that the feeling in you had boiled over.

If you were a better, less tired and angry person, you might have apologized. Thank god you weren’t.

“I am not going to spend the next who-knows-how-many months cleaning up after you. If you want to make this as difficult as possible, turn this house into a shithole, feel fucking free. I won’t stop you.”

“You don’t know how many months we’ll be here?”

“There’s a lot of moving parts to this operation that don’t concern you, and-“ You held up your hand as he started to interject. “That’s not the point. Clean up.”

“You should be thankful I’m even still here, you bitch. If it matters so much to you, do it yourself.” He growled back.

“Are you really that fucking stupid, or did you not just hear me say that this is not my mess to clean?! Either you do it, or it doesn’t get done.”

“You couldn’t make me with a million dollars and a blowjob.”

“Good thing I’m not offering either.”

A cold silence settled in the room, your arms crossed over your chest, trying to keep yourself from exploding once more. His glare had developed a murderous glint in his eyes, his fists clenched at his side.

“Bitch.”

You raised your chin. “Cunt.”

“You know, if I didn’t think it’d be a shame to ruin such a nice face, I’d slam you into the oven and burn yours off.”

“Oh, so you are that stupid.”

“Watch yourself.” He said your name in a low voice, taking a rough step forward.

“Sorry, for a second there I thought you said you believed you could burn a supe with fire powers. I must’ve misheard you.”

“I could make this very painful for you.”

“As opposed to your cheery compliance so far?”

“Do you think I’m just going to roll over?” He hissed, taking another step forward. “Be you and Butcher’s little lap dog?”

Something grew taut in your gut, but you held his gaze. “I think that if you don’t back the fuck up, I won’t make you roll over so much as physically harm you until you’re crying on the floor.”

"You're fighting a war you can’t win, Sunshine. I’ll kick your ass.” He sneered. “I’ll make you sob back home to Daddy Butcher.”

Your blood felt cold, your jaw almost cracking from the pressure in your chest. “So do it. Or move.”

Soldier Boy’s face was a portrait of rage, and you felt like he was dissecting with his cold green eyes. Looking for any weakness, any exploitable fallacy on your mask, any crack in your head that he could pry open and fill with poison. Make your lungs collapse into your ribs, make you claw and claw in desperation-

“Hm,” he grunted. He pulled himself to his full height before turning and leaving, leaving your anger sizzling at nothing. You watched as Soldier Boy, with controlled and rigid movements, stepped away from you, leaving the room without another word. Leaving you in the slop of the kitchen. He was getting further and further away from you, too far you to do anything about it, except maybe-

Before you could stop yourself, your hands were wrapped around the knife on the counter and the knife was flying across the room. It bounced off of Soldier Boy's back with a pitiful sound, but he stopped in his path, turning slowly. He glanced down, eyes finding the abandoned utensil on the floor before he dragged his gaze back to you.

“Did you just throw a fucking knife at me?”

“Clean up.”

He stared at you with the same eyes as before, the only betrayer of his emotions the twitch of a muscle in his jaw.

“It’ll take more than a bad throw to make me pussy enough to be your maid, Sunshine.” With that, he was gone.

———-

Ideally, the woman Ben would be forced into a lockdown with would be fun. She would give him sweet smiles and syrupy words, laugh at his jokes, and sprout similar ones. She wouldn’t be a sulking, useless, bitter prude whose greatest talent seemed to be finding issue with every word out of his mouth. Every time they had spoken, he had felt that beat in his ribs grow and grow, and it was nothing short of a fucking miracle it hadn’t gone off.

He hadn’t cleaned the kitchen, and he wouldn’t. It was beneath him, and she was the one who had chosen to be here, not him. In a brief moment of weakness, the stench from the rotten produce almost breaking his resolve, Ben had eyed a vacuum cleaner, only to realize he couldn’t use it if he wanted to. There were far too many buttons, weird twisty things lining the handle and bag, and he would take the first flight to Russia before he asked her for help.

They skirted around each other with success for two days after the knife incident, sneaking into the kitchen at odd hours to look for somehow edible food and leaving every possible door in the house locked behind them. A beautiful and well executed arrangement, broken only by her sudden appearance in the living room a few days later, standing behind him as he watched TV.

“We need to talk.” When Ben didn’t answer, she walked around the sofa, and grabbed the remote, turning off the screen. “Now.”

Ben scowled. “I was busy.”

“Watch a re-run of Jeopardy? With categories you don’t even understand?” She crossed her arms in front of him.

“I understood enough.”

She snorted. “One of the categories was ‘Celebrity-Inspired Products’. Name one modern, non-supe celebrity.”

Ben paused. “Marlon Brando.”

“Marlon Brando died in 2004.”

“Gene Wilder.”

“2016.”

“That one funny guy who was on the rise. In that stupid book movie.” Ben frowned. “William Robinson.”

She titled her head. “William Robinson… Do you mean fucking Robin Williams.”

“I was close,” Ben said with a shrug.

“Yeah, well, not really, cause he died in 2014. Now can we please talk.”

“Are you here to apologize?”

“Yes, actually.”

That got Ben’s attention. “Well then. Go on."

She had started to chew her lip again, her nose wrinkling like she smelled something bad. Though, to be fair, she probably did. The milk in the kitchen had become a problem. “I am sorry.” She took a needlessly labored breath through her nose. “I shouldn’t have thrown the knife at you. It was childish.”

Ben waited for her to continue, and when she didn't, he leaned forward. “That’s it?”

“Yep.”

“So you’re going to clean the kitchen?”

She let out a dry laugh. “Nope.”

Ben lounged back. “Then your apology is worthless.”

The now-familiar look of anger had returned to her face. “I am not your maid.”

“And I’m not yours.”

“I didn’t make the mess. And I’m not going to clean it just because you think you’re better than me.”

“I don’t think I’m better than you,” He retorted. “I am better than you.”

“Because you’re a man?” She jeered. “A big whiny baby with muscles?”

“Because I built up the company that gave you your little sparkle show. I am Vought. Those ungrateful backstabbing assholes wouldn’t be anywhere without me.”

She fell silent at that, the victory pumping its fists inside Ben’s head slowing the drum in his chest. If he had observed one thing about her, it was that there was almost never a time she lacked in words. Also, she listened to her stupid music deafeningly loud and had an impressive arm. He had felt that knife hit him, sharp end first, right on his spine, still burning from the heat of her touch. Another deep breath escaped her, a fog that had formed on her face clearing.

“Power and greatness have nothing to do with cleaning. Vought won’t hear about your refusal to run a dish washer and grovel on their knees for your forgiveness.”

“Because when I’m through with them, they won’t have knees.” Ben smiled at the fanstasy on a wheel-chair bound Stan Edgar.

“No, because they couldn’t give a shit about it. I don’t love being here any more than you, but I have to be. This is a marriage of convenience, so we-“

He snorted. “I'm not marrying you, Sunshine. You’re pretty, but too much of a bitch for my taste.”

“It’s an expression, you fucking idiot. It means a weary alliance hinging on a favor. We don’t need to like each other, but we can’t kill each other, or this will be a net loss.“

“Sure.” Ben gave her his cockiest grin. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

“You couldn’t handle me, Grampa.” Despite her mocking voice, her small step back didn’t escape Ben’s notice. Though her heart was steady, he dismissed it as anxiety. Obviously, nobody had helped her relieve any of that clear, needless stress plaguing her in a while. He would. Make this whole situation a little more bearable. Maybe, once she had a good fuck, she’d turn out to be just half as pleasant as his fantasy.

“I fucked Marilyn Monroe. I almost made her leave that pussy, Kennedy. You’d be lucky if I looked at you.”

“I’d say I’m lucky right now. You’re too busy trying to fuck your own reflection to look anywhere else.”

“And my reflection thanks me every fucking night.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” she gave him a toothy, arrogant smile. Ben knew she thought she’d won.

“If you ever want someone to pull that stick out of your ass, I’d be happy to help.”

Her smile faltered quickly, but was plastered back onto her face just as fast. “I’m sure it’ll fall out on its own.”

“In case it doesn’t, my door is open.”

“Thought I was a bitch?”

“You said we didn’t need to like each other to get hitched-”

“Never said hitched.”

“So if you ever want to ‘not like each other,’” he winked at her. “As hard as possible, my door is open. I’m a gentleman, you’d have fun.” He reached to take her, and he had hardly brushed their fingers when she jumped back, recoiling like he was covered in warts.

For the first time, Ben thought that the look on her face might be fear. She rubbed her hand like it had been burned, a part of him thought she might bite through her lips, and her heart had become erratic. But when she spoke, her voice was just as level as always.

“Clean your dishes, and keep your door fucking closed. Or next time I throw a knife, I’ll aim for your eye, and I won’t miss.”

She stomped up the stairs, the room lingering with smoke long after she left.

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hopelesslygaysstuff · 7 months ago

Text

50 Shades of Red || Chapter 2

pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

summary: Wanda returns home to her roommate's many questions, and runs into a surprise guest at her job.

content warnings: none

word count: 4.5k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

Chapter 2

Wanda’s heart is racing, and she feels a sort of numbness spreading from where Ms. Romanoff’s hand had rested on her shoulder. It had only been there for a few moments, but it still felt like tingles of electricity were ricocheting around her body. The sight of a clean, marble lobby greeted her, and Wanda rushed from the elevator.

Outside, the rain had just started. It was a welcome relief from the hot, stifling air and accompanying stares from several, gorgeous blonde women. The cool, gentle drops of rain hitting Wanda’s face washed away the lingering feeling of wrongness, and all thoughts of not fitting in started to fade as she handed her valet ticket to a man dressed in a black uniform. He was impeccably dressed. Was that a standard at this company?

Natasha Romanoff. The name rolls around Wanda’s head, her silently forming the syllables. No woman had ever made her feel the way that Ms. Romanoff did. Wanda wondered what it was. Her stunning features, her tailored clothes, her wealth? Maybe it was her quick, well-thought-out responses and striking green eyes.

Barely registering the man pulling her car to the front of the building, Wanda spares one last glance at the building behind her before easing into Seattle traffic. She had 165 miles to drive, and plenty of time to think about the interview and those questions.

Kate’s questions.

Wanda was seriously considering murder, because, what the fuck? Asking her personal questions about her adoption? The cryptic responses she received about Ms. Romanoff’s hobbies? The whole ordeal felt like a fever dream. A sudden memory rose up, worming its way to the front of her mind.

“Oh my god,” Wanda said out loud, fighting the urge to slam her head into the steering wheel. “I asked her if she was gay, what the fuck is wrong with me?”

Then, she remembered that Ms. Romanoff had responded with a simple ‘Yes, I am.’

She didn’t want to think about why her clothes felt too restrictive, too warm all of a sudden. Her fingers trembled slightly as she cranked the AC on, hitting the button for the radio. Anything to drown out the thoughts of penetrating green eyes looking at her, rooting her to her spot. The warmth of her hand, resting on her shoulder. A firm voice commanding her to be careful.

Her eyes drop to the speedometer. She’s driving much slower than usual. Wanda shakes her head, forcing her foot down on the gas pedal.

Best to just leave the whole thing in the past, Wanda tells herself, her eyes catching sight of her exit onto the freeway. She speeds up at the sight, a hint of rebelliousness rising within her as she sees the stretch of bare road in front of her.

There is no Ms. Romanoff and her commanding voice and sharp eyes here. She doesn’t have to ever see the woman and deal with the confusing feelings warring inside her ever again. Wanda can go as fast as she wants, and a slow smile spreads across her face. The speedometer doesn’t drop below 100 the rest of the drive home.

—

“Wanda you’re back!” Kate's voice rings out, sounding much healthier than it had been this morning.

Leaning against the doorway of their apartment, Wanda calls out a response. She shakes the lingering flashes of a large, glass building from her mind, kicking off her shoes near the doorway. She’ll pick them up later after she finishes berating Kate for her questions and avoiding any responses that don’t directly correlate to the interview.

She’s lucky to live with Kate. Her parents bought the apartment, and Wanda barely had to pay anything, much to her relief. Kate didn’t like the idea of taking much money from her roommate-turned-friend, and Wanda’s savings account was growing steadily as a result.

Walking through the doorway, Wanda finds Kate sitting upright for the first time in days, even if it is on the floor. She’s wearing purple pajamas with a dog face pattern and is surrounded by textbooks and random papers. Spotting an empty mug nearby, Wanda turns on the kettle to heat some water. She’s never needed hot tea more than at this moment.

“You’re back a little earlier than I expected,” Kate remarks, speaking quickly before Wanda can respond. “How was it, was she nice? I bet she is. What was she like? Did she answer all of my questions?”

“Woah, let me at least set your stuff down first,” Wanda responds, removing the recording device and stack of slightly crumpled questions from her bag. She sets them down on the coffee table in front of Kate and prepares a tea bag while her roommate excitedly runs her fingers over the buttons on the device.

“She was… intense.” That’s all that Wanda can say, and she responds to Kate’s raised eyebrows with a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t know, she was intimidating, well-dressed, and young. Like, only a little bit older than us young.”

Kate blinks, her expression clear. Wanda frowns.

“Don’t look at me like that, you didn’t give me a biography on her or anything. I went in completely blind, and she made me feel like some sort of idiot for not knowing basic facts about her.” Wanda removes the tea kettle when it starts to shriek. She carefully pours the hot water into her mug as Kate brings her hands to her mouth, her eyes round.

“Oh my God, I didn’t even think - I’m so sorry, Wanda.”

“It’s fine, you’re sick,” Wanda says, moving towards the floor and settling in next to Kate. “She was fine, really. But she spoke like she was in her forties or something. How old is she, anyway?”

“She’s twenty-six, again I’m so sorry. I should’ve briefed you or written a description or something,” Kate pauses, turning on the recording device. “I’ll start transcribing the interview, you asked all my questions, right?”

Wanda smiles into her cup, the ghost of a flush warming her cheeks. “Yes, I asked them. All of them.”

“Oh good, thank you again. I owe you big time!”

And truly, looking into Kate’s earnest, wide eyes, Wanda can’t find it in herself to be annoyed anymore. It’s in the past, now. Her gaze lands on the textbook still lying open on the counter. Fuck, with all the driving and panic and interview stuff, she’d nearly forgotten about finals.

Well, no time like the present.

—

Muffled sounds of music escape from Kate’s headphones, and Wanda gives up on trying to concentrate. Blinking blearily at the clock, she rubs her eyes as she realizes that three hours have passed. Slowly closing her textbook, Wanda stands and stretches out the numerous knots forming around her shoulders and neck. She grabs her mug, the last remnants of tea cold and unappealing as she brings it over to the sink.

“You got some great material, Wanda,” Kate says, pausing her music and pulling her headphones down to rest around her neck. She’s recently taken a shower, her hair still slightly damp as it leaves wet patches against her shirt. “I can’t believe you didn’t let her show you around, she was practically begging you to let her.”

Wanda scoffs. Natasha Romanoff begging? In what world? She had only been in the woman’s presence for around half an hour, and she already knew that woman would never beg. Besides, there’s no way a woman like Ms. Romanoff would willingly want to spend more time with her. Would she?

“I understand what you mean when you said she was intense,” Kate continues, oblivious to Wanda’s inner turmoil. “You didn’t write any notes?”

“No I didn’t,” Wanda turned on the sink, rinsing her mug.

“That’s okay, I can work with the recording. It’s too bad we don’t have any original pictures, she’s really good-looking too. That’s always a plus.”

Wanda feels a flush spread over her cheeks. Fuck.

“Sure.” She hopes her tone is nonchalant. Kate doesn’t react, and Wanda scrubs her mug a little harder than necessary. She gives her Scrub Daddy sponge a silent apology.

“Oh, be so for real, Wanda,” Kate says, turning towards her. She has no chance of hiding, her cheeks pink. “We both know that you like older women, you couldn’t possibly be unaware of her sex appeal.”

Wanda feels trapped. She decides on misdirection.

“I’m sure you could have gotten way more information out of her. You’re a journalism student, not me.”

“I doubt that, she basically offered you a job on the spot. Did you hear her talk about the internship or were you too busy drooling and imagining her fucki-”

“Oh my fucking god!” Wanda practically shouts, finally turning towards Kate. Her roommate has a wide smirk on her face, her eyes roaming over Wanda’s red face.

“Fine,” Kate drawls, her eyes bright and knowing. “What did you really think of her, then?”

Wanda lets out a breath, setting her mug in the dishwasher and turning towards Kate. She leans against the counter, thinking. “She’s driven and controlling, almost scary, but extremely well-spoken. She was… fascinating.”

“You sound like a psychology major,” Kate teases, laughing slightly at Wanda’s eye roll. She continues, “She seemed to like you quite a lot, wanna sandwich?”

Her words wrap around Wanda’s brain, her heartbeat quickening as she processes. Ms. Romanoff liking her? Maybe, but not in the way Wanda would want her to. She turns her face again, busying herself with the dishes left in the sink, avoiding eye contact as she tells Kate that yes, she would love a sandwich.

Wanda’s thoughts turn back towards her finals, her eyes wandering over to her textbooks near the couch. She should really stop thinking about Ms. Romanoff. Besides, she’s never going to see the young millionaire again.

That night, Wanda dreams of dark red hair, cold marble floors, and piercing green eyes.

—

For the remainder of the week, Wanda focuses only on studying for her finals, and her job. She was fortunate enough to pick up some extra shifts, her manager not questioning her sudden need for extra hours. If she needed to be away from her textbooks and thoughts of Ms. Romanoff, that was her own business.

Wanda didn’t mind working at a hardware store, but she’d be lying if she said it was her first choice. That being said, the only reason she stayed was because of the flexible hours and good management. Her boss, Carol, was hard at times but knew how to have fun and always had her employees’ back.

The bright yellow stickers she was putting on various items glared up at her, Wnada’s attention returning to the task at hand. Her job was monotonous at times, but she didn’t mind. It gave her time to think about classes, or the finals she was preparing for, or long legs and sharp cheekbones and dark red hair…

Giving herself a little shake, Wanda removes a sticker from its roll. Placing it on a roll of duct tape, she glances over towards the textbook she’d brought with her. What was it that she was studying? Oh, right. Something about Sylvia Plath and…

She glanced towards the clock and sighed. Four more hours and then she could leave and finally start the essay she’d been dreading.

The bell rang, signaling a new customer. Wanda returned to her task. Valkyrie was in charge of greeting new customers, so she paid no mind to the stranger entering the store.

“Ms. Maximoff, what a pleasant surprise.”

Wanda’s head shot up, her eyes finding dark green immediately. Ms. Romanoff, in her store. Her eyes traveled down the woman’s body of their own accord, taking in the well-tailored pants and shirt, casual enough to go shopping but still screaming of wealth.

Looking around, Wanda didn’t see anybody else in sight. Damn, Valkyrie must have slipped into the back office to talk - flirt more like - with Carol. She was on her own.

“Ms. Romanoff,” Wanda says, her voice barely above a whisper. She can feel her cheeks heating up, her voice low and bordering on the edge of confusion. Why was she here? The woman didn’t belong in a small town like this, shopping at a hardware store of all places.

“I was in the area for business,” Ms. Romanoff states, as if that answers all the questions Wanda could possibly have. Her green eyes are boring into Wanda’s, her attention focused solely on her.

Wanda can feel her heartbeat racing, pounding in her chest as she tries to think of something clever to say. Hell, she’d even settle for something coherent at this point. Anything to stop her from gaping in surprise at the woman currently standing two feet in front of her.

“Ms. Romanoff,” Wanda chokes out, meaning to say something more. Nothing comes out, her mouth snapping shut of its own accord, too stunned to continue.

“It's a pleasure to see you again, Ms. Maximoff,” she says, her eyes still boring into Wanda’s. “I need a few things.”

“Wanda, just… call me Wanda.”

Ms. Romanoff smiles, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as she continues to intensely stare at Wanda. Her smile seems victorious, like she’s just learned some big secret. It throws Wanda off for a moment, but she shakes the feeling and puts on her own smile.

“What can I help you with, Ms. Romanoff?”

“Only a few items, the first being cable ties,” she says, her voice low. Her eyes are sparkling slightly, like she’s amused. Wanda notices that the woman doesn’t offer her own first name in return, and blinks as she processes the words.

Who the fuck buys cable ties? What would fancy-pants-rich-ass Ms. Romanoff possibly need cable ties for?

“Right this way, we have multiple lengths.”

Professional, Wanda can do that. She attempts nonchalance, her attention focused solely on not tripping over her own two feet. Her cool facade is shattered the moment Ms. Romanoff steps next to her, the woman’s perfume wafting deliciously under her nose. Cinnamon.

Wanda is surprised at the bold choice, but after a few more seconds of not-so-subtly sniffing the air, she decides that the perfume is growing on her rather quickly. It would probably smell even better if Wanda was able to press her nose directly against the woman’s warm, soft neck and-

“So what type of business do you have in this area?” The words come rushing out, and Wanda winces at her abruptness.

Ms. Romanoff doesn’t seem fazed, her amused expression only growing stronger as she turns her head. Her green eyes find Wanda’s, and she smirks slightly. “I was visiting one of the research facilities in the area. I’m funding a project of theirs in relation to renewable wind energy and advancing it to create a sustainable solution in the future.”

Her voice is soft yet strong, a slight rasp that makes Wanda want to melt into the floor. A small part of her brain reminds her that the woman is only here for work, not because she somehow knew that Wanda would be working. It was just a pleasant coincidence.

“That’s admirable,” Wanda says as looks up. Fuck, those green eyes are still looking at her. Those lips are turned up in a half smile, just a hint of something pink on them. Wanda realizes she’s been staring for too long when those lips turn up even further, and she quickly looks away. Luckily, they’ve ended up at the cable ties, Ms. Romanoff’s long fingers trailing over a few different lengths before selecting a few.

“Anything else?” Wanda can barely hear herself, the thudding of her heartbeat in her ears making it impossible to focus.

“Masking tape, please.”

“Are you decorating something?” The question slips out before Wanda can stop it. Ms. Romanoff’s eyes crinkle again at the edges, amusement rolling off her in waves.

“No, I’m not,” she says, her head tilting as Wanda leads her toward the tape section of the store. “Have you worked here for a while?”

The question throws Wanda off, her head whipping towards the woman on her right. She's close, so close that their shoulders brush slightly as Wanda finds her balance. Her eyes seem darker than before, brows furrowed slightly as she waits for an answer.

Right, an answer.

“Oh, yes. Four years,” Wanda says distractedly, practically shoving a few rolls of masking tape toward Ms. Romanoff. The woman was distracting, and Wanda couldn’t concentrate. All the thoughts she’d tried to suppress came rushing back to the surface.

Dark red hair, falling over a strong shoulder, exposed forearms, and rolled sleeves of tight material stretching over muscles. Green eyes, piercing as they look at Wanda.

Fuck. Wanda cleared her throat. “Anything else?”

“Rope, if you have any.” Ms. Romanoff murmurs, her voice still low. Her attention is focused solely on Wanda, the masking tape and cable ties held loosely between her fingers.

“Ah, right this way,” Wanda says, her voice huskier than usual. She clears her throat again, speaking to fill the weird tension going on. “What type of rope are you looking for?”

“Anything soft, but strong will do. Five yards should be enough. Red, if you have it.”

Wanda feels her fingers trembling, her mind replaying those words as she measures out the exact length of rope. Fuck, why did Ms. Romanoff use such a low tone when speaking? She can feel the woman’s hot gaze on her, the back of her neck heating up as she cuts the rope. Quickly, her movements confident despite the slight tremors running through her body, Wanda manages to coil up the rope and ties a quick-release knot around the center to hold it in place.

“Were you a Girl Scout?” Her lips are turned up, but those green eyes show genuine interest.

“Camping in the woods isn’t really my thing, Ms. Romanoff.”

She arches a single brow, the sight sending heat coursing through Wanda and coiling in her stomach.

“Then what is your… thing, Wanda?”

Oh, her name falling from those sultry lips. Fuck, this woman was sending her already-tired brain reeling. The woman’s head is tilted slightly, her eyes searching Wanda’s like she was looking for the last piece of a complicated jigsaw puzzle.

“Well, I like books. I mean, reading. Reading books.” Wanda cursed herself, the jumbled sentences seeming to echo around the aisle.

“What genre?” Ms. Romanoff said, her eyes more curious than piercing. Wanda wondered why she was asking. Surely she didn’t actually care, she was most likely just looking to make small talk. But then again, the way her eyes were locked on Wanda’s told an entirely different story.

“Classics and feminist literature, mainly.”

Ms. Romanoff hummed thoughtfully in response, nodding slightly. Her eyes soften slightly, almost too subtle for Wanda to catch it. She didn’t want to think about what that meant, and quickly tried to think of something else to say. She draws a blank, her heart racing slightly as she slowly walks back towards the register, Ms. Romanoff beside her.

“How is the article coming along?”

Finally, something she could talk about. A safe topic.

“I’m not writing it. My roommate, Kate, is. She’s truly phenomenal, her articles are always very well-written. She’s also the editor for the magazine, so she’s really thrilled that you were able to do any interview, even if she couldn’t be there herself.” Wanda pauses to take a breath, a small detail coming to mind. “The only thing she’s concerned about is the lack of original photos to compliment your interview.”

One of those perfect eyebrows arches again.

“What sort of photos does she want?”

“I- well. I’m not sure, I didn’t really ask…” Wanda says, flustered. She hadn’t anticipated that response.

“I’m around tomorrow, if that works.”

“You,” Wanda chokes on air. Ms. Romanoff’s lips turn up into a small smile, and she feels the blush returning full force. “You would go to a private photoshoot? Kate’s going to be so happy, holy shit.”

Before thinking, Wanda smiles widely at Ms. Romanoff, her happiness shining through.

The redhead blinks slightly, and Wanda hears a sharp inhale of breath. The woman’s lips are parted slightly, her eyes locked on Wanda’s face and roaming around her features, landing on her smile, eyes, and her cheekbones before she seems to pull herself together.

Wanda immediately wants to catch the woman off guard again. Her face was so… soft. The genuine emotion was fleeting, but Wanda saw it and found herself craving more.

“I would be delighted, here,” Ms. Romanoff says, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a business card. Her fingers touch Wanda’s as she hands it over, and Wanda starles slightly at the cool tingles that spread throughout her hand at the contact.

“It has my name, number, and email on the back. You’ll have to call or text before nine in the morning.”

Holy shit. She just gave Wanda her number. This insanely beautiful, well-spoken millionaire just gave Wanda her fucking number. She didn’t know what to do, so she ended up just staring at the woman while her lips parted briefly in an effort to say something.

Ms. Romanoff gives her a knowing look. “For the photo shoot.”

Right. The photo shoot. She feels herself flush as the amusement on Ms. Romanoff’s face mixes with something else that Wanda can’t quite identify.

“Sounds good,” She murmurs, looking up and smiling at the woman again.

“Wanda!”

Carol appears from the back of the store, her voice carrying over the shelves as she makes her way towards the front of the store. Her voice is bright, her lips already turned into an infectious smile as she rounds the corner.

Out of the corner of her eye, Wanda notices the way Ms. Romanoff goes stiff. Any trace of amusement is wiped from her face, her lips no longer quirked up in that secret smile Wanda receives.

“Oh, excuse me! I didn’t realize there was a customer here,” Carol says, her smile not faltering even as the redhead frowns at her. She’s rounded the register, her hand casually resting on her arm as she asks Ms. Romanoff if she’s been finding everything all right.

“Wanda has been very attentive,” she says, and Wanda snaps back into the conversation, noting the way Ms. Romanoff’s eyes linger around Carol’s hand resting on her arm. She loves her manager, truly, but her over-familiarity was leaving the wrong impression.

“Carol has been here ever since I started working my freshman year,” Wanda begins, her heart stuttering when Ms. Romanoff snaps her gaze towards her. “She and her wife throw really great Christmas parties.”

That statement causes Carol to smile and start babbling about how hard her wife, Valkyrie, works to make sure their infamous Christmas party is successful. Wanda listens politely, stealing glances at Ms. Romanoff.

Her posture is relaxed, her fingers playing with the end of the red rope Wanda had cut for her. There’s a small smile playing on her lips in an almost endearing way as she listens to Carol ramble. The stony expression she was wearing mere seconds ago is nowhere to be found, and Wanda hopes she’s right about what that could mean.

Ms. Romanoff… jealous? No, possessive maybe? Fuck, that sounds hot. Wanda feels like banging her head against the cash register.

“Anyways,” Carol says, seeming to realize how long she’s spent talking. “I won’t keep you waiting, I’m sure you’ve got a lot of work to do while you’re visiting! Is there anything else we can help you find today?”

“No, Wanda helped me find everything I need.” Ms. Romanoff says, her eyes flitting over to the younger woman.

It sounds like there’s a double meaning to those words, but she can’t quite wrap her head around the potential secret meaning. Wanda chooses to simply smile at her, watching as the woman’s dark green eyes sparkle at the sight.

“Well, I’ll be in the back if you need anything. Nice to meet you, and have a good rest of your day!” Carol says, her smile wide as Ms. Romanoff nods at her. She practically skips towards the back office, leaving Wanda and the redhead alone with a weird, charged tension now coursing between them.

Wanda swallows, steadying herself as she scans the items Ms. Romanoff has placed down on the counter. “Would you like a bag?”

“Please, Wanda.”

Her name rolls off the woman’s lips with the grace of an expensive, aged wine. The sound of it sends something heady and warm traveling down Wanda’s spine. She runs her tongue briefly over her lips, biting down on her bottom lip as she rings up the items and places them in a paper bag.

Looking up, Wanda catches Ms. Romanoff’s eyes staring at her lips. The woman glances towards her eyes, before smirking as she hands Wanda a heavy, black credit card.

“For the record,” she says, leaning in slightly as Wanda swipes the card. She still smells like cinnamon. It’s fucking intoxicating, and Wanda resists the urge to breathe in deeply.

“As impressive as Ms. Bishop sounds, I’m glad that you were the one to interview me,” Ms. Romanoff murmurs. Her green eyes are darker, somehow. Her voice is slightly raspy, and it sends tingles down Wanda’s spine. “Remember, call or text before nine in the morning if you’d like to do the photo shoot.”

In the span of a few seconds, Ms. Romanoff straightened her back and casually grabbed the paper bag of supplies. Her tone is all business and Wanda blinks as she processes. God, it feels like she just got whiplash.

“I hope to see you again, preferably tomorrow. You have my card,” she says, and smiles at Wanda. It's wider than the previous ones, the barest hint of white teeth showing through her lips. The sight of it causes yet another flush to rise to Wanda’s cheeks, and she wonders if she’ll ever stop blushing around the older woman.

Ms. Romanoff gives her one last look, her eyes flitting down towards Wanda’s lips briefly before she turns towards the door and confidently strides towards the exit. Wanda lets her eyes linger on the way the older woman’s hips sway with each step, her bottom lip trapped tightly between her teeth.

Fuck. Now she has to organize a whole photo shoot. Kate’s going to be thrilled, and Wanda is going to blush and stutter through the whole event.

She sighs, and pulls out her phone to text Kate. She can do this, all she has to do is admire Ms. Romanoff from afar and remind herself that the woman’s presence in her town was simply a coincidence. Perfect, that’s a good plan.

Then, Wanda’s brain helpfully reminds her of the way Ms. Romanoff’s eyes sparkled as she looked at her, and the way her lips quirked up slightly whenever she spoke. Wanda groaned, hitting send on her text to Kate and dropping her head into her hands.

Why did Ms. Romanoff have to be so fucking attractive?

Next Chapter

---

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