#me trying to explain this to my wife like | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luci-in-trenchcoats · 23 hours ago

Text

Here we go! Can’t wait to dive into part 4 and see what these two are up to!

“Listen, don’t worry about overstaying your welcome, alright?” Ben said then as if he could feel the anxiety taking over you. His eyes sized you up, wondering if you would push back again. “Take your time, sweetheart. Really, there’s no need to rush, okay?” A tame smile played across his lips. “I-, uh, I don’t mind the company. Makes the house feel a little less empty.”

Aw. Yes stay with him girl! You can really see just how damn…alone he is. Ben would have been around mid twenties here, right? It’s kind of not much of a shocker how he turned out the way he did after a lifetime of that.

Florence sighed softly, wiping her hands on her apron. “Back when he was a boy, he could never stop talking. Always asking questions, always trying to be the best at everything. It’s a little different now. More weight on his shoulders,” she explained. “Mr. Brooks, well… he’s always had big plans for Benjamin. Too big, in my opinion.”

Stupid Papa Benjamin. He's just... *incoherent screeching*

She didn’t fully reciprocate your smile, though, her expression turning thoughtful. “Benjamin used to bring strays home all the time. Cats, dogs, even little birds,” she said, and you didn’t like where this conversation was headed. “Poor things, starving or hurt, and he’d nurse them back to health. Always said it was his way of helping,” she continued, chuckling softly under her breath. “I guess he thought he could save the world with kindness. That was before he started… well, before his father started making sure he knew what was… right.”

Her hands stilled mid-wipe on the countertop. “One day, Benjamin brought home a small dog. Old, injured… it could hardly walk. His father… he made him kill it.” She looked at you then, her eyes sharp. “To teach him a lesson. About weakness. He said a man can’t be soft. That weakness could bring the whole family down. Benjamin never brought a stray home again after that.”

Ben’s so precious and I loathe that father of his with the passion of a thousand suns. Let’s drop him in a vat of acid, shall we?

“Uh-huh.” You nodded rather unsurely, your nerves ticking like a bomb inside of you. “Feeling like a tribute in the Hunger Games…” you muttered under your breath, aware your audience wouldn’t understand a pop culture reference from the 21st century.

No but as soon as they came in the house I was thinking, omg it’s like Effie and the gang is here to do make overs (side note, if you’ve not read Sunrise on The Reaping yet I highly recommend).

“Oh, fuck no!” You looked at the thing in her hands with terror.

Same girl. You couldn’t pay me to wear a damn corset. Underwire bras are torture enough lol

“Percival?” you mouthed at Ben, slowly erupting into a laugh. His cheeks flushed so red you could’ve confused them for Mars.

God I love his stuck up, snotty middle name. Only the rich am I right?

“I guess my father did,” Ben said as if he’d only just realized that fact himself. “I don’t know exactly what happened. I first noticed it when I was teenager. She just stopped being the person I remembered. She became more distant. Cold. She’s mostly just a ghost here. I think she just gave up fighting him, so she played the role of his wife, but not the one of my mother anymore.”

Can reader time travel to the Titanic and drop dear old dad off there “accidentally”? Pretty please?

Well, you hoped Mr. Brooks Sr. would enjoy the bubonic plague as much as your parents did once you got your powers back. It was the least you could do.

YESSS! Love we’re on the same murder wavelength there

He got her a birthday cake?

I’m loving all the insight we’re getting with Ben and the reader giving up on seeing him in such black and white terms anymore. Yes, he’s still a flirt and a smidge of a douche but like I mentioned before, he has such a lonely, loveless existence. I’m not sure why I just thought of this but since you mentioned Hunger Games, Ben almost gives a Haymitch vibe in a way. There is that loneliness that comes out through substance abuse later on and not getting attached in relationships but there’s still this protective, kind nature underlying everything. And Ben’s still at this point of being receptive to it and understanding hooking up with the staff might have more meaning to them than he originally thought.

I don’t know why but I’m starting to get more and more nervous that somehow reader will end up breaking his heart and that will account for so much of his future anger at what he might consider the ultimate betrayal after letting her into his closely guarded heart.

Now off to part 5!

Time After Time – Chapter 4

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), 1942 says hi, SB being a nice and kind human, angst, mentions of animal cruelty, fluff, humor, slow burn, a super cliché makeover moment

Word Count: 10.1k

Posted on Patreon March 21, 2025

A/N: Heads up! My responses will still be a little slow. The boys are sick and I'm the last one standing. Haven't slept a lot this week lol. In other news – we're beginning our deep dive into Ben's past and doing a little bonding. Enjoy! 😉 ✨ Chapter title comes from Gone with the Wind (1939)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 4: After All, Tomorrow Is Another Day

You opened your eyes to soft sunlight filtering through heavy curtains. The room was huge, as was the bed, but it was the unfamiliarity of it all that made you shift uncomfortably in the plush sheets.

The clothes Ben had lent you felt strange. You couldn’t help but remember the quiet tension between you two in his father’s study, the moment you both had almost crossed some invisible line, and then he’d pulled away like it had never been there.

Still, you couldn't shake the pull he had on you. The more you thought about it, the more you realized that his kindness was a distraction – an unexpected one. His presence stirred something deep inside you, and you hated it. You needed to fucking leave. Fast.

You forced yourself to get up, the cool hardwood floors sending a shiver up your spine as you made your way to the door. You didn’t belong here – not in this house, not in this time. You needed to escape before things got any more goddamn complicated.

You descended the grand staircase, the weight of the mansion pressing down on you once more, its silence almost suffocating. The sound of your footsteps echoed through the empty hall before Ben already appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

How the fuck was he doing that? He didn’t have super-hearing yet, did he?

“Hey, you’re up early,” he greeted you with a brief flick of his eyes as he adjusted the cufflinks in his shirt.

He was dressed impeccably in a sharp, charcoal gray, three-piece suit that made him look every bit the man his father expected him to be. But he didn’t seem happy.

You had gathered enough courage to speak by the time you reached the last step – and him. “Yeah, uh, I was wondering if we could maybe get a jump start on my… departure?”

Ben bobbed his head, lips pursed, but avoided looking straight into your eyes. “Sure, yeah,” he said at first, but you knew there’d be more. A lot more. “I just have to drop by the office and take care of a few things. But I told Florence, our housekeeper, to take good care of you. She’s already prepared breakfast for you in the dining room. Anything you need, just tell her, and she’ll get it for you. Make yourself at home, okay?”

What the fucking fuck was happening?

Your mouth opened and closed a few times before you ultimately found the words. “Am I–“ Ben’s head tilted at you, a hint of amusement and curiosity on his face. “Am I a hostage?”

He barked a loud laugh at your question, but then instantly lowered the volume to a more soothing tone. “No, no, of course not. You can leave anytime, sweetheart,” he assured you, and miraculously, you believed him. “Look, if you want to leave, I’ll take you to the train station or whatever right now. I just figured, you know, you seemed like you needed a little more time. I mean, do you know yet where you’re going next?”

“I told you. New York.” You folded your arms, shrugging.

“You have a place there? A home? Family? Friends? What?” he badgered on, crossing his own arms over his broad chest with a scrutinizing look.

“Yes.”

“Which one?”

Shit.

You exhaled a frustrated sigh. This was getting old. “Why d’you care?”

Ben seemed caught off guard by the sudden sharpness in your voice. But then his lips curled into a half-smile, too tight at the corners, as he casually brushed off your question. “Yeah, guess I’m not supposed to care, right?”

He let out a short snort that almost sounded like an inside joke, his eyes flickering to the side, posture stiffening ever so slightly. He took a step back from you, adjusting his cufflinks again as if the distance and mindless fumbling could redirect the conversation, but the subtle grind of his jaw betrayed him.

You hesitated for a beat, but then decided to tell the truth. “Look, I-, I don’t really have anything in New York. I just figured I could find… something there, you know?”

Saying the words out loud caused a wave of panic to rise in your chest. He was right. Even if you left, you had no place to go and no idea how to get your abilities back yet.

Fucking hell…

You wanted to tell him to stop – stop being so fucking considerate and sweet when all you wanted was to disappear. But your throat tightened, and you couldn’t bring yourself to speak. So you just nodded and forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Alright.” Ben gave a satisfied nod. “I’ll be in the office. You have a good day, sweetheart.”

Shit. By the affectionate gleam in his green eyes, you could tell he was enjoying this scene a little too much. You wouldn’t play The Donna Reed Show with him – and even that was still more than a decade of progressive thought away. All that was missing from his goodbye was a kiss to your temple and the sentence, “Can’t wait to see what you have cooked for dinner tonight, honey!”

“By the way, I arranged for my mother’s tailor to come by this afternoon,” he added on his way to the front door.

“What?!”

Oh, you didn’t like this at all…

Ben only laughed at your gasp of horror. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back in time. Not throwing you to the wolves alone,” he quipped.

Needless to say, that didn’t comfort you in the slightest.

“Wait, what?!”

Ben gave you a patient smile, his amusement still visible before it morphed to a more teasing nature. “Look, as much as I enjoy seeing you in my clothes, sweetheart, I figured we should get you something more… fitting. Especially if you still plan your escape to the big, wide world out there.”

Before you could say another word, he was already disappearing out the door, his footsteps echoing as they faded into the distance. However, you didn’t remain alone for long.

“Miss?” A soft voice interrupted your thoughts.

You turned to find a woman in a worn, but well-kept uniform suddenly standing in the foyer. She must have been the housekeeper Ben told you about – Florence.

Her face was kind, lined with the wear of years spent in this house, but there was a warmth in her smile that made her seem less like staff and more like family.

“Would you like something to eat, miss? It’s all ready for you in the sunroom.” Her voice was almost motherly, comforting, as if she’d been saying the same thing to Ben since he was a child.

You blinked at the mention of something called a sunroom. Sure, you’d heard of it, but you had never seen one nor had you ever known someone to own one. You’d grown up in a trailer park in Jersey, then lived in small and shabby cabin in the woods with a lot plumbing issues, and now in a shoebox apartment in a sketchy part of New York.

You glanced down the hallway at the dark, opulent, and intimidating dining room and figured the sunroom surely sounded… happier. But you didn’t want to eat alone in a big, empty mansion, your eyes landing on the housekeeper.

Florence had probably seen a lot over the years in this household. Maybe Ben wasn’t the only source of information around.

Since you couldn’t leave and Ben was so obviously avoiding you and your departure plans, you figured you could spend the day snooping.

This place was Soldier Boy’s diary, after all.

“I was thinking... maybe I could have breakfast with you? In the kitchen?” you asked her with a shy, yet friendly smile.

Florence’s brow rose in obvious surprise but quickly returned your smile. “Of course, miss. I can’t say I’ve ever had company for breakfast before since I’ve worked here, but I’d be glad to have you join me.”

Well, you had always loved being a little rule breaker.

You followed her into the kitchen, where the heavenly smell of eggs, bacon, and freshly brewed coffee wound its way to your nose. Your stomach suddenly grumbled. You hadn’t fucking eaten since that piece of birthday cake Annie had brought in that morning in the office.

It already felt like a lifetime ago. Had it been chocolate cake or red velvet? Why couldn’t you remember?

Swallowing, your gaze wandered around the kitchen as the housekeeper already bustled around, placing a plate down on an old oak table in the middle of the room. It was a warm, cozy space despite its size, shelves with china and silver lining the walls. Another fire crackled in the corner – they pretty much had a fucking fireplace in every room of this house.

You thanked Florence with a smile as you sat down, already stuffing a forkful of eggs into your mouth. “How long have you worked here, Florence?”

“Oh, I’ve known Benjamin since he was born.” She laughed softly as she continued working by the counters. “My mother had already worked for his grandfather.”

“Wow, so I guess you know Benjamin pretty well,” you said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“I do.” Florence chuckled but then let out a soft, nostalgic sigh. “He always had a lot to say, even as a little boy. Too much sometimes, if you ask me,” she quipped.

Yeah, you knew what she meant. The supe you knew would go on for hours about his not-so-glamorous stories of the important parties he’d attended and the more important celebrities he’d fucked. And you’d sit there, slowly dying inside, wishing he had the ability to contract laryngitis.

But the current version of him seemed more muted. Sometimes, you’d gotten glimpses of the bragging, the fuckboi attitude, and the spoiled brat who couldn’t accept no for an answer. Last night, though, he’d been more honest than you’d ever seen him.

“Does he always talk a lot?” you asked, your fingers playing with a piece of bacon.

Florence sighed softly, wiping her hands on her apron. “Back when he was a boy, he could never stop talking. Always asking questions, always trying to be the best at everything. It’s a little different now. More weight on his shoulders,” she explained. “Mr. Brooks, well... he’s always had big plans for Benjamin. Too big, in my opinion.”

You only nodded in quiet understanding. The whole house was screaming it; she didn’t have to say more.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Florence asked after a beat, watching you with a curious eye.

Of course the focus would fall back on you eventually. Here, you were the odd one.

You set your fork down and met her gaze with a smile. “You could say that, yeah.”

She didn’t fully reciprocate your smile, though, her expression turning thoughtful. “Benjamin used to bring strays home all the time. Cats, dogs, even little birds,” she said, and you didn’t like where this conversation was headed. “Poor things, starving or hurt, and he’d nurse them back to health. Always said it was his way of helping,” she continued, chuckling softly under her breath. “I guess he thought he could save the world with kindness. That was before he started... well, before his father started making sure he knew what was… right.”

“What do you mean?” The creases of your brow deepened, the eerie feeling in the pit of your stomach increasing.

“Here, take my coat. You poor thing must be freezing. Look at you, you’re shaking.”

Her hands stilled mid-wipe on the countertop. “One day, Benjamin brought home a small dog. Old, injured… it could hardly walk. His father... he made him kill it.” She looked at you then, her eyes sharp. “To teach him a lesson. About weakness. He said a man can’t be soft. That weakness could bring the whole family down. Benjamin never brought a stray home again after that.”

Until you.

That was her underlying message. Florence was giving you a warning. Suddenly, you weren’t all that hungry anymore. You’d swallowed enough for one morning.

Florence’s eyes softened as if she could sense your unease. She lowered her voice, leaning in closer as she wiped down the oak table in front of you. “Listen, miss, I don’t know what’s going on here, but you’d better leave before his father comes back.” Her tone was stern – protective. Apparently, one person in this house was looking out for Ben after all. It was just someone you hadn’t expected. “He’s a good boy, but his father’s a hard man. When he returns, all this–,” her eyes pierced into you, “–won’t be tolerated. Benjamin’s already been walking a tightrope with him. I don’t want you to be another problem for him.”

Her words hit you harder than expected. You nodded slowly, a cold shiver running down your spine as you realized just how precarious your situation really was. You weren’t here just because of a little time-traveling mishap. You were a complication – an inconvenience to the best-laid plans. She had seen what happened when Ben’s father decided that someone didn’t belong. And right now, you were the one who didn’t belong.

“I’ve told you what I can. Just-... don’t stay too long, miss. For your sake, and his.”

The mansion felt different in the afternoon – quieter, almost as if it were suspending its breath in anticipation for its owners to arrive. The morning, on the other hand, had been filled with staff scurrying around.

There was George, the groundskeeper and repairmen, who’d spent an hour switching broken lightbulbs in the endless corridors. You followed him to his work shed out back, finding a gigantic garden clad in winter magic as you chatted vividly with the sweet, older man. Soon, you started to freeze, though Ben had left his wool coat behind for you with a handwritten note, which was handed to you by Florence.

In case you go outside to look for an escape route…

Which brought you to your third encounter this morning – Ray, the chauffeur. He’d sought you out after breakfast with another message from his boss to you: “Mr. Benjamin wanted me to tell you that you’re allowed to use me for any getaway plans you may have.”

So, the younger version of Soldier Boy actually had a sense of humor. Who knew?

But even as you drifted aimlessly through the mansion, exploring one giant and overwhelming room after the next, your mind couldn’t free itself from the haunting conversation with Florence. You wouldn’t have cared if you caused trouble for Soldier Boy, but for some reason, you didn’t want Ben to suffer more.

Sure, his 80-years-older counterpart was the devil reincarnated, but this version of him had treated you only with kindness, the two sides of the same coin sometimes hard to reconcile.

Your sympathy, however, wavered slightly when you met the last two members of the staff – the maids, Frances and Dottie. Frances was the older one, probably in her forties, and didn’t pay much attention to you, going about her chores. Dottie, a girl in her early twenties, on the other hand, sent you a subtle glare every time you passed her in a hallway. If looks could kill, you would’ve been dead by noon.

As her narrowed eyes particularly stared at your choice of outfit, Ben’s shirt, you quickly sensed why she might not like you.

The man really was a fucking dog.

When Florence moved to do laundry, you offered to help, but she quickly shooed you away, more or less telling you to stop getting her into trouble. So, you kept cautiously wandering around like the ghosts that haunted this home. You took in all the portraits of solemn men in expensive suits, the velvet drapes, the old-world furniture that shone with polish and pride. Spying a beautiful grand piano in the living room tempted you to tickle its ivories, but you didn’t know if it was allowed or even welcomed.

At this point, you certainly didn’t want to cause more trouble.

You ambled down another hallway, and just as you rounded the corner, the front door swung open, and Ben stepped inside.

“Are you always this curious?” he asked with a grin, leaving coat, hat, and scarf with Florence, who had hurried to his side as soon as she heard him come home.

Again, it explained so much about the future version of him. You had almost rolled your eyes but tried to remind yourself it really wasn’t his fault that everyone catered to his needs. This whole house and life was designed to turn him into a spoiled, careless man-child, taught to eat his feelings.

And as you observed Florence’s devotion to him, you suddenly saw the pattern as clear as day and knew you could never, ever unsee it afterward. His future counterpart had certainly shown a… preference in older housekeepers and maids – sexually.

You stiffened a bit, feeling like you were just caught red-handed in his diary – or his underwear drawer. “I… well, I was just exploring. It’s a… big house,” you deflected from your disturbing thoughts.

His tongue licked over his bottom lip as he nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Sometimes feels like it can swallow you whole.” He paused, probably realizing he let too much slip. “You find anything interesting?”

You gave an innocent shake of your head. “Not really. A lot of portraits of your ancestors, and some... old furniture.”

“Ah, yeah, there’s a lot of that.” He chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm. But when you met his eyes, you found more pain than anything else. “My father loves his legacy. It’s like living inside a museum sometimes.” He gave a shrug of his broad shoulders that was supposed to convince you he wasn’t bothered by that fact.

It failed, though. You hadn’t been able to pinpoint it until he said it, but walking through the mansion felt like taking a stroll through the Natural History Museum.

“So, uhm, how was your day?” you asked and would’ve loved to add a sarcastic honey. But again, it wasn’t his fault this time period was still domesticating women.

“Good. The usual, I guess,” he said casually, but you could tell by the small smile grazing his lips that he was happy you’d asked. “How was yours, sweetheart? Aside from exploring and scheming an escape plan?”

You giggled softly and gave him a smile that was almost shy. “Good so far. I had a lovely breakfast with Florence in the kitchen.”

Ben’s brow raised in surprise, but his smile hadn’t faded entirely. “You ate with the housekeeper in the kitchen?”

“Yeah.” You gave a nod before your brow puckered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get her into trouble. She-… she isn’t, right?”

“Wha-… No, no, not at all,” Ben assured you, chuckling. “I just-… well, I’ve lived here for a little over twenty years, and I’ve never had breakfast before in the kitchen.”

“Huh, well, you should try it sometime. It’s fun.” You gave him a shrug, grinning.

“I’ll think about it,” he said and cocked a brow, his eyes dragging over your frame – the shirt of his you wore – with that little leer of his. “Do you always do what’s fun, sweetheart?”

The chime of the doorbell came as a welcome interruption and made both your heads turn toward the sound.

Saved by the bell. Your heart still thundered the storm of the century in your chest as Florence hurried to the front door once more. You had almost wanted him to step closer. You’d never experienced that feeling before with him.

“The seamstress is here, miss,” Florence said, swiftly ushering you toward another hallway. “Right this way.”

Fuck. You’d completely forgotten about that. You knew you needed some kind of period-appropriate attire. But why couldn’t he just take you to the 1942 equivalent of a V&M or Vara? You weren’t in the mood to entertain any makeover shenanigans.

“See you in a bit,” Ben said and fled down the opposite direction.

“Whoa! Hey! Where are you going? You said you weren’t going to leave me alone for this,” you said, your voice disturbingly close to a whine.

Ben must’ve sensed the panic blinking like an evacuation alarm in your eyes because he actually took a few steps closer to you again. “Five minutes, alright? Just have to take this to the study.” He gestured to a briefcase in his hand. “I’ll be right with you, sweetheart.”

Giving a hesitant nod, you couldn’t understand your own feelings. A big part of you hated to have him near you, hated talking to him, and hated to accept his help. Why him, of all the people on this planet? But there was another part of you that desperately sought the comfort his familiarity offered in an unfamiliar place.

Florence led you to the drawing room – a space specifically designed for entertaining guests. In your childhood, a burning trash can in the trailer park had served as your entertainment space for guests. In New York, it was your pull-up couch/bed. But sure, why not add an extra room if you’re shitting money?

The moment you stepped into the room where the tailor was waiting, your own personal nightmare unfolded in front of you as you were greeted by a flurry of fabric and an energetic woman in her forties, with short, stylishly curled hair and glasses perched on her nose. She was perpetually in motion, constantly fidgeting, muttering to herself as she laid out fabric swatches with dramatic flair. Her hands fluttered in the air like a conductor preparing for a grand symphony.

She straightened up when she saw you, eyes lighting up with immediate interest. “Ah, so you’re the one Benjamin’s been telling me about!” Her voice was brisk but warm, and she wasted no time in circling you like a hawk. Her eyes twinkled behind her glasses, scanning you from head to toe with exaggerated precision, as though the idea of fitting you for a dress was as exciting as solving a puzzle. “We’re going to make you absolutely stunning, darling. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

You hesitated at the doorway, giving her a tentative smile. “I’m really not sure about all of this. I’m not exactly–”

She waved her hand dismissively, cutting you off mid-sentence. “Not exactly what, my dear? Feminine? Pish posh. All women are feminine. It’s simply a matter of presentation.” She paused to give you another once-over, her eyes practically sparkling as she stepped closer, her hands bunching and tucking Ben’s loose shirt in various ways around your body. Were tailors always this handsy? “You have the shape, the frame. We’ll just need to... refine it.” She grinned, showing an alarming amount of enthusiasm for fabric and needles. “You’ll look fantastic in no time. You’ll be the talk of every high society ball, I assure you.”

“Huh? What now?” You blinked, unsure if you should laugh or run away. Did Effie Trinket just mention the word ball? You did not like the sound of that.

You shot a glance toward the door upon hearing a quiet creak, and Ben stepped inside, the faintest grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he took in the scene. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and your eyes locked with his, silently asking him for a goddamn rescue. But instead, he looked entertained, maybe even a little pleased, which was infuriating, to say the least.

“You okay in here?” Ben asked, voice tinged with amusement as his green eyes darted between you and the seamstress.

The tailor, as if summoned by Ben’s voice, immediately sprang to action, striding toward him with a look of sheer joy. “Ah, Benjamin! What perfect timing! We’re just about to turn your lovely guest into a proper lady. You’ve done well bringing her here.” She beamed, patting Ben on the arm like a proud parent. “Wherever did you find this girl?”

“Uh… On the street.” Ben smirked, cleverly disguising the truth as a joke.

The seamstress threw him a pointed look at his antics, shaking her head. “Always a joker, this boy… However do you put up with him?”

“Oh, I have no idea.” You grinned, your eyes flickering mischievously to Ben. “It’s exhausting!”

Ben’s brow knitted, but to your surprise, he was more amused than anything else with your response.

“Oh, your mother will be so pleased when she comes back,” the tailor tells him wistfully before turning her attention back to you. “She always wanted a daughter to show off at tea parties. She’ll have you parading around Philadelphia’s finest circles in no time.”

Tea parties? Balls? Fuck no! Not to mention you wanted to be long gone before his parents got back, Florence’s warning still all too fresh in your mind.

Panicked, you blinked at Ben, while the tailor already swung a measuring tape around you like a ribbon.

“Uh, Ms. Vivian, my guest won’t be here anymore when my mother returns,” Ben informed her, approaching you as you stood in the middle of the room like a statue in an art gallery. “So, maybe we tone it down a little with the tea parties and the ball gowns.” He then looked at you, his eyes reassuring and encouraging. “Just tell her what you want, sweetheart. I told you – I got you.” He winked.

Your cheeks involuntarily blushed. Honestly, that little gesture might have been the nicest fucking thing he’d ever done for you.

With newfound confidence, you faced the seamstress. “Uh, maybe we could find something simple and casual? Maybe a little flowy?”

“Flowy? What, like a farmhand?” The tailor’s brow furrowed wildly as if you’d just offended her, clasping a palm to her chest. She sighed so loudly you almost felt like you had just shattered her entire lifelong dreams.

Ben snorted, and you couldn’t help but break into little giggles too, both your amusement flying right over the seamstress’ head.

“What about the cream one?” You pointed at a soft flowing dress on the rack, which looked perfectly fine to get around without suffocating.

“Oh, darling, no!” The tailor shook her head vigorously, but Ben sent her a stern look.

“Ms. Vivian…” His voice was calm but warning.

“Alright, fine.” She rolled her eyes exhaustively and put the dress aside before finding another one as well. She held it up to your face like it was a magic curtain. “What about this? Maybe a soft, ladylike lavender or perhaps a daring crimson to match the boldness I see in your eyes? That color would work wonders for your complexion, too!”

“Oh, uh, let’s steer clear of the crimson,” you told her, clearing your throat – not that Ben would actually catch why that made you uncomfortable.

“It seems like ‘no’ is your favorite word,” Ms. Vivian tutted in her frustration.

Ben laughed slightly at the comment. “Oh, she’s a hard one to win over,” he quipped, but his eyes never left you. There was a soft hint of a smile playing on his lips that you could almost confuse for affection.

Were you going fucking crazy?

The seamstress paused, considering the two of you, and then smiled in a way that felt a little too knowing. “Well, I suppose we could compromise. A sophisticated look, not too dramatic, but refined and elegant. The perfect balance. And just a hint of mystery, of course.”

God, she was good. You had to give her that. She really knew what she was doing, although you hated the fact she could read you so easily.

As Ms. Vivian eagerly rolled out fabrics and draped silks and velvets around your shoulders like sacred relics, Ben snuck closer to you. His fingertips lingered on your wrist, brushing but not touching as if to reassure you he hadn’t forgotten the rules.

But his breath fanned against the shell of your ear, the hair in the back of your neck saluting him when he checked on you in a whisper, “You still holding up here okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine.” You laughed softly, barely able to hold his gaze. This whole situation was nerve-racking. “Just not used to being the center of attention like this.”

“Hmm, that’s hard to believe.” Ben gave you a little grin. “You’ll be fine. Maybe you’ll even enjoy it.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Enjoy being dressed up like a doll? You’re not helping, you know...”

Ben chuckled. “Maybe not. But I enjoy watching you try getting out of it. Besides, I think you’ll look stunning, no matter what you wear.”

Furiously burning heat crept to your cheeks at his flattery. Fuck, he was good when he wanted to be. You thought you could handle Soldier Boy like you’d done so many times before in the future without issue, but this was entirely different.

“Oh, we almost forgot the foundations!” The tailor’s voice luckily interrupted the moment and drew both your attention back to her.

Your brow quirked, accompanied by an anxious feeling in your gut. “Foundations?”

Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Yes, darling. The proper undergarments,” she clarified and searched for the appropriate item in her large, wooden treasure chest. “What about a nice corset?”

“Oh, fuck no!” You looked at the thing in her hands with terror.

To your surprise, Ms. Vivian uttered a loud gasp of horror as well. Ben, on the other hand, snorted in amusement behind your shoulder, and you turned to him with a confused expression.

“What?”

Before Ben could answer you, Ms. Vivian spoke first: “Young lady, mind your language!”

“Oh.” Your brow raised in realization. “Shit. I’m sorry. I mean crap! No, dammit! Am I allowed to say ‘crap’?”

A louder, more forceful laugh escaped Ben then, and you could see the glassy veil of tears over his eyes. He bit his lips hard, trying to regain his composure when Ms. Vivian was scolding both of you with a stern look.

“Benjamin, you better get Mrs. Helen to work with her before you take her out,” the seamstress said, but it was more than a mere suggestion. Her eyes were practically pleading him.

“Who’s Mrs. Helen?” you asked your host in a whisper-tone.

“She’s an etiquette coach,” Ben informed you, his amused smile still unwavering.

Your brow furrowed. “What, so I know which fork to stabbeth myself with while some pompous dick is going on and on about his yacht and the stock market?”

Ben chuckled violently behind his palm, but Ms. Vivian was less than amused and quirked a high eyebrow.

“Young lady, you better mind your manners,” she chided. “You may not find a man this way. Men don’t appreciate sailor talk. You’re in company of a gentleman here.”

“Who? Him?!” With a severely wrinkled brow, you thumbed over your shoulder at your host.

Oh, that is hilarious…

“Alright, if a corset is out of question, then we at least need to get you a proper brassiere,” Ms. Vivian continued her quest to dress you appropriately.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think I’m good on that front,” you said.

The seamstress threw you a raised look, lowering her glasses on her nose for dramatic effect. “If you think I’ll let you walk out of here without the proper undergarments, you better think again,” she told you firmly.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Ben quipped, grinning cheekily.

“Merde…” You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Fine, gimme a bra.”

Ms. Vivian foraged through her magical treasure chest again, shaking her head. “You know, I understand French, too, young lady.”

Fuck me, you thought since you couldn’t say it out loud.

“You speak French?” Ben tossed you a curious glance.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fluent, actually,” you replied and watched his brow hike up in surprise.

“Well, I’m glad not all hope is lost,” Ms. Vivian chimed in. “French is very popular for girls your age.”

“You learned it in school?” Ben asked, and you could tell he was using this opportunity to pry more information out of you, but this time, you figured it couldn’t hurt.

“Uh, self-taught, actually,” you answered. Living in the French part of Canada for a couple of years, you’d certainly picked up a thing or two. “I’m also good with Latin and Greek. History, science, math…”

“Math?” Ben questioned, a trace of surprised intrigue flashing in his green eyes.

“Yeah, math,” you confirmed, smirking. “What subjects were you good at in school?”

Ms. Vivian snorted loudly at your question, Ben sending her a little glare at that. You knew why, remembering how he had flunked boarding school. And Soldier Boy would’ve probably pulverized the seamstress right this second for making fun of him, but Ben was a lot less hot-tempered.

“Uh, little bit of everything, I guess,” he replied vaguely at first, still trying to impress you. But then he wet his lips in thought. “To be honest, I wasn’t really paying a lot of attention to my classes.”

The sudden honesty surprised you, and you rewarded it with a kind smile. You gave a quick shrug of your shoulders. “School’s overrated, anyways. Most of the stuff you need for life, you learn on the go.”

Ben’s lips curved into a smile. “Like French?”

“Like French.” You nodded, grinning.

“You know, playing an instrument is very desirable as well for girls,” Ms. Vivian added. “It lets potential suitors know you’re refined and cultured.”

So, they know I can play their flute?

You bit back your comment, not knowing if Ms. Vivian wasn’t hiding a muzzle for you in her treasure chest as well.

“Well, I play the piano,” you offered instead. Truly, you didn’t try to impress Ben but the judgmental tailor. You hoped if she thought you had at least a little bit of a well-bred pedigree, she’d stay clear of the feathered hats you spied in the corner of your eye.

“Oh, that is wonderful!” Ms. Vivian clapped her hands in delight, making you quite proud of your achievement.

One point for the trailer park bitch!

“You know, we have a piano right there,” Ben said, gesturing to the corner where the beautiful grand piano stood that you’d admired earlier that day.

“Oh, I know. I wasn’t even sure I was allowed to touch it,” you said, giggling. “Seems a little too grand for my skills.”

“No, go ahead, sweetheart. It hasn’t been played in a while. I’m sure it’d appreciate the treatment,” Ben encouraged you with soft smile, the affectionate gleam reappearing in his eyes.

“Oh, it’s too bad your mother won’t be here to see this!” Ms. Vivian tragically sighed. “She would’ve loved it! She was a wonderful player herself, always entertaining the guests at parties.”

“Was?” You looked at Ben, but he averted his gaze to the floor, never quite meeting your eyes.

You couldn’t remember if Soldier Boy had ever mentioned his mother. You’d heard plenty about his father, but his mother seemed more like an elusive mirage, swallowed by the exorbitant daddy issues that haunted him.

“She-, uh, she hasn’t really played in recent years,” Ben gave as a polite explanation but didn’t offer anything more.

“Oh, too bad,” you replied and sent him a small smile. “I’m sure she was great.”

“Alright, Benjamin,” the tailor interrupted you two, “This next part of the process is not meant for your eyes, so you better leave.”

“What? Why?” You sure as hell didn’t want to be left alone with the eccentric seamstress. God knows what else she could force you into. You were sure there were a lot worse things than a corset in that trunk of horror.

“Because you have to undress, darling, so I can see what fits and make the appropriate adjustments,” Ms. Vivian told you.

“Oh, I don’t mind staying.” Ben smirked puckishly.

“Benjamin Percival Brooks! Where are your manners, young man?” The tailor flashed him a look full of authority, her voice firm and commanding.

“Percival?” you mouthed at Ben, slowly erupting into a laugh. His cheeks flushed so red you could’ve confused them for Mars.

“I know your mother raised you better than that,” she chastised. “Go on! Shoo!”

You chuckled a little at the face he drew upon her order. Man, you should remember that trick in the future. You were kind of jealous of Ms. Vivian’s skills.

“You’re gonna be alright on your own?” Ben still checked, even when the seamstress was impatiently tapping her heel, waiting for him to leave you to your transformation.

“I suppose,” you replied, amused when the tailor already eyed you with a measuring tape.

“I’ll be in the study if you need me,” Ben said and threw you a wink. “Try not to melt under all the glamour.”

As the evening arrived in the mansion, the grand windows that lined the tall walls dimmed with the fading sunlight. You had spent the last few hours adjusting to your new wardrobe before settling on a dress that made you the most amount of comfortable – which wasn’t a lot, to begin with.

Your choice had landed on a long-sleeved, navy blue dress with the hint of a v-neck that was tied with a pretty bow. Alright, you did like the bow. A lot. This was probably the girliest outfit you had ever worn. It for sure was a far cry from your Zeppelin t-shirt and ripped jeans, but at least you blended into your environment and didn’t stick out of the crowd like a sore thumb.

You also put on the vibrant red beret you had to fight Ms. Vivian for since it wasn’t “in fashion this season.” However, it made you feel very sophisticated and French, like you possessed a certain je ne sais quoi.

Alright, maybe you’d been daydreaming a little too much today. But one thing you’d learned during your epic adventures: Always commit to the bit.

Which meant fully diving into everything this period had to offer. You were stuck here, and you couldn’t get hunted down by an angry mob again, so you sucked it up like a big girl and channeled your inner Betty Draper.

Making your way downstairs, you passed Dottie, whose mouth dropped slightly when she saw you in your new outfit. If you thought Ben’s shirt made her hate you, that dress surely made her want to kill you now.

But Dottie, Grace, Betty, and Sheila all served as good reminders of why you had to heed caution with your charming host. You knew who he was in his essence. You couldn’t let yourself get blended by the pretty wrapping paper.

The door to his father’s study stood ajar, Ben sitting at the large oak desk as you carefully peeked your head inside and halted in the doorway. He was hunched over documents in concentration, scribbling something on paper with murmuring lips and a tensely knitted brow.

You took a deep breath and stepped inside, and the moment his eyes lifted and found you, he froze, the pen in his hand faltering midair. His gaze swept over you, not just disbelief but hunger creeping into the lush, green moss of his eyes.

Well, this was even worse than the Zeppelin shirt, the towel, or his clothes. You hadn’t expected the dress to be so noticeable. Maybe you should’ve gone with the pastel green one that made you look like a minted cupcake?

Ben’s mouth parted, but no words came out at first. He blinked, slowly, as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing. “You look, uhm…” he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

Uh-oh…

“Weird, right?” you offered in an attempt to deflect.

Ben snorted a chuckle then, breaking out a bit of his stupor. “Uh, that wouldn’t have been the exact adjective I would’ve used.” The laughing crinkles around his eyes then softened to something warmer, the heat of his lingering stare rushing straight into your veins. “You look… I guess ‘breathtaking’ is the right word for it.”

Yup, that melted your heart right down to your core.

You shifted awkwardly on your feet, unsure of how to respond. Then, you noticed a smile sneaking onto his lips when his gaze followed you down to your choice of footwear – you were wearing your same old pair of Chucks.

“Did Ms. Vivian forget the bottom layer?” he teased with an entertained smirk.

“Uh, no, she gave me plenty of choices. Not quite ready yet for that yet, I guess.” You blushed slightly. The truth was, your shoes still gave you a sense of familiarity and home that you wanted to hold onto. You could feel your own time beginning to slip your mind, little fragments starting to go missing from your memory. “She’d probably faint if she saw me like this.”

Ben grinned. “You’re tempting me to call her back just to see it.”

“Oh, too bad you haven’t seen her when I asked her if she had some pants for me, too. She almost collapsed like the London Bridge right then,” you quipped.

“Well, leave it to you to make me jealous I missed one of Ms. Vivian’s fashion shows,” replied Ben, giving you his signature smirk. “I was about to have dinner and was hoping you’d join me. I-, uh, I have a little surprise prepared for you.”

“Oh, uh, you know, that’s not really necessary. You don’t have to give me anything… or more, I guess,” you stammered, shaking your head, pupils flickering. “Letting me stay here, the clothes… It’s enough, okay? It’s more than I could’ve asked for, really. Thank you so much. You really don’t have to do any of that, you know?”

And you strangely meant every word. You were overwhelmingly thankful. Had that been his goal all along? Shit. Was it real it or was he playing you? The grin itching on his lips didn’t help you detangle the mêlée in your mind either.

“Is that a yes or no to dinner?” Ben formed a teasing smile.

“Uh… yes?” You were kind of hungry, not having eaten anything since Florence stuffed you full of crumpets during afternoon tea.

“Alright.” Ben nodded, clearly pleased. “Just, uh, give me a minute to finish this up.”

“Sure. Take your time,” you said and ambled through the study, your gaze drawing you to a row of framed photographs resting on the mantle.

One was a family portrait with Ben, no older than probably five, standing in the middle with two figures behind him – his parents. It was almost haunting seeing a childhood picture of that man, like seeing a teacher outside of school, buying groceries. It reminded you that underneath the emerald suit and the callousness was still a real, living and breathing person.

The contrast between his parents, however, was striking. His father stood tall and imposing, with sharp features and an air of authority that practically leapt off the picture. He didn’t share a lot of resemblance with his son, but weirdly, you could see some similarities between Ben’s father and his future offspring, making you wonder if Soldier Boy ever took note of those attributes as well.

Ben’s mother, on the other hand, was beautiful, her soft features highlighted by a gentle smile. Her eyes were kind, her posture relaxed, and she seemed almost ethereal compared to the rigid formality of her husband.

“Ah, my parents…” Ben’s deep voice ripped you from your thoughts. It was accompanied by a quiet chuckle, as though he didn’t particularly enjoy discussing that topic. He rose from the desk and sauntered closer to you, soon feeling his warmth radiating behind your back. “You see the resemblance?”

You glanced up at him, noting the subtle line of tension between his brows. There was something in his voice that betrayed the casual indifference he wanted to communicate.

“Yeah, you look a lot like your mom,” you remarked, studying the photograph a little closer. “You have her eyes and smile.”

Ben’s expression faltered for a split second with a flicker of something close to disappointment. His lips pressed together, averting his eyes down to the floor. “I suppose that’s true,” he replied with hesitancy. “Honestly, I’d rather prefer looking like my father. I’m not quite the man he is.”

You paused for a moment, your stupid hand itching to reach out to him in comfort. One thing was for sure, though: It was hard to see anything resembling Soldier Boy in the young man in front of you.

Yes, there was the occasional arrogance and bragging and even the insecurities. But you didn’t think this was an act or a game he was playing with you. Vulnerable honesty didn’t really fit his ammo when it came to wooing women. He was too proud in his virility for that.

So, you supposed you were just strange enough of a stranger to confide in. He couldn’t tell it to anyone else because – the girls he’d bedded, the staff in this house – they’d probably gossip, and he couldn’t risk that, could he? Not with a father like that. You, however, didn’t know a soul here. You were nobody. You were safe. You could keep his secrets.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think you got lucky,” you said, a teasing smile playing on your lips. You giggled when his brows shot up. “Your mom’s a lot prettier than your dad. I’d be grateful if I were you.”

Ben huffed a chuckle of disbelief, shaking his head. A grin formed and widened on his freckled, clean-shaven face. “You think I’m handsome?”

“I believe I said pretty,” you teased.

Ben clicked his tongue, lips curling to fight a smile.

Your face softened, deciding to probe further. “What’s she like? Your mother?”

He licked his lips for a moment, surely considering if he wanted to answer your question. “Well, uhm, when I was younger, she was warm. Sweet,” he said slowly, trying to retrieve the memory from someplace distant. “She was everything you could want in a mother, you know? I-, uh, I felt like I could tell her anything, and she-… she’d understand.”

“What happened?” you asked quietly, your hands itching again, only held back by a sliver of self-control.

You had no fucking clue what to say to that. The hurt in his voice was raw, and you knew you were intruding on something personal he wasn’t used to sharing. You’d just opened a big can of worms in Soldier Boy’s past, and you had not the faintest idea how to get those slimy, little strings back inside.

Your eyes drifted back to the photograph. She seemed like a good mother in that picture, how she protectively rested a palm on her son’s shoulder. But you also noticed the contrast between the warmth of his mother’s smile and the cold, steely expression of his father. It was as if Ben’s mother had faded into the background, a supporting character in a life that had never really been her own. A fate, you’re sure, that befell many women of this time.

“You think she’s still in there somewhere? The woman you knew?”

Ben was silent for a beat, his gaze fixed on the photograph as he thought about it. “I don’t know,” he said. “I used to think so. Now, I’m not so sure. The more time passed, the more she became… him.”

Well, you hoped Mr. Brooks Sr. would enjoy the bubonic plague as much as your parents did once you got your powers back. It was the least you could do. Maybe then, you and Ben could call it even in the future and go back to your normal routine of hating each other.

It surely sounded less frightening than whatever this weird, blooming thing between you was right now that spread like a nasty STD.

“I’m sorry,” you said, not knowing what else to offer. You still didn’t reach out to him. You were already playing with matches. You didn’t need to throw them into gasoline.

Ben gave a tight smile, trying to overplay his vulnerability. But you could see beneath all the bravado and arrogance. He was just a son who’d never felt like he was enough. Not to his father. Not to his mother.

Worst of all, you could relate.

He chuckled bitterly. “It’s alright. I’ve learned to live with it. You can’t choose your parents.”

“That’s true.” You gave a slight nod of agreement. “Mine were fucking assholes from the start.”

You hadn’t planned on sharing something personal with him, but it felt like the least amount of comfort and understanding you could offer him.

Ben’s brow twitched with surprise, a smile of amusement flashing across his lips, probably because of your use of sailor talk again. Honestly, though, how fucking ironic was that? You hadn’t even sworn a lot your whole life, but spending a year with Butcher and Soldier Boy in particular did a number on you.

“What-, uhm, what were they like… or are? Are they still alive?”

“No, dead. Probably,” you replied flatly. “And they were, uhm… selfish, unkind, elusive. Dumb like a bag of bricks, too.” Upon Ben’s blinking eyes, you uttered a half-hearted “sorry.”

“No, uh–“ Ben shook his head a little, as if to organize his thoughts. “So, that story about your father teaching you–“

“Bullshit, I guess,” you admitted, smirking a little.

“So, all that stuff you know–“

“I taught myself,” you confirmed with a proud smile, standing a little straighter. “I didn’t tell you because I thought you couldn’t deal with a woman being smarter than you.”

Ben’s lips hitched a smile that he tried to bite back. “I guess we’ll see,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “I’m glad you asked about her,” he added quietly, his look touching something within your soul. “Not many people do.”

You nodded, offering him a small smile. “I’m sure your mom’s proud of you. Even if she doesn’t show it.”

And then, the air shifted. You could feel it all around you, settling on your skin in a veil of delicate blossoms, rising in response to whispers of electricity. They danced across the surface, each little peak a shiver of anticipation. Your heart drummed louder, faster, till it drowned out all the other noise. There was just you and him at that moment in time.

You’d held eye contact for too long, the silence stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable in the slightest. It was addicting.

Your gaze briefly fell to his plush, pink lips, immediately cursing yourself for the action. He took note of it, his own eyes landing on your unoccupied, open palm by your side. And in the short second he paused and gathered courage to move forward with his intentions, you retreated half a step and exhaled a sharp breath.

“Uh, food?” Your voice broke the spell on both of you, Ben blinking out of his momentary daze. “I’m kinda hungry.”

“Oh, uhm, yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Sounds good. Shall we?”

Ben offered you his arm, and for a fleeting second, you considered declining. But there was something in the way he looked at you, faint crinkles around his crispy apple green eyes from a kind smile that pressured you to cave. So, you placed your hand lightly on his arm, and together you strolled down the hall toward the dining room.

“Is it just the two of us in the dining room?” you asked with a lump lodged in the back of your throat. Your heart was pounding while you held onto him. The soft scent of his cologne reached your nose, notes of citrus, mint, and wood making your head spin.

Ben chuckled a little. “Yeah, it’s just the two of us. Unless you want to invite Florence again.”

“Oh, can we?” As you glanced up at him, you saw the subtle smirk on his lips. “Oh, you were joking…”

Ben laughed deeply. “I was, but hey, if you want to–“

“No, no, it’s fine.” You shook your head, trying to calm your jittering nerves.

As you entered the dining room, you were immediately struck by how large it was, the long table that easily fit a group of thirty stretching in front of you, lit by flickering candles. It was as grand as the rest of the house, but tonight it felt oddly intimate – just the two of you, and no one else.

Ben pulled out a chair for you, his movements graceful and old-fashioned. When you sat, he took the seat opposite you, and Florence hurried to set two plates of deliciously smelling meatloaf in front of you. Luckily, there was only one fork.

“So, what adventures were you up to today, sweetheart?” Ben asked, falling into the polite dinner conversation small talk. You were sure it was trained into him.

“Oh, uh, well, after breakfast, I spent some time with George in his shed. He’s got some cool stuff out there,” you said nonchalantly, only then noticing Ben’s look of amusement again.

“You spent time with George in his shed?”

“Is that not allowed?”

Ben tilted his head at you. “Why do you keep asking me that? I told you to make yourself at home. You can do what you want here.”

“No, I know,” you said, licking your lips as your chat with Florence crept along the edges of your mind. “I guess I just wanna make sure I’m not overstepping any lines here. Kinda like when you’re in a museum, and you’re not allowed to touch anything.”

Ben’s lips grew a smirk as he met your eyes. “Well, you’re allowed to touch anything you want in here, sweetheart.”

Oh no… You’d set yourself right up for that one, hadn’t you?

“So, out of curiosity, did you sleep with Dottie?”

Ben choked on the sip of red wine in his mouth, a few tiny drops staining his pristine white dress shirt. You’re sure neither Florence nor Ms. Vivian would be pleased with that – but you were.

“Hm? What?” He blinked at you like a deer in headlights, clearing the rest of the wine from his throat. “Why? Did she say something to you?”

“Might as well have answered that one with a resounding yes,” you teased and snickered into your glass of wine.

Ben frowned slightly. “You know, if she’s making you uncomfortable, I can fire her.”

Now, you frowned, eyes wide. “What?! No! Don’t do that. That’s such a dick move.”

“A dick move?” Both amusement and confusion flashed on Ben’s face.

Right… People probably didn’t say that yet. You also remembered the concepts of sexual harassment at the workplace and retaliatory discharge were still futuristic dreams, too.

“Well, you know, it’s kinda your fault. Suck it up,” you told him. “You’re her employer. You can’t just discard her because she makes you uncomfortable after you did… whatever you did to her.”

Ben was a little stunned by your bluntness. “Technically, my father is her employer,” he argued and then smugly added, “And I can guarantee you she also very much enjoyed whatever I did to her, by the way.”

Ew, gross!

“You just offered to fire her. I’m pretty sure you qualify,” you countered, not even touching the other comment with a ten-foot pole.

Ben pursed his lips for a moment, then gave a nod. “Guess I’ll suck it up then.”

You rewarded him with a wry smile. “There you go.”

“You know, that was just a one-time thing at some party my father threw. Months ago… Didn’t mean anything,” Ben added, shoving food around on his plate with his fork.

“To you, maybe,” you said and looked at him, waiting for another excuse.

But there came none. He just sipped his wine and dove back into his food.

Good. That would at least keep him from hitting on you for the next hour.

And it did – Ben and you had a pleasant dinner and stuck to small talk. You slowly began to relax, even though the tension between you two was still simmering underneath.

“You always eat dinner here alone?” you asked when Florence cleared the empty plate in front of you. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a home-cooked meal that didn’t come out of a box or a can.

One point for 1942.

“Usually, yes.” Ben shrugged. “Sometimes I go out with friends, have dinner in town.”

“Seems kind of lonely,” you noted.

“Can be. Seems a little less lonely tonight,” Ben replied, sending you a soft smile. “So, what was the house like that you grew up in?”

“Oh, uhm…” You weren’t sure if you should answer that one honestly but couldn’t find a good enough reason not to. “Well, it was a lot smaller.”

“How small?”

“About a quarter of this dining room,” you replied, slightly amused, and watched his brow crease in several directions as he tried to make sense of something like that.

“Huh.”

“We did have a sunroom, though,” you deadpanned with a sip of wine. “I mean, we just called it a window, but the thought was there.”

Ben snorted, soon fully laughing. He rubbed his lips with his fingers. “You ready for your surprise?”

“I told you. It’s not necessa–“

Before you could finish, your eyes flicked to Dottie in the doorway, holding a plate with a piece of cake and a burning candle stuck in it in her hands. The look on her face was devastating. Honestly, did this man possess no awareness at all?

It seemed like a cruel form of punishment for the girl. Fortunately, her grievances and anger weren’t geared toward you this time. The death stare fully landed on your oblivious host.

Dottie placed the plate in front you with a glare at Ben so biting you were surprised you couldn’t see teeth marks on his head yet. Both of you waited till Dottie had left the room again before you looked at him with a complacent smirk.

With a sigh, he rolled his eyes back. “Alright, I see it. Happy now?”

“As long as you’re aware,” you sang smugly.

“Stop gloating and blow out your candle,” he huffed, but a hint of playfulness swung in his voice. “I know I’m technically a day late for this, but I didn’t want you to miss out on cake. It’s the best part about birthdays.”

“Thank you.” You smiled and meant it. It was hard to deny that this was probably the sweetest thing he’d ever done for you. Uncharacteristically sweet and surely motivated by other nefarious reasons, but thoughtful nonetheless.

“You’re welcome.” He smiled warmly. “Which one is it, anyway?”

“Oh, uh… Twenty-… fourth,” you lied with some thoughtful reluctance. You knew if you’d told him your real age, there would’ve only been more questions about why you weren’t married and tamed yet.

“Older than me, huh?” Ben gave you a satisfied smile.

You bit your tongue hard at the irony and nodded, forcing a smile. Granny fucker.

“Well, happy birthday, sweetheart. Make a wish.”

And God, when that candle went out, you wished you’d be home soon.

▶️ Chapter 5: We'll Always Have Paris

Lots to unpack in this one! Some major insights into Ben's childhood and a glimpse at his mother. What did you think about Ms. Vivian? Should we get Mrs. Helen involved to fix reader's sailor talk? How much will Ben pay her not to reveal his middle name to Hughie in the future? 😂

And I'm not warning for age gaps in this fic because with Soldier Boy, it's kind of ridiculous anyway, but yes, reader is seven years older than him in 1942, but 74 years younger in the future, so they're even? 🤷‍♀️🤣

Coming Up:

So, yes, maybe you liked him. Liked him more than you’d be ever willing to admit. But were you just supposed to ignore everything else? Everything you knew and everything that might come?

Were you a fool for thinking you could change destiny?

“Tell me one thing,” you said, interrupting the comfortable silence between you two. “What would make you happy? I mean really happy. Forget about all the money and your father and everything else. What’s your happy place?”

“Hmm,” Ben hummed, teeth chewing on the plush flesh of his lower lip. He found your eyes. “Tell me yours first.”

“Alright,” you accepted, knowing you’d pushed him enough for today, knowing you had to give, too. Knowing his vulnerability didn’t come without a price. You contemplated for a moment, exhaling a sigh. “I guess… Paris. I’d wanna live in Paris. Go roller skating in the Louvre at night. Boop Mona Lisa’s nose.”

Ben snorted a laugh, shaking his head. “Sounds a bit cockamamie.”

“Hey, you have your dreams, I have mine. And you’ll see. I’m gonna do it. I have more tricks up my sleeve than just math,” you retorted playfully, causing his smirk to deepen, but there was affection in every crease and crinkle on his face. “Before you mock, why don’t you just tell me yours, huh?”

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt 1.:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02

@impala67rollingthroughtown @star-yawnznn @spnaquakindgdom @thej2report @americanvenom13

@lamentationsofalonelypotato @supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @kr804573 @m0e0v0v

#fic recs #time after time #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x supe!reader

116 notes · View notes

fallen-w1ngs · 4 hours ago

Text

'' flower shop of new feelings ,,

[ 05 : run ]

|| pairing : james "bucky" barnes x florist!reader

|| warning : nothing ! jealous bucky makes a brief entrance 🔥

|| wc : 2.1k

|| btw, if any of ya'll wanna be apart of the taglist, js comment :3 or dm idc <3

The Avengers Tower’s atmosphere was awkward. Like, a weird tense awkwardness. Clint, Wanda, Sam and Bruce got back from their mission which.. Did not go according to plan, and were already bummed out with that, despite there being a backup plan. Tony had a fight with Pepper, yet again, which let’s be real, no one’s surprised about. And last but certainly not least, Peter had seen Bucky leave your apartment the previous night.

I would love to say that Bucky did a graceful job at covering for himself and explaining it.. But that’d be a lie. The second Peter uttered the words “Mr. Barnes?” Bucky ignored him and sped walk outta there. But being an Avenger, and having Peter practically live in the Tower made it virtually impossible NOT to run into him at least once.

“It’s not that big a deal, James, I promise.” You said, your phone pressed against your ear and shoulder. Currently, you were out checking on your shop and running a few errands. That’s when Bucky called and told you the whole ordeal after you shut the door. “I really don’t see how it’s such a big deal. Just explain to Peter that we’re friends.”

But I don’t want to. He thought, I want you as my secret. As strange as it is, you were one of the only things he felt he had that wasn’t poisoned by Hydra or the Avengers. He loved the Avengers (.. sorta) but he needed to have something that was his.

“Yeah, okay. Okay. Just- the team can be.. Unbearable with gossip.” He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry for calling you ‘bout this”

“Hey, no, I get that. You don’t gotta explain why you freaked out about Peter,” Your voice was full of understanding. Oh, god, Bucky absolutely loves- no. No, no no. “Oh, and never apologize for talking to me, I love talking to you”

“Oh,” He felt his cheeks warm up. “I like talking to you too.”

A small laugh could be heard from your end of the line, god, he could melt with how warm your laugh was.

“Hey, I gotta head off, I’m meeting up with my brother and his wife for a small get together, but I’ll talk to you later, ‘kay?”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah, I thought I told you ‘bout him! His name’s Silas? He’s a pretentious fuck. Love him to bits, but I don’t like him, y’know?” This made Bucky let out a small chuckle. He had remembered a past conversation of yours where you rambled on about how your older brother was the golden child in your family.

“Good luck with him, [Name]”

“Thanks, James, I’ll call you later”

“Bye” He tried to hide his disappointment in his voice before hanging up. Man, what were you doing to him? He’s a lone wolf, never likes anyone, always grumpy, and rarely smiles. But with you? Seemed like he was the jolliest guy on Earth.

Ah, but he can sort out his feelings later. Right now he needed to talk with a certain Peter Parker.

–

“D-Did you need something, Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky was quick to find the spiderling, he was up in the lab with Bruce. Tinkering away at some sort of more protective type of suit, trying to replicate vibranium without using vibranium. He made up some bullshit excuse for why he needed to talk with Peter, even if Bruce knew it was a lie, he didn’t fight it.

“What you saw last night–”

“You leaving [Name]’s apartment last night?”

Bucky’s eyebrow twitched, god the way he said it felt like he was caught in an affair. “Yes. That. It was nothing.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Barnes, but if it was nothing, why’d you run away?”

“I didn’t run away,” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the teenager. “It was.. A strategic retreat.”

Peter deadpanned. “Mr. Barnes, I don’t care if you’re dating-”

“We’re not dating.”

“Oh.” Peter sighed and snapped his fingers. “I owe Aunt May 20 bucks now.”

“Maybe you deserve it.” Bucky sighed and tapped his finger against his arm. “Look, just.. Don’t tell anyone I’m friends with [Name].”

Now.. This is where Bucky lost Peter. Why? What?? It was a strange request. A doable one! But a real strange one. “W.. Why?”

“Because Sam’ll bring it up non-stop and I’ll get teased.” It wasn't a lie, but again, not the full reason he wanted to hide you away from the team.

Peter’s puzzled look turned into a more sinister one. “I won’t tell anyone.. But I want you to give me 20 bucks every week I gotta keep your secret”

“Wha- fine. Yeah sure.” Wasn’t like Bucky had anything to spend it on. “If you tell anyone, I’m ripping your arms off.” He said with a small glare before turning away and walking off.

“.. Arms plural? Wait! Mr. Barnes! Arms plural??”

–

With that small confrontation over, Bucky was able to rest easy. Sure, he’d lose a couple of bucks, but really it was Tony who was throwing his money around. I mean, let’s think about it. So many people live in one tower, with electricity running practically everything. The electricity, water and heating bill must be skyrocketed. Ah, but that wasn’t our dear Bucky’s problem.

No, Bucky had to sort through his feelings and try to label your friendship. So he did the one thing that allowed him to feel.. Better, run.

Leaving the Tower was easy enough, being the “Winter Soldier” made it so everyone was automatically scared of him. Slipping away was easy, what was a problem was where he wanted to run. He let his legs take him.

The wind in his hair, the small burn in his legs as he ran farther and farther. His heart rate beating every time he was able to run longer and faster due since there weren’t many people around or stops. Bucky loved to run. He would run all day if he could, it felt like freedom to him. Something he wouldn’t let anyone take from him.

Bucky ran around a few blocks multiple times, by the end of it his face was damp, but not as sweaty as the normal person would be. Again, Super Soldier. Barely got tired. But, he still wanted to get something to hydrate himself. He sped walked over to that one Cafe that was across from your shop, your friend Finn ran it? At least, that’s what you told him. Maybe he could visit you af–

“James?”

Or now. It seemed you were taking your lunch break or something, ‘cause you were standing at the counter. Leaning against the solid surface, talking with Finn. And for some reason, that made a pit form in Bucky’s stomach. But, like many things, he ignored it and walked over to you, giving a small wave to you and.. Finn.

“Hey man, you want anything?” Finn had a charming smile on his face, he seemed.. Boyish. Certainly younger than Bucky, I mean, he looked like he was in his mid-twenties, younger than you.

“Black coffee.”

You snorted and tilted your head up at him. “No cream or sugar? Pegged you for a sweet guy”

The corners of Bucky’s lips perked up for a moment and he just huffed. “Got used to it.” He did, as a young adult and the war happening, everyone had to ration. That meant when he had coffee, it had to be black. None of the fancy sweeteners.

“Boring,” You hit your hip against his in a playful manner.

In a matter of seconds, Finn came back with Bucky’s drink. Some shitty ass black coffee that was overpriced. Ah, love New York. Though, it was fine. What wasn’t fine was how Finn just kept smiling and practically flirting with you.

“We should definitely go together, it’d be really fun, hell I could pay for your ticket too.”

“Finn, you shouldn’t, I’d be able to!” You giggled behind your palm. “But, I’m not opposed to that”

“We could get dinner, hangout beforehand too?”

Smooth. “I’ll definitely think about it, Finn”

Stealing a quick glance at Bucky, you realized his confusion. “Ah, me and Finn were talking about watching a musical together!”

“Which one?”

“The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals!”

“That’s a thing?”

“It’s definitely a thing.” You crossed your arms with a wide smile. “It’s really good! I should show it to you, there’s a recorded version of it up on Youtube.”

He hummed in reply and gave a lazy shrug. “You’ll have to send me a link to it.”

With a small check of your watch you took in a sharp inhale. “Shit, sorry guys, my breaks almost over, Bye Finn! Bye James!”

“I’ll walk you t’your shop.”

Now this you wouldn’t pass up on. You turned back and gave a small wave to Finn as you and James walked out. The second you felt a wave of fresh air roll on you, Bucky put his arm around your shoulder. A small smile tugged on your face as our eyebrow raised. “What’cha thinkin, big guy?”

“.. There’s a lotta cars.” He muttered. The both of you were standing side by side, he was walking on the outer edge of the sidewalk while you walked on the inner. Something you didn’t even realize.

“Such a gentleman, ey, James?”

He glanced over to you, a small smile tugging at his lips as he held you close. You didn’t mind it, didn’t mind that he was warm, didn’t mind when his grip on you tightened when crossing the street, didn’t mind the momentary lingering he had before pulling away from you when you got to the shop.

“Thanks for walking me!” You pushed open the door and grabbed your apron as Bucky stood in the doorframe. He wanted to stay longer, but he didn’t want to distract you as you worked.

He nodded to your thanks and looked around the shop. It still smelled like a garden, everything still felt humid. Everything was still the same. The flowers were in neat rows but they still perfectly transitioned into one another, the small rotating seed holder was still fully stocked. You talked about how people would grab the seeds and buy them, bunches at a time, but you never let it look like that. Always wanted it to be full, just in case.

“On the house.” Shit, he didn’t even realize you were behind him. What great assassin skills guys, real good. You had a hydrangea in your hand. “It’s blue, like your eyes.”

A few beats of silence settled between you two. Bucky just stared at you as your face got increasingly hot.

“T-That was stupid! I dunno why I did that, uh- it’s just what I like to do with friends, give ‘em flowers on the house I-” He cut you off by taking the flower from your hand, all gently and he quietly examined it.

“It’s real pretty.” He muttered and held it close to his chest. “Thanks, [Name].”

“You’re welcome! I-”

Again, you were cut off, not by Bucky, but by his phone. He muttered a small curse and a “sorry” before walking a few feet away. As much as you’d love not to eavesdrop.. IT WAS SO EASY. Not like you had much to work with.

“Mhm… No, I’m out right now,went on a run.. No, I didn’t see Sam… You can tell him to suck it up. I’m not–” He groaned and stayed quiet as the other person on the line kept speaking. “I’m not- just ‘cause they screwed up shouldn’t mean-.. Ugh. Fine, you’re the captain, punk.. Yeah yeah, I’ll be back soon.”

With that he hung up the phone, glaring at it as if it just cursed everyone in his family line.

“Sorry for that, doll, it was work. Turns out next time Sam and the idiots go out, I have to go with them ‘cause they can’t do shit.” He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, calming himself before he spoke up again. “I gotta go, but I’ll text you.”

“Goodluck with uh, Sam and the idiots.” It wasn’t funny, Bucky was genuinely ticked off, but you couldn’t help but giggle. Thankfully, that seemed to ease some of his tension. His shoulders dropped as he walked over to the door, shooting a small wave to you before leaving.

Hydrangea still in hand.. It was pretty. Like you.

|| the title of this chapter makes this part seem real scary 😭😭 its not, its cutsie. also, i wanted to just show small bits of jealous bucky cz i love jealous bucky. jealous bucky WILL be getting a full part of his own later down the line.

taglist : @iyskgd , @highhopes1008

24 notes · View notes