Chapter Text
The way people talked about him, you’d think he had a fucking gold bar in his pants, or something. People, especially women, practically worshipped him. And yeah, he was good looking, but… come on.
All of your friends were so jealous whenever they heard that you had landed an interview at Vought. Saying that you’re so lucky, you might run into Soldier Boy himself! You loved them, but the way they swooned over any tall, slightly attractive man got on your nerves sometimes. You zoned out once they started fantasizing about what he’d be like. His smell, his hair, the way he dressed when he wasn’t in his suit, all the stuff.
So, today was the day of the interview. You’d dressed up fairly nicely; a pink two piece suit set. It was sensible, but it still also had some personality to it. You didn’t want to go work at a job that wouldn’t let you express yourself; even in the smallest ways.
“So! Welcome to Vought.” The woman that was interviewing you had been very sweet so far. She had complimented your suit, held a very nice conversation with you all the way into the back room. You’d passed posters upon posters of different superheroes, and you were stunned at just how much they were idolized.
She pulled your seat out for you, before going to sit on the other side of her desk. You weren’t in her office, just a conference room. “Can you tell me a little bit about why you chose this job?”
“Yeah, of course!” You plastered on a huge smile, trying not to overdo it but also trying to not under do it. Truthfully, this was the last place you wanted to be, but, well, college didn’t pay for itself. “Well, honestly, I just need to get my foot in the door, as well as support myself. Currently, I’m a college student, so I need to pay tuition and take care of myself. My old job just wasn’t cutting it anymore.”
You had zero idea whether or not this was an acceptable response. In hindsight, you probably should’ve Googled some practice questions or something, but, no, little miss independent just had to rawdog it.
“Well, here at Vought, we appreciate honesty. Do you have any experience with any job, or will we be your first?”
“Yes! I do, but I’m not sure if it’s the kind of experience you’re looking for. I worked two years at a bookstore, and then three years at a coffee shop.” “I see. And these places are in your references?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The two of you went back and forth for a bit. You were trying to see how she felt about you. She didn’t seem to dislike you, or favor you in any way, but she was still being polite to you. There was no hint of surprise, shock, or disdain in her face at any of the answers you gave, so you assumed you were doing well.
The door opening had interrupted her mid-question, and you looked over your shoulder to see who it was. Your eyebrows raised, intrigued, because Soldier Boy himself was standing there. “Ben, I told you that I was going to be busy.”
“Does it look like I give a fuck? Who’s this?” He crossed his arms, his broad frame taking up the entire doorway. He was sizing you up like a predator, and half of you wondered whether or not he was eye-fucking you. His expression was scarily neutral.
“This is one of our interviewees, Ben, now can I help you?”
Her tone was patient but clipped, and you couldn’t help but wonder how often this happened to her. “She’s a real cutie. Make sure I see more of her.”
Your face crumpled up in disgust, and the woman sitting across from you opened her mouth to say something, but Soldier Boy- or Ben(?) walked out without another word.
All she did was sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose and rubbing slightly. “I apologize. Now, where were we?”
The rest of your interview went very well, you think. She told you to keep an eye on your phone, at least, so you guessed that counted for something.
Right after your interview, you went home and crashed. You had noticed that there was a new car parked where your neighbor, Shilah, usually parked. You thought it was a little weird, because you knew she wasn’t in the market for a new car, and would die before giving her little Honda up anyway. You shrugged it off, deciding to text her about it. It was probably just a visitor that parked in the renters’ lot by accident. But damn, if it wasn’t a nice car.
About a week later, Vought had called you back. Unfortunately, it was after you had accepted another job offer. You really couldn’t wait any longer, and plus, this job had better benefits for you. You were on the verge of debt, and you would rather starve than have that happen to you. You had been called back literally hours after that other interview, which was at a different local bookstore, and you were told that you could start the next day and get your first paycheck by the end of the week.
Whenever you told the woman that had called, who you think had been your interviewer, she didn’t talk for a long time. So long you thought that she had hung up. After a soft ‘Hello?’ she practically started to hound you with questions. “Why did you take another job?” “Why are they better than us?” “Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind?”
She sounded frantic. There was no doubt about it. They must’ve been really, really short staffed and no one must’ve showed up to take the job. Oh, well, they shouldn’t have been so slow on calling you back.
You gently tried to explain and shut down the conversation, but she was not having it. It got to the point where you had to hang up while she was mid-rant. It felt so rude to you, but to be fair, she was the one who had started being rude first. And, to your complete and utter shock, the same number called you back seconds after you hung up. You ignored it, and it just kept calling. Again and again and again.
You were starting to wonder if you needed to block it, but after what you think was the sixth time, it had stopped. You were freaked out and confused, what the hell was that about? Even if they were desperate for employees, they should never be that desperate. At that point, all you were doing was making yourself look bad.
You actually quite liked your new job. Your coworkers were really sweet, and your boss was this adorable little old man. He spoke with a slight accent, which you think was Japanese, and was all smiles. The customers were great, too, there were many older people who would frequently buy books. Most of them were talkers, yes, but you’d take an old lady telling you all about her grandkids over someone yelling at you any day.
You eventually had to block Vought’s number, though. For whatever reason, they would not stop texting and calling you. Some were angry, but some were just outright pathetic. Like, you’d expect those texts to be sent in a breakup, not a callback for a job. One day, you had gotten a hundred texts in one day from that number. That was when you decided that you had to block it, because it was just getting plain weird.
About three days after that incident, you kept getting calls from a different unknown number. These calls weren’t in a stream like the ones before, and were from a completely different number. They had been spaced out over a few days, only coming in once or twice a day. You thought that they might just have the wrong number. So, after the fifth time, you picked up.
Tentatively, you pressed the answer button and held it up to your ear. “Hello?”
A serious, intimidating male voice answered you, cutting off your greeting. “We’ll offer you double what you’re making right now, full healthcare and dental coverage.”
You furrowed your eyebrows together, face scrunching up in confusion. “I’m sorry?”
“Vought wants to offer you double what you’re making at that little bookstore of yours, plus healthcare and dental. Are you going to take it or not?” Man, this guy was direct. Got forbid he use some formalities. Plus, this was too good to be true, it had to be a damn prank call. “I'm so sorry, who is this?”
“Stan Edgar.”
You barked at a laugh. You literally just had to, there was no way this guy was Stan fucking Edgar. “Ha! Try again, who are you?”
“Stan Edgar, dear.”
There was a silence between the two of you; you had decided that you weren’t going to speak first. He was being extremely condescending; who was this guy, calling you ‘dear?’ This whole thing was fucking absurd, you had half the mind to hang up and block this number, too.
“Darling, if you don’t believe me, I can personally show up on your doorstep. I promise you that this offer is real.”
“How the hell do you know where I live?” “Your application.”
Internally, you facepalmed. Of fucking course he knew, you dummy. If he was the real Stan Edgar, of course, which he totally wasn’t. Whatever, you just decided to entertain this damn idea. “Fine, do it. I’ll see you soon.”
Before he could say anything, you hung up. You just had to laugh it off, it was so damn stupid. It must’ve been some guy from your school, or something. You knew of some dangerously immature frat boys. You think they just replaced their blood with alcohol, and their oxygen with weed, because they were never sober. You must say, whoever it was did a remarkable impression.
You put your phone down onto the coffee table, turning your TV show up and getting comfortable. The bookstore closed at one on Saturdays, so you had pretty much the whole day to laze around in your pajamas and do nothing.
Well, at least you thought so. You had been zoned out for a while, just staring at your TV mindlessly, when you had been ripped out of it by a firm knock on your door. You frowned, getting up and looking through the peephole.
You fucking screamed in shock as you saw Stan Edgar himself standing there, tall and intimidating. You ripped the door open, not even taking in the fact that you had no bra on and were in a pajama set that consisted of a thin tank top and the shortest shorts known to man.
He looked you up and down with disdain, not even trying to hide the way his nose wrinkled. “Do you believe me now?”
“I- yes, si-” You stopped yourself as you felt the word ‘sir’ coming out of your mouth. You realized that you had no obligation to him right now. He was just some guy in a suit to you, who had showed up on your doorstep, taking up your spare time. “Yes, I do. What do you want?”
He sighed, having the audacity to look annoyed at you. “I brought the contract so you can read it through. We’re willing to double what you make at that bookstore right now, as I stated on the phone, and I’m sure other benefits can be negotiated.” He held a packet of paper out to you, and boy, could it have passed for a book. “Is this the contract?”
“Yes, and our terms.” His hand fell back down to his side as he looked at you, ogling at the papers. You felt like a peasant under his gaze. “Take a look through it and tell us what you think.”
“I… all due respect, I really do like my job right now.” “We’ll triple it.” You just had to… stare at this man. For what felt like the millionth time today, you were just… stunned. This had to be some kind of damn fever dream, or something.
“Just read it through. Let us know what needs to change or what you want to add.”
“And if I accept… you promise to triple it?” You tried to do the math really quickly in your head, wishing that you were just a liiiittle smarter. If you were making twenty-two dollars an hour, tripling it would make it…
“Yes, I do. I’ll have the revised contract ready for you, if you’d like. That would be… sixty-six dollars an hour, correct?”
You turned your gaze to him, not even bothering to hide how flabbergasted you were. “How do you know how much I make?”
“Oh, it’s not that hard to find. Be sure to give us a call, goodbye.”
And with that, unceremoniously, he just walked away. Strutted, more like, he owned the world and he fucking knew it.
The contract was a behemoth. It was wordy, and so, so, so hard to read. Your search history was filled with dictionary references, googling statutes, legal terms, and YouTube videos filled with explanations. And there was some weird shit in there, too. Like, for one, you had to sign an NDA going into it, as well as you were required to live in Vought apartments, and weren’t allowed to drive a car. The car thing wasn’t a huge deal, because you were too broke to afford one anyway. You liked walking, so you figured it was just a nice, if not forced, meditation time. Getting your steps in was good for you anyhow. You did some additional homework, Googling the apartments as well. You thought that, okay, maybe they had another building a few blocks down the way, but nope. They were in Vought tower itself, primarily reserved for… well, the supes.
But, yeah, everything was there. With their health insurance policy, and your potential salary, you wouldn’t have to worry about hospital visits, like, at all. Not even that, you wouldn’t even have to worry about money. From what you understood, you didn’t have to pay rent at all, and you were even provided with free meals. That freed up damn near all of your money. At sixty-six dollars an hour, with free food and no rent… holy shit.
It took a day alone to just comprehend that. Say if you worked only six hours a day- that’s 396 dollars a day, 2,772 dollars a week, making your yearly salary a whopping 144,144 dollars a year. In all of your years of working, you probably hadn’t even seen that amount of money total.
You weighed the pros and cons. Vought won by an absolute landslide. Honestly, you had no idea what kind of things you were going to be doing there, but you didn’t care. You’d probably suck dick for just half of that amount. So, yes, duh, you were going to take it. But, your pride wouldn’t let you call them first. No, if they wanted you so badly, they had to come to you.
And that’s what he did. After Stan left, you giggled like a child behind your door. It was just so funny to you. This powerful man, coming to your cheap, pathetic little apartment building, to beg for you to take the job.
This time, when you opened the door, you were dressed more sensibly. You hadn't. You had only expected a phone call, or something, not him coming back to your apartment. You hadn’t changed out of your clothes from work, because you had been anticipating this visit. Nothing too spectacular, just jeans and a pink sweater. “So, have you decided yet?”
“Yes, yes I have.” You were taking whatever opportunity you could to talk down to him, because according to the contract, the next two years of your life would be spent under his thumb. “I think I’ll take it. You have the revised contract that promises me the sixty-six dollars an hour?”
“Yes, I do.” He pulled the copy out of his briefcase, and you took a moment to scan over it and make sure that nothing was changed. Besides changing the dollar amount, everything else looked the same. He pulled a pen that probably cost a million dollars out of his pocket, but you held up your hand, signalling for him to stop.
“This apartment. How big will it be?”
“1,300 square feet.”
You didn’t even hide the fact that it shocked you. Your childhood home hadn’t even been that big, and it was an actual house. “You’re joking.”
“I’m dead serious. We’d like you to move in as soon as possible. If you could have the vast majority of your things packed up by tomorrow or the next day, we’d take them and drop them off for you. Even help you unpack, if you’d like.”
“And how can I decorate it?” Decoration was very important to you. You supposed you could live without it, but it was so difficult for you to tolerate a modern, lifeless apartment.
“However you want. Paint it, hang up pictures, even move in your own furniture.” He motioned for you to sign the papers, and you did, handing it back to him.
Damn, damn. This was such a sweet deal. “That sounds amazing, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You start on Monday of next week. But, again, we want you in the apartments as soon as possible. How about… by Friday, this week? Just let us know when you’re ready. A text should do it.” “I-I mean, sure, I’ll start packing everything up.” And then adding, once more, “Thank you.”
All he did was nod in return, taking his million dollar pen and novel of a contract and walking away wordlessly.
You felt hysterical. It felt like you spent forever just giggling up a storm. You started packing the second he left, filling whatever miscellaneous boxes you had to the brim with your personal effects. By the time you were done, everything was packed and ready by the door, already waiting to be moved into your new apartment.
You decided to wait until the next day before you texted Vought, notifying them that you were ready. You had stayed up until four A.M. getting everything ready. You had barely been able to squeeze everything in there- you’d actually had to ask your landlord for some extra boxes, if he had them. You knew that you could just go buy some, but that seemed like a lot of work. Some things you’d have to carry, but you’d figure it out.
The men Vought had sent worked with such silent efficiency, it was mesmerizing to watch. One man was inside your apartment, picking up your stuff and passing it down to a man outside the door, who passed it down to a man in the hallway, who passed it down to another man further away in the hallway… on and on until it reached the elevator. By the end of the day, you were standing in your absolutely beautiful apartment. There was just so much damn space. You’d need a rug, because the plain white carpet and linoleum tile wouldn’t cut it for you. The bed was perfect for you once you replaced the sheets, however, and the bathroom was even better. You had a tub, something you hadn’t seen since you were a child. Your apartments all just had showers. Which was good for the bare necessities, but sometimes it was just nice to relax.
You had asked a slew of questions to the poor movers. “Can I get food dropped off here,” “Is there a curfew,” “Can I have people over,” Yada yada, until you were able to tell that they were getting sick of you. Immediately after they left, you started unpacking, ready to get some life put into this God awful backrooms-esque apartment. By the time you were finished, your bedroom, living room, and bathroom were decorated with life, leaving only two rooms completely untouched. You didn’t actually have anything else to decorate with, considering you came from such a small apartment before this.
You decided to celebrate your hard work with a nice bath, afterwards getting out and reading a book in your window-couch thingy. It was so beautiful. It was just a big windowsill, basically, with cushions on it so you could sit or lay down. You could see the city lights perfectly, the life underneath you bustling with life. The window felt cool against your skin, and there was even a nice little curtain and light, where you could close yourself in and still be able to see what you were doing. Oh, it was just perfect.
You were ripped out of your ecstatic haze by your door opening. You shoved your head through the curtains, slamming your book shut and raising it in case you needed to start swinging. You were shocked whenever you saw it had been the man, the myth, the legend himself, Soldier Boy. “What are you doing in here?” He let out a pompous laugh, taking your apartment in. “Seems like you’re settling in okay. Smells like you had a nice bath, too.”
You pushed the curtain back, swinging your legs to hang off of the seat. You were dressed in a tank top and sweatpants, which you were a little bit embarrassed about. You decided to forgo your little two-piece set for a while, until you were more settled in. Thank god you did.
He let out a wolf whistle, looking you up and down. “Aren’t you a sight for sore fucking eyes.”
“Excuse you?
“What are you, deaf? I said you look pretty fucking cute right now.”
Your face scrunched up in shock, making him laugh once more. It was a disgusting, cocky sound, filled to the brim with entitlement. He plopped himself down on one of the barstools at your counter, fidgeting with one of your decorations. “Don’t touch that!” You shoved yourself up, storming over to him. The fucking audacity of this man! “How the hell did you get in here, anyway?”
All he did was smirk at you, his eyes immediately finding their way to your chest. “I have my ways, babe. These little guys are cute, did you make them yourself?” By ‘little guy,’ he meant the gnome that he had been fidgeting with. He had an absurdly tall pink hat and small body, and you had made him out of air-dry clay. You were so damn proud of that gnome. “Yes, for your information, I did. Get out of my apartment.”
He snorted at you, peeling his eyes away from your chest and going back to messing with your poor little gnome. “I don’t think you have any right to be bossing me around, kid, who the hell do you think got you this job? At sixty-six dollars an hour, no less, you should be sucking my cock right now.”
You let out an offended gasp, how dare he? “Excuse you? Just because you’re this powerful, high and mighty, I don’t fucking know, god-like being, it does not mean that I owe you shit. You disgust m-.” You cut yourself off, eyes fixed on your little gnome. It was starting to bother you too much, to the point where you couldn’t ignore it. “Get your filthy fucking hands off of him!”
He raised his eyebrows, obviously not having expected that. “That’s some damn mouth you got there, cutie. You must like this little guy an awful lot, huh, would you be able to make me one?”
Now it was your turn to laugh. “Hell no.”
“No? You’re just being a little asshole, at this point.”
“Me? Me? I’m the asshole, here? You’re the one who’s the little asshole, barging into my apartment, touching my things like you own the pla-”
He was so fast you didn’t even fucking see him move. In the blink of an eye, he had a hand clamped so tightly around your wrist it hurt. “You listen here, you bitch, I do fucking own this place. I’m the strongest one here, I could rip your sweet little head off right now- I am fucking talking to you.”
Your mouth instantly shut. You were going to try to interrupt him, but all of a sudden you felt miniscule. Pathetic was probably a better word for it. And you were, compared to him. “I could do whatever I wanted to right now, and you couldn’t stop me. Do you feel this? Do you feel how fucking strong I am?” He squeezed your wrist even harder, dragging a whimper from your mouth. He took on a wolfish grin once that sound reached his ears. “God, that’s such a sweet noise. But what I’m trying to say here is be good. I won’t hesitate to put your perky ass back in place if you even put a toe out of line, you got that? This is only a little bit of what I could do to you. You’re lucky I’m not bending you over and fucking you senseless right now.”
Oh fuck, now you were scared. You prayed that he would let go, that he wouldn’t rape you, that you’d be able to walk away from this unscathed. You wanted to say something, but nothing came out. He obviously wanted you to say something, too, but upon realizing you wouldn’t- or couldn’t, he finally let go. You let out the breath you were holding.
He didn’t break eye contact with you for a good, long minute. He didn’t even need words to convey what he wanted to say. He gave you one last sharp, predatory look, before turning around and locking your door.
From the outside.
You were starting to wonder how much deep shit you were in. Obviously, you couldn’t leave your apartment right now. To make it worse, the strongest man in the building- potentially the whole world- was able to get into your apartment, and he threatened to rape you. No, not threatened, but implied. And that alone was enough to make you want to shit yourself.