#gotta traumatize him so much more before he earns some rest sadly

[whumble-beeee]

Let’s Have A Chat (You’re All Talk)

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 4

Content: brief minor whump in flashbacks, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, flashbacks (ptsd), gun mention, past captivity references, tied up, torture "threats", begging, tazer,

* * * * * * * *

Except from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[In terms of punishing and torturing your hero, 'fear of the unknown' is one of the most powerful tools available in your psychological torture toolkit; The anticipation of what might happen to them is often more torturous than whatever real tortures you have cooked up for them, and is a wonderful addition to any torture scenario!

It’s a very delicate skill, learning how to use a hero’s own fears against them (excluding villains with fear-based powers), but it is absolutely essential in almost all aspects of hero-keeping; whether you want to torture them for information, beat them into submission and servitude, force them to follow your rules or desires, or just have some good old fashioned fun messing with them!]

* * * * * * * *

“No,” Stan grunted. Enough was enough.

“No?” the mercenary’s voice broke into a small, disbelieving laugh, which just served to make Stan double down harder on what he hoped was the right choice.

“No. We’re not ‘chatting’. Not–” the world tilted on its axis, darkness creeping in his periphery again. Stan leaned his head back against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut. “N-not you and me, not now, not–... ever.”

Deeby just hummed another laugh at the display. “You should probably eat that protein bar, bud. Should help a bit with your head. And your mood, you're being such a little asshole right now.”

Stan rolled his eyes, but brought the protein bar up to his face to properly inspect. Though it was more of an accusation as he looked straight past it and narrowed his eyes at the bounty hunter instead.

The mercenary rolled his eyes in kind. “It’s not poisoned. Look, eat the protein bar and I’ll cut the ropes binding your legs, yeah? That good enough for his lordship?”

More than good enough for his lordship. A welcome trade, in fact. Especially since Stan was planning on eating the protein bar anyway. And especially because Deeby could probably just shove it down Stan’s throat if he wanted.

Stan nodded with a small ‘mhm’ before the bounty hunter could take it back. It took him a moment to maneuver the bar so he could open it with the metal of the handcuffs biting into his wrists every single time he pulled them too far apart, but he eventually found himself holding a successfully unwrapped protein bar with only slightly aching wrists.

“I'm eating this because I think I should,” Stan clarified as he brought the bar up to his mouth. It was cookie dough-flavored. Deeby had good taste in protein bars at least. “Not because you told me to, okay?”

“Uh huh, noted. Feeling less like a little shit now?”

Stan took a moment to make a full show of reluctantly nodding, irritated head tilt and all, before cramming the rest of the bar into his mouth. Before long, the ropes binding his feet were no more (after much restraint not to kick Deeby in the face when he got close with the knife again), and the protein bar was gone all too soon.

“Great!” The mercenary clapped his hands together. “Now we can talk! Ya like jazz?”

Stan grit his teeth. This Deeby guy just doesn't quit, does he? He wasn’t going to budge on this, even if he was slightly more fed and less dizzy now. He couldn’t just forget the total beatdown from earlier, the torturous soreness wracking every part of his body made sure of that.

“I'm not. Talking. With you.”

“Something’s gonna happen one way or another, runt. I’m just trying to give you the easy option considering you’re a little fucked in the head right now. Hard way’s not off the table, never will be.”

“We already talked!” Stan tried. “Remember? I asked you your name, you wouldn’t tell me. Then I asked you why you kidnapped me, you wouldn’t tell me! Who you work for, wouldn't tell me! Then you beat the crap out of me, and now I feel like I’m dying and leashed like a damn dog! That’s just gonna happen all over again! Let’s just skip over that so I can go back to dying on the floor, thanks.”

“Oh!” Deeby lit up like a lighthouse on a dark and stormy night, and Stan, for just a brief moment, almost let himself feel the same relief that a sailor might when they saw that spotlight on from the freezing, rain- and wind-swept deck of their lost ship. That he would actually leave Stan be. But then…

“You wanna hear about my gun?”

He pulled the revolver from his hip holster and held it up like a prized trophy. “It’s an original Smith and Wesson 1957 Model 19 revolver, it's pretty famous for being the first handgun to use magnum cartridges and making that a common thing. It was also standard issue for the border patrol in the ‘70s, which is where it came into my family,” he chuckled. Stan could only stare dumbfounded. He was really just going on a rant, huh? 

“One of mis tíos just fuckin’ swiped it from one of the officers and they were pissed, chased after him, nearly caught him too but he managed to wiggle away, slimy little guy. And then my mom was so mad with him, nearly beat him half to death before their mamá even had the chance to. So anyway, I got it when I was just a kid, it was all broken and kinda shitty when I first got it, but it was a family heirloom and I thought it was the coolest thing in the world, so I started to get into it more, started fixing it up a bit, replacing parts until it worked right and fiddling with it until it worked right, then started making upgrades to it, learned how to shoot it–”

”Holy shit!” Stan yelled, lurching to meet the mercenary’s eyes.  “Are you trying to Stockholm Syndrome me or something?! I don’t want to hear about your gun! I don’t want to talk to you, or hear about you! I don’t like you, I hate you, I don't want to have a nice little conversation with my fucking kidnapper! We aren't talking! Ever!”

A moment of silence. Stan realized he had gone too far again as the mercenary's eyes widened in disbelief. 

But he refused to back down this time. 

So he continued to glare into the mercenary’s dark brown eyes.

But then the bounty hunter let out a barking laugh. “Stock–... Sto-ockholm…?” he said, almost to himself, voice airy and high with disbelief. “Na-ah… Nah, no, no...”

His gaze suddenly shot to Stan, face unnervingly blank. Stan tensed up, instinctively pulling his extremities in to protect himself, to make himself smaller. This was… new. 

The mercenary took a few steps toward him. Then a few more. Until he was right in front of Stan, looking down on him like a god would from the heavens above.

“You ever been… tortured?... Stan?”

The soft, weightless lilt of his voice turned Stan’s blood to ice.

"Never stop fighting back."

"Let GO OF ME!" He hit at an uncaring, unyielding fist. "LET GO!!"

"Just tell us about your powers, it doesn't have to get ugly."

Lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie.

“N-no-o,” he barely managed to squeak out. His vocal cords may as well have been dunked in ice water. Same as his entire body, with the way he was shaking. Why did he always have to press too far?

“All you gotta do is show us your powers, kid.”

He didn’t move, the light of his powers staying tucked deep in his core. They tazed him again. They'd done it so many times now, it barely even mattered now. He was used to it. He'd never break.

“There's no use fighting, we have ways to force it out of you. We just want to give you a chance to cooperate first.”

Deeby hummed, as if it were quaint to him, the thought that someone could have never possibly been acquainted with the hot, unyielding spindles of torture twisting and morphing them into something unrecognizable, something animalistic, something… altered. Someone to never be the same again.

“I've been tortured.” He chuckled, never breaking Stan’s gaze. “More than once, actually. Hazard of the job.”

He glared into his torturer's bright blue eyes, fires of defiance burning brighter in his own.

“Never.”

 He knew what all their eyes looked like. It was the only thing he could glare at, they always wore medical masks and scrubs and lab coats, so it was the only part of them he could see. So professional to do such visceral, horrendous things.

They tazed him again.

Stan didn’t move. Just stared. Then sputtered slightly. He didn’t know what to say to that. 

The bounty hunter didn’t seem to have such reservations, though. He moved forward wordlessly and crouched down in front of his captive. Stan’s breath hitched. He could hear his heartbeat, feel it pounding in his chest, slow, careful, thunderous. All consuming. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t escape. Were the bounty hunter’s eyes always such a dangerously dark scarlet? No escape at all.

Then Deeby grabbed either of Stan’s biceps, wholly wrapping his hands around Stan’s upper arms, and urged him upward to his feet. “Here, Stan, get up, I wanna show you something.”

The sky-blue eyes flashed to a colleague. “This isn't working. Let's just go with Plan A like I wanted to from the beginning.”

The colleague started to voice their protest but was cut quickly off.

“I don't care how old she is, I know! But being gentle doesn't work, it never does, and it never will! It’s time for the big guns.”

A grown-up hand grabbed his upper arm, drugged him up off the floor, and shoved him forward, iron-gripped no matter how much he kicked and screamed and cried out. Inescapable as he hit and tried to tug away. Unyielding.

“Wait–, wait, no, no, no, please! We–!” Stan cried, unsuccessfully trying to stay wrapped in his little ball of safety on the floor as the force pulled him upward, the dull roar of his beatings from earlier turning once more into a raging insistence of constant strain. “We can talk, we can talk! I just– I can’t– can’t– don’t–... please, please!”

Stan hissed as he put weight on his bad leg in his struggles, and had to practically fall into Deeby’s arm to relieve the agony. 

Deeby didn’t pay the struggling human in his clutches any mind and started to step backward, never once taking his eyes off Stan as he dragged him slowly but surely toward the middle of the room, ankle chain jingling as it dragged across the hard cement floor. “Cálmate, chiquito, te estás poniendo tan alterado. Just do as I say and you’ll be fine.”

Tears burned at his eyes as he tried to grasp at Deeby’s arms, the pressure building up in his sinuses making it so he could barely breathe. It was so much harder to struggle to get away when he had to physically lean on his captor. Torturer.

“I don’t–” his voice cracked as it shot up his register, and he grasped in another breath as tears started to fall. “I do-on’t speak S-s-spani-ish… plea-ease–”

They abruptly reached the end of the ankle chain-leash, and Stan pitched forward with a screech, practically into Deeby’s chest before Deeby stiffened his arms and righted him again. Stan tried to make himself so tremendously small, tried to hide even though he was already captured and chained and physically being held by a man who had shown he wasn’t afraid to, and even enjoyed, hurting him.

And now in the center of the torture room, on the very end of his literal chain.

Nowhere to go.

“Of course you don’t, white boy.” Deeby sighed, a hint of that humorous light shining back in his eyes. He gently grabbed his jaw and tipped his gaze upward. Those bits of red in Deeby’s irises seemed to bleed out into the rest of the world, infecting everything with crimson and scarlet and fire and flames.

The world burned around them. Stan tried to pull away, but the bounty hunter’s grasp held firm.

“It means calm down, chiquito,” he said from somewhere miles away. “You’re getting so worked up, making everything worse for yourself. I won’t hurt–”

Stan seized up and grabbed at Deeby’s arms even as they held him in place, clawed at them, pleading, shaking as tears rolled off his chin, down his neck, and soaked into his shirt.

“PLE-E-EASE!” He cried. “I don’t– I don’t want– I can’t be tortured!” He prayed that wouldn’t be taken as a challenge. “Please don’t… torture me. I can’t… Please.” Not again. Not again.

Deeby looked down upon him, carefully peeling Stan’s trembling fingers off his arms. A small, unnerving smile tugged at the sides of his eyes, like a father looking on as his toddler struggled to produce a finger painting that wasn’t just a staining hideous mess for the hundredth time in a row.

“Who said anything about torturing you, bud? Wait here a moment.”

Deeby shoved away from the quivering mess and made his way over to the wall opposite where Stan’s leash-chain was anchored to the floor, and jumped up to grab the end of a previously unseen chain that, when when the bounty hunter grabbed it off the hook and let the length of it fall free, swung down and hung from the ceiling right next to Stan. 

Stan took a single unconscious step backward from the thing in terror, and immediately his buckled buckled in a flurry of strained agony, sending Stan straight down to a kneel. He clutched at the offending knee joint, cursing the mercenary for making him overwork and twist his knee in that failure of an escape attempt and hurting it so much worse in the first place. At least before he could kind of hobble along without a cane or a crutch. It wasn't pretty, or fun, but he could do it. Now he was practically immobile.

And he just had to hope it would heal correctly.

“Didn’t I just tell you not to move?”

Stan whipped around and nearly toppled over again in the process. “I– I jus–!” 

Two hands grabbed under either of his armpits and hoisted him back up to standing before Stan could even stutter out another terrified plea. He was so dizzy that he was almost thankful that the man grabbed him under the arms to keep him from falling again. Even with how the action in itself made him want to scream.

“Deeby, Deeby, we can talk, we can talk, you don’t–! You don’t have to–”

“Did you just call me ‘Deeby’?” He stopped in his maneuvering Stan, a petrified hush falling over the hero as he forced eye contact once again. “Like the name ‘Deeby’, not the letters ‘D’ and B’?”

“Uh--... No, no…” Stan squeaked.

Deeby’s amused smile faltered just slightly. 

“Don’t lie to me runt, that shit’s funny... Deeby, huh?…” he mused, rolling the name around in his mouth. “Not very creative, but you gotta give points for simplicity… Pft, Deeby… ”

Then his attention shot right back to Stan. “Anyway, stop whining and squirming, I’m about 5 seconds away from actually getting pissed. Are you gonna listen to the story, or we gonna do plan B and actually give you something worth screaming about?”

Stan wanted to keep struggling. Yelling, being defiant, begging, pleading, fighting, something. Those thoughts fueled him as he held the bounty hunter’s gaze; he didn’t want to just roll over and let him do as he pleased with him. But the way the hunter held him now, and the way he physically overpowered Stan time and time again just made him feel like a small, hissing cat uselessly fighting against his owner as they held him high into the air as some sort of punishment. And the fear of something worse happening finally managed to overpower the blind panic that fueled his previous fight. The tiredness continually crept through his bones now, the ache of his injuries starting to once again overpower all other senses.

So when the stare of Deeby became unbearable, Stan pursed his lips and squeezed shut, bowing his head in concession with a small, shaky nod.

He just hoped this lost battle wouldn’t become just one in a never-ending sea of them.

The mercenary let out an infuriatingly triumphant huff. “Great. Don't move. I mean it.” 

Then Deeby let Stan go almost too fast, and he had to readjust to fully supporting his entire battered body again.

He had to shift to support his entire weight on his 'good' leg instead of agitating the bad leg further, or god forbid using his cane or a crutch. Or his powers. The good leg would get painfully sore very quick if he had to just keep standing here. Especially since he was already feeling the bruises from earlier starting to bloom.

But this was better than literally all of the alternatives. He just had to let Deeby talk and hopefully, he wouldn’t torture Stan.

Simple.

He was looking forward to it already.

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Next

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid

[pagesoflauren]

Ride & Prejudice Ch. 3 (Steve Rogers x reader; cowboy AU)

Summary: A take on Pride & Prejudice, certain circumstances in your life have led you to take refuge and work in a farm village, particularly on the ranch owned by Steve Rogers. He doesn’t take kindly to you, having bad perceptions about city folk. Your only reaction to that is the one you deem acceptable: get annoyed at every little thing he does whilst doing your best to annoy him and still keep your job.

Warnings: mentions of violence, reader has PTSD & traumatic flashbacks, guns, mentions of animal violence, animal injury, swearing, angst, slow burn, eventual smut. 

Specific warning for this chapter: the reader goes into detail about what has brought her to the farm. It involves gun violence and death. 

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 3,657

Posted January 5, 2020

“...She’ll be ready to join y’all in a month, I'm tellin’ you!” Nat absolutely gushes about you and how well you've been while breaking Brego. 

The first two weeks were easy, just getting the horse used to your touch and presence, having him understand you weren't a threat. He cooperated well enough, though when you brought a bridle into the picture, all bets were off. 

He stomped and kicked and whinnied, absolutely terrified and forgetting everything you had worked on in the few seconds you had shown him the bridle. You threw it out of sight and he calmed down, allowing you to pet him to salvage what trust hadn’t been lost. 

You easily found the trick was singing and slow movements to keep him relaxed and focused on you, rather than the harness that would go around his head. He was also very much like a toddler, enjoying physical touch like forehead touches and pettings. Nat smiled whenever she saw you two interacting, proud of every step you made to create a bond with him. 

You worked your way up to saddling and mounting, eventually learning to direct him in turns as he trotted laps around the corral. You and Nat were stupid excited, squealing and high-fiving each other profusely after doing exercises for a week. 

“That’s great!” Peter says happily, smiling at you widely, then sadly adding, “It’ll be so fun to have you with us, I won’t feel like a third wheel.”

You coo at him, pinching his cheek. “Don’t worry, Peter, we’ll be the cool ones.”

“Yeah right,” Bucky says, “Steve and I already got that covered.”

“I thought you were going for a fun and boring friendship paradox,” you verbally poke, raising laughter from everyone except the man you called boring. 

“And I thought you were going for someone who’s actually trying to earn my respect.” 

Silence falls almost immediately, tension rising in the room. 

“And I thought for a man who demands respect from someone he met only two months ago he would at least treat me decently.” 

“You’ve given me no reason to--”

“And I’ve also given you no reason not to!” you burst, having enough.

More silence. It’s thick in the room, like a heavy blanket pressing into your skin. 

Steve stands suddenly and all eyes are on him. Even Ransom in the corner of the room perks up, ears at attention. 

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” is all he says, awkwardly stalking off.

More silence, broken by Bucky this time.

“Well, time to wash up, yeah? How about some cake?” he suggests, offering the leftovers from Nat’s trip into the market to satisfy her sweet cravings.

Steve is more mindful of his steps as he passes the bathroom and goes into the guest room--your room. He slowly opens the door to avoid the squeaking hinges and turning on the light to help him see better.

You’re hiding something. He knows it. 

He starts with your drawers, opening and shutting them when he finds nothing. He looks on the floor under the bed, lifts the mattress from the bedframe to check there. He presses his face to look behind the headboard against the wall and finds nothing still. 

He scoots across the bed to eliminate noise and cross the room to the closet, turning the knob and slowly opening the door. 

There’s nothing on the walls or the shelf above the rod where your clothes hang from. Your suitcases are stacked on top of each other on the floor. He picks up the top one, setting it on the floor and opening the zipper one tooth at a time. When he flips open the cover, there’s still nothing there. He moves to the other suitcase opening as slowly as the first.

It’s empty.

Save for the manila folder that rests on the bottom, stamped with a red “CONFIDENTIAL” across it. 

He takes it out, sits down and reads it. He scans the court report, eyes scanning. He spots one phrase, “accused of second degree murder,” and marches downstairs as he hears you all laughing in the kitchen, you and Nat splitting a piece of chocolate cake. 

“The fuck is this?” he spits, throwing the file on the counter.

Cold runs from your scalp and prickles down your spine.

“Nat, you hired a murderer?” Steve continues, hands on his hips, expression severe.

Bucky’s eyes go wide with betrayal, shocked that his wife would lie to him.

“Baby?” he asks, grabbing the file. He flips through it quickly. “What is this?”

“You gonna explain yourself?” Steve asks.

Tears are already brimming in your eyes and you breathe deeply. “Did you read it?” you ask.

“I read enough.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did!” he shouts, “You murdered someone and are sitting here expecting us to help you?”

“Steve, you don’t know the whole story,” Nat interjects.

“I don’t need to know the whole story. She leaves in the morning, I’m not letting her--”

“He would have killed me!” you scream over him. Everyone looks at you this time.

“Honey, you don’t have to--” 

“No, I do,” you interrupt Nat, “I’m not gonna let another man try to accuse me of something I didn’t do.”

You set your fork down, piece of cake still speared on it. 

“My friend and I were out getting drinks. I drove her home and waited for her to get into her apartment. She didn’t live in the nicest part of the city, a lot of really shady things happened there.” You pause, closing your eyes. “I saw...I saw these men in the alleyway. They had a gun pointed at someone. I knew I had to leave before things went any further. When the trigger was pulled I started my car and they saw me.”

Nat says your name quietly, putting a hand on your shoulder as a way to tell you to stop.

You shake your head and keep going. “When I was turning to leave, they shot out my tires. When I had nowhere to go, they pulled me out and threw me onto the ground. They were yelling they were gonna kill me too. They put a gun to my head, Steve.” 

You raise your chin to look at him. His posture has sagged significantly, listening to you intently. 

“I don’t know what I did, I might have kicked him, but the gun fell out of his hands. I grabbed it and just pulled the trigger.” You press your hands to your head, hating the memories emerging in your mind. “The police came and arrested everyone, including me. It was a mess, God, it was a mess. They accused me of being some scorned lover of the guy I killed to try and discredit me as a witness and create a case for murder. Their lawyer was really good.

“There was no way to prove I wasn’t seeing him because I had gotten rid of the pictures I had with the guy I was seeing during the time frame they used. They were able to twist everything I said, everything my friends said until the DA pulled my ex in to testify. The judge dismissed the case but they were furious, yelling threats at me and telling me I was getting what was coming to me. The police gave me protection before they offered to relocate me here.”

You shut your eyes before placing your hands on the counter and daring a look at Steve.

“I killed someone. But there was no other way. I wake up in the middle of the night feeling the barrel of the gun pressed to my head. I dream of scenarios where they succeed and I’m lying cold six feet underground.”

“Stop,” Steve says, and you think you can see tears in his eyes.

You continue.

“Even now, when I’m meant to be safe, I still pay for it because everyday I have to deal with you and your petty feelings. Things could be worse, I get it. But I know I don’t deserve all this because I am nothing like whatever city folk you’ve encountered. I’m just trying to move on with my life. I don’t need you to dig into me like this, especially when it’s none of your business, how did you even get this?” you ask, pointing at the file in Bucky’s hands.

He tells the truth, then apologizes immediately after.

You scoff, jumping off your stool and walking around the island. You snatch the file out of Bucky’s hands and he flinches away from you. You approach Steve and look into his eyes, long and intensely. You don’t know what’s behind them, what emotion or thought. You’d like to think it’s regret. 

You break gaze and head for the stairs, stepping onto the first one.

“By the way, you may as well use my real name from now on.” 

You introduce yourself from there and head upstairs to get ready for bed. 

“Jesus fuck Steve, I told you!” Bucky shouts. “I told you to stay out of it, keep your damn nose out of these things.”

“Do you know what could happen now?” Nat adds, “An agent’s comin’ in a month to see how she’s adjusted. If they find out there’s a risk of her name and location getting out because you snooped--”

“Which I told you not to do!” Bucky says again.

“They could take her back to be relocated again! If they find out she’s in the city, she won’t stand a chance. It was a mob gang, Steve. They have connections everywhere.”

Steve is beside himself, head hanging in shame as guilt rests on his shoulders, weighing heavier and heavier with each second. He doesn’t need to be told that he fucked up.

Nat finishes her cake and dumps her plate in the sink.

As she passes Steve, she stops.

“Steven Rogers, I have never been so disappointed in you.”

Bucky follows her.

“You better fix this.” 

Steve stands in the entryway, shifting from side to side. He runs his fingers through his hair, looking at Peter, who’s still looking at him. He reminds Steve of a sad puppy, like Ransom when he was told he couldn’t go outside when it rained. 

He and Peter leave in silence that night, using the spare key to lock the front door for them. 

You stay in your room in the morning, skipping breakfast and listening to the sound of cutlery tapping against the plates and heavy slurps of coffee. 

You stare at the window, thinking back to when the agent first drove you here. You were scared, but also had first-day-of-school nerves. You remembered thinking what you would do if the people here didn’t like you. Nat, Bucky and Peter had done everything to make you feel welcome and you had grown to like them. 

Steve was like another curveball. He’s so handsome, you weren’t stupid. When he went in not liking you, you were stupid enough to think it was a game. But it was all him trying to find any reason to dislike you and now he had tried to twist your story like the lawyer who accused you of murder. 

“Can I come in?” 

The voice is too deep to be Peter’s and the drawl is too thick to be Bucky. 

“Why? Here to find another reason to try and kick me off your farm?”

The floorboards creak and shift with his steps. You think he’s going to sit on the bed with you, but instead he sits on the floor next to you, knees bent, elbows resting over them as he clasps his hands together. His back rests against the bed as he faces the window too. 

“I’m sorry,” he says so quietly that you can barely hear him.

“Are you so proud that you can’t even look me in the eye when you apologize?” you bite, still bitter. You don’t know if you can ever forgive him. 

You watch with surprise as he moves to his knees, right hand rubbing the back of his neck and he wills himself to look at you. When he takes in your expression, stone cold and penetrating, his own face becomes desperate. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, blue eyes clear in showing you his regret. “My ma always told me to not stick my nose in places where it don’t belong.”

“I see you take her advice well,” you say sarcastically.

“Why don’t you lay down your own pride for once!” he says indignantly. “I’m here tryin’a apologize and make amends--”

“How can you ever expect to make amends for what you did?” you stand as you reply, using the same tone.

“I don’t know, I’m on my damn knees! Figured that was a good place to start and we could go from there.”

You can see he’s at a loss. This is a man who either has had little to apologize for in his life or is as stubborn as some of the cattle he herds, having a hard time bending.

“I know I can’t expect you to forgive me. But I want to move forward from this, please. However we can. You can stay, f’you want. And if you do, I’d just like to know I could--we could--be friends one day, when you forgive me.”

“If I forgive you,” you correct.

“Yeah.”

He’s still on his knees.

There’s a lot of thoughts going through your head. You’ve been here for two months and made friendships with Nat, Bucky and Peter. You’ve had fun with Nat and when Bucky is around, you feel like a lifelong friend, not an intruder or third wheel. Peter holds a special place in your heart, like a little brother you never had. 

Though you hate to admit it, in the past two months, you’ve also harbored a tiny (huge) crush on the man in front of you. With every word of banter caused an elastic stretch in your chest, giving a squeezing feeling in your heart and butterflies in your stomach. And his damn eyes…

“Can I tell you something?” Steve asks, gesturing for you to sit on your bed again. 

You slowly sit down and he sits back on his heels, running his hands through his hair and God, you hate how attracted you are to him. 

“When my pa was younger, he grew up here and didn’t want to stay. He packed his things and moved to the city to start a business. He partnered up with some guy he met, who seemed really trustworthy. You can probably tell where this was going,” he said, looking up at you.

You nodded. Though your prediction was right, you still listened as Steve told you how the man stole his father’s money, leaving him only with the clothes on his back and the items in his suitcase. He came home with no choice but to take over the farm and settle down there. While Steve loves being a cattle hand, it’s not something he learned from his father.

“Pa never liked farmwork much. Brought me and my brother up with the idea that city folk ain’t worth trusting because the first one he met took every opportunity and dream away from him. When my brother and I graduated high school, he made it known that he wasn’t gonna stay, so he took his inheritance and left for the city. Hasn’t been in contact since. Just another reason to not trust city folk, they just think they’re too good for us.

“I know I don’t know you. Though you been here months, I just haven’t tried. That’s just all I knew. Pa died shortly after he hired Bucky. Nat helped take care of Ma when she got sick. I just...don’t talk to many people. I’m not good at it. Never was. And I know this all sounds like a bunch of excuses but I’m trying to use them as an explanation, not an excuse.

“I’m sorry. I am. I never should’a tried to get ridda ya. I shouldn’t have been so judgmental about you.”

You breathe deeply, taking in all the information you’ve learned about his prejudice. Though the generous part of you wanted to forgive him, you knew you shouldn’t. 

“I appreciate your apology,” you say evenly. “Thank you for telling me that, you didn’t have to. But don’t think it automatically fixes everything.”

“I don’t,” he says, making to stand up, “I just thought it’d be good for you to know.”

You hum, keeping your face neutral. You weigh the scenarios of harboring your anger towards him for what he’s done versus the idea of slowly letting it go over time, though probably never forgiving him fully. 

You liked living here, you liked Bucky, Nat and Peter. The trajectory of you life here entailed you going out every day with the boys to herd the cattle out of pasture. Everyday you will eat meals with Steve and Peter. Even now, when you’re angry with him, you still have a crush on Steve. Granted, you’re completely aware of the fact that your crush is the lowest priority, but it’d be nice to be able to look at Steve everyday. At least until you find another man who actually likes you.

If you left, you would go back into danger’s path, have learn an entirely new alias, adjust again and bank on the hope that those people won’t completely hate your guts the way Steve does. 

Was the risk worth it?

You closed your eyes, huffing a breath. You opened them to find Steve still giving you that desperate, morose look. 

“Well, I guess we should go downstairs, they’re probably waiting for us to get started on the day.”

Nat had been right. Within a month, you and Brego were ready to ride out daily with the boys. 

You kept distance from Steve apart from pleasantries and strictly business talk. You’re certain that sometimes you catch him looking at you, though you think it’s just because he still feels guilty.

You don’t feel much anger towards him anymore. Mostly you just wonder how you’re meant to move forward. It’s been an awkward dance around each other, jokes falling flat on the ground or ending in dissolving laughter without a follow up. You try to stay near Bucky and take commands from him, but of course there’s the odd occasion where Steve has to tell you what to do. 

You’ve learned more about your colleagues/housemates. Bucky speaks Romanian. His horse is a palamino, tan with white at the bottoms of his legs. He’s named him Sesoto, the Romanian word for “socks” because, “Don’t he look like he got some on?” Peter’s aunt lives in the next town over, running a grocery store. She worries about him all the time. Despite his naivete and boyish nature, he’s very clever and quick on his feet. 

Steve continues to remain a bit of an enigma, though Bucky tells you what he feels at liberty to say. Steve’s favorite color is blue. He originally wanted to join the army, but his father ingrained farming into his head. 

“His horse is like his girlfriend,” Bucky says with his mouth full during lunch.

“What?” you spit, hating the image Bucky has put into your head.

“Oh, no, not that way. Jesus, woman, get your mind out the gutter!” 

“Then what do you mean?” 

“They’re like best friends, I guess. I mean, I’m his best friend and Ransom’s his other best friend but the man and his horse, like...s’almost like you and Brego. She won’t let anyone else near her with a bridle. She’ll really only listen to Steve.”

“Did he grow up with her?” 

“Nah,” he says, swallowing the bite.

“Do you always talk with your mouth full?” you interject before he starts his story, earning a bump on the shoulder from him. 

“Anyway. Steve’s kinda always been reckless all our lives. He’d get into fights all the time in school. Was a bit of a pipsqueak. Then he got big when he really started working on the farm, lifting all the heavy shit. 

“But he didn’t stop being stupid. One day he was up on the hayloft in the barn and the ladder fell. I was gonna get something for him to land on when he jumped off, but he said it was fine. He landed on his side, broke his ribs and arm real bad. He spent weeks in the hospital and going through physical therapy. His ribs stopped him from getting on a horse so that was a real struggle. 

“Meanwhile, Ash was found really badly abused. We don’t know what she was used for, but whatever it was, she ran away even with a broken leg. Steve’s dad got her and helped her recover and thought she’d be perfect for Steve cuz they were going through the same thing ‘n all. They needed each other.”

“Like me and Brego,” you say, watching Steve sit with his horse and a drawing pad under a tree across the field. 

“Yeah,” he says, “You two needed to get out of the situation y’all were in. And it brought you here.” 

You look down at your sandwich thoughtfully, thinking about how 1. You and a horse could be so similar and 2. You and Steve could be similar. Steve needed to see deeper into you to stop being so bitter. It took a huge fight and the entire dynamic in the houses turning upside down, but you were in a better place now.

Maybe now it was your turn to see deeper into him. 

“You’re either thinkin’ a lot about Steve and his horse or thinkin’ real hard about that sandwich,” Bucky jokes.

You pop the last bite into your mouth, wipe the crumbs off your hands and swipe your hand up to knock Bucky’s hand off his head. 

Tagging: @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​ @viarogers​ @jamielea81​

Next Chapter

[waitimcomingtoo]

In Case You Don’t Live Forever - Chapter two

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!Reader

Warnings: *Steve Rogers voice* language

Chapter one

Moving can be an incredibly long and stressful process. Unless you’re me, and life likes to throw a lot of curve balls at you for the utter hell of it. My dad dropped dead three weeks after I told Andy I was moving to New York. Coincidentally, right in the middle of me trying to find a place to live. He drank himself to death. Figures. I doubt I’d ever had a conversation with him that he was sober enough to remember. His untimely demise was unfortunate for him, because he died or whatever, but very fortunate for me. As his only living child, I got his apartment in Queens.

I said my goodbyes to Andy and Dani after a night out in the streets of San Francisco. I was pretty quiet. I was gonna miss my friends and my home. I knew I’d be back eventually, but leaving a place I once called home always made me sad. I moved to San Francisco a few months after graduating high school. After Mary died, I had no intention of staying home. I wanted to get out of New York and forget the past. Andy got into UCSF and I took a gap year to start working as an investigative reporter. He proposed to me the night of graduation and I said yes. Looking back, a dumb idea all around. But we were 18 and in love. It’s not like I had any parental figures stopping me from making a rash decision like that at a young age. I left and didn’t plan on looking back. Now, I was spending my last few hours in San Francisco with the very boy made me come and the very girl who made me leave.

“Are you all packed?” Dani asked me. I snapped out of my thoughts and looked at her.

“Pretty much. I gotta put my toothbrush and hairbrush in my suitcase in the morning. Other than that, I’m good to go.” I answered her. She smiled fondly at me. I was glad Dani and I could avoid the cliches of hating each other. Afterall, she was engaged to my ex-fiancé. She was living the life I thought I would I be living. And yet, I had no resentment towards her. And she was never anything but nice to me.

“Hey, I’m really gonna miss you. More than that guy over there.” I whispered, nodding towards Andy who had his head buried in his phone. Dani laughed and linked arms with me.

“I’m going to miss you too. You’re like my best friend.” She said sadly.

“I’m glad we’re friends. Most women in our position would hate each other.” I thought out loud.

“Uh uh. You’re thinking of women in films. It’s 2019, baby. Women support women. You and I are two talented, smart, beautiful women who would never be caught fighting over some boy. Especially not one who can’t take his eyes off his phone for two seconds.” Dani said loudly and smacked Andy’s arm. I laughed at the domestic moment. I couldn’t help feeling a pain in my heart knowing he used to be that way with me.

“What, sorry?” Andy looked up. Dani and I looked at each other and laughed.

“What’s funny?” He asked.

“We’re laughing at you babe. Put your phone away. It’s Y/N’s last night here.” Dani scolded. Andy reluctantly put his phone in his pocket.

“Right, sorry. And it’s not her last night here. She’s coming back. You are coming back, right?” He asked me. I nodded, though I wasn’t entirely sure.

“Of course I’ll be back. I just want to experience something new for a while. I’ve done a million pieces on homelessness and poverty. I want to see what fresh stories New York has to offer.” I said.

“You’re quoting the Daily Bugle, aren’t you?” Dani teased.

“That is verbatim what they said to me. But hey, it worked. As of tomorrow, I’m the Daily Bugle’s newest reporter.” I said proudly. I was thankful for my job experience in San Francisco. Most places wouldn’t hire someone with just a high school education.

“Who are you reporting on anyway?” Andy asked.

“Some guy named Cletus Kasady. Apparently he’s some hot shot serial killer down in Queens.” I told him.

“And they want you to write the story on him?” Dani asked.

“Well they heard about the whole Carlton Drake situation and decided I hadn’t been through enough trauma in my career.” I replied, earning a laugh from Dani and Andy. I gave an awkward chuckle, seeing as I was genuinely traumatized. Carlton Drake freaking stabbed me.

We continued on with our night and made the most of it. In the morning, Venom and I got on our plane and made our way to New York. Being on a plane with Venom is the equivalent to traveling with a toddler. I tried to sleep, but every two seconds I had to stop Venom from getting into trouble. She kept trying to open the window. After I explained to her everyone on the plane would I die horrible death if the window were to open, she only tried harder.

“Stop that.” I whispered. The lady in the seat next to me shot me a look. I gave her a fake smile and turned back to the window. I did my best to conceal the small black tendril that was coming out of my body and fidgeting with the airplane window.

“I want it open.” Venom replied.

“Do you also want us to blow out of the plane and into space?” I said through my teeth.

“I didn’t anticipate that but it’d be appreciated.” Venom answered. Curse her sarcasm. The rest of the plane ride followed in similar fashion.

Seven hours later, I arrived at the apartment building. I’d never been to my dads apartment. I didn’t even know he had one. He must’ve moved in after I left for San Francisco. I wondered what happened to our childhood home as I looked around the place. The apartment wasn’t too small but not too big either. The rent was practically nothing compared to how expensive San Francisco was. I figured after some redecorating and moving in, it would make a fine new home.

“We should check out the mail and laundry unit. I don’t want a repeat of last month.” I grimaced.

“It’s not my fault you didn’t do your laundry for a month and ran out of clothes to wear. And we both know you enjoyed wearing me as a jumpsuit for a few days.” Venom defended.

“We looked amazing, but the looks I got in the stairwell were too much to handle.” I reminded.

The first seven days in the apartment went smoothly. I unpacked, with little to no help from Venom, and set up my furniture. On the eight day, I sat on the couch, aimlessly flipping through channels in the TV when I had a thought.

“Oh shit.” I said out loud.

“What?” Venom, who was curly nestled around my neck like a neck pillow, asked.

“I forgot mail exists. We better go check the mailbox before it overflows.” I said.

Venom and I grudgingly walked to the mailboxes and back again. No one was around, so she manifested herself and rested on my shoulder as I looked through the mail.

“Shit. I grabbed someone else’s mail too. I gotta find them.” I said when I read a name on an envelope that wasn’t my own.

“Let’s go.” Venom said.

“Sorry babe. This is a me thing, not a we thing. You know I love you but I don’t want to scare our neighbors. Not yet anyway.” I reasoned. Venom grumbled and went back inside.

I knocked on the doors of the people around me and asked their names to see if it matched the one on the mail I accidentally took. I figured they had to be close to me if I accidentally grabbed their mail. It wasn’t the best way to meet my new neighbors. I felt like I was saying “Hi, I’m Y/N L/N and I’m a complete dumbass. Nice to meet you!”

I got to the apartment across from mine after checking with the people next to me. I knocked on the door and patiently waited for someone to open it. I looked at the name of the envelope again realized the address matched the one on the door. I hadn’t even thought to check the address. In the midst of me realizing just how stupid I actually was, the door opened.

“Hi, are you May Parker?” I asked. I looked up and my face instantly flushed. The person staring back at me definitely wasn’t May Parker. It was a boy around my age, maybe a little younger. He had soft brown eyes and wavy brown hair. It was felled back loosely and I could see the outoline of soft curls. He was just as flushed as I was. We stared at each other for a moment. I swear he didn’t blink once.

“Yea. I’m May Parker.” The boy said finally. He shut his eyes in embarrassment and shook his head.

“I mean, no I’m not. But that’s my Aunt. May is my Aunt but I’m not May. That’s my Aunt May. I’m her nephew…obviously. Aunt May is my Aunt May. I…what?” He stumbled over his words and somehow turned even redder. His blush reached all the way down his neck, to his blue jumper that read “Midtown Tech” in yellow letters. So he’s a high school student. And he looked pretty good in red and blue.

I smiled warmly at him.

“Well hello, not May Parker. I’m also not May Parker. But I seemed to forget that when I grabbed your mail this morning. Sorry about that.” I said sheepishly. I handed his mail to him and he took it quickly. He rubbed the back of his neck and attempted to redeem himself.

“It’s not problem. She and I always forget to check the mail so you actually helped us, um, whoever you are.” He said. His voice was cute. He had that Queens accent that the people of San Francisco lacked, for obvious reasons. I hadn’t realized how much I missed it until I heard his voice. Or maybe I just liked the way he spoke.

“Oh, right. I’m Y/N L/N. I just moved here from San Francisco. I live across the hall.” I pointed to the door behind me as if he didn’t know what “across the hall” meant. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I was never this awkward.

His eyes lit up a bit.

“Really? I thought that smelly guy lived there.” The boy said. I stifled a laugh.

“That smelly guy was my father. He died a little while ago so I live there now.” I said. The boys eyes widened. They were so brown. Like little pools of honey. Or little pools of the Hudson River. I had seen a million pairs of brown eyes before, but none like his. They were quite distracting to be honest.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I had. I had no idea-“ he began to frantically apologize but I cut him off.

“Don’t worry about it. We never got along. And you’re right, that man stank.” I chuckled. It was the first thing I said that felt like myself. I hadn’t really talked to anyone since I moved back home, with the exception of Venom and the occasional phone call from Andy or Dani. I liked talking to this boy, though I still had no idea who he was. His face softened and I saw him relax.

“Oh thank God. I thought I screwed this up before it even went anywhere.” He said. He immediately turned red. This boy just kept blushing and blushing. I saw the regret in his eyes at what he said. I decided to throw him a bone.

“Well it certainly can’t go anywhere until you tell me your name.” I drawled. Again, he relaxed. I felt a surge of confidence knowing he wanted this to go well.

“Parker. I’m Parker Peter. I mean Peter Parker.” He fumbled. I smiled fondly at him.

“I like him. He’s cute.” Venom said telepathically. I looked down at my shoes and blushed. I liked him too.

“And he looks delicious.” She added. I rolled my eyes.

“It’s nice to meet you Peter Parker. I’m glad there’s someone my age around here. Everyone I’ve met so far is either an old bitty or a creepy uncle type. “ I said. I regretted it though. I didn’t know what his sense of humor was like. Lucky for me, he burst out laughing.

“Ah. I’ve seen you’ve met Henry. Yea I’d stay away from him. He asked me if he could have pictures of my feet once. He said he’d “pay me handsomely” for it too.” Peter quipped. I laughed for the first time in days.

“I did meet him. I asked him if he was May Parker and all he said was “If you want me to be, baby”. When I tell you I ran, I ran.” I said. Peter laughed again. The sound of his laugh made my heart pick up speed. I wasn’t used to feeling like this. Boys rarely impressed me. It took Andy months to get my number during our freshman year of high school. But something about Peter drew me in. I felt as though I never wanted our conversation to end.

“Yea you better stay away from him.” Peter advised.

“It might be hard. Our mailboxes are pretty close. I’ll make a mental note to never check my mail while wearing flip flops though.” I said. Peter smiled. I almost fell over. He didn’t exactly have lips, but his smile still lit up his whole face. He had the kind of smile that you would make the person laugh and keep them laughing just to see it. It was brilliant.

“Well my mailbox should be directly above yours. So don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” He grinned. I grinned back.

“My hero.” I gushed. The tips of his ears went pink. He seemed shocked that I said that.

“I’m no hero.” He answered. He sounded almost panicked, like I touched a nerve or something.

“I’m hungry. We need to eat.” Venom interrupted abruptly, causing me to jump. Since Peter couldn’t hear her, he looked at me strangly, not knowing the cause of my sudden jolt.

“Sorry, I uh, I thought I saw a spider.” I said lamely.

“If there was a spider, I’d eat it. We need food. Now.” Venom demanded.

Peter looked up at his doorframe for the imaginary spider.

“Yea, New York is full of them.” Peter commented. Oh right. He thinks I’m from San Francisco.

“I know. I grew up here. I only lived in San Francisco for a year.” I told him. Peter looked impressed.

“I didn’t know that. But I guess, I don’t know anything about you seeing as we just met. Would…” he trailed off, seemingly mulling something over in his head. “Would you like to eat dinner with my Aunt and I? I remember when we first moved in, it took us a while to get into the swing of things and make dinner every night. If you like, you could join us. And, you know, we could get to know each other.” He said. It all came out in one breath. I could tell he was nervous. That only drew me in more. I smiled warmly at him.

“I’d love to Peter.” I said. He smiled in relief. My heart melted.

“Great. We usually eat around six so maybe come around then? She’ll be so happy to meet you. She loves cooking and she always tries to get me to learn but I once burnt cereal and I still don’t know how.” Peter began to ramble. He cut himself off and shook his head again.

“Sorry. I’m rambling.” He said, embarrassed. Then, I did something stupid. I put my hand on his arm like the dumb bitch I am. I barely knew this guy. Who the hell was I to touch him? He must’ve been thinking the same thing. He instantly froze under my touch and stared at my hand on his arm.

“Don’t apologize. I can’t cook either. Unless you count making tater tots as cooking. Then I’m Gordon Ramsey.” I assured him. I felt Peter relax under my touch.

“You’re just gonna mention tater tots without warning me first? My mouth is watering. Can we eat Peter?” Venom asked.

If it was socially acceptable to scream at your symbiote in public, I would’ve yelled “NO, WE CANNOT EAT PETER.” from the top of my lungs. But I didn’t want to scare Peter and the rest of my neighbors away. So I merely smiled and made another mental note to smack the shit out of Venom later.

“I love that man. “Where is the lamb sauce?” Peter mimicked in a bad British accent. I smiled at the boy. He had no right being as charming as he was.

“No no no. His best line is “I’ll get you more pumpkin and I’ll ram it right up your fucking ass. Would you like it whole or diced?”. He’s said some pretty wild things but that one takes the cake.” I said. Peters laugh rang through the halls. To be the cause of that laugh was a feeling like no other. I smiled proudly.

We stood there for a while, just looking at each other. His eyes grazed down my body, but not in a crude way. I berated myself for not dressing better when going to meet the neighbors. I was in my signature grey hoodie and some leggings. Peter looked cute though, but I had a feeling he always did. His jumper was pretty baggy and I could see a collared shirt poking out the top. He didn’t dress like a typical teenage boy. He dressed almost professionally and I found it incredibly endearing. We took each other in in our entirely and I don’t know about him, but I liked what I saw. I wanted to know more about him. I wanted to know his secrets and his hobbies and what makes him itch. I wanted to see if he dresses this way on weekends too or what his summer clothes looked like. Our gawking was interrupted by Peters phone ringing. He broke out of his trance and answered it quickly.

“Hi Mr. Stark. No I’m not busy. I mean, I’m super busy but I can totally make time for you. Yea, Happy talked to me. Okay. Okay. Where? Okay. See you in a bit.” Peter said. He hung up and looked at me apologetically.

“That was my job. I have to run but I’ll be back in time for our dinner. I live at…you know where I live. I’ll see you then. Don’t be late.” Peter called as he ran down the hallway, towards the elevator.

“I won’t. See you later.” I called back.

I went back to my apartment and like a kid, broke out into a dance.

“Venom!! Did you see how cute he was? And how funny he is? I have to get ready for tonight.” I said frantically. Venom manifested and swirled around my arm.

“Someone has a crush.” Venom smirked. Well, as much of a smirk as she could muster with that huge mouth of hers.

“I don’t have a crush. I just think he’s cute okay?” I replied. Cute. And funny and sweet and charming and amazing. But that’s it.

“I can feel your heart beat, dipshit. It was going ten miles an hour. What would Andy say?” Venom asked. I stopped in my tracks. I forgot all about Andy. I moved here to avoid his wedding and his moving on, and I might’ve succeeded.

“I don’t care what he’d say. He’s not my boyfriend.” I retorted.

“But you want him to be. We want him back, remember?” Venom said. I looked at her.

“I don’t know what I want. I just want to get ready for tonight.” I replied. I turned on my shower and waited for the water to warm up.

“Why are you getting ready now? You have 5 hours until you have to be there and it’s right across the hall?” Venom teased. She knew damn well why I was getting ready now.

“Only 5 hours? We better get moving.”

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