#its been hours since i finished the bluest eye and at the time i was like ok cool

[rainingincale]

Oh my god why am i getting so choked up!! Books man 😭😭😭

[dailyreverie]

Under cotton and calicoes

A/N: Y'all should know me by now. I see Santiago Garcia and I immediately think of the softest, most domestic scenarios. This one was requested by the lovely @campingwiththecharmings, I really hope you like it!! Title comes from The Hozier song "Would That I".

@flufftober - Day 16 Singing one another to sleep

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x reader

Word count: 917

CW: As we established before, domestic Santi is a warning.

Flufftober masterlist

You had been tosing the sheets for what felt like a thousand times, and on the 101st fight against the sheets, the clock showed only 40 minutes had gone by since you last checked the time. You sat up, feeling defeated and exposed to the cold night air on your skin. Your head dropped into your hands in a futile attempt to prevent your eyes from burning with exhaustion.

It was then that you felt Santiago's gentle hand caressing its way up your hip to your lower back. It should not have surprised you, and neither should the soft glow of the lamp on his bedside table as it turned on.  “What’s wrong?” The sleepiness in his voice stirred your heart with a touch of guilt. Santiago didn't always got to sleep soundly, and here you were, disrupting his peaceful night.

ou whispered, knowing that your words were as effective as speaking to a wall. Santiago sat up beside you and planted a tender kiss on your shoulder, making you yearn to close your eyes and fall asleep in his arms. "I can't sleep," you confessed, your voice tinged with exhaustion, and Santi chuckled in sympathy.

“I figured that out.” His lips traveled to your jaw, his arms enveloping you in a warm embrace. You found comfort in the warmth of his skin beneath your hands. “Maybe I can help?”

“Unless you are planning on giving me a sleeping pill I’m not sure anything could help.” You say in a lousy effort at humor at 2:40 a.m.

Santi laughs again, pulling you down to bed next to him. It’s easy to fit against his body, with your head in the crook of his neck and your hands over his chest, almost soothing enough to put you right to sleep as his fingers trail up and down your back. To finish it all, he started humming a song, a melody you are familiar with but can’t quite place it, your brain nothing but fog after being awake for so long.

Finally, it clicked as he reached the chorus of the song. In your groggy state, you asked into the darkness, "Are you seriously singing Guns N' Roses to help me sleep?"

Santi doesn’t answer, instead, he changes the humming to singing the lyrics with an audible smile in his voice. “She’s got eyes of the bluest skies, as if they thought of rain, I’d hate to look into those- HEY!” your hand slapping his chest interrupts him.

“How’s that song supposed to help me sleep?” You asked in between a fit of laughter.

“Well, if you’d let me finish you would be asleep by now.”

“Not with freaking Guns n’ Roses! What’s next, Metallica?”

"Okay, fine. I have a better one. Come back here." His arm extended over the pillows, and you cuddled back against his side with a playful warning glance. After a few seconds, he starts singing: “When you try your best but you don’t succeed.”

“Santiago! That’s just mean!” You push him again, laughing out loud without a care of the late hour.

“That’s the calmest song I know.” He defends catching your arm to not let you go far. “I’m sorry I don’t know any of your boring songs.”

You gasped in feigned indignation, a playful glint in your eyes. "Don't you dare disrespect Hozier like that."

“Okay, okay, fine. What if I learned one?” He was already standing up, rushing to the living room to get the guitar he never really uses but still keeps around.

“Right now? You are going to learn how to play a song at 3 am?” You rested against the headboard on your side, looking at him opening up his laptop to search the chords of a song.

“I’m already up, it’s not like I have anything better to do.” Guilt gnawed at you at his statement. He had been snoring no more than twenty minutes ago, sound asleep, as you should be too.

"You should sleep, Santi. I'll just go to the living room and scroll through TikTok until I fall asleep." Santiago caught your wrist as you attempted to move, preventing you from going.

"No way, no one gets left behind in battle," he declared, ever the army man, evoking a smile of tired appreciation. “Now, let’s get this started.”

You watched from your comfortable spot against the headboard, sunken in pillows and cushions as he scanned the chords displayed on the screen, dancing his fingers along the frets and strumming softly as he went through the first few lines of the song time and time again. His soft voice, mixed with the gentle melody, began to work its magic. Your eyelids grew heavy as you continued to hear Santiago's voice like a distant lullaby.

“...I fretted fire but that was long ago.” Santi finished singing the first strophe with a triumphant smile, setting his fingers back to the first chord. “Honey, I think I got it! Check it-” He turned to you, seeking your approval, but instead found you curled against the pillows, breathing softly, finally asleep. “I guess I’ll show you in the morning.” Santi gently lowered the guitar and turned off the light, casting the room into darkness again as he wrapped himself around you.

"Thank you," you mumbled, pressing a sleepy kiss to his collarbone as you settled in.

You were the reason he could sleep now, who was he not to help you whenever you needed to rest, too.

✨🍂✨🍂✨🍂✨🍂✨🍂✨🍂✨🍂✨🍂✨🍂

Thanks for reading! Pleasae reblog and comment if you enjoyed it!

[pumpkinpiejack]

A couple days ago I sent this ask to @lobotomycastiel and actually ended up writing it. It’s mainly about Dean, Claire, and baby Jack dealing with some of the pain of losing Cas.

You can also read it on AO3.

Three days.

Three days, Dean had been in charge of Jack. Three days since they found him smoldering the blankets on Kelly’s bed, sheets stained with blood. Three days since Dean had picked him up and refused to put him down.

Three days since Dean put Cas’s body on that pyre and watched it burn to nothing but ash and dust.

It stains everything he touches, streaks against Jack's baby pale skin, fingerprints on Sam’s clothes. The taste coating the back of his tongue. He can't escape it, can't drive fast enough to get rid of it. It lingers in the air around him and mocks him for his loss, but he still can’t seem to bring himself to wash it off.

Jack hasn't stopped crying since they lit the pyre. Dean prepared the body himself. He owed this to Cas after everything, to prepare his body right, to make sure his hands were gentle. He carried him out to the pyre too, a baby strapped to his chest, unnaturally quiet in the fading light of the sun.

Dean hadn't been able to finish it. His entire body stood curled around Jack, his face buried in the baby's soft hair as his hands shook so hard he couldn't light the match. He couldn't pour the salt, he couldn't hold the gas can.

His skin felt too tight for his body, like something was trying to escape, an animal in his chest scratching and clawing at the inside of his ribs and everything hurt.

Jack cries and he cries and he cries and Dean is thrown back into every shitty night on the road with Sam as a baby and he can't breathe. He remembers waking up at night to the same sound and curling up in a playpen that was far too small for both him and Sam. He wanted to make it better. He wanted to be able to help and make the crying stop.

But, the only time Jack stops is when Dean holds him and only when it's in a specific way. His tiny cheek needs to be pressed into Dean’s shoulder, just over Cas’s handprint and doesn't that just fucking hurt.

It aches in a whole new way, like he somehow senses Cas there.

The handprint itself has faded over the years. All the times he’s been healed and rebuilt from the inside out, and it is the only thing that remains. A discolored and slightly raised patch of skin that means more to him than any physical object on earth (besides his baby of course).

Three days. Two days to drive home and one day to prepare himself.

Sam made the call. Dean couldn't get Jack to stop crying long enough to do it himself, not without risking waking him up. Even with a day to prepare himself, it still wasn't nearly enough.

When Claire walks in it's like the floor falls out from underneath Dean’s feet. She’s a mess. Her eyes rimmed red, mascara and eyeliner streaking down her face and she looks like she drove straight through the night. Her hands shake, just like his as he hands Jack to Sam.

He holds him awkwardly, his hands too big, too unaccustomed to holding something so fragile. Dean could count the number of times Sam had held Jack on one hand. He couldn't be away from Dean for long or he would start crying, shrill shrieks that shake the very ground they stood on. Cries that cause the glass to rattle in its pane and nearly makes Dean’s ears bleed on more than one occasion.

“You look like a mess.”

“Says you.”

Touché. Dean hasn't slept either, hasn't showered, hasn't eaten. He drove 1,700 miles in two days, a crying baby strapped into his backseat the entire way. He knows he looks like shit. He still has ash smeared across his face, he can't seem to bring himself to wipe it away.

He can't bring himself to be far from Jack, can't stand him crying. He can't look at Jack, his eyes repeatedly drawn to the blue that is so familiar and so foreign all at once. He can't light a match. He can't think about his mom. He can't admit Cas is….

There's a lot he can't do right now.

Claire’s voice is quiet. It’s calm in all the ways that Dean knows that she isn't. He can see the rage boiling under the surface. The sadness, the grief all tangled into a little ball, locked away so deep inside of her that the only place it was visible was her eyes.

She tries to stay strong, but she still looks around as if she’s missing something, because the truth is, she is. She looks around the room searching for the same figure that he does every time he enters a room and they’ll never find it. Not now and never again.

He turns to tell Cas a joke, and he’s not there. He’ll see a blurry image of tan and black out of the corner of his eye and reach out with Jack, a mumbled thank god under his breath, but there’s never anyone there.

He’s just alone as she is, even with three other people in the room.

And then the dam breaks.

“How could you?” Dean keeps looking at her. He owes her that. He looks her in the eye and listens, because he owes her that. He watches as they fill with tears and, god, hers are the same as Jack’s. So similar but not quite right. Almost everything he could ever want and his chest burns.

Cas never cried, even when he was dying on the floor of that barn, black ooze streaming out of his mouth, skin rotting and flaking up the side of his neck, he didn't cry. He just looked at Dean with those blue eyes and told him he loved him, that he loved all of them.

They never got to talk about it.

“You were supposed to keep him safe!” Her voice breaks as she launches herself at him, her fists smacking against his chest, but he can't really feel it. Over and over and over she drives the side of her fist into his chest. Like a little kid throwing a tantrum. He makes no move to stop her, to grab her hands and still them. He just lets her. I owe her this, I deserve this. “You promised me you would keep him safe,” and all at once her anger is gone, washed away with her tears as she leans her head against his chest and she sobs. “How could you?”

Finally, Dean moves. He places a hand on the back of her head, careful of any indication that she didn't want to be touched, but she just leans in farther, collapses into his chest and sobs harder.

She’s so small, so young despite her fiery disposition, he could tuck her perfectly under his chin. Dean remembers feeling on top of the world at her age. Twenty years old and suddenly he could rule the world, tear it all down from the ground up and rebuild it in his own image if he wanted. But here she is, a perfect mirror of him and all he sees is a scared little kid.

He can hear Jack crying in the background, having reached his limit of being away from Dean.

Eventually, she pulls away, shoving him and turning to where Sam is holding Jack uncomfortably. Claire smears her makeup farther down her face. There is still anger in her eyes and part of it scares him. It was the same anger he had held the first time he laid eyes on Jack.

Part of him wanted to leave him there. Part of him wanted to do what he originally planned when he walked into that house gun in hand, but he knows he never would. Jack wasn't a monster. He wasn't anything more than a baby. He cried and screamed and had the tiniest hands and the bluest eyes and even just looking at him made Dean’s heart soften.

Something like that couldn't be a monster anymore than Sam could, or little Bobby John.

So, instead, he scooped Jack up, the baby's skin burning his own, a tiny handprint searing itself onto the skin of his left forearm.

“He looks like Cas.” Claire laughs, but it sounds more like a sob than anything. Jack seems to quiet as she draws closer, his blue eyes widening as he takes her in. He’s so small in Sam's arms, blinking and whimpering as his crying petered down to nothing.

“Yeah he does.” Dean’s voice is rough as he reaches out to take Jack from Sam’s arms.

Sam is looking at the two of them, his eyes flickering between them as if it was a tennis match, a furrow between his brows. He is probably just as confused as Dean is.

Jack doesn't just stop crying. He either cries so much that he passes out or Dean spends hours with him pressed against the last fading remnants of the handprint, humming and rocking him. To see him just fade off while still awake was damn near a miracle.

Claire collapses in one of the chairs around the radar and holds out her arms expectantly.

“Come on, then.” Dean lets out a huff of laughter, or something as close to it as he's gotten since everything. He moves closer with Jack in his arms and slides him into Claire’s. Jack coos and waves his hands around. It's the uncontrolled movements of a newborn, more of a muscle spasm than anything, and Claire snorts out another little laugh as he accidentally smacks her collarbone.

“He’s so calm.” Sam's voice is awed.

Dean is right there with him, Jack isn't crying, he isn't uncomfortable. For the first time, he seems almost happy. He curls closer to her and lets out the tiniest yawn, his eyes crunching closed. Claire looks mesmerized. She gives Jack her fingers and he wraps his whole hand around them.

“I'm staying.” Claire says suddenly, eyes still locked with Jack’s. She can't seem to look away and neither can he.

“Okay.” And it’s as simple as that.

-

Three days. 84 hours, with no more sleep than a cat nap here and there and yet he still couldn’t seem to fall asleep. Every time he tries, he manages to get five steps away from Jack’s bassinet before he starts to scream and he couldn't exactly sleep with the baby on him, not when he could wake up from a nightmare fighting.

So he wanders the bunker. Up and down through the levels, crisscrossing through the hallways. Jack is tucked up against his shoulder like always. The thumb of the handprint brushes against his cheek in the mockery of a caress. He’s whimpering slightly, but at the very least he hasn’t completely started crying yet.

Dean reaches the kitchen only to find it already occupied. Claire is perched on the counter, a beer in one hand and the other wiping away another round of tears. Dean debates leaving her there, but finds that he can’t.

He’s been there more than a handful of times and during each one he was constantly torn between wanting to be left the fuck alone and wanting someone to notice. He wanted someone to realize that he wasn’t doing okay, to sit there with him as he broke apart. He never wanted to talk, didn’t want to cry in front of them, but realizing that someone cared enough to notice his downward spiral always seemed to help in its own fucked up way.

So, Dean pulls the bottle from her loose fingertips and puts on a pot of coffee. Claire makes grabby-hands at him until he relents, handing over Jack who just coos and twines his hands into her leather jacket. Well, Dean’s leather jacket. The same one she had snagged from his closet not too long ago, as if he wouldn’t notice. Jack immediately falls more silent than he’s been all day, his eyes sliding shut with another yawn that is far too big for his tiny body.

She’s so good with him already, her hands gentle as they shush him.

Claire thinks her hands are made for violence, for torture, for killing, for hunting. She thinks that’s all they’ll ever really be good for. She’s a predator, a soldier, made for a war that she didn’t know existed until it ruined her life. But those hands are also for protecting, for comforting, for saving.

She is good, at her core. Gentle and loving and all of Dean and Cas and Sam and Jody and Donna’s good traits all mixed into one girl who stands before him. A better person than he’ll ever be.

She’s stolen his bad traits too, the same way she stole that jacket. Put it on as a layer of protection against the world. It’s too big for her, doesn’t fit quite right, because it’s not hers and it’s not Dean’s either. It was too big for Dean too when he first put it on 20 years ago and he doesn’t know if he ever actually grew into it, or just thinks he did.

Together, they sit, shoulder to shoulder and don't say anything and that’s enough for the both of them. They drink their coffee until they can blame their shaking hands on that and listen to Jack’s even breathing.

Dean doesn’t move, even as Claire rests her head against his shoulder, the same shoulder Jack does, and he feels the tears soak in.

Four days. 96 hours and Jack finally manages to fall asleep without crying.

-

Nine days.

Nine days and he’s barely surviving. He can’t move, he can’t breathe, he can’t exist without something tearing at him from the inside out. But, he continues on anyway.

So many things he can’t do. So many contradictions that have slowly become his life.

Claire and him have a system. They work like a machine, two parts of the same person. They don’t look at each other, they can’t. Dean sees all the ways she looks like Cas, all the ways she looks like him, and she sees all the ways he’s failed her.

But they work together, anyway, for Jack.

And that scares him too.

It’s hard to see her with him and not see himself reflected back. He was a lot younger when he first had to learn how to change a diaper or make a bottle but she’s still too young to have that responsibility thrown onto her.

Claire takes to it like she takes to everything else: a fake grin that he can spot from a mile away and a sly joke.

She pours formula into the bottle and he gets his bath ready and at night they sit together on the counter and they watch over Jack. On the nights they manage to sleep he can hear her sneak into his room and pass out in the chair closest to Jack’s bassinet. Four hours later, he guides her into the bed and takes up her spot.

It never fails to make him feel like shit when she steals Jack’s from his hands. Makes him feel like John.

Dean doesn’t tell Sam this, but he somehow knows, the same way he always does.

Sam looks at him as he looks at Claire and marches up to him with a furrow in his brow and Dean knows that he’s not going to like whatever comes out of Sam’s mouth next.

“Can we talk?”

“No.” Sam gives him a harsh look and grabs his arm, dragging him out of the room anyway, down the hall and around the corner so their voices won’t travel.

“Sam, I said no.” Dean doesn’t even have the strength to pull his arm out of Sam’s grip, he’s just so tired.

“Yeah, well, I don’t care.” Sam leans against the wall across from him, his hands open by his side, his shoulders slouched. “Look at me, Dean, you need to let Claire help you.”

“I have.”

“No you haven’t.” Sam sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Dean really wants to take a pair of clippers to it. “She helps you, but you don’t let her.”

“Well, maybe it’s because it’s not her responsibility.” Dean crosses his arms, feet squared, even as he sways slightly.

“And it’s somehow yours? Dean, we were all friends with Cas.”

Were, were, were. Past tense, always past tense because Cas is gone. He’s not coming back, he’s ash and bone on a beach 20 hours away, and Dean took a shower but he can still somehow taste it on the back of his throat. His burns sting when he moves his hands. The handprint of his forearm reminds him of the one on his shoulder and he can’t breathe.

“Yes.” Dean chokes out. “Yes. He’s my responsibility and I’m not going to push that onto someone else just because I want to drink or sleep or go on a hunt.”

Dean watches as Sam’s entire face goes blank. He shuts down for a moment before coming back to life all at once, like a computer rebooting itself after it’s been overloaded.

“Dean.” It’s Sam’s turn to choke out the word. “Dean you're not dad.” Dean bolts upright and suddenly wants to punch something. He wants to scream and yell and feel the crunch of wood and bone under his feet.

He doesn’t even have the excuse of the Mark of Cain this time. Just his own shitty emotions getting the better of him.

“I’m not talking about this.”

“Yes we are.” Sam catches Dean's sleeve and Dean nearly socks him on principle. “Dean letting people help you isn't bad, that’s what new parents do. Claire isn’t four, she can choose whether she wants to help or not and right now she wants to help. So let her.”

Dean knows. He knows for as much as Claire acts like him, she isn’t him, but it’s hard to divorce the two ideas when he looks at her everyday and sees a mirror.

She’s been getting more frustrated over the week because Dean won’t let her help. She has to push her way through him in order to do anything useful. Dean can’t stop her from staying awake but he can make sure that he gets everything done before she does so she doesn’t have to.

Dean doesn’t want Claire to feel like she needs to help just because she can calm Jack down. She deserves to have her own life. To go out and hunt and have fun if she wants to and not have to take care of a newborn that is needier than most. But no matter what he does, she’s still right there next to him, trying to help in any way she can.

Dean rips his arm out of Sam’s grip and marches back to where Claire is holding a whimpering Jack. His eyes glow gold ever so often, but she just shushes him with a kiss on the forehead.

Claire already loves that kid. Loves him enough that she would put his life before hers. And you know what? Dean can’t even bring himself to blame her when he made the same choice at four.

Dean collapses into the chair next to her and reaches out to grab him.

“Do you want to go get his bottle ready while I try to keep him settled?” The smile she sends his way is worth more than anything.

-

“So I’ve been trying to find out why you two, in particular, calm Jack down so much.” Sam’s voice echoed through the bunker, breaking the suffocating silence they’ve been in for so long. He stares at the two perched in their usual spot on the counter, a single mug of coffee teetering between them, lipstick smears on one side.

They look like shit.

In sync they give him a raised eyebrow. Claire passes Jack over to Dean, the baby snuffling in his sleep, and snatches the coffee cup from his hand. She makes sure to twist it before taking a drink, lining up with the lipstick mark already there.

“Well back when that whole thing happened like four years back, we found out that angels leave a bit of grace behind.”

No.

“And that handprint was a direct tie from soul to grace.”

No.

“I think he’s reacting to Cas’s grace that remains inside of you. He obviously bonded with Cas before he was even born you remember the park as well as I do. It must calm him down, since Cas isn’t-”

Claire bolts up and Dean sees the coffee cup tip in slow motion, spilling down to the floor with a crash. She’s angry.

She’s so fucking angry it’s like looking in a mirror.

Dean can’t even blame her when she leaves. Walks right out of the kitchen and he can hear the front door slam echoing throughout the entire bunker. He’s just as mad. He wants to rage, he wants to throw the mug against the wall, he wants to scream because Cas left.

He left them with a kid and a piece of himself embedded underneath Dean’s skin that he can never get out. And he left.

He’s gone, turned to ash and dust on the wind and never coming back. No begging and pleading and praying will help them this time. It won’t get him back, it won’t get this piece of Cas under his skin out.

All he gets is the shitty consolation prize of a piece of his best friend's soul under his skin and the grief that keeps him on the teetering edge of insanity. All he gets is his family more broken than before and apparently a connection to a twenty year old who would sooner wish him dead than help her.

All he gets is flashes of something familiar out of the corner of his eye that disappears as soon as he turns and a lingering figure standing behind him in the mirror. Dean has stopped reacting to it. He’s stopped spinning wildly at the sight only to find no one there, he finds he can’t take the disappointment, the heartbreak.

But instead, he chases Claire out the front door, because honestly he can’t take another loss. Not right now.

Jack is still in his arms, working himself up into crying as Claire gets further away.

They catch up to her halfway down the road, her shoulders shaking with the force of holding back her sobs.

“Claire, stop.” Dean calls out and she stops walking but doesn’t turn. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” She nearly shouts it, somehow curling in on herself farther. “It’s not okay. It’s always something new and I can’t.”

“Claire-”

“Don’t look at me.” Claire begs and Dean gets it. He does want anyone to see him cry either so he turns around and presses his lips into Jack’s hair.

“I just-” Claire starts and stops like a car sputtering to life and he can hear her growing more frustrated with every breath. “I keep-” Finally she breaks and lunges forward. Dean thinks she’s going to start hitting him again, like the first day she showed up, but she just rests her forehead between his shoulder blades.

“I keep losing everything.” Claire starts. “I lost my dad for a year and then he comes back and I lose him again and this time it’s my fault.” Dean doesn’t interrupt but he wants to tell her it’s okay. That none of this is her fault. That it was his, and Sam’s, and Cas’s but not hers. Never hers. “My dad wanted to protect me so he let Cas in again and now he’s dead and my mom couldn’t even look at me. She blamed me, I could tell. If I had just said no- but, she left too and now she’s dead. And Randy is dead and now Cas is dead too and I keep losing.” She’s sobbing now, her arms tucked up between her chest and Dean’s back. He’s tempted to turn around, but she doesn’t seem to be done.

“Every time I have Jack it’s like suddenly I’m okay, like I’m whole again. I feel like he’s not actually gone, like I’ll turn around and he’ll be there, the stupid look on his face.” She presses closer, and gently knocks her head into his back over and over again. “And now I know it’s not even because of me, I’m not getting better. It’s just this piece of grace still in me that’s making me think that way and I can’t. I just ca-”

“I know.” Dean finally spins and tucks her under his chin. Jack is squished between them, his eyes glowing gold in the fading light of the sun. They’d have to get back inside soon or he’d get cold. But for now, he just holds the two of them close. She tucks herself impossibly closer, her hands gripping the back of his shirt like a lifeline. “Trust me I know. My dad made a deal to protect me and I still haven’t forgiven him to this day, even though I’ve done the same for Sammy more times than I’d like to admit.”

“That guilt never goes away.” He admits, and presses a kiss to the crown of her head. He wishes Charlie where here. She always seemed to know what to do. “You’ll never forget the people who have sacrificed themselves for you. You’ll love them and hate them and want them back and never want to see them again and it’ll always be confusing.”

“Are you trying to make me feel better.” She laughs and it’s one of the best sounds in the world. It makes the knot in Dean’s chest unclench just a fraction so he can laugh back.

“Yeah I am, because we’ll figure it out together. You have us now and if anyone knows about survivors guilt it me and Sam.” Claire let’s out another laugh and Dean presses another kiss to her head before pulling away. “Come on we have to get back inside before it gets too cold for him.” Claire nods and wipes away the majority of her tear tracks before making the same grabby hands she always does.

Dean slides Jack into her arms and pulls her in for another hug.

“Together?” He makes a sweeping gesture back to the bunker and she snorts.

“Together.”

[ladyfiresfanfiction]

Flying the Nest - One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest Fic - Chapter One

I’ve had this fic percolating in my brain for about four months and I am now just letting it flow. I hope you guys will like it! Please let me know what you all think. I’m a bit rusty haha, so I hope I don’t suck! Chapter One under the cut. Chapter two will be posted tomorrow!

I am standing shakily in the hallway of a whitewashed building. Ahead is rows and rows of rooms, art and photography and pamphlets adorn the walls. But I am staring with utmost fascination at the black and white and brownish designs of the tiled floor. Snapped back to the unpleasant present by a nurse not much older than I, I'm guided through heavy white double doors into what I would usually call the Room of Hell; a peer counseling room or area in multiple buildings I have become well acquainted with in the last eighteen months.

To my surprise, I am met with familiar blue-green eyes and a face turning ashen with shock upon seeing me. My older brother, Mac.

"Baby Jane? What the hell are you doing here?" Mac asks in his gruff yet gravelly voice. I shrug, forcing a slight smile as he walks toward me, against the wishes of the bitchy looking blonde nurse seated less than one hundred yards ahead of me and envelopes me in his infamous bear hugs I had missed greatly. I found myself holding tightly to my brother's arms, afraid that if I were to let go, I would break into pieces in the middle of the room that would soon become my greatest fear and biggest location of loathing.

"Alright, Mister McMurphy, let your sister go now, thank you. And Miss McMurphy, please take the empty seat right here, between your brother and Mister Bibbit. Thank you. My name is Nurse Ratchet, welcome to our home of healing." The nurse said as I took my seat. As I sat down, my eyes locked onto the bluest eyes I have ever seen, so much so that my heart skipped a beat.

"Ah, yes," Mac laughed as my cheeks turned a light pink. "This is the man of the hour, Janie. His name is-" "M-m-m-my name is-i-is b-bi-b-Billy." The beautiful boy with gorgeous blue eyes stammered. "I-it-its nice to m-m-meet you, Miss." He finished with a shy smile.

Before I could utter a reply to Billy, I was interrupted.

"Miss Jane McMurphy? Come with me, please." The resident doctor, named Doctor Spivey. My heart started hammering in my chest as I reflexively grabbed Mac's hand. Doctor Spivey was a reserved yet kind-looking man as he waited patiently in the doorway, noticing the apprehension on my face. Mac patted my shoulder with encouragement as he nodded towards Spivey.

"I'm just a couple of rooms away, Janie. He's a nice doc. Go on, now, and I'll give ya a tour when you're back." Mac said in a low voice, nodding toward the waiting doctor. I let go of his hand as I stood up and slowly walked towards Spivey. He waved his hand toward the left corridor and said the admissions room was on the left. I whispered something I couldn't even hear and walked slowly as if the path I was taking was going straight to the gates of the Underworld. Doctor Spivey walked a couple of paces behind me, guiding me to the right room, or possibly making sure I didn't try to bolt to the entrance door about fifty steps from his office.

As we made it into the office, he waved his hand toward a comfortable-looking brown leather chair behind a large mahogany desk. It had a manilla envelope with what could be mistaken as someone's novel manuscript but was actually my medical history and doctor's notes from past mental hospital and emergency room stays since July of '61, nearly two years ago.

"Make yourself at home, Miss McMurphy," Doctor Spivey began as he took his seat in a large-looking leather desk chair that matched his massive desk. He peered over my notes, tsking at some parts while his sparse salt-and-pepper-colored eyebrows shot up at other areas of my history. When he finally looked at me, I felt my stomach lurch and the room became unbearably hot. I knew I was in the middle of a raging panic attack, but I tried to keep on my Pokerface in fear of what might happen if I started to become undone.

"Well now, Miss McMurphy. Says here you are about to turn twenty-two years of age and were a junior in college. What uh, brings you here?" He asked, softly. "My... ex-fiance, he killed himself almost two years ago. I had also been dealing with physical health setbacks and was falling behind in classes on top of his untimely death. I just... Couldn't handle it anymore." I replied while my voice was barely above a whisper. "I see. It also says here you've overdosed on opium and cocaine, as well as gotten alcohol poisoning a few times. Is that right?" He asked, his eyes boring into me over thick black spectacles. "Well, like I said, I wasn't handling Charles's death... well... And I have been in and out of the hospital since my freshman year of high school. I just wanted everything to stop." I replied in a flat tone. "Your brother wasn't around much, I see. He had no idea you were in this much emotional distress? And what of your parents?" The doctor asked, watching me closely.

I could feel my forehead begin to prickle with droplets of sweat and my knuckles turned white as I gripped the wood arms of the chair. I tried to gather my thoughts so I could talk in a more rational way, but my throat kept closing and opening, and my eyes began to fill with white-hot tears anytime I opened my mouth, which caused me to shut it and open it a number of times.

"We're more than happy to keep you on as a patient in our ward. I feel you could benefit from our help and could leave quite possibly around the time your brother does We offer services to get you back on your feet once you feel comfortable and safe enough on your own. There is a ladies ward a floor right above the men. You are welcome to visit your brother in the daytime, but we do have strict rules about nightly visits and no, um, congregating with the male patients here.  We have activities as well as counseling to help when things are rough. I need to finish looking over your medical history and we will see what we can give you to help with these night terrors and panic attacks. I'll take you back to Nurse Ratched now, she or Mac can take you to the second floor or give you a tour of our ward. If you have any questions please let me know. You can always let Nurse Ratched or the other nurses know when you need to speak with me. I usually meet with my patients once a week in the morning.

It was a lot to take in, but I nodded, only half-listening. So far this was still a voluntary thing and I could leave whenever I wished. However, now that I knew Mac was here, I was thinking of waiting until he left with me. I didn't trust myself alone anymore. And I couldn't get that beautiful blue-eyed boy out of my head. Charles always said he would send me people when I needed them most and he couldn't be there for me. I was beginning to wonder if he sent me to Oregon State Hospital, and brought me back to my long-lost brother. As I walked back into the Room of Hell, facing who I was sure was Satan's wife, I smiled half-condescendingly to her and made my way to Mac, ready to see where I would be staying for at least the next month, or longer.

"Ready to tell me what the hell is going on and why you haven't called me, Janie?" Mac asked, looking concerned. "Yeah, let's talk while we explore this house full of nuts," I smirked, making Mac laugh. "Okay then. Let's start from the beginning, shall we?" He asked, extending his arm to me. "It's not pretty, but I'm sure this place isn't so pretty either," I replied, placing my hand on his arm as we began to walk towards the front of the building. "Something tells me your story isn't that pretty either, sister. Now start talking."

[d4gotten]

Title: Don't Count the Stars

Pairing: Midorima x Takao

Rate/Tags: Teen above, fluff, established relationship

Summary:

Once Oha-asa declared Scorpio was at the last place, and that the best way to achieve good luck was to go to a place that reaches the stars, Takao knew his weekend plans were done for. Midorima rang him the second the reporter finished, requesting formally that the raven haired be prepared for a hundred- foot journey up a mountain.

"But why the mountains!?" he guffawed, already walking with Midorima to the train station in their hiking apparel with their backpacks on and Midorima still itemless. "I get it, we need to get your lucky item from a souvenir store at the foot of the mountain-"

"A Hannya brimstone is more likely to be effective coming from its original store location."

"Pffft. It's not like luck dimishes with delivery. That's how you get your other items! But seriously, a planetarium is less of a hassle."

"Takao," the ace said, voice reprimanding, "To do the best--"

It was drowned out by the sound of the train that wheezed past them and the two boarded with Takao laughing at how Midorima's legs will always be too long for the accomdating seats. Midorima found nothing funny. He was restless throughout the ride, only comforted once they secured his lucky item to which Takao commented "scarier than any apparition up the mountain peak."

"This is yours." the ace proceeded to hand him a Tengu brimstone charm.

"It's not my lucky item, Shin-chan. It's something about stars, remember?"

"Of course I remember-nandayo. It's a partner of mine, they must not be separated."

"I don't think this will save me getting lost in the mountain, though." he took it gratefully.

"Why do you think you will get lost?" Midorima asked before shooting his boyfriend a devastating look. Of course Midorima knew the reason. Takao only gave his ace-sama a grin.

The trail was dry given the approaching summer. The sky was the bluest with ample clouds that shielded them from the glaring sun. Much to Midorima's chagrin, the hike proved to be challenging, not because of the leg excercise (they have Shutoku training menu that could kill the unfit), but of Takao's innate skill to be care less. Midorima knew Takao was not immune from being, well, Takao. It was like the point guard wanted nothing to do with the safe trail. Once or twice, Midorima had to chastise him from pointing at paths no feet had ever treaded upon with an obvious look of excitement on his face.

"No. Don't forget your rank for today."

"You're right, but wouldn't it be awesome to know if there were hidden lakes or waterfalls in unknown webbed corners?"

"Unlikely. It would have been spotted by aerial cameras for geographic purposes. There are no such things here."

"That's why I said hidden."

"Do not forget our goal here, Takao." Midorima said, pulling Takao by his back collar for trying to casually go off to another path. The ace had kept a careful eye on the pointguard who naturally was pleased with the attention. It was one thing to invite his ever so firm boyfriend to embrace the sense of adventure and live life a little since they rarely hike up mountains, but it was another to convince Shin-chan that with his Hawkeye, he could definitely get them back on the trail in no time.

"Don't you trust me?"

"Let's not tempt fate," Midorima said, running his long taped fingers on Takao's hair and smoothing out a leaf that had gotten stuck there. The flush that rose to the point guard's cheeks was easily covered by his already red and perspiring body after two hours of walking.

Takao behaved after that.

The summit was empty when they reached it. Takao dropped dead on the ground while Midorima proceeded on fixing their tent. Everything was alright when Takao volunteered to get the woods for a bonfire. It seemed what hikers say was true, there is a different energy for when you reach the top of the mountain.

Midorima sighed and went with him anyway.

"You really don't trust me, eh?" Takao said bitingly. Midorima only pushed his glasses back at the bridge of his nose.

"It's not a question of trust, but of ranks."

Takao hummed, then glanced at his ace-sama thoughtfully, "So the best thing is to really stay with Shin-chan after all."

Midorima agreed. His luck would have to help Takao get through it. Plus, they were indeed, near the sky.

Dusk found them outside the tent, Midorina reading a book as he leaned on a tree while Takao chatted animatedly. They did not miss the sunset, the orange orb sinking in the horizon, bringing with it the light of the day, while around it the sky swirled of colours, red and pink then purple as darkness began to reign and consumed everything. The first star appeared just as they were preparing their dinner, cool breeze enveloping their skin as they watched the stars occupy the black veil like glitters. They stayed around the bonfire a few hours after cleaning up dinner, Midorima taking out an extra clean blanket to use as cover for the ground. The best hours to stargazed was between midnight and twilight and that they did not miss. It was a party of stars in the milky way to behold.

"They're all really up there," Takao said in awe, speaking for the first time since Midorima woke him up for the promised starshow. "There's so many no one would notice if one of them dropped out and fall to the ground. I mean look, even if I count-"

"Don't." Midorima said quietly, his glasses reflecting that star light, "It's been said it's bad luck to count the stars. A legend said you'd die when you reach 100."

Takao considered chuckling, only to find his breath taken at the spectacular view.

"Who'd count those anyway,"

"You can with your sharp eyes."

"Oh yeah-"

"Don't."

"You realized you just tempted me to do so?"

"I'd rather not have my long life partner to be haunted by badluck."

"Oh, Shin-chan? Did you just propose to me? Again? " Takao snickered while Midorima only gazed back the sky. It was nothing surprising. Midorima, from the time they became a couple, had been threatening to propose every minute of the day. Takao was baffled at first, but it was just like Midorima... To do everything he can as best as he could once he set his eyes upon something. So Takao could never feel he will ever be unlucky. Not with this, not with what they have. Maybe until Shin-chan gets tired of him, something which Takao didn't have the heart to deal with. As long as Shin-chan was still happy with him.

"Hey, Shinchan-" he pointed up. Midorima quickly wrapped his taped hand around Takao's knuckle.

"Don't count. Takao, know I don't want anything close to badluck when it is about you." Takao pressed his lips at how affected Midorima was about it. He does care about their relationship to the extent of paving the way to even make fate agree.

"I'm not," Takao whispered, gulping at the warm touch that gradually slid off his skin as Shin-chan let go but the lingering feeling remained, "But I was saying... that's Cancer right?" he pointed at the pattern on the sky. The mountain was too dark, the stars were like lamps, they all could be seen like fire.

Midorima was quiet.

"Yes."

"And that's Sagittarius?" there was a pause where Midorima frowned.

"That's not your sign. That's Akashi's."

Takao chuckled. "I know that. We both know all the Generation of Miracles' star signs, we even know their Oha Asa! What I mean is... Look at that? Cancer and Sagittarius are much closer up the sky than say... Scorpio beneath Sagittarius. Even the Zodiacs declares it. It's really not close, yours and mine." then as an after thought, a whisper to himself, "I wish our signs are closer."

The stars twinkled with no care for his melancholy. The world continued to revolved and he remained a tiny speck.

"Where are you looking at, Takao. Your Cancer is right here."

He glanced beside him. Shin-chan's eyes were on him, fiery and firm. The ace reached for his hand again and held it tight, knocking out the air from Takao's lungs as they gazed at each other, long and meaningful.

The stars were there in Shin-chan's eyes.

"It's closer, isn't it?". Midorima demanded quietly. Takao blinked, then brightened a she beamed and drew closer to the warm of his ace-sama, butterflies awoken in his stomach and flapping even to his ears.

"That's right. We didn't really have to go here, Shin-chan. I have all the luck... because Shin-chan is my star."

Midorima's silent agreement could be seen in the crinkle of the corners of his eyes and his soft smile that made Takao feel like stars just exploded in his chest. He entwined their hands together and tugged Midorima closer.

"The tent looks cozy now," he whispered, glad for the darkness that masked the blush of his cheeks. Midorima raised himself on one elbow, leaned to him and captured his lips. It seared hot Takao's body, ridding of any part of his skin that remained cold under the cool twilight breeze. Midorima continued to set fire in his body, crawling on top of him, Takao clutching the front of the shootingguard's shirt as they made a mess under the milkyway with stars as their witness.

"You just dragged me here for the milkyway makeout," Takao accused once Shin-chan pulled him to his feet, his lips still burning from the passionate kiss.

"The weather did say it is the best date for stargazing."

"Well, it is the best date so far." Takao let himself get wrapped around Shin-chan's long arm as they headed to the tent. "But if Shin-chan is my lucky item, even if we really did go off the trails, with you beside me, we're bound to get lucky!"

Midorima grimaced as he prodded Takao into the tent, leaving the zippers open as the bonfire danced outside, helping Takao out of his clothes while the raven haired chased his lips to continue where they left off.

"I would not recommend it. Not after we're done here until dawn." Takao's burst of laughter was music to his ears.

"Oh, Shin-chan, you animal!"

The Hangul and Tengu charms left outside the bonfire reflected the blazing fire, grinning up manically at the night sky.

[delightfully-difficult-pirate]

Kittens for Quarantine (1/2) (CSJJ Day 16)

A/N: I originally came up with this idea during lockdown in 2020, when YouTube channels like Kitten Academy and Kitten Lady were essential to my sanity (what little of it there is).  I hoped to have it finished in time for today, but it turned into more of a beast that I anticipated, so I’m afraid I’ll have to post it in two parts.  Part 2 will come in Feb, as to not distract from any of the wonderful CSJJ pieces scheduled for the second half of January.  

Thank you @csjanuaryjoy​ for all your hard work organizing this event!!!

Trigger warning: Pandemic. 

Summary: During a storm, a stray cat runs into Emma’s home. Killian, Storybrooke’s new shelter manager, comes to help her out but some more unexpected arrivals mean Emma and her son are going to need a crash course on cat and kitten care.  

AO3

                                                           ~*~

Arms laden with bags of groceries and rain pelting her face, Emma Swan struggled to get the key into the lock of her front door.  Wet strands of her blonde hair stuck to her face, obscuring her vision even more.

Just as she was about to give up and call her 12 year-old son, Henry, to come open the door for her, the key slipped into the lock.  Emma shouldered open the door before dropping the bags onto the floor so they held it open.

"Henry, come start putting the groceries away," She yelled into the large house.

Too large of a house for just the two of them, honestly, but Emma had fallen in love with the blue Queen Anne Revival-style home when her realtor first gave them a tour, even though it was a little of a fixer-upper.  At over 100-years-old, that was to be expected.  It had been a little out of her price range until the City of Storybrooke helped her secure a better mortgage deal, as long as she agreed to restore the home to its former glory.  

The arrival of her help was preceded by loud thumps as Henry ran down the stairs.  He flashed her a grin as he grabbed a couple of bags and hauled them to the kitchen.

With a shake, Emma prepared herself to brave the raging storm once again to retrieve the remaining bags.  She'd hoped to be home before it started, but Leroy's van broke down in the middle of Main Street and she'd needed to help divert traffic until the tow truck could get there. She was lucky, she reminded herself as she loaded her arms up with bags, that Storybrooke was such a calm town and rarely needed its Sheriff for anything serious enough to keep her from getting home on time.  A far cry from her years working as a bail bonds agent in Boston.

A streak of lightning blinded Emma for a moment as she made her way toward her house, followed shortly after by a large crash of thunder.  She hoped that the storm wouldn't damage any powerlines.  She'd just bought two pints of ice-cream... which were sitting on the kitchen counter, melting, with no Henry in sight.

With a frown, Emma kicked the door shut.  It wasn't like Henry to abandon a job half done, nor to abuse ice-cream in such away.  After dropping the bags on the kitchen floor and her reusable fabric mask in the basket marked "Dirty", she washed her hands before going in search of her son.

"Kid, where’d you go?" she called out.

Emma almost missed his reply thanks to another crash of thunder but she was just able to hear enough to determine he was upstairs, and she found him in her bedroom on the top floor.  He was crouched on the floor and looking underneath her bed.  Henry looked up when she entered and told her, "I saw something small run into the house while you were outside and followed it in here. I think it’s a cat."

Emma blinked in shock. A cat?

She joined Henry on the floor and peered under her bed.  A pair of yellow eyes set in a colorful face stared back at her.

Wide-eyed, she sat back on her heels.  There was definitely a cat under her bed.  Not an ideal situation but it was a hundred times better than the other likely hood, a raccoon.

"Umm... I guess we should call David?"

Henry nodded in agreement.  Emma's good friend and Deputy was the head volunteer for the local animal shelter and would be able to arrange for someone to come and get their interloper. After she shooed Henry back downstairs to finish putting away the groceries, Emma called David.

He answered with a cheerful "Emma!"

“A cat ran into the house and is hiding under my bed," she blurted out.

There was a pause before David let out a boisterous laugh. "Sorry, sorry," he said, sounding breathless, "that was not what I was expecting."

"Neither was I," she replied.

David chuckled at her sardonic tone. "I'll give Killian a call. He'll be able to coordinate someone to come help you out."

"Who?"

"Killian Jones, the new Shelter Manager the City hired. He started about six weeks ago, not long before lockdown started."

Emma vaguely remembered a discussion during a City Council meeting last year about a grant from the state to expand the shelter, which also allowed for more full-time staff to be hired.  But she didn't recall anything on the topic after that.  Of course, she could barely remember what happened last week since 2020 was so chaotic.  

"I don't think I've met him yet," she admitted.  Normally, Emma made a point to introduce herself to new people who moved to town.  But with social interaction outside your household being discouraged due to the pandemic, she wasn't doing so.

"He used to help run a not-for-profit rescue group in NYC," David told her. “Grew tired of city life, though, and wanted a change."

Given the current situation in NYC, he was lucky to have moved to Maine when he did, Emma mused.

"Anyways, I'll give him your number so he can reach out."

After a quick thanks, Emma ended the call.  With a sigh, she stretched out on her stomach and eyed her unexpected guest.  The cat hadn't moved and continued to stare back at her.  Its face was a mix of black, orange and white. The pupils of its eyes looked fully dilated and its ears were flat and sticking out sideways, which worried Emma until a quick internet search informed her that the cat was probably anxious or afraid and unlikely to become aggressive unless they began to feel threatened.  Which would probably be the case if Emma tried to remove the cat from its current hiding spot on her own.  As much as she didn't want to invite a possible stranger into her home, much less her bedroom, she also didn't want to risk getting bit and/or scratched, and having to make a visit to the hospital as a result.

Resigned to waiting for the animal expert, Emma heaved herself up off the floor.  She left the cat trapped in her bedroom and made her way downstairs.  Henry already had most of the groceries away, except those that needed to go in places he couldn't reach.  Though with the way he was growing, it wouldn't be long before she would need to find a new hiding spot for her secret stash of chocolate.

Her phone rang around 10 minutes later, vibrating loudly on the kitchen table.  Since it was a number she didn't recognize, she hoped it was Killian Jones or another shelter volunteer who could help her out.

"Is this Emma Swan?" A surprisingly accented voice replied to her casual greeting.  At her affirmative, her caller continued, "this is Killian; David told me you have a bit of a problem with a stray cat.''

"You could say that. It ran inside and has taken up residence under my bed."

A deep chuckle reverberated across the line. "Probably seeking shelter from the storm.”

Honestly, Emma couldn't blame the cat for wanting inside where it was warm and dry.  She'd done the same during her time on the streets, even going so far as to break into empty houses when desperate.

"I'd rather not call out any of the volunteers in this weather, but it'll be around an hour until I can make it over to help you out. Will that be alright?"

Emma's nose scrunched in annoyance at having to wait, but reminded herself that this wasn't exactly an emergency.  After telling Killian that would be fine, they ended the call and Emma text him her address.

To pass the time, Emma set about making a simple dinner of grilled cheese and tomato soup for Henry and herself.  They were doing the dishes, her washing and him drying, when there was a knock on the door. They both donned clean masks before she pulled the door open and she found herself looking into a pair of the bluest eyes she'd ever seen.  They and some black eyebrows were all that was visible of the man's face, since he wore a beanie pulled low over his forehead and a colorful paw-print patterned mask.

"Emma Swan, I hope?" The man – Killian - asked.  She nodded and quickly invited him inside as lightning streaked across the sky.  She didn't want another startled animal running inside after all.

Killian removed a wet rain jacket, plaid scarf, and beanie, hanging them on the coat tree by the door.  His dark hair was flat against his head thanks to the beanie until he ran a hand through it, mussing the strands until they were casually messy.  He wore a dark button-up under an equally dark vest – who still wore vests - with the top few buttons undone, revealing a decent amount chest hair and the chain of a long necklace.  This was paired with tight, black jeans that hugged a trim waist above sturdy looking boots.  

Emma wasn't sure what she was expecting someone who ran an animal shelter to look like, but sexy punk-rock professor wasn't it.  When her eyes returned to Killian’s face, she realized that he must have been aware that she’d been checking him out because she was met with a raised brow and amused blue eyes.  She’d bet money that he was smirking beneath his mask as well.

“The cat is upstairs,” she announced before turning around to hide the blush she could feel making its way up her neck.  She listened to Henry regale Killian with the tale of the cat’s sudden arrival as she led the way upstairs.  At her door, she paused.

“Excuse the mess.  We only moved in a few weeks ago,” Emma murmured, suddenly feeling the need to explain the piles of boxes still scattered around her room.  

Killian’s soft laugh sent a shiver down her back.  “Don’t worry lass, I won’t judge.  Been in my new place for nearly two months and still have a fair few boxes left myself.”

With a sharp nod, she let Killian into her room, but directed Henry to remain in the hall.  She stood back as Killian set down a small cat carrier she hasn’t noticed before and kneeled next to her bed, peering under it. She tried not to watch as his jeans hugged his shapely ass even more than before.

Killian raised his head and looked at her over his shoulder. “Lass, there is no cat under there.”

“What?” Emma immediately dropped down and looked for herself, but Killian was right.  There was no cat underneath her bed anymore.  She jumped up and looked around for any other places where a cat could go.  The door to her ensuite bathroom was closed, as was the one to her closet.

“She’s probably behind some of the boxes.”  

They started checking the various nooks and corners created by the haphazard piles of boxes.  She was about to pick-up a partially open box labeled “blankets” when she heard a small squeak come from within it.  Startled, she slowly lifted the flap of the box to peer inside.

“Umm…” was all she could initially get out.  “I found the cat.”

Killian appeared at her shoulder and let out a surprised “oh!” when he looked down.  Inside the box was not only the cat from earlier, which Emma could now see was a calico, but also two small, squirming kittens.  One was black with little white paws and the other looked to be a calico like the mother.  

“Look at you,” Killian crooned at the cat as he folded back all the flaps of the box. “Such a good mom, finding somewhere safe to have your babies.”

Emma marveled at how small the kittens were and couldn’t bring herself to be upset that they’d been born on one of her favorite knit blankets.  Everyone one, cats included, deserved a safe, comfortable place to give birth.

Killian slowly reached his hand into the box.  The mom cat watched attentively but didn’t make any move to stop Killian as he carefully grabbed the black kitten and lifted it partway out of the box.  It let out a high pitched squeak and flailed its small limbs as Killian checked it over.  As he did so, Emma noticed that he was still wearing a glove on his left hand and that it appeared oddly stiff.

“I think that one is a little boy,” he whispered, placing the kitten back at a nipple to nurse.  He repeated the processes with the calico kitten, who he declared it was most likely a girl.

“Male calicos,” he told her in a calm, soft voice, poking around the mother cat’s belly as he did so, “are extremely rare and only happen because of a genetic abnormality.”

Emma didn’t know enough about genetics to really understand why that would happen, but she would definitely look it up later.  After another minute, Killian pulled his hand from the box and sat back.  “It doesn’t feel like she has anymore kittens in her, so these two are probably it.”

“That’s good, isn’t it? Less for the shelter to take care of.”

Killian’s hand rose and made to rub across his face, obviously a habit, but he caught himself before he touched his mask.  “I’m afraid the kittens complicate things.”

Emma sighed.  Of course it would.

“The shelter isn’t set up to care for cats with kittens this small,” he informed her, “most aren’t, so they rely on people willing to foster the families until they can be adopted out.”

Killian scratched behind his ear as he continued, “Storybrooke doesn’t have a large foster network to begin with and very few are willing to care for mom cats with new kittens. Those that can are already doing so and I don’t think any of them will have space for more for another couple of weeks.”

This wasn’t completely new information.  David often complained about the lack of foster families in town and how often they needed to reach out to nearby organizations for help.  It was one of the main reasons David convinced the City to apply for the state grant program to improve the shelter.  

“Can you take them?” She suggested, hopeful.

With a sad look in his eyes, Killian shook his head. “I have two orphan litters at home, one of which is only three weeks old.  I wouldn’t be able to provide an appropriate level of care for any of them if I took in another.”

The idea of orphan kittens hit Emma right in the heart.  Orphans, no matter the species, were always a sensitive topic for her because of her past. She studied the two wiggling kittens nursing away in front of her for a moment.  Killian was regarding her with an unreadable expression on his face when she looked back over at him.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to take care of these three until I can arrange another home?”

Emma blinked in shock. “What? I don’t know how to take care of a normal cat, much less one with kittens!” She exclaimed.

“It’s not that hard, really, I promise,” he held his hands up in front of him to convey his honesty at her suspicious look.  “Leto here does all the hard work.  You’ll mostly just be feeding her, checking the kitten’s weights to make sure they’re getting enough milk, and socializing them a bit.”

“Leto? You’ve already named the cat?”

He had the grace to look embarrassed and scratched behind his ear.  “Aye, Leto.  She was a Greek goddess and one of Zeus’ lovers.  Her story came to mind earlier and the name stuck.”

Incredulous, Emma could only stare at Killian, who flushed under her scrutiny.

“What is her story?” Emma eventually asked, curious.

“Leto is considered the goddess of motherhood or a protector of the young. But she is mostly known for being the mother of the goddess Artemis and god Apollo.  But when Leto first became pregnant, Zeus’ wife, Hera was enraged and made all lands shun her to prevent her from having anywhere to give birth. Eventually she came upon the newly created island Delos, which was not yet attached to the earth and therefore wasn’t land.  There she was able to finally give birth.”

Even Emma had to admit that the name was appropriate.  “So the girl is Artemis and the boy Apollo?”

Killian nodded.

Emma shrugged. “Works for me. Now, how do you socialize a kitten? I imagine it doesn’t involve signing them up for extracurricular activities,” she joked.

“Handling them in order to get them accustomed to it.  Basically playing with kittens, but with purpose.” From the crinkles next to his eyes, Killian was grinning under his mask.  

“Won’t that make her mad?” Emma nodded at Leto, who was currently licking Apollo’s head.

Killian shook his head. “She let me handle them without a problem, so I doubt she’ll object to you doing so.  Why don’t you give it a try?” He encouraged.

After taking a fortifying breath, Emma slowly reached into the box.  Like before, Leto watched Emma’s hand intently but did nothing to stop her from grasping little Artemis and lifting her up.  The kitten let out a squeak that caused her mom to lean forward and sniff at her for a moment, but they both settled down a moment later. Emma held the kitten for another minute before setting her back down.  

There was pride in Killian’s voice when he told her, “She trusts you.”

Her own voice held a touch of awe when she replied, “I guess she does.”

They sat and watched the little family of three for a couple of minutes before Killian broke the silence to ask, “So, will you take care of them?  At least for a couple of weeks?”

“Yeah, I guess I can.”

An exuberant “Yes!” came from the door of her room and Emma looked up to see Henry watching from where her door was opened a couple of inches.  A door she distinctly remembered closing.

Killian gracefully rose from the floor and immediately held out his hand to help her before he remembered the “no touching” rules they all lived under now.  He pulled his hand back with a frustrated growl, the sound of which did wonderful things to Emma’s nether regions.  She clenched her legs together as she stood, inwardly curing that such a simple sound turned her on.  She’d have to deal with that later.

“I’m going to grab some supplies from my truck that you can use,” Killian told her as they left her room. “Can you two get a medium sized box and some towels or blankets together?”

With a nod, she and Henry collected the items in the empty room Emma intended to one day turn into an office. When Killian returned, he cut a large hole in the front box and then a small one at the back, through which he threaded the cord of a heating pad.  He added a folded towel along the bottom before placing the entire thing within a large dog crate.  An old blanket, small litter box, and water and food dishes went in as well.

At each step Killian explained what he was doing and why, and she watched as Henry soaked up the information like a sponge.  “The heating pad needs to be plugged into a secondary thermostat in order to keep it from becoming too hot.”

Soon the whole set up was ready for its new inhabitants and Emma carefully carried the box with Leto and her kittens down from her bedroom.  At Killian’s direction, she placed Artemis and Apollo into the new box.  Soon her kitten’s squeaks drew Leto’s attention and when she hopped out of the blanket box and went into the new one to retrieve them, they shut the crate door behind her.  She paced around the crate for a moment before going into the box and curling up with her babies.

Killian draped a large blanket over the crate, “Its best to leave her be for a bit to let her get settled in.”

The cat crisis taken care of, the three of them made their way back downstairs.  Henry immediately started texting photos of Leto and her kittens to all of his friends.  They were, she was quickly informed, insanely jealous.

“I’m sure they are now. Send them some photos of you scooping the litterbox tomorrow and I bet they’ll be less envious,” she informed her son, which earned a chuckle from Killian.

He chimed in with, “People often forget the less glamourous side of having pets and how much work it can be.”  He’d definitely know all about that, running a shelter.  

As Killian looped his scarf around his neck, he asked, “I’d like to come back tomorrow to check-in on Leto and I’ll also bring some more cat food, if that is alright.”  

Emma nodded, thrilled that they would still have his help in taking care of Leto and her kittens.  She was also glad that it meant that she would see Killian again, as ill-advised as socializing was right now.  Not only was he handsome, even with half his face covered, but he was a pleasant person.  Obviously caring, given what he did, and he had a sense of humor.

“I left a cheat-sheet upstairs that has what you need to do and how, as well as what to look out for.  But if you have any questions, any at all, you can call me,” Killian assured her, “Day or night.”

As much as she would love to hear what Killian’s voice sounded like when he first woke up, she didn’t want to rely on him too heavily.  He did have a full-time job and two litters of kittens to care for, after all.

“Any other resources you recommend we check out?”

For some reason, her questioned caused Killian to blush.  “Oh… um…” he stuttered. “I actually have a small YouTube channel about pet fostering, specifically cats, that you could check out.”

Watch video of Killian playing with kittens?  No way was she going to pass that up. “I’ll definitely check it out.  What is the channel called?”

If possible, Killian’s already flush skin turned even more read.  

“It’s KillyKat.”

                                                          ~*~

A/N: See you in Feb!

[twokinkybeans]

COLD COFFEE - WINTERIRONSPIDER VAMPIRE!AU

Summary: “How good could one person really-” Tony freezes, eyes wide, nose twitching. Time seems to stop for a moment and it’s only when he spots Bucky’s grin from the corner of his eyes that he finishes his sentence. “-smell.” It’s exquisite. Intense. The only thing clawing at Tony’s mind right now is the need to know where the source is. His mouth salivates and his canines ache to push out. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but eventually, Bucky speaks. “That’s him.” “I figured,” Tony replies through gritted teeth. He turns his head to look at Bucky with his jaw tightened. “Why would you want to share him?” Tony scoffs. “You could’ve had this all to yourself.” A wide smile spreads on Bucky’s face and it’s only now that Tony realizes that the tables have turned. The power has been shifted. Bucky unhooks his arm from Tony’s and cups the man’s face. “Oh, Tony,” he sighs. The look in his icy blue eyes is resolute. “I want to keep him.” 

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Notes: Hi everyone! I've been working on this one shot since MAY! At a whopping 24890 words, it’s the longest one shot I’ve ever written on my own! It's also probably my favourite fic I have /ever/ written because it's the most self indulgent one and I had to take breaks in between writing cause it was too much omg. Half of this one shot is plot. The other half is smut. Good luck! I'm actually quite anxious sharing this, since it's so personal to me. I hope you all enjoy! <3

-Lien

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Warnings: Adult!Peter Parker, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Consensual Mind Control, Vampire!AU, Slight Dubcon at first but it’s Consensual Sex, NSFW, Smut/Fluff/Angst, Vampire!Bucky, Vampire!Tony, Human!Peter, Poor Peter, Dream Sex, Masturbation, Shower Masturbation, Anal Sex, Shower Sex, Oral, Dirty Talk, Morally Grey Characters, Rough Sex, BDSM, Master/Slave

Read Cold Coffee on AO3!

Or on Wattpad!

Peter Benjamin Parker The dog area in Central Park is the only place where Peter gets to unwind after a long day of doing unsatisfying labour in a commercial bakery. His alarm went at three this morning and with the other job he has lined up for tonight, he’s fairly sure he won’t see his bed until that exact same time, twenty-four hours later. He’s used to it at this point. His weekends simply look like this. Bakery work during the week and extra waiting jobs at events on Friday and Saturday night. Sleep all Sunday and start the grind again on Monday morning, three AM.  Since the dog area is right next to the bakery, he usually spends about half an hour there after work, just to relax for a bit. Get his smile back on his face. And though he would love to go straight home to crash and nap before tonight’s gala, he wants to give some well-deserving furry friends some pats. Right when he decides he wants to go home to get his needed between-sleep, someone screams. “MY DOG!” Peter looks up, only to see a large Dobermann jump the fence and make a break for it. Before Peter could put his thoughts in one line, he’s already on his feet, leaping over the fence himself and initiating the chase to help the owner get their dog back.  The dog is fast. Faster than Peter’s legs can go. His lungs ache in his chest and his reaching is pointless. He’ll never catch this dog. As a last resort, he shouts at the people in front of the four-legged rocket.  “Somebody, please, stop that dog!” Most people ignore Peter, as is to be expected. It’s still New York. One man, however, turns. He’s in the middle of the path and the dog is headed straight for him. His half long, brown hair is tucked neatly behind his ears and he’s wearing a long, stylish, wool trench coat and leather gloves. His eyebrows raise and the coffee he holds is quickly discarded; dropped on the ground and spilling everywhere, as he braces himself for the coming impact.  The Dobermann tries to swiftly evade the man. Peter blinks once and suddenly, the dog is stuck between the man’s arms, his grip tight. The dog yelps and struggles, baring his teeth with a growl. Peter slows down his pace slightly, the exhausted muscles in his body grateful that he can stop sprinting. The man flicks his head, the hair behind his ear now covering his face and soon after, the dog’s tail shoots between its legs, its growls turning into soft whines. When Peter’s close enough, his jog turns into a walk. “Thank you so much,” he exclaims through his panting. The man turns his head up to look at Peter and something seems to flash over his face for a split second. It’s a strange expression Peter’s never seen before and a strange tingle settles in his body. The unreadable look soon turns into a kind smile. The man’s grin is wide and white, with defined canine teeth. He has a short beard, well taken care of, and the bluest eyes. “This yours?” He asks as he slowly pets the dog, who’s gone strangely quiet. He stands up and hands the leash to Peter, who doesn’t notice the man’s touch lingering. He’s too caught up in the adrenaline of the chase, his heart still beating fast, pumping his blood through his body at a rapid pace in order to keep up with the sudden need for fuel. His stomach screams, having been empty so long. He shouldn’t have chased this dog, he didn’t have the energy for it. Yet he did. Simply because it’s the right thing to do. “No-” Peter scoffs a laugh, shaking his head and clenching the leash in one hand. “Well, I, eh-” He frowns, pointing back towards the dog area with both thumbs, trying to figure out how to explain the situation in as few words as possible. “Tori!” A woman shouts. She approaches the two men and the dog quickly, and lets out an exasperated, loud sigh. “Thank, God! You caught him- Thank you, boy!” Peter turns with an apologetic look on his face to tell the woman it was actually the other man who caught the dog, but he speaks first. “It was a spectacular catch, ma’am. He’s quite athletic.” “But-” “Ooh, thank you, thank you!” The woman wraps her arms around Peter, who tenses up and stares at the man wide-eyed, lips pressed on top of each other. When she finally lets go of Peter, she takes the leash out of his hand. “Have a wonderful day, boy.” “So, that’s it?” The man scoffs, causing the woman to look at him confused. “You’re just going to take the dog and leave?” “Well, it’s my dog.” “This young man just caught your dog for you. And all you say is thank you. Don’t you think he deserves a reward?” “Excuse you?” The lady straightens her back, her posture turning defensive. “It’s okay, sir, please,” Peter turns to the man with a pleading look in his eye and, once again, before he can think about what he’s doing, he rests his hand on the man’s upper arm. A shiver shoots through Peter’s entire being as he stares at the intense expression on the man’s face. Their gazes are locked and Peter’s thoughts cloud momentarily. Time seems to halt and the man speaks under his breath. “Let go.” Peter blinks a few times and it takes a second before he realizes he has pulled his arm back in. His thumb caresses his fingers on the same hand, the feeling of the man’s wool coat still lingering on the tips. The humming background noise of New York City fills Peter’s ears again and part of him wonders what happened. When he completely returns to earth, he turns, only to find the woman and the Dobermann gone. He frowns. When did she leave? Weren’t they in the middle of something? And where’s- Peter shivers when there’s a sudden cool breath tickling the back of his neck. He pivots quickly and has to tilt his head to look into a pair of icy blue eyes. The man smiles kindly and Peter subconsciously mirrors him; the corners of his mouth curling up to match the man’s expression. The strange, floaty feeling returns slightly. Something in the back of Peter’s head tells him he should be scared. But he’s not. It feels… Kind of good. “Are you okay?” The man asks. Peter’s eyes flutter and he takes a slow breath. “Y-yeah?” His voice is shaky. Soft. He doesn’t know why, but he can’t look away from the man’s eyes.  “What’s your name?” “Peter.” His reply is nothing more than a whisper. “Pretty Peter,” the man mumbles. “I think it’s better if you go home. There are a lot of predators out there.” If Peter really cared, he would wonder why this stranger is saying these things to him. But he doesn’t. In fact; he couldn’t care less. The eyes are too mesmerising. The man frowns and once again, Peter mirrors the expression. “Forget the last five minutes.” The man suddenly clears his throat and takes a step back. Peter snaps out of whatever he was in and he takes a breath of fresh air, head tilting down to look at the asphalt path below him to ground himself. He turns, only to find the woman and the Dobermann gone. He frowns. When did she leave? Weren’t they in the middle of something? And where’s- wait… Déjà vu? “Peter,” the man says. Peter looks at the man and smiles brightly. Right, he was here too. The man nods and presses his lips on top of each other. “Name’s James. Call me Bucky.” “Oh! Sir-” Peter steps forward and fiddles with his fingers. “Nice to meet you.” He doesn’t remember telling the man- Bucky- his name, but he doesn’t question it. A realization hits him and he shifts to look at the spilled coffee on the path. “Ah- your coffee-” “-Was already cold.” Peter scoffs. “That’s not the point, though.” He walks away from Bucky and bends down to pick up the empty cup. “I made you drop it. I owe you one.” Surprise flashes over Bucky’s face and Peter shuffles back to him, raising the cup to hold it between their faces. His eyes peek over to look into Bucky’s and he smiles. “I insist.” “Peter-” “Please.” Bucky’s jaw tightens for a second and he sucks in a breath. He then scoffs and shakes his head, closing his eyes and raising his eyebrows. When he looks back up at Peter again, there’s a mischievous sparkle there and Peter’s smile grows wider. “I have some things to take care of right now, but how does three o’clock sound?” Peter nods eagerly, somehow forgetting he’s supposed to be taking a nap. “Perfect!” He’s about to walk away when he realizes he doesn’t know anything but this man’s name. “Meet up again here?”  “Sounds good to me, doll .” A shiver runs down Peter’s spine, but his smile doesn’t falter. When he initially mentioned the coffee, he genuinely meant to pay it back, but now… It kind of feels like a date. “See you at three?” Peter skips once as he walks away in the direction of his apartment. Bucky nods and licks his lips. “Three.” James Buchanan Barnes Let go. He’d said. Let go. He didn’t want Peter to let go of him. He didn’t even want to let the boy walk away. But he did. He did, and he hates himself for it. He’s never this flustered around humans. He’s always focussed, confident and in control. Yet, the second he caught a whiff of Peter’s scent Bucky knew he was a goner. Knew he had to have him. Never in his afterlife had he ever smelled, seen, sensed someone as utterly captivating as Peter. Everything about the boy screamed at Bucky to split him in two on his cock and suck his veins dry until they’d burn. The last conscious thing Peter would do, is have the most intense orgasm he’s ever had and then his lifeless body would slump against Bucky’s chest. The man would hold him until he grows cold and… and… No. Bucky doesn’t want him to die. Wait. What? His feral urges want him to do everything he would usually do to his prey, except for the killing, which was odd since his entire existence is based on just that. The pick, the hunt, the seduction, the sucking, the sex… Always followed by death. Though, this time it’s different. Peter is different. Bucky is certain he’d go insane if that invigorating smell would be gone forever.  Maybe that’s why he let him go. Peter’s too precious to kill. Too… delicious. God, he must be delicious. Bucky can only imagine what he tastes like and he wonders why he didn’t steal a sip when the boy let go for him. He’s absolutely starving, given that he didn’t hunt yesterday because he was simply too lazy to. Oh, the regrets. Obviously , Bucky wanted Peter to just let go of his arm, yet the boy’s subconscious took it a step further.  “Let go,” Bucky had said. But instead of just uncurling his fingers from Bucky’s arm, Peter immediately slipped into pure submission. He let go of himself . The look on his face was everything to Bucky and his cock twitches at the mere idea of seeing it again. He still doesn’t understand why he didn’t just take Peter home. The boy obviously needs a good fuck, based on his response to the compulsion, and Bucky knows he is a good fuck. They would both get what they desire so much.  But no. Part of him wants to see how far he can take this. Would he even need to manipulate the boy’s mind, or is a smirk and a wink enough for Peter to fall to his knees? Probably. He looked so pretty, though. Jaw slacked, deep brown eyes glazed over as his mind turned off and his body turned on, listening to Bucky’s every word as he was told to wait until Bucky’d gotten rid of the ungrateful witch and her pathetic goblin of a dog. He could watch Peter float inside himself for hours. Who knows, he might even do that at some point. For now, though, he watches how Peter quickly jumps out of the subway train, evading other people who try to catch it before the doors close. Bucky keeps his distance, but he sticks close enough to keep Peter’s intoxicating scent in his nose. He stalks, enjoying how Peter sometimes looks back with a frown, looking for the source that makes him feel like he’s being watched. The boy knows he’s being followed and Bucky relishes in that part of the hunt. The uneasiness that the prey feels. Followed by the fear of the confrontation, which soon turns to immeasurable pleasure and then- no. No death. Not with Peter. After a short walk, Peter cuts into an alleyway. Bucky frowns and holds back for a bit, not wanting Peter to turn around on him in the alley. He takes the pause to have a look around, now his eyes are no longer strained on the frail, small body of his prey. They’re quite a bit away from the city center and the neighborhood is… Not great. Something about that irks Bucky. Why would a sweet, soft boy like Peter live in a place like this? When Bucky cuts the corner to follow him further, a door closes. Peter went inside one of the buildings. Bucky closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in through his nose. He’s slightly startled when the smell suddenly grows more intense and he looks up to where it’s coming from. A small window opened. Bucky smiles. There he is. Bucky crosses the street, quietly joking that he’s doing it to get to the other side, and swiftly climbs the building. He settles on the roof, hiding behind the heightened ledge and stares intently at Peter, who checks his phone at the opened window. Bucky suppresses the urge to quote Romeo and Juliet and flares his nostrils. His eyes roll back when the sweet, sweet scent of Peter fills his lungs. He studies Peter from afar. The boy is talking to himself, which has Bucky wondering if he’s lonely. He’s alone, that’s for sure. Peter grabs a tin can and sits down on his bed next to the window. Bucky frowns when Peter tips the can, a few dollars and a couple of pennies fall out of it. Peter bends down to put the can on the floor, for a lack of table in his little studio, and picks up the bills and coins to count. Bucky’s barely beating heart squeezes. The kid’s poor. Very poor. And now he’s counting this week’s cash in the hopes of having enough to buy Bucky a coffee. An expensive, useless, New York coffee. One he’d let go cold, just like all his other beverages. When Peter has gathered all the money, opting to just put all of the tin can’s contents in his bag as it’s only just enough for one overpriced coffee anyways, he flops down flat on his bed. “Thirty minutes…” Bucky can hear him mumble as he sets an alarm. Somehow Bucky hoped Peter would use those thirty minutes to play with his dick, but no. Peter closes his eyes, face relaxing almost immediately as he drops into a dreamless sleep. For now. Bucky shifts so he can see Peter more clearly and he can’t help but be amazed at how quickly Peter’s breathing steadied. He must’ve been exhausted. Bucky wonders when Peter had enjoyed himself last. Not sexually. Just generally. He smiled at Bucky, sure, but that was after Bucky turned off his brain for a minute or two. He’d chased a dog for some hag who didn’t actually put in the energy to catch her own pet, can barely scrape together ten dollars for a cold coffee for someone who doesn’t even deserve it and needs a nap in the middle of the day. Nobody his age should need to take a nap in the middle of the day. Worries must be clouding his mind so much that even the smallest suggestion to free himself from his anxious thoughts is enough to snap his willpower in half. A strong sense of pity urges Bucky to glance around the street to check if anybody would see him. When he confirms the coast is clear, it only takes him a second to jump over the road, get inside, and crouch down besides Peter’s bed. The smell is absolutely overwhelming. The entire room is drenched in the boy’s perfume and Bucky opens his mouth to taste it on his tongue. He glides it past his teeth and licks his lips before turning his attention to Peter. His jaw is slacked again, but his face is not as relaxed as it was when Bucky had complete control over him. Every fiber in Bucky’s body wants him to touch Peter’s face. Trace the lines of his veins from his neck down to his wrist. But he doesn’t. If the boy needs sleep, he needs sleep. That doesn’t mean Bucky won’t help him have the best thirty minute nap Peter has ever had.  Bucky inches closer, practicing the most self restraint he’s ever had to do, fighting his urges to sink his teeth into Peter’s exposed neck. He opens his mouth and releases a cold breath on Peter’s face. The boy’s eyebrow twitches. Bucky grins when his little magic starts doing its work. Peter relaxes even further and sighs. The corners of his mouth curl up and Bucky wants to kiss them. Press his cold lips against Peter’s warm smile. He holds back though, and closes his own eyes to guide Peter through his dream. Peter Benjamin Parker Peter opens his eyes, quietly frustrated that he can’t sleep. He doesn’t want to sleep. All he can think of is the strange man he met. How relaxed he made him feel. How nice. Bucky . There’s a tingling feeling in Peter’s abdomen and he licks his lips, taking a shaky breath. It doesn’t take him long to decide what to do in that half hour, knowing he won’t be able to sleep anyways. He takes off his pants, discarding them to the side, and puts his pillow against the wall. He rests his head against it, sitting slightly more upright so he can open his laptop. He puts in his password and opens his browser in incognito mode. With one hand, he scrolls through what Pornhub has to offer, while palming his dick through his underwear with the other. It’s already half-hard and Peter whimpers quietly when his thumb brushes over the clothed head. His eyes roll back and flutter shut as he squeezes the shaft, stifling a moan.  “Don’t hold back…” a voice says quietly. Peter’s mouth opens wide to let out the sound he was suppressing. He doesn’t recall hitting play on any porn, but he doesn’t really care. Whatever video he clicked on, the audio of it went straight to his cock. He keeps his eyes closed, continuing to palm himself. His hips start rolling slowly. Rhythmically. He’s only half-aware it’s at the same pace as his heartbeat, thumping through his dick. “You look so pretty when you enjoy yourself,” the voice whispers. It’s close, which Peter doesn’t really get. His laptop is next to his hip, how is he hearing the man speak right next to his ear? The man. Peter’s body twitches when he realizes he’s hearing Bucky. Bucky is saying all these sweet things to him. Bucky. “Does that feel good?” Bucky asks softly and Peter can’t help but nod, face contorting with pleasure. Because it does; it feels amazing. “Mmm…” Bucky’s hum vibrates through Peter’s body and he automatically squeezes his dick a little tighter. His free hand moves up to pinch his nipple. Suddenly, two cold hands pull down Peter’s underwear. One feels like skin, yet the other… Is that metal? The boy’s hips buck up involuntarily. “P-please,” he whispers. He’s unable to open his eyes and the situation has him thoroughly confused. How could his imagination seem so real? So vivid. It feels so good. “ Oh ,” Bucky exclaims quietly. Teasingly. “You beg so nicely.” Peter jolts when cold fingers curl around his shaft. His own hand immediately loses tension and falls onto the mattress. He didn’t even need to be asked. He wants to give in. So bad. Suddenly, soft lips press against his slacked jaw. Peter raises the hand that was playing with his nipple to cup the face of whoever’s kissing him, but there’s nothing there. Right. This is his imagination. He’s getting off to the idea of Bucky jerking him off. The man’s not actually here. "Beg some more, would you?” Bucky whispers and Peter’s muscles tense when the man starts pumping slowly. Both of Peter’s hands are helplessly laying next to him. He couldn’t even move them if he tried. Peter gasps under the attention and bucks his hips up into the tight grip of his imagination. How could something that’s not actually there, feel so real? “Please, feels so good, please- don’t stop-” His fists grasp at the sheets and he writhes on his mattress. “Not planning to, doll .” Peter could hear the grin in Bucky’s voice. “ Relax for me …” Bucky teases Peter’s ear with his deep voice, leaving kitten licks on the shell between his sentences. Peter’s body grows heavier and heavier with each stroke of Bucky’s hand. “ Let me take all your worries away …” Bucky increases the speed of his pumps and Peter moans obscenely. There’s a soft chuckle next to Peter, but he can’t open his eyes. He just can’t. Not when Bucky’s hands and kisses caress his body. Not when Bucky’s voice is like heavy honey, keeping him in place. “Do you want that?” Bucky asks softly. Peter has already half forgotten what Bucky is referencing to. All he knows is that his answer is the truth. “Yes- yes, please, take it. Take it all.” Bucky’s hand goes even faster, making Peter’s cock spurt precum onto his stomach. The man twists his wrist expertly as he pumps, pressing his thumb into the tip each time he reaches it. Peter’s a sweaty mess. His toes curl with every thrust he makes in the hopes of gaining even more friction. “ Such a good boy ,” Bucky whispers. His wandering mouth reaches Peter’s neck and leaves an open, wet kiss, suckling at the skin. After less than a minute of mercilessly squeezing Peter’s throbbing shaft, the room smells of sex. Peter knows his neighbors could hear him. But he doesn’t care. Wants to give all his worries to Bucky. The man’s voice orders: “ Open your eyes .” Peter does so and is immediately captivated by the stunning blue irises right in front of him. Is… Is this real? Is he not imagining this? Bucky smirks and Peter lets out a sob. He’s close. So close. Bucky’s words and actions have turned Peter into a desperate, wailing mess. “That’s it, Peter… Give yourself to me. Let go. ” Peter’s eyes shoot wide open at his alarm. He bolts to sit upright, chest heaving, and he looks down at the damp patch in his pants. He was right at the edge and he’s certain he would’ve come if that horrible alarm didn’t snap him out of it. It takes him a minute to let the adrenaline of the edge fade away. He considers getting off quickly. Just pull out his dick and hump into his hand until he explodes onto his sheets. But he can’t. He’s already late. He kicks his pants and underpants off and tosses them into the corner. His throbbing cock bounces against his abdomen as he hops into a new pair of underwear. He’s so horny it hurts . That dream was strangely intense. It felt so real. But it wasn’t. Bucky wasn’t here. Bucky’s at Central Park, waiting for Peter to show up. Peter hopes that next time he gets to get off, he’ll be able to dream like that again. He’s not even sure if he can look Bucky in the eye after this. For now, though, he considers excusing himself to go to the bathroom once he and Bucky get to the coffee shop. At least he won’t be too late then and he can still rub his painful erection away. He puts on his shoes and grabs his bag - double checking if he put in the twelve dollars and 70 pence he had left - before grabbing his phone and shutting the door behind him to rush to the subway. James Buchanan Barnes Bucky pushes up his sleeve to look at the time on his Rolex. As if he didn’t arrive a minute before Peter did and he had been standing in their established meeting spot for over ten minutes. He’s the reason Peter’s late. Not that he minds. Everything about Peter was absolute heaven in that little bedroom. Bucky hadn’t laid a finger on him. He just watched the boy as his body responded to the images Bucky put in Peter’s head. The only word Bucky could use to describe his new obsession is… Delicious . He looks delicious, he sounds delicious, he smells delicious and Bucky is sure that Peter would taste delicious too. For some reason Bucky still denies himself that pleasure. The number of opportunities he’s had to sink his teeth into Peter’s skin is laughable at this point. Other creatures like him would even be embarrassed. Bucky isn’t, though. Everything about Peter is too good to spoil. And so, he waits. He’s not entirely sure what for, but he waits nonetheless. “Bucky!” The man pulls down his sleeve again and looks up at his boy with a smile. His eye twitches once. Peter is his boy. Peter jogs, slightly out of stamina, cheeks rosy, hair tousled and clothes slightly disheveled. “Peter,” Bucky says quickly. Politely. “I was wondering where you were.” “I- eh,” Peter stammers and he stops right in front of Bucky, scratching the back of his head. “I have no good excuse, I’m sorry.” “Oh?” Bucky cocks an eyebrow playfully and smirks. “Now I’m curious.” Peter gulps and the red flush on his cheeks extends to his ears. Cute. Bucky thinks. “It’s nothing special-” Peter tries. “I just took a nap.” Bucky presses his lips on top of each other in a smile. He glances at the path ahead of them and nods in that direction. Peter follows Bucky’s gaze and returns the smile slightly before taking the first step, initiating a walk through the park. “I can’t help but notice the change of pants.” Bucky clears his throat and he can feel Peter’s muscles tense again. “And the lack of a coat. In November.” “I spilled in- on! On my jeans.” Peter slaps his forehead, but attempts to hide the gesture by pushing his fingers through his hair. “Coffee!” He yelps. “Yes, coffee.” A terrible excuse that makes absolutely zero sense. Cute. Bucky thinks. Again. “Alright, doll .” Bucky smirks, baring his teeth and Peter sucks in a breath. Bucky knows Peter’s alibi isn’t solid, but Bucky won’t pry further. He knows what’s up. Bucky doesn’t even have to look at Peter’s crotch to know that it’s still up. “And I assume the lack of coat is because you were late?” “I’m not cold if that’s what you’re asking.” Peter immediately contradicts his words by hugging his bare arms. The nerdy T-shirt is obviously not enough. Bucky scoffs to himself, taking off his leather gloves and only half ignoring Peter’s stare resting on his metal hand. Right, the boy had only seen the prosthetic in his dream, not in real life. This must be quite the mindfuck for him. Bucky puts the gloves in the pockets of his coat. He can’t believe he’s doing this.  One by one he opens the buttons of his sleek, wool trench coat and shakes it off his broad shoulders, revealing his grey three piece suit. Peter immediately stops in his tracks and raises his hands in front of him. “No, no, it’s okay!” Peter looks at Bucky’s fingers curled around the fabric. “It’s my own fault for forgetting.” When he tilts his head up to look Bucky in the eye, Bucky grasps him with his stare. “ Hold still. ” Peter’s frozen in place as Bucky walks around him, placing his coat over Peter’s shoulders. Bucky squeezes Peter’s upper arms as he leans over his shoulder. “Don’t want you to catch a cold.” “Cold…?” Bucky swears inwardly at Peter’s whisper. The coat should’ve been warm. It’s not. Cause he’s not. Bucky quickly hooks his arm into Peter’s and continues their walk, hoping Peter won’t ask any questions about it. However, when he realizes how close Peter is to him, his brain stutters. Just like when he was in Peter’s room, the smell is overwhelming and he now knows his growing thirst is certainly insatiable. How could he ever get enough? Could he stop when he starts? Could- “Are you okay?” Peter’s voice is small, just like his body against Bucky’s. “Yeah.” Bucky sniffs once, a habit he picked up spending time with Tony. Right . He was going to have to tell Tony about Peter. He looks down at the boy, who - in turn - looks back up at him with his big, beautiful brown eyes. A smile creeps onto Bucky’s face at the realization that he gets to share Peter with Tony. If Peter wants to, he reminds himself. Though, with how the boy’s been responding to Bucky, he’s fairly certain Peter would eagerly be dominated by both of them. “Just a little lost in thought, I suppose,” Bucky mumbles. “Something on your mind?” Bucky didn’t expect the honest question and before he can think of a better reply, his mouth has already said the word. “You.” Peter’s eyes widen slightly before he tilts his head to look down at his feet. Bucky guesses it’s to hide his everlasting flushed cheeks. It’s quiet for a few seconds. “You’re on my mind too,” Peter admits. Bucky would’ve laughed if it hadn’t sounded so utterly innocent.  “Hm,” is all he manages to reply. Bucky guides Peter to the exit of the park and nods at the coffee shop across the street. “You up for a cup?” He grins at Peter, who chuckles at the rhyme. “I think I’ll pass, but I still need to get you yours.” Bucky nearly forgot; the boy can only afford one coffee. “Peter.” Bucky’s tone is stern and Peter looks up at him with curled brows, wondering if he did or said something wrong. “I’m paying.” Peter tries to struggle free from Bucky’s grip, but the man won’t let him get away. “What? No! I made you drop your coffee, I’m not gonna make you pay for it, I-” “I’m paying. ” Peter’s lips squeeze on top of each other and before his mind catches up with what’s happening, he nods and lets himself be guided to the shop. . The coffee shop is cosy. Quaint. Bucky had let go of Peter to open the door for him. He quietly stalks behind the boy and can’t help but smile. Though it’s warm, Peter still hugs Bucky’s coat around him. It’s too big on him, which makes him look absolutely adorable. Peter tilts his head up, flaring his nostrils and taking a deep breath in through his nose with his eyes closed.  “Smells so good,” he sighs softly. Bucky stares at him, pretending that Peter’s soft moan didn’t surge through him. He knows Peter was talking about the baked goods, but Bucky can’t really smell anything but Peter. “You do.” “Hm?” Peter opens his eyes to look at Bucky, who clears his throat in an attempt to hide how flustered his own error made him. “It does,” he says quickly. “Apple-cinnamon.” He’s not smelling any of that, but given the time of the year, it’s his best guess. Peter smiles and nods, but Bucky doesn’t miss the expression faltering when Peter turns to look at all the displayed foods on the counter. Oh, no.

“Hungry?” Bucky asks softly, not wanting to make Peter uncomfortable.  “A little,” Peter mumbles. He doesn’t dare to look at Bucky, feeling slightly embarrassed. His eyes are strained on the many cakes and cookies. “When’s the last time you ate?” The question seems to startle Peter and he finally looks at Bucky again. “What, a meal? Or-” “Christ, kid, anything.” Peter shifts his weight back and forth from one foot to the other and fiddles with his fingers. “I mean… I had some popcorn yesterday.” He frowns slightly. “Or was that the day before?” “You’re telling me you don’t remember when you last had anything to eat?” “Please, Bucky, I’m not here to be pitied. Let’s just get the coffee.” Peter wants to step further inside but Bucky’s rough hand turns him by his shoulder and the boy’s knees nearly give in when Bucky makes eye contact. “If you could eat anything. Right now. What would you want?” “What-?” “Answer the question.” “Spaghetti Bolognese.” Bucky’s heart squeezes. The kid could ask for the most elaborate of meals. Buffets with endless options, an all you can eat menu... He could’ve asked for sushi, or Turkish bread. Yet, what he wants most is a basic plate of spaghetti with red sauce. Peter hides his face behind his hands and wiggles free from Bucky’s grasp. “I’m sorry, that’s stupid.” “It’s not.” Bucky frowns. “I just wonder why?” Peter visibly swallows and looks down at his feet. “My aunt always made that for me.” He chuckles, but his eyes betray his sadness. “She’s- she was a terrible cook. She could only make spaghetti.” “And your aunt…?” “Passed away three months ago.” Peter takes a deep breath and clears his throat to collect himself. “Cancer.” “I’m sorry,” Bucky mutters sincerely. “Is there no one you can go to?” Peter purses his lips and shakes his head with a quiet scoff. “Parents died when I was ten. My uncle died when I was fifteen. May was all I’d left.” Peter’s brows curl up into a frown and he turns away from Bucky even further. “I shouldn’t be bothering you with this.” “You’re alone,” Bucky states. The spoken truth seems to sting Peter. “Is that why you wanted to buy me the coffee?” Peter bites his lip. “Maybe. I don’t know.” Bucky stares at Peter for a second, before offering his hand to the boy. “Do you want to go get some spaghetti with me?” He doesn’t know why he wouldn’t compel Peter to just join him, whether the boy wants to or not. Perhaps he wants to see if Peter would take his hand without being urged to. He hopes so. Peter looks at Bucky’s hand, visibly holding back tears. “I can’t afford it.” “I can.” Bucky gives Peter an encouraging smile and he can’t help but feel both surprised and victorious when Peter’s fingers hesitantly curl around his palm. Bucky leads Peter out of the coffee shop they’d just entered and uses his free hand to haul a cab.  “I’ll pay you back,” Peter promises quietly. Bucky scoffs with a smile and lets Peter get into the cab first. “Sure, you will.”  . The cab ride to Bucky’s favourite Italian restaurant was pleasant. They had surprisingly normal conversations, but not out of formality. They discussed interests. Peter’s a nerd. Bucky learned Peter dropped out of MIT to take care of his aunt when she got sick. He doesn’t have the funds to go back there now, as the funeral cut into all his savings. MIT. Peter is smart. Something Bucky is certain Tony will take a liking to. The boy’s into Star Wars and, surprisingly, flowers too. And dogs. Which is why he spends time at the dog park every day. Bucky figures that’s the only thing keeping him sane with everything he’s got going on. Bucky glances at Peter, who gawks at the restaurant building in front of them. He can’t help himself and softly presses the palm of his hand against Peter’s lower back. The boy whimpers, holding more tightly onto Bucky’s coat still wrapped around him. “Like it?” Bucky grins. “Like it?” Peter repeats sarcastically, causing Bucky to laugh. God, if Peter knew what exactly Bucky is capable of- what Bucky is, he’d never have done that. “It’s a little much,” Peter admits, chuckling. “If we go here I probably won’t be able to pay you back within, I dunno, ten years?” “I’m not asking you to pay anything, Peter.” “But I want to.” Peter crosses his arms and looks up at Bucky defiantly. “My uncle always told me that being in debt to someone is the stupidest thing you can do. The only loan you should ever take is your mortgage.” “You were never indebted to me.” Bucky nods. “Solid advice, by the way.” “But your coffee-” “You keep saying that as if I wasn’t the one who tossed it to the side.” Bucky creeps his arm further around Peter’s back, until he’s pressing the boy against him by his waist. Peter doesn’t fight it and for a second Bucky forgets that Peter isn’t under any form of compulsion. He’s letting this happen. Does he want this? Peter ignores Bucky’s comment and, instead, looks back at the restaurant. The sign outside proudly shows that it has a Michelin star. “I don’t fit here- I don’t look the part.” Peter looks down at his worn sneakers and denim jeans. He purposefully skips his T-shirt with a nerdy pun on it. It would only make him feel worse. “They’ll never let me in.” Bucky squeezes into Peter’s side, causing him to yelp softly and look up. The boy immediately freezes when Bucky’s eyes capture his. “Don’t worry. You’re with me.” Bucky’s cock twitches at the sight of Peter’s glazed over eyes. He didn’t expect Peter to reply. His thralls never reply. “I’m with you…” Peter’s lips barely moved when he spoke and Bucky has to suppress the urge to call him a good boy. To help control himself, Bucky looks away from Peter, who blinks a few times as he snaps out of it again. Bucky starts walking up the stairs towards the entrance of the restaurant, his hand still on Peter’s back, and Peter quietly follows Bucky’s pull. . Peter’s an eater. When given the chance to take his fill, he takes. And Bucky relishes in giving Peter what he deserves. Peter’s thoroughly enjoying the pasta and the six sides Bucky ordered for him. Carpaccio, stuffed zucchini, pumpkin gnocchi, stuffed mushrooms, grilled tomatoes with basil leaves and olive oil and – Bucky’s favourite – garlic bread. It should be enough to feed at least two people, but Peter is like a vacuum. Bucky would’ve made a comment about how Peter should take the time to taste the dishes, if Peter wasn’t so vocal after every bite. It’s not enough to disturb the other people at the restaurant – not that it’s busy, it’s not even four o’clock yet – but it’s enough to have Bucky squirm in his seat. The boy moans every time the fork disappears into his mouth, lips wrapped around it, enjoying the explosion of flavour on his tongue that has been denied the pleasures of good cuisine- any cuisine- for so long now. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?” Peter breaks the silence and Bucky realizes he’s been staring at Peter eating for at least ten minutes now. Bucky straightens his back and shakes his head with the corners of his mouth curled up. “I’m alright.” Peter is about to put a piece of garlic bread in his mouth, but he halts halfway up. He cocks an eyebrow and pushes out his arm to give the bite to Bucky. Bucky stares at the piece of bread. Or well, the hand that’s attached to it. And the wrist. The veins. “Peter, I-” “Come on, it’s really good!”  “I know.” Bucky says through gritted teeth. Peter pushes in further, the most innocent smile on his face and Bucky chooses to just hold his breath. It’s no use. If he weren’t already dead, this boy would’ve been the death of him. “One bite?” If only he knew. Bucky’s going to lose control. He knows. But he doesn’t want to. He can’t just run out on Peter. He wants to… He…  He leans in. Slowly. His mouth opens slightly and his canines ache with the need to push out. Bucky’s breath hitches in his throat and he closes his eyes. Maybe if he can’t see Peter, he’ll manage. He realizes doing just that was a big mistake. His lack of vision immediately intensified the smell. The only thing he can do is repeat all the swear words he knows over and over and over again in his mind. Peter is so close. So horrifyingly close, that Bucky can hear his blood pump through his wrist. He opens his mouth further and further and his lip trembles when he feels Peter’s body heat vibrate against his skin. Almost there. Almost. He bites down, the crunching of the bread bringing him back to the present. His eyes open wide and he stares at Peter, who has a curious look on his face. The boy carefully lets go of the bread and pulls his hand back in, leaving the snack to stick half out of Bucky’s mouth. Bucky swiftly brings his own hand up to catch it from falling out and he sits up straight again, ripping the bread to a size he can chew. He can barely believe he was able to hold back. He would never deny that he wanted to stop Peter from pulling back- that he wanted to grab his lower arm and kiss his skin until it turned red from the pressure. He’s yearning to taste Peter. Why won’t he just do it? “It’s good, right?” Peter says with a bright smile. The question reminds Bucky to chew further. Humans do that. They don’t just swallow their food in one go. Bucky supposes that’s one of the few perks about being what he is. The liquid diet. Saves a lot of time. It’s been a while since he had food in his mouth, but he can’t say he hates it. It’s actually pretty good. He’s not sure if it’s the food or Peter’s presence that’s making it better, though. “It is.” . “So, you’re telling me you work at a bakery? But you don’t eat?” Bucky rests his head in his hand, elbow on the armrest of his chair. He’s leaned back, legs spread slightly, but Peter can’t see it with the table in the way. Not that it matters. The boy is still occupied with stuffing his face for the first time in forever. “Company considers it theft.” “Even the loafs that aren’t pretty enough for the stores?” Peter sighs and looks at his nearly empty plate of pasta. “They want a good image so they give the ugly stuff that won’t sell to homeless shelters. Which is fair, to be honest. The homeless need it more than I do.” Bucky’s baffled by Peter’s words. “Didn’t you tell me less than an hour ago that you’ll be evicted within two weeks if you don’t find a better paying job? Means you’re homeless too. You deserve the food just as much.” Peter leans forward again, cocking his head. “Not homeless yet. Not eligible for food.” He takes another bite and speaks with his mouth full. Normally Bucky would’ve minded. Not with Peter, though. “Besides, I’ve got a job interview on Monday.” “For something that makes you enough money to keep the sad little studio you live in now?” “No, but-” Peter stops in his tracks and stares at Bucky, who realizes he ran his mouth. “You know where I live?” “No!” Bucky straightens his back and evades Peter’s piercing gaze. “I just assumed-” “Well, guess you assumed right.” Peter’s voice is strained. Oh, no. This is the last thing Bucky wants. Peter puts down his fork rather aggressively and crosses his arms. “Do you do this more often? Find someone poor, in need of help? Groom them? What is all of this?” “Peter, I-” “I’m paying,” Peter repeats Bucky’s words with a mocking tone. “Does that make you feel better? Knowing you did your good deed of the day?” Bucky is stunned. He has no clue what to say next, but his silence was enough of an answer to Peter. “You know what, I’m done.” Peter pushes his chair back and stands up, nearly causing his glass of water to tip over. Bucky quickly drops way too much cash on the dinner table and rushes after him. When the cold November air hits their skin, Bucky finally speaks again. Though, it’s more of a plea. “Please, don’t go.” Peter isn’t planning on slowing down and glances at his phone, cursing quietly at the time. “Peter-” The boy whips around and it aches Bucky to see tears in his eyes. “Thanks for the food, but-” He looks at his feet and his face contorts. “I gotta go anyways, I got work.” “Work? You’re going to the bakery, now?” Peter looks up to the grey sky and scoffs. “Some people work multiple jobs to make ends meet, Buck. I’m waiting at a gala tonight.” He waves his hand and continues walking away. “Why am I even telling you all of this. Just leave me alone.” No. Bucky isn’t letting him go. He wants to make him let go. For all different reasons. Bucky moves fast and grabs Peter’s hand. He makes Peter turn around to face him and he gives the boy a stern look. “Do you really want me to leave you alone?” “Yes.” “Are you lying?” “Yes.” “Why?” Bucky moves to invade Peter’s space, maintaining eye contact and rubbing soft, slow circles on the exact spot he wanted to bite into when Peter offered him the garlic bread. “I don’t want to be pitied.” Bucky presses himself against Peter. The boy can step away whenever he wants. Bucky doesn’t control his body right now. Yet, Peter stays. Right there, flush against Bucky and looking up at the man with his beautiful, distant, brown eyes. “What do you want?” Bucky whispers, only half aware that his mouth is inching closer to Peter’s. Slightly stunned that the young man still isn’t fighting him. “To be loved.” A shiver runs through Bucky’s body and he can’t help but smirk. His free hand reaches up to cup Peter’s face and his skin is so soft. “That can be arranged…” It’s quiet for a second, neither of them knowing exactly what to say next. “I actually received an invitation for a charity gala tonight. Time’s Square. Is that where you’re working?” Peter nods shyly. “Are you going?” He asks quietly. A kind smile spreads onto Bucky’s face. “I wasn’t planning to… Do you want me to go?” Peter presses his lips on top of each other and closes his eyes. His breath is warm against Bucky’s lips. So close. “I do,” Peter whispers, before finally pressing his lips against Bucky’s. The man gasps and opens his mouth to push his tongue against Peter’s flat kiss. The boy immediately complies and grants Bucky access, allowing him to to taste all the flavours Peter just experienced at the restaurant. Peter kissed him. Of his own accord. The mere idea has Bucky groan in pleasure. After a few seconds of kissing, Peter’s eyes blow wide open and he takes a big step backwards, breaking free from Bucky’s hold on his wrist. He apologetically bows his head. “I’m sorry- I, I have to go now, I really do.” Peter turns and runs. As fast as he can. With any other human, Bucky would’ve initiated the chase. It was part of what he liked so much about the hunt. But he’s frozen in place, unsure of what to do next. What to say next. What to think next. All he can muster up in his mind is Peter. Peter-Peter-Peter-Peter. The boy kissed him. His lips were so soft and warm and Bucky wants to kiss them again. Envelope himself in the scent that’s now slowly fading away. It takes a few minutes for Bucky to come to his senses and he blinks, looking at the high rises around him to ground himself. The gala’s tonight. He’ll see Peter again tonight. Wait. Tony received an invitation to the gala as well. Bucky could introduce them. He laughs loud. Once. It catches the attention of a few people, who soon decide the man isn’t a threat - wrong - and continue with their lives. Bucky walks to the street and hauls a cab. He wants to go back home and tell Tony all about his new fixation. His Peter. Anthony Edward Stark “You’re in a good mood,” Tony quips from his lounge chair. He’s absentmindedly scrolling through his phone, half-ignoring Bucky stomping into the penthouse. “Bad feed?” “No feed,” Bucky growls as he throws his coat over the couch. “Wha- no feed?” Tony sits upright and cocks an eyebrow. “You didn’t feed yesterday either. Aren’t you starving?” The look in Bucky’s eyes says enough and Tony relaxes back into his seat until… His nose twitches. “What’s that?” He eyes the coat that Bucky had just tossed aside. There’s a strange, faint scent coming from it. It’s… Good. “My prey.” Bucky picks the coat back up and tosses it to Tony. He presses the wool against his nose and takes a whiff, cock stirring at the sweet scent. “Jeez. And you didn’t feed?” “Not from him.” Bucky groans as he drops himself on the cushions of the couch.  “I can’t stop thinking about him.” He hides his face behind his hands. “About how he might taste.” “Wai-wai-wait.” Tony tosses the coat over Bucky’s head. He instinctively hugs it, pressing the fabric against his nose and smelling the remnants of whoever his prey is. “Why does your coat smell of your prey?” “He wore it.” “Jesus Christ, Buck,” Tony exclaims when he gets up from his chair to grab them both a straight whisky. Double. “Had him right where you wanted and you let him go?” Bucky doesn’t reply. Tony figures he’d feel stupid for saying yes. Same as that he would feel stupid for lying. Tony can hear Bucky lick the coat, tasting the smell of his prey on his tongue and moaning softly. “We’re going to that gala tonight,” Bucky states. Tony immediately protests, placing Bucky’s whisky on the coffee table and sitting back down in the lounge chair with his own glass in hand. “I literally told you this morning that I don’t feel like going.” “He’ll be there.” “And why should I care? He’s your prey.” “Smell it again.” Bucky growls as he throws the coat back to Tony. The billionaire groans and reluctantly inhales again. Sure, it smells better than average, but it’s not worth going to a party for. If Bucky wants this guy he can go get him himself. “He wore that coat three hours ago.” Tony’s eyes go wide at that comment. “Three hours?” He stares at the coat in disbelief. Bucky’s scent is intense and overpowering. Anything he touches smells of Bucky. Yet, this prey Bucky’s been describing... If he wore this coat three hours ago and Bucky wore it all this time after that, it shouldn’t have smelled of his prey anymore. All that should’ve remained was Bucky. Yet… “Is he that intense?” Tony asks, brows curled up into a frown. “Is that even possible?”  Bucky picks the coat from Tony’s hands and curls his fingers around it. He moves to sit on top of Tony and grinds himself down onto Tony’s crotch. Bucky presses the coat against his face and moans as he slowly ruts himself down into Tony.  “Oh, Buck,” Tony growls, pressing his fingers into his lover’s hips and baring his sharp teeth. A grin spreads on his face when Bucky speeds up slightly. “You’re hooked, aren’t you?” “I need him, Tony, I-” Bucky whimpers. “So bad-” “Well, then.” Tony puts down his whisky to unbutton Bucky’s shirt. “Let’s get changed.” . The entire car ride to the gala, Tony teased Bucky. The man was uncharacteristically nervous. A little antsy, but nothing Tony can’t handle. He curls a lock of Bucky’s hair around his finger and leans in. “If you’re so desperate for him, why would you want to share him with me?” Bucky turns his head away from Tony, who sees it as a challenge to get the man to look at him again. He takes Bucky’s chin between his thumb and index finger and tugs playfully. “Bucky bear, tell me.” “Don’t call me that,” Bucky growls, yet he lets his head be turned under Tony’s touch. “You’re a grumpy bear, I just call you what you are,” Tony says with a smirk. It falters and his expression turns serious. His stare is intense and if Bucky wasn’t like Tony, he’d have answered without second thought. Fortunately, compulsion doesn’t work on him if he doesn’t want it to. “Tell me why.” “You’ll find out,” Bucky sighs. He grabs Tony’s wrist with his metal hand and guides Tony to his crotch. Tony immediately cups the shaft through Bucky’s pants and scoffs a laugh. “Your cock’s almost as hard as your arm, Buck.” He pulls back, much to Bucky’s dismay, and crosses his arms. “That boy must really be worth it.” The car pulls over and Bucky bites the inside of his cheek. “Trust me, he is.” “Sure, sure,” Tony chuckles. The car door is opened for them and Tony swiftly gets out. He offers Bucky his hand, but the man gets out of the car himself. Still grumpy.  “You might want to put on a smile if you want him to like you. Or… Do you want to scare him off?” Tony jokes, hooking his arm into Bucky’s and initiating their walk up the stairs outside the building. “I’m seconds away from ripping out your heart, please choose your next words carefully.” Tony stops them, halfway up the steps and stares Bucky with a nonchalant look before leaning in and whispering. “I love you.” It’s soft. Genuine. “And however much I may be joking, I am honored you want to share something so precious to you with me.” Bucky cocks an eyebrow, but presses a quick kiss on Tony’s lips before continuing their way up. “You’re awful,” Bucky sighs. “You always get away with it.” “Only because you let me, Bucky bear.” Tony laughs softly. The next help opens the double doors for them. “Besides, this is more for you than for me. How good could one person really-” Tony freezes, eyes wide, nose twitching. Time seems to stop for a moment and it’s only when he spots Bucky’s grin from the corner of his eyes that he finishes his sentence. “-smell.” It’s exquisite. Intense. The only thing clawing at Tony’s mind right now is the need to know where the source is. His mouth salivates and his canines ache to push out. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but eventually, Bucky speaks. “That’s him.” “I figured,” Tony replies through gritted teeth. He turns his head to look at Bucky with his jaw tightened. “Why would you want to share him?” Tony scoffs. “You could’ve had this all to yourself.” A wide smile spreads on Bucky’s face and it’s only now that Tony realizes that the tables have turned. The power has been shifted. Bucky unhooks his arm from Tony’s and cups the man’s face. “Oh, Tony,” he sighs. The look in his icy blue eyes is resolute. “I want to keep him.” Peter Benjamin Parker “You’re in a good mood,” Betty quips, shaking Peter out of his thoughts.  “What?” “Seriously, Pete?” She laughs as she loads her tray with more champagne glasses. “You’ve had this goofy smile on your face all evening. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you this energized.” Peter straightens his back and turns to help Betty with her work. She jumps. “No, wait, let me guess!” Peter chuckles. The tray is halfway filled now and he shifts to grab a new champagne bottle to fill some more glasses. “Whatever you think it is, you’re wrong.” “Oh, so you didn’t meet someone cute?” Peter tenses up and his head whips to face Betty. She squeals. “I knew it!” She hops in her place, evading the stare of their asshole manager, Quentin Beck, who was lazily scrolling through his phone. “So? What’s she like?” “He.” “He! Ah, I knew it!” “Betty-” “Sorry, sorry! I did it again,” she sighs and rolls her shoulders before pressing into Peter’s space again. “Tell me everything!” “Betty!” Beck’s loud voice echoes through the kitchen and she flinches. “Stop distracting Peter and get your pretty ass to table S2, they requested a waiter and that’s your area.” “Yes, sir.” Betty smiles embarrassed at Peter before making her way out onto the floor. Peter quietly continues to pour the champagne glasses, trying his best not to anger Beck any further. When he’s done, he picks up the heavy tray and balances it expertly as he walks onto the floor. The second he sets foot into the dimly lit space, a strange, yet familiar feeling washes over him. It’s the same as what he felt when he walked home after the dog incident. Like he was being watched. It’d be rude to stop and stare to find the source of the uneasy sensation, so he powers through and continues walking to his area. Once his tray is empty, cheeks hurting from the fake smile on his face, he turns to make his way back to the kitchen. However, he didn’t expect Betty to be right behind him and he runs into her. “Woah!” He exclaims, catching her before she loses balance. When they’re both standing up straight, he notices something is off. “Are you okay?” He asks, squeezing his hand that rests on her upper arm. She stares up at him and blinks a few times. “Yeah! Eh… They asked for our deepest red wine.” “Who?" “Oh, the, um…” Betty frowns, but collects herself. “The people from table S2?” “And you’re telling me this… why?” Peter leans in to check Betty’s pupils. Unfortunately, this wouldn’t have been the first time some gross guys tried to drug her while working. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, save for her behaviour. “They want you to get it for them.”  “Me?” “You.” Peter stands up straight and cocks his head. He suppresses the urge to turn his head and look at table S2. He’s still being watched. He’s not sure if he likes where this is going. Peter wipes a stray lock of hair behind Betty’s ear and gently pushes her in the direction of the kitchen. “Let’s get you a glass of water first.” Betty sits on one of the few chairs in the kitchen and stares at the glass of water in her hands. “I’m fine, really, all they asked is for Peter to bring them our deepest shade of red wine.” Beck scratches the back of his head and puts his hands on his hips before turning to look at Peter. “How familiar are you with the S area?” He asks. Peter purses his lips and takes a second to think. “It’s not what I’m used to, but I think I got the numbers down.” He looks down at Betty with a frown. “And if they made you so out of it, maybe it’s better if you don’t take their orders anymore.” Betty’s eye twitches and she looks up to lock gazes with Peter. “...Orders?” It’s quiet for a second. Mr. Beck breaks it with a sudden clap of his hands. “Alright, Peter, Betty’s fired. You’re taking her area together with your own.” “What?” Peter exclaims. “You can’t fire her for something like this!” “I can and I did.” Beck glares at Peter. “Now, off you go, they’ve been waiting long enough. And no, you’re not getting double pay.” Beck suddenly stops in his tracks and points both his index fingers to the ceiling. “The wine!” He turns to the wine cellar and disappears, offhandedly shouting something about wine glasses to Peter. That man is mentally unstable. Peter will never understand how he became the manager. Peter turns to Betty once more. “I’m… I’m so sorry.” Betty nods slightly and she curls the corners of her mouth up. Her eyes don’t smile along. “I’ll be fine,” she says. It’s forced. Peter frowns. “You had to switch places with me anyways.” “Wha- why did I have to? The S area was always your thing, you always claimed it during prep.” “I don’t want the S area anymore. It’s okay. I’ll find another job. They want you.” Peter’s officially worried now. He takes Betty’s hands in his and stares her down, trying to read her. “They?” He mumbles. “They.” Peter was hoping she’d give a little more information, but he probably won’t get it. And she’s out of it. Really out of it. Who would ask specifically for him at a gala? Nobody knows he’s working here… Peter freezes when it hits him. Bucky. “Peter, I thought I asked you to grab the glasses!” Beck shouts annoyed when he returns with a bottle of red wine. Peter stands up straight and nods apologetically, eyeing Betty once more before turning to the cupboards. It’s not long before Peter finds his way onto the floor again, balancing his tray with two glasses and a bottle of red wine on a shaky hand. He sniffs, trying not to look at the S2 table while he’s making his way there. His heart thumps loudly in his chest. “Excuse me?” Peter is almost grateful that someone stops him and he smiles at the lady. “Good evening, ma’am, how may I help?” “The waitress who just helped us, where is she?” “Oh,” Peter says as he turns his body, lowering the tray slightly. “She suddenly felt dizzy, so she’s, eh… She’s taking a break. I’m taking over the tables here.” Honesty gets you further. May’s words still linger in his head. The lady frowns worried. “Oh, dear, I hope she feels better soon. Did our order come through?” Peter quickly peeks at their table number, trying to remember what he saw on the order board in the kitchen. S4. Awesome. That means he can say- “Yes, ma’am, it came through. They’re working on it right now.” He nods, glad he was able to give good news. “I’ll be serving you tonight.” Peter’s startled by someone coughing loudly, choking. He turns and rushes over without second thought, putting down the tray on the table and placing his hand on the shoulder of the hunched over man.  “Sir, are you alright?” He glances at the table number out of habit, freezing for a second when he reads S2. The man who’s choking, collects himself, grabbing his glass of water and taking a sip. Peter can’t help but stare at him. He’s beautiful. There are lines on his face, but they only accentuate his features. His eyes are deep. Brown. He’s not young, but aged like fine… Wine, the wine, right. Wait. Is that… Tony Stark? Tech giant, richest man of New York, Tony Stark?! “Peachy,” Tony forces out, suppressing another cough. He looks up at Peter. The boy is immediately captivated. The only one he’s ever seen with eyes that entrancing is- “Ah, Peter, took you a while.” Peter barely manages to break eye contact and looks up startled at Bucky, sitting next to the Tony Stark. After a few more seconds of stunned silence, the man speaks again. “You can let go now.” Peter realizes his hand still rests on Tony Stark’s shoulder. His words shoot through Peter like a missile. It wasn’t an order, but… Let go.  Before he can move away, Tony captures him again with his eyes. “Unless you don’t want to.” “I-” Peter’s breath hitches in his throat, and it takes him a second to collect himself. “I have to work.” His fingers uncurl from the man’s arm and he stands up straight again with a nod. “Oh?” There’s a mischievous gleam in the Tony’s eyes. “Does that mean you wouldn’t have let go of me if you weren’t working right now?” Let go. Let go. Let go. The words keep echoing through Peter’s head and it makes him tingly. He can’t right now. He has to work. He opts to ignore the inappropriate question. “Your wine,” he says quickly as he places the glasses from the tray onto the table. He then opens the wine bottle, holding it with a cloth. He pours both men a sip to taste, evading eye contact with Bucky. Their kiss still lingers on his lips. He takes a step back and waits for Bucky and Tony to purse their lips, pushing the wine around in their mouths. “It’s a Sagrantino di Montefalco.” Peter says quietly. “Our deepest shade, as per your request.” “Perfect.” Bucky grins and pushes out his arm for Peter to fill his glass further. He complies and tilts the bottle until the glass is adequately filled. The other man does the same, wordlessly, and Peter fills his glass too. “Oh, right, Peter, this is my partner, Tony Stark.” Peter’s eyes go wide. Peter kissed Tony Stark’s partner. In his panic he accidentally tips the bottle too far, overfilling the glass and coating Tony’s hand with the wine. “Oh, sh-” Peter catches himself before he swears and puts the bottle down, immediately using the cloth he held the bottle with to take the glass from Tony’s hands. “I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t-” Before Peter can hand Tony the cloth, the man brings his wine coated fingers to his lips. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in. He shivers, which has Peter wonder why. It’s not exactly a good smelling wine. Is he smelling something else? Peter’s jaw clenches when Tony pushes his digits into his mouth. It all seemed innocent enough until he made eye contact with Peter. And held his gaze. Peter is glued in his spot. Body stiff, slightly shaking. Bucky leans over Tony’s shoulder and nudges his head against Tony’s. The man complies, takes his fingers out of his mouth and presents them to Bucky, who licks them clean of the last bits of red wine. Peter isn’t certain what he’s looking at, but he knows for sure that he can’t look away. His gaze is still locked with Tony’s and… Are Peter’s pants getting tighter? “We share everything, Peter,” Bucky says with a grin as he pulls back. Tony presses his fingers together and smirks. He finally breaks eye contact with Peter, but the boy can’t stop staring. Did that just happen? “It did,” Tony quips. Peter’s eyes go wide. Did he say that out loud? He turns away, picking up the wine bottle as he goes. “Peter?” He stops in his tracks, quietly hoping to disappear into the floor. He kissed Bucky. He kissed him. And now he’s here with his- With Tony. He requested Peter to wait their table and now… This. God, this is embarrassing. And hot. Unfairly hot. Peter slowly turns around, but keeps his eyes strained on the floor. “Thanks for the service.” Peter can hear Bucky’s shit eating grin, but they’re testing him. He knows. He’s very aware of what they want him to say and so, he’ll indulge. “My pleasure.” He nods at the floor and shifts to move back to the kitchen. Table S4’s order should be ready to go. He’s not sure how, but it’s like he can hear Tony’s voice in his head. Whispering. Tickling his ears from the inside. “Your pleasure.” James Buchanan Barnes “Did you see the look on his face?” Tony is the giddiest Bucky has ever seen him. “He’s perfect, Buck, absolutely perfect.” “I know.” Bucky leans back smugly and crosses his arms. Tony takes another sip of his wine, settling the excitement with some ineffective alcohol. “I want to keep him too,” he says quickly before letting the liquid coat his tongue. “How do you suggest we go about this?” He cocks an eyebrow at Bucky, who can’t help but smile. “We offer him a job.” “A job,” Tony repeats, raising his other eyebrow as well. Bucky cocks his head, not listening to whoever is talking on stage. Galas are the worst. “A job.” “Why?” “He’s poor.” Bucky sniffs and leans towards Tony to tell him the story. How Peter hadn’t eaten a meal for a while until Bucky took him out for spaghetti earlier today. How Peter, from the kindness of his heart, chased the dog and then offered to pay for the cold coffee Bucky had dropped, even though he didn’t even have fifteen dollars to his name. How Peter will be evicted from his home. Bucky talked about the subjects discussed on the date. Peter’s all alone and stuck in a vicious cycle until he manages to break free. He just needs the means to break free. And Tony and Bucky have those means. And their own needs. “Still a little shady.” “What? We’re just offering him a way out. Just a job.” “As what?” “I dunno. Personal assistant?” Tony snorts at that and puts down his glass. “To cater to all your wishes.” “Well, yeah?” Bucky shifts in his seat and rests his head in his hand, leaning his elbow on the table and taking a sip of his own glass of wine.  “You haven’t seen how he was this afternoon.” “You’re right, I haven’t. You told me about the ‘let go’ part. Had a lot of fun messing with his head just yet.” “Okay, but that means you saw it too.” Bucky tilts his head. “He’s stressed. On edge. Tired. Hungry. And most of all; he’s touch starved. And mind you, he kissed me. I didn’t ask him to. I didn’t compel him to. He just did it. By himself. He wants this.” Tony sucks at his teeth and Bucky groans. “Oh, come on, don’t tell me he’s making you second guess your morals.” “I don’t want to use him.” Bucky stares at Tony in disbelief. “So, all the people you feed from aren’t being used by you?” “I don’t want to use him.” “Fine. Fine, me neither.” Bucky groans, pressing his face into his hand and rubbing it. “But I can’t let him go.” “How about we let him decide? We ask him. He can say yes or no.” Bucky tenses and sends Tony a worried look. “What if he says no?” He realizes he sounds scared. Bucky Barnes. Scared. Bucky from yesterday would laugh him in the face. “Then we’ll convince him,” Tony says determined. He nods and pushes a lock of Bucky’s hair behind his ear. “The old fashioned way. Without dark magic.” “You’re saying we should stop playing with him?” Tony laughs and shakes his head. “No.” He takes his glass and chugs it, only to chug Bucky’s immediately afterwards. Empty glasses means a certain waiter would have to show up at their table again soon. “We won’t force him to be with us, but we can still play.” “How morally grey,” Bucky chuckles. “You’re disgusting.” “Love you too, Bucky bear.” . “It’s okay to feel uncomfortable with us, Peter. Are you uncomfortable?” “No, sir, I’m not,” Peter mumbles, staring into Bucky’s eyes after giving them their fourth glass of wine. Bucky knows it’s all formality. The boy’s still at work. He can’t say that to the people he’s… Serving. “Are you lying?” “Yes.” “Don’t lie when you’re with us, Peter.” “Okay.” “Jesus, Buck, go easy, someone’ll catch on something’s off,” Tony says quickly and quietly. “Look at him, Tony, isn’t he wonderful?” “I’m… I’m right here,” Peter mutters, a slight frown curls his brows. “We know, we know. Forget we said that and go do your thing.” Peter blinks and his wide, fake, waiter smile returns. “Your food should be ready soon,” he says, bright and awake.  “Thank you, Peter.” Tony nods curtly and Peter shuffles where he stands before mumbling his reply and rushing off. “Mm. Pleasure.” . “Why are you uncomfortable with us?” Tony tilts his head and cocks an eyebrow. “I, eh…” Peter stutters as he pours their ninth glass of wine. “Tony knows about the kiss,” Bucky adds nonchalantly. Peter stops pouring their beverages and takes a slight step back. He’s startled and takes a second to find his words. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know you-” “I don’t mind,” Tony says with a grin. Peter stares at him wide-eyed, which makes Bucky chuckle. They’re going to have so much fun with him. Heck, they already are. “In fact…” Tony leans forward on the table and rests his elbow on it, placing his cheek in his hand. “...I’d like you to kiss me too.” Bucky can literally feel Peter’s hard on from where he’s sitting. The boy swallows and the steady but fast, beating of his heart thrums in Bucky’s ears.  “I’m working,” he replies and it has both men smile up at him. He didn’t say no. Peter quickly tilts the bottle again, emptying it with his lips pressed tightly on top of each other. It’s Bucky’s turn to show his gratitude to Peter, so he does. “Thank you, Peter.” The boy squirms where he stands and pivots to rush back to the kitchen. Though, his soft whimper didn’t go unnoticed. “Pleasure.” . “Oh, please, you haven’t resisted us before, why now?” Tony leans forward, obviously taking a whiff of Peter’s scent before curling up the corners of his mouth, fluttering his eyes innocently. “Work,” Peter pushes out, eyes strained on the bottle he’s tipping to pour Bucky’s seventeenth glass. He’s caught on that actually looking at the men makes him lose himself. Especially when they talk like that. Bucky wonders if Peter has any suspicions about what he and Tony are. Not to mention the amount of alcohol they’ve consumed at this point. He’s smart. He must know something is afoot.  “Well, we actually had a proposition about that.” Bucky’s regular voice gave Peter the confidence to look up at him, which was a mistake on his part, honestly. Bucky immediately traps him with his stare. “Proposition?” Peter asks quietly. “See, we were just discussing that we want to-”  Their conversation is cut short by a short yelp and the sound of glass shattering behind them. The scare breaks Peter away from Bucky and the boy immediately puts down the bottle to rush to the problem. Someone dropped their glass, coating the floor in white wine and covering it with thousands of tiny pieces. Some other guy rushes over, while Peter squats. He uses his tray to quickly pick up the larger glass pieces and asks the other waiter to grab a broom. Bucky and Tony stare hungrily at how Peter is bent over. Their imaginations run wild with the endless possibilities. All of them involve Peter in that exact position. Naked. Suddenly, Peter winces and sucks in a breath, cursing quietly. The enhanced scent immediately hits Bucky’s and Tony’s noses. Their pupils dilate fully and they grab onto each other to hold themselves back. Blood. Blood. Blood. They stare at how Peter raises his hand to look at the damage, only to put his blood covered index finger into his mouth. Sucking on it. “Jesus Christ-” Tony spits out through gritted teeth. Bucky can only growl. The smell and the sight are dizzying and the need to sink their teeth into Peter is becoming overwhelming. “Peter!” The other guy returns and has spotted Peter’s situation. “Bwad-” Peter tries to speak, but his finger is keeping him from pronouncing all the letters. He takes it out of his mouth to show it to ‘Bwad.’ Tony and Bucky are shaking. The blood flows fast, already trickling down his fingers, so he swiftly puts it back into his mouth. Bucky wishes he didn’t hear Peter’s soft sounds. Yet, he wants to hear nothing but those soft sounds.  “Sheesh, Pete, go get a bandaid for that. And some alcohol-” ‘Bwad’ says disgusted. “And stop sucking on it, you’re not a vampire.” Peter freezes when ‘Bwad’ says that and he whips his head to look at Bucky and Tony with large eyes. Bingo. He caught on. Bucky grins wide, no longer trying to hide his fangs and he raises one eyebrow, using his head to gesture at the finger still in Peter’s mouth. Peter takes a deep breath and rushes to the kitchen. . Bucky isn’t surprised to see Peter walking out of the kitchen again, a new wine bottle in hand. The boy is bold and he obviously knows what he wants. It’s the exact reason why Tony and Bucky didn’t chase him. They knew he’d come back. “You were talking about a proposition?” Peter initiates the conversation this time, aiming to pour the next glass for Tony. However, the man catches his wrist and pulls Peter’s hand with the bandaid closer to his nose. “I thought you said the wine you’re serving is your deepest shade of red.” “Not anymore, you drank it all.” Bucky is surprised by Peter’s sudden sassiness. He’s no longer the polite waiter. He’s Peter again. For them. And he’s not afraid of what they are. “Well, then…” Tony sighs, closing his eyes and pressing Peter’s bandaged index fingers against his nostrils. “Why don’t you give us your deepest shade of red?” “Is that why you’ve been doing all of this?” Peter asks quietly, not wanting to gain attention from anyone around them, yet also not pulling back his hand. “You want to suck me dry?” “No,” Bucky says with a kind smile. “We want to do so much more than that.” “The proposition.” Peter stares at Bucky, who guesses he’s waiting for the man to compel him again, but he doesn’t. “We want you to be our personal assistant. An exciting job that matches your intellect, good pay, insurance, great sex, a roof over your head, we even got dental-” “Woah, woah, wait-” “Sex. Yeah. I said sex.” Bucky grins. “Don’t you want that? Want us?” Tony tenderly kisses the bandaid and Peter shivers. “I do.” Peter frowns and takes a second to collect his thoughts. “But I can’t just- I can’t-” He looks back to the floor and the kitchen and Bucky follows his gaze. His manager’s eyes are on him. This could get him fired. On the spot. “Peter, trust me when I tell you that never in our entire undead lives have we met anyone as utterly captivating as you are. We don’t want to kill you. We don’t want to hurt you. We want to keep you.” “Keep…” Peter mulls over Bucky’s words, turning his head to look at the two men again. “So, I’ll be your pet?” “You’ll still be you. You’ll have a life. Just… With us in it.” Tony shrugs. It’s almost strange how casual they are about this. “Will you…” Peter stops talking, slightly embarrassed at what he wants from them. “Will we…?” Tony looks up at him, patient but curious. “Will you compel me?” “Do you want that?” Bucky asks immediately. He knows what it does to Peter to be controlled like that. “I… It’s not something I want to discuss here.” “Tell us,” Bucky orders. A shiver goes up Peter’s spine and he closes his eyes, complying straight away. “The feeling is so nice, I- It makes me horny.” “Oh, does it?” Tony coos. “You’ve been so submissive all evening already. And now you’re telling us it’s because we can control your mind? Most people would run if they were in your position.” “I want this,” Peter mumbles. “I’ve got nothing left to lose anyways.” “Oh!” Tony exclaims, trying to stay quiet in order to keep the other tables from looking at them. “He wants this,” he says to Bucky, before turning to Peter again. “You want this! We truly hit the jackpot, Buck.” “You’re really not going to kill me?” Peter asks quietly. A bit of fear seeps through and Bucky immediately takes Peter’s other hand in his, tracing the tips of his fingers over the prominent veins on his wrist. “And waste all of you?” Bucky whispers, looking up at Peter in awe. “I’d rather kill myself.” “What’s so special about me anyways?” Peter sucks at his teeth, trying to ignore Tony’s soft lips and Bucky’s cold fingers against his skin. “You could have anyone. Why me?” “You have no idea how good you smell,” Tony sighs. “S-smell?” “We’re going to have to take a look into why you’re so intense and addictive, but believe us when we say that you’re making us lose our minds,” Bucky chuckles. “With us, you’ll be the safest you’ve ever been. No one will touch our flower. You’ll live with us, we’ll share our riches with you. We want to give you everything, Peter; A fulfilling life, a purpose, all the pleasure you can imagine. More.” It’s quiet for a few seconds as they all realize what this means. “Will you...?” Peter asks again. “Will we...?” Tony replies playfully. Peter nods slowly, doing his best to find the courage to finish his sentence. “Will you compel me?” “With pleasure.” Bucky immediately takes hold of Peter’s mind. “You want to stop worrying, don’t you, pretty Peter?” The mention of the nickname Bucky had used on him before has Peter twitch where he stands. Tony has started kissing his entire hand, licking the veins on his wrist. “Yes.” “Do you want us to take all your heavy thoughts away? Replace them with good thoughts- thoughts we want you to think?” Peter nods, eyes strained on Bucky’s. “Do you want to let go for us?” “Please-” “Let go.” Peter’s knees give in for a split second, but it’s enough for Bucky to have to catch Peter as he drops. Peter Benjamin Parker Peter’s snapped back into reality sandwiched between Tony’s and Bucky’s shoulders. Their arms are wrapped around his waist, keeping him upright. They’re walking down the stairs of the venue, but Peter doesn’t recall walking out. The cold November air hits his skin and he takes a deep breath. “Hello, there,” Bucky chuckles. “H-hey?” “No worries, we just want you to know where we’re taking you. We’ll put you back under when we reach the bedroom.” Peter jolts, standing more sturdy on his feet at the mention of their destination. “PETER!” He turns his head to see Beck, staring at him wide-eyed, arms spread in confusion. “Your shift’s not done, where do you think you’re going?!” It’s quiet for a second, but Peter doesn’t even consider lying. He knows he’s in good hands. He knows they speak the truth. He knows he’s better off without Beck. Without this job. “I quit,” he whispers. Both Bucky and Tony stare at him in disbelief. “Excuse me?” Beck yelps. Peter stands up more straight and rolls his shoulders, finding the courage to repeat himself, but louder. “I quit.” “Y-you can’t just-” “I can. I quit.” Peter moves to get into the car and tosses his black apron on the sidewalk. “What about all the guests?” There’s a hint of desperation in Beck’s voice and Peter shakes his head. “Pull your own weight for a change.” The car door shuts. Peter is still pressed between the two taller men, who stare at Peter. Stunned. “Did- did you tell him to say that?” Bucky mumbles to Tony. Peter scoffs a laugh. “I didn’t,” Tony answers honestly and ends it with a groan. “Kid, you’re gonna be the death of us.” “Aren’t you already dead?” “Touché.” . Stark Tower. The building Peter could only dream of working at during his time at MIT. The dream crumbled when he dropped out. He didn’t dare think about setting foot into this place without a degree or doctorate of some kind. He couldn’t imagine getting the attention of Tony Stark, the man he’d looked up to since his childhood. And now he’s here. In the elevator to the penthouse, the living quarters, being held by Bucky and his boyfriend. Tony Stark. If he really is dreaming right now, he never wants to wake up again. But it feels too real. Their cold fingers wrapped around his arms, stroking his skin delicately and gently. They make terribly casual conversation for the current situation. Peter answers all their questions, though. Tries to engage, but he can’t stop looking around. Perks of a glass elevator is that he can see every floor. All the labs, all the test areas. Some floors are blinded for their own reasons, which is fair, but it’s obvious Tony has the glass elevator installed to show off. Peter falls quiet in the middle of a sentence about the last project he’d worked on when he was still at MIT, involving nanotechnology, and frowns. The question leaves his lips before he realizes how rude it is. “How old are you?” Tony bursts out laughing. “Older than I look.” “No- but-” “Bucky’s nearing… Three centuries?” “You wound me, Tony, you don’t even remember my age?” “Details, details, Buck.” Tony smirks. “How old am I, then?” “You’re a young sprite. Got your ninety-second birthday coming up, don’t you? I sired you when you were forty-seven.” Bucky puts up a cocky smile and raises one eyebrow. “Now you’re just making me look bad.” Tony pouts. “Why don’t people wonder about that? Y-your age, I mean?” Peter purses his lips, trying to recall a time when magazines and news outlets questioned Tony’s looks compared to his age. He doesn’t. “Well, I took over from my ‘father,’ obviously,” Tony chuckles. “Wait, that was you too?” “The resemblance is striking.” Tony looks incredibly pleased with himself. “That’s… That’s insane.” Peter stares ahead, trying to have it all make sense in his brain. “How old are you?” Tony asks with a genuine smile. “Twenty-three.” “Only a babe,” Bucky chuckles and Peter turns to face them both, cheeks puffed. “I’m not a child!” “You say to the two-hundred-seventy-six year old man.” “What- you want me to call you great great great grandpa?” “Dear god, no.” “Then don’t call me babe-” Peter gets pulled against Bucky’s chest, a wide grin spreads on the man’s face. His cold breath tickles Peter’s skin. Peter shakes, but can’t help but push in too. Bucky’s hard and he gently grinds against Peter. The boy whimpers. “Not even in the bedroom?” Peter flutters his eyes, now very aware what the gesture does to the men he’s with and he whispers seductively. “Only in the bedroom.” . This isn’t a bedroom. It’s a small palace. Dark granite tiles, a gigantic glass bathtub in the middle of the room, the bed is so large it could fit five people generously. The sheets are a deep shade of red and the room even has space for an extensive sitting area. It’s insane. His studio would barely be considered a cupboard compared to this. “Here’s where the magic happens.” Tony places his hands on Peter’s shoulders and leans over. He looks at Peter expectantly, but all Peter can do is stare, mouth opened slightly. “Is it too much?”  “You haven’t seen where he lives, Tones-” That comment snaps Peter out of it and he turns to give Bucky an accusatory glare. “So you did know about my studio!” “I followed you home. Shoot me. You smell too good.” “Thanks.” A short awkward silence falls and the slight frown on his face betrays that Peter is thinking about something. “My dream…” “Was nice, wasn’t it?” Bucky grins and takes a step closer to Peter, taking his hands to lift them to Peter’s heart. They feel the beat quickening slightly. “You’re unbelievable.” Peter’s breath is shaky. Bucky leans in until their noses touch.  “Hey, you were obviously enjoying yourself. Too bad you set that alarm. I’d have let you come.” “You gave him a wet dream?” Tony scoffs and slightly squeezes his fingers into Peter’s shoulders.  “I did,” Bucky says proudly. “It was very convincing.” Peter chuckles and shakes his head. “Like I said; unbelievable.” “Hmm, but Pete… Did you end up coming at all?” Tony’s words tickle Peter’s ear and he shivers, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “Oh, the torture.” Tony’s hands slowly move down Peter’s arms to caress his waist and then grip his hips. “You want to come, don’t you?” His trimmed beard scratches Peter’s jaw. All Peter can do is nod, paired with a soft whimper. Yes. He wants to come. Let go. For them. Suddenly, both Bucky and Tony let go of Peter and he sucks in a breath. “Let’s give him a tour of the room, shall we?” Tony claps his hands once and Peter’s quiet, frustrated groan doesn’t go unnoticed. “Don’t be so needy, babe-” Bucky says with a smirk, but Peter quickly replies. “Don’t call me that.” Bucky raises an eyebrow and gestures at the bed. “Well… We’re in the bedroom, aren’t we?” James Buchanan Barnes Tony and Bucky show Peter every corner of the room. In the least sexual way possible. And it’s driving Peter nuts. They can tell how much he’s aching for their touch by how he fiddles his fingers, how his shoulders are slightly raised and how he holds his breath whenever either of the men speaks. Bucky opens the door to the bathroom and guides Peter in, Tony right behind him. Once again, dark tiles, lots of glass, another tub, some lounge chairs, nothing Bucky hasn’t seen before. Peter, however, is stunned and both Bucky and Tony notice the kid is not really taking in any part of the bathroom, except for the shower. It’s separated from the bathroom with a glass wall and you can walk into it from two sides. The look on Peter’s face is difficult to place. Curled up brows, a trembling lip and dewy eyes, strained on… The shower. Oh, no. “What’s going through your head?” Bucky asks carefully. He doesn’t want Peter to feel called out, but he knows what’s up. Peter immediately drops his gaze and stares at his feet, pressing his hands together embarrassed. “I- Nothing.” “Nothing?” Tony steps around Peter to look at him from the front, eyebrows raised. “Don’t you like it?” “Tones-” Bucky raises one hand to stop his boyfriend from speaking. He’s been rich since birth, he doesn’t know what poverty is like. What hardships it brings. “Talk to us, Pete. Tell us what you want.” Peter turns to lock gazes with Bucky. He holds his head high, but he’s obviously not happy with what Bucky asked of him. “I don’t want your pity.” “I’m not pitying you, Peter.” “You are!” Peter hugs himself and steps away from the two significantly older men. He breaks eye contact and sniffs. “I’m- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled.” “Sheesh, kid, it’s gonna take a little more to ruffle our feathers than a slightly raised voice.” Tony cocks his head and sucks at his teeth. “I’ll rephrase, okay?” Bucky says with a nod. “Why were you staring at the shower?” “You know the answer.” “Not the specifics.” “Is this some kind of insider thing that I’m not a part of?” Tony asks, confused. The younger vampire glances at the shower, and when Bucky notices, it suddenly hits him. “Warm water.” “Fine! Okay, you got me. It got cut off a little over a month ago. I needed the place more than the hot water, so I compromised,” Peter confesses, turning his back so he can hide his red face and the tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. Bucky had already seen them, though. “Would you like to take a shower?” “N-no.” “Peter,” Tony threatens. It’s soft, though. He steps forward and curls his fingers around Peter’s shoulders again, slowly turning him around so the boy faces them again. Peter lets it happen and he gasps quietly when Tony moves to unbutton his white dress shirt. “We want you to feel good. To enjoy yourself. If you want that shower… We’ll gladly join you.” Peter stares up into Tony’s eyes and right when the two men expect Peter to give in, he places his hands over Tony’s. “Why are you so kind to me?” He glances at both men. “Honest to god, kid, I wish I knew.” Tony scoffs a soft laugh, but Peter doesn’t smile along. “I smell good to you now. You like me now,” he frowns. “I just quit my weekend job. What if, tomorrow, you don’t like me anymore? You’re just gonna toss me out, aren’t you?” “No,” Bucky says resolutely, taking a large step towards Tony and Peter. The young vampire takes a slight step to the side, allowing Bucky to stand in front of Peter as well. “Not after everything that’s happened today. I’d never.” The man cups Peter’s face with his cold hand and his lip quivers. “I will make you feel loved and cherished- will give you anything and everything, so long as your promise to be mine.” He takes a deep breath and corrects himself. “Ours.” A strange silence settles between the three of them. Bucky’s words were a promise of sorts. A promise that meant more to Peter than either of the immortals could ever fathom. The boy’s voice is fragile when he speaks. “What if I don’t want to be yours?” “Then you’d be lying.” “Probably,” Peter mumbles, averting his gaze. He takes a breath in through his nose. “Are you going to lock me in here?” “Of course not,” Tony says softly. His smile is kind and genuine. Tony never smiles like this with anyone other than Bucky. His hand moves to caress Peter, push through his hair and let the boy lean into him. “We’re not monsters. Well- we are, but not like that.” Peter gives them a lopsided smile, crooked. His cheeks flush, but his eyes water more and more until Bucky catches a tear with his thumb. “This isn’t real,” Peter whispers. “I’m gonna wake up, aren’t I? And you’ll be gone.” Tony immediately moves to stand behind Peter. Bucky shuffles until he’s right in front of the small, stressed, young man, so he can press his forehead against Peter’s. Tony wraps his arms around Peter’s waist in an embrace and gently scratches his beard over Peter’s skin. “Allow us to prove you wrong,” Bucky whispers, his cool breath mingling with Peter’s warm one. Peter has his eyes closed, but his shoulders twitch. “How?” “Share your night with us.” Tony’s deep voice creates goosebumps all over Peter’s skin. Bucky leans in closer, wanting to taste Peter on his lips again. The man is pleasantly surprised when Peter, against all expectations, takes initiative by pressing his mouth against Bucky’s in an open kiss. Bucky smiles into it, licking Peter’s lips. The boy immediately grants him access and Tony continues his proposition.  “Entangle your body with ours- let us take away your stress, your worries. Sleep and wake, with your head on our chests, our fingers caressing your glowing skin as we kiss it. Kiss you.” Tony pairs his sweet words with gentle pecks and a slight drag of his pointed teeth over Peter’s skin. Peter gasps, his hips automatically pushing forward against Bucky’s thigh. The man breaks their kiss and whispers. “If you decide that this is not what you want, we will let you go.” “I- I want this,” Peter moans, pushing back in to continue their kiss, hands finally raising to grab Bucky’s face- tug his hair. “Want it all-” Tony’s hands move up to continue undoing the buttons of Peter’s shirt, pressed between Bucky’s and Peter’s body. “-Want it to be real.” “It is.” The shiver that goes down Peter’s spine does not go unnoticed and the men grin. “How about I run that shower?” Tony mumbles as he slips the shirt down Peter’s arms. Peter breaks free from the kiss and looks at Tony wide-eyed. “No- actually, I…” He stutters and the men both look at him quizzically. “I…” “Tell us what you want, Peter,” Bucky says softly, tilting his head to try and catch Peter’s averted gaze. When Peter looks up, there’s embarrassment, yet… Arousal. Oh. Bucky knows exactly what Peter wants. “Tell us what you want.” Peter’s eyes glaze over slightly and he whimpers. All Bucky can think of is how lucky he and Tony are to have found someone like Peter. This deliciously sweet, submissive young man whose cock twitches when he gives up his mind, is right here in front of them. He wants to be controlled. Wants them. And oh, how they want him too. “Do it myself.” Peter sounds slightly embarrassed. “Wh- shower?” Tony says with a cocked head, slightly amused. Peter nods shyly, not breaking eye contact with Bucky. An idea sparks in Bucky’s mind. It’s filthy and voyeuristic and most likely exactly what Peter wants too. “Oh, Peter… Go have that shower. You deserve it.” His hands caress Peter’s face one more time before letting go. “Do what feels right. What feels good. This is your bathroom. We’re not here.” Peter blinks a few times, processing the command, before stretching his back and letting his shoulders slouch a little more. Bucky and Tony don’t exist anymore. It’s just him in this bathroom. Tony grins at Bucky and tosses the white shirt on the floor, pushing his hand through his hair and sitting down in one of the lounge chairs. Bucky gives him a sly smirk and cocks an eyebrow. Both men have their attention pulled back to Peter, who kicks off his pants and socks. They suck in a breath at the sight of Peter’s physique. He’s more toned than they’d expected him to be. Lean, yet strong. How his clothes hid his true shape, is a mystery to them. Bucky can feel his cock stir when Peter cups his own shaft through his underwear while turning on the shower with his other hand. Oh, yes… Bucky thinks. This oughta be good. Peter Benjamin Parker Peter turns on the tap and stares at it for a second. He’s suddenly unsure how to use it, which is weird cause this is his bathroom, right? How could he forget how his own shower works? He fiddles a bit with the faucet until the water turns warm. Something inside him is confused. Didn’t his hot water get cut off?  “Ah, well,” he mumbles to himself. It’s a habit he picked up in all those months spent by himself. Not having anyone to talk to resulted in him just filling up the empty space with his own words. “Might as well enjoy it while it lasts...” He takes off his boxers and absentmindedly cups his hard shaft like he did before. The underwear is lazily tossed to the side and Peter reaches his hand into the shower. It’s strange to feel the warm water on his hands after so long. It makes him realize how cold he actually is. Slowly, he steps under the stream of warm water and turns it up a tad, just because he can. God, this is nice. It’s not long before he pushes his head under, holding his breath as his hair clings to his forehead. It’s been forever since he’s had a shower like this. For now, he can’t even be bothered to figure out where he put the soap. He just wants to stay right there. Forever. Warm. A small smile creeps onto his face when he remembers Bucky’s coat, enveloping him earlier that day. Though it was cold at first, it quickly warmed up through Peter’s body heat. Not a surprise, everything about Bucky made Peter feel hot. Bucky. The man had haunted his thoughts all day. Heck, he even dreamed about him. Peter’s arousal spikes at the memory of Bucky’s metal hand wrapped around his shaft, his lips next to Peter’s ear to whisper filth and make him beg. Peter pulls his head out from under the stream and topples it backwards to take a big breath, open mouthed, eyes closed. The hot water hits his chest, causing his nipples to spring to attention. The fingers he has still wrapped around his shaft, squeeze softly. Peter lets out a shaky breath and stifles a moan. His eyes are pressed shut. He imagines the metal hand caressing his skin. The thought alone has him shiver. His hand moves slowly at first, pumping and squeezing and, God, it feels insanely good.  “F-Fuck,” he whimpers, raising his free hand to start tweaking one of the sensitive buds on his chest. His back arches slightly and he sticks out his butt a little. Suddenly, there’s a presence on either side of him. He opens his eyes, but there’s nothing to be seen. His sight is slightly warped, but something in the back of his head tells him everything is just fine. He’s there by himself. In his bathroom. “You’re holding back again…” Peter’s eyes go wide and he looks further up, confused at where the voice came from. Was that… Bucky? “Thinking of me, pretty thing?” Peter blushes. How is his imagination so vivid? So real? It sounds like Bucky is right there, in front of him and- Peter gasps when two cold fingers suddenly tease his other nipple. What is- Where is- “Answer me.” “Yes.” Peter doesn’t know where he’s looking but he can’t look away. His gaze is locked with something in front of him. Someone. Taller. But there’s nothing there…? “Gah,” Bucky groans quietly. “I just can’t get enough of you.” A tongue presses against Peter’s lips and he immediately complies and parts his own. The invisible tongue curls in and comes back out only for the imaginary mouth to suckle on Peter’s top lip. Peter closes his eyes and moans again. “Wish you were really here,” Peter sighs. “Mm…” Bucky chuckles and out of nowhere a second pair of hands glide over Peter’s wet, naked body. His hips buck when the other’s index finger dips into his crack and caresses past his hole. “We are,” another voice whispers into Peter’s ear from behind. Tony Stark. Holy- Peter opens his eyes again and gasps under the attention. Tony’s hands grab Peter’s hips to angle him and grant better access to his ass. Peter’s back arches further, brain completely confused at what’s happening. His limbs hang limp. He’s convinced he’s by himself. But how is this happening? He’s alone? He’s not? He’s- what’s going on? His mouth opens, wanting to say something, but he’s halted when a digit plays with the rim of his hole. “M-Mr. Stark?” “That’s me, baby, let me have a taste…” The fingers at his entrance are replaced with a tongue, immediately dipping in. Peter moans obscenely and bucks even further back, craving more. “Eyes on me, Peter,” Bucky’s voice says in front of him. Peter didn’t realize he’d shut them, but when he opens them again, there’s still no one there. He’s by himself. In his bathroom. This… This is his bathroom right? He can imagine them, though. Vividly. Bucky’s piercing blue eyes, right there. “E-Eyes on you,” Peter stutters, flinching with every flick of Tony’s tongue in his ass. “Good boy.” Peter’s jaw falls slack at the praise. His eyes would’ve rolled back if he wasn’t forced to keep looking into the icy blues that weren’t actually there. Or… Were they? No…? His confusion keeps getting mixed with pleasure as the two pairs of hands ignite every inch of skin. Hot water splashes all over the bathroom as Peter’s lifted off the ground. His head is all over the place. He’s certain he’s alone. There’s no one else here. But then, how is any of this happening? How are his feet completely detached from the floor? He’s pressed against a cold body and instinctively wraps his legs around the ghost figure. He’s up relatively high, cock pressing against imaginary Bucky’s abs and- is this really imaginary? “Can you keep up with yourself, Petey?” Bucky coos. Peter pants with yearning, his brain overloading with the mixed messages it’s receiving. He’s completely and utterly convinced he’s alone, yet he’s not. He’s being taken care of by two people. By Tony and Bucky. But he’s not. He’s alone. And fuck, it feels so good and he needs more but he can’t move his arms, but how could he possibly get there without touching himself because he’s alone? A whine slips from Peter’s lips. “Makes n-no sense, can’t- can’t make sense-” His head swims with pleasure as Tony’s tongue keeps lapping at him, hands squeezing the cheeks of Peter’s ass. Bucky is still keeping him up in the air, softly rubbing Peter up and down against himself with his strong arms. Peter’s eyes are still strained on the nothing in front of him, but his forehead rests against imaginary/not imaginary Bucky’s. Peter’s unaware he’s still babbling gibberish until Bucky’s voice vibrates the air around him. “Ssh… Pretty Peter...” Peter’s entire body slacks in Bucky’s hold and he could practically hear Bucky grinning through his words. “Does it have to make sense?” Does it? Does it really? A faint smile spreads on Peter’s face when he truly gives in. Not that he was fighting before, but it feels like whatever Bucky said just shut down his brain completely. It doesn’t have to make sense. He’s alone. He’s not alone. It doesn’t matter. He’s feeling good. So good. Wants to feel even better. All he has to do is… “Let it happen…” Bucky’s tongue flicks Peter’s upper lip just as Tony’s tongue dips in far enough to graze past his prostate. Peter gasps and jolts but almost immediately relaxes again, letting his feet practically dangle. He knows he’s taken care of. He doesn’t have to do anything. Doesn’t have to worry about anything. He just has to feel good. Let it happen. His mind is turned off, yet his body is turned on. Very much so… Peter doesn’t know how long he’s like this, floating, the warm stream of water massaging the skin of his back, cock rubbing against Bucky and ass eaten by Tony Stark. But it feels like heaven. He can barely remember his name when he’s brought back to his feet, though he can’t stand. Not by himself. “You’re beautiful,” Bucky whispers. Peter wants to protest Tony’s tongue leaving his hole, but he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. He feels too good to even barely function. He was pretty sure he was still breathing, but that was about it. The ghost hands gently scrub Peter’s tired body clean. The orchid scent fills his nostrils and clouds his mind even more, though he wasn’t sure if that was even possible. He shivers when one of the hands grabs his shaft and starts massaging it, moving up to cup his balls and fondle them. “Perfect,” Tony sighs against Peter’s shoulder, pressing kisses on the freshly washed skin. “You are absolutely perfect…” “Nng-” Peter drops his head back against Tony’s chest, lazily rolling his hips into the hand that’s giving him all the attention right now. “Our perfect, pretty, puppet - Peter Parker…” “Puppet…” Peter sighs and smiles, turning his head to the side to press a kiss on the invisible figure of Tony Stark. If his brain still worked, he’d have known he was suckling on Tony’s collar bone. “Yours…” “Oh, I’d kill to get those soft lips on my cock,” Tony whispers in his ear. Peter looks up into nothingness, doe-eyed and yearning, imagining Tony’s face close to his. His hair sticks to his face and the hot water tickles his sides as it runs down his body. “Please?” The dark chuckle that follows, turns Peter to putty. “Did you just beg to suck me off, sweet thing?” A blush creeps onto Peter’s face and he turns to hide himself against Tony’s chest. The ghost embraces him, pressing their cocks together and massaging Peter’s scalp. Peter whimpers and rubs himself against nothing. Or something. It doesn’t matter. It feels good. “You’re a lot less innocent than you seemed when I first met you, aren’t you?” Bucky coos. One pair of hands lets go of Peter and not much later the water pressure decreases. Peter glances to the side to watch the faucet turn by itself until the shower is no longer running. A towel floats towards him and he’s gently wrapped into it. Peter sways on his feet, mind still turned off, as he’s turned around. “Look at me,” Bucky orders. Peter obeys and stares up at the eyes in the back of his mind. “Come back to us, remember us, see us.” James Buchanan Barnes The look of realization on Peter’s face is absolutely everything. The haze that had covered his eyes slowly fades and after a few blinks Peter tenses every muscle in his body and freezes in place. Everything he had ‘imagined,’ turned out to be real. “Hello there,” Bucky coos as he immediately wraps his fingers around Peter’s cock again. The young man gasps and bucks, and the way his face twists with pleasure tells Bucky everything he needs to know. He squeezes at the base, preventing Peter from cumming his brains out. His brains might have already been jumbled up, but Bucky isn’t done with him yet. He’ll truly make Peter lose his mind later. Peter’s body convulses and twitches- wants to get away from Bucky’s grasp so he can shoot his load, but Tony holds on to him. Keeps him where they want him. A sob escapes Peter’s lips and his muscles lose tension until he lets himself hang in Tony’s arms like he did before, completely void of any strength to keep himself upright. “Did that feel good?” Tony whispers in Peter’s ear. Peter can only nod, eyes rolled back and jaw hanging slack. “Good.” Peter shudders, only barely holding onto the towel that’s still wrapped around his body. Tony swiftly picks him up and nods at Bucky, who opens the door for them so they can put Peter on their bed. The boy immediately curls up in the towel and babbles something incoherently. “What was that?” Bucky lays down behind Peter and wraps his arms around him. Peter’s bare ass is protected by the layer of towel between them, but Bucky knows it won’t be long now… “I’ve never felt this good before,” Peter whispers. Tony chuckles and sits down on the other side of the bed, one leg pulled in, showing off his hard cock right in front of Peter’s face. Peter stares at it with a dark hunger in his eye and Bucky’s pretty sure that if Tony were to scoot slightly closer, Peter would eat it. “W-want you to feel good too.” “We are feeling good,” Bucky sighs against Peter’s neck. He takes a deep breath, relishing in Peter’s scent and leans in further to kiss the skin, feeling the veins throb beneath it. His hand snakes into the towel to trace his thumb back and forth over Peter’s cock. The shaft twitches and Peter moans. “Wanna make you- oh- make you feel even better, then.” Peter pushes his ass back against Bucky’s crotch. Bucky glances up at Tony and both men grin. “We’ve had decades and centuries to get our fill…” Bucky’s sharp teeth glide over the prominent artery of Peter’s neck. “Quite literally,” Tony adds with a nod. “Surely, we should be able to only give for one night.” Peter stays quiet for a second and then wiggles and turns in Bucky’s arms until he’s on his back so he can look at both men. Bucky leans back a little to give Peter some space. “What if I want you to take?” Bucky’s grin grows even wider, canines baring, and he pushes his thumb against Peter’s cock with a tiny bit more force. Peter is already slightly rolling his hips again and Bucky can’t help but wonder how in the world they managed to be so lucky to find him. “Then we’ll take.” The obscene moan Peter makes then, has Bucky growl and pull the towel from between them to throw it to the floor. His hips push and roll until his erect cock breaches the crack of Peter’s ass . The young man immediately arches his back to press further, eliciting a moan from Bucky. Jesus, this kid feels amazing. “Please,” Peter begs. And, oh, he begs so beautifully. “Please, take it all- take me, use me.” “Oh-” Bucky groans and pulls Peter even closer to him, entangling their legs and spreading his cheeks with one hand. The drag is dry and coarse, but one glance at Tony has the younger vampire rush to the nightstand to grab the lube. “How could we refuse an offer as tempting and gorgeous as that? As you?” Peter whines again as his hand grasps back to grab onto Bucky. His fingers dig into the immortal’s skin, while his ass is slowly going in circles “P-please-” “Please, what?” Buck grins as he turns them over, propping himself up against the bed rest and seating Peter on his thighs with his legs on either side, back freed from Bucky’s chest. He can no longer see Peter’s face, but the way his shoulders raise and his head ducks, is all Bucky needs. “Petey, please, what?” Peter shivers. Bucky has no way of telling what expressions wash over the younger man’s face, but suddenly, Tony gets on the bed again, sitting down right in front of Peter, on top of Bucky’s legs. “Look at me,” Tony orders and Peter’s muscles immediately relax when his eyes lock with Tony’s infinite browns, demanding and swirling like a pouring bottle of scotch. Bucky never admits it, but both men know Bucky is just as weak for Tony’s compulsion as any mortal is. Something about his sire is so intoxicatingly entrancing. He might have many years on Tony, but when the billionaire’s in charge, all he has to do is practice his black magic and Bucky turns into an eager, submissive fucking machine, ready to obey and serve his Master and his cock...  Wait.  Bucky turns his head away and scoffs a laugh. “You’re horrible.” “Hmm, it was worth a try...” Tony’s cheeky grin was evident through his words. His attention is quickly turned back to their new toy. “Peter…” “Yes?” Peter’s reply was a delayed sigh, sounding slightly distant and detached, as is usually the case with their thralls, if they even replied. Most weren’t strong enough to even move their lips. Peter is special, Bucky is certain. “Tell us what you want. Tell us exactly what you want to do. What you want us to do. The words we should use. The ones you want to use. Tell us.” Peter nods along gently with every word Tony utters, like a bobble head refusing to cease its movement, delicately bouncing up and down. “Everything.” As Peter attempts his arousal fueled monologue, Tony caresses his jaw and lifts his chin until Peter has no choice but to follow up and detach his ass from Bucky’s thighs. Their eyes are still locked together and the billionaire’s intense stare ensures Peter complies without protesting the loss of friction. Tony tosses Bucky the lube who licks his lips and gets to work, lubing his cock generously and stroking himself as he watches the scene unfold in front of him.. “I- I want…” Peter’s breath is shaky. Still uncertain. Scared. “Hey,” Tony whispers as he scoots closer, pulling Peter in by gently tugging at his chin. Their breaths mingle and Peter flutters his glassy eyes. “You don’t have to worry anymore. We got you. We’re going to take care of you.” Their noses touch and Peter nearly goes cross eyed.  “Let go.” Peter gasps and pushes in to press their lips together in a desperate kiss. His hips roll, cock twitching and thudding against his lower abdomen. Bucky groans as he strokes his cock faster, relishing in the display happening above him. His metal hand creeps up and squeezes Peter’s ass, resulting in a filthy moan, muffled against Tony’s lips. His lube-covered index finger then wiggles its way towards Peter’s hole. The young man twitches when Bucky circles the rim teasingly. Tony’s fingers are curled around Peter’s throat, possessively rubbing the tips into the skin and over the veins. He breaks the kiss and his voice is low. “Tell us.” “I want you to love me. Own me. Want to stop thinking and be mindless. Willing. Suggestible.” With every word Peter moans, Bucky pushes his finger in further. “Want to be yours and u-used. A slut for your cocks. A slave for y-your touch.” Bucky adds a second finger and pumps a little faster, curling his fingers in the search for Peter’s sweet spot. Peter relaxes so easily around his digits. Bucky can’t wait to rail him. “Want you to put me under your spell. Make me addicted to your sex. Ready and waiting for you to fuck my prepped holes at any time as you see fit. Want it all.” Peter moans as Bucky’s metal hand digs into the skin at his hip and pulls him down, lining him up with Bucky’s cock. “Want to be filled.” Bucky immediately grants his wish and replaces his finger with the head of his dick. Slowly, he pushes in. Peter can barely hold his composure as he continues. “H-horny and desperate, hard and aching-nng-” “Good boy,” Tony praises as he slowly lifts Peter’s hips and pushes him back down to bottom out. “Such a good, pretty boy.” Peter shivers and throws his head back, only to be pulled up straight again by Tony’s calloused hands. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” Peter blinks twice and moans at the drag on his insides. Bucky guesses the boy is becoming familiar with the hazy feeling, succumbing more easily with every wave of enforced submission that washes over him. Bucky knows the feeling all too well. Loves it all the same. Bucky lays still, savouring the feeling of being inside Peter. He’ll let Tony do all the work. “Look-Luh… Ye…” “What’s that, puppet?” “Yes.” “Yes… What?” “Y… What- what do you want me to call you?” Bucky lets out a surprised laugh. “Oh, we get to pick?” “You’re in charge,” Peter mumbles honestly, still staring straight into Tony’s eyes. “P-please, tell me what to call you-” Bucky’s cock twitches inside Peter and the vampire groans quietly. “Hmm,” Tony hums, inching closer to Peter again and letting his hands roam the younger man’s sides. “You want to be our slave, don’t you?” Peter barely moved, but it was obvious he nodded. “Yes-” “You want to serve us? Please us? Obey us?” “Yes, yes, please-” “Be our pretty puppet? Our toy?” “Please-” Tony rolls his ass once and Bucky’s face twists with pleasure. “Play with me?” “Oh, doll, of course-” Bucky growls as his hands grab Peter’s hips in an attempt to push him even further down onto him, if that were even possible. “We’ll play with you all night…” “After too?” The words would’ve sounded so innocent if they weren’t paired with an obscene moan. “Forever, if you’ll let us,” Tony whispers as he licks a stripe over Peter’s collarbone. “Forever-” Peter repeats breathlessly, raising himself up with the last strength he has so he can fuck himself on Bucky’s cock. “God, doll, you feel so good around me,” Bucky moans as he pushes his hips up to meet with Peter’s. Tony sits back up straight again so he can capture Peter with his eyes once more. “Doing so well for us, Peter,” he praises, taking Peter’s face in his hands, cupping his jaw and drawing circles over the skin with his thumbs. Peter shivers and clenches around Bucky, eliciting another moan from him. “Not too fast, sweet thing,” Tony chuckles. “Savor it... Keep your gaze locked with mine as you go up and down on Bucky’s cock.” He speaks slowly, with a dark undertone, and Bucky has to remind himself to keep his shit together, or he will fall for Tony just as hard. “Up…” Tony waits patiently for Peter to get to his knees again. “And down… Thaaat’s it. Again…” “Good boy…” “Just like that…” “Up… And down…” “Feels good doesn’t it?” “Doing as told…” “Obeying my commands…” “Up… And down…” “There’s so much pleasure in obedience…” “Just let it happen… Let go…” “Up… And down... “ “Feel the drag of his cock inside you… How it throbs and pulsates…” “That’s right, moan for me…” “So pretty…” “Good boys.” Peter Benjamin Parker Tony’s words bounce through Peter’s head just as slowly as he’s bouncing on Bucky’s cock. Peter is floating yet again. He knows he’s riding Bucky, but he can’t feel how his muscles ache with overuse. He has no idea how long he’s been here, staring into Tony’s infinite pools of darkness, pushing himself down to be filled so deliciously. But he feels good. And that’s all that matters. “Peter… Repeat the next word Bucky says. Can you do that for me?” Peter nods, head bobbing rather than giving a clear confirmation. “Bucky,” Tony suddenly says, quite casually. “Master.” Peter shudders at the word, unsure why Bucky of all people would say it? Did… Did Tony put him under too? “M-” Peter could barely bring the word to fall from his lips, pleasure tensing up every one of his muscles. “Master.” Tony immediately tugs at Peter’s hair, making him moan again. “Oh, aren’t you two my good boys… Turn around for me, Peter, go have a look at who’s fucking you so well…” Peter barely registers how Tony helps him switch positions, until he and Bucky lock gazes. There’s something distant about the usually so piercing blue eyes and both men moan when they’re joined together again. “Go on, my pretties… Find Peter’s sweet spot. Make yourselves feel good for me. Make me proud.” Tony chuckles darkly. “Not too fast, though.” Peter’s head swims as he rolls his hips to come together with Bucky’s. The older vampire’s eyes are the polar opposite of Tony’s. From deep woods to blue ice. Bucky is like a machine. His thrusts are calculated. Precise. Rhythmic. Mind-numbing. It takes a few tries and a few angles, but when Bucky’s cock pushes in just right, Peter freezes in place, mouth opened in a silent cry. “Keep going.” Yes. Peter wants to keep going. And so, he does, feeling Tony pressing his body against Peter’s, cock against his back and arms looping around so his fingers tease around Peter’s leaking shaft. “Look at him, Peter.” The young man had never looked away from Bucky in the first place, but the order solidifies it all. “Bucky is your Master…” Tony’s lips caress the nape of Peter’s neck. “Say it.” Peter whines softly. “B-Bucky is my Master.” He wants to squeeze his eyes shut, but he can’t look away or turn his head. He’s stuck in this overwhelming situation, but he’s certain he never wants to get out. Bucky’s hands on Peter’s hips squeeze, digging their fingers into the skin. “You will do whatever he says.” “I will do wh-whatever he says.” Peter’s obedience is rewarded with a pinch of both nipples, and with Bucky hitting his prostate every time, he’s sure he looks like a mess. He’s sweaty, nearly drooling, as his cock already is. “I am Bucky’s Master.” “You are Bucky’s Master.” Peter knows where this is headed and he’s living for it. Can’t wait to say the words Tony wants him to say. “He does whatever I say.” “He-” Peter clenches around Bucky’s cock, putting his hand on the tensed and toned chest below him for extra balance. “He does whatever you say.” “Now, pretty Peter… You’re a smart, good boy, aren’t you? What does that mean?” Bucky is Peter’s Master. Tony is Bucky’s Master. The math is simple. “You’re my Master,” Peter breathes as he bottoms out again, straining every part of his body. “I will do whatever you say.” “Thaaat’s it… Such a good boy.” Tony’s fingers trace over Peter’s cock and he gasps with a wide smile on his face as his body finally manages to relax again. Whenever either of the vampires uses that voice on Peter, he turns to mush. It’s soft and delicate, yet demanding and forceful. Disobeying it is impossible and every word feels like an attack on all of Peter’s sensitive spots. It fucks with Peter’s head deliciously. Immeasurable pleasure. Insanity. Addiction. Lust. It’s everything. Bucky is unreadable. Stern. Hot. Peter has no idea how close either of them is to coming, but that is honestly the last thing on his mind right now. Or whatever is left of his mind. All that matters are Tony, Bucky and Peter’s ultimate submission. “You two look so wonderful together,” Tony sighs. “Made for each other… That dog was a blessing in disguise.” Tony toys with Peter’s cock; squeezing it, tugging at it, circling the tip like a spiral. Peter and Bucky still stare at each other, completely infatuated with the other’s presence as Peter goes up and down… Up… And down.... “And you solidified his obsession with you by making a fuss over his Cold Coffee.” “I- I made him drop it-” Peter stammers, half-surprised that part of his brain turned back on at the memory of his worries. “I had to offer him another one, even if I didn’t have the funds-” “Stop.” The whole scene comes to a halt just as Peter bottoms out again, sheathing Bucky’s cock inside him. There’s a veil of shame and guilt covering his shoulders, pushing him down. “You’re not allowed to think bad thoughts. Only good ones,” Tony whispers into Peter’s ear. “Nothing else matters than what is currently happening in this room, do you understand?” “I understand.” “Look at your pretty cock, Peter. Look down.” Peter obeys and topples his head. “See all of this?” Tony’s thumb glides over the head, collecting part of the precum that was dripping out. Peter half-nods. “These are all of your worries, seeping out of your body with every inch of pleasure that we give you. And once they’re out, you can’t think bad thoughts anymore…” “Can’t think…” “They come out of your cock because pretty boys like you think with their dicks, don’t they? And the more that comes out of your shaft, the less you can think. So, why bother thinking at all?  Why not give in to me? To us? Give us your mind and your body. Feel your thoughts drip out with every pump of my hand…” It clicks with Peter, what Tony says. Master is right. He’s always right. If Peter’s mind is in his cock and his cock is leaking, then surely, he’s quite literally losing his mind… “Feels good to turn off your brain, doesn’t it?” Peter nods slightly and a rush of arousal shoots through him when Bucky nods along as well. “Continue.” Slowly, they start making love again. The concept of time eludes all three men. They’re completely caught up in each other, lost in pleasure. Something in the back of Peter’s mind tells him he should be sleeping. That he’s tired. But then, Tony didn’t tell him he’s tired. Nor did Bucky. So, he’s not tired. He keeps going, gently gyrating his hips with every push and pull, trying to milk Bucky’s cock of all its cum. He wants his Master to coat his insides and fill him up until the slickness squelches and squeaks with every movement. Peter wants it so bad- needs it. But Bucky hasn’t come yet and it’s only when Peter realizes that Bucky needs permission to release, that Peter clenches down particularly hard, eliciting the filthiest moan from the man underneath him. “Hold it there, lovelies,” Tony coos, caressing Bucky’s shivering legs and Peter’s sides. Peter has absolutely no clue where he is right now, but the grounding feeling of Bucky’s cock still inside him is all he needs right now. “Mmm… Bucky, you’re doing so well for us. So beautiful. Keep thrusting. Claim your thrall with your sex.” Tony hifts his attention after Bucky moans, sucking up the pleasure with every breath he takes- every word that’s uttered. “Peter?” Peter’s mind catches up with itself, realizing he closed his eyes. He moves his head so he can look at Tony, who has apparently stood up and walked around Peter over the mattress. When he opens his eyes, all he sees is his Master’s big cock, slowly swaying back and forth in front of him. “What do you want?” “You,” Peter sighs happily. “All of you. Both of you.” “Good boy.” Tony grins above Peter, but the young man is too enamoured with the dick in front of him. Tony angles his hips so he can drag the tip over Peter’s cheek. “Bucky’s an ass-man. Figured he should be rewarded with a good view of mine as I fuck your mouth.” Tony cocks his head. “Do you think he deserves to be rewarded, Peter?” All Peter can do is nod. Of course, Bucky deserves a reward. He’s the one who got Peter to be in this exact position. And he never wants to leave again. Tony pulls back slightly, chuckling at how Peter goes a little cross-eyed in order to keep his sights locked on his cock. “Gooood boy. Continue.” With every roll of Peter’s hips, Tony’s dick seems to dance in front of him. He wants to catch it with his mouth and relishes in the sensation of feeling it slap gently against his cheeks. “See this, Petey?” Tony asks coily. Peter nods, licking his lips and then parting them, wanting to feel soft skin on his tongue. “Your cock is nearly empty now. No bad thoughts left in that fuzzy little brain of yours, am I right?” Peter’s eyes half-close and he nods. “My cock, on the other hand, is so full with good thoughts. It throbs and aches with them. And I want to share them with you, pretty Peter… Can I give you some?” Peter throws his head back, eyes never leaving his Master’s cock, and he opens his mouth invitingly. He wants his Master’s cum- wants the good thoughts instead of the bad ones, even though - right now - he has no idea what those bad thoughts once were. What kind of man he used to be. All he knows is that he’s better now. And he feels better too.. He’s ready for them; for the good thoughts. He craves them and yearns for them. He hopes a desperate moan can convince his Master to use his mouth. Peter sticks out his tongue and enticingly flutters his eyes. “God, I’m so hard for you, sweetness. Can’t wait to sink my teeth into your flesh. Oh, I bet you taste so good.” Peter can’t reply. Not with the cock that’s now being shoved down his throat. He suckles and licks it, toying with the head as he keeps grinding. Shit, this feels terrific. Every molecule in Peter’s body is screaming at him to make Tony and Bucky, his Masters, feel terrific too. He’s convinced Bucky already is, so now, the focus will go to the throbbing shaft that rests on his tongue. He lets his teeth glide over it, tugging at twisting and- “Jesus Christ, kid, who taught you this-?!” Peter lazily looks up and moves to take his mouth of Tony’s cock to give his answer. However, Tony’s hand quickly grabs the back of Peter’s head, pushing the young man’s nose against his bush. Peter nearly gags. “Don’t reply, just keep- fuck- keep doing what you’re doing.” After a short gasp, Tony manages to angle his head down again to look Peter in the eye. “Make us cum, Peter. Make us spill.” Peter doesn’t have to be told twice. His rutting on Bucky’s cock quickens and he pushes down more deeply.  At the same time, his tongue swirls around Tony’s shaft. He can’t stop moaning, the ecstasy is too overwhelming. The longer it goes on, the more erratic Tony’s movements become. With a growl and a sigh, he tenses up and shoots his load into Peter’s throat. The young man swallows eagerly, lapping it all up. Peter keeps absentmindedly suckling on the softening cock as if it’s a popsicle, while he rides his other Master. “Oh, Bucky bear,” Tony coos and for the first time in a while, Peter hears Bucky whine. “Been on the edge for so long now, haven’t you?” “Y-yes-” “How does your thrall feel? Hmm? Tell him.” “So- so good, Peter, you’re so good for me, so good to me, oh-” Peter squeezes every part of himself, digging his fingers into Bucky’s sides. “I want to taste you, so bad-” “Would you be okay with that, Peter?” Tony gently pulls Peter off his cock. By the look on his Master’s face, Peter assumes he’s quite the sight. Puffed, red lips covered in cum- glazed over, teary eyes… “Bucky hasn’t fed in days… He’s starving, little one.” Tony caresses Peter’s face, all the while smearing his cum and saliva stained cock over Peter’s cheeks again. “May he feed from you?” “Does it hurt?” Peter counters the question with one of his own. Part of him still wants to think things through. Ask questions, on which he can base his own answer more properly. “It won’t if you don’t want it to.” Tony’s fingers slip under his jaw again, caressing the artery on his neck. He leans in slightly, capturing Peter with his eyes once again. “I’m going to tell you a vampire secret, sweet Peter… Feeding makes everyone involved feel good. So good, even, that if it tips you over the edge, you’ll stay on that high until the feed is done.” Peter shivers. He’s unsure if it’s true, or if it’s something Tony is just saying to win Peter over. But does it matter? If his Master orders him to cum, he will. For however long his Master so desires. Still, Peter is curious by nature. “H-how long?” “Hm…” Tony grins and presses their noses together, possessively squeezing Peter’s throat. “Shortest feed I’ve ever had was about a minute… But we can drag it out, my pretty. We can make you come for hours if you want to. You do want to come, don’t you?” Peter blinks once. He hadn’t given cumming much thought up until this topic came to light. His mind was mostly occupied with the pleasure his Master’s experienced. He felt absolutely amazing, yes, but coming? Only now, Peter realizes how much his own cock aches. How blue his balls must be. How desperate he is. “I want to come,” he whispers. “Good boy,” Master coos and Peter shudders. “Now, answer my question. May Bucky feed from you?” Peter moans when Tony drags his fingers from Peter’s neck down to his chest. “Yes-”  Peter manages to shut his eyes as he is moved into a different position. He’s the one on his back now, finally able to relax his muscles. He doesn’t notice how his legs are pulled up and spread and how Bucky follows every single one of Tony’s commands as he realigns himself with Peter’s gaping hole. They both grunt when he pushes in and bottoms out again. Peter’s eyes fly open as Bucky immediately hits the right spot in this position. “Fuck him hard, Buck,” Tony encourages. “He’s your thrall after all. Your toy. Your doll.” When Tony utters the last word, all the fog seems to clear from Bucky’s eyes and it’s replaced with aggression. Apparently, the word ‘doll’ was his trigger to snap out of it. “How dare you!” Bucky growls as he starts his relentless thrusts into Peter’s hole in order to chase his high. With every quick, desperate movement, Peter gasps and whines. It feels so good and Bucky’s frustration is so hot. And he’s strong; metal arm pinning Peter in place. Peter’s helpless. And it’s absolutely perfect. “What?” Tony chuckles. “Your orgasms are better after a few hours of denial. You get to feed tonight, Buck. You get to have Peter. He’s yours. Use him.” “Oh, I will.” The metal fingers move to curl around Peter’s throat, pulling at him and exposing his neck. Peter’s eyes roll back at the knowledge of the impending explosion of pleasure. “So…” Tony sounds so casual, so nonchalant. His voice is far away. Is he… In the bathroom? “How long are you gonna make him shake?” “As if I’m telling ya after whatcha just pulled.” “Hey, don’t get angry with me, I wasn’t even trying to put you under the second time. You just fell, I didn’t have to look at you once.” Somehow the fact that Tony and Bucky were arguing while Peter was used as a fucktoy did things to Peter. He wasn’t sure if he liked being ignored like this. Though, the fact that Bucky doesn’t even have to pay attention to make Peter moan with pleasure does add a bit to the tingles in his abdomen. However, he’d rather have his Masters pay attention to him. He manages to raise his hand to trace his index finger over Bucky’s chest. A blissful smile spreads on Peter’s face. With every rut of Bucky’s cock inside of him, he feels happier and happier. He wants Bucky to feel happy too. “M-Master?” Bucky’s head whips back to Peter and the man immediately realizes what he’s doing, seemingly shocked that he managed to talk over Peter. He doesn’t stop humping, though. No, he increases the speed when he sees Peter so utterly fucked out. His icy eyes darken and he bares his fangs. “Yes, darling?” He asks sweetly, a polar opposite of his movements. “Come for me?” With a loud cry, Bucky suddenly erupts inside Peter, not halting his movements as he keeps pumping and pumping and, oh, Peter feels so good. And out of nowhere, Peter’s head is turned even further and he feels two small pinches in his neck. He gasps when the sudden floods of mind numbing pleasure crash onto him wave after wave. His whole body shakes and twitches and convulses and he spurts his come all over himself. He’s lost it, babbling and moaning and screaming because nothing in his life has ever felt this mind shatteringly amazing. Bucky’s tongue and mouth are wet against his skin, lapping and sucking and Peter can feel how he’s being drained of his deepest shade of red. So good, feels so good, so good- It just keeps going and going and going and he expects it to become too much, to be overwhelmed and overstimulated, but his body just takes it and loves it and accepts it. More, more, more. Keep going. Keep cumming. Good boy. Such a good boy for you Masters. . Spent. It’s the only word Peter can conjure up when Bucky’s soft lips and flaccid cock finally detach themselves from him. He lays still, pale and exhausted. Awake, but not entirely present. Sweet praise fills his ears as he’s lifted off the bed and carried away to god knows where. It’s not a long walk and Peter gasps when he’s gently placed in a bathtub with nice, warm water. It smells like lavender… Peter doesn’t realize he’s holding onto Bucky, until the man uses his voice to part the fog in Peter’s mind. “Let go,” he orders. Peter only moans quietly, sinking deeper into the water and dragging the man with him. “Of me, sweetness, let go of me,” Bucky laughs softly and Peter’s hands relax their grip on Bucky. Peter’s head is held up above the water to prevent him from dipping under. There’s no strength left in his muscles to do so himself. The water ripples when both men join him in the large tub and start washing him gently. Every touch tickles Peter’s skin. He’s empty. A vessel for his floating mind. The four hands take care of him, cleaning every inch of his skin. They also make him drink something sugary and hand-feed him something salty. It’s when he’s on his third bite of the savoury meal - he guesses it’s some sort of cracker - that he manages to open his eyes. “Good morning,” Tony coos. Peter blinks a few times and then spots what Tony means. Golden streaks of sunlight break into the bedroom, illuminating the room with heavy yellow and orange tones. They… They went all night? “H…” Peter tries to speak, but nothing comes out. His exhaustion is just about as overwhelming as the loving warmth he’s feeling. How many hours has he been awake now? He manages to look down and notices he’s in the large glass bathtub he’d spotted the night before. “It’s okay, Peter, you don’t have to talk.” Bucky’s voice is strangely soft now. Less strained. Is it… Is that because he fed? Peter wants to turn his head to face Tony, who he only now realizes is spooning him from behind, softly petting the skin Bucky had bitten into. “We know it’s a lot to handle all at once,” Tony mumbles. “All we need to know is if you’re okay.” Peter nods slightly and Bucky moves in closer to feed him another bite. The water dances around them and he happily complies, wanting to satiate the hunger in his stomach. “You were even more than we had hoped you would be, doll.” Bucky’s thumb wipes a few crumbs from the corner of Peter’s mouth, an adoring smile on his own face. “And now, we hope you enjoyed yourself as much as we did.” Tony’s fingers twist into Peter’s curls, playing with them. Peter huffs out some air and smirks, but it falters with his lack of energy. He nods again. “Good,” Tony says staccato. His words carry so much differently when he’s not using his voice.  “We’re going to dry you up and put you into a clean bed so you can finally get the sleep you deserve so much,” Bucky explains. “Is that okay with you too?” Another nod. “Sleep with me?” Peter’s voice is hoarse, barely audible. Bucky smiles again. “Of course, pretty Peter… We’re not leaving you unless you want us to.” Peter is lifted out of the bath and carefully dried before being gently placed into the soft sheets. He curls up into them immediately and sighs happily when he feels Tony and Bucky sandwich him. They press flat pecks on his head, his shoulder, behind his ear as they continue their praise. Peter can’t believe any of this actually happened. But he’s glad it did. After months of being stuck in an endless cycle of repetitive work, he finally feels like he has a purpose again. At least, if they keep him. But, in all honesty, Peter is pretty sure they will. James Buchanan Barnes Bucky turns in his bed. The last time he looked at the clock, Peter had been sleeping for 18 hours. Well, Peter woke up a few times to eat more of the crackers, drink some, and pee, but he would always immediately stumble back to bed and crash again straight away. Tony spent the day in his lab and went back to bed quite late. Bucky stayed with Peter to take care of him whenever the young man needed him too, but he didn’t quite catch himself drifting off as well… Bucky reaches out, aiming to pull Peter close to him, but then his nose twitches. The bed smells of his delicious Peter, but it’s… Distant. Bucky pats an empty space next to him and his eyes open wide. A bit further away from him is Tony, peacefully sleeping, but Peter… Peter’s gone. “Tones-” Bucky slaps the man on the shoulder. Tony jolts awake and sits upright, looking around confused. “Wha-?” “Where the fuck-” And then they hear it… Soft hums, singing a tune neither man recognizes, and the clanking of pans. Tony and Bucky turn their heads to look at each other and then at the door. They then quickly scramble out of the bed, rushing towards their living space. When they open the door, they’re met with Peter in their open kitchen. He’s… Baking? Peter looks up surprised and fails miserably at hiding his laughter at the two feral, naked men, sheets still clutched in their hands. “Good morning to you too,” Peter chuckles. “I, eh…” He gestures at the messy counter in front of him. “I got hungry, but you didn’t really have any food, so I figured I’d bake some bread?” Tony and Bucky visibly relax, lowering their shoulders. “You can bake?” Tony asks bewildered as he sits down on the bar stool at the counter, legs spread to give his dick some space. “I mean, I do work in a bakery, you know?” “It smells amazing,” Bucky praises as he walks towards Peter, around the kitchen counter. He’s pleasantly surprised to find that Peter opted to wear nothing but the apron this morning. “You smell amazing.” “Thank you.” A lovely blush creeps onto Peter’s face. Bucky wraps his arms around Peter, pressing his morning wood against Peter’s pert ass. His lips find the skin he’d bitten into on their night of fireworks and he sticks his tongue out to gently rub it over the sore spots his sharp teeth had left. Peter gasps and immediately pushes back against Bucky’s cock.  “B-before we do anything else-” Peter stutters. “Hm?” “We need to discuss a few things.” Tony frowns and approaches them as well. “Oh dear,” he quips. Bucky lets go of Peter and gives him the space to do his talking. In the meantime Peter turns around to make the three of them a good cup of coffee to start the day. “It’s nothing bad, I promise,” Peter says with a smile. “I just need you to do one thing.” “Oh!” Tony claps his hands in delight. “You already want to make use of our skills? Cheeky.” “No!” Peter exclaims, grinding the beans. “All I want is for you to offer Betty a job.” “Who’s Betty again?” Peter sighs exasperated at Tony’s question, but the billionaire quickly remembers. “Oh! The other girl who was supposed to be serving us on Friday?” “Yes.” Peter turns on the coffee machine, frothing their milk as he speaks. “She lost her job because of your little stunt.” “Wait, what?” Bucky scratches the back of his head. “That was never our intention.” “Well, tell that to Beck.” “The guy you told to pull his own weight?” “Yep.” Peter finishes up the first cup of coffee and passes it to Tony. “He fired her cause she could barely walk.” “Jesus. Alright, what’s her skillset?” “She’s studying biochem here in New York. Super smart. I’m sure she’ll be an asset to your company.” Tony roars a laugh and slaps his bare knee. “Look at you,” he coos. “You’re gonna make a great personal assistant.” “Just-” Peter shakes his head, finishing up the second coffee. “Just help her out, okay?” “Don’t you worry about her, Peter.” Bucky pushes himself against Peter again, still allowing him enough space to make the last coffee. “We’ll offer her a job.” “Thank you.” “Anything for you, lovely.” Bucky kisses the top of Peter’s head and the young man immediately leans in for more. He shifts and turns, placing the last cup on the counter to kiss Bucky back properly. His hips start rolling again, rutting against Bucky’s leg. Bucky’s fingers move to untie the apron behind Peter’s back and he pulls it out from between them so Peter can hump Bucky’s thigh more freely, cock already aching again. Peter moans, letting his hands roam Bucky’s chest.  It’s not long before Tony joins them, once again sandwiching Peter between the two of them. They can hear the blood rushing through Peter’s body and they grin at how Peter’s neediness grows with every second. Tony and Bucky had promised themselves to let Peter replenish all of his stamina before putting him under again, but their discipline crumbles when Peter moans. “M-Master?” Bucky lifts Peter up just like he did in the shower and walks him back to the bedroom. Tony follows and raises an eyebrow at Bucky. “Quicky?” He asks. “Quicky.” Bucky confirms. But with how their sloppy kisses and needy rutting was evolving into more, Bucky was sure he’d come back out of the bedroom to a cold coffee.

[atths--twice]

Continuing on...

Chapter Three     3/8

Quests and Fortunes 

After a night of sadness, Mulder wants to spend time with Scully and cheer her up if he can.

Mulder stood outside of Scully’s apartment with bags of food in his hands, as he waited for her to open the door. He had picked up a late lunch on his way over, intending to take full advantage of the day off and spend it with her.

The door opened and she seemed shocked to see him. She was in jeans and the softest, bluest sweater he had ever seen. He wanted to run his hands up and down her arms to see if it was as soft as he imagined. Her eyes were even bluer than normal and he felt as thought he he could drown in them.

“Mulder! What are you doing here?” she asked in surprise.

“Well,” he said, as he pushed past her and set the bags on the table. “I was home and thinking that some food would be nice. Then I thought you would probably be hungry by now after you ate...” He trailed off as he glanced at the plate that held the bagel and doughnut from earlier. Finding the bagel still remaining, he looked at her and grinned. “You chose wisely, I see.”

“Shut up,” she said as she closed the door and joined him at the table. She tried to hide her smile but she was not able to do so.

“So, what did you get for, what are we calling this, lunch?” she asked with a glance at the clock, as her stomach grumbled. Oh, apparently it had been awhile since that doughnut. He grinned wider and she smiled back.

“I went to Sal’s and got you your regular and for myself, a super delicious meal,” he said as he began to unpack the bags.

“Are you implying that my food is not delicious?” she asked, staring at him with raised eyebrows. “And I doubt you got my order down. I don’t always get the same thing, you know.”

He scoffed. “Scully, that’s crap and you know it. Prepare to, once again, be amazed at my abilities.” He cracked his knuckles, rolled his neck, and took a deep breath. “Thin sliced turkey on wheat bread, no mayo, light mustard, tomatoes, sprouts, pickle- on the side. Salad, vinaigrette dressing- also on the side. Croutons in a bag, so they don’t get soggy and lose their croutony crunch. Sparkling water, with a lemon wedge-in a container, also on the side,” he said with a proud voice, as he pulled each item out of the bag and presented them to her. He stared at her, daring her to say he got it wrong.

She smiled at him, an adorable smile that he very rarely saw. He remembered her first smiling at him like that years ago, in Aubrey, Missouri, as she talked about his extreme hunches. His heart beat fast seeing it then and it damn near did cartwheels seeing it now. She nodded through her smile and began opening the containers that sat in front of her before sitting down.

He sat next to her and opened a container to reveal a super messy sandwich. Full of mayonnaise, mustard, ham, cheese, turkey, tomatoes, onions, lettuce- all on sourdough. He took a huge bite and she shook her head as she watched him chewing his food. He knew he had to have mayo and mustard on his face, which she confirmed when she reached over and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He grinned, licking his lips before taking another giant bite.

She continued staring at him, eating as though he had not seen food in years. She shook her head once more and took a small bite of her food, as though to show him that people could be civil and not disgusting. He watched her and grinned.

“Your sandwich looks pretty good. You wanna switch?” he asked, offering the other half of his sandwich to her.

She eyed it suspiciously, but then agreed to trying it only, and he smiled. He knew that once she tasted it, she would not give it back; he just had to present it the right way.

She took a couple of bites and then simply finished off the other half of his sandwich. He nodded knowingly at her and she stared back at him, narrowing her eyes. He wiped her face this time, as she was sporting the remnants of his sandwich, while he was left with her bland, boring sandwich. He did not complain, however, wanting her to eat, so he said nothing about the lack of taste and enjoyment her food brought him.

She ate her salad, but offered him half. He accepted and they squabbled and fought over the croutons, each trying to be the first to spear them with their forks. An odd grown up version of Hungry Hungry Hippos. Mulder chuckled as the jingle for that game from so many years ago popped into his head.

“Scully, do you remember the Hungry Hippos commercial?” he asked as he smiled at her.

She looked at him quizzically, then at the salad with its remaining croutons mostly on his side. She seemed to give it some thought and then she looked up at him and grinned. “Who will win? No one knows! Feed the hungry hip-hip-o’s!”

They both laughed and he spun the salad container so that the croutons were within her reach. She looked at him and smiled her thanks as he cleaned up the trash from their meal and then pulled the last item out of the bag.

Sal’s sandwiches were the best in the city, so Mulder thought. It was a small little deli type place, owned by Sal, his wife and their three sons. All the bread was made on site every day and thus the sandwiches were extremely delicious, if the lines out the door were proof of it. However, nothing compared to the desserts his wife made.

Cakes, brownies, cookies, all made from scratch and with love. Sal’s wife, Sylvia, was a big bosomy, old world, Italian woman. Her apron was always full of flour and she pushed her treats on everyone who came into the shop.

“Life is to be enjoyed. Have a cookie, a brownie. I made them this morning. They are good. Eat!” She was always heard to say, her smile infectious.

Today, Mulder had splurged on the Brownie Supremo and her smile was worth the price he had paid for it. She had wrapped it up for him carefully and thrown in a frosted sugar cookie, which he ate on the way to the car, the buttery sweetness melting on his tongue.

“You give this to your woman,” Sylvia had said. “She is too skinny. She needs some meat on her bones.”

He did not try to explain their relationship to her. He just nodded and grinned, taking the dessert from her and adding it to his bag.

He placed the brownie on the table and opened the lid, his mouth watering at the sight of it. It was chocolate overload with caramel swirling within. Licking his lips, he looked at her.

“Mmm... Scully, Sylvia gave this to me today with strict instructions that you were to have some. So,” he said grabbing two forks from the bag, “unless you want to anger the sweetest Italian mother I have ever known, I suggest you do as told.”

He held out a fork to her and waited. She looked exasperatedly at him, then down to the dessert. She looked at him again, and he pushed the fork closer to her. Sighing, she grabbed it from him.

He grinned and motioned for her to take the first bite. She sighed again and dug her fork into the brownie. The chocolate and caramel practically created a river inside the container. She got a bite on her fork and the caramel stretched with it, stringing across the table. She put the fork in her mouth and her eyes rolled back in her head as the first taste of chocolate hit her tongue.

She moaned as she chewed and Mulder was mesmerized watching her. He knew it was wrong to find her eating arousing, but shit, it was. Her moans and her eyes closing like that, made him think things he should not be thinking and he took a bite to cover his emotions.

“Oh my god,” he moaned, as the caramel and chocolate merged in his mouth. “That is goddamn delicious.” He took another bite and closed his eyes just as she had.

Between the two of them, the brownie was gone in no time at all. She was running her finger inside the container and licking off the remaining caramel, when he asked if she would like a spoon, or perhaps a straw. She told him to shut up and she sucked her finger into her mouth, causing him to clear his throat and look away.

After they had cleared everything up and the kitchen was back to Scully’s neat and tidy order, Mulder went into the living room. He was looking at her collection of movies and he smiled when he grabbed the one he wanted. Taking it out, he put it in the VCR, taking off his coat and settling down on the couch with the remote.

“Scully, come over here,” he said, patting the couch. “No paperwork today, and time off work means movies in the middle of the day.” He grinned at her as she walked over and sat next to him.

“Mulder... what movie are we...” She stopped speaking as she heard it starting. Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.

She looked at him and smiled, bringing her legs up under her cross legged, and nodding while he grinned like a fool.

For the next few hours, they watched the movie, saying lines they knew, discussing parts they liked best, the ones that bothered them and characters they loved most. They paused the movie a lot to have in depth discussions and Mulder found her contributions to be incredibly intellectually arousing.

He discovered that Scully had a soft spot for both Marcus Brody and Sallah. She loved Marcus because he was oblivious and a lovable dolt and Sallah because he was such a sweet guy. He was always looking out for Indy and he was there anytime they needed him.

“Marcus though, Mulder, he gets lost in his own museum. How can you not find affection for a goof like him?” she asked, a big smile on her face.

She did not care for Elsa and showed it by rolling her eyes a lot when she was on screen. The fact that she slept with both Jones’ apparently back to back, got on her nerves.

“I get the appeal, for all parties, because...” She trailed off as he stared at her and paused the movie, giving her his full attention so she could explain herself.

She smiled so hard, her dimples showed and his near cartwheeling heart started doing backflips instead.

“Elsa is beautiful, there is no denying that, but there are better ways to get close to someone than sex. Of course, it is quicker, but sex and trust do not a combination make. The two do not equal the other,” she said as he stared at her. “Now, both Jones men are incredibly attractive, there is also no denying that, but falling for the honey pot just makes them appear simple. They are intelligent men, but put a pair of flirty boobs and blonde hair in front of them, and it makes them seem like they are idiots.”

“”Flirty boobs,” Scully?” he asked with a sparkle in his eyes.

“You know what I mean, Mulder. So if she came to you, giving you the big eyes and the sad stories, all while using her... yes “flirty boobs,” you’re telling me you wouldn’t fall for it?” she asked him with a twitch of her lips and a raised eyebrow.

He looked at her, trying to gauge how far he could take his answer. How far he could go without pushing past that line they seemed to be unable or unwilling to cross?

“Nah...” he said finally, looking at the television screen frozen on Elsa’s face. “They send in the blonde bombshells... you know it’s a trap. I’ve watched enough spy movies to know that much.” She nodded, apparently happy with his answer.

“Besides, she’s not exactly my type,” he said, ready to restart the movie.

“She’s not!” he said at her silent, side eyed expression. “I like women with regular boobs, thank you. Flirty ones... hmm, they seem like too much work. How would you ever buy lingerie as a gift for someone that has them?” She laughed so hard at his comment, he waited until she was quiet to start the movie again.

When Henry was shot, he heard her take a breath as she looked away for a second, and he understood what she was not saying. The Nazis wanted Indy’s help and he was not willing to give it. They hurt someone he loved as incentive so he would do what they wanted. How many times had he and Scully been in the same situation? How many times had Scully suffered because of him?

“Oh, this is my favorite part,” she said, her eyes back on the screen, the tense moment seemingly passed and Indy was about to perform his tests of worthiness.

Instead of watching the movie, he covertly watched her. Her rapt attention to the movie, the way she mumbled the lines, her expressions as she did. Watching her enjoy something he loved made him immensely happy. Seeing her lose herself in a movie, one that was somewhat scientific, though still fictional, made him even happier. The need to be intellectually stimulated while also being entertained was so Scully.

She was leaning forward, her hands clasped together as Indy was taking his leap of faith. She smiled as he stepped out and his foot hit the pathway. She looked at Mulder, finding him staring at her.

“What?” she asked, surprised to find him looking at her so intently.

“Nothing,” he answered. She gave him a look, but then turned back to the movie. He did too, not wanting to get caught staring again.

Elsa and Donovan were in the small temple with Indy and the Knight, trying to find the grail. Elsa asked to pick the grail and Scully scoffed at her choice and then sighed as Mulder grinned at her.

“Oh Donovan...” Scully said. “See? He fell for it. Believed she was right when she handed him that cup. What a damn fool. Jesus was not ostentatious. He was a simple carpenter. People go for the flash and bang, they end up disappointed. Flirty boobs, Mulder. I’m telling you,” she said with an overly dramatic shake of her head.

He chuckled as he watched Donovan drink from the deceitful chalice, unknown to him that Elsa tricked him.

“See, that’s why it’s good you didn’t choose the bagel this morning,” he told her as they watched Donovan disintegrate before their eyes and she smiled at him.

The correct cup was chosen and Scully smiled. “That’s the cup of a carpenter” she said along with Indy.

Henry’s bullet wound was healed by the power of the grail. Here again, they had to pause the movie for awhile as they discussed what happened to the bullet in his stomach. Did it dissolve or would he live with a bullet in him forever? Or was it as if the whole thing never even happened? Mulder said they should open an x-file and she laughed.

They both then laughed over the similar situations of Elsa and Indy trying to reach the grail as the temple was crashing down.

The movie ended as it should, with good conquering evil, the last living Knight finally laying down his sword to be at peace. Mulder turned the movie off and asked her for her five top moments and he would tell her his.

She smiled and nodded. “The leap of faith, the “everything is on fire” scene, the boat fight, the misspelling of Jehovah, and X marks the spot.” She raised her eyebrows and waited.

He grinned at her and pretended to think for a bit until she shoved him and he laughed. “Okay, okay. The tapestries, the Ming vase, the room is on fire, the walk through the catacombs, and when Henry is saved.”

She nodded and accepted his answer. She got up and stretched, yawning as she did. He tried not to notice her body as she stretched, but Jesus, a man could only be so strong.  

“Should we order some Chinese food?” he asked as he got up as well, forcing his mind off of what it was thinking, his phone out ready to dial.

“Mulder, are you really hungry? It’s only been..." She looked at her watch. “Four and a half hours?! Oh my god...” She shook her head and looked at him.

“Think of all the stimulating conversation we had though, Scully,” he said, dialing the number to Wong’s Palace, the place they always ordered from.

“I’m going to take a bath,” she said as she turned to walk away.

“You don’t want anything?” he asked as the phone started ringing. “Broc-“

“Broccoli beef sounds okay, I suppose." She realized he was already saying it, when she finished. She smiled and he grinned back as he ordered their food and she headed toward the bathroom.

“Hey, Scully,” he said, taking a few steps toward her, as he ended the call. She raised her eyebrows as she stood in the bathroom doorway. “There is ha documentary on about Bigfoot and some new footage that has apparently come to light. Do you want me to tape it for you? It’s on right now and..." He stopped speaking at the look on her face.

“Okay, okay,” he said, with his hands up and a smile on his face as she walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

“Hey, Scully,” he said again, to the closed door.

“Yes, Mulder, I’m sure,” she said before he heard the water start running. He laughed and walked back to the couch to watch the show.

A while later, dinner had been eaten, Mulder regaling her with the things she had missed in the documentary. She stared at him, sighed, and rolled her eyes just as he had thought she would.

She walked past him when they had finished, putting away the leftovers, and he got a whiff of her bubble bath. She smelled so good, like jasmine. He remembered her telling him how much she loved that smell and he understood why; she smelled like spring and summer. Warm and light.

Her house phone rang and she looked at him in surprise. She answered it and he heard her mother’s voice through the phone. He heard the one sided conversation, but did not pay much attention until he heard his name.

“Mulder? I don’t think he could make lunch tomorrow, Mom. Yeah, he has plans, I think. Sure, I could ask him. Now? But we’re on the phone, I’ll call him later. What? What makes you think...? Okay...” She sighed, covered the phone, and looked at him. “Would you like to join me and my mother for lunch tomorrow?” She stared at him and shook her head.

He nodded at her and she waited a beat. “Yeah, Mom, he won’t be able to join us. I know. I will. Yes, tomorrow at 1:30. I’ll see you there. Love you too. Bye.” She hung up the phone and closed her eyes.

“You okay?” he asked her, knowing what she was thinking about; whether or not to tell her mother about the IVF. “Hey, Scully,” he said quietly, touching her hand. “I can be there if you like, take some of the pressure off. Your mom likes me. I could be your wingman.”

She smiled slightly at him and squeezed his hand in response. “Thank you, Mulder, but I’ll be okay. Not sure if I’ll even tell her yet, but... it... it would be easier if it was just me and her.” She nodded at him and he squeezed her hand in support.

She let go of his hand and she turned toward her room. He watched her start to leave, wishing he could ease the pain she was feeling.

“Scully, wait. You didn’t get your fortune cookie." He grabbed it and walked over to her.

She sighed as he handed it to her and, not meeting his eyes, she walked into her room, closing the door softly behind her.

He stood there with his own cookie in his hand, staring at her closed door. Not sure if he should stay or go, he stood there waiting.

Her door opened and she had two pillows and a blanket in her arms. She met his eyes and he had his answer, her silent question asking him to stay. He nodded at her as he watched her set the things on the couch.

She walked past him again and quietly said goodnight, before returning to her room and shutting the door.

He stood still for a few more seconds before shaking out of his thoughts. He felt the cookie digging into his palm and he cracked it open, popping the cookie in his mouth as he read his fortune.

You will follow your path to what your heart desires.

He felt the air go out of his lungs as he looked at her door, his heart's desire standing on the other side of it. His heart pounded as he read the words again. He sighed and shook his head sadly. Now was not the time, he was sure of it, but he would hold onto this fortune and one day hopefully, he would give it to her.

The cookie in his mouth felt like clay and he had a hard time swallowing past the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat. He put the scrap of paper in his wallet and went to the bathroom.

The toothbrush he used the night before was still there. He liked seeing it there, as though it belonged there next to hers. He sighed and shook his head as he grabbed it and the toothpaste. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, used the toilet, and washed his hands before heading back to the couch.

He turned most of the lights out, leaving the room in a soft glow. He took off his jeans, outer shirt, and his shoes, laying them on a chair. He adjusted the pillows and stretched out on the couch. Covering up, he turned on his side to watch the television, the volume turned down low.

He slid a hand between the pillows and felt something scratchy. He pulled it out and saw it was a fortune cookie paper. Scully’s fortune. He got up, turned the light on over the kitchen table to read her fortune.

Your journey will reward you with the answers you seek.

He grinned and looked at her door again. Looking down at the fortune, he imagined her reading it. He wondered if she had thought the same thing he did; about the movie they had watched tonight, and how it seemed to pertain to them on many levels.

He turned off the light, put her fortune next to his in his wallet, and lay back down on the couch. He thought of what Henry had said at the end of the movie. That Elsa never believed in the grail, but saw it as a prize to be won, and that was ultimately her downfall.

He thought of Scully. She may not believe in things like ghosts, sea monsters, vampires, or Bigfoot, but she respected the journey. She was there by his side no matter the outcome. She was not on this journey to win a prize, but because she believed in him and his quest to find the truth.

He laughed quietly and shook his head at the thought that they must have gotten each other’s fortunes, but then he sobered. No. As usual the universe seemed to give them what they both needed to hear.

She needed to hear that the crazy journey she was on would eventually be fruitful. He needed to hear that the quest was not what was most important. To stop... get out of the damn car and take a chance, getting off the crazy ride.

He lay on his back and sighed, looking up at the ceiling. He could feel a change in them. Not just with the IVF, but them. Something was coming and he knew it was going to be a step forward, a step for good. His backflipping heart settled and he took a few deep breaths. They could not stand in one place for much longer. A change was in the air, so much so, the universe seemed to feel it.

Soon, he thought, as he surrendered to sleep.

Soon.

[let-it-raines]

another kind of green (1/?)

Emma Swan spends her days in pretty white dresses and heavy layers of makeup. Day after day and dress after dress, she poses for pictures and acts like she’s in love and having the happiest day of her life with the man standing next to her.

It’s not. This is all a gig, and at the end of the day, she’s no longer the girl in the pretty dress who’s faking getting married for a magazine cover or a wedding convention. Instead, she’s the girl who probably never wants to get married.

Little does she know, she already is.

Rating: Mature

a/n: Everybody remember that Accidentally Married + Forgotten First Meeting prompt @mayquita​ gave me? Well, @xemmaloveskillianx​ requested it as part of my Fic Giveaway, and here we are! I hope that you enjoy this, lovely! I promised myself I’d get the first part up in February because I’ve been promising you this forever. Hopefully the next parts will come soon💚

Thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke​ for reading over this for me!

Found on AO3 | Here |

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed, no biggie either way) @xemmaloveskillianx​ @stahlop @shardminds @carpedzem @captainsjedi  @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @xellewoods @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @shireness-says @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke  @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @spartanguard @snowbellewells

-/- 

“So, what am I doing?”

“It’s a wedding convention,” Mary Margaret explains as she pulls the threads to button Emma into her dress, “and part of it is having wedding vendors watch a fake wedding so they can see what to do and what not to do and how a wedding should flow.”

“That’s a real thing? And you signed me up to work it?”

“It’s a real thing. Did you not read the package I sent you when I emailed you your contract?”

“Marg, you’ve been my agent for five years. I usually just trust what you say.” The dress squeezes Emma, and her breath stutters. Damn this dress is tight. How is she supposed to stay in this all day? How do actual women do this? And pay money to do this? The whole wedding industry is some kind of hoax. “Plus, this pays, like, three thousand dollars with a free trip to Vegas. I saw that and didn’t really care what exactly I had to do for it.”

Emma knows that Mary Margaret it probably rolling her eyes and that she has a lecture on the tip of her tongue about Emma reading her contracts, but it’s nothing Emma hasn’t heard before. It’s the former teacher in Mary Margaret, but this is why Emma has her in the first place. She takes care of all things business, and all Emma does is show up for fittings – usually wedding dresses but occasionally regular clothes for boutiques to put on their websites or Instagram pages – and photoshoots. It’s a good arrangement that Emma doesn’t plan on changing until she has to, but that’s not going to be anytime soon. This is good money, and she’s not stupid enough to pass up on a good thing when those have been all too rare in her life.

“We’ve got an hour until you have to be in the ballroom downstairs. I’ll read the guidelines to you as you get your hair pinned back because you’re going to need to know the flow of the wedding since you’re supposed to stay in character as a loving bride for the entire day. I do mean loving, Emma. You have to smile nearly the entire time. You’re going to have to kiss this man too, okay?”

“Wait, what?”

Mary Margaret’s sigh is the loudest Emma has ever heard it.

-/-

It turns out that Emma definitely needed to read the packet (at least more than an hour before the job) detailing what exactly her job today was going to be, and she swears to herself that she’ll do it next time she’s not doing a simple photoshoot.

(She won’t, but she really should.)

There are lines that Emma has to say, and there’s a minute-by-minute schedule of where she’s supposed to be standing and what she’s supposed to be doing. It’s basically an acting job, and while that isn’t really Emma’s thing, she can do it. She’s always been able to easily memorize things, a habit she picked up growing up not knowing how long she’d be allowed to use the computer or have a book in whatever shitty foster home she was in, and she’s almost got this fake wedding thing down.

Fake pictures with bridesmaids.

Fake wedding ceremony.

Fake pictures with her fake husband.

Fake reception.

Fake everything.

She doesn’t have enough friends to be going to actual weddings every other weekend, which is good for her bank account, but she’s been working in the wedding industry for long enough and seen one too many romantic comedies to know how most of this works. Pretending to be a bride for more than an hour or two might be a different story since she apparently has to keep her smile the entire time.

God, her jaw hurts just thinking about it.  

Mary Margaret hands her off to the director for the day, some peppy woman with red hair and the brightest smile she’s ever seen, and Emma is quickly shuffled to a back room where she’s given directions that should take an hour to give in under a minute. Damn that woman can talk.

She’s also introduced to her husband for the day.

He’s standing in the opposite corner of the room, dressed in a perfectly fitted blue tuxedo with a matching bowtie, and she sees his biceps flex when he crosses his arms over his chest. He’s got a sharp jawline that’s covered in black scruff that’s a lighter shade than the hair on his head that’s swooped to the side, and he’s got the bluest eyes Emma has ever seen.

Damn.

Basically, he’s a model like all of the other models she works with on a regular basis, and as attractive as he is, she’s used to it. She’s definitely never going to see the guy again because while they’re in Vegas for the convention, she lives in Boston, and from the deep timber of his possibly British accent, she imagines he is based out of London or New York or something.

Killian is his name. He mentions his last name, but then the director, Anna, Emma thinks, is tugging them away to different places to start the wedding so that she doesn’t hear it well enough to remember it.

Oh, well, she’s got a fake wedding to attend.

-/-

Being a fake bride is a damn good time.

Remembering her lines and her cues is more difficult than she thought it would be, if only because she learned it all at the last minute, but once the actual ceremony is finished and they get to move onto the reception, everything is great. There’s drinking and dancing (her fake groom is a damn good dancer, and while she expected them to sway back and forth for the first dance, she thinks it might have been an actual dance like the waltz or something) and more drinking. Emma doesn’t even really like champagne, but when she’s given free champagne on the job, she’s going to take it.

She’d be dumb to pass that up, right?

Right.

“Swan,” Killian calls out, walking up to her at their head table where she’s snagging one of the appetizers off the plate, “they want us back out dancing.”

“Are you serious?” she mumbles, mouth full of a crab cake.

“Apparently none of these vendors have seen a couple dancing at a wedding.”

Emma huffs and grabs another crab cake. “Well, take me away sailor.”

Killian grabs her hand, warm and rough fingers so unlike most guys in the industry pressing into her skin, and tugs her along into the small group of people who are moving to the music. Emma’s not sure if they’re also models or actors or whatever or if they’re legitimately just the wedding vendors attending the event, but she doesn’t really care. So she wraps her arms around Killian’s neck as he puts his hands on her hips and tugs her closer until their bodies are completely pressed together as the music continues to play over the speakers.

But then the music is changing to something a bit faster, and Emma is pulling back from him while still staying close, making sure that their bodies are continuously pressed together. She’s not in a club or a bar, and she’s not nearly drunk enough to be grinding down on someone she doesn’t know, but she’s in a wedding dress at her fake wedding. When else is she going to get a chance to do this?

(Almost every other day at her job, but that’s decidedly beside the point.)

(And she’s usually not dancing. Just wearing a wedding dress.)

(Her life is too much and too strange if she takes the time to think about it.)

Besides, Killian is hot. In her mind, she can’t think of any other way to describe him, especially when his hands are pressing against her waist and he’s rolling his hips into her ass and his breath is hot in her ear as he laughs and keeps speaking words that seem to roll into each other as the conversation keeps flowing. She could listen to his accent forever.

It’s not going to be forever, though, because when they’re told that they’re finished with their job and stripped out of the expensive dress and tailored tux and put back into the clothes they showed up in this morning, the night seems to be winding down to its natural end.

Until, that is, Killian takes her hand once more, asks her if she’d like to go up to his room for another drink, and Emma says yes, thinking to herself that it’s definitely going to be a one-time thing. She’ll never see him again, never have to look into his eyes or hear his voice, and nothing is going to keep her from sleeping with the hot guy she’s spent all day pretending to be in love with.

She’s not in love, though, but that doesn’t keep her from hotly pressing her mouth to his as they walk through the hotel’s hallway, the both of them stopping in their tracks to take a few moments to press each other up against a wall on the way to his hotel room. She doesn’t know how long it takes to get there, especially since they seem to keep getting distracted and wander into new places, but Emma doesn’t care. She doesn’t care because his scruff feels deliciously perfect brushing up against her thigh, and she doesn’t care because he’s warm and thick, stretching her and filling her, when he slides in and presses down on top of her. She doesn’t care because even though she knows they’re both only doing this as a way to scratch an itch, this is a damn good night.

Her fake husband is going to make some other woman very lucky on their real wedding night, but for now, that’s not something she’s going to think about.

For now, this pleasure is all hers.

His too, if his words are any real indication.

(They definitely are.)

-/-

“What am I doing today?”

“You have dress fittings for the summer catalog of dresses.”

“How? It’s literally August. How can it be time for the summer catalog of dresses again?”

Mary Margaret sighs on the other end of the phone. One day she’s most definitely going to drop Emma as a client and a friend and return to teaching because Emma can never quite seem to get her shit together on how the wedding industry works. She’s already prepping herself for the same lecture that she’s heard at least twenty times by now.

“People plan their weddings months to years in advance, Emma. This is actually a late photoshoot. I think they want the pictures up on the website by next month, so you cannot miss this appointment.”

“Have I ever missed an appointment, Marg?”

“Yes, remember when – ”

“That was one time,” Emma interrupts, rolling over on her mattress and getting out of bed. If she doesn’t do it now, she never will. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s at ten, okay? Ask for Ashely.”

“Are you not coming?”

“I’ve got a shoot with Ruby. I figured you can handle a fitting by yourself.” There’s a short pause. “You can handle a fitting by yourself, can’t you?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“I hate it when you call me that.”

“Then stop acting like such a mom.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Yeah, well, when you don’t have a mom…”

“Emma.”

“Sorry,” Emma spits out, wanting to change the conversation as quickly as possible. “So ask for Ashley?”

“Ask for Ashley, and don’t drink all of the complimentary champagne.”

Emma groans. “I can’t even think about champagne. I think I’m still recovering from that hangover from two weeks ago. I mean, who goes to Vegas and gets drunk on champagne?”

“People who work in the wedding industry. It’s basically our water. Bye, Emma. I’ve got to go.”

“Bye, Marg. Tell David he still owes me from losing that poker game.”

“I’m sure he’ll love to hear that.”

“Yeah, yeah.” After Mary Margaret hangs up the phone, Emma quickly walks into her bathroom, brushing her hair out and pulling it up into a ponytail before washing her face and rubbing moisturizer into her skin. She used to curl her hair and do a full face of makeup every time she had a fitting, but she doesn’t do that anymore. There’s no point. They’ll put makeup on her when they need it.

Fifteen minutes later she’s drinking her second cup of coffee for the day, lacing up her sneakers so she can go to the gym after the fitting, and then she’s grabbing her phone and her keys only for there to be a knock at the door. She almost ignores it, figuring it’s someone trying to sell her a new knife set or something else ridiculous like that, but when she looks through her peephole, there’s something oddly familiar about the guy. But she meets a lot of people, so that’s not all that uncommon.

Sighing, she undoes the chain on her door and opens it the slightest bit so she can talk to the guy and see what he wants.

“Who are you?”

He smiles, lips curling up into a smirk while his blue eyes glint under the florescent lights. “Your husband, love.”

[castielscarma]

Thunderstorm

Part 7 of the #SpnStayAtHome Challenge  (6.3k) @bend-me-shape-me @helianthus21 @pray4jensen Dean Winchester wakes up to blinding light piercing his eyes and turns his back on the window and the sunlight engulfing his room. He doesn't need to feel the side next to him being empty to know that Michael is gone. He probably sneaked away straight after Dean had dozed off, sated after the mind-blowing sex. Dean sighs and gets up slowly. Sated but not satisfied. If that wasn't the story of his life. He stumbles to the bathroom to relieve himself and almost slips on Michael's boxer. Great. He picks them up and tosses them in the trash. Sure, sex with Michael is freaking amazing, he is a beast in bed but it leaves a sour taste in Dean's mouth. It's a feeling that has been intangible but suddenly – in the early morning hours – and after a few months it seems crystal clear: the acrid taste of being owned (not the hot, sexy kind of owned either). Dean grabs an old worn Zeppelin shirt, pulling it over himself and scuffles out into the kitchen. Popping the fridge open, he grabs a jar of peanut butter and some jam. He pushes some bread in the toaster and makes coffee while waiting for the toast to get the right shade of burned. The scent of coffee permeating the kitchen air does some to wake him up, as does the blend of salt and sweet of the peanut butter and jam sandwich, but it isn't until he gets the black liquid of gods inside himself that he truly comes alive. “Fuck,” he mumbles as the coffee jolts his senses, forcing him to be truly aware since waking up this morning. The headache he sports tells him he was a tad heavy on the drinking, the slight ache further down tells him more than he wants to remember about Michael.

“Who needs him anyway?” Dean mumbles into his coffee.

He looks out the kitchen window. The clouds have scattered, already bending to the might of the sun. It looks like it's going to be a bright and sunny day, a notion that doesn't make Dean any happier. Fuck the sun and sun rays and chirpy tweety birds.

Dean gulps down the last of his coffee and heads out the door to grab the mail. He squints against the sun, the headache flaring up like someone tossed a match to gasoline-soaked rags. Donatello is already up, waving at Dean as he pushes his lawnmower in front of him.

Dean waves and shakes his head slightly in bewilderment. If Donatello keeps mowing the lawn, he'll soon hit the core of the Earth. Thankfully, Donatello is an old fashioned, traditional kind of old man – knitted vests, pipes, and dry crackers – and gets up predawn so hopefully, he'll be finished with the mowing before aggravating Dean's headache further. Maybe some more coffee will help he muses.

Mailbox is empty save the thick newspaper. It could have been worse – bills were never welcome.

As Dean picks up the newspapers he notices that the house next to him is finally occupied. The sold-sign had been up for months and but Dean had not seen a living soul near or on the premises until now.

It seems they came with the truck in the middle of the night. He can see new curtains in the windows, a soft light glowing in a room, and other clues that tell someone is inhabiting the house.

A pot with a tiny little tree sits on the porch, there's some kind of wind-chime moving gently in the slight breeze, and Dean is pretty sure he hears the distinct sound of goats coming from the house.

What the hell? No one seems to notice the bleating. Dean casts a glance at Donatello who seems lost in the magical world of landscaping – that or his allergy meds are keeping him sufficiently in the clouds – and hasn't even commented anything on these four-legged grass chompers intruding.

This has to be against HOA- regulations, Dean thinks. Who the fuck has goats as pets?

Dean can't help but indulge in his curiosity. He grabs the newspaper tightly, and walks to the side, the grass tickling his feet where the slippers don't cover them. Sure enough, at the side of the house, a pen has Harry Pottered itself, complete with two living, breathing goats. One is completely black and the other is all white with two little horns poking up. They both turn as Dean approaches and their bleats stop.

“Hi fellas. You do know that you're in breach of HOA-regulations?” The white goat bleats once and then continues to munch on grass. The black goat on the other hand just stares at Dean. Its eyes are a bit off-putting, a shade of blue that would have looked mesmerizing on a human. On a goat, it seems wrong. “What you looking at? It's not my ass the HOA is gonna haul and turn into kebab.” The black goat keeps it's gaze transfixed on Dean, so much so that it starts to freak Dean out.

He decides to get back inside before his new neighbor goes out to check the commotion.

As Dean rounds the corner, the door to the house opens. Dean has a sudden impulse to hide, and luck as it were, the tree is there. He scurries quickly and stands behind the tree, realizing too late that the spindly branches are not near enough to cover him.

He can't really see the man's face as he pokes up as some branches are in the way, but a halo of black hair and one arched eyebrow is enough for Dean to know he's been spotted. Well, that and that the guy says he can see him.

“I can see you, you know. You must be the Winchester.” His voice is gravelly, and it sends shivers down Dean's spine. Dean hasn't felt like this in forever, excited. It's something that's palpable, a force in the air, the guy's freaking aura, who knows what. Dean just knows that it's there and he needs to see it. Touch it. He steps out from behind the tree.

“Hiya, uh, yeah. I'm the Winchester – Uh, Dean. Your neighbor.” And holy hell and all the devils, is his new neighbor not the hottest thing since crispy bacon? He's almost the same height as Dean, he knows this cause he stares directly into the bluest eyes he's ever seen. His mind goes briefly to the goat's eyes – yeah, they were freakishly blue too – but the goat didn't hypnotize him with his gaze. Just stared at him as if he wanted him six feet under. Judging by the frown the guy is giving him, Dean suspects he feels the same as the goat.

“Hello, Dean. I'm Castiel. I'm well aware that we're neighbors. My house is neighboring yours, it's a given. So why are you near my house, and not yours?”

As Castiel speaks, Dean feels a chill coming on. He looks at the sky briefly, and a weird sense of relief washes over him like he's just escaped something huge and monumental. Grey clouds cover the sun, and while Dean is grateful that the sun is hidden, his headache decides to make itself known right then.

It's like someone swung at him with a hammer. Dean staggers and sways, grabbing the porch railing for purchase. He takes a moment to gather himself, and the neighbor reaches out to steady him, grabbing him by the elbow.

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome. Why are you skulking?” His voice is gravely and sends a shiver down Dean's spine.

“I'm not. I was out to grab my newspaper and I heard a sound. Thought I heard goats. Just checking it out. You're new here but I don't think goats are allowed. HOA are sticklers for us following the no goat rule. It's a no-go.” Dean chuckles slightly but gets nothing in return.

Dean hears a weak rumble in the distance and looks up at the sky again. It seems like a storm is building up. The sky is the color of new asphalt now; the shift from gray to black happening very suddenly.

The new guy just stares at him – kind of like the goat did.

After a beat of silence, he speaks. “HOA only specifies the domesticated animals of dog, cat, rabbit, and horse as being explicitly forbidden.”

“Alright, my bad.” He extends his hand. “I'm Dean.”

The man seems unfazed. “I'm aware.”

Dean stops himself from shaking his head and drops his hand. “Right, and you're...”

His pissed off but very hot neighbor hesitates briefly before answering. “I'm Castiel.”

Dean realizes that he's still standing behind the tree like an idiot. He takes a step forward, rocking on his heels. “So goats, eh?”

A small smile tugs at Castiel's lips. Dean takes that tiny gesture of acceptance. “Yes. Gnasher is the white one and Snarl is the black one. They've been with me for quite some time. I'm fond of them but they can bite your hands off. Don't touch them.”

Gnasher and Snarl? Jesus, who is this guy? Were Ramsey and Butt-Head taken? Dean worries for a second that some kind of psycho has moved into the neighborhood.

He looks at Castiel again but he seems normal enough. Jeans, a black sweater that hugs his body just right, full lips, very full lips that Dean's definitely not thinking of kissing, thick thighs, to have those wrapped around – he needs to rise up his mind from the gutter. Castiel's entire appearance, it all screams normal. Maybe even boring.

Yep, Castiel is definitely boring. “Right, Castiel. Don't worry, no touching. So, which one's the black one?”

Castiel hesitates before answering. “Snarl.” He takes a step back, retreating. “Now stay off my property.”

Dean clicks his tongue and nods. He knows this wasn't the smoothest welcome-to-the- neighborhood-visit but hopefully Castiel didn't think he was a total douche. “Sure. Sorry about – “

Castiel has already closed the door.

Dean sighs and heads over the lawn to his side. He's only taken two steps when the skies rumble. A deep crackle echoes as thunder sweeps over the neighborhood. Rain starts pouring out of nowhere, a strong gush that threatens to not only soak the lawn but flood it.

The newspaper in Dean's hand crumbles under the rain. Donatello has already abandoned his lawnmower. As Dean takes the final step inside and closes his door against the unpredictable weather gods, his newspaper is basically a paper smoothie.

Dean lets out a curse and throws the newspaper away. He grabs an Advil for the headache. It's not as severe as it was a few minutes ago but it's still there, an unwelcoming throb at the center of his forehead.

Forgoing the newspaper, Dean plops down on the couch. It's still morning but the weather is fucking terrible, it's probably gonna rain all day and his hot, totally doable next door neighbor thinks he's a stalking moron. He's earned an entire day in solitude. Besides, it's a Thursday, meaning it's his day off.

Dean puts on Netflix and is wiggling down into the favorite part on the couch when he feels something against the small of his back. He pauses the movie and digs out a pair of black lace panties.

Dean groans as he recognizes them. First Michael with his pump-him-and-dump-him attitude and now he gets a very unwelcome blast from the past. The thin intricate lace panties, probably with silk threads or platinum embroidery – who the fuck knows – belong to his ex-fiancee.

They broke it off almost a year ago – rather he broke it off – so the panties must have been wedged into the sofa during all that time. Dean shudders and drops them on the floor.

Amara had been a piece of work. There was never a dull moment when he'd lived with her. Dean was all for excitement, living on the edge but he was not the one to dive off a fucking cliff Thelma and Louise style. Yet you almost did.

Another crash of thunder startles him from his thoughts, and he's grateful for it, despite his throbbing headache. Everything is better than thinking about that hellcat. The rain patters against the rooftops and Dean decides he's done with thinking about exes and assholes. He presses play and loses himself in the rom-com world. There at least, he's not the only idiot that fails romantically.

And for a while, he can forget about his own sad endings and pretend that he has something, someone in his life that hasn't treated him like shit.

*

“You look like shit.” Charlie's voice is chirpy as she plays with the straw in her milkshake but Dean can see the worry behind her eyes. She's as fierce as the halo of fire kissed hair around her face. “You still working with that douche who refuses to change diapers?”

Dean scoffs. “Yeah but parents have been complaining about her chewing-nails attitude. Abaddon will be gone soon. Crowley is a weirdo but he's protective of his charges and his stature even more. He'll sacrifice her rather than parents losing an ounce of respect towardsLittle Darlings or him.”

“Put her in time-out.” Charlie slurps the last of the milkshake and eyes his.

Dean pushes it over to her. “Here. Glad they're feeding you over there.”

“They do. Wouldn't wanna mess with the cybersecurity expert, but do they bribe me with shakes? Nope.”

Dean grabs a napkin and starts tearing it into small pieces. “We don't put the kids in time-out. Doesn't work that way. And trust me, Abaddon deserves a helluva' lot more than time-out even if we did. She's a redheaded wench of a woman.”

Charlie slaps him on the shoulder. “Hello. Redheaded wench sitting right here.”

Dean grins. “Not you, Charlie, you're far from a wench. More a firecracker of a woman. You're honest, you kick a mean punch – “

“ – and I'll do it again to protect the glory of Moondoor.”

Dean grins at the memory. “Yeah, you did, remind me to never mess with the Queen again.” He clears his throat. “A good right-hand hook and you're smarter than I'll ever be. They'll be lucky to have you, Charlie.”

“Dean, if I didn't know better I'd think you're trying to butter me up. The milkshake is a start. Call me when you grow a pair of boobs and we're game.”

Dean barks out a laugh. “I'll do that.” His smile dies down.

“You can talk to me Dean, you know that.”

Nodding, Dean grabs the mangled pieces of the napkin and pushes them together into a small pile. “Got a new neighbor. Castiel.”

“Oh.” Charlie perks up. “Castiel, how exotic. Is he hot?”

Dean lets out a breath. “Exotic, yeah, you can say that. I mean, Charlie, he looks like he stepped out of a fucking model magazine or whatever. It's just that he thinks I'm a total douche.”

“Why you? How he'd get that idea?” Charlie smiles. “Really good shake by the way.”

“You're welcome, mooch.” But there's no real bite behind his words. “I was kinda um, skulking around his house. Dude's got goats, Charlie.”

Charlie perks up at that. “A hot dude with goats. Dean. He sounds like he's the full package. But you're totally doing it wrong. No skulking, just do it heads on. Offer him a cow. That'll moove him.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I'm serious. They were goats and I checked it out and now he thinks I'm a total creep. He told me to get off his property.”

Charlie makes a face. “How would you think if he was sneaking around your house looking for... I don't know, geese. You look like you could own geese.”

“Geese. I ain't going near any geese. Those long-necked flying death machines won't touch me. And imagine the poop, they're birds, they crap all over the place.”

“You wouldn't have them inside, you dummy.”

Dean laughs. “Oh, wow, sorry I'm not the goose expert here. I forget, you're the expert on all things bird.”

Charlie winks. “At least the birds on two legs.”

“Damn straight.”

Charlie laughs and extends a hand towards him. “Or not.” She pauses and squeezes his hand. “You're alright, Dean?”

He is tempted to say yes. He is really, the shake was kickass, Charlie is such a good friend – he doesn't deserve her – and he is fine. For now. But then she blinks and does that thing with her eyes. “Hey, don't go all Bambi on me.”

Charlie flutters exaggeratedly with her lashes. “What do you mean?”

Dean shakes his head and sighs. “So, Michael just left. Again. I mean, why am I even surprised? He's done it before and it's not like I'm amazing boyfriend material.”

“Dean. Stop. Don't let that anyone fool you into thinking that you're not an amazing guy, and you would be, you are a freaking amazing boyfriend. These muggles don't deserve the awesome wizardry that is you.”

“Yeah, I'm awesomely messed up. And then I found a piece of Amara's clothing and just – it really hit home you know...”

Charlie leans in. “Dean, listen. Amara was wrong. Any girl or guy would be lucky to have you. That Michael and Amara acted like a bunch of assholes, that's not on you. They were not right about you.”

“I don't know, I – “

“I do know. You're worth fancy dinners with the good kind of steak and Pad thai with chicken, meat, and shrimps. You're that level people grind for hours, weeks, and months to achieve. You're the green mushroom in Super Mario, people level up when they're around you.

Dean feels heat color his cheek, an odd mix of anger and shame coiling in his gut. “Yeah, you're my friend, you're supposed to say crap like that. I'm just – “ He rubs his eyes. “I dunno' guess my old age is catching up to me.”

“Your work is literally being surrounded by kids all day long. I saw you last week climbing a tree!”

Dean chuckles at the memory. “Yeah, I don't know how many times I've told Theo not to climb so high on that goddamn tree. He's already fallen once, but he was fine. Kids are soft as sponges at that age... they soak up stuff like sponges too.” Dean makes a face. He still remembers the call from Mr. Cauthon about his son Mat suddenly picking up new and unwanted vocabulary.

“Anyway, I'm just tired of... people. I just want something normal you know. Netflix and chill with actual chilling. Someone that wants to – I don't know... do couple stuff I guess. Not someone who feels the need to sneak away in the middle of the fucking night.”

Charlie nods in understanding. “How about your new neighbor, Castiel?”

“I doubt he'll want to date a weirdo goat stalker, remember?”

“Yeah, but if you were living in Farmland – Fresh Farmer Adventures, I can assure you, even as a goat stalker people would line up.”

Dean laughs and pulls at Charlie's hair. “Thanks, Charlie.”

“What for?”

“For talking goat and making me forget about my miserable love life.”

“Any time, Dean. There might be another way but it's... unconventional. “ Charlie hesitates to say more which piques his interest.

“I doubt it can get any more unconventional than Amara being all possessive and meeting two goats this morning, where I'm sure one was out to take me down.”

Charlie bites her lip briefly before her eyes shine with excitement. “It's a love spell... of sorts.”

*

Dean glares at the paper and then looks at his phone. Modern way or totally insane, incenses waving witchy way? With a sigh, he slides his phone back into his pocket. He'd already tried Tinder and Grindr (and Bee-Miner, what he thought was a dating app but quickly realized was an app for fans of bees, of all things). He didn't have anything left to lose.

“At least not my dignity, that's far gone,” Dean mutters for himself before pulling the curtains together in his bedroom.

He's been downstairs and collected all the ingredients for the love spell and ordered the more obscure ones online. He organizes them in the order they are to be put in the bowl. Charlie had explained that it wasn't that important, 'just chug them in there and say the words, pretend you're that druid when we LARPed a while back'.

Well, that had been fantasy and this was real life. The only thing he'll chug is beer. Dean checks that he has enough matches and then proceeds with the love spell.

First, he gathers the seven flowers. The spell had just said flowers and that they had to be seven different kinds, so Dean had gone to the nearest flower store and bought just one when he saw the prices. Seven dollars for one rose? Not even the big, fluffy kind, but the one that looked like the sad, long lost rose cousin of the Beast's flower.

Dean had decided that it had been much more affordable to pic the remaining six flowers from nature itself. Donatello's garden has flowers in the back, there is grass, so technically that counts as nature.

He rips them apart and tosses them into a bowl, grinding them to mush with a marble pestle. He rakes his fingers through his hair and finds a spot near his ear. He pinches some hair and pulls. Success! He drops the strands of hair in the bowl too.

Where in the seven hells did Charlie even find this spell? He's read every single line at least four times and tried really hard to see Charlie's handwriting in the slanted scribbles but if it's a fake, it's the most elaborate (and so far only) love spell hoax he's ever seen.

He's thought long and hard about the red item. That was the only specification and he'd even texted Charlie, asking her for clarification. Her response had been 'something red, Dean.'

Dean mutters a curse under his breath as he grabs the chili powder container. If he's gonna set this unholy stew on fire, he had decided that he should pick something that is flammable. He opens the container and shakes out a good generous helping of the chili powder straight into the bowl.

Now for the second to last ingredient. Dean fiddles with the paper in his hands. He's folded it three times but the words are burned into his retinas anyway, etched into his soul. It's words that he's ever uttered in silence to himself before– and that has only happened when he'd felt the most desperate, most in pain... most alone.

He paces back and forth in his bedroom, avoiding the spot near the middle of the room where the floorboard always creaks.

It's just words on paper, but it's Dean's hope and deepest desires. And sure, he's thought about it when he was lost, angry and hurt – both Amara and Michael had been a part of that whole mess – but this time it is just him and hope. He sets his jaw in grim determination, walks over to the bowl, and flicks the paper inside.

Alright, one more step to go. He pushes away the doubts and fears that rear their ugly heads. Instead, he grabs the bowl, and clears his mind, so that 'love will come to him'. He'll deal with the aftermath later. Beers are chilled, there's a pie in the fridge and he has Netflix.

He lights a match and tosses it inside the bowl. He's supposed to be closing his eyes right after but he peels one eye open just to make sure that something is burning. Satisfied when he sees the small flame, he closes his eyes and tries to breathe calmly.

Panic rushes through him, quickly followed by self-loathing and hopelessness. Dean exhales and starts humming AC/DC's Thunderstruck which calms him down. Clap, believe and save Tinkerbell. Dean stops humming and waits.

What feels like years pass as Dean stands in his bedroom, with a small fire burning in a bowl like a failed pyromaniac. Then, he just lets go and empties his mind.

He doesn't see shit, just a blackness which is no surprise since he's closing his eyes. Then he hears something, a weak rumble that fades into nothing. Great, now he's interpreting his stomach growls as hidden messages about his nonexistent love life.

The rumble grows louder and Dean's brain finally connects the auditory sensation to actual reality. It's thunder he hears. The soft showering of rain soon follow but the thunder is still present, crackling in the background. It grows wilder and the next explosion of sound causes the small hairs on Dean's arms to shot straight up.

He finds it strange that there's no lightning – but he figures that his mind is doing a half-assed work with his hallucinations as it does with everything else in his life. As if being summoned, something bright flashes in front of his eyes.

The sound of thunder is overwhelming – it reverberates inside of him and makes his heart beat faster – as it eclipses the rainfall. Dean's body is not convinced it's in his bedroom anymore but rather in the eye of an epic storm and his mind screams at him to run.

Another sharp flash of lightning and Dean opens his eyes. He scrambles backward in shock.

Castiel looks at him, mild annoyance on his face. “Isn't there an HOA regulation for trespassing inside someone's home, Dean?”

Dean should be the one being annoyed. It's his freaking hallucination and somehow he's being scolded. It sure sounds like the same gravelly voice that causes the good kind of tremors to coarse through his body and as Dean's eyes take in Castiel's thick thighs – he's built like a tree, his firm stomach, very nice face – ten out of ten, to finally land on his face, Dean knows the truth.

Without a shadow of a doubt, Dean stands in Castiel's bedroom as said guy stares at him, only a pair of boxers covering up him up. The shock of it all, that the spell actually works, that Castiel is in front of him, that he stands there almost naked, all of it makes Dean stumble out words that could have been more eloquent. “I-I – you're almost naked?”

Castiel looks down at himself before paying attention to Dean again, a half-smile playing at his lips. “Your observational skills are amazing, Dean.” Castiel takes another step towards him. Thunder crashes outside the house, still ongoing and the windows rattle with the sheer force of it.

As Castiel slowly walks towards Dean, the darkness follows him like a jealous lover, and soon not even the persistent lighting strikes outside make any difference.

“That's quite a storm outside, hm?” He keeps his tone light. He's a big guy but Castiel is jacked. And even discounting the goat incident, Dean is pretty sure Castiel has all the reasons to try and knock him out, if not kick him out.

“Yes. I've always found thunder to be soothing. There's a beauty to it don't you think?” Castiel quiets down. He narrows his eyes, and there's steel in them. “Now, tell me again, Dean Winchester, how you entered my home?”

Dean takes a step back as Castiel uses his body as some kind of hot, sexy shield. He bites back a laugh. What's wrong with him? He's about to get his ass kicked, Charlie's fucking love spell seemed to – well not work as intended, but something had certainly happened.

Dean raises his hands. “Look, Cas, you won't believe me if I told you. How about I just head back home and we forget all about this?” His eyes rake over Castiel's body before he finds himself. That's something he won't forget.

Castiel walks over to a closet, opens the door, and grabs a shirt. “Indulge me.”

Thunder crashes right above them and Dean jumps at the sound.

Castiel turns, an amused smile on his lips. “Skittish?” He slides into his shirt with ease.

As he closes the door, Dean notices a small piece of framed art hanging on the wall. It looks like a gilded toy hammer of all things.

“Dean. I'll only ask you one more time. My patience is wearing thin.”

Dean tears his eyes from the strange art piece. The hair at the back of his neck stands up. Dean is not the kind of guy that backs down from a fight, but there's a quality to Castiel's voice that not only demands, but expects attention. His eyes are hard, the blue now matching the tempestuous weather outside and Dean thinks of Snarl's goat eyes. They have the same shade of blue. Dean almost starts laughing hysterically at the absurdity of it all but swallows when a hard look from Cas sends shivers through him.

“I –“ He shakes his head. He's gonna sound like a fucking lunatic but here goes. “Long story, and trust me, it's too long even for my liking, my luck with love has been crap. Not just the divorced kind of crap but, yeah. I've tried fucking everything, so this was my last option.” Here comes the fool and isn't it always Dean. “It was a... love spell that someone... uh, gave me. It brought me to you.”

An odd mix of dread and relief war within him, none prevailing but now he's come clean at least.

Castiel starts laughing. “A love spell? That's wonderful.”

Dean looks at Castiel in confusion as his shoulders shake. That was not the reaction he was expecting. He takes a step forward, hand raised. Castiel is still doubled over. Dean briefly contemplates sneaking out while his neighbor is busy taking the train to crazy town but it's as if Castiel can read his mind because suddenly he straightens, a serious look coming over him.

“A love spell! And here I was thinking you were a seith. Haven't seen one for a very long time, but my brother is always up to mischief. I was really close to putting on my gloves.”

Dean licks his lips. Castiel has not only taken the train to crazy town, it appears he's also taken up residence there too and for quite some time. You usually take off the gloves for fighting, but Dean is not going to correct the guy's grammar. “Look, Cas. I don't know what's going on but I ain't no sith.”

Castiel shakes his head, and walks over to Dean, slapping him on the back. “You have humor. I like that.” He steps back, nodding to himself. “A love spell, that usually requires potent magic. Did you find the spell to be to your... satisfaction?” There's an amused gleam in his eyes.

The thunderstorm has calmed Dean notices but the pull of Cas' voice and his words has his body at attention. His words are pure honey, but Dean won't delude himself, magic or no magic. “Yeah, it worked like a charm.”

Castiel hums. “Good. So, do you want to take a ride?”

Dean licks his lips, his eyes momentarily flickering down to Castiel's stomach and going lower still. The guy sure looks nice, thighs still thick as fucking tree trunks, and Dean envies that shirt that gets to cling to all that hot skin. Castiel's hair is dark and disheveled, his eyes possess a magnetic lure, and if he's being honest he wants to plant his lips on Castiel's hot mouth.

He almost goes for it but then he remembers why he did the goddamn spell in the first place. “Um, I don't know. It's not that you're not good looking... actually you're way more than good looking, hot even – Dean clears his throat and stops himself before he lays his heart bare to Castiel. He barely knows him.

“I meant a ride in my car, Dean. We can grab a beer and talk, as a start.”

“B-beer sounds good but – Are you not surprised I just showed up like freaking Jack-in-the-box in your house?”

Castiel tilts his head slightly. “No, things rarely surprise me much these days. We have a lot to talk about. I prefer my love interests to be aware.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Uh, aware? Aware of what?” Castiel grins. “How it is to date a god.” Well, isn't this Castiel full of himself, Dean thinks briefly – Dean's a god too, thank you very much – but Castiel turns his back to Dean. He grabs a pair of pants and snakes a belt through the loops. The buckle is an intricate forging hammer and it definitely commands attention to the love area.

Dean is not sure what to make of Castiel's fashion choices. “You gonna wear that hammer?”

Castiel looks at the wall, at the tiny hammer hanging there. “Younger brothers, you know how they can be. Although I must confess, I do find the joke funny, now. Back then I called thunder on him for over a fortnight.”

“I was talking about your belt buckle.”

Castiel grabs it, giving it a shake. “Of course I am.” He puts on a pair of sneakers and is already out the door.

Dean follows Castiel as he leads them behind the house. The sun is heavy on his back and Dean looks up. The sky is clear, the clouds whiter than toothpaste and bluer than he remembers it to be – it's worse than the Teletubbies sky. All he needs is the sun mocking him with its shrill laugh.

“There was – what happened to the storm? Thunder, lightning, the whole shebang?”

“It stopped.” Castiel says it like it's the most natural thing in the world.

“No, listen. It was like freaking Thor had a birthday party. Loud thunder, lightning strikes that made the hair at the back of my neck stand up. The sky was black! Those things don't just stop.”

Castiel waits until Dean catches up with him. “We can't have a storm now, we're on a beer date. Nothing tastes better than a cold beer on a hot day. The gods must truly be with us.” Castiel chuckles at that.

Dean's been following Castiel but stops in his tracks when they round the corner and he sees Castiel's ride. “That's your ride?” It's almost a whisper.

“Yes, it's a 57'– ”

“ – 57' Thunderbird. Oh, fuck, she's perfect.” Dean tries to calm his stuttering heart. The red paint is flawless and shines in the sun. “Can I touch her? Wow, I never figured you'd be driving a car like this.”

“I moved in a day ago. You already had time to figure me out; after only twenty-four hours?”

“Uh-huh. I would've guessed Prius. Boy, was I wrong.” Dean slowly runs his finger over the paint, sighing. “Wow, we're going on a date in this car, Cas? Marry me, why won't you?”

He can hear Cas laugh softly. “I see you like the classics. I've seen your car, so I'm not surprised.”

“Hell yeah, Baby is my pride but this car... It looks brand new. Must be worth a fortune.”

“Get in. I know the perfect place for beer.” Castiel closes the door behind Dean. “I'll be right back.”

Dean barely pays attention to Cas. The car is in mint condition; it looks like it just left the factory line. He sinks down in the seat and inhales the scent of oiled leather. The seat was made for him. Dean is lost in the car and carefully examines everything.

A bleat interrupts his thoughts. Gnasher and Snarl are trotting behind Castiel. He opens up the passenger door. “It'll be a tad cramped but they're good goats. They will share.”

“Wait, what?” Dean closes his mouth but his brain is still reeling from the shock. “Now just hold on a minute. You're gonna – they're gonna ride in the car?”

Castiel looks at the car and then at Dean. He squints, silence reigning for a minute. “Yes. They're not big for being goats. Come here, Snarl. Gnasher, you've never let me down.”

His voice is calm and holds an unexpected warmth for addressing a pair of goats. Castiel picks up Snarl and puts her in Dean's lap. “Hold her and she should be fine.”

Snarl bleats, her blue eyes looking at Dean with unsettling intelligence. This is wrong on so many levels, car-levels, goat-levels, common sense -levels. “You better not fart or poop or whatever it is you goats do?” Snarl starts munching on Dean's hair but stops when he swats at her.

Castiel grabs Gnasher, the white goat, and puts her down next to Snarl. They balance precariously on Dean's knees. He's old, his knees won't be able to handle all this extra goat weight. “Is this even legal?”

“The legality of this will never be an issue.” Cas smiles at Dean and puts the car in reverse. “I'm looking forward to this beer date, Dean. You've piqued my interest.”

Dean clears his throat and moves Snarl so she's looking at the seat. Her gaze is creepy. “Yeah, same here, Cas. My interest is very piqued.”

Castiel puts the Thunderbird in reverse and off they go. It doesn't rain or storm for the entire day.

[travllingbunny]

Quarantine tag game

Thanks for tagging me, @sometimesrosy!

ARE YOU STAYING HOME FROM WORK/SCHOOL? I am staying home but not from work, because I work at home. Not just now, I always work at home, so there hasn’t been any change in that respect. The volume of work was the same as always during the last few weeks, too. I haven’t had any new work since Friday, so I’m enjoying a few days of rest, but I don’t know if this has anything to do with Corona. A few days of rest and no work has happened before. It will give me more time to clean my apartment.

IF YOU’RE STAYING HOME, WHO IS THERE WITH YOU? My two dogs and two cats. They are probably happy that they get even more time with me than usual. I think that some people don’t consider pets real company - probably people who don’t have pets - which I find funny. They are amazing company and I never feel lonely or bored. It’s never boring with them. Taking the dogs out two times a day, having to feed the cats 6-7 times a day or however often they start mewing and asking for food (especially the kitten - the young one is just 9 months old), having to stand guard to make sure dogs don’t steal cat food :D and all the petting and displays of affection.

ARE YOU A HOMEBODY? Not really? But I’m also not not a homebody? LOL Normally, I enjoy going out and meeting people; I have salsa classes two times a week, which are really fun; I go clubbing on weekends; and my favorites are the Language Cafe type events, which used to be up to 3 times a week before the Coronavirus situation started (these are events for people to meet and practice languages, where you can just come, choose the table with the language you want to practice, introduce yourself and join the conversation). I go to concerts, film festivals, public lectures/debates etc. 

But at the same time, I don’t mind staying at home, and I’ve had experience in having to stay for a week or two when I had a ton of work and tight deadlines. I talk to people a lot via phone, Viber, Whatsupp and social media, exchange memes and satirical articles about the current situation, etc. I’m online a lot, and I’m trying to finally catch up/check out some of the many TV shows, movies and books I have on my watchlist/readlist and do other stuff I never had enough time for.

AN EVENT THAT YOU WERE LOOKING FORWARD TO THAT GOT CANCELLED? I don’t think it’s been officially cancelled yet (?), but I doubt that the Tindersticks concert in early May is gonna be happening. I had already bought the ticket so I hope it gets postponed. I’ve also bought a ticket for a Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds concert in early June (it’s probably too optimistic to hope that will happen?) and a Pixies concert in early September (I don’t have to worry about that one, do I?)

WHAT MOVIES HAVE YOU WATCHED RECENTLY? Since the curfew started, I’ve watched just a few movies that happened to be on TV  - which were all very different, but I wasn’t impressed by any of them (Divergent, Ironclad, and Francis Ha). 

The last time I was in cinema was for the FEST film festival, which ended on 8 March, and I watched Jojo Rabbit on the closing night. I really loved it. Before that, at the same festival, I watched Apocalypse Now: The Final Cut, Blood Quantum (pretty good Canadian horror that’s a different take on the zombie epidemic genre, as it takes place in a First Nation reserve, most characters/actors are First Nation and it deals with social issues), Spanish period drama by Alejandro Amenabar  Mientras dure la guerra (During the War) about the Spanish Civil War and Miguel de Inamuno’s role in the events, The Lighthouse (really good, really dark psychological horror drama that can have a bunch of interpretations) and Dead Don’t Die (Jim Jarmush’s zombie comedy with some very on-the-nose social commentary).

WHAT SHOWS ARE YOU WATCHING? The list is pretty long! Some shows I’ve been watching on TV include: Peaky Blinders (really good!), Babylon Berlin (still in season 1), Penny Dreadful (I’m almost finished - I didn’t like season 1 that much but it got much better in seasons 2 and 3), Wynonna Earp (not great but it’s just a fun show with some cool actors/characters). I'm about to finish S1 of The Witcher and I want to rewatch it immediately to figure out the timelines. I’m finishing my rewatch of The 100 and I’m going to resume my rewatch of Agents of SHIELD (hopefully I can finish it by its premiere date, 27 May). Also watching Outlander season 5, Harley Quinn, Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist, need to catch up on Roswell: New Mexico, Prodigal Son and Stumptown and finish The Outsider, and have recently started The Plot Against America and Mindhunter (the latter because my best friend has recommended it). I’ve even checked out the pilot of Lucifer, which I may or may not continue soon, and I’m continuing with 12 Monkeys season 1. And I intend to check out Kingdom. Quite a mix of genres there.

WHAT MUSIC ARE YOU LISTENING TO? I haven’t listened to that much music lately as I used to, but my routine for putting myself to sleep is to turn on MTV Rocks (or the Rock Alternative radio channel) on my TV, in low volume, program the sleep function for 2 hours, and go to bed. It works like a charm. I always have trouble falling asleep in silence. 

Other than that, I’ve been listening to a lot of Haelos since I first discovered them when I heard their song “Alone” in season 6 of The 100, and I’ve listened to othe songs from The 100 and Tree Adams’ soundtrack for season 3.

WHAT ARE YOU READING? Before all this, I borrowed 3 books from the American Corner library: Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye and Beloved and Tea Obrecht’s The Tiger’s Wife.  I’m reading The Bluest Eye at the moment, but I’m also going to finally start reading GRRM’s Fire and Blood, which I had never found time for.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING FOR SELF-CARE? The usual stuff I do - a bit of exercise, nurturing bath once a week, regular skin care. But last week, I also had to make an effort to relax and try to lower my level of stress and blood pressure, thanks to something that happened last Sunday. 

Rant incoming....If you don’t want to read about my bad experience with the police and idiotic government measures, stop now.

Namely, the idiotic government of my country has imposed “measures” which are supposed to be against the spread of Coronavirus but mostly don’t make any sense - they are constantly extending curfew and changing the time of it, and have changed the times when dog owners are allowed to walk their dogs. At one point, it seemed like there was no allowed time for that in the evening or afternoon. You had to listen to the news all the time (and listening to news and the President’s speeches is one of the things that annoys me the most) to figure these things out. And the weekend before last was their first experiment in an extra-long 3 day curfew, which I wasn’t even aware of, when they actually had the police patrol and arrest people for just walking on their own (or, in one case, a young farmer in his tractor - two days after the minister of agriculture said on TV that farmers would be exempt from the curfew - they changed it). So I got manhandled, put in handcuffs and taken to the station for walking my dogs all on my own, with no one else around (which is endangering people and helping the spread of Corona - how exactly??!) where i had to sit for 2 hours while a cop was writing stuff down from the records, and about 60 other cops walked right by me, 10 of whom didn’t have masks, while 3 had but pulled them up/down, then in a police car with 3 other people they picked up - who can’t sit any further than half a meter from you as there’s not enough room, then about 1.5 hours more at the court, with a bunch of other people (and everyone was sitting right next to each other - I was the only one who was like “Nope” and stood a couple of meters away from the others), where they passed the judgment that I have to pay a fine of almost 450 EUR - the amount that’s prescribed for everyone. (And in Serbia, that’s about 1.5 of the minimum wage. I can pay my bills for 3 months from that amount.) Turns out, they arrested some 700-800 people that weekend, so I guess they’re gonna extort a lot of money from the people - if all of them are able to pay it within 15 days (which I doubt. I can withdraw the money from the bank, but I don’t think everyone can). My temperature, pulse and probably blood pressure went up immediately and took an entire week to come down - due to stress, a lot of anger and fear - I had my mask and gloves, but that was still the most close contact and exposure to a lot of other people, much more than I’ve had in weeks. I yelled and ranted and told them that they’re the ones putting others and themselves in danger of contracting Corona, and they probably knew I was right, but it makes no difference -  President Vučić is either an idiot who actually thinks the virus is lurking outside in the air to jump at people, but only during the hours he decides, or, more likely, he doesn’t care, but is a wannabe dictator who likes to act self-important and playact at imposing “strict but necessary measures”.

/end rant. Sorry about that. But that’s why I bought a temperature meter and blood pressure meter, because I was having high temperature, heart palpitations and pressure in my chest, which hasn’t happened to me in a long time (I was also starting to feel PMS, which added to it and didn’t help, but is normally nowhere near as bad when I’m not stressed out) so I needed a lot of self-care last week - which included tranquilizers, but mostly trying my best to relax and feel better. And I’m finally well now and close to how I was before the whole arrest idiocy.

Tagging @jeanie205 @kizo2703 @weareagentsofnothing @turtle-paced @wolfheartgirl @theatre-steph @selflessbellamy @mytly4 @katersann @linzzmorgan100 @immortalpramheda @iishallbelieve @misskittyspuffy @marshmallow-the-vampire-slayer @justbecauseyoubelievesomething @angearia @ladyofthefrostfangs - I know some of you have already been tagged, I’m sorry if you’ve already done it but I haven’t seen it, in which case I’look for it on your blog. Sorry to everyone I didn’t tag, too. 

[opaquestrategies]

tagged by @7rc thanks!

10 quarantine songs:

1) this is a cheat, but just the whole first side of fleetwood mac’s 1979 album tusk (I keep listening to like all of tusk because it just fits the quarantine vibe so perfectly, but this stretch of it is esp. good and I listen to it a lot by itself  because of the undeniable combo of “over & over” AND “think about me” AND “sara” and the two lindsey buckingham songs are also pretty good but really just along for the ride)

2) “everywhere” - fleetwood mac (we have been on not one but several 48 hour fleetwood mac lockdowns and I guess I didn’t notice it but maybe I think christine mcvie is their best songwriter? hard to say because all three of them are good, but maybe i think that.)

3) “martin” - car seat headrest

4) “life during wartime” - talking heads

5) “MGMT - Kids But It’s September By Earth, Wind & Fire” - william maranchi (this shouldn’t work and most of this guy’s mashups are a lot more cursed but this is just aural dopamine)

6) “i steal pets” - rachel bloom

7) “the steps” - haim

8) “celebrity skin” - hole

9) “don’t be a lawyer” - crazy ex girlfriend ost

10) “angel” - fleetwood mac (again, tusk; again, underrated)

Are you staying home from work/school? yes, we are doing both remotely. I work on campus, but fortunately my department’s website direly needs updates so I’m still getting hours and easily able to do it from home.

If you’re staying home, who is with you? I have one roommate who’s stuck around but he lives at the other end of the hall and was already pretty sparse (although he finally got a replacement key the second week of quarantine) so usually he just shows up at 10 or 11am, showers and bumps around for an hour or two, and then leaves and I don’t see him again until 10 am or 11am the next day. so I’m basically by myself.

Who would be your ideal quarantine mate? my family or my friends anna and madeline.

Are you a homebody? yeah although I’d just spent the last year learning to be much less of a homebody, so it’s kind of a bummer to be shoved back here again when I was doing so well at getting out.

An event you were looking forward to that got canceled? I was going to present the first part of my undergrad thesis at a really niche conference in my field that I was helping to put on, but that’s moved back to the fall! I was also really excited about sitting in on a class on simone de beauvoir this summer, and that’s technically still happening but it’ll all be online and it’ll be different and lesser because of that. 

What movies have you watched recently? double feature of portrait of a lady on fire (stunning) and lady macbeth (intriguing but flawed) last saturday night. a week earlier, I started with a trio of comfort food classics (frances ha, stop making sense, the hudsucker proxy) before watching stuff I’d been thinking about seeing in the back of my mind, but had never gotten around to: alien (would have been better as a short film; its reputation ruins all the best twists), true grit (solid mid-tier coens), hard eight (a nice lowkey character study), the witch (superbly crafted but I like it when a film, you know, has a point and this one fools you into thinking it does and then...doesn’t), married to the mob (a lot of fun, but something about it always felt just a little off which made it harder for me to get into), hot rod (popstar is the superior lonely island film by far), and an unintentional pairing of two films themed around “step siblings with a complex relationship that’s complicated even further when their parents don’t stay together”: mistress america and step brothers. I watched as many movies that first week of quarantine as I had the whole rest of this year before, but most of the first time watches were honestly only okay? idk if that says more about them or the emotional state I watched them in.

What shows are you watching? I have been so blessed that my apartment installed a big tv in the common room during those miserable renovations last year and that two of my friends had given me their netflix, hulu, and prime-with-an-hbo-subscription passwords. also cursed, because in the mood quarantine puts you in, all you can do for much of the day is watch tv and this setup really enables that. during the past three weeks, we’ve started and finished barry, derry girls, fleabag, and crazy ex girlfriend. derry girls was my favorite. 

What music are you listening to? so after previously only knowing the four big songs from rumors, I’ve spent a good deal of quarantine getting really into fleetwood mac. they’re mellow and cheesy and comfortable in way that’s very appealing right now, but there’s also this nice undercurrent of mysticism, weirdness, and interpersonal tension to their songs that prevents them from descending into soft rock gloop. tried getting more into the cure, but they’re a little too dour for right now. bruce springsteen, carly rae jepsen, and haim are also heavily factoring in.

What are you reading? since quarantine started I’ve finished taylor jenkins reid’s daisy jones and the six (this is responsible for all the fleetwood mac if you’re keeping score) and toni morrison’s the bluest eye, which I read for a class that’s basically just my favorite philosophy professor doing a book club. I’m in the middle of reading italo calvino’s if on a winter’s night a traveler, albert camus’ the stranger, daniel lavery’s something that may shock and discredit you, and gradually working my way through ted chiang’s short story collection story of your life and others.

What are you doing for self-care? taking a lot of long hot showers, avoiding getting things done (works short term; causes less self-care long term), going on a hike in the local canyon foothills, doing a remote existentialist literature reading group with some friends.

tagging: @animesemplemcpherson, @aahsoka, @theraisincouncil, @curtailedwhale, @teddy-stonehill and also you if you’re interested in filling this out.

[verai-marcel]

The Better To Take You (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur x Fem!Reader, 18+)

Summary: You get thrown off your horse and it runs away, spooked by all the howling you hear in the forest. Left alone on the path to the next town in the middle of the night, you have no choice but to walk the rest of the way. But what dangers lurk in the shadows?

Author’s Notes: @horsegirl1h asked me for a werewolf Arthur, and I was incredibly happy to oblige! This is a high honor on the streets, low honor in the sheets kind of Arthur. 

Word Count: ~5000

Tags: werewolf Arthur, red riding hood-inspired, smut, biting, rough sex, supernatural elements, alternate ending, RDR2 spoilers

AO3 Link is here!

--------------------

Dressed in a riding skirt and a short-sleeved blouse, you wrapped your dark red cloak tighter around you as a light breeze sent the chill of the night past your skin as you rode down the forest path. You looked up at the river of stars running across the sky and sighed. Your parents had sent you alone to check on your aging grandmother. They had to take care of the shop and couldn’t spare the time to check on the old woman, but you could go. You loved your grandma, but she lived on her own in a cabin in the middle of the woods, a full three days’ ride away. 

Well, it was a three-day ride if you only rode while it was light out. Your grand plan was to ride for as long as possible, maybe trim it down to a two day trip. 

You heard the howling of a wolf in the distance. Your horse whinnied and reared back all of a sudden, much to your surprise. He hadn’t been spooked before by the sounds of wolves. Holding desperately to the reins, you tried to calm him down, but he'd have none of it. 

"Easy boy, easy!" you cooed, trying your best to stay calm. But then another howl rang through the forest, and your horse's eyes widened and he jolted through the forest in the opposite direction. You pulled on the reins again, but your horse had enough of you; he kicked and flung you out of the saddle. 

You landed in a bush off the rough trail, scraping your arm. Groaning, you got up gingerly and brushed yourself off, checking for any other injuries. Your ankle hurt a bit, and blood trickled down your arm. Great. Just what you wanted. You tore off a piece of your cloak and wrapped your arm before continuing on, keeping an ear out for the wolf. It had sounded far off, and you wondered why your horse had spooked so bad. You pulled the gun from your haversack and kept walking.

***

It had been an hour since you lost your horse, and whistling for it didn't help. He had probably ran all the way back home, the coward. No matter. You could get to the next town and send a message to your folks, let them know you were alright. 

But you were getting sleepy, and being on alert this late at night, with you being as tired as you were, wasn't helping your energy levels. As you kept walking, hoping to come across a cabin or a shed along the way, you heard a rustling in the bushes behind you. 

Turning around, you stared dumbly at the giant wolf that slowly walked towards you. It made no sudden movements, no attempts to hide itself. It just stared at you as it plodded along. 

You raised your gun. It paused. 

"Stay back."

It stayed where it was. 

Then you heard howling coming from a different direction. The wolf turned its head, it ears perked up and listening. 

You took this moment to turn and run down the road. You heard the wolf loping after you. 

"Damn damn damn damn!" 

There was a crashing of bushes to your left as three smaller wolves came out onto the path, blocking your way. You quickly skidded to a halt and took a deep breath. This was it, then. A bunch of wolves tearing you apart, all because you wanted to see your grandma. 

Except the wolf that had been behind you walked in front of you and started growling at the other wolves. They, in turn, started growling back.

Taking advantage of the standoff, you took a shot at one of the smaller wolves, hitting it between the eyes. It fell over, causing the other two to back off a few steps. But they quickly regained their composure, both leaping towards you.

The giant wolf went for one of them while you shot at the other. Five shots later, you had completely missed. Shooting a moving target was much harder than a stationary one. Realizing you had no more ammo, the other wolf decided to go after you at full speed.

You turned and ran, adrenaline making you forget your injured ankle as you ducked into the forest and zig zagged through the trees, leaping past rocks and bushes—

Then your cloak got snagged on a branch.

You tore it as you pulled away, but that gave the wolf precious seconds to catch up to you. It barreled into you, knocking you onto the ground. As you stopped rolling and ended on your back, you looked up just as the wolf landed on top of you, its claws digging into your chest. Your death was staring you in the eyes and you stared back, pissed off and scared as hell.

Then the wolf suddenly flew up and hovered in the air above you.

And then you saw behind it.

A giant wolf monster, standing on two legs, held up the wolf and cracked its neck. Hucking the body behind it, the creature turned its golden stare onto you. Its nostrils flared and its breath clouded in the cold night air. The moonlight gave it an unholy halo as it stalked towards you and let out a low growl.

You couldn’t breathe. The last thing you saw was the wolf monster’s large jaws, dripping with blood, and the heavy thump of its paws was the final thing you heard before you fainted.

***

The sound of a man humming a song gently woke you. You blinked your eyes, noticing that you were in a tent, lying on a bed roll. Your cloak was folded next to you, your bag on top. Sitting up, you checked to make sure all your clothes were intact before crawling out and into the light.

A man was sitting at a campfire, making coffee. His blue shirt had a few mud stains, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His jeans were worn and faded, his boots scuffed.

“Rise ‘n shine, miss.” 

He turned, and you were met with the bluest eyes and warmest smile you had ever seen. He had a short beard and light brown hair that looked soft and feathery. You found yourself wanting to reach out and bury your fingers in his hair.

“G-good morning,” you stammered. Had you dreamed up the whole thing with the wolf monster? “How did you find me?”

“I was out huntin’, found you passed out in the forest. Couldn’t leave a lady alone to get eaten by wolves.”

“Did… did you see any wolves nearby?”

“Just heard some, but I didn’t see any.”

You sat across from him and considered his words. Maybe you had imagined everything last night in a fevered dream, fueled by exhaustion and fear. You looked around and whistled. The man watched as you stood up. You winced when you put weight on your ankle, but you slowly hobbled in a circle, continuing to whistle.

Yup. Your horse was gone.

“Need a ride?”

You looked at the man, somewhat suspicious. “I’ll be fine.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “I find you passed out in the forest with a cut on your arm and your cloak all tore up. Forgive me fer not believin’ ya when ya say you’ll be fine, especially with how you was walkin’ just now.”

You sat back down in a huff, noticing the bandage around your arm. “Thanks for bandaging me up,” you mumbled. “And yes, if you don’t mind. I could use a ride.”

He grinned as if you had said something funny. “Where you off to?”

You told him the name of the town that was closest to your grandmother’s house. At least then you could walk from there, and he wouldn’t know where she lived. 

“That’s two days away on horseback. Were you plannin’ on walkin’ there?”

“I had a horse…” you said, trailing off.

“Wolves, I reckon.”

“Yeah.” You paused before asking, “You ever see a giant wolf around these parts?”

“How giant?”

“The size of a pony.”

The man scoffed. “Nothin’ that big. Maybe just looked bigger at night.”

You sighed. Maybe you really had imagined it all.

“Should we get going then?” you asked. “Gonna be three days if we don’t leave soon.”

The man chuckled. “Let’s finish breakfast first. Git to know one another, at least exchange names.”

“Oh. Yes.” You told him your name, and a little bit about the town you came from.

“Name’s Arthur. I’m just a hunter from out west, lookin' fer some new furs.”

You smiled. “Also rescuer of ladies, it seems,” you joked. “Thank you.”

His eyes carried some heat when he looked at you, and his voice was low and rumbly, stirring something low in your body when you heard him. “My pleasure, darlin’.”

***

You rode sidesaddle on the back of his horse, a big warhorse that could probably carry a whole family. Holding onto the back of his saddle, you watched the world go by at a slow pace, wondering why he wouldn't go faster. 

Then he stopped altogether. 

"What—" 

He hushed you by turning and placing a finger on your lips as he scanned the forest, his eyes staring out through the trees, the mid-morning sun filtering down. He got off the horse and pulled you down, quickly carrying you towards a fallen tree and hiding you behind it. 

"Stay here. Don't come out unless I come find you. No matter what you hear."

You nodded and hid. 

A few minutes later, you heard other horses approaching. 

"Well well, a lone traveler. Ain't that a shame. Maybe you should give us some of that money you got, and we'll let you leave."

Then you heard gunshots and ducked further down, hoping that Arthur was alright. He had just saved you, and was now risking his life to keep you safe. And you had thought that chivalry was dead. 

You heard the gunshots stop, heard footsteps coming closer to your hiding spot, and braced for the worst. You let out a sigh of relief when you saw Arthur, a little grazed, but otherwise unharmed. 

"It's safe now, miss. We can go." He kneeled down and gently lifted you up, one arm under your knees, the other around your back. He held you as if you were a precious treasure, his grip on you as solid as iron. 

You held onto him tightly as he carried you back to his horse. You felt a warmth go through your body at his touch, and craved more. 

***

It was nearly sundown when Arthur pulled off the main road into the trees, finding a small clearing far enough from the path where a small tent wouldn’t be bothered. 

Lifting you off his horse and carrying you to a log to sit on, Arthur grabbed the bedroll and tent, setting the bedroll near you while he started putting up the tent. Keeping your weight off your bad ankle, you rolled the bedroll out and sat down upon it, gathering up your cloak to use as a blanket and your haversack as your pillow.

“What’re you doin’?”

You looked up at Arthur. “Setting up my sleeping spot?”

He pointed at the tent he had just finished putting up. “No way am I lettin’ a lady sleep out in the open. Git yer things in there.”

“But—”

“This ain’t up for debate.”

You grumpily took your bag and your cloak and put them inside the tent. Then you helped Arthur start a campfire while he pulled out some dried meat and a can of vegetables out to share with you. You still had some bread and some dried fruit in your bag for the trip, so the two of you managed to have a somewhat filling meal.

“I’ll hunt somethin’ tomorrow,” he said as he sat on the bedroll next to you, his arm close to yours. All you had to do was lean over an inch, and you’d be touching him. You didn’t dare, although you wanted to.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked, glancing at your arm and ankle.

You nodded. “Of course. I’m not some sheltered lady. If my horse hadn’t ran, I’d have my tent and bedroll.”

Arthur chuckled before he gently nudged your shoulder with his. “Alright then. Head off to sleep, we’ll get up at first light.”

You nodded and crawled into his tent, wrapping your cloak around you and laying your head on your haversack. As sleep took you, you saw Arthur laying back on the bedroll just outside of the tent, his head turned away from you. You fell asleep pretty quick, feeling safe that he was guarding you.

***

That night, you dreamed of the wolf monster again. Except this time, he wasn’t a blood splattered, growling beast. He looked a bit more docile, but he was still scary.

And you were in his arms, tightly held in his embrace. 

You don’t remember much of the dream, to be honest. It was more like a series of sensations: the soft fur against your skin, the solid heartbeat near your ears, the warmth that surrounded you, making you feel cherished. You didn’t want to leave; you wanted to stay wrapped in that safe cocoon forever, knowing that nothing could hurt you here.

***

You woke up feeling like you had been rejuvenated; the tiredness that had dogged you the entire day yesterday was gone, and you felt like you could travel for another two days straight with no issue. Even your ankle was feeling a little better. 

Looking outside, you saw that Arthur was still lying on the ground on his side, gently snoring. He must have been keeping watch and probably didn’t sleep through the whole night. You decided to let him sleep a little while longer as you quietly took down the tent for him. As you wrapped your cloak around you, you noticed soft fur clinging to the fabric. You brushed away the golden strands, wondering where that had come from; maybe it was from that wolf a couple of days ago?

You shuddered, remembering the wolf monster. It was definitely a dream; things like that did not exist. You must have passed out after the wolf tackled you, and somehow, had been left alone to be found by Arthur. There was no other explanation.

“Miss?”

You turned to see Arthur, awake and looking at you quizzically, his head tilted at a cute angle. It reminded you of your parents' old dog when you were a kid, who would turn his head whenever he was confused by you.

“G’morning,” you said simply, smiling at him. He returned your smile and came to help you take down the tent, gesturing for you to sit down and get off your ankle. 

“You seemed distracted. Somethin’ on yer mind?”

“Um.”

“You don’t hafta tell me if you don’t want to.”

You sighed. “It’s crazy.”

“Maybe it is. Maybe it ain’t. Would you feel better if you got it off your chest?”

You pondered his words for a moment. “Okay. Well. I dreamed. Of a… a wolf-man.”

“And?” Arthur nodded, encouraging you to continue.

“And… he hugged me.”

“Were you scared?”

“No, that’s the crazy part. I felt… safe.”

After a few moments of silence, you finally looked up at Arthur, expecting him to be looking at you like an insane person.

Instead, he was giving you an enigmatic look.

You looked away. "Anyway. Thanks for listening."

Arthur just hummed and pat your shoulder gently.

As the two of you packed up and got back on his horse, you got the feeling that his mind had wandered far away. 

***

"Smells like rain," Arthur mumbled. 

You sniffed the air; all you could smell was the pine trees and Arthur. Not that he smelled bad. He just had a scent to him that made you want to snuggle into his back and wrap your arms around him. You resisted the urge, no matter how much you wanted to. 

A flash of lightning across the evening sky distracted you from your thoughts. You silently counted to three before you heard the thunder, sonorous and foreboding. 

"Better find some shelter for the night. We won't make it to town before the storm hits."

You looked at Arthur, confused. "We're not that far, are we?" You really didn't want to be trapped in the rain. 

"We're another half a day's ride, sweetheart. The storm'll hit in the next hour."

He sounded like he knew what he was talking about, so you decided to trust him. He took his horse off the road and towards the side of a hill, looking for a cave. He found one, a small cavern just perfect to fit the two of you with a small campfire.

He picked you up off the horse and carried you into the cavern. 

"I can walk," you protested, although you loved being in his arms. 

"Better to stay off your feet until you're healed," he grumbled. "I'll bring you some firewood, so you can make a fire. You can stay seated for that."

You nodded and waited. At least he was letting you help in some ways. 

Arthur came back pretty quickly with a pile of firewood and a rabbit. You got to work making the fire while he skinned the rabbit and cut up the meat to cook. You two had a nice meal, filling and delicious. 

Setting up the bed roll for you, he settled on the other side of the fire and lay down, staring at the cave ceiling. You glanced over at him; he was putting his hat over his head, just as the first drops fell from the sky. Turning your attention to the cave entrance, you watched as the rain picked up in a matter of minutes, becoming a wall of water as the storm hit the area full force. You were very glad for Arthur's natural intuition.

Lost in thought as you stared outside, you barely noticed Arthur staring at you from under the brim of his hat. 

"What?" 

He quickly looked away. "Nothin'."

You considered him for a moment as he turned back and eyed you warily. He sat up quickly when you started to crawl over to him.

"You shouldn't be gettin' so close to strange men," he said, his voice growing husky. 

"You're not strange," you replied, growing bold. You gently touched his arm and leaned against him. "You're kind. Thank you for everything. Truly."

Arthur took a sharp breath when you touched him, and now, as you glanced at him, he was watching you with a hunger in his eyes, something carnal and dangerous that you had seen a glimpse of before. 

A thrill went through your body. You wanted him to keep looking at you like he was starving and you were a feast. 

“I haven’t done anything for you. Let me rub your back at least, for all the work you’ve done keeping me safe.”

He shook his head. “Just yer company is thanks enough, miss.” His voice was low and tremulous, as if he was having a hard time controlling himself.

“Please, let me feel like I’m helping you in return,” you insisted. You slowly shifted over to sit behind him, waiting to see if he’d flee. He didn’t. Tentatively placing your hands on his broad back, you started to knead his muscles through his cotton shirt. You worked out the knots in his shoulders and neck; you were rewarded with soft sighs and groans of relief as you dug your thumbs into a particularly bad knot near his right shoulder blade.

“This would be easier if you took your shirt off,” you grumbled.

Suddenly Arthur turned towards you, leaning forward, his face inches from yours.

“You teasin’ me, girl?”

“N-no, I just thought it’d be easier…” you trailed off when he got even closer to you, the tip of his nose grazing your cheek as he moved towards your neck. You leaned your head back, exposing your pulse to him, and he gently bit down on your soft skin, letting out a low growl.

You breathed his name like a supplication to a dark god, wanting to be consumed by the fire that ignited inside of you.

“Last chance. Tell me to stop.” He moved so he could look directly at you, and you swear you saw a golden glow in his eyes for a split second.

You leaned forward and kissed him.

A deep rumble came from his throat as he kissed you back. He pulled you into his embrace, his hands splayed out on your back. You broke away from the kiss to take a deep breath. Looking into his eyes, he gave you a steamy smile. You smiled shyly back.

"What big hands you have."

"The better to hold you with, darlin'." 

He gently nuzzled your lips with his before kissing you again, sweetly, lovingly. With each kiss, his passion grew. 

"What soft lips you have," you said, quivering, whether from fear or anticipation, you could no longer tell. 

"The better to kiss you with, my dear."

He grew more hungry for you as his mouth urged yours to open for him. He slipped his tongue inside and tasted you, a rumble of pleasure escaping his throat as he pressed harder against you. His warm body felt like heaven compared to the cold air coming from the cave entrance. As the rain fell, he started to unbutton your blouse, following each loosened button with a kiss to your exposed skin.

You were kneeling before him in just your chemise and riding skirt when he pulled away and took off his shirt. He was all muscles and scars, with a light dusting of hair on his chest. You placed your hands on his shoulders and traced the contours of his arms, admiring him. He watched you as you explored his body, placing kisses on his skin as you learned what this man felt like under your hands.

"Darlin', I want to taste you."

You looked at him quizzically, but he started to unbutton your riding skirt, so you helped him, removing all of your clothes under his heated gaze. He tenderly lay you down on the bed roll and spread your legs, settling himself between them. 

"What are you…?" you started to ask, but then all you could do was gasp as Arthur's tongue ran circles around your labia. With his hands caressing your skin, he worshipped you with his mouth, drawing out every sigh and moan from you with his greedy lips. 

As you grew wetter, he slipped a finger inside of you, slowly spreading you open for him. Soon another finger joined the first, and you were gripping his hair tightly as he sucked on your clit until you came, crying out with your hips jolting erratically. Arthur held you down, keeping you in his tight grasp until you had stilled, taking shuddered breaths.

"Looks like you enjoyed yerself," he teased with a wry grin. He licked his lips. “Delicious.”

Then he crawled further up your body, kissing the dip of your curves, the peaks of your breasts, the hollow of your neck. With his body hovering over yours, you realized how big he was compared to you, and you trembled slightly.

He held your face in his hands, looking at you with concern. You responded by putting your arms around his neck and wrapping your legs around his waist. 

“Ready?”

“Yes,” you whispered.

He reached down and guided himself inside of you, his intense stare threatening to make you faint as he slowly slid himself deeper and deeper until he was completely flush with your body, the heat radiating from him making you forget completely about the rain and the cold wind outside. Remaining still as he watched you take deep breaths, he gave you a minute to calm your frantically beating heart.

Then he lifted his hips up and slammed into you.

You cried out in surprise, but it was not an unpleasant feeling. Far from it, in fact. As he continued his rough thrusts, you clung to him tightly, murmuring his name like a prayer; you wanted more, you wanted to completely surrender to him. Leaning your head back, you exposed your neck and he kissed your soft skin once more, licking his way down to where your neck and shoulder met. 

Then he bit you. Hard.

Lost in the heat of his tumultuous desire, you didn’t register the mark he left on you as he pounded into you; the pain was confused for intense pleasure in your addled state, and you just grabbed at Arthur, letting out delicious cries of ecstasy.

“I want you on yer hands and knees, darlin’,” he growled, and pulled away from you, rearranging your body to his liking, with your legs spread and your ass in the air. He shoved himself back inside you, grabbing a handful of your hair and pulling you towards him, making your back arch as he took you once more with steady, rhythmic strokes.

“So beautiful,” he muttered, bending over to wrap an arm around your neck. He reached down with his other hand and stroked your clit. “Come for me again, I wanna feel you let go around me.”

He touched you mercilessly; unable to escape from him, you broke apart in his arms, losing control of your voice as you screamed to the heavens, his cock ravaging you as you spasmed around him. He let you down gently as he continued taking you, until your head was down on the bedroll, his hands on your back and neck, holding you down.

“My sweet darlin’,” he groaned, “Be mine.”

“Yes, yes, Arthur,” you breathed, signing over yourself to him mindlessly.

He let out a low, inhuman growl. Falling upon you, his body crushing yours, he continued to rut into you as he moved your hair to one side of your neck.

“Mine,” he snarled before he bit you once more, his teeth feeling sharper as he broke skin this time, a drop of blood snaking its way down your shoulder. Your senses grew sharper with the pain of his bite; you felt as if his cock was expanding inside you. And was he always this hairy?

Then the moment passed, and he growled as he came inside of you, pressing himself as hard as he could to your body, as if he wanted to meld with you and be a part of you forever.

“Sweet girl,” he whispered lovingly into your ear after a few moments. Then he rolled off of you, pulling you into his arms, and brushed the hair out of your face. Looking at you tenderly, he kissed your lips, the tip of your nose, and your forehead.

You looked at him through the afterglow haze, and blinked a few times. You swear his eyes were glowing a golden hue, and his features were strangely contorted, as if he had some lupine ancestry. But only for a second.

Resting your head against his chest, you fell asleep to the steady beat of his heart.

***

Waking up, you felt like you were sleeping in luxurious furs, wrapped up in warmth and comfort.

Then you blinked and looked up.

The wolf monster.

Except it wasn’t fair to call him a monster. He looked relaxed, like a dog having a good dream. His arms and legs were curled up protectively around you, his breathing deep and slow. His tail was twitching, the soft fur brushing against your legs.

Then he blinked his eyes open, languidly, like a predator waking up after a large meal.

“Arthur?”

His eyes shot wide open; you grew up with a dog, and you knew the look of fear when you saw it. He didn’t move, didn’t even breathe.

You caressed his muzzle and cooed softly to him. “There now, don’t be afraid. It’s alright.”

He pushed his muzzle into your hands and closed his eyes, his ears dropping.

Then in the blink of an eye, a man lay next to you, his eyes open and full of love.

You had heard tales of the rougarou, werewolves cursed by witches near St. Denis, and had dismissed it all as nonsense. But now that proof was staring straight at you, you wondered what else was true.

“Were you cursed?” you asked.

“Or saved, however you want to look at it.” He paused for a moment, considering his next words. “A witch gave me this power when I was dyin’ on top of a mountain. Told me it weren’t my time yet.”

He held your hand against his cheek and turned to kiss the palm of your hand. “She said I’d find someone to devote myself to, and that I’d know them when I smelled them.” He leaned in closer to you, touching the tip of your nose with his. “She was right. You smell of wildflowers and honey, fresh rain and spring breezes, shootin’ stars and twilight.”

Your eyes watered, and you took a deep breath to calm your nerves. You just met him. This was insane.

But he had saved your life. And you couldn’t deny the feeling in your heart that swelled when you looked at him.

He reached for your hands and held them oh so gently in his big ones, as if you would break in his grasp. “I know this is sudden, but please, let me stay by your side.”

You found yourself nodding. How could you possibly say no, with him looking at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes?

His face lit up and he hugged you tight. 

“I’m yours, always,” he said into your hair as you held him back just as tightly, and all felt right with the world.

--------------------

End Notes: Yeah, I know, in A/B/O fics, golden eyes are signs of an omega, but for this fic, all wolves have golden eyes, and Arthur is 100% alpha. Also learned about the rougarou, a Cajun werewolf; since St. Denis is based on New Orleans, I thought this would be fun. @horsegirl1h, I’ve been feeding you teaser snippets this whole time, but I really hope you enjoyed how it all came together. Thank you for the request!

[urdbell18]

Those Moments in Between Chapter 2: Boo to You

AN: So I’m not sure how often I would post new chapters but I’m starting a new project (not writing related) and decided to post this chapter before I completely forgot about this. Also I want to hear from you guys. I want to know what you guys want to see. My box is open and ready for your ideas. Everyone stay safe out their and enjoy.

Mary wouldn’t admit it to Zelda, not when the other woman had so much on her mind already, but she was nervous. She had never taken care of a child as small as Vida and though Vida seemed to like her that could all change in a heartbeat. This was the first time that the two of them would be alone together, without Zelda. To say that Mary was under some significant pressure was an understatement. This one night could make or break her budding relationship with Zelda. Was she overreacting? Maybe. Was it justified? 100% Mary hasn’t known Zelda long but the one thing that Mary did know was that Vida came first. If tonight went south that was it, she was done.

So far things seemed to be going okay. Vida took to her mom leaving very well and was still excited about going out for trick or treating. If that’s what Vida wanted then so be it. Well… trick or treating was part of the deal but Mary wasn’t going to force Vida to do something that she didn’t want to.

The advantage of Greendale being such a small town was that everything was in walking distance. From the town center you could easily walk to any of the housing neighborhoods. That made things a whole lot easier for Mary, she could park her car in one spot and not worry about its safety or where she left it. Mary managed to convince Vida that they should start with the furthest neighborhood.  As they approached the first house Mary turned to Vida.

“Do you remember what you have to do Vida?”

“Yes. I ring the doorbell and wait for someone to answer and then I say ‘trick or treat’. Right?”

“Very good. And what do you say after they give you treats?”

“Thank you and happy Halloween!”

“Excellent! Your golden.”

“But my dress is black.” Vida looked herself over, yup everything was black. Her dress, her tights, her shoes. What was gold?

Mary mentally slapped herself. Of course Vida wouldn’t understand. Mary stumbled on her words for a second. She paused and took a deep breath, she can’t let this phase her.

“It’s nothing Vida. Are you ready?” Vida nodded causing her pigtails to bounce from one side of her shoulders to the other. They walked up to the house, Mary hung back but kept a close eye on Vida as she stepped onto the porch. Vida turned to look at her, there was a tiny bit of fear on her face. “It’s okay I’ll be right here. You got this.” With a small smile Vida turned back to the door and rang the doorbell. A few minutes passed by until a middle aged woman with wheat colored hair that was in a neat bun answered the door.

“Trick or treat!”

“My aren’t you precious. Is this your first time?” Vida nodded.

“Yes, but my mommy sometimes lets me help my Auntie Hilda hand out candy. She works at the bookstore.”

“Dr. C’s? I think I know who you are talking about. And since you are my first trick or treater I have a special surprise for you.” Mary tensed and stepped closer to Vida. Though this woman didn’t set off any alarm bells it never hurt to be overly cautious. And if anything happened to Vida Mary was sure she would never see the light of day again and her body would never be found. The woman brought out a spellbook but when she opened it several large candy bars were nestled inside. Vida’s face glowed bright and she turned to Mary and then back at the woman.

“I can really have one!?” The woman nodded. Now came the hard part, which one? Mary scanned the bars over. They were all pretty basic, none of them contained nuts or a filling, but some had extra like the big Crunch and Kit Kat bars.

“These seem to be a good option Vida.” Mary brought Vida’s attention to the king size Hershey milk chocolate and dark chocolate bars, they were the simplest and would most likely appeal to Vida’s pallet. Vida looked between the two bars clearly torn between which one she should get. The woman smiled softly.

“How about this. I give you both but promise you won’t eat them both at once. I don’t want your mom hunting me down.” The woman looked at Mary and gave her a wink. Did she just... no... but she had to…

With her candy bars in hand Vida tried to fit them in her plastic jack o'lantern bucket with little success. Mary chuckled and held out the tote bag that she brought with her. Did she expect to fill the whole bag? No, Zelda might murder her. But Vida’s bucket wasn’t very big and would fill up pretty quick. The tote bag was there to help with that, as well as hold the flashlight that Mary brought with her just in case. Vida got the hint and placed the bars in the bag.

“Thank you very much! Happy Halloween!”

“Happy Halloween!” Vida and Mary waved the woman goodbye. One house down several more to go.

______________________

Mary decided to call an end to the trick or treating at seven. They have been out for a few hours and Vida was starting to get tired. They took a break when they finished the first neighborhood but that only stalled the problem for a little while. Halfway through the town center Vida started to complain that her feet were hurting. While yes she was tired it was bigger than that. Her shoes were physically hurting her. Mary understood and called it a night, she picked Vida up and walked back to her car. Despite that, Vida had a pretty good haul. She had to empty her jack o’lantern twice and it was half full when they called it quits. It stacked up to a nice size pile that Mary could just see Zelda scowling at.

When they arrived at Mary’s house Mary helped Vida remove her tights to see if there were any injuries. The back of the poor little girl's ankle was scraped up. It wasn’t bleeding but it looked pretty raw. After relieving Vida of her shoes they had some dinner. Mary wasn’t a cook by any means so the best she could manage was pasta with some sauce. Vida didn’t make a big fuss. While Vida was eating Mary went through the backpack that Zelda left for Vida. Inside was a change of clothes, pajamas, a stuffed bear, a blanket, hairbrush, toothbrush and toothpaste in a zip lock bag, and a DVD, a double feature of The Addams Family. What wasn’t in there were bath supplies so Zelda wasn’t expecting Vida to bathe while she was with Mary but Mary decided to let Vida decide.

“Vida did you want to take a quick bath or shower? I can get the movie set up while you do that.” Vida tilted her head back in thought.

“What’s a shower?”

“It’s like a bath but you stand and the water comes down in a continuous spray.”

“I still don’t understand but I’m willing to try it.” Okay, alright, now what?

Deciding that it would be too inappropriate for her to be in the bathroom with Vida Mary got the bathroom ready. She started the shower, laid out a towel, and left Vida’s pajamas on the counter top. The last thing she did was brush out Vida’s braids, if she left them in water would get trapped and it would dry stiff. With one last check of the water temperature, it was ready for Vida.

“Okay Vida it’s all set up for you. There’s some soap and a sponge on the wall and I have a towel laid out for you. I don’t have any shampoo for you so don’t worry about washing your hair. Don’t worry about shutting the shower off. I’ll do it. I’ll be right outside if you need me. Okay?” Vida looked at her, she was a little scared but nodded. In she went, the door closed softly behind her. Five minutes later she was out, dressed in her pajamas and hair laid out on her shoulders in damp ringlets. “Finished?” Vida nodded.

“It was nice. Thank you Mary.”

“You’re welcome. I’m going to get changed myself so you can wait here for me or you can head downstairs if you like.” Vida nodded and she brushed past Mary to head downstairs. Mary gave a sigh of relief when she shed her Gomez costume. Between the stiffness of the actual costume and the clip digging into the back of her head it felt nice to let the slight breeze that was in her house wash over her. She really wanted to shower but decided that she couldn’t leave Vida on her own for that long. She would just have to live with her cotton sleep shorts and tshirt and her robe. It still felt refreshing. Vida was on the couch when she came downstairs. She wedged herself between the pillows and her bear was on her lap.

“So how about that movie?”

“Yes!” Mary didn’t need to be told twice. Turning on the DVD player Mary popped in the movie. She debated on whether or not she should make popcorn but decided against it. She didn’t want to feed Vida too much and make her sick nor did she want to end up on Zelda’s bad side. They made it though half of the first movie before Vida was out like a light. Mary carried her upstairs and settled her in the middle of the bed with the comforter tucked around her. It was still too early for Mary so she went back downstairs. After some light cleaning Mary poured herself a glass of wine and picked up the book that her W.I.C.C.A. club was reading, The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison. Rosalind Walker already read the book, led a protest on the books ban which was why they were reading it. Mary wanted the group to touch on the elements of the actual book as well as the politics behind it, mainly why it was banned. It wasn’t a school requirement nor a group one, participation was purely voluntary. Mary was proud to be a part of it. Though it wasn’t a school read, Mary was treating it as such so her plan was to read it once, absorb it, and then make notes. As the advisor she felt obligated to be prepared.

At around eleven her eyes started to get tired. So she finished the chapter that she was on and called it a night. There was a little bit of wine left so she downed it and then placed the glass in the sink to soak for the night. That’s when there was a knock on her door. How odd. Her house was out of the way, so she wasn’t the one to get casual visitors. With caution she opened the door and was met with an exhausted Zelda Spellman. Mary wasn’t expecting to see Zelda, and she definitely wasn’t expected to be kissed within an inch of her life but you won’t see her complaining. However, they didn’t have the pleasure for things to escalate any further. It was late and Vida was just upstairs. Mary led Zelda upstairs and set her up with some night clothes just like she did on their first date. Mary climbed into bed but waited for Zelda. Vida murmured a little and scooted closer to Mary. When Zelda climbed into the free side of the bed she leaned over Vida to give her a quick kiss and then kissed her daughter’s cheek goodnight. Mary settled down and before she knew it was fast asleep.

__________________

When Mary woke up the bed was empty but the house didn’t feel empty. Though it was faint, Mary could detect some noise coming from downstairs. Mary followed it and was kind of taken back. Vida was on the couch, the movie playing where it left off last night. Zelda was in the kitchen, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of bacon simmering in the pan wafted from the kitchen. Vida was the first to notice her. She smiled and held her bear close to her chest.

“Morning Mary!” That caught Zelda’s attention. She smiled softly at her.

“Morning.” Mary nodded and made her way over to Zelda. On her way she ruffled Vida’s hair. Vida pulled back but she giggled and remained smiling. When Mary reached Zelda she hesitated. Though they have slept in the same bed and Vida has witnessed some moments between them that line hasn't been laid out yet. What was considered okay and what was considered inappropriate? That was up to Zelda, and Zelda decided that kissing was okay. She kissed Mary squarely on the lips and Mary was totally okay with that. She knew enough that it couldn’t escalate any further than that, it couldn’t be like last night, and that was okay too. Mary returned it, kept it nice and simple, that was enough.

“What are you making?”

“Eggs, bacon, and pancakes. I figured you earned a little reward for what you did last night.”

“It was no trouble. It was fun. Hey Vida!” Vida’s tiny head popped up over the armrest of her couch. “Do you want to show your mom all the candy you collected?” Vida nodded enthusiastically and scrambled to get the tote bag that Mary left near the front door. She brought the bag to the table and dumped it onto the wooden surface. The result was a good sized mountain made of pure sugar and chocolate. And Zelda turned as white as a ghost.

Mary was right, she did give it the scowls to end all scowls. Vida just smiled and Mary popped a candy corn into her mouth to try, and fail, to hide her smirk. Zelda turned the scowl onto her and her smirk cost her being hit in the hip with a kitchen towel.

Worth it.

[turtle-steverogers]

Sand Dollars- a Ralbert War Story

heheh hi guys im in college now and im posting a thing hello

also i know I KNOW that fugitives and titanium need some love

they will GET that love, i promise

ok ok now for the lowdown on this story-

warnings: none for this chap, but OH BOOY will there be some warnings in the future.  this is not a happy story

ship: ralbert, some kinda spalbert (but not romantic. its like,,,,platonic ish)

word count: 3228

editing: no, so plz excuse any shit

-

CHAP 1

June, 2006

Albert tugged at the collar of his uniform, inwardly cursing the stifling heat of the shaky boeing aircraft he’d been trapped on for the past fifteen hours.  A thin sheen of sweat covered his entire being and he pushed a hand through his hair, wrinkling his nose a little at the short length of his regulation cut.  He usually liked to keep his hair on the longer side when off-duty, framing his face and curling at the nape of his neck.  And even though he supposed he should be used to the short, crew cut by now, he didn’t have to like it.  Besides, the longer hair suited his face better.  Or so that’s what he was always told.

The announcement of their descent echoed through the plane and Albert sighed, vaguely wishing he’d pissed one more time before the fasten seatbelt sign flashed on again.  The eclectic mix of uniform service members that surrounded him began shifting around, readjusting their seats back to their original positions and stowing their tray tables. 

Albert rolled his eyes minutely, realizing that he should probably do the same before some asshole called him out for it.  Everything always needed to be perfect around these people.  Dress right dress and all that crap.

But as much as all this shit gave him a headache, there was no place he’d rather be.   

His circumstances growing up had been less than ideal.  A dead mother at nine and an absent father at eleven had gotten him dumped into the foster care system with his two brothers (who he eventually got separated from and hadn’t heard from since.  Which he definitely wasn’t still fucking devastated about.  No, he was good at moving on and dealing with his shit.  Yeah, very good).  No less than fourteen homes later, he turned 18 and finally, finally, he was done being some fucking ward of the state.  

But fourteen homes meant just as many, if not more, schools.  And when you’re being shoved from household to household with nothing but a couple bags filled with clothes and other absolute essentials, you don’t really have time to do well in school or apply to colleges.  

The National Guard had sounded like a blessing at the time.  An absolute saving grace with health and financial benefits to last him a literal lifetime.  He always had been good at listening to directions and taking orders, so he figured he’d be a perfect fit.  And he had.  

Those first few years between enlisting and basic training had been some of the best of Albert’s life.  He’d made bonds to last him a lifetime, felt the thrill of having something that was his and he was good at.  He had found purpose where he previously had none.

Then three planes had gone and crashed into the Twin Towers and Pentagon and everything went to shit.

Albert and one of his buddies from Basic, Sean (who went by Spot, but nobody knew why.  Albert had asked once and Spot had just smiled and kicked him in the shin) were living in New York at the time, having moved into a little apartment on the Upper East Side.  The morning of September 11 had yielded one of the clearest, bluest skies Albert had seen in his entire life. 

He remembered waking up to a call from his squad leader, barely able to comprehend the situation through his killer fucking hangover.  He and Spot really hadn’t planned on getting hammered on a Monday night, but sometimes life in your early 20s just happened like that.

The next four days had been a blur of smoke, sirens, debri, and dust.  So much dust.  It had taken weeks for Albert to feel like the damn stuff was finally out of his lungs and if he still thought about it too hard, a phantom tickle would creep up in his chest.

He tried not to think about that week too much.  Spot and him had returned home around the same time, both in varying states of exhaustion and dissociation.  They didn’t discuss what they had individually been through, but an unspoken understanding of the nightmare they’d both witnessed had led them into the same bed that night, the need to forget shrouding everything else.

Albert and Spot’s relationship wasn’t anything that could be truly named.  They weren’t best friends.  They weren’t boyfriends.  They weren’t fuckbuddies.  But they understood each other better than anyone Albert had ever known in his 27 years on this god forsaken earth.  And in that understanding, the knowledge that sometimes you just need to feel good for a night went without having to be spoken.  Feeling good didn’t just mean sex, though.  They cuddled a fair amount too, which was strange considering how touch averse Spot was with other people.  During their first deployment, though, several long days had led to quiet nights spent in each others arms, where they allowed themselves to forget the horrors they were subject to witness and just be. 

They were basically inseparable.  So when the heavens happened upon them and they were to be deployed into the same battalion again, despite Albert climbing through the ranks and surpassing Spot by a fair deal, he had silently thanked a god he hadn’t prayed to since eight years old.

Leaving home was easy, mostly because Albert didn’t have anyone to leave behind.  Spot was already overseas, having left a couple weeks earlier while Albert finished up some things down at the Pentagon.  While being deployed sucked, Albert at least had Spot to look forward to.

The plane jolted, tilting a little as it made it made its final descent into the Tal Afar Airport.  Albert leaned back against the headrest, closing his eyes and white knuckling the armrests.  He was a fine flyer once the plane was up in the air, but taking off and landing fucked him upside down and sideways. 

He was just beginning to count his breaths, clamping down the rolling waves of motion sickness, when a low voice spoke next to him.

“Are you alright, sir?” Albert cracked open an eye, glancing sideways at the person next to him, “Not a fan of flying?” 

The guy looked...rugged.  There was no other word for it.  His black hair was cut close to his head, well within regulation and looking a little patchy at the sides.  His wide set eyes were sharp and calculating, glinting with something like mischief that would unsettle Albert if he hadn’t seen that look a million times over in the mirror.  He looked younger than Albert by a good few years and the lack of shadows in his gaze and on his face cast a look of innocence over him.  Albert remembered those days- when naivety led him to a false sense of security.  He had been untouchable; indestructible.  

“Only take off and landing,” Albert said, clearing his throat and putting on what had to look like a strained smile.  He pried his right hand off the armrest and held it out for the guy to shake, “First Sergeant Albert Dasilva.  Good to meet ya.”

The guy had a firm handshake and he didn’t seem to mind that Albert’s palm was a little sweaty from nerves, “Private Elmer Kasprzak.”

Albert smiled, “First time in the Sandbox?”

Elmer smiled, looking a little self deprecating, “That obvious, sir?”

Albert shook his head, aiming for comforting, but still sounding vaguely choked, “I just know the look.  Way too excited.”

“Oh,” Elmer furrowed his brow, looking like he was trying to decide whether to be offended or not, “I’m just happy to finally be on the frontline, sir.”

“I commend you,” Albert said, wistfully, “It’s a brave thing to be doing with such a strong attitude.”

Elmer blushed, “Thank you, sir.”

“You don’t have to tack ‘sir’ onto every sentence,” Albert assured him, “Some guys are really strict about that, so keep in the habit, but I’m not too picky.”

“Oh, okay s- uh, okay,” Elmer flushed deeper and Albert chuckled a little bit patting his knee.

The plane touched down with a jerk and Albert closed his eyes again briefly while it slowed.  Eventually, it came to a stop and the fasten seatbelt sign flashed off.  Albert reopened his eyes to see Elmer staring out the window, awe and apprehension noticeable through the look in his eyes and the crease between his brows.

“C’mon, Private,” Albert said, unbuckling and clapping the younger man’s shoulder, “we got places to be.”

XXX

Getting assigned last minute to a completely new battalion and then being shipped overseas two weeks later was not how Race suspected he’d be spending his first year out of West Point.  He didn’t mind really.  He hadn’t really had any true connections to his old squad and after his little incident with Oscar Delancey, a new start was appreciated.

That didn’t make the whiplash of deployment any less bittersweet.  

His nerves hadn’t stopped twisting since General Kelly had informed him of his new assignment, going back and forth between excitement and paralyzing anxiety until his gut was furling with both simultaneously.  But now that he was here, things were starting to settle within him.  This was his life now and it was going to be his life for the next twelve months.  Better get used to it.

He put the last of his shirts in one of his dresser drawers, casting a cursory glance around his side of the room, before eyeing his cheap, Walmart alarm clock.  09:45.  The next wave of soldiers should be arriving soon and with them, his roommate.

A wave of anticipation rolled through Race’s stomach and he grimaced.  He had yet to make any meaningful connections with his soldiers so far, many of them wary of having a new CO.  But he was a people person and this alienation was killing him, even though he understood their hesitation.  Part of him hoped that whoever his roommate ended up being wouldn’t hold the same vigilance towards him.  Maybe he could even make a friend.  Someone he could theoretically get a drink with.  Completely hypothetically, of course.  Drinking wasn’t allowed on base.

Sighing, Race grabbed his patrol cap, cramming it onto his head and grabbing a pack of cigarettes from his desk.  He bounded down the stairs to his trailer and made his way over to the coffee line, nodding his greeting at a small clique of soldiers as he passed.  He only got a couple nods in return, and every single one of them wore matching, judgemental looks.  Race tried not to take it to heart.

The line for coffee took forever and Race hummed a little to himself, toying with the pack of cigarettes in his pocket while he waited for the cue to move at a snail’s pace.  Once he held his little styrofoam cup in hand, he ventured off to the smoking pit, draining his coffee along the way.  

Soldiers were beginning to arrive and Race lit up a cigarette, watching with casual curiosity as groups flooded into camp.  He eyed them, vaguely wondering who each of them was.  Who he would get along with.  Who he would despise.  Who would despise him.

He quickly got overwhelmed again and stomped out his finished stub, lighting up another to kill a few more minutes.

An indiscernible amount of time passed and Race kicked his last cigarette to the dust, pulling back the sleeve of his ACU jacket and checking the time.  11:15.  Damn, that coffee line really had taken forever.

Deeming his little break long enough, Race wandered back towards his trailer, heart rate kicking up a bit when he noticed that the door was propped open.

Steeling himself, Race climbed the stairs, knocking once on the door jamb, before ducking inside.

The person inside turned his head, peering up from where he was folding a few grey, regulation workout pants on his recently made cot.

He was wearing his ACU pants and boots, but his jacket had been discarded and with a quick glance around, Race found it draped over the back of his desk chair.  The guy was attractive- a sharp jawline accentuated by his pale skin and dark red hair, which was trimmed attractively, fading up the sides.  It was as if the guy knew from experience how to make the most of the look without pushing regulation.  His arms and chest were muscular, highlighted by the stretch of his tan, liner t-shirt.  

A charming smile stretched across the guys face as he straightened up, crossing the small expanse of their room and holding out a hand, which Race took firmly.

“First Sergeant Albert Dasilva,” He said, his voice smooth and a little gravelly, “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Race smiled back, “Lieutenant Antonio Higgins,” he said, hoping he sounded a lot more confident than he felt, “I’m honored to be working with you and your squadron and I’m looking forward to getting to know everyone.”

Albert dropped his hand, turning back to continue unpacking his things.  He only had one large duffle and two small carry on bags and suddenly, Race felt self conscious about his two duffle and impressive assortment of other luggage.  

“Honestly, we’re just lucky that you were available to serve with us, sir,” Dasilva said, straightening his shoes by his closet, dress right dress, “Everyone was really bummed and pretty panicked when Lieutenant Morris fucked up his leg, so it’s great that General Kelly was able to get you on board so quick.”

Race crossed to his side of the room, tossing his cap back onto his cot and slumping into his own desk chair, “I was pretty eager to get overseas, but I wasn’t expecting it to happen so quick.”

Dasilva hummed, sounding a little surprised, “This is your first deployment?” He asked, looking over his shoulder and raising his eyebrows a little.

“Yeah,” Race said, ducking his head a little as he flushed, “Just got outta West Point last May.”

Dasilva whistled, looking impressed, “You musta done damn well if you’re already a Lieutenant,” he said, smiling a little challengingly, “and add the fact that Kelly sought you out directly,” he shook his head, bemused, “Damn, sir, you’ve got quite the rep.”

Race wrinkled his nose, “My so called ‘rep’ ain’t really getting me anywhere with your men.”

Dasilva shrugged a shoulder, waving his hand dismissively, “Don’t take whatever they’re doing to heart,” he said, “They’re all still upset about Lieutenant Morris.  He was a great Lieutenant and a lot of the guys are still feeling his absence.  They’ll warm up to you, sir.”

Race grunted noncommittally.  He knew that Dasilva was trying to make him feel better with his little pep talk, but the knot in Race’s stomach only grew.  It seemed like he had pretty fucking big shoes to fill.

“Aha!”

Race was pulled out of his spiraling worries by Dasilva’s voice and he looked up to see him holding a toothbrush and toothpaste.

“Finally found them,” Dasilva said, triumphantly.  He waved them a little in Race’s direction, “I’m gonna go freshen up.  That fifteen hour flight always makes me feel grungy as shit.”

Race nodded his acknowledgement, watching as his new bunkmate exited the room and traipsed down the steps, leaving the door open behind him.  He could see him greeting other soldiers with a level of enthusiasm and charm Race could only dream to match.  His jealousy spiked even further when he got equally happy greetings in response.

Blowing out a measured breath, Race flipped open his notebook, toying with the pristine patch on the front as he vaguely studied the Arabic terms he’d been practicing on the plane ride there.

He was pretty good already, if he said so himself, with an impressive language proficiency score of 3+ under his belt.  But solidifying knowledge was always beneficial, no matter one’s skill.

A few minutes later, Dasilva bounded back through the door to their trailer, finally easing the door shut behind him.  He stuck his toothpaste and toothbrush back into his little hygiene kit and tucked the thing neatly into the top drawer of his dresser.  

Race kept his eyes on his notebook, not entirely sure how to progress with their conversation.  He was out of his depth- usually being the loud and confident one, but somehow rendered socially inept in this completely foreign environment.

Dasilva didn’t seem to notice his internal battle, though, and a moment later, he spoke up.

“You fluent yet?”

Race startled a bit, looking up, “Almost, I’m still working on conversational communication, but I’ve got all the basics in the bag.”

Dasilva grinned, seemingly not jarred by the sudden change in language, “That’s good.  Already something you have over Lieutenant Morris.  With him, we almost always needed a terp on site.”

“No need for one of those here,” Race said, switching back to english.

“Obviously, sir,” Dasilva agreed.  There was another lull in conversation, but Dasilva didn’t seem uncomfortable, “Do you like running?”

Race felt his stomach flip excitedly, “Yeah, actually, I love it.  Did track all through middle in high school.  That’s actually where-”  He cut himself off hastily.  Dasilva did not need to know about his little adolescent nickname that he still used unironically.  Not yet anyway.

Dasilva gave him a funny look, but didn’t push, “Great.  I go running every morning with one of my buddies before call.  You’re welcome to join us if you want.”

“That sounds nice,” Race said, “I’d love to.  Who’s your buddy?” He added out of curiosity.

“Sean Conlon,” Dasilva stated and Race hummed, recognizing the name, but not having a face to put it with, “He and I go way back.”

The weight of the words seemed to hold something heavy, but Race returned Dasilva’s courtesy and didn’t push.

“Sounds like a good guy,” Race said, “What time should I wake up?”

“We usually go around 04:45,” Dasilva said, leaning back into his regulation pillows, “You’ll probably hear my alarm anyway.”

Race nodded, “I’ll set one on my clock, too, just in case.”

“Good plan.”

A knock at their door had both of them exchanging a curious look.  Race stood to get it and found a taller man with straight, cropped brown hair and a rigid nose standing at ease outside the door.  He smiled cordially when Race looked up at him and offered him a hand.

“Lieutenant Higgins?” Race nodded and the man shook his hand firmly, “Excellent.  Captain David Jacobs, it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too, sir.”

“General Kelly would like to see you over in his office,” Jacobs continued, sounding a little warmer.  His eyes flicked over Race’s shoulder to Dasilva, who hastily stood at attention.

“First Sergeant Albert Dasilva, sir,” Dasilva said, his voice hardening as he saluted.

“At ease, soldier,” Jacobs said, “Pleasure to meet you.”

They all stood in silence for a short pause, before Race awkwardly turned and grabbed his patrol cap.  

“General Kelly requested for me now, sir?” He asked Jacobs.

“Yes,” Jacobs confirmed.

“Alright,” Race placed the cap on his head and looked back to where Dasilva was still standing, “I’ll see you later, Sergeant.”

“See you, sir,” Dasilva smirked, “Good luck.”

Race resisted stating that he’ll need it as the trailer door swung closed behind him.

-

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag! and if you were on my tag, but changed your username, please let me know!

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[levelofdepth]

Tag! Get to know me!

Rules: Always post the rules. Tag 11 new people you’d like to know better!

Tagged by @opalxempress

Tagging (with no pressure to do it): @haospart, @hoiist, @toomanyoperatives, @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond, and @lanabenikoisagodess. Sorry if any of you were already tagged.

1. Dogs or Cats?

It doesn’t matter to me as long as I can cuddle it and it will cuddle me back.

2. YouTube celebrities or normal celebrities?

I enjoy the curated content on Youtube, but I think @opalxempress put it quite nicely: “Don’t put people on pedestals, they will inevitably fall off and crush you if you’re standing too close.”

3. If you could live anywhere where would that be?

By my girlfriend’s side.

4. Disney or DreamWorks?

I like to mouth off about the conglomerate mouse

5. Favorite childhood TV show?

The Last Airbender as well as its successor, The Legend of Korra. However, there are a lot of shows I enjoyed when I was younger. Funny, since I don’t really watch any shows anymore.

6. The movie you’re looking forward to most in 2020?

Like shows, I don’t watch many movies. I’m going to cheat a little and say The Rise of Skywalker, because it’s practically 2020. It’s also the only movie I’m probably going to go out and watch for the next year.

7. Favorite book you read in 2019?

White Fragility by Robin DiAngelo. I’m a leader in my school’s club for “social justice” (for lack of a better way to describe it), so this book has been incredibly helpful and enlightening in educating myself and others on how to talk about racism with white people.

8. Marvel or DC?

Marvel

9. If you choose Marvel favorite member of the X-Men? If you choose DC favorite Justice League member?

Rogue, Jean, or Storm. I also kind of like Professor X, Magneto, and Mystique. 

I watched the X-Men movies a lot when I was younger with my dad, and the themes of these young adults/teens struggling with their identities in the face of societal oppression (essentially) hit close to home for me. I haven’t watched any of the movies in awhile, and I never finished the Wolverine series, but I still get that warm feeling one experiences when they wax nostalgic.

10. Night or Day?

Any hours outside of school hours are friends of mine. Except the entire day of Sunday. 

Sundays give me anxiety.

11. Favorite Pokemon?

I never really got into Pokemon. Walking around and suddenly getting stopped to fight really pissed me off. I liked riding the bike around in Diamond and Pearl though.

Anyways Snorlax.

12. Top 5 bands/artists:

I have a niche music taste, but...

Tesseract

Bring Me The Horizon

Nightwish

Gorillaz

Phantoms

The top three I listen to religiously. The rest just happen to be bands I listen to consistently; most of the music I enjoy is just a song I liked and saved to my library or added to a playlist of similar songs.

13. Top 10 books.

I’m gonna be honest, I read more fanfiction than I do books, however some books/series that I enjoyed were

Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

The How to Train Your Dragon series by Cressida Cowell (read these concurrently with my father when I was younger, those were fun days)

The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison

White Fragility by Robin DiAngelo

Things Fall Apart/The African Trilogy Chinua Achebe

The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas

Brave New World by Aldous Huxley

1984 by George Orwell

The Terrorists Son by Zak Ebrahim

14. Top 4 movies

In no particular order

Rogue One

The Hobbit

The LotR Series (all of them yes)

Toy Story 1-3 (I have not seen 4)

and because im a sucker for melodrama i liked revenge of the sith

15. US or Europe?

Ask me again after 2020.

16. Tumblr or Twitter?

Don’t even have a Twitter.

17. Favorite vacation destination?

My family is big on Disney World.

18. Favorite YouTuber?

Lindsay Ellis. She makes very engaging video essays on media, particularly movies and shows. I’m not a film lit student, and yet she manages to bring me back for all of her videos, and then some! 

19. Favorite author ?

I look at authors like I do music; I like books, and if I happen to click with a particular author, they’re an outlier. However, Cressida Cowell paved the road for my reading habits to take off on for many years as a child, and I love how much I bonded with my father over her books.

20. Tea or Coffee?

Coffee all the way.

21. OTP?

Not counting ships with OCs (sorry SWTOR), and the order is intentional

Rizzles - I believe there might be some controversy with this ship, but I never actually watched the show. A long time ago, I stumbled across a fanfic author named colormetheworld who captured my little, lesbian mind with her rendition of this ship, so it’s a bit personal, to be terse.

Clexa - Again, I never watched the show. There wasn’t really a single author that got me interested in this ship, but Lightning Only Strikes Once 

Whiterose - I’m just a fan of the opposites attract trope.

Wayhaught - It’s nice to have positive representation (knock on wood).

Bumbleby

22. Do you play an instrument/sing?

I can play the guitar, piano, drums, though I’m incredibly rusty at the latter two, and unfortunately I had a run in with the recorder back in middle school.

Also “unfortunate run in” would be a good descriptor for my singing voice, because that would be an accident. Or just a straight up disaster.