#my knees be giving snap crackle pop vibe

[allthecheesesticks]

bro my old lady knees be poppin every time i squat down in barnes and noble to look at books on the bottom shelf

[yesimwriting]

First Rule

A/n this is my first time writing for The Last of Us and for Joel Miller and i have not played the game!! i’ve only watched the show so far (might have to watch someone playing it on youtube or something to know what happens next sooner 😭) so if the characters feel a little off i’m sorry!! 

writing new characters and finding their voice/securing their vibe is a process :)) 

Summary: Literally just a drabble, i debated making it longer but bc it was so impulsive i didn’t want it to get lost in the drafts and it’s pretty late rn,, i have a clear idea for a part 2 bc it was going to be longer (part 2 is the only way the title makes sense 😭) so if you’d be interested in that let me know :)) feedback sustains me 

this is basically just reader meeting joel and it’s set after the pandemic/outbreak 

----

It’s hard to watch. The stranger did everything right enough to get by until he didn’t. Not to say that his operation was flawless, you picked up on it almost instantly, but in his defense, you know how to look. It’s as much a skill as the ability to turn a blind eye, only a lot less evolutionarily appropriate. 

Because seeing often leads to thinking (or, in your case, not thinking), which leads to doing, which usually leads to the worst result of all--involvement. 

So now you’re here, watching someone that’s likely a smuggler doing their best to act like they’re anything else while dealing with a FEDRA officer. You know better than most that FEDRA’s iron exterior is a poorly constructed allusion. Some like catching smugglers because of the promise of a bribe. Hell, you know some of them are regular customers. 

But the man you don’t know is tense, rigid in his steady stance. And the officer’s uniform is too polished, too new and ready to be stained in blood. He’s untrustworthy. 

This has nothing to do with you. The two men are in their own standoff, and you’re tucked away between two buildings, You could disappear further into the shadows, or you could just walk forward, onto the street behind them. You’re not used to being in a situation in which you really haven’t done anything wrong. Nothing to lie or feel cagey about. 

You’re untethered. 

With a low sigh, you give into the itch that you’ve been pretending doesn’t exist by reaching into your bag’s front pocket. The contraption feels small between your fingers, perfect for the type of distraction you’re going for. A dramatic person would call it an explosive; you like to think of it as a small set up of gun powder and a few other things. A glorified version of those snap things children used to throw at each other’s feet on Fourth of July. 

You twist your body, bending your knees slightly before heaving the small cylinder over your head and far to the right. You duck down before it makes contact. The bang is effective. A sharp, crackling boom that makes your body tense.

The officer snaps his head back, looking above you. You can practically feel his thoughts. Your opinion on the Fireflies are pretty set in stone, but you can’t complain about the cover they’ve provided. Every crack, pop, and boom has anyone with authority abandoning whatever they’re doing in a second. And it’s not like you’re a monster about it. You don’t take the easy way out if you think there’s any chance that it’ll hurt someone. 

After a second of weighing their options, the FEDRA officer turns sharply and runs off. You hear his footsteps disappear somewhere away from you, but you still hesitate to stand straight again. A minute passes and you decide you’re safe enough to move. You walk forward slowly, planning on running in the opposite direction of the man. 

You’re out just enough to round the corner before it happens. One second you’re walking, stepping forward like normal, and the next there’s a hard touch on your arm and the wall shifts to from beside you to against your back. You thrash instinctually, stepping on the man’s foot hard enough to bruise. He curses under his breath and pushes you a little harder. 

“What--” A voice that’s cutting in its irritated indifference. “What was that?” 

Mind running a mile a minute, you struggle to form a sentence. You didn’t think you’d have to talk to him. It was a good dead. A hushed fuck you to one of those asshole officers. 

The man pauses long enough to take you in. You imagine he doesn’t see much, because blending in and seeming harmless enough is what you know. And you’re not much--not now, cursing your recklessness and just standing there with wide eyes. His hold doesn’t exactly loosen, but his touch on your arm becomes less intense. Less demanding. 

You push your back against the wall firmly and he lets you. It’s a small shift that makes no real difference, but it’s space, it’s the illusion of independence. Your eyes flit forward, meeting his. There’s a sharp crease between his eyebrows and an unforgiving focus behind his dark eyes. His features are amplified by an ingrained tiredness, but that doesn’t take away from his attractiveness. 

Wow--okay, that last thought is enough to scare you out of your analysis. You tilt your chin downwards, snapping yourself out of whatever manipulative trance was. The man notices the subtle motion and drops his arm but makes no move to step away. It’s clear that you’re still caged in. 

“You with the Fireflies?” The shake of your head is instinctual. “So you just have bombs you like throwi--” 

“No,” It’s too defensive and you shrug within your limited space. “And that thing wasn’t a bomb. It had less gunpowder than a firework and less than a tablespoon of silver fulminate and even less ammonium nitrate.” 

The explanation feels awkward and you have no idea why. It’s a fair explanation. He takes in the information and waits a beat before replying, “Why did you have a bomb?” 

A correction bubbles in your chest--not a bomb. The distinction matters to you more than it should, but something about the gruffness in his voice feels more like an accusation than a question. 

“Y’know I did a nice thing when I saved your ass from getting busted. A reasonable person would have just accepted that and not asked any questions.” You frown, the amount of allotted kindness in your body suddenly running low. “Actually a reasonable person would offer me a cut of whatever they’re smuggling or what they’re getting for it.” 

Your statement is relatively bold. You don’t know this man, you don’t know if he’ll perceive what’s meant to be a sad attempt at a deterrent as a threat. But something in you tells you that you’re still on steady ground. That this stranger knows when there’s an actual fight. 

It works, the man’s posture straightens in what you assume is his version of a bristle. Though small, the motion creates enough space for you to narrowly slip past him. 

You’re free now. Free enough to run off, though some gut feeling tells you he’d keep at it if he had any reason to want to chase you. He won’t, though. Some gut feeling in your chest is sure of it. It’d be bold to call it trust, but it feels more stable than optimistic intuition. It’s an understanding.

One step backwards, you don’t turn around. Not yet. Assumed understanding or not, you’ve done enough without thinking today. He watches you back, equally silent. And then you end the standoff with a tilt of your chin.

You turn on your heels, walking forward with even paced steps. He’s given you no reason to run, and sudden, panicked movements might trigger a break in the uneasy peace. 

“You make them.” 

He’s not asking, but you turn just enough to shrug at him anyways. 

[paroxysmss]

My Jolly Sailor Bold

Summary: Upstate New York, 1953. Bucky can't seem to stay out of the water.

Words: 9.5k

Warning(s): Mentions of dead, PTSD, drowning, angst, some bickering, cursing, and overall spooky vibes

A/N: It's officially spooky season! I am so excited for this month and I have ambitious plans for more fics. Hopefully this time they are shorter than this, but I'm going to try my best to crank out as many Halloween specials this season! This is inspired by the song 'My Jolly Sailor Bold' that I stumbled upon last year. I hope you enjoy, and my requests are always open! Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Upstate New York, 1953

Bing Crosby Only Forever crackled through the radio, the headlights showing only what was a few feet in front of them. There were no lamplights on these backroads, the void of black consuming as they traveled northbound to the campsite. Trees enclosed the street, towering above in a stance wide and robust. Rock-filled ditches parallel to the car glinted against the sudden light, the murky water at the bottom reflective as it freely flowed. It was persuasive to be careful on these roads; one wrong move and you go tumbling into those sharp edges.

Nat leaned against the door, her feet propped up on the dashboard, and her face lined up with the vent to catch the cool air. Humidity was sticky, and she tied up her blouse, attempting to escape the heat. Steve drove, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on Nat's thigh, squeezing it every so often as she splayed out her limbs in search of comfort. Soft rain tapped against the window, a steady drizzle lulling Nat to sleep the majority of the ride upstate.

The car chugged onto a dirt road, mud flicking up behind the wheels as they hit every bump. Nat groaned miserably, and Steve quietly reassured her that the cabin was up ahead and that it'd only be a few more miles. He said that an hour ago. Bucky was shoved in the backseat, and he shifted uncomfortably, his legs cramped and feet crushed.

Already, he missed Brooklyn, the dank smell of the pavement reminiscent of his home borough. Country life never appealed to him like most. The odor of farm animals burned his nose, and the pestering bugs aggravated Bucky.

Already, he had declared war on a fly early on the ride. It kept landing on his face, and Bucky almost screamed when he felt it crawling around by his nostril. But, it was too quick for his attacks, and now his palm was bruised from hurling it at the window. Eventually, he struck a deal. He kept his side of the car, and the fly could have the other. Bucky even sat up, creating a border of pretzels that they couldn't cross.

It was futile, in hindsight, but it was the only thing that kept him from going insane.

Anyway, the fly never bothered him again, so maybe it wasn't worthless.

The car jerked to a stop, the engine rumbling as Nat popped open the door and stumbled out. She sighed, relief flooding her aching joints as she pulled down her blouse to capture the chill breeze. Headlights beamed on the small cabin, the rain falling harder. Small puddles formed, and at the end of the stairs was a hole- probably created by the years of shoes snapping up the gravel as they rushed up the stairs inside. Moss flourished on the old logs, giving the weathered wood extra life. The windows were opaque with dust and grime, and the bench that sat out front on the porch leaned to one side. The vent embedded into the veranda above the front door rattled, screws loose from the rotting wood as winds swept under it and pronounced a perpetual bang.

It looked abandoned, but Steve assured him that his family still visited every summer.

That's utter bullshit.

Bucky grumbled as he stepped out, knees weak and neck pinched. He rubbed his bunched muscles, rotating his shoulders to loosen them from the strenuous ride. They shoved him in the back with the rest of the luggage because the trunk was filled with food and supplies for the week. His body unwillingly contorting in search of scant comfort had Bucky miserable and irritated, resulting in a fierce tension headache. Rain pierced his cheeks, stabbing small knives into his skin. He grimaced and popped up his collar, digging his chin in his jacket, hiding in the little cover while he sent useless glares Steve's way.

He begrudgingly helped Steve carry the baggage to the cabin, insisting on leaving their belongings until morning. Steve counteracted, of course, and Nat hurried onto the porch, the sensor activating and creating a soft hue that barely illuminated the crooked boards. Bucky lugged Nat's suitcase inside, almost tripping on the loose metal threshold. Nat stifled a laugh, and Bucky shot a menacing look the way that made her laugh harder. Already, he couldn't wait to go home.

The dreary building revealed further damage as they situated themselves. Inside, moths circled the ceiling fan; the wood blades swamped in dust and dirt. Overall, the room smelled like damp basement musk as Steve rushed around, tidying the furniture and mumbling to himself about how messy his cousins were.

Buzzing lights were white noise as Bucky tossed his bag on the bed. It was a tight fit; the bunk was initially brought in for a child. He grumbled, miserable, cursing Steve out under his breath as he slid his suitcase in the slot below the frame. It creaked, the old mattress stained over the years, and springs yelling as rust and old age consumed its joints. He rubbed his eye with his wrist, pulling off his jacket and tossing it on the small chair in the corner. He situated himself, aching, his shoulders slumped as waves of exhaustion coursed his body. Lying down was tempting, the bed oddly inviting even though he knew he would have to curl up in a ball to be remotely comfortable.

Whispers found his ears, short gasps, and playful giggles. Though he was hurting, he understood Steve did this out of concern. Bouncing back from war was more difficult than any man enlisting had initially thought. Shoot Nazis! Liberate Europe! Sounds easy, right? Fun even, but when you are young and naïve, you want to be a hero. You want to create a name for yourself and honor your family. Instead, it dissolved you into a pile of mental illnesses and trust issues, paranoia clawing inside your throat with every step as the shadows seemingly grew bigger as you tried running away.

The road to recovery was bumpy and messy, and Bucky wasn't quite sure if he wanted to pretend that he was alright anymore.

One step forward, two steps back, it seemed.

Most men didn't come back, bodies decaying in the mud, flies, and maggots attacking their eyes and hollowing their faces. The GR unit (Grave Registration Unit) scoured the fields at night, hastily digging cheap graves for the fallen men or transporting them back to base to be sent home to their respective families. Bucky didn't sleep the night they brought their bodies back, listening to the workers hauling each fallen soldier onto the back of a truck to be sent to a base where they would prepare the bodies to be shipped home.

He fiddled with his dog tags those nights. Without them, he would be another unmarked grave.

Stationed in south Germany, Bucky led his team north through thick woods and Nazi artillery. Although he wasn't at sea fighting against the Japanese, which he was thankful for, he witnessed the genuine heartache of soldiers silently suffering as bullet holes, cuts, and shrapnel tore their skin apart like thin paper. Blood bubbled at their mouths, their weak cries drowned by gunfire and shouts of other men who were ripped apart by advanced German machine guns that hid in the sanctuary of the thick forest. Burns blistered through their tattered uniforms, sweat and tears streaking their cheeks as they prayed to God to be able to see their mom's one last time, God. Let me see my mama- that had Bucky coughing himself awake at night, frantically searching his body for that bullet that pierced through his chest.

He rubbed at the scar in memory, again fiddling with his dog tags before stepping out.

Nat organized the kitchen, Steve wiping the grime off the stove and counters when Bucky entered. The kitchen was small, the walking space the size of a hallway then flowing out into an opening with a round table. Wilted flowers wept in a chipped vase, the water grimy and filled with decaying chunks of leaves. Steve shuffled behind Nat, her head stuck in the refrigerator as she arranged the containers, and she jumped when a firm hand connected with her ass.

Her face blended with her red hair, and she glared at him before jerking her head at Bucky. Steve's cheeks burned, and Bucky chuckled, dropping his head into his chest to hide his smile. Ever since Steve and Nat have been dating, Bucky has been their third wheel. Not that Bucky minded, he used to be a ladies man, charming and enticing, a new woman on his arm every night. It was bittersweet, almost. Nat was fiery, and she could pack a punch. Unfortunately, Bucky had been on the receiving end after one particularly drunken night, but she was good for Steve after the war.

Anyway, he deserved that punch.

Beers clinked as Bucky took a seat at the table, silent, sipping on his drink as Steve and Nat chatted about plans. He stared at a picture on the wall, young men painted in black and white, smiling proudly, holding a fish with a nasty hook jutting through its gill. Bucky guessed it was someone from Steve's family, all sharing the same nose and facial structure as him.

Popping open another bottle, Bucky tossed the cap in the trash across the room.

Steve raised an eyebrow, impressed.

"Still have good aim after all these years, Buck?"

Bucky smiled, tight-lipped, and shrugged, "Just luck," he sipped his beer, "I couldn't do it again if I tried."

"I dunno," Nat said, jumping up on the counter, swinging her legs, "You never miss."

"How do you know, Romanoff?"

She grinned, "Steve told me about your stories together; that's all I know."

Steve sheepishly smiled, his cheeks tinted. Bucky furrowed his brow, the crease in his forehead deepening as he gazed at his friend. He sighed, anxious. How much did Steve tell her? Bucky hoped it was only the good parts, even if they were scarce.

He cleared his throat, "Steve-"

"It slipped out."

"I don't care if it slipped out."

"Well," Steve swallowed thickly, "I didn't think you'd care that much."

Bucky muttered, "It's not my proudest moment."

"Well, we all have things we aren't proud of, Buck-" Steve fumbled with his words, not ready to have this conversation with his friend, "You just need some help-"

"That's why I'm here?" Bucky pressed, glaring with that dead look he mastered over the years. Steve gulped.

"No-"

"Yes."

"Bucky-"

Bucky was out of the room before Steve could finish, quickly slipping past Nat like a fish and swimming into his room. It was trivial to walk away like that, but he couldn't help the way he felt. Pinpointing how he felt was different, however, but the intense feeling of pressure was so overbearing that he genuinely believed his chest was flooding with water. He tried breaching the surface and gasping for air, but since he came home, it always seemed like he was stuck underwater. His head was fuzzy and throbbing, the tension squeezing his temples until he was convinced he was going to explode.

He perched on the edge of the bed, leg bouncing as he massaged his temples. Distorted gunfire rang in his ears, and his heart thumped like a bass drum, pounding against his body so prominently he could feel it in his wrist. Bucky's breathing quickened, and he stripped off his shirt. The bed dipped under his weight as he situated himself, and he draped his arm over his eyes, the sweat on his forehead soaking his greasy hair, and it stuck to the nape of his neck.

Rain tapped against the window, the wind howling as Bucky attempted to control his thoughts. He understood Steve was trying to help, trying to get him out of his stuffy apartment in Brooklyn and live for once.

"The great outdoors," Steve joked, nudging Bucky while they sat on his fire escape, the metal cold against the backs of their thighs, "It could do you good, Buck. I promise."

"When did you ever know what you're talkin' 'bout, Rogers?"

Steve scoffed, sarcastically, "Since I saved your ass in Germany, Sergeant."

It took two months of constant pestering before Bucky agreed, not wanting to disappoint his friend further. After multiple missed calls, poor excuses, and just plain bailing to get out of social gatherings, Bucky felt obligated to go with Steve and Nat, his girlfriend. Though Nat was sweet, helping Steve through his issues, Bucky was distant and standoffish, not wanting to open up to his only friend, only for him to relay back to his girlfriend.

Sucks because Bucky was right.

Darkness enveloped the room when the hallway light flicked off, and Bucky shifted uncomfortably in bed. He flirted with sleep, exhaustion crashing against him in steady waves until his eyelids felt too heavy to keep open. The red eyes peering in through his window left Bucky unaware as he turned on his side, brought his knees up to his chin, and grumbled in discomfort.

His back was going to hurt like hell.

His back hurt like hell.

The last time it ached this bad was when he worked on Sam's busted Chevy for the entire week. God, he hated that fucking day. Sam bitched and moaned for hours and sat on a bucket handing Bucky the tools to fix his transmission. Bucky was sure he was going to kill Sam if he didn't shut the fuck up.

The temptation to throw the goddamn wrench at him was reaching unthinkable heights. Maybe he'd widened that gap between Sam's teeth. However, Bucky just threatened to leave when Sam complained that his body hurt and needed to go inside and lay down for a few hours. The sun broiled Bucky's skin, leaving him burnt and red, his taut skin tightened like in dry leather, inflexible and stiff. He shed like a snake molting when he got home that night, dried and crusted clumps flaking off his shoulders and cheeks.

He cursed Sam out the next morning, his eyes flaring as his raw, vulnerable skin refused to mold with the physical expressions Bucky presented. Even scowling had him wincing, resulting in giving Sam the silent treatment for the remainder of his time working on the car.

Sam buckled after a few days, relenting and taking Bucky out to the bar as his apology and to show his appreciation.

Overall, it was a bad week.

Bucky watched the water ripple, the gray clouds lazily hanging overhead as Steve struggled to start the engine on the boat. They sat in the middle of the lake, a bucket sparse with only a handful of small fish that wouldn't even satisfy a cat's tummy. Sitting at the bow, the older man accompanying them on the trip– supposedly an old friend of Steve's dad– droned on about a lake monster he had seen a few weeks prior. He breathed through his mouth, chapped lips smacking together that annoyed Bucky to the point he resisted the urge to punch the old bastard into the water where that goddamn sea monster apparently lived.

"It got 'em big fin on its back with spikes and a long slimy tail 'bout ten long," He explained, looping the fishing line to the hook, "I saw it- I swear to God my heart leaped outta my chest, son. It's in these waters, I know it. And imma catch it ones these days."

Steve hummed in response, not listening, and cranked the engine again and again. Bucky wanted to drown himself more and more with every passing second. When Steve released a defeated groan, Bucky peered at his distressed friend. Dark spots of sweat peaked out from under his armpits, his jacket discarded and thrown haphazardly over his fishing pole.

"Need help?" Bucky asked, almost hopefully, praying to get a distraction, so he didn't have to listen to the crazy old man, "I can-"

"No, it's just being difficult," Steve chuckled, trying to be lighthearted, "I'll get us outta here," He sniffed and wiped his brow, "Anyway, Nat'll kill me if I don't get us back for dinner on time."

Bucky visibly grimaced and sighed, animatedly dropping his head in despair. Steve sent a pitiful tug of his mouth, and Bucky's stomach dropped. He mumbled to himself, trying to keep his temper at bay as the old man blissfully blabbered. Bucky accepted he was going to be stuck here for a while and decided to humor him, half turning to face the bastard that Steve had insisted on tagging along. Finn smoked a cigarette and grabbed the tackle box to put away his supplies.

"So you've seen it?" Bucky reluctantly asked, stretching his back as the knot in it began to tighten. The old man's eyes flashed with interest and he visibly perked up.

'By God I did." He swore, his eyes bulging out of his head from Bucky's feigned interest.

"What is it exactly? You talk about it like it's Loch Ness."

Finn boyishly grinned, adjusting his hat, "Well, half the county's pets have gone missing. Dogs, cats, rodents," He tossed the line in the water, "It'll take anything that'll get in the water. That's why we ain't catching no motherfucking fish no more; they're all eaten."

"Maybe there's a few hawks or bears in the area." Steve reasoned, ripping at the cord again. The engine sputtered out.

"I ain't seen no hawk or bear take a grown man." The old bastard smacked his lips, "Snatch him up like a rabid coyote does a poor bunny."

"A man?" Bucky asked, not meaning for his tone to sound more like a challenge.

"Mhm," He deftly nodded, "Man 'bout your age. Went into the water even though we told him not to, and we haven't seen him since. Ms. Fantail's daughter is his wife, and she told us he'd been hearing, I dunno, singing? Or was it screaming for weeks before he went in?Bastard left a child behind."

"Who says he didn't just skip town? Family life is tough." Bucky said.

"They found his shoe on shore a few days later. Anyway, he was devoted, and he loved his family, so I dunno what made him get in."

"Mkay, let's say it's real. What is it?"

Finn scoffed, tapping the line, then crossed his arms, "Beats the fuck outta me, son. Stupid librarian in town keeps preaching it's some pagan god-type'a bullshit that she read in a book."

Bucky smiled thinly and nodded, losing interest and letting the old guy live in his fantasy. Steve glanced at Bucky, concern written plain on his face as he continued to screw with the engine. Bucky ignored them, dissatisfied, his back was in agony, and all he wanted to do was go back to the cabin and sleep.

They stayed out on the water, the sun peeping past the layer of gray every so often to say hello. Bucky basked in its warm rays, easing the tension in his shoulders as he lounged with his legs propped up on the tackle box. It was a brief appearance, the clouds swallowing the pleasant beams, and snapping Bucky back to his misery.

Hours trickled by, and Steve was too stubborn to give up. A small radio was stored in a backpack, and Bucky advocated to signal the police so they could be tugged to shore. Steve argued, his pride now on the line, and continued to tinker with the engine. When it coughed alive after one fierce yank, Steve practically fell out of the boat in excitement.

The boat violently rocked as he steadied himself, too caught up in the moment to care as Bucky clung on for dear life. His nose came close to the edge of the water, his reflection clear as day as he looked at himself. It was when the boat tilted to the other side he saw a glimpse of another face. A distorted pallid face with deep red undertones that had shivers travel up Bucky's spine. When the boat steadied, slightly rocking, he quickly looked back, almost throwing himself over the side, but was met with murky water and his reflection again.

His eyebrow creased. What the fuck was that? It almost looked human, but he couldn't believe someone would be hovering under the water like that. Especially so willingly.

He eagerly reached his hand in the water, the murky liquid opaque around his pale skin. It sloshed around, speckling his sleeve. The chill cascaded shivers across his body, and he blindly probed his hand around, searching for anyone to grab on, and no one ever did.

Bucky hesitantly pulled his hand to his side, awkwardly flicking it and wiping it on his thigh. He looked at the lake dubiously, scanning the area in case anyone decided to emerge. He raised himself, the old man cheerfully laughing at Steve's euphoric expression. Bucky steeled himself, chuckling at his best friend, the tension of maybe having to stay the night on a dinky boat not so promising.

"Let's get outta 'ere," Steve announced admirably, positioning the rudder to turn toward the dock," 'M starving."

--

The singing started that night but progressed for days. An almost inaudible whisper barely caught his attention, and at first, he wrote it off as music from the small radio in the living room. But tonight, it was louder. Slow and melodic, the voice rolled with sorrowful waves. It was low, faint, and melancholy. It mesmerized him. It reminded him of a music box his mother left playing for him on his bedside table when he was younger.

Hauntingly beautiful, the words, rather than just a soft hum, matured into clear pronunciation.

Upon one summer's morning,

I carelessly did stray.

Down by the Walls of Wapping,

Where I met a sailor gay

The bright flashlight beam reflected off the dark water—the dock dipping and swaying as shallow waves crashed into the sand. A steady shh shh made it hard to hear as the tide rolled against the coast. He carefully watched the water, the song drifting away with the gentle waves that had him craving more. He scanned the area where he thought the sound was coming from, but it felt like it was getting farther away.

It was dreamlike, the song capturing him in this trance that crawled around his heart and mind, entirely seducing him. Fog blurred Bucky's vision, and he became antsy, wanting more, his body rigid as the song weakened. Where are you? He thought, slightly irritated, the palms of his hands clammy.

Where are you?

His voice echoed, startled, his tone strangled as he tried to grasp who was singing this late at night. Why hadn't Steve and Nat woken up? It was clear and pristine. The woman, whoever she was, sat out in the dark, maybe by the tree line- perhaps behind the cabin- maybe- he didn't know. But it was a cruel trick.

The whisper enclosed him, his head full of little hums and rhythm, his heart thumping to the beat of the phantom ballad.

Conversing with a young lass

Who seem'd to be in pain

Saying 'William, when you go, I fear you will ne'er be seen again.'

The round hue of the weak lamplight glowed on Bucky's slumped shoulders. His mind raced for an explanation, flying through possibilities until he convinced himself it must've been a prank. Steve warned both Nat and Bucky about the residential kids how they rode their bikes to the other side of town to scare Steve's baby cousins. Steve didn't know if it was just for the thrill of being chased off by Steve's uncle or if they did it to be cruel.

Steve supposed it was why daredevil's jumped out of planes or why derby drivers got the kick out of ramming their car into other cars. Adrenaline. That chemical reaction exploding in your body that spiked your heart rate and has you running until you physically can't anymore. Bucky felt it on the dock, but nothing was chasing him. There were no crickets, no croaking frogs, no singing, nothing. But he sensed something watching him, though, and the hair on the back of his neck stood upright, and goosebumps prickled his skin. He stood alone in the dark and waited to see whoever hid behind the cover of the bushes to appear.

No one ever emerged.

Headlights fanned over his figure.

Bucky nestled his chin in his collar, trying to think clearly. If those teenagers decided to play that prank again, he might have to call the police. This was costing him sleep, and the dark bags under Bucky's eyes were proof. Nat tried to subtly comment on it, Steve readying to speak up when Bucky swiftly turned out of the room. His head hurt too much to care about their concern, waking up with a migraine that forced him to stay in bed all day.

His mind kept circling back to the face he saw below the surface. Its long hair mindlessly swayed with the undertow of the water as big black eyes curiously watched him from above. The redness encircling its eyes stood out from its pallid skin, and Bucky couldn't shake the feeling of uneasiness that stubbornly planted itself in his stomach. He desired to reach for a pack of cigarettes, but he quit years ago. Anyway, his mom would come back from the grave just to smack sense into him.

Lost in thought, he didn't notice Steve walk outside until a newspaper was slapped on his lap. The headline caught Bucky's attention, his fingers teasing the edges of the paper.

Dead Body Found: Mayor's Son's Body Found Floating In Lake

"Somethin's out there, Buck." Steve suddenly said, sitting on one of the creaky rocking chairs.

"I never knew you to be imaginative, Rogers." Bucky joked.

"Buck, I mean it."

His serious tone set Bucky on edge.

"That's scary," Bucky grunted.

Steve sighed, controlled, however. Steve always was controlled. "His body was found a couple of miles away from where we were," Steve points at the newspaper, "He's been missing for three weeks now."

"What's this got anything to do with 'Something's out there?

"Mayor claims he heard things just like that other guy. The one with the wife and kid, you remember who, right? Yeah, he was last seen by the dock the night he went missing. At least, that's what I heard from Finn." Steve clarified. He clicked his tongue, "This is the fifth boy who's turned up dead."

"Must be a killer on the loose."

Steve shook his head. He knew something was out there, and Bucky could see his belief plain on his face. This annoyed Bucky. "I think they are closing off the dock until they figure out what- or who is killing these boys. Until then, we stay away from it."

"What?" Bucky gritted out.

"What do you mean, what?" Bucky's eyebrows lifted at the curtness of Steve's tone.

"The water-" Bucky choked out. His stomach churned. Steve was looking at him eagerly, and Bucky had to work hard to keep his expression neutral, "Why can't we go in the water?"

"Because I said." He said firmly.

Bucky grumbled. He grumbled in a way Steve only knew he grumbled.

Bucky struggled to contain his annoyance. The only good thing about being up at the cabin was the lake. It reminded him of the ocean, his father's demanding voice shouting above the unrest of the crashing waves and the breeze whipping in his hair. The long black strands loosened from his low bun and flew with the salty wind. Bucky always had to scrub his scalp to get the greasiness out.

Bucky scoffed, agitated. How could Steve keep him from the one thing he's enjoyed this entire trip? His friend was just trying to find an outlet to blame for everything going on these past months. The townspeople too, and they just couldn't accept that a murder had corrupted their precious Christian town. "When did you become all religious?" Bucky griped, his peevish tone surprising him.

"This has nothing to do with God."

Bucky shook his head, eyes hardened, and the bitterness bubbled in his chest and crawled up his throat, "Seems to be if you are really gonna believe in a fuckin fairy tale."

Steve tilted his head, puzzled by Bucky's demeaning snarl, "Why are you so defensive?"

"Why are you so defensive?"

Steve stared at Bucky for a long time, noticing how bloodshot his eyes were when the light clearly showed his face. Steve's expression tightened. "You're running on fumes, Buck. You need to go to sleep."

"No-"

"Yes-"

"No."

"You aren't listening to me.' Steve expressed, exasperated. Bucky carelessly threw the newspaper on the table, knocking it into the ashtray. Clumps of ashes are scattered across the article, and Steve hurriedly wiped them off with one deft movement with his wrist. Bucky rolled his eyes and lazily propped his ankle on his knee, leaning his head back. Still, he couldn't believe his best friend would fall down such a twisting rabbit hole full of conspiracy theories and lies.

Bucky sighed, for once resting his sore eyes. "Yes, I am; I'm just not believing you."

"Buck-"

The front door snapped shut, severing the dispute. Both men looked at Nat, one with relief and the other with frustration. Her sunglasses perched on her nose, and an aggravated crease in her brow prompting them to still. She indignantly snapped, poking a provocative finger at Bucky. "You two sound like an old married couple for fuck's sake," Nat said sharply. Her tone clipped. "Grow up."

Bucky's cheeks reddened, and he abruptly stood. He loomed over her, but she only clicked her tongue, impatient. Bucky knew he wouldn't do anything to her; he was just upset, but he couldn't avoid the unintentional curtness in his voice when he spat, "What 'bout you learn not to butt in, Natasha?"

She dipped her head, her pointed eyes narrowing, "Why don't you shut the fuck up, Barnes?"

Bucky glared at her, narrowing his eyes with a furrowed brow, "Why don't we calm down?" Steve suggested, his voice meek against their aggressiveness. They both silently stood there, their stubbornness not allowing them to look away. Eventually, Nat leaned back on her heels and cordially addressed her boyfriend.

"I was calm till mister over here decided his misery wants company." Nat snapped, vehemently, "Blame him."

"Grow up." Bucky mocked her and shoved past her into the cabin.

Nat mumbled something that he couldn't hear, and it's not like he wanted to anyway. And Bucky sulked back into his room, waiting patiently for nightfall so he could catch those kids.

"Nat's gonna be out there for hours, ya know?" Bucky muttered, sliding into the booth, "If you let her, she'll drain your whole bank account."

"That's why-" Steve grunted roughly, the edge of the table slamming into his stomach. Bucky smirked, satisfied, slightly tilting his head to get a better look at his friend. Steve exhaled, and grabbed the table, and positioned it back. Bucky's smug grin seared into the blonde's brain.

Steve spoke, at last, trying to hide his impatience, "I gave her an allowance."

Bucky wanted to show how annoyed he was out in town. He wanted to be by the water, listening to the tides roll in and the wind brush against trees. The leaves were just starting to turn color, his favorite time of the year, and Steve forced him along with Nat because of her insatiable habit of buying souvenirs.

"You're just a pessimist," Steve declared, sitting neatly, "Loosen up, Buck."

"I'm fine when I'm at the cabin." Bucky said defiantly, scanning the menu, "There's no people at the cabin."

Steve sighed, ignoring Bucky's attitude and picking up the menu. A nice waitress jotted their drinks, her hand gently resting on Bucky's shoulder as she spoke. Her gaze never left Bucky's, only talking to him as Steve ordered his beer.

She hummed, satisfied, and sashayed away. Her hips flicked from side to side as she peered over her shoulder to see if Bucky was looking. He wasn't, of course, out of respect for himself and out of dismay of being in this dinky dinner in the first place. m

"She's pretty," Steve mentioned.

"If you say so."

"Maybe you should ask her out."

Bucky solemnly looked up, peered at the waitress, then shook his head, mumbling. Steve audibly sighed, then asked if Bucky knew what he wanted. The bell above the front door chimed, and a woman with a tight black skirt and blouse walked in. Her glasses are big on her face, and her blonde, almost white hair is hung loosely in a messy bun. Red lipstick, slightly smudged, coated her thin lips, and she shuffled in. A book was held tightly to her chest, and she dug through her purse and pulled out a silver cigarette box.

She lit the cigarette, the smoke curling around her face as she sat down at the bar. Steve kicked Bucky in the shin, and Bucky whipped to glare daggers at his friend. Steve leaned in excitedly, whispering, "I think that's the librarian."

"Ok?" Bucky said, confused, "Why are you whispering?"

"Shuddup!" Steve hissed.

Bucky scowled, confused, and stared with penetrating eyes. He bit back a growl. Steve ignored him and batted his hands away when Bucky reached for a bread roll that sat on the table. Anger bubbled in Bucky's throat. First, he gets dragged out here, and now he can't have a piece of bread? His anger radiated, but Steve only kicked his shin again, causing Bucky to kick him back harder.

Bucky scrunched his nose in irritation, looking sarcastically at his friend. Steve stared at him, blandly expectant, red inching up his neck, but turned when a sweet voice called his name. "Mr. Rogers?" The librarian nervously called. She carefully smiled when Steve stood and reached out his hand. She shook it, and Steve gestured for her to sit down. Bucky reluctantly scooted over, and she gently sat, her book placed in her lap, "You called me this morning to talk?"

Steve nodded vigorously; his Brooklyn accent thickened as he spoke, "Yeah, I uh, I wanted to talk about your theories about… uh.."

"Sirens?"

"Yes!" Steve excitedly exclaimed a little too loud but shrunk back in his seat, embarrassed. People turned and glared. She giggled. Bucky peered at her soft profile. "Finn mentioned you, and I thought I'd come to ask you myself. This is my friend, Bucky." Bucky awkwardly waved, she waved back,

"But what I'm getting at is I want to know what a siren is."

"You mean was," the librarian corrected, subtly gesturing if she could continue. Steve nodded, and she lightly smiled, "Siren's actually originate from Greek mythology, and they are half-human, half-bird. But, as time progressed, they turned more into mermaids than deadly hawks plucking people out of the sky," She plopped the book down on the table, flipping through the pages and landing on one with a picture of a siren and some sailors desperately trying to resist their enticing song.

"Siren's are a symbol of dangerous temptation embodied by women during the 17th century when Christianity rose in popularity. Everyone thought them to be a myth for hundreds of years until I found some unsolved case files. All men, most sailors, were lured into the water by something. But the common theme here is that their wives and friend's all testify that they were seduced by a strange woman who sang a song about love. Now, I don't know if evolution is on their side, but my theory is that they are walking amongst humans."

She raised her hands in surrender at their skeptical looks, "I get it. Sounds crazy, but if you look at all the evidence, it doesn't seem so bizarre. I dunno how they do it. Has to be some genetic mutation or something, but I'm not expecting you to believe me. Recently, more cases of missing persons have been reported. The majority of the bodies are found in lakes and ponds, with no physical wounds or signs of struggle. All drowned."

"So you're telling me…." Steve paused. He puckered his lips in concentration, "That anyone could be a vicious lust-filled sea monster that kills for the thrill?"

She nodded briskly, "Precisely."

Steve leaned back in the booth, taken aback. Bucky just stayed put, wondering how the hell this lady hasn't been thrown into a mental asylum. Everything she spewed was in fairytales and myths, and Bucky almost wished he could smack Steve across the face. Maybe that'd put some goddamn sense into him for once.

"How'd you get the case files?" Bucky found himself asking as if attempting to find a fault in her research. She peered at him and gave him a little grin.

"My uncle works for the police department. When the cases went cold, I asked if I could have them since they weren't used anymore."

Bucky bit the insides of his cheeks then hummed in contentment. He had trouble finding the truth in her story, but he brushed it aside when he noticed her optimism. How she tapped her manicured nails against the hardback of the book, and how she happily bounced in her seat like a child. He supposed it was because someone was finally listening to her speak.

Of course, Steve would be the one to indulge in her delirious fantasy.

Steve suddenly leaned in, scanning the papers and continuing to ask questions that didn't pique Bucky's interest. Instead, he decided to focus on the table cloth, and he folded it, unfolded it, and folded it again.

"But what I'm getting at is I want to know everything."

Bucky raised his head, his eyes flickering up, emerging from his memory, returning to the present where he wasn't staring at dark black eyes.

The librarian raised her eyebrows and stubbed the cigarette bud out in the ashtray. "There's a lot of everything." She said, amicably, "We might need to go back to the library to get my notes."

Steve looked at Bucky, his eyes flashing with something Bucky couldn't catch on. Steve smiled warmly, suddenly grabbing her hands and standing, "That's fine. We have all day."

Bucky eyes widened.

Bucky's mouth was pinched shut, his forehead creased, and his shoulders tense. The knot in his back tightened subtly as he leaned against the brick wall, smoking a cigarette. He had bought some after he visited the lake. The singing never wavered even with a police investigation.

Police tape denied entry, and he rolled to a stop. The county deputy knocked on his window.

"Sorry, son, but the lake is up for investigation," He explained, lazily resting his elbow on the side view mirror, "Gotta go somewhere else if you wanna go fishin'."

Bucky looked past him, at the water. It was enticing to him. Almost mocking him. The waves shushed him as his mind screamed. He turned to the officer with a faint smile.

"My bad, officer. I'll be outta your hair."

The deputy tipped his hat and strolled away. Bucky reversed the car and left. Down the street, out of view, he rode the coast of the lake. Wire fencing and guardrails blocked his access, and he shook his head, trying to make sense of the longing feeling swelling up in his chest.

He needed to get to the lake.

But every attempt was met with failure—Steve, the police, and now this stupid fencing.

A sudden burst of anger exploded within him. His palms smacked against the steering wheel, and he pulled the car off to the side of the road, throwing it in park. The throb in his heart was so strong it frightened him. It pulsated in his ears, and he kept smashing his hands into the steering wheel in despair.

He drove to the nearest drug store, buying a pack of Malborne to calm his fidgety nerves. His hands violently shook as he cupped the flame, dipping his head and bringing his fourth cigarette to the controlled fire to lite. Smoke and nicotine flooded his senses, and he deeply inhaled, his body reluctantly calming and slumping against the ragged bricks that poked and prodded at his leather jacket. He remembered the librarian and how Steve dragged him to her office so he could hear her little spiel. Bucky didn't know why Steve brought him along, maybe in an attempt to convince him of this mythical bullshit creature. He didn't know.

The water kept calling for him to return, and he ached to feel the wind brush against his face. The police were stubborn about no one entering. The mayor's son's death was the straw that broke the camel's back. The mayor's son was probably kidnapped for ransom then killed. All those other boys? Their deaths were ruled an accident as the cause of death was determined to be drowning.

Bucky stood blank-faced, nothing special, leaning against the librarian's desk. But the librarian kept stealing glances his way. She was cute; he had to admit. But he had more meaningful ways to spend his time other than flirting with the town's nutcase.

She smelled like cigarettes and mints, and Bucky couldn't forget the tentative smile she sent him every time they locked eyes. A pink blush fanned his cheeks when she stole another glimpse of him, and he shifted uncomfortably, positioning himself to stand. The library was barren, the doors propped open to let the chilly breeze circulate the building.

The librarian faced Steve, explaining to him the history of this Siren, even reviewing case files. Steve looked invested, which angered Bucky, all this time wasted over some fairy tale.

But Bucky's mind raced, those black eyes staring at him every time he blinked. He felt queasy, his thoughts jarring, and he clenched his jaw in concentration. He didn't feel the brush of wind or the hesitant hand hovering above his shoulder. He was so lost, his imagination gripping the reins of his fragile coherency. He jolted when someone reached out and touched his arm. Bucky whipped around, startled, readying his fist to swing, but recognized the face. It was the waitress from the diner.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

She wore a concerned expression, her fur coat hugging her body at just the right angle. It made her breast almost spill out of her shirt. Bucky bowed his head, ashamed. How he had let this thing ravage his mind these past days was embarrassing, and he sighed, frustrated.

"'M fine, miss."

She looked skeptical, "Darlin', you're as pale as a ghost, are you sure?"

He slid his hands into his jacket pockets and glanced around warily. A cold sweat broke out above his brow, and Bucky tried his best to resist how her perfume invaded his nose. The sweet smell of passion fruit and something else. It was shockingly intimate, and it felt like he was standing pressed against her, his body crushing hers with his weight.

He shrugged, chuckling nervously and sucking his bottom lip between his teeth.

She pulled out her own cigarette, and without thinking, Bucky was holding out his lighter, open flame. Her eyes were black, and she easily leaned in, the red glow of the embers catching his attention as she released an extended breath.

Smoke billowed into his face. He looked away.

"If it makes you feel better, I'm in the same boat as you." She said suddenly. Bucky didn't know what she was referring to, and she caught onto his bewilderment. She dryly laughed, "The lake monster- or Siren that crazy librarian likes to put it. I couldn't be bothered with it."

Bucky laughed, short. "Most people in this town couldn't disagree more."

"They're all crazy," She snorted, her hands touching his biceps, her fingertips lightly grazing over the fabric. Her touch made him shiver, and he met her lustful gaze, "Why should we believe in them?"

He shrugged, "Majority rule, doll."

"Bullshit." She spat and took a long drag of her cigarette. For once since his arrival, he felt like someone finally understood him. Like he wasn't the only sensible one inhabiting this god forbidden town.

He stubbed his cigarette with his heel and glanced at her. Her plump lips wrapped around the stick made him tingle, and he felt his blood rush to his face.

She turned to him with a crooked smile, almost killing her cigarette with the heel of her pumps. She leaned into Bucky, her breath acrid with the blunt smell of tobacco, "What about I make you forget all the trouble, sugar—Jus' you and me tonight?"

The electric feeling she emitted made his pulse leap. Bucky glanced at the car. He had snuck out with it this evening, and he would feel guilty if he didn't go back to the cabin soon. Steve was probably pacing holes in the living room rug, Nat leisurely sitting on the couch and talking reason into him. But a sour taste coiled his tongue at the thought of them and how they kept him locked up in the cabin. Wasn't the point of this trip to get him to go out more? Be more social?

She squealed as he gripped her hips and pulled her to his chest. Bucky's breath fanned over her cheeks, and her chest flushed, the color creeping up her throat and into her face. She planted a sloppy kiss on his neck, pulling back and grinning coyly.

Well, he was going to do just that.

It was the witching hour.

He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until he woke up.

Bucky stirred, his limbs stiff as he laid cramped up in the bed. He tried going back to sleep, a deep warmth radiating somewhere on his chest. He nuzzled into it, his arm wrapping around her body as she laid her head on him. A soft hum resonated from the window, but he ignored it. Resisting the urge to flip to his side, Bucky played with the ends of her hair. It was coarse and brittle, hair spray ruining the softness, and dead ends crumbled under his fingertips. She snored lightly, a small puddle of drool forming right beside his armpit. It slightly disgusted him, but he stayed put, screwing shut his eyes in an attempt to get some well-deserved sleep.

Explaining to Steve and Nat about his little stunt was a morning problem, and he benched the thought. Bucky filtered through various hot topics in his mind, wishing it would shut off for once and let him peacefully sleep. But he always circled back to the dark pupils, blown out of proportion, staring back at Bucky. The deep red undertone surrounding its waterline contrasted brightly compared to the colorless skin. Even past the disoriented-looking glass of the murky water, he saw it clearly. The curiosity ate him alive.

Nothing could wipe that searing imagine from the backs of his eyelids.

That soft hum transformed into a boom, and Bucky shot up, his legs tangling with the blanket as he frantically tried to break free. The floor met his forehead, and Bucky miserably groaned at the surge of pain pulsating above his eye. "Shit," he muttered, scrambling to stand, "Shit. Shit. Shit."

He grabbed his leather jacket, easily sliding it on, and crept out of the room. The singing was loud, a lot louder than usual, and he struggled to focus as he plucked the keys of Steve's car off the counter.

My heart is pierced by Cupid,

I disdain all glittering gold.

There is nothing can console me,

But my jolly sailor bold.

He carried his boots, walking across the cold linoleum floor toward the door. Her curtains were drawn, and the small house was swallowed by darkness. Bucky tried his best to remember the place's layout, but he didn't get the best view when all he was focused on were how soft her lips were and how her hands desperately roamed his body.

He tried his best not to hit anything on the way out. He tipped toed down a flight of stairs to the foyer.

He pulled on the door, but it stuck, and Bucky had to tug more forcefully until the hinges gave in with a shrill squeak. He froze momentarily and waited for the padding of soft footsteps. Her sweet voice, drowned in disappointment, asking Where are you going? Bucky's heart thudded at the thought, and he peered toward the bedroom. He only saw darkness.

Steve and Nat would probably be waiting for him. Nat passed out while Steve patiently sat on the porch, his leg bouncing in anticipation. Bucky regretted leaving his friend high and dry and rushed to the car to unlock it. He fumbled with the keys before angrily jamming it in the lock, swiftly opening the door. The engine roared to life, and Bucky floored it.

Sweat dampened his back, his shirt sticking to his skin as he shifted uncomfortably. The cabin wasn't far away, and Bucky struggled to focus on the road. Its voice rang in his ear like a perpetual whisper, and he switched off the radio to sit in silence.

When the cabin came into view, Bucky slowed the car to a halt just before the driveway. The porch light was on, the yellow hue illuminating the stairs. He looked for Steve but didn't see him. It must've been too cold to sit outside.

Bucky's fingertips grazed over the gearshift, his consciousness raging in a civil war. He knew he had to go home. Steve was probably on the verge of a stroke by now, but Bucky fought with himself. He urged himself to move forward. The lake was behind him, and he resisted the temptation to go to it. Anyway, there would be police officers on patrol, and he wouldn't get very far.

However, a new energy flooded him- a recklessness that gave him courage- and he impulsively threw the car around and floored it to the lake.

Headlights reflected off the caution tape and skimmed past onto the dark water. The car door clicked shut, and he ducked under the barriers, storming past Do Not Enter signs. The lake was silent but for the sound of his ragged breathing. He staggered onto the dock, carefully watching the water. There was nothing, now. Not one sound. He grew irritated and began to curse under his breath. This was useless. Whoever was messing with him must've fled when he barreled out of the car in a frenzy.

Fog floated above the water like disembodied ghosts, the silence deafening to his ears. Earlier, everything was screaming. Why did it suddenly stop? He reached down and grabbed a pebble, using all his force to throw it at the water. Where are you? Where are you? He wanted to yell. To shout. Let all his built-up frustrations out and let whoever out there know he was on the brink of insanity.

His fist clenched at his sides, the knuckles white, and he felt a warm liquid cascade through his palms. An immense pressure pounded his temples as he took shallow breaths. The headlights died, and Bucky was blinded, the dark swallowing him whole until his eyes adjusted. The moon shone brightly, the water gleaming with its pale beams. He watched the changeable gray of the lake as it swelled and sank, and inside, he felt his heart swell as well. He didn't know if it was anger or defeat. But he stumbled backward, his head throbbing, and made his way toward the car before he heard it.

That sweet voice echoed through the air.

His hair it hangs in ringlets, his eyes as black as coal

My happiness attend him wherever he may go

From Tower Hill to Blackwall, I'll wander, weep and moan

All for my jolly sailor, until he sails home

Shivers erupted on his skin, and he stared at the shadow that stood in front of him. The lady sat upon the dock; her back turned toward him, the melody she sang purred to the soul, piercing through and capturing his heart. Bucky felt a sense of familiarity, and he didn't realize that he was walking toward her. She stood, her bare body revealing itself and his gaze shifted to her firm, youthful breasts. Her skin was pallid, and her hair fair and thin. Sharp fins protruded from her back and forearms, but her face was soft and round with thin lips.

A dreadful chill ran down his spine. When his eyes met hers, they were black. A deep abyss waiting to swallow him whole. His knees almost gave out under him, but he managed to keep himself from falling. She smiled, thin lips stretching as she tilted her head, her eyes languidly scanning his body, up and down, before landing on his lips.

"Remember me?" She softly asked, her voice alluring. She tilted her head to the other side as if she were trying to get a better look at him.

His temples thrummed.

He shook his head, lost in the abyss.

"Good," She said flatly. She had webbing in between her fingers, pale scales reflected off the moonlight, "I suppose I still got it after all these years."

Bucky mindlessly nodded, and he felt a sweet, warm buzz spreading over him. A small charge electrified his skin as her fingertips grazed his cheek. He wanted to back away, and his mind frantically screamed and flashed danger throughout him. But it was as if he was glue in place. His limbs suddenly heavy with exhaustion.

She leaned in, tracing his jawline with her finger, "Aren't you just the prettiest little thing? I knew I wanted a taste of you when you first pulled in at that cabin," she licked her bottom lip hungrily, "I didn't think anybody lived in that dilapidated thing no more."

Cigarette smoke and mint invaded his nose when she shoved her body against his, his hand instinctively planting on her nude hips. His eyes were glassy as he gaped at her with surprise. He figured it out.

"You're the librarian." He whispered breathlessly.

Her eyebrow perked, "Smart too? Oh, what a catch."

She smiled amicably, her white hair flowing in waves down her back. Bucky gulped. A cold, instinctual fear wrapped around his lung, and his stomach twisted. He pursed his lips together and averted his gaze down, breaking from the fascinating darkness. He couldn't figure out why she did it. Why tell the whole town? Why stick your neck out like that? What was there to gain?

He didn't understand.

"Why?" He found himself asking.

She fixed the collar of his leather jacket, teasing the edges, "Thought you'd asked that sweetheart," She said casually as if she was waiting for him to make the connection. She lifted his chin to make him look at her. A smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth, and she slowly leaned in. He gulped, his shoulders rigid. Her cool breath ghosted his ear, "Nobody believes in crazy, sweetheart."

Her eyes seemed to darkened when he looked at them again, something sinister yet disarming hiding behind the chasm. He felt lightheaded, and he tried to control his quickened breaths when she snaked her arms around his neck, pulling him in. No coherent thought passed through his mind. Just the burning humiliation that heated his cheeks when she closed the gap between them.

Her lips were warm and soft, and he couldn't suppress the moan that escaped his lips. She giggled, the mint from her tongue intoxicating him further. Bucky felt like he was on cloud nine when he pulled away panting, not realizing her kiss had reduced him to his knees.

Immediately, his eyes began to feel heavy, and she kneeled in front of him, raking her hands through his greasy hair with care. Bucky felt weak, unexpectedly, like his body was slowly losing control and giving out. His mouth was dry, and he faintly heard himself gibbering, gripping her hips like a vice to try and raise himself. Ghostly pale hands removed his grasp, his entire body falling until he was met with the cold ground. Gravel dug into his legs, pebbles driving into his open palm, and his head grew heavy on his shoulders, dropping between them like a weight as he hopelessly clutched at the cusps of consciousness.

He thought about Steve as he attempted to hold his chest up, his elbows involuntarily buckling as he strained to stay awake. Bucky saw Steve's face as he shut his eyes. His face was broken and battered but still held that steady, shy smile when he always saw Bucky, whether it be from saving him from an alley fight or showing up at his house to take him to a dance. That skinny kid from Brooklyn that no one ever thought to take a second glimpse at, holding out his hand in the battlefield to lift Bucky up.

He saw Nat's pointed glare when he had one too many beers. Felt her sturdy hands as she guided his drunken ass back to bed. How she only sent him a knowing glance in the morning, setting down a glass of water and ibuprofen on his nightstand when he fluttered awake.

He saw Sam's gapped tooth smile and heard his contagious laugh. Felt his arm slung over Bucky's shoulder as they walked on the sidewalk toward the auto shop. It all seemed real, and Bucky's throat tightened at the thought of him never seeing them again. A choked sob raked through his body, and he glanced up at the librarian. She easily lifted his heavy shoulders, his arms going limp, his knuckles grazing his thighs. She was dragging him toward the water. Her once soft smile now morphed into a wicked grin.

Bucky wanted to scream and cry, but he was too weak to even produce a small whimper. All that guilt settled in his stomach, and he desperately ached to apologize. They were right. God, he pleadingly thought, if you let me live, I'll let Steve tell me 'I told you so' as many times he wants.

He let out an uneven breath and looked at the stars and the moon one last time. He always wondered what it'd be like to go up into space. To feel the earth's gravity untethered from his chest, freely allowed to drift away.

The cold water sent a gentle shock up his spine, and he barely recognized how numb his body really was, only feeling the cool sensation of the water rise toward his face. Suddenly he felt immense pressure in his ears, and Bucky didn't realize he had forgotten to breathe; all he was concentrating on was his slowing heartbeats. They were soothing, and the soft cool currents hitting his cheeks in soothing motion caused his body to give in. He felt all the weight pressed on his chest let go. All pressure on his temples was gone, and he gasped.

He was floating.

Hope you enjoyed! If you want to listen to the song My Jolly Sailor Bold the link is here

Also requests are open :D

[babyboy-cody]

under my commands*

PAIRING: Michael/Male!Reader/Gallant

SUMMARY: Being a little pet to the Antichrist has it pros and cons. There’s very little rules in exceeding the pleasure aspect of the relationship. But the main rule is to always follow commands.

WARNINGS: sslloowww burn, degradation, choking, face slapping, hair pulling, spit swallowing, COLLARS AND LEASHES, pet play, spanking (with hand and belt), overstimulation, anal sex, humiliation kink, threesomes, oral

WORD COUNT: 6k

A/N: THIS IS MY VERY FRIST ATTEMPT AT WRITING AN ALL MALE THREESOME!! I APOLOGIZE IN ADVANCE IF IT’S COMPLETE SHIT 😭😭�� holy crap i didn’t realize i wrote so much!! 🥴 i’m so proud,,,,

There hasn’t been a day that went by where time moved impressively quick. Being trapped inside a dimly lit building for days on end does take a toll. The constant music playing on repeat, the same old dinner, the same Victorian outfits: nothing is ever different. Outpost 3 wasn’t entirely the worst. The area was spacious with a copious amount of rooms and halls. It’s been almost a week, or maybe more, since they’ve arrived at Outpost 3. Venable instructed for everyone to be patient and wait. Wait for what exactly?

Y/N sighs and leans against the velvet couch with one leg crossed over the other. The record player is on low as the same old record plays. The others in the room are practically emotionless as they do what Venable says. Y/N took his time to observe everyone. There was Coco, a highly annoying woman of the upper class. Timothy, an exceptionally handsome young man, although reserved and respectful. Emily, a soft spoken young girl with darker skin. Dinah, a strong minded woman with such confidence and intelligence. Andre, Dinah’s strapping son who is also exceptionally handsome. Evie, the older woman of the group who looks surprisingly beautiful for her age. And finally her grandson. Y/N never got his name so he mentally calls him by his last: Gallant.

Gallant was incredibly gorgeous. From his platinum blonde hair, to his piercing brown eyes. Everything about him screamed confidence. Y/N immediately got a vibe from him when Gallant first spoke. It took everything in Y/N to not smile at the obvious sexuality preference. When he found out that Gallant worked as a talented hairdresser, he couldn’t help but think the occupation went well with his persona.

Today was different. Venable told everyone that a guest would be coming to interview them to see if they’re fit for the sanctuary. Y/N was undeniably nervous. He sunk further into the couch and sighed quietly. He rolled his neck and shoulders to ease the tension. There was loud chatter between Coco and Dinah. Y/N could see Gallant rolling his eyes as he sits beside his grandmother. Y/N hides his smile and goes to stand.

“Where are you going?” Coco suddenly asks out loud, casting everyone’s attention on him. “The uptight bitch told us to wait here.”

“I’m walking around for a bit. Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Y/N bites back.

Y/N finds himself standing inside a spacious library. Books upon books lined incredibly large shelves that covered every room. There were two large tables with leather chairs on either side. Y/N takes a step closer and pulls out a dark green book with gold lettering.

“Ouch,” he hears Gallant mumble as he walks out of the room and turns the corner to walk down the long hallway.

“Never imagined you to be a book nerd,” he hears from the doorway.

Y/N gasps and turns around, pressing his back against the shelf with his hand against his frantically beating heart. Gallant stands there with a smirk on his pink lips, arms crossed over his styled purple coat that contains zero wrinkles. The blonde man walks around the large oak table to stand in front of Y/N.

“It’s better than being someone like Coco,” he says.

“Snap, crackle, and pop!” Gallant laughs, crinkles forming at the corner of his almond eyes.

They suddenly become quiet. Y/N’s all too aware of Gallant’s eyes roaming up and down his form. He thumbs the spine of the vintage book and holds it closer to his chest.

“So, um, why’d you leave?” Y/N asks him.

Gallant shrugs. “Figured I’d come talk to you and see what you’re really about.”

“What do you mean?” Y/N cocks his head to the side in confusion and furrows his brows.

“Come on,” Gallant chuckles. “I got a major vibe coming from you the minute I saw you. It’s no secret. I’m still wondering if the others have noticed it by now.”

“N–Notice what? Gallant…what are you talking about?” Y/N shuffles and feels his cheeks heat up from the sudden close proximity, their chests only inches away.

Gallant grins and swipes his tongue across his top lip. His hands are on either side of the other male as he stares him down, not bothering to hide his attraction and sexual desire for him. He leans in close so their noses are brushing lightly against one another.

“We’re the same,” Gallant gravelly whispers, pressing his hard chest against Y/N’s. “You like a good dicking down, don’t you? I’m not afraid to be the one who will give it to you. Let me guess – you’re a bottom, right?”

Y/N lets out a shaky exhale as Gallant chuckles while biting his bottom lip, one hand slowly sliding between their bodies to pull the book free from Y/N’s impossibly tight grip. He sets it aside and looks into his hazy eyes, becoming aware of the newfound heat surrounding both men.

“Is it true?” Gallant tilts his head to the side. “You like a good dick fucking you so good?”

Y/N licks his lips as he stares at Gallant’s mouth, completely mesmerized at the sensual wetness coating his lips from his pink tongue. He opens his mouth to respond, but quickly gets cut off by the sound of a woman clearing her throat abruptly. Gallant sharply turns around and sees Venable standing at the doorway, one hand tightly grasping her cane as her stare on both men is filled with fire.

“Gentlemen, shouldn’t you be in the great hall with the others?” Venable asks, her tone brash and high.

“We were just looking for a good book to read,” Gallant tells her and looks at Y/N for assurance as he receives a nod from the latter. “Do you guys have any Cosmopolitan magazines?”

“When I give you an order, I expect you to follow it. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Gallant? I’m speaking to you as well, Mr. Y/L/N,” Venable sternly tells them as if she’s scolding a child, and it makes both men desperately want to laugh.

“You have our word, Ms. Venable,” Gallant nods as he grabs Y/N’s hand to walk out of the library.

Venable stands completely still and stares at their backs as they leave. When they disappear around the corner, Y/N couldn’t keep his laugh inside much longer and leans against Gallant for leverage. They both laugh and press their backs on the wall. Y/N realizes that his hand is still clasped in Gallant’s. He slowly pulls away and clears his throat, a light blush coating his cheeks.

“We should probably get back,” Y/N mumbles as he avoids Gallant’s wandering eyes.

“Remember what I said,” Gallant tells him with a smirk, a hand brushing across his tense stomach as he walks by.

Y/N watches as he goes, eyes wide and lips parted at Gallant’s words. His body relaxes his body, letting out a long breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. His slacks are undeniably tight as he looks down at his large bulge. He rests his head back on the wall with his eyes closed and tries to regulate his breathing.

What just happened, he thinks.

When he enters the great hall, everyone is sitting in their seats. Y/N sees an open space beside Gallant and sits closer to him than usual, their thighs tightly pressed together. He suddenly becomes aware of a different body in the room. When they make eye contact, Y/N feels as though his breath was taken away, a familiar knot forming in his stomach.

The man stands taller and oozes domination. His hands are behind his back and he barely moves. His eyes are piercing and his skin glows from the fire. His silky hair is long and golden, not a strand out of place. He has a small smirk on his incredibly plump lips as he takes note of Y/N’s awestruck expression and his sped up breathing.

“Now that everyone is here, let’s get started,” he spoke, his voice low and drawn out. “My name is Langdon and I represent The Cooperative. I've been assigned to evaluate the people here and select the ones most worthy of survival. I could take all of you, or none of you. Those who make it live. Those who don't, end up like my horses. I will be constructing interviews to get to know all of you better. Starting with…you.”

All eyes land of Y/N as Langdon stares him down. His heart stutters as he chokes on his small gasp. His cheeks flushed from the sudden attention casted down to him. Langdon leaves without another word, and Y/N slowly stands to follow him out. When he leaves the great hall, he’s met with nothing. His brows furrow as he looks around to see where Langdon must’ve went.

“Over here,” he hears from down a long hallway.

Maybe Langdon read his thoughts. Y/N swallows nervously and clears his throat to follow Langdon into a large office–like room that has a large desk with two chairs on the other side. There’s a large fireplace in the middle of the wall; that being the only source of light. Langdon is already sat behind his desk, an open file in his hands. Y/N takes a seat and crosses one leg over the other, bobbing his foot up and down in a nervous manner.

“Y/N Y/L/N. Born and raised in Santa Monica. Occupation: writer. Mother and father are both born into wealth,” Michael reads out loud as he scans the young man’s file. “Tell me why I should choose you to be in the sanctuary.”

Y/N clears his throat and interlocks his fingers to hold ont his knee. He wavers under Langdon’s intense and unmoving gaze.

“I can lead and take control of someone’s not strong enough to handle pressure. But I can always follow orders and work cooperatively. I pay attention to detail and make sure things are perfect. I also don’t take shit from anyone,” Y/N tells him sincerely.

Langdon hums and tenderly presses the tips of his ring clad fingers to his chin. He’s quiet as he stares at Y/N up and down.

“What was the charade that happened between you and Gallant in the library? It seems like you didn’t follow Ms. Venable’s orders,” Langdon suddenly says with a teasing tone.

Y/N’s eyes widen. Heat spreads from his collarbones to the tips of his ears. He shuffles in his seat and grips his knee tighter. His throat suddenly becomes dry and he nervously licks his lips. Langdon raises his eyebrows and slowly stands. He crosses around the desk and sits on the edge directly in front of Y/N, his crotch in line of sight.

“Well? Don’t keep me waiting,” Langdon draws out.

“How did you know?” Y/N shyly asks. “Did Ms. Venable tell you? I–I’m sorry, Mr. Langdon. I was just trying to f–find a decent book to read and Gallant happened to come in at the same time an–and make little conversation with me. Nothing happened. I swear on my–”

Langdon lazily lifts his hand and Y/N immediately stops his nervous rambling. He holds his breath and avoids Langdon’s eyes.

“I know everything. I have eyes everywhere. I know when you’re lying. I know when you’re trying to trick me,” Langdon slowly stands and walks around Y/N before bending down, his breath hitting his ear. “I know when you’re desperate to be fucked.”

Y/N’s eyes snap open from when they softly closed when he first felt Langdon’s breath on his neck. He chokes on a gasp as he feels a hand trailing up his arm, fingertips lightly brushing the nape of his sensitive neck. Y/N shivers and lets out a soft moan as he feels Langdon’s cool rings on his heated and goosebump covered skin. Both hands are now grasping his shoulders, thumbs digging into his muscles.

“Isn’t that true?” Langdon asks, lips so close to Y/N’s ear that they’re brushing against his lobe just slightly.

“Yes,” Y/N gasps softly, not even bothering to lie. “It’s true. All of it.”

“Hmm…” Langdon hums lowly as he slowly steps away, hands lingering for a moment. “Interesting.”

“W–What’s gonna happen now? Are you going to ban me from the sanctuary for liking men? Are you going to kill me?” Y/N quietly asks, his heart thundering in his ribcage at how quiet Langdon seemed.

“That won’t be necessary,” Langdon says and makes his way back behind his desk. “You’re special. I can tell who you really are. You intrigue me.”

“I–I do?” Y/N asks, brows furrowing and head tilting like a confused puppy, the action making Langdon bite back a smile. “How?”

Langdon simply smiles and opens a different file, lazily waving his hand at Y/N.

“Your interview is over. Tell Ms. Venable to bring in Mr. Gallant. Thank you,” he says, a small grin on his lips.

“O–Okay, um, thanks?” Y/N says softly and stands from the hard leather chair, straightening the purple vest that adorns his upper body.

Y/N carefully make shis way to the closed door, making sure his weak legs don’t give out on him. His hand is on the brass knob and he turns it to the left, but Langdon’s voice stops him.

“Oh, and Y/N,” Langdon calls out without looking up from Gallant’s file. “We’ll be seeing each other more often. And the name’s Michael.”

It’s been like that for nearly a month. Conversations between Y/N and Michael seemed to grow longer as well as the lingering touches the blonde would give. Y/N seemed to have gotten more comfortable around Michael and less reserved. He’s more open about his sexuality and attraction towards the leader. His offending thoughts always made him blush and the smirk Michael would send him speaks loud and clear.

They’re currently in Michael’s office with a chess board between them on the desk. Michael was close to winning with only one more piece to steal from Y/N. It’s quiet, except for the cackling fire next to them. Y/N watches Michael’s fingers wiggle with anticipation as he thinks about his next move. Y/N always notices every little tic and he smiles each time.

“Can I ask you a question?” Y/N asks him after another minute of silence.

“If it’s about me allowing you to cheat, then no,” Michael says without looking up from the board.

“No,” Y/N laughs and shakes his head as he rests his chin in his hand, cheeks containing a light pink hue as Michael’s eyes glance up into his. “D–Do you…like men?”

“Like men how?” Michael questions, the game now forgotten as he leans forward, crossing his hands in front of him.

“Like…sexually. Do you see yourself being with…a man?” Y/N awkwardly asks, squirming from the heat and intensity of Michael’s gaze.

The blonde lets out a loud laugh and leans back in his seat. He tilts his head to the side and hums.

“Does the idea arouse you?” Michael suddenly asks, the question catching Y/N off guard, causing his eyes to widen and his face to flush red.

“Um,” he clears his throat and shuffles in his seat.

Michael chuckles deeply and begins to clear the table of the chess board and pawns. Y/N stifles a small laugh and looks down at his hands. He suddenly hears movement behind him, and he looks over his shoulder to see Michael towering over him.

“You should go back to your room now. I have a very important meeting tomorrow and need to discuss some things with you and the others,” Michael says with professionalism in his voice.

Y/N clears his throat for the umpteenth time and stands up, nearly pressing his chest to Michael’s since the blonde doesn’t bother to move away. He walks around him and heads for the door, one hand grasping the knob, ready to leave Michael’s intense and unwavering stare on his back.

“Oh, and Y/N,” Michael calls out before he can leave. “We’ll be seeing each other very soon.”

Y/N blushes at the teasing smile Michael wears and hurried out the door, slamming it shut behind him. He makes his way down the agonizingly long hallway, trying to regulate his heavy breathing and the growing bulge in his dark pants. Without even realizing it as he’s so deep in his thoughts, he’s already at his room. Y/N hurried inside and presses his back against the door, head tilted back with his eyes shut.

“It’s about damn time you showed up,” he hears the familiar voice of Gallant from across the room.

Y/N’s eyes shot open as he lets out a surprised gasp. Gallant lays across the bed, head propped up in his hand with his elbow resting on the bed. He lays completely shirtless with a pair of tight fitting boxers resting just below his navel. Y/N’s mouth waters at the sight and he can’t help but let out a small moan.

“What’re you waiting for, tiger?” Gallant seductively says and makes a come hither motion with his finger on his free hand. “I’m hungry.”

Y/N feels hypnotized as he pushes himself off the door and walks to Gallant with tingling legs and a heavy heart. His eyes trail up and down Gallant’s pale, smooth torso. There’s evident muscles and softness in all the right places, and he can tell the platinum blonde is eating up the attention.

Y/N takes off his sleek black shoes and begins to unbutton his purple vest with shaking fingers. He fumbles and curses under his breath. Gallant laughs lowly and sits up on his knees. His face is so close to Y/N’s that they can feel each other’s breath on their lips. The room suddenly gets ten degrees hotter. There’s a pleasant flush to their cheeks as Gallant yanks the vest free from Y/N’s upper body. With eagerness and an animalistic mindset, Gallant rips open Y/N’s dress shirt, buttons flying across the floor. Y/N gasps as he’s suddenly brought into a messy kiss that’s filled with desperate tongue and clashing teeth.

Y/N blindly shrugs off his shirt and grabs Gallant’s face, eagerly sucking on his tongue and biting his lips. Gallant groans and wraps his arms tight around the younger man to throw him on the bed. Y/N stares up at him with hazy eyes, swollen lips, and inflamed cheeks. Gallant rests himself between Y/N’s thighs and quickly works to pull down his tight pants. Y/N lets out a strangled groan from the pressure being released off his hard cock.

“You have such a nice cock,” Gallant smirks and hastily pulls down Y/N’s boxers.

“J–Just nice?” Y/N pants and throws his head back when Gallant wraps a hand around his cock to slowly jerk him off.

“Best I’ve ever seen since the Santa Monica street fair,” Gallant laughs lowly and rests an arm above Y/N’s head to stare down at him with dark eyes. “God, you’re so fucking hot.”

Y/N eagerly pulls him down for another sloppy kiss. The hand around his cock starts jerking faster, his fist tightening as he reaches his swollen tip. Y/N lets out a small whine and throws his head back, panting heavily as Gallant kisses and bites his neck and collarbones.

“You’re such a bottom,” Gallant groans.

“Fuck me,” Y/N whines and wraps his thighs tighter around Gallant’s waist so their cocks rub together. “Please, I’m begging you.”

“Shouldn’t you be on your knees then?” Both men hear from inside the room.

Y/N gasps and pushes Gallant away, quickly grabbing the covers to hide his naked body. Gallant clears his throat nervously at the sight of Michael, but the sex animal in his eyes doesn’t falter one bit. Michael has his arms behind his back as he stares them down back and forth, face completely void of emotion.

“We were just…um…” Gallant started to say, but gets cut off by Michael’s hand lifting to stop him from saying anything else.

“Are you that eager to be fucked, Y/N? Is your hand not enough that you practically weep for someone to fill up your aching hole?” Michael questions him, taking slow steps towards the two that sit tense on the bed. “Answer me, you desperate little slut.”

“Y–Yes sir,” Y/N whispers, clutching the blankets tighter against his bare chest when Michael stands a mere foot away from their feet. “But-”

“Show me,” Michael demands, eyes cold and dark.

“Wha–What?” Y/N stares at him as if the blonde grew three heads.

“Show me how desperate you are for some cock,” he repeats, a slow smirk spreading on his lips.

Y/N hesitantly lowers the covers and sits on his knees, one hand reaching out for Michael’s pants. The latter had other plans and grasped his wrist in a vice grip. Y/N winces.

“Not on me,” Michael lowly tells him.

Y/N feels his heart plummet to the bottom of his fucking asshole. He looks at Gallant who sits there, not knowing what to do but always waiting for what Michael wants him to do. Both men stare at each other. Y/N finds himself leaning into Gallant’s side, his eyes closed and his lips parted. When their lips meet, they let out small groans. Y/N’s hand trails down Gallant’s stomach to shove his hand inside his boxers, grabbing at his hard cock. He slowly moves his hand up and down, making sure to twist around the tip as precum oozes out and slides down the base, making it easier for Y/N. He sits on his knees between Gallant’s thighs and pulls away from the steamy kiss, a string of saliva connecting their swollen lips. Michael stands like a statue as he observes the two men.

“Suck my cock,” Gallant hisses and hastily pulls down his own boxers, blindly throwing them to the ground, not caring if they landed near or on Michael’s planted feet. “Fuck!”

Y/N’s lips are wrapped around the pink mushroomed tip. His tongue swirls lazy circles as he licks and swallows down the precum. One hand is wrapped around the thick base as the other rests on Gallant’s stomach. He feels the muscles clench as he lowers his head to swallow every single inch. Y/N closes his eyes as he gags lightly around Gallant’s cock. He feels two hands grasping his short hair. He lets out a muffled moan and bobs his head faster, desperately wanting to taste Gallant’s cum.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Gallant moans and throws his head back against the pillows, hips jerking up into Y/N’s mouth.

“That’s enough,” Michael demands.

Y/N immediately stops and pulls up from Gallant’s wet cock with a slurp. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks at Michael nervously, stomach in tight knots with his heart thundering against his ribcage.

“Oh, come on!” Gallant complains.

“Enough,” Michael glares at him. He looks at Y/N. “Get on your knees for me.”

Y/N chokes on a breath. Gallant swallows down a moan as he watches Michael palm his growing bulge that’s pressing against his black pants. Y/N feels as though he’s stuck in a trance as he watches Michael with an awe filled expression. He slips off the bed slowly and sits himself on his knees. The cold floor is hard against his sensitive skin. Y/N places his hands on the ground between his spread thighs. He looks up at Michael through his long lashes and parts his lips in anticipation.

“Bark for me,” Michael commands and slips his leather belt free from the loops. “Show me what a good little puppy you are.”

Y/N’s cheeks flush with embarrassment as hears Gallant laugh from his spot on the bed. Michael doesn’t spare him a glance as he holds the belt in his hands.

“W–Woof,” Y/N mumbles shyly, breathing speeding up just the slightest as Michael slowly walks around him.

He couldn’t see what was happening. His fingers trembles with nerves as his stomach erupted in millions of butterflies. His cheeks burned as he hears Michael hum from behind.

“Louder,” Michael commands.

“Woof!” Y/N whines.

Suddenly, he sees the black belt in his line of vision as it goes over his head. His eyes widen as he feels the thick strap wrap around his neck tightly. His skin burned as it pinched him when Michael made it tighter. Y/N lets out a choked gasp and moans pitifully.

“Is that too tight for you, my little needy pup?” Michael coos and yanks the belt back with enough force to make Y/N cough.

“N–No sir,” he brokenly whispers.

“Good boy,” Michael grins and grabs the end of the belt, lightly tugging in the opposite direction. “Come on, little puppy. Follow your master.”

Y/N hears Gallant moan, and he hears the slick sounds of him jerking his cock. Y/N moves his right hand forward, followed by his right knee. Then his left hand moved forward, followed by his left knee. He crawled like a little puppy and whimpered when Michael yanked the belt, the leather tightening around his sensitive throat.

“Good boy,” Michael praises, causing a fiery blush to spread on Y/N’s cheeks.

The makeshift collar rubbed his skin raw as he continued to crawl after Michael. His knees ached and his arms shook under his weight. Y/N lets out a quiet whine as his heavy cock hangs between his thighs.

“What was that? I didn’t quite hear you,” Michael spoke lowly and knelt down in front of the young man on his hands and knees obediently.

“Please,” Y/N whispers in a strangled voice.

“Get on the bed,” Michael gravelly commands and stands up straight without dropping the belt.

Y/N eagerly crawls onto the bed, settling himself back between Gallant’s milky thighs. His cock was leaking heavily as he furiously worked his fist over the wet base.

“Wag your little tail for me,” Michael says and strokes a cold hand up and down Y/N’s back, his rings causing goosebumps to erupt on his skin.

Y/N bites his lip and stares into Gallant’s eyes as he wiggles his ass from side to side. Both blondes let out a low groan from such an innocent action. Y/N lets out a quiet giggle and buries his face against the covers. His whines are muffled as Michael’s hands stroke his ass cheeks, squeezing and scratching at the plump flesh.

“Does the little pup like to be rubbed? Hm?” Michael asks and roughly digs his fingers into Y/N’s skin. “Answer your master.”

“Yes!” Y/N cries out as his cock begins to leak onto the covers. “Yes, yes, yes!”

“Of course you do,” Gallant comments breathlessly as a light sheen of sweat coats his pale skin. “You’re such a bottom.”

“Enough of that,” Michael says and lands a harsh smack to Y/N’s right cheek, letting out a loud groan as he watches the flesh jiggle.

Y/N squeals and grabs Gallant’s thighs tightly, the latter moaning as nails are being dug into his skin. He does love the pain. Michael lands a smack to the other cheek, then another, and another, and another. This goes on for a full minute. Y/N’s cheeks are a hot shade of pink. There’s a small imprint from Michael’s chunky rings. Michael feels satisfied as he hears Y/N’s shaky cries and hiccuping sobs. The pain spreads through his lower half as Michael gently massages the warm flesh.

“Mm,” Y/N whimpers and pushes back onto his hands, toes curling and lips parting. “Feels good.”

“Yeah?” Michael whispers. “What about here?”

Michael swipes his thumb over Y/N’s clenching hole. He lightly dips his thumb inside, grinning sadistically as Y/N lets out a pained whimpered from the lack of lube or any form of wetness. Michael leans down and swipes his hot tongue over Y/N’s fluttering hole. Both men let out a loud moan. Michael circles his tongue around the puckered rim and leaves a sloppy kiss, saliva dripping down to Y/N’s full balls.

Michael suddenly grabs Y/N’s hips and forcefully turns him onto his back. The blonde male reaches down to unbuttons his pants, pulling them down along with his boxers as they pool at his ankles. Y/N stares up at him through bleary eyes and lets out a small mewl as Michael rubs his thick tip up and down Y/N’s dripping hole.

“You want this?” Michael emphasizes as he slowly pushes an inch inside, and Y/N eagerly nods and grabs Gallant’s legs for leverage. “Answer me, pup.”

“I want it! I want it so, so, so bad, sir. Please. Give it to me. Please, please, ple– AAHH!!” Y/N screams out as Michael pushes his cock inside in one brutal thrust.

His thighs clap against the young man under him roughly. Michael grits his teeth and clenches his jaw at the overwhelming tightness surrounding his cock. He feels a drop of sweat sliding down his temple before it disappears under his chin. Y/N’s eyes are unfocused and filled with tears as he garbles and gasps for breath. Michael doesn’t stop his ruthless fucking and quickly removes the belt from around Y/N’s neck, quickly replacing the leather with his large hand.

“Is this what you wanted, you pathetic little slut?” Michael growls and pants heavily as Y/N squirms under him.

“Um…g–guys…” Gallant moans breathlessly, but neither of them listen as they’re lost in their own world.

Michael raises up and lands a harsh smack across Y/N’s face, his cheek turning an angry shade of red as Michael does it again to the other. Y/N squeals and throws his head back as the tingling in his stomach grows and gets stronger. His eyes cross and his hips back against Michael’s.

Michael grabs a handful of his short strands and harshly tugs, briefly shaking the trembling man’s head to coax him to open his eyes. And when he does, he stares up at an orgasmic face.

“Michael,” he weakly whispers, his voice cracking as a tear rolls down his warm cheeks. “Please…”

The blonde grins and grabs Y/N’s jaw, squeezing to the point of pain. And when the latter lets out a small noise of discomfort, Michael leans down until their noses brush together. His lips purse as he releases a warm wad of spit into Y/N’s mouth.

“Swallow,” Michael commands and forcefully shuts Y/N’s mouth.

He does as he’s told and swallows down Michael’s saliva. He lets out a small whine as the man speeds his thrusts. He reaches back to grab a handful of the covers as more tears roll down his cheeks.

“God!!” He squeals.

“No,” Michael growls and tightens his hand around the poor boy’s throat. “He’s not here, little one. I am.”

Y/N lets out a final scream and cums all over his stomach. His orgasm is drawn out as his body jerks and shakes under Michael’s grip. He can barely hear as oxygen fails to enter his brain. His thighs are shaking so much as Michael releases any anger into his thrusts. His cock is hitting every spot that makes Y/N squeal like a little pig.

Gallant is suddenly sitting up onto his knees, his hand still jerking his cock at the same time as Michael’s thrusting. He brings his mushroomed tip close to Y/N’s parted lips, the younger man opening them wider to slip his cock inside his mouth. Y/N lets out a drowsy moan and curls his toes as he feels another impending orgasm. His body is on fire. Everything feels too much yet not enough. He’s aware of Gallant’s cock in his mouth and he’s so desperate to swallow down some warm cum. Michael grunts like a wild beast and yanks Y/N’s head by his hair to push him further up onto Gallant’s cock.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Gallant moans and throws his head back to the ceiling, hands grabbing Y/N’s head to fuck into his mouth. “Ooohhh!!

He shoots his cum down Y/N’s eager throat. He lets out a shaky laugh and lays back on the bed, his breathing heavy and body humming. Michael lets out a final rough moan and presses his cock so deep inside Y/N, that it makes the submissive boy squeal like a girl before he came on his stomach again. Michael releases his hot cum inside Y/N’s tightening hole and wraps his hand around his red cock. Y/N recoils and quickly grabs Michael’s wrist, frantically shaking his head no as he hiccups and sobs from the sensitivity.

Michael tilts his head and watches him as he furiously jerks his hand over the enflamed and swollen tip. Y/N falls back and arches his back so high that it impressed both Michael and Gallant. He shrieks and shoots his final load onto his cum covered stomach. He falls back and shuts his heavy lids. He lets out a meek whine and covers his eyes with his arm as Michael slowly pulls out of his gaping hole. The blonde chuckles deeply and swipes his thumb around it, coaxing the hole to clench around nothing.

“You did good, pup,” Michael praises and rubs his hands up and down the curve of Y/N’s hips.

“Th–Thank you,” he shyly and drowsily says, barely able to keep his eyes open.

Michael looks over at Gallant and raises his brows as the short haired blonde send him a sexual look. Michael grabs his belt, folds the leather, and pulls it taut so a loud snap! can be heard. Y/N whimpers and subconsciously flinches from the noise. Michael hushes him quietly and strokes his hand over his quivering thigh.

“Get on your stomach, Gallant,” Michael orders quietly. “Arms pressed at your sides with your head straight. I don’t want you moving or looking at me. Is that clear?”

Gallant eagerly nods and gets into position. His heart speeds up as he feels Michael forcefully spread his legs. He grips onto the covers in anticipation. He sends a brief look to Y/N and sees the boy is still in a hazy state of mind. A loud smack! can be heard as Michael swings the belt down hard onto Gallant’s bare ass. The receiving male lets out a loud moan and shuts his eyes as the pain sends shocks of arousal to his hardening cock. Michael does it again, and again, and again, and again – each hit getting increasingly harder. After almost five minutes of the abuse, Gallant’s ass was covered in thick welts. Red, purple, and blue littered his pale white skin. He’s shaking and moaning into the covers, cock heavy and leaking.

“C–Can you just fuck me already?!” He grows impatient.

Michael laughs and tosses the belt to the side. His pulls up his boxers and pants, slowly buttoning them as he slides his belt back through the hoops. He stands between Gallant’s spread legs and leans in close until his crotch is nestled between Gallant’s cheeks. His head is close to his ear, and lets out a low breath, sending heat around Gallant’s neck. The short haired blonde lets out a moan and bucks into Michael’s crotch.

“Please, fuck me,” Gallant moans.

Michael presses his lips to Gallant’s ear and speaks incredibly low, his voice gravelly and his tone condescending. “I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last man on earth.”

TAG LIST:

@lathraios @satcnas @heda-mikaelson @queencocoakimmie @hecohansen31 @hplotrfan @cocosfern @masterlaluri