Chapter Text
The slight tang of seawater was potent enough that Peter could nearly taste it. Memories flooded back into his mind of being by the shore with his mother. Curiosity had always run rampant through his blood, so tiny hands cupped themselves together, gathering clear blue water into his palms. He took a sip and promptly sputtered, the saltiness all too overwhelming. He remembered the way his mother—Tony—tried to hold back his snickers but ultimately failed, scooping him up as his lips wobbled and fat tears started to flow from his eyes.
The gentle ring of the wind chimes brought him out of his thoughts, bringing his knees to his chest as he overlooked the ocean from the hill the estate rested itself on. For as long as Peter could remember, his life had been the definition of perfect, and he was more than aware of it.
During the nights where his eyes grew heavy with sleep but stubbornly remained open, he’d tip toe into his father’s study, reaching up and grabbing the photo album. Every time he opened it and flipped through the neatly laminated pages, he could feel the way his heart settled within his chest.
Peter would curl up in the nearest loveseat and make his way through the, admittedly, too-thick album.
Memories permanently captured, the edges of the photographs slightly worn with fingerprints, Peter always had to push down the urge to bring the book to his chest and hold it tightly; as if the memories were fleeting, ready to disappear at a moments notice.
But… the pang of loneliness within him never with unnoticed. It pierced through him—so subtle but just noticeable enough to be nearly overwhelming.
It didn’t make sense.
It was selfish.
He couldn’t remember the last time he snuck out of bed. How long ago had that been?
He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of the sea, nuzzling his face into his knees, feeling the summer breeze pass through his hair.
He heard the stories—of course he had. The stories of him being conceived out of wedlock, the ridiculous uproar it caused. The fierceness in which Tony channeled to protect him was admirable but did little to help quell the isolation that gnawed at him.
He saw the way his mother looked at him, with worry ever present in his eyes.
It never coupled well with the scornful gazes thrown his way at the galas and balls his family were invited to. It was embarrassing; it felt like he brought shame upon his parents.
Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, two names that caused a hush to fall over even the largest of ballrooms.
Expectations seemed to be placed atop his shoulders before he was even born.
If his parents couldn’t wait until marriage to have him, then he must at least live up to the Stark-Rogers name.
The salty air breezed past his skin, casting away the stray tears that started to fall. He felt helpless, like he was a child again.
*
Peter never got used to the parties, galas, balls—whatever extravagant event they were at currently.
The air was suffocating. His eyes darted around quickly, his chest constricting in on itself. The walls seemed to stretch on forever but if he looked closely, it was like they were inching closer, ready to box him in.
Despite the not-so-subtle sneers pointed his way, the amount of attention he got from alphas and omegas alike had him flustered all through the night. Tony had quite literally dolled him up and when Peter was finally turned to look at himself in the mirror he could only hide his face in his hands.
It was like he had been dipped in pearls, body shimmering in the crystalline light.
Despite the grueling summer heat, it seemed to be the exact opposite inside the hall—with his back taking the brunt of it as it was exposed. The chilly feel of pearls running down his spine caused him to shiver each time he shifted.
His final straw broke after an unpleasant and frankly offensive touch to his rear. If Peter didn’t have to keep up appearances, he would’ve promptly slapped the man into a coma.
He stomped outside, his scent souring. He needed to get away from it all but knew that wasn’t possible.
The air smelled like freshly cut grass and the aftermath of rainfall—a far cry from the scent of seawater that soothed his soul.
Peter’s fingers balled themselves into fists, knuckles white as he choked on a quiet sob, the weight of his life seeming to crumble all around him.
His mind started to spiral, tendrils of doubt slithering around his mind-
The feeling of something soft crossing in between his legs pulled him out of his tumultuous thoughts. He hissed slightly as he let his fingers relax, feeling them cramp slightly. He looked down and blinked, face to face with a white cat, its blue eyes staring up at him curiously.
It mewed gently, head butting against his ankle.
Peter felt his previously racing heart start to slow as he kneeled down, petting the little thing.
“Hi there,” he whispered between sniffles, fingers caressing through its fur.
He looked around, wondering, who could’ve brought their cat to such an event?
Peter picked up the cat, holding it in his arms, feeling the vibrations of its purr on his chest as he walked further outside.
He trekked around the cobblestone pathway, whispering mindlessly to himself, and perhaps, to the cat too, still petting it gently and giggling every time a pure white paw swatted at his pearl earrings.
“Hey,”
Peter flinched with a yelp, accidentally letting the cat fall from his arms, watching as it fell gracefully to its feet and ran over to the disembodied voice.
He turned, a hand placed over his chest, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. His eyes widened.
The man kneeled down, petting the cat who seemed to keen even more into his touch.
Aw, man…
“I see you’ve met Alpine. She seems to like you.” the man said. His voice was slightly gruff but flowed easily like smoke.
Peter blinked, fiddling with his thumbs. “Ah… sorry about that. I won’t bother you anymore, goodbye.” he bowed slightly, trying to ignore the very distinct scent of alpha wafting from the, admittedly, very attractive man.
“You look nice.”
Peter stopped again, turning to look back at the man, eyes weary.
“…Thank you.” he whispered.
“I’m,” the man sighed, “I’m sorry if I scared you.”
Peter shook his head, turning fully to face him.
The man came closer, the cat—Alpine—on his shoulder.
He leaned down, long hair falling down his neck. His presence was confusing. He seemed secure but at the same time slightly clumsy, his blue eyes wavering and unsure.
“May I have your name?” his voice was soft… a softness that made Peter shiver and his inner omega swoon.
“Peter,” Peter whispered back. “I’ll probably need your name too.” he giggled.
“Just call me Bucky.” Bucky smirked.
Something seemed to click within Peter, like a switch was suddenly turned. His stepped back, ducking his head.
“It was—It was nice meeting you, Bucky.” he said quickly, before making his way back inside.
Bucky looked down, realizing his arm was stretched out, reaching for him. For Peter.
All he could think of were pearls glinting in the moonlight.
And all Peter could do was sulk, shrinking away from all the attention suddenly turned towards his reddened face.