#sorry i acted like a jerk my brain was exploding in emotions in a desperate attempt to deal with something idk how to deal with- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cherryyharryy · 3 years

Note

angst to fluff where y/n finds out she was originally just supposed to be a rebound type thing after he broke up with someone like idk something like he broke up with someone on the european leg of tour and she was supposed just be with him until he went on another leg but then he started to love her and brings her on the rest of tour with him and she finds out abt the rebound thing after the last show of tour where everyones drunk and celebrating and one person lets it slip

I tweaked it just a bit...hope that's ok:)

WC: 3.5K

****

“You look beautiful.”

I skim my nose across Harry’s cheek, his chin resting on my shoulder, and hum against stubble that wasn’t there this morning. “You’ve said that five times tonight.”

“And?” He slips around to face me.

His suit is a deep maroon, probably black if you’re far away, probably purple if you’ve had too much champagne. His chest expands when I slide my hand down.

“Love this dress.” He takes my hand off and pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my head.

“You two forget where you’re at?” Another foreign voice surrounds us, well, foreign to me.

“Fucker,” Harry says to the man. They pat each other’s backs as the guy walks away. “Tyler Johnson.”

“Oh.”

“He worked with me on the last album.”

“Okay.”

It’s like the fifteenth person that I’ve been introduced to tonight, all of whom pass by with quick hellos, inside jokes with Harry, and little interest in me. The fast paced world of the rich and famous doesn’t slow down, even for charity.

“Harry, so glad you could make it.” Another voice, another man. This one lingers, long enough to receive my name, and offer a cliche compliment about my patience to put up with this beautiful bastard on my arm.

I thank him with the smile I’ve learned to speak through. These celebrities never stop smiling. Never stop posing. Never stop.

Then he’s gone too, and Harry’s whispering yet another name in my ear, of which I’ll forget seconds later because these people ultimately mean nothing to me. They all seem to pass through each other’s lives whenever convenience allows, playing house and acting like grown ups who get the privilege of not truly growing up.

I feel like the Gucci dress Harry had tailored to my body doesn’t fit. My posture sucks. I’m too scared to eat any of the finger foods being carried on silver platters through the hall. I haven’t learned how to smile through food I don’t like or not make a mess or take small enough bites. I swear, not one glass of champagne has any lipstick on it. They’re like magic.

I look at Harry. He’s stepped away to converse with a face that I do know. He and Jeff speak animatedly, Harry’s arms gesturing to whatever story he’s telling. I step over to one of the dressed tables and place what little weight I can onto the chair, needing to cling to something. When I look back up I smile, the two of them now laughing, and probably a little too loud for this charity auction.

“Y/n...right?”

I whip around, a man I’ve seen in pictures on Harry’s phone holds out his hand.

I straighten my back and accept his greeting. “Yes.”

“Finally we meet!” He catches my confusion and chuckles. “I produced Harry’s last album.”

Something clicks in my head, and he’s suddenly more familiar. “Oh! I knew that.”

Tom Hull...Kid Harpoon I process just as he introduces his name.

“I—”

An arm slipping around my waist stunts my question, Harry tipping back a red drink with his free hand while the other squeezes my hip. “Just tell this one to leave you alone,” he jabs.

Tom rolls his eyes, patting the breast of his green suit to look for something, only to show off his middle finger.

“Can’t believe the two of you haven’t met,” Harry says.

“I know, I guess we just missed each other.” Tom nods to me. “Heard you went to quite a few shows.”

“As many as I could.”

An uneasy sting travels down my spine. I did go to many shows, practically following Harry around his entire tour...all on his dime. Lord knows the man can afford it, but I still felt weird about him dishing out thousands of dollars to add me to each plane ride.

“Well I’m happy to see you two kids together,” Tom jokes, patting Harry on his back. “I’ve told him he needs to date women who will fuck him up. That’s where the songs are.”

He saunters off like he did not just say that. No. Absolutely not.

My face burns and it hurts to turn my head, but I still manage to narrow my eyes at Harry.

“Do you want another drink?”

I wait. I give him more than enough seconds to explain what the hell that was. But he’s clueless—ignorant.

“No. I do not.”

***

I do not bother taking my heels off in the car. My plan is to storm into our hotel room the second we park. Possibly locking Harry out...haven’t decided on that part yet.

The vague chit chat he makes with the driver stirs my nerves. It shouldn’t make me angry, and it’s not so much the act as it is his demeanor. He’s too cheery right now and it’s pissing me off.

“Okay,” he grabs my attention from Los Angeles flying past my window, the partition rolling up to leave us completely alone in the back seat. “What’s wrong?”

I bite my tongue, literally. “Nothing.”

“You seemed...irritated.”

“Did I?”

“Y/n.”

I turn to face him, inhaling sharply to calm my coming words. “Why are you with me?”

His face pales, and not a muscle moves. He just stares at me until he finally blinks and starts jerking his jaw around. “What are you talkin’ about?”

I roll my eyes. “The fact that you don’t know, bothers me even more.” I sigh, fighting back tears because I am determined not to cry in front of him. “Tom said that you should date people that fuck you up.”

“O—oh. That’s all?”

I squint, curling my lip. “What do you mean, that’s all? Is that not enough for you? Because that was a lot for me to hear tonight.”

“Baby, he was just messing around.”

I don’t budge.

“Really, it’s nothin’ to think about.” He tucks my hair behind my ear, trailing his hand down to cup my jaw. “Promise. It’s just like when people told you that you could do better than me, or insult me to compliment you.” He shrugs. “It’s just party talk.”

I process his words, supposing he’s not wrong. He did receive quite a few insults in lieu of my praise tonight. Maybe I was just on edge because of the setting; being surrounded by the rich and famous while I struggle to pay my rent each month isn’t exactly grounds for positive thinking.

“Okay, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for.” He leans over to kiss me, stroking my face as his lips skim over mine. “Did I tell you how stunning you look tonight?”

***

It’s funny how your brain works. How emotions swoop in and corral your thoughts, like a salesman who pretends to care about you so they can get what they want. My mind was desperate for relief, from hearing Tom’s nervy comment, and I naively allowed Harry to take what he needed in that moment.

Something’s not quite right. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it.

I’ve been mulling over Harry’s words in my head all weekend, playing them on repeat, hoping they’ll start to make sense, but if anything their value keeps dropping. What worries me the most, is that I don’t know whether he’s trying to protect me or himself. I don’t know if one is any better than the other.

It’s golden hour when we pull up to the beach. I can hear the music before I even open the car door; a volleyball shoots up over the rows of bushes hiding the party, disappearing and popping back up a moment later.

I don’t really want to be here, but I also don’t want to be the girlfriend who won’t support their boyfriend.

“Ready?” Harry asks, and I nod.

The closer we walk, the clearer the music becomes. Harry’s voice takes over the private beach, and I wonder if they’re playing his entire album or just Golden on repeat.

A good bit of the people drinking and chatting I recognize form the event the other night, but there are still plenty of new faces. I take some fruity drink that was offered to me and down half of it before my feet hit sand.

And so the routine continues. I’m introduced to someone, they compliment me, laugh with Harry, congratulate him on pretty much everything he’s ever done, and then repeat with a new face. I do manage to find Sarah at one point after I’ve detached myself from Harry, and the two of us head for the water.

“Are you feeling okay?” Sarah asks once our toes are wet.

I hold my breath and count to five, finishing whatever the hell I’m drinking before I can answer her. “I’m great.”

“Harry said you weren’t doing too well after the auction?”

“Yes, Harry does a lot of talking with people when I’m not around.”

“Alright, spill it,” Sarah says.

I trace the rim of my glass, flicking my eyes over my shoulder to make sure we’re far away from the party. “It’s stupid, really, I’m just a little...I don’t know...Tom said something the other night that rubbed me the wrong way. And Harry doesn’t seem to care.”

“What did he say?”

“Just something about how Harry needs to have relationships with people who will fuck him up.”

“Ooh,” she nods, seemingly well versed in the statement. “Yeah that’s an Iggy Pop quote. Tom mentioned it in Rolling Stone when he was interviewed.” She sips her drink, eyes growing small over the rim. “It was just a cheap line of advice he gave Harry after he was torn up after his last breakup.”

“Wait, so he actually did say that before? Like before the other night?”

Sarah drifts her eyes up in thought, nodding. “Um hm. After him and Camille broke things off.” She shrugs, and gestures to the party exploding on the beach behind us. “Fine Line.”

I have no idea what I’m feeling. No clue what is coursing through my veins, but it’s not blood anymore. The corners of my jaw tingle until my face starts going numb, my breathing shallow and chest tight.

“You okay?”

“I uh, I gotta go.”

Sarah calls after me but I let my name die in the breeze as I march back to the crowd. It’s nearly dark now, and finding Harry among all his people will take forever. I try to look for him, but I’m so distraught I can’t concentrate long enough to make out faces. I give up and head back to his car, only to find it’s locked. The asphalt is warm on my legs as I lower down to the ground, careless to the dirt I’m getting on my clothes and the scratches on my skin.

I’m not in this position for long. Not long enough, at least. Harry rounds the corner of the bushes, speeding up when he sees me.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

He moves to sit down beside me, but I jump up before he can.

“You’re a fucking liar.”

“Whoa! What!? What’s gotten into you lately?”

“I told you! What Tom said the other night!” I’m yelling, too loud for public, I know. But a small part of me wants someone to hear. I want to disrupt the bubble Harry lives in.

“And I told you that it was just nonsense.”

“And that’s why you’re a liar! Sarah just told me, that he said that to you after you and Camille broke up.”

“Okay...and?”

I inhale as deep as I can. It makes me dizzy, adds to my headache. “And, what the fuck am I supposed to do with that? With the knowledge that the only reason you’re even with me, is because I’m gonna fuck you up so bad you’ll get songs out of it?

“Y/n,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “you’re taking this waaay too literally. Trust me.”

“You’re not in a position right now where I even want to trust you.”

“This has gotten completely out of control. I cannot believe you’re this upset over something so stupid.”

“Right there, Harry!” I point at him. “You keep dismissing how I feel! You don’t even care that this upsets me! That I feel like I need to reevaluate our entire relationship!”

“What is there to evaluate!? I haven’t even done anything! You’re blowing up about something that someone else said!”

“But you listened to him!”

“What,” he shrugs, “what do you want?”

“I don’t know what I want, Harry. I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Do what?” He pauses, swallowing. “Us?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, us. I can’t be with you if—if you’re just waiting around for me to ruin you emotionally.”

“You’re seriously gonna let someone else’s words do this to us? You’d break up with me because of something another person said?”

“Harry, if I break up with you it’s gonna be because of what you’ve done. I don’t care that he said it, I care that you agree to it. And quite frankly, it’s pretty insulting to Camille. You spent a part of your life with that girl, and you just capitalize off of it. I’m not gonna let you do that to me.”

“I’m not capitalizing off of anyone! What the hell am I supposed to write my songs about? I’m just supposed to not date then?”

“It’s the fact that you sought out a relationship in order to fuel your writing.”

“No, y/n, that’s not what I did.” He narrows his eyes at me, and even in the dark I can see his anger. “I sought you out because I was devastated after me and her broke up. You were only supposed to be a rebound.”

I feel like the wind’s been knocked out of me. The music overhead blurs into noise scraping my eardrum, my vision grows weak and foggy. He wanted to hurt me, and he did.

“I expect a thank you when you release your next album.” I spin on my heel and head towards the main road, yanking my phone from my pocket to call an uber. For the second time tonight, my name trails behind me in the wind. I can hear Harry’s steps pick up, and as fast as I walk, he still catches me.

“Y/n, please, let’s go back to the hotel. You can hate me and not talk to me, but please don’t leave.”

I ignore him, trying to set up my ride. “Where the hell are we?”

He glances at my phone, and I can tell he considers keeping the answer to himself, so he can keep me to himself. He drops his voice, much weaker than before. “Carbon Beach. Canyon road.”

Ten minutes.

“Y/n—”

“I am not interested in discussing this with you.”

“I’m so sorry. I—I was mad and was just trying to win the argument. Whichever way I could.”

“Congratulations on your win.”

“Y/n, please, honey. I don’t want to lose you.” He drags his hands down his face, keeping his palms dug into his eyes. When he lets them drop, there are tears spilling down his cheeks. “I can’t lie and say you weren’t, but yes you were a rebound for me, but that went away. Literally weeks after we started dating. I care about you so much. I wouldn’t drag you to every show and event I have if I didn’t. I’m so proud to call you mine. The last thing you are to me is—is just grounds for my writing.”

I stare out across the road. A jeep speeds by and the gush of wind it brings sends chills down my arms.

“Harry, I just...it’s a lot. You’re a lot. Your life is a lot.” I sigh and slowly turn to face him. “It feels like the significance of us being in each other’s lives are so different.”

He kicks a rock across the road, dust flying up around us. “Fuck. Y/n I’m begging—”

“They’re here.” I nod to the headlights approaching us.

“Baby, please.”

“I think I need to be alone right now.” I get in the backseat. “Enjoy your party.”

***

I text him when I’m back at the hotel, having nowhere else to go. I didn’t think my plan of leaving through, because he’ll come back here before the night’s over. But I’m hoping he’ll stay away for a bit, long enough for me to process everything at least.

Deep down I know there’s not as much to the comment as I thought. And Harry’s not that type of guy. But the lack of concern over my feelings...the fact that I was just used as a warm body while he got over Camille...that’s what hurts the most.

There’s a fine line between being sorry because you’ve been called out, and truly being sorry. How sorry can he be when he got what he wanted? Even if I’m not what he envisioned past a few quick fucks, he still comes out on top happy.

I feel like the lifestyle these people live is embedded with secret codes, all of which I’m not wired to pick up on. The money, the mistakes, the adoration... Everything is a lot, and playing catch up is nearly impossible.

I don’t get the alone time I’d wished for. There are curses and clicks of the doorknob right before Harry comes in. He stands at the entrance, staring at me on the lounge chair like he’s unsure if I’m real.

“Wasn’t sure you’d come back here.”

“Where else can I go?” I nod to his phone in his hand. “I texted you.”

“I was driving.”

I sigh, flinching when he turns the lights on. “I know you wanna talk, but I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to,” he says, dropping his keys on a table to come sit beside me. “I’ll talk though.” He inhales, holding his breath for a second before forcing the air out. “I know that me saying I’m sorry means shit to you right now. And to be honest, it probably is coming from me...in a way. You’re right about everything. And whatever you’re feeling, once you figure that out, you’re valid about that too.”

“How would you feel if you were only meant to be temporary in my life? You never mentioned why you were interested in me in the beginning. And no, I never would have gone out with you had I known. I would never want to be someone’s rebound. There’s just something sneaky about that.”

His head drops into his hands, and his shoulders shake right before I hear him cry. “I know, I—I get so caught up in myself sometimes. I’m such a fucking prick.” When he looks up, his eyes are burnt red, glassy and defeated. “I don’t deserve you, and I really don’t deserve anyone.”

“Harry,” I chastise, not expecting the downward spiral he’s ventured onto.

“I swear I care about you. I want you to be happy, and I want to make you happy. I don’t want to be the one to treat you this way. Ever.”

I inhale as deep as I can, holding my breath until it hurts. “I know.” I take his hand in mine. “And I know your heart, and I know you care about me. I—” I sigh, “I’m not comfortable with...just forgetting all of this though. I can forgive you, but I think we need to take a couple steps back. I’ve gotten so swept up in your life and your world, I’m losing my own.”

He nods slowly, accepting my words with a pained face.

“I care about you too.”

He looks up for the first time, catching the last few tears with the back of his hand. “I know you do.”

I offer a small smile and lean in to kiss his cheek. His eyes fall closed, and blindly he turns to press his lips to mine. Our kiss is salty and urgent.

“What did you say to everyone when you left?”

He frowns in thought, like the memory is too far away. “Nothing. Jumped in my car and prayed this is where you’d be.”

I take his hand and pull us both to our feet. “We should go to bed. It’s been a long night. Too long.”

We’re quiet and slow as we shed our clothes and brush our teeth, slipping into bed around two a.m.. Harry doesn’t waste a second in pulling me into his warm chest, wrapping his arms around me in a tight hug that has me burying my face into his neck.

We lay there, silent, but when I know I don’t have much longer before sleep overcomes me, I kiss his shoulder, whispering how much I love him before I close my eyes.

#ehhhhh #idk #i think i'm ok with writing angst #but struggle with turning it into fluff #i tried tho #requests #requested #harry styles #harry styles writing #cherryyharryy #cherryyharryy writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst to fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles ou

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onecanonlife · 3 years

Text

In which Tommy travels back in time and tries to prevent a nightmare from happening to everyone he knows. Everyone else, meanwhile, is highly concerned.

(fic masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first part) (previous part) (next part)

(word count: 4,756)

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

Part Nine: Tubbo II

Tubbo feels adrift.

It’s not an emotion he does well with, if it’s even an emotion at all and not just a strange, unsettling state of being. By all rights, he shouldn’t be dealing with this at all; it’s not as if there’s not anything to do, not as if he’s not a member of Wilbur’s cabinet and not as if he’s not trying to corral the candidates into productive debates and not as if they haven’t just finished handling Sapnap’s pet-murdering bullshit. It’s not as if he’s not busy. Not as if he doesn’t have purpose. Adrift is not a word that should apply to him.

But then again, it’s not as if he doesn’t know why he feels it.

It’s Tommy.

So many things come back to Tommy, at the end of the day. Normally, it’s not a bad thing. There’s no place he’d rather be than at Tommy’s side. But that’s just it, though, is the problem in a nutshell, because Tommy’s side is a place he finds himself less and less frequently.

Not in a literal sense. Tommy’s still around all the time. Is still around him. Physically, at least. But Tubbo’s known Tommy for years, and that means he knows how to read him, which is why it’s troubling that he doesn’t know how to interpret the look in his eyes half the time, all dark and distant, like he’s miles and miles away, staring at something that Tubbo can’t see. Staring past him, past everyone.

It’s scary, if he’s being honest with himself. And scarier still that Tommy’s trying to hide it, that whenever he tries to so much as hint at something being the matter, Tommy laughs and says something loud and obnoxious and deflects and changes the subject and refuses to tell him anything at all. Which is so fucking wrong. Since when does Tommy keep secrets from him? Since when does Tommy have a secret that he can’t trust him with?

Sometimes, he thinks that he’s imagining it, is making up the whole thing, is getting lost in his head and inventing problems where there are none, just because he has been a little stressed recently, what with everything. But then, he’ll see someone else make a sharp motion, and Tommy will jerk away, face shuttering, and he knows that he’s not inventing any of it.

Because Tommy always tries to play it off, but Tommy reacts that way to lot of things, nowadays.

And Tubbo doesn’t know what to do, because Tommy won’t even tell him what the problem is.

So, he resorts to the only action he can think to take. He goes against one of the only things Tommy has told him, that first night when he started acting off.

He decides to talk to Wilbur about it.

“I think there’s something wrong with Tommy,” he says. Blurts out, more like, no dancing around it at all, but dancing around it would hardly help anyone. It’s certainly not helping Tommy.

From behind his desk, Wilbur puts his pen down, signaling his full attention. The sun shines through the window behind him, late afternoon light casting the office in a gentle glow. Wilbur is backlit against it, painting his features in slight shadow.

“In what way?” Wilbur asks. “Has he said anything to you?”

“No,” he says, “and that’s sort of the issue. He keeps acting weird, but he won’t talk to me about it. He just pretends like, like I’m dumb or something, or that I’m making shit up. But I’m not. And then he keeps on acting weird, and it’s like he doesn’t expect me to notice it.” Wilbur’s staring at him evenly, calmly, and he feels a burst of desperation—he’s not making this up, he’s not, and he doesn’t want Wilbur to believe that he is, to believe that he’s jumping at nothing, to dismiss him. “He keeps saying weird shit, and he flinches sometimes, or he looks at people really strangely, like he thinks they’re—like he thinks they’re ghosts or something. Or like Herobrine incarnate—did you see the way he was glaring at Awesamdude the other day when he came by? It’s—I swear there’s something wrong with him, I’m not even joking. Really, really wrong.”

His own words burn a little in his mouth, and his brain summons up a memory: the dark of night outside, Tommy clinging to him with the fervor of a dying man, the sentence like an exploding firework, far off. You have to stay alive.

As if he thought Tubbo was planning to do anything differently.

It takes a second for Wilbur to speak.

“I’ve noticed,” he says, and the weight in his tone prevents Tubbo from feeling most of the relief the statement provokes. The relief that he’s not alone in this, that someone else has seen what he’s seen. “Since the night he gave up his discs.”

“Yeah,” Tubbo agrees, and then he falls quiet. For a moment, Wilbur doesn’t say anything else either, but then he sighs, leaning forward.

“Tubbo,” he says, in that way of his that means he’s about to make a pronouncement of some sort. Tubbo leans in too, mirroring him. “I will be completely honest with you. I was hoping that whatever’s wrong, Tommy was talking to you about it. Because he’s certainly not talking to me.”

He feels his hopes die in his chest. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted Wilbur to have an easy solution. Or a solution at all. Wilbur always seems to know what to do.

But not, it seems, in this case.

“He’s not,” he says, and now the words just taste sour. “He’s not talking to me. He’s never not talked to me. I don’t know what the hell is going on.”

Something flashes on Wilbur’s face, too quick to process.

“Neither do I,” he says, and grimaces. “I’m not fond of that. I imagine you’re not either. I wish I had an answer for you, Tubbo, but I—I’m worried about pressing him on this. He seems fairly quick to close himself off lately. I’m sure you’ve noticed that as well. And he’s not come to me with anything.”

Tubbo’s certain he’s not mistaking the note of despair in his voice. The words, not like he used to, go unspoken. In a way, it almost makes him feel a little better, that whatever this is, Tommy’s not trusting Wilbur with it, either, not trusting the man who he’s adopted as an older brother, and who has adopted him in turn. Or at least, it would make him feel a little better, if it weren’t so damn worrying.

If Tommy didn’t seem to be caught up in something beyond his understanding, or control.

“So I can only guess,” Wilbur continues after a moment. “I considered the idea that something else happened that night. Something he hasn’t told anyone. The only trouble with that is I don’t know what could have happened that he’d feel like he couldn’t share.” He pauses, and when he goes on again, his voice is softer. “He already gave up his discs. For—for all of us. For L’Manberg. I don’t know what would have been worse than that, for him.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “He didn’t—I mean, he didn’t die. He didn’t die, and no one else did, so I don’t—do you think this could be about the discs, still? I mean, those were important to him. To us. But to him most of all.”

Wilbur’s eyes flash again, and Tubbo notes idly that he doesn’t have his glasses on. He probably should—it strains his eyes to read without them, so Tubbo’s not sure why he wouldn’t be wearing them right now.

“Maybe,” Wilbur says. “Maybe that’s what this is. Though I wouldn’t have wanted him to—Tubbo, you know I wouldn’t have wanted him to, right? Under any circumstances. I never would have asked it of him, and especially not if I knew it would affect him this badly.”

“I know,” he says. He’s a bit surprised Wilbur feels the need to ask, but there’s an odd insistence in the question.

Maybe he’s just stressed. Prime knows they all have been, these past few weeks, and Wilbur most of all. He’s running in an election at the same time as running the actual country, and that’s got to weigh on anyone.

“The way he looks at me sometimes,” Wilbur says softly, shaking his head. “It’s as if—I don’t know. I shouldn’t—sorry, Tubbo, I don’t mean to ramble. You’ve got as much on your plate as any of us.” And Wilbur smiles, but for some reason, it feels fake. Plastered on. Like an expectation, the fulfillment of a role.

“I mean, yeah,” he says, shaking the oddness off. “But stuff about Tommy isn’t stuff that I’ve got to put on my plate, y’know? It’s just—important. Not something to check off a to-do list.”

Wilbur’s gaze softens. “I know,” he agrees. “I feel the same way. He’s my—well. You know.”

“Everyone knows,” he says.

“I can only hope,” Wilbur replies. He glances down at his desk, eyes flitting across his papers, the pen he’s set down, and then back up to Tubbo’s face. “But, Tubbo, if I can be completely frank, I think that out of everyone, you’ve got the best shot at getting him to talk to you. He’s—I mean, he’s your best friend, and you’re his, right? Part of a pair, you are. So even if he won’t—or doesn’t feel like he can talk to the rest of us, he might talk to you.”

“Maybe,” he says. “I haven’t had a lot of luck so far.” He frowns. “You really think he won’t say anything to you?”

He almost regrets the question, because it puts an expression on Wilbur’s face. Not a very nice one, and it’s gone in an instant, but for a second, he looks intensely sad. And between one blink and the next, it’s vanished, sort of like it’s a practiced motion, covering up things like that.

No, he’s reading too much into it. Surely.

They’re all so stressed. He can’t wait for the election to be over.

“I don’t know,” Wilbur says. “I don’t want to count on it. I sort of doubt—and this could all be a moot point, of course. Maybe he just needs more time, and we’re worrying about something that’ll blow over. It’s Tommy, after all. He’s always been so resilient. But that means he’s not going to talk about things until he’s ready to talk. If he truly doesn’t want to, we’re not going to be able to make him. All we’ll succeed in doing is making everyone miserable.”

“What do I do, then?” he demands. “I can’t just not do anything. He’s—you told me you saw it, too. There’s something wrong.”

“I know,” Wilbur says, voice rising. “I know, I’ve been telling you that I know. I don’t like it, Tubbo. I just—” He stops, breathes in, and Tubbo notices that his hands were clenched into fists and are now relaxing, fingers uncurling to rest on the desk’s wooden surface. “We can try to be there for him. Be ready when he comes to us. Let him know that he can, even if he doesn’t want to right now. That’s what we can do, if nothing else. I don’t like it. But we can’t force anything out of him, so that’s the best thing, I think. We be there, as much as he lets us. And when he finally tells us what the problem is, we kill it with fire.”

That last part, he’s on board with.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll do my best.”

And it occurs to him that he never told Wilbur about what happened that night, when Tommy came to him. In tears, acting so strangely, his voice wavering and wobbling and his whole body shaking like a leaf.

But Tommy told him not to tell Wilbur. He specifically asked him not to, so while bringing his general concerns to him was one thing, sharing that would be another. He’s not willing to break Tommy’s trust like that. Not unless things get truly desperate.

He thinks they’re not quite to that point yet. He hopes they’re not quite to that point yet.

“I know you will,” Wilbur says. “I never doubt you, Tubbo. And I’ll do my best, too. I promise.” He smiles, and it’s not as warm as Wilbur’s smiles once were, he thinks. But it is genuine, if tired, if concerned, if ever so slightly strained. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“Somehow,” he agrees. “Thanks, Wilbur.”

“Of course. You’re always welcome to come talk to me.”

It does make him feel a bit better, talking to Wilbur. Knowing that he’s not alone in his concerns, at least, and the fact that he’s got Wilbur on his side is always reassuring. Wilbur’s like a light in the dark, a bit, the leader that they all look to, and his advice is always sound, always manages to be at least a little bit comforting.

So he tries to take it.

He tries to be there for Tommy, even if it’s difficult, at times, to stop himself from demanding answers, from taking him by the shoulders and shaking him until he admits that there’s something the matter, until he reveals what he can do to help him. Difficult not to react when he flinches, or when he stares at someone like they’re either a miracle or a ghost or something else entirely, or when he disappears without a word of warning only to reappear a few hours later as if he never went anywhere at all.

It’s difficult, but he tries. And sometimes, it’s almost like normal. Sometimes, Tommy grins at him with a gleam in his eyes and a bounce in his step, and they go off to try and rob Sapnap or mess around a little with Ponk’s lemon trees or get back at Fundy for the latest annoying prank. Sometimes, Tommy’s all bluster and confidence and unwavering chaos, and it’s like nothing’s changed at all, even as the elections draw nearer.

Tommy’s been very diligent about those. He even wrote a lot of the regulations, with a seriousness that Tubbo didn’t know what to make of. But the rules have been working so far—everyone’s declared their campaigns, there’s been no unsavory endorsements, no signs yet of voter fraud or other such shenanigans, and everyone running is a citizen of L’Manberg.

Everything ought to be alright.

“Are you alright?” Tommy asks.

They’re fucking around around the base of one of Eret’s new towers. Tommy suggested griefing one, just a bit, as a little prank, but then backtracked the idea, so now they’re just hanging around. Eret’s not even here at the moment, he doesn’t think.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says. “Just got a lot on my mind, is all. Elections and whatnot.”

Tommy snorts. “Don’t think so hard about it,” he says. “We’ve got this one in the bag. No way we don’t get the popular vote, so long as everyone does it by the book.”

“It’s making sure of that that’s the problem,” he says wryly. “It’s not as if we’ve got an impartial lawyer around here. I’d ask Big Q to help out, but Big Q’s got a vested interest in fucking around with things. At least I can pretend to be neutral. Sort of.”

Tommy makes a noncommittal sound. “You’re doing great, Tubs,” he says. “I’m telling you, this should go right.”

“I’m glad you’re confident,” he says, and squints up at the tower. It’s mostly stone, but nearer to the top, it seems that Eret has gotten a bit more elaborate. Gold glints in the afternoon light, just begging to be stolen. Maybe later, though, and only if Eret wouldn’t be too bothered.

“I’m glad I’ve got something to be confident about,” Tommy mutters, and he turns his head sharply. Tommy isn’t looking at him, is staring off at where the walls are visible, not too far from here. “I worked hard on this, you know. It’s fucking airtight, is what it is. I know what I’m doing.”

“You did a good job with all the rules,” he agrees. “I think Wilbur was impressed with how much thought you put into it.”

Tommy blinks, and then puffs his chest out. “He better damn well be,” he says. “I put so much thought. All of my thoughts, right there. So big and cool. I’m going to write a book of my thoughts, and it will be a bestseller, and everyone will read it and weep, that’s how poggers it will be.”

“They’ll weep, alright,” he says wryly. “Probably from the damage it will do to their eyes. And their brain cells.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tommy says. “Not my fault you don’t understand genius.”

“Genius is a word,” he says. “You’re right about that. Not sure you know what it means.”

“Why are you the way that you are,” Tommy says, rolling his eyes with great vigor. And then, to Tubbo’s surprise, he grabs his hand. “C’mon, let’s just go—fucking sit somewhere or something, I don’t want to do shit right now. It’s been exhausting, innit?”

He’s on the verge of pointing out that they’ve got a whole place where they normally go and sit, but Tommy doesn’t seem to be thinking about their bench. He leads him a few paces away from the tower and then flops on the grass, laying on his back and staring up at the sky. Tubbo joins him after a moment, situating himself right next to him.

“We’re almost there,” he says after a moment. “We’re almost done with it. Maybe then we’ll be able to get some good sleep.”

Tommy snorts. “It’s never done, on this server,” he mutters. “There’s always something else. There’s always—” He breaks off. “But yeah, you’re right. It should get better, at least. One less thing to try and be thinking about, I suppose.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask what else Tommy is thinking about. What else is on his mind. But the question won’t be welcome, and he’s trying to be open and inviting and supportive, not pushy, no matter how much he wants to be, so he refrains. And Tommy doesn’t say anything else, just lets out a long breath, so for a while, they’re just lying there on the grass, watching the clouds drift by.

It’s peaceful. He can almost forget that there’s so much going on.

And then Tommy speaks up again.

“If I were to get you a baby zombie piglin,” he says, musingly, as if he’s speaking to himself, “would it have to be any particular one? Or do y’think you’d be alright with any? Like, like replacing a goldfish or something?”

And somehow, that’s the breaking point.

“Okay,” he says, sitting bolt upright, “what the fuck?”

“What?” Tommy says. “It’s just a question.”

“No, it’s not,” he—says. He says. He’s not snapping. He’s not angry—but there’s something bubbling up, boiling over, and if it’s not anger, it’s frustration, at the very least. “It’s not just a question. It’s weird. You keep doing this. You say weird shit and you don’t explain any of it, and I’m left trying to figure out what the fuck you’re talking about, and you—you’re not talking to me, Tommy! You’re not telling me anything!”

Tommy sits up too, slowly, eyes wide, but he can’t bring himself to regret the outburst. Though maybe he will later.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Tommy starts, but he shakes his head hard, and the world blurs for a moment.

“That’s bullshit,” he says, and to his embarrassment, his voice cracks. “That is such bullshit. Do you honestly think I can’t tell something’s up? You can say that there’s not all you like, but that doesn’t change what you—you flinch when people get too close. You do weird things. You vanish and then come back without saying where you went, literally ever. You say shit that’s just—that’s just off. And then you try to brush it all off, but you can’t, you can’t brush this off, Tommy. Do you think I’m stupid?”

Tommy is completely, utterly silent. Tubbo tries to meet his gaze, but finds that he can’t, due to the fact that there are tears in his eyes, and everything is swimming.

“I just want to know what’s wrong,” he says, and doesn’t bother trying to disguise his misery. He’s gotten this far. Might as well let it all out. “I want to know what happened to you. I want you to let me help. I want you to tell me things, like you used to.”

“I can’t,” Tommy says, and his voice sounds alarmed, almost pleading, like he’s begging him to drop it. Well, he won’t. If he thinks he will, he’s got another thing coming. He’s let this drop too many times. Enough is enough. It’s time to push. “I can’t—there’s nothing going on, there’s not—not anything that’s a big deal or that you need to worry about, I just—”

“Stop lying,” he says. “Please, stop lying to me.”

Tommy goes quiet again. And that’s setting off all his head’s warning sirens, because Tommy never just goes quiet, but isn’t that just another thing to add to the list? Another response that isn’t as it should be? Mounting evidence that Tommy’s claim of being alright is just a bunch of horseshit?

“It was that night, wasn’t it?” he presses on, and his throat is closing up, but he chokes out the words anyway. It’s sudden, this sensation of being overwhelmed, but he’s powerless to stop it all from hitting. Powerless to keep himself from thinking about how there’s something wrong with Tommy, something wrong with his best friend in all the worlds, and Tommy won’t talk to him. “That night you came to me, and then you gave up the discs. Something else happened. Was it Dream? Did he do something? Or was it before that? Did something happen before you woke me up? Is that why you were crying? You’ve got to tell me, Tommy, please. I’m not letting this go. I shouldn’t have let it go before. I just thought—I thought you’d tell me, when you could, but you haven’t. You’ve been suffering, and I’ve just been watching.”

His voice cracks again. He can’t care.

“No,” Tommy says, almost a whisper. “No, Tubbo, no, that’s not it, there’s not—this isn’t something you can do anything about, Tubbo, that’s all. That’s all it is.”

“Do you not trust me, then?” he asks. “Is that it? Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” This is sharper, louder. “No—fuck, of course you didn’t. You haven’t done anything. You’re fine, Tubbo, it’s all fine, and I’m handling it. I’m doing alright.”

“But you’re not,” he says. “You’re not. You’re not alright.”

He blinks, hard, and the tears clear, finally. Tommy is staring at him, jaw slightly slack.

“I am,” he says, but Tubbo shakes his head again.

“You’re not,” he insists, before he can take that any further. “Why won’t you tell me about it? You know I won’t tell anyone else if you don’t want me to. You know that.”

“I know,” Tommy says. “I do know that, Tubs, c’mon—”

“But then why won’t you—”

“It’ll put you in danger,” Tommy snaps. “I’m not risking you!”

There are so many things he could say to that. Voicing the implication that whatever’s going on, it’s already put Tommy in danger, is high on the list, and it makes him sick to think that maybe Tommy just doesn’t care. Maybe he’s not paying any mind to the danger to himself, even as he worries about everyone else around him. But Tommy won’t listen if he says as much. He can tell already.

So he goes with his gut. Recalls the old conversation, puts together all the glances and the flinches and the stares when he thinks no one else is watching. Draws himself a picture, though he’s sure it’s still incomplete.

“Tommy,” he says, and tries to keep his voice level, steady, “I’m not going to die.”

Tommy’s face crumples like a wet sheet of paper, and there is a long pause.

“You don’t know that,” Tommy finally says, wavering and thready, and Tubbo doesn’t know why Tommy’s so scared, still. He doesn’t know what happened to make him fear this. And maybe he never will, if he can’t coax it out of him. But maybe that’s not so important at the moment, not more important than offering reassurance.

And that, he can do.

“I do know that,” he says. “Look, I’ll swear it right now. I’ll swear it on—L’Manberg itself. I’m not going to die.”

Tommy’s eyes go very pinched and squinty, and he bites down on his bottom lip, hard. Tubbo knows that look, so he extends his arms and tugs Tommy into him, into a hug, so that Tommy can cry without him seeing. He almost expects the embrace to be rejected, but after a moment of stiffness, Tommy melts against him, tucking his chin on his shoulder.

“You gotta have a little more faith in my abilities, man,” he says, aiming for some levity. “I’m not so easy to kill.”

“I do have faith in you, Tubbo,” Tommy mumbles.

“Then let me help,” he says, and decides that a compromise is in order. “Look, you don’t even have to tell me everything. Or anything. But if there’s something I can do, let me do it. Let me help you. Whatever’s going on, you don’t have to be on your own. You don’t have to handle it by yourself or whatever stupid bullshit you’ve been on about.”

“It’s not as easy as that,” Tommy says, still barely discernible.

“I think it could be,” he replies. “I think you’re overthinking it.” He holds Tommy a bit tighter. “And really, I’m not gonna die, big man. And even if I did, you wouldn’t be rid of me that easily. I’d come back as a ghost and haunt you for eternity. Move your shit around when you’re not looking.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Tommy whispers, “and I don’t know why.”

Okay, that’s—okay. He’s not going to mess up the progress he’s made, even though he’d dearly love to comment on whatever the fuck that means.

“Alright, then,” he says, “but are you hearing me? Can you do that? Let me in, just a little bit? ‘Cause I mean, really. You’ve got to be able to trust me to look after myself. I appreciate you trying to protect me or whatever you’re doing, but not if you’re hurting yourself doing it. And not if you’re being stupid about it. ‘Cause I’m not some fragile fucking flower, you know? So can you? Let me help?”

Tommy shifts a bit, but doesn’t attempt to pull back, so Tubbo takes that as permission to keep holding him.

“Okay,” Tommy says, after a minute, voice small. “Okay, I’ll—I still can’t, I can’t tell you much, but I’ll try. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you think that I—that I didn’t trust you or some shit, that’s not it at all—”

He sounds increasingly distressed, so Tubbo cuts in.

“That’s fine,” he says. “We’re okay. Just don’t shut me out, alright? Whatever I can do, let me do it. That’ll be enough for now.”

Whether it will always be enough is another question. But, baby steps. Baby steps.

“Okay,” Tommy says. “Alright. I’ll try.”

He’s still crying. Tubbo doesn’t comment on it. Not even when Tommy finally pulls back, and his eyes are red-rimmed, avoiding his gaze. Not even when they go back to L’Manberg together, Tommy staring straight ahead except for when he’s not, except for when he casts little glances over to him, as if to check that he’s still there.

Tubbo’s gotten more questions than answers out of this. But he’s also gotten a promise.

He’ll hold him to his word. And he’ll make a private promise of his own.

He won’t die. And Tommy won’t either. They’re both going to come out the other side, and everything really will be alright again.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #tubbo #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #dsmp fic #/rp #cat writes fic #long post #time travel au #everything's still fine :D

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justreadingfics · 4 years

Text

It’s a Deal (Chapter 3)

Chapter Summary: You have a reason to celebrate and need a partner to do that.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 6.2k

Warnings:+18 only, smut, sex in a public place, boytoy!Bucky, casual sex, opened relationship, drinking, sorority.

A/N: Here’s one more filthy chapter for you guys. It won’t always be that way since the plot moves forward, but it will still be focused on smut for the next couple of chapters. Our reader deserves some fun before things get a bit more complicated, right? The link to my masterlist, where you can find the other chapters, is on my description. Feedback is highly appreciated. Tag list for this story is closed.

Screen after screen pops in the air in front of you as you furiously type codes and formulas on them. You’re there, you’re almost there. You’ve been working on this project for months and now it finally seems like you’re getting somewhere.

“Coffee?”

You just nod as an answer to Camilla, your partner on that project. She gets up and walks out to go get the coffee. She already told you if it was up to her, you’ve already given up. But you know you’re getting there. You haven’t stopped working ever since early hours and you’re feeling inspired and focused as ever.

When you’re satisfied with the input you add to the system which is working on the calculations, you sit back. Eyes on the screen displayed in the air. Camilla comes back with your coffees and hands one to you, fixing her eyes on the screen, too as she stands beside you.

“Come on, come on,” you whisper.

Bringing the coffee to your lips you almost choke on it when the answer you were so desperately looking for gleams on the screen.

“Holy shitballs,” you shout and swiftly gets up, letting your cup drop to the floor, splashing the liquid around.

“Oh, fuck,” Camilla gasps and you two look at each other with paired up widened eyes before letting out a cheerful scream and holding each other, jumping around as you gain the attention of the other workers from the several small offices of the Avengers/Stark Technology Department.

A clear of throat takes you and your friend out of your reverie, catching your attention. When you see Sharon Carter on your door, with a smirk on her lips, you two cease the celebration, but keep the smiles on your faces.

“Hey, Sh- Director,” you quickly correct yourself, being friends with Natasha brought you close to Sharon, too. But now she’s Director of Shield, after Nick Fury became coordinator of the Avengers, therefore you should show some respect at least at workplaces, “Remember that Shield and Avengers’ joined project? The one where we were trying to build a device that would crack alien secret services codes?”

“Yeah, sure, our tech departments have been working for months to find an algorithm.” Sharon nods.

“Well, looks like we made it.” You point at the screen right in front of you.

“What the hell?” She shoots an eyebrow high and steps into the office, eyes analyzing the screen between you two.

“We doesn’t quite cut it, Director,” Camilla says, rolling her eyes, “She worked her ass off and got to it by herself. She’s been killing it these last few days.”

You huff, shaking your head. You’ve been really inspired, indeed. And you might relate it to a certain physical activity you’ve been engaging on recently and the outrageous amount of energizing orgasms you’ve been gifted with almost daily… not a topic to be brought out now, though.

“Ooo, someone seems extra inspired…” Sharon narrows her eyes, but you try to not indulge any possible insinuation by just ignoring the comment with a smile, “Well, that’s amazing news,” she resumes, clapping her hands once, “and it kind of leads to the subject that brought me here, would you mind excuses for a second, Camilla?” She kindly asks.

“Of course, not. I’ll be in my office.” Camilla says, not holding back from hugging you and squirming in excitement one more time before walking out the room.

“This is huge, huh?” Sharon comments, pulling up the chair you pointed for her as you sit on yours.

“It is, can you imagine what Natasha will be able to do with it?” You grin, brushing your hands together.

“Thanks to your badass brain,” she compliments before narrowing her eyes at you again, “You have a weird happy face.”

“Well, something amazing just happened…”

“Yeah, yeah…” Sharon brushes you off, “You’re killing it at your job and that’s amazing… but to be honest, I expected to still see you moping around about your break up.”

“I’m still sad about it, but work has been great, and-”

“Oh, cut the crap,” Sharon interrupts with a playful snap and you frown while she crosses her arms in front of her, holding back a laugh, “I’ve been texting with Natasha, I know about you and your boytoy.”

“What the hell?” Your eyes widen as you throw your arms to the air, already feeling your cheeks warming, “She’s on a mission and you two have been talking about my… sex life?” You lean over across the table and whisper the last part.

“We can multitask,” Sharon shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“Oh, wow…” you scoff, “That’s two of the greatest spies on earth right.”

“Alright,” She chuckles, unfolding her arms and leaning over the table, “As much as I want to know all about it, that’s not why I’m here.”

“Ok,” you quickly accept the change of subject for your own relief, “Why are you here for, then?”

“To tell you that Stark is a jerk,” she deadpans.

“Ok… cool,” you drag the words, side eyeing her, “And?”

“Long story short, I lost you in a chess match and now you’re the new leader of Avengers/Stark Tech Department.”

You don’t quite assimilate what she just said as you keep your questioning stare on her, not finding the link between her words and, most of all, did she just say you’ve been promoted?

“I’m sorry, what?” You shake your head shutting your eyes for a second, finally asking for clarification after what seemed like the longest staring contest ever.

“Well,” Sharon sighs, “You know how competitive Stark and I can be and when I decided to act by ethics and told him I was considering offering you the leadership position at Shield’s tech department he decided he would do the same and dared me to a chess match, where you would be the prize.” She shrugs, “I’m sure he had some help, right Friday,” she raises her voice staring up to the air but gains plain silence as a response from the A.I, “He won and got to keep you and I got stuck with my second option which is your ex, as you might already know.”

“Wow,” you whisper, not really sure what to say or feel, trying to process all of what you just heard.

“You’re not offended by the chess match, are you?” Sharon checks, tilting her head.

“No… I’m kinda… flattered, I guess.” You frown and Sharon gives you a satisfied smile. “But… I’m confused… That’s Stark’s job.”

“It’s your job now if you should accept it.” She grins wider, “I guess he’s been thinking about it for a while now and saw my offering as an opportunity. I know Pepper has been on his ass for him to loosen up from some responsibilities, and who better than you to take over?” She points up at the screen with your recent achievement.

You let out a breathy laugh, reality finally dawning. Not in a million years you thought that would happen but now that it is, you’re not gonna be modest, you kick ass in your job and you fucking deserve it.

“He’s on a mission with Nat and Steve now, so he asked me to come talk to you, hang on…” Sharon holdsup a finger, before grabbing a small device from her pocket, which you recognize as one of your projects. “Stark,” she says.

In a second the image of a very battered Tony surfaces on the air as the camera captures his face from under the suit.

“Hey, Carter,” he greets with a smirk as you hear the sounds of blasts, shots and explosions. The man is in the middle of a damn battle while casually answering a call.

“Stark,” Sharon answers just as casually, “I have her here with me, just delivered the news,” she says, turning his image to you.

“Hey, boss,” you give him a shy wave.

“Hey, kid.” He scrunches up his face, shooting a series of blasts before you listen to something exploding. “I think you’re sort of my boss now.” He focuses on you again, smirking.

“No, I’m not,” you laugh.

“No, you’re not. But, tell me, what’s your answer?”

“I take it, of course.” You decide, why in the world, wouldn’t you.

“Great. Party to celebrate when we come back. Gotta go, these damn Kree are the worst. Will not invite them.” He turns off and his image disappears from before you.

“Well, congratulations.” Sharon places the device back on her pocket, “Our departments work a lot together, so I think I win either way.”

A mix of emotions fill up your chest. You’re excited and happy and scared. Mostly excited, though… “Holy shit,” you curse, digging your hands into your hair as a grin seems to twist your lips permanently.

“You need to celebrate…” Sharon adds, offering you a cheeky grin.

Fuck yeah, you need to celebrate. And you know exactly what, or better, who you wanna do.

~~~

“How the hell are you wet already?”

The words are spoken against your neck through licks and sucks, after Bucky’s fingers glided under your underwear and sank between your slick folds. As soon as he walked into your living room, he jumped on you with kisses and grabs, discovering you in such a state without his previous help.

Well, sort of without his help, actually. The thing is, after you got out of work that afternoon, you didn’t even need to call him or text him to propose your little celebration as you found a series of texts from “Bucky Sweet Tongue Barnes” waiting for you. In the first, he was asking if you had any plans that night, and the others… oh, the others… the fucker described all sorts of filthy things he wanted to do with you.

After a quick answer for him to come over and a long bath, all the dirty details he used on his texts refused to leave your mind and you couldn’t help but spending the rest of the time you had alone before he arrived teasing yourself with your fingers, having all those images and flashes from your last encounters in your memory to keep you going.

“I-“ you gasp as he sucks that sensitive spot in your neck and his fingers meet your clit, “Those texts you sent me…” You tilt your head to give his lips more room, your hands roaming around the hard pattern of muscles on his back, “I-I’ve been touching myself.” You confess with the lack of pudency you’re becoming familiar with when you’re around him.

In your arms, you feel when his body freezes for a second, before he sucks harder on your neck, “Fuck… did you come today already?” He gropes your ass under your dress with the hand that isn’t in your pussy.

Your eyelids flutter and you reach down to the front of his pants to feel the growing bulge, “Yes…”

“Goddammit, that’s hot,” he grunts, and then it all happens in a blur as he lifts you by hooking his hands under your thighs and places you seated over the dinner table.

He positions himself between your opened legs as lifting up your short dress out of his way and, while you swiftly work on the buttons and zipper of his jeans, he takes a condom out of his pockets and, after ripping the plastic off with his teeth he hands it to you.

His eyes cast down to see your fingers rolling off the latex around his rock hard cock and, as soon as you’re done and wrap your hand around him to feel his thickness, he wastes no time and pushes you backwards until your back meets the cold wood of your table.

Acting by the frenzy that is all over his eyes, he swiftly pulls the small fabric of your underwear to the side, exposing your cunt just enough before he holds his cock and pushes himself inside you, making you cry out and your body jerk backwards. You always knew spending an exorbitant amount of money on a good table would pay off someday and you hold yourself fisting each side of the table.

He pulls your thighs up wrapping his hands on your knees, giving you no time to adjust before starting to pound into you.

You love that he fucks you like that. Hard and raw, the sting of the stretching mixed with the pleasure brought by his expert thrusts fogging your mind and his thickness and expert moves hitting sweet spots of yours, kicking the air out of your lungs. You love that in the few times you’ve been doing it in the last week, he already seems to know what you can take and always somehow goes a little further, a little different… like he knows something about yourself that you don’t, yet. That it’s the first time that you two can’t be bothered to wait and take off clothes or get to the bedroom. You love it.

It is all new to you, yes. For you sex has always been attached to some kind of affection or romantic feelings and, while that is all good and wonderful, you’re enjoying so much finding out this other side, where the only goals are to share pleasure and have fun.

“So fucking sexy,” he groans through clenched teeth.

Your core twists in response and your cunt clenches around his cock, causing him to let out a grunt and quicken his pace even more, making it extra difficult to breathe properly. Oh, he’s found out that praise kink of yours and now he’s been using it wisely, so wisely…

He reaches over to pull down the stripe of your dress and exposes one breast. A loud moan slips out of you when he roughly kneads the soft flesh. He keeps the metal hand around one of your knees while the leg he let go in favor to give your breast some attention curls around his hips, jerking along with the punishing pace of his thrusts.

“Yeah, sweetheart, so sexy… I’ve wanted to have you like this ever since I first saw that sweet ass of yours,” he confesses right before leaning over to wrap his mouth around your nipple.

You’ve been horny the whole day waiting for the moment you would have his cock inside you just like that and the praise, as tacky as it may be, joined with the warmth of his wet tongue around your breast and the stimulation against your clit that the new position brings prompt the blast of ecstasy inside your core.

With a trembling moan, you let go the edges of the table to hold his body pressed to yours as his mouth moves from your breast to attack your neck. You roll your hips, trying to prolong the pleasure unleashed as his pace falters.

The fingers of both his hands dig into your hair, making a mess of it as he pulls out his cock almost completely before shoving it deeply and harshly one more time, grunting out his own release.

“Fuck,” it slips from under his heavy breath before he clasps his lips on yours. The kiss is wet and sloppy and lazy as you have your legs and arms curled around his body, keeping him inside you.

Still feeling a little numb from the orgasm he just gave you – a thousand times better than the one you had given yourself- you gasp and chuckle through the kiss as he straightens up and pulls you with him. You tighten the hold of your arms and legs, as he conveniently holds you by your ass until he finds the couch and sits down with you straddling his hips. He breaks the kiss and lets his head fall on the backrest, his chest moving up and down as he tries to catch his breath.

You move up to let his cock slide off but he tightens the hold on your ass, keeping you in place, “Just… let me stay in a bit more, it feels so good,” he says, eyes shut, still resting his head back on the sofa.

“Alright,” you chuckle, straddling his face with your arms as you place your hands on the backrest. You find the request a bit odd but also sexy as hell. There he is, always a step ahead on what you don’t even know you think it’s hot…

After a few more seconds, when his breath – and yours- seems to come back to normal, he straightens his head and looks down at where you still have just one breast exposed. He ticks his tongue, “Let’s not make the other one feel left out.” He pulls your other strap, letting now both of your breasts bare to him before he dips in, grabbing the up till now covered one with his lips.

You shake your head, laughing at his antics, “You seem pretty fond of them, huh?”

He lets go of the mound with a pop, looking up at you with an almost shocked expression on his face, “How could I not?” he gasps, like you’ve just offended him, “I don’t know how you see them in the mirror everyday and don’t touch yourself…” he squints at you before continuing, “You do, don’t you?”

You laugh harder, letting your head fall back and he smiles at you before going back to give your tits some attention, kissing and sucking one, then the other. Noticing that his cock never really softens completely inside you, you let him enjoy himself a bit more before speaking again, “Did you mean that?”

“What?” He leans back, looking up at you.

“You said you wanted to fuck me ever since you met me… is that serious? I didn’t even know you remembered me before we… started this.”

“First of all, I’m always serious, I never lie,” he says, adding some gravity to his tone, “Second of all, remember that night a while ago, when I chatted with you and your boyfriend at a Stark’s party and then your sexy ass talked about your work with technology with such passion… you knew exactly what you were talking about and, fuck…” he licks his lips, ”I rubbed one out for you later that night,” he smirks, clasping his hands behind his head.

Your jaw drops at the reveal before your face scrunches up, “That’s…gross?” you say the first word that comes to mind.

“But it’s true,” he shrugs, looking pretty comfortable with the confession, “and ever since I’ve been thinking about tapping that smart ass of yours.” He emphasizes his point by slapping your ass once.

Despite that and his choice of words - which makes your cheeks heat up - and your previous statement of being grossed out by the revelation, you decide you take that as kind of a compliment, which leads you to give him the news.

“You know?” you say, “I was promoted today. You just fucked the new leader of the Avengers/Stark tech department,” you grin when his practically hard cock twitches inside you.

“Wow, congratulations.” His eyes widen and he grins back at you.

“Never thought I would meet someone with a technology kink,” you comment, laughing at his first reaction to the news.

“More of a smart as fuck brain kink, sweetheart,” he reaches behind you to slap your ass for the second time that night, making you shriek and laugh a bit harder, “Ok, we need to celebrate,” he states.

“I am celebrating,” you aim a mischievous smile at him, rolling your hips for good measure.

“Damn,” he breathes, but holds your hips still, “No, I mean, you’ve been in a relationship for ten years, tell me…” he squints at you, “When was the last time you partied your ass off?”

“Ahm…” you think hard trying to remember when it was, “College, I guess?”

“Shit…” he lowers his head before swiftly getting up, making you lunge your arms on his shoulders so you wouldn’t fall back as he walks to your bedroom, “Come on, let’s freshen up. This is huge news… I’ll take you to a real party now and then we can continue our private one later,” he promises.

~~~

As soon as you walk in the rooftop bar Bucky has chosen, you already decide you did good in accepting his offer. The place is gorgeous, sporting a modern, yet cozy decoration with small tables, sofas and puffs for those who want to sit. Dazzling lights flash on the dance floor right by a huge bar and the view of the city is mesmerizing while the beat of the music reverberates through your body.

Bucky pulls you by the hand through the sea of bodies. Thank god you chose one of the fanciest dresses of your wardrobe or else you wouldn’t fit in among the beautiful people crowding the place. Every once in a while, Bucky waves and nods at someone or a group of people. You can tell he’s a regular.

He waves more excitedly to a group of women hanging on a mezzanine, before pulling you to that direction, “Come on,” he tilts his head back towards you with a smile, “You’ll love them.”

As soon as you approach the group, he puts his arm around your shoulders and introduces you to everyone, telling you the names of each stunning woman before you, Amanda, Emma, Jada, Alice and Brianna. They all friendly greet him and you with smiles, excited hellos and hugs, welcoming you two to join them, which you do.

“You know, Y/N was promoted today,” Bucky gushes and you smile at him.

“Oh, wow,” Amanda says through the cheerful congratulating words from everyone else, “This calls for champagne.” She then whistles and makes a sign for a bartender, who in a matter of seconds sends two bottles of fancy champagne to the group.

A few minutes after the toast, you’re drinking and chatting with those women like you’ve been best friends your whole life, especially with Amanda, who goes out of her way to make you feel included. You can see how close they all are to Bucky, like he’s one of the gang, talking about any kind of subject in front of him and vice versa. Bucky stays by your side, and only when you’re completely mingled with the group he excuses himself to go grab what he called “a real drink” at the bar.

“He’s incredible, isn’t he?” Amanda nudges you when Bucky is at a distance he can’t hear.

“Oh yeah,” you nod, “Bucky’s a great guy.”

“She means in bed, dear,” Brianna clarifies with a giggle.

You take a look around the group to see them all giving you mischievous and knowing stares. Oh…

“Oh, did all of you…?” you point your finger at them, but you don’t have to complete the question

“More like all of this rooftop,” Brianna laughs, followed shortly by the others.

“So, he’s amazing isn’t he?” Amanda insists, wiggling her eyebrows.

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the fact that they all seem so friendly and open minded, but something makes you blurt out, “Amazing? He’s fucking fantastic.”

They all nod and verbalize their agreement, “I tell you all something,” Jada catches your attention, “That man drinks respect women juice daily and we owe him a toast. Here’s to Bucky,” she raises her glass.

“To Bucky.” You all mimic her through laughing and make a toast to the unsuspicious man at the bar.

As the conversation moves on and they all engage in different topics your gaze wanders to where he stands, holding a glass with some liquor that looks like whiskey in hands. But he’s not alone anymore. A statuesque blond is right beside him, laughing and touching his arm. You glimpse that flirting smile of him forming on his lips.

“You don’t mind do you?” Amanda’s voice makes you turn to her, spotting a questioning look on her face, “Because if you do… Girl, run away now, Bucky isn’t right for you.” There’s no malice on her voice, just a sincere warning tone.

You seize the moment to make an honest survey through your feelings. You’ve been warned by different people, Bucky included, and if there’s anything to worry about, Amanda is right, you should run now. As you keep your eyes on the two of them by the bar, you look and look and look inside, but find nothing that could be remotely taken as jealousy or something like that. If anything, it’s kind of liberating to know that you have so much fun with him and there’s no ugly, selfish feelings pulling you back. You feel like you could encourage the blonde on the flirting, because you know how damn incredible it can be…

Who would wonder that a class A womanizer like Bucky would be the source of such sheer sorority you’ve been experiencing that night…

“No,” you turn back to Amanda, shaking your head with a satisfied smile, “I don’t mind at all.”

The night goes on and Bucky comes and goes, chatting and drinking and laughing with you and your new little group of friends, taking you to dance, but also dancing with Amanda, Emma, Alice, Jada, Brianna and some others… A number of guys also approach you, take you to dance, buy you drinks and you end up with a few new phone numbers in your contact list. You party like you haven’t in a while and like you didn’t think women your age still did, which is stupid… You’ve been so caught up in the routine of your relationship with Eddie that you’ve forgotten there’s a whole world spinning out there.

An exciting and fun world.

“Hey,” the familiar voice reaches your ear and makes you smile as you’re on the dance floor with the girls. The metal hand curls around your belly and pulls you before your back brushes against his chest, “Having fun?” Bucky asks, lips on your ears.

“Yes, so much.” You tilt your head and place your hands over his while his hips sway with yours.

“Hummm,” he pulls you closer and runs the tip of his nose over the length of your neck, “I’m glad.”

“However…” you sigh, loving how his hips move in rhythm with yours, “I think I’m ready to continue our other party at home.”

“Funny,” he chuckles and his tongue darts out before he swiftly brushes it against your neck. It’s quick and very discreet, but enough to set your core into flames, “I was thinking the exact same thing.”

With that, you promptly let go of him and proceed to say goodbye to the girls. They all tell their farewells and wishes to see you again soon with knowing and excited looks.

~~~

“You were right, I had so much fun.” You wrap an arm around his elbow as you walk side by side through the streets of New York. The bar isn’t that far from your condo and when he suggested a walk back home you thought it was a good idea to check on the lively corners of the city, even with the heels. Also, he offered his leather jacket against the cold, which you promptly accepted.

“Oh, yeah, nightlife in New York nowadays is something we shouldn’t take for granted,” he smiles down at you, “And yeah, you had fun alright, I know there are a few extra numbers in your phone,” he winks.

You analyze his face and when you understand there’s nothing but playful teasing behind it, you answer, “Oh, yeah, oh my God,” you shake your head, “That was unexpected but fun. I might delete them all, though, things might get complicated and I’m not looking for any kind of complications right now.”

He smiles, seemingly satisfied for you taking him out of the complicated category. “You and the girls seemed to get along real fine, too,” he comments.

“They’re really great,” you nod, getting cozier in his arm as a gust of wind hits you, “They all think very highly of you, by the way,” you let the smirk in your lips tell him what you mean.

“I work hard for that, sweetheart.” He chuckles and wiggles his eyebrows at you.

You let out a laugh, “That you do.” You look up at him from under your lashes, before whispering, “I can’t wait to see you working hard.”

He halts his pace, making you abruptly stop with him. You shoot him a questioning look, as he gazes down at you, his face lightening up like the best of ideas has just crossed his mind. Without further notice he unwraps his arm from yours and takes your hand instead, pulling you with him at a faster pace as he turns on the corner, changing the course that would lead to your home.

“Hey,” you call out, as you try not to trip on your heels as he pulls you, deflecting from the other patrons and leading the way, “What the hell are you doing?”

He looks back at you with that sinful smile of his, “Don’t wanna leave you waiting.”

Something flips inside your stomach in anticipation at his statement and, as he turns around a few corners, the streets seem to get less busy. When you reach a particular spot, he checks each side, like surveying the area before pulling you to a dark alleyway you haven’t even seen before.

As soon as you out of the street he pins you against the wall and crashes his lips on yours, shoving his leg between yours to keep you in place with the help of the firm grip of his metal hand on your hips.

Like a puppet on his strings you wrap your arms around his neck and respond to the inebriant kiss immediately even if you’re still astonished by it all and when he squeezes one of your tits through the fabric of your dress and his mouth leaves your mouth to drag kisses over your neck, you tilt your head to see the light peeking from the streets, so close to where you’re both standing.

“Bucky…” a gasp swallows your words for a second as he presses his thigh harder against your pussy, “What the hell, someone can see us,” you remind him, knowing exactly where this will lead if you don’t stop him now. You can already feel the pool of heat in your lower body as he playfully nibbles on your lower lip before going back to your neck.

“Isn’t it exciting, to think someone can spot us while I have my dick inside you.” He licks a long stripe from your neck to behind your ear.

The mention of his dick makes you let out a wanton moan, but you’re not won over yet, “It’s a fucking dark alley in the middle of the night in New York City, Bucky. We will be murdered here.”

At this, all of his enticing movements pause, and he dips his head back with an offended glare at you, “Do I have to remind you who you’re literally fucking with?” he asks, outrage all over his voice, “The Winter Fucking Soldier, White Wolf and shit… the strongest Avenger,” he chant the names and you can’t help but chuckle a bit, “Don’t worry,” leans over to resume from where he stopped, “I can fuck you and protect you at the same time.”

You need no more convincing since that’s actually damn hot and you’re more than sold to the exciting game when he flips you over and kneels down behind you. Listening to your own erratic heartbeats prompted by the electrifying danger of it all, you sprawl your hands on the wall as he sinks his hands under your dress and pulls your underwear down your legs, placing it in his pocket once you step out of it.

He bunches your dress up high enough to give him room and you shudder and sucks in a breath as he props one kiss, then another on the back of each of your thighs, “Try to be quiet…” he says, but swiftly adds, “Not too quiet, though, I love to hear you.”

With that he spreads your legs a little farther and sinks his tongue into the apex of your thighs from behind. Your jaw drops and your knees buckle as he holds your hips still against his face. While his tongue curls around your sensitive pussy your mind blanks and you whimper, trying to suppress a moan, not forgetting you’re right in the open air of New York. Your hips roll against his face, seeking for more friction to untie the knot forming inside you.

But too soon he ceases contact and stands up. You express your disappointment with a whine, face snapping to glare at him behind you.

He’s wearing a smirk on his face as he grabs another condom from his pocket. You wonder how many he has in stash, “You wanted to come on my mouth, didn’t you?” he teases, holding the package between his teeth as he unbuckles his pants.

“Of course,” you shamelessly admit under your breath.

“I know sweetheart… But my dick is aching for you, too,” letting his pants and boxes fall along his legs, he unleashes his hard cock and proceeds on putting on the condom, throwing the plastic package aside, “I was prepping you for it,” he continues, eyes fastened on yours as he speaks, “You want it, don’t you? You want my dick? Come all over it?”

You lick your lips and your gaze falls to look at his rock hard cock, feeling your wetness dripping down your inner thighs. Now that’s an offer you can’t refuse, “Yes, I wanna soak that fucking dick,” you groan, not caring how tacky all the dirty talk may be, since it all sounds sexy as fuck now, clouding all of your senses.

“Shit… take it then, sweetheart.” Guiding his cock with his hand, he pulls your hips and in one single shove he’s inside you.

You let out a silent cry and rest your cheek on your hand against the wall, as the other reaches down to your clit, to help ease down the sumptuous twists inside your core as he pounds into you.

The sounds and lights of the cars passing by on the street right next to you reminds you how exposed you are and fuck if you’re not gonna come quicker than you ever did as Bucky holds your hips with both of his hands, moving them as fast as he pleases, thrusting them back against his cock. You can feel the fire reaching its peak inside you.

“So fucking wet,” he whispers, breathing hard as he fucks any remaining signs of better judgement out of you and you know it won’t be long for him, either.

You let out a loud moan and it prompts him to pull you pressed against his chest and cover your mouth with his hand, “Shhh.” His hot breath coats your ear and your head falls back on his shoulder as he keeps the delicious pounding of his cock inside you with no hint of mercy.

The damn alley spins around you and you wish you weren’t wearing his leather jacket now as the beads of sweat run down your forehead.

He must’ve heard something in advance because right at that moment a group of people walk by the sidewalk, chatting and laughing. All they have to do is to glance to the side and spot you two in that interesting situation. The danger, the fact that you’re so exposed while Bucky dicks you down against the wall out in the open triggers your orgasm and you let out a strangled sound, muffed by his hand, as the shocks of pleasure washes over your body and weakens your limbs.

“Shit,” Bucky whispers against your cheeks and his cock pulses inside you, reacting to your cunt squeezing and soaking his cock as you reach your climax.

You wanna feel that again and acting under the influence of a rush of boldness, you reach behind between the two of you and gently massages his bouncing balls. You feel the pulsating of his cock between your walls again and that cheeky move of yours makes him come undone. You only wish that the group is far enough to not hear the reckless and loud moan that slips out of his lips against your ear, his whole body tensing against yours.

As you fight to catch your breath and his hand leaves your mouth to descend to one of your breasts, a long line of courses is recited in your ear before you can feel his body finally relaxing.

Your eyes flutter shut when you sense the brush of his lips on your neck. The next words he breathes against your heated skin makes you beam, loving that he says that while his cock is still buried deep into you, like a damn reward.

“Congratulations on your promotion, sweetheart.”

~~~

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clean-bands-dirty-stories · 5 years

Text

Birds ~ Stan Uris (Part 5)

A/n: Been a while since I wrote this. I'm in love with this series, man...

MASTERLIST

Alone here with the doves, the sparrows, the ospreys, the owlets, the eaglets, and my list! It's just me and Mr. Finch, the robins, the kingfishers, the snipes- though I heard they don't exist!

For the first time ever, Stan could sit still less than Richie. The fact alone that someone was moving, fidgeting, and talking more than Richie was shock enough but the fact that it was STAN who was doing so, it made it even more worrying. Easily said, each of the Losers knew that there was something wrong.

They had all gone out to lunch and Stan had not stopped talking to Richie, seeming to have simply too much energy for his body to handle, using talking to defuse the amount as he had seen Richie do plenty of times. The hyperactive Tozier might be obnoxious at times but he had a fairly good handle on his excess energy, so Stan chose to follow in his footsteps. He hadn’t had any other example of someone hyperactive dealing with it any other way so he didn’t know what else to do even if he had been too stubborn to follow in Richie’s footsteps. But that was beside the point.

Bill stood as their number was called. “Stan, come help me grab the food?”

Thankful for the second option of something to do with his body, Stan shot to his feet, nodding and his head and, as an after thought, adding a calm smile that was border lining on the spastic grin Richie would wear constantly. Bill shot looks at his friends before following after Stan, who had taken initiative to push ahead.

When they got the counter, Bill tugged on Stan’s arm to get his attention. “Is everything okay, Stan the Man?” The redhead asked.

Stan shrugged, playing it off. “Yeah, of course.”

Bill rose an eyebrow. “Stanley, you’re... acting like Richie.” Color drained from Stan’s face. If it was really so painfully obvious, there was no way he could play this off. “What’s wrong?” Bill repeated, the expression on his face tender and concerned.

Giving in, Stan sighed and rested his elbows on the counter. “I don’t know.”

That was half true. He had suspicions and ideas. He’d had dreams and felt certain words on the tip of his tongue. It had been too long since Y/n had come bird watching, and now they weren’t even hanging out with the Losers at all so even though their schedules had freed up, Stan didn’t see Y/n ever at all. He was desperately trying not to accept that he was feeling what he was feeling, but it was getting increasingly difficult. Especially now, meeting Bill’s eyes. The look in the tall boy’s baby blues was piercing, as if Bill had looked into his soul, read his mind, already knew everything, and was simply waiting for Stan to realize and admit it too. It was the same look Bill would get on his face when he would think about Georgie or start overthinking when one of their schemes would go wrong, trying to figure out where he failed. Quiet, pensive - desperate even - and so very serious that it made Bill look... older.

Stan looked away, refusing to open up anymore because he knew that Bill had him on the edge and with one breath, Stan would fall. Or perhaps Stan had already fallen, simply closing his eyes and plugging his ears and pretending he wasn’t. In that scenario, then, Stan supposed that Bill was simply at the top of the cliff he had fallen off of, screaming at him to wake up and prepare for impact so Stan wouldn’t get hurt.

The thing was, he was sure the Losers were neither oblivious nor stupid. Ever since Stan and Y/n began hanging out, there was a distinct dynamic change. Stan was softer, smiling more and stealing long, warm glances in Y/n’s direction. He’d loosened up and relaxed, Y/n’s cheer tending to ease him and lighten him up rather than put him on edge with distrust or annoyance like before. Not being around his little personal bundle of sunlight had made him gloomy and dark and he was so unaccustomed to feeling such emotions and being so completely transparent. The Losers knew what he was feeling and why, as much as he knew. Except they weren’t desperately trying to deny it...

What Bill next shattered all of the rest of Stan’s attempts at walls and barriers and mental pockets of darkness he was trying to hide in. “You’re in love with them." Stan’s breath stopped in his throat and his eyes flew wide in the little comparative scenario of him free falling- now he was only too aware of how fast he was falling and how close the source of impact was.

He panicked, shooting up straight backed and red faced, glaring at Bill with defensive anger. "I am not!” Bill sighed, long and low and exhausted. The same piercing blue eyes turned on Stan, meeting his own brown with a face that was much more fitting for his age. Really Stan? He seemed to be asking. Are you really going to lie to us both? Stan bit his lip, shifting from foot to foot to try and think of a way to block it out again, but now that he was aware and awake there was simply no going back. His body charged with adrenaline and all his fear and panic turned to the need to do something. Do something now. Anything. He could run a marathon. His wild eyes turned to Bill, wildly mad as he softly asked, “What if I am?"

Bill’s smile returned as the boy chuckled. “You need to be sure, Stan the Man. You can’t go off of their confidence,” he began, nodding in the direction of the Losers. “And you can’t go off of mine. Y/n has to see YOUR confidence.”

Stan gulped, his feet tapping in his anxiousness to do something NOW. “How can I know for sure?”

For a second Bill just sat and thought before grabbing their food and making their way back towards th Losers, getting out of the way as anther order’s number was called. Stan dutifully helped him. Stan was nervous that they would get to the table before Bill had come up with a clear solution, including everyone in their conversation and making him feel even more invaded than he already did. Bill made sure to slow their steps though, pausing halfway between the counter and the table before nodding very seriously to Beverly and Eddie, who nodded back just as grimly and shot up to come get the food. Their friends grabbed the food from them and returned to the table again and it was almost comical how grim and serious the whole exchange was. Just as Stan was about to explode, Bill turned to him. “How do they make you feel?”

Almost too quickly Stan had an answer. “Safe.” He jerked, surprised at the word that had come from his own mouth. “They’re... warm. Bright. They adapt, making sure whoever they’re around is in a good place but also happy. Selfless and kind.” Stan blushed and he felt like choking himself to death. “At first I...” A shine caught his eye and Stan’s eyes moved to the glint of sunlight against the side of car through the diner window. “I thought they were sunshine. Warm but harsh and dangerous to get close to and even damaging to look at. Too bright, and too warm. Suffocating, like in the summer...” He struggled. “But... but they’re more like...” He grunted, realizing that Ben would probably have no problem explaining his words without all the metaphors and awkwardness. He wondered if he would get better at communicating once he was older. “They’re like the moon,” Stan finally settled. “Enough light to guide and comfort, letting you see the world around you. But actually quite cool to the touch, adding an almost angelic glow to the world and just shimmering and shining and... beautiful...” He blinked, knocking out of thoughts and looking back and Bill. “Yeah.”

Bill chuckled. “What do you think, Stan? Verdict?”

It came so easily that it almost knocked Stan off his feet, just like when he had answered ‘safe’ before. “I love them.”

A grin so bright it would put the stars to shame light up Bill's face and Stan wondered how this boy could be so simultaneously brooding and thoughtful as well as so lighthearted and bright. He was so intense... “What are you going to do about it?"

Stan’s face set as his eyes landed on the door. “I’ll-“ He cut off, unsure again. Once he said it, there was no going back. Once he took that first step he'd start running and he would be able to stop himself.

“Go!” Bill urged, hands pushing softly against the frozen, curl haired boy as he chuckled softly, rolling his eyes.

Stan didn’t have to be told a second time. He was off, suddenly using all of that pent up need to move and go and do something to run, set on finding Y/n before his courage drained and he couldn’t find the power to tell them. To finally tell them. Everything.

Each little species and it's little way can teach me what awaits you if you can get away. I wanna watch the birds do what they will- sorry if I'm ornithologically prone.

He checked everywhere his frantic brain could think of. The library, where they usually hide out with Ben. The arcade, where they hang with Richie. The field and under the bleachers where they sometimes disappear with Beverly if either of them need a one on one talk about whatever they don't feel comfortable telling the other Losers. The Kissing Bridge that they walk to with Bill, stopping because it's always on their route no matter which path they take to walk. The Pharmacy, where Y/n sometimes set camp at in a corner alone in the back, finding solace there ever since Eddie started working. Y/n never wanted to bother the boy during a shift but they were like suxh close siblings and sometimes Y/n just really needed to see him or be close enough to hear his voice.

He checked at Mikes farm where Y/n got along with Mike's grandfather just enough to be trusted to go in the barn and be with the animals simply because all they did was read and take comfort in the presence other living beings... usually Y/n was with Stan but it had happened one or two times that Y/n had come alone and as long as they didn't bother anyone Mike's grandfather didn't care because not even he could really hate Y/n. He checked the special place at the park they always went to bird watch, wondering if maybe they'd gone while sure that Stan wouldn't be around.

He checked all of the places that Y/n hung out, realizing that he was surprised to see Y/n kept themself busy, having a different, special spot with each of the Losers. Bill and Y/n even had two places- the other spot was Bill's house (a far less favorite, but more comfortable) where they would sit in his room and plan or tell each other stories, or in his living room where they would watch movies after which they would promptly return to Bill's room to plan any sort of adventure in the woods (this was usually where they dragged the other Loser's into the scenario, which is when things usually got messy). Stan didn't bother checking there though. In fact he didn't know why he bothered checking in any of the usual places Y/n hung out with the Losers- none of the locations were special without the companion that Y/n was usually at the location with.

If Y/n wanted to be alone, they would go somewhere that was safe and special to them alone.

No, he was thinking like himself. Stan got off of his bike, exhausted as he tried to think like Y/n, running a hand through his hair - which, ironically, is a habit he picked up from Y/n, since he hated to mess up his hair with the action - and trying to ignore the wind blown feeling of the curly strands.

Y/n doesn't like to be alone. The people at the arcade or the library. Taking comfort in the animals or Eddie at the pharmacy. If they were forced to be alone, they would...

His eyes snapped in the direction of the woods.

They would go somewhere where they had enough familiarity or memories to make them not feel alone.

He was running again, pushing through his exhaustion despite his being unfit and not used to this much exercise. He did it though. He ran home, which was on the way, to grab his bike, and then he biked all the way to where he KNEW Y/n just had to be. The one place that was so packed with memories that just looking at it felt like everyone was there and with you. The Losers had marked it theirs in every way, stuffing it full of trouble and fun, so tightly wound together that sometimes it became hard to decide where one ended and the other began. The one place that never changed, staying full of sound and smells that was as much part of the Losers as the people in the club.

The Quarry.

When he reached his destination, he dropped his bike and jogged up the hill that lead to the cliff's edge. He didn't see Y/n anywhere at the bottom and the top was a better place to be anyway, since it offered a breeze and a distance from the water, as well as a great view of the surrounding area. Despite what he knew about the Quarry and Y/n, what he found at the top stopped him dead in his tracks.

They sat there, legs crossed, sitting on a blanket. Their red ice box was next to them, closed. On the blanket was a ssandwich sitting on a plastic zip lock bag and on top of the ice box was a clear water bottle that was reaching empty. But what really had him stopped stiff was what Y/n had in their hands. Binoculars. Their eyes were turned to the skies and they sat still, eyes squinted. They were... bird watching.

Stan smiled softly. Heaven he really was in love with them, huh? He stepped closer but despite all the noise he had made, it hadn't been enough to even distract Y/n from the task they were focused on. "Hey," he said softly, trying to catch their attention.

Y/n spun around, body twisting with wife eyes. It looked like they'd nearly had a heart attack and Stan had to swallow a laugh. "Oh geeze Stan, you scared me!"

He couldn't not laugh at that. Y/n grew a soft smile on their face and when it grew quiet again and their eyes met, their expressions matched in a warm softness that seemed to hit Y/n hard where it hurt. Their hands dropped into their lap, their eyes moving to the ground and their smile falling away to a pained frown. Stan felt suddenly terrible. What if he'd totally ruined it with Y/n? What if they'd friend zoned him? Or worse, what if they didn't even want to be friends anymore? "...Y/n, I'm... I..." He struggled like he did when he was trying to talk to Bill. An idea struck him and he looked away from Y/n's face to a little stretch of sunlight falling against the ground next to his foot from where it had filtered through the tree tops above. "It's been weird, without you," he croaked out. "I don't know what you did but not having you there to annoy me isn't right." He looked up again, gripping his courage to say what he wanted to next while looking Y/n in the face. "I can't enjoy anything anymore."

There was a second's pause where Y/n looked at him for a very long time. It was quiet, but pleasantly so. Soon their smiles both came back. Shy and curious. It wasn't the time for either to divulge how they felt, but they both knew that this wasn't the end. Not for them. Y/n pat the spot on the blanket next to them. "I've missed you too Stan. Join me? I have juice." They reached in their ice box to grab out a second sandwich and a juice box and Stan was touched to realize Y/n had prepared to bird watch with him even though they had no reason to believe that on this day of all days he would hunt them down and join them.

He moved closer, taking the offerings and settling into his spot on the blanket. "I'd love to." The rest of the day they burd watched, the new experience melting away meteorites if the last one and making the most calm, warm atmosphere.

There was something. Something so wonderful and delicious and exciting and new and amazing; something so close it nearly drove both of them crazy. But neither would acknowledge the thing yet. They didn't want to ruin what they had now with figuring out what they could have later. It would have to wait for another time.

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