#I also worked at the state college for awhile

[vancouvery]

Vito’s is just a hair over the line from Baltimore City. Towson isn’t a small hometown it’s the county seat of Baltimore County and is a nest of lawyers, a state college a private college two hospitals a mental hospital private prep schools a giant mall a boutique mall, doctors, a YMCA a killer public library Catholics out the wazoo and a bunch of rich people. Lest you get the wrong idea.

[gracieheartspedro]

Cotton Mouth

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 6.6k

description: you need a new dealer and you know a guy through the unfortunate grapevine you used to be wrapped up in. but I mean... the banter is great, and you cannot help but fall for him. but don't fret, he feels the same way.

warnings: MDNI! 18+ only pls, marijuana use is a huge theme, reader smokes, reader is 19/20 and so is eddie, eddie is a drug dealer, major flirting and banter, mentions of cults, mentions of human sacrifice and blood/sex rituals, eddie and reader jokingly call him 'leader', pet names (sweetheart, baby), reader gets cotton mouth, unprotected p-in-v, eddie cums inside, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, oral (m!receiving), choking (m!receiving)

author’s note: what the fuck am i doin' here you ask? good question. I don't know. but I'm glad this is not rotting my brain. i like writing for eddie!!! he makes me blush!!! shut up!!! okay, anyway, thank you @amanitacowboy like always for helping me beta this and also being so encouraging every time i get obsessed with writing something. bitches really be moaning for this one.

also happy birthday, joe. ha ha ha.....

how to help palestine ~ dividers by @cafekitsune

You never expected to contact Eddie Munson for your drug needs. 

When your dealer skips town because of suspicion of drug smuggling over state lines, you call up your former best friend’s ex boyfriend to give you your usual. 4 grams to last you through your stressful work week and to make sure your tolerance does not drastically fall to the lowest of lows. 

You had not been in school for two years and you knew that Eddie had successfully dropped out the year prior. After a chaotic last year, he was basically a recluse, only dealing to his usual clients. Luckily, you were still friends with Gareth, who in turn, put you in contact with Eddie again. 

After a humiliating senior year, you had practically become a recluse as well. You found a job at the Sheriff’s office where you sat at a desk all day and filed paper work, hardly talking to anyone. You would go back to your parent’s house and smoke weed until the sun set and then you would do it all over again. 

You hated this stupid life you fell into since you neglected to go to college, so you numbed the anxieties with marijuana. 

That’s where Eddie comes in. 

You meet him by Lover’s Lake. A picnic table that you used to sit at as a small child and play in the lake with your cousins and friends. The air is crisp, the leaves falling all around you. He pulls up in his rickety old van and stumbles out with his usual smirk. 

“Fancy seein’ you here,” He practically giggles as he settles across from you at the table. He was the same Eddie you remembered from senior year. His hair is a bit longer, but still cut in the same way. Long frizzy curls with long bangs across his forehead. His style is the same, as well. Ripped black jeans and random torn up metal band t-shirt. The rings were a bit excessive now, but the silver jewelry matched the chain on his pants. He was coordinated at the very least. “Hey, Munson,” You smirk, finally relaxing your shoulders. “Been awhile.” “Yeah, last I saw you was the night Lori dumped my ass,” He says it so blase, not really noting your tonal shift, “Good times.” Your heart sinks hearing your former best friend’s name fall from his lips. You glance down at the carvings on the wooden table, trying to disguise your disgust. He notices your demeanor shift. “Sorry, didn’t mean to bring her up. Gareth told me about-” You don’t want to hear it. You don’t want to hear about how she fucked up your life, your plans, your former relationship, anything. Rehashing it led nowhere for you. You put your hand in the air, signaling him to stop speaking. “She fucked my boyfriend, yep,” You state bluntly, finally glancing up at him. “You’re selling me weed, right?”

Eddie’s eyes widen at your rush to change the subject, instantly going back to the reason he was actually sitting in front of you. As much as he wanted to chat with his long time secret crush, he knew that you were only here for one thing. He could tell the personal topic was not on the table. 

“Right, this is not therapy,” He practically whispers to himself. He pulls out a baggie of weed, more than 4 grams for sure. “Got this much. How much do you want?”

You scope out the baggie. The bud looked good, the same color as the last stuff you used to get from the random guy down the street from you. It’s not that you did not trust Eddie, you just were hesitant towards most guys in Hawkins. You had been screwed so many times. “I usually got 4 grams from my last dealer.” He nods, pulling open the bag and pulling out a couple pieces of the bud. He seems to be just eyeballing, which worries you. You know how much 4 grams looks like, so you watch him with a careful eye. “You know how much that is?” “Yes, I can usually eyeball it. Don’t you worry, sweetheart.” The nickname sends butterflies shooting through your tummy. You look up from his fingers, up to his neck, where you spot a couple hickies. You smirk, shaking your head at the idea Eddie’s getting girls. It was such a shift from his early high school days, when you knew him. Back then, he was such a nervous loser that he could hardly land your friend. You always thought she dated him because she pitied him. You had no clue he was only acting like that because he secretly wanted you, not her. 

You watch him put the distributed bud in a baggie for you. “I’ll do $8 per gram, for you. Dealer’s discount.”

You raise your eyebrows, looking at the overstuffed bag. “$32?”

He looks up at you, a goofy smile on his face. “She’s a math whiz, how cute.”

If your eyes could roll out of your head, they would in that moment. He was always snarky. You enjoyed it though. You always loved bickering with him because it would usually end with you two in a fit of giggles. He never took you seriously, and you vice versa. You pull your wallet out of your black leather purse and pull out two twenty dollar bills. “Here’s $40.”

He hands you the baggie as you hand him the cash. You hand pulls away a bit, but his lingers on the bag, keeping your hand close to his. The action is dragged out, a bit too long for comfort. You glance at him, noticing his dropping smile. 

“You haven’t changed a bit.” You do not know if it’s a jab or a compliment. You tilt your head at him, trying to see if his face changes at all at your discontent. But he still has a half-smirk painted across his stupidly cute face. You yank your hand away with the plastic bag, slamming it on the wooden tabletop. “God, I hope I have. I used to be flat chested and annoying.” He throws his head back in laughter, enjoying the slight fun you poke at yourself. You never noticed how loud and booming his laugh is until you two are outside, alone in the quiet woods. “Still funny,” He chuckles, shutting his metal lunch box of goodies, “Never annoying.” You bite your lip, trying to refrain from entertaining the conversation further, but you cannot help yourself. “But still flat chested?”

More giggles, this time more toned down, due to the fact that he’s now looking down at your chest. “Jury’s out on that one.”

You smile, trying not to let on that you are actually enjoying this interaction even when it started off a bit rocky. You tuck your baggie of weed into your purse, making sure it’s buried underneath all your random necessities. You look back at him and he’s still eyeing you with a cocky grin. 

“Well, it was nice doin’ business with you, Munson. Do you mind if I,” You lick your lips, contemplating if you should refrain the question. You stick to your original formulated word vomit, “call you again if I need a reup?” His eyes twinkle at the idea of you calling him. “Sure thing. As long as I get to call you if I’m in need of some conversation.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, completely taken aback from his up front suggestion. You did not mind the idea of talking to him more. Frankly, you needed a friend that was not your high school aged sister. You hadn’t been successful making any new friends. This was your way to do so. 

“I’ll talk to you tonight, then?” His smirk drifts, “Sure thing, sweetheart.”

-

You are smoking a bowl when your landline in your phone starts ringing loudly. You haphazardly stand up and rush to it, picking it up in 5 seconds flat. 

“Hello?” When he clears his throat, you know who it is immediately. “Evenin’, princess.”

You smirk, letting some of the smoke out of your lungs. “Who’s this?”

You can imagine the grin plastered across his face as he responds. He had a very good smile. 

“The boogeyman.” You play into the antics. You do not know any better, “Eddie Munson! What are you doin’ callin’ me at this hour?”

“Just callin’ to see if you smoked the stuff yet?”

You breathe out and inhale to clear your lungs before you start coughing directly in his ear.

“Sure am, right this very second.”

His dry chuckle sends shockwaves through your body. “Is it good enough for you?” You wrap your phone’s cord around your finger as you start pacing your bedroom. You used to do this type of thing when you were on the phone with a boy you liked as a teen. Was this not the same thing?

“So far, so good. I will report back if there’s anything awry.”

He’s quiet for a moment which makes your stomach a bit uneasy. “Well… I’m about to start lighting up myself, you mind keeping me company?”

-

Eddie calls you every time he smokes. For four days straight. 

You two talk about everything. The way you hated your job. The way he hates living with his uncle still. You both vent your frustrations about the state of the world while smoking a bong or a bowl, giggling from time to time when one of you chokes on the smoke. It was usually always him. 

By day four, you were on your last pack in your bowl that morning. You smoked before work, hoping the bloodshot eyes would not raise any eyebrows. 

When Eddie calls that night and you are not smoking with him, he gets worried. “Taking a break, sweetheart?” “I smoked my last bit this morning.” The confession rattles him. You told him before that you would let him know when you needed more. He feels like he’s neglected your needs. And Eddie hates feeling like a failure, especially for you. 

“Do you need me to drop by with more?” 

You have not had a boy in your room since your stupid cheating ex. The idea of having Eddie coming over makes your stomach twist. And while you were a grown woman and graduated, you still lived with your parents. Having him in your childhood bedroom felt childish, embarrassing. You glance around your room, thinking of all the judgments he would pass looking at the posters on your wall. 

But this was Eddie. The nerd, Dungeons and Dragons playing, drug dealing, metal head. 

Your Rob Lowe poster would be the last of his concerns, you think.

“Do you even remember where I live?” Was the dumbest question to follow up with, but it’s the one you chose to go with. 

“Yeah, right off Sanders. I drove you home when I first got my car, remember? You and Lori-” You cut him off, already jogging your own memory. You did not need to think about her again. “Right! Yeah… if you want to stop by and… hang out, I could use a reup. My p-parents aren’t home tonight.”

He’s silent on the other end for a brief beat. “Are you inviting me over for a sleepover? Should I bring my jammies, princess?”

He was always such a sarcastic asshole. But you could not help but laugh. “Yeah, bring yourself your own pillow and blanket, too. Don’t want you laying on mine.” “So we aren’t sharing your bed?”

You groan, acting annoyed with his comments and questions. “Just get your ass over here, Munson.” “I’ll be there in 10.”

-

He’s sat across the room in your giant red bean bag chair. He seems so at ease out of his usual environment. You watch him use the wooden stool you have had since you were a child as a way to prep his bong for you to hit it. 

You sit on the edge of your bed, your hands wedged between your legs nervously. He finally looks up at you, noting your odd positioning. “You good, sweetheart?”

You shake your head back and forth, “I’m good. Just… need to smoke.”

He gestures out a black lighter for you, bowing his head. “Come hither.”

You stand up, grabbing the lighter and sitting criss cross in front of the stool where he has set up shop. The glassware looks surprisingly clean. You pick it up slowly, not wanting to mess up the pack or drop it due to your nerves. Eddie watches you, his eyebrows furrowed a bit. 

“You’re psyching me out.” He mutters, dusting his bangs away from his forehead a bit. Before he set up, you made sure to open your window right above him so the smoke would escape and not stink up your entire house. Your parents did not care all that much, but you did it out of respect. You did not need to rock the boat. 

“Sorry,” You bring the mouthpiece up to your lips, holding the neck. You had made the mistake of holding the base before and burnt the fuck out of yourself. You light the bowl piece, burning the weed as you suck in. When it bubbles enough, you pick up the piece to inhale. Once the smoke hits your throat and lungs, you try to not cough. But the burn hurts and you let loose. You put the bong down on the stool, lurching forward to cough until your lungs could recoup. 

“Jesus, princess. Never heard you cough so much,” He grabs the bong, inhaling the remaining smoke from your hit. You try not to laugh, mostly due to the fact that your throat feels like it’s on fire. “I don’t use bongs.”

He giggles at that before he puts the mouthpiece up to his lips and finishes off the bowl. 

He makes it look so easy, his Adam's apple bobbing as he inhales and slowly exhales the smoke. Once he does the one hit, he sits back in the bean bag, making a loud swoosh sound. 

“That’s gonna get me high quick, damn,” You say, already feeling the lightness behind your eyes. Your high usually started in your head, moving slowly down to your limbs, all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes. You were also always sporting bloodshot eyes and cottonmouth. Eddie grins as he relaxes into the chair. “We can smoke some more if need be. I have prerolls, too.” You walk to the opposite side of the room, pulling on the other random bean bag that you have stored in your room. You are almost positive this is the one your sister tore a hole in, but you needed something to sit on. You prop it right next to Eddie and the stool, settling in and staring at the ceiling.

“What do you do after you smoke?” You pose, trying to start light conversation so you did not spiral in front of him. You were not used to smoking with another person, so you had some unnecessary nerves. “You want honesty?” His voice breaks a bit before he clears his throat. As he says this, you realize the room is uncharacteristically quiet. To hide further conversation, you stand up and head to your record player. The resting record on the turntable is Fleetwood Mac, so that would just have to do. You turn it on, resting the needle on the edge of the record. The music flows through the room as you turn your head towards him. He has this shit-eating grin that could only hint that he does something mischievous or inappropriate.

“Yeah, go on.”

He first acts like he is thinking for a moment, but he knows his exact next words. They are on the very tip of his tongue, but he just wants to see if you pester him forward. The cat and mouse game seemed to be you two’s specialty at this point. He clears his throat, “I usually just jerk off.” You give him a disdainful glance, trying not to feel the knots tying themselves in the base of your stomach. “You’re gross.” “You asked!” You move the chair closer to him as you sit and lay back, “And hey, that’s not gross. Everyone does it.” You snort, turning your nose away from him. “You could have lied.” “What’s the fun in lying? I don’t lie to my friends.”

You would be lying if you said you did not like to hear that he considers you a friend. But teasing Eddie was your favorite hobby. “Oh, so we are friends?”

He shrugs, his face a bit twisted. “I’d like to think so.”

“Oh, okay.”

It is such a bland comment, you can tell he is squirming in his chair. He leans forward, pulling a baggie out of his pocket. You watch him place three pre rolls on the stool next to the bong. 

“What, you think I’m a freak like everyone else does?” As he says it, you watch him put a pre roll between his lips and fumble with the lighter, “It’s the hair, isn’t it?”

Eddie’s reputation was a pivotal part of why you liked him more than everyone else at school. He liked what he liked and did not bend to anyone’s rules. He liked Dungeons and Dragons and the darker undertones of it. He dressed in all black and enjoyed the heavy metal. He was born and bred to be an outcast. 

And you loved it. 

You had to hide a good part of yourself from the outside world because your Bible Belt town would reprimand you if you dressed how you actually wanted to. You would have been ostracized by your friends you had known your whole life. 

So you put on the stupid act of being normal and wore what was in fashion. You only liked the things you did in private. 

“People think you are weird because of that Satanic shit they think you believe in,” You state, watching him take a drag from the joint. You pay attention to one of his rings specifically. A silver pig head, wrapped around his left middle finger. When your eyes flicker back to his, he takes note of you staring at his hands. “Oh, so you don’t think I’m a crazy satanist that deals drugs and is starting a blood drinking cult?” “If you were, I think we would have been way closer friends.”

The way you say it so matter-of-factly piques Eddie’s interest. He knew all along you were different. That’s why he liked you so much. Why he chose to mess around your best friend instead is forever a mystery. But he had now to make up for it. “Oh, so you’d be in my cult, that I’m actually starting?” He rasps, offering you the joint. You gladly accept it, bringing it to your lips before you respond. 

“For sure,” You exhale some smoke, eyes roaming all over his face. “What does this cult entail?”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His face is inches from yours and he tones down his voice, like you two are passing secrets. You extend the joint back to him, letting his fingertips grace yours as he grabs it. “Bunch of outcast freaks that wear robes and do insane rituals.” You scoff, thinking out the hypotheticals of this cult, “Human sacrifice, type shit?”

“No cult has ever been successful without some human sacrifice, princess,” His grin grows across his face as he scans you up and down. ”So, are you in?”

The weed only makes you bolder, bringing your body even closer, “Sounds like a great time to me.”

“Oh, it will be. You, me, some fuckin’ weirdos I find off the streets. Maybe you can be my right-hand woman. May need someone else to keep them all in check.”

His head shifts to look between your eyes and lips. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “You not capable of doin’ that all by yourself?”

“Maybe,” He drags out the last syllable, ticking his tongue, “Just thought you’d wanna help is all.”

The thought sends shivers down your spine. But you try to act like his words have no effect on you, so you swallow shallowly and glance away. You want to say something that will drive him crazy, just to get one up on him. “I mean… I guess. As long as I get paid with a mass amount of drugs and ritualistic sex.” The last part of the sentence has him in a tizzy.

“Oh, that’s a given. You’ll be set for life.”

You clear your throat, the taste of weed reentering your mouth, “I’m hoping you have some good ideas for these rituals. I’m pretty useless.”

But you had plenty of ideas for him. And while you were truly into Eddie, you do not know if you would ever be bold enough to share those ideas out loud. You have read plenty of books, seen enough films, but you could never just outwardly say such obscene things to another person. Eddie’s lips quirk up, “I’ve got plenty of ideas, baby.”

The boldness he shows you gives you a rise. Your heart starts to beat fast, and before you can even really debate your next words, they spill out of your mouth.

“Enlighten me, leader.”

Eddie’s demeanor shifts completely. His brown eyes grow darker as he leans forward towards you, placing his large hand on your thigh. The touch sends goosebumps throughout your entire body, all the way up to your neck. His smirk changes into a mischievous grin.

“Enlighten you? You want me to show you all the things that are rattling around in my brain, sweetheart?”

The song stops and there’s a stillness that fills the room. The tension is thick like the marijuana smoke that radiates around your bedroom’s four walls. You place your hand delicately on top of Eddie’s. 

“Please.” You rasp, your eyes flickering all around his face. His nose, his slightly ajar lips, his doe eyes that show lust instead of innocence.

His hand slips behind the nape of your neck, pulling you closer and closer. Instead of meeting in the middle, you jump the gun pressing yourself closer and closing the gap. You could not stop yourself, you had to feel him against you. When your lips press against him, the sound from your throat brings him to be urgent with his movements.

When his tongue lips past your lips, you start to realize how dry your mouth really was. You always experienced cottonmouth, but with the way you were practically drooling for Eddie’s attention, you are surprised to offer your mouth and tongue to him and find them sticking to the roof of your mouth. 

You pull away, your hand still on his, squeezing it reassuringly, “My mouth is-” “I don’t care,” And he’s pulling you back into his lips. He could not care less if your mouth was dry or if your hair is sticking up weird because of where his hand is placed. He just needed to feel you against him. And you wanted the same.

His hands wrap around your waist, pulling you across his lap. With the new position, you rest your hips on top of him and cradle his jaw with your hands. The kiss turns into him just giving you all of the saliva in his mouth, which you gladly take. His lips move at a perfect drawn-out pace. His hand adds more encouragement to your frenching, traveling all around your sides and hips. You retreat, pulling back for some air.

His eyes never leave yours as you settle onto his thighs as you catch your breath, your shorts riding up to your hips as you slide across him. 

“Tell me if I’m misinterpreting signs, sweetheart.”

You shake your head ‘no’, your arms slowly moving up from his chest to his shoulders. “Nothing to misinterpret, Munson.”

He gives you a smug grin, leaning his back further into the chair. His eyes trace down the curvature of your body, admiring you mounting his lap. 

“Do you need some water? Sorry, I just… you stopped kissing me so suddenly-” You shake your head, cutting him off. “Right above you on the windowsill…that water bottle. Just give me that.”

He steadies you on his lap by resting a firm grip on your waist as he extends his body upward to grab the plastic water bottle. While he shifts, you can feel his hardness against your thighs. Your lips purse in a half grin.

He grabs it, opens it for you, and gestures for you to lean your head back. “I can do it myself, dear,” You retort, trying to reach out for the bottle. He pulls it away, chuckling slyly to himself. “Let me do it.” It is the stupid banter like this that is making you fall so hard for him. Whether it’s the two of you on the phone, or hanging out in person, he always found a way to tease you or pick at you. 

You lean your head back slightly as he pours the perfect amount in your mouth. You swish it around, already feeling a lot better. The dryness will probably come back, but at least you had your own personal water fountain to supply you with more. You watch him screw the cap back on and put it next to him on the floor. His other hand returns to your waist, his touch lowering a bit more to your ass.

“So… you like this, right?” The question is so dumb and forward, you have to give him credit. For crying out loud, you are mounting his lap and wildly making out with him. You cannot help but laugh. “Yeah, dumbass.”

“Okay, good. I like this, too…”

“So…Is this just the sneak preview?” You jab, thinking back to the conversation you two were just having about starting a cult. You are slightly hinting that you would like more, but you do not know how to word it without sounding desperate.

Eddie is so in his own head, he looks at you confused. “What?”

“The ritualistic sex or whatever.”

He lifts you up swiftly, his palms raising you up by your asscheeks. You yelp, holding onto him for dear life. He chuckles as he walks you about 7 steps towards your bed. When he drops you, your arms flail backward to catch yourself landing with a bounce. He does not give you any time to recover, his hands running up the sides of your body, while his hips align with yours. His face breaks into something more mischievous. “Nah, this is just something I’ve wanted to do to you for a long time. The ritualistic sex will involve way more blood.”

You lace your hands around his neck, pulling his face closer to your lips. You completely disregard the blood comment. That is a conversation for another time.  “You’ve wanted to do this for a while?” “Longer than I care to admit.” He captures your lips in another bruising kiss, his hand leaving your hip to cup your face. You eagerly offer your newly wet tongue to his accepting mouth. You are kissing each other like you are trying to suck the life out of him. You both tasted like weed which only added to the intoxication of the exchange. 

Your hands were roaming every part of his upper chest, your hand wrapping so perfectly around his neck and jaw. When he tilts your head back with his thumb to push your face upward so he can access your neck, you release him. He tuts, kissing your neck, “You wanna have your hands around my throat, baby?”

You can feel the wetness rush out of you, soaking your panties at the huskiness of his voice. “If you’re into that.”

He can feel his smile against you, lifting his face up to meet your eyes. 

“Very into that.”

The disposal of clothes happens in rapid succession. You watch him plop down in his boxers, while you have already removed your underwear. His eyes fly open at the realization that you are laying it all out there immediately. You are too high to give a fuck, watching his eyes scan you as you undo your bra in the back. 

“Are you fucking with your underwear on?” He swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing at the question. “Uh, no. I just…” You lower yourself in front of him, feigning innocence as you rub his bare thighs. The tent in his boxers is fully apparent, waiting for you to take it in your hands. “You what? You want me to take them off for you?” His cocky smirk returns in full force. “If you’re into that.”

You notice his teasing tone, repeating your previous statement from moments before. You pull at the waistband of his boxers as he shifts himself so you can release him out of his confides. “Very into that.”

When his cock springs free, you practically gasp. The surprise on your face is all apparent and Eddie loves it. He looks at you through hooded lids, enjoying the sight of you taking him in your hands. You wrap around him so perfectly, jerking him off with slow methodical movements. You tilt forward, pressing your wet lips to his shaft. His lips form into an ‘o’ as you wrap your lips around his dick, taking him gradually into your mouth. He cannot stop staring at your actions. You are quick to switch it up on him when he gets too quiet for your comfort. You speed up your movements, the saliva you are finally making, starts dripping around his cock as you take him further into your throat. 

He slides so easily into your mouth, your high brain keeps thinking ‘God, he’s made for me’. It sounds so insane and a bit delusional, but you loved hearing him whimper as you continued to slurp up and down on his cock. “Oh my god, you’re so fuckin’ good at that,” His voice is dripping with lust, “You keep goin’ and I’m cumming in that mouth.” You do one last slow up and down on him, releasing him from your mouth. “Need you inside me before you cum.”

You give him one last long, lingering lick up his shaft before pressing a tender kiss on the tip. He rolls his eyes back, his lips twisted up in a smile. “Dirty girl.” You stand up on your heels, stepping forward and mounting his lap again. His hands settle on your sides immediately, dragging you closer to him as you side further towards his knees. “You want a condom?” His dilated pupils cannot look away from your core hovering so close to his spit covered cock. “Do we need one?” You tilt his head up with your fingers. “You safe?” “Always.” “Good, then. I take a pill every morning. So unless you’re weird about fuckin’ raw-” He shakes his head, pressing his lips into yours to quiet your ramblings. You return the kiss, moaning into him as you draw your cunt closer to his erection. When you nudge him, he hisses.

“Fuck me how you want, princess.”

You give him a smug expression, lifting yourself up on your knees and reaching between your own legs. You feel for his cockhead, tilting it towards where your entrance is. You lower yourself slowly, eyes catching Eddie’s as he looks up at you. He looks so hot in this light, his jaw clenched, his gaze burning through you, his hair swept back over his shoulders. When his tip graces your core, you practically squeeze him without any penetration.

Once he’s right where you need him, you sink all the way down. The moans you both let out in unison is like music to your ears. You can practically hear your heartbeat in your ears as you lift up again and slam down, his watchful eye observing your actions. When you realize the intrusion will not hurt if you speed up, you push him onto his back. 

He grabs one of your pillows from the top of the bed, his wingspan somehow long enough to do such things. You enjoy watching him prop his head up to observe you, a devious smile on his face. He keeps his hands under his head, like he’s just enjoying the show. You settle your one hand on his stomach, the other on his chest, right below a tattoo of what appears to be a demon head. 

“Your tattoos are so random,” You babble, spreading your fingers over the art.

He tilts his head, still just appreciating the way your tits sit over him. “You are not very good at dirty talk, sweetheart.”

You grimace at his comment, dragging your hips forward which allows your clit some stimulation while he’s inside you. “My apologies. I’ll stick to the normal buzzer words.”

He rolls his eyes initially but once you raise your hips up to bounce on him, he forces his eyes closed. 

You grin, your hands resting a bit further up his chest, slowly creeping your way up to his pretty little neck. His guitar pick necklace is a staple in his appearance, but right now it was just in your way. You continue your movements, finally resting your hand right below his Adam’s apple. He reveals his brown eyes again when you tighten your grip, his expression indicating that he is enjoying you like this.

You are starting to feel weak in your knees as you fuck yourself on him, but you are not a quitter and it feels too good to stop. You balance one hand on his chest, the other one constricting more of his airways. The way he heaves under you sends a shockwave right to your clit. The stimulation is becoming almost too much, but you clench your pelvic muscles, edging yourself.

“Oh my god,” You whine, finally returning to just sliding yourself back and forth on his pelvis, “I’m gonna cum, Eddie.”

You release his throat, allowing him to catch his breath. “I can feel you gripping me so good, baby.”

Eddie moves his hands up your legs, clutching onto the sides of your hips first, before massaging the flesh right below your boobs. When they travel to toy with your nipples, you can feel the urgent flood of your orgasm hit the pit of your stomach. You roll your eyes back, lulling your head back as your hips stutter against his. As you jerk your body across him, you can feel his dick twitching inside you. Your vision is a bit clouded as you fix your gaze back on the man below you. 

You feel his hands roughly grab your hips, practically rag dolling you to the spot next to him. He fixes himself between your legs, slotting his cock back into your cunt. “I’m so close but I need to go at my pace.”

“Eddie, I’m so sensitive,” You mewl, your hands rubbing your eyes to regain some of your normal function back. The endorphins from the sex is intertwining weirdly with the high you already have, which makes your body feel like it’s only a matter of time before you are cumming all over him again. 

“I know, baby, but I know you got more in you. One more? You think you can do that for your leader?”

You gasp when he grinds himself into you. You cannot even say anything back to the horniest thing he has said all night because the feeling of him fully sheathed inside you again has your head spinning. He starts with a slower pace that only speeds up when you are moaning his name over and over again. You then realize, he will, in fact, have you cumming again. 

He reaches up under your knee, slotting it right in the bend of his arm. He slowly starts to raise it up in the air to plow into you from a different angle, stretching you further and further to your limit. His hair is starting to stick to his forehead, as he continues to chase his release. He opens you up some more by spreading your leg out more. You watch as he licks his thumb and stares down at your swollen clit. You know what he’s about to do and you may just lose your mind. He slots his finger right on top of your sensitive bud and presses, rubbing methodical circles. 

“Cum, baby, I know you wanna.”

You gasp, letting the orgasm take over every nerve ending in your body. The way you clench down on him sends him into overdrive. His grunts fill the room, while you are silently writhe under him, unable to catch your breath from the explosion of your climax. The feeling of you seizing around his cock makes him drop your leg lazily and drop on top of your naked body. 

He holds onto you like you are the only thing anchoring him in reality as he fucks his seed deep inside you. 

Your sweaty bodies lace around each other as you both regain your composure. His weight is pressing you deeply into the mattress, so you languidly pat his shoulder. 

“Squishing me, Munson.”

He presses up into a push up to look at you, his hair falling over your face. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

He rolls onto his side, his half hard cock slipping out of your pussy, dragging some of his cum out with it. You can feel him dripping out of you, which is an absolutely surreal experience. He settles beside you, still huffing a bit. “Well… That was…”

You did not really have the right adjective to explain your feelings about the entire ordeal. You were definitely satisfied. More than you ever had been before. 

Eddie smacks his lips, pushing some hair away from his eyes. “Incomparable. On my part, at least.”

You sneer, trying your best to clear out the rasp you feel in your throat. Your mouth is starting to feel dry all over again. You think for a moment, wondering if you should give in and share that it was the best sex you have ever had or just act nonchalant. 

“Yeah, definitely something,” You remark dryly. You wanted banter with him, it was only fitting after such sacrilege.

He looks at you with a half-grin, his eyes scanning down your body for a beat. When he gets to your chest, he just stares at your tits while he speaks. 

“Not annoying. And not flat-chested. Just perfect,” He taunts, reaching out to tweak one of your nipples, “I was right, you were wrong.”

He always has to one up you. You lean forward, resting your palm on your bed as you get in his sphere. “I’m not joining your cult. You are too cocky and I think you will get too power hungry.”

His finger still toys with your chest as you speak, the words just sliding right off his shoulders. 

“Power hungry? No, no, no,” He places his hand right in the center of your chest, the coldness of his rings sending shockwaves up your arms, “The only thing I’m ever gonna be hungry for is you, my dear.”

You shake your head, propping yourself on your elbow as you stare down at him. “Apparently you have been for a while… According to what you said earlier.”

That comment tickles him. He finally chuckles, leaning up so he’s millimeters from your lips. 

“Guilty as charged.”

His mouth presses back onto yours, tongue and all. It finally brings back some moisture back into your mouth. Maybe you didn’t need the damn water bottle. Maybe you just needed him to keep kissing you.

tags of ppl i love and who may wanna read, idk:

@hauntedhowlett @pedgito @hockeyhughes @chaotic-mystery

[fuqnia]

I Wanna Go on Walks with You (2) ₊˚⊹♡

♡ stan marsh x fem!reader insert | college au, smut

♡ A/N | sorry if this part is kinda fucked up, but i really did enjoy writing the smut LOL. i love u stan <3 thank u guys again for all the support!!! kyle is also based af in this... also this will probably be my last fic for awhile, uni and work is starting back up for me so im rlly sorry!!

♡ C/W | nsfw (18+), all characters are aged up! drinking, smoking, hookups, vomiting, physical fighting, inexperienced reader, p in v, bj's, fingering, reader is kinda manipulative/asshole-ish and depressed, stan is depressed, bi stan

♡ Synopsis | stan thought he could outrun the weight of his feelings, but when the past and present collide at a party, the cracks he's been trying to hide threaten to shatter completely. amid the chaos, one truth becomes impossible to ignore—sometimes, the mess you make is the one you can't escape.

event masterlist | part one

Stan’s breath hitched as he fumbled with his keys, the cold metal slipping in his trembling fingers. He cursed under his breath, his voice cracking as he shoved the key toward the lock again. His vision blurred—not from tears, not yet—but from the suffocating weight pressing down on his chest.

Why couldn’t he get the damn key in? His hands were shaking so violently that he couldn’t even do this one simple thing. The door wobbled slightly under his palm as he slammed his other hand against it, his frustration boiling over into a muttered, “Fucking useless.”

Finally, the lock clicked. He pushed the door open and stumbled inside, letting it shut behind him with a loud, hollow thud. The sound reverberated through his skull like the echo of every mistake he’d ever made.

Stan wasn’t expecting to see Kyle sitting at his desk, surrounded by open textbooks and scribbled notes. His best friend’s head snapped up at the noise, his expression immediately shifting from tired concentration to alarm as he took in Stan’s disheveled state.

“Stan?” Kyle’s voice was cautious, his brow furrowing. “What the hell happened? Are you—”

Stan didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The words jammed in his throat, choking him as he dragged himself to his bed. His legs felt like they might give out, and the second he hit the mattress, he folded in on himself. His elbows dug into his thighs, his head dropping into his hands as his shoulders slumped forward. His hoodie felt too tight, like it was strangling him, and he tugged at the neckline with shaky fingers, desperate for air.

Kyle didn’t move at first. Stan could feel his gaze, sharp and calculating, like he was trying to piece together the puzzle of what had just walked through the door. The silence between them was thick, suffocating, broken only by the sound of Stan’s uneven breathing.

“What the hell is going on, Stan?” Kyle tried again, his voice quieter but no less insistent. “You look like you just—” He stopped himself, his words trailing off when it became clear that Stan wasn’t going to respond.

Stan’s mind was racing, but none of his thoughts made sense. They jumbled together, incoherent and overwhelming: the heat of your skin, the weight of your words, the way you looked at him when you wiped your  mouth and told him you wanted to. The memories hit him like a series of sharp, jarring flashes, each one leaving a heavier weight in his chest.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Why hadn’t he stopped it sooner? He’d let it happen—hell, he’d encouraged it. He could still feel your touch, your breath, your voice as you asked if it was okay, and all he could do was nod like some pathetic, desperate idiot.

His stomach churned violently, and he swallowed hard, willing himself to keep it together.

Kyle finally stood, the sound of the chair scraping against the floor grating on Stan’s frayed nerves. His footsteps were slow, cautious, as he approached the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under Kyle’s weight as he sat down beside him, leaving just enough space to avoid crowding him.

“Stan,” Kyle said softly, his voice devoid of the usual judgment or irritation. He waited, but Stan didn’t lift his head.

Then Kyle’s hand landed on his shoulder, firm and steady. The contact jolted something loose in Stan, and he let out a sharp, broken gasp. The tears came before he could stop them, spilling hot and fast as his shoulders began to shake.

“I can’t—I can’t fucking do this,” Stan choked out, his voice cracking with every word. He dug his fingers into his hair, pulling slightly as if the pain might ground him. “I’m so fucked up, Kyle. I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing anymore.”

Kyle’s hand tightened slightly, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t tell Stan it was going to be okay, didn’t try to fix it, and for some reason, that only made Stan’s chest ache more. He wasn’t sure what he wanted Kyle to say—maybe nothing, maybe everything. Nothing felt like it would be enough.

“I keep screwing everything up,” Stan muttered, his voice muffled by his hands. “I’m such a fucking mess. She deserves better than this—better than me. And all I’m doing is—” He cut himself off, a sharp sob tearing its way out of his throat.

The image of your face flashed in his mind again, bright and vivid and so goddamn innocent compared to the mess he’d made of himself. He hated it—hated himself for letting you get caught up in his shit. You deserve someone who wasn’t drowning, someone who wasn’t going to drag you down with him.

Kyle shifted beside him, his presence solid and unmoving. “You’re not a lost cause, Stan,” he said finally, his tone even but firm. “But you can’t keep running yourself into the ground like this. Whatever’s going on, you need to face it. You can’t keep burying it under all this… whatever this is.”

Stan let out a bitter laugh, though it came out more like a strangled sob. “Yeah? And what if there’s nothing left to face? What if I’m just broken, Kyle? What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

Kyle didn’t answer right away, and Stan could feel the weight of his silence like a lead ball in his chest. Finally, Kyle let out a quiet sigh, his hand still firm on Stan’s shoulder. “You figure it out. One step at a time. But you can’t keep doing this alone.”

Stan shook his head, his hands dropping from his face to rest limply in his lap. His chest ached, his throat raw from the effort of holding back more tears. He stared at the floor, his vision blurred, and muttered, “I don’t know if I can.”

The words felt hollow, heavy, like they’d been pulled from the deepest part of him. For a moment, he thought Kyle might try to argue, to push back against his hopelessness. But instead, Kyle just sat there, his presence a quiet reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Stan’s voice was hoarse as he spoke again, barely above a whisper. “I’m ruining everything. And I don’t know how to stop.”

Stan leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the passenger window, his eyes unfocused as the city lights blurred past. The hum of Kyle’s car engine and the chaotic noise from the backseat felt distant, like it was happening to someone else entirely. Kenny and Cartman were mid-argument—something about who ate the last slice of pizza before they left—but their voices were muffled, almost drowned out by the weight pressing on his chest.

Kyle was muttering under his breath, his knuckles tight on the steering wheel as he navigated through traffic. Stan wasn’t sure if Kyle was complaining about the frat party, the noise in the car, or the fact that he had to drag Stan out at all. Probably all three. But Stan didn’t care. None of it mattered.

His phone buzzed again in his pocket. He didn’t need to check to know it was you.

You’d been texting him all day, calling him, leaving voicemails he hadn’t dared to listen to. The notification counter on his lock screen was absurd—double digits at least. It was like you were desperately trying to reach out, to fix something that Stan had already smashed into pieces.

He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing harder against the window like he could will himself to disappear. Every buzz of his phone was a knife in his chest, sharp and relentless. He didn’t have to read the texts to know what they said. He could hear your voice in his head, asking him why he’d been avoiding you, why he hadn’t answered, why he’d left so suddenly that night. And what could he say? That he’d felt so disgusted with himself, so ashamed, that he couldn’t even face you? That every time he thought about you—about your hands, your voice, your touch—he felt like he was going to fucking unravel?

Stan’s stomach churned as he imagined you sitting in your room, staring at your phone, waiting for a reply that would never come. He could picture it so vividly: the way your eyebrows furrowed when you were frustrated, the way your leg bounced when you were nervous. You probably thought you’d done something wrong. Maybe you even blamed yourself.

He hated himself for that the most.

“Yo, Stan,” Kenny’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and teasing. “You gonna sulk all night, or are you actually gonna have fun for once?”

Stan didn’t move, his forehead still pressed against the window. “Not in the mood, Kenny,” he muttered, his voice flat.

“Shocker,” Cartman chimed in from the backseat, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Stan Marsh, king of depression, strikes again. Someone get this guy a participation trophy for most miserable bastard alive.”

“Cartman,” Kyle snapped, his voice sharp and tired. “Shut the hell up.”

Stan didn’t even flinch. The jab rolled off him like water on glass. He’d heard worse—from Cartman, from himself. His own thoughts were infinitely crueler than anything Cartman could come up with.

His phone buzzed again, and this time, the vibration felt like it echoed through his entire body. He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing the cool metal of the device, but he didn’t pull it out. He couldn’t bring himself to look at your name on the screen again. Couldn’t bring himself to see the timestamp on the last text he’d ignored.

God, why won’t you stop?

The thought hit him like a slap, bitter and sharp. He clenched his teeth, his jaw aching from the tension. He knew why you wouldn’t stop. You cared. You’d always cared, even when he didn’t deserve it. And that was the worst part. Because no matter how many times you reached out, no matter how hard you tried to pull him back, he’d only end up dragging you down with him.

Stan let out a shaky breath, his fingers curling into fists in his lap. The party wasn’t going to help. It was just another excuse to drown himself in alcohol and noise, to bury the weight of his guilt under layers of bad decisions. But Kyle had insisted. Said he needed to get out, to “snap out of whatever funk” he was in.

Funk. Like it was something he could just shake off. Like he hadn’t been carrying this hollow, gnawing emptiness for years, long before you’d gotten tangled up in it.

Another buzz. Another text. Another reminder that he was too much of a coward to face you.

He closed his eyes, the cool glass against his skin the only thing grounding him. His mind replayed that night in your room on an endless loop—the way you’d looked at him, the way your voice had wavered when you asked if it was okay, the way he’d broken down the moment he’d left.

He deserved every ounce of this misery.

The car rolled to a stop in front of a two-story house, its windows glowing with multicolored lights. The muffled bass of music thudded against the walls, vibrating through the air. People crowded the porch, cups in hand, laughter and shouts spilling out into the street like the party couldn’t be contained.

Stan dragged himself out of the car, his feet heavy against the pavement as he followed Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman up the steps. The scene was chaotic, but Stan barely registered it. All he could think about was how desperately he needed to shut his brain off, to drown out the endless loop of shame and guilt that had been gnawing at him since he’d bolted from your room.

The moment they crossed the threshold, the stench of sweat, alcohol, and something vaguely herbal hit him like a wall. The house was packed, bodies pressed together in a chaotic rhythm that matched the deafening music. Stan scanned the room, his eyes narrowing as they landed on the makeshift bar set up in the kitchen. Without a word, he started toward it.

Kyle grabbed his arm, his expression tight. “Stan, come on. Maybe you should chill for a second.”

“Get off me, Kyle,” Stan muttered, yanking his arm free. He didn’t stop walking.

“Dude, just let him,” Kenny said from behind, his tone light but laced with a resigned edge. “If he wants to drink himself stupid, it’s not like we can stop him.”

Kyle shot Kenny a sharp look, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he trailed behind, his concern palpable as they followed Stan into the kitchen.

The bar was a mess of half-empty bottles and sticky counters, but Stan didn’t hesitate. He reached for the nearest bottle of clear liquid—vodka, maybe—and unscrewed the cap with shaky hands. A few people around the bar turned to watch as he lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long, burning swig.

“Jesus, Stan,” Kyle hissed, his voice barely audible over the music.

Stan ignored him, the vodka scorching its way down his throat and settling in his stomach like fire. He took another swig, longer this time, the burn making his eyes water. Someone nearby let out a low whistle, and a few others laughed, their voices mingling with the pounding bass.

“Damn, dude. Save some for the rest of us,” a guy called out, his tone half-amused, half-impressed.

Stan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his grip tightening on the bottle. He didn’t respond, didn’t even look up. The vodka was already doing its job, the edges of his thoughts starting to blur, the weight in his chest loosening just enough to breathe.

Kyle reached for the bottle, his expression tense. “Stan, stop. This isn’t—”

“Leave it,” Stan snapped, his voice harsher than he intended. He pulled the bottle out of Kyle’s reach and tipped it back again, the alcohol rushing through him like a lifeline.

Kenny leaned against the counter, his eyes tracking Stan’s movements with a mix of curiosity and unease. “Guess we’re doing this, huh?” he muttered, mostly to himself.

Stan didn’t care about the stares or the murmurs around him. He didn’t care about Kyle’s disapproval or Kenny’s detached amusement. All he cared about was the bottle in his hand and the numbness creeping over him, muting the thoughts that had been eating him alive for days.

But as he took another swig, he couldn’t help but think about how temporary it all was. How the numbness would fade, leaving him raw and exposed again. How he’d have to face your texts, your calls, your voice in his head asking why.

He pushed the thought away, his grip tightening on the bottle as he took another drink, his focus narrowing to the burn in his throat and the faint, fleeting relief it brought.

Stan barely registered the presence next to him until a hand clapped down on his shoulder. He flinched slightly, his body tense, but then the unmistakable voice of Cartman broke through the haze.

“Alright, dude,” Cartman said, his tone surprisingly even for once. “Let’s take this outside and chill, huh?”

Stan turned his head, blinking blearily at him. Cartman had a half-empty bag of chips in one hand, crumbs dusting his hoodie. The contrast between Cartman’s casual demeanor and Stan’s unraveling was almost laughable, if not for the fact that Stan couldn’t summon the energy to care.

“What?” Stan muttered, his voice hoarse, the word dragging out like it took effort just to speak.

Cartman gestured loosely toward the back door with the bag of chips. “You heard me. Outside. You’re, like, two seconds away from face-planting into the counter, and I’d rather not have to haul your drunk ass to a hospital. Plus, it’s too loud in here.”

Stan stared at him for a moment, his grip still tight on the bottle. The idea of going outside, away from the noise and the crowd, wasn’t entirely unappealing, but he couldn’t shake the nagging voice in his head that told him to just keep drinking. To keep burying it all.

“I’m fine,” Stan mumbled, raising the bottle again.

Cartman’s hand tightened on his shoulder, uncharacteristically firm. “No, you’re not,” he said, his voice lower, almost serious. “And I’m not asking. Let’s go.”

Stan hesitated, his jaw tightening as he glanced down at the bottle in his hand. The burn of the vodka had dulled, replaced by a creeping nausea he couldn’t quite shake. The room felt too hot, too claustrophobic, the thrum of the music pounding in his skull like a second heartbeat.

Without another word, Cartman started guiding him toward the back door, his grip firm but not rough. Stan didn’t resist, his legs moving on autopilot as they weaved through the crowd. Kenny and Kyle were still in the kitchen, their voices blending into the cacophony around them, but Stan didn’t look back.

The cool night air hit him like a slap to the face as they stepped onto the porch. It was quieter out here, the muffled bass from inside fading into the background. A few people lingered around the edges of the yard, smoking or chatting in low voices, but it felt a world away from the chaos inside.

Cartman let go of his shoulder and leaned against the porch railing, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched Stan with an unreadable expression.

Stan sank down onto the steps, the bottle still clutched in his hand. He rested his elbows on his knees, his head hanging low as he stared at the ground. The vodka churned uncomfortably in his stomach, mixing with the weight in his chest until he felt like he might collapse under it.

“You’re a mess, dude,” Cartman said finally, his tone blunt but not unkind. “And that’s coming from me.”

Stan let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “No shit, Cartman.”

Cartman shrugged, his hand rattling the bag of chips as he reached for another handful. “I’m just saying, whatever’s got you spiraling this hard? Might wanna deal with it before you end up, I don’t know, dead in a ditch or some shit.”

Stan looked up at him, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. “Thanks for the pep talk,” he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Cartman smirked, leaning back against the railing. “Anytime, Marsh.” For a moment, he was silent, his gaze shifting to the bottle in Stan’s hand. “Seriously, though. You gonna talk about it, or are we just gonna sit here while you drink yourself into oblivion?”

Stan didn’t answer right away. His grip on the bottle tightened, his knuckles white as he stared at the ground. The thought of talking about it, of saying any of it out loud, made his throat close up. But the silence felt heavier than the words he couldn’t bring himself to say.

Finally, he sighed, the sound shaky and hollow. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he said quietly, though even he didn’t believe the words.

Cartman didn’t push. He just stood there, eating his chips. Stan’s chest tightened as the silence between him and Cartman stretched on, his own words hanging heavy in the cool night air. He could feel Cartman’s gaze on him, assessing, but he didn’t look up. He didn’t have it in him.

“So,” Cartman said, his voice casual but pointed as he crunched on another chip. “This spiral of yours—it’s about [Y/N], isn’t it?”

Stan’s stomach dropped. He didn’t move, didn’t react, didn’t give Cartman the satisfaction of an answer. His hands clenched into fists on his knees, his nails digging into his palms as he focused on the ground in front of him.

When Stan didn’t respond, Cartman just shrugged, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth. “Figures,” he said through a mouthful of food. “Chicks, man. They’ll fuck you up every time.”

Stan finally looked up, his glare sharp, but Cartman wasn’t even looking at him. He was leaning against the porch railing, staring out at the yard like this was just another Saturday night. For all his bluntness, Cartman didn’t press the issue, and Stan was oddly grateful for it.

He let out a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, when movement caught his eye. Out in the yard, among the small clusters of people, was someone who looked exactly like you. The way they moved, the curve of their shoulders, even the shine of their hair—it all screamed you. His heart stopped, his chest tightening painfully as a wave of nausea rolled through him.

Oh, God. No. Not here. Not now.

Stan felt his stomach twist violently, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps as he tried to ground himself. His grip on the bottle tightened until his knuckles turned white, but his hands were trembling too much for it to feel steady.

“Dude, are you gonna puke again?” Cartman asked, his tone half-concerned, half-mocking as he finally glanced over at him.

Stan shook his head sharply, his eyes locked on the figure in the yard. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though his voice sounded far from convincing.

It wasn’t until the person turned slightly, giving him a better look at their face, that he realized it wasn’t you. The relief that hit him was immediate but fleeting, replaced by a hollow ache in his chest that left him breathless.

Get a grip, he told himself. You’re losing it.

Without looking at Cartman, Stan pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly as the alcohol in his system made his movements clumsy. “I’ll be right back,” he said, his voice low and strained.

Cartman raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop him. “Yeah, sure. Don’t die or anything.”

Stan ignored him, his focus zeroing in on the person who looked like you. He didn’t know why he was doing this—why he was chasing a ghost in the middle of a party—but his legs moved before his brain could stop them.

His steps faltered slightly when they turned, their profile confirming what he already knew: it wasn’t you. The sharp pang of disappointment hit him, but he pushed it down, plastering on a crooked grin as he closed the distance between them.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, though it wavered slightly. “I couldn’t help but notice you from across the yard.”

The person turned fully, their eyebrows raising in mild surprise. “Uh, hi?” they said, their tone cautious but polite.

Stan shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets, trying to steady himself as he leaned slightly closer. “I know this is kind of random, but… you look familiar. Do we know each other?”

They tilted their head, studying him for a moment. “I don’t think so,” they said finally. “But… thanks, I guess?”

“Sorry if I’m coming off weird,” Stan added quickly, the words tumbling out before he could think them through. “It’s just—you have this vibe. Like someone I used to know.”

His stomach churned at the words, the lie leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He wasn’t sure what he was doing anymore—flirting, coping, or just flailing in the dark. Maybe all three.

The person gave him a small smile, their posture relaxing slightly. “Well, I hope they were cool,” they said lightly, their voice carrying a faint edge of humor. “Because that’s a lot of pressure.”

Stan laughed softly, though it felt hollow. “They were… one of a kind,” he muttered, his throat tightening as he glanced down at the bottle in his hand.

The person shifted their weight, their gaze flicking to the bottle before meeting his eyes again. “So… are you okay?” they asked, their tone genuine but hesitant.

The question hit him like a slap, the concern in their voice cutting through the haze of alcohol and self-loathing. He forced another grin, though it felt like it might crack under the weight of everything he was trying to hold back.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice rough. “Just… blowing off some steam, you know?”

The person nodded slowly, their expression softening. “Well, don’t go too hard on yourself,” they said, their smile faint but kind. “It’s not worth it.”

Stan’s chest tightened, the words hitting far too close to home. He hesitated, the idea forming in his mind before he could stop it. Maybe if he just leaned into this—into them—he could bury the mess he was drowning in. Just for a night.

“So, uh…” He cleared his throat, his grin turning slightly sharper, more deliberate. “Do you want to maybe get out of here? Just hang out, away from all… this?” He gestured vaguely toward the party, his pulse racing as he waited for their response.

The person blinked, their surprise evident. They hesitated, glancing around before meeting his gaze again. “I don’t know,” they said, their tone cautious. “I’m not really looking for anything serious.”

Stan’s grin faltered for a split second before he forced it back into place. “Neither am I,” he said smoothly, though the words felt like sandpaper in his throat. “Just… looking for some company.”

They looked at him for a long moment, their expression unreadable. Stan’s chest tightened further, the silence stretching as his grip on the bottle grew tighter. Finally, they nodded, their smile faint but genuine.

“Alright,” they said, their voice light. “Lead the way.”

Stan exhaled, the relief crashing over him like a wave as he gestured for them to follow him. But as they walked toward the edge of the yard, the hollow ache in his chest twisted deeper, darker. He could feel it gnawing at him, an insidious reminder that this wasn’t about connection or distraction—it was about punishment.

Because that’s what he deserved, wasn’t it? To scrape the bottom of the barrel, to throw himself into fleeting moments that meant nothing and left him emptier than before. To chase ghosts and bury himself in mistakes just to forget the weight of your voice, your touch, your trust. He clenched his jaw, his steps heavy, each one dragging him further into the abyss he’d created for himself.

It didn’t matter who they were or how kind their smile was. They weren’t you. And no amount of cheap liquor or borrowed warmth would change the fact that he’d ruined the one thing that might’ve saved him. He wasn’t just falling apart—he was clawing himself to pieces, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

As he led them into the dark, his lips twisted into a bitter smile. Maybe he was beyond saving. Maybe this was all he’d ever be—a mess of regrets and bad decisions, staggering forward just to avoid looking back.

The phone felt heavy in your trembling hands, its screen glowing with the draft of a message you couldn’t bring yourself to send. Your mascara streaked down your cheeks, smudged by the steady flow of tears you hadn’t managed to stop for hours. The lump in your throat ached, a constant reminder of the sobs that wracked your chest. You sniffled, trying and failing to take a steadying breath, as your thumb hovered over the send button.

“Hey… I think it’s best if we don’t see each other anymore.”

The words on the screen blurred through your tears, and your hands shook so violently you could barely hold the phone still. Damien didn’t deserve this—he hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d been patient and kind, the perfect blend of calm and confident, someone who made you feel like you mattered. And yet, none of it had been enough to drown out the relentless weight of Stan in your mind.

Your chest tightened as you stared at the message, the silence of your room only amplifying the storm of your thoughts. A week had passed since you’d last seen Stan, but his absence had carved itself into every part of your life. You couldn’t escape it—not in the dead of night when you stared at your phone waiting for a message that never came, and not during the day when everything reminded you of him.

Every laugh, every smile you’d shared, every clumsy touch from that night—it all played on an endless loop in your mind, growing louder with every moment he ignored you. And now you were here, mascara running down your face and heartbreak threatening to choke you, about to push away the one person who had actually wanted you.

You felt your stomach twist with guilt as you thought about Damien. He’d been so excited when he’d texted you last night, asking about your weekend plans. The idea of crushing that enthusiasm, of turning his warmth into confusion and hurt, made your fingers falter.

But you couldn’t keep lying to yourself, or to him. Your heart wasn’t in this—how could it be when it was still chained to someone else? To someone who hadn’t even spared you a text in a week? Someone who was probably out there living his life without a second thought for the mess he’d left you in?

Your tears fell harder at the thought, your thumb finally pressing the button as the message sent with a soft ping. The room seemed impossibly still as you stared at the screen, watching the text sit there, delivered but unanswered.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to no one, your voice hoarse and broken.

You dropped the phone onto the bed, your body trembled with every sob, your chest heaving as the weight of guilt crushed you. It was unbearable, like a physical ache gnawing at your ribs and spreading through every inch of you. You let your head fall into your hands, your fingers tangling in your hair as shame and regret clawed at your heart.

How could you have been so selfish? So stupid?

You replayed that night in your mind, every detail vivid and suffocating. The way Stan’s hands had hesitated before gripping your hips. The way his voice had trembled when he asked if it was okay. The way he’d broken apart in your room after you’d pushed too far.

You’d told yourself it was for practice, for Damien. That lie sat bitter in your chest now, hollow and meaningless. You hadn’t cared about Damien in that moment, not really. You’d cared about Stan, about distracting him, about being the one to pull him out of the darkness that had been swallowing him whole. But instead of helping him, you’d only dragged him down further.

I used him. The thought hit you like a slap, fresh tears streaming down your face as the realization sank in. You’d taken advantage of his vulnerability, of his trust in you, and for what? To play pretend for a few fleeting moments? To feel wanted?

You pressed your hands against your face, your fingers digging into your skin as if you could scrub the guilt away. “I’m a terrible person,” you whispered, the words shaking as they fell from your lips. “I’m so fucking terrible.”

The silence of your room felt deafening, wrapping around you like a noose. You hoped, desperately, that Stan was feeling better now that he didn’t have to deal with you. That cutting you out of his life had given him some peace, even if it left you feeling hollow and alone.

The thought of him—his face, his voice, his touch—was like a knife twisting in your chest. You wanted to forget, to drown out the ache that wouldn’t let up no matter how much you cried. You wanted the numbness that had always felt so far out of reach. And then, unbidden, your mind drifted to the one thing that might offer it.

Alcohol.

You thought about the parties Stan and the guys dragged you to, the cheap liquor that burned your throat but left your mind blissfully hazy. You thought about how easy it would be to lose yourself in that fog, to forget the guilt, the shame, the sound of your phone buzzing with messages you couldn’t bring yourself to read.

Your breathing hitched as the thought took hold, the temptation curling around you like a siren’s song. You pushed yourself off the bed, your legs unsteady as you stood. Your heart pounded in your chest, your movements shaky and uncertain as you made your way to the closet.

Throwing the door open, you rifled through the clothes hanging limply on their hangers, your fingers trembling as you searched for something—anything—that screamed distraction. Your hand paused on a short black dress, the one you’d worn to a party months ago, the night you’d laughed too loud and let Kenny drag you onto the dance floor. You grabbed it without thinking, pulling it off the hanger and clutching it to your chest like it was a lifeline.

You needed out. Out of this room, out of your head, out of the suffocating guilt that threatened to consume you whole. And if a few drinks and a crowded room were the only way to get there, then so be it.

Your hands trembled as you reached for the makeup wipes on your desk, dabbing at the streaked mascara that had smudged across your cheeks. The image of your tear-streaked face in the mirror only deepened the knot of guilt and shame in your stomach, but you pushed it down, focusing on the task at hand. If you were going to do this—if you were going to escape your thoughts tonight—you couldn’t look like the emotional wreck you felt.

As you applied fresh eyeliner with trembling hands, you heard the familiar jingle of keys outside the door. The knob twisted, and Red stepped inside, her phone in hand and earbuds dangling from her neck. She stopped mid-step when she saw you at your desk, makeup wipes and half-finished cosmetics strewn across the surface.

“Whoa. What happened in here?” she asked, her voice lighter than the concerned look on her face.

You didn’t meet her gaze, focusing instead on lining your lips with the bold red lipstick that matched the armor you were trying to piece together. “Nothing,” you said quickly, your voice tight and unconvincing.

Red closed the door behind her, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took you in. She set her bag down on her bed and crossed her arms, leaning against the edge of the frame. “You don’t look like nothing.”

You swallowed hard, willing yourself to keep your composure. “I’m fine,” you insisted, though your shaking hands betrayed you as you applied a final swipe of mascara.

Red didn’t budge. “Fine,” she said slowly, drawing the word out. “Fine enough to be getting all dressed up for something. Where are you going?”

You capped the mascara with trembling fingers and turned to face her, forcing a smile that felt brittle. “I was going to ask if you’re going to any parties tonight,” you said, deflecting the question. “I thought I’d tag along.”

Red’s brows shot up in surprise, but she didn’t push the obvious lie. “Uh, yeah, I was gonna head to that Pi Kappa party. I heard it’s gonna be huge. Why, though? You haven’t wanted to go out in weeks.”

“I need to get out of here,” you said quickly, your voice too sharp and too quick. You softened it with a weak laugh. “Clear my head, you know? Blow off some steam.”

Her playful grin faltered, her expression softening with something you hated to see—pity. But, thankfully, Red wasn’t the type to prod too much. “Okay, babe. If you’re in, you’re in. Let me throw something on real quick, and we’ll Uber together.”

You nodded, relief mixing uneasily with the lingering ache in your chest as she turned to her closet. While Red rummaged for an outfit, you sat on the edge of your bed, staring at your reflection in the tiny mirror propped on your desk. The person staring back at you looked composed, ready for a party. But beneath the fresh makeup and tight dress, you were anything but.

“Okay, done!” Red chirped, snapping you out of your thoughts. She stood there in a sequined mini-dress that shimmered under the fluorescent dorm lights, her lips curling into an excited grin. “You ready, or are you still doing that thing where you stare at yourself like you’re in a bad movie montage?”

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

She grabbed her bag and slung an arm around your shoulders, leading you out of the room with her usual bright energy. Her chatter filled the silence as the two of you walked toward the dorm exit, her voice animated as she hyped up the party and gossiped about who might be there. You nodded along, grateful for the noise to drown out the storm in your head.

But no matter how loud Red’s voice was, or how bright the city lights were as the Uber carried you both toward the party, the knot in your stomach refused to loosen. You hoped the drinks would help. You hoped the crowd would distract you. You hoped you could forget, even if only for one night.

You hated alcohol—the taste, the burn, the way it made your stomach twist and churn. But tonight, you didn’t care. You didn’t want to care. All you wanted was to drown out the heavy, suffocating weight in your chest and replace it with something, anything, that felt lighter. Even if it came at the expense of your body.

The frat house was alive with music, laughter, and the faint haze of cigarette smoke wafting in from the backyard. Red tugged you inside, her arm looped tightly around yours as she greeted nearly everyone who crossed her path. Her energy was infectious, her voice rising over the thrum of the crowd as she exchanged hugs, jokes, and smiles with familiar faces.

You tried to mirror her enthusiasm, but it felt hollow. When she greeted Craig and Tweek, who were standing near the corner with Clyde and Tolkien, you forced a weak smile and waved. Their replies were friendly enough—Clyde even cracked a joke about your absence at previous parties—but their voices blended into the background noise.

Your eyes scanned the room, taking in the faces you knew: Jimmy and Butters at the beer pong table, Cartman and Kenny arguing over something near the kitchen, Wendy and Bebe chatting animatedly with Heidi and Nichole by the staircase. But there was no sign of Stan. Relief and disappointment mingled in your chest, twisting together in a way that made you feel like you couldn’t breathe.

“Be right back,” you mumbled to Red, slipping your arm free from hers before she could protest. “I’m gonna grab a drink.”

She nodded, already turning back to her conversation with Bebe, her laughter ringing out as you retreated toward the counter. Your hands trembled slightly as you scanned the selection—plastic cups, kegs, an assortment of bottles in varying states of emptiness. Your eyes landed on a bottle of vodka, the label peeling at the edges, and you grabbed it without hesitation.

No one was looking. No one cared.

You twisted the cap off and pressed the bottle to your lips, the sharp smell making your nose wrinkle. The first sip burned, and you nearly coughed, but you swallowed it down and took another. And another. The fire in your throat spread to your chest, and your stomach twisted in protest, but you ignored it. You kept drinking, the edges of the room blurring slightly as the alcohol began to take hold.

Your thoughts swirled, chaotic and relentless, as you clutched the bottle tighter. You hated how desperate you felt, how pathetic it was to stand in the corner of a party, drinking like your life depended on it. But you hated the silence in your head more—the voice that whispered that this was all your fault, that you’d ruined everything, that you deserved to feel this way.

You deserved it.

The vodka burned, but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as everything else. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, setting the empty bottle back on the counter with a hollow clink. The world felt hazy now, the room swaying slightly as the alcohol settled into your system. You grabbed a red Solo cup and filled it halfway with whatever was closest—some dark, amber liquid that you didn’t bother to identify. You just needed to keep going, to stay numb.

You turned back toward the crowd, the cup clutched tightly in your hand. Your eyes scanned the room for Red, but instead, they landed on something that made your breath hitch.

Kyle was at the edge of the crowd, his hand wrapped firmly around Stan’s arm as he pulled him through the throng of people. Stan looked disheveled, his hoodie rumpled and his hair a mess. His face was pale, his eyes shadowed with something you couldn’t quite place, and he moved sluggishly, like he was trying to resist Kyle’s pull. Kyle leaned in, whispering something urgently into Stan’s ear, his expression tense.

Kyle’s eyes flicked up and met yours, and the world seemed to still for a moment. His lips pressed into a thin line, his brow furrowing slightly as he held your gaze. The knot in your stomach twisted tighter, and your breath felt caught in your throat.

Stan, noticing the shift in Kyle’s attention, turned his head to follow his gaze. When his eyes landed on you, his entire body seemed to lock up. His expression shifted in an instant—his jaw tightening, his eyes widening briefly before narrowing into something unreadable. He froze, his arm still in Kyle’s grip, and for a moment, it felt like the entire party had gone silent.

Then, as if jolted into action, Stan yanked his arm free from Kyle’s grasp and turned sharply, heading in the opposite direction. He didn’t even glance back as he pushed through the crowd, his movements stiff and hurried.

Your chest tightened painfully as you watched him retreat, the cup in your hand trembling slightly. Kyle turned back to you, his gaze softer now, almost apologetic. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but the distance between you made it impossible to hear.

You shook your head, breaking the stare, and looked down into your drink. The liquid swirled lazily in the cup, the faint smell of alcohol wafting up to meet you. You downed it in one go, ignoring the bitter taste, and wiped your mouth again.

Red appeared beside you then, her voice bright and oblivious. “There you are! Come on, they’re playing flip cup in the kitchen!”

You forced a smile, the edges of it wobbling. “Yeah,” you said, your voice hollow. “Let’s go.”

Red dragged you into the kitchen, her arm hooked around yours as she babbled on about the flip cup teams already forming. The room was buzzing with energy, laughter bouncing off the walls as drinks were poured and rules were loudly debated. You scanned the crowd and saw a mix of familiar faces—Clyde, Tweek, Craig, and even Bebe, who was already half-draped over a laughing Jimmy.

“You’re on my team,” Red declared, her grip on your arm tightening as she pulled you to her side. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and you managed a small smile despite the heavy knot still twisting in your stomach.

The game started, the air thick with playful shouts and competitive taunts. Red went first, downing her drink and flipping the cup expertly in one smooth motion. “Boom!” she cheered, throwing her hands in the air.

When it was your turn, you hesitated, the Solo cup trembling slightly in your hand. The alcohol buzzing through your veins dulled the sharp edges of your thoughts, and for the first time all night, you didn’t feel the crushing weight of everything on your chest. You took a deep breath, downed the drink in one gulp, and flipped the cup on your first try.

“Hell yeah!” Red whooped, clapping you on the back. “You’re a natural!”

The cheers and laughter from your team were louder now, and you couldn’t help but laugh along. The alcohol coursing through your system made everything feel lighter, fuzzier, and the tension in your chest loosened just a little more with every round. By the time you’d flipped three more cups flawlessly, you were grinning, your cheeks flushed with both alcohol and the heat of the crowded room.

“You’ve been holding out on us!” Clyde called, pointing at you with an exaggerated look of mock betrayal.

“Where’s this pro-level flip cup energy been hiding?” Red teased, nudging you with her elbow.

You shrugged, laughing as you reached for another drink. “Beginner’s luck,” you said, your voice lighter now, almost unrecognizable to yourself.

As the game went on, you found yourself laughing more, the warmth of the alcohol and the camaraderie of the group easing the heaviness in your chest. The laughter around you started to blur as you spotted him out of the corner of your eye—Stan, standing in the crowd, leaning against the wall with a girl you didn’t recognize. She was all legs and confidence, her hand lightly touching his arm as she giggled at something he said. You couldn’t hear them over the music and chatter, but whatever it was, it made Stan smirk. That smirk twisted something deep in your chest, something sharp and unexpected.

Jealousy.

You didn’t get jealous when Stan flirted with people. You’d seen it before, a million times, and it had always been just Stan being Stan. But this? The way he was looking at her? The way she was looking back? It made your stomach churn in a way you couldn’t explain.

Your grip tightened on the edge of the counter as you watched him. He must have felt your stare because his eyes flicked up, meeting yours across the room. For a split second, you thought you saw something flicker in his expression—hesitation, guilt, maybe even regret. But then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned down and kissed the girl.

Your breath hitched, disbelief freezing you in place. His lips moved against hers with purpose, his hands resting low on her waist as if he wanted to make sure you didn’t miss a single second of it. The girl looped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and your stomach dropped.

They were full-on making out now, right there in the middle of the party, and all you could do was stand there, your mouth hanging open as the world seemed to tilt on its axis. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman watching too. Kyle looked horrified, his brows furrowed in a deep, disapproving frown. Kenny had a smirk on his face, though his eyes flicked between you and Stan like he was watching a train wreck unfold. Cartman, of course, was laughing, the sound obnoxious and grating as he elbowed Kenny in the ribs.

Your blood boiled. The knot of anger and hurt in your chest exploded into a white-hot fury that you couldn’t contain. “Be right back,” you muttered to Red, your voice tight as you shoved your way through the crowd.

“Wait, where are you going?” Red called after you, but you didn’t answer. Your sights were locked on Stan, your pulse pounding in your ears as you marched toward him.

“What the fuck is your problem?” The words flew out of your mouth before you could even process them, your voice cutting through the party like a thunderclap. You weren’t even sure who you were directing them at—Stan, the girl, the situation itself—but as you stormed across the room, the alcohol buzzing hot and angry in your veins, your focus locked on her.

She turned to you, her perfectly manicured brows raising in surprise before they knit together in irritation. She didn’t flinch under your glare, instead tilting her head and looking you up and down like you were an inconvenience rather than a threat. That expression alone made your blood boil hotter.

Stan stood frozen, his face slack with shock, but you didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Not when the girl—the one he had just been making out with—was standing there, calm and collected, like she hadn’t just done something unforgivable.

“You,” you spat, pointing a shaky finger at her. “What the hell is wrong with you? You think it’s cute throwing yourself at someone like him?”

The room seemed to hush slightly around you, but the alcohol made you too numb to care. Your heart pounded against your ribs, your head swimming from the vodka and the rage coursing through you.

The girl arched an eyebrow, her lips twisting into a smirk. “Excuse me? Who even are you?” Her voice was sharp, disdain dripping from every word. “His fucking mom or something?”

Her tone was like a match to gasoline. Your vision blurred, your fists curling at your sides as you took another step toward her. “I’m the person who actually knows him,” you slurred, your words tumbling out unsteady but vicious. “Not some random nobody trying to get her claws into him.”

The girl’s face darkened, her smirk replaced by a scowl. “Oh, please,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “If you knew him so well, maybe you’d have done a better job keeping him.”

The words hit you like a slap, sharp and humiliating, and they cut deeper than you wanted to admit. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, tears threatening to prick at the corners of your eyes. But the vodka burned hotter, stronger, drowning out the shame with unrelenting anger.

“Desperate,” you sneered, your voice shaking as you leaned closer to her. “That’s what you are. Desperate enough to kiss a guy who’s clearly not even into you.”

She barked a laugh, the sound cold and mocking. “Desperate?” she repeated, her eyes flashing with disdain. “You’re the one making a scene over a guy who doesn’t give a shit about you.”

The room seemed to tilt, her words cutting through the haze of alcohol and hitting you square in the chest. Without thinking, without even registering the consequences, your hand swung out, the sound of the slap ringing through the air like a gunshot.

Gasps rippled through the crowd as her head snapped to the side, her hand flying up to her cheek. She stared at you, wide-eyed, for a single frozen moment before lunging forward.

“You psycho bitch!” she screamed, her voice shrill as her hands flew toward you. You barely registered the sharp pull at your hair as she grabbed at you, her nails scratching at your arm. You swung back instinctively, your movements clumsy and fueled by adrenaline, landing a hit on her shoulder.

Everything was chaos. People were shouting around you, their voices blending into an incoherent roar. You couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of your own heart, the way the room spun around you as the two of you clawed and yanked at each other.

“Hey! Stop it!” Kyle’s voice cut through the chaos, and suddenly, strong hands were gripping your waist, yanking you back. You struggled against him, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you tried to shrug him off.

“Let me go, Kyle!” you shouted, your voice cracking as tears burned hot in your eyes. The fight, the alcohol, the shame—it was all too much.

“Not a fucking chance, perfect for each other, my ass,” Kyle snapped, his grip tightening as he pulled you farther away from the girl. Across the room, her friend was doing the same, holding her back as she glared daggers at you.

Stan hadn’t moved. He stood rooted to the spot, his face pale and his eyes wide with disbelief. The sight of him just standing there, saying nothing, doing nothing, made your chest ache with something raw and unbearable.

“You’re insane!” the girl yelled as her friend dragged her farther away, her voice echoing in your ears like a siren. “Fucking crazy!”

Kyle finally let go of you when he was sure the girl was out of reach, spinning you around to face him. His face was tight with frustration and concern, his brows furrowed deeply. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded, his voice low but filled with anger. “What were you thinking?”

You shoved past Kyle, your breath hitching in uneven gasps as you pushed through the crowd. The hallway blurred around you, voices and music melding into an unbearable hum. You found the bathroom door, yanked it open, and stumbled inside. Before you could slam it shut, Kyle’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist.

“Get off me,” you snapped, your voice breaking.

“Not a chance,” he shot back, his tone sharp and unforgiving. “You’ve already caused enough of a scene.”

Twisting your arm free, you stumbled toward the toilet, dropping to your knees as your stomach twisted violently. Before you could even think, you were retching, the sour burn of alcohol and bile scorching your throat. Shame burned hotter than the vomit, tears spilling down your face as you gagged.

Kyle let out a frustrated sigh but didn’t leave. Instead, he crouched behind you, gathering your hair in one hand and holding it back as you emptied your stomach. “Jesus, you’re a wreck,” he muttered, his voice laced with equal parts exasperation and concern.

You gasped for breath, your body trembling. “Leave me alone,” you croaked, but the words carried no conviction.

“Not happening,” Kyle snapped. “I’m not going to let you self-destruct because you’re too stubborn to deal with your shit.”

You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand, refusing to meet his gaze. “I’m fine,” you mumbled weakly.

Kyle scoffed, the sound harsh in the small bathroom. “Fine? You’re puking your guts out in a frat house bathroom after starting a fight with some random girl. Yeah, you’re real fine.”

You clenched your fists, anger flaring up alongside the shame. “Why do you even care?”

“Because someone has to!” he shot back, his voice rising. He loosened his grip on your hair but didn’t let go completely, his other hand gesturing wildly. “You’re acting just like Stan, you know that? All this drinking, picking fights, spiraling out like you’re trying to hit rock bottom as fast as you can.”

You flinched at the comparison, your stomach twisting for an entirely different reason now. “Don’t,” you whispered, but Kyle wasn’t done.

“Oh, no, I’m saying it,” he continued, his eyes blazing. “No? So what, you just ‘accidentally’ used Stan, picked a fight with some random girl, and drank yourself into oblivion? Grow up. Take some responsibility for once.”

Your head snapped up, and you stared at him, wide-eyed, your breath catching in your throat. “What did you just say?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Stan… he told you?”

Kyle’s expression didn’t waver. If anything, his gaze hardened. “Of course he didn’t tell me,” he said sharply, crossing his arms. “He didn’t have to. We’ve known Stan since we were kids—I can see the signs. He’s been a fucking wreck since that night you got with Damien. Do you think I wouldn’t put it together?”

Your heart sank, a pit forming in your stomach that had nothing to do with the alcohol. You hadn’t realized it was so obvious, hadn’t considered that Kyle—or anyone—would notice the cracks in Stan’s carefully constructed façade.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks again. “I—”

Kyle cut you off with a bitter laugh. “You didn’t mean to?” he repeated, his voice biting. “Then what the hell were you doing? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been on a one-way trip to self-destruction and decided to drag Stan down with you.”

“I hate myself,” you choked out, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t—”

Kyle’s hand tightened on your shoulder, not unkindly, but firmly enough to ground you. His voice softened just a fraction, though the frustration still lingered. “Then fix it,” he said, his tone quieter but still firm. “Before there’s nothing left of either of you to fix.”

You buried your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking as you sobbed. Kyle stayed for a moment longer, then finally stood, reaching for the toilet paper. He handed them to you without a word, his expression unreadable.

“Clean yourself up,” he said as he turned to leave. “And figure out what the hell you want, because this? This isn’t it.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone with the sound of your ragged breathing and the reflection of a stranger in the mirror. Smudged makeup, tear-streaked cheeks, and hollow eyes stared back at you, and for the first time, you wondered if Kyle was right.

Maybe it wasn’t Stan or anyone else you were hurting the most.

Maybe it was yourself.

You sat on the cold bathroom floor, the sobs wracking your body so violently that it felt like your chest might cave in. Your cries echoed off the tiled walls, raw and unrelenting. There was no point in trying to quiet yourself—no one left to pretend for. You buried your face in your knees, the damp fabric of your clothes soaking up your tears.

The sound of the door creaking open barely registered through your haze, but the quiet shuffle of footsteps did. A moment later, you felt someone kneel in front of you. You lifted your head slightly, your blurry vision focusing on Kenny’s face. His usual smirk and mischief were nowhere to be found. Instead, his expression was soft, his brow creased in concern.

At the sight of him, the sobs came harder, spilling out of you like a dam breaking. Your hands flew up to cover your face, shielding yourself from his gaze, from his pity.

Kenny didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. He reached over to the crumpled sheets of toilet paper Kyle gave you, forgotten on the bathroom counter. Slowly and carefully, he began wiping at the streaks of mascara and tears staining your cheeks. His touch was steady, almost too kind, and it made the guilt inside you churn like acid.

“Stop,” you choked out, your voice cracking, though you didn’t mean it. “Why are you… why are you doing this?”

Kenny paused briefly, his gaze flicking to yours before he continued wiping at your face. “Because someone needs to,” he said simply, his tone calm but firm. “And because you obviously can’t right now.”

His words broke something inside you, and your hands dropped limply to your lap, letting him finish his task. He worked in silence, each swipe of the tissue a quiet reminder of just how far you’d unraveled.

When he finally tossed the crumpled tissue aside, you whispered, “I screwed up, Kenny. I messed everything up so bad, I—I don’t even know how to fix it.”

He sat back on his heels, watching you for a moment. “Yeah, you did,” he said bluntly, his honesty cutting through you like a knife. “But sitting here crying isn’t going to fix it.”

Your throat tightened, and you nodded faintly. “I just… she didn’t deserve that,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “The girl, the one I fought with. She didn’t do anything wrong. I just—I don’t even know why I went after her like that.”

Kenny leaned back against the wall, his knees pulled up to his chest as he studied you. “You know why,” he said, his tone quiet but pointed.

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “Because I’m a mess? Because I can’t deal with my own shit, so I decided to take it out on some innocent girl? She was just… there, and I hated her for it.”

He shrugged, his gaze unwavering. “At least you’re owning up to it now. That’s a start.”

“I’m a terrible person,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands again. “Stan… he’s better off without me. Everyone is.”

Kenny didn’t respond right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, more measured. “Maybe you are a mess. And maybe you’ve screwed up a lot. But you’re not beyond fixing. You just have to stop running from everything. From Stan, from yourself.”

You sniffled, lifting your head to meet his gaze. “What if it’s too late?”

“It’s only too late if you keep doing this,” he said, gesturing to the bathroom, the remnants of your breakdown still visible. “Start being honest. Own your shit. That’s the only way you’re gonna move forward.”

His words hung heavy in the air, sinking into you in a way that left you feeling raw but strangely steady. For the first time, you felt a flicker of resolve, faint but real.

Kenny sighed and pushed himself to his feet, holding out a hand to you. “Come on,” he said, offering a small, tired smile. “Let’s get you cleaned up before Red comes in and loses her mind.”

You hesitated before taking his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “Thanks,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Kenny said with a faint smirk. “I’m still debating if I should charge you for this therapy session babe.”

You let out a weak, breathy laugh that barely felt real and let him lead you out of the bathroom. Your hand clung tightly to his, like letting go would drop you into some void you weren’t sure you could climb out of. Kenny glanced back, catching the death grip you had on his hand, and chuckled under his breath.

“Relax, I’m not going anywhere,” he said, though the softness in his voice was a sharp contrast to his usual teasing tone.

The music and the noise of the party hit you like a wave as the two of you stepped back into the crowd. People danced, shouted, and laughed in every corner, the chaotic energy of the house thrumming against your skin. Kenny navigated the sea of bodies with ease, tugging you along as if it was second nature.

Then you saw her. The girl from earlier. She stood with her friends across the room, and their conversation came to an abrupt halt when they spotted you. Her glare was sharp, and you could feel the animosity radiating off her group as they stared. A lump rose in your throat, but you refused to shrink under their gaze.

Before you could stop yourself, you stuck your tongue out at her—a childish, stupid gesture that you regretted immediately but couldn’t take back. Her expression darkened, her friends whispering among themselves before one of them dramatically rolled her eyes and turned away.

Cartman’s raucous laugh broke through the tension, loud enough to make your head snap toward him. He was a few feet away, holding a red solo cup and grinning like a hyena.

“You’re a goddamn disaster,” Cartman wheezed, swaggering over to you and Kenny with a look of absolute delight. “Holy shit, this is better than reality TV.”

“Fuck off, fatass,” Kenny muttered, clearly unimpressed.

But Cartman wasn’t paying attention to him. Instead, he leaned down toward you, his breath reeking of beer, and whispered something that made your stomach plummet.

“Stan’s watching you. Just thought you’d want to know.”

Your body went rigid, and your grip on Kenny’s hand tightened instinctively. You hated how Cartman’s words set off a flurry of nerves in your chest, but you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing across the room. And there he was.

Stan was leaning against the far wall, his expression carefully neutral, but his eyes weren’t on you. They were on Wendy, who was standing beside him, gesturing animatedly as she spoke. He wasn’t looking at her, though. His gaze was distant, unfocused—until it suddenly snapped to you.

The weight of his stare knocked the air out of your lungs. Your stomach twisted as his expression hardened, his jaw tightening slightly. Wendy noticed, following his line of sight, and when her eyes landed on you, her brows furrowed.

Cartman’s grin widened. “Oof, triangle vibes. Messy as hell,” he muttered, stepping back with a laugh.

“Dude seriously, shut the hell up,” Kenny said sharply, tugging you forward before you could spiral further.

“Let’s just… move,” you mumbled, voice trembling as you ripped your gaze away from Stan and Wendy. Kenny gave you a knowing look but didn’t press, instead tugging you toward the other side of the room.

You spotted Kyle near the drinks table, engaged in what looked like a heated debate with Tolkien, his hands gesturing wildly as he made his point. Kenny let go of your hand and went to interrupt, leaning casually into the conversation like he hadn’t just been babysitting your emotional meltdown moments earlier.

Red appeared seemingly out of nowhere, slipping up beside you with a grin. “Well, well, look who’s causing chaos and stealing the show,” she teased, nudging you with her elbow. “That fight back there? Iconic. The stuff of legends.”

You gave her a weak smile, but the lightness in her tone made your stomach churn. “It wasn’t… I shouldn’t have—”

“Relax,” she interrupted, brushing off your guilt like it was nothing. “She had it coming, I’m sure. Besides, you looked badass.”

“I don’t think that’s the takeaway here,” Kyle interjected sharply, stepping away from Tolkien and Kenny to join you. His gaze was serious as he folded his arms over his chest. “What’s the plan here, huh? Keep ignoring each other until the tension finally explodes and ruins everyone else’s good time?”

Your stomach dropped. “Kyle, I—”

“No, don’t even try,” he cut you off, his tone exasperated but not unkind. “You and Stan need to figure your shit out. It’s making everything worse—for you, for him, for everyone.”

You glanced at Kenny, hoping for some kind of backup, but he just shrugged like he agreed with Kyle. “He’s got a point,” Kenny said, sipping casually from his solo cup. “This whole cold war thing? It’s exhausting.”

Kyle stepped closer, lowering his voice but keeping it firm. “If you two don’t talk by the end of the week, I swear to God, I’ll step in myself. And trust me, you don’t want that.”

You blinked at him, stunned. “What do you mean you’ll step in?”

“I’ll lock you two in a room, throw away the key, and let you sort it out like adults,” Kyle said flatly, but there was an edge of humor in his voice that didn’t quite soften the weight of his words. “Or maybe just yell at both of you until one of you finally cracks. Either way, this has to end.”

You didn’t know what to say. The idea of talking to Stan, of facing everything head-on, felt insurmountable. But Kyle’s stare didn’t waver, and the weight of his words settled heavy on your chest.

“Fine,” you muttered, barely audible. “I’ll try to talk to him.”

“Good,” Kyle said, satisfied. He turned back to Kenny, who was smirking into his drink like this was all some kind of sitcom. Red just gave you a sly grin and a thumbs up, clearly amused by the whole exchange.

But you didn’t feel amused. You felt like the ground beneath you was crumbling, and the thought of confronting Stan made your stomach twist into knots. Still, you knew Kyle was right.

Stan lay motionless on his bed, the faded ceiling tiles above blurring into nothingness as his chest tightened with every passing second. The air in the dorm room felt thick, suffocating, like it was trying to choke him out. His phone buzzed once from the desk where he’d abandoned it—just like he’d abandoned you. He didn’t even need to check to know it wasn’t you this time. You’d stopped trying a few days ago, and the silence was worse than the calls ever had been.

Kyle was at his desk, typing something furiously. Stan didn’t care. He barely registered anything outside his own head these days. His mind kept circling back to that night, the way your voice had cracked, the way you’d called him out in front of everyone, and worst of all, the way you’d gone after that girl.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but the memory still played like some sick, never-ending movie. You screaming, your voice loud and shrill and full of venom. That slap—sharp, unforgiving, echoing through the room. Stan’s stomach churned just thinking about it. She hadn’t done anything to you. Nothing but exist, but smile at him, but… but what? Be the wrong girl at the wrong time?

You don’t even know her name, asshole.

But that didn’t stop him from standing there, frozen, as everything spiraled out of control. He could still hear Wendy’s voice in his head, soft but firm as she pulled him aside after it was all over.

“She’s a mess, Stan,” Wendy had said, her eyes piercing through him like she already knew everything. “And you’re making it worse for her. For yourself.” She’d put a hand on his shoulder, her touch grounding in a way that should have helped but didn’t. “You need to figure out what you want. Otherwise, this is just going to destroy both of you.”

He’d nodded like he understood, like any of it made sense, but inside he felt like he was fucking disintegrating. The guilt, the anger, the shame—they were eating him alive. He’d wanted to scream at Wendy, to tell her to fuck off, to say that this wasn’t her problem—but he didn’t. Because she was right. She was always right. And that only made it worse.

“You gonna talk to her?” Kyle’s voice cut through the silence like a knife, snapping Stan out of his thoughts.

He stayed silent for a moment, his jaw tightening as he stared at the same goddamn spot on the ceiling he’d been fixated on for hours. “No,” he muttered finally, his voice flat and lifeless.

Kyle let out a frustrated sigh, the sound grating against Stan’s nerves. “Seriously? You’re just gonna sit here and do nothing? That’s your plan?”

“Fuck off, Kyle,” Stan said, his tone harsher than he intended. He didn’t care.

The scrape of Kyle’s chair against the floor made Stan flinch. He heard Kyle move closer, felt the weight of his stare like a physical thing pressing down on him.

“You’re unbelievable,” Kyle said, his voice low and bitter. “You can’t keep running from this. From her.”

Stan didn’t respond. What was the point? Kyle didn’t understand. Nobody fucking understood.

The door slammed shut behind Kyle, leaving Stan alone with his thoughts again. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he replayed the scene from the party for the millionth time—the way you’d looked at him, furious and hurt and drunk off your ass. The way you’d lashed out at that girl, the sound of the slap still ringing in his ears.

What the fuck had you been thinking? What the fuck had he been thinking, letting it get this far?

He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to shove the memories aside, but it was useless. They were always there, lurking in the back of his mind. Wendy’s words echoed louder now, and they felt like a slap to the face. You’re making it worse for her. For yourself.

But how the fuck was he supposed to fix this? He wasn’t good at fixing things. He was good at ruining them. And you—you didn’t deserve to be dragged down with him. You deserved better. Better than him. Better than the wreckage he left in his wake.

His chest felt like it was caving in as the weight of it all pressed down on him. He thought about you crying, about the way you’d looked at him when he kissed that girl, about the way you’d tried so fucking hard to act like what happened between you didn’t mean anything when it meant everything.

Maybe Kyle was right. Maybe he needed to figure out what the hell he wanted. But as he lay there, his body heavy and his mind drowning in guilt and shame, one thing became painfully clear:

He didn’t deserve you. And he sure as hell didn’t deserve forgiveness.

Some time has passed, and Stan hadn’t moved from his spot on the bed. The ceiling tiles blurred together as he stared blankly, his thoughts a mess of self-loathing and memories he wished he could erase. The muffled sound of yelling seeped through the door, but he chalked it up to his imagination. He was used to noise in his head.

But then the screaming grew louder, sharper. It wasn’t in his head. It was outside.

Before he could sit up to make sense of it, the door burst open, slamming against the wall with a bang. Stan flinched, his head snapping toward the noise as Kyle stepped into the room, dragging you behind him.

You were a whirlwind of rage, your voice raw and cracked as you hurled accusations and protests at Kyle. “Kyle, I swear to God—” But the moment your eyes locked on Stan, everything came to a screeching halt.

The room was thick with silence.

Stan sat frozen, his breath caught in his throat as he stared at you. Your hair was a mess, your cheeks flushed from exertion, and your makeup was smeared—but it was your eyes that hit him the hardest. Red-rimmed, puffy, and filled with something he couldn’t quite name. Anger? Hurt? Desperation? Maybe all of it.

Kyle, panting slightly from wrangling you all the way here, broke the tense silence. “The two of you are gonna talk this out,” he said, his voice firm and unforgiving. “You’re not leaving this room until you do. I’ll be right outside, so don’t even think about trying to get out.”

Before either of you could argue, Kyle shoved you further into the room and stepped back, slamming the door shut behind him. The sound of the lock clicking into place echoed ominously.

Stan stared at the door, his heart hammering in his chest. He could hear Kyle’s muffled voice outside, probably telling someone off, but it was distant compared to the deafening silence in the room.

“You’re just gonna sit there?” Your voice broke through, sharp and biting.

Stan looked at you then, really looked at you, and felt the weight of everything between you crash over him. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, your voice trembling as you crossed your arms over your chest. “You’re really just gonna sit there like this is nothing?”

“It’s not nothing,” Stan finally croaked, his voice low and rough. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Then say something!” you snapped, stepping closer. “Because I’m standing here, trying, and you’re just… just—” You gestured helplessly, your voice cracking on the last word.

Stan sat up slowly, his hands gripping the edge of the bed as he tried to find the right words. “I didn’t ask Kyle to do this,” he said finally, his tone defensive, but weak.

You let out a bitter laugh, one that didn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah, because God forbid you actually confront anything.”

Stan flinched, the words cutting deeper than he wanted to admit. He looked down at his hands, his knuckles white from gripping the edge of the mattress. “What’s the point of this?” he asked, his voice quiet but edged with something raw. “You didn’t want to be here, and I sure as hell didn’t ask for this either. So why even bother?”

Your anger faltered for a moment, your expression softening before it hardened again. “Because I’m tired of this, Stan. I’m tired of us pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. I’m tired of not knowing what the hell we even are. And I’m tired of you avoiding me.”

Stan’s jaw tightened, and he looked up at you with a mix of guilt and frustration. “You think I’m avoiding you because I don’t care? Because I don’t want to deal with it?” He stood abruptly, the sudden movement making you take a step back. “I’m avoiding you because I can’t fucking handle it. Any of it. You. Us. That night.” His voice cracked, and he turned away, running a hand through his hair.

You blinked, stunned into silence for a moment before the anger surged back. “So what? You just decided to shut me out instead? To let me sit there and drown in my own guilt while you—what? Pretend I don’t exist?”

Stan let out a humorless laugh, his back still to you. “Guilt?” He turned then, his eyes blazing. “You think you’re the only one who feels guilty? I haven’t been able to fucking sleep because every time I close my eyes, all I can think about is how much I’ve screwed everything up.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of his words hanging heavy between you.

“Stan…” Your voice was softer now, hesitant.

He shook his head, his shoulders sagging. “I don’t know what I’m doing, okay? I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t even know if it can be fixed.”

You stepped closer, your own anger fading as you looked at him—really looked at him. The dark circles under his eyes, the way his hands were trembling slightly at his sides. “It’s not all on you to fix,” you said quietly. “I messed up too. I—” Your voice faltered, and you looked away. “I’m sorry for how I handled things. For that night. For everything.”

Stan’s gaze softened, and for a moment, he looked like he might reach for you. But then he took a step back, his walls going up again. “Sorry doesn’t change anything,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, swallowing hard as you tried to hold back the tears threatening to spill. “I know. But it’s a start.”

You hesitated before sitting down next to him on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under your weight, and for a moment, you thought he might move away, but he didn’t. Your hands fidgeted in your lap as you stared down at them, the lump in your throat growing heavier with each passing second.

“I… I cut things off with Damien,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt heavier than you expected, like you were exhaling something you’d been holding onto for too long. You hadn’t planned to say it like this, hadn’t planned for your voice to break halfway through, but the weight of everything was too much to hold back.

Stan turned his head slightly toward you, his brows knitting together, but he still didn’t say anything. His silence was unbearable, and you felt like you had to fill the void before it consumed you.

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t keep pretending that it was working,” you continued, the tears spilling before you could stop them. “Not when I—” You bit your lip, cutting yourself off. You couldn’t say it. Not yet.

Stan’s gaze finally lifted to meet yours, his blue eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite place. Hurt? Anger? Something else entirely? You didn’t know, and the not knowing only made your chest ache more.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse. It wasn’t accusatory, but it wasn’t kind either. It was cautious, like he didn’t know what to do with the information you’d just given him.

Your shoulders trembled as you took a shaky breath, swiping at your wet cheeks. “Because you deserve to know,” you said, forcing yourself to look at him even though it hurt. “You deserve to know that I…” You hesitated, your throat tightening around the words. “That I messed everything up. That I hurt you. And I hate myself for it.”

Stan’s expression flickered, something almost imperceptible crossing his face, but he quickly masked it. He let out a sharp exhale, his hands running through his hair as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“Cutting things off with Damien doesn’t change anything,” he muttered, his voice cold and distant. “It doesn’t fix what happened. It doesn’t fix what you did.”

Your heart clenched at his words, but you nodded. “I know,” you whispered. “I’m not trying to fix it. I just… I just wanted you to know that it’s over. That he’s not part of this anymore.”

Stan let out a humorless laugh, his shoulders shaking slightly. “It was never about him,” he said, his voice dripping with bitterness. “It was about us. Or whatever the hell this is.” He gestured vaguely between the two of you, his frustration spilling over. “And I don’t even know what that means anymore.”

You swallowed hard, the sting of his words cutting through you like a knife. “I don’t either,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “But I miss you, Stan. I miss us. And I’m sorry—God, I’m so sorry.”

Stan’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white as he stared down at the floor. The room was heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid, the air thick with tension and regret. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the silence wrapping around you like a shroud.

Finally, Stan lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours with a vulnerability you hadn’t seen in weeks. “You don’t get to just say sorry and expect it to fix everything,” he said, his voice trembling. “But… I don’t know. Maybe I needed to hear it anyway.”

You nodded slowly, your throat tightening as the tears streamed unchecked down your cheeks. It was hard to meet Stan’s eyes—those blue eyes that had seen you at your worst, that now held a mixture of exhaustion and guarded curiosity. But you forced yourself to speak, your voice trembling with every word.

“I—” you started, your voice cracking immediately. You cleared your throat and tried again. “I thought… that night in my dorm… I thought if I could make you forget, even just for a little while, that maybe you’d feel better. That whatever you were dealing with, whatever was hurting you, it wouldn’t feel so heavy.”

Stan blinked, his expression hardening slightly, but he stayed quiet. His silence felt like a double-edged sword—an invitation to continue, but also a sharp reminder of how much your actions had hurt him.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” you went on, your voice quieter now, each word weighing down on your chest. “I just… I’ve seen you spiral before, Stan. I’ve seen what it does to you, how it eats you alive. And I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Stan let out a sharp exhale, leaning back slightly and running a hand through his hair. “So your solution was to use me?” he asked, his tone bitter but not as sharp as it could’ve been. “You thought making me… what, lose myself in you would somehow fix everything?”

“I wasn’t trying to use you!” you shouted, your voice sharp and raw. “How could you even say that? You think I wanted to hurt you? You think I wanted to make things worse?”

Stan flinched at your outburst but didn’t say anything. His silence only fueled your anger, the dam of your emotions cracking wide open.

“I just wanted to make you feel better!” you screamed, the words tumbling out of you in a messy, desperate rush. “I didn’t know what else to do, Stan! You were falling apart, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t just sit there and watch you drown!”

His head jerked up, his blue eyes blazing with emotion. “So what? You thought kissing me, escalating things—doing all of that would somehow fix me?” His voice cracked, the hurt in it cutting you deeper than you thought possible. “Dude, do you know how fucked up that is?”

“I know it’s fucked up!” you yelled back, your voice shaking as fresh tears spilled down your face. “I know I handled it wrong, okay? I know I made a mess of everything, and I hate myself for it! But I wasn’t using you, Stan. I swear to God, I wasn’t.”

Stan stared at you, his jaw tightening, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress so hard his knuckles turned white. “Then what the hell were you doing?” he demanded, his voice quieter but no less intense. “What was all of that supposed to be?”

You hesitated, your breath hitching as your emotions threatened to swallow you whole. You looked down at your lap, shaking your head as you sobbed uncontrollably. “I—I was trying to help you,” you stammered. “I just wanted to see you smile again. I wanted to make you feel something good—anything other than what you were feeling.”

Stan’s eyes softened, but his expression remained guarded. “And that’s supposed to make it okay?” he asked, his tone laced with disbelief.

“No, it doesn’t make it okay!” you shot back, your voice cracking as you threw your hands in the air. “Nothing about this is okay! But I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Stan. I just… I just…”

You sucked in a ragged breath, the words bubbling up before you could stop them. “I love you, okay?” you shouted, the confession bursting from you like a wound splitting open. “I love you, and I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember! And I didn’t know what to do when I saw you falling apart, and I panicked, and I made a mistake!”

The room fell deathly silent, your words hanging heavy in the air. Stan’s eyes widened slightly, his lips parting as he stared at you, stunned into silence.

You buried your face in your hands, sobbing harder now, the weight of your confession crashing down on you. “I know I screwed up. I know what I did was wrong. But I swear to you, Stan, I just wanted to help. I just wanted to make it better.”

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. The sound of your crying filled the room, raw and unrelenting, as Stan sat frozen beside you. Finally, he exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair as his own emotions threatened to spill over.

“Why didn’t you just talk to me?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before it got so… so fucked up?”

You shook your head, your words muffled behind your hands. “Because I was scared,” you admitted. “Scared that you’d hate me, scared that I’d lose you, scared that I’d mess everything up—and I did anyway.”

Stan let out a bitter laugh, though it sounded more like a sob. “Yeah, you did,” he said quietly, his voice trembling. “But… I’m not blameless either.”

You looked up at him through tear-streaked eyes, your breath catching as you saw the raw vulnerability etched across his face. His hands trembled as they rested on his knees, and his gaze flickered between you and the floor.

“Why do you hate Damien so much?” you asked softly, your voice trembling as you tried to bridge the chasm between you. “And why did you… start to spiral after that night? After we practiced?”

“You want to know why I spiraled?” he asked, his voice low and rough. He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Because seeing you happy with Damien—seeing you in a relationship—made me realize something I’d been too scared to admit to myself for years.”

You stayed silent, your breath hitching as you waited for him to continue. His blue eyes, rimmed red from unshed tears, locked onto yours.

“It made me realize I’ve always loved you,” Stan confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, but the words carried a weight that seemed to fill the entire room. “Since we were kids. Through everything. You’ve always been there, and I just… I don’t know. I thought maybe it was just friendship or something, but seeing you with him—watching you look at him the way I’ve always wanted you to look at me—made it impossible to ignore.”

Your heart clenched painfully, and your tears spilled over as his words sank in. “Stan…” you breathed, your voice trembling.

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not saying this to guilt you or make you feel bad. I know I screwed up too, okay? I know I pushed you away when I should’ve just been honest. But watching you be with someone else made me realize how much I want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me. And it fucking killed me, because I wanted to be the one who made you happy. I’ve always wanted to be that person.”

You felt like your heart was breaking and mending all at once, the weight of his confession crashing over you. “I didn’t know…” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Of course, you didn’t,” Stan said, his tone softer now, tinged with resignation. “I never told you. I didn’t even let myself admit it until it was too late. But it’s the truth. It’s always been you.”

Tears blurred your vision, and you reached out hesitantly, your hand brushing against his arm. “Stan,” you said, your voice shaking. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t know I was making you feel like that.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and something else—something softer, more fragile. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know you didn’t mean to. And I don’t blame you for moving on or trying to be happy. I just… I couldn’t handle it. And that’s on me.”

The silence stretched again, heavy but different this time, as if something had shifted between you. Finally, Stan let out a deep breath, leaning back against the wall. “I don’t know if things can ever go back to the way they were,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m tired of pretending I don’t feel this way. I’ve loved you my whole damn life, and I don’t know how to stop.”

The words hung heavy in the air, the weight of Stan’s confession pressing against your chest. Your breath caught, your pulse pounding in your ears as you searched his face, taking in every crack in his composure, every flicker of raw emotion in his eyes.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “But I know I don’t want to lose you, Stan. I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

His gaze flickered to yours, hesitant and vulnerable, as if he was bracing himself for whatever came next. “You didn’t lose me,” he said softly. “I don’t think you ever could.”

The knot in your stomach loosened just slightly at his words, but the ache in your chest remained. Slowly, you leaned in closer, your hands trembling as you reached out to cup his face. His skin was warm beneath your fingertips, and you could feel the faintest tremor in his jaw as he looked up at you.

“Can I kiss you?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart hammered against your ribs as the words left your mouth, the question carrying more weight than you could have ever anticipated.

Stan’s eyes widened for a moment, his breath hitching. He didn’t answer right away, and for a terrifying second, you thought you might have pushed too far, too fast. But then, he nodded, just once, his gaze locked on yours.

You leaned in slowly, your heart in your throat as you closed the gap between you. Your lips brushed his, soft and tentative, like you were both testing the waters, afraid of drowning but too desperate to stay away. His breath hitched again, but then his hands came up, one settling on the curve of your waist, the other tangling gently in your hair.

The kiss deepened, and for a moment, everything else fell away. The guilt, the fear, the pain—it all melted into the background, leaving just the two of you, tangled up in the unspoken truths and years of emotions that had finally come to light.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, your breaths mingling in the space between you. “Stan,” you murmured, your voice shaky but resolute. “I don’t know if I can make up for everything. But I want to try.”

His eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with a mixture of disbelief and something softer, something fragile but unbreakable. “Me too,” he whispered, his voice rough but sincere. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Stan’s breath hitched as your lips met his again, the sudden intensity catching him off guard. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his like you were afraid he might vanish if you didn’t hold on tight enough. He froze for a split second, his heart slamming against his ribcage, before his hands found your waist, steadying you.

What the hell is happening? The thought raced through his mind, tangled with a thousand others—your warmth, the softness of your lips, the way your fingers threaded through his hair like you were trying to memorize every strand. He felt dizzy, like the world had been tilted on its axis and he was still trying to find his balance.

She loves me. The words echoed in his head, impossible and overwhelming. She actually loves me.

He didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve you. And yet, here you were, holding him like he was something worth holding onto, kissing him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered. His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers pressing into your skin as if to reassure himself this was real.

She’s not pulling away. That realization sent a bolt of something electric through his chest. All the years of pining, of watching you from afar, of convincing himself he could never have this—it all dissolved in the heat of your kiss.

But there was still a tiny voice in the back of his mind, nagging and relentless. What if she regrets this? What if you’re just another distraction, another mistake she’ll hate herself for later? The thought made his stomach twist, but he shoved it down, focusing on the way your lips moved against his, the way your body felt pressed against his.

As you shifted in his lap, pulling yourself impossibly closer, Stan let out a quiet gasp, his hands instinctively gripping your hips. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out the world around him. You pulled back just slightly, your forehead resting against his as your breaths mingled in the charged space between you.

“I can’t believe this is real,” he murmured, his voice cracking. His fingers traced slow, hesitant patterns on your waist, his touch light but grounding. “I’ve spent my whole life wanting this, wanting you.”

You smiled softly, your hands framing his face as you looked at him with an intensity that made his chest ache. “It’s real,” you whispered, your voice trembling but certain. “I’m here, Stan. I’m not going anywhere.”

He wanted to believe you. Wanted to believe that he could have this, that he could have you. But the fear still lingered, a shadow he couldn’t quite shake. Still, as you leaned in and kissed him again, Stan let himself forget about the doubts, the guilt, the pain—just for a little while.

Stan blinked, still dazed from the kiss, as he felt you hide your face against his neck. Your breath was warm against his skin, your words spilling out in a nervous tumble.

“Is this okay?” you asked, your voice muffled and trembling. “I mean, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything. I’m not trying to use you, I swear. If you’re not okay with this, just tell me, and I’ll stop. I’ll—”

Stan’s arms instinctively tightened around you, cutting off your rambling. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice low but steady. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You pulled back just slightly, your eyes searching his with a mix of uncertainty and vulnerability. Your cheeks were flushed, and your lips were slightly swollen from the kiss, and it hit him all over again just how real this moment was.

“I mean it,” you said, your voice cracking. “I’ll stop if you want me to. I don’t want to mess this up, Stan. I—” You stopped yourself, biting your lip as tears welled in your eyes.

Stan reached up, his thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheek. His heart clenched at the sight of you so raw and open, and he realized how much he hated seeing you like this—so unsure of yourself, so afraid.

“Stop,” he said gently, his voice carrying a softness he didn’t know he was capable of. “You don’t need to explain yourself. You’re not using me. I promise you’re not.” He let out a shaky breath, his hand cupping your cheek as his thumb traced the edge of your jaw. “And if I wasn’t okay with this, I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t be here like this with you.”

You stared at him, your breath hitching, and he could see the conflict in your eyes—the doubt, the guilt, the lingering fear that you were somehow doing something wrong. But he wasn’t going to let you spiral. Not now.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Stan admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared too, okay? I don’t know if we’re doing this right, or if we’re gonna screw it up, but…” He paused, his thumb still brushing your cheek, grounding both of you. “I don’t care. I just know I want to figure it out with you.”

Your lip quivered as you looked at him. Without thinking, you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. “Thank you,” you whispered against his shoulder, your voice choked with emotion.

Stan let out a small, relieved laugh, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly. “We’re in this together, okay? No more overthinking. No more guilt. Just… us.”

You pulled back slightly, your heart hammering in your chest as you looked into Stan’s eyes. They were so close, so full of emotion that it made your breath hitch. The words spilled out of you before you could stop them, raw and unfiltered.

“Can I be yours?” you asked, your voice trembling. “I mean… officially? I want to be your girlfriend, Stan.”

Stan froze, his lips parting slightly as the words settled between you. His hands, still resting on your back, tightened their hold ever so slightly. His brows knit together, a mix of hesitation and disbelief crossing his face.

“You really want that?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost unsure. “Even after everything I’ve put you through?”

You nodded without hesitation. “Yes. I’ve made mistakes too, and I know I hurt you, but I’ve never been more sure of anything. I love you, and I don’t want to keep pretending like I don’t.”

His breath hitched, and he exhaled sharply, his eyes softening as he took in your words. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that,” he murmured, his voice thick. He paused, searching your face for any sign of doubt, before letting out a small, shaky laugh. “Yeah. You can be mine. You’ve always been mine, really.”

Your chest felt like it might explode, the sheer weight of the moment leaving you breathless. Before you could stop yourself, you asked, “So… you’ll be mine too?”

Stan blinked at you, his lips twitching into a faint, lopsided smile. “I wanna be your boyfriend,” he said simply. His voice was rough, but there was an undeniable sincerity in his tone. “I wanna do it right this time. Dates, hand-holding, all of it. I wanna go on walks with you—just us.”

Tears stung your eyes, but they weren’t from sadness. Relief, joy, and overwhelming affection coursed through you. “I want that too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but sure.

Stan’s hands moved to cradle your face. He leaned forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. The kiss deepened, your breath hitching as you pressed closer to him. Every brush of his lips against yours sent sparks through your body, and you felt a quiet desperation in the way you clung to him, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, the intensity of the moment making it hard to breathe.

Stan’s lips curved against yours, and you could feel the faintest hint of a smile as he pulled back just slightly. His forehead rested against yours, and his voice was soft but tinged with amusement. “You’re, uh… getting a little carried away there, dude,” he teased, his own breathing uneven.

Your face burned, and you tried to pull back, but his hands stayed firm on your waist, grounding you. “Sorry,” you mumbled, your voice shaky as your eyes darted away. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Hey,” Stan interrupted gently, tilting your chin so you’d look at him again. His blue eyes were warm, filled with something so soft and unguarded that it made your chest ache. “I didn’t say I minded.”

You bit your lip, a small, nervous laugh escaping you as you tried to steady yourself. “I just… I really want this to work, Stan. I don’t want to mess anything up.”

“You won’t,” he said firmly, his thumbs brushing soft circles on your hips. “We’ve both screwed up enough to know what we don’t want. This… this is what I want.” His voice lowered, his words carrying an almost reverent weight. “You’re what I want.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time they didn’t spill. Instead, you leaned in and kissed him again, slower, softer, but no less fervent. The way his hands moved, holding you as if you might disappear, made your heart swell.

You shifted slightly in his grasp, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. The soft rustle of fabric drew Stan’s attention, and his hands instinctively tightened their grip on your waist as you pulled the shirt over your head, leaving you in just your bra.

“Is this okay?” you asked, your voice trembling with nervousness, your eyes locked onto his for any sign of hesitation. Your cheeks burned, your vulnerability on full display, but the warmth in his gaze made your pulse race.

Stan swallowed hard, his eyes flickering over you before quickly darting back to your face. “Y-Yeah,” he said, his voice a little shaky but sincere. “But… you don’t have to do this just because you think you need to.”

“I’m not,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I just— I want to be close to you, Stan. I want this to feel… right. With you.”

His breath hitched, and he reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “It already does,” he murmured, his voice softer now, steadier. “You don’t have to do anything to prove that.”

You bit your lip, your heart pounding as you searched his eyes. The sincerity in his words made your chest ache, but it didn’t quell the need you felt—this overwhelming desire to bridge every gap that had ever existed between you.

Stan’s hands moved slowly, tentatively, as if giving you a chance to stop him. His fingers brushed against your sides, his touch sending shivers down your spine. “We don’t have to rush this,” he said, his voice low, his blue eyes filled with something tender, almost reverent. “I’ll wait for you. As long as it takes.”

“I know,” you whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. It was brief, but it held every ounce of emotion you couldn’t put into words. When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his, and you let out a shaky breath. “I want to, Stan. I’m sure.”

Stan exhaled sharply, his hands still resting on your bare sides, his thumbs brushing against your skin. “Okay,” he said softly, his voice laced with both hesitation and determination. “But if you ever feel like it’s too much, just tell me. Promise me.”

“I promise,” you whispered, your lips curving into a faint, nervous smile.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with unspoken emotions. And then Stan leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was deeper, more certain, more consuming than any before. 

Stan’s fingers played at the hemline of your sweatpants, his touch light but deliberate, sending sparks through your skin. He teasingly dipped his fingers just below the waistband, his lips brushing against yours in a way that left you breathless.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, and his voice was low, almost a whisper. “Can I?” he asked, his fingers still toying with the fabric. “Can I take these off?”

Your cheeks burned as his question lingered in the air, your chest tightening with both anticipation and nervousness. You swallowed hard, nodding before you found your voice. “Yeah,” you murmured, so quiet it was almost drowned out by the sound of your own heartbeat. “Yeah, you can.”

Stan hesitated for just a moment, his gaze searching yours for any sign of uncertainty. When he found none, his hands slid to your hips, his touch steady despite the slight tremor in his fingers. Slowly, he tugged your sweatpants down, his movements careful, almost reverent.

The cool air against your skin made you shiver, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating off him as he leaned back, his gaze flickering over you. His eyes softened, the corners of his mouth twitching upward into a faint smile.

“You’re… stunning,” he said, his voice thick, the words carrying a weight that made your heart ache in the best way.

Your breath hitched, and you instinctively reached for him, pulling him closer as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. “You don’t have to say that,” you mumbled, your voice muffled and shy.

Stan chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you as he rested his hands on your waist. “I’m not saying it because I have to,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

Your laugh was soft, a nervous yet genuine sound that made Stan’s smile widen against your temple. His hands, warm and steady, shifted you gently so your back pressed against his chest, the closeness making your heart race. His breath tickled your ear as he leaned forward, resting his head against your shoulder, his lips brushing against your skin in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

Stan’s fingers found the waistband of your panties, his touch featherlight, teasing, as he traced the elastic edge with slow, deliberate movements. You felt heat bloom in your cheeks, your hands instinctively rising to cover your face in a mix of embarrassment and anticipation.

Stan’s hands gripped your waist firmly, keeping you steady as his lips moved against your shoulder, leaving a trail of soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His voice, low and rough, sent shivers straight to your core. “You’re so pretty like this,” he murmured, his fingers teasing just under the waistband of your panties. “Can I touch you? Really touch you?”

Your breath hitched, a mix of nerves and anticipation making your voice tremble. “Y-Yeah,” you stammered, nodding as you shifted slightly, giving him permission. “Please.”

His chuckle was warm, vibrating against your skin. “That’s all I needed to hear.” Slowly, deliberately, his fingers slipped beneath the fabric, brushing against the heat of your slick folds. A sharp inhale left your lips as he dragged a finger down your slit, collecting the wetness there before circling your clit with maddening patience.

“Fuck, you’re so wet already,” he muttered, his voice thick with awe. His lips found your neck again, sucking lightly as his fingers slid back down, testing your entrance. “All for me?”

You whimpered, your hands gripping his arms for support. “Yeah,” you whispered, barely audible, your walls clenching around nothing as you felt his finger press into you, slow and careful.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your ear, his tone soothing yet filled with need. “Relax for me. Let me make you feel good.” His finger eased in deeper, and you bit your lip, overwhelmed by the stretch even though it was gentle. “So tight,” he groaned, curling his finger slightly to test your reaction.

Your hips moved instinctively, seeking more, a soft moan escaping you as he found a rhythm, each slow thrust of his finger coaxing more sounds from you. “Stan,” you gasped, his name leaving your lips like a plea.

He kissed your neck again, adding a second finger with care, his free hand gripping your hip to keep you from pulling away. “You’re perfect,” he rasped, his fingers pumping steadily now, scissoring slightly to stretch you. The wet sounds of your arousal filled the room, obscene and intoxicating, making him impossibly harder. “Taking me so well, baby. So fucking good.”

Your breath hitched at the word, a new kind of heat spreading through you that had nothing to do with his touch. Baby. You’d never heard him call you that before, and the intimacy of it sent a jolt straight to your chest. “Baby?” you repeated breathlessly, your voice trembling as you looked back at him. Stan’s lips twitched into a faint smile, his fingers never slowing. “Yeah,” he murmured, his gaze dark and full of something you couldn’t quite name. “You are, aren’t you?” The way he said it—so natural, so sure—made your heart twist in a way that almost hurt.

Your head fell back against his chest, your thighs trembling as his pace quickened. He curled his fingers just right, hitting a spot inside you that made you cry out, your nails digging into his arm. “Right there,” you begged, your voice breaking. “Please, Stan—”

“I got you,” he interrupted, his voice low and rough as his lips brushed your ear. “Gonna make you cum for me. Just let go.”

Your walls fluttered around his fingers as he pressed his thumb to your clit, rubbing tight circles that sent pleasure shooting through you. The pressure built quickly, your moans growing louder as you bucked against his hand. “Stan—fuck—I’m—”

“Cum for me,” he growled, his teeth grazing your neck as his fingers thrust faster, relentless now. “Let me feel it.”

Your body tensed, then shattered as you came, your cries muffled as you bit down on your lip. Your thighs clenched around his hand, and he didn’t stop, drawing out every last wave of your orgasm until you slumped back against him, boneless and breathless.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice filled with pride as he pressed soft kisses to your temple. Slowly, he eased his fingers out of you, and your breath hitched at the loss. He held them up, glistening with your release, before meeting your gaze with a smirk. “So sweet,” he muttered, bringing his fingers to his mouth and licking them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your cheeks burned, but the heat in his gaze made you shiver all over again. “Stan,” you whispered, your voice still shaky. You didn’t know what to say, but it didn’t matter. He leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, grounding you as you melted into him.

Your fingers moved instinctively, threading into Stan’s hair as you deepened the kiss, your lips parting against his in a rhythm that left your heart pounding. The warmth of his body against yours was intoxicating, grounding yet electric all at once. Slowly, your hands trailed downward, brushing over the hem of his shirt before settling at the button of his jeans. You hesitated for only a moment, your eyes flicking up to meet his as you worked the zipper down with trembling fingers. His sharp intake of breath was audible, his lips parting as though to say something, but the weight of the moment rendered him silent. 

Your fingers grazed the waistband of his boxers. The way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard sent a thrill through you. Slowly, you tugged at the elastic, watching as his cock sprang free, heavy and already leaking at the tip.

You exhaled sharply, your fingers hesitating for a split second before wrapping around him, the weight of him warm and solid in your hand. His reaction was immediate—his head fell back slightly, his lips parting with a low groan that sent shivers down your spine.

"Fuck," Stan muttered under his breath, his fingers gripping the sheets beside him. His hips twitched slightly, as though he was holding himself back. "You don’t… you don’t have to—"

You cut him off with a soft laugh, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip, tasting the faint saltiness of his precum. "I want to," you murmured, your voice soft but certain, your hand starting to pump slowly, spreading the slickness along his length. "Let me take care of you, Stan."

His breath hitched, his eyes fluttering shut as you began to move with more confidence. You blew softly against his weeping head, watching as he twitched under your touch. “How are you this pretty everywhere?” you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Your lips curled into a faint smile as his eyes snapped open, dark and filled with need.

“Pretty?” he huffed, a shaky laugh escaping him as he tried to focus on your face. “You’re killing me here, dude.”

You didn’t respond, instead letting your tongue drag slowly down the length of him before circling back up to the head. His reaction was everything—his hands flew to your hair, fingers threading through it as his head fell back. "Shit—" he hissed, the sound rough and desperate.

When your lips finally closed around him, taking him inch by inch, his hips bucked slightly despite his effort to stay still. You moaned softly around him, the vibrations drawing a choked sound from his throat. "Fuck, baby," he groaned, his voice rough. "You feel so—"

You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper until his tip brushed the back of your throat. His grip on your hair tightened, not enough to hurt but enough to ground himself. "Slow down," he rasped, though the way his hips shifted betrayed how much he wanted more. "You’re—fuck—so good."

The wet, lewd sounds filled the room as you worked him over, your hand stroking the base while your tongue teased his slit. His thighs trembled under your touch, and the low, broken moans spilling from his lips only spurred you on. “Dude, I’m—” he gasped, his voice catching. “I’m close—”

He tried to tug at your hair, as if to pull you off, but you shook your head slightly, keeping your lips sealed around him. You tightened your grip on his hips, holding him in place as his cum spilled hot down your throat. He moaned your name, the sound raw and unrestrained, his body trembling as you swallowed every drop.

When you finally pulled back, a string of saliva and his release connected your lips to his cock. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, meeting his gaze with a mixture of shyness and satisfaction. "You taste so good," you murmured, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his lips, letting him taste himself.

Stan was still panting, his chest heaving as his hands cupped your face gently. "You’re… incredible," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He kissed you deeply, his lips moving against yours like he couldn’t get enough. "And, dude, I think you might’ve just ruined me."

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, brushing your lips against his once more. “Do you…” You hesitated, biting your lip as your cheeks flushed. “Do you have a condom?”

Stan blinked at you, his darkened gaze clearing slightly as your words registered. He stared at you for a moment, his expression caught between disbelief and a flicker of something softer, almost hesitant. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice low but steady, his thumbs brushing gently against your cheeks.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m sure,” you whispered, your voice trembling but full of intent. “If you are.”

Stan’s lips parted as he let out a shaky breath, his hands dropping from your face to rest on your waist. “I, uh…” He glanced toward his nightstand, a faint, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, I think I do. Hold on.”

You shifted slightly, giving him space as he leaned over to open the drawer. His movements were hurried but not frantic, his fingers rummaging through the clutter until he found what he was looking for. He held up the foil packet with a small, nervous laugh. “Got it.”

Your cheeks burned as you watched him, your stomach twisting with a mix of anticipation and nervousness. “Okay,” you said softly, your hands fidgeting slightly in your lap. “I’ve never… I mean, I don’t really know how this works, so…”

Stan paused, the condom in his hand, and turned back to you. The teasing smile he usually wore softened into something more serious, more earnest. He reached out, taking your hand in his and squeezing it gently. “Hey,” he said, his voice low and comforting. “We’ll go slow, okay? We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

You nodded, his reassurance grounding you as you met his gaze. “I trust you,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Stan’s expression softened further, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ll take care of you,” he promised, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I promise.”

You watched as he fumbled briefly with the condom, his hands trembling ever so slightly as he rolled it on. The vulnerability in his movements tugged at something deep in your chest. While he was focused, you reached behind yourself, unclasping your bra with shaky fingers before sliding it off. Your panties followed, leaving you completely bare before him.

When Stan turned back to you, his gaze landed on your form, and he froze. A breathless laugh escaped him, one hand running through his dark hair as he took you in. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. The awe in his tone made your cheeks flush, and you instinctively tried to cover yourself with your arms.

“Don’t,” Stan said gently, his hands catching yours and lowering them. “Don’t hide from me. Please.”

Your heart pounded as he leaned forward, pressing soft kisses along your collarbone before trailing lower. His lips found your nipples, sucking lightly at the sensitive buds, and you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair.

“Ah—S-stan,” you gasped, your voice trembling.

He didn’t reply, but the warmth of his kisses and the way he held you so delicately spoke volumes. He positioned his hard cock at your entrance, his eyes flicked up to meet yours, searching your face for any hesitation. His tip was dripping from his previous release, and the way he dragged himself across your slit, in an almost teasing manner, made you shudder.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice steady but laced with vulnerability.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to pull him closer. “I’m sure,” you whispered. “I want this. I want you.”

Stan exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead against yours as he began to push forward slowly. His length parts your walls, inch by inch. The stretch was unfamiliar, and you tensed for a moment, but his hands on your waist were grounding, his voice soft and reassuring.

“Relax dude,” he murmured, kissing your temple. “I’ve got you. Tell me if it’s too much.”

You bit your lip, focusing on the sound of his breathing and the way his hands held you like you were something fragile and precious. Slowly, he eased further inside, his movements careful until he was fully in. Your hips were touching now, and the sensation was maddening.

“You okay?” Stan asked, his voice hoarse as he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face.

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes—from pain, but also from the overwhelming intimacy of the moment. “I’m okay,” you whispered, your fingers trailing along his jaw. “I’m more than okay.”

Stan’s lips curved into a soft smile as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, and finally your lips. “You’re everything,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion. “I hope you know that.”

You didn’t respond with words at first, instead pulling him closer and wrapping your arms around his neck, your lips pressing softly to him again. The kiss deepened naturally, slow and deliberate, as though neither of you wanted the moment to slip away. His hands skimmed down your sides, gripping the flesh of your ass, and you could feel the faint tremble in his touch.

“God, Stan…” you whispered, your breath hitching as you gazed into his eyes. Your cheeks burned as you added hesitantly, “Please move.”

Stan exhaled shakily, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. “Okay,” he murmured, his voice thick with restraint as he slowly drew his hips back. He watched your expression closely, searching for any sign of discomfort as he thrusted forward again.

The stretch was still there, but it wasn’t as overwhelming this time. Instead, a new kind of heat unfurled within you, building with each careful movement. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, grounding yourself in the sensation of him, the closeness of his body against yours.

“Jesus-fucking-Christ,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. His lips brushed against your temple, trailing down to your jawline as he found a steady but punishing rhythm. “So fucking tight—so tight.”

Your breath hitched, a soft moan escaping your lips as the pleasure began to build. “Stan,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “Y-you’re so deep, I—” You're cut off by his cock twitching against your walls at your words, a shiver coursing through your body.

His strokes become faster and deeper, his hands roaming your body with reverence. The intimacy of it all—the way he kissed you between every thrust, the way he whispered your name like it was something sacred—sent a surge of warmth through you that had nothing to do with the physical connection.

Stan’s lips pressed against your neck, sucking and nibbling on your soft skin. The tightening of your walls stopped his advances, his breath coming out in soft, uneven pants. “I can’t believe this is real,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “You… you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. You’re—ah—you’re so good f’me.”

You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing against his cheeks as your eyes met his. “I—fuck, I love you,” you moaned, your voice all over the place due to the overwhelming sensations coursing through you. “This is s-so not real.”

Stan’s lips captured yours again, a quiet groan escaping him as he deepened the kiss. His thrusts grew slightly faster, more confident, and you arched into him, a gasp slipping from your lips as he fucked that spot that made your vision blur.

“Right there,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Don’t fucking stop.”

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice trembling as he clung to you like you were his lifeline. “I’ve got you, baby. Always.”

The tension built higher and higher, each thrust drawing you closer to the edge. His name fell from your lips in a breathless chant, and when his hand slipped between your bodies, his thumb circling your clit, it was enough to send you spiraling.

“Stan. Stan, oh my G-god,” You choked out, your nails clawing his shoulder blades leaving red, angry marks in their wake. Stan could feel your slick arousal dripping against him, creating audible squelching noises, and he knew you were close.

Your release hit you hard, your cunt fluttering around him as waves of pleasure washed over you. Stan followed shortly after, a guttural moan leaving his lips as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hips stuttering against yours. You felt the warmth of his cum through the condom as it expanded. The way he held you so tightly as if afraid to let go, left you feeling safe, cherished.

As the aftershocks faded, Stan eased himself back slightly, his hands cradling your face as he pressed soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips. “You okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse but gentle.

The soft, hoarse question lingered in the air, and you managed a shaky, “Yeah,” your voice barely above a whisper. Stan let out a small breath of relief, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks as if grounding both of you. His lips pressed against your forehead again, warm and comforting, before he shifted slightly.

The sensation of him pulling out was slow and careful, but it still made you whine softly, the emptiness leaving a dull ache behind. Your cheeks burned as the sound escaped you, and Stan’s gaze immediately snapped to your face, a faint flicker of worry crossing his features.

“Hey,” he murmured softly, his hands sliding down to rest lightly on your hips. “You okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shook your head quickly, your arms wrapping instinctively around his neck to pull him closer. “No,” you murmured, your voice still trembling. “I just… I don’t know. I feel… weird without you.”

Stan’s expression softened at your words, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “Weird?” he repeated, the word coming out in a gentle tease as he kissed the tip of your nose. “Is that a good weird or a bad weird?”

You hesitated, the vulnerability of the moment making your chest tighten. “Good, I think,” you admitted finally, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. “I just… I don’t want you to let go.”

Stan’s arms tightened around you at that, his forehead resting against yours as he let out a soft, contented sigh. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, his voice steady and reassuring. “I’ve got you.”

For a while, neither of you moved, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a blanket. The weight of everything—the vulnerability, the connection, the raw emotion—settled into something warm and steady, a feeling that made you fuzzy all over.

Finally, Stan pressed a kiss to your temple, his voice soft as he broke the silence. “Let’s clean up, yeah? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.

A playful grin tugged at your lips despite the lingering warmth in your chest. “Okay, boyfriend,” you teased, your voice still a little shaky but lighter now.

Stan rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward into a faint smirk. “Love you, girlfriend,” he shot back, his tone carrying just enough sarcasm to make you laugh softly.

“Good,” you replied, still smiling as you brushed your fingers through his hair. “Because I’m kind of obsessed with you.”

His smirk softened into something more genuine, his gaze locking onto yours. “You’ve got no idea,” he murmured, leaning in to press another kiss to your lips.

After a moment, Stan pulled back, his cheeks slightly flushed as he gave you a sheepish smile. “Alright, seriously though, let me grab something to clean us up. Be right back.”

Kyle leaned back against the dorm door, his legs stretched out on the hallway floor as he scrolled through his phone. The muffled sounds of your voices arguing inside were barely audible, but every now and then a sharp tone or raised word would cut through. He rolled his eyes, letting out a soft scoff as he aimlessly refreshed his feed. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

Minutes passed, and the dorm grew quiet. Too quiet. Kyle glanced at the door, debating whether to knock or just barge in to check if you two had killed each other. Just as he was pushing himself to stand, his ears caught something unmistakable—a faint moan followed by the rhythmic creak of the bed frame.

Kyle froze.

His phone slipped out of his hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud as his eyes went wide. For a moment, he stood there in disbelief, his face heating up so quickly it felt like steam might shoot from his ears. "What the actual fuck?" he whispered to himself, his voice tinged with panic.

The creaking continued, and Kyle bolted, muttering curses under his breath as he sprinted down the hall. His thoughts were a jumbled mess—equal parts disbelief, irritation, and a deep desire to bleach his brain.

Reaching Kenny and Cartman’s shared dorm, Kyle didn’t bother to knock. He shoved the door open, startling the two boys who were mid-conversation. Kenny blinked up at him from his seat on the bed, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Cartman, lounging in a beanbag chair with a bag of chips in hand, raised an eyebrow.

“What’s your problem, dude?” Cartman asked, crunching obnoxiously loud.

Kyle stood there, chest heaving, his face still flushed a deep red. And then he started laughing. Not the normal kind of laugh either—it was a borderline maniacal, disbelieving cackle that had Kenny and Cartman exchanging wary glances.

Through his hysterics, Kyle waved a hand, doubling over slightly as he tried to catch his breath. “Don’t ask,” he managed to choke out between gasps of air, his laughter tapering into a slightly unhinged giggle.

Kenny leaned back, taking a long drag from his cigarette as he eyed Kyle skeptically. “Did you, like, witness a murder or something?”

“Nope,” Kyle said, his voice cracking as he wiped at his eyes. “Worse.”

Cartman snorted. “Worse than a murder? Doubt it, bro.”

Kyle just shook his head, sinking into the nearest chair and burying his face in his hands. “Just… I’m never going near that dorm again,” he muttered, his voice muffled but filled with exasperation.

poor kyle... | part one

[draconym]

Hello! I’ve been interested in park ranger work for awhile— but since researching the institution a little deeper, I’m worried that park rangers are essentially forest cops. I noticed on one of your posts that you mentioned that you were a a park ranger law enforcement officer— and I was wondering if you could go into a little detail about park ranger work and it’s connection to law enforcement? Another reason I feel weird about pursuing park ranger work is I feel that national parks have a non-ignorable history of stripping land from indigenous people. If you have any thoughts or experiences related to the career— it would be extremely helpful for me to hear since I am trying to sort out what I would like to do after college. Thank you for reading. If you don’t want to answer this question either, I completely understand.

There's no singular institution. There are rangers who work for the National Park Service, for State governments, for local governments, or for cities and towns. And there are many different types of rangers: enforcement, interpretive, wilderness rescue, the list goes on. Different sites have different needs, and different positions will have different duties. Many rangers have zero law enforcement authority, and most I've spoken to prefer it that way: they prefer to focus on education and conservation.

I was an enforcement ranger, but never a law enforcement officer--the primary authority I had was the ability to issue fairly cheap citations for animal-related violations (fishing, poaching, off-leash dogs, harm to wildlife, etc.) through local Animal Control. Though some rangers elsewhere carry weapons and receive law enforcement training, my department never did (the latter, frankly, was often to our detriment).

Certainly the NPS has a history loaded with racism, land theft, land desecration, even genocide. The very inception of the NPS was predicated on the myth that the lands to be designated as National Parks were uninhabited wilderness. But don't assume the problem lies solely with NPS: any institution with even a small amount of power has the potential to abuse it, and smaller parks are no exception. I've never even worked for the NPS (my state doesn't even have any national parks), but local agencies often have histories of segregating parks or enforcing segregation within them.

I've heard people say that park rangers are the "only good" law enforcement, and that's a generalization I absolutely wouldn't make. Yes, there are laws and regulations that are necessary for the sake of conservation and our ability to safely access natural areas. That doesn't mean those laws are always universally fair or fairly enforced.

If this leaves you feeling dismayed, well, yeah. Me, too. But there are also quite a lot of positions within parks that are not rangers at all, and quite a lot of jobs within conservation and nature education that are not parks jobs. I've found both park maintenance and trail crew to be just as rewarding in many ways, and if you can live with the low salary they typically offer, I do recommend giving those positions a try. The salary was ultimately a dealbreaker for me.

I haven't been a ranger for several years. I left because the agency I was working for was undeniably a toxic work environment. This isn't intended to put you off working for parks: it's a valuable, rewarding career to educate the public about the natural world and to help maintain wild spaces. I'm grateful to still be involved with parks in other ways. But even the small agency I'm currently working for struggles to right itself. It can be rough out there.

I've already discussed a few of the above points before in my #park ranger tag, so I encourage interested folks to read there if they're interested in more of the mundane, day-to-day stuff.

[jqmalikhsgib]

astrology

two

on the plane ride back to quantico derek stares at spencer with a smirk. spencer tries to ignore him. he had his eyes closed, relaxing. for awhile it seemed to work until he feels two sets of eyes on him.

spencer sighs before turning his attention to the culprits. both derek and emily waiting for spencer to answer whatever question they have on their minds.

“may i help you?”

“so, yn, huh?”

“what about her?” spencer frowns.

“you never told us about her.”

“um—actually i have. multiple times on many occasions.”

“no! you said you had a friend back home who was basically like family. you never told us she was so pretty. what’s the story there?”

“story?”

“yeah? is she the one that got away?”

“the friend who you’ve been secretly crushing on for years but nothings ever happened?”

“the right person, wrong time?”

“this isn’t some novel. she’s just the only person that truly understood my potential.”

“oh come on reid! you can’t tell me that you two don’t have something going on? that hug alone was enough to convince me you’re more than just friends.”

spencer simply shakes his head at what derek was suggesting. “nothing. i mean, she means more to me than a friend, sure! but she’s like—she’s like the sister i never had. yn was there when dad left, mom got sick, when i skipped a few grades, when i was bullied, when i got into college, she was there for it all! she’s the only family i have, besides my mother. nothing ever happened between us. it’s strictly platonic.”

“so you wouldn’t mind if i asked her out then?”

spencer smirks. “go right ahead, morgan. she’ll turn you down so quick it’ll hurt! you’re not her type.”

“what is her type then pretty boy?”

spencer thinks. he shrugs his shoulders before answering. “she’s more into older men. men who take control. basically men who are masculine with a sweet side that’s willing to take care of her, yet lets her live her life the way she wants. men who are tough looking but have a secret nerdy side to them.”

derek hums.

“you just described hotch.” jj states. everyone turns to their stoic boss. he’d been too busy looking at paper work to listen to the conversation his colleagues were having.

he looks up when he sees everyone staring at him. “is everything alright?”

“yeah. just chatting.”

hotch nods before getting back to his paper work.

“i—i guess i did.” spencer states.

truth is, hotch was exactly your type. spencer knew you’d go for someone like him in a heartbeat. he just didn’t know how he felt about that.

you were his family. so was hotch though. you took care of him when he was younger. always fighting off bullies and protecting him from anyone who even looked at him wrong. hotch was like his father. being the one man—other than gideon—he truly looked up to. he protected him in his adult life.

in his eyes, you two were a perfect match. two people who are protectors with dreams that their families never understood. the two of you would understand each other. maybe that made him feel some sense of peace. maybe hotch is the kind of guy you truly needed in your life. not so much romantically, but more stability.

you both loss so much. maybe it’s what you both needed. maybe he could do something about it.

“welcome back my lovelies. i got you guys some donuts and freshly made coffees in the break room. also, reid, you have a visitor. said her name was yn. she’s pretty!” penelope smirks.

spencer nods his head. he walks over to his desk and sees you sitting down. you turn his chair, playing with one of his figurines he leaves on his desk.

“i told you id meet you at your hotel.”

“got bored. but miss penelope here, who i now love, showed me her batcave! she has a kick ass office.”

“thank you, sweets!”

you nod your head. “is it okay if i steal your boy genius for the afternoon?” you asked his team.

spencer looks at hotch for an answer. “all of you go home. you can work on your paper work in the morning.” hotch nods his head before heading to his office.

“ill be right back!” spencer runs after hotch. he gently closes the door behind them. hotch gives spencer his signature frown before sitting down.

“is everything alright?”

“yes, sir! i just—yn is new here. she’s thinking of permanently living here.”

“okay?”

“she doesn’t really have anyone besides me. she’s also looking for a permanent job. i was thinking, you said that jessica being busy with your ex father in law now, she barely has time for jack. you’re looking for a new live in babysitter—”

hotch nods his head. “how good is she with kids?”

spencer smiles. “she loves them! she’s cpr certified too! this would help her so much. she’d have a place to stay and a job!”

hotch thinks for a moment. it would be nice to have someone he could trust to watch jack. he knows spencer has good character in judgement. considering spencer has known you since childhood, you’d be a perfect candidate. he wouldn’t have to rely on some stranger taking care of his child. he’s seen too many cases where parents trusted someone with their kid, only to be a sadistic psychopath.

“bring her in. i’d like to speak to her myself.”

spencer nods his head. he opens the door and motions for you to come in. you simply frown and shrug your shoulders before walking upstairs.

“is everything okay? if you have to work spence it’s totally okay. we can look for places tomorrow.”

“actually, hotch wanted to ask you a few questions. i’ll be right down there if you need anything.” spencer nods his head before leaving. you frown deepens before you sit across from spencer’s boss.

“did i do something wrong?”

“no. spencer was just telling me you were thinking of moving here permanently?”

“yeah. spencer’s the only family i really got. my parents—they’re not completely shit, but they’re not great either. i rather be close to someone who truly believes in me.”

hotch hums. “i get that. im kinda the same way. im not really close to my family neither. how do you feel about baby sitting?”

you cocked your head to the side. “baby sitting?”

“spencer tells me you’re looking for a job. im looking for a babysitter. how do you feel about babysitting?”

“oh. i love kids. always have. i use to want to be a teacher. how old is your kid?”

“jack, he’s eight. he loves to draw, play with legos, and read. he’s a huge fan of superman but he loves batman more. if you ask him though, his favorite superhero is spiderman!”

“im sure that’s not true.”

hotch frowns.

“you fight bad guys all the time. im sure you’re his favorite superhero.”

hotch gives you a small smile.

“i need a live in babysitter. since you need a job and a place to stay, why don’t you just stay with me and i’ll pay you to take care of jack?”

your eyes widened. “really?!”

“yes! it’ll be a huge relief.”

“yeah! i’d love that! thank you. thank you so much—”

“it’s aaron.”

“thank you so much, aaron! you won’t regret this.” hotch nods as you shake his hand.

outside derek looks at spencer. “what’s that about?”

“just hotch offering yn a job as his live in babysitter.” spencer states.

derek, jj, and emily smirk at one another. “you sly dog!”

spencer pretends he has no idea what they were talking about. he just shrugs his shoulders and mentally pats himself of the back.

[starlordsandrockets]

The Bet

pairing: college!Peter Parker x Reader: 18+ , fake dating

word count: 9k

summary: You find yourself in attendance of a Gala with Peter Parker as your (fake) date. The two of you end up making a bet: Peter tries to make you fall for him by the end of the night.

a/n: sorry, i found myself in the worst case of writer’s block i’ve had in awhile. ANYWAY, i hope this makes up for it

“All I’m saying is that you’re going to look ridiculous,” Tony spoke. The rim of an almost empty glass of whiskey sat against his smiling lips, “Even Nat’s bringing a date and you two are two sides of the same coin. I don’t see how you can’t put up with a man for just one night,” Your gaze made him choke on his drink slightly, “or, or a woman?” He questioned, unsure of the reason for your deadly glance.

“I-I could get a date,” You stuttered, bringing your own glass to your lips. You crossed your legs, the black dress sat tightly against your knees. A pair of equally dark heels sat on your feet. The shoe dangled off your elevated foot, “I just chose to go stag, more of my vibe, you know,” You laughed it off.

“You’re a real lone wolf,” Tony spoke, “Are those still called bitches? Or is that just dogs?”

“Fuck off,” You groaned, finishing off your glass, “I’ll find a guy at the gala, alright. Spare me,”

“No, spare me,” Tony spoke, placing a hand on his chest dramatically, “Stark bringing along a virgin of an intern. All brain and no game,” He almost slurred, “But I guess that modest dress makes you kind of sexy in a mysterious way,”

“Forgive me for not breaking out my little black dress,” You told him, “It’s a gala. At an art museum, it’s not like we’re going to some night club”

“Oh, we’re not?” Tony questioned, “Then why are you totally pregaming with me right now,” He poured you another glass of whiskey with a shit eating grin.

“It’s the only way I can deal with you,” You admit with a smile, “This way you get a little more tolerable,”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Tony spoke, raising another glass. However, his toast was cut short as someone caught his eyes, “Ah! Pete! Perfect, absolutely perfect,”

You turned your head, your loose, y/h/c waves twirling, “Come on, Mr. Stark,” Peter spoke, a sigh passed through his lips as he noticed Tony’s buzzed state, “There’s still like, an hour ‘til we leave,”

“Yeah! Perfect, enough time for you to have a drink with us,” Tony smiled, walking towards Peter. He took hold of Peter’s arm, dragging him into the lounge.

Peter wore a black suit, nothing fancy besides the luxury brand Tony had paid for. His hair was gelled into place and it made you laugh to yourself, “What?” Peter questioned as he heard you almost giggle. A subtle blush sat on his freckled nose. A drink found a way into his hand as he stared at you, “Mr. Stark, you know I won’t feel a thing from this,”

“Humor me, kid,” Tony spoke, “Er- us,” He motioned towards you.

You were reclined on Tony’s expensive couch as you bounced the heel that sat loosely on your foot, “Please, I’m being held here against my will,” You spoke, making Peter smile. You extended your arm, placing it on the back of the couch. Stretching, you pinched your shoulder blades without a thought. However, Peter’s thoughts were racing, the position pushing out your chest, drawing all of Peter’s attention to you. He did not think you could consume any more of his thoughts than you already did, but here he was. Knocking back whatever liquid was in the glass Tony had given him, he swallowed it in hopes of also swallowing his dirty thoughts. As he expected, it did not work.

“Y/N needs a date tonight,” Tony spoke as you took a large sip, making you instantly choke. The action was not comical, like in the movies and books, but had you embarrassingly gasping for air and coughing up a lung, “As charming as she is in this very moment, do you think you could do me a favor and not let her show up like that,” Tony spoke, “She’s my intern and I’d hate to have her overshadowed by me, and Pepper, of course. So what better than my intern showing up with my totally-not-an-Avenger, and totally real intern,”

“Are you sure this isn’t another, against her will sort of situation?” Peter questioned as you continued to cough, physically unable to say no.

“She’s not objecting,” Tony placed his hand on Peter’s shoulder, giving him a drunken shake.

***

“After the carpet, I’m finding the drinks and leaving your ass,” You spoke, “I don’t care if people think I’m alone, okay.”

“Yeah… right,” Peter spoke as he sat next to you in the long limo. The two of you sat somewhat isolated from the others. The group was paired off and in their own world, leaving the two of you to realize just how alone you really were, “Me too, I wanted to come alone anyway,”

“Me too,” You added, repeating your previous claim. Your hand found the vodka cranberry that the limo’s bar provided, “I’ve always been alone,” You informed as you brought the glass to your lips, “Why start now,”

***

You felt your stomach turn as the camera flashed. You had yet to place a single one of your black heels on the red carpet of the gala and you instantly regretted the drinks you downed to calm your nerves, “Hell no,”

“You’ll be fine,” Peter spoke, “They probably won’t even bother us if Mr. Stark’s around, not to mention everyone else,” He spoke, “Literally everyone but us,”

“That makes me feel so much better,” You almost laughed, “Thanks,” Your word was blunt. You were used to being in others' shadows. You rushed before Peter, wanting to spend the night the way you were used to: alone.

“Hey,” Peter spoke, unsure how he had upset you. 

Since Peter could remember, you had always been standoffish, never reaching out for company at the compound. Always shutting yourself off in the lab, you would get your work done and leave if it was not too late of a drive. You would crash on the couch whenever Tony refused to let you leave after 1am. Tony never wanted to feel guilt of you overworking yourself in the lab only for you to fall asleep at the wheel on your drive home.

Peter recalled the sight of you sprawled out on the lounge’s large couch, a blanket tossed over you as it barely covered your exposed skin. Peter could not help falling for you after he caught that sight more than a few times. He had helped you through a few too many drinks, holding your hair as you emptied your night into Stark’s million dollar toilet. Peter was unsure if you remembered nights like that.

Peter knocked into you, bringing him back to reality as you stood frozen in front of the flashing cameras, “You’re Tony Stark’s intern, aren’t you?” Someone from the crowd questioned, voice booming over the other shouts, “Is it true you work on the Avenger’s upgrades?” The man asked.

“Y/N calls all the shots for Avengers’ upgrades,” Peter spoke next to you. Your head spun, not only from the attention, but towards Peter, “I- They’d be lost without her,”

He was not wrong. You fixed nearly all the flaws you found in Spider-Man’s suit. They were only flaws due to Peter’s way of thinking. Tony had designed the AI with himself in mind and not Peter, “Smile,” Peter whispered in your ear, sending a shiver up your spine. You could barely see, the white flashes blinding you. Reaching out, Peter placed his hand on the small of your back. Your lips parted, about to snap a sarcastic remark at Peter’s advancement, however, you felt his clammy hold through your dress’s thin fabric, making you smile.

***

“So,” You said, “You’d be lost without me?” Your question teased Peter as the two of you finally made your way into the gala’s main room.

“I can admit it,” Peter spoke, “I don’t have some weird complex like you, or Mr. Stark,”

“Don’t compare me to Tony,” You told him, still a little buzzed from not only the alcohol in your system but also the camera flashes, “God, if I get that bad kill me,”

“If you didn’t fix my suit, I might have by accident,” Peter admitted. He had eventually gotten the hang of his suit’s AI, however the changes you had made allowed him to fully master his potential, “but, yeah,” His words were smooth, “I would be lost without you, honestly,”

“Including now?” You questioned, now realizing you did not wish to face the night alone. Especially now that you have seen the amount of older men that would surely harass you if you found yourself alone, “so, leaving you behind would be a terrible idea,”

“Absolutely terrible,” Peter played along, a smile threatening to curl his lips. He knew your games and when you were hiding your true emotions, “I’m not sure if I could make it through this boring gala by myself. You’d be doing me a huge favor,”

“Yeah?” You questioned, “Then you owe me,” Your eyes searched for any amount of food you could ingest before you had more drinks to get you through the night.

“How is that fair?” Peter laughed, however, he had not made it known that he knew the facade you were putting up, “You know what, fine,” He gave in, “I owe you, whatever you ask,” As soon as the words left his lips he caught you smile, “No, no, no,” He rambled as he heard you laugh.

“Oh you can’t take it back,” You laughed, “This is going to be fun,” Peter followed you at your heels as you searched the huge gallery for food or drinks, “Maybe I’ll hold this over your head for a while,”

“Y/N,” Peter groaned, meeting your eyes. His regret faded as soon as he saw your smiling eyes and grinning lips. He was just glad that you were having a good time.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Your name was called out, attracting your attention as well as Peter’s to a man who seemed to be in his late thirties. He was cute. Peter must have read your mind, or maybe caught on to your swooning gaze, as his hand found the small of your back once again, “Pardon my interruption,” the man questioned Peter’s touch.

“No interruption,” You spoke, stepping out of Peter’s warm touch, “Just simply company, to get me through the night,” Peter stiffened at your words but your back faced him, unable to see the consequence of your claim, “Y/N Y/L/N,” You spoke, extending your hand.

The man smiled at Peter’s misfortune, “I’m glad to have caught you, I’m the gallery’s director,” He watched as your eyes lit up for a moment, “Phil Weston,” Phil introduced, “I was wondering if we could rent some of your work. Give you your own exhibition,” He watched as you stumbled over your thoughts before him, “Or should I be going through your assistant here?” He motioned towards Peter, “That’s what you are right?” He almost degraded.

“I’m a little more than that,” Peter spoke, unable to shine light on just how important he truly is. But you knew, he was sure you would back him up.

“Sure,” Phil spoke, “Well, Y/N,” Turning, he retrieved a tall glass from a woman who appeared behind him mid conversation. The glass of champagne made its way into your hand, your rings knocking against the thin glass. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small card, “Here’s my card,”

“Thanks Weston,” You smiled around the glass. Sticking the card between your two fingers, you flashed it to Peter, “Keep this safe for me,” You jokingly instructed, “assistant,” You heard Phil laugh as he departed.

“You’re ridiculous,” Peter spoke, not taking the card out of your grasp. The dark paper still waved in front of his face.

“Me?” You questioned with a bat of your lashes, with a smile you took a large sip of your drink.

“I know we’re playing a part here,” Peter spoke, “but you’re just standing there while that guy humiliates me,”

“I’m not playing a part,” You told Peter, “I call the shots, remember. And you owe me, I could have said something but then you’d owe me even more,” Alcohol coated your words as you studied the Avenger. A laugh bubbled between your lips as you began to tuck the business card into the small purse that sat at your side, “Forget it, Parker,” You informed, finishing off your champagne, “just help me find something else to drink,”

“I think you should eat something,” Peter spoke. Watching you walk away from him he reached out, taking hold of your wrist, “I mean, with how much you’ve been drinking,”

“Are you worried about me?” You asked with a sly smile, “I know you’re my fake date, but you don’t have to act like it,” Your eyes found a large table ordained with finger foods and drinks, “but I’ll humor you,”

“I just don’t want you finding yourself doing something you regret,” Peter spoke, thinking of Phil. He knew that you had more confidence when you drink. Hell, he hated it. You flirted with Peter almost every time you had one too many but in the morning the two of you could be mistaken as strangers, “Or make a complete fool of yourself,”

“That so?” You questioned as the two of you crossed the tiled floor of the museum.

“Wouldn’t put it past you,” Peter spoke from where he followed at your heels, “Little do you know, I have a decent amount of blackmail on half the compound. Sure it sucks that I can’t get drunk like the rest of you but, not going to lie, I think I have more fun watching you all make fools of yourselves,”

“What are you, a masochist?” You tease as you turn to him, drink in hand. You caught Peter’s stern glance, “Right, right,” You raised your free hand, retrieving a small sandwich, “See, food,” You stuffed the sandwich between your red lips, “Yum,” You spoke sarcastically, mouth full of food.

“How’d I land such a classy date?” Peter questioned, taking a drink from the table. He knew the alcohol would not affect his system but he did not want to look out of place.

“You wish you could land me,” You washed your food down with a large sip of wine.

“Ouch,” Peter spoke around his wine glass. He was unsure if he was just experiencing placebo from the wine but found himself speaking with newfound confidence, “I could land you… if I wanted,”

“Yeah?” You laughed, “I’d like to see that,” You admitted. You would be lying if you said you did not find Peter attractive. You have seen him at work, in the gym, you have seen him change in and out of his suit right in front of you. Peter might have not known but each time, you glanced at his toned body and mentally drooled. You would not mind if Peter pursued you, you just knew better. Peter was awkward and did not show much interest in you until tonight. He was just doing you a favor, keeping you company. He never spoke to you in the compound besides when he needed to, or when he said hello whenever the two of you passed each other in the large building, “But I know better,” You smiled, “know you better,”

“You think I won’t?” Peter questioned, watching you shrug your bare shoulders. He watched as another glass found its way into your hand, making his job a lot easier. You were a horny drunk and he was about to use that to his favor.

“Are you betting me?” You questioned almost excitedly, “Is this a bet? Please tell me you’re giving me another thing to hold over your head,”

“Sure, it’s a bet,” Peter spoke, taking another sip of wine, “But you have to be completely honest with me. No burying your feelings for me,” He informed, “Any time I ask, you have to tell me exactly how you feel,”

You almost gagged, but Peter was right, you should play fair, “Fine,” You rolled your eyes, feeling yourself begin to sway, “When’s the game start?”

“Right now,” Peter spoke, finishing off what was in his glass. Setting it down, he took yours from your grasp watching you shoot him an angry glance, “and you need to start off by telling me exactly how you feel about me,” His words were smooth, somehow forgetting that he normally had to build up the courage to just say hello to you but in this moment he was closing the space between the two of you, “I want to know what kind of a chance I even have,”

“I don’t think you have to work too hard,” You smiled, your lips beginning to numb. You stared up at Peter. Your eyes were able to count almost every freckle on his boyish face and god did you want to kiss them. Kiss him, even, “I’m kind of drunk,”

“Yeah,” Peter smiled, “I figured that much Y/N,” He whispered as if it was a secret.

“And it’s making you look cuter,” You whispered back, watching your words shoot through his heart like an arrow, freezing him in his tracks, “Even cuter than before,”

“Good to know,” Peter muttered to himself as he watched you take the wine glass back from his hand, your fingers brushing against his clammy hand.

***

“How’s the lone wolf holding up,” Tony questioned as he had excused himself from a conversation Pepper found herself in; checking in on you and Peter, but mostly you. Tony’s eyes followed you as you swayed, Peter’s hand supporting your lower back, “I see you’re holding her up,” He motioned towards Peter as you took another sip of wine, “How much has she had,”

“I lost count, but you know her,” Peter spoke, “She’s almost as bad as you,” He somewhat joked, watching Tony smile.

“I’m fiiiinne,” Your voice drew out, “I’m just bored, so I’m drinking. Sue me,” You groaned, turning to Peter, you studied him and how close he stood next to you, “Can we go dance,”

Peter’s eyes widened as he met Tony’s gaze. Tony sent him a suggestive gaze, “Yeah Pete,” He smirked, “You two should go dance, that’d be a much easier way to hold her up,”

“Pleaase,” You almost begged, “I can’t drink if I’m dancing,” You set your glass down, throwing up your hands in your defense.

“I guess that’s true,” Peter agreed, “Excuse us,” He spoke to Tony who sent him a lovey-dovey look, “Mr. Stark, please,” He muttered, leading you away from Tony and to the gala’s live string quartet.

“I love the violin,” You drunkenly gushed, “I’ve always wanted to play,” You twirled out of Peter’s hold as you entered the floor, bumping into a couple who slowly swayed to the sound. A laugh bubbled from your lips.

“I’m sorry,” Peter spoke, “Sweetheart, be careful,” He played along with your roles for the night.

“Hm, sweetheart?” You questioned as his hands fell against the fabric of your dress, “Out of all the pet names, you pick sweetheart?”

“What? You want me to call you dear? Like we’re sixty and unhappy,” Peter’s claim made you laugh, “I know better than to call you baby,” He spoke quietly, watching your nose wrinkle, “That’s what I thought,”

“It’s just so formal,” You teased, “I thought the gala was formal enough, but sweetheart? I’m swooning, darling,”

“Ah, darling,” Peter spoke as you brought a new pet name to light, “I still think sweetheart fits you,” The two of you moved in sync without a second thought as your conversation could barely be heard over the romantic strings.

“I know,” You smiled, “I’m a delight, the sweetest at the compound,” You played along.

“No,” Peter continued, “I think that’s Mr. Stark. But you’re a close second,” He spun you in his hold. His eyes studied you as you twirled before him, your hair bouncing as you smiled, a laugh falling between your lips. Your red lipstick no longer sat evenly on your skin from the amount of drink you had. Peter wondered if he should tell you, wondering if you wished to reapply the seductive red shade, however his eyes took you in instead, “You’re pretty,” The words slipped almost silently past his lips.

In an attempt to cover his claim, Peter pulled you back in, making your head spin. His action was quick, or so you thought, maybe you were just drunk, “Did you- did you just?” You stuttered, somehow his quiet claim made your heart flutter slightly. Peter’s dominant hand left the small of your back as it found its way to the side of your neck.

“How do you feel about me right now?” Peter questioned, it took everything in him to hold your eye contact, his body begging his gaze to fall to the necklace that sat against your skin.

You stared into his brown eyes, his gaze reflected sickly sweet puppy love back into your lone glance, “You called me pretty,” Was all you managed to speak, lost in Peter’s imploring gaze.

“Yeah… yeah I did. And how’d that make you feel?” Peter questioned, “Do you like it when I call you pretty?” He was no longer hesitant, realizing you probably will not remember most of the night, in the morning. Peter stared at your stunned expression, taken aback by his words, “You’re not saying no,”

“I’m just-“ You stuttered. The room twirled and you were unsure if it was from your moving feet or Peter’s sweet words. Returning to Peter’s hold, your hand fell to his chest defensively.

“I-I didn’t think you could get any prettier,” Peter spoke, words intertwining with the playing strings. Clearing his throat, he attempted to recover from his stuttered claim. Although he we determined to win your bet, you always managed to make him nervous, “Your hair looks nice curled and your eyes,” Peter rambled, “Your eyes are somehow making me more nervous than usual,” Your gaze was soft and intent, “and your dress,”

“Spare me,” You spoke, “Tony already gave me shit,” Your fingers fell from the fabric of Peter’s suit, touch trailing. Hand falling, it smoothed over the curve of your hip, “I guess I should have gone shorter,” Your eyes found a handful of women in short dresses.

“No-” His voice was almost desperate, “no- I mean. I like this dress,” He watched you raise your brows, eyes narrowing. Peter pulled you closer to him, building up the courage to express his next claim, “I’d rather think about what’s under it,” His voice was somehow smooth, “rather than seeing you in a short dress,”

“Y-Yeah?” You questioned, looking up at Peter’s blushed complexion. You felt your system warm, the alcohol still having an effect over you, “Want to see what’s under it?”

“W-What?” Peter questioned, his dancing pace slowing, “Y/N,” He laughed nervously. You were doing it again, being a horny drunk, “You’re drunk,”

“And you’re winning,” You admitted, “as much as I hate to say it,” The two of you stood on the dancefloor as the others danced around you. Your hands found their way to Peter’s chest, snaking up to his neck until your fingertips brushed against his warm cheeks, “You’re hot,”

“Y/N,” Peter spoke your name, as if he was trying to make sure that all of this was not a dream.

“Bathroom,” You interrupted.

“What?” Peter questioned, wondering if he heard you correctly, “Bathroom?” He watched you nod, feeling nerves rush through him, thinking all that alcohol finally caught up to you, “Yeah- yeah okay,” He helped you navigate your way off the dancefloor.

“Slow down,” You spoke, a little out of breath from keeping up with Peter’s gate in your heels.

Peter felt your fingers tickle against his skin, not realizing he had grabbed your hand to lead you through the crowds. He felt his confidence begin to crumble as he grew further and further away from the crowd.

The two of you traveled down the museum’s large stairs to the lower galleries and bathrooms. You felt the room begin to spin as you attempted to navigate the large concrete steps, “Shit,” You laughed, “These stairs are going to kick my ass,”

“Here,” Peter spoke, his hand fell from your hold. Reaching out, he wrapped an arm around you.

His hold steadied you but equally weakened your knees. Peter’s fingers dug into your shoulder as you looked towards him.

“What?” Peter questioned. Your gate slowed as you studied his face. You never thought he could get more handsome, but here he was helping you down a large staircase like you were some princess in a giant castle. 

Did that make him the prince? Of course it did.

“I’m fucked,” You laughed, your claim was under your breath, however Peter’s hearing still picked up on it.

The claim, unknown to him, was because you found yourself falling even harder for him; however, he thought you were about to get sick. Slipping his free hand behind your knees, he easily scooped you up, literally sweeping you off your feet.

“What are you-“ You felt your face heat up at the sudden advancement, “What if someone sees- there’s cameras-“

Peter did not respond, he was far too focused on getting you to the bathroom. The remaining flight of stairs passed quickly under his shiny black shoes. Turning the stair’s corner, he brought you to the bathroom door that was tucked under the concrete stairs.

“What-What was that?” You questioned, hands gripping Peter’s shoulder, while the other found his hand that gripped underneath your thigh.

“I- What? What do you mean?” Peter questioned right back, “I thought you had too much to drink,”

“I just wanted to freshen up,” You stared back at him, realizing just how close the two of you were.

“Oh,” Peter spoke, embarrassment reddened his ears as he stared right back at you. Walking towards the wall, he pressed your open back against the concrete wall.

“Pete-“ You vocalized as the cold wall touched your heated skin. Your back arched away and towards him in his hold. Realizing your tone, your gaze fell to the floor.

Peter watched as your chest rose and fell heavily in front of him. The skin of your chest was peaking out with each intake, and it silently begged for his lips. He wanted to kiss you- well, he wanted to kiss you every moment he spent with you- but especially in this moment. Rounding his shoulders he brought his face in front of your downturned gaze. He grew closer and closer with each passing moment, eyes fixed on your own. He breathed a shaken breath, palms growing sweating as he inched closer to your lips.

Like ripping off a bandage, Peter was quick and rough. His lips pressed against yours, pushing you against the museum’s wall. You groaned against him in response to the impact, before kissing him back slightly. However, before you could fully reciprocate, you heard a pair of heels descending the stairs.

“Peter-” You stuttered against his lips, hands pushing against his chest. You buried yourself further into the wall in an attempt to escape his advancement, “Get- Let go-” You watched as your words finally registered in Peter’s brain, his hands dropping you to the floor. You struggled to keep your balance in your black heels. Without a thought, you turned and rushed off into the bathroom.

You placed your hands on the porcelain sink as you stared at yourself in the mirror. If you were not wearing makeup you would have probably splashed your face with cold water, or hell, you would have even slapped some sense into yourself. Suddenly the sound of the bathroom door made you stand up straight. You did not dare to turn your head, to check if it was Peter. You watched as a woman, a little older than you, smiled at you through the mirror. You gave her a weak smile in return, head still spinning in response to the kiss.

You needed to pull yourself together. You were slipping right into Peter’s grasp, not that it was a bad thing, you were just way too competitive. You wanted to win. Opening your small purse, you removed your lipstick. As you applied the shade to your lips, you were far too lost in thought. Staring back at yourself, you were surprised to see that you had mindlessly applied the satin formula.

The woman who had made her way into the bathroom now stood next to you at the sinks. You rubbed your lips together, blending the color evenly, “Having a good night?” You questioned her, preparing yourself for any conversation you would have with Peter.

“Oh yes,” She smiled, washing her hands gingerly, not wanting to bump her diamond bracelets against the porcelain, “I’m sorry for asking- you probably hear this a lot but, what is it like working for Tony Stark?”

**

Peter rocked up and down on his expensive dress shoes. You were taking fairly long. Peter had already calmed himself down in the men’s room after your heated kiss. But now, he knew he would have had time to relieve himself instead. What was wrong with him? It would not have been the first time he had touched himself to the thought of you, but it still felt wrong.

He kicked at the concrete floor, frustrated that your kiss was interrupted so quickly. Suddenly, Peter was pulled out of his thoughts as you exited the bathroom with the woman. You laughed beside her as you locked eyes with Peter, “It was a pleasure talking to you, Y/N,” The woman smiled, lightly setting a hand on your arm, “I’m sorry for keeping her,” She spoke to Peter.

Peter nodded out of courtesy as the two of you watched her climb the large stairs, “What was that about?” Peter questioned, taken aback by the sound of his own voice.

“Oh,” You spoke almost too casually, “She was asking me about Tony. Wanted to know what he’s like outside of the public eye, you know?”

“Yeah?” Peter laughed slightly, “I can imagine you only said nice things,” He joked, knowing how you and Tony bicker, “Obviously,”

“Oh of course,” You joked back. You reached out, placing a hand on his arm. You watched Peter laugh beside you, leaning into you, and that is when you remembered the kiss. You must have visibly stiffened because it caused Peter to freeze as well.

“Y/N,” Peter spoke, watching you hesitate to meet his eyes.

You wanted to touch him, pull him against you and into the kiss that was so rudely interrupted. You wanted him to fill your free time, to watch his eyes squint whenever he smiled at your crude, dry humor, “You win,”

“What?” Peter questioned, laughing slightly. Then it registered, the smile faded on his lips and a slight red flush occupied his ears and cheeks, “Oh,”

“Yeah,” You nodded slowly, “It pains me to say it, but,” You groaned, “God I hate this,” You felt Peter’s fingers tickle the skin of your wrist. Your gaze flashed to the skin on skin contact and then the bathroom door.

“What?” Peter questioned again.

“Peter,” You motioned towards the door with your eyes.

“W-Wha- No! Y/N,” Peter stuttered, “No,” His voice was assertive as you almost pouted in front of him.

You bounced on your feet, silently pleading with him. He stood his ground, “Fine. But maybe I’ll change my mind later,”

“I don’t think you will,” Peter spoke, watching you physically wither, “Come on,” He took your hand and began to lead you up the staircase. You reluctantly followed at his heels, dreading what was to come next.

***

You have made it through three separate conversations with complete strangers, all while Peter’s hand rested on the small of your back. To make matters worse, you now locked eyes with Tony. The fake smile that once parted your lips completely faded in his presence, “The kid still needs to be holding you up?” Tony teased as you gave Pepper a genuine smile.

“Pepper, I don’t know how you put up with him,” You spoke, “Sadly I’m sober,” Tony raised a brow at your statement, watching Peter’s hand return to his side.

“I’m surprised she didn’t bite your hand off,” Tony smiled as a woman approached your group with a tray of champagne, “Thank you,” He spoke to her before he passed the group glasses. He brought his lips around the rim of the thin glass, “You starting to warm up to my intern?”

“He’s tolerable company,” You smiled back, taking a large sip of champagne, “Couldn’t say the same about you though,” The tension between you and Tony hung in the air as Peter and Pepper both apologized to each other silently.

“Why don’t we get some air,” Peter suggested, hand returning back to you. He watched you finishing what remained in your glass before giving him a pressed smile.

“Sure,” You nodded, “Nice seeing you Pepper,” Your eyes did not dare fall over to Tony. You watched his hold tighten on Pepper as Peter’s did the same to you.

The two of you made your way towards a secluded exit, avoiding the paparazzi that waited for everyone outside, “Can’t you just play nice for a night?” Peter questioned after your long silence.

“It’s not like- He does that shit on purpose,” You spoke, motioning back towards the door you found yourself outside, “He always has something to say- something to get under my skin. And it’s not like you stepped in and told him to stop,”

“I like seeing you all worked up,” Peter spoke, not realizing how his claim sounded until it passed through his lips. You looked up at him, “Not- Not in a weird way- Well-“ He stuttered. Peter did like it in a weird way. He liked seeing you flustered.

You watched Peter stumble over his words, his gaze falling off of you, “Mm,” You hummed, your tone was teasing.

“I said not in a weird way,” Peter spoke, watching you lean into his, studying his blushed skin, “Y/N,”

“How then?” You questioned, “I’m dying to know,” Bringing your fingertips to a hair that hung against his forehead, pushing it back into his gelled hair, “Your hair looks so dumb,” You teased.

Taking your wrist, he brought you around the building’s corner, out of sight from anyone who would exit the door. He listened to your mumbled complaints before he took hold of both of your arms. Peter pushed you against the concrete building. The cool surface made you hiss before Peter’s hands snaked up your arms to your face. He cupped your cheeks roughly as he brought his lips to yours for a second time.

And you were so glad he did.

Your hands found his black tie, tugging on it. You loosened the fabric, feeling Peter sigh out of relief. You do not know why you started undressing him, but now your fingers fumbled against his white shirt’s small buttons, “Hey, hey,” He almost laughed against your lips, “Slow down,”

“I just want to touch you,” You admitted, pushing aside the white fabric, studying the soft skin of his neck and chest.

“I thought you loved Prada,” Peter joked. He watched you study the suit. Your eyes scanned his body before falling right back to his skin. Little did you know, Peter had asked Tony specifically for a Prada suit after he heard you obsessing over their latest campaign.

“I-I do.” You spoke, “But… I told you- You win,” Your hands held both sides of his shirt’s collar, “Swing me somewhere,”

Peter watched as you pulled yourself closer, your eyes studying his lips. He was clearly an idiot, not acting on impulse. Peter had wanted you for so long, and he hated how this was all happening now, “I, I don’t have my suit on me,” He rambled, watching you pout in front of him. Words mumbled past your lips as you tried to protest, “It’s not like I can just swing you off as Peter Parker, Y/N, I’m an intern tonight. Right? So I can’t just swing you through the city to do whatever I want to you,”

The words fell from Peter’s lips, making yours curl into a subtle smile, “What would you do?”

“What?” Peter questioned, watching you lean back against the building.

“You’d do whatever you wanted to me?” You repeated, “What would you do to me?” Peter stood, disheveled in front of you. His once pressed and buttoned shirt was wrinkled by your hands.

Peter took a step back from you, “Please,” He mumbled, fixing the collar of his shirt. Your eyes studied him before wandering, “What?”

That is when you spotted Tony’s empty limo.

“Y/N,” Peter’s voice warned as you took hold of his wrist.

“Please?” You questioned, dragging him towards the parked limo.

“Someone will see,” Peter argued back, however, he still allowed you to drag him into the lot of limos and cars.

“Yeah, in a self driving, tinted, bomb and bullet proof limo,” Your words were sarcastic and the two of you neared the limo, “Friday,” You spoke, reaching out to the limo’s hidden keyboard.

“Y/N,” The system responded, “How may I be of service?”

“Unlock the limo please,” Your hand slipped from Peter’s wrist to his sweating palm.

“Mr. Stark has installed a security protocol for you entering the limo,” Friday explained, making you scoff, “The question is: Who is the world’s greatest boss?”

Your lips pressed into a line as you dreaded answering the question, “Tony Stark,”

“Incorrect,” Friday spoke, making you groan out loud.

Your hold on Peter’s hand tightened, “He made me say it and then- and then he just made the answer some bullshit I won’t figure out-“ You felt Peter’s fingers slip between your own, calming you for a moment, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Hey, Friday,” Peter spoke, “Hey. It’s- It’s me, Peter,”

“Hello Peter,” Friday spoke.

“Yeah, h-hi. Would you be able to let us in please?”

“Of course, Peter,” The two of you watched as the limo door opened.

Turning towards you, Peter studied your annoyed expression, “Still want to go in?” He questioned with sweaty palms.

“I’m not letting Tony kill the mood,” You scoffed, bending your shoulders in order to enter the low limo, “I bet he planned this,”

Peter followed you, listening to your mumbled complaints, “Friday, could you go offline? Please?”

”Of course Peter,” The system spoke, “All audio and video recording will be offline until further instructions,” You whipped your head towards Peter, pampered hair twirling slightly, “Uh- Unless you don’t want to do anything anymore,”. He felt his heart rate begin to accelerate as you crawled towards him on the leather seat.

“I thought there was so much you wanted to do to me,” You teased, watching Peter’s shoulders stiffen slightly, “Unless you don’t,”

“I do,” Peter spoke at an embarrassing rate, “I mean… yes,” His words slowed as he studied the fabric of your dress. His gaze trailed over the dark fabric until it found your neckline, the fabric dripping as you leaned in front of him. Peter quickly brought his eyes to yours, not knowing which sight made him more nervous.

“Okay,” You responded. Picking up your knee, you brought it over Peter’s legs. You slowly lowered onto his lap, “This okay?” You felt as if your heart could pound out of your chest.

“Yeah,” Peter chuckled nervously. Your actions were killing him and he did not know if he would be able to hold back. Peter felt the weight of you on his lap, hoping you would not feel just how hard you were making him. Bringing his hands to your thighs, he pushed past the soft fabric of your dress. The fabric pooled around his wrist as his hands trailed up your legs, “shit,”

“Peter,” His name fell quietly past your lips as you placed your hands on his chest, fingertips on his collarbones. You heard him hum in response to his name, “What- What are you going to do?” You attempted to keep up the act, however, being this close to Peter was making you crumble.

“R-Right,” Peter breathed out, feeling his lungs shake as he took in a sharp breath. He studied the skin of your neck as you stared at him. Peter closed the space between the two of you, lips finding the skin he had been studying. His kisses varied, some soft yet some hungry. Peter’s lips parted, his kisses becoming more sloppy as his fingers dug into your plush skin coaxing a whimper from your lips.

The limo air hung heavy with every heated kiss and breath the two of you exchanged. Bringing your hand to Peter’s head, your fingers took hold of his hair. You pulled him away from your neck before you brought your lips to his. Your kisses were equally as hungry and making up for lost time. Hands still exploring his hair, you raked through the gel that held it in place. 

You let out a sigh of relief as you messed with Peter’s gelled hair. A slight smile curled on your lips as you kissed him, “What?” Peter questioned, lips not even an inch away from yours. His eyes studied your smile, teeth appearing between your lips.

“Your hair,” You spoke, leaning back to study it, “Did Tony tell you to wear it like that?”

“N-No,” Peter replied, “I always put gel in. I just used more this time,”

“Yeah well,” You played with a piece of hair that hung out of place, “I like it better like this,”

“Yeah?” Peter smiled.

“Mhm,” You hummed, fingers running through his locks.

“Then I guess I’ll have you do my hair for the next gala,” Peter added.

“Okay,” You answered quietly, eyes now falling to his lips.

“Alright,” Peter smiled, leaning back into you. His lips found yours once more, finding the rhythm the two of you previously shared. 

Peter had no idea how he ever survived this long without kissing you. The feeling of your body and lips pressed against him was enough to drive him insane. He melted against you, fully giving into you. His touch continued to trail up your skin, fingers now tracing the curve of your hips and waist, “Y/N,” Peter breathed out, “Are we doing this? Because I feel like I’m losing my mind-“

“Y-Yeah,” You stuttered, coming back to reality, “We better hurry before Tony realizes we’re gone,” You watched as Peter’s brows furrowed for a moment, “What?”

“I want to take my time with you,” He admitted, “I’m not really a quickie kind of guy,”

“Quickie? What are you, a teenager?” You teased slightly, “You can have me when we get back to the compound,” Peter’s gaze fell from your eyes to the tinted window out of embarrassment, “Yeah? Sound fair?”

“Yeah,” Peter spoke, hands leaving your waist and falling onto the fabric of his dress pants. The sound of his zipper made you realize that you were actually about to fuck him and none of this was a dream, “Let’s make this quick then,”

You brought your lips to his in a rough kiss, pushing Peter’s back fully against the limo’s seat. You raised yourself off of Peter’s lap, allowing him to push the fabric of his pants down his thighs. Suddenly, you felt Peter’s finger push your underwear aside, finger running through your wet folds. This caught you off guard, making you jump, body freezing against him.

“You’re so wet,” Peter almost laughed, “How long have you been like this?”

“The Prada got me pretty quick,” You admitted slightly.

“Yeah?” Peter smiled, “It wasn’t the fake dating?”

“S-Shut up,” You stuttered as Peter’s touch returned for another swift motion between your legs, “We d-don’t have time for this,” You spoke, hoping Peter’s teasing would cease as embarrassment flooded your cheeks.

“Right, no foreplay,” Peter spoke, “Not that you seem to need it right now,” He teased, watching your brows furrow, “Right, right,” Peter spoke, pulling a condom out from the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

“You, you brought a condom?” You stared at the foil in disbelief, for some reason Peter’s action stirred the butterflies that sat in your stomach.

“Y-Yeah,” Peter admitted, “I have one on me if I ever think I have a chance with you… and also when I don’t,” Opening the condom, he attempted to distract himself from your quiet laughter above him.

The laughter continued to bubble past your lips. You were not laughing at Peter, but at how stupid you were for waiting this long to act on your feelings. Somewhere between your laughs, Peter had rolled the condom down the length of his dick.

“What?” Peter questioned your laughter as he pushed the fabric of your underwear aside.

“N-Nothing,” You stuttered, catching your breath from your laughs, “I just- I feel like I don’t deserve you,”

Reaching out, Peter covered your mouth. He somehow felt himself grow even harder as the claim left your lips. His dick bounced, attracting your gaze. You felt your face heat up as you took in the sight before you.

Removing his large hand, Peter caught you in a heated kiss. It was a kiss by definition, however it was sloppy and hungry with barely any rhythm to it. As you lost yourself in decoding it, Peter had lined himself up underneath you and began to enter you.

“S-Shit,” Peter stuttered at how tight you sat around his dick. You were so wet for him and he entered you easily, “fuck,”

“P-Peter,” You returned his stuttering, his name falling past your lips as you felt the size of him, “God- shit, you’re big,”

“Right,” Peter laughed as you gave him the classic, cliche line. But he was big and you were not sure if you could thank the spider bite for that or not. 

However, as the single thought crossed your mind, it soon left as Peter began to bounce you above him, his fingers digging into the skin of your thighs, “Ffffuck,” You moaned from the pressure of Peter’s hands combined with the rhythm he started.

“God you sound so pretty,” Peter groaned as his head tilted back against the seat’s headrest. Your hands, once bunching the fabric of his dress shirt, now traveled to his collar. Your fingers fumbled to unbutton his shirt, hungry for the sight of his soft skin.

As soon as the skin of his chest was visible, your shoulders rounded and lips attached to his collarbone. His skin passed your lips as your teeth marked him, earning a moan from his parted lips.

“Y/N-“ The pain from your mark making only made Peter thrust into you harder and faster, “shit,”

Your hands fell to either side of Peter’s head, holding onto the seat as Peter fucked you. Peter was still holding back, but at this strength, you were still going to be hurting in the morning. You bit into the skin of his shoulder, trying to suppress your moans that only grew louder; screams threatening to replace them, “P-Peter-“ You somehow attempted to speak his name.

“I-I,” Peter almost stuttered, “hate to say it but I’m really close,” He watched as you pulled your face out from his neck, now studying him. He was falling apart below you, everything about you making him weak. Somehow, he felt as if he was becoming weaker just at the sight of you, “Y/N,”

Peter looked as if he was holding on for you, brows furrowed as his teeth dug into the skin of his bottom lip. As you studied his lips, you decided to bring yours to his jaw, showering him in kisses. Some were sloppy and some were rougher than others as you attempted to help Peter over the edge he was holding onto, “Want you to cum,” You whispered against his skin, “Cum for me. Please?”

“S-Shit,” Peter breathed out. The curse rang with a slight laugh as you relieved him. With a few more rough thrusts, Peter filled the condom that was deep inside of you, “I-I wanted to last longer,” He informed, however his claim was cut short by your lips finding his own.

“Later,” You reminded him, “If you still want to-“

“I do-“ Peter interrupted. Clearing his throat at his desperation, he spoke again, “Yeah, yeah I’d like that,”

“Yeah,” You smiled, “I’d like that too,” You studied him as you still sat on his lap. However, that is when you remembered where you two were, “Shit-“ You raised yourself off of his lap. A shutter traveled through you as Peter quickly exited you.

“W-What?” Peter questioned awkwardly as the filled condom fell against the fabric of his shirt. Pulling it off of his dick, he tied it off before tossing it in the limo’s trash.

“How long has it been?” You questioned, nervousness rushing through you at the thought of the gala being over.

Your question made Peter’s shoulders round, wishing the limo’s seat would engulf him, “Was… was I that bad?”

“What?” You questioned as you collected yourself, looking out of the limo’s tinted window, “Wh- No- No. I-I meant how long have we been in here,” 

“Oh,” Peter spoke, attempting to make himself look presentable as well, “We should get back to the gala, “Hey- hey Friday, could you come back online please,”

“Of course Peter,” The system spoke as you placed your hand on the limo’s handle.

“W-Wait- hold on I’m almost-” Peter spoke but his claim was interrupted by your low voice.

“Maybe we shouldn’t get out at the same time… in case anyone sees,” Your words were cautious as if you were dancing around an insult, “Anyone being like the media… or-”

“Or Phil?” Peter questioned quite quickly.

“You know what I mean,” You spoke back defensively, “We don’t need any attention drawn towards you or a Stark controversy,”

“I know,” Peter responded, however you were already halfway out of the limo’s door.

Stepping into the cool night air, you took in a sharp breath. You did not mean to hurt Peter’s feelings, but it was just second nature to you. You always said the wrong things and somehow found yourself in arguments, but Peter was the last person you wanted to upset.

“Needed to cool off?” You heard Tony’s voice call out.

“Not now,” You groaned, however you dropped the attitude as you saw the rest of the group not too far behind him, “Party’s over?”

“Yeah you missed it. Where’s Pete? Was he holding your hair after all those drinks?” Tony asked, eyes scanning for Peter. You walked back towards the limo, hoping to warn Peter of the group’s presence before they could catch up. Opening the door you stuck your head into the vehicle, “I’m surprised Friday even let you in there,” Tony spoke as he approached you from behind. He waited for a remark from you. After all, he programmed the question just to mention you, however you were silent. Sticking his head in, he caught the last glimpse of what exactly was going on in his limo.

You pushed Peter away, who as soon as you entered the limo had caught you in a quite passionate kiss, “Not- not now-“

“Do I even want to sit in this limo?” Tony’s voice questioned, making you jump away from Peter’s hold. You sat down, putting a seat between the two of you, “My limo, may I add. God, I don’t even want to think about what you two did in here. And where you did it”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter spoke, the group’s presence unknown to him after he stopped you in your tracks as you entered the limo to warn him, “We didn’t…”

“Yeah Pete, real convincing,” Tony looked around as he climbed into the limo,  calculating where the safest place to sit might be, “Could you please just let me know if I’m about to sit in the splash zone or something,”

“I…I swear to fucking god,” You groaned, fingers now rubbing circles into your temples, “Can we all just get in and leave?”

“Why?” Tony questioned, attempting to hold eye contact with you as the rest of the Avengers piled into the limo, “Is there just something you’re dying to finish when we get back?”

“If something did happen tonight, shouldn’t you be glad? Took them long enough,” Natasha spoke, giving you a slight grin. Her red hair, once pulled back taut, now had a few loose pieces that fell against her cheekbones, “Plus, spare me. I’m getting a migraine from all that wine,”

“I’m trying to spare you” Tony spoke, fingers falling against his chest. Raising his opposite hand, he flashed the foil wrapper that sat between his fingers, “I don’t know what seat is safe,”

“Peter,” You groaned, covering your eyes as Tony tossed the wrapper towards you. You rubbed your temples as you heard Peter stutter from where he sat on your left.

“I mean,” Tony spoke, pouring himself another glass of whiskey from the limo’s bar, “I didn’t think you’d actually do it. Good for you kid, she’s way out of your league,” Taking a sip, he looked towards you. “So much for lone wolf,”

[chosos-husband]

Would an angsty jealous fem reader x lifeweaver fic be doable? Where shes jealous bc lifeweaver likes to flirt around with the others and it ends in her wanting to quit working with overwatch bc she gets hurt watching him with others? Happy ending please! One where they get together hwheh thank you!

Ugh Lifeweaver my BELOVED. Literally love this man so much. Thank you so much for requesting qwq!! Also sry this took forever! I am in college, and it has been screwing me over lately lmfao. Hope you enjoy it :3

I also forgot that I will be writing the reader with neutral identity unless otherwise stated. Thanks!

Niran, in general, was a flirtatious person. He always made cute comments towards the people that he was closer to. Even to those he had just met, he would give the sweetest remarks about something he saw in them.

He had a talent of seeing the best in those around him. Everything living had beauty and value to him. Niran had a calling to protect this inherit beauty.

Of course, this did not end with you. Every message from him was signed off with something just to make you smile. It was impossible to not love him, even if it was just a little. It was hard to not love someone who made you blush every day.

As time passed on, you did learn to love him, a lot actually. You made excuses to visit his office and made reasons for you two to work together, even if there was no logical explanation for that decision.

You learned to admire Niran in the same way he did you. You appreciated him as a being. Physically, he was stunning. Anyone could agree with that. However, you feel in love with him entirely, a large component of that being in his words and actions.

It was easy to feel special with him. It was as natural as breathing to love him.

It's why it burned so much to see him talk that same way to others. For awhile, it was just you. He would only really speak to you in this way. But, quite suddenly, he started talking like that to others.

You analyzed what those peers had that you didn't. You didn't know what Niran's type was, as it kinda seemed like everyone was.

He would compliment their outfits and style. You couldn't help but wonder if that's what he would have preferred out of you. It was simplistic to fall into the trap of what he would have preferred. What would make him adore you as much as you did him.

As more time passed, you grew angry with him. It was cruel. That he would give the impression that you were special to him. Just for him to run around and talk to other people the same way. It just wasn’t fair for him to do this to you.

You couldn’t look at him without him being angry. You couldn’t stand for him to compliment you anymore. You knew how he would be talking that way with just anyone else. It didn't mean anything. It wasn't special to him.

You started just ignoring what he said to you. You would roll your eyes or not respond. Niran tried asking if he was doing something to upset you. But you never answered him, you would simply walk away.

It got to the point where you just didn't want to see his face anymore. Even if he only spoke to you again, it didn't matter. You didn't want to see him anymore. As, all it did was hurt.

You grew with frustration when Overwatch didn't accept your request to transfer departments. They stated that your work with Niran was important and that you two already agreed to work on that assignment together.

Niran looked by as you were putting things into a box. Everyone else had already left the building. You didn't want to make leaving a big scene. You didn't want anyone to question you or try to talk you out of it. It didn't even come to mind how Niran tended to stay later than everyone else did.

"y/n, what are you doing?" He frowned. He knew that you were angry with him. However, Niran still loved you and he didn't want to see you leave.

"Why do you care?" You snapped back. You continued to pack things into boxes.

"I care about you. We've worked together for a long time now. Why do you think I wouldn't?" Niran stepped close to you, which just made you more irritated.

"Don't even try to pull that with me anymore. If you care about me, you wouldn't talk to me like that. You wouldn't flirt with me and then act like I'm nothing the second I step away and there is someone else to talk to. I'm not special to you." You rambled. If you were thinking rationally, you would have seen the hurt in his eyes. That, he hated the idea that he was hurting you this much and didn't even know it.

"That's just the way I speak, it isn't personal, y/n." Niran tried to explain, but you weren't really listening.

"It doesn't matter. I'm leaving Overwatch anyway. You can tell them that when I don't come in tomorrow."

"You can't leave! Our work is together. I work with you and that's the only way it will continue to grow. I can't continue this project alone. "

"Why should I care now?"

"Why are you angry?" Niran was starting to get frustrated with you. Though, he was very good about keeping his anger in check. He just didn't understand how he was supposed to know you were upset without you talking to him.

"Because I loved you and it felt like you loved me back. But I don't mean shit to you. Do I, Niran? Aren't I just some other person in this lab to you?

Niran's eye widened a little bit. The confession was sudden, but provoked. His normal confident, charming demeanor fluttered. He was blushing.

Your confusion grew as you could see him looking for any implication of sarcasm.

"Are you serious?" Niran smiled a little bit. His tone was soft and no longer defensive.

"Why lie now? I'm leaving anyway." You shrugged. There was a level of embarrassment to it. That you are confessing to someone just before running away.

"I do love you. I have for quite a long time really."

Your entire expression softened. Now, you were trying to figure out if he was being sarcastic.

"You don't act like it. I don't really believe you, Niran."

"I have. I wasn't sure how to talk to you. I tried. But I wasn't sure you were interested at all. I only started talking to others to get over it. But I can't say that I ever did. I never stopped thinking about you in that way. I just didn't want to say it and ruin our friendship." He paused. "But I guess I did that anyway, didn't I?"

You stood there, looking into the box that you had on your chair. Maybe this was all just a silly misunderstanding. Perhaps you were just being jealous and refusing to talk to him about it.

"Are you willing to give me another chance?" Niran asked, making you look up. You hesitated for answer for a moment.

"I think I will."

~~

A few months later, you two are cuddling in his room. He definitely appreciated showing his affection through actions. You were laying on top of him, your head resting against his chest. Initially, you were counting his heartbeats, but he kept talking to you and making you forget which number you were on.

"Thank you for giving me another chance y/n." Niran put his fingers through your hair.

"I wouldn't if you weren't so pretty." You were just teasing and it made him smile.

"Then, I'm glad that I am. I don't want to imagine a life where I'm not with you." Those stupid words again. You could feel your face getting a little hot.

"Hush now, I'm going to bed."

Niran was awake a little longer than you. He couldn't stop thinking about this. He was scared that he almost lost you. That him not being able to say it made your relationship almost never happen.

But, he had you now and you had his complete, unforgiving attention.

[cloveroctobers]

KILLING ME — DANTE TORRES: [Spring Prompts]

A/N: idk just looking at how pretty Dante’s eyes are always reminds me of spring. I’m still annoyed with the direction they took him in a few episodes ago and that comes into play here for reader :) this is a contrast to my previous spring piece on Dante but it’s nice to switch things up no? Also happy first day of spring ⭐️🌾!!!

WARNINGS: Language + angst ofc!

PROMPT IS FROM HERE + I’m using: 10.  “Somewhere over the rainbow, I give a fuck.”

˙⊹܀☁︎˚˙⊹⁺. ˙⊹܀☁︎˚˙⊹⁺. ˙⊹܀☁︎˚˙⊹⁺. ˙⊹܀☁︎˚˙⊹⁺. ˙⊹܀˚˙⊹⁺.

The house is too quiet for your liking, which is why you usually have your attention on something else to fill up the white noise. You’re just getting off FaceTime since your parents, who started busting out into some soul train moves (you actually expected them to be in bed)—you were just relieved neither of them pulled a hamstring—when there’s pounding at your door.

Sighing, you place your night time skincare routine down on the counter and exit the bathroom upstairs and down the steps across the hall, which lead downstairs to the main floor. As you made your way through the home towards the front door, you’re not entirely sure who could be outside at this time of the night. You just got home from your good friend’s charcuterie board birthday party (which was actually in January but they decided to go live in Ireland with their situationship turned fiancé) and was not up for company.

Peeking out the window around the corner that shows the side view of the front stoop, you exhale at the side profile of the familiar face. Yanking the curtains back into place, you make your way over and unlock the door.

“Dante,” you state as he welcomes himself inside, “I didn’t get a text you were coming over.”

He blinks, which he does a lot when he’s tired or his mind is racing, “yeah, sorry about that. I just assumed you’d be up.”

“Uh huh,” you cross your arms, “I was just getting unready…you alright?”

Dante lifts his shoulders, “why wouldn’t I be?”

You stare at him and reply, “I don’t know…you hardly ever show up here without a text or call and I think I know you pretty well so…how was work? Something go down?”

Dante needs to keep his hands busy, so he’s pulling off his puffer coat and tossing it on the two-seat sofa against that side window you just peeked out of. He hates that you sense that something is up but he doesn’t want the focus to be on him, although he appreciates the sentiment deep down.

“Sorry,” he apologizes again while you sigh and wave your hands upwards, silently announcing that you were heading back upstairs, “…you just get in?”

You’re leading the way back up the first set of stairs and make your way over to the master bathroom. Dante leans in the doorway as you go about your business, headband keeping your hair out of your face, wristbands on to catch the water that always tends to race down your forearms, and just watches you as you take your time.

You were a little tipsy from your good friend’s sangria’s, you preferred white over red since the red tended to have you swaying a bit more but you pulled it together with lots of water despite your tongue still feeling tingly.

“Yes,” you say after awhile of washing your face that Dante wondered if you would ever say anything, “I went to that party Seán was throwing. Remember? I asked you weeks ago if you wanted to go but work came up.”

Dante dipped his head at the mention of your old college friend. Seán was a character and always spoke his mind, picking up on the vibe between you two before anything ever transpired. You and Dante were the typical high school friends that were always around each other while also getting into some mess and had your share of hard upbringings.

You were there through Juvi and after, (although he desperately tried to push you away once he joined that gang and he thought once you went off to college in Indiana, that it would be easier to no longer be friends. Ha!) which seemed like nothing could break your bond. At times it felt like that’s exactly what people wanted but these challenges held no weight against the storm of you two.

“Right, so how was it? Get into trouble?” He inquires, resting his head against the door frame.

You snorted as you glanced over at Dante, “I could ask you the same thing.”

Dante smirked, “fine then, spare me the details.”

“You’re welcome.” You smile as you return to your work, “…did you eat?”

Dante raises his brows with amusement in his voice, “do you honestly think I’m going to turn down any food if I did?”

“Fat ass,” you muttered, dodging the jab Dante sent at your hip, “I’m just saying if you plan on staying the night, I don’t want you reporting back to mom in the morning that I lack hospitality.”

Dante rolls his eyes as you start brushing your teeth, “Ma knows you won’t ever do me wrong…so I’m gonna raid that fridge while you finish up.”

Giving the thumbs up, Dante leaves you be as he heads back down stairs letting his thoughts hit him again. He’s not sure how long he’s had the fridge open, just staring in it until you’re sneaking underneath his arm to pull out the aluminum pan for him and hand it over.

Taking a seat at the opposite side of the island, you watch as Dante moves almost in autopilot, going through your cabinets for a plate, drawers for utensils, and into the microwave for a late night dinner. He slides the plate onto the island and leans his body against it, fork pushing around the little leftovers you made for the party, which was a hit so you knew something was up.

Tapping your fingertips against your cheek you press, “Tay…you’re killing me here. What’s up?”

His green eyes flick to yours briefly before they’re back down on the plate, “Nothing—

“I feel like you’re lying though, just to be honest.” Your eyes are in slits as you let the irony slip through your lips.

Dante snickers at this, “that’s funny.”

“Yeah well sure,” you answer, “but don’t try and deflect! We’re each other’s person and we’re supposed to be able to tell each other things and I don’t feel like you’re holding up your end.”

Dante frowns, “since when?”

“Since now,” your words are instant as you chase his eyes, “at exactly 11:18pm.”

Dante decides to finally put some food into his mouth and takes his time chewing. “…what if I say it’s work stuff?”

“Then okay.” You exhale, “Just tell me what you can if it’s bothering you so much.”

Dante is quiet, which isn’t unusual but it’s the way he’s quiet this time; to the point it’s so loud like your home often is. “I can’t tell you about the case but I can say it reminds me of past times…and it’s bringing out a side of me that I thought I buried.”

That statement alone makes it feel like the temperature inside of your home went cold just like the spring weather dropping outside. When Dante made the decision to get involved in the CPD, you weren’t exactly thrilled just like Mama Catalina but you supported the purpose Dante had. You were aware this career path resulted from his upbringing, you were right there to witness most of it (even being in the crossfire a few times) but you always knew there would be cases that could trigger old habits.

Perhaps they weren’t old habits after all.

“Most things can’t stay buried…they eventually come back to the surface based on situations you’re in, no?” You speak, which is exactly why you didn’t want Dante to work in that field, however he always saw it from a different perspective.

It was a power trip in a sense and you weren’t sure if this was the right way to go although you understood, which you voiced but the thing about Dante is he’ll always be persistent.

Dante stares at you, “guess I didn’t bury it enough but I can’t be ashamed of anything if it’ll get me somewhere.”

“Well where exactly are you trying to get?” You quiz, brows furrowed.

Dante is back to playing with his food, “I’m just trying to solve the case.”

“You expect me to believe that’s all this is?” It’s your turn to lean your elbows on the counter, “when I know it isn’t so, be real with me here.”

Dante runs a hand over his buzzed head overwhelmed, “I don’t know how or if I should even say this to you.”

“Why?” You’re confused and it’s when Dante blinks his stare back at you, you read him quite well, “oh…it’s a woman.”

“I—

You’re filling in the gaps, “And she reminds you of everything back home.”

Dante’s analyzing your face now but you don’t give anything away. He doesn’t have to say anything yet because you’re putting the pieces together pretty quickly. It was extraordinary work, really.

“You connect with her.” You breathe, “…What’s her story?”

He says your name in warning but you fan your hand about.

“I know it’s confidential but quick notes wouldn’t hurt.” You pry.

Dante knows there’s only two people in his life that he can trust and that’s his Ma and you. So in short, he gives you the quick run down of him meeting a woman while undercover who’s also involved in the drug dealing business with her abusive husband.

���And I crossed a line that I don’t think I can come back from.” He whispers to you as you nod.

You swallow as you casually say, “like what? Sleeping with her?”

When Dante doesn’t respond you cough out some laughter, “oh wow…I might actually be drunk because did you just confirm in that Dante way that you had sex with Mrs. Cartel?”

He wasn’t sure how you figured that out.

“…it just happened.”

“Well I don’t know about you but I didn’t just let myself fall on your dick a couple of times.” You rant, “and you and I? Don’t just let things happen.”

Dante widens his eyes at your bluntness and starts to figure that maybe he should have continued keeping this to himself. “I don’t know what you want me to say here. You wanted me to spill and I did.”

Gold star for Dante everyone!

“You’re right because I figured it was eating away at you the moment you walked through my door at ten o’clock at night but it was all because you were eating away at someone else.” The passive aggression was coming in a bit, you acknowledge that with a wince.

You wouldn’t admit it out loud but you were feeling a way about it—as if that wasn’t obvious. Of course you and Dante had your intimate moments but it was him who didn’t want to continue because he felt like he couldn’t give you the love you deserve then. Which you strongly disagreed with but why fight for something that felt one-sided? Dante’s always had a rebellious streak but the intention was never to use or break your heart which is why he had to put an end to that aspect of your friendship.

These are just things you bury right? Most friends can’t come back from taking that step but if you don’t have a genuine friendship as the foundation of a relationship, how do you expect to get through anything?

“Why are you giving me shit right now?” Dante tightened his jaw, “why can’t you just be my friend and listen?!”

Scoffing you say, “you didn’t come here for me to listen and give advice because Dante Torres is always going to do whatever the hell he wants! you came here for comfort because you made that choice to slip back into the dark and I’m realizing hearing the bits you just told me, that I can’t give that to you. Not tonight.”

And it wasn’t in terms of anything sexual. When Dante stood on something, he wouldn’t change his mind. He knew he loved you but he also knew he wasn’t capable of giving more to you and the moment you wouldn’t accept that, he vowed that he wouldn’t take advantage of your heart any longer when you felt so strong about what you could be romantically.

You’re kicking yourself because you knew you should have been prepared for this. It was certainly a possibility that Dante could have met someone on the job but not like this! Seán pushed for you to go on dates and although you knew you had a lot to offer, it still stung sometimes. Most of those dates didn’t measure up, except for that older guy on the SWAT team (what was it with you falling for the law enforcement?!) who was divorced and also unsure about the dating scene that you didn’t mind laughing and texting with from time to time.

Dante didn’t approve and you noticed how his eyes tightened at the corners whenever you brought up the older man but you brushed that off as Dante simply being protective. How silly of you to think otherwise!

It also wasn’t your job to figure out Dante’s demons for him but you still loved him anyway.

“…Are you mad at me?”

“I’m D. For all the above!” You throw your hands up in the air, “I can’t believe—actually I can but you chose me to tell instead of Atwater or Ruzek?”

Dante shrugs his shoulders, “they’re not you…and I expected—I don’t know what I expected with you.”

“I’m not your mother, Tay. I’m not gonna hold you to my chest and tell you it’s all going to be okay when it probably won’t. Everything is unpredictable with that kind of danger! It sounds like you’re going down the wrong road with that one and I know you see that now so I can’t.” You step down from the barstool.

Dante is frowning now, hating how you were taking this screw up so personal. You shouldn’t be involved. He was good at holding everything in but not when it came to you. And Dante couldn’t even lie and say it was an ego thing either, he wasn’t like that, he respected you too much but Gloria had his head spinning.

He let her in and that can be his own downfall.

“What do you mean?” He moves with you.

You sigh, “it means that I’m not ready to listen to you get taken advantage of by someone that feels normal. Your Version of normal. I’m no therapist, just some nerdy chemist but it sounds like you’re trying to find an escape in her because it’ll help you to keep burying everything you won’t resolve.”

He’s shaking his head at you not wanting to believe any of that, “It’s just my job that I’m handling? and i get that I had a weak moment…I shouldn’t have told you and wouldn’t have told you if it has you acting like this. The last thing I want is you taking this to heart.” Dante grips your wrist, scanning your face which is not hiding anything now.

Your face burns and you use your other hand to massage the space in between your brows, “well sorry, Somewhere over the rainbow, I give a fuck. I can play poker face for awhile but the truth is I’m not over you and to hear that it took a case for you to move on—

“Wait, hold on.” Dante’s eyes are a dark mossy green now , “You’re acting like I’m telling you that I’m running away with her to elope or something and that’s not it.”

“She’s married so,” the response is sarcastic as you’re ready to walk off but Dante pulls you back to grip both sides of your face so you meet his gaze, “it still meant something.”

He wasn’t so sure but he didn’t want to pick your brain further on that in fear that he’ll upset you more. Dante just knew it wasn’t love like you may have thought…it was just a case that he needed to solve and never planned to take it that far.

Dante sighs and wraps his arms over your shoulders, pulling you against his body, pressing the sides of your heads together, “I fucked up and didn’t think, once with her and twice with telling you, knowing our past which is most important to me. You don’t have to worry about any of it, I’m not going anywhere and won’t ever leave you behind.”

It is possible that both you and Dante maybe in too deep and killing each other slowly over time with these unresolved feelings. The push and pull that’s always lingering and the avoidance definitely holds some weight but both of you didn’t ever imagine giving this up.

That’s just not what this relationship required.

You muffled, “…are you staying?”

Now knowing or having a feeling of what Dante was dealing with, you didn’t feel comfortable letting him leave to ride the streets alone—although there was no doubt he can handle himself—you felt better if he stayed.

“I don’t know if I should.”

“Well,” you sniffed as you pulled back, “you know where your room is if you decide to.”

Tonight Dante hates to watch you walk away from him so he softly calls out to you again as you halt on the back stairs, “Goodnight.”

He wants to tell you that he loves you at the end, which you’re already aware of but it hangs on his tongue unsaid. Dante knows it wouldn’t make you feel any better and wouldn’t erase your frustrations so, he’s content staying in the room not far from yours, keeping you company—even if it had to be at a distance for the night.

˙⊹܀☁︎˚˙⊹⁺. ˙⊹܀☁︎˚˙⊹⁺. ˙⊹܀☁︎˚˙⊹⁺. ˙⊹܀☁︎˚˙⊹⁺. ˙⊹܀˚˙⊹⁺.

-> Part two!

Continue with my spring anthology prompts here.

[bingeeaterblog]

RE TOUKEN REWRITE

Starting this by saying, this is gonna be messy and not super in depth. Just a timeline of things I think should've or could've been done differently. You're still allowed to enjoy original re touken this is just how I would've liked to see it.

Dragon kaneki also doesn't happen because I think that was a stupid arc didn't make sense

So I'm just gonna be vague about that kaneki will be injured and missing that whole shabang

And all those people died because of war the ccg vs ghouls lead by aoigiri(all started by kaneki so he gets that good sexy guilt for the death of thousands of people without the butchering of ghoul biology) this is actually an idea I've had for awhile but that's for another time

I will make a post on what I think would've worked better

Touka thinks kanekis dead, that during the owl extermination he was put down. she creates re in hopes of helping ghouls just like yoshimura did.

We start off with Haise and Toukas first meeting, him and quinx are coming in to re. Touka sees them, Haise sees touka. The whole crying thing happens but not how it actually happened. Toukas too overwhelmed... he's not dead? Yomos the one who has to serve them. Haise can tell he's tense, curious but he doesn't ask. Why was that girl so .. familiar?

Haise begins frequenting re, out of pure curiosity and well the coffees great. Toukas collected enough to actually see him this time, she smiles and puts up that sweet catering waitress front. She's.. confused.. it's obvious he doesn't remember her but .. why? What happened during the time he completely disappeared? Why is he a dove? Her anger is overtaken by this wonder. For the time being.

Haises sweet and is very subtly flirting. He is DISGUSTINGLY bad at it and all touka can think is "yeah .. that's kaneki alright."

She speaks to nishio about this and he tells her his encounter with him. Talks about the freak out he had, the moment of clarity. Touka hopes there's still a way to bring him back ..

Touka doesn't actively seek out haise, him coming to re is enough. It's like seeing the corpse of a man you once loved being dragged along by a parasite. While she does enjoy his visits it leaves her tense, aching for the kaneki she once knew. The green haired boy with the eypatch reminds her of him... The soft nervous smile just his behavior felt like kaneki just... Different... Tooru was his name? She can't recall

Something in haise makes him /ache/ for touka, that familiar pouty face just makes something inside him stir. They yearn for each other

"Meeting" haise has given her a new insight on the doves, she doesn't know how to feel about this.

Part of her wants to hate him, he's the sole reason he's like this now because he wanted to be a "hero" wanted to save everyone. But she also knows haise isn't to blame for that, she also knows haise isn't supposed to even exist. It's conflicting, so many emotions with no way to express them.

She thinks of Ayato, someone who also left her alone... Was he also trying to protect her? What about hinami? Why can't anyone just stay with her?

Eventually... Haise stops showing up at re. It brings touka to a state of deep sorrow, anger, and calm. Shes worried for him, but not having him around anymore is sort of peaceful... She doesn't need to think about him, but she does anyways, that's all Touka does . Think and long for a past where anteiku stood, where yoshimura was in the backroom, where kaneki was still kaneki and hinami was still small. Where she wasn't so alone

She doesn't want him to come back, it'll only make things harder.(She definitely does want him)

Touka... Begins to move on? Sure she's always thinking of him and tsukiyamas intrusion didn't help but... She's learning to live again. She's sad but.. content she helps the ghouls that come in with their wounds or their hunger. She's even looking into going to college, something she always wanted to do and almost actually got to do before.. everything. Her love for biology never faded just got put on pause. Maybe she could look back into it! Or.. wait for kaneki a little longer.. just a little longer.

Ever since he "came back" she's realized how dearly she missed him. She was fine (?) when she thought he was dead why couldn't he have just...no no she could never wish that.

We are now at the tsukiyama family raid, while I have my problems with this, overall I think it was one of res peaks, only saying this so you are up to date on what point in the story we're at.

When kaneki finally wakes up, he thinks of his goal, the one goal that stayed even during his dormancy. To protect the people he loves. With haise asleep he can do that. To protect hinami... Shuu... Touka . He won't fail them like he did Hide.

And apparently shirazu? I guess😭

Black reaper is here, and boy is he overcompensating, the tough guy act is back . He's cold. He's mean. He "nearly" kills eto, someone he was actually supposed to save. And.. part of him... does? I don't know what that whole deal was don't ask me it's still confusing this is all canon here I am so confused about the black reaper vs eto fight yk what? Bad time back to touken rewrite back to non canon that should be canon

He throws shuu off a fucking roof yeah that happens I guess maybe it was a last ditch effort to save him. do I really have cover all this I don't think so actually but whatever his resolve his back the savior complex is back full force you get it

When touka sees kaneki again, after he's got hinami, she's angry. She knows kanekis back, nows her chance to finally get out that frustration. It's a bad time, not now... She pushed down her rage. "I'll see you." Not knowing kaneki intends to die by the hands of his father, Arima. Touka intends to see him later, to finally give him a piece of her mind. Oh tragic doomed lovers

During him and Arimas fight, all he thinks of is his friends, the people he needs to protects. Especially Touka, her words run through his head "I'll see you". I'll see you.

After his internal talk with "Hide" he realizes, he wants to live. "You just haven't found a reason to live, you'll find one in no time" and he had.. he just hadn't realized before.. he wants to live for everybody,, for touka.

If you noticed, not much has changed for black reaper and Touka

That's because I really love them for the most part, touka has been watered down but not nearly as much as she is in later parts of the story. This is where we fall out of canon touken almost entirely, because this is where my real problems with it start. Not just my problems with Touka.

After arimas death, Kaneki his heir, becomes the new one eyed king. Yomo and ayato had gotten hinami safely back to re. Touka stays behind to look for Kaneki. He wants to apologize but he's met with a clean punch to the face, just like the first time he left. Touka screams at him, unleashing all sorts of anger that she had kept bottled up

Using her kagune she slices at him, eventually they end up on the ground. Her hands are wrapped firmly around his neck not quite choking. She begins to cry, her grip softening as she crumbles before him. He sweetly holds her face with a hand and gives a pathetic "I'm sorry."

They stumble back to the coffee shop leaving cochlea, on the way kaneki tells touka about the quinx, his time at the ccg. He's filling the empty silence as touka just ignores him. She's still angry.

"Why did... You leave." It's asked in a sad voice, she's gritting her teeth with clenched fists.

"I thought it'd be best, I wanted to protect you, hide,, everyone at anteiku. It's what I had to do to get stronger"

"So you push me away? You take Tsukiyama with you?? But not me?"

"You had your studies"

"You know damn well that's not the reason! You thought I was weak!" She slams a fist against the door. Her tears are starting back up again.

"I didn't think you could.. I didn't want.. I was trying to protect you" he tries to reason, he really doesn't wanna do this now.

"You're selfish. You're still that fucking book nerd from before! Now you're trying to be someone you're not!'

She'd grab him by the collar of his shirt, kaneki doesn't fight it. He places a relaxed hand over her tense ones. They walk back into re.

A month has passed, just trying to recollect. He and many others are staying at the most notable being hinami and ayato. Nishio frequently visits. The air between touka and kaneki is thick but, there's an understanding. She knows why he left, she doesn't like it but she understands

Kaneki gets why she's upset, he hates to see her sad.

She makes him coffee for the first time since he was Sasaki, now he can truly appreciate how good it is, now he can truly appreciate her. Re is lovely, it feels like anteiku, like home. Touka outdid herself.

Touka talks about random things, trying to fill the air. It's weird having him again, she's trying to make it a new normal.

"Are you.. really back, kaneki?" An affirming nod is all Touka needs. It honestly makes her mad, makes her wanna hit him again, but she doesn't. She wants to learn to forgive.

(In canon touka DOES hit him here but like, then she's over it??? Like huh??? I thought that was stupid I want her to hold some real resentment not just hit him once and be over everything)

Kaneki starts "GOAT" which is STEWPID it's a stupid name that's not relevant I just wanna say it's stupid. Also to clarify the timeline again

Kanekis is sweet on her, and Toukas sweet on him. Situations are dire but they still make time to flirt... poorly. Kaneki smiling like an idiot and touka staring at her feet with a nervous blushed look. It's weird, they're both new to relationships, sure toukas been in a couple flings that last 4 months at most but never a real relationship. They're not dating but,, it's more than just old friends.

When touka asks to talk to him later kaneki assumes it's something about the mission, or something about the ccg

"So have you uh.. done it yet" She asks. Did he forget something?

"Done what?"

Her face is red

"Like,, y'know..."

"I knowww what?"

Touka looks frustrated after that, oh dear what as he done this time.

"Sex."

"Ah." Kaneki nearly spills his coffee

"Why do you uh.. ask."

Touka hides her face in her hand "whatever just.- forget it you wouldn't wanna be up for it anyways too much shit going on ha" she nervous laughs, avoiding eye contact.

Ohh.. kaneki gets it. Wait.

"No no now you have to tell me" he eggs on

Touka shakes her head, mouth firmly shut.

"Cmonn!!"

"I wanted to know if you'd like wanna do it with me which I mean you obviously dontcauselikeyeah no thatssoweird I'm so weird for asking" she begins to ramble clearly embarrassed

Her gibberish speech is stopped by a hand gently holding hers

"I really like you Touka."

She freezes.

Touka doesn't even have time to say it back before there's a short peck on her lips

Her eyes focus on kaneki, his face most likely redder than hers

"Was that.. bad?" Toukas both dying internally and cheering a mix of LETS FUCKING GOOOO and OH MY GOD NOOO Is the best way I can describe it.

"Remember when,, you said you'd be sad if I died" it's a distant memory but he nods

"I think that's when... I started to. Like you." Her sentence has pauses, she finally looks him in the eyes again.

Their moment is disrupted by a CCG raid led by tooru. Touka rushes into help, she's lost him once there's no way she'll let it happen again.

Res raid happens in a flash

After all that is said and done

He talks about hide, says all he wanted was to see him, touka can empathize. She misses Yoriko more than anything.

Toukas the one who initiates the kiss, they fall into the room together with messy kisses and promises to never leave each other again are prominent. Fingers digging into soft skin is welcomed it's all toukas wanted since she can remember

"Stay with me,, stay with me.." and "I love yous" are all that can be heard. They're close but not close enough all either of them want is to melt together as one. Then.. there's a bite.

Touka sinks her teeth into the nape of his neck, solidifying them together. He won't leave again, he promised. They'll keep each other safe.

They watch Yorikos wedding from afar, she longs to be there with her. She would've made such a good maid of honor. All kaneki can think about is when he's finally gonna get to marry touka.

Touka begins to wear her father's ring around her neck more frequently, starting to imagine a future with kaneki. Maybe he'll wear it someday, if he'll have her.

Days or weeks pass, touka feels sick to her stomach? She's worried she's... Late. Now would be a shitty time to be pregnant huh? It may just be stress. Looking back probably should've used protection.

Huddled in a bathroom holding a now used pregnancy test waiting for results.

Negative.

She's both relieved, and disappointed. Mostly relieved. There's time for that later. This scare only fuels her want to have a family with kaneki, one day. Just not yet.

She doesn't tell kaneki about it, another time.

Their time planning isn't left without kisses and reassurances that everything will be okay. Sometimes kaneki will get too stressed out and touka, oh touka you've never been good at comforting will /demand/ him to calm down. It ends with kaneki laughing and "that's not how that works!" and touka playfully pushing him away.

At some point they're sitting together, touka lazily resting against his shoulder.

"Thought I was pregnant.."

Kanekis heart sinks

"Are you?"

"No.. but I'd like to be, some point maybe.." it's grumbled and she's pulling away. Kaneki gently squeezes her hand

"We'll get there at some point" it's said with a sweet smile

"Dyknow how ghouls get married?"

Kaneki shakes his head. Toukas finger trails along that bite mark on his neck.

"A bite. Sorry, should've asked you.. heat of the moment"

Suddenly they're moving, kanekis, hands on her shoulders as he leans down

"Will you have me?"

"Always" she somehow stammers out and he reciprocates the mark on her, teeth sinking in almost feels like a prayer.

There's no wedding ceremony, that won't be for awhile. But it's good to know they have each other. Just in case they don't get the chance to.

Here's where we really get off canon

There's a war, it's started by kaneki and furuta slipping up and saying something wrong to mutsuki I won't get into the details but it's all their mother fucking fault furutas the main cause he's instigating BLAH BLAH BLAH

People die he's missing it's essentially ccg vs aoigiri and ghouls in general I hate the dragon arc I told you this would happen you were warned Im not going into details because this is about touken not the general story of re and what I would do to fix it

There's a search for kaneki, the ccg needs to find him for execution and the ghouls need to find him cuz duh he's their leader the one eyed king

Touka talks with hide on the roof (he's back now whatever I just didn't mention it assume things I don't mention are just stuff that happen in re you fill in the blanks)

They both talk about their love for him, there's an understanding, fighting to save someone who you're not sure you actually can save. Two sides of the same coin. Toukas almost mad he stole kanekis first kiss.

He's found half death buried beneath a sea of bodies, touka pulls him out. She can barely hear a heart beat, what did you do kaneki... He's dying, touka drags his almost lifeless body out. His body oh God his BODY has been slowly being consumed by his kakuja, it covers his face his chest. It's trying to eat to heal not knowing the damage it's causing.

There is no life in this city aside from touka and the dying light in her arms. She won't give up she can't now, they still have to have a family

Kanekis brought to a room, in a dazed rc cell deficient coma

The ccg is on hold with their plans of execution, they'll wait for him to wake up. Not sure if he ever will

Touka is at his bed side when he finally wakes, instinctively enveloping him in a hug she makes demands of "don't you ever scare me like that again" with eyes full of tears, probably got a lil snot on him too ugly crying, she offers him her father's ring, which he accepts.

There's kakuja scars lining down his body now, but it's good to be alive.

With the war still raging and furuta as it's lead there has to be something done but . There's good news for once

Kaneki learns that hides alive, he wants to see him. Kaneki meets with hide and that whole scene doesn't change cuz I love it

Kaneki, now fully healed needs to finish what he started.

Whole furuta vs the ccg fight yada yada yada it ends with a peace treaty between ghouls and humans you don't care you came for touken and I don't care I came to talk about touken

With furuta dead, the world at peace, they can finally do what they always wanted.

In the epilogue, there's a gathering at the kaneki house, the wedding was years before and isn't shown. Everyone they knew is there, and there's a small figure being held by Touka, a smiling baby girl named Ichika after kanekis mother. She's beautiful with dark purple roots like touka with white filling the rest like kanekis. Touka went back to school and became a biologist, working on ghouls and figuring out how they all work. Kaneki became a middle ground ghouls and humans, the ambassador of both sides. Finally having the family they've always wanted. It's a beautiful day.

This should not be as long as it is, I'm so sorry it's still a rough draft of what I actually would've wanted😭

And to clarify some of the war stuff I will cover how I think that arc should've went in a different post so I'm sorry if things are confusing fill in the blanks with stuff already from re

I reread re in a DAY to write this and looking back re touken is not as bad as I remembered. It's just ... Bland.. a nothing sandwich with a side of water. But that's me being mean sorry they do have some cute moments

Thank you for sitting through this incomprehensible ramble with many many plot holes but those aren't relevant it's a touken centric post not the general story!!! Thank you I'm Cody!!

[nakasumi-sims]

Cody Graves for Simblr's Saddest, Wettest Meow Meow @simblorbo-bracket

I mean, you can't get as pathetic and meow meow as this man. He's the literal embodiment of a scraggly feral cat. A bisexual disaster who wouldn't hesitate to fight you if you looked at him wrong. He'd live in the middle of woods out of his van while running his paranormal investigation business if he could.

You see this? This is basically him.

Might as well start from the beginning:

Cody wasn't a wanted child but was kept because his parents are religious and might as well have something to keep around as a prop to pretend you're a good family and use him to boost their social status.

One reason his parents hate him, especially his mom, is due to his ability to interact with spirits. As a toddler, he'd act strangely as if he were talking to nothing and reply strangely to his parents when asked about it. He would talk to these spirits fairly often up until about age 4. It creeped his parents out enough that they made him shut up about it and tried to keep any weird creepy stuff away from him in an attempt to make him normal. It didn't work.

He was heavily neglected and abused throughout his childhood and into adulthood due to not being how his parents wanted him to be. He was almost constantly injured either from his own parents or his own accidents. Since he had a lot of his own accidents, his parents blamed any serious injuries they gave him on Cody being clumsy.

Whenever Cody's dressed as he likes, his parents refer to him as a wet rat. Many times of coming home absolutely filthy from exploring abandoned places while looking for ghosts and monsters didn't help this.

He ran away from home multiple times starting at age 13 and ran to another state to live out in a cave he found after he fell down a cliff and broke his arm. It's been his secret spot to run away to ever since. He still goes there as an adult if he wants to disappear for awhile.

He's often very combative, distrustful, hateful towards other people and rarely sees other people as human and just things due to his upbringing. He gets into violent fights often either picking them himself or by others antagonizing him. He sees the paranormal as more 'human' than actual humans and is more comfortable dealing with that vs people.

He has most of his criminal record hidden since his mom has a lot of contacts and she can't let her garbage excuse for a son ruin her image.

His crimes (if they stuck) include: Multiple counts of trespassing, assault and battery, aggravated assault, and disorderly conduct. Though most of the time, he's able to get away from the police on his own to avoid trouble.

Only in recent years being part of the Paranormal Club, he's learned to accept some people as ok and his friends try to help him be better. In his 3 years of friendship with them, he's grown a lot and is a lot less likely to immediately resort to violence (depending).

Due to his unapproachable nature, he's only been in 3 romantic relationships. His first relationship in high school was going ok with some rockiness due to "sexual incompatibility" until he brought her home and his parents drove her away by saying vile things about Cody and treating her like dirt in the most polite way possible. His second was in his first year of college and she also ultimately dumped him due to "sexual incompatibility". Which in both cases was...he got dumped because his dick is too big. Currently, he's engaged to another (probably worse) meow meow, Satoru, the god of karma who he's helplessly attached and devoted to. They're poor, wet meow meows together causing problems~

It's uncertain, but if Satoru got taken away from him to go back to god baby jail, Cody would become infinitely worse. This man would become the most pathetic, horrible mess to get him back. Starting it out with becoming a depressed, sobbing mess that would put Bella Swan to shame. He'd do everything in his power and spend every waking moment searching the world to find him again and abandoning everything else. His conspiracy wall would become overtaken by pictures, drawings, and clues to finding Satoru. He'd keep everything Satoru's collected waiting for him except for the rotting food, but he'd cry before throwing it away. He'd bawl every time he saw a fox and would fight gods to get Satoru back even if it was futile.

And now just a list of ridiculous recent examples and memes:

Threatened and tried to attack a group of men who were making fun of him and Satoru while they were at a restaurant. Would've fought them if Satoru didn't stop him.

Almost died from getting stabbed in the lung with a stiletto by his mother during a campaign event.

Got drunk at a bar and got way too handsy with Satoru on the dance floor then both almost killed a guy for trying to join in. Along with multiple other public acts.

Committed fraud by saying he was his father while renting a hotel room which started a rumor that his father was cheating and made him pay $200 in damages.

Walked into a different fancy hotel, covered in demon blood vomit.

Made out in the rain in a taco bell parking lot.

Got into a situation with a serial killer and injured him a few times while surviving the ordeal.

Was going to murder, torture, and let Satoru eat the girl who got him into the situation with the serial killer and hurt his best friend.

Helped start a cult.

Growled at and threatened a woman who tried flirting with Satoru.

[simblorbo-bracket]

Round 3 - Simblr's Saddest, Wettest Meow Meow - Mainline

Cody Graves (@nakasumi-sims) VS. Thrum (@ssspringroll)

(polls are presented left -> right unless stated otherwise)

Who's sadder? Who's wetter? Read on for more information, and vote with your heart!

What is a ‘Meow Meow’?

(taken from tumblr user @/torturelabyrinth) “The thing about a true poor little meow meow is they have to be 1) downtrodden 2) morally questionable at best 3) deeply and pathetically miserable”

Cody Graves

I mean, you can't get as pathetic and meow meow as this man. He's the literal embodiment of a scraggly feral cat. A bisexual disaster who wouldn't hesitate to fight you if you looked at him wrong. He'd live in the middle of woods out of his van while running his paranormal investigation business if he could.

You see this? This is basically him.

Might as well start from the beginning:

Cody wasn't a wanted child but was kept because his parents are religious and might as well have something to keep around as a prop to pretend you're a good family and use him to boost their social status.

One reason his parents hate him, especially his mom, is due to his ability to interact with spirits. As a toddler, he'd act strangely as if he were talking to nothing and reply strangely to his parents when asked about it. He would talk to these spirits fairly often up until about age 4. It creeped his parents out enough that they made him shut up about it and tried to keep any weird creepy stuff away from him in an attempt to make him normal. It didn't work.

He was heavily neglected and abused throughout his childhood and into adulthood due to not being how his parents wanted him to be. He was almost constantly injured either from his own parents or his own accidents. Since he had a lot of his own accidents, his parents blamed any serious injuries they gave him on Cody being clumsy.

Whenever Cody's dressed as he likes, his parents refer to him as a wet rat. Many times of coming home absolutely filthy from exploring abandoned places while looking for ghosts and monsters didn't help this.

He ran away from home multiple times starting at age 13 and ran to another state to live out in a cave he found after he fell down a cliff and broke his arm. It's been his secret spot to run away to ever since. He still goes there as an adult if he wants to disappear for awhile.

He's often very combative, distrustful, hateful towards other people and rarely sees other people as human and just things due to his upbringing. He gets into violent fights often either picking them himself or by others antagonizing him. He sees the paranormal as more 'human' than actual humans and is more comfortable dealing with that vs people.

He has most of his criminal record hidden since his mom has a lot of contacts and she can't let her garbage excuse for a son ruin her image.

His crimes (if they stuck) include: Multiple counts of trespassing, assault and battery, aggravated assault, and disorderly conduct. Though most of the time, he's able to get away from the police on his own to avoid trouble.

Only in recent years being part of the Paranormal Club, he's learned to accept some people as ok and his friends try to help him be better. In his 3 years of friendship with them, he's grown a lot and is a lot less likely to immediately resort to violence (depending).

Due to his unapproachable nature, he's only been in 3 romantic relationships. His first relationship in high school was going ok with some rockiness due to "sexual incompatibility" until he brought her home and his parents drove her away by saying vile things about Cody and treating her like dirt in the most polite way possible. His second was in his first year of college and she also ultimately dumped him due to "sexual incompatibility". Which in both cases was...he got dumped because his dick is too big. Currently, he's engaged to another (probably worse) meow meow, Satoru, the god of karma who he's helplessly attached and devoted to. They're poor, wet meow meows together causing problems~

It's uncertain, but if Satoru got taken away from him to go back to god baby jail, Cody would become infinitely worse. This man would become the most pathetic, horrible mess to get him back. Starting it out with becoming a depressed, sobbing mess that would put Bella Swan to shame. He'd do everything in his power and spend every waking moment searching the world to find him again and abandoning everything else. His conspiracy wall would become overtaken by pictures, drawings, and clues to finding Satoru. He'd keep everything Satoru's collected waiting for him except for the rotting food, but he'd cry before throwing it away. He'd bawl every time he saw a fox and would fight gods to get Satoru back even if it was futile.

And now just a list of ridiculous recent examples and memes:

Threatened and tried to attack a group of men who were making fun of him and Satoru while they were at a restaurant. Would've fought them if Satoru didn't stop him.

Almost died from getting stabbed in the lung with a stiletto by his mother during a campaign event.

Got drunk at a bar and got way too handsy with Satoru on the dance floor then both almost killed a guy for trying to join in. Along with multiple other public acts.

Committed fraud by saying he was his father while renting a hotel room which started a rumor that his father was cheating and made him pay $200 in damages.

Walked into a different fancy hotel, covered in demon blood vomit.

Made out in the rain in a taco bell parking lot.

Got into a situation with a serial killer and injured him a few times while surviving the ordeal.

Was going to murder, torture, and let Satoru eat the girl who got him into the situation with the serial killer and hurt his best friend.

Helped start a cult.

Growled at and threatened a woman who tried flirting with Satoru.

Thrum

What makes Thrum a sad, wet little meow meow? His own fucked up, twisted little romance life.

Try to keep up.

Thrum, you see, is incredibly loyal. So loyal, and so, so jealous.

Another thing about Thrum, is that he's polyamorous. He really prefers having more than one partner. His partner, Wither, is not into the whole poly thing. But, for Thrum's sake, he agrees.

Enter Ke'a.

Thrum is the one that notices Ke'a at a bar one night, and instantly has a crush. Has to get him in this newly-opened relationship.

Ke'a is also not too keen on the polyamory, but agrees to give it a try.

He hits it off with Wither almost right away, which is a relief because you'd think that the two dudes in this polycule who aren't into the idea of a polycule might fight over the guy they mutually like.

This is not the case.

Thrum, boiling with white hot incandescent rage and jealousy at the mere thought of either of his partners talking to someone else leads him to violence.

Drinking, to cope with the rage

His outbursts are almost constant, he can't exist in the same room as his partners without further driving a wedge between himself and them. And that's not the end of it, all of Thrum's hot-and-cold back-and-forth feelings about this polycule he built have driven Wither and Ke'a even closer to each other.

They go on dates behind his back, bonding, forming a closer relationship with each other than either of them had ever built with Thrum.

Thrum was always doomed to fail. To push himself out of his own relationship. But can you blame him for craving love? All of the love? Forever??

Thrum, Wither, and Ke'a are all original creations. While Thrum and Ke'a were literally made for each other, Ke'a entered the situation organically, and that's when it all started crashing and burning to the ground.

The throuple that flew too close to the sun 💔

[devilat-thedoor]

What Is and What Should Never Be Ch. 4

A/N: I know this one took awhile and i’m sorry. life has been life-ing😅 I don’t know if anyone has really noticed or cared, but for each chapter, I’ve linked a song that heavily inspired the story for me, whether it influenced the specific chapter or just influenced the storyline in general. I’m always listening to music while I write and it’s where i draw a good bit of inspo from. idk. But I really recommend listening to the songs or at least reading the lyrics💖

Word Count: 7.8k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. No smut this chapter. Toxic Themes(Fighting/Arguing), A lot of angst and a bit of fluff. Nothing else really? just a general sadness…

…Stay a little longer if you convince me and tell me all the things that you have against me // Every time we make up the truth is fading, everybody’s blind when the view’s amazing...

You pulled the visor down, letting the keys drop into your lap. Your chest felt tight and you fought to keep the tears back, blinking them away as they came. As you turned the car on, you realized that you left your bag beneath the counter and it had your wallet with your license and money and cards, but there was no way you could go back into that place. You looked through the windshield as you put the car in drive and saw Josh barreling through the back door, trying to get your attention. Ignoring his waving hands, you drove out of the lot and went straight home.

“Why are you home?” Bellamy was standing in the kitchen when you came through the door and dropped your keys on their hook, “I thought you didn’t get off until 9?” 

You slipped out of your shoes as you turned to her, “Umm. I wasn’t feeling good, so J- I got sent home…” You walked past her to open the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water, “I’m gonna go lay down.”

She caught your arm before you could exit the space, “Don’t lie to me, Y/N. What’s wrong?” She gripped your shoulders, forcing you to face her, “This is the second time you’ve come home upset and I can’t help but think this time also has something to do with Jake. What is it?”

“Bellamy, it’s nothing, I just want to go to bed.” Your voice cracked as you tried to pull out of her hold.

“It’s not nothing. What did he do?” Concern was etched across her face as she stared at you.

You shook your head, trying to hold the tears back again, “He didn’t do anything, Bell, it was me. I fucked up… You told me from the start not to get caught up in them and I didn’t listen. I did this to myself.” You were embarrassed at letting it get to this point. You should’ve just left them both alone and kept it purely professional.

“Hun, I also told you to have fun…” The guilt was creeping over her but it was quickly replaced by her protective nature over you, “Which one of them were you working with? Who’s there now?”

“No. Bell-“

She cut you off, stepping around you to exit the kitchen, “I just want to talk to him. Which one was it?”

Now you were grabbing her arm to yank her back, “Please, Bellamy.” You let out a sigh, “You can’t fight this one for me. I’ll deal with it, I just- Not right now. I wanna forget about it until tomorrow.”

“Okay. Fine.” She released a sigh, nodding her head as she allowed you to exit the room.

You strolled into your bedroom, clicking the door shut, and went straight to your closet. Stripping out of your work clothes, you reached for the one article of clothing that you always sought solace in; Your dad’s old, blue Penn State college hoodie. It was littered with teeny holes and fraying seams, the nittany lion logo peeling away from the fabric, but it still smelled like him. You pulled it over your head, the hem falling to your mid thigh, and held the sleeves over your face to breathe in the familiar and comforting scent.

Grabbing your phone from the dresser, you flicked the light off, crawled into bed and checked your notifications. There was a single message from Josh but nothing from Jake.

Josh 7:21pm: Did i cross a line? What is going on with you and jake?

You 8:02pm: I crossed the line. I’m sorry.

You didn’t wait long enough for a response, just plugged your phone in after turning on Do Not Disturb and laid it facedown. You picked up your laptop from beside the nightstand, opening it up to play some music. After clicking play on a playlist, you put the laptop down beside you and curled deeper into the mattress. The soft organ notes of the first song floated through the room, Cold Heart Killer by Lia Marie Johnson, the lyrics immediately plaguing you with thoughts of Jake.

But my friends keep saying he’s a cold heart killer

Make you crazy, yeah, he’s smooth as liquor

So damn dangerous, I got too close

Oh, I should’ve known better…

You really should have known better but even now, after the constant back and forth, after what he said, the idea of him was still enticing. Pulling the duvet up to your chin, you closed your eyes and willed your brain to conjure up thoughts of anything else, anyone else, but it was no use. Your mind kept wandering back to the night you spent with him, waking up with him, your body longing for the feeling of his draped over it. You gave up on fighting the thoughts and let them run wild until you inevitably fell asleep.

💿💿💿💿💿💿💿💿💿💿💿💿💿💿💿💿💿💿💿💿

“Y/N…” Bellamy’s hand was on your back, shaking you awake, “Hey, Jake is here to see you.”

A soft hum vibrated from your chest as you peeked an eye open, not quite registering what she was saying, “M’sleeping, B.” You pulled the blanket up over your head to partially block out the morning light but also to make her go away.

She yanked the comforter away, whisper-yelling, “Jake is in the living room…”

You rolled over, wide-eyed, “No. Get him out.” Sitting up, you pulled yourself from the bed.

“What am I supposed to tell him? He knows you’re here, Y/N!”

Now you were yelling in a hushed tone, “Tell him that I don’t want to see him. Tell him that he’s a fucking dickhead! I don’t give a fuck, Bell, just make him leave.” You pointed at the door to get your point across and watched her slip out and pull it shut behind her. Raking a hand through your hair, you let out a sigh and reached to pull your phone from the charger when your door was flinging open.

“Dude, what the hell is your malfunction?!” You heard Bellamy yell before the door slammed shut and drowned out her shouting.

You whipped around, knowing exactly who you were about to face, “Did you not get the message? Leave.” 

He stood just a few feet away from you, those stupid sunglasses covering his big, dumb, brown eyes and his annoying, soft mouth drooped into a frown. He lifted his hand, holding your bag up, “You left this at the shop…” He was looking around your room and you weren’t sure if it was just out of curiosity or because he was trying to avoid your eyes.

“And you couldn’t just leave it with Bellamy? You had to bring it to my room?” Your tone was growing louder and you thought you saw him flinch, “Or better yet, why bring it at all, Jake? Why make the special trip down here for a whore? That’s what I am, right?”

“No. Y/N-”

“No? But that’s what you said, hun…” You were sure you looked crazy with your wild sleep hair and angry eyes, “I’m just a fucking whore who gets on her knees for everyone, according to you.” You released a humorless laugh as you turned away from him, “Yanno, my dad always said all a man’s got in life are his balls and his word and he shouldn’t break ‘em for nobody…So don’t take it back now, Jake. Own the fuck up to it.”

“Can we just have a conversation like adults? Are you capable of that or does everything have to be a goddamn fight with you?” He grabbed your shoulder, spinning you to face him again, “I wanted-”

You were cutting him off again, ripping yourself from his touch, “Fuck you! I don’t care what you wanted and you made it blatantly obvious that you don’t care what I want.” Your voice dropped, cracking a bit as your emotions became overwhelming, tears prickling in your eyes., “Why are you here, Jake?” You brought your hands up to your face, trying to stop the tears from falling. When he didn’t answer, you dropped your hands to see him coming towards you. He was grabbing your waist with one hand, the other curling around the back of your neck, as he collided his lips with yours. You instantly melted into him, moving your mouth against his without a thought as your fingers desperately searched for any sliver of his skin they could find. He was pulling you in tighter, his thumb pressing into your hip, when you finally realized what was happening. You flattened your palms on his torso and forced him away, “Stop it- Just-”

“Y/N, please…” He reached for you again, but you threw your arms up, blocking his hands.

“Don’t touch me… I want you to leave.” You could hear your voice shake with every word, but you tried to remain stern, “I don’t want to see you anymore, Jake, just let me be.” You finally started crying, unable to hold it back anymore, “Can you please just leave me alone? I can’t do this anymore, I can’t- I need you to leave.” You sat on the bed, letting your head hang as you stared at the floor, watching the hardwood collect the salty droplets from your cheeks.

He stayed rooted in place for a minute or so and you could feel his eyes boring into you, begging you to just look at him and tell him to stay. You saw his old, filthy vans turn around, followed by the sound of the bedroom door opening, “I didn’t mean it, peach. I’m sorry…” Your head snapped up at his dejected voice, but he was already gone, leaving the door to hang open as he left you alone. Just like you asked…

“God, he’s a real piece of work.” Bellamy came into the room after a few moments and found you crying, “Oh babe…” She rushed to your side, sitting down on the bed to hold you, “What did he do?”

“Bell, I just want my dad…” You leaned into her, letting your tears soak into her shirt, “I d-don’t kn-know what to do.”

She took one of her arms away from you to pull her phone from her pocket, “I know, Y/N. Hang on…”  After a few seconds, you heard the facetime calling tone coming from her cell, “It’s not the same, but it’s the best I can do, babe…”

You raised your head just as Bellamy’s dad picked up, “Hey, hon- Oh, it’s both of my girls! How are you guys?” Mr. Cole’s jovial greeting brought a tiny smile to your face.

“We’re okay. Umm… Y/N could really use some advice, dad.” She angled the phone in your direction.

His eyes focused on you through the blurry pixelation, “Awwe, sweet pea, what are you crying for?”

Your heart warmed at the nickname; Your dad graced you with it when you were three years old and took it upon yourself to pick all of the flowers from your mother’s garden. You held them tight in your grasp, running to find your mom on the back porch and presenting what you thought would be a nice gift, Mommy, look what I got for you! When she saw you, covered in soil with fistfuls of the tiny, pink blooms, she was furious. She yelled and threw a tantrum about her precious flowers, but your dad just smiled as he pulled you to the side  of the house and turned the hose on to clean your little fingers off. He looked at your mother with a gentle smile and said, “We can always plant more, honey… But this sweet pea? She’s irreplaceable.” He pinched your chubby cheeks and left a soft kiss on your head and the name stuck. Even after a few years of him being gone, Bell and her family still kept the nickname alive for you.

“I really messed up, papa Cole… Dad would be so disappointed with me.” You put your head in your hands again, shaking with soft cries.

“No, Y/N. There is nothing you could ever do to disappoint him.” He paused, only speaking again once you brought your attention back to the phone, “You were the world to him, his perfect, little sweet pea blossom.” His voice held a solemn tone now, “Talk to me about what’s hurting you, honey.”

After a few more sniffles, your eyes flicked to Bellamy and she gave a gentle, reassuring nod. You know she was dying to know what was going on so she could help. You looked down at your fingers, twisting them together as you started to unload on your best friend and her dad, leaving out the moment in the parking garage, for obvious reasons. “...And Jake saw me kissing Josh and he said some really shitty things…and maybe I deserved it, yanno?” You shrugged, confused by your own feelings, “He made me feel disgusted with myself, but I…can’t stop thinking about him. Part of me still likes him and I hate myself for it…And I like Josh too, of course I like him. He’s so sweet and he’s funny and he doesn’t make me insane, but I just-.” You couldn’t find the right words to describe what you were feeling, but Mr. Cole and Bell both listened to your ramblings with no judgment. “God…I can’t even imagine what dad would say.”

You could tell Bellamy had so much she wanted to say, but her dad spoke up first, “I think he would say that you went with your gut and you shouldn’t punish yourself for that. You may have made a few missteps, but that’s life, Y/N. You can either make decisions with your heart or your head, and though the outcomes may be different, neither choice is wrong… Now given what the boy said, I can confidently say that your father would’ve made him eat his words and his teeth.” He released a soft chuckle. It was times like this when you realized just how close he and your dad were. He could form sentences to sound exactly the same way your father would put them, “Girls, I have to get back to work but you can call me later. I love you both.”

“Love you, dad! I’ll call once you’re home, I wanna see mom too.” She hung up the call after you waved bye and mumbled a ‘love you.’

You flung your arms around your best friend, pulling her backwards to fall into the mattress with you, “Thank you for sharing your dad, B…and thank you for just being you. I wouldn’t be able to get through life without you.” You planted a hard peck on her cheek, making sure to pop your lips when you pulled away.

She forced a grimace as he wiped the wet splotch from her face, “Pea, my dad loves you like you’re his own, hell you practically are. I don’t think of it as sharing. You’re my sister, you know that.” She rolled on top of you, grasping your face to return a sloppy peck to the middle of your forehead, “I’m gonna make some breakfast. You hungry?” She popped up from the bed, heading for the door.

“No. I’m gonna shower and try to get my shit together.” You pushed yourself to stand and snatched your phone from the nightstand. The screen illuminated as you pulled the charging cord, showcasing a few text notifications. You pulled the old hoodie off and folded it, tucking it back into the safety of your closet for the next time you’ll need it, and made the short walk to your bathroom. Allowing the water time to heat up, you finally opened the new messages, three from Josh, one from Jake…

Josh 8:11pm: Y/N i wanted that kiss but if there’s something between you and my brother then tell me. Why did he say that?

Josh 8:32pm: Can you at least answer me to tell me you made it home okay? You were crying when you left

Josh 12:02am: Okay I’m trying to give you space but I’m going a little crazy worrying about you Y/N please

A new kind of pain rippled through your chest at his messages and you knew you owed him an explanation.

You 10:56am: I’m sorry, Josh. I didn’t mean to worry you. I made it home and just went to bed early. There was something with me and Jake or at least I thought there was. I never should’ve kissed you the first time, it wasn’t fair to either of you. I’m just really confused about my feelings.

You hit send and swiped out of the thread to read Jake’s single message, only it wasn’t a text, it was a voice message. Your heart dropped into your stomach as you clicked play to listen, his slurred speech coming through the speaker.

Jake 2:35am: *inaudible grumbling* … Youuuu… ha ha…. You really have me soooo *hiccup-burp* so fucked up… I don’t know hoooow you do it, peach…ha ha ha ha…peeeeeach. *glass clattering* You love it when I call you th-that. My sweet pea- *hiccup* My sweet peach… But you’re not miiiiine, are you? Nooooo. Naaaah. You’re too good for me…drive me fucking craaaazy, baby… *childish giggle* You and that goddamn mouth…just love to… press… my but- *droning snore* Shit…*more grumbling* ha ha. She…loves it…

What the fuck…

You listened to it again. And then again. The bathroom was filled with steam by the time you put your phone down and stepped into the shower. His message continued to replay in your head, the nauseating rush of butterflies growing more powerful each time you thought over it. You had him fucked up??? Did he even know what kind of effect he had on you? You finished washing up and pulled a towel around you to go back to your room. Sitting on the edge of your bed, you let his voice play one more time, catching on one thing that hit you with a head rush; Your nickname. Albeit accidental, caught in a boozy hiccup, but it was there. Spoken through Jake’s lips with that intoxicating rasp that made you weak in the knees. But it didn’t matter… None of it mattered anymore because you sent him away, told him to leave you be and that’s what he did. Would you have acted differently if you’d heard his message before he’d shown up? You shook your head, trying to dispose of the thoughts altogether, and started getting dressed.

When you walked into the kitchen, Bellamy was sitting on the counter, eating a bagel, “Hey, babe…” She mumbled cautiously around her bite of food.

You looked up at her as you pulled the fridge open, “What’s up?”

“Would you be like…upset if maybe…Sam came over later?” She lifted her shoulders, bracing for you to tell her that you would absolutely be upset, but it was the complete opposite.

You chuckled at her, “Bell, of course not.” Grabbing a string cheese, you closed the door and leaned on the counter beside her, “I love that weird little guy.” There was a pause and you turned your head to see her smiling shyly as she typed on her phone, “You like him don’t you?”

She looked up at you, her smiling growing, “I think I do, Y/N. Don’t tell him that, I can’t let it go to his head.” She bumped your shoulder with her own, laughing quietly, “We’ve been hanging out a lot when our schedules line up. Most of his classes are either early morning or early afternoon. He goes to CCA.”

“Oh yeah, you said he’s majoring in photography, right?”

“Yeah! He’s actually really fucking talented too…Hang on.” Bellamy held her phone up, opening instagram to find his account, “Look at these pictures, they’re unreal.”

You took the phone from her and scrolled through the array of photos. A mix of landscapes and portraits, even a few wildlife. You were quickly noticing how much he favored film over digital, but nevertheless, his talent was undeniable. Scrolling for a few more seconds, you were about to give her phone back when one portrait grabbed your attention. You tapped on the tiny square to get a full view. Jake. A black hat, wild hair and an intimidating glare, his eyes staring straight into the lens. He looked exactly like the Jake you knew, yet different…younger maybe? You slid out of the app and handed your friend the cell, “You’re right, he does have talent. Those are all amazing.” You looked away, peeling the wrapper from your string cheese.

She clicked on instagram again, the screen popping right back to the photo of Jake, “Don’t do this to yourself, sweet pea… He doesn’t deserve you, not with the way he treats you and definitely not after what he said.” She jumped down from the counter with a sigh, “You have to understand that, babe. You are worth so much more than what he’s reducing you to.”

You wanted to argue, to tell her that he wasn’t the guy she thinks. He was sweet in his own warped and twisted way. She thought he was sadistic…maybe he is…but not always. Not in the way he held your hand or how he always made sure you had lunch when you worked with him. The way his tongue would beg for permission before slipping against your own…But arguing was no use, she made up her mind about him, “Yeah, Bell. I know…I uhh- I’m gonna go get a coffee and maybe check out a few of the local shops.” You turned away and stalked out of the kitchen, wanting nothing more than to escape everything for a bit, “I’ll be back later. Love you.”

After getting your coffee, you wandered through the streets, slipping in and out of different locally owned stores. You found a cute little thrift store that you wound up spending over an hour in, sifting through vintage t-shirts and knick knacks that could be considered relics. When you finally started your trek back home, it was slipping into early evening. The apartment was too quiet when you entered and you found Bellamy napping on the couch. Deciding to let her be, you went into your room and followed suit, stripping out of your clothes to pull on an oversized tee and some boxer shorts, and fell into bed for a nap of your own. You opened your music app and clicked on your ‘Dad’s Favorites’ playlist, being met with the distortion heavy opening of War Pigs by Black Sabbath. Placing the phone on the opposite side of the bed, you snuggled beneath the warm blanket and allowed yourself to drift.

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*bzzbzzzzzbzzbzz*

You woke up to the feeling of your phone vibrating beside your head. Snatching it up from the pillow, you squinted through tired eyes, focusing enough to swipe the button and lay the device over your ear with a groggy, “Hello?”

“Y/N, hey…You answered…”

You shot up into a sitting position, pulling the phone in front of your face to be sure it was who you thought. Slowly bringing it back to your ear, you squeezed your eyes shut, “Josh… What’s up?” You tried to sound normal but you’re sure he could hear the anxiety in your voice.

“I wanted to apologize for not texting you back earlier, the store was slammed all day. We did really good in sales, but the order is gonna be a bitch to put away next friday.” The casual conversation threw you off a bit, but you were lying if you said it wasn’t comforting.

Your nerves eased at his usual joyous tone, “That’s great about the sales, though. And if you need me to come in to help out with the delivery, I’d be more than happy to, Josh.”

“Y’know, I might hold you to that, especially since I don’t know where to pick up with your organizing in the storage room.” You could hear his smile through the phone, but then there was a shift, “Hey, listen…” You braced yourself for what was coming, staying silent, “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable about anything. I like you, Y/N… You’re cool as hell and such a sweetheart. But if there’s business between you and Jake, I’ll step back.”

You released the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, “I like you too, Josh, really…and not just as my boss, but-” You took a pause, not really sure what to say, “It just that- Jake and me, whatever it is or was…it’s unresolved and I don’t know where we stand right now.” You dropped your voice to a whisper, the bleak shame settling in, “I made a complete mess of everything and I don’t know how to begin to fix any of it…”

“There’s nothing to fix with me, consider the slate clean. As for him… Jake is easy. Just ask him.” He stated it so plainly, like it was the most obvious answer, “I know he wears his bad guy mask pretty well, but it’s just an act. He’s not good when it comes to feelings ever since-.” He stopped like he was about to share something sacred, “He just has a hard time dealing with his emotions. You have to push a bit and he will push back, but he can only fight for so long. I promise, I know exactly how he is.”

“I don’t know…” You fell back against the pillows, talking to Josh like he was your middle school best friend, “He’s so confusing, Josh. Just when I start believing that he likes me, he’s saying mean things or he’s flirting with Olivia. I just can’t help but feel like he only serves to hurt me.” You sat up again, realizing how shitty all of this probably was for him to hear, “Fuck. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-”

He was quick to shut you down, “Don’t fucking apologize. This is the shit friends talk about. We’re friends, aren’t we?” He let out a breathy laugh and put on a valley girl accent, almost like he was mocking Olivia, “Baaabe, like, you know that, you can tell me, like anyyyything.” When he heard you giggling he broke character, “Okay, seriously, Y/N. Just talk to him and find out where his head is at. If not for yourself, do it for me…If he doesn’t want what you’re selling, I know somebody who’s dying to take it off the market.” He was laughing again, a sweet, melodic sound, “Listen, I gotta get everything cleaned up for closing but I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

You were smiling wide, feeling the hot blush spread across your face, “See you tomorrow, boss… and thank you, Josh. This- I like being able to talk to you, it’s nice.”

“Feelings mutual, Y/N. Goodnight.” He hung up the phone before you could respond.

Pulling the phone from your ear, you checked the time, feeling a comforting warmth spread through your body. 8:39pm. You slept a lot longer than you wanted to, but you felt great after the conversation with Josh. Flinging the duvet from yourself, you rolled out of bed and heard voices coming from the living room. You stretched your limbs as you remembered that Bellamy invited Sam over and made your way out to say hi. They were both on the couch, Sam leaned back with his bare feet kicked up on the coffee table and Bell, stretched across the cushions, with her legs over his. You stepped closer, making your presence known, “Made yourself right at home, huh, Sam?” You said it with a laugh so he would know you were joking.

“I actually did, yes. The moving truck is downstairs, I was waiting for you to wake up to help carry the big stuff.” He flipped his palms up with a shrug, “I’m surprised you’re not spending the night with Jake since he has tomorrow off.”

Bellamy pulled her legs from his lap to sit up, smacking his arm, “You’re brother is a dickhead, Sammy. She’s done with him.” She said it with finality, like she was making the decision for you.

He dropped his feet to the floor, looking from her to you, “Wait, what did I miss? Weren’t you guys like-.” He poked his fingers together, making kissy noises.

“I thought we were, but shit happens, I guess?” You dragged a hand over your face with a sigh.

Bellamy popped up, “He made her think that he liked her and then practically called her a whore. Not to mention the way he flirts with that other girl.” She shuffled around his legs to walk to the kitchen, “I’m gonna grab another beer, do you want one, babe?” She pointed at him, receiving a nod in return as she disappeared through the doorway.

When you turned back to him, his eyes narrowed, giving you a questioning stare and prompting you to tell him what happened, “Look, Sam, I don’t know, okay? We hangout, have fun, and then he changes in a flash and becomes this malevolent force that just loves to jumble my brain. I can’t do it, the back and forth, it’s- He’s fucking twisted but…I still feel this pull towards him, I hate it.”

Sam sat up straight on the couch, “He’s got some shit to work out, that’s for sure… And I don’t know all sides to the story, but there’s something you have to understand about Jake.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked up at you, “He’s barely even looked at a woman since his last girlfriend. Yeah, he flirts, he’s had hookups, but it’s never serious, not to him.”

“Nothing excuses what he said, Sam.” Bellamy chimed in as she came out of the kitchen, “He’s been treating her like trash since the minute he met her. Brother or not, you can’t sit here and defend him.” She handed him the IPA and sat down beside him.

“Bellamy, just let him talk. I wanna hear this.” You sunk into the chair opposite the couch and turned your attention back to Sam, “What were you saying?” You ignored your best friend’s scoff as you encouraged him to continue.

Twisting the cap from his bottle, he took a long drink before speaking up, “I’m not defending him. I just think there’s a reason that he’s acting like this.” He took another drink and placed the beer on the table, “His last girlfriend, Ivy, she really fucked him up. They were together for four years, really fucking lovey dovey.” Sam shook his head as he recalled, “We all kind of thought they were a forever deal, even mom and dad. Jake was so deep in love, he talked about moving across the country with her because she wanted to live in New York… Two years in and he was gonna drop his entire life to stay close to her.” He paused, scratching his chin, “He’ll kill me for telling you this.”

“Sam, please. Help me understand.” You stood up again, pacing back and forth, “Explain to me what I could’ve done for him to treat me like this, because I can’t keep forgiving his behavior. He’s letting me in, making me feel like he might really want me, just to push me away again. Over and over, and I can’t do it, I won’t.” You were rambling out of pure anxiety and frustration, “It’s not fair… I made it clear that I liked him, that I wanted him. We had fun on his birthday…at least I thought we did. We stayed up all night, completely wrapped up in one another, then the next thing I know, he wakes up a completely different person and kicks me out? I mean, what the hell was that?” You stopped to take a breath and Sam was quick to raise a question.

“Wait, you- He let you stay the night?” His confusion was clear as you nodded your head, “Like, slept in the same bed?”

Now you were confused, “Yeah… He begged me to stay. Not that he really had to.” Your shoulders dropped in defeat, “It was kind of sweet, when I woke up, I mean.” A faint smile appeared as you remember the warmth of his body draped over you, “He was out cold, laying on top of me. Fuck, he was like, clinging to me. But then he woke up and it was like a switch flipped… He pushed away from me, wouldn’t even look at me. I tried to ask him what was wrong, he gave some bullshit excuse and practically told me to get the fuck out.” You wrapped your arms around yourself as you stood in the middle of the room.

Bellamy stood up and came over to you, “He kicked you out after you slept with him? Why didn’t you tell me that when I picked you up, babe?” She was mad, that was clear, “I would have went straight up there and beat his ass. What an asshole!”

“We didn’t have sex…” Your voice was quiet as you stared out to the balcony, “But we still did things… That’s why I didn’t say anything. I felt used and I was embarrassed, Bell…”

“You didn’t sleep with him and he still let you stay? All night?” Sam was standing now too, trying to connect the pieces.

You released a huff of annoyance at having to repeat yourself, “No, I didn’t sleep with him and yes, I stayed all night. We made out, cuddled, wrestled a little bit and listened to music and then we fell asleep in the same bed, wrapped up in each other. Any more questions?” Pulling away from your friend, you stalked towards the sliding door to get a breath of air.

“He likes you, Y/N… Like, really fucking likes you.” Sam let out a chuckle and you turned around to glare at him, “No, I’m serious! It makes sense now!”

“No it doesn’t, Sam! Nothing makes sense!”

He flinched at your loud tone, “It does though…” He held his hands up in defense, waiting for you to lash out, but you stayed quiet, allowing him to explain, “Jake doesn’t let himself get close to anyone anymore. Not since Ivy. He barely hooks up, but when he does, it’s always some girl he meets in a bar that he knows he’ll likely never have to see again and he’s sending them home the minute he’s finished. Then here you come.” He was smiling like he solved an impossible puzzle, “I knew something was up with him. That day that I met you, when you came into the store and he forced me out?” You nodded to let him know that you remembered, “He was off his game. Normally, nothing can bother Jake, he’s always so sure of himself. But he was messing things up, putting shit where it didn’t go, and just overall in a shitty mood. Kept checking his phone and staring at the clock… Then you came in and there was this shift. For someone who doesn’t know him, it wouldn’t have been noticeable, but I noticed.”

You thought back on it for a moment, “You said he was on edge because of me…I wanted to ask what you meant but he was shoving you out the door before I got the chance.”

“I just kind of forgot all about it, but him sleeping with you- or not sleeping with but- well, you know what I mean.” He was waving his hands to get his point across, “Anyways… You said he kicked you out in the morning?” Nodding your head slowly, you told him about the entire interaction you had with his brother that Sunday morning, “He got freaked out. That’s it, I’m telling you!”

“Freaked out about what? He woke up with the same girl he asked to spend the night. What is there to get freaked out about?” Bellamy stared at Sam with her eyebrows raised high, clearly frustrated.

He slapped his palm over his forehead, “How can I simplify this…” He took a deep breath, “Jake hasn’t wanted anything past sex with women for two years. After Ivy, he changed. He-he’s closed off, doesn’t let anyone in, doesn’t let himself get close to people or let people get close to him. Ivy fucked him up, destroyed his trust.” He was talking with his hands, waving them around as he explained, “But he likes you and he refuses to admit it to himself. That’s why he freaked, because when he woke up, all cuddled up with you, it scared him. He’s afraid to get close to you because he thinks you’re gonna hurt him just like she did, Y/N.” Sam tossed himself onto the couch with a grin, proud of himself for cracking the case.

You let it all soak in, but something was still digging at your brain, “What did Ivy do to him, Sam?” You didn’t know what Jake was like before, but the way his little brother described it, she must’ve done a good bit of damage.

“That’s something he’s gonna have to tell you himself, it’s not my place.” He shrugged, leaving it at that, before grabbing Bellamy’s hand to pull her down on his lap, “Sorry, Y/N.”

You were fiddling with your fingers in silence for a few minutes while they both stared at you, completely lost in your own head. Your eyes went back to the balcony door as you gazed out at the city lights and then you were moving, heading for the front door and slipping your vans on. Bell called after you, asking what you were doing, but you just grabbed your keys from the hook and left.

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“Come on…” You had been standing outside for at least 20 minutes, waiting for somebody to come through the front door of the building so that you could slip in. You tried calling Jake multiple times, but he would just send you straight to voicemail every time. Just as you were about to give up completely, by some stroke of luck, a man was coming outside. You rushed to get into the door before it shut and went straight for the stairwell, running up to Jake’s floor. When you made it to his door, you hesitated, wondering if what you were doing was a bad idea. Pushing the nerves aside, you shook out your hands to wrangle your nerves before leaving three knocks against the door. You could hear him shuffling around inside, but he wasn’t answering the door. You knocked again. No Answer. Refusing to leave without talking to him, you reached for the doorknob, chancing it with a slight twist. You were surprised when it turned and the door popped open, “Jake?” You said it quietly, unsure if you should have gone in at all. Closing the door softly, you walked a little further in, calling his name a bit louder, “Jake…”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He came out of the kitchen and walked by you, straight into the living room, making no move to send you back out, “How did you get in?”

You kicked your shoes off by the door and went after him, “You weren’t answering and it was unlocked. You ignored my calls… I need to talk to you.”

Jake was slumped into the couch, a bottle of bourbon in his hand, “Now you wanna talk. Convenient.” He scoffed, lifting the bottle to his mouth for a short chug, “You said you didn’t wanna see me, told me to leave you alone. So I did. Now you can repay that fucking courtesy.” His voice was calm, not the slightest hint of aggression despite his words.

You inched closer until you were standing at the end of the couch, looking down at him, “Tell me about Ivy.” You watched his eyes go wide as he swallowed hard, “What did she do to you, Jake?”

“Who the fuck- I’m gonna kill Josh.” He sat up, slamming the bottle on the coffee table with a bang, “There’s nothing to tell. It’s in the past and it’s nobody’s fucking business.” Now his chest was rising and falling hard, angry huffs pushing through his nose.

You didn’t come here to upset him, you came for clarity and he was the only one who could provide it. You put on the softest tone you could muster, “Baby, look at me…” His eyes flashed to you, a sad vulnerability in them that made your heart ache, “Why do you pull me in just to push me away? Tell me what she did, Jake, please.” He started to shake his head as you took a seat beside him, but you reached down, carefully taking his hand in yours, “How did she hurt you?”

He stared down at your hand wrapped around his, your thumb rubbing over his knuckles, “She left. That’s all people do is fucking lie and then leave.” He picked the bottle back up for another drink.

“Jake, I’m not leaving. I’m-“

“But you still lied, Y/N! You fucking lied right to my face!” His tone made you wince.

You pulled your hand from his, taking his face instead, “You’re right, I did. I’ll own up to that, Jake. I lied and I’m sorry.” You tilted his head, forcing him to look at you, “I can’t take that back, but you have to know it was only twice. I kissed him before I came into work and I don’t know why I did it, but then he came back and it happened again and I just-… You have my mind so messed up.” You watched him roll his eyes, ready to argue, “I’m not blaming you, I made the choice, that was all me. But you’re not entirely innocent either.”

He gripped your wrists gently, removing your hands from his skin, “I don’t know what you want me to say. What do you want to hear, Y/N?” He was lifting the bottle back to his lips when you snatched it from his hands.

“I just want the truth, Jake! You fucking string me along and just when i start to fall a little bit for you, thinking you might catch me, you cut the fucking string and leave me to fall on my face.” You put the bottle on the far end of the table, away from him, “If Sam’s right and you’re just afraid that I’ll hurt you, then tell me that. But if it’s all just some game, then it’s over. You don’t get to question me about what I’m doing or who I’m doing it with, it’s not fair!” Your voice was rising out of pure frustration, but he remained quiet, staring at the floor, “Tell me what you want, Jake… If you want me to leave, I will walk out that door right now and you’ll never have to see me again.” You waited for him to say something, anything, but he was silent, still avoiding your gaze, “Okay… I’ll text Josh my resignation.” Standing from the couch, you looked down at him, giving him one more chance before heading for the door.

Just as you slid your shoes on and grasped the doorknob, his hand was grasping onto your shirt, tugging you backwards, “Please don’t go.” His big brown eyes were pleading with you, holding all the emotions that his words couldn’t carry, “It’s not a game… Not anymore. I-.” He paused, fighting to find what he wanted to say, “I’ll tell you about her, just- Not tonight… Don’t make me talk about it tonight, peach.” He sounded so deflated, the complete opposite of the Jake you’d come to know.

“Okay.” Your hands went to his arms, sliding up over his shoulders to cup his face, “We don’t have to talk about her tonight, baby, it’s okay.” You kept a gentle tone, guiding your arms around his neck to pull him into an embrace. Despite the tension keeping his body stiff, you held him close, “Do you want me to stay, Jake?”

His movements were hesitant, but he slowly brought his arms up, circling them around your waist, “I do.” His face was buried in your neck as he mumbled the two words.

“Are you still gonna want this in the morning?” It came out a whisper.

“I will.” His body finally began to relax against you, “Promise. That night you stayed, my birthday…” His was still murmuring against your throat, “I slept so well. For the first time in so long.” He was tightening his arms around you as the confession spilled from his mouth.

“Then why did you kick me out?” You brought your hands back to his shoulders, trying to push him away so you could look at him, but his grip remained locked.

Jake released a soft sigh, “That shirt you picked to wear- the old store shirt… That’s the one she always reached for.” His lips were tickling over your skin as he spoke in a solemn tone, “When I woke up, I was groggy. I saw the shirt, your body underneath me…felt like the last time I woke up with her and it made me sick.” He finally lifted his head from your neck, meeting your eyes, “When I came out of the bathroom, I wanted to tell you to stay but the look on your face… I knew you’d want an explanation and I couldn’t-.”

“Whatever she did, whatever pain she caused you,” You held his liquor-blushed cheeks, “I’m not here as a reminder, let me help you forget it, Jake… Just let me in.”

“I’ll try” He let his head fall back into the crook of your neck, letting the silence take over as he breathed you in. You held onto him, pulling your fingers through his tangled hair, until he finally spoke up again, “Can we go to bed, peach?”

His arms tightened around your waist again as he lifted you from the floor. You wrapped your legs around him, keeping a grip on his shoulders as you whispered, “Yeah, baby. Let’s go to bed.” Allowing him to carry you into his bedroom and kick the door shut behind him.

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🤍Taglist🤍

@jakekiszkasbuttsweat @ieatedasammy @twistedmelodies @dropdeadalyx31 @ageofbajabule @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @ignite-my-fire @becinabubblegvf @literal-dead-leaf @sanguinebats @myleftsock @laneygvf @writingcold @sinarainbows @lipstickitty @giraffehippy @jakesmustache @gracev0609 @gretavansara @profitofthedune @gvfmarge @brookekiszkaa @earthgrlsreasy @welllauragvf @takenbythemadness @swim2shore

[joanofexys]

omg can I ask about ur minyard ocs??? 👀👀

YES I CAN (and sorry for taking so long)

I am still undecided on if the Minyard twins (pt 2) will be part of my oc canon but they have certainly existed in my head for a hot minute (made them 3 years ago and forgot about them)

ig I should probably include tws. Nothing in detail but mentions of abuse, suicide, and SA

Sawyer Minyard

she/her

31

4'11

criminal defense attorney

has never played a sport in her life and doesn't plan to start

aroace

audhd combo + chronic depression

Saide Minyard

they/them (will respond to any but they/them is preferred as their gender can best be describe as "idk a blob of energy or whatever")

31

5'1

tattoo artist

played exy throughout high school and college but had no interest in going pro

played as a striker

has a bachelor's degree in psychology, never got their masters

also has the audhd combo + bipolar

Unlike the other set of Minyard twins these two were never separated, though Tilda did give them both up. Do I remember if it was mentioned how old Tilda was when she had Aaron and Andrew? No. So we're smudging the timeline however we need to for this like 10-ish year age gap between both sets of twins

Saide and Sawyer are obviously not identical if you read their height difference. And Saide will probably hold onto being the tallest Minyard sibling for the rest of their life

Saide and Sawyer for the first half of their lives were raised by a very loving foster mother who decided to file for permanent guardianship when they were 7 but due to some vague legal trouble that I haven't developed yet it falls through and the two end up being removed from her home

Thankfully the two stay together but they end up bouncing around the system for awhile and they both grow angry of it. For Sawyer this manifests in her throwing herself into school, an obsession with the justice system, and an anger with law enforcement (girl hates cops with a passion). For Saide it's finding any way to get out of their head. Parties, drugs, sex. Not all of it consensual. A lot of heavy and unhealthy self medication.

They split up for the first time ever for college. Sawyer moves across the country, a full ride with a good school that should get her into a good law school. Saide stays in state, a full ride playing exy, and they figure they'll take what they can get.

They both start receiving help in college. Sawyer attempts suicide for the first time at 21 years old as the contact with her sibling has grown more inconsistent, she has few friends, and she finds herself struggling to keep up with certain required classes she feels no passion for. She starts going to therapy afterwards but receives no diagnosis.

Saide gets diagnosed with ADHD and bipolar II their sophomore year after an outburst at a teammate, followed by three days of them being missing (out getting high and drunk and having sex they weren't fully aware was happening. crashing on friends couches and in their cars) and them returning to college with the following crash and depressive episode. They start trying different medication, stop drinking and doing drugs (with a few relapses on the way despite their insistence that they were never an addict), and started seeing a counselor provided by their colleges mental health service.

Junior year is when Saide starts experimenting with their gender. They go from he/him to he/they to she/they to she/he/they back to he/they and then they/them. That same year they start their tattoo apprenticeship while working toward their psych degree.

Sawyer gets her polisci degree, Saide gets their psych degree, and Sawyer gets accepted to an amazing law school (haven't decided which one cause y'all I have beef with Ivy League's and shit). They're roommates while Sawyer goes to law school. They both move again and get an apartment together. Saide gets a job with a local tattoo place and Sawyer is obviously a full time student. They're pretty cramped in there but they make it work

It's not until Sawyer either is a practicing lawyer or around the time she's taking the bar that the two find out about Andrew and Aaron. They've never had reason to think about other siblings. And obviously Andrew and Aaron had no reason to think they existed. But maybe something comes up with Nicky's adoption process for the two of them and the connection ends up being made

They're distant. Obviously neither of them can pack up and move again to take care of two siblings they don't even know. But there's a small effort made. Sawyer will always call Aaron back. If she's getting home at 3 am after sorting through piles of clients paperwork. Saide writers letters that he's 90% sure Aaron doesn't read and that Andrew throws straight in the trash. But they know they're there. It's probably not until Aaron and Andrew are in college and the events of the books starts going down that they really get connected. Because I'm sorry to Sawyer Minyard, vcious criminal defense attorney, who has to get the phone call that her brother killed a man and no it's not the one she thinks it is.

And this is getting long but yeah that's a bit about them

[moocowmoocow]

This is a bit of an odd one, and if it's not one you feel like writing, I totally get it, but: I was thinking about Kelly's half-sister maybe seeing Kelly on the Mars mission (either when it's announced or maybe during all the pregnancy stuff) and remembering her from that day in the restaurant. Maybe also having something *click* with respect to their dad (an old photo, her dad admitting there was another child, or something)?

Linh worked at her father’s restaurant throughout college and grad school. She worked there on weekends even as she started her first “real” job. She enjoyed the community and the time with her family and it was good to have that extra money as a cushion.

She was at Little Saigon when the crew for NASA’s Mars mission was announced. The whole restaurant buzzed when it was announced that one of the astronauts was Vietnamese-American. Linh could’ve sworn that Kelly Baldwin looked familiar. When she heard that Kelly was adopted by white Americans, things clicked into place. Little Saigon was a popular destination for adoptees but there had been one girl who had seemed more desperate than the rest. The poor girl didn’t even know what phở was.

When Linh saw who Kelly’s adoptive parents were, she understood her desperation a bit better and the reason she must have driven four hours one way to eat at the restaurant. To live up to a hero astronaut father and a CEO mother must have felt nearly impossible. Although an uncharitable part of Linh thought that having those parents are probably the only reason a Vietnamese-American was going to Mars.

Later, as they cleaned up the kitchen together, Linh’s father said offhandedly that Kelly Baldwin was about as old as Linh’s sister would be now. She had grown up knowing about the daughter her father had left in Vietnam, grief-stricken and fleeing for his life. She also thought the Americans had been a little shady taking her sister, but that was an argument she had long learned not to have with her father.

She entertained the idea for awhile. She remembered how insistent Kelly had been that Linh join her, how inquisitive she’d been, and how she found her staring at the picture of her father.

She shook her head. There were hundreds of kids from Vietnamese orphanages throughout the United States. But still, she paid more attention to the Mars mission than she would have normally. She even sent a little gift for her baby to NASA, just in case he was her nephew.

[humornaut]

My Journey with Omori

Hey everyone. Rather than my usual analysis-type posts, this is going to go into my own personal experience with Omori. I've kind of wanted to do this for awhile, because I feel like I have a lot that I want to say about this game. This post is going to have major Omori spoilers. I will also be going into some criticisms of the game (though not particularly heavily). This one will be a long one.

My Background

This might not be something that people care about, but I feel it is important to start with my life situation at the time I discovered the game.

In 2020, I graduated from college with a degree in game design. If you remember 2020, you can probably guess where I'm going with this. Everyone left for spring break, and the day before we were supposed to come back, they extended break by a week. Then, at the end of that additional week, classes had gone fully remote. My three roommates at the time never really came back to campus, and I finished out the lease alone. I never got to do any kind of internship, and I didn't get a graduation ceremony. I really didn't know what I was doing with my life, and finding a job in the games industry seemed impossible. So, I made a decision to move in with my aunt and work at an insurance agency. I was states away from anyone I ever knew, working in an industry wholly unrelated to what I had just dedicated years of my life to studying, but it was a job.

I wonder a lot if this was the right call. At the time, it seemed like an obvious decision, but now, I'm even more unsure of my skills when it comes to breaking into the games industry, and working 40+ hours a week can really sap your motivation when it comes to personal projects.

As the world opened back up, I started hearing from all my friends less and less, and life really started getting monotonous. Living alone is expensive, and I'm not good at opening up to new people.

Last November, by chance, a comic by twitter user Shrimperini appeared on my feed (it's still the pinned tweet on her account if you want to see!). One thing led to another, I saw some more positive reviews of the game, and I ended up picking the game up on Switch when I saw at on sale at a Best Buy.

Now, anyone that knows me could tell you, this isn't the type of game I usually play. I've always gravitated towards things like strategy games or rogue-likes. I only really stray from that in a few cases, whether it's to play a game with my friends, or just a game that I've had a long-standing connection with, like Pokémon. I did play Undertale and Deltarune (and loved them!), but overall, this type of game was not one that I typically went out of my way to play.

Also important: I've never interacted with any fandom in the way that I do with Omori. You can trawl through my Twitter, you won't find much of me talking about ships or obsessing over details until I started talking about Omori. All this is to say: Omori was a bit of a first for me on a few different levels. So, let's get into my actual journey with the game.

The First Playthrough: The Sunny Route

I unfortunately already knew a few details about the game going into things, but nothing that was too big of a spoiler. Something that I think gets overlooked is how great Omori's prologue is. In my opinion, the first night in Headspace is the best night in Headspace, bar none. It perfectly sets you up for what the game's going to be about, and I want to talk more about that later, because I feel that it really shines on later playthroughs.

Based on what I said about my background, you can probably guess what I'm going to say. Sunny's story and personality resonated heavily with me. At school, I was always the quiet one, just kind of following what my friends wanted to do until I started coming out of my shell a bit later on. Faraway is very similar to the town and suburb that I grew up in, and I know that many people feel the same way. Walking around Faraway felt like walking around my own home town today, years after almost everyone I knew back then has moved out and started their own lives. I mean this literally, as well, since I started playing this game right around American Thanksgiving, so I actually was back in my home town. It's nostalgic in a way, and I think that that is a major strength of the game.

I also do want to say, that while a Kel/Sunny comic is what introduced me to the game, I mostly assumed that it wasn't actually a canon ship. What I didn't expect was for the game to actually depict a close male relationship that does border on romantic in its presentation, which made those opening transition scenes of Sunny and Basil so interesting (as well as Basil indirectly calling Omori cute during the flower meaning segment), though I do want to talk a little bit more about that later.

From there, I feel that my experience was a lot like most people's first time with the game. I got to experience Faraway, then tried to rush through Night 2 of Headspace without paying much attention, so that I could get back to the real world plot. I didn't pay much attention during Sweetheart's Castle, and it's already-commented-on gameplay drag issues felt exacerbated by the fact that I just wanted to get on with it.

Real world day 2 happens, I got to meet Hero in the real world, Basil gets pushed into the lake, etc, etc. The shroud has started to lift on what's actually going on here. The North Lake segment got me ready to figure out what was actually going on, but first: Last Resort and Humphrey.

It was around this time that I began wondering if there actually was any kind of gay subtext actually going on. Of course, I had seen the Lost Library entry for the ride home from the beach, but as I descended into Sunny's subconscious, the way that the game started talking about Basil took on a much different tone. I got to the Branch Coral, and listened to it talk about how Sunny and Basil are connected by a "string of fate". This immediately set off some alarm bells in my head. A lot of debate has been had about this line, but for me personally, even if a string of fate isn't always romantic imagery, it certainly is most of the time. Seeing it written in the game (as something that Sunny's subconscious is saying, no less) completely had me reconsidering if there was a connection, which I hadn't really thought about since Basil's disappearance. I thought about the photo album, and how well Basil is treated in Headspace, and it just had me thinking.

I got through Humphrey, finished up the side quests that I still had, and it was time to start Black Space. Prior to that, however, Stranger lead me through Basil's garden once again, going over the flower meanings. I took note about how the meaning of sunflowers, as it was the first time I made the connection about Sunny's name and Basil's meaning for them (plus him literally always facing Sunny in several scenes lol). And then there was what Basil said about white tulips.

Being honest, it was difficult for me to interpret Basil as not being in love with Sunny after that, and Stranger's dialogue in some of the Black Space rooms really cemented that for me.

Black Space as a whole left me extremely intrigued as to what the plan was. The way it ended really left me in suspense for what was really going on. How did it all relate to what happened to Mari? I had already assumed at this point that she had taken her own life, due to some of the imagery. But what else was going on here? I didn't exactly think the game was going to veer back from being a horror title to turn into some kind of dating sim, but it was clear to me that Basil was involved with some other secret.

In a reversal of what I had expected of the game up until this point, I found it difficult to care about the real world plot of the game during day 3. It didn't help that it felt like a rushed resolution of the Aubrey plot, and I felt like I was simply going through the motions. I still have no idea how I'm supposed to interpret the key in the treehouse and how it got there, and it felt a little aggravating that plans were being made between Aubrey and Hero to include the hooligans next time, while Basil himself was still locked in his room.

So then, the truth sequence. It completely blew away my expectations for what the game was saying, and recontextualized so much of what came before it. Sunny had done something awful by accident, and Basil had done something awful to protect him. That last "Do you want to save Basil?" really hit me hard. I hadn't felt so part of the game until this moment. It was like I was Sunny, and I was mulling over whether or not I forgive Basil for the horrible situation his actions put us both in. The stakes are high, because it's clear that something bad will happen to Basil if I don't. I didn't actually know it at the time, but this is the first time you can actually choose not to save Basil. It's emotional.

And the fight. The way the game creates confusion as to what is actually going on between Sunny and Basil during it by using vague wording and hallucinations. Basil's desperation and the way his desire to protect Sunny as his "perfect" best friend come together, leading to the fight.

Memory Lane happens, and I honestly didn't think much of it at the time. It was cool to see some of the memories in better detail, but it wasn't as emotional to me as what came before or what will come after.

I would be remiss to not include that we learn that it was actually Sunny that had a crush on Aubrey, and not the other way around. I had already suspected this, based on Aubrey not being close to him in the photo album, along with the Lost Library memory, but I remember thinking it was an interesting choice to have Basil be the one to call it out.

I finished up the game, and it impacted me a whole lot. I wasn't planning on playing the other route at first, as I heard that it was just Headspace and mostly unchanged, and I felt satisfied with the story that I got. I walked away with the understanding that pre-canon, Basil had feelings for Sunny that he likely didn't understand, while Sunny had a crush on Aubrey that he was never bold enough to pursue. How they felt at the time the game actually took place is irrelevant to the story being told, outside of us understanding that these are relatable individuals, and I walked away alright with that.

Of course, after that initial wave of emotions from the ending subsided, I did have some criticisms. Sunny's actual friendship with Aubrey felt underdeveloped, as her behavior both in Headspace and the real world differ so heavily from how she behaves in the glimpses we see of the past. Unlike Sunny's relationships with the others, there's no real unique identifiers other than Sunny's crush. While I would not have wanted the only living female character in the main cast to have been treated as a love interest in both the real world and dream world, it would have been nice if the game gave us a little more than just the swing set conversations, like how we get Kel talking about their late night trips to Hobbeez. In addition, while I understood on a base level that whether or not Basil and Sunny are forgiven didn't really matter to the story being told, not seeing it happen left me feeling a tad empty.

Finally, I felt extremely dissatisfied with Headspace. On a superficial level, I could see that many of the things in Headspace were based on things from the real world, it didn't really feel like it had all that much significance, and the knowledge that it would be more of the same in the other route kept me from playing it. I occasionally visited the subreddit, read a few post-canon fics (Bask in the Sun by Lemari and They say Flowers are Meant to be Sunkissed by Witherdahlia being highlights with very similar concepts), and slowly immersed myself in the Twitter community.

Of course, as time went by, I started making my own interpretations about the game. I got very attached to Sunflower, as I felt the fics were the most interesting to read, and I already held the interpretation that Basil had those feelings for Sunny, even if I didn't think it even mattered if Sunny reciprocated (though I did like talking about their dynamic a lot). In February, Sunflower week happened, and I randomly happened across a tweet that pointed out how Sunny knows the recipe for a strawberry cake in Headspace, with that being relevant due to Basil's birthday being one in which a strawberry cake appears. This blew my mind a little bit, and I made the decision to go back and play the Hikikomori route.

The Second Playthrough: The Hikikomori Route

What I had previously assumed would be a slog through things that I had already done before turned out to be far more interesting. Without the desire to get back to the real world plot hanging over me, I found myself paying a lot more attention to the things that were happening in Headspace. Playing the prologue again was amazing, because I was taken aback by how it practically parallels the entirety of the Sunny route, right down to having to retrieve a stolen item and receiving an eyepatch after the boss fight. Some day, I might break that down further, because it's so interesting. But not today.

Pyrefly Forest and Sweetheart's Castle were much more bearable this time around, because I was paying attention to the little references to Basil and Sunny's friendship in Pyrefly, and the ways Sweetheart's Castle represented a candied-up version of the way that Sunny interprets the concept of "home". This time through Headspace, I saw the very subtle ways that Basil's thoughts "follow Sunny into his dreams". And then, rather than Mari leading you through North Lake, it's Kel. Stranger no longer tells us what Basil thought about white tulips and Sunny, but this time in Black Space, I noticed the implications that Sunny would open up to Basil about his trauma coming from the Lake Incident. It ends with Omori catching Basil in a bridal carry before returning his flower crown.

Whereas the Sunny route was this heart wrenching tale about forgiveness and guilt, and overcoming your fears for others, and how ignorance hurts those you care about the most, the Hikikomori route functioned almost as this deep dive into Sunny's subconscious. The fact that I was playing through pretty much the exact same stuff again but with a completely different perspective kind of blew my mind, and I wonder if this was intentional.

This is all to say that it was around this time that I was once again asking myself the question of if Sunny's feelings for Basil (at least pre-canon) were entirely platonic. Especially as I played the Basil Rush, with its new Tag Photos and Release Energy, I wondered if the game was actually trying to imply a romantic connection. And if it was, why? What purpose would it serve in the narrative for these feelings to exist? How does it relate to Sunny's crush on Aubrey, which surely must've existed in the story for a reason? And how does it all relate to the litany of things Sunny things about in regards to romance?

From a narrative perspective, I could reason that Sunny and Basil having feelings for each other that they could never healthily explore injects further tragedy into the day of the incident and Sunny locking himself away. It provides a context for Sunny's focus on "saving" Basil, both in Headspace and the real world. Basil is undeniably linked to photos and flowers, which are two huge symbols that appear throughout Sunny's mind.

Everything else is stuff I've already spoken about before. The way Sunny treated Aubrey parallels how he treated Basil, and via both things like his fear of spiders, and the way all the foods Sunny appears to know information on how to prepare being associated with Basil, his dynamic with Basil mirrors the way Sunny thinks of Hero and Mari's relationship during Memory Lane.

Playing through the Hikikomori route completely changed the way that I thought about Omori. It was no longer just the story of Sunny accepting his role in his sister's death, I was also now considering the possibility that the game did have a romantic subtext between its two deuteragonists, and thinking about the repercussions of such an idea.

As I completed everything that there was to do in the Hikikomori route, I was immediately taken in with the idea of replaying the Sunny route, with all the knowledge I now had from my previous experiences. First, let me say: Everything that I assumed about playing through Headspace a second time and was luckily wrong about, actually applied on my third run. I did not enjoy playing through Headspace on my third run through, and it will likely be awhile before I do so again.

However, I did start to get an appreciation for details that I missed in my first run in Faraway. Basil's little mannerisms during cutscenes, such as looking to Sunny before responding to Kel's insistence that they were all still friends, as well as the repetition of Sunny backing away from his friends' pain due to his subconscious guilt and fear of facing it, before the final payoff of Sunny choosing to walk back into the center of the room on his own accord during the confrontation with Basil. During Memory Lane, I took note that in the Treehouse Memory, Sunny asked to see one of Basil's pictures that had nothing to do with Aubrey, when previously he only asked to look at pictures of her. There are three different instances in which the player is reminded that Hero and Mari's relationship specifically is one in which they cook for each other specifically, and this information was now recontextualized with the knowledge that Sunny knows the recipe for a strawberry cake, owns a book about tofu (which he hates), and that's not even getting into all the stuff about smoothies in Headspace. Where Aubrey saying that Sunny "would listen to her talk to hours" was once a confirmation that Aubrey and Sunny did have any kind of dynamic at all, I now saw it as a recontextualization of how we were told Sunny interacted with Basil. (also, the "truth" being hidden in the toy chest, which is itself hidden in the closet was certainly a choice /j)

What was the point of all this?

Frankly, it's starting to feel like I'm running out of things to say about Omori. With every post I've made on here and Twitter, there's less things for me to extrapolate from Omori's storytelling, and it's unlikely that we will ever get any more added on to canon. I've grown to love this community, and I think it's so interesting when I look back at how I interpreted the game back in November when I first discovered it, and today. I hope that that will become evident with the mod that I am working on, Senesce.

Obviously, everyone has their own ideas when it comes to what Omori is trying to imply with its characters. Accepting Sunflower as "canon" (in the sense that those feelings do exist in some form) has deepened my love of the game and characters, and I love that other people can have entirely different interpretations and still be just as satisfied with the game! Even if it was all unintentional, I cannot deny that it has lit a fire under me when it comes to game writing.

I desperately want to create a game that has someone at home obsessing over the smallest details to extract meaning in the way I have for Omori. Flawed as it may be, it's special to me, and I'm glad I played it. Thanks for listening to me ramble about it!

[podracerbarrelroll]

Thinking of that post about parents who relentlessly track their kids' cell phone location and internet history and every move in the name of keeping them 'safe' without their knowledge or consent. Also about the article I read awhile back about the developing social expectation that parents not let children go anywhere alone (which I couldn't find, but this one is more recent and similar).

For one thing. In the United States, violent crime has decreased since the 1990s and drug use among teenagers has gone down overall since the 1970s (skip to the charts on page 161 if you want to click through them). The world is not actually more dangerous today than it was when Gen Xers or older Millennials were kids.

But I'm sure there are parents out there who think that any chance of bad things happening means they must keep as close an eye on their kids as possible or they're bad parents. Not using every tool at their disposal makes them irresponsible, and tracking phones is just what you do today because the technology is available.

To these people, I would like to say:

How would you have felt about your parents listening in on all your conversations on the house phone and routinely going through your room and reading any diary or journal you kept? My parents did that, and I can guarantee you that it did not feel good, and I am still (in my early 30s) extremely protective and possessive of my things and hate anyone touching my phone or computer without my permission for any reason.

Yes, your kid might do drugs, and they might be a victim of violent crime. Tracking their every move does not necessarily prevent that. However, it does make it more likely they will leave their phone at their friends' house when they're sneaking out to go to a party they didn't tell you about and then they don't have that phone to call you for help. It also makes it more likely that if something does happen, they will not go to you for help or tell you about it for fear of getting into trouble.

Parental monitoring works best when parents have good, open, and caring relationships with their teens. Teens are more willing to talk to their parents if they think their parents can be trusted, have useful advice to offer, and are open and available to listen and talk. Teens who are satisfied with their relationships with their parents tend to be more willing to follow the rules. Not by, y'know, subjecting them to your own personal surveillance state.

Children are not perpetual children. They are future adults and need to develop the very necessary skills of learning how to make their own decisions. Not allowing this is how you end up calling your adult children's college professors because they've fallen behind in classes, because you've created a risk-averse, conflict-averse adult with no idea how to manage their own schedule. (This is also how you get accidental conservatives obsessed with following the 'rules', but the other post describes that better.)

On that note, you cannot control your children their whole lives. They will eventually grow up and move out when they're eighteen or twenty or twenty-five if you insist on them living with you through college. If you've never let them go to a party or have a single alcoholic drink, how the fuck do you expect them to know moderation when they're older and the consequences for fucking up are worse?

Conversely, you may get a kid that grows up, leaves, and doesn't talk to you at all. My parents literally told me that I didn't have a right to privacy because I was their child and living with them. While I do still talk to my parents, I purposely put physical and emotional distance between them and myself when I left for college, and I do not and have never gone to them for life advice or for comfort when I'm having a hard time.

And finally. Consider finding out, ten or fifteen years from now, that your child is dating someone who tracks their cell phone location at all times, goes through their phone and computer at random, and restricts where they go and who they spend time with, perhaps because this person pays more of the bills. If you've shown your child that surveillance and isolation is love, how the fuck are they gonna recognize the hallmark signs of an abusive relationship?

Even my parents expected me to get to school and back by myself, either by walking or taking the bus, from the time I was in kindergarten. I spent a lot of non-school weekdays at the public library from the time I was in middle school. So, when I left for college and moved to a new town, I knew how to take the bus by myself and how to navigate an urban area without the advantage of a car and how to deal with being around other people in public. The idea of gen Z kids lacking even that experience is a fucking shame.