#i keep sounding insane about this BUT I NEED HIM ON MY SCREEN RN

[fuqnia]

I'll Compliment You Frequently (3) ₊˚⊹♡

♡ kenny mccormick x fem!reader insert | college au, smut

♡ A/N | can u tell i really love cartman. (still mad this is 3 parts) also i'm so sorry for kenny's dialogue lmfao

♡ C/W | NSFW (18+), ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP, kissing, oral sex (male & female receiving) inexperienced reader, p in v penetration, kenny has a filthy mouth ☹️

event masterlist | part one | part two

Your eyes snap open, and you shake your head, like you can physically knock the thought out of your skull.

No. That’s insane. Red doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about. She’s always been the type to stir shit up just to watch what happens. Kenny doesn���t like you. He never has. If he did, he wouldn’t have spent the last decade shamelessly hooking up with every willing person in South Park. He wouldn’t have kissed Tammy Warner at Tolkien’s party. He wouldn’t have sat there in his truck, acting like giving him a blowjob was no big deal.

Your phone buzzes again, and you finally pull yourself out of your spiral long enough to glance at it. Your lock screen is filled with notifications—text after text from Kyle, Stan, and Butters, all checking in.

Kyle’s messages are straightforward, but you can tell he’s actually worried.

KYLE: hey, haven’t seen you in class. you good?

KYLE: seriously, what’s going on?

KYLE: if this is about damien, don’t let it fuck up your grades. just talk to me.

Stan’s texts are scattered, like he’s been meaning to reach out but keeps getting distracted.

STAN: yo, are u sick or some shit? u havent been around.

STAN: dude, even cartman’s noticing. that’s bad.

STAN: hit me up, we’ll go get a drink or something.

And then there’s Butters, who’s been spamming you with increasingly distressed messages.

BUTTERS: Oh hamburgers, Kyle said you’ve been missing class, are you okay?

BUTTERS: Gosh, I know breakups are hard, but you’re scaring us a little :(

BUTTERS: Do you need anything? Soup? A hug? I can bring you my mom’s essential oils!

BUTTERS: Or, gosh, maybe I could just come sit with you? You shouldn’t be alone when you’re sad!

You feel a pang of guilt, staring at the screen. They’ve all been trying to check in on you, and you’ve been ignoring them, letting your own mess swallow you whole. You should probably answer, reassure them that you’re not dead, at the very least. But before you can start typing, another text comes in.

CARTMAN: sup. u busy?

You frown immediately. Of all the people to reach out, Cartman is the last one you expected.

YOU: what do you want

His response is almost instant.

CARTMAN: jeez bitch, chill. just wanted to say sorry about u and damien.

Your stomach turns.

Cartman, being nice? That’s suspicious as hell.

YOU: lol fuck off

Normally, that would be the end of it. But instead of letting it go, he sends another message.

CARTMAN: nah fr. breakups suck. lets hang out. get ur mind off it

You narrow your eyes at your phone. This is weird. Cartman doesn’t just hang out for no reason. If he’s being nice, it means he’s either scheming or trying to manipulate you into doing something.

YOU: what are you up to

YOU: why the fuck would i ever willingly hang out with you

The typing bubble pops up.

CARTMAN: because im the only one with the balls to hit u up rn

Your lips press together.

You glance at Kyle’s texts. Stan’s. Butters’. They’ve all checked in, yeah, but none of them have really pushed. Not like Cartman is.

The typing bubble appears again.

CARTMAN: cmon. lets go get food or some shit.

CARTMAN: i know ur sitting there all sad and mopey. bet ur still in pjs huh

CARTMAN: put on some pants and meet me outside

You hesitate, staring at your phone.

Every instinct is telling you not to do this. That it’s Cartman, and whatever he’s planning is definitely not for your benefit.

But the thought of leaving your dorm, of stepping outside and breathing fresh air for the first time in days, suddenly sounds really appealing.

You take a deep breath, tossing your phone onto the bed before pushing yourself up. Your limbs feel heavy, like they haven’t been used in days, which isn’t far from the truth. You shuffle over to your dresser, yanking it open and digging through the mess of clothes inside, searching for something that doesn’t scream depression cave goblin.

The mirror catches your eye, and you wince. Jesus Christ. Red was right—you look like absolute shit. Your eyes are puffy, your hair is a tangled mess, and the hoodie you’ve been living in has at least three different food stains on it. You shake your head, peeling it off and grabbing the first decent top you can find. A black long-sleeve, something simple. You throw on a pair of jeans, lace up your sneakers, and drag yourself into the bathroom to try to look like a functional human being.

Brushing your teeth feels like the first productive thing you’ve done in days. You wash your face, rub at the bags under your eyes, and decide to put on some light makeup—just enough to make yourself look like you haven’t been crying into your pillow for seventy-two hours straight. A bit of concealer, some mascara, a touch of blush to bring life back to your face. When you finally step back from the mirror, you almost feel normal again. Not great, not even good, but at least like someone who belongs outside.

You grab your phone and shove it into your pocket before heading out, stepping into the crisp afternoon air. It feels weird being outside after isolating yourself for so long—like stepping into a completely different world.

Cartman is waiting near the dorm entrance, leaning against a bike rack with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie. He looks… surprisingly normal. No shit-eating grin, no obvious I’m plotting something look on his face. He just raises an eyebrow when he sees you, nodding in approval.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls. “You do remember what fresh air is.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “Shut the fuck up.”

Cartman smirks, but it’s not as smug as usual. More amused than anything. “Nah, but for real, you look way better. Like, less feral.”

You scoff but don’t argue. The two of you start walking without discussing where you’re going, falling into an easy pace.

Cartman glances at you, hands still stuffed in his pockets. “So. You gonna tell me why you’ve been hiding in your dorm like some emo bitch, or do I have to guess?”

You huff, staring straight ahead. “Gee, Cartman, maybe because I just broke up with my boyfriend?”

He snorts. “Pfft. Yeah, sure, let’s pretend that’s the real reason.”

Your stomach twists, but you keep your expression neutral. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, come on.” He gives you a pointed look. “You and Kenny have been acting weird as shit since Tolkien’s party. And now you’re spiraling, ditching classes, dumping your little demon boytoy outta nowhere? Yeah, I wonder what could’ve possibly happened.”

Your throat tightens. You knew people had noticed, but hearing it out loud makes it real.

You shake your head, trying to deflect. “Jesus, Cartman. What, are you a fucking therapist now?”

Cartman smirks. “Nah, just not fucking blind.”

You don’t say anything. You just keep walking, staring at the ground, your hands stuffed in your pockets.

Cartman watches you for a second, then exhales through his nose. “Look, dude, I don’t actually give a shit about your love life. But it’s pathetic watching you and Kenny dance around this bullshit. Either fix it or get over it.”

Your fingers tighten into fists in your pockets. “It’s not that simple.”

Cartman groans. “It is that simple! You like him, right?”

Your breath catches, and that’s all the answer he needs.

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Fucking knew it.”

Your face burns. “Shut up.”

Cartman just grins, smug as ever. “Nope. Not until you admit it.”

You glare at him, but he just keeps looking at you, waiting. Daring you to say it out loud.

Your jaw clenches. Your pulse is hammering in your ears, and you don’t want to talk about this, but the words slip out before you can stop them.

“…I fucking hate you.”

Cartman barks out a laugh. “That’s not a denial, bitch.”

You groan, rubbing your hands down your face. “Fine! Yes! Okay? I fucking like him. Happy?”

Cartman smirks. “Extremely.”

You scowl, shoving him. “I hate you.”

Cartman swings into the drive-thru like he owns the place, barely glancing at the menu before rattling off his order—two double cheeseburgers, a large fries, and a Diet Coke, because of course he drinks Diet Coke with all that shit. You roll your eyes but place your order, opting for something way smaller because you don’t have the stomach for a grease coma right now.

Surprisingly, hanging out with Cartman is… nice. Not in a sentimental way, because that would be fucking weird, but in a way that makes you forget, just for a little while, that your life is a disaster. He’s still an asshole, still poking at you with sarcastic remarks, but the edge isn’t as sharp as usual. He lets you eat in peace, doesn’t push you to talk about Kenny any more, and for once, you don’t feel like he’s scheming.

Which is why you don’t even think to ask where the hell you’re going when he starts driving again.

It’s not until you’ve been on the road for a solid fifteen minutes, the town shrinking in the rearview mirror, that it finally clicks.

You frown, glancing out the window at the passing trees. “…Where the fuck are we going?”

Cartman, not taking his eyes off the road, just smirks. “Oh, now you notice?”

You glare at him. “Cartman.”

He huffs dramatically, shaking his head. “So impatient. Jesus.”

“Dude, seriously.”

Cartman sighs, but there’s a glint in his eye, like he’s been waiting for you to ask. “Okay, fine, buzzkill. I was gonna keep it a surprise, but whatever.” He shifts in his seat, adjusting his grip on the wheel. “Karen wanted to see you.”

Your brain stalls.

Your stomach flips.

“What?”

Cartman barely reacts, just shrugs. “Yeah. She called me yesterday, practically begging me to bring your sorry ass down. Apparently, someone’s been ignoring her texts?”

Guilt immediately floods through you. Karen had been texting you, but in the middle of all the Kenny bullshit, you just… never replied.

You turn to Cartman, eyes wide, hands bracing against the dashboard. “Are you serious?!”

Cartman smirks, nodding. “Mhm.”

You let out a squeal, bouncing in your seat. “Oh my God—why didn’t you tell me sooner?!”

Cartman snorts. “Because it’s fucking hilarious watching you freak out.”

You don’t even care. You’re too busy buzzing with excitement, practically vibrating with the need to see Karen. It’s been too long—too many weeks since you last hung out, since you last talked about anything that wasn’t just a casual text. The moment you heard she declined your offer to visit, you figured she was just busy with school, but knowing she wanted to see you? That she asked Cartman to bring you?

You almost want to cry.

The next hour flies by. You barely notice the drive, too busy fidgeting in your seat, checking your phone, resisting the urge to text Karen to say you’re coming. Cartman teases you, of course, calling you a gross sap and telling you to calm the fuck down, but you can’t help it. This is exactly what you needed.

When the car finally pulls up to the McCormick house, you don’t even wait for it to stop completely.

You’re out of the car in seconds, practically jogging up the porch steps, your heart pounding with excitement. You knock on the door, bouncing slightly on the balls of your feet, barely able to contain yourself.

But when the door swings open, it’s not Karen.

It’s Kenny.

Your stomach drops.

The excitement in your chest turns to stone, sinking straight to your gut as you freeze on the porch, your breath catching in your throat. Kenny blinks at you, looking just as stunned, his lips parting slightly like he hadn’t been expecting you either.

“…Oh,” you manage, swallowing thickly. “Uh. Hey.”

Kenny recovers fast. His lips twitch into something resembling a smirk, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey, yourself.”

Behind you, Cartman slams his car door and walks up the porch steps, brushing past you like you don’t even exist. “Alright, my work here is done,” he announces, already heading inside like he fucking lives here. “You two idiots have fun figuring your shit out.”

You whip around, your eyes wide. “What?!”

Cartman just grins over his shoulder. “Later, lovebirds.” And then—like the absolute menace he is—he disappears inside, leaving you standing there, stunned, while Kenny leans against the doorframe, watching you with an unreadable expression.

Realization crashes over you like a fucking avalanche.

Karen never called Cartman.

Karen never asked to see you.

This was his plan.

Cartman set you up.

You turn back to Kenny, your mouth opening, but nothing comes out.

Because this—standing here, alone with Kenny, trapped in a situation you never would’ve willingly walked into—is exactly what you’ve been avoiding for days.

Kenny exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair before tilting his head at you, his smirk just barely masking the tension in his eyes. “You gonna stand there all night, or you actually gonna come inside?”

You shift on your feet, suddenly hyper-aware of every nerve in your body screaming at you to run. Your fingers twitch at your sides, your throat feels tight, and for a second, you actually consider turning around, walking back to Cartman’s car, and demanding that he drive you anywhere but here.

But you don’t.

Because Kenny is still watching you, standing in the doorway of his shitty little house, backlit by the dim glow of the kitchen light, his expression unreadable. And despite the panic clawing up your throat, despite everything you’ve been trying so hard to bury, there’s still a part of you—a really fucking annoying part of you—that wants to talk to him.

You cross your arms, licking your lips. “Did you know about this?”

Kenny lets out a dry, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Nah. Thought you were the one who wanted to see me.”

Your stomach twists.

“Guess Cartman’s still a conniving little bastard,” Kenny mutters, stepping back, giving you space to walk inside. He doesn’t invite you in, not really, but he’s waiting.

You hesitate.

If you go inside, you can’t ignore this anymore. Can’t pretend like things are fine. Can’t act like everything that happened between you two never fucking happened.

But if you don’t go inside…

Kenny shifts his weight, shoving his hands in his pockets, still watching you, still waiting.

Fuck.

You exhale sharply through your nose, your hands clenching into fists, and finally, finally, you step forward, brushing past him into the house.

The door clicks shut behind you.

Kenny’s house is just as you remember—dim, cluttered but not dirty, the faint scent of weed and cheap cologne lingering in the air. It’s weird being here again, standing in the same place you’ve crashed a hundred times before, but now the air feels thick, the weight of everything unspoken pressing down on your chest.

Kenny walks past you, moving toward the kitchen, not looking back as he grabs two beers from the fridge. He cracks one open, then tosses the other to you without warning. You catch it just in time, fumbling slightly, scowling as you glance up at him.

“What?” Kenny shrugs, taking a sip from his bottle. “Figured you might need it.”

You narrow your eyes. “And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Kenny smirks against the rim of his bottle, tilting his head as he leans back against the counter. “Relax, princess. Just saying, you look like you’re five seconds away from bolting.”

You are.

You really fucking are.

But you don’t.

Instead, you crack open your beer, take a long, slow sip, and fix Kenny with the kind of glare you hope makes you look unbothered. “Cartman’s a piece of shit.”

Kenny huffs out a laugh. “No shit.”

Silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. You shift on your feet, fingers tightening around your bottle, your pulse thudding in your ears. You need to say something, anything to get past this fucking wall between you.

But before you can, Kenny beats you to it.

“So,” he drawls, tilting his head, his eyes locking onto yours. “How long were you gonna avoid me?”

Your breath catches.

Kenny watches you, his eyes sharp, his smirk lazy but too knowing, like he already has the answer, like he’s just waiting for you to lie.

Your grip tightens around your beer. “I wasn’t avoiding you.”

Kenny laughs.

It’s not loud, not mocking—it’s something else. Something that makes your skin prickle, something that makes your stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Yeah?” he hums, stepping closer. “So you just happened to ghost me for, what? Four days?”

“Five,” you mutter before you can stop yourself.

Kenny raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Ah. So you were counting.”

You scowl, hating the heat creeping up your neck. “Fuck off.”

Kenny grins, leaning in just slightly. “C’mon, babe. Just tell me.” His voice dips lower, smoother, the teasing lilt sending something sharp and hot curling through your chest. “Did kissing me really fuck you up that bad?”

Your breath hitches, your stomach flipping violently as your grip goes slack around your bottle. You open your mouth, but nothing—nothing—comes out, because what the fuck is he even asking you?

And Kenny—Kenny notices.

His smirk flickers, like he wasn’t actually expecting you to react like this. Like he thought you’d just roll your eyes, shove him, laugh it off like you always do.

Like he didn’t just turn everything you thought you knew upside down.

And that’s what does it. That’s what fucking breaks you.

“Are your parents home?” you snap, your voice sharp and shaking.

Kenny’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. “No. They’re out.”

And that’s all it takes before you fucking explode.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” The words rip out of your chest, raw and jagged, your body thrumming with barely-contained rage. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, your entire body vibrating. “You knew I was fucking avoiding you, Kenny! You knew and you still—” You let out a sharp, exasperated breath, shoving both hands into your hair before throwing them up wildly. “What the fuck was that back at Stan’s dorm? What the fuck is this—” You motion between the two of you, your chest heaving, your breath coming too fast. “Why the fuck did you kiss me?”

Kenny just leans back against the counter, watching you, letting you burn yourself out. But then—then his smirk sharpens into something mean, something ugly.

“I dunno,” he drawls, voice casual, but there’s an edge underneath it, a low, dangerous bite. “Maybe ‘cause you kissed me back?”

“That’s not—” You shake your head violently, rage choking you, clawing up your throat. “That’s not fucking fair, Kenny! You don’t get to act like I’m the only one who—” Your voice breaks, your hands shaking.

He steps forward, his presence looming, his blue eyes burning into yours. “The only one who what?” His voice is smooth, sharp, his breath warm against your face. “Who liked it?”

Your throat goes dry, because you can’t argue that.

Kenny sees your hesitation. His smirk deepens, but his jaw is tight, his shoulders tense. “’Cause babe, you sure as fuck didn’t seem like you wanted to stop.”

Something in you snaps.

You shove him. Hard.

And for the first time—Kenny actually stumbles.

He catches himself, his hands twitching like he wants to grab you, to steady himself, but he doesn’t. He just stares at you, eyes flashing, jaw clenched so tight you think he might break his fucking teeth.

“I was confused,” you spit, voice cracking. “I am fucking confused! Because for years, you never—” You let out a sharp, bitter laugh, throwing your arms up. “You never fucking looked at me like that before! You never touched me like that before! And now—now you’re just—” Your breath stutters, your vision blurring.

Kenny stares at you, his entire body coiled like a fucking trap.

“You never let me,” he says, voice rough, hoarse.

You freeze.

Kenny exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, his chest rising and falling. “You never fucking let me, babe.” His voice is raw, wrecked, and for the first time tonight, there’s no teasing, no amusement, nothing to hide behind. Just Kenny—exposed and furious. “You were always looking at someone else. Always chasing after some other fucking guy. Always acting like I was just—” He shakes his head, scoffing, jaw flexing. “You don’t even see me.”

“You never fucking saw me,” Kenny continues, his voice gaining heat, cracking under the weight of whatever the fuck he’s been holding back all these years. “Not like that. Not the way I see you.”

Your hands tremble, curling into the fabric of your shirt. Your head spins, your pulse a frantic, erratic drumbeat against your ribs.

And Kenny—Kenny looks at you like he hates you for making him admit it.

“Kenny,” you whisper, but your voice is useless. Weak.

He just shakes his head, laughing bitterly, shoving a hand through his hair. “Jesus Christ, you’re fucking unbelievable.” His breath shudders as he steps back, putting space between you, his hands gripping the edge of the counter like he needs something to hold onto. “You don’t even get it, do you?” His laughter dies, his  eyes meeting yours, burning into yours. “You like me. You fucking want me. But you’re too chickenshit to admit it, so instead, you just let me fuckin’ sit there, watching you fall all over Damien fucking Thorn like a goddamn idiot—”

“I did like Damien!” you snap, voice shaking. “I do! He—” You cut yourself off, because that’s a lie. You didn’t like Damien. Not really. Not the way you should’ve.

Not the way you liked Kenny.

And Kenny fucking knows.

His lips curl into something bitter, something that isn’t really a smile. “Yeah?” he mutters. “And that’s why you let me put my hands all over you in my truck, right? That’s why you let me fuckin’ taste you?”

Your entire body locks up.

Because fuck him.

“Fuck you,” you spit, voice shaking.

Kenny just laughs, running a hand down his face, shaking his head. “Yeah, well—join the fucking club.”

Your hands are shaking. Your face is hot. Your heart is hammering so fucking hard you think it might burst.

And Kenny just stands there, breathing hard, his hands still gripping the counter, like he’s barely keeping himself together.

Like he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with himself anymore.

The air between you is electric. It’s thick, choking, so tense that you think one more wrong move might make the whole fucking house collapse around you.

You reach for the half-empty beer on the counter, your fingers gripping the can so tight it dents slightly under your hold. You take a long, slow swig, the bitterness of it doing nothing to cool the heat burning under your skin. You swallow hard, setting the can down with a sharp clink against the counter.

Then you look at him.

"Go fuck yourself, Kenny." Your voice is flat, empty, but your chest is aching.

Kenny’s expression doesn’t change, but you see the way his jaw flexes, the way his fingers curl against the counter. He doesn’t smirk. He doesn’t crack some bullshit joke. He just watches you, silent and unreadable.

“You wanna talk about me chasing guys?” You let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “I was never chasing anyone, Kenny. And you know that.”

Kenny doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

You inhale sharply, fingers tightening against the countertop. “Everyone fucking knows that. I’ve never had a boyfriend, never had a girlfriend, never even had a fucking chance in high school. And you wanna know the worst part?” You laugh again, but it’s bitter, sharp as a knife against your throat. “It wasn’t just me who knew it. You, Kyle, Stan, Cartman—all of you knew. And you acted like it wasn’t a big fucking deal. Like I wouldn’t notice.”

Kenny finally moves, shifting his weight, his brows pulling together slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.

You press forward, your voice rising. “You acted like I was just supposed to be fine with hearing about all the people you fucked, all the people you kissed. Like I wasn’t the only one sitting there, listening, realizing that I was never gonna have what you had. That I was never—” Your breath catches, your throat tightening. “That no one was ever gonna want me like that.”

Something flashes across Kenny’s face, something quick and sharp and pained. His hands flex against the counter, like he wants to reach for something—for you—but he stops himself.

“That’s not fucking true,” he mutters, voice lower now, rough around the edges.

You huff out a sharp breath. “Yeah? Then why didn’t it happen, Kenny?” You shake your head, forcing out a bitter smile. “If it wasn’t true, if I was so wanted, then why the fuck did I spend years being the only one who never had a story to tell?”

Kenny opens his mouth. Then closes it. He looks away, his fingers twitching against the counter, his breathing shallow.

You don’t know what you want him to say.

Maybe you want him to tell you that you’re wrong. That it wasn’t like that. That there was some other reason, some stupid fucking excuse for why you were always left on the sidelines, why you never got to be the one with the relationship, the first kiss, the stupid high school romance.

"You know what else fucking hurts?" Your voice is rising now, louder than before, chest heaving with every sharp inhale. "I had to hear about your love lives from other people." You jab a finger at him, your whole body vibrating with anger. "Kyle, Stan, Cartman—they’d all mention shit offhandedly, and I’d just have to sit there and fucking pretend I already knew, because you sure as hell weren’t gonna tell me jack shit about it yourself."

Kenny flinches, the smallest movement, like he wasn’t expecting you to say that. Like it never even occurred to him that keeping that shit from you might’ve actually fucking hurt. His mouth opens like he wants to say something, but before he can, you keep going, the words pouring out faster than you can stop them.

"I got to sit there and hear about you making out with some girl behind the bleachers, about Stan losing his virginity junior year, about Kyle having that thing with that one chick from AP Chem—" You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Cartman told me about half of your hookups, Cartman, and he tells me things just to fucking piss me off! And you—" Your voice cracks, and you shake your head, fists clenching. "You never said a fucking word. Not once."

Kenny's lips press together, jaw tight.

You’re yelling now, your whole body shaking, the years of being left out, of being treated like the safe, reliable best friend everyone could unload their shit on but never let in, bubbling up so violently you think you might actually explode.

"Do you have any fucking idea what that felt like? To sit there and smile and nod and act like it was fine? Like I wasn’t—like I wasn’t some fucking side character in my own goddamn life while you guys got to go out and—" You inhale sharply, voice trembling. "Live?"

The room feels hot. The air between you thick and suffocating, so heavy you think it might actually crush you.

And Kenny—fucking Kenny—doesn’t say a damn thing.

And that’s what makes you break.

You take a shaky breath, stepping back, running a hand through your hair, chest rising and falling unevenly. Your face is burning, your eyes sting, and you hate it, hate the way your throat tightens like you’re about to fucking cry. You refuse. You refuse to let Kenny McCormick be the one to break you.

Before either of you can say anything else, the door swings open, slamming against the wall with a dull thud.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Cartman deadpans, standing in the doorway with a bag of chips in one hand, an energy drink in the other. He looks at the two of you, expression completely unreadable. "Are you two gonna start throwing shit next, or should I just fucking go?"

Your chest is still heaving, adrenaline still buzzing under your skin, and Kenny looks about two seconds away from putting his fist through a wall. Neither of you say anything.

Cartman sighs, shaking his head as he takes in the scene. "You guys are seriously acting like Kenny’s parents."

You blink, thrown off just enough for your rage to falter. "What—"

Cartman waves a hand dismissively. "You’re yelling, he’s standing there looking like he’s about to punch a hole in the drywall, it’s fucking weird." He gestures vaguely between the two of you before taking a step back. "You know what? I don’t wanna be here for this. You two can scream at each other all you want, just don’t break anything. I’m getting the fuck out of here."

And with that, he turns on his heel and walks out, shutting the door behind him with a lazy thud.

The silence that follows is deafening.

You swallow hard, throat raw from yelling, your hands still curled into fists at your sides. Kenny is still standing there, his chest rising and falling, his jaw clenched so tight you think it might actually snap. His fingers twitch like he wants to reach for something—like he wants to reach for you—but he doesn’t.

Your heart is still hammering in your chest, adrenaline pulsing hot through your veins, but the fight is over. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe it never will be. Maybe this thing between you will always be teetering on the edge of something too big, too messy, too painful to actually deal with.

You scoff softly, rolling your eyes even though they’re burning, even though your vision is blurring. You take a sharp breath, force it down, and turn away from him. You don’t want to fucking look at him. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

Your grip tightens around your beer as you move, your feet carrying you toward the hall before you can stop yourself. The floor creaks under you, the air in the house thick and stale, but you don’t slow down. You don’t stop until you reach the door to his childhood bedroom—the one he used to share with Karen, back when you were all just kids, before everything got so fucking complicated.

The door groans as you push it open. The room is small, dimly lit by the dull glow of the streetlights outside. It smells like old fabric, cigarette smoke, and something faintly familiar—something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t want to acknowledge. The same shitty posters are still on the walls, some curling at the edges. The twin mattress is shoved into the corner, the sheets wrinkled, the blanket tangled.

You step inside and close the door behind you.

It’s quieter in here. Not better, not easier, just…quieter.

You move toward the bed, sitting down heavily on the edge, pressing the cool can against your forehead as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your breathing is still uneven, your hands still trembling, but you try to shove it down. Try to ignore the way your whole body feels like it’s been wound too tight, like if you let go for even a second, you might just fucking fall apart.

Because this—this whole thing, this whole fucking night—was a mistake.

You calm down, just enough to breathe without feeling like your ribs are gonna crack under the pressure. The beer helps. At least, it gives your hands something to do, gives your mouth something to focus on other than the lingering taste of bitterness and regret. You tilt your head back, taking a long pull, letting the lukewarm alcohol burn its way down your throat.

When the can is empty, you don’t think. You just crush it in your palm and toss it across the room. It clatters against the wall and bounces onto the floor, landing somewhere in the mess of old laundry and discarded shit Kenny probably hasn’t touched in years.

Your eyes wander, searching for something, anything, to latch onto so you don’t have to think too much. That’s when you spot it. One of Kenny’s old, shitty porn magazines, half-buried under some old CDs and a cracked game case. The corner is bent, the cover faded, but you know exactly what it is.

Without hesitating, you grab it. You flip through the pages lazily, not really absorbing anything, just needing something to do with your hands, something to focus on that isn’t the fight still burning under your skin.

And then the door creaks open.

You don’t look up, but you know it’s Kenny.

He steps inside, closing the door behind him, and for a second, he just stands there. You can feel him watching you, can feel the weight of his stare pressing against your skin, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t comment on the fact that you’re flipping through a fucking porno like you’re reading the morning paper.

Instead, he moves to the mattress on the floor and sits down heavily, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. He exhales, slow and measured, like he’s still trying to piece together whatever the fuck just happened between the two of you.

You don’t acknowledge him.

The mattress creaks as Kenny shifts, his weight sinking into the old fabric. He exhales, long and heavy, a slow drag of air that sounds like he’s trying to keep himself from saying something he’ll regret. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough—low and worn in a way that makes your fingers tighten around the pages.

“…You really hate me that much, huh?”

There’s no teasing lilt, no hint of sarcasm or deflection. Just exhaustion, like he’s been carrying the weight of this conversation for days. His voice holds an edge of something else too, something raw, something almost afraid to hear the answer.

Your fingers pause against the edge of a page, the magazine trembling slightly in your grip.

You don’t look at him.

Instead, you scoff, but it comes out weaker than you meant. “Oh, don’t be fucking dramatic.”

Kenny laughs under his breath, but there’s nothing amused about it. The sound is hollow, like it barely scrapes its way out of his throat. He drags a hand down his face, his fingers pressing into his temples for a second before he lets them drop. His shoulders are tense, his whole body wound tight like a wire ready to snap.

“I’m not being dramatic,” he mutters, shaking his head. His blue eyes flick to you, sharp, intense. “I just don’t fucking get you.”

You flip another page, the movement slow and deliberate, like you’re trying to piss him off.

“What’s there to get?” you mutter, voice flat. “You’re the one who kissed me.”

Kenny’s jaw tightens, his lips pressing together for a second before he exhales sharply through his nose.

“Oh, so that’s how we’re playing this?” His voice is quieter now, but there’s something simmering beneath the surface, something restrained but dangerous. “We’re gonna act like I forced you?”

You don’t answer. You keep your eyes on the magazine, keep your breathing steady, even as your throat tightens and your stomach twists.

Kenny leans forward, his elbows pressing into his knees, his fingers laced together so tightly his knuckles go white. “You kissed me back,” he says, his voice steady, but his eyes—his fucking eyes—are burning into you, demanding something you can’t give. “You climbed into my lap.”

Your grip tightens on the magazine.

His voice dips lower, rougher. “And now, what? You wanna pretend it didn’t happen? You wanna pretend that was just—what? Another fucking favor?”

Finally, finally, you look at him.

Kenny stares at you, his blue eyes dark and stormy. His lips are parted slightly, like he’s caught mid-breath, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes your stomach flip, something vulnerable, something hesitant, like he’s afraid of what you’re about to say.

You lick your lips, swallowing hard. “It was a mistake.”

Kenny doesn’t react at first.

Then he exhales sharply, a quiet scoff leaving his mouth as he shakes his head. “Bullshit.”

You glare at him. “It was.”

“No,” Kenny says, his voice harder now, rough around the edges, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You don’t get to fucking say that.” He pushes himself up from the mattress, his movements stiff, restless. “You don’t get to act like I was the only one who wanted it.”

Your breath stutters. “I—I didn’t—”

Kenny laughs, but it’s the kind of laugh that isn’t really a laugh at all. It’s sharp, bitter, filled with frustration. He turns his head away for a second, running a hand through his hair before looking back at you, his gaze searching, his brows furrowed.

“You didn’t what?” His voice is quieter now, but the words are no less intense. “You didn’t like it?” His eyes flicker to your lips before snapping back to meet your gaze, challenging, daring you to lie. “You want me to believe that?”

Your stomach clenches, and you shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek so hard you taste metal. “It doesn’t fucking matter, Kenny.”

“The fuck it doesn’t.” His voice cuts through the air like a knife. He takes a step closer, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Jesus Christ, do you even hear yourself?”

Your hands curl into fists in your lap. “Just drop it.”

Kenny scoffs. “Yeah? You want me to drop it?” He gestures between the two of you, his frustration spilling over, his eyes flashing. “Fine. Let’s drop it. Let’s pretend it didn’t happen, let’s go back to being best fucking friends—” His breath catches, and he stops abruptly, dragging a hand over his mouth before exhaling sharply. “But you can’t even look at me the same, can you?”

Your throat tightens.

Kenny’s breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling in sharp bursts, his fingers twitching like he wants to grab something—like he wants to grab you. His voice lowers, quieter now, but still unsteady. “You broke up with Damien.”

You snap your head up. “What?”

His eyes don’t leave yours. “You broke up with him.”

Your heart slams against your ribs. “That—That’s not—”

Kenny shakes his head. “You did,” he says, stepping closer, his voice steadier now, like he’s putting the pieces together in real time. “And I bet he doesn’t even know why, does he?”

Your mouth opens, but no words come out.

Kenny watches you, his expression shifting—less anger now, more certainty. His brows draw together slightly, his lips parting just enough to take a breath, like he’s about to say something final. And then—his voice drops to almost a whisper.

“You like me.”

It’s not a question. It’s not a taunt. It’s just the truth.

Kenny tilts his head slightly, watching you, waiting, his expression open in a way that makes your chest ache. He looks at you like he’s finally, finally seeing you clearly. Like he understands something he should’ve figured out a long time ago.

You just stare at him, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a fucking landslide.

And Kenny—he fucking sees it. His lips part slightly, his chest rising and falling, and for a second, just a second, you think he’s going to say something else, going to push, going to demand more.

But then, he just exhales.

And the way he looks at you—like he finally, finally understands—makes your stomach fucking drop.

Tears blur your vision, and you shake your head, rubbing your sleeve over your eyes, trying to push them back, trying to keep yourself from completely fucking breaking in front of him. The old magazine slips from your lap, forgotten, landing with a dull thud against the mattress. You swallow thickly, your throat raw from screaming, from everything you’ve been holding in for days, weeks—hell, maybe years. Your hands press against your face, fingers curling into your hair as you force yourself to breathe, but it’s shallow, uneven.

The silence stretches. The weight of his gaze is suffocating. You can feel it—burning into you, like he’s watching you break apart in real time.

“I do like you,” you finally say, your voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. But the second the words leave your mouth, it feels like something inside you cracks wide open. Your chest tightens, your stomach twists, and you swallow around the lump forming in your throat. You squeeze your eyes shut. “I really do, Kenny.”

Your voice wavers, cracks like brittle glass, and you hate it. You hate how vulnerable you sound, how exposed you feel, like you’ve just handed him your fucking heart on a silver platter, knowing damn well he could crush it if he wanted to. But it’s too late to take it back now.

Your hands tremble against your face before slowly falling into your lap, fingers twisting into the fabric of your sleeves. You finally look at him. He hasn’t moved from where he sits on the mattress. His eyes are wide, lips parted like he’s struggling to find the right words, something unreadable flickering across his face.

A sharp inhale pulls through your nose, and you force yourself to keep going before you lose your nerve. “But do you—” Your throat tightens. You barely manage to push the words out, so soft, so fucking fragile that it makes you sick. “Do you even want to be in a relationship with me?”

Kenny just stares at you, his fingers twitching against his knee, his breathing uneven, like he wasn’t expecting this—like he wasn’t prepared to hear those words from you. His brows furrow slightly, his lips pressing together before parting again, but nothing comes out.

Your heart is pounding, hammering so fucking loud that it drowns out everything else, and the longer he takes to answer, the worse it gets. Your stomach twists, your fingers tighten around the sleeves of your shirt, and you suddenly feel like you’re going to be sick.

Kenny’s face falls, his eyes widening slightly as he watches you struggle to keep yourself together. The way your face crumples, the way your lip trembles as you bite down on it, the way your eyes shimmer with unshed tears—it fucking guts him.

Before you can turn away, before you can pull back and shut him out completely, Kenny reaches for you. His hands are rough, calloused, warm as they cup your face, his fingers pressing gently into your skin, grounding you, holding you there. His breath is uneven, his grip steady but not demanding, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he isn’t careful.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “Don’t—don’t do that. Don’t look at me like that.” His thumbs brush against your cheeks, barely there, like he’s trying to wipe away tears that haven’t even fallen yet.

You swallow hard, blinking rapidly, your fingers gripping the fabric of your sleeves so tight that your knuckles ache. “You’re not saying anything,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of your own words. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

Kenny exhales sharply, his thumbs still stroking your skin, his jaw clenching like he’s fighting against something. “Because I don’t wanna fuck this up,” he finally admits, his voice rough, almost desperate. His brows draw together, and he shakes his head, inhaling sharply. “I don’t wanna say the wrong thing and make you think for even one second that I don’t want you. That I don’t—” He exhales, shaking his head. “Fuck, babe. Of course I wanna be with you.”

Your breath catches. Your entire body stills.

Kenny’s hands tighten slightly against your face, his fingers twitching like he wants to pull you closer, like he wants to shake you until you actually fucking believe him. “You think I don’t want you?” His voice is thick, almost disbelieving. “Jesus, I’ve wanted you since we were kids. Since middle school. Since before I even knew what wanting someone actually meant.” His laugh is breathless, bitter, like he’s laughing at himself more than anything. “And yeah, I was a dumbass. I didn’t think I’d ever get a fucking chance, so I buried it. I watched you go through life thinking no one saw you, thinking you weren’t wanted, and it fucking killed me, because I saw you. I always saw you.”

Your chest tightens so painfully that it knocks the air from your lungs.

Kenny shakes his head, his grip on you still firm, still steady. “But you—you liked Damien. You wanted him, not me. So when you asked me to help, I thought—fuck, I thought that’s all I’d ever get.” His lips press together, his expression raw, stripped down to something so painfully real that it makes your stomach churn. “I thought if I couldn’t have you the way I wanted, at least I could be the one you came to first.”

A tear finally slips down your cheek. Kenny catches it with his thumb, his jaw tightening, his blue eyes burning with something so intense that it makes your heart clench.

“You’re fucking stupid, McCormick,” you whisper, voice thick with emotion.

Kenny lets out a sharp, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah,” he mutters, his lips quirking up into something sad, something small. “Yeah, I am.”

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it doesn’t even fucking matter.

Because the next thing you know, Kenny’s pulling you forward, and you’re meeting him halfway, crashing into him like you’ve been waiting for this moment your entire life.

The second Kenny’s lips press against yours, something shifts inside you. It’s not like before—not like the messy, desperate kisses you shared in the past, not like the times you let yourself pretend this was just practice, just a favor. This time, it’s different. This time, it’s real.

And it terrifies you.

Your breath hitches, your hands trembling as they hover awkwardly at your sides. You should be used to this by now, should know exactly how to move, exactly how to kiss him back, but everything feels brand new. It feels like the first time all over again, like you’re stepping into something you don’t fully understand, and you’re too afraid of fucking it up.

Kenny must notice, because instead of pushing forward, instead of deepening the kiss like he usually would, he slows down. His lips move against yours in a way that’s soft, careful, coaxing. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t take, doesn’t overwhelm you. He just lets you feel him, lets you process the fact that this is happening. That you’re here, with him, kissing him for real this time.

You inhale sharply, your fingers clenching into fists at your sides. The tension knots in your stomach, twisting tight, and the heat rising up your neck makes you feel like you’re burning from the inside out. You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything except stand there and let yourself be kissed, let yourself be wanted in a way you never thought possible.

Kenny smiles into the kiss, and you feel it—feel the way his lips curve against yours, feel the way he’s holding back a laugh like he finds this whole situation amusing. Like he’s enjoying the way you’re coming apart so easily for him.

Your face flushes instantly, and you pull back, breathless and flustered, glaring at him. “Are you seriously smiling right now?”

Kenny lets out a quiet chuckle, his hands slipping down to your waist, fingers curling lightly around your sides. “Yeah,” he murmurs, voice smooth and teasing. “You’re just—fuck, you’re cute when you’re all shy like this.”

Your stomach twists violently, and you shove at his chest weakly, scowling. “I’m not shy.”

Kenny raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Babe, you’re shaking.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the second you glance down at your own hands, you realize he’s right. Your fingers are still curled into fists, your knuckles white, your whole body tense like you’re bracing for impact.

You swallow hard, embarrassed beyond belief, and Kenny just watches you with that same lazy smirk, like he knows exactly what’s going through your head. Like he knows exactly what to say to make it worse.

“You nervous?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.

“No,” you lie immediately, shifting your weight, refusing to look him in the eye.

Kenny chuckles again, the sound low and knowing, and suddenly, you feel his fingers moving. He doesn’t grab you, doesn’t pull you in, just brushes his thumbs in slow, deliberate circles against your hips, his touch featherlight but firm enough to keep you grounded.

“Yeah?” His voice dips lower, smoother. “Then why are you panting like a fuckin’ dog?”

Your entire body stiffens. “I—I’m not—”

Kenny leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “Babe,” he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement. “You’re shakin’, you’re breathin’ all heavy, and you’re lookin’ at me like you don’t know what to do with yourself. What’s wrong?”

You shove him again, harder this time, your face burning. “Shut up.”

He grins, his hands tightening around your waist for just a second before loosening again. “Make me.”

You stare at him, at the cocky smirk on his face, at the way his blue eyes gleam with something sharp and knowing, and for a split second, you actually think about it. Think about shutting him up the only way you know how.

But you���re still nervous. Still shaking. Still trying to wrap your head around the fact that this is even happening.

So instead of kissing him again, instead of throwing yourself at him the way you want to, you just huff, looking away, trying to ignore the way your skin tingles under his touch. “I hate you.”

Kenny laughs, full-bodied and warm, his hands slipping lower, his fingers tracing slow patterns over your hips. “Nah,” he murmurs, leaning in closer, his lips just barely brushing against your jaw. “You love me.”

Your face burns hotter than it ever has before, and you bite your lip hard, forcing yourself to focus on anything—anything—other than Kenny’s stupid, smug face. Your eyes flick to the peeling posters on his wall, ones he’s had since middle school, the corners curled and edges torn from years of being in this shitty house. You trace the details with your gaze, willing your heart to slow the fuck down, but it’s useless.

Because Kenny is still watching you, and you can feel it.

Then, suddenly, his hands grip your waist, and before you can process what’s happening, he pulls you straight into his lap.

A startled noise catches in your throat, your hands flying to his forearms for balance, gripping onto him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. And maybe he is, because your whole body feels like it’s floating, weightless, untethered. Your breath stutters in your chest, pulse hammering against your ribs as you try to not focus on the fact that your legs are now straddling his thighs, your knees digging into the shitty mattress.

Kenny leans in, pressing his lips to the corner of your jaw, and your whole body shivers.

You let out a breathy laugh, tilting your head instinctively as his mouth trails lower, his lips ghosting along the sensitive skin of your neck. He’s not even kissing you properly, just teasing, just brushing his lips against you in that slow, deliberate way that makes heat coil low in your stomach.

"You nervous?" His voice is low, smooth, but there’s amusement laced beneath it. His hands flex against your hips, his thumbs brushing over your skin. “’Cause I wanna date you? Be your boyfriend? Make all that practice official?”

You gasp, half a laugh and half a mortified choke, and shove at his shoulders, but he doesn’t budge. He’s too fucking solid beneath you, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

“Kenny, shut the fuck up,” you whine, your nails digging into his forearms.

He just grins, his breath warm against your throat. "Nah, babe, you shut the fuck up. You’re the one who asked me if I even wanted to be your boyfriend.” He presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss just below your ear, and your stomach flips. “Kinda sounds like you were nervous.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, groaning as you try to ignore the way your entire body is betraying you. “I wasn’t nervous,” you lie.

Kenny laughs, low and husky, his grip tightening just slightly. “Yeah? Then why are you gripping me like you’re about to fucking die?”

You force your hands to relax, your grip loosening against his arms. "I'm not," you mumble, but your voice is weaker now, breathier, and you know he hears it.

His smirk presses into your skin. "Mmhmm."

He shifts beneath you, rolling his hips just slightly, barely a movement at all, but fuck—you feel it. You gasp, fingers clenching against him again, and he grins, like that was exactly the reaction he wanted.

“Bet you’re nervous right now,” he murmurs, his lips trailing back up your jaw. “Bet you’re all shy ‘cause now you know I actually wanna date you.”

You do feel shy, shy in a way that you’ve never felt before with him, shy in a way that feels so fucking stupid, because it’s just Kenny. It’s just your best friend, the same asshole you’ve known since you were kids, the same one who’s seen you at your absolute worst and still stuck around.

But this—this is different.

Because you know he’s right.

You were never nervous when it was just practice. When it was just a way to learn, just a way to catch up, just a way to make sure you didn’t make a fool of yourself when it actually mattered.

But now, it does matter. Now, it’s real.

And the fact that you can’t just pretend otherwise—that you don’t want to pretend otherwise—makes you feel like you’re unraveling.

Kenny pulls back slightly, tilting his head to look at you, his lips still way too close to yours. His blue eyes flicker over your face, taking in every little detail, every little shift in your expression, like he’s reading you as easily as a fucking book.

Then, in a voice so soft, he murmurs, “Hey.”

You swallow thickly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “…What?”

He smirks, but it’s softer now, gentler. He lifts a hand, brushing his fingers lightly along your jaw, tracing the shape of it like he’s memorizing you. His touch lingers, warm and steady, before finally tilting your chin up.

“Stop fucking overthinking it,” he says. “Just say yes already.”

You stare at him, your heart hammering, your breath shallow. The weight of everything—of this moment, of what it means, of what you want—settles deep in your chest, warm and heavy and so real. Kenny is just watching you, waiting, his fingers still resting against your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek like he’s trying to ground you, to keep you here with him.

You swallow hard, your lips parting, and then finally, you smile. It’s small at first, barely there, just the tiniest curl of your lips, but it grows, spreading across your face like the sun breaking through clouds. And when you finally say it, your voice is quiet, breathless, but sure.

“Yes.”

Kenny laughs, full and real, like that was the only answer he was expecting. Before you can blink, he’s gripping your waist tight and hauling you closer, squeezing you so fucking tight against him that all the air in your lungs gets pushed out in a sharp, surprised oof.

His arms wrap around your back, strong and solid, pressing you down into his lap like he never wants to fucking let you go. His warmth seeps into your skin, his body firm beneath yours, and you let out a breathless giggle as you clutch at his shoulders, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his stupid, slightly worn band tee.

“Fuck, I knew it," he mutters, his face buried against your shoulder, his grip unrelenting. "Knew you couldn’t fucking resist me."

You scoff, rolling your eyes even as you nuzzle into him, feeling the way his body shakes slightly with barely restrained laughter. "Shut up," you mumble, but it has no bite to it.

Kenny just grins against your skin, tightening his arms around you like he’s trying to fuse you to him. "Nah, nah, you shut up, babe. You’re the one who took this long to say yes. I’ve been waiting."

You blink, pulling back slightly so you can look at him properly. "Waiting?"

He smirks, his blue eyes flicking over your face, but there’s something softer beneath it now, something real. "Yeah, waiting. You think I was gonna sit here and not let you figure it out on your own?"

Your stomach flips, your fingers tightening against his tee. "Kenny—"

"Nope. Don’t even start, sweetheart," he interrupts, grinning. "’Cause I knew. Knew since fucking middle school you were it for me. Just had to wait for your dumbass to catch up."

Your breath catches, your entire body locking up. "Middle school?"

He hums, tilting his head, feigning thought. "Mmm, maybe even elementary."

"Kenny—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he says, shaking his head. "Why didn’t I say anything? Blah, blah, blah. ‘Cause I didn’t wanna fuck it up, babe. You were my best friend. And you were so fucking oblivious, it was actually kinda cute."

You gape at him. "Oblivious?"

Kenny chuckles, brushing his nose against yours. "Babe. You made out with me, blew me in my truck, straddled me—"

Your face burns. "It was practice!"

His smirk widens, his hands sliding down to squeeze your hips. "Was it?"

You open your mouth, ready to argue, ready to defend yourself—but then you stop. Because, fuck. Maybe he’s right. Maybe deep down, it wasn’t just practice. Maybe you’d been finding excuses to get close to him, to feel him, to have him.

The realization sends a shudder through your entire body.

Kenny sees it. Feels it. And his smirk softens, turning into something warmer, something deeper. His fingers brush lightly against your waist, and his voice, when he speaks, is softer too. "You wanna know why I let you do all that?"

You hesitate. You swallow. "Why?"

His smirk fades completely, and all that’s left is him, raw and open and fucking real. "’Cause I wanted to be the one you learned with. The one you trusted with all that. Even if it meant waiting. Even if it meant watching you go after someone else. I just—I just wanted to be the first for you. In every way."

Your chest aches.

Your stomach flutters.

Your throat tightens so hard you think you might actually cry.

Because fuck—you believe him. You know he means it.

You don’t even realize you’re moving until your lips crash into his.

It’s desperate, hungry, like something inside you just snapped. Your hands fist into his tee, pulling him closer, deeper, more. Kenny groans against your mouth, his fingers digging into your hips, his entire body burning beneath your touch.

"Fucking finally," he mutters between kisses, grinning even as he tilts his head to deepen it.

You let out a breathless laugh, but it dissolves into a soft moan when his tongue brushes against yours.

His hands slide lower, gripping your thighs, squeezing like he owns you. And maybe he does, because right now, in this moment, you feel like you belong to him completely.

His fingers twitch against your thighs as you shift in his lap, pressing your body flush against his. The heat between you is suffocating, intoxicating, making your skin tingle, making your breath come faster. You tighten your arms around his neck, dragging him impossibly closer, swallowing the soft groan that rumbles from his chest.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, twisting and tugging as you kiss him harder, deeper. You barely recognize yourself in this moment—so desperate, so needy for him—but fuck, you don’t care. Kenny makes a sound low in his throat, his hands tightening on your thighs, his fingertips digging in just enough to make you shiver.

His hair is getting kind of long, you realize, your fingers threading through the messy blond strands. Longer than he usually lets it get, curling slightly at the ends. You like it. You like the way it feels between your fingers, how soft it is despite how rough and careless he is with himself.

Kenny grins into the kiss, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. “You checking out my hair, babe?” His voice is rough, slightly breathless, his hands sliding up your back, warm through your shirt.

You hum, teasingly pulling at a strand between your fingers. “Yeah,” you murmur, dragging your lips along his jaw, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to his skin. “Didn’t know you were growing it out.”

Kenny exhales sharply, tilting his head back just slightly, giving you more room. “Didn’t really mean to,” he admits, his grip on you flexing, like he’s trying to stay still, trying to control himself. “Guess I’ve just been too busy thinking about someone to care.”

Your stomach flips. You pull back just enough to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

His smirk is lazy, his hands sliding down to your hips, gripping, squeezing. “Yeah.” He tilts his head, his blue eyes dark, filled with something that makes your breath catch. “Guess who?”

You roll your eyes, laughing, but it comes out shaky. Because he’s still looking at you like that, still touching you like he’s memorizing the shape of you, like he’s making sure you’re really here.

You shake your head, biting your lip. “You’re so fucking cheesy.”

Kenny grins. “Yeah, but you like it.”

You do. You do like it. And fuck, you like him.

Your heart is pounding, your body burning, and the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing in the world that matters—makes your head spin. You swallow hard, trying to catch your breath, trying to keep yourself grounded, but then Kenny shifts, his hands sliding under your shirt, his rough palms pressing against your bare skin.

You inhale sharply, your eyes fluttering shut, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Kenny stills beneath you, just for a second. His breath is unsteady, his hands flexing against your waist. “That okay?” His voice is lower now, careful.

You nod quickly, breathless. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s okay.”

His smirk twitches, but it’s softer this time. “Good.”

Then he kisses you again, slower now, deeper. His hands move carefully, like he’s savoring every inch of skin he touches, like he’s making up for every second he didn’t have you. His fingers trace along your sides, up your back, sending shivers down your spine.

You whimper softly against his lips, your thighs tightening around him, your whole body aching for more. Kenny groans, his grip on you tightening, his lips parting against yours.

“Fuck,” he mutters, breathing hard, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re gonna be the death of me, babe.”

You laugh breathlessly, your fingers sliding down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his tee. “You’ve survived worse,” you tease, brushing your nose against his.

Kenny chuckles, shaking his head. “Not like this.”

You bite your lip, watching him, feeling your heart swell in your chest. You want him. Not just like this—not just pressed against him, not just feeling his hands on your skin—you want all of him. The realization settles deep in your stomach, heavy and warm, making your breath hitch.

Kenny catches it immediately, his smirk curling like he knows exactly what’s running through your head. His hands are still under your shirt, tracing slow, lazy circles along your ribs, like he’s got all the time in the world. Then, without warning, he leans in, pressing his lips to your hair. It’s soft, almost sweet—if not for the fact that he doesn’t stop there.

He kisses your temple. Then your cheek. Then lower, dragging his mouth over your jaw, your pulse, the side of your neck. You let out a breathy giggle, nerves and anticipation tangling together in your chest. He still hasn’t moved his hands, still hasn’t grabbed at you the way you thought he would. He’s just touching, teasing, letting the tension build.

You try to keep yourself steady, to not let the moment get ahead of you, but then Kenny shifts against you, his thumbs brushing right beneath the band of your bra, and your breath stutters. No one’s ever touched you like this before. No one’s ever even seen your tits. And it’s Kenny—Kenny, who’s always been a little pervy, who’s made enough comments about tits to last a lifetime.

But this is different.

His fingers skate higher, tracing the edge of the fabric, his smirk pressing against your skin when he hears your breath hitch. “Nervous?”

You let out another giggle, softer this time, your hands twitching against his shoulders. “Duh.”

Kenny hums like he expected that, his hands not stopping their slow exploration. “Yeah, babe, I figured.”

You roll your eyes, smacking his shoulder. “Shut up.”

His chest shakes with another quiet chuckle, but when he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression is softer. His hands settle against your ribs, warm and steady, like he’s giving you time to process. He’s not pushing, not rushing, just watching you.

“You gonna let me?” he asks, voice lower now, rougher.

Your pulse pounds in your throat.

You nod.

Kenny exhales, the breath warm against your skin, and you feel the steady, pounding rhythm of his heart against your back. It mirrors your own, fast and hard, like neither of you can quite believe this is happening. His forehead drops to your shoulder, his body pressing close, fitting himself against you like he’s always meant to be there.

He mutters something low, too quiet for you to catch, but his lips brush against your skin as he says it, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

Then he raises his head, flashing you that familiar, toothy grin—the one that usually means he’s about to say something absolutely filthy. And he does.

"Y’know, if you wanna keep laughin’, sweetheart, I could give you somethin’ else to put in that pretty mouth.”

Your stomach clenches, your whole body heating up all at once. The little rasp in his voice, the way his accent gets thicker when he talks like this, makes you feel like your brain is short-circuiting. It should be embarrassing—should make you wanna shove him off—but instead, you feel your thighs press together instinctively, your breath catching in your throat.

Kenny doesn’t stop smirking, clearly pleased with himself, but his hands don’t rush. They move slow, deliberate. His fingers slide under the cups of your bra, coaxing the fabric up, but he doesn’t move your shirt yet. He just touches, cups your tits with a careful sort of reverence that you weren’t expecting from him. His palms are warm, rough in a way that makes your skin feel hypersensitive, like every brush of his calloused fingers against you is setting you on fire.

You can’t stop giggling, nerves bubbling up too fast, and it only makes you feel more ridiculous. Your face is burning, your eyes darting everywhere except at him. You stare hard at the posters on his wall—some old band he likes, a tattered pin-up girl, a dumb ripped-out magazine ad for some beer company. Anything to avoid looking at the way he’s watching you.

Kenny chuckles against your neck, his thumbs tracing slow, teasing circles against your skin. “Ain’t gotta be shy, babe. Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

You let out a breathless, half-hysterical laugh, still refusing to meet his eyes. “You have literally never seen my tits before.”

He snorts. “Fair. But I been picturin’ ‘em since we were like fifteen, so I figure that counts.”

You groan, covering your face with both hands. “Kenny.”

He laughs, shaking his head. His grip on you tightens, pulling you even closer, his breath hot against your ear. “What? S’true.” His voice dips lower, sending a full-body shiver down your spine. “Been thinkin’ about this for a long fuckin’ time, babe.”

Your stomach flips, heat pooling between your legs at the sheer honesty in his tone. Your breath is coming faster now, hands slowly lowering from your face as you try to process what he just admitted.

He wanted this.

He’s wanted this.

The realization makes your whole body tense, anticipation curling hot and thick inside you. Your fingers twitch against the rough denim of your jeans, pressing into the seams, trying to ground yourself.

Kenny’s hands are still on your tits, still kneading softly, his touch steady but not pushing. He’s waiting. Letting you adjust, letting you decide what happens next.

You finally tear your gaze from the posters, tilting your head just enough to glance at him over your shoulder. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide, lips parted slightly as he watches you.

You swallow hard, pulse hammering in your throat.

“…Can I?” he murmurs, fingers curling slightly, testing.

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nod.

Kenny lifts your shirt with a patience you didn’t expect, his fingers grazing your skin in slow, deliberate movements. Your breath stutters, nerves tangling up in your stomach, and you fidget with the cuffs of your sleeves, twisting the fabric between your fingers to keep your hands busy.

The second the air hits your tits, your body reacts—shivering, skin prickling with sensitivity. A quiet giggle bubbles out of you, half nervous, half from the sheer ridiculousness of the moment. Your eyes flick up to the ceiling automatically, desperate for something—anything—to focus on. The glow-in-the-dark stars are still there, scattered unevenly across the paint, some peeling at the edges, clinging on for dear life.

"Didn’t know you were still rockin’ the galaxy decor," you say, your voice a little breathless, a little shaky.

Kenny chuckles, his breath fanning warm against your shoulder. "Yeah, well. Girls love ‘em."

You roll your eyes, biting back a grin, but your amusement is short-lived when his hands move. His palms, broad and warm, slide over your exposed skin, settling over your tits fully. His thumbs skim the peaks, tracing soft circles over your nipples, and the sensation sends a sharp, unexpected jolt straight through your body.

You inhale sharply, your giggle cutting off, your thighs pressing together instinctively.

Kenny notices. Of course, he notices.

His smirk is lazy, his fingers tightening slightly, kneading you with slow, deliberate intent. "Oh yeah," he murmurs, voice dipping into something lower, something rougher. "That’s cute as hell."

Your breath hitches. "Shut up."

"Nah, don’t think I will." His thumbs flick over your nipples again, firmer this time, making your stomach tense. "You’re real sensitive, huh?"

You don’t answer—mostly because you don’t trust your own voice, but also because he already knows the answer.

Kenny laughs quietly, pressing his lips to your shoulder again, his teeth grazing the fabric of your shirt before he speaks. "Guess I should’ve known. You get all squirmy when people tickle you—figured you’d be just as jumpy when someone plays with your tits."

Your face burns, mortification mixing with something else—something heavier, hotter. "Oh my God, Kenny—"

"Relax, babe." His voice is low, teasing, but there’s something real beneath it, something that makes your stomach flip. "I like it."

Your fingers dig into your sleeves, gripping tight. The worst part is that you like it, too. The way he’s touching you, the way he’s looking at you, like he’s been wanting this for a long time—it’s making your head spin, making it hard to remember why you were so nervous in the first place.

His thumbs circle your nipples again, slower this time, more purposeful, like he’s memorizing how you react. Your breath catches, and you shift in his lap, your ass pressing back against him more than you mean to.

Kenny inhales sharply, his hands pausing for just a second before his fingers flex, his grip tightening around you.

"Fuck," he mutters, half under his breath, half into your skin. His hips shift, pressing up—just barely, but enough for you to feel the growing heat between you.

Your stomach clenches. Your thighs squeeze together tighter.

Kenny’s hands don’t stop moving, don’t stop touching, but his voice is quieter when he speaks again, more deliberate.

"You still good?"

You nod before he even finishes the question, your breath shaky, but certain. "Yeah."

His smirk returns, but it’s softer now, tinged with something you can’t quite place.

"Good," he says, and then he rolls one of your nipples between his fingers, and your whole body jolts in his lap.

You finally turn your head to look at him, your face scrunching up as heat prickles at your skin. The sensation still lingers—sharp and electric—where his fingers toy with you, and you don’t know if you want to squirm away or lean into it.

Kenny, of course, just grins. That cocky, lazy smirk, the one that says he knows exactly what he’s doing. He looks thoroughly entertained, his eyes hooded and amused as he watches your reaction.

"Aw, what’s wrong, babe?" His voice is dripping with fake innocence, but his fingers don’t stop, still rolling your nipple, flicking his thumb over it just to watch you twitch. "Too much for you? Thought you wanted the full boyfriend experience."

Your stomach tightens, and before you can stop yourself, a laugh bursts out of you, half flustered, half exasperated. "Jesus Christ, Kenny," you groan, swatting at his arm. "You’ve been my boyfriend for, like, four minutes, and you’re already insufferable."

Kenny laughs, leaning in, his lips ghosting over your jaw. "Four minutes?" he repeats, his breath warm against your skin. "Damn, feels longer. Guess time flies when you’re havin’ fun."

You roll your eyes, but your face is burning. "Fun for you, maybe."

Kenny hums, his smirk widening against your skin. His hands move, sliding down from your tits, gliding over your ribs, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. "Oh yeah?" His voice dips lower, smooth and teasing. "You sure about that?"

He suddenly pinches your nipple one last time, sharp and unexpected, and you jolt, a surprised noise escaping your throat before you can bite it down. Your body stiffens, your fingers gripping onto his forearm instinctively.

Kenny lets out a breathy laugh, clearly pleased with himself. "Yeah," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck. "Thought so."

You groan, smacking his arm again, but your grip lingers, your fingers tightening around his wrist like you don’t actually want him to stop. Your body is betraying you, heat curling in your stomach, a slow, steady throb building between your thighs.

Kenny just grins wider, like your frustration is the best part of this for him. His fingers flex against your sides, squeezing lightly, and then—without warning—he shifts his grip and pulls you higher up in his lap. You yelp, grabbing onto his shoulders for balance, but Kenny barely gives you a second to react before he ducks his head, his mouth latching onto your tit.

A sharp gasp catches in your throat. Your hands tighten in his shirt as warmth floods through you, your whole body tensing at the wet heat of his mouth around your nipple. His tongue flicks against it, slow and deliberate, and you feel it all the way down to your stomach, down lower, an ache blooming between your thighs.

You press your face into his hair, your breath stuttering as you try to remember how to form words. "K-Kenny," you manage, but you don’t even know what you’re trying to say.

He hums against your skin, and the vibration sends a shiver down your spine. He sucks lightly, his lips sealing around you, before pulling off with a quiet pop, breath warm as he exhales against the damp skin. His fingers squeeze your hips, steadying you.

"Yeah?" His voice is low, rough, and when he lifts his head to look at you, his lips are slick, his pupils blown wide. He smirks, tilting his head. "Somethin’ you wanna say, babe?"

Your whole body feels like it’s burning, and you’re not sure if it’s from embarrassment or how fucking good it feels. Your nails dig into his shoulders, and you glare down at him, but it doesn’t hold any real heat. "You’re so—"

"—Good at this?" Kenny interrupts, his smirk turning downright smug. "Yeah, I know."

You groan, smacking the back of his head, but you don’t stop him when he moves to your other tit, his mouth latching onto you all over again.

Kenny groans against your skin, the sound vibrating through your chest, making your whole body jolt in his lap. His tongue flicks over your nipple, slow and teasing, before he closes his lips around it again, sucking harder this time. His free hand kneads your other tit, rolling the soft flesh between his fingers, his thumb circling over your already sensitive nipple.

Your breath stutters, tiny, bitten-off moans slipping past your lips before you can stop them. It feels good—too good—like every nerve in your body is tightening, winding up until you’re shaking in his lap. But at the same time, embarrassment prickles under your skin. The way Kenny is touching you, how easily he’s pulling these sounds out of you—it’s overwhelming.

You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your face deeper into his hair, inhaling the scent of his cheap shampoo and the lingering smoke clinging to him. Your fingers grip the fabric of his tee, tugging hard like that’ll ground you, like that’ll stop the dizzy heat spreading through your stomach. But Kenny doesn’t let up.

"Aw, babe," he mutters against your skin, his voice thick with amusement and something deeper. His breath is hot, his lips trailing against the curve of your breast. "You gettin’ shy on me?"

You shake your head quickly, but the way your body trembles in his hands tells another story. Kenny chuckles, low and smug, squeezing your tit in his palm before his mouth moves again, teeth scraping lightly against your nipple just to hear you gasp.

"Shit, you’re cute," he murmurs, rolling his hips up just enough for you to feel the heat of him beneath you. His hands tighten on your waist, keeping you steady. "Makin’ all these pretty little sounds for me. Can’t believe I never got to hear ‘em ‘til now."

Your face burns hotter, and you tug at his shirt in frustration, like that’ll shut him up. "Shut up," you mumble, voice muffled against his hair.

He laughs, sharp and breathless, and nips at your skin in retaliation, sending another shock of heat straight through you. "Nah," he says, grinning against your chest. "Not when you’re bein’ this fuckin’ cute about it."

You groan, curling into him as his mouth moves lower, trailing wet kisses across your skin, each one searing. His hands slide up your back, tracing the dip of your spine, making you shiver.

"Kenny," you whimper, barely above a whisper.

His breath catches.

For the first time since this started, he stills. His grip on you tightens, fingers pressing into your skin, like he’s holding himself back. His forehead drops against your chest, and you feel him exhale, slow and measured.

"Fuck," he mutters, voice rough, strained. "You can’t just say my name like that, babe."

You blink, biting your lip, confused. "Like what?"

Kenny lifts his head, and when you finally meet his gaze, the look in his eyes makes your stomach flip. His pupils are blown wide, his face flushed, his lips wet and slightly swollen. He looks wrecked—like he’s barely keeping himself together.

"Like you want me," he says simply.

Your breath catches in your throat.

Your fingers tighten in his shirt. The air between you feels too thick, too charged. He’s looking at you like he’s waiting, like he’s daring you to say it—to admit it.

Your breath is shaky as you push your hair back, fingers catching in the strands before falling to the sleeves of your shirt. You fidget, tugging at the fabric, trying to ground yourself, trying to focus on anything other than the way Kenny is looking at you. Like he already knew. Like he was just waiting for you to say it.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to breathe, and then—quietly, barely above a whisper—you admit it.

"I do," you say, your voice raw, unsteady. "I want you. I want you so fucking bad."

The words hang between you, and for a split second, everything stops. Kenny's fingers twitch against your skin, his breath catching in his throat. His lips part slightly, like he wants to say something, but whatever was on his tongue dies before he can get it out. His whole body goes still, tense beneath you, his hands flexing against your waist.

And then—he moves.

His grip tightens, and in one quick motion, he’s shifting you, pulling you even closer until your chest is flush against his. His mouth crashes against yours, no hesitation, no teasing—just heat, all-consuming and desperate. He kisses you like he’s been holding back for too long, like the second you said it, something inside him snapped.

You whimper into his mouth, fingers twisting into his shirt, holding on as his hands slide up your back, gripping, pressing, pulling. His tongue flicks against your lips, and you part for him instantly, letting him deepen it, letting him take exactly what he wants.

You’re breathless when he pulls back, and the look in his eyes makes your whole body clench. His pupils are blown wide, his chest rising and falling unevenly, his lips wet and slightly swollen.

"Say it again," he murmurs, voice rough, needy. His hands tighten at your waist, his fingers digging into your skin like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. "Say you want me."

Your heart pounds against your ribs. You’ve never seen him like this before, never seen him lose control, never seen him look at you like he’d set the whole world on fire if you asked him to.

"I want you," you whisper, voice trembling. "Kenny, I—"

He groans, and suddenly, you’re on your back. He moves so fast it leaves you breathless, his body pressing you into the mattress, his mouth hot against your neck, teeth scraping against your pulse. His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding under your shirt, skimming the bare skin of your stomach, pushing you closer, pulling you deeper into him.

Your fingers claw at his back, your legs shifting beneath him, your body already burning from the inside out.

Kenny’s hands grip the waistband of your jeans, fingers pressing into the fabric, warm and just a little unsteady. His breath is hot against your skin, his lips still parted from where he had been kissing you, sucking at your neck like he couldn’t get enough. But now, his mouth is still, and he’s looking at you—really looking at you—his blue wide and dark, a flush creeping high on his cheeks.

And then, he does something you don’t expect.

He begs.

Not with teasing, not with that cocky smirk he usually hides behind, not with some lazy drawl of c’mon, babe, don’t be shy. No, this is different.

“Kinda losin’ my mind over here,” he says, his voice wrecked, ragged, like he’s holding onto the last frayed edge of his control. His fingers flex against your jeans, gripping the fabric tight, and his forehead presses against yours, like he can’t even bear the space between you. “Please.”

Your stomach flips, heat spreading through you so fast it makes you feel lightheaded. You’ve never heard Kenny like this. You’ve seen him flirt, tease, talk his way into people’s pants with nothing but a lazy grin and that effortless charm, but you’ve never heard him plead.

He presses a kiss to your cheek, then another, his lips dragging down to your jaw, your neck. “Let me, baby,” he mutters, voice hoarse, desperate. “Let me make you feel good. Been wantin’—fuck—been wantin’ this for so long, just—” He groans, breath shaky, like he’s physically restraining himself from just taking what he wants. “Tell me I can touch you. Please.”

Your chest is tight, your lungs forgetting how to work properly. He’s trembling a little under your hands, not enough to be obvious, but you can feel it in the way he’s gripping you, in the way he keeps shifting his hips like he can’t sit still.

And the worst part? You love it. You love the way he’s looking at you, love the way his voice sounds when he’s this far gone, love knowing that you—not some random hookup, not some person at a party, you—are the one who got him like this. The one who made Kenny McCormick, smooth-talker, lady-killer, completely lose his mind.

Your fingers brush against the nape of his neck, sliding up into his messy blonde hair, tugging lightly. Kenny groans at the touch, his head tilting back slightly, and you swear you can feel his pulse hammering just beneath his skin.

You smile, just a little. “You’re really begging, huh?”

Kenny lets out a breathy, half-strangled laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, fuck off,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it. His lips brush against your collarbone, then your throat, and he exhales sharply. “You have no fuckin’ idea what you do to me.”

Your heartbeat stutters.

You know this is just Kenny. Kenny, your best friend since forever. The same Kenny who used to eat entire bags of expired Halloween candy in one sitting, who once got stuck in a tree trying to rescue a cat that didn’t even belong to anyone, who always knew exactly how to make you laugh when you needed it most.

You exhale slowly, fingers still tangled in his hair, your other hand smoothing down his back. He’s so warm, so solid beneath your touch, and you can feel the way his muscles tense when you shift against him.

You bite your lip, considering him, watching the way his breath catches as you trace your fingers lower, down his spine, pressing just slightly at the small of his back.

Then, finally—

“…Okay.”

Kenny stills.

For a second, he just looks at you, eyes dark and searching, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Then, he exhales, long and slow, like all the tension in his body is uncoiling at once.

“Fuck,” he breathes, like he wasn’t sure you’d actually say yes. Like he needed to hear it.

His hands tighten against your waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your jeans now, tracing against the sensitive skin of your hips. He leans in, pressing his lips to your ear, and when he speaks, his voice is low, reverent, almost awed.

“You have no idea how bad I’m gonna make this for you, baby.”

Your whole body shudders, heat slamming into you all at once. The second Kenny's fingers hook around the waistband of your jeans, your breath catches, and you whine—actually whine—lifting your hips to help him shimmy them down. The fabric drags against your thighs, your knees, pooling somewhere near your ankles before he kicks them off the bed entirely.

And then it's just you, in nothing but your panties, laid out beneath him.

Kenny settles between your legs, weight pressing into you in a way that makes your stomach flip, his hands skating up the tops of your thighs, warm and rough and fucking confident. But when his fingers brush the thin lace of your panties, he stops. Doesn't keep going. Doesn't pull them down. Just hovers, playing with the hemline like he's got all the time in the world.

You blink, nerves creeping in now that you're actually here, spread out in front of your best friend like this, half-dressed with his hands teasing the only thing left covering you. Your fingers tighten in his sheets, your eyes darting everywhere—his glow-in-the-dark stars, the pile of laundry in the corner, the goddamn Mysterion poster still tacked to his wall—like any of it is more important than Kenny McCormick breathing against your stomach.

It isn’t.

Kenny sees right through you, of course. He doesn’t move his hands, doesn’t push you, doesn’t rush you, just watches. His blue eyes flick over your face, tracing the way your chest rises too quickly, the way your fingers grip the sheets like you need something to hold onto.

His lips twitch, his smirk lazy, teasing, but softer than usual. “You ignoring me, babe?” His voice is low, smooth, edged with amusement but still careful. “Kinda rude, y’know, considering I’m about to have my face between your legs.”

Your breath stumbles in your chest. “Jesus Christ, Kenny.”

He grins, a little more like himself now, but he still doesn’t move. Doesn’t do anything except keep his hands where they are, fingers playing with your waistband like he’s waiting for something.

That’s when you realize—he is.

You swallow thickly, forcing your eyes back to him. “I’m not ignoring you,” you murmur, voice smaller than you mean for it to be.

Kenny raises an eyebrow, like he doesn’t quite believe you. His thumbs stroke over your hip bones, slow, lazy little circles, and even though the touch is innocent, it makes your pulse trip over itself.

“Uh-huh,” he hums. “And yet, you look like you’re real interested in my ceiling instead of me.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands for half a second before dragging them down, your whole body burning. “It’s not that, I just—”

You stop. Exhale. Look at him, really look at him, at the way he’s just watching you, at the way he’s waiting, his mouth slightly parted like he’s holding himself back.

It clicks.

Oh. He’s giving you an out.

Kenny fucking McCormick, the guy who spends half his time running his mouth about tits and ass, the guy who has no problem making the filthiest jokes at the worst moments, is actually holding back for you.

Your best friend is between your legs, waiting for your permission to touch you.

And you want it.

Your throat feels dry, nerves tangling with the raw, aching want that’s been building up for what feels like hours. “Kenny.” You barely recognize your own voice, the way it dips, the way it wavers just slightly.

His eyes snap to yours immediately, sharp, focused.

You wet your lips. “You can keep going.”

Something shifts in his face, something hot and pleased and maybe even relieved. His smirk deepens, his fingers pressing into your hips just slightly, just enough for you to feel it.

“Yeah?” His voice is still teasing, but there’s an edge to it now, something heavier, something darker. “You sure?”

You nod, breath catching. “I want it.”

Kenny inhales sharply through his nose, and you feel the way his fingers twitch against you, the way his body tenses for half a second before he exhales, shaking his head like he can’t fucking believe this is happening.

“Fuck,” he mutters, dragging his hands up your sides, fingers skimming your ribs before sliding back down, settling at your hips again. “You have no fuckin’ idea how long I wanted to hear you say that.”

Kenny hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties, and this time, he doesn’t tease, doesn’t stall. He drags them down, slow enough that the air against your newly exposed skin sends a shiver up your spine, but firm enough that you know he’s done waiting. The fabric catches for half a second on the curve of your ass before sliding down your thighs, past your knees, stopping at your ankles.

You don’t dare look at him. Heat burns up the back of your neck, flooding your cheeks, and your whole body feels too tight, too aware of the fact that Kenny fucking McCormick is sitting between your legs, staring right at the part of you no one’s ever seen before.

Your fingers twitch against the sheets. Your thighs press together on instinct, but Kenny’s hands are still there, still holding you open, still keeping you right where he wants you.

The silence stretches. Too long. Too heavy.

You shift, fidgeting, your hips tilting slightly on the bed, and that seems to unfreeze him.

Kenny exhales sharply through his nose, somewhere between a groan and a laugh, his fingers flexing against your skin. And then—because of course he fucking does—his mouth runs off again.

“Holy shit.” His voice is rough, low, like something just knocked the wind out of him. “You’re—fuck, babe.” He drags a hand down his face like he’s trying to compose himself, but when he looks back at you, his smirk is back in full force, lazy and dripping with something else, something darker. “Y’know, I always thought if I ever got between your legs, I’d have a lot to say. But I think you just made me forget every word I ever fuckin’ learned.”

Your stomach clenches. Your face burns hotter.

“Kenny.” You say his name like a warning, but your voice is shaking too much for it to sound threatening.

“Nah, I mean it.” He groans, head tilting back for half a second before dropping forward again, his eyes glued to you. “Jesus Christ, you’re fuckin’ perfect.”

Your thighs twitch. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself not to let the nerves get the better of you.

He notices. Of course he does.

His hands press into your thighs, thumbs stroking slow circles into the soft skin. “Hey.” His voice drops, still warm, still teasing, but there’s something else there now—something softer, something careful. “You good?”

You force yourself to open your eyes. He’s watching you closely, waiting, his smirk still there but smaller now, more relaxed. Not pushing. Not rushing. You exhale, trying to settle the wild hammering of your pulse.

“I’m good,” you murmur. “Just… no one’s ever—”

Kenny’s expression flickers, something unreadable passing through it before he grins again, this time slower, more deliberate. “Yeah?” He tilts his head, his eyes flickering with something that makes your stomach flip. “No one’s ever eaten you out before?”

You cover your face with your hands. “Oh my God, Kenny.”

He laughs, full and warm, and you feel his breath against your inner thigh as he leans in, presses a soft, teasing kiss there. “Babe, I was askin’ for confirmation, not shame.”

You groan, dragging your hands down just enough to peek at him through your fingers. His smirk deepens, and he squeezes your thighs lightly, spreading you just a little wider.

“Well, shit.” His voice is smooth, lazy, but there’s something real behind it. “Guess that means I get to be your first for this, too.”

His fingers dig in, just enough for you to feel it, and then—his mouth lowers.

His fingers dig into your thighs, keeping you spread open for him, and then—his mouth lowers.

Soft, teasing kisses press against your inner thigh, light as air, barely-there brushes of his lips that make your skin break out in goosebumps. He trails lower, slow and deliberate, his breath warm against you, taking his fucking time because he knows it’s driving you crazy.

Then, finally, he kisses you right where you’re burning the most.

The jolt that shoots through you is immediate, electric. Your hips twitch like they’re trying to escape on instinct, but Kenny just chuckles, low and amused, tightening his grip to keep you still. His hands flex against your skin, thumbs pressing slow, grounding circles into the dip of your hips, but it does nothing to stop the way your whole body is tensing up.

You whine, the sound half-muffled, half-strangled, your thighs trembling in his grip.

And Kenny fucking smiles against you.

Like he’s enjoying this. Like he’s enjoying you.

Your heart slams against your ribs, your breath catching in your throat. You can’t look at him, can’t even bring yourself to glance down, because if you do—if you see his head between your legs, his mouth on you—you might actually die.

So you slap a hand over your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut.

Kenny notices immediately.

“Oh, nah.” His voice is muffled against your skin, but you can still hear the smirk in it. “What’s that about?”

You shake your head frantically, pressing your palm harder against your lips.

He laughs again, the vibration of it sending a shiver through you, and then—he licks a slow, teasing stripe over you, like he’s testing. Like he’s waiting for you to break.

You do.

Your muffled moan slips out against your hand, and you swear you can feel the way Kenny grins.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against you, his breath warm. “That’s what I thought.”

His hands slide up, dragging over your waist, your stomach, fingertips skimming over your ribs before pressing back down, keeping you pinned. His thumbs stroke over your skin in lazy circles, like he’s trying to soothe you, but his mouth is doing the exact fucking opposite.

He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t go in too fast. He just explores, teasing you open, slow and deliberate, his tongue dipping between you just enough to make you shudder. His mouth is warm, soft, wet, and every careful press of his lips has a purpose, every stroke of his tongue designed to pull more sounds out of you.

And you are making sounds.

You’re trying not to, biting down on your knuckle now, but it’s useless. Kenny makes a pleased noise at that—low and cocky—and you barely have a second to register it before he does something with his tongue that makes your whole body jolt.

You gasp, thighs twitching, back arching slightly against the mattress.

Kenny groans, his grip tightening, and then he presses in deeper.

Your fingers scramble against the sheets, gripping at nothing, your brain fogging over completely. It’s too much and not enough, your body burning, heat pooling between your legs, twisting tighter and tighter.

Kenny pulls back slightly, just enough to murmur against you. “Babe, I swear to God, if you don’t move that fuckin’ hand, I’m gonna make you scream my name.”

Your stomach clenches, another whimper slipping out before you can stop it.

His smirk is audible. “That’s what I fuckin’ thought.”

You whine his name, the sound slipping out before you can stop it, high-pitched and desperate. Mortification floods through you immediately, heat crawling up your face, but Kenny?

Kenny fucking loves it.

“Oh, babe,” he drawls, low and lazy, like he’s savoring the sound, like it’s his favorite thing in the world. “That’s cute as shit.”

You groan, turning your head to the side, pressing your cheek into the mattress like you can escape the sheer humiliation burning in your chest. But Kenny isn’t having that.

“Uh-uh,” he murmurs, mouth still moving against you, still pressing slow, teasing kisses against your heat. “Say it again.”

You shake your head frantically, thighs twitching in his grip. “No.”

He laughs—breathy, smug, completely unbothered. “Yeah? We’ll see.”

Then, without warning, you feel it—his fingers, warm and calloused, pressing against your entrance. Just a nudge at first, just testing, just enough to make you gasp and squirm.

Kenny hums like he’s considering something. “Oh, yeah,” he mutters. “This is gonna be fun.”

Your stomach clenches, your whole body locking up as you try to process how the fuck this is actually happening. His finger presses in just barely, not even an inch, just enough for you to feel the stretch, the way your body immediately reacts, the heat that spreads through your thighs like wildfire.

You moan—loud and sharp—and Kenny groans like the sound alone is enough to drive him crazy.

“There she is,” he breathes, his voice rough, strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. His free hand tightens around your thigh, grounding himself, pressing bruises into your skin. 

He pushes in a little further, slow and careful, and your breath catches in your throat. It’s not just the stretch—it’s the way his mouth is still on you, the way he’s still licking into you like he’s starving, the way his fingers move in sync with his tongue, pushing, teasing, coaxing you open.

“K-Kenny,” you choke out, your hands gripping at the sheets, your whole body on fire.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his breath hot against your skin. “Yeah, keep sayin’ my name like that.”

You shake your head, trying to bury your face into the mattress again, but Kenny pulls back slightly, just enough to catch your gaze.

“Look at me,” he says, his voice low, demanding, but there’s something else there, something almost pleading. “C’mon, baby, lemme see you.”

Your breath stutters. Slowly, hesitantly, you turn your head, your lashes fluttering as you meet his gaze.

His pupils are blown wide, his lips slick, his breath coming in short, shallow pants. His jaw is clenched tight like he’s barely holding himself together, like he’s fighting to keep control, but his fingers? His fingers are still moving, still pushing into you, still coaxing those sounds out of you like he lives for them.

His smirk is gone. There’s no teasing left in his expression. Just heat. Just hunger. Just Kenny, looking at you like he’s never wanted anything more in his life.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he mutters, his voice rough, almost disbelieving. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

His fingers don’t stop. They keep moving, curling up just right inside you, pressing against that spot that makes your legs jerk, makes your stomach coil tight. His thumb circles your clit, slow and teasing at first, but when you whimper—when you moan his name all pretty like that—he starts rubbing faster, more deliberate, like he’s committing every little reaction to memory.

Your thighs twitch against his shoulders. Your fingers claw uselessly at the sheets, your breath stuttering with every flick of his wrist, every wet, obscene sound coming from between your legs. It’s too much and not enough all at once.

Kenny groans low in his throat when he feels your walls squeeze around his fingers, the sound muffled between your legs, and the vibration makes your hips buck against his mouth. He’s grinning, you know he is, because when you finally risk a glance down, his blue eyes are locked onto you, dark and hungry, like he’s starving for you.

Your face burns. You slap both hands over your mouth.

Kenny’s free hand moves, gripping your wrist, yanking your hands away from your face. His chin is slick, his lips glistening, and when he smirks up at you, you almost feel lightheaded.

"Nuh-uh, babe. I wanna hear you.”

You whimper, squirming against the sheets. “Kenny—”

He rewards you with another curl of his fingers, pressing against that spot so perfectly it makes your whole body jerk. Your back arches, your lips parting in a silent moan, and that’s all the proof he needs that he’s got you exactly where he wants you.

His mouth is on you again, tongue dragging over your clit, slow and firm, sending hot pulses of pleasure through your core. His fingers thrust in and out, faster now, wetter, each movement accompanied by filthy, wet sounds that make your skin feel like it’s burning. Your thighs are shaking, and Kenny just hums like he’s proud of himself.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he mutters against you, his breath warm, teasing. “Gonna make such a mess, babe.”

Your fingers bury into his hair, tugging hard. Kenny groans into you, like he fucking loves it, and then he’s sucking on your clit, flicking it with his tongue while his fingers keep fucking into you, and it’s—

It’s too much.

Your whole body tenses, heat curling in your gut, tight and overwhelming. Every muscle in your body locks up as you gasp, as your head tilts back, as your vision goes white-hot with pleasure.

“Oh—oh my God, Kenny—”

He moans against you, sloppy and desperate now, fingers moving faster, tongue pressing harder, dragging you through it, keeping you there, making sure you don’t slip away from him just yet. You convulse against the sheets, legs twitching, hands gripping his hair so tight it must hurt, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t let up, doesn’t slow down, not even when you whimper and try to push at his shoulders.

You sob out his name, thighs squeezing around his head, and finally—finally—his movements slow. His fingers ease out of you, his tongue drags over you one last time, and then he presses a final, lazy kiss to your inner thigh before pulling back.

Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your whole body trembling, your skin burning. Kenny sits back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his smirk lazy and satisfied. His eyes flick up to you, taking in the wrecked state you’re in, and he whistles low.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, voice rough, breath uneven. “Didn’t know you could cum that hard, babe.”

You groan, tossing an arm over your face, mortified. “Shut the fuck up.”

Kenny just laughs, but doesn’t move away. He shifts, pressing his palms into the mattress on either side of you, caging you in beneath him. His body is warm, solid, still a little tense, like he’s holding back just enough to keep himself from fully sinking into you. His breath is heavy, rolling over your flushed skin as he watches you, eyes hooded and dark.

Satisfaction, definitely—he’s fucking proud of himself, no doubt about that. His pupils are blown, his jaw tight, his smirk a little slower, lazier, like he’s savoring every second of looking at you like this.

And then—he dips his head down and kisses you.

It’s not rushed, not desperate, but it’s deep, lingering, his lips moving against yours like he’s claiming you, like he wants to make sure you remember exactly what just happened. His tongue flicks against your bottom lip, and you open up for him without thinking, letting him taste you, letting him steal whatever breath you have left.

You can taste yourself on him, warm and heady, and your face burns at the realization. You let out a soft, helpless noise against his mouth, and Kenny groans, pressing himself closer, his weight settling just enough to remind you that he’s still hard, that he still needs you just as much as you needed him.

His hands move—one dragging down your side, fingers tracing your waist like he’s memorizing the shape of you, the other cupping your jaw, tilting your face up so he can kiss you deeper. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t force it, but he makes sure you feel him, makes sure you know exactly how much he’s still holding back.

When he finally pulls away, he lingers, his lips brushing against yours like he doesn’t want to break the contact. His eyes flicker over your face, taking in your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your chest still rises and falls unevenly beneath him. His breathing is just as ragged as yours now, his smirk faded into something softer.

Kenny tilts his head slightly, dragging his thumb across your cheek, his touch warm and careful, like he’s not quite ready to let go of you yet. His voice is lower now, rougher, like the words are catching in his throat.

“Fuck, babe,” he murmurs, his eyes locked onto yours, full of adoration. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this.”

You smile up at him, warmth swelling in your chest, and before you can stop yourself, you tease, “You’re prettier.”

Kenny scoffs, smirking down at you like you just said the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. “Yeah, alright.” His fingers trace along your waist, slow and absentminded, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, like he just needs to be touching you. His breath is steady, but you can feel the way his chest rises and falls a little heavier now, like he’s holding back something.

Your hands slide over his stomach, feeling the heat of his skin beneath his tee, and that’s when it hits you—he’s still fully dressed. Meanwhile, you’re here, completely bare under him, skin exposed to the cool air. Your lips part, a quiet huff of realization leaving you as your fingers bunch into the fabric of his shirt.

“Not fair,” you mutter, tugging at the material. “Why are you still wearing this?”

Kenny raises an eyebrow, a teasing lilt creeping back into his voice. “What, you wanna see me naked that bad?”

You groan, tilting your head back against the pillow. “Kenny.”

He chuckles, shaking his head, but he doesn’t argue. He leans back onto his knees, pulling his tee up and over his head in one fluid motion. The dim glow from the window shadows over his chest, the faint lines of definition visible even in the low light. A scar you’ve never noticed before runs just under his ribs—faint, but there. You don’t even realize you’re staring until Kenny tosses his shirt aside and runs a hand through his messy hair, shaking it out.

“You gonna help me with these, or you just gonna admire me all night?” His voice is lazy, but there’s something else beneath it—something heavier, something real.

You roll your eyes to cover up the way your throat suddenly feels tight. “Cocky asshole.”

Still, you move, reaching down to undo his belt, fumbling with the buckle before finally tugging it loose. Kenny shifts his hips up slightly to make it easier for you, his breath hitching when your knuckles brush against his stomach. The muscles there twitch, just barely, and the sight of it sends a sharp, unexpected jolt of heat through you.

He exhales, low and steady. “Didn’t think you’d be this eager, babe.”

You glance up at him through your lashes, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his jeans, your voice quiet but certain. “Shut up and let me take them off.”

Kenny just hums, low and lazy, like he’s enjoying this way too much, but for once, he doesn’t throw in another teasing remark. He watches you, his blue eyes dark and steady, gaze flickering between your face and your hands as you grip the waistband of his jeans. Your fingers tremble slightly, but you don’t stop. You push the denim down, the fabric rough against your palms as you ease it over his hips. His boxers catch slightly on the way down, stretching for a moment before slipping lower, and you swallow hard, refusing to break eye contact even as your face burns.

The heat spreading through your chest is impossible to ignore, your breath uneven as you take him in—his skin flushed, muscles tight with restraint, the way his jaw clenches for just a second when the cool air hits him. He looks so effortlessly good like this, sprawled out beneath you, half-dressed, his hair still a mess from where your fingers tugged at it.

Your breath hitches when his hands move, sliding up the backs of your thighs, not rushing, just touching, just feeling. His thumbs rub slow circles into your skin, grounding you, a silent reassurance without a single word. His lips part like he wants to say something, but he just exhales instead, eyes scanning your face, searching for hesitation.

You press your palms against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers, the steady rise and fall of his breathing. You take in everything—the way his pupils are blown wide, the faintest pink dusting his cheeks, the way his lips are slightly swollen from kissing you so hard earlier. He looks so good like this, so effortlessly wrecked already, and it sends another wave of warmth flooding through your stomach.

You wet your lips, dragging your fingers down from his chest, over his ribs, feeling every little shift of muscle beneath his skin. When your hands settle at his hips, your thumbs pressing lightly into the sharp cut of bone there, Kenny makes a noise—low and rough, the sound barely escaping his throat.

You shudder, feeling the weight of his gaze on you as you shift lower, positioning yourself between his legs. The anticipation sits heavy in your stomach, thick and all-consuming. You feel his fingers slide into your hair, not guiding, just resting, his touch warm against your scalp.

The moment stretches between you, thick with tension, the only sound is the quiet rhythm of your breaths. You glance up at him again, lips parted, voice barely above a whisper.

“Show me what you like.”

Kenny grins, slow and wicked, his fingers tightening just slightly in your hair. His blue eyes gleam with something dangerous—something smug, something completely self-indulgent. You can already tell he’s going to drag this out, going to make you squirm just because he can.

“Oh, babe,” he drawls, voice thick with amusement, “you really want me to spell it out for you?” His thumb strokes along your scalp, deceptively gentle. “You want me to tell you how I like your pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock? How good it felt when you were takin’ me earlier, all eager, like you couldn’t get enough?”

Your stomach flips so violently it makes you dizzy. Heat slams into you like a freight train, settling hot and heavy in your chest, your throat, your cheeks. You blink up at him, utterly mortified, mouth parting uselessly as your fingers flex against his hips. Your entire body feels too warm, too aware of every inch of him under your hands, against your skin.

He sees it—sees the way your breath stutters, the way your lashes flutter, the way your thighs twitch slightly where you kneel. And of course, being the absolute menace that he is, Kenny doesn’t let it go unnoticed. He chuckles, breathless and low, his smirk twitching wider.

“Aww, c’mon, don’t get shy on me now,” he teases, voice dipping, rough around the edges. “You wanted me to talk you through it, right? Thought you liked it when I told you how good you were doin’.”

You groan, slapping a hand over your face for half a second before dragging it down, fingers pressing into your flushed cheeks. “Jesus Christ, Kenny,” you mutter, voice tight, and he just laughs, the sound vibrating deep in his chest.

He shifts slightly, sitting up a bit more, leaning into you, his breath hot against the top of your head. His fingers thread deeper into your hair, a subtle but deliberate motion, his thumb brushing along the side of your jaw. His smirk softens, just a little, just enough that it feels a little less like he’s playing with you and more like he’s… waiting.

“You gonna do it or not?” he murmurs, and despite his usual cocky drawl, there’s something else underneath it. Something quieter. 

Your throat works as you swallow, fingers tightening at his hips, your heart hammering so hard it echoes in your ears. You inhale, slow and steady, forcing yourself to push past the nerves, past the mortification. Because you want this. You do. And Kenny, for all his relentless teasing, is being patient. Letting you set the pace.

You exhale sharply, glaring up at him, though the heat in your face ruins the effect. “You’re the worst.”

Kenny just grins wider, completely unbothered. “Yeah, yeah, now quit stallin’, babe.”

You roll your eyes but let your hands move again, sliding lower, gripping him properly, feeling the way his body reacts under your touch. Kenny’s breath hitches, just barely, but you catch it. His smirk falters for half a second before he schools his expression, tilting his head as he watches you through half-lidded eyes.

You lick your lips, steadying yourself, your fingers curling around him as you squeeze experimentally. His abs twitch, his jaw flexing as his breath stutters again. You glance up at him once more, holding his gaze, and despite everything, despite how much he’s been running his mouth, you can tell—he’s waiting.

You hum softly, giving him one last lingering look before leaning in.

You close the distance, pressing your lips to his skin, feeling the warmth of him against your mouth. His body tenses under your hands, his fingers twitching where they rest against your scalp. The shift in his breathing is instant—what was once steady and measured now comes in short, uneven exhales, his chest rising and falling faster. You feel the way his muscles tighten beneath your touch, the way his thighs flex under your hands as you settle more comfortably between them.

The heat of him is overwhelming. You’re hyperaware of everything—the weight of him in your palm, the slight pulse against your fingers, the way he’s holding himself completely still, like he’s waiting for you to take the lead. You inhale slowly, steadying yourself, your breath ghosting over his skin. Kenny hisses through his teeth, his grip tightening in your hair for half a second before relaxing again.

You press another kiss to his length, slower this time, letting your lips linger just to see how he reacts. His fingers flex at your scalp, a quiet curse slipping past his lips, and something about that—about knowing that you’re the one pulling these sounds from him—sends a shiver down your spine.

“Goddamn,” he breathes, his voice raw. “Startin’ to think you like this more than I do.”

You roll your eyes, your lips curling into a smirk. “Maybe I just like seeing you like this.”

Kenny exhales a laugh, but it’s shaky, strained, his whole body tight with restraint. “Yeah?” His head tips back slightly, his fingers twitching in your hair. “Fuckin’ hell, babe. Didn’t take you for a goddamn tease.”

You hum softly, letting the vibration pass through him before parting your lips, your tongue slipping out to taste him. The salt of his skin, the faint heat of him—it’s familiar now, yet still so foreign. Your pulse jumps at the weight of him on your tongue, and your eyes flicker up, searching his face.

His expression has gone tight, his jaw locked, his eyes dark as they stare down at you. His grip in your hair tightens just slightly, like he’s holding back, like he wants to guide you but is forcing himself to let you figure it out on your own.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice strained, rougher than before.

You smile against him, letting his reaction spur you on. You take him in further, your lips stretching around him, your tongue pressing flat against the underside of his length. Kenny curses again, his head tipping back slightly, his breath leaving him in a sharp exhale. His thighs tense beneath your hands, his fingers digging into your scalp, and you can tell—he’s already losing his composure.

It makes you bold. You hollow your cheeks, sucking lightly as you bob your head, working to find a rhythm, letting him guide you with the subtle shifts of his body. His hips twitch, barely restrained, his breath coming heavier now, more labored.

“Shit—” Kenny groans, his voice wrecked, his usual teasing nowhere to be found. His other hand comes up, brushing his knuckles against your cheek before settling at the nape of your neck, his grip warm, firm, but not forceful. “You—fuck, babe—”

You hum again, letting the vibrations drag another strangled moan from him. His breathing grows heavier, his grip in your hair tightening as his hips stutter slightly, a barely restrained thrust. “Jesus fuck,” he mutters, his voice tight, strained. “You’re—fuck, you’re doin’ so good.”

The praise sends warmth pooling low in your stomach, your pulse kicking up as you double down, taking him deeper, working him faster. Kenny groans, his head falling back, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. His thighs tremble under your hands, his body coiled tight, strung out.

You can feel it, the way he’s tensing, the way his grip tightens almost painfully in your hair, his breathing ragged, uneven. He’s close. And knowing that, feeling that, makes you want to push him over the edge, to hear what he sounds like when he finally lets go.

You suck harder, your tongue swirling around him, your pace never faltering. Kenny curses, his whole body tensing, and then—he breaks. His hips jerk, his breath catching in his throat, his fingers clenching at your scalp as he spills into your mouth with a groan so wrecked it sends a shiver straight through you.

He slumps back against the mattress, chest heaving, body spent, fingers slackening in your hair. You stay still for a moment, letting him ride it out, his pulse thudding beneath your fingertips. When he finally exhales, long and slow, he cracks an exhausted, lazy grin, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes.

“Holy fuck,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “You tryna kill me?”

You huff a quiet laugh, your own breath a little unsteady as you pull back, licking your lips. You swallow, tilting your head slightly in consideration. You’re still not sure how you feel about the taste, but it’s not the worst thing in the world.

Kenny notices. His grin widens as he takes in your expression. “Shit,” he chuckles, still breathless, “look at you, sittin’ there all cute, thinkin’ about my cum like it’s a fuckin’ fine wine tasting.”

Your nose scrunches immediately. “Oh my god, Kenny.”

He laughs, stretching his arms over his head, looking way too pleased with himself. “What? Just sayin’, if I knew you’d be this into it, I woulda let you blow me years ago.”

You smack his thigh, making him yelp dramatically. “Gross. You say that like I’ve been waiting for the opportunity.”

Kenny smirks, tilting his head. “Haven’t you?”

Your jaw drops. “You’re disgusting.”

“And yet,” he drawls, lazy and smug, “you still got on your knees for me.”

Heat floods your face, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. You roll your eyes, shifting to sit more comfortably, smoothing your hands over your thighs. “Well, yeah. I was being nice.”

Kenny scoffs, sitting up slightly. “Nice, huh?” His smirk deepens. “Damn, babe, that was the most generous fuckin’ favor I ever got.”

You groan, shoving at his shoulder. “You’re welcome, jackass.”

Kenny just grins, still looking at you in that way that makes your stomach twist, something softer lingering behind the teasing. For a second, it almost feels like he might say something else. Something that isn’t a joke.

But instead, he stretches out on the bed like he doesn’t have a care in the world, flashing you a lazy grin. “So,” he muses, tilting his head, “we doin’ a pop quiz next time, or what?”

You narrow your eyes, fighting the urge to laugh. “You’re about to get a pop quiz upside the head.”

Kenny barks out a laugh, head tipping back. “Oh, fuck, babe—romance ain’t dead after all.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, shifting to crawl back into his lap. His cock is still half-hard, pressing up against your bare thighs, a solid, heated weight between you. The air feels thick, charged, the lingering warmth of everything that just happened still humming under your skin.

“Seriously, though,” you murmur, settling against him, the bare skin of your legs brushing his jeans where they’re still pushed low on his hips. “Eat more pineapple.”

Kenny’s hands find your waist easily, like they belong there, like they never want to leave. His fingers flex against your skin, his grip just firm enough to make your breath hitch. “The hell kinda review is that?” He tilts his head, flashing you that familiar shit-eating smirk. “You tryna meal-prep my cum or somethin’?”

Your face burns instantly. “Oh my god, shut up.”

His laughter rumbles against your chest, warm and easy. His thumbs drag slow circles against your hips, soothing, steady. Despite the way he’s still talking shit, there’s something softer in his touch, something grounding about the way he holds you there, bare and warm in his lap like this is exactly where he wants you.

You cup his face, brushing your thumbs against the stubble along his jaw. He’s still got that lazy, lopsided grin, but his eyes are watching you carefully, like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do. Like he’s willing to follow your lead.

You don’t think about it.

You kiss him.

His lips part under yours immediately, a low sound slipping from the back of his throat. His grip tightens on your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make heat coil in your stomach. He kisses you deeper, slower this time—not teasing, not rushed, just sinking into it. His mouth moves against yours like he’s savoring it, like he’s taking his time memorizing the way you taste.

Your fingers slip into his hair, tugging lightly, and he groans into your mouth, his hips shifting beneath you. His cock presses against you, hot and heavy, and you shudder, gasping softly against his lips.

Kenny exhales sharply, breaking away just enough to press his forehead against yours. His breath is warm, uneven, and his thumbs keep moving, slow and deliberate against your skin. His voice comes out rough, husky. “You tryna start somethin’ again?”

Your pulse kicks up, heat curling low in your stomach. You still don’t know where the line is—if there even is one anymore—but you do know one thing.

You don’t want to move away from him.

Your fingers tighten in his hair. “I don’t know,” you whisper, voice barely above a breath. “Are you?”

Kenny’s smirk flickers back into place, lazy and sharp. His grip on you tightens, his hips shifting up just enough for you to feel the thick press of him against you, no layers left between you now.

“You already fuckin’ know the answer to that, babe.”

You giggle nervously, hands gripping the sheets, heat crawling up your neck. You don’t dare look at him, too overwhelmed by how solid he feels between your thighs, how steady his hands are on your hips—like he’s keeping you grounded when your head is spinning.

Kenny watches you closely. He knows you too well, knows every little nervous tic, every way you try to hide when you’re overwhelmed. His fingers flex against your skin, rough and warm, not pushing, just holding.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice softer now, the teasing edge gone. “You good?”

You swallow hard, nodding once, but Kenny doesn’t buy it. His thumbs drag slow, lazy circles over your hips, a silent reassurance.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m not,” you mutter, but your voice wavers, your breath catching when his grip tightens just slightly.

Kenny exhales through his nose, amused but careful. “Bullshit.”

You shift under him, chewing the inside of your cheek. You don’t even know why you’re nervous—not really. You and Kenny have done plenty already. You’ve kissed him, let him touch you, let him guide you through things you never thought you’d do. You’ve had him in your mouth, had his hands all over you, had your lips wrapped around his in ways that weren’t exactly innocent.

His smirk twitches at the corner, but it’s not mocking. It’s knowing. He leans in, pressing a lazy kiss to your jaw, then lower, nipping just enough to make you gasp. “You think I don’t know the difference between you faking confidence and actually having it?” His voice is low, teasing, but gentle. “I’ve had your mouth on me, and you were still shy about it. You really think I don’t know when you’re nervous?”

Your stomach flips, face burning. “Jesus Christ, Kenny.”

He laughs, a warm rumble against your throat, but his hands stay where they are, thumbs brushing slow, steady circles into your hips. “Nothing wrong with being nervous.” He exhales, dipping his head lower, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, then lower still. “Just want to make sure you want this.”

You do. You really do.

You exhale shakily, your fingers tightening in the sheets. “I do,” you whisper, and it’s embarrassing how breathless you sound, how wrecked you already feel before he’s even done anything.

Kenny groans softly, his breath hot against your skin. “Then let me make it good for you.”

You smile weakly at him and press a quick, soft kiss to his jaw. His stubble scrapes lightly against your lips, grounding you for just a second, but the nervous energy buzzing under your skin won’t settle. Your fingers twitch, fidgeting with the cuffs of your long-sleeve shirt, still bunched awkwardly around your neck, your tits spilling from your bra. The fabric feels like it doesn’t belong anymore, clinging in all the wrong places, but you don’t know whether to tug it off or leave it.

Kenny watches you carefully, his hands still resting on your hips, fingers twitching slightly. He’s waiting for you to move first. His eyes flick over your face, your bare skin, the way your chest rises and falls in uneven breaths. He’s letting you take control, as much as he clearly wants to take it from you.

You shift off his lap, moving onto the pillows, your back pressing against the mattress. The sheets are warm beneath you, carrying the lingering heat of your own body, but they do nothing to stop the way you feel completely exposed now. You inhale slowly, staring up at the ceiling, at the glow-in-the-dark stars scattered unevenly across the paint. Some are peeling, barely clinging on, tiny faded flecks against a dark canvas. You used to trace them with your fingers as a kid, lying here beside Kenny after long nights of sneaking around South Park, talking about everything and nothing. It was easier then. It wasn’t like this.

Your fingers twist into the sheets, your stomach coiling tight, and then—quietly, barely above a whisper—you ask, “Do you have a condom?”

For a second, he doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe, like he wasn’t expecting you to say it out loud. Then, he exhales, a long, slow breath, and when you finally force yourself to glance at him, his eyes lock onto yours. They’re darker now, heavier, the teasing glint in them replaced by something deeper—focus, intensity, maybe even something close to disbelief. Not that he doesn’t want this. Not that he doesn’t need this. But like he’s waiting for you to change your mind.

“Yeah,” he says after a beat, his voice rough, lower than before. “Yeah, I got one.”

You nod, swallowing thickly, your pulse thudding against your ribs.

Kenny doesn’t move right away, doesn’t go reaching for his jeans or scrambling for his wallet. Instead, he shifts onto his elbows, hovering over you, pressing his weight into the mattress beside you. His fingers brush your cheek, slow and deliberate, tilting your face toward him.

“You sure?” His voice is quieter now, steady, his breath fanning against your lips. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you cut in quickly, your own voice shaky but firm. Your hands find his shoulders, your fingers curling against the bare skin, feeling the warmth beneath your palms. “I just…” You pause, your throat tightening, and then force yourself to meet his gaze. “I just don’t know what I’m doing.”

Kenny blinks. Then—he smiles. Not a smirk, not a teasing grin, but something softer. Something real.

“That’s okay,” he murmurs, thumb stroking lightly over your cheekbone. “I do.”

Heat floods your chest, spreading up your neck, wrapping around your ribs, making it feel hard to breathe. Kenny leans down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead before shifting back, reaching toward his discarded jeans. You watch as he digs into his wallet, pulling out a condom, rolling it between his fingers before tossing the wallet aside.

He glances at you again, scanning your face, waiting for even the tiniest hesitation. You don’t move. Don’t stop him. So he tears open the foil packet, rolling the condom on with practiced ease, his breath steady, his hands sure.

Then he moves over you again, pressing his weight against you, his forearms bracing on either side of your head. His skin is warm, his scent thick in the air—faint sweat, cheap soap, cigarettes lingering beneath it all.

“You good?” he asks again, his nose brushing against yours.

You nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

His hands slide down, fingers gripping your thighs, spreading them apart with an easy familiarity. His touch is steadier now, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you there like he’s making sure you don’t slip away from him. He moves carefully, lining himself up, the thick heat of him pressing against you, not pushing in yet, just there, waiting.

Your whole body tenses, your breath catching, your fingers digging into his arms. Kenny stills immediately.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your cheek. “Look at me.”

You do. Slowly, your eyes flutter open, locking onto his. He holds your gaze, his own steady, reassuring, no teasing left in him now.

“We’ll go slow,” he says, voice soft but sure. “I got you.”

You bite your lip, your fingers tightening against his arms, nerves twisting tight in your stomach. His body is warm over you, solid and steady, and the way he’s looking at you—patient, but sharp, like he can see right through you—makes you feel both safe and like you’re going to fall apart all at once.

“…Will it hurt?” you whisper.

Kenny’s lips twitch, and for a second, you think he’s going to say something smart, something cocky, but when he sees the way your brows are pinched, the hesitation in your eyes, the teasing dies before it reaches his mouth.

“A little,” he admits, his voice dropping lower. His hands skim up your sides, thumbs stroking slow, lazy circles against your ribs, trying to settle you. “But we’ll take our time. And if it’s too much, we stop, no question.”

You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat. His words help, but the nerves don’t disappear. Kenny sees it. Of course, he does. His smirk softens, and he dips down, pressing a slow, wet kiss to your throat, then lower, lips brushing against the curve of your shoulder, the center of your chest.

“You trust me, yeah?” His breath is warm, teasing over your skin.

You nod, fingers fisting in the sheets. “Yeah.”

Kenny hums, satisfied, and leans back, one hand trailing down between your thighs, fingers teasing at your entrance. “Try to relax, baby,” he murmurs, voice dropping to something deeper, something smoother. “You’re already so fuckin’ tight. Don’t wanna break you.”

You inhale sharply, your whole body flushing with heat, and Kenny grins, but there’s something careful under it—like he’s gauging your reaction. He drags his fingers through your slick, teasing, pressing the tip inside for just a second before pulling back. “See? Already openin’ up for me.” He presses his lips to your jaw, voice dipping lower, rougher. “Gonna take me so good.”

Your breath stutters, and before you can second-guess yourself, you shift your hips, guiding him where you want him. Kenny groans, low and wrecked, his grip flexing against your waist.

“Impatient now, huh?” he murmurs, amusement flickering through his tone. “Thought you were all nervous, and now you’re tryin’ to fuck yourself on my dick.”

You whimper, embarrassment and frustration curling hot in your stomach. “Kenny.”

He exhales sharply, his teasing smile twitching. “Alright, alright, I got you,” he mutters, shifting his weight, his free hand cupping your cheek for just a second before sliding down your body. “Breathe for me, okay?”

You barely have time to nod before you feel him press in.

The stretch is immediate—sharp and foreign, burning in a way that makes your whole body tense up. It’s too much, too thick, like he’s splitting you open inch by inch, and your breath catches, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

Kenny stills instantly. “Shit—you gotta relax,” he murmurs, his hands gripping your waist.

Your throat tightens, your chest rising and falling too fast. The sting doesn’t ease, just sits there, deep and aching, and you squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head.

“Kenny, it—it hurts.” Your voice wobbles, and you don’t mean to, but you turn your face into the pillow, squeezing out a choked, quiet sob.

Kenny freezes. For a second, everything is completely still.

And then—his weight shifts, and you feel him everywhere. His hands slide up your arms, coaxing them away from where you’ve curled in on yourself. He presses his forehead to yours, breathing slow and deep, trying to get you to match him.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, lower, like he’s trying to anchor you. “It’s okay. I got you. You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good.”

Your breath shudders, your fingers tightening against his arms. You blink up at him, your vision wet, and Kenny curses under his breath, his thumb catching a stray tear before it can slide down your cheek.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he mutters, pressing another slow, deliberate kiss to your temple. “Didn’t mean to make you cry.” His voice is softer now, almost hesitant. “You want me to stop?”

You shake your head quickly, your grip flexing on his shoulders. “No—no, I just…” You sniffle, embarrassed, dragging a shaky hand down your face. “Just—give me a second.”

Kenny exhales, relief flickering across his face, and then he’s kissing you again—slow and lingering, distracting, like he’s trying to pull you away from the discomfort. His fingers stroke over your waist, your thighs, warm and steady, keeping you grounded.

The pain is still there, but it’s dulling now, your body slowly adjusting, and when you shift your hips, testing, the burn fades just slightly.

Kenny groans, low in his throat. “Jesus fuck,” he mutters, his voice tight, his hands flexing against you. “You feel so good. So fuckin’ warm.”

Your stomach clenches at the rasp in his voice, the way his breath is uneven against your skin. He’s holding back, you realize. He’s shaking with it, barely keeping himself still, waiting for you.

You exhale shakily, tilting your head to press a kiss to his jaw. “You can move,” you whisper.

Kenny swears softly, his head dipping to your shoulder, his breath stuttering out. “Fuck—” His grip tightens, and he pulls back just barely, then pushes in again, slow, careful, but deeper this time.

Your breath catches. It still aches, but now there’s warmth under it, heat curling through your stomach. Your fingers claw at his back, your thighs tightening around his hips.

Kenny watches you closely, his blue eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his breath uneven. “That better?”

You nod quickly, your lips parting. “Yeah.”

His grin flickers back, lazy but pleased. “Knew you’d like it.”

He thrusts again, just a little harder, and the pleasure sparks, spreading through you like a slow burn. Your head tips back, your breath coming faster, and Kenny groans, ducking down to mouth at your throat.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” he mutters, his voice rough, strained. “Squeezin’ me so good. Can’t believe no one’s ever had this pussy before.”

Your stomach flips, heat pooling between your legs at his words. He knows exactly what he’s doing—knows his voice alone is enough to wreck you. Your nails dig into his skin, your breath coming faster.

Kenny grins against your neck, his hands flexing against your hips. “Makin’ all these sweet little noises for me,” he murmurs, his pace picking up just slightly. “You like bein’ my girl, huh? Bein’ the only one I’ve ever fucked like this?”

Your breath stutters, your body clenching around him, and Kenny groans, his rhythm faltering for just a second. “Shit—yeah, just like that.”

He fucks into you deeper, his weight pressing you into the mattress, and everything turns hazy, hot, the pleasure twisting in your gut. Kenny’s hands grip your thighs, his lips dragging over your skin, murmuring filth between soft, teasing kisses.

“Gonna take such good care of you,” he breathes, his voice low, hoarse. “Fuck you nice and slow ‘til you can’t feel anything but me.”

And God—he is. You’re so full, stretched around the thick length of him, your body molding to his like you were made for this, made to take him. The ache that lingered when he first pushed in has faded completely, replaced with a deeper, rolling pleasure that spreads through your limbs, settling hot in your stomach with every slow thrust of his hips. He keeps talking, keeps whispering against your skin, voice rough and unrestrained, a steady stream of praise and filth that has your pulse hammering.

“Look at you, babe,” he mutters, dragging his teeth along the curve of your jaw. “So fuckin’ tight, takin’ me so good. Goddamn.” His hands flex at your waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips like he’s grounding himself, like he’s forcing himself to keep from losing control completely. He moves slow, agonizingly so, hips rolling in a way that lets you feel every inch of him dragging along your walls before he sinks in again, burying himself to the hilt. It’s steady, deliberate, making you feel all of it—how thick he is, how deep he’s pressing, how wet you are around him.

It’s good. So fucking good. But it’s not enough.

You bite your lip, heat crawling up your neck, embarrassment tingling under your skin even as you bring your hands up to his face, cupping his jaw. His stubble is rough against your palms, his lips parted, his breathing heavy, warm. His eyes are locked onto you, heavy-lidded and burning, pupils blown wide with hunger. He looks wrecked already, sweat dampening his blond hair, strands sticking to his forehead. The sight of him like this, flushed and desperate, sends another pulse of heat straight through you.

You offer him a shaky smile, feeling vulnerable but unable to hold it back. Kenny blinks, his expression shifting for just a second, something softer flickering behind his usual cocky grin. He huffs a breathless laugh, smirking as he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

And then—before your nerves get the best of you—you ask, barely above a whisper, “Can you go faster?” Your voice wavers, shy but certain. “It’s just… it feels really good.”

Kenny freezes.

His cock twitches inside you, and his fingers tighten, his grip turning almost bruising as he drags you down harder against him. His breath leaves him in a sharp exhale, his entire body tense like he’s fighting to keep himself in check. His smirk flickers—there, then gone—before his expression turns darker, more intense, his jaw clenching.

“Fuckin’ hell, babe,” he breathes, voice hoarse, thick with something raw. “You gotta be real careful askin’ me shit like that.” His fingers flex against your waist, holding you still, his cock pulsing inside you. “You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me.”

The weight of his words presses into you, heat curling low in your stomach. You do know. You can see it in the way his body trembles, the way he’s holding himself back, restraint evident in the tautness of his muscles, the uneven rhythm of his breath.

He shifts his weight, pressing his forearms into the mattress beside your head, his body caging you in. He holds your gaze as he pulls out slow—so slow it’s maddening—letting you feel the full stretch of him before he slams back in, hips snapping forward in a sudden, punishing thrust.

The force knocks the breath from your lungs. Your mouth parts on a strangled gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders, fingers clawing at his back. The way he fills you, the way he grinds so deep, has your legs tightening around him, your body instinctively pulling him closer.

Kenny chuckles, breathless but smug, his lips brushing against your ear. “You want it faster?” His voice is low, teasing, but rough with need. He rolls his hips again, slower this time, drawing it out just to make you whimper before snapping forward again, making your entire body jolt. 

He picks up the pace, fucking into you harder now, abandoning the slow, careful rhythm in favor of something rougher, something that sends sparks of pleasure racing up your spine with every sharp thrust. His hands are everywhere—gripping your thighs, spreading you open wider, keeping you pinned beneath him as he fucks you into the mattress.

“You like that, huh?” His breath is hot against your neck, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Like gettin’ fucked like this? Like bein’ stuffed full of my cock?”

You moan, fingers digging into his shoulders, unable to hold back. Your body is hypersensitive, every inch of you attuned to him, to the way he moves inside you, the way he presses against you like he never wants to let go.

Kenny groans, dragging his teeth along your throat before biting down, just enough to make you gasp. “Goddamn,” he mutters, pulling back to look at you, his expression wrecked, desperate. “You feel so fuckin’ good. So goddamn wet for me.”

His pace is relentless now, deep, grinding thrusts that have you panting, squirming, your legs trembling from the intensity of it. His hands slip under your thighs, hooking your legs over his arms, folding you open so he can get even deeper.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hips stuttering for half a second before he regains control. “Look at you, babe—spread out for me, takin’ it so fuckin’ good.”

The shift in angle has you seeing stars, the pressure so perfect, so overwhelming that you can’t stop the sounds spilling from your lips—breathless moans, needy whimpers, his name tangled in every exhale. Kenny eats it up, groaning at the way you clench around him, his own breaths growing rough, uneven.

“Shit, you’re squeezin’ me so tight,” he grits out, his grip on your thighs tightening. “Like you don’t wanna let me go.”

He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath fanning across your lips as he keeps fucking you, the slick sound of it obscene in the quiet room. “You like this, don’t you?” His tone is smug, but there’s a raw edge to it, a desperation creeping in. “Like havin’ my cock buried deep inside you, stretchin’ you out, makin’ you mine.”

You whimper, nodding frantically, too far gone to feel embarrassed about how wrecked you sound.

Kenny grins, groaning as he thrusts harder, his pace quickening just slightly. “Yeah, you do,” he mutters, pressing a messy kiss to your lips, swallowing your moans. “Fuckin’ knew you would.”

Your nails rake down his back, your thighs trembling, the heat in your stomach burning hotter, winding tighter, threatening to snap. Kenny feels it—feels the way your body starts to tighten, how your breathing turns erratic.

He tilts his head, lips parting as he watches you. You’re close. He can see it written all over you—the way your lashes flutter, the way your fingers clutch at his arms like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered. Your body is trembling beneath him, your chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths.

"You don’t gotta hold back, sweetheart," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I got you. Just let go for me, yeah?"

He shifts, angling his hips just right, rolling into you deep, slow but deliberate, hitting that spot that makes your whole body jolt. His hands roam over you, sliding up your sides, feeling every little tremble, every twitch of your muscles as you tip over the edge.

"Kenny—oh, fuck—"

Your voice catches, your breath stuttering, and then—you break.

Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, stealing the air from your lungs. Your whole body tightens, your thighs trembling around his hips, your fingers clutching at his back as you moan against his skin. He groans low in his throat as he feels you clench around him, his pace faltering for just a second as he buries himself deep, letting you ride it out.

"That’s my girl," he breathes, his lips brushing against your jaw, your cheek, anywhere he can reach. "Fuck, you’re so goddamn perfect. Feels so fuckin’ good, baby."

His hands smooth over your thighs, your stomach, his touch warm and reverent, tracing lazy circles over your skin, coaxing you through the aftershocks. He doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t let the pleasure fade just yet—he keeps rocking into you, deep and steady, riding the high with you, drawing out every last shiver.

You gasp, still reeling, body sensitive and buzzing. Kenny presses his forehead to yours, his breath mingling with yours, his lips ghosting over your mouth, your nose, murmuring sweet praises between kisses.

"Goddamn," he whispers, nipping at your bottom lip. "You got no idea how fuckin’ good you feel. Gonna make me lose my goddamn mind."

You exhale shakily, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging lightly, pulling him closer. He grins against your skin, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your throat.

"You okay, sweetheart?" he murmurs, dragging his nose along your jaw. "Not too much?"

You shake your head quickly, breathless, still floating, still warm. "I’m good," you whisper, voice hoarse but certain. "So good."

Kenny smiles, his hands slipping beneath your knees, adjusting the angle, shifting deeper. You shudder at the feeling, the stretch, the warmth still smoldering in your stomach.

"Yeah?" His voice is softer now, but still thick with desire. "Think you can give me one more?"

His thumb strokes over your hip, his lips brushing your ear. "Bet I can make you cum again, baby," he murmurs, kissing just below your jaw. "Wanna feel you fall apart for me one more time."

You whimper, nodding, already feeling the heat coil again, already wanting more.

Kenny groans, kissing you slow and deep as he rolls his hips, sinking into you again, starting to move just a little faster, a little rougher, pulling another breathless moan from your lips.

"That’s my girl," he whispers. "Let me take care of you."

Heat spreads up your neck, pooling in your cheeks, your entire body buzzing from his words. You whine softly, tucking your face against his shoulder, overwhelmed by how good he’s making you feel—how gentle he is despite how deep, how thick he is inside you. Your childhood best friend—now your boyfriend—fucking you like he worships you, like he’s waited just as long as you have for this. It makes your chest ache, your stomach tighten, the intimacy almost too much to take.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer, needing more. Your arms loop around his neck, holding onto him, your fingers tangling in the damp, messy strands of his hair. He groans at the way you squeeze around him, his pace stuttering for half a second before he finds it again, thrusting slow and deep, dragging every inch of himself out before sinking back in, stretching you all over again.

“Kenny,” you whisper against his skin, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, down his neck. “I want you to cum.”

A rough groan punches out of his chest, his fingers tightening at your hips. “Fuck, babe,” he mutters, his breath shuddering against your cheek. “Tryna make me lose my mind?”

You moan in response, tilting your head to suck at the sensitive skin beneath his ear, marking him up just like he did to you. His hips jerk, his rhythm faltering for just a second before he growls low in his throat, snapping his hips a little harder, a little rougher. You gasp, clutching onto him, the change in pace sending heat licking up your spine.

You feel him everywhere—his weight pressing you into the mattress, his hands gripping your body like he never wants to let go, the way his cock drags against that spot inside you with every roll of his hips, making your breath stutter, your thighs tremble around him.

And you want more.

You meet him halfway, rolling your hips up to match his thrusts, your body instinctively chasing the heat building between you. Kenny swears under his breath, dropping his head to your shoulder, his hands sliding down to grab handfuls of your ass, gripping tight as he fucks into you deeper, harder.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans, his voice rough, wrecked. “Keep fuckin’ yourself on me like that.”

His words send a shiver through you, your nails dragging down his back, desperate to hold onto him. “Kenny—”

“I got you,” he rasps, kissing you again, swallowing the moan that spills from your lips. His tongue slides against yours, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before pulling back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes dark and blown wide. “You’re so fuckin’ good for me.”

Your stomach tightens at the praise, heat spreading through your body, making you move faster, grinding up against him, wanting to make him feel just as good as he’s making you feel.

“Shit,” Kenny hisses, his grip flexing against your ass. “You’re gonna make me fuckin’ cum.”

“Please,” you breathe, dragging your lips along his throat, sucking another bruise into his skin. “I wanna feel you.”

A deep, guttural groan rumbles from his chest, his pace turning rougher, more erratic, the heat between you burning hotter, sharper, making your whole body tremble. You can feel it, how close he is, how he’s barely holding himself back.

“Kenny,” you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Cum for me.”

His body shudders, his breath catching, and he groans your name like a prayer. His hips snap against yours, sharp and desperate, his hands gripping you so tight you know you’ll feel it tomorrow. You whine, arching against him, gasping as he buries himself deep, his whole body tensing before he finally lets go.

You feel it—the way his cock throbs inside you, the thick pulse of his release filling the condom, the warmth of him even through the barrier. His muscles lock up, his breath leaving him in a sharp, ragged exhale, forehead pressed to your collarbone as he rides it out. His fingers flex against your waist, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

A heavy silence settles between you, broken only by the sound of your breathing. His chest rises and falls against yours, the heat of his body soaking into your skin. His weight presses you into the mattress, grounding you, keeping you right there with him.

His arms tighten around you, but he doesn’t move to pull out yet. Instead, he exhales against your neck, his breath still uneven, warm and damp as it ghosts over your skin. His hair sticks to his forehead, the strands tickling your cheek, but you don’t push him away.

You stare at the ceiling, trying to process everything at once. The glow-in-the-dark stars still cling to the paint, faded from years of use, scattered unevenly like a sky full of dying light. They’re the same as they’ve always been, and yet, everything feels different now.

Kenny McCormick is your boyfriend.

Your best friend. The same Kenny you grew up with, the same one who used to steal your fries when you weren’t looking, who made you laugh until you couldn’t breathe, who always had your back no matter what. And now—now he’s here, wrapped around you, his cock still buried inside you, his lips brushing against your neck like he belongs there.

Your chest tightens, but not with panic. There’s warmth in it, deep and slow, spreading through your ribs like embers catching fire.

Kenny groans, low and lazy, and nuzzles closer. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice rough, barely above a breath. “I think you just killed me.”

A weak laugh escapes you, fingers twitching against his back as you drag them up, tangling into his hair. “You’re still breathing.”

His lips curl against your throat, a slow, lazy grin. “Barely.”

His arms stay locked around you, his body heavy, his breath steadying against your skin. He’s not in a hurry to move, and for once, neither are you. His fingers stroke over your hip, tracing slow, aimless shapes, warm and reassuring.

After a moment, he shifts just enough to lift his head, his eyes locking onto yours. They’re darker now, still hooded from the afterglow, but softer, like he’s looking at something—someone—important. His usual smirk is there, but it’s different, lazy and satisfied instead of cocky. His fingers skim your shoulder, brushing over the fresh marks he left behind, his touch slow, deliberate.

His gaze lingers on them, something flickering behind his expression, and his smirk deepens. His thumb presses into one of the bruises, just enough to make you shiver.

“Shit,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. “Look at you.” His voice drops, thick with satisfaction, his lips brushing against your jaw. “All mine.”

Heat floods your face. Your breath catches, and for a second, you forget how to speak. The weight of his words sinks into you, deeper than his hands, deeper than his body still pressing you into the sheets.

You swallow hard, fingers still tangled in his hair, your nails scraping lightly against his scalp. He hums in approval, tilting his head into your touch, his smirk curling wider. His eyes flick up to meet yours, watching you carefully, drinking in your expression, waiting to see if you’ll deny it.

You don’t.

Kenny grins, slow and lazy, before leaning in, his lips brushing over yours like a secret. His mouth is still swollen from kissing you raw, still tastes like everything you just did together—like heat and sweat and the salt of his skin. The kiss is softer this time, unhurried, the kind that lingers, the kind that says more than either of you know how to put into words.

You melt into it, sighing against his lips, the corners of your mouth twitching up in a smile. He feels it, you know he does, because you can feel him smile too, lips curving as he deepens the kiss just slightly. The warmth of him settles over you, all-consuming without being overwhelming, a weight you don’t mind carrying.

When you finally break apart, your fingers trail absently along his shoulder, tracing the curve of his collarbone, the damp skin of his back. You’re both still catching your breath, still tangled together, bodies flush, skin damp. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it hums with unspoken thoughts, the reality of what just happened creeping in at the edges.

Your stomach twists—not with regret, not even with doubt, but with the sheer weight of it. The line between friends and lovers has blurred, smudged beyond recognition, and there’s no pretending it doesn’t matter.

Your fingers tighten against his skin. “…What are we gonna tell the guys?”

Kenny blinks, caught off guard for half a second, before a slow smirk spreads across his face. “Shit, I dunno,” he says, voice rough around the edges, still hazy from pleasure. “Kinda wanna just show up holdin’ hands and let ‘em lose their fuckin’ minds.”

A breathless laugh escapes you, and you shake your head, the image of it flashing behind your eyelids—Kyle’s immediate demand for an explanation, Stan’s barely-contained surprise, Cartman’s inevitable shit-eating grin. You can already hear the smug, drawn-out I fucking knew it he’d throw in your face.

Kenny’s fingers skim along your side, lazy and absentminded, like he’s committing the feel of you to memory.

“Unless…” He tilts his head, voice quieter now, more deliberate. “Unless you don’t wanna tell ‘em yet.”

You hesitate, not because you’re unsure of this—of him—but because it feels like something you want to keep to yourself, at least for a little while longer. There’s a selfish kind of intimacy in it, in the knowledge that for now, this is just yours and his, untouched by the outside world.

“I do,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers slide into his hair, smoothing back the strands that cling to his forehead, still damp from sweat. “I just… kinda like it being ours for now.”

Kenny watches you closely, that usual cocky grin softening at the edges. His fingers flex against your waist, just slightly, grounding you, holding onto you like he’s making sure you don’t slip away. He nods, just once, but his expression says more than words ever could.

His lips part, like he’s about to say something serious, maybe something important, but before he can get a single word out, the door slams open so hard it rattles the walls.

"AHAHAHAHA! PAY UP, BITCHES!"

Cartman stands there, holding his phone out like he just caught the crime of the century. His face is split into a shit-eating grin, his other hand dramatically pressed over his mouth in fake shock. He doesn’t even hesitate before snapping a photo.

Kenny barely even lifts his head from where he’s still sprawled over you, his bare skin warm against yours. He blinks, unimpressed. "You fucking serious right now?"

Cartman cackles, already tapping at his phone. "I fucking knew it!" He’s not even talking to you—he’s on FaceTime, his phone angled just enough for you to catch Kyle’s scowling face on the screen. "Look at ‘em, tell me they didn’t just fuck! I win, bitches! Hand it over, I want my money tonight!"

Kyle groans. "Cartman, what the actual fuck—why are you even there?"

"Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I was being a good friend and forced them to make up!" Cartman shoves the phone closer, like he’s making a goddamn documentary. "You see this? This is the face of victory, gentlemen."

"Jesus Christ," Stan’s voice cuts in, followed by the sound of a palm smacking a forehead. "Dude, hang up, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? You doubted me! You all doubted me! But now I have undeniable proof that these two horny degenerates—"

"CARTMAN!" Kyle barks. "HANG. UP."

Kenny groans into your shoulder, his whole body shaking, not with anger, but with barely restrained laughter. "Dude, just get the fuck out."

Cartman scoffs. "Pfft. Fine. You’re lucky I’m feeling generous, Kinny." He pulls the phone back to his own face. "Alright, losers, I’ll be expecting my money by the end of the night, or I’m doubling your debt. Later, virgins."

And just like that, he’s gone, slamming the door behind him, his laughter echoing down the hall.

Silence settles over the room. You and Kenny just stare at each other, exhausted, tangled together, your bodies still warm from everything you just did.

And then, somehow, it’s funny. The sheer absurdity of it, the fact that of course Cartman would bet on your love life and of course he would crash this moment just to gloat about it.

You snort first, and then Kenny’s grinning, shaking his head, and before you know it, you’re both laughing. It’s breathless, ridiculous, delirious, your shoulders shaking as Kenny presses his forehead to yours, his body still heavy on top of you.

"Our secret, huh?" he murmurs, lips brushing against yours.

You huff, nudging his shoulder. "Shut up."

luv u kenny <3

event masterlist | part one | part two

[quodekash]

CONTINUING EPISODE 5

sorry bro, she's into women

which is totally fair, have you SEEN women????

she's AGGRESSIVELY trying to communicate her love of women with him

HES SO JEALOUS THIS IS HILARIOUS

(its reminding me of sound getting really angry when pat suggests that tiw might like win)

(I PHYSICALLY CANNOT STOP TALKING ABOUT THE SATANG AND PERTH SIBLINGS AGENDA, IM SORRY (im not sorry))

IT'S SO CUTE OH MY GOSH

I LOVE

LMAO

NICE ONE

OML

IM WHEEZING

I THINK HE DREW HIM AS HANDSOME SQUIDWARD

THIS IS THE FUNNIEST THING IVE EVER SEEN

IM DYING

THE RESEMBLANCE IS UNCANNY

OML ITS 1 IN THE MORNING I NEED TO BE QUIET AND NOT WAKE EVERYONE UP BUT IM LAUGHING SO HARD

it's been over three minutes straight of me just laughing at this

im losing my mind

EVERY TIME I THINK IVE CALMED DOWN, I OPEN UP THE YOUTUBE TAB AGAIN, AND THEN IT BRINGS ANOTHER BURST OF LAUGHTER

I quite literally laughed about the handsome squidward drawing for nearly 5 whole minutes

OH MY GOODNESS

AND HE GETS A BASKETBALL THROWN AT HIM????

ARE WE ABOUT TO GET GUYNAWA CONTENT AS WELL???

WHEN I THOUGHT THIS EPISODE COULDNT GET ANY BETTER OMG

THEY ARE FLIRTING

TAKE NOTES, GUYS, THIS IS FLIRTING

i... have never been flirted with before. nor have I ever flirted with someone before. (at least to my knowledge)

BUT THEYRE FLIRTING GUYS THYERE FLIRTING

oh you wanna make out with him so bad

THEYRE FLIRTING SO HARD

THEYRE JUST TRYNA GET EACH OTHER'S ATTENTION

JUST MAKE OUT GUYS, ITLL BE A MORE PRODUCTIVE USE OF YOUR TIME

PO4ENKWGOPILVJWENJKGSVOJW3E4HIBSJGJPOINVOP4JWEOPINSGD

THEY SHOOK HANDS

THEIR HANDS ARE HOLDING EACH OTHER

ALSO: THEY HAVE TO BE NICE TO EACH OTHER FOR AT LEAST A WHILE

AND THEN THEYRE GONNA GET USED TO BEING NICE TO EACH OTHER WITH THE FRIENDLY BANTER THROWN IN THERE FOR SPICE

AND THEN THEYRE GONNA MAKE OUT OR SMTH

WOAH

W O A H

WOAH BUDDY

I COULD FEEL THE SEXUAL TENSION OF THAT THROUGH THE SCREEN

they just need to slap their bodies against each other (clothes optional)

THE HEAD TILT

HES SO ATTENTIVE

LOOK AT THE LONGING LOVING STARE

I have no idea who this is.

but I am very much in love with her

the amount that he cares about him is literally insane and its making me insane

THE LOCKS

OH MY GOODNESS

aw nooo sailom is sad bc he knows kang likes pimfah :(

WHAT DOES HE NEED TO DO

IS HE GONNA PUT UP HIS OWN LOCK???

IS HE GONNA PUT UP HIS OWN LOCK AND ITLL BE LIKE LOCKED WITH SAILOMS OR SMTH?????

OMG OR MAYBE

MAYBE HE'S GONNA TRIP OVER IN THE ENGINEERING SQUARE THINGY

oh :(

but the sad piano music is playing and its showing sailom's face

im wanting to think that sailom's gonna turn around bc he's sad, and as soon as he starts walking away, kang's gonna suddenly have a realisation and he'll change his mind and he'll put the lock with sailom's, but im definitely delusional

what.

hang on

im so confused right now

she... likes sailom?

what?????

I-

wh

what????

I wasn't expecting a love triangle like this???

IM LITERALLY SO CONFUSED WHAT IS GOING ON

GIVE ME ANSWERS BITCH

dude.

DUDE.

D U D E

THE WAY THAT YOU'RE LOOKING AT HIM RN??????

ITS MAKING ME EVEN MORE CONFUSED

D U D E

YOU'RE FOCUSSING SO MUCH ON HIS LIPS THERE HAD TO BE A ZOOM IN SHOT

THERE IS NO HETERO EXPLANATION

I WAS SO SURE KANG WOULD REALISE HIS FEELINGS TODAY BUT ITS JUST GOTTEN SO BLINDINGLY OBVIOUS TO EVERYONE EXCEPT HIM

O K A Y

OKAYOKAYOKAYOKAYOKAYOKAY

OKAY

ITS ALL GOOD

THANK GOODNESS

SO HE'S GONNA *PROPERLY* REALISE HIS FEELINGS NEXT WEEK AND HES GONNA DANCE AROUND TELLING HIM FOR THE ENTIRE EPISODE AND THEN THEYRE GONNA KISS AT THE END GJREKDBG I CANT WAIT

im so proud of myself for being right about that. I predicted that they're gonna kiss next week. im so freaking awesome

in other news: I am not okay

IN OTHER OTHER NEWS: IT'S ONLY 1:45AM TODAY AND IVE ALREADY FINISHED, IM DOING BETTER THAN I DID LAST WEEK

goodnight folks, and keep breathing drts

peace out ✌️

[freensrcha]

Episode 2: The Temporary Chicken Rice

MIDNIGHT SERIES: MOONLIGHT CHICKEN (dir. Aof Noppharnach)

[elliesguitarstrings]

Just Friends

Masterlist

Pairing: Tom Holland x Actress!Reader

Summary: You and Tom haven’t seen each other since filming Uncharted, and you decide to surprise him at his Jimmy Kimmel interview. Although you’ve always been “just friends,” you can’t help but think there’s something more.

A/N: Hey y’all sorry it’s been a few days since I last posted, I’ve just been super stressed with school and stuff, but I actually really like this fic and I hope you guys like it too!

Warnings: Language, fluff, angst if you squint

WC: 2.4k

~~~~~~~~

It’s been months since you and Tom last saw each other in person.

While filming Uncharted, the two of you had become extremely close, hanging out in each other’s trailers and spending all of your free time together. In such a short period, you had become best friends, but neither of you could deny the spark of something more. Unfortunately, the two of you never got to explore that spark because of the short time limit. After wrapping, you and Tom went your separate ways, him to Atlanta to film Spiderman 3, and you back to your hometown for a well-deserved break.

That doesn’t mean you two haven’t stayed in contact though. You and Tom have texted and facetimed almost every day since you parted ways, or as much as his busy filming schedule allows. Throughout this time, however, you never seemed to discuss the obvious love connection between you two. Without actually speaking about it, you both seemed to agree that that conversation would be better to have in person.

This bring us to today, where Tom is backstage at Jimmy Kimmel, anxiously waiting for his interview segment of the show. He picks up his phone and decides to text you before he goes on to settle his nerves, wishing you were here to comfort him in person.

T: Are you watching the show yet?

Y: yep I already have my tv turned to abc! are you going on soon?

T: Yeah, I’m so nervous though

Y: why? you’ve been on the show before and you’re like amazing at interviews

T: Idk, Jimmy just said “be ready for a surprise” and he looked really suspicious so I’m scared

T: I just hope they don’t bring like Jennifer Aniston out or something because I would totally freeze and make a fool out of myself

Y: lmao that would be kinda funny tho, but I’m sure you have nothing to worry about

T: Okay we’ll see haha

T: Gtg I’m on in 10, I’ll facetime you after I’m done!

Y: kk, good luck tommy :)

T: Ahh thank you!!

What Tom doesn’t know is that you are ten times more nervous than him. While he’s under the impression that you’re sitting on your living room couch watching the show, you are actually in the dressing room down the hall from him.

Last month, when Tom told you he was going to be on Jimmy Kimmel to promote Cherry, you had the idea to surprise him. You emailed Jimmy not expecting a response, but to your surprise, he actually emailed you back and loved your idea.

So, here you are, waiting backstage and shaking with anticipation to surprise Tom. To be completely honest, you’re even more nervous now that you know Tom is expecting some big star like Jennifer Aniston, who you know has always been his biggest celebrity crush. But nonetheless, you shake off the nerves as best as you can, just hoping everything goes well.

“Please welcome our first guest… Tom Holland everyone!” you hear Jimmy’s voice over the speaker in your dressing room.

Now that Tom is on stage, you can safely leave the room without him seeing you, and you head to the side stage, waiting for your cue.

Tom and Jimmy talk about Cherry for a few minutes, and you can’t help but admire him. His voice, his face, his outfit, everything about him is just perfect. And even better, he’s here in person, closer than he’s been to you in a long time. It takes every ounce of self-control in you to stop yourself from running onstage and hugging him now. ‘Only a minute longer,’ you tell yourself.

“So, other than Cherry, what other upcoming projects are you working on?” Jimmy inquires onstage.

Almost there…

“Well, as most of you know,” Tom addresses the audience, “I’m filming Spiderman 3 right now, which has been going brilliantly. It’s definitely going to be the best one of all the Spiderman movies I’ve done. And I just wrapped on a film called Uncharted a few months ago in Berlin, which was so much fun.”

“Ooh, Uncharted, tell us more about that!"

“Yeah, well it’s based on the video game, and I play the main character, Nathan Drake, who’s on a quest throughout the film. It’s a lot like Spiderman in a way, with all the stunts and stuff, and I think it’s going to turn out great, I can’t wait to see it finished.”

“That sounds like a lot of fun! And if I’m not mistaken, you seem to have met a certain Y/N Y/L/N while filming?”

“Oh, Y/N, yeah, she’s great,” he starts to gush, and you immediately smile, “we became friends super fast, and I miss her so much. I wish she could be here right now, but she’s watching from home actually, so hey Y/N!” he looks directly at the camera and waves, as if he’s waving to you through the screen.

That’s your cue. You tiptoe onstage behind Tom, trying your best to shush the immediate gasps from the audience.

“Well Tom,” Jimmy smiles, “I think your wish may have come true.”

“Huh?” Tom looks around, confused, until his eyes land on you, and he completely freezes.

“Hey Tom,” you smile.

“Y/N! Holy shit! You’re here, you’re actually here!” he exclaims, not caring that he just cursed on live TV.

Tom immediately springs off the couch and sprints to you, arms outstretched. As soon as he reaches you, he picks you up in a tight hug and spins you around, both of you laughing. He sets you down, but still keeps you in a tight embrace, not pulling away until neither of you can breathe. He steps backwards to take you in, still trying to fathom that you’re actually here, with him, after all this time.

“Y/N, wha-, how? I thought you were at your house!” Tom can barely form a sentence, smiling wider than ever and completely out of breath.

“Eh, my house was boring. I thought it would be more fun here with you,” you smile.

He pulls you in again, whispering, “I missed you so fucking much.”

“You have no idea,” you whisper back, resting your forehead on his.

The two of you lock eyes, and for a moment, it’s like you are the only two people in the world. You both start to lean in, lips almost touching, when Jimmy interjects.

“Alright, you two, while that was very sweet, we do still have the rest of the show to get through, so why don’t you come sit down,” Jimmy laughs, bringing you and Tom back to reality.

“Right, of course,” Tom responds, trying his best to keep cool in front of the audience.

Tom ushers you to the couch, keeping one hand on the small of your back as he follows you. He keeps his arm around you when you sit, staying as close to you as possible without raising any more suspicions from the audience.

“So, you two, huh?” Jimmy smirks.

“What? Oh, no, Jimmy, we- we’re just friends,” you laugh trying your best to hide the obvious blush on your cheeks.

“I don’t know, that seemed like a little more than just friend behavior to me over there,”

“What do you expect, I haven’t seen her in half a year!” Tom exclaims, saving you from more embarrassment.

“Okay, okay, fine. Just friends,” he turns to the camera and winks, earning laughs from the audience.

“Anyways Y/N, we already talked about Tom, so tell us about you! How was your experience filming Uncharted?” thankfully, Jimmy moves on.

“Well, up until this point I had only really done small indie films, so it was definitely a major change. But Tom was so nice in helping me and it actually turned out to be such an amazing experience, probably the most fun I’ve ever had filming a movie…”

You go on for a few more minutes, talking to Jimmy about your role in Uncharted and your career in general, exchanging small glances with Tom, who just sat back and listened, completely entranced by you.

“Alright, well thank you so much for coming Y/N, it was great to have you! I’m afraid I have to keep Tom for a few more minutes for our next segment, but you’ll have him all to yourself soon enough,” Jimmy smiles.

You laugh, “Thank you so much for having me Jimmy, it was such a pleasure!”

You stand up and hug both Jimmy and Tom, giving Tom a small peck on the cheek before you walk offstage, waving to the audience as you leave.

You smile all the way back to your dressing room, completely overjoyed that you were successful in surprising Tom. As soon as you sat down on the small couch, not even two minutes after you walked offstage, your phone starts blowing up with notifications.

You see that your best friend texted you, so you check that first.

BFF: so you and tom huh? girl why didn’t you tell me?????

Y: what no???

Y: we’re just friends!!

BFF: that’s not what literally all of twitter thinks

Y: wdym? they don’t know anything

BFF: go check rn, i’m telling you they’re going batshit crazy over you two

You check Twitter and immediately see the fans already going crazy over you and Tom.

“just friends”????? bullshit did y’all see the way they almost KISSED?????

TOM AND Y/N I SHIP I SHIP I SHIP

did y’all see the way tom looked at y/n? he’s totally in love omg

UGH I’M SO JEALOUS AKSDHJSAHDSHD I WANT TO BE Y/N SO BAD

they’re so cute help omg

THE WAY Y/N FLEW OUT TO CALIFORNIA JUST TO SURPRISE TOM??? JUST FRIENDS MY ASS

Were you really being that obvious? You quickly call your friend, looking for some advice on what to do, and she picks up right away.

“Okay you were right, they’re going absolutely insane,” you start.

“I mean what do you expect y’all almost kissed on live tv!”

“Shut up.”

“Come onnnnn Y/N, I know you like him and he obviously likes you too so just talk to him! You already know that you two would be the cutest fucking couple ever. Plus you already have the approval of twitter what more could you need?”

You laugh, but you’re still hesitant.

“I don’t know, what if he doesn’t like me back?

“HE. ALMOST. KISSED. YOU. ON. LIVE. FUCKING. TELEVISON. I THINK HE LIKES YOU BACK BITCH!”

“Okay first of all we didn’t almost kiss, and second of all I don’t want to ruin our friendship. Plus how would I even tell him?”

“Okay YES YOU DID ALMOST KISS! And this isn’t middle school! Just tell him how you feel.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Think about what?”

You whip around and see Tom standing at your dressing room door.

“Fuck I gotta call you back,” you whisper, quickly hanging up the phone.

You turn back to Tom, still standing in the doorway.

“How much of that did you hear?” you ask, blushing profusely.

“Um, all of it I think,” Tom looks down and you immediately start to freak out.

Tom, however, looks back up at you and smirks.

“So you like me huh?”

You stay silent for a moment, a billion thoughts running through your head. You contemplate denying it and staying just friends with Tom. But then you think back to what your best friend told you just a second ago.

“Just tell him how you feel.”

“Yeah Tom. I like you. And not as a friend. This isn’t really the way I intended on telling you, and I get if you don’t feel the same way, but the way I feel about you isn’t just platonic. There’s a connection between us that I felt since the day we met and I can’t help but think that you feel it too. And then today it just got, like, ten times stronger and I-“

Tom promptly cuts you off by cupping your jaw and placing his lips on yours, sending a rush throughout your entire body. His lips feel like heaven, moving ever so gently against yours, and again, it feels like you two are the only people on Earth. The kiss is warm and loving, and although it doesn’t last long, the moment has already been engraved in your mind for eternity.

He pulls back, looking into your eyes, making sure he hasn’t made a mistake, but you only stare back at him ten times more lovingly.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” he whispers.

“Me too,” you whisper back.

He takes your hands in his, “Y/N, I do feel that connection, and I want us to be more than just friends. I always have.”

As much as you are relieved that Tom feels the same way, you can’t help but worry.

“What about the distance? Are you sure we can handle that?”

“Of course we can,” Tom assures you, “I don’t care how far away we are from each other, I love you, and I’m never letting any amount of distance take that away.”

“But these past few months have been so hard without you, and we haven’t even been dating, I just- I don’t want to be apart from you anymore.”

“Then move in with me. Come to London and live with me!”

“Okay,” you grin.

“Wait, really?” Tom questions, taken aback.

“Yeah, why not? I mean, obviously we won’t be able to be together all the time because of our jobs, but it’ll be the closest thing.”

“Are you sure? That’s a big commitment to move that far.”

“I’m positive Tom. You’re my best friend, and now, I guess you’re my boyfriend,” you giggle, “I love you too, and I want to be with you, even if that means moving thousands of miles to London.”

Tom smiles, “You called me your boyfriend.”

“Shut up you dork, come here.”

You pull him in for another kiss, still feeling like you’re floating. Your lips once again move perfectly together, as if they’re made for each other. You’re completely consumed in him, and him in you, and in this moment, you know that he is the only one for you. In this moment, you know that you want to spend the rest of your life with him, and only him, and it’s the best feeling in the world.

~~~~~~~~

Taglist: add yourself to my taglist here!

Strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you :(

All: @pxkajesus @hollanddolanfangirl @roseke @agentsofparker @lifeasjazzz @damnrancidchicken @loopyolivia @iwannabekilledtwice @rafehogwarts @non-eexistent @rosiexx8 @nearlydanger9 @realityisabitch07 @midgardassassins @jbreenr @cap-marvxl @ellesmythe @deepestcolorgiantopera @that-one-person @clandestine-nerd @nevertrustapanda16 @ohabbyoh @rxmanxff @bubbleskz @quinn-spn58 @baby-pogue @strangebouquetqueen @thatforgottenangel-blog @pjmjams @tiredstudenttrinity @isabella-bby @i-will-take-care-of--you @hollandprkr @ladykxxx08 @white-wolf1940 @runawayolives @geekgirleve @thathurtbrolol @lost-girl24 @aayaissaa @heyiheardyouwereawildone36 @justafangirlduh @emistrash

[justareallyveryintelligentsystem]

not bc i dont think hes 'worthy' altho thats a different convo or that i dont like him ive thought about stev rogrs for 10 years every day counting but like what a vapid and fanservicey set of rules. not being intelligent rn this is not my sound meta analysis its just a rant but like . what do you mean the rules are 'being selfless and humble and just etc'. those apply to half the characters on screen in all those movies and if u say no then look at thor in literally all his movies . he has been egotistical childish controlling stupid aggressive desperate bumbling inadequate gullible bullheaded etc etc etc . the only time i ever consider him to be near that idea of faux 'worthiness' beyond any natural superhero plot means (''ill save the day, i dont want these people to die, ill fight'' etc aka every single character) is in thor3 with the way he talked to loki . idrm the exact words but he was essentially like ill always care about you youre my brother but i wont keep fighting for you, you've proven yourself again and again, i give up, ill let you be and i wont keep dragging you back. (also in thor 3 when he prayed). it was insanely mature and was definitely a peak mcu moment for me but its not like other characters havent had that level of maturity either, in little bits, just like it was a little bit for thor. idk thats what i find funny ig because like, if thor were a genuine utmost representation of worthiness hed be a boring character, so i dont fault it-- absolute purity, moral enlightenment, okay okay, we need flaws and tensions. but it just clearly proves that hes exactly as ''worthy'' as every single character on screen that isnt a villain (bc marvel is simple in the end lmfao).

never watched avengers 3 and 4 mainly for my own emotional wellbeing and also pretending like they dont exist and i can live in my a1 mind palace forever but like . still get mad about steve being able to pick up mjolnir lol

[atsukashii]

hii! for your even can i ask for a madeleine x shoto todoroki + she/her + ☀️ + baby blue. thanks!

(btw who’s your bias?)

take my hands now you are the cause of my euphoria

✘ there is nothing good about being sick... unless you're being doted on by your pro hero boyfriend... then okay, there may be a few good things.

✘ GENRE: fluff

✘ WARNINGS: aged up characters,

✘ WORD COUNT: 1.3k

There are two things on this planet that you positively despise.

The first; spiders because obviously. And the second?

Getting sick.

It was so impractically frustrating. What made it more annoying was the knowledge that you were almost one hundred percent sure that it was a result of stress. As if your body wasn’t strong enough to handle a major presentation at college, trying to be a good girlfriend, and your deadbeat partner who has left you to do the entire assignment yourself. You’d pulled an all-nighter beforehand, completed the presentation, not held back on giving your partner a big fat zero in the group evaluation at the end for her complete disregard to do literally anything, then caught the bus back to your small apartment, sniffling the whole way home.

And twenty four hours later, here you are. Stuck on the couch after you’d crawled out of bed to get some water, with your sheets trailing you like a pathetic cape. You’d made it to the kitchen, but felt dizzy on your way out, where you took solace on the couch- and made a spot where you’ve stayed for hours.

Sick. God you hated it. You’ve never felt more useless of a human than you do surrounded by toilet paper - because you ran out of tissues - and a pathetic excuse for a snack in the form of a half eaten apple.

But what is the absolute worst part of being sick? Having to ask for help. It wasn’t a strength of yours, especially when it came to asking your boyfriend of just under a year for help. At first, you didn’t want to let him know, but now that you’ve had to cancel the dinner plans that he’d taken the evening off work for, you’re feeling the guilt.

Squinting at the bright light emitting from your phone in your hand, you try to think of a less pathetic response to your boyfriend's message.

[6:55pm] FROM: Shoto Is something wrong? Do you need me to come over?

Is something wrong? Yes you were feeling what the beginnings of death may resemble. Do you need him to come over? Probably, but you can admit that it's more wanting him to come, rather than needing him to.

You’ve been trying to decide what to respond with for the past twenty minutes, and you’re sure that your boyfriend - although normally not one to stress - is probably genuinely concerned by now, so you need to offer something. Your fingers sluggishly move across the screen to try and get a somewhat eloquent response, but you grow distracted with the sound of a key being pushed into the lock of your door. For the moment, you slowly raise your gaze from your phone, peering into the dim hall you can see clearly from your couch, and taking in the figure that steps into the open doorway.

Dressed in long pants, a warm jacket that is a personal favourite of yours and a scarf that you had gifted him for his birthday months ago, Shoto stands in the entrance to your apartment. You know that you resemble the feral cats that dumpster dive around your area, but you can’t bring yourself to care as you try to fathom just how Shoto got to your place. Maybe your indecisiveness of your response had somehow manifested him here.

Your eyes drift from his handsome face down to the bags in his hands. Food? Your stomach rumbles loudly for the first time today as if it was an efficient greeting for him. But really, wrapped up in your blankets like they’re your cocoon, your muscles groan in protest at the thought of getting up. So you just blink at him.

“Madeleine?” His soft voice doesn’t pound your eardrums the same way strangers had your whole trip home yesterday, and you outwardly sigh in relief. Taking that as a symbol of consent to come in, Shoto carefully closes the door behind him, and slips off his shoes before continuing further into your apartment.

“It took you a while to respond, so I thought I would come and see if you’re alright. But I ran into one of your college friends I met from that party on my way here and she told me you were sick.” Shoto explains, raising the plastic bag in his hand in explanation. “So I thought I would grab a couple of things first.” You watch in complete awe as he begins unloading the contents of the paper bags.

Tissues, cough lollies, a new heat pack, fresh tea leaves.

Your eyes glance between the items and his heterochromia eyes, before settling on the serious look on his face. He’s still talking to you, but at this point you can’t make out what he’s saying - just simply incredibly glad that he’s here. His hair is still slightly damp, suggesting that he rushed over when you didn’t reply, even though he is dressed immaculately. Maybe once upon a time, it would have made you feel embarrassed to be seen in your state, but now you didn’t care.

“Is that my hoodie?” Shoto’s words pull your wandering thoughts back to the present, and you instinctively look down at the blue blue hooded sweater that- yeah, that was his. Pinching the material between your fingers, you look back up at your boyfriend and smile for the first time today.

“Hi,” Shoto’s concern melts away into something soft and gentle that is often reserved for you. Tilting his head as he glances at you, Shoto steps forwards into your space, and squats down to your height.

“Hi.” He parrots, placing his hand on your forehead. You practically moan at the new cool temperature change, which only makes him smile more.

“You’re sick.”

“Yeah.” You grumble, blinking sleepily at him, and trying not to lean further into his touch.

“I’m sorry for cancelling our dinner.” Shoto looks at you as if you're actually clinically insane for your words.

“You’re sick love, you don’t need to apologise. Ever. I’m just glad you’re okay.” He hesitates, his eyes keep drifting back to the jumper on your torso. “When did you manage to steal this one?”

“A few weeks ago. You leant it to me by the way, on our way home from seeing your sister. I didn’t steal it.” Your attempt at an excuse goes through one ear and out the other, because Shoto’s not listening to you. The soft smile on his face stretches bigger and bigger at your response.

“I don’t care love, steal all of my clothes if you want.” He whispers, pressing his lips to your forehead before standing up to his full height.

“Don’t tempt me Sho,” you call after him as he grabs the other paper bag and walks into your kitchen. The sound of a pot being placed on your stove and the ticking of the lighting flame fills the apartment before you suddenly see his red and white hair poke back around the doorway.

“I brought over some fresh chicken soup. Think you can eat it?” Eagerly, you nod your head. Your boyfriend was almost as good of a cook as he was a pro hero.

“I also love you in my clothes.” He adds suddenly, and if your cheeks weren’t already flushed from illness, you know you would be sprouting a red face by this point.

“I love you and your clothes,” The compliment being interrupted as you grabbed a tissue and sneezed loudly enough for it to echo throughout your quiet apartment. Shoto just smiles a full blown grin at you, pure mirth glowing in his eyes.

“I love you too, love.” He replies before slipping back into the kitchen. “Give me a while to warm it up. Try and take a nap, I'll wake you up when it's done.” He calls out from inside the kitchen, and you smile to yourself, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the back of the couch.

Maybe being sick wasn’t as bad as you’d previously thought if you got to be doted on by your boyfriend.

✘ A/N: my bias is 100% kuroo rn because that man is too fine, but also am crying in the club because no one requested iwa or tsumu :’(

©️ 2021 all rights reserved to atsukashii, do not change, edit, translate, or repost any works on any platform.

[gaming-thoughts-by-an-idiot]

Definitely some spoilers for Batman - the telltale series ⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

Ok so, I was so lost in the first three eps I forgot I even had thoughts, ikr. So heres from 3rd to 4th episode :)

*Selina and Bruce kissing after Batman was electrocuted and she saved him. *

"Ok well, obviously I have to kiss her"

"Wait wait no"

*it gets.... more physical*

"wAIT NO??? I DONT WANT TO BE APART OF THIS PLEASE-

*disgusted face, but I'm super uncomfortable 😭*

"I dont like this, keep me out if this omg"

"Hhwhsjahwjsgahhahwha SHES UNDRESSING AND THATS A BRA"

"SHE IS WHOA THEY ARE THATS A BED"

"oh thank God, black screen, I didnt have to watch them have sex, jesus thank you"

"Underwear gang"

"Did they put on clothes again after the sex? I have no knowledge. That sounds awkward"

"Excuse me, u mean things l, wait excuse me, wow, hoe. I'm here like cute and you're not"

"Hey, theres my graple gun"

"...where did he put that, hes in his boxers"

"Hes not deadpool either, doubt he stuck the gun up his ass"

"Mmm bagels"

"Hahaha the little run he did"

"IM SORRY HARVEY"

"IM A WHORE HARVEY"

"The drug is making him aggressive"

"I'm not saying anything"

"Does Harvey turn into a monster?"

"Who is he"

"Ahahhaha he crashed into the wall"

"No, wait, Harvey sorry"

"Come and live at my gigantic place, theres apparently a lot of rooms, and two bathrooms and two kitchens"

"I have like, no knowledge about batman and dc tbh, I watched smallville"

"Ok, ok"

"Talking in front of people"

"None of the options were right, staying quiet is best then"

"Why are the brits evil, if you have a posh accent, that means u wanna stab people while drinking tea. According to dc"

"sTiCk To ThE sCrIpT bRuCe"

"Shut up"

"YO WHAT???? SHE??? SHE IS THE BAD GUY EXCUSE ME I AM I AM SO CONFUSED W H A T"

"JDJQJDHSHJSHAHQ I CANT I CANNOT RN"

"ok, ok stay cool, stay cool. Batman is all about cool, no unnecessary violence, law above personal feelings, unless the law is corrupted and is personally trying to murder everyone.... BUT it got our boi detective on the case, so it's not corrupted and I will stay with the law.... but with high heels"

"Nooooo??? What no?? That is not, excuse me no??? I didnt want him to attack, that's the opposite!!"

"I helped the montoya and let harvey fend for himself.... which apparently was a... weird thing"

"I did not punch Oswald, cuz that's anger and wont look good, when you're trying to show composure in an annoying situation"

"I asked Lucius to chill at the bat cave, bcuz I thought it would keep him safe from dangers."

"Yes, I did romance Selina, ik ik, it was a situation. And apparently 90.4% other people did too.... probably very thirsty for cat woman"

"I did not beat up harvey, bcuz it was the drug and not him."

"Okay, next episode"

"Hes in the insane place, ik he owns it, eventually, and is like helping them, and keeps like the bad bad in another level? Or, I... I'm not sure"

"I wonder what would happen if I walked out the door naked"

"Omg, is this??"

",@&2;'bqhdvbagwgsbsbhwhqhabbdjwjzgsgsbsvTHAT THATS THE JOKER QHAGSHAJHAHQ EXCUSE ME QHAT I DID NOT KNOW WHAT IS KLGOING POKKKKQHDJAHAHHWGQ I CAMT QHATTT"

"I AM JUST, SHOOKKET"

"I'm actually nauseous from all that sudden surprise xD"

"Wow, ok, this is new, ok ok cool, lets go, what does he want what what what what????$&#&^3^63^$37#&36"

"Ok ok.... I wont know unless I play, ok, pppppppppppppp, I'm ready"

"Ok but, is this the first time he meets the joker? Is this even lore for batman? Or am I just???"

"Fuck you joker, I'm not lying for you. This woman looks good and normal"

"Joker looks scary "

"Does he even have a name tho? John doe, but, should I google this? Nono what if that spoils"

"The batman logo name, looks like Dat Man"

"Episode four "

"Why is he shirtless"

"Why do I like victor zsasz (?)"

"Oh, bad scars, I am sorry, oh nevermind"

"Guess I have to talk to joker"

"Rude harvey, I thought we were friends"

"Two faced?"

"Does the joker colour his hair?"

Joker: I've been watching you, Bruce, and I can tell there's something darker in you.

Me: it's a poop, he needs to drink more water

Joker: I know what you really are.

Me: say it... out loud

Joker:

Me: hey >:(

"I dont want to, but ok sure"

"Oh yeah btw, I gave away the key"

"Damn, dramatic, ofc I stopped the fighting. Oh god, I should've said fuck off to joker, oh god, I'm a fool"

"Batman would never "

"Yea, I shouldnt have slept with her"

"I'm not paying bullies"

"What am I supposed to do? Oh... I forgot to read"

"Choices time, okay"

"I did promise joker a favour but so did 49% other people"

"I did not go with joker's plan, and 31% people are with me"

"Damn, 48% rammed the barricade, and 51% gave money"

"Wow, ok a lot more went with meeting harvey as batman, I felt that was... not right"

"Oh god, 54% went with stopping Oswald and 45% with stopping harvey... and now my house is on fire"

"Last episode...."

[talk-geek-to-me]

Betrayal

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader. eventual Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Anxiety. depression, abandonment, hella angst man, fluff, second-hand embarrassment, swearing, some violence, but it’s super mild. I think that’s about it.

Word Count:4,359 (I’m so not sorry)

Disclaimer: I’m so sorry this took so long for me to get out!! Life’s kinda really crazy rn. I’m moving across the country and I’m trying to keep up with school. It’s a super busy life rn. But I really hope you guys enjoy it!! It’s probably not as good as I hyped it up to be. There is totally enough room for me to make a part 2 but, Idk. With how I left it, I think it doesn’t need it. But I hope you guys love it as much as I do!! @buckysknifecollection​ prompt is in bold.

*** = time has passed

~~~= same day. different perspective 

"I'll be back, I promise" Steve caressed your cheek, lips quickly brushing against yours, pulling away just as fast as they came. He staggered away from you, getting one last look.

Your brows pulled together in confusion, eyes searching his blue ones, only finding determination instead of love and care that was there a few days ago. You watched him hug Bucky and head towards the Quantum Tunnel.

Once Steve was in place, he glanced at you, heartbreaking at your confused stare. He knew if he had given you a real kiss, he wouldn't find it in him to go back. He knew he wouldn't be able to provide the answers to your questions you'll be cursed with.

"Gonna miss you buddy" Bucky stood next to you, hand coming to rest on your shoulder.

"It's gonna be ok Buck" your gaze snapped between the super soldiers.

"What?" You stepped away from Bucky, looking at Sam for an answer, only for him to meet your gaze with an equally confused look.

"Going Quantum in 5...4...3..2..1" Bruce counted.

"Wait-" You stepped towards the machine. You felt a cold hand wrap around your wrist, gently tugging you back. You snapped your head to Bucky, finding his baby blue eyes are filled with sadness and guilt. You stopped struggling.

"Bringing him back in 5..4..3..2..1" Bruce pushed a series of buttons before looking up at the platform to find it empty.

"Where is he?" Sam barked, eyes flicking to you before going to Bruce.

"I don't know, he must've blown past his time" panicking, Bruce began typing different combinations in hopes it would do something.

A few seconds passed, but to you, it felt like hours before your hope vanished and was replaced with pain. Your heart breaking when you realized that Steve left you for her.

Tears pricked your eyes, compromising your vision. A ringing filled your ears, muffling the conversation around you.

Turning on your heel, you quickly made your way towards the cabin, tears now spilling into hot streams down your cheeks. You yanked own the screen door just to slam it shut behind you. The echo of it made Sam and Bucky turn towards where you had disappeared.

"How long do you think she'll be upset?" Bucky sighed, the guilt in his eyes traveling to his heart.

"I don't know man, I don't know.. She'll need us though. C'mon, we gotta catch her before she leaves us here" Sam made his way towards the cabin, stopping to put the shield by the door.

Stepping inside, Sam found you scrambling around, grabbing your jacket, bag and the car keys that had been discarded on the coffee table before you had ventured to the platform.

"Y/N" Sam stepped in front of you, hands up, showing he meant no harm. His voice soft. "You're not suitable to drive, please let me."

You glanced at him before your eyes landed on the Brunette leaning against the car. He immediately opened his arms for you. 

Lips quivering, you placed the keys in Sam's hand and bounded down the stairs and straight into Bucky's arms. Safely in his arms, your shoulders began to shake, and sobs broke out of your throat. His hand cradled the back of your head, keeping you close. Tears formed in his eyes, making him hide his face in your hair. He didn’t feel the same pain you felt, but he did know how you were feeling. Steve didn’t just leave you, he left him, Sam, his friends, the family he created here. 

Sam had made his way to you two when you felt another pair of arms wrap around you. It was going to be hard, but you can get through this... Together.

***

Due to the compound getting rebuilt and thanks to Sam’s good heart, he took you and Bucky to his DC home. Even when you reassured him that you’d be fine and find your own place to stay, but he insisted you stay with him.

Inevitably, you locked yourself in the room Sam had given you. Bucky had tried to get you to come out, but each try left him with silence. Eventually, he’d leave a tray of food out your door, checking every few hours to see if you’d eaten any. At first, you didn’t. Soon enough, he’d found the plate had been picked at.

It was weeks, 3 to be exact, before you decided to venture out of your room. 

Sam was the first person to greet you one Friday morning. He handed you a cup of coffee and wrapped an arm around you in a side hug.

“How are you holding up?” He ruffled your hair before he moved back to the other side of the counter.

“I’m okay, been sleeping a lot, crying... Ya know, depression stuff” Bringing the cup to your lips, reveling in the warmth the coffee provided as it coursed through your body before it settled in your stomach. You scanned the house, looking for a certain Super Soldier. “Where’s Bucky?”

“Dimwit went on a milk run. We were running out of ideas of bringing you out of that room.” He places a small bowl of yogurt Parfait in front of you.

“Dimwit?” You giggled over a mouthful of berries and yogurt.

“He’s been getting on my nerves.” 

As if on queue, Bucky steps through the front door, drawing all attention to him. His eyes met yours, and a smile blessed his lips.

“Oh my god," He quickly set the bags down, the sound of plastic bags and cans hitting the table filled the room before he quickly made his way to you. Engulfing you in a hug, he lifted you off the barstool and twirled around earning giggles to escape your lips. “When did you come out of your room?” He sat you back on the stool, stealing your coffee in the process.

“Actually, just about 20 minutes ago.” He glanced at Sam, who confirmed your statement with a nod.

“Good! I bought movies and junk food. So, go” He pulled you off your chair “Go shower and change”

“Please!” Sam laughed as Bucky pushed you in the direction of the bathroom.

“Do I really smell that bad?” You pulled your shirt to your nose, crinkling it. You did smell that bad.

“Sweetheart, and I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you reek.” Bucky opened the door and lightly pushed you into the entryway.

“Wait, I don’t have any clothes” You turned to make your way back to your room, but the Assassin was in your way.

“Don’t. I’ll do it. Just shower” He pressed his lips to your forehead, and quickly padded off to your room.

You turned towards the mirror, your brows were slightly raised, mouth turned in a slight smile, and cheeks faintly dusted with pink. “What the fuck just happened?” you questioned. Sighing when you got no answer, you turned on the shower and waited for it to warm.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, slowly coming to the realization of how bad you looked. Bags under your eyes from lack of sleep and crying too much, skin pale and greasy, lips insanely chapped that no amount of chapstick would fix. You didn’t look or feel like yourself. Depression turned you into a different person, and you didn’t like her.

Fog crept its way across the mirror, eventually covering your reflection. Letting out a sigh you turned away from the mirror and began undressing.

You were about to step into the shower when a knock came at the door. Quickly wrapping a towel around yourself, you opened the door enough for you to see who it was.

“Um, I brought clothes” Bucky mumbled, eyes looking everywhere but you, a light blush cascading across his cheeks.

“Easy there Sarge, don’t get too excited” You giggled, taking the neatly folded clothes. Fingers brushing against his, sending another shade of red up his neck. “Thank you, Bucky”

“Yea, of course, um..I’m just gonna” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder indicating he was going to leave.

Nodding, you closed the door and laid out the clothes. Noticing that he didn’t bring you jeans but had brought you your favorite joggers and a tank top, made you smile. One that reached your eyes.

“He cares”

***

Stepping into the living room, you found the boys dressed the same; sweatpants and t-shirts. They were standing in the middle of the living room, yelling at each other. Movies scattered on the coffee table, food placed in the middle. 

Giggling, you moved around Sam and plopped down on a couch and scanned through the selection. 

You popped it in the DVD player and let the opening scene stop the bickering behind you.

"The Mummy?" Sam question

"Yes, because you two wouldn't shut up. So please, sit down and enjoy the beauty of Brendan Fraiser." 

It went on like this for weeks. Watching movies, arguing who got to pick the movie.

Soon enough, you started feeling better, well enough that you started jogging with the boys in the morning. 

***

It was 5 am when Wanda called you, pulling you from a blissful sleep.

"Maximoff, I swear, if you're not dying, I'll kill you." You huffed, moving towards the heat source in your bed.

Laughing at your empty threat, you could hear Strange tell her to calm down even though he was chuckling himself. "The compound is finished, you guys can move in today"

"You couldn't wait till a decent hour to tell me this?" You groaned. Feeling an arm wrap around your middle, you looked up finding confused baby blue eyes locked onto your features. 

"Wanda" You mouthed earning a nod from the super-soldier. His arm slide up your back and cold metal hand under the strap of your tank top.

"Well, I had just gotten off the phone with Pepper and-" She was still talking but Bucky had plucked the phone out of your hand and pressed it to his ear.

"We'll be there later Wanda, goodnight," Bucky said. You could hear her gasp and begin to talk, only to be cut off by Bucky hanging up.

"Bucky" you lightly scolded as he pulled you closer to him after throwing your phone to the other side of your bed. 

"Sweetheart, its 5 am and I plan on” He moved to hover over you, fitting between your legs, hips resting against yours, forearms supporting him. “Spending a bit more time with you before the sun rises.” 

Smiling at his comment, you wrapped your arms around his neck, hands falling into his hair. “Well Sarge, the sun is beginning to rise and Sam will want to know.”

Bucky scanned your face as he brushed stray hair away from your face, smiling softly when you leaned into his touch. “I know. Are you feeling better?

You nodded, pulling him closer to you. “I feel” you brushed his nose with yours “So much better, thank you” 

“My pleasure” He closed the small gap between you with a kiss.

A couple of hours later, you had packed your things and were packing the car when the boys came out of the house, bickering about who's driving. 

"I'm not letting you drive, Grandma, and little miss speedster over there will kill us!" Sam shouted, taking the keys out of Bucky's hand. His head snapped towards you, feigning a hurt expression.

“I’m an assassin!” Bucky exclaimed

"You stole my steering wheel and that makes you an assassin?" Sam joked

"Boys! Listen, you both drive super slow, so I'm driving" Snatching the keys out of Sam's hand, you slide into the driver's seating. 

The drive to the compound was a long one. You may drive fast, but with Sam and Bucky arguing over the music, it felt longer. On many occasions during the drive, you had slapped Sam’s hand away from the radio and asked the boys to stop arguing.

Arriving at the new compound was like arriving at Disneyland. The boys had stopped arguing and stared in awe as you pulled up. It was bigger, more windows, a pool. Everything the old one had, this one had too. It was just bigger.

Parking the car, your door was immediately ripped opened and you were being pulled out into the crisp October air, and into a certain witch’s arms. 

“I missed you so much!” Wanda squealed, tightening her grip on you.

“Wanda, I missed you too. But I think I’m going to miss breathing if you don’t let me go” You wheezed as she released her hold on you. She looped her arm through yours, pulling you away from the car. But not before she shot a glance at Bucky, wiggling her eyebrows as if she knew what had happened the night before.

“What the hell happened last night?” Wanda questioned as she leads you to the compound.

~~~

“Hey,” Sam tossed Bucky his bag “Is she ok?”

“Yea, she was in one of those depression moods that I used to get” He watched you and Wanda interact with each other before Strange came up to the two of you.

“You stayed the night in her room, man. What was that about?”

“She asked me to stay. I wasn’t going to leave her alone with her thoughts” Leaning against the car, Bucky crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Sam.

“I see you two getting close,” a smirk was forming on the new Captain’s lips “I saw the kiss before we packed the car” Sam wiggled his eyebrows at the Sergeant. 

“Oh, c’mon man! You weren’t supposed to see that!” exclaimed Bucky as he hit his shoulder, making Sam laugh.

“Ohoho! Then don’t do it in the middle of the living room!” Sam's smirk turned to a wicked grin "And when you kissed her hand in the car, or the time you held her while she made dinner! Or-!" He was cut off when Bucky threw his sweatshirt at him. 

“C’mon man!” Bucky laughed, a light pink dusted his cheeks.

“Or! the shower incident” Sam faked a gasp, a smile broke across his face as the former Winter Soldier turned a bright red.

~~~

“That’s all that happened last night” You explained to Wanda, who didn’t believe you despite what you confirmed.

“Yea? Then why is he turning into a tomato over there” Strange pointed towards the car. 

Turning towards the car, you saw and could hear Sam howling with laughter, and Bucky? Well, Strange was right. Bucky’s face was, in fact, turning into a tomato. 

“I-I don’t know. Sam likes to pick on him sometimes.” You mumbled, brows furrowed together as you watched Sam lean against the car for support and Bucky hide his smile behind his hand.

***

It was around midnight when you decided to sit in the living room, music softly floating through the tv speakers. Footsteps drew closer, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Ya know, it’s not polite to play music without someone who was alive when it came out” Bucky’s voice came closer until you feel the couch dip with his weight, signifying he was sitting next to you.

"I thought you were asleep" You countered, shifting to lean on him, back to his side, your head laid on his shoulder. Bucky had moved his arm around you and had begun tracing designs on your arm.

"I don't sleep when you're not next to me" He mumbled into your hair. Your heart skipping a beat, a blush crept across your cheeks, and you began to relax more against him.

Sitting in comfortable silence, you two were enjoying Frank Sinatra’s Come Fly With Me play when Bucky cleared his throat.

“Wanna dance?” 

You looked up at him, seeing a smirk playing on his lips, making you smile.

“You gonna dance with me as you did with those girls in the 40’s Sarge?” You watched him stand and hold out his hand. “Cause I wouldn’t say no”

“Come here then,” Placing your hand in his, he pulled you to your feet. Sliding his hand around your waist, it rested it on your lower back. His gaze shifted to the distance between you two, and back to your eyes. “We’re gonna have to get a lot closer than this, Sweetheart.” Feeling his grip tighten on your waist, you sucked in a breath when he pulled you closer. Chest pressed against his.

“Now we dance,” Bucky began swaying, his eyes never leaving yours. He led you in a classic waltz, occasionally spinning you, earning giggles to escape your lips.

Pulling you tight against him, you rested your head on his shoulder, your hand falling on his shoulder, savoring the moment. 

“I need to tell you something” Bucky whispered in your ear.

“Of course Buck, what’s wrong?” Worry laced your voice

“No, no. Nothing’s wrong. I just need to get something off my chest” Breaking apart from you, he ran his hands nervously through his hair.

“Bucky, what’s going on?” You took a step towards him.

“ty oblegchayesh' zhizn' kazhdyy den', ty vyyavlyayesh' luchsheye vo mne. Ya snova nachinayu chuvstvovat' sebya staroy. ya vlyublyayus' v tebya” Bucky panicked, eyes searching yours.

“Bucky, you’re speaking Russian” Bucky has never seen a more confused face than yours at this moment.

“I panicked!” He exclaimed

“If your plan was to throw me off, then it worked!” You laughed, stepping closer to him, you placed your hands on his shoulders. “James, tell me what you said”

Hearing his first name roll off your tongue, made his worry disappear. He wrapped his arms around your waist, rubbing little circles in your back.

“I said,” Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath before looking you in the eyes. “You make living every day easier, you bring out the best in me, Sam’s noticed it. I’m starting to fall in love with you Sweetheart. I know it’s not the right time, but I wanted to tell you”

“Bucky-”

“No, I need to tell you. I need you to know and if you don’t feel the same then-”

“Bucky!”

“It’s ok if you don’t feel the same. I totally get it” He rambled. Realizing he wasn’t going to give you a chance to talk, you crashed your lips to his. 

You two have kissed many times before, but this is different. You don’t know when you realized you had feelings for him, but you do know that he’s always been there for you. He’s made everything easier. Easier to breathe, to get over you know who, to adjust. Somewhere in there, you’ve grown feelings for him.

Pulling away, you rested your forehead against his. “I feel the same way”

“Really?” Bucky’s face nearly tore in two when the words filled his ears.

“Really” You agreed.

~~~

A crashing noise pulled Sam out of sleep. He poked his head out his door, finding yours and Bucky’s door opened and music coming from the living room. Sam decided that he didn’t want to know what it was, so he headed back to bed, but a light outside his window caught his attention. Ripping the shades opened, he saw a familiar figure standing on the Quantum Tunnel platform. Doubt filled him, there was no way he was back... Right?

Watching the figure look around, Sam ran out of his room, as quietly as he could, down the back staircase and out to the backyard

“Sam?” The figure called.

"Steve? What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in the 40's" Sam questioned.

"I know. Peggy and I.. We didn't work out. It wasn't right. Peggy wasn't-" Steve began, his mind racing.

"Wasn't what Steve?"

"She wasn't y/n" Steve sighed. He knew Peggy wasn't you the second he got to her house. He knew you two are very different, but everything she did, he found himself silently comparing her to you. She was a spy, and you were an Avenger. When she spared it was quick, but when you spared it turned into a competition. Everything Peggy did, Steve found himself missing the things you did. There was a hole in his life and only you could feel it.

"Steve-"

"I need to see her" Steve interrupted, making his way towards the door Sam came out of.

"What? No, Steve. Don't" Sam followed the former Captain, trying to catch up with how fast he was walking. When did he walk so fast?

"Sam, I messed up. I left her when I shouldn't have, I have to make it right" Steve called from the stairs. Sam ran up the stairs behind him and grabbed his arm when he caught up to Steve.

"You don't understand. She's changed, she's not the same girl who loved you. She's.." He hesitated "She's moved on Steve."

"I need to see her" Steve persisted, pulling his arm out of Sam's grip and headed down the hall towards the living room. Dread filled Sam, slowly following the First Avenger.

~~~

“We should probably go to bed” Bucky mumbled into your neck. You two had found your way back to the couch after your confession. 

“Or we could stay and sleep here. We’re already laying down” You raked your fingers through his hair, grabbing a few strands and began braiding the brown locks. A door being slammed open pulled you two apart. 

“It’s the middle of the night, who the hell is slamming doors?” Bucky reached behind the couch for the handgun he had hidden there. You were already on your feet, gun at the ready and heading towards the sound of intrusion.

“Wait! They might be asleep!” You heard Sam’s desperate pleas come down the hall.

“Sam? What’s wrong?” You lowered your gun, hearing two pairs of footsteps advance quickly towards you. Quickly raising your gun, you loaded the chamber and took aim. 

“What the hell” Bucky said from behind you, drawing your attention to him. Bucky’s eyes never left the intruder, confusion overcame you, and you looked at the intruder. Finding the person who you never thought you’d see again. Steve stepped closer to you, and you stepped away from him.

“Baby?” His voice was soft, too soft, foreign. Shaking your head, you stepped closer to Bucky.

“You don’t get to call me that” You hissed through gritted teeth. The confusion was replaced with anger. It took over you, your hands and voice shook. 

“Please let me explain, baby” Steve took a few more steps towards you, hands coming up to cup your face. He lowered his face to yours, hope-filled his entire being. 

“Steve” Bucky placed a hand on his shoulder “Don’t do that” The warning in his voice made Steve stand straighter.

“This is my girlfriend” Steve argued.

You let out a laugh that startled both boys. You continued to laugh until tears were evident in your eyes.

“That’s fucking hilarious Rogers, you think I’m your girlfriend?” Shaking your head, you stepped closer to Steve. He was taller than you by a foot, making him stare down at you. But by the way, he felt, you were staring down at him. Your eyes bore into his, rage radiating off you, and Steve could feel every ounce of it. “I haven’t been your girlfriend since the moment you decided to fucking leave. You don’t get to call me that. Don’t ever call me that, again” You pushed past him, shoulder hitting his arm hard enough to make him lose his balance.

“Baby, wait” He caught your arm. Twisting your arm out of his grip, you reeled around and connected your fist to his jaw. 

Hearing the crack, Bucky and Sam flinched, thinking that you broke Steve’s jaw with how fast you reacted and how fast his head snapped to the side.

“Damn” Sam mumbled, looking at Bucky “That’s your girl man”

Pride filled his body, Bucky stood a little taller “I know”

“Get it through your head, Rogers! I’m not your girlfriend! I’m not yours! Don’t touch me” You hissed. Turning on your heel, you stormed down the hall towards your room, slamming the door shut when you were inside.

Steve rubbed his jaw, feeling the serum begin to heal his jaw, looking at his friends before his eyes landed on the Brunette, “Looks like your hair is getting a bit long.. Operation Haircut?”

“When you decided you’re done with Operation Jackass, then I’ll consider Operation Haircut” Bucky scoffed, following the trail of rage to your bedroom, entering it without knocking.

Slowly closing the door to your room, Bucky found you sitting on your bed, eyes closed and taking deep breaths. 

“Sweetheart?” He whispered, fearing the nickname might make you snap. But it only brought you comfort.

“Bucky” Your voice shook, opening your eyes, they landed on his form, kneeling next to your bed. He took your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Why is he back?” Your voice was barely a whisper.

“I don’t know sweetheart,” He paused, searching for the right thing to say before deciding on distracting you, “You know, that was a really good punch. It looked like you nearly broke his neck with how hard you hit him”

The burden of heartbreak left your chest and in its place, laughter made its home. “I had someone teach me how to throw a punch hard enough to break a jaw” You gripped his hand tighter, referencing to him.

“Yea? He did a damn good job” Lifting himself, Bucky sat on your bed, pulling you against him.

“Yea. He did” Relaxing against the Former Hand of Hydra, you finally begin to feel at peace with yourself. You made the decision right there that it was always Bucky. He was your rock before and after Steve left, he was the light in a dark room. He knew that you could take care of yourself, but when you need it, he’s there for you. You, too, had begun to fall in love with him. People would be against it, due to him being the Winter Soldier, but you didn’t care. He didn’t think he was a hero, but you? He was your hero.

Tagging: @parkerpuff​ @blameitonthecauseway​ @chocolate-cutting​ @jeremyrennermakesmesmile​ @sebastian-i-stan​ @intense-sneezing​ @welcome-to-my-broken-sanctuary​ @siren-queen03​ @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall​ @teamcap4bucky​ @buckysknifecollection​ @neglectedleo​ @dyanna-corona​ @crist1216​ @delicatecapnerd​ @twilight-crescendo​ @weebid​ @lucaslikestojinglebells​ @wxntersoldiers​ @breakmebucky​ @lecoindenox​

[punkscowardschampions]

Libi & Bobby

Libi: I’ve just found my phone in the sea of costumes

Libi: How so many people need alterations and mending at this point 😱😱😰

Libi: I’ve got a… well, it’s not weird

Libi: but it is, but that’s not really the right word to describe it but I can’t think of said word so it’ll have to do

Bobby: Hang on, forget the play a sec

Bobby: What’s this message? 🤨

Bobby: is it the sender or what they said that’s making it feel weird?

Libi: That’s practically blasphemy Bobs! 😏 Mullans will have you helping Tom with his lines for that, poor boy… we’re all officially off book this week and he is not a little bit ready

Libi: Um, both?

Libi: I mean it’s Louie, so it’s not that weird he’d message me, I guess

Libi: We have messaged back and forth a bit, obviously, it isn’t totally random

Bobby: Sir would have to reckon I’m capable of something first, that’s a subject change though

Bobby: go on, what’s the but? What’s Louie said?

Libi: I was going on the assumption he’d forget you were deaf altogether and act like you’ll be able to hear Tom

Libi: He is quite loud in his delivery but still

Libi: 🙄

Libi: At least we have Ms Howe backing up all our other ideas

Libi: I think he’s asked me out on a date

Libi: Well I know because he said did I want to go to the cinema, to see that latest adaptation of Orient Express, and I thought he meant did we ALL wanna go so he corrected me when I started planning as such… which was awkward

Bobby: Mullan does dress a bit like you did when we met,‘course it doesn’t look as cute on him, but makes sense he’d also rob your 🔊 by chucking Tom at me

Bobby: well alright, awkward is the right word there, are you still gonna go?

Libi: I don’t know who that’s more insulting to 😂 shocking behaviour

Libi: I can’t really process it, I don’t know

Libi: Should I?

Bobby: Depends if he’s okay with you just going as mates

Bobby: he might be too 💔 and that’ll make it more awkward

Libi: It’d make the play really awkward

Libi: I’ve already put my foot in it with thinking it was a cast and crew thing

Libi: I can’t very well be like IS THIS AS FRIENDS as well, can I?

Bobby: 🤔 I dunno if there’s a way it wouldn’t be a 🤏 now but saying no and not making it obvious you still wanna be mates could mess up the play even more, you have gotta kiss, it’d probably be better if he don’t 💭 you think he’s gross or whatever

Libi: Right, maybe it sounds silly but I really do not want to jeopardise the play in any way, not at this stage

Libi: I really want it to go well for all of us, we’ve all put way too much work in for something like that to spoil it

Libi: I couldn’t just go, could I?

Libi: Not qualify it either way

Bobby: It’s not silly, everyone knows how invested you are, you’ve worked harder than any of us

Bobby: but you don’t owe the play going that far

Bobby: what are you gonna do, fake date him til after it’s over? Come on, Libs

Bobby: he must like you for real, one date would lead to him asking you out on another

Libi: I don’t think Jan would ever speak to me again if I stole the bit for such a pathetic reason

Libi: she’d judge me hardcore anyway and can’t have that

Libi: You’re right, I’ll have to let him down gently then

Libi: Whatever that sounds like…

Bobby: I know our lil 👰🤵 wasn’t legally binding but I’d rather you didn’t either

Bobby: I’d still be 💔

Bobby: for you, I mean

Bobby: Louie’s a bit

Libi: Is he?

Libi: I don’t really know him outside of the context of this play

Libi: like I didn’t know him before, I mean, obviously I’ve spoken to him as him now, a bit

Bobby: obviously I've had even less to do with him than you, but I've noticed when you're speaking to him as him you're not 😁

Bobby: even the 1 cinema trip might be asking a bit much of how 😇 you are

Libi: How much of an 😇 can I really be if I’m all 😒 😞 😔 😟 😕 🙁 ☹️ 😣 😖 😫 😩 🥺 😢 😭 😤 😠 😡 apparently

Libi: He’s a nice guy, I don’t know why I don’t want to date him

Bobby: In his pov or mine?

Bobby: I’d say your reaction is loads better than being unbothered, that’d make you really 😈

Bobby: anyway being a nice lad he’ll understand and it probably won’t be long before someone else does wanna go out with him

Bobby: you can’t force or properly fake 💘

Libi: He’s probably going to ask someone else, you’re right

Libi: it’s not a big deal

Libi: I could say you really wanna see it too, that would work

Bobby: It can’t be a massive deal, he hasn’t known you THAT long, not before the play, like you said

Libi: Totally

Libi: it’s not like he’s 💘 or anything, just interested

Bobby: Yeah, he’ll be alright and so will the play

Libi: Thanks, Bobby

Libi: even if I still need to think of what to message back

Bobby: Just be as honest as you can handle without 😳

Bobby: lying isn’t a top skill of yours and you don’t want him to work out you are

Libi: I can’t argue with you even if I feel I should

Libi: I’ll try my best

Libi: I might leave it for a 🤏 bit

Bobby: can’t fault you for it, and I won’t need to ‘cause it’ll be okay

Libi: A woman’s prerogative, so I hear

Bobby: deffo can’t argue with that, it’d have me coming across like a nice guy ™️ ❌👏

Libi: 😬 it isn’t lost on me that I friendzone Louie’s character in the harshest way by being a murderess

Libi: I won’t bring that up though, hopefully he won’t be thinking it

Libi: 🩸👠 isn’t an association I’d love to bring into my everyday

Bobby: I’m more 🤞 Mr Mullan doesn’t hear about art imitating life ‘cause you’ll never hear the end of it

Libi: Oh no

Libi: he’s so…

Libi: he’s a lot

Bobby: See, an 😇 way of putting it 😏

Libi: I can see why China and him get along, is a less polite way

Libi: but as true

Libi: she’d much prefer femme fatale over hysterical American

Bobby: It won’t kill her not to get her own way for once

Libi: It might drive poor America insane

Libi: How are her and Sean now?

Libi: I cannot believe I managed to put my foot in it like that, I felt awful but she wouldn’t hear it and if I tried to apologize to him he’d have thought I was meddling more than he probably already reckoned

Bobby: 💰 on her mates going insane 1st how often she must stay with some of them

Bobby: not that I blame her for not going home and you shouldn't blame yourself for anything that happens between her and Sean, he knows what she's like and what's been going on

Bobby: I guess they've sorted it? I dunno, have to go off their insta stories more than whatever he'd actually admit

Libi: I have been wondering about that

Libi: if I should more officially ask my grandparents/offer her the spare room

Libi: or if that’ll be insulting, or they might say we shouldn’t put ourselves into people’s family affairs

Libi: glad it’s not just me 😅 again, they’re hardly the only on-again-off-again couple around that I find totally perplexing so it’s no dig

Bobby: 🤔 I was 💭 the same but I wasn't sure if it'd be weird coming from me as a lad, especially if they're off again when I make the offer

Bobby: I reckon it's a good idea though if you're allowed to

Libi: I don’t think she’d take it that way but emphasis on the I part, I see how she could and why you’d be hesitant

Libi: I think the best way is to ask her first, if she would want me to then ask my grandparents… the potential disappointment if they say no is better than me doing the wrong thing and making it worse, right?

Bobby: Her sister has told me that lads and girls can't be mates so she would probably have loads to say which we can all do without

Bobby: 👍 getting your grandparents involved more than you need to when you don't need to isn't a 🥇💡 you're totally right

Libi: She would think that 🙄

Libi: guess it makes her feel better that Jake doesn’t want to be her friend

Libi: Cool, that’s the plan of attack there then, an easier message to send for sure

Bobby: 💔 Jake doesn’t know about Louie asking you out, it might’ve got him to back off 🤏

Libi: Or get him to do the same

Libi: Wow, that sounded really conceited 😲😅

Libi: You know what I mean though, more that he’s that type of lad than I’m that much of a catch

Bobby: you can still be a catch even though he's a dickhead but hey

Bobby: least if he does ask you you've already practiced a rejection text, type of lad he is isn't gonna take a no as easy 😬

Libi: Don’t jinx me!

Libi: He’d probably just send me a bootycall and expect me to jump, right? Ick

Libi: You don’t behave like that, do you Bobs?

Bobby: 😲❗️ can’t believe you’d ask me that Libs

Libi: Come on, you’re my only insight into what boys are like

Libi: it seems pretty par for the course, maybe not Jake levels of extreme but

Bobby: Soz I’ve got no insight into bootycalls

Libi: Okay

Libi: I’m not mad about that

Libi: that’d be a LOT to process about you rn

Bobby: I’ve got no secrets I’m keeping from you, especially not 💘🔐

Libi: 😊💚💜

Libi: Lucie has turned out to be less cute than I thought

Libi: IMO anyway

Bobby: what’s she said or done that you’ve not told me about?

Libi: Nothing compared to China, so nothing

Libi: I can see how they were friends though, before they dramatically weren’t

Libi: I wonder who Jake will choose, if he ever does

Bobby: I think he likes not choosing and keeping everyone dramatically in suspense 🙄

Libi: Begrudgingly admit he’s suited to his role in that respect

Libi: he’ll fall for someone totally out of left-field and leave both of them in the dust

Libi: if romcoms have taught us anything

Bobby: If it’s gonna be Am I better warn Sean

Libi: She hates him

Libi: which in certain stories WOULD make him 😍

Libi: but I can’t see it

Bobby: exactly it’s the plot twist everyone saw coming and the most obvious trope going, but thankfully we don’t live in a romcom

Libi: it does all feel a bit romcom rn, I think that must be what inspired Louie

Libi: not my preferred genre, tbh

Bobby: I’m alright with swapping Orient Express for whatever horror is playing, doubt he’ll be in another row of that screen waiting to spy on you

Libi: If anyone’s destined to be the stalker, right?

Libi: we better go, he’s not done anything wrong

Bobby: 📌📅 for when? How keen was he?

Libi: [Probably this weekend from whichever day he’s asked because keen is the vibe, sorry Louie]

Bobby: 👌😂

Libi: don’t be mean 😫😅

Libi: plenty of girls would be happy to go out with him

Bobby: Yeah and I’m not running him down to any of them, or you even really, I already told you I think he’s a bit

Bobby: 🤓🥀

Bobby: He gestures A LOT, is he one of those OTT doing shakespeare in the theatre type actors or what?

Libi: I guess the role is pretty...campy

Libi: I can see what he’s going for even if I’d suggest toning it down 🤏

Libi: It’s a good thing you aren’t slagging him off to the girls, he’d not stand a chance then

Bobby: Who am I that they'd be bothered what I think? Not ever asked or been asked, me

Bobby: and everyone knows the butler has always got a massive agenda anyway

Libi: Lots of girls think you’re cute though

Bobby: 😳

Libi: What? I can’t tell you you’re handsome

Libi: and that girls have obviously noticed that

Bobby: I guess 'cause I don't 👀 it I don't 💭 about it, I dunno but it's 😳

Libi: I get it

Libi: it IS weird when other people say it

Libi: @ Louie @ Jake

Libi: it’s not like when family say it but you know they have to say it, even if they mean it… 🤔 first and foremost it’s ‘cos they 💘 you

Libi: Saying we’ll get used to it sounds very big-headed but I guess it won’t freak us out as much from now on

Libi: 🤞

Bobby: I'm not sure there's a proper way for me not to get freaked out when other people notice me, even if it is only with their 👀 'cause I still forget I exist to them most of the time 🤷‍♂️

Bobby: but obviously the play was just the start for you, loads of lads are gonna wanna be more than mates with you everywhere you go, soon as they realise how great you are, so yeah, I better get used to that

Bobby: 🤞🤞 I find stuff to 📌📅 when you're on all these dates

Libi: Of course you exist to them! The school is just too bloody lazy to actually make it so more students can acknowledge and actually converse with you like everyone else 😤

Libi: though acting like they’re the issue when it’s actually the world at large is not helpful of me at all

Libi: Ha! I’ll still be sharing a stage with the likes of Lucie, I think the majority of the male population will find other places to look, Bobs 😏

Libi: Anyway, I’ll soon lose any points if I brush enough of them off like poor Louie 😕

Bobby: Alright, maybe I’m not fully 👥 but nobody knows me well enough for 💘

Bobby: and anyone who prefers Lucie knows literally nothing

Bobby: you’d score all ✔️ in everything that makes people 😁 and 😍 you’re not losing any points for Louie or Jake, don’t even worry

Libi: Yet

Libi: Pretty sure that’s the point of dating

Libi: not that I’m an expert on the subject 😅

Libi: you’re sweet

Bobby: You know what I mean, unless it’s a blind date you usually already know each other a bit, enough to be interested anyway

Bobby: nobody’s there yet

Libi: You want to start looking?

Libi: Lots of girls still like the boy to initiate, old-fashioned but works in our favour

Bobby: not my prefered genre either, it’s okay

Libi: 👍

Libi: We could go see the horror after, I’ve checked the times

Bobby: long as your nan doesn’t mind me keeping you out that late, I’m cool with it

Libi: She wouldn’t hold back telling you if she did by now

Bobby: True

Bobby: but don’t mention to Louie what a lucky escape he’s had there or he’ll fancy himself as Romeo next

Libi: Thank GOD we’re not attempting Shakespeare… what Lady Macbeth and the young lovers might inspire in everyone isn’t something I’m ready to find out yet

Bobby: he does put a silent character in most of his plays though, that’d make sir’s job of casting me well easy

Libi: let’s not make his job any easier

Libi: his creative ‘vision’ (as he puts it, I would never) is lacking in well, any creativity

Libi: casting potential included, of course

Libi: I think we’ve all made the best of though, don’t you?

Bobby: What you’re saying is, where’s the blind-deaf solidarity if he’s gonna keep his ���� shut the whole time 😏

Bobby: *you’ve made it loads better than it should be and deserve all the credit he’ll lap up on opening night

Bobby: that’s what I think

Libi: It definitely wasn’t a one-woman mission

Libi: you’ve done loads, for example

Libi: we’ll have our own afterparty of sorts, and he won’t be invited to make a speech 😏🙌

Bobby: Only props which anyone who takes art could’ve done but I’m not gonna say no to a 🥳

Bobby: is Louie invited?

Libi: I think everyone but the teachers will have to at least be offered an invite

Libi: wrap parties are tradition… I think 🤔😋

Bobby: what about China and Jake?

Libi: Yeah, them too…

Libi: In American films they go to diners, we could do an equivalent, not necessarily a party party

Libi: so we don’t look like we’re ‘taking over’ or whatever

Bobby: Let’s go to [somewhere that has an american diner vibe because I’m sure there is] they have the best 🍨

Libi: Yes! 💡

Libi: Who can be 😠😒🙄 at sundaes?

Bobby: J and J weren’t and they always were back then

Libi: Exactly

Libi: If they can manage to crack a smile, like

Libi: I won’t be heartbroken if certain people don’t want to do it but not going to be accused of any more cliquey-ness

Bobby: me either but I’d be 😁 if we were the only ones there

Bobby: which is why I’ll never be the main character of anything but a really low budget indie

Libi: I find socializing exhausting so I can only imagine how much more you do

Libi: Much easier staying kids and not being expected to do anything we didn’t 100% want to, yeah

Bobby: yeah

Bobby: have they done Peter Pan before? Be more fun than shakespeare

Libi: Not that I know of

Libi: we should ask Ms Howe

Bobby: Alright, but I won’t mention to her how I reckon Jake and Louie could fight it out for who’s gonna be the 🐊⏰ depending which one’s the fastest at taking your hints you’re not interested once this play’s over

Bobby: Or that China’ll have to be 🧚 if you’re Wendy

Libi: Ugh, don’t! She’d LOVE the outfit, if she could convince Mullan to let her wear it… 🙄

Libi: I’d cast her as Nana for the shade of it all, as I’m such a bitch don’t you know, but she’s far too lovely a dog to warrant such a miscast 😏

Bobby: Mr Mullan will probably wanna cast me when he realises it’s not a talking 🐶 she’d have a fight on her hands again 😏

Libi: I think you’d look excellent in a bonnet 🤭

Bobby: I’d rather be the lil brother with the 🧸 be a good luck charm and a weapon against dickheads if needed

Bobby: he’s too young to say much anyway if I remember right

Libi: You’d get to wear pajamas for the whole first act too 👍

Libi: Again, not to sound like a broken record about it, making Peter deaf could be really interesting and make the plot even more heightened

Libi: There’s lots of things he doesn’t understand about real life and real people because he’s immortal, if there’s that added communication barrier between him and the lost boys, it makes the way he is even more logical, in its way, it’s a easy, perhaps a little cliche way, to show he isn’t an ordinary boy

Libi: Not to mention the relationship he and Wendy manage to forge despite this would break the audiences hearts even more when they inevitably lose it

Libi: Clearly, I’ll have to write this persuasive essay for Sir before the next play is decided 😅

Bobby: 😲

Bobby: that’s SUCH a 🥇💡

Bobby: now I’m actually speechless

Libi: I’m pretty proud of that one, ngl

Libi: need to expand the 💭 but it’s got legs, right

Libi: I thought our last idea did but there’s less wriggling out of this, it being a fantasy and all

Bobby: Like you said, we’ll go to Ms Howe, convince her and let her worry about dealing with him, I’ll help you, transition year is a massive faff Jim was right

Libi: Is it nice to have the break though? After your exams last year

Bobby: 🤏 work experience is the best bit by far though and I don’t get many breaks there

Bobby: gonna have to start going 🛌 proper early like I’m 👴

Libi: ⏲ if you mean it

Bobby: 💔 but yeah

Libi: 💔 is easier to deal with than 🥱 in the morning

Bobby: Dunno about that, maybe when it’s Louie on the receiving end of the 💔 and you’re 🥱 of his 😍

Libi: Shh, don’t remind me

Libi: dreading this reply more than my homework

Bobby: [knows her well enough that he writes the kind of reply he knows she would send and it doesn’t even sound like a pisstake]

Bobby: ✔️

Libi: See, you’re a natural actor

Libi: that was a little TOO convincing, if anything

Libi: but I’m not in a position to turn down help 🙏🙌

Bobby: Not if you want me to come round and help with your homework before the ⏲ runs out and all

Libi: 😘

[auckie]

Watching this music video just showing cuts of men picking coffee beans and sketch drawings of Moses escaping Egypt set to gentle banjo and some light vocals is reminding me of how when I was super high the other night my friend made me watch this movie called He Never Died about how Cain from the Bible was basically a vampire and I don’t know if I was just off my rocker but I remember the first ten minutes of the movie being like. Black screen and intense sounds of men screaming, fire, animal howls, chains rattling, explosions, rumbling— fade in to a man laying in bed in a dank apartment. The sounds continue but change slightly to add horses neighing and galloping, gunshots, people shouting; the man is going about his morning routine all the while, ignoring the sounds and just acting as a huge contradiction to the soundscape. This goes on for a really long time, like jarringly so, and then abruptly ends with no apparent explanation. And I was LOSING it I couldn’t stop repeating ‘it’s just noises! This is just a compilation of sound effects!! It’s not a movie!’ And I was like in tears while my friend sat in stony silence watching this shitty movie. The rest of it wasnt that good but sometimes the sounds came back and I would lose it all over again bc they were so poorly incorporated and mixed to convey like. I know what they were trying to do but it didn’t matter. I need to watch it again to see if it really was that insane but I think it was, because again— about a week or so ago I was very high at a really bad concert and the two opening acts were the worst I’d ever seen.

[[MORE]]

Like there were a lot of strange things going on at that show and I assumed I was just very faded but when I was sober the next day I sat back and reflected: my friend was voguing to horrible music no one was dancing to. The crowd was full of like ravers, bikers, parents, and gay people. A man with a fanny pack, oddly enough, who said he was from the exact place I live in rn (I was across the country at the time) walks up and starts hitting on my friend? I think? I couldn’t tell. Bare in mind my friend is done up in drag but at the show he probably looked a bit like a punk cis girl. But the guy seemed very gay. I just don’t know. He told us there was a wizard visiting a lot of the shows he’d been to around LA and California in general. This GREATLY alarmed me and so I became very alert 🚨 I told him I was very glad he informed us bc if I had seen a wizard in that state of mind without warning I would’ve booked it for sure. The performers voice kept cracking and she kept asking the crowd to dance. There was a weird amount of people in the crowd who were professional photographers, like, seven around me alone and four off stage and more in this very tiny venue. After her, the next guy gets on and starts his set. People in front of me comment that he’s drunk and then I SWEAR I see him get on all fours and snort two lines. I realize I am probably wrong so I keep this to myself, turn to see fanny pack is talking to other people and Keeps opening his pack. Figure he must be selling molly and decide I want some. Here’s around the time I decide to start drinking so I can ignore how bad the music is and just try and dance. Once I’m drunk the main act is up and he’s actually ok! Not my kinda shit but, my friend knows him and it’s his bday so ofc I’m not gonna complain. Fanny pack is back and for some reason I’m convinced he’s a cop but I remember weed is legal in LA so I take more edibles. My friend gets mad bc the guy he knows doesn’t meet up with him after the show like promised so we wander around LA confused and go to this bar covered in taxidermied animal busts and wood and leather and I see a drunk girl get in a fight with the bouncer bc she says she knows the first horrible performer we saw. Her friends seem to abandon her so I ask if she’s ok and she assured me and wanders off. We see her again like 5 times, always looking confused and talking to randos so I’m like 👀❗️❗️

Now that it’s over and I’m calmed down I rehashed all this to my friend and he’s like WHAT you’re crazy you’re high. He reminds me of the time we smoked with his sister at her wedding and we got a lyft afterwards wherein I was PARALYZED with fear and visibly sweating, silent in the car on the ride home. The driver notices and asks and I can only shake my head so my friend is like ‘uh he’s tired’. When we get out I’m like. ‘Dude. Our driver was a NAZI. Covered in Nazi tattoos and bald and also a little person? How were you talking to him?!! How were you not afraid we were about to be murdered?!’ And my friend was like— tel, our driver was a WHITE WOMAN WITH HAIR, not a little person, no tattoos, not a Nazi. Totally normal.

So that was like the one time...at least in recent history I can admit that just being high warped my perception. It has happened before. But like. I was right about the concert! The fanny pack guy wasn’t selling molly but he was weird and the music sucked so let’s see if this Cain movie is insane too. Is it obvious I’m on kratom rn bc this post is way longer than I intended it to be

[written-rebellion]

Perfect Distractions

A/N: You have no idea how happy I am to have this posted on time. I’m at Niagara Falls with my relatives from the Philippines rn but I had the tiiiniest spare moment to schedule this chapter. 

btw, since it’s mentioned this chapter and it’ll be semi-important later on, a Jeepney Bus is a form of public transport in the Philippines. They’re huge jeep-buses that come in all sorts of colours and designs. Here’s a picture of one. They’re pretty cool!

Claire wishes she was home, Jamie wishes he could fly, and as always, all the facts of this fanfic are contrived specifically to make fluffy university/modern-day au scenarios. Please let me know what you think!

Part One: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] | Part Two: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Three: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Four: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Five: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Six: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Seven: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Eight: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Nine: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Ten: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Eleven: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Twelve: [Chapter 1]

Part Twelve: Message Received | Chapter 2

It had taken Claire roughly two decades to find a place she could confidently call home, a place she could pin her heart to and refill her soul regardless of how exams, classes, or life in general drained her.

And that place was Jamie.

Nothing else on earth smoothed the static tremors of her life like the way his large hand squeezed her waist or the feel of his lips on her forehead.

At the moment though, the prospect of a softer bed and Rose’s cooking after weeks of work came pretty close.

She drummed her fingers against the armrest, dispassionately staring at the bumper-to-bumper traffic she’d quickly become accustomed to. The closer they got to Manila, the less it felt like nighttime as the neon glow of billboards and giant shopping malls lit the highways and reflected off the shiny, brightly coloured Jeepney buses.

Joe, in the seat next to her, patted her shoulder before leaning over to one of their mentors in the front seat.

“He’s got that pocket Wi-Fi thing,” he said, turning back to Claire. “We’re finally in range again.”

She nodded in thanks, thoughts floating anchorless as her body slowly came down from the adrenaline she’d ran on the last few days.

Within seconds of connecting, her phone buzzed so incessantly she thought she was getting a call, but the only Jamie she saw was the one frozen in time at Lallybroch on her lock screen.

It made sense, of course. They’d been off-grid for a while, who knew what kind of emails and notifications they’d missed?

She was heading straight for Jamie’s message history when the car pulled off the highway and down towards Rose’s neighbourhood.

Slipping her phone in her pocket for now, she and Joe slid out of the car once it pulled over.

She waited on Joe to grab the bags from the trunk, thumbing back and forth through her apps till she saw it.

31.

31 messages from Jamie in a small red circle on top of the app.

All manner of anxiety flushed through her. She’d expected a few, but to send 31 required just a bit more intent. Could she have missed an emergency?

Joe’s voice stopped her from opening the app, coming over with her bags.

“You okay there, LJ?”

“We’re fine,” she said quickly, locking her phone.

“I asked if you were okay,” he said, regarding her with raised brows.

“A-and, that’s what I said, I’m fine.”

He nodded slowly.

“I just mean, y’know, I know you and that kid were close…”

She bit down hard on her cheek. Inhaling quickly, she gathered up her bags.

“I’m fine,” she said, nodding to convince the both of them.

“Get some rest, Lady Jane,” he said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “You’ve earned it.”

She smiled at that.

“You too, Joe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Rest sounded heavenly. This level of exhaustion, she’d quickly learned, was fast to call dreams to her and made it much easier to imagine the small arms she hugged tightly to her waist were Jamie’s instead.

It was two even smaller arms wrapping around her when she walked into the house, though.

“You’re back!”

She held Angie to her for a moment, one hand coming up to bring her close, and finding her backpack instead of her back.

Claire looked up as Rose walked into the doorway, keys on hand.

“I’m working tonight,” she said after hugging Claire too. “Angie’s going to stay with a friend.”

“But I don’t wanna go to Tita Lina’s if Ate Claire’s here!” Despite her protests, she ended on a yawn and Claire smiled, leaning down to rub her cheek.

“I’ll tell you all about my trip tomorrow, okay?”

Tantrum successfully avoided, Claire waved the two sisters off and locked the door, waiting until she was completely alone to melt into the couch.

It started as a sigh, but in no time turned into hot tears streaming soundlessly down her cheeks.

There was nothing she could do. Nothing at all.

She dragged her feet to the bathroom, not bothering to assess the damage in the mirror as she stripped and got into the shower.

The cool water was an unmitigated blessing, doing well to ease the weight of those last few days in Cavite.

Settling into bed in just a shirt – not Jamie’s, because the scent had long since been washed away – she was ready to let dreamless sleep pull her in.

Her phone pinged and her eyes shot open again.

31 messages she’d momentarily forgotten had now turned to 32.

 >         I expect ye’ll be overwhelmed by the messages when ye get them. Apologies, lass. But, if ye read any at all, I hope it's this one. I love ye, and I’m proud of ye. I miss ye, aye, but I’ll be waiting right here for ye when ye return.

How the bloody hell did he do that? From halfway across the world no less.

She skimmed through the other messages, feeling the tears bubbling anew. But below, her smile was trembling much like her fingers as she wobbly typed a reply.

 >           Busy? Can I call?

She’d barely taken a breath after clicking send when—

 >          5 min, mo graidgh.

---

He sprinted back to the dorms, nearly crashing into John at the door of the room.

“Lost Wi-Fi again?”

“Nay, we—” He stopped, looking his roommate up and down. “Where are ye off to?”

“Chess club,” he replied, “And I’ll probably stay over at a friend’s tonight so don’t wait up.”

Jamie waved him off, watching his roommate’s back walk down the hallway with increasing curiosity, but a squeeze to his phone – like the squeeze of her hand in his – reminded him.

He sat on his bed, watching the call connect and already imagining her smile, her laugh as she shook her head at him.

“32 messages, James Fraser?! Are you quite insane?”

When he actually saw her, his entire body tensed.

“Jamie,” she said, attempting so much less than the smile he’d expected.

“Claire… What’s wrong, mo chridhe?”

“Wrong? N-nothing’s—”

“Ye’ve been crying, lass.”

He could almost see her trying to pull a feeble excuse from the thoughts swirling around her head. Then, she sighed.

“What’s happened, mo graidgh?”

Tears were precariously balanced on her lashes. She took a breath and – to his surprise – smiled at him.

“I bloody love you, you know? I just got your messages.”

His cheeks pinked but he said nothing, his eyes gently urging her towards an explanation.

She swallowed, understanding, before she started again.

“There was a little boy, Elijah.” She smiled faintly. “We all called him Eli…”

She’d worked and lived at a centre in rural Cavite, providing any medical assistance needed in the morning and teaching health lessons to locals in the afternoons with Joe taking the opposite shift.

Eli had been a particularly frequent and particularly young student amid mostly teenagers and adults. Only 6-years-old or so, he’d had the kind of bright-eyed curiosity and eagerness that would undoubtedly draw Claire to him.

“He’d want to carry my medical bag everywhere, even though it was basically half his size,” she chuckled. “Followed me around like a little chick so often, Joe started calling him my tail. And he’d have all kinds of questions. We could barely understand each other at first but he was—was so smart and—”

“What happened to him?” He could see her slowly collapsing into herself and his heart physically ached, yearning to break out of his chest and fly across the world just to comfort hers.

“I was getting ready for my second shift on our last day there and I saw a woman talking to one of our supervisors. She was… she was crying, trying to explain something in Tagalog I couldn’t understand and then—I… Eli didn’t show up for class.”

She took a breath and Jamie simply watched her try to ground herself, wanting nothing more than to reach through his phone, take her face in his hands and kiss her tears away.

“Hush now, love. Dinna cry, my heart, my brown-haired lass, I’m here,” he murmured in Gaelic.

“Dengue fever,” she said after a time. “It was sudden. It was fatal. It was—It’s—” She sniffed, despair shifting into frustration. “—we have medicine that could have eased the pain or— Or we… I could have—”

“Christ Claire…” He crossed himself. “I’m so verra sorry, mo chridhe.”

“I could have done something. I should have. I just didn’t… No one knew and—”

“And that’s no’ yer fault, mo nighean donn. None of it was yer fault.”

“I… I just—”

She knuckled away her tears, doing what Jamie wished he could. Every inch of him was on edge, straining to break across borders, distance, time itself to get to her, to tuck her into his chest and shelter her from the rest of the world.  His palms were sweaty from both his sprint to the dorm and the sheer will to keep himself from jumping on a plane and flying to her side this very moment.

“I miss you, love,” she said, sounding thoroughly shattered – exactly like his heart. “I… I need—”

“Anything. Anything at all.”

“I need you, Jamie.”

His phone nearly slipped out of his hand.

Read Chapter 3

[mcutrio]

Movie Date [10]

Movie Date [10]

Tags: @buckys-little-monster @imaginesofeverykind

That next day, Kat and Thor found themselves awkwardly attracted to one another. The situation that had taken part the day before left them feeling somewhat strange whilst talking to one another, especially given that their relationship was nothing more than mere strangers, or rather… coworkers. They got along well, their powers complemented one another, and though they may agree that one another was attractive, it wasn’t particularly a relationship that either of them had considered pursuing. Tabitha and Courtenay, in a whirlwind of both new found and old love, perhaps got a little too swept up and found themselves dragging Kat along in the drift.

However, she was willing to go along with it. For as long as she would last within the team, as much as she already seemed to be dwindling, she decided that she might as well have some fun with it.

She met Thor in the kitchen and dropped a Chinese menu pamphlet in front of him, spinning it so that he could read it.

“Now this right here is pure heaven in your mouth,” Kat announced, tapping the leaflet with her hand. “And as sad as it is, you have a much larger meal selection considering you eat dead animals. But… if we’re going to show you what food to eat, then this is where to start.”

“Right,” Thor said, looking at the pamphlet and flicking through it for a moment, “what, so you just summon them with this special code and they arrive at your residence with the food?”

“Something like that,” Kat nodded, grinning at his naivety towards earth and mobile phones. However, he wasn’t particularly that far off, which humoured her the most. “And once we’ve tried enough food to feed a small village, I’m sure I can throw in a couple lessons on cell phones and the like.”

“Cellphones?” Thor questioned. Kat lifted her mobile. “Ah, the devices you and your friends can’t seem to look away from. What’s so interesting about them?”

“Uh… it’s like an all-knowing book that also allows you to contact friends?” Kat shrugged, unsure as to how she should explain it to him.

Thor almost laughed. “I find that hard to believe.”

“You come from a world that we had no idea even existed, Thor. Why is it that a mobile phone has you stumped?” Kat shook her head, scrolling through her contacts. “We’ll catch up on this. For now, decide what you want to order later tonight.”

“A feast,” Thor mused, skimming over the words as Kat pulled up FaceTime and called Tony, who was nestled away somewhere in one of his science-tech rooms.

“What do you want, Buffy?” Tony questioned, flipping up his eye-guards.

“I have a proposal to make,” Kat began, reaching for the notepad that she had doodled on out of boredom only to spit out a couple of neat innovations.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Kat, we’ve already been through this. Bruce and I are together, and there’s nothing you can do to change that.”

“Whatever, laser-brain,” Kat rolled her eyes, lifting the notepad to show Tony her sketches and well-thought out tech. “I think we both know that Court’s glasses are in dire need of an upgrade. Her focus has been getting worse; she’s been complaining about hearing electronic white-noise, too. Stops her from sleeping at night.”

“Oh, for sure,” Tony nodded, “bring your doodles down to the lab and Bruce and I will give it the once over, though I’m sure I can concoct something to help her out.”

“Awesome,” Kat nodded, “speak later.”

“Ciao.”

Just as she pocketed her cell phone and notepad, Steve appeared from beyond the doorway with a somewhat calm, somewhat on-edge smile.

“If you’re here to lecture about me skipping out on training sessions, I--”

“No, that’s not why I’m here,” Steve smiled. “I’ve been thinking a lot recently, and you’re right. The training is fairly pointless for an individual like yourself, which is why I’ve found a sparring partner that might actually be able to keep up with you.”

“The only person who can even measure up to me is Thor-- oh, right, fantastic,” Kat nodded, sucking on her teeth and placing her hands on her hips. “You know, Steve, I never pinned you as the cupid type. Why’s everybody so obsessed with the idea of him and I, anyway?”

“You both deserve a win,” Steve teased, before becoming serious again. “But seriously, I think this could be good for you. You’re good with combat, though you could get even better. Think about it; what happens if Hulk decides to make an appearance, and this time not for the better? We can’t always rely on Thor, considering he has a Kingdom in outer space to run.”

“Alright, Steve, I get it,” Kat silenced him, though nodded with a smile. “You had me persuaded at Thor,” she joked, shooting finger-guns at him. “See you tomorrow morning.”

“I’m counting on it,” he shot back.

Meanwhile, Tabitha seemed persistent in teaching Bucky how her PlayStation worked, and though the assassin may be skilled and knowledgeable of many platforms of technology, he was completely dumbfounded when it came to gaming.

“I just don’t understand how I-- just how do I make it go,” he complained, turning the controller over in his hands incessantly. “And why is this man just walking-- oh, there he goes, off the cliff. Who the Hell is this guy?”

“His name is Sam Drake; and it’s not his fault, you controlled him to walk off!” Tabitha laughed, snatching the controller away from him before he caused the team to lose.

Courtenay’s character, Chloe, came bounding round the corner and a chortle of laughter could be heard from her room as she witnessed Bucky’s failure before Tabitha took control again.

“Let me show you how it’s done,” she said, cracking her neck. Bucky was completed phased out, unable to comprehend the game as Tabitha and Courtenay managed to pick up the win between themselves, even after the rest of the team had left the game considering how confused the Sam on their team appeared to be. “See? It’s not that hard.”

“I don’t understand how you ever had time to practice this stuff,” he grumbled.

“What do you mean?” Tabitha frowned, “we had plenty of free time, you know. When we weren’t on missions… this is what we were doing.”

“Living the life, huh?” Bucky grinned. “But, yeah, video games aren’t for me.”

“I’ll make a gamer out of you, just you wait,” Tabitha insisted.

“Alright. Let’s make a deal,” Bucky offered, to which Tabitha held her hands out, gesturing to appeal to her. “If I play through this whole Uncharted thing, I get something in return.”

“Oh, yeah, like what?” Tabitha mocked.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, though a grin remained stretched on his lips. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

Tabitha caught onto his tone and socked his shoulder. “Don’t be so dirty.”

“I actually didn’t say anything. These are your words, not mine,” he grinned, turning to face her.

“Oh, is that right? It didn’t cross your mind for just one second?” Tabitha irked.

Bucky made a noise, telling her that he had, in fact, had his mind stuffed somewhere in the gutter.

“I knew it!” she laughed, leaning back onto her elbows.

“To be fair, you were thinking it too,” Bucky negotiated, collapsing onto his back before turning to look up at her as she propped herself up beside him. “Right?”

“Shut up,” she laughed, hand upon his face, feeling the stubble beneath her palm and fingertips.

“So you were?” He teased, “look, I’m just trying to have my point proven here--”

Tabitha cut off him off with a firm kiss, one that had been well-earned after their days of tension after their first one. She retreated with a smile, smoothing her thumb over his cheekbone as the two lay, breathing quietly, staring at nothing but each other.

At that moment, Tabitha's phone buzzed with a notification. She pulled it out from her back pocket and inspected the screen, seeing a text message from Kat that she’d shot into the group chat of herself, Tabitha and Courtenay.

1 New Message From: Original Three

Kat: don’t want to alarm you guys or anything but thor and i are totally eating chinese food in his room rn !!

Tabitha: no way, really??

Courtenay: see this is why im the greatest friend, i swear. This is all because of me and you better name your first child after me

Tabitha: dibs being the godmother

Courtenay: that’s fine, i wear the pants anyway. Ill make a fuckin fantastic godfather

Kat: he’s currently gorging on prawn crackers so im sneaking a text any chance i get because HOLY SHIT IM SO NERVOUS

Tabitha: chill its just thor!

Kat: that’s the whole point! It's! Just! Thor!!!!!!!

Courtenay: just be yourself and all that jazz, i mean he thinks ur hot when ur fighting and you look pretty sweaty and gross then so. Can’t really mess up now can u

Kat: thanks, very comforting

Tabitha: seriously, though. Just be yourself. Maybe a little nicer because you’re a grumpy little shit but yeah, be yourself.

Courtenay: make a move before he does

Kat: HE JUST SAID HE’S NEVER EATEN IN THE BEDROOM AND I ALMOST LAUGHED BC THAT SOUNDS SEXUAL

Tabitha: that was your chance to make a move, kat. Please tell me you used it to your advantage

Kat tossed her phone aside to avoid detection as Thor, face-full, grinned over at her, seemingly in an even happier mood than he was before.

“I’m really glad that this is happening. You know, you really need to consider your life choices,” Kat laughed, “perhaps when you return to Asgard you should make Chinese food a thing?”

“No, no, I definitely agree,” Thor grinned through a forkful of chow mein noodles. “My friends would enjoy this thoroughly!”

Kat eyed him suspiciously, looking at the metal trays that he had managed to finish. “Is that your fourth tub?”

“Of much more to come,” he winked, taking another bite.

“Where does it all go?” Kat laughed sincerely, her face pink with her fullness and contentment.

Thor flexed his arms. “I cannot let my mortal form grow weak, for there is a lot to sustain.”

She laughed again, leaning her head on her hand. “If anybody from earth said that, I'd think they were insane.”

“Do you not think of me in that way?” Thor asked.

Kat, pressing her lips together to suppress her smile, shook her head. “No.”

“Then what do you think of me?” he asked, his voice noticeably softer this time.

Feeling a surge of confidence, she traced her hand over the pattern on his black shirt. “I think that you are…”

“Yes?” Thor encouraged, eyes sparkling as she lifted her head, dangerously close now.

“I-- I think that--”

Her voice stuttered with the proximity of the two before they suddenly jerked apart in surprise, the door slamming open with an excitable Courtenay bursting in.

“Hey, guys! Oh, am I interrupting something?”

Kat stared at Courtenay with a look of confusion, a surge of desperate annoyance on her face alongside it.

“Oh no… I am. I heard that there was Chinese food, you know, and I just couldn’t resist…” Courtenay edged forwards, taking a small bag of Chinese fries and backing out of the room again. “Again, so sorry…“

Finally, Courtenay left and shut the door behind her. Kat rubbed her forehead, feeling a mix of shame and agitation, though holding it all in and scooping up her laptop that she’d brought in earlier to play music whilst herself and Thor ate their food.

“How about a movie?” She offered.

Thor's expression deadpanned, telling Kat that he was unsure of what they were, too.

“Moving pictures? A bunch of actors and actresses portraying a scenario?” she offered, trying to see if that would lure any understanding out of him.

“Oh, like theatre?”

“Yeah, sort of,” she agreed, realising with relief that she was somewhat getting through to him.

Kat pulled her laptop between them, booting up a movie she thought that the two of them would be interested in. Their lives were exciting enough that plenty of action-movie plots were dull, so she settled with Jurassic Park as she was sure that Thor had never seen dinosaurs before. However, after the battle in new york, and even Sokovia, she wouldn't be surprised as to what hid away up in the galaxy.

Thor wasn’t particularly subtle now that two two had had some time together, and he threw his arm around her shoulder and held her close as they watched the movie intently. Although he was partially confused, he found himself enjoying the moving pictures so much so that he didn’t immediately realise that Kat, exhausted from her full belly, had fallen asleep on his side.

He almost didn’t know what to do, in fear that he would move too abruptly and wake her from her slumber. He shut the laptop and placed it on the floor, lying still on his back. He was hardly tired, though he daresn't move. Instead, he looked down at the practically unconscious figure next to him, wondering where their relationship now stood. It was apparent that the two of them were near kissing until Courtenay interrupted, and he was certainly leaning towards it. He felt a great deal for her; he respected her in battle and in normality, though the two were one in the same for her. It was… odd.

With a smile, he clicked the lamp off by his side and closed his eyes, holding her tighter against him as he, too, fell asleep.

[punkscowardschampions]

Zelda & Zach

ihatemyguts: Good thing you told me how bubble boy posi Robyn’s ‘rents are

ihatemyguts: ‘cos that felt like such a brush-off

ihatemyguts: I feel kinda bad, it’s low-key just upset her with no shopping trip pay-off 😬

inandout: your first date was today

inandout: the insane jealousy must have forced me to forget

ihatemyguts: Obviously

ihatemyguts: moping and staring out of open windows would be bad for your health

ihatemyguts: probably

ihatemyguts: can’t have that

inandout: mope hard enough and fling myself all over the house, they’ll call it exercise

ihatemyguts: I’d let Rob know but her parents would probably sue me

ihatemyguts: I did some research

ihatemyguts: and yeah, flare-ups fucking suck, but if she was struggling that bad rn she’d be in hospital getting her 💉 on

ihatemyguts: makes me ⁉️ if the meetup will happen

inandout: makes me wonder if her brothers are allowed out

inandout: if they are maybe they can help us smuggle her to the meetup

ihatemyguts: not just a pretty face

ihatemyguts: that’s a damn good idea

ihatemyguts: I can slide in their DMs

inandout: Cranking up the jealousy metre to give me a full work out, I see, are you gonna be a PE teacher when you grow up?

ihatemyguts: *prays they aren’t like 12*

ihatemyguts: imagine if that was my life’s ambition

ihatemyguts: wear unflattering sportswear and give kids complexes

ihatemyguts: even without the potential life-shortening illness, I’d reconsider that

inandout: it tracks that you’d wanna make them 💩 and bringing back the bleep test could work

ihatemyguts: okay I’m not 🦹‍♀️ or 🐯 levels of sweet but is that what you really think of me? 😏

inandout: I think there’s only one rebel teacher coming to mind and I haven’t watched that film so all I know is they stand on desks

inandout: probably not a perfect fit for you

ihatemyguts: I could force you to watch it for our first date

ihatemyguts: and ask you, what your dream job would be

inandout: Netflix and chill or cinema screening of the ‘classics’?

inandout: we could do a drive-thru

ihatemyguts: hmm 🤔

ihatemyguts: there are pluses to ‘em all

ihatemyguts: cinema, we could laugh at all the snobs and 🤓s

inandout: Cool, reach out to me with the time + date when it’s showing

inandout: Are you allowed 🍿?

ihatemyguts: oh hell no

ihatemyguts: have to find another way to hold my hand

inandout: 🦸‍♀️ said she was gonna look up ice breakers and stuff, hopefully it was a fruitful search and she won’t mind sharing the info

ihatemyguts: do you think she legit didn’t realize how thirsty that boy was for her

ihatemyguts: or is it all uwu coy-ness

inandout: It’s hard to tell

inandout: but if I remember my glasses I’ll do my best to decode her body language from 6 ft away

ihatemyguts: aside from hospital, have you ever met someone else with cf?

inandout: Nope

inandout: jokes aside, it really is discouraged

ihatemyguts: that’s a hard one to get your head around

ihatemyguts: far as adjustments go

inandout: getting Robbie at this meetup won’t be easy

inandout: separate ones mean we might not have her there

ihatemyguts: I reckon we can trust you and Kara to keep the teen love story fictional

ihatemyguts: for all our sake’s

inandout: She’ll get her man

inandout: it’s not like bad advice and dating pitfalls are just a click away

ihatemyguts: cosmos never steered ANYONE wrong

inandout: Yahoo answers neither

ihatemyguts: might be confused as to why they’re not related

inandout: [I like to think he’s just sending his fave yahoo answer answers now for the lols]

ihatemyguts: [meme back and forth lads]

ihatemyguts: if she gets her date we could go into the matchmaker business

ihatemyguts: start at home

ihatemyguts: 🤖 don’t last forever

inandout: Rob’ll need to be next or she won’t forgive us

inandout: and we’ll soon get tired/guilty of seeing the amount of 😿💔 spam the chat

ihatemyguts: we’ll have to liberate her first

ihatemyguts: in a literal way

ihatemyguts: not the pretentious, free your 🧠 type of vibe

inandout: Kidnap’s playing into her parents’ fears but we don’t have a better option

ihatemyguts: now it’s my turn for a potential 💡

ihatemyguts: what if that is exactly what she should do

inandout: jump scare them?

ihatemyguts: if she did some actual wild shit to show them they’re being suffocating, ‘scuse the mention, then they’ll have to compromise and let her do normal kid things and everyone will win

ihatemyguts: I realize getting her to wild out might be a problem

ihatemyguts: catfish it though?

inandout: 💡⭐️

inandout: getting her to agree to do it for real would take longer than we have but you’re right, faking it wouldn’t take any time at all

ihatemyguts: get Lauren to picture whatever the hell she’s up to

ihatemyguts: sorted

inandout: + there’s your next photo challenge ready to be accepted, dressing as if you were going on a date with 👵🌈✨ instead

ihatemyguts: hold my neon

ihatemyguts: and think, do we clue Rob in on this plan now or do it on her behalf first, ‘cos we could hit up her house phone with some madness to get ‘em sus now and when she’s like wuuuuut it’ll sound even more

ihatemyguts: or is that a bit evil genius instead of 🦹‍♀️

inandout: Does she even have a house phone? We don’t

inandout: you’ll have to find another way to trick my parents into believing I’m a badass

ihatemyguts: I bet they do

ihatemyguts: can’t trust a mobile

ihatemyguts: and I bet they don’t have a microwave, they’re that sort

ihatemyguts: obvs I’ll just direct them to Lauren on your friends list with a 🤔

inandout: We should probably warn her, in case she takes it the wrong way

inandout: or decides to stand up to them for her YA movie moment

ihatemyguts: yeah, you’re right

ihatemyguts: if she doesn’t go for it, her brothers might be of use still

ihatemyguts: have to focus my evil energy elsewhere

ihatemyguts: such as…

ihatemyguts: 🥁

ihatemyguts: [one of the crazier lewks from babyteeth for the photo challenge]

inandout: 🤞🏻 one of them is old enough to drive the people carrier

inandout: Uhh… that was a suspiciously fast transformation

ihatemyguts: didn’t know you was challenging a pro?

ihatemyguts: and someone with a lot of time on her hands

inandout: I do now

inandout: and I’m guessing it’s not every day you get stood up based on what else I know about you

ihatemyguts: it’s a first

ihatemyguts: not that I constantly ask people out

ihatemyguts: but that is what I’ve put across so fair enough

ihatemyguts: what am I interrupting for you?

inandout: I’m waiting on friends

inandout: this could end in both of us being stood up

ihatemyguts: am I a drag you down with me type?

ihatemyguts: hmm

ihatemyguts: nah, I’ll cross my fingers that your friends aren’t flaky

inandout: Late, but I’d be too if it wasn’t my house

inandout: What are you gonna do now shopping’s off?

ihatemyguts: life is one big photo challenge, right

ihatemyguts: yours is ‘whatever will make your friends double-take when they open the door’

ihatemyguts: it’s a good question

ihatemyguts: we’re going to virtual shop tomorrow but she wasn’t up for it today

inandout: Wait for it and their faces

inandout: + you’re virtually invited to watch movies and play games, you won’t be the only one who isn’t here in person

ihatemyguts: 👍

ihatemyguts: cool

ihatemyguts: meeting new people is my new thing, as long as your mates are down/not the level of nerd that they might get a nosebleed if a girl is about

inandout: Some of them are girls if that helps

inandout: and my brother won’t be there to bring down the cool

ihatemyguts: low-key a shame

ihatemyguts: have to meet him before the first date though

inandout: I’ve got a father you can ask for permission if you’re feeling old-fashioned

ihatemyguts: full set

ihatemyguts: fun

ihatemyguts: mines in scotland so we’ll let you off that trek

inandout: But a road trip is a coming of age movie staple! 😫 Has Netflix aired any YA without one + are you willing to take that risk?

inandout: mine’s a workaholic but we’ve got years to catch him

ihatemyguts: forget the meds, see who gets fucked up first

ihatemyguts: it’d be a journey, for sure

ihatemyguts: do you know what he does? ‘cos so’s mine and I couldn’t tell you, tbh

inandout: Or mix them up and see what happens when you take the ones for my 💩

inandout: He’s a sales manager, he says, but why so vague?

ihatemyguts: sounds like something they’d do at cool parties

ihatemyguts: and that sounds suspish

ihatemyguts: they should have this 🤓 but with a moustache instead of the buckteeth

ihatemyguts: dads are elusive creatures… conspiracy time, what are they all up to

inandout: Not sure that’s the topic Rich has been watching vids on but I’ll ask

ihatemyguts: he can always tactfully ignore you if he’s 😳

ihatemyguts: like he does with 👵🌈✨ when she’s extra

ihatemyguts: more than usual

inandout: Be harder to do that in person

ihatemyguts: I think everyone will still get on

ihatemyguts: unless fibrofog shows, then that’ll be teen show worthy drama, of course

inandout: I think he’s genuinely blocked, he’d need a 2nd account to find out about it

ihatemyguts: hope he’s seen catfish too

inandout: He’d be a fan of the one where the man refused to believe it wasn’t Katy Perry

ihatemyguts: it does seem like the sort of thing she’d do

ihatemyguts: poor bastard

inandout: 😂

ihatemyguts: ultimate photo challenge, catfishing everyone and then going for the ruveal

ihatemyguts: might need more than just a wig 🤔😏

inandout: Dressing like her would make my friends do a double-take

inandout: [pics of some of her outrageous lewks with his head put on]

ihatemyguts: 😂😂😂

ihatemyguts: you suit the 🍦🧁🍭🍩✨

inandout: We’ve probably got a can of squirty cream lying around for hot chocolate

ihatemyguts: inhaler but make it ~sExxxIii~

inandout: [a lil video of his failed attempt to re-create that in her insta DMs or wherever because idk if they can send stuff like that here]

ihatemyguts: Katy dat you 😍😍

inandout: I’ve agreed to only string you along for 4 years not 6 and I don’t have any savings to spend 25% of on a 💍

inandout: looks like the comparison starts and stops with our black curls

ihatemyguts: not much of an orlando bloom clone myself so it’s alright

ihatemyguts: pirate is always an excellent disabled-friendly costume though so add that to the ideas board we should start

inandout: If we decide the next meetup is fancy dress, Lauren will never go back home

ihatemyguts: that’s the mood

inandout: [sends her whatever he did for the photo challenge and his friends reaction to it because why not say they’ve arrived and there’s a similar feral mood here]

[punkscowardschampions]

Tommy & Meena/Meena & Ro

Slides into ya DMs a million years later

Tommy: [Sends her a link to a facebook post about their dance teacher from when they were kiddos] Tommy: As if she's retiring! 😮 It doesn't seem 5 mins since she was calling me out for picking my nose like Tommy: I wanna get her a pressie or something, what you reckon? 🤔 Gin or bubbles Meena joined the chat 105 minutes ago Meena: I know, crazy isn't it, sure she's telling everyone she doesn't feel anywhere near old enough (hoping they'll say she doesn't look it either) Bless her Meena: and it is a pretty nasty habit I hope you left behind, in fairness 😛 Meena: I don't think she'll oppose either, I'll go in with you on it if that's alright Meena: We should, really Tommy: 😂 Mostly. We all have our off days though, yeah? Bet your thumb still be looking tempting on the reg 😜 Tommy: Fuck it let her be down with the kids and chug down a 'trendy' gin Tommy: Yeah I was gonna ask if you did wanna but knowing you I didn't wanna assume you hadn't already gone all out like 🎉 Tommy: 😇 to my 😈 Meena: Never! That rancid nail paint Ana got me put me off for life Meena: could totally rock a mani now, even if pedis are forever out of the question 💃👣 Meena: I hadn't actually, been so busy with this band stuff with your sisters and that Meena: Probably wouldn't have done it if you hadn't, doesn't want any old riff-raff she barely remembers showing up Meena: her ⭐pupil though, that's different Tommy: fair, she's been at me bout it too Tommy: needs my skills appaz but it'll cost her Tommy: come on, it takes two to tango! nothing without the baby to my johnny 💑 Meena: Nice try but I'm not getting involved in sibling drama, I know better than that 🙅 Meena: my own Brother is going great lengths to avoid me so I'm chilling Meena: 😂 please Meena: if the other girl hadn't got knocked up, baby woulda been surplus from the start Tommy: Drama, me? Please 😂 Tommy: Nah tbh I'm excited to get involved Tommy: & see you lot in action ofc Tommy: Imagine! We'd have to have been going some to be dealing with pregnancy scares at that age even by my ma's standards Meena: 😏 Isn't it on your required curriculum? Meena: Can't blame you Meena: It has been a lot of fun Meena: It'll be good to see you too Meena: 😨 No thank you, I'll leave that to Ali, she's got it covered Meena: No way either of us could keep a child alive 😂 Tommy: You got me 🥊 Tommy: It looks it & the socials never lie Tommy: It'll be fab to see you too! 💙 Tommy: How've you been, girl? Meena: Naturally, filters need not apply Meena: Me? I'm all good Meena: Nothing to report, no pregnancy scares or slightly predatory older men Meena: How's the London life? Tommy: 👍 Tommy: Me either Tommy: Only the teachers 😂 Tommy: London's capital D dramatic but I'm surviving 🤩 Tommy: like you said, required, yeah? Meena: Don't even joke, Mr. Lucas, this new teacher, is soooo sketchy Meena: not that he's likely to go after me 😂 but there will be drama worth reporting there Meena: mark my words Meena: and don't lie, you so LIVE for it, don't you? 🙂 Tommy: Oh my god colour me unsurprised and deeply disturbed Tommy: Trying to big you up without calling you a lolita and all that jazz Tommy: but noted Tommy: Shame the news came too late to get my sister learning from the nuns Tommy: 😂 Meena: Thank the Lord we can rule out everyone but Caleb pretty much for Rio's daddy Meena: she's so cute 😍 Tommy: Right? she's his double Meena: Nah she looks a lot like Ali too Meena: still, Mr. Lucas has not gone that far is my point Meena: she hates him, its so funny 'cos your Ma can't even be mad 😂 Tommy: Yas! Glad she ain't protesting too much Tommy: None of us got time to be dealing with that level of drama even me 😏 Tommy: Ma can ALWAYS be mad tho Meena: I wouldn't like to say Meena: Trying to get me to badmouth all your family today...are you print screening this?! 🙊 Tommy: Only if it gets juicy 😂 Tommy: what'll it take to get you to throwdown on 'em? Meena: 🤐 Tommy: It's been good catching up Tommy: Soz I'm not better at it Meena: No, it's not all you Meena: I'm not the most social of bears Meena: and its been a while Meena: but it was nice 🙂 Tommy: we should get a drink when I'm back 🍹 do it proper Tommy: no pressure like and even less drama Meena: You got it in you to leave it in London? 🤔 Meena: but i'm up for it Meena: I don't drink drink though, just an FYI Tommy: I'll do it for the craic 🍀 Tommy: Still gonna dance on the tables tho, yeah? Meena: 😳🙈 guess so Meena: anything you do, i'll do backwards and in heels Meena: thems still the rules, last I checked Tommy: 👑💚 Tommy: Love it Meena: Okay...Can I just vent at you for a hot sec, Ro Meena: More than free to comment any way you see fit (of course) but also as free to say nothing if you can't or don't wanna Meena: Just need to get it out 'cos what even Ro: Oh...of course Ro: Go ahead Meena: [Screenshots Tommy in her DMs] Meena: so I know its awkward 'cos familial ties and whatnot but WHAT THE WHAT Meena: He's been ignorning me for what, 6 years? Meena: Perhaps a little dramatic but basically Meena: and now we're just meant to move on as if a. those years didn't happen and b. the ones BEFORE didn't either Meena: am I being insane? I tried not to sound it with him but I am at such a loss rn Ro Ro: Um...I'd say it's rather awkward regardless Ro: What was he thinking? Ro: You are most definitely not insane, in fact, I applaud how together you remained Ro: It's a nice idea, in theory, to reconnect, but that's all it can be and surely he must see that Ro: The past can't just be erased when it's convenient Meena: Ugh, thank you! Meena: I can tell you're not just yes-manning me and it is so appreciated 😘 Meena: You'd think it had been a couple of days, the way he just tried to pick up there Meena: I get it...I wish it was possible in many ways Meena: but if we're going to be anything more than passing acquiantances ever again then I'm afraid we need to have a convo more awkward than that one even! 😬 Ro: Exactly! Ro: We'd all love a quick fix but they simply don't exist, even if you are a McKenna Ro: I'm frankly at a loss for words Meena: I mean...guess it was a nice gesture? right? Meena: God, feel like I'm 9 and he's pretending to like me so he can laugh about me with his friends at break Meena: Ridiculous Ro: I suppose so, if misplaced and poorly timed Ro: Well that's hardly surprising considering you were a child when he last talked to you Ro: You don't have to go for a drink with him just because you agreed then, remember that Meena: I know Meena: but I don't know Meena: I think I want to? Meena: Maybe he wants to say his piece in person Meena: although, in that case, perhaps give an indication in the text! Meena: Walking into an ambush Ro: You don't have to decide now at least Ro: And you can always call me if it does turn into an ambush Ro: I'll act as if there's an emergency Meena: Ooh, good plan Meena: never felt like I was in a romcom before Meena: almost exciting except i feel a bit sick Ro: I understand that all too well Ro: Another idea, cliche though it is, would be to channel this situation into composing a song Ro: Just don't let him know he's the subject Meena: it might be time to embrace the clichedness of it all Meena: the others would be proud Ro: They certainly would Meena: if not a little curious where all these deep feelings had sprung from Meena: oh the shame 🙈 Ro: True, but have no fear, my lips are sealed Ro: Whilst we're on the subject though, how do you feel about him getting involved with the band? Meena: Thanks, Ro 💛 Meena: I mean, I don't mind...I don't WANT to mind, it should be fine Meena: He's a part of my life as long as you guys are but that was admittedly far more abstract when he was more Meena: gone Meena: I am going to try, it would be good for the band, and me, to get over this Ro: Never mind the others, I'm very proud of you, Meena Ro: And for what it's worth, I think that's the right move, after all, he won't be away at school forever Ro: Should he decide to come back home for good you too are bound to interact more Meena: Exactly Meena: Can't ban him from Dublin and activities with his fam Meena: but I also don't think I need to exile myself...far too cliche for words and I frankly, don't want to Meena: I feel better for having talked it out...I just felt absolutely insane, like I was in topsy-turvy land or something, there for a sec Meena: Thanks again Ro, it means a lot Ro: What are friends for? No need to thank me, I'm just glad you feel better Ro: A very strange day for you indeed Ro: Tomorrow is a new one though at least and I'll be here if you need to talk again Meena: Truly! So strange manners were dropped at the door Meena: When we talk again I WILL ask how you are and what's going on with you Meena: I promise 😘 Ro: I have no doubt whatever Ro: But you're forgiven Ro: If there was ever a time for such an entitlement it was now Meena: 💛