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fuqnia · 1 day ago

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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

#south park x reader #south park x y/n #kenny mccormick x reader #south park smut #x reader #south park oneshot #i wanna be your boyfriend m!list #fem reader

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lokissweater · 6 months ago

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you noticed me ⚾︎

{mlb!megumi fushiguro x f!reader}

summary: megumi fushiguro is one of the best players on the major league baseball team, and when you finally spot him on the big screen after practically dozing off at every game you went to with your girl friend? you were absolutely IN LOVE, but IN DENIAL that he could ever like you back… but he does, and bad.

warnings: MDNI. afab!reader, NASTY NASTY MEGUMI, oral sex, SMUT, pussy eating in locker rooms HEH, mentions of drinking but like tiny just once, reader is oblivious to the way megumi wants her, DOMINANT AF MEGUMI PHEWW, cursing, flufffff!!, barely any angst, DIRTY TALK, pet names, aged up characters.

word count: 12.1k (IK IM SORRY ITS A CUTE ONE THO)

authors note: you GUYSSSS i love megumi fushiguro i want him so bad and i LOOVEEE this fic!! i worked like a little worker bee for days and i really hope it makes you guys happy :] MWAH!!

want more? you can find my mlb!megumi fushiguro masterlist here!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

megumi fushiguro was the hottest baseball player you had ever seen in your life.

and you didn’t even like baseball to begin with, dozing off at every game your girl friend dragged you to because her boyfriend was on the major league team— but the one time you decided to open your eyes and pay attention to the big giant screen in front of you?

there he was in all of his emo glory.

number eighteen.

focused, half lidded eyes resembling borderline boredom as he waited for the pitcher to throw, his forehead glistening with sweat, flushed red cheeks, and his jet black hair slightly peeking over his forehead from underneath his baseball cap.

“my god—” your hand flew and you gripped your girl friends arm tightly, your jaw to the fucking floor as your eyes were gorilla glued to the screen, her quirking a curious eyebrow at you as she matched your frantic nature.

“what? what is it? who did you see? whats happ—”

you pointed your finger up at the screen, him swinging and hitting a fucking grand slam as he proceeded to get four runs with one hit, the one thing you knew about baseball besides a home run.

“that’s a— that’s a grand slam!” you pointed frantically, probably looking absolutely insane as you stood and screamed your fucking head off.

your girl friend laughed loudly, “you like fushiguro? megumi fushiguro?”

you jumped up and down, your girlfriend astonished and laughing as this was the first time she’d ever seen you energetic at a baseball game.

“he’s friends with yuji!” she yelled over the hollering of the crowd. “we can go to their locker room after and you can say hi! i heard he’s kind of mean though—”

“no!” you spun around, eyes wide and terrified. “i already know he’ll eat me alive then! i’m a loser, i can’t talk to him i don’t have game i—”

she rolled her eyes. “you’ll be fine—”

“no i can’t!” you shook your head frantically. “please he looks like the type to love bomb me and then leave me i don’t think i can handle that—”

she snorted. “are you sure?!”

you hesitated for a moment, biting your bottom lip as your eyes trailed back over to the screen, seeing megumi breathing a little heavy from running the field, his hands on his hips as he scanned the arena.

you sighed through your nose. “yeah i’m sure!”

“suit yourself!”

a year. a year you spent continuing to tag along with your girl friend to their games, staring lovesick and sad at the big screen over megumi, and standing outside far far away from the locker room once they scored another big win and not going in like you used to, waiting for your girl friend to finish up speaking to her boyfriend as you tried your best to avoid the chance of running into megumi.

she finally emerged from the locker rooms one day, a knowing smirk on her face.

“i told yuji.”

you blinked. “told him what?”

“that you like fushiguro.”

“no!” you gasped, a hand flying and smacking over your mouth. “please no im about to experience the biggest heartbreak of my life—”

“oh relax!” she grabbed your arm and practically dragged you towards the locker room doors. “he’s not even here megumi already left, but yuji wants to talk to you.”

“why?!” you exclaimed. “to let me down easy? to tell me he’s sorry on his behalf—”

your girl friend just about threw you in and went in after you as you stumbled, eyes blown wide as the air became humid and heavy, several of the players lounging about and refreshing themselves as the sound of lockers slamming shut echoed through the space— deep, broad voices laughing filling the room as yuji spotted you, his eyes friendly and polite. “y/n!”

you relaxed and smiled, “hi! you guys played really well today!”

“megumi also played really well today.”

“oh my god—” you groaned, throwing your head back as you spun around, heading straight for the exit.

“wait wait!” he laughed loudly, jogging up to you. “sorry sorry.”

“what do you want with me..” you mumbled.

he gave you a half smile. “i wanted to tell you that megumi’s weird.”

you snorted, “elaborate please.”

yuji threw an arm around your girl friend before continuing.

“you know we support your feelings and what you want…” he began.

your eyes narrowed. “why are you guys talking to me like you’re my parents—”

“but—” yuji cut you off. “i’m just gonna be straight with you. i’ve never ever seen megumi interact with anyone, let alone another woman, besides the team.”

“i don’t think i’ve ever seen him have a proper conversation with anyone on the team besides you actually…” your girl friend muttered to yuji.

yuji winced. “yeah…” he turned back to you. “back when megumi and i first got signed, he was really popular and a lot of girls would come up to him after games for his number or just to talk to him.”

“well obviously he’s a greek god,” you grumbled. “this is hurting me man get to the point.”

he sighed. “he basically scared all of them off. didn’t give a single one a chance and was kinda mean... he would either ignore them or straight up just tell them he wasn’t interested without them even being able to get a word in.”

you stared blankly.

“i tried to tell him that he needs to be nicer but he’s just not interested.”

you kept staring.

“that’s why i’m telling you this because we don’t want you to get hurt and i feel like if you try and talk to him he’s gonna be a dick and it might…” yuji looked at you sadly. “it might be a lost cause.”

you blinked.

“y/n?”

“that’s fine!” you squeaked, hands tight at your sides. “a part of me already knew. i read about it in an article, and i’ve seen his interviews.”

your girl friend looked at you with concern filled eyes. “are you okay?”

“yeah!” you waved them off. “why wouldn’t i be?”

“because your eyes are red.”

“ppffttt!” you blew out. “i’m fine! seriously. i never intended to talk to him anyways, i’m too much of a scaredy cat.”

you extended your arms out and engulfed the both of them, squeezing tight. “thank you guys for telling me though, i appreciate it.”

“y/n…” yuji trailed off.

“i’m gonna take off though, i’ll see you guys later, okay?” you waved and opened the door. “love you!”

and you scrammed, your heart in a million pieces.

it’s not like you didn’t already know. you knew, so why were you sad? why did you feel like you just got ran over by a double decker bus? why did you pathetically feel so sad?

this was the reality. you never stood a chance.

so why were you crying?

you continued walking down the hall and towards the main exit, utterly embarrassed at your sobbing and trying your best to hide it as you navigated through several groups of people, your vision entirely blurry as you were basically drowning in your tears.

you had barely escaped the crowd when you spotted a little secluded area in the lobby, trudging over pathetically and plopping down on the coushy seat as you wiped your cheeks, staring at the wall in front of you— a huge glass casing proudly decorated with the teams trophies and awards, gigantic portraits of the players on the team adorning the walls with megumi’s serious beautiful framed face right in front of you just making you feel worse.

you already knew, but regardless of megumi’s stand off ish personality, you liked it. you had curiously browsed his interviews and quotes in articles, and you always laughed at his responses, him almost every time offending the staff without even trying or knowing, and you found it so so funny, it only making you admire him and want to get to know him even more, even if it was just a friendship.

megumi fushiguro was one of the best players on the team in history, and as you closed your eyes, silent pathetic tears still slipping down your cheeks?

he never felt so out of reach.

“here.”

your eyes opened, but you literally could not see jack shit as your tears were still blurring your line of sight, you completely and utterly mortified that a stranger caught you sobbing as you wiped your face quickly in response.

“put on my sunglasses if you don’t want people to see you crying.”

the voice was gruff and lazy, but you could not care less as you took the sunglasses and settled them over your eyes, the lenses so freaking dark that you couldn’t see a single thing— your sight worse than before.

but it relieved you, as you figured no one could see your bloodshot eyes and therefore thankfully not notice you losing your mind over something so stupid.

“thank you,” you mumbled. “sorry.”

“for what.”

you felt the plush of the bench shift next to you, figuring that the stranger man sat beside you as you refused to look in their direction out of embarrassment.

not that you could even see in the first place.

“for looking like a loser.”

the stranger man snorted. “s’fine.”

you wiped your nose with your sleeve, sniffling.

“how do you see in these?” you muttered softly. “they’re making me claustrophobic i can’t see a thing.”

“that’s the point,” he hums.

“how come?”

“i get migraines everyday. they help.”

“oh i see.” you responded softly. “have you ever run into a wall because of them?”

you hear him huff out through his nose. “i did once, when i first got them.”

you giggled gently. “did you bleed?”

“no,” he spoke calmly. “i got a bump on my forehead.”

you snickered, “what? loserrr.”

you stood up and carefully tried to walk around a little, testing out how to guide yourself through the dark lenses and trying to be careful and not bump into a wall (which was literally impossible), your hands out, feeling around.

“jesus christ i’m just kidding now i feel bad. i think im gonna bump myself into a wall too so we can call it even.”

you couldn’t see, but the stranger man’s lips twitched at your comment.

“don’t do that.” he murmured. “sit back down.”

you listened and started making your way over, feeling him reach out and wrap his fingers around your wrist carefully and guide you to the bench, you plopping down on it once you felt it.

“thank you!” you responded sweetly. “…i’m actually glad i can’t see a thing right now.” you perked up, pushing the sunglasses back up over the bridge of your nose.

“why is that.”

“so i don’t have to look at megumi fushiguro’s big portrait in front of my face.”

the stranger man stopped.

“…why?”

“because he indirectly broke my heart.”

you heard a little audible laugh, and you smiled to yourself.

at least someone is having fun right now.

“how did he indirectly break your heart?”

“my girl friend’s boyfriend is yuji itadori. she spilled the beans against my will about how i have a crush on him, and yuji told me that he’s mean and he’ll basically bite my head off and tell me to scram.”

“did he?”

“uh huh,” you nodded. “they were trying to let me down easy, but it’s not like i was gonna try and talk to him anyways. i’ve gone a year without saying anything i can go on and on and on.”

the stranger man hummed.

“he’s so cool though…” you murmured, dazed. “he’s gonna be a hard one to forget about.”

“why do you like him?”

“i feel like im being interrogated,” you giggled.

you felt the stranger man lean back against the wall. “sorry, just curious.”

you copied him and crossed your arms, “mmm… because he’s really good at what he does. i admire that most of all.”

you tilted your head. “everyone berates him for being mean but i like that he’s supposedly mean for some reason…. he’s just serious about his profession and he doesn’t want to waste time. he’s also the hottest man i’ve ever seen so that definitely helps.”

the stranger man laughed a little.

“i don’t know,” you sighed sadly. “maybe i’m just demented. i am demented.”

“if yuji itadori told you the exact opposite about him, would that have encouraged you to go up to him?”

you sat in thought for a moment, but ultimately shook your head. “no. it’s too embarrassing for me and i’m also a big fat wuss so…”

you slid your fingers underneath the lenses and rubbed your stinging sore eyes. “maybe in the next life if i’m lucky, ill be reincarnated as a cool baseball man too and i won’t have to deal with this shit.”

“cool baseball man.” he repeated, tone seemingly amused.

“yup.”

the stranger man sighed. “is this why i found you crying?”

“maayybeee?” you dragged out shyly, your cheeks flushing.

it was silent for a moment, your vision completely black but his on your rosy cheeks, oddly staring that if you could see right now, you’d probably call him a creep.

“i’m sorry i made you cry.”

you jumped back.

“no not you!” you huffed. “have you not been paying attention? catch up man—”

you felt a shadow reach up and tug the sunglasses slightly away from your face, your eyes constricting against the bright lights of the hall as they tried to adjust.

and when they did?

megumi fushiguro was sitting right next to you, a tiny smile on his face dressed in all black with his teams baseball cap on.

your eyes widened dramatically and you slapped both hands over your mouth, beyond horrified as everything you had thought you were telling a stranger about him, you were telling him directly, your brain short circuiting and your body heating up like a fucking hot flash.

“oh my god i’m so sorry!” your voice was muffled, you shaking your head in absolute denial.

you immediately sprung up and grabbed your purse, slowly backing up further and further away from him.

his smile widened.

oh my god.

megumi fushiguro was smiling, a sight you’ve never ever seen during his games, practices, interviews, articles, or magazines as your cheeks increased in shade— wanting to mentally take a picture and remember forever as you knew you’d probably never see him smile like that again.

but he was smiling.

“pretend i don’t exist!” you stammered, “pretend this never happened i’m sorry this is so embarrassing keep winning your games okay and i’ll keep being an idiot far far away from you—”

“where are you going?” he chuckled lowly.

“—you’ll never see me again i’m going home and i’m going on lockdown—”

he laughed through his nose, his lips in an amused smile.

“you don’t have to do that.”

“yes i do—”

“you don’t have to forget me either.”

“that i definitely do—”

you were halfway out of the main entrance doors.

“hold on y/n—”

megumi stood, his long legs walking over to you and you froze.

y/n?

you slowly turned around, your face pale and afraid.

“how do you know my name?” you asked softly.

“your best friend is dating yuji, is she not.”

you nodded, eyes blank.

“i’ve been seeing you inside the locker room after our games for like… two years.” megumi mumbled.

oh.

oh that’s right.

you didn’t actually notice megumi until last year, when you decided to finally open your eyes for once during a game and that’s how you spotted him for the first time on the big screen in front of you, in all of his gorgeous handsome entity.

“oh.”

he raised a hand and pressed his index finger to your forehead, nudging you softly.

“dummy.”

“s-sorry..” you gave him a wobbly bashful smile, your cheeks pinky as you rubbed your red eyes.

his eyes slightly softened and he shook his head. “s’fine.”

megumi continued to stare at you, a stone cold face that always seemed to scare off the teams entire fan base, but only made you feel numb and giddy all over every single time.

you smiled wider then, and megumi’s lips twitched.

cute.

“i’m— i’m gonna go now.”

“do you have a ride home?”

you stopped. “no i was just gonna call an uber—”

he shook his head and walked past you, his shoulder brushing gently with yours with his hands stuffed in his pockets as you turned and stared at him.

he paused and looked over his shoulder.

“you coming?”

your eyes widened. “coming? w—where?”

he rolled his eyes. “i’m taking you home.”

“no!” you shot your hands out. “it’s okay! really! thank you thank you i appreciate it but—”

he stared lazily.

“come.”

you pressed your lips into a thin line and tipped your head down, taking tiny painful steps as you followed after him to the parking lot.

megumi led you from the public parking area to a secluded section around the back of the arena, one you assumed was for players and crew members only as you nervously gnawed on your bottom lip, feeling absolutely sick.

you both continued to walk down until you arrived to a private parking garage, megumi slipping out his keys from the pocket of his hoodie as you approached a shiny black luxurious car sitting neatly in a spot.

his car was really fucking nice, and you figured so being as he was one of the most popular players and probably had more than enough money in the bank— your fingers trembling as you gripped the passenger side door, settling yourself inside his plush cool leather seats and all black interior.

megumi pressed the ‘start’ button and his engine roared to life, the motor echoing through the structure as you clumsily tried to put on your seatbelt, your cheeks growing pinker with each passing second that you just couldn’t get the stupid damn thing to— click—

he reached over across the console and took the seatbelt from you, pulling it over your body and clicking it secure without a word.

“thank you.” you said softly, eyes trained to your lap.

megumi gave you a small nod and backed out of his parking space, driving around a couple of rows before making his way out with the night air softly breezing through your hair as he drove, his dash illuminated with blue lines that ran smoothly across.

“can you put your address in—”

“oh yeah!” you jumped. “sorry—”

you reached over and tapped in your address on his big touch screen, watching the way the gps registered the location and gave him the estimated time of arrival.

forty fucking minutes.

“megumi..”

his eyes looked over at you for a second before turning back to the road.

“hm?”

“i live kinda far from here and i don’t want you to drive the opposite way from where you live.”

you leaned a little, eyebrows pinched. “i can take an uber seriously, this is too much trouble i—”

“you’re already in my car.” he deadpanned.

“i’ll jump out.”

he pursed his lips, trying to suppress a smile.

“i have child lock on.”

“child lock?!” you gawked. “is this what you think of me?”

“you’re a little helpless… and you’re a crybaby.” he mumbled. “child lock stays on.”

you giggled after, your eyes shining and filled with mushy feelings for him as you nodded. “you’re probably right.”

he looked over at you then, and he smiled, softly.

“what do you do?”

you fidgeted. “h—huh?”

“do you um…” he ran his thumb over the top of his gear shift. “do you work? do you go to school?”

he’s asking you?

“i go to school!” you responded shyly but kind. “i go to a college that’s about fifteen minutes from your stadium. i usually go and meet up with my best friend after class if there’s a game.”

he hummed. “are you a big baseball person?”

you grimaced.

do you lie? do you tell the truth? do you roll down his window and attempt to jump out of the car that way?

you played with a strand of your hair. “i— i um—”

he raised an eyebrow.

“i— don’t?”

he cocked his head. “you don’t?”

you shook your head no, completely ashamed of who you are as a person as you covered your eyes.

“i knoww i suuucckkk,” you whined. “the only things i know about baseball are home runs and grand slams— which you did!”

you pointed at him excitedly. “last year! i remember you hit a grand slam! i got so excited that for once i knew what the fuck was going on and why everyone was going crazy…”

you fiddled with your fingers nervously, your eyes trained to the road. “i felt so included.”

he chuckled, and unexpectedly, reached over and gently ruffled your hair.

you then stared at him as he did so, doe eyes wide and cheeks pink.

megumi was truly just beautiful— his smooth face that didn’t have a single blemish on his skin shining under the moonlight, his black spiky hair peeking from under his cap that you had no doubt in your mind was soft and velvety.

you hated that you’d probably do anything for that man.

“i’m sorry i made you cry,” he repeated, you recognizing his words from before.

your eyebrows furrowed.

he was still thinking about that?

you shook your head furiously, “you didn’t! i swear it’s okay. i’m just crazy.”

he huffed out a laugh.

megumi thought you were odd, but in a good way. he thought everything you did was a little funny, as you were jumpy and clumsy and a crybaby and helpless, but he also took note of how polite you were. he noticed how considerate you were of him even though you were really upset, and you were kind of sweet… really sweet actually, your personality something that was totally different from the usual girls that came up to him.

well, the usual girls that used to come up to him back when he first started.

megumi pulled into your driveway and shifted the gear into park, the doors automatically unlocking.

you opened the door and stepped out before leaning down and peeking your head in.

“thank you for the ride!” you said sweetly, a cute smile on your face. “i’m sorry you had to listen to my confession against your will.”

he shook his head. “it’s alright.”

you went in to close the door.

“y/n.”

you leaned back down, “yeah?”

“are you gonna stop coming to our games?”

you gnawed at the inside of your cheek, your eyes darting around the interior of his car nervously.

“i— i don’t think so.”

“good.”

megumi watched you close his door and walk back a bit, him shifting his gear into reverse as the corners of his lips turned a tiny bit upwards.

“i’ll see you then.”

as you watched him pull out and drive away, his engine roaring down the street, you could not stop or simmer down the way your heart raced against your chest, so much so that you were afraid it was going to burst through your chest and literally kill you.

the next time you went to a game, you hadn’t told your close girl friend yet as she led you through the crowd and down to the v.i.p. lower level seats like always, a kind courtesy of yuji’s that he did whenever he could.

as you watched, you embarrassingly spotted megumi almost the minute you arrived, stars and hearts in your eyes as you watched him do his thing and work magic through the field with his absolutely insane batting, strong and purposeful as he barked orders or observed the opposing team for leads.

once his and the opposing team switched sides, megumi looked up as he jogged, his eyes seemingly scanning the v.i.p. front sections until he spotted you.

he raised a hand and gave you a little wave, and your eyes widened as you timidly, hesitantly, gave him one in return— your cheeks turning pink.

“who are you waving at?”

your girl friend pressed a cheek against yours and looked.

“who is- fushiguro?!”

you looked at her sheepishly.

as you recounted the story to her, her eyes bulging out of her sockets and screaming her head off every two seconds, her head snapped to the field.

“i have to tell yuji—”

“no!” you gripped her shoulders. “it’s literally nothing! he drove me home and he probably just feels bad for me.”

“megumi isn’t the type to make a crying girl feel better or drive her home.”

“it’s because he knows that we know yuji.”

“mm i don’t think so..” she scowled, crossing her arms in eventual defeat as she stared straight ahead.

that’s how it went for about a month.

you would come to their games, megumi would wave at you from the field or you would catch his attention and wave at him, and you would briefly speak to him casually just after his games, your conversations with him usually lasting no more than three minutes as he was often pulled by his coach or a crew member.

but even though the conversations were short, they were really nice, and the both of you never seemed to notice the people around you wanting his attention until he physically had to get pulled away.

but you still refused to go inside the locker room, knowing that was surely the place where you had to talk to him for longer than three minutes. you were too scared, embarrassingly so as you bid your girl friend and yuji goodbye from just outside the door before leaving every time, completely unaware of the way megumi would stare expressionless at you from inside.

when your girl friend invited you to the team’s yearly banquet, you flat out said no, decision firm and unmoving as she begged you over and over and over again.

“please please you have to go! you can’t avoid megumi forever!”

“what is the purpose of me going though?” you sighed, shaking your head with a smile at the sight of her dramatically on her knees over you. “for you it makes sense because you’re with yuji but what’s the excuse for me? i’m not anybody’s plus one.”

“yes you are,” she got back up on her feet and wiggled her eyebrows, “you’re megumi’s plus one.”

“bye i wish,” you mumbled, plopping down on your bed.

“okay you’re my plus one, or yuji’s! so he has two plus ones!”

she walked over and sat down next to you, resting her head against your shoulder as she sighed. “please come. you don’t have to talk to megumi okay? fine. but just come with me, i’ll have a better time if you do.”

you gave her a silly smile and thought for a moment, her sad tone swaying you as you finally gave in.

“only if you swear you won’t force me to talk to him.”

she nodded eagerly.

“i swear!”

so you stood there, nervous and biting your thumb as you frantically looked around, dressed in a pretty black off the shoulder mermaid style gown with a high slit exposing your leg— fiddling with your styled hair as you waited and waited and waited for your girl friend to come back from the dessert table with yuji.

you hadn’t seen megumi yet as you were trying to keep on a look out, because the moment you did see him all dressed up? you were sure you were going to start pathetically bowing for him on your knees in front of all these people and end your social life forever.

finally, she came back and handed you a little pastry, you thanking her kindly and taking a small bite.

“wait no!” she gasped, turning her pastry around. “fuck, i got the wrong one. i meant to get the vanilla one this is coconut.”

“i can get it for you this time.” you smiled kindly, her looking at you gratefully as you patted her shoulder, making your way over to the dessert table.

your eyes lit up like stars at the sight of it, grand and luxurious as any kind of pastry you could ever possibly think of was present— neat and gourmet-like, each adorned with elegant toppings as multiple huge chocolate fountain stations ran from the sides.

“hi.”

you jumped and looked to your right, megumi standing there beside you with a bored expression, clad in a polished black button up and slacks, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

you gulped.

“h—hi.”

“i didn’t think you’d come.”

he lazily picked up a tiny slice of chocolate mousse cake and looked at it.

“i was dragged by my best friend,” you puffed out a laugh. “she said i was her and yuji’s plus one or something like that.”

he nodded, biting his cake slice and swallowing.

“you stopped coming inside the locker rooms.”

you faltered.

he noticed that?

“oh yeah! i just—” you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “i’ve been really busy with school so i study right after…”

for some reason megumi eyed you carefully, and your cheeks grew pinker the more he blatantly stared at you as you fidgeted.

“are you—”

“fushiguro!”

you both turned your heads to the source, and you spotted an unfamiliar guy, one who you assumed was on the team with them, smiling enthusiastically and throwing a heavy arm around megumi’s shoulder.

“who’s this? i’ve never seen you talk to anyone besides us!”

megumi only spared him a nonchalant glance before he looked back over at the dessert table.

the unknown man extended a hand out to you, and megumi’s eyes snapped to it.

“hi! i’m takuma!”

you cheerfully took his hand. “y/n!”

“are you megumi’s girlfriend?”

you gawked, guilt and embarrassment already filling your body at the thought of megumi finding that comment uncomfortable and being uncomfortable because of you.

at his own banquet.

“n—no!” you shook your head, eyebrows pinched. “i came with my best friend and yuji.”

takuma unhooked his arm and let it rest beside him. “oh nice! you know yuji as well?”

you nodded, “mhm!”

the rest of the crowd began to take their seats for the awards ceremony segment, and the three of you walked over to your designated table by yuji and your best friend, who’s eyes widened at the sight of you next to megumi.

you all sat, and takuma pointed to the empty seat next to you.

“is anyone sitting here?”

“oh no!” you smiled politely. “it’s empty you can—”

“take mine ino.”

megumi pulled out the chair next to you and plopped down on it, scooting up. “it’s closer to the front.”

huh?

“o—oh!” takuma scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “okay! thanks fushiguro.”

he only nodded in response and stuck his face in his champagne glass, sipping.

and he was right. you watched as takuma navigated through the circular tables before sitting in a seat that was right smack dab in the front.

“that’s really nice of you megumi!” you chirped. “he has such a good view now!”

“mhm.”

your best friend smacked a hand to her forehead with a shake of her head, and you looked at her quizzically.

the awards ceremony was the most fun you’ve ever had, as you were over the moon for all of the players that were awarded prestigious titles and recognitions, and even more excited for yuji and megumi, the both of them combined taking award after award that by the time the event was done, your table was filled to the brim with frames, medals, and trophies.

your doe eyes glowed over megumi’s earnings, pride and admiration bubbling in your chest as you took in the result of his hard work, feeling like he was the most talented person you ever had the privilege of knowing.

he stared at your enamored look.

“you’re so cool, gumi..” you gushed, not even noticing the little nickname you gave him.

but he did.

“cool baseball man?” he responded softly, referencing your words from when you first met.

your eyes snapped to his and you gave him the shiniest smile, nodding quickly. “yeah! cool baseball man.”

megumi looked down at his awards, and after a couple of seconds, picked up a shiny gold medal hung on a baby blue striped lanyard, holding it out for you.

“here.”

your eyes traveled down.

“what?”

“for you.” he pushed the medal forward.

shock crossed your face, and you frantically shook your head, pushing the medal back to him. “no! no megumi that’s yours you earned it—”

megumi rolled his eyes and held on to the edges of the lanyard, effortlessly setting it over your head and around your neck, the medal clinking and twinkling against your chest.

“i have four others. it’s fine.”

“no but—”

he carded his thumbs underneath your hair and gently slid your hair out from beneath the lanyard, setting it delicately over your bare shoulders.

yuji and your best friends jaws were on the floor, but you didn’t notice, too busy ogling over the fact that megumi fushiguro was the kindest person you had ever met, utterly amazed that he selflessly gave you something so precious. you.

your gaze trailed down to the medal, and you softly touched it with the pads of your fingers.

“t—thank you gumi…”

his lips twitched.

you realized then that the music had started and the crowd had already dispersed to celebrate, some dancing in the center while others mingled on the sidelines or hogged the dessert table.

and you spotted your best friend with yuji, the both of them smiling adoringly at each other, laughing and dancing— something bashfully wished for yourself as you grinned softly at them.

megumi followed your gaze, and he huffed an amused small laugh through his nose.

“they met at a party didn’t they?”

you looked to him and nodded, “uh huh! i was with her. she was so scared to talk to him and i literally had to throw her in.”

he scratched his cheek. “i remember. i was there.”

your jaw dropped. “you were?!”

he nodded. “and i remember you too.”

you sat there in silence.

how long had megumi been around in your life without you knowing? how didn’t you ever freaking notice?

before you could press any further, megumi squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fingers to his forehead in pain, groaning softly.

you jumped, “are you okay? what’s wrong?”

he shook his head. “migraine. the lights are fucking with me a little.”

“oh!” you frantically looked around the table and around him. “where are your sunglasses? the dark ones the ones you ran into a wall with!”

megumi snorted and shook his head again, eyes peeking at you a bit. “it’s fine. i left them at home.”

your eyebrows rose, “you left them?”

he nodded and dropped his hand, sitting up straight and trying to open his eyes fully to seem normal, but his lids only dropped again and his forehead fell to rest against the table.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbled. “just give me a minute.”

“don’t be sorry gumi…”

you figured the rest of the night was going to be like this, and if megumi stayed, he was going to end up dealing with the dull ache in his head for hours on end and not enjoy his banquet.

but you wanted him to enjoy it. this was his night, and you didn’t want him to spend it pissed off and writhing in pain.

“do you want to leave?”

he turned his head to the side and looked at you.

“we can um—” you fiddled with the medal around your neck. “we can go outside? or we can go for ice cream…”

you tilted your head to the side cutely, and you were oblivious to the way megumi’s cheeks went a little pink at the sight.

“ill pay though!” you smiled sweetly. “it’s the least i can do for the medal you gave me.”

he gave you an endearing half smile and nodded.

your eyes lit up. “really?! okay!— wait let me just say bye to my best friend and let her know—”

you quickly stood and walked over to the dance floor, megumi watching after you before picking up his black blazer and holding it underneath an arm, wondering how the fuck he was gonna pick up all of his awards himself.

“y/n!” your best friend gushed. “you’ve been talking to megumi for hours what the fuck is going on—”

you laughed. “nothing! it was nothing but i’m gonna go get ice cream with him!”

“what?!” her and yuji said in unison.

“did he ask you?” yuji pushed.

“no!” your eyes narrowed. “of course not i’m a big fat loser why would he? i invited him because he has a migraine so—”

your best friend hummed, a smirk on her face. “oh i see... use protection.”

“huh?!” your jaw dropped. “no! that’s not—”

“y/n!”

you turned and saw takuma walk over to you, a big smile on his face. “you enjoying the banquet?”

“oh yes! it’s really great!” you smiled kindly. “the dessert table is absolutely insane.”

“right?!” takuma stepped closer to you. “they go all out every year, it’s what everyone looks forward to.”

“i can definitely see why!”

he chuckled and nodded but then turned to you, speaking quieter. “listen um… i was wondering if you were uh— well if you wanted to dance? with me? y’know… maybe get to know each other better and then—”

yuji shoved his lips to your best friends ear.

“he’s stealing megumi’s girl.”

“i know!” she whispered harshly. “what the fuck do we do—”

“i don’t know!”

“well call megumi over—”

suddenly, a tall broad figure walked in between you and takuma, your vision blocked by his back.

“sorry ino,” megumi stepped to the side a little and placed a hand on the small of your back, ushering you towards the exit. “we were just leaving.”

yuji and your best friend gave each other a low high five before their eyes darted around, putting on false ignorance.

“sorry!— it was nice meeting you takuma!” you called from over your shoulder before the both of you stepped out of the venue and into the cool night air.

megumi’s car was parked right out front, him unlocking the doors with a button just like he had done the last time, you noticing how all of his awards were set neatly in the back seat.

“oh i’m sorry gumi! did you carry these over by yourself? i was gonna help you—”

you sat yourself on his passenger side seat, the leather creaking with every movement you made.

he shook his head. “i had my publicist team do it. it’s fine.”

“oh okay…” you mumbled, still feeling a little guilty that you didn’t help him.

you went to reach for your seatbelt when megumi’s arm flew in front of you and grabbed the strap, pulling it over your frame and clicking it securely before his hands wrapped back around the steering wheel, just like he had done a month prior.

you couldn’t make out his expression, as it was blank and stone-like and not a word was coming out of his mouth as he backed out from the parking space, but you smiled at him cutely nonetheless and thanked him.

the nearest ice cream shop was literally down the road from the venue, and the drive took less than three minutes before megumi pulled in and parallel parked on the side of the street.

you both stepped out and walked inside, the shop colorful and vibrant as what looked like twenty different assortments of ice cream were on display, your eyes launching across each flavor excitedly.

“i haven’t had ice cream in a fat minute…” you murmured as you pressed your hands against the glass.

“me neither.”

“which flavor do you want megumi?” you asked him sweetly, your eyes still glued to the flavors that it made him chuckle.

“um…” he stepped forward and scanned the different colors. “i’ll take whatever you get.”

you looked at him and your eyebrows softened, “are you sure? what if you don’t like it?”

the corner’s of his lips turned upward, the sight making your heart skip a beat.

“it’s okay. i trust you.”

you ended up getting your all time favorite flavor that you never skip— cake batter, one that tastes different depending on who’s palette it is, and something you anxiously thought over as you gnawed on your bottom lip and stared, waiting for him to try it as you both sat on a park bench not too far from the shop.

“why do you look like you’re about to cry.” he snickered lowly.

your eyes snapped to his and you giggled. “i might if you don’t like what i picked out.” you plopped a little spoonful in your mouth, the cold ice cream melting and spreading over your tongue as you swallowed. “cake batter is a hit or miss for different people…”

he hummed, “how come?”

“it’s either too sweet or just nasty.”

“i have a sweet tooth.”

your eyes lit up, “so do i! i’m a big sweets person. i love love desserts and chocolate and ice cream… but i’m not the biggest fan of candy.”

“you’re not?”

“i love candy but not how i love sweets… and i wouldn’t randomly pick it out like at the store because i wanted to. most likely i would get a cookie.”

megumi liked how much you talked.

“have you always had a sweet tooth?” he pressed on, looking at his ice cream cup.

you nodded. “have you?”

“not really,” he shook his head. “i didn’t pick it up until i met—” he stopped. “…my dad.”

met his dad?

megumi spotted your confusion and continued.

“my actual dad disappeared. dunno where he’s at. all i’ve heard is that he had a bad gambling addiction so i’m guessing it had something to do with that.”

your eyes softened.

“gojo is kind of like my dad…” he mumbled. “he’s supported my sister and i financially ever since i was maybe five or six.”

“you have a sister?” you murmured, eyes big.

he nodded. “i do.”

he scooped a bit of cake batter ice cream up with his spoon and plopped it into his mouth, smiling softly. “gojo gave me a sweet tooth. he can’t go a day without it.”

you’d never heard megumi open up so much before, and you felt incredibly lucky and special to be the one to hear about his family and share a precious moment with him over eating ice cream, something you wanted to treat delicately and remember for as long as you lived.

“do you like it?” you asked softly, gesturing to his cup.

“i love it.”

you beamed, and he took in your cute smile for a minute as you ate some more on your end.

“i’m sorry about your actual dad… but i’m glad you and your sister got the support you needed when you were young.”

he nodded.

“did he encourage you to do baseball? or was it you?”

“he did initially.” he shook his head. “he was annoying at first, was a cheerleader at every game and was so loud.”

you giggled.

“but i grew to like it… and that’s what i wanted to do for a career. if it wasn’t for gojo’s funding i wouldn’t have been able to.”

you hummed, savoring the ice cream a bit before swallowing. “that’s really nice, gumi. i’m really happy you got the opportunity to grow your skill out like that…” you swirled the ice cream around your cup with your spoon. “what you have is a solid gift, and i would hate to see it not get the recognition it deserves when you’ve worked so hard to make it what it is now.”

you looked at him. “so i’m really, really glad that it does get it.”

megumi stared at you, face blank and a scoop of yet to be eaten ice cream on his spoon, his cheeks growing hot.

“i don’t know why you think so highly of me.” he murmured.

everyone thinks he’s rude.

your eyebrows furrowed. “i don’t think megumi, i know. you’re not a mean person, you’re honest and serious about the important things in your life. and if the medal around my neck that you gave me selflessly doesn’t tell you otherwise? i might have to kill you.”

he laughed, loud, his eyes sparkling. “you might?”

you bit your lip to refrain yourself from freaking out over his smooth laughter. “i might.”

you subconsciously rubbed your hands over your chilling arms then and megumi eyed it before he put his cup down, reaching next to him for his blazer and opening it up as he gently placed it over your shoulders.

you looked at him like he was the world then, doe eyes big and round and shimmering, and megumi felt like he could do anything with that look as long as it came from you— a permanent red tint on his cheeks that was entirely your doing.

“thank you..” you mumbled shyly, your eyes glued to your now empty cup of ice cream on the bench as you clutched the sides of his blazer, the smell of him wafting in your nose that made you absolutely weak.

megumi timidly, slowly, reached up and moved a strand of hair from your eyes then, and you looked up.

“pretty…” he murmured, dazed even.

his hand fell and landed gently on your exposed thigh from the slit of your dress, but instead of moving it, he let it stay there, his hand smoothing over your plush soft skin as he was completely entranced by your heavenly face, his body pulling his lips closer to yours as megumi’s breath quickened with absolute need the higher up his hand trailed up your yummy thigh.

you couldn’t say a word, he practically didn’t let you as his lips pressed delicately and timidly against your plush ones, his mouth moving so slowly and his tongue parting your wet lips for the purpose of devouring more of you, all while his fingertips reached and felt the side straps of your panties— the material alone making him erratic and desperate while his other hand gripped your waist tightly.

your mouths moved faster now, the sounds of wet smacking and lips separating to reconnect with more greed than before muffling your ears as he breathed heavily through his nose, his eyebrows pinched together in pent up everything as he finally had you with him after months of you avoiding him.

and then you pulled away with a wet pop.

“i—i’m sorry!” you covered your mouth. “i didn’t mean to kiss you!—”

what?

megumi’s eyebrows furrowed, both of your chests heaving as his cheeks and lips were blushed red.

he shook his head, “no i kissed you—”

“don’t cover for me gumiii,” your shoulders slumped, your brain so in denial that he could ever like you back that it tricked you into thinking you were the one kissing and all over him. “fuck i’m sorry… that was so disrespectful and— and weird of me and i—”

megumi’s hands slipped away from your body and he shook his head, his eyes dead locked on yours with his eyebrows pinched together. “y/n no you’re not understanding—”

“i’m the biggest creep on the planet man i understand if you don’t ever want to speak to me again—” you covered your face and leaned forward.

megumi stared at you astonishingly as he listened to you ramble apologies and dramatic insults for yourself continuously, his shoulders slowly relaxing and his lips turning into a soft knowing smile, your random speech starting to make absolutely no sense at all and his heart aching at the fact of how naive you were.

“y/n.”

you stopped. “what.”

he reached over and pulled your hands away from your face. “you’re helpless, you know that?”

“helpless and a creep.”

he laughed and shook his head. “stop it.”

he stood and offered his hand out for you.

“it’s getting late, i’m driving you home.”

megumi decided he would properly speak to you about it the next time he saw you… except he didn’t.

you started avoiding him like the plague again, horrendously horrified about what you believed you had done, thinking that it was better if you stayed away from him and fulfilled your initial task of forgetting him, no matter how much it hurt you.

you didn’t want megumi to ever be uncomfortable or experience what you believed he experienced with you. he didn’t deserve that. he didn’t deserve a pathetic little fan girl that never left him alone and hindered his work on the field, even though you wished so badly you could see him again, as the taste of his lips and mouth never left your fuzzy mind.

you kissed megumi fushiguro.

“oh my god y/n, you’re so stupid.”

“no i’m not! do you really believe megumi could ever like me back? no! absolutely not. i kissed him and i fucked up and that’s it. i’m staying away from him.”

your best friend ran her fingers through her hair and almost tore a chunk out in frustration. “it sounds like he kissed you! he had his hand on your thigh—”

“that was for stability! he—”

“no it was to feel you up!”

you shook your head side to side with your arms crossed. “nope nope nope nope—”

“y/nnnn!”

as for megumi, the next game he had he looked for you while on the field like he always did, looking forward to seeing your precious face and giving you a little wave… except he couldn’t find you. after the game, he went around the stadium and towards the locker room, inside and back out, the parking lot, his parking lot—

and he couldn’t find you.

this went on for a full three weeks of game after game nearly every day him doing the same exact thing— him getting increasingly more confused and a bit upset at your disappearance, going as far as to staying hours after his games still in his sweaty baseball uniform and cap with hopes that you’ll turn up.

except you never did.

and at the end of the third week, he had had enough.

“oh hey megumi!” your best friend greeted him, her hand fixing around yuji’s hair in the locker room after a game.

“hi.”

he stood there and said nothing, and your best friend eyed him skeptically. “…yes?”

megumi shifted awkwardly. “have you um… have you seen y/n?”

she sucked in a breath. “uh yeah. i saw her this morning.”

“this morning?” his eyes narrowed. “is she okay? why hasn’t she been coming to our games with you?”

“because—” she stammered. “well because—”

“is it our place to say?” yuji muttered.

“is it our place to know?” she whispered back harshly.

“i don’t know!”

“let’s just tell him!”

“but what if!—”

megumi rolled his eyes and huffed. “nevermind. please tell her to come tomorrow, i need to talk to her.”

your best friend gulped and nodded, both her and yuji watching the way he walked away and snatched his cap off, throwing it inside his locker and slamming it shut with his foot before picking up his duffel bag and leaving, not even bothering to change out of his dirt covered uniform.

“i’ve never seen him so stressed,” yuji commented.

“it’s because he likes her and she’s being an idiot…” your best friend sighed sadly.

so when she came to you the next day and told you megumi needed to speak to you, she amplified how upset he was to get you to feel bad and feel the urgent need to come to the game tonight, which you of course did.

and you were worried. so so worried and scared that he was finally going to tell you off for kissing him, to tell you that you sucked and that he never ever wanted to see you again in his life and that you were a disgusting human being—

but the roar of the crowd pulled you from your thoughts, the team winning once again as many began to pack their things and take their leave. you were completely and utterly shitting yourself, petrified and already heartbroken over the fact that megumi was officially going to cut you off as a friend when you hadn’t even had the chance to try and win him over yet.

and the way he played on the field tonight was way more aggressive than normal. he was louder, meaner, and didn’t take his eyes away from the ball or his opponents as he nearly got into a fight with another player, yuji and a few others needing to pull megumi apart and set him aside to cool off— the cameras and reporters having a field day in regards to him.

and that bothered you like nothing else. why the hell were they so excited over him getting angry? to amplify the brand that he upholds as the teams meanest player? as if they’ve never had a bad day a day in their lives? what was the point?

and it was all because of you, you realized.

you made him upset.

you covered your face with your hands and groaned, feeling like you wanted to cry.

“y/n…” your best friend patted your back. “it’ll be fine… he just needs to talk to you! you don’t even know what it’s about.”

“i can take a wild guess.”

she looked at you worriedly before picking up her things. “whenever you’re ready babe… i think he’s in the locker rooms by now.”

she left you there to gather yourself, and you sat there for a couple of more minutes before finally getting up and making your way to the locker rooms.

most of the fans had cleared out by now, and the sun was beginning to set as you passed and squeezed through crew members and news reporters, gnawing at your bottom lip as you turned a corner and spotted the locker room, many of the players already leaving.

just as you had reached your hand up to open the door, a firm voice called out to you.

“y/n.”

you froze, retracting your hand as you turned to look.

megumi stood there at the end of the hall, his baseball uniform still on and his cap dangling from his belt loop, hands in tight fists with his chest rising and falling, an agitated look on his face that you had never seen before.

“h—hi-”

“are you trying to forget me? is that what’s going on?”

your eyebrows furrowed.

“what?”

megumi took stride full steps towards you. “you finally talk to me, you confess to me, you disappear for a month, i wait for you, you finally show up at the banquet looking like the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen in my fucking life—”

he stopped in front of you. “takuma tries to steal you from me, i get pissed off, i fall for you at the park, i kiss you—“ he threw his arms up. “and you disappear again!”

your eyes bulge out of their sockets.

fall?

“you what?—”

“so i’m asking you again,” megumi bent his knees to look at you at eye level, his hands coming up to cup your pink cheeks and his face so close to yours you can make out the exact color of his eyes.

“are you trying to forget me? like you said you would?”

you fidgeted.

“i— i was doing it for you—”

“why for me? i never said—”

the feeling of his big hands on your cheeks was making your heart do backflips and trick shots as your wide doe eyes looked at him.

“because when i kissed you i made you uncomfortable and i don’t ever want you to be so i thought it’d be best if i left you alone—”

“okay let’s fix that right now,” his hands tightened slightly around your cheeks and he readjusted his footing, knees still bent. “i kissed you. if anything i should be the one worried if i made you uncomfortable because i put my hand on your thigh like that and for that i’m sorry.”

“no but—”

“yes y/n. i kissed you because you’re polite and you’re sweet and you’re funny, and you don’t see me as rude like everybody else does. and even though you’re naive and helpless sometimes, i like that you are. i like you.”

“but you’re megumi fushiguro…” you squeaked.

“so?”

“and i’m a loser.”

he laughed so cutely and shook his head, his pearly whites fully shining at you so big that it took you back to the first time he smiled in front of you.

“no you’re not you big dummy.”

he let go of your cheeks and placed his palms flat against the brick wall behind you, cornering you in as he let his head hang low, the top of his spiky black hair the only thing in your line of vision.

“i don’t know how else i can make you see…”

he sounded so exhausted, and your heart clenched.

“was it—” you timidly placed your hands on his shoulders. “was it actually you that kissed me?”

he nodded, head still hung.

“and do you actually like me? like— like more than a friend…”

“way fucking more,” he mumbled.

you bit the inside of your cheek as you tried to contain yourself from screaming.

you couldn’t believe it. the megumi fushiguro, number eighteen, the most handsome man you’ve ever seen and the kindest one you’ve ever met… liked you.

“i could’ve sworn i kissed you..” you spoke softly, trailing off.

“you didn’t.” his voice was firm. “i kissed you and i put my hand up your thigh…” his forehead lifted to rest on the crook of your neck as he sighed a deep breath.

“i told— i told takuma to scram at the banquet because i got jealous that you were talking to him more than me. i saw you crying in the hall that first time we spoke and i recognized you and i went up to you because finally—”

he picked his head up slowly, eyes serious. “finally, you noticed me.”

he was so close that your nose brushed gently with his.

“you’re so dense y/n…”

megumi’s eyes flickered to your lips, “i’ve wanted you since the party.”

“the party?” you murmured.

he nodded. “the party where your friend first met yuji.”

your breath hitched as you felt his hands slide down the wall and snake over your hips, holding you tightly against him as the shock of his words made your body numb and tingly.

since the party?

it all seemed to click into place then, every single moment megumi tried to get you to look at him, to talk to him, in his own discreet way that you were completely oblivious to. and you were so fucking caught up in this fog of denial, that a person like megumi could never be interested in a person like you, that it made you push him away for the longest time without even giving yourself a chance.

you were so fucking stupid.

your arms slowly wrapped around his broad shoulders, the rough feeling of his baseball uniform underneath your fingertips and arms as you pressed your nose up against his shoulder shyly, feeling so incredibly bad for avoiding megumi for so long.

“i’m sorry…” you mumbled. “i’m sorry i was so oblivious gumi.”

you felt him shake his head from the crook of your neck silently, the vibration of his heart beating rapidly against you making you sweat and melt at the same time.

“don’t be.”

“i just—” you struggled. “i just thought you didn’t like me like i liked you and i wanted to respect your space…”

“i understand,” he muttered. “but i don’t want you to respect my space anymore.”

you held him tighter.

“and—” your voice was slightly muffled by his shoulder.

“hm?”

“i liked it when you put your hand on my thigh…”

megumi stilled, you playing the night he kissed you over and over in your head again like you’ve done since it happened— the thought making you nervous and timid.

he gripped you tighter.

“did you?”

you nodded, “mhm.”

megumi without parting from you, slipped a hand under your shirt and soothed his fingers over the bare skin of your torso, your breathing stuttering, his rough hand radiating warmth.

“what else do you like.”

you gripped the fabric of his uniform.

“i like… i like the way you kissed me. and how you touch me… like right now.”

your voice was so so soft, practically a whisper as he seemed to shiver under your words, wanting more.

“what else.”

“you,” you mumbled. “your body… your hair… your face… your hands… the way you talk to people.”

“you want me?” he murmured breathlessly.

“more than anything.”

“what else do you like?”

you leaned your head back a little and pressed your lips to his ear. “the way you play ball.”

he hummed, “you like the way i play baby?”

you nodded, your heart hammering.

he lifted his face from the crook of your neck and shamelessly pressed his lips to your cheek, murmuring.

“you wanna see what else i can do?”

“what— what else?”

megumi’s face remained pressed against your cheek as he let both of his hands now snake underneath your shirt and upwards, slowly but roughly groping the cup of your tits over your bra, feeling you up as you gasped.

“uh huh..” he pressed an open mouthed wet kiss to your pink fuzzy cheek. “‘cause i can do a lot more than just be your cool baseball man.”

he roughly spun you around and pushed you up against the wall, his hands coming back up to your breasts to grope you as he shoved and rubbed his hardened clothed dick against your perky ass, your tiny skirt riding up and revealing your pretty pink panties that made him absolutely feral.

“gumi!” you gasped. “s—someone could see—”

“i don’t fucking care.”

megumi buried his nose further into the back of your neck and your hair, him being a little pervert in the most delicious and intoxicating way possible.

he dragged his mouth up against your skin and latched on to the nape of your neck, sucking and biting sloppily against it as he marked you aggressively, no doubt in your mind that a purple bruise would follow soon after as his hands slipped under your bra now, pinching your hard nipples meanly and laughing when you jumped.

you moaned and whined against the wall, your body trembling as you felt your slick arousal slip from your hole and dampen your panties, choked up embarrassment coating your face as he shoved his fingers down your skirt without warning.

“you’re soaked baby…” he whispered. “and all because i grabbed your tits?”

“megumiii…” you whined, and you squeaked as he quickly slipped his fingers in between your pussy lips and pinched your clit.

“gumi,” he corrected. “fix it.”

“g—gumi—”

“good, pretty baby...” he praised, his dick rock fucking solid against your ass at the way his fingers slipped and slid in between your lower lips without much effort, both of your chests heaving and panting as your brains frazzled erotically.

the sounds of footsteps echoed from the end of the hall and you both immediately froze, a gasp slipping past your lips before megumi quickly covered your mouth with the same hand that was just fingering you.

“shh.” he kissed the back of your head.

if anyone were to walk in and see the sight before them— megumi with his crotch pressed up against your ass, a hand pushing your top and bra up, squeezing your bare puffy tit and the other covering your mouth?

they’d drop dead.

without another moment wasted, megumi uncovered your mouth and turned you around, his tongue darting out and licking the patch of wet on your cheek from his fingers before shoving them in his mouth, sucking up your left over juice as he bent down and wrapped his arms around your legs, lifting and throwing you over his shoulder.

megumi was freaky.

your eyes widened as he walked to the double doors of the locker room and kicked it open with his foot, turning around to lock them shut before walking to a corner and setting you down gently on a bench, his palms flat beside you on the smooth wood as he towered over you.

“is— is everybody gone?”

“long gone.” he nibbled at your cheek.

“but— but what if someone wants to come in?—”

he pulled away and got down on his knees. “i’ll tell them to fuck off.”

you panted as he pressed his hands against your thighs and squeezed, spreading them apart slowly with his eyes trained to your drenched cute pink panties.

he slid his hands underneath your thighs and lifted, bending you and pressing your knees closer to you as your back hit the lockers behind you, your hands gripping the bench for dear life.

“has anyone ever seen your pussy?” he gruffed, licking his lips.

you shook your head, embarrassed. “n—no.”

“has any other man touched you the way i’ve touched you?”

“m—maybe in high school?—”

megumi sunk his teeth into your inner thigh and bit you as you yelped.

“thought you liked me.”

“i do!” you sputtered.

“clearly not if you’re being a little whore and letting other filthy men on you.”

your hole clenched.

“that— that was before you!”

he stuck his tongue out and pressed it flat against your pussy covered panties, dragging it slowly and agonizingly up until the tip of his tongue passed and flicked up against your clit, the tip moving around and around your little nub as your thighs shook.

“doesn’t matter.” he let a string of drool fall from the corner of his lips and over your ruined underwear, your eyes fluttering as you felt his warm saliva ooze in between your lips.

“and what about takuma, hm?”

you tried to open your eyes. “ta—takuma?”

“mhm. he was all over you.”

you hiccuped as he wrapped his fingers around the straps of your panties and pulled them down.

“i—”

“bet he wanted to do to you what i’m doing right now…” he hummed. “would you have let him?”

he stuffed his nose into your bare pussy and inhaled deeply, your jaw dropping as you squeezed your eyes shut.

your lack of response caused him to pull away and bite your thigh again, harder.

“would you?”

“n—no!” you shook your head quickly, strands of your hair lightly grazing your face. “i wouldn’t—”

“so who then?” he licked over his bite mark. “who would you spread your legs open for like this and let them see what a nasty fucking girl you are…”

“you gumi!” you hiccuped. “just you—”

“just me?”

megumi finally let his tongue slither itself in between your folds, slowly running over your flaps and clit as your hole continued to squelch out your arousal, pooling on the bench beneath you.

“y—yes!”

he slobbered and spit over your pussy like a starved dog, his face glistening like sugary glazed sweets.

“that’s what i fucking thought,” he hummed. “you gonna try and forget me again?”

“no!” you shook your head. “never! i can’t!”

he gripped your thighs tighter as he absolutely violated your folds then, wet sloshing and slurpings filling the air as he spat and shook his head side to side rapidly on your clit, you squealing and attempting to snap your thighs shut in response, his strong grip not letting you even if you tried.

“i—i can’t!” you cried. “gumi slow please it’s too much—”

“be a pretty baby and stop complaining.” he ran his slimy tongue over your pussy entirely before shoving it inside your hole.

you choked and clasped a trembling hand over your mouth, tears of ecstasy spilling from the corners of your eyes as you squeezed them shut.

you whimpered and moaned and cried so pathetically, so cutely in his ears that he grinned as he pumped his tongue in and out of you filthily.

“you’re so fucking sweet—” he slapped your cunt and you jumped. “good thing i have a sweet tooth.”

your legs shook violently as you began to see stars, your tight hole clenching and sputtering around nothing as you felt your release approaching.

“gumi—” your hand flew back to the bench and you gripped it. “m’gonna cum! i’m— i’m gonna make a mess—”

megumi’s hand shot up and wrapped around one of your thighs so the tips of his fingers met your clit, his digits proceeding to rub and flick it as you climbed and reached your high, a high pitched scream echoing through the steamy locker room as your pussy leaked your sweet cum on his tongue.

you shuddered and jumped at the way he cleaned up your release and swallowed it, running his tongue soothingly over the bite marks on your thighs before coming back up and wiping his glistening face with his sleeve.

megumi leaned in and pressed a gentle loving kiss to your lips, a complete turn around from the feral beast you had in between your legs— you kissing him back with just as much feel and affection.

he pulled back and got back up on his feet, you watching him ditzy as he jogged over to his locker and turned the lock until it clicked open, him rummaging inside for a little before he shut it and came back with a fresh pair of gray sweatpants.

“put these on baby,” he murmured.

you nodded sweetly and took them from him, you slipping off your skirt and pulling his sweatpants over as you watched him bend and look over corners.

“what are you looking for?” you asked softly.

he perked up then and stuck his hand under a bench, pulling out your wet ruined pink panties and holding them up high like a trophy.

“oh my god—” you covered your mouth in embarrassment. “give me those!”

“nope.” he shook his head and walked over to his duffel bag on the floor, unzipping it before stuffing your panties inside. “these are mine now.”

megumi came back up and wrapped his palm underneath your chin, tilting your face up softly before planting a sweet kiss to your swollen lips.

“and so are you.”

and that you were.

you went on many many dates with megumi after that, each and every single one so incredibly lovely and fun, a genuine connection you felt with him and each other that you had never ever felt before in your life, absolutely enamored by the way he gently treated you and made you feel like the only one that mattered in his life.

your best friend was obviously over the moon for you, squealing like a maniac at everything you told her, and always teased megumi about his lovesick face whenever you came to his games or appeared in the locker room to help him change, sort his clothes, or fix his hair.

“megumi…” she snickered. “your cheeks are a little red! are you like— sick?”

he scowled at her and turned the other way, wiping his sweaty forehead as he watched you bounce down the steps cutely and onto the field after one of his practices, a huge smile on your face that replicated on his.

the minute you jumped into his arms, he peppered your little cheeks with kisses as you giggled and ruffled his spiky hair, asking him how he felt about practice and other things after he set you down.

without anyone noticing, a journalist was on the field, and at the sight of megumi fushiguro’s beaming toothy smile as he watched you run to him, they quickly snapped a photo and published it.

one was a perfect portrait photo of his shining white smile (that later became his signature picture) and the other was a photo of his arms out for you as you ran, the both of them causing an absolute uproar that altered megumi’s image from that day forward.

megumi fushiguro was thought to be the meanest player on the team since the day he got signed.

but when he started taking more pictures with fans, kind of stopped offending the people around him, signed more autographs, and smiled occasionally at the paparazzi— all while your pretty self stood right next to him?

megumi fushiguro was sometimes the meanest player on the team.

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want more? you can find my mlb!megumi fushiguro masterlist here!

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