#or like when I use bleach it just doesn’t do anything. and I’m like oh perhaps I’m the stupidest person alive?

[wewontbesleeping]

ok I don’t know how people wear white clothing ever. I do admit I am probably significantly more of a grub than most people, but like. I do not own anything white that hasn’t been stained within the first few wears

[edgeray]

Hi Ray! 🍅 Anon here~

Have fun on your holiday and enjoy it to the best you can! Be sure to stay hydrated, the weather is really mental these days.

Just wanted to share a bit of brainrot I had regarding soft Arle, whether or not you choose to make it into a fic is up to you!

Arle with her frame and demeanor is most definitely the Top + Dom in the relationship with reader, but how about when she’s insecure? Seeing reader take care of the children and feeling as though she doesn’t deserve to be as loved as said children, then reader after putting the kids to bed embraces Arle and puts her head against their chest so Arle can hear their heartbeat more clearly while patting Arle and assuring her that they love her for her and that she DEFINITELY deserves to be spoilt… (reader knows Arle too well to not pick up on her tells and knows that Arle’s being harsh on herself)

Or maybe reader writing in to the Tsaritsa (without Arle knowing) to ask if Arle can take a 2 week break just to take care of the children and spend time as a couple (What if!! Tsaritsa was the one who wed them!!! And just closes both eyes and approves time off). Then reader proceeds to spoil Arle in every way possible - breakfast in bed, a warm bath after sparring with the children (no, not that kind of bath, but a fluffy one where Arle gets a shoulder massage and scrubbed clean and gets lots of loving kisses everywhere she’s insecure of), a feast of sashimi and steak tartare for dinner and a soft bed and loving wife in the night. I wanna spoil Arle like that but 😭

Oh! And since Harbingers are like celebrities in Snezhnaya, do you think Arle would have a fanclub there? Think about it! She’s young, has a boatload of money (you CANNOT convince me #4 doesn’t have money when #11 has an unimaginable sum at the bank), can handle kids well (she runs the HotH), and as a Harbinger who fights she probably is ripped (RIP her actual body proportions, they’re limited by Hoyo’s models, nobody is convincing me her body type isn’t like Lady Maria’s from Bloodborne, with abs, guns and muscular. Thighs.)

0 chance that she doesn’t have a line of sapphics lining up for her in Snezhnaya, even with the rumors of her being ruthless and cruel (I mean. If the rumors worked in making people back off. Arle simps like us wouldn’t exist to begin with lmao)… Imagine Arle trying to placate Jealous!Teasing!Reader!! Like Arle coming home on Valentine’s day a bit late to find reader teasing her about having a new lover meanwhile Arle was actually out buying a new dagger for reader to protect themselves with… reader being melodramatic because she knows and trusts Arle enough that Arle would never do anything like that (and Arle knows but plays along)

R: “Oh, woe is me! My wife came home late on Valentine’s with a dagger to end our relationship, whatever should I do?”

Arle: “My love…”

And if the children are around? They’d be busy either pretending they didn’t see anything or resisting the urge to claw their eyes out or handing each other eye bleach. Sending condolences to Lyney when one of the younger children ask something along the lines of

“Brother Lyney, do you think we’ll have another sibling soon if Father and Mother are this loving with each other”

(I headcanon that Arle does teach them sexuality education but not until they’re 10 and before that the older children tell their younger siblings that children pop into existence when Papa and Mama love each other lots)

I’m so sorry this is getting really out of hand but Arle has me in a brainrot when I should be focusing elsewhere 💀

Rest Your Worries, Lax Your Heart

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Thank you, I did have a fun vacation :). Wow that is a lot and I love every single bit of this ask 🍅 anon. It'd be unfair if I just wrote one part and not all of them, so what did I do? Combined all of them as best as I can, but of course some details had to be omitted/changed because of that–hopefully you don't mind. I'm a fucking genius. Also considering that Arle has an anime, but never got a beach episode, this is said beach episode. This took so long because this turned out to be pretty self-indulgent (I'm sure you know which scene it was). This is a long boi, way over what the request range is supposed to be, but hope this is worth it? Somehow, my brain was able to focus for at least like… 4 hours. Started this at 23:00 something, and it's nearly 04:00. 🍅 anon, I enjoy your asks, so I hope you personally enjoy this one :)  Content warnings / info - a bit of suggestiveness, reader is referred to as ‘Mother’ but is otherwise gn!, 3.2k words 

It took a lot of back and forth over the span of four months, writing to the Tsaritsa, but you had finally been able to arrange this without the knowledge of your husband. The Archon, generous as she is, approved of your proposal for a two week long break without much pushback or questioning, saying that loyalty was rewarded and as one of her more productive Harbingers, Arlecchino’s efforts warrant her a break. All the Tsaritsa asked for was the general details of the vacation: when, where, and the activities you would be doing, which was easy enough to answer to. Surprisingly, she bought an entire section of the Sumeru coast along with a sizable cabin for the two of you and the children for the duration of your respite when you told where you plan on the location being. You're not one to turn down such a gracious offer so you accepted it. As a Pyro user, she would surely enjoy somewhere as warm as Sumeru. 

Currently, you're holding the letter from the Tsaritsa, which contains a direct order from the Archon addressed to Arlecchino to stay at Sumeru. No matter how much you plead for her to rest, your husband only says that she can keep working and for you to not worry. Tracing the envelope stamp, you breathe in deeply before knocking on the door.

“Yes?” Called from beyond the door. 

“Can I come in, Arle?”

“Yes, my love,” she says with a lilt. 

You come in, striding towards her, holding up the back of the envelope while trying to suppress your smile. “This was addressed for you.”

Arlecchino takes it with a bit of suspicion at the crack in your facial expression. Turning it over, she notices the stamp, which is the mark of the word of the Archon. She narrows her brows and takes out a letter opener, taking out the letter with a bit more urgency. You watch her expression morph from confusion to mild shock to indifference again. 

“What does it say?” You inquire her, biting your lip to hide the smile.

“It says that I'm going to Sumeru in three days. For a respite.” She eyes you carefully, her eyes glinting red. “But you seem to know that already.” 

You nod, a smile forming . “I thought… you were working so hard, and you deserve a break. I asked the Tsaritsa if it was possible and she agreed to it, even paying for our stay there.” 

Arlecchino's face flicks to something indecipherable, like there was a hesitation, but it quickly disappears before you can think too much on it. She gets up from her desk chair, strutting to you before wrapping her arms around your midsection, pulling you into an embrace. She presses a tender kiss against your forehead. “Thank you, my dear, for your thinking of me. I'm sure the children would appreciate being out of the House. I'll tell the children about this, and we should begin packing.”  

But does she appreciate it? It's for her, after all. You chew on the inside of your cheek but your smile remains in place.

You tilt your head up to kiss her cheek. “I already packed for us. And I told the kids, already.”

“Hm, that's why they seem so antsy lately. Thank you,” Arlecchino hums. “You picked for us already?”

“Yes. Including your clothes,” you chuckle, deviously imagining her in the attires you picked out for her. At that, she raises her eyebrows.

“Oh? What are you planning, my love?” She teases, seizing your chin in her hands and tilting your head up to lock her eyes with yours. You can't stop the giggle that bubbles out. 

“Nothing too… scandalous…” you answer back. “Don't worry, it's nothing too bad. This is all for you to relax, remember? You've been working so hard, been such a good husband, so…”

You lean forward to kiss her on the mouth. Whispering against her lips, you say, “As your partner, it's my duty to make sure you're happy. Isn't that right?”

If she physically could at that moment, Arlecchino would melt underneath your words. 

—

Upon your arrival at Sumeru, you were glad you picked the outfits that you did. Travel with around twenty kids was difficult, but luckily the older kids, the twins and Freminet especially, helped a lot. Everyone was practically vibrating in excitement, with the exception of Arlecchino, though you knew it was mostly because of how inexpressive she usually was. 

Right? 

Currently, the two of you lay on the sand by the crystal clear waters, enjoying the sight of the children playing. The little ones are playing in the sand, presumably sculpting a castle, and the older ones are either engaging in a heated battle involving smacking a ball around or with Freminent in the ocean. Here, you forget that they’re a part of the Fatui, child soldiers for the Tsaritsa; here, they look like normal children and it makes your heart swell. 

Unfortunately, you're stuck in a dilemma–observe your children and take in their contagious laughter, or ogle your husband who is in the most delicious and mouth-watering attire possible. Underneath her short gray collarless jacket, was a cropped, sleeveless turtleneck that exposed her lower half of her toned stomach, including her v-line. Below are tight, black leggings which do little in hiding her muscular thighs. Everytime you look at her, a flush runs to your cheeks and you find yourself too flustered for your stare to linger because of the growing amount of indecent thoughts. You breathe deeply in an attempt to calm the raging storms of desire in your stomach, distracting yourself by observing the waves and digging your feet in the sand. For the sake of your children, you'd like for your mind to be as pure as possible. 

Blackened arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into a lap. You squeal at the sudden contact. Your husband's mouth hovers beside your ear, hot breath brushing against the shell of your ear. 

“Something interesting?” Arlecchino huskily whispers, making you shudder. One hand strokes over your stomach, invoking shivers from you. You inhale sharply before glancing at Arlecchino's face. 

“Just… watching the waves. It's calming,” you lie quickly, wondering if your racing heartbeat can be felt underneath her fingertips. 

“Your heart says otherwise,” she chuckles, turning your head over your shoulder so she can kiss you. 

After a few moments, you pull away from the kiss, and your eyes flick over to the children in the sand, still tossing around that ball over a net. “Why don't you join them? I'm sure they would love it if their Father joined their game.”

“My dear, I would destroy them,” Arlecchino bluntly remarks, and you chuckle. 

“Fair enough, I suppose.”

The two of you watch them in silence until Arlecchino breaks the silence. 

“I like what you picked for me.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Your reaction is adorable.” 

Something white-hot pricks the back of your neck. “I-I'm glad you like it. I like it too,” you stammer out, your abashment evident in your voice. 

“I can tell. Perhaps… you'd like to help me put on sun protection?” Arlecchino teases with a small smirk, removing her jacket off to reveal her lean biceps. “Over the pants, if that's alright.”

This handsome–sexy–woman is going to be the death of you, you’re sure of it. Your heart is going into overdrive, and you would be terrified of going into a stroke if you aren't more focused on your husband's physique. If it's not your heart that's going to kill you, it's the pending combustion inside of you. You squeeze your thighs against one another, pooling heat forming between your legs. 

“Y-yeah, sure,” you manage in between your laboring breathing, getting off of her lap to face her. Spreading the paste in your hand, you first venture over her neck, tenderly rubbing over her throat and then her nape, down to her sides. Her skin is hot to the touch, as expected of a Pyro user, but it somehow retains softness and flawlessness despite all the combat and harshness your husband deals with as a Fatui Harbinger. Still, unlike her composed facial features, you can feel that her pulse is as frenzied as yours–it gives you comfort that you’re not the only one feeling this. Your husband hums with contentment, watching you carefully. 

Next, you slide your hands over to her broad shoulders before feeling down her upper arm, deliberate attention to her biceps. A shuddering breath comes from you as she shifts, extending her arms more out towards you. You trace down the markings of her arm before caressing her inky elbow and forearms. Finally, you get to her wrists. An idea pops in your head as you bring her hands to your lips, kissing her knuckles and rings, giving special focus onto her engagement ring. An amused huff escapes from her, and you glance back at her. Her eyes gleam with such a rare fondness, reserved only for you. 

You glance down at the only part of her that's yet been touched, your stomach churning in itself when you're able to get a closer, longer look. You gulp considerably, your hands shaking slightly as they hover over it. 

A charcoal hand wraps around your wrist, gently guiding your palm to her until it's flushed against her skin. “Don't be shy now, love.” She smirks wickedly and you have the sense to kiss that smile off her face. 

“Shut up,” you murmur meekly, but place both hands on her stomach, your fingertips traversing over every dips created by her well-muscles stomach. It feels like your body will implode at any second now, as her body heat infects your fingers and spreads to the rest of your body. You coat her waist before your touch lingers lower, just above the waistband of her pants. You trace the indent of her v-line, your fingers nearly dip underneath her leggings. Before it can, she stops you, grasping both of your wrists with one hand as she leans in to whisper hotly near your ear.

“Let's save that for later, hm?” 

—

“Lyney, what are they doing?” One of the children inquires, as they point at Mother and Father still by the water. Father remains on top of Mother, seemingly applying sun protection, though Lyney isn't quite sure if their position is truly that… innocent. 

“Oh… Father is just helping Mother, like how I helped with the sun protection on your back,” Lyney quickly comes up with an explanation, looking away from them. 

The child remains silent, observing the older male's expression, before looking back at them once more. “Lyney, you said that when a mother and father love each other a lot, a new child comes right?” 

Lyney isn't sure if he was going to enjoy what comes next, though he has an inkling that he won't. “Yes…” 

“Does that mean Mother and Father will bring us a new sibling soon?”

Lyney sputters, looking to Lynette for assistance. 

—

After a nice day at the beach, Arlecchino takes you and the children to a local restaurant. Luckily, she was able to find one that was relatively empty, so there was no problem with fitting you and your twenty children inside. You find that the two of you rather enjoy Sumeru dishes; while you enjoy the variety of flavors, Arlecchino rather indulges in the spiciness of them. Your favorite is between the tandoori roast chicken and the lambad fish roll. Though, something bothers you during your time at the restaurant.

Arlecchino is an attractive woman; that much is undeniable, and you're well aware of the fact that she's pleasing to both men's and women's eyes. It is a common occurrence for her to attract the sights of those around her, for whatever the reason, though among the women, it is typically out of admiration. Here, this is the case as well, wandering eyes from other customers, and subtle flirting from the audacious waitress. 

After finishing your dinner, you excuse yourself to the bathroom, only to return to the two of them chatting up, although in reality it’s more like a one-sided conversation and Arlecchino is ignoring her– you're well aware of this, but you find the waitress’ presence pervasive. You approach your table quickly, kissing your husband on the cheek before glancing at the waitress.

“My husband and I would like to order dessert. Can you fetch us a menu, please?” You ask, disguising your ire with a practiced smile. Instantly, the waitress's flirtation dies and she walks away. 

You huff at the sight of the woman. “How could you, Arlecchino? After all we've been through? Talking so casually with her when I'm gone?” You jest with a gasp, faux jealousy in your tone once you notice the relieved sigh from her. Her claws release its hold on the tablecloth, leaving behind tattered sheets. 

“Oh, how I've been caught,” Arlecchino responds monotonously, playing along. “My affair with an unnamed, rather plain-featured woman has been discovered.” 

You giggle as her hand finds yours, interlocking with your fingers. “I'm in disbelief, betrayed by who I thought was my true love.”

“Oh hush now, love. Will Baklava buy your silence and heart again?” 

“Perhaps.” 

The House of the Hearth children gag as Mother and Father conciliate. 

—

“Mother, can't we stay up any longer? We're on vacation. Pleaseeeeee,” one of the children pleads as you usher them to bed, pulling the covers over them. 

“It's not healthy for you to stay up. Besides, you have plenty of time tomorrow and the rest of the two weeks to have fun. Your Father and I can't keep watch over you during the night,” you respond with, kissing them on the forehead. 

“What if Lyney or Lynette watches us?” 

“Lyney and Lynette are probably just as tired. When you wake up, we can go to the beach again, does that sound okay?” 

“Okay… good night Mother.”

You hum in delight, caressing their head. “Good night. Sweet dreams.” 

You silently walk towards the door. Arlecchino leans against the doorframe, observing you wordlessly–again, that unreadable expression appears over her, but this time it lingers. You shut the door as quietly as you can, before turning to your husband.

“Is there something you need, Arle?” You inquire. 

She shakes her head. You don't quite believe her, but you don't address it. “I'm going to go take a bath. Get all this sand off of me. Would you like to join me?” 

Arlecchino nods, and soon the two of you are in the bathroom. You let the faucet run, filling the bathtub with water as Arlecchino removes her clothing. It only takes a few moments before the two of you are seated in the bathtub, but it's a change of position this time. Arlecchino sits in between your legs, facing away from you.

“It's been a while since we've bathed like this, right?” You question softly, lightly carding your fingers through her untied hair. 

“It has been,” she merely replies, her voice almost far-away; like there’s something else on her mind. Even though you only face her back, you can tell from her lack of movement that she’s in deep contemplation.

“What are you thinking about, Arle?” Your husband bristles a bit at the question. Even after being married to you for a couple years, she's still unaccustomed to how you can read her so easily, especially when she prides herself in being incomprehensible to others, even her children. 

“Do you… not enjoy this?” You ask hesitantly with a lump in your throat. You know that she knows what you meant by ‘this’– the vacation; the entire notion of taking a break is foreign to Arlecchino, but you hope that she was able to find this beneficial. If she hates this and this vacation is supposed to be two weeks long… you don't want to say you'd be disappointed but you'd hope she'd at least be able to relax from her Harbinger duties. 

Arlecchino is silent for a few moments. “I admit… I am uneased by this, to be so vulnerable and open to assaults now that we're not in the House of the Hearth. I feel unproductive and restless without my usual work. However, at the same time, I can see how beneficial this is to the children, and it is a nice change for once to see them like this. Being able to spend time with you like this is also rather indulgent, but I cannot complain about it.” 

You smile, a weight lifted off your chest as you lean forward to press a kiss against her nape. “I’m glad. This was for you after all.”

“Although I am gratified that the children are able to experience this as well … I cannot see why you would put this much effort for me. After all, I am…” Arlecchino pauses, raising her blackened hands to her view. She doesn’t finish her sentence, but you're able to get a sense of what she’s trying to say, and another weight is placed heavy on your heart. For as confident and assured that Arlecchino likes to present herself, when it is just the two of you, she reveals a rawer, more unguarded side to her. Often, she confides in you how she grapples with why you can so fondly view her, and every time, your heart sinks. How could your husband think this way? 

Laying your chin over her shoulder, you gingerly place both of your hands underneath hers, stroking the inside of her palm with your thumb. “I know where your thoughts are leading to, Arlecchino, and they're wrong. I love you, Arlecchino. You deserve this. You deserve this treatment, you deserve a break, you deserve to be loved. Your curse, your past… it doesn't matter. These hands…” 

You continue caressing her hand with your fingers. “...They are not cursed. These hands are not unloveable. These are the same hands that protect and care for our children. The same hands that hold me. The same hands that please me. They are a part of you, and they aren't evidence that you are a monster. If you are, you wouldn't have me, and you wouldn't have the children.” 

You kiss down along her bare back, gaining shivers from the woman. “Enjoy this, my love, for me at the very least. You are my husband, so let me do my part in loving you. You've done an innumerable amount of things for me and the children, so consider this to be our repayment for you.” 

“That is why I am doing this for you, do you understand?” You whisper against her skin. 

Arlecchino nods, a shaky breath escaping from her. You finish your treatment around her shoulderblades and gesture for her to turn around. When she does, the first thing that you do is kiss her hands, peppering them with as much devotion as you can give them. To you, nothing is more beautiful. 

“You deserve everything and more. Don't forget that, Arlecchino. So let me do this for you.” It isn't an ask. It is a demand from the one person whose authority is higher than the Tsaritsa: you. 

Arlecchino closes her eyes, and lets herself melt into you. 

[fuqnia]

I Wanna Go on Walks with You (1) ₊˚⊹♡

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

♡ A/N | so originally this was my wip called 'i'm too cool, i'm too cold for this', but i thought the overall theme matched my 1,000 Hearts Special! i also had to split this oneshot into two parts, cause it's so long lolol (i'm so sorry). i hope you guys can tell that stan is my absolute favorite, i love him so much and i hope i did him justice!! this is also super angsty and kinda depressing... mb

♡ C/W | nsfw (18+), all characters are aged up! drinking, smoking, hookups, vomiting, inexperienced reader, oral sex (male receiving), dry humping, reader is kinda manipulative/asshole-ish, stan is depressed, bi stan

♡ Synopsis | the universe has a cruel sense of humor. stan always thought he could keep his feelings buried, hidden behind sarcastic smiles and easy jokes. but when you started looking at someone else the way he wished you'd look at him, he realized too late—he was never meant to have you.

event masterlist | part two ₊˚⊹♡

“Stan, are you even listening to me?”

“Uh… yeah, dude…”

Stan Marsh was definitely not listening to you. His eyes were glued to his phone, his thumbs lazily texting a response to someone. You could tell by the way he hummed distractedly under his breath to the current song playing on the radio that he’d tuned you out somewhere between your panicked rant about your date.

You sighed, one hand gripping the steering wheel while the other one jabbed at the volume knob of the radio to turn it down. “Right. What was I saying, then?”

Stan blinked, his head snapping toward you like he’d just been caught sneaking a sip from his flask. “Something about… skirts?”

“Close, but not close enough, Stanley.” You reached out to tug on one of his bleached strands, but his reflexes were faster—his hand clamped down your wrist, causing you to swerve slightly on the road.

“Dude! I’m sorry. What were you saying?” Stan pocketed his phone, and you could feel his gaze on the side of your face.

“I was saying,” You turned to him for a brief second, mustering a glare. “That I don’t know what to wear! What if Damien thinks I’m trying too hard? Or not trying enough? Or what if he—”

“Damien doesn’t seem like the type to care about anything,” Stan muttered under his breath, turning to face the passenger window.

You had met Damien a few weeks ago at the beginning of the semester, in one of your shared sociology classes. He had this certain presence, the kind that made people instinctively lean in when he spoke. His dark hair was always perfectly styled, sharp against his pale skin, and he had these striking gray eyes that seemed to study everything—like he was dissecting the world in real time. He dressed like he’d stepped out of an indie rock band’s music video, all sleek black jeans, worn leather boots, and button-ups with just enough undone to show a silver chain beneath. His answers in class discussions were always thoughtful, maybe a little pretentious, but captivating. 

You never expected him to notice you, let alone talk to you, but then one day he did. It started with him borrowing your pen when his ran out of ink, followed by a few casual comments after class. Before you knew it, he was sliding into the seat next to you, effortlessly chatting about everything from sociological theory to obscure albums. Then, out of the blue, he’d asked you out. Just like that. He’d said it so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal at all, but you’d been internally screaming ever since.

“Are you seriously questioning my judgement? Well I’m soooo sorry Stan, not all of us have a multitude of people throwing themselves at them.” Your knuckles whitened on the wheel. You didn’t dare to face him, as you weren’t sure if you could hold yourself back from slapping him.

Stan scoffed, turning to look at you. “I do not have people throwing themselves at me.”

You snorted, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Oh please. You literally had two people fighting over you at your concert last month. I saw it with my very own two eyes, Stan. And you know what’s worse? You just stood there looking all… broody and mysterious. Like some kind of edgy anime protagonist.”

Stan groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “They weren’t fighting over me. They were being drunk and stupid.”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” you muttered, stopping at a red light. “Meanwhile, us plebians are stuck mulling over in their head what to wear to their very important first date.”

You’d always been single. No hand-holding, no kisses, no dates—just you, perpetually on the sidelines while everyone else figured it out. It wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed, either. You’d known Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman since elementary school, so you’d watched them all stumble through crushes and awkward middle school dances, then somehow emerge into college with actual dating lives. Kenny was never shy about his flings or the occasional whirlwind relationship, always leaving people dazed in his wake. Stan? He’d been head over heels more times than you could count, dating all kinds of people with that same hopeless-romantic energy he’d had since he was a kid. Even Kyle, methodical and private as he was, had a couple of relationships under his belt. And then there was Cartman—Cartman—who, against all odds and reason, had managed to fumble his way into relationships, too. But no one ever teased you about it. Not once. For all their brutal honesty, they never made you feel bad about being the one who hadn’t crossed those milestones yet. It was almost worse, though, because the way they tiptoed around it made it feel like this glaring, invisible thing you carried with you.

“Dude, just wear whatever you want. It’s not like Damien’s gonna notice, anyway.” Stan groaned, slumping dramatically in his seat.

Your head whipped toward him, eyes narrowing. “And what’s that supposed to mean, asshole?”

“It means,” Stan said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “that Damien doesn’t strike me as the type of guy who cares about… fashion or whatever. He probably spends more time looking in the mirror at his eyeliner than he does looking at other people.”

You bit back a laugh, though you could feel the corners of your mouth twitching. “That’s rich coming from you, Marsh. Considering it takes you twenty minutes to do your eyeliner.” 

Stan brushed off your insult and shrugged, his gaze fixed firmly out the passenger window. “Just saying. Maybe you shouldn’t stress about impressing a guy who thinks a pentagram makes for a good accessory.” “Wooow,” you said, dragging out the word. “Judgemental much? Didn’t you spend weeks hanging out with the goth kids?”

“That was different,” Stan shot back. “The goth kids are cool. Damien’s just…” He paused, searching for the right word, then waved his hand vaguely. “Weird.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Says the guy who drank absinthe at a party last month.”

Stan groaned, his head thunking dramatically against the seat. “Can you, like, not bring that up every time I try to make a point?”

“Not when it’s this easy to win,” you teased, the smirk widening on your face as you pulled into the animal shelter’s parking lot.

Stan was already unbuckling his seatbelt, eager to escape this conversation. “Okay, well, good luck with Damien and his pentagrams or whatever,” he mumbled as he reached for the door handle.

“Uh-uh,” you said, reaching out to grab the sleeve of his hoodie before he could escape. “We’re not done here, Marsh. What’s with all the Damien hate? You’ve been weird about this since I told you about the date.”

Stan froze, his hand still on the door handle. “I haven’t been weird.”

“You totally have.”

“I haven’t.”

“Stan,” you said, your voice taking on that warning tone you knew he hated.

Stan sighed, slumping back into his seat and rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not hate, okay? I just…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening as his eyes darted to the window again. “I just think you deserve better, that’s all.”

Your teasing grin faltered, replaced by a flicker of surprise. “Better?”

“Yeah,” Stan muttered, his voice quieter now. “Like, someone who actually, I don’t know… cares about the stuff you care about. And doesn’t make you overthink every little thing.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The sincerity in his tone caught you off guard, and you weren’t sure whether to press him or let it go.

“Stan…” you began, but he cut you off, pushing open the car door and stepping out.

“I’ll text you later dude,” his voice forcedly casual as he shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets and walked towards the building.

And you’re left sitting in your car, the conversation replaying in your head, wondering what the fuck just happened.

You banged on Stan’s dorm door with a sense of urgency that bordered on desperation, the heels of your combat boots clunking against the floor as you shifted your weight anxiously. “Stan! Open the damn door!”

You didn’t care who else might hear you—it was late enough in the day that the halls were quiet, the faint hum of someone’s TV down the hall barely audible over your thoughts.

Your knuckles hit the wood again, this time harder. “Stan, I know you’re in there! Don’t make me break it down!”

No answer.

You sighed, leaning back against the wall for a moment as you chewed on the inside of your cheek. The pentagram necklace resting against your chest felt heavy, the chain brushing your bare skin where the mesh top didn’t cover. Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your pleated black skirt, tugging at imaginary loose threads as your brain ran through every possible outcome of your date.

What if Damien thought you were trying too hard? What if you said the wrong thing? What if he—

The door creaked open just as your fist came down for another knock, and you nearly stumbled forward, catching yourself on the doorframe.

“Dude, what’s your problem?” Stan’s groggy voice greeted you, his eyes squinting like he’d just woken up.

“My problem,” you hissed, pushing past him into the dorm, “is that I’ve been panicking all day, and you were supposed to text me back! I needed you, and you fucking ghosted me!” 

After dropping Stan off at the animal shelter, you’d driven back to your dorm, expecting to see a text from him pop up at any moment. But as you rummaged through your closet, swapped out accessories, and fixed your eyeliner for the third time, your phone stayed stubbornly quiet. You kept glancing at it, half-expecting a dumb joke or even a half-assed “good luck” to ease your nerves, but there was nothing. The absence of his usual support left a nagging weight in the back of your mind, a subtle frustration you couldn’t shake no matter how hard you tried to focus on getting ready.

Stan groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he shut the door. “I didn’t ghost you. I fell asleep.”

“Wow. Amazing. Glad to know my emotional crisis was less important than your beauty sleep,” you snapped, spinning around to face him.

Stan blinked at you, his eyes dropping briefly to your outfit before quickly darting back up to your face. His jaw worked like he was trying to figure out what to say, but nothing came out.

“Well?” you prompted, throwing your arms up. “Do I look ridiculous?”

“No,” he said quickly, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat. “You look fine.”

“Fine?” you echoed, your voice incredulous. “Stanley, I’m trying to look hot and mysterious, not fine!”

Stan sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “You don’t look fine. You look… great.”

The way he said it, quiet and almost reluctant, made something flutter in your chest, but you shoved the feeling down. “You hesitated.”

“I didn’t,” he protested weakly.

“You so did.”

“Dude,” Stan groaned, leaning against the edge of his desk. “You’re overthinking this. Like I said earlier, Damien’s not gonna care what you’re wearing.”

You blinked at him, momentarily thrown by the conviction in his voice. “You really think so?”

Stan nodded, his gaze flickering over your face. “Yeah. I do.”

A small, genuine smile broke across your face, and for a moment, the nervous energy buzzing under your skin eased. You crossed the room and plopped down on Stan’s bed, the springs creaking faintly under your weight. His side of the dorm was as predictably disorganized as always: stray clothes on the floor, a stack of vinyls precariously balanced on the nightstand, and his guitar leaning against the wall.

Your eyes wandered over to the other side of the room—Kyle’s side. Neat, minimalist, and a little too perfect. His bed was made like he expected his mom to inspect it, and his desk was spotless except for a neatly stacked pile of textbooks, notebooks, and pens.

Your nails found their way to your mouth, the faint chemical taste of black nail polish making your nose scrunch as you bit down. You didn’t even notice Stan sitting down beside you until the mattress dipped slightly under his weight.

Stan could probably guess what’s going on in your head, but he asked anyway. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, pulling his phone from the pocket of his pajama pants.

You glanced at him briefly before turning your gaze back to Kyle’s perfectly made bed. “My date.”

Stan hummed, his thumbs swiping lazily across his phone screen. “What about it?”

“I don’t know,” you said, your voice quieter now. “What if it’s… weird? Damien’s taking me to an art gallery, and, like…” You trailed off, biting harder on your nails as your thoughts spiraled.

What if you didn’t know what to say? What if Damien started talking about some abstract painting, and you just stared at it like a deer in the headlights? Or what if he asked for your opinion, and all you could come up with was some basic, surface-level comment that made him think you were dumb? You weren’t exactly an art connoisseur—your idea of a masterpiece was a half-decent doodle in the margins of your notebooks.

And then there was Damien himself. What if he wasn’t impressed with you? What if you didn’t live up to whatever expectations he had in his head? He was so poised, so confident, and you felt like the complete opposite. Your stomach twisted just thinking about it.

“Dude.”

Stan’s voice cut through your spiraling thoughts, and you blinked up at him. He was staring at you now, his phone forgotten in his lap, his eyebrows raised in mild amusement. “You’re biting too hard. You’re gonna end up swallowing your nail polish or something.”

You glanced down at your hand and realized he was right. A chunk of black polish had chipped off one of your nails. You quickly dropped your hand to your lap, heat rising to your face. “Sorry,” you muttered.

“Don’t be sorry,” Stan said, leaning back against the wall, his lips twitching like he was holding back a grin. “But seriously? An art gallery? For a first date? That’s so…” He paused, his nose wrinkling as he searched for the right word. “Formal.”

“It’s not formal,” you shot back defensively, though you weren’t entirely convinced yourself. “It’s... refined.”

Stan snorted, his grin breaking free. “Refined, huh? Did he pick it so he could, what, brood in front of a painting and call it romantic?”

You glared at him, though the corners of your mouth twitched traitorously. “No. It’s cultured.”

“Sure, cultured,” Stan said, clearly trying not to laugh now. “You’re gonna spend the whole time pretending to care about a giant ass red square someone slapped on a canvas.”

“That’s not—” You stopped mid-sentence, your mind flashing to a vivid mental image of exactly that, and suddenly you couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up in your throat. “Okay, maybe you have a point,” you admitted, your shoulders shaking with quiet giggles.

Stan grinned triumphantly. “There we go. That’s better.”

You shook your head, biting your lip to stifle the rest of your laughter. “Whatever, Marsh. At least he’s not taking me to, like, a NASCAR show.”

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” Stan said, nudging your shoulder with his. “Race cars are cool, ask Kenny.”

You rolled your eyes, the nervous knot in your chest loosening slightly. But as you thought about the date again, the doubt crept back in. “I just don’t want to screw this up,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Stan didn’t say anything at first. He picked up his phone from where it rested on his lap and started scrolling once more. You glanced over and caught a glimpse of Instagram on the display. He was mindlessly flipping through his feed, pausing occasionally to double-tap a picture.

A small part of you wished he’d at least act like he cared. He’d always been the one to listen, to step in and say the right thing when you were overthinking everything. But right now, he looked as if you’d just told him you were picking up groceries, not agonizing over a first date.

“It’s just a first date,” Stan said suddenly, not looking up from his phone. His voice was casual, almost indifferent, as if that was supposed to make you feel better.

You frowned, turning your head to look at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means…” He finally glanced up, meeting your eyes briefly before looking back at his screen. “It’s not that big of a deal. First dates are awkward, and they usually suck, but they’re not the end of the world.”

“Gee, thanks for the pep talk,” you said dryly, crossing your arms over your chest.

Stan let out a soft laugh, tossing his phone onto the bed beside him. “I’m just saying, no one’s first date is perfect. Like mine, for example.”

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued despite yourself. “Your first date?”

Stan was your best friend, the one constant in your life for as long as you could remember. He was always there—steady, reliable, and somehow never running out of things to say. But when it came to his relationships, he rarely talked about them. You had a feeling it wasn’t because he didn’t want to, but because he was trying to protect you in some way. Like mentioning all the people he’d dated would only remind you that you’d never had that experience. He never said as much, but you could tell in the way he shifted the conversation whenever it got close to the subject, his voice growing quieter like he was walking on eggshells for your sake.

“Yeah, with Wendy,” Stan said, leaning back on his elbows. “I mean, it wasn’t really a date-date. We were, like, twelve, so we just went to the movies. But it was still a disaster.”

“What happened?” you asked, shifting slightly to face him.

Stan groaned, his face scrunching in embarrassment. “Everything. First of all, I was so nervous that I wore this stupid button-up shirt my mom picked out, and I looked like a kid trying to dress up for picture day.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at the mental image. “Adorable.”

“Yeah, no,” Stan said, shaking his head. “And then I got popcorn, right? But I couldn’t eat any of it because my hands were all sweaty. Like, literally dripping sweat. I had to keep wiping them on my pants, and Wendy definitely noticed.”

“Did she say anything?”

“No, but she didn’t have to. She gave me this look, like…” He mimicked an unimpressed expression, raising an eyebrow and pursing his lips.

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth with your hand. “That’s so bad!”

“It gets worse,” Stan said, groaning. “She tried to kiss me during the movie, and I—” He paused, rubbing a hand over his face. “I threw up. Right there in the middle of the theater.”

You blinked at him, your laughter dying in your throat. “You threw up?”

“Yup,” Stan said, his voice resigned. “All over my shirt, the seat, the floor. It was bad. Wendy was horrified. She didn’t talk to me for, like, a week after that.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, before a snort escaped your mouth. It quickly turned into full-blown laughter, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as you doubled over. “Stan, oh my God! That’s awful! I can see why you never tell me about these things!”

Stan chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Yeah, it wasn’t exactly my proudest moment. But, hey, at least I’ve learned a lot about kissing since then.”

The comment sent your brain spiraling in a completely different direction. Kissing. Oh God, Damien might kiss you tonight. Your stomach dropped at the thought, like you were stuck on a rollercoaster, only this time you couldn’t see the bottom.

“What if he does try to kiss me?” you blurted, sitting up straighter. Your heart pounded harder just saying the words. “What if I don’t know what I’m doing, and it’s awkward, and then he tells everyone I’m the worst kisser he’s ever had? What if—”

“Jesus Christ,” Stan muttered under his breath, sitting up and dragging a hand over his face. “Dude, relax. It’s just a kiss.”

“Just a kiss?” you repeated, whipping your head around to glare at him. “Stan, it’s not just a kiss! What if I screw it up? What if it’s so bad he decides he doesn’t even like me anymore? Or worse, what if I—”

“Dude!” Stan cut in, his voice louder now as he sat up straighter. “You’re acting like the world’s gonna end if you accidentally bump noses or something. It’s not that serious.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but his unimpressed stare made the words die in your throat. The fact that he wasn’t taking this seriously—you seriously—made frustration boil in your chest.

“You don’t get it,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek. “You’ve always been good at this stuff, Stan! You were number one on that stupid middle school kissing list! People practically lined up to kiss you at every game of spin the bottle. And me? I didn’t even make the list. I wasn’t even ranked!”

Stan let out a long sigh, leaning over to grab his flask from the nightstand. “We’re really bringing up that stupid list now?” he muttered, unscrewing the cap.

“Yes, we’re bringing up the list!” you snapped, throwing your arms up. “Because it’s just proof that you’ve never had to worry about this stuff! People have always just… liked you! You’ve always been good at this kind of thing, and I’ve never—”

Before you could finish, Stan tipped the flask back and drained the whole thing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. You watched, stunned, as he calmly screwed the cap back on and set it down with an audible clink.

“Feel better now?” he asked, his tone flat as he leaned back on his bed and looked at you with half-lidded eyes.

You stared at him, the frustration bubbling over as heat flooded your face. “No, I don’t feel better!”

“Yeah, no shit,” Stan muttered, patting the bed next to him. “Sit down before you give yourself an aneurysm.”

Your jaw tightened, but after a long pause, you crossed the room and sat down, the bed creaking slightly under your weight.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your breathing, shallow and uneven. You stared at your hands, twisting your fingers together in your lap as your thoughts churned. You hated how small and insecure you felt. Hated how easily your nerves twisted into a storm you couldn’t control.

Stan shifted beside you, breaking the silence. “Look,” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less exasperated. “You’re freaking out over nothing. Kissing isn’t rocket science. No one’s expecting you to be perfect at it, least of all Damien. And if he is, he’s a fucking idiot.”

You swallowed hard, your chest still tight. “It just… feels like a big deal, okay?”

Stan sighed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “I get that. But you’re overthinking it. A kiss is just… a kiss. It doesn’t have to be perfect. You’re making it into this huge thing when it’s really not.”

You didn’t look at him. Your eyes stayed glued to your lap, your fingers twisting anxiously together. When you finally spoke, your voice was small, barely audible. “You don’t get it.”

Stan frowned slightly, leaning toward you. “What don’t I get?”

“You don’t know what it’s like… to feel not wanted,” you said, the words coming out shakier than you intended. “You’ve always had people, Stan. People who want to date you, kiss you, love you. You didn’t even have to try—it just happened. You’ve never had to wonder what it’s like to go your whole life without someone looking at you like you’re worth something.”

Stan’s expression softened, but you were too wrapped up in your own thoughts to notice.

“I’ve spent years trying to figure out what it’s supposed to feel like,” you went on, your voice tightening. “From books, movies, daydreams. And now that someone finally… finally wants me, I’m scared I’m going to ruin it because I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Your throat closed up, and you blinked rapidly, desperate to keep the tears prickling at your eyes from falling. The silence in the room felt deafening, and you braced yourself for whatever awkward response Stan might offer.

Instead, he sighed softly, sitting up straighter. “Stick out your hand,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

You glanced up at him, startled. “What?”

“Your hand,” Stan repeated, his tone calm, almost gentle. “Stick it out. Trust me.”

Confused but unwilling to argue, you held out your hand, palm down.

“Now kiss it,” he said, his eyes meeting yours with an expression that was unreadable but sincere. “Like you might kiss someone.”

You froze, your heart thudding loudly in your chest. “What?”

“Kiss the back of your hand,” he said again, his voice soft, careful. “Just… try it. Show me how you think it’s supposed to go.”

Your face burned hotter than ever, and you blinked at him, utterly mortified. “Are you serious?”

“I’m serious,” Stan said, his gaze steady. “I just want to help, okay? No one’s here to see it but me. I swear I won’t laugh.”

You hesitated, the room suddenly feeling too warm, too small. But the way Stan looked at you—like he wasn’t judging you, like he actually wanted to help—made your stomach twist. Slowly, reluctantly, you lifted your hand toward your face.

You hesitated, your lips hovering just above the back of your hand. The weight of Stan’s gaze was almost unbearable, and your entire body felt like it was on fire.

But then the embarrassment hit like a tidal wave, and before you could stop yourself, you slapped your hand down onto your thigh. “No,” you said, shaking your head firmly. “I can’t do this. This is humiliating.”

Stan blinked at you, his lips twitching like he was holding back a comment, but he stopped himself. Instead, he sat back slightly, giving you space. “It’s not humiliating,” he said softly. “But if you don’t want to, that’s fine. Just… don’t let this eat you alive, okay?”

You sighed, your hands clenching and unclenching in your lap. “You don’t get how hard it is to even think about stuff like this without feeling like I’m going to screw it up.”

Stan tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Then don’t think about it so much. When it happens, it happens. And if it’s awkward? Who cares? Everyone’s awkward their first time.”

You stared at the floor, your stomach twisting into knots. “Yeah, except everyone else gets over it because they’ve actually done it. Me? I’m going to sit there overthinking every little thing I do. Do I lean in too soon? Do I wait? What if I bump his nose like you said? Or worse, what if my lips just… freeze up? Oh my God, what if I accidentally bite him?”

Stan sighed lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Dude—”

“I’m serious, Stan!” you cut him off, your voice rose with each word. “Damien probably knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s cool, and confident, and I’ll just be sitting there like an idiot, thinking about how you’re supposed to breathe while kissing because apparently, I can’t even figure that out—”

“Dude,” Stan said again, this time with more force.

You turned to him, your cheeks burning with frustration and embarrassment. “What?!”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he sat up straighter and reached out, cupping your face with his hands. His palms were warm against your cheeks, grounding you, but the sudden contact sent a jolt of shock through you.

“Stan, what—”

Before you could finish, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

The kiss was soft, tentative, but you were so caught off guard that your body went completely rigid. His lips tasted faintly of the cheap liquor, the alcohol sharp against the warmth of his breath. For a brief moment, all your panicked thoughts froze, leaving only the feeling of his mouth on yours, steady and unhurried.

Then your brain kicked back on. Stan is kissing me. My best friend is kissing me. Holy shit, Stan is kissing me.

You yanked back abruptly, your hands coming up to his chest to push him away as your thoughts scrambled to catch up. “Stan! What the hell? What—why did you—what—”

You could barely string two words together as you stared at him, your face burning hotter than it ever had in your life.

Stan looked… rough. His face was pale, his jaw tight, and his eyes darted to the side like he was about to lose his lunch. For a second, you wondered if he might actually throw up, but when he spoke, his voice was casual. Almost too casual.

“I’m just trying to help,” he said, cutting through your stammering with a nonchalant shrug. “You wouldn’t kiss your hand, so… you just have to kiss me.”

“What?!” you squeaked, your voice pitching higher. “Stan, that’s not—”

“It’s not a big deal,” he said, his tone calm despite the slight green tinge to his face. “It’s just kissing. We’re still best friends. Nothing’s changed. I’m just trying to get you out of your head.”

You stared at him, your thoughts spinning too fast to make sense of anything. This felt surreal—like some kind of alternate universe where Stan wasn’t Stan. The same guy who once turned green when someone joked that the two of you should date, muttering something about how gross it was while desperately avoiding your eyes. At the time, you’d laughed it off, chalking it up to his usual awkwardness. Now, sitting here with his hands steady on your face, offering himself up like this was just another casual favor, that memory sat uncomfortably in the back of your mind.

And yet, his voice was so steady, his expression so calm, that the tension in your chest eased slightly despite yourself.

“Okay,” you said finally, the word barely audible.

Stan nodded slightly, his hands still warm on your face. “Good. Now stop overthinking it. Just relax and try again.”

You hesitated, but when he leaned in again, you let yourself meet him halfway. His lips brushed yours softly, and you tried to follow his lead. But as soon as you pressed in, your teeth accidentally clinked against his, and you froze.

“Shit, sorry!” you mumbled against his mouth, pulling back slightly.

“It’s fine,” Stan muttered, his voice muffled. “Keep going.”

You did, trying to relax, but in your panic, you shoved your tongue into his mouth way too quickly, earning a startled noise from him. His hands flexed slightly on your face, but he didn’t pull away, even as you realized how messy and awkward you were being.

When he finally broke the kiss, he leaned back just enough to look at you, his face still pale but his expression surprisingly composed. “Okay,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “First of all, less tongue. It’s not a competition. Take it slow.”

You stared at him, mortified. “Oh my God, this is so embarrassing.”

“It’s not embarrassing,” he said, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “It’s practice. Now, again. But this time ease up, dude. Seriously.”

You wanted to crawl into a hole, but you forced yourself to nod. “Okay,” you murmured.

Stan’s hands didn’t leave your face. They slid from your cheeks to the sides of your neck, his fingers curling slightly as they rested at the base of your jaw. His thumbs pressed gently against your skin, grounding you in a way that made your chest tighten, though you couldn’t tell if it was from nervous anticipation or the overwhelming vulnerability of the moment.

He shifted closer, his knees brushing against yours. The bed dipped under his weight as he leaned in, his presence filling every bit of space between you. His face was close enough now that you could see every detail—the way his long lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks, the subtle curve of his button nose, and the soft flush spreading across his face. His dark blue eyes locked onto yours, calm but sharp, like he was reading you in a way no one else ever had.

Your stomach twisted. You felt completely exposed, like every little insecurity you’d ever tried to hide was written across your face, visible to him. It wasn’t just the physical closeness—it was the emotional one, the way he looked at you as if he saw through every wall you’d ever built. Your heart pounded so hard it hurt, and your breath came unevenly, shallow and shaky.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. The warmth of his breath brushed against your lips, tinged with the faint, bitter edge of alcohol. It shouldn’t have been comforting, but somehow, it was.

You felt the soft graze of his nose against yours—a barely-there touch, almost hesitant. It sent a ripple through your body, your skin breaking out in goosebumps as your lips parted slightly, instinctively. And then his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t slow. His lips pressed firmly against yours, the kind of pressure that sent your heart racing and made your breath catch in your throat. They were warm, soft but insistent, moving with a rhythm that felt completely natural to him but utterly foreign to you. Your head spun as the faint taste of whiskey mixed with the heat of his mouth, an intoxicating combination that left you reeling.

Your hands stayed frozen in your lap, gripping your skirt so tightly that the fabric bunched awkwardly in your fists. You wanted to move, to do something, but your brain was stuck in a loop of shock and confusion. The kiss wasn’t what you’d imagined—it wasn’t neat or delicate like the other two. It was messy and overwhelming, the heat of his lips igniting something inside you that you didn’t know was there.

Stan tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss in a way that left you breathless. His tongue brushed lightly against your bottom lip, and a tiny gasp escaped you before you could stop it. He didn’t hesitate, slipping his tongue past your lips with a smoothness that made your stomach flip.

Your own tongue moved to meet his, but it was awkward, clumsy. You pressed too hard, not sure how to match his pace, and you felt the faintest hitch in his movement as he adjusted. A wave of embarrassment crashed over you, but Stan didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands shifted slightly, his thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin below your ears, his touch steadying you in a way that made your chest ache.

His tongue slid against yours, warm and wet, and it sent tiny shivers down your spine. The sensation was so new, so intimate, that it made your entire body tense. Every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire, and you couldn’t stop the soft, shaky noise that escaped your throat. His lips moved with a kind of practiced ease, coaxing you into following his lead, and you tried to let yourself go, to stop overthinking every little motion.

His hair brushed against your forehead, tickling your skin as he shifted closer. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the solid weight of his presence so close to you that it made you feel lightheaded. The wet sound of your mouths moving filled the air between you, each soft smack making your face burn hotter.

The longer the kiss went on, the more you felt like you were falling. Not in the literal sense—Stan’s hands held you steady, his thumbs still stroking your jaw with a tenderness that contradicted the intensity of the kiss. But emotionally, it felt like stepping off a ledge, like trusting him to catch you even though you didn’t know if he could.

Your hands finally moved, faltering as they found his knees. The warmth of him beneath your palms was grounding, and you dug your fingers into the fabric of his pajama pants, desperate for something solid to hold onto. Your chest tightened as his tongue explored your mouth, slow but deliberate, tasting you in a way that left you breathless.

The kiss wasn’t perfect. You still fumbled, your lips unsure of how to match his movements, your tongue moving too hesitantly one moment and too eagerly the next. But Stan didn’t seem to mind. He kissed you through every awkward motion, his mouth guiding yours like he was teaching you without words.

The heat between you felt almost unbearable, the closeness of him making your head spin. You could feel every little thing—his breath ghosting across your cheek, the faint rasp of stubble along his jaw brushing against your skin, the pressure of his lips as they molded against yours. It was overwhelming, and yet you didn’t want it to stop.

When his teeth grazed your bottom lip, gentle but deliberate, a soft whimper escaped your throat before you could stop it. The sound made his grip on your neck tighten slightly, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to anchor you.

Your breaths grew shaky, your chest rising and falling unevenly as his lips slowed slightly, lingering against yours before moving again. The kiss felt endless, like time had frozen around the two of you, like there was nothing outside of the warmth and the wetness and the faint, heady taste of whiskey that clung to his tongue.

Your heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst, and you couldn’t stop the way your body leaned into his, your knees pressing lightly against his as your hands gripped his legs. You felt raw, exposed, like every inch of you was being laid bare, but you didn’t pull away. If anything, you leaned in further, letting him lead you through the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

His lips moved slower now, softer, almost as if he were giving you time to catch your breath. His tongue slid against yours one last time, gentle but sure, before he finally pulled back just enough to break the kiss.

The space between you felt charged, your lips still tingling from the intensity of the kiss. For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence thick except for your heavy breathing. A thin string of saliva clung between you, glinting faintly in the dim light before breaking. You blinked, your chest rising and falling unevenly as you tried to process what had just happened.

Stan didn’t look at you. His gaze was fixed somewhere off to the side, his jaw tight and his shoulders slightly hunched. The sight sent a ripple of confusion through you, and you wiped the back of your hand across your mouth, suddenly self-conscious.

“Was… was I okay?” you asked softly, the words fragile in the quiet room.

Stan’s fingers tugged at the hem of his pajama pants, and he gave the smallest nod. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice low and scratchy.

Something about the way he said it felt off. He hadn’t been like this before—not during the first two kisses, when he’d teased you lightly, his calm, steady presence anchoring you through your nerves. Now, though, he seemed distant, almost closed off, and it made your stomach twist.

Had you done something wrong? Was he regretting this? But before the doubt could take root, another wave of emotion surged forward—relief, excitement, a giddy kind of triumph. You’d done it. You’d kissed someone. Not just anyone—Stan. And while it might not have been perfect, it wasn’t a disaster either.

A smile tugged at your lips as the realization sank in. “I can’t believe I actually did it,” you said, a nervous laugh escaping you. “I mean, I’m probably still terrible at it, but—”

“You don’t suck,” Stan interrupted, his tone firmer this time, though his eyes still didn’t meet yours.

The words warmed something in your chest, and without thinking, you leaned toward him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. His body tensed for a moment, his hands hovering awkwardly by his sides, but then you felt him relax, his breath brushing against your hair as he exhaled slowly.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice muffled against the soft fabric of his t-shirt. It was an old one, a random band tee he’d probably grabbed without thinking, and it smelled faintly of detergent and the faint, lingering musk of his cologne. “Seriously, Stan, thank you. You didn’t have to do this, but you did, and now…” You pulled back just enough to look at his face, your smile growing. “Now I might actually have a chance with Damien.”

Stan didn’t say anything, but his gaze flicked to you briefly before shifting away again. His cheeks were flushed, his lips still slightly swollen from the kiss, and something about the sight made your heart stutter.

You pulled back fully, your hands lingering on his shoulders as you studied him. He finally met your eyes, and for a moment, all the noise in your head quieted. Because despite everything—despite the heat of the kiss, the strange tension lingering in the room—this was still Stan.

Your Stan.

You could see it in the way his hair stuck up slightly in the back, like he hadn’t bothered to smooth it down after waking up from one of his infamous midday naps. You could see it in the small, faint scar near his temple from that time he’d slipped on the ice in eighth grade and you’d spent an hour patching him up in your bathroom, ignoring his half-hearted protests that he was fine.

You could see it in the way his pajama pants sat slightly crooked on his hips, like he hadn’t cared enough to straighten them when he’d thrown them on, or in the faint, worn graphic on his tee that you recognized from years ago—a relic from that one summer when the two of you had watched an entire Terrance and Philip marathon, laughing until your stomachs hurt.

He was still Stan. Your best friend. The boy who would send you the dumbest memes at 3 a.m. just to make you laugh. The one who always had a spare hoodie for you to steal when you got cold, even if he rolled his eyes about it. The one who listened to your overthinking without judgment, who showed up when it mattered, even if he didn’t always have the words to say.

Nothing had changed.

Your lips curved into a soft smile, your chest tightening as you realized it. “You’re still you,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to him.

Stan’s lips twitched into the faintest semblance of a smile, though it looked more like an attempt to mask whatever he was actually feeling. His jaw tensed slightly, and his eyes lingered on you for a moment before flicking downward, his lashes lowering like he wanted to retreat into himself. “Yeah,” he said simply, his voice quieter than before.

Before the silence could stretch, your phone buzzed in your lap, the sound startling in the stillness of the room. You jumped slightly, fumbling to pick it up. Your heart skipped when you saw the notification on your screen: “hey i’m close. u ready?”

A squeal burst out of you before you could stop it. “Oh my God, he’s almost here!” you exclaimed, holding your phone out to him like it was a trophy.

Stan glanced at the screen, his brows knitting together as his lips pressed into a thin line. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, the faintest motion, before his gaze flicked up to you.

That’s when you noticed it.

“My lipstick!” you gasped, leaning closer to him. Your dark lipstick was smeared all over his mouth, the edges smudged from where your kisses had transferred it onto him.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, stifling an embarrassed laugh before reaching out without even thinking. “Hold still,” you said, your voice half-apologetic, half-giddy.

Stan frowned slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching downward. “What now?” he muttered, though he didn’t move as you pressed your thumb to his bottom lip, wiping at the mess.

“Seriously, just stay still. You’ve got my lipstick everywhere,” you mumbled, your focus entirely on smudging away the dark streaks staining his mouth.

Stan exhaled through his nose, but he didn’t argue, his eyes watching you with something caught between irritation and resignation. “Jesus, you’re gonna rub my face off,” he grumbled.

You snorted, pulling back after a few more swipes. “There. Good as new,” you said, brushing your hands off in exaggerated triumph.

Stan glanced at you, his lips a bit redder than usual from your attempts at cleaning him up. “Yeah, thanks for the world-class service,” he deadpanned, though his tone was tinged with a dry humor that made the corners of his mouth twitch upward for half a second.

Still riding the high from Damien’s text, you pushed yourself off his bed, your boots clunking against the floor as you made your way to Kyle’s desk. The small mirror sitting propped up against the wall caught your eye, and you grabbed it carefully, mindful not to disturb the painfully neat arrangement of pens and notebooks.

Tilting the mirror toward you, you grimaced at the sight of your reflection. Your lipstick was a disaster—smudged at the edges, with faint streaks where it had transferred to Stan. You grabbed the tube from your pocket, quickly reapplying as you muttered to yourself about how ridiculous you must have looked.

You had just finished pressing your lips together to set the color when the dorm room door swung open behind you.

“Hey, Stan, did you—” Kyle’s voice cut off abruptly, and you spun around, lipstick still in hand.

Kyle stood frozen in the doorway, his green eyes darting between you and Stan. His gaze lingered on Stan’s faintly flushed face and the way you were standing by his desk with the mirror in hand. Slowly, his brows knit together in confusion.

“What the hell’s going on in here?” Kyle asked, his tone suspicious as his gaze flicked back to Stan, who looked like he was suddenly wishing for a hole to crawl into.

You turned toward him, your lips curling into a bright smile. “Kyle!” you said, your voice light and cheerful, as though his sudden entrance hadn’t just thrown a wrench into the room’s already delicate atmosphere.

Stan stayed where he was on the bed, his shoulders tense and his face flushed. His brows knit together, and his jaw shifted slightly, like he was grinding his teeth. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else than under Kyle’s scrutiny.

Finishing with your lipstick, you capped the tube and slipped it into your pocket before stepping toward Kyle, throwing your arms around him in a quick, tight hug. “Stan was just helping me get ready for my date with Damien,” you explained casually, the earlier tension rolling off your shoulders as excitement took its place.

Kyle stiffened slightly in your embrace, his confusion evident in the furrow of his brows and the way his mouth opened and closed without any words coming out. “Uh… helping you how?” he finally managed, glancing over at Stan, who was now rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding both of your gazes.

“Oh, you know, just… advice,” you said breezily, pulling back from Kyle with a grin. “He’s always got something to say about everything, right?” You shot Stan a quick smile over your shoulder, your giddiness softening the edges of the awkward moment.

Stan’s eyes flicked up to meet yours for a brief second before darting away again. His face was still a little red, and his lips pressed into a thin line like he was biting back whatever was on his mind.

“I’ll call you after,” you said to him, your voice a little softer now. “Thanks again, dude. Seriously.”

Stan nodded slightly, but his expression was tight, his eyes shadowed with something you couldn’t quite place.

You turned back to Kyle, patting his shoulder with a laugh. “Don’t let him sleep all day, okay?”

Kyle blinked, his frown deepening as he glanced between you and Stan again. “Right… sure,” he said slowly, his suspicion clearly not eased.

Without waiting for Kyle to press further, you made your way to the door, your boots clunking against the floor. As your hand rested on the handle, you turned back one last time, your chest light and a smile still tugging at your lips.

“Bye, guys!” you called cheerfully before slipping out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind you.

Kyle turned to Stan, one eyebrow raised in silent question. The look was deliberate, sharp, and something about it made Stan’s stomach churn. It reminded him of Wendy—not completely, but close enough to throw him off. The same perfectly arched brow, the same unspoken expectation, like Kyle was waiting for him to confess to something.

Stan groaned and flopped face-first onto his bed, pressing his face into the pillows. “Dude, don’t,” he mumbled, his voice muffled but heavy with irritation.

Kyle crossed his arms and leaned against his desk. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” Stan shot back, his words short, clipped.

Kyle studied him for another moment, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to say more. Instead, he sighed and turned back to his desk, his chair creaking as he sat down. The familiar rhythm of his keyboard soon faded into the background as time stretched, the quiet settling over the room like a heavy blanket.

The sharp buzz of his phone broke through the stillness, vibrating against the nightstand. Stan ignored it, rolling onto his side and pulling the pillow closer to his chest. It buzzed again, longer this time—someone was calling.

Kyle glanced over, his eyes flicking to the glowing screen. “You gonna get that?” he asked, his tone casual but laced with curiosity.

Stan didn’t answer, his gaze fixed on the phone as your name lit up the screen. He let it ring, his jaw tightening until the buzzing stopped.

Moments later, a text notification popped up: “stan!! the date was SO good omg i have to tell u everything 😭✨ call me back asap!!!!”

Stan stared at the message, the bright glow of the screen seeming brighter than it should. His thumb hovered over the screen, but he didn’t reply. The message sat there, untouched, the faint “read” notification glowing beneath it.

Kyle swiveled in his chair, watching him carefully. “Why didn’t you answer?” he asked, his voice direct and just a little judgmental.

Stan sighed heavily, finally rolling onto his back. “Because I didn’t feel like it,” he muttered, his tone flat.

Kyle frowned, tilting his head slightly. “You’re acting weird,” he said, his voice blunt.

Stan didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed the pillow and yanked it over his face, blocking out both Kyle’s stare and the faint, accusing glow of his phone. The air in the room felt thick, suffocating, as the seconds ticked by.

Kyle sighed again, muttering something, before turning back to his laptop. The sound of typing resumed, soft but persistent, as Stan lay there, his chest tight and his thoughts racing.

Your text sat unopened on his screen, the emojis and exclamation points mocking him in their cheeriness.

Stan was a fucking mess.

His days blurred into one long, hazy nightmare of hangovers, parties, and mistakes he didn’t even bother pretending to regret anymore. The drinks came first—sharp and burning, chasing the tightness in his chest—but the alcohol only made him sink deeper. The smokes followed, each drag dulling the edges of his thoughts until they felt manageable, almost quiet. And then there were the hookups: faceless strangers, warm bodies, the false promise of connection he knew wouldn’t last.

Every kiss left him hollow. Every time he shoved his tongue into someone else’s mouth, he couldn’t stop comparing it to yours. The clumsy, nervous press of your lips. The way you’d hesitated, the way you’d blushed. It wasn’t just the kiss—it was you. You had felt real in a way nothing else had in a long time, and it pissed him off.

He couldn’t fucking stand it.

He remembered the first time he kissed someone else after that night. Some girl at a party with too much perfume and too little patience. She tasted bitter and desperate, he’d pulled away mid-kiss, muttering something half-assed before stumbling to the bathroom to throw up.

But he hadn’t stopped.

Stan kept going, drinking himself into oblivion and kissing anyone who would have him. Guys, girls—it didn’t fucking matter. The only thing that mattered was trying to forget the way you’d looked at him, all wide-eyed and trusting, like he wasn’t the same fucked-up mess who couldn’t even look at himself in the mirror anymore.

Tonight was no different.

The party was loud and chaotic, the music rattling the shitty walls and the crowd spilling into every corner of the house. Stan sat slouched on a stained couch in the living room, a red cup dangling from his fingers as he swayed slightly, his balance thrown off by the sheer amount of booze in his system.

Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman were standing nearby, talking—or arguing; Stan couldn’t tell—near the makeshift bar in the corner. Kyle’s disapproving stare burned into him from across the room, but Stan ignored it, tipping the cup back and draining the last of its contents.

“You’re gonna fucking die at this rate, Marsh,” Cartman muttered as he walked past, his voice dripping with mockery. “Not that anyone would care.”

“Fuck off, Cartman,” Stan slurred, his words dragging as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He reached for the flask in his hoodie pocket, twisting the cap off with more force than necessary.

Kenny leaned toward Kyle, muttering something too low for Stan to catch. Kyle frowned, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, and the two of them exchanged a look before turning back to watch Stan spiral further.

“Stan, you good?” Kenny called, his tone light but carrying an undercurrent of concern.

Stan waved a hand in their direction, the motion clumsy and dismissive. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though his tone made it clear he was anything but. He tipped the flask back, the whiskey burning his throat and pooling hot in his stomach.

Kyle stepped forward, his frown deepening. “You’ve been drinking all night, dude. Maybe chill out for five fucking seconds.”

Stan let out a sharp laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Oh, thanks, Kyle. Didn’t know you were my fucking mom now.”

Kyle’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he stepped back, muttering something to Kenny, who just shrugged and cast another glance at Stan.

Stan’s phone buzzed in his pocket, the vibration rattling faintly against the flask. He ignored it at first, but it buzzed again, longer this time.

Kyle noticed and raised an eyebrow. “You gonna answer that?” he asked, his tone sharp.

Stan snorted, pulling the phone from his pocket. Your name glowed on the screen, along with a notification: “stan!! damien said he wants to take me to meet his parents omg 😭 i need advice lol.”

Stan stared at it for a long moment, his stomach twisting painfully. His thumb hovered over the screen, but he didn’t reply.

Kyle frowned, stepping closer. “Why the fuck aren’t you answering her?”

Stan shoved the phone back into his pocket and leaned back against the couch, his head lolling slightly. “Because I don’t fucking feel like it,” he muttered, the edge in his tone daring Kyle to push further.

Kyle narrowed his eyes, his lips pressing into a tight line. “You’re acting like an asshole,” he said, his voice flat.

Stan didn’t respond. He just tipped the flask back again, his gaze unfocused as the whiskey burned its way down.

Kyle shook his head, his frustration evident, but he didn’t say anything else. Cartman let out a loud, exaggerated sigh from the corner, muttering something about “emotional drunk idiots,” but Stan barely heard him.

The noise of the party grew louder, swallowing everything else as Stan closed his eyes, the taste of stale whiskey lingering on his tongue. His head was pounding, his body heavy against the couch, the sounds and lights of the party warping into a single overwhelming mass. Time slipped by, or maybe it didn’t—Stan couldn’t tell anymore. Everything felt stuck and spinning at the same time. He tipped his flask back, only to find it empty, the metallic scrape of nothing hitting his tongue. He grimaced, tossing it onto the coffee table with a hollow clink.

The living room was packed now, more people filtering in as the night dragged on. Stan cracked one eye open, his gaze sweeping lazily over the crowd. Tolkien and Clyde stood near the bar, laughing over some inside joke. Tweek was glued to Craig’s side, his hands twitching at his sides as his eyes darted around nervously. Jimmy and Butters were deep in conversation, Jimmy’s hands moving animatedly as Butters nodded enthusiastically. Near the door, Wendy, Heidi, Bebe, Red, and Nichole were huddled together, their sharp laughs cutting through the din of the party.

Stan’s lip curled faintly as his gaze lingered on Wendy. The sight of her made his chest tighten uncomfortably. She looked perfect, polished, like she’d stepped right out of a magazine. She always had a way of making chaos seem effortless, but now it just grated on him. He turned his head away, his stomach churning.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, a faint vibration against his thigh. Another text from you. He didn’t have to check to know—it was always you.

“Stan,” Kyle’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and unforgiving. Stan cracked an eye open to see him standing over him, arms crossed, his brow furrowed in that familiar way that made Stan want to throw something. “Get up. You look like shit.”

Stan groaned, shifting slightly on the couch but making no effort to move. “And you look like a fucking hall monitor,” he muttered, his voice slurred and bitter. “Leave me alone.”

Kyle didn’t flinch. “You’ve been sitting here all night,” he said, his tone colder now. “You’re a goddamn disaster, and it’s fucking embarrassing.”

Stan let out a low groan, dragging a hand over his face. “Why do you care?” he mumbled.

Kyle’s scowl deepened, and he reached down, grabbing Stan’s arm and giving it a sharp tug. “Because you’re embarrassing yourself, dude. Now get the fuck up.”

“Christ, just let me sit here,” Stan snapped, jerking his arm out of Kyle’s grasp.

Kenny appeared at Kyle’s side, a grin tugging at his lips. “Come on, Marsh,” he said, clapping Stan on the shoulder. “Get your ass up before Kyle drags you out by your hoodie.”

Stan shot him a glare but didn’t argue, the weight of their combined stares forcing him to move. He pushed himself up from the couch, swaying slightly as the room spun around him.

“Happy now?” he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Not yet,” Kyle said flatly, gesturing toward the crowded bar. “Go talk to someone. Be a person for five fucking minutes.”

Stan stumbled slightly as they led him toward the bar, Kenny keeping a steady hand on his shoulder to guide him through the throng of bodies.

“You’re gonna puke, aren’t you?” Kenny teased, his grin widening. “If you do, aim for Cartman. Do us all a favor.”

“Shut up, Kenny,” Stan muttered, his voice hoarse as his gaze swept over the crowd.

Tolkien and Clyde leaned against the bar, nursing their drinks and laughing like the chaos around them was background noise. Tolkien looked up first, his sharp eyes narrowing as he noticed Stan’s state.

“Jesus, Marsh,” Tolkien said, his tone a mix of humor and concern. “You look like you’ve been hit by a bus.”

Clyde snickered, raising his cup in mock acknowledgment. “Or like he’s about to barf on that couch again. Wanna let us know if we’re in the splash zone?”

“Go fuck yourselves,” Stan muttered, slumping against the bar. He reached for a bottle, but Kyle was faster, slapping his hand away for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. “No. You’re done.”

“Fuck off, Kyle,” Stan muttered, but his voice lacked any real fight. He leaned heavily against the bar, his fingers gripping the edge as if it might steady him. His head was pounding, the alcohol and noise merging into one relentless buzz that refused to let up.

The girls approached not long after, their chatter and laughter cutting through the chaos like a spotlight. Wendy was in the lead, her voice carrying as she said something to Nichole that made both of them laugh. Stan stiffened when she spotted him, her gaze lingering a second too long before she started making her way over.

“Stan,” she said, her tone light but deliberate, “you look like you’re about five seconds away from passing out.”

Stan didn’t look at her, his jaw tightening. “Thanks for the observation, Wendy.”

She tilted her head, leaning slightly closer as if trying to get a better look at him. “You’ve been hitting it hard lately, huh? I barely see you sober anymore.”

Stan let out a sharp laugh, finally turning his head to meet her gaze. “What’s it to you?”

Wendy didn’t flinch. Instead, she leaned against the bar beside him, her shoulder brushing his. “Maybe I care,” she said simply, her voice softer now. “You ever think about that?”

Stan blinked at her, thrown off by the sudden shift in her tone. He searched her face, half-expecting her to laugh or say something sarcastic, but her expression was… gentle. It made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t name.

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered, turning his gaze back to the bar. “You care so much.”

“I do,” Wendy said firmly. “I know you think you’re fooling everyone with this whole self-destructive act, but you’re not. We’ve known each other too long for that.” Wendy tilted her head, her dark hair falling over her shoulder as she studied him. She looked calm, composed—like she wasn’t standing in the middle of a house party with chaos swirling around her. But her eyes had that sharp edge, the one that made Stan feel like she could see straight through him.

“We were together for years, Stan,” she said, her tone soft but cutting. “You really think I don’t notice when you’re falling apart?”

Stan’s lips twisted into a bitter smirk. “Don’t pretend like you still give a shit. You moved on the second we broke up.”

Wendy’s eyebrows shot up, and for a moment, she looked genuinely surprised. Then her lips curved into a sly smile, one that sent a wave of confusion crashing over him. “You’re drunk,” she said, leaning in just slightly, her voice low enough that only he could hear. “But you’re wrong about that.”

Stan blinked, his chest tightening as he tried to process her words. His brain felt sluggish, fogged up by the alcohol, but her tone—gentle, almost teasing—set him completely off balance.

“What the fuck are you trying to say?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly as he turned his head to look at her.

Wendy’s smile widened, and she reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against his arm. “I’m saying maybe I haven’t moved on as much as you think.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Wendy fucking Testaburger—his ex, his high school everything—was flirting with him. Here. Now. Like the past three years of silence hadn’t happened.

“Bullshit,” he said, though his voice lacked any real venom. “You’re just fucking with me.”

“Am I?” Wendy countered, her tone light but her gaze piercing. “You tell me.”

Stan opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, he heard your laugh. Bright and clear, cutting through the din of the party like a spotlight. His stomach churned violently as his head snapped toward the sound.

There you were. You were walking in with Damien, your hand looped through his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. You were laughing at something he’d said, your smile wide, your eyes alight. And it wasn’t just your expression that hit him—it was your whole presence. Your wardrobe had shifted recently, all dark colors and sharp lines, like you were molding yourself to fit Damien’s world. Even your makeup was heavier, bolder. But none of that mattered. All Stan could focus on was how fucking happy you looked.

Your gaze swept the room, and when your eyes landed on him, you froze for a fraction of a second before your face broke into a grin. You raised your free hand, waving enthusiastically, and leaned in to say something to Damien before starting toward Stan.

Panic hit him like a freight train. You were coming toward him, your bright, trusting eyes locked on his, and he couldn’t fucking handle it. Not with Wendy right there. Not with his heart pounding and his chest twisting like it was about to cave in.

Before he could think, before he could stop himself, he turned to Wendy, cupped her face, and kissed her.

The kiss was messy, desperate. Wendy tensed for a moment, startled, but she quickly responded, her hands coming up to grip his hoodie as she leaned into him. But it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like anything.

Stan’s eyes opened just slightly, and through the blur of his kiss with Wendy, he saw you. You’d stopped in your tracks, your hand still lightly resting on Damien’s arm. Your smile had faltered, confusion flickering across your face as you took in the scene.

His chest twisted painfully, but he didn’t stop. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss with Wendy like it might drown out the sight of you. His hands tightened on her face, his lips moving against hers with a frantic, sloppy rhythm that felt more like an escape than a connection.

You stood there for a moment longer, your expression shifting from confusion to something more guarded. Then you turned to Damien, muttering something he nodded at before changing your direction entirely. You walked toward Kyle, Kenny, Tolkien, and Clyde, your steps quick and purposeful, but there was tension in your shoulders that hadn’t been there before.

Stan finally pulled back, his chest heaving as he broke the kiss. A thin string of saliva connected his lips to Wendy’s for a split second before she wiped it away with the back of her hand, her brow furrowing.

“What the fuck, Stan?” Wendy asked, her voice low but sharp, her gaze searching his face for answers.

Stan didn’t respond. His eyes stayed locked on you as you reached Kyle and the others, laughing at something Clyde said, your voice forced but light. His stomach churned, the whiskey and regret threatening to spill over.

Wendy sighed, letting her hands fall from his hoodie. “You’re such a mess,” she muttered, shaking her head. But she didn’t walk away. Instead, she leaned back against the bar, crossing her arms as she watched him with something between concern and exasperation. “Are you gonna tell me what the hell’s going on, or are you just gonna keep acting like a fucking idiot?”

Stan dragged a hand over his face, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t look at you. All he could do was stare at the ground and try to hold himself together.

“Stan,” Wendy said again, softer this time, but he didn’t lift his head. He couldn’t.

Stan’s stomach churned violently. For a fleeting second, he wanted to tell her everything. How fucked-up he felt. How every day since that night with you had been an endless spiral of booze and bad decisions. How he couldn’t stop thinking about you, no matter how many people he kissed or how much he drank. But the words got stuck in his throat, suffocated by the weight of his own cowardice.

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered instead, his voice raw and hoarse. “None of it fucking matters.”

Wendy let out a sharp sigh, her frustration clear. “Stan, you’re being—”

“Hey, guys!” Your voice rang out, cutting Wendy off mid-sentence. Stan’s entire body went rigid as he turned his head toward you, his breath catching in his throat.

“Hey,” Wendy said, her tone surprisingly friendly. “You look great tonight.”

You smiled at her, nodding slightly. “Thanks. You too.”

Stan’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing like a warning. You turned your gaze to him next, your expression softening slightly as you addressed him. “Stan, can I, uh… talk to you for a sec? I promise I won’t keep you long.”

His throat tightened, his words failing him as he stared at you. Wendy glanced between the two of you, her brows furrowing slightly before she stepped back, giving you space. “I’ll be with Bebe,” she said to Stan, her voice even, though he swore he caught a flicker of something—curiosity?—in her expression before she turned and walked away.

He turned back to you, his throat tight, his mouth dry. You looked so… you. Like you hadn’t spent the past two weeks filling his phone with unread messages or watching him spiral into a pit of his own making.

“What’s up?” he asked, his voice gruffer than he intended. He cleared his throat, trying to sound normal, but it came out forced.

You tilted your head slightly, your smile softening. “You’ve been kinda hard to get ahold of lately. I figured maybe I’d just corner you in person,” you teased lightly, your eyes searching his face. “Are you okay? You look tired.”

Stan let out a short laugh, though it lacked any real humor. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… been busy.”

“Busy, huh?” You crossed your arms, but the teasing smile never left your face. “Well, I hope that means you’re actually focusing on your classes and not just avoiding me.”

He flinched inwardly at how easily you hit the mark, but he shrugged like it didn’t matter. “I’m not avoiding you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you said, the words light but carrying just enough concern to twist the knife in his gut. You stepped a little closer, your voice softening. “Stan, I mean it. Are you okay? You’ve been kinda… off lately.”

“I said I’m fine,” he muttered, looking away. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his nails biting into his palms as he tried to steady himself.

You frowned slightly, but the concern in your eyes didn’t waver. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, right? You know I’m here for you.”

Stan’s chest tightened. The way you looked at him, like you still believed he was worth something, made his stomach churn. “Yeah,” he said shortly, his voice low. “I know.”

You watched him for a moment longer, your brows knitting together as if you were trying to figure out what he wasn’t saying. Then, your expression brightened again, and you reached out, grabbing his hand. The sudden warmth of your touch jolted him like a live wire.

“So, anyway,” you said, your voice lifting as you smiled up at him, “I was thinking, maybe we could hang out this week? Like, just us? I’ve missed you, Stan.”

Stan froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. He wanted to say no, to push you away like he had with everyone else, but the way you looked at him—so hopeful, so fucking earnest—made it impossible.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice rough. “Sure. Whatever.”

Your smile widened, and you gave his hand a quick squeeze before letting go. “Great! I’ll text you, okay?”

Before he could respond, you turned and made your way back toward the group, your steps light and unbothered. Stan watched you go, his chest tight, his head spinning. His hand still felt warm where you’d touched him, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

Wendy returned to his side, her sharp eyes scanning his face. “You gonna tell me what that was about?” she asked, her tone skeptical.

“Nope,” Stan muttered, grabbing a random cup off the bar and downing its contents in one long gulp, the burn barely registering. He slammed the empty cup down onto the bar, his head spinning, his chest tight. Your hand still lingered like a ghost against his skin, and he hated it. He hated that you could just waltz into a room, all smiles and warmth, acting like the past two weeks hadn’t left him feeling hollow. You didn’t know. You couldn’t know. If you did, you wouldn’t look at him like that.

He turned to Wendy, his vision slightly blurry but focused enough to see her watching him with that same skeptical expression. His stomach churned, not from the alcohol, but from the chaos swirling in his head. He needed out. He needed distraction. He needed something to drown out your voice and the look on your face when you’d said you’d missed him.

“Wanna go upstairs?” The words came out blunt, almost mechanical, but his voice was steady. Too steady.

Wendy blinked, clearly thrown off by his sudden proposition. Her lips parted, and for a moment, he thought she was going to say no, to laugh at him, to call him out for the disaster he was. But then she let out a breath, her eyes narrowing slightly, and she muttered, “Fuck it.”

She grabbed his hand, her grip firm, and started leading him through the crowd. Stan followed wordlessly, his thoughts a jumbled mess. He couldn’t think about you anymore. Couldn’t think about your laugh or the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at him. Couldn’t think about the way his chest twisted when you’d squeezed his hand. Couldn’t think about how he’d almost said no because he didn’t deserve to be near you.

He needed to stop thinking.

By the time they reached the top of the stairs, his breath was ragged, his heart pounding. Wendy pushed open the door to an empty bedroom, the faint smell of stale beer and cheap cologne lingering in the air. The bass of the music downstairs thudded faintly through the walls, a dull reminder of the chaos they’d left behind.

The door clicked shut behind them, and for a second, neither of them moved. Then Wendy turned to him, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp, and said, “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yeah,” Stan muttered, his voice hoarse. “I know.”

And then they were on each other.

Wendy’s hands went to his hoodie, yanking it over his head with practiced ease. Her fingers found the hem of his shirt next, and he let her pull it off, the fabric catching briefly on his shoulders before landing in a heap on the floor. His own hands fumbled with the buttons of her top, his movements clumsy, frantic.

“Jesus, Stan,” Wendy muttered, swatting his hands away and undoing the buttons herself. She shrugged the shirt off, revealing a black lace bra that made his brain short-circuit for a moment.

He didn’t have time to process it. His hands found her hips, gripping them tightly as he yanked her closer. Their lips met in a searing kiss, all teeth and desperation. Her lipstick smeared against his mouth, a bitter, chemical taste that didn’t bother him nearly as much as it should’ve.

Wendy moaned softly against his lips, her nails digging into his shoulders as she pressed herself closer. Stan’s hands roamed, sliding over the curve of her waist, the smoothness of her back, the clasp of her bra. He fumbled with it for a moment before it snapped open, the straps sliding down her arms.

“Better,” Wendy muttered, her voice breathless, her lips brushing against his as she spoke.

Stan didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His head was spinning, his chest tight, his hands shaking slightly as he cupped her tits, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. Wendy gasped, her back arching slightly, and he kissed her again, harder this time. His tongue pushed into her mouth, desperate and messy, and she returned the favor, her hands slipping down to undo his belt.

It was rushed, frantic, like they were both trying to outrun something neither of them wanted to name. Their clothes piled on the floor, forgotten, as they stumbled toward the bed. Stan’s knees hit the edge first, and he pulled Wendy down with him, his hands gripping her thighs as she straddled him.

Her hips rolled against his, the friction sending sparks of heat through his body. His hands gripped her ass, pulling her closer, and she let out a low moan that made his stomach clench. Her lips found his neck, sucking and biting, and he tilted his head back, his eyes squeezing shut.

But it didn’t help. He could still see you. Could still hear your voice, soft and warm, asking him if he was okay. Could still feel the weight of your hand in his, the way your smile had lit up the room.

He bit down hard on his lip, the metallic taste of blood mingling with the bitter tang of lipstick as he pulled Wendy closer, his hands roaming over her body like it might be enough to drown out everything else.

It wasn’t.

It never fucking was.

You opened your dorm door to find Stan leaning against the frame, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. His hoodie was rumpled, the drawstrings uneven, and his dark jeans were creased like he’d grabbed them off the floor. The heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes and the faint slump in his posture told you everything you needed to know: Stan was a mess. Your heart twisted at the sight.

“Hey,” you greeted, your smile soft but expectant as you stepped aside to let him in. “Come in.”

Stan trudged in without a word, his sneakers squeaking faintly against the linoleum. He stopped awkwardly in the middle of the room, his hands shoved into his hoodie pocket as he stared at the floor. The scent of lavender and vanilla wafted through the air from the candle you’d lit earlier—one that smelled exactly like the ones his mom used to burn at the ranch. You’d even spritzed on his favorite perfume of yours, the one he once mumbled smelled good during a lazy movie night.

But now, as he stood there, avoiding your gaze, guilt gnawed at you. Kyle had finally clued you in about Stan’s behavior over the past two weeks: the endless parties, the drinking, the hookups. It all hit you like a punch to the stomach. Sure, you’d noticed his texts had been curt, his responses brief, but you’d brushed it off as him being busy or tired of hearing you gush about Damien. Looking at him now, you realized how deeply you’d misread the situation, and the thought made your chest ache.

You cleared your throat, trying to shake off the heaviness in the air. “Red’s out with her boyfriend,” you said lightly. “She won’t be back until late, so it’s just us. No awkward roommate interruptions, I promise.”

Stan barely acknowledged your words, standing there like he didn’t know what to do with himself. His silence felt heavy, almost suffocating, but you forced a small smile and turned to the TV.

“I was thinking we could watch Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull,” you said, grabbing the remote and navigating to it. “It’s been a while since we made fun of how fucking awful it is.”

That got a flicker of a reaction—a small huff of breath that might have been a laugh. Your heart lifted just slightly.

“It’s still so bad, right?” you teased, glancing over your shoulder at him. “Like, I’m pretty sure it gets worse every time we watch it.”

Stan shrugged, his lips twitching faintly before settling back into a neutral line. “Yeah. It’s garbage.”

“Good garbage,” you corrected with a grin, gesturing for him to sit. “Come on, Marsh. Don’t just stand there like you’re waiting for a eulogy. Sit down.”

He moved toward the bed slowly, like it took effort, and sank down on the edge. His shoulders hunched forward, his hands still buried in his pockets as he stared at the screen. You plopped down next to him, close enough that your shoulder brushed his. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t lean into the contact either. His whole body felt like it was wound tight, like a spring ready to snap.

The movie started, the overdramatic score blaring through the speakers, and you settled in, leaning lightly against his side. Your eyes flicked to his face, taking in the tension in his jaw, the faint tremor in his hands. He wasn’t watching the movie—he was staring at it, sure, but his gaze was unfocused, distant.

You leaned your head against Stan’s shoulder, your weight light but intentional, hoping the contact would ground him. The movie droned on in the background, the ridiculous dialogue and CGI overload failing to capture either of your attention. You took a breath, the words on the tip of your tongue heavy but necessary.

“Kyle told me everything, Stan,” you said softly, your voice barely audible over the soundtrack. “You’re hurting.”

Stan stiffened slightly under you, his jaw tightening. “Kyle needs to mind his fucking business,” he muttered, his tone sharp and defensive.

You let out a quiet laugh, not mocking but warm, diffusing the edge in his words. “Yeah, well, sometimes his business is caring about you. So maybe cut him some slack.”

Stan didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the screen, but you could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. You bit your lip, hesitating for a moment before continuing.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice softer now. “I’ve been a terrible friend. I should’ve noticed sooner that you were going through it. I just thought…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “I don’t know what I thought. I figured you were busy, or maybe sick of hearing me talk about Damien. But that’s not an excuse. I should’ve been there for you.”

Stan didn’t say anything, but the way his shoulders slumped told you he was listening. Your fingers found their way to his hair, brushing through the bleached strands with a gentleness you hoped would ease some of the weight he carried. His hair was soft, slightly damp from the cold air outside, and you played with it absently, letting the silence stretch between you for a moment.

Your thoughts drifted, unbidden, to senior year of high school. To when Wendy had broken up with Stan just before college. He’d been a wreck back then too—drinking, hooking up with anyone who gave him the time of day, getting faded to numb the ache. You remembered how you’d sat with him in the bleachers one night after a party, his head in his hands, his flask half-empty beside him. Back then, you’d thought he might never pull himself out of that spiral. And now, sitting next to him again, it felt like history was repeating itself.

Stan let out a long, quiet sigh, his head tilting slightly toward your hand as you continued to comb your fingers through his hair. His silence wasn’t surprising, but it still made your chest ache. You wanted to help him, to pull him out of whatever dark hole he’d fallen into, but you didn’t know how.

So, you did what you always did: you teased.

“Maybe I should stop talking to Damien if that’s what it takes to get you to say something,” you said lightly, your lips curving into a small, teasing smile as you glanced up at him.

That got a reaction—a faint scoff, his lips twitching into something resembling a smirk. “Don’t do that,” he muttered, his voice low but less tense than before. “That guy’s the only thing you’ve been happy about lately.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the observation. “Stan…”

He shook his head, his gaze still on the screen but softer now, less distant. “I don’t need you to stop seeing him. I just…” He trailed off, his words dissolving into the quiet hum of the room.

You waited, giving him space, your fingers still moving through his hair. When he didn’t continue, you leaned closer, your voice quiet but firm. “You just what?”

He let out a shaky breath, his head lowering slightly. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “Forget it.”

You sighed heavily, the weight of his silence pressing against your chest. Without thinking, you reached down, forcing Stan’s head to rest in your lap. He let out a small grunt of protest, but he didn’t resist. His body sank against the bed, his legs stretching out in front of him as his head settled against your thighs. Your fingers resumed their path through his hair, smoothing out the damp, messy strands with a tenderness you hoped he could feel.

“We’re best friends, Stan” you said softly, your gaze fixed on his tired face. His eyes were half-lidded, his lips slightly parted as he stared at the ceiling, but you weren’t sure if he was listening. “I mean, I know you have Kenny, Kyle, and even Cartman. And I love them, too. But what we have? It’s different.”

Stan didn’t respond, but his lips twitched slightly, like he might say something before thinking better of it. You pushed on, your voice steady but imploring. “I’d always go to you, you know? When I needed someone. And you’d come to me. That’s how it’s always been. I don’t know why that’s changed, but…” You trailed off, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. “Stan, please. Just tell me what’s wrong. Let me be there for you.”

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Your fingers stilled in his hair, your gaze searching his face for any sign that he’d heard you. Finally, he let out a long, quiet sigh, his shoulders sagging further into the mattress.

“It’s nothing,” Stan said, his voice low and flat. “Just… shit with school. Stress, I guess. And I’ve been partying too much. That’s all.”

You frowned, your chest tightening at how hollow his words sounded. You didn’t believe him—not for a second—but you didn’t press. Stan was like that, always shutting down when he wasn’t ready to talk. You’d learned over the years that patience was the only thing that worked with him.

Instead, you resumed playing with his hair, your nails grazing his scalp lightly in a way that you knew he liked. “Okay,” you said quietly, even though you didn’t mean it. “But you know you can tell me, right? Whenever you’re ready.”

Stan’s lips twitched again, but this time, it almost looked like a smile. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I know.”

For a while, the only sound in the room was the muffled noise of the movie playing on the TV. You let the moment linger, hoping the stillness would help him unwind. And then, out of nowhere, he spoke again.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “For being a dick about Damien. I shouldn’t have been so cold. If he makes you happy, then… I wanna hear about it. I don’t care if it’s annoying or whatever. I wanna know.”

Your heart lifted at his words, and a wide smile spread across your face. “Really?” you asked, your voice bright with disbelief.

He nodded, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling. “Yeah.”

Without thinking, you leaned down and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his hairline, your lips brushing against his skin with the faintest pressure. “Thanks, Stan,” you said, your voice warm and genuine. “That means a lot to me.”

Stan didn’t respond, but his eyes drifted shut, his face relaxing just slightly against your lap. You shifted Stan slightly in your lap, your movements careful as you reached down to untie his shoes. He let out a faint grunt, his lips pressing together, but he didn’t stop you. With practiced ease, you slipped them off and set them neatly by the bed. His head remained heavy against your lap, and as you adjusted him again, you caught the faint flush creeping up his neck. You chalked it up to the warmth of the room and the heat from his hoodie, brushing it off with a soft hum.

Wrapping your arms loosely around his waist, you let your head rest against your headboard. “You’re too tense,” you said softly, your voice carrying a teasing lilt. “What’s it gonna take to get you to relax, huh?”

Stan didn’t answer, but his jaw tightened slightly, a flicker of tension visible in the set of his mouth. Still, his shoulders sagged a little more against you, like he was finally giving in to the weight of the moment. Taking his silence as permission, you started talking, your voice bright and a little tentative.

“So, I never got to tell you how my first date with Damien went,” you began, your fingers absently toying with his hoodie strings. “It was actually really sweet. We went to that tiny art gallery downtown—you know, the one with the terrible lighting and the coffee that tastes like burnt dirt?”

Stan let out a faint sound, almost like a grunt of acknowledgment, though his gaze stayed fixed on the ceiling, his brows drawn faintly together.

“Anyway,” you continued, “we spent hours just wandering around and making fun of all the weird sculptures. He’s got this dry, kind of sarcastic sense of humor that threw me off at first, but it’s actually hilarious. I think you’d like him if you gave him a chance.”

You glanced down at Stan’s face. His brow was furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin, neutral line, but there was a tension in his expression, a way his eyes flicked to the side like he was purposefully avoiding yours. Still, he didn’t say anything, so you pressed on.

“And at the end of the night…” You trailed off, your smile turning a little shy as you felt your cheeks warm. “He kissed me.”

You felt Stan stiffen slightly beneath your arms. His brows twitched downward, and his lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. The subtle changes in his face—the slight hardening of his jaw, the faint flicker in his eyes—were enough to make your own stomach twist, but you kept going, your voice soft and sincere.

“It was nice. Sweet, you know? Not like…” You hesitated, a small laugh escaping you. “Not like that clumsy disaster I had with you.”

Stan’s flush deepened, a faint red creeping up his cheeks to his ears. His lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, into a fleeting scowl before settling back into something more passive. The tension in his expression was unmistakable, but it wasn’t anger. It was something more complicated, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Laughing softly, you pressed a kiss to his temple, your tone playful as you teased, “I’m serious, though. Thank you, Stan. I would’ve been a wreck without you. You really helped me.”

You didn’t stop there. You kissed his cheek, then his forehead, and finally the corner of his jaw, grinning as his flush deepened. “My hero,” you said, light and teasing. “Stanley Marsh, kissing coach extraordinaire.”

“Jesus, dude, quit it,” Stan muttered, his voice low and gruff as he turned his face into your stomach, trying to hide the full bloom of red on his cheeks. His brows furrowed tightly, but there was a faint flicker of a smirk on his lips, almost reluctant.

“No way,” you shot back with a laugh, pressing one final kiss to the top of his head. “You deserve it. I’d still be freaking out if it weren’t for you.”

Stan didn’t reply, instead he just opted to stay slumped in your lap. His weight pressing into you like a deadweight, but you didn’t mind. His hands were curled into his hoodie, his knuckles grazing your thigh every so often, and you wondered how someone could seem so damn tense even while sitting still.

“So,” you started, breaking the silence with a teasing edge in your voice, “about that text I sent you earlier this week? The one about Damien wanting me to meet his parents?” You dragged out the last word in a sing-song tone, grinning as you watched for his reaction.

Stan let out a low grunt, barely lifting his eyes to look at you. “Yeah, I saw it,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

You ignored his noncommittal tone and plowed ahead. “Well, I talked to Nichole, Heidi, Red, and Bebe about it at the party—you know, after you ran off to ‘catch up’ with Wendy.” You wiggled your eyebrows suggestively at the mention, but Stan didn’t bite. “And you’ll never guess what Bebe said.”

Stan rolled his eyes, the barest flicker of amusement crossing his face. “Let me guess. She thinks you’re joining some cult or some shit.”

You laughed, throwing your head back a little. “Exactly! She said Damien’s probably trying to induct me into some weird goth satanic ritual. ‘The boyfriend-parent connection is step one,’” you added in your best impression of her dramatic tone, complete with wide eyes and an exaggerated gasp.

That got a faint snort out of Stan. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

“And Heidi?” You leaned down closer, dropping your voice to a mock-whisper. “She was all like, ‘Oh my God, it’s so romantic!’” You fluttered your hands for effect, giggling at your own joke. “I told her I think it’s sweet, but also, like, maybe let’s not dive headfirst into the whole ‘meet the parents’ thing. I’m taking it slow.”

Stan tensed just slightly at your words, his jaw working as if he had something to say but decided against it. He stayed quiet, his hands flexing faintly where they gripped his hoodie.

You kept going, the memory from last night creeping in uninvited. “I mean, it’s not like I’m scared or anything. Damien’s great—respectful and all that. Like last night…” You trailed off, your voice faltering as the memory hit you full force.

You could still feel the heat of his hands on your waist, the way he’d pulled you closer as you straddled his lap. His lips had been soft but firm against yours, his breath warm on your skin. And then you’d shifted, your hips pressing down against him, and—

“Dude,” Stan’s voice cut through your thoughts like a knife. “You okay?”

You blinked, your cheeks burning as you realized you’d gone quiet for too long. “Uh, yeah. Sorry,” you muttered with an awkward laugh. “Just zoned out for a second.”

Stan turned his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied your face. “What were you zoning out on?” he asked, his tone casual but edged with something you couldn’t quite place.

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. “Just… Damien. He’s so patient, you know?”

Stan replied with a noncommittal grunt, his eyes fixed on the TV, but you noticed how his fingers flexed slightly. He wasn’t paying attention to the screen, not really, but he also wasn’t giving you any more of an answer. 

You weren’t mad, though. Not really. Your own thoughts were too busy spiraling into a mess of panic and doubt. What came next with Damien? The two of you had kissed, made out plenty of times, and it felt inevitable that the next step was around the corner. The idea should’ve been exciting—romantic even—but instead, it made your stomach twist itself into knots.

You shifted slightly, pulling your knees up to rest on the bed beside you, careful not to disturb Stan’s head in your lap. Your fingers stilled in his hair as you glanced down at him. His eyes were still on the TV, but there was a tightness in his jaw that made your chest ache.

“Stan,” you said softly, breaking the silence. He didn’t respond verbally, but you could feel the slight shift in his body, letting you know that he was listening. You peered down at his face, and the dark circles under his eyes seemed even more prominent than before. 

How should you go about this? Here Stan was, struggling to stay afloat, and you’re just prattling on about how amazing Damien is, all while you knew Stan doesn’t really like him. Shame and guilt coursed through your veins, and you hated how it felt like your blood was boiling. Stan needed a distraction from everything—yet here you were, a constant reminder that wouldn’t let him forget.

The corners of your mouth curved downwards as you continued to look at him, and he stared back, waiting for the words that’d come out of your mouth. “I-I was thinking maybe, you’d let me kiss you again? I uh, could really use the practice.” You blurted out awkwardly. 

Stan tried to shift his head away from your lap, his mouth hung open as he stared at the sight before him—you. He blinked twice, trying to process what he just heard. Your fingers were tangled in his hair, and you didn’t allow him to wiggle away from you.

“Dude… what?” was all Stan could stammer out. He licked his lips, his face going red as his eyes darted away, avoiding your gaze.

You felt your cheeks flush instantly, the weight of his disbelief settling heavily in your chest. Panic bubbled up as you scrambled for an excuse, for something to justify the words you’d just let slip. You forced a nervous laugh, though it came out shaky and thin.

“I mean, it’s not a big deal or anything,” you said quickly, your voice high-pitched and rambling. “You know, like last time. It didn’t change anything between us, right? And I was thinking, if I… um… if I get more comfortable with it, maybe I won’t freak out so much when Damien tries to—”

You cut yourself off abruptly, biting your tongue. You couldn’t say his name. Not now. Not when Stan’s expression shifted, his brows furrowing as his lips pressed into a taut line. The corners of his mouth twitched faintly, as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to. His eyes darted to the side briefly, then returned to yours, the faint crease between his brows deepening as if he were trying to make sense of your words.

He pushed himself up slightly, his elbows resting on your thighs as he stared at you. His blue eyes searched your face, the tension in his shoulders even more pronounced now. “You’re serious about this?” he asked, his tone quieter but laced with disbelief.

You hesitated, your fingers curling into the fabric of your shorts. You couldn’t tell him the real reason—that you’d hoped maybe this would be enough to distract him, to pull him out of whatever pit he was sinking into. That seeing him like this, so distant and lost, made your chest ache in a way that felt unbearable. You knew how Stan coped—his hookups, his flings, the way he chased fleeting moments of connection to drown out whatever he was feeling. You hated it, hated how much it hurt to see him like that, but a part of you thought… maybe you could be one of those distractions. Maybe, if you offered him even a sliver of solace, it could make things just a little better—for both of you. But you’d never admit that out loud.

“Yeah,” you said softly, barely meeting his gaze. “I mean, you said before it wasn’t a big deal, right? It’s just… practice.”

Stan’s brows furrowed, his jaw working as if he was biting back whatever thought was on the tip of his tongue. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, until finally, he exhaled sharply and rubbed the back of his neck.

He opened his mouth, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, but you cut him off, the words spilling out of you before you could stop them. “If you’re uncomfortable, you can say no,” you blurted, your voice soft but rushed, your fingers twisting your duvet anxiously. “I swear, Stan, I’ll never bring it up again. We can just forget I said anything.”

Your heart hammered in your chest as you stared at him, every fiber of your being screaming at you to run, to take the words back, to escape the weight of his gaze. But you stayed, your breath shallow, waiting for his response.

Stan’s hand paused mid-motion on the back of his neck, his eyes flicking back to you. There was something in his expression now—hesitation, uncertainty, and maybe, just maybe, the faintest flicker of something else. His lips pressed together for a moment before he let out a low sigh and dropped his hand.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he said finally, his voice quiet but steady. “I just… I don’t get why you’d wanna do this with me.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his question. “Because…” You hesitated, the excuse you’d clung to suddenly feeling flimsy under the weight of his scrutiny. “Because you’re my best friend, Stan. I trust you. And… we’ve done it before.”

Stan tilted his head slightly, his brows knitting together as he studied your face. “Yeah, but that was different,” he said, his tone tinged with skepticism. “You were freaking out about Damien back then. This… this feels like something else.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, heat creeping up your neck as you tried to think of how to respond. “It’s not,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I promise, it’s just… practice. Like before. Nothing more.”

Stan’s gaze lingered on you, the faint crease between his brows deepening as if he didn’t fully believe you. But after a moment, he sighed again and leaned away from your lap, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Alright,” he said, his voice low and almost reluctant. “If you’re sure.”

Your breath hitched, relief and nerves tangled together in your chest. “I’m sure,” you said softly, though your voice wavered just slightly.

Stan gave you a small nod, his lips quirking into a faint, lopsided smile. “Okay then,” he said, his tone carrying a faint edge of humor as he added, “Guess I’m your guinea pig again.”

You laughed nervously, the sound light but strained. “Yeah,” you mumbled, scooting closer until your knees brushed his. Your hands trembled slightly as they settled on his shoulders, and you felt his warmth seep through the fabric of his hoodie. “If it gets weird, we can stop. Just… say the word, okay?”

Stan’s smile softened, his voice quieter now. “Same goes for you.”

You nodded, though your throat felt tight. As much as you tried to focus on the moment, your thoughts kept drifting back to the first time. The awkward angle, the way your teeth had bumped, and how Stan hadn’t laughed. How patient he’d been, even when you couldn’t stop overthinking every little thing. It had been clumsy and strange, sure, but it hadn’t scared you off. If anything, it had made you feel… safe.

Now, though, the stakes felt higher. Stan wasn’t joking around this time. His eyes were steady on yours, and there was something in them that made your chest ache. You didn’t want to mess this up—not for yourself, but for him. He needed this distraction, even if he didn’t know it.

You leaned in slowly, your breaths uneven as the gap between you disappeared. Your lips barely brushed his at first—a hesitant, feather-light touch that made your stomach flip. You paused, unsure if you should pull back or go further, until Stan tilted his head slightly, closing the distance. His lips pressed softly against yours, warm and firm, and you couldn’t help the shiver that ran down your spine.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, holding onto him like an anchor as you tried to keep up. Every little movement felt monumental, every shift of his mouth against yours sending sparks through your nerves. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your mind racing with a thousand little doubts. Were you too stiff? Too hesitant? Did he notice the way your hands were trembling?

Stan pulled back just slightly, his breath brushing against your lips. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. “Relax.”

You let out a nervous laugh, your forehead brushing against his. “Yeah, I know,” you whispered. “Easier said than done.”

His lips quirked into the faintest smile, and he leaned in again, his movements unhurried. This time, the kiss felt different—gentler, less cautious, like he was guiding you through it. You let yourself lean into him, your hands sliding up to the back of his neck as you tried to mimic the rhythm he set. The warmth of his mouth, the faint pressure of his lips—it was overwhelming, and yet, somehow, it made the rest of the world feel far away.

Your breaths mingled as the kiss deepened, and you felt his hands hover just above your waist, unsure of where to land. It wasn’t perfect—you still fumbled, your nerves making your movements a little too hesitant—but Stan didn’t pull away. He stayed with you, his lips moving against yours in a way that felt steady, almost patient. Like he was telling you, wordlessly, that it was okay to take your time.

And then you felt it—a small curve of his lips against yours. He was smiling. Not a smirk or a teasing grin, but something soft, something real. It sent a rush of relief through you, and for a moment, your nerves melted away. Your plan was working. He wasn’t thinking about whatever was weighing him down, not right now. He was here, with you.

The thought gave you just enough courage to take a leap of faith. Your teeth caught gently on his bottom lip, a soft, teasing bite, and you felt Stan freeze for half a second before a low, unexpected moan escaped him. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, heat pooling in your stomach. Giddy and emboldened, you took the opening, your tongue slipping into his mouth to taste him deeper.

Stan responded instantly, his lips parting to meet yours as his tongue moved against yours in a way that was both confident and unhurried. His hands, once hesitant, finally settled on your waist, his fingers curling lightly into your sides as if to steady you. The warmth of his touch seeped through the fabric of your shirt, grounding you in the moment.

Your arms looped fully around his neck, pulling him closer as you leaned into him, the kiss growing more heated. You felt your body shift almost instinctively, your knees moving to straddle his lap. The movement brought you even closer, your thighs pressing against his as you settled into the new position. His breath hitched slightly, and the sound sent a wave of satisfaction through you.

You weren’t thinking about whether you were doing this right anymore. All you cared about was the way Stan was reacting—the way his lips chased yours, the way his hands gripped your waist just a little tighter, the way his breath came faster against your mouth. You wanted him to feel good. You wanted to be the one to make him feel good, even if just for a little while.

Your fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging lightly as the kiss deepened. His moan vibrated against your mouth, and you felt his hands grip your waist tighter, his fingers digging into your skin like he couldn’t bear to let you go. The heat between you was impossible to ignore now, every grind of your hips against his sending a rush of electricity straight to your core.

A giddy smile spread across your lips, and you could feel Stan noticing it, even as his mouth moved against yours. It was impossible to stop yourself from laughing softly, the sound escaping into the kiss.

Stan pulled back slightly, his lips hovering just above yours as his brows furrowed. His voice came out breathless, his face flushed. “What’s so funny?”

You shook your head, still grinning as your chest heaved. “Nothing,” you said, though your laughter betrayed you. “You’re just really into this, huh?”

His eyes narrowed, his mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to smirk or defend himself. “You’re the one grinding on me,” he shot back, his voice low and rough, his hands sliding down to your hips. “So don’t even.”

The words sent a thrill through you, and your stomach tightened as you realized just how much he was enjoying this. You moved against him deliberately this time, rolling your hips over the growing hardness pressing against you. Stan’s breath hitched, and his hands slid down to grip your ass, pulling you tighter against him. The pressure sent heat pooling between your thighs, and you let out a shaky whimper.

“Fuck,” Stan muttered, his grip tightening as he rutted up against you, the movement clumsy but desperate. His lips crashed back onto yours, swallowing your soft moans as your body moved against his. The friction was dizzying, and the raw need in his movements only made your own desire burn hotter.

You nipped at his bottom lip, tugging it lightly between your teeth before slipping your tongue into his mouth. He groaned, the sound low, and you felt his hands sliding back up your sides, pulling you even closer. Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging harder this time, and his response was immediate—a sharp gasp and a rough grind of his hips against yours.

The tension between you was electric, the way his body moved under yours igniting every nerve in your body. You couldn’t stop the quiet laugh that slipped out, your lips brushing against his as you spoke. “Didn’t think you’d get this into it, Marsh.”

Stan groaned, his head tilting back slightly as his hands squeezed your ass. “You’re the one grinding like you’ve got a damn mission,” he shot back, though his voice was rough, broken by the way his breath caught with every roll of your hips.

Your laughter turned into a whimper as you pressed down harder, your body moving instinctively against him. The heat, the friction, the way his hardness pressed against you—it was all too much, and yet not enough. You wanted more. You wanted to make him lose control, to see how far this could go before either of you came to your senses.

“Stan,” you breathed, your voice shaky as you leaned forward, your forehead pressing against his. “Is this… is this okay?”

His eyes met yours, dark and blown wide with arousal, his lips slightly parted. For a moment, he didn’t answer, his hands still gripping your hips like he couldn’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. Then he gave a small nod, his voice rough and low. “Yeah. It’s okay.”

His words sent a rush of relief and exhilaration through you, and you leaned down to capture his lips again, your body moving against his without hesitation. His hands guided your hips now, pressing you down harder against him as he rutted up into you. Every movement sent sparks shooting through your body, the heat between you building to a point that left you breathless.

But somewhere in the back of your mind, a tiny voice whispered that maybe, just maybe, this was going too far. That you weren’t sure what this meant, or if you were ready to find out. You shoved the thought aside, burying it under the heat of Stan’s gaze and the way his hands felt like they were anchoring you to the moment.

Stan’s lips were warm and pliant against yours, his hands firm on your hips, guiding your movements. But just as the heat between you reached a fever pitch, you suddenly broke the kiss, pulling back and leaving him wide-eyed and slightly dazed.

He blinked up at you, his chest heaving as his expression shifted between confusion and frustration. “What—why’d you stop?” he asked, his voice thick, his words barely above a whisper.

You didn’t want to explain—not when the realization that this was going too far sat heavy in your chest. Instead of answering, you let your lips trail to his jaw, then down to his neck, pressing soft kisses into his skin. The taste of salt and faint traces of cologne lingered on your tongue as you sucked lightly, a moan escaping you as you grind yourself harder against him.

“Fuck,” Stan hissed, his grip tightening again, his fingers digging into your waist like he was holding on for dear life. His hips jerked against yours instinctively, the friction sending a jolt of pleasure through your body.

You pressed your mouth harder against his neck, your teeth grazing the sensitive skin before soothing it with your tongue. “Stan,” you murmured breathlessly, your voice muffled against his skin. You weren’t even sure what you were asking for anymore—maybe just to keep feeling this, to keep losing yourself in him.

But suddenly, Stan’s hands shifted, gripping your waist with a strength that surprised you. Before you could react, he lifted you off his lap, his movements firm but not rough, and placed you down on the bed beside him.

“What the hell?” you asked, your tone sharper than you intended as you stared at him, your cheeks flushed and your breath coming in shallow gasps. You weren’t going to be the one to break the silence—not when his sudden shift had left you feeling more than a little offended.

Stan ran a hand through his hair, his face still flushed as he looked anywhere but at you. His jaw worked, like he was chewing on the words he wanted to say, and finally, he muttered, “I was… I was gonna cum it if we kept going.”

His confession hung heavy in the air between you, the raw honesty of it catching you off guard. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your chest tightening as his words sank in.

You blinked twice at him, a smile creeping onto your lips as you tried to gather your courage. The tension in the room was almost suffocating, but you reached out, intertwining your fingers with his. His hand was warm, grounding you even as your nerves buzzed under your skin. Without breaking eye contact, you slid off the bed, letting your knees rest on the floor as you knelt in front of him.

Stan froze like a deer in headlights, his free hand flying to his lap as if to shield himself. “Dude, what the hell are you doing?” he blurted, his voice louder than before, tinged with panic. His chest heaved, his eyes wide and darting between your face and the floor.

You kept your tone soft, trying to calm him. “I… I thought maybe we could keep practicing. You know, for Damien.”

“Practicing?” he repeated, his voice raising a notch, incredulous. “You call this practicing? This isn’t kissing, dude! This is you giving me a—” He cut himself off, running both hands through his hair as his voice cracked. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”

Your cheeks burned as embarrassment and panic bubbled up inside you, but you forced yourself to press on. “It’s not what you think,” you said quickly, your voice shaky. “I mean, it is, but it’s just… it’s still practice. I swear.”

Stan let out a harsh laugh, his frustration boiling over. “Practice?” he repeated, his tone sharp and disbelieving. “You seriously think this is about Damien? Because it sure as hell doesn’t look like it.”

“It is!” you insisted, your grip tightening on his hand. “It’s for him, Stan. I promise.”

His face twisted in a mix of anger and confusion, his voice rising again. “Bullshit! You’re kneeling in front of me right now, and you want me to believe this is about Damien? Come on! This is so far beyond just… just helping you practice.”

You flinched at the accusation in his voice, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze, your heart pounding so hard it hurt. “Stan, please. It’s not weird. I just… I thought this might help.”

“Help?” he repeated, his tone almost incredulous. He shook his head, his hands clenching into fists. “Help who? Me? You think this is gonna help me? Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.”

His words cut deeper than you expected, and for a moment, you were too stunned to respond. The weight of his conflict pressed against your chest, and the guilt you’d been pushing down bubbled to the surface. You couldn’t tell him the truth—not now, not when he was already on edge. So you clung to the lie, even as it felt like it might shatter around you.

“It’s not like that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I thought it would make things easier. For me. For Damien. For you, even. I thought…” You trailed off, your words faltering under his intense stare.

Stan exhaled sharply, his hands dragging down his face as if trying to physically pull himself together. “I can’t believe we’re even talking about this,” he muttered, his voice quieter now but no less strained. “This is insane.”

“It’s not,” you said softly, desperation creeping into your tone. “It’s just us, Stan. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond, his expression shifting between anger, disbelief, and something softer that you couldn’t quite place. Finally, he let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging as if the fight had drained out of him.

“Fine,” he said, his voice low but resigned. “If you’re sure this is what you want. But don’t… don’t lie to me about why you’re doing it.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat as his words hung heavy in the air. For a moment, you thought he might see right through you, might call out the truth you were so desperate to hide. But he didn’t press further, his eyes locked on yours like he was searching for an answer you weren’t ready to give.

You stayed silent for a moment, your heart thundering in your chest as Stan’s words echoed in your mind. The weight of his gaze bore down on you, his eyes filled with a mix of uncertainty and something that felt dangerously close to disappointment. A frown tugged at your lips, and before you could overthink it, you leaned forward, rising just enough to press a quick, fleeting kiss to his lips.

The contact was light, barely there, but it sent a spark through you all the same. Stan didn’t pull away, but his breath hitched, and you felt his body tense beneath your hands.

Your fingers moved with purpose, unsteady but determined, as they found the zipper of his jeans. The metallic sound filled the charged silence of the room, your fingers brushing against his stomach as you pulled the zipper down. You could feel your own breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts, and your voice wavered as you finally broke the silence.

“Is this okay?” you asked, barely above a whisper, your eyes darting up to meet his.

Stan’s brows furrowed, his lips parting like he wanted to speak, but no words came out. His hands gripped the edge of the bed, his knuckles white as his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. For a moment, the only response you got was the flicker of something in his eyes—confusion, hesitation, and a hint of something else you couldn’t quite place.

“I—” he started, his voice hoarse, before cutting himself off. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his gaze darted to your hands, then back to your face. “Are you sure about this? Like… really sure?”

You nodded, even as your nerves screamed at you to stop. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt.

Stan’s jaw tightened, his hands flexing as though he didn’t know whether to pull you closer or push you away. “This is… this is so much more than just practice,” he muttered, his tone strained. “You know that, right?”

Your heart twisted at the conflict in his voice, but you forced a small smile, trying to lighten the weight of the moment. “Maybe,” you admitted, your tone soft but teasing. “But it’s still practice. For Damien. Right?”

The words tasted bitter on your tongue, but you forced them out, hoping they’d ease some of the tension coiling between you. Stan’s expression darkened, his brows knitting together as he let out a quiet, frustrated breath.

“Right,” he said finally, his voice low and edged with something you couldn’t quite name. His eyes searched yours, like he was trying to find some crack in the mask you were wearing, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he exhaled sharply, his shoulders slumping as he gave a small nod. “Okay.”

His voice was barely audible, but it sent a rush of relief and adrenaline through you. You leaned in again, your lips brushing his in a kiss that was firmer this time, more deliberate. Your hands lingered at the waistband of his jeans, waiting for any sign that he wanted you to stop. But when his hands moved to your ass, gripping you lightly as he deepened the kiss, you took it as his answer.

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of Stan’s jeans, your movements slow and deliberate. The sound of the zipper had already filled the quiet between you, but now, as you tugged the fabric down, it felt deafening. The denim slid down his hips, revealing the waistband of his boxers, and you avoided looking directly at him, focusing instead on the task at hand.

Neither of you said a word. The air between you felt thick, heavy with unspoken tension, and you could feel Stan’s eyes on you, tracking your every movement. His breathing was shallow, and his hands stayed firmly planted on your hips, grounding both of you in the moment.

You paused once his jeans were partway down his thighs, your hands resting on the fabric as you glanced up at him. His cheeks were flushed, a deep red spreading from his ears to his neck, and his gaze darted between your face and your hands like he wasn’t sure where to look.

The silence stretched, and you could feel your own pulse pounding in your ears. Finally, you broke it, your voice barely above a whisper. “Is this still okay?”

Stan hesitated, his lips parting as if he was about to say something. His grip on your hips tightened, and his brows furrowed, the conflict in his expression plain as day. “Yeah,” he said after a long moment, though his voice was strained. “It’s… yeah.”

The reassurance was enough to make you move again, though your hands trembled slightly as you tugged his jeans down further, exposing more of his legs. Your fingers brushed against his skin as you worked, and you felt the heat radiating off him, adding to the tension already building between you.

When his jeans were fully off, you sat back on your heels, your eyes flickering up to meet his. Stan’s face was still flushed, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, and his hands gripped the edge of the bed like he was trying to steady himself.

“You’re really quiet,” you said softly, trying to ease the tension, though your own voice was shaky. “You’re usually not this quiet.”

Stan let out a breathy laugh, though it sounded more like a sigh. “Yeah, well…” He trailed off, his gaze dropping to where your hands rested on his knees before flicking back up to meet yours. “This isn’t exactly normal for us, is it?”

Your lips curved into a small, nervous smile. “No,” you admitted, your voice just as soft. “It’s not.”

Another silence settled between you, and for a moment, you weren’t sure what to do next. The weight of what you were doing—what you were about to do—pressed heavily on your chest. But then Stan’s hands moved, hesitantly reaching for yours, and his fingers brushed against yours in a way that sent a jolt through your nerves.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly, his voice rough but sincere. “You don’t have to… if you don’t want to.”

His words made your heart clench, and for a moment, you almost wanted to pull back, to let the tension dissolve into something easier to handle. But the look in his eyes, the way he was trying so hard to give you an out, only made you more certain.

“I want to,” you said, your voice steadier this time as you gave his hands a light squeeze. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Stan didn’t respond right away, but his grip on your hands tightened slightly, and he gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod. It was all the reassurance you needed to take the next step.

You swallowed hard, nerves twisting in your stomach as your fingers grazed the waistband of his boxers. Stan’s breathing had deepened, his chest rising and falling heavily as he avoided your gaze, his eyes fixed on some distant point. He didn’t stop you, though, and that gave you the courage to keep going.

“Tell me what to do,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. Despite your nerves, there was a thread of determination there—a quiet plea that you hoped he’d take seriously.

Stan’s jaw tightened, his eyes finally flicking down to meet yours. His voice was rough, strained. “You’re really serious about this?” he asked, his hands clenching slightly where they rested at his sides.

“Yes,” you whispered, trying to sound sure even though your heart was racing. “I need to know how to do this… right.”

His gaze lingered on you, sharp and searching, but after a moment, he let out a low sigh. “Alright,” he muttered, his tone laced with resignation. “... just take it slow.”

Your fingers hooked into the elastic of his boxers, and you tugged gently, watching as Stan shifted his hips slightly to help you slide them down.

His dick slaps up against the stomach of his tee-shirt, the tip hitting an area that’s bunched around his abdominal and dripping precum onto the black fabric, somehow darkening it.

You look up to him a few times, vision switching between the pretty pink tip of his cock to the clenching of his jaw.

“Is this okay?” you asked, your voice barely audible, your eyes flicking up to meet his.

Stan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his voice tight when he finally answered. “Yeah… yeah, it’s fine.”

Your hand hovered hesitantly, and his breath hitched when you brushed against his cock. The sound sent a thrill through your body, and despite your nerves, you felt a small surge of confidence. You wrapped your hand around him gently, and his precum smeared against your skin. You jerked him slowly, wanting to slicken up his cock so you sliding over him would be smooth. Stan’s head fell back slightly, a quiet groan slipping from his lips. 

“Just… grip a little tighter,” he murmured, his voice hoarse as he finally looked down at you again. His cheeks were flushed, his lips parted as he sucked in a shaky breath. “Not too hard. Just… like that.”

You nodded, adjusting your grip, and when you moved faster, his reaction was immediate. His hips twitched up slightly, and he let out a low curse, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. The sound sent heat pooling between your thighs, and you bit your lip, trying to keep your focus.

“Good?” you asked quietly, your voice almost drowned out by the pounding of your heart.

“Fuck, yeah,” Stan groaned, his head tilting back again. “Just keep going.”

You felt the divet of his cockhead sliding under your hand as you stroked him slowly. Every movement guided by the small sounds he made—the sharp intakes of breath, the quiet groans, the way his hips rolled up to meet your touch. You kept your eyes on him, taking in every detail—the flush spreading across his chest, the way his mouth hung open as he panted, the soft curses that fell from his lips like he couldn’t control them.

It wasn’t long before his hand shot out, gripping your wrist lightly. His eyes met yours, dark and heavy-lidded. “Slow down,” he rasped, his voice tight. “You’re gonna… fuck, just slow down.”

You obeyed, easing your movements as you stared up at him, your lips parting as a wave of heat rolled through you. “Like this?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Stan groaned again, his head tipping forward as his gaze bore into you. “Yeah,” he muttered, his grip on your wrist loosening slightly. “Just like that.”

Your hand continued its rhythm, your movements deliberate as you watched the way Stan reacted—how his breathing turned shallow, how his lips parted just slightly, how his hips occasionally jerked despite his best efforts to stay still. He felt so warm, and the squelching noises of your hand jerking him off only spurred you on even more.

But then you stopped.

Stan’s eyes flew open, his brows knitting together as his gaze snapped to yours. His lips parted, and for a moment, you could see the question forming on his tongue, but he didn’t ask it. He just stared, chest heaving, waiting.

You hesitated, your voice barely above a whisper as you finally asked, “Can I…?” Your eyes flicked downward, then back to his, the weight of your question hanging heavily in the air. “Can I put it in my mouth?”

Stan’s jaw tightened, and he let out a shaky exhale, his grip on the sheets loosening slightly before he dragged a hand over his face. “Jesus, dude,” he muttered, his voice strained and low. He looked down at you, his expression conflicted, torn between disbelief and something deeper, darker.

“I just…” you started, your voice trembling as you tried to explain. “If I’m going to learn how to… you know, I want to do it right. You said you’d help me, and—”

Stan cut you off with a groan, his head falling back against the headboard. “This is beyond helping, okay? This is—” He stopped himself, his breathing heavy as he scrubbed a hand through his hair. “This is way more than just practice.”

You bit your lip, your cheeks flushing as you avoided his gaze. “I know,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible. “But… you said you didn’t mind. And I… I want to do this for you.”

Stan looked at you sharply, his eyes narrowing as he studied your face. “You keep saying it’s for practice,” he said, his voice low and accusing. “But this… this doesn’t feel like it’s about Damien anymore.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might see right through you. But you steeled yourself, forcing your voice to stay steady. “It is,” you lied, your gaze unwavering as you met his eyes. “It’s just practice, Stan. That’s all.”

The silence that followed was deafening, his eyes searching yours for something he couldn’t seem to find. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging as he nodded once, almost imperceptibly.

“Okay,” he said, his voice rough and resigned. “But take it slow. Don’t… don’t push yourself, alright? Just… go slow. Start with the tip.”

Your chest tightened at his words, the vulnerability in his tone sending a wave of guilt and something else—something you couldn’t quite name—crashing over you. You nodded, licking your lips nervously as you lowered your mouth to him. Your tongue darted out first, flicking tentatively against the head, and you felt him twitch beneath your touch. The salty taste was unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, and you tried not to overthink it as you wrapped your lips around him, taking just the tip into your mouth.

Stan let out a shaky breath, his hands clenching the sheets tighter. “That’s… yeah, that’s good,” he said, his voice low and strained. “Use your tongue more. Like, swirl it around.”

You obeyed, your tongue moving in slow circles as you took him a little deeper. His reaction was immediate—a low, guttural sound escaping his throat as his hips jerked slightly, though he quickly stilled himself. The sound sent a thrill through you, and you felt a strange mix of nervousness and satisfaction at the idea that you were doing something right.

“Easy,” Stan muttered, his voice tight but patient. “Don’t take too much at once. Just go at your own pace.”

You pulled back slightly, your lips sliding up his length before you lowered your head again, this time taking him a little further into your mouth. Your jaw stretched uncomfortably, and you couldn’t help but gag slightly as you felt him press against the back of your throat. You pulled back quickly, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you coughed softly.

Stan’s hand shot out, hovering near your face like he wasn’t sure whether to touch you or not. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said quickly, his voice gentler now. “Don’t force it. Just take what you can, alright?”

You nodded, blinking back the sting of tears as you took a deep breath and tried again. This time, you moved slower, focusing on the motion of your tongue and the suction of your lips rather than how much you could take. You felt his thigh muscles tense beneath your hands, his breath hitching as you found a rhythm.

“Fuck,” Stan muttered, his voice barely audible. His hand finally settled on your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair. He didn’t push or guide you, but the warmth of his touch was grounding, and it gave you the confidence to keep going.

“Try using your hand too,” he murmured, his voice shaky. “Like… twist it a little while you move.”

You pulled back just enough to wrap your hand around his base, your fingers tightening as you followed his instruction. The combination seemed to drive him wild—his hips bucked slightly, and he let out a moan, his head falling back against the headboard.

“That’s it,” he breathed, his voice rough and strained. “S-shit, you’re… you’re doing so good.”

The praise sent a rush of warmth through you, and you couldn’t stop the small, satisfied hum that vibrated against him. His reaction was immediate—his grip on your hair tightening slightly, his body tensing as he let out a sharp gasp.

You kept going, your movements growing more assured as you tuned into every sound Stan made, every subtle shift in his body. The way his breath hitched or the low, broken groans that escaped him told you when you were doing something right. You were nervous—your stomach churned with anticipation—but you pushed through it, focusing on the moment and the way he reacted to you.

Stan’s hand rested in your hair, his fingers tangling gently as his breathing grew more uneven. “God…” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. His head tipped back slightly, and you could see the tension building in his jaw and the way his chest rose and fell sharply.

You adjusted your grip, your hand working in tandem with your mouth, and tried to mimic what had drawn the strongest reactions from him. Your tongue dragged along his length with intentional pressure, and his body jerked slightly beneath you. “Holy shit,” he groaned, his voice breaking at the edges. “That’s… fuck, you’re so much better than you think.”

His words sent a flicker of warmth through you, but you didn’t dwell on them. You kept moving, keeping your pace steady and adjusting whenever his breath hitched or his fingers flexed in your hair. Your nerves hadn’t entirely disappeared, but his reactions gave you something to cling to, a sense of purpose in what you were doing.

Stan’s grip tightened in your hair, his body tensing further. “Wait, wait—” he muttered, his voice strained and desperate. “I’m gonna cum. You don’t have to—”

You didn’t stop. You didn’t even look up. Instead, you pressed forward, your mouth working with a deliberate intensity now as you braced your hands against his thighs for leverage. His protests turned into a low groan, and his hips jerked involuntarily against you.

“Fuck!” Stan gasped, his voice rough and strangled. His hand tugged lightly at your hair, but you didn’t move, your determination outweighing his half-hearted attempts to stop you. “You—shit, you’re gonna—”

Before he could finish, you felt him spill into your mouth, the sudden heat catching you off guard but not enough to stop. You stayed where you were, swallowing instinctively as he came, your body trembling with a mix of nerves and adrenaline. His groans filled the room, and his hand fell from your hair, and his body sagged back against the headboard.

When it was over, you finally pulled back, your lips tingling and your cheeks flushed. Stan looked at you with wide eyes, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. “You… you didn’t have to do that,” he said, his voice hoarse and almost incredulous.

You wiped the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, meeting his gaze with a steady determination you hadn’t realized you had. “I wanted to,” you said simply, your voice soft but firm.

Stan just stared at you, his face pale and his blue eyes glassy. The tension in his jaw twitched as his expression darkened into something that made your stomach churn. The haze of intimacy that had clouded the air between you was gone, replaced by a sickening weight. His breaths came in short, uneven bursts, and his shoulders hunched like the act of standing upright was too much for him.

“Stan?” you asked, your voice uncertain as you watched him scramble to his feet. He reached for his boxers, jeans, and shoes, hastily pulling them on with trembling hands. His movements were frantic, uncoordinated, like he was desperate to cover himself up and get away from the moment.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned abruptly, shoving his phone and keys into the pocket of his hoodie. His hands trembled as they clutched the fabric, white-knuckled, like he was hanging on by a thread. You stepped forward, your bare feet brushing against the carpet, but he was already moving—too fast, too erratic.

“Stan, what’s wrong? Talk to me,” you said, your voice rising with desperation as he stumbled toward the door.

He paused just short of the handle, his body stiffening like he was about to explode. Then, as if something inside him snapped, he turned sharply toward the corner of your room. His hand flew to his stomach, and before you could say another word, he doubled over your trashcan and vomited. The sound was wet, jarring, and raw, cutting through the suffocating silence of the room like a blade.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as the sight hit you like a punch to the gut. His entire body convulsed with the force of it, his hands gripping the edges of the trashcan so tightly that his knuckles turned bone-white.

“Stan!” you cried out, rushing toward him but stopping short, unsure if he wanted you there. He was trembling, his breath coming in uneven, ragged gasps as he straightened up slightly. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie, the fabric smearing across his chin as he finally spoke.

“I can’t fucking do this,” he rasped, his voice low and broken. He didn’t look at you—wouldn’t look at you. “I shouldn’t… fuck. I shouldn’t have let it go that far.”

His words hit you like ice water, and your chest tightened painfully. “What do you mean?” you asked, though your voice was barely audible, trembling with the weight of your confusion and hurt.

Stan let out a sharp, humorless laugh, the sound bitter and self-loathing. “What do I mean? Look at me,” he snapped, finally turning to face you. His expression was hollow, his eyes shadowed with a pain you couldn’t begin to understand. “I’m a fucking mess, okay? And you’re… you’re not supposed to—” He stopped, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “I can’t be your fucking practice, alright? I’m not some… tool for you to figure your shit out with Damien.”

His words felt like knives, each one cutting deeper than the last. “Stan, that’s not what this was,” you started, but he cut you off.

“Don’t,” he said sharply, his voice cracking as he backed toward the door. “Just… don’t. You don’t get it. You don’t fucking get it.”

You watched helplessly as he yanked the door open, his movements erratic and desperate. “Stan, wait!” you called out, your voice breaking, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t even turn around.

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the room unbearably quiet. The faint scent of sweat and his cologne still lingered in the air, a cruel reminder of how close you’d been just minutes ago. Your knees gave out, and you sank onto the bed, your hands clutching the edge of the mattress as you stared blankly at the floor.

You stayed like that for what felt like an eternity before the words slipped out, soft and shaky, as if saying them aloud might make sense of the chaos: “I just wanted to help you.”

yeah this was kinda fucked up... | part two

[jimothy-hopkins]

This is another one of my many precious Bully ocs, Alice. She’s the sweetest fr. (Also easiest to draw)

Info about Alice!

General Description:

Alice is average height with an athletic, but delicate build. She has short, bleached blonde hair and greens eyes. She is in the paler side, and tends to get burned when she makes any attempt to tan. Alice walks with a straight posture, but tends to be fidgety when still.

Unlike many of her fellow preps, Alice is incredibly kind. She is known to be generous, and gives to those in need whenever she can. She is aware of her privilege and tries to use it to improve the lives of others rather than just take it for herself. As nice as Alice is, she is naive and often gets taken advantage of. She tends to struggle with anxiety as a result from the pressure of those around her.

Interests and whatnot:

Alice is very interested in charity and philanthropy, much like her parents. She attends various events and even starts her own fundraisers for certain causes. Wether that be school bake sales to help the art and theatre department, or going to large charity events to put money towards hospitals and whatnot.

Aside from charity, Alice is also an environmentalist and an animal rights activist. She does her best to improve natural habitats of animals and donates to rescues and shelters so that they have more capacity and care for animals.

One of Alice’s biggest interests is figure skating. Alice started skating at a young age, and has developed a natural talent for it. Skating brings her into a relaxed, but determined state of mind. It is her passion. It is what she is best at. She is deemed a prodigy.

Reputation:

Due to her interest in figure skating and regular fitness routine, Alice is admired by the jocks. She doesn’t cause issues for them, since she is usually very kind.

The greasers hate Alice by association. Alice doesn’t blame them at all- if the shoe was on the other foot she would hate the preps as well. She understands their point of view and does her best to avoid them.

The preps don’t respect her as much as she would like. She really only hangs around the clique because that was where she was initially accepted. They often think she’s childish and silly for starting charities and donating money. She is also in competition with her fellow preps across academics and sports. Their expectations weigh heavy on Alice.

Alice is in very good standing with the bullies. She is dating one of their clique members. (This member is a separate oc of mine, her name is Angelina. I’ll make her ref soon I promise guys.) The pair are quite open about their relationship. Alice and Angelina spend a lot of time with one another.

Alice is straight up afraid of the nerds. She’s heard all about Earnest and wants NOTHING to do with that crowd. If she absolutely had to be by their hangout spots, Alice brings her girlfriend with her to make sure they won’t bother her.

Quotes:

“If money is the root of all evil, I want to try and use mine for good things.”

“Sorry, I have a date with Angelina, cya later!”

“I can’t stand the way they talk about poor people! Just because they don’t have a trust fund doesn’t mean they should be treated that way.”

“One day I’ll skate at the Olympics.”

“Do you need anything? I’m happy to help!”

“Oh, I don’t have a five. Is a hundred okay for you? Here, take it.”

“Derby PAID someone for that ACT score. He’s not that smart.”

“I just feel like I’m a complete failure! They all hate me I don’t know what to do!”

“Snowball fight!”

“Promise you’ll be a real friend, please?”

“I can’t tell if Derby is just born that way or if he’s had plastic surgery. He doesn’t even look real.”

[bleedingoptimism]

part three: Frank

There’s no backstage in The Hideout, just a small bathroom and an old beat-up couch, but there are always a few bottles of water and Frank is incredibly thankful for that as he chugs one after the show.

The rest of the band is already up the front saying hi to everyone but Frank needed a moment, couldn’t really keep looking at Eddie sucking face with some random girl.

He can’t stop thinking about the look on Steve’s face as he walked away before the last song. And of course, he has no right to be mad at Eddie, technically he didn’t do anything wrong… Technically.

But he’s a little mad, he actually quite likes Steve. He always shows up at rehearsals with homemade food and constantly praises and encourages them about the band. He’s just a nice dude, so excuse him for being excited when he realized something might be going on between him and Eddie. He wanted them to be happy together, he thought they could be, that they deserved it.

But apparently, Eddie needs to get his head out of his ass for that to happen.

He goes back to his friends and thankfully Eddie is alone now, “What happened with whatsherface?” He asks.

“Pricilla? Told her I wanted to spend time with my friends, but she didn’t take it very well” Eddie smiles at him amused, “Told me to go fuck myself”

“Good for her” he murmurs and Eddie frowns but doesn’t comment on it, instead he looks around and groans, “Man I can’t believe Steve left without saying hi, what an asshole. Next time he shows up for rehearsal I’m not going to let him in.” He jokes.

Iit doesn’t land well.

Jeff snorts and Gareth cringes, “I don’t think he’ll show up for rehearsal dude.”

“What? Why?” Eddie asks him confused and Frank can’t help it, he laughs.

“There’s no way you are this dense man, seriously?”

“Excuse me?” Eddie growls but Frank doesn’t back down,

“Eddie, you flirted with him for months, asked him out to see you, and then stuck your tongue down someone else's throat in front of him! Of course, he’s not going to show up again!”

Eddie bleaches and his frown deepens “What are you talking about?! That’s not wha- Steve doesn’t care abo- And since when are you so close to him, uh?! What, he’s your friend now and I'm not?”

They are screaming at each other now and people around them are staring, and Frank actually fucking hates fighting, so he takes a deep breath and puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, smiles wearily at him,

“Eddie of course you are my friend but, you introduced us to this beautiful person, who is funny and nice, who brings us delicious homemade cookies and makes sure we stay hydrated… Who congratulates us when we get a riff right no matter how many times we got it wrong before and you expected us not to befriend him too?”

Eddie visibly slackens, all fight going out of him. He looks at Gareth and Jeff who just kind of nod at him but then Eddie’s eyes go huge and he looks at Frank scared, “Shit, Frank do you have a crush on Steve?”

“No, you dumb fuck! You do!” Great, now he’s back at screaming.

Gareth laughs and holds his hands up trying to apace them, “He knows he does Franky” he says.

“Well, then why the fuck did he kiss that girl then?” It’s Jeff who asks, who has been very quiet until now.

“Stop talking like I'm not her-” Eddie starts but Gareth interrupts him,

“Because he didn’t know Steve liked him back” he answers looking at Jeff but grabbing Eddie’s shoulder and squeezing it just a little too hard.

Eddie flinches and looks at all of them, trying to confirm what they all seem to know for sure, “I… fucked up didn’t I?” 

“Oh yeah,” They all answer at the same time.

part one

part two

part three (you are here!)

part four

part five

☕🥐💕 cafecito?

[iamumbra195]

random bleach time travel inccorect quotes from an AU I will probably never write (Ichigo becomes soul king post tybw cause yhwach body doesn’t hold up and then time travels to the Turn back the pendulm era for reasons I’m too lazy to explain)

Ichigo joined Squad 6 under Ginrei Kuchiki in this AU

...

Ichigo: *likes sitting in the sun, hates the rain, touch starved but still prickly enough to pretend he doesn’t like it ‘cause he was soul king for three years and barely had any proper human contact for all that time, has weird eyes and other weird traits from his hollow*

Hiyori + Kaien: *spying on him*

Ichigo: *straight hissed at someone who got to close when he was injured*

Hiyori: *ticks something else off on the list of reasons why Ichigo might be a cat in human form*

Yoruichi, the real cat shapeshifter:

...

Love: Isn’t it weird that we pay money to see other people?

Ichigo: Plane tickets?

Shinji: Concert tickets?

Lisa: Prostitution?

Love, holding holding his broken sunglasses: Glasses.

...

Hollowified!Shinji: *Screams*

Hollowified!Hiyori: *Screams louder to assert dominance*

Kisuke, concerned: Should we do something?!

Ichigo, observing: *thinking back to his hollow training and how much the Visored fucked with him for fun*

Ichigo: Nah, I want to see who wins this.

...

Kensei: Dammit, Mashiro!

Mashiro: What?! It wasn’t me!

Kensei: Sorry, force of habit. Dammit, Shinji!

Shinji: Not me either.

Kensei: Oh...Then who destroyed the entire training ground?

Ichigo + Kaien who thought it would be fun to spar but went a little too far: 

...

Ichigo: *Gently taps table*

Kaien: *Taps back*

Hiyori: What are they doing?

Kisuke: Morse code.

Ichigo: *Aggressively taps table*

Kaien: *Slams hands down* YOU TAKE THAT BACK-

...

*Lieutenants on a mission*

Kaien: I think we're missing something.

Lisa: Teamwork?

Hiyori: Cohesion?

Ichigo: A general sense of what the fuck we’re doing?

Kaien: ... Where’s Mashiro?

Mashiro: *fighting a bear in a forest three districts away*

Lisa:

Hiyori:

Ichigo: ... Fuck

Kensei: *in Squad 9 barracks* I  S E N S E  A  D I S T U R B A N C E

...

Shinji: Tonight, one of you has betrayed us.

Kisuke: Is it me?

Shinji: No, it’s not you.

Tessai: Is it me?

Shinji: It’s not you either.

Aizen: Is it me, Captain?

Shinji, dying because of Hollowification:

Shinji, mockingly: Is IT mE CaPTaIN?

...

Kyouraku: How did none of you hear what I just said?

Kisuke: I’ve been dissociating for the past two and a half hours.

Ukitake: I got distracted about halfway through.

Lisa: Ignoring you was a conscious decision.

...

Ichigo: Can I be frank with you guys?

Kaien: *confused* Sure, but I don’t see how changing your name is gonna help.

Mashiro: Can I still be Mashiro?

Shinji: Shh, let Frank speak.

Ichigo: 

Ichigo: *lunges at Shinji*

...

Ichigo: *trying not to laugh* Tell Kensei about the birds and the bees.

Mashiro: *serious* They're disappearing at an alarming rate

...

Yoruichi: Soifon, keep an eye on Kisuke today. He’s going to say something to the wrong person and get punched.

Soifon: Sure, I’d love to see Urahara get punched.

Yoruichi: Try again.

Soifon, sighing: I will stop Urahara from getting punched

...

*The Visored+ Hollowified!Kaien is getting into a car*

Ichigo: *the only one who know how to drive* I’m driving

Mashiro, out of view: Shotgun!

Kaien, turning to face Mashiro: Aww! But you had it on the way here-

Everyone except Mashiro: WOAH-

Mashiro, holding a shotgun: No! I found a shotgun! And I want the front seat! *Pumps gun*

...

Lisa: In your opinion, what’s the height of stupidity?

Hiyori: *turning to Shinji* How tall are you?

...

Kaien: 

Ichigo:

Kaien: In my defense--

Ichigo: You have no defense you let Byakuya meet Gin

Kaien: but--

Ichigo: Byakuya. The same cocky shit that tries to fight anything that moves fast enough. And Gin. The creepy shit that thought it was a good idea to work with megalomaniac rather than talk to people

Kaien: You don’t have any room to talk about bad communication but in hindsight it wasn’t my greatest idea--

Ichigo: understatement of the century

Kaien: But I was bored and you have to admit it was a little funny

Ichigo: 

Ichigo: *covering his face because the sight of baby Byakuya getting punted into the Kuchiki Koi pond by baby Gin was actually hilarious but he refuses to admit it* I hate you

...

Kensei: I sometimes drink milk straight out of the container

Mashiro: the COW?

Kensei:

...

Kisuke: You have to apologize to Shinji

Hiyori: Fine.

Hiyori: 'Unfuck you' or whatever.

...

Kaien: I told Ichigo his ears turn red when he lies

Mashiro: Why?

Kaien: So I can do this

Kaien: Hey, Ichigo! Do you love us?

Ichigo, covering his ears: No.

Mashiro: Aw, Berry-tan

Ichigo: Shut up, seaweed brain!

...

*Shinji and Kisuke sitting in jail together*

Shinji: So who should we call?

Kisuke: I’d call Hiyori, but I feel safer in jail

...

Shinji: Hey, how old are you?

Ichigo: Twenty-four--

Ichigo *remembers that the soul society doesn’t have the same age system*

Ichigo: two hundered

Shinji: 

Shinji, concerned: did you just say--

Ichigo, nervously: TWO HUNDRED

...

Shinji: What do you think Ichigo will do for a distraction?

Kaien: He’ll probably, like, make a noise or throw a rock. That’s what I would do.

*several building explode due to Getsuga Tensho*

Kaien: ... or he could do that.

...

Kisuke: I know you’re a time traveler, Kurosaki-san

Ichigo: (Play dumb!)

Ichigo: Who's Kurosaki?

Ichigo: (NOT THAT DUMB!!!)

...

Love: What's a word thats a mix between 'sad' and 'mad'?

Kensei: Disgruntled, miserable, desolated-

Mashiro: Smad

Kaien: Ichigo

Ichigo:...

...

Shinji: Who thinks I can fit 15 marshmallows in my mouth?

Kensei: You’re a hazard to society

Hiyori: And a coward. DO TWENTY.

...

Ichigo, babysitting: Violence isn't the answer.

Byakuya: You’re right.

Ichigo: *sighs in relief*

Byakuya, reaching for a brick: Violence is the question.

Ichigo: What?

Byakuya, running to hit Gin on the head with a brick: And the answer is yes.

Ichigo, running after him: NO-

Ginrei, watching the chaos while drinking tea: ... Today’s a beautiful day

...

Kisuke: *Accidentally hits Hiyori in the face*

Kisuke: *Trying to decide between saying 'I’m fucking sorry' and 'Are you okay'*

Kisuke: ARE YOU FUCKING SORRY?!

Hiyori, confused: What’s wrong with you?!

Shinji: *wheezing in the background*

...

Ichigo: Can you please be serious for five minutes?

Mashiro: My record is four, but I think I can do it.

...

Kaien: Do you think different paints have different tastes?

Mashiro: They do.

Ichigo: ... Why did you say that with such certainty?

...

Shinji: I was born for politics. I have great hair and I love lying.

...

Kisuke: I’d like to offer you moral support, but I have questionable morals.

...

Kaien: Treat spiders the way you want to be treated.

Ichigo: Killed without hesitation.

Kaien: No.

...

Kisuke: *Kicks the door down looking panicked*

Ichigo: What did you do?

Kisuke: Nobody died.

Ichigo: WHAT KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT?!

...

Kaien, euphoric from his date with Miyako: Date someone who will drag you outside at 3am to look at the stars.

Kukaku: If anyone, and I mean anyone, wakes me up at 3am to go look at the damn sky they will be removed indefinitely from my life.

...

Aizen, trying to be friends with Ichigo b4 he died: I made tea.

Ichigo: I don’t want tea.

Aizen: I did not make tea for you. This is my tea.

Ichigo: Then why are you telling me?

Aizen: It is a conversation starter.

Ichigo: That’s a lousy conversation starter.

Aizen: Oh, is it? We are conversing. Checkmate.

Ichigo:

Ichigo: *two seconds away from a homicide

...

Mashiro: what is it called when you kill your friend

Ichigo: Amicicide

Kensei: Murder

Mashiro: Homiecide

...

Ichigo: *looks like Kaien and Isshin*

Kaien: *suspicious but has no proof*

Ichigo, lying becuase he doesn’t want to deal with the emotions that come with seeing Isshin again: I’m not a Shiba

Ichigo: *uses Getsuga Tensho*

Kaien, throwing a table: oKAY, I CALL BULLSHIT

...

Ichigo: *having a chill day in Rukongai by himslef

baby Rukia, Renji, and their gang: *chased by a merchant they stole from*

Ichigo: 

Ichigo: *adopts them*

...

Okay, that’s more than enough for one post

Yes, Kaien is hollowfied here because I want him to be, yes, I really like adding animalistic traits to characters I love don’t ask me why

This is so much longer than I planned but it was too fun to stop

[act-nat-ural]

Occupied

Chapter Three: Debriefing

(this is so unserious and im obviously bullshitting certain stuff but oh well it’s fun. Enjoy!)

chapter 2 \\\ chapter 4

The pair of eyes behind that skull bore into your eyes, never leaving for a second.

He has very pretty eyes. Lashes, too.

You nervously swallow, about to explain how you weren’t technically eavesdropping because you hadn’t intended to listen in- when your sweaty hands drop the container of bleach.

THUNK.

The sound echoes through the hallway. This is it. This is how you die. Glared at and humiliated to death by a masked man with pretty eyelashes.

The door in front of you creaks open, their captain sporting an inquiring look. Faster than you’ve ever moved before in your life, you pick up the jug and push it into his hands. You point directly at the man behind you.

“He needs stitches in his thigh.” Just like that, you scurry off to the bathroom to get over the embarrassment of being caught eavesdropping. If you had lingered for just a moment longer, however, you would have noticed the look that the man behind you gave you that screamed ‘snitch.’

——

“What on earth was that?” Kyle asks, head nodding to the girl who just ran off faster than Usain Bolt.

“Simon gave her a bit of a fright, I suppose.” Price chimes in, chuckling a bit and shaking his head. Simon just rolls his eyes and goes to steps around him, before Price catches him by the shoulder. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your little injury. Our little hostess ratted you out, as well. Sit.” He orders, guiding him to a chair at the dining table. Simon sits down reluctantly, side-eyeing Johnny as he does. The younger man just grins back at him.

“Take your pants off for us, Ghostie.”

“…What?”

Seeing Simon’s dumbfounded face, Johnny starts laughing so hard he winces and holds his side. “For the wound, ye idiot.” Oh. Of course, Simon knew that. Obviously. He sighs, before unbuckling his belt and shimmying his trousers down. He can feel the blood on his pants forcing them to stick to his thigh and grimaces at the thought. You’ve been through worse. Any other person would probably have been embarrassed at being pants-less in such a scenario, but he knew these men. He trusted them with his life. They trust you with theirs too, and look at what almost happened to Johnny.

Kyle does him the honor of handing over the stitches, knowing Simon prefers doing it himself. Steady hands, you know. He hears Johnny sulking beside him.

“How long do I have to lay on this god-forsaken table? I’m all stitched up, and my back is killing me.” He whines.

Kyle doesn’t feed into his complaints, stating “You can make when we’re sure you aren’t leaking like a bloody hose.”

“Haud yer wheesht.”

While Simon fixes himself up and the other two bicker like children, Price stares contemplating the door that you disappeared into. You looked seriously shaken up when he opened the door on you and Simon, like you were caught doing something you shouldn’t.

“Simon?” He gets a glance up in response. “What were you two doing in the hallway? Simon focuses his sights back on his thigh.

“She heard you talking. About what to do.” Ah, so that’s why you looked so guilty. Silly girl, this was your residence, not theirs. You could lurk wherever you pleased.

“Guess we should explain ourselves then. Alright boys, finish up in here. Time to do some debriefing.”

——

You stare loathing at the reflection in the mirror. Why did you run like that? You didn’t even do anything that bad, just lingered outside the door for a little longer than necessary. But there was something about his stare, how it looked straight into you. No one has ever looked at you so closely before.

You turn the faucet on, splashing your face with cold water. You sigh, dragging your hands down your face. I wonder what time it is. When you reach for your back pocket, you pause. You don’t have your phone. You groan at the realization that you are going to have to do a walk of shame to go get it.

Cmon, you can do this. You are just being a little anxious that’s all. Who cares that you’re alone with four insanely attractive strangers? Not you, that’s for sure.

Taking one last deep breath, you give yourself a once-over in the mirror. Deeming yourself presentable, you step outside the bathroom.

Only for them to not be in the dining room. Where the hell did they go? You take a few steps farther into the room, noting the prominent smell of chemicals. A quick glance down tells you that they were true to their word and did clean up after themselves.

Just how long were you in the bathroom? They probably think you were taking a stress shit.

Sighing for about the trillionth time tonight, you take off in search of these mystery military men. You are overdue for an explanation for all this.

——

It’s extremely evident that they plan on staying here, as seen in the way that they have taken over the living room. They all look up at your entrance and the captain gives you a nod. The injured one strewn across the couch gives you a wave over saying, “Aye, there you are lass. I was beginnin’ to think you fell in the toilet. Saved you a spot, special jus’ for you.” He wiggles his toes (he took his shoes off?) at the empty spot on the sofa. Your jaw drops in disgust.

Ew.

“Stop scaring her, you freak.” The one sitting next to him, in the hat, delivers a swift punch to his shoulder. While he squawks back at him, ‘Am not a freak! Just having a bit of wee fun!’ you sit down, as far away as possible. Their captain clears his throat and positions his body facing towards you.

“I’m sure you're feeling a bit overwhelmed, right love?” He asks gently. You nod, unsure when to chime in. “Do you know what sort of occupation your friend Adam Baker is in?”

“Yeah. The creepy fucker makes bombs.” You say nonchalantly. Now, you aren’t sure if you are necessarily supposed to know this, but you and Eliza don’t keep secrets from one another. Including government or nondisclosures.

You can see him bite back a smile and nod in confirmation. The loud one barks out a laugh, ‘I like her,’ and you swear you heard a chuckle come from the masked one.

“Yes, yes he does. For the military. Now, I’m sure you can already tell that we are special forces.” He pauses so you nod in confirmation. “Right. Well, we had a… little mishap last night. More serious than I would prefer but we make do. This brings me to how we knew of this location. Do you have family in the military?” You have to think for a second about it.

“My uncle served, but that’s it. Why?” Where is he headed with this?

“Well, there’s this clause that was put in place a bit of years ago now. To sum it up, if there were ever an accident and personnel needed temporary housing, like us right now, government employees who signed consent forms would allow them to stay in their homes. Seeing as the Bakers are good friends of mine, I gave him a ring before we headed here.”

Okay. A lot to process. The wheels are spinning in your head, making connection after connection. I wonder if this has to do with his sudden trip.

“You still with us?” You are snapped out of your thoughts by his gruff voice.

“Yeah. So… how long do you have to stay here?” It may sound rude, but it was a valid question. You were hoping they didn’t totally monopolize your vacation. He takes a minute or two, making eye contact with the others. Uh oh. This isn’t going to be good. He clears his throat again before responding.

“A few weeks. At the very least.”

Great. All that time and money down the drain. All you wanted was a relaxing vacation and this is what you get. A dangerous situation with strange men imposing on you. What a dream.

“…Why?” He looks at you startled.

“What do you mean?”

“Why a few weeks? Why can’t the military just pick you up now and you be on your way? I don’t mean to be rude, I just don’t understand.” You rush out the last part.

“Leaving isn’t safe.” A baritone voice pipes in. You realize it’s coming from the masked man. You also realize that was the first time you heard him speak. He has the sort of voice that fills the room and suffocates you.

You must be making a horrified face because the man in the hat, (Jesus you need to learn these people's names) slowly turns and gives him a look that says ‘Are you fucking crazy?’

“It’s alright, you’re asking the right questions. It’s just not safe for us right now. We had a mole in our last mission and we weren’t exactly sure who it was. Also, I’m sure you noticed we aren’t in the best of states right now.” You think back to the blood pooling all over the tiles. Yeah, you’ve noticed all right.

“So… just who are you?” He smiles at this question.

“I am Captain John Price. Over there is Lieutenant Simon Riley, Sergeant Kyle Garrick, and Sergeant John Mactavish.”

TAGLIST: @scarletdfox

[americanwh0resstuff]

You look good, open casket good…

Chapter I, from the earth to the morgue…

When Amy’s old uni flat mate, Ravi, offers her a job in the police department morgue, just till she gets on her feet. But how will she react when she finds out about the existence of zombies? Especially when one particular zombie is this charming?

What?? An actual fanfiction with multiple chapters???? Yep I’m gonna try my best here…

Word count: 1,083

From the earth to the morgue…

“Okay… so the new mortician is from England?”

Liv asked, quickly downing her brain smoothie, eyeing up Ravi before their new coworker arrived.

“Well, Scotland but close enough… you Americans and your geography…” he rolled his eyes and chuckled, polishing the currently empty autopsy tables, making sure the entire morgue was spotless.

“Remember our agreement. No brains in the kitchen when she’s around, she’s already stressed enough from the move, I don’t think she needs the pressure of a zombie ME on her back.”

Liv rolled her eyes and came back with “what if I blend them up? Cover them in breadcrumbs? What if-“ she was cut short by the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Ravi!!!” The duo turned on their heels to see a short women, covered in tattoos and a few piercings, but that’s not what stood out.

Their eyes studied her, her pale skin, dark sunken eyes, white streaks in her black hair.

Ravi looked shocked.

“Amy, you’re a-“

“Still a goth yeah I know… it never really was a phase.” She laughed at her own joke, giggling oblivious to their concerns.

“Right, yep, still a goth…” Ravi collected himself and shot Liv a look, both slightly relieved that the new mortician was not in fact undead.

Amy felt slightly uncomfortable in the silence, looking between the two and taking a step forward, extending her hand to Liv.

“Hi I’m Amy, Ravi mentioned you! Said you’re an amazing colleague!” She smiled wide as she shook her hand. “Nice hair! I had bleached hair for a while but it’s such a hassle! That’s why I stick with the highlights, less maintenance! How do you get your so white!?”

“Oh I-well I was already a blonde so… you know, less…bleach?” Liv questioned her own answer, unsure of how to respond.

“I’m sorry I’m talking your ear off, so where do I start?”

•••

About a week passed and the famous duo turned to the famous trio, Amy’s dark jokes and bubbly personality contrasting her darker look quickly became a staple in the workplace. Her knowledge of true crime and disturbing facts always amused Clive, her and Liv would have many fun chats about fashion and makeup, and it never phased her when her personality would changed.

As for her and Ravi, they still got along as they did in uni, constantly playing pranks on Liv, joking around and fighting over style choices on the deceased, to which Clive always disapproved. ~”cut that out! Ravi let her do her work, she’s the mortician… and I don’t think anyone should take fashion advice from you… dead or alive.”~

“Okay guys I’m heading out for lunch, anyone want anything?” Amy asked, grabbing her bag and making sure she had her purse.

“We’re all good thanks!”

Ravi smiled at her and watched her turn and head out the bay door, waiting till she was out of site before pulling out his phone.

Liv looked at him puzzled. “What are you up to now?”

“Calling Blaine, he’s upstairs waiting on his weekly checkup, and I’m not letting him near Amy, he doesn’t need to annoy her like he annoys us”

She chuckled at his panicked voice and nodded in agreement, he was right, Blaine can be a huge pain in the ass, and the less people he annoys the better, plus knowing him, he’s never able to meet a woman without hitting on her.

“Hey there doctor! How are you doing on this fine day!” Ravi rolled his eyes upon hearing his voice, taunting him with the smug look on his face.

“Sit here and be quiet.” Blaine cocked his eyebrow at Liv.

“Snappy. Who’s brain did you eat?”

She scoffed and turned back to the kitchen, preparing her lunch while she could.

Since she didn’t have much time, she kept it simple, pure old brains in a cup of ramen.

Blaine sat down on the autopsy table, rolling up his sleeves for the blood pressure cuff, looking up at the ceiling as the inspection went on in silence.

Until…

“I’m such an idiot, got all the way to the bagel shop before I realised it was closed on Wednesdays!”

They all looked up to see their human coworker standing at the door, in a room with two zombies…

Liv looked at Ravi in panic mouthing “say something!”

“Oh-you’re back ear-“

Blaine cut him off.

“And who are you? Looks like you’re new to team Z?” He took a good look at her, taking in her pale skin and blonde streaks. Ravi poked him in the back and tried to cut him off.

“I’m Amy!” She said enthusiastically, always friendly…

“I’m sorry, Team what?”

Blaine’s eyes widened and he sat up straight

“So you’re human… is this a style choice or?” She looked at him slightly confused but laughed it off.

“Oh don’t go making vampire jokes, I heard enough of those in high school.” She smiled and walked towards him on the table.

“Blaine DeBeers, nice to meet you, you have the most beautiful eyes…” he grasped her hand.

He could practically feel Ravi and Livs eyes rolling and burning into his back.

“…well then, looks like you’re all done here! See you next week.”

“Woah doc, you should work on your bedside manner, not very professional!”

Amy blushed lightly and looked down, she had to admit he was attractive, but something felt off, which was accentuated by her coworkers dirty looks towards him.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in here, don’t tell me you’re Ravis girlfriend, cuz I know that’s a lie!”

She laughed at his joke and looked over at Ravi, who she could swear was trying to telepathically murder the man in front of her.

“I’m a mortician, I just moved to Seattle, Ravi helped me get a job, it’s just short term, till I find something more secure… not a lot of people want their loved ones cared for in a police department.”

Blaine’s eyes lit up and he smirked at her before pulling a business card from his jacket.

“Well luckily for you… I run a funeral home, and I’m looking for a mortician, my numbers on the back, give me a call sometime.” He winked at her before turning towards the stairs.

“Well then, looks like I should get going, thanks again doc! See you next week.” He nodded towards Ravi and Liv before peering over his shoulder at Amy.

“And hopefully I’ll see you sooner.”

Chapter II

[vwriter]

Darrel Curtis Imagine - Johnny's Sister

Part 4 - Final Part

That night, after everyone goes to bed, you sit on the couch, unable to fall asleep. You try reading one of the books you brought, when you hear a door open and footsteps coming down the hall. You thought it might be Darry coming to convince you—again—to come to his bed.

You prepare another argument when Ponyboy appears around the corner.

“Hey Pony.” You say and Ponyboy nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Glory!” He exclaims, “I forgot that you were here. I’m used to having people sleep on our couch, but usually they don’t say anything, so I kind of forget they’re here.” Ponyboy says as he makes his way to the kitchen.

“Sorry,” You say. You get up and walk over the counter that divides the kitchen from the living room. “What are you doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep very well, Soda’s snoring again.” He looked so much younger than he was. One would think that after what he’d been through that he’d look older, but in the moonlight he looked like a kicked puppy with his black eye and bleached hair.

“I couldn’t sleep either.” You say. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.” You don’t know why you confess this to him. Ponyboy was close to Johnny, not you. But, with Johnny gone, you missed having a little brother to confide in.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” You feel embarrassed over admitting that to Ponyboy.

“No, it’s ok.” He’s quiet for a moment, contemplating if he wants to be honest with you too. “I have a lot on my mind too.”

You want to reach out and hug him. You know exactly what he has on his mind: Johnny, Dallas, guilt, plus everything that he and Johnny went through in Windrexville.

“Do you guys have any cocoa? I can make us some.” Ponyboy pulls a cannister of nesquick out of the cupboard. He gets you two mugs and a pan to heat up the milk.

You both sit on the coach as you wait for the milk to get warm.

The house is quiet, the two of you not knowing what to say to each other. Of course you had spent time with Ponyboy and Johnny, but not enough to know what to say to him.

Ponyboy breaks the silence first.

“I miss him.” Is all he says. It’s enough to tear your heart in half.

“Me too.” You whisper, trying to hide the break in your voice. You’re thankful for the dark, but somehow, even after all the crying you did tonight, you feel tears well up in your eyes.

You don’t say anything else, instead you wrap your arm around Ponyboy’s shoulders and put his head on your shoulder. He’s so quiet that you don’t even notice he’s crying until your feel a wet spot on your shirt. You don’t say anything about it though, just run your hand on his far side up and down his arm.

You forget about the milk on the stove and just hold Ponyboy. You try not to cry because you know you’ll wake the whole house if you do. If it’s over Johnny you will. But, right now it’s not about you, it’s about Ponyboy and him missing his friend so fiercely and having to be reminded of him through you, his sister.

“I’m sorry if me being here upsets you Pony.” You choke out, a few tears spilling and your throat tightening. “I don’t want to be a reminder of J-J-“ You can’t even say his name because you know if you do, here with Ponyboy, it’s over. You’ll never be able to recover.

Ponyboy turns and hugs you full on.

“You’re not doing that. I just miss him and I feel so guilty. I feel like he died because of me.” You rub Ponyboy’s back. Oh god, he reminded you so much of Johnny. Always so full of shame and guilt because of your parents.

“We all feel that way, Pony.” You know you sure do, and Darry probably does too, and if Dally was around he would too. Maybe the Socs even felt that way too…

“Grief does strange things to a person.” You say.

Ponyboy doesn’t say anything else and he doesn’t ask you to either. He just cries into your chest until he tires himself out.

Meanwhile, Darry had been watching from the hallway this whole time. His heart ached for his youngest brother, but it also swelled with seeing you take care of him. He knew it must have been hard for you, Ponyboy being so close to Johnny and basically his age. But, he knew that in the end you both shared a grief that no one else could understand. You had both lost a brother.

Darry couldn’t imagine his life without Ponyboy or Sodapop. When Ponyboy had gone missing, he had stayed up all night, worried half to death that he’d never see him again. Guilty over what he had done to cause it…

“Alright kid, lets get you to bed.” Darry hears you say to a groggy Ponyboy. Darry moves quickly back to his room to hide, not wanting to shatter the moment.

You guide Ponyboy back to bed and tuck him in.

“Sorry about the cocoa, we’ll make some more tomorrow.” You say to Ponyboy.

“Thanks, (Y/N).” You hear Ponyboy mumble as he rolls over in bed.

You exited Ponyboy and Sodapop’s room and close the door softly. You head back to the kitchen and turn the stove off, emptying the boiling milk into the sink.

“Hey.” You hear a voice say behind you. You turn to find Darry standing at the counter.

“Hey.” You say back softly. “What are you doing up?”

“I heard you and Ponyboy talking. Wanted to make sure you were ok.” He comes around the counter and grabs your hand. “Thanks for being there for him. Soda and I have been trying, but I don’t think anyone truly gets what he’s feeling like you do.”

Somehow, hearing Darry say that, heals your heart a little.

“I really care about him. He’s a good kid.” You say.

Darry pulls you in for a hug, rubbing your hair.

“Johnny was a good kid too. He was family to us, and you’ll be family to us now too.” Darry says. He tightens his grip as the sobs start to rack your body.

That night Darry sits with you on the couch and holds you while you cry over your brother. In the end you fall asleep with your head in his lap and in the morning when you wake up to a pink and gold sky you feel better than you have in weeks. Somehow, you start to think that while everything from here on out will be different, it will be ok.

[nglwhatarecats]

rambling abt PB&J again 😭

Heera buying/getting clothes for Blue:

so when Heera met Blue, Blue had the same outfit. Every.single.time

being the slightly concerned acquaintance Heera was (Blue saw them as friends Heera did not, in the beginning! This kinda sets up for some angst latr….FOCUS) Heera asked Blue about the whole clothes situation.

“Oh I don’t have any spares.”

“EXCUSE ME?”

Heera being broke (probably js look at her!/lh-a very broke person) said “fuck it” and got Blue clothes,which cause Blue to panic, not used to be on the gift receiving end (her love language is gift giving,this woman will give you ANYTHING,clothes,plants(extremely rare ones too,she WILL find a way to get extinct ones too) food (she loves cooking baking etc) WHATEVER her gift receiver might want) also bc she was not home she had no idea how long she’d stay in a completely (not really) different environment. (Doomed yuri (another oc couple)fucked up Blue by sending her to the wrong dimension 😓-my explanation on how Blue and Heera crossed paths) she refused, Heera just threw the bag at her and just ran away,leaving Blue confused.

“I no no Wanna :(“

“TAKE IT BITCH” *runs away*

what does Blue do when Heera is gone or being a workaholic:

When Heera is gone doing detective shit Blue is just cooking,baking,cleaning, getting more plants (Heera home is looking like a garden HELP)getting furniture for Heera sad studio (Girl I was couch surfing for like a year and I’ve seen people barley getting by w more furniture than her 😭🙏/hj)

but since Heera doesn’t stay that long Blue would either force her (Blue is currently a bit more stronger then Heera atm,by this much 🤏🏼 For story reasons duh) or tell her she’s going to do smth that might endanger herself. (Heera didn’t believe her at first than she saw Blue run into a highway as she flipped her off)

“Stay or im drinking bleach and creating mustard gas.I didn’t spend all my time making this food >:(“

“STOP”

Heera being a workaholic:

Blue js.. lay on her lap like a cat and demand attention (or just hug her) Blue is very needy (orange cat behavior) Blue would just say funfacts about plants.

“Do you know there’s a flower in Mexico that smells like chocolate”

“Cool?”

“I’m taking you to see it.”

“WHAT”

the camping shit I asked Swagger:

“EVERYONE FOR THEMSELVES” *runs into the forest*

“You forgot your bag..”

Blue found Heera hours ago, she just wanted to see how long Heera would notice or see how well Heera is good at camping!

and Heera can’t light a fire.

Blue is super good at stuff like that because her whole life has been around nature! And she loves showing off to Heera (yay validation from someone you love!!)

I might write a fic on this premise^^

but I feel like I will mischaracterize Heera @tiredguyswag😿

AND DONE YAYAY

my hand hurts :(

[tiny-wooden-robot-fics]

Against the Tide - Five

Rating: Explicit Pairing(s): Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x Original Female Character, Silvio Ricci x Original Female Character Characters: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez (Bleach), Silvio Ricci (Ikemen Prince), Olivia DuBois (Original Female Character of Color) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergent, Pirates and Princes, Slow Burn, Action/Adventure, Worldbuilding, Angst, Some Subtle Racism, Sexual Tension, Political Subplot

Previous Chapter: Four | Next Chapter: Six

Summary:

"I don't know," she says tiredly, throwing her hands up in frustration. "I don't know what this is. I don't know what anybody is thinking anymore, and I'm tired of trying to figure it out. I'm tired of not measuring up to anyone's expectations and being some colossal disappointment to everyone."

"I can't ever recall bein' disappointed by you," he grins. "And I certainly don't have expectations."

Read on AO3

Grimmjow has been watching her put away stock for a while now, leaning up against the wall just inside the doorway with his hands in his pockets the way he always does. When he speaks, Olivia jumps a little - he’s been so quiet and she’s been so engrossed in her own thoughts that she’s forgotten he’s there. 

“Is it true?”

“Huh?” She turns to him. 

“Is it true?” He asks again, pushing himself off of the wall and crossing the short distance between them. 

Her eyes fall to the sack of potatoes at her feet. “Is what true?” 

Grimmjow bends, hoists the sack in his arms, and sets it on the shelf it belongs on. “You and that rich bastard,” he says, much more casually than she’s expecting for what he’s asking her. 

Just for a moment, she considers letting her mouth form a lie. It would be so easy to tell him that Silvio’s earlier words were borne out of hatred and spite, to tell him that there never has and never will be anything between her and the prince. 

She isn’t sure why she feels like she owes Grimmjow the truth. 

“It was a long time ago,” she says quietly. “And it was a mistake.” 

“What kinda mistake are we talkin’?” 

“I don’t know what that means, Grimm.” 

He closes the last bit of distance between them, and she looks up. “Was it a, ‘oh shit, I got drunk one night and fell into his bed’ kinda mistake? Or was it some other kind?” 

She looks dubiously at him. “What other kind would there be?” 

“Dunno,” he shrugs. “Maybe the kind where you ended up feelin’ some type of way about him… like he really meant somethin’ to you.” 

He doesn’t miss the way her lips twitch slightly, even though she says nothing. “Well,” he starts after a moment. “Guess that answers my question.”

“What happened between us is ancient history,” she asserts. “I told you, it was a long time ago, and he…” She pauses. “He doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.” 

He doesn’t believe her, but he doesn’t think it will do either of them any good to call her out on her lie. “Oh?” He says. “And what about me?”  

Olivia laughs. “What about you?” 

He doesn’t share in her laughter. His eyes are serious, focused only on her. “What do I mean to you?” 

“You--” She cuts herself off, confusion in her expression. “I don’t know how to answer that either,” she says slowly. “Why are you asking me that?” 

“Maybe I’m wonderin’ if I’ve got a shot,” he shrugs again. “I ain’t a rich prince, but I do alright for myself.” 

She shakes her head. “Don’t… treat me like one of your hired girls.” 

“Is that what you think this is?” 

“I don’t know,” she says tiredly, throwing her hands up in frustration. “I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what anybody is thinking anymore, and I’m tired of trying to figure it out. I’m tired of not measuring up to anyone’s expectations and being some colossal disappointment to everyone.” 

“I can’t ever recall bein’ disappointed by you,” he grins. “And I certainly don’t have expectations.”

“Be serious.” She moves to push past him, but his hand on her shoulder makes her pause. “What?” She snaps, whirling around to face him. 

“You don’t think I can be serious, Sae?” 

“When have you ever been serious about me?” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Grimm, you’ve been flirting with me since the day we met. I know your M.O. with women. I know what you want from me.”

He studies her. “You think all the flirtin’ I do is just because I wanna have sex with you?” 

“Isn’t it?” 

“Hell no,” he laughs. “I can get that anywhere, anytime I want it. Sae… I want you. Not just what I can get when I take these off,” he goes on, tugging at the pocket of her trousers. “But all of you. You think I would invite some woman I don’t really care about onto my ship with me? For half a damn year?” 

She shrugs. “I’ve heard that seafarers get lonely too. Maybe you just want someone to warm your bed on those nights alone.” 

“Wouldn’t be mad if that came as part of the deal,” he admits. “But if you think that’s all I want from you, you don’t know me at all.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow at him, skeptical. “And what is it that you want, Captain Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez?” 

“I want the woman who can speak to me in the language of almost every port I’ve been to,” he starts unhesitatingly. “The one who reads history books for fun, who can kick my ass and drink me under the table any day of the week. I want the woman who can hold her own in a fight and doesn’t back down from one even when she should. And,” he adds with a little smile, “if she happened to wanna let me keep her up all night every now and again, then yeah… I’d take that, too.” 

Olivia feels a little like someone is holding her upside down by her feet and shaking her. She looks up at him. “I don’t… know what to say,” she admits, “and I’m wondering if this has something to do with knowing that I have a history with Silvio. The key word being history - as in the past,” she adds pointedly. 

He pulls a face. “Remember how I told you I see the way he looks at you when you ain’t lookin’?” 

She nods. “Yes. I remember.” 

“Well,” he says, chuckling a little, “what I didn’t say was that I see the way you look at him too, when you think nobody’s lookin’.” 

Olivia doesn’t have an answer to that. 

--

“It wouldn’t be fair to you,” she says quietly, her voice hushed. “I’d only make your life miserable.”

The sheets rustle and a moment later she feels him turn. She isn't looking at him and can’t see his expression, but she knows immediately what he’s feeling when he speaks. “Miserable?” He scoffs. “Idiot… do I seem miserable to you now?”

“No,” she admits. “But that’s because there’s nothing at stake now. If I…” She pauses to collect her thoughts. “If I marry you, you’ll have a wife and a queen that can’t live up to the standards she should.”

“What the fuck, Livvy,” the words burst out of him, colored with irritation. “Whose standards are you talking about?”

“Silvio… I know what the royals and nobles say about Antoine and Mirelle’s oldest daughter. That I’m an unruly disgrace on that foreign family’s reputation.” She shakes her head. “If I become your wife, their hostility will become worse… not to mention a lot of it will be directed at you, too. Besides,” she adds, “you deserve a proper lady on your arm.”

He laughs. “I don’t want a proper lady,” he teases. “All the proper ladies I know have empty heads and narrow views. I want to marry you,” he adds, his voice barely above a whisper and his tone going serious once more. “I want you to be my wife. I want us to rule this country together, and maybe someday have a family.” 

Olivia groans. “As if I wasn’t already feeling the pressure…”

He leans over, his lips touching hers briefly in a surprisingly chaste kiss. “Does it really feel like pressure, for me to tell you I love you enough to want you with me forever?”

All she can manage is a sigh. Whatever thoughts are swimming through her head refuse to arrange themselves into coherent words. 

“Marry me, Livvy,” he nuzzles her cheek with his nose. 

She bites down on the word, alarmed at how eagerly she’s almost said what he wants to hear. 

“Can’t hear you, Livvy,” he teases. “For such a mouthy woman, you’re being awfully quiet.” 

“Silvio---”

“Please,” he looks down at her, and suddenly all the amusement has left his expression. It tugs at her heart: that this rude, arrogant prince is practically pleading with her. This man who has few kind words for anyone but shows his softer side to her whenever she asks for it. This man that she loves more than anything in the world. “I said I wouldn’t ask you again, but---”

“Yes,” she says, the word tumbling from her lips unbidden, unapproved, unabashed. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

--

“The Sundance is gonna miss you, you know,” Prisca sighs. “And I don’t know how I’ll get by without you.”

“It’s just for a little while,” Olivia laughs. “Besides, Murph here will be around until spring. You know he’s a better barkeep than me anyway.”

“Damn right,” Murph chimes in. “I can’t wait until you leave so I can shine.”

Prisca shakes her head, but she can’t hide the smile on her face. “You just be careful out there, with those two.”

“Oh come on, you know I’ve been holding my own against all sorts of men for years now,” Olivia snorts. “Those two don’t scare me.” 

“It ain’t the scaring you I’m worried about,” Prisca laughs. “It’s whether or not they’ll kill each other before you even reach Vora.” 

“I’m sure it won’t come to that.” 

Her words are firm, but her heart is less sure. In truth, she has no idea what will happen once their voyage begins - whether the two men in question can put aside their differences to accomplish what they’re setting out to do. She’s even less confident in her ability to put aside whatever personal feelings she’s bound to struggle with in order to protect the home that she loves. 

She keeps her doubts to herself, though, determined to see it through. 

“When do you set out?” The question comes from Murph. 

“In three days’ time,” she tells him, grateful to have the distraction from her thoughts. 

“Damn, that’s soon,” he muses. “Got your diplomatic dresses ready?” 

Olivia groans. “You joke about it, but it pains me to admit that yes, there will be dresses in my trunk.” 

“You mean I finally get to see you done up like a proper lady?” 

She turns at the sound of that familiar voice. The Captain of the Hellcat is standing in the doorway of the Sundance, a smirk on his face. “Don’t start,” she chides him, “or you can turn right back around and walk out.” 

Grimmjow laughs. “Yes, ma’am.”

“What I’m still trying to figure out,” Prisca starts, “is how you convinced the Prince to take the Hellcat.”  

He shrugs. “It was his idea. Don’t ask me why, ‘cause I don’t really give a fuck. All I know is my ship, my rules.” 

“Please… don’t put it that way in front of him,” Olivia sighs. 

“I ain’t scared of him.”

“I know,” she replies, “and that’s what scares me.”  

She expects him to laugh, but he doesn’t. “Look,” he starts somberly. “I’m coming on this manhunt for you. I don’t give a fuck about him or Barnes. But if Barnes ain’t on Vora, that son of a bitch is gonna need me, ‘cause it’s clear he doesn’t know jack shit about the sea and how to navigate it. People come to him - he ain’t used to goin’ to them.” 

Olivia won’t admit it aloud, but he has a point. She wonders how long it’s been since Silvio actually went out on the sea - for years now, he’s let other men captain the ships he owns. “Still,” she says after a moment, “I need you to promise that you’ll be civil.” 

“If he leaves me alone,” Grimmjow concedes grudgingly, “I’ll leave him alone.” 

It’s about all she can ask for, but she wonders how long it will hold. 

--

“Three days?” Her mother sighs. “I can’t say that I’m in complete agreement with everything about this journey, but I know that won’t stop you.” 

“You seemed very happy about it before you found out that it wasn’t just going to be Silvio and myself,” Olivia points out. “I wonder what accounts for the difference.” 

“Can you blame me for being worried?” Mirelle shakes her head. “I don’t understand why the pirate is being included.” 

“He’s a merchant. Furthermore, it’s his ship and he can be useful.” 

“At what? Killing people?” 

Olivia looks at her mother incredulously. “Are you seriously saying you think Silvio has never killed anyone? That if it came to it, he wouldn’t hesitate to end someone else’s life?” 

“Not without justifiable cause.” 

“Mama---” She cuts herself off, taking a deep breath to calm the blood in her veins. “Mama,” she starts again after she’s composed herself. “I know you think that this voyage is somehow going to rekindle some spark between Silvio and me… that it will change things and we’ll come back happily in love. I hate to shatter your dreams,” she goes on, “but there’s no chance of that happening.”

“You never know,” her mother smiles. “Long months in close quarters make for unpredictable events.” 

“He asked me to marry him five years ago,” she says quietly, her gaze on the ceiling of her bedroom. “I told him yes, and then I changed my mind. If you think he’s going to ask me again, you’re going to be very disappointed.” 

She hasn’t looked away from the blank expanse of the ceiling above her, but she knows without seeing it what sort of expression she will find on her mother’s face. Mirelle is quiet; the shock is almost palpable. 

“Why, Livvy? Why would you tell him yes and then change your mind?”

There is nothing humorous about her mother’s question, but it makes her laugh anyway - more out of irony than anything else. “Mama, can you seriously sit here and tell me that I would make a good queen?” 

“You could if you’d work as hard at it as you do at the docks,” her mother rebuts stubbornly. 

“Alright,” Olivia concedes. “I can’t argue with you there. But… do you really think I would be happy as queen?” 

“How will you know if you never give it a chance?”

“That’s just it,” Olivia says frustratedly. “It’s not something I can undo once it’s done. If I’d married him and found out a year later that I hated everything about being his wife and the queen, I’d be stuck in a life that makes both of us miserable.” She throws up her hands. “Who wants that?” 

“So instead, you’d rather be a pirate’s whore.” The second the words are out of her mouth, Mirelle’s expression changes. “That… was harsh,” she says quietly. “And I shouldn’t have said it.” 

“But you meant it,” Olivia surmises with a sigh. 

“Are you involved with him?” Her mother asks the question hesitantly, almost as though she’s afraid of the answer she’s going to get. 

“I’m not,” Olivia replies candidly. “But would it bother you that much if I were?” 

Mirelle reaches for her daughter’s hand, squeezing it in her own. “You’re an adult,” she starts quietly. “I may not always like your choices or agree with them, but I can’t stop you from making them or force you to change them. I just…” She looks away briefly, the corners of her mouth turned down in a frown. “I just think you deserve better.” 

Olivia chuckles. “Then I probably shouldn’t tell you about some of the things Silvio and I used to get up to.”

Mirelle stares at her with wide eyes. Before she can respond, Olivia speaks again. “I promise it’ll be fine,” she reassures her mother. “Remember, the focus of this whole journey is so I can do something good for Vora,” she adds with a smile. “I won’t have time to entertain any suitors.” 

“That’s what you think,” her mother murmurs. “Until you’re at sea with nothing to keep you occupied.” She sighs. “Just promise me that you’ll be careful. That’s all I ask.” 

Her mother’s guarded words make her laugh again. “I promise I won’t come back with my belly full of a pirate’s child,” she teases. “Or a prince’s.” 

--

Three days’ time comes and goes like the east wind, and it isn’t long before Olivia finds herself surrounded by the crew of the Hellcat. The Captain of the vessel is kind enough to give her her own cabin - not without first asking if she’d like to share his - and she finds the accommodations nicer than she’s expecting them to be. 

“Why so surprised, Sae?” He laughs, watching from the doorway as she takes in her surroundings. “Did you think I was gonna make you sleep in the cargo hold?” 

“You might’ve,” she laughs with him. “I wasn’t sure what to expect when I told you I wouldn’t sleep with you.” 

“Well, like I told you before,” he starts, sidling closer until he’s right behind her. “I’m takin’ my time. I’d say there’s gonna be plenty of days ahead where you get to feelin’ lonely and homesick all by yourself in this big ol’ cabin.” 

“Oh?” She turns to face him, hands on her hips. “And why do you suppose that has anything to do with you?” 

He flashes her a grin. “Might not,” he shrugs. “But I never say never.”

“Are you done flirting, or should I come back later?” Silvio snaps the words from where he’s standing just outside of Olivia’s cabin doorway. He looks agitated, his silver brows furrowed and his mouth twisted in a frown. 

“You should come back later,” Grimmjow drawls lazily, never taking his eyes off of Olivia. 

“Stop,” she chides him. Her next words are addressed to the prince. “What’s going on?” 

“We need to discuss our plan,” Silvio says irritably. “Before we leave. We need to talk about what’s going to happen and how things are going to go.” 

She can tell by the way Grimmjow has set his mouth that he’s planning to say something snide. She puts a hand on his arm, shaking her head and casting him a warning look. “Fine,�� he says instead. “We can talk on deck.”

“Just so you don’t forget,” Silvio says as Grimmjow passes him. “This is my diplomatic mission. We do things my way.” 

“Just so you don’t forget,” Grimmjow responds mockingly, “this is my fuckin’ ship. You do whatever the hell you want once you step off of it. But as long as this wood’s beneath your feet, the Hellcat’s rules trump everything else. Prince or not,” he adds. 

“Are you that threatened by me?” 

Grimmjow just laughs, pushing past him to go up on deck.

Silvio looks at Olivia as though he has something to say. Instead, he turns away, following the Captain of the ship up to the deck.

Previous Chapter: Four | Next Chapter: Six

[daemonwritesstuff]

Ladies, Gentlemen and Non-Binary Pals we interrupt your time on here with a special matchup trade with @fourtyfourcatss !!

A/N: Hello again! I’m very happy to be able to do another trade matchup with you, i hope you cherish these matchups as much as you did the first time because I putted a lot of thought into these to make them perfect ❤️, I also loved all of these characters I put you with, Enjoy my friend !! o(｀ω´ )o

For your Bleach Matchup you have been paired with…

Rangiku Matsumoto!

Let me explain this, she is one of the beloved characters in bleach after all, i can see something going on here, I think with you being levelheaded would be good for her, when you compliment her in outfits (if there skimpy or not) she would be over the moon, and if you would keep complimenting her and helping her not wear skimpy outfits to get attention and figure out something for her to get other peoples attentions then she would be so grateful and start falling for you.

She enjoys having someone who’s realistic, and also optimistic, she’s by your side, supporting you in your hobbies, decisions, and quite literally anything she’ll be with you, cheering for you like the supportive girlfriend she is.

She would enjoy reading with you when it’s night, she’ll be laying on your shoulder in bed while also reading whatever book you may be reading. and wi annoyingly tell you to go back to a page to finish what she was reading.

Oh and she enjoys drinking too, now I have given you a drinking partner LMAO.

Round-Ups: no one rn, I liked this one.

For your Helluva Boss Matchup you have been paired up with…

Verosika Mayday

I can also explain this, it just made a lot of sense in my opinion, with her past relationships (with blitzø too) it wasn’t the best we see, so she’ll probably be mean spirited and manipulative when she meets you, but sense I know that your pretty much a mature person and you can be blunt she’s taken by surprise! when she gets to know you better, she starts getting more comfortable around you, she starts to feel familiar feelings, she isn’t uncomfortable by them though, she’s more accepting and optimistic about them, this last time.

She loves that you can find situations, she’s always in situations and you somehow always get her out of them, she’ll always be grateful for that, and maybe she’ll start trying to not get in trouble, she also likes going on walks with you, somewhere quieter and with less (wayyy less) people around because of paparazzi.

She’s also very fond of your lips, she LOVES kissing them mostly.

Round-ups: Octavia

For your Hazbin Hotel Matchup you have been paired up with…

Husker!

I kinda like this match a lot, I can see this working out with him and you a lot, your very realistic and optimistic and to him your actually very chill and less annoying like Alastor, Charlie, Angel Dust… he also likes that your big on improvement, he feels like he could also use some improvement on himself as well, he doesn’t care that you run your mouth and trip up, her also super ecstatic that your blunt, not really anyone is blunt unlike vaggie.

He supports your hobbies and etc, even if it doesn’t seem like he cares, he really does, but I’m sure you would know anyways, he enjoys that your funny, he’s also happy that your there to find solutions for him when he’s stuck somewhere where he needs help.

He doesn’t seem to have a lot of hobbies other than gambling and just drinking booze but I’d think you would get him into to some of your hobbies! He would enjoy walks with you.

EDIT: I just given you another drinking partner bru😭

Round-ups: Vaggie, Vox (?)

For your Twisted Wonderland Matchup you have been paired up with…

Riddle Rosehearts!

Ok, I really, REALLY like this matchup, I think you didn’t expect this huh, probably no one did, when they found out that riddle and you were together, they were all shocked, literally how did you make him fall for you (what are your tricks bro) anyways, I think he would like someone realistic and blunt, you guys would get along at the hip tbh, it’s something I can’t explain, it’s like a thing that happened so fast, he’s also not easily impressed with anything but you do happen to make him impressed, you made him interested in you.

He also dislikes anyone pestering with him, he would find it HIGHLY annoying, you both are on the same both, you guys would definitely talk about what you like and dislike while having a little private tea party in a little, fancy garden with beautiful flowers, the best green grass and a perfect weather feeling.

All in all, he really loves having you as a partner and he hopes you both will have a long (forever) lasting relationship with each other.

Round-Ups: no one now, this is perfection.

For your Cookie Run Kingdom Matchup you have been paired up with…

Sea Fairy Cookie!

Again, another unexpected matchup probably (In my own POV), i can also see something going on here too, I think with your mystical mix of being a calm, mature bit also optimistic, and levelheaded person, I’d think you’d make a powerful match indeed! She enjoys you being passionate in anything, she loves seeing you also help people find solutions for them when there stuck, it just makes her fall a lot more in love with you.

She would let out satisfied sighs and little giggles whenever you made her happy or just made her feel better about something, or when she was having a bad day, I can see you reading a book to her while she lays in your lap, probably taking a nap and feeling comfortable in your presence.

She would never do anything that you don’t like, and one thing I know is that she doesn’t pester people at all, she’s just so loving and caring for you, such a gentle lover………. \(//∇//)\

Round-Ups: No one.

For your Obey Me Matchup you have been paired up with…

Lucifer

I don’t think you expected this at all, but I did, here’s why, even though it took a little for you both to officially become a couple he would just already be so in love with you because of how opinonated and quite literally everything you are, he thinks your the most mature person out of all his other brothers.

He’s so supportive with you doing your best to make improvement on yourself, have you ever considered how special you seem to be? Well he hopes you know that. Coming from him.

He also enjoys reading, you guys are often seen in the library reading books together in the most comfy chairs while you have been caught not once, but twice by holding his hand in yours. he’s just so soft for you good god.

Round-Ups: Mammon, Simeon

For your Turn To Die Matchup you have been paired with…

Reko Yabusame!

I also enjoy this pairing as much as I’m in love with the others, you seem you would also go well with her here! I had a lot of other options of characters here but this one made more sense to me, he would enjoy a partner that’s also realistic and blunt, she’s glad that there’s someone like you who can be serious in bad situations and help people and her get out of most situations, she’s very fascinated with you…!

She love your creativity, she also loves your writings and she (shyly somehow) asks you if it would be ok to read them, she also likes listening to music, I think she would like a lot of metal, vkei and rock music/IMO and she would share one of her earbuds with you.

She also compliments on your dark academia outfits you put together, she would tell you to spin for her while she admires the outfit(s) on yourself.

Round-Ups: Sara Chidouin, Kai Satou

For your Haikyuu Matchup you have been paired up with…

Kenma Kozume!

I think you guys would get along with each other right away as well with the others too, you guys are just so chill with each other, I think you guys would hang out at one of your guy’s houses and either play video games and eat junk food or just talk about literally anything on your guy’s minds, you both aren’t easily impressed with a lot of stuff either, if you are it would be pretty rare.

He likes watching you draw, he probably asked if you can draw some anime characters or game characters he likes it show him your sketch book if you have one, he would draw little doodles and notes saying how cool your art is.

I can tell that this will be a long-lasting and happy relationship.

Round-Ups: No one rn…

Now lastly, for your Tokyo Revengers Matchup you have been paired up with…

Takashi Mitsuya

I believe this is one of the other bests that I have paired you with, you are passionate while he’s compassionate, you guys are very chill with each other, very gentle, helping, peaceful and so, SO much more, he’s yet another one that’s not easily impressed, but would you be surprised that you both impressed each other at the same time? It’s like you guys are literally made for each other if you are in this anime.

He likes reading with you, as like a date maybe you both would do study dates for an upcoming test, and you both would be relaxing with your favorite beverages and talking about your day and anything you’d think you’d talk about, he also seems like someone who enjoys listening to music, you guys would definitely recommend songs or bands, singers, etc to each other or make each other guess what songs their listening to.

He seems like someone who keeps up with his hygiene by taking daily showers, not forgetting to brush his teeth and take care of himself, etc, honestly I really just adore this last one I just wrote.

Round-Ups: no one, I think I just matched you with your Tokyo revengers soulmate omg

[dnightshade0]

Voltron: getting drunk

Lance and his wife Elena are at hunks house for a team get together. Shiro, Keith, and pidge are also there. They sit in the living room talking and the conversation became about drinking. They started talking about their experiences getting drunk, how much they can handle and what they drink.

Lance: I swear my wife must not like tequila. Every time she drinks it, she makes the funniest faces lol XD

Hunk: what kind of funny faces?

Lance: she scrunches up her face, closes her eyes and shakes her head as If it was the most disgusting thing she’s ever had. It’s cute hehehe.

Elena huffs at that.

Elena: I don’t think tequila is disgusting! It’s just really strong liquor. I make that face with any hard alcohol I drink. Even saki.

Shiro: really? You make that face with saki?

Shiro smiles in amusement.

Elena: yep. Apparently both Lance and my mom both find my face amusing when I drink hard alcohol.

Pidge: so, what are you like when you’re drunk.

Lance: sleepy.

Hunk: huh?

Lance: she doesn’t act weird or do or say anything crazy, she just gets tired and falls asleep.

Pidge: wow. That’s kinda… boring.

Hunk: so in other words, Elena is no fun when she gets drunk?

Lance: yep.

Elena smiles and side-glances at Lance.

Elena: lance on the other hand…

Keith: what’s Lance like?

Keith asks, smiles, getting very intrigued.

Elena: Lance gets silly. Silly, cuddly and falls into default Spanish. He snuggles up to me and starts flirting with me in Spanish. Calling me “me amore” and saying stuff like “Eres el amor de mi vida” which means “You're the love of my life”. And all kinds of romantic stuff like that.

She says fondly, leaning up against Lance.

Shiro: aww, that’s so sweet.

Then shiro looks at the clock. Realizing the take out they ordered must be ready by now.

Shiro: oh! The food should be ready. I’m going to go pick it up. Anyone want to come with me?

Lance: I’ll go!

Lance and shiro get up and leave to go get the food. When they are gone, Elena turns to the others, grinning mischievously.

Elena: wanna know what else Lance does when he’s drunk?

Pidge grins and leans in.

Pidge: oooh what? >:D

Elena: he’s also easy to trick.

Keith: what do you mean?

Elena: it is super easy to trick Lance into doing things he wouldn’t normally do. Like this one time, he was so drunk, he said he would literally do anything I wanted. He said “anything you want, I’ll do it. Just for you babe!”. I was like “anything?” And he goes “anything! Just you name it!” So I get this idea and asked him to put on a kilt for me And he did!

Pidge: no way!

Hunk: he did that? He actually put on a kilt?!

Elena: yep.

Pidge: oh man, please tell me you got a picture of that! That would be so funny to see. lol

Elena: I did.

she says holding up her phone.

Pidge: oh! Let me see!

Pidge makes grabby hands for the phone but Elena holds it out of her reach.

Elena: nope, sorry. These pics are for my eyes only.

Pidge: aww! Come on!

Elena: nope. Besides, I don’t think you’d want to see them anyway. He’s literally wearing nothing but the kilt.

Pidge: … oh…

Elena: he also flashed the camera at one point.

Hunk: …yeah, I definitely don’t want to see that.

Keith: me neither. I think I’d want to wash my eyes out with bleach if I did.

Hunk: so he’s ok with you having those pics on your phone?

Elena: actually, he was so drunk, he doesn’t even remember that he posed for those shots.

Pidge: pfft! No way!

Elena: and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t tell him about um. I always wanted pictures of my husband in a kilt and this was the only way I could get em. If he found out, he’d try to take my phone and delete em. Also don’t tell anyone else, I don’t want it to somehow get back to lance.

Pidge then gets an evil gleam in her eyes.

Pidge: what’s in it for us?

Elena: (sigh) what do you want?

Pidge: I want to borrow your copy of the kill bot phantasm 26! I know you managed to get ahold of a copy!

Elena blinked and rolled her eyes.

Elena: alright fine. What about you hunk?

hunk mulls it over.

Hunk: your recipe for eclair cake.

Elena: ok. And what about you Keith?

Keith: I don’t want anything except for Lance to admit he remembers the bonding moment.

Elena: done. Though I might have to get Lance drunk again for that one.

A few minutes later, shiro and Lance return with the food.

Shiro: hay guys, we’re back! Anything interesting happen while we were gone?

Elena: nope.

Pidge: nah ah

Hunk: no

Keith: not a thing.

They all start heading to the kitchen and Elena pipes up.

Elena: hay lance. You up for a drinking game after dinner?

Lance: a drinking game?

Elena: yeah, I bet you 10 bucks you can’t out drink Keith.

Lance: pfft! Please, I can out drink Keith any day of the week!

Elena: alright then, it’s settled. Lance and Keith will have a drinking game after dinner. Who ever drinks the most shots of tequila wins.

Everyone heads to the kitchen, but Keith pulls Elena back and whispers.

Keith: what are you doing! You know I can’t hold that much liquor!

Elena: you wanted to get lance to admit he remembered the bonding moment. This is your chance. Relax, I got it all planned out, I’ll have two bottles, one for each of you, but yours will be filled with water. All you gotta do is drink like normal until Lance is drunk enough, then you can ask him about the bonding moment.

So later on after dinner, they have their little drinking game. As Elena said, she had one bottle full of tequila and the other was full of plain water. She filled the shot glasses and both guys drank their shots. After the fifth shot, Lance started feeling the effects. After the seventh shot, he started to feel warm. After the tenth shot, he was getting wobbly.

Lance: *hic* you still going Keith?

Keith: yep… you?

Lance: HA! I’m going so strong that I’m kickin this tequila’s ass!

Keith is wondering if Lance is drunk enough yet and gives Elena a questioning look.

To which, she looks over at Lance.

Elena: hay sweetie, how pretty am I?

Lance: babe, Eres más hermosa que Angelina Jolie.

Elena smirks and gives Keith a nod. Keith grins back then looks at Lance.

Keith: hay lance, I got a question and I want you to answer honestly.

Lance: mmhm.

Keith: do you remember the bonding moment?

Lance smiles, giggles and says.

Lance: No sólo recuerdo el momento de unión, también recuerdo el momento en que pusiste un ratón muerto en el sombrero del comandante Iverson.

Everyone: …….

Keith: …uh

Elena: Quiznak! I didn’t think this through!

—————————————————-

for those of you who were wondering what Lance said at the end.

He said “not only do I remember the bonding moment, I also remember the time you put a dead mouse in commander iverson's hat.”

Also his response to Elena asking how pretty she was is “you are more beautiful then Angelina Jolie.”

I came up with this idea while coming home from grocery shopping with my mom. We were talking in the car about drinking and mom brought up my inability to keep a straight face while drinking hard liquor. Yeah, I can’t help that hard alcohol is so damn strong.

[ciaossu-imagines]

Okay. Cool. That’s good to know. A part of me figured that was the case but since that everything purely said ‘Ask box closed’ I figured I’d better be safe than sorry and should wait until you opened it up again. And I’m so sorry that someone sent in that spoiler with a request. I really do hate that. And that’s great to hear that you slept so amazingly ☺ Gods, me too. I have this weird thing where I absolutely have no idea how much sleep I actually need beause I’m always tired, even if I sleep more than normal. Sure, I feel slightly more refreshed, but still hella tired. Okay. I’ll try to come up with everything I thought of saying at the time and will send it next time you respond to our DMs. And thank you so much for saying that. It most definitely was a great chapter and I hope I have good enough thoughts to add onto everything you’ve already said about it. Oh I see. That makes sense. I also usually go for those kinds of things and rarely watch purely romantic series, unless they’re recommended to me or they’re said to be really good. It really is. I finished A: TLA a few days ago and cried so much at the end. And I hope that you also get the chance to rewatch it at some point and I’d love to hear your thoughts on it when the time comes. I immensely enjoyed rewatching A: TLA and it’s funny beause even though it’s been a while that I’ve watched it before , I still knew a lot of everything concerning the story but that didn’t detract from my enjoyment of the moments. Like I still cried at another emotional scene a few episodes before the end beause it really is just so beautiful. I just started the last season of Demon Slayer that’s out today and I’m just in awe of the animation and how it looks and it’s making me emotional. I’m really so grateful that a series as good as that has such a beautifully well done adaptation. Couldn’t ask for anything more and hope that they continue doing it justice until the very end, though I have a feeling they will.

Thank you. I managed to get through everything I didn’t get the chance to read yet today, as you may have noticed 😅 And I enjoyed all of them and have written my thoughts down for them, though I feel like they’ll probably look quite repetitive 😅 Yeah, fandom is amazing like that. I’m really grateful for that and the way that they write all of the wikis. Yeah, one of the filler arcs in Bleach is really weird and I never rewatch that one. Oh that’s nice to know. And it’s also cool to know that they also translated the songs. Were they sung by the English voice actors or something?

It really was and luckily, now that I’ve restarted my computer again since it was being really slow, it’s gone back to how it used to be. And that could be. And thank you for calling the explanation clear. And that sounds good. I hope you get to read it beause one of the matches centres on some of my favourite babies and I really do hate that they messed up the adaptation like that. At least I’ll always have the manga, though it still sucks 😭 Yeah. And the fourth season still has some really well-done scenes, and there’s this scene of another kind of fave that I haven’t mentioned at all, that appears in that season, and they have like this really beautiful shot of his eyes. And that’s nice to know. No problem at all. Even though I probably won’t rewatch the movies, I do really appreciate that they animated those extra scenes beause they’re all important in their own way. Shame can’t be said for some later stuff and I know Covid had something to do with the second half on the fourth season, but the movie of this year and those OVA’s from many years ago have no excuse so yeah, it’s still a shame (I know I’m being really salty here so sorry for that). The chapter limitation really does suck, especially because both were really easy to get through for me, someone who doesn’t read as fast so I hope that you do get to read both on your normal app one day. Yeah, me too. Like even though I do have my faves that I’ve talked to you about, I still love all of the characters and am so proud of the growth that certain ones went through and it’s just all so nice. Like even my non-faves make me emotional. And yeah, especially those. Like the other boy I’m not normal about has such noticeable flaws and is such a silly boy (like I call him silly so often while rewatching some of his scenes) but he’s such a well-made character that you can’t help but love him.

Oh I’m so sorry to hear that and I can’t blame you for being upset by it. I hope at least that that character has good reasons or something. I’m also scared now, but also kind of intrigued to see it all. And true and that’s really nice. And you’re amazing for that. Glad to see that I’m not the only one who likes justified text. And no problem at all 😄 I’m doing pretty alright. Like I said, I watched some Demon Slayer today, which put me in a good mood but my mum was really judgemental about a certain thing concerning my dad which was so horrible to hear sine it was during dinner time so I just had to sit there and listen to everything she had to say, especially since I couldn’t come up with enough stuff to counter her. It really is always so painful to have to hear her comments about all kinds of things but I won’t let it keep me down because I know I have your writing to look forward to and many great anime and all kinds of stuff. Just couldn’t help but mention it. Hope you’re doing amazing and that the writing is going great 😊

C

I know you had figured that and I think it’s really sweet of you to be concerned about bothering me! You’re never a bother though and I enjoy seeing you in the inbox 😊Thanks – that one was rough as I’ve done amazing at avoiding Jujutsu Kaisen spoilers (blacklisted the general tag until I’m completely finished the manga read just to make sure of that). Though, just saying – I called that one way back in our messages but ouch, rough yeah, for both being spoiled and for what it said happened. I need way more sleep than the four to six hours I’m lucky to get a night. I’m horrible in being a super light sleeper where every little sound wakes me up though, even with my pills being in me. Caffeine is my best friend in all forms (coffee, energy drinks, caffeine infused chocolate or my favourite, chocolate covered espresso beans, even caffeine pills if the insomnia is really bad…yeah, I know, I’ll probably die of a heart attack from all the caffeine guys but adult life sucks and requires you to stay awake). Sounds good! I’m hoping to get a reply to our dm’s off maybe this weekend in between writing other things, where I have a weekend off. I can definitely get checking out series that are recommended to you, even if they’re not what you’d normally watch. I recently paused watching my other shows to binge through Mashle because it came highly recommended by two people I trust, even though it seemed like it would be just a blatant rip-off of One Punch Man. Turns out they were right and I loved it. I hope it will be that for you with the romance series when you do watch it through! The ending of A:TLA was definitely worthy of the crying and I remember crying quite a bit throughout that show. I loved Iroh, but I really had a soft spot for Azula and things got real rough for my girl around the end of the show. I felt horrible for her, I really did. I’m so glad that you enjoyed your rewatch of it, that it could still hit you in all the right ways despite knowing what was coming. When you say last season, do you mean this is it? It will wrap everything up completely or is there a plan for more (like a spin-off or anything) after this season or a follow-up like Naruto: Shippuden? I’m so glad the last season is starting out so well though and I’m with you in hoping it will continue to be beautifully done right up until the end, and not just because it’s high on my watch list.

I noticed and appreciated all the likes and am happy you enjoyed them all! And I never find your thoughts repetitive and am always really glad to hear your thoughts on my posts! Comments are always wonderful and motivating! I hate the Bount arc for Bleach and when I do get the urge to watch it, I always skip that arc, since it’s pure filler anyway! I’m pretty sure it’s all the English VA’s singing the songs but I noticed about halfway through season 2 there were some songs they didn’t translate and upon googling it, it looks like sometimes it’s hard to get the permissions needed to translate and revoice those songs. Either way, the music is really solid all through the show!

I’m glad your computer has gone back to how it should be and hopefully isn’t running super slow anymore! It definitely was clear and it helps me know what to expect. I’m someone who likes to get every single moment, so even if the movies are a lot of recycled stuff, I still need to watch them. Oh no! It sucks that your favourite didn’t really get what they should have when it came to the anime adaptation. I know how that feels and it sucks big time! I hadn’t even actually thought about the impact Covid would have had on animators and studios! A lot of what came out during that time would make more sense if they couldn’t really all do their work successfully from home, I guess. And hey, no, please feel free to be salty. Everyone has things they’re salty about, even me, and it’s cool that you feel comfortable enough with me to feel safe getting salty about things. Thank you for that! And so far, all the characters are great. I was pretty sure I’d dislike Hinata going into it, because those kind of characters normally bore me but I ended up just adoring him, which is the one that surprised me the most!

Thank you! I do hope that, when I get to reading and finishing up everything for the manga, I’ll see the reasons the author went that direction and that it ends up making sense in the story. If not, I’m sticking just with writing Nanbaka up to the end of the anime seasons haha! I’m so glad you’re doing okay and that you had some good moments, though I’m really sorry to hear that about your mother. I personally am of the opinion that spouses shouldn’t bicker or pick at each other in front of their children, but I know it happens all too often. It’s awkward for the person sitting there and uncomfortable. I’m sure you did your best to defend your dad and that he appreciated it a lot! I know it’s hard but try to focus on some of the positives of your day or lose yourself in something you enjoy and don’t let her steal your joy, my dear! You deserve more than that! And thank you! I’m doing okay tonight – just got my pills into me, sitting on my couch in boxers and a comfy t-shirt, eating a McCain cake out of the tin and writing (just finished a chapter…it was supposed to be a request for a one shot little drabble about me travelling with comfort characters and now it’s bloated into a whole multi-chaptered fic, haha)!

[themculibrary]

Romantic Fluff Masterlist

a kiss a day (anything for kate bishop) (ao3) - dare121 yelena/kate T, 49k

Summary: Adjusting her fake glasses, Kate moves in the direction of the nearest painting and settles herself in front of it, doing her best to look like she’s taking notes on the notepad in her hands. The lanyard around her neck swings uncomfortably close to the rope that separates herself from the art on display as she tries to take in her surroundings at the same time. She only spares a glance at the picture, and squints at the three alien creatures on it that mostly resemble common house cats, while being just off enough to unnerve the observer.

Beneath the Mistletoe (ao3) - sunrow steve/bucky E, 21k

Summary: Bucky had a bet with his sister that if he didn’t have a boyfriend to bring home for Christmas by the time he was 25, he had to give her $200 and go blonde for a year. But now he's 25, it’s nearing December, and not only is Bucky as single as ever, but he’s also running low on cash. He doesn’t exactly want to bleach his hair, either.

At least Steve is willing to upgrade their relationship from best friends to fake boyfriends.

Causing an Incident (ao3) - The_Winter_Writer loki/tony N/R, 3k

Summary: Tony might have a propensity for being where he wasn't supposed to be. He didn't feel an ounce of guilt about it and right now, with the realization of who was striding towards him setting in, Tony felt thankful for it.

Cinnamon Honey (ao3) - toffeecape steve/bucky E, 13k

Summary: The newlywed adventures of two dirty old men.

dry your eyes and love you warm (ao3) - Ellessey steve/bucky E, 31k

Summary: "Hey, come here," Steve says, pulling Bucky close enough to wrap his arms around his waist. Bucky sinks into him, forehead resting on the crown of Steve's head. "How can I help?"

He's not even thinking about it at first, about the way he helped before, but then Bucky breathes warm and heavy in Steve's hair and suddenly it's all he's thinking about—those little gasps Bucky had let out, and the way his skin had flushed pink while Steve brought him off.

Bucky's arms get a little tighter around him now, like maybe he's remembering too. And he must be, because then he says, "Could you… Stevie, would you mind? Like before?"

--

When Bucky needs him, Steve will be there. In any city, in any century, in every way that Bucky will have him.

If Your Heart Is A Dog Fight Then I'm Ready To Go To War Like (ao3) - fandomfluffandfuck steve/bucky E, 78k

Summary: Bucky isn't used to alpha's being the nicest to him, he knows why even if he doesn't get it- he's a male omega. A very rare subset of the already rare part of the population that's second gender isn't beta. Which is what makes it all the more shocking when his "perfect match" walks in during one of his shifts and is irrefutably nice to him.

This is that story. The story of how they went from a patient nurse relationship to an alpha omega pair who's bond is unbreakable.

In Paper Rings, In Picture Frames (Oh, You're The One I Want) (ao3) - OceanSpray5 druig/makkari G, 14k

Summary: Or, Druig and Makkari get married and wait for the rest of their oblivious family to figure it out.

Love and Family (out of order) (ao3) - AvocadoLove bucky/tony T, 7k

Summary: When Steve brings Bucky home shortly after the fall of SHIELD, it's obvious he's keeping a few secrets to himself. Tony knows the truth because he can smell it: Bucky's pregnant, and the baby is Tony's. Except, that shouldn't be possible. Tony has never met Bucky Barnes—or the Winter Soldier—before.

Lucky Thirteen (ao3) - agentsimmons bruce/tony N/R, 150k

Summary: Widowed father, and billionaire genius, Tony Stark and single father, and nuclear physicist, Bruce Banner meet at a science conference. One has six kids and the other has seven. So of course that's a recipe for disaster love in the making.

No Need (ao3) - surveycorpsjean tony/stephen E, 5k

Summary: Tony groans, “We are too old to have sex in a bathtub.”

“Who said anything about sex in a bathtub?”

“Me, obviously."

Not a Trick (ao3) - somanyfeels (orphan_account) bucky/tony T, 1k

Summary: Bucky had never seen a more beautiful human being in his life. He was perfect, if a bit jumpy, suspicious, and untrusting. Bucky wanted to treat him right, wanted to love him with everything he had, and hopefully convince Tony that he would never hurt him.

Romance me (ao3) - ririsasy tony/stephen E, 67k

Summary: Tony just wanted to go to The coffee shop Peter keep telling him about in the Bleecker Street area, the one with a nice caramel coffee, he didn't know that the place is crowded enough that The billionaire has to share a table with a handsome, middle-aged man, who dresses eccentrically in his blue robe, and thick book in his hands just to enjoy his coffee, he never imagined that the guy will be someone so important in his life, ending all his conquests as playboy and actually making him consider about settling down for the first time in his life.

Simple Pleasures (ao3) - JobethDalloway yelena/kate E, 72k

Summary: "Can I tell you something I wanted to do at the museum all day, Kate Bishop?" Kate waited for her to say something, but instead, Yelena just shifted her hand closer to Kate's and threaded their fingers together. // A hopelessly romantic lesbian finds herself the one person an emotionally guarded former assassin wants to open up to.

The Sweetness of You (ao3) - STARSdidathing loki/tony T, 6k

Summary: Loki wasn't affectionate by nature and Tony had gotten used to that. They might have been lovers for two years and might even have loved each other - but they didn't talk about it. Loki simply wasn't into public or even private displays of affection. It was just who he was, and Tony hadn't expected it to change.

Which was why, when his lover surprised him with a hug from behind - in the middle of an Avengers party - Tony was really fucking stunned.

The Tears We Hold Back (ao3) - Scarlet_Black wanda/natasha M, 115k

Summary: After losing her brother and her home, Wanda moves in with the Avengers, where a friendship grows between her and Natasha - and eventually develops into something more. But life catches up with them when someone interferes with the missions Wanda goes on and Natasha finds out that the Red Room is still operating.

This is a slow burn, post AoU tower fic (that takes place in the Avengers compound).

Trauma Makes the Heart Grow Softer (ao3) - mabbbbs yelena/kate T, 21k

Summary: This started out as the stereotypical/cliche carry your crush to bed and accidentally cuddle them trope we all want and deserve.

Until It Sleeps (ao3) - frickss75 steve/bucky M, 407k

Summary: Steve finally has Bucky back in Brooklyn with him, but he is finding out that his issues are deeper than he thought. His PTSD manifestsin many ways, including some very bizarre sleep behavoir. And Bucky is fighting internally with constantly returning memories and some deep seated fears about himself. Steve loves Bucky no matter what and is determined to prove it to him however he can.

What A Feeling (ao3) - roe87 steve/bucky E, 33k

Summary: Bucky is a young, struggling actor living in New York City, and he works as a male stripper to pay his bills.

Steve is a very rich and handsome businessman.

One night Steve comes into Bucky's club to get a lap dance, and asks Bucky to come back to his hotel.

[smokeybrandreviews]

Cheated

I was so excited when one of my favorite manga, Isekai de Cheat Skill wo Te ni Shita Ore wa, Genjitsu Sekai wo mo Musou Suru ~Level Up wa Jinsei wo Kaeta~, got an anime adaption. I haven’t done a spotlight on this one just yet, mostly because i waited too long and didn’t want to seem like someone jumping on a bandwagon when the show dropped, but i am very glad that i waited because the anime adaption is bad. I Got a Cheat Skill in Another World and Became Unrivaled in The Real World, Too is one of the laziest anime adaptions of a rather ambitious manga, I've ever seen in my goddamn life and i hate it so much. Seriously, i love this story a great deal and, while the narrative changes aren’t too egregious, the rest of the production kind of s. Actually, i can’t even say that because this thing i animated beautifully, most of the time, but nothing f*cking happens. Like, we are, what? Nine? Ten episodes in and nothing is happening. Not a goddamn thing.

Listen, o the top, the manga adaption of this light novel is exceptional. I can’t even front n that. The art is exception and the overall character designs come across as inspired. Minatogawa Kazuomi’s art reminds me a lot of Oh! Great but with a much more subtle use of movement and perspective. his book is f*cking gorgeous, man, and i look forward to every update i get. That said, it’s not like the plot is trash, either. Listen, this is an Isekai power fantasy. If you're a  fan of anime or manga, then you know all the hallmarks by now: Overpowered protagonist, multiple heroines, spirited away into a brand new world where our mild mannered, yet, socially righteous lead character finally get recognized for the hero they always have been. By this point, it’s borderline cliche. However, the devil is in the details. It’s how you execute that Isekai formula and i think Miku does an excellent job of doing just that. Cheat Sill isn’t doing anything new with the genre but it does deliver a solid narrative with realized world and strong characters. SO why does the show suck so f*cking bad?

Anime adaptions are always hit or miss but, lately it’s been all hit. My Dress Up Darling, Overlord, That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime, Murder Mittens (Reincarnated as a Sword for those of you who don’t follow me and wouldn’t understand that reference), Spy x Family, Uncle From Another World, BLEACH: Thousand-Year Blood War; All released last year, all straight up bangers in their own right. The future looks amazing, too. The previews for Sentai Daishikkaku and Mato Seihei no Slave look fantastic. Slave is actually on the same list as Cheat Skill and i actually did give it a spotlight. Long story short, sh*t real good. Feels very Nineties with the action and fan service. Looking crazy forward to how that one is received in this day and age, but i digress. How is it all of these other adaptions turned out so fantastic and the one i was looking forward to the most, is ass? Like, it’s not CG Berserk ass but, i mean, sometimes it is. Like, the scenes where you’d think the animation can really flex, I'm talking fantastic fantasy battle sequences or a straight up fist-to-fist scrap, the production values drop off a cliff!

I sh*t you not, when the protagonist travels to the fantasy world and dons his undeniably dope armor, his character model switches to CG and the quality of everything immediately drops. There is no dynamism in the way those models move so trying to actually animate them in a frantic, chaotic, bloody, clash with, say, an ogre, just doesn’t f*cking work. That sh*t should be the stuff you actually hand animate or, at the very least, render your obviously cost-cutting models better. People give UFOtable sh*t about their use of computers but i defy you to give me a better example, in modern anime, on how to blend that CG sh*t with proper animation and produce a product as clean as Demon Slayer or any of the Fate adaptions they’ve made. Bro, i know Heaven’s Fell is a film series but those production values were goddamn brilliant. That’s the type of sh*t i want out of my CG animation, not these overly stiff, action robbing, computer models every studio looking to save a penny or two, seems to default on. It’s so frustrating to seem especially coming from a studio like TMS Entertainment. They’ve been around since the goddamn Forties! You’d think they’d have enough experience in the industry not to release such frustratingly mid content! Seriously, if you’re interested, at all, in I Got a Cheat Skill in Another World and Became Unrivaled in The Real World, Too, read the manga. The anime does not do these characters, that narrative, or he entire world any justice.