#originally!!! and then UH OH someone caught feelings

[felsicveins]

Toxic troll yaoi

[vinelark]

i don’t remember if i ever shared this here, but a while ago i posted a little twitter thread about bats and gas station snacks and some very talented podficcers made a podfic of it! 🎧

[podfic] Jersey Vigilantes Don't Pump Gas by isweedan & reena_jenkins

original thread (text under the cut):

nested tweet reading: ever since i learned gotham is supposed to be in new jersey i can’t get this concept out of my head: [a badly drawn bumper sticker that says “jersey vigilantes don’t pump gas”] / quote tweet reading: the batmobile can’t just slip in and out of a gas station unnoticed. an employee HAS to go fill up the tank. meanwhile the tired night shift cashier knows the various robin eras because they come in to buy different snacks as time goes on.

one night while the manager is out filling *the literal batmobile* the cashier blinks and comes face to face with a child in a leotard and green boots, buying a pack of twizzlers. “thanks!” the first robin calls, somehow vaulting over two rows of shelves on his way out the door.

years later, after a stretch of quiet weeks, a new, curly-haired robin comes in and grabs a bag of flamin hot pepper puffs. the cashier doesn’t even think robin 2 actually likes them, but he looks really satisfied with himself every time he drops them on the counter.

(even after the second robin abruptly stops coming in, the cashier keeps slipping flamin hot pepper puffs onto their order list. no one else ever buys them, but it just—feels like the thing to do, somehow.)

a stretch of months without a robin, oddly tense. then the third robin appears, even smaller than the first two. he slips inside and buys a cup of black coffee and drains it in one go right at the coffee station, nervously eyeing the door like he’s afraid he’ll be caught.

the fourth robin, when she shows up, makes a beeline for the protein bars. finally, the cashier thinks, someone remotely sensible for this line of work. (though maybe not sensible enough—or maybe TOO sensible—because small caffeine robin is back a few months later.)

the fifth robin, when he first appears, approaches the counter. “you will direct me to the best snacks new jersey has to offer,” he tells the cashier.

“uh,” the cashier says. “i like sour patch kids, myself.”

robin 5 nods. “i will take a bag of sour patch children.”

(one night, not much later, red hood strolls through the door. the cashier has lived in gotham for over a decade now; they barely blink, even when nightwing bounds in after him.

“oh, shit, flamin hot pepper puffs,” red hood says. “i haven’t had these in ages.”

“aw, come on,” nightwing says, already holding a pack of twizzlers. “no one else can stand those.”

“why do you think i got them in the first place, dickhead?” red hood says. “to fend off new jersey’s number one snack thief.” and he buys buys every bag in stock.)

[holylulusworld]

Not alone any longer

Summary: You try to believe in your blooming friendship with Clark.

Pairing: Clark Kent x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, loner reader, introvert reader, flirty Clark, low self-esteem, fluff, Lois bashing, Lois is the worst, destruction of a car

Catch up here: Alone again - Naturally

“Clark, you came,” you gasp as Clark stands in front of your home. He’s got a bouquet of daisies in his hands, offering them to you. “I mean, you’re early.”

“We have a date,” he half-laughs. “You remember we wanted to go on a date.” Clark nervously looks at you. “Did you change your mind?”

“No!” You hastily say. “I didn’t change my mind. It’s just…uh… I didn’t know what to wear.” You drop your gaze. “It’s been a while since someone asked me out. I didn’t know where we were going and tried on so many outfits that I forgot about the time.”

Clark flashes you a soft smile. He seems almost shy when you take the flowers out of his hand, and invite him in.

While you look for a vase, Clark looks around your small apartment. It’s nice, cozy and inviting. You’ve got fluffy pillows on our couch, and lots of plushies keeping you company while you try to write.

“I read one of your articles. Uh-the one about the missing cat, and how the owner did everything to find them. It was heartwarming how you described their reunion.”

You awkwardly look down at your shoes. Embarrassed about your meaningless article, you sigh deeply. “You shouldn’t have read that crap. No one does read it.”

“I liked it very much, Y/N,” Clark softly says your name, making you feel warm. You can see the honesty in his eyes when you finally look at him. “You’ve got talent, Blossom. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.”

You shrug. “I’ll never win a Pulitzer Prize, or be as famous as Lois,” you sniffle. “She’s a star, and I’m the dirt under her shoes. Let’s be honest. Out of all the people I know, I’m the loser among them.”

“Y/N, that’s not true!”

You raise your hand and shake your head. “It’s okay, Clark. Why do you think none of my so-called friends stayed in touch?” You wipe your eyes. “Lois only invites me to rub her success and fame in my face. She didn’t even recognize that I left the party. If not for you, I’d be dead, and she wouldn’t even care. No one does.”

“I care,” Clark steps closer to grab your hand. “Not only because I saved you, Y/N. Before, during the party, you caught my eye. You looked as lost as I felt. I sometimes don’t know why I live here, among people who’ll never understand the burden of my powers and origin.”

“Oh, Clark.” You suddenly wrap your arms around him to comfort Clark. The strongest and bravest person you ever met. Running your hands up and down his back, you murmur his name. “I babble about my unimportant life and ignore that you must be struggling too. Hiding your true nature must be exhausting.”

He smiles and wraps his arms around you. Clark holds you close to his warm chest, feeling his heart beat a little faster. He hasn’t felt a connection with a person for a long time.

“It’s easier now that I got someone important in my life,” he whispers against you. Clark buries his face in your neck and sighs.

“Oh, who’s that? Did you meet someone nice?” You innocently ask, dipping your head to look up at Clark. “I hope they are nice.”

“Blossom, I meant you,” he smiles and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “You know about my secret for weeks, and didn’t try to take advantage of it.”

“Why would I? You’re a hero, and it’s an honor to know about your secret identity,” you shyly glance up at Clark. “Even though, flying still scares me.”

“I promise to fly carefully with you in my arms.” He smiles when you shy away. You didn’t think Clark wanted to see again, let alone, fly with you again. “I’ll not drop you.”

You giggle when he tells you. “What if you sneeze, and I slip out of your hands? I’ll end up as a pancake on the ground.”

Something flashes in his eyes. Not the red you saw in pictures or videos on the news. No. Worry, fear even. “I never get sick.”

“You never get sick?” You wonder aloud. “Oh, that’s good. I think. I mean, you’re from another world. Makes sense that our diseases can’t harm you.”

“Sometimes I wish that I was a normal guy, with normal problems and a normal life. No one would believe that Superman lies awake at night, dreaming of losing his powers.”

“You do?” you whimper. “I didn’t know you were lonely and sad too.” You hide your face in his chest. “But we are friends now. So, you’re not alone anymore.”

“Yeah,” he hums. “We are friends now…”

“Lois, what’s wrong?” You gasp watching your friend storm into your home. She huffs and throws her locks back while brushing past you. Lois looks around your living room, sneering as her eyes land on the daises Clark got for you.

“You know exactly what’s wrong,” she twirls around to glare at you. “Your life must be extremely shitty if you must go out with my boyfriend!”

“Your boyfriend?” You frown deeply. “I thought you’re single. And I don’t know who you are talking about.”

“Clark Kent!” She spats. “You had to date my boyfriend, didn’t you? Just you know, he only feels sorry for you. Pathetic little Y/N, always so lonely and sad, standing in the corner to lure sweet Clark in.”

“He’s not your boyfriend,” you’re getting angry. “You broke up with him over a year ago. And, when he talked to me, I didn’t even know he was your ex. What Clark and I do is none of your business. We are friends and like spending time together!”

Lois wrinkles her nose at the word friends. “Does he know you’re a frigid, emotionally disabled and whiny little bitch? I guess not.”

She raises her hand to slap your face. You flinch and prepare for the impact when something outside your window explodes. Dropping to the ground, you press your hands to your ear as Lois screams in terror. She needs a moment before running toward your balcony.

Ever the investigative journalist, she steps onto your balcony to look down at the sidewalk to see her car got destroyed. It seems like it got cut into two halves. “No, what…” She shakes her head. Lois knows there’s only one person in this world able to cut her car into two halves within the blink of his eyes. “Why would he do this?”

Superman floats high above the sky, unseen. Watching Lois yell at you, he got angry. Even more, when she raised her hand against you, he couldn’t hurt her, so he did the next best thing. Clark sent a warning to her.

“You destroyed her car,” you glance down at the people in the streets. They look like ants as you float above the city. “Why?”

“She wanted to hurt you,” Clark holds you safe in his arms as you cling to him. You’re still scared of flying around with him, but he asked you to come with him so sweetly, you couldn’t deny him. “I’m sorry for scaring you. I got so mad and… I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

“I’d smashed her car too if I had any powers,” you give him a cracked smile. “She was vile and mean without a reason. Lois only got mad because we are friends now. She is like a kid wanting her toy back after she threw it away.”

“I’m a toy?” He looks at you in his arms.

“No…that’s not…” you sigh. “I didn’t mean it that way. She’s just…”

“I know, Blossom.” Clark presses his lips to your forehead. “What she said was mean. I couldn’t let her hurt you even more.”

“She’s not wrong,” you sniff. “I’m not good with dates and such. Men usually run for the hills after one date because I get nervous and anxious easily.”

“Y/N, I like you the way you are,” he whispers. Clark dips his head to press a soft kiss on your lips—a short and sweet one to test the waters. You giggle as your cheeks heat up. “I like you a lot, Blossom.”

“I like you a lot too, Clarkie,” you smile at Clark, feeling your heart flutter. “Can you…” You giggle, “Kiss me again?”

You don’t have to ask twice. Clark kisses you again, soft and sweet, while you float about the city. You forget about Lois and the rest of the world. It’s just you and Clark, and that is enough…

Part 3 - FIN

Tags in reblog.

[tjsweetheart]

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY

pairing: peter maximoff x f!reader

tags: fluff, friends to lovers, jealousy, fan girling

summary: after begging your best friend peter to take you to the x-mansion, you finally accompany him there after some serious consideration. however, peter seems strangely eager to leave, and is oddly upset when you bond with the other mutants; more specifically scott summers. after the day ends, you confront him about his behavior, and one thing leads to another.

You had been begging your best friend, Peter, all day to take you to the X-Mansion ever since he said that he was going back. It had been what - 5 months since you had known him? Ever since he had seen you beat his high score at the arcade, you two had been inseparable. You would meet up constantly at the arcade, and it was one of the only times he’d even come out of his mom’s basement (other than to rob but wtvr). 

Peter Maximoff knew absolutely everything about you; he knew your parents, your siblings, your favorite video games, how you were deathly allergic to cucumbers, how you worshipped INXS. Even the mundane things, like how you never double-knotted your shoelaces, resulting in you constantly tripping over them. But the one most prominent attribute about you, or one that he found most prominent was that you had a cult-like obsession with the X-Men.

The wall of your room consisted of so many X-Men posters to the point that Peter couldn’t even see the original color of the wall. You had collectable figurines, plushies, comics, clothing, mugs, pins, bags, all with one central theme. X-Men.

Peter’s face was even on some of your merch, which greatly pleased him; although he couldn’t feel the same about your love for Cyclops. At first, he had wondered if you had approached him with an ulterior motive, but the more time he spent with you, the less he thought so. 

“Please, Peter! Aren’t you going back to the mansion today? It won’t hurt to bring me with you.”

Peter shrugs. 

“I mean, it won’t hurt.”

You grin. But Peter isn’t so sure. There is tons of danger at the X-Mansion. You could get hurt by one of the mutants, or you could forget about Peter and completely ditch him for Scott Summers. 

‘Is that why I don’t want her to go?’ Peter wonders. ‘I mean, it’s not like we’re dating or anything…’ Peter wishes for it to be the opposite.

“I mean, I could take you if they let me.”

Your eyes widen as you become more excited. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, totally.”

Your eyes shine and Peter’s heart softens. 

‘Maybe it won’t be that bad’ he thinks.

You and Peter stand in front of the X-Mansion, and you’re practically vibrating from excitement at this point. 

“Jesus, calm down.”

You grin. “I can’t believe this is really happening!” you whisper-shout.

The man who opens the door is none other than Professor X. He greets you and Peter with a warm smile.

“Ah, Peter and his friend.” He holds out his hand to shake, and you take it eagerly. “The name’s Charles Xavier.”

“H-hi.”

As you walk in and make yourself comfortable, introducing yourself to the other mutants, Peter thinks he might have overreacted when he was hesitant to bring you here. 

However, that thought quickly disappears.

“Oh. My. God.” you say.

‘Uh oh. That isn’t good.’ Peter thinks.

Scott Summers walks over to you. 

“Hi, -” Scott begins, unable to even start his sentence.

“You’re Scott Summers!” you yell, quickly quieting yourself. “I’m, um,” your speech is much more calm this time to avoid embarrassing yourself in front of your idol. “I’m a fan.”

Scott looks at Peter and notices him eyeing him like a menacing hawk. Well. A mad Peter Maximoff, someone who has never been mad before isn't scary at all.

“Well, hello there, fan.” Scott immediately catches onto Peter’s obvious crush on you, deciding that he’ll maybe have some fun.

“Hi,” you respond with a giggle. Peter groans, running a hand through his silver hair. This was not going well. Not well at all. Peter hadn’t yet caught on that Scott was egging him on, teasing him, as he was too distracted by the possibility of his supposed best friend being stolen away by some… some… laser eyed scoundrel! Peter cursed himself.

“Can we go now?” Peter groans in a condescending voice. You look back at him with a surprised expression on your face. You had never before heard or seen Peter talk in that way in the past five months that you had known him, ever.

“‘Peter!” you chastise.

“You really don’t need to be all over him. You’re probably annoying Scott.” He turns to Scott. “Isn’t that right?”

“Well, I rather enjoy her company.” 

Oh, come on. Peter thought he could have at least backed off from someone that was clearly his.

Scott internally laughs as Peter’s expression grows hard. 

“You don’t need to be here anymore.” Peter grumbles. He gently grabs your arm, dragging you off the property of the X-Mansion. 

“Peter, what the hell?” you say.

“What.”

“Why’re you acting all moody and shit?”

Peter frowns. Why was he doing this? Why was he so intent on keeping her away from Scott?

“I felt weird.”

You stare at him, confused.

“Huh?”

“I hated seeing you talk to him. I didn’t like it.”

“Why?” you demand. “Tell me why.”

“I don’t know, okay!”

“I think I know why.”

It was somewhat ironic that the girl Peter liked realized that he liked her before he himself found that out.

You grab his hand and squeeze it tightly.

“Don’t do that shit again. Acting all jealous. You have nothing to be jealous of.”

‘S-sure.” Peter stutters. You’re so close to him that he can feel your body heat, your warmth on his body. He wants more. He just doesn’t know it yet.

a/n: that was SHITTY ASS writing but wtvr. anyways, thank you reader!

[bearieio]

hockey!abby x f!reader note: i'm a simple person, i like abby, i like hockey..... drools sfw, 721 words

abby is the star hockey player, and newly appointed captain on the ice hockey team associated with your guys’ university

it was truly amazing how well she ended up playing in the semi-finals when you were in the lower bowl of the arena, wearing her teams’ jerseys.

during the break, after 2nd period ended, you caught her staring in your direction from the bench when you looked up from your phone.

she sat with her elbows propped up on her thighs. her cheeks were painted a rosy color and she was huffing up a storm from the previous altercation on the rink.

she sported her signature French braid and her baby hairs stuck to her glistening forehead.

when you looked back up from your phone, it seemed as though her eyes widened and the next thing you saw was her braid whip around as she seemed to turn her head the opposite way quickly.

you’d never talked to her in person before, but apparently, everyone else who attended your guys’ college was familiar with her.

from what everyone in your dorm was saying, she’s somewhat of the “playboy” type 🤨

abby was dazzled by you, to say the least.

she’d first seen you at what you guys later figured out was a mutual friend’s band gig.

the set was amazing btw.

she’d seen you from across the room dancing with your friend in the back of the basement-like location nonstop since the band had started playing.

she studied your facial expressions from the doorway she was leaning against. the way your hips swayed to the rhythm of the song. how your smile didn’t fade for the entire night and your eyebrows scrunched a little when you were really into one of the band’s songs.

before abby could make her way over to you after the set, you and the person you came with were already gone.

abby had tried asking around if anyone at the event knew you but unfortunately, no one said they did.

she was lowkey a #stalker..

the weekend after the semi-finals, the first time you’d both crossed paths, you had a psych exam at 07:30 in the morning.

abby had just been transferred to your dorm hall and was moving her things into the room diagonal to yours.

she’d grown tired of the roommates she had and decided to move into a single dorm to finish out the rest of her junior year in uni.

you were outside your door, rummaging through your bag for your keys that you could’ve sworn you through in there last night.

as soon as abby came out of her dorm, she froze. she couldn’t believe who was in front of her.

her eyes went wide as she gazed at you from her side of the hall.

be cool, abby, she thought to herself.

she couldn’t help but chuckle when she heard you curse under your breath.

“are you lookin’ for those?”

you jumped at the sudden sound of someone talking behind you.

you look back, surprised to see the hockey player leaning against her door, arms crossed, and with a sly-looking smile on her face.

she motioned toward to floor.

when your tilt her head towards where she was pointing, you saw your keys. they’d fallen by your feet while you were rushing to get to your class.

“oh! thank you!” you smiled, picking up your keys and locking your door.

“so uh.. where’re you headed? it’s pretty early,” abby asked, now stepping toward you.

“oh i have a psych exam- I HAVE A PSYCH EXAM!” you realized what you were originally rushing out of your dorm for in the first place.

looking down at your phone- 07:14 AM- it took you around 10 minutes to walk to the building in which your professor said to meet for the test.

“i’m sooo sorry, i have to go!” you quickly announced to the woman.

you were practically sprinting out the door before abby had any time to say another word!

but fret not! abby totally took a long glance at your ass before you were out the door ;)

perhaps if i feel like it, i'll make multiple parts to this cuz i really like the trope, but this piece didn't have that much to do with hockey itself :( BUT IDK YET!! lemme know guys.... 😰

[adams-angels]

Hello dear writer! Whenever you have time would you consider doing a fluff and maybe smut piece about how Adam would be on a restaurant date? I’m so curious how he would act since they didn’t have dates when he was alive a trillion billion million years ago.

And Valentine’s Day has me way up in the feels 🥹

Thank you bebe 🩵

A bit late for Valentine's day but better late than never babes 😎 this was longer than I was expecting 🫢

💖 Please send me requests! Send me your own headcanons! I will draw! I'm obsessed rn!💖

Valentines

It's been a while since Adams been on a "date" if you could even call it that. The last "date" he had was with Eve in the Garden of Eden. So... Yeah. A while might be an understatement. He also hated the day. Like many holidays. Why should SaInT vAlEnTiNe get a whole holiday after him?! Adam is the ORIGINAL dick. If anything there should be a holiday celebrated for HIM. But, whatever. You were into it. And he was into you.

He was so nervous when he asked you out for Valentine's day. He waited until last minute before finally getting the courage to ask. Ten o'clock at night he frantically knocked at your door. You hurried to answer, the panic filled your body at the knocking. It was desperate, like someone needed help. When you opened the door and saw a panting Adam you were confused. Was he hurt? Before you could say anything he put his hand up to your face signaling you to not speak as he caught his breath. It was odd why he was out of breath. He flies everywhere. Did he run? "Be- huff- will you- jesus, fuck- pant-" his hand were on his knees as he choked on his breath. "Ada-" hand in your face. Rude. He straightened himself out, at least as much as he could in the small apartment hallway. The apartment was made for smaller Winners not 8 foot Giants like Adam. "Be my Valentine?" He panted out. Of course you said yes! What can you say? You've been crushing on him for, like, ever! You never picked up that he likes you back. Even though he was never subtle. "Cool- pant- text you the deetz." He shot you some finger guns before leaving.

So now it's Valentine's day! 💘 Cupid's shot his arrow and hit you. You're feeling fun, flirty, and feisty. You put on your cutest outfit and checked yourself in the mirror. Is cute what you're going for? It's your first date. But it is Valentine's day. You don't wanna be prudish. You change into something a bit more revealing and again checked yourself. This might be a bit too sexy.. slutty even! You don't want to give the impression that you put out of the first day! Even if you do. No. This needs to be perfect. You think to yourself... "I bet Adam isn't having this much trouble."

You weren't wrong. Adam was much more relaxed. Too relaxed. Why would he be nervous? He's the man. In fact he was out right now looking at new guitars. When he left the store he saw Valentine, surrounded by his Cupid's. "Augh." Adam grunted, not wanting to interact with the Saint. "Adam!" Shit. "A little birdy told me you've got a Valentine's this year. It's been what? Centuries?" Valentine laughed. Adam rolled his eyes, then glared at him. "Yeah? So what? I figured it's a good way to get free pussy." Adam shrugged as a cocky grin formed on his face. The Cupid angels surrounding Saint Valentine cringed. "Oh, Adam. Come now! This is a holiday of love and romance. Not cheap pickups!" The man placed a hand on Adam shoulder which he immediately shrugged off. "So, are you going anywhere special? Have you bought the lucky angel flowers? Chocolates? A gift of adoration?" "Uh.. what?" "You haven't bought them anything have you?" The man laughed, putting his hand on Adams shoulder again pulling Adam closer. "Good luck getting fucked, playboy." He hissed with a wicked smirk. Valentine released Adams shoulder laughing. "Happy Valentine's days!" He said before flying away with his cupids. "Motherfucker!" Adam's flew off to the nearest store to get you some flowers.

When he arrived the flower section was bare. Maybe one half dead rose. "What the hell?" He flew all over the store looking for anything Valentines related. "No, no, no!" He stopped in one of the aisles before finding worker. "Hey! Where the fuck is the stuff?" "S-stuff, sir?" Adam gestures around the store. "You know! The fucking Valentines shit! Where is it?!" The poor retail worker fretted telling him there was nothing left. "V-valentines day is o-one of the most popular days of the year sir... There's nothing left.." "NOTHING LEFT?!?!" Adam yelled. His voice booming around the store causing shelfs to shake knocking almost everything off. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN NOTHING LEFT?! I NEED SOMETHING FOR TONIGHT!!!" "I - I'm sorry, sir!" The poor angels voice shuddered. Adam groaned, balling his hands into fists. He was about to leave before he noticed a bottle of soda that hadn't fallen. He pushed it off the shelf for good measure before storming out of the store.

He wasn't going to spend all day looking for shit of this shitty holiday. He hated it. This was dumb! He's gift enough. Still, he takes his phone and texts Lute

"URGENT! flowers! Plz get 4 me thx dngrtits"

That'll do. He heads home to get ready for your date.

～⁠♡✧⁠｡ I really hope you enjoyed! I'm not a writer by any means but I appreciate any support I receive so thank you for reading! ｡✧⁠♡～⁠

The time comes and Adam is waiting outside of your apartment building, he's not walking up all those stairs again. He was feeling cool. Calm. Collected. Until he saw you. His hands started getting clammy, his heat racing. You look so pretty. You of course found the prefect in-between of cute and sexy for your outfit. "Heeey, you could of made an effort." He joked. You frowned. You thought you did well. He clears his throat. "Let's go." He wiped his hands on his robe before taking flight with you following after.

You both arrived at the restaurant. Neither of you stop on the way. It was awkward. He walked in first, he didn't hold the door open for you. Rude. Once inside you noticed the restaurant was jam packed. Adam also noticed this and froze. "Good thing you booked, right?" You said, playfully, hoping to break some tension. "Uh... Yeah... Wait here, surgartits." He walked over to the host. "I need a table for two." The host scoffed. "Yeah, sure. We've got one available tomorrow." Adam was fuming. This was all going wrong. This can't go wrong. "Do you fucking know who I am?!" He raised his voice. "I'm fucking ADAM! I'm the fucking man! And I want a damn table!" You walk over. "Adam?" "What, bitch!? Fuck! Can't you see I'm busy?! I'm getting us a table!" He yelled at you. No. Nope. You're too good to be yelled at. This was meant to be fun. Fuck this. You put your hands in the air. "Nope. I'm out." You turn on your heels and exit the restaurant. "Wait- no, y/n." He looks as you exit then back at the host. "I'll ruin your fucking life, cunt." He hissed before flying out of the restaurant.

He looks around and you were no where to be seen. "Fast fucker. AUGH!!!" He stomped his foot covering his face with his hands. If he wasn't wearing his mask he'd be pulling his hair.

You got yourself home. Fucking shit day. Dumb idea. You don't even know why he asked you. The whole thing was dumb. Everything about it was dumb. You collapse onto the couch, sulking. It doesn't take long before there's a knock at the door. Adam you suspect. You roll your eyes before peeling yourself off the couch. Opening the door you see Lute. Huh. "Uh.. hi?" "Adam requests your presents. Put on this blind fold." She hands you a blindfold. "What?" She didn't repeat herself. She never does. You groan, knowing she won't leave until you do it so whatever. You put the blindfold on and lute takes your wrist and flies off with you ragdolling.

Once your feet touch the ground she lets go of your wrist. Leaving you there blindfolded. "Uh.. you can take that off now." You do, to see a candle lit picnic layed out. It was adorable, there were fairy lights on the trees. Adam stood there, awkwardly, with a bunch of your favourite flowers. How did he know? Lute. "Uh. Surprise.." he handed you the flowers. "Sorry, about the restaurant. Fucking idiots double booked or something.. I don't know." He shrugged. You know it wasn't true. He didn't book, you know that. But you smiled. "Thank you, Adam. This is much nicer." He smiled and stretched. "Well, what can I say? I know what I'm doing."

You sat on the blanket, Adam did also and popped open a bottle of champagne. "I got the good stuff." You smile at the gesture although you always thought champagne tasted disgusting. He got all the good stuff, strawberries and chocolates. Cheese board. Cute little cakes. "This is all very well thought out. How did you get this so quickly?" You asked. He shrugged with a smirk. "I'm just that good, babe." Lute. This was more his style anyway. Outside, under the stars. It reminded him of the Garden.

"so, this was fun." He rubbed the palm of his hands on his knees. "I'd much rather not do this Valentine's bullshit though. Maybe next time we can just... Do it whenever?" "I'd like that. Although, this Valentine's day has turned out pretty perfect." You smile. "Well. I am perfect so." He smirks at you. You don't want to stroke his ego anymore than you already have. You roll your eyes before quickly giving him a peck on the lips. "you're alright, I suppose." You took his sweaty hand in yours and led down, he followed. You both watched the stars in silence. He'd gently squeeze your hand every now and then, you'd squeeze back.

"Happy valentine's, Y/N."

"Happy valentine's, Adam."

[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

[thesassypadawan]

Feel The Force (Hayden x FemReader)

Summary: It’s May the Fourth and what better way to spend it than with your big dork of a boyfriend, the dark lord himself, Hayden! Even though you two aren’t able to see each other all that much during the day…you still manage to squeeze in some quality time to ‘feel the force’.

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there sooo much of the smut. Bad puns, public sex, up against the wall, and, as always… Hayden’s big, fat dick.

Notes: May The Fourth Be With You! 🖤❤️

- It was May the Fourth, one of your absolute favorite holidays!

- What better way to celebrate it than at a con. Rocking your FemObi cosplay. Surrounded by fellow nerds, who are just as passionate about the franchise as you are. And, of course, with your big dork of a boyfriend, the original moody teen from Tatooine, Hayden.

- Despite not being able to see each other all that much during the event. You two still manage to squeeze in some quality time here and there. Which typically involves Hay showing how ‘wizard’ he thinks the most recent addition to your costume is. A pair of black booty shorts with ‘I Only Date Sith Lords’ printed perfectly across one of your cheeks.

- As the day goes on though, your ‘negotiation talks’ become more and more ‘aggressive’. And, soon enough, he’s dragging you off to a somewhat deserted hallway in the con center. Begging you to let him show you his ‘lightsaber skills’.

- “Hay, we’re going to get caught,” you giggle. Shrugging off your cloak and handing it to him, just like he asked.

- Quickly he pulls it on, flashing you one of those damn smiles. “Guess you’ll have to find a way to muffle all those cute sounds of yours. Think you manage that?”

- Biting your bottom lip, you nod excitedly. Tugging impatiently at the cloak, wrapping it around you both.

- “That’s, my good little padawan,” he chuckles. Backing you against the wall, shrugging down a bit to capture your lips in a searing kiss. Big hands resting on your hips; squeezing and kneading them gently.

- Moaning softly, your fingers get to work. Frantically unbuttoning and unzipping, pushing his jeans just far enough to free his rock-hard cock. “Someone’s eager for the fun to begin.”

- “Can’t help it,” he groans. Yanking at and helping you slip out of those wonderful shorts. That are hurriedly stuffed into his hoodie pocket, most likely not to be returned until the end of con. “Want more.”

- “Ah uh, you know you shouldn’t,” you tease. Leg hiking up onto his hip, the other balancing precariously on your tiptoes. While your hand fumbles to shift your panties off to the side.

- Still having to crouch a bit, Hayden lines himself up. Fat head prodding at your soaked entrance, he growls low in your ear. “Oh well, I was never the jedi I should be.” Before thrusting forward, burying himself inside your tight pussy.

- You press your face in his neck, trying to cover up your sobs from feeling that familiar burning ache. Teeth nipping at his shoulder as he starts pounding up into you, splitting you open so deliciously.

- For as much of a hot mess as you’re becoming, he’s fairing no better. Panting above you with every pump of his impressive length, hand firmly gripping your thigh. “W-when I’m around you…m-my mind is no longer my own. It’s al-always a muddle…can only t-think of you.”

- Those words, coupled with his long fingers desperately circling your clit; aid in speeding your release along. Making you clench hard around him, head tipping back while you mewl out loudly. “Kriff! Gonna…gonna…”

- Bending, he leans his forehead against yours. His blue eyes blown wide with lust; lips curled in a smirk. “You grow too aggressive. Be mindful.”

- Picking up his pace, hitting that sweet spot over and over. You barely manage to gasp out, “I…I lo-love you,” before the pleasure overtakes you. Tears stinging at the corners of your eyes, whole body clamping down on him. While you completely and totally go crashing over the edge.

- “I know,” he grunts. Bucking into you one last time, reaching his peak too. Filling you with rope after rope of hot, sticky cum.

- Mouths melding to stifle the noise coming from both of you. Bodies trembling against one another, riding out your aftershocks together. Utterly oblivious to the slow, steady stream of con attendees filtering out of the nearby panel room.

- It isn’t until you pull your head back that you notice how packed the hallway has become. Letting out a small squeak of surprise, you tense up. Walls giving an involuntary flutter, fists scrambling to pull the cloak around you two tighter. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

- Hayden on the other hand… Realizing your predicament, a smug look crosses his face. Cock twitching in interest, hardening again. Hips start to rock as he leans in more, muttering. “Relax. Just feel the force overflowing inside of you…trickling down your leg, onto the floor.”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @wifeofasith, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen

[joemama-2]

A Series Of Awkward Events: The Grocery Store Encounter

You can feel it, really feel it. I mean, who wouldn’t feel the lingering gaze of the very attractive, teenaged boy standing right next to you in the, suddenly empty, aisle. You’ve been coming to the grocery store every Saturday at exactly 9:30 in the morning, making it a routine. This was mainly because if you came later, you’d be caught up in the rush of families who also decided now would be a good time to stock up on groceries. You couldn’t come earlier because…well you just couldn’t wake up earlier.

You’ve been seeing him for about three weeks now. Every week, he’s in the same aisle as you, looking at the brands of cereal while your eyes gloss over the brands of oatmeal. You didn’t notice it the first time, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize someone is staring at you. And in all honesty, he doesn’t seem like he’s trying to subtle about it either.

Either way, it’s not like you would go out of your way to spark up a conversation first. You’ve lived a very sheltered life, from being homeschooled til earlier this year to having very strict parents, it’s safe to say your social skills are…not up to par. Finally, you decide you’ve had enough of the glances. Your hand reaches out to hurriedly grab a random oatmeal, one you’ve never had before, just to get out of the aisle. However, just as you’re about to turn and leave, his voice cuts through the air.

“That one’s not good, had it before and wouldn’t recommend.”

You stop and slowly turn around to face the boy. He’s grinning now and is it bad to say he has a pretty smile? You shoot a quick look down at the oatmeal in your hands before back at him. Your lips part but the words don’t come out. Damn it. Just staring awkwardly at him with your mouth opening and closing, you just wish the world would swallow you whole. But then, by the grace of whoever’s watching, something comes out.

“Oh.”

Is that really all you can say? A few seconds of silence pass before the boy lets out a small chuckle and damn, it’s almost prettier than his smile. “It tastes bland, almost like cardboard.”

Still, it’s hard to find the right words. He raises an eyebrow at your lack of responses, only then do you realize that you’ve just been shamelessly staring at him. Your hands grip the oatmeal tighter, either for comfort, or a way to silently curse yourself for acting so stupid in front of a boy. A cute one….a really, really cute one. “Oh, that’s—uh—unfortunate.”

He laughs again and you already grow addicted to it. “Want my suggestion?” You hesitate, before nodding. Taking a small, stiff step closer to the boy, you look back at the variety of oatmeal, watching as he points to a specific one. “This one is my favorite, it’s sweet, but not too sweet. Sweet enough to still qualify as a breakfast. Or a snack.”

You reach forward to grab the said box, examining it. With another nod, you put the old, now dented box of oatmeal you first grabbed back in its original place. “Thank you, I’ll…I’ll be sure to enjoy this.” You say with a nod, eyes not even fully looking at his. How could they when they’re the most beautiful pair of blues you’ve ever seen?

Then, of course, another silence, as if he’s expecting you to say something else. Why would he? Can’t he already tell you’re awkward? Can’t he read the room? Your body language? Apparently not. “Gojo Satoru.” He says. Oh, he’s introducing himself. That means he must want to know your name too, right?

“Y/N.” You say timidly, holding your hand out for a shake. Man, this is way too formal of a greeting for grocery store. That same grin makes its way to his face, soon clasping his hand with yours. God, you really hope he doesn’t feel your hand sweating. Or the slight trembling of it. That would be completely embarr—

“Your hand’s wet.”

You freeze, a big wave of embarrassment and shame flooding you. Just as quickly as he said that, you’re retracting. “Sorry, I just washed them.” A blatant lie, but who cares? You’re honestly just trying to get out of this situation now. Yeah, he’s cute, but you’d much rather save your confidence, at least whatever you have left of it, for something you’re more prepared for.

For the first (?) time, you meet his eyes. With a small gulp, you decide now is the chance to run away. “Um, thank you for the oatmeal. It was nice meeting you. Good day.” You take off like you’re on a mission, not even daring to look back. Your face scrunches up and you cringe hard at what just happened. ‘Good day’? What are you, a fifty-year-old man who just saw his colleague for the first time in five years?

It takes a while for you to finish up shopping, considering you’re checking every aisle before you walk into it to ensure that the boy, Gojo Satoru, isn’t in it. Running into him again seemed inevitable, but you made sure that it was possible. It’s almost like a breath of fresh air when you walk out, bags in hand, making your way down the familiar route to your house. It’s a nice day out, very sunny and clouds just clouding.

But of course, things never seem to go your way, do they? Because with one more step, one more snap of the stupid paper bags you were given, one of the bags in your right hand just completely rips. Fruits go rolling down the pavement, bread falling to the puddle of water below your feet, and your dignity washing away down the sewers. Your eyes widen, freezing in place. Lips part as a small, almost unbelievable breath leaves your mouth. It’s a sad scene, really.

So very slowly, embarrassingly, you kneel down to grab your fallen groceries, to stuff into the other two bags that haven't miraculously ripped. It takes a while for a task so small, considering you're holding back tears. You spot the last apple a few feet away and begrudgingly crawl to get it. But a hand beats you to it.

You look up, confused and slightly shocked, but see the boy you just worked very hard on avoiding. Oh Jesus Christ, just how much worse could this day get? "Missing something?"

The hand that was about to grab your apple freezes in mid-air as you contemplate your next move. You nod curtly and he holds it out to you. Your fingertips brush against each other and you can't help the stupid flutter in your stomach. Swiftly, you put the apple in your pocket, having run out of space in your other bags, and stand up. He watches this whole ordeal, even attempting to offer you help, but you don't take it.

You find yourself in another awkward position, but luckily you find your voice sooner. "Thank you."

He smiles, letting out a huff of a chuckle through his nostrils. "No problem, what kind of guy would I be if I didn't help you?" Is that a rhetorical question? You're not sure. He looks down at the bags. "You gonna be alright with those?"

"I will." You say a little too quickly.

While he nods, you look down at his hands. Only then do you realize he's not even carrying anything. He probably sensed your confusion, so he follows up. "Couldn't find anything."

It's a shitty excuse but do you really care enough to question him. So you nod again, lips forming a small line. "Okay..."

"Okay."

You two stare at each other for another few seconds before you turn to leave again, but he stops you. "Are you new to the area?"

Now you don't know what's worse, your classmates being shocked by your existence even though you have been with them for months now, knowing somebody else's name but then not knowing yours, or being questioned about your residency simply because you rarely go out and oh, you have no friends.

You swallow down the lump in your throat and turn your head over your shoulder. "No."

"Oh, really? I've just never seen you around before." That's another knife to the chest. "I know most of the people in this neighborhood, that's why. Usually, when I see a new face, it means they've just moved here."

"I'm not new." You say, now turning your body fully around to face him. "I just like staying inside."

His eyebrows raise, as if shocked. What's so shocking? Was he so popular that the concept of a homebody was beyond him? Well, not like you were being a homebody by choice, it's just something you've grown accustomed to. Something that's now hard to break out of.

"Well, I like staying inside too," He concedes, "But I also like meeting new people. Especially the cute, quiet ones in grocery stores." You hate how your cheeks instantly heat up, nerves taking over. He notices this, taking just the smallest step forward.

"I...didn't run away." You feel the need to justify yourself. "I just need to go home soon."

"Ah, right. Home." He says with a small laugh. "How far is that from here?"

"Why would I tell you that?"

"Just asking."

"We're strangers."

"Well, we could be friends."

Your eyes slightly widen. Friends? Someone actually wanted to be friends with you for once? For a second, you think it's a joke, one that's set up by his friends. You've had way too many experiences like that. Looking around, you conclude that he is in fact all alone. Hesitance settles within you. "Why?"

He huffs. "You're asking why I want to be friends with you?" His question makes you feel dumb.

"Yes, I am." You say, brows furrowing together. "You could be playing a trick on me for all I know."

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know, but I'm just making sure."

He gauges your reactions to see if you're being serious or not. Once he sees that you are, he sighs. "You seem like a nice person, I like nice people. So, why wouldn't I want to be friends with you?"

You mull over his words for a good minute, having an internal battle with yourself. Is he trustworthy? Does he actually mean what he says? How do you know he won't pretend to now know you next time he sees you? All sorts of questions run rampant in your mind and he can tell, easily. "I'm serious, I wanna friends with you."

You inhale deeply, scrutinizing him before finally saying, "Okay."

He lets out a sigh of relief. "Phew, that was harder than usual. You know, most people agree quite quickly. But you didn't so it makes me even more curious about you."

"Even more?" "Mhm." He steps closer. "I was also curious about your number, but you ran before I could ask."

Damn him, you already said you didn't run away. But at the mention of a number, you can't help but look away. This confuses him. "I....um....I don't have a number." You murmur.

Now his head tilts, convinced you're just making up a lie so you couldn't give him it, which would be understandable. "You don't have one?" You shake your head. "What do you mean you don't have a number?"

Oh god, he's gonna make fun of you, isn't he? "I don't have a phone."

His lips part, letting out a small "oh" and nod in understanding. "So like, you're one of those people who their parents have a tight leash on."

This makes your eyes narrow. Although you want to argue that no, you have a lot of freedom, a part of you agrees. You keep your eyes turned away from him. "Please don't say that."

He runs a hand through his hair. "Sorry, I'm just honest. I mean, what, you're like a teenager and you don't have a phone? Everyone needs a phone now, everyone has one."

"Well, I don't." You quip back, now glaring at him. "I don't have one, you can stop pestering me about it now.

"I'm not pestering, just shocked." You hold back an eyeroll. "So what do you have then?"

"I have a computer, I use it for school." You let out a slow sigh, biting on your lip. "I could...give you my email."

He stares at you for a moment. "You want me to...email you?" When you don't respond, he barks out a burst of laughter. "Email? Email you? Instead of text? Or even call? Wow, that's--"

"You either take it or you don't." You cut him off, a newfound sense of bravery in you. "I don't need a friend who will make fun of me."

This gets him to stop almost immediately. His head tilts as he stares, a sympathetic expression on his face. "My bad, I wasn't trying to." You say nothing in response, an almost defiant look on his face. One that makes him feel like laughing because you just look so adorable right now. With a deep breath, he smiles that sweet smile again, and with a jut of his chin, he replies. "What's your email?"

----------

bonus:

You check your email that night to one from 'thestrongest69'.

"Same time next week? ^.^"

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Chapter 1 Part 1 Preview

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies. Not a full translation.

Spoilers ahead.

Nobunaga: "Whoever controls this madness will determine the future of the world."

His deep, resonant voice echoed through the hall, plunging it into silence.

(The Oda army is strong. Nobunaga and his men will be fine, but...)

The thought of the blank guidebook flashed through my mind.

(As Nobunaga said, the future will greatly change depending on who brings order to this chaos.)

(I hope the world becomes peaceful, but what if it doesn't?)

I clenched my fingertips tightly when suddenly—

Fwoosh!

(What the!?)

Someone slashed the sliding door.

Hideyoshi: "An enemy attack!?"

Everyone except Nobunaga swiftly reached for their sword, ready to defend themselves.

From beyond the fallen door, a figure slowly appeared.

Kenshin: "I'm here to pick up my woman."

(Kenshin!?)

His hair swayed as he gracefully stepped into the hall.

Mitsunari: "Lord Kenshin."

Nobunaga: "Oh? You're earlier than I expected."

Ieyasu: "Far too early. Mai, did you really send that letter last night?"

Mai: "Y-Yeah. I did."

(It shouldn't have even reached Kasugayama Castle, and yet...)

I whispered to Ieyasu, and Kenshin's mismatched eyes caught mine.

Kenshin: "There you are, Mai."

Mai: "Why are you here? Ah!"

He pulled me close, leaving no space between our bodies.

Mai: "Kenshin!"

Kenshin: "I'm glad you're okay. When I heard you were going to Azuchi, I felt my heart drop."

Kenshin: "If anything had happened to you, I would've destroyed not just the tenshu but the entire castle."

Mai: "What?!"

Hideyoshi: "You've already destroyed the door, though."

Keiji: "Yeah, split right in two."

(That's true.)

Kenshin: "Mai, are you listening to me?"

Mai: "Y-Yes!"

Ieyasu: "Yeah, he's ignoring us."

Wrapped in his warmth, his sharp eyes focused solely on me.

Kenshin: "You have a duty to stay safe for my sake, and you've done well in fulfilling that."

Kenshin: "I'll give you a proper reward later."

(Ngh.)

His sweet voice tickled my ear, and my heartbeat skipped uncontrollably.

Mai: "T-Thanks. But please don't whisper in my ear!"

Kenshin: "I refuse. I'll love you in any way I wish."

(Crap, what do I do?)

(Even though his entrance was so over-the-top, I can't help but feel happy to see him.)

Kenshin, whom I had longed to see ever since leaving Kasugayama Castle, was right in front of me. The fact that he wanted me so desperately made my heart flutter.

(Still, it's super embarrassing with everyone watching.)

I tried to look over my shoulder as I felt the stares from those around us, but...

Kenshin: "Hey. What are you looking away for?"

Mai: "Eeek!"

His lips brushed against my ear, and a startled sound escaped from my lips.

Kenshin: "You only need to look at me."

(Kenshin.)

I looked at him as he commanded, and his gentle gaze fell on me.

(Nnn.)

His long fingers traced my lips, making my heartbeat even louder.

Kenshin: "You look so beautiful. It makes me want you even more."

Mai: "W-Wait!"

I frantically pushed against his chest as his face drew so close that our eyelashes brushed against each other.

(Uh, he's not budging at all.)

I desperately tried to apply more strength, making him frown.

Kenshin: "Are you telling me to wait after I felt like I had been waiting for you for a thousand years?"

Kenshin: "You're being cruel."

(Stop looking at me like that.)

Mai: "Um, I feel the same way! I've felt like it's been a thousand years since I last saw you."

Kenshin: "Oh, so you wanted me that badly?"

Kenshin: "Then there's no problem in wanting you."

Mai: "P-Please, just wait a moment!"

(I can't take this anymore! The gazes around us are too much!)

Exchanging a passionate embrace with their former enemy in the halls of Azuchi Castle in front of Nobunaga and his generals is unprecedented.

But Masamune and Keiji are not bothered by this, as they look at us amused.

Masamune: "What happened to the serious atmosphere we had just a moment ago?"

Keiji: "I don't really get what's happening, but this is definitely hot. Should we just tease them for now?"

(These two have no intention of stopping us.)

Mitsunari: "Then I'll fetch some water from the well."

Ieyasu: "How about some colder spring water from the mountains?"

Mitsunari: "Got it! I'll make a quick trip, so please wait a moment."

Ieyasu: "Hey, don’t take that seriously. What good will that even do?"

(Mitsunari's innocence and Ieyasu's sarcasm haven't changed at all.)

Hideyoshi: "Lord Nobunaga, shall we apprehend this intruder?"

Mitsuhide: "You want to break the alliance already? I'd prefer not to, but if you say so, I guess I have no choice."

(These two are saying something ominous!)

Mai: "Um, guys, please calm down!"

In my flustered attempt to stop them, I caught Nobunaga's gaze.

Nobunaga: "….…..."

(I wonder what Nobunaga will say.)

Resting one elbow on the armrest, Nobunaga leisurely narrowed his eyes.

Nobunaga: "Everyone, leave it be. That man's obsession with Mai didn't start today."

Nobunaga: "If Mai frowns at Kenshin even a little, you can kick him out, but she's smiling so broadly that she's practically melting."

Mai: "W-Wait, melting?!"

Everyone: "Indeed."

(They all agreed so easily!)

Kenshin: "You understand well."

Even though Nobunaga called it an "obsession," Kenshin seemed satisfied.

(Am I really that happy after meeting him again after so long?)

(If so, Kenshin is amazing.)

Before I realized it, the dark and heavy anxiety that had been weighing on me since I learned about the attack on Azuchi Castle had completely lifted.

(Kenshin changed the whole atmosphere.)

Kenshin: "Your complexion looks much better now."

Mai: "Huh?"

Kenshin: "A pained expression doesn't suit you."

(He really sees right through me.)

His genuine concern for me made my chest feel warm and full.

(But that aside, what do I do? He's still holding me so tightly!)

Hideyoshi: "Hey, how long are you planning to just stand there? You're in front of Lord Nobunaga, you know."

Hideyoshi: "Mai, you're a good girl, so sit down already."

Mai: "Sorry. Hey, Kenshin, let's sit down."

Kenshin: "These people are so disrespectful. Fine, you can sit on my lap."

Mai: "That's a bit much."

Kenshin: "Would you prefer to sit sideways on my lap, then?"

Mai: "It's not about how I sit. Um, can you let me go for a second?"

Mai: "I mean, wouldn't it be heavy if I sat on your lap?"

Kenshin: "Not at all. You're as light as a feather."

(That was a quick response!)

As our endless back-and-forth continued, Ieyasu exaggeratedly shrugged his shoulders.

Ieyasu: "Hey, how long will this go on?"

Keiji: "It'll last till sundown."

Mai: "Look, Kenshin, everyone is waiting for us."

Kenshin: ".........."

(Uh-oh.)

His eyes locked onto me without even blinking.

(I guess I have no choice.)

Mai: "Please save things like this for when we're alone."

Kenshin: "........."

Mai: "Thank you for coming to see me. I promise to do anything to repay you later!"

Feeling the heat spread across my cheeks, I averted my gaze.

Kenshin: "Fine. Don't forget those words."

A sharp, captivating smile appeared on his lips.

Masamune: "Oh, looks like he backed down."

Mitsuhide: "Kenshin has a real knack for getting Mai to say "I'll do anything" with just a little silent pressure."

Kenshin: "When it comes to loving Mai, I'll use any means necessary."

(Was that his plan all along!?)

Hideyoshi: "At least pick the right place. Do it in Echigo."

Mitsunari: "Still, it's strange."

(Huh?)

Beside a disgruntled-looking Hideyoshi, Mitsunari spoke as if pondering something.

Mitsunari: "Lord Kenshin's arrival was faster than I imagined."

Mitsunari: "What kind of trick made it possible?"

(Oh, I was wondering about that too.)

(I only sent the letter saying I was heading to Azuchi Castle last night, so how is Kenshin already here?)

As everyone's gaze turned toward him, Kenshin lowered his voice.

Kenshin: "I watched the Tenshu go up in flames the night Azuchi Castle was attacked."

(What?!)

[sosa2imagines]

Ooo I just thought about this idea!!

Can I please request a Nick Fowler x fem!civilian reader where she’s at the wrong place at the wrong time and witnesses a crime that him and his men are committing and they take her hostage and originally plan to get rid of her because she’s seen too much and honestly his men are completely ready to follow through (they’re the ones who found her), but in her fear/nervousness she can’t help the sarcastic jokes and rambling that keep flying out of her mouth, to the point where honestly Nick is so amused by her and thinks she’s hilarious, and the two of them have clear chemistry and flirtation that neither can deny, so he decides to spare her and instead offer a deal (similar to the one he gave Mace, just without the spy stuff), asking her to join him and be with him (and unlike Mace, she happily agrees) *Cue Nick spoiling Y/n, giving her a life of luxury,and them falling In love🤧*

Sorry this took time, but I do hope it was worth the wait and you like it. Warning- Goons, metion of a body(nothing graphic or in details), fluff.

It had been a long day at work for you, and all you wanted was a night of comfort and relaxation. You picked up a bottle of water and a snack from a convenience store, and put on your earbuds, tuning out the world around you as you made your way to the registers to pay.

As you were leaving, you glanced down the alleyway towards the nearest exit.

The sound of someone grunting and moaning caught your attention. You hadn’t expected to step out into an alleyway crime scene. If only you had turned on your ear buds, you could have totally ignored this. But no!

So here you are.

The warehouse was dimly lit, and you could faintly hear the hum of the streetlights outside. The air was filled with the stench of gas and something else that smelled far worse. You had taken a step when you noticed five men, heavily armed and dressed in dark clothes. Their expressions were cold and devoid of any hint of mercy, and one of the men was dragging an unconscious body towards a black SUV.

You didn’t mean to gasp, but you did. And that was all it took.

A rough hand clamped over your mouth, stifling any scream that was trying to escape your lips. Before you could make a sound, a man with cold, lethal eyes and a face that looked like a skull of bones pushed you up against a hard wall. You found yourself staring at him.

“What do we do with her?” One of the men hissed out.

“She saw too much!” another man growled.

The rational part of your brain was telling you to stay silent, but the fear you were feeling sent your mouth to speak out of instinct.

“Oh great,” you blurted out, the sarcastic words spewing from your lips like a torrent. “Yeah, totally fine. You guys go ahead. I'll just, you know, erase this from my memory using tazer... Pjust zap me…maybe? oh wait, you don't have that, do you? Fantastic!”

Silence.

“Great, I’m going to die! They are not even good looking.” You thought to yourself.

The men looked at each other, a few seemed ready to shoot you to shut you up, while one man was rummaging around in his jacket to pull out his weapon. A voice cut through the tense atmosphere like a knife. It was deep, smooth, and held a hint of amusement.

“Hold on.”

Nick Fowler.

You knew nothing about Nick, just whispers, rumors. Everyone knew he was a dangerous man, someone to be avoided. His reputation was enough to make even the most hardened criminals shiver.

And yet, as he stood there, head tilted slightly, he couldn't help but find amusement in your situation. He seemed almost entertained by the fact that you had seen him in such an exposed position.

“He’s hot!” You thought.

“What’s your name?” Nick asked.

“Uh…” Your brain short-circuited. “Y/n.”

Nick’s smirk turned into a low chuckle. “Cute.” He turned to his men. “Let her go.”

“What?” The one holding you looked confused. “Boss, she saw everything.”

Nick's dark eyes studied you closely, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he gave a slight shrug, as if he had just reached a conclusion. “Yeah, you heard right,” he replied, his voice low and smooth. “She’s definitely the most entertaining thing I have come across all week.”

You couldn't help but speak up, a small smirk on your face. “Damn, man,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “You really need to get out more.”

Nick chuckled with a low, rumbling sound deep in his chest. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Sweetheart,” he began, “tell me, what would you do if presented with a choice?”

You replied, your voice laced with a hint of curiosity. “A choice?”

His eyes narrowed as he continued. “You could disappear, vanish into thin air, never to be seen again... or you can choose an alternative.” His voice was laced with a dangerous tone as he issued the last option. “Be. Mine.”

You swallowed hard. The smart thing to do would be to run, to never look back. But the way he was looking at you, like you were something new, something he wanted, sent a thrill through you.

And really, what did you have to go back to?

You smiled, “Well, since you put it like that…”

“What could possibly go wrong? He’ll get bored of me and let me go…” You thought again.

Oh how wrong you were.

Nick Fowler was an enigma in more ways than one. One moment you were barely managing to pay rent, and the next, you found yourself draped in the silks of the wealthiest and wearing the most luxurious of clothes, sipping champagne with an impressive view outside the penthouse suite. You had everything a person could wish for...

Nick spoiled you like a king would spoil his favorite concubine. He showered you with gifts, made sure you wanted for nothing.

Nick was an intriguing man, and he quickly learned that you weren't one who could be bought off. The luxurious lifestyle, the opulent gifts, the lavish cars, none of it had the power to win you over, and he was determined to figure out what did.

He was clever, charismatic, and observant, and soon he discovered that it wasn't the gifts or material items that were drawing you to him.

You couldn't deny it, deep down. You had grown fond of Nick, and he wasn't the type of man you thought suited you. He listened intently, remembered details that other people would overlook, and challenged you, but never tried to control you.

The longer you spent time with him, the harder it became to resist the growing feelings of affection. His charisma and charm were only intensified further by his actions. It had taken time, and you had fallen for him despite your initial reservations.

And how had Nick Fowler, fallen for you?

You pushed his buttons without hesitation. Where even his loyal men, would not question him, you did it like he's your childhood friend. From questions about his life to his life choices. From his profession to personal life. You even did a little dance in secret when he said he's single. You even questioned him about his weapons.

Where Nick was more of a less speaker, you were a complete chatter box. And that stole his heart.

He was dangerous, sure, but with you, he was different. Protective. Teasing. Almost soft in a way you doubted anyone else ever got to see. And the chemistry between you? Electric. He challenged you, you challenged him, and somehow, in the chaos of it all, you fit.

“Regrets?” he asked one night, pulling you onto his lap as you lounged by the fireplace.

You smirked, twirling the expensive ring he’d slid onto your finger a few days ago. “Only that I didn’t say yes sooner.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Good girl.”

And just like that, you realized you were exactly where you were meant to be.

With him.

Taglist- @imyourbratzdoll @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

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@pattiemac1 @lovely-geek @hzdhrtss @kpopgirlbtssvt

[so-much-for-stardust6]

Bathroom Rendezvous- Damon Albarn

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summary: your friends drag you out to a club and a certain brit caught your eyes.

lowercase intended

warnings: smut

a/n: was kinda inspired by the song ‘bathroom’ by montell fish :)

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the stench of sweat and alcohol hit me as soon as i walked inside the club. my friends forced me out of my apartment to ‘get out there’. they dragged me towards the bar, wasting no time to get drunk. i hesitantly did shots with them, not really in the mood to get black out drunk. i was tipsy when they decided to move onto the dance floor. i stuck with one of my friends as the other ones went to find someone to dance with. we danced crazily to whatever song was playing, laughing at our antics. the second i closed my eyes, she got dragged away by some guy. once i opened them, i was alone on the dance floor. i stopped dancing as a small frown appeared on my face. i took that as my cue to go sit down and wait until they’re ready to leave. i plopped down into a empty booth, dropping my head down onto the table.

“y/n! why are you sitting down? come dance!” one of my friends shouted at me.

i looked up to see a girl glued to her side, sweaty from the dancing they did.

“i don’t know, i think i’m good here.”

“party pooper!” the random girl called out.

i furrowed my eyebrows at her, a tiny bit of hatred flowing through my veins.

my friend just laughed at her statement and led them away. i just watched them with a look on my face that quickly disappeared once my eyes landed on someone. his gorgeous face was highlighted by the lights, his blond hair shining bright. he quite literally took my breath away since i breathed in a shuddered breath.

he must’ve felt someone staring at him cause he began scanning the club, eyes landing on mine. he flashed the greatest smile i’ve ever seen at me. i softly began to smile but immediately realized i’ve been caught staring. i averted my eyes and stared at my fingers instead. part of me hoped he wouldn’t come over but the other wanted him to. i looked back up to where he was and saw he was gone. i mentally panicked, scooting out of the booth and booking it towards the bar. i ordered 3 shots, downing them in seconds. the bartender stared at me in shock as the alcohol smoothly went down my throat. i slapped money on the counter and thanked the woman before heading to the dance floor.

i shoved my way past the sweaty bodies to reach the middle of the floor. my body just began moving on its own, dancing along to the song. i was too focused on myself that i didn’t feel a certain someone’s eyes on me. after the blond man noticed i was staring at him, he already knew he wanted to meet me. he thought it was a perfect time to go once i broke eye contact, but when i noticed he wasn’t in his original spot i left. he followed me to the bar, getting stuck behind some big guys before reaching the stools. i was already in the middle of the dance floor when he stood there. his beautiful eyes scanned the crowd and as soon as he saw me, he didn’t hesitate to make his way over. he shoved and squeezed through people before finally stopping behind me. he watched as i danced like no one was watching.

i jumped a bit when i felt a hand on my shoulder, i turned my head to make eye contact with the man. my mouth slightly parted, in disbelief that he was in front of me.

“sorry if i scared you!” he shouted over the music.

“don’t worry about it! i’m very jumpy at little things!” i laugh.

his heart fluttered at the sound of my laughter.

“i noticed you staring at me earlier!”

“oh-uh..sorry about that! you’re just really pretty!” i blurted out, face becoming red at my words.

“well, i can say the same about you!” he reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

i nervously bit my lip, face incredibly red.

“wanna dance?” he asked, extended his hand out.

i only nodded before taking his hand. he began leading the dance, getting lost in the music. i smiled at his moves before i began dancing.

the alcohol began taking over so i took a leap of faith and turned around to grind on him. i immediately felt his hands grip my hips, somewhat guiding me. i threw my head back to rest on his shoulder, leaving an open opportunity for him to kiss my neck. the feeling of his soft lips against my skin was enough to make me lightly moan. i would’ve been embarrassed but i heard him moan back. my stomach erupted into flames, my body craving this random man.

“fuck…i know we just met but let’s take this to the bathroom, hm?” his hot breath fanned over my ear.

i couldn’t muster up the strength to speak so i nodded. he quickly took my hand in his and led us to the bathrooms. luckily no one was near as we snuck into the women’s bathroom, going into the farthest stall from the door. the bright lights shined into his face, exposing more of his beautiful features that i wouldn’t have noticed out in the dark club.

“wait, i’m sorry but i never introduced myself.” he chuckled nervously.

“i’m damon.” he stuck out his hand.

“y/n.” i shook his rough yet soft hand.

“such a pretty name for a pretty girl.” he bit his lip, moving closer to me.

his bright colored eyes stared into mine before he finally connected our lips. they were softer than i’d imagine, moving perfectly in time with mine. my hand snaked to the back of his neck to push him deeper into the kiss. he wrapped his arms around my waist and brought me closer to him.

he pushed me against the wall, one of his hands moving to grab my thighs. he guided my leg up and i took it as a sign to wrap it around his waist. i felt his fingers tickle my skin as they hike under my dress, towards the one spot i’m craving him at. he doesn’t tease me and goes straight to the point, dipping his hand into my underwear. i moaned into his mouth at the feeling of his cold fingertips.

“so wet for me, baby. jump.” he mumbled onto my mouth.

i obeyed and jumped as he caught the back of my thighs to wrap my legs around his waist.

“damon…please..” i normally don’t beg this early but having the most attractive man ever making out with me like this excuses the behavior.

he wastes no time to unbutton his pants, struggling to shimmy them down his legs with one hand.

“your top..take it off..” he moans out.

i reach to slide the straps of my dress down my arms, struggling to unzip the zipper. damon saw me struggle so he decided to help, reaching one hand to unzip me. in a blink of an eye, the top to my dress falls and pools around my waist. i swore i heard him inhale sharply while staring at my bare chest. he uses his free hand to squeeze a boob, making me hum out in approval. he massages it, even going to pinch the nipple and tug it. he leaned down to kiss my neck, his kisses sloppy and he focuses on my boobs. he switches back and forth with his free hand, giving both boobs attention.

i rest my head against the wall, softly moaning out as he marks my neck. he trails his lips farther down my neck and chest until he got ahold of my boob. i let out an embarrassing loud moan as he sucked, nipping it lightly with his teeth. i heard him unbuckle his belt, feeling him shimmy as he tries to pull his pants and boxers down enough. i instantly felt his hard on against my thigh, his pre cum spreading on my skin. his long fingers toyed with my soaked underwear, teasing as he rubs me through the fabric. i tug on his hair and moan quietly, signaling him to stop the teasing. he smirks against my boob, pulling away to catch some breaths. he had the goofiest (not in a bad way) smile on his face while his chin was covered in his own saliva.

“you’re so cute.” i giggle, leaning to him to press a quick kiss to his plump lips.

i swore i saw him blush a little before he dropped his head to hide his smile. the cute moment was cut short when a loud bang echoed the bathroom, followed by loud laughter. my eyes widen in fear, hoping none of them came to the back stall.

“be a good girl and stay quiet for me, okay?” he whispered.

i had no time to react before i felt him slowly insert himself inside me. i didn’t even notice him move my underwear out the way either. i quietly gasp out, the feeling of him stretching me out made me tremble. he looks up at me through his eye lashes, watching my face as he slowly starts to thrust.

i bit my lip as i try to contain my moans. he starts to speed up his thrusts as his blond hair falls onto his face, bouncing with every hit. i mutter a soft ‘fuck’ as i threw my head back. i definitely hit my head a bit but i didn’t care as i was too immersed in the pleasure. he placed sloppy kisses onto my jawline, marking my neck area even more than it needs to be. i closed my eyes and it felt like my brain shut off for a moment as i let out a quiet moan. my eyes shot open before slapping a hand onto my mouth.

“what’d i say? is it too good that you can’t keep shut?” he whispered against my skin.

he snaked his hand up to mouth and left it there, letting my hand go back to his shoulder.

he left a strong grip on my face to keep me quiet, becoming more confident in thrusting harder and faster. i don’t know how but the girls who entered didn’t acknowledge the echoed sound of skin slapping. i didn’t care about keeping my moans as i let them all out against damon’s hand. i heard some slip past his lips too, causing me to clench around him.

“oh fuck, do that again, baby.” he groaned.

i obeyed and clenched again, watching as he throws his head back. i remove his hand from my mouth and take my turn to go and mark his neck, biting and sucking all over.

“you’re so fucking beautiful…” he slightly whimpered.

i physically felt my knees go weak and my head get fuzzy. that emerged this deep feeling in my stomach, signaling me that i’m close to cumming. i pull away from his neck and bring our lips together.

“shit dames, do that again..” i beg.

“do what?”

“whimper…”

i felt his hips stutter once i said that word. for a second i thought he wasn’t going to do it but he quietly began whimpering against my lips. i furrow my eyebrows and moan out as i listen to the sounds emerging from him. i once again go for his hair and tangle my fingers all up in it, tugging at it slightly to earn more noises.

“i think i’m gonna cum..” i softly cry out.

his hips sped up once he registered my sentence, hand even going to my clit to approach my release even quicker.

i let out a string of curse words as i feel like my release coming hard. with one more last semi-quiet moan of damon’s name, i came all over his dick. the sound of his name slipping past my lips and the feeling of me cumming sent him over the edge. he moaned out against my lips, hips coming to an abrupt halt. his cum spurted all inside me, filling me up nicely. we stood there for a minute catching our breaths, waiting for our heart rates to lower. we were absolute messes, covered in a coat of slick sweat, lips swollen from kissing, necks all purple and red, hair frizzled. he eventually slowly pulled out, the feeling of his cum dripping down my thighs make me bite my lip. he awkwardly bent down to grab some toilet paper to clean us up, tossing it in the toilet before flushing.

“do you think you’re okay to stand?”

“i should be.” i chuckle, overconfident in myself.

i unwrapped my legs from his waist before he slowly set me down onto my feet. i stood there for a few seconds before my legs became jelly and i nearly fell to the ground. he quickly caught me in his arms, helping me onto the toilet seat.

“maybe not.” he chuckled.

i slid my dress back on, damon helping with the zipper.

“do you think those girls are gone?” i whisper.

“uh, i’m not sure. i didn’t hear anyone leaving.” he tried to peek through the cracks.

“i’ll go out there and signal you if they’re gone.” he nodded at me.

i manage to get up, wobbly making my way out the stall. to my first judgement, it seems like the bathroom was completely empty but i had to double check. i bent down to see if anyone was hiding in the stalls but they were all vacant. no one stood by the sinks or mirrors either, which definitely surprised me.

“we’re all good.” i call out.

he swiftly emerges from the stall, the sweaty glow illuminating off his skin. we quickly made ourselves presentable, washing off our faces and smoothing out our hairs. and for our hickies, we just prayed the club was too dark to notice anything. i left the bathroom first to make sure no one was near. when i saw it was clear enough for damon to sneak out, i knocked three times. he quickly slipped out the bathroom, clearing his throat and smoothing out his shirt to act like nothing happened.

“so uh, what now?” i ask, knowing that this’ll end by splitting ways and never seeing each other again.

“we either continue to dance or we go a get some food. what sounds good to you?” he snakes an arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him. i smile at his response and action, a tiny part of me starting to fall for him.

“hmm, i am pretty hungry for some burgers and fries.”

“burgers and fries it is then.”

we began heading towards the exit, shoving our way past people. i searched around the club in hopes of seeing my friends so i can at least tell one of them that i’ll be leaving.

“damon! dude, we were looking for you!” a guy stepped in front of us.

“oh sorry, man. i’m-uh..i’m gonna leave alright?”

“leave where? who’s this?” the man asked.

“for some food. and this is y/n. y/n this is alex, my best friend.”

“well acquainted already i see.” he points to our necks.

i blush madly, realizing that in fact the club was not dark enough.

“ha ha, now fuck off man. i’ll see you tomorrow.” he jokingly rolls his eyes at him.

he leads us our the door, the chilly air hitting my skin. i instantly start to shiver a bit, craving the warmth of anything. damon pulls me closer to him once he realizes that i’m freezing.

“y/n?!” i hear a familiar voice call out.

i turn around to see one of my other friends about to walk in the club with a man to her side.

“hey! i was looking for you guys. i wanted to let you know i’m leaving.”

she eyes damon, probably making sure he isn’t a bit off. a small smile appears on her lips as she turns back to me, assuming she thinks he’s safe.

“alrighty then, i’ll tell the others.”

“thank you so much. love you, bye.” i kiss her cheek.

she began her walk back inside but turned her head to shout at us.

“don’t forget to use protection kids!”

we both laugh at her words, knowing damn well we didn’t use any earlier. we finally find damon’s car, quick to get inside and escape the cold air. he starts up his car and lets it warm up before driving off towards our burger date. one of our many burger dates.

[rius-cave]

Ok but imagine adamsapple in bed and Adam is like " why don't i top for once"

And Luci raises his eyebrows

Adam " I'm the original dick, i know how to use it!"

Luci " considering I've stolen both your wives, i severely doubt that" adam huffs. Luci sighs. " You've been bottoming for a while, would you trust YOURSELF yo top you?"

And Adam blue screens

( does this lead to angsty self introspection or to luci riding him? Who knows)

Anon I hate myself. Somehow my response to this turned into a full on drabble 🙈 I'm so sorry I don't know how this happened. Here it is I guess. I'm putting it under a cut because the language gets a little explicit skfjdgfd

"Come on. What? You think I really couldn't do it? Do you not want me to fuck you that badly?"

Lucifer glared at him in judging silence, an eyebrow raised.

"Would it really kill your ego to let me do it just once? I mean seriously I'm sure I could have you screaming in no time." Adam stated, anger obvious on his voice.

"Mm-hm," Lucifer hums, reclining his back on the headboard and closing his eyes. "You could."

"Oh please! You haven't even let me try! If you gave me the chance to- wait what did you say?" Adam's mouth gaped, his brain just now catching up with his ears.

"I said you could," the hellborn replied, a smug smile on his face. "We've been doing this for weeks now, haven't we? You think I've never wanted to feel your cock inside of me?"

Adam choked on his own saliva before sitting up on the bed, astonishment plastered across his face. It wasn't weird for Lucifer to talk directly like this, but hearing him just… admit that he wanted it was not something Adam ever expected to hear. To be frank he was half waiting for Lucifer to chuck him out to the next ring.

"Wait really?"

"Really," Lucifer affirmed without a tint of shame in his voice. "I may be more skilled than you," he began again, earning a brief glare from Adam. "But I could teach you how to do it, show you where I like it, actually top someone properly for once."

"I…" The sinner began, still not believing his hearing. Suddenly, a smile crept up his face, excitement pouring from his eyes as well as starting to fill up his cock. "Oh! Okay! Fuck yeah, let's go!" He cheered in anticipation, already lifting up the sheets from both his body and Lucifer before his wrist was firmly stopped.

"Uh, what?"

"Not now, you idiot. We just did it. I'm tired and we need to get to the hotel early tomorrow," Lucifer explained with a little sharpness in his voice.

"What? But I… we… you…" He fumbled, a rapid sequence of anger, frustration and disappointment flashing across his features.

"That's not fair! Come on, I…!" He couldn't come up with any good reason. They did have to meet up with Charlie tomorrow (or today, at this point), and they did go at it for about an hour and a half that night. He couldn't say that his own eyes weren't closing before the conversation started.

He growled in frustration like a kid having been promised a candy only for it to be snatched from his hands right as he was about to take a bite. His wings fell to his sides and his mouth closed in a tight line.

A chuckle caught his attention once more.

"Aww, don't be sad, love," the king cooed as he leaned forward, taking one of Adam's cheek in his hand. I promise the next opportunity we have, that'll be the first thing we do, okay?" His voice was soothing and alluring, calming down Adam's anger immediately.

"… Fine," Adam finally grumbled, a small blush creeping up his face at the intimate touch. Those kinds of gestures still threw him for a loop every time. He was used to bites, scratches and pulls from the King of Hell, but any time the demon showed his softer side to him, Adam couldn't help but feel his brain short circuit.

"That's a good little lamb," Lucifer grinned, before leaning in to capture Adam's lips in a soft kiss, meant to seal the promise that he just made.

The recently fallen angel melted into the kiss with a sigh, all his frustration completely gone now. It was still embarrassing how he would just turn to putty under Lucifer's touch. If his soldiers could see him now his reputation would never recover. But still, it felt good to let go of his control when it was Lucifer who slowly, methodically, stripped it away from him.

"Mhm, very well. Let's go to sleep now," Lucifer gently broke the kiss, holding Adam's cheek lightly and dedicating him a smile.

"Okay," Adam replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't worry sweetheart. I'll make sure to prepare my little ass so well for your cock, so that you can slide in easily. I'll ride your dick so good and milk it so hard that you won't be able to feel it by the fifth time I make you cum inside of me."

Lucifer grinned innocently, patting Adam's cheek before finally laying down again and getting comfortable under the covers.

With each word Adam felt his insides get hotter and hotter, to the point that by the end of Lucifer's promise, there was no doubt that he was properly hard now.

A couple seconds later, he could hear the quiet snores coming from the demon next to him.

Adam growled loudly. The frustration was back a hundredfold.

[captn-trex]

gone, but not forgotten

Fives x F!Reader

word count: 4.4k

description: you're a bartender at 79s when the 501st gets back from a gruelling campaign. the clones make a game out of seeing who can successfully hit on you, but the one that catches your eye is the one that doesn't try at all, the one whose shoulders are weighed down by a painful loss.

warnings: nothing much, a little fluff & sad fives (post citadel), mentions of death and war as expected, non-established relationship

a/n: i'm probably gonna do a part 2 to this because it was originally gonna have a lot more to it and I still kinda wanna see that play out, but anyway, enjoy :)

part two here: how to feel again

The low lighting and heavy bass that shook the very bar you were working at were no match for the ruckus that was caused whenever the clones of the 501st entered 79s.

You watched their entry from behind the bar with a small smirk. You spotted their Captain, already shaking his head at his men and bringing up the rear as the men filtered into a booth near the entrance, clearing out the clones who were already sat there.

You were familiar with a handful of the clones of the 501st, and when one of them - Jesse, if you’re remembering correctly - caught your eye, he sent you a wink. You instinctively rolled your eyes, though there was no animosity behind it. Working at a clone bar, people expected you to be sick of the clones, but you couldn't help but find them generally endearing. Sure, they all tried to hit on you, but most of their attempts were so harmless or pathetic that you couldn't find it in yourself to be irritated by it.

As you served a variety of customers, clones and nat-borns alike, you could see the 501st boys looking over at you and then talking amongst themselves, and you quickly realised that you were to be privy to some kind of game of theirs. Between pouring drinks and cleaning glasses, you watched them with suspicion, and you noticed that there was one particularly sullen looking clone among them, one that you hadn't met before. He didn't seem to be interacting with them much, just sitting back with his arms crossed over his chest and a far-away look in his eyes.

The first to approach the bar was Kix.

“Hey there” He said your name in a flirtatious tone, “What's a pretty lady like you doing working in a place like this?” He leant over the bar a little as he spoke, a charming smile painted on his face. If his words weren't so utterly ridiculous and overused, you might have even fallen for it.

“What should I be doing if not working here Kix?” You asked back innocently with a hand on your hip, playing into his game. For now.

“I'm not sure, but someone with a smile so radiant is surely made for greater things” He smiled triumphantly, as if he had just said the most flattering thing and not insulted your career.

“Hm” You tapped your finger on your chin a few times, as if thinking hard about something, “Yeah, it didn't work, nice try though. Can I get you something to drink now?”

“Ugh” Kix slumped down to his elbows in a huff, “I'll just get a fizzbrew”

You laughed at his defeated tone as you reached into the cooler below for his drink, “Come on, did you really think that was going to work?”

“I did! And it's true! Your smile is radiant” He argued as he took his drink from you.

You screwed up your face as he reiterated the compliment, “Kix stop, you failed already, go sit down”

“Alright alright, thank for this” He smiled with a small chuckle as he dropped his credits into your hand.

“No problem”

The next to try it was Dogma.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have the most wonderful hair?” He leaned on the bar and tipped his head to the side a little with a wide grin.

“Oh maker Dogma, that's awful. Is that really the best you've got?” You couldn't help but laugh at his attempt.

“Uh-” He rubbed his neck sheepishly, “Maybe”

You smirked at him and took a glass from the back, “Krilliz?”

His eyes lit up, “You remembered”

“Of course I did, nobody else orders this nightmare fuel”

“Hey! I like it”

“And I'm glad, here” You handed him his drink with a smile, “Enjoy”

He thanked you with a sigh and headed back to the snickering of his squad mates.

Over the next hour, almost every member of the group came up to the bar and tried to flirt with you in some way, and you honestly couldn't figure out what game they were playing. Though, it was hard to know, as you shot all of them down almost immediately.

When it came time for the last clone of the group, you were a little bit worn down by it all.

“I'll get a shot of that Shesharilian vodka stuff”

The regularity of the statement was refreshing, you almost weren't expecting it.

“You're not going to tell me how my hair is so wonderful or my smile is so radiant?” You asked with a smirk, earning a chuckle from the clone in front of you, but it held no mirth.

“I would be blind not to notice, but no, I'm not a part of their little game” He admitted, but you don't entirely buy it.

“Which one are you after then?”

“Which what?” He asked, confused by your question.

“Which lady?” You clarified, nodding out into the bar.

“Oh” He chuckled lightly, if a little sadly, “I'm not after that tonight”

“What are you after then?” You asked, and he paused for a moment before sighing.

“A strong drink”

You could see that there was a certain sadness behind the request, and realised that this was the dejected looking clone that you had noticed earlier.

“Coming right up” You said, offering him a gentle smile.

You sorted the drink, stealing glances at the man, noticing the way the coloured lights along the bar seem to make the bags under his eyes more pronounced. You placed the drink in front of him, but when he went to hand you some credits, you stopped him.

“It's on the house”

“What? I can't-”

“Don't worry about it” You smiled and pushed the drink further towards him, “I can tell you need it”

He looked at you for a moment and offered a thankful smile.

“That's… Thank you…” He trailed off, and you told him your name, tapping on your name tag. He repeated it with another thanks, and told you that his name was Fives.

“I couldn't tell” You smirked, pressing a finger to your temple, where he had an aurebesh tattoo. He chuckled lightly and thanked you again, taking his drink back to the 501st table.

You watched as his brothers all patted him on the back, and he rolled his eyes with a small smile as he settled back into his seat at the edge of the group. You wondered if he had just used the sad boy approach to appeal to your better nature, and win whatever game they were playing, but you soon forgot all about it as you got on with your work.

The bar was particularly busy tonight, so you had your hands full when it came to making drinks. It seemed that there were quite a few clone legions back on Coruscant at the moment, including the 104th, who got roped into the 501st game quite easily. A flurry of clones adorning grey armour sauntered up to you, offering a variety of compliments, and getting more ridiculous each time as you rejected each one of them. Truthfully, there were a number of them that appealed to you, but you weren't going to entertain their silly idea of a good time.

At some point between all the compliments and rejection, the sad clone you now knew as Fives had settled into a seat on the end of the bar. You noticed him sitting there as the bar area became more sparse, most people opting to make their way towards the dance floor.

You slid up to him and leant on the bar, your jaw resting in your hand as you address him. “So Fives, is this wistful look in your eyes authentic, or was it just so you could win this little thing you 501st boys have going on?” You asked with a cocked eyebrow, and he looked up, the ghost of a smirk crossing his lips.

“I meant it when I said I wasn't a part of their game, not that they believed me after you gave me a free drink” He replied matter-of-factly.

You chuckled slightly, standing up straight, “Can I get you anything?”

He looked behind you at the bar for a short moment. “I probably shouldn't, I hear drowning your sorrows isn't a healthy thing to do” He smiled sadly.

“Why ever else would you come to a bar when you're sad?” You teased slightly, and he huffed a laugh.

“Because I was dragged out of bed by my brothers”

You laughed with a warmth, “Ah well, how about just some water then?”

“Sounds good” He smiled genuinely.

You got him the water from the tap and he thanked you for it before you went about sorting drinks for the other patrons that had approached the bar in the time you had been talking to him. You kept an eye on him out of the corner of your eye as you did so, and he just drank his water at a slow pace, watching his brothers dance ridiculously with a small smile and that same far away look in his eye.

As the night went on and he settled into the chair at the bar more and more, a Pantoran woman approached him, and started flirting with him unashamedly. Fives replied to her questions, not wishing to seem rude, but was too distracted by his own thoughts to entertain the kind of ideas that she surely had about the night. You watched as the Pantoran started getting a bit handsy, placing her hands on his arm and his chest as she talked to him. You saw that Fives didn’t react to this very much, but then she got very close, her lips close to his ear, and he backed away a little.

As she was speaking into his ear seductively, he looked over at you and saw you watching. You averted your eyes as you saw his smirk grow, knowing he caught you looking.

You went about busying yourself with cleaning glasses, facing the back of the bar. When you turned around to serve a customer that called for you, you caught the Patoran woman dancing with another clone on the dance floor. You smiled at the sight, she got what she wanted after all.

Fives was still sat at the end of the bar as your shift came to a close and customers were dwindling a little, so you approached him again.

“You didn't fancy the Pantoran?” You asked and he looked to you from the dance floor, turning his body.

“Didn't want to make you too jealous Cyar'ika” He leaned forward with a smirk and you chuckled.

“How considerate” You rolled your eyes a little as you grabbed a cloth and begun cleaning up the bar. “How come you're still here? Doesn't seem like you're really enjoying yourself” You observed and he released a small sigh.

“Just distracting myself really” He admitted, and you felt yourself wanting to ask more.

You approached the subject tentatively, speaking in a gentle voice, “If it's not too much to ask… what are you distracting yourself from?”

Fives paused, and with a deep sigh, looked to your eyes, seeing only an honesty in them, “I lost a brother a week ago, my twin”

“Oh, I'm so sorry, this must really be the last place you want to be then” You offered him a truly sympathetic look, and he smiled a little.

“I don't know, the company's not so bad” He let his smile grow and you reflected the gesture back at him.

“You're not so bad yourself” You grinned, then your mouth dropped as you became more serious, “But seriously” You placed a hand on his, “I'm really sorry about your brother, I know how hard that is”

He gave you an appreciative smile and turned his hand over in yours, giving it a light squeeze, “Thank you, I really appreciate that”

You smiled, and continued wiping the bar, trying to ignore the warmth that lingered on your hand from his touch.

You started doing little chores before you headed off, sweeping the floor behind the bar. As you were doing so, a rather inebriated clone approached the bar.

“Hey there pretty one, three shots of dark lum please”

“Of course” You replied with a gracious smile, and took three shot glasses from below the bar. As you were pouring the customer's drinks, they tried to talk to you some more.

“Say, when do you get off work tonight beautiful?”

You chuckled, “In a few hours”

“How many hours?”

You shrugged dismissively with a polite smile, “A few”

He kept pressing, but Fives interrupted him before he could really embarass himself.

“She's already got company tonight brother” He told him, a hand on his arm to pull him backwards slightly.

“Fives! I didn't see you there” The clone said, surprised, only earning a grunt from his brother. “Alright, good for you man, nice score” He chuckled and took the shots away as Fives rolled his eyes.

“Sorry about him” He shook his head.

“Its alright, I'm used to it” You shrugged, an appreciative smile directed at him.

“I'm sure you are, but I'm still sorry. Some of my brothers can be a bit… crass”

You laughed at that, “I'm aware”

You watched Fives for a moment, then leant on the bar looking at him intently. “So what are we doing when I get off work then?” You said with mischievous glint in your eye.

“Oh, sorry about that, I just said it so he'd leave you alone” He spoke awkwardly.

You tutted, pursing your lips, “That's too bad, I was rather looking forward to it”

Fives’ eyebrows raised, “You were?” He unconsciously leaned forward a little.

“Perhaps” You said, then pushed back, leaning against the back of the bar, “If you were only joking though-”

“Hold on now, I didn't say that” He challenged, and you bit the inside of your cheek, trying to decide if what you had in your head was really a good idea.

“If you fancy it… there's a place I go when I want to be alone. I know there's not many places like that on Coruscant but I figure you could maybe do with some peace and quiet, just to think, grieve, whatever you want. I was thinking of going there anyway” You shrugged as if it was the most casual thing in the world, offering this almost stranger your safe space.

“That sounds nice” He said genuinely, a smile on his face “I'd love to”

“Alright, well I actually get off in 5 minutes, so be ready” You confessed and he laughed, standing from his seat.

You finished cleaning up and took your apron off, hanging it up in the store room out the back. When you exited the building, Fives was waiting, and when he spotted you coming towards him he pushed off the wall he was leaning against, “Where to?”

You gestured your head towards your speeder bike close by to him and got on. As you began getting it ready to drive, you noticed that Fives was just standing next to you.

“Well get on” You laughed and his ears tinged pink. He climbed on behind you, and you were about to depart but then you turned to him, “Are you gonna hold on or…”

He rolled his eyes a little, “Just trying to be respectful” He mumbled as his hands snaked around your waist holding your abdomen gently. You couldn’t deny the way his touch sent a shiver up your spine, a warmth spreading over the area where his strong arms brushed against you.

“Well you won't get the chance if you fall off, so hold on tight”

The speeder zoomed off as you rolled your hands forward on the handlebars, and Fives’ arms tightened around you as he pulled himself into you. The sensation of him being pressed up against you made you a little breathless, despite the thick layer of armour that separated you from the warmth you could feel emanating from him.

It served as a sudden reminder of the strangeness of the situation you had put yourself in. You saw clones in the bar every day, and while you certainly found them attractive, it had never occurred to you to actually seek any kind of companionship from any of them before. You weren't even certain that was what you were doing right now, every decision you had made up to this point suddenly seemed entirely spontaneous, misguided even.

Halfway through the journey, Fives gently leaned his temple onto the back of your head, and your stomach did a flip. Even at the high speed you were going, you could feel his warm, steady breath ghosting over the back of your ear, and you had to really try not to shudder at the feeling of it.

After around 15 minutes or so, you arrived at your destination. You brought the speeder bike into an alley, and lead Fives to the apartment building you were headed towards.

“Was this just a ploy to get me to come back to your place?” He smirked slightly, a look of disbelief in his eyes.

“No” You chuckled, “This isn't my building” You spoke confidently, walking through the front door. Fives followed after you, entirely confused.

“Hey there doll, late shift again?” The Gran on reception called to you as he noticed you enter.

“It was, I'm so tired” You said dramatically, and Fives' face contorted to one of utter amusement and confusion.

“Got someone with you tonight, that's new. Lucky man” The Gran winked at Fives and you laughed slightly awkwardly.

“Indeed” You said, giving a smirky side glance to Fives, who just stayed quiet throughout the exchange. “See you later Faadu” You called as you made it inside the elevator.

You didn't listen out for the answer, and after the doors closed, Fives turned to you, “I thought you said this wasn't your apartment building”

You smirked and shrugged “He doesn't need to know that”

Fives smirked back at you, and your stomach flipped as you realised how close he was to you in the somewhat confined space. You continued to look at each other, inspecting each other's features. There was definitely a certain charm to Fives that inexplicably drew you to him more than the other clones. His eyes were a deep brown, and as you found yourself lost in them, you couldn’t find it in yourself to remember that they were identical to the ones you so often saw in the bar. Fives went to say something, but the elevator pinged and the doors slid open.

“This is it” You stepped out into the darkened hallway, and traced the steps that were so familiar, though you hadn't been here in a long time.

You made it to the end of the hallway, and hooked your fingers into the door, struggling slightly as you pulled it open. You walked into the empty apartment and made your way over towards the balcony, already captivated by the familiar view out of the large windows.

“Woah” Fives spoke quietly, following you to the balcony.

“I know right” You pushed the doors open and walked up to the railing, leaning your weight onto it, “It's the tallest building in the district, but no one lives on the top floor”

Fives joined you, coming to rest beside you on the railing, and you both looked out on the cityscape. There was a gentle breeze, and you felt your hair shift gently. The view was undeniably beautiful, and being able to look upon the city from above was truly something spectacular, though it held some complicated feelings for you. You were glad that someone was here with you, it was nice to share the space.

“I just find that… When I'm here, it makes my problems seem small, insignificant. Like, I see all these tiny little dots that are really people, and all these different lives, and it brings me… comfort, or perspective, I guess”

Fives watched you confess with interest and you turned to see his expression, full of an emotion you couldn’t quite place your finger on.

“Not that your problems are small, they're not, but-”

“I know what you mean” He smiled, a hand resting on your forearm. He left it there as he recalled something you had said earlier, “How come you were coming here tonight?”

“What?” You asked, swallowing as you felt the warmth of his hand through his glove.

“Before, you said you were coming here anyway” He reminded you.

“Oh, I- um” You looked down to your feet, “I lost my brother a year ago today”

Fives viewed you with a newfound reverence and understanding, and his hand found its way down your arm. He interlaced his fingers with your own, and started rubbing circles on your hand with his thumb. It was certainly a welcome feeling, and it kept your tears at bay, staying as a glassy outer layer to your eyes.

“I know it's not exactly the same as with your brother, but… I came here a lot when I was grieving” You looked up to him, “If it would help you, feel free to come here whenever you want. I mean, it doesn't belong to me anyway” You said, ending in a chuckle and looking out to the view again.

“Thank you, it really means a lot” He smiled, though you weren't looking at him. He followed your lead and looked out to the city as he spoke, “Being in the GAR, losing brothers is part of the deal, and you're expected to just move on, but… It's not that simple, especially with-” He swallowed, “The brother that I lost, we'd been together since we came outta the tube, I don't know what life even means without him next to me” He admitted, and you looked to him to see that his eyes were full of sadness, his eyelids half closed as if weighed down by his emotions.

“What was his name?” You asked, and he looked up to you.

“Echo”

“Why was he called that?” You asked. You knew that often clones’ names held some kind of meaning, or a story behind them at least.

Fives chuckled sadly, “He was always driving us mad by repeating the orders we were given”

You smiled, “And… how did you get your name?”

Fives grinned, “Guess”

You thought for only a split second, “You have a lot of fives in your CT number?”

“Bingo” He smiled, then faltered, looking away wistfully “yeah, ARC-5555”

“You're an ARC?” You asked, a small smirk fighting its way on your face.

“Mhm”

“That's kinda hot”

“It is?” Five turned to you with an incredulous look, and you couldn't help but let your smirk grow.

“Oh yeah, I mean, it's not like, Captain or Commander or even Lieutenant-”

“Alright alright” He rolled his eyes, and your smirk transformed into a genuine smile.

“Was Echo an ARC too?”

His amused expression faltered a little bit, “Yeah, we got promoted together” He sighed, a fond smile gracing his features, “He was always more serious about everything, kept me in check”

“You don't seem like someone who needs keeping in check” You said, tilting your head as you looked at him.

He smirked, “I'm not always this reserved. On any other night I would've been performing for your attention like the rest of my brothers”

“That's ironic I guess” You chuckled.

“How so?”

“You're the only one that did get my attention” You admitted, blushing slightly, now feeling a little sheepish under his gaze.

Fives just smiled subtly and brushed his thumb over your knuckles, reminding you of the fact that he was still holding your hand, “I guess I've gotta keep up the sad and lonely act then”

You laughed, “I don't know about that. It worked on me but I'm not sure that other women are into it”

“That's alright, I wasn't really thinking of trying it on other women” He said, dropping his voice just a bit so that it held a slightly gravelly tone.

You bit back a smirk, “Smooth Fives, very smooth”

He chuckled, “I wasn't kidding, I don't just hold hands with anyone”

“Mhm, I'm sure” You shook your head slightly, looking away from his intense gaze.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, letting the noise of the city replace conversation. You could hear the whizzing of speeders and other transports passing by, the noise of the people below very feint from the height of the building. You sighed deeply, remembering your brother, the reason you had come here in the first place. Fives’ thoughts dwelled on the same thing, his own brother.

“Thank you for talking to me about Echo” He spoke just above a whisper and you turned to him, “Most people just give me a sad look and a hand on the shoulder at most. It's nice to actually talk about him”

“I know” You offered him a sad smile, silently telling him you knew how he felt, “Anytime”

Fives smiled and gave your hand a small squeeze.

Being here with Fives was nice, a relief to the mental torment you found yourself enduring when you had been here grieving your brother just after his death. His presence was calming, soothing, and his hand in yours even more so. You found yourself hoping that this wouldn't be the last time you shared this experience with him.

[coldfanbou]

Loving Two Mommies

We have Mommy Jihyo and Mommy Jeongyeon getting to have sex after being denied by their husbands. This is a heavily modified request that originally had them be pregnant. I had a different idea, so this is what we ended up with.

Length 4.1K

Jihyo x Mreader x Jeongyeon

Next Part

"Come on, honey, let's do it," Jeongyeon said as she shook her husband's arm. 

"I'm not in the mood tonight."

"Honey, you're never in the mood anymore." She complains. "I even put this on for you." She says, gesturing to her lingerie. Her bra cupped her tits while leaving the nipple free. The same concept applied to her panties, and Jeongyeon wore a sheer nightgown over it.

"I'm sorry, but I don't feel like it." Her husband says while turning onto his side. 

"Oh, okay," Jeongyeon says; she looks down at the floor with a sad expression. "I'm going to go to the bathroom really quickly." She says. Hearing no response, Jeongyeon walks into the bathroom and sits on the toilet. She puts her head in her hands and cries. Tears streamed down her face because of the rejection. "Doesn't he like me anymore? Ever since I gave birth, he hasn't touched me." She asks herself. Jeongyeon feels smaller the longer she thinks about it. Minutes pass before her husband even decides to ask if she's alright. The distant voice tells her that he didn't even bother getting up. "I'm fine." She shouts back to the other room. Jeongyeon looks at herself in the mirror as she stands up, huffing as she walks to the bedroom and replaces her lingerie with her regular sleepwear. 

In another room, a similar situation plays out. "Come on; it's the first real vacation we get. We should have sex at least once." 

"We have all week. I don't see why you're in such a rush. Just go to sleep." Jihyo's husband had the same dismissive attitude. Jihyo wanted to argue, wanted to fight with him but left the room instead. She found the lingerie she set out in the bathroom and threw it into a cabinet before leaving the hotel room. She went down to the hotel bar and ordered tons of drinks, drinking herself into a stupor. "He's such an asshole." She says to herself before ordering another drink. 

You sat at a table watching this woman drink to extremes. You can't help but stare at her. Mesmerized by her beauty, you look her up and down multiple times. Her heavy-set breasts, small waist, and her thick legs are all attractive to you, not to mention her beautiful face. As you continue to stare, she turns her head and catches you. You look away quickly, embarrassed at being caught; you nurse your drink and try to play it off. Jihyo turns her head back toward the bar and smiles, enjoying the small bit of attention you gave her. She throws back her drink before walking over to you. You're stunned by her beauty as she sits in front of you and leans forward. You smell the alcohol on her breath as she speaks.

"I couldn't help but notice you staring at me from over here. Do you like what you see?" Jihyo's cleavage draws your attention.

"I-uh, um." You gulp and turn your eyes upwards, meeting hers in the process. Lust in her eyes, Jihyo leans forward just a little bit more. "I think you're really pretty. I mean, you're just so…so beautiful and sexy." 

"Oh, you think I'm sexy? What about me is so sexy?" She asks. 

"I mean, what's not? Your uh…"

"My what?" Jihyo asks, goading you to answer. She laughs at seeing you struggle. 

"It’s your whole body, especially your boobs. They're so big." You finally say. You struggle to come up with more words. Jihyo notices someone in the room and waves her hand as she smiles in their direction. 

"Jeongyeon! Is that you?" You turn your head to see a woman by the entrance to the bar. She turns her head toward your general direction and starts walking over. You watch her breasts bounce with her quick steps. She was a little thicker than the woman sitting in front of you but just as attractive. Jeongyeon looks behind her, thinking you were staring at someone else. When she realizes that you are staring at her, she blushes. As she reaches your table, Jihyo pats the seat next to her. "Sit! Sit!" As soon as Jeongyeon sits down, Jihyo hugs her. "It's been so long! What are you doing here?" 

"I'm on a trip with my husband," she says. 

"You too?" 

"You mean you're with your husband too?" Jeongyeon asks before looking at you. "Is this him?" 

"Oh no, my husband is in the room," Jihyo replies. Learning that they were both married women saddens you a little. It wasn't likely you'd be able to sleep with them, and Jihyo was just teasing you. 

"Oh, then, who is this?" 

"It’s a nice man who thinks I'm still sexy." Jihyo turns to look at you. "Thanks for that."

"It must be nice. My husband hasn't touched me since I gave birth."

Jihyo nods her head understanding the feeling. "Mine has been the same way." Knowing that the two women before you were mothers turned you on. They were both Milfs. Your eyes dart between the two, looking at their features. Jihyo catches you staring again. "I think he likes you too,  Jeongyeon." Jeongyeon blushes again. "Come on, give him a better look," Jihyo says, patting her friend on the back. Jeongyeon tries to say no, but Jihyo is insistent. "Just a little like this." Jihyo leans forward again, letting you stare at her milk-filled breasts. Jeongyeon looks unsure of herself but follows her friend's lead and leans forward. You begin staring at her breasts, making Jihyo laugh. "See, he likes you too."  

You want to make a move on them, but knowing that they were both married makes you doubt yourself. You gather the courage and speak up. "Would you ladies want to come back to my room?" Jihyo is shocked by the sudden invitation but debates taking it. She rubs her legs together, thinking about how this could be her opportunity to have sex again. 

"Thank you, but no," Jeongyeon says. "I'm flattered, but I'm married. I couldn't do that." 

"I-I'll go with you." 

Jeongyeon turns to her friend after hearing her answer. "What? But you're married." 

"I know Jeongyeon, but I want to feel like a woman again. I…I need to just for one night." Jeongyeon doesn't say a word and just nods her head. She steps aside as Jihyo stands up and walks with you to your room. She sits at the table, thinking about her own relationship. 

As you walk into your room, Jihyo stands there awkwardly. "Um, would you like something to drink first?" Jihyo doesn't answer you; as you turn around, Jihyo presses her lips against yours. Your hands rest at her waist as you accept her kiss. You tug at her skirt until you find the zipper. It falls to the floor as you pull it down. Once out of breath, Jihyo starts to take off her shirt. You remove your clothes quickly, letting Jihyo see your cock standing at attention. Jihyo blushes at the sight. Her cunt is wet and quickly causes her panties to become damp. You kiss her again, pulling down her bra and freeing her breasts. As you squeeze them, she moans loudly. "Are you sure about this?" 

"Don't ask me that," Jihyo says. "Carry me to the bedroom." Jihyo lifts her leg, and you take it in your hand. You place your other hand on the back of Jihyo's right leg, lifting her and carrying her to your bedroom. Jihyo feels your cock pressed against her stomach, a heat radiates from her cunt, and a hunger starts to fill her being. You kiss her neck as you lay her down; Jihyo lets small moans escape her. Your hands sneak behind her back and unlatch her bra; as you pull it off, you get to see them in all their glory. Mid-sized Dark brown nipples are what you first notice. Jihyo holds her arms under her breasts, pushing them together. 

"Wow, your tits are amazing," you say. Jihyo has a soft smile at your words. She pushes out her chest, wanting you to give them more attention. You lean down, kissing around her breast before latching onto her nipple. Your tongue swirls around the small nub before you start suckling on it.

"Mmm, keep going." She moans. You move a hand down to Jihyo's panties, going under them, and you slide your fingers along her slit. Her puffy wet lips quickly soak your fingers. Jihyo raises her hand to her mouth, trying to keep from moaning any louder. "Ahh, wait…" Jihyo coos. You prod at her entrance with your fingers pushing in slightly before pulling back out. Jihyo closes her eyes and lets the pleasure overtake her. As your fingers push deeper into Jihyo, her chest begins to heave, and the slightly rich taste of her milk hits your tongue as you continue sucking on her breast. "I'm- I'm going to cum." She says before her hips thrust upwards, and she yells from the pleasure. Her lower body shakes, and she covers your fingers in sweet nectar. 

Before she has a chance to recover, you position yourself between her legs. Moving her panties to the side, you rub your shaft against her slit, coating it in her juices. You watch milk leak from the young mother's breasts, and your hands go toward hers, holding them tightly. "I'm going in." You say to her. You start pushing past her lips and feel her pussy swallow your cock with ease. Jihyo moans as she feels your cock slide into her, separating her wall as you go deeper than she's ever been penetrated. Her walls caress every inch of your cock, holding you tightly. You give Jihyo a passionate kiss that she returns; you explore each other's mouths as you start thrusting. Jihyo's low and constant moans turn you on, and you begin to pick up the pace.

"Ah, more. Fuck me," she says in her sensual voice. You push her hands above her head as you break the kiss; moving down to her breasts, you take the other into your mouth. Drinking more of her milk, Jihyo tilts her head back and wraps her legs around your waist. You feel Jihyo's walls constrict around your cock as she approaches another orgasm. Filling your mouth with her milk, you give her another kiss sharing the rich liquid. Jihyo's initial shock is quickly replaced by bliss as she climaxes. Her legs tighten around you and push you deeper inside. "Cum inside me, please." Jihyo's eyes are filled with a certain kind of desperation, and you fulfill her request. A few thrusts later, your cock begins to throb inside her, and you explode, filling her womb with cum. Jihyo breaks free from your grip at that moment and leans up, capturing your lips for another kiss. Her arms wrap around your head until she runs out of breath. "Thank you." You both relax in that position until you grow soft inside her. As you pull out, a small amount of cum leaks from Jihyo's cunt. She looks down at it for a moment, deep in thought, before shaking her head. 

You fall to her side and stare at her face. Jihyo's hair is plastered to her forehead, sweat dripping from her brow as she turns to look at you. She smiles at you, "I'm here for a few more days." Do you think we could do this again?" She asks shyly. You smile back at her.

"Of course, I don't think I could ever get enough of you." Jihyo stares at you for a while before leaning up and getting dressed. You watch her as she does, enjoying every curve of her body. 

Jihyo opens the door to your bedroom and steps out. Sticking her head back into the room for a second, she asks, "See you tomorrow?" You nod your head, and she leaves your hotel room. You go through the thoughts about the sex you just had with her dozens of times in the minutes since she's left; eventually, you fall asleep to those thoughts. 

As Jihyo returns to her room, she sees her husband sleeping on the bed, not a single concern about where she's been. Jihyo grabs her sleepwear and heads to the bathroom. She runs a bath and sits down in the warm water. Her thoughts run back to what she just did. It didn't feel wrong to her; it wasn't rough and animalistic. It was softer and more intense than she expected; she felt loved. As Jihyo recalls how you made love to her, her hands wander to her breasts and cum-filled cunt. She masturbates, fingering herself and kneading her breasts. The taste of her milk is still fresh in her mind. Jihyo orgasms in her bath before cleaning herself and getting out. Putting on her sleepwear, she gets into bed and dreams of this night's events. 

The following day Jihyo wakes up early; seeing her husband still asleep, she leaves the room and goes to use the hotel gym. As she's walking to it, she runs into Jeongyeon. Jeongyeon blushes when she sees her friend in such a good mood. "Did-did it go well last night?"

Jihyo looks at her friend, debating how to respond. She finds the words soon enough. "Do you have time to sit down and talk?" She asks first. When Jeongyeon says she can, the two head to one of the many restaurants. After they order, the pair begin talking. 

 "So, did it go well?"

"Yeah, yeah, it did. He was…" Jihyo searches for the right words during her pause. "Gentle and loving. I really liked it, actually."

Jeongyeon, seeing her friend's sincere smile, is a little jealous. "I assume your husband doesn't know?"

"Yeah, he was asleep when I got back. I'm going back to the guy tonight, Jeongyeon." Jihyo states. "I want to feel loved again."

Jeongyeon has her mouth open with those words. "You're going back to the guy from last night?" Jihyo nods her head and giggles. "Jihyo, you're married. Think about this a little more."

"I know Jeongyeon, but you weren't there. You don't know what it felt like, how he held my hand and kissed me." Jihyo takes Jeongyeon's hand in her own. "Come with me tonight. You'll see why I'm going back." Jeongyeon questions Jihyo's words.

"I-I don't know."

"Jeongyeon, when's the last time your husband looked at you with hungry eyes? When was the last time he touched you? I know it's been a long time; you said so yourself. Just let yourself enjoy what it's like to be a woman for one night. Leave behind being a wife and mother, just for tonight. If you don't like it, you can stop before he does anything. He's a decent guy." Jeongyeon feels uncertain about it all but agrees to at least give you a chance. The two remain together for the day; when night falls, Jihyo and Jeongyeon walk to your room, knocking at the door. You open it to your surprise. You had expected Jihyo but not Jeongyeon. 

"Give us a second to get comfortable. You get to the bedroom." You wait in the bedroom for the two women. Jihyo is the first to step out, changing into a white sheer lingerie set. Her large breasts are held up by a bra that leaves her nipple unprotected, while the rest of her breasts are barely hidden behind the lacy material. Small ribbons adorn the lingerie set, and as your eyes wander downward, you see the same concept applied to her panties. Her slit is easily accessible and already wet; a garter belt and lacy thigh highs finish the outfit. Jihyo enjoys your eyes, taking in every part of her body. "Oh, Jeongyeon," Jihyo says, calling her friend in.

Jeongyeon steps out in a black lingerie set, similar to Jihyo's; however, it did lack the garter belt and thigh highs. A sheer nightgown over it, you took in Jeongyeon's body. It was motherly; it turned you on. You had taken your clothes off while you waited, and your arousal was immediately noticed. "Ooh, Jeongyeon. Look who made him hard." Jihyo says, teasing her friend. "Let me take care of him first." Jihyo walks toward the bed, ensuring her breasts bounce with every step. Crawling onto the bed, she lays on her stomach between your legs. You feel her soft but strong hand take hold of your shaft, slowly stroking you. 

"That feels so good, Jihyo," you moan. Jeongyeon watches on from the doorway until Jihyo calls for her. 

"Jeongyeon, come on." Jeongyeon gets beside her friend and stares at the cock before her. Jihyo grabs her hand and places it on your shaft. The heat from it gets Jeongyeon wet, and she licks her lips. "Ooh, getting hungry already?"

"N-no," Jeongyeon says. As the two women stroke your cock you can't help but moan louder. 

"Fuck, your hands are so soft, Jeongyeon. This feels amazing." You cry; Jeongyeon blushes and starts to go faster. Jihyo lets her friend take over as she crawls toward your face, placing her breast in front of you. Leaning forward, you take her breast into your mouth and start sucking on it. Your mouth is quickly filled with her milk once again. Jeongyeon's continued handjob makes you buck your hips. Seeing you so excited, Jeongyeon kisses your cock. For a moment, she forgets she's a married woman. Her lips separate, and her tongue swirls around the head; Jeongyeon had forgotten what a cock tasted like. She's fully immersed as she begins bobbing her head. Her tongue runs along the underside of your shaft before Jeongyeon starts to work the sides. Her lips are pressed against your shaft as she runs them up and down your cock.  Hearing you moan her name brings a smile to Jeongyeon.

While you enjoy Jeongyeon's mouth and the taste of Jihyo's milk, your hand moves to Jihyo's ass. You give it soft squeezes, making the woman moan loudly. Your other hand caresses the side of Jeongyeon's face; she enjoys the feeling and works hard to make sure you cum. "I'm going to cum, Jeongyeon." You moan. You hear her hum some sort of approval as your cock slides back into her mouth. Your hips buck upward as you begin to orgasm, ropes of cum spurt out into Jeongyeon's mouth. She drinks the salty liquid eagerly. Having enough restraint, Jeongyeon lets the final ropes fill her mouth and leaves your cock to kiss Jihyo. The two women share your cum, with Jihyo grateful to get a taste. The two savor it. "You were great, Jeongyeon; let me repay you." 

You guide her into her back and get between Jeongyeon's legs. She looks at you nervously. You see her small bush, and you near her slit. Jeongyeon notices the hungry look in your eyes, expecting you to dive right in; she's surprised to feel you kiss her thighs as you slowly move inward toward her slit.

"See what I mean, Jeongyeon?" Jihyo whispers into her friend's ear. 

"I see- ahh," Jeongyeon moans as she feels your tongue push past her folds and start to taste her. Jihyo removes her friend's nightgown and squeezes her breasts. She kisses her friend, hoping to get more cum from her before going down to her breasts and sucking on them. "Ahh, wait, my breasts are sensitive!" Jeongyeon screams. You drag your tongue along Jeongyeon's slit before diving back in. Your tongue pushing deep into her cunt, you taste her sweet nectar. As you continue, you feel Jeongyeon squeeze your head with her thighs. You keep her legs spread apart, your hands burying themselves in her soft flesh. The pleasure is quickly becoming too much for Jeongyeon; you feel her legs shake as they wrap around your head. You lap up her juices as Jeongyeon cums. You can hear Jihyo teasing her friend as you finish drinking Jeongyeon's nectar. 

You crawl up Jeongyeon's body until you are face to face with her. "Do you want to go all the way?" Jeongyeon's face is flush as she's breathing heavily.

"I-yes. Yes, fuck me." She says. Jeongyeon spreads her legs for you. You hold onto Jeongyeon's thighs as you align yourself with her cunt. You push the head inside, feeling her pussy wrap tightly around you. Jeongyeon groans, feeling herself begin to be filled. 

You feel Jihyo's breasts press against your back. "Go on, fuck her." She whispers into your ear. "Make her know what it feels like to be a woman again." You push your cock deep into Jeongyeon; her pussy feels different from Jihyo's, constricting around your cock with every movement. You bury your cock inside Jeongyeon, waiting for a second. Your hands on her waist, you lean down and capture her lips. While Jeongyeon tries to resist at first, she succumbs and lets you explore her mouth. You caress her thighs before moving up her body and playing with her breasts.

"You're so beautiful, Jeongyeon." Your compliment seems to please Jeongyeon as she smiles. Jihyo urges you on, and you continue thrusting into Jeongyeon. Her cries grow louder, and she holds onto your arms as you sink your cock into her. Jeongyeon's nectar splashes onto her thighs and falls onto the mattress as you thrust. "I think I'm going to cum."

"I-I want you to cum inside me. Fill me with your cum." Jeongyeon moans

"Ooh, look at you." Jihyo teases. Jeongyeon hides her face from Jihyo, embarrassed at what she said. A few more thrusts and you bury your cock inside Jeongyeon, unloading waves of cum into her tight pussy. You cup Jeongyeon's cheeks and force her to look at you as you cum. You steal another kiss from her, triggering her orgasm. Jeongyeon locks her legs around your waist and matches the passion of your kiss. You feel Jeongyeon grind against you as she milks you for more cum. Once out of breath, you break the kiss, staring into Jeongyeon's eyes afterward; she blushes. 

"That was great," she says with her chest still heaving. Her legs unlock, and you pull out of her. Jeongyeon feels your cum flowing out of her and has to taste your cum again. She scoops a small handful out and licks her fingers clean. Seeing this makes you get hard immediately. 

Jihyo lays down on the bed next to Jeongyeon, "my turn." She spreads her lips, allowing you to see how wet she is. Jeongyeon turns onto her side and prepares to watch her friend get fucked. You move over and bury your cock inside of Jihyo in one move. She lets out a loud moan and tilts her head back. Jeongyeon has a bemused smile as she watches. You start thrusting quickly; you missed the feeling of Jihyo's walls caressing your shaft. You hold on to Jihyo's hand while looking over at Jeongyeon. 

You squeeze one of her breasts, watching milk squirt from her nipple. Jeongyeon yelps from your action. "Jeongyeon, can I taste your milk too?" While embarrassed at the request, Jeongyeon gets up and holds her breast to your head. You start suckling on it, hearing her moan louder than Jihyo; her breasts really were sensitive. You taste Jeongyeon's milk; it's not as sweet as Jihyo's but has the same richness. "You're such a naughty mommy, Jeongyeon." You play with Jeongyeon's slit, sliding your fingers between her lips. 

"I-I'm not!" Jeongyeon cries as she pushes more of her breast into your mouth. Jihyo moves your other hand to her breast, making you squeeze the milk from it as you thrust into her. 

"Fuck, I love both of your bodies." You groan as you slam your cock into Jihyo. You feel her walls clamp down on your cock as she nears her orgasm. 

"I'm cumming!" Jihyo cries as she moves her hips erratically. Feeling her walls milk you, you cum as well. You lightly bite Jeongyeon's nipple as you do, triggering her third orgasm of the night. As your moans mix together, you fill Jihyo with another load.  You pull out and collapse between the two women. Jihyo and Jeongyeon lay their heads on your chest, each woman kisses you on the cheek, and they sigh. “I think I’ll stay here tonight,” Jihyo says.

“Me too,” Jeongyeon says as she closes her eyes. Nestled between the women’s big tits, you relax. When morning came, the women were still in bed with you. “Good morning, handsome,” Jeongyeon says before she kisses you. 

“Morning,” Jihyo says as she does the same thing. “So what did you think, Jeongyeon?”

“I…I could get used to this.” Jeongyeon looks at you, “Are you still going to be here? I mean, how long are you staying here? I want to spend more nights together. At least until my last day here.” 

“I’m going to be here another week.” You respond.

“That’s perfect! Isn’t it Jeongyeon?” Jihyo nearly yells in her excitement. Jeongyeon nods her head. “We’ll be leaving the same day as you. I hope you don’t get sick of us.”

“I could never.”

[miriamladyvoid]

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My ask: The Valentine's event sounds amazing, I want to participate too! So I'll make my order (I hope it doesn't sound too gringe) Silver I finally found you! ♡ I-I hope this doesn't sound too sudden on my part; but this Valentine's Day as a sign of my great admiration for your skills as a future knight, I have made this entire collection of drawings inspired by you ੈ✩‧₊˚(I hand him several drawings of Silver in the middle of his training with the sword)*ೃ༄ I hope you like them. And if you have time, maybe I can invite you to a coffee, you know, like a d-date; I look nervously at the floor.

𝒯𝓌𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝐹𝑒𝒷𝓇𝓊𝒶𝓇𝓎 - 𝒮𝒾𝓁𝓋𝑒𝓇

Uh oh, I kinda misinterpreted it as you giving him the gift during his practice- hope you don’t mind!

~♡!

For a little while, he was caught off guard by your statement. He rubbed his back sheepishly before slightly bowing down. 

“I apologise that you had to make such an important statement when I’m in such an unsightly state.”

Well, You caught him during his training after all. His hair was slightly messy, his cheeks were tainted with a blush (although not anymore just from physical work), his clothes were a bit dishevelled and two of the buttons of his uniform were undone. 

Some would call it unsightly, but for you, it was absolutely hot

He quickly wiped his hands from sweat and put his gloves on, before taking the drawings and examining them carefully. 

“Father once said that while someone’s hand chooses a sword as an effective weapon, some hands choose ink and paper, with great talent and work, they achieve feats far greater than those who wield steel. At that time, I did not understand why I was told to protect them with my sword, but I do now.”

His smile had no reason to be this warm and enchanting for someone with such great physical combat abilities.

“Thank you for your gift. I truly appreciate your efforts and I am looking forward to seeing your artistic potential flourish even more, with time.”

With care, he put the papers between the books in his schoolbag before turning back to you.

Soft sunrays seemed to seep through his shining hair as he smiled at you. A gust of warm breeze whispered something about the beautiful future when a bird holding a little violet in its beak sat on Silver’s shoulder. 

“Ah, thank you.” He accepted the precious gift with gratitude and stretched the hand holding it in your direction.

“Although I will need to ask you to excuse my rudeness. I feel obliged to make you happy and to offer you protection. No matter how I look at it, I should be the one asking you to spare me some of your time.”

He took a few steps closer. Those steps were soft on a grass carpet.

“Would you do me the honour of going on a date with me, y/n?”

The original publication and writing belongs to @aviagax (Post recovered) 02/02/23

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Banners created by miriamladyvoid© Feel free to use; please, reblog, and credit banners.

Language of the flowers of each Banner:

First Banner: Rose, Button: Love Sweet and Secret. Second Banner: Hibiscus: Delicate Beauty. Third Banner: Laurentina, Viburnum: Faithful Love.