#please don’t listen to anything I say ever

[revelboo]

There's a transformers picrew!

Mechanoid Maker is the name :3

I made two :p

Cute!

Delirium Pt 4

Whirl x Reader

• “You’re an awful best friend. The worst, really.” Ignoring Whirl’s rambling as you watch the medic work to repair the damaged lines and mesh in his wrist where you’d stabbed him. Repeatedly. “I still love you, bestie. But listening? Not your strong suit. I said stab Cyclonus. Not me. We gotta work on that.” What could you have possibly done to deserve this? You donate to charities. Maybe not every year, but you at least try to. You’re no saint, but you definitely don’t deserve him.

• “Can I please have that bit of metal back?” You ask Ratchet, turning those big, deceptively innocent eyes on him. Vicious little thing. “Considering I’ll have to repair wherever you cut him? No,” Ratchet growls. Talking about him like he’s not even there? Rude. Stretching out a leg to prod you with a ped, until he manages to hook the end against you and drag you closer to where he’s sprawled, the medic vents angrily at the movement.

• “Awww. Look at that bloodthirsty little face, doc. Makes me want to give you some grenades to play with.” Because the way you’re scowling at him, angry at the world? He gets it. You really are just a tiny, delicate him, thrown into a situation against your will and baring your teeth at the world to hide the fear. “Ever killed someone?”

• “Do you ever shut up?” And he’s pulling out of Ratchet’s hands to bump your forehead with his helm hard enough to hurt as his wrist bleeds energon. Optic squinting when you immediately smack him. “I was wondering, why do you look like a giant, ugly cyclops-chicken instead of a robot person?” You ask rubbing your head and scooting backwards out of head butting range. And it takes you a moment to catch on that there’s no smart comment or insane rambling. No response at all to that question. When you look up his optic is dimmer and he eases back holding out his arm for the medic. That shut him up? Is he sensitive about how he looks? You’re not sure that’s it when the medic looks away. Making you wonder if he’d looked normal, well, alien normal, at some point. And what had happened.

• Staring at his claspers as they slowly open and close, suddenly, you’re not so much fun to mess with. Doesn’t want to explain what happened to him, what had been done to him against his will. His punishment. Stripping away his hands, his face, crippling him. Making sure every other Cybertronian would look at him as an example and never cross any lines, obey every stupid rule. They made him forever less than a person and that desperate, mania is bubbling up with the need to do something. Anything to be seen. To be more than a warning. “Grenades,” he says, latching onto that thought. Anything but thinking about that. “I know where we can get some.”

Previous

[my-starlights]

ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴇx!ʙꜰ ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ ᴋᴇɴᴛᴏ…

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴇᴡ. In which you stumble into your ex, Nanami Kento.

ʟɪᴍʙᴏ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ. Angst :: hurt/comfort :: fluff at the end :: sfw

ʟᴏꜱᴛ ꜱᴘɪʀɪᴛꜱ. Nanami Kento  :: Gojo Satoru

ʀᴜɪ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ. It’s been a while since I wrote something haha… I said I’d do geto but Nanami has my heart so here we are 😭

ᴡᴄ.  1.1k

“Listen, let’s be mature about this, please.”

The light on your phone glares into your glassy eyes.

“I don’t want this either, but you’re not a child anymore.”

Even though you’re looking at couplecore posts on social media, Kento’s voice keeps breaking through.

Stupid lovey-dovey couples on Tik Tok. You angrily swipe at your eyes and press ‘not interested’ at the video.

“If you can’t handle this argument like an adult, perhaps you should take a step back from this relationship.”

Your phone suddenly turns dark - agh, it died - and with a huff you set it down to charge, looking at the ceiling. It’s been three weeks since your messy breakup with Nanami Kento, and social media isn’t helping you forget about you and your boyfriend’s - ex-boyfriend’s - argument;  it started as a small confrontation about him overworking and ended with… with this.

You, leaving your shared home and going to your old Jujutsu Tech dorm.

Kento, still at his office, head in hands and unable to focus.

You know he’d never cheat; but it seemed like he was working to the bone. No more weekend dates or him coming home to you cooking dinner; he was at the office more than he’d see you, and for weeks on end. You’d been crying, begging him for a break from work, and him stoically telling you in an impatient voice that this was just what being an adult was.

The two of you never fought like this before. Ever since the argument, you feel as if a chunk of your being was forced away from you, leaving you empty. Alone. You feel a lump in your throat and swallow, blinking back more tears.

It’s time to move on, you reason with yourself. It was nearing midnight.

You sigh and close your eyes.

—

The next day, you wake up with the same sense of dread you’ve had in the past couple weeks, and just as you exit the old dorms… you see Gojo Satoru. Of course. You hadn’t seen him alone in a while, only with his girlfriend.

He spots you and strolls towards you, running hand through his hair. Was he… relieved?

Something’s awry.

“Ah! I’ve been looking for you,” he says, sighing as he takes in your somber appearance. “Everywhere. You have no idea.”

“Well here I am,” you say tiredly. “Why… why were you looking for me?”

“Nanami has been quite worried about you, you know. He wouldn’t tell me anything other than that. He’s asked me to look for you and taken time off from work, and everything.”

What? Kento off of work? This only happened on birthdays or holidays. And Gojo actually listening to Kento for once too? This has never happened.

“Oh,” you say quietly. “Well, I don’t know why anyone’s looking for me. I’ve been here. Besides, Kento and I, we’ve broken up, so—“

“WHAT??” Gojo screeches, and you jump back, surprised by the noise. “YOU’RE NOT TOGETHER ANYMORE?”

You rub your temples. “Not anymore, I think?  He said I should take a step back from our relationship, and—“

Gojo is about to screech again when Kento walks up, hair ruffled and tie loosened, looking ready to murder Gojo. “Leave,” he barks at Gojo. “You found her, now go bother someone else.”

You jerk away from the two men. What the hell is happening?

Kento moves up to Gojo mutters something into his ear;  the latter turns pink and begins walking away, looking at you apologetically. Kento rubs the bridge of his nose, and turns to you.

“Oh, love,” he says quietly. “I’m so sorry about the past couple weeks. It wasn’t you who was immature, it was me.”

You look at him, defensive, eyes already slightly glassy. “You broke up with me. And now you want me back? That’s not how break ups work.” You pivot on your heel, heart breaking at his surprised face, and start walking briskly away, him quickly catching up.

“Love, I didn’t mean to… we’re not seriously broken up, are we? I never meant to… I was speaking without thinking, please don’t tell me you thought we’re broken up…”

You turn to Kento abruptly, still walking. “What was I supposed to think?” You say, incredulous.

“No, no, no, love, I’m so sorry, please just stop walking—”

“—Kento, I’m not mature enough for you. I don’t take what you take seriously, I’m childish near you, and you made that clear. I understand now—“

You’re interrupted by Kento falling to his knees in front of you. “Love,” he says, collecting your palms in his hands. “Please forgive me. I was the immature one, you’re too good to me, you were looking out for me—“

“Kento please get up—“

“—You need to understand this. You’re the love of my life, how could I ask that you step back? I’m ruined without you—“

“—Kento, please just—“

“—you’re the love of my life, I’m so sorry, I’ll spend every day making it up to you. I’ve started going only part-time at my job. I’m ready to do the best I can for you. You were worried about my well being and I punished you for it. Please just forgive me…”

Tears finally start rushing down your face, but Kento doesn’t let go of your hands. “Oh, Ken…” you sniffle. “You started part-time? For me? Please get up, I…. Let me hug you….”

He rushes up, feeling the blood run to his head, but he doesn’t care; you hug him hard, still crying. He feels a stab in his chest every time he feels a tear sink into his shirt.

You mumble against his broad chest. “I forgive you,” you mumble. “I missed you, Ken. I love you.”

He wraps you in a hug, looking down and cupping your face. His usually steady voice tremors slightly. “Am I still your… are we still together?”

You smile up, eyes watery, at him. “If you’ll have me.”

He hugs you hard. “There is no universe in which I don’t want you. I… let’s not do this here, love. Let’s go home, yeah?”

Your eyebrows crinkle in a way Kento didn’t realize he missed. You look up at him. “Home?”

“You think I just meant to apologize and move on? No, love, I have gifts for you. And a dinner planned. I don’t want to spend any more time at work that I could spend instead with you.”

You take his hand and intertwine your fingers with his, then lean upwards to peck his cheek. “I love you, Ken,” you say, stepping back.

The somberness, the loneliness you felt just this morning, fade away. The part of you that broke after your fight seems to mend itself back into you. Finally, you’re….

Complete again.

© property of @ghost-buddies. do not repost, translate or edit.

[luxerians]

The Last Mask (09)

Hwang In-ho/Oh Young-il/Player 001 x Reader

Chapter 09 - Purpose

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 10

PREV : Chapter 08

For a moment, you felt yourself drifting, caught between sleep and wakefulness. Or maybe you were already asleep. But then, after what felt like twenty minutes, you heard movement. Someone stepped cautiously on your mattress, careful not to touch you, and Jun-hee’s voice broke the quiet.

“Mr. Seong, I need to use the bathroom.”

“It’s too dangerous to go by yourself,” Gi-hun replied immediately.

You stirred, sitting up slowly with groggy eyes. “I’ll go with you.”

“It’s okay, big sis,” Jun-hee replied, sounding a little guilty for waking you.

Shaking off your drowsiness, you carefully got up from the mattress.

“I needed to go to the restroom too, actually,” you said which was a lie. You just wanted to accompany the pregnant Jun-hee.

Jun-hee hesitated for a moment before nodding. With that, Gi-hun stepped aside, giving you both room to pass as you headed toward the door to the ladies’ restroom.

“Oh, we can go together,” a voice chimed in.

You and Jun-hee turned to see player 149 – the mother – walking over with a wide grin. She moved toward you two with a relaxed stride through the open area of the dormitory. Both you and Jun-hee bowed your heads politely as she joined you.

The three of you reached the restroom door, and Jun-hee knocked softly. When there was no immediate response, she knocked again, a little louder this time. Finally, the circular window on the door slid open, revealing a triangle-masked guard who peered out at you all in silence.

“We need to use the bathroom,” stated Jun-hee.

“No,” the guard answered solemnly. “Entry and exit are restricted at this time.”

Jun-hee added, “Please. I’m not feeling very well.”

The guard repeated, “No. Entry and exit are restricted at this time.”

Player 149 rushed to move in front of Jun-hee, deciding to talk to the guard herself. “Look. Mr. Triangle, even though you’re wearing a weird mask, you’re still human, aren’t you? In the outside world, you might have a sister like them and a mom like me. When ladies say they need to use the bathroom, it’s for reasons they can’t tell you.”

You and Jun-hee rapidly nodded your head.

“If you can’t understand that, you shouldn’t even call yourself human,” said the mother. “You really shouldn’t.”

Suddenly, the guard closed the window without a word, shutting the three of you out.

The mother’s voice broke the silence, frail and filled with emotion. “Listen. Ever since I entered my 60s, I’ve had bladder control issues. I can’t go out without wearing a diaper, but I couldn’t bring any of the things I need here. Do you really have to make me wet myself?

“Imagine if I was your mother, Mr. Triangle. You wouldn’t do that to your mother. I came here because of my son’s debt. I should at least get to pee when I want, shouldn’t I?”

Her voice rose as she cried out, “What did I do in my previous life to deserve—”

Before she could finish, the door swung open, revealing a triangle-masked guard holding their weapon. The mother’s face lit up with gratitude as she grinned appreciatively.

As the three of you stepped past the door, another presence approached from behind. You turned to see player 120.

“Can I come too?” she asked the guard directly.

Jun-hee gave her a long stare but the mother quickly spoke up. “Oh, that’s okay. She’s a woman. Her name is Hyun-ju.”

She’s the one I was hiding behind during Red Light, Green Light. So her name is Hyun-ju, you thought.

The four of you were guided by another triangle guard to the ladies’ restroom. Along the way, the mother walked close to Jun-hee, gently asking about her family and if her parents might be worried about her.

Jun-hee’s reply was distant. “I don’t have any. I have no parents.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and uncomfortable. The mother’s concern didn’t waver. Once inside the restroom, she turned to Jun-hee again. “If you need help with anything, just let me know.”

Jun-hee hesitated before she said, “It’s okay.”

She turned and entered the cubicle. You couldn’t help but notice that Jun-hee seemed comfortable with you but kept a distance from player 149. Her earlier words played in your mind, and you figured she’d never experienced a mother’s love. Having someone act so caringly toward her must have felt strange, maybe even overwhelming. It was no surprise she’d pull away.

“Is she sick or something?” Hyun-ju asked lowly, glancing between you and the mother.

The mother stepped closer to her and whispered, “She’s pregnant.”

Hyun-ju’s jaw dropped, her gaze snapping to Jun-hee’s cubicle. The mother added, “I think she’s almost due.”

She then turned her attention to you. “Did you know?”

You nodded. “She told me and the others. We took her in instantly.”

The mother sighed, a look of relief crossing her face. “I’m glad. I can see you and the other guys have been taking good care of her.”

Her tone shifted, growing more urgent. “If you notice anything wrong with her, like she’s sick, unwell, or if her water breaks, please let me know. I’ve handled childbirths a few times in the past.”

You smiled warmly and nodded. “I will.”

The mother returned your smile, hers even warmer, before she headed into a nearby cubicle. You glanced at Hyun-ju, who was still staring at Jun-hee’s cubicle. Her expression was hard to read, but you couldn’t help but think she looked a little shocked, maybe even guilty. Perhaps the thought of voting for O, knowing there was a pregnant girl among the players, was weighing on her.

After finishing your business, you stepped out of the cubicle and noticed Hyun-ju at the sink, washing her hands and face. You joined her, standing side by side as you began to wash up as well.

The silence between you felt heavy, even though you were only inches apart. You wondered if she was distant because of her recent experiences after transitioning. It seemed like she only trusted the teammates she’d worked with during the Seven Legs Hexathlon. Maybe she was wary of you too.

Player 149 emerged from her cubicle and went to wash her hands. As she finished, her gaze shifted toward Jun-hee’s cubicle.

“Is she still in there?” she asked.

You and Hyun-ju both nodded. “Yeah.”

That’s when you realized Jun-hee had been in there for quite a while. Concern began to settle in. Stepping away from the sink, you watched as the mother approached the door and knocked gently.

“Miss? Are you alright?” she called. When there was no response, she knocked again, her tone growing more worried. “Are you okay in there? Is something wrong?”

You moved closer, your concern deepening. The mother pressed her ear against the door, listening carefully. Then you heard it. Faint sobs and quiet whimpers.

The mother slowly pushed the door open. From where you stood, you couldn’t see Jun-hee clearly, but the sound of her crying was unmistakable now that the door was ajar.

Player 149 hurried inside, her voice full of concern. “Oh dear. What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Is your belly hurting?”

You stepped forward until you were standing just outside the door. Jun-hee sat on the toilet, her posture slumped. It seemed like she’d finished her business long ago but had stayed in the cubicle. Her quiet sobs tugged at your heart, and you frowned, deeply worried for her.

“Oh, no. Your baby must be coming,” the mother assumed, crouching in front of Jun-hee. She gently placed a hand on her belly while rubbing her shoulder comfortingly. “Listen, tell me where and how it hurts.”

Jun-hee kept her gaze fixed downward, her tears falling freely. Her pale face was flushed from crying, and she didn’t look up at the mother. Her voice came out in a broken whimper. “I’m scared…”

Your chest tightened at her words. You could tell this wasn’t about labor. She wasn’t due to give birth. She was terrified. For herself, for her unborn baby. The fear of dying in this game while carrying her child finally exploded the moment she got a moment of privacy.

The mother leaned forward, wrapping Jun-hee in a full embrace. Finally, Jun-hee gave in, leaning into her comfort, her sobs muffled against the mother’s shoulder. The older woman began consoling her softly. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

Your heart warmed at the sight of Jun-hee finally giving in to the mother’s affection. You didn’t dare to intervene because she needed this. She needed a mother figure to soothe her fears and worries. Jun-hee might have never experienced a mother’s love before, but now she finally had it.

Aside from that, watching Jun-hee cry so openly, held tightly in the mother’s arms, stirred something deep within you. Your eyes began to brim with tears. The scene made you miss your own mother terribly. The longing to see your parents, to embrace them, overwhelmed you. The thought of being so close to never seeing them again, to never telling them everything you’d always wanted to say, hit you like a wave. And then there was Ji-yoo. Small and fragile, so much like Jun-hee.

If you die in this game, who will take care of Ji-yoo and your parents?

A tear slid down your cheek before you even noticed. You quickly wiped it away, hoping no one saw. From the corner of your eye, you caught Hyun-ju walking closer. She stopped a few steps away, her expression one of quiet astonishment as she watched the mother and Jun-hee.

Once Jun-hee had calmed down, her face still red and streaked with dried tears, she and the mother stepped out of the cubicle. Without hesitation, you pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her close to your chest. Her pregnant belly pressed gently against your abdomen.

Jun-hee accepted your embrace and began sobbing again, her quiet sniffles muffled against your shoulder. Beside you, the mother reached out, patting Jun-hee’s back and your shoulder in a soothing gesture.

“Everything will be okay,” you murmured softly, brushing Jun-hee’s hair with your fingers. “We’ll prioritize you no matter what. You have a mother here who’s so worried about you. You have me. And you have a bunch of caring uncles. We’ll protect you and your baby.”

Jun-hee sniffled, nodding slightly into your shoulder, her grip on you tightening as if to draw strength from your words.

The four of you exited the restroom together. You kept one arm around Jun-hee’s shoulders as you made your way back into the darkened dormitory. The mother walked alongside you while Hyun-ju lingered awkwardly behind. Her concern was evident but she was hesitant. She seemed unsure whether Jun-hee would accept comfort from her.

Gi-hun, still on watch, noticed you immediately. His wide, bewildered eyes followed your small group as he got up from his seat on the floor.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” he asked, his voice laced with worry.

The mother rested a gentle hand on your back, helping guide you and Jun-hee toward your sleeping spot.

“It’s nothing,” she reassured him, her tone calm but firm. “The little lady here was just overwhelmed. But I’m sure you and the others will take good care of her.”

The mother stopped beside Gi-hun, her gaze following his as he watched Jun-hee. You helped Jun-hee lie down on her mattress, pulling her blanket up to her chest as she gently rested her hands on her belly. In a soothing voice, you told her, “Go to sleep, Jun-hee. Let’s do our best tomorrow.”

Jun-hee’s teary eyes met yours, and she nodded without speaking. Turning to her side, she closed her eyes, her breathing gradually evening out.

The mother nodded approvingly, placing a reassuring hand on Gi-hun’s back. She then said softly, “In that case, I’ll head back to bed now.”

She turned to you, her tone serious. “If anything happens to her, tell me immediately.”

You stood up from beside Jun-hee and stepped closer to the mother. Offering her a warm smile, you replied, “Yes, I will. Thank you for everything.”

“It’s nothing,” she said with a light wave of her hand. “Good night, then.”

You and Gi-hun nodded as she turned and walked toward her bed. Hyun-ju followed behind, likely because her spot was near the mother’s.

Gi-hun turned to you before he nodded to your spot and said calmly. “Go back to sleep. I’m still keeping watch.”

You nodded and settled onto your mattress, watching as Gi-hun returned to his spot, blocking the only path leading into your group's sleeping area. He sat with his back hunched a bit, his eyes focused on the darkened dormitory.

You were about to lie down when your gaze lingered on his back. Questions churned in your mind, ones you’d been wanting to ask but never found the right moment. His solemn, brooding demeanor had always made you hesitate.

But now, with the dormitory quiet and the others asleep, it felt like the perfect time to finally ask.

“Gi-hun,” you called softly, making sure to use his ssi honorific. He turned his head, glancing at you over his shoulder with a look of mild surprise, likely wondering why you weren’t asleep. Crawling off your mattress, you settled next to him, crossing your legs as you spoke. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

His solemn expression softened slightly as he nodded. “Yeah, what is it?”

You hugged your knees to your chest, hesitating before continuing. “I’m sorry if this brings up bad memories, but… what was your last time here like?”

Gi-hun’s eyes widened, and he stared at you, unblinking. He seemed caught off guard, as though the question had taken him somewhere he didn’t want to return to.

Trying to explain yourself, you added, “I want to know because… you seem very distant. Like you don’t want to be close to anyone here. But at the same time, you’re always trying to save everyone.”

He looked away, his gaze dropping to the floor. His face took on a somber look that made your chest tighten. For a moment, you regretted asking. Quickly, you tried to backtrack. “Or… you don’t have to tell me. I’m just curious. Maybe you could just tell me what games you played here?”

Gi-hun stayed silent, and you couldn’t tell if he was sad or simply unwilling to answer. The weight of his unresponsiveness made you frown slightly, a pang of disappointment settling in your chest. Perhaps the bond you thought was forming wasn’t as strong as you’d hoped. Despite his offer to help with your debt, his walls were clearly still up.

Forcing a small smile, you turned your gaze forward and tried to lighten the mood. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have asked. Good night, Gi-hun.”

“I had a few friends here,” he said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence. You turned to look at him, surprised he’d decided to speak. His gaze remained fixed on the floor as he continued, “When I was here last time, I made friends. We were a group. We ate dinner together. We got to know each other’s names. We tried to survive as a group.”

His voice grew quieter. “But in the end, it didn’t matter. This place makes you choose between yourself and everyone else. And no matter how much you want to protect someone, it’s never enough.”

He paused, taking a deep breath, as though trying to steady himself. “We played Red Light, Green Light first. Then Dalgona. After that, Tug of War, Marbles…”

His voice faltered, and his hands twitched slightly.

You waited, sensing there was more he wasn’t saying. Finally, he added, “By the end, it was just me and one other person. He… he was my best friend. But the last game…”

Gi-hun trailed off, his gaze fixed on the floor as if the memories were playing out there in front of him. You waited, giving him the space to continue. After about ten seconds, he finally spoke again. “This place turns everyone into something they’re not. It doesn’t matter how strong your friendship is. The games are designed to break it.”

“You said everyone here died except you as the winner,” you pointed out cautiously. “But I thought you could leave with a share of the prize if the majority votes for X.”

“In my time playing here, there was no such thing as a voting process after each game,” Gi-hun explained, his tone steady but heavy. “We had the same Clause Three in the consent form, but if we left, we got nothing.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “What? You wouldn’t get a share if you left?”

Gi-hun turned to you, his expression serious as he nodded. “Yeah. After Red Light, Green Light, a lot of us voted to leave, and we did. But we got nothing. I was desperate, so I came back. Turned out, everyone else came back too.”

“So…” you stared off into space, processing his words. “They updated this game’s rules. Leaving with a share of the prize money is actually a new thing.”

Gi-hun nodded solemnly. “Yeah. And I have a feeling why the overseer of this game made that change.”

You leaned in slightly, curiosity burning in your chest. “Why?”

Gi-hun’s eyes flicked to the large TV screen above the double doors. “He wanted to prove to me that it’s not the games’ fault that the players die. It’s the players themselves. They’re the ones who choose to stay in this game, no matter how much they earn or how high the stakes get.”

Silence fell between you as his words sank in. The weight of his statements settled heavily in your mind, stirring even more questions. But you held them back, not wanting to push him further.

“Who is… the overseer of this game?” you asked carefully, your voice barely above a whisper.

Gi-hun kept his gaze fixed ahead, his expression unreadable. “The one who controls this game. I’m sure the guards call him Captain.”

“Gi-hun,” you pressed, staring at him with a mix of curiosity and concern. “How do you know so much?”

He turned to you, his solemn eyes meeting yours. “I came back here for a reason. I will do whatever it takes to prove to this ‘Captain’… that the world has changed.”

You blinked at him, taken aback by the weight of his words. “Have you met this Captain?”

“Not directly,” he replied, his voice growling with restrained fury. “But he saw us like horses. Trashes, he said. We are just mere trashes to him.”

You turned your gaze away, your stomach churning at the thought. That’s all you are to them? Trash? The word made you feel small and insignificant. But then you caught the faintest sigh from Gi-hun, and when you glanced back, he was already staring at you.

“What?” you asked curiously.

His features softened slightly, and you felt a faint warmth radiate from his expression. It was like watching a heavy storm give way to the first rays of sunlight, momentary but impactful. You tilted your head to the side and blinked your eyes innocently.

“You know,” he began, his tone less severe now, “you remind me of someone.”

Your curiosity piqued. “Who?”

He leaned back slightly, his gaze distant as if recalling a memory. “A friend I met in my previous game. His name was Ali. He was kind, selfless, smiling. And strong. I almost died on my first Red Light, Green Light.”

He stretched his right arm out, forming a fist as he demonstrated. “I tripped on a corpse and stumbled, but he held me up by my collar. We froze like that. If it weren’t for him, I would have died.”

You watched him silently, noticing how his face softened at the memory. There was a quiet warmth in his expression, a rare glimpse of something lighter amidst the darkness. He retracted his arm and rested his forearms back on his raised knees.

“He must have been a kind guy,” you said softly.

“One of the kindest I’ve ever met,” Gi-hun replied. “He trusted too easily, though.”

You tilted your head slightly in innocent curiosity. “Is that why I reminded you of him? Because I trust too easily?”

Gi-hun turned to look at you, a faint smile forming at the corners of his lips. “No. It’s because you’re all smiles and helpful, even in this dark place.”

He paused, his smile fading slightly as he added, “He didn’t make it. But he showed me that even in the darkest times, there’s room for kindness.”

His words struck a chord, and a smile naturally formed on your lips. His own smile widened. What you didn’t realize was how much you reminded him of himself – back when he was bright, optimistic, and full of hope. In you, he saw a glimpse of the person he used to be.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, another presence loomed in the shadows. From his sleeping spot under the bed, Young-il lay awake. He had heard every word as he remained utterly still. The soft hum of the dormitory masked his presence, leaving you and Gi-hun oblivious to the silent observer just a few spaces away.

“Now go to sleep,” Gi-hun urged, his smile fading slightly. “If you want to keep watch later, you’d better get enough rest beforehand.”

“Yes, sir,” you replied playfully as you turned and crawled back to your mattress. “Good night.”

Gi-hun let out a soft sigh, the kind that hinted at exhaustion or maybe a bit of awkwardness from acting friendly after being so solemn for so long. Still, he muttered, “Night.”

Settling onto your mattress, you pulled the blanket snugly to your chest. Out of habit, your gaze drifted to your left where Young-il lay. The small, single-bed-sized mattresses meant everyone was fairly close, but his presence felt especially near.

Young-il was lying straight on his back, his forearms resting on his abdomen, his eyes closed. Even in sleep, there was something about his posture that made him seem oddly alert. It was like he was always ready for something.

You quickly looked away, turning to lie on your side, your back now facing him. Shutting your eyes, you tried to quiet your thoughts and focus on falling asleep.

A gentle shake stirred you from your sleep. A large hand rested lightly on your shoulder, nudging you awake. Then came a voice, calm and steady, calling your name:

“Sorry to disturb you, but if you’re too tired, it’s fine. I can cover your shift.”

You stirred, groaning softly as the sting of sleepiness hit you. Reluctantly, you opened your eyes, blinking against the dim light. Turning your head, you saw Young-il kneeling beside your mattress, his hand still resting gently on your shoulder. His gaze was calm but insistent, waiting for your response.

The fog of sleep clung to you, making it feel as though you’d been dragged out of a deep, comforting slumber. Your first thought was to tell him you were too exhausted to stay up. But then you remembered why you’d volunteered in the first place. What kind of person would you be if you backed out now?

Forcing yourself upright, you groggily rubbed your eyes, still struggling to shake off the weight of sleep. Young-il leaned back slightly, giving you space as your blanket slipped down to your thighs. You glanced around, trying to orient yourself. You then noticed Gi-hun already sleeping under the bed on your right side.

“Go back to sleep,” he said softly, patting your shoulder. Before you could respond, he grabbed your blanket and pulled it back up over your chest with an ease that felt strangely natural.

“I’ll handle your shift,” he continued. “And I’ll tell the others I didn’t wake you up on purpose.”

You shook your head groggily, your words coming out slow and slurred. “No… I want to keep watch.”

Young-il’s lips curved into a faint smile, but he didn’t argue immediately, simply watching as you fought against your sleepiness to fully wake up. He stepped back slightly and nodded. “Alright. You should wash your face first. That’ll help wake you up.”

You crawled off your mattress, moving to the spot where you had sat beside Gi-hun earlier. As you did, Young-il stood up to follow.

“It’s fine,” you said, rubbing your face to will yourself awake. “The triangle guard won’t let me into the bathroom.”

“I’m sure they will,” Young-il said, his tone calm but confident. You glanced at him, curious about his certainty. Had he been to the men’s restroom at night without any trouble? The last time you went with Jun-hee, the mother, and Hyun-ju, the guard only let you pass because of the mother’s relentless cries.

Massaging your face, you muttered, “I already went earlier with Jun-hee. The guard won’t let me pass twice.”

“They will,” Young-il said again. “Come with me.”

Before you could protest, he straightened and walked toward the middle of the dormitory’s clear area. You watched him, confused, before finally pushing yourself to follow.

“I said it’s fine,” you drawled, catching up to him. “I don’t want to deal with the guard again.”

Young-il didn’t respond. He continued toward the door to the women’s restroom, stopping in front of it and waiting for you to join him. When you finally reached his side, you sighed and said, making sure to use his ssi honorific, “Young-il, if the guard denies us, let’s just go back.”

He knocked firmly on the door. At first, there was no response, just like the last time with Jun-hee. He knocked again. After a moment, the circular window slid open, revealing the expressionless mask of a triangle guard.

“She needs to use the restroom,” Young-il said evenly. “Let her in.”

The triangle guard didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stared at you both, the silence stretching uncomfortably in the dim dormitory.

A few seconds later, the triangle guard slid the window shut without a word. Young-il turned to you and gave a small nod, a silent gesture to wait. You couldn’t hide your confusion. Why didn’t the guard deny you outright like before? You thought.

A few seconds passed, feeling much longer in the tense quiet, before the door creaked open. The triangle guard stood there, flanked by two more guards holding their guns. Young-il glanced at you, his expression calm but firm.

“Go,” he said simply. “I’ll keep watch for you.”

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded and stepped inside. As you moved past the guards, just before heading further in, Young-il’s voice came again and this time, it sounded commanding. “Guard her.”

You turned to look over your shoulder, catching the way he stared intently at the two triangle guards stationed near you. His tone carried weight, as though he wasn’t just making a request but giving an order. You furrowed your brows in mild confusion, unsure why he did that out of the blue.

One of the guards turned without a word and started walking ahead, motioning for you to follow. The second guard remained behind you, positioning themselves to ensure you were completely covered on both sides.

Perplexed, you trailed the lead guard. The door shut firmly behind you, leaving Young-il outside as the two guards guided you deeper into the women’s restroom.

After finishing your business and splashing cold water on your face at the sink, you exited the bathroom. As before, the two triangle guards flanked you, one leading and the other following closely behind. Their silent presence felt heavy, yet you felt the most protected person in this place. When you reached the dormitory, the same guard who had let you in earlier opened the door for you, stepping aside as you walked back in alone. The door clicked shut behind you, and the faint hum of the dormitory’s dim atmosphere returned.

You made your way back, spotting Young-il sitting in the only path to your group’s sleeping spot. His gaze was already fixed on you. You lowered yourself onto the spot beside him, pulling your knees up and wrapping your arms around them to make yourself comfortable.

“If I’d known the guards wouldn’t deny you bathroom access earlier, I would have woken you up,” you said, glancing at Young-il. “When Jun-hee, the mother, Hyun-ju, and I went earlier, the guards denied us entry. Twice.”

Young-il’s gaze stayed fixed on you, his expression attentive as you continued, lowering your voice, “The mother had to yell, ‘What did I do in my previous life?’ to finally make them let us in.”

A soft laugh escaped Young-il, his shoulders shaking slightly at your recount.

“At least it worked in the end,” he replied, his tone light. “But if you or the others ever need to go at times like this, wake me up. I’ll handle it.”

You offered him a small, sincere smile. “I will. Thank you.”

But then your smile faltered, and you averted your gaze. “Hopefully, this morning will be the last game. I don’t want to stay here any longer.”

Young-il nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful as he looked away. “You’re right. Let’s stay together, win again, and hope the majority votes to leave next time.”

You nodded in agreement. “I hope so too.”

The conversation tapered off, leaving a stillness between you. The air seemed thick with things unsaid between you two. It felt as though any words spoken now would either break the tension or make it worse.

You exhaled softly, stealing a glance at him. His profile was illuminated faintly by the golden glow of the piggy bank above, highlighting his composed expression. You turned your gaze back to the floor, trying to quiet your mind as the dormitory settled into its uneasy rhythm.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him glance at you. Your gaze shifted toward him, and your eyes met. He gave you a small smile, but then his eyes briefly dropped to your lips before he quickly looked away, fixing his focus on the floor.

The silence between you stretched for a moment before he spoke. “You must be surprised.”

You raised your eyebrows. “What?”

He lifted his gaze to meet yours again. The close proximity made the exchange feel heavier, almost intimate.

“About what Gi-hun said. About my wife,” he clarified. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

Oh, this topic.

You forced a smile and shook your head lightly. “Oh, it’s fine. I kind of assumed you were married already. You’re kind and mature, so it made sense. Turns out I was right.”

Young-il’s gaze dropped to the floor, his expression unreadable. You kept your eyes on him, watching closely. His reaction told you everything you needed to know. So it was true. He has a wife waiting for him at the hospital, you thought. The confirmation solidified your earlier decision: distancing yourself from him was the right choice. It was for the best.

“She was sick,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was calm but carried a weight that made you hold your breath. His eyes stayed fixed on the ground as he continued, “Acute cirrhosis. She needed a liver transplant, but we found out she was pregnant.”

Your eyes widened, and your face fell as his words sank in. He kept going, his tone growing heavier. “When the doctor suggested terminating the pregnancy, she refused. She was stubborn… She wanted to have the baby, even if it meant risking her life.”

You stayed silent, letting his words wash over you, as he went on. “When her condition worsened and no donor appeared, I borrowed as much money as I could to find a solution. But it was not enough.”

You turned your gaze away, unsure what to say. His voice softened but didn’t lose its seriousness. “I was desperate. A criminal heard about my situation and offered me money. I borrowed from him. But my work found out and saw it as a bribe. They fired me. I’d devoted my whole life to that job. It was one of the few things I truly loved.”

You frowned deeply, feeling an ache in your chest for him.

“Then I was invited to a program,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. “It promised money, so I joined. I was gone for a few days. By the time I won… by the time I came back with billions, my wife was already dead.”

Your eyes widened in shock as you turned to him, struggling to process his words. That’s when you noticed his eyes, glistening with unshed tears. They never fell, but the weight of them was undeniable.

“I have no purpose in life after the death of my wife,” he continued, his voice low but steady. “I disappeared from everything I once knew. There were so many times I became angry. Angry at the world. Angry at the people who fired me. Angry at those who didn’t step up to donate a liver. Angry at myself for leaving her when she needed me the most. Angry at everything.”

The room felt heavier with every word he spoke. You listened intently, unable to look away as he continued.

“There were times I wanted to end it all,” he admitted, his tone raw with emotion. “But I knew… I knew if I did, she’d hate me for it. She’d drag me to hell herself if it meant making me pay for giving up. So I lived. Barely. I was just a husk of a man, wearing a human skin that didn’t fit anymore.”

He exhaled deeply, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Eventually, I made a choice. I decided to go back to the program that gave me those useless billions. The place where I last had purpose in life.”

The realization hit you like a crashing wave. Everything he had said suddenly clicked in your mind. You stared at him, your voice barely above a whisper. “Correct me if I’m wrong… but is that program… this game?”

Slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet yours. The tears in his eyes caught the dim light, making them shimmer as he gave a single, solemn nod.

You gawked at him, thunderstruck. The implications swirled in your head, one question louder than the rest: So he was a previous winner? Just like Gi-hun? A winner who came back to play again?

“I was a winner of this game in the year 2015,” he said, as if reading your thoughts. His voice was steady but carried a note of vulnerability. “I didn’t tell Gi-hun. I never told anyone this. I don't want to be seen as the winner or a hero. All I want is to do these games and… find the slightest bit of purpose in life.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. In a soft tone, you murmured, “I’m sorry for what you’ve gone through.”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Life has a way of… pushing you into corners you didn’t even know existed.”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Still, what you’ve endured… it’s more than anyone should bear.”

His lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And yet… in these games, I found something.”

You tilted your head slightly, curiosity building in your chest. You did not have to say anything. Your need to know was palpable on your face.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned his gaze to you, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“A purpose,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart thudded against your ribs as he continued, “I thought it was impossible. That after everything I’ve been through, after losing my wife, I’d never feel it again. But now…”

He paused, and for a moment, you were certain the air between you had shifted. “I’ve found something worth protecting in this world.”

He didn’t elaborate, but the way he stared at you said more than words ever could. His gaze lingered, carrying an unspoken weight that sent warmth creeping up your neck. You opened your mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words. The realization struck you like a soft wave.

He meant you.

But then, you looked away. You didn’t want to misinterpret his kind gestures or sweet words as something deeper. If he truly meant more, you wanted him to say it outright.

“Young-il,” you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “If you… if you mean what I think you mean, you’d have to tell me. I can’t just assume.”

He shifted closer, his voice low but steady. “I want to take care of you… not just as a friend, but as something more.”

Your breath hitched, and you dared to meet his gaze. There was no hesitation in his eyes, only gentleness that made you turn vulnerable.

“I know,” he continued, “that this place is hell. It’s not the kind of place anyone should be finding hope. But you… you’ve brought hope. Hope that the world has given me a gift.”

You didn’t know what to say, the weight of his words settling over you like a heavy blanket. “Young-il…”

“I’m not asking for anything you’re not ready to give,” he interrupted softly. “But let me protect you. Not because we’re stuck in this place, but because… I care about you.”

His confession lingered between you, sounding heavy and raw. A part of you wanted to push him away, to insist that the circumstances were too dire for anything like this. But another part of you, the one that had felt the flutter in your chest every time he spoke to you or looked your way, wanted to believe him.

“It’s sad,” you murmured, your voice trembling slightly, “that we met in a place like this.”

His lips curved into a faint smile. “It is. But if it weren’t for this place, I would have never met you.”

You smiled, a faint blush creeping to your cheeks. “I suppose that’s one good thing about all this.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he looked away. You couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of happiness. In this moment, you were glad. Glad that he had trusted you enough to let his guard down. Glad that he had let you see the side of him he kept hidden from everyone else. Glad that he had taken off his last mask… right?

He turned his eyes back to you, holding your gaze with an intensity that made your breath hitch. You didn’t look away, meeting his stare head-on, feeling the weight of unspoken words between you. His eyes flickered down briefly, landing on your lips. Without thinking, your gaze followed suit, lingering on his for a moment too long.

The air felt charged, the space between you shrinking without either of you moving too much. Slowly, he leaned in. You did the same, your heart pounding louder with each inch you crossed.

“Please, don’t.”

Both of you flinched, the trance broken by a muffled voice. Turning quickly, you spotted Jung-bae sprawled out on his mattress, muttering in his sleep.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’ll stop betting on horses,” he mumbled, his face scrunched in a dream-induced grimace.

The sheer absurdity of the interruption had you stifling a laugh. Your shoulders shook with quiet amusement as you looked away.

Unbeknownst to you, Young-il’s expression darkened as he glared at the sleeping man, a mix of annoyance and disbelief flashing across his face.

Then your laughter reached his ears, breaking the tension in the most unexpected way. Young-il turned back to you, his features relaxing as a chuckle bubbled out of him.

“Talk about timing,” he said, shaking his head, his voice tinged with humor.

“Impeccable,” you replied, your grin widening as you stole another glance at Jung-bae, who remained oblivious, lost in his dreams.

The near-kiss moment replayed in your mind, your cheeks growing warmer each time the memory surfaced. You looked away, staring anywhere except Young-il. You couldn’t bring yourself to look directly at him, afraid he might notice the blush creeping up your face. The more you thought about it, the more embarrassed you became.

Without realizing it, you yawned softly, breaking your train of thought. The sleepiness hit you suddenly, but you tried to brush it off. Young-il, however, noticed immediately.

“You should go to sleep,” he said gently.

You glanced at him, flustered, and shook your head. “What? I’m not tired.”

Young-il tilted his head slightly, giving you a knowing look. “You’re not fooling anyone. You should rest. There’s no point in keeping watch if you’re barely awake.”

“I’m fine, really,” you insisted, trying to sound convincing. “I already washed my face.”

But Young-il wasn’t buying it. “Washing your face doesn’t mean you are not tired. Go rest. I’ll do it.”

You opened your mouth to argue again, but his steady gaze and calm persistence left you struggling for words.

“But… I don’t want you to cover my shift,” you murmured.

“I actually don’t want you to keep watch,” he admitted softly. “I woke you up so I could explain about my late wife. We don’t have much privacy so I thought keeping watch with you will be the perfect time to tell you.”

Before you could ask anything, Young-il reached out with his left hand and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing against your cheek. The simple gesture sent your heart racing, and your blush deepened. The touch was fleeting, but it left you momentarily speechless.

Feeling your resolve crumble under his gaze, you nodded shyly and crawled back to your mattress. As you pulled the blanket over yourself, you could still feel the lingering warmth of his touch. You couldn’t help but smile in delight, though you tried to hide it from him.

As soon as your head hit the pillow, a wave of exhaustion swept over you. Slowly, your eyes began to close, and the world around you blurred. This time, though, there was a warmth in your chest. A small smile formed on your lips as sleep claimed you, wrapping you in its gentle embrace.

NEXT : Chapter 10

PREV : Chapter 08

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Please feel free to leave comments and feedback about my story, the characters, the "you", and practically anything! I love reading your comments, especially long ones! What do you think about you consoling Jun-hee, your talk with Gi-hun, the fact that Young-il was listening the whole time, then Young-il helped you go to the restroom. Next it was his turn to talk with you, and also about Jung-bae's impeccable timing. What do you think about these?

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[htaesan]

　ᅠ ✿　ᅠ GIVING YOU MY FOREVER　　────　ᅠ ( han taesan )

𝓹recis ⠀ : ⠀when han taesan, your boyfriend, notices you haven’t been answering his texts for the entire day, he sets out to figure out why𑁋only to find you sobbing alone on top of the hill.

　　　ᅠ 한태산 ���⠀◜◡◝ ⠀⠀𝒇 reader ⠀wc 0.8k ⠀ genre comfort fluff established relationship ⠀ contains mentions of family issues crying skinship ⠀ note this fic is highkey self-indulgent bc i wrote this when i was having a hard time </3 so it kinda doesn’t make sense? welp ⠀ tagging @a-dream-bookmark ,@/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films , @sgz-net

　　　ᅠ ＞︿ 　　please leave feedbacks 　　& 　　reblog

“Hey, here you are.”

You didn’t have to look to know who it was—instead, you sigh deeply, letting the boy settle himself next to you. You throw your gaze far, letting your eyes capture the beauty of the night from atop the hill: the way the stars still shine despite being thousands and thousands of miles away, the way the city lights add a sparkle to the night’s black canvas. You take a deep breath, hoping that the smell of grass and the gentle breeze of autumn would bring some peace to your heart.

“You… okay?” you hear him ask after quite some time. You purse your lips, still not meeting his eyes, afraid all the tears might spill once you do. “You didn’t read my texts for the whole day.”

“M-maybe,” you manage. Your throat feels dry as you force your words out. “I’ll be fine.”

“You know,” he says, after a few moments. He places a hand on yours, his touch gentle and comforting. “You can tell me anything.”

You lower your head. 

Please don’t cry.

“I might not understand your pain, I might not fully understand what you’re going through,” he continues, his voice so deep and kind. “But I’m here. I’ll listen.”

“Even if you don’t want to tell me—or if you can’t find the right words to describe how you feel, I’ll be here. Always.” 

Under his hand, you clench your own. 

“I…”

“Okay?” 

You finally look up, turning slightly to meet his gaze. You bite your lower lip as you watch Taesan’s eyes widen slightly at the way your eyes fill with tears. His hands grab yours tight as he offers you a gentle smile. 

“I’m sorry,” you croak, lowering your head again as tears begin to spill. Taesan’s grasp remains firm, his thumb caressing the back of your hand. “I… I don’t know how to say this…”

Taesan smiles softly, squeezing your hands. “It’s okay. Tell me anything—just say anything that comes to mind, I’ll piece it together.”

“My parents,” you say, your words coming out one by one, in between sobs, “it’s stressing me out– I– is this my fault? Why– why are they fighting? I thought they– love– each other—”

You can’t stop it, your tears falling down your cheeks like raindrops in a storm, unstoppable and overwhelming. Your chest heaves up and down with each sob, your throat tight with a lump that makes your speech difficult to interpret. 

“Hey…” 

Taesan pulls you into a hug, causing you to hiccup in surprise. It engulfs you like a warm blanket on a winter night—you could smell Taesan: a mixture of champagne orange, passion fruit, sugar vanilla; the perfume his mother had bought for him. Immediately, your tears begin to flow down again, as Taesan’s warmth starts to become one with you. 

Taesan doesn’t let go—his embrace of you firm and comforting, telling you he’s there for you through every high and low. Taesan hugs you close, letting your heartbeat converge with his. He lets you cry your heart out in his arms, not giving a care in the world about how your tears are staining his favourite sweater. 

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispers, once your tears have subsided. 

“But… won’t you fall out of love, one day?” you ask him, resting your head against his chest. You close your eyes shut, trying to remove the memory of witnessing your parents’ fight from your mind. 

Taesan kisses the top of your head, resting his chin against it after. “Will I ever?”

“Maybe,” you mumble. 

“Darling,” Taesan says, causing butterflies to begin erupting in your stomach. He’s called you that for so many times already, yet it always catches you off guard. “If we love each other truly, we’ll always find a way to make things work, hm?”

He pulls away a little bit, and you look directly into his eyes. Taesan gives you a smile—different from his usual cheeky grin—beautiful, sincere, and ethereal. “Besides, we still have a long way to go before we get married, and before we die. We’ll have plenty of time to learn from our mistakes.”

“Married?” you exclaim, eyes widening. You smack his shoulder in an attempt to hide the blush that’s beginning to form on your cheeks.

“Yeah,” Taesan nods, folding his arms as he holds his neck from behind. “Why? You don’t like it?”

“Well… of course I love it,” you mutter, biting the inside of your cheek. After a while, you turn to him, narrowing your eyes. “But marriage is a serious matter, you know? I—”

Taesan kisses your cheek, grinning as he pulls away. “I know.”

You lock eyes with Taesan, the sparkling night around you, the gentle breeze blowing through. 

“And I love you, so seriously, to be doing it in the future. To be giving you my forever.”

― © htaesan, 2025.

[dollzites]

⏦ﾟ♡︎ SKZ IN A LONG DISTANCE RELATIONSHIP

୨ৎ pairing: boyfriend!skz x fem reader

୨ৎ genre: fluff! slight angst & mild sex talk

୨ৎ from myeong: hello! so happy to get this request and was excited to do it for you. I hope you enjoy x

ʚɞ BANG CHAN

I don’t want to say “he would hate it!” because he wouldn’t at all but he would miss you and miss you and miss you and miss you even if you both haven’t met yet in person. he has found his home and that of course is you! isn’t that so sweet? cutie chan :(

texts you as soon as he wakes up in the morning to make sure you’ve slept well, are feeling okay, and will eat enough/stay hydrated and with that being said he continues to text you throughout the day to please take care of yourself for him because he’s not there to do it yet. he uses the word yet a lot.

“I miss you.” “I love you, did you know that?”

“have anything going on today?” “be safe baby.”

“call me when you arrive.” “did you eat lunch yet?”

he’ll make time for the both of you to facetime frequently and if not then you’ll both have time to call. he just wants to hear your voice because it’s his favorite sound in the world. if it’s not a good time to call then he’ll send you voice messages and he of course wants voice messages back but only when the time is right for you. he never pushes.

will send you some of his hoodies, tshirts, chains, bracelets, glasses, and sweatpants for you to wear. he’ll just buy new clothes and accessories it really doesn’t matter to him. you’re most important.

he’ll come up with fun games for the both of you to play even if they’re the most random ones ever. he just wants to have fun with you and be able to share memories together so with that being said he asks you to download certain apps that would be fun for you both, “this is going to be so fun!”

phone sex is frequent with him and it wasn’t until you both were comfortable in the relationship! he waited for and with you to be ready. it becomes quite intense if he’s had a really bad day and just needs you and to hear those sweet moans he adores. he won’t ever ask for pictures unless you want to take them yourself and send them to him.

ʚɞ LEE KNOW

when you both met he wasn’t planning on falling for you and getting into a relationship but it was far out of his control once he felt the need to have you in his life and form a relationship together. he knew that the love he had for you was real and important.

will literally buy you every plushie in the world and spray his cologne on it and send them to you. he won’t tell you that the package is coming either, he’ll just send it and tell you there is a surprise waiting for you at the door which always makes you think it’s him but sadly never is. one day it’ll be him!

“hi princess. wanted to call you because I miss the sound of your sweet voice. makes me feel better.”

“your voice is so pretty. I can listen to it all day.”

“can you spend me a picture of you? it can be a silly or cute one I don’t mind. just wanna see you.”

he’ll keep a book of everything that he’s written about you. everything you hate and love and want or need. he keeps it with him at all times so he never forgets anything when wanting to buy you things at stores he comes across. he’s very good at shopping for you even at times he feels he’s not.

when you both facetime he’ll take so many pictures of you and videos even if you say you’re not in the “prettiest” state without makeup or cute clothes on. he finds you to be the most beautiful when you’re your authentic self being lazy at home.

enjoys to tease you with pictures of him shirtless or wearing super tight white tees. he knows that gets you going and wants to see how you react. typically he enjoys it when you call him and whine about him teasing you which leads to you not having phone sex if the time is right of course.

ʚɞ CHANGBIN

he’ll try to find ways to see you one way or another. especially if you’ve already met once or twice he’ll do what he can to meet you another time and make it longer this time around but if not? if you haven’t met at all yet then he’ll take things slow and wait for you to be 100% comfortable with him as your boyfriend of course. that doesn’t stop him from missing you and wanting to see you though.

sometimes you both argue about very small things and it’s nothing serious! but he just gets upset if he plans to finally come see you and they don’t work out well. either he’s gotten way too busy or it’s just not a good time for you. he’ll constantly apologize to you and swear to make it up somehow and it always makes you feel much better. you hate arguing with the man you love the most.

sends you good morning voice messages that you love so much. it never fails! every single morning he sends them to you and he knows that it helps you have a much better day. also goodnight messages as well if you don’t call or have time to facetime.

“where’s my pretty baby?” “can we call tonight?”

“I might’ve sent you a little something, okay?”

“wanna see your pretty face..send me something.”

absolutely loves calling or facetiming you while he’s writing songs because it helps him focus better. if it’s a song about you he won’t say a word about it until he knows he’s completely finished.

will set his phone up so you can watch him move around his room, clean up, or even record music in the studio. he wants you to be there through all of that because he can bond with you even more.

ʚɞ HYUNJIN

the sweetest boy ): he’s the perfect boyfriend even if you two aren’t physically together. he does all that he possibly can to make things easy and sweet for the both of you while you’re long distance.

“hey baby! can we hang out today? I have nothing to do and I thought we could facetime and I could read to you! I found a book I’m really enjoying.”

enjoys sending you so many videos of him dancing, drawing, painting, and playing some random sport. absolutely loves being active and he knows you love seeing it so he makes sure to document everything he does to send to you.

will send you so many of the books he’s finished so you can read them too and he’ll want to talk about it when you’re finished so be prepared for long hours of on the phone talking about the books.

“I love you. I know we aren’t together right now but never doubt me. I’ll make sure it happens soon.”

he sometimes likes to invite the others to say hello to you but most of the time he likes to be alone with you. in his eyes it’s very intimate and it’s very important for the relationship to have those moments together. he doesn’t like when his time with you is interrupted by something. at all.

he’ll take you with when he showers. places his phone against the wall and will sing to you while you watch him or he’ll want you to take a shower at the same time so it seems you’re together.

“you’re so pretty wish I could kiss you right now.”

“can you just lean in? maybe kiss the camera?”

“I know it sounds weird but please? just wanna kiss so bad and you look so perfect right now.”

he’ll send you photos of him shirtless or showing his bulge just to tease you and see what your reaction might be. once he knows what your reaction is he’ll do it often especially when he gets super comfortable with you. he becomes bold.

paints the most beautiful pictures of you and sends that to you so you’re able to hang them up in your room. he thinks about you 24/7 and at random times gets the urge to draw you or for you.

ʚɞ HAN

cutie!! his smile brightens your entire day when you see him answer the facetime call. he normally just likes to facetime. sure he’ll call you but that’s not his most favorite. he wants to see your pretty face and watch your facial expressions while taking about your day or how your week is going so far.

movie dates!! he’ll set up his phone perfectly or laptop so you’re able to see the movie and him or you play the same movie on your tv and you both just lay next to each other the best you can.

very silly so he’ll make jokes a lot during the movie or make fun of the character if they’re doing something stupid. he loves hearing your laugh so he’ll do anything to hear it as much as he can.

of course he sends you plenty of gifts and a lot of them will be items from his room that he thinks you should have but deep down he also enjoys it when you send him things of yours. one night you were on facetime and seen he had been sleeping with one of your shirts that he said he loved so much.

“I’m so glad you sent it to me, I love it more than anything else in my room! want to see how much?”

he then proceeds to show you just how much he loves the shirt you sent him even if it was one of your favorite shirts to wear, seeing him so happy only made you feel the happiest in the world.

“can we have a date tonight? I can set up something for us! want to see what I can do?”

this man goes out of his way to make it look like a fancy date even though it’s nothing fancy at all and you two just stare at each other through the camera while smiling, and laughing at nothing.

will kiss the camera and make little “muah” sounds for you. he thinks it’s super cute to do that and knows that you find it cute as well so he does it often. sometimes the “muah” becomes much more on the naughty side and he’ll ask you questions about what you’d do with him if you were there.

ʚɞ FELIX

soft, sweet, clingy, and thoughtful boyfriend! that describes him perfectly and how he feels about the long distance isn’t negative at all. in his mind he’s not bothered by it because at least he has you in his life. he could be super unlucky and not have you at all. he’s just so thankful to be your boyfriend.

“want to come shopping with me? I’ll put my headphones in so I can hear you better and you can help me pick out a few new outfits for you, yeah?”

you get to watch him play soccer or swim which is your favorite! he’s got one of those phone cases that allow you to go underwater with and he takes you just so you two can have a underwater kiss.

you’re close with his sisters and always message them and in return? they send you so many cute photos of felix when he was a baby or toddler. you adore those photos and eventually get them printed out so you can have them safe and sound.

“should we bake together? cook together? we can make the same recipe and it’ll be fun, hm?”

he’ll sing to you. request any song you’d like to hear and he’ll sing it for you but you always end up falling asleep which he adores but takes so many screenshots of you because he thinks you’re cute.

texts you many times a day asking if everything is going okay and if you’re eating well for him. he knows you like it when he checks on you and of course he’s genuinely concerned about you at all times during the day especially if he can’t call you.

not so much into sending teasing photos since he’s not too confident with taking them but if you’re open to sending him pictures he’s never going to tell you no. he keeps them and looks at them when he’s alone and able to tell you how good you look in whatever it is you’re wearing.

“you’re my perfect girl and I adore you. I’m so glad you’re my girlfriend it just makes me much happier. we can see each other soon, okay? I promise.”

ʚɞ SEUNGMIN

shares absolutely everything with you and what I mean by that? he calls, texts, or sends voice messages rather quickly to tell you about what he’s doing or what he found out and that could mean his schedule, a show he watched, or on the news.

“can we wear our matching pjs while facetiming?”

if you don’t answer him the first time for whatever reason say you didn’t hear him correctly or you were doing something then he’ll ask you again but in a smaller voice because he’s become shy about it

“I..was wondering..if we can wear our matching pjs when we—um facetime? would that be okay?”

this man is so happy when you say yes to him and jumps up from his seat to hurry up and put his pjs on even if it’s a few more hours before you call.

with him he enjoys the long distance at first and of course he’s never going to complain about it but he’s always been a bit more shy and he opened up so much more the longer you two have spoken and gotten to know each other. he plans to make a trip out to see you and make it a huge surprise for you.

I know I just spoke about him being shy but when he gets a sudden boost of confidence that he can’t really explain.. that’s when it becomes dangerous and by that I mean he’s more dominant and willing to tell you things that he would be too hesitant about when he’s not feeling this weird confidence.

“I think about you so much during the day and just imagine what it would be like to have you here with me. was thinking about flying you out here because I just really want and need you. is that okay?”

will buy you expensive jewelry and send it to you because he wants you to feel and look pretty in them and of course you have to show him what it looks like in either pictures or a facetime call.

ʚɞ I.N

love this man he’s okay with the long distance because it’s you but if it was anyone else then no and I’m just being honest about it. he’s fallen deeply in love with you and will manage with the long distance until you can both be together.

when you both decide to call each other he’s a huge tease and doesn’t let you live but in a very playful way of course because that’s just how he is.

enjoys making you flustered and seeing how shy you get when you look away from the camera or cover your face with your hands and hide away from him, he loves that for some weird reason.

“you’re so cute! wish I could kiss you right now”

“I’ve had thoughts about us making out.. those are always so nice. what do you think about that, hm?”

he’s named his pillow after you and shows you in pictures how he cuddles with it and then proceeds to kiss it and act as if it’s you—you’ll call him weird and he begs to differ! he thinks it’s very cute and normal of him to act as if that’s you in his bed

he can get pretty sexual pretty easily and quickly but only if he thinks you’ll be okay with in or in the mood then he gets bold with asking for certain requests from you like.. for example, sitting on the bed a certain way or putting your pillow in between your legs and telling you to slowly grind on it.

he smiles the entire time and has the most cutest face possible but he really enjoys just being with you and teasing you or making fun of you in a good way it’s not annoying or rude in any shape or form.

he’ll ask you exactly what you want or need and buy it for you without hearing anything else. he’ll send you large boxes of snacks, clothes, accessories, some of his belongings, and random things he found that he knew you’d love.

this took way longer that it should have! so sorry but please enjoy it x

[lanalosty0uu]

⋆.˚ PROLOGUE ᝰ.ᐟ

🕰️ BACK TO THE FUTURE 🕰️

no specific warnings on this chapter slight foreshadowing of another stranger things character!

main masterlist

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

"Oh, no need to help, dear! I can do it by myself."

The nice 50 year old-ish lady told you not to worry about her fish pond. You're a second year high school student who just got accepted in an exchange program, and now you’re finally here, in Hawkins, Indiana.

"Oh, don't worry, Mrs. Byers, I can handle it pretty well… My dad also has a fish pond on the back of our house.” You tried to reassure her that it’s totally fine for you to take care of it. Remembering that she can already be categorized as an old lady, it would be very cruel of you if you let her clean it by herself.

“You are truly an independent and hardworking young lady… Reminds me of myself back in the old days.” You can see her smile while looking to a blank space, probably reminiscing herself back when she was younger.

You chuckled at her compliment, slightly thanking her for saying something you don’t hear everyday, especially from your parents. Instead of saying anything further, you smiled at her before continue cleaning her fish pond.

⊹ ࣪ ˖🕰️୭˚. ᵎᵎ🗝️

“Please, dear. Feel free to look around.”

Ever since you got here last week, you never had the courage to explore her gigantic house. Not because it has spirits living on it, of course not! (hope so) But, it’s more like you don’t wanna disturb her peace and you don’t wanna look like you’re being nosy about her personal stuff. Yet, from the first step you took on this house, you literally fell in love. The vintage architecture, big pillars on her yard, it seems impossible for an old lady to live her by herself.

Sure, her house only has two levels, but the interior of her house is just mesmerizing. The details and antique things in this place are remarkable. If only you don’t have to control yourself, you’d already touch every single one of her things.

The only thing that you did here was to go to school and spend time with her a lot. You went shopping together, clean the house, do regular house chores, watch cheesy rom-coms or comedy movies (which you surprisingly also love). The whole week basically already felt comfortable for you.

You always loved old people. You get to hear their stories, adventures, and all what happened in the past. It seems… Very interesting, so different with what you have now. And one of the things you love about Mrs. Byers, is that she talks about her youth days a lot in the 80s! You, as a person who is a big fan of the 80s always had an open jaw when listening to how beautiful life seemed to be in the 1980s, especially in the year 1985.

“These are some beautiful watch collections, Mrs. Byers!” You looked through a cardboard box full of old clocks and watches inside.

“Those were my parents’. I was planning to give those to the antique store since I don’t really use it. But you can look around there if you’d like, dear! If one catches your eye, please do take it before people put a price on it in the antique store.”

The feeling of knowing that you can look at these old watches and actually bring them home without needing to let out a single dollar made you feel euphoric. But, you still need to help her cleaning up this messy attic, not wanting her to get asthma from breathing the dusty air so much.

“Maybe I’ll do it later, Mrs. Byers. I gotta clean these up first.”

Mrs. Byers looked at you, giving you the ‘I swear this kid never rests’ look. Yet, she just smiled. And you know deep down she’s really happy to have someone to be her company and to help her around since her husband died a year ago.

⊹ ࣪ ˖🕰️୭˚. ᵎᵎ🗝️

“If you need me, I’ll be downstairs, okay dear?” Mrs. Byers excused herself to go back to her room, probably knitting since it’s what she’s been doing at home (as far as you know). She left you there in the attic, wandering through her watch collection.

As you were diving through it, you took pictures of every single watch, especially the ones that has unique details in it. But one caught your eye… A golden pocket watch. It has golden chains, chained to the top of the watch. Tiny details surrounding the face of the watch. Since it looks pretty old, it was also covered in dust and rust, including the roman numbers that tell the time inside.

You made the watch dangle around your arms, admiring it’s old, yet timeless beauty. You started turning the clock around, seeing if it still works or not. Sadly, it’s broken. You immediately thought of the 80s just by looking at it, imagining how Mrs. Byers would always wield it and brought it everywhere she goes, even though you know this watch must’ve came from an older time… Most likely to be from the 30s or the 40.

Since you liked that pocket watch so much, you put the chains around your arms, keeping it there as you put back the rest of the watches gently inside the cardboard, not wanting to be irresponsible after Mrs. Byers let you mess around with all of it.

note: hey, i'll be publishing the first chapter like around... later! but i'll be posting it today as well (i'll try hihi ^^), lmk what r ur thoughts about the prologue so far, and if there's any of u that wants to be in the taglist, feel free to ask! hope you like this one <3

@xprloki @pupwrites @gorlillaglue25 @lovestrucklyuniverse since y'all seemed pretty excited abt this, i've decided to tag y'all in this and all future chapters, really hope y'all like it and continue reading <3

[bratminksstuff]

𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝑩𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒔, 𝑼𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆

Cassian x Reader

Cassian x reader| Cassian finds out Rhys cheated on you..

warnings: angst, love confession, mention of cheating

a/n: I had this idea for a few days , don't hate me please I just love writing angst stories :)) Happy reading babes

word count:821

The world felt like it had tilted on its axis, the air too thick to breathe, the walls of the townhouse too small, too suffocating. I stumbled into the sitting room, the sound of my own heartbeat thundering in my ears. My vision blurred as I fought back the tears threatening to spill, but it was no use.

Rhysand cheated.

The words echoed in my mind, sharp and unforgiving, cutting me open with every repetition. I sank onto the nearest sofa, my body trembling as I hugged my knees to my chest. I didn’t know how long I sat there, staring blankly at the floor, but eventually, I heard footsteps—heavy, familiar footsteps—entering the room.

“Y/N?” Cassian’s voice was soft but tinged with concern, and I barely managed to lift my head to meet his gaze. His amber eyes scanned my face, taking in the redness around my eyes, the tear tracks on my cheeks. He was at my side in an instant, crouching in front of me. “What happened?”

I tried to speak, but the words lodged in my throat, tangled with the raw ache in my chest. A fresh wave of tears spilled over, and Cassian’s expression softened in a way that made the ache both worse and somehow better.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, his large, calloused hands gently cupping mine. His warmth seeped into my skin, grounding me. “Breathe, sweetheart. I’m here.”

The endearment broke something inside me, and the sobs came harder, shaking my whole body. Cassian didn’t hesitate. He moved onto the sofa beside me, pulling me into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world. His strong arms wrapped around me, holding me together when I felt like I was falling apart.

“Rhys…” I choked out between sobs. “He—he cheated, Cass. He cheated on me.”

Cassian stiffened against me, his grip tightening ever so slightly. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and I could feel the tension rolling off him. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, a dangerous edge to it.

“He did what?”

I shook my head, pressing my face against his chest. “I saw it—someone told me, and I didn’t believe it, but then I saw him… with her. He didn’t even deny it.” My voice cracked, the memory too fresh, too raw.

Cassian let out a sharp breath, and I felt his hand clench briefly against my back before he forced himself to relax. “I’m going to kill him,” he muttered, his tone deadly. “Slowly.”

Despite everything, a weak laugh bubbled out of me, though it was more bitter than anything else. “Don’t. He’s not worth it.”

Cassian pulled back just enough to cup my face in his hands, tilting my head up so I couldn’t avoid his gaze. His eyes burned with something fierce, something protective, something that made my heart stutter in my chest.

“Listen to me, Y/N,” he said, his voice steady, grounding. “This isn’t your fault. Not even a little. Rhys is an idiot—a bastard, a complete ass—but you? You are worth more than he’ll ever deserve. Do you hear me?”

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I believed him. The hurt was still too fresh, too sharp.

Cassian’s thumbs brushed away the tears on my cheeks, his touch impossibly gentle. “You’re incredible, Y/N. Strong, kind, beautiful… You deserve someone who sees that, who cherishes it. Someone who would never, ever hurt you.”

There was something in his voice, something raw and unspoken, that made me freeze. I searched his face, and for the first time, I noticed the way his jaw was tight, the way his eyes softened when they met mine.

“Cassian…” I whispered, my voice trembling.

He let out a shaky breath, his hands still cradling my face. “I can’t keep it to myself anymore,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve loved you for so long, Y/N. Watching you with him—it nearly killed me. But I stayed quiet because I thought… I thought you were happy.” He swallowed hard, his gaze searching mine. “But now… I can’t stand seeing you hurt. I just—I need you to know how I feel.”

My heart twisted, a confusing swirl of emotions crashing through me. Hurt, betrayal, shock… but also warmth, comfort, and something else entirely when I looked at Cassian.

“I…” I started, unsure of what to say, unsure of what I even felt.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Cassian said quickly, his voice gentle. “I don’t expect anything from you, Y/N. I just… I needed you to know. And I’m here, no matter what. Always.”

He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead before pulling me back into his arms. I let myself sink into him, his warmth and steady presence a balm to the raw ache inside me.

For the first time since everything fell apart, I felt like I could breathe again.

[iaminfourthwing]

The Generals Daughter

A/N: Hello Guys. Again, I am really sorry for not posting in so long. Took me a while to gain the motivation again but it's not fully back yet. But you get a (very) little chapter now. Oh and I wish you all a happy new year. Thanks for all the nice comments <3

Chapter XVI

It’s been a few minutes and he hasn’t said anything. He studies me, again. He always does that, silently trying to find my flaws. Innea doesn’t find that funny as well, as she grumbles in annoyance behind me.

‚Be careful. The black beast won’t like it, if you incinerate his rider.‘ I warn her, knowing that she’ll absolutely ignore it.

‚Codagh can fuck off, as if I’ll ever listen to what he says‘ she spits out.

I smirk, which the man in front of me doesn’t likes.

„You have an … interesting dragon, that chose you.“ I can practically feel the distaste, that radiates from him. Innea huffs, clearly as offended as I am. 

„She is perfect, I don’t care what other people think about her. She chose me, and I am honored to be her rider. I’ll hopefully fulfill her demands wisely and without .. flaws.“ I say.

„She is nothing special, just from the same den as the dragon from Riorson. And you are surely not special either. You are not to fulfill her demands, but those of Navarre, are we clear? This is why you are here, to defend the kingdom against any threat, no matter the form.“ He hisses while stepping closer.

„Are we clear, Cadet Melgren?“ He also has to emphasize the last name every time so that I am reminded of who (he says) has power over me. Not anymore.

„I am here, to defend those who cannot defend themselves. I will listen to whatever SHE demands of me, no-one else. I am NOT-“ I can’t react fast enough. The blow echoes across the flight field, loud and clear. No one dares to speaks. My head snaps to the side violently and my cheek burns. I can hardly believe it, but he actually dared to hit me in public. Not that anyone would intervene, no, that would be suicide. But now it is obvious that I am not enjoying any benefits. Only pain. And punishment.

Innea is furious, mad even. She roars loudly, while coming close, her head tilted to my father. She bares her teeth and curls her tongue like she wants to spit fire.

‚I will KILL him! Codagh can surely fuck off but I will NOT accept any disrespect against MY rider!‘ she roars loudly in my head and over the flight field. 

The ground vibrates as the black monster approaches us. Its snout twisted into a nasty grimace. God, it is so ugly, and yet so powerful. I hate it with all my heart.

'Innea, don't do it. We are only at the beginning of our adventure here. I refuse to let this be the end. Please take a step back. I will sort this out with him. He will no longer have any control over me, but he is still the commanding general of the Navarrean army. So please, don't let yourself be provoked, as much as I want to rip both of their heads off aswell.‘

I can sense the stares of the other cadets, riders and leadership. I don’t dare to turn my head to see who is judging, who has pity in their eyes, or who is just observing (we all know who I am talking about). Innea still grumbles, mad and absolutely terrifying. Shuffling can be heard, when Codagh reaches us, tilting his into my direction, directly staring into my eyes. Out of my eye I can see blue. 

‚Sgaeyl is to the right, if he dares to attack‘ my dragon says.

She would .. protect us? 

‚They all would. You’ve got your wing at your back. They definitely would defend you and me. And your friends would be the first ones to come to your rescue.‘

Fuck, I will never be able to thank them enough.

I raise my chin, looking my father in his (cruel and cold) eyes, ignoring his dragon at his back.

„I apologize, General. For offending you. My dragon and I will work on it, to strengthen our bond and hopefully manifest a powerful signet to defend .. the kingdom. We will protect those who can’t protect themselves and fight against any threat.“ If he noticed the pause he doesn’t let it show. 

He nods. „I’ll see you in a few weeks.“ He steps closer, to close for my (and Inneas) liking. „If I hear just one misstep, or one mistake, no matter you or your dragon, it will be over for the both of you.“ He whispers. All I can do is nod my head. He steps away and leaves me alone with Innea. I can finally breathe again. Fuck, one day he will kill me.

‚He will not. I will not let anything happen to you. You are my rider, I chose you and we will survive this together.‘

Taglist: @puttyly @lxnvmvrzx @freyagallileaevans @aroacemushroom @dragonsandrinks

[slaymitchabernathy]

Family First

“Mr. President, over here!”

“Mr. President, a quick word please!”

“Mr. President, what are your thoughts on the upcoming elections?”

Coriolanus has grown used to ignoring these pestering questions. Especially when walking to his front door.

These pesky reporters haven’t let up since the day he moved into the Presidential Mansion, waiting outside the front gates, desperate for something juicy.

As if he’d ever answer them.

They can’t get through the fence but their words certainly can, their annoying questions about things that don’t truly matter in the grand scheme of things.

He’s got much more important things to worry about today.

He has to address the nation.

Riots have been breaking out across the Districts, causing shortages of food and supplies in the Capitol. If he doesn’t get things under control they might have another war on their hands. And he can’t have that.

Coriolanus nods at the two Peacekeepers stationed outside of the side entrance to the Mansion, a less impressive one yes, but easier to walk out of compared to the front door where everyone is watching.

He steps inside the Mansion and is immediately greeted by Eudora Trinket, his trusted coordinator who hopefully, has whipped something up for him to say to all the citizens of Panem.

“You’re terribly last minute with these things, you know that don’t you?” She asks as they briskly walk down the great hall towards one of the many conference rooms they have in the Mansion.

Coriolanus merely glances down at the middle-aged woman who is always sporting a new colored wig with eyelashes to match. She keeps him on task so he doesn’t comment on her fashion choices.

“Do you have a speech?”

Eudora scoffs, whipping out a stack of notecards, “Do I have a speech? Of course, I have a speech Coriolanus. This isn’t amateur hour!”

Coriolanus takes the cards from her, glancing over the prepared lines she’s written for him. They seem good, strong, and authoritative, not leaving any room for argument.

“Let’s just hope everything’s ready,” he mumbles as they walk into the largest conference room they have in the Mansion, already occupied by all his advisors and several diplomats whose jobs are all currently on the line for letting this happen.

They said they could handle it. Now he has to clean up their mess.

Coriolanus makes his way to the podium, a camera already positioned in front of it, ready to roll to the entire nation at his command.

Coriolanus grips the edges of the podium, reminding himself to breathe. Eudora says he’s going to get gray hairs before he turns thirty but running a country can be stressful.

He glances around the room and finds the one person he truly cares about it missing.

But there’s a good reason for that.

Ten years ago, Coriolanus met the love of his life, Soarynn Nightingale.

He knew from the moment he saw her that she was the one for him, no questions asked. He courted her, learned about her, and fell in love with her. They got married right after graduating from University and right before he began his campaign to become the youngest President of Panem.

She had supported him through everything, the hardships, and the victories. And just when he thought she couldn't possibly give him anything else, she gave him a daughter. Ceraphina Snow was two years old and the apple of his eye. With her golden curls and eyes identical to her mother's, she had him wrapped around her little finger.

He didn't get to see her as often as he liked, spending most of his time working on keeping this country under control but he cherished every moment he had with his baby girl.

He listens to the sound of quiet yet stressed whispers throughout the room, all from men who might be fired by the end of the night. They all look so pathetic in their seats, nervously looking at him before looking back at each other, trying to shift the blame off of themselves.

Coriolanus stares back down at the podium, looking at the cards Eudora wrote for him. He usually prefers to write these things himself but he was pulled out of a meeting to do this. This was a dire circumstance it seemed.

A hush falls over the room and he glances up to see why.

Soarynn is finally here.

She looks jarred, like she was just sleeping which she probably was, she's been more tired lately but there's good reason for that. His eyes zero in on his darling daughter who's hugged to Soarynn's hip, curiously looking around at all these men who will be jobless by the end of the night.

Her eyes finally find his and Ceraphina lets out a shriek of excitement, "Daddy!"

Coriolanus can't help but grin at how cute she is, reaching out for him. Soarynn is quick to quiet down their child, bouncing her up and down for a moment. She looks beautiful as always, with her hair pinned up while wearing a green dress, flowy and flattering.

He feels so bad about dragging her into this at the last minute but as President of Panem, it's important that his family is always seen by his side.

Soarynn gives him a small smile before nodding at everyone who stood up the moment she stepped into the room, silently telling them to sit down again. They do and several men let out sighs of relief as if an ounce of kindness from Soarynn can save them from a lifetime of wrath from their employer.

Soarynn takes her seat next to Eudora, to the immediate right of the podium and Ceraphina immediately reaches out for Eudora, most likely to touch her eyelashes which have always fascinated their daughter since the day she was born.

Eudora who claims to not like children gives her hand a little squeeze before she turns to look up at Coriolanus and give him a nod to go ahead. It's time.

The room falls silent once again and the nation's anthem begins to play, the cameras begin to roll and Coriolanus begins to speak directly to the camera, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

"Over the course of the past six weeks, rebels have been wreaking havoc in the Districts, disrupting production and challenging those who are above them." He eyes his advisors who are nearly on the edge of their seats. "But I am here to put an end to these foolish attempts to disrupt what we know to be a great nation, rich with resources that are so gladly provided to the citizens of the Capitol."

Ceraphina tugs on Soarynn's dress, already tired of sitting still while her father talks.

"Starting today, all working District citizens will be given four additional hours of work to make up for lost production time. Those who have been detained for inciting riots will be executed."

A few eyes widen at his words but Coriolanus means every bit of them. If they let these rebels live, they'll spread this ideology to other people until the Capitol is left with Districts full of rebels and roaches.

"Let me be clear, we do not tolerate rebels in Panem, we will not ever tolerate rebels in Panem. This way of thinking will get you nowhere, it will only harm those you wish to help. We are a great nation that will rise together out of the ashes that these rebels have so foolishly created. Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever."

The camera cuts off and Coriolanus is met with words of praise from every man in the room.

"Excellent speech sir."

"They won't dare to try and cross us now."

"Wonderfully said Mr. President."

He'd kill all of them right now if there weren't ladies present.

"Tonight we'll have a meeting to discuss further plans," he tells them, "eight o'clock." Then at nine o'clock, he'll start hiring new men to take their places.

He steps down from the podium and is greeted by Ceraphina beaming up at him, a big smile on her sweet little face. "Daddy!" Coriolanus grins down at her, unable to ignore her sweet nature, "Hello my darling, were you sleeping with your mother before you two arrived?"

Soarynn sighs and brushes a stray curl out from Ceraphina's face, "We were having very pleasant dreams before we found out that you'd be addressing the nation and threatening to execute half of it if things didn’t start to shape up.”

Eudora hums and gives him a sharp poke, “I don’t believe I mentioned anything about executions in my speech,” she hisses but Coriolanus ignores her, taking Ceraphina into his hold and pressing a kiss to her cheek. She thinks the world of her father, even if he is sometimes a heartless man, and he’d like to keep it that way.

“Sometimes we have to do hard things,” he tells both women, blowing a raspberry against Ceraphina’s cheek which makes her tumble into a fit of laughter, “Daddy no!”

Soarynn watches the sweet sight with a small smile on her lips but he can tell she’s still exhausted, probably more so after hearing that speech, “We’re having lunch if you’d like to join us,” he offers, already knowing she’ll likely decline.

Soarynn shakes her head and rests her hand on the side of his face, a gesture she’s done at least a thousand times to comfort him in times of stress, “I wish we could darling, but we’re both rather tired today, aren’t we Ceraphina?”

“No Mommy,” Ceraphina says with a shake of her head, curls bouncing, “lunch with Daddy.”

Coriolanus presses another kiss to his daughter's cheek before handing her back over to his wife, "Next time my darling," he promises Ceraphina, "you'd be terribly bored anyway."

Ceraphina pouts but doesn't cry, at two years old, she's already quite well behaved and Coriolanus has Soarynn to thank for that. She's been quite involved in raising their daughter, causing her to be oh-so-sweet and polite to all she comes across, just like Soarynn.

Soarynn hums, brushing back Ceraphina's curls, "He's right darling, we'll have much more fun upstairs." Ceraphina doesn't look too convinced but Coriolanus is already being pulled in another direction by one of his trusted advisors, Quintus Heavensbee, someone who will not be fired tonight.

"Actually, it might be good for people to see all three of you together," he suggests in a hushed whisper, eyeing Soarynn for a moment, "or all four of you." Coriolanus rests a hand on Soarynn's stomach, just starting to show signs of pregnancy at five months which has only led him to be more protective over her.

He's kept her away from the news and media as much as possible, wanting her to have a calm and quiet pregnancy with their second little girl but it seems that duty comes before desire sometimes.

Before he can suggest something else that doesn't involve the love of his life, Soarynn cuts in with that sweet smile of hers, known to calm down the most tense situations, "A few minutes in front of the cameras couldn't hurt darling," she says, "it's our job to speak directly to our people."

Coriolanus bites the inside of his cheek, sometimes he wishes she weren't so selflessly devoted to this country and its well-being. From the beginning, Soarynn has always been the perfect First Lady, speaking at events, shaking important hands, and always knowing just what to say.

"Five minutes," he decides, giving both Soarynn and Quintus a knowing look, "I still have a lunch to attend." He also doesn’t want Soarynn to exhaust herself but he keeps that to himself.

Quintus smiles, pleased that Coriolanus agreed to his suggestion so easily and Ceraphina smiles too, excited to be with her father for a little longer. "Daddy carry me," she reaches out for him again. He can hardly deny such a request and takes her from Soarynn, "Best manners Ceraphina," he reminds her as they make their way out of the room and down the hallway.

The reporters are still outside waiting for him once they walk through the side entrance, sticking their hands and cameras through the iron fence that surrounds the entirety of the President's Mansion.

Coriolanus rests one hand on Soarynn's lower back while the other holds Ceraphina to his hip. A group of Peacekeepers surround the Presidential Family while they walk to the front gates of the Mansion and Coriolanus hates every second of it. He wants Soarynn inside, away from all of this.

"Mr. President, how do you plan to follow through with your threats of executions?"

"President Snow, by how many weeks will you continue to increase the District's workload?"

"Mrs. Snow, what do you think of your husband's brutish threats towards those in the Districts?"

It's the last question that makes his nostrils flare so of course it's the one Soarynn chooses to answer. "I trust in my husband's ability to keep our country safe and under control," she answers in a calm tone, the same one she uses whenever Ceraphina gets fussy, "the Capitol wants everyone to stay safe and riots endanger everyone."

Quintus lets out a grunt of approval, even Coriolanus is impressed by her answer, short and to the point and above all, praising the Capitol. Ceraphina kicks her feet, bored already, "Mommy I want to go play!"

Coriolanus quickly quiets her down with a stern look, he can't afford to have her say something contradicting, "Mr. President, when can we be expecting your second child?" Perhaps Ceraphina's small outburst can help shift the conversation elsewhere, he wraps his arm around Soarynn's waist, pulling her into him.

"Our precious little girl will be born in four months," he says proudly, "we're overjoyed with healthy reports on her growth and can't wait to strengthen and expand our family."

Soarynn leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder and the cameras all start flashing, capturing the sweet moment between the President and First Lady.

"Do you have any names planned?"

Soarynn smiles up at him, "We have a few ideas," she says, "but we still have a while to go."

Ceraphina reaches out for her mother and Soarynn takes hold of her small hand, once again, causing the cameras to flash. "Thank you for your time gentlemen," Coriolanus says to the reporters, ready to go back inside, "we hope to see you again soon."

He wishes he could banish anyone from waiting outside of his home, desperate for a blurry photograph of him or his family but he can only do so much before raising concerns about his harsh behavior. Threatening to execute any rebels certainly hasn't helped his case.

"Excellent job sir," Quintus commends him once they're all back inside, safe from the cameras and prying questions. Coriolanus hands Ceraphina back to Soarynn, straightening out his tie, "They're relentless with the questions," he mumbles, shaking his head, "and they're not even good questions."

Ceraphina giggles when Soarynn tickles under her chin, momentarily causing Coriolanus to forget about his stressful job, he wishes he could spend the rest of the day with his girls but he can't.

"Any news is good news," Quintus reminds him.

Coriolanus doesn't quite agree with that way of thinking but he doesn't say anything against it, instead, he presses a kiss to Soarynn's temple, "I'll see you tonight darling," he promises her.

He tries to have dinner with his family but it doesn't always happen, especially on days like today. But Soarynn understands that, giving his arm an encouraging squeeze, "Don't work too hard Coryo," she says softly, pulling at his heartstrings. If Soarynn had her way, they'd be nobodies, happily married and living a quiet life in his old penthouse apartment.

She's been so devoted to him and his dreams that she sacrificed her own dreams of raising a family out of the spotlight. A small price to pay for a lifetime of happiness with him but he recognizes all she's done for him.

"I'll try," is all he says, pinching Ceraphina's cheek, "be good for your mother sweetheart."

Watching them walk up the stairs feels like parting with a piece of his soul but he pushes that soft part of him away, right now he needs to do his job and be the cold, heartless man people know him to be.

It's better this way, safer this way.

꧁ ꧂

Later that night after firing every man who caused him strife today, Coriolanus sits in his bedroom on the sofa by the fireplace. Soarynn is in the bathroom getting ready for bed and he's got a newspaper in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other.

It's the perfect way to end the night.

Eudora threw the newspaper on his desk right before she left for the night. Fresh off the presses from their impromptu family interview this afternoon after he addressed and threatened the entire nation.

'President Snow is a Family Man' the headline reads.

He smiles at the photograph on the front page, Soarynn pressed to his side and Ceraphina on the other, holding each other's hands in a loving manner while Soarynn looks up at him so adoringly. He couldn't have planned it better himself.

He reads a few of the lines written about what Soarynn said, calling Coriolanus a President who puts his family first. Exactly. He's so glad the reporters can see it that way.

He’s more than pleased with how today turned out. He had been angry at first, angry at the men who made him look bad due to their own incompetence but Soarynn’s sweet voice seems to be the cure for everything.

He peers into the bathroom and catches a glimpse of his glowing wife dressed merely in her underwear, a hand resting on her baby bump. He smiles to himself, in a few months their baby girl will be here and they’ll be a perfect family unit.

Soarynn has truly given him so much, endless support, two children in about two years and she’s stunning on top of all of that.

The press can say all they want about him and so can people in the Districts for that matter. At the end of the day, so long as he has Soarynn by his side, he’ll always be known as a man who puts family first.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

| taglist: @kickmybark @strawberriicakes @wonderlandbound111 @melodyoflovee @thevoicesinmyprettylittlehead @erensrealgf |

[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

[mikeysonly]

Take A Chance With Me - Manjiro (Mikey) Sano

♡ I literally listened to Take A Chance With Me - NIKI while I wrote this so listen to that while u read it. I love mikey sm :( he’s so sweet man.

♡ ps. my requests are totally open so please send me hc’s so I can get creative for u. PLZ USE ME!!!

♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

Draken stood near the bikes, wiping his hands on a rag, while Mikey was sat on a stack of tires, looking as focused as ever on his bike. His smile bright as ever.

“Y/N!” Draken called out with a teasing edge. “Let me guess. For Mikey?” He said, hands reaching to grab one of the dorayaki in the box you were holding.

Y/N rolled her eyes and whipped the box out of his reach. “Hands off freak, none for you!” She joked playfully, slapping his hand away.

Draken let out a laugh. “You’re too good to him. Seriously, Mikey, when are you gonna cuff her already? You’re both so damn cute it’s making me sick.”

Mikey swung his legs lazily, his smile widening. “She’s persistent, I’ll give her that,” he said, his tone playful.

Y/N placed the box in his lap and shot him a look. “And you’re lucky I am. Here.”

Mikey eagerly opened the box, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the dorayaki. “You know me best, Y/N!” he exclaimed, taking a bite immediately.

Draken shook his head, muttering, “Hopeless,” under his breath before walking away.

Y/N sat down beside Mikey, watching him closely. “Take a chance with me, Mikey,” she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability.

Mikey paused mid bite, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t know, Y/N. I’ve told you before, relationships… they’ve never really been my thing.”

Her heart sank. “Yeah, yeah. I get it,” she replied, standing up quickly. “Eat lots, okay?”

Although this is a conversation she’s had countless times with him, she felt the weight of her age heavy on her shoulders. She couldn’t keep waiting for someone who wasn’t looking in her direction.

Mikey watched her go, a flash of guilt evident on his face. Why did this feel so final?

Over the next few days, Mikey couldn’t shake the odd feeling in his chest. He’d heard a rumor from one of the guys that Y/N had been seeing someone else, a guy from a neighboring town. At first, he brushed it off. Y/N had always been loyal to him, even when he didn’t deserve it. But as the rumor persisted, Mikey found himself feeling… weird.

Draken noticed the change almost immediately. “What’s with the face? You’ve been sulking for days.”

Mikey kicked a small pebble near his bike, frowning. “It’s nothing, leave me alone, jackass.”

Draken smirked knowingly. “Nothing, huh? Has nothing to do with Y/N, right?”

Mikey shot him a glare. “What about her?”

“Oh, you know, just that she’s been hanging around someone else. Maybe she’s finally moving on.” Draken looked at him knowingly and continued to work on his bike. “It’s about damn time. She deserves someone who’s gonna actually date her.”

The words hit harder than Mikey expected. He didn’t like the idea of someone else getting Y/N’s attention. Her smiles, her laughs, the little boxes of dorayaki she always brought for him.

He didn’t like it at all. Actually, he hated the feeling.

That evening, Y/N was sitting alone on a bench in the park when Mikey appeared, his bike rumbling softly as he parked it nearby. She looked up, surprised.

“M-Mikey?”

He began to approach her, his hands shoved in his pockets. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stood there looking unusually serious.

“Are you… really seeing someone else?” he finally asked, his voice softer than usual.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Who told you that?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, his gaze falling. “Just… is it true?”

She hesitated. “Why do you care, Mikey? You made it clear you didn’t want anything to do with me… like that…”

“I know what I said,” he replied quickly, stepping closer. “But the thought of you being with someone else… It doesn’t make sense in my head.”

She stared at him, searching his face for any hint of insincerity. There was none.

“Mikey…”

“I’m not good at this kind of thing,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I think… we could try?“

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat at his words. “Took you long enough, asshole.”

Before he could retort, she closed the distance between them, her lips brushing against his. Mikey froze for a second, but then his hands found her waist, pulling her closer. How could he have been so stupid?

“Now it’s up to you to take that chance on me. Okay?”

[thinplacesradio]

orange booths in a diner, orange stools along a counter behind, light bright behind it. the image is distorted by VCR static. white text reads:

[032] AN ACT OF KINDNESS. A CALLER SHARES A MEMORY. THE HOST FINDS IT.

listen to the season 2 finale here, or anywhere you find your podcasts. transcript under the cut:

[static, radio tuning]

[Traveling Sales Rep: Don’t touch that dial! We’ll be right back, after these short messages.] [static, radio tuning]

[click]

Hello and welcome to Thin Places Radio. I’m your host,

and it is the middle of the night. But don’t worry. You’re not alone.

[Thin Places theme] [cutlery clinking, low diner sounds]

I’m coming to you, I don’t know, from my studio. I don’t know how to feel. I’m at a diner. I went back and back and back. I let the road take me here. My memory doesn’t go this far back, but - I think this is what I’ve been looking for. I think it’s the last thing that I almost-remember. I wish I had something like my name, instead. But I guess this’ll have to do. 

It looks really ordinary. ROADSIDE DINER, it says in neon, but both the Es are burned out. It’s painted orange, mirrors lining the inside to make it look bigger than it really is. It looks warm inside. Booths in a U along the edges, a counter in that half-ring in the middle, by the kitchen. A thousand places like this in the continental United States. But nowhere exactly like it. Not really. 

So what is Thin Places Radio? Well, you can call in about anything strange that you’ve got going on in your life - feelings, omens, premonitions, hauntings.

Have you been chosen for something you never meant to do?

Have you given a gift to a stranger? 

Have you forgotten how you… came to this place? 

[sigh] When - When the veil between worlds is thin, we get closer than ever to the strange and the unexplained - but also to each other. Call in, get it off your chest. Lines are open.

[click] [voicemail:]

You can hear me now, can’t you? Oh, you can finally hear me! Good. Good. It takes time for the planes to line up. Sometimes they never do, so. 

Please don’t worry. I can’t give you your name. You don’t need it anymore. But I can give you a memory. I can give you the night we met. 

You came into the Roadside Diner, just off of I-70. You had that look on your face - that driving-all-night look. That running-away look. Not like you were being hunted. Like you didn’t even know what you were running away from. 

You sat in that booth by the back window, near the bathrooms - yes, yes, the one your eyes flicked over to just now. Remember? You ordered a coffee. I was at the counter, talking to the server, and I told her I didn’t have enough to pay for my meal. I said it quietly. There was no yelling. You just noticed. You were paying attention to every person in that diner. Even me. You said, I’ve got it, don’t worry. [huffed laugh] An act of kindness for a stranger. 

I slid into your booth to thank you, and you said - and I’m not going to get this all right, because memory’s, y’know, tricky - you said, don’t mention it. You said, I’m sure you would have done the same thing for me. So much trust. How could I not honor it? 

I asked you if you were alright, and you told me you weren’t sure. You got out of work that day and you got in your car and you just kept driving. You missed your exit. And you just kept driving, all the way into the night. Are you happy? I asked you. No, you told me. 

You didn’t know what was missing from your life, but you knew it was missing. What do you want? I asked you. I wanted to give it to you. And this - this I remember, because this was the important part. “I don’t know,” you said. “I’m just so tired of being a person.” 

[radio static] 

I put my hands over yours, and I nodded. I knew how to fix it. I asked you if you wanted to be something else. I asked you if you wanted to stop worrying. I gave it to you for free. A deal is a deal. A gift is a gift. 

Please don’t worry. I don’t know why you keep worrying. It doesn’t matter what came before. I made it so you never had to worry again. Food, clothes, money. Where to sleep, how to live, how to keep your heart from breaking. The road provides. The road will always provide. I freed you from entropy. I freed you from death. 

[the radio shrieks and fuzzes] 

I thought you’d stop running away. I thought you’d be happy with the way I repaid your kindness. I took your kindness and your curiosity and your interest in every little person and I turned it into something better. You were a person. [The voice changes from the distortion of a phone voicemail to clear speech.] So what? [They are now beside the host.]  I made you a legend. 

And I know it’s lonely, at first, to be like us. But you’re not the only one. 

You’re not alone. 

[click] 

The host: It’s you.

The entity: Yes. 

[click]

[static] [Traveling Sales Rep: visit us at the ROADSIDE diner just off I-70-] [Various Garbled Voices: the - road - provides -] [The entity: the - road - provides -]

Thin Places Radio is a podcast written by Kristen O’Neal and produced by Kaitlin Bruder. The voice of Your Host is Kristen O’Neal. The voice of the entity is Omar Najam. 

Editing and sound design are by Kaitlin Bruder, and the music tracks you heard in tonight’s episode are: the Thin Places theme, by Miles Morkri. If you have a question to ask, a story to tell, or a suggestion for the host, give us a call at ‪(717) 382-8093. The lines are always open.

[Thin Places Theme outro]

[nonebinary-leftbeef]

Gilf hunting at the Fleetwood Mac tribute band concert

[takeyourdailydoseofcyanide]

asking for help always makes things worse

[ropes3amthoughts]

DunMeshi fanfic authors/fan artists, have Senshi and Kabru cook together and my life is yours

[skoulsons]

*video of a married couple happy about the way that they live and operate*

commenter: boy just wait til they get divorced bc of unfaithfulness and both of them are miserable and-

Shut !! Up !! Go touch grass and experience the sun for once in your life !!