#that one i'm really struggling with at the moment.

[pseudonymousposting]

I used to read and retain very well. Now, if I look at a lot of text, all I see is a big wall of fuck symbols that blend together and mean nothing so to be fair maybe a huge amount of us are worn out and can't parse information anymore.

But also important systems (like education) collapsing is part of the process of a civilization dying and, often, literacy plummets quickly.

This is partially because of the powerful neglect or purposely undercut these systems. This can be for personal gain, to suppress dissenting elements, to narrow the scope of whom they empower to their supporters, because they don't want to do so, because they are incompetent, because the system can not maintain itself anymore or any other number of reasons.

It's also partially because people are just trying their best to survive and don't have time to learn nor teach their children. This is something you'll note if you listen to elementary school teachers, who were iirc coming forward in droves with chilling tales of children coming into school having not reached some important prerequisite milestones for some of what they needed to include in their curriculum.

Early literacy was part of this phenomena, and there was plenty of drivel from parents blaming teachers, teachers blaming parents. Thank goodness, there was a number of people pointing at the problem: we are systemically fucked right now, and what it would take to fix the issue would look like a societal upheaval.

Here's the thing. The teachers have a lot of material to cover and a short time to do so. Taking extra time to literally teach children to read at a beginner level, a skill they should have at least begun to grasp before getting to school. This is a huge setback that costs heavily in the long term. It is expected that children are taught these things. This is NOT the teacher's fault. Their job is not to raise your children for you.

The activities that teach the skill have been considered standard fare, bare-minimum parenting activity, and, really, one of those parts of parenting in which you're supposed to look forward to participating. There are very few things more exciting to witness than a child you deeply love read their first book entirely unassisted.

It's one of those moments where you struggle hiding your tears because you're not sure if it's too early to explain what it means to cry out of sheer pride and love for another person. If you remember the first time reading a book on your own in front of an adult who loved you, note this may have been happening in their mind without your knowledge.

This is not a moment the parents are avoiding or too lazy to work toward. Quite the contrary; they are being deprived of it. People need to work toward feed their children. The hours they need to work to make that happen is rising, and the employers are becoming more and more brazen about how exploitative they're willing to be.

Hours get longer, pay stays the same, the pockets of billionaires grow evermore overstuffed with incomprehensible wealth, while the parents of hungry children struggle to make ends meet. When they do have time home, they're dead tired.

What I'm saying is, as usual, our economic system is becoming the failing nightmare it was intended to be in the first place, and the answer to this growing and worrying problem is to address that. Easier said than done, playing against a deck stacked against exactly the kind of person suffering the natural effects of a shit ass system such as this.

https://x.com/StrangerJosh11/status/1856410822983201030

It’s dire out here

Huston we have a problem

[pickingupmymercedes]

Breathe on your own - Lewis Hamilton

genre: fluff (bit of angst, but you guys know the drill by now, angst to constrast the fluff)

wordcount: +2k

a/n: I know i've been missing but I had to get a piece on this past week and how it felt to see Lewis get the love he deserves.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

“Babe, did I butcher it?” he asked, his voice tinged with self-doubt, and I knew exactly what he meant without needing clarification.

Lewis had dropped his bag by the entryway to our hotel room, the weariness of the day etched into his shoulders. But still, there was a quiet energy to him—a hum beneath the surface. He was turned to me, his brow furrowed in thought, though the corners of his lips quirked upward.

“Butcher what exactly?” I feigned ignorance, crossing my arms and leaning against the back of the couch, watching him closely.

“The italian.” He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “I said ‘grazie mille’ to that grandpa on the lobby, but I think I got the accent all wrong. He looked at me funny.”

A soft laugh escaped me, one I didn’t try to hide.

He was so earnest, so uncharacteristically unsure of himself in this small way. It was adorable.

“You nailed it,” I assured him, stepping closer. “It’s just they don’t really expect you to understand them. That’s what threw him.”

He blinked at me, his lips parting as though he was about to protest, but then his expression shifted. He grinned, that slow, boyish grin I hadn’t seen in what felt like forever, and it nearly took my breath away.

“You sure?” he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly, playful now.

“Positive” I said firmly, reaching up to smooth the warms to his jumper. The fabric soft under my fingers, but his warmth was what I felt most. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. They adore you already… Maybe they always have”

He exhaled deeply, the tension in his shoulders easing a fraction more, and for a moment, he just looked at me. Really looked at me, like he was searching for something and had found it.

“They were chanting” he said quietly, almost to himself. “For me. I never thought…” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, as if the thought itself was too audacious to complete.

I smiled softly, brushing my hand along his arm. “You’re Lewis Hamilton. They know what you’re capable of.”

He hesitated, and I saw it then—the flicker of doubt that had plagued him for so long. But it was faint, almost extinguished.

“I just… I didn’t think I’d feel this way” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Driving that car, hearing them… it’s been so long…”

“Since what?” I prompted gently, though I thought I already knew the answer.

“Since I got to have fun out there” he said simply, and his gaze met mine again, raw and unguarded.

My chest tightened, and I swallowed past the lump in my throat.

There he was—the man I’d seen struggle and stumble, who’d carried the weight of expectations and doubts, both his own and others’, for far too long.

And here he was now, standing just a little taller, his voice a little steadier, the glint of hope returning to his eyes.

I stepped closer, slipping my arms around his waist, and he pulled me in without hesitation, his forehead resting lightly on mine.

“No matter where —Mclaren, Mercedes, or Ferrari— you’re still you. And you’re still everything they believe you are” I murmured against his lips.

And I felt the way he exhaled, the way his arms tightened around me.

It was enough. So much more than enough.

After a moment, he pulled back slightly, a mischievous glint in his eye now. “Grazie mille, amore” he said, his voice dipping into a mock-Italian accent that was horrendous and endearing all at once.

I laughed, swatting his arm lightly. “That one was terrible.”

“I’ll work on it,” he said, grinning and leaving me to head to the bathroom.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, his smile didn’t look forced.

And his joy was contagious yes, but beneath my own smile, I felt the weight of everything that had brought us here.

To the point of so much relief in a sincere smile.

As Lewis’s steps drifted faintly, I stayed frozen in place, the warmth of his smile lingering like a phantom touch.

I let my eyes close, but all it did was bring back memories. Memories I wished I could bury, ones that still sat heavy in the quiet corners of my mind.

It had started with a shift so small, I almost missed it.

The slight hesitation in his voice. The way he’d press his lips together after team meetings, his jaw tight as if he was physically holding back what he wanted to say. He had always been so composed, so unshakable in public.

But last year, cracks had formed in the armor he’d worn for so long.

I remembered one particular day, not long after he’d made his decision to leave Mercedes. It was a rare evening when he didn’t have an appearance or a debrief. We’d been sitting on the couch, half-watching something on TV, though neither of us was paying attention.

I had asked him how he was feeling—just a simple question.

“I’m tired, Y/n” he had admitted, his voice barely audible. “I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. It’s like… it’s like running in quicksand.”

I had reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his, and squeezed tightly, desperate to anchor him. “You’re not. It’s the car. It’s not you.”

But he had only shaken his head, his gaze distant. “I don’t know if I believe that anymore.”

It had crushed me to hear it, to see the man who had conquered the world so many times over doubt himself like that.

And yet, I couldn’t show him how scared I was, how deeply it hurt to see him lose faith. So I had buried my own fears, locked them away, and poured everything I had into lifting him up.

There were so many moments like that after though.

The time Toto made that offhand comment about drivers and their “expiration date.” Lewis had heard about it from a journalist, of all people. He brushed it to the side, didn’t say a word about it to anyone after, but he didn’t have to.

 I’d seen the tension in his posture, the way he picked at his food that day without eating much of it. He’d gone to bed early that night, and I’d lain awake for hours, rereading that book to find a different meaning, something that would say it was just a misunderstanding.

And then there was that factory visit—the one I could barely bring myself to think about even now. It had been his last as a driver, and I had gone with him, knowing he wouldn’t ask but needing to be there anyway.

He had been quiet that day, too quiet. As we walked through the familiar halls, shaking hands with staff, posing for photos, I watched him closely. His smile was polite, his words gracious, but there was no spark in his eyes. No pride.

When we left, he hadn’t said a word until we were in the car. And even then, it wasn’t much.

“They’ve been good to me,” he had murmured, staring out the window. “I’ll always be grateful for that.”

I had nodded, unsure what to say, because what exactly does anyone say to that? No words could ease the weight of walking away from a team that had been his home for so long.

But the worst moments—the ones that haunted me the most—were the ones no one else saw.

The nights when he’d wake up in the early hours and just sit on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. The nights when he’d stare at himself in the mirror, not with the confidence I’d always known, but with doubt into every line of his face.

I had tried to held him through it all, whispering words of reassurance, even when I wasn’t sure he believed me.

Even when I wasn’t sure I believed myself.

And I couldn’t help but compare to how his eyes had lit up today, how he’d stood a little taller as the tifosi chanted his name.

Because they believe in him.

My mind was still caught in the grip of the past year—those heavy days, the unseen cracks Lewis had fought so hard to mend when a sound broke through the silence: soft, unassuming, yet unmistakable.

A hum.

It started low, barely a whisper, and then grew, wrapping itself around the air in the room.

My heart stuttered, the sound pulling me out of my spiral. I followed it to its source, finding Lewis in the mirror, silhouette highlighted by the towel in his waist.

“What’s that tune?” I asked, my voice cutting gently through the moment. He turned, startled, and then offered a sheepish grin, the kind that reached his eyes and melted years of tension off his face.

“Didn’t realize I was doing it,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes sparkled, the weight they’d carried for so long noticeably lighter. “Guess it’s been a good day.”

I smiled, leaning against the doorframe. “Good day doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

I headed to him and he helped me to sit on the marble counter. My hands resting loosely around his neck as he looked at me. “C’mon, spill. How are you really feeling?”

Lewis hesitated for a moment, his hands drawing lazy patterns on my thighs, his shoulders dropping as he exhaled deeply. The sound was more release than sigh, a letting go of something long held in.

“It’s… hard to put into words,” he began, his voice thoughtful. “I wasn’t sure how it would go. Driving for Ferrari…  What if I didn’t fit? What if they didn’t want me there for my driving?”

I stayed quiet, giving him space to find his rhythm. His fingers fidgeted slightly, betraying the vulnerability beneath his calm exterior.

“But the tifosi…” He shook his head, his expression a mix of wonder and disbelief. “They welcomed me like I’d always been one of theirs. Chanting my name, waving flags, shouting things I barely understood but could feel, you know? That… that was something else.”

“And the car?” I prompted softly.

A smile broke across his face, wide and unguarded. “The car,” he echoed, leaning back when letting a chuckle out. “Gosh I know they hate the SF23, but it felt good. Familiar in the ways that matter and different in the ways that make it exciting. For the first time in so long, I felt like… It reminded me that it wasn’t just me. The struggles, the frustrations… they weren’t just me.”

His voice grew softer, almost reverent. “And I know this is no confirmation of anything, but for the first time in ages, I’m not afraid to hope. I don’t know what’s ahead, but today… it felt like a start.”

My chest tightened, pride and relief in equal measure. I reached out, covering his hand with mine. “You deserved this,” I put simply. “Every bit of it.”

He turned his hand over, intertwining his fingers with mine. The warmth in his gaze was enough to light the room.

He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the back of my hand. “It’s good to feel like myself again” he said quietly, the words carrying the weight of everything left unspoken.

“It’s good to see you like this” I replied, my voice equally soft.

He tilted his head, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “And the humming? You’re not gonna tease me about that?”

I grinned, leaning closer. “I’m saving that for later. Don’t you worry.”

His laughter echoed again, and in that moment, it felt like the room, the city, the whole world had exhaled along with him.

As he pulled me into his arms, humming that same tune against my ear, I closed my eyes, letting the sound wash over me. For the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt just as it should.

It was real—that lightness he was rediscovering, the hope that the best could still be to come.

_____________________________________________________________

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[olivialivvy17]

Blind leading the blind - Matt Murdock blurb

pairing: matt murdock x glasses gn!reader

tags: fluff, blurb

warnings: none

wc: 698

a/n: I speak from experience here, cuz I'm very blind myself. also I've never come across a pairing like this so yeah. okay I love you and enjoy <3

Blind leading the blind. That's what your mutual friends call you two. It’s funny to both of you because it’s partially true. You are nearsighted, not completely blind, but without your glasses you’re almost just as blind. Matt, on the other hand is completely blind, even with his heightened senses, he can’t see the way a normal person sees.

You two go together like a charm, a perfect pair. You two met randomly in a caffe while Matt was getting harassed by an impatient prick who couldn’t wait five seconds more for Matt to find his wallet and pay. That’s when you stepped in.

"Hey can you not wait a moment longer? Your morning coffee is not going to run away. Harassing a blind person is a very low blow man” you scolded the guy, eyebrows furrowed in frustration as you stood by the counter waiting for the barista to brew your coffee. Matt responded with a polite smile and a soft ‘thank you’ as he paid and left.

After that, you two crossed paths in that same caffe a couple of more times, which led to him asking to pay for your coffee and asking you out on a real date, that's how you two started dating.

Matt found it endearing how you partially understood him, what's it like not being able to see the world without some kind of assistance. He also loved taking off your glasses before you fall asleep, or when you’re already asleep from reading a book. He’d very gently grasp the frame and slide it off your ears, extending his arm over and putting them on the nightstand. Taking your tired face and placing a kiss to each eye, whispering praises and sweet nothings while gently feeling your face with his large hands.

“Babe, can you clean my glasses? My shirt is not the right material” you ask him, handing your glasses to your blind boyfriend. “Of course love” as he gladly takes them in hand and starts meticulously wiping the lenses with his shirt.

He knows you hate when other people touch your glasses. No one can clean them the way you do, but for some miraculous reason, Matt is an expert at that. Just the fact that you trust him that much with a thing you need in order to live properly, warms his heart and shows him that he means so much to you.

He would also just sit and listen to you grumble about the outlandish prices of getting prescription glasses. “Like I understand that my prescription is high and that my lenses need thinning, but why am I selling my kidney to be able to see!” you huff in annoyance “It’s not even my fault, i was born like this”, only for him to chuckle and shake his head at how cute you sounded to him all pouty and frustrated.

One thing no one prepared you for was the fact that Matt never really needed to turn on the light when entering the room. He was very light and eerily quiet on his feet. So one night he unintentionally, but creepily stood in the doorframe of your shared bedroom, watching (or I guess listening to) you mindlessly scroll on your phone in the dark (without glasses on) for a good moment until you felt someone watching you.

Averting your gaze from the little screen, you noticed a figure standing there in the dark. Matt immediately picked up your frightened heartbeat and softly broke the silence “Hey, hey honey, it's me. It's Matt” as he made his way to your frozen figure, half sat up on the bed. “I'm so sorry for scaring you, I forgot it's dark in here”. You would scold him for doing that, but there's never really any bite in your tone. Afterwards, he would apologize by giving you so many kisses and letting you sleep in his arms.

At the end of the day, and many shared struggles, you both found comfort in each other. Being one another's guiding light.

[c-max-user]

"Hey the water feels so niiii..." She can't finish her sentence with all of her attention focusing on the HUGE bulge in your pants. Despite buying XL swim trunks the outline is clear. Your 9 inch soft cock resting and bouncing softly against two over productive, apple sized balls (thank god for CumMax). You made sure to jerk off twice before your date at the pool, yet you're trying to will your cock to stop getting hard

"I-I'm really happy we could meet today..." She squeezes her tits together and bites her lip. Her eyes lock with yours for a moment, dart down to your semi hard (now 11inch) cock. She bounces slightly, your cock makes you feel what it would be like to be under her while she bounces. She tries in vain to ignore the massively growing cock, while you try helplessly to stop yourself from cumming your pants

"Why are you so far away? I'm not gonna bite, sexy" You sit next to her 'fuck is it getting bigger?' she says under her breath. You struggle to hold a conversation while your sensitive cock throbs and grows, fully hard and just barely peeking through the leg of your shorts. You struggle and fail to keep your eyes off her tits and hips, she's doing the same with your cock, as thick as a soda can.

She gasps when she notices your swollen cock head is leaking precum like a broken faucet. Your balls are tense, you're trying so hard not to cum, but you know they'll force the cum out any moment. Oh god she's coming in for a kiss

*SPURT SPURT SPURT SPURT SPURT*

"HOLY SHIT" She gasps watching cum shoot into the pool, rope after rope, after rope. One bigger after the other, shooting harder and harder out of your cock. She jumps in the pool and shoves the head into her mouth, drinking as fast as she can. She looks up at you panting with wide eyes

"take those off NOW fuck! I wanna see how much can fit in my ass"

[peacheeeliz]

017. hubby and wifey (wc: 640)

You stand patiently at Sunghoon's front door, gently knocking while your other hand hangs at your side, holding on tight to a plastic bag full of groceries. You let yourself rock back and forth on your feet, a quiet shuffle just on the other side of the door. After a moment, the door opens, and Sunghoon peaks through the crack, eyes widening at the sight of you at his apartment so late at night.

“Y/Nie, what are you doing here?” He asks, but ushers you inside. “It's almost midnight, you should be home.”

You ignore him with a sweet smile, heading straight towards his kitchen to get your late dinner for him ready. “And you should learn to be more honest with me,” you tease, hearing his footsteps follow you into the kitchen. “Heeseung's not your only friend, y'know? You can tell me if you ever have trouble sleeping. I know a great tea remedy.”

Sunghoon freezes behind you at your words, letting out a sigh when he remembers his chat with the mentioned man earlier that day. “And they say Niki yaps too much,” he jokes, shaking his head.

“Oh, please, Heeseung loves to gossip, especially with me,” you continue, finally sending him a bright smile over your shoulder. He takes his place at the counter behind you, leaning against it as he crosses his arms across his chest - his big, defined arms that peak out of the tank top he's wearing. You turn back around quickly, ignoring the heat that rises to your cheeks to focus on the food. “You shouldn't be worried about ever making me worry too much. If anything, it's gonna make me worry even more.”

He hesitates, eyes never leaving your figure as you start to dart around the room. “I just… had some trouble sleeping,” he starts. “It's probably just because I was on my phone all night. No need to worry.”

“What were you looking at?” You ask innocently, not noticing the way Sunghoon goes stiff again.

“Uh, just,” he stutters, clearing his throat. “Just TikTok. It's always better at night, y'know?”

You let out a light laugh, nodding in agreement. His heart warms at the sound, a soft smile playing at his lips as he brings his hand up to cover his face. And there goes his heart again, beating away at his ribcage like an animal trying to escape from the zoo.

When you start setting up all the different ingredients, he steps forward. “Hey, let me help out a bit,” he says, taking place right next to you and grabbing hold of some vegetables.

“No, baby, I'm supposed to be making you feel better,” you tell him, reaching to take back the vegetables. He holds it up high above his head, smiling down at you as you struggle to obtain them back. “Come on, Hoonie, not fair.”

“I'm sorry, but no wife of mine is going to work alone in the kitchen,” he responds, reaching up to pat your head with his free hand. “You're too cute.” The words slip past his lips without thought, and he freezes when he realizes what he said. You, however, seem to have no reaction other than the bright smile you send his way.

“You'd make a good husband one day, husband,” you joke, nudging him before getting back to work on the food.

“Well, I'm getting in some great practice with a really good wife,” he continues, ignoring the way his skin prickles and his stomach flips. “Aren't I, wife?”

“Wellllll, you did let me die,” you draw out. “Twice.”

He rolls his eyes, “hey, I told you it'd be a bad idea to go off on your own,” he reminds you. He leans to the side, bumping his shoulder against yours. “Just stick by me, alright? I'll keep you safe.”

synopsis ⤏ popular youtubers team up on all new minecraft smp, quick to name themselves the "newly weds" after sunghoon gifts y/n a poppy. but will these romantic endeavors between the two just be "for the lore," or will feelings blossom?

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[hxlxnaaa]

hiiiii, i love your fics soososososo much

im a uni student for art and i was wondering if you could make a fic for rafayel comforting reader on art block ? i think he would be really sweeet about it.

thank u :3

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: when faced with the frustrations regarding a lack of creativity and ideas, rafayel is quick to help you come up with a solution, and without realizing, becomes the solution himself.

★ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫: rafayel

★ 𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: first person pov, rafayel being proud of his gf, just really sweet, references to his anecdote 'addictive pain' (just mc taking a few art classes)

★ 𝐰𝐜: 1.5k

★ 𝐚/𝐧: i'm so sorry this took so long!! this is such a cute concept and tysm for the request, rafayel would fs be so sweet n nice ab his cutie struggling w art block. i hope you like it :,)

Frustration was creeping up through my throat, strangling the air out of me. Art was supposed to be my escape, but I had hit a literal wall. With balancing work and a social life, I had hardly found time to dedicate to my first love, and now it seemed as if all creativity had left my mind in an instant.

Tossing the sketchbook across the room that only held scribbles and scratches, I puffed out my cheeks, pressing my fists into the couch.

‘You’re better than this,’ I thought, ‘art is your passion.’

I picked up my phone, dialing Rafayel's number. It would be helpful to take a break, as I had been sitting around for hours crumpling up paper after paper, not a fruitful idea in sight. While I of course admired him as a person, I also looked up to him as an artist, even if I was often too shy to show my own talents to him.

“Hey cutie,” Rafayel's sweet voice came over the line, “whats up?”

“What’re you doing?” I hoped he wasn’t busy, cause I was about 30 seconds away from intruding into his house.

“Just working on this painting Thomas is on me about, why? Thinking about me?”

“Do you care if I come over?”

“That’s a silly question, I’ll see you when you get here.”

Click.

I rolled my eyes, ‘Yeah. Thanks.’

-

Sprawled out on his couch, I watched Rafayel drag his paintbrush across the canvas with little effort. I was jealous of how natural it all came to him, reminiscing on a time I was able to convey everything I pleased with that much grace, able to create anything with ease. Now my talent just sat in a corner, covered in dust, and I wasn’t even sure how to use it anymore.

“Raf.” I sat up, throwing one of the brushes lying around at his back.

He hummed a response, not bothering to turn around to look at me.

“When you run out of ideas, get art block per say, what do you do?”

“Sit in the bathtub, you know this.” Rafayel nodded his head towards the empty tub lying in the center of the room. “Yeah, but,” I walked up behind him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, “what about it brings you ideas?”

He shrugs, placing a kiss on my forearm draped loosely around him, “The water always brings me ideas. It’s easier coming up with things in a place where you’re comfortable.” Rafayel pays me a grin, “That’s why I come up with my best works when you’re around.”

“If you had to give advice to someone struggling with a lack of creativity, where would you tell them to start?” I stared longingly at the painting he was working on, craving the urge I once knew, the urge to create.

“Is that someone you?”

I flick his head, “If it was, would the advice change?”

He thinks for a moment, “If it were anyone else, I’d tell them to get a book of art prompts or something.” Rafayel cranes his head back to look at me, “You? I’d tell you to paint something you love.”

“Something I love?”

“Yeah, like food or a wanderer, I dunno. Your passions lie in what you love, so creativity for you will start there.”

Something I love.

-

I sat surrounded by old sketches and paintings I had made and kept throughout the years, and thought about what Rafayel said.

“Your passions lie in what you love, so creativity for you will start there.”

There were connections between all the pieces, and that connection was that they were of all the things I loved at some point or another. My favorite flower, the stray cat I had rescued growing up, Gran and Caleb, cherry blossoms when they first bloom; things that brought me joy and warmed my heart.

‘Okay,’ I thought to myself, tracing my fingers over all the papers, ‘easy enough. Just draw something I love.’

The sketchbook in front of me sat blank, just like my mind.

Something I love, something I love, something I love…

It started with a jawline, a mess of hair, wild eyes; then the sketch turned into an idea, and I was grabbing my watercolor paper and paint.

Heather purple hair, kaleidoscope eyes, fair skin adorned with carefully placed freckles and moles as if an angel had kissed him themself. His smile, I needed to capture his smile. His rosy cheeks.

I finished the painting, and grabbed another paper. His home, I needed to paint his home. The canvases that littered his space, the bathtub, the statues and vases, the tall windows that showed the sea outside.

Another paper, another paper, another paper.

The brush glided across the page as if unstoppable, using the same precision I used to fight wanderers, the trained eye, fast reflexes and grace. His hands, him painting, his laugh, everything I had memorized about him over time turned into the art that I had been waiting to spill from my mind.

Something I love.

Rafayel.

-

“Did you ever find that creative spark you were looking for?”

I turned around from cooking to look at Rafayel, who was standing at the island of my kitchen watching me work. His pretty purple hair was messed up from me earlier picking paint out of it, and his shirt loosely unbuttoned at the collar. With asking the question, his eyes glittered mischievously.

Rafayel himself was not the painter, he was the art.

“Yeah, I suppose I did.” I shrugged, going back to fixing dinner.

“I didn’t know you liked to do art,” He maneuvered his way next to me, poking my side, “why didn’t you tell me?”

Liked? No, art was something I adored. It was my security, an outlet. Even when everything was going wrong, my life in shambles, I always had the ability and opportunity to create. It was stability, it was love, my life and passion. I just needed to find it again.

I poked Rafayel back, “It was never something I thought I needed to share with you, plus I had gotten away from it for a while. Lost my spark.”

“Now I want to see!” Rafayel groaned, pouting, “Are you any good?”

“I took a few classes in university for fun, but not nearly as good as you.”

He went still for a second, “Art is subjective...So please show me?”

“Go into my room and my recent stuff should be in the folder sitting on my desk,” I pointed my spoon in his face, “but no messing around in there, you look at the folder and get out.”

“Yes ma’am.”

With that he descended down the hallway, and I heard the soft creak of my door opening. For a few minutes, the only sound in the apartment was the quiet sizzle of the food in the pan.

Then, it was too quiet for too long.

“Rafayel, you better not be in there snooping!” I shouted, only to get no response. A few more seconds passed by before I called out to him again, “Raf?”

“Why are you a hunter?”

I jumped, startled by his sudden appearance behind me. He was clutching the pieces I had done of him, looking down at them and back at me with awe and adoration. His fingers danced gently over the paper, analyzing every detail.

“What do you mean?” I frowned, his question catching me off guard.

“These are…I don’t even have words. They’re amazing.” Rafayel continued to stare at the watercolor paintings in his hands, flipping through them carefully.

A soft laugh left my lips, “You just like them cause they’re of you.” The compliment didn’t fall on deaf ears however, and my cheeks turned pink with his praise. For one of the greatest painters in our era to think my work is ‘amazing’? Yeah, that felt nice.

Rafayel smirked, “Well, yes. I think that adds to it.” He laid out all of the papers across the island, “I just don’t understand why you didn’t pursue this, why only take a few classes in university instead of doing it full time. You have a real talent…”

“That's a big compliment coming from the Rafayel.”

“You could do as well as me if you put this out there.” He waved one of the pieces in my face, before quickly pulling away, “No, actually, I want all of these. I’m going to hang them up when I get home.”

“You gonna pay for them?” I crossed my arms, trying to act tough. Grinning, Rafayel wrapped an arm around my shoulder and waved his hand around as if gesturing for me to see the world, “See? You’ve already got that art business mindset down, I can see the vision for your future from here.”

He looked down at me with a sweet, sincere glint in his eyes, “But really, I’m glad you found that creativity you were looking for. I would hate for you to abandon something like this.”

“It was your help,” I put my head on his chest, “you told me to draw something I love.”

Rafayel pinched my cheek, “Well I’ll always be willing to be your muse, cutie.”

(divider by cafekitsune)

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

I just realized that, in the 5 seasons finales, LB&CN NEVER won :(

-S1: Origins, the start of everything so it doesn’t exactly count. Volpina is the last chapter before those, but now that Lila seems to be the new HM, and since it was LB’s “mistake” that made her a nemesis, their victory comes empty in the long run.

-S2: Heroes’ Day, I consider it a tie, because the status quo changed to HM’s favor. After all seemed lost, LB&CN got a second wind and they managed to corner him, pointing to their victory; there was no way to foresee Mayura’s arrival. HM didn’t win, but is no longer alone against them. From a narrative pov, in my humble opinion, it is a nice season finale to set up S3.

-S3: Battle of the Miraculous, LB makes a mistake born of jealousy, leading to the capture of Master Fu, HM claiming the Miracle Box and Chloe’s betrayal. Aftermath: Fu’s gone, temp heroes’ identities revealed to HW and Mayura, the translation of the grimoire is in enemy hands, allowing him to repair the broken Peacock miraculous, and Chloe starts hating LB. The heroes recovering the miracle box at the end is just a small win contrasted to everything else.

-S4: Shadow Moth’s Final Attack, the Miracle Box is in HM’s hands after LB makes another love-related mistake by being deceived by Felix into thinking he was Adrien; behold the rise of Monarch. Our heroes have their worst defeat so far.

-S5: The Final Day *insert TLOZ: Majora Mask’ Last Day theme*. Gabriel, the person who antagonized our heroes these five seasons, the one who was supposed to be defeated, brought to justice, manages to outsmart Bug Noire because she had faith in the man, and makes the wish. (Though I heard that Mari won because Gabriel didn't wish for Emilie at the end, so... it is supposed to be the heroes' victory, I guess?)

I'm pretty sure this came up somewhere in the comments or reblogs of my post about Marinette being written like a villain, but in the context of the finals, Gabriel is written like a classic superhero. The only exception being Origins which isn't really a final so I don't think it counts. Instead we'll do Volpina into Collector.

Season One: The heroes almost out Gabriel's identity, but he makes a last minute brilliant plan to save himself and beat his enemies, forever putting himself off their radar.

Season Two: Gabriel almost loses, but an unexpected ally swoops in to save him at the last second. She then becomes his new teammate for the rest of the show.

Season Three: Gabriel almost wins, but fails at the last moment due to a deus ex machina. Still, he ends the season with new knowledge that will make him stronger than ever as he faces his enemy in the coming fights.

Season Four: Gabriel once again loses the battle, leaving him in his darkest hour, only for another unexpected ally to swoop in and give him a major powerup, allowing him to go into the final season ready to put it all on the line.

Season Five: Gabriel once again loses the battle, but when all hope seems lost, his enemy's hubristic monologuing gives him the win, allowing him to achieve the victory he's been fighting for all along. He even gets to change his mind on what victory means for him, showing more growth than anyone else in this mess of a show. (For this, we're going to ignore the insane and deeply insensitive idea that being unable to live without your spouse is a happy ending and meaningful lesson about grief.)

To be fair, it's not totally unheard of for heroes to fail at the start or in the midgame, but I'm struggling to think of another show that did it this poorly. Usually, the heroes lose as a way to set up the plot for the next season or arc. During this follow-up plot, the heroes usually earn a new power or skill so they can come back and win. Miraculous doesn't do that. Things like Gabriel's season four win lead to nothing for the heroes even though a lot of us were expecting season five to see something like the heroes recovering a different miraculous every episode as Ladynoir came back stronger than ever now that the season four nonsense was done with.

But season five wasn't about getting the Kwamis back or about Ladynoir being stronger than ever. It was about Adrienette getting together and Gabriel being against that even though he was seemingly fine with it in both what-if episodes begging the question of what changed?

Season four wasn't about cool new guardian powers or rebuilding the team from scratch. All of the status quos were maintained. The only big difference was that Gabriel got the ability to use the peacock without dying even though it would have been infinitely more satisfying if season five had him dying from a broken miraculous instead of a cataclysm. Same plot, just without the complication of Adrien technically killing his father.

Season three wasn't about figuring out how to stop new villain Maurya. She only goes away because she gets too sick to fight. The heroes don't do anything to stop her. They just got lucky.

When you look at the various power ups that the show introduces - the potions, unification, new miraculous, etc. - there is no overarching narrative logic for why those power ups are being introduced. That's why they're often only used for something interesting in their intro episode. After that, they're just kind of there. I don't think they ever come back to save the day in a season final like you'd expect. The only one who gets lasting power ups that effect the whole season is the villain.

Heroes can also have less-than-perfect victories in satisfying stories. A lot of my personal favorites are a little bittersweet. But none of Miraculous' losses fit that bill either. The closest we get is the season five ending because the heroes did get the miraculous back, but it's hard to call that a victory. I'm not even sure why they need them back. Unless the story randomly decides that Ladynoir isn't enough for today's fight, the temp heroes aren't needed. That's why Ladynoir was perfectly fine for all of season five even though they were fighting a villain with every other power! It's actually really funny when you think about it. Heroes like Viperion should be at every fight because their powers feel essential. Yet Viperion only shows up a handful of times. Times when Ladynoir is suddenly struggling to win even though they've faced plenty of one-hit K.O. villains before. The show's internal logic is a mess.

Then again, this is also the show that consistently lets the villain's love empower him while the heroes' love leads to the end of the world, so I guess this is just kind of par for the course.

[erinwantstowrite]

Could u explain the catwoman AU ? I’ve seen some doodles that u posted ab it but I didn’t understand it😓

Tyyyy💞💞

i might as well make a general post about it now so!!! if you don't wanna know anything before going in when it's eventually one day posted, don't click below!

Peter has just been bitten by the spider and ran away from his last foster house (like a few months i think?), and he gets caught up in some wacky shenanigans while trying to spider-man for the first time. he ends up stuck in Gotham, and while trying to configure a way to get back home (read: stealing from a bunch of people and having some pretty loose morals because he hasn't had his moment of clarity about revenge on the man who murdered Uncle Ben), Peter meets Selina and Tim (still debating on if to call him Stray or something else), who became Catwoman's partner instead of becoming Robin. (meaning that this is an au of an au lol). Selina is sort of used to the whole teaching thing by now and thinks Peter is funny, so she basically tricks him into being her student, and then tricks him into living with her. AKA Selina brings home the most feral cat she's ever found.

Peter starts going to Gotham Academy upon Selina's insistence that he continue school, and he meets Damian and Maps there. Damian is very suspicious of Peter, but the two of them keep getting pulled into Maps' stuff and find out they're a pretty good team. I think Bruce meets Peter at some school events too and I have some very funny plans for that.

Peter is still Dick's kid from another universe because i can't separate them now... maybe in one au they won't be but i just feel like i'm breaking up a real family if i do that... anyways, Tim figures that out first. and he's like, Dick Grayson's biggest fan, of course, so he's determined to befriend Grayson 2.0 before the Bats can (it works). Tim's dynamic in this fic is that the Bats know he figured out their identities and they work together often, but they don't know his identity. Bruce and Tim have like silently agreed that it's only fair Bruce gets a chance to figure out his identity, too, and so Tim hasn't been adopted yet because Tim is just as overcompetitive as Bruce can be

the entire fic, Peter will be struggling about his reasons for wanting to go back (there will be no glitching in this au), because he doesn't really have one, outside of emotional reasons. he's never met the Avengers, he doesn't have any living family members, etc. but his family is buried there, and what if there's something he's missing? he's also struggling with Ben's death being his fault (his foster history will be different here) and Bruce will be a central player in that arc

[gardens-light]

Hello, I'm sorry if it's a bit of trouble for you but can you do some Transformers One characters (Orion Pax, D-16, Sentinel Prime, Starscream, B-127) with a Tamaran S/O? Tamaran being the alien species Starfire is!

Hello. Apologies for taking so long, I absolutely love this idea and really wanted to try and come up with something for all characters.

I chose to do headcanons, as each idea for individual fics for all characters sounded quite similar to one another. Hope you enjoy!

Transformers One x GN/Tamaran Reader

Orion Pax

Orion meets you during one of his visits (more like sneaking in) to a newly established Cybertronian-Tamaranian diplomatic summit. He's immediately drawn to your expressions of joy and warmth, and initially approaches you out of sheer curiosity, simply fascinated by your glowing skin and the way you light up a room- both figuratively and literally.

He would frequently visit you, dying to continue your conversations of him asking you about your solar-powered abilities. Which would eventually evolve into deep philosophical discussions about becoming more than what's 'expected'. Often bringing Cybertronian texts, (that he certainly didn't 'borrow without permission' from The Archives) to share with you. Only to be charmed by you insisting on teaching him Tamaranian customs in return.

Orion would be the kind of partner who always pays attention to the little things- like how your light dims slightly whenever you're sad, or the way your glow intensifies whenever you're happy. He'd always make time to talk to you, ensuring that your feelings are acknowledged and understood.

He would secretly craft gifts, such as engraved datapads with poetry or even small pieces of energon jewellery, (that he forged during his break in the mines.) Orion would love to surprise you with moments of quiet intimacy, like sneaking to the roofs of Iacon's tallest spires to stargaze.

Orion's calm and slightly logical nature sometimes contrasts with your passionate and fiery personality. When disagreements' arise, he'd patiently listen and try to resolve things with empathy, although your emotional outbursts might initially catch him off guard. But, over time, Orion learns to adapt, appreciating your honesty, and heartfelt approach to communications.

While Orion is protective, he would never want to stifle your freedom. He admires your strength and often encourages you to take the lead, finding your confidence inspiring.

D16

You meet during the chaotic skirmish against the Quintessons on Cybertron. Witnessing a group of his fellow miners under attack by a rogue squadron by the enemy, D's struck by your boldness, watching you effortlessly unleash your powers to fend off the enemy. Impressed by your strength, he steps in to help, and the two of you fight side-by-side, forming an immediate connection through the battle.

Initially, your interactions with D are marked by mutual respect, but also friction- his brooding intensity and logical perspective often clashes with your carefree and fiery nature. Yet, despite your differences, you both can't help but be drawn to each other. Your heated debates about strategy and morality, turns into long conversations about your dreams and goals.

D16 is intense in everything he does, and his relationship would be no different. While he would fiercely protect and cherish you, his inner walls would take time to break down. Your ability to openly express love would simultaneously terrify and exhilarate him.

He would respect and treat you as an equal, admiring your ability to stand up to him when needed. Your fiery arguments would often end in laughter or mutual understanding, and he’d secretly love the fact that you refuse to back down.

In quiet moments, D would open up about his struggles and ambitions, finding solace in your warmth and unwavering loyalty. Your ability to channel solar energy would fascinate him, and he’d find comfort in your glowing embrace after a long day.

D would see you as a valuable ally in his fight for equality on Cybertron. He’d involve you in his plans, trusting your insight and respecting your warrior instincts.

Sentinel Prime

Sentinel meets you during a ceremonial event, where the Tamaranian dignitaries arrive on Cybertron to discuss an alliance. While he initially viewed them as just another species to secretly rule over, he couldn't deny that your commanding presence and confidence immediately caught his attention. You standing your ground against his prideful and commanding tone, earned his respect and curiosity.

He begins pursuing you with grand gestures, believing he can win your affection with displays of his power and prestige. But, you see through his arrogance, challenging him to show his genuine self. Of course this frustrates yet also... intrigues him.

Sentinel’s ego and love of grandeur mean that he’d shower you with extravagant gestures of love. From energy-infused jewelry to elaborate ceremonies in your honor, he’d go above and beyond to show his devotion. (And to show you off to the rest of Iacon.)

Sentinel can be a challenging partner due to his pride and commanding nature. He’d occasionally struggle to compromise, but your patience and ability to match his fiery spirit would keep your relationship balanced.

He would be deeply curious about Tamaranian culture and traditions, seeing their royal heritage as a mirror of his own. (That he completely didn't make up).

While Sentinel respects your strength, his protective instincts can border on overbearing at times. He’d feel a deep sense of 'responsibility' for your safety, even when you insist you can handle yourself.

Starscream

Starscream encounters you during an ambush just outside of Iacon, which was orchestrated by Sentinel Prime. The false leader of Cybertron explained (more likely lied) that the High Guard was a resistance group, asking of you and your people to fend off an attack on the city. Of course, Starscream is initially hostile, but when you outwit him in combat, he's left both furious and impressed. Your dynamic begins one of rivalry, with him begrudgingly acknowledging your skill.

Your relationship with him starts off rocky, filled with sarcastic remarks and constant attempts to one-up each other. However, over time he begins to admire your honesty and strength, realizing that you see through his bravado and insecurities. You become an unexpected source of stability for him, challenging his selfish tendencies and teaching him the value of loyalty and trust. Though he'd never admit it, Starscream grows to crave your approval and respect. He’d genuinely value your opinion and feel deeply hurt if he ever disappointed you.

Starscream’s insecurities would occasionally surface, leading to bouts of jealousy—especially if others admired your radiant glow. However, your unwavering loyalty would help soothe his fears, even if he’s reluctant to admit it.

The relationship would be filled with teasing and witty exchanges. Your ability to keep up with his sharp tongue and call him out on his theatrics would make him both exasperated and enamored.

Starscream would have a surprisingly romantic side, arranging private flights through Cybertron’s skies or orchestrating elaborate displays of your names written in the stars. He’d never admit how much effort he put into these gestures, preferring to act like it was effortless.

Despite his flaws, Starscream is deeply devoted to you, often going of his way to protect you and ensure your happiness. The playful banter and constant teasing keeps your relationship exciting and dynamic.

B-127

Bee bumps into you during a scouting mission on Cybertron, after helping Orion Pax (Now Optimus Prime) bring Iacon back to its former glory. He stumbles upon you, while you're using your solar energy to help a small Cybertronian settlement on the surface, as they try to recover from a natural disaster. Intrigued by your glowing features and kindness, Bee approaches you, pretending to need assistance to spark a conversation.

You both hit it off immediately, bonding over your shared love of helping others. Your playful personalities and shared curiosity fast tracks your friendship, with Bee constantly trying to impress you (and talking your ears off) with his stories and quirky sense of humor.

Your relationship would be filled with fun and adventure. From spending time exploring Cybertron, pulling harmless pranks on other Cybertronians, and dancing to Tamaranian music under the stars.

Bee’s devotion to you would be absolute. He’d always put your needs first, often risking himself to keep you safe and happy. Your solar-powered abilities would always leave him in awe, and he’d frequently talk about how amazing you are to the other Cybertronians.

You quickly learn that he loves hugs, playful nudges, and holding hands—especially when walking around Iacon, or the rocky surface of Cybertron. Your glow would make him laugh and blush, often referring to you as his 'Shining Star.'

Beneath his carefree exterior, Bee is deeply emotional, and your empathy would allow him to open up about his fears and insecurities. Your bond would be rooted in trust and mutual support, making you two an unstoppable duo.

[alexhasalotofthoughts]

Okay it's been long enough since TIT that I can share my thoughts with a clear head. I literally slept the whole of yesterday because I was so tired (thank you, London).

Seeing Dan and Phil was a really big deal for me—as I'm sure it is for most fans. I've been a fan of DnP since primary school and now I'm nearing the end of secondary school and the start of uni so this feels like a very big full circle moment.

As cringe and stereotypical as it is, DnP videos have always been there when I needed them. When I was having a bad day at school, or struggling to come to terms with my sexuality/gender, there were Dan and Phil, ready to put a smile on my face. Dan's coming out video was released the same year I started being bullied for my sexuality and seeing someone I looked up to as much as him be so honest and open really helped me to feel less alone. I rewatch that video a lot. I will always be grateful for that.

I've worn my Interactive Introverts bracelet everyday since I brought it with the DVD (my mum would not let me see them live at the time as I was "too young" lol) so Dan and Phil, in some way, have been there for every big and small moment in my life. They were technically there when I got an offer from the uni I want to go to. I literally wore a Dan and Phil shirt to my autism assessment. They were mentioned in my autism assessment report (though I am not the person who said that for the confessions part of the show, that was someone else. I am not trying to steal their thunder lol). I can't even begin to express what a big part of my life their videos have been.

As I'm sure has been mentioned many times by now, my show was filmed so I might even end up on YouTube or a DVD (PLEASE DAN AND PHIL, KEEP PHYSICAL MEDIA ALIVE) or something, though I doubt that because I was in the royal circle. Also a drunk girl hung if the balcony and heckled for most of the show. I think even ended up getting kicked out. I saw somewhere on twitter that Phil asked for her to be kicked or mentioned to staff that she was too loud but I have no idea how true that is as I was on the opposite side of the circle to her and I have never and probably will never speak to Phil to confirm this.

Other than that, though, the show was absolutely brilliant!

Genuinely! It was so funny and it was absolutely lovely being in a room of people who have the same interests as me; I literally saw a "Be More Chill" "Boyf" bag, "Heathers" tracksuit bottoms, a FNAF Bonnie keychain and a Doctor Who badge all in the space of 5 minutes of one another. My people. Someone even complimented my hat, though I find London so overwhelming that I forgot to respond properly lol (sorry hat person, you were very nice! I liked your whiskers!).

Before the show, they played "Hot To Go" by Chappell Roan, and the whole theatre sang and danced along, which was absolutely lovely!

I was laughing and cheering for about 2 hours straight, so I'd say it was money well spent, though my mum literally fell asleep during the first act so I don't know if she'd agree.

One thing I will say: seeing sister Daniel in the flesh is literally a HOLY experience—I am so... Gay? Straight? Bisexual?? I'm not sure which word go use in this situation but Daniel was hot, so who cares?

To conclude this overly long blog post no-one will read, it was fun and I feel like 12 year old me would look at me now and smile. I saw Dan and Phil live. I got an offer from the uni I wanted to study film! I write!! I have friends who care about me!! I'm not ashamed to like the things I like!! God, they would be so proud of me. And I am proud of them.

TIT pics below ;)

(That last pic was taken by my mum, hence why I look so awkward. I was happy, I swear.)

Thank you very much if you read this! I really do go on a lot but also this is my blog and I suppose that means I can go on as much as I want.

[ruewritesoccasionally]

The Reunion Pt.4 | Aaron Pierre

Pairing: Aaron Pierre x Black Reader

Warnings: angst, emotional turmoil, unresolved feelings, themes of heartbreak, romantic confessions

Chapter Summary: YN faces the fallout of her breakup with Trey, struggling with lingering feelings for Aaron. When Aaron finally confesses his love, the weight of their emotions crashes together, leading to a pivotal moment of honesty and vulnerability. As their long-simmering feelings come to the surface, both of them take the first step toward something new—something neither could deny any longer.

Word Count: 1.5K

a/n: it's finally here !!! i was dragging this out for the longest time because my brain simply refused to work but i'm so excited that everything is written up now

The faint hum of the television filled the room, yet she wasn’t listening. Her fingers idly traced the rim of her wine glass, and Trey’s voice faded into the background. He was beside her, close enough that his knee brushed against hers, but she felt detached, as if floating somewhere far away.

Aaron’s laugh—deep, infectious, and lingering—played on a loop in her mind, a cruel reminder of the night she’d shared with him just days ago. She tried to banish the memory, to focus on the man sitting across from her, but it was useless. Every stolen glance at Aaron’s lips, every fleeting touch during the movie night, had rooted itself in her thoughts, refusing to let go.

“Hey.” Trey’s voice broke through the fog, but she didn’t react. She was still lost in a world that didn’t include him.

“Hey.” Louder now, firmer.

Her head snapped up. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Trey set his drink on the table, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. “You don’t have to say it,” he murmured, his voice quieter now.

Her brow furrowed. “Say what?”

He looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time in weeks, she realised he’d seen through her façade. “That your heart’s not here. You’ve been miles away all night. Hell, maybe even longer than that.”

“Trey, I—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted gently, holding up a hand. “We don’t need to drag this out. I think we both know it’s time.”

She stared at him, stunned by how easily he’d unravelled the truth she hadn’t been brave enough to face. Her lips parted to argue, to deny it, but no words came. Because he was right.

Trey leaned back on the sofa, exhaling deeply. “I’ve felt it for a while, you know. The way you smile when your phone buzzes, the way your eyes light up talking about… him.” He didn’t need to say Aaron’s name. It hung between them like an unspoken truth.

“I never meant to hurt you,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“I know. And that’s why I’m not mad.” He managed a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sometimes you just know when it’s not meant to be.”

Silence fell between them, heavy yet not entirely uncomfortable. She nodded, a small weight lifting off her chest as Trey stood, retrieving his jacket.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he added after a long pause. “And I hope it makes you happy.”

“Take care of yourself,” he said softly, planting a small parting kiss on her forehead before stepping out the door.

For the first time in months, she felt... free. But that freedom came with a weight all its own. She sat there for a moment, staring blankly at the space he’d just occupied. Her mind should’ve been racing, should’ve been replaying their conversation on a loop, but instead, there was only one thought anchoring her.

Aaron.

The scent of her vanilla and amber lingered on his hoodie, faint but impossible to ignore. Aaron paced the length of his flat, his trainers scuffing the worn wooden floor. His heart was in his throat, thoughts racing so fast he couldn’t pin them down.

Images flashed in his mind—her laughter lighting up the reunion, the way her hand lingered on his arm as they’d hugged goodbye, the soft sigh she’d made during their movie night when she’d leaned just close enough for him to feel the warmth of her body.

He ran a hand through his curls, gripping the back of his neck as Marcus’s words echoed in his head: "If you wait too long, you’re going to lose her."

But it wasn’t just Marcus. It was her. It was the way she looked at him, how her lips curved into a smile just for him, how her eyes softened when he made her laugh. He thought of the first time he’d met her, the way her voice had wrapped around him like a melody. He thought of the countless moments she’d unknowingly stolen his breath.

He swallowed hard, the memory of last night fresh in his mind. So close yet so far. He couldn’t do this anymore. Couldn’t carry the weight of words unsaid. It was now or never.

Grabbing his jacket, he left his flat, the weight of his choice propelling him forward.

The knock on her door startled her, cutting through the stillness. She frowned, rising to her feet and making her way to the door. When she opened it, Aaron was standing there, his dark curls damp from the rain, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

“Aaron?” she asked, surprised.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft, his expression unreadable. “Can I come in?”

She nodded, stepping aside to let him in. He paused just inside the doorway, his gaze flicking to her face, then to the room behind her.

“Everything okay?” she asked, closing the door.

He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

Her brows furrowed as she crossed her arms, concern etched across her face. “What’s going on?”

Aaron turned to face her, his jaw clenching and unclenching as if he were fighting an internal battle. Finally, he ran a hand through his curls, letting out a frustrated groan.

“I’ve been rehearsing this for days,” he admitted, his voice low. “And now that I’m here, I don’t even know where to start.”

Her heart began to race, a strange mixture of apprehension and anticipation bubbling in her chest.

He took a step closer, his eyes locking onto hers. “I’ve been your friend for years, YN. Your best friend. And I’ve tried—God, I’ve tried—to bury this, to pretend it didn’t matter. But it does. You do.”

Her lips parted, but he held up a hand, silencing her.

“Let me finish,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “I’ve spent so long convincing myself that I didn’t have a chance, that you were happy with someone else, that you didn’t feel the same. But I can’t do it anymore. I can’t stand here and say nothing, not when...” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“And I know it’s super disrespectful for me to come here and say this to you when Trey is in the picture, but I’ve waited too long for a woman like you, to say all this to, and I just can’t wait any longer. I-”

“We broke up,” she interrupted softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aaron froze, his eyes widening as the words registered. “What?”

“We broke up,” she repeated, her gaze steady, though her heart was pounding.

He stared at her, his breath catching. “Say that again.”

“We broke up,” she said again, her voice firmer this time. “It’s over.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Then, a slow, disbelieving smile spread across his face.

“You’re serious?” he asked, his voice low, almost awed.

She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Relief washed over his face, his shoulders sagging as if a weight had been lifted. “You… you have no idea how happy that makes me.”

He stepped closer, so close she could feel the heat radiating off him. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. And I tried to bury it, to be your friend and nothing more, but I can’t. Not anymore.”

Her breath hitched, tears pooling in her eyes as his words wrapped around her heart.

“I love the way you laugh at my stupid jokes, the way you crinkle your nose when you’re trying not to laugh too hard. I love how you make me feel like I’m enough, just by being around you. And if I didn’t say this now, I would've regretted it for the rest of my life.”

He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that escaped down her face. “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know.”

Before she could say anything else, Aaron closed the distance between them in two strides, his hands cupping her face as he kissed her. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as though he were afraid to push too far. But when she leaned into him, her hands gripping his jacket, the kiss deepened, growing more fervent.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, their breaths mingling.

“I’ve waited so long for this,” Aaron murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

“So have I,” she whispered back, her eyes fluttering open to meet his.

Her hand covered his, her fingers trembling. “Aaron…”

He tilted his forehead to rest against hers, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Say the word, and I’ll take you out on the best first date of your life. Say the word, and I’ll prove to you every day that you made the right choice.”

She couldn’t hold back any longer. Closing the gap between them, her lips met his in a kiss so soft yet so charged that it left them both breathless.

When they pulled apart, he smiled, his thumb still brushing her cheek. “So, is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes,” she murmured, her smile matching his.

taglist: @writingsbytee @venusincleo @nickidub718 @kxllanxtdoor @random-human02

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

[miraculous-multiverse]

Homeless Chloe AU: The First Day at School

A small fic based around an idea I have for this AU. Once again, this AU has been made by @the-lost-lights and @generalluxun.

Enjoy!

——————

They know who you are, you know?

Chloe walked as fast as she could, attempting to ignore all the students in the school and stay as close to Juleka as possible.

Just because you wear new clothes and you have died your hair it doesn’t mean that they cannot recognize you.

She tried to ignore Not-Marinette’s comments when Not-Adrien popped in existence right in front of her face.

She’s right, you know? Did you really thought that you could just change your style and pretend to be another person? They already realized who you are and are probably waiting for the right moment to get their revenge… I wonder what they are planning to do to you.

Chloe rushed right thru the hallucination and kept walking straight to the classroom, attempting to ignore all of the other hallucinations increasingly loud death threats and everything else, including Juleka's telling her to stop. She was so concentrated in walking that she didn’t realize that she was going straight against a student until it was too late.

“S-sorry I didn’t… I-I was…” She said, attempting to apologize to the student, but the words kept failing to get out of her mouth (You never apologized before, of course you cannot do that). Then she realized who she apologizing to: Sabrina.

Chloe had to use all of her willpower to not scream and run away from her.

Well, well, well! The real me is here right in front of you! I wonder if she’s going to tell you first how much she hates you or give you a punch in the face first… Would it be fun if the other people that you bullied also arrived and joined her in beating you up?

"Are you okay? You look like you saw a ghost..." Asked Sabrina, confused by the reaction of the girl.

"YES. I AM VERY FINE THANK YOU." Said Chloe.

Bullshit. You know very well that you're not.

"Shut up Not-Sabrina..." Muttered Chloe to the hallucination.

"What?" Said confused Sabrina, now more weirded than before by the girl's strange behavior.

"NOTHING! Uhh... I'm sorry... It's just that... that today is m-my uh... first day here! Yes! And... uh... I'm kinda nervous and..." Stuttered Chloe as she struggled to find excuses for her weird behavior.

"Oh! So you must be the girl that had been staying with the Couffaine! Your name is Melody, right?" Asked Sabrina.

"Yes... A-and who you are?"

"My name is Sabrina Raincomprix and I'm going to be one of your classmates. If you want I can show you where the classroom is..."

"Hi Sabrina! Who's the new girl?"

That voice...

Chloe glanced behind her.

Is that...

Chloe mustered all her remaining willpower to not run away once she realized who the girl behind her was.

YES IT IS! Zoe is here! Zoe is here! She stole your friends! She tole your family! She stole everything dear to you! And now she's going to steal your life too!

"... Hi my name is Zoe! Who are you?" Said Zoe as she held her hand forward.

She's going to drag you on the roof of the school and throw you off! She's going to kill you and nobody will miss you! She's going to dance on your dead body and so will everyone else!

"Are you okay?" Asked Zoe.

YOU ARE GOING TO DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIE

Chloe ran.

DIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIE

Chloe ran as fast as she could.

DIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIE

She didn't know where she was going and she didn't care.

DIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDI

BREATHE!

Chloe blinked a couple of time. She was outside of the school and Juleka was holding her.

"BREATHE!" She shouted again.

Chloe, slightly less dazed than before, did as she told her to do.

"What do you see in the sky?" Asked her Juleka.

"I-I see... a pigeon..."

"What else?"

"... some clouds... a plane..."

"Now tell me three things that you like to eat..."

"Sushi... strawberries... and the macarons Marinette's parents make."

"Do you feel better?" Asked Juleka, still worried about her.

"Yes... I don't think that I'm ready to go back to school..." Said Chloe, ashamed of what just happened.

"That's okay... I'll call mom and ask her to pick you up."

"Thanks." said Chloe before looking back at the building and sighed. She thought that she was ready to go back there, but once she came inside it all came crashing down and seeing Zoe made things so much worse. She now knew how far away she was from a full recovery and this made her sadder than before.

At least she knew that she could count on Juleka, but for how long she was willing to help her?

[thatseventiesbitch]

Hello again! I'm back with another That '70s Show original script. This time we'll be looking at S3xE23 "Backstage Pass"!

This one is extra special because of who it belonged to - one Corey Landis. And it's a table draft, which means there were quite a few changes (some of them significant!). Read on for my summary.

Who's Corey Landis? you may ask. Fair question.

He is the actor who plays a young Red Forman a few different times throughout the series! It's really cool to see the different notes he wrote to himself about how a scene should be staged or acted.

First up, right off the bat the cold open has some different lines.

As you can see, the scene still ends in the same place and most of what the characters say is similar. You can see how they made it slightly shorter in the episode.

I like that Fez is interested in the soybean futures lol, that in the actual episode Eric's line was, "Pork belly prices. How cute is that?" instead, and that LP might've improvised her bit about forgetting to turn off the microphone (or it was added by a writer/producer in a later version of the script).

Eric and Donna's next scene is virtually the same, except for one major difference...

... the band they went to see was originally going to be Aerosmith! In the actual episode, they went to see Ted Nugent. There must have been some kind of licensing issue with being able to use Aerosmith. It's a significant difference, though, because this episode would've continued the characterization that Donna has a crush on Steven Tyler.

There's also this funny, cut moment at the end of Eric and Donna's scene at the radio station:

Now onto the parents.

Some more Bob and Midge lore:

Red and Kitty's interaction is nearly word for word, but check out the actor's notes from the table read!! Pretty cool.

The next scene sees the gang waiting for the Aerosmith Ted Nugent concert to begin. And again it's similar, though not identical, to the scene that aired - Jackie and Kelso discuss their week of romance, Eric and Donna are eager for the concert to begin, and Fez and Hyde reveal their misspelled concert merch.

I was robbed of another Eric & Donna kiss (and a hug!), though 😡 + Eric calling her his "best girl". 🥹

Next we're back to the parents.

Red is still trying to remember how he and Kitty really met, and Kitty is becoming increasingly upset. In the episode she told him her version of events at this point, but in the script it is dragged out a little longer.

The Packer refrigerator magent line made me chuckle, ngl.

Back at the concert. This scene is again nearly identical to what really aired, but I enjoyed Kelso's Aerosmith versions of the songs he changed for Jackie. 😂

Then we check in on Fez and Hyde, who are struggling to sell their misprinted t-shirts just like in the episode.

Donna's scene backstage is word for word, except she's interviewing Steven Tyler instead of Ted Nugent.

In the next scene, Fez and Hyde get arrested. The scene is practically the same, except we get a little more insight into how upset Eric is with Donna. "Tonight was supposed to be about us," 😫. And I like Fez's Cheryl Tiegs line from the actual episode better.

Then the script cuts back to Red and Kitty. It's basically the same scene from the actual episode, but with a few added details. Horseface Lynn Taylor is mentioned again 🤣

Then Eric's scene with the janitor (Stanley!!), and Donna's scene backstage where Ted/Steven offers to let her touch the guitar are word for word.

Kelso and Jackie's storyline and lines are mostly unchanged throughout, but this added line from Eric at the end of their final scene made me 😂🤣

Then we're back to Red and Kitty to conclude their storyline for the episode. The scene starts out the exact same, but ends with slightly different lines.

I just love getting to see the actor's notes!

And finally, the biggest difference of all: in the script, Eric and Donna's final scene takes place in the Forman basement, not outside of the concert venue. I'm glad they changed that, because all I can think is: how did Donna get home that night? Even though he was pissed, Eric really left her there? No no no no no. 😣 I think it's much more in character that he waited.

I do like that in the script Donna at least actually apologized - in the episode, she didn't. It's widely acknowledged within the fandom that this is one of Donna's worst moments on the show, regardless.

As one of the final episodes of season 3, this episode/storyline was integral to setting the stage for Eric and Donna's emerging break-up and it does the job. The original script even more so than the actual episode, in my opinion.

Well, that's all I've got for this one! Thanks for reading, and stay tuned for more in the series. I'm your *very* pregnant and uncomfortable host, @thatseventiesbitch 😄.

Other Scripts I've Posted:

S2xE20 "Kiss of Death" S2xE22 "Jackie Moves On" S2xE23 "Holy Crap!" S2xE26 "Moon Over Point Place" S5xE21 "Trampled Under Foot" S6xE20 "Squeezebox" S7xE8 "Angie"

[fuqnia]

I Thought I Was Unique (1) ₊˚⊹♡

♡ kyle broflovski x fem!reader insert | college au, smut

♡ A/N | sorry this took forever, i genuinely struggle writing kyle. this is definitely not one of my best works, but i'm proud as there is some good moments! i really do like kyle, so i'm sorry that i didn't do him justice </3 as usual this is a long one LOL sorry.

♡ C/W | nsfw (18+), all characters are aged up! drinking, inexperienced reader, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, p eating, squirting, kissing, reader is kinda dumb (?)

♡ Synopsis | kyle thought being your best friend was enough—until damien came along. now, the jealousy he buried beneath sarcastic remarks is impossible to ignore. as he watches you drift further away, Kyle’s left wondering if he ever had a chance—or if he’s already lost you for good.

event masterlist | part two ₊˚⊹♡

"Kyle, are you even listening to me?"

You shot him a pointed look as the two of you walked side by side toward the library. Kyle’s gaze was fixed ahead, his brows furrowed slightly, and his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket.

“I am,” he replied flatly, though the monotone delivery screamed otherwise.

“No, you’re not,” you huffed, stepping in front of him to block his path. He stopped abruptly, his green eyes meeting yours with a mixture of annoyance and impatience. “You’ve had that scowl on your face for the last five minutes, which, by the way, is not the appropriate response when your best friend is talking about their existential dating crisis.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “First of all, no one says ‘existential dating crisis’ except you, and that might be why you’re single.”

You gasped, mock-offended. “Excuse me for being self-aware, Mr. Cynic of the Year.”

Kyle sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, fine. I heard you. You’re freaking out about what to wear for your date with Damien. I just don’t get why you’re trying so hard to impress a guy who probably spent this morning journaling about how the rain ‘matches his soul.’”

“What the hell does that mean?” you snapped, narrowing your eyes at him.

“It means,” Kyle said, crossing his arms and giving you a sharp look, “that Damien is all image and no substance. He’s, like, the human equivalent of a faux-leather jacket from Wish.

“Jesus Christ, Kyle,” you groaned. “You don’t even know him.”

Kyle threw up his hands in mock surrender, his expression darkening slightly. “I know enough. I know he thinks silver chains and brooding looks make him hot shit. And I know you’re wasting way too much time stressing about impressing a guy who probably uses the word ‘capricious’ in casual conversation.”

“Why do you even care so much?”  you muttered, your face hot.”

“I don’t,” Kyle shot back, but the slight edge in his voice made you wonder. “I care that you’re running yourself into the ground over this pretentious asshole when you could literally do better in your sleep.”

You stared at him, caught between being pissed off and wondering if he had a point. 

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.

Kyle must’ve noticed your hesitation because he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face like dealing with you was a full-time job.

“Look,” he started, his tone a little softer but still blunt. “Wear whatever you want. It doesn’t matter. Damien wouldn’t notice if you showed up in a clown suit, and if he does notice, it’s probably just so he can complain about the way it doesn’t match your ‘aura’ or some other pretentious crap.”

Your jaw dropped. “Okay, wow.”

Kyle shrugged, stepping past you and motioning toward the library steps. “I’m just saying, if this is the guy you’re stressing over, I’m not impressed.”

“Well, thanks for the pep talk, Dr. Phil,” you shot back sarcastically, already walking backward toward the Sociology building. “I’ll text you after my classes are done, okay? Maybe you can teach me how to not overanalyze everything and be more like you—effortlessly smug and annoyingly confident.”

Kyle rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Don’t trip and die on your way to class,” he called after you, voice light but laced with affection. “Not that Damien would notice.”

Class finally ended, the professor’s words fading into a dull buzz as students shuffled out of the lecture hall. You stayed seated for a moment, gathering your things at a leisurely pace, before pulling out your phone.

You typed out a quick message to Kyle: “my class is over. u still at the library?”

When you hit send, the notification that his phone was on Do Not Disturb popped up. Of course. You rolled your eyes, shoving your phone into your pocket as you stood. Typical. It wasn’t like he was hanging on your every word, especially when it came to Damien. If anything, he probably preferred not hearing about him at all.

The hallway was crowded, the noise of chatter and the shuffle of feet blending into a familiar campus symphony. You maneuvered through the crowd, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as you headed toward your dorm. The walk wasn’t long, but the lingering thought of Kyle’s passive-aggressive silence made it feel a little longer.

It wasn’t like you expected him to be glued to his phone waiting for updates, but a part of you wondered if he just didn’t care. Or maybe he cared too much and was tired of hearing about something he clearly thought was a waste of time. Either way, it stung.

You pushed open the door to your dorm, the faint scent of your floral air freshener barely cutting through the oppressive quiet. As expected, Red wasn’t there. She rarely was, always out doing something that made her the life of whatever party or adventure she stumbled into. Normally, her absence didn’t bother you, but today, the empty room felt suffocating.

You let out a heavy sigh, dropping your bag by the door and kicking off your shoes. You had been counting on Red’s help to figure out what to wear for tonight—her sharp eye and brutal honesty would’ve made this whole process easier. But she wasn’t here, and the weight of the decision fell squarely on your shoulders.

You paced in front of your closet, chewing on your bottom lip. Your fingers twitched nervously at the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head before tossing it onto your bed. “Okay,” you muttered to yourself, stepping toward the closet and gripping the handle. “Just… pick something he’ll like. It’s not that hard.”

But it was that hard. Every piece of clothing you owned stared back at you, a glaring reminder of how none of it seemed to fit Damien’s style. Your usual wardrobe was colorful and comfortable—completely you. But Damien was sleek, dark, and brooding. The kind of person who probably thought wearing black was a personality trait.

With a frustrated huff, you dug through the farthest corner of your closet, pulling out a black, fitted dress Red had convinced you to buy for a Halloween party last year. It was tight in all the right places, with lace detailing and a slightly sheer neckline. Paired with the black ankle boots gathering dust on the shelf, it felt like the kind of thing Damien would approve of.

You slipped into the dress, the unfamiliar fabric clinging to your body in a way that made you fidget. Tugging at the hem and smoothing the neckline, you stepped into the boots and walked over to the mirror.

The person staring back at you felt alien. The dark silhouette, the sharp edges of the dress, the stark contrast against your usual style—it all screamed Damien. It screamed trying too hard. But wasn’t that the point? You were trying.

You leaned closer to the mirror, your hands fiddling with the lace at the neckline. “Is this what he wants?” you muttered under your breath, your voice laced with doubt. The longer you stared, the more the reflection seemed to mock you.

What was Kyle’s snarky comment earlier? Something about not needing to impress Damien because he wouldn’t notice anyway. You scoffed at the memory, shaking your head as if it would banish the thought. “What does he know?” you whispered, even though a small part of you wondered if he was right.

You sighed, tearing your gaze away from the mirror as the unease twisted in your stomach. Damien better notice. Because if he didn’t… what was even the point of all this?

Crossing the room, you grabbed your makeup bag from your desk and set it down in front of the mirror. The familiar routine of foundation and concealer was oddly grounding, your shaky hands steadying as you worked. The familiar strokes of the brush, the soft dabs of the sponge—it was comforting, like muscle memory guiding you through something that felt normal.

But when you got to your eyes, you froze.

You stared at the neutral palette you always used—soft browns, light golds, and shimmers that never felt too bold. They were safe. Predictable. And completely wrong for tonight.

Your hand trembled as you reached for a darker palette, one you’d barely touched since buying it on a whim months ago. The smoky grays and deep blacks seemed to mock you, daring you to take the plunge. You swallowed hard, gripping the eyeliner pencil like it might slip through your fingers if you didn’t hold tight enough.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible over the quiet hum of the dorm’s air conditioning. “Just do it. It’s not that hard.”

But it was hard. Your hand wavered as you dragged the pencil along your lash line, the dark line feeling heavier, bolder than you expected. You leaned in closer, your breath fogging the mirror slightly as you added a dramatic wing, thick and sharp, until it almost didn’t look like your face anymore.

The lashes came next—long, dark, and voluminous. They felt foreign on your eyelids, their weight adding to the unfamiliarity staring back at you.

And as you worked, the silence of the room pressed down on you. You couldn’t stop the thought from creeping in: I wish Kyle were here.

He’d know exactly what to say. He’d probably roll his eyes and call you ridiculous for overthinking all this. He’d tease you, sure, but he’d also tell you what looked good, what worked and what didn’t. Kyle was brutally honest like that, in a way that could cut you down and build you back up all at once.

Kyle had been your constant since childhood. Through scraped knees, middle school insecurities, and late-night talks about whether you’d ever have your first kiss, he’d always been there, grounding you with his sharp wit and unflinching honesty. He had a knack for calling you out when no one else would—like in seventh grade when you tried to impress your crush by wearing glittery blue lipstick, and he deadpanned, “You look like you ate a Smurf.” Or the time in high school when you nervously asked if you were undateable, and he scoffed, “No, you’re just waiting for someone who doesn’t suck—maybe lower your standards just a little, though.” Even if Kyle didn’t consider you his best friend—Stan held that title, obviously—you couldn’t imagine anyone else filling that role for you. He was your rock, your voice of reason, even when his words were sharp enough to sting. But you knew Kyle cared in his own way, enough to tell you the truth, even when it wasn’t what you wanted to hear.

But Kyle wasn’t here. And the absence of his steady, no-nonsense presence made the room feel colder, quieter, and lonelier than you wanted to admit.

You blinked at your reflection, biting your lip as the final touches of your makeup came together. The smoky eyes, the dark lashes, the sharp winged liner—it was bold. Dramatic. Something Damien would like, you told yourself.

But was it something you liked?

You shrugged into your black cardigan, the soft fabric settling over your shoulders like a weak shield. It didn’t fit the look—too cozy, too soft against the sharp edges of the dress. But without it, you felt exposed, like your skin wasn’t your own. You tugged at the sleeves, glancing once more at your reflection. 

Your stomach twisted as you turned away, sinking onto the edge of your bed. The mattress dipped under your weight as you grabbed your phone, unlocking it with a swipe that felt too slow. You scrolled to Stan’s chat, hesitating for a moment before typing. hey, u busy? The message sent, and you watched the screen like your life depended on it. Nothing.

You bit the inside of your cheek, navigating to Cartman’s contact. what’s up? Maybe he’d say something snarky, something that would distract you from the gnawing doubt in your chest. But the seconds dragged on, and his name stayed gray.

Kenny was next. yo, help me out w something. It wasn’t like him to leave you hanging, but the silence was deafening.

Your phone fell from your hands, landing softly beside you on the comforter as a sharp breath escaped your lips. The walls of your dorm seemed closer than usual, the air thicker, heavier. Your hands trembled slightly as you ran them through your hair, trying to ground yourself, but it wasn’t working.

The dress felt too tight, the cardigan too warm, the makeup too much. Everything was too much. What am I even doing? you thought, your head dropping into your hands.

Kyle’s name floated to the front of your mind, uninvited and yet completely necessary. He’d probably hate this. He hated being interrupted when he was in the zone. You could practically hear his voice in your head—sharp, sarcastic, always cutting straight to the point. You seriously couldn’t figure this out on your own?

You frowned, staring at the blank wall in front of you as guilt twisted with the anxiety already brewing in your chest. He was probably still at the library, hunched over some massive textbook or typing out yet another med school application.

Don’t bother him, you told yourself. Figure it out. You don’t need Kyle for this.

But you did. You hated how much you did.

You stood up abruptly, your heart pounding as you grabbed your bag. You paced the room for a moment, chewing on your lip as if the movement would somehow settle the storm in your chest. It didn’t.

“Fuck it,” you muttered under your breath, slinging the bag over your shoulder and heading for the door. You didn’t care if he snapped at you or told you off for showing up unannounced. You’d deal with the fallout later.

You made your way out of your dorm building and speed-walked across the empty campus, your pulse hammering in your ears as you prayed you wouldn’t run into anyone you knew. It was Friday evening, and most people had already vacated the grounds, either heading home or off to start their weekends. The deserted paths only heightened your nerves, the sound of your footsteps echoing faintly as you neared the library.

The glass doors slid open with a soft hiss, and you were greeted by the faint smell of old books and disinfectant. The quiet inside felt oppressive, making your anxiety bubble even higher. Without hesitation, you walked straight to the elevator and jabbed the button for the third floor. You rubbed your sweaty hands against the sides of your dress, the fabric doing little to calm the clammy sensation on your palms.

He’s probably still there, you told yourself nervously.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to the silent expanse of the library’s upper level. It was eerily still, with only two people visible—one slouched over a textbook near the shelves, the other scrolling on their phone near the windows. You bit your lip, glancing around nervously, the thought of Kyle having already left sending a spike of panic through your chest.

Finally, your eyes landed on him. He was tucked into a corner table near the far side of the room, hunched over his laptop. His AirPods were in, his curls a familiar mess as his fingers tapped furiously at the keyboard. Relief washed over you so fast your knees almost buckled.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before making your way over. Each step felt painfully loud despite the carpeted floors, and by the time you reached him, your heart was pounding again.

You slid into the seat across from him, dropping your bag onto the floor with a soft thud. Kyle didn’t look up at first, too focused on whatever he was typing. But then he stopped, his brow furrowing as if he sensed your presence.

When he finally glanced up, a scowl was already etched on his face, his lips parted in irritation—probably expecting some random person to bother him. But the moment his green eyes landed on you, the scowl faltered.

“Wait—” he began, pulling out one AirPod as his expression softened. But his gaze quickly swept over your outfit, his brows shooting up in confusion.

“What…” Kyle trailed off, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned back in his chair. “What the hell are you wearing?”

You stared at Kyle, his question hanging in the air like a challenge, and suddenly it was like a dam broke inside you.

“Does it look bad? Be honest—no, wait, don’t be too honest, because if you say yes, I’ll spiral, but I need you to tell me if I look like an idiot. Like, what was I thinking? This isn’t even my style. I mean, I literally look like I crawled out of some e-girl TikToker’s algorithm. Do you think Damien’s into that? What if he isn’t? What if he takes one look at me and thinks I’m trying too hard? Or, worse, what if he doesn’t notice at all? Like, maybe he’ll just be polite about it, but secretly he’ll be thinking, ‘Wow, she really doesn’t know how to dress.’”

Kyle’s lips pressed into a thin line, and his eyebrows pulled together slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his face as he glanced briefly at his laptop. You didn’t notice, too lost in the chaos of your own thoughts, twisting the fabric of your dress between nervous fingers.

“And my makeup—ugh, is it too much? I mean, I’ve never done a smokey eye before, and it seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I’m worried I look like a raccoon. Or, like, someone trying to cosplay as a vampire but not fully committing to it. God, why didn’t I just stick with my usual eyeliner? Simple. Safe. Normal. But no, I had to go full-on drama queen because, oh, Damien likes bold looks, right? Or does he? Do I even know what he likes?”

Kyle’s jaw tightened slightly, his hand shifting to rest against the edge of the table. He still didn’t say anything, his green eyes watching you closely now, his gaze unreadable—not because it lacked emotion, but because it seemed to hover somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

“And what if my dress is wrong? It’s black. Classic, right? But what if it’s not his version of black? Like, what if he likes… edgier black? I don’t even know what that means, but I feel like it’s a thing. Do I look too try-hard? Or not try-hard enough? God, I probably look like I’m trying to impress him. Which I am! But it’s, like, obvious, isn’t it? Am I overthinking this? Kyle, am I overthinking this?”

You barely paused for breath, your fingers digging into the table as you leaned forward. “And what if he doesn’t like me at all? Like, not just the dress or the makeup, but me. What if this whole thing is a pity date and he’s just doing it to be nice? What if he—”

“Are you done?” Kyle’s voice cut through your frantic rambling like a knife, calm but firm.

You froze mid-sentence, blinking at him, startled by the interruption. His mouth was slightly open, like he was about to sigh, and his brows were arched in a way that screamed, “Are you serious right now?” His gaze wasn’t indifferent anymore—it was laced with the kind of tired fondness that only came with putting up with someone you cared about, even when they were driving you insane.

Kyle leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he fixed you with a look that managed to be both irritated and patient. “Seriously. Are you done? Or is there more?”

Your face flushed as you realized how far you’d spiraled, your words tangling in your throat. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached across the table, grabbing his hand without thinking.

“Kyle,” you said, your voice trembling, “I really, really need your help.”

Kyle stilled for a moment, his gaze softening as he looked at your hand wrapped around his. His fingers twitched slightly before he let out a small sigh, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “Alright,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Tell me what’s going on. And this time, maybe try breathing between sentences, okay?”

You took a deep breath, your fingers twisting nervously in your lap. “Do I… look good?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

Kyle studied you for a moment, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned forward, letting go of your hand and resting his elbows on the table. He didn’t say anything right away, which only made your stomach churn harder. Finally, he let out a small sigh, tilting his head to one side as if trying to figure out how to word his answer.

“Do you want the brutally honest answer,” he started, his tone deadpan, “or the one that’ll make you stop looking like you’re about to puke on my laptop?”

Your lips twitched, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or cry. “Kyle, please. Just… tell me.”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and letting his gaze trail over your outfit, your makeup, and finally landing on your expression. “You look fine,” he said, his tone even, but then he quickly added, “Actually, scratch that. You look good.”

You blinked at him, your brows furrowing. “Just… good?”

Kyle’s lips quirked into a faint smirk. “Would you rather I said you look like a goddess descended from the heavens, ready to smite mere mortals with your beauty? Because I can do that if it’ll help.”

Your cheeks burned, and you shook your head. “No, I just—ugh, I don’t know what I was expecting. I’m not fishing for compliments.I just… I need to know if I look like me, or if I look like I’m trying too hard.”

Kyle’s expression softened at that, and he tapped his fingers lightly against the table. “Alright, I’ll give you the real answer. Do you look like you? Not exactly. This whole goth-y, smokey, whatever-you’re-doing thing isn’t your usual vibe. But does it look bad? No. It’s different, but it works. You pull it off.”

You stared at him, your breath catching in your chest. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Kyle said, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal. “You’re overthinking it. Like you always do. Damien’s not gonna be analyzing your makeup or whatever. He’s gonna see you, the same person you always are. That’s what matters, right?”

You wanted to believe him, but doubt still gnawed at you. “What if he doesn’t like it?” you whispered.

Kyle’s jaw tightened slightly, and for a moment, he looked like he was biting back a sharp remark. Instead, he let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. “If he doesn’t like it,” he said carefully, “then he’s a fucking idiot. And he’s not worth all this stress you’re putting yourself through.”

The conviction in his voice made your chest tighten, and you found yourself nodding, even as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “Thanks.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth tugged into the faintest of smiles. “Yeah, yeah. Now, are we done here? Or do you want me to give you a breakdown of your accessories next?”

You shook your head, settling back into your chair. “No, we’re not done.”

Kyle’s brows lifted, and he tilted his head, giving you a look of mock exasperation. “Oh, great. What now? Are we dissecting your shoe choice?”

“No,” you said, your tone firmer than before. “I wanna know what first dates are like.”

That made him pause. His teasing expression dropped, replaced by something more serious, though his lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re seriously asking me?” he said, his voice measured but tinged with disbelief.

“Yes, I’m seriously asking you,” you replied, frustration creeping into your voice. “You’ve dated, what, like ten girls? You have experience.”

Kyle’s shoulders stiffened, his fingers curling slightly against the edge of the table. “Okay, first of all, ten is an exaggeration,” he muttered, his gaze darting briefly to the side. “Second, why are you even asking me? You’ve probably read more romance novels than I’ve had dates.”

“Because books aren’t real life!” you snapped, throwing your hands up. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or say. What if there’s an awkward silence? What if he doesn’t like me?”

Kyle exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “God, you’re overthinking this. It’s not a job interview. You sit, you talk, you eat. That’s it. Done.”

Your frustration boiled over, and you leaned forward, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Easy for you to say, Mr. I-Can-Date-Whoever-I-Want. Not all of us have your stupid… whatever you have!”

Kyle blinked, his mouth parting slightly, as if taken aback by your outburst. For a moment, the two of you stared at each other, the tension thick between you. Then, he sighed, his shoulders relaxing as he leaned back in his chair.

“Look,” he began, his voice softer but still carrying his usual bluntness. “First dates… they’re awkward. They’re supposed to be. You’re figuring each other out. But if Damien’s not willing to sit through some awkwardness to get to know you, then he’s not worth it.”

You bit your lip, his words settling over you like a weight. “But what if—”

“Stop,” Kyle interrupted, holding up a hand. “Seriously. You’re gonna be fine. Just be yourself.” His gaze softened, and for once, there was no sarcasm in his tone. “If he doesn’t like that, then he’s the idiot. Not you.”

You blinked at him, his words settling over you like a weighted blanket. For a second, you thought you might actually relax, but then the nerves came rushing back, bubbling over before you could stop them. “But, like… what does a first date even look like? Am I supposed to, I don’t know, laugh at everything he says even if it’s not funny? What if I say something dumb and he judges me for it? Or—”

Kyle let out a sharp exhale, dragging his hands down his face like he was trying to physically hold onto his patience. “You’re doing it again,” he muttered. “You’ve got to chill. Seriously. Just talk to him. It’s not that comp—”

“What was your first date like?” you blurted, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Kyle froze, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Why does that matter?” he asked cautiously, leaning back slightly like he wasn’t sure where this was going.

“Because I don’t know what I’m doing, Kyle!” you shot back, your voice trembling as you gestured wildly. “I’ve never been on a date. I’ve never kissed anyone—not for real, anyway. I’ve never had someone look at me like I actually mattered. And now, here I am, with someone who might actually like me, and I don’t want to blow it!”

The rawness of your confession lingered between you, and for a moment, Kyle’s sharp features softened, a flicker of concern crossing his face. But then he shook his head, his lips pressing into a stubborn line.

“Nope,” he said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not telling you.”

Your jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” he replied, his tone flat but his eyes glinting with defiance. “What my first date was like has nothing to do with your existential crisis.”

You slammed your hands down on the table, leaning in so close that Kyle instinctively pulled back. “You’re going to tell me,” you hissed, your voice low and menacing. “Or I’ll call Sheila, crying, and tell her you did something to me.”

Kyle’s eyes widened, his face flushing an almost comical shade of red. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I absolutely would,” you replied smugly, crossing your arms as you leaned back in your chair. “I’ll even throw in some fake sobbing to make it sound extra dramatic.”

“Jesus Christ,” Kyle groaned, rubbing his temples like the weight of the world was suddenly on his shoulders. “You’re an actual menace, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” you shot back, your smirk growing. “So spill. What was it like?”

Kyle glared at you for a long moment, the muscles in his jaw working as if he were physically restraining himself. Finally, he slumped back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “Goddammit,” he muttered under his breath.

Your hands clapped together excitedly, a wide grin spreading across your face. “I knew it! Your first date was with Heidi, wasn’t it? You mentioned it once, like, forever ago, but you never said what happened. Spill, dude!”

Kyle shot you a withering look, his eyes narrowing as if debating whether or not to humor you. “Are you seriously this invested in something that happened in middle school?” he asked, his tone dripping with disbelief.

“Yes, I’m seriously this invested,” you replied, crossing your arms with a determined glare. “Come on, I want the details. Where did you go? What happened? Did you wear something embarrassing?”

Kyle scoffed, but as you waited for him to answer, a familiar thought crept in. The boys rarely talked about their relationships in front of you. Whether it was Stan’s on-again, off-again drama with Wendy or Kenny’s stories about his flings, the conversations always seemed to stop short when you were around. You had a hunch it was because you’d never had anything to contribute—no first date stories, no breakups, no experiences to commiserate over. It was like they didn’t want to remind you of what you didn’t have. And while you knew they meant well, it still stung.

Kyle groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fine,” he said, his tone reluctant. “But don’t expect some big, romantic thing. It was middle school. Everything about it was stupid.”

You leaned forward eagerly, ignoring his grumbling. “Okay, so what happened?”

Kyle slouched back in his chair, crossing his arms as he stared at the ceiling like he was trying to summon the memory from the depths of his brain. “Heidi asked me out first, which should’ve been my first clue it was gonna be a mess. She told me to pick where we’d go, so I panicked and said we could meet at the arcade after school. I thought it’d be low-pressure—play some games, get a soda, whatever.”

“That actually sounds cute,” you admitted, tilting your head.

“Yeah, except I showed up wearing a hoodie with a giant ketchup stain on it because I didn’t notice it until I was already there,” Kyle muttered, his ears turning slightly red.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “Oh no.”

“Yeah, she didn’t mention it, but I could tell she noticed,” Kyle continued, shaking his head. “Anyway, we played some games—she destroyed me at air hockey, by the way—and it was actually kind of fun. I thought, ‘Okay, maybe this isn’t so bad.’ But then we went to get snacks, and I spilled half my soda on her shoe.”

“Oh, Kyle…”

“I know!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “I was mortified. I kept apologizing, and she kept saying it was fine, but I could tell she was annoyed. I thought for sure she’d never speak to me again after that.”

“But she did?” you prompted, intrigued.

Kyle sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “Yeah, she did. When the arcade was closing, I walked her home because her mom wasn’t there to pick her up. Right before we got to her door, she, uh… kissed me.”

Your eyes widened, and a nervous laugh bubbled out of you. “She kissed you? Like, on the lips?”

“Yes, on the lips,” Kyle muttered, his cheeks turning pink. “And then she just said, ‘Thanks for walking me home,’ like it was no big deal, and went inside. I stood there for, like, five minutes trying to figure out if that actually happened or if I imagined it.”

You froze as Kyle’s words sank in, your stomach twisting at the thought. A kiss. You barely heard the rest of what he said because your brain was spiraling into panic mode.

“On the lips?” you repeated faintly, sitting up straighter.

“Yes,” Kyle said again, slower this time, his eyebrows furrowing. “Are you okay? You’re looking at me like I’ve got two heads.”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you pushed your chair back with a sharp scrape, rounded the table, and plopped down into the seat directly next to him. Kyle blinked in confusion, but before he could say anything, you grabbed his sleeve, your fingers twisting nervously.

“What if Damien tries to kiss me?” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Kyle blinked again, his lips parting slightly. “...What?”

“What if Damien tries to kiss me on the first date?” you repeated, your voice rising as panic seeped into your tone. “I don’t know what to do! What if I screw it up? What if I’m bad at it? Kyle, I’ve never kissed anyone before!”

Kyle exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face like he was bracing himself for a train wreck. “Oh my god,” he muttered. “Here we go.”

“I mean, technically, I’ve been kissed,” you continued, ignoring his exasperation. “But it doesn’t count because Kenny was high as hell at Clyde’s party, and he thought I was Tammy fucking Warner! And you spit out your drink when it happened, Kyle! You spit out your drink!”

Kyle closed his eyes briefly, his lips pressing into a tight line as he let out a long, measured sigh. “Yeah, I spit out my drink because Kenny was groping your hair like a creep, and you just stood there like a statue.”

“It was mortifying!” you wailed, throwing your hands up. “And now I’m going on a date with Damien, who’s, like, a whole other level of sophisticated. What if he expects me to be good at it? What if I mess it all up?”

Kyle opened his eyes, fixing you with an unimpressed stare. His lips were set in a straight line, and his eyes were as sharp as ever. “It’s not some cosmic test. If Damien tries to kiss you, you just… kiss him back. That’s it.” he said flatly

“That’s it?” you repeated, your voice incredulous. “Kyle, it’s not that simple! You’ve kissed people before—you don’t get it!”

Kyle snorted, shaking his head slightly. “Look, if it’s freaking you out that much, go practice on someone. Get it out of your system before your big date. Problem solved.”

“You’re so helpful,” you snapped, throwing your hands in the air. “Who the hell am I supposed to practice with? My date is in less than 30 minutes! What, should I just grab a stranger off the quad?”

Kyle’s mouth opened, likely to say something scathing, but you didn’t give him the chance. Instead, you lunged toward him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you tried to physically push him out of his seat.

“You!” you yelled, your voice shrill with desperation. “You’re gonna help me! Get up!”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Kyle barked, shoving back against you. His chair scraped against the floor as he dug his heels in, his lips pressed into a hard line of disbelief. “I’m not doing this!”

“You said I should practice! Who else am I gonna practice with?!” you shouted, your weight leaning into him as you tried to push him upright.

Kyle’s hand shot out, slapping over your mouth to stop your tirade. “Shut up before the entire library thinks I’m murdering you,” he hissed, his eyes darting around. A couple of heads turned your way, but Kyle shot them all a glare that made them quickly look away.

You mumbled something against his palm, your words muffled and unintelligible, but the damp sensation against his skin made it clear you were licking his hand.

“For fuck’s sake—” Kyle groaned, pulling his hand away and wiping it on his jeans with a look of utter disgust. “You’re like a feral dog.”

“I’m literally asking for help here!” you spat, crossing your arms. 

“And I’m trying to help!” Kyle snapped back. With a long-suffering sigh, he turned to his laptop, his fingers flying across the keyboard. “If you’d stop acting like a lunatic for five seconds—”

He paused, then spun the laptop around to face you. The screen displayed a WikiHow article titled How to Kiss Someone. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a smirk. “There. Study up.”

Your eyes narrowed as you scanned the article. “Are you serious right now?”

“As a heart attack,” he replied dryly, looking far too pleased with himself. “Read the diagrams. Learn something.”

You glared at him but reluctantly turned back to the laptop. The WikiHow article stared back at you, its bright illustrations and overly simplistic instructions almost mocking in their unhelpfulness. Tilt your head slightly. Close your eyes. Relax your lips.

Your chest tightened with every word, frustration building with each vague instruction. “What the hell does ‘relax your lips’ even mean?” you muttered under your breath, scrolling down as a lump began to form in your throat. The cheerful, clinical tone of the article felt like a slap in the face.

You gripped the edge of the table, your breathing shallow as the panic started to creep in. I can’t do this. I’m going to screw everything up, and Damien’s going to laugh, or he’ll just look at me like I’m pathetic. The thought of his cold, gray eyes filled with judgment made your stomach churn.

Why does this feel so impossible? The realization hit like a punch to the gut: this wasn’t just about tonight. This was about all the moments you felt left behind—watching everyone else grow up and move on while you stood in the same place, pretending it didn’t bother you.

Kyle’s voice snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts. “Hey.” It was softer than you expected, almost hesitant. You glanced up to see him watching you, his tone carried something that almost resembled concern. “You good?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but your voice betrayed you. “Yeah. Fine,” you muttered, staring down at the table as your nails dug into your palms.

Kyle sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair like he was bracing himself for something. “Look,” he began, his tone awkward and reluctant. “Kissing’s not that complicated, okay? Just—” He waved a hand vaguely, his attempt at reassurance painfully half-hearted. “Lean in. Make sure you’re not smashing your nose into theirs. And don’t do that weird fish-lips thing people do in movies. That’s it.”

You stared at him, heat rising to your face as the lump in your throat threatened to choke you. “That’s it? That’s your big advice?” Your voice cracked, frustration and embarrassment bubbling over.

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Pretty much. I mean, what do you expect me to say? There’s no step-by-step manual.”

You let out a bitter laugh, your head falling into your hands. “This is a disaster,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m going to screw this up so bad.”

Kyle’s exasperated groan broke the tension, but it only made your chest tighten more. “You’re not going to screw anything up,” he said sharply, leaning forward. “It’s a kiss, not brain surgery.”

“But what if—”

“Stop,” Kyle interrupted, his tone snapping like a rubber band. He reached out suddenly, grabbing your hands and forcing you to look at him. “Do you just want to practice on me?”

The words hung between you like a live wire, crackling with tension. Your heart stumbled in your chest, your breath catching as his question settled over you. “What?” you managed to whisper, barely able to process what he’d just said. You weren’t serious about you practicing on him earlier, you were just so worked up and panicked about Damien.

Kyle sighed again, his grip on your hands tightening slightly, grounding you despite the whirlwind in your head. “You’re spiraling,” he said, his voice lower now, steadier. “If you don’t stop, you’re going to psych yourself out so bad you won’t even show up to the date. So, yeah. If it’ll help you stop freaking out, then fine. Practice on me.”

Your thoughts collided, tangling into a chaotic mess. The idea of kissing Kyle, your best friend, felt so far-fetched, so surreal, that you almost laughed. But at the same time, there was a pull, a strange comfort in the fact that it was him offering this. He’s safe, you thought. It’s just Kyle.

Your heart pounded like it was trying to escape your chest. “You—you’re serious?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your gaze searching his for any sign of a joke.

“Dead serious,” Kyle replied. “But decide fast, because I’m not sitting here all night while you freak out about this.”

Your hands trembled in his grip, and you swallowed hard, your heart thundering in your ears as you tried to find your voice. “Okay,” you said finally, barely audible. “Okay.”

Kyle’s face turned an alarming shade of red, the tips of his ears glowing as he avoided your gaze. He glanced around the quiet floor, his sharp green eyes darting to the two other students seated far away, confirming no one was paying attention. Still, he muttered under his breath, his words a string of half-cussed frustrations. “This is so fucking stupid.”

Before you could respond, he scooted his chair closer to yours, the legs scraping faintly against the floor. His hands tightened around yours, his grip firm but not rough, grounding you in a way that made the tension in your chest ease ever so slightly.

“Y-You don’t have to,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or anything. I—”

“Shut up,” Kyle interrupted, his voice low and clipped. He still wasn’t looking at you, his gaze fixed on some arbitrary point past your shoulder. “It’s fine. Let’s just get it over with.” His voice wavered slightly, but his words carried an unyielding bluntness that could only belong to him.

You blinked, caught off guard by his tone, and he finally turned his eyes toward you. They softened just a fraction, but the pink in his cheeks deepened as he muttered, “This changes nothing, alright? We’re still friends. Just friends. Don’t… don’t get weird about it.”

The sheer awkwardness of the moment sent your emotions into overdrive. Relief and embarrassment collided in your chest, making your breath hitch. It’s just Kyle, you reminded yourself, though the thought wasn’t as comforting as you wanted it to be. “Okay,” you whispered again, your voice cracking slightly. “Just friends.”

Kyle’s grip on your hands tightened once more, and he exhaled sharply, almost like he was psyching himself up for something monumental. His jaw worked like he was chewing over words he wasn’t ready to say, and when he finally looked at you, the vulnerability in his expression was something you hadn’t seen before.

“Don’t make this a big deal,” he muttered, though the way his eyes flickered nervously over your face said otherwise.

Your gaze dropped to his lips, your breath catching in your throat. The air between you felt heavy, thick with unspoken emotions that made your heart pound so loudly you were sure he could hear it. You didn’t say anything, too afraid that any words might shatter the fragile moment.

Kyle hesitated, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. His voice dropped to a near whisper, so soft you almost missed it. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”

Your eyes lifted to meet his, wide and uncertain, but you nodded. “Okay,” you said, your voice barely audible, your fingers tightening slightly against his as you leaned in instinctively.

His lips met yours, and for a moment, everything felt… manageable. But the second he began to move his mouth against yours, panic surged. You leaned in too fast, bumping his nose with an awkward thud that made both of you flinch.

“Jesus,” Kyle muttered, pulling back and rubbing his nose. His brows furrowed, but there was an edge of amusement in his voice. “You trying to break my face or something?”

“I’m sorry!” you blurted out, your face burning with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to—I was trying to…” You trailed off, unable to finish as you covered your face with your hands.

Kyle sighed, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was holding back a laugh. “Okay, let’s try this again, but, like… aim better this time.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “I’m trying!”

“I can tell,” he deadpanned, his eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s the problem.”

You groaned, dropping your hands and shaking your head. “Fine. Let’s just do it again. No more aiming for your nose. Got it.”

Kyle leaned in again, his expression a mix of determination and exasperation. This time, as his lips met yours, you managed to avoid his nose, but in your desperation to keep up, you tilted your head too far, effectively smashing your mouth against his in a way that felt clumsy and awkward.

Kyle broke the kiss, pulling back with an incredulous look. “Are you serious right now?”

Your face burned hotter than ever, and you shrank back, covering your face again. “I said I’m sorry! This is hard!”

He let out a short, sharp laugh, not quite amused but more in disbelief. “It’s not rocket science. It’s just a kiss.”

“Easy for you to say,” you mumbled into your hands.

Kyle sighed, his lips pressing into a straight line as he reached out to pull your hands away from your face. “Okay, look,” he said, his voice quieter now, but still laced with his usual edge. “We’re practicing. That’s the whole point, right? You’re supposed to be bad at it. Stop freaking out and just… follow my lead this time.”

You nodded reluctantly, swallowing the lump in your throat as he leaned in again. “This is so embarrassing,” you muttered, your voice barely audible.

“Yeah, well,” Kyle sighed, his voice tinged with exasperation. “You agreed to this.”

His hand came up to cup your cheek, the smoothness of his palm grounding you as he leaned closer. When his lips met yours, it was softer than before, slower, and you could feel the deliberate way he guided the kiss. He was giving you time to adjust, to fall into the rhythm he set.

You tried to focus, to match his movements, but your nerves kept you stiff. Your shoulders tensed, your hands clutched awkwardly at your lap, and your breath hitched in short, uneven bursts.

Kyle pulled back slightly, his lips brushing yours as he murmured, “Relax. It’s just me.” His voice was low and steady, with an uncharacteristic gentleness that made your chest tighten.

You nodded faintly, exhaling shakily as you forced yourself to loosen your shoulders. His lips found yours again, this time with more intention. The warmth of his mouth was overwhelming, but his touch remained careful, his thumb brushing along your jawline as if to reassure you.

When he tilted his head, angling the kiss, your breath caught again. His movements grew bolder, his tongue flicking against your bottom lip. You gasped softly, your lips parting instinctively, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. His tongue slid against yours, slow and deliberate, coaxing you to respond.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as you tried to keep up. His tongue moved with confidence, the pressure and rhythm steady, and your heart pounded in your chest as a warmth spread through your entire body.

Kyle’s other hand slid into your hair, threading through the strands as he tilted your head slightly to better angle the kiss. The shift made you gasp again, and the sound seemed to spur him on, his tongue tracing along yours in a way that made your knees feel weak, even though you were sitting.

Your mind was racing, a frantic swirl of disbelief and confusion that you struggled to push aside. This is crazy, you thought, your hands tightening slightly on Kyle’s shoulders. You were kissing Kyle—your best friend since you were kids. The one who teased you about your braces in middle school, who shared his notes when you bombed a math test, who walked you home when it was too dark for you to feel safe alone. Kyle, who probably never even thought about kissing you, not once, not until this ridiculous, desperate practice session. And yet here you were, feeling his lips move against yours with a confidence that made your heart race.

Your breaths grew shallow, soft pants escaping between kisses as you leaned further into him, your body instinctively seeking his. The closeness was intoxicating, his scent filling your senses as his hands held you steady. The kiss was consuming, every part of you hyper-aware of the way his lips moved, the heat of his touch, the way his chest rose and fell against yours.

When Kyle finally pulled back, his breathing was heavier than before, his lips slick and slightly swollen. His face was flushed, a deep red spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and his green eyes darted away from yours as if searching for something to focus on.

He ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath, “Jesus Christ.” He cleared his throat, his voice a little uneven as he finally looked at you again. “Okay, so… not bad for a first real kiss, I guess.”

You stared at him, still breathless, your chest rising and falling as you tried to process what had just happened.

Kyle’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied you, and his expression turned serious. “But you need to loosen up more,” he said, his tone shifting into something almost instructional. “You’re way too tense. I could feel you holding your breath half the time.”

You blinked at him, your cheeks heating further as his words sank in.

“And,” he continued, his blush deepening as he spoke, “don’t just sit there. Move a little. Match the rhythm. Kissing isn’t supposed to feel like one person’s doing all the work.”

Your lips parted as you tried to come up with a response, but he kept going, his eyes avoiding yours as he muttered, “And stop clenching your hands so hard. You’re not fighting me, you’re—ugh, never mind.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his expression a mixture of flustered and annoyed. “Look, just… try to relax next time, okay? You’ll get it.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, like he was about to say something else but decided against it. He glanced at you briefly, then back down at his laptop, muttering, “You’re lucky I even helped you with this.”

You pressed your hands to your cheeks, the warmth radiating from your skin almost unbearable. Your heart was still pounding, and the ghost of his lips lingered on yours, leaving a faint tingle that you couldn’t shake. “Thanks,” you whispered, not trusting your voice to say much more.

Kyle didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on his screen, though the stiffness in his posture told you he’d heard you. You let out a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself as you reached into your bag for a makeup wipe and your lipstick.

Brushing your fingertips against your lips, you noticed the smudge in your reflection on your phone screen. Great. Your lipstick was smeared, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it had transferred to Kyle. The thought made your stomach flip uncomfortably.

Digging out the wipe, you turned your attention to him, and before he could react, you cupped his cheek, gently forcing his face toward you.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kyle protested, his eyes wide with confusion and just a hint of annoyance.

“Hold still,” you muttered, focusing on the faint smear of color on his lower lip. The sight made your heart skip a beat, but you pushed it aside, carefully dabbing at the corner of his mouth with the wipe.

Kyle flinched slightly, but he didn’t pull away. “I could’ve done this myself, you know.”

“You should be thanking me,” you countered, still focused on cleaning him up.

“Yeah, thanks,” he muttered, his voice laced with sarcasm, though he stayed perfectly still as you wiped away the smudge.

When you were satisfied, you leaned back and applied a fresh coat of lipstick to your own lips, all while Kyle stared at you with an expression somewhere between exasperation and disbelief.

“Happy now?” he asked, his tone dry as he turned back to his laptop.

You didn’t answer, your fingers brushing against your lips again, feeling the tingle that refused to fade. Instead, you focused on packing up your makeup, trying to ignore the way your hands still trembled slightly.

Kyle’s fingers clacked furiously against his keyboard, but his usual precision was off. His cheeks were still flushed, the tips of his ears burning red, and you could see his jaw tighten as he typed, clearly trying to focus on something—anything—that wasn’t you.

You got up, watching him for a moment, guilt creeping in. He didn’t have to help you with this. You knew how stressed he was, buried under med school applications and coursework. You shouldn’t have interrupted his study session, but here he was, your unfailing constant, helping you anyway.

Without thinking, you moved behind him, leaning down to wrap your arms around his shoulders. He stiffened immediately, his hands pausing over the keyboard. “What the—”

“You’re the bestest friend ever,” you murmured, pressing your cheek against the top of his head. The soft curls tickled your skin as your fingers gently combed through his hair. “I seriously don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Kyle sputtered, his hands hovering like he wasn’t sure whether to push you off or let you stay. “C-cut it out,” he stammered, his voice coming out higher than usual.

You ignored him, smiling softly as you hugged him tighter. “Nope. Just let me have this moment, Broflovski. You deserve the praise.”

“Insufferable,” Kyle muttered, though his voice was less annoyed and more resigned.

“I mean it,” you continued, straightening up but keeping your hands resting on his shoulders. “Everything’s going to be fine, you know. Damien’s not going to know what hit him. And it’s all thanks to you.”

Kyle snorted, finally glancing up at you with a look that was equal parts exasperation and disbelief. “You’re seriously giving me way too much credit. It’s not like I did anything that—”

“Shut up, yes, you did,” you cut him off, squeezing his shoulders playfully. “You’re the reason I’m not curled up in my dorm crying right now.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes darting to the side as if avoiding yours. “Yeah, well…” he muttered, shifting awkwardly in his chair. “Just… don’t tell anyone about this, okay? Seriously. Not a word.”

Your grin widened, teasing lacing your voice as you leaned down closer to his face. “Why? Afraid people will think you’re actually nice?”

Kyle rolled his eyes, though the faint flush in his cheeks deepened. “No, I’m afraid they’ll think I’ve lost my goddamn mind, letting you drag me into this,” he shot back, though his tone was light.

You smiled at him, picking up your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. For a moment, you just looked at him, thinking about how much he put up with for your sake. Kyle might’ve been blunt and sarcastic, but he was also steady—your constant when things felt overwhelming. You knew how stressed he was, how much he had on his plate, and yet here he was, helping you prepare for a date with someone he clearly couldn’t stand.

The buzz of your phone in your hand broke the moment. You glanced at the screen, unlocking it to reveal a text from Damien: “heading over now. see you in like 10. :)”

Your heart jumped, and a squeal escaped before you could stop it, echoing in the quiet library. Kyle winced, giving you an incredulous look as he rubbed his ear. “What the hell, dude?”

Ignoring his protest, you spun the phone around to show him the message, your grin threatening to split your face in two. “He’s on his way! Damien is literally coming to pick me up!”

Kyle leaned back, squinting at the screen like it personally offended him. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he muttered under his breath, “Lucky you.”

You smacked his arm lightly, your excitement bubbling over. “Kyle! This is a big deal! He’s literally coming to pick me up. Like… this is happening!”

Kyle’s expression didn’t change much, his green eyes flicking from your phone to your overly enthusiastic face. “Yeah, I can see that,” he said flatly. “Congrats. Hope it’s everything you dreamed of and more.”

“Oh, come on!” you laughed, playfully shoving his shoulder. “Can’t you at least pretend to be happy for me?”

Kyle sighed, shutting his laptop with an audible click. “I’m ecstatic,” he deadpanned, resting his chin on his hand. “Really. Over the moon.”

You rolled your eyes at his tone, turning your attention back to your phone. You used the screen as a makeshift mirror, adjusting the neckline of your dress and smoothing your hair. Your hands trembled slightly as you wiped away an imaginary smudge of lipstick from the corner of your mouth.

Standing tall, you glanced over at Kyle. He was slouched in his chair, chin propped on his hand, watching you with a mix of indifference and… something else. His brows furrowed ever so slightly, and his lips were pressed into a thin line. He looked tired, like he was holding back a comment that might come out too sharp.

“I’ll text you about how it goes, okay?” you said, your voice trying for lightness but landing somewhere between hopeful and nervous. “Promise.”

Kyle’s lips twitched, but his gaze shifted down to the table, his fingers tapping lightly against the wood. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered. His voice was flat, but there was a faint edge to it, like he was forcing himself to keep his usual sarcasm in check. “Have fun.”

You paused, the smile on your face faltering slightly. Something about the way he said it—it wasn’t dismissive, but it didn’t feel like encouragement either. It felt more like resignation, like he was bracing himself for something.

“Thanks for everything,” you said softly, your voice carrying an undercurrent of gratitude you hoped he’d catch.

Kyle gave a noncommittal hum in response, his gaze never quite meeting yours. For a moment, you hesitated, watching him in the dim library light. His jaw was tight, and his hand gripped the edge of the table as if he were steadying himself.

But you didn’t press him. With a deep breath, you grabbed your bag, adjusted it on your shoulder, and turned to leave.

As you walked away, you thought you heard him mutter something under his breath, but when you glanced back, his face was turned toward his laptop again, the screen reflecting in his eyes.

Time slipped by unnoticed, and Kyle found himself leaving the library long after the sun had set. The night air was crisp, and Kyle welcomed the bite of the cold against his flushed face. It gave him something else to focus on besides the turmoil in his chest. He shouldn’t feel like this. You were his best friend, practically a second sibling at this point. Sure, he’d kissed you. Sure, it had been… different. But that didn’t mean anything.

Right?

Kyle shook his head, his curls bouncing with the motion. His sneakers scuffed against the concrete as he walked, the faint hum of the campus nightlife buzzing in the distance. The tension in his chest only grew the closer he got to his dorm, and he groaned under his breath.

Why did it feel like this? Why couldn’t he just shrug it off? He’d kissed plenty of people before—casual flings, some serious—but this… this felt like something he couldn’t compartmentalize.

By the time he reached his dorm, his fingers were trembling, whether from the cold or something else entirely. He fumbled with his keys, muttering curses under his breath as they jingled uselessly. Finally, the door clicked open, and he stepped inside.

Stan was sitting cross-legged on his bed, earbuds in as he scrolled through his phone. He looked up briefly, giving Kyle a once-over before going back to his screen. “You good?” he asked casually, pulling one earbud out.

“Yeah, fine,” Kyle muttered, kicking off his sneakers and tossing his bag onto his desk chair. He slumped onto his bed, leaning back against the headboard with a heavy sigh.

Stan didn’t push, probably sensing Kyle’s mood. But as the room settled into silence, save for the faint sound of music leaking from Stan’s earbuds, Kyle’s phone buzzed.

He ignored it at first, but the buzzing continued, insistent. With a huff, he pulled his phone from his pocket. Your name lit up the screen, and his stomach twisted.

"omg kyle the date was AMAZING!! damien even said i looked incredible 😭 and he kissed me!! can u believe it??"

Kyle stared at the message, the words blurring slightly as his grip tightened on the phone. His chest felt heavy, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. He unlocked the phone, reading the message again. And again.

You were exalted. You’d had the perfect date, and Damien—the asshole Kyle had spent the past week silently resenting—had kissed you. Complimented you. Held you, probably.

Kyle locked his phone, tossing it onto the desk without replying. The silence in the room felt oppressive now, like it was pressing down on him.

“Who was that?” Stan asked, his voice cutting through the tension. He pulled both earbuds out, watching Kyle with mild curiosity.

“[Y/N],” Kyle replied shortly, running a hand through his curls.

Stan raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t she have that date tonight? Guessing it went well?”

Kyle let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and humorless. “Yeah, it went fucking great. She’s over the moon. Damien kissed her.”

Stan winced, sitting up straighter. “Ah, shit.”

Kyle didn’t respond. His fingers drummed against his thigh, his jaw tight as he stared at the ceiling. The confession sat on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it down, unwilling to let it out.

Stan sighed, running a hand over his face. “You like her, don’t you?”

Kyle didn’t answer immediately. His eyes flickered to Stan, and for a moment, he looked like he might deny it. But instead, he let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “I do.”

Stan nodded, leaning back against his headboard. “That sucks, dude.”

“Yeah,” Kyle echoed, his voice hollow. “It does.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, both boys lost in their own thoughts. Kyle picked up his phone again, staring at your name on the screen, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. But no words came.

He left you on read.

Kyle stabbed at his salad like it had personally wronged him, the plastic fork creaking under the pressure. Across the table, Cartman was in the middle of an overly dramatic retelling of his latest triumph—something about humiliating some poor freshman who dared to question his "undeniable genius" in one of his psychology classes. Kenny was egging him on, occasionally choking on fries as he laughed at Cartman’s ridiculous embellishments.

Stan sat silently, methodically peeling the label off his water bottle, his eyes flicking to Kyle every few seconds. He didn’t need to say anything to know Kyle was having a nervous breakdown. It was written all over his face—the clenched jaw, the tense shoulders, the way he refused to meet anyone’s gaze.

“You good, dude?” Stan finally asked, his voice low enough to be drowned out by Kenny’s cackling and Cartman’s exaggerated monologue.

“I’m fine,” Kyle muttered, stabbing another piece of lettuce like it owed him money.

“Sure, because nothing screams ‘fine’ like trying to commit a hate crime against your salad,” Stan deadpanned, leaning back in his chair.

Before Kyle could retort, Cartman cut in, his voice dripping with mock concern. “Oh no, is Kahl feeling moody again? What’s wrong, Princess? Did someone forget to bow when you walked into the dining hall?”

“Fuck off, Cartman,” Kyle snapped, his grip on the fork tightening.

Cartman smirked, leaning across the table. “Seriously, though. What’s your problem? Is it because [Y/N]’s off playing dress-up with her hot-topic boyfriend while you’re here sulking like a little bitch?”

The fork clattered against Kyle’s tray as he stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I said, fuck off,” he growled, glaring at Cartman with enough heat to melt steel.

“Whoa, chill,” Kenny said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Cartman’s an asshole, but he’s not wrong. You’ve been acting like you’ve got a stick up your ass for weeks now. What gives?”

Kyle didn’t answer, his chest heaving as he looked between Kenny and Cartman, his fury bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

Stan sighed, setting his water bottle down. “He’s been ignoring [Y/N],” he said bluntly, crossing his arms. “Which, by the way, is a real dick move, considering she’s been texting me, worried about him.”

“Wait,” Cartman said, his smirk growing. “You’re ghosting her? Oh, this is rich. What, is it too painful watching her run off with her eyeliner-wearing Prince Charming?”

“Seriously, shut the fuck up, Cartman,” Kyle barked, but Cartman wasn’t done.

“Admit it, dude,” Cartman said, leaning back in his chair with a shit-eating grin. “You’re jealous. You’ve been in love with her since, like, third grade, and now you’re losing your shit because she’s finally moved on.”

“I’m not doing this,” Kyle muttered, grabbing his bag.

“Where are you going?” Stan called after him, exasperated.

“Somewhere I don’t have to listen to you assholes,” Kyle retorted, storming out of the dining hall.

The moment he was outside, the cool air hit him, but it didn’t help clear his head. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out reluctantly. The screen lit up with yet another text from you. 

“hey kyle! hope ur doing okay :)”

Kyle stared at the message, his chest tightening. He hated himself for the satisfaction that came with ignoring it, for the way it fed some small, bitter part of him. It wasn’t fair—not to you, not to himself—but he couldn’t stop.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket and began walking aimlessly, his thoughts circling the same miserable drain. You were happy. You were with Damien. And as much as he hated every part of it, he couldn’t bring himself to tell you how he felt.

What was he supposed to say? That he couldn’t stop thinking about you? That every time he saw you smile, it felt like someone had punched him in the gut because he knew it wasn’t for him? That the thought of you with Damien made him sick with jealousy?

By the time he made it back to his dorm, his head was pounding. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, greeted by the sight of Stan sitting at his desk, headphones on as he scrolled through his laptop.

Stan glanced up, pulling off his headphones. “You okay?” he asked, his tone cautious.

Kyle didn’t answer. He dropped his bag on the floor and flopped onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling as the weight of everything pressed down on him.

“You’re gonna have to talk to her eventually,” Stan said after a long pause.

Kyle scoffed, covering his face with his hands. “Yeah? And say what? ‘Sorry for being an asshole. By the way, I’m in love with you’?”

Stan didn’t respond right away, and when Kyle peeked through his fingers, he saw the look on Stan’s face—sympathetic but firm.

“It’s better than this,” Stan said quietly. “Whatever this is.”

Kyle swallowed hard, his throat tight. He knew Stan was right. But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

The air in Damien’s dorm was thick, tinged with the faint scent of incense and something deeper, darker—like the storm that always seemed to linger behind his striking gray eyes. His music played low in the background, some brooding indie rock band you didn’t recognize, their melancholic lyrics weaving into the moment.

Damien’s lips moved against yours with deliberate slowness, his touch calculated but unhurried. He kissed like he didn’t care about time, like the world could crumble around him and he’d still be content with his hands gripping your waist. You were perched on the edge of his bed, but when his fingers tightened, he pulled you closer, dragging you into his lap like it was inevitable.

The weight of his hands on you sent a jolt through your nerves. You felt the heat of him even through your clothes, and when his lips parted, his tongue brushing yours in a teasing stroke, it stole your breath.

He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss. His movements were confident but not rushed, like he knew exactly how to unravel you bit by bit. Your fingers tangled in his dark hair, your nails grazing his scalp as he let out a quiet groan, the sound reverberating through you.

Damien’s hands slipped lower, finding the curve of your ass, his grip firm as he squeezed. A soft moan escaped you, muffled by his mouth, and you felt him smile against your lips—smug, almost. Like he was proud of himself for pulling that sound from you.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” Damien murmured when you broke apart briefly, his voice low and rough, his breath fanning against your skin. A faint string of saliva still connected you, catching the dim light before it broke, and he smirked like he’d won something.

You wanted to snap back with something witty, but your thoughts were clouded, muddled by the feel of him. “Guess I’m full of surprises,” you managed, your voice shaky as you tried to catch your breath.

“Mm,” he hummed, leaning back slightly, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to read you. “That so?” His thumb traced a slow circle on your thigh, his other hand still gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d pull away.

The intensity of his gaze made your stomach flip. There was something unnerving about how he looked at you—not predatory, exactly, but like he was dissecting you, picking you apart piece by piece and filing you away for later.

Your lips parted to say something, anything, but then he was kissing you again, his mouth stealing the words before they could form. This time, it was slower, darker somehow, as if he wanted to take his time with you. His teeth caught your bottom lip, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp.

That sound—it was like a spark to gasoline. His tongue slid against yours, deepening the kiss, and you melted into him, gripping his shoulders for support. His hands moved again, squeezing your ass like it was second nature, and the soft sound you made in response sent a shiver up your spine.

He pulled back, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. “You’ve been holding out on me,” he muttered, his tone laced with amusement but carrying that edge of something darker, something uniquely Damien.

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it came out breathless and shaky. “Or maybe you’re just bringing it out of me,” you replied, trying to sound casual, but the way your voice wavered gave you away.

He smirked, his thumb brushing the side of your jaw. “I could get used to this,” he murmured, his tone softening slightly, though his eyes still held that stormy intensity.

You tried to relax into the moment, to ignore the small, nagging voice in the back of your mind that whispered you didn’t belong here—that this wasn’t really you. But Damien’s hands and the heat of his lips grounded you, kept you tethered to the present, even as doubt clawed at the edges.

You leaned in to kiss him again, desperate to shake off the unease that clung to you, and he met you halfway, his movements smooth and practiced. His lips pressed against yours with a precision that felt almost too perfect, as though he’d done this countless times before—and maybe he had. That thought burrowed into the back of your mind, unwanted and distracting, as your tongue met his in a rhythm you were still struggling to master.

Your hands, unsure of what to do, hovered for a moment before one drifted to the hem of his jeans, your fingers lightly brushing the fabric. It was meant to ground you, to give you something to focus on besides the chaos inside your head. You didn’t even realize how charged the gesture might seem until Damien groaned softly into your mouth—a sound low and rough that sent a jolt through your chest.

You jerked back instinctively, your breaths uneven. “Are you… okay?” you asked, your voice trembling, your gaze darting over his face as if searching for an answer.

Damien’s lips pulled into an easy, amused smile, his gray eyes glinting in the dim light. “You’re cute,” he said, his tone effortlessly calm, as though nothing could faze him.

Heat surged into your cheeks, and you stammered, words tripping over each other. “I—I wasn’t trying to—um—sorry, I didn’t mean—”

His soft chuckle cut through your flustered rambling, a sound that felt both reassuring and maddening. “Relax,” he murmured, his hands still steady on your waist. His thumbs brushed over the fabric of your skirt, his touch gentle but charged.

You tried to follow his instruction, to let go of the tension knotted in your shoulders, but it wasn’t that simple. Your thoughts were tangled, shifting between the moment you were in and the lingering questions that never seemed to leave you alone. Damien was right here, holding you, touching you, and he liked you—didn’t he? That should’ve been enough to push everything else aside, but it wasn’t.

Your fingers tightened around the hem of your skirt, a subtle attempt to steady yourself, but it did little to calm the discomfort settling in your chest. What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you just enjoy this?

Damien’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Can I touch you?” he whispered, his tone low and intimate, his fingers brushing the edge of your skirt.

Your heart stuttered at his words, and you froze. Heat rushed through you, and uncertainty quickly followed. Did you want this? Could you even handle this right now? You swallowed hard, your throat dry as the weight of his question hung in the air.

You focused on the present—the way his hands felt on your waist, the heat radiating from his body, the intensity of his gaze. This was what you’d been hoping for, wasn’t it? The moment you’d dreamed about when you thought of Damien—the effortless allure, the magnetic confidence, the way his presence seemed to pull you in without even trying.

But something about it felt off. Like you were trying to force a puzzle piece into a space it didn’t quite fit.

“The party,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper, “it’s soon, so maybe… not?”

Damien stilled for a second, his hands loosening their grip on your waist. You held your breath, half expecting him to push back or, worse, to shut down entirely. Instead, a low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and he pulled back slightly to meet your eyes.

“Yeah, all good,” he said, his voice smooth, like nothing had fazed him. “No pressure or anything.”

He cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone as he leaned in to press a kiss to your lips. It was slower this time, softer, like he was dialing everything back to put you at ease. The tenderness of the gesture was almost disarming, and for a brief moment, you forgot the knot of unease in your chest.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his gray eyes searching yours, his tone lighter now. “For real, don’t stress about it,” he murmured. “We’ve got all the time in the world, yeah?”

The casualness of his words was both reassuring and frustrating. You nodded weakly, forcing a smile as his hands moved from your face to your waist again, his grip looser now.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice wavering slightly.

“Don’t sweat it,” he replied, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “But maybe we should make sure you don’t show up to this party looking like you’ve been… I don’t know, thinking too hard or something.”

You let out a weak laugh, the teasing in his tone lightening the tension. “Thinking too hard?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah,” he shot back, leaning casually against his headboard, his grin lazy but amused. “You’ve got that look on your face like you’re solving world hunger or some shit. Let me guess—freaking out about whether your lipstick’s smudged?”

Despite yourself, you laughed again, rolling your eyes as you adjusted your skirt. “Shut up.”

“Just saying,” he teased, nudging your chin up with his knuckle. “Relax a little. We’re about to go get wasted in someone’s trashed living room. It’s not that deep.”

He stood, stretching slightly before brushing his fingers through his dark hair, fixing a strand that had fallen out of place. His confidence and ease felt like a stark contrast to the quiet storm in your chest.

As you adjusted your appearance in the mirror, you wondered if you were putting too much weight on tonight. If maybe Damien wasn’t the issue, and you were just too caught up in trying to make things perfect. But even as you told yourself to relax, a flicker of doubt lingered, quiet but stubborn.

The night air was cold, but inside Kenny’s beat-up pickup truck, it was pure chaos. The windows were cracked open just enough to let in the smell of cigarettes and damp earth, mixing with the lingering scent of fast food wrappers shoved under the seats. The engine groaned with every bump in the road, and the muffler was definitely dragging somewhere behind them.

Kyle sat stiffly in the passenger seat, gripping the door handle as though his life depended on it. He hated this truck—he hated the way it rattled and creaked, the way the passenger door didn’t quite close all the way, and the fact that the seatbelt was frayed and probably not even functional. But what he hated even more was the conversation happening in the backseat.

“Man, Kyle, I’m honestly impressed,” Cartman started, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the back of Kyle’s seat. His grin was wide and full of malice, the kind of grin that meant he was gearing up for something terrible. “You’ve got balls, dude. Showing up to this party knowing damn well you’re gonna have to watch Damien stick his tongue down her throat all night? That’s some masochist-level shit right there.”

Kyle’s jaw tightened, and he stared straight ahead, refusing to take the bait.

“Oh, come on,” Cartman pressed, clearly delighted by the lack of response. “You’re just gonna sit there and pretend you’re totally fine with it? ‘Oh, it’s cool, she’s only dating Damien—you know, the guy who probably writes shitty poetry about her in his Moleskine journal. No big deal.’”

“Cartman, shut the fuck up,” Kyle muttered, his voice low and strained.

“Seriously, dude, what’s your plan?” Kenny chimed in from behind the wheel, his voice light but teasing. “You’re just gonna stare at her all night and hope Damien spontaneously combusts? Because, uh, spoiler alert: that’s not gonna happen.”

Kyle turned his glare on Kenny, but before he could say anything, Stan finally looked up from his phone, his tone flat. “Will you guys just leave him alone already?” He shot Kyle a quick look in the rearview mirror, one that said I’ve got your back—but also, you’re an idiot. “You’re not exactly helping.”

“Helping with what?” Cartman crowed, his grin widening. “Stan, are you telling me Kyle actually thinks he has a shot with her? Oh my God, that’s even better than I thought!”

“Cartman,” Kyle snapped, his voice sharp, “I swear to God, if you don’t shut the fuck up—”

“What?” Cartman interrupted, leaning even closer, his tone mockingly sweet. “You gonna cry, Kyle? You gonna get all teary-eyed thinking about how she’s probably sitting in Damien’s lap right now, twirling her hair and giggling at all his deep, brooding observations about life?”

Kenny snorted, one hand loosely gripping the wheel as he glanced over at Kyle. “For real, though, dude. Are you gonna do something about it, or are you just gonna keep sulking and jerking off in your dorm while she’s out with him?”

Kyle’s face turned an alarming shade of red. “You guys are fucking assholes,” he muttered, sinking lower into his seat.

“Yeah, yeah,” Cartman said, waving a hand dismissively. “But, like, seriously, when are you gonna stop being such a little bitch about this? Everyone knows you’re into her. Even she probably knows you’re into her, and she’s still choosing Damien over you. That’s gotta sting, dude.”

Kyle clenched his fists in his lap, his nails digging into his palms. He wanted to snap back, to tell Cartman to go fuck himself, but what was the point? Everything Cartman was saying—everything Kenny and Stan weren’t saying—was already running on a loop in Kyle’s head.

He hadn’t wanted to admit it at first. He’d tried to brush it off, to tell himself he didn’t care when you’d started hanging out with Damien. But then you’d told him about your first date—how amazing it was, how Damien had kissed you—and something inside him had cracked.

Kyle had never been in love before. He didn’t have anything to compare it to, but he figured it had to feel like this—like a constant, gnawing ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away. Like every time he saw you smile at Damien, it was a punch to the gut. He hated it. He hated feeling like this, and he hated that he’d never even realized how much you meant to him until it was too late.

Now, every time you sent him a text about Damien, his stomach twisted in knots. Every time you laughed at one of Damien’s jokes, Kyle wanted to throw something. And every time he saw you with Damien, he felt like an idiot for thinking he’d ever had a chance.

Stan knew, of course. Kyle had confessed it to him after that first date, after you’d sent him that text about Damien kissing you. He hadn’t planned on telling anyone, but Stan had a way of getting the truth out of him without even trying. And while Stan hadn’t exactly been helpful—his response was basically “that sucks, dude”—at least he hadn’t laughed. At least he hadn’t made Kyle feel worse than he already did.

But Cartman? Cartman was relentless. And Kenny wasn’t much better.

“Look, man,” Kenny said after a moment, his tone surprisingly serious. “You can either sit here and let Damien win, or you can grow a pair and tell her how you feel. Your call.”

Kyle let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, because that’s gonna go great. ‘Hey, I know you’re dating Damien, but I’m in love with you. Wanna make things super fucking awkward?’”

“Why not?” Cartman said, smirking. “At least then she’ll know. And when she inevitably rejects you, we can all move on with our lives. Win-win.”

“Jesus Christ, Cartman,” Stan muttered, rubbing his temples. “You’re such a dick.”

“What?” Cartman said, feigning innocence. “I’m just being honest.”

“Honest or not,” Kyle snapped, “no one asked for your opinion, so do me a favor and shut the fuck up.”

The truck fell into a tense silence for a moment, the only sound the faint hum of the engine and the bass-heavy music blasting from Kenny’s shitty speakers.

Finally, Kenny pulled up to the curb outside the party. The house was already packed, the music loud enough to shake the windows. People spilled out onto the lawn, red Solo cups in hand, and the faint smell of weed lingered in the air.

“Alright, we’re here,” Kenny said, throwing the truck into park. “Time to drink away our collective shame.”

Stan climbed out first, stretching as he stepped onto the grass. “God, I need a drink already.”

Cartman followed, brushing crumbs off his jacket. “I’m heading straight for the snacks. Later, bitches.”

Kenny glanced at Kyle, who was still sitting in the passenger seat, staring at the house like it was the last place on earth he wanted to be.

“You coming, or what?” Kenny asked, raising an eyebrow.

Kyle sighed, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Let’s get this over with.”

Kenny smirked, patting him on the shoulder as they climbed out of the truck. “That’s the spirit. Don’t worry—if it all goes to shit, at least you’ll have beer.”

“Great,” Kyle muttered, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as they headed toward the house. He kept his eyes on the ground, scowling at the sight of crushed beer cans and cigarette butts littering the yard. He wasn’t even drunk yet, and he already wanted to leave.

Kenny, on the other hand, was in his element. He grinned as he slung an arm over Kyle’s shoulders, dragging him along like they were on some kind of triumphant adventure instead of a slow march into hell. “Cheer up, Kahl,” Kenny teased, his voice light and playful. “It’s a party! Who knows? Maybe you’ll finally grow some balls and make a move tonight.”

Kyle shrugged him off with a glare. “Can you not?”

“Aw, come on,” Kenny said, laughing as they stepped onto the front porch. “You’re such a buzzkill.”

The front door swung open before Kenny could knock, and the sound of pounding bass and drunken laughter hit them like a freight train. Kyle winced, his shoulders tensing as they walked inside. The living room was packed with people—some dancing, some shouting over the music, and others sprawled across the furniture with beers in hand.

“Ugh, I already hate this,” Kyle muttered, his scowl deepening.

“Yeah, no one cares,” Cartman said, brushing past him to head straight for the snack table. “Have fun wallowing in self-pity, loser. I’ve got a date with some chips and queso.”

Stan rolled his eyes, following Cartman with his hands shoved into his pockets. “Try not to eat the entire table this time, fatass.”

“Fuck you, Stan!” Cartman shouted over his shoulder.

Kenny stayed by Kyle’s side, navigating through the crowd. Kyle’s eyes darted around the room, catching glimpses of familiar faces. Tweek was in the corner, jittering nervously as Craig leaned against the wall next to him, looking completely unbothered as usual. Clyde was nearby, loudly retelling some exaggerated story to Tolkien, who was nodding along politely but clearly not listening.

On the couch, Red, Wendy, and Bebe were huddled together, laughing over something on Red’s phone. Wendy looked up briefly and waved at Stan, who gave her a small nod before disappearing into the kitchen.

Kenny grinned, raising a hand in greeting as they passed. “Yo, what’s up, guys?” he called out.

“Hey, Kenny!” Bebe replied, flashing him a bright smile before nudging Red and whispering something that made her giggle.

Kyle’s scowl deepened as he caught sight of Damien across the room. He was leaning against the wall with that same infuriatingly relaxed posture, his black leather boots crossed at the ankles and a cigarette dangling from his lips. He wasn’t even doing anything—just standing there—but somehow, he still managed to look like the cover of an indie rock album.

Kyle quickly looked away, his stomach twisting.

“Don’t even think about it,” Kenny said, leaning closer to him. “You’re not allowed to start sulking until you’ve had at least one drink.”

“I don’t sulk,” Kyle snapped.

Kenny raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing. “Sure you don’t. Come on.”

Before Kyle could protest, Kenny steered him toward the makeshift bar set up in the kitchen. It was a sad assortment of cheap liquor bottles, half-empty mixers, and a bucket of melted ice with a few beers floating aimlessly inside. Someone had written “BAR” in black Sharpie on a cardboard sign taped to the wall.

Kenny grabbed two plastic cups and handed one to Kyle before reaching for a bottle of rum. “Alright, dudel,” he said, pouring a generous amount into Kyle’s cup. “Time to loosen up. You’re gonna drink this, and then we’re gonna find something to talk about that isn’t Damien or [Y/N]. Deal?”

Kyle stared at the cup like it was full of poison. “I hate rum.”

“Then drink faster so you can move on to something else,” Kenny replied, adding a splash of Coke to his own cup.

Kyle sighed, taking the cup reluctantly. He sniffed it, wrinkling his nose at the strong smell of alcohol, before taking a small sip. It burned on the way down, and he immediately grimaced. “This is disgusting.”

“Welcome to college, buddy,” Kenny said, clinking his cup against Kyle’s with a grin.

Before Kyle could respond, a voice called out from behind them. “Kenny! Kyle! You guys made it!”

They turned to see Clyde stumbling toward them, already holding a beer in each hand. His cheeks were flushed, and he had that goofy, half-drunk grin that Kyle always found irritating.

“Of course we made it,” Kenny said, slapping Clyde on the back. “Wouldn’t miss the chance to watch Kyle have a mental breakdown in public.”

“Fuck off,” Kyle muttered, taking another reluctant sip of his drink.

Clyde laughed, clearly not picking up on the tension. “Man, this party’s already insane. You guys gotta hit the beer pong table later. Surprisingly, Tweek and Craig are undefeated right now, but I’m calling bullshit on some of their shots.”

“Maybe later,” Kenny said, throwing an arm around Kyle again. “First, I gotta make sure my boy here doesn’t bolt the second he sees [Y/N].”

Kyle froze, his grip tightening on the cup. “Kenny.”

“What?” Kenny said innocently. “I’m just saying, you should at least try to enjoy yourself. She’s not gonna be stuck to Damien’s hip all night, you know.”

Kyle glared at him, his face heating up. “I’m not talking about this right now.”

Clyde tilted his head at the two of them, clearly intrigued by Kyle’s reaction, but didn’t push further. “Alright, well, Tolkien’s probably wondering where the hell I went. You know how he gets—acts like my damn babysitter anytime I’ve had more than two beers.” He took a swig from one of the bottles in his hands before jerking his thumb toward the other side of the room. “I’ll catch you guys later. Oh, and Kyle, if you’re playing beer pong later, you’re on my team. Tolkien sucks at it, and I’m not losing to Craig and Tweek again.” He winked and walked off, rejoining Tolkien, who was still standing by the snack table with his usual air of mild exasperation.

Kenny chuckled, shaking his head as he watched Clyde go. “Man, that guy’s a mess. You gotta give him credit for his energy, though.”

Kyle said nothing, his gaze fixed on the rim of his cup as he swirled the contents inside. His thoughts were already slipping back to the one person he was desperately trying not to think about, and Kenny’s incessant teasing wasn’t helping.

Kenny let out a long, exaggerated sigh, clearly annoyed by Kyle’s silence. “Alright, dude, enough with the brooding.” Without waiting for a response, he grabbed Kyle’s wrist, pulling him toward the couch where Wendy, Bebe, and Red were seated.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kyle hissed, stumbling slightly as Kenny dragged him through the crowd.

“I’m saving you from yourself,” Kenny replied without looking back. “You’re a buzzkill, and it’s killing my vibe. Come on, we’re talking to people.”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” Kyle muttered, but Kenny ignored him, weaving through the mess of bodies like it was his second nature.

The girls looked up as they approached, their conversation pausing as Kenny flopped down onto the arm of the couch with his usual casual charm.

“Kenny!” Wendy greeted, her dark eyes brightening as she glanced at him, then over at Kyle. “Hey, Kyle!”

Red waved, a grin spreading across her face. “Look who finally decided to join us!”

Bebe, leaning lazily against the back of the couch with a drink in hand, raised an eyebrow as she looked Kyle up and down. “Wow, you actually got him out of his cave? Impressive.”

Kenny grinned, tipping his drink in their direction. “What can I say? I’m a miracle worker. Kyle  here would’ve spent the whole night moping if I hadn’t dragged him out.”

“I don’t mope, you prick,” Kyle said defensively, his face already flushing under the weight of their attention.

“Sure you don’t,” Bebe said with a smirk, swirling her drink. “You always look this miserable, right?”

Kyle shot her a look but didn’t respond, choosing instead to take a sip of his drink. He hoped it would help him tune out the conversation, but it didn’t stop Kenny from throwing an arm around his shoulders.

“So,” Kenny said, glancing at the girls with a grin, “what’s the damage so far? Who’s hooked up? Who’s gotten blackout drunk? Give me the highlights.”

Red laughed, brushing a strand of red hair over her shoulder. “Butters is trying to play DJ but keeps fighting with Jimmy over the aux cord, Nichole and Heidi are arguing about whether Taylor Swift is overrated, and someone already spilled an entire drink on the couch. Pretty standard so far.”

“Nichole and Heidi at it again?” Kenny asked, laughing. “Man, I’d pay to see that. It’s like a weekly debate club with those two.”

“I give it ten more minutes before they start throwing drinks,” Wendy chimed in, rolling her eyes.

Kyle stood stiffly next to the couch, trying to focus on their chatter instead of his own thoughts. But the knot in his stomach refused to loosen, no matter how many sips of rum and Coke he took.

And then, over the noise of the party, he heard it—your laugh.

It pierced through the chaos like a knife, sharp and clear, and Kyle froze, his grip tightening around his cup. His head turned instinctively toward the sound, and there you were.

You were by the beer pong table, standing between Craig and Tweek, holding a bright red Solo cup in one hand. Your cheeks were flushed, and your movements had that slightly loose, carefree quality that only came with being tipsy. You gestured wildly as you spoke, making Tweek laugh nervously while Craig smirked.

Kyle’s stomach twisted as his gaze drifted lower, taking in your outfit. You were wearing a short black skirt with a silver belt, paired with an oversized black sweater that hung off one shoulder. It was edgy, sleek, and completely different from the way you used to dress. Your boots had a chunky heel, making you look taller, and the silver chain around your neck glinted under the dim party lights. Even your makeup was different—darker and heavier, with smudged eyeliner that gave you a dramatic, smoky look.

You looked incredible.

And Kyle hated it.

He hated how much you’d changed to match Damien’s aesthetic, as if you’d molded yourself into his perfect counterpart. He hated the way your skirt clung to your hips, drawing every pair of eyes in the room, including his. He hated the way you were laughing with Craig and Tweek, so at ease, so happy, while his insides were in knots.

But most of all, he hated how his chest ached just looking at you.

“You good, dude?” Kenny asked, leaning closer to Kyle and snapping him out of his trance.

Kyle blinked, tearing his eyes away from you and fixing them on the rim of his cup. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though his voice lacked any conviction.

Kenny tilted his head, following Kyle’s gaze across the room. When he spotted you by the beer pong table, his smirk widened. “Ah. I see what’s going on.”

Kyle bristled, glaring at Kenny out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Kenny said innocently, though his tone was anything but. “I’m just pointing out that someone’s looking real good tonight. Guess Damien’s rubbing off on her, huh?”

Kyle’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “Shut up.”

“Relax,” Kenny said, clinking his cup against Kyle’s. “I’m just messing with you. Besides, if you don’t want to stare at her all night, you could, I don’t know, talk to her?”

Kyle shot him a withering glare. “Yeah, because that’s exactly what I want to do right now.”

“Suit yourself,” Kenny replied with a shrug, leaning back against the arm of the couch. “But if you keep standing here looking like you just lost a fight with a blender, everyone’s gonna notice.”

Kyle ignored him, his knuckles tightening around his cup as your laugh rang out again, bright and unguarded. He hated how easily it cut through him, how it made his chest tighten even as he tried to shove the feeling down.

Red, noticing Kyle’s stiff posture, glanced between him and Kenny. “What’s his deal?” she asked, lowering her voice.

“Nothing,” Kenny said, grinning. “Just loves a good party, don’t you, Kyle?”

Kyle shot Kenny another glare but didn’t respond. Across the room, you were standing with Tweek and Craig, laughing at something Craig had just said. Your cheeks were flushed, and the way you tilted your head back in laughter was enough to make Kyle’s stomach churn uncomfortably.

He tried to look away, forcing himself to focus on his drink, but Kenny wasn’t about to let him off the hook. “Dude, you’re not subtle. You might as well hold up a neon sign that says ‘I’m in love with [Y/N] and I hate myself.’”

“Shut the fuck up, Kenny,” Kyle muttered, gripping his plastic cup tighter.

“Relax, bro,” Kenny said, smirking. “It’s a party. Maybe if you stopped glaring at her like you’re auditioning for The Bachelor, you’d actually have some fun.”

Before Kyle could respond, Cartman and Stan strolled up, Cartman holding a plate of nachos stacked so high it was practically a health hazard. He took one look at Kyle’s face and grinned like a shark smelling blood in the water.

“Aw, what’s wrong, Kahl?” Cartman asked, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. “She not paying enough attention to you? Guess that’s what happens when you’re boring as shit.”

“I swear to God, Cartman,” Kyle growled, his knuckles whitening around his cup.

“What? I’m just saying, she’s got options,” Cartman said, gesturing toward you with his nacho plate. “Look at her, all dolled up and smiling like that. If I were her, I’d walk right past you too.”

Stan raised an eyebrow, glancing between Kyle and you across the room. “She does look happy, though,” he said casually, taking a sip of his drink. “She’s been smiling all night.”

Kyle turned to glare at him, but Stan shrugged. “What? I’m just saying. Maybe you should stop overthinking everything and just… go talk to her.”

Kyle opened his mouth to retort, but then he noticed it.

You had left Craig and Tweek, your drink still in hand, and were making your way toward Damien.

Kyle’s heart sank as he watched you walk across the room, your black skirt swishing lightly with each step. You looked confident, carefree, and… happy. Too happy. When you reached Damien, you flashed him that big, bright smile—the kind of smile that used to feel like it belonged to Kyle.

Damien smirked down at you, taking a drag from his cigarette before casually flicking the ash into a nearby beer can. He leaned closer to you, saying something that made you laugh again, your hand lightly brushing his arm.

Kyle’s chest tightened as he stared at the scene, his drink frozen halfway to his lips.

“Uh-oh,” Kenny said, noticing Kyle’s expression. “Here we go.”

“I’m fine,” Kyle muttered, though his voice cracked slightly. He quickly downed the rest of his drink, hoping the alcohol would drown out the growing knot in his stomach.

“Sure you are,” Cartman said, his grin widening. “Meanwhile, Damien’s over there stealing your girl. Guess she’s got a thing for guys who dress like they shop exclusively at Hot Topic.”

“She’s not my girl,” Kyle snapped, his voice sharp. “And I don’t care what Damien does.”

“Oh, you care,” Kenny said with a laugh. “You care so fucking much it’s hilarious. Dude, just look at your face right now. You’re one bad comment away from going full Incredible Hulk.”

Stan chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe you should just go over there,” he said, clearly enjoying Kyle’s discomfort. “Say hi. You know, remind her you exist.”

“Yeah, Kyle,” Cartman said, his voice dripping with faux encouragement. “Why don’t you go introduce yourself to Damien while you’re at it? Maybe he’ll give you tips on how to not be a total buzzkill.”

“Fuck all of you,” Kyle muttered, pouring himself another drink with slightly shaky hands.

But the boys weren’t done.

“Seriously, dude,” Kenny pressed, leaning in with a grin. “You’re just gonna let her laugh at all his shitty jokes like that? You know he probably writes cringe poetry about this shit, right? Like, ‘Oh, [Y/N], the light of my dark soul, your laugh is the melody to my eternal despair.’”

Stan snorted into his drink. “Pretty accurate, honestly.”

Kyle glared at all of them, his face growing redder by the second. “I’m not going over there.”

“Why not?” Cartman said, feigning innocence. “What’s the worst that could happen? Oh, wait, I know—she’ll ignore you and keep talking to Damien, and you’ll have to sit here and watch. But hey, you’re already doing that, so really, you’ve got nothing to lose!”

“God, you’re such a fat piece of shit,” Kyle spat, his voice rising slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Cartman said, waving him off. “Look, either grow some balls and interrupt, or stop staring at her like a creepy stalker. Pick one.”

Kyle’s grip on his cup tightened, his mind racing as his friends’ voices buzzed around him like mosquitoes. Part of him wanted to stay put, to stubbornly refuse to give them the satisfaction of seeing him crack. But the other part of him—the part that couldn’t stand the sight of Damien smirking down at you—was already inching closer to the edge.

“Do it,” Kenny whispered, his voice low and teasing. “Go over there. Be the hero of your own tragic love story.”

Kyle slammed his cup down on the table, the sound cutting through the noise. “Fine,” he snapped, standing up so abruptly that Kenny nearly spilled his drink.

“Holy shit, he’s actually doing it,” Cartman said, wide-eyed with amusement. “This is gonna be fucking gold.”

“Shut up,” Kyle muttered, his fists clenching at his sides as he stormed off toward you and Damien.

“Good luck!” Kenny called after him, grinning ear to ear.

As Kyle pushed through the crowd, his heart pounded in his chest, each step feeling heavier than the last. By the time he reached you, his palms were clammy, and his thoughts were a tangled mess of frustration and adrenaline.

You looked up as he approached, your smile brightening. “Kyle! Hey!”

Damien raised an eyebrow, his smirk never faltering as he exhaled a plume of smoke. “Well, well,” he drawled, his voice smooth and low. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Broflovski.”

Kyle ignored him, forcing a tight smile as he looked at you. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Your brows furrowed slightly, but you nodded. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

Damien’s smirk widened as he took another drag of his cigarette. “Don’t let me stop you,” he said, stepping aside with an exaggerated bow.

Kyle shot Damien a glare before turning back to you, his stomach churning as he tried to find the words. The alcohol buzzing in his system wasn’t helping—it only made his thoughts heavier and harder to untangle. You were standing so close, your big, tipsy smile softening into concern as you looked at him, your wide, glassy eyes locking on his.

“Kyle, are you okay?” you asked, your voice gentle and warm but slightly slurred. You placed a hand on his arm, squeezing it lightly. “You look… I dunno, kinda stressed out or something. Are you sick?”

“I—uh, no, I’m fine,” Kyle stammered, his face heating up. He was hyper-aware of your hand on his arm, your touch sending a jolt of electricity through him that made his heart hammer in his chest. “I’m not sick.”

“You don’t look fine,” you said, your brows furrowing. “Your face is all red. Did Cartman say something to piss you off again? I swear, I’ll fight him.”

Before Kyle could respond, you turned to Damien, who had been silently watching the two of you with that same lazy smirk on his face. “Hey, Damien,” you said, your voice light and sweet. “I’m gonna take Kyle upstairs for a bit. He doesn’t look too good.”

Damien raised an eyebrow, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Whatever you say, babe,” he drawled, exhaling smoke through his nose.

You smiled at him, completely unfazed. “I’ll find you later, okay?”

“Sure,” Damien said, waving you off lazily. “Take your time.”

You turned back to Kyle, grabbing his wrist with both hands. “Come on,” you said, tugging him gently. “Let’s go somewhere quiet. You look like you’re about to explode or something.”

“I’m fine—” Kyle started to say, but the words died in his throat as you began pulling him through the crowd.

“Shush,” you said over your shoulder, your tone light but firm. “You’re coming with me, and that’s final.”

Kyle had no choice but to follow, his heart pounding as you led him up the stairs. The noise of the party faded slightly as you reached the second floor, and Kyle’s mind raced with a chaotic swirl of emotions: guilt, frustration, and that stupid, unbearable ache in his chest every time you smiled at him.

You pushed open the door to one of the bedrooms and tugged him inside, closing the door behind you with a soft click. The music from downstairs was muffled now, the quiet making the room feel oddly intimate.

You turned to face Kyle, your eyes scanning his face with drunken concern. “Okay,” you said, your voice softer now. “What’s going on? And don’t say ‘nothing,’ because I know that’s a lie.”

Kyle hesitated, his throat dry as he searched for an answer. “It’s not… it’s not a big deal,” he said, avoiding your gaze. “I just needed to get out of there.”

“Bullshit,” you said, crossing your arms. The motion made you wobble slightly on your feet, and Kyle instinctively reached out to steady you. You smiled at him, leaning into his hand for a moment before continuing. “You’ve been acting weird for weeks, Kyle. And now you’re all quiet and broody, and it’s freaking me out. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

Kyle stared at you, his chest tightening as the words he’d been holding back for weeks clawed at the edges of his mind. The alcohol in his system buzzed like static, loosening his tongue just enough to make him consider saying them out loud.

But then he thought about Damien. About the way you’d smiled at him downstairs. About how easily he’d called you “babe.”

The knot in Kyle’s stomach twisted tighter, and he looked away, clenching his jaw. “It’s nothing,” he said quietly. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” you said, stepping closer to him. “Kyle, come on. You can talk to me. You’re my best friend.”

Kyle’s heart sank at those words. Best friend. The title felt like a prison sentence, locking him into a role he didn’t know how to escape.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

You frowned, your bottom lip jutting out slightly in a tipsy pout. “Then stop ignoring me,” you said, your voice soft but insistent. “I hate when you shut me out. It makes me feel like… like you don’t want me around anymore.”

Kyle’s chest ached at the vulnerability in your voice, and he swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “That’s not true,” he said quickly. “I do want you around. I just…” He trailed off, the words dying in his throat.

“Just what?” you asked, tilting your head.

Kyle hesitated, his mind racing. He wanted to tell you the truth—to tell you everything. But the words felt too heavy, too dangerous to say out loud.

“It’s complicated,” he said finally, his voice barely audible.

You studied him for a moment, your expression softening. Then, to his surprise, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a hug.

“I don’t care if it’s complicated,” you said, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “I just don’t want you to shut me out anymore.”

Kyle froze for a moment, but then he slowly wrapped his arms around you, his chest tightening as he rested his chin lightly on your head.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s okay,” you said, pulling back slightly to look up at him. Your cheeks were flushed, and your eyes were glassy from the alcohol, but your smile was warm and genuine. “Just… promise me you won’t avoid me anymore, okay?”

“I promise,” Kyle said, though his voice wavered slightly.

“Good,” you said, grinning. “Now sit down before you pass out or something. You look like you need it.”

Kyle sat down on the edge of the bed as instructed. He stared down at his hands, his fingers fidgeting nervously in his lap. The faint buzz of alcohol in his veins did little to steady his thoughts as the quiet room pressed in on him.

You followed his lead, plopping down beside him with a soft sigh. “God, my feet are killing me,” you muttered, leaning forward to tug at the zipper of one of your boots. You struggled with it for a moment, your fingers fumbling before letting out a small huff of frustration. “Why did I think heels were a good idea? Damien said they looked cute, but these things are, like, torture devices.”

Kyle’s jaw clenched at the mention of Damien, but he kept quiet. Instead, his eyes drifted toward you, watching as you wrestled with your boot. The dim light cast soft shadows across your face, and for a moment, Kyle was struck by how different you looked.

It wasn’t just the makeup—though the smoky eyeliner and dark lipstick were so far removed from your usual style that it almost felt like you were playing dress-up. It wasn’t just the clothes, either, though the short black skirt and off-the-shoulder sweater made you seem like a stranger in your own skin. Something about the way you carried yourself tonight—tipsy, carefree, and so eager to please Damien—felt like a version of you he didn’t recognize.

He hated it.

“Ugh, these boots suck,” you grumbled, finally freeing one of them with an audible thud as it hit the floor. You let out a breath of relief, wiggling your toes through your tights before moving on to the other boot. “I swear, I’m gonna burn these things when I get home.”

Kyle’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through his otherwise tense expression. “You love those boots,” he said quietly, his voice low and edged with disbelief.

“Yeah, well, I loved them before they tried to murder my feet,” you replied, flashing him a lopsided grin. “Tonight might be their last hurrah.”

Kyle didn’t respond. Instead, his gaze lingered on you, taking in the slight sheen of sweat on your brow from the crowded party, the smudge of dark lipstick on the corner of your mouth. You looked… tired. Beautiful, yes, but not the way you usually were.

You caught him staring, your brow furrowing slightly as you set your other boot on the floor with a soft thunk. “What?” you asked, your voice softer now, tinged with curiosity.

Kyle hesitated, his throat suddenly dry. “Nothing,” he said quickly, looking away. He felt his cheeks heat under your gaze, and he cursed himself for being so obvious.

But you didn’t let it go. You shifted closer to him, your knee brushing against his. “It’s not nothing,” you pressed, tilting your head to try and meet his eyes. “You’ve been quiet ever since we came up here. What’s on your mind?”

Kyle clenched his jaw, his fingers curling into fists in his lap. He could feel your eyes on him, and it was unbearable. Part of him wanted to lie, to brush you off with some sarcastic comment or a half-assed excuse. But another part—the part that had been screaming at him all night—wanted to tell you the truth.

“You look… different,” he said finally, his voice low and hesitant.

You blinked, caught off guard by the statement. “Different?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Kyle swallowed hard, his gaze darting to your face before quickly looking away again. “I don’t know. It’s just… the makeup, the clothes… It’s not… you.”

Your brows furrowed, and for a moment, you didn’t say anything. When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, almost defensive. “I thought it looked good.”

“It does,” Kyle said quickly, his words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I mean, you look… amazing. But it’s just… it’s not the you I’m used to. That’s all.”

You frowned, your fingers picking at the hem of your skirt. “Damien likes this look,” you said softly, almost as if you were trying to convince yourself. “He said it suits me.”

Kyle’s chest ached at the mention of Damien again, and before he could stop himself, the words slipped out. “What about what you like?”

Your frown deepened as you turned to face him fully, your body shifting so that your knees touched his. “What does it matter what I like?” you asked. “For the first time in my life, someone’s actually interested in me. Someone thinks I’m… I don’t know, worth noticing. And you… you can’t even be happy for me.”

Kyle froze, his lips parting as he processed your words. “That’s not—” he started, but you cut him off, your voice rising just enough to make him stop.

“Don’t,” you snapped, your hands balling into fists on your lap. “You’ve been ignoring me for weeks. Ignoring my texts, rejecting every time I tried to hang out—like I don’t even matter to you anymore. And now, when I finally feel like someone cares, you’re sitting here questioning me. What’s your problem?”

Kyle felt his frustration bubbling just under the surface, a mixture of guilt, confusion, and the alcohol buzzing in his system. “I don’t have a problem,” he said sharply, his eyes locking with yours. “I just—Damien’s not—”

“Oh, my God, don’t start with that again!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “You don’t like Damien. Fine. But maybe, just maybe, this isn’t about you! Maybe I don’t need your approval for every decision I make!”

Kyle’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching against his thighs. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?!” you demanded, your voice cracking as the anger surged in your chest. “Because all you’ve done since Damien and I started hanging out is act like I’m making some huge mistake. You don’t know him. You don’t even try to get to know him. You just sit there and judge me like… like I’m doing something wrong by being happy for once!”

Kyle opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. He didn’t know how to explain it—how to tell you that seeing you with Damien made his stomach churn, that every time he thought about you two together, it felt like he was losing something he didn’t know how to hold onto.

But before he could even try, you leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a low, biting tone. “And don’t think I didn’t notice, by the way,” you said, your eyes narrowing. “The way you’ve been acting ever since that night.”

Kyle’s heart stuttered, and he froze. “What night?” he asked, though he already knew.

“Oh, come on, Kyle,” you snapped, your expression sharp with anger. “You know what I’m talking about. The practice kisses. Remember that? Or are you just going to pretend it didn’t happen?”

Kyle’s face flushed, and he looked away. “I wasn’t pretending anything,” he muttered, his voice low.

“Bullshit!” you shot back, your voice rising. “Ever since that night, you’ve been weird. You won’t talk to me, you won’t look at me—hell, you won’t even answer my texts half the time! What the hell, Kyle? Was it that horrible? Was I that horrible?”

Kyle’s head snapped up at that, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What? No! That’s not—God, that’s not what it is, [Y/N]!”

“Then what is it?” you demanded, your voice breaking slightly. “Because I can’t figure it out. One minute, you’re helping me, you’re… you’re my best friend, and then the next, you’re shutting me out like I don’t even exist. And now, you’re sitting here acting like you care, but all you’re doing is making me feel like I’m doing something wrong. What do you want from me?”

Kyle wanted to say something—anything—to make you understand, to fix the mess he’d created, but the words wouldn’t come. He felt like he was caught in a trap of his own making, his own silence pulling him further and further away from you.

“Nothing,” he said finally, his voice hollow. “I don’t want anything from you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head as you stood up abruptly, putting distance between the two of you. “Right. Nothing. Of course,” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “Well, congratulations. You’re doing a great job of getting exactly that.”

Kyle flinched at your words, but he didn’t move, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His knuckles had gone pale, the tension in his shoulders evident even though he was sitting so rigidly still.

You noticed immediately, the anger draining from your face as guilt flooded in to replace it. "Shit," you muttered, scooting closer to him. Without even thinking, you reached out and carefully pried one of his hands from the mattress, your fingers sliding between his. His palm was clammy and tense, but you held on anyway, squeezing his hand gently.

"I’m sorry," you said softly, looking up at him with wide, apologetic eyes. "I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just… I don’t know. I feel like I can’t talk to you about this stuff anymore, and it really sucks. You’re my best friend. You’re supposed to be the one I can go to about anything, but it feels like every time I try to bring it up, you shut me out."

Kyle’s eyes flickered down to your intertwined hands. With a small shake of his head, he whispered, "You’re right. I have been shutting you out, and that’s on me. I’m sorry, okay? I’m… I’m listening now. I promise. You can talk to me about Damien, or whatever else, and I won’t be a dick about it this time."

Your lips twitched into a small smile, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. "You mean it?" you asked, your voice quiet, almost hesitant, like you were afraid of pushing too far.

Kyle nodded, his eyes finally lifting to meet yours. "Yeah. I mean it. I’ll actually listen this time. No more… whatever the hell I’ve been doing lately." His voice was soft but firm, like he was trying to reassure both you and himself at the same time.

The smile that spread across your face was so big it made your cheeks ache. You beamed at him, your eyes sparkling with a mix of relief and happiness. "Thank you," you said, your voice filled with genuine gratitude. You shifted your position, pulling your legs up onto the mattress so you could sit cross-legged, still holding onto his hand like it was some kind of lifeline. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

Kyle let out a shaky breath, a small smile graced his features. "You don’t have to thank me," he muttered. "I’m just trying to make up for being an asshole."

"You’re not an asshole," you said quickly, squeezing his hand again. "You’re just… complicated sometimes. But that’s okay. I mean, I’m not exactly the easiest person to deal with either, so…" You trailed off with a small laugh, your free hand brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

Kyle huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You’re easier to deal with than you think," he said, his voice tinged with something almost… fond. But he quickly cleared his throat, looking away as if to hide whatever had just slipped into his tone.

You didn’t press him on it, instead letting the moment hang in a comfortable silence for a few seconds. Then you shifted slightly, leaning your shoulder against his. "So… what do you want to know?" you asked, your voice light and teasing, but with an edge of sincerity. "Because if I’m finally allowed to vent about Damien without getting side-eyes and snarky comments, I’ve got a lot to say."

Kyle groaned, his head falling forward slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "God, you’re really gonna make me suffer through this, aren’t you?"

"Yep," you said with a grin, popping the "p" for emphasis. "You owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kyle muttered, though there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Alright, fine. Let’s hear it. What’s the latest Damien drama?”

Your face lit up at his begrudging interest, and without hesitation, you launched into a breathless rant, leaning forward slightly. “Okay, so, don’t laugh. But, um, you know how we… uh… practiced, right?”

Kyle froze for half a second, his smirk fading as his lips pressed into a thin, flat line. His grip on the mattress tightened imperceptibly, though he tried to play it off. “Yeah,” he said, keeping his tone as neutral as possible, though his jaw had already started to clench.

“Right, well, I think it’s actually been paying off,” you continued, oblivious to the way Kyle’s entire posture had shifted. “Damien and I were in his dorm the other day—”

Kyle’s stomach dropped. He could already tell where this was going, and he had no idea how he was going to get through it.

“—and we were making out,” you said, your voice softening slightly as if you were confessing a deep secret. You laughed lightly, looking down at your lap, where your fingers fidgeted nervously. “Don’t laugh!”

“I’m not laughing,” Kyle muttered, his tone clipped as he stared straight ahead.

“Anyway,” you continued, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “we were making out, and then Damien—uh, well, he asked me if he could touch me.”

Kyle’s throat felt like it had closed up. His mind was blank for a moment, his ears buzzing faintly as he tried to process what you were saying. His grip on the mattress edge tightened so much that his knuckles turned white, but you were too lost in your own thoughts to notice.

You laughed again, more nervously this time, and quickly added, “I didn’t know what to do! I panicked and made up some excuse about how we needed to get ready for this party. Like, how stupid is that?”

Kyle's eyes darted to the floor as a wave of irritation, jealousy, and something darker coiled in his chest.

“And I know this is gonna sound dumb,” you continued, still completely unaware of Kyle’s growing anger, “but, like… what does he mean by ‘touch’? Like, do guys have a specific definition for that? Does it mean, like… everything? Or just…”

You trailed off, your cheeks flushing as you turned to Kyle for answers. When you noticed how quiet he was, you frowned slightly. “Kyle, are you listening?”

“Yeah,” he muttered through gritted teeth, not trusting himself to look at you.

“Okay, good, because I have questions.” You shifted on the bed to face him fully, your expression earnest despite the awkward subject matter. “So, like… how does that even work? Like, if he were to finger me or, um, go down on me or something… What are guys even thinking about when they do that? Is there, like, a technique or…?”

Kyle’s head shot up at that, his eyes burning as he finally met your gaze. “Seriously?” he snapped.

Your brows furrowed, taken aback by his tone. “What? I’m just asking. You’re a guy—you should know this stuff!”

Kyle let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Why the hell are you even asking me about this?”

“Because I trust you!” you said, your voice rising slightly in exasperation. “And you’re supposed to be helping me, but you’re just sitting there acting all weird and pissed off! What is your problem?”

“My problem,” he bit out, his voice low and taut, “is that I don’t want to hear about how you’re letting Damien stick his hands down your skirt like he’s auditioning for a fucking porno!”

Your mouth fell open, your cheeks heating up. “What the fuck, Kyle?!”

“I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking!” he snapped, standing abruptly and pacing a few steps away from the bed. His hands balled into fists at his sides as he struggled to keep his voice steady. “You’re sitting here asking me for advice on how to let that pretentious asshole feel you up like it’s some kind of fucking homework assignment, and I’m supposed to just be okay with that?”

You stared at him, your expression caught between anger and hurt. “You’re being a total asshole right now,” you said, your voice trembling slightly.

Kyle laughed bitterly, running a hand over his face. “Yeah, well, maybe I don’t give a shit about Damien and all his ‘techniques.’ Did you ever think about that?”

You stood up, your hands shaking as you pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Why can’t you just be happy for me? Huh? For once in my life, someone actually likes me, and instead of being supportive, you’re acting like a jealous, immature dick!”

Kyle froze at that. For a moment, neither of you said anything. Finally, he turned to face you fully, his green eyes blazing. “You think this is about jealousy?” he said, his voice low and biting. “You think I give a shit about Damien liking you? Newsflash, [Y/N]: I’m pissed because you’re better than this—better than him. But you’re too fucking blind to see it.”

Your lips parted in shock, your heart pounding as his words sank in. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you demanded.

“It means you’re wasting your time with some asshole who only wants you for one thing,” Kyle shot back, his voice shaking with anger. “And the worst part is, you’re letting him. You’re letting him treat you like you’re some… some easy conquest, and you don’t even realize it!”

Your eyes widened, the sting of his words landing like a slap to the face. You blinked, stunned into silence for a split second before the anger surged in your chest. “That’s not true, and you don’t know a damn thing about him! Damien isn’t like that!” You snapped, your voice trembling as much with fury as with hurt. 

Kyle scoffed, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Oh, come on. You really think he’s not? Guys like him don’t just stop at making out. They push. They push until they get what they want. And if you think he’s any different, then you’re being delusional.”

Your mouth fell open, but it wasn’t shock that overcame you this time—it was white-hot rage. “You’re such a shitty best friend!” you shouted, the words spilling out before you could stop yourself. “I don’t even recognize you anymore!”

Kyle flinched at your words, but he didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he stared at you. That only made you angrier.

“You know what’s funny?” you continued, your voice rising. “I didn’t act like this when you started dating in middle school. Or high school. Or whenever the hell you were hooking up with random girls while I sat there and helped you come up with stupid lines to impress them!”

Kyle opened his mouth to interject, but you cut him off. “No! Let me finish!” you snapped. “When you were fumbling through your first relationship or getting ghosted by whatever girl you liked at the time, I was there. I was supportive. I didn’t tell you that you were being stupid or delusional, or that you were wasting your time. I actually cared about what you were going through!”

The alcohol in Kyle’s system buzzed in his head, loosening the filter on his words. Before he could stop himself, he shot back, his tone laced with venom. “Yeah? Well, maybe that’s because I didn’t need someone holding my hand every five seconds and begging me to tell them what to do.”.

You inhaled sharply, trying to keep your composure, but your voice trembled as you spoke. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t asking you to hold my hand, Kyle,” you choked out, wiping at your eyes. “I just wanted advice. That’s it. I wanted my best friend to help me, the same way you helped me with… with…” Your voice cracked, and you covered your mouth with your hand for a moment, trying to steady yourself. “The same way you helped me when I asked for tips on kissing.”

Kyle froze, the sight of your tears was like a punch to the gut, but the alcohol clouded his better judgment, and he didn’t reach out to comfort you. Instead, he clenched his fists, his own emotions bubbling too close to the surface.

You sniffled, wiping at your face again, though the tears kept coming. “It’s not fair,” you said, your voice breaking as you looked at him with glassy, red-rimmed eyes. “It’s not fair that all four of you—Stan, Kenny, Cartman, and you—you’ve all had sex, and I haven’t. You’ve all done it, and I’m the one who feels like… like I’m the weird one. Like I’m stuck behind everyone else.” You laughed bitterly, though the sound was shaky and laced with pain. “I just wanted to feel like I belonged for once. Like I wasn’t the last one left behind. And I thought… I thought Damien might actually like me enough to change that. But I guess you think I’m just stupid for even trying, huh?”

Kyle shook his head quickly, the guilt in his chest growing heavier with every tear that rolled down your face. “That’s not—” he started, but you cut him off again.

“No, Kyle, it is!” you said, your voice rising as the emotions poured out of you. “You’re not even trying to understand! All you’re doing is making me feel like I’m pathetic for wanting someone to like me back. Do you even realize how lonely it feels to be the only one who hasn’t—who hasn’t…” You trailed off, your voice breaking again as a fresh wave of tears spilled down your cheeks.

Kyle swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he watched you crumble in front of him. He wanted to reach out, to apologize, to fix this, but the words felt trapped in his throat, tangled up in his own mess of emotions.

“I don’t get it,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible over the pounding of Kyle’s heart in his ears. “Why can’t you just be happy for me? Why does it feel like you’re trying to tear me down every time I talk about Damien?”

Kyle’s fists tightened at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as his frustration finally boiled over. “You’re so goddamn oblivious!” he snapped, his voice cracked slightly, but he didn’t care. He tilted his head at you, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your stomach churn. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

You flinched at the venom in his tone, but you held your ground. “Get what, Kyle? That you’ve been treating me like shit for weeks and now you’re trying to act like you’re the victim? Enlighten me!”

Kyle let out a bitter laugh, the sound laced with mockery as he leaned forward, his gaze locking onto yours. “You want me to spell it out for you? Fine. You sit here, all teary-eyed, whining about how unfair it is that you haven’t had sex yet—like it’s some fucking milestone you need to check off—and then you come to me for advice like I’m your personal guide to navigating Damien’s bullshit!”

Your breath hitched, his words hitting you like a slap to the face. “I—that’s not what this is about! I just wanted—”

“What, more tips?” Kyle interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He leaned back against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest as he glared at you. “You want me to give you a step-by-step guide, is that it? Hell, maybe I should just show you, huh? Is that what you want?

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of his words hanging between you like a storm cloud. Your eyes widened, a mix of shock and hurt flashing across your face as you stared at him, your chest tightening.

“Wow,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You really are an asshole.”

Kyle’s smirk faltered for a moment, but he quickly masked it with a defensive scowl. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m tired of pretending everything’s fine when it’s not,” he shot back, his voice quieter now but no less biting.

You frowned, his words digging under your skin like splinters, too deep to ignore. Your hands curled into fists at your sides, your nails biting into your palms as you bit back the lump forming in your throat. “Maybe you should,” you said.

His brow furrowed, and for once, he looked caught off guard. “What?” he asked, his voice softer, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right.

“Maybe you should show me,” you snapped, taking a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “At least then you wouldn’t be able to ignore me afterwards, right? Isn’t that what you want—to stop pretending?”

Kyle froze, his eyes wide and unblinking as he stared at you like you’d just dropped a grenade between the two of you. His mouth opened, but no words came out, his jaw working silently as if he was trying to piece together something coherent to say.

You laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and humorless as you crossed your arms over your chest. “What’s the problem? You were so eager to offer, weren’t you? You can guide me through it—give me tips, just like we did with the kissing practice. Isn’t that what you want?”

His face flushed, the tips of his ears burning red as he averted his gaze, his hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. “That’s not—” he started, but his voice caught, and he let out a frustrated breath instead.

“That’s not what?” you pressed, stepping closer still, your voice shaking with anger. “Not what you meant? Not something you actually want to deal with? God, you’re such a fucking coward.”

His head snapped up at that. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said sharply, his voice taut as he glared at you. “You don’t get it.”

“Then help me get it!” you shouted, your frustration spilling over. “Because all I see is you treating me like shit! You push me away, you won’t talk to me, and now—now you’re acting like I’m the one who’s out of line for trying to fix this!”

Kyle flinched at your words, his shoulders stiff as he dragged a hand through his hair. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice quieter now but no less tense.

“Then make me understand!” you demanded, your voice breaking as tears pricked at your eyes. “Because I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep chasing after you when all you do is make me feel like I don’t matter to you at all.”

“You do matter!” he shouted, his voice cracking as his fists clenched at his sides. He looked away, his breathing uneven, as if he was struggling to keep himself together. “You matter more than—” He stopped himself, biting down hard on the words.

“More than what?” you asked, your voice trembling. “If you won’t say it, then show me. Because I don’t know what else to do.”

Kyle frowned, his eyes narrowing as he stared at you. Your words echoed in his mind, loud and relentless, daring him to cross a line he’d spent weeks trying to avoid. He didn’t want to be here—not like this. He didn’t want to hurt you, didn’t want to lash out and say something he couldn’t take back.

But the frustration, the jealousy, the suffocating weight of everything unsaid—it was too much. It burned in his chest, tightened his throat, and made him want to rip out his own hair. Part of him wanted to tell you the truth, to finally explain why he’d been so distant, why the sight of you with Damien made him feel like the ground was crumbling beneath his feet. But the other part, the louder part, told him it was a bad idea. You wouldn’t understand. You’d look at him differently, maybe even hate him. And that thought—that fear—was worse than anything else.

He clenched his jaw, forcing the words down before they could escape. If you wanted him to show you so badly, fine. He’d show you. Maybe then you’d finally realize what you were doing to him, how impossible you’d made it to keep pretending.

His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. You gasped softly, your eyes widening as he tugged you toward the bed. The surprise left you off-balance, and you stumbled slightly as he guided you backward. His grip wasn’t harsh, but it was firm enough that you couldn’t pull away.

The edge of the mattress hit the backs of your knees, and you sank down onto it without a word. The quiet creak of the springs filled the room as you looked up at him, your lips parted in shock.

Kyle moved without hesitation, sinking to his knees in front of you, his heart was pounding so loudly he could barely hear himself think. His hands found your knees, the warmth of your skin beneath the hem of your skirt grounding him and rattling him all at once.

His lips twisted into a bitter smirk as he looked up at you, his eyes dark with frustration and something bitter. “I’ll show you. I’ll give you tips, advice, whatever the hell you need—for Damien, of course.”

A mixture of anger and a sharp pang of longing twisted in your gut. The intensity in his eyes—focused, almost searching—held you captive, leaving you breathless. The weight of his hands on your knees felt grounding, but the heat of his gaze burned into yours, making it impossible to look away.

“Kyle…” you started, but your voice faltered, your words dying in your throat as his smirk widened.

“Go on,” he said, his voice soft but sharp, his fingers tightening slightly against your skin. “You’ve got questions, right? About what he’ll want, what you’re supposed to do. I’m here to help. Just like you wanted.”

Your hands rose instinctively, pressing against your cheeks as if the pressure could ground you, could slow the racing of your heart. Your palms met the streaked remains of your makeup—smudged eyeliner, sticky mascara—and you could feel the remnants of your tears clinging to your skin. The sweater you wore suddenly felt suffocating, clinging to your body like it weighed a thousand pounds, and your throat tightened as a fresh wave of emotion threatened to overtake you.

You wouldn’t cry. Not again.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, forcing down the tears. When you opened them, Kyle’s gaze was still locked on you, his expression intense. The weight of his hands on your knees, warm and steady, felt like a tether keeping you in place even as everything else spun out of control.

Taking a deep breath, you forced your voice to steady, though the words trembled slightly as they left your lips. “Yeah,” you said quietly, the word almost catching in your throat. You swallowed hard, your voice firming as you met his gaze. “Yeah, this is what I want.”

His reaction was immediate. His smirk disappeared, his lips parting slightly as his hands froze against your knees. He stared at you, his eyes wide with something between shock, guilt, and confusion. The mocking edge he’d wielded so sharply just seconds ago seemed to falter, crumbling under the weight of your words. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move, his breathing shallow as he looked at you like he couldn’t figure out if you were serious or just trying to call his bluff.

The silence stretched, until you broke it with a quiet voice that carried a sharp edge of defiance. “Don’t people usually… kiss … like before they do stuff?”

Kyle flinched, the question cutting through the tension like a blade. His jaw tightened, and his fingers flexed against your knees before pulling back slightly, hovering like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or retreat.

“[Y/N]…” he started, his voice hoarse, almost uncertain.

But you didn’t let him finish. You leaned forward, your eyes searching his face as your voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Or were you just going to skip all that and get straight to the lesson?”

His breath caught in his throat, his shoulders stiffening as his hands fell to his sides. He couldn’t look at you, his gaze darting away, but the tension in his body told you he’d heard every word loud and clear. “You wanted me to show you,” he said finally, his voice low, like he was trying to convince himself more than you. “You said—”

“I know what I said,” you cut him off, your voice sharper now. “And I’m still waiting. Are you going to follow through, or are you going to keep pretending?”

For a moment, it looked like Kyle was going to apologize. His lips parted, and you could almost see the words forming in his head, the tension in his shoulders easing as if he’d decided to back down. But then his eyes flicked to your face—the frown you were wearing, the way your lips were set tight with frustration—and something in him twisted. The guilt, the jealousy, the anger—it all came rushing back, crashing over him like a wave. You were too close, too vulnerable, and the way your expression cut through him like a blade only made it worse.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost detached, like he was stating a fact instead of responding to the charged moment between you. “Yeah. People usually kiss beforehand.”

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the hemline of your skirt. The fabric bunched between your fingertips, the nervous motion grounding you as you tried to find your voice. “So…” you started, your tone softer now but no less steady. “We should kiss, right?”

Kyle let out a sharp breath, dragging his hand over his jaw in frustration. His fingers brushed against the rough stubble along his chin, the motion almost aggressive, as though he could scrub away the tension building in his chest. He looked at the wall for a moment, as if it held an answer he couldn’t find in you, then sharply turned back.

His hands returned to your knees, warmer and heavier than before, and he leaned in until your faces were level.  “Yeah,” he said, his voice low and edged with mockery. “We can.”

One of his hands slid up from your knee, his fingers trailing over the curve of your thigh before settling against your cheek. His palm was warm, his grip firm but not harsh as he tilted your chin up. The motion was precise, calculated, like he was laying claim to this moment—not to you, but to the control he needed to feel.

Kyle leaned in slowly, his thumb brushing against your cheek as his smirk widened. “You want tips, right?” he murmured, his voice soft and mocking, the words settling heavily in the space between you. “You want to know how it’s done?”

Then he kissed you.

The moment his lips met yours, everything else fell away. The kiss wasn’t gentle, wasn’t tentative or shy—it was confident, almost overwhelming in its intensity. His lips moved against yours with a practiced ease that left you scrambling to keep up, the heat of his touch and the weight of his presence drowning out every coherent thought in your head.

Your hands twitched at your sides, unsure of where to go, what to do. You wanted to reach out, to steady yourself against the torrent of sensations crashing over you, but your limbs felt frozen, your inexperience glaring like a neon sign in the darkness.

Kyle tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss. His other hand remained on your knee, his grip tightening just enough to anchor you, to keep you from pulling away—not that you could have, even if you wanted to. The kiss was messy, and you could feel your lips trembling against his, your movements hesitant and uncoordinated. He noticed immediately, and his smirk returned, barely breaking the kiss as he slowed his movements, guiding you without saying a word. His lips parted, his teeth grazing your bottom lip in a way that made your stomach flip, and you couldn’t stop the small, startled sound that escaped you.

Kyle pulled back just enough to hover close, his breath warm against your lips as he smirked again. “Relax,” he said softly, the word dripping with amusement.

You nodded slightly, swallowing hard as you tried to follow his lead. When he kissed you again, his lips softer this time but no less insistent, you let yourself lean into the moment. Your hands finally found their way to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his hoodie as you tried to steady yourself.

The kiss stretched on, your body growing warmer with each passing second. Kyle’s hand slipped from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers threading lightly through your hair as he shifted closer. The movement pressed him further into your space, and the overwhelming intimacy of it all made your heart race.

When he finally pulled away, your lips felt swollen, your breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts. Kyle stayed close, his forehead almost brushing yours as his thumb traced slow circles against the back of your neck. His eyes locked onto yours, as his lips quirked into a small, knowing smirk.

“That’s how it starts,” he said, his voice low and rough, his words heavy in the quiet room. “Did you get all that, or do you need me to show you again?”

The weight of his words settled over you, pressing against your chest like a stone. The warmth of his hand on the back of your neck, the lingering heat of his lips on yours—it all felt too much and not enough at the same time. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, a mix of frustration, embarrassment, and shame. 

You swallowed hard, willing the sting back, and fixed him with a frown. Your voice was quiet but firm when you spoke, every syllable trembling with the emotions bubbling dangerously close to the surface. “I know how to fucking kiss people,” you snapped back. “Damien likes it when I kiss him.”

The words hit like a slap, the sharp edge of your voice cutting through the tension in the room. Kyle froze, his smirk faltering as his eyes narrowed. His hand dropped from the back of your neck as though it had been burned, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his jaw tightening.

“Yeah?” he said finally, his voice laced with mockery, though there was something else beneath it—something raw, almost vulnerable. “Well, maybe Damien has low standards.”

Your heart lurched, the insult landing harder than you wanted to admit. “What the hell, Kyle?” you fumed, your hands tightening on the fabric of your skirt.

He let out a bitter laugh, dragging a hand through his hair as he leaned back slightly, putting distance between you. “What? I’m just being honest,” he said, his tone biting but uneven, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to keep going. “You’ve already got Damien to boost your ego.”

You flinched at his words, the ache in your chest blooming into something sharper, angrier. “Why are you being like this?” you asked, your voice breaking slightly as the frustration boiled over. “You don’t get to act like you’re better than him just because—”

“Because what?” Kyle cut you off, his eyes blazing as he leaned forward again, his hands gripping his knees tightly. “Because I don’t spend all my time feeding you bullshit lines and telling you exactly what you want to hear?”

Your mouth fell open, the shock coursing through you like a jolt of electricity. The room was silent save for the faint thump of music and chatter from downstairs, but inside your head, it felt deafening. You stared at him, your chest tight, the words caught in your throat as you tried to process what he’d just said. Finally, your voice came, low and trembling, like you were balancing on the edge of a cliff. “You’re such an asshole.”

He flinched slightly, the harshness of your tone cutting through his anger. His shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t look up, his gaze still fixed on the floor.

“You’re all assholes,” you continued, the words spilling out now like water breaking through a dam. “You, Kenny, Cartman, Stan—all of you. Do you have any idea what it’s like to sit there and watch you guys get into relationships? To see you all with girlfriends, hookups, whatever, while I’m just… nothing?”

Kyle’s gaze softened slightly, his fists loosening as your voice cracked. He looked like he might say something, might reach out, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“You didn’t even talk to me about it!” you said, your voice rising. “None of you ever said anything. You just acted like I didn’t exist in that department. Like I wasn’t even worth considering.”

The tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill again, and you blinked hard, willing them away. Your fists clenched in your lap, your nails biting into your palms as you fought to steady your breathing.

Kyle looked up at you then, his eyes softer than before, like he was trying to figure out how to respond without making things worse. But your anger was still boiling, and the words kept coming.

“And you—you’re the worst,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “You shut me out for weeks. You treat me like I don’t matter, and then you have the nerve to say shit like that? Do you even hear yourself?”

He didn’t respond, but his expression shifted, his gaze flickered with something dark. Before you could say anything else, he leaned forward, his movements deliberate but sudden enough to make your heart skip a beat. For a split second, you thought he was going to kiss you again, his face so close to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath. But instead, his head tilted slightly, and his lips brushed against your neck.

Your breath hitched, your body stiffening as his mouth moved against your skin, soft but insistent. His hands slid back to your knees, steadying himself as he kissed the curve of your neck.

“Kyle, what—” you started, but your words were cut off by a sharp gasp as his teeth grazed your skin, followed by the heat of his tongue.

You tried to keep going, your voice faltering as you spoke through the growing haze of confusion. “I’m… I’m not done—ah—yelling at you,” you said, your words breaking as his lips pressed against a sensitive spot near your collarbone.

He didn’t respond, his mouth trailing slow, deliberate kisses along your neck. The suction of his lips sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t stop the small, involuntary sounds escaping you.

“D-don’t think this means—ngh—I’m forgiving you,” you stammered, your hands gripping the edge of the bed as his mouth lingered just below your jawline, the sensation making your knees weak.

Kyle hummed softly against your skin, the low sound vibrating through you in a way that made your heart jump into your throat. “Keep talking,” he murmured, his voice muffled but teasing as he pressed another kiss just below your ear. “You’re making it interesting.”

You wanted to snap at him, to push him away and continue your rant, but every time you tried to form a coherent sentence, his lips found another sensitive spot, leaving you gasping and clinging to the mattress for support.

Swallowing down another gasp, you forced your hands to let go of the bed and instead gripped Kyle’s shoulders, your fingers digging into the soft fabric of his hoodie. His lips moved lower, brushing against the delicate skin of your throat, and the warmth of his breath sent shivers racing down your spine.

“Y-you think this is—” you started, but your voice broke as he sucked lightly at a spot just below your jaw. You bit your lip hard, trying to steady yourself as your mind fought to regain control.

Kyle didn’t let up, his lips trailing kisses down the curve of your neck, his hands gripping slightly on your knees to hold you steady. Your breath hitched, but the frustration burning in your chest wouldn’t let you stay quiet.

“You’re—you’re such a goddamn idiot,” you said, your voice trembling as you dug your nails into his shoulders. “You think this makes you better than me? That it makes you some kind of—ah—expert?”

He hummed against your neck, his tongue brushing over your skin in a way that made your legs tense. “Go on,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

“You’re not—you’re not even good at this,” you spat, though the way your voice wavered betrayed the lie. “Your exes probably faked every second of it. All of them. Every. Single. One.”

That made him pause, his lips freezing against your neck for a moment before he pulled back just enough to look at you. His gaze bore into you, like he was both annoyed and amused by what you just said.

“Is that so?” he asked, his voice laced with mockery and amusement.

“Yeah,” you shot back, even as your cheeks flushed from the intensity of his gaze. “I bet they faked it because they couldn’t stand you. I mean, look at you, Kyle. Overthinking, over-analyzing—you probably spent more time lecturing them than actually doing anything.”

Kyle’s smirk widened, his hands sliding slightly up your thighs as he leaned back in. His breath brushed against your ear as he spoke, his voice low and taunting. “You’re awfully bold for someone who can’t even sit still when I touch you,” he said, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

You opened your mouth to fire back another insult, but it dissolved into a sharp gasp as he bit lightly at the sensitive skin just below your ear.  “I can sit still,” you snapped breathlessly, though the words lacked conviction as your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch despite yourself. “You’re just—you’re just—”

“Just what?” Kyle asked, his tone dripping with mockery as he pressed another kiss to your neck, his lips lingering this time, soft but mean.

Your body betrayed you, leaning into the heat of him as the sensations overwhelmed you. Unable to meet his gaze, you buried your face in his shoulder, the fabric of his hoodie soft against your cheek. His lips moved with calculated precision, each kiss lingering longer, the occasional flick of his tongue sending jolts of electricity down your spine.

You could feel it now—an undeniable warmth pooling between your thighs, the wetness a stark reminder of just how much your body wasn’t listening to your mind. Your cheeks flushed, humiliation creeping in alongside the heat, and it only made everything worse.

“I hate you,” you muttered, your voice muffled against his shoulder, though the words lacked any real conviction.

Kyle hummed against your neck, his lips curling into a smirk as he latched onto the sensitive skin just above your collarbone. His mouth moved with purpose, the slight sting sending a sharp jolt through you as it became clear he was leaving a mark. You lifted your head from Kyle’s shoulder, the sudden realization striking you: when you went back downstairs, everyone would see it. Your chest tightened at that, panic mingling with the lingering frustration and heat. Sliding your hand up to his cheek, you pressed your palm against his jaw, trying to push him away, your voice breaking as you gasped for breath.

“Kyle,” you said, your voice trembling, “stop—ah—everyone will… they’ll see—”

His lips didn’t pause, his mouth trailing lower toward your collarbone, the sensation pulling another sharp intake of air from you. You pressed harder against his cheek, your fingers brushing the soft stubble on his jaw as you tried again.

“I mean it—nngh—Kyle, we have to—oh my god, just… stop!” you gasped, your words cutting short as his teeth grazed the edge of your collarbone.

Kyle pulled back slightly, his lips hovering just above your skin as his hands tightened on your thighs, keeping you in place. “You’re the one who wanted this,” he said, his voice low and rough, the smirk on his lips sending a shiver down your spine.

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean like this,” you stammered, your voice shaky as you tried to steady your breathing. “Come on. Everyone’s going to see it, and—”

“And what?” he interrupted, his tone sharper now as he raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think Damien would like it? You don’t think he’d want to see proof that you’ve been practicing?”

The words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your cheeks flushing hot as you tried to push him away again. He had no right to bring up Damien, so you changed the subject. “What do you think Kenny or Cartman would say if they walked in right now, huh? Or Stan? What would they think about you doing this?” You hissed out.

His jaw flexed, the tension so visible it was as if he was biting back a retort. But his eyes didn’t waver from yours, waiting for you to finish.

“About you being such a—” You hesitated, your breath catching as you debated whether to say it, but the heat of his hands on your thighs, the sting of his earlier words—they all pushed you past the breaking point.

“—such a pathetic, jealous asshole.”

Kyle’s eyes darkened, his lips parting as though he was about to say something, but instead, he pressed them together into a thin, tense line. His hands stopped their subtle movements, his fingers stilling against your legs. His expression shifted, the simmering frustration now flaring into something harder, sharper.

But he didn’t speak.

Instead, his hands moved again, this time sliding to the hem of your skirt. His fingers brushed the fabric, his touch firm and deliberate as if testing the waters. The subtle press of his fingertips against your bare skin sent a shiver up your spine.

“What would they say?” Kyle said finally, his voice low and steady, though it carried an edge that made your breath hitch. “Probably the same thing Damien would if he knew about this.”

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as his breath fanned against your skin. “Or maybe they wouldn’t say anything at all,” he murmured, his tone cutting through the charged silence like a blade. “Because they don’t see you like this.”

“Kyle,” you managed, his hands pressing a little higher, the heat of his palms searing against your skin. “You don’t know what you’re—”

Kyle interrupted you, his tone harsh. “Are we doing this, or not? Because if you’re just gonna sit there running your mouth, maybe I should remind you what you asked for in the first place.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a physical thing. Your eyes darted toward his face and then away just as quickly. Finally, you mumbled, “Yeah.”

You gripped the hem of your skirt, the fabric cool under your fingertips as you pushed it down over your hips. The smooth material slid along your legs, pooling at your ankles in a crumpled heap. The cool air against your skin was a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from your face, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and something you refused to name.

You didn’t look at him at first, your gaze fixed on the floor. But you could feel his eyes on you, heavy and unrelenting, and it only made the heat in your chest spread like wildfire.

“Happy now?” you muttered, your voice unsteady as you glanced up at him, the frustration creeping back into your tone.

Kyle didn’t respond immediately. Your eyes traced over his face, catching on the freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks like constellations against pale skin. His nose, slightly crooked from that time he broke it in middle school, gave his face a stubborn kind of charm. And his hair—messy, bright red curls that always looked like they were on the verge of rebellion—framed his expression in a way that softened his sharp features, even now.

For a moment, your face softened too, and the ache in your chest bloomed into something heavier. You missed him—really missed him. The Kyle who didn’t snap at you, didn’t shut you out, didn’t make everything feel so impossibly complicated.

The thought was too much, and you darted your eyes away, breaking the connection. You squeezed your thighs together, the movement grounding you in the present as you felt the faint, rhythmic pulse of the bass from the party vibrating through the walls. It was a distant reminder of where you were, of the world beyond whatever this was.

You took a shaky breath, your voice barely audible as you mumbled, “Let’s just do this… so we can get it over with.”

The words hung in the air, and you felt the weight of Kyle’s gaze on you even as you refused to meet his eyes. There was a beat of silence, thick and uncomfortable, before his hands shifted on your thighs, his grip steady but not as tight as before.

“Get it over with?” he repeated, his voice quieter now but tinged with something you couldn’t quite place—anger? Hurt? His head tilted slightly, and you could feel him studying you, his expression shifting as if he was trying to piece together what you meant.

When you didn’t respond, he exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers curling slightly against your skin. “Fine,” he said, his tone clipped, though there was a faint waver to it, like he wasn’t as sure of himself as he wanted to be.

His hands slid higher, his touch slower, as if testing your resolve. His gaze lingered on your face for a moment longer, searching for something he didn’t seem to find, before he finally dipped his head toward you again.

Kyle kissed you, and the world seemed to tilt. His lips were firm and confident, moving against yours with a practiced rhythm that made your head spin. You tried your best to keep up, but Kyle didn’t waver, his lips guiding yours in a way that made your breath hitch.

When his tongue slipped past your lips, brushing against yours, a soft, startled whimper escaped you. Kyle responded instantly, his grip on your thighs tightening as his fingers pressed into your skin. The pressure sent a shockwave through you, your body reacting before your mind could catch up.

You moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled but unmistakable, and it was enough to break through the haze of heat clouding your mind. Embarrassment crashed over you like a wave, and you pulled back abruptly, breaking the kiss with a gasp.

Your chest heaved as you buried your face in your hands, the warmth of your palms doing little to hide the warmth spreading across your cheeks. “God,” you muttered, your voice muffled and trembling. “I can’t—Kyle, I can’t—”

Your words stumbled over each other, your body trembling as the weight of the moment pressed down on you. Kyle didn’t say anything right away, his breathing heavy as he stared at you, his hands still resting on your thighs but no longer squeezing.

“[Y/N],” he said softly, his voice rough around the edges. It wasn’t mocking or teasing this time—just your name, quiet and uncertain, as though he wasn’t sure what to say next.

You squirmed where you sat, the tension in your body making it impossible to stay still. Your hands slid from your face, trembling as you stared at your lap, avoiding his gaze. “Just… continue,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible.

Kyle’s hands flexed slightly against your thighs, and you could feel his hesitation like a tangible weight in the air.

His eyes searched your face, his lips parting as if to respond, but instead, he exhaled softly, his breath warm against your skin. Slowly, his hands moved, sliding down to hook under the hemline of your panties, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin in a way that sent a shiver up your spine.

Kyle paused, his hands stilling as he spoke, his voice low but steady. “Are you really sure about this?”

You nodded, your eyes fixed firmly on the floor, unable to meet his gaze. Your heart pounded in your chest, your breathing uneven as you mumbled, “Yeah… I’m sure.”

He didn’t move right away, his fingers curling slightly around the fabric as he waited, giving you one last chance to pull back. When you didn’t, he shifted closer, his hands steady as he began to ease the material down, his voice breaking the tense silence.

“Alright,” he murmured, his tone softer now, laced with something careful, almost protective. “Just… tell me if it’s too much, okay? I need you to say something if you want me to stop.”

You nodded faintly, still refusing to meet his eyes. Your chest felt tight, your heart racing as his hands moved again.

Kyle’s lips pressed against the soft skin of your thigh, his touch featherlight. The sensation sent a jolt through you, making you shiver as his kisses trailed lower, following the path of his hands as he slid your panties down your legs.

The cool air hit you, a sharp contrast to the heat pooling low in your stomach, and you couldn’t stop the tiny curse that slipped past your lips. “Fuck,” you mumbled, the word faint as you clenched your thighs together instinctively.

Kyle stilled for a moment, his hands hovering near your knees as his lips lingered against your skin. “Relax,” he said softly, his voice steady but low. “It’s just me, okay?”

His words only made it worse, the reality of the situation crashing over you like a wave. It’s just him. Kyle, your childhood best friend. Kyle, the boy who used to tug on your hair and steal your snacks. Kyle, who was now kneeling between your legs, his lips brushing against your thighs as though this was something he’d done a thousand times before.

“This is insane,” you muttered into the sleeves, your voice muffled but audible. “I can’t believe… God, Kyle, I can’t believe this is happening.”

Kyle paused, his hands resting lightly on your legs as he looked up at you. His expression softened slightly, the sharp edges of his frustration giving way to something more uncertain. “If you want to stop—”

“No,” you cut him off quickly, your voice firm despite the trembling in your body. You lowered your hands just enough to peek at him, your gaze meeting his for the briefest moment before you darted your eyes away again. “Just… don’t stop. I need this. Just keep going.”

Kyle exhaled softly, his hands moving again, his touch grounding as he leaned back in. His lips found your thigh once more, warmer now against your bare skin. Your panties slid further down, the fabric pooling at your ankles as you shifted uncomfortably. The faint sound of them hitting the floor made your stomach twist.

Kyle was deadly quiet, his hands still resting on your thighs. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, the tension between you palpable as the cool air of the room seemed to wrap around you.

A soft whine escaped your lips, your face burning as you whispered, “Don’t make fun of me, okay?”

Kyle’s head lifted slightly, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, his usual sharpness was nowhere to be found. He nodded weakly, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I won’t,” he murmured, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it.

Without saying anything else, his hands slid lower, gripping your ankles. He gave them a small tug, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. Your heart pounded wildly as you felt his stare. It was impossible to ignore, the way his eyes lingered, the heat of them settling on the most intimate part of you. 

Kyle shifted slightly, his hands still steady on your thighs. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice hesitant but firmer than before. “I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

You nodded weakly. Slowly, you slid your hands from his shoulders, your fingers trembling as you brought them up to your face. Burying your face in your hands, you mumbled something inaudible, too quiet even for yourself to hear.

Kyle’s fingers moved, inching closer to your heat with a slowness that made your stomach twist in anticipation. You felt the faint brush of his knuckles against your inner thigh, the sensation so light it sent a shiver racing up your spine. The closeness was too much, and you squirmed instinctively, your thighs tensing under his touch. The motion was unintentional, but it only seemed to spur him on, his fingers adjusting as he drew nearer.

“You’re okay,” Kyle said softly, his tone steady, though there was a faint tremor beneath his words. His hands were warm, his touch grounding despite the tension coiling in your chest. “Just… let me know if you need me to stop.”

Kyle’s words hung in the air, a quiet reassurance that did little to steady your racing heart. You felt the warmth of his fingers inch closer. Then, finally, his fingers brushed against your slit. The touch was so light at first, almost tentative, but it was enough to make your breath hitch audibly. You felt Kyle pause, his fingers lingering as though testing the waters, before you heard him murmur under his breath, “Holy shit.”

Your face burned even hotter, the embarrassment and arousal mixing into a heady rush that made your skin prickle. You knew what he’d noticed—you were dripping, and the realization made your thighs clench. But the motion only made things worse, pressing you more firmly against his fingers, and you squirmed in response.

Kyle’s hand shifted slightly, his touch growing more insistent. His fingertip slid upward, tracing a slow, teasing line until it found your clit.

“You’re so—” Kyle started to say, but he cut himself off, exhaling sharply instead. His thumb brushed against the sensitive bundle of nerves. His  fingers continued their slow exploration. Each touch was electric, sending waves of heat coursing through you as he traced over your clit again. It was too much to hide from, too overwhelming to keep your face buried away. Hesitantly, you pulled your hands from your face, lowering them to your lap as your chest rose and fell with each shaky breath.

When you finally looked at Kyle, his focus was entirely on you, his eyes half-lidded and intent as his fingers continued prodding you. The moment he noticed you weren’t hiding anymore, his gaze flicked up to meet yours. His lips parted slightly, as though he might say something, but instead, he leaned forward. His warm breath ghosted over your skin before his lips pressed against the soft curve of your inner thigh.

Your mind raced, flashing back to just minutes ago, when the air between you had been thick with anger and sharp words. You could still hear them, echoing in the back of your mind—the insults, the taunts, the bitterness that had burned so fiercely.

Now, the heat was different, just as overwhelming but softer, quieter. You stared down at Kyle, his lips brushed another kiss along your thigh, his hands steady on you as though he’d forgotten every cruel thing either of you had said.

His fingers didn’t stop their slow movements, brushing over your clit with a maddening precision that left you trembling. Your hands gripped the hem of your sweater as you frowned, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “You’re supposed to be teaching me,” you muttered, the words shaky and uneven as you avoided his gaze.

Kyle’s lips twitched—not quite a smirk, but a ghost of one, softer and tinged with amusement. “I am,” he said calmly, his voice steady but with a faint teasing lilt that made your stomach twist. He shifted his hand, his fingers pressing just a little more firmly against you, and the jolt of pleasure made a sharp gasp escape your lips before you could stop it.

“Then… stop messing around,” you said quickly, your face burning with embarrassment as you tried to push past the sound you’d just made.

Kyle tilted his head slightly, his expression shifting. His brows furrowed just enough to show concentration, his lips parting as though he were about to speak, but instead, his gaze softened. It wasn’t condescending or smug; it was intent, his focus entirely on you as though he was trying to read your every reaction.

“I’m not messing around,” he murmured, his voice quieter now.“I just need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

You swallowed hard, his words settling over you like a challenge and an assurance all at once. His eyes stayed locked on yours, unwavering, and for a moment, the intensity of it all made it hard to breathe.

“Yeah… okay,” you whispered finally, your voice trembling as you nodded faintly, your chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths.

Kyle’s lips twitched into a small, tentative smile, a flicker of something softer breaking through the tension in his expression. His hands remained steady on your thighs as he shifted closer, his face moving toward your bare heat with an intent focus that made your pulse thunder in your ears.

He paused for a moment, his breath warm against you, before leaning in and giving you a tentative lick. The sensation was electric, making your entire body jolt. You quickly brought a hand to your mouth, covering it as a muffled moan escaped despite your best efforts.

Kyle didn’t stop. He licked again, the motion slower this time, as if testing your response. His thumb returned to your clit, moving in slow circles that perfectly complemented the flick of his tongue. The combination was overwhelming, pleasure surging through you in waves that left you trembling.

Your free hand clutched the sheets at your side, your knuckles white as you gripped them tightly. Your chest rose and fell in erratic rhythms, your breaths coming in gasps as you tried desperately to contain the sounds threatening to spill from your lips.

Kyle’s movements grew more confident with each pass, his tongue exploring you with a mix of precision and curiosity that made your legs tense. His thumb pressed just slightly harder against your clit, his touch steady as his mouth worked in tandem, and the sensations had your mind reeling. The tension coiling in your stomach was unbearable, the heat pooling low in your body making it harder and harder to hold yourself together.

Kyle glanced up briefly, his eyes flicking to your face as though to gauge your reaction. The sight of him there, his mouth on you, his expression focused and intent—a fresh wave of heat rushing through you that left you clinging to the sheets even tighter..

Then you felt it—his index finger, pressing gently at your entrance.

The sudden shift made your body tense, your thighs clamping instinctively as a sharp intake of breath escaped your lips. Kyle paused, his finger still hovering, as his eyes snapped back up to meet yours.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice a little rough, though there was an undeniable gentleness to his tone. He didn’t move, his hand steady, waiting for your response.

You swallowed hard, nodding faintly as you tried to will your body to relax. “Y-yeah,” you whispered, though your voice wavered.

Kyle hesitated for a moment longer, his gaze holding yours as if searching for any sign of doubt. Carefully, he began to press his finger forward. The sensation was strange, unfamiliar, and you couldn’t stop the way your hands tightened against the sheets, your breaths shallow and quick.

“You’re doing good,” he murmured, his voice steady and reassuring as his finger slid in further. “Just breathe, okay? It’s supposed to feel a little different at first.”

You nodded again, your chest rising and falling as you tried to match his calmness. The tension in your body slowly began to ease as you adjusted to the intrusion, the warmth of his hand against your thigh grounding you.

Kyle leaned forward again, his mouth returning to you as his finger began to move. The combination of sensations left you trembling, your grip on the sheets tightening as soft. Then his finger curled.

The motion sent a spark through you, and your back arched slightly off the bed. The tension coiled in your stomach intensified, a tight knot of heat that had you gasping. You tried to speak, to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t form. The only sounds that came out were high, whiny moans that made your face burn with embarrassment. Your lips trembled as you managed to stutter, “K-Kyle, I—” but the rest of the sentence dissolved into a sharp cry as his finger curled again, hitting just the right spot.

Kyle’s lips twitched into a small, almost triumphant smirk against you, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he pressed forward, slipping another finger inside you. The stretch was noticeable but not uncomfortable, and the added pressure only heightened the intensity coursing through your body. His mouth worked in tandem, his tongue flicking over your clit before he latched onto it fully. The sound of him was obscene, the faint, wet noise of his lips and tongue practically slurping on you making your face flush even hotter.

Your legs quivered, your thighs tensing around his head as you tried to keep some semblance of control, but it was useless. Every movement of his fingers, every press of his tongue, sent you spiraling further, your voice breaking into breathy whimpers and desperate moans.

“Kyle, oh my God,” you gasped, your hands flying to grip his hair instinctively, your fingers tangling in his messy curls as your body betrayed your embarrassment and gave in to the overwhelming pleasure.

The sensations were too much, too intense. Heat pulsed through you in waves, each movement of his fingers and flick of his tongue unraveling you further. Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, the pleasure bordering on unbearable, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him. You felt like crying, the overwhelming mix of embarrassment and pleasure making your throat tighten and your eyes sting. You tried to speak again, to say something coherent, but every attempt was interrupted by your own high, desperate moans. A tear slipped down your cheek, followed by another, the sensation so overwhelming it spilled out in every possible way. Your fingers tightening in his hair like it was the only thing grounding you.

Kyle didn’t stop. If he noticed your tears, he didn’t comment, his focus completely on you. His tongue circled your clit with maddening precision, and then you felt it—he added another finger.

Your grip on his hair tightened, your hands trembling as you tried to focus on the texture of his curls under your fingers. The way they felt, soft and slightly damp from the heat of the room, gave you something to anchor yourself to as your body quivered under his touch.

“Kyle,” you whimpered again, your voice breaking as your hips moved instinctively, pressing against his hand and mouth as though seeking even more. Then Kyle did something—his fingers curled deeper, hitting a spot inside you you didn’t even know existed. At the same time, his tongue pressed firmly against your clit.

A high-pitched, desperate whine tore from your lips, your moans louder and sharper than before as your thighs trembled around his head. Your grip in his hair tightened reflexively, your body betraying you completely as the sensation overwhelmed every thought, every hesitation.

Something shifted. A new sensation built low in your stomach, a pressure that was unfamiliar, intense, and slightly alarming. Panic flickered in your chest, and you stammered out, “I—I feel like I have to—ah—pee, Kyle.” Your hips squirmed against him, your body fighting the overwhelming sensation as you tried to pull away, but Kyle’s grip on your thighs tightened.

“You’re fine,” he murmured against you, his voice muffled but firm as his tongue flicked over your clit again. “Just let it happen. Don’t hold back.”

“I—ah—I can’t,” you gasped, but he didn’t stop, his fingers and tongue pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You shook your head desperately, your body squirming as the sensation built to an unbearable peak. “No, s-seriously, Kyle,” you whined, your voice high and panicked, trembling with the weight of what you were feeling. Your chest heaved, your hands tugging at his hair as you tried to process the unfamiliar pressure threatening to overwhelm you.

Kyle’s movements stilled for the briefest moment, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. His gaze was steady, softening slightly as he whispered, “You’re okay. Just trust me, baby. I’ve got you.”

The unexpected tenderness in his voice, the way he called you baby, hit you like a spark. Before you could react, he leaned back in, his mouth and fingers working in perfect harmony, his tongue pressing firmly against your clit while his fingers curled deep inside you, finding that spot again and again.

A choked cry escaped your lips as your body convulsed, and then you felt it—a hot, sudden release that you couldn’t stop. Warm liquid splashed from you, wetting your thighs, his hand, and even his face. The sensation was unlike anything you’d ever felt leaving you gasping and trembling as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through you.

“Oh my God,” you stammered, your voice breaking as you gripped the sheets tightly, your knuckles white. The sheer intensity of the moment left your mind blank, your body quivering as you tried to process what had just happened.

Kyle didn’t pull away, his fingers slowing but not stopping as he worked you through it, his lips brushing against your thigh as he murmured, “That’s it. Good girl. Just let it all out.”

You could feel the wetness spreading, pooling beneath you as your legs trembled, the slick sound of his movements only adding to the heat in your cheeks. When the waves finally subsided, your chest heaved with shallow breaths, your entire body buzzing as you tried to ground yourself. Kyle sat back slightly, his fingers slipping free as he looked up at you, his face glistening, a mix of satisfaction and something almost reverent in his expression. “See?” he said softly, his voice low and steady. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

Shaking your head, you squirmed back, trying to create some distance between you and Kyle. His touch, his words, the mess—was too much. Kyle seemed to notice immediately, pulling his fingers away as you shifted, his touch lingering for just a second longer than it should have before leaving you completely.

The absence was immediate, jarring. You felt impossibly empty, the ache lingering even as your body began to settle. Your wetness was everywhere: on your thighs, on the sheets beneath you, sticky and warm, a reminder of how far this had gone.

You couldn’t look at him. Your throat tightened as you tried to speak, the words forming somewhere in your chest but getting stuck before they could reach your lips.

“I…” you stuttered, your voice barely above a whisper, but the rest of the sentence crumbled under the weight of your emotions. You shook your head again, biting your lip as you tried to focus on anything but the way his words—good girl, baby—reverberated in your mind, making your cheeks burn even hotter.

He gave you hickeys.You squirted all over his face.What the fuckjust happened?

Kyle was still on the floor in front of you, kneeling between your legs at the edge of the bed. His eyes searched your face, his expression a mixture of concern and hesitation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his stare.

“[Y/N]?” he said softly, his voice low and cautious, as though afraid to push too hard.

Ignoring him, you shifted unsteadily, your body trembling as you pushed yourself upright. You needed to move, to find something—anything—to anchor yourself.

Kyle stayed where he was, his hands resting on his thighs, his posture tense as he watched you. “Are you okay?” he asked again, his voice breaking the silence, but you didn’t answer.

Your eyes darted around the room, landing on the crumpled fabric of your panties near the edge of the bed. Without looking at him, you leaned forward, grabbing them with shaking hands and quickly tugging them on.

“Hey,” Kyle tried again, his tone soft but tinged with something sharper. “Talk to me. Don’t just—”

“I’m fine,” you cut him off  as you reached for your skirt. It was bunched up on the floor near the nightstand, and you stumbled slightly as you grabbed it, your hands fumbling to pull it up over your hips. Your boots were next, shakingly lacing them up.

Kyle shifted on his knees, his hand lifting slightly as though he was about to reach for you, but he hesitated, his fingers curling back into his palm. “You don’t have to—”

“I said I’m fine,” you snapped, your tone harsher than you intended, though it did nothing to hide the tremor in your voice.

He stayed silent for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line as he dropped his hand back to his side. His shoulders sagged slightly, the tension in his body visible even from the corner of your eye.

Once your skirt was in place, you turned away from him, still refusing to meet his gaze. The tears that had blurred your vision earlier returned, threatening to spill as you made your way toward the door, your steps unsteady and your chest tight.

“[Y/N]…” Kyle said again, his voice quieter now, but you shook your head, cutting him off before he could say anything else.

“Just—don’t,” you muttered, your hand reaching for the doorknob. All you wanted was to get out, to put distance between yourself and the chaos that had just unfolded.

The floor creaked as Kyle got to his feet, his footsteps hesitant. You didn’t fully turn to look, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw him lift a hand to his face, wiping his jaw and cheeks where they still glistened with your wetness.

“[Y/N], wait,” he said softly, as he took a cautious step toward you.

You couldn’t stay. You couldn’t even face him. With a sharp tug, you yanked the door open. The sound of the party hit you immediately—a roaring blend of music, chatter, and laughter that felt jarring compared to the suffocating quiet of the room you were leaving behind.

“[Y/N]!” Kyle’s voice was louder this time, urgency lacing his tone as you stepped out into the hallway.

You didn’t stop. Your boots thudded against the floor as you rushed forward, your mind racing with fragments of thought, none of them coherent. Your lips felt raw from his kisses, your thighs sticky from what he’d done to you, and your face—your face was a mess.

You wiped at your face with your sweater sleeve as you reached the stairs, but it didn’t matter. No amount of rubbing would erase what had just happened or how you looked right now.

“Wait!” Kyle called again, his footsteps heavy behind you as he followed.

You practically stumbled down the stairs, gripping the railing to steady yourself. By the time you reached the bottom, the noise of the party seemed to dim, conversations faltering as people turned to watch.

You felt their stares like daggers.

Stan was the first you noticed, standing near the drinks table with a cup in hand. His face twisted into a mix of confusion and concern as his eyes darted from you to Kyle, who was right behind you. Kenny stood beside him, raising his eyebrows, his lips quirking into a faint, awkward smile as if unsure how to react.

Cartman lounged against the arm of the couch, his grin spreading wide the moment he saw you. He elbowed Stan, clearly thrilled by the scene unfolding in front of him. His eyes practically sparkled with delight, the gears turning in his head as he stored this moment away for future ridicule.

Damien stood near the corner, his dark eyes fixed on you with a sharp intensity. His brows drew together, and his jaw clenched, his grip tightening around the drink in his hand. You could see the flicker of emotions crossing his face—confusion, suspicion, irritation—before his expression settled into a tense neutrality, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Wendy and Bebe exchanged wide-eyed glances, their heads tilted toward each other as they whispered furiously, while Tolkien, Craig, Clyde, and Tweek all turned to look, their conversations coming to an abrupt halt.

You wiped at your face again, scrubbing harder this time, but the tears and smudges wouldn’t disappear. Kyle’s hand caught your arm gently, his grip firm but not forceful as he tried to stop you. “[Y/N], wait. Just… stop for a second!”

“Don’t touch me!” you snapped, your voice breaking as you jerked your arm free. The tears welled up again, spilling over despite your attempts to keep them at bay. “Just leave me alone!”

His face fell for a moment, the frustration in his expression softening to something else—something closer to guilt or regret. “I’m trying to talk to you!” he shouted, his tone harsher now as his own emotions bubbled over.

“I don’t want to talk to you!” you screamed back, your voice hoarse as your sobs grew harder. Your fists clenched at your sides, and you turned toward the living room, your legs shaky but determined to put as much distance between you and Kyle as possible.

The whispers in the room grew louder, people murmuring to each other as they pieced together what was happening. You caught snippets of words—your name, Kyle’s name, quiet gasps and murmurs of “What’s going on?” and “Did you see her face?”

You felt utterly exposed, like a spotlight had been turned on you, magnifying every tear, every smudge, every flaw.

Kyle’s voice broke through the noise again, sharper this time. “[Y/N], will you just listen to me?”

You spun around, your tears blurring your vision as you screamed back, “For what, Kyle? What could you possibly say that would fix this?”

The room went quiet again. You glanced around, realizing how many people were staring—how many of your friends were watching you fall apart.

kyle makes me laugh | part two

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

A very smutty Hellcheer fic

18+ MINORS DNI

Chrissy played with the hem of her skirt, nervous as she sat in Eddie Munson's van. She smiled as she replayed the scene in the woods over and over in her mind. She had felt more safe with Eddie in that moment than she had ever done with Jason or even her parents. He had done anything to make her smile, and she couldn't help but think about him dropping to the ground like that. . .the goofy grin on his face. He didn't care that he made himself look silly. . .he wanted to make her feel safe. He wanted to make her smile.

"You alright there, Cunningham?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah," Chrissy said, biting her lip and trying not to think about his ass being in air when he rolled onto the ground.

"You're welcome to listen to music even if I have to suffer listening to Madonna," Eddie teased.

"Hey, she's not that bad," Chrissy laughed. "I prefer Bob Dylan, though."

"You have excellent taste then," Eddie said.

She wanted to listen to some of his music, though. She wanted to get a glimpse of what she might hear when she did go see him play at the Hideout. She found one of his cassettes: Metallica. The image of Eddie pulling his shirt down to show her his tattoos popped into her mind and the way he pulled his hair in front of his face when he looked shyly at her. All signs clearly showed that he was interested as well. Chrissy popped in the tape, curious about Eddie's taste in music. He looked at her in surprise.

"I wanted to try something new," Chrissy said.

Eddie grinned and turned the music up. Chrissy watched him. He beat his hands on the steering wheel, and he moved his head to the music. Her eyes focused on his fingers. . .the way they moved. What would they feel like inside of her? Chrissy swallowed and felt brave all of a sudden. She grabbed Eddie's hand and placed it on her leg. He looked at her in surprise again.

"I broke up with Jason. I decided I decided I deserved someone better," Chrissy said and paused. "He could never get me to cum. . .I have a feeling you could, though."

"Are you serious? I mean, you wouldn't be the first person to hit on me as a joke," Eddie said.

"If you'd let me I'd fuck you in front of the entire basketball team to prove to you that I'm serious and I don't give a fuck what other people think anymore," Chrissy said. "I'm tired of them telling me how they want me to live my life. I decide. . .I want you, Eddie."

She moved his hand up her skirt and pressed his palm up against her already wet panties.

"Fuck," Eddie said, his voice breaking.

"That's just me thinking about your fingers inside me," Chrissy said. "Just imagine if they were actually there."

Eddie pressed his fingers against her soaked panties. She moaned, spreading her legs to allow him better access. She bunched up her skirt in her hands as Eddie began to stroke her through her underwear. God, she wanted to squeeze her legs together and keep his hand there forever. He hadn't even really touched her yet. He moved his fingers up and down her clothed entrance. . .he was teasing her. He walked his fingers over to the edge of her underwear, and she bit her lip, trying not to giggle. How he was doing this and still managing to focus on the road, she didn't know. His fingers slipped underneath the cloth, pushing them aside. The tips of fingers pushed through her folds, and she gasped. It felt like there was a fire blazing in her belly. . .throughout her entire body. She wanted more. His fingers moved, getting closer to where she wanted him to be. Suddenly, his fingers moved down and she groaned.

"Hm, I know it's around here somewhere," Eddie said.

"Eddie!" Chrissy exclaimed.

"I swear I know where it is," Eddie said seriously.

She looked over at him and he was struggling not to smile.

"You know damn well where my clitoris is," Chrissy said, trying not to giggle.

"Hm, I think you're going to have to give me directions, sweetheart," Eddie said. "Oh, wait, there it is! Is that where you want me to be?"

Eddie moved his fingers and touched her clitoris.

"Yes," she gasped. "There! Right there!"

"Yeah, you want me there. . .begging for my fingers. . .for any part of me. . ." Eddie said.

"Yes!"

He massaged it, and she let out another moan, squeezing her skirt tighter as he began to tease her again. Eddie pulled his fingers out before putting them back in again, finding her clitoris almost immediately. He played with her pussy like it was an instrument, and he was eager to hear the sweet music that came out of her mouth. The music was building and building. . .He pulled away again, just as she was getting ready to spill over his fingers. He teased her folds, running the tips of his fingers over her entrance.

"You want to cum on my fingers, baby?" Eddie asked. "You want me to make you cum?"

"Please!"

It didn't take long for her to release when he entered her again. She couldn't help but giggle when he pulled out and lapped at his fingers furiously. It was rather cartoonish. That's when he cursed.

"Goddamnit, I missed the trailer park. I drove way past it," Eddie said.

"Did I distract you?" She laughed.

"It was a good distraction," Eddie blushed.

They pulled up to the trailer, and as Eddie moved around the van to open her door, Chrissy quickly shimmied out of her panties. When she got out, she slipped them into Eddie's pocket. He didn't even notice, too busy beaming at her. Once Eddie closed the door, Chrissy pushed him up against the side of the van and attacked his lips with her own. He didn't waste a second kissing her back, cupping the back of her head and clutching her ponytail. She broke the kiss, running her hands over his chest.

"I wonder how many times you can make me cum tonight," Chrissy said. "The only time I've ever actually did that was with myself."

"Never with Jason?" He asked.

"He doesn't have what you have," she said.

"What's that?" He asked.

"Magic," she replied.

He quickly grabbed her hand and brought her to the door, rushing to open it. He bowed as he let her in.

"Welcome to Castle Munson, sorry the maid - ,"

She yanked him inside, slamming the door close. Chrissy wrapped her arms around his neck and glanced around the room.

"Are we alone?" She asked.

"Yeah, my uncle works nights at the plant," Eddie said. "We're good."

"Good," she said and kissed him.

Eddie broke the kiss, cupping her face as he looked at her like he couldn't believe she was real.

"You know, you came here for drugs," he grinned.

"I found something better. Take me to your room," Chrissy said and he gestured like he wanted to throw her over his shoulder. "Yes!"

Eddie cackled gleefully and carefully slung her over his shoulder.

"Onward!"

"My face is lined up perfectly with your butt," she giggled. "I'm tempted to take a bite."

"Let your freak flag fly, Cunningham," Eddie said, and she leaned forward, biting into his left buttcheek. "Oooh!"

Chrissy giggled delightfully as he brought her into his room and tossed her on the bed. Eddie smiled, gazing at her in awe. He continued to stare at her, and she stared back, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. She ignored the voice in the back of her head, the one that's been telling her all week she's worthless. Seeing the way that Eddie looked her. . .she didn't feel so worthless.

"What?" She asked him.

"You're so. . .amazing," Eddie said.

"So are you," she said, and then he frowned. "What?"

"How did you make your panties disappear so fast?" Eddie asked.

Chrissy looked down. Her skirt had flared up when Eddie tossed her on the bed.

"Check your vest pocket," Chrissy said.

Eddie dug into his pocket and pulled out her panties. He gasped.

"You're a magician!" He yelled, flashing his dimples.

"It wasn't my best, but I used to dream about being one. My mother told me it was stupid," Chrissy said.

"Fuck her," Eddie scowled and then beamed. "Can I be your assistant?"

"Yes. . .now, for my next trick. . .I'm going to make you cum without touching you," Chrissy said.

She was feeling a lot bolder with Eddie. . .a lot more confident knowing that she could do things with him that Jason would never allow her to do. Chrissy slid off the bed and stood up. She slowly stripped off her clothes, Eddie's eyes growing darker by the second. Once she was fully naked before him, she shook her hair out of its ponytail, letting her strawberry blonde hair fall around her naked shoulders. She laid back onto the bed and spread her legs. She ran her hand down her body, moving over the swell of her breast and down to cup her sex. She glanced at the guitar hanging up on the wall before looking back at Eddie.

"I wonder. . .I never played guitar before, but if you taught me, I bet I'd look good playing it naked," Chrissy gasped as she touched herself. "Don't you think?"

"Fuuuucck," Eddie groaned. "I'm fucking close, you witch."

He dropped her panties and then quickly shed his clothes. Chrissy giggled as he nearly fell over a couple of times. She sat up and moved to the edge of his bed. Finally, he was naked. Chrissy gripped his naked hips and pulled him closer to her. He was definitely hard. Chrissy met his eyes, and he swallowed hard.

"What?" She asked.

"You know, it's more than okay if you want to do whatever you feel is weird," Eddie said, cupping her face.

"Are you saying I can do whatever I want to do you?" She asked.

"Yeah," he said softly.

"Including biting?" She asked.

"Especially biting," he said.

She leaned forward and started placing kisses onto his stomach. He groaned. She smirked and ran her tongue over his skin. He shuddered under touch. She gently bit down on the spot that she licked and kissed. He moaned loudly and grabbed the the back of her head.

"You like that, baby?" She asked.

"Fuck, yeah," Eddie said.

"I'm going to mark you up like you're my canvas," Chrissy said.

Eddie laughed and leaned down to place a hard kiss on her lips. He pulled back, still laughing.

"You drive me crazy in the best way," Eddie said. "It's been less than 24 hours. What the hell are you doing to me?"

"You drive me crazy, too," Chrissy said.

Chrissy grabbed one of his condoms and rolled it onto his dick before pulling him down on top of her. She guided him to her pussy and she gasped as he slowly slid in. He teased her with the tip, putting it in and then pulling it out. Chrissy growled, and he laughed.

"Something wrong, darling?" He asked.

Chrissy wasn't afraid of asking for what she wanted, not now, or to demand it either.

"Just fuck me, already, Eddie!" Chrissy yelled.

She bit his shoulder as he slid all the way in.

"Okay, I'm in. Is there anything else you want me to do while I'm here?" He asked.

Chrissy laughed.

"Eddie!" She yelled and slapped his ass.

"Giddyup!" Eddie yelled, and she couldn't help but laugh harder. "Keep laughing. The vibrations feel great."

Eddie thrusted into her, and she groaned as another giggle slipped out as Eddie used his dungeon master voice to narrate what he was doing. She never knew how silly sex could be and she fucking loved it. She wrapped her legs around him, holding onto him tightly as he fucked into her. She let out a yell as euphoria filled her head. . .reaching every corner of her mind. It was blocking out the darkness inside of her and the monster she had created. . .the personification of all her trauma and insecurities was trying to get through, but no amount of rage could break through this feeling she had. Fuck you, she thought. The only person who was ever going to be inside her would be Eddie Munson. And as Eddie collapsed against her, Chrissy grinned. She never felt so free.

[waynes-multiverse]

Thank you so much for all your sweet comments on this series! Genuinely giggling and kicking my feet, knowing you've enjoyed it so much 🥹🤍

Welp, let's dive right into the last one 😭

Ooh, clever!! And it felt right that Cassie was the one that first twigged what she was up to.

Right?? I felt like Cassie would be the one to catch on before anyone else 😅

Oh no, please tell me they are going to find her before the bunker completely floods or collapses in on her.

Well, sorta... lol

Love this callback to the title. The North Star helped him find her!

It did! It always navigates his heart back to her 🥹💕 (call me sappy but I loved this whole metaphor for their relationship 😝)

The whole rescue scene was intense. I was holding by breath, sat on the edge of my seat, praying he would find her in time. And then when he did find her... thank goodness he wasn’t too late!

Ooof, yeah, I struggled a lot with this scene to get it right – both urgency and desperation. But when he got to hold her again, it was such a bittersweet moment 😭 (And hella romantic. I love a good hero rescue lol)

I'm also really happy that there are the beginnings of things improving between Beau and Randy.

Aww, yeah, all's well that ends well ☺️ While I doubt any of the two relationships will progress to a full friendship, ending it all on somewhat good terms was needed, so Beau and her could move on properly (and without too much guilt)

Love that jacket… I, too, would want to wrap myself up in that jacket.

Ugh, right?! 🫠 I have a similar denim Sherpa that I stole years ago from my husband, so I had to steal Beau's too 😂😂

I can not put into words how much I have enjoyed this series. It's has fast become one of my absolute favourite Beau stories. Thank you for sharing this with us ❤️

I so appreciate that! Thank you!!! 🥹 I was so nervous when I first started posting this series (as usual when my mind comes up with a crazy plotline – in this case it was, "What if Randy never died?" lol), but my heart is so happy you've enjoyed it so much. Thank you so much for reading and entertaining me with your insightful comments 😭❤️🫶

I would love to read anything you have in mind for them.

I do have a little one-shot in mind for them, along the lines of maybe something proposal-ly... or baby-related-ly... 👀 But a lot of fluff for sure! After what they've been through, I can't put them through more (serious) angst 😂🤍

Polaris – Chapter 13

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, major angst, kidnapping, confined spaces, violence, injuries, drowning, CPR, life-and-death situations, the fluffiest ending (If any of these warnings trigger you, stay away ⚠️🫶)

Word Count: 7.4k

A/N: We're here! Last part, babes 😘 Thank you guys so much for sticking with me on this one. I know it was another wild ride, but I appreciated your sweet, insightful, and funny comments throughout 🥹🤍

Ready? Don't forget to breathe 😉

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 13: Sure And Certain

“What’s she doing?”

With a mouthful of Donno’s Special of the Day sandwich, Beau came to stand behind a whole group of people who had gathered around a laptop screen propped up on his desk.

He threw another sandwich wrapped in paper on the desk in front of Randy, who sat comfortably in his chair and nodded a ‘thank you.’ Behind him, Jenny leaned casually against the window sill with an intensely knitted brow. Cassie and Denise, on the other hand, had grabbed themselves a set of uncomfortable, worn chairs from the break room and sat on each side of Randy, staring musingly at the screen.

“I think she’s meditating,” Denise put forth.

“No, I think she’s sleeping,” Jenny said dryly.

“I don’t know…” Cassie’s brow furrowed.

Beau frowned as he stepped forward, stealing a glance at the livestream himself. You were still lying perfectly motionless on the long metal table in the middle of the room. They knew you were alive, though. They had watched you crawl up there and lie down. Sometimes, your eyes were open. Sometimes, they were closed for long periods of time.

“She’s still doing what she’s been doing for eight hours now,” Beau huffed. Honestly, he’d be more worried if it wasn’t so damn frustrating.

“Maybe the poor thing’s in shock after everything she’s been through,” Denise suggested sympathetically.

Beau hoped she wasn’t right. Seeing you give up didn’t sit well with him. He couldn’t watch you lie there alone in the cold until there was no air left anymore.

In all honesty, he had a confession to make: He’d never watched a single of Diane’s videos to the end. He knew you’d probably watched them a thousand times, but he couldn’t do it. He had watched parts of it, sure, but never the bitter end. He didn’t know how you'd done it. He always figured you were a lot stronger than him.

But maybe you’d seen something on those videos he didn’t know but had to.

“Y/N?” Randy scoffed at Denise’s proposal with conviction and shook his head. “No, she wouldn’t give up, and I doubt Turner scared her that much. She put a screwdriver in the guy, for crying out loud,” he argued his objection. “No, she’s thinking.”

Beau hated to agree with Randy but hoped to hell he was right.

“Maybe,” Cassie mused and squinted her eyes at the screen. “I think she’s staring at the light above her.”

With narrowed eyes, everyone drew in closer to the screen and observed you.

“I think Cass is right,” Jenny said and retreated to her old position, smirking.

Beau frowned anew and flailed his arms. “Why?”

Fucking Hal Turner.

He got you with a shovel, tied your hands, hauled you back to the cabin and sedated you.

You woke with a few meager slaps across your face before groggily being dragged through the woods at night on unsteady legs. You slipped in and out of consciousness a few times, but you knew Turner wasn’t strong enough to carry you, so he had to keep you awake enough to walk, but sedated enough to not fight back.

You, however, tried to memorize and plan as much as your dazed mind possibly let you. You remembered how long you’d walked from the cabin to the bunker – about thirty minutes. You knew which direction you’d walked as you’d glanced up at the stars – north. And you knew you had hiked slightly up, but not more than twelve degrees. You remembered the faint sounds of a river splashing close by.

Most importantly, you could still feel the screwdriver tucked into your sock in your left boot.

Turner hadn’t frisked you again – big mistake.

As soon as you’d reached the spot of the supposed bunker, you frowned when Turner removed a pile of leaves, moss and dirt from the forest floor and opened the metal hatch that hid underneath.

Oh, hell no…

You weren’t getting in there. If you hadn’t known it before, you surely knew it now.

You would’ve been fine with the cabin because you knew Beau and the department would eventually find it. He’d get a list of their properties and find it. Denise had been in charge of those, and she’d been meticulous.

You would’ve been fine with an above-ground bunker, or even halfway above, too. Once the team would find the cabin, they’d know Turner and you couldn’t have gone far. They’d find the blood and test it, realizing with relief that most of it wasn’t yours. They’d know you’d be in the general area, and Beau would move heaven and earth to find you.

But this thing? They’d never fucking find you here.

Roughly, Turner shoved you down the tight metal stairway, leading to a room you knew only too well from videos. Now, you were here and saw it all for real, like glimpsing behind the scenes of a movie set.

Why couldn’t it have been the Friends set in Hollywood? Instead, you had to visit Diane Newton’s arts and crafts project.

Hal Turner cut your ties – again. And you saw it as your perfect way to escape. Again.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

With your elbows and shoulders, you shoved Turner backwards and bent down, quickly retrieving the screwdriver from your boot. You spun around and thrust it straight into his left carotid artery.

He gasped a breathless sound, his eyes growing wide and white. You let go and stepped back.

You’d never killed someone before – not like this at least.

But then Turner inhaled a deep breath of air – strained, angry, fighting. And you finally understood where the phrase white-hot rage stemmed from.

The roaring Grizzly kicked you right into your bear trap injury. With a painful scream and a searing pain, you fell to your knees and clasped your wound.

He then fled up the stairs like a rat through a sewer cover, tossing the hatch shut behind him. There was the sound of a thick lock before some shuffling followed. At least he couldn’t have done a good job on covering up the entrance. Maybe they’d find you easier this way.

Better yet, you hoped Turner would succumb to his fatal injury not too far from the hatch. If they found his body close by, they could find you too, right?

At least you’d gotten the bastard…

You wanted to scream till your lungs were depleted of all oxygen, but you didn’t have enough air for a breakdown in this bunker. You took one last deep breath to ground yourself and closed your eyes.

Then, you opened them.

The bright neon light flickered above as your eyes darted around the room. The space was sparse, concrete walls peeling in places, as though even the structure was trying to escape. You didn’t want to think too much about how long you would be trapped here.

You already knew this place by heart and what would happen if you didn’t get out.

At the edge of the corner, sat a row of rusty metal lockers. Shuffling over on your good leg, you opened the shrieking door and found that the lockers held various odds and ends – tools, cans, an assortment of chemical bottles with faded labels, and a single, cracked lightbulb resting on its side.

The other victims had received these items as well but never pieced enough of it together to escape. A few drank the chemical bottles for a quicker death out of sheer desperation. While you unfortunately couldn’t solve Diane’s little riddle either, you swore to yourself poison would never be a last resort.

You’d seen those deaths – they had neither been quick nor painless.

You found a first-aid kit as well and lowered yourself to the cold ground, bandaging your ankle. As you tightened the bandage to stop the blood flow, your eyes glanced up the shelves.

Your breath hitched. In the back of your mind, a vague memory from your 7th grade science teacher stirred – something about pressure, something about triggering a chain reaction. You tried to push it away but the thought wouldn’t leave. Maybe an escape was possible after all. There were things you could use – you just needed to figure out how.

The jar of white powder caught your eye. It was too fine to be salt. The label was half-scratched off, but you could make out the word "sulfate." Next to it, a small container of copper wiring lay scattered across the shelf – tiny, thin strands coiled tightly like little snakes, their sharp ends glinting in the harsh neon light.

You pulled at your sleeves nervously, staring at the broken lightbulb once more. If you twisted it carefully, the filament inside would snap. Maybe. Then there was the sharp wire… You let the idea float in your mind for just a moment longer before shaking it off.

And there was that other thing. Something buried deeper in the corner, an oily rag, half-soaked in a pungent smell you couldn’t quite place. You made a mental note. They weren’t much, but they were something.

If you could just piece it all together…

Tiredly, you heaved yourself onto the large metal table in the middle of the room. It was harsh, cold, and uncomfortable, but it was all you had. You lied down on your back and stared at the ceiling, at the flickering neon light above you. Then, you closed your eyes again.

Think, think, think…

For hours, Beau had now stared at the grainy footage, watching your unmoving form. The neon light flickered overhead, casting long shadows against the cold, cement walls of the bunker. His hands were trembling as he gripped the armrests of his chair, his body taut with the weight of helplessness.

The others had left his office a while ago, scrambling to find a way to get you out. There was a search going on, a team of skilled rescuers turning over every stone in the general vicinity of the cabin. Beau knew you couldn’t be far from there. And still, he feared he wouldn’t find you in time.

Truthfully, he knew the only one that could get you out was you. If you just stopped lying there…

Nothing. Not even a twitch. What the hell were you thinking about?

You were alive. He knew you were, reminding himself of that fact on an hourly basis. But for all the good it did, it didn’t matter. The silence on the feed was more suffocating than any sound.

But then…

A subtle movement. A shift in the shadows, so slight that at first, he thought it was just his eyes playing tricks on him.

His heart skipped.

Your fingers twitched, just enough to catch his attention. And then, slowly, agonizingly, you dragged yourself up, struggling to sit. He watched the quiet shuffle of your body across the concrete floor. You were alive. You were still fighting.

“Guys!” his gruff voice called loudly for the cavalry, but he didn’t wait for them to flood into his office.

Beau leaned forward in his chair, holding his breath. His heart hammered in his chest as you lifted your head, your eyes flicking briefly to the camera – aware. You knew he was watching.

Your movements were shaky, too weak for anything swift, but they were purposeful. You scanned the room with desperation. The broken lightbulb in the rusty locker, jagged glass fragments scattered on the shelf, caught your attention.

You reached for it.

Beau’s stomach twisted. No, don’t…

But it was too late. You pressed the sharp edge against the skin of your palm, wincing with the effort as blood began to bead at the surface. His breath hitched, fingers curling into fists at his sides. The blood flowed in slow, steady streams, painting your hand.

You didn’t flinch.

You moved with a practiced precision, grimly intent. With shaky fingers, you scooped some blood on your pointer finger and pressed the pad to the wall, your arm trembling as you began to write.

Seismograph.

Beau’s eyes locked onto the word, his brow furrowing.

Seismograph?

You were so weak. You could barely hold yourself up, and yet, you were still thinking. Still trying. Then you turned to the wall once more, collecting more blood on your finger as you struggled to form the second word.

3 hours.

You stopped then, your body slumping against the wall, too drained to write any more. You didn’t need to. The message was clear.

The feed cut to static for a brief moment, the camera buzzing with distortion, before it returned to the silent, unchanging image of your still form against the wall. But Beau wasn’t looking at you anymore.

His mind raced, blood thundering in his ears. Seismograph. 3 hours.

A tremor ran through him – an earthquake in his chest.

Seismograph. You were giving him a clue. Something seismic. A signal of some kind. His gut twisted. He was supposed to know what it meant.

3 hours. What did that mean? Three hours before something? Three hours after something?

He didn’t have time to analyze it. You were sending him a lifeline. And whatever it meant, he was going to find you.

“What’s going on?” Jenny was the first to thunder into his office, her heart beating fast in her ribcage. She came to stand behind Beau and glanced at the screen, her brow knitting at the crimson words on the concrete wall in the same way his had. “Seismograph. 3 hours,” the blonde read aloud. “What does it mean?”

Cassie stood quietly in the doorframe, listening and thinking. “What is in those lockers?”

“I don’t know. We never found a bunker before, and Diane sure as hell ain’t telling us,” Beau huffed frustratedly.

“But there are chemicals of some kind,” Jenny pointed out, squinting her eyes at the laptop.

“Maybe she’s building a bomb,” Cassie proposed.

Beau pondered the theory for a beat. Then, he nodded. “We already know the area of the bunker. We could probably find her exact location through the tremors.”

“With a seismograph,” Jenny finished the thought. “Well, let’s hope she doesn’t blow herself up first.”

Beau hoped that, too. He didn’t even know you possessed bomb-making skills, but he figured you hadn’t known that fact about yourself either. This was by far not a thoroughly planned undertaking.

“Alright, get a damn seismograph here. I don’t care where you get it or what it costs. We’ve got three hours,” Beau barked his orders with a racing heart.

Your message had just bought him time, and he wasn’t going to waste it. You were still alive. He could still save you. And he wasn’t going to stop until he did.

Your breath came in short, labored gasps as you hunched over the crude metal table in the dark, sterile bunker. The faint hum of the camera feeding into the livestream echoed through the silence, the red light blinking softly as its lens captured your every movement, broadcasting your quiet panic.

You knew Beau was watching. They all probably were. You could almost feel their eyes on you, their silent judgment, their hope that this would work. They’d see the sweat glistening on your brow, the faint tremor in your hands as you worked on your little science fair project.

But it wasn’t fear that made you shake now. It was the cold certainty that time was running out.

You carefully twisted the wire around the small, makeshift device you’d cobbled together from the limited supplies at your disposal. Every movement was deliberate, every breath controlled, even as your mind raced a marathon. You lifted the device to your ear, listening for the faint click as you tightened the final screw. Done.

The one thing they had to get right was the seismic readings.

The bomb was crude – imperfect – but it was all you had. The plan was simple: blow the door open if you could, cause a seismic tremor, and hope the team could triangulate your location. They would track the explosion on the seismograph, find your coordinates, and come for you.

If you were lucky.

Maybe you should leave another message behind for him. In those hours you had lain on the table and pondered, you had thought about your escape. You had also thought about various torturous ways to kill Diane. You had celebrated your little win against Turner. But most of all, you had thought about Beau.

Simple things. The color of his pine green eyes. The smell of his leathery cologne. The sound of his hearty laugh. The warmth of his large hands. Would you ever see, hear, or feel those things again?

A tear streaked your cheek that you swiftly wiped away. Sobbing would cost you too much goddamn air. You couldn’t afford it.

You stole one last glance at the camera, your face a grim mask of resolve. Then you moved quickly, setting the device in place. You looked at the door on top of the steps – solid metal, bolted shut, impossible to open without the right tools.

Tools you didn’t have.

You hurried down the stairs and pushed the metal table onto its side, using it as a shield from the blast as you hunched down low behind it. It had been a little over three hours. It was time. With a sharp breath, you pushed the button of the remote detonator.

The explosion hit like a fist. The sound was deafening, but muffled in the confined space. Your ears rang as the shockwave slammed into you, throwing you back against the cold, unforgiving concrete wall. Your head spun, and for a moment, everything went black.

Then came the tremor.

It rippled through the ground like a violent pulse. The bunker groaned – metal creaking, concrete cracking. The lights flickered and went out, plunging you into near-total darkness, save for the dim emergency glow above the door.

And then, with a deep, bone-rattling crack, something shifted above you.

You scrambled to your feet, disoriented. What the hell was that?

A series of sharp, cracking sounds echoed from the ceiling, followed by a wet, muffled splintering. Your breath caught in your throat as a large root – gnarled and thick as a limb – suddenly pierced through the bunker’s ceiling, splintering the metal and concrete. The roots of a large tree slithered down – a slow, creeping thing – and it didn’t stop. It tore through the ceiling like it had been waiting for this moment, its jagged edges scraping against the walls.

And then – water. Cold, relentless water began pouring in, cascading through the new hole in the roof, spilling across the floor in an uncontrolled flood.

Fuck.

Your heart pounded wildly as you stumbled backward, the water already rising around your ankles, creeping steadily toward your knees. You could hear the steady drip of water splashing against the cold, metal floor, each drop sending a ripple through your chest.

The livestream camera remained on, the blinking red light still steady, but your mind was running a mile a minute – panic rising like a tidal wave. You had no time. You had to move, had to act. But the water was already rising faster than you could think. The air was thick, the walls seemed to be closing in on you, and the roots above groaned ominously as if the earth itself was about to swallow you whole.

You ran toward the door, your boots splashing through the growing puddle. But aside from causing a giant hole in the ceiling, the bomb hadn’t done enough damage to escape. The root’s tendrils were still creeping down from above, twisting around the ceiling. You could hear the scrape of it, its thick fingers reaching into the dark corners of the room.

The sound of the water filled your ears as it surged up around your waist. You stumbled, falling to one knee as the icy liquid engulfed you. Your chest tightened, panic clawing at your throat.

It was too much. The explosion, the quake, the roots, and now the rising water – everything was converging at once. A part of you knew this was it. You wouldn’t get out. They wouldn’t get here in time to save you. But a small flicker of hope was still alive in your heart.

You clutched the camera’s wire, the blinking red light still visible in the murk, as if it was the last lifeline you had left.

“Please,” you breathed, although you knew they couldn’t hear you, but your voice was barely audible over the rush of water anyways. “Please, find me.”

The woods were dense, the trees thick with fog and shadows. Beau ran through the underbrush, his boots pounding against the damp earth, the scent of pine and wet leaves filling his lungs. Sweat stung his green eyes, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he pushed his body beyond its limits. His heart thundered in his chest, not from the exertion, but from the terror building inside him, growing with each passing second.

He’d found it.

The seismograph had done its job. The tremor from the explosion had sent ripples through the earth, and in those ripples, he’d pinpointed the location. There was no time to think, no time to second-guess. He didn’t know how much time you had left, but the second the signal went off and the icy water of a nearby river had wound its way into the confined space, rising like a tide as it flooded the bunker, he’d known it could only be minutes till you took your last breath.

Beau’s mind reeled at the thought.

He stumbled over a fallen log, his eyes never leaving the ground ahead of him. He was so close. It had to be here. He had seconds to make it. He knew it had to be deep. The bunker was buried beneath the forest floor, hidden like a trap, and there was only one way in: a hatch maybe, barely visible among the trees, the earth heavy with moss and years of neglect. He had to get there – now.

He could hear the team searching all around him, crying with calls of your name that echoed through the trees. As he stared up through the tops of the towering pines, he could see the North Star twinkling brightly above him. His heart twinged. His gaze dropped and then landed on the far beam of his flashlight. Something flickered in the distance, just a few yards away from him, buried in the moss.

He stumbled back onto his feet, his trembling hands picking up a small, golden band. His chest seized.

The ring.

His ears picked up the babbling sounds of water. The river was close, only a few feet away. That had to be it. You’d left him another sign.

Grabbing his flashlight, his hands hastily searched the ground. His fingers brushed a thick patch of bramble, and then – there. His breath halted. Metal.

The hatch.

He skidded to a stop, his hands shaking as he dropped to his knees and cleared the leaves and brush away. The metal was a bit busted and bent out of shape, probably from the bomb, but the bolt that kept it tightly shut was still in tact. His fingers fumbled for the lock, every second stretching longer than the last.

“It’s here!” Beau yelled loudly, calling the others for help. “She’s here!”

His mind kept circling back to you. You were trapped down there. Trapped and drowning.

I’m coming, darlin’. Hold on.

Finally, his fingers found the latch, and with a metallic groan, the hatch creaked open.

The stench of damp earth hit him first – the cold, stagnant air of a place that had been shut off from the world for too long. His flashlight flickered as he shined it down into the narrow opening. The steps below were steep, the darkness absolute. He could hear the distant drip of water, and with it, a rising sense of urgency.

He didn’t waste time. Without a second thought, he grabbed the flashlight and began to descend, the metal of the hatch scraping against the edges of the door as he pulled it wide open. His breath caught as he stepped into the narrow stairwell.

The moment he hit the bottom, the sound of rushing water was unmistakable.

The tunnel was flooded. The water was rising fast, covering the floor in murky, black waves. The small concrete room at the base of the stairs had become a watery tomb, the level inching toward the ceiling.

He shouted your name, his voice crackling in the damp air.

But there was no answer.

Beau pushed forward, his heart in his throat, eyes scanning every inch of the flooded room. Your presence was all he could feel – your spirit, your strength, your last message. He had to find you.

A sudden thud echoed through the chamber, the faint sound of something – or someone – shifting beneath the water.

Beau’s eyes locked on the back wall of the room, where the water was thickest, swirling around a pile of debris. His mind screamed. The seconds were melting away, and he couldn’t afford to waste a single one.

The wall was crumbling under the pressure, but the thing that struck him wasn’t just the damage. It was the stillness. There was no movement. No air.

His pulse spiked as he waded through the rising water, kicking through the murk with his boots, moving faster now, hands trembling as he shoved aside debris.

Please, please, please…

And then, beneath the surface, a hand – limp, floating like a ghost. Beau lunged, his fingers brushing against your wrist, cold and unyielding.

He cried your name again, his voice hoarse with panic as he pulled you to him, cradling your body against his chest.

Your skin was ice-cold. Your hair matted against your face, your body limp in his arms. You were unconscious – or worse.

Don’t you dare be dead. Don’t you dare.

Beau’s breath came in harsh bursts, his hands fumbling against you, trying to find any sign of life. The water was rising too fast.

He wasn’t going to lose you. Not like this.

With a single, desperate motion, he hoisted you into his arms. He didn’t stop. His feet pounded the water-soaked concrete as he bolted back toward the stairs, his lungs burning, the world blurring around him.

Get out. Get out.

He could feel the water rising behind him, flooding the room with the force of a tide. He didn’t know if the two of you would make it. He didn’t know if he could make it.

But he was going to try. He was going to fight like hell to keep you alive.

The hatch was there, just ahead, the only way out. He pushed harder, faster, as the water reached his knees, then his waist. Every breath was a battle. Every second felt like an eternity.

With one final push, he reached the top of the stairs, stumbling out into the fresh air, gasping for breath, his legs weak beneath him. He laid you on the ground, your limp body draped across the earth.

Beau’s hands were shaking as he knelt beside you. “Darlin’,” he whispered, shaking you gently.

Nothing.

Tears blurred his vision as he pressed his ear to your chest, listening for any sign of life.

A faint, fragile beat.

You were still with him.

He could barely breathe, panic threatening to swallow him whole, but he knew he had to keep it together.

He leaned over your body, his hands moving quickly. “Come on, darlin’. Come on…” His voice cracked as he positioned his hands, interlocking his fingers over your sternum. He gave two hard compressions, the sound of his palms meeting your chest too loud in the thick silence.

Still nothing. Your skin was frozen, your lips tinged blue.

His breath hitched, and he started again – one, two, three…

His heart hammered in his chest as he leaned down, pinching your nose and sealing his mouth over yours. He breathed into you, feeling the faint rise of your chest beneath him.

Please, please, don’t leave me.

He gave you another breath, then returned to the chest compressions – one, two, three…

Time seemed to stretch on endlessly, each moment more desperate than the last. His hands moved faster, his fingers slick with water and sweat as he pressed into you again and again. He wasn’t thinking. He couldn’t.

He hadn’t even taken note of the crowd that had gathered around him, watching the dire spectacle.

Finally – after what felt like a lifetime – your body jerked beneath his hands. You gasped, a harsh, ragged breath, and Beau nearly collapsed in relief. He cradled your head gently, his green eyes searching your face as you coughed weakly, water spilling from your mouth.

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” he breathed into your hair, his voice thick with emotion and eyes filled with tears as he kissed your crown repeatedly, his hold tight around your body.

You opened your eyes, just a sliver at first, and then you blinked, your hand weakly reaching for his cheek before it dropped to his chest.

“Beau…” you whispered, your voice barely a breath before you let out the first few sobs and coiled against him.

“It’s alright. I’m here.”

And for the first time in days, Beau let himself breathe as he steadied your trembling frame in his embrace.

Hospitals weren’t your favorite thing in the world. In fact, you had pretty much avoided them your whole life. You’d screamed your way through your tonsils surgery when you were five. You refused to get your broken arm cast when you were fourteen. But there was one thing you had always cherished during your involuntary stays:

Pudding.

Randy was the first person that stopped by early in the morning. You didn’t know if that decision had been a collusive one, agreed upon by the whole team, but you were grateful for the visit – more grateful when he brought you your sweet treat.

Something had been going on, though, while you were locked up – you could tell. As you’d clung to Beau’s chest last night in the forest, you caught Randy in the crowd around you before he ducked his head and retreated into the shadows. Your heart broke at the sight.

Beau didn’t leave your side, though, even riding in the ambulance with you while reassuring you throughout. He held your hand tightly, but his shoulders were stiff. And when they wheeled you out of the emergency room, the doors closed in front of him. You hadn’t seen or heard from him since.

You’d only slept for about five hours, but it had been a deep slumber. You had been out like a light. But as soon as you woke, you felt the aches of your body. There wasn’t a single limb or organ that didn’t groan in pain. Your ankle was the worst, though – the doctors told you you were lucky you got to keep it by the degree of infection it had suffered. The murky water of the river surely hadn’t helped cleaning it.

Sepsis, hypothermia, drowning, and lifelong trauma were just a few of the things you had to recover from.

There was also the dissolution of your marriage – you’d finally found the right term. Not widowed, not divorced – dissolved.

Randy stayed for three hours, and you had an honest and long talk. Oddly enough, being in his presence didn’t feel strange anymore. It felt familiar.

While your brain had adjusted, your heart remained steadfast. Randy had recognized it too and conceded. When he left your bedside, you sent him a smile with tears brimming in your eyes.

A chapter closed. A song ended. But your heart was at peace.

Beau’s heart pounded furiously in his chest as he stood glued outside your hospital room. Every laugh that echoed through the door felt like a gut punch.

Randy had asked to speak to you first. Beau had granted him the request – not that it had been really up to him. But Randy had been gracious last night, and the sheriff knew it couldn’t have been easy.

Beau had arrived at the hospital around noon, only to find you and Randy were still talking. Not only talking but laughing. While his heart murmured a tiny bit, he supposed it was a good sign. Who said you had to throw plates or the occasional vase at each other?

Twenty minutes later, Randy finally exited and ran straight into Beau around the corner, who had leaned against the wall and tried to answer the many nosy questions of the group chat. He didn’t know why the hell Cassie had invited him into this one…

“Oh, hey.” Randy chuckled lightly as he bumped into Beau, eyeing him with a suspicious brow. There was the flash of a smirk on his face.

Eager, are we? Beau could read Randy thoughts, even though his former friend refrained from saying them out loud.

“Hey.” Beau’s voice was low. He swallowed thickly as he tried his hardest not to avert his gaze to the linoleum flooring. “How is she?”

“In good spirits,” Randy replied but then paused. “For now. I think the morphine’s kicking in.”

“So, uhm–”

Beau didn’t know where that sentence would end. Flat-out asking Randy how your conversation went would’ve just been pathetically nosy – and rude. His mama had raised him better than that.

“I’m going back to Houston,” Randy still answered the unasked question.

“With, uhm–” Your name hung on the tip of Beau’s tongue before he bit down, noting Randy’s shaking head.

“Don’t push it.”

“Right…” Beau smacked his lips and cleared his throat, his hand scratching the nape of his neck. “So, what about you and me, huh? I know right now’s a stretch, but maybe down the road we could grab a beer?”

Randy’s lips pursed at first – unsure. But after a beat passed, he nodded slightly. “Maybe, yeah.” He hesitated. “Hit me up if you’re ever in Houston, alright?”

“Yeah, alright.” Beau’s lips twitched to a smile of surprise, but he still wished there was more he could do, more he could offer. It didn’t feel enough. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Randy gave him a tight-lipped nod and patted him on the shoulder as he passed him. “You too.”

Beau watched Randy angle towards the elevators before exhaling a deep breath. Green eyes then drifted to your door. His heart was both elated and heavy. Questions circled in his mind.

What now?

The case was as good as over. Would you leave now? Where would you go? Beau knew your home was in Houston. Should he move back there, too? Would you even want him to? He’d broken up with you. Again. Were you still mad at him for it? He had tried to restrain himself last night, not knowing where the two of you stood. He held your hand in his, even though it was your whole body he wanted to keep holding in his arms.

You’d chosen no one. Maybe this was a day of break-ups for you.

Beau’s knuckles softly knocked on your door before he entered. Unsurely, he stood until your eyes glanced up and found his. A smile rose on your lips.

“Hey, there you are. You just missed Randy,” you said.

At a loss for words, Beau stared at you for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest. You still looked pretty rough – hooked up to IVs, your face and arms covered in bruises and cuts. But at least you were here – alive. There was some color back in your cheeks. Until a few hours ago, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to see you again.

“Oh, uh, passed him in the hall,” Beau finally said and obnoxiously cleared his throat. “Said he was going back to Houston.”

“Yeah, he told me. I gave him my apartment,” you said, your voice a casual melody as you ignored the tension that was building between you two.

Beau’s brows shot up. “You gave him your place?”

“Least I could do. I sold his home.”

“Where are you gonna stay?”

“Oh, I don’t know yet. Guess I’m kinda homeless now. Again,” you said and hid the hint of a smile. You could see his wires were crossed.

“Hmm,” he hummed and shifted on his heels.

“Thank you,” you then said softly, trying to fight the tears that pricked your eyes. You swallowed heavily. “For saving me, you know? Bringing me back to life…”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied with a tight-lipped smile and a shake of his head, although a lump formed in the back of his throat at the haunting image of you, limb in his arms. He never wanted to see something like this again. He never wanted to feel that crippling, numbing fear ever again.

You snorted slightly at his understatement, fumbling with your fingers in your lap. “Feel like I have to. They told me you gave me CPR for three minutes straight. They said I was pretty much gone.”

“They’re exaggerating. It wasn’t that long,” he brushed off. “‘Sides, I wasn’t gonna let you die on my watch.”

“Like I said, thanks,” you reiterated and sent him a smile. “So, why are you standing so far away like I’m radioactive?”

Beau pursed his lips. “Well, you are kinda my kryptonite, darlin’.” He scratched the back of his neck, his boots still not moving closer. “Don’t really know where we stand, y’know? I mean, last time… that morning… I guess I’m tryna say I’m sorry for puttin’ you through that. So, on a scale from one to ten, how mad are you at me right now?”

“Well, if you put it like that… zero.” You grinned teasingly. “Hard to stay mad at you, considering you’ve saved my life, you know? I’m willing to forget your momentary stupidity. Well, if it really was momentary…”

“Oh, it was,” Beau confirmed, your heart expanding with a breath of relief. “Going with an insanity defense here. So… what does that mean?”

Musingly, you bit down on your lip. “I don’t know. Guess you’ll have to come closer and find out.”

Beau’s lips hiked to a wide, genuine smile for the first time in days. His feet began moving toward you.

Enjoying the warm rays of sunlight on your face, you exhaled blissfully as you sat outside the trailer, leaning comfortably back in your chair.

“There ya go – one extra black, extra strong cup of joe.” Beau handed you your favorite mug, his pine green eyes drifting to your injured leg, propped up on a wooden stool in front of you.

“Thank you,” you replied with a smile and practically inhaled the black liquid, its warmth filling you.

“How’s the ankle? That stool looks uncomfortable,” he noted, brushing his beard. His head tilted. “You need a pillow? Imma grab you one. Anything you need, darlin’. Officially retired since yesterday, you know? I’m here all day. Just say the word, and I’ll make it happen.”

Amused, you laughed a little. “I don’t need a pillow. The ankle’s fine. Just sit down next to me and enjoy the sun, will you?”

“It’s freezing.”

“I like how the snow twinkles in the sun,” you said and patted the chair next to you. With a groan, Beau sat down, wrapping his suede jacket a little tighter around himself while you sat cozily draped in the Sherpa jacket you had stolen from his closet. It was big and wide and warm and smelled heavenly like him. “‘Sides, I have a pretty nice jacket to keep me warm.” He frowned a little at you, but an amused smile twitched on his lips. “You said I should make myself comfortable – anything I wanted.”

“Didn’t think you’d raid my closet,” he huffed playfully.

“Hey, I only came here with a tiny carry-on.”

You’d been released from the hospital last night after spending a full week there. In the meantime, Beau had decided to hang up the sheriff’s hat, handing the badge off to Jenny – you’d fully agreed with the decision. You knew his heart hadn’t been in it for a while now.

He’d also asked you to move in.

And moreover, you’d finished your last reports and then handed in your resignation at the FBI. One serial killer kidnapping was enough for you. Diane had showed you where your limit was, and that was okay. You looked forward to a quiet life with the man beside you. It was its own adventure. God knows Diane’s life wouldn’t be as happy and peaceful behind bars.

Neither of you had spoken to her since your rescue. Sheriff Hoyt had handled all things on that end. By the amount of evidence they had to go through, Ted even surmised her trial wouldn’t start until three years from now. Until then, Beau and you had promised each other you wouldn’t waste another thought on her.

Well, you supposed you had to waste some thoughts on her. A big publisher from New York had already approached you about a book deal – and the money was more than good.

“Guess we’ll have to go down to Houston to get your stuff once you’re back on your feet,” Beau said.

Musingly, you scrunched your nose and hummed. “Not sure that’s necessary. It’s not gonna fit in the trailer anyways – not with your extensive closet.”

Amused, Beau pursed his lips and chuckled. He rubbed a hand through his beard. “Yeah, I was thinking about that… Maybe we should move. Get a bigger place, you know?”

“Do they make bigger Airstreams?” you murmured teasingly into your mug, cocking an eyebrow.

His tongue poked the inside of his cheek. “I was thinking more along the lines of a house. A ranch, maybe.”

“What about a houseboat?”

“Nah, that wouldn’t work with the kids. Try keeping a toddler in a life jacket all day,” Beau quipped, shaking his head. He didn’t even seem to notice what had slipped out of his mouth.

Your brow creased. “Kids?”

His wide eyes found yours, mouth opening and closing. He let out nervous breath. “Yeah, uh, something else I wanted to talk to you about…”

“Are you pregnant?” you joked and snorted into your coffee. Then, your brow furrowed. “Wait, am I? Did the doctor say something to you? Why would you smuggle tequila into my room if you knew?”

“No one’s pregnant, darlin’…” Beau laughed softly, his hand reaching out to cover your thigh. “I was just thinking maybe more a down-the-line kinda thing. In the, uh, near future, you know?”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “Well, uhm, I didn’t think that was on table. We’ve never talked about it. I mean, I honestly didn’t think you’d want to…”

“Kinda gettin’ tired of people always assuming things about me,” Beau retorted with a little smirk. He squeezed your thigh. “Kids are on the table, darlin’.”

“Huh.”

Clearing his throat, Beau leaned forward in his seat. “You know, I had a little chat with Randy…”

You scoffed in surprise. “He actually told you?”

“Bigger question is, why didn’t you tell me?” Beau’s brow raised almost scoldingly. He was a pretty great dad.

“Honestly? Because it’s none of your business. That was between me and my then-late husband,” you replied with a sharpness that matched his look – there was a playfulness lying underneath, though. You both knew the other had a point. You exhaled a long sigh. “Look, that was four years ago. A lot has changed since then. I haven’t really thought about it since Randy’s funeral. Then Mexico happened. God knows we were nowhere near ready for a conversation like this…”

You gave him a shrug of your shoulders and sipped on your coffee.

“So, you don’t want kids?”

“Do you?”

Beau chuckled lightly, his fingers tapping the chair’s armrest. “Look, I’m already retiring from the job – I don’t wanna retire from life,” he said. “Sure, for a long time, I wasn’t thinking about another kid, but Emily’s almost off to college. Would be nice to feel needed again, do it all over… I don’t wanna fish every day till I drop.”

You snorted a laugh.

“So? What d’you say?”

Biting down on your lip, you glanced behind you at the Airstream. Then you found his green eyes and grinned. “Yeah, I think we’ll definitely need a bigger place. Maybe something between a houseboat and a ranch?”

Beau could barely contain his smile but played along. “And what would that be?”

It ended up being a lake house. Beau fished every morning. You watched him and the sunrise from the window as you wrote your novel.

The baby arrived by next Christmas.

THE END

I think reader would be unstoppable in an Escape Room 😂

I so hope you enjoyed this last part, loves! What a wonderful journey it's been. Thank you to every single one of you from the bottom of my heart 🤍

And PS: I do have a little future one-shot in mind for them 😉

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