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covenofagatha · 6 months ago

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Do I wanna know? (Part 4)

The final two weeks before Agatha moves to Albany

Word count: 5k

Warnings: mentions of sex, fluff

The following Sunday, Agatha drives you to Albany so you can look at apartments with her. She found three online that she really likes and is hoping that she can sign a lease today.

Since her new job starts next week.

You’ve never exactly known what she does for a living — you never really cared to ask when she was married to your dad and once you got together, she just kind of assumed that you already knew — so you have to ask about three times for what this new position entails so you can try to work it out.

So far you’ve gotten that she advises the company on how to raise capital, financial modeling, legal and compliance issues, and general advice. She did try to explain what she does when you found her looking over a contract one night, but it went so far over your head you didn’t realize she had stopped talking until she kissed you to bring you back to earth. Agatha did say investment banker once, but even with all the job descriptions, you’re still not sure you actually understand.

“All right, here’s the first one,” she says, squeezing your hand that’s interlocked with hers over the center console, and parallel parking on the street in front of a high-rise building with floor-to-ceiling glass windows. You peer into the lobby to take in the crystal chandelier, dark floors, and mahogany wood panels on the wall by the elevator. “See, it’s not that bad of a drive. As long as you leave pretty early Saturday morning, you should be able to get here in under two hours.”

You look at her and shoot her a smile. Agatha’s been overly nice to you the past week, telling you how pretty you are and how lucky she is and buying you flowers and cooking you all your favorite foods, so you’re trying to just sit back and appreciate it.

She took the job. You told her it was okay. All that’s left to do is accept it.

“It’s really nice,” you tell her, turning back to the building. “It’s in a good area, too.”

Agatha turns the car off and unbuckles her seatbelt. “Only about ten minutes from the office, so even better. And it’s not too far from the interstate for traveling to and from here.”

Another thing she’s been doing is talking about how much you’ll be able to come visit and vice versa. It should be reassuring, but it just feels like she’s overcompensating slightly to make the move sound better than it is.

It’s not fair to still be upset because Agatha is trying. And you are feeling good about this, you feel secure that what you two have is real and strong, and you’re going to start working on your application to the University at Albany this week. If you get in, you’ll start in January, which really only means four months of long distance, and you know you’ll both make an effort to see each other on the weekends and during breaks.

When you put it like that, the pit in your stomach lessens. Your tendency to overthink and blow up problems in your head is definitely something you need to work on.

The moment you step out of the car, the first thing you notice is the smell, almost like rotting plants and sewage. You wrinkle your nose and Agatha walks around to you, the same expression on her face.

“Think you’ll ever get used to that?” you joke and she solemnly shakes her head.

“Guess I’ll just need to bury my nose into something else until I forget it,” she says with a wink and you laugh before following her up to the glass door of the apartment complex.

There’s a man sitting at a desk, maybe about ten years older than you and wearing a flannel shirt, typing something at his computer, and he doesn’t look up at you until Agatha clears her throat and taps her fingers on the counter.

He raises a bushy eyebrow, unimpressed and annoyed that someone dared interrupt him. “Can I help you?”

Agatha tosses her hair back over her shoulder and straightens up. “My name is Agatha Harkness and I made an appointment to see a two-bedroom.”

The man sighs and taps his mouse. “Yo, Dottie,” he calls, swiveling in his chair to face an open door to the right of him, “I’ve got a ‘Harkness’ here to see the two.” Whoever Dottie is, you hope she’s friendlier than this man. Even his mustache seems to be frowning at you.

A tall, blonde woman steps out of the room, beaming brightly at you two, wearing a brightly colored floral dress. She walks around the desk, shakes both your hands, and introduces herself.

“Wonderful, wonderful,” she claps her hands together and you wince at the loud sound in the otherwise-silent lobby, “let me get the keys and then I’ll show you and your daughter the model apartment on the seventh floor and then the one that’s open, which could be yours! We also have some specials on leases if you sign one within twenty-four hours of your tour, which I’ll go over after this.”

Dottie waves you along and you catch Agatha’s eye behind her back, mouthing your daughter? at her with an amused smirk. Agatha playfully rolls her eyes and swats your arm.

You still remember the first time she took you out in the spring, when the waitress had assumed you were a couple. You had choked and almost died from coughing so hard, flabbergasted at the thought that anyone would look at you two and see anything other than a mother and her daughter, even if she was your step-mom.

But now, it kind of bugs you that someone does see you that way. You’re almost tempted to see what Dottie would say if you kissed Agatha or if Agatha squeezed your ass.

Dottie’s rambling about the safety features of the elevator as she presses the button and you stare at the reflection of yourselves in the bronze doors, blurring the sound of her voice out. You watch Agatha nodding attentively and you probably should be paying attention, but you just can’t.

Something about looking for apartments with Agatha seems so surreal. You had helped her pick out the one in Westview and it felt like you were picking out a place for the two of you, even knowing you were going to live at the dorms.

But now, you’re picking it out for her and she’s breaking her lease on the apartment you shared.

It’ll be back to being both of yours in January, you remind yourself.

The elevator doors slide open and the three of you step into it, the tile a fancy black marble with gold cracks and the walls a dark wood with the top half covered in mirrors. Dottie touches the fob to a pad and then presses the button for seven.

“It only lets you get to the floor that you live on, and the roof for the pool and the game room. We take our security very seriously,” she explains and Agatha hums before looking at you for your approval and you nod like you’ve been paying attention this whole time.

She takes you down the hall and pauses in front of a door, fumbling with the key ring and then finally inserting one into the lock. She pushes it open and lets you and Agatha step in first.

The floor is a cool gray color, all white walls except for the blue accent in the living room, and it’s pretty spacious. The kitchen has an island with quartz countertops that match the other counters against the wall, all stainless steel appliances, a double oven, and a hood over the stove. The backsplash is green and blue and gray tiles. There’s a deep sink and three pendant lights over the island. You have to admit it looks really good.

“Wow,” Agatha says, tracing her fingers over the countertop and crossing the threshold into the living room, where the floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city of Albany. It’s the model, so there’s comfortable-looking couches around a coffee table and a rug, facing a television on an entertainment center. Even with all the furniture, it’s easy to imagine exactly where Agatha’s stuff would go.

You follow her into the first bedroom, the bigger one. It has the same windows as the living room and your only thought is that Agatha will certainly need to invest in some curtains if she picks this place. It’s a huge room; Dottie tells you that the bed in there is king-sized and there is still plenty of space for the nightstands and lamps and dressers. The walk-in closet is probably half the size of your dorm room right now, and there’s a standalone shower next to a tub across from the double vanity in the bathroom.

“This is nice,” Agatha whistles and you nod your head in agreement.

“Let me show you the other bedroom,” Dottie says and leads you to the other half of the apartment. “This door closes off the hallway to the second bed and bath, so plenty of privacy. Will your daughter be living with you?”

It’s hard not to laugh when you and Agatha glance at each other out of the corner of your eyes. “Um, no, I go to college in New Jersey. But I’ll be visiting a lot,” you answer, and then, just for the fun of it, add: “How thick are the walls, though? Like, apartment to apartment.”

Agatha stifles a laugh that turns into a cough and Dottie looks back over her shoulder. “We don’t get a lot of noise complaints. If you’re worried about the TV being too loud, it shouldn’t be a problem because the living room is in the middle of the two bedrooms. But if you’re watching something in either bedroom, there’s a chance a neighbor might be able to hear a bit of it.”

“That’s exactly what I was worried about,” you mumble and Agatha nudges you, even though she’s smirking too.

The second bedroom is a bit smaller than the other, but still a good size. This one has a window-sill and only one long window and the closet is only about half as big. The bathroom has an alcove tub and matching countertops to the other bathroom and a lot of cabinet space.

Dottie also shows you the three extra closets for extra storage and then takes you to the empty apartment on the ninth floor.

Agatha walks around, gesturing wildly with her hands and pointing out where things could go, while you trail after her like a lost puppy, occasionally adding a yeah and I like that and I think that’ll look really good.

Seeing her plan the space feels like a hammer in your gut going it’s happening it’s happening it’s happening over and over again until it almost overwhelms you, but Agatha is so engaged in it that she doesn’t even notice. You’re being completely irrational. Everything is fine.

“So, what do you guys think?” Dottie asks when Agatha finally stops and comes to stand next to you as you’re leaning on the island and picking at your fingernails. She puts a hand on your lower back and you stiffen, eyes darting up to look at Agatha, who’s looking back at you inquisitively.

“Could you give us a second, Dottie?” It’s clear from Agatha’s tone that it’s not a question and Dottie gives you both a tight smile before leaving the apartment.

You rub your forehead, trying to stave off a headache you can feel slowly budding, and walk over to the windows. Her footsteps are soft and then she’s wrapping an arm around you to pull you into her and kiss your head.

“You know what I’m thinking about?” she asks and you hum inquisitively. “Fucking you against these windows so anyone down below could look up and see how well you take me. See how good of a girl you are for me.”

A burst of heat flashes through you but you smirk, not being able to pass up the opportunity to make a joke. “That’s quite an inappropriate thing to say to your daughter.”

Agatha snorts. “Good thing Dottie isn’t here.” And then she softens against you. “Do you like this place?”

You shrug. “It’s pretty nice. Aren’t we going to go look at the other places though?” It’s a stupid thing, but you feel like it’s not real until she signs a lease. And maybe you just want to keep it not real for a little bit longer.

She makes an equivocal sound. “This one did look the nicest online. And honestly, I really like it. I can definitely see myself living here. I can see us living here.”

“Okay,” you say softly, melting on the inside. As long as she’s picturing you here with her, you’d be good with anywhere. “I think this is the place, then. Let’s go tell Dottie, mommy.” You go to move but instead, she turns you by the shoulders and grabs your cheeks, pulling you in for a long kiss and then gives you another one for good measure.

“You are so perfect,” she says against your lips. “I l—”

The door opens and you jump back from Agatha and whirl to find Dottie standing there. Your cheeks heat up, but she doesn't look scandalized so you’re guessing she didn’t see anything. “How’s it going in here, ladies?”

Agatha gives you one last look-over, giving you all the time in the world to object, but you just swallow hard and nod. “Dottie, we’ll take it,” she says and you plaster a smile onto your face when Dottie gasps and exclaims excitedly.

She ushers you back to the lobby and leaves you sitting at a desk while she runs off to go print out papers. You’re tapping your foot impatiently when your phone buzzes.

Thinking it’s just one of your parents — you didn’t actually tell either of them that you were going to New York — you pull it out of your pocket.

Hey, it’s Carol. Want to get dinner tonight? You vaguely remember giving her your number the night of the party last week. You’ve only seen her once or twice since then and the first time, she asked how you were feeling, and the second time, she shot a finger gun at you.

“Who’s Carol?” Agatha murmurs, having leaned over your shoulder. You fight the instinct to turn your screen and type back, Sorry, out of town tonight. Rain check? before slipping it back into your pocket.

“Just this girl that lives in the dorms. She was the one who drove me to your place when I was hammered last Sunday.”

“Ah.” She’s opening her mouth to say something else when Dottie comes back over and plops down a thick packet and starts rattling off the rules of the complex, the extra fees, and where to sign. Dottie says because you’re not living here full-time, you don’t have to fill anything out and you inwardly sigh in relief.

Agatha barely looks at the papers before signing her name in big cursive letters and you can’t help but long for that kind of financial security and stability, where you don’t even have to worry about the cost of rent. When you do transfer and if you do end up living with her at any point, you know she won’t let you pay for anything, but you make a mental note to start looking at jobs, maybe even just part-time, so you can buy her things with your own money.

“Perfect, let me just run a quick background check on you, make sure your credit is good, and then I’ll get back with you. And you want to move in…?”

“Next Saturday would be great,” Agatha says and your foot starts bouncing even more erratically. Dottie leaves to go back into the office and Agatha’s head drops back to look up at the ceiling. “That means I need to set up electricity, water, internet, I need to schedule movers, I need to talk to my complex.” She groans and sits back normally, rubbing her face with her hands.

You’ve done the whole moving thing a few times and it absolutely sucks so you reach over to pat her leg. It’s the first time you’ve seen her even the slightest bit overwhelmed with all this and it’s honestly refreshing. “I’m here. Anything you need, I want to help.”

She gratefully smiles and leans across her chair to give you a kiss on the head. “How did I get so lucky?”

“Um, you married my dad.” Agatha wrinkles her nose but laughs anyway, resting a hand on top of yours that’s still on her thigh. It’s an anchor for both of you and neither of you move until Dottie comes back about five minutes later.

“All right, you guys are all good! We will see you next week. Any more questions?”

Agatha stands up and shakes Dottie’s hand. “I think we’re okay. Thank you so much for all your help.”

The drive back to Westview is filled with mindless chatter and no mention of the move. You make plans for the week — you’ll stay with Agatha every night, she’ll cook dinner, movie night on Tuesday, picnic in the park on Thursday. She knows that school is starting to pick up for you, so it goes unspoken that you’ll be doing homework with her.

“And of course, plenty of sex,” you add when she asks you if there’s anything else to plan for.

“Oh, sorry, was that not implied?” Agatha simpers and her hand sneaks its way into your lap, dipping under the seat belt to play with the elastic of your leggings.

You let her slide inside and let out a small moan when she brushes a finger against your clit through your underwear. “Better keep your eyes on the road, mommy,” you say tightly.

“I can multitask.”

She rubs your clit and you shift in your seat to give her easier access to you. It’s an odd angle — her wrist is bent in a way that is surely uncomfortable — but Agatha is determined to make it work. She teases you slowly and before long, you can feel how wet you’ve become. Your breathing has deepened, cheeks hot, and you start to roll your hips to get more stimulation.

“Mommy, please,” you beg, and she looks over at you to say something when the car in front of her stops suddenly. Your stomach lurches. “Watch out!”

Agatha slams on the brakes, sending you both flying forward, the seat belt putting an immense amount of pressure on you, and she yanks her hand out of your pants to put her arm in front of you.

The car screeches to a halt about two feet from the one in front of you. You’re both panting and Agatha tosses her hair back before assessing you.

“Are you okay?” she asks quietly. You nod, still gripped by a cold sweat. She takes a deep breath and puts both hands on the steering wheel when the cars begin to move again. “I think we’ll save car sex for another time.”

You huff out a laugh in agreement. “It went pretty well that one time. But we were in a parking lot on the way to get pizza in rural New Jersey, not on an interstate in New York.”

“Who would’ve thought there’s a big difference,” Agatha quips and the tension from almost getting into a wreck lifts the more she drives. You’re back to giggling and talking in no time, although you both keep your hands to yourself.

The rest of the day passes quickly, with Agatha busy setting up everything she needs for her new apartment while you finish up some homework for the upcoming week.

On Tuesday, you’re leaving your dorm after your third class of the day to go to Agatha’s for the night when you run into Carol. She brightens when you see her and you give her a quick smile, determined to keep moving.

“Hey, where are you off to? You still owe me that dinner,” she says, catching you by the arm.

“Yeah, sorry, this week is going to be a little tough,” you tell her apologetically. “My…girlfriend is moving on Saturday so I'm just trying to spend as much time with her as I can.” You’ve never really had to define your relationship with Agatha, but it seems natural to call her that.

A stormy look flits across her face before she’s back to normal. “The same girlfriend who broke up with you?”

You hadn’t exactly found the time to fill her in on the whole story. “Turns out she wasn’t cheating, it was me jumping to conclusions. She had a job interview in Albany and she got it! So she starts next Monday.”

“Be careful with long distance,” Carol warns, instead of being happy for you like you thought she would be. You raise an eyebrow. “It always starts out so nice and happy and everything is okay…but then the distance sets in. Texting and calling aren’t the same as just being able to see them and talk to them in person. Traveling becomes exhausting. The traffic makes you mad and then you’re in a bad mood and you can only think about the drive back and—”

“Stop,” you snap, stepping away from her. This is possibly the worst thing you could hear right now and you can’t take it any longer. “That’s not how this is going to go, okay? Agatha and I are different. We’re solid. And besides, it’s probably only going to be like this for a few months. She trusts me and I trust her. We’re going to be fine.”

Carol scoffs, a cold look in her eyes. “You trust her? Is that why you were so quick to believe she was cheating on you?”

The blow knocks the wind out of you and you just stare at her blankly. Who the fuck does she think she is?

She softens, realizing that she cut deeper than she intended to. “Shit, I’m sorry. This is your relationship and I should’ve stayed out of it — I’m sure you’re right, okay? You guys will be fine.”

But you don’t want to hear anymore from her, so you turn on your heel and walk to your car. The rest of the night, you’re a bit out of it and you can’t stop cursing Carol for putting those thoughts in your head.

The next few days fly by in a blur with classes and homework and avoiding Carol around campus, but your evenings are absolutely perfect with Agatha.

She keeps the light low in the kitchen while she cooks for you each night while you sit at the table and ramble on about whatever you’re learning. She hums at all the right times, but when you take a break to look up at her, she’s staring at you with a fondness in her eyes that you’ve never seen before.

Each time it happens, you think it must be what love looks like.

Growing up with parents that should’ve been divorced, you never had a good model for what love was. You used to think that everyone’s parents were like yours — cold, didn’t actually like each other, and just stayed together for their children. You thought that love meant complacency, or even that maybe there was no such thing as it.

You weren’t sure if you’d actually be able to fall in love and be loved back. But with Agatha, there’s an intimacy your parents never had. You didn’t know what that was like until her.

And you know that you love her more than anything in the entire world, and when she gives you that look, you think she might feel the same.

The three words are constantly on the tip of your tongue, but for some reason, you just can’t say them again. You don’t even say it when she makes you cum, which is a lot of times over the week.

She bends you over the countertop and fingers you. She shoves you against the wall after you get back from your picnic on Thursday, gets on her knees, and eats you out. She makes you sit on her strap while you finish your essay and then pushes you onto all-fours and pounds into your pussy until you’re crying. She fucks you in the kitchen, in the bedroom, in the hallway, in the living room — even in her car and your car. Both while you’re safely parked in an abandoned lot, of course.

It’s like she’s determined to give you as many orgasms as she can before she moves, and she’s doing an excellent job of it.

Saturday, after everything gets moved into the new apartment and you’re finally done unpacking most of the stuff, Agatha takes you to a fancy Italian steakhouse in Albany. The atmosphere is romantic, with classical music playing softly and candles lit at every table. Agatha looks absolutely stunning in a tight black dress and curly hair, and you’re wearing your best outfit as well.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” she asks and your cheeks heat up as your head ducks down shyly.

“Once or twice,” you answer coyly, finally meeting her gaze again.

She holds out her hand across the table and you take it, feeling the normal electricity that her skin on yours always gives you. “We’re going to be okay, you know that, right? I know you’re more worried than you’re letting on. I know how you’re feeling — I know how easy it is to get swept away with doubts. But I really appreciate you telling me to take this job and I promise we’ll be okay. I care about you far too much to let anything happen to this.”

You nod and squeeze her hand. “I do know. I feel the same.”

“Oh — that reminds me. I got you something,” she says and digs around in her purse before pulling out a small black box with a red bow neatly wrapped around it and handing it to you. “You might want to open it beneath the table. Might be embarrassing if someone sees it.”

Brows furrowing in confusion, you dip the box under the white tablecloth and undo the bow quickly before lifting off the lid. Your mouth falls open and your eyes shoot up to meet hers.

“Agatha,” you hiss, flushing.

Resting on stretched out cotton in the box is a small, purple vibrator, curved to be able to rest on your clit while also vibrating against your g-spot, with a gold engraving along the side that goes inside you: Mommy’s cunt. Your clit throbs.

She holds up what looks like a small key fob and presses a button and the toy starts vibrating. You drop the box into your lap while gaping at her and she smirks triumphantly. “Works from anywhere in the world,” she says casually and your stomach sears with heat.

“Oh, fuck,” you rasp. You’re suddenly feeling very excited about this move. Something about the distance, about the anticipation and the teasing and the pining that it will bring, doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

Suddenly, the food can’t come fast enough and then you’re both in the car, Agatha speeding while you sit on your hands so you don’t distract her, and then she throws the car into park and you both race into her apartment.

Her mouth finds yours the moment you step through the door, pushing you against the wall as a muffled oomph slips out of you, and she sucks on your tongue and then bites your bottom lip and then kisses her way down your neck. Your brain is going foggy and your underwear is soaked and you quickly tug her into the bedroom.

Agatha tears off her dress and then pounces on you, knocking you onto your back on the bed, hands coming up to cup your breasts and you keen.

“God, Agatha,” you groan and she scrapes her teeth against your neck. It’s so good, but it’s also your last night before everything changes. “Wait, fuck, stop.”

She jumps back like she’s been burned. “What — is everything okay?”

You nod, panting, and run your hands up and down her hips. “Yeah, everything’s great. I just…can we just cuddle tonight? I just want to be close to you.”

Agatha runs her tongue along the inside of her bottom lip, her eyes going glassy for a moment before she blinks, and she chokes out, “Of course, honey. Whatever you want.”

Smiling gratefully, you take off your clothes and slide under the covers next to her so you can feel all of her warm skin against yours before she tucks an arm around you. You nuzzle into her body and your face twitches with restrained emotion.

“I’m going to miss you,” you say softly and she presses a kiss to your head. “I know it’ll be okay though. I’m almost done with my application to the University at Albany.”

She hums and kisses you again before breathing in your scent deeply like she’s making sure she doesn’t forget it. “I have no doubt you’ll get in. And then it’ll be us in our own little world.”

“That’s right.”

The two of you lay like that for what feels like hours, and eventually, Agatha’s breathing starts to even out. A quick glance up at her face confirms that she fell asleep.

You know you should too, but you’re reluctant to let this moment go. Right now, it feels like you’re frozen in time, just the two of you.

So you stay up as late as you can, just soaking in the feeling of her.

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fuqnia · 5 months ago

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I'll Compliment You Frequently (2) ₊˚⊹♡

♡ kenny mccormick x fem!reader insert | college au, smut

♡ A/N | kenny says something so fucking funny in the truck, like why did i make him say that LMFAO (still mad i had to split this 3 parts)

♡ C/W | NSFW (18+), ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP, kissing, smoking (weed and cigarettes), oral sex (male receiving) blowjobs, inexperienced reader, kenny has a filthy mouth ☹️

event masterlist | part one | part three

Eventually, Kenny slows the truck, pulling off onto an empty side road that leads to a scenic overlook. It’s quiet here, tucked away from the main roads, the kind of place you could sit for hours without seeing another car. Below, the distant city lights blink against the dark horizon, stretching out in a hazy glow. The stars above are clear and bright, scattered across the sky in a way that almost makes the night feel less heavy.

Kenny puts the truck in park, leaning back slightly against the seat, exhaling like he needed to get away just as much as you did. One hand stays on the wheel, the other raking through his hair before dropping back to his lap.

You shift, turning toward him, propping your elbow up on the center console and resting your head in your hand. A small smile tugs at your lips.

“So,” you say, tilting your head slightly. “What’s new with you?”

Kenny snorts, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “That’s vague as fuck.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine. Any new hookups? Classes been stressful? How��s Karen?”

Kenny exhales a short laugh, shaking his head. “Damn. You really covered all the bases, huh?”

You smirk. “I try.”

He leans back further against the seat, drumming his fingers lightly against his knee. “Hookups?” He shrugs. “I mean, you saw Tammy. You tell me.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I don’t know if that counts as a hookup yet.”

Kenny grins. “Yet?”

You groan, nudging him with your foot. “You know what I mean.”

He chuckles but doesn’t press. “Classes?” He stretches his arms above his head before settling again. “Same shit, different semester. Physics is kicking my ass, but what else is new?”

You nod, waiting for him to continue. He hesitates for half a second before sighing. “Karen’s good,” he says, his voice softer. “High school’s been a bitch, though. I mean, she’s doing great, but she’s stressed out. College applications, grades, all that shit. She wants to get the hell out of South Park as soon as she graduates.”

You smile, warmth spreading in your chest. “She’s smart. She’ll figure it out.”

Kenny smirks. “Yeah. Probably gonna be the first McCormick to get an actual degree. Wild, right?”

You chuckle, watching him for a moment. His expression is relaxed, his posture loose, but there’s a quiet fondness in his voice when he talks about Karen. You know how much she means to him—how much he’s always tried to make sure she has everything he never did. It’s rare to see him like this, unguarded, just talking.

You hum, tilting your head. “And you? Besides school and Tammy and helping Karen become a future CEO—how have you been?”

Kenny’s smirk twitches slightly, his fingers tapping once against the steering wheel. His blue eyes flick toward you, considering, before he shrugs.

“I’m fine,” he says.

You frown, but you don’t call him out on the lie. There’s no point. If Kenny doesn’t want to talk, then he won’t, and pushing him will just make him retreat further. Instead, you shift slightly, resting your chin against your hand, watching him carefully.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” your voice is quiet, steady, a reminder more than anything.

Kenny doesn’t answer immediately. He just hums, noncommittal, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He taps one out, rolling it between his fingers before slipping it between his lips. His lighter flicks once, twice, before the flame catches, the soft orange glow illuminating his face for a split second.

The familiar scent of smoke fills the cabin as he rolls down the window, resting his arm against the frame. He exhales slowly, watching the smoke drift into the night before finally turning back to you.

His eyes sweep over your face, taking in your makeup. His gaze drops lower, dragging over your outfit, the way the skirt rides up slightly when you shift in your seat. There’s something lazy about the way he looks at you, something slow and considering, like he’s taking his time piecing something together.

Finally, he exhales another stream of smoke and smirks slightly. “So. You and Damien, huh?”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

Kenny tilts his head, cigarette dangling between his fingers. “Like, actually?”

You hesitate, gripping the fabric of your skirt loosely, suddenly hyper-aware of the way he’s looking at you. You can’t really decipher his expression, but there’s something in his eyes that makes you feel uneasy.

“I mean…” You wet your lips, exhaling. “We’ve been hanging out.”

Kenny hums again, dragging another slow inhale from his cigarette. “Right. Hanging out.”

You glare at him, rolling your eyes. “Don’t start.”

He grins, tapping ash out the window. “I’m just askin’.”

You lean back against the seat, crossing your arms. “Well, what about you and Tammy?”

Kenny exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Not the same thing.”

You scoff. “Oh, so you making out with her at a party doesn’t mean anything, but me spending time with Damien does?”

Kenny’s smirk deepens, but his fingers tighten around the cigarette just slightly. “Didn’t say that.”

You narrow your eyes at him, watching him closely, but he doesn’t elaborate. He just takes another slow drag, the glow of the cigarette briefly illuminating the sharp angles of his face. The night outside is quiet, the only sounds the distant hum of the city below and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. The air inside the truck is warm, heavy with the faint scent of smoke and whatever cheap cologne Kenny probably sprayed on before heading to the party.

Kennye flicks some ash out the window, tapping the cigarette against the frame before turning back to you with that same smirk that always means trouble. “The kissing practice been useful?” He says, tilting his head slightly, voice low and easy.

Your breath catches for a second, heat creeping up your neck.

You blink at him, your fingers gripping the hem of your skirt as if that’ll ground you. “What?”

Kenny exhales slowly, a lazy stream of smoke curling past his lips. “You know,” he says, dragging out the words just enough to send an uneasy warmth through your chest. “Did it help?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, trying way too hard to act like this isn’t throwing you off. “Oh my God.”

Kenny grins, clearly enjoying himself. “What? I’m just curious.”

“You’re not curious, you’re being an ass.”

He chuckles, shifting slightly in his seat, tapping the cigarette against the edge of the window again. “I mean, I did do you a favor,” he says, smirking. “Least you could do is let me know if it was worth my time.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “Jesus Christ, Kenny.”

He laughs, the sound low and amused, and it sends an odd shiver down your spine. You peek at him through your fingers, still burning with embarrassment, but Kenny just watches you, his smirk lazy, his eyes holding amusement.

You huff, letting your hands drop to your lap. “I guess it helped,” you admit, reluctantly.

Kenny raises an eyebrow. “Just guess?”

You glare at him, but your face is still warm. “Yes. Just guess.”

Kenny hums, his smirk twitching. “Huh.”

You frown. “What?”

He takes another slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling through his nose before flicking his gaze to your lips, his attention lingering for a second longer than it should before meeting your eyes again.

“Nothing,” he says, but the way his voice drops makes your throat tighten.

You deepen your frown, leaning in slightly as you reach up and tug on one of the strands of his blonde hair. It slips between your fingers, fine and slightly messy from the way he always runs his hands through it. Kenny barely reacts, just exhales another slow stream of smoke out the window.

“Dude,” you say, irritation creeping into your tone. “Stop saying nothing. Actually tell me.”

You glare at him, waiting, but Kenny just tilts his head, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re really hung up on this, huh?”

You groan, leaning back against the seat. “Because I know you. When you say ‘nothing’ like that, it means something.” You gesture vaguely at him. “So spill.”

Kenny taps the cigarette against the window frame, flicking off the ash. His expression doesn’t shift much, but the smirk fades slightly, like he’s thinking about how much he actually wants to say. His eyes flick back to you, studying your face in that slow, deliberate way that always makes you feel like he sees too much.

Then he shrugs. “I was just thinking.”

You narrow your eyes. “Thinking what?”

He exhales, dropping his head back against the seat. “I dunno. Just… I remember when you used to think kissing was gross.”

Your face immediately heats up. “I was, like, twelve.”

Kenny grins, dragging another slow inhale from his cigarette. “Exactly. You’d get all pissy whenever Cartman made some dumb joke about it, too. You’d be like, ‘Ugh, why would anyone wanna put their mouth on someone else’s?’” He mimics your voice, higher and more dramatic, shooting you a shit-eating grin.

You shove his arm, groaning. “Oh my God, shut up.”

Kenny just laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, it’s just funny. Look at you now. Practicing on me, going on dates with Damien.” He exhales, voice laced with amusement. “What happened to that version of you?”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “She grew up.”

Kenny hums, tilting his head slightly, gaze flicking over your face again before he looks back out the windshield. His fingers drum against the steering wheel, slow, steady, like he’s still thinking about something he isn’t saying.

After a beat, he snuffs out his cigarette in the ashtray, stretching slightly before glancing at you again. “So.” His smirk returns, but it’s smaller now. “You really like this guy, huh?”

You hesitate, your fingers tightening against your arms. “…Yeah.”

Kenny watches you closely. “Yeah?”

You chew the inside of your cheek. “I mean, I think so.”

Kenny’s lips press together like he’s biting back a response. Instead, he just nods slowly, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel again.

“Good,” he says finally, but there’s something in his tone that makes your chest tighten.

You ignore it, pushing the feeling down, inhaling deeply as you let your head rest against the seat. The cold air slipping through the cracked window feels good against your skin, grounding you, giving you something else to focus on.

You think about Damien, about how easy things feel with him, how exciting it is to have someone looking at you in that way. It feels good—being seen, being wanted. You spent so long watching your friends fall into things like this, watching Kyle get into his first relationship in high school, watching Stan fall apart over Wendy, even watching Kenny move from one person to the next, never hesitating, never second-guessing. It was always them experiencing this sort of thing. Now, it’s finally your turn.

A slow smile tugs at your lips as you glance over at Kenny. “Hey,” you say, voice softer now. “Can I ask you something?”

Kenny lifts an eyebrow, smirk still lingering. “Depends. Is it another ‘what happened to twelve-year-old me’ conversation?”

You roll your eyes, nudging him lightly with your foot. “No, dumbass.” You hesitate for a second before exhaling. “I just—I don’t know. You’ve been in, like… a lot of situations like this.” You wave a hand vaguely. “You’re experienced.”

Kenny’s smirk stretches wider. “Wow. Experienced.” He leans back, placing a hand over his chest in mock flattery. “That’s the nicest way anyone’s ever called me a manwhore.”

You groan. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”

Kenny chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. What do you need, princess?”

You fidget slightly, pressing your fingers into the fabric of your skirt. “Can you, like… give me advice?” You hesitate, feeling warmth creep up your neck.

Kenny stills for half a second before he exhales a quiet laugh, watching you with amusement. “Advice?”

You nod. “Yeah. You know. Dating advice.”

Kenny studies you, his expression shifting slightly, the teasing smirk still there but something more thoughtful beneath it. He taps his fingers against the steering wheel, tilting his head slightly. “What kinda advice we talking about here?”

You shrug, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know. Like… how do you keep someone interested?”

Kenny snorts. “Jesus, you just started dating him.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “I know! I just—I don’t know how any of this works, okay?”

Kenny chuckles again, but there’s no edge to it this time. He leans back, resting an arm along the back of his seat, watching you with something closer to curiosity now. “Alright,” he says, voice smoother now. “Well, first of all, you don’t try too hard. Nothing kills attraction like desperation.”

You shoot him a glare. “I’m not desperate.”

Kenny grins. “Didn’t say you were. Just sayin’—people want what they think they can’t have.” He takes another slow drag from his cigarette, eyes flicking toward you as he exhales the smoke. “Don’t be too available. Don’t let him think he’s got you all figured out. Keep him guessing.”

You hum, nodding slightly, considering that. “Okay. What else?”

Kenny watches you for a beat before smirking. “Touch him.”

You blink, face heating up. “What?”

Kenny shrugs. “Not, like, that, you perv. I mean, casual shit.” He taps his fingers against his knee. “Guys like that. Touch his arm when you laugh, lean into him when you talk. Act like it’s not a big deal.”

You chew your lip, thinking. You did notice Damien always leaned in closer when you touched his hand, or how he lingered just a second longer whenever you brushed against him.

Kenny flicks some ash out the window again, his smirk turning a little smug. “And, y’know… if you really wanna get him hooked, let him chase you.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Kenny exhales, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle. “You’re making this way more complicated than it needs to be.” He tilts his head toward you, voice dropping slightly. “Make him want your attention. Don’t always be the one giving it first. Play it cool. Act like you don’t need him.”

You huff, leaning back against the seat, thinking it over. “That sounds exhausting.”

Kenny laughs. “Yeah, well. Welcome to dating.”

You groan dramatically, earning another chuckle from him. Despite yourself, you feel lighter, the initial awkwardness of the conversation fading away. Kenny might be a lot of things, but he knows this stuff, and as much as you hate to admit it, his advice actually makes sense.

Still, a different thought nags at you. You think back to your conversation with Damien a couple of days ago, the way you had casually admitted—without thinking—that you had no experience. Not just with sex, but with anything. You remember the way his expression had shifted, how he had reassured you that it wasn’t a big deal, how he hadn’t made you feel bad about it, but it still left you feeling… inexperienced. Like you were behind everyone else. Like even Kenny—who had been your best friend for years—was light-years ahead of you in ways you never really thought about before.

The feeling creeps up again, embarrassing and a little frustrating, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you glance at Kenny. You reach out absentmindedly, tracing the edge of his parka where it rests against his arm, fingers trailing along the fabric.

He notices, his gaze flicking briefly to your hand before shifting back to the road.

You hesitate for a second before inhaling, glancing at him from under your lashes. “Okay, okay, don’t tease me,” you start, already bracing for the inevitable response. “But, um… how was your first time touching a guy?”

Kenny blinks.

His grip on the steering wheel shifts slightly, his fingers flexing once before relaxing again. He doesn’t say anything at first, just exhales through his nose, like he’s trying to decide whether to laugh at you or take the question seriously.

Then, after a beat, he smirks. “Damn,” he murmurs, amused. “You really are just collecting all the advice tonight, huh?”

Your face heats up. “I said don’t tease me.”

Kenny chuckles but humors you, tapping his fingers against the wheel as he thinks. “Alright, let’s see…” He tilts his head, exhaling as he remembers. “I was, like, sixteen, I think? Maybe seventeen. Some guy from a couple towns over—met him at a party. Didn’t even know if I liked guys like that yet, but he kissed me first, so I figured, ‘fuck it, might as well see where it goes.’”

You listen carefully, eyes on him, your fingers still tracing the edge of his sleeve.

Kenny notices but doesn’t comment on it.

“It was… weird at first,” he admits, a little more thoughtful now. “Not in a bad way, just different. I kept thinking too much, overanalyzing it. Like, ‘do I like this? Am I into it?’” He smirks slightly. “Turns out I was.”

You swallow, nodding. “Were you nervous?”

Kenny huffs a quiet laugh. “Me? Nervous?” He raises an eyebrow, smirk deepening. “Come on, give me some credit.”

You roll your eyes. “I mean it.”

He exhales, shifting in his seat. “Yeah,” he admits, a little softer now. “For, like, five minutes. But once I stopped thinking so hard about it, it was… nice.” He glances at you, his blue eyes holding something unreadable. “Why? You worried you’re gonna panic if Damien tries to put his hands on you?”

Your face burns. “Oh my God, Kenny.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I’m serious! You’re all nervous about kissing, I can only imagine how you’ll react if he actually tries something.”

You giggle, reaching out to flick his forehead. “Shut up.”

Kenny flinches dramatically, rubbing the spot like you actually hurt him. “Ow, fuck, abusive much?”

Rolling your eyes, you let your hand drop back to your lap, playing with the hem of your skirt. You shift slightly in your seat, inhaling deeply before exhaling through your nose. “I mean…” You hesitate, but there’s no point in holding back now, not when you’ve already embarrassed yourself a hundred times tonight. You clear your throat. “Yeah. I am nervous.”

Kenny glances at you, his smirk still there but smaller now, more thoughtful. You keep talking before he can say anything, your voice softer. “I don’t wanna mess this up.” Your fingers tighten against your skirt, the fabric bunching under your grip. “I mean, Damien’s great. He’s cool, he likes me, he chose me, and that’s… new.” You exhale, laughing quietly. “But also, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

Kenny snorts. “Oh, yeah. That much is very clear.”

You glare at him, smacking his arm. “Kenny.”

He laughs again, shaking his head. “I’m just saying! It’s cute, in a weird, awkward, ‘oh my God, she’s a virgin who’s never been touched’ kind of way.”

Your face burns, but you push past it, turning toward him fully, ignoring the way your stomach flips at the words. “But, like…” You bite your lip, a nervous habit, before forcing yourself to smile. “I’m excited, too.”

Kenny raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t interrupt. You exhale, shifting in your seat. “Like, actually doing stuff. Sexual stuff.” Your voice dips slightly on the last words, heat creeping up your neck. “I don’t know, it’s just… I’ve spent so long thinking about it, but it always felt like other people were doing it, not me. And now that I can…” You trail off, feeling ridiculous.

Kenny watches you for a long second, something unreadable passing through his expression before he huffs out a short laugh. “Damn,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “You really are thinking that far ahead, huh?”

“I knew you were gonna make fun of me.”

Kenny smirks, resting his elbow on the center console, chin in his hand. “I’m not making fun of you. It’s just… funny.”

You peek at him through your fingers. “How is it funny?”

He shrugs, the glow from the dashboard casting soft shadows across his face. “I dunno. Just weird thinking about you thinking about sex.” He tilts his head, smirk deepening. “Can’t imagine it.”

Your face burns. “Kenny!”

He laughs, dodging when you swat at him again. “I’m just saying! You’ve spent years acting like all that shit was gross, and now you’re over here talking about how excited you are to, what, lose your virginity?”

You groan dramatically, covering your face again. “Oh my God, why did I even bring this up?”

Kenny grins, shifting slightly to get more comfortable in his seat. His smirk lingers, but something in his expression softens just a little. “Look,” he says, voice a little more even now. “You’re nervous. That’s normal. And yeah, first times are awkward as hell, but if the guy’s worth anything, he won’t care.” He shrugs. “And if he does care, he’s a fucking loser, and you can do better.”

You drop your hands, frowning slightly. “You think Damien’s a loser?”

Kenny hesitates, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel once before shrugging again. “Didn’t say that.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You kinda did.”

Kenny exhales through his nose, looking away briefly before glancing back at you. “I just think…” He trails off, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking something off. “I don’t know. He’s not the guy I pictured you with.”

Your stomach tenses slightly at that. “…Oh.”

Kenny watches you, his smirk dimming slightly, but then he shakes his head, stretching his arms above his head before settling again. “But, hey. If you’re happy, you’re happy.”

The words feel dismissive, like they don’t carry weight, like he’s forcing them out. And you don’t know why, but for some reason, that pisses you off.

You shift in your seat, biting your lip, suddenly hyperaware of the space between you. The air feels heavier than it did a few minutes ago, like you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff. Your gaze flickers to Kenny’s face, the sharp angles softened slightly in the dim light, his lips parting slightly as he exhales, flicking ash out the window.

The thought forms before you can stop it. You swallow hard, your fingers playing with the hem of your skirt again before you force yourself to look at him. “Hey,” you start, voice quieter now.

Kenny glances at you, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Your pulse kicks up, but you push forward anyway. “Can I ask you for another favor?”

Kenny exhales, smirking. “What, you want more dating advice? I already gave you my best material.”

You shake your head, hesitating. Your throat feels tight, but you push through it, gripping the fabric of your skirt as you look him in the eye. “No. It’s… different.”

Kenny’s smirk twitches, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “Different how?”

You wet your lips, feeling your stomach twist. “I wanna… practice something else.”

Kenny’s fingers pause where they were drumming against the wheel. He watches you carefully now, the amusement in his expression faltering just slightly. “Practice what, exactly?”

Your face is burning, your whole body warm, but you don’t look away. “Like… other stuff.” Your voice dips lower, your heart pounding against your ribs.

Kenny’s smirk fades, and for the first time tonight, he doesn’t have a quick response. His lips press together for a second, his jaw tightening just slightly, like he’s holding something back. His fingers flex once where they rest against his knee before he exhales, slow and controlled, dragging a hand through his hair before letting it drop. He just looks at you. Not in the way he usually does, not with that lazy amusement or sharp teasing edge—no, this is different. His gaze settles on you like he’s really seeing you, his eyes steady, searching, like he’s trying to figure out if you actually understand what you just asked.

Your nerves get the better of you. You slap your hands over your cheeks, groaning into your palms before dragging them down your face, your words tumbling out too fast. “Oh fuck, I’m sorry. That was—shit. I wasn’t trying to make it weird, I swear.” You let out a sharp breath, shaking your head. “It’s just—you were really nice about the kissing, and I’m really comfortable with you, and I figured, hey, you have experience, and if I was ever gonna learn—” You stop yourself before you can spiral any further, your hands twitching in your lap. “I mean, you can totally say no. I wouldn’t get weird about it or anything, because we’re best friends, and we’re always gonna be best friends, and the kissing didn’t change that, so I just thought—”

You finally glance at him again, your heart hammering, and fuck, he’s still just looking at you.

His blue eyes flicker over your face, taking in every little movement—how you’re gripping your skirt too tightly, how your lips keep pressing together like you’re trying to hold back more words, how your breathing isn’t steady anymore. The tension in his shoulders isn’t obvious, but it’s there, the way his body has gone still like he’s processing.

He takes a slow breath, and when he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than before, rough but even. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

Your throat feels tight. “I just—”

“I know why you asked me,” Kenny says, and his tone is steady. He exhales, dragging his thumb over his bottom lip before dropping his hand back down. “You don’t have to keep talking yourself in circles, babe. I get it.”

You bite your lip, your fingers still gripping your skirt. “So…”

Kenny doesn’t answer right away. His gaze lingers on you, his expression unreadable—not distant, not cold, but careful. Like he’s making a decision in real time, like he’s weighing something in his head that you can’t see. His lips part slightly before he clicks his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head once, like he’s settling something within himself. Then, finally, he exhales.

“You actually need to think about this,” he says, his voice quieter now, more controlled. It isn’t rough, isn’t dismissive—it’s steady, careful, like he’s forcing himself to keep his tone level. “Like, actually think about it.”

Your breath catches slightly, not because you’re unsure, but because the way he’s looking at you makes your skin feel hot, makes your hands press tighter into your lap, makes you too aware of the air between you, how thin it suddenly feels. This isn’t a joke to him. This isn’t just Kenny being Kenny. He’s waiting for you to really hear him, to really understand what you’re asking.

Your fingers twitch against your skirt, gripping the fabric. “I have thought about it.”

Kenny exhales, dragging a hand down his face before rubbing his jaw, his thumb brushing briefly over the edge of his lip. He doesn’t scoff. He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t do any of the things he normally would when you get in over your head. Instead, his jaw tightens again, his eyes flickering over your face like he’s checking to see if you mean it, if you’re going to take it back.

Then, he tilts his head slightly, inhaling like he’s making a decision in real time. “Alright.” A pause. A breath. The flicker of something in his expression, too quick to place. Then—“Yeah. Of course I’ll help you.”

His voice is smooth, easy, like the decision itself isn’t difficult. But the way his fingers drum against the wheel once before stilling, the way his knee bounces before pressing firm into the floor again, the way his lips part slightly like he wants to say more but doesn’t—it feels like he’s holding something back.

You blink rapidly, your breath catching in your throat as a soft oh escapes your lips. The realization feels slow, heavy, settling over your skin like a weighted blanket—too warm, too much. Kenny watches you, his eyes flicking over your face like he’s waiting for something, but you don’t know what. He doesn’t push. He just looks.

You tilt your head slightly, studying him, trying to make sense of the sudden shift in your chest. You remember how it felt when you kissed him, how it really felt—the way his lips moved against yours, the quiet, steady way he held you, the warmth that had curled in your stomach so unexpectedly that you almost hadn’t known what to do with it. It had been good. Too good. But you had convinced yourself it was just Kenny, just the way he was, just the fact that he had so much more experience than you.

Because you and Kenny? You were best friends. That’s what you’ve always been. That’s what you’ll always be.

You swallow, your fingers curling slightly against your lap. You’ve never let yourself think about it before, never let yourself go there, because there was no point. Kenny has never looked at you that way. He’s had so many hookups, so many people who were more than willing to fall into bed with him, to get caught up in that easy, lazy charm of his. And you—you—you were just his best friend.

Kenny exhales, rubbing his thumb absently against the edge of the wheel, before finally breaking the silence. “So,” he says, his voice just a little lower than before. “How do you wanna do this?”

You swallow thickly, fingers curling into the hem of your skirt, twisting the fabric between your fingertips. The truck feels warmer now, too warm, the air between you and Kenny thick with something unspoken, pressing against your skin, making it hard to breathe, to think.

"I—I don't know how to do this," you admit quietly, barely above a whisper. Your throat tightens as the words slip out, hesitant and uncertain. "I don’t even know how this, like… starts."

Kenny doesn’t speak right away. He just watches you, his head tilting slightly, his lips parting like he’s about to say something, then stopping himself at the last second. His eyes flicker over your face, tracing the nervous set of your mouth, the way your fingers won’t stop fidgeting, like he’s waiting to see where you’re going with this, waiting to meet you wherever you land.

You exhale sharply, trying to push past the weight settling in your chest. “Should I—should I do something?” Your voice feels too small in the space between you, fragile in a way that makes your stomach twist. “Like… should we just—" Your fingers tighten against your skirt, face heating. "Should we make out first?”

The second you say it, you wish you could take it back. Kenny exhales, slow and measured, but there’s tension behind it, something restrained, like he’s keeping himself in check. His fingers twitch once against his knee before he presses his palm flat against his leg, grounding himself. His breathing is steady, but his posture has shifted—his shoulders are tighter, his jaw flexing once before relaxing.

Then, before you can stop yourself, the words spill out, rushed, breathless. “Or should I, like… sit on your lap or something?” Your hands grip your skirt harder, your thighs pressing together as embarrassment crashes into you, sharp and suffocating. Why did you say that? Why did your brain jump straight to that? And worse—why does the thought of it send a slow, twisting warmth through your stomach, heavy and impossible to ignore?

His expression flickers—his mouth parts slightly, his breath catching in a way that barely registers, but you see it. His jaw tightens again, just for a second, and his tongue flicks out over his lower lip, dragging slowly before he exhales through his nose.

He doesn’t grin. He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t throw out some lazy, teasing comment the way he should. Instead, his grip tightens against his thigh, knuckles flexing briefly before he speaks. “We should move to the backseat.”

He doesn’t say it like a joke, doesn’t give you a smirk to soften it. He just looks at you, his posture tense but not rigid, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll agree, if you’ll back out, if you’ll change your mind.

Your heart is beating too fast, and you think he must notice, must hear it with how close you are. But Kenny doesn’t rush you. You swallow hard. “O-Okay.”

His lips part slightly, like he might say something else, but instead, he just nods once and pushes open his door. The night air rushes in, cool against your skin, and you inhale sharply as you follow, stepping out onto the gravel. Your boots scrape against the ground, the sound grounding you for a second before you glance at him.

Kenny pulls open the back door, his grip firm around the handle. His shoulders are tense, his jaw set, but he isn’t moving like he’s got this all figured out. There’s a stiffness to the way he stands, like he’s waiting for you to decide if this is still what you want.

You climb into the backseat, your breath uneven as you settle against the worn leather. The second you’re inside, Kenny follows, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. The sound feels louder than it should, like it means something, like it’s sealing you both in.

The space between you feels smaller than it did in the front.

Streetlights filter through the windows, casting faint shadows across his face, catching on the line of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbone. He shifts slightly, his knee brushing yours, his hand flexing against his thigh before he finally rests it between you. His breathing is even, but there’s an alertness in his posture, like he’s trying to keep himself steady, like he’s aware of every small movement you make.

Your fingers twitch in your lap, restless, your voice uneven as you finally speak. “So… now what?”

Kenny’s lips twitch, but it’s not his usual smirk. His hand lifts, slow and careful, and his knuckles brush against your jaw, just barely. His touch is warm, rough in some places, but light. He’s not grabbing you, not pulling you in—just touching, just testing.

His voice, when it comes, is quiet. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

Your pulse pounds at the base of your throat, a nervous thrum beneath your skin. Your stomach is twisting itself into knots, and you can feel the warmth creeping up your neck, your cheeks. Your lips part slightly, but you don’t trust yourself to speak without your voice shaking, so you just nod.

Kenny watches you for a moment, like he’s giving you the chance to change your mind. His hands still hover, his fingers twitching slightly like he doesn’t know what to do with them. But before he can close the space between you, you move first.

You don’t know why. Maybe because sitting there, waiting, makes you too nervous. Maybe because something about the way he’s looking at you makes your stomach flip in a way you don’t want to acknowledge. So you shift forward, moving into his lap, your knees pressing into the worn leather seat on either side of his thighs.

Kenny stiffens beneath you. Not a lot—just enough for you to feel the tension in his shoulders, the way his chest tightens as he inhales. His hands finally move, one landing at your hip, the other resting lightly at your waist, fingers flexing slightly like he’s testing the feel of you there. His grip is firm but not demanding, holding you steady without pulling you closer.

You feel the warmth of his breath against your lips, and suddenly, everything feels real in a way that sends a nervous jolt through your body. Your hands settle on his shoulders, pressing lightly against the thick fabric of his parka, trying to ground yourself.

“This is okay, right?” Your voice is softer than before, uncertain, barely above a whisper. Kenny doesn’t answer right away. His fingers twitch against your waist, his grip tightening for just a second before loosening again. His expression is serious—brows slightly furrowed, lips parted like he’s considering his next words carefully. His eyes trail over your face, dragging from your mouth to your cheek, to your eyes, like he’s searching for something.

You swallow thickly, nerves bubbling up in your chest. “This won’t be weird?” Kenny exhales, slow and measured, like he’s trying to keep himself steady. His thumb brushes against your side in an absentminded motion, tracing slow circles over the fabric of your skirt. His grip on your waist tightens, just slightly. His gaze locks onto yours, eyes dark in the dim light of the truck’s cabin.

You force a nervous smile, trying to ease the tension in your chest. “We’ll still be friends after this, right?” Kenny hesitates. It’s small—just a half-second pause—but you see it. You feel it. The way his fingers tense against your waist like he’s holding himself back, the way his lips part but no words come out right away, the flicker of something deep in his expression that makes your breath catch.

Then, finally, he exhales, his voice quiet. “Yeah,” he says. “We’ll still be friends.”

But there’s something different in the way he says it. It’s not casual, not easy. It’s careful. Like he’s saying it because it’s what you need to hear. Like he’s trying to convince himself, too.

You exhale, relief washing through you like a tide pulling back from the shore. Your shoulders loosen, the tension in your chest uncoiling just slightly as you offer him a small, wobbly smile. “You really are the bestest of friends,” you murmur, voice light, teasing—trying to push away the heaviness lingering in the air between you.

Kenny actually chuckles at that, the sound warm and familiar. It makes your stomach flutter, a welcome distraction from the nervous energy still coiled beneath your ribs. For a second, everything feels normal again. The weight of the moment doesn’t press so heavily against your chest. The tension that had been building between you both doesn’t feel suffocating.

But then, his hands move. His fingers, rough and warm, skim along your waist before gliding up the sides of your neck. He cups your face fully, his palms pressing gently against your jaw as he tilts your chin up. The pads of his thumbs brush along your skin, coarse and calloused, grounding you in a way that makes you feel weird. He’s steady, patient, like he’s holding you there without trapping you, like he’s making sure you stay with him in this moment.

His thumb grazes your bottom lip. Your breath catches, muscles tensing as heat floods your face. The touch is barely there, just the faintest pressure, but it makes your entire body react. A dull thrum spreads through your chest, your fingers twitching where they rest against his shoulders. It feels too much, too intimate, too something that just best friends shouldn’t feel. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t acknowledge the way your body stiffens under his touch.

His face is closer than it’s ever been before. The warm streetlight filtering through the windshield casts a soft glow over his features, highlighting every faint freckle on the bridge of his nose, the slight curve of his lips, the dark edge of his lashes. He’s watching you carefully, but his expression doesn’t give anything away. No teasing smirk, no cocky remark. Just quiet focus.

“I’m gonna kiss you now, alright?” His voice is low, smooth, carrying a certainty that makes your stomach flip. He doesn’t ask it like a question, doesn’t wait for hesitation or doubt. He’s just telling you. Like this is already happening, like he’s making sure you know before he follows through.

Your pulse hammers against your ribs, your hands tightening where they rest against his shoulders. A shaky nod is all you can manage. Your lips part slightly, a breath slipping out as you swallow the lump in your throat.

“Okay.”

His grip on your face lingers, fingers pressing just a little firmer. His thumb strokes gently against your skin, anchoring you in place. His gaze flickers downward, lips parting slightly, breath warm against your mouth.

The space between you disappears as his lips press against yours. The kiss isn’t like any of the practice kisses you’ve shared.

Those had been slow, careful, filled with nervous laughter and teasing remarks. They had been about learning, about technique, about easing you into something unfamiliar. But this—this—is different. There’s no hesitation, no instruction, no space between you to analyze and overthink. Kenny doesn’t joke, doesn’t pull back to tease. He just kisses you, and for the first time, you don’t feel like you’re practicing anymore.

His mouth moves against yours with effortless ease, not pushing, not overwhelming, just leading. His lips are soft, warm, parting slightly to guide you into his rhythm. There’s nothing impatient about the way he kisses—no urgency, no rush, no demand. But it’s not hesitant, either. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and you force yourself to follow.

You exhale through your nose, your body still tense with nerves, but you try. You make yourself relax, make yourself mirror him instead of just letting him take the lead. Your hands, hesitant at first, slide from his shoulders down to his chest. His body is solid under your palms, warmth seeping through the fabric of his parka, his heartbeat steady and unfaltering beneath your fingertips.

You part your lips just a little more, tilting your head to match him properly. The slight shift makes the kiss deeper, makes the feeling spread from just your lips to everywhere—a slow warmth curling down your spine, settling deep in your stomach.

Kenny exhales, and the sound—soft, pleased—sends a rush of heat straight through you.

Your stomach clenches, a spark of confidence igniting deep inside you, and suddenly, you want to keep going. You want to make him feel just as good as you did during the practice kisses. You want to prove that you’re learning, that you can do this.

You press in closer, your body shifting against his, and the movement makes Kenny’s fingers tighten where they’re still holding your face. His breath stutters slightly against your lips, a reaction so small you almost miss it, but you don’t.

You move again, slower this time, more intentional. Your fingers slip up, sliding against the curve of his jaw, and you feel the slight roughness of stubble beneath your fingertips. Your touch lingers there, hesitant but deliberate, and when you angle your head to kiss him just a little deeper, you swear you feel his body tense beneath you.

Kenny pulls back—not much, barely an inch, but enough for his breath to mix with yours.

His grip on your face doesn’t loosen, but his thumb shifts, brushing lightly over your cheekbone. His blue eyes flicker open, heavy-lidded, gaze dark as he stares at you. His breathing is deeper, his lips slightly parted, a flush creeping along the bridge of his nose.

Doubt creeps in, slinking through the haze of warmth and confidence that had just begun to settle in your chest.

Your stomach twists, your pulse kicking up for an entirely different reason now. Why did he pull back? Your lips are still tingling, your body still humming from the way he had kissed you—really kissed you—and now he’s looking at you like that, like he’s thinking about something he doesn’t want to say.

Your fingers twitch where they rest against his jaw before falling away completely. Your voice is quiet, uncertain, when you finally ask, “Was that okay?”

Kenny doesn’t react right away. His eyes flick over your face, but there’s no teasing bite behind it, none of the lazy confidence he usually carries. His grip on your face relaxes slightly, but he doesn’t let go.

You wet your lips, shifting against him, fidgeting now. “I mean—were the kisses okay? Did I…?” Your voice wobbles, and you hate how small it sounds. “Did I do something wrong?”

That seems to snap him out of whatever was keeping him so quiet. Kenny blinks once, his brows pulling together slightly, and then—he laughs.

It’s not a loud, obnoxious cackle, not the usual shit-eating, smug laugh he throws out when he knows he’s getting under your skin. It’s quieter, more genuine, a breathy huff of amusement that shakes his shoulders slightly. His thumbs brush over your cheeks, grounding, solid, and when he tilts his head, the corner of his mouth quirks up into a real, lazy smile.

“Babe,” he murmurs, his voice warm, low, steady, “those practice kisses have definitely paid off.”

Your face flushes immediately, embarrassment and relief tangling together in your chest. You exhale, letting your forehead drop against his shoulder for a second, groaning softly. “Oh, my God.”

Kenny chuckles again, his fingers curling slightly against your skin before one hand slides down to rest lightly at your waist. His voice carries a teasing lilt now, but it’s light, softer than usual. “Damien’s in for a real fuckin’ treat.”

You shove at his shoulder weakly, face still burning. “Shut up.”

Kenny grins, but he doesn’t push it further. His fingers flex against your waist, his body still relaxed beneath yours, but there’s a weight behind his gaze now, something lingering just beneath the surface. He watches you for a beat longer, his breathing still a little deeper than normal, his lips parting slightly like he has more to say. But whatever it is, he keeps it to himself.

You swallow hard, pulse skittering against your ribs. The weight of his hands, the warmth of them through your clothes, makes your stomach coil with nervous energy. You don’t know why your fingers feel restless, why your skin feels too hot, why you feel like you should say something before the silence stretches too far.

“Do you…” You lick your lips, glancing down for half a second before forcing yourself to meet his gaze again. “Do you want to keep going?”

Kenny blinks. His thumb moves absently against your waist, the smallest shift of pressure, but his expression stays serious—focused. His eyes flicker over your face, tracing every movement, every hesitation. He isn’t laughing, isn’t making a joke, isn’t throwing out some teasing comment to break the tension. He’s just watching, and it makes your throat tighten.

Your nerves coil tighter. Maybe this is stupid. Maybe you sound stupid. You don’t even know what you’re doing—

A thought surfaces, fast and unfiltered. You know the guy should be hard. That’s basic, right? If he actually wants this, if this is working, then—

You shift against him, pressing down. Kenny tenses, muscles going taut beneath you, fingers tightening at your waist as he exhales sharply through his nose. The reaction is subtle, almost nothing, but you can feel it. His grip doesn’t pull you back, but it doesn’t push you forward, either.

“Are you—” His voice is rough, lower than before, like he’s about to ask you something he already knows the answer to.

Your stomach flips, panic flaring hot and bright in your chest. Before he can finish that sentence, before he can smirk or call you out or say anything that will make this moment even worse, you blurt out—

“I really like kissing you.”

Kenny stills completely. Heat surges up your neck, embarrassment crashing into you all at once. Your hands tighten against his shoulders as you force yourself to keep talking, before the weight of your own words can catch up to you. “I mean—you’re really good at it. Like, I get it now. Why everyone—” Your throat feels tight. “Why everyone likes kissing you.”

His gaze sharpens, eyes flicking over your face like he’s trying to make sense of you. His fingers twitch again, his grip on your waist firm but not pushing, holding you there like he’s waiting to see if you’re going to keep talking.

You press your lips together, your heart hammering. “I—um. I mean, you’ve had a lot of practice, obviously, so it makes sense, I guess.” You force out a short, breathy laugh, trying to shake the nerves pressing down on your chest. “I just—I really like it. That’s all I’m saying.”

Kenny exhales through his nose, slow and controlled. His gaze flickers downward for a fraction of a second, to your mouth, before locking onto your eyes again. His fingers flex against your waist, grip tightening just slightly. He doesn’t lean forward, doesn’t pull back. Just stays right there, watching you.

His lips part like he’s about to say something, but nothing comes out. His thumb strokes absently over the fabric of your skirt, a slow, thoughtless motion, and it’s almost enough to make you think he’s about to brush this off, about to tease you for sounding so flustered, but he doesn’t. His grip on you is steady, his breathing measured, but his voice comes out softer when he finally speaks.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I know.”

Your brain completely short circuits. He knows? Knows what? That you like kissing him? That you think he’s a good kisser? That everyone else does too? That you—

Your stomach twists violently, nerves spiking hot and fast. Your body reacts before your brain can keep up, your thighs squeezing against his where they’re pressed together, trapping his legs between yours as you try to ground yourself. But the shift makes things worse, makes you hyper-aware of how close you are, how your body is practically molded against him.

You slap your hands against your cheeks, heat burning beneath your palms as you force yourself to snap out of it.

Kenny watches you, his smirk curling slow, lazy, his blue eyes glinting in the dim light of the truck’s cabin. He exhales through his nose, amusement settling in the curve of his mouth as he tilts his head slightly, still watching you like you’re the most entertaining thing in the world.

“Jesus, babe,” he drawls, voice thick with amusement. “You’re gonna break yourself at this rate.”

You groan, half embarrassed, half laughing, the sound bubbling up in your chest despite the heat crawling up your neck. A nervous giggle slips out before you can stop it, and you slap at his shoulder weakly, trying to shake off the ridiculous way your body is betraying you.

“Dude,” you huff, shaking your head as you peek up at him through your lashes. “Answer the question.”

Kenny’s smirk doesn’t waver, but there’s something else behind it now—something slower, more deliberate, his eyes flickering over your face like he’s taking his time with it. His fingers flex against your waist again, the pressure grounding, steady, like he’s reminding himself of where his hands are, where you are.

You wet your lips, suddenly feeling way too hot, way too aware of the fact that you’re still sitting in his lap, still pressed against him. You exhale slowly, forcing yourself to speak before you can chicken out.

“We can stop completely if you want,” you say, your voice softer now, more careful. Your fingers twitch against his shoulders before you steel yourself, swallowing thickly. “Or we can just continue kissing.” Your breath catches slightly, but you push through it. “Or we can…”

You don’t finish the sentence. You don’t have to.

Kenny shifts beneath you, his body pressing just a little closer, the movement slow and unhurried, like he’s settling into this, settling into you. He inhales through his nose, his chest rising against yours, and then his hands are on your face, warm and steady, his thumbs brushing lightly against your cheeks. His grip isn’t demanding, isn’t rough—it’s firm, present, like he’s holding you in place just to make sure you’re still here with him.

His lazy smirk creeps back, the kind that always means trouble, the kind that makes your stomach flip even when you don’t want it to. His eyes flick over your face, heavy-lidded, amused, like he already knows what you’re thinking before you even say it. His fingers squeeze lightly, just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, dragging out the word, his voice smooth and low. “Let’s get you that practice.”

A warmth curls in your stomach, and you hum softly in response. Your body wants to move, wants to close the space between you, wants to follow through on what you started, but something—something—makes you pause.

Your hands twitch where they rest against his chest. You don’t pull away, but you stop moving.

You want this. You need this. You’re tired of being the inexperienced girl, the one who doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing, the one always playing catch-up while everyone else moves forward without her. You’re sick of feeling like a kid in a room full of adults, sick of second-guessing yourself, sick of not knowing how to just be in the moment without your thoughts tripping over themselves.

And Kenny—Kenny is safe. Kenny is familiar. Kenny is your best friend. That’s all this is. Just best friends. Just helping each other out. Just like before. This doesn’t change anything. You take a slow breath, steadying yourself, trying to ignore the way your pulse is hammering at the base of your throat. You force your body to relax, to remember what this is, what this isn’t.Just practice. Just experience. That’s all.

You shift slightly in his lap, just enough to test your own nerves, and Kenny’s smirk twitches like he notices. His hands slip from your face, skimming down to rest at your waist again, his fingers flexing against the fabric of your skirt like he’s waiting for you to make the next move. His breathing is steady, but you can feel the way his body tenses beneath yours, the way his hands grip just a little firmer, like he’s keeping himself in check.

His voice is lower when he speaks again, teasing but still smooth, still so damn easy. “Changed your mind already?” He tilts his head, watching you closely. “’Cause I gotta say, babe, you’re sending some mixed signals right now.”

You scoff softly, shaking your head, but your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. You need to snap yourself out of it, out of this weird, slow-burning moment where everything feels a little too real, a little too heavy.

“I’m just making sure you’re up for the job,” you murmur, tilting your head slightly. “Wouldn’t want my first time trying this to be with someone who can’t handle it.”

Kenny blinks, then huffs out a quiet laugh, his grip on your waist tightening just slightly. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, voice dipping even lower. “I can handle anything you throw at me.”

You laugh softly, sticking your tongue out at him, your voice light, teasing. “Perv.”

Kenny’s smirk doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens, his eyes gleaming. He tilts his head, watching you with that lazy, amused expression he always wears when he thinks he’s won something. “Yeah, yeah,” he drawls, his fingers flexing against your waist like he isn’t quite ready to let go yet.

You roll your eyes, shifting off his lap and onto the floor of the truck. The space is cramped, the leather seats pressing against your back, but you don’t care. Your heart is pounding, heat buzzing under your skin, a nervous energy curling in your stomach as you settle in front of him.

You look up at him, biting your lip. He watches you from above, his legs spread just slightly, his hands resting loosely on his thighs. His smirk is still there, but his expression is different now—his jaw tight, his breathing a little deeper.

You swallow hard and force yourself to speak, your voice quieter now, hesitant in a way you hate. “What do I do next?”

Kenny exhales, slow and measured, dragging a hand down his face before rubbing his jaw. His thumb grazes his lower lip, and his fingers drum against his cheek for half a second before he drops his hand back to his thigh.

His voice is smoother when he finally speaks, still low, still easy. “You sure about this?”

You nod before you can second-guess yourself. “Yeah.”

Kenny hums, considering that, but he doesn’t question you again. Instead, his hands shift, moving to the button of his jeans, his fingers steady as he undoes it. You inhale sharply, nerves tangling with anticipation, your thighs pressing together as you watch him.

You so badly want to close your eyes. It feels like you’re breaking something sacred, like some invisible thread between you and Kenny is being stretched too thin, pulled past the point of recognition. Your chest tightens, stomach twisting in knots, but you don’t look away. You force yourself to watch as his fingers work his jeans open, slow and easy, like he’s done this a hundred times before.

You don’t know why you’re so nervous. You’ve had sleepovers with him, sprawled out across his tiny, shitty mattress, elbowing him in the ribs when he took up too much space. You’ve seen him change shirts in front of you, watched him shove his jeans on over boxers while muttering about how late he was running. You’ve sat in his lap, climbed onto his back, leaned against him on long bus rides without thinking twice about it.

You’ve grown up alongside him—alongside Kyle, Stan, and Cartman. You’ve known each other since before any of this mattered. Before attraction, before tension, before everything felt so heavy. Kenny’s never been a mystery to you. He’s always been easy to understand, easy to read.

And yet, right now, sitting here on the floor of his truck, looking up at him, you feel like you don’t know him at all.

Your fingers twitch against your lap, pressing into the fabric of your skirt. Your heart pounds too hard, your pulse a steady, rapid beat against your ribs. You inhale slowly, trying to settle yourself, trying to remind yourself that this is exactly what you asked for, exactly what you need.

Kenny shifts, pushing his jeans lower, his boxers now the only thing between you and him. His thighs spread just slightly, not in invitation, not in demand—just enough to get comfortable, to make space.

His eyes flick down to meet yours, and for a second, he just looks at you. His hands rest against his thighs, his posture open, easy, but still waiting. He’s not pushing, not rushing, not making a joke of it like he usually would. It’s a quiet kind of patience, an unspoken moment where he’s giving you time to think, to hesitate, to change your mind.

He won’t ask if you’re sure again. He won’t say it outright. But it’s there in the way he’s looking at you, in the way he’s waiting.

The choice is yours. Your breath shakes, and you nod.

Kenny exhales, one hand dragging through his hair before settling back on his leg. He shifts a little, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off tension, but his expression stays the same—calm, maybe a little unreadable, but not mocking, not distant.

“Alright,” he says, voice easy, like this isn’t a big deal. Like it’s just you and him, like always. “Guess we’re doin’ this.”

You hum in acknowledgment, not trusting yourself to speak, your throat too tight, your mind racing too fast to form anything coherent. Instead, you shift forward on your knees, pressing your palms against the rough fabric of Kenny’s jeans for balance. The truck’s floor isn’t the most comfortable place to be, but that’s the last thing on your mind as you slide your fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers.

Your hands feel unsteady, your breath uneven as you begin to pull the fabric down, exposing inch after inch of him. The motion feels surreal, like you’re outside of yourself, watching this happen instead of being the one doing it. Kenny shifts slightly under your touch, lifting his hips just enough to help, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make a sound. The only thing you hear is the faint rustle of fabric, the distant hum of the truck’s engine, and the pounding of your own heartbeat in your ears.

Then, finally, you see him. You should’ve expected this. Should’ve known what you were getting into the moment you suggested this, the moment you let yourself kneel between his legs. But the reality of it—the sight of him, hard and flushed against the dim light filtering through the truck’s windows—knocks the breath from your lungs.

Your fingers tighten against the fabric still bunched around his knees, gripping it like an anchor as you stare, unmoving. This is the first time you’ve ever seen one in person, and your mind blanks completely. It’s not like you haven’t seen pictures, hadn’t skimmed through things online in quiet curiosity, hadn’t scrolled too long through explicit posts on accident. But this? Right in front of you, tangible, real, connected to someone you’ve known for years?

You don’t know what to say. Your lips press together as you shift slightly, trying to process, trying to think past the warmth crawling up your neck. Your thighs press together instinctively, your fingers twitching once against his boxers before stilling. You aren’t disgusted, aren’t second-guessing, aren’t regretting this—but the sheer reality of what you’re about to do makes your nerves spike all over again.

Kenny, to his credit, doesn’t laugh at you. He doesn’t make some crude joke, doesn’t smirk and tease you for staring. Instead, he watches you, his fingers drumming once against his thigh before stilling, like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do next.

Your breath shudders as you inhale, your hands still gripping the fabric of his boxers where they rest around his knees. You flick your gaze upward, peeking at him through your lashes. His blue eyes catch the dim light filtering through the truck’s windows, half-lidded, mouth slightly parted, his breath deeper than usual but quiet. He looks… different like this. Not just because of the situation, but because he’s so still, so uncharacteristically silent. Like he’s letting you see a side of him he doesn’t show anyone else.

You don’t know why it slips out. Maybe it’s the nerves, maybe it’s the intimacy of it all, maybe it’s just that you’re looking at him in a way you never have before. But before you can stop yourself, the words come, soft and quiet.

“You’re really pretty.”

Kenny blinks, caught off guard. His lips part slightly, a breath slipping out, and for a second, he looks like he doesn’t know how to react. His smirk flickers, not in amusement, not in cocky self-satisfaction, but in something else.

A slow exhale leaves him, and his hand lifts from his thigh, moving without thought. His knuckles graze your jaw, light and brief, barely a touch, before his fingers slip back into his lap. His voice, when it finally comes, is quieter than before.

“Yeah?” The corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s fighting between a grin and something softer. “Didn’t know you thought that.”

You swallow, heat creeping up your neck, but you don’t look away. You shift slightly, pressing your palms against your thighs, still kneeling between his legs, still waiting for the nervous buzz in your chest to settle.

“I mean, you are,” you murmur, shifting your weight slightly. “I just never said it before.”

Kenny exhales, something flickering across his face—something almost thoughtful. His hand flexes once, like he wants to reach for you again but stops himself. Instead, he tilts his head, eyes flicking over your face like he’s seeing you in a way he hasn’t before.

“Well,” he says, voice a little rougher now. “You’re pretty too.”

Your stomach flips. You don’t know if it’s because of the way he says it, or because of the way he’s looking at you when he does. But whatever it is, it sends warmth curling through your chest, replacing the nerves with something steadier.

You murmur a quiet “thanks,” but your voice is shaky, your stomach twisting into knots. Kenny just watches you, blue eyes flicking over your face, his usual lazy grin softened.

You shift onto your knees, settling between his legs, fingers pressing against his thighs like they might steady you. “What… what do I do?”

Kenny tilts his head, like he’s thinking it over, before his hand moves to yours. His palm is warm as he wraps his fingers around your wrist, guiding you forward. Your breath hitches when he places your hand on him, wrapping your fingers around his cock.

He’s hot. Heavy. Thicker than you thought.

Your fingers twitch slightly, unsure, but Kenny’s grip stays over yours, adjusting your hold, his voice smooth and easy. “Not too tight,” he mutters, his breath just slightly deeper than before. “Just enough to feel good.” He squeezes your hand lightly, showing you before letting go. “Yeah, that’s it.”

You swallow hard, heat burning up your face. “Okay,” you mumble, fingers flexing slightly around him, feeling the weight of him in your grip. It’s weird. Different. Nothing like you expected.

Kenny shifts against the seat, his hips rolling just slightly, his breath coming a little slower, more controlled. His fingers flex against his jeans like he’s keeping himself in check. “You can move, y’know,” he says, voice lower now.

Your stomach tightens, but you nod, hesitating only for a second before starting to move, dragging your hand upward before easing back down, slow and careful.

Kenny exhales through his nose, his jaw clenching slightly, but he doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches, his blue eyes darkening as your fingers work over him. His chest rises and falls heavier, a slow inhale as he leans his head back against the seat. “Fuck, yeah,” he mutters, voice coming out rougher. “Just like that.”

Your stomach twists, but in a good way. You don’t know why, but something about hearing that—hearing him react—makes you want to keep going, makes you want to do better.

So you do. You tighten your grip just a little, testing, dragging your hand down before twisting slightly on the way back up, just like you’ve seen in those shitty porn clips you forced yourself to watch for research. Kenny lets out a quiet grunt, his fingers twitching against his thighs, his lips parting slightly.

“Shit,” he breathes, eyes flicking down to you, watching you work.

A small, weird sense of pride flares in your chest. You exhale, settling into a better rhythm, your movements smoother now, more confident. You look up at him again, watching his face, watching the way his jaw flexes every time you twist your wrist just right.

His breath shudders slightly, and fuck, you like that. So you press your fingertip against his slit, feeling the sticky warmth of his precum smear beneath your touch. The reaction is immediate. Kenny’s hips twitch, his fingers flexing hard against his thighs, and a sharp inhale pulls through his teeth. His eyes darken, gaze fixed on where your hand moves over him, dragging the slickness down his length with slow, testing strokes.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, voice rough, strained like he’s trying to keep it together. His head tips back slightly against the seat, but his eyes don’t leave you. He watches every movement, like he can’t fucking believe this is happening. His breath is heavier now, his chest rising and falling a little quicker, tension winding tight in his shoulders. “Look at you, gettin’ all hands-on. Who woulda thought, huh?”

A breathy laugh slips out before you can stop it, half nervous, half amused. The heat in your face burns hotter, crawling down your neck, but you don’t stop. You don’t look away, don’t pull back. “Shut up,” you mumble, still working your fingers over him, still feeling him out, still watching the way his body reacts.

Kenny huffs a laugh too, but there’s an edge to it now, low and unsteady, like he’s just barely keeping a handle on himself. His smirk twitches at the corner, but it’s weaker, fighting against the tension in his jaw, the way his breath keeps hitching every time your hand moves a little differently. “Nah, I mean it,” he says, shifting his hips up just slightly, barely more than a twitch, but it’s there. “You’re sittin’ here, jerkin’ me off in my truck, playin’ with my dick like it’s your new favorite toy. Ain’t that a sight?”

You weren’t expecting Kenny to talk to you like that—low and lazy, thick with something that makes your stomach clench. It’s not just the words themselves, but the way they sound coming from him, the way his voice dips rough and syrupy, dragging with that slight southern drawl he only ever slips into when he’s too tired or too turned on to mask it. It’s different from how he normally talks to you, from the teasing, the easygoing banter. This isn’t just some offhanded joke, some lazy flirtation. He means it.

And you don’t mind. Actually, you kind of like it. It’s hot, yeah, but also weirdly cute—the way his accent gets stronger when he’s worked up, like he’s losing control without realizing it. That thought alone makes heat pool low in your stomach, makes you want to push him further, see what else he might say if you keep going.

Your hand hesitates for half a second before pressing down more firmly. You roll your wrist on the next stroke, slow and purposeful, just to shut him up.

And it works. Kenny’s whole body tenses. His breath stutters, his head tipping forward, eyes squeezing shut for just a second before he lets out a low, strained groan. His fingers curl tight into his jeans, gripping the fabric like he needs to ground himself. His thighs flex under your hands, the muscle tightening, his breath coming in uneven, broken exhales.

“Jesus fuck,” he breathes, voice rasping like the wind got knocked out of him. His eyes crack open, hazy and unfocused for a second before locking back on you. His lips part, tongue flicking out to wet them, and when he speaks again, it’s rougher, lower, like he’s just barely holding onto that casual, cocky attitude. “Okay—okay, fuckin’ hell, babe, you’re learnin’ fast.”

A slow, heady wave of pride swells in your chest, making your pulse kick up even harder. You bite your lip to keep from grinning, feeling the heat of it spread through your body, down to your fingertips. Kenny looks wrecked already, and that—knowing you’re the one doing this to him—makes something throb low in your stomach.

You push your hair back, tucking it behind your ears with fingers that tremble just slightly. It’s not nerves, not exactly—it’s more like anticipation curling hot in your stomach, mixing with the steady, buzzing warmth that’s settled under your skin. You glance up at him, your gaze flicking over his face, the flushed pink creeping up his throat, the way his mouth hangs open just slightly. His breathing is uneven, heavier than before, and the way he’s watching you makes your pulse throb at the base of your throat.

You wet your lips, swallowing thickly. “Can I, uh—” Your voice is quieter than you mean for it to be. “Can I put it in my mouth now?”

Kenny groans at that, his head tipping back against the seat for a second. His fingers flex against his thigh before he reaches for you again, brushing a thumb over your cheek before letting his hand drop back down. “Fuck, babe,” he rasps, laughing under his breath, voice thick and full of heat. “Y’ain’t gotta ask all sweet like that. ‘Course you can.”

You grip him a little tighter, feeling the weight and heat of him in your palm, feeling the way he twitches against your fingers. You shift closer, breath ghosting over the head of his cock, and glance up again, suddenly remembering your second question.

“You’ll keep talking me through it?” you ask, voice quiet but certain.

Kenny blinks, his expression shifting for just a second—his brows drawing together slightly, his lips parting like he’s about to say something else. But then he exhales, shaking his head, a smirk curling lazily at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice thick, “I’ll tell ya exactly what to do.”

Your thighs press together. Heat licks up the back of your neck, and you force yourself to take a slow breath, steadying your grip before leaning in.

The first touch of your mouth is careful, just the softest brush of your lips against the tip. The skin is warm, flushed a deep pink, and when you flick your tongue out just slightly, gathering the precum there and spreading it with a slow swirl, Kenny curses sharply. His thighs twitch beneath your hands, and his fingers dig into the seat hard, like he’s physically restraining himself.

“Shit—” he breathes out, voice low, almost shaky. “Yeah. Yeah, just like that, fuck.”

The praise makes heat curl in your stomach, lighting up your nerves like a slow-burning fuse. You hum softly against him in response, feeling the weight of him heavy on your tongue, the way he throbs slightly at the sensation.

Then, with a deep breath, you take him deeper. Kenny’s reaction is immediate. His whole body jerks, a ragged sound tearing from his throat, his head dropping forward so he can watch you. His lips are parted, his expression caught somewhere between awe and disbelief, like he hadn’t expected you to just go for it. His fingers twitch again like he wants to grab your hair but holds back, gripping his own thigh instead.

“Jesus fuck,” he mutters, voice barely more than a breath. His jaw tightens, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. “Doin’ so fuckin’ good, babe. Look at you.”

The way he’s looking at you—like he’s never seen anything hotter in his entire life—sends a sharp, hot pulse straight between your legs. You let your eyes flutter shut for a second, breathing through your nose as you adjust, before glancing up again. Kenny’s gaze meets yours instantly, his pupils blown so wide that barely any blue is left.

Slowly, you start to move. You hollow your cheeks, sucking lightly as you bob your head, trying to match the rhythm you think he likes. His cock twitches in your mouth, his breath stuttering out in a rough groan.

“Fuck—” he chokes out, his grip going white-knuckled on the seat. “Didn’t think you’d be a fuckin’ natural at this, but—fuck.”

His head tips back, exposing the long, pale column of his throat, and something about the sight of him coming apart like this—because of you—makes your confidence spike. You swirl your tongue around the head before sinking down again, taking him a little deeper, pressing your tongue along the underside as you do.

Kenny lets out a choked sound, his hips jerking slightly before he catches himself. “F-fuck, babe,” he groans, breathless. “That’s it—just like that—”

You hum softly, the vibration making him curse again, his entire body tensing. His fingers twitch toward your head, hovering for a second, then pulling back. He’s still letting you lead, still holding back—but you can feel how badly he wants to touch you.

The realization makes something tighten deep in your stomach. You press your tongue flat against him as you take him deeper, swallowing around him slightly, and that’s what finally breaks him.

Kenny curses under his breath, the hand that was gripping his thigh shooting up to cup the back of your head. He doesn’t push, doesn’t force you down—just holds you there, fingers curled in your hair, his breath shuddering out in a groan.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, voice ragged. “You—fuck, you sure you’ve never done this before?”

You look up at him, your mouth still full, and moan softly in response.

Kenny’s grip tightens. His entire body shudders, and his head tips back, a broken, breathless laugh spilling past his lips. “Shit, sweetheart,” he pants. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

The power of it makes something warm bloom in your chest. You like this—more than you expected. You like seeing him like this, unraveling because of you. He’s usually so effortless, so cocky and in control, but right now? Right now, he’s barely holding himself together, and it’s because of you.

You pull back just slightly, letting him slip from your mouth with a soft pop. A thin string of spit connects your lips to the tip of his cock before breaking, and you press your hand against the base, gripping him lightly. Your fingers wrap around him carefully, feeling the weight of him, the heat against your palm.

Kenny groans at the new sensation, his hips jerking up slightly. “Oh, fuuuuck—” His voice is hoarse, breathless. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s—shit, babe, you’re actually so fuckin’ good at this.”

You smile, your lips still slick, and you let your hand start to move. Slow, teasing strokes at first, watching how his body reacts. His thighs twitch under your touch, his breathing uneven. His fingers flex in your hair, like he wants to tug but is still giving you the space to do what you want.

Then, you lower your mouth back down. You bob your head in rhythm with your hand, using both at the same time, keeping the motions smooth, steady. You test different pressures, licking along the underside as you work him, pressing your tongue against that sensitive spot just beneath the tip.

Kenny swears, his grip finally tightening in your hair—not yanking, not controlling, but definitely not holding back anymore.

You hum in response, the vibration making him groan deep in his throat. His whole body is tense, his stomach flexing under his parka, his chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths. His head tips back against the seat, and his free hand clenches into a fist against his thigh like he’s trying to ground himself.

His reactions send a pulse of heat straight to your core. You want to keep going, want to see just how much you can push him, just how far you can take him.

So you go a little deeper. You relax your jaw, letting him slide further in, your throat tightening slightly as you adjust. Your hand strokes the base in time with your movements, slick and warm, and Kenny’s whole body shudders. His hand twitches in your hair, and when you glance up at him, the look on his face makes your stomach flip. His lips are parted, his brows furrowed, his pupils so blown that his blue eyes look almost black in the dim light. He’s staring at you like he can’t believe this is real, like you’re the best thing he’s ever fucking seen.

You swirl your tongue around the head again before sinking down, your hand tightening just slightly, and Kenny practically chokes on his breath. His thighs tense, his whole body curling slightly forward like he’s fighting the urge to move.

His fingers flex again, then, finally—finally—he groans, “Can I—fuck—can I move a little?”

You nod the best you can, looking up at him through your lashes. Kenny swears softly, his grip tightening as he slowly rolls his hips up to meet your mouth. His movements are careful, controlled, like he doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but the way he curses under his breath tells you he’s close to losing it.

“Shit, babe,” he pants, breath ragged. “You’re gonna—fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

His voice is hoarse, desperate, and the thought of making Kenny come like this—of being the reason he’s falling apart—sends a rush of heat straight through you.

So you don’t stop. You let him guide you, let him use your mouth the way he needs, matching the rhythm of his movements, sucking just a little harder.

Kenny’s body jerks as he spills into your mouth, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. His grip tightens in your hair, not yanking, just holding, grounding himself as he rides out the aftershocks. His thighs tense under your hands, his whole body shuddering, and the low, wrecked groan that spills from his lips is enough to make heat pool deep in your stomach.

You stay still, letting him finish, your tongue pressing against the tip as the last of it pulses onto your tongue. His fingers flex once before finally loosening, slipping away from your hair as his chest heaves with deep, uneven breaths.

Slowly, you pull back, his cock slipping from your lips, still slick, still flushed. A thin string of saliva lingers between your mouth and the head before breaking, and you lean back slightly, sitting on your heels.

Kenny slumps against the seat, his head tipped back, his eyes half-lidded and heavy, still lost in the afterglow. His lips are parted, his breathing still uneven, and his parka is slightly bunched up from where his stomach had flexed under your hands.

You barely process any of it. Because right now, your attention is focused on the warmth coating your tongue.

You press it against the roof of your mouth, thoughtful, letting the taste settle before licking your lips, gathering the last of it. It’s not… bad, necessarily, but it’s not great either. Definitely not what you expected. Salty, slightly bitter, thick in a way that feels strange. You swallow, your throat working around it, and press your fingers to your lips, thoughtful.

Huh.

Kenny lifts his head, his heavy-lidded gaze flicking down to you, and immediately catches the look on your face.

A slow, lazy grin spreads across his lips. “Oh my fucking god,” he breathes, still a little hoarse from coming down. “You’re actually thinking about it.”

Your nose scrunches slightly as you glance at him. “Well, yeah,” you mutter. “I’ve never had cum in my mouth before.”

Kenny laughs, full-bodied, shoulders shaking as he drops his head back again. His voice is still a little rough, still loose with post-orgasm haze, but the amusement is unmistakable. “Jesus Christ,” he groans, shaking his head. “You’re seriously sitting there analyzing it like a fucking sommelier.”

You huff, shoving lightly at his knee, but you’re smiling now. “Shut up. It’s weird. I thought it would be—” You pause, pressing your tongue against the back of your teeth before shrugging. “I dunno. Sweeter?”

Kenny smirks, running a hand through his hair, ruffling it lazily. “Well, babe, that’s just ‘cause my diet’s absolute shit.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “So if you ate, like, a bunch of pineapples, it’d taste better?”

Kenny grins, tilting his head. “Only one way to find out.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “Oh my god, I walked into that one.”

Kenny just laughs again, shaking his head. His fingers are still resting on his thigh, relaxed, but his eyes haven’t left you. The teasing smirk is still there, but there’s something else lingering beneath it.

You peek at him through your fingers, and your stomach flips at the way he’s looking at you.

Your face heats, and you quickly drop your hands, shaking off the warmth curling through your chest. “Okay,” you say, clearing your throat. “So. Did I pass?”

Kenny raises an eyebrow.

You gesture vaguely. “The, uh. Practice.”

For a second, Kenny just looks at you. Then, his grin stretches wider, and he lets out another low, amused laugh.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he drawls, still a little breathless. “You fuckin’ aced it.”

You smile at him brightly, still feeling the warmth of his praise buzzing under your skin, a soft laugh slipping past your lips before you even realize it. Kenny smirks at you, a little dazed, still breathless, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you sitting in the thick, warm air of the truck, caught between what just happened and whatever comes next.

Then, he exhales and leans back, tucking himself away like it’s nothing, like you didn’t just have him in your mouth minutes ago. His fingers move easily, hooking his boxers back up, buttoning his jeans like this is routine for him, like this is just another favor you did for each other.

You’re still kneeling on the floor of the truck, hands resting lightly on your thighs, your breath finally starting to even out. The space between you stretches longer, heavier, and you should get up, should climb back onto the seat beside him, but you don’t. You just sit there, knees pressed into the rough carpet, staring at nothing, your brain slowly catching up to what just happened.

You just sucked off Kenny. Kenny. Your best friend since childhood. You think about the way he looked at you the entire time—not just half-lidded and blissed out, not just smug and teasing, but focused. Intent. Like he was seeing you, really seeing you, in a way you don’t think you have noticed before. You don’t know what that means. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. Maybe it was just the moment, just the heat of it, just him being Kenny—always leaning into pleasure, into the moment, never thinking too much about anything.

But still, the way he watched you, the way his fingers moved through your hair, the way he held you steady, the way he murmured your name so low and rough it made your stomach clench—

No. You’re imagining things.

Kenny never made a move before. Never flirted with you in a way that felt like it actually meant anything. Never pulled you in, never gave you a reason to think this was more than what it was—just a favor, just something casual, just him helping you out like a good friend would.

That’s what this is.

You swallow, pushing the thought down, shoving it deep, locking it away before it can get too big, too heavy, too real.

Kenny shifts, stretching his arms above his head with a lazy sigh, completely at ease, like none of this is weighing on him at all. He glances down at you, still on the floor, and raises an eyebrow, smirking.

“You gettin’ up, or are you makin’ a home down there?”

His voice is back to normal—light, teasing, cocky like always.

Like nothing’s changed.

You force a scoff, rolling your eyes as you finally push yourself back up onto the seat, your legs a little shaky. “Jesus, I’m moving. Relax.”

Kenny grins, tilting his head. “I dunno, kinda like you down there.” His smirk turns wicked. “Felt right.”

Your face burns, and you smack his arm. “Shut up.”

He laughs, loud and easy, shaking his head, and the sound of it settles something in your chest, reminds you that this is Kenny. Your best friend. This is normal. You can move past this. You can pretend it didn’t change anything.

Because it didn’t.

Right?

The movie plays on, some generic action flick that Stan threw on because no one else wanted to decide. Explosions light up the screen, some overpaid Hollywood asshole grunts out a one-liner, but no one in the room gives a shit. Kyle is barely paying attention, Stan looks half-asleep, and Cartman—well, Cartman is shoveling popcorn into his mouth like he’s trying to break a world record for being a disgusting piece of shit. Butters is the only one who seems remotely invested, curled up on the floor with a pillow clutched to his chest, eyes wide like he actually cares about the shitty plot.

Kenny isn’t watching. Hasn’t been for the past twenty minutes. His focus keeps drifting to you.

You’re sprawled out on Stan’s bed, wearing those stupid little shorts and a tank top, legs bent at the knee, phone in hand, completely tuned out of the conversation. You aren’t even pretending to care about the movie. The glow from your screen casts soft light over your face, highlighting the little smirk pulling at your lips, the way your thumbs tap quickly against the keyboard. Whatever you’re texting, whoever you’re texting, has your full attention.

And Kenny knows exactly who the fuck that is.

His fingers twitch against his knee, jaw tight as he shifts against the couch. He shouldn’t care. He doesn’t care. At least, that’s what he tells himself. But the way you’re smiling—like you’re trying to hold back a laugh, like you’re actually giddy over whatever Damien is saying—makes something twist uncomfortably in his chest.

Cartman snorts, loud and wet. “Jesus Christ, dude, what the fuck is up with your face? You look like someone just told you your dick’s too small to ride the rollercoaster.”

Kenny blinks, snapping out of it, forcing his usual smirk back into place before turning to him. “Nah, that’s just what happens when I have to listen to you chew like a fucking farm animal. My body is physically rejecting the sound.”

Kyle groans, rubbing his temples like this is actually causing him pain. “Can you two shut the fuck up? This movie is already the worst thing I’ve ever seen, and now I have to listen to this?”

“Oh, I dunno, fellas,” Butters chimes in, ever the optimist, “I think it’s kinda fun!”

Cartman rolls his eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck that way. “Of course you do, Butters. You’d probably have fun watching paint dry.”

Butters frowns, clutching his pillow tighter. “Hey now, I just think it’s nice that we’re all together—”

“Oh my God,” Stan groans, dragging his hands down his face. “Jesus, it’s like babysitting a bunch of fucking toddlers.”

Kenny barely registers any of it. His attention flicks back to you. You still haven’t looked up from your phone, still haven’t joined in on the conversation. It’s like you don’t even hear them. You just keep typing, keep smiling, stomach clenching like you’re holding back a laugh.

He wonders if you ever looked like that while texting him.

It’s been weeks since the truck. Weeks since you were on your knees between his legs, looking up at him with those wide, eager eyes, so fucking nervous but so willing, trusting him completely. Weeks since he had his hands in your hair, guiding you, talking you through it, dragging it out just because he could. He had been mouthy that night, even more than usual. Something about seeing you like that, so desperate to do it right, made it impossible not to tease you, to test you, to push you just enough to make you squirm.

And you had just let him.

You had let him touch you, let him ruin you, let him pull noises from your throat that no one else had ever heard before. And when it was over, when you were back in the front seat, breathless and pink-faced, you had smiled at him, fucking smiled, and said, Thanks, Ken. This really helped.

Then you went home. And texted Damien. Like it didn’t mean a fucking thing.

Kenny wonders if you even know. If you’ve ever noticed the way he looks at you, the way he always finds some excuse to touch you, to pull you into him, to keep you close. If you realize how bad he’s had it for you since middle school, how fucking painful it’s been to sit back and watch you go from oblivious to someone else’s. If you have any idea that every hookup, every meaningless fuck, has just been him trying to get you out of his goddamn head.

“You texting your boyfriend over there?”

Cartman’s voice cuts through the air, loud and smug, and you finally—finally—look up.

You blink at him, then lazily drop your phone onto your stomach, stretching your arms over your head. “So what if I am?”

There’s no hesitation. No embarrassment. No denial.

Kenny’s stomach turns.

Cartman scoffs, leaning back against the couch. “God, you’re such a pussy now. It’s actually painful to watch.”

Kyle groans, already exasperated. “Dude, shut the fuck up.”

“No, seriously,” Cartman presses on, smirking like the absolute piece of shit he is. “Like, we lost her, man. Spent years raising her into the fine, upstanding dumbass she is today, and now she’s just another whipped bitch too busy getting her guts rearranged by fucking Hot Topic Satan to hang out with us anymore.”

Butters chokes on his drink, turning bright red. “Oh, golly—”

You flip Cartman off, voice smooth, unaffected. “Sorry I don’t wanna die alone, fatass.”

Stan snickers. “Damn, she’s got you there.”

And Kenny? Kenny just watches.

Because you don’t laugh it off. You don’t roll your eyes and say, It’s not that serious. You don’t wave a hand and say you’re just figuring things out. You just accept it.

The tightness in his chest settles into something heavier, something worse.

He rubs a hand over his jaw, pasting on a lazy smirk, shaking his head like this isn’t fucking killing him.

Cartman groans dramatically, shoving himself up from the couch. “Jesus Christ, I can’t sit through another second of this fucking dogshit. I’m getting pizza.”

Kyle rubs a hand over his eyes, already exhausted. “Dude, we literally just ate.”

Cartman shrugs. “Yeah, well, I’m a growing boy. Plus, if I have to listen to Butters gasp like a fucking housewife watching true crime for another minute, I’m gonna off myself.”

Butters frowns, clutching a pillow to his chest. “Hey, now! It’s suspenseful!”

Stan stretches, cracking his neck. “Honestly, yeah, this movie blows. I’d rather go grab food.”

Kyle groans but stands up anyway, side-eyeing Cartman. “Fine. But if you take us to some grease bucket again, I swear to God—”

“Boohoo, Kyle,” Cartman cuts him off, already moving toward the door. “Go cry about it in your fucking diary.”

Stan and Kyle exchange a look before following him out. Butters scrambles to his feet, grabbing his coat. “Oh, shoot, if y’all are goin’, I might as well come too! Maybe we can rent a movie on the way back—somethin’ actually good this time!”

Kenny hums vaguely, already pulling out his bag. “Yeah, maybe.”

Butters waves as he heads out the door, jogging after the others. The door swings shut behind him, leaving just Kenny and you alone in the dorm.

The silence stretches.

Kenny exhales slowly, rolling his shoulders before grabbing his grinder. If he’s gonna sit here and watch you text your boyfriend all night, he at least needs to be high as fuck for it. He dumps some weed onto the coffee table, rolling a joint with quick, practiced movements.

You don’t acknowledge him.

Kenny grinds the weed a little harder than necessary, rolling the paper between his fingers with more force than needed. His hands move on autopilot, muscle memory kicking in, but his brain is elsewhere.

You haven’t mentioned it. Not once.

You never brought it up after that night. Never teased him about it, never hinted at it, never looked at him like it even crossed your mind again.

And maybe that’s what pisses him off the most.

Because for you, it was just another favor. Just something casual. Just something between best friends. Just like the kissing, just like the blowjob, just like everything else.

You finally stop typing. The soft glow of your phone screen casts faint shadows across your face, the rhythmic tapping of your thumbs coming to a halt as you seem to realize for the first time that the room is nearly empty. The only sounds left are the faint hum of the movie still playing on the TV and the occasional flick of Kenny’s lighter as he rolls his joint.

You shift, rolling onto your stomach, propping yourself up on one arm while your other hand lazily drags across the sheets. Your tank top rides up slightly as you move, exposing more of your bare back and the curve of your waist. Kenny doesn’t let himself look too hard—he doesn’t need that visual burned into his fucking brain—but it’s difficult when you’re lying there, stretching out in front of him like you don’t even notice how much space you take up in his head.

Then, you look at him, and you smile.

It’s easy, effortless, like you don’t even remember what you did in his truck a few weeks ago. Like you don’t recall the way your hands had fumbled against his zipper, the way your lips had parted around him, the way you had sounded—breathless and eager and completely unaware of what you were doing to him. It had been just another favor to you. Just something casual, just best friends helping each other out. And Kenny had let you believe that, had kept up the act, kept his voice light and teasing even as you sat between his legs, looking up at him with those wide, trusting eyes.

Because what the fuck else was he supposed to do? Admit that it hadn’t been just a favor? That he hadn’t been thinking about anything but you ever since? That every time he closed his eyes, he could still feel the warmth of your mouth around him?

No. Absolutely fucking not.

So instead, he keeps his smirk lazy, keeps his expression unreadable as he leans back against the couch, joint hanging loosely between his fingers. He watches as your grin widens slightly, your eyes flickering with amusement as you tilt your head.

“Wow,” you drawl, dragging your fingers lightly over the sheets in a way that feels absentminded, though Kenny knows better. “No smart-ass comment? No dirty joke? No ‘hey babe, you wanna sit on my face?’” Your lips curl, teasing. “You’re off your game, Ken.”

Kenny doesn’t immediately rise to the bait, just takes his time sealing the joint, his tongue flicking over the edge of the paper before pressing it down with slow, deliberate movements. He doesn’t even look at you, just exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “Nah. Just didn’t wanna interrupt whatever deep, meaningful conversation you were having with lover boy.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, he catches the way your smile falters—quick, barely noticeable, but it’s there. His stomach clenches, something sharp curling in his chest, but he keeps his expression smooth, letting the silence stretch between you.

Then, just like that, you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Jealous?”

Kenny lets out a short laugh, flicking his lighter open with a quick snap of his thumb. “Of what? You getting pity texts from the prince of darkness?” He lights the joint, inhales deep, and blows out a slow stream of smoke. “Yeah, babe, I’m so fucking heartbroken.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but there’s something uncertain in the way you hold his gaze, like you’re trying to figure him out. Kenny wonders, just for a second, if you’ve ever actually thought about it—if you’ve ever considered the possibility that he might want you. That he has wanted you for longer than he’s willing to admit to himself.

But then, like you’re shoving the thought aside, you scoff again. “Oh my God, you are so full of shit.”

Kenny grins around the joint, smoke curling from his lips as he tilts his head. “Yeah? So prove me wrong.”

Your brows furrow slightly. “What?”

He exhales another slow drag before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Tell me,” he murmurs, smirk curling at the edges. “Did he like it?”

You freeze.

It’s small, barely even a second, but Kenny sees it. The way your fingers tighten slightly around the sheets. The way your throat bobs as you swallow. The way your lips part, but no words come out.

And that’s when it hits him.

You haven’t done anything with Damien.

You haven’t put that so-called practice to use.

Something deep in Kenny’s chest twists—a tangled mess of relief and something uglier, something possessive, something he has no fucking right to feel. He shouldn’t care. He doesn’t care. But the fact that you haven’t let Damien touch you yet, that the last person who’s had their hands on you was him—

It fucks him up more than he wants to admit.

Then, like you just realized how long you’ve been silent, you scoff loudly and grab a pillow, chucking it at him with unnecessary force. “Fuck you, Kenny.”

He catches it with ease, laughing as he tosses it aside. “I did offer.”

You groan, shoving your face into the mattress, and Kenny just watches you for a moment, rolling his joint between his fingers, his smirk lingering.

Kenny watches as you finally lift your head, your hair slightly mussed from where you’d shoved your face into the mattress. There’s a flush on your cheeks, whether from embarrassment or something else, he’s not sure, but your expression is open, earnest in a way that makes his smirk twitch slightly.

“You must think I’m lame,” you say, voice lighter now, like you’re almost laughing at yourself.

Kenny exhales slowly, tilting his head. “Oh, babe,” he drawls, taking another lazy hit of his joint before tapping the ash into an old soda can. “I know you’re lame.”

You roll your eyes but grin anyway, shifting so you’re lying on your side, elbow propped up, fingers tracing patterns into the fabric of Stan’s sheets. “I’m serious,” you murmur. “I don’t know, I feel like I should be… I don’t know, more experienced by now. I mean, Damien’s been really sweet. Like, really sweet. He’s being all respectful and shit, letting me take the lead, which is great, but…”

Kenny raises an eyebrow, exhaling another slow stream of smoke. “But?”

You bite your lip, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know,” you say again, voice softer this time. “I just feel like I’m the one who’s moving slow.”

Something in Kenny’s chest twists, but he keeps his smirk in place. “So what, you want him to stop being a gentleman and ravish you or some shit?” He raises an eyebrow, voice dripping with mockery. “What, you want him to pin you against the wall like some cheap fucking romance novel?”

Your face flares red. “Jesus Christ, Kenny.”

He laughs, shaking his head, but he’s watching you closer now. You’re nervous. Not in a bad way, not like you’re scared of Damien, but like you’re still… unsure. Like you want to move forward but don’t know how to get there.

And fuck, Kenny shouldn’t be thinking about this. Shouldn’t be imagining you with him. Shouldn’t be picturing Damien’s hands on you, Damien’s mouth on your skin, Damien’s voice murmuring into your ear—

His fingers flex slightly, and he takes another drag from his joint to push the thought down.

You let out a deep breath, flopping onto your back and staring at the ceiling. “I just mean… I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. Like, yeah, I’ve been the one to initiate kissing and stuff, but when it comes to… more than that…” You trail off, rubbing your face. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna look like a complete dumbass.”

Kenny hums, tapping his fingers against his knee. “So, what, you wanna speed things up?”

You hesitate. “I think so?” You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Jesus, listen to me. I sound fucking ridiculous.”

Kenny watches you, his smirk softening just slightly, but not enough for you to notice. You don’t sound ridiculous. If anything, you sound way too fucking real right now, and it’s making his stomach churn.

Because Damien gets to be the one you’re figuring this shit out with. Not him.

“You could always just ask him,” Kenny says after a moment, rolling his joint between his fingers again. “Y’know, ‘hey babe, do you wanna fuck me or what?’”

You groan, grabbing another pillow and chucking it at him. “I hate you.”

Kenny laughs, dodging easily. “Nah, babe, you love me.”

You don’t argue. You just exhale and stare up at the ceiling, looking like you’re thinking way too hard. Kenny watches you from the corner of his eye, blowing out another slow stream of smoke.

And suddenly, he’s got a fucking awful idea.

A really bad idea.

The kind of idea that would only make this entire situation a thousand times worse.

But it’s already sitting on the tip of his tongue, already forming before he can stop himself, already creeping into the space between you like a goddamn parasite.

“You could always get in some more practice first,” Kenny says, voice easy, smooth, barely a notch above casual.

You blink, turning your head to look at him. “What?”

Kenny shrugs, flicking the last of the ash from his joint into the can. “I mean, if you’re so worried about looking like an idiot when you finally fuck him, you might as well get some hands-on experience first.” He glances at you, eyes dark with something unreadable. “Y’know. Like last time.”

Kenny watches you laugh, watches the way your body curls in on itself as you push your hair back, your cheeks flushed. It’s a good look on you—loose, comfortable, warm. It makes something settle low in his stomach, something he shoves down before it can take up too much space in his head.

You shake your head, still grinning. “Jesus, Kenny. Your shit is way too fucking strong. How the fuck are you already that high?”

Kenny just smirks, dragging the joint lazily to his lips. He exhales slow, letting the smoke curl past his mouth before tilting his head at you. “What can I say? I got a gift.”

You roll your eyes, dramatic as ever, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to your stomach. You fidget, shifting on the bed like you’re trying to get comfortable, and he catches the way your fingers tap absentmindedly against the fabric, like there’s something else rattling around in your head.

Then, you glance up at him.

“C’mere,” you say, patting the space next to you. “Shotgun me.”

Kenny blinks. His smirk twitches, but he doesn’t move yet. His fingers tap against the joint as he exhales another slow stream of smoke. “Oh, so now you wanna get high?”

You groan, throwing yourself back against the mattress like the dramatics are necessary. “Dude, yes, just do it,” you say, dragging out the words, your voice dipping a little softer, lazier. “Texting Damien makes me nervous.”

That makes him pause. Not because he didn’t already know—he’s not an idiot. He’s been watching you tiptoe through this whole thing with Damien, acting like every little moment is some kind of test you might fail. And maybe that should make him laugh, should make him want to tease you for how ridiculous you’re being.

But it doesn’t.

Instead, it makes his jaw flex slightly, makes his grip tighten around the joint. It makes something settle uncomfortably in his ribs, thick and heavy and annoying as fuck.

So, he doesn’t think about it.

He just huffs out a quiet chuckle, shakes his head, and takes another slow drag. The cherry burns bright at the end of the joint, the embers glowing between his fingers as he watches the smoke curl in the dim light. The room smells thick of weed and something else—warmth, tension, whatever the fuck this thing between you is. He shifts closer, closing the space between you, feeling the slight give of the mattress under his weight.

You don’t move away.

If anything, you go unnervingly still, like you’re bracing yourself. Kenny notices immediately—the way your fingers tighten against the hem of your shorts, how your breath catches just slightly, how your lips part, hesitant but expectant, like you don’t quite know what to do with yourself. It’s cute. Fucking adorable, really. You asked for this, told him to do it, and now you’re the one looking like you might short-circuit.

He smirks, because of course he does. It’s too easy to fuck with you, too easy to push you just enough to see what you’ll do. You always take the bait, always react in ways that make him want to keep going, to see how far you’ll let him take things. But the thing that really gets him, the thing that makes something curl hot in his stomach?

You don’t pull away.

So he doesn’t either.

He holds the smoke in his lungs a little longer than necessary, just enough to let the moment stretch, to make sure you feel every second of it. Your lashes flutter slightly, and maybe you don’t even realize it, but you’re leaning in, just the smallest shift of your body, just enough that he can feel the warmth of your skin, can see the way your lips are slightly glossy, parted, waiting.

And then, finally, he exhales.

The smoke drifts between you, slow and heavy, wrapping around your face like a touch, filling the space between his mouth and yours. You inhale, your breath shaky, and his gaze drops to your lips as they part wider, taking in what he gives you. And maybe it’s the way the light hits you, or maybe it’s the fucking weed making everything hit different, but you look—fuck.

His lips almost brush yours.

It’s not a kiss, not really, just a barely-there press, a ghost of a touch. But it’s enough. Enough for Kenny to feel it, enough to make his fingers twitch where they rest on his knee, enough to make him fight the urge to tilt your chin up and close the distance properly.

For a second, it feels inevitable.

For a second, he forgets why he’s supposed to be holding back.

But then the smoke dissipates, and you exhale, the air between you shifting as reality settles back in. Your brows furrow, your fingers pressing against your lips like you’re trying to process something you can’t quite name. You blink at him, and the look in your eyes—curious, slightly dazed, warm in a way that makes his stomach fucking turn—is almost enough to make him do something stupid.

Instead, he leans back, stretching his arms behind his head like none of it meant anything.

"Jesus," you mutter, your voice slightly rougher than before. You press your fingers against your face, rubbing at your cheeks like you’re trying to ground yourself. "Why’d that feel so… intense?"

Kenny huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He knows exactly why, but he won’t be the one to say it. Instead, he shrugs, tilting his head lazily as he meets your gaze, his smirk still in place. "Maybe ‘cause you’re thinking too hard about it."

You scoff, rolling your eyes, but the flush in your cheeks gives you away. You’re still too warm, still not quite looking at him directly.

Kenny watches you, his smirk lingering, but there’s something sharper beneath it now, something considering. Your phone buzzes again, lighting up the space between you, but you don’t even glance at it. That’s new. You’ve been glued to that thing for weeks now, fingers tapping away every time Damien so much as breathed in your direction. Kenny had gotten used to it—the way you’d smile at the screen, the way your face would light up when his name popped up, the way you seemed so fucking absorbed in someone that wasn’t him.

So, yeah, the fact that you don’t reach for it? It doesn’t go unnoticed.

But he doesn’t say anything. Just keeps watching you, rolling his joint lazily between his fingers like he’s got all the time in the world.

Finally, you inhale, shifting slightly on the bed before looking at him, and there’s something hesitant in your expression, like you’re thinking too hard about what you want to say. “Sorry,” you murmur, voice softer now, more genuine. “For being weird these past couple of weeks.”

Kenny raises an eyebrow, taking a slow drag before exhaling through his nose. “Yeah?”

You nod, your fingers toying with the hem of your shorts, like you need to keep your hands busy. “I dunno, I feel like I’ve been—” You pause, searching for the words. “Like, all obsessed with Damien.”

Kenny doesn’t react. He just watches, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek, waiting.

“I didn’t mean to get so caught up,” you continue, giving him a small, lopsided smile, one that looks more like an apology than anything else. “I wasn’t trying to be a shitty friend.”

Kenny huffs, flicking ash into the can beside him. “Didn’t say you were.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no heat behind it. “Yeah, but I know I’ve been kinda… distant.”

Distant. That’s one way to put it. Another way to put it? You’d been fucking gone, completely wrapped up in your little honeymoon phase, texting Damien every chance you got, skipping out on group hangs, letting Kenny fade into the background like he wasn’t the one who fucking taught you how to kiss, like he wasn’t the one who had been there before this dude even looked in your direction.

Not that he cared.

Not that it fucking mattered.

You finally lean back against the pillows, stretching out with a sigh, your tank top riding up just slightly, exposing the bare skin of your stomach. You don’t seem to notice, but Kenny does. He drags his gaze up, past the curve of your waist, past your collarbone, landing on your face again just as you turn to him with an easy smile.

“What about you?” you ask. “What’s been new with you?”

Kenny snorts, tilting his head. “What, you finally remember I exist?”

You make a face, nudging his knee with your foot. “I’m trying to be nice, asshole.”

He chuckles, shaking his head, but the question still hangs between you. What’s been new with him? What’s he supposed to say? That he’s been spending most nights thinking about your lips wrapped around his cock? That he can’t look at you the same way anymore, no matter how hard he tries? That every time he closes his eyes, he can still fucking feel you, the warmth of your breath, the way you moaned when you thought you were being quiet, the way you—

Nope.

Not going there.

He shrugs, keeping it easy, keeping it light. “Same old shit,” he says, tapping the joint against his knee. “Classes suck, work sucks, Cartman still sucks. Y’know. Life.”

You hum in acknowledgment, nodding slightly. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Silence settles between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s just… there. The TV is still playing in the background, the low hum of dialogue blending with the scent of weed and whatever perfume you put on earlier. You’re still sprawled out beside him, relaxed, loose, looking at him like you actually fucking see him again. And maybe it’s the weed, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re actually paying attention to him for the first time in weeks, but something in Kenny’s chest loosens.

Not all the way. Not completely. But just enough.

You shift again, propping yourself up on your elbows, still watching him. “You hooking up with anyone?” you ask, your tone casual, but there’s something in your eyes that makes his smirk twitch.

Kenny exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “What, you tryna keep tabs on me now?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m just curious.”

His lips curl, his gaze dropping to your mouth for half a second before flicking back up. “Nah,” he says, voice smoother now, slower. “Been keepin’ myself busy with other things.”

Your brows raise slightly, and there it is again—that curiosity, that look like you’re trying to figure something out. “Oh?”

Kenny leans in slightly, his smirk widening. “Why? You jealous?”

Your face scrunches up, and you laugh, shoving his shoulder. “Jesus, shut up.”

He just grins, tilting his head back, exhaling another lazy stream of smoke toward the ceiling. But he notices the way you shift beside him, the way your fingers curl slightly against your thigh, the way your gaze flickers, uncertain, for just a second.

You speak again, voice softer this time, your laughter slipping out in an easy, breathy sound that makes something in Kenny’s chest tighten. “It’d be nice to see you in a relationship, like seriously.”

Kenny raises an eyebrow, but before he can throw out some half-assed joke about how relationships are a scam or how he’s too pretty to be tied down, you shift closer. Not just a little—close enough that your shoulder presses into his side, close enough that he can feel the heat of your skin through the thin material of your tank top. Then, before he can say anything, you tilt your head and rest it on his shoulder.

Kenny swallows, his jaw tightening just slightly. He flicks the ash from his joint into the can, forcing himself to act like this isn’t affecting him, like his pulse didn’t just spike from the sudden weight of you against him. His mind scrambles for something easy, something smooth to say, something to brush past the way you’re leaning into him so casually, like it’s nothing.

But then—then he catches it.

The way your gaze flickers, brief but deliberate. The way your lashes lower just slightly, the way your lips part like you’re about to say something else but stop yourself. And then—fuck—he notices the way your eyes drop, trailing lower, landing right on his mouth.

And staying there.

Kenny exhales slowly, dragging his thumb over his bottom lip like that’ll somehow ground him, keep him from focusing too hard on the fact that you’re pressed against his side, warm and soft, smelling like your perfume and whatever lotion you always use. He tilts his head slightly, shifting just enough so he can look at you without making it too obvious that he’s fucking staring.

“Oh yeah?” His voice is smooth, lazy, but there’s a tightness beneath it, something restrained. He smirks, flicking his gaze down at you. “You tryna set me up with someone? That what this is?”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head, but you don’t pull away. If anything, you tuck in closer, your temple pressing into his shoulder, and fuck, that’s dangerous. “I’m just saying,” you hum, your fingers idly brushing against the hem of your shorts. “You could be a good boyfriend. If you weren’t, y’know, a manwhore.”

Kenny barks out a laugh at that, tilting his head back. “Damn, babe, just say you think I’m a slut and move on.”

You snort, poking him in the ribs, and he twitches, but doesn’t pull away. “I mean, you kinda are,” you tease.

He grins, dropping his hand from his mouth and resting his arm across the back of the bed, dangerously close to your shoulder. “Yeah, well. Maybe I just haven’t found the right person to settle me down.” He leans in slightly, voice dipping low, just to fuck with you. “You volunteering?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Ew. No.”

Kenny huffs out a chuckle, but he’s watching you closely now, studying the way you’re still tucked against him, the way your fingers are fidgeting with the edge of your shorts, the way your lips are still a little too pressed together. You haven’t looked away from him yet.

He could push it. Could keep going, see how far you’d let him take it, see if you’d finally—finally—start to fucking realize what’s been right in front of you this whole time.

But then you laugh again, softer this time, tilting your head up just slightly, and it fucking wrecks him. Because you’re still looking at him like that, still close enough that if he leaned in, even just a little, his lips would brush against yours, and he knows—he knows—you’d let him.

But you’d still think it was nothing.

Just like last time.

Just like the kissing. Just like the blowjob. Just another favor. Just another casual, best friend thing.

And that’s the part that stops him. That’s the part that makes him stay right where he is, smirking at you like nothing’s changed, like he’s still the same Kenny McCormick you’ve always known and not the guy whose brain is currently short-circuiting because you keep looking at his mouth like you want him to fucking kiss you.

So instead, he lets out another lazy chuckle, shrugging like this is nothing, like he’s not losing his fucking mind. “Your loss, babe,” he drawls, shifting just slightly, just enough to make you roll your eyes again. “I’d treat you real nice.”

You snort, shoving at his arm. “Shut up.”

Kenny grins, but he doesn’t miss the way you’re still smiling, still looking at him, still lingering way too close. And maybe he’s imagining it—maybe it’s just the weed, or the way his brain is desperate to make something out of nothing—but he swears, for just half a second, that your eyes flicker down to his lips one more time before you finally pull away.

Kenny watches as you finally grab your phone off the mattress, your thumbs tapping against the screen with that familiar, lazy rhythm, like whatever you’re texting isn’t urgent but still holds your attention. Probably Damien. Of course, fucking Damien. His jaw tenses slightly, but he hides it well, tilting his head back, stretching his arms behind his head, exhaling slow like he doesn’t give a shit.

Because he shouldn’t.

You’re his best friend. You’re dating Damien. He’s the idiot for even thinking about this too much.

You let out a small hum, still looking at your phone, then glance up at him. “Hey, how’s Karen?”

Kenny blinks, caught off guard. “Uh.” He shifts slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s good. Y’know, high school and all that shit.”

You smile, eyes warm with nostalgia. “I miss her. She’s, like, way cooler than you.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, I hear that a lot.”

You scroll absentmindedly for a second, then tilt your head, thoughtful. “I actually offered to go down to South Park to hang with her, but she, uh… she kinda declined?” Your brows furrow slightly as you say it, like you’re trying to figure out if that means something. “She said she was busy, but, like… I dunno. Just felt weird.”

Kenny’s smirk twitches slightly, but he covers it by dragging a hand through his hair, ruffling it in that lazy, effortless way. “Yeah. She’s just got a lot goin’ on. College apps, school shit. Probably didn’t wanna feel like she had to entertain you or somethin’.”

You frown slightly, but nod. “Yeah… I guess that makes sense.” You pause, then huff out a small laugh. “Still, she could’ve just told me to fuck off. That’s what you do.”

Kenny grins, leaning back on his hands. “Yeah, but I’m an asshole.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling again, which is dangerous, because every time you smile at him like that, it makes something in his chest twist in a way he doesn’t wanna fucking acknowledge.

The truth is, Karen probably would’ve loved to see you. She adores you. But she also knows Kenny better than anyone, and she’s perceptive as hell. She must’ve picked up on something, must’ve seen the way he acts when you’re around, must’ve realized whatever’s going on in his head is more than just casual bullshit.

So, yeah. She probably didn’t want to be caught in the middle of that mess. And honestly? He can’t blame her.

Karen’s too smart for this shit—too smart to get tangled up in anything she doesn’t have to be. Unlike him. Unlike whatever the fuck is happening here, right now, with you.

You go back to texting, your attention locked onto your phone, fingers moving quickly over the screen. And Kenny should just let it go, should just focus on his joint, on the fact that he’s high as fuck and that’s all that should matter. But then, out of nowhere, you’re back against his side, your body pressed against his, warm and soft and close, and before he can say a word, you shove your phone into his face.

"Kenny, look," you said, your voice giddy, bright. "Tell me this isn’t the cutest shit ever."

Kenny blinked, eyes adjusting to the glowing screen. And of course, it was Damien.

Damien: thinking about you again. is that bad? You: lol bad how Damien: like i don’t think i can stop

His grip on the joint tightened.

He forced himself to lean back, to paste on that easy smirk, to pretend like this wasn’t clawing at something deep and ugly inside him. "Wow," he muttered, dragging the word out like it amused him. "That’s real sweet. You two gonna write your wedding vows over text now, or what?"

You rolled your eyes, still smiling. "Shut up. It’s cute, okay?"

Kenny glanced at your face, at the way your gaze was locked on the message, at the way your lips were slightly parted, just enough to let out a little, breathless sigh—like this meant everything to you.

And suddenly, he wanted to argue with you. Not just tease, not just push, but actually argue. Because what was so special about that? About some vague, half-assed text? Was that all it took to have you hanging on every word? Was that all it took to have you giggling and pressing up against someone like they hung the fucking moon?

It made something hot and sharp coil in his chest, something reckless and mean, and before he could stop himself, the words were spilling out.

"Nah, you’re right," he said, exhaling smoke through his nose. "Real romantic. Nothing says I wanna fuck you stupid like a lowercase ‘thinking about you’ text."

Your head snapped toward him so fast it was almost funny. "Jesus, Kenny! What the fuck is your problem?"

"I don’t have a problem," he said smoothly, smirk still in place, though there was a bite to it now.

"You literally just started shit out of nowhere."

"I’m just saying, babe," he continued, voice lazy, casual, but his hands were twitching against his knee, the joint burning low between his fingers. "If a guy’s into you, really into you, he’s not just sending some sad little text about how he can’t stop thinking about you. He’s showing up. He’s getting in your fucking space. He’s making sure you know."

Your face flushed, and that only made Kenny grin wider. You sat up straighter, your fingers tightening around your phone like you were debating throwing it at him. "So what, Damien’s just some weak-ass loser because he isn’t up my ass twenty-four seven?"

Kenny exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. "I dunno, babe. Maybe. Or maybe he just doesn’t wanna fuck you as bad as you think he does."

The second the words left his mouth, he knew they hit their mark. Your expression shifted, just slightly. Your lips parted like you wanted to snap back immediately, but you hesitated, just for a fraction of a second. Your jaw tightened, and instead of looking flustered, you looked pissed.

"Wow," you said flatly. "Okay. Fuck you."

He grinned like that was exactly what he wanted. "What? It’s a fair point."

"No, you’re just being a fucking dick for no reason," you snapped, shoving at his arm. "Jesus Christ, you act like you know everything just because you’ve stuck your dick in enough people to have an opinion."

Kenny raised an eyebrow, his grin widening, but there was something dangerous beneath it now. "I do know everything," he said, shrugging. "And I’m telling you—this shit? Damien? It’s weak."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Yeah? And what the fuck do you know about real relationships?"

That—that—almost made him flinch.

He knew what you were saying. He knew what you meant. But it still got under his skin, dug in deep, because you said it like you didn’t fucking know. Like you actually believed he’d never felt anything real. Like you thought it was all just fun and games for him.

Maybe it was.

Or maybe he’d been waiting for you to figure your shit out.

His smirk turned razor-sharp, and he leaned in closer, his breath thick with smoke, his blue eyes dark and unreadable. "You’d be surprised how much I know, babe."

You swallowed, and he saw it—saw the way your throat bobbed, the way your fingers twitched against your phone, the way your breath caught just slightly. But you didn’t back down. You tilted your chin up, glare sharp. "You don’t know shit about me and Damien."

Kenny smirked, tilting his head. "Then why are you sitting here arguing with me instead of texting him back?"

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

You blinked once, like you were realizing it just now, like it hadn’t registered before.

You were here. With him.

And you hadn’t looked at your phone once since he pissed you off.

He didn’t give you a chance to respond.

He moved before he could stop himself, before he could think about it, before he could talk himself out of it. His fingers curled into the hem of your tank top, tugging you forward, and then—

His lips crashed against yours.

You let out a soft, startled sound, like you weren’t expecting it, like you should push him away, but you didn’t.

You froze for half a second.

Then you kissed him back.

It was rough, desperate, nothing like the slow, careful kisses he gave you before. His hand slid up to your jaw, holding you there, fingers pressing into your skin, keeping you close. He kissed you like he was trying to prove something, like he was trying to force you to understand.

Your fingers twisted into his shirt, and suddenly, you were the one closing the space, the one chasing him, the one leaning in, melting into him.

There was no hesitation, no awkward fumbling like before. You matched him, mouth moving against his with a confidence that wasn’t there last time, lips parting just enough for him to deepen the kiss. And when you shifted forward, straddling his lap without a second thought, Kenny knew exactly what that meant.

You wanted this. You wanted him.

His hands settled on your waist, fingers digging into the soft curve of your hips as you pressed closer, your chest flush against his. Your body was warm, your breath uneven, and when he bit your bottom lip, teasing, you whimpered. A soft, broken little sound that sent a sharp pulse of heat straight through him.

Holy fuck.

Kenny groaned low in his throat, his fingers tightening their grip as you parted your lips for him. He wasted no time, slipping his tongue into your mouth, tasting you, letting his lips move against yours in slow, teasing strokes. You were panting now, breath shaky, hands threading through his hair, tugging lightly at the strands.

He grinned into the kiss, loving how easy this was, how responsive you were, how much more comfortable you’d gotten with this kind of thing. Whether it was because of Damien or because of him, he wasn’t sure. But it didn’t fucking matter, because right now, you weren’t thinking about Damien. You weren’t thinking about anything but him.

Breaking the kiss, he dipped his head, trailing his lips down the side of your jaw, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck. Your skin was so fucking soft, and when he sucked lightly just below your ear, you shivered, nails digging into his scalp.

He smirked.

"Yeah? You like that?"

He dragged his tongue along your pulse point, then sucked a little harder, just to see what you’d do.

And when you moaned—loud, breathy, completely unfiltered—he felt his stomach fucking drop.

Because the second the sound left your mouth, you froze.

Your whole body went stiff, hands still tangled in his hair, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. And then—

You shoved him off of you.

Kenny barely had time to react, barely had time to register what the fuck just happened before you were scrambling back, wide-eyed, your whole face flushed, tears welling in your eyes.

What the fuck just happened?

You looked like you had just realized something—like the full weight of what was happening crashed into you all at once, knocking the breath from your lungs. Your lips were swollen, your chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths, your eyes darting to his face like you were looking for something—like you were trying to piece something together.

Kenny moved instantly, hands reaching for you, instinct kicking in. "Hey—"

But you shook your head, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes like you were trying to wipe away tears before they could fall.

Oh, fuck.

Kenny felt his whole body go cold.

"Shit—babe, what’s wrong?" His voice came out rougher than he meant it to, like his own confusion was physically strangling him.

You didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at him.

Instead, you shook your head again, jaw tight, hands clenched into fists like you were trying to hold something in.

Kenny felt something sour crawl up his throat.

He pushed up on his elbows, sitting up straighter, trying to read you, trying to figure out what the fuck just changed in the last ten seconds. Because just before this, you were all over him. You kissed him back. You straddled him. You wanted this. He felt it, knew it, could still feel the heat of your body pressed against his.

So then what the fuck?

"You—" He swallowed, trying to steady his voice. "You wanted this, right?"

Your breath hitched, and for a second—just a second—he thought you were going to say yes.

But instead—

"I—" You exhaled sharply, shaking your head, pressing your fingers against your temples like you were trying to think. "I don’t—I don’t fucking know, Kenny."

His stomach twisted, that same uneasy weight settling in his chest, heavy and wrong.

You don’t know?

Kenny ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep his breathing even, trying to keep his fucking cool, but the words dug under his skin like a goddamn splinter.

Because if you didn’t know, then why the fuck were you kissing him like that?

He clenched his jaw, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he exhaled slowly. He wasn’t mad—fuck, no, he wasn’t mad—but there was this thing clawing at him, this raw, twisting feeling in his gut that he didn’t know how to deal with.

He swallowed it down, forcing himself to sound calmer than he felt. "Okay. Just—just talk to me, babe. What happened?"

You looked at him then—finally—and your expression made his chest ache. You looked wrecked.

Torn between emotions, between thoughts you weren’t saying out loud, between something Kenny wasn’t sure he’d even understand if you did.

"I just—" You inhaled sharply, blinking fast, voice wobbling slightly. "I wasn’t thinking, okay? It just—fuck, Kenny, it just happened."

Kenny frowned, leaning in closer, his hands twitching against his thighs, wanting to reach for you but not knowing if he should.

"Okay…?" He let the word hang, waiting, watching, needing more than that.

"I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—" You bit your lip, voice shaking, frustration clear in the way your shoulders tensed, like you were mad at yourself more than anything. "I wasn’t supposed to like it."

Kenny froze.

His mind stalled, heartbeat slamming to a dead stop.

I wasn’t supposed to like it.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

His stomach twisted so hard it made him feel sick.

Because there it was.

The real reason you pushed him away. The reason your hands were shaking, why your voice was unsteady, why you looked at him like something was wrong.

You fucking liked it.

And that scared you more than anything.

Kenny opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His throat felt fucking tight, like all the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving him drowning.

You liked it.

You liked him.

You weren’t supposed to.

Kenny’s grip on his knee tightened, his nails digging into the fabric of his jeans. He wanted to say something, needed to say something, but the words caught in his throat, tangled with the million different things running through his head.

He inhaled sharply, forcing a breath, forcing anything.

"And that’s a bad thing?"

Because the way you looked at him—the way your lips parted, the way your fingers clenched against your thighs, the way your expression fucking cracked—said everything you weren’t.

Yes.

Yes, it was a bad thing.

And it hit Kenny like a freight train.

You were panicking.

Not just surprised, not just overwhelmed—fucking panicking. Your whole body tensed like you’d just realized something too late, like you’d let yourself fall too far before recognizing the drop. And Kenny—fuck—he’d seen you nervous before, seen you shy, embarrassed, hesitant, but this? This was different.

This was fear.

You scrambled off the bed so fast it made his head spin, your movements jerky, desperate, wrong. Your eyes were wide and glassy, your breath uneven as you pulled yourself away from him like touching him had been some kind of mistake.

Then, just like that, you were crying.

Kenny barely had time to react before you were reaching for your shoes, swiping at your eyes like you could stop the tears from falling. He was still frozen, watching you like his brain hadn’t fully caught up to what was happening.

"Babe—" His voice came out rough, uneven, shocked, because what the fuck—why were you crying?

He reached for you instinctively, his fingers brushing against your arm, trying to steady you, to get you to just stay, to look at him—

"Don’t fucking touch me!"

The words hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. His fingers twitched uselessly as he stumbled back, hands raised, breath catching in his throat. Your whole body was trembling, your hands curling into fists like you didn’t know what to do with them.

Then you turned, wretched the door open, and bolted.

Kenny barely had time to process it before—

Kyle. Stan. Cartman. Butters.

All four of them were standing outside, their faces shifting from confusion to realization in real time.

Kyle took half a step forward, brows furrowed. "Dude, what the fuck—"

You didn’t let him finish.

You shoved past him so hard he nearly lost his balance, swiping at your eyes with the back of your hand as you rushed down the hall. Kenny didn’t even blink, his body locking up, his pulse hammering too fast to keep up with.

Because this didn’t make sense. You’d kissed him back. You’d moaned for him. You had wanted it.

Hadn’t you?

"Jesus Christ," Cartman muttered, crossing his arms over his chest, smirking. "What the fuck did you do now?"

Kenny didn’t look at him. Didn’t acknowledge him. His head was still spinning, his skin still hot, his chest still tight.

Stan’s expression was unreadable as he glanced at the door, his jaw tightening. "Dude," he said, voice lower now, more serious. "What the hell just happened?"

Kenny swallowed hard, forcing himself to take a slow breath.

Because he didn’t fucking know.

An hour later, Kenny sat slumped on the mattress in his dorm, staring blankly at the wall, chewing the inside of his cheek. His fingers drummed against his knee, his leg bouncing with restless energy, his mind stuck in a loop, replaying everything from earlier, dissecting it, trying to figure out where the hell it all went wrong.

Across the room, Cartman was digging through his drawers like a fucking raccoon, muttering under his breath about where the hell his Cheesy Poofs were. He yanked the bag out with a triumphant grunt, tore it open with his teeth, and flopped onto his bed, stuffing his face immediately. The overwhelming stench of artificial cheese filled the air, mixing with the lingering scent of weed.

Kenny barely acknowledged him, too busy fighting the image of your face out of his head. The way you looked at him, like he’d just done something unforgivable. Like he’d pushed too far. Like you were afraid of him.

He clenched his jaw, exhaling sharply through his nose, trying to push it down, bury it, pretend like it wasn’t still sitting in his fucking chest like a weight.

Cartman swallowed a mouthful of snacks and licked the orange dust off his fingers before raising an eyebrow at Kenny. “Alright, asshole, you gonna tell me what the fuck that was, or do I gotta beat it outta you?”

Kenny blinked, finally snapping out of his daze. “Jesus, dude.”

Cartman smirked, chewing obnoxiously. “What? You look like someone just told you Santa ain’t real.”

Kenny rolled his eyes. “Santa isn’t real.”

“Exactly. Devastating news.”

Kenny let out a sharp breath, dragging his hands down his face. His stomach was still twisted up, his mind still racing, and he wasn’t even sure where to start. The whole night had turned into a fucking disaster, and the last thing he wanted was to go over it with Cartman of all people.

But Cartman wasn’t letting it go.

“So lemme guess,” Cartman said, shoving more Cheesy Poofs into his mouth. “You finally tried to put the moves on her, she laughed in your face, and now you’re sulking like a little bitch?”

Kenny’s fingers twitched.

Cartman caught it immediately.

His smirk widened.

“Ohhh, shit,” he said, pointing at Kenny with a cheese-stained finger. “That’s not what happened.”

Kenny clenched his jaw.

Cartman’s eyes practically sparkled with amusement. “Wait. Wait. Did you fuck her?”

Kenny’s glare snapped to him, sharp and immediate, and Cartman burst into laughter.

“You fucking dog,” he cackled, shaking his head. “Holy shit, I—”

“No,” Kenny cut him off, voice tight. “We didn’t fuck.”

Cartman raised an eyebrow, still grinning. “So what, you tried to, and she freaked out?”

Kenny inhaled slowly, trying to keep his temper in check, because that was exactly what it had felt like. One second, you were pulling him closer, kissing him like you wanted him, and then suddenly you weren’t. Suddenly you were shoving him off, scrambling away from him, looking at him like he’d done something wrong.

Cartman watched him carefully, waiting for a reaction. Kenny just exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair. “We were just making out,” he muttered. “Then she—” He shook his head. “She freaked. Like, freaked. Pushed me off, started crying, fucking bolted.”

Cartman blinked. Then he threw his head back and laughed harder.

Kenny’s hands curled into fists.

“Dude,” Cartman wheezed, shaking his head. “That’s fucking brutal.”

Kenny shot him a murderous look. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Cartman just shrugged, still grinning. “What? It’s funny.” He leaned back against his pillows, tossing another handful of Cheesy Poofs into his mouth. “You finally get her on you, finally get to suck face, and she bolts? That’s, like, next-level humiliating.”

Kenny exhaled through his nose, his jaw tight. Cartman didn’t get it. Cartman didn’t see your face. He didn’t see the way your whole body had locked up, how your expression had cracked right before you shoved Kenny away.

“She was into it,” Kenny muttered, more to himself than to Cartman.

Cartman snorted. “Yeah? Real convincing, Kinny.”

Kenny ignored him, because he wasn’t wrong. You had kissed him back. Had melted into him, had let him touch you, had wanted it. Until you didn’t. And that part—the why—was what was fucking with him. Because this wasn’t just some "oops, I don’t see you like that" reaction. It was deeper than that. And Kenny had no fucking idea what it meant.

Cartman tossed the empty bag of Cheesy Poofs onto the floor, wiping his hands on his blanket. “So what, she still runnin’ from you, or you think she’s calmed down enough to let you back in?”

Kenny exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. This was probably the worst idea he’d had in a long time, but the words were already sitting on the tip of his tongue, itching to get out. He could feel Cartman watching him, waiting for him to spill whatever the fuck had happened back in Stan’s dorm. If he didn’t say it, Cartman would just keep pushing, keep making guesses until he got something close to the truth anyway. At least this way, Kenny could control the narrative.

He took a deep breath and leveled Cartman with a look. “Alright, dude. You cannot tell anyone this,” he said, voice firm. “Like, I mean it. If you do, I swear to God, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Cartman raised an eyebrow, unbothered, licking the last of the cheese dust off his fingers before shrugging. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just say it already.”

Kenny hesitated for a split second before deciding there was no going back. “So… we practiced kissing,” he said, voice even, like he wasn’t dropping a bomb. “Before her first date with Damien.”

Cartman blinked, waiting for more.

Kenny sighed, running a hand through his hair. “And at Tolkien’s party, after we ditched, she… blew me.”

Silence stretched between them for a solid five seconds. Cartman’s expression didn’t change immediately, but Kenny could see it happening—the way his brain processed what he just said, trying to decide if he’d heard it right. His mouth twitched like he was fighting the urge to say something too fast, like he wanted to savor this moment.

And then, like a goddamn explosion, Cartman burst out laughing.

It was loud, full-bodied, absolutely obnoxious. He practically threw himself backward onto his bed, gasping between laughs, his entire body shaking with amusement.

Kenny just sat there, watching him, face blank. He didn’t even bother telling him to shut the fuck up.

Cartman wheezed, gripping his stomach, barely able to get words out between gasps. “Oh my fucking god, dude—she—blew you—for practice?” He rolled onto his side, still laughing, kicking his feet against the mattress like a child. “And you let her?”

Kenny sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Dude, shut up.”

Cartman ignored him, still howling, completely losing his shit. “You—you do get what this means, right?” He sat up, wiping at his eyes, his smirk stretching wider. “You’re literally her training wheels.”

Kenny’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t take the bait.

Cartman, of course, kept going. “Like, that’s all this is, dude. She’s just getting ready for Damien. You’re just the practice run. Like a fucking tutorial level before the real game starts.”

Kenny exhaled through his nose, shifting against the couch, forcing himself to keep his expression neutral. He wasn’t gonna let Cartman get a reaction out of him.

Cartman smirked, watching him carefully now, like he could see Kenny trying to keep it together. “She’s using you to get ready for Damien,” he said, shrugging. “And you’re just sitting there, taking it. Like a little bitch.”

Kenny rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Alright, dude. You got your fucking joke in, can we move on now?”

Cartman just grinned. “Nah, ‘cause this is fascinating.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching Kenny like he was the most entertaining thing in the world. “Like, did you think she was practicing for you? That maybe she was actually into it? That maybe—just maybe—you had a shot?”

Kenny huffed a laugh, shaking his head again. “I never said that.”

“Uh-huh.” Cartman smirked, tilting his head. “But you thought it.”

Kenny didn’t say anything, just crossed his arms, fingers drumming against his bicep, forcing himself to look unbothered. Because fuck no, he wasn’t gonna let Cartman get into his head. He knew what this was. He knew it didn’t mean anything. He wasn’t some dumbass who thought a couple of kisses and a blowjob changed shit.

But Cartman was good at pushing buttons.

Cartman leaned back, picking up his bag of Cheesy Poofs again, still grinning. “Listen, man, if you’re cool with being the practice run, go for it. But don’t start bitching when she finally realizes Damien’s the one she actually wants.”

Kenny let out a breath, slow and controlled. “I’m not bitching.”

Cartman raised an eyebrow. “You look like you wanna bitch.”

Kenny gave him a look, standing up abruptly. “Yeah, okay, I’m done with this conversation.”

Cartman laughed again, shaking his head. “Dude, relax.” He grinned, licking some cheese dust off his thumb. “You like being used by her, don’t you?”

Kenny didn’t answer. He just turned toward the door, grabbing his keys off the counter, shoving them into his pocket as he pulled the handle.

“You’re gonna keep letting her, too,” Cartman added, still smirking. “’Cause deep down, you like being the one she comes to first.”

Kenny’s jaw tightened, but his words came out before he could think better of them. “Of course I’m gonna keep letting her, dude, she’s my best friend.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I’ve liked her since fucking middle school, man.”

Cartman, still shoving another handful of Cheesy Poofs into his mouth, froze mid-chew. His eyebrows lifted slightly, and for a second, there was nothing but the sound of him crunching obnoxiously. Then, with a dramatic swallow, he let out a scoffing laugh. “Pathetic.”

Kenny shot him a sharp glare, but Cartman wasn’t done.

“Dude, you serious right now?” Cartman shook his head, licking his fingers clean, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’ve had a crush on her since fucking middle school, and you’ve never said shit?”

Kenny exhaled through his nose, already regretting opening his mouth. “It’s not that simple.”

Cartman snorted. “Oh, it’s exactly that simple. Either you tell her, or you get the fuck over it.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring at Kenny like he was the dumbest motherfucker alive. “You’re doing this to yourself, dude. Sitting around, letting her use you as a fucking practice dummy so she can get all nice and prepped for her real boyfriend. You don’t think that’s gonna fucking wreck you eventually?”

Kenny clenched his jaw, staring hard at the wall, saying nothing.

“Like, what’s the fucking plan here?” Cartman continued, voice dripping with mockery. “You just gonna keep sucking it up? Keep letting her run to you every time she’s nervous about being with him? Keep pretending it doesn’t kill you when she talks about Damien like he hung the fucking moon?”

Kenny’s fists curled tighter.

Cartman sat back, shaking his head again, letting out a low laugh. “Jesus Christ, dude. She’s fucking dense. We all see it. Kyle, Stan, Butters—hell, even Timmy could probably take one look at you and figure it out.” His eyes narrowed slightly, his smirk fading into something almost resembling seriousness. “But she? Has no fucking clue.”

Kenny swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his breathing even. He hated how much this conversation was getting under his skin. Hated that Cartman wasn’t even wrong.

Cartman tilted his head. “So what, man? You gonna be her little safety net forever? Let her keep coming to you when she needs to ‘learn’ something, then sit back and watch while she gives everything she learned to him?”

Kenny didn’t answer. He didn’t want to answer.

Because the truth?

Yeah. That’s exactly what he was gonna do.

Because what other fucking choice did he have?

You didn’t see him like that. Not really. Not in the way he wanted her to. If you had, you wouldn’t have treated everything they did like it was just a fucking favor. Like it was nothing more than a transaction, a little lesson before you went running off to Damien, all bright-eyed and eager.

And sure, it stung like hell. Sure, it made his chest feel tight every time you smiled at your phone when you were texting Damien, every time you talked about him with that stupid, nervous excitement, like you were falling for him.

But if being her first choice for practice was the only way he could have her, even for a little while?

Yeah. He’d fucking take it.

Even if it was killing him.

Cartman sighed, dragging his hands down his face like Kenny was the one being insufferable right now. “Jesus fucking Christ, dude, I hate seeing you like this.” He shook his head, shoving the nearly empty bag of Cheesy Poofs onto his nightstand before looking at Kenny dead-on. “I’m gonna help you.”

Kenny frowned, skeptical. “Help me what?”

Cartman snorted. “Help you not be a pathetic little bitch.” He gestured vaguely in Kenny’s direction. “I mean, you’re still gonna be a bitch, but at least you won’t be whining about this shit to me anymore.”

Kenny rolled his eyes, dragging a hand down his face. “Dude, I don’t need your fucking help—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Cartman cut him off, waving a hand. “I don’t wanna hear it. You do need my help, because without me, you’re just gonna sit there like a fucking cuck, watching her get all dolled up for Damien like a good little lapdog.” He smirked. “Unless, y’know, you’re into that.”

Kenny clenched his jaw. “Fuck off.”

Cartman ignored him. “Anyway, I expect something in return, obviously.” He leaned back against the bed, crossing his arms. “Haven’t decided what yet, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s fucked.”

Kenny scoffed. “You’re such an asshole.”

Cartman shrugged. “I could be a worse one and just not help you.” He smirked. “But I’m feeling generous, so I’m gonna do what you should’ve done forever ago—get you two alone so you can actually talk.”

Kenny narrowed his eyes. “And how the fuck do you plan on doing that?”

Cartman grinned. “I’ve got my ways.”

Kenny just shook his head. “Dude, if you do some stupid rom-com bullshit, I swear to God—”

“Relax, I’m not Kyle,” Cartman cut in, rolling his eyes. “I’m not gonna, like, lock you in a fucking closet or some shit.” He smirked. “Unless that’s what you want.”

Kenny flipped him off.

Cartman just laughed. “Nah, dude, don’t worry. I’ll get her alone with you, make it look all casual. Then boom, you lay your feelings out like a man instead of just letting her use you as a goddamn sex dummy.” He tilted his head. “Unless you like being her personal practice cock, in which case, let me know now, ‘cause I’ll just drop this whole thing and let you suffer.”

Kenny exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair. He knew Cartman was a dick, but he wasn’t wrong. And honestly? As much as he hated that this was happening like this, maybe it was better that someone forced his hand.

Because he sure as hell wasn’t gonna do it himself.

Cartman watched him for a moment, then rolled his eyes again. “God, you’re so fucking stupid.” He smirked, shaking his head. “Like, what if—and hear me out, dumbass—what if she likes you?”

Kenny’s stomach dropped.

His throat went dry, his breath catching slightly.

But Cartman was already grinning, shoving another handful of Cheesy Poofs into his mouth. “Yeah. Exactly.”

The last couple of days have been a blur of avoidance and self-loathing. You haven’t left your dorm, haven’t checked your phone beyond what was necessary, and haven’t even attempted to go to class. The weight in your chest has only gotten heavier, pressing down on you with every passing hour. The only person you’ve interacted with is Red, and that’s only because you share a dorm and she refuses to let you completely wither away in self-pity.

You ended things with Damien over text, a cowardly move you can’t even justify. He didn’t deserve that, and deep down, you know you should’ve at least called, but the thought of having to hear his voice, to explain yourself when you barely understand what’s happening inside your own head, was unbearable. The guilt has only made everything worse, sinking into your stomach like a rock.

Now, you’re curled up on your bed, your face half-buried in your pillow, your whole body feeling heavy and drained. Red sits beside you, rubbing slow circles on your back, her touch gentle but insistent. Her voice is soft, patient, like she’s trying to keep you from completely falling apart.

“I know, babe,” she murmurs, her fingers still tracing over your spine. “First breakups are hard.”

You let out a muffled groan, rolling onto your side so you can look at her properly. Your eyes are swollen and raw from crying, your cheeks sticky with dried tears. “I’m a fucking mess,” you croak, the words thick in your throat.

Red sighs, her fingers squeezing your arm lightly. “I mean, yeah, you’re definitely not thriving,” she says carefully, her expression neutral but her tone edged with amusement. “But also? You ended things over text, dude. Of course, you feel like shit.”

You groan louder, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes. “I know,” you whine, dragging out the word like it’ll somehow make this situation less miserable. “I know it was shitty, okay? I’m the worst person alive.”

She tilts her head, pretending to think about it. “Well, maybe not the worst,” she allows, “but it was definitely a real bitch move.”

You shoot her a weak glare, but it barely lasts a second before you exhale sharply and let your hands drop back onto your stomach. She’s right. There’s no use pretending otherwise.

Silence settles between you, save for the sound of your uneven breathing. You stare up at the ceiling, willing your mind to stop spiraling, but it’s impossible. Your limbs feel too heavy, your chest too tight, and it’s not because of Damien. It never was.

This isn’t about the breakup. It’s about Kenny.

Kenny, who kissed you first. Kenny, who touched you like he meant it. Kenny, whose mouth made you fall apart in seconds. Kenny, who looked at you like you were something he wanted—not just as a favor, not just as practice.

And then you pushed him away.

Your throat tightens, and you suck in a sharp breath, trying to stop the sting behind your eyes from turning into another wave of tears. It wasn’t supposed to be him. It was supposed to be Damien. That was safe, that was predictable. That was the plan.

But the moment Kenny kissed you, the second his hands were on your skin, everything shifted. It clicked in a way that scared the absolute shit out of you, because if you let yourself think about it for too long, you’d have to face the truth.

And the truth is? It’s always been Kenny.

You don’t even know what to do with that. You don’t know how to handle it, how to process it, how to fix it. So instead, you’ve done what you do best—ran from it, ignored it, buried it under excuses and bad decisions.

Red shifts beside you, pulling you from your thoughts. She hesitates for a moment before asking, “So… are you gonna talk to him?”

Your whole body tenses, and your stomach drops.

You turn to her slowly, trying to school your expression into something neutral, but she’s looking at you expectantly, like she already knows something is off. And that’s when the panic creeps in, cold and sharp.

What—” You swallow. “What do you mean?”

Red gives you a flat look. “Don’t play dumb.”

You try anyway. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Red snorts. “Bullshit.”

You shut your eyes, groaning.

“I mean, obviously something happened,” she continues, shifting beside you. “You’ve been acting weird as fuck, and Kenny’s been even worse. And before you try to deny it, babe, everyone has noticed.”

Your stomach twists painfully.

She raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the headboard. “So? Spill.”

You hesitate, chewing the inside of your cheek. Then, finally, you exhale, pressing your fingers against your temples. “…He kissed me.”

Red blinks. “Kenny?”

You nod.

Red narrows her eyes, processing. “Wait. Before or after Damien?”

“…Before.”

Her eyes widen. “Before your first date with Damien?”

You nod again, stomach twisting violently. “Yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, Red’s face morphs into pure delight.

“Oh my God.” She smacks your arm. “You’re so fucking dumb.”

You groan, shoving your face into the pillow. “Shut up.”

Red just laughs. “I knew something was off! I knew it!”

You turn your head just enough to glare at her. “Red, I’m literally having a crisis.”

Red ignores that. “Was it good?”

You blink. “What?”

“The kiss,” she says, exasperated. “Was it good?”

You feel your face heat up instantly. “I—I mean, yeah—”

Red grins. “Yeah?”

You cover your face with your hands. “I don’t wanna talk about this.”

“Too bad,” Red says cheerfully. “Because I definitely do.”

You groan, collapsing onto the mattress, wanting to disappear. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

Red nudges your leg. “Okay, okay, fine. Serious question.” She tilts her head, studying you. “Why did it mess you up this bad?”

You freeze.

Because that’s the real question, isn’t it?

You inhale shakily, gripping the blanket tighter. “Because…” Your voice is small. “Because I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Red’s teasing expression falters. She watches you carefully, waiting.

You take another breath, forcing the words out. “I was supposed to like Damien. I wanted to like Damien. But every time I was with him, I just kept thinking about—” You cut yourself off, pressing your lips together.

Red doesn’t push. She just waits.

And you don’t know why, but that makes it easier to say it.

“I like him.” The words spill out before you can stop them. “I like my best friend, and I don’t know what to do.”

The confession hangs in the air between you, thick and suffocating.

Red blinks once. Twice. Then—

She exhales sharply, shaking her head with a laugh.

“Well,” she says, amused, “took you long enough.”

You stare at her. “What?”

She shrugs. “Babe, everyone has been waiting for you two to figure your shit out. You guys have been orbiting each other forever.”

Your brain short circuits. “No, we haven’t.”

Red raises an eyebrow. “Okay. Sure.”

You frown, anxiety curling in your stomach. “This is stupid. There’s no way Kenny likes me back.”

Red actually cackles.

“Oh my God,” she groans, throwing her head back. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

You glare. “I’m serious, Red. Kenny’s never acted like he liked me before. I mean, yeah, we kissed, but—it was probably just some dumb impulse—”

Red scoffs. “Okay. And what about after the kiss?”

You freeze.

Because after the kiss is when everything changed.

Red sees the way your expression shifts, how you suddenly look like you might spiral all over again, and she sighs dramatically. She reaches forward, grabbing your face with both hands, squishing your cheeks together. “You,” she says, “are a fucking idiot.”

You groan, shoving her off. “Okay, what the fuck, dude—”

“No, listen to me,” Red says, sitting up straighter. “Kenny does like you. And if you weren’t so far up your own ass about it, you’d see it.”

Your stomach twists. You shake your head. “No.” Your voice wavers. “No way. Kenny doesn’t do relationships. He hooks up with people, for fun. He doesn’t—he wouldn’t—” You shut your eyes. “Not with me.”

Red exhales sharply, looking like she wants to strangle you. “Jesus Christ, babe, he’s in love with you.”

Your whole body locks up.

Your breath catches in your throat, and suddenly, you feel like you can’t breathe.

Red watches you carefully, waiting for you to react.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Red just sighs, running a hand through her hair before grabbing her bag. “Alright, whatever,” she says, exhaling through her nose. “I gotta go to class. But actually think about this, okay? Don’t just sit here and rot.”

You don’t answer. There’s nothing you can say. Your mind is still spinning, everything inside you tangled in knots so tight you can’t breathe through them. She lingers by the door for a second, like she’s debating whether to push the subject, but eventually, she just shakes her head and mutters, “You’re impossible.” Then she’s gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

And you’re alone.

The silence presses down on you. You feel wrung out, like your own thoughts have been tearing you apart piece by piece, and all that’s left is raw nerves and confusion. You roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling, trying to focus on the sound of your own breathing, trying to get your heart to slow the fuck down.

But then you think about Kenny.

Kenny, who teased you in senior year for not having a prom date, flashing that lazy smirk as he leaned against your locker and said, “Guess that means you’re going with me, babe.” He said it so easily, so casually, like it didn’t even matter, like it wasn’t something that made your chest tighten or your stomach twist.

Kenny, who in middle school never pointed out the way you started changing, never made the comments the other boys did when puberty hit you like a freight train. He never gave you that weird, lingering look when you started filling out, never treated you differently just because you suddenly weren’t one of the guys anymore. While the rest of them gawked and whispered, Kenny still threw his arm over your shoulders, still stole your fries at lunch, still shoved you off the swings without thinking twice about it.

Kenny, who in elementary school used to wrestle with you in the dirt, never caring if your clothes got ripped or your knees got scraped. The same Kenny who let you use him as a human jungle gym, who didn’t mind when you shoved him face-first into the mud, who always laughed and tackled you right back.

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, inhaling sharply.

Because things aren’t that simple anymore.

Not after the kissing.

Not after his hands on your body, his lips on your neck, his voice going low and rough, saying things that made your stomach clench in ways you still haven’t fully processed.

Not after you let him do those things.

Not after you wanted him to.

Your stomach twists violently, and your hands curl into fists against your sheets.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

Damien was sweet. He was kind. He was safe. You should have wanted him. You should have been happy with him. You should have—

But you weren’t.

You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing a sharp exhale through your nose.

And then Red’s words come back, circling in your mind like vultures over something already dead.

"Kenny’s in love with you."

event masterlist | part one | part three

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

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