#kyle ❄️

[sheep-system]

Intro post !

hello! we are the sheep system. we're bodily 25, and collectively use they/them pronouns. we have 16 members. we sporadically switch, so it's usually just the host (tavvy) you're talking to. we'll tag our posts with the member's name and their emoji sign off.

-- tavvy 🌈

[snowneedsanap]

Feed a guppy, will ya miss?

The Merman's Cove // Poly!Mermay!141 x Afab!Human!Reader // Ch. 1

Tags // Reader is Afab with she/her pronouns, this is eventually a poly ending but starts with a Kyle/Johnny fic for the beginning, the boys are feral hunters, reader doesn't like fish, I don't care if it isn't MerMay anymore I want Mermen, Reader is human interacting with feral beasts of the deep, protective mermen, biting, marking, clawing, Reader def has daddy issues, will later build on once I get to writing ok loves<3

A/N // possibly smut? i am still a baby writer you guys. I don't know, this is hopefully my first longer fic and it catches on b/c I'm going through a mermaid phase.

Buying or really stealing a bucket of mackerel from your father's fishing boat was a daily habit since you remembered, since he would take you to the cove where the sea otters stayed. Their chirps and squeaks, clawing and pawing to the slippery and small fish was the only tolerating part of handling fish. Ever since living on a port city that thrived off of it's fishing exports, you could never quite enjoy the delicacy the locals enjoyed. The texture, the olfaction, the taste, you could never get over. No matter if it was grilled, baked, stuffed, raw, or cooked, any sort of fish could never be to your liking.

So, imagine to your father's surprise, as an owner of his own fishing company, when his own daughter doesn't enjoy the food he catches and how he smelled at the end of the day coming back from sea. When you were younger, he would shower right as he got home to then prepare chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese right when you came home from elementary school. But as you grew and he spent more time out at sea to pay for your primary education, he would never even have the chance to see you nor even have you smell him to know that he was home.

When things hardened and after you graduated from primary, you decided to help his business by working in his store, no where of the sea and their smells and harm, and surely you kept it that way. But today, and with most days, it was raining. The small Irish island was notorious of their rough seas and torrential rain, but today was a light drizzle. With said light drizzle, and the fact that the island was home less to 400 people, all spaced out too, no one was out. Grabbing a bucket from yesterdays catch of mackerel, you sought out to the comforting cove with the smelling fish bucket to the even more smelly cavern with the salty sea otters. Making sure to watch your step, your slowly made your way to the watery and rocky seats you've known. Throwing a slippery mackerel in to attract them, despite them not already being here was offsetting, you threw one it and it plunked right in. Within a blur and not breaking the surface, a whir of black and deep green snatched the dead fish. Immediately knocking the bucket back and leaning down over the rock's edge to get a quick glimpse, of what you've thought could've been a tuna, but definitely was not the coloring, you peered down into the dark waters. Unbeknownst to you, a pair of bright blue, starking humanoid eyes were staring right back.

As you stared into the murky waters, wondering what sort of fish could possibly be larger than the size of a shark but also not break the surface tension.

A splash of cold water broke your attention, making you take a step back and wipe the nasty salty sea water off of your face. You blink a few times to make sure nothing is in your eyes, you look back to the waters to see a head with green iridescent scales aligning the scalp, pointed high with one large fin down the middle. It's hair was, odd, the sides were shaven and had given it the appearance of a mohawk. It's eyes pierce to yours, a glare sending a shiver down your spine.

It was humanoid. No, it was a merfolk. The one your father always warned your about, whenever he would tell you stories out at sea, where he would see half fish half women, but you would always laugh and call him delirious, tell him to take his vitamin c pills so he doesn't get 'scurvy' like a real pirate.' What a joke.

What a joke you seriously thought when this merfolk stared you down. You felt choked, bewildered, and creeped out to find out that your father's stories were somewhat, factually true. Barely moving a muscle, the merfolk dives back in. In a flash, the same shadow you saw snatched the dead mackerel swam by. Then, it's head popped back up, closer. It eyed the metal bucket by your side, where it's dumped contents laid out by your side. Without words but understanding, you threw another fish. The merfolk jumped out and caught it with it's razor teeth, almost full body propelling itself up. Toned with white scars that had never healed properly, a strapped leather weapon to, to his chest, you realized. It was a merman.

Wanting to know more about this merman despite your father's previous warnings, you threw in more mackerel. It went back in for more, swiping each one. Peering down over the edge, his head moved back up. Then he swam closer to get a closer look too it seemed, to where you saw a large fish hook in the corner of his right gills. They pulsate from the lack of water but also the pain from the metal imbedded into the flesh. Frowning, but also having experience with unhooking and releasing, so you motion for him to move closer to hopefully remove it without anymore pain.

Begrudgingly, he swims forward. Swiftly without another blink, the hook is removed without anymore harm to the flesh. Smiling, you throw the rest of the fish to him. He stares at you, shocked as you removed the hook effortlessly. His siren eyes stare a while before you catch on, where you then realize you have befriended a fear of your father's.

Chapter 1 || Next Chapter ->

[karlachismylife]

Hi hi! It's me again, i love to that i can be here for your beautiful work, now hear me out, what if, we think out of the box and look out of the animals that were familiar with, do you know what i haven't found yet? Mythical and folklore 141, a bunch of tritons falling in love with a surfer? A pack of wendigos that had been hiding until they want to be seen by dear reader? Omg such an abundance of mythical creatures to choose from! I hope it could help a bit, with love and care

~🐰❄️

Hello, love! Thank you so, so much for your kind words and the amount of inspiration you gifted me!!! I'm sorry I respond so late, I was actually thinking about your ask a lot. I wanted to collect some recommendations for you, but realized I actually don't know any fics like that? I somehow felt that I did, but either I forgot and will only remember later, or I made it up. BUT I do have one recommendation! It's not folklore, but I think it can count as mythical? It's this monster!au fic by @brineoffire that is inspired by @bluegiragi 's very famous monster!au (which I also absolutely love and recommend, but I feel like everyone already knows it lol). I also know that @forestshadow-wolf has some yummy kelpie!Soap, which duh, of course kelpie and selkie Soap fics are the finest.

However, this made me realize that I want to make a masterlist of recommendatons! So thank you for pushing me in that direction :3 Also - and that's for everyone - feel free to send recommendations of your own! I'll be happy to read and share! Self-recs are also very very needed!

Coming back to your ask directly, I actually skimmed through it at first and thought you meant tritons as amphibians and was like "hmm why not axolotls?" and then realized you're talking about mermen xD Which are always on top of my list of mythical creatures because I (in case anyone didn't notice yet) LOVE sea. And everything it holds as well. And also mermaid-adjacent oviposition.

By the way, a long time ago I saw this painting (TW!blood and gore, so not putting it here directly) by Sergei Kolesov of a whale-sized mermaid and it has been on my mind ever since, even moreso after I saw the Drowned Giant episode of Love, Death & Robots. What if they actually were of a monstrous size? If a normal, human-sized tritons/mermen with a surfer feel like a fresh, light, summery and full of laughter and sun romance, these abyssal creatures and a whale researcher (stranded in the midst of an expedition, perhaps?) would make for a hauntingly beautiful, thalassophobic story. A tiny human coming to terms with their insignificance in the face of the eternal, bottomless ocean and at the same time learning what's it like, to be loved by the abyss itself - to be cradled in hands as big as their little boat, to look in the huge eyes of a horrifyingly powerful creature and see mirrored reverence. To soothe scars left by something you'd rather not know existed, if it can harm these giants. Size difference who?

Surfer!reader and tritons/mermen of smaller size would be so fun tho. So much space for mischief and playfulness, strong tails flipping the board over, sunscreen smell mingling with salty seaweed. Drifting while you wait for a wave and feeling something brush against your hand submerged in the water - only to get grabbed by your legs next, because someone just can't leave you alone. Getting shells brought to you seemingly by the sea surf if you don't surf on a lazy waves day and stay on the beach, making sand castles. Being the wind to their waves, kissing the sunburns away from their noses, not used to being out of water so much. Making love on the beach and SUFFERING from sand everywhere. Laying on the board on your stomach and kissing the most beautiful creatures surrounding you like curious dolphins or sea otters, heads sticking out of water, scaly fingers in your hair, webbed ears fluttering adorably.

I would actually love to write a selkie story, since they are one of my most favourite sea mythical creatures and I've written multiple fairy tales about them (including a biopunk take, which I am still proud of), but I am SO sure I've seen someone metion that someone's already writing it... I'll put it in my recommendations list 100% when/if I find it. Also plugging this precious thing by @the-shotce-newsletter since I look at the chonky seal Soap almost every day for happiness boost.

(CW! dark themes including cannibalism and such in this paragraph)

I am a little hesitant to touch on the wendigos yet, since I am not sure I have enough cultural knowledge on them and I do not want to add to the harm done by popculture depictions of them, but I am a sucker for intertwining love, lust and cannibalism. Isn't one type of love exactly that - a desire to merge into one whole with your loved one, unable to be separated on atomic level? To consume, devour and celebrate the strength they gave you? Or - to give up yourself completely, to be devoured, to become that strength by burning in an insatiable stomach? What is oral sex if not cannibalism of sorts? The erotisism of letting someone to touch your heart not metaphorically, but quite literally... and the long, drawn-out way leading up to it, coming to terms with the initial horror until it blossoms into sincere desire? That is something to think about.

There's definitely a lot more to dig up in folklore. For example, the legend of Herne the Hunter? The antlers-wearing ghost keeper of Winsdor Forest, that is often linked to Celtic Cernunnos in modern re-tellings? Is reader seeking spiritual liberation in neopaganism, catching attention of the forest spirit in its hunting grounds? Or are they just enjoying the nature, not knowing yet that they're kept safe by a power as old as the oldest trees in this forest? Or! Maybe they're in a world similar to the Robin of Sherwood series (I fucking LOVE that series and I WILL cry every time I hear Clannad's theme song play)? An archer blessed by the Hunter (why not make it four Hunters? there aren't just deers roaming the forests, after all! but if I had to choose one, I'd say it's very Price coded) to fight for what's right?

Or maybe they're trolls? Cave-dwelling brutes, enchanted by your beauty so much that they take the first opportunity to steal your child, replacing it with a changeling, just to have at least some part of you close to them? What will they do though, when they find out that there's so much kindness in you that you're ready to raise the changeling, protecting the innocent troll child from the wrath of your husband that blames you for your newborn's kidnapping? Of course they have to make everything right. And also - take you away from the man that dared to be cruel to you. You'll find out that being a troll princess is much better than it seems.

Somehow I couldn't remember any suitable slavic entity that wouldn't have some already well-used counterpart (like vampires, water or forest spirits - somehow every single other one I recall is a female entity, wow, that's interesting). But I'll think on it. I like the general image of paradise birds with human faces, like Sirin, Alkonost or Gamayun (which are all female. also, I encourage everyone to check out this short animated film about Sirin, I saw it on a short animated film festival and absolutely fell in love, it's a beautiful work of art. english subtitles available!!!). So maybe the boys are of same species? Powerful, prophetic human-birds, capable both of luring anyone and bringing destruction with their voices. And you, coming to learn your destiny from them, or - offering yourself in exchange for salvation of your village. They won't take your life, but they will make you theirs. Every bird needs someone to sing to.

I do like presonifications of winds, too - not from any particular mythilogy, but just in general. After all, it's wind and sun we're caressed by the most in life, isn't it? And there are four of them, so you'll never be lonely, whatever direction breeze blows today. Living somewhere on a hill, where there's always wind rustling in your curtains, playing with your hair and drawing gentle swirls in the dust under your feet. Cool, breezy kisses on your cheeks - or pranks, when they bring a singular pocket-sized cloud to hold over your head and rain specifically on you? Do you dare to learn just how loyal the winds can be?

I think I went a little too serious, solemn and dramatic route with this. Maybe I should look into some little shits that just cause harmless chaos. But I will definitely put pins on every single idea I wrote out here - and everyone is welcome to tell me, which one you find the most interesting, what would you like to read the most; maybe you wanna expand on some of them? Or you have some completely other view on some of them? Everything's welcome! I loved thinking about it. Thank you so much for asking <3

I will also think about other COD characters in such AUs. Heh. My brain looks like a Chritmas tree right now, so many pretty lights glowing. Many tasty thoughts.

A bit of a later addition, but I suddenly remembered the Sandman (Sandmann) legend/stories/interpretation, and I am actually incredibly fascinated with him (I'm a little bit of a Hoffmann fan and I'm not talking about the Saw character for once, even though that's my babygirl too). I love the complicated relationship of humanity with sleep, dreams, nightmares and death he embodies. And honestly the eye imagery always gets me even though I don't think I mastered using it myself. Anyway, I think task force 141 as four different sides of this entity (sweet, calm sleep with nice dreams; insomnia and nightmares; heavy, restless, hot sleep like with fever/just too intense but not bad (potentially sexy) dreams; and finally, the eternal sleep, death) would be an interesting concept, but obviously it would be more fair to seek one of the German/German-speaking at least characters to take on this role. Can't really see König in this, though. But Krueger and Golem don't really strike me as Sandmann material either... and I don't remember any other German speaking guys...

We also have Orla "Banshee" Murphy in game already (one of my hardcore crushes btw, she's so my type), so, like. There's your banshee hahaha. I actually would like to try writing a banshee in special forces... or maybe IRA... they'd make a powerful enemy I think. With her destructive tendencies (I told you she's my type) that would suit her so well.

Also on the topic of my operator crushes (help, I'm really trying to stay on topic here) I am literally obsessed with Raptor (Natalya Orlova). I don't know what folclore entity she could be (well, could always make her Baba Yaga, but I'm afraid I see our little Yaga as too harmless of an entity, all those films I watched in childhood made her too lovable to me), but she would be fucking terrifying. She's from Kamchatka, and I am unfortunately not too well-versed in the mythology there, but my quick research told me that in that region people have a six-legged white bear demon Kochatko - considering that her bio states she single-handedly killed a white bear proving her hunter father wrong, that would honestly be a great ballad of a hero slaying the monster to take its place. Like Schwartz's "Dragon" play, but this time we spin it as a good thing, empowerment and reclaming of identity and shit. I'm already so far in this yapping aren't I.

There are so many other operators from so many regions I am not even remotely familiar with in terms of culture and folklore... so many opportunities... mm...

[coldpintglass]

[sonartheyapp3r]

*throws his at u and runs*

<"..What is that?..">

[ghommytommytime]

KYLE BROVF STOIIMZ!!!

HOPE YHOU LIEK EVEYHNTGUIN I FOUND, I MADE JOIT ASS (HAHA) ORABNGE I COUPLD!!

❄️!🧡!❄️

🧡!🏠!🧡

❄️!🧡!❄️

[lay-z]

🇸🇪 Day 15 – Domestic bliss

A continuation to ❄️ Day 7 – Make do, which means it's set in the same universe!

Synopsis: This year, you’re not stuck, but willingly spending Christmas in a cozy cottage in the beautiful wilderness of Sweden. 

Pairing: alpha!TF-141 x fem!omega!Reader 

Warnings/Info: NSFW, 18+ | Omegaverse; military!Reader; a/b/o dynamics; emotional support (dog) omega; established poly!relationship; claimed mates; typical alpha/omega behaviour; knotting; breeding; fluff/aftercare  

Word count: 2.6k

↳ back to 🎅🏼 Masterlist ☃️

Location: Öjarn, Northern Sweden

EST. remng. time until exfil: Undisclosed

When the brass decided to transfer you to another unit after a year of serving with the 141, Captain Price didn't hesitate, made the necessary arrangements and swiftly claimed you as his omega, along with the rest of his squad. 

That was roughly two months ago. 

Now, the Captain's inner alpha preens whenever he catches a glimpse of the four mating bite marks along the junctures of your pretty neck; two on each shoulder, slightly different sizes, but all equal and serious in their claim. All binding for a lifetime, too. 

In return, each one of your mates wears your unique bite mark proudly; dainty crescent scars adorning each of their necks. You'd claimed them all as your mates eagerly, no questions asked, but “Who goes first?”. 

The Captain did.  

Then Simon.  

And Kyle. 

Johnny. 

You've become their perfect pillow princess. The sweetest most beautiful, supportive and docile omega each of them could've ever dreamed of and wished for. You help them decompress and unwind, sleep better and keep the nightmares at bay with your soothing scent and gentle purrs. 

They’re completely enamoured with you; so much so that the urge to hide you away and keep you from danger is becoming increasingly difficult to suppress. That’s why the Captain decided to bring you all here on leave, wanting to spend this Christmas in a more appropriate and comfortable way than the last. 

They rented a pretty cottage in the woods, close to a gorgeous lake where a herd of reindeer roams, far away from civilization, with a nice fireplace, plenty of supplies and provisions to last for several weeks, and enough spaces to relax, lounge and bond. To breed. 

John’s chest rumbles with a deep purr at the thought. He’s been planning on breeding you with his boys, start easing you into being knotted more frequently even before your upcoming heat.

It’s enough to make his cock chuff in his pants as he watches you fool around and playfight with his younger packmates, his dear Sergeants. They like to get a bit rough with you, enjoying the way you growl at them and giggle in delight, but they’re always gentle enough to never hurt you, knowing fully well that their Captain and Ghost would rip them a new one if you’d so much as catch a bruise on your supple skin.  

You squeal when Johnny pins you to the fur carpet in front of the fireplace, straddling your hips while Kyle holds your wrists above your head to keep you from thrashing. The young alphas growl playfully at you, and John hides his smile as he takes a sip of his morning coffee, keeping his distance for now. 

“Now what?” You ask through a giddy smile, eyes sparkling with mirth as your gaze flickers between Johnny and Kyle.  

“Now... we claim our bonnie prize. Right, Garrick?” Johnny shoots Kyle a look, the formers eyes already darkened from diamond blue to navy, his cock hot and heavy in his pants. Kyle clicks his tongue with a nod and licks his lips, just as excited as his packmate. Their heady arousal thick in the air around the spacious living room while your saccharine scent slowly mixes with theirs, creating a perfect concoction of a natural aphrodisiac. 

Your skin flushes, heartrate picking up at their possessive behaviour. A year ago, you would’ve felt flustered, embarrassed at how turned on you get by simply playfighting with them, but you’ve long learned that it’s perfectly natural. They want you needy and desperate, and bold about it. 

“Want you both,” you keen while your cunt slicks up and throbs around nothing, “I want you to use me.” 

Both young alphas groan. Kyle squeezes your wrists before he reaches for the hem of your flimsy sweater to pull it off you. Johnny snarls and grinds his big bulge against your warm core, seeking friction as he keeps the weight off his bad knee. 

“Alright! That’s enough for now, lads. Give our sweet omega a break.” John barks commandingly, sauntering over to the throuple on the floor. “Make yourselves useful and go chop some wood outside. It’s going to be cold tonight.” 

Both Kyle and Johnny leave you be reluctantly, the latter more hesitantly than the former, but as the leading alpha, the Captain’s word is law in this pack – in and outside of the field. He keeps the peace and balance, even if he must bring in Simon as his enforcer sometimes, and neither Kyle nor Johnny wants to get scuffed by the Lieutenant again. 

“Send Simon back inside when you see him, aye? I need to have a word with him.” He calls after the younger men as they scurry off to get dressed and follow their orders. 

John approaches you slowly, eyes never leaving yours as you roll over onto your stomach, lifting your legs, crossed at the ankles with your ass perched up a little, already presenting for him and luring him in. It always works. 

“Quite the tease today, aren’t you, sweetheart?” John kneels on one leg, knees popping as he goes down. He cups your chin, tilting it up to him. “How’re you feeling?” 

You blink your pretty eyes up at him with feigned innocence. “Good, sir,” you purr, flashing a warm smile when John huffs in amusement, “I feel toasty warm and safe here.” 

John nods, pleased with your answer as he rubs the pad of his thumb over your chin in contemplation. 

Your back arches against Simon’s flushed chest, damp skins sticky with sweat while he breathes down your neck, mouthing along the curve of your shoulder as he keeps you impaled on his massive cock while he sits with his broad back against the headboard of the large bed, your thighs spread wide open and draped over his strong legs, giving John a perfect view of your wonderful cunt and the way it swallows and stretches around Simon’s prick. 

Your syrupy slick is dripping around your hole, down your crack and his heavy balls. You feel so full and yet it’s not enough. You’re burning up inside. The squelch is obscene whenever he lifts you up a little only to drop you back down on his length, making you cry out in pleasure each time. 

“Remember, lad, don’t knot her. I need you to prepare her for mine.” John reminds him sternly, still casually leaning against the bedroom wall. 

Simon grunts, nodding curtly. “Yes, sir.” 

John hums in approval at his obedience. Although he’s allowed Simon to drop the formalities off duty, especially in an intimate situation like this, his Lieutenant simply cannot do it, can’t give up the control. Deep down, John knows it’s so that Simon won’t forget himself, scared of his own self that he might do something to you he will regret if he’d ever lose control. It’s like he’s clinging to the power dynamic; clinging to John being the leader, the one and only alpha who can keep Simon on a metaphorical leash, ready to pull on it if he gets too rough. 

John knows Simon would never do anything harmful to you. John also knows that Kyle and Johnny are more prone to wearing you out when no one is around to keep them in check. He makes a mental note to have a pack briefing soon. If he wants to start breeding you, he wants to do it right with everyone involved and on the same page. 

And then your high-pitched moans pull John out of his thoughts, and he watches your body quake and tremble while Simon keeps thrusting up into your convulsing walls, large hands gripping the fat of your thighs as he coaxes another orgasm out of you while he holds his own release back. 

John can see how badly Simon wants to come, too. The tendons and veins throbbing in his thick neck, the sweat trickling down his temples, pale and heavily scarred skin now flushed and hot, and the way his shoulders shake with restraint, are all clear indicators of this pleasurable torture, though Captain’s orders hold him back and he’s a fiercely obedient pup. 

John tilts his head to the side, eyes zeroed in on the way your slick keeps gushing around Simon’s cock. “Would you like Simon to come inside you, sweetheart? You want to relief him of his suffering, hm? Your choice, love.” 

Your lips are parted, eager to be stuffed with another cock, as you regard John with a heavy-lidded gaze, head lolling back against Simon’s shoulder as you moan and whimper, and ultimately nod.  

Your pleading voice and verbal permission is the only push Simon needs, and he drops your thighs to wrap his bulky arms around your torso instead as he pumps his hips and starts fucking you with wild abandon, grunting praises in your ear while his dark eyes keep flicking down to his claiming mark on your right shoulder. His jaw twitches and his canines ache to bite and claim you all over again, but he manages to suppress the urge for now. 

“Yes,” you whine, hands grasping and holding onto Simon’s tattooed forearms desperately while you turn your head, nuzzling his throat while your warm breath puffs against his sweaty skin. “Yes, please, Si!” 

When Simon cums and spills his release inside of you eventually, John is already shedding his clothes, dropping the fabrics on the bedroom floor before approaching the bed. 

You’re mewling and chirping happily as Simon’s cock keeps throbbing while his chest heaves with rumbling, satisfied growls. He tilts your head to the side to seal your lips in a sloppy yet sweet kiss, licking into your mouth to taste you thoroughly before John’s arm snakes around your waist, ready to claim you for himself. 

Simon doesn’t snarl, doesn’t growl possessively when his Captain comes to steal you away. No, he only whines deep in his throat, but lets go of you, nonetheless, right when his knot starts to swell, eager to lock inside you. 

“Not yet, Simon,” John reminds him with a low rumble as he pulls you into his own arms, against his warm hairy chest. “You’ll get your turn, lad.” 

You’re already at that point where you’re just happy to be passed around along your alphas, eager to serve and have their cocks fill you up repeatedly. It starting to feel different, though, and in the back of your mind, you already know why that is. 

“How do you want it, love?” John asks softly, meaty palms caressing up and down your flanks while his own cock is bobbing against his lower abdomen, weeping with precum from its ruddy tip. You want to lick and cherish it. Behind you, Simon traces the curve of your spine with the rough tips of his fingers, needing the contact. You shudder and whine needily. 

John’s eyes soften. “That bad already, huh?” He reaches for your wrist and pulls you closer until you straddle his lap and he can kiss you properly. 

“Something wrong, sir?” Simon asks, his gruff voice laced with concern for you.  

John pulls back from the sensual kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips that he licks away. 

“Our omega is going into heat soon and you know how needy she already is out of it,” he answers matter-of-factly. “Isn’t that right, princess?”  

You nod slowly, eyes becoming all glossy as you tremble under John’s loving gaze. 

Kyle and Johnny push and shove each other like a pair of rowdy pups after kicking off their wet boots by the front door, both carrying a pile of cut firewood. They’re still restless and buzzing with energy, even after exerting themselves outside in the snow, chopping wood for the past hour. 

“You smell that?” Kyle asks suddenly, dark brows furrowed quizzically as he drops the logs next to the fireplace, sniffing the air. 

Johnny rubs the cold tip of his nose with his equally cold hands. “Nah. Smell what?” He scents the air as well, eyes squinting as he picks up a familiar sound instead, one that has his heart start thudding rapidly in his chest. His eyes widen with glee as he looks at Kyle before they both take off sprinting down the hallway towards the master bedroom. 

What they find in the bedroom has them both freezing on the spot and their throats start rumbling with whiney growls, pricks already swelling with unbridled need and desire for you. 

The air is thick with the heady scent of sex, familiar alpha pheromones and your sweet, sweet slick. It makes their mouths water, and their chests swell with affection and pride.  

You’re on all fours on the bed, head resting on your folded forearms, your plump ass is up in the air, your back arched so beautifully as their Captain takes you from behind while Simon watches with heavy-lidded eyes, jerking his cock in rhythm with John’s shallow thrusts into your fluttering cunt. Neither of them minds the audience and you’re certainly calling out to them with soft, saccharine whines. 

Johnny doesn’t hesitate another second before he starts undressing in a hurry, more than eager to join, and Kyle swiftly follows the lead. 

“Permission to join, sir.” Johnny requests breathlessly and the mattress dips and creaks as he climbs onto the bed, already reaching you to pet your hair lovingly; his other hand squeezing his shaft to release some of that gut-wrenching pressure. Kyle crawls onto the mattress behind him, opting to lean against the headboard like Simon. 

Meanwhile, your eyelashes flutter as you blink up at your other two alphas; their heavy, delicious scents making your walls clench and convulse around John’s thick, swollen knot. Pressing your face into the mattress below, you keep panting and whining and moaning while John gropes and squeezes your ass cheeks soothingly, hushing you with his deep, husky voice before he addresses his packmates. 

“She’s going into heat soon. I had to knot her now, but she’ll need more.” He grunts out as his knot keeps throbbing, locked in past your soppy entrance. 

And their eyes darken at their Captain’s explanation. Now that they know what’s going on, it all makes sense.  

“Heat.” Kyle repeats under his breath, eyes trained on your while his cock twitches inside his boxer briefs. He remembers the first heat that got triggered when they’d claimed you as their omega, and his heart flutters in his chest, his stomach doing a little flip. It was one of the most stressful yet best and rewarding times of his life so far. 

When Johnny lies down next to you and starts caressing the curve of your spine, Simon glares and gives his calf a warning nudge with his foot. “Let her be, Johnny. Don’t overwhelm her.” 

“Am not even doin’ anythin’!” Johnny grumbles, glancing over his shoulder with a frown before his Captain’s stern glare makes him duck his head and simply lay down next to you like an obedient pup, and when you turn your head to gaze at the youngest alpha, he scoots closer to nuzzle his cold nose against yours sweetly. 

“And just to be clear,” Simon mutters, his cheeks flushing brighter as he keeps himself from bucking into his fist, “Cap’ already said tha’ it’s my turn to knot her next.” 

[voidsuites]

WINTER BOT RELEASE !!! (12/6/24) ⌢⠀ ❄️ .ᐟ

art and patrick ・゜゜・．black friday busts. after the two of them were unsuccessful in snagging an extremely-discounted flat-screen for their room in the frat house, art and patrick have yet to stop reminding you of that fact with all of their moping and whining. however, you've managed to get your hands on one— only god knows the lengths you went through to get it— and you're all-too-happy to make both boys' christmas even more special than they'd expected. if only they knew how to reward your kindness and sacrifice...

michael berzatto ・゜゜・．a bear-able holiday. christmas is here once again, carmy's finally home from copenhagen, and mikey's taking it upon himself to play mediator between him and you because heaven forbid his two youngest siblings get along for one night... even if he's still a bit annoyed at carmy for leaving. he's the eldest and the man of the house; someone's gotta make sure their whole christmas dinner doesn't fall apart before food even reaches the dinner table.

richie jerimovich ・゜゜・．precious cargo. it's practically common knowledge that spending the holidays at with the berzattos is bound to end in disarray— donna alone's a ticking time bomb, and there's always someone running their mouth that leads to arguments and fights— but richie's on high alert now that he and you are expecting and you're due within the next few months. he'd almost stuck arould to help mikey calm down after his altercation with lee, but donna driving her sedan through the living room wall changed all of that. he can't have you stressed; not if it means risking baby eva and your health.

steve harrington ・゜゜・．sweater weather. it's finally snowing outside, hawkins is decorated from top-to-bottom with decorations, and steve's taken it upon himself to steal you away for the day to see all the lights... if he can manage to wrangle you away from dustin first). but of course you're quick to freeze, and that just won't do. if it takes him loaning you a sweater and holding your hands the entire time to keep them warm, then that's just what he's going to have to do (and he'd do it happily).

got a request? go ahead and leave em here :) THANK YOU GUYS SO SO MUCH FOR FOR 6K! so ready for christmas, cold weather, fall quarter ending... the holidays never cease to be magical and i really do love this time of year. always thinking of what i'm grateful for and for all of the wonderful people in my life. so mushy (i know) but i just can't help it! lol enjoy these bots... need to get started on my gladiator ii ones ASAP those men have been living rent-free in my head for too long. love u guys sm!!!!!

FYI: this is a part 1 of my winter release; hoping to do a post for steve and for bruce soon! also c.ai shadowbanned my bruce wayne/selina kyle bots so i am going to try and troubleshoot that in the coming days. thank you so much for being patient with me guys i really appreciate it :)

[fuqnia]

Golden Glow and Quiet Truths

kyle broflovski x reader insert

(❁´◡`❁) | [A/N] hii, this is my second oneshot that's apart of my ficmas! this is also on ao3. ❤️❄️🎄

(❁´◡`❁) | Warning(s) : none

(❁´◡`❁) | Synopsis : At Kyle’s Hanukkah celebration, [y/n] learns about his traditions and shares a quiet, heartfelt moment under the warm glow of the menorah.

The Broflovski house was buzzing with warmth and life, a stark contrast to the frigid snowdrifts piling up outside. Inside, the menorah’s golden light flickered on the table, casting soft, wavering patterns on the walls. Laughter and conversation filled the air, Sheila’s booming voice rising over the din as she directed traffic between the kitchen and living room. The scent of frying latkes mixed with the tangy sweetness of applesauce and the faint aroma of pine from the small Christmas tree Sheila insisted on keeping for “their Christian friends.”

You hovered near the doorway, a drink in your hand, unsure where to plant yourself in the chaos. Kyle had been insistent about inviting you to his family’s Hanukkah party. His words—half invitation, half plea—still echoed in your mind: “It’s no big deal, really. My family would love to have you there. I’d love to have you there.” You couldn’t say no. Not to that earnest look in his green eyes, not to the nervous way he fidgeted with his sleeves when he asked.

Now you were here, a little overwhelmed but oddly at peace, watching the scene unfold. Ike was at the table, enthusiastically explaining dreidel rules to a group of adults who didn’t stand a chance against his enthusiasm. Kyle’s dad, Gerald, was cracking a joke in the corner, earning polite chuckles. And there was Kyle himself, standing by the menorah, his green ushanka askew as he helped his mom arrange candles for the blessing. He caught your eye for a moment, offering a small smile that made your stomach flip, before turning back to his task.

“You okay?” came a voice beside you.

Kyle had appeared at your side, so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him. His hair was slightly mussed from the hat, and the glow of the menorah danced in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you said with a faint smile. “It’s really nice. Your family knows how to throw a party.”

Kyle chuckled, glancing at the crowded room. “My mom loves an excuse to go all out. Hanukkah, Thanksgiving, Arbor Day—you name it.”

You laughed softly, and his expression softened as he watched you. “I’m glad you came,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

“I’m glad you invited me,” you replied. “It’s… warm. Feels like a real home.”

Kyle looked like he wanted to say something more, but instead, he gestured toward the table where Ike was still commanding his dreidel game. “Want to play? I could teach you. Ike’s ruthless, though, so fair warning.”

“Sure,” you said, following him to the table.

The Broflovski dining table was a whirlwind of festive energy—plates of latkes and brisket, half-empty glasses of sparkling cider, and a small pile of chocolate gelt coins stacked neatly in the center. But as the party hummed around you, you found yourself seated across from Kyle, the rest of the room fading into background noise.

“Alright,” Kyle said, setting a small wooden dreidel in the middle of the table with a faint clink. “You said you’ve never played before?”

“Never,” you admitted with a sheepish grin, leaning forward to inspect the dreidel. The menorah candles flickered nearby, casting a warm glow over the two of you. “So, be gentle. I don’t want to embarrass myself.”

Kyle chuckled, the sound warm and soft. “Don’t worry. I’ll walk you through it. It’s pretty simple, I promise.”

He picked up the dreidel and turned it slowly between his fingers, the Hebrew letters catching the light. “This is the dreidel,” he explained. “Each side has a letter: Nun, Gimel, Hei, and Shin. They stand for ‘A great miracle happened there.’ It’s kind of a reminder of the Hanukkah story.”

You nodded, your gaze flickering between the dreidel and his face. He looked so at ease, his green eyes bright as he spoke, and you couldn’t help but feel a warmth that had nothing to do with the candles.

“So,” he continued, placing the dreidel back on the table. “The goal is to spin it, and whichever side it lands on determines what you do. Nun means nothing happens. Gimel means you take the whole pot. Hei means you take half, and Shin means you add a coin to the pot.”

“Got it,” you said, picking up one of the shiny chocolate coins from the pile. “And we’re playing with these?”

“Yep.” He pushed a small handful of gelt toward you, his fingers brushing yours briefly. The touch sent a jolt up your arm, and you glanced at him, catching the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his cheeks. “Alright, you go first.”

You picked up the dreidel, gripping it awkwardly. Kyle watched with an amused smile as you gave it a spin. It wobbled uncertainly before clattering to a stop on Shin.

Kyle winced dramatically, his hand flying to his chest. “Oof. Tough start. Add one to the pot.”

You rolled your eyes playfully as you tossed a coin into the center. “Great. Off to a stellar beginning.”

“Hey, it’s all about the technique,” Kyle teased, picking up the dreidel with practiced ease. His fingers moved deftly, giving it a smooth spin that sent it twirling across the table. It landed on Gimel, and he smirked as he scooped up the entire pot.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you groaned, throwing your hands up. “You’re a professional. I didn’t stand a chance.”

“Not my fault I’m naturally gifted,” he said, tossing a coin in the air and catching it with a grin. “Alright, your turn. Let’s see if you’ve learned anything.”

You narrowed your eyes, picking up the dreidel again. “Oh, I’ll show you.”

As you leaned forward to spin it, Kyle reached out to adjust your grip. “Wait, like this,” he said, his hand brushing over yours to position the dreidel. His touch was warm, steady, and lingered just a second longer than necessary. Your eyes met, and the noise of the room seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in the soft glow of the menorah candles.

“Got it?” Kyle asked, his voice quieter now.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your heart beating faster as you gave the dreidel a spin. It twirled across the table, wobbling slightly before landing on Hei.

Kyle grinned. “Half the pot. Not bad.”

“Finally,” you said, scooping up your share with a triumphant smile. “I’m catching up.”

Kyle chuckled, his gaze lingering on you as you added the coins to your pile. “Told you it wasn’t so hard.”

The game continued, the pile of gelt shifting back and forth between you as you took turns. But as the rounds went on, you found yourself less focused on the dreidel and more on Kyle—the way his lips twitched into a smile whenever you teased him, the way his hands moved so sure and steady, the way his green eyes sparkled under the golden light.

At one point, your hands brushed again as you reached for the dreidel at the same time. Neither of you moved immediately, your fingers overlapping for a moment that felt far too long yet far too short. Kyle cleared his throat, pulling his hand back quickly, his cheeks turning pink.

“Your turn,” he said, looking down at the table with a sheepish grin.

You spun the dreidel, your chest tight with something you couldn’t quite name. As it twirled and clattered to a stop, Kyle leaned closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. The touch sent warmth blooming through you, and when you glanced at him, his face was so close you could see the faint freckles scattered across his cheeks.

The dreidel had landed on Gimel, but the game didn’t matter anymore. Not really. Kyle’s gaze met yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The room around you seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you bathed in the soft glow of the candles.

“Looks like you win this round,” Kyle said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” you replied, your heart pounding. “I guess I do.”

The party was finally starting to wind down, the once-bustling Broflovski living room now quieter as a few remaining guests mingled and chatted in the background. The menorah candles had burned lower, their flickering light casting soft shadows across the room. You and Kyle sat at the dining table, the remnants of your dreidel game scattered between you. Chocolate gelt wrappers glimmered like forgotten treasure, and the faint hum of conversation filled the air.

Kyle leaned back in his chair, tapping a wrapper idly against the table as he gave you a look. “Okay, but seriously, how did you manage to land on Shin six times in a row? Statistically, that should be impossible.”

“I’m just that unlucky,” you replied with a grin, stacking your small pile of remaining gelt. “Or maybe you rigged the dreidel.”

Kyle snorted. “Yeah, because I clearly have nothing better to do than rig a children’s game for a party my mom guilted everyone into attending.”

“It’s not a children’s game,” you shot back, laughing. “It’s cultural. And I’m learning. Be nice.”

He rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Fine, fine. I’ll give you that. But you’ve got a long way to go before you’re dreidel champion material.”

“Oh, is that a title now? Dreidel champion?” you teased, leaning forward. “Do you get a medal for that, or just a lifetime supply of gelt?”

Kyle chuckled, shaking his head. “Okay, point taken. I’m dropping it.”

But as the laughter between you faded, a new kind of silence settled in. Kyle fiddled with the foil wrapper in his hand, twisting it into a small, misshapen ball. His gaze darted to the menorah, then back to you, his usual confidence giving way to something more uncertain.

“So,” he began, his voice quieter now. “How are you liking the party? Not too overwhelming?”

“It’s been great,” you said honestly, leaning your elbows on the table. “Your family’s amazing, Kyle. Your mom’s a little... intense, but in a good way.”

Kyle groaned, covering his face with his hand. “That’s the understatement of the century. Intense is her default setting.”

You laughed, but his comment made you notice the faint tension in his shoulders, the way he seemed to retreat into himself for a moment. “It’s nice, though,” you said softly. “To see how much she cares. And honestly? I’ve had a really great time.”

Kyle’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and he offered a small smile. “Good. I was kind of worried you’d hate it.”

“Why would I hate it?” you asked, tilting your head.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, glancing down at the table. “It’s not exactly the most exciting party ever. And it’s Hanukkah, so it’s not like it’s... I don’t know, cool.”

“Cool?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Kyle, it’s been amazing. I don’t need it to be ‘cool.’ It’s meaningful. That’s what matters.”

His green eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a moment, he looked almost stunned by your words. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, like he was searching for the right thing to say.

“Are you okay?” you asked gently.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, straightening in his chair. “I just... I don’t know. I guess I’m glad you came.”

“I’m glad I came too,” you said with a smile. “This has been one of the best nights I’ve had in a while.”

Kyle’s cheeks reddened slightly, and he looked away, muttering, “You’re way too nice to me, you know that?”

“I’m just being honest,” you said lightly, leaning closer. “What’s with you tonight, though? You’ve been acting a little... off.”

“Off?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly. “I’m not off. This is just my normal, neurotic self.”

You grinned. “You’re always neurotic, but this feels like another level.”

Kyle groaned, burying his face in his hands. “God, you’re relentless.”

“Maybe,” you teased, nudging his foot under the table. “But you love it.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, and you wondered if you’d pushed too far. But then he sighed, dropping his hands and looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“Fine,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You want the truth?”

You nodded, your chest tightening as he hesitated.

Kyle took a deep breath, his fingers twisting the foil ball again. “I’ve been thinking about this all night. Hell, I’ve been thinking about it for weeks, and I wasn’t going to say anything because I thought it would ruin everything, but... I can’t not say it anymore.”

Your heart raced, the weight of his words sinking in. “Kyle... what are you trying to say?”

He looked up at you then, his green eyes bright with a mix of nervousness and determination. “I like you. A lot. Like, way more than I probably should. And I’ve been trying to act normal, but it’s been driving me insane because every time I see you, I just...”

He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “God, this is so stupid. I sound like a total idiot, don’t I?”

“No,” you said quickly, your voice trembling slightly. “You don’t. Not at all.”

Kyle’s gaze softened, and he let out a shaky laugh. “I just—being around you makes everything better. Even when I’m stressed, or my mom’s driving me crazy, or Cartman’s being a jackass... you make it all easier.”

Your chest ached at the sincerity in his voice, and you reached out, covering his hand with yours. “Kyle, you’re amazing. I don’t know how you don’t see that.”

He blinked, his cheeks flushing. “You really mean that?”

“I do,” you said softly, your thumb brushing against his knuckles. “And for the record? I like you too. A lot.”

A wide, relieved grin broke across his face, and for a moment, he looked like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “You do?”

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah, Kyle. I do.”

Kyle hesitated, his green eyes searching yours again, his nervous energy palpable. “Can I... would it be okay if I kissed you?” he asked softly, his voice trembling just slightly, a mix of hesitation and hope laced in his words.

Your heart swelled at the question, your chest tightening with the weight of the moment. His vulnerability was so raw, so earnest, that it made your breath hitch. Slowly, you nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

Kyle exhaled shakily, relief flickering in his eyes as he leaned in, moving cautiously like he was afraid to break the fragile space between you. The air felt thick with anticipation, every second stretching as you watched him close the gap. When his lips finally brushed against yours, the kiss was soft, tentative, like he was testing the waters, unsure of where this might lead.

His hand came up to cup your cheek, his touch warm and careful, and the gentleness of it made your heart ache. The first press of his lips was light, a whisper of a connection, but it lingered, drawing you in deeper. There was a sweetness to it, a quiet kind of awe, like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. But beneath that sweetness was something else—something more urgent, a need that simmered just beneath the surface.

As the kiss deepened, Kyle’s fingers threaded into your hair, anchoring you closer. His other hand settled hesitantly on your waist, his grip firm but uncertain, as though he were afraid to overstep. You could feel his breath, warm and uneven, mingling with yours, and it sent a shiver through you that made you lean into him instinctively.

He kissed you like he was trying to pour everything he couldn’t say into this one moment—his longing, his uncertainty, his quiet devotion. There was an innocence to it, a hesitance that spoke to how deeply he cared, but there was also a quiet hunger, a sense of want that made your heart race.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping the soft fabric of his sweater as though grounding yourself against the overwhelming rush of emotion. His lips moved against yours with a careful intensity, each touch more deliberate than the last. It wasn’t rushed; it wasn’t chaotic. It was deliberate and full of feeling, a perfect balance of sweetness and need.

When Kyle finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged, his cheeks flushed a deep red. His gaze darted away for a moment, as though he were processing everything that had just happened. Then his eyes found yours again, wide and filled with an almost childlike wonder.

“I... I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admitted, his voice shaky but soft, a quiet confession that made your chest ache.

You couldn’t help but smile, your own heart pounding in your ears. “Me too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you reached up to brush a stray strand of his hair out of his face.

“Whoa! Ew! Gross!”

The spell shattered abruptly as Ike burst into the room, standing in the doorway with an exaggerated look of disgust.

“Seriously?” Ike said, throwing his hands up in mock horror. “This is so cringy. Do you guys practice this stuff or what?”

Kyle jerked away from you like he’d been electrocuted, his face burning a shade of red you didn’t think was possible. “Ike! Go away!”

“No way,” Ike said, smirking like the devil himself. “This is pure comedy gold. Mom’s gonna love this.”

Before Kyle could lunge for something to throw at him, Ike darted out of the room, his laughter echoing down the hall.

Kyle groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my God. I’m going to kill him.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound soft and warm as you leaned into him. “Good luck with that. But for the record? Totally worth it.”

Kyle let out a long-suffering sigh, but his arm slipped around you anyway, pulling you closer to his side. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips. “It was.”

[snowneedsanap]

Given' Me a Headache, Boys.

The Merman's Cove // Poly!Mermay!141 x Afab!Human!Reader // Ch. 3

Tags|Warnings // Reader is Afab with she/her pronouns, no use of Y/N, this is eventually a poly ending but starts with a Kyle/Johnny fic for the beginning, the boys are feral hunters, reader doesn't like fish (this is important to the plot line), I don't care if it isn't MerMay anymore I want Mermen, Reader is human interacting with feral beasts of the deep, protective mermen, biting, marking, clawing, Reader def has daddy issues, real slowburn baby, i think monster fucking if you consider it?, drowning, mentions of death, mentions of death of a family member. author is trying to use regional dialect, not proofread!!!

This chapter includes: clawing, blood, slight amnesia, reader's father thinks she is mentally ill, vomiting and hospitalization, medical inaccuracies

A/N: I didn't get a lot of notes on the second chapter so I was hesitant to make a third, not only that but my work schedule has been late at night so I go to bed late-wake up late- and then go to work. Anyway. no more excuses.

Holy mother of fuck it's cold.

Below than what you've been used to when you've been diving in the cold voluntarily, possibly because you had never expected to swim away from the cops.

Water fills your lungs before you expect it, and you start to sink into the depths that you've been so deathly afraid of.

Fuck, you realize, my bike is there.

They'll surely know you're here, ran off, or gone missing, possibly even swimming with the fishes. You think your dad will know- since you started investigating. But you know the librarian won't rat you out. Fuckin' hell.

Your mind is foggy. The water seeps into each neuron. Surely you'll drown.

Claws dig into your arms, making dark red incisions that bleed out your own blood. One swift and powerful motion pulls you out of the water, but it disorients you and makes your head land on a heavy shoulder.

Holy fuck, you think. Surely it couldn't get any worse. You think you just experienced hyperthermia, the bends, and a migraine all at being in the arms a merman.

"The fuck did you bring her up so fast for? You realize humans can't do that," You hear the muffled voice of Kyle, but not sure where he was to you since the echo of the cave disoriented direction.

"Te fuck ye mean?" Johnny talks right up in your ear, overwhelming you with his gruff voice. His powerful tail pushes you two together to the edge, where you feels his large body lay on top of you. His baby blue eyes stare into your soul. If you were more than conscious, you throw him back in the water.

Kyle joins the two of you. "Move, you're scaring 'er," Kyle moves closer looking into your eyes. "Just breath love, we'll find some warmth," he reassures, one of his webbed hands encasing your freezing cold one. Sure he was cold, but not as much as the trenches that were beside you.

Johnny moves your body closer to his, with your back to his chest. You could hear the subtle breathing behind you, but you weren't sure if that was you or Johnny down your neck.

A flicker of light lit up the cavern. Kyle had already started a flame, with a convenient pile of logs and sticks near you and him. You see a shadow move, seemingly like Kyle gets bigger as he looms over the flame, like he was standing.

Then your eyes closed.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

A warm body encased behind you with a strong arm wrapped around your waist. More warmth filled the front of you, where you could smell smoke and char fill your lungs. You were disoriented, dehydrated, certainly like how you imagined pirates at sea were like after days without seeing land. Except you were on land. Certainly, you were at the cave still, but when? Since when had you gotten here?

Barely remembering when or how you got here. The feeling of lightheadedness and a migraine combined into tossing yourself to the side of the ledge and throwing up your stomach. The sour feeling, taste, makes you gag and once tear up. Your cough caused an echo.

You feel a tightening around your waste.

"Easy girl," Kyle brings you closer to him and out of the ledge. You moan and groan in response. "H-huh?" you turn around. You don't remember him. The fuck did you do last night? Did they slip you something and bring you here? You don't remember going to the bar, hell you barely drink despite only going to bars for hanging out.

Your head pounds. You thought you were seeing two of him. A shiver runs down your spine when you remember the feeling of salt water filling your lungs. A powerful tail encasing your thrashing pair. But there was a man laying next to you, a handsome one the less, shirtless too. You blink like you're recalibrating.

"Doll?" The man you've turned to, the one you holds your waist, calls you as you look into his soft eyes. He's a man, how come you remember a fish tail?

You felt sick again.

You hear the shut of a car door. Kyle grabs you and hoists you into the water, which you were not at all prepared for, seemingly like he was trying to protect you from whatever was coming this way. Grabbing you harshly, you end up hitting your head against the rocks which has already left you disoriented from, it's all worse. You flail, head too heavy which makes you sink. Two more splashes join beside you, encasing you. Gunshots are fired, echoing. You feel a graze of a claw. A bite. You screech.

"Holy mother of fuck... daughter, te' fuck?" You hear your father's voice through the muffled voices under the water. Your head lulls. He sees the seeping red from the top of your head.

"Shit!"

You feel him pull you by both of your arms up, taking you by your waist and laying you down. You remember this freezing feeling.

"Shit, shit, come on," your father's hand scoops behind your head, looking for any sign of life. "How are you still breathin...'" He checks your pulse. He looks down to your legs. "Mother of bloody pearl..."

The scars and claws run long, not too deep but superficial to leave a scar. There are punctures that form into a hand alignment into claws. "No," he's in disbelief. He fumbles for his flip phone. You here the muffled speaking of an operator, telling them they would be there any minute.

"Stay with me love," he cradles your neck tenderly. "Come on, you're gonna be okay, fuckin' Christ--"

You hear those bloody sirens again. Something like this happened not too long ago. This feels like a fever dream. A dramatic one. Your father holds your freezing cold hand. He curses over and over, cursing at what has hurt me. But what lurks just below him is also cursing him out for arriving and disturbing the peace.

Sirens blurt out onto the quiet town and drive through the rocky area. It takes them a while to get down there, but you feel lifted onto the stretcher and covered in sheets. It's cold outside and of course raining.

Not a hard pour rain, but you feel it against your cold flushed cheeks.

"Ma'am? Ma'am? Can you hear me?" The paramedic beside you calls out, which you recognize as one of your neighbors, a sweet lady a little older of your age. Shit. That was your friend.

She calls out your name and shakes your shoulder. Her look of concern was personal.

The sounds of the car ride are all muffled, their voices too. You feel your father's tight grip, wanting to ground you or himself. Your friend sits by your side, looking down. Fuck, how could you not remember her name? Was it the fact that you hit your head? Amnesia can do some fucked up things.

Fluorescent lights and sterilization creeps into your senses. You've always hated hospitals and going to the doctor as a child- so this was overwhelming. And the fact you could barely react to your surroundings was jarring.

You hated this. Hated the attention, hated the fact you weren't aware of what was happening, and hated where you were.

They brought you into the emergency room, laying you down in one of the white beds. People surrounded you immediately. Hands upon hands and no way to tell them to stop.

There was feeling to your hand where you felt a needle for an IV, disinfectant in deepened wounds that you couldn't remember where they had come from.

More mumbled voices crowd your head, but you can't help but feel the hand of your friend by your bedside, telling you it would be ok.

Hooooooolyyy fuck--

Goddamn. Fuck. Shit. Where am I? Ugh...Damn it was bright. Right. You were in the hospital, how the fuck did this happen again?

You tried to sit up. But a hand and a quick shush put you back down. "Don't even think about it. What the hell did you do this time to end up here?" Your friend, Olive, properly sassy and highly intelligent gives you a side eye, despite you just awaking and barely being aware of your surroundings. '"Fuck, gimme a break will ya?" You plead to her.

She scoffs, but listens. "Worried me for a hot sec. Severe dehydration, head trauma, deep flesh wounds and slashes.." She lists off. "Were you attacked? Did you go to the bar and someone..? And why the fuck is there a bite on your calf?" She was pissed, yeah, but you needed her to just let it go for now. Not like you knew what was happening either.

"No, no, I just, can't remember what happened. But that wasn't it," You replied, rubbing your head where you touched bandages.

"You don't remember?" She asks, confused and worried.

"No, not at all. I know.. I know my dad told me not to do something and then I did it," You hum, recounting vague details.

She laughs along, but also seems like she got a tail end of it, "Yeah, he told me he wants answers when you woke up. He was... incredibly pissed, to say the least," Olive sighs. "But, also as my patient, if he stresses you out at all you just let me know, ok? We'll figure out what happened," She patted your hands that laid on your chest.

"I'll go get him," you watch your friend get up and go grab your father, where you were about to be brought absolute hell.

A headache racked your brain, one that felt churning to your stomach. You search around for the 'call nurse' button on your bedside to ask for medicine, grumbling when you couldn't find it. Another grumble comes from the doorway catches your attention.

Your father, ready to raise Armageddon.

"What the fuck did I tell you about going out? What did I tell you about going into that bloody cave--" He snarls, infuriated that his own adult daughter can make her own decisions.

"And you end up in a bloody hospital. Huh? Who's going to have to take care of you when I go off to work--"

"Olive, will," you reply.

"Do not give me attitude miss, I know damn well Olive has more to do than to take care of your regretful ass," He points at you, shaking his head. "What the fuck have you done by not listening to my simple request? You have ruined our reputation, I'm goin' to be a joke at work for not simply looking after you when this was your fault-" he rants on and on.

You just bow your head.

Olive grabs your father's shoulder. "I think that's enough. I think.. I think your daughter has had a bit of amnesia," your friend tries to explain gently.

"Oh? Amnesia yeah? Are you telling me that as an excuse or did you really 'forget what you saw'? Are you fucking crazy? Have you not been taking your medication? Is that why you 'forgot'? Are you seeing those fuckin' things- What the fuck did you see--"

"Dad-"

"After all of these years I do so much for you and just this one time you don't listen to me-!"

"Dad! Enough!" You finally snap. You roll over to your side, sheltering yourself from him. He has caused enough stress already.

There's a pause of silence, followed by Olive asking your father to leave gently since he was causing such an uproar. He scoffs, but then abides.

She shuts the door.

"I'm... sorry, you shouldn't have to deal with him like that." Olive offers her sympathies.

"This happens a lot." You curled up, with your friend and only trusted person by your side, sitting in comforting silence.

[sonartheyapp3r]

𝔻𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕘𝕦𝕟𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖? 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕁𝕖𝕨𝕚𝕤𝕙 𝕡𝕖𝕠𝕡𝕝𝕖?

- @landon-almerandez-unoficial

"HELL YEAH 🔥🔥"

[HEY NO SWEARING!]

[ghommytommytime]

Hello! I'd like to request a Kyle Broflovski (south park: post covid) stimoard with orange and cozy vibes :] thank you! - ❄️

SURE THUJNFG BOISS MANNS, SOMETONE IS ATLERADY USING THJAT BUT YOU CANE EB 🧡❄️!!

[lay-z]

🎅🏼 Masterlist ☃️ | 18+

Hello, lovelies! 🩷

Welcome to this year's holiday treat:

✨️ The Call of Duty: Advent Calendar 2024 🎅🏼

This masterlist will (hopefully) be updated daily, starting on December 1st, 2024.

I hope you'll have as much fun reading this as I had writing these drabbles/oneshots! ☺️ This is basically a collection of different AU's, though you will be part of TF-141 in one way or another in almost all of them.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are very, very much appreciated! Have a blessed Christmas season. Now grab some hot chocolate and cookies and enjoy reading! ☕️🍪🩷

🎁 Day 1 – All I want for Christmas (is you)

↳ John/Soap x fem!Reader | smut, 18+

🌨 Day 2 – Quaint

↳ Simon/Ghost x fem!Reader

🎅🏼 Day 3 – Altruism

↳ Kyle/Gaz x fem!Reader | fluff

✨️ Day 4 – Mama's boy

↳ John Price x fem!Reader | fluff

🦌 Day 5 – Bambi

↳ Soap x fem!Reader x Gaz

🌲 Day 6 – A Christmas tree disaster

↳ Ghost x fem!Reader x Soap | smut, 18+

❄️ Day 7 – Make do

↳ TF-141 x fem!omega!Reader | fluff, omegaverse

🍷 Day 8 – Dinner time

↳ Price x fem!Reader x Gaz | smut, 18+

💒 Day 9 – Separated

↳ John/Soap x fem!Reader | smut, 18+

🕊 Day 10 – Santa Soap and his most dangerous mission

↳ Simon/Ghost x fem!Reader | fluff

☃️ Day 11 – Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!

↳ Kyle/Gaz x fem!Reader | smut, 18+

💍 Day 12 – Family heirloom

↳ John Price x fem!Reader | fluff

👑 Day 13 – The Ice Queen and her Stooges

↳ Soap x fem!Reader x Gaz | smut, 18+

🎄 Day 14 – A Christmas miracle

↳ Simon x fem!Reader x Soap | smut, 18+

🇸🇪 Day 15 – Domestic bliss

↳ poly!TF-141 x fem!omega!Reader | smut, 18+, omegaverse

🎀 Day 16 – Driving home for Christmas

↳ Price x fem!Reader x Gaz | smut, 18+

🧸 Day 17 – Christmas elf gone rogue

↳ John/Soap x fem!Reader | fluff

💚 Day 18 – Ghost in the streets, Grinch in the sheets

↳ Simon/Ghost x fem!Reader | smut, 18+

🛍 Day 19 – Jolly Holly Christmas

↳ Kyle/Gaz x fem!Reader | fluff

💝 Day 20 – Baby, it's cold outside

↳ John Price x fem!Reader | smut, 18+

🕯Day 21 – The most wonderful time

↳ John/Soap x fem!Reader | smut, 18+

☕️ Day 22 – Reminiscing

↳ Simon/Ghost x fem!Reader | fluff

💫 Day 23 – Fairytale

↳ Kyle/Gaz x fem!Reader | smut, 18+

⛄️ Day 24 – Snowman

↳ John Price x fem!Reader | fluff

[eminenceextra]

time for another MEME WEEK, guys! we're so excited to do another one, as the last one was such a success. this meme week will include elements from both a meme day and honesty hour, but will last for 7 whole days and you'll find more information below.

TO PARTICIPATE

make sure your ask is turned on and preferably with anonymous feature turned on, as the unknown element makes it a little more fun, but it's not mandatory.

reblog this post on every celebrity you want to have participate in the meme and we'll compile a list at the bottom of this post.

if you've chosen to participate, please check back once in a while to see if more names have been added to the list, to make sure everyone is receiving asks.

THE FUN STUFF : this or that?

❄️ — summer or winter?

☕ — coffee or tea?

🐦 — early bird or night owl?

💫 — night in or night out?

🍭 — sweet or salty?

🥛 — glass half empty or half full?

🍿 — binge a show or one episode a week?

🍍 — pineapple on pizza... yes or no?

💬 — serial texter or voice notes?

⚡ — be invisible or read minds?

🐶 — cats or dogs?

🍹 — city or countryside?

🍺 — wine or beer?

THE FUN STUFF : honesty is the best policy

⚖️ would you rather... (example: go cliff diving or bungee jumping)

🤔 have you ever... (example: gone skinny dipping)

💋 fuck, marry, kill/kiss... (name three celebrities)

🔔 name one time... (example: where you thought about quitting)

📢 answer honestly... (example: did you like working on your last project?)

QUICK INFO

this meme week will last from monday, may 26th - monday, june 2nd. it means that you're allowed to send asks within this timeframe, but you are allowed to reply to them for up to a week after.

make sure you're sending at least one ask to each celebrity who's participating, but you are encouraged to send more.

if you receive an ask that you're uncomfortable replying to, please remember that you're allowed to delete an ask instead of answering it.

answering asks will count towards activity, but we ask that you not solely reply to memes, but also keep some focus on your threads.

make sure to tag your answered asks with eminence.meme

PARTICIPANTS

damiano david

sabrina carpenter

aaron taylor johnson

madelyn cline

pedro pascal

kendall jenner

pete davidson

shawn mendes

alycia debnam-carey

dove cameron

jenna ortega

kyle gallner

rory gibson

renee rapp

lewis pullman

tom holland

madison bailey

billie eilish

[porkcutletbowl44]

Angst, grief, loss of loved one, comfort

First time full on writing Gaz sorry if this sucks? (If he's wildly out of character please please please tell me)

Bound in a Phantoms Wish

❄️💕❄️

Christmas time used to be beautiful.

A warm fireplace, decorations, fresh homemade cinnamon rolls and delicious Christmas cookies (family recipe, of course), and the yearly tradition of putting up the tree at Nan's.

Kyle used to look forward to the holidays.

The delicious food, the gifts, the warmth and love from his family. Now all it does is remind him of what he no longer has. All it leaves in him is a stinging hole in his chest, a reminder every year that Nan is gone.

With a heavy exhale, Kyle watched his breath rise and dissipate in the air.

He leaned down, scooping up a handful of snow, squeezing lightly, watching the tiny frozen crystals stick together in a rough ball. He took a deep breath, watching steam escape his nose again. Breathe in, breathe out.

He was freezing. His thin, thermal black sweater could only keep him warm for so long.

"Remind me again why I agreed to this?"

Of course, he would return, year after year, visiting the grave.

It was a new tradition, after all.

Kyle's gloveless hands, now stiff and cold, chucked the ball of snow off to the side and stuffed his hand in the front jacket pocket as he treaded along.

Nancy Olivia Spencer

1930-2018

Loving wife, mother and grandmother.

Rest in eternal peace.

He recites in his mind.

The thought of his grandmother always made him feel somber. She was the closest thing to a mother figure after losing his mum at a young age. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, before opening them again. He looked over, glancing down as his gaze landed on the bouquet of tulips he brought, fresh and new.

"She would've loved these," his voice was barely above a whisper, feeling a lump burn up his esophagus.

Kyle heard footsteps, treading over the snow.

His head snapped upwards, gaze locking onto a black figure. His hand reflexively reached down under his sweater, fingers wrapping around the butt of a pistol he had concealed, hidden in an internal waist belt. His muscles tensed, eyes narrowing as he got a better look at the mysterious person crouching and shuffling through the snow.

...Right at Nan's grave.

He sucks in the cold air, overfilling his lungs with an icy bite. He watches the figure's movements with a steady dose of anger rising up, as they walked over to the headstone— arms seeming to sweep over the granite?— back facing Kyle.

He cautiously steps out into the yard, his boots immediately sinking into the snow, leaving behind a trail of imprints.

His hand remain where it is, hidden in his pocket and clutching the butt of his pistol. He watches the figure as silently as possible, feeling the numbness of his toes and fingers float off as unimportant.

He's greatly on edge. Being a member of an elite military unit will do that to you, always being paranoid and careful of your surroundings, even when he was on holiday. His heart was thudding in his chest, adrenaline rising quickly as he gripped his pistol tighter.

Whoever this was, they had the same idea to pay a visit and he had no fucking clue this person was or how they knew his Nan.

"Oi," he barks harshly, "Can I help you?"

You turn on the tips of your boots in a spooked manner, falling into the deep snow side first.

"O-Oh, hello! I'm so sorry I thought—" you bleat at the contact of cold snow, half your body getting covered in icy flakes.

Kyle's jaw slacks, a woman?

He stood in silence for a moment, before slowly making his way over, kicking small clouds of snow as he walked. He didn't expect whoever it was to be so... Cute.

Seeing your arms pop out from the snow, he lets a chuckle loose just a little to ease the tension.

"Bloody hell," he knelt down to his knees in the snow, lifting you out of the icy blanket on the earth, "Are you alright, miss?"

He helps lift you out, brushing the snow and ice off the best he could, his hands briskly sweeping over your shoulders. His gaze is still studying you, taking in your face and your features, you shiver almost violently from the cold, taking a moment to look at your features, unable to deny that you're quite beautiful. Even if you're dressed quite... Peculiarly.

He lets go of you, making sure you were balanced as he stood, tulips dangling in his grasp. Your cheeks and nose were red from the cold with your teeth chattering softly in your mouth.

"What are you doing out here?" He questioned, watching you with a wary gaze.

You huff out a dry laugh, presumably from the cold or because you are still spooked, pointing with a shaking finger to the tombstone.

"I'm so sorry, I had called a lady— uhm, a Mrs. Evelyn for permission to clean this headstone,"

Definitely skittish.

The corner of his lip twitched, his eyebrows crinkling in confusion. Your stuttering, shivering form gave him the impression that you were definitely cold, definitely scared. He had to admit, this was strange, why would you want to clean a stranger's headstone in -12°C weather?

'Auntie Eve' was the last person he expected.

"You called my aunt to clean my Nan's grave."

It came out sounding more like a statement, than a question. Kyle stares for a moment, his mind replaying your words once. Then twice.

Auntie Evelyn?

Of everything he expected, that was not it. He glanced to the grave, then back at you, taking a moment to process a simple response instead of looking around like a poorly programmed NPC. 

The thought of it alone warmed his heart, but the fact that you had called his Aunt for permission... Auntie Evelyn was a sweet, sweet lady, but also a tad too strict. He silently wonders what she had said to you?

"You called my Aunt," he repeated back to you, blinking several times, as if this were some dream—

A lady, dressed in all black and leather chains, dangling necklaces and bangles, cleaning graves on the week of Christmas?

"Ah," he finally manages to get out, clearing his throat in the process as he glances away, gaze at the headstone instead of you.

"You're here to... Clean?"

A sudden flush of embarrassment washes over his features, and the adrenaline in his system slowly starts to dissipate. Of course you were here to clean, he's just not believing it. It was just that the gesture was such a shock to him. He hadn't expected anyone to want to clean his Nan's grave, especially at this time of year.

He clears his throat, trying to regain his composure as he looks back to you. He takes a closer look now, noticing more of your attire— leather boots, multiple piercings, black pointed nails, rings, and there's a few notebooks next to you with various pendants hanging from the top of the spine.

Interesting attire.

"Yes! That is correct, I didn't know anyone was going to be here to visit... Nobody usually does come here often— I'm so sorry,"

He couldn't deny that he was rather impressed that you had the guts to call his Auntie for permission, especially considering how strict she usually is with her family and property.

Kyle's surprise slowly turned into a small smile as he watched you. Your sheepish demeanor was rather endearing, he couldn't deny that either. Though he could tell that you were genuinely sorry from your tone.

"No, no— you don't have to apologize," he shook his head, a small chuckle slipping through his lips, "You just startled me a bit, is all."

He glanced back at the grave, then back to you like you might take off, taking note of the supplies you brought with you.

"Where did you even find a shovel in this weather?"

As if you didn't even know you had a shovel, you look down and then grin.

"It's actually mine! I use it for gardening, but for the snow in the winter..." You look back, the white snow matches your makeup, it makes it really pop; blinding. "...To, uhm, clean the headstones and stuff."

You use a shovel— your shovel— for gardening, or to clean snow and headstones? That was certainly... Unique.

"You... garden?" He repeated, surprise lacing his voice, "In this weather?"

His eyes scanned your body once again, taking in your attire and jewelry, realizing he's now making a lot of snap assumptions about you.

"That's not to say you don't look the type to go out and... I don't know, till dirt?" He added quickly, hoping he hasn't offended you.

Kyle is amused, but carefully so.

"I have a greenhouse!" You informed kindly, lips parting wide with a toothy grin.

You seemed passionate about it. It was almost adorable how excited you looked telling him this with such compassion with a stranger. It made him wonder just how many more surprises you could possibly have in store. Was there anything else about you that would surprise him?

"Yeah?" He smiles genuinely now.

He holds out one of his hands, "I'm Kyle, sorry for givin' you a scare,"

You take it, your painted nails grazing his skin while giving him your name.

"It's fine, I'm sorry for just being here... God, you must think I'm some kind of weirdo,"

He feels heat rising up in his face, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly, and his heart rate picks up tempo again.

Weirdo? No, on the contrary.

His mind starts to go a bit haywire. Not a weirdo, you're bloody gorgeous.

Kyle's skin tingled at your touch, the coolness of your hand and fingers sending a shiver up his spine, and definitely not in a bad way. He shook his head as you spoke.

"No, not at all," he chuckled again, "You are the first person who's cared so much about this grave."

He paused, taking a moment to look out at the surroundings, snowflakes flurrying down every so often. A silence fell between the two of you, the only sound being the slight crunch of the snow beneath your boots as it shifted and melted. As the air between you two grew quiet, Kyle glanced back at you, studying you once again.

His gaze went from your eyes, down to your lips, taking in your smile once again. His eyes flicked to your earrings, then down to your necklaces, and then down to your hands still entwined with his. He realized that he was practically staring at you, but he couldn't help it.

You looked so... Different.

You were different. From anyone he's ever met.

"If you don't me asking," Kyle starts cautiously, "What brought you to start... Uh, cleaning graves?"

He held your hand gently as he spoke, his gaze flickering back up to meet yours, his dark brown eyes studying your face in an attempt to understand you. He was never one for beating around the bush, preferring to get straight to the point. You seem to snap back to reality, your eyes going wide in panic.

"Oh God! I'm sorry—" you glance at the forgotten tulips on his hand, your own retracting quickly. "I'll let you pay your respects to..."

"She's my Nan," he chuckles, smile dimming as the headstone unblurs, bleeding into his peripheral vision.

He followed your gaze, flitting to the tulips clutched in his hand.

"It's... It's fine, y'know," he reassured, his voice soft and gentle.

He raised the tulips, gesturing to the grave.

"I was just about to put these down," he smiled faintly.

"Those are beautiful..." You remark, recognizing his grief with a soft tone. "I'm very sorry for your loss—"

Just listening to you speak was enough to soothe him. You were so gentle about it, there was a certain... Warmth to your voice. The snowy landscape around him fell to the background, focusing solely on your voice—

".... Dining....... Sunlight!....."

Loud, cracking white noise cuts in the air in choppy, whooshing waves. His head jerks in the direction of the noise, confusion written across his features.

"What the bloody hell is that?" He breathes. 

"Sorry!" Your nails clack on plastic in a hurried attempt to silence the speaker, the sound cutting off with a loud staticy blare, "Damn walkman..." You chuckle.

He raised an eyebrow at the mention of a 'walkman.' Those things were old. But he supposed that was the least of his concerns.

"That some old vintage thing?" He asked, a smirk pulling at his lips, "Didn't realize they still made those."

"It was a gift... I have a thing for old-timey stuff," you smile prettily, tucking the device behind your back.

He exhaled loudly through his nostrils, thinking that was also odd. It was far too loud to be a walkman, and it didn't sound like singing.

"Your walkman?" He tilted his head towards the device, "What were you listening to that sounded like... That?"

"It's old, it... Messes up with the frequencies and stuff," you managed.

Kyle nodded in understanding, his confusion slowly fading away as you explained.

"Ah, I get it. Probably needs some new batteries, yeah?"

You fidget with the device, trying to get it working properly again. It was an interesting thing, how outdated it was. Old or not, he was intrigued by the fact that you carried a walkman of all things.

"Old music player, huh?" He asked, tilting his head slightly.

You shoot him a cheeky grin, "Fitting, isn't it?"

Goth.

Yeah, the black leather and chains, the jewelry, the earrings, the walkman.

Everything about you screamed Goth.

It was indeed fitting, even if the device seemed ancient compared to today's smartphones and Bluetooth headphones.

"Well, I have to say," he begins, trying to sound nonchalant, "You certainly match that look you got going on. Goth, right?"

"Guilty," you outstretch your arms, the lovely bat sleeve dress you wear fanning out.

His gaze lingered on the patterns and shades, then drifts back to your face, taking in your makeup again before meeting your eyes. A smile tugged at his lips once more as he observed you. He quickly clears his throat, taking a step back to create some distance between the two of you, trying to ignore the subtle heat in his cheeks.

"It uh," he fumbles, "It suits you." he comments, noting how the dark colors contrasted nicely with your eyes and hair.

He never had this issue before, especially not with a stranger. Sure, he's had his fair share of partners and relationships in the past, but this was different.

You were different.

Something about you—your look, your attitude—was intriguing to him.

A moment of silence passes between the two, the only sound being the faint hiss coming from the old walkman. He didn't understand what you were doing to him. His heart beat a little faster when you smiled, and he found himself becoming acutely aware of your every move— the way you held yourself, how your dress swayed with your every movement, the sound of your voice, and the way your lips moved when you spoke.

It was absurd really, how someone he had just met could affect him this much. He gives you a wry smile, gingerly laying the flowers on the headstone.

Despite his attempt at regaining his composure, Kyle's hand trembles ever so slightly as he carefully places the tulips on the headstone. He stood silently for a moment, paying his respects to his Nan, taking in a deep breath to clear his head.

His mind, however, could not be clearer and he found his thoughts were solely focused on you.

"I uh," he began after a beat, cutting through the silence between the two of you, "I'm grateful. Thank you for tidying up her headstone."

Kyle's eyes flicker over you, taking in the way you seem to preen a little from his gratitude. He couldn't help but find the sight endearing—you were almost like a kitten preening after getting a pat on the head. Yet, you felt good for doing a good deed to a stranger you've never met.

He let out a small laugh, "You like doing this kinda stuff, don't you?" He asks, his voice laced with amusement.

"Of course... There's just something peaceful about graveyards."

Peaceful was the right word for graveyards and the overall atmosphere of the place.

It was quiet, still. You couldn't hear the sounds of blaring car horns and honking cars like you could in the city. The only sounds to be heard were the occasional birdsong and the gentle shhhh of a light breeze passing by.

Yet... Who would be comfortable being surrounded by death and grief?

"Yeah, I get it," he mutters quickly, shoving his hands into his pockets, "It's quiet, y'know."

He glanced back at the headstone, his Nan's name etched into the granite.

"I always thought it was... Strange," he began, his voice quiet. "How there's just rows and rows of stones, all lined in uniform."

His gaze flickers to the many grave sites surrounding his Nan's, a small lump forming in his throat.

"Every single one of 'em is a person. Someone who lived, and someone who had loved ones. It's hard not to think of—"

He cuts himself short, his throat tightening.

"Are you okay?" You murmur delicately.

His mind drifts to his job; to Soap, Price, Ghost, all his teammates.

It was a dangerous line of work they did—the fact that every time he walked away from base, he'd could be walking to his possible demise. Of all the things that could get him killed, he never thought of dying in a graveyard before. He nods faintly, addressing you lightly.

"How come you aren't creeped out by it? The... dead folk around us?"

Your nonchalance piqued his interest. Here you were, at a graveyard, surrounded by death, and you somehow seemed completely unfazed by it. The fact that he was creeped out baffled him. He'd been in far more dangerous situations before, life-threatening ones even, but yet, a cemetery got to him.

He'd never met someone who felt comfortable in a graveyard. Sure, you got the odd group of teens here and there, trying to make some sort of video or take pictures; but most people avoided visiting them unless necessary.

Yet, here you seemed to be—standing right in the middle of a graveyard as if it were an everyday thing. As if it were normal.

"Well... Nobody is here to say anything. I don't get weird looks or questioned for who I am." You supply, and you're not in any way being rude or snarky.

You're just... So passionate about what you do. So into it.

Enigmatic.

Nobody was judging you here, nobody was there to criticize you—just you, and the dead.

He could only guess what you meant by who you are.

But the fact that nobody had anything to say here, no one would question you nor give you weird looks... That was something he could understand. After all, he too, had felt similar.

"I suppose you're right," he said slowly, a frown now forming on his lips.

He glanced around the graveyard, noting the fact that the two of you were the only ones there. It was still quiet, peaceful even as the soft breeze passed through, gently pushing away the clouds of his thoughts. But there was something about you that made him want to ask. To delve deeper into your mind.

"But—that can't be the only reason, right?" He asked quickly. 

He glanced around the graveyard, his eyes roaming over the headstones and markers surrounding them.

"You said it yourself—" he began, turning his gaze back to you. He took a small step closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, "—that it's peaceful. You prefer dead people's company over the living?"

You keep your smile, shaking your head with a patient look.

"I meant that this is relaxing... To be alone on the living side while spending time with them. How many of their families actually visit them?"

He knew all too well of friends and family who never bothered visiting those who had passed.

They just... Left them there.

Left them to rot.

He glanced back at his Nan's headstone, the sharp, hot stab of grief returning. He missed her. His gaze flickered to you, still watching him with that kind, warming sight.

"Not many," he mutters bitterly, "If any."

Many of the graves here seem to be abandoned, with weeds poking through the cracks of their stones, signs of age and deterioration noticeable on most of them. You peer around him, the pink and yellow tulips standing out against the snow.

"...No gift?" You tease lightly.

"Gift..." he repeated, the word sounded foreign on his tongue as his mind scrambled for meaning.

After a moment, his expression softened into a warm smile as he realized what you meant. In his not so excitement of eagerness to visit his Nan's grave this year, he had completely forgotten a gift. He usually didn't, just the flowers and some loving words.

"Ah, no—no gift." he admitted sheepishly, "Bit of a rookie mistake, wasn't it?"

You reach into your purse— it's an Ouija board design— pulling out a tiny plushie made out of soft yarn.

It's a bee. Nan loved the bees. She had a fascination with insects, always pointing out different types and saying their names as if they were her babies. His Nan would have loved the gift.

"A little gift, for Christmas... If you want,"

His Nan adored those creatures. She loved to watch them buzz about in the garden when summer rolled around every year. Her entire kitchen was bee themed, throw blankets on the couches were yellow— Sunflowers. Bees. Wind. Honey. The China cabinet has multiple bee tea cups with matching plates and spoons.

But... How did you know?

"I—" he began, his words cut off as the sight of the toy bee registered in his mind.

For a moment, he wished to see her smile one more time.

"Are you sure...?"

Your face drops in minor, frantic panic.

"I mean, I have others if that's not good... Let's see; sheep, bats, octopus, a spider—"

Despite the anxiety on your face, Kyle found himself unable to hold in the chuckle raddles around his throat.

"It's perfect," he reassured, holding out his hand to stop you from pulling out the entire pocket full of plush toys. "She'd—she'd love it, really." He reassured, quiet and thoughtful.

Kyle reached out his hand, gingerly taking the plushie from your grasp. He held it carefully, studying the little creature in the palm of his hand. It was small— adorable, even— with its cute smile, heart-shaped blushing cheeks and the soft, hand-crocheted yarn it was made of.

He smiles as he imagines his Nan's reaction to the toy.

She would've loved it.

He turns, clutching it close to his chest for just a moment, imagining receiving just one more of her hugs smelling of butterscotch and freshly baked bread— and putting the bee on the headstone. The plushie finds its place beside the tulips, its cheerful smile seeming to almost match the cheerful colors of the tulips.

He found comfort in knowing that he now left something that he knew his Nan would love, and for once, he didn't feel the gnawing guilt of leaving her lonely and abandoned.

"Thank you..." he began, strained and almost choked "You—uh, didn't have to. I know we barely know each other and—"

He stopped himself; realizing he was about to ramble on awkwardly. Usually, he wasn't so inept when it came to talking to people, let alone attractive women. Yet, here he stood, feeling like a teen who had just discovered girls for the first time.

He was thankful—so, so thankful for the gift and your kindness. But the fact that he now associated your sweet, caring attitude with his grandmother's didn't help the growing feelings stirring within him.

"It's nothing," you wave off, "I have tons of them. I like to make things,"

The idea of you sitting there just knitting, crocheting away was cute. He could almost imagine your determined expression, your hand creating something out of nothing, creating life from nothing but some fabric and thread.

He glances at the bee, "You made that?"

He took a good look at the plushie, noting the soft, hand crocheted yarn, the careful and precise stitches that made the little bee look so perfect.

"Damn," he continued, his tone a mix of admiration and disbelief, "It looks... Professional."

The craft was far more advanced than his own skill sets, he could only make a measly blanket or a beanie. On a good day.

Just how much time and effort had you put into making it?

How long have you been practicing crocheting?

And for some reason, how did your hands look working away at the yarn? Was it as beautiful as the rest of you?

He didn't want to question too much and sound like an ignorant pillock.

He couldn't even imagine the amount of time and patience it would take to master something like that, let alone have the talent of producing those little creations.

"Thanks! The stitch pattern is easy once you understand and memorize it,"

Your knowledge on the craft was impressive to say the least.

He couldn't muster the amount of patience it would've taken to do this kind of thing, and to put so much effort into a simple, hand-made gift. And not only that, but to do it without asking for much in return.

"It must take days to make somethin' like that, right?" He asked with curious wonder, "The yarn looks pretty small and tricky,"

"Half an hour," you corrected, your arms now hugging yourself as a gust of wind blew at your dress.

Only half an hour?

For something like that?

Impressive was an understatement.

"It's for my side business. I hope to make it a priority one day—" You rub your hands together with a soft sniffle.

You were shivering from the cold, and yet, you continued talking like nothing was happening. Didn't you know you could get ill?

You had also chosen to wear the thin dress with... Stockings.

Were you trying to freeze to death?

With how cold it was outside, and with you only in a long sleeve dress and very light clothing, you were far more cold than him. Kyle tried to reason with himself. He wasn't your parent for Christ's sake, it wasn't his business if you froze yourself.

Yet he found that the need to protect you was starting to overpower his better judgment. He wasn't sure what you were trying to do— freeze? Impress him?

But he was certain that you'd get ill if you remained outside much longer like this. He doesn't even think of his next move.

"Here—"

There's plenty of warmth in his jacket. Thankfully he's got a spare in his car. Kyle shrugged off his jacket before you could even consider protesting. He moved closer, gently draping the extra layer of heavy fabric around your shoulders. His hands lingered on the material, adjusting it so it covered you properly.

As the heavy weight settled on your frame, he took a small step back to admire you.

You... You looked damn good.

He's smug; getting you some warmth before you could even deny it for his sake.

"What were you thinking comin' out to clean a gravesite in snow without proper attire?"

"Doesn't match my style. Pain is temporary, beauty is forever," you giggled.

Kyle raised an eyebrow at your words, his lips twitching slightly in amusement.

"A fashion diva, ay?" He teased, taking a small step closer to you.

"Style over warmth? You sure you're not about to freeze somethin' off, love?"

"I'd say it's worth it," you quip back.

He takes in the way the jacket swallows your frame, how the material falls over your curves, the way his own body heat still lingered within the fabric, and you still shivering slightly from the cold. He let his gaze linger on how his jacket looked in its new form, and how it seemed to make you look so— small.

You did like looking good, didn't you?

From the dress that showed off your figure and tattoos, to the stockings that looked far too good on your legs, to his oversized jacket draped over your arms. You looked stunning, yet it was a damn shame you'd get ill because you couldn’t keep warm in the elements.

He hums, the corner of his lips twitching up slightly.

"Would you fancy a break from the cold? There's..." He clears his throat, smoothing off snow from his short hair.

There's been enough grief for today. He wouldn't want his Nan to witness him being a bumbling fool over a beautiful woman any longer.

"...—There's a café a few blocks down. Some tea? Hot chocolate?"

The café had a reputation for its decent service, a comfortable atmosphere, and most importantly; delicious hot beverages and baked goods. He wasn't ready to part with you yet, he wanted to spend more time with you. A hot cup of tea or hot chocolate was the perfect excuse.

If you accepted, that is.

He watched intently as you seemed to consider his offer, your mind swirling on whether to stay within the cold to keep working or join him in the warmth. He would have preferred the latter, especially with how you were still shivering as the wind picked up, your body starting to shake more obviously.

"Unless you're up for losin' a limb to frostbite, love?" He teased, hoping to sway you to agree.

A shared chuckle between you, and then you nod.

"Yeah, I would love to." Your eyes wander behind him, "But don't you want some extra time?"

He had already spent a reasonable amount of time. He had said his goodbyes, left his gift, and taken in the sight of her grave one last time. He never did stay long. It was too painful.

"No..." he said finally, shaking his head slightly, "I-I think I've spent enough time for today."

Stay here longer and be alone with his thoughts, wallow in more grief and guilt? Or leave and spend time with you?

The decision is obvious.

"Some company would be nice," he murmurs, turning his gaze back on you with a gentle smile.

With the decision agreed upon, Kyle took the lead, guiding you away from the grave site as the sun continued to climb up the sky. His eyes didn't wander often, keeping his gaze straight ahead, but occasionally, he would glance over at you to see if you were keeping up.

His jacket looked even better on you than he had imagined. It was baggy on you, the hem of the material falling down to your mid-thigh, which was definitely a sight for sore eyes.

"So... A knitting business?"

"Mhm, it's a little hobby I decided to pursue as a side career. It's very relaxing to knit or crochet in my greenhouse."

Kyle nodded, listening intently as you explained further. He could picture you working away on something, sitting in your little greenhouse, surrounded by rows and rows of yarn with a cup of tea or coffee in your hand, completely immersed in the project, the sunlight pouring in and warming your skin along with the warm climate of the greenhouse itself.

It sounded... Cozy.

He could imagine you completely in your realm; in your own space.

"Sounds like you're living in paradise," he remarked warmly, "Specially when it's freezin' outside. What do you grow in it? Vegetables, or..."

"Anything I get get a hold of... How about your profession?"

"Me?" He asked, his voice going surprisingly hoarse all of a sudden.

He coughs to clear his throat, running a hand through his hair as he tries to find the right words. How exactly was he supposed to explain his job to you? How could he even describe it? His job was a lot more rough and intense than yours. He was a killer. A trained killer who took people's lives.

Not something a normal girl would want to hear.

You just remain silent as he fumbles to himself, treading through snow carefully.

Luckily, the 'walkman' decides it's the perfect opportunity.

".... War! Danger!..... Home?....."

For a moment or two, Kyle floundered, lost in a mixture of surprise and frustration. He'd already forgotten about the strange relic, and was not prepared to have it go off in the middle of his moment of panic.

It almost sounds disoriented— broken. Like a radio signal that's been scrambled and garbled.

There's a warning in the tone, a sense of urgency that had his heart nearly stopping. The thing was loud, in such poor condition... The sound of the voice; the warning in the tone, the sense of urgency— were you in trouble?

It was strange... Like it answered his question for him.

"Sorry about that," you chuckled.

His eyes dart over your form. You seemed undisturbed by the garbled noise, like this was a normal occurrence for you.

"No, it's... It's alright," he mutters with caution, "Mind telling me what it is though? Where did you get it?"

"It was a gift from... An old shop, super old, I'm shocked it still works when it does,"

A gift... Super old shop... Something that managed to just, well, work?

That sounds impossible.

But here you were, holding the device in your hands, which clearly managed to produce a strange, disorientated voice.

Weird.

Kyle still seems a little off, like he's seen a ghost, but the smile on your face was reassuring enough to calm him slightly. Perhaps the device was normal. He was just overreacting.

He keeps pace next to you, clearing his throat once again. He finds himself smiling back at you, a soft hum of acknowledgment leaving his throat as he continues to follow along beside you.

Yet... He just can't fully forget that the voice was distinctly female. What a strange radio station...

He's doing it almost instinctively, moving himself closer to the road while you're by the inner sidewalk, closest to the shop windows. He gets you away from the snow and any potential slush, and keep you safe from any car accidents, or reckless drivers. He doesn't think anything of the gesture as he walks alongside you, but you have the sweetest smile and the softest eyes he's ever seen on a woman.

[fuqnia]

Kisses in Frosted Light

stan marsh x reader insert

(❁´◡`❁) | [A/N] hii, this is my fourth oneshot that's apart of my ficmas! this is also on ao3. ❤️❄️🎄

(❁´◡`❁) | Warning(s) : drinking and typical cartman behavior lol

(❁´◡`❁) | Synopsis : [y/n] and Stan find themselves under the mistletoe at a holiday party, turning a playful kiss into something far more meaningful.

The house smelled like stale beer, burnt sugar, and bad decisions—the holy trinity of teenage chaos. Music blasted from a tinny Bluetooth speaker perched on a shelf, the bass rattling through the floor. Strings of blinking Christmas lights cast a seizure-inducing glow over the packed living room, where familiar faces laughed, argued, and shouted over each other with drinks in hand. A Christmas tree stood in the corner, leaning precariously thanks to a failed attempt by Clyde to climb it for “a better selfie angle” earlier.

You stuck close to the wall, clutching your plastic cup of soda like a lifeline. Across the room, Wendy and Bebe were loudly debating whether eggnog could be considered a cocktail, their cheeks flushed from whatever was in their cups. Near the couch, Craig sat with his usual deadpan expression while Tweek buzzed nervously beside him, wringing his hands as he muttered, “This is a disaster—gah—why is it so loud?!” Meanwhile, Nicole and Tolkien were attempting to wrangle Red, who was dramatically reenacting the fall of the table Kyle had just knocked over.

The crash had drawn everyone’s attention to Kyle, who was now standing frozen next to the fallen table, a shattered beer bottle at his feet. His face was bright red as he glared at the carnage.

“Jesus Christ, Kyle!” Cartman’s voice cut through the room like a knife, loud and smug. “What’d you do, trip over your giant Jew nose trying to steal another beer?”

Kyle spun around, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Fuck off, Cartman! It wasn’t my fault!”

“Sure it wasn’t,” Cartman sneered, crossing his arms as he leaned against the arm of the couch. “What, did you get too excited when you saw Tolkien’s dad probably paid for all this shit? Classic Jew, always looking for a free ride.”

Tolkien rolled his eyes, but before he could fire back, Kenny—lounging lazily beside Cartman with a cup that looked like it had been mixed from five different bottles—snorted into his drink. “You’re both fucking embarrassing,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Cartman turned his grin on Kenny, as wicked as ever. “Oh, shut the hell up, Kenny. What’d you do, sell a kidney just to get invited to this party? Or did you pawn that shitty orange parka for a ticket in?”

“At least I don’t have to butter myself up to fit into my clothes,” Kenny fired back without missing a beat, his grin matching Cartman’s as he raised his cup in a mock toast. “Cheers to that.”

Kyle ignored them, stepping awkwardly over the glass. “For the last time, Cartman, I didn’t knock it over! Maybe if your fat ass wasn’t blocking half the room, people wouldn’t trip!”

“Oh, right, because you’re the picture of grace,” Cartman shot back, cackling. “Face it, Kyle—you’re one spiked drink away from starring in your own Hanukkah miracle: The Drunken Asshole Who Kept Falling Over.”

Stan sighed heavily beside you, running a hand down his face. “Why do we even hang out with them?” he muttered under his breath.

“Morbid curiosity?” you offered, suppressing a grin as Cartman and Kenny’s bickering continued, with Tolkien halfheartedly stepping in to scold them both.

Nearby, Clyde yelled, “SHOTGUN! WHO WANTS TO SHOTGUN?” He stumbled into the middle of the room, holding up a beer can and a house key like they were trophies. The crowd around him erupted in cheers, and you watched in mild horror as he promptly stabbed himself in the thumb trying to open the can.

Stan arched an eyebrow at you. “Kitchen?” he asked. “Because I’m not sticking around to watch Clyde bleed out over a Natty Light.”

“Kitchen,” you agreed quickly, relieved for the excuse to leave.

As you wove through the crowd, Cartman spotted you and grinned, his voice cutting through the noise like a buzzsaw. “Hey, Marsh! Where the hell are you going? Don’t bail just because Kyle’s being a dumbass!”

Stan didn’t even glance back, casually flipping him off over his shoulder. “And you can choke on a candy cane, Cartman,” he said, his voice as flat as ever.

“You wish, asshole!” Cartman yelled, but his laughter followed you both as you slipped into the quieter kitchen.

The door swung shut behind you, cutting off most of the chaos. The kitchen was quieter, though the faint thrum of music and occasional bursts of yelling still filtered through the walls. Dimly lit by the obnoxious glow of a Christmas light strand strung over the cabinets, it felt like a different world from the pandemonium in the living room.

You leaned against the counter with a small smile, your shoulders relaxing for the first time all evening.

“So,” Stan said, leaning beside you with his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets. “How long do you think it’ll take before Clyde gets a concussion out there?”

You laughed softly, glancing toward the door as the faint sound of cheering echoed from the living room. “Five minutes, tops. He’s already bleeding over something, isn’t he?”

“Probably,” Stan agreed, a smirk tugging at his lips. He nodded toward the counter where a few bottles of beer sat, remnants of someone else’s earlier raid. “You want one? Since we’re avoiding the Natty Light bloodbath.”

You shook your head, wrinkling your nose. “Nah. Beer tastes like bread water. Pass.”

Stan chuckled, grabbing one for himself and twisting off the cap. “Bread water, huh? That’s a bold opinion.”

“It’s true,” you said, grinning. “All bubbly and weird. What’s the appeal?”

“Right, because your soda’s so much better,” he teased, nodding toward the abandoned cup still in your hand. “Flat Coke. Now that’s the drink of champions.”

“At least it doesn’t taste like regret,” you shot back, playfully sticking your tongue out at him.

Stan smirked, taking a sip of his beer and leaning back against the counter beside you. “You’re missing out. Regret is kind of my whole brand.”

“Oh, I know,” you said, raising an eyebrow at him. “You do still hang out with Cartman, after all.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Low blow. But yeah, fair.”

The two of you fell into an easy silence for a moment, the kind that didn’t feel awkward or heavy. The muffled sounds of the party outside drifted through the walls, but it all felt distant here, like the kitchen was its own little bubble.

“Clyde really called this party ‘legendary,’ huh?” you asked, breaking the quiet with a small laugh. “I mean, I guess it is, if you’re into drunken car crashes disguised as holiday cheer.”

Stan shrugged, a soft smile playing on his lips. “It’s Clyde. ‘Legendary’ to him is, like, free beer and nobody calling the cops.”

“Sounds like a solid five-star Yelp review,” you teased. “Bet he’s gonna write it himself tomorrow.”

“‘Best party ever—only minor injuries,’” Stan deadpanned, his lips twitching like he was trying not to laugh.

You snorted, nudging him with your elbow. “You’d be a terrible party promoter.”

“Maybe, but at least I don’t need Yelp reviews to prove I’m fun,” he shot back, his tone casual but his eyes flicking toward you with a playful glint.

“Oh, you’re so fun,” you said, rolling your eyes but smiling. “Look at you. The life of the kitchen corner.”

“Hey, I could totally be fun if I wanted to,” Stan argued, his grin widening. “I just don’t need to try as hard as Clyde.”

“Sure, sure,” you said, your voice dripping with mock skepticism. “I’ll take your word for it, Marsh.”

Stan raised his bottle, his smile softening into something quieter, warmer. “Guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out, huh?”

Your cheeks warmed at the way he said it, light but with just enough weight to make your stomach flutter. You looked down at your hands, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I guess I will.”

For a moment, the teasing faded, replaced by a comfortable, charged silence. Stan’s eyes lingered on you, his expression softer than usual. He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead, he just took another sip of his beer and gave you a small smile.

“You’re such a nerd,” you said finally, breaking the moment with a grin that you hoped hid the way your heart was racing.

Stan laughed, shaking his head. “And you’re way too judgmental for someone drinking flat soda.”

“Bread water,” you retorted, motioning toward his bottle. “Remember?”

Stan rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Whatever dude. You’re stuck with me, nerd.”

“And you’re stuck with me,” you said, your voice softer now, matching his tone.

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes flicking toward yours again, his lips curving into the kind of smile that could make your chest ache. “Not the worst thing, though.”

Stan glanced around the kitchen, his bottle dangling loosely from his fingers. “You know,” he said, tilting his head toward the doorway, “for all the ‘legendary’ talk, Clyde really didn’t think this whole thing through. There’s, like, way too many people in here for one house.”

You followed his gaze to where someone had left a stack of empty pizza boxes on the counter, grease stains spreading like evidence of the chaos outside. “It’s Clyde. If he thought about it at all, it was probably, ‘How much beer can I fit in the fridge?’”

Stan laughed softly, his eyes flicking to the edge of the doorway. “Speaking of things Clyde didn’t think through... Is that—oh, for fuck’s sake.” He raised his hand and pointed upward.

You followed his gesture and immediately froze. Taped to the doorframe, hanging at a slightly crooked angle, was a sprig of mistletoe. Your stomach flipped, and you felt heat rush to your face.

“Really? Mistletoe?” you muttered, your voice tighter than you intended. “Who even still does that?”

Stan smirked, but there was an awkward edge to it as he glanced at you, then back at the mistletoe. “Guess Clyde thought it’d be funny. Or maybe it’s part of his legendary charm.”

You shifted on your feet, glancing away even as your pulse hammered in your ears. “We can just, uh, pretend we didn’t see it.”

“Yeah,” Stan said, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced. After a beat, he rubbed the back of his neck and added, “But, like... it’s technically a rule, right?”

You blinked at him, startled. “What?”

Stan shrugged, his smirk turning a little lopsided. “The mistletoe thing. It’s, like, a rule. You’re supposed to follow it, aren’t you?”

You stared at him, your brain suddenly incapable of forming a coherent thought. Was he serious? Was he joking? Did it matter? His eyes were on you now, blue and steady, and you could feel your heart trying to beat its way out of your chest.

“I—uh—” You faltered, gripping the counter behind you for stability. “I guess? If you’re into, like, ancient holiday traditions or whatever.”

“Traditions are important,” Stan said, his voice dropping just enough to make you glance at him again. His grin softened, turning almost shy. “I mean, it’d be rude not to, right?”

Something about the way he said it made your throat go dry. He wasn’t teasing anymore—or at least, not entirely. There was something else in his expression, something that made you swallow hard and nod before you could stop yourself.

“Y-yeah,” you said softly. “Right.”

Stan’s grin twitched slightly, like he was about to say something else, but then you leaned in before you could think better of it.

The kiss started tentative, your lips brushing his so lightly it was more suggestion than contact. Stan froze for half a second, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually go through with it, but then he leaned in, meeting you halfway. His lips were warm and slightly chapped, tasting faintly of beer, and the moment they pressed more firmly against yours, your knees went weak.

It wasn’t a dramatic, movie-style kiss—nothing loud or exaggerated. It was soft, almost shy, like both of you were testing the waters. But underneath that, there was something else. An ache. A quiet, unspoken want that lingered in the way his hand brushed your arm, hesitant but there.

Stan’s lips moved against yours with a kind of tenderness that made your chest tighten, like he was afraid to push too far but didn’t want to pull away. His free hand hovered awkwardly at your side before finally settling against your waist, the weight of it grounding you. Your heart raced as you tilted closer, your hand brushing the edge of his hoodie as if you could anchor yourself there.

When you finally pulled back, your faces were still close, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. Stan’s eyes opened slowly, his expression equal parts surprised and dazed. He blinked at you, his cheeks flushed, and you could see the faintest tremble in his fingers where they still rested against you.

“Well,” he said after a moment, his voice a little rougher than usual. “I, uh... I guess we followed the rules.”

You laughed softly, the sound shaky and breathless as you stepped back just enough to look at him properly. “Yeah. Rules are important.”

Stan’s lips quirked into a faint, shy smile. “Good thing Clyde put that stupid thing up, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, your heart still pounding as you reached up to nudge his shoulder lightly. “Yeah, Clyde. Always looking out for us.”

“Total hero,” Stan said, the corner of his mouth twitching as he looked at you. His hand lingered at your waist a moment longer before he dropped it, running it through his hair instead. “So, uh... wanna grab more flat soda? Or do we go back out there and risk Cartman finding out about this?”

You smirked, tilting your head. “Option one. Definitely option one.”

Stan chuckled, his grin softening as he nudged your shoulder lightly. “Good call.”

The two of you stayed in the kitchen a little longer, pretending not to notice how your knees still felt wobbly or how Stan kept stealing glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

Stan went back to the counter looking at the soda options for you, the edge of his bottle tapping absently against the counter. His eyes darted toward you, then away, his lips pressing together like he was weighing whether or not to say something.

You raised an eyebrow, catching the shift in his usual laid-back demeanor. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, shaking his head—but his grin gave him away. It was that twitchy, awkward half-smile he got when he was nervous.

“Oh, it’s definitely something,” you teased, stepping a little closer. “Spit it out, Marsh.”

Stan chuckled softly, looking down at the beer in his hand. He twisted the bottle cap nervously between his fingers. “It’s just... I dunno. It’s kinda funny, I guess.”

You tilted your head. “What is?”

He shrugged, his voice deliberately casual, like he was trying not to trip over his own words. “That, like... I could’ve gone this whole night without realizing I like you.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “Wait—what?”

Stan’s cheeks turned a faint pink, but he kept going, his tone still maddeningly nonchalant. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not like some huge revelation or whatever. It’s just... You’re fun to be around. And, like, really easy to talk to. And, uh... you’re pretty great at calling me out on my bullshit, which is annoying, but also kinda awesome.” He rubbed the back of his neck, finally glancing at you with a sheepish smile. “So... yeah. I like you. A lot, actually.”

You stared at him, your heart doing somersaults as you processed what he’d just said. “Stan...”

“Dude, don’t make it weird,” he said quickly, holding up a hand. “I’m already embarrassed as hell, okay? But, uh, if you wanted to do the mistletoe thing again... I wouldn’t complain.”

Your lips twitched into a smile, warmth spreading through your chest as you stepped closer. “So you’re saying... you want me to kiss you?”

Stan grinned, his confidence returning a little. “Pretty much, yeah.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling as you closed the gap between you. “You’re such a dork.”

“Yeah dude, but I’m your dork,” he said with a smirk, leaning in.

This time, the kiss was different—not shy, but not rushed, either. It was sweet and warm, a quiet confirmation of everything he’d just said. His hand came to rest lightly on your back, pulling you just a little closer, and your fingers brushed the edge of his hoodie as you melted into the moment.

“Holy shit!” Clyde’s voice rang out, loud and completely unnecessary. “Stan’s kissing [Y/N]! Everybody get in here!”

You both froze, your lips still grazing Stan’s as you turned to see Clyde stumbling into the kitchen. His face was red, his Santa hat tilted sideways, and his grin as wide as the room.

“Oh my God,” Stan groaned, dropping his forehead to your shoulder in exasperation.

Before you could even respond, the sound of footsteps and drunken laughter filled the hallway. In a matter of seconds, the kitchen was swarmed by half the party: Kenny and Cartman pushing their way in, Kyle glaring at Cartman for shoving him, and even Bebe, Red, and Wendy peeking around the corner with wide-eyed curiosity.

“Dude,” Kenny said, grinning. “Stan finally grew a pair.”

“Finally?” Cartman cackled, practically falling over himself. “What, did the mistletoe have a gun to your head, Marsh?”

Kyle smacked his forehead. “Oh my God, Cartman, shut up.”

Stan groaned again, straightening up and glaring at Clyde. “You’re the worst, Clyde.”

“Hey, man,” Clyde slurred, pointing at him with a wobbling finger. “I’m just making sure your legendary moment doesn’t go unnoticed.”

“Please tell me this is a fever dream,” Stan muttered under his breath, his hand still brushing lightly against your back.

You couldn’t help it—you started laughing. The absurdity of the moment, the way Stan looked ready to melt into the floor, and the drunken chaos of your friends all piled up into something so ridiculous you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Good luck living this down,” you teased, nudging Stan’s shoulder with a grin.

He sighed heavily, but there was a small, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Totally worth it,” he muttered, glancing at you before turning to glare at Clyde.

Outside the kitchen, the party roared on, louder and messier than ever. But here, with Stan standing beside you, his face still slightly pink and his hand brushing yours, you decided maybe the chaos wasn’t so bad after all.