#sky high reader insert

[ivorydragoness44]

Warren Peace x Reader: Interest

Word Count: 766 Warnings/Notes: Slightly confused Reader, mention of growing embarrassment (brief), friends asking a lot of questions, implied crush on Warren Peace. Cute moment with Warren. Summary: The Reader is a little late to lunch, but just before they make it to their table of friends, another student asks them out. How will the group of friends react to the news?

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  It was not usual for you to be a little late to lunch. Sure, it was only by a few minutes, but you were hungry.   With your lunch finally in your grasp, you made your way around the tables already occupied by the normal chatter of other students. Normal may not have been the best word choice for minors with super human abilities, but it was for you. Most days.   You caught Layla’s attention as you neared the table. Her friendly smile, however, was lost to you as your view became obstructed.   Halting with a piercing squeak of your shoe, you waited in confusion.   “Hey,” he said. A student that you recognized from a few of your classes stood in front of you.   “Hi,” you gave a small smile in acknowledgement.   He took a moment’s breath and scratched the back of his head. “Um…”   “Is everything okay?”   “Do you want to go out with me?”   Your eyebrows shot up. “What? I-I mean, no. No, thank you.”   A strange mixture of emotions bubbled around and you made a mad dash around him before the heat of embarrassment from a few fumble of words spread. With long quick strides, you finally made it to the lunch table.

  Is being a teenager always like this? Why were emotions so complicated some times?   “What was that about?” Layla asked, bringing you out of your thoughts.   Setting down your food, you took a deep calming breath and sat down beside Warren. “Oh, um, he asked me out.”   A page crinkled to your right, but your friends were otherwise quiet.   Layla leaned forward, her pigtails swaying slightly over her green salad. “And?”   “And I said no.” Confident. Self-assured with your decision, though seemingly small in comparison to other more pressing issues, felt good. And why shouldn’t you?   “Good for you,” Magenta nodded in agreement.   “But why?” Zach asked, his nose scrunching in his bewilderment. “Do you not like him or something?”   “It’s not that simple,” you said between bites of your food.   “And why not?” He pressed, making you laugh a little.   Patting a napkin over your mouth, you sighed quietly. “Well, firstly, I’m not going to go out or date someone that I don’t like, or not interested in. Heck, I’ve barely talked with him.”   Layla and Magenta nodded slowly. “Sounds reasonable enough.”   “Any other reason?” Will asked, peering over Warren’s hunched form.   You laughed, “What, you want a detailed list or something?”   “That sounds a bit excessive,” Warren smiled into his book.   “Unless the list is for myself, out of curiosity and to better understand my own reasons and stuff.”   “And what would you put on the list for that guy?” Ethan asked, pulling your attention away from Warren.   It was nearing on hilarious by how invested they were about such a short conversation. If it could even be considered a conversation.   “For one thing, he never returned the pen he borrowed from me, and I saw him break it while fiddling with it. So, there’s that.”   Will burst out in laughter. “Is that why you don’t want to date him? Because—”   “No,” you stopped him. “I just don’t like him. Especially in that way. If I’m not friends with, or just can’t even imagine myself holding his or anyone’s hand, then I’m not going out with them.”   “Oh,” Will looked down, “sorry.”   “No biggie,” you smiled reassuringly, before returning to what remained of the food in front of you.

  Curious concerning friends. You were grateful for that. They each showed it in their own ways. And as invested as they had become, you were relieved that neither one of them had asked one question in particular. Who are you interested in?   Your eyes drifted from your lunch to the inky text in front of Warren. “Good book?”   Glancing over at you with a smile, his voice was soft, warm. “Yeah. It’s the third in the series.”   “Cool.”   As your eyes both pulled away from each other, you caught movement from under the table. The motion was slow and short. Had you been deeply involved with something else, you might have missed it entirely. Warren had lightly bumped your knee with his.   Could you ever decipher if he was flirting with you or just being a delightful silly friend with gestures like those? You were not sure. But one day you would know, and you hoped that it was both. Why not?   Smiling to yourself, you nudged your knee to his twice. Though as you retracted, his knee met yours again and remained there.   This should be interesting.

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Hi! Thank you for reading! I seem to be writing more Warren Peace now lol I have other ideas/WIPs that I'm working on, so I hope you're ready for that.

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Part 2 to this fanfiction

[angelofthenight]

You, badly dancing: Wanna dance?

Tommy, standing stiffly, hands shoved in pockets: No.

You, stops dancing: Yeah, me neither.

[lilbluustar]

high on you

pairing— innocent fem!reader x bf!anton

wc— 2.7k

content and warnings— inexperienced reader, substance use (weed), altered perception, mild intoxication, romantic/sexual tension, innocent x experienced trope, self-insert vibes, intimacy under influence, nighttime and melancholic setting, emotional subtext (he's not as well off as he seems), soft touches, spicy build-up, smut; car sex (mdi).

note— that live left me thinking... i couldn't sleep, GOD, i needed to capture something!!! so sorry if you see mistakes, lmk if u saw some!!!!

the road to the overlook was narrow, full of poorly lit curves, the kind of route most people avoided if they didn’t know the area well.

but anton knew it by heart. he could get there even with his eyes closed if he wanted. he’d done it countless times.

alone.

always alone.

because this place… wasn’t a tourist spot, or a romantic getaway.

it was his refuge.

he came when the world felt too heavy. when his house felt like a cage and his thoughts wouldn’t stop running. he’d sit on the hood of his car, light a joint, and just… disconnect. without having to explain anything to anyone. without wearing any mask.

but this time, he wasn’t alone.

you were next to him, in silence, looking at the city stretching out below like a sea of floating lights. your fingers moved nervously over your coat, like they were trying to take the place of your thoughts.

“didn’t think you were the type to come to places like this,” you murmured, without turning.

anton leaned back in his seat, eyes on the clear sky.

“i’m not. but this place… it’s not for just anyone.”

you glanced at him, smiling with curiosity.

“so why me?”

he hesitated for a fraction of a second. then he spoke, with that calm tone of his that always seemed to hide something more.

“because with you… i don’t feel like i have to fake anything.”

the air grew tense, but not uncomfortably so.

it was the kind of silence that comes right before something important happens.

anton opened the glove compartment. took out a lighter, a small metal box, and a ready-made joint.

you watched, saying nothing at first. your eyes flicked from the joint to his face, as if looking for something.

“do you come here to smoke?”

he nodded.

“to think. to be alone. to forget everything for a while.”

“you need it that often?” you asked quietly.

anton lit the end and took a slow drag before answering.

“more than i should.”

you looked down.

there was something about him that disarmed you without trying.

that way he spoke without saying much. that tiredness hidden behind his smile.

“does it bother you?” he asked, noticing your silence.

“no,” you replied quickly. too quickly. “i’ve just… never been with someone who does.”

he let out a short, raspy laugh.

“never?”

you shook your head, a little embarrassed.

“do you want to?”

the question caught you off guard.

“what… what if it makes me feel weird?”

anton finally looked at you, with that kind of gaze that seemed to go deeper than it should.

“then i’ll stay with you. until it stops feeling weird.”

you hesitated.

but there was something in his voice.

something in the night.

something in him.

he held out his hand.

your fingers brushed against anton’s.

“just a little…”

he handed you the joint, your hands touching for a second longer than necessary.

you brought it to your lips, awkwardly, and after just one hit, you started coughing.

anton let out a soft laugh.

“easy… it’s your first time.”

“that was… awful,” you said between coughs and laughter.

“you’ll get used to it.”

he looked at you with a tenderness disguised as irony. you leaned back, the stars slightly spinning above your head.

“you’re doing fine,” he murmured, taking another slow drag. “for your first time.”

“i feel… light.”

“that’s the idea.”

the silence returned, but now it was softer.

more intimate.

like the night was wrapping around you both.

outside, the city lights seemed to dance. literally. you squinted, staring through the windshield.

“do they always look like that…?”

anton turned his head toward you. his expression was relaxed, with a small smile that wouldn’t go away.

“only when you’re high enough to see beauty in such simple things.”

“they’re like… giant fireflies.”

anton let out a nasal laugh.

“you’re so high.”

you covered your face with your hands.

"don't say that!"

"why not? you look..."

he stopped.

you looked at him, long lashes, red cheeks, glossy eyes.

"i look…?" you pressed, tilting your head.

"cute," he answered, almost in a whisper. "with your little eyes like that, and that face… like you don’t know whether to laugh or fall asleep."

you let out a soft laugh, a little more free this time.

"do you always talk like this when you’re… you know…?"

"only when i don’t want to lie."

a silence full of unspoken meaning wrapped around you.

you rested your head on the seat, watching the distorted lights beyond the window.

your skin felt different, softer. like the breeze from the car was gently brushing over it.

"it feels like… like time is moving in slow motion."

"it is," anton said. "or at least… it feels that way when you're with someone you don't want to leave."

you looked at him.

his eyes were half-closed, but still, he didn’t stop looking at you.

as if he was afraid that blinking might make him lose this moment.

"are you okay?" you asked.

anton nodded.

"yeah. i just… like looking at you."

you blushed even more. the mix of warmth, soft lights, and his low voice wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

"that sounds very… very intense."

"it's just that your…," he whispered. "you have something strange. i don’t know what it is."

you laughed, looking down.

"you have something strange too."

"yeah?"

"yeah… like your sadness… doesn’t feel scary. it’s almost… beautiful."

anton went silent. his chest rose slowly as he inhaled.

you didn’t know if you had made him uncomfortable or touched something too deep.

"no one’s ever told me that before," he murmured. "that my sadness was beautiful."

"that’s how i feel… when you’re quiet, looking at the sky. you seem like you want to escape… but you don’t."

he looked at you. more intensely now.

like suddenly, you weren’t that high anymore… just closer.

"anton…" you said, breaking through the murmur of the distant city. "why me? really. why not someone else?"

he stared at you for a few seconds. took one last drag and put out the joint with his fingers.

"because sometimes… when the world hurts, there’s only one person who doesn’t make it worse."

you blinked.

he leaned a little closer.

"can i kiss you?"

anton nodded, catching your lips with his.

the feeling was different, like it was the first time you’d kissed him.

it felt overwhelming, and every kiss made you crave the next one, unable to stop,

like the taste of the joint was becoming addictive between his lips.

you needed him close,

you had never felt the need to feel someone this near, like your life depended on it.

so, without thinking too much, you sat on his lap.

anton wrapped both arms around your waist, as if he felt the same need— to hold you close enough just to breathe.

suddenly, you leaned back a little, breaking the kiss for a few seconds, laughing at something anton had said— you didn’t even remember what exactly, just that it had tickled something inside you and left it lingering on your lips— and your fingers accidentally brushed against his, which were resting on your butt.

the touch was so light, but it felt like a spark.

anton didn’t pull away.

neither did you.

you kept laughing softly,

but it wasn’t about the same thing anymore.

it was about the weight in the air.

about how the silence between you now tasted different.

"we're doing a lot of new things today," you whispered, your voice barely a breath.

anton looked at you. his eyes still a little glassy, darker now.

"yeah…" he replied. "and i don’t want it to stop."

you stared at him, your faces only inches apart.

the background music felt distant.

the only real thing was the way you looked at him,

the way your skin was asking for more contact.

“what else do you want to try?” you asked, with that kind of courage only a distorted sense of reality could give you.

he smiled, almost guiltily. scratched the back of his neck.

“i don't want to scare you...”

“try me,” you whispered. “i don’t think you can.”

anton swallowed hard.

his eyes dropped briefly to your lips.

“i want to know… i want to hear your moans” he finally said, voice low, rough, so direct the air seemed to freeze.

you looked at him without moving. like the world had hit pause just to give you both space.

“here…?” you asked, your voice barely trembling, but not backing down.

anton leaned in just a little more. the warmth of his breath made you shiver.

“here. only if you want.”

you nodded, very slowly.

there was no fear in your eyes.

only curiosity.

craving.

and he… he was about to fall apart.

anton leaned in, and with painful slowness, brought his fingers to your jaw.

“you look so fucking pretty like this…” he whispered. “red cheeks, lips half open, those shiny little eyes…”

you didn’t say anything. he just moved his hand down to your bare knee, stroking it, making you tremble slightly.

his hand slid down your neck, slow, unhurried.

the touch of his skin felt like soft fire.

you closed your eyes for a second.

“touch me,” you whispered, barely breathing.

anton slid his fingers down your exposed thigh, trembling too.

“like this…?” he asked, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real.

you bit your lower lip.

“yeah… but more.”

his lips brushed yours with an almost cruel patience.

he didn't kiss you, he just left them there.

“you're going to drive me crazy," he murmured.

“you already are.”

and this time, you were the one who kissed him.

the kiss you shared was slow at first. exploratory. but soon, your breaths mingled with pent-up desperation.

anton pushed you gently against the horn, his hand seeking the edge of your waist, reaching under your shirt as if the mere touch of his skin could anchor him to reality, you felt him trace lines on your lower back with his fingertips.

each caress was like liquid electricity.

each kiss, deeper. more charged.

the music followed, distorted, distant. but the sound of their heavy breathing was the only thing filling the car.

“is this okay?” anton asked in a raspy, panting voice as he brushed the edge of yor bra with his fingers.

you nodded, barely, already lost in the sensation of having him so close.

“yes, take it off, i want more, anton," you said, barely a whisper.

and he... lost control.

he lowered his head and kissed your neck with devotion, his tongue tracing slow circles that made you arch.

“shit... your skin is so hot," he whispered against you, feeling you tremble with every slightest touch.

his hand slipped under your bra, caressing your perky nipples with a tenderness that contrasted with the tension in his jaw.

you gasped, and your back arched as if his touch was a line of fire.

“anton..." you murmured his name between gasping breaths.

“say it, again," he whispered, running his hand down your belly, leaving traces of warmth that made you go wild.

“anton...”

his voice broke as he brushed the edge of your underwear, going no further.

“tell me what you want," his eyes looked at you with a mixture of hunger and tenderness. as if he was about to disarm.

“i want... i want to feel you, inside me, to fuck me," you said, unfiltered, your eyes reddening, your cheeks burning and your body vibrating with every word.

anton growled low, his voice low and almost animalistic.

“you're killing me, you know?"

you smiled, slightly, as you guided his hand a little lower.

“then kill me too," you whispered.

the city lights, distorted through the fogged window, seemed to move slower.

the world outside disappeared.

he leaned over you and kissed you again, this time deeper, rawer. your bodies collided, soft but desperate, as if they wanted to melt.

his other hand caressed your thigh from the inside, and the sensitive skin made you moan barely, swallowing the sound against his mouth.

“shhh...” anton smiled “i don't want the car to become a scandal... yet.”

 you smacked him on the chest, laughing between moans.

“you idiot.”

“you idiot, too" he whispered against your collarbone, slowly lowering himself, as if he had all the time in the world... though you both knew that at any moment, desire would make you lose your patience again.

“you're too pretty like that," anton whispered, kissing your reddening cheek. “so... fucking cute.”

you couldn't speak. your breathing was erratic, your eyes clouded with more than just smoke. your skin was living fire and anton's fingers were like embers igniting it with every caress.

his hands moved down confidently, with restrained hunger, until they removed your underwear with desperate slowness. the brush of the air made you shiver.

“is that all right?” he asked, almost with a broken voice, while his fingers began to play with your folds, every now and then gently pulling them apart, as if they were being assaulted.

“yes... more than fine," you gasped.

“shit... i swear this is fucking crazy.”

he lowered his head to your neck, kissing you urgently. the car was an oven. your bodies, two magnets.

you helped him pull down his pants, just enough to free his hard length.

you didn't want to waste any more time, you were so aroused, any touch no matter how slight was too over-stimulating and overwhelming for you, you guided your pussy to his hard member, crossing your legs around him.

“anton...”

“i know, baby. i know.”

the penetration was slow at first, like a whispered confession between moans.

you both held your breath.

“god... you're so tight...” he grunted against your neck, moving inside you with a rhythm that went from tender to devastating.

“so big toni... more... please...”

“like this? do you like it when i give you this deep?” his words came out between his teeth, his hips slapping against yours, with a controlled but rough rhythm.

you nodded, biting your lip, as he watched you with a mixture of desire and raw tenderness.

“look at you... so fucking sweet... so good for me...”

the seat creaked, sweat trickled down your skin, and your gasps filled the car like a forbidden song.

“you love it, don't you?”

“y-yes... please, anton...”

“you look beautiful like this... being so mine” and with a deeper, wilder movement, you broke completely.

you moaned his name in a ragged sigh, your back arched and your eyes watery with ecstasy.

he followed you seconds later, collapsing against your chest, his head resting on your shoulder, panting as if the world had stopped spinning.

a warm, thick silence fell between the two of you. you could only hear their gasping breaths, the slow rhythm of their hearts trying to calm down.

outside, the lights were still distorted.

inside, everything felt... soft. soft. incredibly real.

anton stroked your hair, still inside her, still trembling.

“you're... the most beautiful thing i've ever touched in my whole damn life," he whispered.

you smiled weakly, eyes closed, her body still shuddering.

“is that the after high talking... or you?”

anton looked at you, kissing your forehead.

“it's me... but more honest than ever.”

they embraced like that, skin to skin, synchronized breaths, no need to say more.

the warmth of the car, the softness of the moment... contrasted with the intensity of what they had just shared.

“hey, anton...”

“mmm?”

“i don't think i'm going to let you come to this lookout alone anymore.”

he laughed, softly, burying his face in her neck.

“i'd love it if you didn't.”

a moment of silence. one of those soft ones. the kind that says more than a thousand words.

he looked up and watched you, as if for the first time.

“i didn't know i needed this... until it happened.”

you smiled, kissing his cheek.

“i didn't either.”

outside, the sky seemed to melt into shades of purple.

inside, just the two of you... hugging, skin to skin, hearts a little more disarmed.

and for the first time in a long time, anton didn't feel the need to run away.

not from the gazebo.

not from you.

not from himself.

[mere-mortifer-writing]

I've dreamt about you (nearly every night)

Pairing: Sanji x Reader Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 7.900+ words Themes: PWP; huddling for warmth; getting together; mutual pining; fingering; intercrural sex; dirty talking; sub!Sanji, cis female reader Notes: This is my first reader insert fic in this fandom and my first one in general for a long while. I don't use Y/N in here, nor did I add physical descriptions for the reader of any kind (I tried my damn hardest) but she is explicitly a cis woman! Summary: The crew is caught in a storm awfully unprepared for such bad weather. Sanji offers you to take his sleeping bag, but when he's the one left out in the cold, you decide you can't let that happen. Can't you just share, and stay warm together?

Written for @infixop. This is my gift to @jsitmfgoesnsfw. I hope you enjoy it! I tried to put as much things you like in it as possible xoxo

Find me on Ao3

The cold bites like a starved dog.

You’ve got nothing more than a few inches of your face exposed to the mean night air, and that’s all it takes to freeze you down to your bone marrow despite the tent you’re in. For no longer than thirty seconds, you manage to shuffle lower into your sleeping bag, bathing in your own body warmth, but then the need to look at the silhouette impressed on your tent’s thin sides overpowers you once again.

The two lanterns still lit outside paint Sanji’s figure in a stark shadow. He’s sitting out there, in the freezing cold, keeping an eye out on the Sunny—at least, that’s the excuse he came up with when he gave up his own spot for your comfort. Even with how fuzzy his outline is, you can see him tremble, one foot tapping anxiously on the ground with no respite. He was chain-smoking earlier, but he must have run out of cigarettes at some point.

“Fuck, Sanji,” you utter under your breath. You’re in your little tent, almost cozy in Sanji’s sleeping bag, and he’s fucking dying out there. He’s more sensitive to low temperatures than other members of the crew, and well aware of it. In the morning, before they started exploring this atoll, he’s one of the few that insisted on bringing all the camping equipment the crew is now using.

They had thrown anchor when the sun was still high in the sky, bathing the little alcove and the surrounding forest in the warmth of a spring day, but it took Nami only a moment to study the winds and the cloud patterns above them and declare, with whatever sixth sense she’s been gifted with, that  by night they’d be surrounded by winter weather. She was right—but she undersold it. By a lot.

Zoro—who says any opportunity to survive challenging environments is an opportunity he’ll take—and Luffy—who just couldn’t be bothered to pack properly—barely changed their outfits before leaving the Sunny. You had least layered a bit and brought scarves and gloves with you, but that’s about it.

Meanwhile, Sanji rounded up all the sleeping bags and tents they had, saddling Usopp and Franky with sharing the burden with him. It had seemed unnecessary to bring so much extra weight for what was supposed to be a casual stroll on this little speck of an island, only big enough to keep Luffy’s attention for a day maximum, but thank God he decided to play it safe.

It was like the Sun decided to set early today, aided by a sudden deluge of dark clouds. A blizzard started raging in the distance, right above the poor Sunny, impeding the crew’s safe return to their warm beds and an even warmer meal, so you had to camp out in the open for the night. Neither the snow nor the rain reached the tundra-like stretch of open land you found yourselves in, but the cold was—and is, even worse now—brutal. Chopper was deeply apologetic to be the only one enjoying the situation.

The tents were set up quickly, and they offered a little comfort, but the ground you are all trying to sleep on remains frigid at best. Nami, who borught her own sleeping bag, managed to squeeze Robin right next to her for the night, but there was no hope of letting a third person in.

“Let’s switch. I’ll be okay with sitting nearby and keeping watch, at least for a while,” Robin tried to propose, and from the gasp Sanji let out upon hearing that, one might have thought she just shot him in the chest. 

“Nonsense!” he exclaimed, blonde fringe flying left and right as he emphatically shook his head no. “Mon ange, you take mine. I insist.” 

Your mouth snapped closed at his preemptive rebuttal. In hindsight, you could have tried to manipulate his chivalry and convinced him that sharing was the perfect solution, but in the moment you lacked the courage. Strange how his eagerness to put the women around him on a pedestal has somehow looped around to make him intimidating—for you, at least; Nami and Robin certainly have no such issues. He thinks of you so highly, and the idea of shattering that perception by saying or doing the wrong thing often paralyzes you.

Now, that proposal that died in your mouth is all you can think about. We could sleep together, would you mind? He would have blushed at the double entendre and caved in quickly if you had made your tone sweet enough.

Another minute of your thoughts spinning around the same centre, another minute of running a nail over the edge of your teeth to dispel nervous energy, and you decide that neither you in here, nor Sanji out there, can take any more of this. 

You extend an arm outside of the warm cocoon of the bag, and stretch it as far as you can to open the tent a bit. The sound of the zip raising up a few inches makes Sanji’s silhouette shift as he looks in your direction, and before you can actually call out for him he’s moving closer on his own. 

One gloved hand goes to close the zip again. “Wait, Sanji,” you whisper to stop him. 

He stops trying to pull. “Oh, darling, y-you’re awake?” You can feel your face fall into a grimace at how shaky his voice is. “I thought the wind was making your t-tent open or something.”

“No, no, it was me.” Without having to slip out of the sleeping bag all the way, you try to tap the zip further up and open. A frigid tendril of wind snakes in and makes you wince. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Me? ‘M doing just fine,” Sanji says. Just because he’s lying with ease, it doesn’t mean it sounds convincing. “Was I, uh, keeping you awake…?”

Your heart squeezes in your chest when Sanji lowers his head to peer at you through the opening. He’s trying to bury his whole face in the puffy neck of his coat, but there’s a constant tremor in his jaw like he’s attempting to keep his teeth from chattering. Eyes large and round, darker spots on his cheeks and nose that would be a bright red if colours weren’t so muted by the moonlight—he’s probably the cutest he’s ever been. And so visibly uncomfortable.  

“Come in here for a while.” You meant to first reassure him that he hadn’t woken you, but the invitation tumbles out of you before you can manage. “You must be freezing. Come on, just a few minutes.”

“I don’t want to let the cold in here…” he protests weakly, but you can see that he wants to say yes. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth as you repeat your plea to stay with you and warm up. “I guess—if you really don’t mind—”

You limit yourself to a wide smile when he finally acquiesces, and that’s all you can do to avoid tugging him down to lay on top of you before he’s even managed to fully crawl inside. You watch him as he squats in a spot as far away from you as he can. He takes off his gloves, sighing in relief when they’re not wrapped around his hands any longer.

“We should have all listened to you, we were not prepared well for this weather,” you say softly. You frown when he starts trying to blow warm air on his fingers. “Did your gloves not help you at all?”

“They may have gotten a little wet, it’s really humid outside,” he admits, sending a small but sincere smile your way. 

“Sanji…” you sigh. You hope you don’t sound exasperated, since all you are is pained that a boy you hold so dear was literally left out in the cold like an abandoned puppy, but Sanji still looks a little downtrodden at your tone. “Can you come here, please? Why are you so far away?”

“I don’t want you to get cold!” he reiterates, but still shuffles near you at your request. The groundsheet crinkles under his knees. “Darling, I promise you I’m fine—”

He’s finally close enough that you can grasp one of his hands. You gasp at the complete lack of human warmth in his fingers. Sanji’s hands, so precious to him, almost blue from the cold? And he thinks you’ll just curl up in his sleeping bag and doze off while he suffers? 

“Holy shit, that must feel awful.” You free your other hand and bring it out of the bag enough to gesture that he should let you hold both of his, and he complies easily. The image of him kneeling next to you, hunched over so you can rub some life back into his fingers, while still mostly buried in a plush lime-green sleeping bag must look funny to an external viewer. All you can think about is how to convince him to strip down a little and get in there with you. 

He gently interlocks his fingers with yours when your movements slow down. “That’s so much better, angel, thank you. I’ll change my gloves and be more careful not to get them wet—”

Holding him like this, no matter the context, goes to your head. “No way I’m leaving you to freeze.” Before you can consider if the move is too revealing, you swipe your thumbs down the line of his index fingers, trying both to soothe him and draw him closer by the sheer strength of your longing alone. “You don’t have to keep guard or anything, you can just use your Observation Haki—”

“I promised Nami-san…” he protests, eyes downcast to stare at where you’re touching. You can’t tear your gaze away from his face—from the redness, first induced by the cold, now spreading all over from being alone with you. 

“Not true, you told Nami you’d stay awake and keep an eye out. You think she wants you to die of hypothermia or something?”

Sanji sighs. “No, of course not. And I guess if I catch a cold I won’t be able to properly take care of my favourite ladies.”

That drags a smile out of you. Sanji never misses an opportunity to act too cute for his own good. “Think of it however you need, as long as you get in here quickly.”

“In where?” he asks, one curled eyebrow raising tall on his forehead. “In there?”

“It’s your sleeping bag, and there’s some more space in here,” you try to explain. A good dose of mortification falls like lead into your stomach. Was that too forward? Have you been pressing too hard on the topic this entire time?

Sanji’s mouth hangs open for a moment, and his hands go slack in your hold. You take it as a sign to release him, some more of your courage waning. “More space—to fit both of us? In there? Together?”

“Sanji,” you groan, shuffling deeper down into your cocoon, hoping at this point that a portal will open at the bottom of it and swallow you whole. 

You can’t get over the embarrassment now that Sanji is acting so bewildered by the notion. Part of you, no matter how much insecurity you harbor about Sanji desiring you as much as you desire him—at times the thought feels absurd— believed he’d jump at the chance to get in bed with a girl, even just to sleep.

“No, hey, don’t hide! Come back up, darling,” Sanji coos. “I don’t want to say no, obviously.” Maybe he read your mind. “Why would I want to say no to such a wonderful offer?” Or maybe that strangely confident part of you was right. 

“Come in here, then,” you say without reemerging from the depths of the plush fabric. You realise anew how warm it is under there, and your blood starts pumping faster at the thought of Sanji squeezing in next to you and cuddling close to share that warmth. “So we can both sleep.”

“I—okay. I need to take off some of my clothes, is that okay? Or you’ll be the one freezing.”

You nod before you remember that he can’t see you. “Y-yeah, no problem.” He could strip naked and let you kiss every inch you can reach in such proximity—that would be ideal—but you’ll take a Sanji with three layers on over no Sanji any day of the week. 

You listen to the sounds of shuffling, metal buttons popping open, and quiet curses when his coat drops to the floor and Sanji can feel the cold tenfold. You pretend you’re being very patient, but the way you’re tapping the toes of one foot against the others tells another story. 

“Darling?” he calls, hesitating after he’s taken his shoes off. “My trousers are kind of damp, I can’t—”

“Take those off, too, then,” you interrupt him with the most indifferent, placid tone you can fake. Sanji wears shorts sometimes, when they’re in a stretch of hot weather on the Grand Line, but even his swimwear is usually on the longer side and quite baggy. You’ve only ever seen a few inches above his knees, so your excitement at the prospect of seeing his bare legs borders on comical.

Not that you see much of anything now, either. Sanji manages to take off his pants while hiding most of his body from view, as if he needs to be ashamed of anything, with a physique like his, and the dim light blurs the details of what you can observe. You think his boxers have a heart print on it, but it’s not a safe bet. 

Sanji crawls closer to the edge of the sleeping bag, and you signal once again that he should get in by unzipping the side. “Thanks,” he says, voice huskier than his usual. 

Your breath stays suspended in your lungs as he slips inside next to you. Despite his efforts to not touch you, the space he’s trying to squeeze himself into is smaller than a single bed, and your sides slide together as he lays down. He murmurs a few sorry’s as it happens, but his earlier protests seem to have died down completely.

When the warmth has had a moment to sink into him, he lets out a tremulous sigh of relief—it’s obvious that he needed a break from the harsh weather, and still he never would have asked for it. Your heart constricts painfully at the tremors that shake Sanji's body. He's still trying so hard to keep his teeth from chattering, but there's little he can do for everything else. 

“You've got to stop,” you beg. There's enough anger over Sanji's self-sacrificing tendencies to turn it into a command. 

Sanji tries and fails to shuffle back within the confines of the sleeping bag. “Sorry,” he whispers shakily, “it should get better soon.”

Frustration and fondness form an unlikely mix that grips tight around your throat. “No, no, Sanji, come on.” You move a foot blindly, hooking it around Sanji's calf to still his retreat. “I didn't mean stop shaking or moving. Stop doing stuff like this to yourself.”

“Ah, Mellorine—” Sanji mumbles, and you know, you feel it in your bones, he's going to try and downplay his near-hypothermia and shower you with compliments to deflect your worry. Be it the late hour, the pressure behind your eyes that demands you close them and sleep; be it how cold Sanji still feels or the sweet ache in your bones at being so close to him—whatever it is that imbues you with courage, you decide you won't let him get away with that this time. 

“I don't wanna hear it.” You were hoping to get it out with a firmer tone, but you sound on the verge of tears instead. “Shut up and let me help.”

You reach out, fingers bumping into his shoulder, the soft material that surrounds you pushing and pulling. It seems more than happy to get you closer, folding over your bodies as you shift enough to feel Sanji's chest on yours. 

Shielded by the shadows that cover your face, your lids flutter at the novel sensation. You'd feel ashamed of the tendrils of pleasure slowly pulsing in time with your heartbeat, since, after all, you got this man in your sort-of bed for medical-adjacent reasons, but…it's Sanji. He's never shown anything but breathless gratefulness at being touched by a woman. 

Just in time to squash any lingering doubt, you hear his breath hitch at the contact. He dissolves into a long shiver that breaks his resolve, and suddenly you're gripping him tighter, nose in his fine hair, knees knocking together before you raise one thigh over his. 

Sanji moans softly, in obvious and innocent pleasure now that your body heat is enveloping him properly. “Oh, ‘t feels so nice,” he stutters over your neck, “you really are an angel. Thank you, darling.” 

You almost thank him back on instinct. You might feel nice to him, but he's perfect in your arms, cuddled up as best as he can against you like he wants to sink into you. Gladly, you hold him tighter, burning up now that you have him in such close proximity—your face might as well be on fire, heart pumping hot blood like an overworked engine. He must be able to hear it. Surely all the layers of clothing between you are not enough to muffle the sound of it exploding out of your ribs. 

“You're so silly,” you mumble instead. His hair smells superficially like faint smoke, and like artificial mint from his shampoo when you brush your nose between the soft locks. “Your hands okay?”

You barely bite back a pet name at the end of the sentence. Sanji shuffles to get his arms folded between the two of you, and his closed fists are frigid when they bump into your stomach. “Mh, they've felt better, but it's okay. I’m also pretty sure my toes are all attached, but who knows—’t’s not like I can feel them.” 

You huff a laugh, and his face opens into a boyish smile. You can't see it, only sense his cheeks where his face is touching the naked skin of your neck. ”You joke, but we better check.” At the bottom of the sleeping bag, where there’s more room for movement, you have to swipe your own feet forward before you manage to meet his. Sanji, for all his insistence on being ready for bad weather, hadn’t bothered with proper boots or heavy socks. You hiss in sympathy at how cold his naked ankles really are when you touch them. 

“Sanji, your leg can catch on fire, how did it get this bad?” you mumble into his hair. 

Sanji’s little content sigh that he lets out when your warmer skin stays in contact with his just about breaks you. “I gotta be at least a little mad for the fire thing, Mellorine,” he explains, dismissing the topic with a gentle shake of his head. “You shouldn’t worry so much about me, I’ll be just fine. Don’t let me keep you awake any longer, please.”

You bite your bottom lip to hold back your own plea, wishing you could infuse the very air around the two of you with all that joyful, desperate fondness Sanji evokes in you. He could soak it all up, too tangible to doubt, and he’d feel soothed and weightless as if he’d just lowered his tired body into a hot bath. Frightened as you are to speak your feelings for him out loud, the best you can do is fumble to hold his hands. “We’ll both rest when you’re all better.” Before you can second-guess your intentions, you bring Sanji’s hands under the hems of the shirt and tank top you’re wearing. The first overwhelming impression is that you just shoved ten icicles up against your flank, but the knowledge that a part of Sanji’s body you’ve fantasised about one too many times is now under your clothes is enough to make you melt. 

“Keep ‘em there, it’s warmer,” you choke out quickly, not trusting what your voice will reveal if you let your desire to fully set in. 

“Miss, I—that’s—” Sanji stutters. His palms press more firmly into the dip of your waist, only for a moment. “You’re too good to me,” he settles on eventually.

Your vision is tinted blue from the moonlight filtering through the tent’s walls, and Sanji’s humid breath trickling down the collar of your shirt is making a haze settle over all your thoughts; all in all, this is starting to feel more like a dream you’ve had a thousand times. The oneiric atmosphere is not conductive to make well-thought out choices—but maybe that’s what you’ve needed this whole time. You could have had Sanji like this months ago if you’d found the courage to make the first move. 

While he’s mumbling more of his thanks, throwing a couple more Miss in there like the title is not making your cunt throb, you grab both his wrists and slide his hands up towards your solar plexus. You’re not wearing a bra, which Sanji notices with an accidental brush of his fingertips and remarks on with a gasp that silences his words. He lets you properly slide an arm under his neck, and soon enough you have him moulded comfortably to your frame—entwined legs included. 

“Try to rest, ‘kay?” you tell him. Your thumb swiping back and forth on his nape seems to do the trick; Sanji’s one visible eye slips shit after a couple of slow blinks.

“You, too. Goodnight, angel.”

He goes out like a light. You try to fall asleep, you really do—perhaps it’s physically not possible to do so when your body is firing on all cylinders, begging you to get some sort of sexual relief. Just knowing that Sanji’s legs are naked, meanwhile you are wearing stupid fucking clothes that keep you from feeling his skin on yours, is driving you insane. A couple of minutes of staring off into nothingness while listening to Sanji’s steady breathing calms you down just a notch, so at least now your heartbeat isn’t an active bomb threat anymore, but you’re a far cry from relaxed.

After a while, Sanji starts grumbling and moving in his sleep. You attempt to soothe him by petting his hair, whispering sweet nothings that he won’t remember, but it only gets worse until he wakes up with a confused call of your name. 

He stiffens for a second upon opening his eyes, and you let him move back a little from your embrace. Is he still in pain from the hours spent outside? Were you touching him too much while he slept?

“You okay?” you ask tentatively.

“Mh? Yeah, sorry! I woke you up again?” Sanji refuses to meet your eye. His fingers twitch over your stomach, and he seems shocked to find them still there under your shirts, right before sliding them out. 

The loss of contact saddens you more than you thought possible. “Kind of, I had just dozed off,” you lie. “It looked like you were having a nightmare, though, I was worried.”

“It did? I don’t remember what I was dreaming.” You swear a blush spreads on his face, but the faint moonlight doesn’t help you decipher his expression that well. “I’m good now, darling. Let’s go back to sleep, I promise I won’t wake you up again—I wouldn’t want my princess to be tired tomorrow.”

His princess. That’s a low blow—you can’t argue with him after that. You only nod, bidding him goodnight again, and you’re gifted one of those beautiful smiles of his. 

Determined to not act like a freak this time, and just relax and doze off for real instead of sniffing his hair or whatever the hell you were about to do earlier, you try to settle in a more comfortable position. The goal is not achieved, since you accidentally press one thigh over Sanji’s front, and feel—

“Ah, fuck,” Sanji says under his breath when you gasp. He’s very clearly hard, enough that you can half guess the length of his cock, that’s how obvious it is. 

So he was blushing, and he was not having a nightmare. How did you miss this when you were half on top of him? 

If you were aroused before, it pales in comparison to the sudden, violent heat that starts in your stomach and quickly pools low between your legs. It’s like you got sucker-punched by desire, so much so that you lose your breath with that gasp, and can’t find words to defuse the situation. 

Sanji tries to shuffle away from you, instinctively raising on one elbow like he wants to jump out of the bag. The way he’s pulling on the fabric makes you roll closer to him, and it’s all you can do not to moan when suddenly not only you can feel his erection, but your cunt is pressed so, so nicely over his own thigh. The unfairness of the situation hits you: Sanji can’t hide his physical reaction, meanwhile you’ve been getting wetter and wetter since he got in there with you, and he’ll remain none-the-wiser unless you shove his hand down your underwear. 

The thought of those long, lithe fingers playing with your clit almost makes you black out. You’re trying to stay lucid, but you’d like to see someone else coping with a wet dream come to life. 

“Damn it, I—I’m sorry, I can’t control it. I mean, I can control myself! Just, not it,” Sanji babbles, clearly building up to something close to panic. “It’ll go away, I promise, sorry. I mean…okay, it’ll go away if I stop touching you, that’s what I was trying to do. You’re just…so soft and warm. And pretty, duh! Oh God, why am I still talking. Make it stop, please.”

You snake a hand up his chest until you can press your palm over Sanji’s mouth. You catch him mid-word, but the sentence dies down quickly with a tortured bitten-back lament.

“Calm down,” you say softly. If you sound breathier than intended, it's because you can't hope to hide all signs of your demanding arousal. “It's okay, Sanji. You didn't do anything bad, did you?”

Sanji stares at you for a moment with huge watery eyes, the usually hidden one left more visible by his fringe all knocked askew. 

“Did you?” you prompt him.

His lids drop lower, as he exhales a warm breath over your hand as he relaxes his body at your request. He shakes his head without removing your palm from over his mouth.

You do it for him. “Everything’s fine.” Sanji should never look this unsure and embarrassed, especially around you. You adore him, he’s your favourite everything. Isn’t it obvious? “Sweetheart, lay back down. You’re letting the cold in.”

Sanji’s eyes go wide again, be it because of the first pet name you’ve dared use for him, or the reminder that his seated position is keeping the sleeping bag half open. With one smooth move, he’s laying on his side once again, one hand clutched on the open hem to squish it closer to your bodies. 

“Why aren’t you kicking me out?” he whispers after he’s settled. He bites back a sound when you shift your hips just enough to satiate your curiosity—yes, he’s still hard, and yes, touching his cock even through all the layers of clothes has the same electrifying effect on you the second time as it did the first. “It’s going to be like this all night, Miss,” he commiserates, a little whine behind his tone that snaps whatever composure you had left. 

“Sanji, are you really that blind?” you ask in the near darkness. You cup his cheek in one hand, tucking whatever you can of his fringe behind his ear. “You haven’t figured it out?”

He frowns like he’s either worried or confused, and part of you can’t blame him—you’ve never  spoken to him this way, voice trembling with excitement. You enjoy what you can see of Sanji’s flushed face framed by your fingers, then you close the distance to kiss him. 

With great effort, you keep that first touch brief and chaste. The tip of his nose is cold where it presses gently on your cheek, his lips a little dry, but you enjoy immensely both that perfect cupid bow of his and the tickling sensation of his moustache. When you pull back a millimetre, which is all the distance you can bear to put between you, you’re awash in goosebumps and hot shivers. “I want you, too,” is all you can manage to say to fill the silence.

“Oh,” Sanji replies, “oh, I must still be dreaming.” He nuzzles into your hand, his own freeing the sleeping back to clutch your wrist instead. “I hope I don’t wake up too soon.”

A dopey smile opens on your face—you’re sure you look stupid with love and desire—and you want to put two coherent words together and tell this beautiful smooth-talker that he’s very much awake, or stuck in your dream if anything, but Sanji kisses you again. 

This one doesn’t end quickly; if you have it your way, this one won’t end at all. Sanji tilts his head and slots your lips together with a wanton moan muffled by the contact. Your finger sinks in the soft locks of his hair, slipping like fresh water between your digits as you caress him. There’s not enough space to move freely, to roll on top of him or pull him until he can lay all his weight on you—phantom feelings you’ve chased through your daydreams hundreds of times, and are now just out of reach, but what you get is enough. It’s everything. Sanji moving his arm out of the way so he can wrap you in a half-hug and squish your chests together; your leg pushed between his so you can properly get his flat abdomen and hard cock right up against you. 

His breath hitches as his hips roll forward. With the grip you have on his hair, you instinctively tug his head back, breaking the wet kiss just in time to hear his breathy moan. “No, please, more. Wanna kiss you more,” he begs—and really, who would say no to such a request?

You lick his bottom lip just to put to rest the demon that once made you stare at Sanji’s side profile while he cooked for way too long, whispering in your ear his lips are so plump, wouldn’t they look good on a girl? You don’t know about that, but they are extremely kissable.

At the time you thought that Sanji, who strives to be a real gentleman—emphasis on the man—would be freaked out by those thoughts…seeing how he’s behaving now, maybe that’s not the case. Maybe he’d enjoy being talked to and handled like a precious little thing. Still, you abstain for now, horrified by the idea that you could ruin this long-awaited moment, and content yourself with kissing him silly.

Well. Calling what you're doing to him kissing is an euphemism; you're licking into his mouth as if with enough effort you could taste his soul, and when the push and pull of your bodies separates your lips, he lets you curl your tongue around his in the open air before you pull back properly. 

“‘M so hard, I could come just from this,” Sanji mumbles while you move down to suck over the pulse point on his neck. Your eyes are closed, but they still roll back into your skull when the fading scent of his aftershave fills your senses. 

“You won't have to,” you promise. You grasp at him blindly through the tangle of your limbs and the obstructive plush fabric all around. Sanji, sweet angel, perfect boy, arches to push his hips right into your palm. 

You let out a giggle and a dreamy sigh on the tail end of it when you manage to properly palm his hard cock, even if just above his boxers. You’d be embarrassed by the sound if you were lucid. There are many times when your affection for Sanji simmers gently and far away from lust, but this isn't one of those times.

Sanji stiffens at the first stroke you clumsily give his cock, just to quickly melt again in your arms. “Please, let me touch you, too.” His hands run down your form until he can hook his fingers into the waistline of your pants. “I want you to feel good with me.”

You nod with an enthusiastic hum of assent against the skin of his neck. The first touch of Sanji's fingertips on the naked skin usually covered by the hem of your underwear almost makes you jolt. You follow suit, shoving your hand inside his boxers. “Oh, fuck, yesyesyes,” Sanji mumbles before you’ve even done anything, just closed your fist around the tip of his cock. He’s leaking just enough to smooth the way as you play with him, teasing strokes and swipes of your thumb on the slit. 

It’s not that you’re being mean on purpose, eking out his pleasure like he might just run out if you get too greedy—you’re just so distracted by what he’s doing to you. Already, he had the unfair advantage of your near-obsession with his hands, born mostly from his insistence that they must be reserved for loving acts. He usually means cooking, of course, but Sanji has never hesitated to hold, carry, protect and serve the women in his life with his hands…so can you be blamed for getting ideas? You feel vindicated for each dirty thought you’ve ever had about them in the here and now. As soon as you raise your thigh high on his hip to leave him some space, Sanji slides his hand fully into your panties and cups your pussy like he’s cherishing being allowed to touch you so intimately. He doesn’t leave you waiting for something more substantial, quickly moving to sink his middle finger between your labia, gathering the copious amount of slick wetness. You have one moment to wish he had just pushed inside you before he starts drawing circles over your clit instead, and then the choice to just let him do whatever he wants is easily made. 

“How are you so wet for me? I barely touched you,” he asks with a tone that should be reserved for his first glimpse of the All Blue. 

You almost laugh at that. “I’ve been wet since you took off your pants,” you admit, “and then you kept calling me Miss—”

Sanji tilts his head to make eye contact with you, forcing your mouth away from the delectable line of his neck. “Wait, you like being called Miss? Really?” He has no business sounding shyly pleased; you suspect he uses the title specifically to elicit this sort of reaction—or is it that you have a heightened appreciation for it? You’ve never thought to ask the other girls what they think about it…Nami’s teasing over it would be brutal.

“Don’t take too much advantage of it!” Your pout robs the intimation of its strength, but Sanji’s eyes drop to stare at your lips like he’s hungry to get another taste, and you finish off the attempt at distracting him with a good series of strokes up and down his cock that he seems to really appreciate. He lets out a guttural moan that you’re sure whoever is sleeping in the tent next to you must have heard even above the wind now raging outside.

Sanji must take your renewed efforts as a sign to up the ante himself, and finally he slips a finger inside you. He figures out roughly two seconds in that quick and shallow thrusts make you writhe in pleasure, knowledge he has no qualms abusing until you’re shaking, lingering on the precipice of an orgasm. 

You’re still trying to give him the attention he deserves, but you know your movements over his cock have gone artless and a bit sloppy. “Mmghfuck, Sanji—” you moan through your teeth, biting the neckline of his shirt. You want to kiss him and lick wherever you can but your body is acting on its own. You think you add something along the lines of gonna come, just for you, baby, you want that? but you can’t be sure; maybe you’re just mewling nonsense with your face hidden in his neck. 

Whatever he hears, it’s enough to get Sanji very excited. “Yes, holy fuck, you’re perfect. So good for me.” You don’t know how he does it, but in a quick move he lifts you to lay more heavily on top of him with his free arm, locking it around your waist to keep you still. He’s got two fingers pumping in and out of you with no reprieve, but he hazards a guess and slides them out to focus on your clit again. In an ideal situation you’d like both things at the same time—hell, in an ideal situation you’d be bouncing on his cock already—but at this point you want to come, and being played with like this will get you there. You're clutching both hands around his sides now, palming at his abs, and Sanji’s erection is pressed tight over your hip. He doesn’t complain, taking advantage of how his underwear is riding too low on his hips to grind against you and seek out some friction.

“Like this okay, darling?” he asks with a murmur in your ear. You nod fervently. “Fuck, I really can’t believe this. My whole hand is wet, you’re dripping. Next time—can I—I want to lick until you’re coming on my tongue, I need to know what you taste like.”

Your eyes fly open, all the muscles in your legs and abdomen tensing with pleasure at Sanji’s words, the rumble of his voice thick with desire, the mental image of his blond head buried between your legs. That almost does you in, but the promise of a next time brings a realization—now I can have him like this again and again and again—that makes you fall over the edge. You come with your cheek pressed on his solid chest, one of Sanji’s hands now closed around the back of your neck, your voice stuck in your throat. Wave after wave of shivers run down your spine, wracking your body even as you’re coming down from the high, because Sanji won’t stop rubbing wet circles over your clit. 

“Stop, stop, I need a breather,” you complain, trying to escape his touch—but not really. Even as you’re supposedly squirming away from him, between the stifling top of the sleeping bag, and your leg locked around his hips, it’s clear that you’re right where you want to be. 

Sanji relents, sliding his fingers out of your now-ruined underwear. “Sorry, my love, you just sound so good while lost in pleasure.” He squeezes you in a full hug, pressing a few kisses over the crown of your head. “I can’t believe you let me do that…”

“I didn’t let you do anything. And there’s nothing strange about a woman wanting you like this, Sanji.” You tilt your head up, trying to meet his eye. “You know that, right?”

Shily, he allows the eye contact. You wish it wasn’t so dark in here, but the stronger winds must have brought clouds to cover the moon, and the lanterns Sanji had lit outside had long since died. You can’t see the stunning blue of his irises. 

“If you say so, darling,” he says, much to your chagrin. You hate how often you have witnessed Sanji being rejected, and in hindsight, by virtue of dismissing his advances as unserious, you have contributed to it. But he must have had his fair share of sexual experiences if he can bring a woman to orgasm as easily as he just did with you. 

You hope to have the opportunity to ask him about it. The urge to get to know him better, to be closer in all meanings of the terms, is stronger than ever—but now is not the time. You’ve got something else to focus on. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to believe me. I can just show it to you.” You manage with some more wiggling to get your pants and underwear at least halfway down your thighs. “You thought I was going to leave you hanging, baby? We can’t, uh, go all the way…not right now, I don’t have protection—” you start to explain while trying to slide a bit further up his body.

Sanji starts shaking his head, eyes as wide as saucers. “Oh, no, you don’t have to do anything for me! I can’t possibly ask for more!”

You kiss his lips to silence him. Sanji whines like a wounded animal when you raise yourself just enough to hold his cock again—he has not gone soft despite the lack of stimulation, which doesn’t shock you. This is Sanji, after all. 

“I’ll come and stain your clothes and make a mess,” he says all in a rush, his fingers spasming around your hips. 

“Ssh, it’s okay. Don’t worry about anything, just let me take care of you.” You bring his cock between your legs, forcing them open despite the pant’s waistline pressing into your skin; when you’ve got the hard length pressed over your bare cunt you get your hand back on Sanji’s chest and squeeze your thighs.

You don’t know what feels best for him—clenching your legs as tight as you can, or to leave more space to swing your hips up and down—but whatever you try, Sanji vocally loves it. Despite how cold he had felt when he first got in the sleeping bag with you, he’s now burning up just like you, and you’re both starting to sweat under your clothes. You can feel him leak more precum when you raise up as far as you can and squeeze just the head of his cock between your thighs.

“Oh God, Miss,” he breathes out at that move. His hands slide down to grope your ass, and the feeling of him kneading the muscle there to his heart’s content makes your eyelids flutter. 

“Feels good, baby?” you ask. The question is redundant, but dammit, you want to hear him say it.

Sanji nods with a hum, lips parted and his cute little curled brow frowning in pleasure. “Yes! Yes, you feel perfect, you’re so soft. I would stay between your legs forever if you let me.”

Oh, this man. He doesn’t know how badly he drives you crazy, even when he’s just babbling the first thought he had. You lean down to dip your tongue in his mouth, your hands firmly planted over his pecs. He accepts the kiss easily, moaning each time you nibble his bottom lip or snap your hips down with more vigor. You pull back with a string of saliva still pulling between your mouths. “Next time you can fuck me like this,” you promise. Your mind is clouded with lust again, and you have half a mind to reach down and angle his cock so you can sink down on him for real, but you hold onto sanity enough to avoid that. “As soon as we’re back on the Sunny. You want that?”

“I’ve wanted that since the first time I saw you,” Sanji replies. He grips your ass more firmly, guiding you into moving faster. “I’m so close, please, just keep going.”

You don’t know if you can believe something like that said in the heat of the moment, but either way, he’s just so cute. In your imagination Sanji has been everything from the experienced lover that blows your mind to a playful partner that laughs with you in the middle of sex, and you’ve loved all those versions that existed in your head—but if the real one is this submissive and needy, you have no complaint. Reducing such a powerful and competent man to a moaning mess is nothing short of intoxicating. 

Gladly, you keep doing what you’ve been doing. Sanji begs for another kiss, and keeps you so busy with it that you realise he’s coming only when he gasps open-mouthed over your lips. Hot liquid drips over the back of your thighs—you spare him the overstimulation he inflicted on you earlier, out of the goodness of your bleeding heart, but it’ll be a while before you even consider unclenching your legs from around his cock.

Sanji takes in one last shuddering inhale, and all but melts into the thin mattress underneath him. One wet kiss pressed to his cheek, and you feel him smile as wide as when he serves you, Nami, and Robin some snacks and he gets to listen to all three of you compliment his cooking at the same time. 

“Mh, it’s too hot in here now,” you note with humour, “don’t you think?”

“It’s ‘cause I’m burning up for you, Mellorine,” Sanji replies. You huff a laugh when he attempts an exaggerated wink, which doesn’t work when one of his eyes is completely covered by ruffled hair. 

You slide a little to the side, keeping in mind the streaks of come splashed on your skin as you do so. Sanji lets out a saddened sigh when you’re not pressed skin-to-skin with him anymore, but you’re still so close, your heads only barely peeking out of the sleeping bag. 

“You were right, you did make a mess.” You’ll have to take off your pants off and use them to clean yourself and Sanji somehow—or maybe he’ll volunteer his boxers for the job, still pushed barely down his legs—as soon as you have the energy. 

“Ah, sorry…I usually have very good manners, I swear.” The apology seems genuine, but Sanji is just too giddy to sound contrite. “Hey, can I ask you something? But I don’t want to ruin the moment.”

You smile at him. Now that the adrenaline peak is fading away, your eyelids are once again heavy and ready to stay closed for a good six hours at least. “You can’t ruin it, Sanji.”

“You have a lot of faith in me, darling.”

“Just ask, dummy.”

He clears his throat, embarrassed by his own stalling. “I know that I-I said something about doing this again first, but then you said it, too, and I just—I don’t know if you meant it. Because I did. So, would you like to…?”

“Would I like to? Baby, I’m gonna wear you out.” You would sound much more convincing if you weren’t actively falling asleep. “I’ll ask Franky to build a secret bedroom, and no one will ever see us again,” you mumble before being interrupted by a yawn.

You feel the warmth of Sanji’s fingers caressing your cheekbone, the line of your jaw. You smile thinking of how this started, with Sanji’s poor hands cold as ice shoved under your shirts. 

“I’ll ask you a few hundred times more in the morning, sweetheart. You’re about to pass out, I’ll clean you up myself, okay?”

You think you nod, or maybe you just hum a vague affirmative sound. The last thing you remember, with the rumbling of the wind and the distant raging of the ocean lulling deeper into sleep, is Sanji pressing a kiss on your neck, warm and heavy with affection. 

Omfg. I've had this idea for a while and jumped at the chance to write it when I saw that it could work for my assignment in this exchange. Huge shoutout to @twoflowers for passing onto me the "Sanji calls women 'miss' intstead of using honourifics" demon, as you can all see I've used and abused that idea.

[anisangeldust]

Cupids Arrow | S.M.

Summary: After falling pathetically in love; Sam Monroe decides to give Valentine’s Day a chance.

Pairing: Sam Monroe x popular!Fem reader

Warnings: annoying Sam, use of “faggot” (in a playful way) and “gaybo” (derogatory), lwk self loathing, loser in love Sam, kinda a heavy make out sesh, semi public smut, dry humping, premature ejaculation ? Whimpering Sam, reader teases him and he gets off on it.

A/N: this is lwk self insert and I’m not ashamed abt it. Also I lwk hate it but wtv :( happy vday!!

“Naw bro, she’s fine as fuck” Josh nudges his friend as you walk past. You’d switched high schools and joined the previous semester. It’s as if you were an overnight success, fresh blood, pretty face, and rich parents, a recipe for being the top of the social ladder.

Even sad, mopey, emo Sam Monroe wasn’t immune to your charm

“Fuck off dude, she’d never go for you. You look and act like a faggot. She needs a strong man.” Josh’s friend flexes and raises his eyebrows up and down at you. You rolled your eyes playfully and continued walking to class.

With a scowl, Sam’s eyes followed the whole interaction. What of you did want him? Why did he care? Sam didn’t want you, or your preppy attitude, you fluffy hair that fell above your boobs, your low rise Abercrombie & Finch jeans that barely pass dress code— No. No. He didn’t care about or notice you. You or your big eyes and full lips— No.

And he especially didn’t notice you or the way his heart rate sped up when you smiled at him.

——

If there’s one thing Sam hated more than his father it was P.E. You were the only thing that made the class tolerable. Except he didnt think that because he barely noticed you or your teeny Juicy Couture shorts at all.

Even worse than P.E. (And Sam’s dad) was dodgeball. Fuck dodgeball. Sam thought as he stood in the corner of the gym and watched all the popular guys peacock for your attention.

A star ball hit Sam in the face, and the accompanying voice of one of the jocks followed “you’re out gaybo! Sit the fuck down!” And Sam rolled his eyes, sitting down as he flipped off the guy.

Like a guardian angel sent by a god he didn’t believe in, you threw a ball at the jock and got him out, playfully flipping him off like Sam did.

You go up to Sam and offer a hand. “C’mon, you’re back in. You okay? Looked like a nasty hit.” You smile.

Despite the bit of chill in the winter air, Sam felt a warmth spread across his face. “Yeah no.. whatever. Im good. Im fine” he scoffs, taking your hand to get up and dropping it suddenly when he realizes he just accidentally held your hand

“M’kay” I smile and saunter off to keep playing.

——

“It doesn’t mean anything. Shes nice to everyone” Sam sighs and rubs his face as he and Corey sit in the roof of his station wagon.

Corey takes a long inhale of their shared cigarette “yeah but..” he exhales “she helped you.. or some shit. I don’t know. But I can feel it. She likes you dude” he lays back.

Sam leans back and looks up at the sky, biting his bottom lip in contemplation. “Yeah but— fuck man. I can’t just ask her to be my valentine. That’s corny. And she probably has one” Sam sighs

Corey rolls his eyes “does she even entertain the other guys? There’s no harm in asking. Just like, buy her flowers or chocolate or something I don’t know. But ask her” Corey takes a puff.

“Y’know what. Fuck it man. I’ll ask” Sam nods and takes the cigarette, taking a long breath in and letting the exhale dwindle away in the night sky, his mind on you, you and your plump lips..

“Do you think Angel likes roses?” Sam groans

Corey huffs “probably. Get some chocolate too. Shit dude, maybe even a card” he giggles.

——

Walking through the halls of the school had never been so embarrassing. Who did Sam think he was? Using the little bit of cash he had that he’d usually spend on weed for chocolate and stupid flowers? It was too late to back down now. He had to focus.. but even as you got closer he could feel your eyes on him..

Clutching the six roses in his hand, Sam clears his throat to get your attention. “Hey.. uhm— could I talk to you..?” He murmurs and looks around at your friends. Your popular friends, all hanging around your locker. This was a bad idea.

The gentle smile that teased the corner of your lips almost made him forget to breathe “Of course.” You smile and lead him away to a different hallway “we’ll be right back” you look back at your friend then focus on him.

Oh god he was going to do it. “Uhm.. I was wondering if maybe you’d like.. I dunno.. be my valentine?” He murmurs and holds out the roses, opening his backpack and grabbing the chocolate.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at you, he was so close to just walking away, but the gentle sound of your giggles bring his gaze back. “Of course I will Sammy” you take the gifts “thank you, these are beautiful.

He was shocked. You said yes? This was a joke. A bet. You were just pitying him. “Really?” He whispers, not quite registering that you actually agreed. “Well uhm.. how about I like.. take you to dinner..?” He spews before his mind can catch up with his mouth.

You smile wider “Yes really. And I’d like that.” You take out a notebook and scribble down two things “here’s my number and address. Let me know the details” you kiss his cheek “Bye Sammy”.

He’s eyes followed you like a magnet “See ya..” he mumbles, bringing a hand up to where you kissed him, gently touching the spot with the pads of his fingers.

——

Nervous wasn’t even in the ballpark of emotions he was feeling. This still had to be some elaborate prank, a joke, never mind that he’d called you 3 times and told you to be ready for a dinner he planned, his heart swelling at the excited tone of your voice. You’d stand him up, he’d drive to your house like an idiot and you’d tell him you weren’t serious.

Telling his parents was arguably just as nerve wracking.

<<Hey mom uhm, could you help me.. maybe?>> Sam mumbled to his mother, Robin, as she cooked dinner, her eyes widened in surprise as not only did her angsty son talk to her, but he was asking for help?

She smiled << yeah i suppose.. with what..?>> her tone was gentle, almost hesitant.

Sam shrugged <<I uhm.. like.. maybe have a Valentine’s Day date..>> he cleared his throat and had to stop the smile as his mom rattled on about who you were and then helped Sam with all the details.

Standing at the door of your very nice home, in his only pair of decent dress slacks and a black button down, Sam clutched the bouquet of roses his mom helped pick out and rang the doorbell.

A middle aged woman with sleek brown hair answered the door. “Ah, you must be Sam” she smiles.

Sam nods, running a hand through his black and blue hair “yeah.. that’s me” he gives a lopsided smile “is your daughter ready?” He asks.

“She should be.” Your mom turns into the house “darling! Your dates here!” And the click clack of heels meets Sam’s ears.

You looked stunning. Breathtaking. Sam was flummoxed as he met your gaze. Your dress was a beautiful blush color, and your makeup matched. Sam reminded himself to blink as you approached “Hey.. happy Valentine’s Day” he quirked up his lips and held out the bouquet of flowers.

“These are gorgeous. Thank you” you smile and take his hand, this time on purpose, and walk to his car. Sam opens the passenger seat before climbing in the drivers seat and twisting his key.

Mr. Self destruct by Nine Inch Nails starts to play up again and Sam quickly turns it off “Sorry.. I was uh..” he flushes with sudden embarrassment at his music taste.

You turn the dial back up “don’t apologize. I’d be happy to listen to the music you enjoy” you smile and admire his side profile as he drives, your eyes drawn to the way his hands fiddle with the gear shift, taking in the faint scent of weed that lingers on the leather seats. It was so him, so perfect.

——

The date was perfect. A beautiful awkward mix of Sam’s corny jokes and your elegant aura. It became clear that not only was it not a pity date, but maybe you actually liked him back? He tried not to let himself dwell on the idea. But as the server called you guys “cute” and you just thanked him, Sam could feel himself falling deeper into this boyish crush.

Walking out of the restaurant hand in hand, Sam decided to deviate from his original plan “We should get ice cream. I know this lookout point I smoke at sometimes. It’s perfect for stargazing” the sudden boost of confidence he had talking for him.

“I’d like that a lot” you take his hand and walk to his car.

——

For the first time Sam felt like the universe was on his side. Eating ice cream on Valentine’s Day, sitting in the open trunk of his car with the girl he likes and watching the stars after a successful date, the only thing that would make it better was if he didn’t have a raging boner from watching you lick cream off your lips.

As you got down to the bottom of your cone and started to lick the melted desert off your fingers, Sam wiggled and tried to pull away. But you noticed. Of course you noticed.

“Something wrong?” You look at him and scoot closer.

He swallowed audibly “nothing.. nothing wrong.. I’m great” he shakes his head vehemently.

You lean your head closer, the hot air mingling between you “you sure? You look flushed” you giggle and tease.

He dares to lean in “am not!”

You smile “are too” and then your lips attach. The kiss is heavy, full of Sams insecurity and your desire. His inexperienced tongue moves around your mouth, his pants growing tighter from the taste of your lips.

Climbing onto his lap, you finally see the source of his awkwardness “mmm.. is that what’s wrong?” You tease and gently move your hips over his hard on.

Sam gasps into the kiss, whimpering and letting his mouth part “y-yeah..” he stutters, trying to latch onto his last shred of gentlemanly thoughts.

“You’re so adorable” your giggles make him flushed.

“I’m not adorable.. I’m.. I dunno..” he stutters pathetically, panting into the kiss and bucking his hips up.

You keep moving “pretty sure you are. You’re whimpering like a loser. A cute loser” you kiss and suck on his jaw.

Sam lets out a moan “nuh uh..” he tries for the last time to hold on, but as he opens his eyes and meets your gaze, he’s done for. With one finally little whine, he cums in his pants, bucking his hips up and kissing you.

Both if you look at eachother with wide eyes, the look in his is terrified, the look in yours in playful “did you just..?” And he tears up

“Sorry.. ‘m so sorry.. couldn’t help it..” he pouts and looks at his lap.

You flick his nose to get his attention “I’m not mad Sammy.. that was.. hot” he giggle and kiss him again.

“Hot..?” He mumbles and his hands find your waist.

“And pathetic. Hot and pathetic.” You confirm with a nod of your head.

[sillygoose067]

This is the first time I’ve ever requested something. I love your writing so much. Would you be willing to do a Joaquin Torres hurt/comfort with a female reader where she doesn’t talk to her family since she graduated high school, and all of a sudden they’re inserting themselves back into her life? If not that’s totally fine.

Omg I'm so honored to be your first request! Sorry it took so long 😓 summer courses are kicking my ass.

I love this request so much and it's actually funny you asked because I'd been thinking about writing something of the sort anyway — you just gave me more of a reason to go ahead and do it. Yay!

I'm not sure if this is what you were looking for since I added some of the ideas I had into this one, but hopefully you like it!

:)

———————————————————————————-

The Light You Carry

Joaquin Torres x Reader

Warnings: mention of self harm, toxic family

It starts with a message.

No greeting. No punctuation. Just a photo.

The porch.

Sun-drenched and colorless, like an old bruise. The same cracked step you once tripped over as a kid. The plastic chair that never matched anything, still stationed by the door like it’s waiting for someone who never came home. The paint is peeling, the sky is pink, and the caption—if it can be called that—says only:

“Your uncle’s birthday is Saturday. Everyone’s coming.”

No “how have you been?” No “I miss you.”

Just a date, a place, a presumption.

You feel it in your gut first — the slow tightening, the curl of something cold and sour deep in your stomach. Then your hands, suddenly unsure of what they’re holding. Then your chest, which seems to forget how to do the simple work of breathing.

You haven’t heard from your mother in four years. Not on your birthday. Not when you moved cities. Not when you were hospitalized for that emergency appendicitis scare, when Joaquin slept on the fold-out chair and held your hand like it was the only real thing in the world.

You reread the message anyway. As if repetition will unlock context, will conjure some hidden line beneath the silence. It doesn’t. It just stings in new ways.

Joaquin finds you like that — still, back half-turned toward the window, the dying light soft around you like dust. Your phone dangles from one hand. The other is clenched into a fist you hadn’t realized you were making.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just steps into your space with a gentle kind of gravity. When he finally does, his voice is soft, careful, like he’s brushing snow from your shoulders.

“Querida… what’s going on?”

You hand him the phone, and with it, a silence you don’t know how to fill. He reads the message once, brow furrowed — not in confusion, but understanding. Like he already knows this isn’t just about a party, or a porch, or your uncle. It’s about them. About her.

He doesn’t ask the obvious questions. He doesn’t need to. He just lowers the phone, places it on the table between you, and looks at you like he sees every shattered piece you’re pretending not to step on.

“She hasn’t reached out since graduation, right?” he asks quietly.

You nod, voice brittle. “Not a word.”

“...She didn’t even ask how you’ve been.”

“Why would she?” You laugh, but it’s the kind that folds in on itself. “It’s not about me. It never is. She just wants me to show up. To prove to everyone that I’m still the good daughter. Still obedient. Still theirs.”

Joaquin takes a slow step forward. His gaze never leaves yours.

“Do you want to go?”

You exhale through your nose, hard. “No. Yes. I don’t know. I want to know why she’s texting me now, but I don’t want to walk into that house and become someone I spent four years clawing my way out of.”

“You’re not her anymore,” he says. “You won’t ever be her again.”

You blink fast. Something behind your ribs tightens.

“I thought I’d stopped hoping for this,” you murmur. “For her to say something. Anything. But the second she does, it’s like I’m sixteen again, waiting for her to notice I’m bleeding.”

Joaquin doesn’t flinch. He’s a solid thing in a room that suddenly feels paper-thin.

“I want to tell her to fuck off,” you say quietly. “But I also want to… see. Just see. If maybe something’s different.”

He nods, like he’s already made up his mind. “Then let’s go.”

You stare at him. “What?”

“I mean it,” he says. “Let’s go. We’ll drive down. You won’t have to walk through the door unless you want to. You don’t have to smile. You don’t have to stay. You can leave the second your chest gets tight. I’ll have the car running. You just squeeze my hand, and we’re gone.”

You hesitate. The thought of it makes your skin crawl — and ache. Both at once.

“I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“And maybe you’ll never be,” he says, gently. “Maybe that’s okay. But maybe… just maybe… this gives you the power again. To walk in on your own terms. To face it — not for them, but for you. So that you get to decide whether there’s anything left to heal, or whether the wound’s better left closed.”

You press your forehead to his chest. He smells like wind and soap and something warm you don’t have a name for. He wraps his arms around you like he’s been waiting to, like he’s been carrying this weight in halves until you were ready to set it down.

“You’ll stay close?”

“I won’t leave your side.”

“And if it all goes bad?”

“Then we get tacos and drive home with the windows down and talk about anything but this.” He leans down, presses his lips to your temple. “You’ve already survived worse, mi amor. Now you get to choose what kind of ending you want.”

You nod into his shirt, the fabric damp where your cheek rests. And for the first time in hours — maybe longer — the fear doesn’t feel like it owns you.

“Okay,” you whisper.

And he doesn’t say are you sure?

He just says, “I’ve got you.”

---

You shouldn’t have come. You knew it before you knocked, before your mother’s eyes flicked past you like you were a guest she hadn’t expected. But you came anyway.

The house is loud — not with joy, but with posturing. Dishes clatter in the kitchen. The TV blares something no one’s watching. Laughter bubbles in awkward, lopsided bursts. People you haven’t seen since you were seventeen glance at you like you’re something that grew back wrong.

You try to breathe, try to smile like it doesn’t sting.

Joaquin stands beside you, tense and watchful, like he knows something’s about to go wrong. And then it happens.

Your cousin — the one who used to lock you out of your room and then gaslight you about it — sidles over with a red cup in his hand and too much amusement on his face.

“Well damn,” he says. “Didn’t think you’d show your face again. Thought you’d finally run off and made a mess of your life, like everyone expected.”

You freeze.

The room doesn’t.

Someone snorts. Someone else shifts awkwardly, but no one intervenes. The moment hangs — sharp and slicing, like cold metal between your ribs.

You barely open your mouth to respond.

But Joaquin steps forward — fast.

And he explodes.

“What the hell did you just say?”

The room goes dead quiet.

Your cousin flinches, stumbling back half a step. “Relax, man—”

“No, you don’t get to say that and pretend it’s a joke,” Joaquin growls, voice like fire under pressure. “You don’t get to act like you weren’t part of making her life hell and then laugh in her face when she has the guts to walk back in here.”

“Jesus, calm down—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” Joaquin snaps, eyes blazing. “You think it’s funny she stayed away this long? You think it’s funny she left without anything? You want to talk about expectations? She expected basic goddamn decency and never got it from any of you.”

Your heart’s hammering in your chest.

No one speaks.

Even your mother has gone pale, mouth parted like she might say something — but nothing comes out.

Your cousin’s still holding his cup, frozen mid-drink.

And then Joaquin turns to you, breath still fast, hands clenched.

“We’re done here.”

His voice isn’t loud now. It’s sharp. Final.

You’re still too stunned to react, so he reaches for your hand, warm and strong, and laces your fingers through his with a fierce kind of tenderness.

He’s practically vibrating with fury as he pulls you gently toward the door.

And just as you pass your mother, she says — quietly, sharply — “You didn’t have to cause a scene.”

Joaquin stops.

Slowly, he turns, eyes blazing.

“You should’ve stopped them before I had to.”

Then he opens the door and walks you out, hand tight in yours, breath shaking.

Outside, the cold air hits like a slap. You make it to the car before the adrenaline catches up and your knees go weak.

Joaquin’s already helping you in, carefully, silently. But the second the door closes, he punches the steering wheel once — not hard enough to break it, just enough to let it out.

---

The car hums softly around you, a gentle thrum like the steady pulse of a heart trying to slow down after running a long race. The night outside presses close, thick with the scent of wet asphalt and distant jasmine, the world muted in the lull between storms.

Inside, the silence stretches, not brittle but heavy and tender — a cocoon stitched together from the aftermath of everything that just happened. Joaquin’s hand rests over yours, warmth seeping through skin like a whispered promise.

He chews the inside of his cheek, eyes dark pools reflecting the streetlight’s pale glow. His breath catches, a low catch almost too soft to hear.

“You okay?” you ask, voice small, fragile, like breaking glass held in careful hands.

He turns toward you, the shadowed lines of his face softening. “You’re the one who just faced hell,” he says, voice rough with raw edges. “I’m just the guy who lost it watching you get hurt.”

You try to smile, but it trembles like a candle flame in a draft.

He reaches out, fingers gentle, tracing slow, deliberate circles on the back of your hand — a slow rhythm meant to anchor you back to the moment, back to safety.

The car slows, and he pulls onto a side street, a stretch where the city noise fades into a whisper. He kills the engine, leaving the world to settle around you in a hush.

His eyes find yours, steady and fierce in the low light.

“Hey,” he breathes, voice threading through the silence like a song. “I’m sorry. For yelling. For breaking loose. I just… I saw the way they looked at you. Like you were a ghost haunting a house they’d rather forget.”

Your throat tightens. You swallow the ache that blooms there.

“I wanted to protect you,” he says, voice trembling just enough to betray the storm inside. “Because you didn’t deserve any of that. None of it.”

You nod, blinking back the shadows gathering at the corners of your eyes.

“You think they even remember what it’s like? To care?” you whisper.

He shakes his head, slow and sure. “No. They don’t deserve you. Not even a fraction of the light you carry.”

Your breath falters. A single tear escapes, trailing warmth down your cheek.

Without thinking, he lifts his hand to your face, fingers brushing the tear away like it’s a secret he’s been waiting to find. His touch is soft, reverent, as if you’re a fragile flower unfolding after winter.

“I wanted to defend you,” he murmurs, voice breaking with the weight of it, “but I know sometimes you just want to disappear instead.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the sound fragile and raw. “Yeah… sometimes.”

He leans closer, forehead resting against yours, breath mingling in the small space between you.

“You’ll never have to disappear again,” he promises, voice a vow, a benediction. “I won't let you.”

You close your eyes, the world narrowing down to the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm, the soft brush of his breath, the sanctuary in his arms.

And finally, you let go.

Your tears fall slow and quiet, the kind of sorrow that fills empty spaces and leaves behind something soft — a healing.

He wraps you close, fierce and tender all at once, as if holding together every cracked piece of your soul.

“You didn’t overreact,” you sniffle into his hoodie, voice still thick.

He exhales, the tension unraveling in a slow, shuddering sigh.

“Good,” he says. “Because I was ready to burn that whole damn house down.”

You laugh again — this time, genuine — shaky but real.

“I believe you,” you say, voice trembling with something like hope.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, thumbs stroking your cheeks with a reverence that humbles you.

“I love you,” he says, voice hoarse and fierce and soft all at once. “You know that, right?”

You nod, words lost but heart loud.

“I love you, too.”

[reputationfairy]

ommmmg can u write something with nicolas being a new dad x reader wife 🙏🙏🙏 maybe them visiting his family during a short trip and him being sooooooo daddyyyy 😭😭 after seeing him in those GH pic with this baby …. 🥵😮‍💨 i just need a dad imagines with him since there isn’t any

❝Juno❞

─⋆♡ summary: You’re married to Nicholas Chavez and you bring your newborn baby to meet his grandparents.

─⋆♡ warnings: pregnancy, postpartum depression, fluff, allusions to sex but no smut, Daddy!Nicholas Chavez, Y/N used a few times, 1st person POV. as always i’m always learning so correct me if i missed something!!

─⋆♡ an: based on this ask & shoutout to that person because this was super sweet to write. there’s no public info on his parents and i felt weird looking for it so here’s some Chavez grandparents content. since this may be your introduction to me, i do write in first person, just inserting Y/N. 2nd and 3rd person are absolutely insufferable to me and make me wanna die. with that being said, i’m glad there’s no shortage of those fics on this website. my masterlist is the pinned post on my profile and i hope you all enjoy this imagine! ★ ˙ᵕ˙ liv

The journey to Nicholas’ grandparents’ house is filled with quiet anticipation. We haven’t visited in a while, not since Colette was born. I can’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness at the thought of introducing Colette to her great-grandparents, Nick SR and Betty. Nicholas always speaks of them with such affection, often recounting tales from his childhood spent at their cozy home. They were instrumental in raising him, and their influence is deeply ingrained in who he’s become. Now, I’m eager to see how they’ll respond to our little family, especially to me as a new mother.

The sun is high in the sky as we pull into the gravel driveway, which crunches under the tires. The house is a charming, white colonial-style home with flower boxes beneath the windows, bursting with vibrant blooms. It looks like something out of a postcard—quaint and welcoming. Nicholas squeezes my hand as he turns off the car.

“You ready for this?” he asks, his brown eyes twinkling with excitement.

I smile, though my heart races. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I respond unwilling to let his hand go for the last time.

I eventually gain enough strength to go a second without touching him. We both step out of the car, and I unbuckle Colette from her car seat, carefully lifting her into my arms. She’s dressed in a soft, pastel onesie with tiny flowers embroidered on the front. Her big espresso colored eyes, so much like Nicholas’, blink up at me as she squirms a little in my hold. I kiss her soft forehead, breathing in that sweet baby scent that always seems to calm my nerves.

Before we even reach the front door, it flies open, and Betty appears on the porch. Her face lights up in a radiant smile as she hurries down the steps toward us. She’s a small woman, but she moves with surprising speed and agility, her silver hair tied back in a loose bun.

“There she is! Oh, it’s about time!” Betty exclaims, ignoring Nicholas entirely as she comes straight for me and Colette. Her arms are wide open, and she pulls me into a hug, careful not to crush the baby between us. “You, my darling, look even more beautiful than the last time I saw you. And this precious girl…” Her voice trails off as she gazes at Colette with shining eyes. “Oh, she’s just perfect.”

I laugh softly, returning her hug. “I’ve missed you, Mrs. Betty and thank you.”

Betty steps back, her hands still on my arms, her attention fully on Colette. “No, thank you! You brought another little angel into our family,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “You’ve made me the happiest great-grandmother.”

Nicholas, standing off to the side, grins as he watches the scene unfold. “Hey, Grandma,” he chimes in, clearly amused. “Good to see you too.”

Betty waves a hand in his direction without even glancing his way. “Yes, yes, Nicholas. We’ll get to you in a minute.” Her eyes shimmer as she reaches out to gently stroke Colette’s chubby cheek. “She’s absolutely precious,” she coos. “She looks just like Nicholas did when he was a baby.”

Just then, Nicholas’ grandfather steps out onto the porch, his tall frame casting a shadow as he approaches us. His blue eyes light up when he sees me holding Colette. “Well, if it isn’t our favorite girl,” he says with a warm grin, pulling me into a quick hug before peering down at Colette. “And look at this—another beauty in the family. You’ve done well,” he adds, giving Nicholas a nod of approval before clapping him on the shoulder.

“Well she is 50% of me so…” Nicholas’s twinge of jealousy for his favorite girls peeks out.

“Oh, hush, Nicholas,” Betty replies, waving a hand at him dismissively before turning to me again. “Come on, dear, let’s get you inside. You must be exhausted after the drive. And you must let me hold this precious girl as soon as you’re settled.”

Inside the house, the smell of freshly baked bread wafts through the air, mingling with the scent of herbs and flowers. The living room is cozy and welcoming, filled with family photos and knick-knacks that speak of years of love and memories. There are pictures of Nick as a little boy, his brother, and even one of us on our wedding day.

Betty leads us to the couch, offering to take Colette for a little while so I can rest. “She’s such a calm baby,” Betty remarks as she cradles Colette in her arms. “I remember Nicholas being a little firecracker at this age—always kicking and fussing. But you, my dear, are an angel, aren’t you?” she coos, her voice full of love as Colette blinks up at her.

Nick Sr. settles into an armchair nearby, watching with a contented smile. “Betty’s right,” he says, his voice warm. “Nick was a handful. Always running around and getting into trouble. I don’t know how we managed to keep up with him.”

Nicholas chuckles, settling beside me on the couch and wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Yeah, I’ve heard those stories a few times.”

“I bet you have,” Betty says, her eyes twinkling. “But look at you now—such a wonderful father and husband. We’re so proud of you.”

My heart swells at their words, and I feel a wave of gratitude wash over me. It’s clear how much they love Nicholas and how deeply they cherish their family. Their affection extends to me as well, making me feel welcomed in a way that eases the nervousness I had felt earlier.

Betty carefully passes Colette back to me, and I can’t help but notice how her eyes linger on us—on the way I hold my daughter, the way Colette nuzzles into me. After a moment, she glances at Nick Sr., sharing a look that seems to speak volumes.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Betty says suddenly, rising from her seat with a bright smile. “We have something to show you.”

She disappears into another room, returning moments later with a large, leather-bound photo album. She hands it to Nicholas with a wide grin. “These are pictures of you when you were about Colette’s age. I thought it’d be fun to compare.”

Nicholas takes the album and begins flipping through the pages, his eyes lighting up as he sees the photos. “Oh wow,” he says, pointing to a picture of himself as a baby, bundled in a blanket. “Look at that, she really does look like me.”

I lean over to see the photo, and sure enough, the resemblance is striking. Colette has inherited her father’s dark hair and expressive eyes, and there’s something about the way she smiles that’s undeniably Nicholas Chavez.

Betty beams. “She’s got that same spark in her eyes that you had. And those cheeks! I could pinch them all day.”

I can’t help but smile as Nicholas flips through more photos—Nicholas as a toddler, covered in mud from head to toe; Nicholas on his first day of school, looking serious and determined; Nicholas holding a toy sword, pretending to be a knight. It’s clear that his grandparents were there for all of it, capturing every moment with care.

“Look at this one,” Nicholas says, laughing as he holds up a picture of himself as a toddler, sitting in a high chair with spaghetti sauce smeared all over his face.

Betty chuckles. “You loved spaghetti. Still do, if I remember correctly.”

As we continue to flip through the album, Betty excuses herself and motions for me to follow her into the kitchen. I hesitate for a moment, unsure of what she wants to talk about, but her kind smile reassures me.

Once we’re alone, she turns to me, her expression soft and full of understanding. “I just wanted to tell you that you’re doing a wonderful job, Y/N,” she says, her voice gentle. “Being a new mom is hard, and it can feel overwhelming sometimes. But from what I’ve seen, you’re handling it beautifully.”

I feel a lump form in my throat at her words, the unexpected kindness bringing a surge of emotion. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “It’s been… challenging at times. I have moments where I wonder if I’m doing it right.”

Betty reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing it gently. “Those moments of doubt are normal. Every mother feels them. But you have such a natural way with Colette. She feels safe and loved with you—that’s the most important thing.”

I nod, blinking back tears. “It’s just… sometimes I feel like I should be able to do more. I get so tired, and Nick’s been amazing, but…” I trail off, stopping myself from revealing my biggest insecurities.

Betty’s eyes soften even more. “It’s okay to ask for help, dear. You don’t have to do it all on your own. If you ever need anything—advice, a break, someone to talk to—you can always come to me. I’m here for you, and so is Nicholas. We’re all family now,” she offers.

Her words wrap around me like a comforting embrace, and for the first time in a while, I feel a sense of relief. “Thank you,” I whisper, grateful beyond words.

Betty smiles and gives my hand another gentle squeeze. “You’re doing wonderfully. Just remember to take care of yourself too, okay?”

I nod, my heart swelling with appreciation for this woman who has welcomed me into her family with open arms. As we walk back into the living room, I feel lighter, the weight of my doubts lifting just a little.

Nicholas looks up as we enter, his eyes softening as they meet mine. “Everything okay?” he asks, his brow furrowing slightly in concern.

I smile, feeling a warmth spread through me. “Yeah,” I say softly. “Everything’s perfect.”

As the afternoon fades into evening, Betty leans forward with a warm smile, her hands clasped in her lap. “It’s been so wonderful having you all here today,” she says, her eyes soft as she looks between Nicholas, me, and Colette. “Why don’t you stay the night? It’s been far too long since we’ve had a full house, and we’d love the chance to spend more time with you.”

Nicholas turns to me, his voice gentle as he asks, “What do you think? We don’t have anywhere to rush off to, and it would give me a break from driving back tonight.”

I hesitate for a moment, weighing the offer. I think about Colette’s bedtime routine, the packed bags in the car, and my own exhaustion. But as I glance around at the warmth of the house, Nick’s grandparents’ eager faces, and the calmness that seems to settle over everything, I feel myself relax. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a change of scenery, and the idea of spending more time here—surrounded by family—sounds like exactly what I need.

“That sounds wonderful,” I say, smiling at Betty. “Thank you. We’d love to stay.”

Betty’s face lights up, and Nick Sr. nods with a wide grin. “Perfect,” he says. “We’ve got the guest room ready, and I can set up the bassinet in the guest room next to it. It’ll be like old times, having a little one in the house again.”

Betty stands, already making her way toward the kitchen. “I’ll put some tea on for later. You two make yourselves at home.”

Nicholas squeezes my hand, a smile spreading across his face. “See? It’s going to be a nice, quiet night—just us, Colette, and the best grandparents ever.”

The evening unfolds comfortably from there. Betty and Nick Sr. share stories about Nick’s childhood over cups of tea, their voices light with laughter and nostalgia. As the night deepens, we finally make our way to the guest room. It’s cozy and inviting, with a soft bedspread, and warm lighting.

Colette falls asleep easily after nursing, making for an easy bedtime routine. Nicholas and I kiss her on the forehead goodnight once we’ve got her situated in the bassinet. We separate briefly to prep for bed and when I’m finished, I crack open the door to the en-suite bathroom.

Nicholas looks up from a script, setting it to the side of the bedside table. My feet patter over to him and he pulls back the duvet for me to climb in. “I’m so tired,” I note as I slide between the sheets.

He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me closer to his body. “I know, baby. Maybe my grandparents will watch her in the morning so we can sleep in,” he theorizes lowly, but I can still feel the bass of his voice rumbling from his chest into my back.

I sigh, letting my eyes flutter closed. It’s been an emotional day, and I’m ready for sleep. “It’s okay if they can’t. I love you,” I whisper.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he breathes out with his lips kissing my ear one last time.

My body lets me drift into sleep, hearing nothing but Nicholas’ breathing and the faint sound of crickets outside. But that peace is eventually interrupted by the familiar sound of Colette’s soft cry filling the quiet room.

I blink awake, momentarily disoriented, unsure of where I am. The dimly lit room feels unfamiliar, and for a brief, groggy moment, I can’t remember how we ended up here. But then the memories come rushing back—the visit to Nick’s grandparents, Betty’s kind words, the warmth of the evening.

With a heavy sigh, I sit up in bed, my body aching with fatigue. I haven’t gotten nearly enough sleep, and Colette’s cries, though soft, feel like they’re pulling me out of the little bit of rest I’ve managed. The sheets feel cold, and for the first time tonight, I realize Nick’s arms aren’t wrapped around me as they usually are.

The bed dips beneath me, and I hear the soft thud of feet padding across the floor. “Shit,” Nicholas mutters under his breath as he comes into view. I lift my head, watching him groggily fumble with the baby monitor to turn down the volume.

His chocolate tinted eyes meet mine in the dimly lit room, his face softened with a sleepy smile. “I got it, baby. Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, his voice thick and gravelly.

I don’t resist as my head falls back onto the pillow. Nicholas tucks the duvet around my shoulders, his touch warm and reassuring, and leans down to kiss my forehead before slipping out of the room.

As my eyes flutter shut once again, I can’t help but feel immense gratitude for him—for understanding, for seeing me. Nicholas has always been an amazing partner, but since Colette was born, something has deepened. Maybe it's the way he’s embraced fatherhood, those tender daddy traits emerging in him day by day.

I don’t know how long I drift in and out of sleep before the bed dips once more. This time, I turn over to face Nicholas, only to find him kneeling on top of the duvet, cradling Colette in his arms. He gently rocks her, and his brown eyes, full of apology, meet mine. “I'm sorry, babe,” he says softly. “She’s hungry, and I checked the fridge and my Grandma must’ve given her the rest. We’re out of pumped milk,” he gives his valid reason for disturbing me.

With a tired sigh, I push myself up, scooting back against the headboard. “It’s okay,” I reply, motioning for Nicholas to hand Colette to me. “It’s not your fault I don’t pump fast enough for her.”

Nicholas shifts closer, still kneeling, his eyes warm with reassurance. “It’s not your fault either, baby girl,” he says tenderly. “You’re doing everything right. She’s just got my appetite, that’s all.”

Nick’s words bring a smile to my face as I take our little girl in my arms, feeling the love and support that radiates from him. Colette’s small body relaxes the moment she’s nestled in my arms, and I adjust my position to help her latch on. Instinctively, her tiny mouth finds its way, and I feel that familiar pull as she begins to nurse. The room is quiet now, save for the soft sounds of her feeding and the gentle rustle of the duvet as Nicholas shifts beside me, sitting back in his spot where he just laid.

The weight of exhaustion still presses heavily on my body, but there's something calming about this moment—something intimate and grounding. Colette’s little hand rests against my skin, her tiny fingers curling and uncurling as she nurses. Despite the tiredness, I feel a sense of peace wash over me.

Nicholas watches us, his expression soft and filled with admiration. He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair away from my face, his touch tender. "You’re amazing, you know that?" he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath in the dark.

I smile faintly, my heart swelling at his words, but before I can respond, he continues, his eyes never leaving mine. "I don’t tell you enough how much I love you... both of you." His gaze flickers to Colette, his eyes warm and full of adoration. "Watching you with her... seeing how strong you are, how much you give every day. You’ve made me the luckiest man in the world, Y/N."

His words sink into me, wrapping around my heart like a warm blanket. The weight of my earlier guilt begins to lift, replaced by the quiet assurance that I’m not alone in this. We’re a team, navigating the highs and lows together.

"I love you too," I murmur, my voice thick with emotion as I glance down at Colette, her soft breaths steady against me. "And I’m so grateful for you. I couldn’t do this without you."

Nicholas leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead, lingering for a moment as if sealing the promise of his words. "You’re the best mom, you know that? And she’s lucky to have you," he murmurs, his lips brushing against my skin.

I close my eyes, soaking in the warmth of his presence and feeling the steady rhythm of Colette’s nursing. In this moment, the exhaustion, the doubts, and the guilt of my postpartum depression fade into the background, leaving only the love we share—the love that brought Colette into our lives.

Nicholas settles back into bed beside me, his hand resting gently on my leg, a silent reminder that we’re in this together. And as Colette’s soft suckling continues, I let myself fully relax.

Once Colette finishes nursing, her tiny body grows limp in my arms, signaling she’s drifted back to sleep. I carefully adjust her, cradling her small frame against my chest. Nicholas is still sitting beside me, his hand never leaving my leg, his eyes filled with the kind of tenderness that makes my heart swell.

“Do you want me to take her?” Nicholas asks softly, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

I nod, and with practiced gentleness, he scoops her up and places her between us on the bed. Colette barely stirs, her little hands curling up by her face as she nestles into the space between us. The sight of her lying there, so peaceful and content, brings a soft smile to my lips. My body involuntarily slides down and I stoke her cheek with the back of my finger.

Nick lays down with his head propped up in one arm, the other sliding around me. But as I gaze at Colette sleeping peacefully between us, a small wave of anxiety creeps in. What if we roll over onto her during the night? My breath hitches slightly, and I turn my head toward him.

Nicholas immediately senses my concern and shifts closer, his hand coming to rest gently on my cheek. "Hey, don't worry," he says softly, his voice reassuring. "I’ve got her. We’ve got her. I won’t let anything happen." His thumb brushes against my skin as he speaks, his gaze steady and full of calm. "I’ve read up on this, remember? She’s safe with us. We’re light sleepers, and we’re both hyper-aware she’s here. I’ll make sure we’re careful."

I nod, though the worry still lingers. Nicholas leans in closer, his breath warm against my ear. "You won’t roll over on her. I won’t either. Trust me, baby. And if you’re still worried, I can take her back to the bassinet,” he assures me.

I glance down at Colette, her tiny chest rising and falling, completely at ease between us. There’s something comforting about her being so close, something I don’t want to give up. "No," I say softly, shaking my head. "I want her here with us. I just... I get nervous sometimes,” I admit to him, the concerns laced with my postpartum depression symptoms.

"I know," he murmurs. "But you’re not alone in this. We’re doing it together, okay? She’s safe. We’ll keep her safe,” he promises.

His warmth and the calm assurance in his voice help to ease the anxiety a little, and I let out a slow breath. I snuggle closer to him, nestling my head in the crook of his neck. "Thank you," I whisper.

Nicholas kisses the top of my head, his hand stroking Colette’s tiny arm before returning it to my waist. “I used to dream about this,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “You, me, and a baby… just lying here like this, all together.” His eyes shine in the dim light, filled with a quiet wonder. “I’d imagine what it would feel like, how perfect it would be. But this... this is even better than I imagined.”

His words sink deep into my chest, filling me with warmth. I glance down at Colette, her chest rising and falling steadily between us, and I feel a wave of contentment wash over me. “I’m glad too. It’s everything I didn’t know I needed,” I whisper back.

Nick’s thumb rubs gentle circles over the exposed skin on my side, and for a while, we lie there in comfortable silence, both of us watching Colette sleep. I feel the weight of his arm around me, the warmth of his body, and I can’t help but think about our future—about the life we’re building together.

After a while, I glance up at Nick, my voice soft but curious. “Do you ever think about… having another one? Another baby, I mean.”

His reaction is immediate. His brown eyes light up, the glint of excitement undeniable. He grins, that boyish, playful smile I fell in love with, and there’s no hesitation in his voice. “Oh, absolutely. I thought one of you was cute, but two though? Didn’t think I could handle it. But now that I’ve experienced it, I want three of you as soon as possible,” he rambles.

I laugh softly, both amused and surprised by his enthusiasm. “Three of us, huh?” I ask to clarify he’s not drunk on love.

“Yeah, babe,” he says, his hand moving to stroke Colette’s tiny hand before trailing over my arm. “We could start trying as soon as possible. I mean, why wait? We make great babies together,” he jokes and I stifle a laugh to not wake up our sleeping child.

His grin turns mischievous as he leans in closer, his voice dropping a little lower. “We could even try out some freaky positions this time… you know, spice things up.”

I roll my eyes playfully, shaking my head at him, though my heart flutters at his words. “That’s all you, God bless your dad’s genetics,” I tease, eyeing him with a smirk.

Nicholas chuckles, clearly enjoying my response, but there’s a seriousness in his eyes too—a real desire to keep building this life together. “I’m serious though,” he murmurs, his hand moving to rest on my waist. “I want more of this. More of us. I want a whole bunch of mini versions of you running around, driving me crazy in the best way.”

His words hit me in a way I wasn’t expecting, and I feel a flush of warmth spread through me. I lean closer, letting my fingers trace over his arm. “You’re really ready for another one, huh?”

Nick’s gaze locks with mine, intense but full of love. “Yeah, Y/N. I don’t just want another one. I want a whole football team of kids with you. As soon as you’re ready,” he says firmly.

I bite my lip, considering his words, feeling the quiet excitement bubbling up inside me. “I might just let you lock me down tonight,” I tease, my voice soft but playful.

His eyes darken slightly, that same spark of mischief flickering in them. “Oh, baby, don’t tempt me,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a lingering kiss against my lips.

I pull back slightly, laughing against his mouth. “Let’s not rush it,” I whisper, even though my hormones are raging at the thought. “But... I do love the idea of growing our little family,” I add to soften the blow of sex denial.

Nicholas grins again, his arm pulling me closer as Colette sleeps peacefully between us. “Then let’s make it happen,” he says softly. “One more baby… and then another after that, we can talk again. I just know I want it all with you. Every first word and every first day of school, my love.”

I smile, resting my head on his shoulder, letting the warmth of his words and the future he envisions wash over me. “One step at a time,” I murmur, though the idea is already taking root in my mind, the thought of more little ones filling our home with love.

As we lay there, cuddling around Colette, the future feels wide open—and incredibly full of promise. The room is quiet, the soft hum of the night surrounding us, and as we lay there, I feel the steady rise and fall of Nick’s chest beneath my palms.

“Goodnight, baby,” he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear. I smile softly, my body already succumbing to sleep as I whisper back,

“Goodnight, Nicholas. I love you,” I murmur, never getting tired of reminding him.

“I love you too,” he replies, his voice full of warmth and certainty. “Both of my girls.”

With that, the last thing I feel is the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of Colette’s breathing between us, and the overwhelming sense of love that wraps around the three of us, pulling us into the soft cocoon of sleep.

The next time I stir awake, it’s to the feeling of the sun shining on my face. Nicholas’ familiar presence is next to me, his body relaxed as he leans back against the headboard. I can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, the slight rustle of pages as he quietly reads. For a moment, I let myself enjoy the comfort of having him close.

But something is wrong.

I don’t feel Colette.

The tiny body that was nestled between us is gone, and in an instant, a wave of cold panic floods my chest. My breath catches, and my heart starts to pound, my worst fear bubbling to the surface. Oh God, did I roll over her? Did we…?

My eyes snap open, and I sit up abruptly, frantically scanning the bed. My hands reach out, patting the mattress in blind desperation as my breath quickens. Where is she? My mind spirals into worst-case scenarios, and my pulse races faster with each second I can’t find her.

Nicholas looks up from his script, his brow furrowing as he notices my panic. “Y/N, baby, what’s wrong?” His voice is calm, but I can hear the concern lacing his words.

“Colette,” I breathe, my voice barely a whisper as the fear clutches at me. “She’s not here, Nick. I—where is she?”

Nicholas immediately places his script aside and sits up, reaching for me. His hands find my shoulders, grounding me. “Babe, she’s fine,” he says gently, his voice steady, though I can see the alarm in his eyes as he realizes why I’m panicking. “Grandma has her. She came in earlier to take her so you could rest. She’s with her now, probably showing her off to her knitting group. Everything’s okay.”

I stare at Nicholas, the rush of adrenaline still coursing through me, but the words slowly sink in. Colette isn’t in danger. She’s not here because Betty took her.

I let out a shaky breath, pressing a hand to my chest as the fear begins to ebb away. “I thought… I woke up and she wasn’t there. I thought we—” My voice falters, not even wanting to finish the thought.

Nicholas pulls me into his arms, holding me close. “I know. I’m sorry. I should’ve woken you to tell you, but you looked so peaceful, and I didn’t want to disturb you,” he apologizes profusely.

I nod against Nick’s chest, the tension finally loosening from my body as I cling to him. “I just… that’s what I’ve been afraid of, rolling over her in our sleep,” I admit.

“I know,” Nicholas murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “But I would never let that happen. I swear that to you,” he adds.

I take a deep breath, letting the warmth of his embrace steady me. My pulse slows down, and the overwhelming panic that had gripped me starts to dissipate, leaving me feeling drained. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have freaked out.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Y/N,” Nicholas says, his hand gently stroking my back. “You’re a mom. It’s normal to worry, but I’ve got you. I’ve got both of you.”

I pull back slightly, meeting his eyes that are full of understanding. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice still shaky but filled with gratitude.

Nicholas smiles softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Get some more rest, okay? Grandma’s got Colette covered.”

I nod, feeling the last remnants of panic finally fade. I glance at his script beside him and give a tired smile. “You’re memorizing lines this early?” I pry.

He chuckles. “Just passing the time until you woke up. But you come first,” he vows.

I sink back into the pillows, the warmth of Nicholas beside me a comforting presence now that the fear has passed. As I close my eyes, the world feels right again. Colette is safe, Nicholas is here, and I let myself relax fully for the first time since waking up. The panic has faded into the background, leaving only the steady hum of reassurance from my husband beside me.

[rav1377]

Breeding Season

cowboy!John Price x fem!reader (ranch au)

tw:yall if you can’t pick up the double entendre of the title….there is BREEDING KINK IN THIS. WE ALL KNOW IT-ahem. smut, piv, semi-rough, semi-public, grinding, etc.

sorry but im turning this into a series…..the creative juices are flowing once more….this is a background/prequel one that will feature the beginnings, adding the story as we go. THERE WILL BE SMUT I SWEAR. DONT DOUBT IT.

it’s breeding season on Price Ranch again. the April rain fallen on the grass, dewey and wet. but it’s not just breeding season for the cows. no, John Price had some other ideas for his wife.

you’re standing next to Simon by the cow chute, checking off tags on a clipboard, ensuring each one is accounted for. Simon releases a lever and the cow chute opens, heifer running out and down the fence line to the open pasture. Johnny nods and opens a gate to let another heifer through. Kyle stands on the third bar of the fence, cattle stick in hand to prevent more than one getting through. she runs into the waiting cow chute, and Simon shuts the lever. “65!” he calls out to you, and you peer down at your clipboard, scratching through her number. getting all your pretty charolais cattle their shots before breeding season is imperative. you lean down, picking up your syringe and solution, filling it up before inserting it into her rump. she doesn’t budge though, put at ease because of the chute. you pat the spot where you injected her and nod at Simon. he releases a lever and she runs away. it’s humid, Texas sun and rain creating a swamp of everyone’s skin. you glance at your watch, it’s almost noon. “alright! we’ll call it for now! break for lunch boys.” you call, looking over at Simon and then the two other men. Kyle dismounts the fence and Johnny exits the cow ring. the walk back up to the house is quiet though. comfortable. John’s working at the main house, counting numbers and arranging auctions.

the cool rush of the ac makes everyone sigh in relief. boots are torn off in the little mud room, else they face your wrath. you walk into John’s study, kissing his temple as he works. “goin’ okay?”he asks, chin resting in his palm. you hum in affirmation before walking out of them room, John’s eye tracing the sway of your hips. you’re probably going to prepare some sandwiches for the boys, fresh fruit and sweet tea with it. this year he’s mind’s been racing recently. you’ve just been looking so good, darling. he’s played with the idea for a while, he wants a big fat family with you, get you nice and pregnant. you just work so hard for him and his boys, it definitely does something to that head of his. you’re too good for him, soft and sweet. he wants, no needs to get you all full. see you walking around the ranch slowly, hand on your round belly. he can already see a youngin’ bouncing on your hip as you make dinner for your beautiful family.

he’d met you at your fathers ranch. he’d been a few years out of high school, looking for work, when he’d seen a help ad in the local paper. Clearwater Ranch. named for the pristine lake that sits on the property, fed by a natural spring. John remembers that day clearly, walking up to the old house, and you, the prettiest thing he’d ever laid his eyes on, opening the door. you’d had a sweet little dress on, baby blue like the Texas sky. he’d seen you somewhere, not completely sure where. “John?” you’d asked, looking up at him. you recognized him too, from school. he’d grown since then, into a strong man. his biceps bulged out of the tee shirt he’d worn, arms hung at his sides. his legs fit snug in his jeans, and his boots were facing you as he tried to keep his jaw closed. “y/n” he said, almost a whisper. you couldn’t deny he looked good. toned and fit, his brown hair fluffed up at the top of his head, and it looked his was trying to grow some little stubble out on his jawline. “what the hell you lettin’ all the dang air out for, girl!” your father calls, and he limps from the living room to where you stand. you see, your father was sick. bones and body taken over as he was racked by a cough again. you rushed over, holding the older man up. “im fine, now why don’t you let the boy in already.” he wheezes, following your arm to the dining room that’s right of the door. your hands twitch back to where he stands, and you look back at the young man. “right.” you say, not questioning your father. “come in, John.” the man steps in and looks everywhere but you as the door closes behind him. you stand behind him, eyes flitting from your pa to the back of John’s head. you didn’t know why he was here. “sit down, boy, I ain’t gonna bite ya’” your father drawls, leaning back in his chair. John nods curtly and pulls out a chair, sitting across from your father. “pa, what’s going on?” you ask, sitting next to him. you father continues to examine the young man, eyes boring into him. John would never say it, but he was nervous, being inspected by two sets of eyes now. “your William Price’s boy, ain’t you?” your father says finally. John nods, “yes sir.” your father extends a hand to the man. “David L/N.” he says. “John Price.” your father nods as John shakes his hand. “I was sorry to hear about their passin’. bad way to go.” John nods in agreement. his parents had been killed in a car accident when he was seventeen, the ordeal caused by a drunk driver. your own mother was the victim of a drunk man with a gun and hunger for money. “pa.” you cut in again, voice taking on an edge. “hush, im getting there.” he cuts back. patting your right hand. “you got any family besides them?” he asks, gazing at John. “no sir, rest of our family is small, not a lot of people to go to.” your pa nods, looking to you. “he’s here because you need help.” your eyes widen. “pa, we are managing fine.” you say, facing him. “im old and sick. im dying. the doctors say i wont have much time here on this earth and i want to spend it off some dang pills.” he coughs again. the dementia had been hitting him bad lately. you’ve felt so helpless. him and your mother didn’t meet until your daddy was almost 46. your mother was 38. your pa’s almost 72 now, and getting sicker, thanks to bad genes and a lifetime of grueling work in mines. your father grips your hand. “sunflower you need the help. you are running yourself ragged tryin’ to keep this place together. I can’t even help you anymore. we’re hiring a work hand.”he says, air of finality entering the room.

defeated, you face John again. your not exactly angry at him, just what the worlds handed you, and right now, he’s what the world is forcing you to. “what will we pay you?” you say, looking up from the table. “well, erm.” he clears his throat before continuing. “i was hoping for a place to stay.” he says. “you wouldn’t have to pay me or anything like that, i’ll work for free, but my family didn’t leave me land or a house, their wills didn’t exactly explicitly state it. it got taken by the government.” he explains. Your father nods, John was still technically a minor then, no one else to lean on. “you got a place then, boy. food to eat too.” nodding at him once more, he rises. “come.” he says, tapping John’s shoulder with his cane before walking out the front door. you stay seated, eyes narrowing on John. the door shuts behind the two men and you walk to the kitchen, plopping in the old chair by a window that overlooks the property. the hills turn and oaks bend in the wind. the clear lake sitting on the right side of the property, calm and still. you wish this didn’t have to happen. you wanted your pa to be better, but it didn’t look good.

on the front porch, your father sits down in a white rocking chair, looking over his land. John follows suit, but looks at his boots nervously. “John, i know im old. i really am dyin’. i want you to take care of my girl. she’s been one of the only things ive had in this god forsaken life besides her mother Audrey.” he says, not looking at the young man. John nods, and he’s 8 years old again, getting a cookie and pinch on the cheek from your mom at the state fair. “sir…” John asks, looking at the elderly man now. “no no, i plan to leave this world as free as when i came. they can’t shove no more pills into me to stop it. you heard me. take care of her.” he growls, pulling a pack a cigarettes from his shit pocket, flipping open the packet and taking one out. “you got a light?” your father drawls, looking at the man. “uh-Mr.L/N…should you really be smoking?” John rubs his neck. “boy give me that goddamned lighter ‘fore i snap your dang neck.”John’s quick then, pulling out a silver lighter from his father, passing it to the man next to him. your pa puts the tube in his mouth before lighting it, handing out the lighter to John again. John stares at him, unsure of what to do. “quit starin’ at me boy, im goin’ anyway, may as well speed it up.” your pa gazes out into the corn field in front of the house. “you want to go?” John asks. “son, when you’re as old and as tired as me, you’ll be itching to go. my Audrey’s waiting for me. and i ain’t worried about my girl, she’ll be better off without an old man like me dependen’ on her.” he blows out smoke before glancing at John. “plus, you’ll be around to help out too. take care of her.” your pa nods, rocking slowly in the chair. John’s silent at that. “William was a good man. knew him from the mines, way back when. knew he’d be good for at least one thing in his life.” your pa nods again and rises. “get your stuff in the house and tell y/n im in the corn barn. and don’t you dare tell her you gave me a light.” the man goes down the steps slowly, and limps on his cane to the barn on the left side of the field. John looks at him as he walks off. he stands and walks to his truck, pulling out a beaten duffle bag with the few belongings he has before walking into the house.

the kitchen smells like lemons as he walks in, and you’re seated by the window. you look up at his intrusion, eyes following his strong arm that carries the bag. “follow me.” you say, walking to the stairs. the barefoot patters of your feet hit the ground as you step to the stairs. walking up, John keeps his head straight down, not wanting to risk a peek up your skirt. he is a gentleman after all. you show him to a guest room, patting the bedspread as you tell him about how the bathroom’s hot water is slow and the pipes are old, saying how they might make some odd noises or leak. John nods, setting his bag down. he’s just grateful you let in a stray like him. you sneak a glance as he faces a wall, trailing down his thick back. “well, im going to get started on dinner. my pa out in the barn?” you ask, hand on the doorframe. “yes, he actually told me to tell you that.” John chuckles, hand back on his neck.

couple hours later you have dinner prepared. chicken and Alfredo pasta, all made from scratch. John hasn’t head a home cooked meal in who knows how long, and when he takes the first bite after your pa says grace, he’s restraining himself from moaning. it’s just so good though. the alfredo sauce isn’t too think or thin, got just the right amount of cream in it. before he knows it, he’s eating with fervor, choking down a bite after another. after everyone’s done he follows you into the kitchen like a puppy, helping you wash the dishes and put them away. “I got some night chores to do, John. you go on upstairs, get cleaned up and go to bed.”you say, hand on his shoulder. something twitches in him at that. nodding, he walks up the stairs, belly full and satisfied. he takes a hot shower for the first time in months, been busy traveling around, looking for work. hasn’t had much time to relax like this in a while. as he washes his hair, he thinks about the day, all that happened. you’re so soft and just kind, giving freely. he feels himself chubbing up and he blushes, ashamed. he shouldn’t think like that. you’re technically his employer for gods sake. still, he drifts his hand down, cupping his balls in thick hands, moving up to stroke himself. he groans quietly and tries to get his mind off you, trying to convince himself it’s just because he hasn’t had a moment to himself in a while but he can’t, mind drifting to your pretty face and the honey sweet sound of your voice, stroking harsher now. his hands rough and rushing his release, desperate now. his props an arm against the wall and leans toward the tile, gasping. his so so close. he thinks back to the way you looked at him when you opened the front door, eyes all wide and surprised to see him. the way you touched his shoulder and laughed at something stupid he said while you washed the dishes. he grunts and bucks into his hand before he’s spilling, release dripping down his legs and into the shower stream. he pants softly before finishing his shower.

he lays in bed that night, feeling something that he hasn’t had the last few years.

peace.

GUYS THIS GOT SO AWAY FROM ME-I AM SO SO SORRY THIS WAS NOT APART OF THE PLAN. GOING TO TURN THIS INTO A SERIES, ITLL TAKE PLACE IN THE PAST AND THE OTHER BOYS WILL BE ADDED, UNTIL WERE AT PRESENT DAY (the stories present day) SO YEAH

LEMME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO SEE SMTH SPECIFIC IN THIS OR IF YOU HAVE A REC NAME FOR THE FIC!!! BRAINSTORMING NOW. TYSM FOR BEING PATIENT AND FOR ALL THE SUPPORT

-cass/rav 💕:D (whatever u wanna call me!)

[sweetsuburbanlegends]

The Jet - Somewhere Over Tennessee

Summary: You and Hotch are the only ones still awake on the flight home.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x f!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: put the self in self-insert, descriptions of canon-typical violence, anxiety

A/N: Part of this universe, but each scene can stand on its own.

The wind hissed as the jet cut through the air. The cabin was quiet, save for a deep breath or the unconscious rustling of movement as someone got more comfortable, the leather seat creaking. 

Everyone was asleep, and though you’d tried earlier, leaning back, eyes closed, your nerves were still too highly strung for it. You’d become acutely tuned into the noise that accompanied moving so fast and so high up in the atmosphere so that you felt it shaking your eardrums. 

Instead, you push up the window cover and look out at the steady flashing light on the wing. It’s too dark outside to see anything. You’ll be arriving home close to dawn, might catch the early morning joggers just starting on their trail. 

You think back to the many plane trips you took when you were little, how hard it was for you to settle down enough to rest just a little, spending hours with your books and colouring sheets as your parents slept on each side of you, eye masks on to shield them from the overhead light you kept on. In those moments, you felt like the only person in the world. 

Sometimes, once you got older, you’d worry that it wouldn’t change, that nobody would wake up and this big thing in the sky would keep going until it dropped dead. 

Looking back on it now, it all felt ridiculous. If not anyone else, at least one pilot had to be awake. You wonder why the thought never occurred to you, and even if it had, if you would have found any comfort in it. 

Now, you rely often on sleeping pills, prescribed to you during your third year at Violent Crimes. The journeys you’ve made so far with the team haven’t been so late, and you try to avoid the raised eyebrows that would surely accompany the rattling of a prescription bottle. 

You lean your temple against the cool glass, the faint hum of the engines threading through your bones. The air is stale, thick with the scent of coffee and something faintly metallic, the way airplane air always is. Sleep tugs at the edges of your mind, but it never quite settles, fingers hovering right above your eyelids. The exhaustion is there, weighty and insistent, but stubbornly, your body pushes back against it. 

The curtain is pulled away, rippling. Aaron steps out, standing at the head of the jet as he surveys the cabin. Tucked away in the corner, sitting in the dark, you hope he doesn’t notice you and finds himself a spot to lay down, but his eyes land on you and you resign yourself to your fate. 

Walking over, he turns on the light above and sits across from you. 

“You should be asleep.” 

Biting the apology that leaps up, you only shrug and look out the window. The shining red light on the wing is considerably duller now, an impression of its original intensity. 

There’s a soft thud that draws your attention away. Aaron’s placed a small container on the table in between you. 

An Éclair Affair. 

“I-” you stammer, frown forming as the memories of the frozen foods aisle rush back to you. You’d only been guessing, body and mind too tired for anything more deliberate. “I didn’t think you-” 

The corner of his mouth curls up pleasantly, “There’s a reason I approved your transfer, Agent.” He rips open the casing around the lid and takes it off. Reaching over, he places a spoon in front of you, and picks up one for himself. 

You watch, intrigued as he curls his spoon around the top of the ice cream, and brings it to his mouth. The crippling self-doubt from your earlier weeks on the team had started to fade. Your footing was steadier now. 

Hesitating only for a breath, you take your own and have a taste. The flavour takes you by surprise, flaky pastry and a subtler vanilla than what you usually expected from Ben & Jerry’s. The ice cream is melting around the edges, and you have another spoonful. A bit of chocolate falls under your teeth, cooled from the freezer and crumbling in your mouth. 

“You did well today.” 

It hadn’t been a particularly difficult case, the sleeping team around you was testament to that. Instead, you’d grown a fond appreciation for what things looked like if they went well and correct, the sheer force of nature that was the BAU. Still, despite your slow slotting into their intricate dynamics, you say a little defensively, “That wasn’t the first time I’ve had a gun pointed at my head, Hotch.” 

Aaron’s eyes flick to yours, dark but not unkind, “This was different.” 

Sighing, you hold your next spoonful on your tongue till it melts completely before you swallow. “I’ve seen worse working in Violent Crimes-” 

“Violent Crimes doesn’t prepare you for that.” 

Chaos. No rhyme or reason except for the one known to the unsub. It’s not hard to remember his arm around your shoulders, pressing your back to him as he pushed the muzzle of his gun on your temple. 

“I’ve handled unpredictability before.” 

“Not like that,” he repeats simply. 

Aggravatingly, you knew he was right. What you’d seen before on your old unit assignments had been brutal, but impersonal. The violence was never directed at you, you were only in the way of it. 

Profiling an unsub, over hours or days, led to a certain intimacy that both sides were aware of, an intimacy that could be leveraged against the team. It was never enough to stop the harm, it was most important to understand it. Most of the time, actually, the unsubs encountered weren’t that violent either. 

You knew he’d only grabbed you because you were closest. That anybody else would have been fair game. But there was a desperation in the brief glance you got at his eyes, a twisted hope of maybe being understood. 

Looking down at your hands, you sigh, wringing them together, “He caught me off guard.” 

A few weeks ago you wouldn’t have dreamed of revealing yourself like this to him. Willingly admit your vulnerability, your failure, only give reason in his hands to take you off the team. 

You know better now, that he would have realized it regardless, that you could play pretend at being fine all you wanted, but at the end of the day, you’d be the only one who would suffer from it. 

Following the curve of the spoon with your thumb, you press down insistently, wishing the blunt edge was sharper, wishing you had the strength to make it cut. “I…It’s not going away.” You press your fingers against your temples, there’s some leftover oil on your skin and you try to wipe it away, shivering. The memories plague you, every time you close your eyes, “I should have been faster.” 

It’s not fear, as much as it’s frustration. 

He tsks and you look up, frightened you’ve stepped out of line, “You did everything right.” Tilting his head to the side, he surveys you up and down. You’re about to speak, to protest, when he cuts you off, “You were just the first there.” 

Aaron had been the one to take the shot, a bullseye between the unsub’s eyebrows when, for a brief moment, his grip on you had loosened and you’d moved yourself out of the line of fire. His blood had splattered, hot, against your face. 

Aaron shifts, and he tilts his chin down, shadowing his eyes away from you, trying to gain a distance so he can get closer to you with his words without making you too uncomfortable. You wonder how soon everyone will realize that there was a certain flightiness inherent in your personality, that it wasn’t just nerves that made you this way. 

“You think I should be more shaken up,” you say finally. Failure knolls out in the pit of your chest, vibrating through your veins. 

“I think you are enough,” he set down his spoon. The words hang in front of you, lighter than the air. “There’s no right way to handle this.” 

The sweetness of the ice cream turns sour and you wish for a glass of water instead. 

The worry that’s been pressing against your ribs finally makes it out of your throat, “What if I don’t get over it?” 

Lifting his head, his eyes become clear again and they land on yours, never faltering, “No one does.” He gestures to the people around the jet, “You only move forward, use it to make yourself a better agent.” 

You mull the words around in your head. Their meaning is slippery, though on first glance they’re a walking cliche, like trying to keep water cupped in your hands. 

It’s hard to press forward, to take Aaron’s confidence as your own. Not like this. The words echo in your mind incessantly, plague you with more worries than you’d like to have. 

“I don’t want this to change me,” you say finally, feeling foolish. In the shelter of the early morning, the deep sighs around the jet, it’s easier to talk. 

To your ears, you sound like a petulant child, but you find none of that reflected in Aaron’s face, “It already has.” The harsh truth of it makes you flinch, a byproduct of the day’s events, and he exhales softly, “That doesn’t mean you won’t recognize yourself at the end of it though.” 

“How do you know for sure?” 

You watch him as the words settle, watch the rise and fall of his throat before he says in a gentler tone, “Because I’ve had to believe it myself.” 

The line of his mouth has turned firm, shoulders tensing up. Clearing your throat, you break your gaze and look around, trying to loosen the tight air around you to keep from drowning in it. 

“You know,” you say, studying the half-melted ice cream in front of you, bits and pieces of cake and chocolate floating up. “I don’t think I’ve ever had an éclair before.” 

A beat or two passes, there’s a lacing of gratitude in his voice when he speaks up, “The pastry or the ice cream?” His eyes fall to the container in front of you and he takes another spoonful. 

“Both. I just stuck to the classics, cookie dough, vanilla,” you shrug, watching the condensation drip onto the table. “I always felt Ben & Jerry’s was too sweet, just…trying too hard to be fun,” you gesture vaguely with your hand, gaze falling to the label on the container. 

Aaron lets out a soft breath, his mouth twitching up, “That’s one way to put it.” An odd sense of pride fills your chest at making him laugh, even if an untrained eye would disagree. He lets the silence settle, not in a rush to break it. 

There seems to be an almost imperceptible shift in his posture, a slow loosening as he melts into the chair. “Haley’s the one with the sweet tooth,” he says. When you look up at him, the softening in his tone is reflected in his face, particularly his eyes, gentle and dark. 

The shift from Agent to husband is so apparent it makes your heart hurt. “It only got worse when she was pregnant.” He seems to not be looking at you, but past you, at a third person he can only see, a person from times gone by. It stings being left out of it. “One time,” he chuckles quietly, gaze falling to his hands. “One time, I drove about an hour, each way, to a diner to get a slice of banoffee pie, only for her to barely eat half of it.” 

The image of Aaron, tie-loosened, bleary-eyed and tired, radio droning on in the background, not loud enough to be properly heard, lodges down in the back of your throat, tugs at the strings of your lungs. Your mountain of a Unit Chief, unflinching with a gun pointed at his head, going out of his way for a piece of pie. The things love makes us do and all that. 

It’s so human, so achingly normal, it scares you a bit. Making you wonder when this infallible mask will crack, and who will be leftover to pick up the pieces. Selfishly, you worry about yourself, about the team. What they will do when Aaron falls, when an unstoppable force meets an immovable Hotch, and one eventually has to give way. 

Your eyes soften at the story he’s polished off and handed to you, the dark, the sleep deprivation, the jet, making the both of you more open than you normally are. 

“Anyways,” he says with a deep sigh, something close to grief crawling behind his eyes. “Those days are over now.” 

Swallowing, you venture forward, foot hesitantly placed forward, ready to flee should this be a miscalculation, “How is Haley?” He tilts his head at that, and you’re about to apologize before you push it down, clarify for him, “Being postpartum is hard.” 

You don’t know if you would have had it in you, left alone with an infant, body still shuddering through recovery. Though you’ve only seen Haley once, in passing, with Jack in her arms, it wasn’t hard to know who was the stronger woman. 

His eyes stay trained on you, their presence on your skin unmistakable. It seems you truly have taken it a step too far, confusing what was actually supposed to be a fatherly gesture into something like friendship. 

Yet his voice, when he does speak, is affectionate, home-sick, not truly aimed at you, “She’s alright. Her mother is helping her out a lot.” There’s something weary in his face as he says it, something unsure, the shaky legs of a new-born fawn. He sighs again, breath washing over the table like the ocean, “Some days are better than others.” 

It feels like your inadequacy, your inexperience is singled out. You’re almost mad at yourself, for poking your nose where it both didn’t belong and had nothing of value to say, nothing to be able to help Aaron, his new family standing behind him like a shadow. 

The jet continues to hum, oblivious to your inner turmoil. Someone shifts again, releases a heavy breath. 

Aaron places the lid back on the half-melted ice cream, gathers the spoons, “You should try to sleep.” 

You expect it to be dismal, a subtle disappointment and reassignment to your subordination. Yet, when you finally can see his eyes again, lit through, there’s no sharpness, no sign of the Unit Chief. Hotchner the Relentless. There’s only kindness, and concern, a man willing to drive two hours for dessert looking back down at you. 

“I’ll try,” you murmur finally. 

Reaching up, he turns off your light. 

You don’t watch him walk away, instead turning to find the comfort of the red light again, as it blinks back at you reassuringly. 

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

[aleksiej]

being a grantaire fan i constantly switch between two characterizations of him (in any sort of aus)

one, he's the most normal dude guy man to ever be, with some hidden depths but otherwise somewhat of a reader-insert for the craziness of les amis.

two, he's insane. he ballets, boxes, paints, reads greek and roman classics in original, his flat is covered wall-to-wall in murals he changes on a bi-weekly basis. there's a scaled-down paper maché version of michaelangelo's david next to his bed, yes he made it. he has piercings and tattoos and a stick-and-poke R under his left eye. there is nothing he hasn't at least tried to do. he knows everything in paris. he tutors a mafia boss's kid. he has a phd in philosophy and several licenses including but not limited to sky diving, regular diving, horse riding and driving a tractor. he barely passed high school level math. he makes most of his clothes or at least mends and changes them. he knows several world-famous people. he has a three-legged cat named un-dois-trois (because un dois trois catre cinq, cat sink, it's a pun). he knows everything about tarot and astrology even/because he thinks it's bullshit. he's ugly as fuck and still has more sex than any other of les amis. he's a statistical error, he should never exist, and yet.

[fuqnia]

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

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

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

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

event masterlist | part one | part three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smirk. “I try.”

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

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

Kenny grins. “Yet?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kenny raises an eyebrow. “Just guess?”

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

Kenny hums, his smirk twitching. “Huh.”

You frown. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he shrugs. “I was just thinking.”

You narrow your eyes. “Thinking what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kenny watches you closely. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink, face heating up. “What?”

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

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

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

You frown. “What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kenny blinks.

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

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

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

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

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

Kenny notices but doesn’t comment on it.

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

You swallow, nodding. “Were you nervous?”

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

You roll your eyes. “I mean it.”

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

Your face burns. “Oh my God, Kenny.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your face burns. “Kenny!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your throat feels tight. “I just—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I really like kissing you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re really pretty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kenny raises an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. You’re imagining things.

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

That’s what this is. 

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

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

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

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

Like nothing’s changed.

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

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

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

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

Because it didn’t.

Right?

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

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

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

And Kenny knows exactly who the fuck that is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you had just let him.

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

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

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

“You texting your boyfriend over there?”

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

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

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

Kenny’s stomach turns.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Kenny? Kenny just watches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The silence stretches.

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

You don’t acknowledge him.

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

You haven’t mentioned it. Not once.

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

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

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

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

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

Then, you look at him, and you smile.

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

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

No. Absolutely fucking not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your brows furrow slightly. “What?”

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

You freeze.

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

And that’s when it hits him.

You haven’t done anything with Damien.

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

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

It fucks him up more than he wants to admit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A really bad idea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, you glance up at him.

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

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

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

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

But it doesn’t.

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

So, he doesn’t think about it.

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

You don’t move away.

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

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

You don’t pull away.

So he doesn’t either.

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

And then, finally, he exhales.

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

His lips almost brush yours.

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

For a second, it feels inevitable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that he cared.

Not that it fucking mattered.

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

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

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

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

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

Nope.

Not going there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then—then he catches it.

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

And staying there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you’d still think it was nothing.

Just like last time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because he shouldn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His grip on the joint tightened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You literally just started shit out of nowhere."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That—that—almost made him flinch.

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

Maybe it was.

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

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

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

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

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

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

You were here. With him.

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

He didn’t give you a chance to respond.

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

His lips crashed against yours.

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

You froze for half a second.

Then you kissed him back.

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

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

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

You wanted this. You wanted him.

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

Holy fuck.

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

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

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

He smirked.

"Yeah? You like that?"

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

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

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

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

You shoved him off of you.

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

What the fuck just happened?

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

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

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

Oh, fuck.

Kenny felt his whole body go cold.

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

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

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

Kenny felt something sour crawl up his throat.

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

So then what the fuck?

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

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

But instead—

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

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

You don’t know?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kenny froze.

His mind stalled, heartbeat slamming to a dead stop.

I wasn’t supposed to like it.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

His stomach twisted so hard it made him feel sick.

Because there it was.

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

You fucking liked it.

And that scared you more than anything.

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

You liked it.

You liked him.

You weren’t supposed to.

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

He inhaled sharply, forcing a breath, forcing anything. 

"And that’s a bad thing?"

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

Yes.

Yes, it was a bad thing.

And it hit Kenny like a freight train.

You were panicking.

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

This was fear.

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

Then, just like that, you were crying.

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

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

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

"Don’t fucking touch me!"

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

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

Kenny barely had time to process it before—

Kyle. Stan. Cartman. Butters.

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

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

You didn’t let him finish.

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

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

Hadn’t you?

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

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

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

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

Because he didn’t fucking know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly. Devastating news.”

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

But Cartman wasn’t letting it go.

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

Kenny’s fingers twitched.

Cartman caught it immediately.

His smirk widened.

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

Kenny clenched his jaw.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kenny’s hands curled into fists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cartman blinked, waiting for more.

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

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

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

It was loud, full-bodied, absolutely obnoxious. He practically threw himself backward onto his bed, gasping between laughs, his entire body shaking with amusement.

Kenny just sat there, watching him, face blank. He didn’t even bother telling him to shut the fuck up.

Cartman wheezed, gripping his stomach, barely able to get words out between gasps. “Oh my fucking god, dude—she—blew you—for practice?” He rolled onto his side, still laughing, kicking his feet against the mattress like a child. “And you let her?”

Kenny sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Dude, shut up.”

Cartman ignored him, still howling, completely losing his shit. “You—you do get what this means, right?” He sat up, wiping at his eyes, his smirk stretching wider. “You’re literally her training wheels.”

Kenny’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t take the bait.

Cartman, of course, kept going. “Like, that’s all this is, dude. She’s just getting ready for Damien. You’re just the practice run. Like a fucking tutorial level before the real game starts.”

Kenny exhaled through his nose, shifting against the couch, forcing himself to keep his expression neutral. He wasn’t gonna let Cartman get a reaction out of him.

Cartman smirked, watching him carefully now, like he could see Kenny trying to keep it together. “She’s using you to get ready for Damien,” he said, shrugging. “And you’re just sitting there, taking it. Like a little bitch.”

Kenny rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Alright, dude. You got your fucking joke in, can we move on now?”

Cartman just grinned. “Nah, ‘cause this is fascinating.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching Kenny like he was the most entertaining thing in the world. “Like, did you think she was practicing for you? That maybe she was actually into it? That maybe—just maybe—you had a shot?”

Kenny huffed a laugh, shaking his head again. “I never said that.”

“Uh-huh.” Cartman smirked, tilting his head. “But you thought it.”

Kenny didn’t say anything, just crossed his arms, fingers drumming against his bicep, forcing himself to look unbothered. Because fuck no, he wasn’t gonna let Cartman get into his head. He knew what this was. He knew it didn’t mean anything. He wasn’t some dumbass who thought a couple of kisses and a blowjob changed shit.

But Cartman was good at pushing buttons.

Cartman leaned back, picking up his bag of Cheesy Poofs again, still grinning. “Listen, man, if you’re cool with being the practice run, go for it. But don’t start bitching when she finally realizes Damien’s the one she actually wants.”

Kenny let out a breath, slow and controlled. “I’m not bitching.”

Cartman raised an eyebrow. “You look like you wanna bitch.”

Kenny gave him a look, standing up abruptly. “Yeah, okay, I’m done with this conversation.”

Cartman laughed again, shaking his head. “Dude, relax.” He grinned, licking some cheese dust off his thumb. “You like being used by her, don’t you?”

Kenny didn’t answer. He just turned toward the door, grabbing his keys off the counter, shoving them into his pocket as he pulled the handle.

“You’re gonna keep letting her, too,” Cartman added, still smirking. “’Cause deep down, you like being the one she comes to first.”

Kenny’s jaw tightened, but his words came out before he could think better of them. “Of course I’m gonna keep letting her, dude, she’s my best friend.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I’ve liked her since fucking middle school, man.”

Cartman, still shoving another handful of Cheesy Poofs into his mouth, froze mid-chew. His eyebrows lifted slightly, and for a second, there was nothing but the sound of him crunching obnoxiously. Then, with a dramatic swallow, he let out a scoffing laugh. “Pathetic.”

Kenny shot him a sharp glare, but Cartman wasn’t done.

“Dude, you serious right now?” Cartman shook his head, licking his fingers clean, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’ve had a crush on her since fucking middle school, and you’ve never said shit?”

Kenny exhaled through his nose, already regretting opening his mouth. “It’s not that simple.”

Cartman snorted. “Oh, it’s exactly that simple. Either you tell her, or you get the fuck over it.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring at Kenny like he was the dumbest motherfucker alive. “You’re doing this to yourself, dude. Sitting around, letting her use you as a fucking practice dummy so she can get all nice and prepped for her real boyfriend. You don’t think that’s gonna fucking wreck you eventually?”

Kenny clenched his jaw, staring hard at the wall, saying nothing.

“Like, what’s the fucking plan here?” Cartman continued, voice dripping with mockery. “You just gonna keep sucking it up? Keep letting her run to you every time she’s nervous about being with him? Keep pretending it doesn’t kill you when she talks about Damien like he hung the fucking moon?”

Kenny’s fists curled tighter.

Cartman sat back, shaking his head again, letting out a low laugh. “Jesus Christ, dude. She’s fucking dense. We all see it. Kyle, Stan, Butters—hell, even Timmy could probably take one look at you and figure it out.” His eyes narrowed slightly, his smirk fading into something almost resembling seriousness. “But she? Has no fucking clue.”

Kenny swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his breathing even. He hated how much this conversation was getting under his skin. Hated that Cartman wasn’t even wrong.

Cartman tilted his head. “So what, man? You gonna be her little safety net forever? Let her keep coming to you when she needs to ‘learn’ something, then sit back and watch while she gives everything she learned to him?”

Kenny didn’t answer. He didn’t want to answer.

Because the truth?

Yeah. That’s exactly what he was gonna do.

Because what other fucking choice did he have?

You didn’t see him like that. Not really. Not in the way he wanted her to. If you had, you wouldn’t have treated everything they did like it was just a fucking favor. Like it was nothing more than a transaction, a little lesson before you went running off to Damien, all bright-eyed and eager.

And sure, it stung like hell. Sure, it made his chest feel tight every time you smiled at your phone when you were texting Damien, every time you talked about him with that stupid, nervous excitement, like you were falling for him.

But if being her first choice for practice was the only way he could have her, even for a little while?

Yeah. He’d fucking take it.

Even if it was killing him.

Cartman sighed, dragging his hands down his face like Kenny was the one being insufferable right now. “Jesus fucking Christ, dude, I hate seeing you like this.” He shook his head, shoving the nearly empty bag of Cheesy Poofs onto his nightstand before looking at Kenny dead-on. “I’m gonna help you.”

Kenny frowned, skeptical. “Help me what?”

Cartman snorted. “Help you not be a pathetic little bitch.” He gestured vaguely in Kenny’s direction. “I mean, you’re still gonna be a bitch, but at least you won’t be whining about this shit to me anymore.”

Kenny rolled his eyes, dragging a hand down his face. “Dude, I don’t need your fucking help—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Cartman cut him off, waving a hand. “I don’t wanna hear it. You do need my help, because without me, you’re just gonna sit there like a fucking cuck, watching her get all dolled up for Damien like a good little lapdog.” He smirked. “Unless, y’know, you’re into that.”

Kenny clenched his jaw. “Fuck off.”

Cartman ignored him. “Anyway, I expect something in return, obviously.” He leaned back against the bed, crossing his arms. “Haven’t decided what yet, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s fucked.”

Kenny scoffed. “You’re such an asshole.”

Cartman shrugged. “I could be a worse one and just not help you.” He smirked. “But I’m feeling generous, so I’m gonna do what you should’ve done forever ago—get you two alone so you can actually talk.”

Kenny narrowed his eyes. “And how the fuck do you plan on doing that?”

Cartman grinned. “I’ve got my ways.”

Kenny just shook his head. “Dude, if you do some stupid rom-com bullshit, I swear to God—”

“Relax, I’m not Kyle,” Cartman cut in, rolling his eyes. “I’m not gonna, like, lock you in a fucking closet or some shit.” He smirked. “Unless that’s what you want.”

Kenny flipped him off.

Cartman just laughed. “Nah, dude, don’t worry. I’ll get her alone with you, make it look all casual. Then boom, you lay your feelings out like a man instead of just letting her use you as a goddamn sex dummy.” He tilted his head. “Unless you like being her personal practice cock, in which case, let me know now, ‘cause I’ll just drop this whole thing and let you suffer.”

Kenny exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair. He knew Cartman was a dick, but he wasn’t wrong. And honestly? As much as he hated that this was happening like this, maybe it was better that someone forced his hand.

Because he sure as hell wasn’t gonna do it himself.

Cartman watched him for a moment, then rolled his eyes again. “God, you’re so fucking stupid.” He smirked, shaking his head. “Like, what if—and hear me out, dumbass—what if she likes you?”

Kenny’s stomach dropped.

His throat went dry, his breath catching slightly.

But Cartman was already grinning, shoving another handful of Cheesy Poofs into his mouth. “Yeah. Exactly.”

The last couple of days have been a blur of avoidance and self-loathing. You haven’t left your dorm, haven’t checked your phone beyond what was necessary, and haven’t even attempted to go to class. The weight in your chest has only gotten heavier, pressing down on you with every passing hour. The only person you’ve interacted with is Red, and that’s only because you share a dorm and she refuses to let you completely wither away in self-pity.

You ended things with Damien over text, a cowardly move you can’t even justify. He didn’t deserve that, and deep down, you know you should’ve at least called, but the thought of having to hear his voice, to explain yourself when you barely understand what’s happening inside your own head, was unbearable. The guilt has only made everything worse, sinking into your stomach like a rock.

Now, you’re curled up on your bed, your face half-buried in your pillow, your whole body feeling heavy and drained. Red sits beside you, rubbing slow circles on your back, her touch gentle but insistent. Her voice is soft, patient, like she’s trying to keep you from completely falling apart.

“I know, babe,” she murmurs, her fingers still tracing over your spine. “First breakups are hard.”

You let out a muffled groan, rolling onto your side so you can look at her properly. Your eyes are swollen and raw from crying, your cheeks sticky with dried tears. “I’m a fucking mess,” you croak, the words thick in your throat.

Red sighs, her fingers squeezing your arm lightly. “I mean, yeah, you’re definitely not thriving,” she says carefully, her expression neutral but her tone edged with amusement. “But also? You ended things over text, dude. Of course, you feel like shit.”

You groan louder, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes. “I know,” you whine, dragging out the word like it’ll somehow make this situation less miserable. “I know it was shitty, okay? I’m the worst person alive.”

She tilts her head, pretending to think about it. “Well, maybe not the worst,” she allows, “but it was definitely a real bitch move.”

You shoot her a weak glare, but it barely lasts a second before you exhale sharply and let your hands drop back onto your stomach. She’s right. There’s no use pretending otherwise.

Silence settles between you, save for the sound of your uneven breathing. You stare up at the ceiling, willing your mind to stop spiraling, but it’s impossible. Your limbs feel too heavy, your chest too tight, and it’s not because of Damien. It never was.

This isn’t about the breakup. It’s about Kenny.

Kenny, who kissed you first. Kenny, who touched you like he meant it. Kenny, whose mouth made you fall apart in seconds. Kenny, who looked at you like you were something he wanted—not just as a favor, not just as practice.

And then you pushed him away.

Your throat tightens, and you suck in a sharp breath, trying to stop the sting behind your eyes from turning into another wave of tears. It wasn’t supposed to be him. It was supposed to be Damien. That was safe, that was predictable. That was the plan.

But the moment Kenny kissed you, the second his hands were on your skin, everything shifted. It clicked in a way that scared the absolute shit out of you, because if you let yourself think about it for too long, you’d have to face the truth.

And the truth is? It’s always been Kenny.

You don’t even know what to do with that. You don’t know how to handle it, how to process it, how to fix it. So instead, you’ve done what you do best—ran from it, ignored it, buried it under excuses and bad decisions.

Red shifts beside you, pulling you from your thoughts. She hesitates for a moment before asking, “So… are you gonna talk to him?”

Your whole body tenses, and your stomach drops.

You turn to her slowly, trying to school your expression into something neutral, but she’s looking at you expectantly, like she already knows something is off. And that’s when the panic creeps in, cold and sharp.

What—” You swallow. “What do you mean?”

Red gives you a flat look. “Don’t play dumb.”

You try anyway. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Red snorts. “Bullshit.”

You shut your eyes, groaning.

“I mean, obviously something happened,” she continues, shifting beside you. “You’ve been acting weird as fuck, and Kenny’s been even worse. And before you try to deny it, babe, everyone has noticed.”

Your stomach twists painfully.

She raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the headboard. “So? Spill.”

You hesitate, chewing the inside of your cheek. Then, finally, you exhale, pressing your fingers against your temples. “…He kissed me.”

Red blinks. “Kenny?”

You nod.

Red narrows her eyes, processing. “Wait. Before or after Damien?”

“…Before.”

Her eyes widen. “Before your first date with Damien?”

You nod again, stomach twisting violently. “Yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, Red’s face morphs into pure delight.

“Oh my God.” She smacks your arm. “You’re so fucking dumb.”

You groan, shoving your face into the pillow. “Shut up.”

Red just laughs. “I knew something was off! I knew it!”

You turn your head just enough to glare at her. “Red, I’m literally having a crisis.”

Red ignores that. “Was it good?”

You blink. “What?”

“The kiss,” she says, exasperated. “Was it good?”

You feel your face heat up instantly. “I—I mean, yeah—”

Red grins. “Yeah?”

You cover your face with your hands. “I don’t wanna talk about this.”

“Too bad,” Red says cheerfully. “Because I definitely do.”

You groan, collapsing onto the mattress, wanting to disappear. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

Red nudges your leg. “Okay, okay, fine. Serious question.” She tilts her head, studying you. “Why did it mess you up this bad?”

You freeze.

Because that’s the real question, isn’t it?

You inhale shakily, gripping the blanket tighter. “Because…” Your voice is small. “Because I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Red’s teasing expression falters. She watches you carefully, waiting.

You take another breath, forcing the words out. “I was supposed to like Damien. I wanted to like Damien. But every time I was with him, I just kept thinking about—” You cut yourself off, pressing your lips together.

Red doesn’t push. She just waits.

And you don’t know why, but that makes it easier to say it.

“I like him.” The words spill out before you can stop them. “I like my best friend, and I don’t know what to do.”

The confession hangs in the air between you, thick and suffocating.

Red blinks once. Twice. Then—

She exhales sharply, shaking her head with a laugh.

“Well,” she says, amused, “took you long enough.”

You stare at her. “What?”

She shrugs. “Babe, everyone has been waiting for you two to figure your shit out. You guys have been orbiting each other forever.”

Your brain short circuits. “No, we haven’t.”

Red raises an eyebrow. “Okay. Sure.”

You frown, anxiety curling in your stomach. “This is stupid. There’s no way Kenny likes me back.”

Red actually cackles.

“Oh my God,” she groans, throwing her head back. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

You glare. “I’m serious, Red. Kenny’s never acted like he liked me before. I mean, yeah, we kissed, but—it was probably just some dumb impulse—”

Red scoffs. “Okay. And what about after the kiss?”

You freeze.

Because after the kiss is when everything changed.

Red sees the way your expression shifts, how you suddenly look like you might spiral all over again, and she sighs dramatically. She reaches forward, grabbing your face with both hands, squishing your cheeks together. “You,” she says, “are a fucking idiot.”

You groan, shoving her off. “Okay, what the fuck, dude—”

“No, listen to me,” Red says, sitting up straighter. “Kenny does like you. And if you weren’t so far up your own ass about it, you’d see it.”

Your stomach twists. You shake your head. “No.” Your voice wavers. “No way. Kenny doesn’t do relationships. He hooks up with people, for fun. He doesn’t—he wouldn’t—” You shut your eyes. “Not with me.”

Red exhales sharply, looking like she wants to strangle you. “Jesus Christ, babe, he’s in love with you.”

Your whole body locks up.

Your breath catches in your throat, and suddenly, you feel like you can’t breathe.

Red watches you carefully, waiting for you to react.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Red just sighs, running a hand through her hair before grabbing her bag. “Alright, whatever,” she says, exhaling through her nose. “I gotta go to class. But actually think about this, okay? Don’t just sit here and rot.”

You don’t answer. There’s nothing you can say. Your mind is still spinning, everything inside you tangled in knots so tight you can’t breathe through them. She lingers by the door for a second, like she’s debating whether to push the subject, but eventually, she just shakes her head and mutters, “You’re impossible.” Then she’s gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

And you’re alone.

The silence presses down on you. You feel wrung out, like your own thoughts have been tearing you apart piece by piece, and all that’s left is raw nerves and confusion. You roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling, trying to focus on the sound of your own breathing, trying to get your heart to slow the fuck down.

But then you think about Kenny.

Kenny, who teased you in senior year for not having a prom date, flashing that lazy smirk as he leaned against your locker and said, “Guess that means you’re going with me, babe.” He said it so easily, so casually, like it didn’t even matter, like it wasn’t something that made your chest tighten or your stomach twist.

Kenny, who in middle school never pointed out the way you started changing, never made the comments the other boys did when puberty hit you like a freight train. He never gave you that weird, lingering look when you started filling out, never treated you differently just because you suddenly weren’t one of the guys anymore. While the rest of them gawked and whispered, Kenny still threw his arm over your shoulders, still stole your fries at lunch, still shoved you off the swings without thinking twice about it.

Kenny, who in elementary school used to wrestle with you in the dirt, never caring if your clothes got ripped or your knees got scraped. The same Kenny who let you use him as a human jungle gym, who didn’t mind when you shoved him face-first into the mud, who always laughed and tackled you right back.

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, inhaling sharply.

Because things aren’t that simple anymore.

Not after the kissing.

Not after his hands on your body, his lips on your neck, his voice going low and rough, saying things that made your stomach clench in ways you still haven’t fully processed.

Not after you let him do those things.

Not after you wanted him to.

Your stomach twists violently, and your hands curl into fists against your sheets.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

Damien was sweet. He was kind. He was safe. You should have wanted him. You should have been happy with him. You should have—

But you weren’t.

You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing a sharp exhale through your nose.

And then Red’s words come back, circling in your mind like vultures over something already dead.

"Kenny’s in love with you."

event masterlist | part one | part three

[ivorydragoness44]

Warren Peace x Reader: Interesting

Word Count: 1,083 Warnings/Notes: Reader accidentally choking on food (they’re fine), Reader accidentally hitting their hand on a locker (the pain subsides, don’t worry), and hand holding. Summary: Part 2 to “Interest”, this continues with the Reader and Warren’s interactions, even as the Reader leaves the cafeteria early. Will emotions be explored or revealed?

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

  Smiling to yourself, you nudged your knee to his twice. Though as you retracted, his knee met yours again and remained there.   This should be interesting.   Did you move? Absolutely not. At least, not from the waist down. Using and focusing as much as you could on your peripheral vision, you studied him. Sure, you almost bit your own tongue in an attempt to multitask, but at least no one noticed. The only movement that came from Warren was a simple turn of a page.   All of this over analyzing was bound to give you some sort of headache at this rate. Or, as fate would have it, you started to cough from possibly the smallest particle of food. Every set of eyes at the table were on you, immediately concerned. Before your hand could reach over your tray, Layla had opened up your water bottle for you. With a brief forced smile, you grabbed it. Within a few moments of drinking water, you were well again.

  “Well, that was thrilling,” you frowned.   “Are you okay?” Layla asked.   “Yeah.”   “That would’ve been one way to go,” Zach said, drinking his own soda.   “Dude,” Warren glared as Will and Ethan likewise chided Zach.   You rolled your eyes as they continued to bicker. “I think I’ll see myself out,” you smiled to Magenta and Layla.   With a short farewell, you picked up your tray and left the table. By the time you were out of the cafeteria and in the hallway, you felt a greater sense of relief. Maybe the collective sounds of students had become too overwhelming for you.   Making your way to your locker, the quiet halls held a strange sense of calm. You figured it was the strong contrast from its usual capacity of students.

  “Then this way,” you mumbled to yourself, completely focused on unlocking your locker. “Ah ha,” you smiled triumphantly. If you were going to be using up time before your next class, you might as well use it wisely. Exchanging one textbook for another, you missed the approaching footsteps as you zipped your backpack close.   “Hey,” the clear voice of Warren reached your ears.   A little started, you accidentally knocked your knuckles against the open locker door. Silently, you screamed into the void of metal storage. The door swung open to its full extent just as you shut both your mouth and eyes in a grimace.   “Are you okay?” He asked, sounding much closer and very concerned.   “Great,” you squeaked. “Super durability and all.” Your eyes flashed open however, as something warm gently grasped your hand. Warren. The rate at which you were looking between his hands on yours and his eyes was bound to make you dizzy at some point.   His thumb caressed over your knuckles. It was almost too warm. “It doesn’t look too bad,” he smiled at you. “Maybe don’t go around punching lockers as a hobby though.”   “I’ll try to fight the urge,” you replied without much thought.   He laughed and carefully released your hand.

  It was quiet for a moment before either of you spoke a single word.   “Warren?” You asked softer than you intended.   Matching your tone, he inclined closer to you. “Yeah?”   Hesitation overtook you. “Do you…uh,” you sighed to yourself. Did you wanna head outside for a bit? Yah know, before class?“   “Sure. Lead the way.”   As you closed up your locker, you wondered if he noticed your change in demeanor. Heck, he seemed to notice, or at least accurately interpret everything. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, your own thoughts made you nervous. What if Warren already knew that you liked him? That you were interested in him as more than a friend? If he did, he was either ignoring or—   Warren grabbed your hand in his just as you turned away from the lockers. You looked at him incredulously.   “If third time’s the charm, let’s not add to your list.”   “List?”   “Choking on your lunch in the cafeteria, hitting your locker…,” he leaned in teasingly.   You pursed your lips at him. “Maybe we should add knee-knocking to that list.”   His brows rose. “Maybe we should. That’ll make three already.”   “So I guess that means I’m in the clear,” you added, starting to walk, Warren falling in line with you.   “I guess so.”

  The two of you continued walking hand in hand. Even as you made your way out of the building, neither of you loosened your hold. Sure, friends could hold hands, absolutely, but this felt entirely different. And as you both stepped down toward his favorite spot, your heart began to race. You had to ask him, or say something! So, when he dropped his bag down on the half-wall, you took a confident stance, if only to keep yourself steady.   “Warren, can I tell you something without freaking out?”   He turned to you with genuine soft curiosity.   You sputtered. “Without you freaking out,” you clarified.   “Yeah,” he said, tightening his hold on your hand in the slightest.   “I like you,” you said a little too fast, “is that weird?” No sooner the question left your mouth, you regretted it. But before you cold cringe into yourself and fold over like a beach-chair, he spoke.   “No. It’s not weird,” he swung your hands for a short moment and you swore you short circuited.   “Not weird?”   Warren took a step toward you, the tips of your shoes touching. “Not weird.”   “Oh, okay,” you finally took a breath.   “Would it be weird if I liked you too?” He asked, causing your eyebrows to shoot up to your hairline.   “What? No. No. Not weird.”   “Good,” he smiled brightly, “because I really like you too.”   “You do?”   “Yeah.” He looked down bashfully for a moment. “I guess I was being too subtle, but… I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”   You gazed at him. “That’s really thoughtful,” you complimented.   “Heh, thanks.”   “And I said that out loud,” you shut your eyes. “What is going on with me today?”   “Let’s just blame it on the school today,” he suggested, his voice close enough to feel on your skin.   You opened your eyes in time to see his chin. His chin? A pair of lips softly pressed against your forehead.   When Warren leaned away, he smiled at your expression.   “Well, I can’t possibly focus in any class for the rest of the day.”   “Not a single one?”   “Not when I know that you’re interested now.”   Warren chuckled.

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Thank you for reading!

If you want to check out my other fanfics, be sure to look at the pinned post on my blog: My Masterlist of Masterlists.

[angelofthenight]

Alfie, badly dancing: Wanna dance?

You, standing stiffly, arms crossed: No.

Alfie, stops dancing: Yeah, me neither.

[lilacxquartz]

JJK x READER | JEALOUSY

a collection of reader insert scenarios in which the jjk characters are faced with the daunting prospect of dealing with jealousy around you.

w.c: each piece is under 700 words but there’s a lot of characters to get through :)

themes: fem!reader, mostly fluff, some nsfw mentions but light

included: satoru gojo, suguru geto, kento nanami, choso kamo, shoko ieiri, yuki tsukumo and our chaotic special guests: sukuna, uraume & kenjaku.

mdni • semi nsfw • ao3 link

—

Satoru Gojo:

Usually self assured and confident within all parameters of the relationship, Satoru had very little to worry about when it came to being with you.

Besides, just by being with him alone was the highest possible praise you could have ever given the guy.

So, when faced with the topic of jealousy, he would at oftentimes simply just push the subject away and it would never even have a chance to spiral. Maybe at best he’d ask you for some validation and you’d indulge him in a stream of compliments to feed his longing ego.

But it never got too bad.

Lately, however, there had been someone that he wasn’t too particularly fond of trying to get closer to you. It wasn’t your fault, you were simply just too nice.

Of course someone got the wrong idea and of course you were too oblivious to see what was wrong.

Truth be told, Satoru thought you wouldn’t do anything that would make him worry but just the person’s existence alone left him with a sour taste in his mouth when he thought about them.

His initial reaction bordered irrational and he suddenly became clingier when he texted you which was reflected to an extent when he spent time with you. He wanted much more validation and reassurance than usual because he wanted to be told exactly what you love about him and why.

Still, the strange person persisted, but rather than admitting that he was actually jealous of someone he knew that couldn’t even hold a candle to him, he decided to go all out.

Hitting his peak jealousy, he booked you a trip somewhere special. Sure, in your mind it might come across as out of place and even spontaneous, but you wouldn’t be mad. See, he knew exactly what types of places you’d like to go, keeping a mental note or any time you’ve had your eyes glued to your screen with wonder and as it turned out—he had the means to justify a trip to anywhere.

Confusion was what came to mind when you woke up to your overly optimistic boyfriend who subtly slipped a plane ticket into your hand while fast asleep. He next handed over your passport, your eyes warily following his own to land on a seemingly packed suitcase sitting by the bedroom door.

Poor you, Satoru didn’t even give you enough time to react to it all.

Yet there you were, already flying high in the sky in one of the clan jets half asleep.

Eventually it all hit you though and you asked what brought this on.

Satoru being Satoru fed a non-serious answer, laughing to himself that now so-and-so can’t get close to you which was right when you understood that the fool was actually acting out of jealousy all along.

Satoru was good to you though, even if he was excessive at times so you just rolled with it.

Making sure to fuck the worry right out of his head as soon as you arrived in the hotel room.

Suguru Geto:

Jealousy was something that Suguru never could quite overcome. It was ingrained into his personality at this point to protect what was his. He didn’t like sorcerers and non-sorcerers alike putting their eyes on you, staring at you as if they had a chance.

Wanting to stay in your good graces though, he reluctantly swallowed his insecurities away when he started getting serious with you and for the most part, trust prevailed.

You were his ideal partner and the girls loved you.

Those two little things painted you as perfection in his eyes and he would never stray away from you.

Speaking realistically, Suguru knew that he didn’t have a single thing to worry about with you. He treated you very well and wasn’t subtle about how much he loved you.

Still, he kept seeing you hang out with someone new. Keeping up the appearances with the cult often meant putting on a show and even if your persona was fabricated, he hated how the person in question was starting to look at you the same way he did.

In fact, it was infuriating.

His initial solution was to give into madness and simply feed this person to one of his cursed spirits before he realised that such an action would very likely upset you. His next solution would have been to warn (likely rough up) the person in question that they were on thin ice, but you wouldn’t like that either.

Instead, similar to Satoru, he would simply avert your focus from the suspect and redirect your attention onto him instead.

One particular night when the girls were asleep and a trusted ally was on the way over to babysit, he swooped in right behind you as you were getting changed for the night. His arms snaked around your waist and he pulled you close while his chin rested on your shoulder.

He whispered your name while leaving a trail of purposefully visible hickeys on your neck, making his claim on you obvious to anyone who dared look.

Caught off guard but not disliking it, you asked what brought all this on and Suguru who liked to be a man of few words during moments like these, replied that he just wanted to take you out tonight and show you off to the world.

While walking to the car however, he did confess his building concerns though, knowing that you wouldn’t be mad, maybe even find this whole mess funny.

That he simply didn’t like how close someone was trying to get to you, that he didn’t like that someone truly thought that they had a chance with you.

Planting him a deep kiss onto his cheek, you joked that if it meant more date nights then maybe it wasn’t so bad, especially with what you had planned later.

So in his riled up state of mind, his demeanour tightened.

Maybe it didn’t hurt to sometimes give into jealousy.

At least every now and then.

Kento Nanami:

Kento prided himself for being very connected to a logical approach with pretty much everything. He enjoyed listening to you and adjusting his behaviour to what he felt you needed from him while also being genuine about it.

As your long term partner, his number one goal was to ensure that all of your needs were being met and he took that very seriously.

Jealousy wasn’t ever an issue he explored as a result. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel it, in fact, he thought a little bit of it was healthy every now and then—but he simply just didn’t dwell on the subject, knowing that he had nothing to worry about.

Trust was a big part of a relationship, after all.

Yet, he couldn’t quite shake the lingering feeling that you might have been getting a bit too friendly with someone he disliked. He knew that realistically you were as faithful as they come and even worrying would be silly of him to do, but this irrational feeling wasn’t subsiding.

It was festering and it made him feel bad.

Wanting to set a good example on how to approach the topic of jealousy however, his first course of action was to catch you at a good moment. Right after dinner, he cleared the table for you and did the dishes, choosing to bring up the subject when he joined you on the sofa.

He wanted for you to take it slightly seriously though, so he asked for you to please humour him with his predicament.

You agreed to his terms because Kento was good to you and you wanted to hear him out whenever he had a problem. He wouldn’t be so serious all of a sudden if something was actually up and as a good girlfriend, you wanted to be there for him.

It was the right thing to do.

He started off saying that maybe it’s nothing, but, you’ve been getting a bit too friendly with someone he doesn’t have the best opinion of and he knows it’s not fair to put this on you, but he’s just unsure of how to feel when he sees you with someone like that.

Acting just a little too friendly.

He made sure to let you know that he wasn’t accusing you of anything though, that he knew it was all irrational, but he just couldn’t help it.

He was human, too.

Of course though, you were quick to reassure him. Right away in fact. It wasn’t that you were defensive, it was just that you found it almost endearing to see your usually serious boyfriend get worked up over something so simple.

Nanami sighed as this all happened, knowing it was silly to think his relationship was ever threatened to begin with.

Just to keep on your good side though, he didn’t see the harm in sometimes indulging at least a little in his feelings every now and then. Maybe sometimes he’d get you flowers arranged in a vase for you to find or he would take you somewhere nice when he had the time. Maybe he’d give you a massage or get you that necklace you’ve been eyeing up at the shop window every time you walked right past.

Just to see you smile, really.

Just to never give you a reason to doubt his devotion to you.

Choso Kamo:

You were technically Choso’s first and only ever girlfriend as he never quite had the opportunity to explore relationships before he met you. In fact, the very idea that you went from being just friends to him to being your actual boyfriend was a miracle in his eyes.

Both of you approached the subject of even the slightest form of intimacy very carefully. You found it very sweet personally, while he still carried some insecurity with it, wondering if you wanted more from him sooner than he was ready to give it.

He wanted to take his time with you, after all.

He wanted every single milestone to feel special, even if it was just your first kiss shared together or the first time he held your hand.

To him, every inch of you was incredible and although he did his best to not actually stare at you (and all night if he could get away with it), he couldn’t help but overthink every little thing that had ever happened in your relationship with him.

He sure did his best to not come across as too intense, though.

He’d always be as gentle as possible with you while being as kind as possible. He knew that he struggled with showing his emotions properly due to the side of him that wasn’t fully human, but he took extra care to show you how he always felt.

Despite this, he didn’t know exactly how to react when he saw you with somebody that he wasn’t too fond of. It felt like a deep punch to the gut and an irrational thought crept into his mind, daring to challenge the idea that you could be stolen away.

Choso in turn was accidentally upfront about it, straight up asking you if you liked someone else that wasn’t him, immediately regretting asking you such a thing the longer that the question hung in the air.

You were quick to comfort his concerns though, giving him a whole grand speech about how nobody on this earth could compare and how you’d never let him go.

Yet, it still wasn’t enough.

As his feelings ate him up from the inside, he found himself obsessing over every little thing that you did while being perhaps what could be interpreted as paranoid. Overbearing, even. For example, when you got up to use the bathroom in your shared home and he freaked out about you leaving, you knew that something was up.

Curiously, you poked and prodded until you got to the bottom of it all; finding that it was jealousy at fault all along. Again. While finding it somewhat absurd with how he reacted, you were forgiving with him.

He was still figuring out how to process emotions properly. He was still learning.

Your solution was simple enough; to give him some reassurance sealed with a kiss for every single worry that he had.

And as it turned out, it was going to be a long night.

Shoko Ieiri:

Shoko was never one for jealousy or petty discourse, knowing that the best way to settle any sort of relationship doubt was to push through by simply being a good partner rather than overthinking every little blip.

For one, she knew that you loved her because you always showed her that. You wouldn’t be going the extra mile with everything that you did if you didn’t, that much would be silly.

Every morning you’d prep her coffee the exact way she liked it and would even set extra alarms on your phone to make sure she had absolutely no chance of snoozing through her own.

You’d give her incredible head after long and draining night shifts, being sure to match her sleep schedule because you worked from home and could do just that.

You even kept a bottle of her favourite red stashed in the cupboard at all times, just in case she really needed a drink.

No, she’s never been worried about you.

However, lately… there has been an annoyance, to put it lightly.

It wasn’t that she had a reason to doubt you, but maybe it was her own doing? She didn’t want to think it, but it made some sense in her head.

Someone had been getting too cosy with you and it’s been rubbing her the wrong way. Initially, she blamed herself for it. She had been stuck at work for two weeks straight and her main concern was that she might have been neglecting the relationship, pushing you away unintentionally.

In an attempt to smooth things over and to secure an eternal place in your heart, she told her employer to stuff it and took a mandatory Friday night off to surprise you early.

She did everything correctly; picking up drinks, snacks and a takeaway from that place you both really liked. She even had a movie in mind for you both to snuggle up to all night.

Confused as to what brought this all on, you asked her if she was feeling okay. To this, she simply shrugged while maintaining her calm and collected demeanour, claiming that work was slow anyway and she could be doing much better things on her Friday night; like spending time with you.

Shoko did consider bringing up the topic of jealousy up again but just seeing you almost crying due to the sight of her being sweet alone because she had managed to touch you with her words was evidence enough.

She never needed to worry in the first place.

And she felt silly for doing so.

Yuki Tsukumo:

To date Yuki was to date the embodiment of chaos itself.

She was a handful most of the time, but that’s exactly what you loved about her. You were a quiet person yourself and being with her challenged you.

Yuki offered you excitement in ways because she actually encouraged you to live life for what it was, rather than to remain all cooped up inside all of the time.

She’d oftentimes whisk you all around the country on the back of her motorcycle, daring for you to hold on tighter. You learned to love camping by her side, finding that there was nothing more truly romantic and beautiful than waking up to your girlfriend basking bare in the sunrise.

Everything was perfect.

Yet, when Yuki caught a glimpse of a text on your phone, she wasn’t quite sure how to feel exactly.

Momentarily she felt guilty for two reasons.

One, she snooped. Two, did she do something wrong?

Who was this mysterious person that you were calling cute and why were you saying that you couldn’t wait to meet her?

Convinced you were hiding something, Yuki decided to ask you straight up what the issue was. She waltzed over to you while you were cooking up breakfast (eggs on toast for two), asking what exactly what you were up to because you were being a little too cryptic for her liking.

Caught off guard but completely understanding of her concerns, you decided to spill the beans on what was supposed to be a surprise.

You asked her if she remembered giving her the green light to finally get a dog for their adventures.

Yuki froze in response, but she could finally see where this was all going. Her face flushed. Oh, what a fool she must have sounded like just now.

Turns out, you were looking for a puppy for the two of you to raise but you managed to find a very sweet rescue from a shelter nearby. You wanted to approach the subject of going to see it together, but you couldn’t help but sneak a visit by yourself to meet the sweet girl.

Yuki held onto her serious gaze for just a moment before she burst out laughing, repeating a mantra of “of course” and “I should have known” over and over again.

Obviously you wouldn’t cheat on her.

It really was that simple.

Sukuna:

By some miracle, you ended up not only surviving an audience with the alleged King of Curses himself, but you also managed to garner just enough interest from him to enter a relationship with him.

Not that he gave you much of an option to refuse such an offer though. Your very first date with him entailed him showing up right outside the front door of your apartment, snatching you away in your pyjamas to a secluded spot somewhere in the mountains.

If you were to be completely honest, you thought that you were going to die the first few times you were carried off somewhere by him.

But that was a worry you reluctantly pushed aside the longer that time went on.

Sukuna had his good moments, after all. It was a little alarming at first with how blunt he was and how quickly he switched from brutal honesty to a joking mood about something so seemingly unserious, but you did try your best to keep up.

Sukuna liked this about you, that you were willing to adapt.

He also took care of you, at least in his own excessive way. Sometimes it would be something innocent and simple like making sure you took good care of your body and at other times, it bordered irrational when he purged half of your closest because the fabric that was allowed to touch your skin could only come from the finest cloth.

Sometimes, his care bordered insane too. You shuddered when you thought back to the look on your landlord’s face when he pulled his last stunt. Installing high security prison levels of surveillance over your apartment just to ensure that nobody could even look in your direction without there being evidence of such a thing.

So, when you were assigned to work with someone new at your job, he immediately didn’t like them. Usually, he didn’t care about such trivial matters, but this guy clearly thought he had a chance with you? The audacity.

It was pathetic, even.

If only the poor sucker knew that you were already taken by the man from his nightmares though.

Rather than addressing the issue in a healthy way, he decided to skip right ahead of time and simply… dispose of the person in question. He arranged for Uraume to tackle the threat however they preferred, as long as their presence could never be felt within the immediate vicinity again.

This sort of behaviour was unfortunately doomed to repeat however many times it took and every time that it did, he would be sure to give you a night in bed that you would be foolish to forget; to remind you of your place in his life again and again.

That through it all, you were his and his alone.

Uraume:

Life with Uraume was simple but fulfilling. While they were work oriented and took their role very much seriously, they were still fiercely loyal to you; the only other person (Sukuna) who could truly understand them.

It didn’t really take much for you to make their day. Even just sitting in silence with them after a long shift as they laid their head in your lap, your fingernails lightly massaging their scalp was the definition of heaven to them.

Or even just things like talking about your day was enough, no matter how mundane. It was never a chore to listen to the sound of your voice.

Uraume was particular, after all. They craved closeness but only with you, claiming that your touch was the answer to all of life’s problems.

One particular night, they were pardoned from work earlier than usual and had a night off for a change. So imagine their combined confusion and surprise when you weren’t home for once.

Alarm bells rang in their head and upon texting you (calls were still a work in progress, they didn’t like them too much), just to see where you were, they found that they didn’t like the answer at all.

You replied that you were with a friend just watching a movie, but you didn’t know that they had a night off that day but you’ll be back soon enough.

Uraume didn’t reply to you, feeling something strange boil away from the pit of their stomach. They knew that you were more sociable than them and had more friends, but something stung about how casual you were.

It was like you cared more about your friends than them?

Even if they didn’t give you a heads up about their earlier arrival, it still felt bad to know you could just easily spend time with someone else.

When you finally made your way home, Uraume hadn’t eaten a single thing and was left simmering away with irritable hunger from the moment you walked back inside.

Treating you initially coldly, they made sure to point out exactly where you went wrong.

Just watching a movie? But that’s something you did with them too. Next you’d be saying that you were going to treat your friends to dinner or that you were going to go on trips abroad with them.

You knew them too well, though. Thawing past Uraume’s icy exterior wasn’t an issue for you and you knew just how they could get.

Your reaction as a result was to sit right by them, pulling them close as they reluctantly obliged. You would indeed justify your right to treat your friends well, but you would also remind them that yes, while you do watch movies with them too, you don’t however hold their hands during such things the same way. You don’t pet their hair while they’re cuddling up against you, because that’s something special.

You tried to explain to the best of your ability that there are ways to platonically spend time with your friends in a way that could never compare to the intimacy that you shared with them.

Something that couldn’t be replicated nor replaced.

So please to not worry.

And so, reluctantly accepting such a response, Uraume would indeed slowly melt at your words just because you had no reason to lie about such a thing.

What you had was special and you wouldn’t do that with anyone else.

You loved each other and that’s just how it was always going to be.

Kenjaku:

By some bizarre turn of fate, you ended up becoming entangled in what must have been the strangest relationship of your entire life.

Kenjaku wasn’t entirely dishonest with you in your time dating him, surprisingly. But he did find your judgement to at least be a little questionable the longer you kept tolerating him and his antics.

It was straight up almost concerning to him when you accepted the grand reveal of his great plans or when he informed you that he was nothing more than a brain in a suit. Not even the mention of his true age could shake you.

The reality was that you were mostly… fascinated. You never met someone like him before and every single day with him felt like something straight out of an old Scooby Doo episode because he was almost comically villain-like, always going off on long and elaborate speeches about something strange.

Aside from that, he was fine. At least somewhat.

He went out of his way to have a very… specific sort of relationship with you. In some ways, he reminded you of a crow or maybe a magpie, with the way he always left behind strange trinkets to find, just to study your reaction.

Sometimes he’d announce intricate facts about yourself that you didn’t even know and at other times, things would go missing from your apartment, leaving you wondering if they had ever existed at all.

He simply thought that you were a peculiar person and he enjoyed pushing you to your limit just to see just how far he could go with you.

One thing did come to bother him though.

It was when you befriended someone that in his eyes, he considered to be extremely boring.

You see, he only allowed himself to indulge in a romantic relationship with you because you were interesting to him. People like you were rare and this era managed to bless someone like you within his close proximity. As a result, he was going to keep you around if he could help it.

The idea of you investing your time into someone completely boring though? He wasn’t having it.

Much like Sukuna, he wouldn’t even ask you about the person in question. Instead, he’d take matters into his own hands but not before having some fun with it all.

So after sending you on a long and elaborate scavenger hunt to keep you busy for the day, he’d snatch up the person who was getting a little too suspiciously close to you for his liking. He’d lure them in through dubious means( like a trap and then ponder exactly what he would do with them once they took the bait.

Admittedly, he didn’t plan that far ahead.

Unlike the rest of his plans that were actually better thought out, he didn’t have such a luxury when it came to working around his jealousy.

Such an annoying emotion.

Initially he was going to play a strange game of would you rather with the poor sap, increasingly turning the questions into something more and more disturbing by the second but ultimately, he decided that maybe just chasing the guy through the woods with an axe in his hand could be a lot more fun instead.

And should you dare ask or enquire about what happened to your “friend” or whatever relation they had to you, he would do his best to convince you that such a person never existed to begin with.

You needn’t worry about such boring people, after all.

[levi-4uckerman]

╰┈➤ satoru gojo x reader // reader self insert // prologue here

╰┈➤ like ghosts in the snow // synopsis: Two years ago, you vanished from Tokyo and its world of curses entirely. First grade status be damned-- you were gone without a trace. Left to raise the son of the strongest sorcerer in a world far removed from the dangers you and his father both had been subject to. You escaped the endless battle of curses vs man, the burden of a life sopping wet with death and tragedy. Here, in the solitude of these snow-covered mountains, you were finally safe.

Right?

╰┈➤ CH 1 TWs: male masturbation, explicit sexual content, graphic descriptions of sex, original characters used, secret pregnancy, mention of young children, mention of past character death, possible manga spoilers, blah blah blah. enjoy :)

╰┈➤ see story timeline here, if you wanna!

╰┈➤ next chappy :)

✎ side note before we dig in! I know y'all hate a YN so the reader has been given a random japanese name. welcome to ur new life as Shiori Myoji :)

Somewhere out west, 2018...

You sat alone in your cabin, staring at the flickering fire... The wind howled outside, shaking the windows and piling snow high against the panes. You barely noticed. Winter had come early this year, though the townsfolk chalked it up to the unpredictable nature of the mountains. You held a half-empty teacup, the liquid long since gone cold. Your fingers trembled slightly as you gripped its handle, though you told yourself it was just from the chill in the air. 

The fire crackled on, and your thoughts drifted like smoke, pulling you backward through time as you stared into the hypnotizing flames.

...

Tokyo, Japan- December 2014.

The first time you saw Satoru Gojo as human was at the ceremony following Suguru's death, a private event held at Tokyo Jujutsu High after hours. There weren’t many guests, but the crowd was big enough that he hadn’t seen you at first. You’d stood at the edge, out of the way, your umbrella shielding you from the rain pouring down as if the sky itself was in mourning, too. 

You hadn’t planned to approach him. What could you have said? The strongest sorcerer in the world, staring at the ground as though he could will himself to fall through it– what words could you possibly offer? Anything that crossed your mind felt hollow, tasted meaningless on your tongue. 

Yet, still, you approached. Those bright blue eyes had landed on you and you were drawn in, like a moth to flame. Your feet were moving before you realized what you’d done. 

“Shi-chan, you’re staring,” he chided, his voice sounding hollow. “Didn’t think you cared.”

“I don’t,” you replied, aware that you both knew it was a lie.

It always was.

He smiled, soft but genuine– like he was just grateful for your company. You nodded, letting him take what he wanted from the gesture. 

The relationship you’d had after wasn’t supposed to mean anything. A month of stolen moments, grief shared in the only ways you knew how. You sought comfort in each other’s arms, filling the empty spaces that Suguru had left behind. Late night texts. Solo outings. You told yourself that it wasn’t real, that it was just a way to cope. Was that a lie, too? 

That time together had changed everything. And two months later, when you realized you were pregnant, you knew that there was no going back. 

The sound of Haruto stirring in his sleep pulled you back to the present. The cabin’s quiet stillness wrapped tightly around you as you set down your teacup, your fingers still slightly shaking as you stepped toward your sleeping son, curled around his stuffed rabbit. He was so small, so peaceful– and yet, every time you looked at him, it was like staring into the past. Your big, scary past. 

His hair, white as the snow outside… his eyes, that same piercing shade of blue that gazed at you from across classrooms, found you in crowded hallways buried deep in your memory… Sometimes, if you looked at him just right, he even had his father’s stubborn smirk. Sometimes it was enough to make your heart ache. 

You didn’t regret leaving– you wouldn’t let yourself. You’d made the choice for Haruto, for Satoru, for humanity– he deserved a childhood free from the crushing weight of the Gojo name, free from the dangers of being born into a world of curses. And Satoru…

He didn’t need the burden of fatherhood, another anchor to his already heavy chains. 

He didn’t stop you when you left.

Your breath caught in your throat. You told yourself not to think about him, not to wonder where he was or what he was doing. You’d left him behind, you’d left everything behind, but the truth lingered. Sharp and bitter in the back of your throat. You’d run because you were afraid. Afraid for the part of you that wanted to believe that Satoru might have chosen you and the life growing inside of you over everything else. 

But you’d seen the threads of fate. Tangled, cruel, impossible to ignore. You left because you couldn’t bear to watch him choose the world over you. 

The fire snapped sharply, loud enough to make you jump. The flames cast dancing shadows against the walls, and you felt a familiar prickling at your scalp as you watched them move. It wasn't a vision, but a feeling, a suggestion that something may be on the horizon. You closed your eyes, trying to will fate’s whisper into a conversation, but it remained quiet– imperceptible. Glimpses came to you in flickering waves, an apparition at the edge of your mind… someone tall, broad-shouldered, with eyes like the sky…

Your chest tightened as you pushed the thought away with a gasp, forcing yourself to focus on the crackling fire and the sound of howling wind outside. 

“Shiori,” an older voice called softly from the adjoining room. “Are you still awake? It’s well past midnight.”

“Aya-san,” you replied, withdrawing your hand from your son’s hair. “Did I wake you?”

“No, child. The storm did.” Aya stepped lightly into the room, moving with the ease of someone used to late-night watches. She lowered herself onto the armchair by Haruto, dimming the table lamp and casting soft shadows across her face. 

Aya Takahashi, formerly Zenin– she’d sought an escape from the troubling world of jujutsu, same as you. Born into the infamous Zenin clan with a powerful technique, she had built her life around the expectations of her lineage… until she met her late husband. He was a non-sorcerer whom she'd fallen in love with devastatingly quickly. Their love was defiant in the eyes of the Zenins, and Aya chose him over their approval. They ran away together, knowing the cost of their love, only for her spiteful relatives to come for them both, bringing their marriage to a sudden, violent end. 

Aya lost her husband that day.

She ran away to this sleepy, mountainside town out west, hoping that its wild, untamed cursed energy would mask her signature. For thirty years, she had been successful. When she came across you and Haruto, barely ten months old at the time, she saw herself in your struggle, and she knew... she couldn’t walk away. 

And gods bless her soul, she didn’t.

Aya had become such an unassuming yet steady presence in your life—a former sorceress who had left her old life behind and found solace in this small, secluded town just like you had.

The arrangement had begun with practicality, but Aya’s quiet strength and experience had turned her into a figure of comfort, almost a guardian. Her motherly tendencies extended to you as much as to Haruto, though she rarely showed her cards outright.

Aya studied you for a moment, her expression knowing. “Something tells me you haven’t slept yet,” she hummed, reaching to turn on the television as if to settle in for a watchful night.

You studied her with a hint of reluctance, knowing exactly what she intended. “Aya-san, you really don’t have to—”

“Go and rest, Shiori.” Her voice was gentle, but her tone left no room for debate. “I’ll be here if the boy wakes.”

“But I—,”

The look she gave you, one full of quiet insistence, spoke louder than any further protests you could make.

With a resigned sigh, you shook your head and accepted the fate she’d laid out for you, the comfort of her presence an unspoken balm. You relented and bid her goodnight, resting a comforting hand on Haruto’s little head before walking away. 

Tokyo, Japan- 2018.

In Tokyo, Satoru Gojo was feeling a similar kind of anxiety. 

Ryomen Sukuna had a vessel. The thought of it alone made his jaw clench tightly. It was unprecedented, unpredictable, and as far as he was concerned, a major pain in the ass. There were no protocols for this sort of thing— well, maybe one, but that was the last thing he wanted. “I can’t let them kill him,” he muttered to himself, tone sharp as nails. “He’s just a kid.”

He leaned back in his office chair, staring out at the Tokyo skyline with mild interest. His head pulsed with a day-old migraine as he studied the tiny flares of cursed energy erupting in short bursts across the city's grid. The presence of curses and the activity of curse users had become more erratic than usual, flickering in the depths of the city like embers waiting to be ignited. It had only gotten worse since Sukuna's fingers entered the equation; like all of Japan was holding its breath. Even with his technique, Satoru was struggling to keep up with the endless spikes of energy on the horizon. His head throbbed, his senses constantly assaulted until finally, he pulled the blinds closed. 

Satoru sighed. He hadn't been this on edge in a very long time, not since...

He dismissed the thought, reaching for a bottle of painkillers nearby and rattling it in a last-ditch effort to dull the throbbing in his skull. He popped two in his mouth and swallowed them dry before running a broad palm over his face, a low groan slipping out as he reached his lips. "This is fucking stupid," he muttered, voice muffled by his hand.

With a sigh, he pushed himself out of the chair and stretched his long arms above his head, joints stiff and aching from too many hours of vigilance and too little rest. He hated to even consider leaving campus, knowing that Yuuji-- no. Sukuna was here. Yuuji had done well in controlling the king of curses since they had started training, but the thought of leaving him alone still left Satoru uneasy. Could he really turn his back on him?...

Yes, he decided, as his eyes caught sight of his phone screen flashing the time: 3:55pm. He hadn't slept a wink in over 40 hours, a reckless oversight even by his standards. His Six Eyes needed rest, and he'd be no use to anyone-- especially against Sukuna --if he burned out completely. I can leave. Just for a few hours.

With a tired sigh, he dialed his assistant. “Ijichi,” he sang half heartedly into his cell, his voice missing some of its usual playfulness. “I’m going home.”

Ijichi's protests were immediate, though muffled through the receiver. Satoru didn't bother listening. He slipped the phone into his back pocket without even hanging up, ignoring the last few sputters of "--but Gojo-san!"

Stretching his limbs once more, he felt the weight of exhaustion settling into his bones. It wasn't like him to abandon his post so early into the afternoon, but he wouldn't be of any use in this state. Half-blind, staggering through a haze of pain. The pounding behind his eyes was growing unbearable, his senses dulling with each passing minute. 

With one last glance at the skyline, Satoru exhaled, letting his shoulders drop just slightly. It was strange, the guilt that had begun creeping in these days, as if his raw determination alone would be enough to protect humanity from Sukuna's dark influence. But at his core, he knew that if he wasn't sharp, if he wasn't fully there, then he was no more than a tired body standing watch. 

Humanity deserved better than that. 

Yuuji deserved better than that. 

In his apartment, Satoru wandered thoughtlessly into his bedroom, tossing aside his phone, his wallet, his blindfold, and all of the other little trinkets he carried on the job. The blinds were drawn and the room was dark; still, he manipulated the pitch black space seamlessly, thankful for the small mercy of darkness. He migrated to his shower-- something else he'd been putting off. 

The hot stream of water-- scalding against his porcelain skin --was healing. Following the contours of his body, mapping the planes of his muscles as it traveled across his skin. The rich scent of his body wash hung thickly in the air, cutting through 40 hours' worth of sweat and frustration. With a sigh, he bowed his head, letting it all fall into his eyes, mouth. 

What the fuck had happened to him? 

Being alone was something he still struggled with. He'd once thought of Suguru as the only person who could possibly understand the isolation that followed his responsibilities as the strongest. But Suguru was gone, had been gone longer even than he'd been dead, and all that was left now was... Satoru and his sadness? Longing? He didn't know what he was feeling. 

Remorse? 

"You promise you won’t regret this?"

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Eyes snapping open, he reared his head back. Infinity kept him from losing his balance, thankfully, but didn't stop the way he wobbled a bit on his feet with the emotional whiplash he'd just received from that memory. That voice. 

He exhaled, long and slow, steam swirling in the dimmed light. His pulse quickened just slightly as the memory returned to him in living color, as if he were reliving it-- naked and vulnerable. 

A laugh-- soft like morning mist. Perfume dancing across his senses, igniting warmth within his chest. He felt her  presence even here, in the sanctuary of his mind. 

Shiori Myoji. The Clairvoyance User. 

The quiet, mundane memory came to him suddenly-- like his pain had picked the lock to a door he'd forgotten long ago. She was sitting on the edge of a windowsill in the Jujutsu High dorms, delicate fingers cradling a cup of tea. He sat beside her, much too close, with a large hand resting on her covered thigh. She was blushing, and he remembered the way it made his heart race. Has anyone ever done that before? 

Has anyone ever done that... since? 

"You're incorrigible,"  she scolded lightly, though the light smile upon her lips told him all that he needed to know. With a glance toward the halls, assuring there would be no witnesses, she leaned into him and he did the same, capturing her mouth in a tender kiss.

Fuck, she was always so soft. So calm. The kind of calm he pretended that he was, but had never really felt. Only in these moments, did she ever seem to look at him. Usually, her gaze extended into a space that he couldn't see-- a space that no one occupied, as if she were seeing something that he couldn't. 

The water hit his shoulders harder now, as if trying to call him back to the present. He straightened, shaking his head as if that could wash away the memory of her. As if it were something that could be scrubbed away as easily as sweat and blood from his skin. 

But she lingered, as she always seemed to do. She'd been away for too long for him to still think of her. She was a distraction at the time, something they both craved desperately. That is what she was, wasn't she? His distraction. His excuse. His anchor when the weight of Suguru's passing had threatened to tilt him off-balance. She was his-- then, now, whether she knew it or not. 

His, because he couldn't let her be anything else.

Yes, a voice in his head purred. Yours, it agreed— languid and sweet, sounding suspiciously like her. 

She was an addiction he’d been more than willing to rid himself of— even if it hurt like pouring salt into a wound. He’d love to say that he didn’t feel it, or that it paled in comparison to the pain of killing his best friend, but that simply wasn’t true. He’d grown attached to her warmth, her quiet strength, the mutual understanding of their own responsibilities as sorcerers. She’d been an enigma to him in high school, a close friend as an adult, and now? A ghost. A shadow. Someone who knew him intimately, someone whose taste hadn’t left his mouth since the last time his tongue was inside of her— because only he knew her so intimately, too. 

Only he had been privy to the way that her brows furrowed in a mix of confusion and disgust when he said something lewd, the way her cheeks would darken at the slightest mention of their extracurricular affairs, igniting a fire in the pit of Satoru’s belly each time. Only he got to see the spit-slick part of her lips when she came, her wet heat wrapped so tightly around his member that he’d nearly blacked out at the force of his own orgasm. Only he knew that it was like that every. Single. Time. with her, like they were both squirming virgins experimenting with strange new feelings. 

Except Satoru had never felt so enthralled with a lover before, and he never would again— something he’d come to terms with after trying and failing to fill the void she left in his life as his ‘distraction’. That’s all she was.

Right?

“Fuck,” he muttered through clenched teeth as he recalled her image in near-perfect clarity, spread out above his sheets— moaning softly, gasping his name when he fucked her just right. “Fucking shit.”

Satoru took himself in his hand, letting the water cascade down his back as he hunched over, pressing his forehead against the cool tile as he recalled more. Her dainty fingers tangled in his hair as she writhed beneath him, bucking her hips against his pelvis and fucking herself on his cock. Broken whispers of ‘Satoru, please,’ as her walls contracted around him, milking his seed into her waiting womb. The taste of her sweat on his tongue, salty and sweet, while he sucked his little purple love bites into her skin. He’d spell out his fucking name with them if he could. 

He’d carve it into her flesh with his teeth if she’d let him. 

Feelings Satoru had never experienced before her— or after her — flooded his senses. The hollow ache of desperation as he craved her warmth, the bitter taste of jealousy as he thought of her with anyone else, the crushing weight of grief when he remembered she was gone—

“Fucking miss you,” he spat, pumping desperately into his own fist, slick with prespend. “Fucking miss the way you feel.”

In his mind’s eye, Shiori writhes underneath him, pinned to the mattress by his weight. Her fingers tangle into his hair as he fucks into her, hard and fast, carving out a space just for him. He’s grunting along with his thrusts, her pretty little gasps coming out in broken hiccups. They’re hiding in the campus dorms again and they have to be quiet; she muffles a loud cry against his shoulder, teeth baring down into his flesh as she locks her legs around his waist with surprising ferocity, holding him so deep inside of her, and oh shit they forgot a condom—

“Fuck,” he hissed out in a sharp breath, tightening his grip on himself. The exhaustion in his bones temporarily forgotten, Satoru slammed a fist onto the wall above his head, a satisfying little crack! coming from the tile. His orgasm had nearly taken his breath away in its intensity, years of frustration and repressed feelings finally coming to a sore, bursting head. 

He stood panting in the shower stall, watching the physical evidence of his longing swirl down the drain. His head pulsed with every beat of his heart, the effort he’d exerted not mixing kindly with his already throbbing migraine. He groaned, running a hand through his slick hair, and subsequently flicking water onto the wall behind him. Fucking Shiori, he muttered to himself. 

Head swimming, Satoru emerged from the muggy bathroom several minutes later. He was still stewing over his momentary loss of control. He could have anyone he wanted, and here he was, fisting his cock to memories of an old flame. A ghost from his past. 

He’d buried her in the place he’d buried Suguru— except, the ache was different knowing that her physical form still roamed this earth. Somewhere. He could find her, if he wanted to. Maybe she'd be able to tell him what the fuck he should do, how the fuck he was going to save a 16 year old boy with an eons-old curse living inside of him. 

A plan began to unfurl inside of him, unwillingly. A first grade sorceress, gone without a trace... But all cursed energy left residuals, didn’t it? Would it really be so hard for the Six Eyes to follow her clues, hunt her down, and bring her back home? 

It wouldn’t be hard, but it wouldn’t be right, he thought. 

Last he heard, Shiori had fled west to study cursed energy manifestation in other regions. It was a convincing cover up, but given her technique and her history of omitting bigger details, he'd always assumed there were other implications to why and where she'd gone. Did she know what was happening in Tokyo? Did she see something that he didn't? 

Of course she fucking did, he scoffed, slipping a t-shirt over his bare shoulders. When didn't she? She always knew more than she let on. It had frustrated him back then, and it frustrated him even more now. The idea that she might have seen this, predicted it-- Sukuna, Yuuji, the spiraling chaos of Tokyo's curses --and had chosen to leave anyway gnawed at him. 

The truth was, he didn't want to think about why she left. Shit, he didn't want to think about her at all. But her name sat heavy on his chest now, a quiet itch he couldn't continue to ignore. If anyone could make sense of the impossible, it was her. And yet... she was gone. She'd left without so much as a goodbye, or a trace worth following. Maybe that was all of the explanation he really needed. 

Maybe that was all of the closure he’d ever get.

With a low groan, Satoru flopped onto his bed, stretching his arms out wide. He didn't get tired often, but exhaustion was settling into his bones. He closed his eyes, letting the darkness settle over him, the plan that he refused to admit beginning to stir in his minds' eye once more, unwelcome and persistent. He could find her. If he wanted to. If he needed to.

.

.

This is Chapter 1 of a multi-chapter fic to be crossposted to AO3. Taglist below as requested. @starlightglimmersworld @mccookiemonster @leilakaro @certainduckanchor @itsbellablue-blog @shokosbunny @hyookka @drogonfruitzen

[pookalicious-hq]

˚₊‎‧welcome to the all-japan youth summer games‧₊˚

description: the all-japan summer league is a prestigious event that runs from may to the end of august, with only the best players from various sports associations, leagues, and clubs from across Japan receiving invitations. we hope to see you there.

guidelines: - only sfw // there will be suggestive things but no smut - you are free to send in requests about a certain character - each reader insert will be specific to their own story/fic (differentiated by last names) unless otherwise specified - this IS a crossover au

˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚ welcome - 0.0 (intro)

For years, a vast stretch of land just outside Tokyo’s beating heart had been draped in secrecy. It sat quietly, like a slumbering giant, only fifteen minutes from the city’s restless hum, yet worlds away from prying eyes. Tall walls and guarded gates kept it hidden, while the murmur of construction whispered through the air. It was as if the earth itself had been stirring beneath the surface, preparing for something grand, though no one quite knew what. Rumors danced through the city—some claimed it was the site of a new stadium, others a corporate headquarters.

Then, as if the secret could no longer be contained, the truth was finally revealed.

The land had been transformed—not into a simple complex, but into a world of its own. A sprawling, exclusive sports facility, rivaling anything ever seen before. This was no ordinary venue. The gates would not open to the public, nor would casual spectators ever stroll its paths. Instead, a self-contained village now stood where dirt and machinery had once ruled—a place carved out for only the best of the best.

Here, in this enclave, Japan’s finest young athletes were to be housed, nurtured, and tested. Handpicked from high schools across the country, they came not just to compete, but to stake their claim on something far greater. This was the All-Japan Youth Summer Games—where talent would be sharpened to its finest edge, and where the fire of competition would burn hottest under the summer sky.

sports clubs to watch out for:

haikyuu (the monsters)🏐

MonstersJV is a Japanese volleyball league that spans from U14 to U19. This elite, non-profit organization represents the pinnacle of Japan’s youth volleyball scene, showcasing the nation’s top players on a global stage. Athletes from across the country go through rigorous tryouts, where they are selected to form a rotating roster of elite teams. These teams compete against one another within the league, constantly pushing the limits of their abilities in preparation for international exposure.

miya atsumu... ˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚first glance... 2.6k words: atsumu realizes love at first sight is a real thing when he falls victim to it himself. tags/tws: crossover au, insta stalker atsumu, swearing, fighting, love at first sight, jjk!mma!reader ˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚ loading...

blue lock (the infinities)⚽

Blue Lock Academy earned its invitation to the All-Japan Youth Summer League following its explosive success in the Neo-Egoist League. Known for its revolutionary approach to developing strikers, Blue Lock has handpicked its top players to form elite teams that will represent the academy in the AJYSM. These players, already sharpened by fierce internal competition, now stand ready to showcase their unique talents on an even larger stage, further solidifying Blue Lock’s claim to producing Japan’s next great soccer prodigies.

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kuroko's basketball (the miracles)🏀

KNGenBasket was established to spotlight the key players who transformed Japan’s youth basketball landscape. Over the years, the league expanded, bringing together more exceptional individuals to form elite teams. However, its true rise to fame came with the emergence of six extraordinary players, each possessing unique strengths that captivated the nation. Now, these teams represent the very best of Japan’s youth basketball, standing as a testament to the league’s evolution and the incredible talent it has fostered.

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jujutsu kaisen (the curses)🥊

The Jujutsu Kaisen Curse is an elite MMA gym that exclusively trains and houses the top fighters in Japan. Known for producing ruthless and extraordinary athletes, the gym has earned a fierce reputation within the global MMA community. After years of dominating the sport, The Curses were invited to the All-Japan Youth Summer League to showcase their raw talent and unrivaled power on a new stage. Each fighter that steps into the ring under their banner carries the weight of the gym’s legacy, feared for their relentless strength and skill.

sukuna ryomen... ˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚ bestest friend... 2.5k words: they've always been best friends since anyone could remember, what's changed now? tags/tws: crossover au, childhood friends to lovers, swearing ˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚loading...

attack on titan (the titans)👟

AttackElevate stands as Asia’s most elite and expansive Track and Field club, rising from Japan’s competitive landscape to earn international recognition. From the age of 10, the club selects only the most promising young athletes, putting them through rigorous training with one goal in mind: to reach Olympic-level excellence. These athletes, forged through years of intense discipline and competition, represent the pinnacle of track and field talent. Now, AttackElevate has been invited to the All-Japan Youth Summer League, where their relentless pursuit of greatness will be put to the test against Japan’s finest.

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more coming... (send an ask)