#stan can't make eye contact without throwing up so be careful kyle

[frankensteinposm0]

style at their 18's ☕

[spiderrmax]

soft moments

synopsis: soft moments shared with the main four word count: 500ish (each) author's note: i don't believe in proofreading. ive never made a mistake. ever

stan marsh

Stan's movements are sluggish as he enters your bedroom. Without care, he unties the laces of his sneakers, but making sure to leave them in a place you won't trip. Heaving out a long sigh, he collapses clumsily into your messy bed; your comforter is at the foot of your bed, and your pillows are placed haphazardly. Stan buries his head into one, and finds comfort in the familiar smell of your shampoo. You enter in behind him, and snort, amused, at how he's sprawled out. He has no energy to give you a snide comment, instead using that effort to take his beanie off, allowing his black hair to sprawl around his head, acting as a halo on your pillow.

The day's weight is heavy on you too, but you take more time in removing your shoes. Unlike Stan, who went to school in sweatpants, you have to change into something more comfortable. With his gaze in your pillow sheets, there's no discomfort in allowing yourself to find mix-matched pajamas to relax. He seems to sense when you're done shifting, and rolls over onto his back, watching as you finish pulling your shirt over your head. When you turn to face him, he shuts his eyes, just open enough he can just see your blurry figure.

He watches as you gently brush his hair from his forehead, clearing a spot so you can press a soft kiss onto it. Not wanting to give himself away, he doesn't allow a grin to show on his face, but his heart speeds up anyway, like it always does. When you go to pull away, most likely to let him rest, his hand shoots out to grab your wrist, pulling you down into the bed next to him. The scared yelp you let out does elicit an amused chuckle from him, and you can only shoot an unamused look his way. You don't pull away, lured in by his warmth.

One of his hands stays wrapped around you, while the other shoots to grab your comforter. He struggles for a bit to get it comfortably over the two of you, and you're forced to help throw the blanket. You fluff it up in the air, and it slowly falls over the two of you. Once it's situated, Stan pulls you in closer, gently placing your head into the crook of his shoulder. Despite being so strung up from the day, you find yourself relaxing into him, worries melting under the protection from the comforter and being in his arms. His breathing evens out pretty quickly, eyes shut and his features soft; you find yourself mapping out his skin, despite having every mole and freckle memorized from previous naps. He's prettiest like this, you think, when the world can't ruin everything. Subconsciously, he pulls you closer, and you grin. You fall asleep smiling, grateful to be in love and to be loved.

kyle broflovski

You know your attention should be on the copy of Hamlet in your lap, but you find it much more entertaining to admire your boyfriend as he reads the same book. His brows are furrowed, trying to decipher Shakespeare’s words, and his nose occasionally scrunches when he doesn’t understand it at first. Green eyes skirt around the page, going back and forth; he pauses to tab specific lines.

Sitting at the opposite end of the couch, you wish he decided to close the gap, most likely sitting far away in hopes you’ll stay focused. Long fingers turn the page, and you watch as he pauses, before making eye contact with you. A loving grin adorns your face, painting his pale skin pink. You laugh at his flustered state, scooting closer to him, subconsciously.

He’s unamused, rolling his eyes and nudging your leg with a sock-clad foot. After that, his attention is back on the book, intending to get it finished. You admire his dedication, wishing your brain was able to be enticed by the tragedy. A sigh escapes your lips, as you glance back down at your book. There is a lingering thought that you'll have to get a synopsis online.

Kyle must notice your struggle, and taps your leg with his foot again. He's smiling at you, shifting his left arm a bit, an invite for you to come lay. There's no hesitance, your copy of Hamlet falling onto the floor as you move to enter his embrace. Once you're situated, using his chest as a pillow, his left arm wraps around you, reaching again to open the book.

He opens earlier than he was, noticeable by the fact he's already tabbed some of the pages. You grin, giddy that he doesn't mind going back for you. Once he's found the first page you were assigned, he begins reading it aloud. His voice is deep, but lacks the emotion the characters should be having during their monologues. It's still perfect, and although some of the meanings fly over your head, the words stick clearer now. His left hand leaves the book to trace designs in the fabric of your shirt; it only leaves that spot when he needs to turn the page, returning as quickly as it left.

The words sound nice on his lips, and you can't help but glance up at him. He looks nicest like this, focused yet relaxed. You know if you vocalized this he would disagree, arguing that you aren't looking at him at a flattering angle. Again, once he's finished a page, he turns to glance down at you; your stare not subtle, but still loving. He rolls his eyes, but smiles despite himself fondly. Gently, he pushes a strand of hair out of your face, before pressing a kiss to your temple.

After, he returns reading aloud, and you snuggle closer, wrapped entirely in him.

eric cartman

Your legs swing as you sit atop of Eric's sink, waiting for him to find the product he plans to use. A headband is situated on your head, pushing your locks back to keep them out of your face; you're sure you look ridiculous right now.

Recently, Eric's taken an interest in skin care; buying a surplus of face masks and serums to use on his soft skin. He prides himself in the knowledge, and with that hubris, asked for you to partake in his new hobby with him. Not without limits of course, your boyfriend is always very particular with how things are done. He's taken care to pick out the products he'd think were the best for your skin, and hasn't let your hands near his product, saying you'd use too much. You don't mind, really, enjoying how gentle his touch gets as he massages the product into your skin; he's never this soft.

Eric lets out a noise of triumph before returning with a clay mask, and when he places it down next to you, you see it's meant to provide a deep cleanse. In his other hand is the tool meant to apply the mask, and you sit up to make his work easier. 

Slowly, he opens the container, and you can see visible usage of the product; you grin a bit at the realization he doesn't mind sharing a favored product with you. The mask itself is green, and you watch as Eric slowly dips the applicator in, and gets enough product to start coating your cheeks. It's cool on your skin, but you don't back away, allowing Eric to paint your face slowly. His brows are furrowed in concentration, biting his lip as he concentrates to cover your face evenly. Soon, he's painting over the bridge of your nose, before he's having to get a bit more from the container.

The process continues as such, and you're grateful that the green mask is covering most of the heat in your face. His fingers linger at your jaw, having to tilt your face to get better access to certain parts of your face. His stare is concentrated, but occasionally it softens when he backs up to admire you. Eric's hair is pushed back with a headband too, and once he's finished with the application with your mask, begins applying his own.

He's much quicker with applying his then he was when he was doing yours, swift with thinly coating it onto his face. By the time he's done, certain patches of the clay have dried on your face. The mask is patchy as you look in the mirror, and you can't help but stick your tongue out at your reflection. Your silly faces cause Eric to begin laughing, and it becomes a competition to make the craziest faces as you two wait for the masks to dry.

kenny mccormick

It's not rare for you to find yourself on a roof of a building with Kenny. It's where he tends to go when the weight of the world gets too much; recently, he's extended that invite to you.

There's not a lot of words exchanged as the two of you sit up there, finding solace in the night sky. Occasionally, you point out constellations, despite not knowing many of their names. Sometimes Kenny and you make up your own names for the stars, laughing at some of the ridiculous things you guys can come up with.

Tonight, neither of you say nothing; the day too long for jokes. You're still curled up together, your knees under your chin. Kenny is leaned back, propped up on his arms, with one being behind your back. You still enjoy looking at the stars, mapping them out quietly, allowing yourself to focus on something that isn't the stress of your typical day. Every time you turn back to look at Kenny, to quietly check to see if he's doing okay, he's always staring at you. Despite being embarrassed to be under his gaze, you can't help but notice how nice he looks under the moonlight, adding highlights to his blonde locks. He smirks, almost cat-like when you meet his eyes, and you quickly turn back to look at the sky.

It's cold, like it always is in South Park, but tonight the wind seems more brutal. The long shirt you're wearing isn't a lot to keep out the piercing breeze. It bites at your face, and in return you tuck your chin closer to your knees, hoping to provide some warmth. You can feel the rise of goose bumps on your arm, and try to grind your jaw to prevent your teeth from chattering.

Kenny shifts beside you, and you look over just in time to see him taking off his orange parka. He holds it out to you, still grinning, and you hesitate before taking it. You glance at the black shirt he's wearing, which seems to be made of a thick material, and he nods at you, reassuring. Slowly, you take it, and unwind yourself, sacrificing your minimal body heat for the warmth that radiates from Kenny's jacket. The sleeves hang off your arms, allowing your hands to be covered too.

Once you're situated, Kenny pulls you close, tucking you into his chest. Teasingly, he grabs the hood and pulls it over your head; you allow it to happen. His left arm wraps around you, and he continues to use his right to support his weight. You reach for the hand wrapped around your waist, squeezing it as to say thanks. Just barely, you can feel his lips press softly on your forehead. You grin, relaxing further into his embrace and his warmth.

Despite the lack of words, you can feel the love radiating off of Kenny.