#im watching with my mom and she is having none of it. she was like BUT SAM SAVED THE DAY??? MORE PEOPLE WOULDVE DIED OTHERWISE

[mirandimoo]

showed my mom sk8 the infinity and she told me that she thinks ‘langa is in love with reki and reki might be but he doesn’t know it yet’ which is crazy coming from my mom bc she literally watched yuri on ice and genuinely felt victor and yuri were just “good friends”

[sammygender]

i just rewatched the rapture ohhhhh my god. such a good episode the jimmy stuff is actually fucking horrifying somehow even worse remembering claire grows up to be a hunter. then dean and bobby at the end locking sam in the panic room oh i hope they suffer. forever. he shouldve never spoken to their asses again

[devondespresso]

rewatching stranger things 2 for steve and kiddos plot and stumbled into one of those high intensity will scenes, and my only thought is how cool thats gonna be in @carolperkinsexgirlfriend 's steddie in the upside down au (i forget if theres an official name yet aslfhdfil)

[joeloverture]

girl next door tongue fucks dilfs ass | pervy!dbf!joel x f!reader

masterlist | notifs blog | tlou & palestine

pairing: pervy!dbf!joel x f!reader summary: a mix-up leads to joel finding your search history. turns out he wants a starring role in making the cheesy pornos you watch a reality. warnings: (18+ mdni) same joel as fair's fair, but you don't need to read that fic for context, age gap, porn without plot tbh, smut, degradation, humiliation, porn mentions, rimming/ass eating, exhibitionism mentions, f!masturbation, jerking joel off, joel calls reader kiddo, i wrote this in 2 days and had a blasst, asshole!joel gets his asshole eaten, cheesy title based on porn (sorry) word count: 5.2k a/n: was not expecting my last ass eating fic to be so divisive. sorry for writing another — it will happen again <3 thank you to @lovesickonmybed for curating the moodboard, sitting on the doc with me, and being wonderful in general. @ovaryacted & @joelsdagger for being ENABLERS. hope y'all like this <3 mwah mwah mwah. if there r any typos pls ignore i proofread a bit but im wiped out.

You’ve never been known for virtuosity. Growing up in the south, many of your classmates were raised with pewter purity rings beneath their knuckles and Mary Janes glued to their feet. You were the one all the sweet Catholic girls were forbidden to be around, as if your presence would ignite the Lord’s distaste. You never grasped why you were excluded from their birthday parties, never invited to playdates, or always talked about as a miscreant — but now, you think you might have a hunch.

Maybe those WASP moms could see through to the version of yourself that you are right now, taking full advantage of your time home alone. Phone in one hand, with your other shoved haphazardly beneath your lacy waistband to flick at your slippery clit. You whimper, hips rutting against the pads of your fingers, eyes fluttering. Heat ribbons through your veins and around your spine. You eye the trashy porn currently playing out behind your cracked screen protector — VIRGIN SLUT DEVOURS DILF’S ASS. You try to tell yourself it’s because the ‘virgin slut’ in question has your body type, but the DILF in question is… topical.

Three short days ago, Joel, your dad’s infamously perverted best friend, had finally taken the initiative to make things sexual with you. As much as he’d been smacking your ass lately and not-so-subtly eyeing you up, none of that cold hold a needle to the time he’d cupped the back of your head and shoved you face first into his armpit. You’d licked and sniffed at his musk until you’d come completely untouched. Later, you’d watched him fuck his own fist, back arching off of his mattress, and that’d been that.

Except… it really wasn’t just that. You’ve been glued to your phone watching the nastiest, raunchiest stuff you didn’t used to be into — until you’d imagined Joel being the one to do them to you. (Hell, you didn’t know wedgies and tickling were kinks. But you’d sure as shit stumbled across the pornstars making a living off of them.)

Rimming is the most recent of your fascinations. The star of this video, a beefy middle-aged man with thick thighs and a plump ass, is just as domineering as Joel had been. He’s on his knees with his ass up, body braced on one folded elbow while his other hand cups the back of the woman’s head. He holds her down as she whines, tongue circling around his asshole. The camera zooms in, capturing the little smatterings of hair along his cheeks. “Just like that. Get in there good, girl,” the DILF says. You whimper, closing your eyes and imagining it’s Joel saying that. Joel’s skin on your tongue. His hips hitching under your mouth. His thighs tensing as he paints his belly with cum.

A new surge of slick rushes down your fingers and you whine as your stomach tightens into a double knot of pleasure. You’re so close, teetering over that precious edg–

The doorbell rings.

Your dad wasn’t supposed to be home until five. It is midnight.

With a frustrated groan, you chuck your phone facedown and scrub your hand along your face. You tug your hand out of your soaked panties, breath still sawing in and out of you as you wipe your juices off your hand with a tissue from your nightstand. The doorbell rings again. “Jesus, I’m coming!” you shout. You should be coming. You shove your phone in your pocket and head downstairs. 

You unlock the door between cluttered grumbles and yank it open. “You should have a key by now, dude,” you start telling your dad. Except it’s not your dad’s figure blocking the doorway, eclipsing the simmering Texan sun. It’s the very object of your degenerate fantasies — Joel Miller himself.

Joel had tried everything to avoid going to your place. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at your house, only able to think of the moment you two had shared in the garage. When he’d defiled you, right underneath your father’s roof. His eyes feel gritty from the thought, how all those degrading words had rolled off of his tongue like they belonged there. His best buddy’s little girl, licking and nipping at his fucking armpit. He squashed that thought quickly. The memory makes his blood rush south all over again.

When his phone ran out of juice as he was putting in a request for supplies he needed ASAP, he’d grabbed his charger. Except after he plugged it in, the battery only sporadically caught a charge. It made that irritating pinging noise repeatedly. He adjusted the angle enough times that he felt like he was taking measurements on a job site before giving up.

He prowled around Sarah’s room for a spare, except she must’ve stuffed hers in her duffel bag for her sleepover at Emma’s house tonight. After that dead end, he unplugged her galaxy light. It wasn’t the same shape. Port. Contact. Whatever the hell it is. He remembers vividly three years back when Sarah had seen some sort of viral video about making a charger out of a potato. She didn’t shut up about it for a week until he came home with two potatoes. One ended up as a failed charger, and the other had been dinner. With no spare wires in this house, Sarah at Emma’s, and every single store within fifteen miles closed for the night, it’s looking like he’ll have to wait for the morning.

Except he’s got a packed week. The prissy nepo baby’s ‘dream house’ he’s working on wants everything done quickly and well. She had them install the tiles for her kitchen only to decide when they were halfway through with the marble tiles that she wanted rose quartz. God forbid she throw another fucking temper tantrum.

Joel looked at the potatoes on the counter, then to your bedroom window. The lamp was on. He sighed.

He had never before wished potatoes could emit electricity, but he was now. Then, he’d toed on his Crocs and shuffled next door. He rang the bell, waiting with bated breath.

“Jus’ take your sweet time,” he says to your porch as he hears you thunking down the stairs. “Ain’t like the skeeters ain’t eatin’ me alive out here,” he grumbles.

“—should have a key by now, dude,” you say as you tug the door. You blink at him several times. He can see your shock through the screen door in the furrow of your brows. “Fuck are you doing here?”

“Real warm welcome for a neighbor,” Joel says, shouldering past the screen door. He scratches at the back of his neck, swallowing. He eyes the soft curve of your lips and the squint of your eyes. In the porch light, your sweat-slick complexion shimmers. You’re panting. Must’ve run a hell of a marathon to get down here, even if you were slower than a turtle. Unless–

No. He’s gotta get his brain outta the gutter, which seems to be his dick’s place of residence. 

“My charger’s busted. Needa do some work stuff. Was hopin’ I could snag yours.”

“Well what if I’m charging my phone?”

Joel points to the suspiciously phone-shaped outline in your pocket. “Chargin’ your phone my ass. C’mon, do me a solid, I’ll owe ya.”

“You already owe me.”

“Yeah, for what?”

“That time I tutored Sarah when she had a C in–”

“Alright, alright. I’ll owe ya twice, how ‘bout that?” You roll your eyes and turn, already heading back for the stairs. “Wait,” Joel says, snagging you by your wrist. A week ago, he would have snapped your bra strap against your skin to get your attention. Now he feels nauseous at the idea. He’d already disrespected you so wholly once before. It’s not as if he has any further left to go. “Could I borrow yours in the meantime? Y’know… mine kinda takes a second to get some juice. I want to get a jump on looking for what my client needs.”

“That washed up producer’s daughter with five thousand Spotify listens per month? Yeah, dad told me about her. I’ll let you. But only ‘cause I pit you. She sounds like a nightmare.” You fish around for your phone, type in the pin, and smack it against his palm. “No snooping,” you say, holding a finger in front of his face.

“‘Course not,” he says. “Thanks, kiddo.”

You pull a face at that. Before he can apologize, you’re already halfway up the stairs.

Joel resists the urge to kick himself the entire way to the couch. He curls up against the arm rest. He hears you kicking and rifling about upstairs as he searches your phone for any sort of search engine. He wishes he would’ve brought his readers over, too, but that much foresight had been lost on him. Settling for squinting at the glowing screen, he taps on Chrome. A tab whooshes open. Immediately, Joel’s bombarded with artificial, keening moans, the ragged coaxing of, ‘C’mon, honey, doing so well for me’ blurring out of the speakers. His eyes widen as he scrambles to lower the volume. He’s about to slam the phone down and never make eye contact with you ever again when he spies the title of this particular porno.

VIRGIN SLUT DEVOURS DILF’S ASS.

Heat wobbles up his face, ripening his cheeks. His thighs warm and stir, enough to harden his far too attentive cock. Jesus Christ. 

Did you mean to do this? No — you don’t have that kinda foresight. You’re crafty and a goddamn temptress, but that doesn’t make you some sort of mastermind who’s scheming to get back into his pants. If you were, though — this would be a good way of doing it. You must’ve been right there before he’d shown up on your doorstep. You had still been panting. His head hadn’t been in the gutter. He’d been right. Nasty little slut.

His eyes land on the woman who’s advertised as a ‘virgin slut’ but is about 100 videos past virginity if her channel bio is telling the truth. She’s built a lot like you — has the same shoulders, same hips. Her tongue hungrily swirls between the DILF’S cheeks. He’s pretty sure he knows who you’re imagining that to be. 

They share the same skin tone, the same bow in their backs, the same scattered patches of hair along the backs of their thighs and cheeks. He envisions you with a hand stuffed in your dangerously tight shorts, rutting against it. Tongue lolling out as you imagine rimming him. He smothers a groan at the thought.

The video keeps rolling as he stares in disbelief. The man groans, spreading his cheeks wider and pushes back onto the woman’s face. She slurps his asshole. Joel imagines holding your head in place, stroking your jaw as you work your tongue on him. Your lips, your tongue, doing exactly what he just watched, but to him. His cock twitches at the thought of you between his legs, licking, sucking, wanting.

All his attempts to shut you out of his brain come bursting out of the floodgates. A dam breaking, fattening his cock. 

Joel’s eyes flick to the stairs. He can still hear you rummaging around. Curiosity kills the cat as he presses your history button.

Naughty whore punished with ass eating humiliation. girl next door tongue fucks dilfs ass. DESPERATE BITCH BEGS TO EAT ASS. 

It shouldn’t surprise him. After you’d finished licking his pits, you had a geyser in your panties they’d only found in Yellowstone before. You’re a fucking freak, and goddamn if it doesn’t make the gears in his head turn.

Joel adjusts his bulge, raging tight against his boxers. He swallows the newly formed lump in his throat. His stomach burns. The things he could do to you, if he were to let himself. You’re practically fucking begging for it. If he were to slip his hand along your abdomen, past the gusset of your panties, and cup your mound, would you already be ready for him? The way he’s ready for you?

Upstairs, he hears a loud bang, followed by a resounding “FUCK!”

After wrestling with your extension cord, you’d finally grabbed your charger for Joel to borrow. Not without escaping unscathed. A swollen pit throbs on your head, and you rub it absently with the heel of your palm as you trudge downstairs. “The shit I do for you,” you remark under your breath, shaking your head in disbelief. You plod across the living room, tossing your charger Joel’s way. “Can I have my phone back yet, Miller?”

He quirks a brow at you. “If you answer me a question.” You roll your eyes and cross your arms, planting your feet. This dick. “You usually get off watchin’ shitty three-star pornos?”

Cold slithers around your gut as you stare blankly at him. Oh fuck. Shit. Son of a– “Excuse me?” You’re an idiot. All hat, no cattle. Lights on, nobody home. Joel had seen–

“‘Virgin slut devours DILF’s ass’,” Joel reads out in a monotonous voice. He wolf-whistles. “A little on the nose, ain’t it? But hey, whatever gets ya goin’.”

“G-get the hell out,” you say, snatching your charger off of his lap. Your eyes stall on his straining, blatant hard-on. A new wave of slick spills out of you. You have to bite your tongue not to lick your lips. “You’re a fucking… pervert. Nasty. You’re nasty, Joel.”

“And you ain’t? Got a whole waterfall in those britches of yours, I bet. I mean, this guy looks a whole lot like me, don’t he? Got the DILF thing going on too. Yeah, you’d be into older men. Look at ya,” he all but croons.

You look down at yourself, gesturing at nothing in frustration. “I told you no snooping. Guess your selectively hearing ass heard go snooping.” You swing in close to snatch your phone, but he holds it out of reach.

“Answer the question, kiddo. You like watching porn all the time, or just when you’re tryna imagine your daddy’s buddy?” He smirks up at you. You make another grab for your phone, and you’re not sure why. The damage is already done. But Joel — Joel makes you feel so, so out of control.

“You’re being an asshole, Joel,” you say, too exasperated to police your word choice.

“Yeah, but you like eatin’ ‘em. Don’t you, sweetheart?” You sputter, dragging your hands down your face. As if letting him debase you in the garage, no matter how good it felt, wasn’t enough. This is ten thousand times worse. “Gotta say. You’re a ‘lil sick in the head for that….” He tuts at you, clicking his tongue.

“Not as sick in the head as you. Going through my search history. Taunting me about it. And— and— the whole pitcident.”

“Pitcident?” he asks, raising an amused brow. “Thas’ a new one.”

“Would you rather I say the whole thing? That you held your buddy’s daughter down against your musky ass armpit and made me lick it clean? That you liked it so much that you jerked yourself off after knowing I was getting an eyeful of it?”

His throat bobs. He seems to think about it for a moment before he tilts his head at you. “Kiddo, you woulda creamed all over me if I took a breath in the direction of your swollen little clit. Didn’t even have to do that to get that pussy droolin’ for me. Bet it’s doin’ it now.” He gets up, dropping your phone onto the couch cushion. It bounces before sliding against a throw pillow. “Tell me,” he says, voice low. “You touch yourself to this shit, honey?”

“Why?” you ask, holding eye contact with him in defiance.

“Seems like a waste… when you could be gettin’ the real thing.”

Your mouth goes dry. Uncontrollably, your cunt pulses between your legs. “Jesus, Joel–”

“Been wonderin’ since you put your mouth on my pit how your tongue would feel on my cock. On my ass…. Same thoughts as you, I’d bet. Yeah?”

You swallow, forcing breaths back into your too-tight lungs. “Yeah,” you say. “I… fuck.”

“Ask nicely, kiddo. I’ll consider indulging you.”

“Seriously?”

“‘S that what you want, kiddo? Want your pretty face between my cheeks while I laugh at you for how desperate ya are for it?” Your vision swims. Joel is heady, alluring. You can’t pry your eyes away from him. It’s easy to remember how you bent to his whims last time. “Yeah, thought so,” he hums. “Already in this habit ‘a mouthin’ off at me. Ought show some respect. Could be a whole lot meaner to ya. Or we could do this the easy way, sugar. Your call.”

Your face feels scalding hot, eyes watering with something like arousal. Your thighs clamp together, squeezing in attempts to get some friction on your neglected, weeping cunt. “Please,” you rasp, voice more animalistically needy than you’d expected.

Joel rolls his eyes. “You askin’ for the table salt or to lick my ass, kiddo?”

“Jesus Christ, you’re picky. Okay, your royal highness. Please, can I lick your perfect, majestic, incredible ass?”

Joel reaches out and grabs your chin. You whimper as skin prickles under his calloused touch. He presses his fingers into the hollows of your cheeks, teeth shelving against the insides of your mouth. “Like I said. Mouthy. I’ll fix that, kiddo. Probably won’t ever wanna open your mouth again after you get what you wish for.” He gives your face a light slap, hardly enough to feel the thud of his palm against your skin. Still, your head rings.

Joel grabs you by the back of your neck and shoves you down onto your knees. You grunt at the whirlpool of colors blurring around your head, at the wood grains of the floor meshing into your kneecaps. He stands, facing the back of the suede couch. “Go ‘head, kid. If ya want it so bad.” 

You balk, staring at what you’re now face-to-face with. Joel’s ass, plump and thick and covered by his boxers and a thin layer of sleep shorts. He shuffles, sticking his ass out a bit.

“Don’t be chicken. Put your money where your mouth is.” He taps the back of your neck, urging you on. You tug at the stretchy waistband of his shorts and let them slide down to his ankles.

You scrutinize his choice of footwear. “Crocs? Really?”

“Do what you’re good for and kiss. My. Ass,” Joel says.

You probably should’ve expected that.

You lure his boxers down, breath hitching when you see how his cheeks come together. He’s warm, with a physique made for worship. Your mouth works as you swallow, mouth watering at the thought of getting your tongue in there. Instead of going for the throat, you start slowly.

You plant a kiss where his left cheek meets his thigh, tongue peeking out to stir at the soft patch of skin there. You press sloppy little kisses along the globes of his ass. One here, one there, a couple nearing his cleft. The very tip of your tongue pokes out of your lips to do a sweep of the inside of his right cheek. At this, Joel lets a breathy sigh out. 

“Got a perfect fuckin’ mouth.”

“I know,” you quip. You lean in and take a deep breath of a scent that’s so undeniably Joel. He’s cleaner this time, not fresh off of the lawn mower. He smells more like the Dr. Squatch soap you’d usually find in a Walmart aisle. You know from visiting his house that his bathrooms are stocked with the stuff. It’s woodsy and outdoorsy, a gingery pine aroma that wafts up your nostrils. You sigh and nuzzle into his skin.

“Ain’t a Bath and Body Works.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumble.

“Like I said. Sick in the head, likin’ all this odd shit.”

You spit into your palm and reach around, giving his cock a quick pump. It twitches in your head. His head tips forward, groaning and shoving his ass closer to your face. You smother a laugh. “You like it too, old man.” As you tug your hand down, you give his balls a generous squeeze. Then, you reach to spread him proper.

You damn near get heart eyes as you eye his pucker. Tan and blending into the rest of his skin, wrinkled and in dire need of attention. You lean in and throw him into the deep end with a broad stroke of your tongue along his hole. His hips jerk, a stunned noise ripping out of his lips.

“Fuck. Yeah, attagirl.” You groan into him, starting to swirl your tongue around. It whorls around his hole. You sweep softly along the inside of each of his cheeks, spit dribbling down his skin and along his taint. “Knew you’d make a good ass wipe. ‘S what you’re good for. Cleanin’ me up…”

You whimper, legs squeezing together needily. Your tongue swoops along the bend of his hole. Your thumbs dig into the insides of his cheeks so you can really nudge your tongue in there. Shallowly, you fuck your tongue in and out of his hole. Joel groans, hips thrusting against your face. “Goddamn,” he says through a hiss. He looks over his shoulder at you. Your eyes are needy and lidded, tongue hanging out as you work it against him. “Look atcha. There ya go, kiddo. Needy ‘lil slut for me…”

You hum in agreement as you flick your tongue up and down, left and right. You bob your head, determined to work him up properly. You slobber all over him. Little whines and whimpers hitch out of your mouth as you slurp and suck on his asshole. “Oughta keep you down there all day. Fuck, looks like it’s right where ya belong. Nose squished under my balls, breathin’ in my musk while you drool all over my ass. Be nice, havin’ a little cushion while I watch some ball games, do my work.” He cuts off into a strangled moan when you thrust your tongue inside of him properly, swirling it as deep inside of him as you can get it. 

You reach up to cup his balls, work your grip along his length, but he snatches your wrist when it’s halfway there. “Nuh uh, sweetie. Ain’t deservin’ of this cock. Gotta earn that privilege back after bein’ a naughty whore. Watchin’ all that porn. On your daddy’s WiFi. Got no shame, hm?”

“N-not my fault you left me high and dry–” you stammer out between kitten licks at his hole.

“Didn’t leave ya dry. Left you wetter than a fire hydrant. And if you wanna be high, I’m sure I could get a sex swing off ‘a Facebook Marketpla–”

“Jesus Christ, shut up and let me eat your ass.” He laughs, head hanging low towards the couch. You keep your palms splayed along his cheeks, baring him to you so you can pleasure him in a way that has long been foreign to both of you. He makes a choked noise as you purposefully twist and flutter the point of your tongue into his opening. His hips jerk, holer quivering around you.

“Goddamn, kiddo— shit, thas’ good…” he tapers off into a frayed moan.

Your thighs, spread against the floorboards, heat like furnaces. Slick drools out from your pussy lips, twitching and aching, needing so badly for him to fill you. You whine an unintelligible curse into his skin, hand fumbling past the elastic band of your shorts. Your fingers nudge past your panties, finding your clit wet and wanting from your interrupted session earlier. Your fingers work a slippery circle onto your puffy clit. A moan bends out of your lips as they work and suckle at his hole.

Joel cranes his neck over his shoulder, dark, half-closed eyes tracing your pathetic figure. You’re shrunken down on the floor as you serve him, so zeroed in on his pleasure. Yours is an afterthought, but your hips still chase after your wandering, fleeting touches. “Can’t believe this gets you off. Touchin’ yourself…. Does my ass really get ya this worked up?” He groans, grasping the back of your head and holding you into his cheeks. As if you’d ever pull away.  “Someone’s gotta–” he exhales. “gotta get you a fuckin’ vibrator. Gonna rub that sweet pussy raw.”

You whine at the thought, tongue traveling lower to give his taint some attention too. “Shit. Thereeeee ya go. Embarrassin’ kinda kink to have, y’know? Oughta get you an audience. Some folks from work… Tommy too, maybe. Bet you’d come twice as fast and twice as hard.” 

You nod in agreement, swiping your tongue all along his hole. Fingers snapping along your clit, a moan is drawn out of you. Languid strokes steadily quicken into sweeping jabs that leave his hips stuttering against the air, cock dripping pearls of precum onto the floor. “Hngh,” you whine into him, putting your full neck, head, and tongue into your efforts. Joel rocks back against you, rolling his asshole along your exposed tongue. You whimper, reaching up for his cock again with your spare hand. This time, you meet no resistance. You wrap your hand around him properly, stroking him in time with the circles you draw along your clit.

A flurry of curses sling off of his tongue, sharp and stunned by your vigor to bring him to the edge. Your lips lock around his asshole, sucking him, getting him there. Your thumb brushes along his twitching tip as your tongue slides in and out of his clenching hole. “This what you been wantin’?” he taunts, gripping the back of your neck. You keen in response, the noise vibrating along his ass. “‘Course it is. Pretty slut like you… meant to be on her knees with ass in her face.” His other hand slips back too, one around your nape and the other at the back of your skull, urging you to lick deeper, faster, more.

You whisk your tongue hungrily along his pucker, whining into him. Your fingers tweak at your clit, hips grinding into your hand with each upward stroke of your tongue. 

“Shit, kiddo. Gettin’ me close–” he rasps. Your hand slips down to squeeze at his balls, middle finger slipping along his shaft. You let out a high-pitched whimper as your hips roll down to meet your hand. “Fuck, I ain’t the only one. You really gonna come from this?” he hisses, digging his fingers harder into your skin. You let out a piercing, whetted moan. “Embarrassing. Thought it’d take mo–” He cuts himself off with a moan. “Goddammit, more. But I shoulda known you’d be easy. Came just from grindin’ on your inseam last time. Jus’ call you a slut and let you lick me clean and your panties are done for.”

Your eyes water with humiliated arousal. You drip all down your fingers, feeling wetness leak down between your legs. “Joel,” you moan into him through gasping breaths and slithery licks. Your clit twitches against the pads of your fingers. Your pelvis jerks. With each clench, your cunt salivates along your fingers, wanting. All you can taste, feel, hear, is him. His musk on your tongue, his skin under your hands and his cock between your fingers, his moans ringing in the air like a song. 

Joel grinds down your face. You lick up between his cheeks, landing another sloppy kiss on his hole. With a determined thrust, you twirl your tongue inside of him at the same time your hand twists around his cock. You know he’s coming from his sounds alone, something you’d been deprived of from just watching him across the street. You never would’ve taken Joel Miller to be loud in bed, but you are glad you are wrong. His whines and grunts heave out into the emptiness of the living room. “Fuck, hngh — good slut. Yeah. That’s my girl. Good ‘lil ass kisser. Gonna cream those fuckin’ panties for me like those girls do in your videos, aren’t ya? ‘S alright, kiddo. Come for me. Go ‘head.”

 Your tongue works him over diligently, fingers scuffing along your clit until it damn near chafes. His noises, the way he grinds, his words are enough to send you plummeting over that edge. You’re suspended on the precipice of your climax as you hover in time, but then the pestle of your fingers presses against your cunt. You’re done for, spiraling as juices leak out of you. Tiny, hitching moans hiccup out of you. You repeat his name like a mantra, “Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel,” hand still wrapped around his softening cock. Your tongue hangs out, forehead pressed against his cheek. Panting in the comedown, in that warm-lit afterglow of release, you slump back onto your haunches. Your chest heaves, stomach unknotting from that peak of pleasure. 

“Fuck,” you say articulately, looking up at him with glazed-over eyes.

“Fuck,” Joel says, in an entirely different tone. You follow his gaze to the back of the couch, splattered with pearly ropes of cum. Unable to stop yourself, you smother a giggle into the back of your hand. His panicked look only makes you giggle more before you burst into an entire laughing fit, clutching your gut as you wheeze at him.

Instead of fussing, Joel laughs too, shaking his head. “Goddamn, kid. You’re trouble.” He reaches down and squeezes your shoulder anyway. He bends down and tugs his shorts up, groaning as some of his bones snick from all of the bending. “Your dad keep any shock around?”

“Under the sink,” you say through your giggles, bracing yourself on your elbows. It takes until Joel comes back with an orange spray bottle and a rag that you manage to pull yourself up, dusting yourself off. You can still taste him on your tongue, a lingering musk that sits on your tongue. The bottle squeaks as it sprays foaming cleaner along the couch. You cross your arms and toe the ground, waiting for him to finish up.

“All that,” he says as he runs the rag under the faucet. “and we didn’t even plug my phone in.”

“Keep the charger,” you say. “I… think I have a spare. Somewhere. Besides. Won’t need to do another late-night viewing tonight.”

“Yeah,” Joel says with a content nod. “Guess you won’t.” He toes back on his Crocs that had come off somewhere in the fray. He runs a hand back through his hair. “Well, kiddo. Sleep well,” he says. “And get better taste in porn. You’re better than the cheap shit.”

You roll your eyes and wave him off. “Yeah, yeah. Goodnight, Joel.”

“Night,” he says, voice a tad stilted as he slips out of the house to go back next door.

Your eyes chase him down the sidewalk into his front door, then follow his silhouette upstairs until his lamp flickers off. When you head to bed, it’s with an entirely different type of video playing in your head — one starring you.

[lovelytsunoda]

everything everywhere all at once | ollie bearman

I’m feeling everything everywhere all at once I feel stupid and clueless like what the fuck! did I just step in some love?

summary: an influencer who's never had a boyfriend finds her storybook romance with one of formula one's most promising rookies

pairing: ollie bearman x influencer!reader

TIKTOK - YN YLN just posted a video

music - "don't look back in anger" by oasis

COMMENTS

user old honda gang unite!! these shitboxes will outlive us all

-> yn.yln i have outfitted mine with five different cds that stopped being popular in 1999 and a bath and body works air freshener. we are living the dream!

user i can't wait until she starts dating...i'll be following along like a proud mother (im only 29)

user girl which liam gallagher show were you at???

-> yn.yln montreal! tickets were cheaper there than my hometown so i drove across the border with my dad

user we need to do for her what we did for nick and cassie!

-> user oooh you know who she'd look cute with? olliebearman !

INSTAGRAM

yn.yln just posted!

liked by yourbestie, bff2, olliebearman and 600 others

yn.yln bought a cute new bikini top, its such a shame i dont have a cute boy to help me take it off

see all comments

yourbestie SLAYYYYYYYYYY

user oooooo i love that bag in the second pic! where did you buy it?

-> yn.yln just sent you a link!

user girl that caption is unhinged (and i feel it so hard)

user chat, did you see ollie bearman in her likes???

-> user no who is he?

-> user a formula one driver! he's 19 and someone on tiktok said they thought he and yn would be cute together

-> user ooo i see i just googled him and he's actually such a cutie!

TIKTOK - YN YLN just posted a video

music - "kiss the dirt (falling down the mountain) by inxs

COMMENTS

user omg!!! you look so cute girlie! i hope you have a great time

user proud mom moment (im 36 and recently engaged)

user that's such a great scent! you look good and you smell good, he'd be a fool not to love you

kimiantonelli he's so excited to finally meet you!

-> olliebearman KIMI SHUT UP

INSTAGRAM

yn.yln just posted!

tagged: olliebearman

liked by yourbestie, olliebearman and 700 others

yn.yln hey google play "kiss me" by sixpence none the richer

see all comments

yourbestie SCREAMING

yourbestie TEXT ME IMMEDIATELY

yourbestie HOW DARE YOU POST BEFORE TEXTING ME

olliebearman I had a really great time today <3

-> yn.yln me too! i can't wait to do it again :)

user damn my girl is acting up for a man born in 2005

-> user HES JUST A BABY OMGGG

-> user and so is she??? they're like five months apart

INSTAGRAM STORIES

TEXTS FROM OLLIE TO YN

INSTAGRAM

yn.yln just posted

montreal, quebec

liked by olliebearman, kimiantonelli and 890 others

yn.yln boy you make my heart beat fast, ferrari

see all comments

olliebearman babe you know i drive a haas right?

-> yn.yln doesn't flow as nicely

haasf1team it was so much fun having you in the garage this weekend! you make our boy very happy!

user god it hurts to watch other people live out my dreams

yourbestie SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

yourbestie YOUVE GROWN UP SO FAST

yourbestie side note also thanks for inviting me and the bf along! we've both has such a great time with you guys

user chat did i pull through by getting ollie hooked on her tiktoks or what?

-> kimiantonelli actually i did that way before you did

BONUS

[norrisainz33]

European Getaway Pt.2 || CS55

☆ summary: after your infamous trip to spain where you met carlos, you two grow closer

☆ pairing: carlos sainz x nonfamous!reader

☆ fc & warnings: none

☆ requested: nope but i loved this one so wanted to make a second part!! this has been in my drafts for forever

pt. 1 | masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

ynuser has made a posted 🔒

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, alexandrasaintmleux, yourbff1, yourbff2 and 834 others

ynuser: missing italy and my love.. counting down the days till we’re reunited

view all 26 comments

yourbff: oh my wife you are so beautiful

ynuser: i’m blushing 🤭

landonorris: my mom and dad 🥹

ynuser: my son

landonorris: ready to smoke you at padel AND golf

ynuser: impossible i’m a winner

carlossainz55: that’s my girl

carlossainz55: mi amor, i’ll see you so soon 🤍

ynuser: you promise?

carlossainz55: i promise princessa. only 3 more days!

friend2: missing YOU when are we gonna hang out b

ynuser: um as soon as you stop working 24/7

alexandrasaintmleux: pretty girl

ynuser: you’re the prettiest girl

charlesleclerc: leo misses you

ynuser: omg tell him i love him and that i’ve got loads of treats

scuderiaferrari: can’t wait to see you soon ❤️

friend3: this comment section is stacked who even are you these days

carlossainz55 has posted to his story

view all story replies

user1: so happy for you 😭 (i’m gonna lay in the road)

user2: yeah no i’m jealous

maxverstappen1: looking forward to meeting her this weekend mate

carlossainz55: looking forward to it as well!! y/n is very excited to meet “her favorite diva”

landonorris: there are kids on here mate

carlossainz55: ya like you

user3: can’t even see you and still know you look good

ynuser: i love this photo so much 🥹

carlossainz55: and i love you so much 🧡

ynuser: carlosss 😭 i love you too

user4: hand placement got me feeling feral

williamsracing: she’s going to look great in blue next season 💙

carlossainz55: you got that right 💙

user5: i want to be her so bad im gonna bite someone

lando.jpg has made a posted

liked by maxfewtrell, ynuser, carlossainz55, landonorris, daniel.3jpg, yourbff, and 341,274 others

lando.jpg: friendsies

view all 653 comments

maxfewtrell: 🧍🏻‍♂️come get me please mate

user12: is that y/n and p?! omg stop. i’m so obsessed with these random crumbs we are getting of her

user55: carlando is so dear to me you don’t understand

ynuser: my new friends

landonorris: besties

maxfewtrell: mates

pietra.pilao: amigas

user13: the last slide of y/n and carlos 🥹😭

user16: so many pretty best friends it’s disgusting

carlossainz55: ⛳️🤍

lando.jpg: 🧡

user17: i love that lan remembered his password for jpg and used it to post carlando and y/nlos

ynuser has posted to their story 🔒

view all story replies

yourbff: CHILI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HE DID IT

ynuser: can you believe it?! the high im on is insane

yourbff: i’m literally so proud?????? i watched it at the bars and was crying my eyes out

ynuser: literal icon you are

yourbff: literal icon HE is

friend3: remember when i had to tell you who he even was

ynuser: 😔 yes 😔 he and you will never let me live that down

scuderiaferrari: ❤️🌶️

ynuser: 😘❤️

carlossainz55: mi vida i love you

ynuser: i love you my darling. you are incredible!!! i am so proud of you!!!

carlossainz55: i’m incredibly thankful to have you on team 55 gorgeous

ynuser: 🥹 i wouldn’t wanna be on any other team

carlossainz55: stop texting me and get yourself to my drivers room. we’re almost done interviews 😉

ynuser: don’t have to tell me twice 🤭

pietra.pilao: you’re adorable

ynuser: no you

yoursibling: i’ve never watched a race before but i was jumping up and down and screaming at the tv at the end of this one

ynuser: everyone’s a carlos fan fr

carlossainz55 has made a post

liked by robertomerhi, landonorris, charlesleclerc, georgerussell63, puma, scuderiaferrari, and 894,475 others

carlossainz55: p1 in mexico 🇲🇽 🏆 thank you for all of the support! what a weekend!! grateful my loved ones were here to celebrate with me ❤️

view all comments

user2: EL MATADOR

landonorris: congratulations my friend

carlossainz55: gracias mi amigo

user55: so proud of you carlos

ynuser: p1 has never looked so good! congratulations el matador ❤️🌶️

carlossainz55: i’m glad you could be here for it y/n ❤️

ynuser: me too 😘😭

robertomerhi: now that’s a smooth operator

carlossainz55: smooooooooooth operator

user4: that’s my goat!!!!!!!!

charlesleclerc: congrats mate!

carlossainz55: merci

user8: most underrated driver out there. you are incredible carlitos

user10: thank you for dragging that horse team to glory

user99: y/nlos are so cute p.s P1 BABEYYYYYYYY

ynuser has made a post 🔒

liked by carlossainz, robertomerhi, landonorris, yourbff, friend3, alexandrasaintmleux, alex_albon and 459 others

ynuser: might have been one of the best weekends of my life. i could get so used to this f1 thing ❤️

view all comments

alexandrasaintmleux: i miss you already please come back

ynuser: on my way baby

robertomerhi: you’re out wag’ing me stop

ynuser: that’s not possible and you know it

yourbff: you’re gorgeous , he’s gorgeous , this is insane

ynuser: and to think this is all because of a little trip to spain

carlossainz55: well thank goodness because you’re coming to every race

ynuser: heheheh i can’t wait

landonorris: this is sickeningly cute

ynuser: 🤭

friend3: i’m trying so hard not to fangirl in these comments

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thank for reading!! likes and reblogs appreciated 🤍

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[starsjulia]

baby fever // alexia putellas

a/n : maybe it’s because i’m ovulating, but i feel like im having withdrawals from my child (i don’t have a child)

warnings : none!!

“Alexia,” you said, flopping onto the couch dramatically, your phone clutched in one hand. “Look at this baby. Look. Isn’t this proof we should have one?”

She glanced up from her iPad, one brow raised. “That’s the fifth baby you’ve shown me today.”

“Because they’re soooo cute! And we could have one!” You shoved the phone under her nose, showing her a TikTok of a giggling infant in a tiny onesie. “Imagine our baby. They’d have your eyes, my—”

Alexia cut you off with an amused smirk. “We’ve talked about this, cariño.”

“No, you’ve talked about logistics,” you shot back, sitting cross-legged beside her. “I’ve talked about how I want a baby, like, yesterday.”

She sighed, setting the iPad down. “I’m not saying no. I’m saying it’s a big decision. And with everything we have going on—your work, my schedule—it’s not the right time.”

“Then I’ll carry!” you declared, your voice rising with excitement. “You can keep playing, and I’ll do all the hard parts. It’s perfect!”

Alexia blinked at you, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ve… really thought about this, haven’t you?”

“For months,” you said earnestly, grabbing her hand. “I don’t care about logistics or timing. I just know I want to do this with you.”

Her gaze softened, but there was still hesitation. “I’m not against it, amor. I just want to make sure we’re ready. Both of us.”

You groaned, flopping backward into her lap. “If you won’t listen to me, I’ll get backup.”

Alexia frowned. “What does that mean?”



————————

It meant enlisting Mapi and Ingrid.

“Finally!” Mapi said when you brought up your idea at training. She threw her hands in the air dramatically. “I’ve been telling Alexia for years she needs to let loose a little. Having a baby is perfect.”

“Right?” you said, clutching Mapi’s arm. “Imagine her as a mamá. So nurturing, so responsible—”

“And terrifying,” Mapi added, smirking. “Disciplining kids with that captain energy? Iconic.”

Ingrid chimed in from beside her. “Honestly, we’re on board. Do it, and we’ll be the godparents.”

“You’d have to fight Mariona for it,” you teased.

Mapi scoffed, draping an arm over Ingrid’s shoulder. “Please. I’m already the cool tía. It’s a done deal.”

Ingrid smiled softly, giving you a nudge. “Besides, we think you’re for perfect carrying the baby. You’re already glowing just talking about it.”

“You get it,” you said dramatically, pointing at Ingrid like she’d solved world hunger. “Why can’t Alexia see it?”

“Oh, she does,” Mapi said knowingly. “She’s just pretending to be logical about it. She’ll come around. Trust me.”

—————————

The breakthrough came at a team barbecue, thanks to Ingrid and Mapi’s nephew, little Liam, who’d stolen your heart the moment you met him.

“You’re so perfect,” you cooed, holding him close as he gurgled in your arms. “The cutest baby ever.”

Across the yard, Alexia watched you from a distance. Mapi elbowed her lightly, smirking. “You’re staring, capi. You look like you’re about to cry.”

“I’m not crying,” Alexia muttered, though her gaze softened as she watched you bounce Liam gently.

“You’re thinking about it, though,” Ingrid said, stepping up beside them.

Alexia sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just—”

“You’re overthinking,” Mapi interrupted. “Classic Alexia. Look, you’re already a leader. A protector. It’s who you are. Being a mom? You’d be incredible. And (Y/N)? She’s ready. You can see it in her face.”

Alexia didn’t answer, but her thoughtful expression spoke volumes.

Later, as you cradled Liam, Alexia finally approached.

“Look at him,” you said, smiling as Liam giggled and reached for her. “He’s perfect. And soon, he’ll have a little friend. Isn’t that right, Ale?”

Alexia raised a brow. “What?”

“Our baby!” you explained, beaming. “He’s gonna have a friend, and they’ll grow up together, and it’ll be so cute.”

Alexia reached out hesitantly, letting Liam grab her finger. She froze, visibly melting at the tiny hand gripping hers. Mapi and Ingrid exchanged smug looks from across the yard.

Alexia sighed, her voice quiet. “You’re really not letting this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you said, grinning. “Come on, Ale. Let’s do it. I’ll carry, you’ll be the hot football mum, and Mapi and Ingrid are already fighting to be the godparents.”

“We’re winning,” Mapi called from nearby, raising a beer.

Alexia laughed softly, shaking her head. “Fine.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait. Fine?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling at your stunned expression. “But we’re doing this properly. No rushing.”

“Whatever you say, mamá,” you teased, setting Liam in his stroller before throwing your arms around her. “Let’s go make a baby!”

“That’s… not how it works,” she said, pulling back slightly.

“Oh, right,” you said, blushing. “I knew that.”

Her laughter was warm as she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “I can’t wait to see you glowing, amor. And for the record… Mapi and Ingrid are not automatically the godparents.”

“We’ll see about that!” Mapi shouted, earning another laugh from both of you.

As Alexia’s hand rested gently on your stomach, you knew everything was about to change. But for the first time, it felt like a change you were both ready for.

[strawberryvanillafrosting]

success life story ♡

heyy i'm here to share about my success story, the beginning is only before i started manifesting and about when i just started, all my success are on the very end of the blog, so feel free to skip directly at it if you're not interest by all the rambling !

have a good read ☆

michiko is so pretty, i've literally been told so many times i looked liker <3

the old story that i don’t live in anymore

okay so before i didn’t hate my life, at all, but i just found very dull and so poor of entertaining like it was just too fucking regular and repetitive.also a bit depressing. i thought of myself of such an unlucky girl before and i was like affirming all the fucking time that i was unlucky and guess what? everything really used to go the way i didn’t want it to go every single damn time and i’d be like i knew it im so unlucky boo-hoo.

same for the money i would just go every single fucking day rambling to my friends how poor i was and how i wanted money so bad and the same story every single fucking for days, weeks, months.

i really wanted a new appartement and my own room cause i used to share same room as my sister and it really was getting on my nerves, i had no privacy and place for myself. the apartment was small, my mum always kept complaining about it and then she would argue about my dad about it but the reason why we couldn’t move out despite trying for several months was cause my dad had whole lotta debts and my mom had a really low paying and hard job she was exhausted and, it was quiet hard to see them being this unhappy and they still tried their hardest to make us happy so i really wanted to get back at them.

about social life i had very few friends and barely went out, i'd say probably one time a month. and i really wanted to get that life of the party, and those big ass friends group and also i was crazy desperate about having black friends cause i am black and literally the only black out here without none of black friends and i felt pretty left out like wtf am i the only black girl with no black friends cause all of them (that's so dumb tho.. ) were friends and gets invited to the most fun hangouts and i was embarrassingly jealous of that and also complained a lot about it…and kept asking tf was wrong with me.

STRONGLY on this one : i wanted a relationship so bad and i kept hating and being sad to those couple on tiktok’s. one time i actually cried cuz i wanted a boys’s love so bad like i was craving it so bad. i was in such despair state before..cringy ahh ☠️

i used to be rlly insecure about my looks too even tho at some moments i felt more confident, i kept comparing myself and waisting dozens of minutes enumerating my "flaws ". i knew about manifestation but not really about law of assumption , for me manifesting was really all about listening to subliminals, method and scripting. we all once knew that phase yeah? i used to manifest from time to time but then would just give up again,since i was not seeing results and so on. so useful wow.and then there’s the others things like mediocre grades, poor family health, just constant tiredness and fatigue feeling,

tw : mention of being depressed,sh,ed, : felt empty like life had absolutely no meaning, suicidal thoughts, tried to end by over-consumption of medication, self-harm and bulimia, constant complaining and NEGATIVE ONLY mindset.

but now, NOW i tell you ever single thing i’ve just listed changed completely like every single damn thing i’ve just listed is no more, it’s out of the date, dead, buried and no longer existing !

it clicked

then at some point at my life i was just like. yk what? fuck i just wanna change it all. then i really like really  got into it all over again and for good. no more 1 week i try then giving up cause i ain’t seeing no « results ».

i watched hours and hours of ppl talking about loa (i’m not saying you should do this at all it’s just that i was very under-informed and wanted to know everything about loa)on youtube, shoutout to rita kaminski and hyler who really put me into it and informed me. then i started reading neville’s pdf books, and tumblr blogs, kinda overconsuming but i liked getting myself informed.

and then that’s where everything started and that i got aware of all the power i actually hold. all the things i actually can do just cause of my mind. i wrote down all my wishes in present tense ,like every single aspect i wanted to change/have in my life. and i started fully living in the end like really got myself into and at first of course, wavering from time to time in the beginning. it was pretty easy for me since i was used to manifestation.but what i didn’t do before is persist no matter what and that’s what was really tricky for me in the beginning to persist no matter what and not just give up to bullshit 3D. but when i kept moving forward no matter the 3D and made it facts the only my 4D matters and everything has already happened, ALL and every single wish down to the last one flowed into my life. ONE by ONE every single hour of the day i would get my manifestations down to the last letter i wrote in my notes.every single thing

success storyy

in a matter of few weeks like really 3 week-ish like- 1 month max.

starting off LUCK i’m extremely lucky now every single time i play gambling activities i win. i’ve won insane amounts at scratch cards i think i’ve won in total more than 5’000$. JUST FROM SCRATCH CARDS.and before i started i NEVER EVER WON. now whenever i play there’s not one time that i’ll win absolutely nothing even just a small prize

won huge lottery prize (from 200 to 12k the biggest i’ve won yet)

winning a gambling games, either online or dice rolling luck,bets, bingos etc.. its literally insane every one keep telling that i literally has got god’s blessing (i’m the god guys🥰)

financially freedom, my parents upgraded jobs and i’ve got lots of incomes + the money my parents give me 

all the debts my dad had, he got rid of ALL of them and when i tell you mf had a lot of em☠️

move out in a new huge ass condo which is a duplex (like really like i wrote it it’s actually scary how powerful we are..) I’VE FINALLY GOT MY OWN ROOM and we’re getting my desired furnitures and decorating the house i’m so grateful

friends and popularity i think biggest shock for me is really this. like my social life has gone from very paisible to completely fully booked and passioning life. like seriously i’ve been to more parties, concerts, birthdays, and hangouts during the last 2 weeks holidays than in my entire life

got lot of new friends, healthy relationships and quality time passed on lots of fun activities and sm memories

black groups friend. WITH AN S.so thankful to myself to be this good a manifestation i litteraly got into a black friend group of girls and i’ve never felt more at my place and understood this much. and these girls know the black group boys (when i tell you that 2y ago they were the person that i wanted to be close with so bad..also they’re really hot and funny lol)so we hung out with them and i was literally so highlighted and became pretty much friends with all of them !! 

my man. HELLO I LITERALLY MANIFESTED MY DREAM RELATIONSHIP? when i met him i didn’t actually realize right on the spot that he was exactly how i wanted him to be and reading back to when i scripted out all the things i wanted at the beginning, everything matched. he’s literally physically and mentally the man of my dream LIKE REALLY. we’re no bf and gf YET cause it’s just a little soon but we see each others super often and we have the best relationship ever i swear it’s giving wattpad. the flirting is crazyyy.

dream bod.from head to toe my desired body. heavy on the lower body all for that azz and wide hips.ive got smooth and clear skin and smell good all the time!! litteraly flawless face + got my braces which suits so much and dimples

plenty of vacations (went to ibiza, usa and dubai )

lenient parents they use to be so strict before i swear its crazy they let me go so easily now, i can hangout without asking 3 days ,like they accept even if i've gotta go in the next hour or if wanna go on trip that's in another country. i can come back home so much later too

attractive & magnetic aura + being really charismatic (everyone i met keep telling me i’ve got this thing that really makes them want me, get closer to me)

good grades without doing much

perfect self-concept - as i kept living 24/7 in the state of wish fulfilled, my self concept only got better making me really know what i’m worth and never wavering/ going back to the old story

whole ass pc set up

all of my desired skincare/makeups/shoes/clothes

and so much more...

outro

i hope y'all liked my blog and that it motivated some of you to NEVER GIVE UP cause y'all are reallyy some powerful mfs and y'all already got all of yours desires !!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ honey kisses, shayama

[hearts4johnwick]

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ Against All Odds. / C. Kent.

SUMMARY. 𝜗𝜚 one of the many things you and clark have in common is your undying love for each other, but, none of you know about that. when clark realizes you’re not coming back to the daily planet, is when he decides to take the risk and tell you—but, is he too late?

CW. 𝜗𝜚 fluff, just a lillllll bit of angst, brief physical description of reader & reader is selfish.

A/N. 𝜗𝜚 omgggg i haven’t written something for David’s Clark in forever, but since we’re one day closer to the movie coming out here is a lil something 🤭🤭 as yall can guess by now, most of my work is inspired by songs, hence, the title being the title of the song + the lyrics that fit the most at the end of the work, im gonna start putting the actual song title and artist in my works inspire by song so for this work it’s against all odds by phil colllins <3

The best part of Clark’s day was always seeing you walking through the door of The Daily Planet. Your elegant and classy outfits, the smile you give as you give a “good morning” to everyone that passes by you, and the trail of your perfume that follows you as you place your things on the desk beside him. And the nice hairstyle that took you a little over 15 minutes to do. It was the little things, he would always appreciate the little things. 

   “Good morning, Clark!” You greet him with a flashy smile, which he excitedly returns. 

   “Hey! How are you feeling this morning?” He asks and your smile fades slightly. He watches as your posture changes, and his eyebrows fall. “Is everything alright?” 

   “Yes…” you say hesitantly, you don’t like to lie, especially to someone like Clark. He has done absolutely nothing but be incredibly kind to you, you don’t know how you could ever repay him, yet, you continue to be dishonest with him by saying “I’m okay.” You nod and rub your hands over your slacks. 

   “You know, you can always count on me… If anything is bothering you, I’m here.” You walk closer to him place your hand above his chest and smile. 

   “Thank you, Clark.” His lip twitches into a smile and he adjusts his glasses. “Have you seen Lois?” You ask. 

   “No, I haven’t.” Silly you. He hasn’t been paying attention to anything, not before you walked through that door, at least. He wasn’t listening to Perry’s voice yelling at him to finish his report on Lex Luthor taking over his father’s company, or Jimmy Olsen asking him how many sugar bags he wanted in his coffee. And when you did walk through that door, his attention was fully focused on you. Not the people around him, just you. Like always. 

   Yet, he always fails to admit his undying love for you, because he doesn’t realize it, not even when everyone around him does. 

   “It’s okay, I’ll look for her.” You smile at him and he nods. You walk off to find Lois, and still, Clark’s eyes are upon you. He smiles to himself before sitting down in his chair. He looks to hide side and sees Robert Fearn, the co-worker who’s always sipping loudly ok his coffee, giving him a disgusted look. 

   Confused, Clark continues his work on his computer. 

   You had found Lois leaving Perry’s office and you quickly went up to her and asked her if you could get coffee later in the cafe down the street, to which she said “Of course!” 

𓂃

   “I have some news.” Lois’ face lightens up, in hopes of hearing some good news, specifically about a certain someone, but you shake your head in disappointment. “Lois…” your tone made her heart skip a beat, she was scared, worried. “Lois, I’m moving.” 

   Lois’ eyebrows furrow and she looks down at her coffee, then chuckles. “Moving jobs? House?” She searches for an answer in your eyes, your once bright eyes. 

   “States.” You say and she stops mixing her coffee. She swallows and breathes deeply. She looks up at you, giving you sad puppy dog eyes. “My mom is very ill, and my dad can’t take care of her alone, which is why, I talked Perry last week, and I quit. My decision is final, I’m moving.” 

   Lois licks her lips before looking back down. “Where?” She asks, wondering if you were returning to your hometown, which, you were.

   “Nevada.” You reply. 

   “Jesus.” She exclaims. She whispers your name, her tone full of sadness, and you hear your heart chip. “Wow. I don’t know what to say. At least, it’s for a good reason, you need to be there, for your mother, I understand that. It hurts, but I’m obviously not going to fight you for that.” She grabs onto your hand and grips it tightly. 

   “I love you, Lo.” You share a smile. 

   “I love you more.” She says and you hum. “And what about…” she trails off. 

   “Clark? Oh, I don’t—I don’t…” you sigh. The situation confuses you, you think, you feel, you know he likes you, maybe even loves you, but at the same time, you feel delusional, he’s just a guy at work you happen to be close with, every woman has that, right? 

   “Look, Clark likes you, a lot, and I think—“ Lois begins, and you cut her off. 

   “How do you know that, Lois? You don’t, so please, please, stop saying that!” You raise your voice just slightly, but you regret it, and quickly apologize. “I’m sorry, I’m just so frustrated.” You run your hands through your hair. 

   “I think you should talk with him.” 

   “No, no, I can’t, it’s too late. I’ll… I’ll stay. For him? Yes, and I can’t let that happen, not when the only thing my mom is relying on is me!” You shake your head and look at her. “I can’t.” Your voice breaks and you take a deep breath. 

   “Listen to me. Your conscience will not let you live freely over there if you don’t talk to him.” Your eyes lock and stay like that for a while, while her words make your mind work. And though her words couldn’t be more truthful, you couldn’t do it, you couldn’t risk it. 

   “I’m picking up my things from the office. I’m done. I’m sorry.” You stand from your seat and begin to walk away until Lois speaks up. 

   “You know, if you keep forcing away your feelings, they’ll only get stronger.” You stop in your tracks, she’s waiting for you to turn around but you don’t, you continue your walk. 

   At the office, Jimmy Olsen walks next to you. “Hey, if you need help moving stuff, you know I’m just one call away.” He offers to help and you smile at him. 

   “Thank you, Jim. I appreciate that very much. But, I already moved all the things I need to the U-Haul truck and they’ll get to my mom’s house soon. Thank you.” You cup his cheek and walk back to your desk. 

   As you were tidying up your desk, you looked over at Clark’s. He’s not there, and you’re thankful he’s not, it feels like those painful goodbyes at the airport; don’t look back, it’ll only make the pain worse. 

   You swallow the lump in your throat and take a deep breath. You look down at the Funko Pop of Krypto in the box full of the supplies you’re taking to your house. You smile and place it on Clark’s desk as a “something to remember me by” parting gift since you love Krypto and think he’s the cutest thing ever, though you’re not even aware the man you have feelings for is his owner. 

   You walk away from your desk and say your goodbyes to some co-workers you’ve grown fond of, all except a particular one who you could not find anywhere. 

   When you make it to your car, you place the box of supplies in the passenger seat and get in the driver. 

   Clark enters The Daily Planet building with high expectations, to end his night with a last look at you, your bronze skin, and your dark hair and eyes, to get a whiff of your vanilla scent as he embraces you—but, he expects disappointment when all he finds is nothing but the computer that belongs to the company. When he looks at his desk, he sees the familiar Krypto Funko Pop, he grabs it and lets out a breath. He looks around the building, searching for you, and with no success. 

   He sees Jimmy putting away his paperwork and walks up to him. “Jimmy. Where is ___?” Jimmy’s eyebrows furrow. 

   “She quit.” 

   “What?” Clark exclaims and Jimmy crosses his arms. 

   “Yeah. She has to move states to help her mom, she’s really ill.” 

   “Back to Nevada?” Clark questions, on the verge of shouting his words. Jimmy nods nonchalantly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

   “It’s not like you cared anyway.” He taunts and Clark tilts his head. 

   “Jimmy, she’s my friend.” 

   “Is that all she is to you? A friend? I would love to know what kind of friend is always watching every single move she makes, like a hawk watches its prey, I love to know what kind of friend loses his breath, and his words whenever she looks into his eyes, I’d love to know what kind of friend gets jealous when someone who’s not you gets a little too close to her… open your eyes, Clark. She’s not your friend, she never was. I knew you were a nerd, but I never took you for someone so stubborn.” Jimmy rolls his eyes and goes back to cleaning his desk for the night. Clark stands in silence, analyzing what Jimmy had just said and not letting it go through one ear and our the other.

   “Jimmy. You’re right. I’m stupid.” Jimmy chuckles. “I do, I do love her, and I wish I had said it before, I do, but I was so scared, scared she wouldn’t feel the same way and I’d have to see her every day, knowing the things I feel for her would never go away. That’s a different type of pain I’m not strong enough to bear.” Jimmy’s eyebrows raise and he smiles. 

   “Buddy, do I look like her? Why are you telling me this?! Tell it to her!” He exclaims and Clark smiles. 

   “I think—no, I love her.” Clark confesses. 

   Jimmy places his hand on his shoulder and shakes him. “Congratulations on being the last one to find out, buddy.” Clark’s face changes at his words. 

   “What?” 

   “Oh, everybody knew. Everybody.” Jimmy laughs and Clark groans. 

   “Gosh, I am so stupid…” 

   “You said it, not me…” Jimmy laughs. “Now go… before you’re too late.”

   “Wait, she’s leaving tonight?” Jimmy hums and Clark exclaims under his breath.

“You better go to her, if you’re not too late.” Clark sighs and walks out the door, leaving Jimmy alone in silence.

Clark is constantly flicking his wrist just to look at the watch, it's 8:15 currently, and for some reason, he gets a feeling that he’s too late, he fears he won’t get to look at your big brown eyes one last time, or caress your soft hair, or connect the birthmarks on your face as if he was aligning stars.

By the time he arrived at your house, he had his tie loose and his hair was all over the place, his glasses slipping due to the sweat on his nose, but nothing was going to stop him, not even your moving vehicle, he’ll just fly.

You shut the door behind you and lock it, boosting up the box between your arms so it wouldn’t fall. You turn around and almost drop the box at the right.

Clark.

A messy-haired, tilted glasses, and loosened tie Clark, it’s a pretty good sight, but, not for now. You’re upset, and you don’t even wish to look at him. You stare at him in silence, a small frown forming on your face, you walk down the 5 steps and open the trunk of your car.

“____.” He calls out your name, but you still stay silent. “___, you know I’m not here for no reason. Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?”

“Didn’t think you’d care.” You reply dryly, a hint of annoyance in your voice.

“What? What would make you think that? Of course I’d care!” he says as if it were common sense, which, it was, but you elected to pretend it wasn’t. You give him a look and close the trunk. You are about to walk past him, but he blocks your path. “Were… were you seriously leaving without saying goodbye?” His tone is soft, delicate, and sad. Your nose flares, you look down and take in a breath.

“Clark. Move, please.” You sniffle. “I have to go home.”

You hear Clark scoff. “Home? This is your home. Here. Metropolis. With us.” You chuckle and shake your head.

“Us? As in Lois, Jimmy, you and I? You were never my family, my real family is in Nevada, and that’s where I’m headed right now, so don’t stand in my way.” You move past him, but yet again he blocks your path.

“I can’t let you do this. And you sound selfish.” You look up at him, glossy eyes reflecting off of his. “I…” there it is, losing his words, the same effect that has happened for the past 2 years. Eye contact = Clark losing his words. “I…” he trails off, your eyebrows furrow. “I can’t let you leave. Not without saying goodbye.” You laugh dryly. Is that all he had to say? You thought to yourself, basically on the verge of tears.

You lick your lips and you fake a smile. “Goodbye, Clark.” He looks down at you, his hands held high, urging you to touch your skin, but, he doesn’t move, he stands there, in silence. “That all?” Silence. “Thought so.” You move past him, but he delicately puts both his hands on each of your arms.

“No. That isn’t all.” He speaks, with the gentle and soothing voice that gave you many butterflies, and still does. His touch on your skin burns like the day first day he approaches you, every brush of his fingers lighting wildfires beneath your flesh. “I haven’t been completely truthful with you, and I know I shouldn’t be like that, especially with someone like you.” You take steps back, now you stand in front of him. “Please, look at me.” He says, but you keep looking down until he whispers your name; you swore it was the breeze that called to you. The whisper was so quiet—something that within the New York buzz would be inaudible, but, you caught it.

You look up with, a soft expression, shiny and watery eyes. Clark’s heart skips a beat at the sight. God, he admired your beauty—but he hated seeing you like this.

“Not only have I been lying to you… I’ve been lying to myself.” He trails off, takes a breath, and fiddles with his shaky hands. “For the longest time, I thought that if I hid my feelings from you, I could be able to live fine, but in reality, I know my life would be better with you in it. I never told you how I felt because, for some reason, I knew you’d never focus on someone like me.”

“Someone like you? Clark—“You begin, but he cuts you off.

“No, please, let me finish.” Your eyebrows knit themselves together, and you nod softly. “I didn’t want this. God, I tried so hard not to want this. I thought that you could just be someone I could admire from afar and then forget. But somewhere between pretending I didn’t care and lying to myself every time I looked at you, it happened. I fell in love with you.” He takes breathes in a shaky breath, he holds his hands together as he watches your expression closely. “A—and, maybe you’ll laugh. Maybe you’ll walk away. Maybe you’ll pity me—and I think that would be the worst of all—” You shake your head and take a step forward closer to him, but he backs away. “But I can’t carry this secret any longer. It’s eating me alive.”

Your teary eyes stared down at his, which were now just as glossy as yours, he looked away from you because if he spent one more second looking at your heavy-hearted face, he’d fall apart.

You sniffle and wipe away your fallen tears. You step closer to him, and although he doesn’t back away, he doesn’t look at you, but your warm, familiar touch brings him back. You place your hand above his cheek and turn his head to face you. You give him a smile and his face softens. You get on your tip toes to embrace him, to which he quickly wraps his arms around your body. His head dips in the crane of your neck, and he gently lifts you off the ground.

You wrap your finger between his locks and hold him tighter, getting a whiff of his scent. She closes her eyes and feels a single tear roll down her cheek which she wipes away rapidly.

None of you want to break the hug, the same hug that has lasted about 2 minutes now, your bodies have grown accustomed to each other, and they don’t want to fall apart, but, the first one to make the difficult decision is you. But, you don’t exactly retract your arms, and neither does Clark, he doesn’t set you back down on the ground—you just stare into each other’s eyes.

Your hand hovers over his face, urging to caress his skin—your noses brush against each other, and your foreheads touch. You close your eyes, your lips inching closer painfully slow. You inhale a slow breath before Clark leans in and kisses you, his lips soft on yours, your lips respond by kissing him back. Just as your bodies—your lips grow accustomed to each other in the small time you share—but, the time spent craving them has added to the desire—a desire fulfilled.

Slowly, but not taking his lips off of yours, Clark sets you down on the ground. He caresses your cheek and smiles.

“Please, let me come with you to Nevada, we can take care of your mom together.” His thumb traces over your cheekbone and you sniffle, then lick your lips. “Together.” You grab onto his wrists and nod. He smiles and places a quick peck on your lips. “Now that we’re here…” he whispers. You tilt your head. “There’s something else I need to tell you.” Your forehead creases and he chuckles embarrassingly. You watch as he takes off his glasses and he adjusts himself. “I’m Superman.”

❛ how can i just let you walk away? just let you leave without a trace? when i stand here taking every breath with you. ❜

[fuqnia]

I'll Compliment You Frequently (3) ₊˚⊹♡

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

♡ A/N | can u tell i really love cartman. (still mad this is 3 parts) also i'm so sorry for kenny's dialogue lmfao

♡ C/W | NSFW (18+), ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP, kissing, oral sex (male & female receiving) inexperienced reader, p in v penetration, kenny has a filthy mouth ☹️

event masterlist | part one | part two

Your eyes snap open, and you shake your head, like you can physically knock the thought out of your skull.

No. That’s insane. Red doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about. She’s always been the type to stir shit up just to watch what happens. Kenny doesn’t like you. He never has. If he did, he wouldn’t have spent the last decade shamelessly hooking up with every willing person in South Park. He wouldn’t have kissed Tammy Warner at Tolkien’s party. He wouldn’t have sat there in his truck, acting like giving him a blowjob was no big deal.

Your phone buzzes again, and you finally pull yourself out of your spiral long enough to glance at it. Your lock screen is filled with notifications—text after text from Kyle, Stan, and Butters, all checking in.

Kyle’s messages are straightforward, but you can tell he’s actually worried.

KYLE: hey, haven’t seen you in class. you good?

KYLE: seriously, what’s going on?

KYLE: if this is about damien, don’t let it fuck up your grades. just talk to me.

Stan’s texts are scattered, like he’s been meaning to reach out but keeps getting distracted.

STAN: yo, are u sick or some shit? u havent been around.

STAN: dude, even cartman’s noticing. that’s bad.

STAN: hit me up, we’ll go get a drink or something.

And then there’s Butters, who’s been spamming you with increasingly distressed messages.

BUTTERS: Oh hamburgers, Kyle said you’ve been missing class, are you okay?

BUTTERS: Gosh, I know breakups are hard, but you’re scaring us a little :(

BUTTERS: Do you need anything? Soup? A hug? I can bring you my mom’s essential oils!

BUTTERS: Or, gosh, maybe I could just come sit with you? You shouldn’t be alone when you’re sad!

You feel a pang of guilt, staring at the screen. They’ve all been trying to check in on you, and you’ve been ignoring them, letting your own mess swallow you whole. You should probably answer, reassure them that you’re not dead, at the very least. But before you can start typing, another text comes in.

CARTMAN: sup. u busy?

You frown immediately. Of all the people to reach out, Cartman is the last one you expected.

YOU: what do you want

His response is almost instant.

CARTMAN: jeez bitch, chill. just wanted to say sorry about u and damien.

Your stomach turns.

Cartman, being nice? That’s suspicious as hell.

YOU: lol fuck off

Normally, that would be the end of it. But instead of letting it go, he sends another message.

CARTMAN: nah fr. breakups suck. lets hang out. get ur mind off it

You narrow your eyes at your phone. This is weird. Cartman doesn’t just hang out for no reason. If he’s being nice, it means he’s either scheming or trying to manipulate you into doing something.

YOU: what are you up to

YOU: why the fuck would i ever willingly hang out with you

The typing bubble pops up.

CARTMAN: because im the only one with the balls to hit u up rn

Your lips press together.

You glance at Kyle’s texts. Stan’s. Butters’. They’ve all checked in, yeah, but none of them have really pushed. Not like Cartman is.

The typing bubble appears again.

CARTMAN: cmon. lets go get food or some shit.

CARTMAN: i know ur sitting there all sad and mopey. bet ur still in pjs huh

CARTMAN: put on some pants and meet me outside

You hesitate, staring at your phone.

Every instinct is telling you not to do this. That it’s Cartman, and whatever he’s planning is definitely not for your benefit.

But the thought of leaving your dorm, of stepping outside and breathing fresh air for the first time in days, suddenly sounds really appealing.

You take a deep breath, tossing your phone onto the bed before pushing yourself up. Your limbs feel heavy, like they haven’t been used in days, which isn’t far from the truth. You shuffle over to your dresser, yanking it open and digging through the mess of clothes inside, searching for something that doesn’t scream depression cave goblin.

The mirror catches your eye, and you wince. Jesus Christ. Red was right—you look like absolute shit. Your eyes are puffy, your hair is a tangled mess, and the hoodie you’ve been living in has at least three different food stains on it. You shake your head, peeling it off and grabbing the first decent top you can find. A black long-sleeve, something simple. You throw on a pair of jeans, lace up your sneakers, and drag yourself into the bathroom to try to look like a functional human being.

Brushing your teeth feels like the first productive thing you’ve done in days. You wash your face, rub at the bags under your eyes, and decide to put on some light makeup—just enough to make yourself look like you haven’t been crying into your pillow for seventy-two hours straight. A bit of concealer, some mascara, a touch of blush to bring life back to your face. When you finally step back from the mirror, you almost feel normal again. Not great, not even good, but at least like someone who belongs outside.

You grab your phone and shove it into your pocket before heading out, stepping into the crisp afternoon air. It feels weird being outside after isolating yourself for so long—like stepping into a completely different world.

Cartman is waiting near the dorm entrance, leaning against a bike rack with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie. He looks… surprisingly normal. No shit-eating grin, no obvious I’m plotting something look on his face. He just raises an eyebrow when he sees you, nodding in approval.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls. “You do remember what fresh air is.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “Shut the fuck up.”

Cartman smirks, but it’s not as smug as usual. More amused than anything. “Nah, but for real, you look way better. Like, less feral.”

You scoff but don’t argue. The two of you start walking without discussing where you’re going, falling into an easy pace.

Cartman glances at you, hands still stuffed in his pockets. “So. You gonna tell me why you’ve been hiding in your dorm like some emo bitch, or do I have to guess?”

You huff, staring straight ahead. “Gee, Cartman, maybe because I just broke up with my boyfriend?”

He snorts. “Pfft. Yeah, sure, let’s pretend that’s the real reason.”

Your stomach twists, but you keep your expression neutral. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, come on.” He gives you a pointed look. “You and Kenny have been acting weird as shit since Tolkien’s party. And now you’re spiraling, ditching classes, dumping your little demon boytoy outta nowhere? Yeah, I wonder what could’ve possibly happened.”

Your throat tightens. You knew people had noticed, but hearing it out loud makes it real.

You shake your head, trying to deflect. “Jesus, Cartman. What, are you a fucking therapist now?”

Cartman smirks. “Nah, just not fucking blind.”

You don’t say anything. You just keep walking, staring at the ground, your hands stuffed in your pockets.

Cartman watches you for a second, then exhales through his nose. “Look, dude, I don’t actually give a shit about your love life. But it’s pathetic watching you and Kenny dance around this bullshit. Either fix it or get over it.”

Your fingers tighten into fists in your pockets. “It’s not that simple.”

Cartman groans. “It is that simple! You like him, right?”

Your breath catches, and that’s all the answer he needs.

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Fucking knew it.”

Your face burns. “Shut up.”

Cartman just grins, smug as ever. “Nope. Not until you admit it.”

You glare at him, but he just keeps looking at you, waiting. Daring you to say it out loud.

Your jaw clenches. Your pulse is hammering in your ears, and you don’t want to talk about this, but the words slip out before you can stop them.

“…I fucking hate you.”

Cartman barks out a laugh. “That’s not a denial, bitch.”

You groan, rubbing your hands down your face. “Fine! Yes! Okay? I fucking like him. Happy?”

Cartman smirks. “Extremely.”

You scowl, shoving him. “I hate you.”

Cartman swings into the drive-thru like he owns the place, barely glancing at the menu before rattling off his order—two double cheeseburgers, a large fries, and a Diet Coke, because of course he drinks Diet Coke with all that shit. You roll your eyes but place your order, opting for something way smaller because you don’t have the stomach for a grease coma right now.

Surprisingly, hanging out with Cartman is… nice. Not in a sentimental way, because that would be fucking weird, but in a way that makes you forget, just for a little while, that your life is a disaster. He’s still an asshole, still poking at you with sarcastic remarks, but the edge isn’t as sharp as usual. He lets you eat in peace, doesn’t push you to talk about Kenny any more, and for once, you don’t feel like he’s scheming.

Which is why you don’t even think to ask where the hell you’re going when he starts driving again.

It’s not until you’ve been on the road for a solid fifteen minutes, the town shrinking in the rearview mirror, that it finally clicks.

You frown, glancing out the window at the passing trees. “…Where the fuck are we going?”

Cartman, not taking his eyes off the road, just smirks. “Oh, now you notice?”

You glare at him. “Cartman.”

He huffs dramatically, shaking his head. “So impatient. Jesus.”

“Dude, seriously.”

Cartman sighs, but there’s a glint in his eye, like he’s been waiting for you to ask. “Okay, fine, buzzkill. I was gonna keep it a surprise, but whatever.” He shifts in his seat, adjusting his grip on the wheel. “Karen wanted to see you.”

Your brain stalls.

Your stomach flips.

“What?”

Cartman barely reacts, just shrugs. “Yeah. She called me yesterday, practically begging me to bring your sorry ass down. Apparently, someone’s been ignoring her texts?”

Guilt immediately floods through you. Karen had been texting you, but in the middle of all the Kenny bullshit, you just… never replied.

You turn to Cartman, eyes wide, hands bracing against the dashboard. “Are you serious?!”

Cartman smirks, nodding. “Mhm.”

You let out a squeal, bouncing in your seat. “Oh my God—why didn’t you tell me sooner?!”

Cartman snorts. “Because it’s fucking hilarious watching you freak out.”

You don’t even care. You’re too busy buzzing with excitement, practically vibrating with the need to see Karen. It’s been too long—too many weeks since you last hung out, since you last talked about anything that wasn’t just a casual text. The moment you heard she declined your offer to visit, you figured she was just busy with school, but knowing she wanted to see you? That she asked Cartman to bring you?

You almost want to cry.

The next hour flies by. You barely notice the drive, too busy fidgeting in your seat, checking your phone, resisting the urge to text Karen to say you’re coming. Cartman teases you, of course, calling you a gross sap and telling you to calm the fuck down, but you can’t help it. This is exactly what you needed.

When the car finally pulls up to the McCormick house, you don’t even wait for it to stop completely.

You’re out of the car in seconds, practically jogging up the porch steps, your heart pounding with excitement. You knock on the door, bouncing slightly on the balls of your feet, barely able to contain yourself.

But when the door swings open, it’s not Karen.

It’s Kenny.

Your stomach drops.

The excitement in your chest turns to stone, sinking straight to your gut as you freeze on the porch, your breath catching in your throat. Kenny blinks at you, looking just as stunned, his lips parting slightly like he hadn’t been expecting you either.

“…Oh,” you manage, swallowing thickly. “Uh. Hey.”

Kenny recovers fast. His lips twitch into something resembling a smirk, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey, yourself.”

Behind you, Cartman slams his car door and walks up the porch steps, brushing past you like you don’t even exist. “Alright, my work here is done,” he announces, already heading inside like he fucking lives here. “You two idiots have fun figuring your shit out.”

You whip around, your eyes wide. “What?!”

Cartman just grins over his shoulder. “Later, lovebirds.” And then—like the absolute menace he is—he disappears inside, leaving you standing there, stunned, while Kenny leans against the doorframe, watching you with an unreadable expression.

Realization crashes over you like a fucking avalanche.

Karen never called Cartman.

Karen never asked to see you.

This was his plan.

Cartman set you up.

You turn back to Kenny, your mouth opening, but nothing comes out.

Because this—standing here, alone with Kenny, trapped in a situation you never would’ve willingly walked into—is exactly what you’ve been avoiding for days.

Kenny exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair before tilting his head at you, his smirk just barely masking the tension in his eyes. “You gonna stand there all night, or you actually gonna come inside?”

You shift on your feet, suddenly hyper-aware of every nerve in your body screaming at you to run. Your fingers twitch at your sides, your throat feels tight, and for a second, you actually consider turning around, walking back to Cartman’s car, and demanding that he drive you anywhere but here.

But you don’t.

Because Kenny is still watching you, standing in the doorway of his shitty little house, backlit by the dim glow of the kitchen light, his expression unreadable. And despite the panic clawing up your throat, despite everything you’ve been trying so hard to bury, there’s still a part of you—a really fucking annoying part of you—that wants to talk to him.

You cross your arms, licking your lips. “Did you know about this?”

Kenny lets out a dry, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Nah. Thought you were the one who wanted to see me.”

Your stomach twists.

“Guess Cartman’s still a conniving little bastard,” Kenny mutters, stepping back, giving you space to walk inside. He doesn’t invite you in, not really, but he’s waiting.

You hesitate.

If you go inside, you can’t ignore this anymore. Can’t pretend like things are fine. Can’t act like everything that happened between you two never fucking happened.

But if you don’t go inside…

Kenny shifts his weight, shoving his hands in his pockets, still watching you, still waiting.

Fuck.

You exhale sharply through your nose, your hands clenching into fists, and finally, finally, you step forward, brushing past him into the house.

The door clicks shut behind you.

Kenny’s house is just as you remember—dim, cluttered but not dirty, the faint scent of weed and cheap cologne lingering in the air. It’s weird being here again, standing in the same place you’ve crashed a hundred times before, but now the air feels thick, the weight of everything unspoken pressing down on your chest.

Kenny walks past you, moving toward the kitchen, not looking back as he grabs two beers from the fridge. He cracks one open, then tosses the other to you without warning. You catch it just in time, fumbling slightly, scowling as you glance up at him.

“What?” Kenny shrugs, taking a sip from his bottle. “Figured you might need it.”

You narrow your eyes. “And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Kenny smirks against the rim of his bottle, tilting his head as he leans back against the counter. “Relax, princess. Just saying, you look like you’re five seconds away from bolting.”

You are.

You really fucking are.

But you don’t.

Instead, you crack open your beer, take a long, slow sip, and fix Kenny with the kind of glare you hope makes you look unbothered. “Cartman’s a piece of shit.”

Kenny huffs out a laugh. “No shit.”

Silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. You shift on your feet, fingers tightening around your bottle, your pulse thudding in your ears. You need to say something, anything to get past this fucking wall between you.

But before you can, Kenny beats you to it.

“So,” he drawls, tilting his head, his eyes locking onto yours. “How long were you gonna avoid me?”

Your breath catches.

Kenny watches you, his eyes sharp, his smirk lazy but too knowing, like he already has the answer, like he’s just waiting for you to lie.

Your grip tightens around your beer. “I wasn’t avoiding you.”

Kenny laughs.

It’s not loud, not mocking—it’s something else. Something that makes your skin prickle, something that makes your stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Yeah?” he hums, stepping closer. “So you just happened to ghost me for, what? Four days?”

“Five,” you mutter before you can stop yourself.

Kenny raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Ah. So you were counting.”

You scowl, hating the heat creeping up your neck. “Fuck off.”

Kenny grins, leaning in just slightly. “C’mon, babe. Just tell me.” His voice dips lower, smoother, the teasing lilt sending something sharp and hot curling through your chest. “Did kissing me really fuck you up that bad?”

Your breath hitches, your stomach flipping violently as your grip goes slack around your bottle. You open your mouth, but nothing—nothing—comes out, because what the fuck is he even asking you?

And Kenny—Kenny notices.

His smirk flickers, like he wasn’t actually expecting you to react like this. Like he thought you’d just roll your eyes, shove him, laugh it off like you always do.

Like he didn’t just turn everything you thought you knew upside down.

And that’s what does it. That’s what fucking breaks you.

“Are your parents home?” you snap, your voice sharp and shaking.

Kenny’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. “No. They’re out.”

And that’s all it takes before you fucking explode.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” The words rip out of your chest, raw and jagged, your body thrumming with barely-contained rage. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, your entire body vibrating. “You knew I was fucking avoiding you, Kenny! You knew and you still—” You let out a sharp, exasperated breath, shoving both hands into your hair before throwing them up wildly. “What the fuck was that back at Stan’s dorm? What the fuck is this—” You motion between the two of you, your chest heaving, your breath coming too fast. “Why the fuck did you kiss me?”

Kenny just leans back against the counter, watching you, letting you burn yourself out. But then—then his smirk sharpens into something mean, something ugly.

“I dunno,” he drawls, voice casual, but there’s an edge underneath it, a low, dangerous bite. “Maybe ‘cause you kissed me back?”

“That’s not—” You shake your head violently, rage choking you, clawing up your throat. “That’s not fucking fair, Kenny! You don’t get to act like I’m the only one who—” Your voice breaks, your hands shaking.

He steps forward, his presence looming, his blue eyes burning into yours. “The only one who what?” His voice is smooth, sharp, his breath warm against your face. “Who liked it?”

Your throat goes dry, because you can’t argue that.

Kenny sees your hesitation. His smirk deepens, but his jaw is tight, his shoulders tense. “’Cause babe, you sure as fuck didn’t seem like you wanted to stop.”

Something in you snaps.

You shove him. Hard.

And for the first time—Kenny actually stumbles.

He catches himself, his hands twitching like he wants to grab you, to steady himself, but he doesn’t. He just stares at you, eyes flashing, jaw clenched so tight you think he might break his fucking teeth.

“I was confused,” you spit, voice cracking. “I am fucking confused! Because for years, you never—” You let out a sharp, bitter laugh, throwing your arms up. “You never fucking looked at me like that before! You never touched me like that before! And now—now you’re just—” Your breath stutters, your vision blurring.

Kenny stares at you, his entire body coiled like a fucking trap.

“You never let me,” he says, voice rough, hoarse.

You freeze.

Kenny exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, his chest rising and falling. “You never fucking let me, babe.” His voice is raw, wrecked, and for the first time tonight, there’s no teasing, no amusement, nothing to hide behind. Just Kenny—exposed and furious. “You were always looking at someone else. Always chasing after some other fucking guy. Always acting like I was just—” He shakes his head, scoffing, jaw flexing. “You don’t even see me.”

“You never fucking saw me,” Kenny continues, his voice gaining heat, cracking under the weight of whatever the fuck he’s been holding back all these years. “Not like that. Not the way I see you.”

Your hands tremble, curling into the fabric of your shirt. Your head spins, your pulse a frantic, erratic drumbeat against your ribs.

And Kenny—Kenny looks at you like he hates you for making him admit it.

“Kenny,” you whisper, but your voice is useless. Weak.

He just shakes his head, laughing bitterly, shoving a hand through his hair. “Jesus Christ, you’re fucking unbelievable.” His breath shudders as he steps back, putting space between you, his hands gripping the edge of the counter like he needs something to hold onto. “You don’t even get it, do you?” His laughter dies, his  eyes meeting yours, burning into yours. “You like me. You fucking want me. But you’re too chickenshit to admit it, so instead, you just let me fuckin’ sit there, watching you fall all over Damien fucking Thorn like a goddamn idiot—”

“I did like Damien!” you snap, voice shaking. “I do! He—” You cut yourself off, because that’s a lie. You didn’t like Damien. Not really. Not the way you should’ve.

Not the way you liked Kenny.

And Kenny fucking knows.

His lips curl into something bitter, something that isn’t really a smile. “Yeah?” he mutters. “And that’s why you let me put my hands all over you in my truck, right? That’s why you let me fuckin’ taste you?”

Your entire body locks up.

Because fuck him.

“Fuck you,” you spit, voice shaking.

Kenny just laughs, running a hand down his face, shaking his head. “Yeah, well—join the fucking club.”

Your hands are shaking. Your face is hot. Your heart is hammering so fucking hard you think it might burst.

And Kenny just stands there, breathing hard, his hands still gripping the counter, like he’s barely keeping himself together.

Like he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with himself anymore.

The air between you is electric. It’s thick, choking, so tense that you think one more wrong move might make the whole fucking house collapse around you.

You reach for the half-empty beer on the counter, your fingers gripping the can so tight it dents slightly under your hold. You take a long, slow swig, the bitterness of it doing nothing to cool the heat burning under your skin. You swallow hard, setting the can down with a sharp clink against the counter.

Then you look at him.

"Go fuck yourself, Kenny." Your voice is flat, empty, but your chest is aching.

Kenny’s expression doesn’t change, but you see the way his jaw flexes, the way his fingers curl against the counter. He doesn’t smirk. He doesn’t crack some bullshit joke. He just watches you, silent and unreadable.

“You wanna talk about me chasing guys?” You let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “I was never chasing anyone, Kenny. And you know that.”

Kenny doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

You inhale sharply, fingers tightening against the countertop. “Everyone fucking knows that. I’ve never had a boyfriend, never had a girlfriend, never even had a fucking chance in high school. And you wanna know the worst part?” You laugh again, but it’s bitter, sharp as a knife against your throat. “It wasn’t just me who knew it. You, Kyle, Stan, Cartman—all of you knew. And you acted like it wasn’t a big fucking deal. Like I wouldn’t notice.”

Kenny finally moves, shifting his weight, his brows pulling together slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.

You press forward, your voice rising. “You acted like I was just supposed to be fine with hearing about all the people you fucked, all the people you kissed. Like I wasn’t the only one sitting there, listening, realizing that I was never gonna have what you had. That I was never—” Your breath catches, your throat tightening. “That no one was ever gonna want me like that.”

Something flashes across Kenny’s face, something quick and sharp and pained. His hands flex against the counter, like he wants to reach for something—for you—but he stops himself.

“That’s not fucking true,” he mutters, voice lower now, rough around the edges.

You huff out a sharp breath. “Yeah? Then why didn’t it happen, Kenny?” You shake your head, forcing out a bitter smile. “If it wasn’t true, if I was so wanted, then why the fuck did I spend years being the only one who never had a story to tell?”

Kenny opens his mouth. Then closes it. He looks away, his fingers twitching against the counter, his breathing shallow.

You don’t know what you want him to say.

Maybe you want him to tell you that you’re wrong. That it wasn’t like that. That there was some other reason, some stupid fucking excuse for why you were always left on the sidelines, why you never got to be the one with the relationship, the first kiss, the stupid high school romance.

"You know what else fucking hurts?" Your voice is rising now, louder than before, chest heaving with every sharp inhale. "I had to hear about your love lives from other people." You jab a finger at him, your whole body vibrating with anger. "Kyle, Stan, Cartman—they’d all mention shit offhandedly, and I’d just have to sit there and fucking pretend I already knew, because you sure as hell weren’t gonna tell me jack shit about it yourself."

Kenny flinches, the smallest movement, like he wasn’t expecting you to say that. Like it never even occurred to him that keeping that shit from you might’ve actually fucking hurt. His mouth opens like he wants to say something, but before he can, you keep going, the words pouring out faster than you can stop them.

"I got to sit there and hear about you making out with some girl behind the bleachers, about Stan losing his virginity junior year, about Kyle having that thing with that one chick from AP Chem—" You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Cartman told me about half of your hookups, Cartman, and he tells me things just to fucking piss me off! And you—" Your voice cracks, and you shake your head, fists clenching. "You never said a fucking word. Not once."

Kenny's lips press together, jaw tight.

You’re yelling now, your whole body shaking, the years of being left out, of being treated like the safe, reliable best friend everyone could unload their shit on but never let in, bubbling up so violently you think you might actually explode.

"Do you have any fucking idea what that felt like? To sit there and smile and nod and act like it was fine? Like I wasn’t—like I wasn’t some fucking side character in my own goddamn life while you guys got to go out and—" You inhale sharply, voice trembling. "Live?"

The room feels hot. The air between you thick and suffocating, so heavy you think it might actually crush you.

And Kenny—fucking Kenny—doesn’t say a damn thing.

And that’s what makes you break.

You take a shaky breath, stepping back, running a hand through your hair, chest rising and falling unevenly. Your face is burning, your eyes sting, and you hate it, hate the way your throat tightens like you’re about to fucking cry. You refuse. You refuse to let Kenny McCormick be the one to break you.

Before either of you can say anything else, the door swings open, slamming against the wall with a dull thud.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Cartman deadpans, standing in the doorway with a bag of chips in one hand, an energy drink in the other. He looks at the two of you, expression completely unreadable. "Are you two gonna start throwing shit next, or should I just fucking go?"

Your chest is still heaving, adrenaline still buzzing under your skin, and Kenny looks about two seconds away from putting his fist through a wall. Neither of you say anything.

Cartman sighs, shaking his head as he takes in the scene. "You guys are seriously acting like Kenny’s parents."

You blink, thrown off just enough for your rage to falter. "What—"

Cartman waves a hand dismissively. "You’re yelling, he’s standing there looking like he’s about to punch a hole in the drywall, it’s fucking weird." He gestures vaguely between the two of you before taking a step back. "You know what? I don’t wanna be here for this. You two can scream at each other all you want, just don’t break anything. I’m getting the fuck out of here."

And with that, he turns on his heel and walks out, shutting the door behind him with a lazy thud.

The silence that follows is deafening.

You swallow hard, throat raw from yelling, your hands still curled into fists at your sides. Kenny is still standing there, his chest rising and falling, his jaw clenched so tight you think it might actually snap. His fingers twitch like he wants to reach for something—like he wants to reach for you—but he doesn’t.

Your heart is still hammering in your chest, adrenaline pulsing hot through your veins, but the fight is over. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe it never will be. Maybe this thing between you will always be teetering on the edge of something too big, too messy, too painful to actually deal with.

You scoff softly, rolling your eyes even though they’re burning, even though your vision is blurring. You take a sharp breath, force it down, and turn away from him. You don’t want to fucking look at him. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

Your grip tightens around your beer as you move, your feet carrying you toward the hall before you can stop yourself. The floor creaks under you, the air in the house thick and stale, but you don’t slow down. You don’t stop until you reach the door to his childhood bedroom—the one he used to share with Karen, back when you were all just kids, before everything got so fucking complicated.

The door groans as you push it open. The room is small, dimly lit by the dull glow of the streetlights outside. It smells like old fabric, cigarette smoke, and something faintly familiar—something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t want to acknowledge. The same shitty posters are still on the walls, some curling at the edges. The twin mattress is shoved into the corner, the sheets wrinkled, the blanket tangled.

You step inside and close the door behind you.

It’s quieter in here. Not better, not easier, just…quieter.

You move toward the bed, sitting down heavily on the edge, pressing the cool can against your forehead as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your breathing is still uneven, your hands still trembling, but you try to shove it down. Try to ignore the way your whole body feels like it’s been wound too tight, like if you let go for even a second, you might just fucking fall apart.

Because this—this whole thing, this whole fucking night—was a mistake.

You calm down, just enough to breathe without feeling like your ribs are gonna crack under the pressure. The beer helps. At least, it gives your hands something to do, gives your mouth something to focus on other than the lingering taste of bitterness and regret. You tilt your head back, taking a long pull, letting the lukewarm alcohol burn its way down your throat.

When the can is empty, you don’t think. You just crush it in your palm and toss it across the room. It clatters against the wall and bounces onto the floor, landing somewhere in the mess of old laundry and discarded shit Kenny probably hasn’t touched in years.

Your eyes wander, searching for something, anything, to latch onto so you don’t have to think too much. That’s when you spot it. One of Kenny’s old, shitty porn magazines, half-buried under some old CDs and a cracked game case. The corner is bent, the cover faded, but you know exactly what it is.

Without hesitating, you grab it. You flip through the pages lazily, not really absorbing anything, just needing something to do with your hands, something to focus on that isn’t the fight still burning under your skin.

And then the door creaks open.

You don’t look up, but you know it’s Kenny.

He steps inside, closing the door behind him, and for a second, he just stands there. You can feel him watching you, can feel the weight of his stare pressing against your skin, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t comment on the fact that you’re flipping through a fucking porno like you’re reading the morning paper.

Instead, he moves to the mattress on the floor and sits down heavily, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. He exhales, slow and measured, like he’s still trying to piece together whatever the fuck just happened between the two of you.

You don’t acknowledge him.

The mattress creaks as Kenny shifts, his weight sinking into the old fabric. He exhales, long and heavy, a slow drag of air that sounds like he’s trying to keep himself from saying something he’ll regret. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough—low and worn in a way that makes your fingers tighten around the pages.

“…You really hate me that much, huh?”

There’s no teasing lilt, no hint of sarcasm or deflection. Just exhaustion, like he’s been carrying the weight of this conversation for days. His voice holds an edge of something else too, something raw, something almost afraid to hear the answer.

Your fingers pause against the edge of a page, the magazine trembling slightly in your grip.

You don’t look at him.

Instead, you scoff, but it comes out weaker than you meant. “Oh, don’t be fucking dramatic.”

Kenny laughs under his breath, but there’s nothing amused about it. The sound is hollow, like it barely scrapes its way out of his throat. He drags a hand down his face, his fingers pressing into his temples for a second before he lets them drop. His shoulders are tense, his whole body wound tight like a wire ready to snap.

“I’m not being dramatic,” he mutters, shaking his head. His blue eyes flick to you, sharp, intense. “I just don’t fucking get you.”

You flip another page, the movement slow and deliberate, like you’re trying to piss him off.

“What’s there to get?” you mutter, voice flat. “You’re the one who kissed me.”

Kenny’s jaw tightens, his lips pressing together for a second before he exhales sharply through his nose.

“Oh, so that’s how we’re playing this?” His voice is quieter now, but there’s something simmering beneath the surface, something restrained but dangerous. “We’re gonna act like I forced you?”

You don’t answer. You keep your eyes on the magazine, keep your breathing steady, even as your throat tightens and your stomach twists.

Kenny leans forward, his elbows pressing into his knees, his fingers laced together so tightly his knuckles go white. “You kissed me back,” he says, his voice steady, but his eyes—his fucking eyes—are burning into you, demanding something you can’t give. “You climbed into my lap.”

Your grip tightens on the magazine.

His voice dips lower, rougher. “And now, what? You wanna pretend it didn’t happen? You wanna pretend that was just—what? Another fucking favor?”

Finally, finally, you look at him.

Kenny stares at you, his blue eyes dark and stormy. His lips are parted slightly, like he’s caught mid-breath, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes your stomach flip, something vulnerable, something hesitant, like he’s afraid of what you’re about to say.

You lick your lips, swallowing hard. “It was a mistake.”

Kenny doesn’t react at first.

Then he exhales sharply, a quiet scoff leaving his mouth as he shakes his head. “Bullshit.”

You glare at him. “It was.”

“No,” Kenny says, his voice harder now, rough around the edges, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You don’t get to fucking say that.” He pushes himself up from the mattress, his movements stiff, restless. “You don’t get to act like I was the only one who wanted it.”

Your breath stutters. “I—I didn’t—”

Kenny laughs, but it’s the kind of laugh that isn’t really a laugh at all. It’s sharp, bitter, filled with frustration. He turns his head away for a second, running a hand through his hair before looking back at you, his gaze searching, his brows furrowed.

“You didn’t what?” His voice is quieter now, but the words are no less intense. “You didn’t like it?” His eyes flicker to your lips before snapping back to meet your gaze, challenging, daring you to lie. “You want me to believe that?”

Your stomach clenches, and you shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek so hard you taste metal. “It doesn’t fucking matter, Kenny.”

“The fuck it doesn’t.” His voice cuts through the air like a knife. He takes a step closer, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Jesus Christ, do you even hear yourself?”

Your hands curl into fists in your lap. “Just drop it.”

Kenny scoffs. “Yeah? You want me to drop it?” He gestures between the two of you, his frustration spilling over, his eyes flashing. “Fine. Let’s drop it. Let’s pretend it didn’t happen, let’s go back to being best fucking friends—” His breath catches, and he stops abruptly, dragging a hand over his mouth before exhaling sharply. “But you can’t even look at me the same, can you?”

Your throat tightens.

Kenny’s breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling in sharp bursts, his fingers twitching like he wants to grab something—like he wants to grab you. His voice lowers, quieter now, but still unsteady. “You broke up with Damien.”

You snap your head up. “What?”

His eyes don’t leave yours. “You broke up with him.”

Your heart slams against your ribs. “That—That’s not—”

Kenny shakes his head. “You did,” he says, stepping closer, his voice steadier now, like he’s putting the pieces together in real time. “And I bet he doesn’t even know why, does he?”

Your mouth opens, but no words come out.

Kenny watches you, his expression shifting—less anger now, more certainty. His brows draw together slightly, his lips parting just enough to take a breath, like he’s about to say something final. And then—his voice drops to almost a whisper.

“You like me.”

It’s not a question. It’s not a taunt. It’s just the truth.

Kenny tilts his head slightly, watching you, waiting, his expression open in a way that makes your chest ache. He looks at you like he’s finally, finally seeing you clearly. Like he understands something he should’ve figured out a long time ago.

You just stare at him, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a fucking landslide.

And Kenny—he fucking sees it. His lips part slightly, his chest rising and falling, and for a second, just a second, you think he’s going to say something else, going to push, going to demand more.

But then, he just exhales.

And the way he looks at you—like he finally, finally understands—makes your stomach fucking drop.

Tears blur your vision, and you shake your head, rubbing your sleeve over your eyes, trying to push them back, trying to keep yourself from completely fucking breaking in front of him. The old magazine slips from your lap, forgotten, landing with a dull thud against the mattress. You swallow thickly, your throat raw from screaming, from everything you’ve been holding in for days, weeks—hell, maybe years. Your hands press against your face, fingers curling into your hair as you force yourself to breathe, but it’s shallow, uneven.

The silence stretches. The weight of his gaze is suffocating. You can feel it—burning into you, like he’s watching you break apart in real time.

“I do like you,” you finally say, your voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. But the second the words leave your mouth, it feels like something inside you cracks wide open. Your chest tightens, your stomach twists, and you swallow around the lump forming in your throat. You squeeze your eyes shut. “I really do, Kenny.”

Your voice wavers, cracks like brittle glass, and you hate it. You hate how vulnerable you sound, how exposed you feel, like you’ve just handed him your fucking heart on a silver platter, knowing damn well he could crush it if he wanted to. But it’s too late to take it back now.

Your hands tremble against your face before slowly falling into your lap, fingers twisting into the fabric of your sleeves. You finally look at him. He hasn’t moved from where he sits on the mattress. His eyes are wide, lips parted like he’s struggling to find the right words, something unreadable flickering across his face.

A sharp inhale pulls through your nose, and you force yourself to keep going before you lose your nerve. “But do you—” Your throat tightens. You barely manage to push the words out, so soft, so fucking fragile that it makes you sick. “Do you even want to be in a relationship with me?”

Kenny just stares at you, his fingers twitching against his knee, his breathing uneven, like he wasn’t expecting this—like he wasn’t prepared to hear those words from you. His brows furrow slightly, his lips pressing together before parting again, but nothing comes out.

Your heart is pounding, hammering so fucking loud that it drowns out everything else, and the longer he takes to answer, the worse it gets. Your stomach twists, your fingers tighten around the sleeves of your shirt, and you suddenly feel like you’re going to be sick.

Kenny’s face falls, his eyes widening slightly as he watches you struggle to keep yourself together. The way your face crumples, the way your lip trembles as you bite down on it, the way your eyes shimmer with unshed tears—it fucking guts him.

Before you can turn away, before you can pull back and shut him out completely, Kenny reaches for you. His hands are rough, calloused, warm as they cup your face, his fingers pressing gently into your skin, grounding you, holding you there. His breath is uneven, his grip steady but not demanding, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he isn’t careful.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “Don’t—don’t do that. Don’t look at me like that.” His thumbs brush against your cheeks, barely there, like he’s trying to wipe away tears that haven’t even fallen yet.

You swallow hard, blinking rapidly, your fingers gripping the fabric of your sleeves so tight that your knuckles ache. “You’re not saying anything,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of your own words. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

Kenny exhales sharply, his thumbs still stroking your skin, his jaw clenching like he’s fighting against something. “Because I don’t wanna fuck this up,” he finally admits, his voice rough, almost desperate. His brows draw together, and he shakes his head, inhaling sharply. “I don’t wanna say the wrong thing and make you think for even one second that I don’t want you. That I don’t—” He exhales, shaking his head. “Fuck, babe. Of course I wanna be with you.”

Your breath catches. Your entire body stills.

Kenny’s hands tighten slightly against your face, his fingers twitching like he wants to pull you closer, like he wants to shake you until you actually fucking believe him. “You think I don’t want you?” His voice is thick, almost disbelieving. “Jesus, I’ve wanted you since we were kids. Since middle school. Since before I even knew what wanting someone actually meant.” His laugh is breathless, bitter, like he’s laughing at himself more than anything. “And yeah, I was a dumbass. I didn’t think I’d ever get a fucking chance, so I buried it. I watched you go through life thinking no one saw you, thinking you weren’t wanted, and it fucking killed me, because I saw you. I always saw you.”

Your chest tightens so painfully that it knocks the air from your lungs.

Kenny shakes his head, his grip on you still firm, still steady. “But you—you liked Damien. You wanted him, not me. So when you asked me to help, I thought—fuck, I thought that’s all I’d ever get.” His lips press together, his expression raw, stripped down to something so painfully real that it makes your stomach churn. “I thought if I couldn’t have you the way I wanted, at least I could be the one you came to first.”

A tear finally slips down your cheek. Kenny catches it with his thumb, his jaw tightening, his blue eyes burning with something so intense that it makes your heart clench.

“You’re fucking stupid, McCormick,” you whisper, voice thick with emotion.

Kenny lets out a sharp, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah,” he mutters, his lips quirking up into something sad, something small. “Yeah, I am.”

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it doesn’t even fucking matter.

Because the next thing you know, Kenny’s pulling you forward, and you’re meeting him halfway, crashing into him like you’ve been waiting for this moment your entire life.

The second Kenny’s lips press against yours, something shifts inside you. It’s not like before—not like the messy, desperate kisses you shared in the past, not like the times you let yourself pretend this was just practice, just a favor. This time, it’s different. This time, it’s real.

And it terrifies you.

Your breath hitches, your hands trembling as they hover awkwardly at your sides. You should be used to this by now, should know exactly how to move, exactly how to kiss him back, but everything feels brand new. It feels like the first time all over again, like you’re stepping into something you don’t fully understand, and you’re too afraid of fucking it up.

Kenny must notice, because instead of pushing forward, instead of deepening the kiss like he usually would, he slows down. His lips move against yours in a way that’s soft, careful, coaxing. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t take, doesn’t overwhelm you. He just lets you feel him, lets you process the fact that this is happening. That you’re here, with him, kissing him for real this time.

You inhale sharply, your fingers clenching into fists at your sides. The tension knots in your stomach, twisting tight, and the heat rising up your neck makes you feel like you’re burning from the inside out. You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything except stand there and let yourself be kissed, let yourself be wanted in a way you never thought possible.

Kenny smiles into the kiss, and you feel it—feel the way his lips curve against yours, feel the way he’s holding back a laugh like he finds this whole situation amusing. Like he’s enjoying the way you’re coming apart so easily for him.

Your face flushes instantly, and you pull back, breathless and flustered, glaring at him. “Are you seriously smiling right now?”

Kenny lets out a quiet chuckle, his hands slipping down to your waist, fingers curling lightly around your sides. “Yeah,” he murmurs, voice smooth and teasing. “You’re just—fuck, you’re cute when you’re all shy like this.”

Your stomach twists violently, and you shove at his chest weakly, scowling. “I’m not shy.”

Kenny raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Babe, you’re shaking.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the second you glance down at your own hands, you realize he’s right. Your fingers are still curled into fists, your knuckles white, your whole body tense like you’re bracing for impact.

You swallow hard, embarrassed beyond belief, and Kenny just watches you with that same lazy smirk, like he knows exactly what’s going through your head. Like he knows exactly what to say to make it worse.

“You nervous?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.

“No,” you lie immediately, shifting your weight, refusing to look him in the eye.

Kenny chuckles again, the sound low and knowing, and suddenly, you feel his fingers moving. He doesn’t grab you, doesn’t pull you in, just brushes his thumbs in slow, deliberate circles against your hips, his touch featherlight but firm enough to keep you grounded.

“Yeah?” His voice dips lower, smoother. “Then why are you panting like a fuckin’ dog?”

Your entire body stiffens. “I—I’m not—”

Kenny leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “Babe,” he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement. “You’re shakin’, you’re breathin’ all heavy, and you’re lookin’ at me like you don’t know what to do with yourself. What’s wrong?”

You shove him again, harder this time, your face burning. “Shut up.”

He grins, his hands tightening around your waist for just a second before loosening again. “Make me.”

You stare at him, at the cocky smirk on his face, at the way his blue eyes gleam with something sharp and knowing, and for a split second, you actually think about it. Think about shutting him up the only way you know how.

But you’re still nervous. Still shaking. Still trying to wrap your head around the fact that this is even happening.

So instead of kissing him again, instead of throwing yourself at him the way you want to, you just huff, looking away, trying to ignore the way your skin tingles under his touch. “I hate you.”

Kenny laughs, full-bodied and warm, his hands slipping lower, his fingers tracing slow patterns over your hips. “Nah,” he murmurs, leaning in closer, his lips just barely brushing against your jaw. “You love me.”

Your face burns hotter than it ever has before, and you bite your lip hard, forcing yourself to focus on anything—anything—other than Kenny’s stupid, smug face. Your eyes flick to the peeling posters on his wall, ones he’s had since middle school, the corners curled and edges torn from years of being in this shitty house. You trace the details with your gaze, willing your heart to slow the fuck down, but it’s useless.

Because Kenny is still watching you, and you can feel it.

Then, suddenly, his hands grip your waist, and before you can process what’s happening, he pulls you straight into his lap.

A startled noise catches in your throat, your hands flying to his forearms for balance, gripping onto him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. And maybe he is, because your whole body feels like it’s floating, weightless, untethered. Your breath stutters in your chest, pulse hammering against your ribs as you try to not focus on the fact that your legs are now straddling his thighs, your knees digging into the shitty mattress.

Kenny leans in, pressing his lips to the corner of your jaw, and your whole body shivers.

You let out a breathy laugh, tilting your head instinctively as his mouth trails lower, his lips ghosting along the sensitive skin of your neck. He’s not even kissing you properly, just teasing, just brushing his lips against you in that slow, deliberate way that makes heat coil low in your stomach.

"You nervous?" His voice is low, smooth, but there’s amusement laced beneath it. His hands flex against your hips, his thumbs brushing over your skin. “’Cause I wanna date you? Be your boyfriend? Make all that practice official?”

You gasp, half a laugh and half a mortified choke, and shove at his shoulders, but he doesn’t budge. He’s too fucking solid beneath you, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

“Kenny, shut the fuck up,” you whine, your nails digging into his forearms.

He just grins, his breath warm against your throat. "Nah, babe, you shut the fuck up. You’re the one who asked me if I even wanted to be your boyfriend.” He presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss just below your ear, and your stomach flips. “Kinda sounds like you were nervous.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, groaning as you try to ignore the way your entire body is betraying you. “I wasn’t nervous,” you lie.

Kenny laughs, low and husky, his grip tightening just slightly. “Yeah? Then why are you gripping me like you’re about to fucking die?”

You force your hands to relax, your grip loosening against his arms. "I'm not," you mumble, but your voice is weaker now, breathier, and you know he hears it.

His smirk presses into your skin. "Mmhmm."

He shifts beneath you, rolling his hips just slightly, barely a movement at all, but fuck—you feel it. You gasp, fingers clenching against him again, and he grins, like that was exactly the reaction he wanted.

“Bet you’re nervous right now,” he murmurs, his lips trailing back up your jaw. “Bet you’re all shy ‘cause now you know I actually wanna date you.”

You do feel shy, shy in a way that you’ve never felt before with him, shy in a way that feels so fucking stupid, because it’s just Kenny. It’s just your best friend, the same asshole you’ve known since you were kids, the same one who’s seen you at your absolute worst and still stuck around.

But this—this is different.

Because you know he’s right.

You were never nervous when it was just practice. When it was just a way to learn, just a way to catch up, just a way to make sure you didn’t make a fool of yourself when it actually mattered.

But now, it does matter. Now, it’s real.

And the fact that you can’t just pretend otherwise—that you don’t want to pretend otherwise—makes you feel like you’re unraveling.

Kenny pulls back slightly, tilting his head to look at you, his lips still way too close to yours. His blue eyes flicker over your face, taking in every little detail, every little shift in your expression, like he’s reading you as easily as a fucking book.

Then, in a voice so soft, he murmurs, “Hey.”

You swallow thickly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “…What?”

He smirks, but it’s softer now, gentler. He lifts a hand, brushing his fingers lightly along your jaw, tracing the shape of it like he’s memorizing you. His touch lingers, warm and steady, before finally tilting your chin up.

“Stop fucking overthinking it,” he says. “Just say yes already.”

You stare at him, your heart hammering, your breath shallow. The weight of everything—of this moment, of what it means, of what you want—settles deep in your chest, warm and heavy and so real. Kenny is just watching you, waiting, his fingers still resting against your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek like he’s trying to ground you, to keep you here with him.

You swallow hard, your lips parting, and then finally, you smile. It’s small at first, barely there, just the tiniest curl of your lips, but it grows, spreading across your face like the sun breaking through clouds. And when you finally say it, your voice is quiet, breathless, but sure.

“Yes.”

Kenny laughs, full and real, like that was the only answer he was expecting. Before you can blink, he’s gripping your waist tight and hauling you closer, squeezing you so fucking tight against him that all the air in your lungs gets pushed out in a sharp, surprised oof.

His arms wrap around your back, strong and solid, pressing you down into his lap like he never wants to fucking let you go. His warmth seeps into your skin, his body firm beneath yours, and you let out a breathless giggle as you clutch at his shoulders, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his stupid, slightly worn band tee.

“Fuck, I knew it," he mutters, his face buried against your shoulder, his grip unrelenting. "Knew you couldn’t fucking resist me."

You scoff, rolling your eyes even as you nuzzle into him, feeling the way his body shakes slightly with barely restrained laughter. "Shut up," you mumble, but it has no bite to it.

Kenny just grins against your skin, tightening his arms around you like he’s trying to fuse you to him. "Nah, nah, you shut up, babe. You’re the one who took this long to say yes. I’ve been waiting."

You blink, pulling back slightly so you can look at him properly. "Waiting?"

He smirks, his blue eyes flicking over your face, but there’s something softer beneath it now, something real. "Yeah, waiting. You think I was gonna sit here and not let you figure it out on your own?"

Your stomach flips, your fingers tightening against his tee. "Kenny—"

"Nope. Don’t even start, sweetheart," he interrupts, grinning. "’Cause I knew. Knew since fucking middle school you were it for me. Just had to wait for your dumbass to catch up."

Your breath catches, your entire body locking up. "Middle school?"

He hums, tilting his head, feigning thought. "Mmm, maybe even elementary."

"Kenny—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he says, shaking his head. "Why didn’t I say anything? Blah, blah, blah. ‘Cause I didn’t wanna fuck it up, babe. You were my best friend. And you were so fucking oblivious, it was actually kinda cute."

You gape at him. "Oblivious?"

Kenny chuckles, brushing his nose against yours. "Babe. You made out with me, blew me in my truck, straddled me—"

Your face burns. "It was practice!"

His smirk widens, his hands sliding down to squeeze your hips. "Was it?"

You open your mouth, ready to argue, ready to defend yourself—but then you stop. Because, fuck. Maybe he’s right. Maybe deep down, it wasn’t just practice. Maybe you’d been finding excuses to get close to him, to feel him, to have him.

The realization sends a shudder through your entire body.

Kenny sees it. Feels it. And his smirk softens, turning into something warmer, something deeper. His fingers brush lightly against your waist, and his voice, when he speaks, is softer too. "You wanna know why I let you do all that?"

You hesitate. You swallow. "Why?"

His smirk fades completely, and all that’s left is him, raw and open and fucking real. "’Cause I wanted to be the one you learned with. The one you trusted with all that. Even if it meant waiting. Even if it meant watching you go after someone else. I just—I just wanted to be the first for you. In every way."

Your chest aches.

Your stomach flutters.

Your throat tightens so hard you think you might actually cry.

Because fuck—you believe him. You know he means it.

You don’t even realize you’re moving until your lips crash into his.

It’s desperate, hungry, like something inside you just snapped. Your hands fist into his tee, pulling him closer, deeper, more. Kenny groans against your mouth, his fingers digging into your hips, his entire body burning beneath your touch.

"Fucking finally," he mutters between kisses, grinning even as he tilts his head to deepen it.

You let out a breathless laugh, but it dissolves into a soft moan when his tongue brushes against yours.

His hands slide lower, gripping your thighs, squeezing like he owns you. And maybe he does, because right now, in this moment, you feel like you belong to him completely.

His fingers twitch against your thighs as you shift in his lap, pressing your body flush against his. The heat between you is suffocating, intoxicating, making your skin tingle, making your breath come faster. You tighten your arms around his neck, dragging him impossibly closer, swallowing the soft groan that rumbles from his chest.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, twisting and tugging as you kiss him harder, deeper. You barely recognize yourself in this moment—so desperate, so needy for him—but fuck, you don’t care. Kenny makes a sound low in his throat, his hands tightening on your thighs, his fingertips digging in just enough to make you shiver.

His hair is getting kind of long, you realize, your fingers threading through the messy blond strands. Longer than he usually lets it get, curling slightly at the ends. You like it. You like the way it feels between your fingers, how soft it is despite how rough and careless he is with himself.

Kenny grins into the kiss, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. “You checking out my hair, babe?” His voice is rough, slightly breathless, his hands sliding up your back, warm through your shirt.

You hum, teasingly pulling at a strand between your fingers. “Yeah,” you murmur, dragging your lips along his jaw, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to his skin. “Didn’t know you were growing it out.”

Kenny exhales sharply, tilting his head back just slightly, giving you more room. “Didn’t really mean to,” he admits, his grip on you flexing, like he’s trying to stay still, trying to control himself. “Guess I’ve just been too busy thinking about someone to care.”

Your stomach flips. You pull back just enough to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

His smirk is lazy, his hands sliding down to your hips, gripping, squeezing. “Yeah.” He tilts his head, his blue eyes dark, filled with something that makes your breath catch. “Guess who?”

You roll your eyes, laughing, but it comes out shaky. Because he’s still looking at you like that, still touching you like he’s memorizing the shape of you, like he’s making sure you’re really here.

You shake your head, biting your lip. “You’re so fucking cheesy.”

Kenny grins. “Yeah, but you like it.”

You do. You do like it. And fuck, you like him.

Your heart is pounding, your body burning, and the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing in the world that matters—makes your head spin. You swallow hard, trying to catch your breath, trying to keep yourself grounded, but then Kenny shifts, his hands sliding under your shirt, his rough palms pressing against your bare skin.

You inhale sharply, your eyes fluttering shut, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Kenny stills beneath you, just for a second. His breath is unsteady, his hands flexing against your waist. “That okay?” His voice is lower now, careful.

You nod quickly, breathless. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s okay.”

His smirk twitches, but it’s softer this time. “Good.”

Then he kisses you again, slower now, deeper. His hands move carefully, like he’s savoring every inch of skin he touches, like he’s making up for every second he didn’t have you. His fingers trace along your sides, up your back, sending shivers down your spine.

You whimper softly against his lips, your thighs tightening around him, your whole body aching for more. Kenny groans, his grip on you tightening, his lips parting against yours.

“Fuck,” he mutters, breathing hard, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re gonna be the death of me, babe.”

You laugh breathlessly, your fingers sliding down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his tee. “You’ve survived worse,” you tease, brushing your nose against his.

Kenny chuckles, shaking his head. “Not like this.”

You bite your lip, watching him, feeling your heart swell in your chest. You want him. Not just like this—not just pressed against him, not just feeling his hands on your skin—you want all of him. The realization settles deep in your stomach, heavy and warm, making your breath hitch.

Kenny catches it immediately, his smirk curling like he knows exactly what’s running through your head. His hands are still under your shirt, tracing slow, lazy circles along your ribs, like he’s got all the time in the world. Then, without warning, he leans in, pressing his lips to your hair. It’s soft, almost sweet—if not for the fact that he doesn’t stop there.

He kisses your temple. Then your cheek. Then lower, dragging his mouth over your jaw, your pulse, the side of your neck. You let out a breathy giggle, nerves and anticipation tangling together in your chest. He still hasn’t moved his hands, still hasn’t grabbed at you the way you thought he would. He’s just touching, teasing, letting the tension build.

You try to keep yourself steady, to not let the moment get ahead of you, but then Kenny shifts against you, his thumbs brushing right beneath the band of your bra, and your breath stutters. No one’s ever touched you like this before. No one’s ever even seen your tits. And it’s Kenny—Kenny, who’s always been a little pervy, who’s made enough comments about tits to last a lifetime.

But this is different.

His fingers skate higher, tracing the edge of the fabric, his smirk pressing against your skin when he hears your breath hitch. “Nervous?”

You let out another giggle, softer this time, your hands twitching against his shoulders. “Duh.”

Kenny hums like he expected that, his hands not stopping their slow exploration. “Yeah, babe, I figured.”

You roll your eyes, smacking his shoulder. “Shut up.”

His chest shakes with another quiet chuckle, but when he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression is softer. His hands settle against your ribs, warm and steady, like he’s giving you time to process. He’s not pushing, not rushing, just watching you.

“You gonna let me?” he asks, voice lower now, rougher.

Your pulse pounds in your throat.

You nod.

Kenny exhales, the breath warm against your skin, and you feel the steady, pounding rhythm of his heart against your back. It mirrors your own, fast and hard, like neither of you can quite believe this is happening. His forehead drops to your shoulder, his body pressing close, fitting himself against you like he’s always meant to be there.

He mutters something low, too quiet for you to catch, but his lips brush against your skin as he says it, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

Then he raises his head, flashing you that familiar, toothy grin—the one that usually means he’s about to say something absolutely filthy. And he does.

"Y’know, if you wanna keep laughin’, sweetheart, I could give you somethin’ else to put in that pretty mouth.”

Your stomach clenches, your whole body heating up all at once. The little rasp in his voice, the way his accent gets thicker when he talks like this, makes you feel like your brain is short-circuiting. It should be embarrassing—should make you wanna shove him off—but instead, you feel your thighs press together instinctively, your breath catching in your throat.

Kenny doesn’t stop smirking, clearly pleased with himself, but his hands don’t rush. They move slow, deliberate. His fingers slide under the cups of your bra, coaxing the fabric up, but he doesn’t move your shirt yet. He just touches, cups your tits with a careful sort of reverence that you weren’t expecting from him. His palms are warm, rough in a way that makes your skin feel hypersensitive, like every brush of his calloused fingers against you is setting you on fire.

You can’t stop giggling, nerves bubbling up too fast, and it only makes you feel more ridiculous. Your face is burning, your eyes darting everywhere except at him. You stare hard at the posters on his wall—some old band he likes, a tattered pin-up girl, a dumb ripped-out magazine ad for some beer company. Anything to avoid looking at the way he’s watching you.

Kenny chuckles against your neck, his thumbs tracing slow, teasing circles against your skin. “Ain’t gotta be shy, babe. Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

You let out a breathless, half-hysterical laugh, still refusing to meet his eyes. “You have literally never seen my tits before.”

He snorts. “Fair. But I been picturin’ ‘em since we were like fifteen, so I figure that counts.”

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

He laughs, shaking his head. His grip on you tightens, pulling you even closer, his breath hot against your ear. “What? S’true.” His voice dips lower, sending a full-body shiver down your spine. “Been thinkin’ about this for a long fuckin’ time, babe.”

Your stomach flips, heat pooling between your legs at the sheer honesty in his tone. Your breath is coming faster now, hands slowly lowering from your face as you try to process what he just admitted.

He wanted this.

He’s wanted this.

The realization makes your whole body tense, anticipation curling hot and thick inside you. Your fingers twitch against the rough denim of your jeans, pressing into the seams, trying to ground yourself.

Kenny’s hands are still on your tits, still kneading softly, his touch steady but not pushing. He’s waiting. Letting you adjust, letting you decide what happens next.

You finally tear your gaze from the posters, tilting your head just enough to glance at him over your shoulder. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide, lips parted slightly as he watches you.

You swallow hard, pulse hammering in your throat.

“…Can I?” he murmurs, fingers curling slightly, testing.

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nod.

Kenny lifts your shirt with a patience you didn’t expect, his fingers grazing your skin in slow, deliberate movements. Your breath stutters, nerves tangling up in your stomach, and you fidget with the cuffs of your sleeves, twisting the fabric between your fingers to keep your hands busy.

The second the air hits your tits, your body reacts—shivering, skin prickling with sensitivity. A quiet giggle bubbles out of you, half nervous, half from the sheer ridiculousness of the moment. Your eyes flick up to the ceiling automatically, desperate for something—anything—to focus on. The glow-in-the-dark stars are still there, scattered unevenly across the paint, some peeling at the edges, clinging on for dear life.

"Didn’t know you were still rockin’ the galaxy decor," you say, your voice a little breathless, a little shaky.

Kenny chuckles, his breath fanning warm against your shoulder. "Yeah, well. Girls love ‘em."

You roll your eyes, biting back a grin, but your amusement is short-lived when his hands move. His palms, broad and warm, slide over your exposed skin, settling over your tits fully. His thumbs skim the peaks, tracing soft circles over your nipples, and the sensation sends a sharp, unexpected jolt straight through your body.

You inhale sharply, your giggle cutting off, your thighs pressing together instinctively.

Kenny notices. Of course, he notices.

His smirk is lazy, his fingers tightening slightly, kneading you with slow, deliberate intent. "Oh yeah," he murmurs, voice dipping into something lower, something rougher. "That’s cute as hell."

Your breath hitches. "Shut up."

"Nah, don’t think I will." His thumbs flick over your nipples again, firmer this time, making your stomach tense. "You’re real sensitive, huh?"

You don’t answer—mostly because you don’t trust your own voice, but also because he already knows the answer.

Kenny laughs quietly, pressing his lips to your shoulder again, his teeth grazing the fabric of your shirt before he speaks. "Guess I should’ve known. You get all squirmy when people tickle you—figured you’d be just as jumpy when someone plays with your tits."

Your face burns, mortification mixing with something else—something heavier, hotter. "Oh my God, Kenny—"

"Relax, babe." His voice is low, teasing, but there’s something real beneath it, something that makes your stomach flip. "I like it."

Your fingers dig into your sleeves, gripping tight. The worst part is that you like it, too. The way he’s touching you, the way he’s looking at you, like he’s been wanting this for a long time—it’s making your head spin, making it hard to remember why you were so nervous in the first place.

His thumbs circle your nipples again, slower this time, more purposeful, like he’s memorizing how you react. Your breath catches, and you shift in his lap, your ass pressing back against him more than you mean to.

Kenny inhales sharply, his hands pausing for just a second before his fingers flex, his grip tightening around you.

"Fuck," he mutters, half under his breath, half into your skin. His hips shift, pressing up—just barely, but enough for you to feel the growing heat between you.

Your stomach clenches. Your thighs squeeze together tighter.

Kenny’s hands don’t stop moving, don’t stop touching, but his voice is quieter when he speaks again, more deliberate.

"You still good?"

You nod before he even finishes the question, your breath shaky, but certain. "Yeah."

His smirk returns, but it’s softer now, tinged with something you can’t quite place.

"Good," he says, and then he rolls one of your nipples between his fingers, and your whole body jolts in his lap.

You finally turn your head to look at him, your face scrunching up as heat prickles at your skin. The sensation still lingers—sharp and electric—where his fingers toy with you, and you don’t know if you want to squirm away or lean into it.

Kenny, of course, just grins. That cocky, lazy smirk, the one that says he knows exactly what he’s doing. He looks thoroughly entertained, his eyes hooded and amused as he watches your reaction.

"Aw, what’s wrong, babe?" His voice is dripping with fake innocence, but his fingers don’t stop, still rolling your nipple, flicking his thumb over it just to watch you twitch. "Too much for you? Thought you wanted the full boyfriend experience."

Your stomach tightens, and before you can stop yourself, a laugh bursts out of you, half flustered, half exasperated. "Jesus Christ, Kenny," you groan, swatting at his arm. "You’ve been my boyfriend for, like, four minutes, and you’re already insufferable."

Kenny laughs, leaning in, his lips ghosting over your jaw. "Four minutes?" he repeats, his breath warm against your skin. "Damn, feels longer. Guess time flies when you’re havin’ fun."

You roll your eyes, but your face is burning. "Fun for you, maybe."

Kenny hums, his smirk widening against your skin. His hands move, sliding down from your tits, gliding over your ribs, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. "Oh yeah?" His voice dips lower, smooth and teasing. "You sure about that?"

He suddenly pinches your nipple one last time, sharp and unexpected, and you jolt, a surprised noise escaping your throat before you can bite it down. Your body stiffens, your fingers gripping onto his forearm instinctively.

Kenny lets out a breathy laugh, clearly pleased with himself. "Yeah," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck. "Thought so."

You groan, smacking his arm again, but your grip lingers, your fingers tightening around his wrist like you don’t actually want him to stop. Your body is betraying you, heat curling in your stomach, a slow, steady throb building between your thighs.

Kenny just grins wider, like your frustration is the best part of this for him. His fingers flex against your sides, squeezing lightly, and then—without warning—he shifts his grip and pulls you higher up in his lap. You yelp, grabbing onto his shoulders for balance, but Kenny barely gives you a second to react before he ducks his head, his mouth latching onto your tit.

A sharp gasp catches in your throat. Your hands tighten in his shirt as warmth floods through you, your whole body tensing at the wet heat of his mouth around your nipple. His tongue flicks against it, slow and deliberate, and you feel it all the way down to your stomach, down lower, an ache blooming between your thighs.

You press your face into his hair, your breath stuttering as you try to remember how to form words. "K-Kenny," you manage, but you don’t even know what you’re trying to say.

He hums against your skin, and the vibration sends a shiver down your spine. He sucks lightly, his lips sealing around you, before pulling off with a quiet pop, breath warm as he exhales against the damp skin. His fingers squeeze your hips, steadying you.

"Yeah?" His voice is low, rough, and when he lifts his head to look at you, his lips are slick, his pupils blown wide. He smirks, tilting his head. "Somethin’ you wanna say, babe?"

Your whole body feels like it’s burning, and you’re not sure if it’s from embarrassment or how fucking good it feels. Your nails dig into his shoulders, and you glare down at him, but it doesn’t hold any real heat. "You’re so—"

"—Good at this?" Kenny interrupts, his smirk turning downright smug. "Yeah, I know."

You groan, smacking the back of his head, but you don’t stop him when he moves to your other tit, his mouth latching onto you all over again.

Kenny groans against your skin, the sound vibrating through your chest, making your whole body jolt in his lap. His tongue flicks over your nipple, slow and teasing, before he closes his lips around it again, sucking harder this time. His free hand kneads your other tit, rolling the soft flesh between his fingers, his thumb circling over your already sensitive nipple.

Your breath stutters, tiny, bitten-off moans slipping past your lips before you can stop them. It feels good—too good—like every nerve in your body is tightening, winding up until you’re shaking in his lap. But at the same time, embarrassment prickles under your skin. The way Kenny is touching you, how easily he’s pulling these sounds out of you—it’s overwhelming.

You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your face deeper into his hair, inhaling the scent of his cheap shampoo and the lingering smoke clinging to him. Your fingers grip the fabric of his tee, tugging hard like that’ll ground you, like that’ll stop the dizzy heat spreading through your stomach. But Kenny doesn’t let up.

"Aw, babe," he mutters against your skin, his voice thick with amusement and something deeper. His breath is hot, his lips trailing against the curve of your breast. "You gettin’ shy on me?"

You shake your head quickly, but the way your body trembles in his hands tells another story. Kenny chuckles, low and smug, squeezing your tit in his palm before his mouth moves again, teeth scraping lightly against your nipple just to hear you gasp.

"Shit, you’re cute," he murmurs, rolling his hips up just enough for you to feel the heat of him beneath you. His hands tighten on your waist, keeping you steady. "Makin’ all these pretty little sounds for me. Can’t believe I never got to hear ‘em ‘til now."

Your face burns hotter, and you tug at his shirt in frustration, like that’ll shut him up. "Shut up," you mumble, voice muffled against his hair.

He laughs, sharp and breathless, and nips at your skin in retaliation, sending another shock of heat straight through you. "Nah," he says, grinning against your chest. "Not when you’re bein’ this fuckin’ cute about it."

You groan, curling into him as his mouth moves lower, trailing wet kisses across your skin, each one searing. His hands slide up your back, tracing the dip of your spine, making you shiver.

"Kenny," you whimper, barely above a whisper.

His breath catches.

For the first time since this started, he stills. His grip on you tightens, fingers pressing into your skin, like he’s holding himself back. His forehead drops against your chest, and you feel him exhale, slow and measured.

"Fuck," he mutters, voice rough, strained. "You can’t just say my name like that, babe."

You blink, biting your lip, confused. "Like what?"

Kenny lifts his head, and when you finally meet his gaze, the look in his eyes makes your stomach flip. His pupils are blown wide, his face flushed, his lips wet and slightly swollen. He looks wrecked—like he’s barely keeping himself together.

"Like you want me," he says simply.

Your breath catches in your throat.

Your fingers tighten in his shirt. The air between you feels too thick, too charged. He’s looking at you like he’s waiting, like he’s daring you to say it—to admit it.

Your breath is shaky as you push your hair back, fingers catching in the strands before falling to the sleeves of your shirt. You fidget, tugging at the fabric, trying to ground yourself, trying to focus on anything other than the way Kenny is looking at you. Like he already knew. Like he was just waiting for you to say it.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to breathe, and then—quietly, barely above a whisper—you admit it.

"I do," you say, your voice raw, unsteady. "I want you. I want you so fucking bad."

The words hang between you, and for a split second, everything stops. Kenny's fingers twitch against your skin, his breath catching in his throat. His lips part slightly, like he wants to say something, but whatever was on his tongue dies before he can get it out. His whole body goes still, tense beneath you, his hands flexing against your waist.

And then—he moves.

His grip tightens, and in one quick motion, he’s shifting you, pulling you even closer until your chest is flush against his. His mouth crashes against yours, no hesitation, no teasing—just heat, all-consuming and desperate. He kisses you like he’s been holding back for too long, like the second you said it, something inside him snapped.

You whimper into his mouth, fingers twisting into his shirt, holding on as his hands slide up your back, gripping, pressing, pulling. His tongue flicks against your lips, and you part for him instantly, letting him deepen it, letting him take exactly what he wants.

You’re breathless when he pulls back, and the look in his eyes makes your whole body clench. His pupils are blown wide, his chest rising and falling unevenly, his lips wet and slightly swollen.

"Say it again," he murmurs, voice rough, needy. His hands tighten at your waist, his fingers digging into your skin like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. "Say you want me."

Your heart pounds against your ribs. You’ve never seen him like this before, never seen him lose control, never seen him look at you like he’d set the whole world on fire if you asked him to.

"I want you," you whisper, voice trembling. "Kenny, I—"

He groans, and suddenly, you’re on your back. He moves so fast it leaves you breathless, his body pressing you into the mattress, his mouth hot against your neck, teeth scraping against your pulse. His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding under your shirt, skimming the bare skin of your stomach, pushing you closer, pulling you deeper into him.

Your fingers claw at his back, your legs shifting beneath him, your body already burning from the inside out.

Kenny’s hands grip the waistband of your jeans, fingers pressing into the fabric, warm and just a little unsteady. His breath is hot against your skin, his lips still parted from where he had been kissing you, sucking at your neck like he couldn’t get enough. But now, his mouth is still, and he’s looking at you—really looking at you—his blue wide and dark, a flush creeping high on his cheeks.

And then, he does something you don’t expect.

He begs.

Not with teasing, not with that cocky smirk he usually hides behind, not with some lazy drawl of c’mon, babe, don’t be shy. No, this is different.

“Kinda losin’ my mind over here,” he says, his voice wrecked, ragged, like he’s holding onto the last frayed edge of his control. His fingers flex against your jeans, gripping the fabric tight, and his forehead presses against yours, like he can’t even bear the space between you. “Please.”

Your stomach flips, heat spreading through you so fast it makes you feel lightheaded. You’ve never heard Kenny like this. You’ve seen him flirt, tease, talk his way into people’s pants with nothing but a lazy grin and that effortless charm, but you’ve never heard him plead.

He presses a kiss to your cheek, then another, his lips dragging down to your jaw, your neck. “Let me, baby,” he mutters, voice hoarse, desperate. “Let me make you feel good. Been wantin’—fuck—been wantin’ this for so long, just—” He groans, breath shaky, like he’s physically restraining himself from just taking what he wants. “Tell me I can touch you. Please.”

Your chest is tight, your lungs forgetting how to work properly. He’s trembling a little under your hands, not enough to be obvious, but you can feel it in the way he’s gripping you, in the way he keeps shifting his hips like he can’t sit still.

And the worst part? You love it. You love the way he’s looking at you, love the way his voice sounds when he’s this far gone, love knowing that you—not some random hookup, not some person at a party, you—are the one who got him like this. The one who made Kenny McCormick, smooth-talker, lady-killer, completely lose his mind.

Your fingers brush against the nape of his neck, sliding up into his messy blonde hair, tugging lightly. Kenny groans at the touch, his head tilting back slightly, and you swear you can feel his pulse hammering just beneath his skin.

You smile, just a little. “You’re really begging, huh?”

Kenny lets out a breathy, half-strangled laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, fuck off,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it. His lips brush against your collarbone, then your throat, and he exhales sharply. “You have no fuckin’ idea what you do to me.”

Your heartbeat stutters.

You know this is just Kenny. Kenny, your best friend since forever. The same Kenny who used to eat entire bags of expired Halloween candy in one sitting, who once got stuck in a tree trying to rescue a cat that didn’t even belong to anyone, who always knew exactly how to make you laugh when you needed it most.

You exhale slowly, fingers still tangled in his hair, your other hand smoothing down his back. He’s so warm, so solid beneath your touch, and you can feel the way his muscles tense when you shift against him.

You bite your lip, considering him, watching the way his breath catches as you trace your fingers lower, down his spine, pressing just slightly at the small of his back.

Then, finally—

“…Okay.”

Kenny stills.

For a second, he just looks at you, eyes dark and searching, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Then, he exhales, long and slow, like all the tension in his body is uncoiling at once.

“Fuck,” he breathes, like he wasn’t sure you’d actually say yes. Like he needed to hear it.

His hands tighten against your waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your jeans now, tracing against the sensitive skin of your hips. He leans in, pressing his lips to your ear, and when he speaks, his voice is low, reverent, almost awed.

“You have no idea how bad I’m gonna make this for you, baby.”

Your whole body shudders, heat slamming into you all at once. The second Kenny's fingers hook around the waistband of your jeans, your breath catches, and you whine—actually whine—lifting your hips to help him shimmy them down. The fabric drags against your thighs, your knees, pooling somewhere near your ankles before he kicks them off the bed entirely.

And then it's just you, in nothing but your panties, laid out beneath him.

Kenny settles between your legs, weight pressing into you in a way that makes your stomach flip, his hands skating up the tops of your thighs, warm and rough and fucking confident. But when his fingers brush the thin lace of your panties, he stops. Doesn't keep going. Doesn't pull them down. Just hovers, playing with the hemline like he's got all the time in the world.

You blink, nerves creeping in now that you're actually here, spread out in front of your best friend like this, half-dressed with his hands teasing the only thing left covering you. Your fingers tighten in his sheets, your eyes darting everywhere—his glow-in-the-dark stars, the pile of laundry in the corner, the goddamn Mysterion poster still tacked to his wall—like any of it is more important than Kenny McCormick breathing against your stomach.

It isn’t.

Kenny sees right through you, of course. He doesn’t move his hands, doesn’t push you, doesn’t rush you, just watches. His blue eyes flick over your face, tracing the way your chest rises too quickly, the way your fingers grip the sheets like you need something to hold onto.

His lips twitch, his smirk lazy, teasing, but softer than usual. “You ignoring me, babe?” His voice is low, smooth, edged with amusement but still careful. “Kinda rude, y’know, considering I’m about to have my face between your legs.”

Your breath stumbles in your chest. “Jesus Christ, Kenny.”

He grins, a little more like himself now, but he still doesn’t move. Doesn’t do anything except keep his hands where they are, fingers playing with your waistband like he’s waiting for something.

That’s when you realize—he is.

You swallow thickly, forcing your eyes back to him. “I’m not ignoring you,” you murmur, voice smaller than you mean for it to be.

Kenny raises an eyebrow, like he doesn’t quite believe you. His thumbs stroke over your hip bones, slow, lazy little circles, and even though the touch is innocent, it makes your pulse trip over itself.

“Uh-huh,” he hums. “And yet, you look like you’re real interested in my ceiling instead of me.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands for half a second before dragging them down, your whole body burning. “It’s not that, I just—”

You stop. Exhale. Look at him, really look at him, at the way he’s just watching you, at the way he’s waiting, his mouth slightly parted like he’s holding himself back.

It clicks.

Oh. He’s giving you an out.

Kenny fucking McCormick, the guy who spends half his time running his mouth about tits and ass, the guy who has no problem making the filthiest jokes at the worst moments, is actually holding back for you.

Your best friend is between your legs, waiting for your permission to touch you.

And you want it.

Your throat feels dry, nerves tangling with the raw, aching want that’s been building up for what feels like hours. “Kenny.” You barely recognize your own voice, the way it dips, the way it wavers just slightly.

His eyes snap to yours immediately, sharp, focused.

You wet your lips. “You can keep going.”

Something shifts in his face, something hot and pleased and maybe even relieved. His smirk deepens, his fingers pressing into your hips just slightly, just enough for you to feel it.

“Yeah?” His voice is still teasing, but there’s an edge to it now, something heavier, something darker. “You sure?”

You nod, breath catching. “I want it.”

Kenny inhales sharply through his nose, and you feel the way his fingers twitch against you, the way his body tenses for half a second before he exhales, shaking his head like he can’t fucking believe this is happening.

“Fuck,” he mutters, dragging his hands up your sides, fingers skimming your ribs before sliding back down, settling at your hips again. “You have no fuckin’ idea how long I wanted to hear you say that.”

Kenny hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties, and this time, he doesn’t tease, doesn’t stall. He drags them down, slow enough that the air against your newly exposed skin sends a shiver up your spine, but firm enough that you know he’s done waiting. The fabric catches for half a second on the curve of your ass before sliding down your thighs, past your knees, stopping at your ankles.

You don’t dare look at him. Heat burns up the back of your neck, flooding your cheeks, and your whole body feels too tight, too aware of the fact that Kenny fucking McCormick is sitting between your legs, staring right at the part of you no one’s ever seen before.

Your fingers twitch against the sheets. Your thighs press together on instinct, but Kenny’s hands are still there, still holding you open, still keeping you right where he wants you.

The silence stretches. Too long. Too heavy.

You shift, fidgeting, your hips tilting slightly on the bed, and that seems to unfreeze him.

Kenny exhales sharply through his nose, somewhere between a groan and a laugh, his fingers flexing against your skin. And then—because of course he fucking does—his mouth runs off again.

“Holy shit.” His voice is rough, low, like something just knocked the wind out of him. “You’re—fuck, babe.” He drags a hand down his face like he’s trying to compose himself, but when he looks back at you, his smirk is back in full force, lazy and dripping with something else, something darker. “Y’know, I always thought if I ever got between your legs, I’d have a lot to say. But I think you just made me forget every word I ever fuckin’ learned.”

Your stomach clenches. Your face burns hotter.

“Kenny.” You say his name like a warning, but your voice is shaking too much for it to sound threatening.

“Nah, I mean it.” He groans, head tilting back for half a second before dropping forward again, his eyes glued to you. “Jesus Christ, you’re fuckin’ perfect.”

Your thighs twitch. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself not to let the nerves get the better of you.

He notices. Of course he does.

His hands press into your thighs, thumbs stroking slow circles into the soft skin. “Hey.” His voice drops, still warm, still teasing, but there’s something else there now—something softer, something careful. “You good?”

You force yourself to open your eyes. He’s watching you closely, waiting, his smirk still there but smaller now, more relaxed. Not pushing. Not rushing. You exhale, trying to settle the wild hammering of your pulse.

“I’m good,” you murmur. “Just… no one’s ever—”

Kenny’s expression flickers, something unreadable passing through it before he grins again, this time slower, more deliberate. “Yeah?” He tilts his head, his eyes flickering with something that makes your stomach flip. “No one’s ever eaten you out before?”

You cover your face with your hands. “Oh my God, Kenny.”

He laughs, full and warm, and you feel his breath against your inner thigh as he leans in, presses a soft, teasing kiss there. “Babe, I was askin’ for confirmation, not shame.”

You groan, dragging your hands down just enough to peek at him through your fingers. His smirk deepens, and he squeezes your thighs lightly, spreading you just a little wider.

“Well, shit.” His voice is smooth, lazy, but there’s something real behind it. “Guess that means I get to be your first for this, too.”

His fingers dig in, just enough for you to feel it, and then—his mouth lowers.

His fingers dig into your thighs, keeping you spread open for him, and then—his mouth lowers.

Soft, teasing kisses press against your inner thigh, light as air, barely-there brushes of his lips that make your skin break out in goosebumps. He trails lower, slow and deliberate, his breath warm against you, taking his fucking time because he knows it’s driving you crazy.

Then, finally, he kisses you right where you’re burning the most.

The jolt that shoots through you is immediate, electric. Your hips twitch like they’re trying to escape on instinct, but Kenny just chuckles, low and amused, tightening his grip to keep you still. His hands flex against your skin, thumbs pressing slow, grounding circles into the dip of your hips, but it does nothing to stop the way your whole body is tensing up.

You whine, the sound half-muffled, half-strangled, your thighs trembling in his grip.

And Kenny fucking smiles against you.

Like he’s enjoying this. Like he’s enjoying you.

Your heart slams against your ribs, your breath catching in your throat. You can’t look at him, can’t even bring yourself to glance down, because if you do—if you see his head between your legs, his mouth on you—you might actually die.

So you slap a hand over your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut.

Kenny notices immediately.

“Oh, nah.” His voice is muffled against your skin, but you can still hear the smirk in it. “What’s that about?”

You shake your head frantically, pressing your palm harder against your lips.

He laughs again, the vibration of it sending a shiver through you, and then—he licks a slow, teasing stripe over you, like he’s testing. Like he’s waiting for you to break.

You do.

Your muffled moan slips out against your hand, and you swear you can feel the way Kenny grins.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against you, his breath warm. “That’s what I thought.”

His hands slide up, dragging over your waist, your stomach, fingertips skimming over your ribs before pressing back down, keeping you pinned. His thumbs stroke over your skin in lazy circles, like he’s trying to soothe you, but his mouth is doing the exact fucking opposite.

He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t go in too fast. He just explores, teasing you open, slow and deliberate, his tongue dipping between you just enough to make you shudder. His mouth is warm, soft, wet, and every careful press of his lips has a purpose, every stroke of his tongue designed to pull more sounds out of you.

And you are making sounds.

You’re trying not to, biting down on your knuckle now, but it’s useless. Kenny makes a pleased noise at that—low and cocky—and you barely have a second to register it before he does something with his tongue that makes your whole body jolt.

You gasp, thighs twitching, back arching slightly against the mattress.

Kenny groans, his grip tightening, and then he presses in deeper.

Your fingers scramble against the sheets, gripping at nothing, your brain fogging over completely. It’s too much and not enough, your body burning, heat pooling between your legs, twisting tighter and tighter.

Kenny pulls back slightly, just enough to murmur against you. “Babe, I swear to God, if you don’t move that fuckin’ hand, I’m gonna make you scream my name.”

Your stomach clenches, another whimper slipping out before you can stop it.

His smirk is audible. “That’s what I fuckin’ thought.”

You whine his name, the sound slipping out before you can stop it, high-pitched and desperate. Mortification floods through you immediately, heat crawling up your face, but Kenny?

Kenny fucking loves it.

“Oh, babe,” he drawls, low and lazy, like he’s savoring the sound, like it’s his favorite thing in the world. “That’s cute as shit.”

You groan, turning your head to the side, pressing your cheek into the mattress like you can escape the sheer humiliation burning in your chest. But Kenny isn’t having that.

“Uh-uh,” he murmurs, mouth still moving against you, still pressing slow, teasing kisses against your heat. “Say it again.”

You shake your head frantically, thighs twitching in his grip. “No.”

He laughs—breathy, smug, completely unbothered. “Yeah? We’ll see.”

Then, without warning, you feel it—his fingers, warm and calloused, pressing against your entrance. Just a nudge at first, just testing, just enough to make you gasp and squirm.

Kenny hums like he’s considering something. “Oh, yeah,” he mutters. “This is gonna be fun.”

Your stomach clenches, your whole body locking up as you try to process how the fuck this is actually happening. His finger presses in just barely, not even an inch, just enough for you to feel the stretch, the way your body immediately reacts, the heat that spreads through your thighs like wildfire.

You moan—loud and sharp—and Kenny groans like the sound alone is enough to drive him crazy.

“There she is,” he breathes, his voice rough, strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. His free hand tightens around your thigh, grounding himself, pressing bruises into your skin. 

He pushes in a little further, slow and careful, and your breath catches in your throat. It’s not just the stretch—it’s the way his mouth is still on you, the way he’s still licking into you like he’s starving, the way his fingers move in sync with his tongue, pushing, teasing, coaxing you open.

“K-Kenny,” you choke out, your hands gripping at the sheets, your whole body on fire.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his breath hot against your skin. “Yeah, keep sayin’ my name like that.”

You shake your head, trying to bury your face into the mattress again, but Kenny pulls back slightly, just enough to catch your gaze.

“Look at me,” he says, his voice low, demanding, but there’s something else there, something almost pleading. “C’mon, baby, lemme see you.”

Your breath stutters. Slowly, hesitantly, you turn your head, your lashes fluttering as you meet his gaze.

His pupils are blown wide, his lips slick, his breath coming in short, shallow pants. His jaw is clenched tight like he’s barely holding himself together, like he’s fighting to keep control, but his fingers? His fingers are still moving, still pushing into you, still coaxing those sounds out of you like he lives for them.

His smirk is gone. There’s no teasing left in his expression. Just heat. Just hunger. Just Kenny, looking at you like he’s never wanted anything more in his life.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he mutters, his voice rough, almost disbelieving. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

His fingers don’t stop. They keep moving, curling up just right inside you, pressing against that spot that makes your legs jerk, makes your stomach coil tight. His thumb circles your clit, slow and teasing at first, but when you whimper—when you moan his name all pretty like that—he starts rubbing faster, more deliberate, like he’s committing every little reaction to memory.

Your thighs twitch against his shoulders. Your fingers claw uselessly at the sheets, your breath stuttering with every flick of his wrist, every wet, obscene sound coming from between your legs. It’s too much and not enough all at once.

Kenny groans low in his throat when he feels your walls squeeze around his fingers, the sound muffled between your legs, and the vibration makes your hips buck against his mouth. He’s grinning, you know he is, because when you finally risk a glance down, his blue eyes are locked onto you, dark and hungry, like he’s starving for you.

Your face burns. You slap both hands over your mouth.

Kenny’s free hand moves, gripping your wrist, yanking your hands away from your face. His chin is slick, his lips glistening, and when he smirks up at you, you almost feel lightheaded.

"Nuh-uh, babe. I wanna hear you.”

You whimper, squirming against the sheets. “Kenny—”

He rewards you with another curl of his fingers, pressing against that spot so perfectly it makes your whole body jerk. Your back arches, your lips parting in a silent moan, and that’s all the proof he needs that he’s got you exactly where he wants you.

His mouth is on you again, tongue dragging over your clit, slow and firm, sending hot pulses of pleasure through your core. His fingers thrust in and out, faster now, wetter, each movement accompanied by filthy, wet sounds that make your skin feel like it’s burning. Your thighs are shaking, and Kenny just hums like he’s proud of himself.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he mutters against you, his breath warm, teasing. “Gonna make such a mess, babe.”

Your fingers bury into his hair, tugging hard. Kenny groans into you, like he fucking loves it, and then he’s sucking on your clit, flicking it with his tongue while his fingers keep fucking into you, and it’s—

It’s too much.

Your whole body tenses, heat curling in your gut, tight and overwhelming. Every muscle in your body locks up as you gasp, as your head tilts back, as your vision goes white-hot with pleasure.

“Oh—oh my God, Kenny—”

He moans against you, sloppy and desperate now, fingers moving faster, tongue pressing harder, dragging you through it, keeping you there, making sure you don’t slip away from him just yet. You convulse against the sheets, legs twitching, hands gripping his hair so tight it must hurt, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t let up, doesn’t slow down, not even when you whimper and try to push at his shoulders.

You sob out his name, thighs squeezing around his head, and finally—finally—his movements slow. His fingers ease out of you, his tongue drags over you one last time, and then he presses a final, lazy kiss to your inner thigh before pulling back.

Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your whole body trembling, your skin burning. Kenny sits back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his smirk lazy and satisfied. His eyes flick up to you, taking in the wrecked state you’re in, and he whistles low.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, voice rough, breath uneven. “Didn’t know you could cum that hard, babe.”

You groan, tossing an arm over your face, mortified. “Shut the fuck up.”

Kenny just laughs, but doesn’t move away. He shifts, pressing his palms into the mattress on either side of you, caging you in beneath him. His body is warm, solid, still a little tense, like he’s holding back just enough to keep himself from fully sinking into you. His breath is heavy, rolling over your flushed skin as he watches you, eyes hooded and dark.

Satisfaction, definitely—he’s fucking proud of himself, no doubt about that. His pupils are blown, his jaw tight, his smirk a little slower, lazier, like he’s savoring every second of looking at you like this.

And then—he dips his head down and kisses you.

It’s not rushed, not desperate, but it’s deep, lingering, his lips moving against yours like he’s claiming you, like he wants to make sure you remember exactly what just happened. His tongue flicks against your bottom lip, and you open up for him without thinking, letting him taste you, letting him steal whatever breath you have left.

You can taste yourself on him, warm and heady, and your face burns at the realization. You let out a soft, helpless noise against his mouth, and Kenny groans, pressing himself closer, his weight settling just enough to remind you that he’s still hard, that he still needs you just as much as you needed him.

His hands move—one dragging down your side, fingers tracing your waist like he’s memorizing the shape of you, the other cupping your jaw, tilting your face up so he can kiss you deeper. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t force it, but he makes sure you feel him, makes sure you know exactly how much he’s still holding back.

When he finally pulls away, he lingers, his lips brushing against yours like he doesn’t want to break the contact. His eyes flicker over your face, taking in your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your chest still rises and falls unevenly beneath him. His breathing is just as ragged as yours now, his smirk faded into something softer.

Kenny tilts his head slightly, dragging his thumb across your cheek, his touch warm and careful, like he’s not quite ready to let go of you yet. His voice is lower now, rougher, like the words are catching in his throat.

“Fuck, babe,” he murmurs, his eyes locked onto yours, full of adoration. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this.”

You smile up at him, warmth swelling in your chest, and before you can stop yourself, you tease, “You’re prettier.”

Kenny scoffs, smirking down at you like you just said the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. “Yeah, alright.” His fingers trace along your waist, slow and absentminded, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, like he just needs to be touching you. His breath is steady, but you can feel the way his chest rises and falls a little heavier now, like he’s holding back something.

Your hands slide over his stomach, feeling the heat of his skin beneath his tee, and that’s when it hits you—he’s still fully dressed. Meanwhile, you’re here, completely bare under him, skin exposed to the cool air. Your lips part, a quiet huff of realization leaving you as your fingers bunch into the fabric of his shirt.

“Not fair,” you mutter, tugging at the material. “Why are you still wearing this?”

Kenny raises an eyebrow, a teasing lilt creeping back into his voice. “What, you wanna see me naked that bad?”

You groan, tilting your head back against the pillow. “Kenny.”

He chuckles, shaking his head, but he doesn’t argue. He leans back onto his knees, pulling his tee up and over his head in one fluid motion. The dim glow from the window shadows over his chest, the faint lines of definition visible even in the low light. A scar you’ve never noticed before runs just under his ribs—faint, but there. You don’t even realize you’re staring until Kenny tosses his shirt aside and runs a hand through his messy hair, shaking it out.

“You gonna help me with these, or you just gonna admire me all night?” His voice is lazy, but there’s something else beneath it—something heavier, something real.

You roll your eyes to cover up the way your throat suddenly feels tight. “Cocky asshole.”

Still, you move, reaching down to undo his belt, fumbling with the buckle before finally tugging it loose. Kenny shifts his hips up slightly to make it easier for you, his breath hitching when your knuckles brush against his stomach. The muscles there twitch, just barely, and the sight of it sends a sharp, unexpected jolt of heat through you.

He exhales, low and steady. “Didn’t think you’d be this eager, babe.”

You glance up at him through your lashes, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his jeans, your voice quiet but certain. “Shut up and let me take them off.”

Kenny just hums, low and lazy, like he’s enjoying this way too much, but for once, he doesn’t throw in another teasing remark. He watches you, his blue eyes dark and steady, gaze flickering between your face and your hands as you grip the waistband of his jeans. Your fingers tremble slightly, but you don’t stop. You push the denim down, the fabric rough against your palms as you ease it over his hips. His boxers catch slightly on the way down, stretching for a moment before slipping lower, and you swallow hard, refusing to break eye contact even as your face burns.

The heat spreading through your chest is impossible to ignore, your breath uneven as you take him in—his skin flushed, muscles tight with restraint, the way his jaw clenches for just a second when the cool air hits him. He looks so effortlessly good like this, sprawled out beneath you, half-dressed, his hair still a mess from where your fingers tugged at it.

Your breath hitches when his hands move, sliding up the backs of your thighs, not rushing, just touching, just feeling. His thumbs rub slow circles into your skin, grounding you, a silent reassurance without a single word. His lips part like he wants to say something, but he just exhales instead, eyes scanning your face, searching for hesitation.

You press your palms against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers, the steady rise and fall of his breathing. You take in everything—the way his pupils are blown wide, the faintest pink dusting his cheeks, the way his lips are slightly swollen from kissing you so hard earlier. He looks so good like this, so effortlessly wrecked already, and it sends another wave of warmth flooding through your stomach.

You wet your lips, dragging your fingers down from his chest, over his ribs, feeling every little shift of muscle beneath his skin. When your hands settle at his hips, your thumbs pressing lightly into the sharp cut of bone there, Kenny makes a noise—low and rough, the sound barely escaping his throat.

You shudder, feeling the weight of his gaze on you as you shift lower, positioning yourself between his legs. The anticipation sits heavy in your stomach, thick and all-consuming. You feel his fingers slide into your hair, not guiding, just resting, his touch warm against your scalp.

The moment stretches between you, thick with tension, the only sound is the quiet rhythm of your breaths. You glance up at him again, lips parted, voice barely above a whisper.

“Show me what you like.”

Kenny grins, slow and wicked, his fingers tightening just slightly in your hair. His blue eyes gleam with something dangerous—something smug, something completely self-indulgent. You can already tell he’s going to drag this out, going to make you squirm just because he can.

“Oh, babe,” he drawls, voice thick with amusement, “you really want me to spell it out for you?” His thumb strokes along your scalp, deceptively gentle. “You want me to tell you how I like your pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock? How good it felt when you were takin’ me earlier, all eager, like you couldn’t get enough?”

Your stomach flips so violently it makes you dizzy. Heat slams into you like a freight train, settling hot and heavy in your chest, your throat, your cheeks. You blink up at him, utterly mortified, mouth parting uselessly as your fingers flex against his hips. Your entire body feels too warm, too aware of every inch of him under your hands, against your skin.

He sees it—sees the way your breath stutters, the way your lashes flutter, the way your thighs twitch slightly where you kneel. And of course, being the absolute menace that he is, Kenny doesn’t let it go unnoticed. He chuckles, breathless and low, his smirk twitching wider.

“Aww, c’mon, don’t get shy on me now,” he teases, voice dipping, rough around the edges. “You wanted me to talk you through it, right? Thought you liked it when I told you how good you were doin’.”

You groan, slapping a hand over your face for half a second before dragging it down, fingers pressing into your flushed cheeks. “Jesus Christ, Kenny,” you mutter, voice tight, and he just laughs, the sound vibrating deep in his chest.

He shifts slightly, sitting up a bit more, leaning into you, his breath hot against the top of your head. His fingers thread deeper into your hair, a subtle but deliberate motion, his thumb brushing along the side of your jaw. His smirk softens, just a little, just enough that it feels a little less like he’s playing with you and more like he’s… waiting.

“You gonna do it or not?” he murmurs, and despite his usual cocky drawl, there’s something else underneath it. Something quieter. 

Your throat works as you swallow, fingers tightening at his hips, your heart hammering so hard it echoes in your ears. You inhale, slow and steady, forcing yourself to push past the nerves, past the mortification. Because you want this. You do. And Kenny, for all his relentless teasing, is being patient. Letting you set the pace.

You exhale sharply, glaring up at him, though the heat in your face ruins the effect. “You’re the worst.”

Kenny just grins wider, completely unbothered. “Yeah, yeah, now quit stallin’, babe.”

You roll your eyes but let your hands move again, sliding lower, gripping him properly, feeling the way his body reacts under your touch. Kenny’s breath hitches, just barely, but you catch it. His smirk falters for half a second before he schools his expression, tilting his head as he watches you through half-lidded eyes.

You lick your lips, steadying yourself, your fingers curling around him as you squeeze experimentally. His abs twitch, his jaw flexing as his breath stutters again. You glance up at him once more, holding his gaze, and despite everything, despite how much he’s been running his mouth, you can tell—he’s waiting.

You hum softly, giving him one last lingering look before leaning in.

You close the distance, pressing your lips to his skin, feeling the warmth of him against your mouth. His body tenses under your hands, his fingers twitching where they rest against your scalp. The shift in his breathing is instant—what was once steady and measured now comes in short, uneven exhales, his chest rising and falling faster. You feel the way his muscles tighten beneath your touch, the way his thighs flex under your hands as you settle more comfortably between them.

The heat of him is overwhelming. You’re hyperaware of everything—the weight of him in your palm, the slight pulse against your fingers, the way he’s holding himself completely still, like he’s waiting for you to take the lead. You inhale slowly, steadying yourself, your breath ghosting over his skin. Kenny hisses through his teeth, his grip tightening in your hair for half a second before relaxing again.

You press another kiss to his length, slower this time, letting your lips linger just to see how he reacts. His fingers flex at your scalp, a quiet curse slipping past his lips, and something about that—about knowing that you’re the one pulling these sounds from him—sends a shiver down your spine.

“Goddamn,” he breathes, his voice raw. “Startin’ to think you like this more than I do.”

You roll your eyes, your lips curling into a smirk. “Maybe I just like seeing you like this.”

Kenny exhales a laugh, but it’s shaky, strained, his whole body tight with restraint. “Yeah?” His head tips back slightly, his fingers twitching in your hair. “Fuckin’ hell, babe. Didn’t take you for a goddamn tease.”

You hum softly, letting the vibration pass through him before parting your lips, your tongue slipping out to taste him. The salt of his skin, the faint heat of him—it’s familiar now, yet still so foreign. Your pulse jumps at the weight of him on your tongue, and your eyes flicker up, searching his face.

His expression has gone tight, his jaw locked, his eyes dark as they stare down at you. His grip in your hair tightens just slightly, like he’s holding back, like he wants to guide you but is forcing himself to let you figure it out on your own.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice strained, rougher than before.

You smile against him, letting his reaction spur you on. You take him in further, your lips stretching around him, your tongue pressing flat against the underside of his length. Kenny curses again, his head tipping back slightly, his breath leaving him in a sharp exhale. His thighs tense beneath your hands, his fingers digging into your scalp, and you can tell—he’s already losing his composure.

It makes you bold. You hollow your cheeks, sucking lightly as you bob your head, working to find a rhythm, letting him guide you with the subtle shifts of his body. His hips twitch, barely restrained, his breath coming heavier now, more labored.

“Shit—” Kenny groans, his voice wrecked, his usual teasing nowhere to be found. His other hand comes up, brushing his knuckles against your cheek before settling at the nape of your neck, his grip warm, firm, but not forceful. “You—fuck, babe—”

You hum again, letting the vibrations drag another strangled moan from him. His breathing grows heavier, his grip in your hair tightening as his hips stutter slightly, a barely restrained thrust. “Jesus fuck,” he mutters, his voice tight, strained. “You’re—fuck, you’re doin’ so good.”

The praise sends warmth pooling low in your stomach, your pulse kicking up as you double down, taking him deeper, working him faster. Kenny groans, his head falling back, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. His thighs tremble under your hands, his body coiled tight, strung out.

You can feel it, the way he’s tensing, the way his grip tightens almost painfully in your hair, his breathing ragged, uneven. He’s close. And knowing that, feeling that, makes you want to push him over the edge, to hear what he sounds like when he finally lets go.

You suck harder, your tongue swirling around him, your pace never faltering. Kenny curses, his whole body tensing, and then—he breaks. His hips jerk, his breath catching in his throat, his fingers clenching at your scalp as he spills into your mouth with a groan so wrecked it sends a shiver straight through you.

He slumps back against the mattress, chest heaving, body spent, fingers slackening in your hair. You stay still for a moment, letting him ride it out, his pulse thudding beneath your fingertips. When he finally exhales, long and slow, he cracks an exhausted, lazy grin, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes.

“Holy fuck,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “You tryna kill me?”

You huff a quiet laugh, your own breath a little unsteady as you pull back, licking your lips. You swallow, tilting your head slightly in consideration. You’re still not sure how you feel about the taste, but it’s not the worst thing in the world.

Kenny notices. His grin widens as he takes in your expression. “Shit,” he chuckles, still breathless, “look at you, sittin’ there all cute, thinkin’ about my cum like it’s a fuckin’ fine wine tasting.”

Your nose scrunches immediately. “Oh my god, Kenny.”

He laughs, stretching his arms over his head, looking way too pleased with himself. “What? Just sayin’, if I knew you’d be this into it, I woulda let you blow me years ago.”

You smack his thigh, making him yelp dramatically. “Gross. You say that like I’ve been waiting for the opportunity.”

Kenny smirks, tilting his head. “Haven’t you?”

Your jaw drops. “You’re disgusting.”

“And yet,” he drawls, lazy and smug, “you still got on your knees for me.”

Heat floods your face, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. You roll your eyes, shifting to sit more comfortably, smoothing your hands over your thighs. “Well, yeah. I was being nice.”

Kenny scoffs, sitting up slightly. “Nice, huh?” His smirk deepens. “Damn, babe, that was the most generous fuckin’ favor I ever got.”

You groan, shoving at his shoulder. “You’re welcome, jackass.”

Kenny just grins, still looking at you in that way that makes your stomach twist, something softer lingering behind the teasing. For a second, it almost feels like he might say something else. Something that isn’t a joke.

But instead, he stretches out on the bed like he doesn’t have a care in the world, flashing you a lazy grin. “So,” he muses, tilting his head, “we doin’ a pop quiz next time, or what?”

You narrow your eyes, fighting the urge to laugh. “You’re about to get a pop quiz upside the head.”

Kenny barks out a laugh, head tipping back. “Oh, fuck, babe—romance ain’t dead after all.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, shifting to crawl back into his lap. His cock is still half-hard, pressing up against your bare thighs, a solid, heated weight between you. The air feels thick, charged, the lingering warmth of everything that just happened still humming under your skin.

“Seriously, though,” you murmur, settling against him, the bare skin of your legs brushing his jeans where they’re still pushed low on his hips. “Eat more pineapple.”

Kenny’s hands find your waist easily, like they belong there, like they never want to leave. His fingers flex against your skin, his grip just firm enough to make your breath hitch. “The hell kinda review is that?” He tilts his head, flashing you that familiar shit-eating smirk. “You tryna meal-prep my cum or somethin’?”

Your face burns instantly. “Oh my god, shut up.”

His laughter rumbles against your chest, warm and easy. His thumbs drag slow circles against your hips, soothing, steady. Despite the way he’s still talking shit, there’s something softer in his touch, something grounding about the way he holds you there, bare and warm in his lap like this is exactly where he wants you.

You cup his face, brushing your thumbs against the stubble along his jaw. He’s still got that lazy, lopsided grin, but his eyes are watching you carefully, like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do. Like he’s willing to follow your lead.

You don’t think about it.

You kiss him.

His lips part under yours immediately, a low sound slipping from the back of his throat. His grip tightens on your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make heat coil in your stomach. He kisses you deeper, slower this time—not teasing, not rushed, just sinking into it. His mouth moves against yours like he’s savoring it, like he’s taking his time memorizing the way you taste.

Your fingers slip into his hair, tugging lightly, and he groans into your mouth, his hips shifting beneath you. His cock presses against you, hot and heavy, and you shudder, gasping softly against his lips.

Kenny exhales sharply, breaking away just enough to press his forehead against yours. His breath is warm, uneven, and his thumbs keep moving, slow and deliberate against your skin. His voice comes out rough, husky. “You tryna start somethin’ again?”

Your pulse kicks up, heat curling low in your stomach. You still don’t know where the line is—if there even is one anymore—but you do know one thing.

You don’t want to move away from him.

Your fingers tighten in his hair. “I don’t know,” you whisper, voice barely above a breath. “Are you?”

Kenny’s smirk flickers back into place, lazy and sharp. His grip on you tightens, his hips shifting up just enough for you to feel the thick press of him against you, no layers left between you now.

“You already fuckin’ know the answer to that, babe.”

You giggle nervously, hands gripping the sheets, heat crawling up your neck. You don’t dare look at him, too overwhelmed by how solid he feels between your thighs, how steady his hands are on your hips—like he’s keeping you grounded when your head is spinning.

Kenny watches you closely. He knows you too well, knows every little nervous tic, every way you try to hide when you’re overwhelmed. His fingers flex against your skin, rough and warm, not pushing, just holding.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice softer now, the teasing edge gone. “You good?”

You swallow hard, nodding once, but Kenny doesn’t buy it. His thumbs drag slow, lazy circles over your hips, a silent reassurance.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m not,” you mutter, but your voice wavers, your breath catching when his grip tightens just slightly.

Kenny exhales through his nose, amused but careful. “Bullshit.”

You shift under him, chewing the inside of your cheek. You don’t even know why you’re nervous—not really. You and Kenny have done plenty already. You’ve kissed him, let him touch you, let him guide you through things you never thought you’d do. You’ve had him in your mouth, had his hands all over you, had your lips wrapped around his in ways that weren’t exactly innocent.

His smirk twitches at the corner, but it’s not mocking. It’s knowing. He leans in, pressing a lazy kiss to your jaw, then lower, nipping just enough to make you gasp. “You think I don’t know the difference between you faking confidence and actually having it?” His voice is low, teasing, but gentle. “I’ve had your mouth on me, and you were still shy about it. You really think I don’t know when you’re nervous?”

Your stomach flips, face burning. “Jesus Christ, Kenny.”

He laughs, a warm rumble against your throat, but his hands stay where they are, thumbs brushing slow, steady circles into your hips. “Nothing wrong with being nervous.” He exhales, dipping his head lower, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, then lower still. “Just want to make sure you want this.”

You do. You really do.

You exhale shakily, your fingers tightening in the sheets. “I do,” you whisper, and it’s embarrassing how breathless you sound, how wrecked you already feel before he’s even done anything.

Kenny groans softly, his breath hot against your skin. “Then let me make it good for you.”

You smile weakly at him and press a quick, soft kiss to his jaw. His stubble scrapes lightly against your lips, grounding you for just a second, but the nervous energy buzzing under your skin won’t settle. Your fingers twitch, fidgeting with the cuffs of your long-sleeve shirt, still bunched awkwardly around your neck, your tits spilling from your bra. The fabric feels like it doesn’t belong anymore, clinging in all the wrong places, but you don’t know whether to tug it off or leave it.

Kenny watches you carefully, his hands still resting on your hips, fingers twitching slightly. He’s waiting for you to move first. His eyes flick over your face, your bare skin, the way your chest rises and falls in uneven breaths. He’s letting you take control, as much as he clearly wants to take it from you.

You shift off his lap, moving onto the pillows, your back pressing against the mattress. The sheets are warm beneath you, carrying the lingering heat of your own body, but they do nothing to stop the way you feel completely exposed now. You inhale slowly, staring up at the ceiling, at the glow-in-the-dark stars scattered unevenly across the paint. Some are peeling, barely clinging on, tiny faded flecks against a dark canvas. You used to trace them with your fingers as a kid, lying here beside Kenny after long nights of sneaking around South Park, talking about everything and nothing. It was easier then. It wasn’t like this.

Your fingers twist into the sheets, your stomach coiling tight, and then—quietly, barely above a whisper—you ask, “Do you have a condom?”

For a second, he doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe, like he wasn’t expecting you to say it out loud. Then, he exhales, a long, slow breath, and when you finally force yourself to glance at him, his eyes lock onto yours. They’re darker now, heavier, the teasing glint in them replaced by something deeper—focus, intensity, maybe even something close to disbelief. Not that he doesn’t want this. Not that he doesn’t need this. But like he’s waiting for you to change your mind.

“Yeah,” he says after a beat, his voice rough, lower than before. “Yeah, I got one.”

You nod, swallowing thickly, your pulse thudding against your ribs.

Kenny doesn’t move right away, doesn’t go reaching for his jeans or scrambling for his wallet. Instead, he shifts onto his elbows, hovering over you, pressing his weight into the mattress beside you. His fingers brush your cheek, slow and deliberate, tilting your face toward him.

“You sure?” His voice is quieter now, steady, his breath fanning against your lips. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you cut in quickly, your own voice shaky but firm. Your hands find his shoulders, your fingers curling against the bare skin, feeling the warmth beneath your palms. “I just…” You pause, your throat tightening, and then force yourself to meet his gaze. “I just don’t know what I’m doing.”

Kenny blinks. Then—he smiles. Not a smirk, not a teasing grin, but something softer. Something real.

“That’s okay,” he murmurs, thumb stroking lightly over your cheekbone. “I do.”

Heat floods your chest, spreading up your neck, wrapping around your ribs, making it feel hard to breathe. Kenny leans down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead before shifting back, reaching toward his discarded jeans. You watch as he digs into his wallet, pulling out a condom, rolling it between his fingers before tossing the wallet aside.

He glances at you again, scanning your face, waiting for even the tiniest hesitation. You don’t move. Don’t stop him. So he tears open the foil packet, rolling the condom on with practiced ease, his breath steady, his hands sure.

Then he moves over you again, pressing his weight against you, his forearms bracing on either side of your head. His skin is warm, his scent thick in the air—faint sweat, cheap soap, cigarettes lingering beneath it all.

“You good?” he asks again, his nose brushing against yours.

You nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

His hands slide down, fingers gripping your thighs, spreading them apart with an easy familiarity. His touch is steadier now, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you there like he’s making sure you don’t slip away from him. He moves carefully, lining himself up, the thick heat of him pressing against you, not pushing in yet, just there, waiting.

Your whole body tenses, your breath catching, your fingers digging into his arms. Kenny stills immediately.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your cheek. “Look at me.”

You do. Slowly, your eyes flutter open, locking onto his. He holds your gaze, his own steady, reassuring, no teasing left in him now.

“We’ll go slow,” he says, voice soft but sure. “I got you.”

You bite your lip, your fingers tightening against his arms, nerves twisting tight in your stomach. His body is warm over you, solid and steady, and the way he’s looking at you—patient, but sharp, like he can see right through you—makes you feel both safe and like you’re going to fall apart all at once.

“…Will it hurt?” you whisper.

Kenny’s lips twitch, and for a second, you think he’s going to say something smart, something cocky, but when he sees the way your brows are pinched, the hesitation in your eyes, the teasing dies before it reaches his mouth.

“A little,” he admits, his voice dropping lower. His hands skim up your sides, thumbs stroking slow, lazy circles against your ribs, trying to settle you. “But we’ll take our time. And if it’s too much, we stop, no question.”

You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat. His words help, but the nerves don’t disappear. Kenny sees it. Of course, he does. His smirk softens, and he dips down, pressing a slow, wet kiss to your throat, then lower, lips brushing against the curve of your shoulder, the center of your chest.

“You trust me, yeah?” His breath is warm, teasing over your skin.

You nod, fingers fisting in the sheets. “Yeah.”

Kenny hums, satisfied, and leans back, one hand trailing down between your thighs, fingers teasing at your entrance. “Try to relax, baby,” he murmurs, voice dropping to something deeper, something smoother. “You’re already so fuckin’ tight. Don’t wanna break you.”

You inhale sharply, your whole body flushing with heat, and Kenny grins, but there’s something careful under it—like he’s gauging your reaction. He drags his fingers through your slick, teasing, pressing the tip inside for just a second before pulling back. “See? Already openin’ up for me.” He presses his lips to your jaw, voice dipping lower, rougher. “Gonna take me so good.”

Your breath stutters, and before you can second-guess yourself, you shift your hips, guiding him where you want him. Kenny groans, low and wrecked, his grip flexing against your waist.

“Impatient now, huh?” he murmurs, amusement flickering through his tone. “Thought you were all nervous, and now you’re tryin’ to fuck yourself on my dick.”

You whimper, embarrassment and frustration curling hot in your stomach. “Kenny.”

He exhales sharply, his teasing smile twitching. “Alright, alright, I got you,” he mutters, shifting his weight, his free hand cupping your cheek for just a second before sliding down your body. “Breathe for me, okay?”

You barely have time to nod before you feel him press in.

The stretch is immediate—sharp and foreign, burning in a way that makes your whole body tense up. It’s too much, too thick, like he’s splitting you open inch by inch, and your breath catches, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

Kenny stills instantly. “Shit—you gotta relax,” he murmurs, his hands gripping your waist.

Your throat tightens, your chest rising and falling too fast. The sting doesn’t ease, just sits there, deep and aching, and you squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head.

“Kenny, it—it hurts.” Your voice wobbles, and you don’t mean to, but you turn your face into the pillow, squeezing out a choked, quiet sob.

Kenny freezes. For a second, everything is completely still.

And then—his weight shifts, and you feel him everywhere. His hands slide up your arms, coaxing them away from where you’ve curled in on yourself. He presses his forehead to yours, breathing slow and deep, trying to get you to match him.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, lower, like he’s trying to anchor you. “It’s okay. I got you. You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good.”

Your breath shudders, your fingers tightening against his arms. You blink up at him, your vision wet, and Kenny curses under his breath, his thumb catching a stray tear before it can slide down your cheek.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he mutters, pressing another slow, deliberate kiss to your temple. “Didn’t mean to make you cry.” His voice is softer now, almost hesitant. “You want me to stop?”

You shake your head quickly, your grip flexing on his shoulders. “No—no, I just…” You sniffle, embarrassed, dragging a shaky hand down your face. “Just—give me a second.”

Kenny exhales, relief flickering across his face, and then he’s kissing you again—slow and lingering, distracting, like he’s trying to pull you away from the discomfort. His fingers stroke over your waist, your thighs, warm and steady, keeping you grounded.

The pain is still there, but it’s dulling now, your body slowly adjusting, and when you shift your hips, testing, the burn fades just slightly.

Kenny groans, low in his throat. “Jesus fuck,” he mutters, his voice tight, his hands flexing against you. “You feel so good. So fuckin’ warm.”

Your stomach clenches at the rasp in his voice, the way his breath is uneven against your skin. He’s holding back, you realize. He’s shaking with it, barely keeping himself still, waiting for you.

You exhale shakily, tilting your head to press a kiss to his jaw. “You can move,” you whisper.

Kenny swears softly, his head dipping to your shoulder, his breath stuttering out. “Fuck—” His grip tightens, and he pulls back just barely, then pushes in again, slow, careful, but deeper this time.

Your breath catches. It still aches, but now there’s warmth under it, heat curling through your stomach. Your fingers claw at his back, your thighs tightening around his hips.

Kenny watches you closely, his blue eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his breath uneven. “That better?”

You nod quickly, your lips parting. “Yeah.”

His grin flickers back, lazy but pleased. “Knew you’d like it.”

He thrusts again, just a little harder, and the pleasure sparks, spreading through you like a slow burn. Your head tips back, your breath coming faster, and Kenny groans, ducking down to mouth at your throat.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” he mutters, his voice rough, strained. “Squeezin’ me so good. Can’t believe no one’s ever had this pussy before.”

Your stomach flips, heat pooling between your legs at his words. He knows exactly what he’s doing—knows his voice alone is enough to wreck you. Your nails dig into his skin, your breath coming faster.

Kenny grins against your neck, his hands flexing against your hips. “Makin’ all these sweet little noises for me,” he murmurs, his pace picking up just slightly. “You like bein’ my girl, huh? Bein’ the only one I’ve ever fucked like this?”

Your breath stutters, your body clenching around him, and Kenny groans, his rhythm faltering for just a second. “Shit—yeah, just like that.”

He fucks into you deeper, his weight pressing you into the mattress, and everything turns hazy, hot, the pleasure twisting in your gut. Kenny’s hands grip your thighs, his lips dragging over your skin, murmuring filth between soft, teasing kisses.

“Gonna take such good care of you,” he breathes, his voice low, hoarse. “Fuck you nice and slow ‘til you can’t feel anything but me.”

And God—he is. You’re so full, stretched around the thick length of him, your body molding to his like you were made for this, made to take him. The ache that lingered when he first pushed in has faded completely, replaced with a deeper, rolling pleasure that spreads through your limbs, settling hot in your stomach with every slow thrust of his hips. He keeps talking, keeps whispering against your skin, voice rough and unrestrained, a steady stream of praise and filth that has your pulse hammering.

“Look at you, babe,” he mutters, dragging his teeth along the curve of your jaw. “So fuckin’ tight, takin’ me so good. Goddamn.” His hands flex at your waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips like he’s grounding himself, like he’s forcing himself to keep from losing control completely. He moves slow, agonizingly so, hips rolling in a way that lets you feel every inch of him dragging along your walls before he sinks in again, burying himself to the hilt. It’s steady, deliberate, making you feel all of it—how thick he is, how deep he’s pressing, how wet you are around him.

It’s good. So fucking good. But it’s not enough.

You bite your lip, heat crawling up your neck, embarrassment tingling under your skin even as you bring your hands up to his face, cupping his jaw. His stubble is rough against your palms, his lips parted, his breathing heavy, warm. His eyes are locked onto you, heavy-lidded and burning, pupils blown wide with hunger. He looks wrecked already, sweat dampening his blond hair, strands sticking to his forehead. The sight of him like this, flushed and desperate, sends another pulse of heat straight through you.

You offer him a shaky smile, feeling vulnerable but unable to hold it back. Kenny blinks, his expression shifting for just a second, something softer flickering behind his usual cocky grin. He huffs a breathless laugh, smirking as he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

And then—before your nerves get the best of you—you ask, barely above a whisper, “Can you go faster?” Your voice wavers, shy but certain. “It’s just… it feels really good.”

Kenny freezes.

His cock twitches inside you, and his fingers tighten, his grip turning almost bruising as he drags you down harder against him. His breath leaves him in a sharp exhale, his entire body tense like he’s fighting to keep himself in check. His smirk flickers—there, then gone—before his expression turns darker, more intense, his jaw clenching.

“Fuckin’ hell, babe,” he breathes, voice hoarse, thick with something raw. “You gotta be real careful askin’ me shit like that.” His fingers flex against your waist, holding you still, his cock pulsing inside you. “You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me.”

The weight of his words presses into you, heat curling low in your stomach. You do know. You can see it in the way his body trembles, the way he’s holding himself back, restraint evident in the tautness of his muscles, the uneven rhythm of his breath.

He shifts his weight, pressing his forearms into the mattress beside your head, his body caging you in. He holds your gaze as he pulls out slow—so slow it’s maddening—letting you feel the full stretch of him before he slams back in, hips snapping forward in a sudden, punishing thrust.

The force knocks the breath from your lungs. Your mouth parts on a strangled gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders, fingers clawing at his back. The way he fills you, the way he grinds so deep, has your legs tightening around him, your body instinctively pulling him closer.

Kenny chuckles, breathless but smug, his lips brushing against your ear. “You want it faster?” His voice is low, teasing, but rough with need. He rolls his hips again, slower this time, drawing it out just to make you whimper before snapping forward again, making your entire body jolt. 

He picks up the pace, fucking into you harder now, abandoning the slow, careful rhythm in favor of something rougher, something that sends sparks of pleasure racing up your spine with every sharp thrust. His hands are everywhere—gripping your thighs, spreading you open wider, keeping you pinned beneath him as he fucks you into the mattress.

“You like that, huh?” His breath is hot against your neck, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Like gettin’ fucked like this? Like bein’ stuffed full of my cock?”

You moan, fingers digging into his shoulders, unable to hold back. Your body is hypersensitive, every inch of you attuned to him, to the way he moves inside you, the way he presses against you like he never wants to let go.

Kenny groans, dragging his teeth along your throat before biting down, just enough to make you gasp. “Goddamn,” he mutters, pulling back to look at you, his expression wrecked, desperate. “You feel so fuckin’ good. So goddamn wet for me.”

His pace is relentless now, deep, grinding thrusts that have you panting, squirming, your legs trembling from the intensity of it. His hands slip under your thighs, hooking your legs over his arms, folding you open so he can get even deeper.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hips stuttering for half a second before he regains control. “Look at you, babe—spread out for me, takin’ it so fuckin’ good.”

The shift in angle has you seeing stars, the pressure so perfect, so overwhelming that you can’t stop the sounds spilling from your lips—breathless moans, needy whimpers, his name tangled in every exhale. Kenny eats it up, groaning at the way you clench around him, his own breaths growing rough, uneven.

“Shit, you’re squeezin’ me so tight,” he grits out, his grip on your thighs tightening. “Like you don’t wanna let me go.”

He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath fanning across your lips as he keeps fucking you, the slick sound of it obscene in the quiet room. “You like this, don’t you?” His tone is smug, but there’s a raw edge to it, a desperation creeping in. “Like havin’ my cock buried deep inside you, stretchin’ you out, makin’ you mine.”

You whimper, nodding frantically, too far gone to feel embarrassed about how wrecked you sound.

Kenny grins, groaning as he thrusts harder, his pace quickening just slightly. “Yeah, you do,” he mutters, pressing a messy kiss to your lips, swallowing your moans. “Fuckin’ knew you would.”

Your nails rake down his back, your thighs trembling, the heat in your stomach burning hotter, winding tighter, threatening to snap. Kenny feels it—feels the way your body starts to tighten, how your breathing turns erratic.

He tilts his head, lips parting as he watches you. You’re close. He can see it written all over you—the way your lashes flutter, the way your fingers clutch at his arms like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered. Your body is trembling beneath him, your chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths.

"You don’t gotta hold back, sweetheart," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I got you. Just let go for me, yeah?"

He shifts, angling his hips just right, rolling into you deep, slow but deliberate, hitting that spot that makes your whole body jolt. His hands roam over you, sliding up your sides, feeling every little tremble, every twitch of your muscles as you tip over the edge.

"Kenny—oh, fuck—"

Your voice catches, your breath stuttering, and then—you break.

Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, stealing the air from your lungs. Your whole body tightens, your thighs trembling around his hips, your fingers clutching at his back as you moan against his skin. He groans low in his throat as he feels you clench around him, his pace faltering for just a second as he buries himself deep, letting you ride it out.

"That’s my girl," he breathes, his lips brushing against your jaw, your cheek, anywhere he can reach. "Fuck, you’re so goddamn perfect. Feels so fuckin’ good, baby."

His hands smooth over your thighs, your stomach, his touch warm and reverent, tracing lazy circles over your skin, coaxing you through the aftershocks. He doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t let the pleasure fade just yet—he keeps rocking into you, deep and steady, riding the high with you, drawing out every last shiver.

You gasp, still reeling, body sensitive and buzzing. Kenny presses his forehead to yours, his breath mingling with yours, his lips ghosting over your mouth, your nose, murmuring sweet praises between kisses.

"Goddamn," he whispers, nipping at your bottom lip. "You got no idea how fuckin’ good you feel. Gonna make me lose my goddamn mind."

You exhale shakily, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging lightly, pulling him closer. He grins against your skin, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your throat.

"You okay, sweetheart?" he murmurs, dragging his nose along your jaw. "Not too much?"

You shake your head quickly, breathless, still floating, still warm. "I’m good," you whisper, voice hoarse but certain. "So good."

Kenny smiles, his hands slipping beneath your knees, adjusting the angle, shifting deeper. You shudder at the feeling, the stretch, the warmth still smoldering in your stomach.

"Yeah?" His voice is softer now, but still thick with desire. "Think you can give me one more?"

His thumb strokes over your hip, his lips brushing your ear. "Bet I can make you cum again, baby," he murmurs, kissing just below your jaw. "Wanna feel you fall apart for me one more time."

You whimper, nodding, already feeling the heat coil again, already wanting more.

Kenny groans, kissing you slow and deep as he rolls his hips, sinking into you again, starting to move just a little faster, a little rougher, pulling another breathless moan from your lips.

"That’s my girl," he whispers. "Let me take care of you."

Heat spreads up your neck, pooling in your cheeks, your entire body buzzing from his words. You whine softly, tucking your face against his shoulder, overwhelmed by how good he’s making you feel—how gentle he is despite how deep, how thick he is inside you. Your childhood best friend—now your boyfriend—fucking you like he worships you, like he’s waited just as long as you have for this. It makes your chest ache, your stomach tighten, the intimacy almost too much to take.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer, needing more. Your arms loop around his neck, holding onto him, your fingers tangling in the damp, messy strands of his hair. He groans at the way you squeeze around him, his pace stuttering for half a second before he finds it again, thrusting slow and deep, dragging every inch of himself out before sinking back in, stretching you all over again.

“Kenny,” you whisper against his skin, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, down his neck. “I want you to cum.”

A rough groan punches out of his chest, his fingers tightening at your hips. “Fuck, babe,” he mutters, his breath shuddering against your cheek. “Tryna make me lose my mind?”

You moan in response, tilting your head to suck at the sensitive skin beneath his ear, marking him up just like he did to you. His hips jerk, his rhythm faltering for just a second before he growls low in his throat, snapping his hips a little harder, a little rougher. You gasp, clutching onto him, the change in pace sending heat licking up your spine.

You feel him everywhere—his weight pressing you into the mattress, his hands gripping your body like he never wants to let go, the way his cock drags against that spot inside you with every roll of his hips, making your breath stutter, your thighs tremble around him.

And you want more.

You meet him halfway, rolling your hips up to match his thrusts, your body instinctively chasing the heat building between you. Kenny swears under his breath, dropping his head to your shoulder, his hands sliding down to grab handfuls of your ass, gripping tight as he fucks into you deeper, harder.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans, his voice rough, wrecked. “Keep fuckin’ yourself on me like that.”

His words send a shiver through you, your nails dragging down his back, desperate to hold onto him. “Kenny—”

“I got you,” he rasps, kissing you again, swallowing the moan that spills from your lips. His tongue slides against yours, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before pulling back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes dark and blown wide. “You’re so fuckin’ good for me.”

Your stomach tightens at the praise, heat spreading through your body, making you move faster, grinding up against him, wanting to make him feel just as good as he’s making you feel.

“Shit,” Kenny hisses, his grip flexing against your ass. “You’re gonna make me fuckin’ cum.”

“Please,” you breathe, dragging your lips along his throat, sucking another bruise into his skin. “I wanna feel you.”

A deep, guttural groan rumbles from his chest, his pace turning rougher, more erratic, the heat between you burning hotter, sharper, making your whole body tremble. You can feel it, how close he is, how he’s barely holding himself back.

“Kenny,” you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Cum for me.”

His body shudders, his breath catching, and he groans your name like a prayer. His hips snap against yours, sharp and desperate, his hands gripping you so tight you know you’ll feel it tomorrow. You whine, arching against him, gasping as he buries himself deep, his whole body tensing before he finally lets go.

You feel it—the way his cock throbs inside you, the thick pulse of his release filling the condom, the warmth of him even through the barrier. His muscles lock up, his breath leaving him in a sharp, ragged exhale, forehead pressed to your collarbone as he rides it out. His fingers flex against your waist, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

A heavy silence settles between you, broken only by the sound of your breathing. His chest rises and falls against yours, the heat of his body soaking into your skin. His weight presses you into the mattress, grounding you, keeping you right there with him.

His arms tighten around you, but he doesn’t move to pull out yet. Instead, he exhales against your neck, his breath still uneven, warm and damp as it ghosts over your skin. His hair sticks to his forehead, the strands tickling your cheek, but you don’t push him away.

You stare at the ceiling, trying to process everything at once. The glow-in-the-dark stars still cling to the paint, faded from years of use, scattered unevenly like a sky full of dying light. They’re the same as they’ve always been, and yet, everything feels different now.

Kenny McCormick is your boyfriend.

Your best friend. The same Kenny you grew up with, the same one who used to steal your fries when you weren’t looking, who made you laugh until you couldn’t breathe, who always had your back no matter what. And now—now he’s here, wrapped around you, his cock still buried inside you, his lips brushing against your neck like he belongs there.

Your chest tightens, but not with panic. There’s warmth in it, deep and slow, spreading through your ribs like embers catching fire.

Kenny groans, low and lazy, and nuzzles closer. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice rough, barely above a breath. “I think you just killed me.”

A weak laugh escapes you, fingers twitching against his back as you drag them up, tangling into his hair. “You’re still breathing.”

His lips curl against your throat, a slow, lazy grin. “Barely.”

His arms stay locked around you, his body heavy, his breath steadying against your skin. He’s not in a hurry to move, and for once, neither are you. His fingers stroke over your hip, tracing slow, aimless shapes, warm and reassuring.

After a moment, he shifts just enough to lift his head, his eyes locking onto yours. They’re darker now, still hooded from the afterglow, but softer, like he’s looking at something—someone—important. His usual smirk is there, but it’s different, lazy and satisfied instead of cocky. His fingers skim your shoulder, brushing over the fresh marks he left behind, his touch slow, deliberate.

His gaze lingers on them, something flickering behind his expression, and his smirk deepens. His thumb presses into one of the bruises, just enough to make you shiver.

“Shit,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. “Look at you.” His voice drops, thick with satisfaction, his lips brushing against your jaw. “All mine.”

Heat floods your face. Your breath catches, and for a second, you forget how to speak. The weight of his words sinks into you, deeper than his hands, deeper than his body still pressing you into the sheets.

You swallow hard, fingers still tangled in his hair, your nails scraping lightly against his scalp. He hums in approval, tilting his head into your touch, his smirk curling wider. His eyes flick up to meet yours, watching you carefully, drinking in your expression, waiting to see if you’ll deny it.

You don’t.

Kenny grins, slow and lazy, before leaning in, his lips brushing over yours like a secret. His mouth is still swollen from kissing you raw, still tastes like everything you just did together—like heat and sweat and the salt of his skin. The kiss is softer this time, unhurried, the kind that lingers, the kind that says more than either of you know how to put into words.

You melt into it, sighing against his lips, the corners of your mouth twitching up in a smile. He feels it, you know he does, because you can feel him smile too, lips curving as he deepens the kiss just slightly. The warmth of him settles over you, all-consuming without being overwhelming, a weight you don’t mind carrying.

When you finally break apart, your fingers trail absently along his shoulder, tracing the curve of his collarbone, the damp skin of his back. You’re both still catching your breath, still tangled together, bodies flush, skin damp. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it hums with unspoken thoughts, the reality of what just happened creeping in at the edges.

Your stomach twists—not with regret, not even with doubt, but with the sheer weight of it. The line between friends and lovers has blurred, smudged beyond recognition, and there’s no pretending it doesn’t matter.

Your fingers tighten against his skin. “…What are we gonna tell the guys?”

Kenny blinks, caught off guard for half a second, before a slow smirk spreads across his face. “Shit, I dunno,” he says, voice rough around the edges, still hazy from pleasure. “Kinda wanna just show up holdin’ hands and let ‘em lose their fuckin’ minds.”

A breathless laugh escapes you, and you shake your head, the image of it flashing behind your eyelids—Kyle’s immediate demand for an explanation, Stan’s barely-contained surprise, Cartman’s inevitable shit-eating grin. You can already hear the smug, drawn-out I fucking knew it he’d throw in your face.

Kenny’s fingers skim along your side, lazy and absentminded, like he’s committing the feel of you to memory.

“Unless…” He tilts his head, voice quieter now, more deliberate. “Unless you don’t wanna tell ‘em yet.”

You hesitate, not because you’re unsure of this—of him—but because it feels like something you want to keep to yourself, at least for a little while longer. There’s a selfish kind of intimacy in it, in the knowledge that for now, this is just yours and his, untouched by the outside world.

“I do,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers slide into his hair, smoothing back the strands that cling to his forehead, still damp from sweat. “I just… kinda like it being ours for now.”

Kenny watches you closely, that usual cocky grin softening at the edges. His fingers flex against your waist, just slightly, grounding you, holding onto you like he’s making sure you don’t slip away. He nods, just once, but his expression says more than words ever could.

His lips part, like he’s about to say something serious, maybe something important, but before he can get a single word out, the door slams open so hard it rattles the walls.

"AHAHAHAHA! PAY UP, BITCHES!"

Cartman stands there, holding his phone out like he just caught the crime of the century. His face is split into a shit-eating grin, his other hand dramatically pressed over his mouth in fake shock. He doesn’t even hesitate before snapping a photo.

Kenny barely even lifts his head from where he’s still sprawled over you, his bare skin warm against yours. He blinks, unimpressed. "You fucking serious right now?"

Cartman cackles, already tapping at his phone. "I fucking knew it!" He’s not even talking to you—he’s on FaceTime, his phone angled just enough for you to catch Kyle’s scowling face on the screen. "Look at ‘em, tell me they didn’t just fuck! I win, bitches! Hand it over, I want my money tonight!"

Kyle groans. "Cartman, what the actual fuck—why are you even there?"

"Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I was being a good friend and forced them to make up!" Cartman shoves the phone closer, like he’s making a goddamn documentary. "You see this? This is the face of victory, gentlemen."

"Jesus Christ," Stan’s voice cuts in, followed by the sound of a palm smacking a forehead. "Dude, hang up, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? You doubted me! You all doubted me! But now I have undeniable proof that these two horny degenerates—"

"CARTMAN!" Kyle barks. "HANG. UP."

Kenny groans into your shoulder, his whole body shaking, not with anger, but with barely restrained laughter. "Dude, just get the fuck out."

Cartman scoffs. "Pfft. Fine. You’re lucky I’m feeling generous, Kinny." He pulls the phone back to his own face. "Alright, losers, I’ll be expecting my money by the end of the night, or I’m doubling your debt. Later, virgins."

And just like that, he’s gone, slamming the door behind him, his laughter echoing down the hall.

Silence settles over the room. You and Kenny just stare at each other, exhausted, tangled together, your bodies still warm from everything you just did.

And then, somehow, it’s funny. The sheer absurdity of it, the fact that of course Cartman would bet on your love life and of course he would crash this moment just to gloat about it.

You snort first, and then Kenny’s grinning, shaking his head, and before you know it, you’re both laughing. It’s breathless, ridiculous, delirious, your shoulders shaking as Kenny presses his forehead to yours, his body still heavy on top of you.

"Our secret, huh?" he murmurs, lips brushing against yours.

You huff, nudging his shoulder. "Shut up."

luv u kenny <3

event masterlist | part one | part two

[crazykitsch]

could you maybe do some fluff about pau?, I fell like he needs to be more recognized because damn, but maybe reader meets paus family and paus family really likes and love your postive vibe and energy, and you play with his little sister while the other watches you and paus mother said "she's gonna be such a good mother your very lucky to have a girl like her" just fluffy.

take your time stay safe xoxo

<3

Pau Cubarsí: Handlebars

pairing: pau cubarsi x reader

warnings: none

a/n: please send me more reqs about him!!

❝I wonder what you're doing for tonight and forever. I could be the rest of your life or whatever!❞

PRIVATE CHAT: pau💗 & y/n🥰🥰

y/n🥰🥰:

pau.

pau

girl

pau cubarsí paredes

what if i just kms real quick!

im so scared

pau💗:

y/n whats wrong???????????

y/n🥰🥰:

i am TOO awkward to meet your family.

pau💗:

oh

is that it?

y/n they already like you because i love you

y/n🥰🥰:

how would you feel if you finally had to meet my 2 brothers?

pau💗:

i would not sleep for 6 days

At that I smile, I take one last look in the mirror and try to hype myself up. I can do this. It is not scary at all.

y/n🥰🥰:

see!

okay im ready

can you pick me up?

pau💗:

omw ❤️

I grab my stuff and put it in my bag. After 20 minutes I hear a knock on the door. I grab my phone and bag and walk to Pau at the door. As soon as he sees me he hugs me and it feels like all my worries go away.

An hour later we arrive in his hometown and now I remember why I was so worried. What if they end up not liking me? That'd be a disaster...

I'm drifting off in my thoughts until I hear his mom opening the door.

"Good evening,” she greeted warmly, her eyes kind already shining with gentle affection. “You must be y/n!"

Before you could respond, she pulled you into a soft hug that smelled like fresh linen and something baking in the oven. “Come on in. We’ve heard so much about you.” At that I look at Pau with a teasing look, knowing I'll bully him about that later.

Pau trailed behind you, his hand resting on your back as you stepped inside the house. It was cozy and sunlit, family photos lining the walls.

From the hallway, a small voice shouted, “Pau’s girlfriend is here!” followed by the pitter-patter of little feet. His sister appeared in an oversized Barça shirt, probably one of Pau’s old ones, and immediately locked onto you like you were her new favorite person. “Wanna play?” she asked, already tugging on your fingers like the question was just a formality.

You laughed, glancing at Pau, who was already looking at you with this soft-eyed expression that made your knees weak. He gave a small shrug, like you’re in now, and you followed his sister toward the living room holding her hand.

Time passed in the warmest blur—blanket forts, stuffed animals, and pretend tea parties with imaginary guests. You let her put clips in your hair, the pretty flower ones

.

Meanwhile, Pau leaned against the doorway, one hand in his pocket, watching. His dad had joined him at some point, quietly observing the way you moved with his daughter; gentle and patient.

And beside him, Pau’s mom smiled like she’d already decided everything.

“I can see you two lasting,” she whispered, eyes never leaving you. “She'd be a great mother.”

Pau didn’t even blink. “I really hope we do,” he said. “And she'd be a great one.”

You glanced up then, hair full of sparkly clips, cheeks flushed with laughter, catching his gaze—and you saw it in his eyes.

In that moment you realized just how deeply he adored you.

[seawing-vibes]

Decided to fill out a template from @/falling-skyzz I feel normal about . The dragons ! List of characters & design & dynamic thoughts under the cut <3

Also If anyone else fills out thus template feel free to send me the post,, I would love to see other people filling this out!!! I love templates !!

Secretkeeper & Moon • I understand theres a lot of reasonable hate for Secretkeeper but!!! I find her & moon to be a very fascinating pair! To make a long ass thought short, I think Secretkeeper is the embodiment of “product of her environment & deeply traumatize & projecting”. I think she genuinely really loves moon but obviously expresses that through being “”protective””. But I think shes genuinely a character with a capacity for change & realizing the autonomy Moon has over her own powers. Also from the perspective of Moon I think her arc around her relationship with her mom could be really interesting, especially as Secretkeepers authority becomes challenged in Moons life & she has to confront the bullshit her mother has put her through. Overall very very interesting pair I think about them a lot.

Design Note: Secretkeeper is duller in color than Moon & has less stars due to lack of moon light on the island! Also the scales around her mouth are almost completely black, making her mouth barely visible, giving her the name “Secretkeeper” as she “has no mouth to tell others secrets.”

Tsunami & Starflight • Just one of my fav siblings! This specific illustration is from the Arena Scene in Dragonet Prophesy! I really really love Tsu & Starflights dynamic of looking up to eachother & their development together just. So neat!

Design Note: Starflight has very few constellation marks in this illustration as he hasnt spent much time under moonlight quite yet!

Shark & Abalone • One of my more out-there ships! I based this on the thought that Shark was once close with Abalone (cough. Husbands.) and that relates to why he was willing to give Tortoise a lunch-break from watching the eggs. He already saw someone close to him die from being overworked to watch the clutch, he didn’t want to watch another dragon die from his sisters selfishness. I could write an essay on these two I swear

Deisgn Note: Shark is based on a tiger shark & abalone is based on real abalones! hes one of my fav designs here

Six-Claws & Ostrich • He’s just a sweet dad! the little we see of him he seems to really love her & vice-versa <3 they’re just neat

Design Note: Six-Claws is based on a king cobra & is a specific sub-“species” of hooded Sandwings ! Burn found his hood mutation & six-claws super interesting

Tamarin & Pike • My fav background friendship! They’re just fun. I like Pike just chillin out around Tamarin & describing flower colors to her to the best of his ability (she just likes to hear him ramble about a shared interest)

Design Notes: I updated how I draw Tamarins eyes to properly resemble a blind-born dragon ! Also Pike’s deisgn got some yellow in it and I really like it <3

Whiteout & Thoughtful • I just think they’re neat!! They just seem like a sweet pair love them

Design Note: none really! Just experimenting with a rando Thoughtful design that I tossed together for my “ships tier list”

Tsunami • Its just her :) my fav dragon <3!!! I definitely dont think she upholds the “princess” title once she gets older, her only link to the throne is by Coral insisting monthly visits but Tsu otherwise wouldn’t be any interesting in royal life I would imagine

Design Note: Shes caught a waaururrghh something im going bonkers I cant remember what fish that is and my reference photo seems to have dissipated into the cosmos

Anemone • I LOVE HER. SO MUCH ! Anemone haters BACK OFF!!!! Her relationship to her powers is so fucked man. Something you’d think would give her power & control is just a key by which others use to manipulate and abuse her like . Man :( shes literally never had any autonomy over her own identity & intermingled her powers into her identity So Much only for that aspect of herself to also be revealed to be a facade for someone else’s desires like. GUH I love her so much I hope shes having a good day I dont care what anyone says she deserves to be a brat and I support her for it

Design Note: none really! The stars in her talons are just metaphorical though

Snowflake & Snowfox • THE OGS!!!!!! MY FAVORITE PROBLEMATIC LESBIANS <3 Ahhh remember in the early days when they were considered the #1 most problematic ship because they were gay and also evil. I love the evil lesbians so much they’re so shitty sorry Darkstalker Snowfox should’ve been queen I would’ve loved to see that go down it’d be so silly

Design Notes: Snowfox is based on an arctic fox shedding into their summer coat!! I know its p . Away from canon descriptors of her but it was sm fun to illustrate so shhh <3 Snowflake is just grey & blueish per-canon but shes sooo fun. love her.

Okay thats all here are the individual illustrations now !!!!! Because why not !!! If these aren’t transparent its all over

[pheastinyworld]

it takes time ❀•°•───────•

request: Omg i really love your writing ❤️❤️❤️ but may i request a fluffy with Bedsy pleaseee he deserve to be happy too 🥹

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: um, none? oh not super proof read yet

author's note: accidently deleted this, you didnt see that. okay okay so there's angst SORRY... BUT just for a bit, it ends fluffy dw. this is also for my darling @belli5 cause she hit 300 yesterday and im so so proud of her!!!

| phe's main masterlist |

you really hadn't meant for it to get this bad. you couldn't pinpoint exactly when it had all started going downhill, but wherever you were at in your relationship wasn’t healthy anymore. you couldn't stay, you were only hurting yourself.

you had known each other since you were kids, growing up next door, your parents relatively close. 

you had known him long before he was considered as ‘connor bedard number one overall draft pick.’ when his family moved into the house next door, your mom sent you over with a freshly baked batch of cookies, ones which you were annoyed about giving away. 

putting on your hoodie to combat the awful weather outside, you only needed to walk a few steps before your spare hand was knocking on their door. within a few seconds, the it swung open with such speed you stumbled back slightly, being met with a wide eyed boy.

“who are you?” he seemed so excited it threw you off a little before you finally said your name.

“i live next door, my mom told me to bring you these.” you shoved the tray of cookies forward with a shy smile. the boy took them like he was given a million dollars.

“thank you.” before stuffing a cookie into his mouth and continuing, mildly incoherently, while chewing, “i'm connor by the way. how old are you?” 

“seven, how old are you?” you asked back, already feeling oddly comfortable around him. his eyebrows shot up and a grin spread on his rosy cheeks.

“me too!” 

you two have only gotten closer since that afternoon. you attended every game of his you could. no matter what, you stayed close. connor moved to play in the whl and you finished high school. both your parents were nervous about what the distance might do to your friendship. luckily on one random saturday morning, after conor had been drafted by the blackhawks, you facetimed him, chicago university acceptance letter in hand. 

you were both new to the city and sticking together made both your parents happier. so, you did what any childhood friends would do and moved in with each other. and somehow, like anyone else would in that situation, you ended up falling in love with your best friend. stupid, right? oh but he just made it so easy.

you would be exhausted, hunched over your textbooks and laptop, the white computer light shining into your bloodshot eyes. connor would rest against the door frame, sighing before walking with careful steps over to you, gently closing your laptop and shushing your whines at him. 

“no, con, i really need to study.” you said, trying to push his hand away, head not even turning towards him once. 

“yeah, but you’ve done so well already, you’ve been studying all night and you look burnt ou-”

“hey!” you scowled at him, pulling the glasses off your face and dropping them on the table. 

“you know i didn't mean it like that,” connor chuckled, holding his hand out with a warm smile. sighing, you took it and let him lead you out and onto the sofa. 

connor let you choose the movie to watch and pulled you close to him, playing with the ends of your hair and rubbing circles on your shoulder. 

and it would go like this all the time. you were just as bad; it takes two to create the mess you found yourself in. 

back-to-back losses for chicago blackhawks and connor was over it; his body felt overworked and his morale was low. dropping his bag down in the entry of your apartment with a thud, you already knew how his mood was going to be, watching the game at home and feeling the sad pang in your chest for him.

his hair would still be damp and his body hugged by a hoodie. you walked towards him, holding gentle expression and opening your arms out for him. connor accepted your embrace without a second thought. 

“come on, let’s get you into bed.” 

you would lead him into his own bedroom, sitting yourself against the headboard so he could rest his head on your stomach.

“played like shit.” he finally mumbled after not speaking. he had always gone quiet when he was upset, ever since he was young. 

but you hated when he did this, because to you, he was the best player you had ever seen, inside and out. “no you didn’t, you played your best. today wasn't your fault.”

it went pretty silent for a while as you ran your fingers through his damp hair. he slowly relaxed, the adrenaline and tension finally releasing under your touch.

“thank you,” and even before you had time to respond, connor quickly added, “love you.”

you shut your eyes, feeling a small pang in your heart. this is probably when you started noticing it. the feelings. voice almost cracking, you responded, “love you too darling.”

he would never say much else, just snake his arm around you and snuggle into your warmth, humming as you stroked his hair and lulled him to sleep. 

but best friends didn’t look at each other the way you two did. best friends didn't react like that when they were told i love you. 

and the day connor walked into your room, holding up two shirt options and asked which one would look better for a date with a girl he had just met, you broke. everything you had been holding in came crashing down.

“the black one looks the best on you.” you just let your mouth talk as you tried to focus your mind on not letting yourself cry.

you tried to do anything to distract you after he left. you baked, you tried watching a show, you tried sleeping. and then you tried reading a book. oh what a mistake. pulling the novel from your bedside table, your bookmark fell out and onto your lap. glancing at it you began to tear up, and at some point tearing up became full chest wracked sobs. it was the customized bookmark connor had bought you at your request; it detailed a very old picture of you two, both eight years old, lying next to each other on the bedard family sofa and dead asleep.

you had given connor all of yourself. every boyfriend you had was short lived because you could only ever look for connor in whatever poor guy had asked you out on a date. you were happy when he was happy, your heart broke when his did, you felt the tight pull in your chest whenever he was upset about a game. you would bend over backwards to put a smile on his face. 

you dropped the bookmark, the edges streaking with a cocktail of inky colors that had mixed with the liquid from your salty tears. you moved without thinking, you couldn't think. maybe if you had, you may have acted in a different way. mindlessly packing a bag of overnight clothes, calling your close friend you had met from school and asking if you could crash at hers to collect your thoughts.

connor came back to an empty apartment and no girl on his arm. he hadn't felt any connection. but he didn't care about the date anymore. no, now he was frantically rushing around the apartment looking for you, pacing up and down the hallway outside your empty room, phone in hand as he called you. 

when you finally picked up, he let out a relieved sigh, huffing out a laugh, “i thought something had happened, you all good? where you at?” 

“connor, i can't live in that apartment anymore.” your voice cracked at the edges; you felt like a coward doing this over the phone. connor knew when you were about to cry, he could always sense it coming by the way you spoke.

his heart dropped, a bit confused, “huh? why?”

you paused for a second, “because connor… oh god… because you'll never feel the same way about me, and i'm breaking my heart being so close to you but just not enough. i- i can't live with you anymore con, i'm sorry.” 

the line went silent for what felt like lifetimes. you almost hung up, embarrassed that your lifelong best friend couldn't even form words at your confession. 

“come back and we can talk about this.” connor finally said, voice low and careful, his mind still racing. “please, baby.”

your breath caught, he heard it too, “don't. don't call me that. please don't.”

you sighed, head dropping, “ill come by at some point to get my things.” 

“no that's not what i mea-”

you couldn't take it. you felt embarrassed, upset. you hung up and turned your phone off for the rest of the night.

you stayed at your friends house for three days. three long days in which connor had felt horrible. he moped around at practice and go straight to sleep once he got home. he couldn't bare being in the apartment too long or else he was reminded about how much he missed you and how big he fucked up.

you felt just as bad. you realized you had never really gone this long without at least texting. and it hurt. 

connor was supposed to be at an early morning skate, you knew his schedule. entering the quiet apartment, swiftly making your way to your room to pick up some of your study materials. but you halted in your tracks, stopping right at the threshold of your room.

your best friend was lying on your bed, face nuzzled into your pillow; the one on the side of the bed you always slept on. he looked so peaceful, but even asleep he looked exhausted. 

you tried your best to pick out your books without making a sound, but the universe just wasn't on your side. 

“hey.” you shut your eyes when you heard his voice, back still turned away from him. what could you say? ‘yeah con so still very much in love with you, fuck you for waking up’ maybe you'd steer clear of that.

“hey.” was all you got out, continuing to place your notepads in your bag. 

connor sat up and rubbed his eyes, seeing you again made his heart ache. he couldn't believe you were actually here. getting up quickly, he scrambled to stand beside you, hands on your shoulders and forcing you to turn towards him, eyes full of purpose. 

“please look at me,” connor was almost begging, he didn't know what else to do. 

you knew that if you looked at him, looked into the eyes you loved so much, you'd break into tears. but you did it anyway, because it was him. you'd always say yes to him.

“i know you're hurt and embarrassed, but please let me explain, i just need you to listen.” connor said carefully. “please?”

everything in your chest hurt, but you nodded, looking up at him as he sighed, swallowing to try gain some composure. 

“i never wanted you to feel the way you do, please know that. i had no clue you felt that way and i feel like an idiot now becau-”

“i know con, i didn't expect you to love me back the same, it was stupid, i ju-”

“no, it's not stupid!” connor exclaimed, his hand going to hold your cheeks. 

you blinked, not knowing what to do.

“it was never stupid.” his voice was smaller now, shy in a way that threw you off. “it was stupid i didn't notice it. any hope i had that you did, i told myself it wasn't because i didn't want to ruin things. you've been my person for so long that i'd hate myself everyday if i made things difficult.” 

it was like your ears were ringing, you weren't really sure what was happening. he was talking so fast you could only fully process bits and pieces. 

“you… what?” you let a tear slip past your eyes and connor was quick to wipe it away, smiling at you softly.

“baby i fell in love with you the second you knocked on my door with that tray of cookies. and i've only fallen more in love with you since.” connor felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders as he wiped away your tears. 

you on the other hand, couldn't even form words. so you did the only thing you could do, reaching up to place your lips against his. immediately you both melted into the kiss.

when you two finally pulled apart, connor kept you close, pressing his forehead on yours, stupid smiles tickling the edges of both your lips.

“i really wish you'd have told me sooner.” you said, giggling as he rolled his eyes.

“you could've done the same. and maybe not left me stranded in this empty apartment to sulk.” he responded, nudging your nose with his, making you smile even more, warmth spreading across your entire body.

“got you to confess though didn't i?” he chuckled at you, pressing one more kiss on your lips, never wanting to let go of your.

“sure did.” 

[moonlight-records]

Rich Boys Don't Have Hearts | LN4 (pt. IV)

pairing: Jock!Lando Norris x Nerd!Reader

summary: Formula Ivy Academy, or FIA for short, is the most renowned private in the world who takes such a select few. Usually those from wealth with status and secrets and so much to lose. Yet, you are selected to join the FIA on a full scholarship. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain scares a lot students, especially their star athlete who will do anything to protect those he cares about. Though, he didn't expect you to have as much of a...bite to you for a little nobody.

warning: very tipsy!reader. make out session! lando & reader = rivals to ??? enemies to ???. idk but they're messy and im here for it. they a LIIIIITTLE toxic for each other rn.

fc: none!

wc: 3.8K

a/n: chat, we're SO back

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | current

“Now–stop sniffing me!” Lando hisses.

You lean back blinking because you didn’t even realize what you were doing. Your face flushes as you glance around the doorway of the bathroom trying to pretend that you weren’t just sniffing Lando but he smells really good. It reminds you of when you’re home and your mom is baking sugar cookies with a hint of vanilla while your dad is happily chatting away as if you were downstairs watching TV or the lotion your best friend swears her life by. The small thing of buttercream she carries on her and how sometimes you two would huddle together, enjoying the scent of the lotion when you two would be trapped in gym class with boys who refused to acknowledge the fact that deodorant isn’t an option.

The memory makes you frown slightly. You didn’t realize how much you missed your parents or your best friend. You always knew you were homesick, of course you were, but you’ve been downplaying just how homesick you are until now. Tears threaten to form and spill and you blame it on the alcohol as it curls around you, the warmth filling you once again. You’re brought back to reality, slightly, when something brushes your cheek. You jerk your head back slightly out of surprise and look up at Lando as he recoils his hand holding a tissue. The two of you stand in the doorway awkwardly while the music from the party hums in the background, walls and floor shaking from the unnecessary bass boost.

“What…” you swallow a lump in your throat and make a face at the slight taste of bile in there. “What are you doing?”

“You look like you’re on the verge of tears.” Holding up the tissue, “so thought I’d get a jump start on helping the mascara that’s about to run.”

You know that he’s being sarcastic. You can tell by the tone in his voice but you can’t help the ghost of a smile that appears on your face before taking the napkin from Lando, murmuring a thank you as you gently pat your eyes to catch any stray tears that are lingering. You bring your gaze back to Lando who is now leaning on the other end of the doorway. This is your chance to escape. You know it is but you find yourself planted in your spot, not trusting your legs to actually lead you away.

“So…what do you want?” You finally ask after another awkward silence.

“Not here.” Lando pushes off the doorway, “come on.”

You watch Lando start to walk down the hall, away from the party though you don’t move. You see him look back at you before coming back to you. “Y/N. Come on.” You shake your head while looking at Lando. You see the Brit knit his brows together and grit his teeth while he takes a breath while looking down at you. “I know we haven’t seen eye-to-eye but this is really important and a private manner. It’ll be no more than ten minutes max.” You stare up at Lando before finally speaking.

“I can’t walk.”

Lando blinks slowly at you, trying to figure out if this was some shit joke. “You…can’t walk?”

“No,” you shake your head and stop quickly. “Dizzy.”

“…Oh my god, you’re drunk.” Lando finally concludes.

“I am not drunk.” You try to argue while pouting, “Just—extremely tipsy.” You slur slightly.

You stare at Lando in awe when he laughs. It’s not one of those condescending laughs he typically gives you but a genuine laugh with a genuine smile attached. “No you’re definitely drunk.'“

“I am not!” You whine slightly. Even in the alcoholic haze you refused to let Lando be right. He offers another laugh before holding his hands up in surrender. You smile triumphantly at the Brit before he’s offering an arm and you glance back at him, suspicious.

“You said you couldn’t walk. I’m offering a helping hand, unless you want me to carry you?” He raises a brow.

In newfound determination, you huff and force yourself to push off the doorway. “I don’t need help.” You state as you sway on your feet. You gesture for Lando to lead the way before you accidentally smack Lando in his chest. Any other time you would pretend you didn’t care but instead you cover your mouth and murmur a sorry. Lando stares at you in what you think is disbelief before he reassures you it’s fine. He then gently grabs you by the shoulders and turns you to face away from him before he’s guiding you further into the frat house.

“Where are we?” You ask when Lando opens a door and you enter a bedroom.

“Pierre’s room. Asked him if I could hide out in here for a bit. Perfect place to chat.” Lando says as he leaves the door cracked. You stumble over to the bed before sitting down on the edge. Running your fingers along the bed sheets, you hum gently while Lando leans against the wall.

“What’s so important that you have to talk to me?" On a Friday night no less. Shouldn’t you be out…partying or some shit? Shouldn’t you be getting some random girl’s number and trying to reduce your stress by getting laid?”

“Yeah well, I would but I need some answers about you and Franco,” narrowing his eyes, “I also want answers on why you went to the headmaster and told him I tried to bribe you to leave.”

“What?!” You ask and stand up out of shock. “I never did that!”

“Oh do NOT give me that shit, Y/N! I know it was you!”

“No!” You argue. “I know you don’t like me and I don’t like you. I know we will probably never see eye-to-eye and you will forever believe that I do not belong at this school which I’m not exactly fronting you for but listen. I just wanna keep my head down and graduate.” You explain even though you know it’s falling on deaf ears, “but really. Even if I have every right to go to the headmaster and rat you out, that brings attention to me. Attention I don’t want nor need so really. You probably won’t believe me but I did not go to the headmaster at all about it.”

“Then who the fuck did you tell cause headmaster knows now.” Lando snaps.

“I—I didn’t tell anybody that I would go to the headmaster.” Putting your lips together, you think. “I just told…Arthur and Charles.”

“And Franco, I assume?”

“No.” You admit.

“Listen there’s no need to b—wait, did you say no?”

“Yeah, I said no.”

“Why not?”

“Well he’s a freshman and even though you’re a dick to me, you’re a mentor to him and a good friend so I didn’t want to skew that based on my own shitty experience,” you shrug casually, “so I haven’t brought it up.”

“Oh.” Lando murmurs in thought before shaking his head, “okay. Still. You only told the Leclercs?”

“Yeah and I mean, Mick probably found out from Arthur but they know I wouldn’t want to go to the headmaster so they wouldn’t tell headmaster,” frowning, “how do you even know that headmaster found out?”

“Did you not see your email?”

“No??” You ask bringing your brows together as you pull your phone out. Fumbling, you open your email. You see the words swim around the page and blink a few times before focusing. Your heart drops seeing it was from the headmaster himself.

“Dear Lando and Y/N,” you mumble as you skim through. The email remarks about how it came to his attention about the bribe Lando attempted on you. He applauds you for not buckling under the pressure but he is disappointed about your choice of wording. You mutter the phrase over before deciding to keep reading on. The headmaster continues and explains due to this, Lando was suspended from the lacrosse team till further notice. Your eyes widen when the headmaster mentions that you will not be receiving the letter of recommendation you need unless you and Lando put your differences aside and host the FIA gala this year.

“What?!” You look up from your phone, “What is this?! Why the fuck are we both in trouble because you tried to bribe me?!”

“That’s why.”

“What do you mean ‘that’s why’?”

“The cursing.”

“…You’re joking. Right?” You stare at Lando expecting him to laugh and play a sick joke but it never comes. The distant music from the main part of the frat house fills the air as the realization sets in.

“I’m not getting my letter of recommendation because I cursed?” You grip your phone tightly before taking a deep breath so your phone doesn’t go flying. “I thought that rule was a joke!”

“Well, it’s not a joke.” Lando says as he leans against Pierre’s desk crossing his arms over his chest, “lame rule if you ask me.

“Lame?!” You snap, “It’s utter bullshit! We’re grown adults! Who cares if we curse?! They let so much other shit slide but they draw the line at cursing?!”

“Apparently. Supposed to look like we aren’t heathens or whatever but moving past that. You’re gonna help me since you got me suspend from the team—”

“Cut the bullshit!” You shout as you turn to face Lando. Your anger has turned into pure rage. A new burst of adrenaline soars through while his words replay in your head. You refuse to be blamed for Lando’s actions nor will you have him try to slander you any further. You stalk across the room, jamming your finger into his chest.

“You got yourself suspended. If you hadn’t listened to the cries and worries of others then you wouldn’t be here but you did! Instead of forming your own god damn opinion you decided that the opinions of others about you were more important! You bribed me and you got in trouble for it! You can still graduate without playing on the lacrosse team and be comfortable for life! Don’t try to spin this shit on me for your people pleasing tendencies and getting burned in the end!”

You ignore the way Lando’s jaw goes slack as he stares at you. You see a range of emotions cross his face. Shock, confusion, realization, and finally anger. You had just seen Lando for who he was under the facade and he was scared. You see it in the way his eyes harden as his jaw locks and he stiffens before standing up, looking down at you, walls up.

You don’t dare to break his gaze as you continue, repeatedly jabbing his finger into his chest. “I don’t have that luxury, news flash! I’m on a full ride! So what if I get a degree? I have an internship lined up through the school but I need that letter of recommendation! So no. I will not be helping you, instead you will help me since you owe me this.”

“And if I don’t?” Lando’s voice is clipped.

“I’ll just do it myself and rightfully take all the credit.”

“With what funding? You don’t have enough for the gala.”

“The Leclerc’s and Mick will be more than happy to help me with the funding.”

Lando leans down and you force yourself not to back away. You ignore that you can almost feel his breath ghost your lips as you stare him down.

“You don’t have the guts to.” Lando murmurs.

“Try me.”

The world suddenly disappears around you. In this moment it is just you and Lando in this stare down, both of you breathing a bit heavier with frustration and something else. The tension had become so thick it felt almost suffocating but you blamed it on the alcohol. It had to be that. You see Lando’s gaze flicker so briefly from your eyes to your lips before looking back into your eyes and it just confirms that it’s not the alcohol speaking.

Fuck it.

You lean forward slightly and Lando beats you to it. His hands fly to hold your face, kissing you harshly. Your hands find their way in Lando’s curls as you two kiss. Teeth clashed at first but Lando quickly took the lead. You follow suit as Lando walks you two back. You hear the door slam shut before your back hits the door and you swear you hear the little click of the lock before his hand finds its way to the back of your neck. The kiss is heated and hungry and hot.You feel Lando’s move to the front of your throat and wrap his fingers around and you grab his wrist gently as you melt into the touch. You shouldn’t but god, the way his hand almost covers your throat has you wanting to push your thighs together but you refrain.

When you two part you’re both breathing while you both gather your bearings. The realization that you had just been kissing Lando fucking Norris feels like waking up after a drunken one night stand. One that screamed trouble but was good enough that you were willing to risk it.

“So what was that about me helping you?”

There it was. The moment was gone as fast as it came. Without much thought, you slap Lando as he leans back, holding his cheek. He stares at you in shock but there’s something else dancing in his eyes. Amusement, maybe?

“You’re a cunt, you know that?”

Lando rubs his cheek and offers you a wide smirk, “I am what I eat.”

Your face flushes at the thought and you go to slap Lando again. He catches your wrist with one hand while pulling you close by your throat for another heated kiss. He pins your free hand against the door. You hate the fact you can’t stay mad at him as you melt into the kiss, groaning into the kiss. Your hands find their way back into his hair as he presses you further against the door.

In your lustful haze, you hook a leg around Lando’s waist to pull him closer. You needed him closer. The way that his body and your body slotted together was like two final pieces of a puzzle. You groan again feeling Lando nip at your bottom lip—

You jump when there’s banging on the door before your head is cradled into Lando’s neck as he steps back from the door pulling you with him. Your face flushes again but you bury it into the crook of Lando’s neck and relax, catching another whiff of him.

“Who is it?” Lando asks.

“Ah Lando!” Franco announces from the other side which gets you to lift your head, “have you seen Y/N? Jack said she came upstairs for the bathroom and hasn’t seen her since!”

You and Lando glance at each other before looking down at yourselves. Quickly you two pull away from each other and try to put yourselves together as Lando speaks.

“Yeah! Her and I were having a little chat actually.”

“Wait!” You hiss softly and catch Lando’s wrist. You swipe your thumb on the corners of his lips to remove any evidence you two were making out. You ignore the hungry stare Lando’s giving you before stepping back and turning away as Lando clears his throat murmuring a ‘thank you’ before unlocking and opening the door. You turn to see Franco peering around Lando.

“Y/N! There you are!”

“Hey.” You smile at Franco, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I could ask the same for you. What uh, what were you guys talking about?”

“The gala.” You answer without missing a beat, “Headmaster put us in charge of it this year since Lando is great at throwing events and well, he’s making me work a bit harder for my letter.” You laugh gently and thankful Franco believes you, chuckling along. “We just got into a little discussion about the theme. We’ve settled on masquerade this year.”

“Really?!” Franco starts.

“We did?” Lando asks.

“We did.” You say through gritted teeth, shooting Lando a look to play along as Lando turns and smiles. “We did.” He adds, “though I still say a 'rave theme’ would be much more fun.”

“Now you see why we’re going with my theme this year. What time is it?”

“Nearly midnight.”

“Really? Ugh shit, I need to get back to my room.”

Franco frowns as Lando raises a brow. “Why?”

“I have a paper due tomorrow by midnight. I’m almost done but I’ve been putting it off. I really need to finish.”

“Well, I can walk you back to your dorm if you want.” Franco offers.

“That would be great actually.” You start to head out of Pierre’s room before Lando calls out. “Y/N.” You stop and turn to look at him. “Tomorrow. 6pm. Dorms common area. Let's meet up and continue planning the gala, yeah?”

“Library.”

“Library? Seriously?”

“I do my work in the library and this paper is 20 pages and I only have half done and I don’t suspect I’ll be getting up early tomorrow. Take it or leave it.”

Lando ponders it for a moment before nodding, “Okay fine. What do you want?”

“What?”

“Food. It’ll be dinner time. What do you want to eat?”

“Oh.” You’re surprised Lando was offering to get you dinner. “Uh, a chicken sandwich is fine.”

“Got it.”

“Thanks. I’ll…see you tomorrow in the library.” You don't wait for confirmation. You sharply turn and make your way down the hall to where Franco stopped before making your way downstairs. You thank whoever is looking out for you that Franco waits till you two are heading back to your dorm to ask any questions.

“What’s the real reason?”

“What?” You look at him.

“Y/N.” Franco looks at you and smiles, “I wasn’t born yesterday. You and Lando hate each other. I know that much. Headmaster would not have you two paired up to throw the Gala if there wasn’t a bigger thing at play so spill,” he nudges you with his shoulder, “Promise I won’t tell.”

You chuckle softly as you sway before running your fingers anxiously through your hair. “It’s—” You start and sigh. “Stupid. It’s stupid that’s what it is. Lando and I got into a really heated argument,” you start carefully still refusing to admit exactly what happened. “Things were said that shouldn’t have been said and well, somehow the headmaster found out and we both got in trouble for it.”

“Was it for the cursing?” Franco jokes

You snort, “It was.”

“Really?! I was joking!”

“I know. I also thought it was a joke.” Shaking your head out, “but anyway. Yeah so unless we do the gala together, I’m not getting my letter and Lando…” you let your voice drop off and see the way Franco tilts his head expecting you to finish your sentence. It’s not your place to say, but, “isn’t allowed to play lacrosse.”

“What?!”

“I know—”

“So the headmaster just benched him till the end of the semester?!”

You nod as Franco groans. “I mean, at least it’s happening now. Lacrosse is a spring sport and besides. Lando is Lando. He’ll probably sneak some practice in after practice so he doesn’t fall behind.” You tell yourself you’re saying this to reassure Franco. Not because you’re trying to defend Lando.

“I—” Franco starts and sighs, “yeah. Yeah you’re right.” He nods, “Lando isn’t going to let this hold him back.”

You and Franco part ways when you arrive at your dorm. You watch Franco head back to his own dorm before swiping your ID card and entering. “Hold the door!” You turn and see Lando jogging up and you blink before catching the door and holding it open for Lando as he strolls in. “Thanks. I forgot my ID card in my dorm and I did not feel like calling the RA to let me in.” He looks to the empty booth. You look over as well. Must be going on their round.

“Why are you here?”

“Because I live here?” Lando catches the door when you scan them into the common area and follows you in.

“Yeah but I thought that like, you’d be going back to Red Bull or something.”

“Oh well, I was but,” Lando makes a face, “Carlos and Max are fighting again.”

“Again?”

“Yeah they’re,” Lando glances around before leaning in as he drops his voice, “sleeping together.”

You cover your mouth with a small gasp. “What? Really? Carlos and Max? I thought Max was into Daniel.”

“He is but Carlos and he started seeing each other. Max got mad that Teto showed up and was all over Carlos so they’re fighting so Oscar said he and Logan were dipping and I do not want to be stuck between Max and Carlos fighting nor third wheel Lo and Osc so, dorm it was.”

“Oh I see,” you nod and give it a beat, “I’m sorry for slapping you. That was uncalled for.”

“No, no.” Lando chuckles, “No hard feelings I asked for it by being a dick. Masquerade ball? Really?”

“What? It’s fun! Wearing masks and trying to guess who is who. Don’t rich people love that? The thrill of it and messy outcomes?” You ask as you start heading to your hallway. “Besides,” you turn, “Masquerade balls are classic social events and we need the headmaster to approve. We’ll talk more about it tomorrow. Goodnight Lando.”

“..Night Y/N.”

You go to your dorm and shower before changing and getting ready for bed. Turning on Netflix, you flip through before settling down and putting on a random YouTube video. Your mind wanders as you replay the events of tonight. You bring your fingers up to your lips as you replay Lando kissing you over and over again. Your cheeks flush as there’s a ghost of a smile to your lips before the realization hits. This is Lando Norris. The man that tried to bribe you. Has been nothing but an asshole. You even said this isn’t some bully romance. Shaking your head out, you lay down and roll to groan into a pillow. The red flags were all there on why this was a horrible idea. You two weren’t healthy for each other. It would be such a toxic relationship, Rolling back over, your subconscious whispers softly to sway you otherwise as curiosity makes its way through.

Were all the rumors true? You had heard Lando was a good kisser and just had that proven tonight so…was he actually good in bed?

‘Come on’. Your subconscious coos. ‘Just one night is all you need for your answers.’

Weighing the pros and cons, you stare at the ceiling.

You were the last person that should be gracing these school grounds so the least you could do was have fun and try to be a normal college kid. That meant messy one night stands and even messier relationships. Besides, it's for plot.

Right?

tag list: @norrisleclercf1, @dripostsstuff, @tinyhrry, @formulaho, @green--beanie,

@brekkers-whore, @taliya8346282844eliviahgdajs, @fat-meh, @landossainz, @jaydensluv, @carpediem241108, @rayaharper, @bookishnerd1132, @asmoothoperator, @loloekie, @kawaiifurychaos, @st0rmzi3, @eclipsedcherry, @linnygirl09, @ln4-cl16-world, @poppymelonz, @katiascraft, @fangirl125reader, @hadesnumber1daughter, @annispamz, @su0aveee, @strawberryy-kiwii, @landorris, @oikarma, @formula1-motogpfan

@plotpal, @amalialeclerc, @spikershoyo, @oikarma, @bbg-blue-lock, @lilaissa, @clovermoters, @kpoploverxx-12,

[grogwrites]

Drag - O.P. 81

Chapter 1: Opportunity of a Lifetime

Navigation

Summary: Street Racer vs F1 Driver, a connection that’s undeniable, and the opportunity of a lifetime.

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Female OC

CW: swearing, and OC is lowkey an F1 hater at the beginning lmao also I’ve never raced before so there may be inaccuracies with the street racing in the beginning. I’m doing my best ✋

A/N: AHHHHHH IM SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY Divider is by @saradika-graphics

Word Count: 2.4k

*DISCLAIMER: I do not know any of the people in this fanfiction personally, these are all just the works of my imagination.

Josie didn’t remember how she got into racing. Racing just sort of happened to her. Her mom would blame “bad influences” from school, but she knew she was chasing something more—a feeling. A feeling that was unnamed, and undecided. Though, that could be anything considering she didn’t feel at all anymore.

But as she sat in the seat of some stranger’s duped up Monte Carlo, speeding down I-15, her heart swelled. She looked in her side mirror, watching her opponents disappear into the night. A laugh escaped her lips as she applied more pressure to the gas pedal, attempting to go even faster, and attempting to push the car to its limit. It wasn’t her car—none of them were. But she never crashed, never slid, never faltered…her technique was perfect. 

Nothing beat the thrill of racing—the high speeds, the late nights, the adrenaline of trying to not get caught. Street racing wasn’t legal by any means in the US, but perhaps that was what fueled her to continue doing it: the chase. 

In a swift movement, Josie stepped on the breaks, drifting the car around the apex of the corner she was approaching. As she entered the off-ramp of the interstate, she was quick to slow her pace again—not that it would’ve mattered too much. Vegas was quiet at this time of evening. Not an officer in sight, or another living soul besides the other racers. 

She came to a stop at a red light. In her rearview mirror, she watched as the others caught up to her. She rolled down the two front windows, leaning back in her seat as one car pulled up beside her. 

“There’s no way you beat us in that piece of shit.” 

Josie watched as the man carded a hand through his hair frustratedly. 

“I mean, it’s a Monte Carlo,” he continued, clearly upset by the fact that he lost. “1985. They aren’t even fast by racing standards.”

“It’s a good car,” she leaned forward, patting the dash with her hand. “You just have to know it’s strengths and weaknesses to drive it well.” 

“That car has zero strengths,” he laughed shallowly. “I spent years modding the hell out of that thing, and it’s still garbage.” 

“Clearly it’s not,” she smirked, looking forward again. “I just think you’re not a good driver.”

“Oh yeah?” He scoffed. “And what makes a good driver?” 

She shrugged. “Confidence.”

Before he could respond, the light turned green. Josie quickly accelerated, losing sight of him once again. She felt the breeze sweep through her hair as she weaved through the quiet streets of the city. She let her arm dip out of the window next to her, feeling the cool air push against her skin. 

The drive back to the garage was always one she dreaded. It meant the night was over—the racing was finished. If there was some world where she could race for the rest of her life, she’d take it in a heartbeat. She envied those who had the luxury, but it was one that was always out of reach for her. Perhaps it always would be. After all, nobody living on the line of poverty ever made it into professional motorsports overnight. 

No, that only happened in movies. 

•

“Hot or iced?” 

The customer, deadpanned, stared back at her as if she had just asked them the most complicated question in the world. 

“Uhhhh,” they glanced up at the menu again, before looking back towards her. “Iced?” 

They didn’t sound very sure in their answer, but she didn’t feel like pushing the matter further. She quickly typed the order in as the customer paid. While they walked away, she felt her shoulders sink in relief. 

Only thirty more minutes and she could go home. 

She glanced up at the TV that hung on the wall across the room. The coffee shop she worked in usually played all kinds of different channels, but this weekend, it was all Formula 1. 

As a Vegas native, she grew to resent when it was race week. Which seemed ironic, given her usual nighttime activities. But to her, F1 was a joke. All privileged, rich men who essentially paid their way to their seats. She knew in her gut that, if given the chance, she could out-drive any of them. It didn’t matter, though, because that would never happen. 

“Last year, Lewis Hamilton got coffee from here.”

Josie looked over her shoulder to find her coworker, Maggie, watching the TV with her. 

“He was so nice,” Maggie beamed, meeting her gaze. “He gave us a great review, too.”

“Too bad he can’t win another championship to save his life,” Josie mumbled. “I mean, he needs to retire at this point. Same with the other old guy.”

“Alonso?”

“Sure, whatever,” she waved Maggie off as she began to untie her apron. “They’re both too slow. Going slow doesn’t win you anything.” 

“Going slow doesn’t matter for most of them,” Maggie commented. “Think about the money most of them contribute to the teams—the sponsors. If any of them were let go, then that team also loses money going towards the car. Depending on the driver, that can cost you a good car, too.” 

“Every car can be a good car if they try,” Josie quipped, letting the apron hang from around her neck. “I’ve driven shitty cars—ones that don’t even compare to what shitty is by their definition. What they have is privilege. They’ll find any excuse to whine.” 

“I guess so,” Maggie lazily shrugged. “I just think you’re jaded, though.” 

“Jaded,” she echoed. “Yeah, something like that.”

The two of them turned their focus to the TV once more. One of the McLaren drivers was on the screen, talking about his hopes for the championships. Josie watched as he fidgeted with his hat, while answering each question. He was soft spoken—gentle. Her eyes wandered to the bottom of the screen, where his name flashed across on a banner. 

Oscar Piastri #81

McLaren, Australia

“They’re expecting him to win his first Driver’s Championship this season,” Maggie spoke up again. “If anyone on the grid has talent of any kind, it’s him.”

Josie couldn’t help but laugh at her coworker’s remark. Him? Talent? The guy could barely speak loud enough for the microphone to understand him. He hadn’t sat still for the entirety of the interview, either. 

“You know what, I’ll take your word for it,” she lifted the apron off from around her neck, then hung it on the wall beside them. “Have a good shift, Maggie. I’ll see you later.”

•

“Well, well, well—look what the cat dragged in.”

Josie tossed her things into a small locker in the garage as Blake made his way over to her. Blake was the founder of their racing league…if you could even call it a league. She met him five years ago in some dual-enrollment college classes during high school. They hardly got along, but their one common ground was racing. They tolerated each other, because Josie brought profit into his garage. She never got a cut, but she could care less—after all, she wasn’t there for the money. She was there to do what she loved most: race. She was damn good at it, too. 

“Always a pleasure,” she grumbled before hoisting herself up on the countertop beside the lockers. “What’s on the agenda tonight? Any takers?”

“One,” Blake hesitated momentarily, like he was unsure of what to say next. “But, uh, things are gonna have to operate a bit differently tonight.”

“What do you mean?” Josie furrowed her eyebrows at him. 

“They’re not with any street racing league,” Blake explained. “I don’t entirely know how they found us, but they’re willing to keep the league a secret—under one condition.” 

Josie’s stomach turned. They only raced against other street racing leagues in Vegas. If Blake is allowing outsiders, it could pose a huge risk to their operation being shut down—or even them going to jail. As her heart pounded in her chest, she hopped off the countertop. 

“What is that condition?” She asked tentatively. 

“They want a fair race,” Blake continued. “That means both drivers in the same car, on the same route. Not too different from how we do it, but there’s a catch,” he took a breath, “they want to race the F1 circuit.” 

Josie didn’t mean to laugh at his statement, but surely he had to be joking. How the hell would they get inside of that place? But beyond that, how were they to get two vehicles inside of there as well? 

“I’m assuming you know how to pull this off?” She scoffed. “Blake, that’s insane. Look, we’re already taking a risk trusting some outsiders, but now you want to break into an F1 track for them?”

“They claim they know how to get in without getting us in trouble,” he threw his palms up in defense. “Besides, they’re offering to pay both of us pretty decent money to do this.”

“I don’t care about the money,” Josie replied, her tone cold. “I care about losing the only thing that makes me happy because of your greedy ass decision. How do we know this isn’t a trap?”

“It’s not.”

Josie and Blake turned their heads towards the two gentlemen making their way into the garage. She recognized one of them as the other McLaren driver, though she couldn’t remember his name. The person with him, however, was unfamiliar. Blake stepped forward, extending a hand towards the driver. 

“Lando, good to meet you,” Blake said. They shook hands. “This is my driver, Josie Reyes.”

“Thunderbird,” Lando grinned, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his joggers. His gaze lingered over to her. “I’ve heard about you.” 

Thunderbird. A horrible nickname given to her by some of the other street racers—one that was reminiscent of a past she was trying to forget. She didn’t budge as the Brit extended a hand towards her. 

“How did you find us?” She demanded. 

“You beat my friend in a race last night,” Lando cleared his throat as his hand moved back into his pocket. “In his Monte Carlo. I figured I needed to come and witness your driving myself.”

Josie’s eyes flickered between Lando and the gentleman next to him. He was older than all three of them. Quiet, and stagnant. He was dressed nicely: clean, pressed slacks with a black pullover. His grey hair was styled back in a pompadour fashion. 

“Who are you?” She asked. 

“Graeme,” the man replied flatly. “Just here for business. I’m with Formula 1.” 

“He’s the team principal for Cadillac next year,” Lando explained further, clearly sensing the tension in the room. “He’s in Vegas for ‘talent-seeking’ purposes.” 

“Why is he here with you?” Josie crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t you drive for McLaren?”

“Like I said, he’s talent-seeking.” Lando paused for a moment. His eyes scanned Josie, as if he were sizing her up—seeing her worth. “I heard you’re undefeated in street racing around here?”

She was, but he didn’t have any business knowing that. Neither did Graeme. Whatever reasoning brought them here didn’t grant them the right to knowing about their league—or about her. She knew Blake didn’t care, though. All he cared about was the money, which they probably paid him a lot of it to be here right now. Blake didn’t usually give up information so easily. 

“That’s need-to-know,” Josie stated. “Why do you want to race me? Don’t you have bigger concerns right now? Like, I don’t know, winning a championship?”

“Josie—“

“You could get us into a lot of trouble,” she continued, talking over Blake’s poor plea to stop. “You could get in trouble, too. What could you possibly gain from this?” 

“All I want is one race,” Lando explained slowly. His voice softer, calmer. A stark contrast to hers. “I just want to have some fun. Graeme, on the other hand, wants to see you drive.”

Josie sat in silence for a moment, absorbing the driver’s words. Why would a team principal want to see a street racer drive? It seemed too good to be true, like maybe there was a catch of some kind. Proving her talent to Cadillac would be one thing, but she was a nobody. She had nothing to offer them other than her capabilities. No monetary value, no status to her name, no famous family members of any kind…just Josie. 

“What would we be driving?” Her tone wavered cautiously. She didn’t want them thinking she was sold just yet, because she wasn’t. But she also didn’t want to give up the opportunity to drive tonight. 

“Have you ever driven an F1 car before, Josie?” 

“No fucking way,” Blake spoke before she could. “An F1 car? You’re joking.”

“Hardly,” now Graeme chimed in. “I’ve received special permission for us to have the McLaren cars and the circuit this evening.”

“Yes!” Blake exclaimed as he laughed in disbelief. Josie shot him a quick look of warning. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, no. She hasn’t driven an F1 car before. But yes, we will totally do so tonight.”

“So I don’t have a say in this?” Josie shoved Blake, turning to face him. “I don’t think this is a good idea—“

“You have the opportunity of a lifetime, Jo,” Blake argued quietly, grabbing ahold of her wrist. “Are you going to seriously throw that away right now?” 

Josie could see an unfamiliar glimmer in Blake’s eyes. 

He was genuinely looking out for her. 

Despite all the years of constant bickering and tolerating each other, Blake was truly the only person who understood her love for racing—because he felt it, too. And, despite the wall she had up right now, he saw right through her. She wanted to drive that car, and he knew that. 

The opportunity of a lifetime. 

Josie’s gaze flickered between the three men in the garage. As Blake loosened the hold on her wrist, Josie felt something shift inside of her. Perhaps it was gut instinct, or perhaps they had successfully convinced her to drive. Whatever it was, her next words spilled out before she could think twice.

“Fine. I’ll race you.”

•

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[nishiriksss]

it feels like everything wants us apart. ch.3

summary: riki was your childhood bestfriend up until you were 13, but you ended up moving to the US. you lost contact with him and never thought you would see him again, until you saw an edit on your fyp of a guy that looked suspiciously like him. you end up at every single enhypen concert, as close to the front as possible, trying to reach him. you comment on every post, every live, hoping he still remembers you.

genre: childhood bsfs to lovers, angst, fluff, slowburn

word count: 1.3k

warnings: none

taglist: @rairaiblog @vixialuvs @kkamismom12 @rikidaze @1-itsneverthatserious-1 @imzhouxinyu @melodiessvy @kittsnewera

notes: ok so this took forever!! sorry about the wait, ive had writers block. i hope you all enjoy this part!

not proof-read masterlist

you went to all 3 shows in saitama, still nothing, you couldve swore he was looking at you, but he never heard your yells. you wanted to follow them to every concert, but your mom had a work meeting in a few days, so she had to get back home. you put in your airpods and prepared for the drive. you listened to you riki-themed playlist again.

'i have a feeling you got everything you wanted, and your not wasting time stuck here like me.'

the lyric hit you harder than it should have, you felt like a loser, while he was living his best life as a kpop idol you were going to all his concerts, buying all the merch. hoping that one day you can tell him about how you were there, trying to get to him. you got a notification again, something in you knew it was riki.

-nishimura riki started a live video

'mom! hes live again!' you beamed, tapping on the notification. you typed out comment after comment, trying so hard not to spam. but this time the comments wouldnt go through, and your service went out just minutes after the live started. you groan at seeing the no wifi symbol, trowing your head back in frustration. your mom pats your shoulder 'its ok, im sure he will go live again soon.' she sighed, seeing the sad look on your face. you just looked out the window the whole car ride, you tried not to think about it, but all the failure was getting to you.

your mom was busy with work over the summer, it had now been months since the saitama visit, and you hadnt managed to contact riki. their last concert was coming up, in just a week. you were begging your mom to let you go. 'mom, please! what if they never go on tour again, this could be my last chance!' you would whine, hoping she would give in, eventually, she did. before you knew it you were packing for the final concert of enhypens fate tour. when you finally made it to miyagi, you were exhausted.

you made it to the show, you were front row. 'mom, im telling you. hes gonna see me.' you whispered, your voice filled with hope, your mom just nodded. when enhypen came out on to the stage, everyone cheered, the loud noise of all their fangirls sqealing drowned out your crys 'riki!! its yn!' you screamed over and over, but he never heard.

sunghoon heard you though. he looked at you, and you leaned over the edge to get as close as you could to him, pointing at riki. 'get him!!' you screeched at sunghoon, but he just rolled his eyes, your name slipping his mind. 'that girls crazy.' he thought as he continued performing.

when you saw the look on his face you were devastated. did riki tell him that he didnt want to see you? is that why he looked so annoyed? you knew not to beat yourself up about it , you just had to keep trying. as riki danced on the stage you couldnt help but feel proud of him, he had always been a dancer, since before you were even friends. you forgot all about trying to reach him and watched as he danced, until the final song.

heeseung yelled about how this is the final song of tour, so everyone needs to be loud, but it went in one ear and out the other. you were jumping around, trying to stay exited, even though the worry of him not seeing you still was lingering, you hoped he'd see you.

as riki made his way to the side of the stage you were by, you started screaming "riki!!!! its yn!!" you almost lost your voice.

riki looked at you. "yn?" he said, wanting to jump of the stage, wanting to hug you so bad. you were jumping up, trying to get to him. he leaned down, trying to hold your hand that you were reaching up at him, security came up to you. "excuse me." the security guard said flatly "you cant get that close. this is your warning." your heart dropped. "but-" riki chimed in, but the guard cut him off. "you cant get the close with fans." he shot riki a death glare, and then turned back to you. "if it happens again, you wont be coming to anymore concerts here." he crossed his arms as he walked away, but he was still close enough to see you.

"ill be back, yn" riki said as he looked at you with sadness, his older members were telling to come end the concert with him. "shes here, i have to go back, the concert cant end, what if i cant find her again?" he rambled on about how hes scared of leaving, not wanting to miss the possibility of actually being able to see you again. just as he was walking back stage with a defeated look on his face, he stopped by you side of the stage, pointed at you and mouthed "stay there."

you smiled, he finally saw you, just as you hugged your mom, you heard a loud thump next to you. a girl had passed out. 'fuck.' you thought, knowing you would be escorted out. the same security guard from earlier ran over, giving you a death glare before yelling "unless you know this girl, you need to get away from here!" another girl, presumably her friend, had her phone out, calling 911.

your mom gave you a 'im sorry' look as she had to drag you out. 10 minutes later riki was running over to where you were, only to be met with an ambulance and no sign of you. "what the..?" he muttered under his breath, looking around, making sure nothing had happened to you. as he slowed down, now walking to the sight. "whats going on?" he asked a paramedic, tapping his leg anxiously on the ground. "a girl passed out, most likely just didnt get enough food." the paramedic said so casually, like it happened everyday. "oh, do you know the girls name?" he asked, trying to keep the thoughts of it being you out of his mind. when the paramedic answered he didnt even acknowledge the name, all he knew was that it wasnt you name.

he dismissed it, wished them luck and headed back to his members. "some girl passes out.. she wasnt there." he whispered as he plopped onto the couch. jake laughed a little "how many times do you think youre going to get that close, just to barely miss her?" he teased, knowing how sensitive riki is about it. "shut up.." he muttered, leaning his head back on the couch. "why cant it just work out, for once?" riki asked so quietly jake almost didnt hear him. "it will, you just cant give up on her." jake replied, now leaning his head back the same way riki was.

as you walked away from the spot riki was going to meet you at, you couldnt help but cry. you tried pulling away from your mom, you tried walking back but she wouldnt let you. "mom please!" you sobbed out, wanting nothing more than to be able to finally see riki. "i know, i know you want to see him, but we cant. im sorry." she whispered, pulling you into a hug. you cried in her arms as she stroked your hair. "mom, hes gonna think i hate him." you worried, hoping he doesnt feel as bad as you do.

after about 10 minutes, your mom convinced you to go to the car. as you walked back, you could almost feel rikis presence, you could almost hear his voice.

when you woke up the next morning, your eyes were puffy, your pillow was still a bit wet, with black smudges on mascara all over it. you hadnt been able to sleep, knowing that riki was so close, yet so far. you didnt want to go home, but your mom packed your things for you, she grabbed your hand to lead you back to the car. you knew that you couldnt stay, but it didnt stop you from crying again.