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sensorytuna · 3 months ago

Text

── LOVE ME NOT.

part one . part two .

synopsis . as the guidance counselor of south park middle school, you support students, parents, teachers and administrators to ensure that the highest levels of student success can be obtained. but when two children with familiar last names keep on landing themselves a trip to your office, you're left with no choice but to break no contact and call two men that you have dug deep in your past.

notes . occasional swearing, age gap change between the mccormick siblings and broflovski brothers, lowercase intented, aged up chatacters (in their 20s) a choose your own ending series

♡ : kyle broflovski / kenny mccormick (K2) x reader

- your office is a mess of paperwork, a half-eaten granola bar, and stress-induced regret when the clock hits 4:30PM

- "so," you start

- "why am i seeing you two again?"

- ike broflovski and karen mccormick sat across from you, both in their respective chairs like two gremlins awaiting judgment

- you are one bad argument away from strangling them both

- you sigh, rubbing your temples as you glance at the two kids

- both of them have matching indifferent expressions like this is a normal tuesday for the two of them

- (which unfortunately it is)

- "didn't do anything," ike shrugs

- karen snorts at that

- ike is staring at the ceiling like it just personally insulted his entire family

- karen is slouched in her seat, legs stretched out with her hood up

- she's a sweet child, really

- until ike roped her into—

- "uh-huh," you flip through the files and the angry comments from their advisors in colorful sticky notes

- "let's see—oh wow, property damage? do i even wanna know?"

- ike grins like a little shit while karen shrugs, still not looking at you

- "depends," he says

- "do you want plausible deniability?"

- you pinch the bridge of your nose

- "okay, whatever. we'll get to that later."

- you spin your chair to the voip phone resting on your table, grabbing the handset and furiously dialing the phone numbers you saw from the scribbled emergency contacts in both kids' information files

- first up; mrs. broflovski

- ring... ring... ring...

- suddenly, in full speaker mode—

- "hello! you’ve reached the broflovski residence! if this is about a fundraiser, we already donated! if this is about a petition, send me the link and i’ll sign it! if this is about a complaint—just know that i am a mother, and i will not tolerate any nonsense about my family! leave a message after the beep, and i’ll get back to you when i can. kisses!"

- there's a short pause at that

- followed by a muffled "sheila, you need to shorten that—" before the voicemail cut off

- you hung up without leaving a message

- ike sighed loudly at the end of the voicemail, rolling his eyes

- "told you she wouldn't come here"

- karen snorts, who had been listening to the voicemail too

- you weren't even sure if you should call mrs. mccormick

- but you try to anyway

- ring... ring... ring...

- "yeah?"

- it's gruff, vaguely annoyed, sound just like mrs. mccormick herself

- "uh.. mrs. mccormick?" you start

- karen straights up slightly

- there's a pause, then a long drag of a cigarette

- "who's askin'?"

- you take a deep breath

- "this is the school counselor. i'm talking about karen."

- there's another pause

- in the background, there's a muffled voice of man speaking

- "who the hell is that?"

- carol sighed like speaking was too much effort for her, "the school."

- more muffled grumbling, then carol comes back to you

- "she ain't dead, is she?"

- your stomach twisted at that mere thought

- karen shook her head, going "god dammit, mom..." under her breath

- "no! no, she's—she's fine. but she and a friend got into some trouble at school, and we need a guardian to come in."

- more silence

- she takes a slow drag on the other side, then a sharp sniff like she was holding back a yawn

- suddenly

- "yeah, that ain't happenin'."

- you blink

- "i'm sorry?"

- "i said, that ain't happenin'. whatever it is, tell her don't do it again. there. problem solved. 'kay, bye."

- click

- she hung up

- you stare at the handset with an unreadable expression before putting it back in the voip

- right

- that went just as how you expected it to be

- karen bit the inside of her cheek, scoffing before looking away

- you took the hint of saying nothing about that before glancing down at your own phone

- being a guidance counselor pays off apparently, judging by the current model of your phone

- you still have their numbers

- kyle and kenny

- you pause at the sight of their contact names, your hands beginning to get all clammy at the abrupt thought of them

- you text kyle first

- you: ike is in my office again. your mom isn't answering, come get him

- in under any circumstances DO NOT CALL: are you serious

- in under any circumstances DO NOT CALL: jesus christ i'll be there in five minutes

- you let out a sigh of relief you didn't realize you were holding before going to kenny

- you: karen's here, your parents said fuck no so can you come by

- scam likely: lol what did she do this time

- you: kenny

- scam likely: yeah yeah i'm coming over

— ♡ —

- kyle arrives first

- you hear his footsteps down the hall, brisk and determined

- your office door swings open and there he is

- dressed in business casual, sleeves rolled up, glasses on, looking like he just walked out of an important meeting that he absolutely had to interrupt to deal with his brother’s bullshit

- damn

- "ike," he gritted his teeth

- "are you fucking kidding me?"

- "wasn't me," ike immediately counters while kyle took a seat on the couch

- "oh my god."

- you clear your throat, hiding your smirk

- "kyle—"

- "sorry," he says, shaking his head

- "hi. long time, no see."

- he gives you an awkward smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes

- possibly because he's holding in the urge to strangle his brother right in front of you

- "thanks for calling me."

- he turns back to ike, his curt smile immediately disappearing

- "i'm telling mom when we get home, dipshit."

- just then, the door creaks open once more

- kenny peeks his head in, looking far less rushed

- "hey babe,"

- you blink

- "excuse me?"

- his grin widens, "sorry, force of habit."

- that was NOT a force of habit

- kenny steps inside, still in his car workshop uniform like he's visiting an old friend

- technically

- he is

- "hey kenny!" karen grins, looking at her brother

- "hey sweetheart," kenny greets back, ruffling her hair while he sat down beside kyle

- "so what's the damage?"

- "yeah, they broke the sink."

- kenny snorts, whereas kyle groans

- a sharp contrast between the two

- "hell yeah, that's my girl."

- "christ, dude. nothing changed about you."

- you sigh

- "okay, okay. let's just... deal with this."

- "so what's the punishment? detention? suspension?" kyle looks at you, expecting you to be the other adult in the room

- you glance at kenny, who's sitting beside him like he lives here

- and then your eyes wander to the kids, completely unbothered

- "it's a one month suspension. they broke a damn sink in the bathrooms."

- kyle scoffed, running his hands through his face

- "great job, sweetie." kenny grins, fist-bumping karen

- this is gonna be a long day

TWO DAMN BITCHES AT THE SAME DAMN TIME 😜😜😜😜 (want a part 2? it's coming soon teehee)

#south park #south park x y/n #south park x you #south park x reader #kyle broflovski #kyle broflovski x reader #kyle broflovski x you #kenny mccormick #kenny mccormick x reader #kenny mccormick x you #k2 south park #south park k2 #x reader #gn reader

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fuqnia · 5 months ago

Note

Hi!! Happy new year!! First of all, I want to say that I REALLY REALLY love your story on ao3 (Most Wanted) it's just *aggressive chef kiss* soso good!!!

Now, I wanted to request some fluff with Eric Cartman (aged up ofc). The situation would be that he likes the reader (gn) but he doesn't know how to act or what to do bc he's never felt like that before. So, when he decides to confess and the reader tells him that he likes him too he's like "are u sure? But, really really sure?" So confused lmao. And finally, when the first kiss happens he's like "ew gross... Do it again." Idk something like that.

It's okay if you don't want to do this request!! Have a good day and remember to rest and drink water <3

Gross... Do It Again

☆ eric cartman x reader insert

☆ A/N | happy new years!! ahh thank you so much for your lovely words!! this request was so fun to write, i love writing for cartman, he's toooo funny 😭😭 also i definitely don't have a kenny obsession haha... he totally isn't in this oneshot haha...

☆ C/W | weed usage, all characters are aged up!

The dorm was a goddamn mess, and that was saying something. Cartman’s side looked like a landfill decided to give up on life—pizza boxes stacked precariously on his nightstand, a mountain of dirty laundry spilling out from under his bed, and enough empty soda cans to make a whole recycling center weep. Kenny, meanwhile, lived in his usual state of organized chaos. His side wasn’t clean, but it had an intentionality to it: a blanket that was slightly torn but neatly folded, a collection of mismatched mugs piled into a corner, and an actual stack of textbooks he occasionally cracked open. Together, the room looked like two hurricanes had collided and then given up halfway through the destruction.

Cartman was pacing back and forth like a trapped animal, hands jammed into the front pocket of his hoodie. His cheeks were pink—not the kind of smug, self-satisfied pink they turned after he delivered one of his insults, but the kind that said something was wrong. He kept muttering under his breath, stopping occasionally to glare at his desk like it had insulted him. A psychology notebook sat open there, innocently mocking him with a dumb little doodle of a stick figure with devil horns, something you had drawn in class the other day.

He hated it. He hated how his stomach twisted every time he looked at it, like something inside him was staging a full-blown revolt. It wasn’t like you had even done anything. You just laughed at one of his jokes—an offhanded, dickish comment about how their professor looked like he hadn’t slept since the ‘90s—and you scribbled that doodle on the edge of his notes. But for some reason, that stupid laugh and that stupid drawing were stuck in his head like gum on a goddamn shoe.

“This is so fucking stupid,” Cartman grumbled, pacing faster. He glanced at the notebook again, then immediately looked away, like avoiding it would somehow erase the gnawing feeling in his gut. “This isn’t happening. It’s not a thing. It’s not a thing.”

From across the room, Kenny pulled out an earbud and raised an eyebrow. He was lying on his bed, one leg kicked up lazily, scrolling through his phone like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Dude, you’ve been stomping around for twenty minutes. You’re giving me anxiety.”

Cartman froze mid-step and whipped around, glaring at Kenny. “Shut the fuck up, Kenny! I’m thinking.”

Kenny snorted, setting his phone down on his chest. “Oh, you’re thinking? That’s a new one. What’s got the great Eric Cartman so deep in thought?

“For your information, you fucking moron,” Cartman snapped, crossing his arms defensively, “I’m trying to solve a serious goddamn problem, okay? Not that your dumbass would understand.”

Kenny’s smirk grew. “Oh, this oughta be good. Let me guess—your dick stopped working after too many hot pockets?”

“Jesus Christ, will you shut up for, like, two seconds?” Cartman barked, his voice cracking slightly. He took a deep breath, trying to regain control, and turned back to his desk. “I’m dealing with… something, alright?”

“Yeah, no shit,” Kenny said, propping himself up on one elbow. “What kind of ‘something’? Did you finally flunk out of college, or is it something juicy?”

Cartman stiffened, refusing to turn around. He didn’t want to give Kenny the satisfaction of seeing him sweat. “It’s nothing. Just… someone in class is being fucking weird, that’s all.”

“Oh, someone in class, huh?” Kenny grinned, leaning forward now, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Wait a minute. Is this about [Y/N]?”

Cartman’s whole body went rigid, like someone had hit pause on his brain. He slowly turned to face Kenny, his face already bright red. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he demanded, voice way too defensive for his own good. “This isn’t about them! Why would it be about them?! That’s fucking ridiculous!”

“Right,” Kenny said, dragging the word out as he sat up fully. “Because it’s not like you’ve been staring at your psych notes like they’re a love letter or anything. Nah, no way this is about [Y/N].”

Cartman grabbed an empty soda can off his desk and chucked it at Kenny’s head. Kenny ducked easily, laughing as the can bounced off the wall behind him. “Shut the fuck up, Kenny! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Dude,” Kenny said, shaking his head, “you’ve got it bad.”

“I don’t have shit!” Cartman exploded, throwing his arms up in frustration. “You’re fucking delusional, Kenny. I don’t like anyone! Liking people is for losers and idiots!”

“Uh-huh.” Kenny smirked, leaning back against his bed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, fatass.”

Cartman growled, stomping back to his desk. He dropped into his chair and glared at the notebook like it had personally insulted him. That stupid stick figure stared back, its dumb little devil horns mocking him. He slammed the notebook shut, but it didn’t make him feel any better. “This is fucking bullshit,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m not a loser… but what the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

“Kenny,” Cartman barked, spinning around in his chair.

Kenny didn’t even glance up. “What?”

Cartman hesitated, glancing at the notebook again, as if it might spontaneously provide answers. “Let’s say—hypothetically—you wanted someone to pay attention to you. Like, you wanted them to see that you’re not just some… guy. What would you do?”

That got Kenny’s attention. He set his phone down and sat up slowly, his brows raised like Cartman had just sprouted a second head. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes, I’m serious, asshole!” Cartman snapped, his face flushing. “I’m asking you a question!”

“Oh, no, I heard the question,” Kenny said, a wicked grin creeping across his face. “I just can’t believe you’re coming to me for advice about your sad little crush on [Y/N].”

“Shut the fuck up!” Cartman exploded, his voice cracking slightly. “This isn’t about them! Why does everything have to be about them?! You’re so fucking dumb, Kenny.”

“Right,” Kenny said, dragging the word out as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Because you haven’t been acting like a weird little freak for the past two days. No way this is about [Y/N].”

“It’s not, okay?!” Cartman insisted, crossing his arms defensively. “I just… I just need to know what a normal person would do in a situation like this.”

Kenny blinked, then leaned back with a laugh. “Oh my God, you’re serious. You’re actually serious. Dude, you’re fucked.”

“Jesus Christ, Kenny, will you just give me a straight answer?” Cartman barked, glaring at him. “For once in your shitty, trailer park life, just help me.”

“Fine, fine,” Kenny said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “You want advice? Here’s some advice: don’t be a psycho. People tend to run away when you act like a desperate little bitch.”

Cartman’s face turned red, but he ignored the insult. “What the fuck does that even mean? Be more specific.”

“It means don’t do whatever the hell your weird little brain is cooking up right now,” Kenny said, pointing at him. “Just be normal. You know, like a regular human. Talk to them. Ask them out. That kind of shit.”

“Wow, thanks for the groundbreaking insight, Dr. Asshole,” Cartman shot back, rolling his eyes. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who’s desperate enough to ask me for advice,” Kenny fired back, grabbing his bong and giving it a lazy inspection. “So unless you want to keep jerking it to your psych notes, maybe shut the fuck up and listen.”

Cartman growled, running a hand through his hair. “You’re fucking useless. I don’t even know why I bother.”

“Because you’ve got no one else to talk to, fatass,” Kenny said with a smirk, lighting the bong. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, waving it lazily in Cartman’s direction. “So what’s the plan, huh? You gonna confess your undying love in the middle of class, or are you gonna hide behind some bullshit like you always do?”

“I don’t hide behind anything!” Cartman snapped, but the way he avoided Kenny’s eyes said otherwise. He paced a few steps, his mind racing, and then stopped short, a grin spreading across his face. “I’ve got it. I’ll invite them over to study for psych. They’ll come here, and then I’ll—I dunno—show them why I’m the shit.”

Kenny barked out a laugh, nearly dropping the bong. “Oh, that’s fucking rich. You? ‘The shit’? Yeah, okay. What’s the plan, fatass? Flex your GPA? Show them the three-day-old burrito under your bed?”

“Shut up, Kenny!” Cartman yelled, his face burning. “They’re gonna come over, we’ll study, and it’ll just happen naturally. It’s a solid plan.”

“It’s a stupid plan,” Kenny said, shaking his head as he packed another hit. “But hey, go for it. I can’t wait to see how this blows up in your face.”

Cartman ignored him, pulling out his phone and scrolling to your contact. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a moment before he started typing, his confidence growing with every word. He hit send, shoving the phone into his pocket like it might explode if he held onto it for too long.This was going to work. It had to work. Because if it didn’t… well, he wasn’t ready to think about that yet.

Cartman growled, pacing in front of his desk like a caged animal. The room was spotless by his standards, but the faint smell of cheap vanilla from the candle on his desk was starting to give him a headache. He shot a glare at Kenny, who was sprawled out on his bed, picking Dorito crumbs off his chest with zero shame. Every few minutes, Kenny let out a low snicker, clearly reveling in Cartman’s nervous energy.

“Will you stop fucking laughing, you goddamn hick?” Cartman barked, throwing a balled-up sock at him.

“Can’t help it, dude,” Kenny said, dodging the sock with a lazy grin. “You’re wound up tighter than your mom’s yoga pants. What’s the big deal? You got this.”

“I know I fucking got this!” Cartman snapped, his voice cracking. “It’s just—shut the fuck up, alright?”

Before Kenny could respond, there was a knock at the door. Cartman froze, his stomach twisting into a knot, and shot Kenny a panicked look.

Kenny raised an eyebrow. “You gonna answer that, or just stand there like an idiot?”

“Get the fuck out of here, Kenny,” Cartman hissed, jabbing a finger toward the door. “Go… I don’t know, smoke a cigarette or something. Just leave.”

Kenny swung his legs off the bed with an exaggerated groan, grabbing his phone off the nightstand. “Fine, fine. I’ll give you and [Y/N] some alone time. Try not to blow it, fatass.”

As he crossed the room, he gave Cartman a smug wink before swinging the door open. “Hey, [Y/N],” Kenny greeted, his voice dripping with mock charm. “Come on in. Cartman’s been pissing himself waiting for you.”

“Kenny, I swear to God—” Cartman started, but Kenny ignored him, laughing as he clapped you on the shoulder.

“Good luck,” Kenny said with a smirk, stepping out into the hallway. “You’re gonna need it.” He gave Cartman one last exaggerated wink before disappearing down the corridor, leaving the door ajar behind him.

The first thing you notice is how oddly clean the room is. Cartman’s side, usually some kind of post-apocalyptic wasteland of junk food wrappers and clothes that definitely needed a wash last week, is now suspiciously tidy. A faint smell of vanilla lingers, and you spot a candle burning on his desk.

“Wow,” you say, raising an eyebrow. “You cleaned. What’s the occasion?”

“I didn’t clean,” Cartman blurts immediately, crossing his arms. His cheeks are pink, and he’s glaring like you just accused him of murder. “This is just… how it always looks.”

You stifle a laugh, shaking your head as you move to the desk. “Right. Sure it is.”

Cartman doesn’t respond, instead stomping back to his chair like a sulking toddler. You set your stuff down, pulling out your notebook and flipping to the most recent lecture. “So, where do you want to start? Behavioral theories? Cognitive development?”

He shrugs, avoiding your eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Behavioral theories. Fine.”

You tilt your head at him, noticing how tense he looks. His arms are crossed, his leg bouncing so fast the chair creaks beneath him. You decide to let it slide for now, focusing instead on the lecture notes in front of you.

“Okay,” you say, glancing at your textbook. “So Pavlov and classical conditioning—that’s probably gonna be on the midterm. You know, the dog thing? Ring a bell, get a response.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cartman says quickly, waving a hand. “Dogs and bells. Got it.”

You pause, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re not even listening.”

“I am!” he snaps, his voice an octave higher than usual. “I’m just—paying attention in my own way. Keep going.”

You shake your head, fighting back a smile, and return to your notes. As you talk through operant conditioning and positive reinforcement, you notice his responses getting shorter and more distracted. He keeps glancing at you, his leg bouncing even faster. You’ve known Cartman long enough to recognize when he’s uncomfortable, but this is… different. He’s nervous. Almost jumpy.

“Eric,” you say after a while, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “What’s going on with you? You’re acting weird.”

“I’m fine!” he says immediately, too defensive to be convincing. He looks away, fidgeting with the pen in his hand. “Just tired. Long day.”

You raise an eyebrow but let it go, turning back to your notes. “Alright. So, Skinner and operant conditioning…”

As you keep talking, you feel him watching you. It’s subtle at first—a glance here, a flick of his eyes there—but after a while, it becomes impossible to ignore. Finally, you stop mid-sentence, turning to face him fully.

“Alright, screw this!” Cartman blurts, tossing his pen onto the desk with enough force that it bounces off the notebook. “I can’t do this anymore.”

You blink, startled. “Do what?”

“This!” he says, gesturing wildly at the desk, the notes, the room in general. “All this psych bullshit. I didn’t invite you here to talk about fucking Pavlov.”

“Then… why did you invite me?” you ask slowly, unsure where this is going.

He hesitates, his face going bright red as he avoids your gaze. “Because I like you, alright?” he snaps, his voice cracking slightly. “I fucking like you, and I don’t know why, because it’s dumb, and it makes no sense, but I do. So, there. Happy now?”

The room falls into a heavy silence. For a second, he looks like he might explode from the tension. You’re too stunned to respond immediately, but then you feel a smile tugging at your lips.

“You’re serious?” you ask softly.

“Of course I’m fucking serious!” he snaps, crossing his arms. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

Your smile grows. “Good. Because I like you too.”

He freezes, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to process your words. “Wait… what?”

“I like you too, Eric,” you repeat, laughing lightly at the bewildered expression on his face. “I mean, I kind of figured, but I wasn’t sure.”

“You’re not fucking with me, right?” he demands, narrowing his eyes. “Because if this is a joke, I swear to God—”

“I’m not messing with you,” you say, cutting him off gently. “I like you.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his face unreadable. Then, slowly, he leans back in his chair, letting out a long breath. “Well… good. That’s good.”

“Yeah,” you say, grinning. “It is.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he scowls, shifting awkwardly in his chair. “So… now what?”

You laugh, leaning forward slightly. “That’s up to you.”

His eyes flicker to your lips, lingering there for just a moment too long, and you see something in his face you’ve never seen before: nerves. Eric fucking Cartman, nervous. It’s almost surreal. He clears his throat and leans back in his chair like he’s trying to shake off whatever just crossed his mind.

“Let’s just… keep studying,” he mutters, grabbing his pen like it’s a lifeline. He doesn’t look at you when he says it, his gaze fixed stubbornly on his notebook. “That’s what you came here for, right?”

You give him a small, knowing smile but nod anyway. “Sure. Studying.”

For the next half-hour, the two of you go through the motions, flipping through pages, summarizing theories, and discussing what might be on the midterm. But there’s an undeniable tension hanging between you, thick enough to choke on. Every time you glance at him, his gaze darts away, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His usual cocky demeanor is nowhere to be found, replaced by a kind of restless fidgeting that would be almost funny if it wasn’t so uncharacteristic.

He keeps looking at you, though. Every few minutes, you catch him stealing glances—at your face, your hands, your mouth. Each time, his expression shifts, like he’s having some internal battle with himself. It’s awkward, sure, but there’s something endearing about it, too. You can tell he’s trying to keep his usual wall up, but it’s crumbling around the edges.

Finally, you decide to put both of you out of your misery. Setting your pen down, you turn to him fully, your tone casual but your heart pounding in your chest. “Eric.”

He tenses immediately, his pen freezing mid-scribble. “What?”

You hesitate, watching him for a moment. His leg is bouncing under the desk, and his knuckles are white where they grip the pen. It’s almost enough to make you laugh, but instead, you lean in slightly and ask, “Can I kiss you?”

His reaction is immediate. His eyes widen, and he leans back so quickly he nearly knocks his chair over. “What the fuck?” he sputters, his voice higher than usual. “Why the hell would you wanna do that?”

“Because I like you,” you say simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And you like me. Right?”

He glares at you, his face bright red. “Yeah, I said that already! Jesus Christ, do you have to rub it in?”

You suppress a laugh, tilting your head. “So… can I?”

He stares at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. For a second, you think he’s going to come up with some snarky comment or brush you off entirely, but instead, he mumbles, “Yeah. Fine. Whatever. If you want.”

You lean in slowly, giving him plenty of time to pull away. His eyes stay locked on yours, wide and uncertain, but he doesn’t move. When your lips finally meet his, he goes completely still. The kiss is soft, tentative, and more awkward than you’d expected, but it’s not bad. Not bad at all.

When you pull back, his expression is priceless. He’s staring at you like you just dropped a bomb on his lap, his cheeks practically glowing. “That was… gross,” he mutters, his nose wrinkling. “Like, really gross.”

You laugh, leaning back slightly. “Yeah? So gross you want me to do it again?”

He hesitates, his face twitching like he’s torn between saying yes and telling you to fuck off. Finally, he mumbles, “Maybe.”

You grin, leaning in again. This time, when your lips meet his, he doesn’t freeze. It’s still a little awkward—Cartman is nothing if not an overthinker—but there’s a warmth in it now, an eagerness that wasn’t there before. When you pull away, his lips twitch into a small, smug smile, though his face is still red.

“Okay, fine,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair like he’s trying to regain some of his usual attitude. “That wasn’t completely terrible.”

You smirk, tilting your head slightly as you lean your chin on your hand. “High praise from someone who couldn’t stop staring at my face all night. Want me to grab a mirror so you can practice complimenting me properly?”

Cartman’s mouth falls open in indignation, his arms uncrossing as he jabs a finger toward you. “Oh, fuck off! I wasn’t staring! I was—thinking, okay? It’s called being a goddamn genius. Maybe you wouldn’t know.”

“Thinking about kissing me, maybe,” you reply quickly, watching with satisfaction as his cheeks turn an even brighter shade of pink.

“You’re such an asshole,” he mutters, but the way his eyes dart to your lips again betrays the insult.

You grin, leaning toward him as he instinctively leans back in his chair. His attempt to create space only lasts a second before you close the gap, kissing him again. This time, he doesn’t freeze. His lips move against yours, tentative but genuine, and you can feel the tension in his shoulders melt away. For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you—until the door slams open.

“Yo, I forgot my—holy shit!” Kenny’s voice explodes through the room, and you both jolt apart like you’ve been caught committing a crime. Cartman swivels his chair around so fast it nearly topples over, his face a deep, mortified red.

“Kenny, what the fuck?!” Cartman roars, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair like he’s about to launch himself out of it. “Didn’t I tell you to stay the fuck out?!”

Kenny, standing in the doorway, doesn’t even try to hide his glee. He’s leaning against the doorframe with the smuggest expression you’ve ever seen, holding his phone up like he’s about to livestream the whole thing. “Dude, I left for, like, an hour. I thought you’d be done dry-humping by now.”

Cartman’s face somehow turns an even darker shade of red. “We weren’t—Jesus fucking Christ, Kenny! Get out!”

You cover your mouth with your hand to hide your laugh, but the way your shoulders shake gives you away. Kenny notices immediately and points at you with mock approval. “Respect, [Y/N]. Really. Can’t believe you’re willing to put up with this dumbass.”

“Get out before I kill you,” Cartman growls, standing up so quickly that his chair scrapes against the floor. He grabs the first thing he can find—a crumpled-up notebook—and hurls it at Kenny’s head.

Kenny ducks effortlessly, laughing like this is the funniest thing he’s seen all year. “Alright, alright, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone. But don’t think this is over. I’m gonna be talking about this for weeks.”

“Kenny!” Cartman shouts again, but it’s useless. Kenny’s already backing out the door, still grinning like a lunatic. “I’m serious! I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Love you too, babe,” Kenny calls over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

The door slams shut, and the room is suddenly quiet again. Cartman groans, slumping back into his chair and burying his face in his hands. “I fucking hate him.”

You chuckle, leaning forward with your chin on your hand. “He’s not so bad. At least he didn’t take pictures.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Cartman mutters, glaring at the door like he expects Kenny to burst back in any second.

“Relax,” you say, reaching out to nudge his shoulder. “It’s not the end of the world.”

Cartman scoffs, but he doesn’t pull away from your touch. Instead, he glances at you, his expression softening just slightly. “Yeah, well… you better not tell anyone about this either.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you say, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. His face flushes again, but this time, he doesn’t protest.

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