#stan x reader

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Kyle Broflovski

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Kenny McCormick

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- tends to believe everything you tell him; not even paying a second thought to it. he doesn’t even do it on purpose, he just subconsciously takes in whatever you tell him and assumes it as being the truth. you could literally tell him that nukes were gonna hit south park later today & he’d nod along agreeing with you before quickly processing what you had just said and going into a severe panic. him having several outbursts, twitching everywhere even more, and pulling on his hair rather harshly—almost yanking huge chunks out. what the hell was he gonna do?! how and why were nukes going to hit south park?! how is he going help you get out in time?! what about tweek bros?! his parents?! what was he going to do?! GAH! THIS WAS ALL WAY TOO MUCH PRESSURE!

- he has a strange yet surprisingly really strong sense of smell. say you used a coffee scented body wash the other night, he can smell it. he won’t say anything, but he’ll blush just at the thought of you showering your body with the scent he’s so associated with. it made him feel a little special. he wonders if the thought of him was lingering in your mind while you were buying it…oh the thought alone makes him flushed! he really loves the way you smell in general though. everytime you would hug him and wrap your delicate arms around him, he would just take in every bit of air surrounding the two of you, analyzing your scent. vanilla. a caramel-ly-sweet-glaze. almost candy like but also with a hint of foral, like you were elegant yet sweet and soft. he was obsessed. the amount of times he’s had to stop his mouth from salivating onto your shoulder was unruly. he really just wanted to taste you. just one little bite wouldn’t hurt, would it?

stan:

- will always do anything you ask him too. you want a drink from the vending machine? he’s on his way right now! you need a ride home from school? yeah of course, just let him know and he’ll be waiting for you by his truck in a heartbeat! you want to call and talk on the phone? he’ll stop everything he’s doing at the moment just hear the sweet sound of your voice speaking to him. he loves doing little tasks for you, and if anyone tries taking his place for his little jobs, he gets very irritated. are they trying to replace him? who do they think they are? they can fuck off. that’s his job to do that, not theirs. “Do you need any help carrying that? It looks kind of heavy, hey why don’t I-“ “No. She’s fine she doesn’t need your help. I’ll do it.” he hisses, while glaring at the person, harshly moving their hand away from whatever object you were carrying.

- kind of has mommy issues too (or maybe a kink). he loves his mom! she’s always been super sweet and caring towards him, and probably the only person he can actually bare living with in his house. he kind of yearns for that certain kind of comfort, the one of having someone really care for you. holding you in their arms, telling you that everything’s gonna be okay, telling you that their proud of you. he yearns for it because he hardly gets it and finds comfort in the rare times that it actually does happen. but hey, you act like that right? you’ve always acted like that towards him. you were just that kind of person, right? just his kind of person, right?

- praise him. literally for anything. he’ll get happy that your content with what he did and will feel like he really accomplished something. satisfying your needs is a big top for him, so once he does whatever you needed, he’s happy! him having depression and all that really fucks with his brain sometimes, and you seem to ease and even that all out for him. just reassure him that he does do good and that he’s not a huge fuck up and piece of shit. atleast—not all of the time.

- he often goes to you for his problems, always venting about whatever’s troubling him or been bothering him. he trusts whatever you say and truly takes it to heart. i mean, it doesn’t seem like you’d ever want the worst for him, you’ve always been sweet and genuine so why wouldn’t he believe in your words? (would feel like 10x better in about 5 mins if he was cuddling into you as you ran your fingers through his hair while he ranted on and on about whatever thoughts were dreadfully plaguing his mind)

- gets kind of desperate when your mad at him. he literally hates when you’re mad at him—it’s one of the worst feelings ever for him. he’ll try anything and everything for you to not be mad at him, he’d seriously beg on his knees for your forgiveness if that meant that you wouldn’t be mad anymore. can simply just not stand it. could you please just go back how to were treating him before? please??? he can’t take it nor handle it, it’s like he’s genuinely losing it to such a petty matter. his brain would be like a virus stuck on the same blank screen unable to switch off, except, you were that screen and his obsession was the virus.

- knows—err—scratch that, is learning! how to play the guitar! was previously in a group with jimmy, butters, and kenny, but originally was with kyle, cartman, and kenny. they made the song ‘Finger-Bang-You’, and uh. i don’t think he really wants to remember that. so in all i’d say his musical abilities aren’t too terrible, nor song writing ones. possibly. for the most part at least. would maybe sing to you if he found his vocals to be remotely pleasant to listen to, a slow and sweet guitar riff just for you to hum along to. this is currently in the process as well. i mean that is, until he actually musters up enough courage to do so.

kenny:

- you’ve got that little halo of his wrapped around your finger, that was for sure. like stan, will do absolutely anything for you. both of them hardly have any limits, meaning they would seriously do anything for you. murder isn’t off the table :)

- really clingy. like always by your side kind of clingy. it’s cute, but eventually gets kind of annoying as the day progresses. he’s always following you around (almost like a lost puppy), you guys have a good handful of classes together (much to his enjoyment) so he’s pretty ecstatic about seeing you everyday for almost the whole school day AND school year. yay for kenny! (cue the ‘whoo-hoo!’)

- is always touching some part of your body, like always. not even in a sexual way, he’s just always touching you. have it be his hand on your shoulder, his arm around your shoulder, his hands entwined with yours, or as much as constantly having your guys arms brushed up against each other while walking to classes or while sitting down at lunch. he also always sits next to you at lunch, no matter what. would get genuinely upset if he couldn’t, so he’s always by your side to prevent that from happening :). don’t steal his seat. he will sincerely push you off of it and not feel one ounce of sympathy.

- he’s veryyy affectionate. physically, verbally, any way he can be, he is. “I love your shirt today, pretty.” kenny says with a sly grin, seemingly beaming at you with his lidded violet eyes peering right at you. he tugs on the sleeve of your tight fitting long-sleeve, inching his face closer to yours. “Who were you thinking of this morning when you put it on, hm?” he looks up at you cheekily, this particular act of his soon coming to an abrupt end as his blatant flirting earns a harsh kick from under the table, a yank from the back of his hoodie, and a few menacing glares being sent his way from across the lunch table.

- pushes his cheek against yours quite often. kenny thinks it’s adorable and obviously loves being close to you in every way possible, so it’s clearly a must! loves hugs and all that stuff, i mean there’s no way you’d actually expect him to not squeeze your entire being every time he sees you. i mean, seriously. it’s like you were almost testing his limits every single day of not crushing you!! he sighs mentally and closing his eyes dreamily at the mere thought of you. you really were just too cute..

- his touchy acts and displays of obvious admiration would almost always gain the attention of the other boys, most times more than not resulting in terribly dirty looks being directed towards the blonde male. their glares were downright deadly—rightfully so! i mean seriously…who does he think he is???

…kenny. that’s who <3.

craig:

- can be kind of aggressive sometimes, physically. and, well, he’s just really aggressive in general. treats you as fragile and gentle as he does with Stripe, but can grab you rather harsh without realizing his own strength while dragging you elsewhere if he’s mad about something. he would never hit you though, no no, he would never. but, he would beat the living shit out of anyone who did.

- has a tendency of just picking you up at random times, like completely out of nowhere. you’re so small compared to him, he just has to pick you up! doesn’t move you to any particular place, just holds you off the ground and places you somewhere else with that same exact stoic expression presented on his features. he also grabs your face a lot and just squishes your cheeks. he sees the opportunity to do it, so he does it. he thinks you look cute so why not. definitely pulls you onto his lap when you’re least expecting it just to take in your flustered expression. he’d even lay his chin atop your head to make it all the while more; the guys would be gawking at him and yelling curses at what he was doing but he really could care less. who’s lap were you sitting on right now again? yeah, exactly. you reminded him of his beloved pet Stripe at times, in which resulted in these cute and impulsive little antics.

- can and will literally glare anyone away. he has a very intimidating face, his height also adds onto that scary persona of his. everyone knew better than to fuck with Craig Tucker, unless you had a death wish and wanted to end up with a tombstone over your head, that is. “(Y/N)! I’ve been looking all over for you! I was kind of wondering if you’d wanna, you know go out to the movies sometime?“ a male says, coming up next to you while shyly smiling with his hand behind his neck, while also interrupting yours and Craig’s conversation. was this awkward dickwad seriously trying to talk to you while you were clearly already talking to him? “Err- you could just, call me later! Here I’ll just-“ cue that classic death glare. nobody, and i mean nobody, wanted to deal with a pissed off Craig. all it took was one look up at the teen towering over them, the guy’s eyes widening, and he was already speed walking past you while mumbling a quiet “Uh—nevermind…I’ll see you some other time (Y/N)…” as he quickly took off. “So, continue on with what you were telling me?” Craig says calmly, his whole demeanor changing and face softening while looking down at you to listen.

- thoroughly enjoys watching the stars at night with you. it’s one of his most favorite things to do in general, so why not just do it with his favorite person in the world? he prefers it much better than watching them alone like he had always used to. he loved telling you all about what he knew about the stars, space, planets, constellations, and all that other stuff. you would just listen to him, never failing to seem constantly interested in what he was saying. he really could go on and on about space and all the things correlating to it, and you would always sit and look amused with your big eyes intrigued in adoration, asking little questions here and there about what this was and how that works, he thought it was cute so it worked out pretty well for the both of you. he loved it. he loved every second of it. he loved every second of being with you. he loved you.

kyle:

- he uses you as his motivation for almost everything. when he’s doing something important, he just thinks in his mind about what you would think about him. seemingly, your opinion on him really means a lot to him. like, way too much. it’s to the point where ‘What (Y/N) thinks’ or ‘What would (Y/N) think?’ dictates almost all his decisions and choices. he does not want to be seen in a bad manner by you. hell no! that’s like his worst nightmare—that would be terrible! and because of that, he’s always trying his best to be the most perfect person he can. he’s almost always stressed out about everything because he’s so worried about how your going to react to it. he often gets frustrated and angry when something he does doesn’t come out the way he wanted or intended to. “God this is so fucking hard! But what would (Y/N) think of me if I didn’t do this good enough?” he doesn’t even want to even imagine the disappointed expression you’d have on your beautiful face as you glanced at him almost mockingly. “Are you really that dumb?” you’d ridicule him, utterly disgusted at his presence. this and that, you spewing out insults left and right insulting his intelligence and everything else about him. god no—he couldn’t deal with that. not at all. it would break his heart, mind, and soul knowing you perceived him that way. he knew you were sweet, of course he did—that was one of the big reasons he even love—liked you so much! but sadly, his mind would still tell him otherwise, convincing him that all these negative things would happen if he did so much as write something incorrectly. it never gave that poor boy a break. although there was one thing he always he knew for sure, that he had to do well. he had to. for you.

- is utterly terrified of disappointing you (also adds on to the previous headcanon above this). no matter the situation. if he sees he can do better and if there is a way to do the very best, then he sure as hell was going to. hm? what’s that? he got an a on the test? no he’ll retake it, he needs an a+. what? he got a good job? no, he’s not going to settle for that. he needs an ‘amazing job’, so he’s going to do something that will earn him that ‘amazing job’ from the person he wants it from. so what if the other kids called him a ‘try hard’? yeah. he was one—and he was sure as hell proud of it. tsk, he’d rather be ripped on by his friends for being a so called ‘try hard’ than being a completely braindead idiot. he liked being the best. fuck them.

- has always been adored by adults and other teachers because of his perseverance and dedication to always doing the best. oh if only they knew the reason behind it. “Why the fuck is this taking me so long to finish?! (Y/N) wouldn’t even take a second glance at me if I fucked this up.“ he desperately tries to be perfect. so many desperate attempts to be perfect, perfect all for you. all he does is for you. everything is for you. all the time, efforts, tries, sleepless nights, frustration, stress, planning, studying, perfect grades, days, weeks, months, years, seconds, minutes—everything. it was all going to be worth it in the end though—because after all, who wouldn’t want a perfect person?

- he always puts a lot of thought into things. he’s a smart boy, no doubt about it, so he’s always observing things and specific aspects about other people. super attentive and is probably the best gift giver out of all the boys, his attention to detail will seriously surprise you and make you hold so much more value onto the things he gives and says. he puts so much effort into literally everything. like—ugh he’s just so sweet. he pours his whole heart out into the things he likes and on people he loves, he’s just such a sweetheart really. you find yourself aw-ing at him pretty frequently. he was just so cute and sweet to you!

- has the worst temper ever, but somehow keeps it under control around you. someone could do something to piss him off, have it either be on accident or on purpose, and he will remember that specific thing they did forever. he’d hold a grudge against them for quite a while. yes he holds grudges, the worst kinds too. “Oh Kyle! I’ve been needing to ask you all day, do you know who [Name] is?” Stan asks him, the calm look on his face soon turning into a scowl as he recognizes the name. “That asshole? They bumped into me during passing period the first week of school and knocked my shit on the floor without even apologizing! And they stepped on my fucking shoes! Who even fucking does that without bothering to say sorry?!” he exclaimed angrily, eyebrows bunched together as he moved his hands around trying to express the anger towards the said individual. the one thing he couldn’t fix, was his anger. yeah he just figured you’d have to deal with it.

- gets flustered at anything u do to him so easily and quickly, it’s honestly super cute and you have fun poking at him every now and then. it’s like a cute little game. the ‘Let’s-Make-Kyle-Super-Shy-Until-He-Gets-As-Red-As-A-Tomato-Game!’ yeah it was super embarrassing how flustered he’d get just from you inching your face closer to his, and even more so that you knew what your affect on him was. but it’s not like he was against it, whatever got you closer to him he was completely fine with.

- if you hate someone, he hates them too. of course he won’t for no reason, but once u tell him even a little detail about how they wronged you, he dislikes them already. he forms opinions on people pretty quickly, so once you tell him, he now knows who to look out for and who to treat shittier.

clyde:

- totally doesn’t let his mommy issues make an appearance around you. pfttt of course not, why would he haha? except for that one time he— actually several times, he’s almost called you ‘mom’ instead of your own name. “Hey mo-(Y/N)!! Wanna come over later and hang out after school?” i mean, it wasn’t his fault! you just happened to have that motherly aura radiating off of you that drew him to you like a lovesick puppy. your voice was so sweet, words coming off the tip of your tongue smooth and sounding like honey to him. you could be explaining something to him and he’d just nod along contently, a series of “Mhm’s” “Ohhh’s” and “Oh really’s?“ coming from him as he just stared at you completely enthralled by your face, while his own resting upon his palm. goodluck trying to get rid of that boy haha! you cant.

- clingy, clingy, clingy! you just cant get rid of this boy! he’s always trying to talk to you any chance he can, let it be in the halls, the classrooms, on the bus the rare times you actually use it, seriously, anywhere. is kind of annoyed at how Kenny is always there with you, he usually never pays any attention or mind to the blonde headed boy beside you. he likes to pretend he just isn’t there, maybe if he closes his eyes long enough, he’ll just disappear lol </3. is also really jealous of him. uh hello? that’s supposed to be his thing always being around you. stupid Kenny always ruining it, he’d get him back somehow.

- truly reminded you of a puppy. his eyes always get so big; fully focusing on just you, excitement and pure energy basically radiating off of him. it was hard not to smile around clyde, he was such a cute idiot that it just made you laugh all the time. a little too clueless for his own good, that’s why he so closely mirrored that of a puppies aura. his emotions, actions, and words really matching those to a puppies, also his overall physique. if puppies were uh—muscly. and played football.

tolkien:

- is usually the first one to ask if you need a ride to school or a ride home (much to Stan’s dismay). he enjoys driving you places, just you and him. having time to yourselves, just chatting about whatever comes into mind. it makes him super happy since you and him rarely spend any time together alone because of all the other guys. they kind of always hog you, and it really fucking gets on his nerves. even his own friends do, but he just hides it well with that same old calming smile of his, eye twitching every now and then from annoyance. tolkien was really more on the quiet and composed side, so it didn’t come to much of a surprise that your guys interactions were quite cut short due to the other guys obnoxiously butting in.

- he often gets jealous of yours and the other guys interactions and friendships together. he’s envious. he wishes you guys were that close. he needed to find someway to stick out to you somehow because this quiet and calm demeanor of his surely wasn’t seeming to get him anywhere. he definitely needed to make plans with the both of you way more, and way sooner. most would call it just a hang out between two friends, but he’d like to think of it more like a sweet date.

- say in some kind of scenario he’s in front of the guys talking to you and they overhear him asking you: “Hey did you maybe wanna go to the mall/go out for lunch/coffee again?” and you’d be like: “Yeah of course, when we’re you thinking?” and all the guys would be like: “WHAT? YOU GUYS WENT OUT?!” AND AGAIN?!?!” , “When the hell did that happen???” and he’d turn away holding back a laugh and hiding a successful smirk on his face with his hand & a quick fake cough then looking back with a completely different expression. he just casually explained how you guys went out together. alone. not a biggie. oh competitive little tolkien. he secretly feels like he’s one upping the others & is veryyy content about it. although, his quick demeanor change and sneaky smirk doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

- is always there when you need him to be, like seriously always there. is honestly the best person to depend on, especially since it’s you that’s in need. tolkien is the best kind of person for anything, make it advice, hugs, long conversations, anything! you need a quick opinion on something important? he’s the absolute (don’t tell the other guys) best out of everyone to ask! you know he’s the right person to ask if you want an honest opinion on something because he’s not the type to sugar coat or lie about something just to make you feel better. you really appreciate that in a sense, because knowing the other guys, they wouldn’t quite do the same.

- has the cutest dimples ever. they’re very prominent and almost always show when he’s speaking, even more so when smiling. he has very charming features, and if you could admit it without any angry jealous gazes being thrown at you, you’d consider him really handsome. he almost reminded you of a prince, a prince charming to be exact! with that charming smile and those heartwarming eyes, he’d fit that role almost perfectly. you’d just have to tell him once you were alone again…

hi you, thx 4 reading!!! i wrote this a few yrs ago & just decided to finally post it <3 hope u all love & enjoy :p

Stan Rosado was not known for his academic prowess. Football, however, was another story entirely. On the field, he was untouchable. Coach Willis' star player, captain of the Herrington High football team. Friday nights belonged to him, the stadium lights illuminating his victories while the crowds chanted his name with unwavering enthusiasm. 

Which was exactly why his announcement had sent the entire school into a frenzy. He was quitting to focus on his grades. The news spread through the corridors faster than wildfire. Students whispered between classes, teachers exchanged confused glances in the staff room and half the football team wandered the halls looking as though someone had announced the end of the world. Coach Willis himself had reportedly spent twenty minutes trying to convince Stan he was making a mistake.

You, however, couldn't have cared less.

Herrington High revolved around football players and cheerleaders, neither of which had ever had much interest in you and the feeling was mutual. While everyone else debated what Stan's decision meant for the team's chances at the state championship, you were far more concerned with your chemistry assignment due on Friday and whether the library still had the history book you'd been trying to borrow for the past week.

It simply wasn't your problem. Unfortunately, something else soon became your problem. The crackling intercom had interrupted your English lesson halfway through Shakespeare, speaking your name following a rather ominous message.

“Please report to Principal Drake's office"

A dozen pairs of eyes had turned towards you immediately. Great. You hadn't done anything wrong, making  being summoned to the principal's office even more unsettling.

The familiar scent of coffee and paper greeted you as you stepped into Principal Drake's office. Sunlight filtered through the blinds behind her desk, casting thin golden stripes across stacks of folders and student files. A small clock ticked steadily on the wall, the only sound besides the rustling of papers as she looked up from her desk.

"There you are," Principal Drake said warmly, gesturing towards the chair opposite her. "Please, have a seat."

You slipped your bookbag off your shoulder and rested it carefully on your lap before sitting down, your eyebrows knitting together with quiet confusion. "You wanted to see me?"

She smiled politely, folding her hands together on top of the desk. "I did. As you're probably aware," She began, "Stan Rosado has decided to leave the football team."

You blinked. "Yeah... I've heard."

"I'm also sure you've heard that his grades aren't exactly where they need to be." That part wasn't exactly surprising. Stan wasn't stupid, at least not from what you'd seen, but academics had clearly never been his priority. Principal Drake continued,  "He wants to improve them. If he's serious about this decision, then he'll need help catching up." You nodded slowly, waiting for her to explain where this somehow involved you. She offered another small smile. "I'd like you to tutor him."

You stared at her for a moment, convinced you must have misheard. "...Me?"

"Yes."

You let out a short, incredulous laugh before shaking your head. "Not to be rude, Principal Drake," you began carefully, shifting your bag slightly on your lap, "but... why did you come to me?"

She tilted her head. "I'm sure Delilah would jump at the opportunity to tutor him," You continued. "They're practically attached at the hip."

Principal Drake's expression softened with a knowing sigh. She said your name gently, almost sympathetically. "Y/N... you're one of the best students this school has." 

You resisted the urge to sink lower into your chair. 

"You consistently earn straight A's," she went on. "You're never late for class, your teachers speak very highly of you, and you're patient." She exhaled, "As for Delilah..." she sighed again, choosing her words carefully. "We've had enough complaints regarding her behaviour recently that I'd rather not create the impression we're rewarding it. Whatever relationship she and Stan may have outside the classroom isn't something I'd like influencing this arrangement."

You couldn't exactly argue with that. You rubbed your forehead with a quiet sigh. "So... you want me to spend my afternoons trying to convince Herrington High's football golden boy that homework actually matters?"

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Principal Drake's mouth. "I believe you could phrase it a little more diplomatically than that."

You couldn't help smiling slightly yourself. The amusement quickly faded as reality settled back in; Tutoring Stan Rosado every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. It certainly wasn't how you'd imagined spending the rest of the semester. After a long moment, you exhaled through your nose.

"...Alright."

Principal Drake looked pleasantly surprised.

"But," You added, raising a finger, "if I'm doing this, could I at least get some extra credit? I'm already juggling enough as it is."

"That's a fair request." She reached for a folder on her desk, making a quick note with her pen before looking back up. "I'll speak with your teachers and see what arrangements can be made. I can't promise anything yet, but I'll do what I can."

"Thank you." You smiled.

"I appreciate you agreeing to help." She gathered the scattered papers into a neat pile before offering you one final smile. "You're free to head back to class now."

You stood, slinging your backpack over one shoulder. As you reached the office door, you paused for a second. "So..." you asked, glancing back over your shoulder. "Does Stan actually know he's being tutored?"

Principal Drake smiled in a way that answered the question before she even spoke. "He will."

Living up to your reputation as Miss Never Late, you arrived at the library a full thirty minutes before your scheduled tutoring session. It wasn't intentional you simply hated being late. Besides, arriving early gave you time to prepare, or, more accurately, time to convince yourself you hadn't made a terrible mistake agreeing to this in the first place.

The library was unusually quiet for a Wednesday afternoon. Dust drifted lazily through beams of sunlight pouring in from the tall windows, illuminating endless rows of bookshelves that seemed to stretch forever. Somewhere in the distance, a librarian carefully reshelved returned books, the soft clunk of hardbacks against wood echoing faintly through the otherwise peaceful room.

Only a handful of students occupied the scattered tables. Most had their heads buried in textbooks, while another had fallen asleep behind a stack of encyclopaedias.

You claimed one of the larger tables near the back.

From your bag, you carefully laid everything out: your pencil case, a fresh spiral notebook, highlighters arranged by colour and several textbooks you'd grabbed from the philosophy and history shelves after asking Principle Duke what subjects Stan was currently struggling with after lunch.

One of them fell open to a bookmarked chapter. Aristotle. You sighed, none of it exactly screamed easy introduction. Still, it was better than calculus.

You uncapped a pen and began skimming the chapter, jotting down a few notes and questions that might make the material easier to understand. If you could break Aristotle's ideas into something less complicated  and more everyday English, maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

Your handwriting slowed and came to a halt, you leaned back in your chair. What were you doing? Your stomach had been in knots ever since Principal Drake volunteered your services. It was ridiculous, it’s just tutoring. Yet your imagination had spent the better part of the day inventing every possible worst-case scenario. Maybe Stan only agreed because Principal Drake made him, maybe he'd spend the entire session bored out of his mind, maybe he'd laugh at how organised you were, maybe he'd be exactly like the rest of his friends.

Over the years, more than a few members of his so-called posse had found endless amusement in making you the punchline, nothing especially original. They'd laugh when your hand shot up too eagerly in class and mimic the way you always carried three textbooks against your chest when you failed to shove them into your already stuffed bag.

You'd never actually known whether Stan joined in. If anything, he'd always seemed elsewhere. Whenever you'd looked in his direction – which admittedly wasn't often – he'd either been talking to Coach Willis, making out with Delilah, or staring out of classroom windows as though he'd rather be literally anywhere else.

Come to think of it...you weren't even sure you'd ever spoken to him. You'd sat behind him in American History for almost an entire semester. The closest the two of you had come to a conversation was when he'd once turned around to borrow a pencil, only for Gabe Santora to toss him one before you had the chance.

Your thoughts scattered as footsteps approached.

"Y/N?" You jumped so violently your pen slipped from your fingers. "What?" You blurted, eyes snapping upwards.

Standing beside the table was Stan Rosado. For a second, your brain completely forgot how to function. You'd never really looked at him before. In class, he'd always been another broad pair of shoulders occupying the desk in front of yours.

He was taller than you'd realised, his worn letterman jacket hanging open over a faded grey T-shirt and a pair of well-worn jeans. Sandy brown hair curled messily beneath the fluorescent lights, looking as though he'd run his hand through it a dozen times already that day. A few loose strands had fallen over his forehead, refusing to stay put.

His features were softer than the arrogant football-star reputation suggested. Blue eyes studied you with quiet uncertainty rather than confidence, and there was something unexpectedly tired about them, as if he hadn't been sleeping particularly well lately. There was a faint scrape healing across one cheek, and another small bruise lingered near his jaw from Friday night's game.

"You are my tutor, right?" He asked, eyebrows pulling together slightly. His voice snapped you back to reality.

"Yes." You answered quickly, a little too quickly. You cleared your throat. "Sorry. I was... somewhere else." A nervous laugh escaped before you could stop it.

Stan gave an awkward half-smile. "It's okay."

He slid into the chair opposite you before shrugging off his backpack, letting it fall beside the table with a dull thud. His letterman jacket followed, revealing a fitted navy T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders built from years of football training. Strong forearms rested casually on the tabletop as he leaned back in his chair, absently rolling the sleeves up a little.

He noticed the growing collection of books between you, his face falling. "...That's a lot of books."

"It looks worse than it is." You reassured him, though even you weren't entirely convinced.

Stan eyed the thick philosophy textbook. "'Introduction to Aristotle,'" he read aloud, grimacing. "Yeah... that's not exactly helping."

"It was on your syllabus." You shrugged.

"I know." He rubbed the back of his neck with an embarrassed chuckle. "I just kinda hoped you'd tell me I didn't have to know any of it."

"I'm afraid that's not how tutoring works." You grabbed the pen that you had dropped earlier and put the cap on with a click.

"Damn." He joked, running a hand through his curly hair. Despite yourself, you smiled. Stan caught it and pointed accusingly. "You're laughing already."

"I'm not." Your cheeks flooded from the accusation.

"You are." Stan smiled. 

"I'm smiling." You looked away, rearranging some books and papers on the table to look preoccupied, trying to avoid his gaze. 

"Same thing." The corner of his own mouth twitched upwards. For the first time since he'd sat down, some of the tension eased.

You opened your notebook. "Alright," you said, turning it towards him. "Let's start with something simple."

He groaned dramatically, dropping his forehead onto the table with a muffled thunk. "I don't like the sound of that."

"It's Aristotle." You shuffled a textbook in front of you.

"I like it even less now." He sighed. 

You couldn't help laughing this time. "Stan."

He lifted one eye to look at you. "What?"

"Who was Aristotle?"  You questioned.

He stared at you for a long moment. "...Greek?"

"That's... actually a good start."

His head lifted slightly. "Wait, seriously?"

"Seriously."

A grin spread across his face, boyish and unexpectedly genuine. "Well," he said, folding his arms with mock confidence, "I'm basically passing already."

You shook your head, smiling as you wrote Aristotle - Greek philosopher across the top of the page.

The tutoring sessions quickly settled into a routine. At first, the conversations rarely drifted beyond whatever subject happened to be sitting between them. Aristotle had eventually given way to chemistry, American history and the occasional algebra worksheet, each session ending with Stan understanding just a little more than he had when he'd arrived.

To your surprise, he actually tried.

He wasn't naturally academic but once he stopped pretending not to care, he picked things up faster than you'd expected. He asked questions without worrying if they sounded stupid, scribbled messy notes that only he seemed capable of deciphering and celebrated every correct answer as though he'd won another football game.

More than once, the librarian had shushed him after he'd muttered a particularly enthusiastic, "Yes!" a little too loudly. Somewhere between balancing chemical equations and explaining the causes of the American Civil War, the awkwardness faded. Stan started arriving with two cans of soda instead of one. Sometimes he'd spend the first five minutes complaining about whichever assignment had been dumped on him that day. Other times he'd ask how your own classes were going, genuinely listening as you rambled about upcoming exams or teachers you'd sworn had made homework deliberately impossible.

Outside the library, things changed too. The first time it happened, you were halfway across the hallway when Stan caught your eye. He nodded, just a simple dip of his head before disappearing into the crowd. You spent the rest of the day wondering if you'd imagined it. The next Tuesday, he passed you outside English. "Hey." You'd been so caught off guard that your reply came out embarrassingly squeaky. By Thursday, he'd started smiling as well.

Your brain, however, appeared determined to make matters infinitely more complicated. It was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the fact that Tuesdays and Thursdays had somehow become the days you put actual effort into getting ready. You told yourself it was a coincidence that you simply had more time in the mornings. The fact that you suddenly cared whether your hair was behaving was entirely unrelated or that you'd started wearing a purple jumper instead of your usual oversized hoodie because Stan had once casually remarked that purple "looked nice on you" was completely insignificant.

Your heart, unfortunately, disagreed. Every time he smiled at you in the corridor, it kicked against your ribs with alarming enthusiasm. Whenever he leaned a little too close while looking over your notes, your stomach seemed to forget how to function altogether. Maybe you were getting ill, all the late nights studying had finally caught up with you. Possibly prolonged exposure to chemistry fumes had done irreversible damage. That had to be it, there was simply no other explanation.

Thursday arrived with crisp autumn air and skies the colour of slate. The trees lining the school grounds had begun shedding their leaves, scattering shades of amber and crimson across the pavement. Halloween decorations had started appearing in classroom windows, and someone had somehow convinced the librarian to place tiny plastic pumpkins around the front desk.

You arrived at the library ten minutes early, as always. This week's topic was chemistry, if there was one subject you could teach in your sleep, it was this one. You'd already filled half a page with neatly organised reaction diagrams by the time familiar footsteps echoed between the bookshelves.

"You're early again," Stan said, dropping his backpack beside the chair opposite yours.

"I always am." You smiled proudly. 

"I know." He smiled as he sat down. "I was just hoping, one day, I'd beat you here."

"You'd have to leave yesterday." You joked.

He laughed quietly. "Fair point."

The session passed quicker than either of you expected and by the end of the hour, he'd somehow managed to answer almost every practice question correctly.

"There," You said proudly, tapping the worksheet. "Ninety percent."

His eyebrows shot upwards. "No way."

"You only got one wrong." You smiled genuinely. 

He stared at the paper for a second before looking back at you. "I actually did that?"

"You actually did."

A grin spread across his face. "Guess I'm smarter than Coach thinks."

"I wasn't going to say it." You sarcastically said.

"You were thinking it." 

"I definitely wasn't." You shook your head, moving your pen into your pencil case.

"You were." He prodded.

"I really wasn't." You continued to joke. 

His laughter echoed softly through the otherwise silent library before he remembered where he was and quickly lowered his voice. "Sorry." The librarian looked over her glasses anyway.

Both of you immediately pretended to be fascinated by your notebooks until she returned to stamping books behind the desk. Only then did you begin packing away your things. You slipped your pens into your pencil case while Stan stuffed loose sheets into his backpack with considerably less organisation.

Stan cleared his throat, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes for what felt like the first time all afternoon. "So..." He hesitated. "I'm not really sure if it's your thing..." You waited. "...But Gabe's throwing a Halloween party tomorrow night." He finally looked at you. "I was wondering if... maybe you'd want to come?"

For a second, your brain simply stopped working. Stan Rosado…was inviting you…to a party.Your heart gave a spectacular leap. "Oh," you managed, trying very hard not to sound as excited as you suddenly felt. "Yeah." A smile spread before you could stop it. "Yeah, I'd love to."

The fact that you had less than twenty-four hours to come up with a costume was enough to make you consider pretending to be sick.

You stood in the middle of your bedroom with your hands planted on your hips, surrounded by piles of clothes that had somehow migrated from your wardrobe to every available surface. T-shirts hung from the edge of your bed, old Halloween accessories littered the floor, and a cardboard box labelled MISC. sat open in the corner after you'd spent the better part of an hour rummaging through it with little success.

With an exasperated sigh, you shoved another jumper back onto the shelf before your gaze caught on something wedged between two folded hoodies. A faded Superman T-shirt. You pulled it free, holding it up by the shoulders. The bright emblem had cracked with age after years of being washed, but it was still recognisable. Clark Kent.

"...That'll do."

Within half an hour, you'd pieced everything together. A crisp white button-up borrowed from the back of your wardrobe. A plain black skirt. The Superman shirt hidden beneath the neatly buttoned blouse, ready for the dramatic reveal nobody would probably ask for. Your old prescription glasses (thankfully the lenses were still clear enough to wear) and, after a reluctant conversation with your father, one of his navy ties.

He'd only agreed after delivering a ten-minute lecture about "mixed parties," teenage boys, curfews and responsibility. By the time he'd finished, you'd almost forgotten why you'd gone to him in the first place. 

You caught your reflection in the mirror one last time. It wasn't bad, actually, it was kind of cute. Your smile only lasted a second. What if everyone else wears something amazing? What if nobody dresses up? What if I'm the only idiot in costume? What if they expect me to drink? What if – 

The sharp ring of the doorbell cut clean through the spiral of thoughts.

Your heart jumped. "Oh, God."

You hurried downstairs, nearly missing the final step in your haste. Your shoes waited beside the front door where you'd left them earlier. You jammed your feet into them, smoothed your hair with trembling fingers and inhaled slowly.

You opened the door. Stan Rosado stood on your porch wearing a 05 sports jersey, a chain hanging round his neck and his hair peeking through from under a red baseball cap.

It took all of three seconds before you burst into laughter. 

He grinned immediately. "What?" He asked, spreading his arms. "You don't appreciate art?"

"You..." You pointed at him, still laughing. "You're Pretty Fly for a White Guy."

His eyebrows shot up. "I honestly didn't think you'd get it."

"I need music while I study," you replied.

"Right." He folded his arms with an amused smile. "Because that's what normal people do."

"It is normal." You raised your eyebrow.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Studying for fun definitely isn't."

You rolled your eyes dramatically. Stan laughed, the sound warm enough to loosen some of the knot that had been sitting in your stomach all afternoon. You glanced over your shoulder.

"I'm heading out!" You called into the house.

Your mother answered first, reminding you to have fun. Your father immediately followed with, "Be home by midnight."

"Dad..." You groaned.

"No later." He said sternly.

"I know." You responded, already edging towards the door.

Stan hid another smile as you closed the door behind you. "You ready?" He asked.

You nodded.

Waiting at the end of the driveway sat a faded red pickup truck. You weren't sure what you'd expected Stan to drive. The slightly battered pickup somehow suited him perfectly and appeared to have been around long before either of you had started high school.

He jogged around to the driver's side while you climbed into the passenger seat.

The interior smelled faintly of pine air freshener, old leather and something sweet you couldn't quite place.

As the engine rumbled to life, reality began creeping back in. This was actually happening. You were going to a party. Your first real party. You fiddled absent-mindedly with the sleeve of your shirt.

"So..." Stan broke the comfortable silence as he pulled away from the kerb. "Big Superman fan?"

You smiled. "My parents used to put the films on all the time when I was little."

"Seriously?" He let out a small chuckle. 

"Every Christmas." You nodded.

The conversation drifted comfortably after that, music playing quietly through the speakers, headlights sweeping across sleepy suburban streets while autumn leaves skittered over the road whenever another car passed.

The closer you got, the harder your pulse hammered. By the time Stan turned onto a brightly lit residential street, your palms had grown clammy. The house was impossible to miss, cars lined both sides of the road, music pulsed through the walls loudly enough that you could feel the bass from inside the truck. People spilled across the front lawn, laughing in clusters, costumes ranging from elaborate to hastily assembled.

Your stomach twisted. Stan shifted into park before looking across at you. "You okay?"

You realised you'd been staring. "Oh." You forced a smile. "Yeah." He didn't look entirely convinced.

"It'll be fun," You added, more for yourself than for him. You reached for your seatbelt. Please let it be fun.

The music hit you before you even reached the front porch. It seemed to pulse through the air itself, the bass vibrating beneath your shoes as if the entire house had developed a heartbeat. Coloured lights flashed behind the curtains, silhouettes moving in front of them in uneven bursts. Every few seconds the front door swung open, spilling laughter and warm air into the chilly October evening before slamming shut again.

You lingered at the bottom of the steps. Stan noticed you'd stopped walking. "You coming?"

You looked up. He was already halfway up the porch steps, one hand tucked into the pocket of his jeans as though arriving at parties like this was as ordinary as going to the supermarket.

You forced your feet forward. "Yeah." The wooden steps creaked beneath your weight, your stomach tightened with every one.

Inside, the house was chaos. Music blared from speakers balanced precariously on top of a cabinet in the hallway, loud enough that you could barely hear your own thoughts. The smell of cheap beer mixed with perfume, aftershave and the unmistakable scent of pizza that had long since gone cold. Every room you caught a glimpse of seemed impossibly full; people sitting on kitchen counters, dancing in the living room, leaning over the banister to shout at friends downstairs.

Someone brushed past your shoulder without apologising. Another person nearly walked straight into you before muttering a distracted "Sorry." You instinctively stepped closer to Stan.

He glanced sideways at you. "You alright?"

"There's so many people." Your eyes widened.

He laughed softly. "You'll get used to it."

"I sincerely doubt that." You shook your head.

He smiled to himself before gently steering you towards the kitchen. The room was marginally quieter. A collection of drinks covered the kitchen island, surrounded by teenagers helping themselves without asking. 

"I'll grab us something," Stan shouted over the music.

"Oh, you don't have– "

A moment later he returned holding two red plastic cups.

"I have absolutely no idea what's in these."

You accepted yours carefully. "...That's not reassuring."

"It's probably fine." Stan tried to reassure you.

"That's exactly what people say before something isn't fine."

Stan laughed, shaking his head. "You worry too much."

The conversation drifted easily from teachers to Halloween costumes to your extensive knowledge of Christoper Reeves’ Superman films, you almost forgot where you were. Suddenly, someone shouted Stan's name.

"Rosado!"

He turned instinctively. Across the room, three boys waved him over.

"Man!" One of them yelled. "Get over here!"

Stan looked between them and you. "I'll be, like, two minutes."

You smiled. "Go."

"You sure?" His eyebrows furrowed, not totally convinced you would be okay by yourself.

"I'm not going anywhere." You held your hands up in a shrug.

He hesitated, then nodded. "I'll find you."

"You don't have to babysit me, I’ll be fine." You say, gripping your drink tightly. 

"I'm not." Stan said, a little offended.

"You kind of are." You respond.

He rolled his eyes with a grin. "I'll still find you." He disappeared into the crowd.

He didn't come back in two minutes and at first, you didn't mind. You wandered through the downstairs rooms, careful not to get in anyone's way. Costumes blurred together beneath flashing lights; witches, ghosts, movie characters, superheroes. Somewhere upstairs someone had started singing along to the music despite being spectacularly off-key.

You recognised a handful of faces from school. None recognised you, or if they did, they didn't acknowledge it. You ended up beside a bookshelf in the living room, clutching your drink. You looked down into the cup, the ice cubes had already begun melting and you still hadn't actually tasted it.

You'd imagined your first drink would happen eventually. Maybe at university and with close friends, not here surrounded by strangers making out against walls and shouting over music.

You lifted the cup to your lips, the smell alone made you hesitate. You pretended to take a sip instead, nobody seemed to notice. Relief washed over you. Every few minutes, when everyone nearby was distracted, you tipped a little more into the decorative fake plant beside the bookshelf. The poor thing was going to be absolutely hammered by the end of the night.

"...I swear, man." The familiar voice made your ears prick up. Stan. You hadn't even realised you'd wandered into the hallway beside the dining room. The wall separated you from whoever was talking.

"I don't know why everyone's making such a big deal out of it." Another voice answered. Gabe, if you remembered correctly. "You show up with some girl nobody's ever seen you hang around before?" Gabe scoffed. "After breaking up with Delilah? Yeah, people are gonna ask questions."

"God," Stan muttered. "Can you just drop it?"

"I'm asking because I'm curious." Gabe responded.

"You always ask because you're nosy." He retorted.

A couple of people squeezed past you in the hallway, too caught up in their own conversation to notice you standing rigid against the wall.

Gabe laughed. "So what's her deal?"

"I don't know." Stan sounded tired. "I've never really seen her hanging around anyone."

"So?" He prodded.

"I just..." He exhaled heavily. "I felt bad for her."

The words landed like a punch to your gut. Your fingers tightened around the cup, heat rushed to your face. What had you been thinking? That someone like Stan Rosado had actually wanted to spend time with you? You thought about every conversation you'd replayed in your head over the past few weeks. How embarrassing. How painfully, humiliatingly embarrassing.

Behind the wall, Gabe snorted. "So she's a charity case?"

"Shut up," Stan snapped immediately.

"No, seriously–" 

"I said shut up." He cut Gabe off.

You didn't stay long enough to hear the rest. The cup slipped from your fingers onto a nearby shelf. Without another thought, you pushed your way into the sea of bodies. Your vision had blurred, whether from the flashing lights or the tears gathering in your eyes, you couldn't tell.

All you knew was that every laugh sounded like it was about you, every glance felt like pity.

The front door couldn't come quickly enough. Cold autumn air hit your face like a slap as you stumbled outside. You breathed deeply but it didn't help. Behind you, the party continued as though nothing had happened. As though your entire evening (and perhaps your entire perception of the past few weeks) hadn't just quietly fallen apart behind a dining room wall.

You wrapped your arms around yourself and started walking, the music fading with every step into the cool darkness of the suburban street. The first drop of rain landed on the back of your hand and within moments, the sky opened, rain coming without warning.

Within moments your shirt clung to your skin, the white fabric becoming heavy against your shoulders. Water dripped from the ends of your hair, your glasses speckling with droplets until the world blurred into soft halos of yellow streetlights and dark shadows.

A hollow laugh escaped your lips. You didn't bother trying to run, there wasn't much point now.

The neighbourhood stretched quietly around you, almost eerily peaceful compared to the chaos you'd just escaped. The music from the house was already beginning to fade behind you, swallowed by the steady hiss of rain against tarmac and rooftops. Leaves skittered across the pavement in little bursts whenever the wind picked up.

Your shoes squelched with every step. You hugged your arms tighter around yourself, trying to ignore the lump lodged painfully in your throat. You should've known. That thought repeated itself over and over until it became almost rhythmic. You should've known.

Behind you a voice yelled;  "Hey!" The voice barely registered so you kept walking. "Hey!” It was closer now.

Your shoulders stiffened. No, please don't. Your name rang through the empty street. You stopped and closed your eyes for a second, drawing one shaky breath before slowly turning around.

Stan was sprinting down the pavement. His ridiculous shirt was soaked through, plastered against him by the rain. His trainers splashed through puddles without any concern, cap forgotten at the party, his curls flattened messily against his forehead.

When he finally caught up, he bent over slightly, breathing hard.

"You..." He panted, trying to catch his breath, "...walk really fast."

You stared at him, rainwater dripped from the end of your nose. "You didn't have to follow me."

"I know." He nodded from his bent over position.

"Then why did you?" You shook your head.

He straightened, his breathing was still uneven. "Because you left."

You laughed bitterly. "Congratulations on your observational skills."

The rain continued relentlessly around you, bouncing off parked cars and pooling in the cracks of the pavement. Neither of you moved.

"You heard us." He spoke, it wasn't really much of a question

You looked away. "I heard enough."

Stan shut his eyes. "...Shit." He scrubbed a hand over his face, though it achieved very little considering he was already drenched. "I didn't mean–"

"No." You cut him off quietly. "I know exactly what you meant."

"I don't think you do."

"You invited me because you felt sorry for me." He opened his mouth but you didn't let him speak. "You looked at me and thought, 'She doesn't have any friends. She probably sits at home every weekend. I should be nice.'"  The words spilled out faster now. "Congratulations." You gave a humourless laugh. "It worked." You choked out a sob. "I actually fucking believed you actually wanted me here."

"I did." He said earnestly.

"No." You shook your head. "I heard you."

"You heard one sentence." He argued. 

"I heard enough." You uttered. 

"You didn't hear all of it." He tried to climb out of the hole he had dug himself, but you are relentless. 

"What difference would it make?" You raised your voice. 

"It makes a huge–" Stan was quickly cut off. 

"No!" The word echoed louder than you'd intended, you swallowed hard. "I spent weeks wondering why someone like you kept talking to me." Your voice had dropped almost to a whisper. "I thought... maybe..." You couldn't finish the sentence, it felt too pathetic to say aloud.

Stan's face softened, something flickered behind his eyes. He took one careful step closer. "You thought maybe what?"

You laughed weakly. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me." He spoke. 

"No, it doesn't." You ran your hand through your hair. 

"It does." He said. 

"No, Stan." Your voice cracked. "It really doesn't."

Neither of you seemed willing to move. The rain soaked through every layer of clothing until you were both shivering almost imperceptibly.

Finally Stan spoke. "Gabe's an idiot."

You blinked. "...What?"

"He's been asking me about you for weeks."

You frowned. "What?"

"He wouldn't shut up." Stan rubbed the back of his neck, clearly frustrated. "He kept asking why we were spending so much time together." You stared at him. "I didn't know what to tell him."

"So you told him you pitied me." You angrily spoke.

"I told him the first thing that came into my head." 

"You literally said–" This time is was Stan who cut you off. 

"I panicked." He ran both hands through his wet hair, immediately realising how pointless the gesture was. "I knew if I told Gabe the truth he'd never leave me alone."

You folded your arms. "The truth?"

He let out a long breath. "You are unbelievably smart."

"I fail to see–" You were cut off.

"And somehow..." A disbelieving smile tugged at the corner of his mouth despite everything. "...You're completely fucking oblivious."

You frowned harder. "What are you talking about?"

Stan looked at you for a long moment as though debating whether to say something. Then he laughed once under his breath.

"I like talking to you."

You blinked. "I know."

"No." He shook his head. "I don't think you do." Another step closer, close enough now that you could see the tiny droplets clinging to his eyelashes. "I wait outside your classes because I want to." Your heartbeat quickened. "I ask if you want lifts home because I want an excuse to spend another ten minutes with you."

Your mouth had gone completely dry.

"I invited you tonight because..." He hesitated. "...I wanted you to come with me."

Your heart hammered painfully against your ribs.

"I asked you because I was hoping you'd say yes."

The words hung between you. You searched his face and for the first time since you'd met him, there wasn't a trace of confidence there. "I've liked you for a while," He admitted, his voice barely louder than the rain. "Long enough that everyone else seems to have fucking noticed except you."

Your lips parted, nothing came out, every thought you'd had on the walk here seemed to unravel all at once, replaced by complete and utter disbelief.

"I..."

Stan gave a tiny, self-conscious laugh. "See? That's usually the part where someone says something."

You looked at him for another heartbeat, words failed you completely. So instead you reached forward, caught the front of his soaked shirt in your hands and kissed him.

☆★𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐒𝐊𝐈★✩:

• PLEASE don't let your first kiss be in public 🙏

• he will MOVE away and look at YOU like YOU'RE insane, especially if the guys are around

• i think he's make the first move, mostly because you wouldn't know what time would be the best

• your first kiss would probably be during a study date or cooking date, a intimate, private moment

lil' drabble(⁎˃ᴗ˂⁎):

you were sitting on your boyfriend's bed, surrounded by notes and homework, a typical study date for you two.

You swear, all this paper work was so tiring! You let yourself fall back onto the bed, landing with a soft 'oof'. You groaned, "Kyleee..." You dragged out his name, earning a hum and a raised eyebrow from the redhead. You huffed, "can't we take a break? It's been a few hours now! It's been so loooonngg!"

Kyle rolled his eyes. it hasn't even been that long, he knew it. You were just... dramatic. he put his work aside and sighed. he moved so he was hovering over you. you blinked, "wha-" he leaned down before you finished, catching your lips in a soft kiss. you realize it was your first kiss, and he held the kiss for a few seconds before pulling away, with a small, smug smirk, "C'mon, babe... It hasn't been that long, you're just dramatic, and lazy. You can handle a little longer studying, okay?" you didn't put up much fight after that.

☆★𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐌𝐂𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊★☆:

• he'd definitely make the first move, absolutely

• your first kiss would be when he's walking you home, at your doorstep, a goodnight kiss

• he'd been waiting for the right moment, and the idea of a kiss after a date was amazing

• yes, he would absolutely walk you home, no doubt about it, don't even THINK about going alone >:(

lil' drabble(⁎˃ᴗ˂⁎):

you and Kenny were walking to your house after a very nice date he had planned. you both talked on the way, about school, the date and the next ones, or whatever else you could think of.

you both reached your doorstep and you sighed, walking up to the door. before you opened the door, Kenny had walked behind you and grabbed your hand. He turned you to face you and leaned in, kissing you. Your eyes widened before fluttering close.

Kenny waited for a while, letting the kiss last a while. but, he eventually pulled away, a lazy smile on his face. "goodnight, doll!" He walked away after, waving to you until you went inside. he now had a small grin on his face the entire time he walked home.

✩★𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐌𝐀N★✩:

• it'd be a little hard to get a decent reaction to a kiss with Cartman...

• you'd make the first move, and be prepared to get brushed off, even if he's happy inside

• i think he'd enjoy movie dates mostly! it gives him a reason to be close with you!

• Cartman doesn't really know how to express his love, so he usually results to jokes and jabs at you.

lil' drabble(⁎˃ᴗ˂⁎):

you were sitting in your boyfriend living room, eating snacks and watching a movie. This was a normal date for you.

you've been glancing at Cartman occasionally, thinking about your relationship. you haven't kissed yet! Cartman has never really tried anything, so you haven't either. he'd probably just make a shitty joke anyway.

you sighed to yourself. something must change! you turned to him, "Cartman?" He looked over at you. you leaned in and kissed him, quickly. he... didn't make a joke? he instead blushed and started grumbling to himself. you smiled to yourself, returning to the movie.