#will it be spicy? oh yes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

boxwinebaddie · 9 months

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Wsg queen, I have a slightly nsfw question (I’m ashamed this is why it’s anon) sooo, I need to know what the situation with the hickeys is, like a scenario where Sheila sees Kyle with one!! Or a AU where Stan and Kyle have to keep their relationship a secret

Anyways love u Nina!!!

wsg queen ( or whatever monarch your gender expression suits, i was just mirroring you ) i have a slightly nsfw answer, lmaoooo! just kidding, it is very tame and nothing i wouldn't write into pep, tbh. they like...lightly elude to things...but i am a woman of class, i swear!

side note: i think it's really funny that you guys are worried about your identities and sending in anons because...if i am honest...i have almost no idea who each of you are just based on your tumblr urls. like, i can kind of guess, but i'm still convinced i will be wrong haha!

anyways, i am a show not tell writer girlie, so *collective surprised gasp* i wrote something...which really is just dialogue and occasionally some written action because i got too lazy to finish it...again * second surprised collective gasp* SHOCKER!

i kind of fused both together for you. i swear to god it's not risque, tumblr leave me alone, bitch! they are just a little spicy and make out a little in the beginning and flirt a lot! but mostly they are just bickering like an old married because they are! young and not married but also old and married when they are dating!!!!

like if anything it got sad for a minute there...yeesh! lighten up, nina!

but here you go, i hope this answers your morally and sexually dubious ask message. please...again...laugh. help. *jazz hands*

( also no none of this is spelled right, who do u think i am?!

edit: please be nice to me, i forgot to mention i wrote half of this on my bathroom floor, alternating k.pedialyte, apple sauce and crackers fighting food poisoning...always make sure to check your burgers are cooked all the way through my darlings! if they are half baked like my brain...you will be sick! and not in the cool way, i fear! xoxo - nina )

Any exit through the passenger side door of Stan’s steel blue Toyota Prius had been rendered inoperable by a tall, lanky redhead that had been pushed up against the inside of it by the boy that owned the vehicle, but belonged endlessly to the other boy…whose cherry-flavored chapstick he was now wearing and spreading quite liberally and lasciviously across hungrily boy-bitten lips. It had been a ‘Good Luck’ kiss which, of course, had turned into several, resulting in a Good Luck M a k e o u t session, that was progressing as quickly as the faux blonde's hands and mouth were, up the slope of Kyle’s cheek, down the slant of his jaw, before landing with great care…

…wear and tear…on…

“Mmmmmmmm. I—St—Stan, my neck! My neck! MY N E C K!”

Once the heavenly mint-scented mist that was clouding his sound, future lawyer judgment and the dirty window behind his wild auburn hair, which Stan was whispering sweet-spicy nothings into, Kyle swerved hard, taking a rigid right into the front of the dash before all Hell broke loose, nearly breaking said neck in the process.

“Hmmmm…Your neck, your neck, your ne~”

Stan had worshiped against supple, spotted skin before being disengaged from his place of prayer with a loud POP! and sailing straight into the seatbelt, now smeared with spearmint.

As he got his bearings, the breathless boy had made a disappointed and surprised sound somewhere near the sharp shoulder blade of his super best boyfriend -- who was currently being super lame -- and sassed with exasperation, crossing his arms over his chest -- across which were the dark green and white emboldened letters of Kyle’s last name and jersey number.

And while Kyle constantly reprimanded Stan for stealing his clothes…Stan constantly countered that he would return his best friend’s clothes if his boyfriend returned his stolen heart to him…

…No such luck.

“Excuse me! I wasn’t done!”

Stan had tried to argue ( complained, really ), attempting to resume his passionate, very handsome, very angry, personal art project, which earned him a swift, punitive pinch from the other boy’s hand which Kyle had flattened over the empty place where Stan’s alleged ‘stolen heart’ used to be as he banished him back to the driver’s seat ( and Super Best Boyfriend Jail ) for his indecency and insolence with steam practically billowing out of his ears and his jaw twitching aggressively.

Kyle Broflovski spoke slowly and sternly, if only to keep his breathing even enough to speak.

“...If you just did what I THINK you just did: you are v e r y done.

Done for.”

Then, reaching up towards the rearview mirror, Kyle tilted it towards him with a flinch, screwing his eyes harshly shut in silent, stalking fear, before mustering up the courage and constitution to look at his reflection with his eyes…which fell wide open with his jaw at the sore sight. Literally.

“Ohhhhh my FUCKING—“

Suddenly flooded with dread and horror, Kyle suctioned a hand over his mouth to trap the rest of that scream…and several obscenities as he turned his head towards Stan with a pained, robotic stiffness and a voice so frighteningly hospital sterile that was ten times scarier than him yelling.

“S t a n.”

The 'Stan' in mention…and trouble…( **again )…gulped loudly before smiling nervously over at his boyfriend, who looked particularly murderous ( and ravishing, unfortunately ) at that heated moment, before resting his chin on his hands…which he formed into a heart shape. Oops.

“...Yes, baby?”

Stan’s parked car SHOOK with the intensity of Kyle Broflovski’s crescendoing anger and disbelief.

“YOU GAVE ME A FUCKING HICKEY!?”

Stan played with the rings on his left hand. And dumb.

“Oh, myyyyy bad! Did you want another one? I know symmetry is good for your OCD.”

Flirting, however, did not work the way it usually did in this situation and actually ended up hurting him as Kyle slammed the lever of Stan’s leaned back driver’s seat forward and watched as it WHACKED! him right in the back of his head.

Served him right.

“OW! KYLE!” Stan whined morosely, cradling the back of his head like he hadn’t nearly cracked it several times in the mosh pit carelessly last weekend.

“STANLEY MARSH.” Kyle pronounced with spine-chilling severity, as for one minute of mercy, Kyle tore his glare off of Stan, who he would certainly tear to shreds soon, as he examined his once pale neck where a large purple bruise now swirled like a giant kiss-swollen black hole.

“Whaaaaat?!” He protested with a pronounced, pepperminty pout, acting angelic and gesturing to Kyle demonstratively as he relayed the crass, cheeky claim of: “I had to sign my masterpiece!”

Then, fashioning his hands into a sectioned square, like he was talking a polaroid picture, Stan framed his 'signature' with a smirk.

“Pretty good, right? Think I should apply to some art schools?”

Kyle…did not return his jest.

Kyle was livid at best as he wiped his sweaty, shaking hands on his freshly-dry cleaned slacks and toyed with the collar of his dress shirt, as the universe and Stanley Marsh toyed with his emotions…and the fate of his academic future with no remorse.

“YOU — I don’t — I don’t even have TIME to strangle you right now! My HARVARD INTERVIEW is in TEN minutes!”

He scathed behind his bared teeth, with his eyes darting between him and the building that bore his fate. Which…someone…had sealed with a kiss.

“Was that today? Ohhhhh nooooo~…” Stan scratched the top of his head and seemed very busy suddenly studying one of millions of rips in his ripped jeans, whistling innocently.

Kyle turned the key into the ignition just to lay on the horn for thirty whole seconds. Stan winced.

“Don’t even TRY IT, bitch! You literally drove me here!”

Kyle took the key out of the ignition, but still made sure to look his boyfriend dead in the eye as he said, with an anger that was sizzling off his skin,

“…But you know what you’re driving me right now?”

Stan fluttered his eyelashes frivolously and flirtatiously.

“…Absolutely wild with desire?”

“CRAZY! IN-FUCKING-SANE!”

“But in a, like, ‘You can’t stop thinking about me and want to kiss me so bad’ way, right?...Riiiight?”

Then, mirroring the prior comedic timing of Kyle yanking the lever to Stan’s seat forward, just as he leaned back, Kyle pulled it, instead, backwards and Stan crashed backwards. Again. He snorted.

“OW! FUCK. OFF! QUIT IT, DUDE!”

“I will when you quit S t a n - b o t a g i n g my COLLEGE INTERVIEWS!”

“I did NOT!” “If I was going to Stanbotage your college interview…I would have given you waaaaay more.” “Which there is still time for, by the way! I can get a lot done in ten minut—“

Stan tried to lean over the center console to finish what he had started, but Kyle deflected him with his long arms and a sheet…well, a brick really…of printed papers that had 170 possible interview questions and possible answers on it…that Kyle had researched religiously.

“Ah, ah, AH! Nice try! Stay back, you succubus!” He raised his nerdy script like it was a lit torch. “You have done more than e n o u g h.”

Then…Kyle hit the panic button, hypothesizing hyper-pathetically, vibrating with stress and anxiety.

“OhmygodOhmygodOhmyGOD! What am I going to tell them?! Sorry, Harvard! I was just minding my own business when I was tonsil-tackled by our hormonal high school football captain! Or—or that I was viciously ATTACKED by a really hot, fake blonde part-time record store employee, who also happens to be my full-time secret boyfriend who also decided to BRAND ME LIKE CATTLE BEFORE MY EXTREMELY IMPORTANT COLLEGE INTERVIE—“

Stan chimed in for…what would possibly be his last time. Ever. On Earth. He held up a pretty boy peace sign, hoping it would deter the violence that his words were about to incur upon him.

“…Sorry, ADHD. I only caught the part in the middle about you thinking I’m really hot.” “But will you say it again, anyways?”

Kyle h i s s e d and Stan blew a kiss in his direction. It was their regular call and response.

“You could always…put me down as a reference…for an extracurricular activity.” He offered generously.

Kyle narrowed his eyes at his super best friend turned super worst boyfriend suspiciously.

“You…an extracurricular activity?”

“Yeah, y-you know!”

Stan snapped his fingers with false confidence, rattling off as many large, impressive vocabulary words as he could remember…with…strange but surprising accuracy.

“O-One that requires…dedicated…t-team building, s-sometiiiimes…arduous…pun…punctilious! Uh! T-Time management…The…the bolstering of efficacious intrapersonal…relationships…vigorous cardiovascular exercise and…uh...Flexibility?”

Kyle studied Stan, dream boy, nightmare boy, in stunned silence for a while…somewhere between deep adoration and admonition.

“Okay…Very…good word choice, but very poorly timed execution.”

“That is noooooot what you said last ni—“

“If you value your l i f e, you will NOT finish that sentence.”

Stan smiled, winding right up.

Oh, he had been ready for this one.

“Good thing I don’t!”

Stan shot Kyle a shameless finger gun and wink combo which Kyle re-directed towards his own head, taking off the safety and emptying the imaginary bullets rapidly into his OWN skull, which he looked like he wanted to smash open with the car door.

“You know what? Forget Harvard. What am I going to tell my MOM!?”

“Tell her your ‘really hot’ boyfriend did it.”

Kyle’s eye twitched and his nostril flared as he glared unblinkingly.

“Okaaaaaaaaay, ouch. Tell her your really ugly, hideous boyfriend who you hate did it!”

“Can you please be SERIOUS about this!?”

“Oh, you want me to be serious? Okay: you got it! I think it’s seriously fucking ANNONYING that you are grilling me for ONE hickey when you’ve given me…You like MATH, Kyle! Let’s c o u n t."

Stan's voice took on the excruciating elementary snail pace and nauseating faux-sweetness that would probably be used by Steve on Blues Clues.

"One, twooooo, three…”

“Oh my GOOOOD, St—“

“Four, five —ooh, big fan of five — six…”

“Look, I—“

“Yeah, Let’s L O O K! Let’s take a good, long look because that’s seven, eight….wow, NI…You know we're getting pretty close to Double Digits, are you sure you want me to keep going?”

“Stan…it’s different.”

“Different how? Because you’re smart and I’m not?”

There was a beat of silence just long enough for Stan to beat himself up.

“It’s okay. You can say it. Everyone else already does.”

Kyle’s instinctive overprotectiveness of his SBF gave way to his blind anger.

“NO, it’s NOT! And I told you not to talk about yourself like that! You are Very Smart…B-Bro.”

Stan winced and Kyle felt the full brunt of that ‘Bro’ hit him in the chest. The…B word. The nice, affectionate one was…very easy for Stan to say and rolled off his tongue effortlessly, but felt impossible for Kyle to say, causing him to freeze up and switch every time at the last second.

Ironically, Kyle Broflovski could say words with seventeen syllables in five different languages, but try as he might, he could not gather the courage or vulnerability to call his boyfriend ‘B a b y.’

“ — And also a massive fucking pain in my ass!” He continued, deflecting. “No, it’s different because you can just say they're from Wendy and I…”

Stan exploded, but it was almost all self destructive. His voice was raw and tender like a wound. It made Kyle physically ache to hear it.

“I don’t WANT to say they’re from Wendy! I want to say they’re from Y O U !”

Silence spanned between them and it was worse than p o i s o n.

“The hiding, the sneaking around, the lying…I HATE this shit, Kyle! I fucking hate this!”

“And you think I DON’T?!” He snapped, feeling all his sanity and resolve crumble to ash with it.

“Like I haven’t waited my entire l i f e to date you! Like this isn’t the best thing that has ever happened to me — that you aren’t the best thing that ever happened to me — and I can’t tell anyone? I just have to keep being in love with you a secret like I’ve had to for my ENTIRE LIFE!? You think I want that!?”

The idea was so fucking twisted it made Kyle sick. He had to endure the horrible suffering that was being quietly in love with your best friend since Kindergarten and even though his best friend had finally returned his furtive feelings...he still couldn't be loud about it. But Kyle told himself that holding his tongue was worth holding Stanley Marsh. That holding him in his arms for hours in private was okay even if he couldn't even hold his hand in public for more than a couple seconds.

“It’s just — it’s too complicated right now! Do you know how much harder it’s going to be for you to get football scholarships if…If you and I…If we…People will TALK. Most of my FAMILY will talk! And they have big, stupid, CONSERVATIVE mouths that they will run on Facebook and…”

Stan was not a fighter, but if he was going to fight for something it would be L o v e.

Or, in this case, the love of his life…who was trying to put them six feet in the ground not even six months out the gate.

“...And you don’t think pissing off some of your family members and me losing a couple of dumb football scholarships is worth this?…US?!”

“You KNOW that’s not what I meant! And…AND!”

He huffed, out of breath and out his m i n d as he watched his boyfriend, soon to be ex-boyfriend ( not because they were going to break up but because he was going to be broken up into tiny, indiscernible smithereens by Kyle’s wrath ) rifle through his glove box to procure a small black bag resembling a pencil case, ignoring him.

Oh, he was really going to get it this time.

“And you know WHAT, Stan? This is just LIKE you! You would rile me up and pick a fight with me on The Most Important Day of My Life just to SPITE me and get back at me for something I can’t even fucking CONTROL! You are so CHILDISH! And IRRESPONSIB — And…And on…on top of me, v-very close to my…my face. W-What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry about what I’m doing.” He breezed without a note of explanation as he adjusted his position, which at present was practically straddling his best friend-boyfriend, as he stationed his steady hands over his slender, shaking shoulders to try and lock him into place.

“Just stay still.”

Kyle was incredulous…and also extremely flustered.

At that moment it was very hard for his brain to discern whether he wanted to kiss Stanley Marsh or kill him. But his body was leaning towards that first one. He scoffed, now scarlet.

“No I — I think I will be Very Worried about what you’re doing! Stan, why…why are you…in my LAP!?”

“So I can get the best angle, obviously.”

He rattled off carelessly as he carefully inspected Kyle’s face and neck with the utmost collection and calm.

Which was…hilarious because Kyle was so nervous he thought he might be having a stroke.

“The best angle for WHAT? More s l u t t y, scandalous lip laceration of the skin above my larynx?...Stan, I only have FIVE minutes to salvage what I have left of the raging dumpster fire that is about to be my interview, you cannot SERIOUSLY BE—“

“K.P?”

Stan cooed, stilling Kyle’s body and breathing with his hand as it cupped the side of his face preciously. Reaching up, Stan languidly tucked a ginger curl behind Kyle’s freckled ear and rouge trailed down every blessed spot that Stan’s fingertips had kissed.

“You know I l o v e when you verbally eviscerate me…”

He quipped, using a new vocabulary word, but with a familiar friendly-fire taunt, half teasing, half tender.

“But will you please shut the f u c k up and let me do my thing?”

To which Kyle, did, in fact, shut the fuck up, but mostly because he couldn’t breathe as Stan did his thing…

Which Kyle had learned that day was m a k e u p. Trying to remain staunch in his irritation and not sway or swoon at the gentle, loving ministrations of Stan’s fingers against his skin, or how terribly cute he looked when he was biting his cheek in concentration, humming beautifully under his breath as he worked.

Then, with a snap! of a makeup pallet shut and a zip of his bag closed, Stan had announced…

“There. All done.”

Kyle studied his neck…that now hadn’t had even the whisper of a mark on it, completely shocked as he gawked at his boyfriend, secret best makeup artist and hickey obscurer.

“...Wow. You are freakishly good at that. Like…you can’t even t e l l. Maybe you SHOULD apply to some art schools…”

Stan took a deep breath...solemn and serious and...sorry. He looked up at Kyle sheepishly, stumbling through his apology.

“Ky…” “I’m sorry for…’Stanbotaging’ your college interview.”

“And I’m sorry for yelling at you like that. You can be right…just this once.” “..But let’s not do this right now, okay? Maybe…after my interview, over lunch? When you’re not *nervous kyle throat clearing noise*…over me? Because…I’m not sure if you’re aware but…”

He allowed himself a rare moment of humility and humanity he saved solely for Stan who, Kyle looked up and down indulgently and deliberately.

“You can be a little d i s t r a c t i n g.”

“Been told once or twice. By a credible, red-head-able source.” He winked playfully before hopping off with a frisky lick of mint chip lips.

Stan seemed pretty pleased with that one.

But it was the calm before the storm because, in a flash, Kyle looked like he was going to pull out his hair, literally as he spiraled and backpedaled, head in his hands, fingers knotted into follicles.

“Fuck…I am second guessing this whole thing. I — Stan? What if they don’t LIKE me? What if I’m too awkward…and curly…and mean and…Orange!?”

Stan laughed ( it was a beautiful laugh and smiled it was a beautiful smile, yeah, yeah, yeah, shut up Nina, we know slkhdad )

“It’s true…you are awkward, curly, mean and so, so ‘Orange’.”

He reassured, straightening out Kyle’s tie and massaging his shoulders soothingly.

His voice bore this same low, healing light and gentle, loving lull.

“But you’re also…super funny, ambitious, put-together, independent, awesome and…P e r f e c t. You’re frustratingly perfect at everything you do…Be it…acing college interviews or picking secret super best boyfriends.”

Stan nudged him suggestively with his elbow and wiggled his eyebrow at him -- recently pierced by Kenny, lovely, but a little crooked -- which, bless him, made Kyle laugh and relax a little.

“Harvard…They’d be lucky to have you….South Park is lucky to have you…I’m…lucky to have you.” “I’m usually pretty good at sharing but…Not You.” “You’ve just always been My Kyle Pile, you know? I guess…it just pissed me off that you were going to be Harvard’s Matthew comma, Broflovski, c o m m a Kyle.”

The warmth of Stan’s precious nickname for his super best boyfriend and the cold, stiffness of Kyle’s name as it appeared on his government documents was extremely stark and drastic.

Patting his shoulders once, Stan grasped Kyle’s hand with a soft sigh, squeezing slightly.

“But it was stupid and crazy of me to try and fuck with your college interview…because I could give you one hickey or one million from the top of your head down to your toes…and it wouldn’t matter. They’d still love you.”

He dropped Kyle’s hands …and his expression at the idea, voice quiet, shivering stupidly. “They’d…”

“Hey…H e y.”

Before Kyle lost Stan to his dark, depressing thoughts, he caught his SBF's face gently in his hands, rubbing circles into his cheeks with his index fingers fondly. “I love you, okay? So much.” Kyle pressed a kiss to his forehead, as easy as breathing.

That was not the difficult part. “I love you, B—”

This was.

He took a deep breath and focused hard like the small utterance of these four little letters was more nerve wracking to Kyle than his entire twenty page dossier of interview preparations.

“...B a b y.”

Kyle whipped his head away with his heart pounding, knowing that his face ‘looked like his hair’ when he got furious or flustered, as Stan had one time drunkenly, pointed out, but before he could undo the child lock and roll out the car window, the two excited hands of said Stan were excitedly thwarting and tickling Kyle’s shoulders as he peppered his flushed face with a tiny armada of happy kisses.

“AAAAAAAAAAH! YOU SAID IT!!!!!!” “That was so cuuuuuuute!~ MwahmwahmwamhmWAAAAAA”

Kyle squirmed in embarrassment like a feral cat caught in a rainstorm, completely crimson.

“Once, o n e time! ONE! I — Off, off, O F F ! Quit Stan-handling me!”

He protested poorly, attempting to cling to the mere vestiges of his aloof, unfeeling evil boy persona which was dissolving with every slight skate of Stan's sweet lips against his now salty, stress-induced, sweat-dampened skin.

But then...Stan didn't really care for dessert.

“And you know…”

Kyle mused, beneath his breath, whose sweetened undercurrent Stan's was now caught in...along with his attention. Which was nothing short of a miracle.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t give me a hickey…” He started with a purr.

“Just not up here.” Kyle ran Stan's fingertip over his neck lightly.

“Not…up…t-then…Wh--Where should I?” He looked…genuinely puzzled and eager to please.

Kyle attempted to elaborate.

“You know…Lower.”

Stan squinted. Bless him, again. And in several awkward motions, tried to fix the angle of his face.

“Low…Er? L-Lower like...an-angling my head further down like thi--this? L-Like…”

“Nooo. Like…” Kyle leaned in and every sugared, honeyed word tasted like delicious cherry candy to Stan.

“You can give me as many hickies as you want…just go…”

As Kyle’s lips ghosted over Stan’s temple, his hot breath chilling the myriad of metallic piercings in his ear, which was an echo chamber for Kyle’s beautiful voice, he took Stan’s rough hand and ran it softly down over the slender side of his own ribcage with a seductive slowness before finally settling his super best boyfriend's hand on his hip, which he held like it was his God Given Purpose in life.

“L o w e r.”

“OH.” Stan coughed so loudly and violently that he almost reached for Kyle’s inhaler. “O-Okie dokie!”

Thumbs up. Oh my god. Fucks sake. Could he be more desperate and pathetic?

Apparently he could as bargained ( badly ),

“Are…Are you sure you don’t want to re-reschedule your interview? I think that extra-curricular activity might need some rekiss, I-I mean, revis—“

Kyle laughed, shaking his head. But...if you looked closely enough, and Stan often did, you could see the oft scowling, misanthropic, miserable boy smile an equally rare and ravishing Kyle S m i l e.

“GoodBYE, Stan!”

“Byeeeeee, Kyle!”

“HYH.”

Kyle held up half a stolen heart…

...And before he drove away, Stan r e t u r n e d it.

“H Y H.”