A/N: Firstly, I'm sorry for my HP readers who're reading this, my mental health hasn't been in the best place, and right now, I need a break from the HP fandom. I'm searching for a new beta again, and not having one for such a long fic is mentally taxing. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but I hope you'll understand.
So, this is my very first Candy/South Park fic! I've been a fan since middle school, but I hadn't dipped my toes in the fandom until recently. Wendy is one of my favorite characters, and the number of fics where she's the protagonist or the center of the fic is criminally low, so I'm hoping to add my little grain of sand to the mix. If any of the characters seem a bit OOC at times, well, this is, after all, my first SP fic, lol
I'm also working on a few other fics to add to the series, but I wanted to post this first!
This isn't beta reviewed, so I'm sorry for any mistakes. If anyone would like to beta my work, my messages are open :)
Ends of January, Senior Year
When she arrived, she was wearing her favorite french beret, the one Stan had given her for her fourteenth birthday. Even if she wasn't on speaking terms with Stan at the moment, it still was one of her most cherished possessions. She didn't know when or where she had dropped it, but the sudden pull at her hair made her realize she wasn't wearing it anymore.
She cursed at herself for remembering just now her favorite hat was missing, and a sudden wave of panic overcame her; the anxiety of someone finding it close by and deciding to knock on the door began eating her.
"Stop stressing out, bitch." A rough voice whispered in her ear. "No one will find us here; the music's too loud for anyone to hear." He bit on her lip, and she kissed him hard in response. He was right, after all. No one had noticed their absence, and given the time, everyone was either too drunk or in the same state as they were in, hiding away in the nearest closet, sucking at each other's faces senselessly.
"I-I just need my h-hat," She breathed, and he bit her again. Hard. "I said," He was pushing her towards the nearest wall, "Stop. Stressing. Out." Her back collided with the wooden panels. She was trapped.
"Bitch." He slapped her. She was stunned for a second, her eyes blinking away the drunken haze, and saw he, too, was shocked by what he did. No one dared to breathe; his lip quivered for a moment, afraid he'd gone too far. It was a first. Before the moment could escape from them, she saw deep into his eyes with half-lidded ones, gave him the tiniest nod, and then smashed her lips with his once more.
"I knew deep down you were a slut." He chuckled in-between kisses, and she weakly responded with, "Oh, shut up." He was gloating, she knew, and she also knew he would never let her forget it —the moment she let herself be humiliated by him and liked it. Her future self, her sober self more likely, would be disappointed in her, but her damp panties and soft moans told her it was worth it.
He hoisted her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging to him. He was massive compared to her, and she secretly liked to feel tiny before him. He was still big and chubby, but the sudden growth spurt he had in middle school, and the fact he played football, made the fat all less noticeable. She didn't mind it. She never has. Although she didn't know who his father was, she knew his 6'3 ass could hold up her small 5'3 one effortlessly. And she loved it.
She was suddenly glad she decided to wear a skirt when she felt his erection rubbing against her. He was kissing her hungrily now, his hands roaming around her hips, his fingers teasing the side of her panties. It was driving her crazy.
"Stop teasing me," She panted, grinding her hips against his, "I would, if you'd stop being a fucking tease yourself," He mouthed, licking her cheek and rubbing his pelvis against hers, making her squirm.
By the time she was sick of the dry-humping and decided the cluttered table would do, they heard a loud thud in the door and froze. Neither had bothered to put a lock in the door. The faint gasps and heavy breaths were the only sound in the room. She looked up and saw that he was looking at her, his gaze tense.
His brown eyes, his left one with partial blue heterochromia, were gentle on her. Seeing him so vulnerable was a strange sight, but then again, it wasn't the first time they had found themselves in that situation. For every breakup she had with Stan, he would find a new lewd and racy position to put her in. She tried to escape it each time, but he'd always find her.
She felt the closet was too small, too intimate. The dim, yellow light made it all too claustrophobic. The adrenaline sobered her up; the moment was gone. She heard laughing, a second thump on the floor, and another laughter. She guessed someone had drunkenly tripped on the door and left, but it was getting late, and she needed to find Bebe. She was her ride home, and she was definitely not asking him any favors.
She started untangling herself from his embrace, and without words, he put her on the ground. They both knew the moment was lost. It was an unspoken, shared agreement between them. How they would each take turns, walk out from whichever closet or room they were in, and pretend nothing had happened. Pretend their touches and kisses didn't leave them panting, hungry for more. Pretend their eyes didn't hold yearning for the other or light a fire that refused to extinguish. Each time it happened, the fire grew, and she was scared of it.
Her skirt was askew, and her hair probably looked like a bird's nest, but she hoped nobody would notice her state. With one final look at his flushed face, she gave him a small smile, and without waiting to see his response, she opened the door and exited the small closet.
She promised it was the last time she, Wendy Testaburger, fell for the antics of the world's first-class narcissist, Eric Cartman.
If Wendy felt jealousy toward Kyle, she wouldn't be able to pinpoint the exact moment it'd started. He was always with Stan, and as kids, it was normal. But, as they grew, Wendy couldn't help but notice their relationship became weirdly symbiotic. When they were sophomores, Wendy didn't understand why she felt restless and sad Stan seemed much happier when he was with Kyle. And by the time they started applying for universities, Wendy was scared to the bone to know they were both planning to go to CU. It was then that Wendy understood; maybe she and Stan weren't made for each other. She didn't know if Stan was aware of it. Aware of the possibility his feelings were meant for someone else.
Thinking about it, Kyle had always been there, always watching. She suspected he sheltered a deep hatred towards her even if he'd always been friendly. After all, each time Wendy got back together with Stan, she stole his best friend away, or at least, that's how Stan made her feel. But then, she realized Stan was still oblivious to it, but she was sure Kyle wasn't.
After volleyball practice, she saw Stan approaching her with a gloomy face. Wendy felt like a witch at that moment; she suspected she knew the reason for his misery, and she also suspected she'd be back with him by the end of the day.
"Hey." He said in a low voice.
"Hey."
"So, uhm, rough practice today?" He asked and scratched his head. She gave him a funny look and raised her eyebrow. "So we're on speaking terms again?"
"Yeah, uhm, hey, listen. You maybe wanna get something for dinner? I've got some extra cash and a coupon for Denny's milkshakes'. My treat."
"You stink of cigarettes; you know that?" She said tartly, crossing her arms. She may have forgiven Stan for their last breakup, but she was still hurt he still couldn't figure out his feelings.
He furrowed his eyebrows, and Wendy sighed; fighting would lead nowhere. "You've been hanging out with the goths again, is what I meant to say." He nodded.
"It's been ah, rough couple of days." He muttered, and Wendy's features softened. She also had difficulty figuring out her feelings, and while she didn't know if she still romantically loved Stan, she cared deeply for him. So it wasn't fair of her to take it out on him.
"Fought with Kyle, didn't you?"
Stan looked at her with surprise, "How did you know?" Wendy tried not to laugh; he looked utterly adorable when he was like that. Then, finally, she smiled and rolled his eyes, "I'm a witch… or maybe I know you too well, Stanley Marsh."
She bit her lip and, for a second, felt wishful, nostalgic for simpler times. The second was gone in an instant. "Let me change, and then you can tell me why you fought with Kyle." She said, and he grinned.
Wendy didn't expect to see Eric Cartman when she exited the girls' locker rooms. He was sitting on a bench near the vending machine, waiting for her. She knew that because football practice was not until tomorrow, and he was gripping a piece of red cloth with his left hand. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her fucking beret.
"What are you doing here, Eric?" She said, playing dumb. She only spoke his Christian name whenever they were alone, and Stan had gone to the restroom.
He stood up and, giving her a knowing look, extended his arm. "Don't play coy, ho. I'm surprised you haven't wrecked Tolkien's house looking for this." She eyed her hat and reached for it slowly. Knowing it was a gift from Stan, she felt dirty somehow. She knew she'd done nothing wrong, she was single after all, but it all felt too forbidden.
"Thank you, Eric." She said in a low voice and put her beret inside her gym bag. She was worried sick with anyone noticing she'd been in a closet with Cartman and had forgotten entirely about her beret.
He bit his lip and pulled one of his fingers with his hand as he said, "So uhm, if you're not busy with your stupid council, maybe we could-" Before Cartman could finish his sentence, he saw past her, and a deep scowl took his features. She turned and saw Stan had just exited the restrooms.
"Cartman? What are you doing here? Don't tell me you got mixed up the day of football practice again." Stan said with a laugh and began walking to them. Wendy turned, her cheeks red, and quickly thought of something to say.
Cartman glared at him, "And why the fuck would I forget the da-" "If you'd like to join the student council, I'm afraid you'd have to re-apply first." Wendy interrupted him. "I know it'll be easy to enter, given you already were in the council, but I can't skip over protocol, I'm afraid." She said, looking at his chest. She could feel his death stare, but she refused to look him in the eye. Coward, he would tell her.
"The sooner you bring your papers, the sooner we'll start the review." She said with a fake smile and turned towards Stan, missing the livid eyes of the brunette.
A/N: I don't know if that's how the study council works or if one can get out/enter again, but for the sake of this story, let's pretend that's how it does :))