Time To Live A Little (various South Park x Reader)

Time for mixed signals.

"Jesus Christ, Stan, you look horrible. The fuck happened to you?"

Looking up at the taller, Goth boy, Stan shrugged, swaying as he did so. He didn't particularly want to speak to Pete, after he'd dumped his lunch all over his previously, but he was grateful that he was offered a cigarette. Taking a quick drag, he thought of what to say. This would be a good way to ask for advice without judgement; despite Pete and and Henrietta having strong morals and definitely questioning his actions and decisions, Stan knew they wouldn't turn a blind eye to someone who was suffering - suffering was the Goths' whole shtick.

"I'm just... I'm having a hard time. I feel so fucking jealous and angry, and I feel like I'm just becoming my fucking deadbeat Dad."

Pete nodded at the shorter male's response, pondering how to offer any condolences. It was common knowledge that Stan's father was a piece of work, and any normal person having been raised in the Marsh household would've cracked like Stan had in one way or the other. Pete sighed, and struck a hand through his dyed, red and black hair, and felt his teeth bite the butt of his cigarette.

Stan continued. "I just - I know I fucked up, with (Y/N), and Kyle, but I jus' wan' to see her." Stan slurred, leaning his back against the Coffee shop window. Pete exhaled lowly, shaking his head at the mention of one of his favourite Cheerleaders' names.

"Marsh... Why do you want to see her?" The Goth asked, feeling his fingers twinge from the cold through his fingerless gloves. Stan shuffled his feet.

"I just wan' to make things right. I wan' to apologise - I like her, she can help me." He stated, sniffling as he rubbed his raw nose.

"Stan." Pete began, standing up straighter in order to place a hand on the shorter male's shoulder. His tone was serious, albeit softer than usual toward his dark haired peer. "(Y/N)'s cool and all, but she has her own shit to deal with. You have bigger fish to fry - like whatever the fuck happened between you and Kyle... Besides, (Y/N) went home with Craig last Friday. You should just stop now before it gets too far."

Pete looked in confusion at Stan, who, instead of holding an expression of understanding, or anger, held an expression of shock-horror as he stared forward; unmoving, mouth agape. Pete had expected a slurry of agreement, or at minimum, disagreement, but instead he was met with nothing, as if Stan hadn't listened to a single word he'd said. Following Stan's line of sight, he looked on in horror at the young male stood before them; a tall, muscular, tanned teen with short, blonde hair, and piercing blue eyes, furrowed into a furious snarl as he stopped no more than a few meters in front of them. Pete gulped, unable to think of an excuse to prevent the anger brewing in the blonde before them.

"Trent..." Henrietta uttered, speaking before her mind could tell her otherwise.

"The fuck did you just say about (Y/N)?" Trent asked, his fists clenched so hard that his knuckles were white. Pete flinched.

"Look, dude-"

"Don't fucking try it, you existential fuck." Trent retorted, storming closer to tower over him. Pete panicked - froze, unsure of what to do. He watched helplessly as Trent's eyes travelled to look through the Coffee Shop window, and grimaced when he saw Trent's eyes squint in irritation.

Trent had seen Craig through the window.

Trent swung the door open, and marched in, leaving the two boys behind in bewilderment. Stan spoke first.

"Ah, shit."

—————

"Oh shit." Nichole said, staring at her phone in horror in the backseat of Red's Car. As per usual, (Y/N), Bebe, Heidi and herself were illegally sitting, squashed together in the backseat, with Wendy up front, and Red driving. Nichole immediately brought her thumb to her mouth, chewing the nail as her anxiety rose. This was a common occurrence whenever Nichole felt immense stress, and so her friends clocked it immediately.