Disclaimer: I don't own South Park, Matt Stone and Trey Parker do.
Author's Note: Although I'm not new to this fandom, I'm new to writing fanfiction for it. I've written smaller things, sure, but nothing I thought would be worth posting. There are some crappy stories on here, and there are some gems.
These prompts that I'm doing are for 10(underscore)themes (a LiveJournal community), and are solely based on Wendy and whoever she is with. Mostly, this will be Stan/Wendy since I do adore them, but it won't always be so.
01: Defensive; Stan/Wendy
Rating: M, solely for language.
Theme: 01. Bang
December 30, 2007
"Dude, I don't know what to do," he said to his best friend as they tossed around a football at recess. "Should I ask her?"
Kyle shrugged, "Whatever you want, man. You know what happened before. Do you really want to go through that again?" He knew he made a point. Watching Stan go through various stages of Emo wasn't fun to watch, and when he finally got out of it, he didn't want his best friend to jump right back in all because of her.
"I know," Stan said begrudgingly, "but you didn't see the way she went through all that shit just to help us out. Which was totally hot, by the way. Especially when she kicked one of the girls in the crotch. Classic."
"She did that?" Kyle asked, his eyes wide, as he tossed the football back. Shrugging again, he replied, "It's up to you. You're going to be the one who–"
"She's changed," he said, trying to argue for Wendy's sake. "You know it."
"Can you blame me for trying to look out for you?" Kyle asked, giving his friend a look before glancing over to their two other friends who were making their way over to them.
"No," Stan replied, spotting Cartman and Kenny, and deciding the conversation should drop there.
"How goes it, faggots?"
"Shut the fuck up, Cartman," Kyle responded, tossing the ball back, only to be intercepted by Kenny. "Hey!"
"Stan's not even paying attention," Kenny said in defense, gesturing over to the boy in question with a jerk of his thumb. Looking over, Kyle and Cartman could see exactly why their friend wasn't paying attention: Wendy.
"Stop staring at your goddamned hippie girlfriend!"
Those words, that he hadn't heard for a long time, broke Stan out of his daydream and he turned to glare at Cartman, "She's not my girl–"
His head turned so fast he nearly got whiplash. His stomach churned even faster, resulting in whatever lunch he managed to get down, came right back up. Thankfully, not on her (this time).
"Are you all right?" she asked, her concerned eyes looking into his.
He nodded, then took a deep breath, "Before that happens again–would you go to the dance with me that's Friday night?"
She seemed taken aback by his forwardness, but chalked it up to the fact that he had changed a lot since they had split up. Nodding with a smile, she replied, "I'd love to. But, um, you haven't done that," she gestured to the contents of his stomach on the ground before looking back at him, "in a while. Are you feeling all right?"
"Better than all right," he smiled.
"Get the fuck over here, Marsh, or we're stealing your football!"
He rolled his eyes with a sigh. "Um, so, do you want to just meet at the dance or do you want me to..."
"Meeting here is fine," she replied. "Meet me in front of the doors at eight, okay?" She felt butterflies in her stomach; that was something she hadn't felt for a long time. Did he really do this to her again? She smiled shyly at him. She felt like her heart was banging so loudly in her chest that he could hear it; she hoped he could.
He nodded, then glanced over to his impatient friends. "See you there," he said, grinning at her before heading off in the opposite direction.
"You're happy. My guess is that she said 'yes'?" Kyle asked, a smile on his face.
Stan nodded with a huge grin that was wiped off his face the second he saw Cartman's face. "What? What are you going to say that's going to ruin my good mood?"
"You," he started, breaking into hysterics, "and that hippie bitch," he continued to laugh, "are going back out again?" He nearly fell over with how hard he was laughing, and didn't notice Stan nearing in on him, the look of death on his face.
"Don't call Wendy a bitch, fatass!" he bit out, glaring at Cartman. "I know you don't like her, but just fuck off."
"He probably still does," Kenny muttered to Kyle, who chuckled and nodded in response.
"Whoa," Cartman said, lifting his hands in defense, "no need to PMS on me, man, I'm just saying."
"Well, stop talking, or I'll kick your ass," he said, pulling the football from his grubby little fingers.
"Oh, them are fightin' words, Marsh," he shot back, glaring at Stan. Stan just rolled his eyes. "Are you sure it'll be you that would kick my ass, or would it be the cunt? She does tend to fight the battles for weak animals."
"Asshole, you're just jealous it's not you–" Kyle began, only to be cut off in shock as Stan's fist collided with Cartman's jaw. "–whoa, dude!" Kenny laughed.
As Cartman yelled, Stan growled, and Kyle stood shocked with a grin on his face, Kenny noticed someone else watching their little display. Her wide eyes met Kenny's for a brief second, and she turned with a blush and walked off in a rush. He figured she overheard.
"Dude, you're gettin' some on Friday night," Kenny's muffled speech got the attention of two out of the three boys that were there.
"You're going to the dance with Wendy, right?" Kenny asked, waiting expectantly for the answer he knew he was going to hear. He pulled off his hood to scratch his head before slipping it back on. Receiving a silent nod from Stan, he continued, "She just saw what happened. Instant pus–"
"She saw what happened?" Stan whirled around to see if she was anywhere on the playground anymore, but didn't see a trace of her anywhere. "Are you sure?"
"Eye contact, dude," Kenny said, nodding.
"Shit," he sighed, still ignoring Cartman's wails as he nursed his jaw.
"Why are you upset? You defended her to your best–well, kinda, in Cartman's case–somewhat friend and in front of your best friends. It counts for something, at least a good grope or two."
"Kenny, that's sick–wait, that's a good thing to girls?"
"No," he huffed, then thought about it. "That was good that she saw that?"
"Then I have a chance after all." He glanced over in the direction where he last saw her, then back to his friends. Friday night would be the night.
Review and let me know what you think.