#stan rosado

[lunar-rxgue]

ya’ll prepare for such shitty quality photos and videos BUT i just finished the faculty for the first time

everywhere i go i see his face… like andrew ‘pope’ cody was born here

he was so baby in this movie like literally the age i am right now. CRAZY.

giggling and kicking my feet.

[whiteteadreams]

Bourgeoisie - Stan Rosado

Pairing: Stan Rosado x Female Reader

Genre: Slice of life, romance, college au!

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Smut, cursing, fluff, stan loves you so much, reader's parents are rich, not proofread

Smut Warnings: stan calls reader perverted and yucky, groping, slight dry humping and thigh riding, anal (r! receiving), drool licking, lmk if i missed something!

A/N: hihi! just a short piece while i try to get consistent writing back into my schedule! i fear i've lost my touch so bear with me while i try to get it back, feel free to give me any type of feedback, positive or constructive. i would also love to write more about this pair, so please let me know if you're interested! thank you again and enjoy!

“I feel like I always have to whisper when I’m in your house.” Stan chuckles while he quietly walks in behind you. 

“My parents are out of town for the weekend, so we can yell and scream as much as we want.” Your voice got louder and louder towards the end of your sentence, ‘as much as we want’ echoing back at you throughout your dark and empty foyer.

Stan’s loud laugh was the next thing that echoed back to you, and you just smiled at the sound, glad he couldn’t see the love-sick look on your face in the dark. “Would it be weird for me to ask if we could sleep in the living room tonight?”

You felt Stan lean his chest on your back, putting some of his weight on you, he places his head on your shoulder, and without thinking, you kiss his cheek. “Of course we can.”

Needing to turn on a light for Stan, you felt around the wall, looking for the switch. Once you found it and flicked it up, the chandelier lit up the foyer and the lights that were attached to the wall helped light up the entire room. Allowing you and Stan to see the tall ceilings, the leather couch, the grand fireplace, and Stan’s least favorite item, the rug made out of a bear skin.

“I don’t understand why someone would even have that thing. It’s ugly as fuck, and not to mention, creepy as hell, babe.” 

You roll your eyes and look at him, “I tell you every time you’re here, it isn’t real, even as a six-year-old, I wouldn’t let my parents get a real one.” 

Even then, Stan refused to touch it, the first time you were ever able to get him to go near it, you laid on it in nothing but your baby pink lingerie. He was then capable of pretending the faux fur wasn’t there.

You liked bringing up that night just to mess with him. The two of you would be sitting on the couch, watching some random movie when you would just say out of nowhere, ‘you’ve fucked me on that rug’. He’d blush and whine and you would just smirk and nudge him.

As Stan lit the fire in the fireplace, you pushed the giant ottoman against the couch to make a massive surface. Laying your impossibly soft blankets on it, you fluff everything to make it a comfortable sleeping spot for the night.

Looking over, you see Stan taking off his shirt and jeans, folding them haphazardly before walking over to you.

“Hi,” you grin against his lips as he unclasps your bra from underneath your shirt. Pulling the garment out, he placed it next to his own clothes before doing the same with your own sweater.

“Here.” He hands you his shirt from the day which you slipped over your bare chest.

“I love you.” You whispered into the warm air and he returned the phrase with his own softness.

Many of your peers from high school didn’t think you two would last into college, but alas, you both made it into the same university, and rarely felt the need to come home. Of course, the one time you two did, your parents were gone, which made the trip feel pointless. Your own parents didn’t love Stan in the beginning. Your father, a cutthroat business man, thought he was an idiot, and your ever sweet mother just appreciated that he worshipped you.

Every holiday or special occasion, Stan would pick up extra shifts, balancing school, football, and extra work just to be able to afford a gift that would impress you. You had been given everything on a silver platter since you came out of the womb, and Stan, he feared disappointing you despite you assuring that you love him for who he is. 

Which you do, wholeheartedly.

“My dad asked me how your finance classes were going.” You trace invisible lines along his freckled face.

“Boring.” Stan sighs.

“I know, but I didn’t tell him that.” You giggle and kiss his cheek. “You know, if you don’t like finance you don’t have to major in it. It’s never too late to switch.”

“Yeah but I feel like I don’t have a choice…”

“What do you mean?” You sit up on your forearm to get a better look at him.

“Your father likes that I’m doing finance.” He says as if it’s an obvious answer.

You sit up fully. “Why would you care what my dad thinks?”

“You’re serious?” He sits up as well.

“Uh yeah? My dad should not be the reason for what you’re majoring in.”

“No but he is. He has everything to do with it. Because if your father doesn’t approve of me, I’ll never get his blessing, and we’ll never get married, and we’ll never have babies, and grow old together, and then die together, and-”

You cut him off with a kiss. “Good thing the only approval you need is mine.”

“But I want him to think I’m good enough for you. You’re everything. You’re the most intelligent, beautiful, funny, amazing girl in the entire world. I’d be crushed if someone was able to see through me. See that I’m so far below your league.”

“Oh, Stan.” You kiss him again, softly, your fresh pedicured fingers on his cheek. “You’re more than enough for me.”

Stan accepts the kiss gratefully, holding your hips with such gentleness.

“Do you wanna know a secret?” You tease softly.

Stan nods eagerly. “Yeah, of course.”

“My dad likes you more than he lets on.”

“W-what?”

“Yeah…after my birthday two years ago, when you worked yourself to the bone to afford those pearl earrings for me, he saw how much you loved me, and that was enough for him. I heard him say all of this to my mom one night as I was getting water. And my mom was like ‘you scare that poor boy enough as it is.’ And he said ‘it’s my job, can’t let him get too comfortable, especially with my little girl.’ So…yeah…lucky for you, you’re already pretty popular around here.”

Stan’s eyes are wide, his expression nothing short of gobsmacked. “So I’ve been scared this whole time for nothing?”

“Well, not for nothing, if you screw up my dad has no issues changing his mind…but yeah, for now, you’re in the clear.”

He sighs in relief and throws a strong arm around your waist. “I’m so unbelievably happy right now.”

“Plus…if you do continue in the business route, finance or not, you always have a job within my dad’s company waiting for you. If you want, of course.”

Stan nods, “I mean, yeah! For an entry level and to get my feet on the ground for sure! But when it’s time to truly provide for you, I want to earn my job…not just have it given to me by your father.”

Smiling wider than your face can handle, you pounce on him. “Oh, you’re so perfect!” A squeal leaves your mouth as he hugs you tightly.

The soft touches turn a little less innocent as his hands wander. To your ass, your breasts, your hips. Groans leave his lips as your hips start moving, grinding your pussy, which is only covered by panties, against his cock, only covered by his boxers. The thin undergarments hide the true feeling you both crave.

“So perverted." He whispers against your chin. “Dry humping your boyfriend on your parents’ couch.”

“M’not perverted!” You whine as you slide your panties to the side so your bare cunt and press against his thigh.

“M’yeah you are. A greedy, yucky girl. But you’re mine.”

Next thing happens in a blink of an eye, you’re pulling his boxers down just enough for his cock to spring out, and then you’re sinking down until your slit is pressed against his clean patch of curly red hair at the base of his cock.

“Fuck!” He grips your ass tightly, causing you to cry out.

As you continue to ride him, he lifts up your shirt so he can watch your tits bounce, taking a nipple into his mouth, he sucks hard. You cup the back of his neck, keeping him close. Your pink nails scratching softly at the base of his head. Your mouth hangs open as you move frantically, reaching the high that’s about to crash into both of you.

“F-fuck.” You cry out as a bit of drool starts dripping from the corner of your mouth. Stan sees it and the next thing you feel is his tongue against your mouth, licking up whatever you have to give him.

Sucking the appendage into your mouth, your other hand falls in between the two of you, fingers rapidly flicking your clit. His hands spread your ass, one thumb swiping through your weeping slit, collecting your arousal before slipping it into your ass.

And that’s what finishes you.

Moaning into his mouth, you’re cumming around his cock. He grips your hips tighter, bucking up into your clenching cunt as he falls over the edge of pleasure as well. Using you to ride out his high, he all but pants against your neck, blindly licking your sweat soaked skin.

“And I’m the yucky one?” You breathe heavily through your nose, a happy, exhausted smile taking over your mouth.

“Yeah…you are. Remember that time when you-”

“Enough, Rosado.”

“Careful there, that’ll be your last name too before too long.”

[afterdarkbydel]

There She Is

Chapter Two: In the Margins

Pairing: College!Stan Rosado x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: Your first study session with Stan was only supposed to be about Constitutional Law. Two hours later, there are notes in both your handwriting, a walk to work, one accidental admission that you like him, and a book Stan definitely did not plan on buying.

Warnings: Fluff, mutual pining, shy/bookish reader, Stan Rosado being painfully charming, academic flirting, early-2000s college setting, absolutely devastating amounts of yearning over very normal interactions.

Author's Note: We have officially entered the “they are absolutely developing a routine, and neither of them realizes how bad they already have it” stage. This chapter is so soft. Stan getting to see Reader in her element at The Book Nook was one of the scenes I was most excited to write, and I love how their academic partnership is starting to become something a little more personal. As always, I’d love to hear what you think! If you’d like to be added to the There She Is taglist, just let me know.

Xoxo, Del

| Chpt. 1 |

Stan had not seen you again on Monday.

He had looked.

There was no point pretending otherwise.

He had looked for you when he crossed the quad after Procedural Criminal Law. He had looked in the student union while he ate lunch. He had glanced toward the open doors of classrooms as he passed them and scanned the tables outside the humanities building.

Once, he had even turned around because a woman twenty feet behind him was wearing a sweater that looked like yours.

It wasn’t you.

Tuesday had not been much better.

His first class came and went.

No you.

He crossed campus for his second lecture.

Still no you.

At lunch, Stan caught himself searching the student union before he had even decided where to sit.

Apparently, the university was large enough for two people to attend it without repeatedly running into each other.

He had known that before.

It had simply never bothered him before.

By two thirty, Stan stopped waiting for coincidence to do him any favors.

He knew exactly where you would be at three.

Stan reached the library twenty-three minutes early.

That was reasonable.

Probably.

He stepped through the doors and adjusted the strap of his backpack as he looked across the first floor.

His attention went immediately toward the windows.

The table was empty.

The same table where he had first seen you Sunday afternoon.

There were dozens of others available. One sat closer to the entrance. Another had an outlet beside it. Several were farther from the circulation desk and the steady noise of the printer.

Stan walked toward the windows anyway.

He pulled out the chair opposite the one you had occupied Sunday and dropped his backpack onto it.

Then he stopped.

You might want that chair.

Stan moved his bag to the floor and sat across from it instead.

He unpacked his Constitutional Law textbook, the case Professor Hale had assigned, a legal pad, and two pens.

His textbook took up too much of the table.

Stan shifted it closer to his side.

Better.

He leaned back in his chair and glanced toward the clock above the circulation desk.

Two forty.

Twenty minutes.

Stan opened the case.

He had already read it the night before, but rereading it seemed considerably less embarrassing than staring at the library entrance for the next twenty minutes.

He made it through the first paragraph.

The doors opened.

Stan looked up.

Not you.

He returned to the page.

Three sentences later, someone else walked inside.

His attention lifted again.

A guy in a university sweatshirt headed toward the computers.

Stan exhaled through his nose and looked back down.

This was getting ridiculous.

You had said three.

It was two forty-six.

There was no reason you should already be here.

Stan forced himself through another page.

At two fifty-one, someone laughed near the entrance.

He looked.

Not you.

At two fifty-four, the doors opened again.

Stan kept his eyes on the casebook.

He made it nearly five seconds.

Then he looked.

And there you were.

You stepped inside with your backpack over one shoulder and a notebook held against your chest. Your gaze moved slowly across the library, searching.

Stan sat a little straighter.

Your eyes passed over the circulation desk.

The tables near the entrance.

The shelves.

Then they reached the windows.

They found him.

You paused.

Your smile came slowly, small and hesitant.

Stan smiled back and lifted one hand.

Something in your posture eased.

Your smile turned shy as you adjusted the strap of your backpack and started toward him.

There she is.

Stan looked back down at the open casebook in front of him.

He had absolutely no idea what he had just been reading.

You reached the table a moment later and set your notebook beside the empty chair. Your gaze moved over the tabletop, then toward the window before returning to Stan.

“This is where I was sitting Sunday,” you said.

Stan glanced around as though the realization had only just occurred to him. “Is it?”

You looked at him.

Stan lasted approximately two seconds.

“I remembered,” he admitted.

Your fingers tightened slightly around the strap of your backpack before you slipped it from your shoulder.

“Oh,” you said softly.

Stan watched you sit across from him. “That okay?”

You nodded as you tucked your bag beneath the table. “Yeah.”

A small smile touched your mouth.

“I like this table,” you added.

Stan glanced toward the window. “Good choice, then.”

You opened your notebook while Stan turned the casebook between you.

“Did you get through all of it?” Stan asked.

You nodded. “Twice.”

Stan looked at the tabs sticking from the edge of your notes. “Twice?”

You glanced down at them. “The first time was just reading.”

Stan rested his forearm against the table. “And the second?”

You pulled one of your pens free. “Reading with purpose.”

Stan smiled. “That sounds threatening.”

Your mouth twitched. “It’s organized.”

Stan lowered his gaze toward your notebook. “That’s what threatening people always say.”

You shook your head, but the smile remained.

Stan turned his attention back to the case. “Okay. Hale wants us to identify the court’s reasoning, the constitutional framework, and whether we think the ruling holds up.”

You flipped to a marked page. “I started with the framework.”

Stan looked toward you. “Of course you did.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “What does that mean?”

Stan raised one hand. “Nothing bad.”

“That sounded like something,” you said.

Stan leaned back in his chair. “You like structure.”

You glanced at your notes. “I like knowing what rules we’re working with.”

Stan tapped his pen once against the casebook. “Exactly.”

You looked at his legal pad. “Where did you start?”

Stan turned the pad slightly toward you. “With the person.”

Your gaze lifted. “The petitioner?”

Stan nodded. “The court spends most of the opinion talking about the rule, but the rule doesn’t exist by itself. Somebody has to live with what it does.”

You lowered your eyes to his notes while he continued.

“If the standard protects the institution but puts all of the burden on one person, I think that matters,” Stan said.

You read the line he had underlined.

Then you looked at him.

“That’s a really good point,” you said.

Stan paused.

It wasn’t the compliment itself that caught him.

It was the way you said it.

There was no surprise in your voice. No hesitation. You sounded as though the thought deserved to be taken seriously simply because it was good.

Stan shifted his pen between his fingers. “You think so?”

You nodded. “I hadn’t thought about it from that direction.”

Stan leaned forward slightly. “What direction were you coming from?”

You turned your notebook so he could see it. “The court’s test.”

Stan read through several neatly written lines beneath the heading. “You’re saying they followed their own framework.”

You tilted your hand back and forth. “Mostly.”

Stan looked up. “Mostly?”

You pointed toward the second paragraph. “They establish the standard here, but I think they apply it inconsistently later.”

Stan followed the point of your pen.

His brow furrowed.

“Wait,” he said.

You let your hand fall away from the page.

Stan reread the section. “They say the burden has to be justified by a legitimate government interest.”

You nodded. “Right.”

Stan traced the next paragraph with one finger. “But then they never really explain why this particular burden is necessary.”

Your gaze met his. “Exactly.”

Stan looked back at the page. “That’s stronger.”

You tilted your head. “What is?”

“My argument,” Stan said.

A small crease appeared between your brows. “You were already making that argument.”

“Not legally,” Stan replied.

You considered that before tapping the edge of his legal pad. “Maybe not yet.”

Stan looked toward you.

You reached for his legal pad and turned it slightly. “If you start with the standard here, then use the inconsistency in the court’s application, you can get to the same human consequence you were talking about.”

Stan followed your finger across the page. “So the structure gets me to the person.”

You nodded. “And the person explains why the structure matters.”

Stan looked at you.

You glanced down at the notes again. “I think.”

Stan smiled. “I like that.”

Your gaze lifted. “The argument?”

Stan looked back toward the page. “Yeah. And the way you got there.”

Your fingers slipped a little farther inside the cuffs of your sweater.

“Thanks,” you said.

They worked quietly for another few minutes.

You wrote something in the margin of your notebook while Stan reread one of Hale’s questions.

After a moment, Stan turned the book slightly toward you. “Okay, I don’t understand this part.”

You looked up immediately. “Which part?”

Stan pointed toward the paragraph. “This distinction.”

You shifted closer to read.

Your shoulder nearly brushed his arm.

Stan kept his attention on the page.

Mostly.

You traced one line with the end of your pen. “I think he’s separating the constitutional issue from the policy issue.”

Stan frowned. “So one can be legally permissible and still be bad policy.”

You nodded. “Exactly.”

Stan sat back. “I hate that.”

You looked toward him.

Stan gestured toward the book. “Not what you said. The idea.”

Your mouth curved. “I figured.”

Stan shook his head. “If the outcome is bad enough that everyone agrees the policy needs to change, why are we pretending the law stops mattering there?”

You studied him for a moment. “It doesn’t stop mattering.”

“No,” Stan agreed, leaning forward again. “But the analysis does.”

Your gaze returned to the case.

Stan tapped the page. “That’s what bothers me. We get to the end of the framework and act like we’re done.”

You were quiet for several seconds.

Then you nodded slowly.

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” you said.

Stan waited while you turned your pen between your fingers.

“I think I do that sometimes,” you admitted.

Stan’s eyebrows drew together. “Do what?”

You looked down at the page. “Get to the answer the framework gives me and stop.”

Stan watched you. “Why?”

You hesitated before answering. “Because if the analysis is technically correct, then I know where I am.”

Stan considered that. “And if you keep going?”

Your shoulders lifted slightly. “Then it gets less certain.”

Stan smiled a little. “That’s where the interesting part is.”

You looked toward him. “For you.”

Stan’s smile widened. “Probably.”

A quiet laugh escaped you.

Stan pointed his pen toward your notebook. “But you already understand the rules.”

You glanced down. “I understand some of them.”

“You understand this one better than I do,” Stan said.

Your gaze lifted again.

Stan nodded toward the case. “Which means you can see where it stops working.”

You ran your thumb along the edge of your pen. “You make that sound easy.”

Stan shook his head. “I don’t think it is.”

You gave him a small smile.

Stan leaned his forearms against the table. “But I think you’d be good at it.”

Something in your expression softened before you looked back toward the case.

A few seconds passed.

Then your pen stopped moving.

“I think the court is assuming neutrality where there probably isn’t any,” you said.

Stan’s eyebrows lifted. “There you go.”

You looked at him. “What?”

Stan leaned toward your notebook. “That. I like that argument.”

You glanced down at what you had written. “I don’t know if I can support it yet.”

Stan pulled the casebook closer between you. “Then we find out.”

Your gaze returned to him.

Stan opened the case to the relevant section. “Show me where you see it.”

You shifted your chair a little closer.

For the next twenty minutes, neither of you noticed the clock.

Stan made a note in the margin of his legal pad while you reread the section in front of you.

Your pen stopped. Then you looked toward him.

“Can I ask you something?” you asked.

Stan lifted his gaze from his notes. “Yeah.”

You turned the casebook slightly in his direction. “What do you think this actually does to the petitioner?”

Stan glanced toward the page. “You mean legally?”

You shook your head. “No. I know what it does legally.”

Stan looked back at you.

You tucked one hand farther into the sleeve of your sweater. “I mean in real life.”

Stan sat back a little.

Your eyes dropped briefly to the casebook before returning to him.

“You’re better at seeing that part than I am,” you said.

Stan went still for half a beat.

There was no teasing in your voice.

No qualification.

You had simply said it like it was true.

Stan looked down at the facts of the case again.

“Okay,” he said.

He traced one line with his finger.

“If this stands, they’re technically giving him a remedy,” Stan said. “But they’re also making him carry most of the burden for proving he deserved one in the first place.”

Your brow furrowed as you followed the paragraph.

Stan tapped the page once.

“So even if he wins, the system still gets to make his life harder before it admits it was wrong,” he said.

You were quiet for a moment.

Then you looked at him.

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” you said.

Stan shrugged slightly. “That’s just where my brain goes.”

You shook your head.

“No,” you said. “I like where your brain goes.”

Stan looked at you.

Your attention had already returned to the case.

He had the strange feeling you did not realize what you had just done to him.

Stan lowered his eyes to his notes before you could notice the smile threatening at the corner of his mouth.

You tapped your pen against the page.

“So if I’m building this argument from the equal protection framework,” you said, “I shouldn’t stop at whether the court applied the test correctly.”

Stan looked toward you again. “I wouldn’t.”

You nodded slowly. “I should ask what applying it that way actually allows.”

“Yeah,” Stan said. “And who has to live with that.”

You wrote something in the margin.

Stan watched your pen move.

“And whether the burden looks different on paper than it does in practice,” you added.

Stan smiled. “Exactly.”

You glanced toward him. “That’s annoying.”

Stan’s eyebrows lifted. “What is?”

You gestured toward the casebook with your pen. “Now I have more questions.”

Stan leaned back in his chair. “That’s the point.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “I thought the point was to answer them.”

Stan shook his head. “That sounds boring.”

A quiet laugh escaped you.

Stan smiled.

You looked back toward the page and reread the paragraph.

After a moment, your expression changed.

“I think the court is assuming neutrality where there probably isn’t any,” you said.

Stan leaned back slightly. “Why?”

You looked at him.

He nodded toward your notes. “Don’t give me the casebook answer. Tell me why you think that.”

Your fingers tightened around your pen.

“Because the rule treats everyone the same on paper,” you said, “but not everyone is starting from the same position.”

Stan’s gaze stayed on you. “Keep going.”

You glanced back at the opinion.

“So calling the rule neutral doesn’t necessarily make the effect neutral,” you said. “It just means the language is.”

Stan smiled.

“There it is,” he said.

Your eyebrows lifted. “What?”

“Your argument,” Stan replied. 

You looked down at the page again.

“I’m still not sure it holds,” you admitted.

Stan tapped his pen against the table. “Good.”

You looked back at him. “Good?”

“Means you have something worth testing,” he said.

You shifted your chair a little closer.

Your shoulder brushed his this time.

Neither of you moved away.

You pointed toward the paragraph.

“Here,” you said. “The language sounds neutral, but the effect isn’t.”

Stan followed the line with his eyes.

“Okay,” he said. “So prove it.”

You looked toward him. “You make that sound very simple.”

Stan smiled. “I didn’t say it was simple.”

You narrowed your eyes.

Stan tapped the edge of the casebook.

“I said prove it,” he replied.

Your mouth twitched before you looked back down.

For the next several minutes, you worked through the opinion together.

Stan pushed when you stopped at the rule.

You pulled him back when his argument wandered too far from the law.

At one point, he started explaining a consequence that had bothered him, and before he could finish, you flipped three pages back and pointed toward a precedent that supported it.

“That one,” you said. “I think that gets you there.”

Stan read the passage. Then he looked at you.

“That’s exactly what I needed,” he said.

You smiled faintly. “I know.”

Stan laughed under his breath.

A few minutes later, you stopped him in the middle of another argument.

“Wait,” you said.

Stan paused. “What?”

You leaned over your notebook and drew a line between two sections of your outline.

“I think you’re right,” you said. “But if you start here instead of with the outcome, the argument is harder to dismiss.”

Stan looked over what you had written.

He read it once.

Then again.

“That’s better,” he said.

You glanced toward him. “Yeah?”

Stan nodded. “A lot better.”

Your smile came small and pleased before you looked back down.

Stan found himself watching it for a second too long.

He returned his attention to the page.

You were good at this. 

Not because one of you always had the answer.

Because when one of you reached the edge of what you could see, the other was already standing somewhere different.

And together, you could usually find the rest.

By the time Stan finished writing the last sentence beneath Hale’s final question, the page between you was crowded with arrows, underlines, and notes in two different handwritings.

He set his pen down. “I think that’s it,” Stan said.

You looked over the assignment one more time. “I think so.”

Neither of you moved.

Stan looked toward the clock above the circulation desk. You had been sitting there for nearly two hours. He should probably pack up.

Instead, he reached for the casebook again.

“You think we need anything else for Wednesday?” Stan asked.

You glanced toward the finished notes. “I don’t think so. Hale only asked us to be ready to discuss the case.”

Stan nodded as he closed the casebook. “Right.”

You capped your pen.

 Neither of you moved. 

Stan looked down at the legal pad. The assignment was done. There was nothing left to underline, nothing left to argue about, and no reason for either of you to keep occupying the table.

You turned one of the pages in your notebook.

Stan watched you straighten it. Then straighten the one beneath it.

Your sleeve shifted as you lifted your wrist to check your watch. Your expression changed.

“I should probably get going,” you said as you reached for your notebook. “I have work at six.”

Stan glanced toward the clock, just after five. The disappointment came quickly enough to annoy him.

“You work tonight?” Stan asked.

You nodded as you began gathering your papers. “Tuesdays and Thursdays from six to close. Sundays from noon to close.”

Stan slid his legal pad into his backpack. “Where do you work?”

“At a bookstore,” you replied.

That made sense. Of course it was a bookstore. Stan tried not to smile too much at its predictability.

“What bookstore?” he asked.

“The Book Nook,” you said. “It’s a couple blocks off campus.”

Stan recognized the name. He had passed it before, an independent shop tucked into the row of businesses bordering campus.

“I know that place,” Stan said.

Your expression brightened slightly. “You do?”

Stan nodded. “I’ve walked past it. Never been inside.”

You tucked your pen into the spiral of your notebook. “It’s really nice. They have new books and used books, and there are chairs everywhere, so people actually stay and read.”

Stan smiled. “Sounds dangerous.”

Your eyebrows drew together. “Why?”

Stan nodded toward the books spread across your side of the table. “Because you’re you.”

You followed his gaze. “That’s fair,” you conceded.

Stan laughed softly as you slipped your notebook into your backpack.

“How long have you worked there?” Stan asked.

“Not very long,” you replied as you zipped the bag. “I found the job before I moved.”

Stan paused. “Before you even got here?”

You nodded. “I interviewed over the phone earlier this summer. I’ve only been moved in about two weeks.”

“You had a job lined up before you even got here?” Stan asked.

Your shoulders lifted slightly. “I like having a plan.”

Stan smiled. That tracked.

You reached for the last book on the table before looking toward him.

“Do you work?” you asked.

Stan nodded as he tucked his casebook into his backpack. “At the Academic Resource Center.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “The tutoring place?”

“Tutoring, academic support, advising referrals,” Stan explained as he zipped his bag. “I mostly work the front desk a couple shifts a week.”

You considered him for a moment. “That makes sense,” you said.

Stan glanced toward you. “Why?”

You tucked your hands into the ends of your sleeves. “You’re good with people.”

Stan paused. “You figured that out already?” he asked.

Your gaze dropped briefly toward the table. “I notice things.”

Stan smiled to himself.

Apparently, so did he.

You both stood and pushed your chairs beneath the table.

For a moment, Stan looked at the place you had been sitting. Two hours ago, he had been waiting for you to walk through the doors.

Now leaving felt strangely premature.

You slipped your backpack over one shoulder and started toward the front of the library.

Stan matched his pace to yours as you headed toward the edge of campus.

For a little while, neither of you said anything.

The silence wasn’t awkward.

Stan noticed that too.

You glanced toward him after a few steps.

“Do you always study like that?” you asked.

Stan looked over. “Like what?”

You adjusted the strap of your backpack. “Like you’re arguing with the textbook.”

Stan smiled. “Only when it deserves it.”

Your mouth curved. “So often.”

“Frequently,” Stan agreed.

You laughed softly.

Stan looked ahead for another few steps before turning the question back toward you.

“What do you read when somebody isn’t assigning it?” he asked.

Your expression changed immediately.

Stan noticed.

“A lot of things,” you replied.

“Specific,” Stan said.

You smiled down at the sidewalk. “Classics. Historical fiction. Poetry sometimes. Whatever catches me.”

Stan nodded. “Favorite book?”

Your head turned toward him immediately. “No.”

Stan blinked. “No?”

“That’s an unfair question,” you explained.

Stan laughed. “How?”

“Because it changes,” you said.

“Top three,” Stan offered.

You shook your head. “Still unfair.”

“Five.” Stan counters. 

Your smile widened. “I don’t think that’s how negotiating works.” 

Stan grinned. “Got you talking, though.”

You pulled your sleeves a little farther over your hands.

He liked that smile.

He was beginning to like how easily it seemed to catch you off guard.

They reached the row of businesses just beyond campus, and Stan noticed a small coffee shop ahead.

He nodded toward it.

“You a coffee person?” he asked.

You made a face.

Stan laughed. “That bad?”

“I drink coffee when circumstances require it,” you explained.

Stan looked toward you. “Circumstances?”

“Finals,” you said as you counted against one sleeve-covered finger. “Eight a.m. classes. Very bad decisions involving staying up too late reading.”

Stan smiled. “But you don’t like it?”

“I like good coffee,” you corrected. “I’m picky.”

“There it is,” Stan said.

Your eyebrows lifted. “What?”

Stan grinned. “The rules.”

You bumped your sleeve-covered hand lightly against his arm.

“I prefer tea,” you said.

Stan looked down briefly at where you had touched him before returning his gaze to you.

“What kind?” he asked.

“Depends,” you replied. “Black tea most of the time. Chai if I want something sweeter. Peppermint if I’m reading at night.”

Stan nodded once.

He had no particular reason to remember any of that. He knew he would anyway.

You looked toward him. “What about you?”

“Coffee,” Stan answered.

Your expression turned wary. “What kind?”

Stan shrugged. “Whatever’s there.”

You stared at him.

Stan started laughing. “What?”

“That tells me everything I need to know,” you said.

Stan shook his head. “You’re judging me.”

“I’m reconsidering our partnership,” you replied.

Stan quirked a brow. “Over coffee?”

You nodded solemnly. “Standards matter.”

Stan laughed again.

There it was.

The same thing that had happened at the library.

Conversation with you became easier and easier until he forgot he had only known you for two days.

A few minutes later, you slowed.

Stan followed your gaze.

A painted sign hung above a storefront ahead of them.

THE BOOK NOOK BOOKSELLERS

Warm light glowed through the front windows. Books filled the displays beneath them, and through the glass Stan could see shelves, mismatched chairs, and a couch tucked against one wall.

You smiled.

Not at him.

At the store.

But Stan noticed the difference immediately.

The smile came without hesitation.

“Here it is,” you said.

Stan looked from the storefront back to you.

Yeah.

Of course this was where you worked.

You reached for the door, and the little brass bell above it chimed when you stepped inside.

Warm air met them immediately.

The store smelled faintly of paper, wood, and whatever had been brewed at the self-serve coffee station tucked near the back. Shelves filled most of the walls, but the space between them had been broken up with mismatched chairs, low tables, and one worn couch positioned beneath the front windows.

A handwritten sign beside the register advertised used paperbacks for two dollars.

Another pointed toward the coffee and tea station.

Stan smiled.

“This is very you,” he said.

You turned toward him, one hand still resting against the strap of your backpack. “What does that mean?”

Stan looked around again. “Books everywhere. Chairs you’re apparently encouraged to disappear into. Tea.”

Your gaze followed his toward the beverage station.

“You noticed the tea?” you asked.

Stan looked back at you. “I notice things.”

Your mouth curved.

He liked getting to use that one against you.

You stepped farther into the store before glancing toward the clock behind the register.

Stan stayed near the entrance for a second.

He should leave.

He had practice.

He also had enough time that leaving immediately would feel unnecessarily responsible.

Stan adjusted the strap of his backpack.

“Do you mind if I look around for a little bit?” he asked.

You stopped.

The question seemed to surprise you.

Then your expression softened.

“No,” you said as you shook your head. “Of course not.”

Stan smiled. “Good.”

You pointed toward the back of the store. “The used section is over there. New releases are along the wall, and the coffee and tea are self-serve.”

Stan nodded toward the handwritten sign. “You give everyone the tour?”

You smiled without thinking. “Only people I like.”

The words seemed to catch up with you a second later.

Your gaze dropped.

Both of your hands disappeared into the sleeves of your sweater.

Stan went very still. Then his smile came slowly.

“Good to know,” he said.

You looked toward the shelves instead of him. “I meant people I know.”

Stan’s grin widened. “That’s not what you said.”

Your shoulders drew in slightly. “I know.”

Stan let you off the hook before you could retreat any farther.

“I like the tour,” he said.

You glanced back at him.

Your smile returned, smaller this time.

“Good,” you said.

A woman standing near the register looked up from a stack of invoices.

“There you are,” she said.

You set your backpack beneath the counter. “I’m early.”

“Miracles happen,” the woman replied.

You gave her a look before reaching beneath the counter for an apron.

Stan turned away before it became obvious he was watching you.

He wandered toward the used books instead.

At least, that was what he intended to do.

He made it three shelves before he heard your voice behind him.

“Do you want something sad or something hopeful?” you asked.

Stan glanced over his shoulder.

You weren’t talking to him.

A girl stood on the other side of the counter holding two paperback novels.

You leaned forward slightly as she showed you the covers.

The hesitation Stan had become used to seeing around you was gone.

You picked up one of the books and turned it over.

“This one’s better if you want something that hurts a little,” you explained. “But not in a bad way.”

The customer smiled. “That sounds ominous.”

You laughed softly. “It has a happy ending. You just have to earn it.”

Stan stopped pretending to look at the shelf in front of him.

The customer asked you another question, and you answered immediately.

Then another.

And there you were.

Not disappearing into your sleeves. Not carefully choosing every word. 

You were still quiet. Still you.

Just comfortable.

Stan leaned one shoulder against the end of the shelf and watched you talk about the book in your hand.

You gestured once with it before catching yourself and pulling it closer to your chest.

The customer laughed.

You smiled.

Stan felt his own mouth curve.

He liked this version of you too.

Maybe that was becoming the problem.

The customer eventually carried one of the books toward the register.

Stan looked down before you could catch him staring.

He pulled a paperback from the nearest shelf.

He read the back cover.

Or tried to.

A few minutes later, footsteps approached.

“That one’s good,” you said.

Stan turned.

You had come around the counter and were standing beside the shelf.

He looked down at the book in his hand.

“You’ve read it?” he asked.

You nodded. “Last year.”

Stan turned the paperback over. “Of course you have.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “What does that mean?”

Stan smiled. “Nothing bad.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly.

Stan glanced toward the shelves surrounding them. “I’m starting to think asking whether you’ve read something in here is a waste of time.”

“That is a dramatic overestimate of how fast I can read,” you said.

Stan held up the paperback. “So you recommend it?”

You looked at the cover before answering. “I do.”

Stan tucked it beneath his arm.

Your gaze dropped toward the book.

“You don’t have to buy it because I said that,” you told him.

“I know,” Stan replied.

You looked back toward him.

He smiled.

Something in your expression shifted before you looked away.

Stan checked his watch.

He had pushed it as far as he reasonably could.

“I should get going,” he said.

You glanced toward the clock behind the counter. “Do you have class?”

Stan shook his head. “No.”

You waited.

Practice sat right there. One word. Easy.

Stan looked toward the book in his hand instead.

“I’ve got practice,” he said.

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Practice?”

Stan hesitated. Just long enough to notice it.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just something I do with some friends.”

It was not technically untrue.

You nodded without pressing him. “Okay.”

Stan wasn’t sure whether the relief he felt made sense.

Probably not.

He carried the paperback toward the register.

You followed him behind the counter.

The woman from earlier had disappeared into the back room, leaving you alone at the till.

You looked down at the book he placed between you.

“You’re actually getting it?” you asked.

Stan pulled out his wallet. “You said it was good.”

“I did,” you replied.

Stan handed you a few bills. “Then I trust you.”

Your hands paused for half a second before you took them.

Stan noticed that too.

You rang up the book and slid it into a small paper bag.

When you handed it across the counter, your fingers brushed his.

Neither of you mentioned it.

“See you tomorrow?” you asked.

Stan looked at you. Wednesday. Constitutional Law.

He smiled.

“Yeah,” he said. “Tomorrow.”

Your smile came small and shy again.

Stan picked up the bag.

He made it halfway to the door before looking back.

You had already started arranging a stack of books beside the register.

Stan stepped outside.

The bell chimed behind him.

He looked down at the paperback in his hand.

He had come in to look around.

He was leaving with a book he had not intended to buy, the exact days you worked memorized, and fifteen fewer minutes to get to practice.

Stan smiled to himself as he started down the sidewalk.

Worth it.

@abbotcodyyy , @itwas-maroon16 , @mkiving , @redolently , @bexcellentadventures , @ozwriterchick , @lala-berry , @fantasyreader130 , @themoviefangirl-blog , @pitchinforperfection , @mysatnin , @bookbombshell , @dear-fifi , @miahelen , @stoptheinnocence , @artsymaddie , @mxkhxxl , @ichibella , @redolently

[sleepingbeautiiies]

Kiss Me and I Might Drop Dead - Stan Rosado College!Au SMAU

+18 MDNI

pt. 2

summary: we meet our weirdo heroine! she and stan are paired up for a biology project.

content: stan rosado x weird!fem!reader. college!au. modern setting. no aliens. everyone's aged up. duel POVs! (reader & stan). reader has a loser girl aura. stan has a crush. delilah is trying to play matchmaker.

a/n: the first chapter of my new series! let me know what you all think!

୭ ˚.୭ ˚.୭ ˚. stan's POV ୭ ˚.୭ ˚.୭ ˚.

୨୧ taglist: @oldbaddies @ilikebeingdelulu @mysatnin @themoviefangirl-blog @tatoda

[sleepingbeautiiies]

Kiss Me and I Might Drop Dead - Stan Rosado College!Au SMAU Masterlist

+18 MDNI

summary - reader is less than thrilled when she gets paired up with stan rosado for a biology project. stan, though? he may or may not have a crush on our little weirdo.

pairing - weird!fem!reader x stan rosado

content - (varies per chapter) no aliens, everything is normal. modern day setting. everyone is aged up. college!au. reader is awkward, weird and nerdy. stokely & delilah are girlfriends in this. jock x nerd. does not follow the plot of the faculty.

୭ ˚. moodboard

☆ part one

☆ part two

☆ part three

☆ part four

☆ part five

[sleepingbeautiiies]

୭ ˚. Kiss Me and I Might Drop Dead - Moodboard

disclaimer: the photos i use are meant to represent the overall vibe. any specific features (ie skin color, hair color/type, body type, etc) are not an indication of what reader looks like.

[drmohabbot]

Before he was peepaw

[corusc4nts]

purely accidental - stan rosado

stan rosado x f!reader summary: part three! you and stan have decided to try again (much to your best friend's dismay), and he begins to reflect on what he's done. content: college au, drugs, murder, mentions of violence, mentions of sex, mentions of STDs, kissing, cursing. mdni! wc: 4.3k

part one part two

Sweat stuck to your skin, making you feel way too warm as you started to wake up. Letting out a small hum, your eyes fluttered open as you remembered where you were. The sounds of you getting up caused the man you were sleeping on top of to stir.

His arms that were loosely wrapped around you tightened as he let out his own quiet noise, making it so you couldn’t escape. You picked your head up off his chest to look down at him. Your leg lifted, your bare thigh now resting over his hip. After last nights activities, you decided to forego the sweatpants and just sleep in your underwear and big t-shirt.

A large hand moved down your back, over your ass, and to your thigh. A small smile formed as he took in a deep breath. He still had his eyes closed, but he was definitely awake.

“Stan,” you whispered.

“Hm?” he hummed sleepily, raising his eyebrows.

“Let me get up, I’m all sweaty,” you smiled as you looked down at him.

“No,” he shook his head, tightening his grip on you.

“Stan!” you whined, letting out a soft giggle.

He took the opportunity to roll you both over on your sides. “C’mere,” he shoved his face into the crook of your neck.

“Seriously, I feel gross,” you complained as he nipped at your neck, eliciting another giggle out of you. He pressed a kiss under your jaw. “I forgot you run hot as a fucking furnace at night.”

“Next time, we just won’t wear any clothes. Problem solved,” he pulled away just enough to look at you, finally opening his eyes.

The thought of there being a next time… that this wasn’t a one-time hookup between exes… it made your stomach flip in the best way. You knew just by the look on his face that he meant it.

“I still feel gross,” you whispered before pecking his lips.

When you pulled away, he followed. He pressed his lips against yours firmly, not letting you get away without giving him a real kiss. You smiled against his lips before pulling away again.

“Good morning, baby,” he spoke quietly, his voice still thick with sleep.

“Good morning, Stan,” you replied, running your fingers through his curls that were fluffed up from moving around in his sleep. “Now, can I please get up? I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Hmm, that depends,” he tilted his head.

“On?”

“Can I come with?” he smirked, leaning up to peck your lips again.

With a groan, you rolled your eyes. But the smile on your face contradicted your complaint. “Sure. But we’re not having shower sex, I just want to clean off.”

Stan’s smirk turned into a full grin. “Whatever you want.” You both knew you weren’t keeping your hands off each other once you got in there.

His arms loosened around you and you finally got some distance between the two of you. The cool air of the room felt nice on your skin. As you got out of bed, Stan smacked your ass. Giggling, you turned around.

“Quit it and come on!”

He jumped out of bed, eager to follow you. “Yes, ma’am.”

When you stepped into your own apartment later in the morning, Alex was curled up on the couch watching TV. She smiled when she saw you put your bag down on the counter.

“How was your night?” she asked, holding in a laugh.

“Screw you,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “It was great, actually. It was a lot of fun, I don't think I realized how much I missed him."

"Meaning...?" she raised an eyebrow.

"I know what you're getting at," you put your hands on your hips. "Yes, I had sex with him.”

“Really?” Alex asked, her smile widening.

“Really. Like… three times.”

“Three times?” she scoffed.

“Once last night, once in the shower this morning, and once after the shower this morning,” you nodded.

Alex pat the spot on the couch next to her, and you gladly plopped down. She was watching some sort of shitty dating show. You grabbed the remote and muted the TV before turning your body towards her.

“So… what do you think?” Alex asked.

“About?”

“Stan,” she raised her eyebrows. You couldn’t help but smile just from hearing his name.

“I genuinely can’t remember why I broke up with him,” you shook your head.

“Want me to remind you?” Alex gave you an almost disgusted look. “He’d leave you home alone to go party with his boys. When you did break up with him, he didn’t even try to fight it, he just let you leave. Should I keep going?”

Before you could speak and tell her no, she continued speaking, counting on her fingers. “The nights where he did come back to you after partying, he’d sleep on the couch instead of going to bed with you. You spent all of high school with this man, plus three years of college. That’s almost eight years, babe. You moved in with him, and I remember how excited you were. You were so happy,” Alex shook her head. “And after two years, he decided he wanted to live with his boys instead, and didn’t tell you until a fucking week before the lease had to be renewed.”

You huffed, looking off to the side. “I remember now, thank you.”

“Look… I- I’m not saying he’s the worst person on the planet and you should stone him to death. He seems genuinely sorry. I can tell he’s actually trying to make it up to you. Just… be cautious, you know?” Alex’s voice got softer.

“Yeah… I know,” you muttered. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth.

“You think you’re gonna get back together with him?"

“I dunno… maybe,” you shrugged. “It’d be nice. I still love him, he still loves me. I think he realizes he fucked up. He’s been… like, really sweet to me.”

“What about Sam?” she tilted her head.

Fuck. You didn’t even think about him.

Honestly, Sam didn’t really hold any significance in your life, as fucked as that may sound. You’d met him at the beginning of the semester, right after your break up. He’d asked you out, and you made sure he knew ahead of time that nothing serious would come of it. He agreed, and you’d started your mutually beneficial relationship. It was nothing official. He was just someone to have sex with or grab dinner with when you were bored.

“Shit… I mean, he’s not my boyfriend,” you pushed some hair behind your ear. “I’ll just explain things to him. Simple.”

“So you really want Stan back?”

After a moment, you nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I do.”

Before Alex could make her next comment, her phone rang. She rolled her eyes, showing you the phone. Ricky was calling. She sighed before answering.

“Hello?” she sounded annoyed. Then, her brow furrowed. “What? What are you trying to tell me? Hurry up, I’m busy.” Her eyes widened as she looked over at you.

It was your turn to furrow your brow. What happened? Why was she looking at you like that? Had you done something?

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she said into the phone. “Okay… okay, yeah. Text me, bye.”

“What the fuck was that?” you asked.

“You remember Matt?”

“Ew, why are you bringing up Matt?” your frown deepened. Matt was another student on campus, one who was known for being a total man-whore and cheating on every girlfriend he ever had. He’d done Alex dirty a couple years back.

“He was at the party last night. He got drugged.”

“What!?” you exclaimed, sitting up straighter. “Is he okay?”

“No. I guess someone slipped something in his drink and he overdosed. When he started to go down, his friends asked if he’d taken anything, he told them no. He’s in a fucking coma.”

You were stunned into silence. You looked around before looking back at Alex. She looked confused, but not upset.

“So he said he was drugged?” you asked quietly.

“His friends are saying that. His friends told Ricky, that’s why he called me.”

You went quiet again, letting your thoughts wander. Who would try to drug Matt? He was with his boys all night, someone would’ve noticed. Did he put his drink down or something? Most importantly, it freaked you out that this happened again. Another student victim.

Pushing yourself off the couch, you made your way back to the counter, digging through it to find your phone. You were almost frantic in the way you were pulling everything out of your bag.

“What’s your problem?” Alex asked.

“I have to call Stan and tell him what happened.”

Alex audibly sighed, but you decided to let it slide. Once you finally found your phone, you called Stan. You left your things all over the counter as you walked back to your bedroom, shutting the door behind you. Stan picked up after three rings.

“Hi, baby. You get home okay?”

“Someone got drugged at the party last night,” you blurted out.

Stan was silent for a few moments. “What?”

“Some guy got drugged. He’s in a fucking coma. What the hell is happening on our campus?!” you scoffed, running a hand through your hair.

“Hey, it’s-”

“No, don’t say it’s okay!” you interrupted. “It’s not okay! Someone got murdered in an alley at a party, and a week later someone’s drugged? What if it was the same guy?”

“Baby, people get drugged at parties all the time,” Stan said softly, trying to calm you down.

“Enough to where they’re put in a coma?” you scoffed. “I- I mean, this wasn’t some date-rape thing!”

“You don't know that, okay? Just breathe, you’re freaking out.”

You realized that he was absolutely right. Your hair was frizzy from running your hand through it so many times, and you’d been pacing back and forth in your room.

“Right… sorry. I, um… are you busy today?” you asked quietly.

“Not if you need me to be free.”

“Stan, seriously, do you have plans?”

“I’m being serious,” you could hear his smile in his voice. “It’s nothing I can’t cancel. You want me to come over?”

You looked out your window for a second, gnawing on your bottom lip before nodding. “Mhm… please.”

“Okay, I’ll be over in ten. Twenty if you want me to bring over food?”

“No, just get here… we can order delivery,” you mumbled.

“Whatever you want. I’ll see you in ten,” he chuckled before hanging up.

How could he not be freaking out like you were? Someone else on campus almost died barely a week after someone was brutally murdered. Why did it seem like nobody else cared that weird shit kept happening around here?

“Your boyfriend is here!” Alex yelled from the living room. You could hear the sarcasm in her tone.

Your eyebrows shot up as you scrambled out of bed. The distant conversation got louder as you rounded the corner, seeing Alex and Stan talking. Alex had her hands on her hips, her head cocked to the side as she stared up at Stan. The conversation was casual. Nothing deep. But she still looked at him like she was judging every little thing he had to say.

Alex had been your best friend since childhood. No matter how different the two of you became, you stuck together like sisters. This meant Stan was no stranger to Alex’s intense, judgmental stares. He just smiled down at her while she spoke.

God, he looked way too good. He hadn’t noticed you’d popped in yet, his body angled just a bit away from you. He wasn’t wearing anything nice. It was just a simple white tee and some black sweatpants, but you looked him up and down like you wanted to eat him.

Taking another step into the room, Stan’s gaze flickered over to you. His smile instantly widened as he turned towards you. You instantly felt more relaxed as you made your way over to him. You held out your arms and he wasted no time pulling you in.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He pulled away to look down at you. As you rested your chin on his chest to look up at him, he pushed some hair off your forehead.

The two of you just stared at each other for a second before Alex cleared her throat. “Seriously, go to your room if you’re just gonna eye-fuck each other.”

Letting out a soft chuckle, you backed out of Stan’s embrace and started walking back to your room. Once the door was shut behind you, Stan sat on the edge of your bed. You crawled in on the other side, laying down. He moved to lay next to you, putting his arm up so you could lay on him.

“Stan?” your voice was small. You were nervous to bring up what you really wanted to talk about.

“Hm?” he hummed, his chest vibrating under your head.

“I think you should stop going to parties for a while.”

Stan furrowed his brow, looking down at you. “What do you mean?”

“I mean in two weeks, two people have been drugged or killed at a frat party.”

He took in a deep breath, shaking his head. His hand moved to your back, scratching lightly. “Baby, I already told you, it’s not anything to worry about.”

“But I am worried about it.”

“Then don’t be,” he chuckled.

Seeing you so worried for his safety made his chest tighten. Especially since he’d been the reason you were so anxious in the first place. Not that he’d ever tell you that, of course. If he ever told you he’d done those things… he’d lose you. Stan couldn’t lose you again. He couldn’t bear the thought.

“Please, just for now… it won’t kill you to skip out on a few parties,” you looked up at him through your lashes.

He was prepared to argue with you on that until he glanced down at you. All the fight drained out of him. “Alright, baby, I’ll stop going to parties for a bit. Will that make you feel better?”

“Yeah, it will,” you nodded, closing your eyes.

The two of you laid in comfortable silence. His fingers still scratched lightly up and down your back, the way he knew you loved. You used to ask him to do it for you almost every night. It was something he used to get tired of doing. But now that he had you back? He’d do it for hours on end if that’s what you wanted.

He was warm and comforting. You could smell his cologne. The cologne he’d been wearing for years. The cologne he’d only bought in the first place because you said you liked it after smelling a tester at the mall. You tilted your chin up, your nose bumping the underside of his jaw, and took in a deep breath.

“So… Alex called me your boyfriend,” he spoke quietly, changing the subject.

You groaned and buried your face into his chest. “I know… I’m sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be sorry. Nothing to be sorry about,” he cooed, his hand moving to stroke your hair. “Did you tell her we were getting back together or something?”

“…Not exactly.”

He let out a small laugh, his chest shook under you. “What’s that mean?”

“I just…” you sighed, picking your head up to look at him. “You know, she asked if I’d, like… want to get back together with you. Like, if I’d wanna try again.”

Stan rolled his bottom lip between his teeth before speaking softly. “What’d you tell her?”

“I, um… I said yeah. That I’d… be willing to try again. If that’s what you want, I mean-” you began to ramble before he cut you off with a kiss.

Your eyes widened for a second before they fluttered shut, melting into him. His arm wrapped around your shoulders a bit tighter, keeping you where you laid on top of him. When he pulled away, he looked at you with heavy lidded eyes. The hand that wasn't on your back came up to cup your face, the pad of his thumb running back and forth across your cheek.

“Of course I want that. Of course I want another chance, I love you.”

Your breath caught in the back of your throat as you stared at him. His hand slowly moved up and down your back, like he knew you had to take a second.

Of course he would still love you. The two of you had been together for years, he was your first everything… that kind of love for someone doesn’t just disappear in three months. That kind of love doesn't really disappear ever.

“I know… I love you, too.”

His smile instantly widened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, your smile mirroring his.

“So you think you wanna do this again?” he whispered. “I swear to you, I won’t fuck up this time.”

You ran a hand through his hair, letting your fingers stay in the curls at the base of his neck. “I know you won’t.”

That night, Stan had gone home to grab a few things. He was coming back to spend the night. Unlike him, you had made the mistake of angrily throwing out some of his things. He forgave you for it, because of course he would. If anything, he found it a little funny that you'd decided to keep his clothes, but destroy things like his toothbrush.

Alex was in the living room, eating a bowl of cereal, when you walked out to the kitchen. She looked up as you came into view, putting the bowl on the coffee table.

“Hey, guess what?”

“Hm?” you hummed as you opened the fridge.

“Cops made a statement on the drugging. It’s not related to the murder. You can stop freaking the fuck out.”

You straightened up, shutting the fridge as you turned to look at her. “What?”

“The drugging. Robert’s murder. Unrelated.”

“How do they know that?”

“Um, because one was a drugging at a party, the other was a brutal murder in a fucking alleyway. So you can stop flipping out,” she rolled her eyes.

“I wasn’t flipping out,” you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Oh? ‘Stan, please stop partying! I don’t want you getting hurt!’,” she mocked you. Your face fell. “The walls in this place are paper thin, you keep forgetting that.”

You scoffed as the front door opened back up. Stan walked in with a backpack of his things over his shoulder, and a bag of takeout.

“What, he’s got key privileges again?” Alex sat up.

“I brought sushi,” Stan put the bag down on the counter, ignoring her comment. Alex’s face lit up.

“Stan, have I ever told you how I think you are the perfect man for my best friend?” she jumped up off the couch.

He chuckled and shook his head. “I’m sure,” he nodded, making his way over to you. He ducked down to kiss your forehead. “Hey, baby.”

“Hi,” you said quietly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“So, what’s the deal? You two back together or what?” Alex asked as she dug into the bag of food.

Stan leaned back against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms as he shrugged. He looked at you, clearly wanting you to answer.

“Um… we’re getting there. Moving slowly, you know?” you explained.

Alex snorted. “Fucking three times in a day isn’t moving slowly.”

“Alex!” you gasped. Stan let out a loud laugh, smiling ear to ear as his face turned red.

“What?! It’s not!” she defended herself. You put your forehead on Stan’s chest in an effort to hide the blush on your cheeks. He uncrossed his arms and wrapped them around you. “And I’ve been trying to help you,” she pointed to Stan.

“Me? How?”

“Yeah, you. I was just telling her the cops think the drugging isn’t related to the murder. You should be free to party. I know you love doing that,” Alex said, faking a sweet tone.

Stan rolled his eyes as he responded. “Yeah, well, she doesn’t want me going out. So I’m not gonna.”

“Wow, you’re gonna listen to her? There really is a first time for everything!” Alex spoke sarcastically as she took her container of sushi back over to the couch.

“Come on, let’s eat in my room. We’ll watch a movie,” you grumbled, grabbing the rest of the food, knowing Stan would follow.

Once you were in your room, Stan let out a long sigh. He instantly relaxed a bit. Being around Alex had always made him a bit tense. He never knew what kind of shit she’d end up throwing in his face.

“Nice to know Alex still fucking hates me,” he mumbled, flopping down on the bed.

“She doesn’t hate you… she’s just…” you tried to find the right words as you put the food on your nightstand. “She doesn’t want to see me hurt again.”

“What, and I do?” Stan scoffed, moving to sit up against the headboard.

“I didn’t say that,” you sighed.

“You implied it,” he narrowed his eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered under your breath. “Stan, that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

It was like deja vu. The two of you going back and forth over something that didn’t fucking matter. Nothing you fought about ever mattered in the long run. But that was one of the things that slowly killed your relationship. If history was repeating itself the way you believed, next thing he’d do would be to storm out of the room, leaving you alone.

Instead, Stan took in a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“I know, I’m sorry. I… I fucked up before, and she doesn’t want you to go through that again,” he nodded. “Sorry for putting words in your mouth.”

Maybe things really would be different this time.

“Come sit,” he said, patting the spot next to him on the bed. “Tell me about this shit the cops said.”

Sighing, you sat down next to him, laying your legs over his. His hand immediately found your thigh.

“Well… they don’t think it’s connected. I don’t… I don’t know, I still have a bad feeling about it.”

Stan had to bite down on his lower lip to stop himself from smiling. Not connected. The cops had no fucking idea he’d been the one to commit both crimes. It was perfect.

It also wasn’t lost on him that the two people he’d managed to harm were both pieces of shit. It was almost like he had some sort of sixth sense for douchebags. Now that he had you back, he didn’t have to keep going… but he kind of liked the sense of justice it made him feel.

“So the guy that was drugged… Matt, right?” he asked, running his hand up and down your thigh.

“What about him?”

“He’s Alex’s ex, right?”

“Ex is a loose term. They only dated for a month before she found out he cheated on her with four women,” you rolled your eyes.

“Four? In a month?”

“Mhm. Don’t tell anyone this, but… he gave her chlamydia. She had to go through antibiotics, it was a whole thing,” you whispered. Stan raised an eyebrow.

“So you’re not too upset about what happened?” he teased.

“What happened to him is awful and terrifying… but I’m not exactly upset it happened to him, you know?”

Stan smiled at that. He’d done something good. He’d done good by taking Robert out, and he’d done good by putting this asshole Matt into a coma, and you seemed to be happy about it!

Maybe he should come clean… let you know what he’d done. Once he explained he’d done it for you, you’d understand, right? The first one was a total accident, but the second one? That was planned for you! Sure, it didn’t end up turning out exactly how he’d hoped, but it was the intention that really mattered.

“What are you smiling about?” you furrowed your brow, a small smile on your own face.

Stan snapped out of his thoughts, looking down at you. “Nothing, baby, you’re just cute.”

“Yeah, well… anyways, I hope they catch both of the fuckers who did this. They deserve to rot in prison,” you said finally, reaching over him to grab one of the small containers that held a roll of sushi.

You didn’t notice the way Stan stiffened up under you. You didn’t see the way his smile fell almost instantly. You couldn’t feel the way his heart rate picked up.

Any thoughts of telling you what he’d done went right out the window. You could never find out what he did. He would make sure of it.