𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊, one shots

Stan Marsh

STALKER

An anonymous number, it was genius for a while. There was absolutely no way you could get caught sending such visual, odd, intrusive messages to your crush. For months, Stan was receiving your texts and blocked all of the numbers you've created just to talk to him. Stan used to reply to them —mainly with question asking who you were— but he still replied, and that meant a lot to you.

However now, he just ignores you and pretends the messages don't exist. Sometimes you hear him at lunch laughing with his friends about the "creep who anonymously texts him" and he often makes fun of the secret admiration paragraphs. Sure, this hurt a little bit, but you still loved him regardless.

The bell rings, bringing you out of your dazed stare on him. You stand from your seat and rush to your locker, putting away your binders and taking the burner phone out, tucking it into your back pocket. At the end of the day you would usually go home, make a snack and turn on your favorite Netflix series, You, and then you would text your beloved and ask him how his football practice went.

You
how was practice?

Of course you didn't actually expect a response from him. The same message was repeated everyday at 5:10pm. You smile, content, until the phone notifies you of a text. His number was the only one on there, causing your heart to skip a beat as you instantly pick it up.

Stan
Y/N Y/L/N

Your face goes pale when realization hits you. How did he find out? Did someone else know and tell him? What would he do now that he knew it was you all this time?

Stan
I know you see this

Stan
Why the hell are you so obsessed with me?? wtf is this Y/N ????

Stan
Come outside right now.

You
What are you talking about?

Stan
Outside. Now.

You don't know why you stand from your bed, pause the show and put the phone in your pocket. And you really don't know why you go downstairs and open the door to Stan. He's fuming with anger, embarrassment, and pure hatred. "Tell me why the fuck you've been messaging me. Why did you get new numbers every time I blocked you just to text me some more?" By now he was yelling and you were in clear shock. His friends stood behind him, watching the scene unfold before them quite entertained. "Hey, I'm talking to you! Answer me!"

"I just— I li–like— I love you," you say, much to your own humiliation. The boys and girls behind him laugh loudly at this and you cower behind the door.

"How can you love me when you don't even know me? Maybe if you acted like a normal fucking person and talked to me instead of stalking me, I would've been more accepting but you," he pauses, red in the face as he looks you up and down and shakes his head in disgust, "You're nothing but a goddamn filthy creep."

Tears well up in your eyes, blurring you vision, but you could see the flash of phones behind him as the crowd recorded the interaction. Everyone in town would know about this by morning and you would be labeled as the town stalker, or the town's very own goddamn filthy creep.

"Give me the phone, Y/N," he demands. You open your mouth to argue, but he only repeats himself louder and makes you flinch, reaching into your pocket anxiously and handing over the cheap device. Stan holds it in his hand for a moment and snarls at it, tossing the phone on the ground between the two of you and stepping on it. The phone smashes in thousands of tiny little pieces, along with your heart. "If you ever think about trying this shit again, I will have your ass on a restraining order."

You watch as he turns his back to you, walking away without another word. His friends linger to watch you fall apart, all laughing at your misery. Things were never going to be the same.