#sp writes

[heavyeditsnz]

Wipe(d)out (part 2)

so this one turned out to be way longer than i thought... but here it is! the long awaited second half of this lil' saga! i hope you're all ready for more gay sneezy cephalopod fluff >:3

srsly tho yall have no idea how much fun it is writing these two

tags: M/M, cold sneezes, hurt/comfort-adjacent, a few stifles and holdbacks (and subsequent egging on to not do that)

CWs: there's no egregious mess, but definitely a step up from part 1

word count: 5k

-

Asahi awoke to find himself alone in a car and parked in front of a pharmacy.

A strained groan of discomfort escaped him as he blinked his bleary eyes open and looked around the tiny space, gingerly stretching out his stiff legs as his fever-addled mind tried to catch up. Just a few minutes ago he was in the lobby with Ren, and now he was… in a car, feeling hot and sweaty and barely able to breathe through his nose.

As he pushed himself up he gave a thick, useless sniffle as he roughly rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up in the car’s seat, drowsily thumbing at his chapped nose and cringing as his fingers came back wet. He couldn’t have been asleep for long and yet the congestion had returned in full force; his irritated sinuses nearly compacted with inky snot that still threatened to drip down his chapped upper lip, like both of his nostrils had been sealed off with glue… or wet concrete, Asahi thought bitterly. For now he was stuck taking shallow breaths through his mouth, at least until he could blow his nose.

There was no doubt about it at this point, he was feeling awful. Not only physically, but there was a nagging guilt trying to worm its way into the back of his mind, about having to cancel his plans with Ren today, having him drop everything just to take care of him… 

Still exhausted from his short nap, Asahi swiped his chapped nose on his hoodie sleeve, wincing as the rough fabric rubbing against raw skin started to sting. His eyes watered as his nose scrunched and wiggled, the wall of congestion shifting in his head and making him feel heavy and hot and all-around gross. 

Where was Ren? Still foggy with delirium, he squinted and tried to peer into the building’s windows and seeing only blurred blobs in front of him, wincing as the dull throbbing in his head grew worse as he tried to look. Maybe… not doing that was a good idea, and he slumped back into the car seat with a rough sigh that immediately turned into a coughing fit that left him wheezing and reeling.

The seats were hot, strangely enough, soothing on his aching body and warm enough to keep him from shivering. He reached up to swipe at his nose, rubbing against his hoodie sleeve as he shuffled around trying to make himself comfortable again. Occasionally he’d glance out of the windows; he didn’t really recognize this area of town… that, or his feverish mind wasn’t allowing him to recognize it. Everything was starting to sway and shift around again and Asahi gripped the door’s handle as he waited for his vision to stop spinning and swirling every which way. 

With no one else in the car, the sick Octoling was left alone with only the radio and his fever-addled thoughts. The thumping bass from the sound system sent uncomfortable vibrations through his aching body, even when he leaned to rest his feverish head on the seat belt, even with the volume this low. He’d only laid down for a second before the buzzing from the speakers began to irritate his sinuses, already sensitive and all-around overworked. 

The hitching came on fast, though weak and unstable, and Asahi wiggled and scrunched his quivering nose, attempting to dislodge the itchy buildup somehow before it got too annoying. His hands were quivering, unsure of whether to try and catch the inevitable eruption into his hands or the crook of his elbow. 

Asahi’s eyes were wet with itchy tears as the buzzing behind his eyelids grew more and more overwhelming, needling across his tortured sinuses and barely moving. His hitching breaths grew more jagged and desperate, and suddenly he reeled back with his shaky hands now awkwardly cupped and braced for impact as his watery eyes finally flickered shut… and just as quickly the teasing itch spiked and suddenly receded, and all that came out was a shaky sigh.

…Asahi slumped against the heated seat. That was… weird.

With another thick sniffle he swiped at his raw nostrils and tried to relax a little, leaning back and letting the heated seat soothe his achy body. This was Yui’s car, wasn’t it? She was the only person he knew with heated seats and a sound system like that. At least he wasn’t somewhere entirely unfamiliar, this bringing a small amount of comfort to the ill Octoling.

Maybe a few extra minutes of shut-eye wouldn’t hurt, Asahi thought to himself as he settled in. His eyelids grew heavy as he laid still, warm and comfortable with something to chase that persistent chill away, and he would have dozed off again if the static behind his eyes hadn’t suddenly alighted with renewed fury. 

"—eH'pSSHIEW!!"

The itch behind his eyes spiked and with a shaky gasp Asahi pitched forwards without thinking, hitting the dashboard with a small but noticeable misty spray of saliva. He gave a dizzy groan as he resurfaced, muffling a liquidy sniffle into the wrist of his (now well-used) hoodie sleeve as he struggled to stem the warm, inky gunk threatening to spill out of his cold-ridden nose.

Yikes… that was a little too close for comfort. Asahi had just barely avoided a mess.

He’d snuff the mess back up as best he could, but he could only go without blowing for so long.

Now with his leaky nose buried into his sleeve, a desperate attempt to stem the flow of inky snot threatening to drip down his upper lip, his eyes darted around the car interior in a desperate search for something he could blow into. There had to be a napkin or something laying around… He wished he kept his mask on.

His sniffling increased in frequency as he frantically searched the car, but there wasn’t a single tissue nor paper napkin in sight much to his dismay. “sdrrrk-- Ohh, God…” Asahi muttered to himself as he searched the glove box for anything resembling a napkin or a travel pack, thickly sniffling back another wave of snot threatening to leak out… and wincing as the inky gunk rippling against his overworked and inflamed sinuses sparked another burning itch behind his eyes, deep-seated and spreading agonizingly slow. There had to be something here, anything…

“h’heh–... hehh–!...”

Asahi’s vision went fuzzy as the urge to sneeze crept up on him, and he hurriedly pressed the flat of his tongue to the roof of his mouth, stalling the tickle and buying some more precious time.

God, not now! There was a hefty chance he’d drench himself and Yui’s car if he couldn’t hold back, and Asahi wasn’t sure if the sleeves of his hoodie could take any more damage. 

Still, he’d sniffle again and roughly wipe his chapped, leaky nose on his hoodie sleeve and searched in vain for a napkin he could use… too caught up in his desperate search to notice Ren making his way back to the car, too focused on keeping his runny nose under control to hear the car’s doors unlock and then open.

“Oh hey, you’re finally up.” Ren’s voice startled the sick Octoling out of his near trance, visibly flinching in surprise at his return. He probably looked pathetic, with his runny nose buried in his hoodie sleeve while he desperately searched for something to blow into while Ren stepped into the driver’s seat. “You were out the whole ride here. Passed out almost as soon as we left the lobby. Figured you needed some sleep, so I didn’t wanna wake you…”

So that’s why he barely remembered having left the lobby…

“Got you a few things, too.” In Ren’s hands were a few plastic bags, likely filled with all sorts of cold supplies and remedies… and hopefully some tissues. He reached over the seat, about to deposit the grocery bags on the back seat and out of his reach when Asahi finally found his voice.

“R-Ren?” He’d gasp out despite the crack in his tone. “I-I need a tihh-” His voice went shaky as the itch in his nose from before suddenly reignited, and Asahi couldn’t finish his sentence before his eyes squeezed shut and he wrenched forwards with a desperate “hiI’gKSSCHHIIEW!!!” -- into the waiting sleeve of his hoodie, drenching the fabric in a barely contained shower of snot and inky mist.

The damp spot was the first sensation he clocked, then the unmistakable, uncomfortable warmth now oozing out of his nose and onto his upper lip… and Ren’s eyes on him, as Asahi woozily blinked back itchy tears and tried wiping his leaky nostrils on his ruined sleeve, but for all his effort this only managed to spread the mess around… and to add insult to injury, he needed to sneeze again, and before he knew it he was already reeling back, with barely any time to see Ren’s expression before he lurched forwards again into his soiled sleeves, soaking the hoodie in more inky snot. “hI’H-... hE’gKSSHHUHh!!”

One of the first things Asahi was aware of when the haze in his head finally settled were the tips of his ears absolutely burning in shame.

He withered underneath Ren’s stunned stare as hot stinging tears began to well up in his eyes and spill over his cheeks, and before he even realized it he was quietly whimpering, ineffectively sniffling back the deluge of snotty ink oozing out of his nose and soaking into his sleeves.

So much for avoiding a mess.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he finally glanced up at Ren; probably shock or disgust at how snotty and all around miserable he looked as he tried to avoid looking into the Inkling’s eyes… and finding neither of his own expectations.

“H-Hey! What’s wrong?!”

The sudden explosion definitely made Ren jump, of course, but his startled look quickly melted away once he caught sight of the tears bubbling up in Asahi’s eyes, and he quickly reached behind the driver’s seat for one of the plastic bags. 

The immediate concern for him caught Asahi off guard; his tear-filled glassy eyes went wide, like a minnow entrapped by an angler fish’s light. And yet the only reply he could muster up was a thick sniffle and a pathetic whimper, slightly flinching as Ren reached over to rub behind one of his rounded ears.

It took a while for Asahi to muster up a response, and at that point the dam caved in.

“I-I feel awful…” he finally admitted, even as he shrunk away from Ren’s touch. “I mb’essed u’b our pla’ds and rui’ded everythi’g a’d… a-a’d I just feel gross!” He eventually choked out a quiet sob, his body shuddering with each shaky inhale, with little hiccups and useless sniffles in between, and Ren sighed softly once he realized how unnecessarily guilty his partner had been feeling… and all over getting sick, no less.

With no other response he then moved his hand to stroke across Asahi’s cheek, delicately wiping away his boyfriend’s tears despite the sniffling and his attempts to pull away. He frowned, almost as if the teary look of shame on his partner’s pale face had him feeling guilty as well-- he had to do something.

“Hey. Look at me.” 

With his other hand he took hold of his partner’s chin, gently pulling him close so that he was facing Ren despite his weak attempts at escape. The sudden boldness had the desired effect, stunning Asahi so that he was completely still, and once he had his attention he shifted that hand to rub behind Asahi’s ear. “You are not gross, okay?” he spoke firmly. “Why would I be mad at you for getting sick?”

Asahi sputtered. “B-But…”

“No buts,” Ren quickly silenced his boyfriend’s protests with a kiss to his warm forehead. “You’re not a burden, Asahi. You didn’t ‘ruin’ anything, I promise. So what if we couldn’t practice today? We can always come back when you’re in better shape, yeah?”

And then he pulled him in across the seats for a hug, despite the thick sniffling ringing in Ren’s ears and his arm still held up to his face, and even moved to rub his back- unmoving even as Asahi eventually wrapped his own free arm around him- leaning into his boyfriend’s warmth as the tears in his eyes began to dry, muttering a weak ‘tha’g you’ into his boyfriend’s neck before pulling away.

Now that the tears had stopped, there was something else Ren had to attend to-- namely, that leaky nose of his.

“C’mon, let me see the damage,” he’d prod as he grabbed Asahi’s wrist and gently pulled his arm from underneath his dripping nose. The fabric on his sleeves had definitely taken the brunt of the damage, with a thin line of snot connecting his leaky nostrils to the stain on his wrist. 

Ren noted a few smaller, dried stains on that sleeve, and a quick offhand glance revealed similar small streaks on the hoodie’s other sleeve. And all while Asahi continued to avoid eye contact, still looking embarrassed about the mess on his hoodie. Just how long had he been doing this? No wonder his boyfriend’s nose was all raw and chapped if he’d been using his hoodie sleeves as a snot rag for who knows how long.

“Old habits die hard, eh?” Ren joked in an attempt to lift his sick boyfriend’s spirits, only getting an exhausted half-chuckle in reply. 

“It’s nothing a pre-soak can’t fix, though,” he would decide as he popped open the box of tissues he just bought and swiped up a few, then pressed the clump around Asahi’s nose— gently lifting his head so that he could gaze into his glassy, unfocused eyes, and stopped for a moment.

At this point he’d known that vacant expression all too well, and reached for another tissue to add to the wad bunched around his quivering nostrils. He held the clump close even as Asahi tried to pull away from his hand between short, breathy gasps and fluttering eyelids. Was he seriously still trying to fight off his symptoms?

Getting an idea, Ren would gently press the flat of his thumb against his nose, lightly rubbing the textured tissues against his flaring ink-rimmed nostrils, and slowly nudging that quivering appendage up and down while applying a small amount of pressure. It was nothing drastic, just a small bit of movement to distract Asahi from trying to hold back. 

Or to coax that itch out. Whatever came first.

“R-Re’d—?” Asahi gasped out between tickly gasps, quivering as he still tried to pull away from the Inkling’s hand. “W-What are you-? I-I gotta-hhh-...”

“I know,” Ren replied rather directly. “Stop trying to fight it, ‘kay?”

So despite his protests he held his hand in place, protected by layers of facial tissue, while Asahi hitched and squirmed in his grasp. Ren kept his grip steady even as Asahi stopped pulling away and began to tilt his head back, even as his breaths grew more shallow and desperate as his eyes welled with itchy tears, then flickered shut. “hehh-... HE’gKSSHHYOO!!”

Ren held his hand firm and steady as Asahi finally pitched forwards, remaining unfazed as warmth filled his palm, and he shifted his grip ever so slightly to make sure the tissues completely covered his nose despite the force. 

“Yeesh, that sounded rough,” Ren chuckled, using his free hand to flick a stray tear from Asahi’s cheek. This was where he noticed the misty, unfocused look in Asahi’s eyes; his lips slightly parted and his chest heaving again with short, tickly gasps— he wasn’t done, clearly. 

“Still itchy?” The dazed, shaky nod was all the confirmation Ren needed, and he pinched the tissue wad around his quivering nose as his flickering eyelids closed again.

“u-uhh’hh‐… hh’tSHHUUHh!!” Ren’s hand grew warmer and heavier as Asahi pitched forwards into the clump of damp tissue… then reeled back again, gasping in a strangled breath. “gh’hehh-... he’PSSCH— -g’KSSCHh— -KSHHUuh!!!” 

And he pitched forwards into the squid’s hand with an uncontrolled, rapid triple, drenching the soft paper in stringy, snotty ink as each sneeze ripped through him, but the itching finally backed off afterwards and Asahi slumped into his partner’s hand; groaning in relief, barely aware of Ren reaching out to rub the top of his head. “Bless you. Feel better?”

“Uh-huh…” The sniffle that followed was long and thick, but exhaustion overshadowed any embarrassment Asahi felt, and he couldn’t help smiling a little. “Tha’g you, Re’d.”

He froze.

Tha’g you, Re’d. Those three words brought a surprising heat to the Inkling’s face, the tips of his ears burning with an unknown feeling. He felt weirdly giddy, hearing Asahi trying to thank him while horribly stuffed up. Coupled with that sickly smile on his face…he’s still cute even when he’s this wiped.

“R-Re’d...?”

Another soupy sniffle brought him back to the present.

Ren glanced down to see Asahi staring up at him, his pale cheeks suddenly flush with color. “Y-You’re stari’g…”

“S-Shit, sorry.”

He quickly shook off that weird giddiness.  

Right, Asahi was more important right now, he could deal with those weird thoughts later. He gently wiped around his boyfriend’s quivering nose before pulling the ink-stained clump of tissue away. For now, he’d stuff the used tissue into the cup holder as he reached for the box again to pull up a few fresh sheets. 

Ren was gentle; tenderly cupping the clean tissues around Asahi’s nose while he gazed into his boyfriend’s glassy eyes. He couldn’t help chuckling to himself watching his boyfriend lean into the tissues without a second thought this time, clearly picking up the relieved sigh that escaped the sick Octoling’s throat. “These feel nd’ice,” Asahi muttered.

“Of course they’re gonna feel better than cafe napkins and cheap toilet paper,” Ren would gently rib as he tried to lighten the mood somewhat. “These have lotion in them, though.” 

He pulled his hand away once Asahi reached for the tissues clumped around his nose, effortlessly passing the wad of paper into his hands, only to take a second glance at his sick partner in the passenger’s seat next to him. 

His tentacles were still very pale; lethargic and limp as they hung from his usual ponytail, and under the sunlight they appeared to have lost even more color. His skin was no different; clammy and beaded with sweat, save for the inflamed tint around his quivering nose, buried deep in layers of tissues with a thick, gurgling blow that sounded desperately needed. 

Most of all, however, Asahi seemed tense— even as he tried to clear his sinuses; straining against the aches and fatigue permeating every inch of his body as he gasped in another exhausted breath and blew as hard as he could with a spluttering honk that quickly lost its strength. He groaned in discomfort before leaning to blow again; this time with more force and less regard for how embarrassing he sounded, but still quickly losing steam.

Ren watched as Asahi carefully crumpled up the sodden tissue so that the mess inside remained inwards, then followed his boyfriend’s lead in stuffing the soiled paper into the cup holder, on top of the tissue from earlier before reaching for the tissue box again.

…At that moment, Ren made another mental note to thoroughly sanitize his sister’s car before returning it to her.

There had to be something he could do to help, Ren thought to himself, reaching over to place one of his hands on Asahi’s shoulders, mostly out of sympathy for his sick partner— and then an idea hit once he clocked just how tense the Octoling’s shoulders were.

A few extra minutes in the parking lot wouldn’t hurt, Ren rationalized, before turning in his seat to place both of his hands on Asahi’s shoulders while he was preoccupied with blowing his nose, startling him out of his focus.

“W-What are you—?” 

“Want a shoulder rub?” was Ren’s nonchalant reply. The suggestion seemed out of nowhere, but… in all honesty Asahi was too tired to argue, and the idea definitely sounded nice.

He gave a slow, tired but trusting nod and Ren began to do just that; rubbing and gently applying pressure to the tensest parts of his shoulders. Asahi shuddered underneath the Inkling’s hands as the aching in his body ebbed away, if only for a while, and before long his eyelids fluttered shut and he leaned across the center console into Ren’s hands. 

Meanwhile Ren chuckled to himself watching his partner melt in his hands, all tension in his neck and shoulders evaporating almost as soon as he laid hands on him. He seemed on the verge of falling asleep then and there, his movements slow and floaty even without the shoulder rub. And despite the weird posture he had to affect to be able to reach both shoulders, he didn’t mind too much as long as Asahi was at least a little bit comfortable.

“Feels gooood…” Asahi mumbled out, eliciting another laugh and a deeper rub. Time seemed to slow, even though the two had only been like this for maybe five minutes. Though he had to pull away after some time though; this position didn’t really agree with him no matter how flexible and limber Ren assumed he was. 

Naturally Asahi began to pout once he pulled away to focus on getting home and cut the shoulder rub short. “I can keep going once we’re home,” he quickly added as a compromise, and Asahi reluctantly agreed.

With his seatbelt on, Ren reached for the gear shift, only stopping to take one last look at Asahi before pulling off, and decided that he should maybe keep that tissue box within his sick boyfriend’s reach. So he unceremoniously plopped the box into his lap, startling him as soon as he was about to doze off, along with another important item he’d bought- a bottle of orange juice, which he’d placed in the only other open cup holder where Asahi could reach it. “Got you some juice, too,” he called out to bring his sick partner’s attention to the drink, then he turned to focus on pulling out of the parking lot for real this time— or he would have, had Asahi not spoken up again.

”T-Thank you…” the sick Octoling muttered. His voice, though clear of congestion now, still came strained and weak. “F-For the tissues, and t-the orange juice, and…”  

“Don’t mention it,” Ren replied. “You sound better, too.”

He looked over to notice that Asahi was avoiding his line of sight again, hiding behind the wad of fresh tissues pressed to his nose. There was visible embarrassment in his glassy eyes, and he shrunk in on himself once he caught sight of Ren. 

“S-Someone in the lobby bathroom said I sounded like a jammed Nautilus…”

And then Ren snorted; unable to suppress a giggle at that comment; unable to stop giggling despite the pout on Asahi’s face. That was… so out of pocket and Ren would be lying if he claimed he didn’t pity his partner being jabbed at by a stranger in the restroom.

But it was so specific and weirdly blunt that the comparison blindsided him, and he couldn’t help but just laugh. Not to mention the added irony in Asahi’s recent decision (last week) to try and take up the weapon in question. A perfect storm all-in-all.

”It’s not funny…” Asahi gave a weak rasp, and Ren eventually stopped laughing. “S-Sorry dude… that was just so outta pocket.” 

Still unconvinced, Asahi continued to pout, and Ren eventually sighed in defeat and reached out to rub behind his ears again. He was surprised to see him resist, weakly pulling away from Ren’s hand as he continued to rub, but he held out for exactly four seconds before the sick Octoling relented, slowly leaning into the embrace as the pout melted from his face. “Knew you’d come around eventually,” Ren chuckled.

”But seriously, it’s no big deal. Just wanted to make sure you were at least a little comfortable.” He pulled away from Asahi’s ear once he began to lean back in his seat, gently patting his cheek before returning to the wheel— for real this time. “I’m no nurse, but I do know how to make a cold less painful. So don’t worry, you’re in good hands.”

…Okay, he may have been a little overconfident in that last statement. But Ren was determined to make sure his sick boyfriend didn’t suffer too much, and it even seemed to alleviate Asahi’s concerns as he began to settle in his seat for the ride home. He kept the tissue box in his lap, of course, as he reached to crack open the bottle of orange juice to take a sip… which turned into the delayed realization that he’d barely had anything to drink all day, if gulping down half the bottle was any indication.

“S-Sorry we still couldn’t do any warm-up rounds, though…” Asahi admitted after a period of silence, staring down into his bottle of juice.

“C’mon, you don’t have to keep beating yourself up over it. We can go back when you’re in better shape.” 

That seemed to finally convince him, and Asahi eventually slumped into his seat, carefully re-capping his orange juice before placing it back in the cup holder. He gave a soft, crackling sigh as he got comfortable in the car seat, humming contentedly as he settled in against the soothing heat radiating along his back… Ren chuckled to himself, wondering when Asahi would notice the car’s heated seats. “Feels good, don’t it?”

“Mmhm…” Asahi purred, slowly sinking into the seat’s warmth.

“Alright, let’s get outta here. You wanna get somethin’ to eat before we head home?” Ren asked as he buckled himself in and shifted gears, but got no response… He glanced over to find Asahi asleep in his seat, lightly snoring with his head resting precariously against the seatbelt. 

He smiled to himself. “You’re gonna be alright. Swear on it,” Ren reassured again, as he moved to plant a small kiss right in the middle of his warm, sweat-slicked forehead. 

It was a small display of affection, sure, but the sleepy smile on the feverish Octoling’s face meant a lot to him.

——

“Yui won’t be back till seven,” the tall Inkling rattled off as he shouldered his sick partner all the way up to the complex doorstep, “so until then we’ve got the place to ourselves.”

Noon had only barely passed when the two made it back to the apartments. At this point Ren was essentially dragging a delirious and clearly sleepy Asahi into the complex he shared with his older sister, held up with his arm braced across his shoulders and matching his uneven, staggering pace, keeping him upright as they hobbled up to the doorstep and Ren dug for his house key.

“We’re almost there, just hang on.” he’d reassure him as he guided him over curbs and low steps that Asahi would have no doubt tripped over in this state. 

At this point Ren sounded more like he was trying to reassure himself rather than the one who actually needed it, who seemed barely responsive save for a weak nod and a shuddering, unrepressed cough that caused Ren to wince in sympathy.

There was something needling at the back of his neck… Pity. 

It sucked seeing Asahi so ill; so low. He didn’t deserve this, if anything! Someone so sweet and kind and gentle, laid low by the changing seasons… He didn’t deserve this! 

“Hang in there, alright?” Ren would try reassuring him as the two hobbled up to the front door. Now he just needed his house key, and he’d be home safe and Asahi could properly rest…

As he retrieved his key and unlocked the apartment door, Ren glanced over at his ill partner, who seemed barely awake while he leaned his full weight onto him for support. His eyelids would frequently flicker between thick, inky sniffling, and he still shivered even underneath the blazing sun. 

Asahi suddenly whipped to the side before doubling over, and his grip on Ren’s arm would clench even tighter as more deep, heavy crackling coughs wracked his trembling frame. The force was enough to nearly pull Ren down with him, and he winced in sympathy once the coughing subsided and Asahi was left dizzily wheezing.

He wasted no time in pulling his boyfriend through the front door and into the air-conditioned space before locking the door behind him. 

“Chez Takahashi welcomes you,” Ren announced with a goofy flourish once the two were inside, hoping to get a giggle or at least a smile from his sick boyfriend. And it worked, somewhat; his silly little show eliciting a small, tired giggle from Asahi, though it quickly dissolved into another fit of coughs.

Home safe, finally, Ren thought to himself as he guided Asahi to the couch, letting him sit down so that he was finally off of his feet. “Kick off your shoes, make yourself comfortable! Remote’s right there if you wanna watch TV.”

He’d have to run back to the car to grab their backpacks as well as the supplies he bought, as getting his unstable boyfriend inside was his main priority, and once Asahi was seated and stable he ducked back towards the door to grab everything he’d forgotten.

Once outside he’d release a heavy sigh, as the day’s events weighed on him— and it was only just past noon. 

He kicked a nearby rock as he went to unlock the car, reaching for Asahi’s backpack first and slinging one of its straps around his shoulder, followed by his own. The grocery bags he could grab with one hand.

“Got the stuff,” Ren called out as he made his way back through the doorway and over to where his boyfriend was seated before depositing the grocery bags onto the couch. Asahi hadn’t moved much from his spot (he hadn’t even kicked off his shoes), groaning and wetly sniffling with his visibly damp hoodie sleeve pressed against his nose, woozily blinking back dizzy tears as he gazed up at Ren… All he could rasp out was a weak, stuttering “sorry” followed by another soupy sniffle. 

It didn’t take long for Ren to piece together what happened while he was gone, but he decided not to draw attention to it. At least not yet, anyway. 

He searched through the bags for a few choice items, not missing the change in Asahi’s expression once he pulled out the open box of tissues— reddened eyes going wide with a grateful gleam as he reached for the box, then promptly swiped up a few of the soft sheets to bunch around his nose in an attempt to stem the leaking. Ren decided not to comment on the honking, gurgling blow that followed.

While his boyfriend was preoccupied, Ren dug through the bag of supplies again, looking for a few more choice items to help ease Asahi’s symptoms somewhat— cough drops, tea, more tissues (because one box was never enough), cup noodles, an ice pack, vapor rub, and most importantly, nighttime-strength, severe cold medicine. “You have your inhaler, right?”

Asahi gave a weak nod and pointed towards his bag, the one that was just brought in. Which was sitting next to Ren’s backpack on the ground by the door, so that was good.

“You want me to wash that?” he’d question as he gestured down to the snot-stained sleeves, and Asahi shrunk away in embarrassment; this eliciting a small, amused chuckle from Ren. “C’mon, that hoodie’s basically a petri dish. You’re not gonna get any better sulking around in it.”

“B-But I’b cold…”

“We’ve got blankets, yknow.”

Asahi eventually relented, and he shuffled out of his hoodie with assistance from Ren; now he sat in only his undershirt, sniffling and shivering as soon as his exposed skin hit the air-conditioned front room atmosphere. The sudden temperature change definitely wasn’t easy on his tortured sinuses, and he suddenly pitched forwards into the crook of his elbow with an unusually harsh sneeze that left him winded and dizzy. “–hE’tSHHIUUH!! Uughhh…”

There he was, clumsily fumbling for the tissue box a few feet in front of him… nearly dropping it a couple of times as he tried to get a hold of it.

“Still can’t believe you thought you could still play like this,” Ren sighed out without thinking.

He stopped once he noticed Asahi withdrawing in on himself underneath his stare, a faint, embarrassed blush coloring his flushed cheeks.

“Shit, I wasn't thinking straight… Sorry, dude.”

Quickly shaking himself out of his thoughts, Ren slid the tissue box to where Asahi could easily reach it, even plucking up a few sheets himself to help clean him up a bit before folding the soiled hoodie so that its snotty ink stains were inward facing while he blew his nose again. “You wanna take a shower? It’ll warm you up the fastest.”

The idea of a hot shower was tempting to the sick cephalopod, but there was one problem. “S-Shower? B-But I dod’t… ha’be ad’y clothes…”

“So? You can borrow some of mine while I wash yours.” 

He’d worn Ren’s clothes before, and in better situations than this. 

But even so, Ren’s straightforward suggestion had him blindsided and slightly bashful, but a chill up Asahi’s spine quickly changed his mind and he pushed himself off the couch. “Okay t-the’d…” Besides, the idea of a hot shower definitely sounded appealing to his fever-ridden mind.

He began to sway as soon as he was on his feet and upright, shivering and stumbling while he used the couch’s arm for support, only to double over into a coughing fit— deep, crackling coughs that ripped through his chest and left him stumbling, tumbling over his foot and close to the ground had Ren not swooped in to catch him mid fit. 

Asahi gasped in a shaky wheeze once the taller Inkling helped him upright, leaning into his chest for support as Ren eventually steadied him on his feet. He felt heavy. Standing up too quickly made him dizzy, and all of that coughing only made it worse.

“Y’know…” Ren sighed after a short silence as he eased his clearly unsteady partner down the hallway and to the bathroom. “Maybe a bath sounds safer.”

[artsarasp]

[Mission Objective: Run.]

[Prev] [Masterpost]

[green-alien-turdz]

Almost didn't finish this in time

[runtwithwolves]

humaaaaan kite!

[mogamuncher]

Heeey I'm back! It's finally time for the full Cakeverse analysis gang!

Ok, so, for a refresher:

There's the Forks, the Cakes and the Plates (normal people), and it goes like this:

Plates are just normal people, the majority of the world population, nothing new here.

Forks: Can't taste and sometimes can't smell either, sometimes they used be able to taste but lost it with age; either way, they can only ever taste cakes.

Cakes: Basically normal people except that they're delicious, everything from them (flesh, tears, saliva, etc) tastes like cake (or other foods if you want). You can't tell who's a cake or not unless you're a Fork that's tasting them in some way.

Now, I have to add some stuff that's really interesting and that the og author said, that we'll be getting into today.

• Forks go absolutely bat shit insane when they taste the Cakes most of the time, that can lead to a lot of things, cannibalism, sex, or (if you're cultured) both.

• Both Cakes and Forks suffer from their own societal plights. Cakes die a lot, and Forks when discovered are instantly pinned as murderers, criminals and perverts, even if they haven't done anything wrong yet.

• Cakes can derail a Fork's entire life, and Forks are like sin and temptation to Cakes.

Now, I want to talk about these because they absolutely fucking vexed me and now I want to make this all of y'all's problem.

「The First Taste」

It's essentially a common rule as said by the author that the Forks go insane after feeling the taste of a Cake, now, let's talk about: Why?

See, Cakeverse is technically an Au based from the likes of Omegaverse, which you can see by the structure being similar to Alpha/Beta/Omega with the three types of people out there. But, in ABO the Alphas going insane is due to a specific event, heats, which are there specifically for reproduction and are said to bring out animal instincts out of people's control, while Forks are based on simply taste, food, and not something as biological.

Of course it's up to the individual writer to an extent, but my interpretation of why Forks lose it when they taste Cakes is more psychological when compared to Alphas in the Omegaverse.

Imagine that you are completely unable to see color, never once have you seen one, you grew up hearing all about how wonderful colors are, you saw others compliment the colors of several works of art, you heard all about the colors of the world around you, but all that you see is beige and grey. Now, imagine that one day you bump into someone, and suddenly you're able to see all the colors, for the first time ever in your life, you can finally experience blue skies and green grass, you can see the same way the rest of the world sees, something that was fundamentally missing from you is finally gifted to you by this stranger on a silver tray.

You're finally complete.

That's the reality of what Forks go through, years of eating tasteless food, seeing people enjoy food wholeheartedly and rant about the tastes, hearing about the differences between expensive food and cheap food, and then suddenly finally tasting cake. Of course they go insane and fixate on it, it's like the final puzzle piece finally sliding into place, something that they've been missing this whole time being manifested with only a taste.

Before, eating was a chore, something simply to survive there was no joy in it, no fun to be found in desserts or snacks, but with only a single kiss the Fork finally feels what it is like to crave food, to want food for the taste.

Cakeverse in nature is oddly psychological, playing with the concept of taking away something extremely core to the human experience, taste. It's inherent and everyone has it, you'd probably feel like a freak of nature if you didn't have something while everyone else has, right?

That's what Cakes bring Forks; normalcy, joy and purpose, it's basically like a shot of endorphins all at once straight into your bloodstream, there's a good chance it'd hit like a truck and fuck you up majorly.

Forks acting rashly probably looks different than when Alphas do the same, because the motive is inherently different, but the desperation is arguably more raw.

A lot can be written on what that reaction would be:

Immediately trying to taste the Cake (kissing, licking, biting), trying to play cool only to strike later (potential kidnapping, manipulation, planning and scheming in general), the Fork can try to resist temptation or maybe the Cake can notice the extreme reaction and run away, maybe the Cake can instigate and bait the Fork to take a bite.

It could lead to fluff, to relationships starting, relationships ending, it could smut, it could be gory cannibalism, hell, it could be both.

Either way, the sheer amount of character study that could be made out of this tidbit alone is insane, and the story concepts don't stop there!

「We Do, In Fact, Live In a Society」

Cakes don't know who they are until it's too late, but I can imagine that in society they'd be treated with a lot of extra care if they are known beforehand, as they are constantly in risk of dying.

Imagine that they'd also be majorly babyfied, the "nooo poor babies that can't do anything wrong, poor helpless and weak Cakes, they clearly can't take care of themselves, they're so vulnerable, don't worry I'll speak for you to protect your honor" would be insane. Any Cake that consensually and willingly gets with a Fork will be doubted if they truly wanted to do it, think nosy people pulling them aside to ask if they're ok and pressing to see if they're abused, think people immediately thinking that Cakes can't consent to anything with a Fork on principle despite them being grown adults.

Online discourse would definitely have people saying "Cakes are minor coded" or some shit, mark my words.

While Forks would be instantly persecuted for everything. Because of something they didn't choose, that was inherited at birth, they now are fully seem as murderers, kidnappers, rapists and just the lowest of the low. People will gossip, people will get defensive, people will cower any time you slightly raise your voice, you're seen as a predator, treated no different than a wild bear. To society at large, you're an unruly dog, and all eyes will be on you forever, watching, waiting for the day that you take a bite.

In a sense, it's almost like any Forks that do commit crimes instantly have a justification to do so, it's expected, really, you're a Fork, of course you'd snap one day. It's both maligned and normalized, everyone expects it and it almost gives Forks a reason to do so. Forever a self fulfilling prophecy.

Now I'm sorry that I'll keep bringing the Omegaverse up, it's just that it's really handy for comparison, but I find it fascinating that in a way, the societal effects of this are a mish mesh of the societal views seen in ABO, but like, in a way that doesn't make me want to vomit.

Can I be so fr with you guys right now? I don't like the societal parts of the Omegaverse, ever since I was a kid in the early hay days of the internet, that always made me uncomfortable, and it's also a bit lazy in a way. The problems in society with the Omegaverse are basically just Sexism, it's misogyny with mpreg, and a lot of fics end up feeling like a Handmaiden's Tale with mpreg. Replace Alphas with men and Omegas with Women and you get the Omegaverse, though it gets a bit interesting since there technically is a built-in "fuck or die" and aphrodisiac system with heats/ruts, but very few writers do something interesting with it.

My problem is that it's always either uncomfortable or outright boring, very little fics do it well and most of the time authors simply choose to side step it altogether, which I completely understand and actually prefer at this point.

I bring all this up because Cakeverse actually brings a lot of interesting concepts up in it's consequences on the world at large, the nature of Forks and Cakes mirrors a lot of real life concepts, but leaves enough fantastical elements that there's still intrigue in what could be explored and seem from authors writing certain details of it.

Would there be Cake support groups? Would there be Fork rights activists? Would there be people who are both Forks and Cakes, like a hybrid type? What are different relationship types seen as in the eyes of society as a whole?

It's all so complicated and the problems are different between the both of them, also, they're evenly split, which is a breath of fresh air.

Now, it's time to get even deeper into this, what are exactly Forks and Cakes relationship with each other like?

「Would You Still Love Me If I Was Cake?」

According to the author, Cakes can derail a Fork's life and Forks are temptation to Cakes. Now, why is that?

Imagine you're a Fork, living your life trying to do what you can with what's been handed to you, probably being discriminated against if you haven't been able to hide it well, when suddenly you taste someone (kiss or by accident, like a shared water bottle), and next thing you know you lose your mind. Your entire world falls apart, thoughts of dreams, future, your own sense of morality, it all melts away like sugar in water because you just experienced heaven and now it's all you can think about.

Someone completely normal beforehand, suddenly driven to obsession with just one moment, an entire life detailed into the unknown because they just had a taste of cake, thoughts being all about one person and their taste, the inability to stop even you're desperate to do so. It's madness, and almost like a tragedy, doomed by their own personal narrative of Fork meets Cake, the Forks turns into a starving beast whether they want to or not.

But Cakes? Imagine you have someone you love, and they want you so badly it drives them mad, imagine kissing the same lips that want to be stained with your taste, imagine putting yourself in the way of jaws that any of these days can close down on you and swallow you whole. You're constantly in contact with someone that could just straight up eat you, consume you whole and leave nothing behind, but your heart aches for them, you present yourself in a silver platter again and again.

Maybe you want to be eaten, to be consumed. Maybe you like being wanted, maybe you enjoy providing something to to others, you made them so happy that it doesn't even matter to you that they are taking chunks out of you, you'll gladly let yourself be torn apart if it means someone else is satisfied.

It's all about the usage of "Cannibalism as a Metaphor for Love™", it's all about loving someone but constantly wanting to eat them into non-existence, it's about to struggle between your brain heart and stomach.

It's about having your cake and eating it too.

The themes, the metaphors, the opportunities are endless and frankly I'm driving myself insane just imagining all of it, the angst also would be utterly fucking insane, imagine you live someone and you eat them, wouldn't you be upset? You loved them and you killed them yourself, with your own hands, their taste is on your lips and you licked your plate clean.

I'm screaming and crying and throwing up as we speak, the number of things you can do here are endless, soooo. . . Let's talk about some of my ideas!

「All My Fanfiction Titles Are Just Songs」

Last post I basically tagged a bunch of fandoms that I wish would use this trope (I'll also be doing that with this post), so now I'm going to showing some of the ideas I had for this AU that I might or might not write in the future, all of which you guys are totally free to use as prompts as well (just tag me on them lmao)

So, going ship by ship:

「Loveit」: Dead Plate fanfic, Vincent x Rody, Fork!Vincent and Cake!Rody. I imagine that the moment Vincent finds out is during the Best Served Hot ending, after biting Rody's ear, his reaction would show instantly on his face and Rody would notice right away. After that it can lead to a lot of things, fighting, smut and cannibalism galore, their relationship would only get more complicated after such a discovery. Hell, you can even have Vincent find out earlier, if you truly want more juicy drama, maybe Vincent will attempt to make Rody into the meal instead of Mason this time? For funsies you could even reverse it, Rody as a Fork would be fascinating to see, him bonding with Vincent that he also can't taste anything, only for him to find out later that he can taste Vincent himself, holy shit the intrigue.

「Eat You」: Death Note, Lawlight, Fork!Light and Cake!L. Imagine Light both having to hide the fact that he's Kira, but also having to hide the fact that he's a Fork, imagine the never leaving stain that being a Fork would be on his own self-perception of perfection, imagine the so called god that punishes criminals also being considered a criminal by default in society's eyes if he's ever found out. Kira selling out his own kind because most criminals would likely be Forks (whether they were rightfully convicted or not), and then comes in L, a detective, a nuisance, Light's equal and a Cake. Maybe Light would find that out later on, maybe while they're playing as friends in college or while chained together, and now L had effortlessly thrown another wrench in his life yet again by default, like they're meant to be opposed by fate itself, where Kira is a Fork L is a Cake. L would likely goad Light on, trying to bait Kira out, by any means necessary, even if it means being eaten.

「Eat You Piece by Piece」: Hear me out, Batjokes. Fork!Bruce having to hold himself back from breaking his own morals due to finding out Joker is a Cake, Fork!Joker only getting deeper into his Batman obsession after tasting a Cake!Batman, Both Forks bonded by not having taste, maybe both are Forks that differ on how they react to Cakes (Joker regularly eating them while Bruce retains his morals and chooses to not hurt them), maybe both Cakes that got here because they were almost eaten (different Batman and Joker origin stories?). The opportunities are all intriguing and promptly end in bloodshed, expect angst and discussions of what is moral, also just so much angst holy shit this shit hurts.

「I Eat Boys Up」: Dungeon Meshi, Labru, Fork!Laios and Cake!Labru. I'm thinking post canon by accident, maybe something like sharing utensils, and I'm going to be so fr with you right now, this story coming from me would be a lot of romanticism through food metaphors and unending smut, feral Laios is my equivalent of heroin and I could imagine him describing Kabru's taste in detail to him while eating him out. But if smut isn't your jam, exploring how Laios and his monster obsession, especially in the form of food, as someone who can't taste would be intriguing, in a story so closely tied to food, you have to wonder how it would all change if the main character couldn't even taste. Also, I doubt Kabru would take the knowledge of him being essentially prey well, so there's that bag of worms to go into if you want.

「Blame Gluttony」: This one is purely self indulgent but like, Re:Zero with any ship, Cake! Subaru and Fork!anyone else. Imagine Subaru's world doesn't have this Cakeverse nonsense at all, but the world he's transported to has, imagine how scary it would be that one loop he suddenly finds out that he's essentially universal prey here (maybe in the second loop with Elsa), imagine the weight of all the things that already are trying to kill him along with the fact that he's also got a new thing to worry about? Maybe instead of just the rabbit loop, there's now multiple loops where Subaru is eaten alive, maybe there's loops where his dear friends themselves are eating him. Can you imagine if Emilia was a Fork? If he found out after the kiss of death and she commented on the taste of his lips as he was dying, if it came up again after their kiss, Subaru having to tackle with his love and heart belonging to someone that would one day eat him whole. Imagine the witch not longer just wants to touch his heart or kiss him, but she also bites him when he tries to tell the secret. Imagine maybe Rem is also a Fork, imagine that his death by her hands also involved her tearing into him chunk by chunk. What if Otto was a Fork, what if Reinhard was one? Seriously all the opportunities are equally traumatizing and I'm living for it!

Honorable mentions include: Persona Shuake and Shuada (Fork!Protags and Cake!Detectives) for the optimal mutual murder extravaganza, Okegom DSP Satanivlis (Fork!Ivlis and Cake!Satanick) for a rare case of role swapping, South Park Kyman (any way works tbh) for mutually assured destruction, Slay the Princess (Fork!Princess and Cake!Birb) because themes, Soukouku (Fork!Dazai and Cake!Chuuya) for making canon even worse than it already is, frankly any investigrave game would be peak here, Hannigram for obvious reasons.

But that's all I have for now, so, what have we learned here?

We learned that: I'm mentally ill and you need to write about the Cakeverse NOW.

[kotatsudotme]

Blinkies for Sites and Applications

Specifically ones that can be helpful with plurality!

f2u on your neocities, tumblr, or where ever! credit is not required, but greatly appreciated/encouraged. reblog if you use please!

[ashartstuff]

how dare you interrupt them on their sandbox date 😡

[marshbarks]

concept comic for a scene from a fic in my head...

[some-pers0n]

[kennysdeadbody]

dead boyfriend

[nikkeora]

The Whole Being Soulmates Thing

summary; in this world, soulmates exist. he has one. it’s just that he already found someone, and your marks don’t match at all.

or, in which a stupidly stubborn punk in stupidly in love with someone who’s not his stupid ‘real’ soulmate.

pairing; hobie brown x reader, spider-punk x reader (soulmate!au)

warning(s); mentions of police brutality, not-too-detailed descriptions of injuries. r is non-gendered, no mention of r’s race. not proofread & written in the wee hours.

i am not black, i don’t have wicks. i did some research on how to properly care for them and wrote tiny parts in here with the info i had, but it may not be totally accurate. if something is wring, let me know. same for the lcp.

also hobie might sound a bit ooc but it’s a quiet fic and we don’t rly see him ‘quiet’ so eat my ahh(/j)

inspired by this post by @corrodedcoffeen ! not exactly 100% accurate but yea

He lived in a world full of soulmates and soulmarks.

Everyone who had a soulmate had a soulmark, like a little tattoo; whether it be on their arm, leg, back, even on their face. Sometimes, a person would have multiple soulmarks. In other cases, they wouldn’t have any at all. Some people were born with their marks, some appeared later down the line.

In most cases, people would do anything to find their soulmate. To be with them. To unite with their missing half.

Hobie Brown was among those who’d been born with a soulmate. Four little streaks that wrapped halfway around his left arm, like a scar from an animal that had halfheartedly tried to claw the whole thing off at birth.

Hobie loved his soulmark.

Not because he’d met his soulmate. Nor was it because the idea of a predestined partner made him giddy. No, it was because he felt a sense of pride whenever he looked at it. Pride that he’d beaten the system when he got you.

His thoughts wander as he sits on your your and his shared bed, a towel flat under his bum to prevent any grime that may be on his suit from rubbing off on the sheets. His vest and T-shirt had been haphazardly folded and placed on the bathroom sink, desperately needing a thorough cleaning after a particularly hard day, which left his torso bare for you to assess and repair the damage he’d been dealt once you peeled off the top half of his suit.

“Bit eager, yeah?” He’d joked as you hastily helped him out of his clothes, that cheeky smirk still shining through on his tear-streaked face. You’d answered with an exasperated laugh.

He had come home at two in the morning, stumbling through the window with a hand over the right side of his mask. When he’d ripped it off, tossing it on a random bit of the floor somewhere, you were met with red eyes, wet cheeks, a runny nose and a blood-crusted lip. Apparently, he’d been at the frontlines of a protest when one of the tear gas shells hit him right in the face, cracking his right eye lense and leaving him vulnerable to the gas’s full effect. You didn’t need to be told what happened to know what came next. After all, it was always the same routine with the pigs - gas the crowd and beat any individuals that strayed from the mass.

Now, as Hobie’s fingers tap a little rhythm on the mattress, your hands glide a washcloth long his skin, being careful to minimize pressure on his bruises. Which, granted, is hard when they cover most of his back and ribcage, but you made it work somehow. Tear gas residue sticks to anything it can, and although his body was mostly had been mostly covered, it gave the both of you peace of mind to clean anything off just in case. He thanks you by softly gripping your other hand, his fingers lacing together with yours.

“Need more milk?” You ask, going to put the cloth down and grab the already half-empty sprayer on the ground next to the bed, having already been used in the bathroom just minutes prior and put there just in case. He shakes his head, the hand that’s not on yours gently grabbing your wrist and guiding it back to his chest.

As you continue, he thinks back to the first time he’d held your hand like that.

It was when the two of you were barely teenagers, when he didn’t fully understand how the whole ‘soulmates’ thing even worked, or how messed up it really was. The only thing he really knew was that people were supposed to stay together forever if their marks matched, even if that wasn’t always the case.

Having known each other since you were just kids, he remembers wishing so badly that your soulmark matched his. He had wished that little planet on your ankle could be washed away, a temporary tattoo or doodle instead of an actual mark. He remembers drawing little black holes at the corners of his school worksheets, hoping that one of them would eventually swallow your mark whole and replace it with four lines identical to his.

Back then, he had wished his ugly little bands would somehow arrange themselves into a square. At least then he could insist that his mark was a planet. A weird square one, yeah, but a planet just like yours.

But as you looked at him with that warm glow in your eyes, he swore you were the best thing that had ever happened to him, soulmate or not.

If only that kid could see him now - here, with you.

He suppresses a smile that threatens to slip onto his face, as moving his lips makes the cut sting.

“You almost gave me a heart attack,” you mutter, wiping at the last bit of his torso. Hobie lets out a low sigh.

“‘M sorry love,” he says back, giving your hand a little squeeze. He really does mean it. He hates seeing the worry and sadness in your eyes every time he came back to you after one of these days. Fuck knows how he’d cope with it if you came home like this just every now and again, let alone what seemed like every other day recently. “I do try to be careful.”

You hum in response, getting up from your spot and holding out your hand for him to do the same. He does so with little to no hesitation, only waiting a moment to brace himself for the soreness that would follow. You lead him to the bathroom.

“Everything off,” you say, then immediately follow it up with, “Don’t.”

“I didn’t even say nothin’!” Hobie protests, feigning offense. As if that glint in his eye didn’t give it away.

“You need to get cleaned off properly.” You stress the lest word, letting go of his hand so that he can strip. “You can’t just go to bed after a quick wipe-down tonight. You need a shower.”

“But it’s gonna be cold.” Hobie groans. Tear gas wasn’t anything new, he’d had to clean the residue off of himself more times than he could count. That didn’t mean he was a fan of the cold showers that did most of the actual cleaning. Despite his complaints, he hastily steps out of his remaining articles of clothing as you start the water.

His muscles tense as he steps into the shower, pulling him out of his somewhat drowsy state. He quickly scrubs every part of his body, wanting to get out as fast as possible.

He washes his hair out last, taking care to not mess them up no matter how much he hates the temperature of the water. He’d made the mistake of trying to shampoo the whole of his head in one go just once before, and he’d be damned if he had to go running to the auntie down the street again to fix any tangles neither you nor him could sort out.

In his defense, he’d almost bled out just a couple hours beforehand that day. Having your first (superhero-related) near-death experience tends to shake you up a little.

“You’re such a man-baby,” you’d teased him as Hobie gripped your hand for dear life, the woman you’d guaranteed could get that nightmare of a knot out sorting through his hair with an arsenal of olive oil and a wide toothed comb.

“Oh piss off—” his reply was cut short as she detangled a particularly nasty bit of the problem, unfortunately having to tug exceptionally hard at his head. “Ow!”

The woman - Aunt Margaret, as you’d introduced her - tsked at him to sit still, poking at the tangle with the handle of her comb to see if it would give way now. Luckily, most of it did. She muttered something along the lines of ‘young people nowadays’, but in a sort of gruffly affectionate sort of way. From what you’d told him, Aunt Margaret was sort of the neighborhood mom, always helping people who needed it no matter how much she gave them grief for it.

The three of you made small talk over tea after his hair was nice and hairball-free, albeit a little slippery. Turned out, Aunt Margaret had plenty of stories of her own to share. Hobie had been delighted to hear about everything that had happened when she was a part of the League of Colored Peoples, almost ready to practically beg the woman to adopt him.

Two weeks later, when he decided to drop by again, the topic of soulmates came up. Aunt Margaret asked if he’d found his soulmate yet, to which he replied he didn’t believe in the soulmate system. She nodded in agreement.

“Just as well,” she had said, a frown making its way onto her face. “I’ve seen too many good people get their hearts broken because of that bloody mark.” She eyed his upper arm, exposed in the sleeveless top he’d worn at the time. “I got mine covered ages ago.”

“Did you meet your soulmate before that?”

Aunt Margaret shook her head. “That’s a story for another time, Bartholomew.”

He still makes time for tea with her every week or so.

The second he steps out of the shower, he’s greeted with a huge, warm towel fresh from the dryer. He wraps it around himself as you usher him back to the bedroom where you’d laid out some comfy clothes for him. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices the clothes he’d discarded on the bathroom floor is long gone, along with his vest and tee that were sitting on the sink.

“I put the studs out on the veranda to air out,” you say, noticing him glance at the empty sink. “They’ll need washing, though. My eyes got all weird when I looked at the vest too close, and your belt’s not much different. The rest of everything’s in the machine.”

Pulling on his bottoms, Hobie silently nods at your words before pulling the tank top you’d dug out for him over his head. He then walks over to place a kiss on your head. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to leech off your warmth. He lets out a little noise of contentment when he feels you hug him back.

Wordlessly, he walks the two of you to your the shared vanity, plopping himself down on the seat. You grab the hairdryer off the table, checking to make sure it’s okay for you to help before switching it on to dry his wicks. Hobie closes his eyes as you make your way through each piece, eventually stopping once there’s no more water to be purged. Your fingers sorting through his hair so carefully is calming - almost therapeutic, and it takes all his willpower to keep himself sitting straight up for you.

After that, he clumsily grabs you and throws you over his shoulder, ignoring how you yelp in surprise and unplugging the dryer. He then proceeds to carry you around your place, flicking off all the lights before getting back to the bedroom and (softly) throwing you on the mattress.

“Was that really necessary?” You groan as he throws the sheets over the both of you. Hobie then proceeds to drag himself half on top of you, using you as a full body pillow.

“Definitely.” He replies, his voice a bit muffled against your pajamas.

You laugh. “Sure.”

He tilts his head up to give you a goodnight kiss, murmuring ‘dream ‘bout me’ next to your ear to which you respond by playfully pushing him away.

“Rude,” He mutters, smiling into your clothes as he huffs in indignation. Your laugh echoes through your body, a sound more beautiful than any music he had or would ever hear.

He doesn’t fall asleep too easily that night. Rogue thoughts on soulmates and fate flinging about his skull. For some reason, they’d all picked tonight to bug him to pieces.

Unknowingly, his grip around you tightens, feeling your weight in his arms. It grounds him as all the doubts try to throw him off, to destabilize something perfectly happy.

What if they find their soulmate? Then they’ll decide if they want me or them. (Me.)

What if I find my soulmate? What, like I’d break their heart for a stranger? Yeah. Fat chance.

He swatted those questions away like pesky little mosquitoes until he eventually fell asleep, choosing to focus instead on your heartbeat ringing in his ears.

So what if you two weren’t soulmates? He loves you, you love him. That’s all that matters.

The universe can suck an egg.

—

The next morning, Hobie woke up at 11, as usual. You woke up right after him as he stirred, like you always did. The two of you lounged in the comfort of your the sheets for a while before you had to eventually get up for breakfast.

Hobie was trailing behind you on your walk to the kitchen when something catches his eye.

His reflection in the vanity mirror.

Something’s… off.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh shit.

“Y/n?” He calls, looking down at his upper arm just to make sure the mirror isn’t playing tricks on him. Sure enough, there it is.

You turned around at his voice, eyebrows furrowed in a confused way. “Hm?”

“Look.”

He watches as your confusion morphed into surprise and then back to confusion again. Then you auickly check your ankle, confusion turning into realization.

“We match.”

Your soulmarks had somehow changed overnight, turning into small, stylized sun symbols that stand out more than either of your marks before ever did, clear as day.

It’s a few moments of stunned silence before laughter breaks out between the two of you.

“You know what we have to do now,” you manage, an arm around the front of your midsection and the other hand on your face.

“I think I do.” Hobie says, practically wheezing

By the end of the day, the two of you have covered up your new soulmarks with mismatching tattoos.

[heavyeditsnz]

Wipe(d)out (part 1)

its here its heeeere!!! a full story about Asahi and Ren! this one was SUPPOSED to be a short and sweet little oneshot... but it eventually turned into smthn a lot longer than i planned. so much that i split the fic into two parts to ease up my workload a little bit. i genuinely love writing about these two and i hope yall love them too 🥺

CWs: M/M, male snz, illness, stifles/holdbacks, on/off mess descriptions, game terminology and extensive brainrot /j word count: 6.97k

"hI'gKSCHoo!! he’h… h'TSSHuh!!"

He snapped forwards, finally giving in to an itch that had been brewing in the back of his nose. One hand gripped onto his locker door in an attempt to steady himself mid-sneeze, the other hand clamped around his nose to pinch his nostrils shut and limit the amount of damage done to the cloth mask strung across his mouth and nose. The overwhelming urge had been appeased, at least for now, allowing him a moment of reprieve. He sniffled and ever so slightly thumbed at his flaring nostrils through the fabric as he tried to concentrate on the day ahead.

Doing his best to ignore the dull aching in his head the young man returned to his task; precariously squatting down, gingerly resting himself against the closed locker underneath his own for support as he hefted his trusty Range Blaster from its case. He performed best with this weapon; its weight in his hands was a welcome familiar feeling, despite how warm and heavy and sick he felt that morning. The wheeze in his breath didn’t go unnoticed as he straightened himself upright. 

Weapon in hand, Asahi gave a deep, thick sniffle as he shut the locker door and trudged into the lobby past the odd pack of squids or two. 

Getting out of bed today seemed more and more like a mistake, he thought, if waking up heavy and warm with his throat uncomfortably tight and sore was any indication. But it was his partner’s idea to blow off some steam with a few rounds, and there was just no way he could say no to Ren of all people! (Even if Ren himself said otherwise.) 

So despite his aching sinuses and better judgment, Asahi dragged himself out of bed and down to the lobby to meet up, putting on his favorite thick, oversized Zekko hoodie despite the searing temps. The lengthy train ride from his tiny student flat to Splatsville was the least agonizing, at least he could catch a few extra minutes of sleep… Nevermind the fact that by the time he’d stepped off at the one station in between destinations he started feeling dizzy and itchy, or the fact that he’d been nudged awake by someone on the train.

Each step into the spacious lobby range eroded Asahi's will, and the urge to pull down his face mask and furiously wipe and scrub at his chapped and irritated nose grew more and more tempting by the minute— it itched and buzzed and burned and everything in between, and a certain Octoling was at its mercy today, sniffling and wiggling, trying everything he could to dislodge that unbearable itching. He needed a distraction, and his eyes wandered down to the Range Blaster in his hands- its weight in his grasp familiar and reassuring…

So again, despite his symptoms and rational judgment, Asahi hauled himself up and began to sprint, despite the immediate burning sensation in his chest, and aimed for the closest squid bumper, enticingly moving side to side on its track.

He shot a singular blast of light blue ink towards the target, a thin enough line for him to dive, swim close enough and advance, only to start coughing as soon as he was upright and out of swim form. His vision began to waver and he doubled over as his overworked lungs tried and tried to rid themselves of the perceived irritant. 

The coughing subsided after what felt like forever, and with a shaky tentative breath he righted himself again, softly wheezing as he readjusted his grip on the weapon. Recovering from that took a lot longer than Asahi would like; if he were in battle he would have been an easy target. 

Still, he tried to shake off the heavy haze of what he was pretty sure was an oncoming cold and focus on the target. He’d try for a different route this time, inking a second path around two of the bumpers in front of him, swimming through and resurfacing a good distance away from it. There was no need to close the gap between himself and the bumper, his fever-addled mind realized a second too late, and instead he could make use of the Range Blaster’s extended… well, range. Asahi aimed for the bumper once again— struggling to see around the wavering in his blurred vision; trembling, clammy fingers tightly gripping the barrel of his weapon. He shakily inhaled in an attempt to catch his breath, although that turned into another fit of coughs as he squeezed down on the trigger, the recoil throwing off his shaky aim even more as the shot exploded just next to the bumper- chipping off a small bit of the bumper’s health, not even enough for a two-hit indirect knockout. He groaned and sniffled and tried again, this time shakily aiming for the damaged bumper’s center before shooting again. The bumper exploded with a satisfying pop and Asahi finally allowed himself to relax, letting his shoulders slump and giving a heavy exhale (that inevitably turned into a chesty cough). He slumped against the pillar close by the moving squid bumpers; underneath the metal grates above him, grateful for the lessened amount of light coming through. His breathing came uneven and heavy, and Asahi’s wobbly legs began to give out, just barely upright in a feeble attempt to avoid sliding to his knees. 

He shivered underneath the cool, air-conditioned lobby atmosphere, drawing his arms closer to himself to try and retain some body heat. His thick hoodie held heat well, but even that didn’t seem to help.

If only there was a way to bottle up that famous Splatlands heat, maybe a swig of it would warm him to his core and kick that chill he had all morning…

Asahi gingerly pulled his mask down, giving into the urge to rub his twitching damp-rimmed nostrils on his hoodie sleeve, a discreet attempt at wiping away some of the ink-tinted snot threatening to leak out of his nose. This brief act only ignited another itch in the back of his sinuses, his glassy eyes watering as the stinging sensation pricked and needled its way up his chest, heaving with each tickly gasp. Asahi's eyes flickered shut, his head snapped back— 

His mask was still down, he couldn't reach it in time…

"hh'HIh—... hHI'IKSHH—!!" 

At the last second he pinched his nostrils shut as the itch finally exploded out of him, barely contained and setting off that dull, droning itch in the back of Asahi's nose once again. He'd forced most of the sneeze through his teeth to try and minimize the mess his leaky nose would have no doubt made, though this also resulted in a visible spray that he did his best to aim downwards and out of the open air. And all the while his mask dangled precariously from one ear, threatening to fall from his face altogether. 

“Hehh—” he suddenly gasped, and pressed his fingers together as tightly as he could. “-iIKSHhh—’KSShh!! hN’Gt—sshuh!!” He kept his nostrils pinched shut as he pitched forwards again and again, each barely suppressed sneeze sending bursts of pain that spread behind his eyes, rebounding and intensifying the droning, buzzing itch deep in his sinuses… but above all else the sneezing finally stopped for now, and Asahi gingerly un-pinched his nostrils, unceremoniously wiping the small leftover string of snot on his hoodie. He groaned, not bothering to conceal how crappy he felt, before roughly swiping his hoodie sleeve underneath his chapped, dripping nose. No one was nearby to see, anyway.

And then his chest heaved again.

"hI'hhH—... hhehH'—!"

Asahi was scarcely upright when the hitching returned, the dull, buzzing itch in the back of his nose quickly blossoming into an overwhelmingly strong stinging behind his eyes; one that sent a shudder through the sick octopus as his breathing snagged again. His nostrils flared, and Asahi pitched forwards into the crook of his elbow this time.

"’—h’HESSHEWW!! hHI'ITSHIEW!!! h’hehh-... eh’hhKSSHIEW!!"

The sneezing came painfully slow and relentless; that pent-up itch finally exploding out of his raw throat, scraping his voice and doubling Asahi over at the waist. Glassy eyes eventually blinked open, his vision fuzzy with fever and the oncoming haze of another sneeze; his damp-rimmed nostrils flaring with each desperate hitch. Each gasp came more strangled than the last, ending in Asahi finally doubling over into his sleeve. “H’ehh—... hE'hDSSHUUH!! Heh’hKSSHIEW!!”

His sinuses burned as the overwhelming itch finally exploded out of him, nearly knocking him over as the tips of his tentacles curled tightly in on themselves. Another flash of pain behind his eyes came and went with each forceful sneeze, his head throbbing each time he jerked forward, but the buzzing itch in his nose ebbed away again, thank God, and Asahi sighed heavily in relief and slowly stood up straight. The damp spot on his hoodie sleeve was the first thing he could feel, warm and pressed against his clammy skin. He gave a thick, exhausted sniffle as he pulled his arm away from his mouth, revealing a thin string of snot that broke almost as soon as he’d noticed it. 

His head felt hot and heavy, his nose still twitching and threatening to leak all over himself, and his hoodie sleeve was marred with blasts of stringy, ink-tinted snot. Asahi buried his twitching nose in the used sleeve and staggered towards the nearest restroom as quickly as he could, before anyone caught sight of how snotty he was. 

Thank God the restroom's empty, Asahi thought as he ducked into the nearest empty stall and sat down, grateful to finally be off of his feet for a moment as his vision started to waver and dip. He sniffled; thick, heavy, unproductive sniffles that echoed through the tiny stall space, and groaned in exhaustion as he slumped against the toilet and pulled his still-dangling mask from his right ear. 

Glassy eyes gazed up at the fluorescent ceiling lights while his vision continued to waver and spin. His chest crackled with every shaky inhale; his drippy, chapped nose irritated and flaring, generally not much better. 

Another coughing fit took hold of the sick Octoling, and he doubled over his knees as each cough ripped through his lungs and throat and left him even more sore than before once the coughs finally let up. The wheezing in his breaths didn’t go unnoticed and Asahi dug through his hoodie pocket for his rescue inhaler- he moved much more slowly than usual, clumsily popping off the mouthpiece cover and comfortably positioning the tiny little thing in his hand and firmly pressing down on its canister and inhaling deeply. Two puffs of medicine usually did the trick; as he sat still the wheezing settled down after a short while, and Asahi could breathe somewhat easily.

For a moment he weighed his options. Asahi thought about giving in; admitting defeat and sending Ren that fateful text; "I don't feel well." He thought of being back home, in his tiny student flat. In bed, cocooned in blankets and propped up with pillows, deep in a slumber aided by a cocktail of cold and asthma medicines, lulled by the rumbling monorail tracks above his flat and the drone of his TV. Maybe Ren was there with him, fretting over him, gently rubbing his back while he dozed in the taller Inkling’s lap…

Asahi was barely aware of the sound of the bathroom door opening, slowly sinking into a feverish daze that began to tune out everything around him.

Another chill ran through him, and Asahi drew his knees up to his chest, precariously resting the heels of his boots on the lip of the toilet bowl, still pitifully sniffling as he struggled to retain some body heat. Of course he chose the stall right underneath the air vent… and that air-conditioned chill was now blowing directly on him. His nose still itched and buzzed, a useless congested block in the middle of his face despite the near stream of inky snot spilling out of him. 

“hH’hDSHUUH—Hhh… hhE’zZSHOO!!!”

Asahi pitched forwards twice into his knees, barely covered and with enough force to dislodge the heel of his boots from the foothold on the toilet seat. A small burst of pain flashed behind his eyes each time he jerked forwards, and Asahi groaned in heavy discomfort when he finally resurfaced.

A careless attempt at inhaling through his near-useless nostrils triggered one last prickle in his sinuses, and between itchy, jagged breaths he quickly tore off a sizeable length of toilet paper and cupped it into his hands—

“hIIH’dzZSHHIEW!!! Ugh…”

“You ‘aight in there?” 

He flinched, and didn’t dare make a sound- when did someone else come in? And how long had they been there? He sniffled thickly and dropped his used tissue into the toilet bowl underneath; he had to reply… 

“Yeah-” 

His voice was unsteady and weak, straining from his efforts at raising his voice and scratching his raw throat, and gave way halfway through his response. Asahi cringed at how pathetic he sounded, but got no immediate reply. Had they left? He wouldn't blame them. With a thick sniffle he tore off a fresh length of toilet tissue and buried his nose into the wad to blow, producing an equally thick, unattractive sputtering noise as he emptied his sinuses into the cheap paper. 

The wad grew warm and heavy in his cupped hands, and once it was useless Asahi dropped it into the toilet as well before reaching for a third wad of toilet paper to blow into and thoroughly soil again. At least now he could breathe through his nose somewhat. “You sure you’re fine?” The stranger would ask again, their voice noticeably accented. “No offense, but ya sound nastier than a jammed Nautilus.”

He winced. Well, they were right about something. He felt gross.

“I-I’ll be fine,” Asahi rasped. His breathing snagged mid-sentence but he managed to keep the itch down. It was a boldfaced lie, of course, but he hoped they'd get the hint and leave him alone. He sat still, listening for a response… or for the stranger to finish their business and leave, which they would eventually do, and Asahi gave a shaky sigh of relief as the footsteps eventually hurried out and the heavy bathroom door clicked shut. Were they in a rush to get away from him, as audibly contagious as he was? The thought was funny to his feverish mind.

Now for the other hurdle, he just had to get out of here… With a shaky sigh Asahi pushed himself off of the toilet and to his feet, wobbling as he stood upright and leaning onto the nearest wall for support while his vision continued to dip and sway, clumsy hands fumbling to loop his mask around his ears and adjust the cloth around his mouth and nose; the fabric rubbing against his twitching nose triggering a weak itch that dissipated after a tired sniffle from him. The shivering still didn’t stop, only growing more intense as he tried to move. His head spun with each movement, and in a spur of the moment decision he grabbed the stall door’s handle, that way if he got too dizzy and went down he’d have some purchase on the way back up.

Asahi slowly shuffled out of the stall and over to the sink to wash his hands, clammy and cold and unsteady from his shuddering movements. He could barely smell the hand soap, but figured it was for the best…

As Asahi stalked out of the bathroom and into the range area once more, wincing as the sunlight from the windowed ceiling hit his eyes, he fumbled through his jacket’s pockets for his phone to see a missed text from Ren. He wanted to meet in the lobby’s upper floor cafe, so Asahi trudged up the lobby steps, ignoring the bright lobby screens searing his bleary eyes and the thumping bass from the speakers throbbing in his head… well, at least trying to, and over to the tiny corner cafe, where he nearly collapsed onto a barstool to wait for Ren to get here. The Jelly barista eyed him suspiciously but Asahi wasn’t paying much attention towards them.

He groaned softly to himself and reached up to massage his temples, hoping that would soothe the dull aching throbbing through his head.

There had to be something else to do other than sit here and feel miserable, so Asahi pulled out his phone, idly sniffling as he scrolled through his messages so he'd have something to do other than sit here feeling miserable. When that didn't work he switched to a game, sniffling thickly every so often as his nose continued to leak. Sniffling grew less and less effective. He wasn't sure how long he could keep this up.

Asahi sniffled again— a little too hard this time, the inky gunk clogging his nose rippling against its tortured inner walls and triggering that painfully familiar buzzing itch in the back of his sinuses. That itch quickly grew into a needling, prickling urge quickly rising up his throat, threatening to blast out of his nose and likely all over his gear if he didn’t react in time. 

"H-H'eh-..." Asahi's eyes watered and his damp-rimmed nostrils flared, and his hands wandered up to try and contain the inevitable. He'd found a grip, and he quickly pinched his nostrils shut through the fabric of his mask as that prickling itch finally exploded out of him. "hE'pTCH-ew!!! hehh'h-... He'TCHH—!!!"

Each sneeze sent a dull ache through the sick inkfish; barely able to escape through his pinched nostrils and instead exploding through his body and sending him crumpling at the waist. His head throbbed with each jerk of his body, but relief overshadowed all as the incessant dull buzzing finally settled down for now. Asahi sighed softly in relief, sniffling (lightly this time) and gingerly rubbing his nose. 

Squish. He cringed. 

With a soft groan of discomfort he reached for the napkin dispenser closest to him and carefully pulled out a few sheets. Cheap paper napkins, undoubtedly rough on chapped and runny noses, but it was all that was available, and Asahi was in no position to complain.

He gingerly pulled down his mask and dabbed at his leaking nose with the wad of napkins, rubbing and massaging the damp rims of his nostrils with the rough paper to appease the lingering itch that made his nostrils flare with each breath. No doubt this would only chap and irritate his nose even more, but right now that was the last of the sick Octoling’s worries— his nose had finally stopped itching for longer than a minute, and he savored this fleeting moment of relief from his uncooperative airways.

Out of the corner of his eye Asahi noticed that the barista was still eyeing him suspiciously; did they want him to leave? 

"...I-I ca'd go sobewhere else if I'b botheri'g you…" Asahi rasped, his attempt at being courteous punctuated with a soupy, pathetic sniffle. He kept his voice low, just enough to keep from straining his throat while also masking how ill he truly was. 

In his mind, the barista kicking him out was totally understandable given how he was practically a walking germ beacon…

Surprisingly enough, the jellyfish shook their head, stretching one of its long arms to motion for the Octoling to stay put. Asahi didn’t question twice, and carefully wiped the dampened rims of his nostrils before blowing his nose into the wad of napkins (and even then, as quietly as he could). Somehow, even with less nose-blowing force the napkin was a soggy ink-tinted mess.

Thankfully he was seated relatively close to a trash can, so Asahi quickly tossed the soiled napkin wad away before reaching for the dispenser again; this time yanking out a fair amount of napkins to blow his nose into— still as quietly as possible, but with more effort put into clearing out his airways. Like before, this napkin wad was thoroughly soiled even with half of his effort.

Asahi felt gross. He probably sounded gross, too. 

He threw away the ruined napkin wad and pulled his mask up over his mouth and nose again before resting his head on the adjacent wall, its cool material feeling heavenly pressed against his warm, achy temples. The congestion didn’t budge much, Asahi still felt like his head had been filled with liquid concrete… but at least his nose wasn’t leaking all over anymore, that would have been disastrous if he needed to-

“Ha’h-…”

His nostrils flared. God damnit.

—

On his way up the stairs and to the lobby entrance, Ren’s attention was mostly on his phone. He felt good despite having to hurry to the station closest to the lobby in search of a good parking spot in the garage underneath. He’d been browsing previous tournament results on his walk from the station, scrolling through score listings from other X-rank players in the area— right now he’d found himself thumbing through recent matches from the Tentatek division, mostly just to keep up with statistics. This wasn’t his division, obviously, nor was it Asahi’s. But being informed was already a good thing, right? Besides, he’d taken a liking to watching some of the replays posted by the others in other divisions. Not even for any practical reason, like studying their moves or anything, just for fun.

He’d noticed a lack of available videos today, though, the same as yesterday…

I wish these guys posted replays more often, Ren mused to himself as he stuffed his phone into his jean pockets and stepped through the lobby doors. 

As he stepped into the cool, air-conditioned building and headed over to the locker rooms, Ren fished through his jacket pockets for his phone to check for any texts. The last message open was one he sent to Asahi, about thirty minutes ago on his way to the lobby: "On the way up", left on read. A bit strange, since Ren had known him to respond relatively quickly, but he chalked it up to him not being near his phone.

They'd meet soon in person, anyway.

He pulled out his earbuds as he messed with the padlock, occasionally looking up to watch as the locker room slowly began to fill up with new arrivals— a few solo or pair queuers in varying states of wakefulness, idly chatting or milling about as the music played overhead. The early morning energy here was actually quite nice, Ren thought to himself. Maybe he should visit the lobby in the mornings more often.

Ren stowed his water bottle and car keys, not reaching for his weapon case just yet. He’d rather wait until Asahi was here before he did any serious practicing. As he re-locked his locker and left the area as it filled up, he glanced up towards the second floor, just barely able to make out the top of the cafe from where he was. There was a spring in Ren’s step as he made his way towards the stairs, a grin on his face as he glanced towards the lobby screens to see what was up (Mincemeat Metalworks was in rotation, ew) on his way to meet with Asahi. There was a good chance that he was here early, or that Asahi had briefly left to go get a snack or drink, so he’d probably have to wait for a little bit. No sweat though, he’d developed a taste for the drinks from the 2nd floor cafe-

His ear twitched, and Ren glanced towards the cafe at the top of the steps. He’d heard something.

Ren slowly put his phone away. Was that…?

The weird sound was almost faint, but still airy and sharp. There it was again. It sounded like… someone was sneezing?

Now fully alert, Ren slowed his pace as he made his way up to the lobby’s second floor, craning his neck to try and peer above the stairs. All he could see was the edge of the tiny little cafe.

"hE'DTchh—!! hdtt'SHw—!! Hd'PTshh!!"

A familiar figure; hunched over the tiny cafe's bar. He'd recognize that pathetic sniffling anywhere.

Ren gently inched closer to the bar, about to greet the obviously sick octopus.

As he approached the cafe bar he lowered his voice, reaching out of Asahi’s line of sight to pluck up a few napkins himself, and quickly pulled away once the miserable Octoling resurfaced. He gave a long, deep sniff that didn’t seem to do much, and rested his head in his arms on the small cafe bar, not moving much after that save for a sniffle or two.

Ren inched closer, noting pale skin and lethargic tentacle hair that was a noticeably less vibrant hue than normal. 

He still had yet to notice his presence behind him. Concern needled at the Inkling’s conscience, and he reached out to try and get Asahi’s attention- just before he suddenly lurched forwards in his seat. “Eh’hKSSHEWW!!”

He cringed. 

Ren couldn’t see the damage from his current position, but the groaning and wet, soupy sniffling afterwards told him all he needed to know. 

He moved over to Asahi’s side, who still hadn’t noticed Ren’s arrival yet, and picked up the napkins again to offer to the sick octopus. 

“T-Tha’g you,” he could just barely hear him rasp, gratefully taking the napkins from Ren’s hand without a second thought, gingerly removing his ruined face mask before burying his leaky nose into the wad of napkins and looking up at whoever this kind stranger was…

His eyes went wide.

“R-Re’d?!” Asahi gasped, and right away the first thing Ren could hear was how horribly stuffed up he was.

He sniffled thickly, despite his panic, and quickly got up to try and make himself presentable, still pressing the wad of napkins up to his flaring nostrils. Ren was quick to notice that he wobbled and stumbled as he stood. “I-I’b ss-sorry, I ca’d go c-clea’d ub and be ready t-to—“

And before Ren could even try to respond, Asahi would barely finish his sentence before he pitched forwards mid-sentence into the wad of napkins in his hand. “hE’dtSSHUUH!! He’dPSSHEWW!!” 

A twinge of pity compelled him to go over and place a firm hand on his shoulder to try and steady his miserable boyfriend, even gently knuckling up and down his back to help him recover. He was trembling, Ren noted, and he heard a faint whine from him as he slowly righted himself, keeping the wad of napkins pressed to his nose while he sniffled more and more. 

For a moment Asahi’s eyes met his; glassy and reddened and barely focused on Ren despite his attempts to appear even somewhat well. He tried to speak, but his voice was weak and unsteady, and his words died on his lips.

Someone should have stayed home, Ren thought to himself.

"You look wiped.” He reached down to press the back of his hand against Asahi’s cheek to try and gauge his temperature, and was admittedly unsurprised to feel heat. Asahi was warm, very warm; nearly hot, not unlike pressing his hand against the shell of a running Explosher. “And you're runnin' hot.”

He watched as Asahi straightened himself up somewhat; still quivering in his movements, struggling to look him in the eye even as he used his frame for support. “I-I *sdf* w-woke up feelin' off…'' he began as he gingerly removed the napkin wad from his face, just long enough for Ren to catch sight of what he’d been hiding. Asahi's cheeks were flushed, the delicate skin around his nose visibly irritated and tinged an inky light blue. Combined with the tiredness in his glassy eyes and the heat radiating off of him...

The concern needling at Ren began to grow. Asahi was clearly sick, anyone could tell, and yet here he was, having hauled himself to the lobby anyway— just to meet up with him. "Well, if you woke up feeling bad then why did you still show up? You… kinda look like a hot mess."

He watched as Asahi’s expression changed; a sincere, apologetic look in his glassy, fever-ridden eyes. "I-I'b… *sdf* a mb'ess, I know…." he mumbled out, his voice weak and barely audible. "B-But I saw your text, a-a’d *snrk* I-I didn'dt wad't to just *sdf* lea'be you had'ging…" 

Ren noticed the ill Octoling slowly leaning into his hand even as he still tried to placate him, heavy eyes flickering like he was about to fall asleep just before he caught himself, suddenly straightening up and quickly pulling himself away from Ren’s hand. "W-We ca'd… *sdf!* S-Still do Turf War o-or…"

Ren eyed him closely as his voice trailed off, then he blew his nose into the napkin wad and hobbled over to the trash can to toss it, leaning against the wall for a moment to recuperate… slowly sinking down against the wall where he stood as his eyelids began to flicker, that being the only thing keeping him upright.

He'd admire the determination, but Asahi was in no condition to be battling today. 

"Alright… change of plans." Ren declared, as he pulled Asahi from the cafe wall. "We're going to my place. It's closer to the lobby than your flat, yeah?" 

"U-Uhh….*snf-*...W-Wha'd for…?"

"For bedrest, obviously."

Asahi opened his mouth to protest, only barely managing a pitiful squeaking wheeze before he instead doubled over into a coughing fit. 

"See? You sound like you can barely breathe." the taller Inkling tutted as he helped him stand upright, even tapping his boyfriend’s back as he coughed and sputtered. “Do you really think you can do Turf War like this?” 

While he didn’t intend on scolding his partner, that’s what it felt like either way— like chiding a schoolkid who’d been caught in some misdemeanor. Asahi’s rounded ears drooped ever so slightly, and he slunk away, weakly mumbling out another apology. “M-m’msorry….”

There he goes again, apologizing for things that aren't his fault…

Ren softened somewhat upon seeing him falter and avoid his gaze, then sighed softly and pulled the sick Octoling into a hug— his shivering lessened just a little bit in Ren’s arms, and he gave a pitiful sniffle as he returned the gesture, trembling arms slowly wrapping themselves around his partner’s waist. 

“Oi, don’t say that… We can always come back when you’re in better shape, y’know?” He knew he started to make some progress when Asahi relaxed in his arms, if only just a little. 

“B-But still…” Asahi started, his voice hoarse and weak and barely above a whisper. “Y-You made plans for me a-and everything…” He shuddered in his arms and coughed into his hoodie sleeve, and Ren decided to get him in bed sooner rather than later.

“And shit happens, yeah? Now let’s go home."

Ren grabbed another handful of napkins, plus an empty takeout bag to hold Asahi’s soiled face mask. He then dug through the pockets of his jeans to fish for something, eventually producing a crumpled paper bill to hand to the barista. “Sorry for the germs and all that,” he spoke quickly and in a hushed voice as the bemused Jelly took the cash tip, then hurried back to Asahi to make sure he was still upright.

As the two made their way down the lobby stairs, Asahi leaned over to rest his head on Ren’s shoulder as he walked with plodding, uneven footsteps barely in time with his own. With his head so close Ren could see his eyelids flicker and nearly flutter closed as the two made their way back into the range area, eyes glassy and barely focused on his surroundings. He seemed… dangerously close to falling asleep, Ren thought.

“Jeez, you really are wiped,” he spoke softly. “We’ll be home soon so you can lay down, ‘kay?” 

When they made it to the locker room, now considerably more populated than earlier, he guided him to sit down on one of the various couches placed in the lobby, though it was less of a sit-down and more of his legs just giving out. That was concerning.

“I’ll grab your stuff, you just rest here.” Ren took a moment to stay and reassure his ill partner, swaying this way and that as he stared up at him with hazy red eyes… hazy eyes that suddenly began to flicker shut.

The hitching came on right away, something Ren registered in the nick of time as he dug through his pockets for the cafe napkins he’d stored away earlier, hurriedly pressing the napkins around Asahi’s twitching nose just as he reeled back with one last gasp. “Oh, no you don't-”

Silence.

Ren wasn't sure what to make of the dead air between the two.

…Eventually, though, his efforts won out— Asahi slumped forwards into his hand and relaxed; a whistling sigh escaping his throat. And Ren gave a sigh of relief, having avoided a messy situation. “That was close… I’ll grab your stuff first so we can get out of here.”

He wasn’t surprised that Asahi didn’t respond— clammy hands fumbling to take the napkin from him, glassy feverish eyes lulling upwards to face the taller squid, and little else. Ren raised an eyebrow, staying put for a moment and eyeing his movements and waiting to see what he’d do next— watching as he drew his knees up to his chest, probably trying to keep himself warm, and eventually resting his head on his arms before going still. It wasn’t long before his eyelids fluttered closed.

Was there really any shame in letting him rest his eyes right here for a second? Besides, this was about as peaceful Ren had seen his sick partner today. He chuckled to himself as he headed over to the lockers. 

He’d grab Asahi’s things first, putting his Range Blaster back in its case before grabbing his backpack, loosely carrying the straps over to where his ill partner was catnapping and depositing the case and backpack on the couch space next to him. He shut the locker door and went to grab his own things as well before rejoining Asahi, still curled into himself on the lobby’s couch and shivering helplessly. 

Another twinge of pity came and went, now really seeing how disheveled his partner looked, and Ren felt compelled to rub behind one of Asahi’s ears. His hands were warm and steady, even as Asahi flinched and gasped. "Easy, easy," he lowered his voice, helping him stand up from the couch (holding him steady as he stumbled) and guiding him into resting his feverish head on his chest. "Don't you wanna sleep somewhere more comfortable?"

The noncommittal "mmhm" he got as an answer only strengthened Ren's suspicion. Asahi's hands were clammy and cold as they fumbled to grab onto his. His eyelids were heavy; that dangerous flickering having returned once more as his boyfriend veered closer and closer into falling asleep where he stood.

Was he imagining things? Or was Asahi getting warmer? 

He'd know for sure once they were home, and Ren comforted himself with that thought as he guided his ill partner out of the lobby doors. Both winced as the sunlight hit their eyes, and Ren quickly dipped with his sick partner into the shade of the nearby train station entrance.

Ren slowed his pace, moving in time with his partner’s uneasy steps as the two moved through the crowded station, steering Asahi away from crowds and nosy onlookers and into an elevator. The tiny space was quiet with just the two of them, with only an intermittent sniffle or cough from Asahi as the two descended. 

Thankfully his sister let him borrow her car for the morning.

Ren kept his sick boyfriend upright as the two shuffled into the parking garage and into the car. Asahi seemed to be declining by the minute, and the concern needling at the back of Ren's mind began to overtake his thoughts, a concern which only became more apparent as he watched Asahi stumble into the passenger's seat, clumsily buckle himself in, and curl in on himself before going completely quiet, save for the odd sniffle or sneeze or two being the only sign that he was still awake. He shivered, even underneath his thick oversized hoodie, and Ren thought to himself that it didn’t take much of a genius to deduce that Asahi felt much worse than he was letting on. So he’d try his best to make him comfortable. 

[burgerputty]

Hear me out guys…

[yayswag]

rlly silly doodles based off of a post the hc goat @tegr1dy made about stan and kyle adult braces that had me laying awake at night 😭😭😭

[hunnysnoops]

˗ˋ𝕎𝕙𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕟𝕤ˊ˗

Chapter One: Undone

Kylie Broflovski x fem Reader

If you want to destroy my sweater, pull this thread as I walk away.

Also available on Ao3 and Wattpad!

Premise: Despite having almost inseparable families, you and Kyle couldn't hate each other anymore than you already. The second you saw him you had your claws out and we would be ready to hold a knife to your throat, like wolves you devoured each other until a bump in the road sent you tumbling into a new dynamic. Maybe you two can find new ways to fall apart.

Warnings: Vulgar language+humour / mentions of smoking and drugs / Cartman gets called fat

MASTERLIST

Kyle was the only one who knew how truly competitive you were. He couldn't figure out how no one else saw especially during your sports matches, you always had to be forward, had to score the last point, had to win, and you craved it as compulsively as the nicotine you sucked from your fingernails when you ran out of cigarettes to burn through.

Your parents had always been close to Kyle's since high school allegedly; being constantly forced to jump back and forth between each other's houses for family dinners and game nights didn't aid in the fact that you wanted to tear each other's throats out with razor-sharp teeth. They say that distance makes the heart grow fonder and this absurd proximity made the both of you sick with a frothing rage.

You couldn't pinpoint exactly where this hatred started, it was likely back in middle school where it was taboo for boys and girls to hang out, and those kids acted like it breached scripture if you did. Truthfully you didn't remember being friends but there was photo evidence of you playing as children so you couldn't deny it.

He has seen every inch of your life inside and out from the seventeen years that you were cursed to spend side by side. He knew that you had some fun habits such as swallowing back a little bit of synthetic sunshine in the form of little tabs of acid and how you would take a joint for a stroll in the dead of night.

For every secret he held over your head, you dangled one of his right before his green eyes. This is the only thing that kept all hell from breaking loose.

"Good practice girls, I'll see all of you on Thursday," Coach Jackson said, with no indication of pride for the team's gruelling efforts on her tanned face, not even a dribble of sweat on her brow since all she did was stand in place and yell at you.

As soccer practice finally came to a close the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting an orange glow on the team where you all lay on the ground of the pitch next to your bags, trying to catch your breath. Nichole chugged down her water so fast that it was dribbling down her chin and droplets had soaked into her tee shirt.

You were the most composed of all of them despite being a little short of breath, you wiped the sweat from the bow of your lip and began to peel off your sweaty shin guards.

"How are you so okay?" Annie asked, red-faced, strands of her curly blonde hair sticking out and flying loose in the wind while she sipped on a Gatorade.

You shrug "I run a lot," It was the truth, you liked the feeling of burning in your lungs along with the fact that you built up good stamina and in turn were able to withstand your coach's harsh practices.

"I should start running with you," Annie says, panting heavily before she throws herself flat against the cool grass.

"I don't know if you could keep up," There's something of a smile playing on Red's face while she shoves her gross gear into her duffle bag. "I see her run by my house every night." She had a bit of trouble keeping her shag cut tied back in a ponytail, any attempt to get the layers to stay in a braid or bun was futile so she settled on a black headband to at least keep it out of her face.

Off in the distance, Bebe honked her car horn, she had shown up early to pick up her friends and due to this in the last fifteen minutes of practice you could hear classic Justin Bieber blasting faintly from her car. "Annie, we gotta go," Nichole says.

"Ugh," Annie draws out in her dazey state. Nichole paid her friend the service of grabbing her bag and trying to drag her up to her feet.

"C'mon," Nichole mutters, hooking an arm around Annie and yanking her up to her feet. Annie finds her own footing and detaches herself from Nichole, she's still in her shin guards and cleats. "Are you coming to Wendy's later?" Nichole looks at you, sweat shimmering on her ebony skin beneath the setting sun.

You think about it for a moment before ultimately shaking your head "I gotta pick my brother up."

"What about after?"

"Too crammed with homework," You were lying through your teeth, your social battery was just running a little low and things with your dad weren't going too great. You made the decision that you needed to lock yourself in the bathroom run the shower over your skin and scrub until the water washed away the stress of your week or get high with Kenny until you felt your face go numb. Just something along those lines.

"Too bad," Annie frowns, eyes half-lidded and breathes shallow.

"See you tomorrow then," Red waves at you before heading to her car, bright hair sticking out in the green landscape.

“Love ya, Red,” You look around at the rest of your team, all cooling down and conversing "Anyone need a ride home?" Everyone looks around and shakes their heads "Isla?"

"No," She says "I'm going with Kelly."

"Alright," You sling your bag over your shoulder, clutching your carabiner in hand, it has a little keychain of a Volkswagon bus on it, a cowboy hat knick-knack and of course your actual keys. "Bye guys, see you on Thursday."

Your words are met with collective 'goodbyes' from the girls. You walk off the pitch, and despite your legs feeling like jello you manage to step off of the grassy field and land on concrete, lazy steps leading you back to your car.

Tossing your bag into the backseat, you tap around on your phone to connect to the speaker, turn it up as loud as it goes and roll down your windows. You liked your music so loud that you couldn't even hear your own thoughts, just your playlist on shuffle as you absentmindedly sang along to it. You grabbed some body spray and doused the car in it to cover up the subtle linger of cigarettes from your late-night drive the previous evening.

The air was warm and carried the scent of fresh-cut grass as you drove through the familiar suburban streets. With the windows down, you felt the gentle breeze tousle your hair, a welcome relief from the day's heat. You hummed along to the music, mind drifting as you navigated the familiar route.

As you turned the corner onto the neighbour's street, the sun painted the sky in a breathtaking array of colours - hues of orange, pink, and purple blending seamlessly against the evening sky. You couldn't help but steal a moment to admire the beauty of the sunset, the vibrant colours reflecting in your eyes. It was nearing six pm when you finally pulled into the Broflovski driveway.

You step out, looking a little worse for wear. You had taken off your shin guards and cleats but left the knee-high socks on as well as a tee shirt with the Park County cows logo on it and a pair of athletic shorts. It was one of the warmer days since it was nearing summer though South Park had a way with erratic weather that couldn't make up its mind, you were sure there would be a storm tomorrow to cancel out the nice weather.

Knocking on the door, you put on a smile, expecting to see Gerald or Sheila though you were unpleasantly met with their oldest son, Kyle. Your smile drops immediately and it's easy to see that he isn't too excited to see you either. "Oh." You push passed Kyle and into his house "Weston," You call out "Time to go!"

Kyle wrinkles his nose "You smell like hand sanitizer," He says, speaking on all of the body mist you had sprayed in the car.

"And you look like orphan Annie," You turn quickly to face him before calling up the stairs "Weston, let's go!"

"Did you leave your windows down at the car wash?" His eyes rake up your body at your sweaty form, little strands of hair sticking to your neck. 

"Go on Accutane, matchstick," You retort. This nickname came about when Kyle began to outgrow his friends, with a lanky body and a mop of curly red hair, the nickname struck you in a moment of genius. As of now, he was wearing his hat, he hardly ever took it off, especially out in public. You'd only seen it come off his head when he was swimming or when his mom forced it off.

Something about the Broflovski house was always comforting even if you hated one-fourth of the family, you loved the other three. The scent of whatever Sheila was cooking always lingered in the air, right now the smell was sweet and faint. You assumed she hadn't been home but caught a glimpse of a cookie rack set out on the kitchen counter. 

His eyebrows furrow "My acne isn't even that bad," He was right, you just knew that it got under his skin "Crash," He says, a little less creative than your nickname for him, born from the time you did acid and woke up in his backyard, luckily before his parents noticed you but not after Kyle took pictures of you passed out on the grassy lawn as well as a few rumours that had been spread about you.

"Sure, ginger, sorry you have a hard knock life," You had run out of insults to call him after seventeen years. In middle school, you ripped on him constantly for how scrawny he was along with voice cracks and his acne, though in recent years, he had passed puberty, had a deeper voice, sorted out his pimple issue, and taken to running, basketball, lacrosse, and going to the gym to tone up. You could still rag on him for it but it has less impact when it wasn't true and god knows you wouldn't go mocking his religion, you may have hated him but you had morals. All you had left to make fun of was his hair colour.

It was similar to the way he couldn't make fun of you for being ugly, unpopular, or stupid like he used to since puberty hit you like a bus and you were almost unrecognizable from the brace-faced awkward kid you used to be. You were also a little too confident and erratic for his liking. 

You were going to make your way upstairs to Ike's room where you assumed the two boys had been until you heard the familiar sound of upbeat electric rhythms and horribly overacted lines of Fury Fighters, a classic 1v1 fighting game. You move away from Kyle and turn in to the living room where you see your little brother and Ike on the couch, hyper-focused on the game ahead of them. "Did you go deaf suddenly or were you just ignoring me?"

"I was ignoring you," Weston says, bluntly. His hair is an untamed mess and the collar of his wrinkled tee is stretched out. He doesn't even look back at you but Kyle cracks a smile at his words.

"C'mon shrimp, we gotta go," You say, crossing your arms.

He lets out a groan "Can I stay like thirty more minutes?"

You shake your head "Nah, Kyle's cologne is giving me a headache."

Ike snorts a laugh and glances back at his brother, his smile falls when he looks at you; he's putting on his tough guy persona. He clears his throat and deepens his voice in the slightest "What's up?" It was clear that the little brother had a crush on you though no one brought it up, you could tell it bothered Weston.

"Hey, Ike," You give him a tight-lipped smile, watching as he turns back to the TV, fingers clicking over the controller aggressively. "You can finish this round and we're out."

"Yes!" Weston says "Thanks, love you," He says with haste, thinking that it'll butter you up.

You plop yourself on the carpeted floor in front of the couch to watch the match play out. Ike was playing as Tempest, a mage who was wise and old, a long white beard yet he somehow had an absolutely shredded pixel body. Weston was playing Sable, a pink-haired woman in a short nurse's uniform who used surgical tools as weapons, she was your go-to back when you still played Fury Fighters with your friends. You would refuse to play as a man because it breached your pre-teen code of feminism.  Watching them play made you feel nostalgic. 

Kyle leans his elbows on the back of the couch, hands clasped together to watch the game, the same as you. "Kick his ass, Weston," Kyle says, rooting for your brother, purely to annoy his.

"Hey!" Ike exclaims though he doesn't move his unwavering gaze from the game "Whose side are you on?"

"Smoke him, Ike!" You say, a little louder than intended to balance out the cheering section. 

Sheila always kept the household neat which was a miracle with Ike and Weston always running around, recently she had taken to a love of houseplants and had at least one in every corner of the home. There were framed pictures strung up on every single wall without fail, lots of the family, Sheila's wedding day, and a collection of you and Kyle actually getting along when you were kids. There's one of the two of you playing under a sprinkler in rain boots, another of you standing and smiling brightly by a snowman you made, and a picture of Kyle covering all of your little scrapes in Spider-Man band-aids. In every photo of you after the age of seven, you were with the rest of your families on opposite ends, as far away from each other as you could get.

You look back to the TV where Ike's character, Tempest summons the dead with his staff, grey decaying hands rise from the 2D ground and drag Sable down. "Fuck!" Weston yells, panic quickly spreading across his face, his eyes shoot back and forth frantically from the controller to the TV. 

Sable jumps back up and readies herself into a fighting stance, Tempest moves his staff, a green diamond on the end, horizontally and jabs Sable in the stomach over and over until she rolls back to the ground. Ike has a huge grin on his face, shaggy black hair framing his pale features, he desperately needed a haircut but for now, he was relishing in watching Sable's health bar move down.

"By the elements, I shall prevail!" Calls out Tempest, his voice actor had really put his all into making him sound deep and gruff. Ike randomly spams the buttons, sending out an erratic combo. The characters were fighting in the center of a dark alley, blue and red lights flashing every few minutes.

Sable pulls a long scalpel out of her thigh-high socks and charges towards Tempest, slashing him. When Tempest's health bar falls, Sable speaks out a voice line "Every wound has a remedy," Her sultry voice makes you cringe just the slightest, you hadn't remembered her to sound so sensual.

Tempest rises back up, jumps toward Sable and greets the character with a heavy uppercut, sending her flying through the air. You find your fingers digging into the carpet, you had hoped that Sable would win just from the fact that you used to play as her. You almost wanted to grab the remote from your brother's hand and show him how to play as her, you had memorized all of her combos and moves, and they became muscle memory to you. "You're demise is written in the stars!" The buff wizard raises his hands to the sky, gearing up to cast one final blow.

In the midst of this, Sable jumps up, pulls a bone saw out from behind her back and slices Tempest's head clean off before he can finish casting his spell. Ike drops his controller, moving his hand to grab his hair, eyes wide and mouth agape in shock while he watches his character's health bar plummet to zero. The wizard's head rolls around on the pixel ground before Sable picks it up and kisses it "Nurse's orders: Stay down," She says before drop-kicking the head out of frame. A title card covers up the scene that reads 'It's a wrap!’

"Fuck yeah!" Weston says, giving Kyle a firm high five. He looked happier than you had seen him all week, middle school was kicking his ass and you had to pull some time aside almost every night to help him with algebra. You would've scolded him for playing video games instead of studying for his social studies test if you hadn't been doing the same at his age. 

"How the hell did you do that?" Ike's head whips to look at his friend who just shrugs.

You push yourself off the floor, giving your brother's hair a little tussle "Let's go, shrimp." 

With a groan Weston up to slip his shoes on at the rack, "See you tomorrow, Ike," He grabs his bag where it sits by the coat stand. Kyle hurdles himself over the couch, taking Weston's place on the sofa and picking up the free controller to play "Bye Kyle!" He says, lacing up his sneakers.

Kyle looks over the couch and at him with a smile "See you later buddy."

The second you think Weston is looking away you stick up the middle finger to the red-headed boy across from you but it surely didn't go unnoticed "Why are you flipping Kyle off?" Weston asks, furrowing his eyebrows as he looks up at you.

You drop your hand "I'm not, I was waving at him." You lie, trying to form a cover-up. You place a hand between his shoulder blades to guide him out the door.

"You're sweaty," He comments.

"Thanks, I had no idea," You open the door and close it behind you before Kyle can say anything to your brother's remark. It's already colder than when you entered the house and you race to get to the car before you get a chill.

Weston hops into the passenger seat, scrunching up his nose at the music you're playing "Can you put on Lil Shovel?" He asks. It was one of the many rappers he had attempted to imitate. He thought they were cool for decking themselves out in designer brands and sticking dollar bills into women's thongs in music videos.

"I'm not playing that shit," You start the car and turn out of the driveway.

"Why?"

"Because it makes me want to hammer nails into my ears," You answer, eyes focused in the road while you glide through the suburban street. "Listen to Eminem or something."

"Dad doesn't like Eminem."

You wrinkle your nose "Why?"

"Because he said that thing about the gerbil."

Recognition hits you and you nod "Yeah, that checks out," Your dad was a pretty modest guy, he didn't care about anything overly vulgar. He basically mandated your life, he was the reason you were in so many extracurriculars and were the last person in your grade to get a phone, something Kyle would've teased you for if your parents weren't so similar.

"Can you drive me and Ike to the quarry on Friday?" Weston has one hand sticking out of the window moving it up and down like it was a plane, it was something you used to do before you were the one driving, a little mannerism he picked up off you.

"I have track practice and then I gotta help Heidi and Wendy with their fundraiser, sorry, shrimp," You take note of every house you pass, swearing you could put a name to every single one. You felt the fatigue hit you all at once, you knew that night your bed would become a casket and you would have to be pried from it like a floorboard. "Ask Kyle." 

"We did, he has basketball practice."

"Bummer," You say. It had slipped your mind completely that he was on the team and you hated it and how your friends gushed about Kyle before catching themselves and sending you apologetic glances. "Guess you gotta bike then."

You remember when you were your brother's age, twelve years old and you came home every night at sunset with a new scrape to show for the adventure you set out on. You gave bruises out like gifts and collected them like stickers, some sort of pride when parents would silently judge you for having purple busted-up knees.

"Mhm," He nods "Hey, can we go to Burger King?"

"No," You say almost immediately "Mom's making dinner right now."

Weston scrunched up his nose "Yeah but she had the crock pot out on the counter when I left for school today," Nothing good came from your mother's crock pot. "Can we please get Burger King?"

"First of all, Mom will kill me if I load you up with more fast food, second of all, she's gonna make you eat her dinner anyways, so just be nice and tell her it's good."

"Ugh," He grumbles watching wistfully into the distance, his thoughts stuck on the combo he was craving. "I should've stayed at Ike's for dinner."

"Yeah, me too," News of the dreaded crock pot had only worsened your day. Sheila on the other hand was an incredible cook, as much as you loved your mom and the effort she put into her meals, nothing would compare to Sheila's brisket. The thought of it almost made your stomach grumble. If you lived with Broflovski's you would've weighed three hundred pounds more. 

Your mind ricochets back and forth between going home or heading to Wendy's with the rest of your friends though the thought of being alone with tobacco burning your throat soothed you.

The drive from the Broflovski's to yours wasn't too long, truthfully, your brother was perfectly capable of walking. The sky transformed into a canvas of deepening shades, the last traces of sunlight giving way to the embrace of twilight. You stole glances at your brother, his animated chatter filling the car with warmth.

You park the car in the driveway behind your dad's car, he would surely yell at you to move it in the morning but that was a problem for future you and a decision you would regret making. You pull up on the street right in front of your house. Weston was quick to hop out of the car, he rushed across the lawn and waited by the front door for you to turn off the car, but you didn't, you just watched and waited for him to go inside.

"Are you coming?" Weston asked.

You stick your head out of the window "Tell Mom I'm stopping by Red's, I'll be back before dinner," Weston rolls his eyes at this, he didn't care for Red, since you started being friends with her you had even less time to spend with your brother. Nights of staying up late with Weston and playing Stardew Valley turned into you hanging out with your friend and getting high. 

"Tell Rebecca to eat a dick!" Weston cups his hands around his mouth.

"I won't do that but good suggestion," You call back before stepping on the peddle and moving back down the familiar streets. It was just past six and there hadn't been anyone outside, everyone was tucked away in their respective home, warm lights from windows spilling into the darkening sky. 

You didn't go to Red's, you just kept driving until you ended up at a gas station on the outskirts of town. It had long passed the dinner you promised to be home for, instead of eating the crock pot monstrosity, you opt for something with a sweeter taste, a cigarette and a bag of teriyaki beef jerky. You sat on the curb watching cars roll past, their headlights framing you like you were on stage. You just craved the aloneness you so rarely got.

You shuffle through the cafeteria line, undecided on what you want to eat but settling on one of those sugar-free drinks that are worse for you than just grabbing a regular soda for a drink. "Keep it moving, Junkie," Cartman says from beside you. God how he irked you, it was in his nature to be unbearable.

"What? Not like it's going anywhere, I'm more worried for the people in line behind you who have to eat crumbs."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" He asks adding a paper plate of ribs to his tray and then another.

"It means you're fat."

He shrugs "Doesn't bother me," Cartman had grown to be a little more self-aware, by a little I mean a very small smidgen.

"You're a fat-fat fatty, keep eating fatty," your voice was unwavering. You hadn't had too much of a problem with Cartman throughout school, sure he had been a dick but you never interacted enough for him to be on your radar until he started a rumour about you shooting up heroin in the janitors closet which led to him telling everyone you were a drug dealer. This cursed you with the nicknames of crash, popper, and of course, junkie. When it first happened you weren't even aware, you just sat confused about why everyone was adding your Snapchat and asking about buying stuff from you. Eventually, staff caught wind of this and it only got worse from there.

"Fuck you, crash," He sticks up a middle finger at you "You're a dyke."

You return the gesture "At least I get pussy, lard ass."

"I have tons of sex, you faggot."

"Your hand doesn't count," You say examining the food in the chafing dishes which looked surprisingly good for school food.

"I don't care if you're a girl, I will kick your ass," He starts to get in your face but you don't bother to acknowledge it, still looking through the food options. 

"I bet if I pushed you over you would just keep rolling."

"Whatever bitch."

"Hurry up, butterball," Bebe cuts in front of Eric who has a look of pure seething rage on his face. She looks beautiful as always, blonde curly hair falling in perfect ringlets and framing her dainty face. She's wearing a red off-the-shoulders sweater and low-waisted jeans, it's such a simple outfit but Bebe manages to make it look unique and expensive.

"Fuck you, Bebe," he turns a middle finger to her, "Go shoot up with your little lezzy girlfriend." That was another rumour that he successfully sparked, that you and Bebe were secretly dating. The two of you found it funnier than the heroin thing and played into it on occasion. 

"You're so fucking stupid," Bebe wrinkles her nose in distaste of the chubby kid in front of her "Don't crack the floor when you waddle over to your table, fat ass," She adds a yogurt parfait onto her tray and keeps moving down the line, you follow in suit.

The two of you hand the lunch lady your cafeteria card but your eye snags on something else entirely "Where's Wendy?"

Bebe looks in the same direction as you where your entire friend group sits, minus Wendy who you could've sworn was there only moments ago. Her tray still sat in front of her spot on the table "She's talking with Stan I think."

"What?" You look at the blonde text to you while you find your table "Are they getting back together or something?"

"She was saying she wanted to work things out with him last night, you'd know if you were there."

"Why didn't she tell me?" You furrow your eyebrows as you glance at Stan's regular table where he was also absent from. The second thing you noticed was how irritated Kyle seemed, likely because his best friend would be opting to spend time with Wendy again instead of him. Cartman plops himself down next to the ginger, only making Kyle more agitated. When Kyle looks away for a split second, Kenny steals food off his plate and blames it on Eric. “I would never steal food from a dirty Jew!” He says, voice carrying over every other conversation in the room.

"She might not have told because you can be a little-" Bebe searches around for a word that'll soften the message "Abrasive?"

"I'm not abrasive," You say as you sit yourself down at the cafeteria table, immediately met by curious glances from the rest of your friends. This made you question yourself. Had you been so blunt that your best friend didn't want to tell you what was going on in her life? Yes. You didn't know how else to be, it was wired into your system; born from the way you were raised, like a wild animal who fought for scraps, if you didn't kill, you wouldn’t eat. Your family wasn’t really complete, it was more like something like a mom who worked herself to rust and a dad who popped in and out like some kind of disappearing act.

No one bothers to dig deeper into your sentence, already enraptured in their conversation. "I wonder how Tolkien feels about it," Lola asks, leaning in a little to where Nelly sits on the other side of the table, seemingly hanging onto every word.

"I know!" Nelly says, unable to fight the smile that formed on her face every time she gossiped "Did you notice how he isn't sitting where he usually is." At this, everyone turns their heads to Tolkien's regular table, where he’s MIA from.

Halfway through sucking the meat off of his ribs, Cartman notices everyone at your table staring them down. He glances around the table before deciding that you are looking at him, barbeque sauce smeared over his mouth and down his fingers. "What the fuck are you looking at?" He calls out, now drawing the attention of the cafeteria to you and your friends who quickly avert their gazes back to their food.

You meet Kyles's eyes for just a moment, you can read loud and clear that he's annoyed Wendy's back in the picture and she'll be poaching his best friend from him. Despite the act he's trying to portray of being indifferent, you can tell there's a storm brewing beneath his green eyes.

In your pocket, your phone buzzes and you look at it.

McWhoremick: what was that about?

You: Cartman looking rancid

McWhoremick: fair

McWhoremick: wanna hang later?

You: fo sho

You: junkyard?

McWhoremick: yup

McWhoremick: see ya :P

"What's that?" Red peaks down at your phone from next to you, her chin resting on your shoulder "Is it Wendy?"

"She's been weird lately," Jenny says, she doesn't look up from her mac and cheese, just pushes it around absentmindedly with her fork.

"Probably because all of you are talking about her like she's not our friend," Heidi peeps up for the first time in the conversation. You're a little surprised that she's eating lunch with you, in recent days she's been so busy with sustainability club that it's taken up all of her lunch breaks.

Heidi was right as usual. It didn't feel right to be talking about Wendy when she was twenty metres away, it didn't feel right to talk about her at all. The group fell quiet at this, trying to search for another topic that didn't involve speaking poorly of your friend.

"So," Red starts "Who's excited for the basketball game?"

You really weren't, you had no intentions of going though you were sure your parents would make you go to support Kyle. "I think I'll go to watch Kyle," Nichole comments. Your head whips to look at her immediately, it only made sense that she was over Tolkien after what happened with Wendy but you hadn't expected her to go for Kyle.

"Uh oh," Annie says, a small smile playing on her face. Lately, she had taken good care of her curls, a stark difference from the frizzy mess that was stuck on her head all through middle school.

"Nichole," You say, staring her down "Are you okay?"

"Sorry to say this," Bebe pipes up, not one hundred percent tuned into the conversation "He actually isn't the piece of shit that you make him out to be."

"You don't-

"Know him like I do?" Heidi finishes your sentence for you. Something you had repeated over and over again when trying to get your point across that he was evil and no one could see it but you.

"I'd do it," Lola shrugs and your face contorts in disgust.

"Ew," You say with haste, fighting the urge to gag on your food. "Do you guys realize that he's ginger under that hat?"

Everyone is unsurprised at your disdain for him, even though you tried not to talk about him so you didn't seem obsessed, every now and then, the start of a rant would slip out and that would turn into you rambling on and on about every little annoying detail about him. You wondered for a brief moment if he did the same when walking about you.

"What is it that you hate about him anyway?" Red asks.

You rack your brain for a truly solid reason you can't say that it irritated you how Kyle ran the opposite way of you on the trail on your nightly run, it was the most dreaded part of the day, brushing past him and pretending not to notice. You also couldn't delve into the fact that he always had a bored, unimpressed expression on his face when he talked to you. "Everything." You answer "I hate everything about him."

"Okay gang," Mr Waterman claps his hands together once everyone is finally seated. "I know we're getting close to the end of the year and it's exciting but there is always work to be done." He was in his thirties, a little on the shorter side, with brown hair, glasses, and lean for a teacher though it made sense since he doubled as the basketball coach. He had tried his best to be funny though his jokes usually fell flat but you found yourself laughing out of pity like it was second nature.

Wendy sat next to you, you hadn't pressed her about Stan (despite wanting to) and she hadn't brought it up. Kyle sits next to a guy whose name slipped through the cracks of your mind and stays completely silent while the teacher gives his spiel about hard work and effort.

"This will be our final seating change for the year, so if you're next to someone you don't like know it'll be over by the end of June," Mr Waterman sits himself at his desk dead in front of every lab table, shares his computer screen to the projector, showing the new seating arrangments "Alright, here are your lab partners until semester end."

You scan the whiteboard for your name and your breath hitches in your throat when you see it next to Kyles. Kyle whips his head to look at you, your gazes matching in utter terror. You had relished in the fact that You had gone the entire semester without talking to Kyle a single time in biology class.

There weren’t desks in the science labs but black tables built for two people since they worked out better for experiments, there you were stuck at the back of the class with the ginger demon spawn.

"Mr Waterman?" You raise your hand but speak before he even calls on you "You need to move me or I'll kill myself."

"Woah," He puts both of his hands out "Let's not joke about that-

"I'm not joking," You cut him off, tone dead serious. Wendy tugs at the hem of your shirt, trying to get you to sit back down, you just cast her a glance before looking back to the short teacher. "I will kill myself." 

"Can you and Kyle please come up here so I can talk to you," At Mr. Waterman's words, Kyle shoots you a malicious glare. 

"When you cause a scene about not wanting to sit next to someone it can be hurtful," Mr Waterman addresses you, his tanned hands grasped together. Bless his heart, Kyle thought he was getting in trouble and it would put a dent into his perfect record, the kid never even missed a day of school. You and Kyle stand side by side, in front of Mr Waterman's desk, careful to keep a distance between you.  "Think about how Kyle feels right now-

"I feel like I wanna slit my wrists." He deadpans, face unreadable as ever.

"Do you guys need someone to talk to?" Mr Waterman furrows his eyebrows, lowering his voice.

"No," You say, crossing your arms “Not unless it's to get a gun so I can blow my brains out."

"Okay," He repositions himself to sit taller "Can you please tell me why you don't want to sit next to each other, I'm sure we could work this out." You waste no time trying to get yourself away from Kyle, listing off all of his little habits that annoy you. Kyle, on the other hand, bites his tongue. He didn't want his teacher to think poorly of him, not when there was still a little over a month left of the worst year of school he'd ever put himself through.

"Kyle?" You furrow your eyebrows, waiting expectantly for him to go off on how you were disruptive and rude but he sort of just stood there. For a brief moment, you thought he was having a stroke.

"It's fine," At his words, your mouth goes ajar and your eyes widen. You had thought that the two of you stood in solidarity for one thing, you wanted to get away from each other. 

"Is it really?" You say through gritted teeth. 

"Yeah," He looks at you then back to Mr Waterman "It's just a childhood rivalry, we're just being immature," It took a lot for him to swallow his pride. Kyle just knew he had to get through June and then senior year would be smooth sailing. 

"Well," Mr Waterman says and you can tell he's prepping himself for a speech "It seems to me like the two of you could benefit from this seating arrangement. When you get jobs you won't get along with everyone you work with-

"We both have jobs already," You cut him off and Kyle shuffles awkwardly where he stands while the rest of the class chats idly and waits for the lesson to start.

Mr Waterman casts you a look and clears his throat before picking up where he left off "And I understand that sometimes, personalities clash, but we're a team here, and teamwork requires cooperation and understanding. You both have so much potential, but that potential can only be realized when you learn to work together, to support each other, and to lift each other up, rather than tear each other down."

Kyle's mind must've been somewhere else completely, it was like he was in airplane mode, nodding along to everything Mr Waterman was saying. Though you could feel boredom creeping up, fighting yourself to pay attention to the genuinely useless pep talk.

"I want you to take a moment and think about what it means to be part of a team," Mr Waterman urged, his voice gentle yet persuasive. "Think about the strength that comes from unity, the power that comes from collaboration, and the joy that comes from shared success. Both of you are strong students and I can see you doing very well working together on labs and assignments, okay?"

"Yup," You nod your head, giving a thumbs up so he would excuse you and this would blow over.

"Okay," Kyle says.

A smile forms on Mr Waterman's face, he leans further back into his desk chair. "I think I can sense a friendship forming here, now go take your seats."

You laugh awkwardly, quickly brushing past Kyle to sit in your new spot at the back of the class. You were stuck sitting next to Kyle and behind Eric Cartman, how did he get into AP biology? You weren't one hundred percent sure though you heard Isla say that it was a misplacement that never got corrected.

Once again, Mr Waterman calls the class to capture their attention. Writing about the new unit on the whiteboard in a red dry-erase pen that was squeaky and running out of ink. You ruffle through your backpack, trying to find your binder while everyone else is rapidly taking notes. You pull out a stack of textbooks and some personal reading for English, finally finding your science binder. 

"Why are you reading Mein Kampf?" He looks at the book that rests on top of the stack, it's old and beaten up and smells a bit like stale orange juice, the cover holds the jarring image of Adolf Hitler.

"Because I'm racist," You say, sarcastically but Kyle doesn't pick up on this and seems a little taken aback "Joking, obviously, it's for history."

He averts his eyes back to the whiteboard. Mr. Waterman speaks briefly on physiology, before wiping the board clean and unfreezing the projector where he set up a slide show. As most science teachers do, he clicks through the slide show and waits for his students to take notes, answering the few questions that the kids have.

"Shit," You mutter as the teacher skips to the next slide before you could finish copying what was on it. You glance at Kyle "Uh, did you write all of that down?”

Wordlessly, he pushes his paper towards you to copy it, he keeps his eyes trained on the board. His writing was neat, it looked like it could've been a font, each word spaced out almost precisely from the next. Cartman snakes his head around and then moves his entire body when he sees the two of relatively civil. 

"Jews got a boner for the junkie," Cartman says, a little louder than intended. Next to him, David looks beyond annoyed, he’s gripping his pencil so tightly that you wouldn’t be surprised if he broke it.

"Shut up, fatass," You and Kyle manage to say in sync before you look at each other in disgust that your thoughts matched up.

"I fucking hate high school." You say under your breath, turning to look back at your notes and pushing his back toward him.

"Me too," Kyle says and you're actually on the same page for a change, you're not sure if you like it.

A/N: I hate this but here it is anyway 😔 I promise it gets more interesting. Open to head cannons and requests rn. Thanks for reading!

[monvirtu]

𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐄       ۶ৎ

⋆ precis ~ helping kyle with his insecurities.

⋆ tags ~ profanity, romance, teen!au, mentions of insecurities, and fluff.

۶ৎ        since you've dated kyle since freshman year, you were aware about some of his insecurities.

۶ৎ        you knew he didn't necessarily like his red hair, so he often wore that green beanie you were so familiar with.

۶ৎ        but during your junior year when you went to visit him, you caught him looking in the mirror while picking at his skin. which led to you learning about more insecurities he had.

"kyle?" he flinched at the sound of your voice before he hastily turned around, and he pursed his lips as you stand in the doorway. "you're here early..."

you raised an eyebrow as you approached him, and you wrapped your arms around him while he slightly smiled. "why are you here early?"

"because i got off of work early..." you mumbled while one of his hands rubbed your back, "are you okay?"

his hand came to an abrupt stop, and a low sigh left his throat before both of his arms wrapped around your waist. "i'm fine—"

"then why were you looking in the mirror like that?"

"were you spying on me?" he quietly teased as you pinched his hip, and he squirmed in your arms until he partially scowled at you. "i'm taking that as a yes."

"it's not my fault! i wanted to surprise you—" you mumbled before he pressed his lips against your forehead, and you smiled. "are you sure you're okay?"

kyle fell quiet for a second—a quiet hum leaving his lips while he moved his head back so he could stare at you.

۶ৎ        and eventually, you were told why he was looking in the mirror, and it was because he was insecure about a few things.

۶ৎ        you were soon told that he was insecure about his nose, hair, freckles, and the way he talks due to how it cracks sometimes.

۶ৎ        with his nose, you figured out that if you kiss it, it makes him feel ten times better about it. just the way you peck his nose with kisses and not a single expression of disgust crosses your face makes him feel so loved.

۶ৎ        with his hair, he loves it when you comment on it or mess with it. if you compliment his hair enough, he'll start to wear it without the beanie more.

۶ৎ        and even if cartman makes fun of him for it, he'll just beat his ass for it.

۶ৎ        with his voice, he'll melt if you tell him to keep talking after his voice cracks. sometimes, he'll have bad voice cracks, yet you just smile at him while telling him to continue talking.

۶ৎ        he'll talk as much as you want him to if you don't comment about his voice cracks.

۶ৎ        and between every sentence he speaks, he'll repeat the fact that he loves you. no matter how many times you tell him you love him back.

©𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐔𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

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