Chapter Text
In the cramped crawlspace beneath the kitchen sink, a teenage girl knelt, her breath catching in the stale air. She held an ancient, cracked leather-bound book, its gold-embossed cover faded almost to nothing, but she knew what it was.
Outside, faint chanting drifted through the night air from a nearby clearing where her cult had convened: an eerie, half-forgotten circle dedicated to the worship of Cthulhu, the sleeping god beneath the waves. The heavy beat of drums echoed against the distant shore.
She fingered the brittle pages, eyes tracing the faded script. The spells weren’t just love charms or blessings: they were invocations, keys to things best left buried. Things older than time, hunger lurking beyond the stars.
With a shaky hand, she slid the book into the crawlspace’s dark corner, wedging it beneath a loose floorboard where no light could touch it. Her lips pressed into a thin line as footsteps sounded overhead: her family returning from a weekend away, blissfully unaware of the darkness she’d tried to hide.
The girl disappeared into the shadows, leaving the book behind.
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17 Years Later
Music thumped through the walls, vibrating the floors and making every glass on the counter buzz in place. Someone had turned the thermostat way up, or maybe it was just the sheer number of people jammed into the living room, half of them already sweaty from dancing, the other half shouting to be heard over whatever overproduced pop remix was blasting.
The kitchen wasn’t much better: beer puddles on the tile, sticky Solo cups abandoned on every surface, and a faint smell of something burnt drifting in from the oven. Kyle had been standing near the fridge for ten minutes, trying to decide if the warm can of light beer in his hand was worth finishing, when Cartman appeared at his side like a heat-seeking missile for sarcasm.
Cartman had that flushed, smug look he got after exactly three drinks: when the alcohol wasn’t quite enough to slow him down, but plenty to strip away any filter he might’ve pretended to have. He looked Kyle up and down, a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead catching the light.
“You look like you’re having so much fun, Broflovski,” Cartman drawled, cheeks flushed either from the booze or from spite.
“More fun than watching you sweat through that shirt,” Kyle shot back, eyeing the damp fabric clinging to Cartman’s chest.
Cartman smirked like that counted as a win. “Come on, Jew, loosen up. It’s almost midnight, the world’s still shit, and we’re still not dead. That’s reason enough to celebrate.”
Kyle’s eyes drifted to the pantry door: a rickety thing that always seemed a little off. The floor beneath it had a slight dip, and a faint draft whispered from its cracks.
“Hey,” Kyle said, nudging Cartman’s arm. “Did you ever notice that weird space under the pantry floor?”
Cartman rolled his eyes. “Why the hell would I notice that?”
“No, seriously. It feels hollow.” Kyle walked over to it, crouched, and pressed his fingers against the warped wood. “I bet there’s a crawlspace or something.”
Cartman raised an eyebrow but followed Kyle to the floor. “Alright, Sherlock. Let’s see if there’s treasure or rats under there.”
Kyle slid a dusty kitchen towel aside and found a loose floorboard near the back corner. He pried at it with a finger, and it popped up with a sharp creak. A cold draft rushed out, carrying the faint smell of old paper and dust.
Cartman peered in, squinting. “Looks like some creepy crawlspace. Wanna go spelunking, dude?”
Kyle grinned nervously. “Nope. But check this out.”
He reached inside and pulled out an old leather-bound book, cracked and worn, with faded gold embossing curling along the spine. The cover was almost too fragile to hold.
Cartman’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Oh man, this is some kind of spellbook, isn’t it? Look at this fancy crap.”
“A… spell book?” Kyle asked, already reaching for it.
Cartman’s eyes lit up like a raccoon finding a glittering gum wrapper. “Oh, hell yes. Somebody’s mom was a total freak.”
They pulled it out together, the spine groaning like it hadn’t been opened in decades. Inside was a jumble: love charms, protection wards, and bread-blessing recipes scrawled in spidery handwriting, but their eyes caught on a page marked by a faded red ribbon:
For Two Hearts.
Beneath the title, an ornate script spelled out a series of instructions. At the bottom, in delicate, looping handwriting, was a note:
To be read aloud under the influence of merriment and the turning of the year.
Cartman smirked. “Perfect. We’ve already got the ‘under the influence’ part down.”
“You seriously want to do this?” Kyle asked.
“Don’t be a coward, Broflovski,” Cartman said, giving him an elbow that nearly sent him into the counter.
“Fine.” Kyle steadied himself, propping the book open with a bottle of fireball no one had touched. Below the English text was a block of writing in a curling, unfamiliar script.
“What’s this?” Kyle asked.
Cartman squinted. “Latin. Probably the real spell. The secret sauce.”
Kyle handed the book to him with mock reverence. “Then read it, Professor Cartman.”
He straightened dramatically, slurring through the first line with theatrical weight: “Amor vincit omnia, et nos cedamus amori…”
Kyle snorted. “Oh, very mystical. Totally buying it.”
“Shut up, you’re killing the vibe.”
They traded lines, each mangling the pronunciation worse than the other:
“Coniungamus corda, animoque fideliter… uh… corduroy latte?”
“That’s not—”
“Close enough!”
Kyle laughed, leaning in so their shoulders brushed. For half a second, as Cartman’s smirk softened into something quieter, they just… looked at each other. The noise of the party blurred into a dull hum, and there was a faint, strange pulse under Kyle’s ribs that had nothing to do with alcohol.
Before they could get any further, the kitchen doorway filled with Kenny, wearing a lopsided glittery party hat and holding a plate piled high with what looked like nachos but smelled suspiciously like pizza rolls.
“Dude,” Kenny mumbled through a mouthful, “are you guys reading a satanic cookbook?”
Stan appeared behind him, hair sticking up from static, smelling faintly of hard cider. “What the hell are you doing back here?”
“We’re in the middle of a serious ritual,” Cartman said, waving the book at them like it was a holy relic.
Kenny stepped closer, squinting at the page. “Sweet. Lemme try. ‘Lick-uh-mus animus… par…’ something-something… pasta?”
Stan leaned over Kyle’s shoulder. “You guys are gonna summon a raccoon or something.”
“Shut up!” Cartman barked. “We’re finishing this properly.”
Kenny grinned. “Count me in.”
The last lines turned into a drunken chorus: Cartman trying to sound grand, Kyle keeping a straight face for exactly two seconds before breaking, Kenny adding random nonsense words, and Stan mumbling along like he was reading karaoke lyrics in another language.
“In nocte novi anni,” Cartman started.
“Sub stella lucente,” Kyle followed, voice wobbly from laughter.
“Ligamus animal crackers—” Kenny sang loudly.
“That’s not—” Kyle tried, but Stan had already jumped in with, “Ligemus animas in… eternium? Eternity? Whatever.”
Somehow, through the mess, they all managed to land the last word together:
“Progeniemque pariamus!”
Silence fell for half a beat before Stan clapped his hands. “Cool. Shots anyone?”
Cartman lifted his Solo cup, smirking. “May we all be bound forever, whether we want it or not.”
Kyle clinked his cup against his, shaking his head. “Here’s hoping it’s nonsense and not some crazy baby-making curse.”
Kenny grinned wickedly. “If you two have a baby, I’m godfather. No take-backs.”
The four of them laughed, stumbling back toward the noise and flashing lights of the living room, but the chant seemed to follow them: a jumble of mispronounced Latin, stupid jokes, and something that, just maybe, had stuck harder than they meant it to.
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About an hour later, the party had spilled into the small, cramped bathroom off the kitchen. The noise from the living room was muffled, replaced by the constant drip of the faucet and the hum of flickering fluorescent lights overhead. Kyle and Cartman had slipped away from the chaos, both a little buzzed, the spell's strange energy lingering between them like static in the air.
Kyle leaned against the cold tile wall, rubbing at his temples. "Ugh, my head's killing me."
Cartman was pacing back and forth, Solo cup half-empty, eyes glazed but sharp. "You know," he slurred, "that spell was kinda... real, wasn't it? I mean, I feel... different."
Kyle glanced at him, suddenly aware of the way Cartman's dark eyes were fixed on him.
"Yeah," Kyle said, voice softer, more tentative. "Me too."
Cartman stopped pacing and took a slow step closer, his breath warm and smelling faintly of cheap whiskey. "You're kinda cute when you're all serious like that, Jew."
Kyle's heart thudded painfully, but before he could think better of it, the spell's pull tugged at something deep inside him, loosening the walls he'd built around himself for so long. He swallowed hard, his voice trembling. Cartman's gaze sharpened, and without thinking, Kyle found himself stepping closer, their bodies almost touching. Cartman's smirk softened, his eyes flickering with something unreadable.
Then, without any real warning, Cartman reached out, brushing a hand over Kyle's arm. Kyle's breath hitched, and before he knew it, their lips were crashing together: rough, desperate, and messy. Kyle's hands trembled as they clutched at Cartman's shoulders, like he was trying to anchor himself against a tide he didn't understand.
The spell's strange magic seemed to hum beneath the surface, pulling them closer, blurring lines they'd drawn so carefully before. Kyle's usual caution slipped away in the haze of drink and enchantment, replaced by a raw, aching need.
Cartman's lips moved again, slower this time, tracing along Kyle's jaw. His fingers tangled in Kyle's hair, tugging gently. The Solo cup was forgotten on the sink as they stumbled into the cramped bathroom, shutting the door with a clatter.
Kyle's hands roamed hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence, tracing the lines of Cartman's shirt soaked through with sweat. "Jesus," he whispered fiercely. "Just... fuck me. Please."
Cartman's smirk softened into something raw, "I'm not gonna say no to fucking."
Cartman's eyes darkened with something that could have been desire, or amusement, or maybe a mix of both. He pressed closer, lips capturing Kyle's in a rough, hungry kiss that made Kyle's knees weak. Cartman's hands moved to the hem of Kyle's shirt, fingers brushing his skin through the fabric. Kyle's hands tangled in Cartman's hair, clutching, desperate for more contact.
Cartman's fingers traced down Kyle's side, sending sparks through him. Kyle's breath hitched, his body aching for more. "Please," he begged again, voice trembling. "I want you so bad."
With a low growl, Cartman captured Kyle's mouth, hands moving quickly to unbutton Kyle's shirt. Cartman's voice was low, thick with amusement and something darker. "You're really serious about this, huh? Begging like a damn idiot."
Kyle's cheeks burned red, but he didn't pull away. "I am. I want this. I want you. Please, just... don't stop."
Cartman smirked, lips brushing against Kyle's temple as he whispered, "You're lucky I'm in a good mood tonight. Otherwise, I'd make you wait."
"Fuck that," Kyle whispered back, voice cracking with need. "I want you now. Please, Cartman. Please fuck me."
Kyle's hands trembled as they tugged at Cartman's own shirt, finally slipping it over broad shoulders and tossing it aside. Their bodies pressed flush, skin hot against skin. Cartman's mouth found Kyle's neck, trailing kisses that burned and teased, while his hands roamed boldly, exploring the curves and hollows beneath the fabric. Kyle gasped, arching into the touch, craving more.
Slowly, deliberately, Cartman positioned himself, the weight of him solid and real. Kyle's breath caught as Cartman's hands steadied him, one on his hip, the other threading through his hair. The heat of Cartman's body pressed against him was overwhelming, raw and undeniable. Cartman leaned back just enough to spit into his palm, the sound sharp in the quiet between their breaths. He rubbed it over himself with a slow, deliberate stroke, eyes locked on Kyle like he was daring him to look away.
"You want this so bad, huh?" Cartman said, voice low and almost mocking.
Kyle swallowed hard. “Yes,” he whispered.
Cartman pulled back just slightly, eyes narrowing in mock disappointment. “Nah. That’s not good enough. You’re gonna have to beg, Kahl.”
The word landed heavy in the space between them, making Kyle’s stomach flip. His pride fought it for a heartbeat, but the ache running through him was louder. “Cartman—”
“Uh-uh,” Cartman interrupted, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “Say it. Tell me how bad you need it.”
Kyle’s voice cracked. “I—fuck—I need you.”
Cartman tilted his head, pretending to think about it, his grip on Kyle’s hip tightening. “Still not hearing you beg.”
Kyle bit his lip, breath shuddering out. “Please… please, Cartman. I need you to fuck me. I’ve been thinking about it all night. I can’t stop.”
Cartman’s smirk widened, something darker flickering in his eyes. “That’s better,” he drawled, his voice almost a purr. He pressed in closer, his weight pinning Kyle against the wall, the heat of him swallowing the last bit of space between them. “Guess you earned it.”
Before Kyle could snap back, Cartman pushed forward, the sudden stretch making Kyle’s head drop back against the wall with a strangled gasp. The first thrust was deliberate, a slow push that made Kyle’s breath hitch in his throat. His hands slid down Cartman’s back instinctively.
Cartman didn’t give him time to adjust. He rocked forward again, deeper this time, watching Kyle’s expression shift: half pain, half something rawer. “Yeah, fuck yeah” he muttered under his breath, voice almost reverent, “that’s it. Take it.”
Kyle’s eyes squeezed shut, the sound of their breathing loud in the cramped space. The tile was cold against his back, the rest of him burning. He bit down on a groan, his head tipping forward until his forehead brushed Cartman’s shoulder.
Cartman’s grip on his hip tightened, dragging him closer into each movement. “You’re even better than I thought,” he breathed against Kyle’s jaw, his tone low and heavy. “Kinda pissed I didn’t do this sooner.”
Kyle’s nails dug into him harder, a shiver running through him despite the heat. “Shut up,” he managed, though his voice came out thin and shaky.
Cartman chuckled, the sound low and self-satisfied, before driving into him again. “Make me.”
Every thrust pushed the air from Kyle’s lungs, each one blurring the edges of his thoughts. He could feel the damp heat between them, the faint sting of nails, the way Cartman’s breath kept catching like he was just as close to losing control. The sound of skin and breath thick in the air until Kyle’s legs trembled and his voice fell apart in small, desperate noises he couldn’t swallow down. Cartman’s own breathing grew rougher, his movements sharper, until the whole world narrowed to the press and pull of their bodies.
Kyle’s hand slid down between their bodies, fumbling at first before wrapping around himself. The touch made his knees nearly buckle. He gasped, shuddering, his head falling back against the wall with a dull thud.
Cartman’s eyes caught the motion instantly, his grin flashing dark and satisfied. “Oh, fuck yeah,” he growled, voice low and rough. He slammed his hips harder, making Kyle’s hand jerk unevenly as he pumped himself, caught in the brutal rhythm. “You gonna cum like this?” Cartman sneered, thrusting harder, watching Kyle unravel. “Gonna blow all over yourself while I fuck it out of you?
The pace quickened, muscles coiling tighter, breaths coming faster. Kyle felt himself teetering on the edge, every nerve alight, every sound in his body magnified. His fingers dug deeper, pulling Cartman closer, anchoring himself against the overwhelming flood of sensation.
“Come on, Kahl,” Cartman urged, voice rough, eyes dark and commanding. “Let go.”
The climax hit him like a wave breaking: violent, consuming, white-hot. Kyle cried out Cartman’s name, spilling over his own fist, streaks painting across his stomach as his whole body convulsed. His hand stuttered through the final strokes, movements jerky and uneven, until he slumped against the wall, panting, his body still trembling. Cartman didn’t slow, holding him through it, pressing him harder into the tile as he rode the aftershocks coursing through Kyle’s body. His grin was feral, but his eyes were locked on Kyle’s wrecked expression, almost reverent.
“Fuck,” Cartman muttered, breath harsh against his ear. “That’s it. That’s what I wanted to see. You coming apart on your own hand while I’m buried in you.”
Cartman groaned deep in his throat, following soon after, muscles tightening as he spilled into Kyle. They stayed pressed together, panting, hearts pounding wildly in the small space, sweat slick and sticky between them.
Cartman’s lips brushed Kyle’s ear, voice a low growl. “Happy New Year, Jew.”
Kyle smiled weakly, breath still coming in shaky bursts. “Happy New Year, Cartman.”