#idk the wording on this one got away from me.

[shina913]

A Very Patient Man | LJH

Pairing: Lee Jihoon x AFAB!Reader

Rating: M 🔞; NSFW

Genre: F2L; FWB; smut; pwp

Warnings: cussing; breast play; fingering; cunnilingus; unprotected sex; PIV sex; riding; ass smacking; dirty talk; creampie

Word count: 4.6k words

Summary: You’re frustrated because it takes you longer to reach an orgasm during sex. This has made you feel insecure, and you started to accept the fact you’d never meet someone patient enough to give you the attention you need. Your friend, Jihoon, casually offers a solution.

A/N: Idk. I slipped and fell onto my keyboard and all this horny word vomit spilled out. Thanks to @roaminginthenights for always enabling me in the DMs 🤣

This is also un-beta'd so...it is what it is.

Anyway! Here’s something filthy to end the year! 💜

It started innocently enough at Jihoon’s studio. You were sitting on his couch, venting about your dating life, and as always, he listened attentively just as you do when he shares his own experiences.

However, today’s visit was different. He’s letting you ramble on about a very specific topic.

“I feel like there’s an invisible time limit on foreplay.”

Jihoon’s chair creaks as he leans back, laughing at your incredulous claim. “No, there isn’t!”

“But I really think there is!” you argue. “My last date got visibly impatient, even though I...” you inhale through your teeth, “clearly asked him for more time down there. Instead, he just said, ‘It’s been five minutes, it’s my turn now.’” You huff in annoyance.

“Well, that sucks. Did you get rid of him?”

You grimace before replying. “Please don’t judge me. He was cute, so we still fucked. My vibrator finished the job,” you admit guiltily. “I blocked him on the app afterward though.”

He sighs, shaking his head in mild disappointment. “You shouldn’t compromise on your needs. If you want more time, say so and stick with it.”

You huffed wistfully. “I just take too long. I get all panicky when someone’s been down there for longer than 5 minutes.”

“You can’t rush pleasure,” he comments.

“I know that, but now, it makes me think—how long is too long before you come? Is there a play clock winding down on the field? Do I need to call out an audible?”

He doubles over again, laughing when you start using sports metaphors.

“How can some women summon an orgasm—” you snap your fingers, “just like that?”

His laughs subside, turning more serious now. “Don’t do that. Don’t compare yourself to other people. Everybody’s different.”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me,” you remark sarcastically.

He turns away to face his screen, adding more edits to a track he’s working on.

“I don’t know…” you mumble, shrugging in defeat. “I guess my vibrator and I are destined to spend the rest of our lives together. Might as well reserve matching burial plots.”

Jihoon snorts. “You just haven’t found the right partner. A really patient one, I might add,” he says, half-joking.

You smack him on his bicep, and your hand stings from the unexpected firmness under his oversized shirt. Has his arm always been this solid? When was the last time you touched his bicep? Wait—why are you even thinking of his bicep?

You and Jihoon have been close friends since college, maintaining a purely platonic relationship—never a hint of romance or sexual tension between you. On rare nights out, you even act as each other’s wingman, helping one another find potential dates. You two simply click on a different level—easy and no complications.

He looked up from his mixing board, turning to you with a slight smirk. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you, but I happen to be very patient.”

The lilt in his voice was unmistakable. It was the kind of tone he used when chatting up potential conquests on your nights out.

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Don’t you dare use that Joey Tribbiani move on me.”

“It’s not a move.” He keeps his face serious, looking genuinely hurt by your comment. “You’re my friend. I wouldn’t do that to you,” he says softly. “I’m just saying, if you ever wanted to try, I’m game.” He tilts his head, giving a casual shrug. “No judgment.”

You stare at him, stunned, as his offer hangs in the air. You try to laugh it off, shifting uncomfortably in your seat.

Was he seriously proposing that you two—nope! You refuse to go there. Jihoon is a great friend, and although you trust him, you’re not sure you’d be comfortable with the idea of...

You shake your head. You can’t even finish the thought. You glance at your watch for no reason at all.

“You know, I think I’m going to call it a night.”

“Oh? I thought you wanted to grab dinner?” He’s surprised and confused at your sudden change of plans.

“It’s getting late.”

Truthfully, it wasn’t that late. You feel guilty lying to your friend, but you need to escape this conversation—and this situation—as quickly as possible.

“I just got a notification from work. I need to come in early, yada-yada…You know how it is.”

He looks disappointed but doesn’t push. You gather your things, slipping your puffer jacket on, despite the room feeling several degrees warmer.

“Alright. If you’re sure—”

“Yeah,” you cut him off. That came out more tersely than you initially intended. “I’m sure,” you add with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes to try and make up for it.

He rises from his seat when you do and moves in for a hug—just like he usually does. But this time, the hug feels different; you’re suddenly hyperaware of his touch, your skin tingling all over. You return his hug stiffly, without your usual warmth, then hurry out of his studio and immediately tear off your too-hot jacket.

That night, your dreams were filled with visions—his hands tracing paths across your skin, his dark head dipping between your thighs, his intense gaze meeting yours as you hovered on the edge of unbridled pleasure. The dream felt so vivid you could have sworn you felt the warmth of his breath against your skin. It wasn’t until your alarm began blaring, leaving you trembling and drenched in sweat, that reality came crashing back.

********************************************

A couple of days passed, and you couldn’t stop thinking about Jihoon. This wasn’t your usual “hope he remembered to eat lunch” thoughts or impulse to send him funny memes that popped up on your algorithm.

After your NSFW dream about him, you started noticing little things about him you’d never paid attention to before—the adorable way he’d scrunch up his nose while concentrating on work, how his muscles moved when he reached for something, or how the warm red studio lights perfectly highlighted his features.

You shake your head. It’s not that deep. Jihoon’s suggestion was only practical. There’s no reason to go down this rabbit hole.

Still, you can’t deny the growing curiosity gnawing at the back of your mind. You hadn’t expected his offer to affect you this way, but it does.

After days of avoiding him, you decide to invite him to dinner at your place. Maybe if you discussed this with him, the dreams and inappropriate thoughts would stop.

The moment he walks through your door, everything falls apart. You become hyper-aware of his every move. You catch yourself stealing glances when you think he isn’t looking, and you flinch whenever he gets too close.

Finally, he’s had enough.

“Okay,” he says firmly. “What’s with you? Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird,” you lie, your heart racing. You reach for your drink and take a hefty gulp.

“Have I said or done something? You’ve flaked on me the last couple of times I asked you to go out, you’ve left me on ‘read’ more than you’ve responded...”

You felt guilty for avoiding him, but you needed that space to sort out your thoughts. Though you wanted to have this conversation, you couldn’t find the right moment to broach the topic.

“Then you invite me over, barely talk—” he continues to rant.

“It’s... it’s really more of a me-problem,” you stammer.

“Just talk to me! I can take it.” He throws his hands up in frustration.

You inwardly groan, before finally coming clean. “Remember the last time we were at your studio? I was whining about...something.”

He squinted for a bit, then you could see the recognition slowly dawning in his eyes before lowering his voice. “You mean, how you take a long time to reach an orgasm?”

You shut your eyes, mortified when he articulates it. “Yes…”

“What about it?”

“It’s not exactly about that, but it’s more about what you said after. You know—your offer to help?”

His face visibly relaxes, prompting you to continue. “Okay.”

Your heart feels like it’s about to beat out of your chest, but you push through. “Did you mean it, or were you just messing with me?”

He stares at you for a moment before shaking his head, the corner of his lips quirking up. “The offer still stands, if you want it.”

You sit there chewing the inside of your cheek, feeling torn. Your brain tells you to be careful—fucking your best friend could make things weird. But your body has other ideas. The warmth pooling between your legs makes it harder to think straight.

“Are you considering it?” His voice is gentle, giving you space to choose.

You deflect, buying time to sort through your tumbling thoughts. “I’m curious... have you thought about this before? About us?”

“The idea has crossed my mind from time to time.”

His candor sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “Oh,” is all you can manage to say.

“What about you? Have you thought about us...doing things?”

You draw in a shaky breath, forcing yourself to be equally honest. “I never thought of us that way before you mentioned it. But now...” you trail off, unable to verbalize how his suggestion has shifted something between you.

He inches closer, but maintains enough distance to keep you comfortable. His expression grows serious, earnest. “Listen, I would never pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to. You’re one of my best friends, and that matters more to me than anything else. If I’m out of line, just say the word and we won’t talk about it ever again.” The sincerity in his voice, the genuine concern in his eyes makes your heart ache. You’ve always known him to be considerate of your feelings.

“You weren’t out of line.” Hearing you say this was a huge relief to him. “But you can’t really un-ring that bell,” you add wryly.

You also couldn’t get past an earlier comment he made. “So…you’ve thought about us before?”

He takes a moment before answering. “Yeah. I mean, you’re beautiful. Who wouldn’t want you?”

Your cheeks flush at his compliment.

Your best friend has always had this effortless way about him—you’ve seen firsthand how easily he charms people during your nights out together.

Your resolve crumbles, and honestly, you’re tired of fighting it. “How are you so chill about all this?”

He laughs. “It’s sex, not rocket science.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Things won’t get weird afterward, will they?”

“Afterward? So...you’re saying you want to have sex? With me?” His eyebrows raise slightly.

You already knew the answer to that question the moment you asked him to come over. “I guess I do,” you say softly with a nervous smile, “for science?”

His sexy, throaty laugh echoes through the room.

********

You sit nervously on your couch facing each other. Since this is completely new territory for both of you, you know you need to take things slow and make sure you’re both comfortable. Gathering up the courage to agree to this experiment is the easy part, but actually getting into it?

“Just to be clear—this is a one-time thing, right?”

“Of course,” he confirms. “This is purely for educational purposes. And your pleasure.”

You scrunch your nose in protest. “That doesn’t seem like a fair exchange.” The idea of him seeing this as one-sided doesn’t sit right with you. “Shouldn’t this be mutually beneficial?”

“I never said I had to get something out of this. You want to experience an orgasm from foreplay alone, without mechanical assistance, right?”

You nod.

“Okay. So, let me focus on making that happen for you. You don’t need to think about anything else.”

You didn’t want to be selfish, but his offer was difficult to refuse.

“This is about you, not me,” he insists. His decision is firm and he wasn’t budging.

“Okay,” you relent. Fidgeting nervously with the hem of your shirt, you take in a deep breath and release it before muttering, “How should we do this...”

When Jihoon doesn’t immediately offer any suggestions, you think of the most natural way to start.

“Maybe we could start with kissing?”

“Right, good idea.” His voice wavers slightly, betraying that he’s just as nervous as you are despite his attempts to stay composed. Oddly, this puts you at ease—knowing you’re both on the same page, figuring this out as you go.

You both move in closer together, and time seems to slow as he leans in. Your eyes flutter shut, then his lips meet yours. They’re exactly as you’d imagined—soft, warm, and unexpectedly gentle. The kiss starts tentatively, but as your lips find their rhythm, everything feels natural.

When you break apart for a moment, you can’t help but smile. “You’re a good kisser.” You barely finish the sentence before being drawn back to his lips.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he hums, and you can feel his smile against your lips as you both laugh, the sounds melting into your kisses.

Your kisses grow more intense, your mouth sucking on his top lip while his tongue traces delicately along yours, building a warmth that spreads through your entire body. You fist at his shirt, bunching the fabric between your knuckles, while his hand cradles your neck, his thumb gently stroking along your pulse point.

Gradually, his kisses move from your lips, following a path along the curve of your jawline, down to the slope of your neck. You can’t help but giggle at the sensation.

He instantly pulls back, a worried look on his face. “Sorry, are you not into that?”

“No, no—I mean—Yes, I am into it. I’m just a little bit ticklish there, that’s all,” you explain.

“Oh... okay. Do you want to keep going?”

You nod, and as he leans in for another kiss but pauses when you place a hand on his chest. “You know, I didn’t think I’d enjoy this because we’ve been friends for so long, but I have to admit that I like it.”

“Yeah?” A smirk plays across his lips. “Tell me what else you like.” He nips at your jawline. “Or show me.”

Desire spreads through you like wildfire. This was the point of no return. You take his hands and guide them under your shirt until they cup your breasts.

“What do you want me to do?” He murmurs through your lips.

“Play with them.”

His lips capture yours again as he squeezes your breast gently.

He eases you down onto the couch, his lips trailing from yours down your neck to your sternum. When he lifts your shirt to your chest, you feel constrained and pull it off completely, tossing it aside. He follows your lead, removing his own shirt.

His skilled fingers unhook your bra and takes a nipple into his mouth while his thumb teases the other, drawing a sharp breath from you.

You run your fingers through his hair as his kisses trace down your stomach, making your back arch at the sensation against your skin.

His hands glide down your sides until they reach your jeans, where he carefully undoes the button. You hook your fingers into your waistband and start pushing your bottoms down. He helps slide them off, his touch remaining gentle but with a hint of urgency as he pulls the fabric from your legs. As the last piece of clothing falls away, the cool air against your newly exposed skin makes you shiver.

One of his hands pushed between your legs, making them fall open shamelessly. His other hand continued to massage your breasts, making them unbearably sensitive. You can’t believe how slick you’d gotten in a short span of time. To think he hadn’t done much to you yet, apart from kissing you and squeezing your tits.

His gaze traveled down your body, lingering where his fingertips teased your sensitive folds. His feather-light touches made your inner walls clench with need. This only heightened your arousal, making you squirm beneath him, silently begging for more.

He slid one finger carefully into you. Your eyes closed against the unbearable vulnerability of being spread out naked and fingered by your friend, kneeling on the floor beside you. “Don’t think…just feel.” You keened as Jihoon pulled out and thrust gently back into you with two fingers. You couldn’t hold back a moan.

It’s probably been a few minutes now, you’re not sure as you’ve completely lost track of time. You blink furiously in a mild panic and stare down at him, still leisurely finger-fucking you. What he was doing felt so good, but you weren’t even halfway to your peak yet. By this point, other partners would be coming up for air, wanting you to return the favor or just ready to stick their cock in to get their fill.

“Relax...” he cooed, pressing a kiss against your inner thigh. Each deliberate dip and languid curl of his skilled fingers inside you made you wetter, gradually coaxing your muscles to yield. “It’s not a race,” he reassured you softly, his voice thick with desire. “I’ll keep going until you come.”

His words of encouragement sent waves of arousal coursing through you, making your breath catch in your throat.

“Kiss me,” you choked out, needing to feel his lips against yours. Without hesitation, he obliged, sealing his mouth over yours in a deep kiss that made you dizzy.

Your fingers clutched desperately at the edges of your cushions, knuckles turning white from your grip as you felt that familiar sensation between your legs. “Right there. Don’t stop,” you gasped between heavy breaths, your hips bucking against his steadily thrusting fingers. The pleasure was building to an unbearable level, making you feel like you might shatter to pieces if he didn’t push you over the edge soon.

He continued to whisper the filthiest things—words you’d never heard him say to you. They revealed previously unspoken fantasies that ignited your body and overwhelmed your senses. A fleeting thought crossed your mind, wondering if this was his usual bedroom talk. But that thought slipped away as his words and actions consumed you completely. Before you realized it, you were peaking.

“I want to see what you look like when you come,” he purred. “Do you look as pretty as you do right now?” Everything tightened in your core while he kept up his ministrations in a steady, unhurried rhythm.

“Oh fuck, I’m coming…”

“Don’t hold back. Let me hear you,” he urged.

You let out a strangled cry, your mind far beyond the depths of euphoria to care about being quiet or demure about this. He was mesmerized, unable to look away at the sheer pleasure that washed over you. Before you could even process what just happened, he’d already hooked your leg over the back of the couch and covered your cleft with his mouth.

He stroked your clit with his tongue, fluttering over it, building your hunger back up again. He teased your slick folds, taunting you with the promise of another orgasm—something you thought impossible to achieve so soon, yet your body responded eagerly. When his fingers pushed inside you at the same time, you had to bite your lip to stifle a scream.

You came again, your thighs trembling, tender muscles pulsing around his touch. His growl vibrated through you. You didn’t have the strength to push him away when he returned to your clit and sucked softly…tirelessly��but now you wanted more. You needed to feel him.

You manage to sit up and squeeze his shoulder to get his attention. He peers up at you from between your thighs.

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Already?” He smiles, teasing you with painfully slow strokes of his fingers. “Pretty sure I can get another one out of you,” he says cockily.

“Lee Jihoon—I. Am asking you. To fuck. Me,” you punctuated. “Will you do it or not?”

He sits up, turning sheepish all of a sudden. “I, uhm…didn’t expect us to be doing this, so I didn’t bring any condoms.”

It’s not like he was some random guy. Although you appreciated his caution, you just wanted him inside you. “I trust you,” you tell him before pressing a kiss to him.

After he settles on the couch, you shift unsteadily to straddle his hips, pressing your bodies together. Reaching between you, you fumble with his jeans until he helps, lifting his hips in a fluid motion to pull them down just enough to free himself. Bracing yourself, you let him guide you as you slowly sink down onto him. Your lips part with an involuntary sigh that turns into a soft moan as he fills you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way.

When you begin to roll your hips, the friction sends sparks of pleasure through your core.

“Fuck, your pussy feels good,” he breathes out roughly, his fingers digging into your hips before worry suddenly crosses his face. His cheeks flush as he stammers, “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

You giggle at his compliment, causing your muscles to clamp around his length. “I’m not mad at it,” you reassure him. “You make me feel really good, too.”

“Yeah?” His brow quirks. “You like when I fuck you?”

“Yes,” you moan, dipping your head to his lips in another kiss as you find your rhythm together.

His hands roam your back, pulling you closer as you rock against him with increasing urgency. Before this, you’ve resigned yourself to never experiencing an orgasm from penetrative sex, and yet here was another brewing and there was nothing you could do but let it happen.

You gasp as his hand makes sudden contact with your ass, the unexpected sting making you freeze in place. You stare at him dumbfounded.

“What are you going to do about it?” he challenges. Before you can answer, his hand comes down again with another firm smack that rings through the room. “What?” The sound of provocation in his voice makes your pulse quicken.

You hover over him, eyes narrowing as you lean closer. Through gritted teeth, your voice emerges as a heated whisper. “Harder.”

“I thought so.” He smiles slyly before your lips crash in a fierce kiss that leaves you both breathless.

With a firm grip, he holds your hips still as he thrusts into you with deliberate, measured strokes. You clutch at him, the rhythmic sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Jihoon buries his face between your breasts, his rough groans reverberating against your flesh.

You whine helplessly, overwhelmed by the building pressure as the familiar coil of tension in your belly winds impossibly tight. Your thighs burn as you teeter on the edge of release.

“Yes...d-don’t...stop...hm...so close,” you pant.

He slows his movements to an agonizing pace, drawing out each thrust to drive you insane. He pulls out completely before sinking back into you with one deep thrust that makes you see stars. Your jaw drops, unintelligible sounds tumbling out your mouth as you come hard.

You hold onto him for dear life, your nails leaving a trail of crescent marks on his skin as he picks up the pace once again, his own rhythm becoming more erratic as he chases his own orgasm. A deep groan rumbles from his chest as your walls pulse and clench around him.

“I’m close,” he warns, his usually calm and collected face now twisted with agonizing need.

“Don’t pull out,” you manage to choke out between strained, ragged breaths.

“You…s-sure…?”

You nod eagerly. With your permission, he thrusts deeper and harder, making your neck loll in ecstasy. He draws you back into a rough, hungry kiss that muffles your shared moans as he reaches the end of his rope, his hips jerking against yours while he spurts inside.

Pressing your sweat-slicked forehead against his, you wait for your heart rate to return to normal. There’s no doubt in your mind—no previous partner could compare to Jihoon.

“Oh my fucking god,” you sigh. “We’ve been missing out all this time.”

He laughs softly, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. “It was worth the wait though!”

********

After a quick shower and a necessary trip to the pharmacy down the block, you and Jihoon return to your apartment with bags of late-night snacks. All that sexual activity had certainly worked up an appetite, and you found yourself craving something sweet. An ice cream waffle cone hit the spot for you.

“Are you okay?”

You smile, endeared at his worrying. “You know, you’ve asked me that same question multiple times now, and I’ll keep giving you the same answer—I’m fine. Great, actually!”

“I know, I know,” he responds sheepishly. “I just hope this doesn’t make things awkward between us.”

“Trust me, I don’t feel awkward about any of this at all,” you respond with complete sincerity before facing him to find out if he felt the same way you did. “Do you?”

He shakes his head, tilting the bag of Skittles into his mouth. “Nope,” he answers between chews. “To be honest, I thought that was fucking mind-blowing!”

You inhale sharply at his candid comment, nodding in agreement. “Same. Absolutely no complaints from me!”

He gets up from the couch, takes out a small box from the shopping bag to set it aside, and stuffs your discarded candy wrappers into it before heading to the kitchen to throw them away.

When he returns from the kitchen, your eyes linger on him. “Thanks, Jihoonie,” you whisper. “For…everything.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies with a wink before sinking back into the couch beside you.

This turned out to be the complete opposite of your initial fears. Not only did this one-off experiment exceed all your expectations, but it seems your friendship remained the same. Though you never would have guessed that your best friend would end up giving you the best orgasms of your life.

As you continue to enjoy your treat, you notice Jihoon’s eyes fixed on your tongue as it swirls around the chocolate ice cream. His dark eyes watching you with the same intensity as when you came undone with his touch earlier.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

You arched an eyebrow at him. “Quit staring at me like that,” you cautioned, though your tone suggested otherwise.

“Then don’t ever eat an ice cream cone in front of me,” he responds with a chuckle as he subtly adjusts himself beneath his pants.

You bite your lip, feeling a warmth between your legs again. “You know...” you clear your throat, reaching for the box of condoms he left on the coffee table, “I wonder if these things really live up to the ‘raw’ feel.”

He clicks his teeth dismissively before responding. “I think it’s false advertising.”

“You think so?”

He takes the box from you, examining the label. “I mean, we do have a perfect point of comparison,” he reasons, a smile ghosting his lips. “Should we find out?”

You stare at each other for a moment before breaking into grins and exclaiming in unison, “For science!”

Main SVT Fic Masterlist

Thank you for reading!

Interaction/feedback is appreciated but *not* required. But just in case you feel comfortable enough to comment or just say hello, my inbox 📩 is open 💜💎

[lizziesangel]

hi miss lizzie! i’m very much a sucker for a good “tell me who did this” “who did this to you?” trope. could you maybe write (somewhat)enemy!rafe x reader? maybe topper or some kook did something to her & she’s not sure how, but she finds herself going to rafe about it or maybe he finds her & takes care of whoever it was?? idk maybe just angsty & kinda fluffy ahh!! hope this makes sense 🫡🫡

hi my angel!! i love this omgg, i LOVEEEE that trope as well, oh myyy

the moon casted a pale glow over the winding road as you trudged home from the bonfire, the salty air clinging to your skin. the night had gone south faster than you could have imagined, and now, with a throbbing nose and mascara streaking down your cheeks, you just wanted to disappear into the shadows.

you wiped at your nose again, smearing blood across the back of your hand, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

headlights lit up the road behind you, growing brighter with each passing second. you groaned, stepping further onto the grass shoulder, hoping whoever it was would just keep driving.

but, no such luck.

the truck slowed, and a familiar voice called out, sharp and taunting.

“long night, l/n? or are you practicing for the next kook week 5k?”

rafe fucking cameron. of course.

you didn’t bother looking at him, just kept walking, your arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“seriously? what are you doing out here, l/n? trying to hitch a ride, or just making me feel bad for your poor life choices?”

“hello?” he called again, drawing the truck to a stop alongside you. “what, too good to grace me with one of your snappy comebacks?”

“come on,” he pressed. “at least give me some material for the next time you try to roast me. you’re making it too easy.”

when you didn’t respond, his cocky smirk faded, and something in his voice shifted.

he cut himself off abruptly as you turned your head, and his eyes locked on your bloody nose and tear-streaked face.

“wait—what the hell?” the door slammed, and within seconds, he was in front of you, blocking your path. his sharp eyes darted over your face, taking in the blood trickling from your nose and the tear-streaked remnants of mascara. his jaw tightened.

“who did this to you?” he demanded, his voice low and brimming with an anger that wasn’t directed at you.

you rolled your eyes, stepping around him. “go away, rafe.”

he grabbed your arm—not hard, but firm enough to stop you. “y/n. i’m not fucking joking. who did this?”

you yanked your arm free, glaring up at him. “why do you care? so you can laugh about it with topper and the rest of your kook buddies tomorrow? save it.”

his expression darkened further, the cocky edge gone entirely. “i swear to—tell me who did this before i lose my shit even more.”

you hesitated, torn between anger and confusion. this wasn’t the rafe you knew—the one who always had some snide comment or cutting remark. this rafe looked... furious. protective.

“ruthie,” you finally muttered, crossing your arms tighter. “topper’s girlfriend. she got mad because i didn’t let her trash-talk kie.”

“what the hell did she do?” he pressed, stepping closer, his voice dangerously quiet.

“I defended kie, and ruthie lost it. shoved me, got in my face. whatever. it’s done now, okay?” you snapped, tears threatening to spill again.

“why do you even care, rafe?”

he stared at you for a moment, his eyes scanning your face with a mix of anger and something softer—something you couldn’t quite place.

“because,” he said finally, his voice steady but laced with frustration, “no one gets to do this to you. no one.”

you swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over you.

“get in the truck,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

you hesitated, unsure if you should trust the sudden shift in him.

“y/n,” he said again, softer this time, his hand hovering near your arm as if he wasn’t sure whether you’d let him touch you. “let me take you home. and i’ll handle that girl.”

against your better judgment, you nodded, letting him guide you to the passenger seat. as he drove, the silence between you was heavy but oddly comforting.

for once, you didn’t feel the need to push him away. and for once, he didn’t feel the need to pretend he didn’t care.

[im-so-normal-iswear]

Hey! Saw your requests are open. If you havent been overwhelmed eith asks I have one for Yandere Shadow if you're interested, if not you're fine!!

What about a Yandere Shadow and Sonic with an S/O who's extremely affectionate and overprotective? BUT, as a twist, They're this way with everyone they care about. They just have a lot of love to give❤️

(Bonus headcanon that Eggman targets them first in fights because his robots literally cant get anywhere near anyone else due to how protective they can be of others. They focus on others so much they forget they might also be targetted)

A/n: idk how long this was in my inbox for

Yandere Shadow/Sonic x Overprotective, Affectionate Reader

Shadow:

Shadow isn’t used to the kind of affection you give, not from anyone. He wasnt quite used to affection to mych at all. Not after Maria at least.

You’re the type to wrap your arms around people in your life without a second thought, ruffle their hair, or reassure them with kind words whenever they’re feeling down.

At first, he thought this affection was only for him. The way you’d stand beside him in fights, ready to shield him from harm despite your lack of superhuman abilities, left him both confused and, strangely, touched.

But then, Shadow began to notice a pattern.

You weren’t just protective of him. You were protective of everyone you cared about. Whether it was Sonic, Tails, Knuckles, or even strangers in trouble, you’d throw yourself into the way to ensure no one got hurt.

Your willingness to put others first was respectable, but it also infuriated Shadow.

Didn’t you realize how reckless it was? Did you think anyone else deserved your warmth and care the way he did?

Shadow tried to reason with himself. He knew your affection was genuine and that your overprotective tendencies came from a place of love.

Still, that jealousy in his chest clawed at him every time he watched you worry and fuss over someone else.

His thoughts turned darker as he began to wonder if maybe he needed to teach you to focus that energy solely on him...

It wasn’t unusual for Eggman to target the people Shadow cared about, but this time, Eggman targeted you first.

Shadow’s blood boiled when he realized why. Your protective nature made you an obstacle to Eggman’s plans, your sheer determination to shield others from harm meant that his robots couldn’t get anywhere near his intended targets. And worse, your focus on others left you vulnerable.

Shadow was livid. Not at you, but at the world. How dare anyone put you in danger?

You were so busy worrying about others that you forgot to worry about yourself. He decided right then and there that he’d do whatever it took to keep you safe, even if that meant keeping you away from everyone else.

In the days that followed, Shadow became even more possessive. He started hovering closer during battles, stepping in before you had the chance to protect someone else. If you tried to shield Sonic or Tails, Shadow would pull you back with a firm grip, glaring at whoever dared to draw your attention.

"You can’t keep doing this," he’d say in a stern voice. "You’re going to get yourself hurt. Let me handle it."

At home, Shadow became even clingier. He didn’t like how much energy you gave to others, so he made it his mission to monopolize your time.

Every moment spent with him was another moment you couldn’t be out there, being with someone else.

Still, he couldn’t completely suppress his jealousy. The way you’d light up when hugging someone else made his fists clench.

Your constant reassurances that you had enough love to go around only made him more determined to make you see that he deserved all of it.

"Why do you waste your time on people who can’t protect themselves?" he’d growl. "They don’t deserve what you give them. I’m the one who’ll keep you safe, not them"

Sonic:

Sonic's usually not the biggest fan on being the ewcieving wnd of affection, but when it comes ti you, he loves it. In fact, he thrives on it.

You’re always ready with a hug, a playful nudge, or words of encouragement that make his heart race faster than his feet.

At first, he thought you were just that way with him, and he basked in the attention.

But Sonic quickly realized that you didn’t just have love for him. You had love for everyone.

You’d throw yourself in front of Tails to block an incoming attack, fuss over Amy if she got a scratch, or rush to Knuckles aid whenever he bit off more than he could chew.

Your boundless compassion for others left Sonic respecting you even more, but it also left him feeling insecure.

As confident as Sonic was in his abilities, he couldn’t shake the fear that someone else might steal your affection.

He wanted to be the one you turned to, the one you prioritized above all else. But your overprotective tendencies meant that you focused on everyone equally, leaving Sonic craving more of your attention.

Then came the day Eggman decided to target you.

It wasn’t hard to see why. You were a force of nature in your own way, your determination to protect others made you a threat to Eggman’s plans. Sonic’s heart dropped when he realized that Eggman saw you as a liability.

The first time one of Eggman’s robots aimed directly for you, Sonic barely managed to stop the attack in time.

"Hey, what were you thinking?!" he scolded, his voice tinged with panic. "You can’t keep throwing yourself in the line of fire like that!"

You brushed off his concerns, he did that stuff all the time, why was it any different?

Sonic wanted to argue, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Still, he made a silent vow to protect you, even if it meant protecting you from yourself.

Sonic’s jealousy is more subtle than Shadow’s, have to keep up the 'perfect hero' act. He’d crack jokes whenever you doted on someone else, masking his unease with humor. But if someone started to take over your time, Sonic wouldn’t hesitate to intervene, dragging you away with some flimsy excuse.

Despite his possessiveness, Sonic would never stop loving your affectionate nature. It’s part of what makes you, you. But he’d do everything in his power to ensure that your love didn’t come at the cost of your safety, even if it meant keeping you closer than you’d like.

[loserlvrss]

𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 (𝐅𝐎𝐑) 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒 b. christopher ( 방찬 )

synopsis | you didn’t get your boyfriend anything physical for christmas, but he thought this was a better present anyways.

pairing : bangchan x fem!reader genre : oneshot, smut, established relationship, light comedy warnings : unprotected sex, language, pet names, mentions of pregnancy and babies, reader wears lingerie word count : 1126

authors note : idk what thoughts i had for this but

“Are you serious?” 

You looked to your boyfriend, who obviously needed some reassurance. He even had a dash of sadness written on his pouty lips—as if asking himself how you could play such a cruel prank on him. “Don’t play with me like that, are you kidd—being serious?”

Except it wasn't a joke, you were being serious. 

You debated long and hard about what you wanted, even listening to the many times Chris told you that he wanted a fall baby. So, you thought up a plan to propose the idea, and what better present could you actually think of? 

It just made sense. There was no one else you’d rather have as the father of your children. Mentally, physically and financially you were stable. You wanted it, and you know your boyfriend wanted it just as much, if not more. 

“Chris, I'm not kidding.” You grabbed his hand, the one that was clutching a stupid note you’d written; something about how much you loved and adored him and wanted him to fill your…heart, of course. “This is what I want.” 

“Fuck, okay,” He started mentally stuttering, clumsily pulling you from your seated position on the coffee table to his lap, “like right now?” 

You laughed, putting your soft palms against his cheeks and pulling his face to yours. The kiss was sweet and short lived, but you didn’t pull away far. “Is there a better time?”

No, there wasn’t in actuality. The atmosphere of your living room was softly-lit and warm in comparison to the snowstorm that raged on the other side of the glass. The sun had started setting maybe 5 minutes ago, casting an orange glow through the clouds. You even lit some candles, making the mood romantic by nature. 

There was always something about timing, but right now it was perfect. 

Chris’ lips were attached to yours in less than a second, strong arms caging you chest to chest. He was usually always precise with movements, but he kept clumsily knocking your noses or teeth together, or squeezing your lower body down on to him too hard. He was desperate, and desperately trying to keep control. 

You grabbed his arms, having no difficulty prying them from your torso, and brought them to the hem of your shirt. 

“My love,” You mumbled against his lips, “I got something else for you.” 

He broke from you, trailing kisses down your jaw and neck. You couldn’t help the whimper that bubbled in your throat as his teeth grazed your skin. “I don’t need anything else, just you, baby.” He remarked, “You spoil me.” 

You lifted your own arms with his, the shirt falling somewhere behind you. Underneath the oversized piece of fabric was a red, satin, lace-trimmed asymmetrical slip that barely went past your hip bones. Of course you had the matching thong, afterall, it was an early Christmas gift to yourself…and your boyfriend. 

He gawked, palms running up and down your exposed thighs. “When'd you get this, angel?” 

“Sometime last week,” You replied, staring down at the way he admired you—all of you. There was nothing else he loved more in this world than you, and at first you thought that that was a hard standard to live up to. But, now you know it’s actually quite easy. 

“So fucking gorgeous,” 

Chris made it easy. 

“Me or the outfit?” 

He kissed your shoulder and collarbone, trailing to the deep v-neck the dress created. “You, obviously. As much as I love this on you, I can’t wait to take it off.” 

“Then let’s go to bed, Chris.” 

He wasted absolutely no time, lifting you up with him. You yelped at his sudden movement, grasping him for dear life—though he seemed relaxed, only focused on getting you underneath him in a timely manner. 

And you were, in record speed, left thighs spread in the middle of your king sized bed. Your boyfriend’s hips were aligned with yours, grinding lazily against your heat as his tongue found its way back into your mouth.

You whimpered his name with every brush of his cock against your clit. 

You were just about to beg for him to hurry up when he attached onto one of your nipples, making your back arch into his mouth, and the thought die. 

“Shit,” You hissed into the dark air. Every squeeze of your waist and palming of your (unattended) tit made you need him more. “Chris please—want you to fill me up now.” With a lewd pop he was off of you, staring directly into your eyes again. Your voice lowered intimately, “Need your baby.” 

If he wasn’t such a self-restrained man he would’ve come right then and there, that alone was enough for him. But he knew it wouldn’t be enough for you. And Chris was a lot of things, giver, being close to the top. 

“God, you’re gonna kill me.” His eyes almost rolled back when he felt you take the lead for a second, stroking him and lining him up with your entrance impatiently. “You want to be a mom so bad? You want my baby so bad, angel? Want a little version of you running around, don’t you?” 

You giggled, imagining it. He was a girl-dad, wasn’t he? He treated you so well, you could only imagine how good of a father he’d be. A father you never got to have. 

”Fuck you’ll look so good,” He pushed into you, making your head fly backwards. “God, I can’t wait to be a dad, my love. You’re so beautiful, so fucking perfect. I love you.” 

He kissed you so passionately you almost blocked out the blissed feeling of him inside you, “There’s no one else I’d rather make a father on Christmas,” You tried to joke through the brain fog. “Or any—fuck—other day.” 

Your fingernails dug into his biceps as you clung to him, hips drilling into you faster. It was so good you could barely even make a sound, just lay there and take it with tears rolling down your cheeks. Well, It was always good, but it was different this time: he had a separate purpose than just making you finish a couple times before he did, after all. 

But, God, was he always good at it. 

“C-chris,” Your walls started clamping down on him without warning, teeth almost sinking into his shoulder as your body stiffened and contorted. 

He pushed you through it, prolonging the feeling coursing through you, “Good girl,” He praised, “Do that again for me, hm?” He dropped to him forearms, pressing your body closer again—chest to chest. “Gonna fill you up so many times, fuck, need to make sure, okay? Do it again, come for me and I’ll give you what you want.” 

please reblog and like <3 comments are appreciated ! thank you 4 reading © loserlvrss 2024 / 25 all rights reserved. 

networks : @blossomnet @starlit-network @k-films @kstrucknet

taglist : | fill out form to be added.

back to masterlist !

[keepingitformyself]

Hello, how are your day going?? could you please write a fluff natasha x reader where r loves to draw and paint and is very good at it? giving some drawings to nat, doodling on her arm when r is bored, drawing/painting nat thinking she isn't noticing (ofc she does baby is a super spy🤏) and having a sketchbook with a looooot of sketches and drawings of nat. R could try to teach nat how to paint while they have those cute dates where they do a painting of eachother yk? also, idk if you'll want to add that but after i finished Arcane, my dream was to draw Vi's back tatto on someones back, so if you want to maybe r could ask to make it on nat

hope you can understand my ideas, english isn't my first language :/

everything is blank until you draw me

A/N: hello! thank you for requesting. hope you enjoy :))

pairings: natasha romanoff x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

natasha first noticed your quirk on the way home from a mission.

it’s hot in cairo around this time of year. humid, sticky weather. everyone was suffering from mild heat exhaustion, suits were unzipped and shallow breaths were heard among the jet cabin.

it was a taxing mission. the team was silent in a quiet mourning.

but you sat in your seat in a far corner, barely showing any sign of the discomfort everyone else was in.

instead you had your face pushed into a leather bound journal in your lap, a pen in hand. the strokes you were making on the paper were far too wide for you to be writing something down.

no, you were drawing. natasha concluded.

no one else seemed to notice, or if they did, they didn’t care enough to point it out.

natasha didn’t really pay any heed to it. she was more concerned with passing around iv packs to the team, making sure they didn’t pass out.

when she got to you, you immediately closed the journal on your lap. her eyebrow rose at your behavior, but she didn’t question it. there was a boundary that you were entitled to, and she wasn’t one to cross any lines unless she needed to.

you looked up at her expectantly, wordlessly she handed you an iv pack, but you shook your head and pushed her hand away.

“i’m okay.” you said. “my body is good at regulating body temperature.”

natasha didn’t say anything, she already knew this, but call it good camaraderie. though, she tried not to notice the way your hand twitched in your lap, the same hand that covered the journal under it.

“save it for someone who needs it.” you added after a few seconds.

she considered you for a few moments. for the most part you seemed fine, aside from the slight twitch in your hand. she figured you just wanted a moment for yourself so she let you be.

natasha gave a curt nod before continuing on.

the quiet hum of the quinjet was the only thing that could be heard as she moved through the space. natasha had stolen a glance more than twice between you and her task at hand.

she wouldn’t pry but her fascination had grown more as she thought about the way your hands wrapped around the worn journal. how your fingers flicked at the edges of the frayed pages.

later that evening, when the team had finally settled back into the compound and were settled in their sleeping quarters, she found you again.

it was very late into the night. nearly nearing two in the morning.

this time you’d found a small nook by the large windows in the common room, you’d looked off into the night horizon, the pen in your hand making rapid strokes across the paper.

natasha didn’t try to hide her curiosity this time.

“drawing again?” she asked, her voice was soft.

you flinched at her voice and natasha noticed the way your hand tightened around the journal. your mouth opened and closed, as to find the words to ask how she’d noticed your recreation of putting pen to paper.

as if reading your mind natasha spoke up,

“i think you forget that i’m a spy and it’s my job to notice these things, Y/N.” she joked, plopping down on a seat near to you.

you glance down at the book in your hands, a sheepish smile graces your lips.

“it helps me…process.”

natasha tilts her head, elbows resting on her knees as she leans closer.

“can i see?”

you hesitate, but gulp down your nerves and slowly turn the journal towards her. the whole page was filled with dark shadows, lines to imitate the image of smoke, jagged lines to form silhouettes of crumbling buildings, faceless people running, catching their final moments of breath, and of them being carried away with help.

it was haunting, terrifying, but deeply fascinating all the same.

“is this from today?” natasha asked, voice careful.

you nodded. “it sounds weird, but…i remember things when i’m drawing them.” you pause, chewing your lip, “and i don’t want to forget them…not fully. so it’s like i take the weight of it and i trap it here, instead of…”

“…instead of carrying it.” natasha finished for you, her green eyes meet yours with a understanding.

you nodded again, looking down.

“it’s good.” she said after a moment. “you’re really good.”

the faintest smile graces your lips,

“i’ve been drawing since i was kid. but it’s kind of different now…it can be something really nice to look but sometimes it just gets really—”

“dark.” natasha finished again.

you didn’t answer. you didn’t need to. natasha knew exactly what you’d meant.

over the next few weeks, the habit of drawing became something natasha couldn’t ignore.

on long missions, you’d often scribble quietly in a corner. at meeting briefings you’d doodle into the margins of notes. and once, she had sat beside you during a meeting when you’d wordlessly slid your journal towards her.

it was a sketch of her.

she was surprised, there was so much to look at. to unpack. she didn’t know whether to be impressed with how well you drew her or to be impressed with the way you’d captured her.

she didn’t how to place what it was; something vulnerable or strong, or both.

“you drew me.” she said softly.

you shrugged, a soft blush coating your cheeks.

“you’re interesting to draw.”

natasha smirked, she didn’t say anything, but she’d felt a small stir in her chest at your words.

then on you grew more comfortable with your sketches dedicated to your new muse.

it started off small—a simple sketch left on the table one morning before natasha had left for a solo mission. she’d found it tucked under her designated coffee mug. a doodle of a little black widow spider spinning on a web, with cartoonish eyes and a cute little bow on its head.

the detail was impressive, even for a quick piece, and at the bottom you’d written a small note.

thought your namesake could use a makeover. meet widow 2.0: terrifyingly adorable.

come back in one piece.

she smiled at your note, and without a word tucked the small piece of paper into her pocket.

after that, it became sort of a ritual. before a mission, whether it was long or short, you’d leave her something— sometimes a sketch of her infamous batons mid-strike, other times a miniature rendition of the team in cartoonish proportions.

there was one where you’d drawn a mini portrait of natasha smirking, with exaggerated sharp cheekbones and fierce eyes. the caption on it read,

don’t worry, i dialed down the intimidation factor…slightly.

they were ridiculous, but natasha loved it.

one day, natasha approached you in the common area, holding a new doodle you’d slipped into her jacket. it was a small portrait of her, but unlike the others, this one showed her more casual. more real. no weapons, no scowl, just her leaning with her arms crossed, a small smile playing on her lips.

she held it up with a raised brow. “you’ve been busy.”

you glanced up from your journal, a shy grin tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“you noticed.”

“i always notice,” she replied, and the warmth in her tone made your cheeks flush.

“just thought you could use the reminder,” you said, shrugging. “you’re more than just a fighter, you know.”

natasha stared at the drawing for a moment, something unreadable flickering in her expression. then she folded it carefully and slid it into the inside of her jacket pocket.

“thank you,” she said simply, but her voice carried the weight of everything she didn’t say.

other times, you’d hand her sketches directly, usually without ceremony. a scrap of paper passed her way while the team prepped gear, a folded corner of your journal you tore out just before a briefing.

they ranged from serious-battle-ready stances and sharp silhouettes to utterly absurd, like the one of natasha holding a massive sandwich, labeled

big hero energy.

and natasha kept every single one.

“you know you don’t have to keep these, right?” you teased her when you caught her slipping another into the pocket of her duffel bag.

“i want to,” she said without hesitation. “they’re like…good luck.”

you didn’t argue with her logic, but a small smile lingered on your lips as you turned back to your journal.

unbeknownst to you natasha had a growing collection of your sketches tucked away in her bedroom. a small metal tin, the kind where you gift holiday cookies in—where they’re carefully preserved.

she’d look at them sometimes. when nights were long or dark and life was too heavy, she’d pull one out and trace the lines with her fingers, remembering the way you handed it to her with that quiet, knowing smile.

eventually though, your art started to spill over the edges of your journal.

it became part of your rhythm together. a constant, quiet act of trust. but there were moments, especially in the middle of long missions, when you didn’t have your journal or anything to draw with.

it started as a joke.

one night during a stakeout, the boredom and restlessness started bubbling out of you, and you found yourself tapping your fingers against natasha’s arm.

she caught your arm mid-tap and raised and eyebrow.

“no journal today?” she asked, smirking.

“nope,” you replied, frowning as you remembered how much in a rush you were that you forgot your journal. you leaned against the wall with a sigh.

“guess you’ll have to entertain me instead.”

“or,” she said, producing a pen from one of her pockets, “you could make yourself useful.” she handed it to you with a playful glint in her eye.

you hesitated for a moment before taking the pen from her hands and uncapping it.

“don’t complain if i mess it up.” you warned, shifting closer.

“just try not to make me look ridiculous.” she said, but the slight curve of her lips said she didn’t really mind it.

after that drawing on natasha became the norm when under a circumstance that denied you paper.

on long flights you’d trace floral vines curling up her forearm, and she’d be asleep as it happened. and during long nights in safe houses you’d sketch constellations of the stars on the back of her hand.

natasha never washed them off until she really had to.

sometimes, you didn’t even ask anymore. you’d just give her a look and she’d extend her arm towards you, wordlessly inviting you to begin.

and as your pen traced her skin she’d sit still, occasionally glancing down to see the progress.

“what’s this one?” she whispered. you’d drawn a small sleeping wolf, curling under a moonlit sky along her bicep.

“strength.” you replied softly.

natasha didn’t say anything, but her eyes softened in a way that made your heart stutter.

your drawings become more than just a way to pass time. they became a language of their own. a way of grounding yourself, of tethering your anxious thoughts to something steady.

and natasha became part of that steadying force.

“do i ever get to draw on you?” she teased once.

“maybe,” you said leaning back to admire your work. “if you’re good.”

she chuckled, shaking her head. a quiet smile tugging at her lips.

it was a silent agreement between the two of you now. you’d find your solace in the lines you traced along her skin and she’d find hers in letting you.

[bumblesimagines]

Lessons in 'Chemistry'

Request: Yes or No

Summary: After getting stranded on the side of the road, (Y/N) is helped by Sarah Cameron and given a ride home. Weeks later, she asks if he can return the favor in an unexpected way.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical OBX warnings, mentions of drugs and dealing, mentioned/implied classism, sexual content

Idk what possessed me but goodnight

~~~

The moment he crossed the threshold from the hallway into the bedroom, he immediately felt out of place, like a worn-out pair of dirty old boots being set amongst a shiny new pair of Mary Jane's.

He scoped out the room, noting it was much bigger than his bedroom back on the Cut, and felt a hint of uneasiness settle in the pit of his stomach. Everything looked as if it'd come right out of a magazine or a sitcom based around high school, including its inhabitant who slotted into the space like the last piece of a puzzle. 

Sarah leaned against her vanity, the table trembling under her weight and almost knocking over some upright lipstick tubes. She hooked her fingers into the back of one of her sneakers and pushed downward until her heel popped out, then casually tossed the shoe aside to be forgotten until she needed it again. She did similarly with the other sneaker, and then her socks, which she threw into the laundry basket a few feet away. She seemed comfortable yet nervous, her fingers fidgeting with her golden bracelet as she turned around to face him.

They weren't friends, hell, they were hardly acquaintances. Though he assumed that was precisely why she'd even approached him in the first place asking him to repay a 'favor'. It hadn't been entirely his fault that his dirt bike had chosen to suddenly stop working and she'd just happened to be driving down the same road, but that act of kindness was typically repaid with a similar favor.

He still wondered if it was all some sort of prank, a test set up by Rafe to test his loyalty or something. But Sarah clashed with her brother enough for him to take Rafe out of the equation. 

"So," She exhaled, scooping her hair over one shoulder and toying with the ends of it. "What.. what should we do first?"

(Y/N) needed a drink, or two, or maybe three to process what Sarah was asking of him fully. She'd gone up to him the day prior just as he'd been preparing to drive home from another kook party with his pockets full of cash.

For a moment, when she asked if he was willing to return the favor, he thought she meant hitching a ride back to Tannyhill or scaring the shit out of some jock who wouldn't leave her alone but then she'd given him an almost sheepish smile. 

"I... I want you to teach me some things." She'd said, tugging her jacket further over her body to escape the nipping chill of the night. He'd grimaced, expecting her to mean shooting a gun or doing some sort of drug that'd send her spiraling down the same path as Rafe. Instead, she nearly made him and his bike tip over into the grass. "Like... in the bedroom? How to, you know... please? Ugh, that sounds so weird."

"Why?" He'd asked slowly, the word drawled out 'cause it sounded batshit for her to be asking him and not her boyfriend.

"I don't want to embarrass myself with Top. I always hear the guys talking shit or- or complaining." Her cheeks had gone red by then, a combination of the chill and what she was asking of him. He almost felt guilty but then Topper's irritating little face flashed in his mind and he considered telling her to straight up dump the guy.

"Yeah, sure."

He'd been mostly itching to get out of the cold, his tired brain telling him it was just some dumb dare and she'd be texting him some apologies by the time he got home. His phone had vibrated with a message telling him what time he could come over without Rafe around to ask questions that night.

There he stood, half-certain the regret would begin settling in for her in a few minutes and he'd be compensated with some snacks from their walk-in pantry. She tilted her head, though, and he quickly realized that maybe the Camerons were all really fucking weird. 

"You do realize this is cheating.. right?" (Y/N) asked with an arch of his brow, maneuvering his leg around the door to push it shut behind him. Maybe they'd sit on the bed and he'd offer her a free therapy session on why kook guys weren't worth stressing over, because no guys who unironically wore polo shirts and khakis together were worth stressing over. She gave a flimsy shrug.

"Yeah," She answered casually, because she was Sarah Cameron and she was known for that sort of thing, before she took a few cautious steps toward him. She looked at him like middle-aged women with nothing better to do looked at banned breeds in shelters, with intrigue and a desire to reach out. "But it's whatever. I'll have other boyfriends."

He was beginning to believe she was using him to get out of the relationship, as a reason why they weren't working out. The most that'd happen to her would be a few nasty looks from Topper, and the least that would happen to him would be a fight. A kook with a bruised ego was a dangerous kook, and he was certain Rafe believed there was a bro code between them. No macking on siblings was always a given, no matter the relationship. 

"What do you want to do?" (Y/N) asked, because he wasn't fully sure what she'd meant by 'teaching' her 'things'.

The fancy private school she and the other kooks attended definitely had to have classes where they were taught anatomy, and at the very least had some basic Sex Ed classes. All Kildare County High had was a teen pregnancy epidemic that was treated like cooties because they were all at a higher risk of OD'ing on something and not making it into their twenties. Not that DARE ever swayed anyone.

Sarah smiled, almost bashful, and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I want to kiss you." She answered, stepping closer to him, still slow as if she were dealing with a shelter mutt.

Something coiled around his gut, hot and electric and uncomfortable. He was no prude, he'd lost his virginity as a sophomore two years prior, but to be wanted aloud felt wrong.

His life had been spent learning how to hide, how to blend into the background and be forgotten within the hour. You only had two choices in the Cut: become a ghost floating on by or become a feral dog with bloodied teeth. He'd chosen the former, his brother the latter. To be noticed raised an alarm in his head and sent his senses into overdrive.

"Mm." He made a noise in the back of his throat, his hands furling in the pockets of his worn jacket. The room suddenly felt hot despite the AC blasting cold air into the back of his head and his fingers twitched for something to fiddle with while thought about his next words.

He was starting to wonder if maybe he was a new passion project of hers, though he'd never seen Sarah Cameron care for that sort of thing.

"Why not one of your friends?" He was stalling. He knew he could easily back out, mutter some excuse and offer to do her another favor, but some part of him wanted to stick around. Maybe for the chance at a good time, maybe from dumb curiosity. He just despised the idea of something more forming from it.

(Y/N) could hardly count as a playboy. He'd been with three girls in his long nineteen years of life and he only ever had to look one in the eyes when he attended school. The other two were tourons, the daughters of eager tourists who visited during summer break to bask on their beaches and get a taste of their day-to-day lives. He preferred them over girls he'd grown up with, over girls who lingered and could potentially continue prodding at him.

Sarah's lip jutted out in disgust. "Like Kelce or Benson? They're basically my brothers, it'd be too weird." (Y/N) did not comment on the fact either of those two would jump at the opportunity to do anything with her. He simply nodded as if he understood, as if he had girl friends who were like sisters to him. It'd always been just him and his brother.. and Rafe, he supposed, but Rafe was more like a stray who refused to leave. "Plus, they're friends with Top. I don't trust them not to snitch."

"But you trust me?" (Y/N)'s brows furrowed. 

"Yeah," Sarah laughed lightly. "You're not like those other guys Rafe hangs out with." Sleazeballs, she meant.

The one singular time they'd ever had a proper conversation aside from polite small talk had been when she'd given him that ride in her shiny BMW. The car still had that brand-new smell, fresh and light and almost cool but mixed with subtle hints of vanilla and coconut that he often associated with Sarah.

She (unsurprisingly) proved to be a better driver than her brother who believed going the speed limit was optional, and she spent most of the ride chatting with him as if she were catching up with an old friend who'd left for college. It was odd, somewhat endearing but odd.

"Right." He exhaled and rolled his shoulders, his jacket sliding off his shoulders and exposing his upper arms to the cold air. He tugged each arm free from the sleeves and rolled the jacket up before jumping it on a chair pressed up against the wall beside the shelf built into the wall, the faded brown fabric clashing with the floral pattern. 

If she was comparing him to Barry and his clients, the bar for trust was in hell. He could count on one hand the number of guys from that group he trusted, and it only included Barry 'cause the same blood ran through their veins.

Most of them were older men; ones with wives who despised them, divorcees with enough bitterness to create generational feuds, deadbeats who rarely remembered their kids ages or birthdays, or hopeless folks who'd long given up on their dreams of the future. (Y/N) pitied them sometimes, before he'd be reminded violence and greed came just as easy as breathing to the hopeless.

Sarah's room was incredibly nice, he noted, though an odd shape from being on the side of the manor. It looked like a hexagon cut in half with its slanted walls, leaving the lower half of it to be decorated with pictures and frames and the upper half to loom over the bed. Sarah must've really liked blue because nearly everything was blue or white. Her lamp, the floral loveseats, the large circular rug, the decorative pillows on her bed that had S and C threaded into them, the curtain. He felt tempted to ask if half the things in her bathroom were blue too.

When he tore his eyes away from a framed picture of different butterflies and their names, he found Sarah standing much closer than before. His first instinct was to flinch, to create distance between them, but his feet kept him rooted in place and rendered him to blink at her in surprise. Sarah's eyes crinkled, amused she'd caught him off guard, and then her hands moved to rest over his cheeks. Her hands were soft and smooth, free from callouses and chaffing because unlike most of the kids in the Cut, her father had ensured she'd never have to work a day in her life if she so desired.

"Can I kiss you?" Sarah asked, voice soft and almost breathless, dripping with anticipation. She cradled his face in a way that was unnatural to him, too gently, too sweet; it made him uncomfortable, it made him want to press pause and savor the moment. Affection was a fleeting thing on the Cut, and most often involved a trade of sorts. 

Another threshold, another line he contemplated crossing. Technically, he'd done nothing to warrant the wrath of the kooks yet but kissing their princess would be breaking an unspoken rule between pogues and kooks. The 'war' between them was dumb, he very well acknowledged that, but he still followed the laws of their divided land to avoid conflict. Most kooks knew to leave him alone, his status as the local dealer's baby brother giving him an advantage over others, but kooks weren't particularly known for their intelligence. 

"Yeah, sure," He exhaled, his go-to words with Sarah at this point, and she laughed again like windchimes in a summer breeze. 

Just as expected, Sarah's lips were soft and plush, suddenly making him self-conscious about how his own lips felt. He applied chapstick a fair amount of times, would that change anything? He wasn't sure but he tried pushing the insecurity away to close his eyes and focus on not making a fool of himself in front of the nicest kook in all of Figure Eight. 

His hands clumsy grasped at her waist, exposed by the crop top she wore riding up when she circled her arms around his shoulders. His hands retreated briefly when they touched her skin, worried for a moment that it was going a step too far as if their mouths weren't on each other. He placed them over her waist again more confidently, massaged the skin warm from constant time in the sun, and tried not to focus too heavily on how well he was kissing.

Sarah tilted her head and her button nose rubbed against his, her lips parting slightly and teeth gently digging into his lip. He tentatively opened his mouth, just a bit, and swallowed the muffled giggle the bottle-blonde released. He'd kissed girls before (just the three but enough to keep his brother's teasing to a minimum) but they'd always been rushed kisses, frantic and fast-paced to get to the part they actually wanted to do. Sarah took it slow, exploring his mouth and then pressing against him to encourage him to do the same. 

She began moving, her chest bumping into his and forcing him to blindly move along with her until his legs bumped against her bed. They parted when he plopped down on the bed, the comforter rustling and the bed creaking softly with the added weight. He took a moment to catch his breath, to allow his mind to catch up and he peeled his hands off her waist. His lips felt different, likely smeared with the barely noticeable pink lipstick she wore, and his heart had kicked up its pace. 

"What exactly-" He swallowed and pressed his palms into the smooth white comforter. "What exactly do you want help with?" 

Her arms hugged his shoulders again and the moment their lips met again, she took advantage of their position and proximity by grinding her hips. His hands flew to her waist and a quiet grunt escaped him, his body naturally beginning to fully react to the situation. Her lips curved up into a victorious grin and he began to wonder just how inexperienced she actually was. 

It definitely wasn't kissing. If anything, Sarah was an expert at that already with her years of dating boy after boy after boy.

He assumed the 'lessons' would be about heavy-petting or featherlight touches underneath clothes but instead of answering, Sarah smiled at him and dug her knees into the bed as she straddled his thighs. The lingering smell of her scented body lotion invaded his senses while she got comfortable on his lap, light and sweet-smelling enough to nearly make him hungry. 

Sarah suddenly pulled away and brushed her fingertips over her bottom lip to wipe away the slick that'd gathered there. Her legs moved, sliding effortlessly along the comforter until her toes met the floorboards and then her knees followed with a soft thump. (Y/N) stared at her long and hard before the switch flicked and realization dawned on him like a wave of cold water. 

"Is this okay?" She asked softly, her palms already moving along his thighs and hazelnut eyes peering at him through her dark lashes. She almost reminded him of a siren trying to entice him to make a costly decision, and his body seemed fairly keen on doing just that. Sarah palmed the growing bulge and smiled when he shuddered, her eyes darting back and forth between his crotch and his face.

"Are you sure about this?" He managed to ask without his voice miraculously cracking. His fingers dug into the comforter and crinkled the material but he desperately needed something to grasp onto while his brain struggled to comprehend what he'd gotten himself into. Heat invaded his face, covering his neck and ears before creeping down his spine and torso.

Sarah pressed the pad of her index finger into the button of his jeans and then nodded, her fingers popping the button and slowly dragging down the zipper until it reached its end. He felt clammy and nervous, like a fourteen-year-old seeing an old Playboy magazine for the first time or watching a scene from a film get steamy. It was the type of jittering nerves you got when you were doing something you shouldn't and the risk factor was beginning to set in. It made him a little light-headed. 

Sarah's fingers dipping beneath the waistline of his jeans and the band of his briefs snapped him out of his momentary daze, his gaze darting downward in a flicker of confusion before he lifted himself enough for her to begin shimmying the articles of clothing down his legs. He lowered himself down closer to the edge of the bed, inhaling heavily through his nose when the cold air hit his thighs and reminded him he was now exposed in front of Sarah fucking Cameron.

He almost flinched when fingers curled around him and his eyes darted down, his cheeks flushing with heat at the sight of her long fingers slowly dragging over his length. He twitched in her hand, slowly hardening further, and he wished for nothing more than to shove his face into a pillow to avoid being seen by her curious eyes. 

All the times he'd been touched by a girl had been quick, swift pumps before he sunk into her through a drunken haze. He wished he had a drink in hand, something that'd fog his brain and halt his instinct to overthink every single little thing. It was difficult to try not to when he had the Princess of Figure Eight with his dick in her hand. And she had the gall to look intrigued, if not delighted. 

"Should I take my top off?" Sarah asked breathily, and (Y/N) almost hadn't heard her through the light ringing in his ears when she gave him an experimental squeeze. 

His eyes immediately jumped down to the shirt she wore, one he actually thought looked nice. It was a light rose-pink shirt with a darker pink floral pattern that he thought looked rather fancy for a casual everyday party until he stopped to wonder if she'd dressed up a little nicer than usual just for him.

He had no sisters to run questions by, to watch and take notes of what girls purposefully did or didn't do, just an older brother who'd rob anyone if given the chance and whistled at pretty girls on the street occasionally.

He shrugged. "If you want."

Sarah smiled, a little cheekily, and released him to lift her top up and over her head, tossing it aside without a care. He swallowed thickly and her smile turned into a grin, one that blatantly spelled trouble for him. She leaned forward onto her knees, ones that'd likely be red and numb by the time she had her fill of fun, and arched her back slightly.

He tried focusing on her layered necklace, the gold one she frequently wore that had an S charm, but his eyes flickered lower regardless. His grip on the comforter tightened and he twitched again, his misery coming this time in the form of a small watery glob that trickled down from his tip. 

Jesus.

A chill shot up his spine when Sarah abruptly leaned forward and dragged her tongue over his tip to collect the pre, his hips involuntarily bucking at the action. She gave a light hum and took him in her hand again, giving him a few experimental pumps that had more pre trickling down his shaft. Her eyes watched him, observing every reaction his body gave her as if it were an actual lesson and she was taking mental notes. 

"I-" He made a low noise in the back of his throat and she stopped, blinking up at him with doe eyes like it was all some casual thing and wouldn't have her dad whipping out a shotgun if he walked in on them. He gave a shaky exhale regardless and raised his hand, suppressing the trembles by pressing his fingers together before he spat into his palm. 

"Oh." Sarah peeled her fingers from him and brought them to her mouth, licking the mess off them while she watched him with a concreated furrow of her brow. Dangerous, was what she was.

He tried ignoring the sight and gave himself a few pumps, pre mixing with saliva and making him glisten under the sunlight pouring in from the window. Her hand replaced his and he rubbed his palms against his thigh, not daring to dirty the comforter that likely costed more than his mattress back home.

She continued moving her hand, squeezing lightly at times and slowly picked up her pace. Her eyes flickered upward to his face once his pants and quiet noises became noticeable, another spark of victory glowing in her eyes. 

A strangled curse fell from his mouth when she leaned forward and wrapped her lips around him, her hands falling to grip his calves and dig half-moons into his skin. (Y/N) had half a mind to gather her bronze hair up with his cleaner hand, loosely holding it in a ponytail as she began attempting to fit him further into her mouth.

Her eyes squeezed shut, driplets of drool escaping from the corners of her mouth. He could tell she made an effort to breathe through her nose through the newfound haze in his head and gave her hair a light tug to coax her into taking a breather. 

She leaned back and inhaled, her lips already swollen and slick. Her forehead creased with some frustration, reminding him that stubbornness ran in the family, before she leaned in again, wet warmth enveloping him and forcing another buck from his hips despite his best attempts at remaining still.

She made a small noise, unintentionally sending vibrations right to his gut where a knot slowly began to form and forcing a guttural groan out of him. He practically watched a lightbulb flicker in her head.

Sarah Cameron, as he came to learn, was a quick learner. She scraped him lightly with her teeth every now and again, her watery eyes jumping up to look at him apologetically to which he gave a reassuring nod despite his gaze only focusing on where they were connecting, but she managed to keep it to a minimum. She had little idea what she was attempting to do, likely going off what she'd seen or heard, but she gave it her all and was rewarded with noises he'd never heard from himself before.

It was messy, with an occasional gag or choke or gasp for air when she pulled back, but she kept going with determination he'd certainly never have. 

Kook girls were certainly something.

With another curse, another half-stutter of his hips, and another surprised noise from the kneeling blonde, the tightened knot in his gut burst and he spilled in her mouth. Her hand grasped the base again and she pulled back enough to only have the tip ensnared in her mouth, suckling as if she were drinking soda that'd spilled over onto the lid of a cup.

His legs trembled and his back slumped, the AC keeping the sweat from collecting across his temple. He hoped he could shower or at least curl up for a nap somewhere in the manor like a cat who'd strolled in through an open window.

Sarah leaned back and wiped at her mouth, looking like the cat who'd caught the canary with her prideful and even smug smile. She was full of surprises.

He released her hair and took the liberty of slumping back onto the bed, letting out a heavy exhale that left his body deflating into the comforter. His view of the white ceiling was obstructed by her pretty face, lips still glistening and pulled into a small smile.

"Maybe we could.. go all the way sometime?" Sarah asked, strands of her hair tickling the side of his face when she leaned down to kiss the corner of his lips. He blinked.

"Thought this was all for Topper?"

Her nose crinkled with a laugh and her shoulders moved with a shrug. "I used him as an excuse." She revealed, lowering down to lay on top of him and prop her chin on his chest.

"Oh." He should've guessed as much; no girl with any actual interest in her partner gave head to other people. His brother always lamented about his gullibility.

"So?" She tilted her head and batted her lashes. "What do you say?"

"Yeah," He murmured, lips pulling upward. "Sure."

[lavellaned]

When I say I dislike the solavellan ending I don’t mean how they end up, I mean how they got there. Them ascending past the dinan’shiral together? The slight ambiguity of it all so anything could be canon? Them both surviving?!?!! Literally the best fucking ending that I wasn’t confident we would ever get. Just how we got there was kinda. You know.

I’m personally not the biggest fan of how Lavellan is in da4 (which I wasn't too surprised about since inky isn't pc), especially when it comes to Solas. The interactions rook can have with both of them about the other feel uneven, for lack of a better word. I can’t really believe Solas would ever talk about someone so precious to him to someone like rook, regardless of their relationship to him. I would’ve preferred it to be told environmentally, through found notes, journals, murals and have him not say a word about her. That feels more authentic to me. Because otherwise what we got was Lavellan waxing poetic about Solas and just casually dropping the fact that they were together and that they’re special to each other while all Solas says is that she’s a good woman that he cherishes.

And then I can’t help but compare it to trespasser. The ending to that dlc ruined me. To this day I still can’t listen to Lost Elf lmao. He kneels down to her, gently runs his fingers through her hair, holds her hand, and kisses her while saving her life from the anchor. The heart-wrenching, “My love.” His last words to her (and the last ones we hear for the next 8 years) are, “I will never forget you.” Are you kidding rn???? I’m demolished. I have never recovered. I get fucking shaky to this day thinking about it. Veilguard just didn’t match that for me.

The thing I do love about it though is the moment he first hears her voice. Nearly breaks his damn neck to look for her. And the way that just looking at her makes him so breathless we get the most tortured “vhenan” I’ve ever heard from him. The way his eyes get so soft. If they had kept that energy for the entire time they interacted in the end I would be one happy camper. But they just kinda didn’t.

I think my main issue comes from the lack of agency Solas has the entire time, even when Mythal lets him go. Maybe I’m just too sensitive to this and am seeing things that aren’t really there, but it has the feeling that things with Lavellan are just happening to him, and he doesn’t really get a say. Solas had no agency pretty much the entire game, and the game is pretty much about how his entire life has been like that. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely believe he wants her with him, but you couldn’t have held her hand at least and walked into the rift together? You just kinda walked away and if she goes, she goes? Idk man, could just be a me thing, but I do wish there was a slight tone difference, in that Solas is actually making a choice he wants for himself for once.

[luvvictoria]

Falling Again

( ♡ ) pairing : Megumi x fem!reader ( ♡ ) warning : f!reader, NOT PROOF READ , kinda cringe, age gap , idk bro ( ♡ ) a/n ✏️ :

It all started at Jujutsu High, where Megumi Fushiguro, stoic and often quiet, never paid much attention to the people around him. His world was always filled with missions, curses, and responsibilities. But everything changed when you arrived — new, mysterious, and unlike anyone he had met before.

You, 15 years old, stood out in the crowd. With your [color] skin, [color] hair that flowed down your back, and you carried yourself with a quiet confidence, but it was your soft, kind [color] eyes that Megumi couldn’t look away from.

At first, he tried to ignore you. He didn’t have time for distractions, and falling for someone was never part of his plan. Yet, every time he saw you, whether practicing quietly in the training yard or studying alone under the shade of a tree, he felt something stir inside him. Your kindness and the way you treated everyone, even strangers, with such gentleness made him feel things he hadn’t felt in a long time.

One afternoon, as you sat alone reading, Megumi found himself walking over to you, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. You exchanged a few awkward words at first, but over time, your conversations grew more comfortable. You had a way of making Megumi feel like he didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, if only for a moment.

As the weeks went by, Megumi and you became closer. You had a warmth that thawed the coldness he usually kept around his heart, and he found himself slowly falling for you. It wasn’t anything dramatic—there were no grand confessions or fiery moments of passion. Instead, it was in the small things—the way your hands would accidentally brush, the way you’d look at him when he wasn’t paying attention, or how you’d offer him a smile whenever he seemed too serious.

For you, Megumi was different from anyone you had ever met. He was quiet and reserved, but you saw the way he cared deeply for his friends and for you, even though he rarely showed it with words. You admired his strength and found yourself drawn to the mystery behind his intense dark blue eyes.

One evening, after a long day of training, you sat together on the rooftop, watching the sunset. The world was calm, but inside, Megumi’s heart raced as he glanced at you beside him, you [color] hair glowing in the fading light. The words to express how he felt were stuck in his throat, but the way you leaned your head against his shoulder told him you understood without him having to say anything.

Despite your deepening connection, Megumi couldn’t shake the fear that came with caring for someone. His life was dangerous, filled with uncertainty and battles against curses. The closer he got to you, the more he worried that you would be caught in the crossfire. It scared him, and the weight of his emotions threatened to drown him.

As the days went by, Megumi started pulling away, creating distance between them. You noticed his coldness but didn’t understand why. You had given him your heart, and now it felt like he was pushing you away. It hurt more than you wanted to admit.

One night, after weeks of silence, you found Megumi standing alone in the courtyard, lost in thought. With courage in your heart and tears threatening to spill from your eyes, you approached him.

"Why are you avoiding me?" you asked softly, your voice breaking the stillness of the night.

Megumi clenched his fists, his jaw tight. He didn’t want to hurt you, but he didn’t know how to protect you from the danger his life held.

“I can’t… be close to you,” he whispered, not meeting your eyes. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You stepped closer, your black eyes searching his. “But I’m already hurt, Megumi… I’m hurt because you won’t let me in.”

For the first time, Megumi let himself feel the full weight of his emotions. He realized that in trying to protect you, he had caused you more pain. His heart ached, but he wasn’t sure if he could give you the love you deserved.

Your voice trembled as you spoke again, “I don’t care about the danger. I care about you.”

In that moment, Megumi finally looked at you, really looked at you, and saw the pain in your eyes. It mirrored the pain in his own heart. Without thinking, he closed the distance between you and pulled you into his arms. For a long time, you stood there, holding each other as the world seemed to fall away.

“I’m sorry,” Megumi whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry for pushing you away.”

You buried your face in his chest, your tears falling freely now. “Don’t leave me again,” you murmured, your hands clutching his shirt.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice barely audible, but filled with emotion.

For the first time in a long while, Megumi allowed himself to feel—really feel. It scared him, but he knew that you were worth the fear, worth the risk.

As you stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, the night felt endless, and for a moment, all the pain and fear seemed to fade away. You knew your journey together wouldn’t be easy, but for now, you had this—again, you found each other.

And that was enough.

✨ Enjoyed this story? ✨ If you’d like to support my writing, consider leaving a tip or commissioning a custom fanfic on Ko-fi. Every bit helps, and I’m so grateful for your support! 💕

[scaryarcade]

nobody in the fucking world is obligated to go to therapy. "not going to therapy" is never a moral failure. the only thing you're obligated to do is to treat other people with respect. the idea that therapy is the only path to being a person who's safe to be around is so fucking warped and rotten i can't believe how deeply ingrained it is in our society that even well-meaning people parrot it without thinking

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

questioning sexuality is so exhausting

[oceanwithouthermoon]

ive been unhealthily fixated on kubosai for the past few weeks, i just have no idea how to put it into words. kuboyasu aren and saiki kusuo are in love btw

[cerealmonster15]

i forgot grunt meant like henchman or whatever for a second i thought they were like yeah leonas bitch ass grunts and growls are partial proof to savanaclaw being an athletic leaning dorm lol

[hum--hallelujah]

like a sledgehammer to a disco ball - 3.9k words, Fun Ghoul angst and protective Kobra Kid

Kobra jerks awake at the first creak of the floor. The only person who has any right to be in his room at night knows better than to step where the floor creaks. Instinct takes over and he's holding his blaster at body height by the time his brain and eyes are awake enough to see through the dark.

"It's me, it's me, it's me," Ghoul stammers, holding his hands defensively in the air. Only, it sounds more like "'smee," because of the way Ghoul is slurring. And he's bleeding.

Kobra drops the blaster as soon as he realizes that the dark smear across Ghoul's face is blood. "What the hell, man," he hisses, groping in the dark for a light with one hand and trying to pat Ghoul down to make sure he's not like, actively dying, with the other. He could be blackout drunk or he could have gone out alone like he does sometimes and any number of things could have happened. The cold metal of an old flashlight meets his fingers and he flicks it on, shining the dim light over Ghoul.

"I did something stupid," Ghoul says. Only, it comes out as "Uh did su'hn stooid," wavering slightly, because the entire right side of Ghoul's face, from the corner of his mouth to his cheekbone, is sliced open. There's a horrific flap of flesh hanging loose that's supposed to be connected to the rest of his face. That's where the blood staining his face and clothes and hands is coming from, and why when he speaks, it sounds wrong.

"Holy shit," Kobra whispers, feeling cold Zone night air sting his eyes because they're open so wide. "Okay. Okay, what happened?" He holds Ghoul carefully by one arm, feels the way he's shaking. He's always shaking, except when he's got his hands in a bomb. This is worse than normal though. This is so much worse than anything Kobra's ever seen.

Ghoul shrugs, waves his hands vaguely and wildly. Kobra hisses a sharp breath through his teeth, frantically runs a hand through his hair. "Okay," He says again. "I'm gonna get-" He needs Jet, de facto medic, he needs Party, needs his brother-

"No," Ghoul says sharply, and that at least is completely clear. His eyes are wild from what Kobra can see in the dark. If human eyes could glow, his would. He grips Kobra's arms. "Please don't," he mumbles around the gruesome injury. His voice is high and frantic, and it has to hurt to talk. "Just you."

Kobra freezes. There's a slowly building feeling of dread, growing stronger by the moment. He pulls Ghoul off him, holds him by the wrists. "Okay. Just me," he promises, and feels sick about it. "Just me."

Ghoul noticeably relaxes, though he's still trembling head to toe, and lets Kobra drag him across the diner in near-silence aside from the occasional seemingly involuntary whimper on Ghoul's part, into the single-stall bathroom with a barely working lightbulb. Somehow, they make it past the front room where Party sleeps without waking him, much as Kobra wants to let his brother take care of this. He's practically trembling at how badly he wants Pois right now.

There's a medical kit in the cabinet that Kobra pulls out immediately. He knows how to handle this, physically speaking. It's whatever else, the shit he doesn't know and is scared to find out, like how this freaking happened, that makes him nervous. Ghoul stands in the flickering light like he doesn't know what to do.

"Sit the fuck down," Kobra snaps nervously, gesturing to the toilet lid. Ghoul does. Kobra pulls a dubiously clean rag from the cabinet and eyes it. It scares him to see Ghoul like this. Usually if he's scared, he fights. He hisses and spits and claws at whoever comes near him. More often than not, that's Kobra. But this, the wide-eyed jittering, is a whole other animal.

"This whole thing is gonna suck," he says stiffly. Ghoul nods. With a little more light, Kobra can see the thick, shiny blood streaming from the wound through his cheek. It isn't enough that Kobra's afraid Ghoul will bleed out, but the cut is so long and clear through and absolutely grotesque. He crouches down in front of where Ghoul is sitting, sideways on the toilet, and he can't tell if Ghoul is looking at him or through him, almost as if he's the ghost.

In a quick motion that startles both of them, probably, Kobra grabs the back of Ghoul's head with one hand and presses the rag to the seeping wound with the other. Ghoul's eyes go even wider and even greener, and what starts out as a shout of pain from him turns into a choked keening sound. Hearing it feels like being stabbed.

"What happened?" Asks Kobra again, when he's convinced that the bleeding has slowed enough to try and actually deal with this thing. He twists the handle on the faucet on and off, on and off, enough times that the ancient water pump starts up and clean water gurgles into the sink. He cleans the rag that way, then wets it and wrings it out before shutting the water off.

Ghoul's shoulders rise and fall in short, panicky breaths. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry. I'm- I didn't think, it was stupid, I'm sorry," he continues babbling like that before going silent again aside from the sharp sounds of his breathing.

In a testament to Kobra's selfishness, his biggest worry is that Ghoul took his motorbike out for a spin and crashed it. He can't think of what could have caused something like this. He has visions of his bike sliding out on a turn, crumbled metal and Ghoul's body flying through the air. But if that had happened he'd be hurt other than this. If that had happened he might be dead.

"Yo," he says quietly. "Chill. Just tell me what happened." He presses the now-damp rag to Ghoul's face, trying to ignore just how grotesque the wound really is. Maybe because it's fresh, maybe because of the fear, but somehow it's worse than the space where Jet's other eye used to be. Kobra never wanted to see an injury of that level on another person again in his life, let alone someone he cares about.

Ghoul flinches away, but Kobra shoots him a look and it must process somehow, because he stills and lets Kobra clean the already drying blood away from the edges of the wound with barely a whine. "It was stupid," he repeats, his voice shaking as much as it's slurring. "I don't know why I did it, Kid."

Something about the way he says that, voice small and wavering, sends a chill down Kobra's throat. Sudden understanding dawns on him. The blood on Ghoul's hands. He's not injured anywhere else. "You did that to yourself?" Kobra asks hoarsely.

Ghoul's eyes snap onto his and the rest of the color drains from his face. Kobra thinks he's going to pass out for a second, but he doesn't. He pulls as far away as he can, scrabbling awkwardly against the cold tiles and porcelain of the bathroom. "I don't know what I though, I was stupid, I don't- Kobra," he whines, with enough animalistic despair that Kobra wants suddenly to burst into tears, if he weren't so utterly stunned.

"Ghoul, calm down, I've gotta stitch it still," he says on autopilot. "Cool your engine, man."

Maybe it's the practicality of the thing that makes Ghoul momentarily stop panicking. "I'm sorry," he says again, tears welling in his eyes that he then blinks away half-frantically. Kobra's never heard him apologize for anything before tonight. He never wants to hear it again.

"It's okay, man. I've got you." He replies. If his own voice is shaking now, too, no the hell it isn't. "Come on, you have to let me..." he trails off, eyes wide. "Ghoul, why..." Then he shakes his head. He can't think about that now. He needs to disinfect the wound and stitch it up. And it's going to hurt Ghoul really, really badly.

He reaches behind him, grabs at the bottle of alcohol. This stuff is rare out in the Zones. They try to use it as little as possible. Only in emergencies. This is enough of an emergency, though. This is a fucking crisis.

He pours the bare minimum of the alcohol onto another piece of cloth, feels the cold soak in. Ghoul watches every move with jerking, stilted intensity. Kobra looks up at him from where he's now kneeling on the cold tile. He puts a hand behind Ghoul's head again. "This is going to hurt," he warns. They've nearly gouged each other's eyes out before, yet suddenly Kobra feels like he's going to be sick at the thought of causing Ghoul any more pain. Ghoul shuts his eyes in preparation.

Ghoul still nearly screams when Kobra dabs the alcohol over his wound. Kobra can see it in the way he holds his breath, the spring-tight tension in Ghoul's entire body. The only noise he makes is a quiet, drawn out whine, though. When a tear streaks down his cheekbone, Kobra catches it before a drop of salt can enter the wound.

"'Kay," he says in a ragged whisper. "That's done. Now I have to-" he gestures like he's sewing. Ghoul's eyes pop open to see what he's saying and he visibly forces himself to breathe again.

"'Kay," Ghoul says back in an equally torn up voice.

It only takes Kobra three tries to thread a needle. Medical supplies of any type are hard to come by, a whole new kind of commodity, but this stash has been here for as long as he can remember, just in case. Blaster burns, the most common injuries amongst 'Joys, come pre-cauterized. He's rarely had to sew sutures before.

Ghoul flinches back when the tip of the needle first touches the edge of his torn skin, and Kobra pauses. "Hold still," he grumbles, more out of familiar sniping than any real frustration at this point. He keeps his hand in Ghoul's hair the entire time he sews.

The feeling of a needle piercing flesh is horrible. The fact that it's his friend, someone he'd give his life for before seeing them hurt, is even worse. Kobra wants to fucking throatpunch whoever did this to Ghoul, or better, do the same thing to them, before he remembers with a sinking feeling in his stomach that Ghoul did this to himself.

He ties off the suture just barely keeping his hands from shaking. He doesn't know how Ghoul does this with bombs. Ghoul flinches again, violently, when Kobra cuts the excess line, and Kobra has to jerk back to keep from catching a flailing, uncoordinated fist in the face.

"Hey," he snaps. "Ghoul!"

Ghoul slips off the toilet lid and onto the floor almost as if he intended it but halfway as an accident and immediately curls in on himself. He pulls his knees to his chest and curls his arms around his head and Kobra can hear him hyperventilating. Kobra fucking freezes. He's used to fighting and wrestling and knee-jerk reactions that wind up with someone sporting a black eye. He is terrified right now. And there's still Ghoul's blood on his hands, too.

"Ghoul..." He cautiously reaches out, puts a hand on Ghoul's leg. Ghoul twitches, lets out a hiccupy sound that takes a moment to register in Kobra's mind as a sob. Ghoul, chaos loving, cackling Ghoul, is crying. And not just a single tear, now, his whole body is shuddering with the force of how hard he's crying. Kobra's heart is pounding with how hard he does not know what's happening, but he grips Ghoul's arm and lightly shakes him. "Hey, I'm still here, man."

Ghoul makes that keening whine again and Kobra thinks at first that he's going to pull away at best, or throw a real punch at worst. They fight enough, for any and no reason at all, that he expects it now. That's their normal. This isn't.

Ghoul scrambles to his knees, his hands finding the front of Kobra's shirt. This restroom is small, they're already in close quarters. But maybe unintentionally, maybe just scrabbling for a little purchase on anything, Ghoul winds up grabbing onto Kobra. And Kobra has always had a hard time letting anything go.

Ghoul's forehead crashes into his shoulder and Kobra instinctively puts his hands up, grabs back onto Ghoul in return. Ghoul's usual shaking is familiar to him, but the repressed wracking sobs aren't. Kobra clutches desperately around Ghoul's back, like he could hold together what he's just sewn up, like if he keeps Ghoul close enough he can't shake into pieces. No one should be able to break Ghoul. Not even Ghoul himself.

The edges of the cabinet dig into Kobra's back, but he ignores it. Ghoul is folding in on himself, making himself as small as he can against Kobra, and Kobra doesn't fucking know what to do. He's never seen Ghoul cry like this. He's never seen anyone cry like this.

"It hurts," cries Ghoul suddenly.

"I know," Kobra says, before he realizes that crying like this is probably making everything worse, that he'd worried about salt in the wound a minute before for this exact reason. He can't imagine the pain Ghoul is probably in.

"It didn't hurt at first," Ghoul mumbles, then chokes on a sob. "It didn't hurt when I started. And then it did."

Kobra wants to ask again, why? But he won't get anything intelligible. There's a part of him that doesn't want to know. He's terrified of knowing the truth. Instead, he threads his fingers through Ghoul's hair again and just repeats, "I know. I know."

A few minutes pass in speedy, spiraling silence. The only sound between them is their shared too-fast breathing.

"I can't," stammers Ghoul finally, after his cries have tapered out into raspy gasps. "I can't turn it on or off."

"Huh?" Is all Kobra can think to say. "Ghoul, you're not making sense, nothing about this makes sense," he snips, too quick and too tense. He's so beyond his depth. He wants Jet or Party to come help but he can't have it his way because he promised. He promised Ghoul. He wants to hit something. A wall, just to feel the impact. To imagine he's hitting whatever it is that hurt his friend so badly he hurt himself.

Ghoul sniffs. All Kobra can see of him is the top of his head and the cheek with the stitches. The wound is swollen and red and is going to leave a horrific scar. Kobra clenches his fist tighter behind Ghoul's back. "When I'm having fun or not," Ghoul says. "I can't. I am or I'm not. But."

"But what?" For fuck's sake, Kobra just wants to understand. He can read Ghoul like a book from cover to cover most times, and it scares him that he's so lost right now.

"It isn't good enough," he mumbles. "It's... It's in my fuckin' name, Kid, if I can't live up to that what am I?"

Kobra stares, wide-eyed, at the wall across from him. Something clicks. The clean cut through Ghoul's face, clearly from a recently sharpened knife, clearly intentional, reached from the corner of his lips almost to his ear. "Oh fuck no," he whispers. "Hell no. What the fuck. You're not-" He feels himself shaking suddenly, with restrained searing hot anger. Ghoul cut his head open, mutilated himself, to make himself permanently grin. "You're not fucking beholden to your fucking name," Kobra says. He never swears this much, only in his own mind. He's running out of words. "Fuck," he says, with feeling.

Ghoul shudders again. "I'm fuckin insane, aren't I?" He asks with sudden clarity.

It's exactly what Kobra had been thinking, for once completely unable to figure out Ghoul's mind, but he can't just say that. He can't just say that he's terrified because nothing makes sense and he's never going to freaking leave Ghoul alone again because this is all completely unhinged on so many levels that he can't even begin to sort through it. He can't say anything. He hopes Ghoul is sane enough to understand that, at least.

He just holds his friend tighter. He wants his brother more than anything right now, wants Party to come and take this weight out of his hands, but a part of him knows that even if he did, he wouldn't be able to let go of Ghoul. Why didn't Ghoul want anyone else but him? Why, after pretty much imprinting on Party like a feral kitten when they'd first met, to the point that sometimes Kobra thinks bitterly than Ghoul might know Party better than his own brother does, did he come to him? Why did he do any of this?

If a few tears of his own drip down Kobra's nose and land in Ghoul's tangled hair, no the hell they don't. He's never seen anyone go to pieces like this and he's struck dumb at the fact that it's literal. Very, very literally, Ghoul has gone to pieces. Taken a knife, that's probably still lying on the floor of his abandoned-office bedroom, and cut a line through his own cheek just so others might see a smile there.

There's crazy in his veins. Acid, maybe. And Kobra's always known that even if Party recognized it first. Watching your whole family die, failing to save your baby sibling, doesn't leave a person without any scars. Only, now, the scar is far too visible. Kobra's always known that Ghoul is more wild than any of them. Feral, unpredictable. He was raised by a pair of Killjoys who named themselves Hoot and Holler, and the thing is, a ghoul is just a ghost, and ghosts wail too. He should have known.

"I should've known," he says out loud, the first words in a while. He knows Ghoul so well. Better than he knows himself. He should have known something was wrong. He should never have left him alone. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He can't even blink. He stares hard at the opposite wall and tries not to scream.

Ghoul shakes his head against Kobra's shoulder and winces. "Nuh-uh," he mumbles. "I'm crazy, man. I'm insane." The fuzzy way it sounds around the stitches and the swelling just seems like proof. Just last night Ghoul's cheek was smooth and soft as he grinned across a table in triumph after winning a card game. How is it that that was just a few hours ago? He shudders again. "I'm scared," he says more quietly.

"Me too," Kobra says. As soon as the sun comes up he thinks he's going to storm out into the desert and find something, anything to beat up. Even a freakin cactus would do at this point. He doesn't know how he's going to explain this to Pois or Jet but he knows that much. He's gonna shake so hard he blows up, like a can of soda, unless he hits something. "I fucking hate you," he snaps suddenly.

Ghoul starts to flinch away, but Kobra doesn't let him. In fact, he curls tighter around him without even knowing why. "What the hell," Ghoul rasps.

Kobra hisses through his teeth. Speaking of living up to names. He fucking hates anyone who hurts his friends. But he can't say it. Hard as he tries, in the one moment of clarity about his own mind that he has, he can't speak.

"I fucking hate me, too," Ghoul says finally. The single dusty lightbulb above them flickers. If it goes out, they'll be in total darkness. Kobra thinks one or both of them might have a wicked eyeshine by now. The desert makes you wild. For some people, they're born that way.

"I think you're my best friend," Kobra finally manages to whisper. It isn't exactly what he was going for. It's not something he would ever say if he had thought of it before it popped out of his mouth. But Ghoul gets the point. Of course he does. Ghoul always gets his sharp edges, snakebite teeth and misspoken definitions and all.

"I think you're mine," Ghoul says back. "I'm-"

Kobra smacks the back of his head, like this is in any way normal, like they aren't collapsed on a dim bathroom floor in the middle of the night or the early hours of the morning and like one of them isn't mutilated for life by his own hand. Like this isn't the worst thing they've ever gone through together. "If you say you're sorry again, I'll cut you myself."

It's rough, and it's torn up and pained and choked, but Ghoul laughs. Just a short bark of laughter, hardly like the dry, rasping cackle that Kobra knows so well. It sounds like agony but it also sounds like the sun coming up. Kobra makes a noise in the back of his throat, more whine than laugh, but he's so close to blowing up that it's as good as it gets. He wants to freaking die if that would keep Ghoul in one piece.

Ghoul shifts in Kobra's arms and pulls away just far enough to look him in the eye. He clumsily wipes at the tears and snot all over his face and Kobra has to snap a hand out to catch his wrist before he unthinkingly swipes at the fresh wound and stitches. "Kobra," Ghoul says, shivering in the dark. The sun won't take long to come up once it starts but until it does, the Zones are freezing. "Kobra."

"Yeah, man, I'm still right here." Kobra forces himself to look Ghoul in the eyes and not the stitches. The wound takes up so much of his face. It's all Kobra can see when he looks at Ghoul, his best friend's mutilated mouth, sliced open by his own hand. Kobra flinches just imagining it. He focuses instead on Ghoul's green eyes, boring holes into his head with the desperate pleading in them. "I'm still right here," Kobra repeats, quieter. Reminding himself, too.

Ghoul doesn't blink. Kobra doesn't blink. Their eyes reflect the dim light back at each other. This is what wild animals must feel for each other. Terror. Uncertainty. Just themselves, each other, and whatever comes. Ghoul licks his lips, tongue flicking briefly, visibly, to the corner of his mouth that he cut open. "Don't let me-" Ghoul starts and then falters. "You gotta make sure," he says. "Don't let me- do stupid shit like this, don't let me go crazy again, Kobra, please."

Kobra stares back at him, matching Ghoul's trembling desperation. He's known Ghoul since the day their crew found him, shell shocked between the shelves of an empty gas station with the bodies of his parents and previous crew around him. Perpetually shaking hands and feral bared teeth, animal eyeshine. No one can match Ghoul for determination, and no one knows Kobra as well as he does. Even if Ghoul does know his brother better than him, the same is true in reverse.

Kobra Kid has a hard fucking time ever letting go of anything once he's got it. Fun Ghoul holds on too loosely. They're both terrified. What a pair they make. But when Kobra Kid makes a promise, he means it. He grabs the ends of Ghoul's hair and pulls, not too hard, but hard enough. That's their normal. Play fighting and hair pulling, and they both know it's a kind of language for when they can't speak. "Okay," he says, and because it's a promise, he repeats it. "Okay."

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

i know that when carlo suddenly decided that he needs to marry guy made a whole list in his head n like had a deadlines n shit. like it was some kind of a task he needed to do

[yuridovewing]

As a fellow Dovewing lover, it's frustrating how the fandom watered her down into a whiny brat who never cared about Ivypool. I mean, seriously? Not only did Dovewing care about her sister (reacting in horror when Lionblaze, her own mentor and Jayfeather are willing to potentially sacrifice Ivypool's safety by employing her as her spy instead of trying to get her out of the Dark Forest's clutches, hiding a thorn in her nest to cover for her scarring from her training).

Heck, even the scene where she tries to feed Ivypool her catch during a hunting patrol was demonized because 'she was trying to make Ivypool break the code like SHE does, as if it doesn't matter' and because she got upset when Ivypool started arguing with her! But you guys said she didn't care, right? Plus, people act like being forced into a prophecy is something you should be grateful for, as if it didn't irreparably change her close relationship with her sister? As if Lionblaze and Jayfeather didn't still keep her out of the loop (and for all the fussing they made about keeping it a secret, Lionblaze confesses his power to Cinderheart and Jayfeather doesn't even care).

Meanwhile Nightheart is angry he isn't orange and hates his mom for being exiled and the whole world has to stop for him. 🤪 And Bramblestar is simply so tortured by having an evil father, the only choice is to train with him and his evil half-brother and hide this from his wife! (But remember, it's bad when that witch Squirrelflight hides the parentage of the three from him, even when Blackstar and Leopardstar were still around after being complicit in the torture and killing of halfclan cats.) Why are these male characters sympathized with, even when they actively harm people (Nightheart forcing himself into Sunbeam's life by lying to everyone about being her mate without even asking her if she would be fine with that beforehand), Bramblestar (we all know what he does), but when Dovewing or any other female character is upset, people freak out and call them whiny brats or abusive for (checks notes) asking her partner if he loves her anymore after they argued multiple times in a book. Really makes you think! (Sorry this is so long, you just have based opinions!)

dovewing being characterized as this flighty airheaded vain popular girl stereotype in fanon is like. one of those biggest "we didnt actually read the books" things in the fandom. like theres so much fanart where shes grinning and giggling over the prophecy and shes besties with the trio and shes got preferential treatment, and then in the actual books shes basically the autistic kid no one actually likes. people really, REALLY overexaggerate that one scene where she snaps at ivypaw and brags. (and i dont wanna shit on amvs but i am forever side eying how the animation community handled dove back in the day. more than one person animated her getting murdered. normal.)

i do think its gotten better recently at least. but wow does it feel like at least one person on the writing team has a bone to pick

(also awww thank you <3 no need to be sorry i love getting stuff in my inbox)

[aldercaps]

I think next year I want to make art about the sea, and transformations. Spent the last while on-and-off fixated with the ocean and all its children, been swimming again. I have to pick one big project and work on it basically the whole year and I think I have enough to go off of on my love for the sea and also werewolves/creatures that transform to manage that