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powerfultenderness · 8 months

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That Time...

That time you maybe sorta accidentally almost had phone sex with König

Rated: Mature Word Count: 2097 Notes: [Neighbor!König] 1. Chronological order? Never heard of her. 🤷‍♀️ (what happened before he left is an event for another chapter). 2. Sorry for the hiatus. IRL, you know?

König retreated to his temporary quarters with a sigh. It had been nearly 72 hours since he had proper sleep. A few naps in a jostling humvee was nothing compared to his bed at home. Free of gear and mask, he gently laid down on the stiff bed, wishing he was at home. This mission, already supposed to be a long one, had gone haywire before he even arrived. Meaning he first had to take control of the situation before he could even attempt his mission. Lucky for him, that meant he’d get bonus pay.

He sighed again as he flopped over on his stomach, arm dangling off the edge of the bed, and eyes drifting to the small, much too small, desk. Some paperwork and a canteen of water sat on top. In the little drawer a pen and, the most important item he carried here, his personal phone.

He blinked and pushed himself up a bit, black paint leaving a small stain in his pillow and reached for the drawer. He had to lean over a bit more to reach, but he found his phone after a few blind taps. After a quick unlock he looked at his only text conversation. Yes, only. Very few people had his personal phone number, and all but one of those contacts communicated with him solely through calls. Ever since he exchanged numbers with you, you texted him quite often. Mostly quick questions: would he like to join you for dinner? Can you stop by real quick? Things of that nature.

He actually hated texting. The keyboard was too small for his big hands and auto correct proved not to be his friend. Still, he put up with even the small amount he did for you.

He glanced at the time, doing quick mental math to determine what time it was at home. It was late, but not too late, and you had a habit of staying up late. He could- the phone slipped in his hand and,

Shit!

He quickly sat up as he accidentally called you, finger hovering over the button to end the call. What if you answered? He desperately wanted to hear your voice. He loved his job but,

“König?”

His stomach flipped and his heartbeat spiked as he faintly heard your voice. He swallowed thickly and put the phone to his ear.

Your voice, slightly creaky, started to panic. “König? Is everything alright? Are you back?”

“Yes. I’m fine, darling. No, I’m not back yet.” He answered in an even and calm voice, feeling both guilty and touched that you were so worried about him.

You sighed and there was some faint shuffling, “it’s…” you paused and he could just see you biting your bottom lip. “What’s up?”

“I.” He swallowed nervously again. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

…

The only thing he could hear was his blood pounding in his ears as he waited for your response.

“König?”

“Yes?”

“Do you…miss me?” Your voice pitched up teasingly; he’d heard the tone enough to know that you were grinning.

Grateful that you couldn’t see how flushed his face was, he took a moment to push himself up the bed enough to lean back against the wall. “Y-yes.” He mumbled into the phone.

“Aww! That’s sweet!”

“It is?”

“Yea.”

His heart, his stomach, his blood, fluttered again as a relieved smile crossed his face. “Do you,” he licked his lips, “do you miss me?”

You coughed on the other end of the call, “uhh…welllll….”

König gasped, “you don’t miss me?!”

“What! No! Of course I do!”

“No. You forgot about me the moment I left, didn’t you?” He sniffled dramatically, even placed a hand over his heart even though you couldn’t see him.

“Noo, König! I DO miss you!” You half giggled as he played with you.

“Oh? Then why the pause?”

“Uhm…”

You looked around the room. His room. You really didn’t know how to explain this without coming off as creepy. (does that mean you are, in fact, creepy?)

König saying your name, and not one of those cutesy nicknames he often used, drew you out of your thoughts. “I don’t know. It’s just. Uhm. You see.”

Now it was his turn to be worried. “What is it?”

You took a breath, “ok. I. I thought you were coming home tonight.”

He sighed, “I know, angel. I’m sorry, some unexpected-”

“No, no! That’s ok! I’m not upset about that!”

“Then what?” “I mean, I’m not upset at all!”

“Ah. I was right. You don’t miss me.”

“König!”

He chuckled, “what are you trying to tell me?”

“Like I said, I thought you were coming home tonight. So I, uhm, used the key you gave me to cook dinner at your flat. I thought you might like to have dinner in the comfort of your own home.”

König’s heart thumped in his chest. In only a second the image of going home, to see you waiting for him, pampering him, feeding him, caring for him all flashed through his mind. It was an image he very much wanted. Your name quietly slipped past his lips, but you had only paused to take a breath and continued with your rambling.

“But then you didn’t and that’s fine, like, you said you were only estimating when you’d be back and then I started cleaning and, uhmm…” “Don’t tell me you burned down my flat?”

“No!” You barked out a laugh, a little thankful that he interrupted before you could fully embarrass yourself.

You sighed, you knew he wouldn’t drop it now. Sure enough you heard him once again asking you to just tell him. Instead you pulled your phone away from your face and turned on the camera. You snapped a quick selfie and after a breath, sent it to him.

König’s phone buzzed in his hand just as he called your name again. He blinked and opened the text message you just sent him. His eyes widened and he quietly gasped as instead of a text, you sent a picture. It was nothing provocative, but it was you. Of you in bed. His bed. His blanket pulled up to your neck as you smiled sheepishly into the camera.

“-And then I got tired and laid down in your room.” You finished your explanation, unaware that König was still staring at the picture you sent. Unaware that he was now imagining what his life could be like if instead of staying on base after a long shift, he spent the extra time to go home and crawl into bed with you.

“König?” You asked, voice tight with anxiety. “Are you mad at me? I’ll leave! And I’ll wash-” “No! No! I’m not mad! You can sleep there!” Please sleep there!

“Are you sure? I get it, if I crossed a line-”

“I’m sure. Don’t leave. It’s late and it’s cold out.”

It was late, sure, but it wasn’t cold; it was still summer. It was an excuse you both accepted.

“I am just surprised. You hate sleeping in your day clothes.” He tried to joke, to reassure you that he absolutely did not mind you sleeping in his bed. At least someone was enjoying it. Even if he did wish that he could enjoy it with you.

You coughed nervously again, “well…”

Dear God. If you told him that you were sleeping naked in his bed? He’d abandon his post, steal a helicopter and fu-

“I kinda borrowed one of your shirts to wear as a nightgown. Is. Is that ok?”

Oh. That made more sense than you climbing into his bed naked. He took a deep breath. “Of course, darling.”

You sighed in relief. The fact that he switched back to your normal nickname put you at ease. "Oh, good. It really makes for a comfy nightgown, so I can sleep in your comfy bed."

You teased and chuckled at the groan he let out, assuming that it was his bed that he was missing.

König chuckled with you, relaxing against the wall, and licked his lips as he felt another spike of anxiety flutter in his stomach. “Did you borrow a pair of my shorts too?”

“What! No!” You laughed, “are you kidding? This shirt is so big on me, it can be a dress.”

He closed his eyes and let his head drop against the wall. “Good. That is good.”

“What? Why?”

He hummed as he imagined crawling into bed, flipping you onto your back so he could settle between your bare thighs, his hand grabbing a fistful of your smooth soft flesh until he was gripping your hip.

“König?”

He froze, only now realizing how hard he was getting and where his free hand had been. He cleared his throat, “ah. It’s nothing, darling. I just want you to be comfortable.”

“Me? How comfortable are you right now?”

“Not very.” He answered honestly. The bed he was currently sitting on was too small for him, it was both stiff and lumpy, and the blanket was thinner than his shirt. “My couch is more comfortable than this.”

“I mean, you do have a really comfortable couch.”

“Hm. Especially with you on it too.”

You blinked, stomach alight with butterflies. You must have heard him wrong, or he must have misspoke. He must have meant that his couch was more comfortable even if he had to share it with you. “Well, there is enough room for both of us.”

“Yea.” He agreed, eyes closed as he thought about the night he left. Of the little shorts you had been wearing, so short that his hand hit the elastic of your panties before the fabric of your shorts when he “casually” dragged his hand up and down your body. “Enough for you to lie down with me.”

You let out the quietest little gasp, a shiver running down your body as you remembered the feeling of his hands on you. “Oh. Yea…I was…kinda on top of you, though.”

König grunted, now palming himself through his pants. He had a hard time forgetting the feeling of you grinding your hips into him. “A perfect fit.”

That night had started out normal enough. Maybe it was the calming scent of the candle, or the steady rainfall and rolling thunder. It was not a cold night, but you still just wanted to cuddle with him. And he obliged.

You sighed over the phone, into König’s ear. He was so solid. And warm. You bit your lip, thighs clenched at the memory of his meaty thigh between your legs.

Just a breathy whisper of his name had his eyes rolling back into his head, his free hand desperately pulling at his belt.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“König!” The voice of one of his men interrupted him before he could even fully undo his belt (thankfully).

He growled and pulled the phone away from his face, “shit! What!”

You jumped when König started yelling, there was some shuffling and more shouting. It gave you a moment to collect yourself, to realize what you were about to do, and think of an excuse to get off of this phone call.

An excuse you didn’t need, as he sighed and put the phone back up to his ear. “Listen, darling, I have to go.”

You nodded, you expected as much after all that commotion. “Be safe.”

“Yea. You too.”

You stared at your phone once the call disconnected. He was always worried about you even though he was the one running into what you presumed to be an active war zone. You felt a little guilty that if things hadn't been so urgent on his side, you were about to end the call before things got even more intimate. (It was late! And you had to work in the morning!) What if you made it up to him?

Before you could chicken out, you quickly turned on the light and set your phone up on the nightstand to get a picture of you on the bed. You hadn’t borrowed one of his t-shirts, but a tank top, with a comfortable scoop neck on him. But on you? It dropped deep enough to reveal plenty of cleavage.

Then you snapped a few pictures and choose the most flattering flirtatious one and quickly sent it to him, with the message: “thanks for letting me borrow your shirt!”

To say that König was surprised when he returned to base was an understatement. How in the world was he supposed to concentrate on his work now?!

[Neighbor König Masterlist]

Neighbor König taglist (blurbs): Please let me know if you wish to be added or removed.

@warrior-of-justice @cumikering @ihateuguys @rand0m--fangirl @keiva1000 @dtftheavengers @takeyour-pants-off @aeeliy @milenko115 @sodonuthideout @onegami @nadiauddincrafts @nadiauddincrafts @grizzersmamma @flooftoof @techs-ass @virginalsacrifice @s0rc3r3r @sleeplessskeleton @introvered-violinist @tizylish @romula96 @peach-habibitch @mitchlow @queenotaku27 @fenixnegras @emmbny @love-dove-noora @lesbianmitsuri @supergirl16

#könig x reader #könig x fem reader #neighbor!könig #still working on requests. one sec.#no edits #it's just been a second since i've written and just needed to get it out of me #idk what i'm doing to this time line #so...the night before he left. you were dry humping him before he got called off for a sudden mission #which is what both of you are thinking about in this chap.

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hum--hallelujah · 9 months

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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."

#uhhhh anyway. come to killjoys world with me #I keep calling these two my mongoose and snake #they take out their worst on each other but at the same time it's like they were *made* for each other #also a few notes in the tags: kobra repeats himself a lot. that's intentional. it's because I do it irl #quite honestly at this point I might almost have a stutter??#anyway also there's a TON of super vague song references in here. I almost called this ''a scar away from falling apart''#but I couldn't stop thinking about that one boygenius song while I wrote this. would you still love me if it turns out I'm insane?#also the two(2) minor refs to famous last words!!!!#and very very loosely the ''what a pair they make'' line is bc what a catch donnie came up on my playlist right then #also this is WAY more swearing than I would usually write but... it just felt right? like it helped the flow?? and fit the characters? idk #ANYWHOMST. random danger days precanon fic. the girl isn't here yet.#she speaks!#HMMM do I need a writing tag for this blog?#she writes!#danger days #the true lives of the fabulous killjoys #kobra kid #fun ghoul #K I think I've got it covered #wait trigger tags #self-harm tw #self mutilation tw

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