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#for me he is like a butterfly pinned by a needle

mrs-weasley-reid · 24 days

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Say Don't Go

Spencer Reid x bau!reader

Summary: Nothing hurts more than the fear of losing you.

Warning: Angst. mentions of death, blood, gunshot

A/N: I wrote this in a haste, literally ten minutes ago, while listening to Say Don't Go (Taylor's Version) by mother Taylor Swift. It's definitely not perfect, but I was definitely in the zone when I wrote it, lol.

— ✿ — ✿— ✿ ✿ ✿

A gunshot.

Everything fades into a muffle. You blink once, twice, thrice... A wince connects your brows. As if you're figuring out if the oozing feeling on your abdomen should be causing you pain or ease.

Suddenly, Spencer's running to you. You think he's screaming. You hear nothing. There's only ringing in your ears. A thin, high-pitched ring that pierces through your brain.

You drop on the precinct's carpet floor, caressing your stomach like it's enough to stop yourself from bleeding out. You look at Spencer, "When'd you get here?" You ask, disoriented. You instantly pay attention to his watery eyes. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?" You reach to cup his cheek. You are shocked when you see your hand covered in red, smearing the liquid on his skin. Your eyes widen, "Oh, my god?! You're hurt! Spence—" You try to sit up, but a wave of stinging pain makes you fall back in his arms.

"WHERE'S THE MEDIC?!" Spencer's voice echoes in the entire place. He turns to you, unsure if he is even allowed to have you in his arms. He doesn't dwell on it as he holds your hand on his cheek, squeezing it. "Hey, hey! Breathe for me, yeah? Stay with me." He swallows a sob, placing pressure on your abdomen. "Please, stay with me..."

"I'm hurt?" Stupor begins to steal you out of consciousness. You blink. A bright light blinds your vision.

Once you open your eyes, you're back in Spencer's apartment. He's standing across the room while your feet are rooted at the door. He doesn't look at you. No. He's afraid to look at you.

His hands are buried in his pockets. He's wearing a nice suit. Fitted just for him. His tie is a dark shade of purple. You gave him that tie for his birthday last year. It's loose. His hair is a mess. And his face... it's wet.

He's crying.

You're crying.

"I think you should go," Spencer takes a gulp as he stares at the floor. Like it'd kill him if he looked at you.

You inhale deeply, sniffing as you wipe a tear with the back of your hand, "We don't have to do this, Spence. You don't have to do this."

"Yes, we do!" For the first time in what feels like forever, he finally lifts his gaze at you. His hazel eyes are rimmed with red heat, overflowing with tears. He's hurt. He's hurt, too.

"Is it really that horrible to love me?" You sob. You can hear your heart slowly shatter. Pins and needles knock on your chest. You wonder if you're still breathing right. "Am I that ugly—"

"You know that's not true, sweetheart." You hate that the nickname gives you butterflies. How his words, awful and insensitive, still made you attentively listen. How his voice still makes you want to hear more. "You're the most beautiful person I've ever met."

"Then why?!" You felt like a child throwing a tantrum. "Why are you putting a distance between us?" You bite your lower lip to stop it from quivering. "Why is it such a crime to be together?"

Spencer shifts his gaze to somewhere else. He runs a hand through his hair. You notice the coffee stain at the cuff of his sleeve. Then, you see the smudge of red lipstick past the line of his lips. Your red lipstick. He bought that lipstick a few months ago. No reason. Just for the fun of it.

Is it bad that you think he still looks handsome under the sun's setting light? Even when his hair is arrayed in different directions? Even when his face is drenched with his own tears?

He breathes deeply, audibly, "We're in the same line of work. You know better than to think we're going to work. News flash, sweetheart. It won't. It's not worth it." He can't look at you. He's ashamed to look at you.

"Not... worth it?" You blink. You stare at him with disgust, "So— So what? We're nothing, but we fuck? We're nothing, but we flirt? We're nothing, but you love me? Please, explain it to me because I'm having a difficult time understanding the stupid shit of a point you're making."

Spencer gulps for the nth time, "You love me."

"What?" You regret wanting to meet his eyes because now that he's staring at yours with such unfamiliarity, it hurts.

"You love me. You said you love me. I never said anything."

You're definitely not breathing right.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

"Inhale, exhale... Yeah, that's right, sweetheart. Just follow me." Spencer holds your hand tight as the paramedics do their best to stop you from bleeding out. His voice sounds heartbreaking.

His voice...

You blink. Your hearing's back. You do as he says, inhaling and exhaling as he does. You feel lightheaded, like you're floating on a cloud.

Spencer keeps his and your hands intertwined. He follows while the paramedics roll you into the ambulance. "Hang in there, sweetheart. Please, hang in there." His face is a mess. He doesn't stop crying, swallowing his sobs.

You smile into the oxygen mask, blinking. You're on the verge of dying, and yet you find humor in knowing Spencer's tells. "You swallow when you're scared... don't be scared, Spence." You say it in broken words and in an almost soundless voice.

"I'm not," He denies, wiping his tears aggressively. He is. He's scared to the bone.

"The bullet shattered to her chest," The paramedic who inspects your chest claims, looking at her partner with worry.

"W-what?" Spencer stutters, stealing a glimpse down your neck. "No, no, sweetheart. Stay with me. Stay with me." He sees the way you flutter your eyes, fighting to stay conscious, listening to his pleas. And how you suddenly stopped, never opening your eyes back up. "Don't— Don't close your eyes! Sweetheart, please don't go. Please, don't—" He looks up at the sound of your vitals plummeting. He quickly looks back at your face, saying your name like it's a prayer.

The machine flatlines, and the paramedic pushes Spencer aside to perform resuscitation. "Sir, let us do our job." One of them says, two inches deep as she manually restarts your heart.

Spencer shoves himself in the corner of the ambulance. He wraps his arms around him. "Please, don't go..." His voice cracks and transitions into writhing sobs as he watches your body go limp with each surge of electricity that shocks your skin.

Then he thinks of that night.

He thinks of the image of you standing by the door. You don't want to go. He doesn't want you to go.

But you have to... because if you don't, he'll run to you and never let you go. So, he tells you to leave. You protest.

So stubborn. He cries in his head, wishing that you hadn't made things difficult for being so beautiful even when you're crying.

"You love me. You said you love me. I never said anything." His body shakes on the spot. His mouth goes dry. His chest compresses. He lies through his teeth.

Spencer saw the way your face turned into a ghost. He's done it.

He broke you.

He hurt you.

No turning back. No way of fixing it.

"Ah..." You say softly, nodding. "Checks out." You add without a sign of sarcasm. You stare into the air for a minute. You let the silence hover and hunt Spencer for a moment. You let him realize the pain, the stupidity of it all. "I think I should leave..." Your eyes say otherwise.

Please say, "Don't go." Tell me not to leave. Run to me... please.

You wonder if he knows it or chooses to ignore the way you held your tears. If he caught on all your tells. Because you knew he wasn't true. You knew he knew that you could read him like the back of your hand.

"Yeah," Spencer straightens his back, "I think you should."

You purse your lips into a thin line and nod, "Okay," You turn around. You take three seconds to grab the knob, but when the time has run out, you are out in a heartbeat.

"Spencer."

JJ appears in Spencer's vision. "Spencer, are you okay?" Her face was covered with worry as she placed two hands on his shoulders. She exchanges looks with Derek and Aaron.

They were there when it all went down. When the unsub came out of nowhere and started shooting. You were the first shot.

Spencer cranes his neck around. He's in the waiting room. He doesn't remember when or how he got there. All he remembers is the defibrillator jolting your unresponsive body more than once. His eyes widen. He says your name in haste as he stands up, "Where is she? Where— Where..."

Derek holds him back, "She's in surgery, Reid. Did you forget?" He asks, gently pushing Spencer back onto his seat.

"She was dead for three minutes... They couldn't find a pulse for three minutes." Spencer announces at a loss. He looks down at his hand, at the cheap friendship bracelet around his wrist. The one you made in your first year with the team as a last-minute birthday gift. He breaks into a sob, covering his eyes as if to push them back inside his tear ducts.

"So?" Derek catches Spencer's hands off his face, "She's been in surgery for thirty minutes. Her heart started beating again, and it had been for thirty minutes. She's fighting, man. At least fight with her before you wallow like a ninny."

"Morgan," Aaron warns but silently agrees.

You're fighting for your life, so they should, too.

You're not ready to go.

You don't want to go.

Spencer nods and wipes his face. He sniffs and takes a deep breath. He glances at the door to the operating room like he has x-ray vision, "Don't go."

#spencer reid #criminal minds #criminalminds #ssa spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencerreid #fem!reader #cm #spencer reid angst #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you

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stars4chratt · 2 months

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Confections

Pairing: Matt x fem!reader

Warnings: pure smut / established relationship / softdom!matt / breeding kink / nipple play / mutual orgasms / cunnilingus / p in v / unprotected sex (do NOT) / creampie / FILTHY kitchen sex / LOTS of praise / pet names (baby, my love, sweetheart, good girl) / aftercare

Summary: The reader walks into her home after a prolonged and stressful day to Matt - her boyfriend - making baked goods in her kitchen. He welcomes her and gives her a taste of the delicious desserts. However, in return for the favour, Matt gets to taste her.

Author’s note: hiii guysss, i love you all for liking and enjoying Pins n’ Needles (there is a part 2 btw) After seeing the most recent Wednesday video, this made my fantasy grow even worse LMAOO. Also, leave a comment if you want to be added onto my taglist! Anyways, i hope you enjoy this one! From Maxine, with love ♡.

“Cause I’m all that you want, boy. All that you can have, boy. Got me spread like a buffet. Bon a– Bon appetit, baby.” - BON APPETIT, KATY PERRY

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

Your shoulders ache and the migraine you have encapsulated in the back of your head feels like it’s going to split your skull in half.

People gave you a lot of shit at work today. Both coworkers and customers. Nagging and berating you and reiterating the same jaw clenching phrase that ‘the customer is always right.’

You close your eyes and let your chest fall as you sigh longly with relief after you arrive home.

The strong and pleasant scent of stiff caster sugar alongside a tangible hint of lemon citrus whiffs through your sinuses.

Ah, Matt’s baking again. You comprehend yourself.

You plop your keys on the marble countertop and set your bag down. The feeling of a thousand weights being lifted off of you as you remove accessory after accessory attached to you.

Peeking around the corner, you see Matt whisking dairy products mashed with madagascan vanilla extract whisked into butter cream. You peer down and see something resting in the oven at exactly 195 degrees celsius.

The peacefulness Matt baking brings you is heavenly. Just him concocting a sugary delight for the simple enjoyment of doing so can’t help but make your cheeks flush bright red and your core ache desperately.

The paternity your boyfriend holds within him orchestrating treats of chocolate frosting and yeasty dough makes you fall for him even more. Not only do his sweet delicacies taste amazing, but he also does it for pure comfort and vindication for you both.

Sometimes you wonder if he would enjoy baking for a family of three, maybe even four.

You sneak up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. He looks over his shoulder, he has a large piping bag in his grasp. A large grin appears on his face as he sneers. “Hi my love, how was work?”

You let out a fatigued sigh and your clasp around him tightens. “Not great, it was super stressful.”

He turns around to face you and pulls you in by your hips in an act of reassurance.

“Aww, my poor baby. What can I do to make you feel better? Hm?”

Matt’s words make the caterpillars in your stomach hatch into butterflies. You two have been dating for quite a while now and yet you still giggle and squeal like a small child whenever he asserts words of refreshment.

“There may be one thing I have in mind…” You whisper softly into his ear. After the distress of work and the mind blowingly stupid and egotistical customers you dealt with all day, you only wanted one thing that could ease your displeasure. For Matt to fuck your brains out.

As you were about to inform him about your dilemma, a soul-jumping alarm sitting on the table top starts dinging. Blaring across the entire kitchen.

The migraine you’re suffering from induces even more, spreading through every crevice of your skull.

Matt notices the discomfort of the ear-splitting noise written all over your face and quickly shuts the alarm off.

“One second, sweetheart.” Abruptly, Matt grabs his teal blue oven mitts and crouches down to the oven to release the now strong scent of citric lemon flow through the room.

He takes out the tray and reveals to you that he had baked lemon drizzle cupcakes. Very tasty looking lemon drizzle cupcakes at that.

The glint in Matt’s eye along with his pearly whites framed with his smile presents his joy to you.

“Oh my god… They look delicious”

“Exactly, I’m a fantastic chef.”

“Damn right.” You both giggle together whilst Matt sets down the tray on a heatproof mat.

“What were you saying again, baby?” He twists back around to face you, letting you continue where you left off.

“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll leave it for after you finish off your cupcakes.” Matt’s eyes now glow with anticipation and curiosity.

“What you want won’t be an inconvenience for me at all, I can finish the cupcakes afterwards baby. I don’t wanna make you wait.” Matt crosses his arms patiently waiting for you to respond.

You gently stride over to him and lift your arms up to tug behind his neck over his shoulders.

“Matt..” You whisper softly into his ear. Trying to contain the burning sensation in between your legs. You really wanted to fuck. The intensity of today made you grow greedy with lust, and your boyfriend was the only person who could assist with that.

“Yes, baby?” He returns, completely oblivious to the pent-up arousal you’re experiencing.

You move one of your hands up the back of his head whilst the other tangles in the silver chain of his jewellery.

You don’t say anything before you rapidly intertwine your lips with Matt’s. Your cravings of thirst for Matt’s touch starts to fester passionately.

He almost immediately reciprocates and swings his arms around your figure, your whole upper body in his grasp. You whine loudly at the sudden action as it makes your entrance leak and his touch makes you tingle like electricity shooting up your spine.

You advance your hands onto his chest and push him up against the wall beside the table top island stranded in the middle of the room.

The bulge throbbing slightly in his grey sweatpants presses against your core. Which makes you both gasp and sob into eachothers mouths.

“I’m so impatient, Matt. I need your dick now. Today has been so shitty and I really want it. Please, baby.” You choke up the words through the desperate whines thickening the air around you.

“Get on the counter then, sweetheart. Let me relieve all that stress for you.” Matt states delicately as he peppers kisses all over you up until he stops at your collarbone. He grips onto your shoulders as he forces you down on the counter until you're fully laying down with your legs spread wide.

“I don’t think we have any more condoms left.” Matt speaks softly whilst he towers over you. There’s a small worry in his pupils before you reassure him.

“Fuck it, we can go without. I need you so badly right now Matt, you don’t understand. Condom or not, I don’t care anymore. Just please fuck me.”

Your constant begging in impatience makes Matt’s prick pulse harshly. He rushes over on top of you to connect his lips with yours again.

The sloppy wetness of the kiss alongside his rock hard cock restricted in his sweats rubbed against your clothed heat has him writhing in a needy haze. His eyes go cloudy and his skin is painted ruby.

Matt viscously tugs at the hem of your work shirt pulling it upwards to reveal your laced bra. Your chest rising and falling heavily underneath Matt’s aggression.

He pulls down your underclothes instantaneously. Your tits spilling out and your nipples are swollen red.

“Oh, fuck yeah… Wait just one second sweetheart.” Matt leaves the enclosure of the space in between your legs but you can still see him in your peripheral.

You look over to see him grab the piping bag. He races back over to the original position he was just in. His horse pendant jangling about and grazing over his defined collarbones.

“What’re you gonna do with the piping bag..?” You question him hesitantly, feeding your bottom lip into your mouth.

“You taste so good on my tongue baby. I bet you’d taste even better with cream on top of your tits. Hm?”

Matt’s filthy idea makes you tremble and your folds become velvety slick. Who would’ve thought that Matt, your boyfriend, a professional baker would want to fuck you as messily as this.

Matt leans over you and squeezes the piping bag slowly. The cream grazes your skin and the coldness of the substance makes you squirm and your back arches.

He moves the piping bag down and leaves a trail of sugary white down to just above your belly button.

His bottom lip fully concealed under his teeth in concentration before he sets the bag down and reels your hips in so the lower half of your body is hanging off the edge of the counter.

Matt then drops down to your height and starts to suck on your rock hard bud. Fully licking the cream off and nibbling at the centre, his mouth on your fully perched out nipples makes your entrance twitch and soak in your juices.

“You taste so fucking good, I’ve been wanting to do this to you for so long. You don’t understand.” Matt gasps between licks on your tit.

He moves his head up slightly to suckle and nibble on the flesh of your neck. Leaving hickeys and bite marks all over your skin. Making you whimper into the air of the kitchen.

He advances down the thick, sugary trail that stops at your belly button. Licking and consuming the cream off of your now hot and plush flesh.

After all of the cream is gone, Matt brushes against his lip with his tongue and grabs the bag again.

He hastily undoes the button on your work jeans and rips them off your legs in keenness. He uses his thumb and index finger to push your matching lace panties to the side. Now fully unveiling your bare, bright pink pussy.

Matt repositions his hands and puts the nub of the piping bag on the very peak of your clit.

“Matt, what are you doing?” Your eyebrows furrowed and your breath is still heavy and uneven.

“I’m eating you my love, wasn’t it obvious?” Suddenly, you feel a thick and freezing cold liquid resting on your swollen heat. This kind of filth during intimate times like this really makes you think about what other kind of things Matt is into, and you fucking love it

He throws the bag back onto the counter and crouches down until his face is barely touching your pussy. He blows on your clit gently, making your entire body shiver.

His lips are just slightly touching your soaking wet entrance. Just as you thought he was going to eat you out right then and there, he turns his head to pay his full attention to your thighs. Kissing and sucking on them gently. Whilst his hands have their full grip on them, squeezing them in temptation at relishing at your throbbing core.

“Matt..” You whine in impatience. You were so desperate for him to just consume all of you. His tongue felt amazing on your skin. He knew all of your weak spots and he knew exactly how to take advantage of that.

“Shhh, I’m here. I promise.” He drawls out faintly, his breath brushing over you again.

Matt focuses on your dripping centre again, and gradually sticks his tongue inside your entrance.

His saliva mixing with your silky juices and the cream still laying on your clit makes your head tilt back and your eyes roll back into your skull.

Matt pulls out his tongue straight away after he notices you broke eye contact.

“No, sweetheart. Look at me. Look at me whilst I eat you out like a good girl.”

You whimper at Matt’s mixture of a command and a praise. You turn your head back down to see him staring up at you through his eyelashes with his tongue deep inside you.

He licks a stripe up your folds and fully swallows up the sugary goodness of both the cream and your juices.

You could not stop trembling under his tongue circling around your throbbing clit. His nose resting slightly above with his irises still dilated onto yours.

You can feel your body tensing as Matt’s mouth is latched onto your slippery heat.

“Matt.. I-I’m gonna…” You mumble faintly.

“Cum for me. Cum all over my mouth. Let me taste more of you.”

An overwhelming flush or euphoria strikes all through your body in waves. Your breath hitches and you grab onto Matt’s hair, making him hum into your heat.

Your chest rises and falls smoothly whilst coming down from your high and Matt slows the rhythm of his tongue down on your clit.

Suddenly he detaches his mouth from your skin and pulls his sweatpants down.

Matt’s dick comes sprawling out of his garments. The vein that runs down the middle of his length spikes outwards. The very sight of his cock is an aphrodisiac to your senses within itself.

“I’ve always wanted to fuck you raw. I’ve never asked you because I didn’t think you’d like it.” His necklace glints under the artificial light beaming down on the both of you that hangs just above the counter.

“Matt, you really should’ve asked. Fuck a baby into me, fill me up with your cum. Forget about the fucking cream. I want yours.” You sigh out. Your core twitching at the sight of his taffy pink prick fully exposed practically grazing against you.

The gaze in Matt’s eyes is full to the brim with hot pink lust. He’s practically drooling in admiration at how fuckable you look right now.

He grips onto your thighs again and presses his tip against your slippery entrance. He hisses at the overwhelming thrill of the feeling of your drenched folds.

Matt pushes his length inside of you at a sluggish pace, almost like he’s teasing you by going slow in the beginning.

Your spongy, slick walls squeeze down on his cock and it makes it pulse inside you. He whimpers on top of you while he sits inside of you in and out stagantly.

“Fuck…you’re so tight sweetheart.” Matt stutters, the utmost feeling of your pussy clenched around his dick is like heaven to him. Your breathless whines and moans are like harmonic symphonies ringing and humming in his ears. His visual stimuli are more than satisfactory from your tender and curvaceous figure that he has held in his hands at this very moment.

Matt’s pace starts to quicken and becomes more rapid inside you. Every single time he rams into you, he slightly grazes that sweet spot that drives you absolutely fucking insane. It’s like his cock was made for you. “I want to fuck you so good your pussy turns into the shape of my dick baby. It’s so perfect. I can’t wait to fuck my cum into you.”

“Please do it Matt… cum inside me.” His dick is slightly bulging out of your stomach. He sees this as an opportunity to use his two fingers and press on your abdomen slightly. “This is where my babies are gonna be, sweetheart. All for you. Taking it all like such a good girl.” He huffs out smugly.

The sound of your skin clapping and beating against each other every single time he pounds his dick into you and his waist clashes into your thighs and ass cheeks almost hypnotises you. “M-Matt… I’m gonna cum again…”

“Fuck… me too baby. I’m s-so close..” The rhythm of Matt fucking his cock into you starts to slow down and you can feel his lower body start to stutter and his member pulses thickly inside of you.

“Oh f-fuck… take all of my cum sweetheart…I’m gonna cum…c-cumming…” His arms give in and he loses all balance as he feeds his cum into your hole. His and your juices swirl and mix together inside you.

Suddenly, your stomach starts to feel warm. The feeling of Matt’s hot and thick load spilling inside all the way through your cervix pulls and twists at your neurons, especially alongside your soul-shattering orgasm Matt just gave you.

He drops his whole weight on you completely and hides his head in the crook of your neck. His heavy breath brushes on your skin while his prick still rests inside you, you can’t tell if he’s too tired to take it out or he wants all of his cum to stay inside.

Either way you both savour the moment while you lay still on top of each other. Catching your breath and coming down from your second high.

Matt raises his head up and reaches out for the cloth laying next to the piping bag. He balls it up and wipes at the skin with small spots of butter cream from earlier.

“I wasn’t too rough on you this time, was I?” He enquires. He looks down on you, still swiping away the white mess all over you.

“No, of course not baby. I loved it.” You respond, giggling exhaustedly. “We should do this again, sometime.”

“I’d love to, sweetheart.” Matt smiles before pecking your cheek and rests his head on your collarbone once more.

“A-are you still inside me?”

“Pfft, yeah.”

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

Author’s Note No.2: MY GOD THIS WAS ANNOYING TO WRITE. Sorry for the slight delay, I was incredibly tired and fell asleep and I got preoccupied with school. Anyways. Again, thank you so much for enjoying Pins n’ Needles. I WILL be making a part 2 very soon! :)

༝༚༝༚, Maxine.

Taglist: @gamermattsgf @luverboychris @worldlxvlys @chrissystur @chaosisalwayscrying @bellasfavbisexual

#matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #smut #matt sturniolo smut #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 3 months

Text

Your Fault

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: Reader is pregnant and suffering from morning sickness, only to be comforted by Daryl. Takes place in Alexandria. (I'm so bad at summaries, please forgive me).

Tropes: Fluff, Pregnancy Fluff, Established Relationship

Warnings: I mean, I don't think there's any. If anything I'll say references to past smut, but not explicit at all. Mentions of vomiting.

Word Count: 1.5K

Note: This is written in a dialect style with Daryl's accent in mind so the misspellings are intentional. There is minimal use of (y/n). Any references to the reader besides the (y/n) is done using "your" or "you". I tried to proofread the best I could, but nobody's perfect. If you don't like, don't read, but if you do like you're my favorite!

Internal monologue is done in italics.

ENJOY!

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

Daryl's hand is soft, tangling into the strands of your hair to pull it back from your face as you unleash the remnants of your dinner into the toilet with a loud groan. The brightly colored tile on the bathroom wall mocks you, each swirl of color illuminated by the fluorescent light above that hurts your sensitive eyes.

Who picks bright pink for bathroom tile?

You think with a groan as your stomach heaves again.

Daryl’s right hand rubs soothing circles into your back to let you know he's there.

“It’s alrigh. Jus get it all ou.” He mutters.

You had practically run him over when you ran to the bathroom, waving your arms to make him go away, not wanting to see you like this, but Daryl had ignored your half hearted attempts to push him away.

And even though you hadn’t wanted him to see you like this, it was easier. Daryl made everything easy, effortless, and most importantly made you feel loved, more loved than you had felt before all of this.

Your forehead presses against the cool lip of the toilet as you wipe the remnants of dinner off your chin and let out a shaky breath.

"Here." Daryl gently pulls you back from your position to wipe at your chin with a towel.

"Hmm." You lean into his touch with a sigh.

"Ya alrigh?"

"Ughh."

“Come on.” He pulls you against his chest, sitting back so his back is against the bathtub, folding his knees in front of him and dwarfing the already small bathroom.

Daryl looks almost exactly the same as he did when you first met and every time you look at him, you feel the exact same. Butterflies flapping against the walls of your stomach, heart surging up into your throat while pins and needles trace his well placed rough fingertips against your arm. Every touch feels like the first, every kiss sets you on fire, and you wouldn't change a second of it. Sometimes you think just how lucky you are that all this happened, because you can’t imagine your life without him. Admittedly a little selfish, but then you think of what your life would have been if none of this had happened.

Maybe you would still be in Atlanta finishing up your residency, still live in that apartment downtown, still have the same shifts, eat at the same restaurants- but then where would Daryl be?

Where else would you meet someone who got you so simply, who understood what you were thinking just with a quick glance. Who else would make you feel like you’d swallowed the sun when you found them looking at you?

And who else would you love as utterly and completely as you love him?

"This is your fault." You lean your head against his shoulder, stretching out your legs to knock your thigh against Daryl’s knee.

He was taller than you, broader and stronger in all the best ways. It was what drew you to him, well that and you thought that it was cute how shy he was, how he'd stumble a bit through his words when you first started talking and how the tips of his ears would flush pink when you smiled at him.

"My fault?" You can hear the smile in his voice. Daryl shifts his arm up over your shoulder to pull you closer into his chest, brushing his hand up and down your arm, letting you settle into him.

"Yes. It's your fault I'm pregnant." Your right hand runs over your stomach that has begun to protrude more in the past few months, a whirlwind to be sure, but a welcome one. The initial 30 days had been 30 days of agony while you tried to think of a way to tell Daryl that he was going to be a father. When you first started dating he had been hesitant to tell you about the raised pink scars on his back and chest- the ones you had seen when patching up a bullet wound that he had taken for you.

And when he finally told you what his father did to him, you couldn't help but fold him into you and hold him close.

The pregnancy wasn't a surprise to you, you'd been living together since you'd arrived at Alexandria and this was a happy accident. But nevertheless when you told Daryl he had left without so much as a word taking your heart with him. You had stayed in bed for what seemed like days, only to have him arrive 4 hours later with a bouquet of wildflowers and prenatal vitamins, where he found them you didn't know, all that mattered was that he was back and he was happy. Happier than you'd ever seen him.

Since then Daryl had been at your side almost constantly, the occasional run had intervened, when Rick himself had to drag Daryl away, but on each run Daryl always brought something back for you. Whether it be another book you could read together, one of the last candy bars to ever exist, or a knitted blanket to cover your shoulders when you dragged yourself into the bathroom at what seemed all hours of the day- like the exact one you had draped around yourself now. And when he wasn't on runs he was helping you with the small nursery, where a hand carved crib stood as another sign of Daryl’s love, the exact crib that made you burst into tears when he and Rick brought it into the house for the first time.

"Pretty sure we were both there." He rumbles with a smile.

"Logistics don't matter." Your eyes narrow.

"Pretty sure they do. Ya're the doc after all." Daryl's smirk makes a warm tingle travel down your spine, the same smirk that got you into this mess in the first place. "I also remember that ya were wearin my shirt-"

"Typical man blaming the woman for what she's wearing. I thought you were better than that."

His smirk grows. "More like what ya weren't wearin."

"My clothes were wet from the storm, I was trying to change-"

"Inta' my shirt!"

You lean away from him, feigning anger. "Oh you think you're so innocent? You came into the house soaked to the bone and no one should look as good as you do soaking wet." You accuse.

"Maybe you should have shut your eyes then." He shrugs.

"Shut up." Your hands fall against his chest, playfully pushing him away, but he grabs your wrists.

"Make me."

"Don't look at me like that." You groan shifting away from him. "That's what got us into this mess in the first place-" Your eyes search his face for a minute, taking in the familiar blue eyes and scruff that scratches against the smooth skin of your fingertips. "But at least we know it's a girl. No more Daryl Jr."

"We ain't gonna call 'im tha. And how do ya know it's a girl?"

"They say that if it's a girl you get sick more often.”

He snorts, pulling you back into his chest. "The way ya are going we might be havin' two."

"Shut up. Don't joke about that. One's enough, and this one is taking it's sweet time."

"Maybe jus' likes it in there."

You groan into his solid chest, feeling his muscles tense around you, familiar and welcome. "Everyone always talks about what a blessing it is to be pregnant, how you glow, blah blah blah. It's all propaganda! I feel like I'm smoldering. I'm fat, my feet hurt, I'm sick all the time-"

"Ya ain' fat y/n."

"Don't lie to me." You sit up to look him in the eye. "You made a promise to not lie to me."

"I ain' lying." He breathes.

You search his gaze, nostrils flaring as if you think you can smell the lie, but all you smell is Daryl. The hypnotic scent of cigarettes (that he refused to smoke around you), sweat, the heady smell of the woods and the smell of a thunderstorm before it hits, that clean smell of rain as it dribbles through the branches above before falling onto your skin.

"Ya're even more beautiful than the firs' day I met ya." Daryl's touch is feather light against your cheek, drawing you closer so he can press his forehead against yours. "Pretty sure ya get more beautiful every day. And if this is a girl-" His free hand drags across your belly, smiling as the baby kicks against his fingers. "She's gonna be beautiful jus' like ya."

You feel the blush drift up into the roots of your hair remembering the day you met. “That was a crazy day-“

“Because ya shot me.”

“It only skimmed your hair, don’t be a baby. And I thought you were a walker.”

“Las' time I checked my hair is on top of my head.”

“You were fine.” Your palms gently fall against the scruff of his cheeks. “I’m really glad I missed.”

“Me too."

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

Thank you so much for reading!!

If you liked this fic, be sure to read the prequel “Meet Cute,” that shows the story of how Daryl and the Reader met!

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fluff #twd #the walking dead #twd daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl x y/n #twd fanfics

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dead-dove-yandere · 2 months

Text

TW: Stalking, obsession, medical abuse, manipulation, needles

You were exhausted. Dr. Hart had been going through every medical test he could think of, trying to get you some kind of diagnosis. He’d shone an ophthalmoscope into your eyes, inspected your throat with a tongue depressor, he’d tested as many reflexes as he could think of, he’d listened to your heart and breathing with a stethoscope, he’d even taken your blood pressure three times. Everything came back normal. Your eyes stung as you felt like you could burst into tears. You did your best to swallow the painful lump in your throat as he helped take the cuff of the blood pressure monitor off of your arm.

“Do not panic,” Dr. Hart hushed in that sweet, soft spoken voice of his. “We haven’t found anything yet. But I am not going to give up. We will get to the bottom of this mystery of yours.” You give him a weak smile through your wet eyes in response. You wanted to be comforted. You could tell he was trying his best. But you just couldn’t bring yourself to feel any better.

“I will have to refer you for some more in depth tests. Ultrasounds, MRIs, X-Rays, just in case it’s something internal and less outwardly obvious. But first, I want to try another blood test. It can’t hurt to double check, after all. Is that alright?” He asks. You nod, too upset to speak, and hold out your arm as he set up a butterfly needle. You flinch as he comes closer, but he makes sure to go slowly and hush you gently throughout the entire process. You feel the pads of his fingers gently pressing against the crook of your elbow, the latex of the glove squeaking as he feels for a vein.

“This will pinch a bit,” he warns, his steady hands gentle but firm as he holds you still, inserting the needle into your vein and beginning to draw it. You look away as the blood begins to flow into the tube, but Dr. Hart watches intently.

“I’ll take a bit extra, as usual,” he says. “Better to have too much than not enough.” He keeps drawing until he has his desired amount, and then he quickly and carefully takes the needle out, disposing of it into a sharps bin and pressing gauze over the site to staunch the bleeding.

“Keep that on for a while. I’ll let you know when the results come. In the meantime, keep taking the medicine I gave you. Trust me. It will work.” He offers you a warm smile and he says it with conviction that you’re convinced he must be right. You mumble a meek thank you and leave his office, ready to go home and take a nap. The moment you’re gone, Dr. Hart clutches the vials of blood tightly, gazing at the dark red of your deoxygenated blood. He knows he’ll have to give half of it to the lab to be tested, and it annoys him that such a precious fluid will ultimately be wasted. But he knows he can keep the rest. He unlocks a drawer in his desk and slides it open, admirably the contents like a treasure. The drawer is lined with soft padding, and nestled in are dozens more vials of your blood, all taken as “spare” everytime he’s subjected you to yet another blood test. He places his latest prize in with the rest of them, then slides the drawer shut again.

Dividers Credit: See Pinned Post

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eskeptical · 4 months

Text

"only you."

miguel o'hara x reader

summary: after multiple times of having miguel treat your wounds, it's your turn to take care of him. warnings: mentions of blood, needles, and lots of fluff word count: 1k

Working for the Spider Society came with its risk.

At some point, maturity comes with accepting that every thing you do does.

Naturally, for an organization like this one, getting injured basically comes with the contract.

You’ve been hurt plenty of times, sure. Over time, one tends to receive it and keep moving, tending to it later. Often the healing part of it is taken care of by yourself, rarely with the medics team.

However, in your time since you joined, you had never once seen Miguel O’Hara hurt.

Not that he wouldn’t get hurt. He did, often. However, as a man equipped with either a lot of pride or extremely fast healing (the possibility of it being a mix of the two being far more reasonable), you had never seen him approach the medic team.

At some point, the only conclusion you could draw of how he tended to his wounds came from the sight of first aid kits hidden behind his many workspaces, tucked under drawers you had rummaged through upon endless visits to his office.

But doing everything by yourself only gets you so far.

So here you both were, sitting on the hard floor cross-legged with a first aid kit spread open, the smell of rubbing alcohol tickling your nose.

In a sense, you knew you owed it to him. Multiple times he had tended to you after missions in this same spot, as much as you persisted against it.

Or tried to, at least. Truthfully, as skillful as you may be, handling blood and wounds was never your forte.

Where you stood with Miguel didn’t matter right now. Whatever you could call yourselves, call this, would only begin to untangle a piece of string that upon hours of hours of pulling and twisting and turning remains the same throughout, knots come undone and redone.

Your hands were far too busy at the moment, left armed with a needle; the right, a soaked cotton ball that you shortly after placed on the floor next to the rest..

“You’re hesitating.”

With a blink, your eyes wandered over to him. Miguel’s voice implied a statement. Resolute, as always.

(It manifested in his touch too. Any time he had helped tend to your wounds, his hands did not hesitate, decidedly doing what had to be done, while somehow managing to still remain gentle.)

“Sorry. It’s been a while. I’ve had no need to, thanks to you.”

A hearty chuckle left his throat. He rolled his eyes, a mischievous glint accompanied by a slightly raised corner of his lips.

“Are you trying to pin your horrible nursing skills on me?” He asked with a raised brow, to which you turned your gaze back onto his shoulder. Bare, from his neck to his abdomen, purely out of necessity to better access the tiny gashes that surrounded it.

(Not the first ones, you noticed. Multiple scars covered him, a few tones darker than his skin. Most fully healed, others almost, some still fresh. The sight of it pinched at your sides, and you bit your cheek as you wished you could wrap your arms around him for comfort. Something you would have done if only you had absolute certainty it wouldn’t harm him any further.)

“Maybe. You know, there’s a medical team for this. They could do this ten times better than I could.”

Miguel’s hand reached out to you, his fingers circling around your right hand. His thumb caressed your knuckles, tracing circles over them slowly. A habit of his, you had noticed since you two had gotten to this level of trust. He fixed his gaze on his thumb, shrugging and lowering his voice.

“No, they can’t. Their instruments probably aren’t clean. I could get tetanus.”

To this, you laughed, raising an eyebrow at his ridiculous statement.

“Tetanus? From the medics? That you recruited?”

“Whatever. I want you to do it.”

His quick reply hit you in your weakest spot, butterflies bursting rapidly throughout your guts and arteries. At this point, you knew you should be used to them, given there are far more passionate things you have done with Miguel than simply playing a part in his healing process. Still, knowing you were wanted, that he wanted you to do this for him, and trusting you fully to do so filled you to the brim with excitement and warmth.

“Okay, okay, fine.” Attempting to hide a smile, you squeezed his hand, before gently putting it aside and getting to work.

Talking to him throughout the process made it a lot easier to withstand. As you were getting the final stitches done, he commented on it.

“They’re not half bad.”

The teasing criticism made a smile tug on the corners of your lips. As you finished, you began to clean up the aftermath. Cottons, liquids, scissors, all spread around in a mess.

“Yeah, does the expert approve of them? Speaking of, just how many people do you treat around here in your free time that you’re so quick and precise with this?”

Miguel helped you clean up. He smiled, small but warmly, before shaking his head and holding his gaze to yours.

“None. Only you.”

There it was again. That undeniable tug at your heart that somehow had the power to untangle the knot in seconds.

You couldn’t hide your grin, your hand reaching towards him in an attempt to shove him playfully, but being intercepted by his own and moving it backwards, pulling you forward for a kiss.

Despite your protesting laugh, you easily leaned into it, letting yourself melt against him, to which he hummed in approval.

It lasted a couple of minutes. The sense of euphoria it arrived with never seemed to grow old.

When you both pulled back, you were breathless, your lips tingling with the aftertaste, and his hair disheveled.

He grinned, his suit recomposing to its original state.

“Does this mean you’ll help me next time too?”

You rolled your eyes, quickly pecking the corner of his mouth before standing up.

“Mhm. Those medics really can’t be trusted, you know. Tetanus is no joke.”

He nodded full heartedly, following suit.

“Definitely not.”

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara atsv #atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman atsv #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel x y/n #miguel spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel ohara

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5cookiekitty · 1 year

Note

Could you do a fanfic with you demon slayer fanfic idea with reader having the same personality as daki but worst and visiting them and was attacked by a hashira and had to call one of her siblings

*『koku-nii』

Yandere uppermoon {kokushibo} × little sister reader

Fanfic idea

'This is to easy.' The hashira avoided the array of pin like crystal that came flying towards him with a slash of his breathing. 'Somthing isn't right here.' He could feel it in his bones a she watched uppermoon zero send out more crystal's from the ground in which he weaved and dodge once more. The crystal's on her face that formed in the middle of head in the shape of a butterfly glowed allowing for crystal like butterfly to fly through the air.

"I can you feel you getting weaker and slower! Your a hashira right! If I kill you here I will certainly expect some praise!" The demons voice was sickenly gleeful on such a beautiful face. Her Kimono , that split open to show a leg that wore geta sandals and a ankle long white sock , fluttered in the wind like falling angel wings. Maybe she was one.

The hashira stared at the demon who was taunting him much like how a child would. ‘Something isn't right here.’ he thought as he easily deflected away another array of crystals coming his way. ‘There's no way it should be this easy right.’ this was an uppermoon of course but even he was getting bored with this battle. ‘Doesn't matter anyway…’ he activated his breathing as he slashed forward in an instant and behind the demon. “Cause your through”

The demon was quick to try to snap her head around with the anger on her beautiful face clear as day. “What did you just say to me you li-” and then suddenly the world was upside down and spinning as she collapsed like a marionette without its strings attached as her head gently rolled on the ground as her body slumped to the ground on its side. “Huh?”

“Do you mind telling me where your little demon friend is hiding.” he watched those e/c eyes glare at him from the floor. “Since you're too weak to be the one who killed all those slayers.” he got an angry screech in response. “What is that supposed to mean! I really am an uppermoon ,I am! I'll kill you for your insolence!” he looked down at the demon on the floor with confused eyes. “Can't kill me if you're dead.” His voice was flat and deadpanned.

“It's not over yet , You just caught me off guard! If I put my head back on, I'll show you! You wont get me a second time”

“You're right I won't get you a second time cause there isnt going to be a second time.”

“But-”

“Stop it , it's over. You're over so why don't you just go ahead and die already. Your reign of terror is over.” he was about ready to stop entertaining this soon-to-be-dead demon when suddenly he felt something. ‘What the-’ all the hairs on his body stood to attention as he narrowly avoided a thin crystal needle coming at him. ‘Hold on, wait a minute, why isn't she disintegrating.’

“How dare you!How dare you! How dare you!” the shrill voice on the angry demon renovated throughout the forest as she sat up onto her hands and knees, head forgotten in favor of slamming the ground down in anger. “DIE! DIE! DIE! all of you slayers can die!” the demon continued her babbling angry rant as the hashira stared on in growing confusion. “I'm an upper moon!i'm strong and i'm getting stronger everyday! I'm better than you!I'm better than you, you hear me!” The woman now had angry frustrated tears streaming down her face looking and acting too much like a child in dire need of comfort.

“My head got cut off! It got cut off! He cut it off!”

‘Wait hold on , who is she complaining to-’

And suddenly with a hand raised in the air that once more slammed onto the ground she released what felt like death itself.

“KOKU-NIIIIIIIIIIII”

And before the hashira could comprehend what was happening there was a sudden burst of unimaginable bloodlust throughout the area as something started to emerge from the female demon's back. Suddenly he was swinging forward as every instinct in his body since becoming a demon slayer activated in a sudden urge and need to kill the literal death-bringing-thing coming out from where it was hidden with his katana. And yet as soon as he neared the thing , inches away , his katana cut through nothing.

And then he heard sniffling and a whine and his head quickly snapped behind him to see the demoness , crying softly into a hand that cupped the side of her face gently as she tried in vain to whip away her rapidly falling tears. Head now attached to her body with a person crouched in front of her. “Y-you saw what he did right.” Her voice was soft and shaky , reminding the slayer of a crying child and not of a heartless demon that he knew she was. “I wasn't doing anything and yet-” she sounded like another slot of tears was going to come out as the last of her sentence wobbled out.

The slayer stood to the back , uncertain of what to do. Even for someone like him the back to back abnormalities were coming quickly and he felt as though he needed some time to rest.readying himself he quickly zipped across the room only to jump back when his face came too close to being sliced in half by a sword. ‘Shit.’ He could feel blood begin to dribble down from his head as his eyes finally found the new occupant in the room. ‘Double shit.’ cause staring back at him were six eyes , the middle pair having kanji written in it.

Uppermoon 1

“I knew something was off.” the slayer mumbled as he looked the upper moon up and down. ‘This is bad. I can feel it in my bones.’ He watched as the girl, not a woman , never to grow up and be one continued to cry to herself in the background. ‘Not to mention that one aint exited from the land of the living yet. What the absolute hell is going on here.’ he stepped back , a bit nervously , when uppermoon took a stance that blocked most of his view of the woman.

“You must be a hashira.” The demon talked slowly, giving his tone that of a gravitas one. ‘His whole aura screams unnerving tranquility.as if he's in control of everything.’ The hashira got into a stance , hands on the handle of his katana ready to strike at a moment's notice. “Yes I am.” he watched as the demon brought down his katana also into a stance ready to fight. “Good.” he said. “Maybe you'll last longer…than the others.” and with a swing of the katanas and the swirl of crystals the fight was on.

hours later y/n would give kokushibo her gift she meant to give him before she attacked in the midst of a bloody massacre. A hand carved comb with little dragons painted onto it to with white crystals. It would the next night when y/n had combined herself with him that he would genly touched the comb hidden away in his kimono as he stared up at the moon.

#platonic yandere #platonic #yandere #yandere kny #yandere kny x reader #yandere demon slayer #yandere uppermoons #yandere uppermoons x reader #yandere kokushibo #yandere kokushibo x reader

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silv3rswirls · 1 year

Text

I'm not human at all

Summary: Something seems rotten in him, gross and morbid, and it’s starting to spread.

Note: I really like the setting of this one? Idk how well it came across in the fic but the forest, middle of nowhere, swampy, flooded kinda deal, good vibes to me

Warnings: Stepbrother Jungkook, yandere, descriptions of violence, angsty, disturbing thoughts

“I wish I hated you.”

The water sloshing around your head slowly calms. Your floating hair tickles your face, your clothes cling to your body, and your wrist remains tightly bound in Jungkook’s hand. He’s too close, with you pinned under him. The flooded field was silent, too silent for the struggle that had ensued just seconds ago.

When a new family moved into town, it was known by everyone. It was such a small, rural place that everyone knew everyone, and word traveled fast. When a widowed mother moved to town, a daughter at his side that matched his age; Jungkook had been intrigued. Granted, he had never imagined that woman joining his family. But of course, his father had to take interest in the mysterious, and your mother seemed to like the outsiders of town.

You moved in not even a year into their relationship and they married not long after. It was a big house, outside of town, secluded near the forests and downhill, so when it rained the yard would flood and so would the floorboards inside. It was a distant home life, Jungkook was already used to it as you struggled to grow accustomed. Children in his house were forgotten, and the day your mother moved in it seemed she lived by that rule. Living life alone, with no one's eyes on you other than your new stepbrother’s.

Jungkook had always been odd. He hardly spoke to you and kept to his own. Even when you grew older and the silly trivializations of childhood were lost, he still held you at a distance. But you had to admit, there was a fond curiosity that came with calling yourself part of his family. One that leads you to trail after him slowly while walking into town, pretending not to care but always finding your eyes on him. You’d follow him into the woods, a silent puppy pawing after him as he seemed to genuinely enjoy exploring the thick brush. You could never tell if it annoyed him or not, and if it did he hardly said anything about it.

But somethings, when he looked back at you struggling to keep up and swatting bugs away, your eyes would catch his. The forest would quiet down and so would your footsteps. In those moments a thick tension could be felt, an odd one, that seemed to come out of thin air.

He kind of liked it.

You only ever saw Jungkook cry once, as he trudged through the flooded field with something clutched in his hand. He held it out to you, a wood carving he had spent days on just for you. But your excited smile never came, your lips parted in concern at the gash across his palm. You took him inside and sewed the gash closed with a needle and thread. Going into town for something like that wasn’t something your parents went for, so it slowly became your job to care for any ailments. Jungkook shivered at the feeling of your gentle hands holding his, and he hugged you for the first time afterward.

He thought about pulling his makeshift stitches out just to have you take care of him again.

It started after that day. You would appear in his dreams and he’d wake with a swarm of butterflies in his stomach. Sweat coated his body as he thought of you. He’d roll over and stare at the wall your rooms shared. Where you lay sound asleep. His eyes would flutter closed, imagining you cuddled beside him. And hours after, still unable to sleep he would roll onto his back, imaging you above him. Your thighs pressed at either side of his hips, hands entangled in his own.

His attitude shifted after that.

“Let me see”

“I’m fine, it’s just a cut” you wince, the stinging sensation of blood dripping down your finger. Jungkook had taken your wrist to inspect it, dark eyes bearing to the sight of crimson seeping out. He took your finger into his mouth, sucking the blood. His eyes flicked up to yours, holding contact as he stopped; your put resting against his lip, and blood began to bead down his chin. “I couldn’t help it,” he smiled.

“Jungkook?” You asked, waiting for him to hum in return as he looked around for a band-aid. “Why are we different?”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone thinks we’re weird, that's all I hear when I go into town.” You hesitated, “your dad said I was…weird” you chose, not able to repeat the nastiness you had heard from the man.

He scoffed, “what does it matter if they think we’re weird?” He looked at you with a hard frown, “it doesn’t matter, do you want to leave?” He asked, “because if you care so much, why don’t you just leave?”

He’s waiting for your answer, he’d rather take you dead than gone.

“I don’t want to leave you” you muttered, shoulders falling and voice shrinking. “I just wish they’d stop saying such awful things about you.”

His grip on your hand loosens a bit, if only you knew the truth behind rumors. Rumors that whispered of his fondness of you being too much. Or ones that gossiped of how disturbed he was, how he liked to collect dead bugs and picked pieces of butterflies' wings from the road and pocket them. How he had never loved anyone but you, not even his parents.

“I went into town today, and met this guy while shopping.”

Jungkook’s breathing had hitched the moment you said those words to him.

“Did you?” He asked with pointed words. His eyes glared hard, your back turned to him as you cooked. His fingers pressed into the dining table hard, the splintering wood pricking his skin. “I thought we decided to always go into town together?” “That was so long ago” you smiled, fondly looking back on childhood promises. “We’re grown now, I don’t need you to watch over me all the time.”

You turned when he abruptly stood up, chair scratching the floor and nearly tipping over. He left the room with a scowl, slamming and locking his door.

He sat on his bed with his stomach in knots, sick to his stomach at the thought of anyone else being around you, trying to emulate the affection he should be giving. He exhaled, rubbing his hands on his jeans and watching them shake in anger. He needed to calm down, he didn’t want to be angry with you. To tip over the edge and start yelling, fighting you on his. He shook his head, almost laughing at himself as he felt tears begin to emerge. He supposed, he had never thought of you taking interest in anyone but him. Not when you lived such secluded lives like this. Somewhere in his mind, he had already thought of the two of you together, unspoken between little glances he swore you have him.

You had to feel the same, you looked at him the same he looked at you. He could feel it. He laughed at himself again, sniffling and harshly scrubbing the tears from his face. Or maybe he was just sick, crazy, and too good at making things up and believing them.

There was a jar sitting on his bedside table, where he had kept a caterpillar he caught a time ago. He had cocooned and blossomed into a butterfly, a rather plain looking one. But it had been fluttering around the jar for nearly a week now, hitting the sides and anxiously trying to get out and fly away.

He didn’t want it to go; he didn’t want you to go.

It had rained all night and morning, the sun was finally starting to part the clouds and you were excitedly getting ready for a walk into town. Jungkook hadn’t spoken to you since the night you mentioned another guy. You felt a bit of a hold in your stomach as you pulled on your rain boots. While you were curious to keep meeting and talking with your new friend, you felt a cold loneliness around with Jungkook ignoring you. Part of you wondered if it was worth it, to keep Jungkook worked up and distant, you weren’t sure of what to do. “He’s not my boyfriend” you reminded yourself with stiff words and pursed lips. “It shouldn’t bother me or Jungkook this much.”

Outside, per usual, the stretch of yard and field was flooded. Near to your ankles as you trudged through, huffing in annoyance at a flood when the sun was beginning to beam and nature's noises came back. Chirping birds and billowing insects chimed along with the squish of flooded earth and sloshes of water.

Jungkook’s hurried steps were much louder and disturbed your peaceful walk as he approached fast. You turned, a bit concerned to find your stepbrother racing towards you after nearly a week of the cold shoulder. “I’ll kill him” he spat, “I really will, I’ll kill him if you don’t stop seeing him.”

You stumbled in your steps, turned around, and nearly fell over as you looked at Jungkook with eyes blown wide. “J-Jungkook calm down, you can’t just say that because you're upset-”

“I’ve thought about just how I’ll do it, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

He reaches for you, grabbing your wrist tight and yanking you over. You stumbled into him, feel his hand under your jaw as he brings your face to his and kisses you. For a moment his hold loosens and you go tumbling back in shock, water splashing violently around you as you fall. He’s there on the ground with you in seconds, over you with eyes part in concern and part still in anger. The water sloshing around your head slowly calms. Your floating hair tickles your face, your clothes cling to your body, and your wrist remains tightly bound in Jungkook’s hand. He’s too close, with you pinned under him. The flooded field was silent, too silent for the struggle that had ensued just seconds ago.

“I wish I hated you” he began, “when we first met I did, but I don’t know what happened, I just love you so much.” You listen to him with averted eyes and half a frown.

“Don’t you love me?” You look at him for a moment, “come on, angel” he smiles as he says it, “don’t be scared, it's just been driving me crazy all week. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I do love you” you murmur, thinking of all the things people said about you and him through the years trapped in this patch of woods. “It’s just-”

“No” he hums, “don’t even worry about anything else, just worry about me and you.”

He smiles, he feels like he’s finally been driven off the cliff. Sick, contagious as he coaxes your worries away, “you don’t need anyone but me, you never have and never will.”

“Angel” he’d purr, his hands cupping your face and turning his gaze to him. “Were they giving you trouble again? I’ll make them stop.”

“Angel.”

His favored nickname for you, but when he called you that your looks of adoration slowly began to turn. You would get this odd look in your eye, disgust maybe? Disbelief? Guilty love? Your lips would curve down, shoulders tense ever slightly; but he always noticed. Your gaze turned shameful as if your eyes were telling- no begging him to cut off your wings and strip you of that title. You’d beg him not to call you that, but he would only tilt his head with this intense look and ask who made you feel undeserving of being his angel.

He imagined himself as some big bad wolf, long fangs dripping with anxious saliva; slowly sinking into your feathers and tearing your wings apart. His personal angel, flightless and unable to leave; desired only by him. He could tell, he’s rotted your brain. Human no more, with fangs and growing horns. He could finally feel it, what it had meant all his life as people whispered behind his back.

Taglist: @aris-ink

#bts x reader #bts imagine #yandere bts #yandere jeon jungkook #yandere jungkook #yandere jungkook x reader #yandere jungkook imagine

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purplelupins · 11 months

Text

A Pretty Butterfly

|The Watchmen|

Rorschach x fem!reader

Summery: Watching a stranger from your windows quickly turned into a human connection you craved. You just wanted to help this strange man who walked past your home everyday…but it seemed you got more than you had bargained for.

Warnings: SLOW BURN, violence, mentions of rape and assault, age-gap (reader is mid -late 20’s and Rorschach is 45) smut, dub-con, fingering, obsession, stalking, anxiety, Rorschach being a tit, pessimistic thoughts, self-sabotage, sunshine and grumpy old man dynamic

Word count: 13.8k words

MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE YOU WILL BE BLOCKED IF YOU DO FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DONT READ THIS

Notes: In the film, they claim Rorschach is 35, but the comic has him at 45 so I went with that instead. a special thanks to my buddy @mandowifey for sending me down this rabbit hole and helping me out with my scatter brain🤍

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You didn’t mean to stare.

That was a lie.

…a half lie.

You liked to watch, but you didn’t mean to latch onto one face in particular when you peered out of your window. You never really had before; perhaps the odd flamboyantly dressed hooker or someone with outrageously done hair, but you couldn’t say you had ever taken notice of someone who seemed so inconsequential.

It was his red hair that made you look twice, at first.

From your little window, above a small tea shop that was run by a family who smelled of jasmine, you first saw that little man who wandered the streets of New York with his picket sign.

“The end is nigh” it said.

The first time you saw it, it made you laugh a little. So pessimistic. You wondered why he felt the need to forecast such a statement to the city. Was the end all he could see? Was there no good in his eyes?

Silly, you thought, to busy yourself with a stranger’s story that you had fabricated entirely in your mind.

But then the second time you saw him, those words made you think.

Perhaps it was close- the end, that is. The more and more that chauvinistic Dooms Day Clock ticked, the more you started to believe that man.

It was inevitable.

Perhaps it was close, too.

You wondered if he was unstable- mentally or otherwise. Wandering the streets when he should have been getting help. But the more you watched, the more you realised about him and his meandering walk; never once did you see him lash out or scream like you had seen so many times from those who injected and snorted and drank any substance they could get their hands on.

You watched him for months- accidental at first, then you found yourself checking outside your window to see if he was there. It was as if he was your own personal dooms-day clock- each time you saw him it was a tick. Somehow you found him far more comforting than the Armageddon timepiece the government kept.

Then you got tired of walking from your desk to the window, and moved it up against the glass. You told yourself there was no harm in thoughtfully gazing at someone…you weren’t harming him or yourself. You liked to pretend you were friends…though you knew he wasn’t even aware of your existence. You bet he had a million odd stories of the world around him- he looked far older than you. Older and harsher.

Then came the day that changed your private little relationship.

The day he stared back.

It had scared you half to death when you had been watching him in your usual daze- silly smile on your face and chin in your palm- and he had paused. He had looked down the street, stopped, then snapped his head up to look you in the eye. He was 25 feet below you yet he saw you so clearly and you felt stripped bare.

You had nearly fallen out of your chair to scramble away from the window; goosebumps had sprung up on your arms and your feet had pins and needles in them. Your heart had leapt into your throat and pounded furiously. It had taken you 10 minutes to finally inch back to the window. To your relief, he was no longer there, but then distress began to set in as you wondered if you had scared him off. He didn’t exactly look blessed with monetary abundance, and you doubted he appreciated a strange woman staring down at him.

The next day, you thought he might not pass your street; having a stranger watch him was likely not on his to-do list and there were hundreds of streets for him to march down instead of yours.

However, even though you agreed with this likelihood of him not coming back, you found yourself unable to complete any work until noon. A call from your employer was the only thing that snapped you out of your reverie, and even then, you could barely focus on your work.

Your knee bounced as you did your best to prioritize, and almost got lost in the work in front of you until out of the corner of your eye, you saw a flicker of red. It was embarrassing how fast you looked down, not that you truly cared.

Your heart jolted. He was there. You didn’t scare him off.

Then, he looked up again.

This time, you didn’t run. You held your ground…and even managed a little wave.

He didn’t wave back, and you even wondered if he saw it.

He only readjusted his sign over his shoulder and kept walking.

What an odd man.

Though you supposed you were just as odd to show such an interest in him.

Perhaps a little perverse…

You blanched at the thought; hoping to god that he didn’t think that.

While making dinner, a thought struck you. You made just a little extra food, and saved it in a container, even writing a note for yourself to not forget to give it to that strange man. You knew it was silly, and forward - truly very unlike you- but in a city where it was next to impossible to make any selfless human connection…you didn’t want this to go to waste. Even if he told you to piss off, at least you could sleep at night knowing you tried.

So you waited.

You truly hoped against hope that your wish to show compassion wouldn’t be seen as anything but what it was…though a part of you began to think you were practically asking for trouble or misinterpretation. The longer you sat the more nonsensical you felt as your knee bounced twice the speed of your heart beat.

It was almost 10 am when he came into your view, only this time it was as if he materialised out of nowhere instead of the slow walk from your right to your left.

You didn’t even wait to see if he would look up.

You didn’t let yourself think.

You dashed to your door, food in hand, and tore down the stairs to the small gate separating your home’s entrance from the figures trudging past. You opened it and stepped out onto the street, trying not to get stepped on by passers-by as you looked for him. To your luck, he was only ten feet down from your building, and before you could stop yourself, you quickened your pace to catch up.

“E-excuse me! Sir?” You called softly once you were behind him. The man came to a slow stop and turned- a stoic look on his face.

Now that this man was in front of you and was giving you his very real attention, you felt your lungs cease their function for a few seconds, no words forming in your mouth either.

He was handsome…in a strange sort of way.

He looked…jagged, and guarded.

Thin, short, and tired…but by god you couldn’t look away. Not until you realized you were staring again.

Simple and to the point.

You looked down at the container of food in your hands that was still warm.

“I’m- I apologise…I wanted you to have this…it’s getting cold.” You said, holding out the food to him.

Most impersonal act of kindness in recorded history, well done.

You returned your eyes to his face, and found him looking right back at you. Neither angry nor kind. He simply looked…beaten. Tired of his life…tired of the world…you didn’t know for certain. But you understood.

Somehow.

“I’m-…I’m sorry for staring. And I hope you’re not allergic to anything…um, there’s a fork in there, you can keep it, good to have, you know?” You knew you were rambling, and very aware that he hadn’t looked away from you once. You fought to hold his gaze, but admittedly it was an intimidating stare.

He turned to walk away, and you felt panic fill you.

“Please take it.” You tried again, but he didn’t say a word.

He silently left you standing there, and you felt like New York’s biggest idiot.

It was the rambling…defiantly the rambling. Oh maybe it was the act itself I mean he probably isn’t used to having that kind of- okay now that’s a bit of an over-assumption…he might have lots of people offering him kindness…and now you’re the one standing on the street staring at a lamppost.

…pull yourself together.

You watched him disappear, just like your pride; whatever had been left of it. Your shoulders began to sag as defeat settled into you and turned your tongue sour.

Which was why you decided to do the exact same thing again the next day.

You waited. Perfectly ready to not see him after that embarrassing display yesterday…but sure enough, there he was.

You noted that he did not not look up today, not that you blamed him.

You were out the door before you could dissuade yourself.

“Mister!” You called.

He didn’t turn this time.

You repeated yourself a little more clearly. “Mister!”

He kept walking. And somehow every time you almost caught up to him, he would slip out of your grasp.

You could only continue like that so far down the street, and eventually had to give up. He was stubborn…and you could be too. You didn’t know this man’s story, and if he didn’t see himself as good enough to receive kindness, then you could continue until he did understand…or until he called the police on you for harassment.

So you did it again. And again.

You told yourself you would try two more times and if he didn’t take them…that would be that. You would have to move on.

You made a rich stew, and even put a few pieces of bread in a bag for him. You steeled your shot nerves, and began to walk down to your entrance before even seeing him.

You saw him coming from a few blocks away, and very slowly made your way into his path. He gradually took in your form, but didn’t pause or even stop. Not until he was a foot from you. But you held your ground.

“Look…I’m not…I don’t know why you won’t let me help you, but I don’t want you to think I’m trying to get some gold star or have you boost my ego by being thankful…I just want to show you kindness and if that’s too much for yo-“

He held his hand out to you, palm up. He didn’t look away, and blinked slowly.

You might not have been the best at reading every person you met, but his message was obvious. “If I take it will you leave me alone?”

You grinned timidly, and placed the food in his hand gently. “Keep the container…they’re good to have.” You said under your breath almost out of habit- it had been something your mother did and now you found yourself doing.

He took it without another word, and you felt a pleasant heat bloom in your chest.

The next day, you childishly watched for him again- as if he was your Santa Clause or Tooth Fairy…although he looked like he might knock someone’s teeth out rather than give them a couple coins for them.

You made a soup that would fill him up and picked up an extra loaf of bread to give him. Both sat on your lap as you sat on your stoop, ready for him. You kept telling yourself you just wanted to help out a lonely soul like yourself, and that you weren’t developing a juvenile crush on the man who hadn’t even spoken to you.

You leaned out periodically to see if you could see him, and found yourself readying your nerves to confront him again.

You sighed and went to lean out again, only to freeze rigidly.

“M-morning-“ you squeaked.

The very man you were waiting for was standing just feet from you, staring, and his free hand in his pocket. As if he had come up from the gutters themselves.

You hadn’t prepared for this kind of sudden interaction, and found yourself mentally throttling your brain to do something.

Anything.

It seemed however that whatever god was above you decided to take mercy on you for once, and the man reached out his hand just as he had the day previously.

You wordlessly handed the food to him then remembered the bread. “Oh! This um is for you too…it’s fresh.” You added, pretending like your cheeks weren’t warm and your hands weren’t shaking.

You smiled gently, but it faded fast when you notices a small group of seedy men approaching the two of you. You didn’t like to instantly label people, but this particular flock of men were well known in the area…you had watched them many a time from the safety of your window.

You instantly began to shrink in on yourself, and it seemed your change in demeanour was enough to catch the older man’s attention. He followed your stare behind him, and his nose momentarily scrunched up in a displeased snarl. A mere twitch.

Vermin.

Rorschach felt something ugly build in him. He knew their faces well…rape, theft, assault, vandalism. These men were true scum under his boot…he hated that he couldn’t put them in their place without his face.

“Hey-yo mammi lookin good!”

“Hey you wanna lift that skirt a little more?”

“Whatcha doin with the little rat, hm?”

You could feel your heart rate pick up as they got closer, and you hoped that they didn’t realize you lived in that building. You wished you didn’t feel so small but-

The older man handed the food back to you without even looking. It was enough to bring you back to reality, and you took it quickly- the last thing you wanted was to antagonise him. Then he turned his body fully to the approaching group, and he waited patiently.

Your heart stopped. Was he about to-

He didn’t move from his stance in front of you, and he almost looked bored. Inconvenienced.

“The fuck you gonna do weasel?” One of them sneered.

That’s not very nice-

They’re not nice PEOPLE

You watched, terrified, as they got into his face and towered over him. The last thing you wanted was for him to get beaten for just being near you-

“What’s your fucking problem huh? Just gonna stare at us with those freak eyes cuz you can’t fight?” Another taunted, guffawing.

You winced, and your eyes unfocused…just like they used to-

But then, something in the men changed like a light switch. With his back to you and now a few feet away, you couldn’t tell if the man had said something, or done something, but what you did know was that the skinniest of the group was clapping the biggest on the shoulder and telling him “The little rat ain’t worth the trouble.” But there was an urgency in him what wasn’t there before.

The men huffed and some blew kisses at you which made you wrap your sweater tighter around yourself wishing you could disappear. Your eyes refocused as you heard them walk away, and you slowly looked over at the older man who was now half turning back to you.

You stared at him, your appreciation evident on you face. “I- Thank you sir…I don’t…” Don’t want to think of what might have happened if you weren’t here, you wanted to say, but you kept it simple instead. You sighed and shook your head, then held out your offering to him, and the bread you were sure he would like.

The man stared, and rose his right brow slightly, then took both from you. He turned and left you there as if it was a normal day.

Your heart was still beating wildly by the time he had left your sight, and you couldn’t help but feel a warmth spread through you as you thought about him defending you; even if it was simply him not in the mood to witness a young woman have her dignity taken…he had done something, and that made you stare after him longer than usual.

You didn’t ask why he came back at all.

Nor why he was right by your stoop that morning.

And you never inquired as to why he never asked why you didn’t give him money.

He knew why you didn’t. Perhaps not enough to make a full admission to himself but he sensed something in you…that stupid little girl. You didn’t give him money because money was too easy to fall into sin. Gambling, drugs, whores…all for money.

You wanted your kindness to stay as it was intended to be- good.

The warmth you had felt stewed in your stomach right through to the next day; you had made your way to your favourite shops early that morning and picked up a few bags of things to cook with. Then as you went to turn to your building, you paused.

You knew that red hair a mile away, and you only needed to look a few feet to see it resting against your stoop entrance.

He-

You looked around at nothing as if someone might tell you what you were seeing.

He was sat there on your building’s steps, newspaper in hand…reading. You considered continuing walking down the street and pretending like you didn’t see him or live there, but you felt silly even considering such a thing.

He didnt look up at you, and didn’t acknowledge you as you slowly approached the steps.

“Morning.” You said gently. Your cheeks began to flush when you looked at him- attempting to retrieve your keys from your pocket without tripping. It came out almost absentmindedly, seeing as you didn’t exactly want him to know that you had been fixated on how to approach him…although you supposed you had already had blown that when you watched for him every day and chased him with food…

He didn’t say a word.

An anxious knot began to tighten in your stomach. You truly didn’t know what to do…you didn’t want to seem rude if he just hadn’t heard you. You got to the first step and glanced down at your hot coffee. You wondered if he was able to speak at all…At this point, when you figured you were mostly talking to yourself and that he likely barely listened to a word you said.

“You need this more than I do…it’s September now…getting cold.” You bent down, hoping your paper bags didn’t rip, and placed it onto the second step by his boot.

You wanted to ask him why he was on your steps; wondered if he was waiting for you; wondered if he might clasp a hand over your mouth and slit your throat the moment you walked past him. It wasn’t that you wanted to think the worst, but after years of seeing the worst in the city, you couldn’t help it. You hoped that you were wrong, for you sanity’s sake.

The man still hadn’t acknowledged you, and your arms were growing heavy. With nothing left to do, you opted to walk past him and unlocked the door; chancing a glance back at his form. Perhaps you were delusional, but you swore you saw his head turning back to its original position. Had his gaze followed you?

A glance.

It was small and secret and you were elated.

You wasted no time in running up the stairs into your apartment, and grabbing the food you had saved from the night before. You counted the seconds mentally that it took for you to descend the stairs again, hoping it wouldn’t be enough time for the man to disappear.

You nearly tripped on the last step when you saw him standing and folding the newspaper. In another attempt to regain your composure, you slowed your pace as you came to the top of the stoop. You almost handed the food to him from there, but it made you feel like someone with a saviour complex instead of just trying to be nice. The tentative step you took down to his level seemed to finally grasp his vague attention as he looked down at your feet then up to your face.

You held the food out by his gloved hand.

“I hope you’re okay, mister.” You said earnestly, holding his gaze, “It’s horrible out there.” You didn’t know what made you say that, but it had been something that weighed on your mind for months…perhaps years. A dormant thought that his picket sign had awakened.

The man took the food, and it was then that you noted a certain despondency in his eyes. Perhaps it was the way his weathered face made them stand out so much more amongst the lines of age.

He left you there again just like he always did: silently.

Just as you were about to wander back up into your home, you glanced down and stopped and smiled.

There sat the coffee cup you had handed him.

It was empty.

Perhaps he was accepting your gestures in hopes of having you eventually leave him alone, but you were only fuelled by his recipiency. It became a routine for you to keep extra food for that man. Even if you ordered take-out, you kept some for him.

You noticed, however, that not long after you made contact with the strange man, a few things started happening to you that certainly had not before. In fact, you were beginning to ponder your sleep quality as you often woke up to far less food than when you had gone to sleep. Were you sleep walking? Or simply forgetting all together how much you had eaten?

Then came the dreams. At least a few times out of the week, your dream-addled mind swirled with unclear images of someone or something visiting you at night- a shadow, a whisper, a puff of smoke in the wind. You swore you woke up with things moved, but there was no forced entry that you could find, and thus you never thought more of it than you needing more sleep.

Weeks passed as you took it upon yourself to care for this man, even though he seemed to dislike the company. You knew he found you childish, it was beyond evident in his face when he stared at you. But even still, he took what you offered him, albeit begrudgingly.

Each time you saw him, a part of your heart felt bruised. Not that you pitied him -you were certain he would resent any pity- but you could tell when a person was damaged. Be it from something personal or the world itself…it didn’t matter. You were all hurt in your own way. You wondered how long it had been since someone was kind to him; had he known much kindness at all? Had he lost everything? Did he have anything to lose in the first place?

You hoped you could provide him with a tiny little ray of hope amongst the arduous reality.

Perhaps you were too optimistic like your mother had said when you were little…but you didn’t care. Not when it helped you sleep at night and get through the days of listening to the dwindling city below you.

But then, he stopped coming.

It had been a full month and a half since he had first accepted your offering. You had gotten so used to your routine that the first morning it happened, you felt sick- like a punch to your gut. You heart had dropped to your toes and your tongue felt heavy and your ears rang. You instantly thought the worst. Of course you tried to rationalise it, telling yourself that he most likely just wanted a change in his route and would be gone for that day…or perhaps he simply got sick and didn’t go for his usual walk.

When you sat there at your window, having gone back up dejectedly, you found yourself staring into nothingness. You hadn’t realized how attached you had become to that little man.

This man who never spoke had become a friend of sorts…some kind of stanger who gave you a tiny bit of human contact that you grew dependant on. It wasn’t as if he was kind to you, in fact he was a little standoffish when it came to you…you wondered if you bothered him more than anything else…and the more you thought about it the more you realized you probably did.

That night came and went; quiet and lonely aside from those strange dreams. Your eyes prickled when you awoke- already feeling empty.

You felt so silly. So selfish. Ridiculous really.

You felt even more ridiculous when you called in sick to work even though you couldn’t afford it. You found yourself wandering the streets without the slightest idea where that man came from or what his routine was, so you picked some directions to try and set off. There was no plan, you just needed to know that the one person you actually cared about wasn’t laying dead in an alley, at the very least.

It took three hours.

Three.

Asking various vendors and urchins of the streets before you were pointed in the direction that ultimately led you to that tuft of dirty red hair. He was passing by a news stand, that simple pace carrying him as always.

“Mister!” You called before you could tell yourself this was stalking…and the fact that you had no plan whatsoever.

The only indication that he heard you was when the man’s steps faltered for a moment. A slight pause in his foot and a tightening of his shoulders.

You ran to him, and moved into his field of vision. He stared at you almost like a stranger, and that stung you more than it should have. But you did your best to remain calm and kind.

“I haven’t- you-“ you tried, but failed to catch your breath, “I thought something had happened to you…but I’m so glad to see you safe. Can I- can I buy you lunch?” You asked him.

The man stared at you hard, that line between his brows even more pronounced than usual. He was thinking.

Rorschach loathed how bare he was without his face. If he wasn’t in disguise he wouldn’t hesitate to tell you to take your pity elsewhere, anything to get you to unstick yourself from him.

When he didn’t budge, you shifted on your feet, looking around to break his intense eye contact, “I- you dont have to repay me or anything…just a bite to eat. I care about you…- more than I should probably.”

“You shouldn’t.”

You almost jumped at the voice that left him.

That was the first time he had said a word to you, and you admittedly never would have thought that that would be his voice- it was so deep and hoarse that you shivered.

Then you realised what he had said.

“I sh-…why?” You asked, scrunching your brows together.

He hated his weakness in finally speaking. You would never let go now.

“People like you don’t care about people like me, and vice versa.” His words came in a rumble, and they tore you down so easily. A stomp to your heart.

You tried to pretend like tears weren’t welling in your eyes; like you were stronger than the curt, sharp words of a man you barely knew. “And what kind of people are my people?” You pushed, though it sounded more desperate than you wanted.

His face was pure stone. “Good people.”

You swallowed. “And you’re bad?” The question was timid; any wind that had been in your sails was long gone as soon as he had opened his mouth.

“Yes.” He rasped. Rorschach didn’t have the patience to baby you, and frankly his temper was rising the more you made him speak.

“Call me naive…but you don’t seem bad to me…you look…worn down.” You shrugged. “You seem like you need a little good in your life…and I really want to help you with that-“

“No you don’t.”

He said it so quickly it was as if he had practiced it or said it before. You wondered how many times he had gotten hurt.

As you searched for any retort, he continued, and began to stalk towards you causing you to back away. “You don’t want to help with anything. What you want is to feel a little less self absorbed than you already do but in doing so you only fall further into your pathetic, egocentric existence. You think you’re being compassionate? Look again. You’re nothing but a privileged little girl looking for a new toy until she gets bored and wants another one. Look in the mirror for once and see what you really are, you wretch.”

His words rang in your ears, and you felt lightheaded. He stared you down a moment longer, then he was turning around and disappeared into the crowd before you could find a rebuttal or feel your hands. You were numb.

Your heart ached as much as your feet did, if not more.

No…certainly more. You felt nauseated.

It was as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped on you from the top of one of the skyscrapers above you. You felt cold and breathless.

You didn’t remember walking home, but you must have seeing as you were sitting on your couch, coat off and tears dry by 6 pm.

You never thought he cared that much; thought he just saw you as a free meal and you were alright with that…but hearing what he had thought of you all along made you want to double over at your stupidity.

Had he been obvious in his distain and you just hadn’t noticed? You supposed it had been you who forced him to take your food in the first place…he had tried to get away from you but never could because you were so persistent. You were selfish in your want to help, and it had angered him terribly.

And you had lied to yourself; you had told yourself that if he told you to piss off, you would just have to accept that…but here you were with him telling you just that and you couldn’t handle it.

You should have known it was only a matter of time before you pushed this stranger too far…

He was like a wild dog; he would respect you…and then he wouldn’t.

And now you felt even worse for comparing him to a dog.

You hung your head in your hands and let your tears fall. In your want to help someone you had only made an enemy, and made yourself feel more alone than ever.

But that one morning still played over and over if your mind- when he hadn’t let that gang of men get any closer to you; he could have so easily just taken the food and walked away to leave you to their mercy…but he had stood his ground.

Your head ached as you tried to rationalise everything and piece it together.

But all you could come up with was that he thought you were a horrible person…and you were starting to believe him. You supposed you were nothing more than a caterer for him and you had pushed his boundaries too much.

It was all your fault.

A week passed. Every night, you still made the extra food for him, only now you left it out on the stoop since you didn’t see him anymore; hoping he might wander by when you weren’t looking. But you felt your heart ache when it was untouched. On more than one occasion the food was taken, but you assumed it wasn’t your…friend.

Of course, you had no idea that the very man you urned for sat beside those containers almost every night for at least an hour without his face. He never touched what you left for him, and he stared at it in distain. You were young, and you were stupid. He gathered he couldn’t even call you a whore yet…hell you almost had a pretentious halo around you from being born still. He wondered how it felt to be so utterly ignorant.

Rorschach hated that he knew more about you than you thought. That he had taken up the habit of perching on your fire escape outside your window as he wrote in his journal, and you cooked or read.

What he didn’t know was why you did this. Rorschach was a master of puzzles and he loathed that he couldn’t figure your motive out, not fully at least.

You said you cared.

Said you wanted to help…

Stupid.

There was no way in hell that anything you said was true. There was some kind of poison lacing your words and he had already let himself be exposed too long. No one liked Walter Kovacs, and no one liked Rorschach; they used him and worked with him…but like?

No.

A young woman liking him?

Unheard of.

Preposterous.

But that first day you had come to him on that filthy street had felt like an itch had been scratched. For months he had felt eyes on him on that particular stretch of street, but when he had finally spotted you upon your little perch, he felt what it was like to have a question answered for once. It had startled him. You had startled him. He had imagined it was an old, fat creep spying on the passers-by or a whore looking for a client…just like her…

But then there you were- this soft young woman with clean clothes and a gentle stare; you had almost fallen out of your seat, red cheeks visible even from his view point below.

Just another strange woman then.

Then…and only then when you had burst out onto the street, and run after him did he allow himself to look at you. Actually look at you.

You had looked irritatingly familiar.

There was a timidness to your eyes- a sadness that had turned to kindness. A stark contrast to the sadness in his own eyes- a sadness that had turned to venom and ice long ago.

Your voice was soft as you spoke all in a rush and apologising as you held that peace offering to him. A warm meal.

Selfless.

You were young, and selfless.

You didn’t care that he was as filthy as the street you stood on. That he hadn’t even spoken a word.

You had just wanted to help.

Stupid.

Rorschach was pleased that he had chosen to leave you there; he wasn’t one to pick up strays.

But you were stubborn. He loathed how stubborn you were. Treating him like he was a bug under your microscope.

That next time when he finally took your selfish, presumptuous offering, he considered not eating the food lest it be poisoned, but then again that wouldn’t be the worst thing he had endured in his lifetime.

He had watched you retreat back into your little home like some little, pathetic mouse.

He wasn’t young, or stupid, or naive, or innocent.

He wasn’t about let his gaze wander to some girl who would be a whore in a year or two.

At least that was what he had told himself up until night fell. Once the city was plunged into darkness and his disguise came off, Rorschach clenched his bloodied knuckles as he scaled a near-by building. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop until he came to a familiar neighbourhood. Rorschach had huffed behind his mask, and crawled down the ladder system to your window; a sick, juvenile curiosity making him feeble. Contempt flooded him.

He sat outside your window…watched you as you put yourself to sleep; tugging frustratedly at your night-dress when it bunched up under your blanket. There was an innocence to you that made his nostrils flare under his mask and his ears ring; as if an old memory was trying to resurface. It was ludicrous, of course.

Your window had opened surprisingly quietly, and he soundlessly eased himself inside. Your home was simple and comfortable despite likely having a landlord who didn’t give two shits about you. Tidy enough for a young woman. Rorschach stalked from shadow to shadow, mapping out the apartment. Then he came to your bedroom, and he paused; watched how gently you breathed as sleep took you. As if you didn’t have a care in the world, or perhaps you simply weren’t aware of the scum that lay below you.

He told himself he was just collecting information on this strange person who had extended him a disingenuous olive branch. Nothing more.

It wasn’t that there was an itch in his hands when he saw you, or a twitch in his eye when he heard your voice; that you got under his skin.

You little creature.

A little light that had turned on in his dark world.

He hated the light.

He stared at the dress that you had worn that day- draped over the back of a chair in the corner of your room. It had sat at your knee, a modest length especially given your young age. It wasn’t often that a young woman attempted to protect herself with a show of dignity. He gathered you must be hiding something…

You were odd. A sliver of grey in his black and white world.

He hated grey. It made no sense.

Then there was the routine that you forced him to partake in.

He found his steps slowing when he passed your building- not out of expectation but out of a foolishness that made him engage in the childish game you laid out.

Your presence ate away at him like a corrosive acid.

Each day he expected you to not be there. To disappoint him like everyone else.

But you never disappointed him, and he loathed it.

There was twice where he had made it past your building with no sign of you, and he had decided that the game was done and he could carry on with his existence, but then that frantic little voice of yours would make him stop. Calling after him like he was so important. Like you needed to give him your kindness as much as you assumed he needed to receive it.

Then he found himself slipping.

So stupid.

Putting off jobs or rerouting himself to pass your window. Just a glimpse- a reassurance that you were alright like double checking that you have your wallet when you leave the house.

Then it wasn’t enough. He began to sleep there on your stoop, picket sign beside him like an old friend. He didn’t care if he saw you in the mornings, but he saw the type of people who frequented the area and he wasn’t about to let a single one get past your door. He didn’t need the blood of a foolish woman on his hands as well.

The image of your bloodied, violated limp body made his stomach churn; just like it had when he found Blair Roche’s remains. And that was what scared him- or the closest thing he could feel to fear.

He held this pristine little being in his pale hand, and he knew that the longer he held it, the more likely it became that he would ruin it. Crush you in his palm just like that man had done to that little girl all those years ago…taking Walter Kovacs with him.

And he would not drag you down with him. He would not stoop to that monster’s level.

So he stopped showing you his disguise. He couldn’t have you know he was there, just like the rest of New York. He needed you to forget about him; treat him like a ghost you saw out of the corner of your eye.

When he was across the city that morning and still heard your voice behind him, he had felt his muscles tighten in distain.

Because then it wasn’t a game anymore. He was done.

But you were so insistent that you cared.

You truly cared.

You had spent god knows how long looking for him.

As soon as he had heard you, he had to steel his composure lest you attempt to lure him back into your scheme.

He hated that you had gotten him to speak, but he had watched you crumble under his words; it was alright that you were upset. He could handle that far easier than your kindness- perhaps you might even grow from a little cruelty.

Weeks passed, and he found himself returning to his usual schedule; almost appreciating the simplicity of the dullness and angst.

It was a Tuesday night when Rorschach sat on an old roof top, jotting down his visit to Daniel Dreiberg’s home- noting that he had gotten even lazier with his physique and needed to stop lying to himself about the state of the world. The odd scream and rushed fuck in an alley-way rang out below him here and there; the usual.

Dull, really. He sighed, and tucked the book inside his coat. He leaped down to the neighbouring roof, and trudged along it.

Then from down below, he swore he heard a familiar voice.

Rorschach almost rolled his eyes as he came to the edge of the roof and looked down. It was dark, but he knew your voice from a mile away- you had forced that skill upon him.

You were backing away from five men, all considerably more imposing than yourself and your warm drink. Hot chocolate to be exact. You always had at least one once a week…taking a stroll to a small coffee house-

Rorschach ground his fist into the brick to halt his unnecessary thoughts as he crouched.

He listened to the men taunt you, and saw them back you into an alley wall.

He watched, bored, waiting to see what might happen. Then the more he listened, the more he came to realize that the conversation being had sounded familiar.

“What you thought I’d be locked up forever, pumpkin? Nah they just needed some good behaviour ‘n that was enough for them to slap my ass outta there.” One of them laughed, and he neared your cowering form.

Rorschach noted just how badly you shook.

“What? You’re not happy to see me? Cmon now, don’t you have a kiss for daddy, hm?” The man sneered, successfully trapping you against the disgusting alley wall.

Rorschach began creeping down closer to hear, his eye twitching under his face when he watched the other men keep a look out and stare at you like meat on a plate.

“There you were thinking you were so smart with that speech of yours… “My boyfriend raped me and made me watch him launder all the money.”.”, he put on a horrible high pitched voice to mock you, “God you sounded pathetic. 15 fucking years…got out in 7…missed you, you know?”

Rorschach’s brain itched as he tried to recall this particular monster…it was all so-

Then it clicked.

That nagging familiarity of your face wasn’t a coincidence. He had seen you before, of course he had. He felt so stupid.

He had been outside the courthouse after you had given your heartbreaking testimony and that vile man was sentenced to 15 years for assault, murder, rape, and money laundering with attachments to drug trafficking to the homeless. Some monster with a god complex. He had seen you come down the stairs, one of your eyes still black, and head down as the onslaught of reporters and media flocked to you. You had been in the damn paper, why the hell didn’t he remember that. You were barely legal too…he remembered how his stomach had churned-

Your scream snapped him out of his memory, and he was leaping down into that alley before you could finish your cry for help. You sounded so terrified.

As Rorschach landed, a knife was held up to your lips, ready to carve your face. He felt rage fill his veins; was there no end to the putrid barbarians that staked their claim on what they saw fit?

He cleared his throat. Each head turned to him, including yours, as he stood.

As one of the most recognizable figures of New York’s underbelly, Rorschach was used to the look of fright directed at him. What he was not used to was the look of solace that washed over your tight features once your eyes locked onto his inkblot face.

Rorschach found something rewarding in your eyes.

Fuel.

The man holding your throat nodded for the man closest to Rorschach to attack first, which he did. His neck snapping echoed louder than your sobs.

The cold knife poked carelessly into your soft cheek, and you did your best to squirm away.

The next man to lunge at the vigilante smashed his bottle of beer against the brick wall, smirking as if his glass weapon would do any good. Rorschach let him get close. Then faster than a bullet he snatched the man’s weapon-laden hand and squeeze tight; the bottle breaking easily in his fist and puncturing the man’s hand like a balloon on a tack.

Two other men attempted to assault Rorschach, and each time he found such generous abundance of horror and dread in their eyes right before he gifted them each with an irreversible injury.

One after another, the men fell, until it was just Rorschach, the man holding you, and you.

He knew the dog had a name- knew he had heard it specifically- but he couldn’t bring himself to care. No doubt he would hear it over a news channel tomorrow.

The lout man held you tight, and knocked your head against the wall to stun you before turning to Rorschach. You slumped to the ground and watched as the masked vigilante took measured steps to him as if to speed up the process.

You had heard of the Watchmen before, and the countless criminals they had put away and subsequent lives they had saved…but Rorschach wasn’t what you had imagined. He didn’t tell you to save yourself or ask if you were alright. He was silent.

And somehow you found comfort in that-as if you were in the fight with him instead of a damsel in distress. You couldn’t look away, even going so far as looking for something to immobilize the brute of a man who had stolen so much from you all those years ago when you didn’t know any better.

Then once you looked up again, he was down in a heap.

You didn’t even see the altercation, but regardless there was an evident dent in the side of his bleeding head.

The filthy alley floor dug into your knees as you sat and stared. Your mind was playing catch-up with your eyes, and you felt as if the world had been eradicated from your shoulders.

You felt tears well in your eyes and a line of gratitude on your tongue.

Then the masked man turned to you and your entire world shifted when he spoke.

“Go home.” Was all he said.

But it wasn’t how he said it or what he said.

It was his voice.

You knew that voice.

You missed that voice.

You had wanted so badly to understand that voice…

Even the compact build and attitude were right.

Your lungs burned from you forgetting to breathe for a moment.

You stared up at his looming figure, eyes wide and tears long forgotten.

“It’s you…” you whispered. “You’re Rorschach.”

He let out a noise that sounded akin to a growl and a sigh. The sound send a shiver through your cold body. Then without another word, he pulled out a grappling hook like you had seen on the news, launched it, and disappeared into the smog and thick dark.

Rorschach berated himself for hours following the incident. So badly that he beat an old pimp into a coma and ripped his face off to breathe as he sat on a fire escape.

This was a nightmare.

You knew him. Knew his face and his voice.

He had slipped.

Stupid stupid stupid stupid.

There was only one thing he could think of that might rectify it, and it didn’t include you living.

He sighed.

Rorschach stood outside your door, returned to his disguise, and found that he could hear your footsteps through the thin wood. You were cleaning… doing something to distract yourself. Your hands were shaking judging by how you kept dropping things.

He knocked three times, and heard you pause at the sound. Paranoid. Frightened. You very quietly approached the door, and took a look through your peephole before falling completely silent.

You weighed your options; you could not open the door, and risk that pissing him off and breaking the door down…or you could open it and simply speed up the process of whatever it was he wanted. It took ten seconds before you pulled the door open for him.

There was no hiding how startled you were by him being there…now that you knew exactly who he was.

You were looking for something he say, he could practically hear your mind working away…up until your eyes fell on his bashed cheek and the blood drying there. You hadn’t realised he had gotten hit during the fight.

“Y-you’re hurt,” you murmured, and he nodded, not letting his eyes leave you. You sighed and stood aside, “Come in.”

He stared at you for a moment, then slowly walked past you into your home as if it was the first time he had been there. Like he didn’t know the layout and where you slept and how you folded your clothes or the hangers you used.

“Sit down.” You gestured to the couch, and offered a very small smile as if to reassure him that he was welcome there. That you weren’t holly terrified of him.

Rorschach sat, and watched you as you approached him with a cloth and small bowl of water. You sat close to him, and brought the cloth up to his cheek after wringing it out, but he caught your wrist before you could get any nearer.

He looked at you. Truly looked at you. Looked through you.

“You shouldn’t waste your tears on something so undeserving as a man.” He rumbled.

Your eyes were locked on his, and you felt as if all air was sucked out of you. You still weren’t used to that voice of his; pure gravel.

His words hung heavy in your ears, and you realized that you must have looked like an absolute mess- tears still drying on your cheeks from sobbing for your life in the alley.

He watched you take the tactless comment and he slowly released your wrist, and you gently began to clean his injury and grime on his face. There was a firm line between your brows as your worked- wiping the sharp planes of his face while trying to ignore his eyes on you, burning a hole through your skull.

His face came clean, and your bowl of water was murky and pink. This was possibly the most surreal nights you had had in a very long time. You went to get up but again, his hand caught your forearm and kept you seated. You looked from his hand to his face, staying quiet.

“Why are you helping me?” He snipped, grip tight.

You blinked, and searched his handsome face for any idea why he might doubt you aside from the fear he caused you.

You shook your head, “Why wouldnt-“

“Why?” Rorschach snarled, pulling you so close that you breathed the same air- those cold blue eyes of his harsh and intimidating.

You gasped, but refused to look away. His grip hurt, but he had saved your life and you were afraid that if you said or did the wrong thing he would disappear again. It was pathetic, you knew that, but you felt a strange bond to him.

And though he didn’t want to admit it, he felt an odd attachment to you as well.

For 45 years he had only ever seen the greed and filth that came from humanity; shaped from it, starting from the very womb he was born from. Lies and hatred, murder and rape and theft and horror beyond your imagination. For him to find your grey in amongst the rubble of humanity, it felt like good gold. He was waiting to rub away a coating of false innocence and find another piece of coal.

But there you were…coming whiter and whiter until-

Rorschach didn’t like being wrong. Being surprised. It was tedious.

But it would be a lie if he said you were anything but one of the innocents.

A good person.

Each of the deeds you had done for him had in fact come from a place of benevolence, and not deceit.

Rorschach let his grip on you lighten.

Despite your brain cautioning you of the vigilante in front of you, you simply stared back at him and ignored how strong his hold on you was.you did note that he released you slightly, the same moment his eye twitched.

“I think there’s something to that old saying of a wounded soul recognizing another wounded soul…you looked like you had some decency left in you, sir…please don’t tell me I was wrong.” Your voice was soft. Gentle. But no less direct than his. You were kind, not weak, and you were hoping against hope that he wasn’t like America’s favourite hero, the Comedian when it came to women; a line of them out his door begging for his sexual attention and him using them then tossing them aside as he pleased.

“Or maybe I’m just stupid.” You shrugged and looked away, afraid he might confirm your statement. You wouldn’t put it past him to be blunt.

Rorschach almost reacted to your use of that word. For so long he had labeled you as such, and while you might very well still be…he was sceptical to assume anything of you. He continued to stare, his sharp eyes cutting into you like you were a cloud of vapour. He relaxed his grip on you again, and stared at where he had held your arm- red finger marks forming on your clean skin. You must have washed yourself as soon as you had gotten home…scrubbed yourself clean from those vermin.

Good.

“I have…I have some dinner I was going to-um…well bring down for you…if you want it.” You began to shift uncomfortably under his gaze when he looked back at you. You swore he stared more than he spoke.

He nodded after a moment, and you smiled a little.

An incandescent sight.

“Okay.” You whispered, finally getting up. It was surreal.

Rorschach watched you go, noting that a pleasant scent followed after you.

Why did he notice that?

You walked to your little kitchen, and placed the dirty cloth and water in the sink before going to grab the pot of warm soup. You filled a bowl for him, and turned around to grab a spoon when you froze and jumped back, spilling some soup.

You hadn’t even heard him walk up behind you, didn’t even feel him even though he was a mere breath away.

“What are you…?” You murmured.

He watched you startle, and looked for any last ill intent or motive; any snark comment or any price you might want to put on your kindness…but nothing came.

It never did.

His breath was on your face, and you could only stare at him. There was a tragedy to him, hidden under the dirt, and he was impossible to read. He might have been plotting your gruesome death and you would have no idea.

Rorschach focused on you.

Fixated.

So innocent…white and pristine amongst the blood, filth and rot of his world. He hated it. Hated how you were allowed to be like that; a poster child for something that didn’t exist freely.

He sighed, pursing his mouth.

You had chosen this; you had decided to care for him. You had lead him down this path.

You had given yourself to him.

You looked away for a moment, and gingerly placed the bowl down before you spilled it. Then before you could think of anything to say with this dangerous man who was a hair away from you, you felt the skin of his lips catch yours when you turned back.

You wouldn’t call it a kiss- it was more of a hook or bait. A test. But when he did it again…that was a kiss; tentative and slight as it was. He heard your breath catch , and could feel the heat from your cheeks as they warmed and flushed.

You blushed.

Whores didn’t blush.

He kissed you again, with a little more force, and your hands came up slowly to his chest, resting there like you hadn’t decided if you wanted to draw him closer or push him away.

He might have been one of the most infamous men in New York…if not America, but he was flesh and blood underneath that mask. He was warm, and sturdy.

Rorschach was far from weak, but when he felt your soft lips brush back against his, he felt something deep inside him snap.

A low growl rumbled in his chest and he unclenched his fists; bringing his calloused hands up to grab the back of your head and your jaw to draw you closer as he backed you hard against the counter.

It was messy and Rorschach held you possesively as you gave into him. Your teeth clanked together, and your rhythm was fueled with need as he nipped and bullied his tongue into your eager mouth. He gripped your hair so tight it hurt your roots but you didn’t dare tell him to stop.

He only removed his hands from you to shuck off his jacket and gloves, mouth still sealed over yours, and then they were back on you. Grabbing at your flesh, drawing you closer; chest flush against yours.

You shakily forced your hands between and the two of you and began unbuttoning his shirt- the older man hummed in regards to your tremor.

You nervously loosened his tie and let your hands wander over the skin of his collar and chest. You hadn’t expected him to be so strong, but knowing who he was, it only made sense. Before you could get any further he weaved his fingers into your hair and pulled your head away from him.

Rorschach held you there for a moment, soaking in how you stilled so obediently; staring at you as his free hand began to gather the hem of your little night dress. He huffed, and gave your roots a quick squeeze, and the message was clear: “Stay.”

Then once he was satisfied with your cooperation, he brought his other hand down to the other side of your nightie and brought the garment up and over your head with ease. He let it fall to the ground, and you followed its descent; unable to look at the older man now that you were left in your panties while he was still almost fully clothed.

He placed two fingers under your chin to force you to look at him; you felt your blush deepen when you saw how blown his pupils were. He looked determined, and feral- deep breaths making his chest heave.

Before you could say a word, Rorschach scooped you into his arms and didn’t even pretend to not know where your bedroom was. A gasp escaped you, and your wrapped your arms around his shoulders. He carried you with little effort, and had you plopped down on your mattress in seconds. The older man crawled over you before you could even sit up; lips on yours, kissing you so hard your mouth grew tender. He only paused to pull back and kick off his trousers.

Then he was everywhere.

Rough hands grabbing at your soft skin; low rumbles and hums in his chest that vibrated against you and made you need him even more. He kissed and bit at you- marking you as his. You held onto his strong shoulders, whimpering and moaning quietly as he made you forget your own name and only know his.

Rorschach bit into your neck, and rocked firmly against you. You could feel him scorching and pulsing against your core, rubbing hard against you to create friction that had you forgetting to breathe.

“P-please” you whispered, raising your hips up to meet his.

The man stopped, and you immediately regretted saying anything. He pulled away to stare down at you. You thought you had done something wrong until he spoke.

“Say that again.” He murmured, his nose brushing yours.

Your quick beating heart was so clear for him to see, along with your nearly black eyes; the throbbing vein in your neck and pulse in your chest.

“Please…” you said again, lips red and swollen.

He sucked in a breath. Having your warm, soft skin against his bare chest was the first human contact he had felt in decades. It made him feel…human. He was fighting to maintain his practiced composure, but he could feel it slipping through his fingers with that one word.

“Again.” He rasped against your lips, throat tight; invading every inch of your space. He knew he shouldn’t ask it of you, but be needed this. He needed you to say it again.

You swallowed.

“…please.” Came your timid, needy voice. Your hands started to fidget as he refused to look away, barely blinking as he took you in. Drank your generous vulnerability.

Rorschach hummed low in his chest.

“You’re mine.” He growled simply, the skin of his lips catching yours as he spoke.

Your mind was gone already, sitting in that bowl of cold soup on the counter.

You could only nod.

He sighed through his nose, and then it was as if the last part of his restraint broke. Rorschach locked his lips onto yours, and you parted yours to gasp as his hand came to your hip- squeezing and stroking your skin. His tongue moved against yours and you let out a surprised moan that he swallowed greedily. Then just as quickly, he ripped himself away from you, and you watched his veiny hands as they pulled himself from his boxers; painfully hard and leaking precum. You’d be lying in you said you hadn’t thought highly inappropriate things about the man- something about his simplicity and your need to please him. He lowered himself over you, resting his weight onto you as he bit at your lips.

Low hums would rumble through him and you couldn’t help but think he was purring. He perched onto his forearms, and shifted closer; you gasped when you felt the tip of his cock against your entrance, and choked out a cry when it entered you without warning.

There was no sweetness. It was blunt, and clear as day.

Rorschach rested his head into your neck as he hunkered over you and pushed forward, then drew back; fucking himself into you. You were no virgin, but you might as well have been. It only took two brutal thrusts before his hips were flush with yours and you were clinging to him pathetically.

You whimpered in his ear at the stretch of him so deep inside you. You couldn’t help but squirm slightly in an attempt to get used to him. Rorschach brought a hand to rest at the nape of your neck to keep you still as he drew out of you again then snapped back into you, making your body bounce under him. It was as if he was testing you…or perhaps testing himself.

Then you felt a puff of his hot breath as he quickened his pace, taking full advantage of how soaked you were for him. You could feel him throb inside you, and you suddenly remembered that he was only a man…a much older man who was rutting inside you like he owned you. The thought alone had you moan into his shoulder as his fat tip dragged against your insides and bruised your cervix. You rolled your hips with him, gasping at how hard he gripped your hip and neck.

He was possessive and harsh in his need for you. Like a man who had been starved and you were his first meal.

And he would devour you.

You felt his pace pick up and his thrusts turned harder and sloppier. He locked his arms around your shoulders to keep you still as he bruised your pelvis. Your back arched and hips met his in a need to feel every inch of him. You hooked your legs behind him to bring him closer. You could feel him huff into your neck, a rumble in his chest.

“I-inside me- please…” you managed to croak out, though you doubted he would listen to any request that he didn’t like at that point. He was going to make you his in every sense, and that meant filling you with his cum.

Rorschach growled deep into your shoulder and bit into your flesh. You felt him pulse inside you, then a warmth spread inside your navel as he emptied his cum into you. It had a comfort to it that made you cling to him, nuzzling your face into his strong shoulder. Ragged breaths were in your ear as he hammered into you a few more times like he was proving a point. Making sure you knew that you were his now…his secret.

You panted with him, and clenched reflexively as he began to pull out. You already missed the warmth he brought you. His shoulders were visibly more relaxed as he moved to lay beside you, and you slowly grasped his jaw and brushed your lips against his, which he returned ever harder. You pulled away, and you liked that he hummed when you did.

The man beside you leaned up onto his arm to stare down at you thoughtfully. As if he was trying to read something on you. Your skin flushed with warmth under his scrutiny, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to tell him that you didn’t cum.

When you moved your hand down between your legs where his cum now leaked from you, you twitched. Every inch of your skin was hypersensitive and when you touched your clit you almost flinched at the contact. All of which instantly drew the attention of the man beside you. He stared at you intently- a deep line between his red brows.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

His scrutiny was jarring, though you noticed it wasn’t judgemental…it was studious. Curious. You looked away from him, and felt very naked under his gaze, afraid he might ridicule you for something like that. It wouldn’t be the first time you had gone to take care of yourself and a man had almost laughed in your face.

“I’m…I didn’t um…” you tried, but he watched you so closely, and felt as if he was studying you.

He was.

Then he understood. His eyes widened ever so slightly.

“Oh…” he rasped, looking down where your hand had been. You bit your thumb nail as you waited to see what he would do or say. You liked this man more than you would care to admit, but you knew men could be selfish…and uncaring…and mean. Hell, you had never had anyone make you cum besides yourself, and your expectations were not-

Your thoughts were halted when you felt the warmth of his calloused hand on yours. You watched as he very simply took your hand from your mouth, and returned it to between your thighs, and looked back at you expectantly. At first it felt like a slap in the face, as if he was telling you to take care of yourself…but with how intensely he was gazing at you, you realised he was examining your every move. You moved your fingers and he regarded them carefully. Like it mattered greatly to him.

The older man committed everything to memory; when you petted, when you were gentle, when you moaned, when you pressed harder, when you stroked, when you arched your back, when your hand started to shake, when your brows pitched up, when you slipped your fingers inside yourself.

You found yourself unable to look away from him even as your eyes drooped and your mouth dropped open in a permanent sigh. Your breaths were coming in little gasps, and you didn’t even notice he was just as effected as you- his chest heaving as he took deep, controlled breaths.

You slowly pumped your fingers inside yourself, stroking your g-spot; then gasped out a soft whine at the contact on your sensitive flesh, at which point Rorschach deemed to be enough watching for his liking. He snatched your little hand and replaced it with his own far larger and rougher hand.

You gasped when he touched you so accurately…but this time you gasped for him.

He leaned over you, his lips just a breath away as if to breathe in your whines and pleas. Watching what he did to you.

His thumb drew small, feathery circles around your clit; alternating between direct but tentative touch, and agonizingly slow strokes that didn’t quite touch it. You began to pant, and your hands found his strong shoulders- hanging on like a lifeline. The older man hummed, and looked away from you for a moment to watch what he was doing, how slick his hand had become as a result. Once he had your hips rolling up into his palm, he eased a finger inside you, although his was noticeably longer and thicker than yours.

You gasped at the sensation.

“I-if you- ah! Can you move l-like this?” You showed him how to curl his finger inside you and he instantly followed your instruction, and even added a second finger; you cried pathetically as you surrendered to his mercy.

He stroked your inner walls for a few moments until he found what he was looking for. Once he made contact with that hypersensitive patch inside you, you let out a gasped moan that you tried to cover with your hand, but Rorschach was having none of that. His free hand that had cradled your head smacked your hand away and didn’t even pause his ministrations. This was just as much for him as it was for you. He wanted to know everything he did to you.

You whined softly against his mouth.

The movement of your hips began to be more deliberate as your body chased its craving. As if catching onto what you needed, he focused on that spot inside of you, and you let a series of moans slip from your mouth. Your pelvis bucked up into his touch, and you could have sworn that amongst the focused breathing and studious stare, you saw that man smirk.

Smirk.

He huffed out a ragged sound that must have been a laugh.

He continued to watch you, and you found yourself lost in the feeling of him and the sight of his eyes staring down at you like you were the most important thing at that moment.

Like there was nothing he would rather be staring at.

It took only a few more moments of his careful ministrations before you were falling apart in his arms. Your back arched up off the bed as you gripped his fingers like a vice inside you, and he continued his strokes, though he slowed them considerably.

The steady drag of his fingers inside you set your veins on fire. There was a mess of your and his cum between your thighs,and he used the saturated slickness to lazily finger you; carrying you through your high.

As you eyes refocused and unglazed, you stared back at him, and caught his lips with yours. He eagerly returned your needy kiss, and very gently removed his hand from your cunt.

You lacked proper judgement and acted purely on what you wanted; with his hand resting on your penvis, soaked and sticky, you took his wrist in your hand. You didn’t want to know how much blood had been shed because of those hands, not in that moment to be specific, but what you did know was that he had you wrapped around those fingers tight. You lifted them to your lips licked the slickness off of them, cleaning him. You flicked your eyes up to his, and we’re startled be how close he had moved. He hummed low in his chest when your tongue slowly lapped at them to clean him.

He drew his hand away from you, kissed you; holding you jaw surprisingly gently as if you didn’t have the shape of his hands bruising your hips or an ache deep inside you.

Your head felt light and disconnected.

Rorschach pulled away after a moment, and propped his head onto his hand to watch you. He gingerly traced your face shape with his finger, as if mapping and memorizing you. Touching your eyebrows, the ridge of your nose, your cheekbones.

He was lost in his own little world.

“I like the way you sound when you cum.” He said so a-matter-of-fact.

Your cheeks went rosy and warm. You didn’t know if you should thank him, so you grinned sweetly.

There was something in him that made it compelling to watch him. Something drawing you in as he stared back with such fixation. You didn’t know how to look away.

Not until your eyelids drooped and exhaustion took you. You didn’t know when you fell asleep, but you did know that when you awoke, your blanket was laid over you, your hair was out of your face, and you had a pair of crystal blue eyes staring back at you. Rorschach looked to have not moved an inch since you had fallen asleep. His head still propped in his hand, watching.

“Did you sleep?” You asked, rolling closer to him; your head and body consumed by your pillows and blankets.

He shook his head.

“You do you ever sleep?” You flicked your eyes across his face.

And he shook his head again.

You placed your hand on his cheek. His face didn’t soften- it never did, you noted. But regardless, his attention was on you entirely; you stared at him like he did you, then smiled gently at him.

“Thank you for trusting me.” You whispered, and he clearly hadn’t expected such a thing.

Again, he didn’t move from his place, but you noted the twitch in his brow, and small smirk that sat in the corner of his mouth. Perhaps he thought you foolish, but you didn’t care.

You pressed a kiss to his lips, and pulled away quickly even when he chased you. A displeased huff escaped him, but you eased it away when you gently hitched your leg over him. He grabbed your waist as if anticipating something volatile, but when you leaned over him, your chest against his, he seemed to pause mentally. You nestled your hips against his, your thighs on either side. With nothing between you, the feeling of his hardening cock against your lips was evident. The older man’s warmth radiated into you. You felt his fingers start to dig into your hips where he gripped you, squeezing the flesh as if he was about to lift you off. But then, you rolled your hips against him, sliding along his shaft easily given how slick you were already. He stopped all trains of thought he had for a moment when the sensation registered in his nerve-endings.

His gaze continued to make you self-conscious, but you wouldn’t shy away from him now.

You repeated the motion again, and felt him twitch and harden under you; you gasped when his hands held you firmer. You enjoyed the feeling of his cock under you, and your eyes began to glaze over when you felt the swollen tip catch your entrance, slipping inside you without warning. The soreness you felt from the night before didn’t stop you though. You watched him carefully, and while his stare was intense and focused, there was no unease or resistance.

Your cheeks flushed and you couldn’t help but stutter, “I-is this okay?” To the nearly silent man.

Again, he didn’t say a word. Instead, he gripped your hips tighter and bucked more of him into you.

You took that as a yes.

Encouraged by his action, you rolled your hips on him a few more times to get more of him inside you; a whimper and a gasp escaped you as he filled you so completely- the stretch painful but addictive. Your slower pace appeared to bother him and he ground you down onto him to get his cock fully inside you. The force made you breathe out another gasp; your hands found their place on his muscled chest to steady yourself.

With you both satisfied with being locked together, you slowly bucked your hips, drawing him in and out of you. You felt his grip grow more possessive, almost pawing at you as he held you.

You started slow, and deliberate; angling your hips to have his cock drag against your g-spot. At the first contact, your tempo stuttered, and your choked on a moan. He seemed to find your pleasure amusing as he hummed and began to meet your thrusts. He seemed to understand what to feel for after a moment when he stroked that sensitive patch, and you noted that he was very particular about hitting it.

Then you started to notice just how much pleasure he was receiving when his lips parted and the tendons in his neck began tighten.

Each time you came down on his shaft, you felt him reciprocate the movement- grinding up into you. It was as if he knew exactly what to feel for that made your toes curl.

You could barely hold a thought in your head as you felt fire brew in your veins and a tightness in your pelvic muscles.

You tilted your head back, and your arms that were braced on his chest buckled; bringing you closer to him. Your head fell back down and your eyes locked onto his- pupils blown. There was a new intensity to his face, a determination.

Then, as if he had had enough of you in charge, the man suddenly gripped you waist and flipped you onto your back. He crawled over you, and slipped his cock back inside you, earning him a whine and gasp from your sweet throat. He found a rhythm identical to the one you had set atop him, and your lips parted when you felt him angle his hips to target that spot inside you; the intense drag of his cock hitting it each time. He rendered you speechless in seconds.

After mewling and huffing out breaths, you finally managed to find a couple words.

“H-harder…” you forced out, “Ple-ase.” You pleaded.

It seemed he was intent to oblige. The gradual roll of his pelvis escalated into a harsher snap of his hips that had him watching you with rapt interest when you cried out.

Out of habit from your past, your hand flew to your mouth just like it had the night before, but just like then, he grabbed your wrist and pinned it beside your head without a moments thought. You felt scrutinized and your cheeks began to heat up so much you felt the warmth spread down your neck.

He wanted to know exactly what he did to you.

And that thought alone forced your body to clench and melt for him simultaneously.

With his careful ministrations, your orgasm grew quickly- an overwhelming amount of pleasure spawning inside you that you hadn’t felt before. Just as you had asked, he kept his pace steady and firm. His desire to know how to play you as he liked made your brain go dizzy with need, and you were intent to follow his wishes. While it made you flush even more to tell him what you needed, you swallowed your pride and forced another pathetic whimper from you. “Slower…please.” You breathed.

At your request, he leaned down over you more, his chest almost flush with yours. He kept your one hand pinned while he used his other hand to pull your thigh up and pushed your knee to your chest.

The change had your eyes rolling back, and you heard him hum; vibrations from his chest buzzing into yours making your fingertips tingle.

It took all of ten seconds before your thighs shook and you desperately rolled your hips up to meet his. He watched as your brows pitched up and your swollen lips parted. Your face flushed in ecstasy.

Rorschach could feel you tense around his cock, and smirked to himself when he felt a rush the of your cum soaking him inside you. You nearly sobbed. Eyes glassy and back arching as you came.

The older man slowed his pace, until eventually stopping all together, but only for a moment. He leaned his nose down into the crook of your neck, and inhaled softly. His grip still possessive; it made you shiver.

Then, just as you settled, he snapped his hips once, forcing his cock back into your tightened heat and he pulled away from your neck to stare you down- nose bumping against yours. You cried out from the impact and looked up at him. He had your attention now. And he began to fuck into you steadily again, but growing in need.

His message was clear.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

And he certainly was not.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

#Rorschach #Rorschach x reader #walter kovacs #Walter Kovacs x reader #the watchmen #watchmen #dc comics #no one asked for this #but i did anyway #jackie earle haley

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shisnhou · 11 months

Text

astronomy

pairing: nanami kento x f! reader

genre: angst

wc: 1,5k

an: this is the first chapter of the story i will be releasing soon! tell me if you want more :)

marriage.

many people fantasize about being married.

to many, the idea of marriage is pure bliss. the thought of being together amidst the misunderstandings, pain, and marriage blues, the happiness, the shared home, the matching rings, the memories, creating a family, and the promises of forever regardless every arrow that shoots the heart of the relationship.

and as many wedding vows go, 'to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death. this is my solemn vow.' they entail one of many things, but mainly, to be together and cherish one another regardless of what happens.

but to some, that wasn't the case, and you wish you found out sooner, you wish you found out that you were part of the some, and not that many.

marriage is the biggest scam that you fell for in your whole life. the vows, the wedding, the rings, every single bit and piece of it is a horrid scam that you find yourself to be the victim of.

the marriage that lays upon your shoulders isn't bliss and happiness, it isn't nothing but a waste of money, yet a waste of life as well.

the marriage that many gush of, the marriage that you once gushed about, has failed you. you aspired to be one of those people who walked down the aisle whilst their partner was crying as they stood by the altar, watching the love of their life walking down the carpeted floor. you once imagined yourself as one of those people who would feel delighted once the ring engulfed your ring finger, you once wished of kissing the one person you love before the eyes of many who bear witness to your love story tying the knot.

but now, the marriage you gushed about is the same marriage you are itching to end.

it no longer makes you happy— being tied down to this 'sacred' bond. the wedding ring hugging your ring finger barely even glimmers, unlike the one that your husband has abandoned on his dresser. rather, it feels heavy.

you thought you'd be all smiles after marrying the love of your life, but you've been crying more than you have been laughing, the tears you spared and still are sparing are not of happiness, rather, of pain and agony. the kisses that you two share send you not butterflies in your stomach, instead pins and needles.

there‘s no love in your marriage, no love in this 'sacred' bond. it‘s all pain, sadness, and hurt. you feel mocked every time you see a happy couple holding hands in the street, much like the way the wedding ring that has been collecting dust since your husband has left it on his dresser; he‘s left it there since your wedding day.

and the mockery becomes even worse when you're around family. the family that were there to witness your 'loving marriage'. the same family you keep lying to about your marriage.

"i can‘t you believe it. god, no one thought you‘d be the first to marry amongst us!" kiki, older cousin screeches. she talks your ear off about your marriage and all that, and you wish you were able to slip away and lay in bed all day.

you hate gatherings like this with a burning passion. to you, it was all bullshit, because half of the time, they were just giving each other backhanded compliments, and now it's become your personal hell because all they do is ask you about your relationship.

"hm, surprise i guess." you mumble, taking a huge sip out of your wine, thinking of an excuse to get out of her as soon as possible.

"not to mention, to a rich and handsome man!" well, you assume that‘s one of the good things about your husband; that he was rich, tall, and handsome. "how‘d you do that?"

"it‘s a long story." you lie, rolling your eyes to cover the hard glare that‘s threatening to lay itself upon your cousin just so that she‘d shut her running mouth.

"well, you better hold him close. you‘ll never know what could be goin' on when you aren‘t home." you hate her, you truly do. it‘s unbelievable to you, how one could look so nice yet spout the worse kinds of things to someone who didn‘t even do anything.

"why would she need to hold him down when she's got him at the palm of her hand?" shima, another cousin of yours butts before kiki could say anything more.

"well, y'know how men are, ma.." kiki trails, causing you to role your eyes once again.

not that you care. you quit caring not so long ago. caring is a hard job, a job that was fruitless. so, you just quit. not that it matters to anyone anyway, not even to your husband.

it doesn‘t matter. you barely matter. all that matters it that you keep your husband's perfect image of husband above sea.

"believe me, i know everything that goes down." trying to hold up your facade, you smile, turning your head to the other side, hoping that they wouldn't notice that look on your face. the look that no one else sees. the look that you hide from the world, even from yourself. "everything is all and well."

lie after lie, excuse after excuse.

your mouth runs words. empty words that you wish the people will believe, praying that they don't see through the hollow letters, the broken vows inside the house of lies.

yet as you smile, hoping that they'd stop interrogating you, you come to the realization that there's only so much you can do when he doesn't even try to uphold your marriage's reputation.

"but where is he, though?" kiki's boyfriend— hirugami— asks, wide eyes staring at you. "you said he'd be here. i'd love to talk to him! ask more about the stock market n' all that,"

his words are genuine and you know that he means no harm, however the urge to slap your hand above his mouth is making you itch.

you made nanami promise to make an appearance, and he said he'd try his best to show some face. but hours have passed since the appointed time and all you can do is curse him in your head and wish that his expensive polished shoes hit a brick wall and break.

"busy." is your curt answer, running out of excuses to make. "being a business man really works you up, you know? having to stay in the office—"

before you finish your words, the devil himself appears by the door. your eyes go wide, and unbeknownst to you, a spark of hope glints in your eyes.

"kento," you whisper to yourself, rising quickly to make your way to him. but before you're able to, your aunt is rushing to greet him.

"kento! we're glad you're here." she smiles widely, wrapping her hand around his arm, leading him into the house.

his eyes meet yours. your heart skips a beat. despite convincing yourself that you and him no longer have any kind of ties, your heart never fails to recognize the man you fell in love with, the man who still holds your heart in his hands.

"(y/n)," your name falls from his lips, and without even realizing it, your feet walks to him, right where he is.

your aunt looks up at him, one brow raised at the sound of your name, as if you were a stranger and he just called your name out of no where.

"i need to go to my wife first. i need to greet her first." he says, retracting his arm and eyeing your aunt.

your aunt's eyes widen, sheepishly she smiles and lets go while nodding. you smile at her as nanami takes a step closer. for the second time, your eyes meet his. you swallow, looking deeply into his grey eyes and landing on your arms on his broad shoulders.

naturally, his hands move to your waist, causing a shiver to run up your spine.

"kento," you inhale his scent, recognizing the masculine scent of his perfume that you bought him last christmas. "hey."

"hello, wife." his words are sweet, but his face isn't. his lips remain thin and flat, even when his lips come closer, even when they press against yours.

"how was—"

"kento!" hirugami, screams his name walking up to him and slapping his hand on his back causing nanami to jolt and turn his head. hirugami is oblivious to the one sweet moment that he disrupted. but you can't blame him, not when he has not a single clue as to what happens behind closed doors.

"hirugami." nanami sends you one last look before he turns around to meet the man and greet him properly.

internally you sigh, already missing and yearing the feeling of his huge hands around your waist.

"you really have go him wrapped around your finger, huh?" shima teases. "i've never seen a man as tall as him calm down when he sees his wife."

you laugh softly at her words, wishing that what she said was true, despite knowing for a fact that it's the farthest thing from the truth. "well, it's a newly weds thing."

she hands you your glass of wine and you take it from her, but not without clinking it with hers first.

"you're right, you newly weds are truly sweeter than candy." obliviously, she agrees.

as her words leave her lips, you wish that she would never see through your lies. hoping that your lies manifest. that one day, your wishes and prayers will come true.

yes, this is very much inspired by conan gray's song astronomy.

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honeykyeom · 1 year

Text

dirty computer

*reuploaded from my now deactivated blog (@/sluttymingyu)

pairing: camboy!kim mingyu x reader (pretty.miss)

word count: ~630 words

warning/authors note: shared universe with @berrryshortcake, camboy au, male masturbation

18+ content below

it’s almost criminal how the clinking of coins and various dings only spurs mingyu further. his mind is filled with static; the few words coming out in the noise were the comments scrolling across his laptop screen.

hole4sale: you look so pretty baby boy

skinnyp3n1s: fuck.. you’re so loud i love it

cocks1ut: such a good boy for us

his cock twitches in his hand, the words getting to his head and making the white noise even louder. the only sounds matching the feedback in his brain were his moans, loud and raspy and filling every crevice of his mind. it was easy to get lost in the steady pumping, the heavy breathing, the sticky substance leaking from his tip. he looks down at his thighs as he slows down, covered in wetness and arousal from the night.

“fuck.. i’m such a mess, baby.”

he’d been edging himself all night, all the blood from his body rushing to his cock and making it sting red with sensitivity. mingyu’s skin felt fuzzy, as if he was on pins and needles. his breath is running away from his lungs, with him desperately trying to catch it until the sound of coins grabs his attention.

pretty.miss donated 300 coins!

pretty.miss: you’re doing so good baby. wish i was there to help you

the bolts of electricity that run down his spine when he sees your username glow on his screen begin to make his head spin, the bouncing yellow letters of your screen name jumping with the butterflies in his stomach.

“would you look at that.. pretty miss put us over our goal,” your name always tasted sweet coming from his lips, like caramel sticking to his tongue–thick and delectable. “i think you deserve to pick the treat of choice, angel.”

pretty.miss: i think you already know my favorite, baby boy.

mingyu chuckles, low and breathless. the effect you had on him was prevalent, no matter how hard he tried to mask the thoughts of you in his voice.

“you’re going to be the death of me,” he whispers.

“please, fuck…. baby, i’m already so close.”

the thin black vibrator shines against the tan skin of mingyu’s length, humming with vibrations and igniting his whole body. he can’t control his moans, the waves of his whines reverberating in his small space.

he wonders if the cookies he dropped off to his neighbors earlier in the night would be enough for them to ignore the noise.

he can’t help the cries that escape his lips, not when the thoughts of how you touch yourself, his name and curses leaving your pretty lips while you watch him. do you use your fingers, your slick dripping down your hand as you thrust the digits into you? or do you use a dildo, dreaming that it was his cock filling you up?

the wail that leaves him is deafening.

skinnyp3n1s: fuck you’re so hot

pretty.miss: tell me how you feel angel

his voice is broken when he responds, “it feels so good!” his throat is dry, the words tickling at the worn muscles. all thoughts escape him, only his creeping orgasm appearing in the fog.

pretty.miss: what is it baby?

you were always able to read his thoughts, even when he couldn’t.

“i need to cum. please.”

the words on his screen are blurry through his tears, the salty liquid collecting in the corner of his lids.

pretty.miss: you know what i want to hear, baby. use your words

“FUCK, please! please can i cum? please baby, please,” he pleads as if it’s a prayer, tasting bitter on his tongue. mingyu repeats it, requesting for your mercy.

and once he’s able to see those glowing white letters, he swears he’s in heaven.

#mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #kim mingyu x reader #mingyu smut #kim mingyu smut #seventeen smut #seventeen scenarios #mingyu scenarios #seventeen mingyu smut

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lookinghalfacorpse · 1 year

Text

so i took a butterfly pinning class today. u didn’t think the butterfly propaganda was over did u?

they’re stronger than u think. i expected to be tearing wings up, dropping legs everywhere. my hands were shaking with the first butterfly because i was so nervous to destroy it, but i didn’t. (the aim isn’t destruction; it’s change. you will stay in one piece, but you’ll take the position i say.)

if you DO mess up, fixes are easy. an antennae falls off? you flinch and tear the upper wing? glue that sucker back on once it’s dry. (quick fixes and cheap answers. only has to be healed enough to hold position and Stay.)

(and taking the legs off completely is a good way to make sure it stays still in the display)

the pins are temporary. you take some time re-hydrating the body, and then while it’s more malleable, you use the pins to stretch the wings and hold them there. let the body dry again, and when the pins are removed, they hold the shape. (permanent adjustments and a remake of natural form. he DID go back to the prison, like sam knew he would.)

first step: the instructor held the body in front of me and squeezed at the thorax, showing me how the wings spread with the motion and how i can use it to insert the first pin. (confidence and familiarity. i know how you’ll react to this.)

pinch the thorax, insert the pin through the back. i pricked my pointer finger with the needle the first time. the rest was easy; stretch and hold with the pins and wait. the ones with thicker wings were a little harder.

(set behind glass when you’re done.)

#:)#sorry for the brainrot but hey #local bug enthusiast engages in new hobby and also does fic research #call that multitasking #dreblr #killing butterflies #awesamdream #c!awesamdream #(implied)#cdream

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wulfgaang · 3 months

Text

Beautiful (PG13)

pairing: hwang hyunjin x f!bodied muse rating: pg-13 genre: romance; pining; angst during the time skip wc: 1.7k warnings: minimally edited, artistic nudity mentioned, sensual touching, soft boy hyunjin being so in love he's absolutely floored at he got that lucky, ANGST BELOW THE TIME SKIP. Feel free to end the story before if you want something a little fluffier :3 a/n: well hey it's been a second! Here's my second fic, this time with the lovely Hyunjin! It's a little short one but that's ok with me :) for the third time, please be aware there's some angst in the time skip so if you aren't ready for it... feel free to end it before then ^^; I just couldn't help myself; i love pain :')

Inspiration. "You're beautiful... I know but... You were everything..."

Disclaimer. This is a work of fiction that does not intend to portray the true feelings, actions, nature and emotions of the Stray Kids members. Please not redistribute this piece of fiction in any form. Copyright @ wulfgaang / callsign-marlie (tumblr; 2024)

Hyunjin was enraptured.

It was a different feeling than of the others he had before when he saw you like this. His brain was fuzzy and covered in cotton candy while his gaze slipped over every pore, stretch mark and mole on your skin. How soft it all looked, draped in the shimmering gossamer fabric that barely covered the shading of the peaks and valleys of your hips! You were a feast indeed.

Hyunjin saw you as effervescent; a star in the nighttime, glimmering and glowing, a constant flicker of ephemeral gorgeousness under his single bay window. The afternoon light had dimmed to dusk and left more shadows than he had originally started with. You were the perfect model as per usual, holding your expression at the same point for hours with just a giggled “I’m fine, my love, go back to work” whenever he came to give you sips of water or drop grapes into your mouth. He wished the juice that dribbled down your chin onto your chest stayed long enough for him to paint it.

A Cleopatrean idol, you are; a person worth every luxury, every greatness he could ever give. The way his heart soared for you at every glance, jumped at every touch, melted with the sound of your voice! Oh, he would have moved mountains if you asked him to just to ensure a frown never creased your lips. He would make sure that sweat never fell from your brow if he could help it, if you weren’t ever so stubborn to allow him the pleasure to serve your beck and call.

You were a salve on burns left behind by a world that didn’t care about him. That didn’t care about anyone other than itself. You gave him a soft place to land when life was too true to believe. You gave him comfort when pins and needles pricked under his eyes. You deserved to be memorialized over and over again as the subject of all grace, humility and rapture for everyone to witness. Mine. Aren’t you jealous? They’re mine, all mine, and all you can do is praise them as I do. Give your everything to them; you’ll see it too.

He was focused now, his eyebrows pinching slightly together with his stern gaze peaking over the top of the canvas. He memorized the trace of the curve of your hip and translated it to his paint. His brush moved the acrylic languidly, flicking at the ends to taper the lines to nothingness of shadow. He had been the epitome of a professional for each and every session, guiding your movements with a soft voice and gentle fingertips to make minor adjustments. The angle needed to be just where he wanted it; just where he wanted you.

He would ghost his paint covered fingers over the top of your skin, feeling the electrical shock of his touch bring the hairs of your arms to attention. Butterfly light touches of his lips to the spot under your jaw unlocked the hummingbird caged in his heart, the ghost of your breath like a memory from ages past; sweet and delicate. You smiled at him with sparkling eyes in the amber of sunset. Sunset.

“You must be exhausted, my muse,” Hyunjin murmured, kneeling against the side of your seat to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. You smiled and preened, the arch of your back high against the velveteen chaise lounge. “You’ve done so well for me today.”

You attempted to playfully press your face closer to his, but Hyunjin was fast to move backwards from you as a coy smile graced his lips. You pouted with furrowed brows. “I can’t even receive payment for all of my hard work, monsieur l’artiste?”

His eyes twinkled mischievously before he let his mouth crash to yours, the softness of flesh pulled a light moan from the bottom of his chest. Kissing you was sinful; the way he perfectly meshed with you felt like blasphemy. There was no way that whatever gods existed created someone so perfect, so lovely, and happened to place them right in his path to love and cherish forever. The way your hands carded through his hair was biblical. The way you moved against his chest required reconciliation. For what? He didn’t know. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned… He would rather be sent to hell than be one day apart from you a single moment.

As the air was pulled from his lungs, he broke the passionate connection to let his lips dance to the tip of your nose, tapping them to each of your eyelids, and finally, let them linger on the crest of your forehead. “A tip,” he muttered. “For making my most favorite model think she wasn’t even worth payment. Who do you think I am, a con?”

Your giggle was soft, a blush of heat draped across the bridge of your nose. He wished he didn’t call it quits already: it would have gone perfect with the warm color palette he had chosen for this scene. He would have to add it later in post editing. Hyunjin wondered if the more rosy tone was suited for the color palette or should he darken it to match the shadows of the background? But then again, the blue of the sky hit just a point-

“You’re beautiful, Hyunjin.”

Your voice pulled him from his thoughts. He blinked owlishly. “Hm?”

“You’re beautiful,” you said again, moving the gauzed sheet from your lap to stand. Your bones and ligaments groaned for a moment as you unfurled from your position on the couch with a sigh. Your peaked nipples stood up against the cold while you languidly reached for the silk robe on the side table. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Hyunjin tsked quietly, his drying palette suddenly more interesting than the flames licking at his cheeks. “That, my love, is where you’ve got the whole picture backwards. You’re the beauty here.”

“I don’t think so,” you harped, slinking around the side of his easel to face him again. You pushed the palette down gently, your fingers stuck in the cold terracotta paste left behind. “You may paint the picture, sweetheart, but the audience are the ones to appreciate and interpret it, aren’t they?”

“I suppose, but-”

Your lips had found him this time as your sullied hands wrapped around his shoulders. Your chest was pressed to his, your hips rocking perfectly against his groin. His palette scattered to the floor while the excess paint Pollocked the draping sheet beneath his canvas. His hands didn’t know where to hold as you let your lips cascade lower and lower, down the throbbing pulse of his neck, to the tips of his collarbone and finally placing a harsh bruise over his heart.

He moaned.

“Let me show you what I see.”

3 years later… (Angst time)

Felix was enraptured.

The way the ring lights of the gallery bounced off of the texture of the oil paint of this particular piece fascinated him in the most peculiar way. He didn’t think that Hyunjin had the ability to make something so soft and fragile in his repertoire! From the details of the gauze over the model’s lap to the soft flick of charcoal at the inner corner of her glimmering eye left him speechless. Every stroke was cared for and thoughtfully placed; so unlike the rough textures of the charcoal his friend was so known for dabbling in. Each shadow had a highlight that balanced it. The composition of the woman’s figure was simply spectacular. He wondered how much time he devoted to this one; it was clearly the centerpiece of the exhibit.

“So?”

Felix jumped a moment at the velvet voice behind him. The man of the hour, Hwang Hyunjin himself, had crept up behind him silent as the graves themselves. His friend was dapper in a black suit and tie while his hair was slicked back, fringe airly framing his face. He looked the part of the artist well enough and if Felix didn’t know better, he would say he looked like he was having fun. The earthy smell of tobacco followed him, however: a telltale sign of the evening’s stress and his friend’s discomfort.

“This one in particular’s stunning,” Felix mused, turning back to the painting. “She would have loved it, seeing it up close like this.”

“I invited her. I texted her, but she never responded,” Hyunjin whispered. He paused, the champagne flute in his hands suddenly more interesting than his closest friend. “I would have thought she would have wanted to see them.”

Felix’s gaze ran around the wall of the gallery. Each painting held a familiar curve, a similar wave of femininity that would pass the common viewer’s eye if they didn’t focus closely enough. He knew that this gallery was for you; that Hyunjin’s work was for you. When you left him two years ago without a trace, the hole in his friend’s chest festered into a sinkhole of obsession. It was as if the more he drew you, the more he painted your moles, your scars, and your curves, that he might be able to summon you back from the depths that you ran to, like Orpheus singing to free Euridice. That you would be in his arms again and all would be right. He could stop worshiping for just a moment and finally celebrate that his heart was whole again.

But Felix knew better. You were in the arms of someone else now.

“The night’s still young, Jinnie, she may come still,” he responded, rapping Hyunjin on the shoulder. “Don’t give up hope just yet.”

“I never will, Felix,” Hyunjin said. He gazed up at the painting with tears on his lashes threatening to fall. “I can’t. I won’t. Not until she knows I’m still here for her. Wherever she is, wherever she goes… I’ll always be thinking about her. She’ll always be a part of me.”

Felix gave a sad smile and hugged his friend tight to his chest. “I’ll let you finish up here for the night then. Get home safe, lover boy. Call me in the morning and I’ll help you pack everything up with Chan.”

Hyunjin nodded dumbly. His eyes never left his painting.

—-

Felix traipsed down the steps of the gallery, his phone pinging as soon as service was restored.

>> How’d it go?

He smiled softly as his thumbs tapped away at the glass screen. > You were everything, my love. Just everything.

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #hyunjin reactions #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin oneshot #hwang hyunjin reaction #what else do i tag this thing man???

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blueicequeen19 · 2 years

Text

Arranged Pt. 6

My hands tremble as I sit the test down, covering my mouth as I try to force the sobs down. I was pregnant. By Rafe. My husband. Part of me was excited for this little life growing inside me. The other part was terrified of doing this with Rafe.

The door opens and Rafe walks in having just returned from another golf outing with the boys. He seemed almost sweet with his yellow shirt and white cap. No one knew how twisted he was but me. And I’d made him a father. I blink back tears as Rafe takes in the scene. He rushes me and I flinch even as he cups my face gently and kisses me sweetly.

“Fuck, Y/N, I love you. I’m going to take care of you and this baby. Whatever you need, it’s yours.” Rafe kisses me again and I feel the ice in my heart start to melt for him.

“I want you to treat me like your wife and less like your property.”

“You like when I treat you like property.” He growls into my ear, his hand slipping down to grab my ass as he kisses my neck.

“Rafe. I mean it. Don’t share me with your friends. Never again.” I push at his chest and he pulls away with an eye roll.

“Fine. Never again.” He agrees, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around my waist as he nuzzles my stomach. I can’t help the flutters that appear in seeing Rafe like this. It’s a sweet change for once. He lifts up my dress and kiss my stomach, rubbing his nose over my skin until goosebumps appear.

“Rafe. That tickles.” I fight back a laugh until I can’t help it, my head falling back as he nibbles and kisses.

“I need some assurances from you. So I know you won’t try to leave.” Rafe finally says with one final kiss then stands again. The butterflies I felt suddenly disappear as I stare back at his deep blue gaze.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I bite out. We’re standing in a sketchy dimly lit room with an older man in a white lab coat. Everything about this seems off. Is he supposed to be a doctor?

“I told you she wouldn’t be happy.” Kelc stands off to my left and I fix him with an angry glare.

“Fuck you, Kelc.” I snap and Rafe yanks me against his side with a laugh as Kelc glares right back at me.

“Need me to fill that pretty mouth again? That’ll shut you up.” Kelc sneers and I feel Rafe stiffen against me, his arm circling my shoulder.

“I can’t remember which dick was yours. The smallest one, right?” I taunt with a grin as Kelc stomps towards me. Rafe fixes Kelc with a look that stops him in his place.

“Back off.” Rafe snarls and I know his hand is on the gun at his waist. Rafe’s arm tightens around me, pulling me closer into his side and pulling my gaze from Kelc.

“What is this?” I look up to Rafe as he moves us closer to the doctor.

“Relax. Stress isn’t good for the baby.” Rafe murmurs.

“You’re what’s stressing me out.” I grumble and his chest shakes with a laugh.

“It’ll be quick and painless. It’ll be just beneath the skin on the back of the neck.” The doctor finally speaks and my blood runs cold. That’s what this was. He was chipping me like a damn dog. I immediately try to flee but he catches me, pinning my arms to my side as he holds me. I kick out with a scream and Kelc catches my legs, holding me in place as the doctor rounds the table with an intimidating needle.

“Rafe, I’ll never forgive you if you do this.” I cry, my head turned to the side as the needle pinches my skin. Tears spring to my eyes then it’s over. I squirm, attempting to kick again but Kelc carefully releases me and backs away.

“I hate you! I hate you!” I scream and Rafe shushes me, kissing the top of my head.

“Give her a sedative. Let her sleep it off.” Kelc says and to my horror, Rafe doesn’t object. I open my mouth to scream again when there’s another pinch, silencing me quickly.

I wake up in our bed, a moan on my lips as Rafe spreads my legs wide and devours my sensitive pussy. Fucking pregnancy hormones had me a horny mess.

I fist his hair hard as his tongue dives inside me, fucking me until I’m withering away.

“Stop it. I hate you. You chipped me like a fucking dog. Will you chip our child too?” I slap his head and he pops up with a snarl, crawling up my body and thrusting his cock inside me. I cry out from the intrusion but it hurts so good. I grip the wrought iron headboard as I arch into him, my body craving his anger.

I open my mouth in protest but he kisses me hard, his hips punishing as he fucks me, lifting my legs over his shoulders and bending me in half.

“Yes. If it means keeping him or her safe, yes I absolutely fucking will.” Rafe snarls against my mouth, having finally answered my question.

“I won’t let you microchip our child.” I pant, clawing at his muscular chest as my orgasm hits me. I quiver beneath him, biting down on my lip to keep from giving him the satisfaction from hearing me fall apart.

“My sweet naive wife, when have you ever had a choice in any of this? Your compliance just makes things a little easier but I don’t need it.” I bite back tears as he kisses me again, forcing my knees against my chest as he slams in harder and harder. He was right. I’d never had a choice.

“Go on, tell me you hate me. That way you can pretend you don’t like the way I fuck you. Like you don’t like the way my cock feels inside you.” I snatch the gold chain hanging around his neck where he wears his wedding band and wrap it around two fingers so it chokes him. He smirks but doesn’t stop fucking me.

“Choke me. Do it. I’ll still be able to find you.” I release his chain as the vein in his forehead throbs and his face reddens, forever hating that he was always right.

“Holding the power make you wet, baby? I can feel you soaking me like a fountain. You wanna hit me? Is that what you need?”

“Just cum and get off of me.” I growl and he laughs, quickly manhandling me to flip me over and pulling me up onto my hands and knees as he rams back in. I bury my face in the mattress, desperately trying to muffle my sounds but he slaps my ass as he moves faster, his hand coming around to stroke my clit. My body tightens as sparks shoot throughout my limbs and down to my toes.

“I should pull out and leave you like this.” Rafe taunts, his thumb circling my empty hole.

“No. Please.” I find myself whispering as my toes start to curl.

“Tell me you like it. Tell me you like it when I fuck you. When your husband fucks you.” Rafe demands, slapping my ass again before forcing his thumb inside my ass as he slows his hips, delaying my orgasm.

“Please, Rafe. Don’t stop. I’m so close. Please.” I whine, fisting the sheets as I try to push back on him but he spanks me again, holding me in place.

“Tell me. Now!” Rafe shouts with another slap. Tears line my cheeks as my orgasm stays just within reach, my body desperate for it.

“I like it! I like it, Rafe! Please!” I sob. His hands tighten on my hips, pulling me back into each hard thrust. By the fourth one I’m cumming and screaming, my body trembling as Rafe grunts louder and louder. I slump into the mattress just waiting for him until he finally stills with a satisfied groan.

My body shivers as he pulls out and collapses next to me, moving my hair as he tries to kiss me but I move away.

“You and this baby are the best things that have ever happened to me. I don’t plan on ever letting you go.” Rafe says to the back of my head as I feel sleep starting to take over. He pulls the blanket over my naked body, rubbing my sore ass for a moment before kissing the back of my head and rolling over.

#smutwarning #rafe cameron smut #outer banks smut #dark #dark!fic #tw dark content #drew starkey #rafecameron #rafe fanfiction #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #dark!rafe cameron

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weministertomonsters · 1 year

Text

Desecration

"Stop," the angel gasps, struggling weakly.

His wings flutter and jerk like a pinned butterfly, and he is still beautiful in a way no other creature could pull off.

"That word means nothing here, Sacharel, not to me," Beroth hisses, prowling around the altar the angel is splayed on.

Beroth snickers and then spits on Sacharel's face. The angel flinches, but he has nowhere to go. He can't fly or use his divine power and he has been forsaken by God. His wings, now a soft ashy grey, still shine with internal light. Beroth doesn't like to see that, so he grabs yet another handful of feathers and yanks until they pop out. Sacharel growls, and his eyes flash red for a moment before he turns his head away, breathing out a prayer for forgiveness.

"No need to pray for me," Beroth says, tracing a scaly hand along the collar of Sacharel's angelic robes. "I know exactly what I am doing."

The collar is damp with sweat. Angels are not made to endure the heat of hell and Sacharel already looks like a wilted flower, exuding a delicate scent that makes you ache to sink your teeth into him.

"Pet?" Beroth calls.

"Yes Master," you scurry forward out of the shadows, trying to stop your eager tail from wagging.

"Sacharel has always been dreadfully plain, I think it's time we decorate him a little. Fetch me a needle."

"Yes Master," you croon and do as he bids.

Sacharel squirms as you approach with the needle on its little tray, tugging at his bindings.

"What are you going to do?" He demands.

Beroth chuckles. "Why, give you a stylish piercing or two."

Sacharel's wings flare against the altar and his eyes widen. "You dare not," he says.

Beroth clicks his tongue mockingly. "Your celestial father threw you down here as punishment. And I aim to punish you well."

"You can't do that!" Sacharel shouts, his voice echoing across the room as he struggles. "My father will not allow it!"

"Who gives a flying shit?!" Beroth shouts back. "You didn't stand up for me when I had my wings cut off, did you? You pretended you didn't know me. I loved you once, and you betrayed me. So whatever you think I can't do is exactly what I will do."

Sacharel huffs out a heated breath, eyes blazing with inner holiness. You can sense how hard he clutches onto that last semblance of purity and it excites you. You can't wait to get it out of him.

"I always thought it was incredibly vain for angels to have such stupidly white skin. Like marble or the clean insides of a teacup. But I've realized just how pretty the bruises will look on your skin. You're a blank canvas for me to paint," Beroth says. "And I... No, We, are going to enjoy it."

At his command, you open the little jewelry case and bring out two pearly studs. You know exactly where you want those to go.

#exophilia #terato #monster x reader #monster fucker #monster smut #demon #angel #heirophilia #corruption kink #monsterimagine

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lorei-writes · 10 months

Text

In Place of Medicine

Masamune x Reader Fluff

This has been sitting in my drafts for a month now. Posting has been somewhat hard recently, due to vaguely personal reasons...

But to hell with that. @yarnnerdally Hey, here's a little something to cheer you up. Pick it up whenever you feel like it, it may be... thematically relevant :")

Content warnings: none

If the modern day nights can feel safe anywhere in the world, it is merely because they have been tamed. However, the same could never be said of the past, when humans were still mere pawns in the hand of the Sun. The darkness of days long gone by was greedy, ever voracious hunger churning in its guts, pushing it to swallow all – any flicker, any embers… sight. For all things die eventually, including light. Yet the end in the presence of the night is merely a superficial one, a forgery performed to trick the senses and thus, the mind. Nothing less, nothing more. Invisible, things still progress, a breath at a time.

The palm of Masamune’s hand is pleasantly warm, or much rather, hot, his thumb stroking the skin below your navel. It is large, as typical for the man of his size – and so, you are thankful for this simple fact, just the way you are each month. Had it not been for his presence, the futon could have been very well made out of needles. You wouldn’t know any better nor could you even begin to care… But with him there, it is different. It is bearable.

A sharp cramp presses your back firmly into his chest. Masamune hums, his arm pulling you even closer by the waist, his breath caressing the nape of your neck. He does not utter a word, however, his lips pressing to your exposed skin instead, delicate like butterfly wings and nearly apologetic in their care. A searing pin jabs at your heart.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper-groan.

“What for?” Masamune prompts. Clothes rustle along covers as he props himself on his elbow, his touch remaining just where it has been all along.

“For keeping you up. At this rate, you’ll be deathly tired tomorrow…” you trail off, your throat growing tight at the very thought that looms just above your head. “Today…” you correct yourself.

Masamune does not appear pleased with this sentiment. A tiger that is about to pounce on his prey, he quietly lays down, his fingertips – claws that sink into the soft flesh of your underbelly. Anticipation holds your breath captive, your nerves forgetting of pain while waiting for him to act…

His teeth drag your collar open just enough for his lips to caress your shoulder. Soft hair falls over your neck. A kiss descents from soft lips after a kiss, all until he has sufficiently examined the suppleness of your skin and has moved onto sampling your pulse. Masamune lets out a breathy sigh – and so, you are back the way you previously were, your back pressed firmly – firmer – against his chest. His nose nuzzles into your hair.

“Don’t even worry about this, kitten,” he murmurs. “Besides, how could I leave you now?”

Tears collect in your eyes. It is hormones. Hormones. Just hormones, you know, but…

“Even if I bleed through the cloth and the yukata again?” the words leave your lips in form of choked down sobs.

“Especially if you bleed through the cloth and the yukata again,” he assures, a chuckle lurking in the shadow of his words.

Your drift off to sleep eventually, lulled by the soothing circles traced by his thumb…

-- Tag list = below the cut --

Tag list: @lancelotscloak @violettduchess @the12thnightproject @oda-princess @tele86

Tell me if you'd like to be added to my tag list :)

#masamune date #ikesen masamune #ikemen sengoku masamune #ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikemen series

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