#rorschach x reader

[multific]

Rorschach Being in Love with You - Headcanons

Rorschach x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mention of violence, smut

Of course, in the beginning, he would deny it

He thinks it's better if you stay far from him

And yet, he keeps coming back for you

He often watches you sleep or do daily tasks

And you pretend you don't know he is watching

It was a simple system

Until one day

It was a late evening, you were let off from work later than usual 

Recipe for disaster and for men to take advantage

You ran, but there was nowhere to hide

But of course, you were saved

And from that day on, he never wants to leave your side

And he only does after making sure you are home, safe

A relationship with Rorschach is difficult

And even with your history, it does have a lot of challenges 

But you love him and he loves you, that should be enough

He would always come home late and sleep through the night

But sometimes, on occasion, he would come home early

Sex with him was a bit of a struggle, especially in the beginning

Given how his mother was, he had to get used to having a woman's touch

But once he got comfortable, nothing was off the table

He would refuse to do anything that would hurt you.

But other than that, he was open especially if you wanted to try something out

Rough, angry sex with him is like magic

It was a way to take out his anger 

And it was in a way that pleased you very much

He would pound you so hard, you would lose feeling in your legs for the next few hours and your legs would be sore for the next few days

But he can be gentle

Those are what you would call, love making

When you prove to one another how much you love each other

He likes to pull on your hair and fuck you from behind

He likes to have your legs around his neck as he eats you out and then fucks you

Scratch his back all you want, he will not complain

You can ride him if you ask nicely

He can be so dominant, you absolutely loved it

He would tell you what to do

And he loves to get blowjobs, again, while pulling on your hair

He would call you all kinds of names, Darling, My Love, Sweetheart

He would never degrade you, don't ask him to call you a slut or a whore

But he can call you Kitten, Princess or My Queen

Just imagine riding him, the bed is creaking as you keep moving, all you can feel is his cock inside you and he calls you "My Queen."

But he makes sure you come first before he does

If you tire him out, he won't leave for the night

But there are nights when he just comes home for a quicky before going back to fight crime

You would call it a simple life

But it was your love

And you are the only person who can call him Walter without him killing you

He is not the type to go or to take you on dates

But it doesn't mean he can't or won't enjoy a night with candlelight and food

Soft is not a word you would use to describe him

But he can be gentle with you

And he wants to be better, do better for you

It was love

Undeniable love

Not even he could do anything about it

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @il0vebeingdelulu @deliciousfestsalad @groovyqueer @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, OR TO REPOST STEAL ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[purplelupins]

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🤍

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

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.

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

[i-smoke-chapstick]

NSFW; Rorschach doesn't like to degrade you during sex...much. He believes what the two of you have transcends the debauchery of common whores. You are good. You are pure. To call you anything other than that would be a lie.

Though...if you encourage him, he'll slip up. A slap to your ass, a gruff moan pulled from his throat...he'll get tired of you being such a brat. It's distasteful. He needs to punish you.

He'll do it more through actions than words, but if you moan like a slut when he calls you a whore, he'll keep going. Deeper and deeper and deeper...until maybe he enjoys it. He'll never admit it though.

[dyns33]

Flufftober 2024 - 23 Rorschach / Walter Kovacs

Rorschach's Journal, October 3, 1884.

Seen Dreiberg again with the girl. Insisted I call her "the girl." Grew up with her, considers her his beloved little sister. Stupid.

Even stupider to have told her he was Nite Owl. Dangerous, especially knowing she's a cop. I don't know why he trusts her.

As a good partner, I've been keeping an eye on her. Doesn't seem to intend to reveal his secret, but that doesn't mean she's not dangerous. May be afraid of being accused of complicity, because she kept the information for several years.

Maybe afraid of me too. Has already crossed paths with me several times in Dreiberg's kitchen. I felt that she hesitated the first time, and several times after, between running away, trying to stop me, and acting as if everything was perfectly normal.

Proof of her intelligence, no doubt. Pretty too. But she won't get me.

Rorschach's Journal, October 14, 1884.

The girl was at Daniel's when I came to get the leftovers from his fridge. Didn't ask any questions.

Maybe he told her I had his permission, or she knows it's useless to try to stop me. Didn't say anything, only wishing me a good evening to let me eat in peace. Didn't try to see under my face.

She smiled at me like I was an old friend. Only Daniel smiles at me like that. Must be trying to gain my trust, to strike at the best moment. Will stay vigilant.

Didn't like that smile. Not at all.

Rorschach's Journal, October 18, 1884.

Massive fire on main street.

Would have liked to help, but not in my power. And… My face was in one of the alleys behind the building, with the rest of my stuff. No way to get it, cops and firefighters everywhere. Despite the panic, they're keeping watch.

The girl was there. Taking care of crying children. Looked at me for a moment, like she recognized me. But she didn't smile.

Rorschach's Journal, October 19, 1884.

My face.

Someone took my face. Went to see where I left it when the fire was well and truly out and everyone had left. Nothing. Nothing else moved, the fire didn't get that far.

Feeling of emptiness. Wants to destroy everything.

Had to put on a mask to go see Dreiberg. The idiot didn't understand what the problem was, saying I could continue fighting crime with a new mask. Thinks the new one is better, less scary, and cleaner. He apologized afterward.

Offered to ask the girl for help. Since she's a cop, she might have some information. Someone could have taken my face to the police station, like a trophy.

Not much hope.

Rorschach's Journal, October 23, 1884.

Daniel looked very proud of himself as he handed me my face. Silly smile, like him.

At first, he didn't want to tell me how he got it. Then he asked me to promise to stay calm. No way, so he didn't want to say anything. Had to end up promising.

Y/N, the girl. She was the one who took my stuff, during the fire. I found it weird that she went into that alley, when there were much more important things to do.

After hesitating, Daniel asked me again to stay calm. Then he ended up admitting that Y/N knew me without my face. She didn't tell him more, just that she had seen me several times, and that she had understood.

Unintentionally, she had also seen where I left my face. Went to take it during the fire, to prevent it from burning or someone else from finding it. Wanted to go put it back afterwards, but had a lot of work, and no way to contact me.

Jumped out the window while Daniel was still saying that I had to stay calm.

Rorschach's Journal, October 31, 1884.

A lot of masks on the street, but not the right ones. Stupid children and adults looking for pleasure to satisfy their vices. At least tonight I could move around without attracting too much attention.

Haven't wanted to see Daniel since the incident. Nor Y/N.

No luck, was buying my newspaper at the usual kiosk when she passed behind me.

I looked at her, I don't know why, and she looked back at me, for a lot of reasons. We stood there staring at each other in the middle of the street like two idiots.

Then she smiled, wishing me a good day before continuing on her way. Nothing else said, no questions, no physical contact, no reprimand or attempt to stop me.

Went to see Daniel to tell him that his "little sister" was stupid. He only noticed that I called her "Y/N", and not "the girl". Left him alone after eating two cans of beans.

[betyloca]

Watchmen characters with an s/o who wears men's clothing.

Daniel Dreiberg(night owl)

• Okay, this guy has seen you wearing men's clothes on many occasions.

• I was curious to know why you don't wear women's clothes.

• doesn't want to seem rude by asking you, he just wants you to explain it to him

Dan: Hey, can I ask you something?

y/n: sure

Dan: Why do you wear men's clothes?

Y/n: oh I just like it

• It's not his place to judge if that makes you happy, then it's okay.

• gives you clothes that you no longer wear or that are too small for you

• defends you if someone makes fun of you

Lauriel Jupiter( silk spectre)

• She is a liberal woman so she never bothered to ask why she was wearing men's clothes.

• It didn't bother him that you didn't wear women's clothes, because it's uncomfortable when men look at you with lust.

• She was curious about what he asked.

Laurel: Y/N honey, why wear men's clothes?

Y/N: Well, I like and find it uncomfortable to wear a dress.

• She saw how happy it made you and didn't complain.

• likes to accompany you shopping for clothes, helping you decide which one suits you best

Water Kovacs (Rorschach)

• This boy thought you were a man until he heard you talk and saw your long hair.

• I definitely thought you were a lesbian.

• He distrusts people a lot and thinks that you are hiding something from him.

Rorschach: Why do you dress like that? What are you hiding?

y/n: nothing, I'm not hiding anything

Rorschach: You're a woman, why don't you wear women's clothes?

y/n: because I like these clothes and have you seen how men look at women?

• well you had a good point, at least he's relieved that men don't see you as a piece of meat

• He stopped caring about how you dressed, he saw how comfortable you felt.

• If someone makes fun of you, believe me, they are a dead man.

• When you go out at night he takes care of you without you seeing him, he fears that there may be people who will hurt you because of how you dress and it makes him nervous.

[sirphrogington3rd]

Your face - Wisp

Rorschach x Reader

Rating: Mature

TW: afab reader, violence, sex

Info on you: Increased awareness, think spidey senses. You can tell when people are near, even if you can't see them. You can sense danger and have advanced combat skills.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of Watchmen or its characters. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

♡Comments like and reblogs are never required but are appreciated♡

https://spotify.link/rHhA7L8gKDb

ʚ----------------ɞ

You threw a punch at a thug, and you were in a predicament. Well, it's not like you didn't put yourself in it, but I was still in a predicament. You were a "hero" in a sense, stopping a robbery with three dudes. You got one to hit another in the face with his weapon while the other tried shooting at you, missing you, and hitting the other guy.

"Come on!" you taunted exasperatly, "If your gonna shoot try and hit me!"

He growled with anger as you rushed him, kicking him in the side, then as he bent over you kicked him in the head, knocking his ass out. You looked at the other two then felt another presence

"Hey, ink splotch," you said punching one, "took you long enough."

"Thought you needed some help," he said pushing the back door open

You spun kicked the guy and exhaled deeply, "So you're stalking me?" you joked as Rorschach punched the other

He growled a reply and you laughed, you've worked with him sometimes, and considered him a friend. When you both got them unconscious and tied up for the cops, you turn to him

"The cops are at least a street away we should go," you said

"Yeah."

____

That was a month before the Comedian's death and you hadn't seen Rorschach, not a sign of him. You thought he'd be at the scene, well after everybody left, so you thought to beat him to it. You walked around the trashed condo, glass crunching under your feet. You heard the click of Rorschach's grapple, then the sound of it retracting, pulling him up the building.

"What- what are you doing here?" he asked

"No reason, Mr. Investigation," you said

He tilted his head at you, and you assumed he raised his brow. He then ignored you and started walking around writing things, here and there. You watched him work, following him around, pretending to understand his work. You took out a small camera and snapped a picture of him, he looked back at you, and you pointed the camera in a different direction. Rorschach knew he'd have to get that picture and destroy it.

"So, what's so interesting about this death?" you asked, "he was not well-liked."

Rorschach looked at you, he was not going to explain, you knew that. He just went back to looking around as you took more pictures of the scene. There was definitely something more than one murder, a revenge murder, The Comedian was better than that.

"I'll give you these pictures when they're done developing," you said walking toward the shattered window

He looked at you and nodded, you winked and jumped out the window, head first. He even understood how you just jumped out windows and disappeared, that was your thing.

_____

You climb through your window, knocking over a picture, and you groan. You went to develop the photos in a separate room. After you did that you went to change and shower. Your suit was uncomfortable but you haven't the time to make a new one. You hang up the spandex suit and grab a towel, walking out of your room, and going straight for the bathroom.

"You can't scare me," you said to the figure in the corner, "They're not gonna develop in 5 seconds."

You open the door to your bathroom and walk in. The water was hot on your skin, you washed up and got out. You dried off, wrapping the towel around you, and walking out. You turned looking at Rorschach, he was eating your leftovers.

"If you gonna eat my food you gotta contribute to the grocery bill," you tell walking into your room

You change into pj pants and a shirt and walk out with your wet hair up in a towel, you walk into the kitchen grab a mug, and put a kettle full of water on the stove.

You lean on the island counter, "You can go check um," you said

Rorschach got up and walked into the other room, the kettle whistled with steam. You pour it into your mug and grab a tea bag dipping it a few times before leaving it, you walk into the other room with Rorschach. He was looking at the nearly-developed film.

"Why don't you just buy a digital camera?" he asked you

You sigh, "too much money," you said

He nodded, you closed the door behind you and walked deeper into the room. You placed your hand on his shoulder as he inspected the photos

"So what do you do when you not Rorschach?"

"I'm never not Rorschach," he said simply

You shake your head disappointingly, "We should go out," you offer, sipping at your tea

"No thanks," he said

You smiled, "Classic."

He looked at you the splotches on his face flowing and changing, you removed your hand, and he ruffled through his pocket, pulling out a hundred dollar bill. You pluck it from his hand and pocket it, winking at him.

.

.

.

You walk across a street puffing at a cigarette a car speeds down the street nearly avoiding you

"ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND!!" you yell after the car

they flip you off and you keep walking till you reach your building, you flick the ash off your cigarette, push the end onto the stone wall, and walk up the stairs to your apartment. You unlock your door and walk in, locking your door again.

"you know those are bad for you?" Rorschach said

"What do you care?" you asked

He shrugs, "I need you alive."

"Do you have any leads?"

"I think there's a killer going for everyone in masks," he said

You nod, "After us all? Watchmen are disbanded, no one knows us, well they know Veidt."

"so it has to be one of us."

"A rat- wait- do you think- are you keeping tabs on me??" you question

He shakes his head, "I already paid a visit to Dan, I'm going for Manhattan and Slick Spectre next."

"You're warning us, have fun trying to get through to John," you say

.

.

.

Rorschach makes his way past guards, chained gates, and locked doors to get to Manhattan when he does, he also comes across Silk Spectre. Spectre tells him he shouldn't be here due to him being wanted which he brushes off. Manhattan tells Laurie what Rorschach came to do.

"I already warned Dreiberg and L/N. Came to warn you too," he says

"She's still out there?" Laurie asked

Rorschach nods, "They haven't caught her yet."

She rolls her eyes.

____

Your phone rang

"Hello?" you answer picking it up

"It's Laurie," she says

You smile, "Hey!-"

"-You need to stop, The cops are after you."

You sigh, "I know, but Justice needs to be served."

"You sound like Rorschach," she laughs

"We've been talking."

"Talking? I barely see him" she says

You roll your eyes, "He basically lives with me and we work together, like before," you said

"I don't want to see you in jail, no one knows who you are, retire."

"Okay," you said softly

.....You lied.....

Fighting crime made you feel alive.

You hung up.

A knock at the window, you look up, you already knew he was back before he tapped. You leave the phone taking long strides across the room. You unlock the window and bend over, lifting the window, and opening it.

"Speak the devil," you gasp playfully

Rorschach looks down at you as you back out the window, letting him in.

"We're roommates at this point," you joked, "you need to start paying rent, Mr. Detective."

"You talk too much," he growls

You roll your eyes, "You don't talk enough!" You plop down dramatically on your couch, "you seem so interesting. Let me pick at your mind!"

"What is wrong with you?" He says, folding his arms across his chest

You roll your eyes, "being rude isn't gonna scare me off. You should know better than that besides, Laurie called."

He tilted his head

"She told me to retire," you sigh, "I've been consider—"

"No."

You raise your brow, "no?"

"No."

You sit up more properly, staring at the masked man across your coffee table, "and why is that?" You inquire

"As you said, I know you better than that," he explains

You look up at him from your seat, "We've known each other so long, and I barely know a thing about you," you say, shaking your head

He shifted, listening to your every word.

"God," you say bursting with emotion, "I really like you and all, but I've been waiting for years for you to open your eyes and realize I was standing here the whole time, caring so fucking much about you! But you just make it so hard," you confess

Rorschach looked at you dumbfounded. Was he just ignoring the feelings you so clearly had for him? Ood pieces fell into their equalling stage places, did he also in some strange way... care about you? Maybe he did. This was a chance, a moment of vulnerability between two polar opposite people.

You pulled hair away from your face, you were getting hot with emotion, you palms starting to sweat. You just couldn't keep it inside any longer, it ate away at you.

"Oh god.." You mumble, putting your head in your hands, "that's so embarrassing..."

Rorschach didn't know what to do in this situation. He wasn't good with things like this.

"Where do you keep your alcohol?" He asks

You laugh at the change in subject, "far left cabinet," you answer.

Rorschach walks into your kitchen, grabbing two glasses and some vodka

"Vodka?" He chuckles

"What can I say, I'm a simple girl of simple pleasures," you shrug

Rorschach sits next to you, handing you a shot glass. He opens the bottle and pours some into your glass. You down the harsh liquid, he pours himself a shot and lifts up his mask. You glance at his shown face, his stubble, and his lips.

You hold out your glass, and he pours you and himself another shot, Rorschach grins slightly, and you tap your glass against his.

_____

Shot after shot, you both got drunk. You, definitely drunker than him. He had kicked his shoes off and taken off his jacket hanging it over the back of the couch. You leaned against him, he had his arm over your shoulder. Odd? Yes, but it was comfortable. You reach for the bottle but he swipes it

"One more," you say trying for the bottle again

"You need to sleep," he says standing

you stand up after him, reaching for it again, Rorschach puts down the bottle. You raise your brow and look at him then the bottle, then him again.

"You confuse me," you say

He then kisses you, well it wasn't a kiss, a peck, not even, and you blush slightly.

"You really do confuse me," you said, slowly kissing him, a real kiss.

He kissed back with a little more force and your hands came up slowly to his chest. He might have been one of the most infamous men in New York but he was flesh and blood underneath that mask. He was warm and sturdy.

Rorschach felt something snap inside himself, a long-dead desire, an animal he thought he had tamed. Feeling your hands rubbing up on him, he needed this, needed to feel wanted. The fire of lust he fought so hard to extinguish was ignited by the touch of an old friend. He let himself go, holding your face with his rough hand, drawing you closer.

Your hands moved up his chest to his shoulders, and your fingers slipped under his half-pulled-up mask, feeling the short hairs on the back of his neck. You felt him shiver under your touch making you realize the power you had over him.

"wanna take this to the bedroom?" you asked, breath heavy

Rorschach took in a breath, the smell of alcohol taken with, "yeah," he said deeply

Your hand moves down his shoulders to his hand, taking it in yours tenderly. You lead him to your room and open the door, and he closes it behind himself. You pull closer, kissing his gently before laying and getting onto the bed.

You didn't bother with the lights. You knew he would've wanted them off, You reach into your bedside table. You pull out a condom and put it into Rorschach's hand

"I'm sure you know the basics?" You said jokingly

He growled a response and held it in his teeth while unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. You pulled down your loose pajama pants the your panties, keeping your oversized shirt on. Rorschach pulls down his boxers and rips the wrapper of the condom sliding it down his shaft. You guide him as he slides into you, a groan leaving his lips. You yelp slightly before covering your mouth in embarrassment, your hand held onto his forearm.

The way you held onto Rorschach made him crazy, the fire inside him burning brighter. It took everything in him not to finish right there. He loved hearing the sweet sounds coming from you, he grabbed your hand moving it off your face. You glare at him through the dark, trying to hold back your moans.

He slides his hands up your thighs and to your hips, pushing himself deeper into you with each hungry thrust. You grip your sheets, hearing him groan and mumble curses made you tremble with lust. Rorshach looked down at you through his mask, watching your face contort with each moan. It drove his want deeper.

"Fuck..." he mumbled and he grabbed your hand, holding it

Your hand gripped his as you gasped, teetering on your orgasm.

"God!" you whimpered

Rorschach leans down and presses his lips against yours, you feel him shiver against you. You kiss back, your hand reaching to hold his face, slipping your fingers under the fabric. His jaw hung open slightly. You moan against his lips announcing your climax, arching your back at the feeling. He soon finishes too holding your hips against his. He stays there for a bit, his breath heavy, before laying beside you. You turned your head looking at him

"I'm going to take a shower," you said gently standing up

He nodded while looking up at the ceiling, thinking over this new experience. Rorschach heard you turn on the shower and got up walking after you.

You hear the door open and shuffling, clothes hitting the ground, and you hear the cutin slide open. Rorschach places a hand on your shoulder

"You don't have on your mask?" you ask

"I don't," he says

You look at his hand, "Can I look?"

He grumbled a reluctant, "Yes"

You turned with your eyes scanning over his face, the lines on his face, his jagged features, his sharp eyes. You really looked at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. You place your hand on his cheek and watch his eyes soften.

"Has anyone ever told you how nice your eyes are?" you joked looking into the icy pools

He grinned at you.

_____

As you lay in your bed, cuddling up to Rorschach's side. Then something clicked in your mind, you just fucked the dude you've been "crushing on" for years, but Rorschach was also thinking. Thinking about every opinion he ever had on women,

He sighed and you looked at him, placing a sweet kiss on his cheek. His stomach ached with butterflies at the soft gesture. You lay your head on his shoulder and close your eyes.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Heyy! I tried to keep Rorschach's personally as close to cannon as I could but he does have some ....things..... up with him I had to scrap. I hope you liked it either way tho.

[chalkscene]

lovebrush chronicles ⇢ “I CAN HOLD THE WORLD IN MY HANDS”

how they react to you saying you can hold the world in your hands then gently cupping their face

ft. ayn alwyn, alkaid mcgrath, lars rorschach & clarence clayden

note: reader’s cat’s name in alkaid’s drabble is set to beans which i named my mc’s cat because i forgot what the default name was djsjdjsja

just as you expected, you find AYN in the music room, practicing his piece for an upcoming school program. careful not to make any noise, you tread lightly to where he’s sat, slowly sliding into the already little space next to him on the piano bench. without pausing his hands above the keys, ayn scoots over to give you more room. soon he’s playing the last key of the composition and the moment the sound fades into silence, he lets out a frustrated sigh and runs his fingers through his hair. unable to find the right words that would seem helpful, you simply lift a hand to brush his locks, straightening a few flyaways and fixing his bangs before you cradle his face in your palms in comfort. for a moment, you wordlessly stare at ayn, taking in his stunning visage, and he doesn’t miss the abrupt quiet. “what is it?” he asks to which you answer playfully, “nothing. just holding the world in my hands.” the smallest of smiles adorns ayn’s features in an instant but not without a subtle eye roll. still, his crimson eyes turn into rubies as a gleam of affection flickers in his gaze. “you’re distracting me,” he replies in jest. you let go of him as you jokingly put your hands up in mock surrender, “please don’t call your bodyguards on me.” that coaxes a chuckle out of ayn, “tempting.” soon, you feel his arm snake around your waist as he pulls you closer and when you don’t inch away from him, he resumes his practice.

you and ALKAID are sat side by side on the couch as you watch beans and sparkles roughhousing in the middle of your living room. you don’t notice how much time has passed but it feels like the silence has gone for too long when you speak. “you’re an astronomy major,” you tell alkaid. “yes,” he confirms earnestly as if the information wasn’t already glaringly obvious. “can you hold the world in your hands?” you ask him quizzically. alkaid is clearly caught off guard by your odd question so without waiting for a response you know you’re not getting, you raise your hands and gently cup his cheeks, “i can.” alkaid gives you no response and you begin to think he’s put off by the cheesy gesture until a smile stretches across his face and he finally speaks. “so you’re saying i’m about…” he pauses briefly as he tries to recall a fact, “12,756 kilometers big.” there’s a hint of amusement in alkaid’s expression as he relays the information to you but you only knit your eyebrows in confusion so he continues with a sheepish grin, “that’s the size of the earth.” “of course.” you can’t help but roll your eyes at his sense of humor but you also find it incredibly endearing that you don’t bother to stifle the giggle that bubbles past your lips. alkaid laughs at your reaction, “what?” “only an astronomy major would say that.”

LARS invited you to spend the day with him at work—“i’m feeling lonely,” he said over the phone, the pout on his voice very audible on your end of the line that you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him. so here you both are, tangled up in each other’s embrace since the moment lars joined you on the couch in his office sometime during the afternoon. under the orange rays of the sunset passing through the glass walls of the room, his blue eyes shine more brightly than they already do and his blonde hair have turned golden. he looks ethereal like this. “something on my face?” his voice snaps you out of your reverie, smugness painted all over his visage. you realize he can tell you’ve been staring. earlier in the relationship, it would’ve flustered the hell out of you but now you simply mirror the expression on his face as you gently hold it in your palms and you’re immediately filled with pride when his breath hitches at your affection. “nothing,” you say with faux indifference, “just checking if i can hold the world in my hands.” lars’ ever so familiar cockiness dissolves from his features, instantly replaced by a loving look in his eyes, “well?” “i guess i can,” you murmur. the deep rumble of lars’ chuckle soon hits your ears then he’s pulling you close as a teasing smirk stretches across his face once more, “you are so in love with me.” and you don’t deny it. you lean further onto his chest as he tightens his hold on your body. against your cheek, you feel his heart pick up the pace and that tells you enough—lars rorschach is undoubtedly just as in love with you.

“knock knock,” you say as you poke your head through the door to the student council’s office and CLARENCE immediately turns to the sound of your voice. “hi,” you add with a grin that clarence returns—or tries to return rather. despite the softening of his gaze and the air of authority around him vanishing, it’s easy to notice the stress that has dampened his spirits. “hey,” he replies anyway. he invites you to join him at his desk and you gladly do, although carefully perching on the edge of the table. “everything okay, mr. president?” clarence huffs out a chuckle at the nickname before releasing an exasperated sigh. “what’s up?” you ask again and clarence answers this time. as an insignificant member of the student body, you only understand half of his student council worries—one of them being this year’s stellaris cup not having enough participants. “what if i join?” you suggest and clarence can immediately sense the halfheartedness in your tone. “you’d do that?” he asks dubiously, the corner of his lips now quirked up as he prepares to call you out on your bullshit. maybe you are just attempting to cheer him up but it’s the thought that counts. “i would,” you retort as you get on your feet with theatrical confidence, “for my first trick, i will hold the world in my hands.” clarence raises an eyebrow but he doesn’t interrupt so you walk around his desk until you’re standing in front of him. when your hands softly land on his face, he’s quick to understand what you mean and in your grip, he shakes his head in amusement but a subtle blush now dusts his cheeks. “that’s a winning talent if you ask me,” you jest. that earns you a laugh from clarence as he jokingly agrees, “it is.” in the same instance, you feel him lean further into your touch, closing his eyes as he basks in it then he sighs in pleasure.

[idyllcy]

cressie's archive : drafts/unposted

here is EVERY SINGLE UNFINISHED DEVELOPED DRAFT I have :3

Danganronpa

cruel summer // wrecked at sea

The setting sun paints you in red, the image terrifying yet so comforting to the boy. You look like the devil. Komaeda hears the sound of the boat approaching the dock in the background. "I'll see you in five years, Komaeda."

prom queen // ultimate pageant queen reader

Servant watches, heart heavy, mind a mess. That was supposed to be him. He's supposed to be the one to serve you. He feels you had taken what he said personally. It wasn't like he was wrong, but maybe he did need to apologize for not taking your emotions seriously.

white (lies) // eating disorder

You despise the taste of food on your lips, yet you lie to Teruteru about how delicious his cooking was. Komaeda hates people like you

(untitled) // yokai au // dead dove do not eat

Komaeda sighs as he turns into a human, and he grumbles. He didn't want to hex the area, but if he's going to have to find you, then so be it. If you die because of some unfortunate accident again, he's going to kill himself for real this time. 

and baby when it's love if it's not rough it isn't fun // pt of gambling au

Komaeda works to pay back that debt. Would you still pick him if he wasn't yours by force?

gold // isekaied reader

Chiaki clings onto you, unsure as to why you ran so fast, yet she spots her classmates rushing after you while you run. She sees the interest that flashes across Kamukura's face. She notices the ragged breath you run downhill with. Chiaki doesn't know what you're so scared of; yet, as you slam the door behind you, breath ragged, tears streaming, Chiaki thinks she knows.

(untitled) // future foundation ultimate god reader

Hinata is right. You don't like the look you took to be in the foundation. It crawls at your skin uncomfortably, and it looks nothing like how you were supposed to look. What happened to your hair? Your face? Your skin and limbs? You miss when you never took a form.

from elysium, with love // hades game au

With a spin of your robe, you're gone. Hinata stares at where you once were, and he does wonder how you do what you do. The incarnate of death. Hinata liked the cold of death. Your touch was welcome on his warm skin, even more so to his legs which burn of the lakes of Tartarus. The touch of death was welcome to him.

hype boy // food vlogger + college // dual pov fic

while vlogging at the newest cafe on campus, you pay Hinata $15 to bite and record him swallowing the coffee puck. He goes viral as a result.

DC

was it real or just for show? // engaged

You fly out because Tim Drake doesn't care for you anyway. Why is he so adamant about finding you if he doesn't give a shit and returns late all the time?

i want you for worse or for better // mercenary + royal

First Prince Dick Grayson has just had his engagement broken. That very night, he shows up at the pub you work at, drowning out his sorrows in enough liquor to kill an elephant

Red 19 // gambling + casino

Coin in your hand and wealth given to the neighborhood, you wonder if Red Hood is truly as unbreakable as everyone makes him out to be.

"Let's get married" // arranged marriage + soulmates // COMPLETED

When Tim's soulmate is slapped at a Wayne Gala, it seems natural that he should abuse soulmate laws and force them out of their abusive house. Too bad you're adamant about killing yourself.

High school, hi school // high school

Damian only knows you as the other artist in his class. When he crashes into your apartment on accident mid-fight, he worries you'll speak up on it. You don't, and when he turns you down at graduation, the story is supposed to end there.

surface, subface // hades game au

Tim doesn't remember why he still breaks out when his mother is already home? What is it? What is he missing? Why is there an aide managing mother's cottage now?

to live, to love, to lie // metahuman reader

You spend most of your time partying. Being overstimulated and numb was better than being understimulated and numb. A walking phonebook. A walking encyclopedia. Kon finds you partying one night, and one look is all he needs to grab you.

you're not mine // exes au

Tim never got to tell you he was Red Robin when you were dating, so he takes advantage of that and visits your art studio at night to hang out. Nevermind the fact that he was in the middle of divorce processions with his wife or whatever.

Tears of Themis

emerald green // arranged marriage

Years ago, Vyn remembers the feeling of his hand in yours, and both of you are unhappy. In current day, he navigates the murky waters of his feelings for you with you back with him.

Lovebrush Chronicles / For All Time

lion // high school au

When Lars transfers to your school, his flamboyancy evokes eyes from everyone — Including you. You long to be free like him.

Resident Evil / Biohazard

red means i love you // mutual stalking

"Almost forgot you." You grab the teddy, holding it by the hand as you turn it to face the wall in the bathroom. "I still don't appreciate you watching me and not letting me see you, y'know, Ada?" You start the shower, feeling for it as you huff. "What's the fun in sending you lego roses each day with cameras inside if you only keep them at your counter?"

the dead haunt the dead // government agent + plagas

"Are you here to finally kill me?" You stare at Leon, same plagas scars on your face, eyes now the same color as Saddler's prior to his death. Leon can't pull the trigger.

(untitled) // medieval knight Leon // COMPLETED

The fire crackles in your eyes, ashes burning and shattering as you stare, words tumbling out of your heart, eyes weary with an age that should not be possible to you. You look both wounded and aged. Leon has only ever seen those eyes on the men who live til sixty, white visible in both their hair and eyes, old age consuming them until they are a shell of their previous self. You should not be capable of such emotion.

american dream // Nouveau Riche + Gatsby 1920s Leon

Leon Scott Kennedy lacks nothing. A pool the size of Lake Michigan, a tennis court the size of an acre, a bathroom the size of a factory. Leon Scott Kennedy lacks nothing.

Call of Duty

signed puck: signed, luck // Hockey AU Simon Riley

He wants a minx? You'll give him one.

Hades Game

son of apollo, lover of none

Ion is in your care, and Apollo begs that you stay

No promises any of this gets finished but this is for anyone who's ever been curious abt how much shit ends up in the graveyard also feel free to leave a comment or ask if u really want me to finish smth from this list bc like everything here is alr like 2k+ words

[romance-rambles]

qixi lars | what comes the morning after

The morning after their reunion, Lars wakes up beside his beloved empress. Naturally, he takes the opportunity to admire her before waking her up.

1.1k, post-qixi card story, domestic + possibly toothrotting fluff, reader is mc, series: none

FOR ONCE, IT IS NOT a dream when Lars wakes to the sight of his beloved. And if the warmth of your skin should not be enough to persuade him of such a thing, then his aching arm—burdened with the most important task of all—should suffice instead.

You are, at once, exactly as he imagined you and a fantasy beyond his wildest dreams. The length of your hair falls further than it used to, and there is a scar on the palm of your hand where there was nothing. But the lovely smile you shared with him last night remains the same as ever.

He shifts onto his side, careful to leave the sleeping beauty on his arm undisturbed. His other hand reaches out and carefully brushes through your unkempt bangs, leaving them to lay flat against your forehead.

It is tempting—to poke your forehead as he used to, back on your boat when his world seemed to limit itself to you. But, instead, his hand travels to your cheek, knuckles gently carressing your soft skin.

If yesterday is a day of firsts—the first time he saw you again, the first time he held you again, and the first time you uttered those three words, which, for the longest time, he heard only from the ghost that haunted him—then today, as well, should hold that distinction.

For today is the first day of the rest of their lives as emperor and empress—

And the first time he can appreciate your slumbering visage outside of his nightmares.

The slight furrow of your brows. The faint smile playing on your lips. The way your nose lightly puffs up with every breath you take. And the shadow cast under your eyes by your thick lashes, short though they may be—shorter than his, supposedly.

You measured them both out last night. He sat obediently with his eyes closed, the taste of your lips lingering on his tongue. As the seconds passed by, you grew increasingly miffed. Though you could grasp his lashes, such a fact did not seem to aid you in proving your point.

(You once heard a woman you'd befriended complain that her husband's eyelashes were long and beautiful, and his skin required virtually none of the upkeep hers did. She said she was sometimes jealous that he was more beautiful than she was—but mostly, it was the fact that everyone else knew to appreciate his beauty that drove her.

Somehow, when a brief awkwardness descended after that first kiss, that was the first thought your mind offered you.)

When he opened his eyes, you were as close as you had been at the start of it all. Close enough to hold, closer still to kiss. His lips had flattened; his smile, behind which he was attempting to smother his laughter, deepened.

Amusement glinted in his blue eyes—as it does now, in the present—and he asked:

"So, have you found your proof yet?"

The word no never left your lips. With the way a scowl crept up onto your face, it wasn't necessary. That was when he laughed, and his shoulders felt so light. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this way—but he figured it must've before that fateful night, when they hadn't even said goodbye.

Before his smile could fade, ever so slight, you were already holding his face. And with that came another kiss—this time, from you to him.

Spurred by the memory, Lars leans down and kisses your forehead. Your eyes are still closed, but your hand manages to capture his own. Your once faint smile has grown uncontrollably, its soft edges cutting into your flushed cheeks.

"Good morning, my empress," he whispers softly into your ear, and watches you bite your lip.

(The truth is, you've been awake for a while now.

Or, perhaps, it's more accurate to say that you never slept at all. How Lars managed to fall asleep with the many thoughts that must've been running through his head is a question for the ages.

But if you'd been sleepy at all, then his little stunt certainly woke you up.)

It's only when he pulls away that you deign to crack one eye open. Squeezing his hand gently, you bury your head into his chest with a groan, any thoughts of waking up seemingly forgotten. He chuckles warmly and squeezes your hand in return.

Outside, the sun has already risen. Gentle winds carry birdsong to every corner of the empire as his stomach—and, undoubtedly, your as well—reminds him of its hunger.

In the previous days, Lars would've already been up by now, a quill in hand while he poured over documents in his office. Even in the short time he lived with you, he was always waking up first. You hadn't been joking when you appointed him as your personal chef, after all.

And even if you had been, Lars finds your smile—and your snack stash—to have been payment worthy of an emperor playing fisherman. There are few things a man wouldn't do a for beautiful woman he was beginning to fall in love with.

So, with great reluctance towards disturbing your peaceful countenance, he attempts to wake you up in the only foolproof way he knows how.

"How does some grilled fish sound for breakfast?" Lars asks.

You pull away, lifting your head off his arm just enough that he could easily slip it away. Propping himself up by his elbow, he watches you quietly contemplate your options. Eventually, you sit up, legs folded and bent to the side.

(You would never turn down food when it's offered to you.

And you would certainly never turn down food made for you by the man you love—who also happens to have proved his skills in the kitchen. Naturally, there's only one choice you can make.)

"Good—" A yawn breaks up your words; you cover your mouth with your other hand. "—morning. Fish sounds good."

And his hand remains still in your grasp. Only that, instead of clutching it against your cheek, you have it resting atop your calf. He can't help but think back to the days when even something as simple and domestic as this seemed to be out of reach—that is to say, up until last night.

"Some grilled fish worthy of an empress, coming right up."

Intertwining their fingers together, Lars smiles softly. You don't fight him when he draws your hand closer—and for his efforts in kissing the back of your hand, you reward him with flushed cheeks and a distracted smile.

(It truly is unfair how beautiful he is, you think, and it is perhaps the only part of your thoughts that happens to be coherent. The rest of it comes in the form of visions—of things one would normally expect to happen the night before.

It's hardly the first time you've thought such things, but it is most certainly the first time it's happened in front of the man himself. You suspect this won't be last time either.)

— happy birthday to @sparklesfromtheashes!!

[gimme-noodles-please]

lars and clarence new event card in cn server 👀

[sundaynie]

lars “TOUCH MY WIFE AND YOU DIE” rorschach nbd 🤪

the “WHERE IS MY WIFE” trope is trope-ing y’all overprotective husband!emperor lars is mad MADDD but i’m so down BADDDD kslkslsdjjdl

[purplelupins]

I’m opening it up my Commissions for a couple slots! The economy sucks and your girl is 26 and writes smut.

-Nora

As of now, I am opening commissions.

Commissions status: OPEN

That being said, my rules are as follows:

— i only write female readers (i would write male as well but Its just not something I’m familiar with)

-i will only take on a maximum of 5 at a time, depending on the detail, and length of each commission request.

-if I do not feel that the request is true to the chosen character(ex. Major fluff with John Tyler…it might get fluffy but that man’s manipulative and a creep I love) then I have the choice to refuse or offer changes to the commission to better suit the character

-I can refuse any commission for whatever reason, and I will expect that the refusal will not be met with hostility and harassment.

Pricing is as follows:

$5 for 500 words

$10 for 1000 words

$20 for 2000 words

And so on…

***payment will be made through the ‘tip me’ feature here on Tumblr, and must be made when you receive the initial outline of the full fic***

The current characters I will currently write for are:

-Ray (Raymond and Ray)

-Albert Shaw (The Black Phone)

-Ernst Toller (The First Reformed)

- Lars Nystrom (Stockholm)

-Goodnight Robicheux (The Magnificent 7)

- Father Paul Hill (Midnight Mass)

-Noah Bearinger (Paper Year)

-Miles (You Cant Say No)

-Gary (Unicorn Store)

-John Tyler (Tell Me Your Secrets)

-Norman Nordstrom(Don’t breathe)

- Lalo Salamanca (Better Call Saul)

-Rorschach/Walter Kovacs (Watchmen)

What I will write:

-Fluff

-Hurt/comfort

-Smut (kinks I will write for are bondage, cnc, non-con, dom/sub, stalking, breeding, light daddy, somnophilia, sadism, praise, humiliation, nipple play, innocence kink ) ***if you have a kink not listed, ask anyway because I might have forgotten some***

If you have any questions, please feel free to ask.

[i-smoke-chapstick]

‘BEAUTY SCHOOL,

-RORSCHACH X READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; He has to show you how much he craves you.

⋆ tags/warnings. rorschach x female reader. NSFW. pure porn, SOME plot. but mostly porn. incredibly self indulgent after watching watchmen and realizing theres no smut of this man? I had to do it myself. Kinda OOC. (Rory’s codependent in this). I wanted to write something a little more obsessive. Be prepared for more watchmen fics. WATCHMEN REQUESTS OPEN!! For all characters!! stalking, smut, unprotected sex, man handling, choking, groping, obsessive behavior, mild pseudo praise kink. AGRESSSSSIVE sex. It’s Rorschach, what do you expect ! He’s a warning by himself.

♫ “I like you when you take off your face. / I watch you taste it. / It drives me crazy, Just drives me wild.” Beauty School by Deftones.

You aren’t sure what the two of you are.

Late nights, just like this. He stalks you, put bluntly. He follows you home, hands in pockets, weaving in and out of shadows. The night is dangerous. Full of sinners and whores. Scum.

But not you. No, you’re…purer than the rest of them. Distilled. You remind him of Daniel. Naive. And you lack Daniel’s skills in protection. You need to be careful, at all costs. That’s why he’s there. He watches silently, and eventually when you’re alone, he’ll appear. He won’t knock, but he’ll appear. You won’t know how. But he always does.

You aren’t safe, not even now. Not in your apartment, door locked. No, you’re only safe with him. Next to him.

Your adrenline spikes when you turn on the light. There he is. Expressionless mask standing before you, staring right back into the nothingness. Your body jumps, and you force yourself to swallow the squeal in your throat.

He grunts to himself. He zones in on you, like a predator. Any other night you’d ask why, but you already know. From the way his jaw just barely clenches from underneath his mask. He’s needy. As rough and rude as he is…Walter Kovacs will never fully dissapear. Not with you.

He needs to taste you. Know you’re here. Know you’re safe. Make you feel good.

You let your breathing slow, and your heart calm. When you realize what it is, what he wants, you can’t help the smallest ghost of a smile on your face.

Okay, Rory, You think. Go on and have it.

Before you know it, he’s all tongue and teeth. Mask lifted up just above his mouth, kissing and licking and sucking on your neck. He’s placed himself behind you, breathing you in. His hand starts around your neck, squeezing you breathless, holding you in place. He works his way down, eventually almost painfully grabbing onto you. You can’t help the small string of noises that fall from your lips.

“I watch you when you sleep,” He says, voice hoarse as always. Blunt. He doesn’t hide it. You’re eyebrows furrow together, trying to focus. You should reprimand him, but you can’t. It’s who he is. “You’re all I think about…Don’t you dare turn away from me.”

His voice comes out in a growl, and you feel your body surge.

“Won’t let go.” His hand traverses down to your core. He wastes no time, rubbing gentle circles through your clothing.

“I’m yours,” You say, to help him. Reassure him…ease him. Help him down from this.

Almost involuntarily, at his words, his ministrations speed up. He needs to feel you, he needs more.

“Show me,” His words border on impatient. Demanding. But you see through them. He’s begging. For trust, for loyalty, for proof.

You turn your head towards his, flipping yourself around. You connect your lips, letting his grip falter, only to tighten. It’s raw, borderlining on feral. It’s all desperation. This kiss is punishing. You don’t know what for. His stubble scrapes your chin, breathing raggedly. His teeth skim your bottom lip.

You’re surroundings blur as you’re moved onto the bed, pushed and laid out for him. Even though its dark, he’s guided you to your own bed. He knows this room as well as you do, and you don’t even question it.

One last kiss is pressed to you, dizzying. A groan of his vibrates against your mouth as he trails down. Further and further and further, pressing wet and messy kisses across your chest and navel. He’s hungry tonight. He’s starving.

He practically rips your clothes off you. In one movement, you’re bare for him, and you shiver. You feel his hot breath against your clit, and he wears an expression akin to a snarl, before he roughly grabs your thighs. Impatient.

You didn’t peg him for a tease, but it seems he knows what he’s doing. You know he’s never had anyone else before you. You think he just likes to see the way you shake underneath him. Knowing he’s the cause.

He presses only a few more tentative kisses to the inside of your thighs, before he lets out a huff, and his tongue connects with your pussy instantly. Like magnets. His tongue is rough against you, swiping up and down. His nails dig almost painfully into your thighs, and he pushes you’re whole body up into him and his mouth. He’s feeding you to himself.

“Rory-” you whimper out at the harsh move, legs lifted above his shoulders. He grunts in response.

“Closer.” Is all he says, unable to break away. He shoves you into him, and obscenities fall from your lips.

His hands come up around your legs, palming your breasts and thighs. It’s all for you, for your pleasure. You can feel his praise, communicated through his tongue shoved in and out of you. The bundling of nerves in your stomach tightens. You can’t see through his mask, how he watches your every move. The way your eyes glaze over. Him. All him. All because of him.

A yelp of surprise leaves you when he breaks himself away, boiling point reached. He flips you over on your stomach, ass up in the air. A guttural sound from him arises, and you feel his palm collide with your thigh. Coat long ago discared, muscular arms man-handle you upwards, angling you up to him.

You clutch the sheets hard, clawing for a tether. He shoves his cock into you in one movement. Animalistic. His hands hold onto your hips like a lifeline, and he wastes no time in pounding you into the bed.

You hear the mattress squeak and the headboard bang against the wall. You go to put your hand over your mouth to muffle your moans, but he roughly grabs your wrist before you get the chance, shoving it back down. You squeeze your eyes shut in the pleasure, pitying your neighbours.

“Feel,” He commands. And you do. “Feel me.”

You can hardly breathe, sprawled out for him. You don’t know how you couldn’t. His teeth grit as he bucks into you, pinning you down. He watches, mesmorized, as his dick slides in and out of your hole, dissapearing. He’s kept himself from this degeneracy for so long. This…this is weakness. But not with you. Never with you. You’re different. You’re his. And you feel better than anything he could’ve ever imagined.

Everytime you clench around him, he fucks you harder. You’re sure you’ll be bruised in the morning. You don’t care.

“Only me,” He repeats. He feels that strange, foreign feeling of ecstacy boil within him. Everytime he takes you like this is like an electric shock. He’s been…celibate for so long. He’ll never tire of this feeling. His words break more than usual, both of you lost in complete pleasure.

With a low grunt, he pushes into you one final time, spilling his cum inside you. You feel him pump you full, hands gripping onto you that silently say hold still and take it.

This is him. He’s bared himself to you. He needs you, over and over again. He’s filled with guilt. Disgusted with himself. Somehow, it only makes him fuck you harder through your orgasm, as if chasing it all away. Nothing else matters. No one. No one but you.

When you both are dressed, he stands at the edge of the bed. Your body is worn, and sleep overtakes your body and mind easily. He wasn’t lying. He’ll watch over you, all night. Every twitch of your body, every soft breath. He fantasizes about what he would do, to any criminal stupid enough to dare try to hurt you.

You’re safe like this, he reaffirms. Only like this. Only with him.

[for-all-time-imagines]

The plant asks are a soul feeding lifesaver thank you 🙏. Can I get a ~Marigold~ for all the lovebrush boys?

Plant Ask Prompt List

🌻marigold: how jealous do they get? how do they react when they get jealous?

Alkaid

Whenever Alkaid feels jealous he's never angry towards you or the other person, thinking it's an internal problem that he needs to sort out. Is he feeling this way because he has a hunch that he's lacking? Should he take notes of what the other person is doing and emulate it to make you happy? In a way he puts you in a pedestal since he places a great deal of trust on you and nothing is ever your fault, pointing the blame to himself if something goes wrong. He will still step in if he notices you're beginning to get uncomfortable, but it takes a while before his mind completely clears up. Later on he will bring it up and then apologize, vowing to do better next time so he doesn't feel that way again, not quite realizing that being jealous on occasion is normal and he shouldn't take it as a bad thing as long as he never goes too far.

Ayn

Ayn tries not to let the jealousy get to him most of the time but it can't be helped that there are days where the little things can set him off: it happens when the other person stands too close to you, talking to you too familiarly, even worse if they're touchy as if they have no concept of boundaries. At the very least he makes an attempt to keep the jealousy under control by deflecting, letting you know beforehand that you're responsible for your actions and there's no way in hell he is going to leave you room for forgiveness if you choose to make advances, regardless if you meant it as a joke or not. Admittedly it's not the best method to keep his thoughts at bay, but it does the job. Afterwards you'll notice that he is pouty which is not something a few reassurances can't fix.

Cael

Cael has never really felt it before due to his upbringing so when the jealousy surfaces for the first time, he isn't sure how to categorize the emotion. All he knows is it makes him see red and the sudden urge to deal with the other person through any means possible is overwhelming his senses. Considering how much it would take for him to get to the point of jealousy, it also takes a while for him to calm down, and his thoughts of how to keep you away from all harm (both figuratively and literally) are getting sorted into the part of his brain that consists of actions he should never act upon no matter what. Ultimately, his jealousy is rare and unfamiliar, so strong that can make him act purely on impulse, which undoubtedly will thwart all his future plans and break your trust if he doesn't keep himself in check.

Clarence

Clarence isn't a jealous person by nature. He doesn't mind seeing you grow closer to others because he wants you to have as much agency as possible with your own actions. If someone is bothering you, he knows you can handle yourself so he doesn't interfere but should you use your voice to ask for help, you can count on him to be there within a moment's notice. Typically just his presence is enough to send them running although he isn't above threatening the other person if they refuse to back off after the first time. His choice of words are deliberate and seemingly dangerous but he would never think of inflicting harm to them unless he has no other choice. It takes someone truly formidable for his threats to be serious, thankfully the person bothering you is far from that.

Lars

When someone gets too close to you Lars pretends to be jealous for the laughs. Aside from that you've never seen him actually get jealous over the course of your relationship but that's far from the case when you weren't together yet. It's not as if he ever doubted that he stood a chance with you, if anything he knows he has a shot if he makes the most of his time with you. Problem is his chances are few and far in between; he has to work harder if it means freeing up a fraction of his schedule to see you, and even then there's a possibility that he will see you basking in somebody else's company as soon as he enters the room. There are moments when he wonders what it's like to have less responsibilities, to have more freedom to do what he wants, but he quickly pushes the feeling down before marching to your side.

[serendiquity]

Because I love you - Lovebrush Chronicles

Valentine's Day/Rose Day headcanons for the lbc boys

Clarence

"We would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright." - Ernest Hemingway.

Detailed and meticulous, Clarence’s nature is reflected in the blue roses he gives you. He doesn’t hand them to you outright, instead tucking them in books he lends you and leaving them in places he knows you often frequent. He presses some into bookmarks to preserve for longer, hoping that perhaps you’ll grow curious enough to search up their meaning on your own.

Clarence makes sure to dye each rose in different shades, each bloom boasting beautiful petals and, if you look closely enough, the hints of dyed-blue water still lingering in the stem. 

It’s a pleasant surprise, and soon you find yourself dyeing roses to give back in exchange. Upon starting, however, you realize that you’ve greatly underestimated the difficulty of what originally seemed like a simple task. Apart from finding the perfect roses to use, the dye needs constant refreshing and your petals keep wilting before you manage to finish. 

Clarence realizes your intentions when he sees you fiddling with one of your failed attempts, the blue dye barely even reaching past the stem. His eyes widen before he smiles, eyes soft. “Here, I’ll teach you.” 

Just like that, your weekly study sessions take on an added aspect, and Clarence patiently takes the time to help with your new interest. Within a few days, you’re eager to present him with the results of your hard work, handing him a bouquet of sky blue roses. “They ended up being a bit lighter than I wanted, but I hope you like them!”

Alkaid

“True love is like little roses, sweet, fragrant in small doses.” - Ana Claudia Antunes

Alkaid is fond of white roses, and he believes their meaning encompasses you quite well: innocent, loyal, and kind, but with the thorns to protect yourself if necessary. He thinks that happiness tastes sweetest when shared and savored slowly, and so he hopes that the roses he gifts you each day can brighten your life, just like what you do for him. 

He gives you twelve roses in the days leading up to the confession, a single white blossom every day. Each, he makes sure to present in a different way. The first he hands you outright, summer sunlight shining gently down as witness. The second he makes into a pale floral tea, petals drifting and bubbles rising like tiny stars. He sees you hesitate for a moment, looking down at the cup he handed you with undecipherable emotions, before drinking the contents enthusiastically. “It’s good,” you say, and he lets out a quiet sigh of relief, breaking into a small smile. 

Throughout the next few days, he finds a multitude of ways to express his love, from pressed flowers to light flirting to your intertwined hands. Every time, he waits, watching for the slightest sign of disappointment or approval from you. When you beam and thank him, his heart lifts, and he feels a bit more confident. 

The last rose, given on the twelfth day, he tucks into your hair, thorns carefully clipped away. He leads you to a picnic he prepared, a spread of your favorite foods and treats already laid out. He watches as you enjoy yourself, blissfully oblivious to his budding feelings. For a moment, he considers reaching out to clasp your hands in his own, then blurting out the words that have been haunting him for so long. He shakes the thought away. 

… It’s alright even if you don’t realize. After all, love is best given and received in small doses, and he has plenty of time and love to give. 

Lars

“And then there were our sweet stolen moments in the midst of our work – just a word, or caress, or flash of love-light; and our moments were sweeter for being stolen.” - Jack London

To Lars, Valentines’ day is a rare chance to take a break from work and see you. Passionate and flamboyant, Lars wants to express his love in any way possible, and celebrating the holiday together is the perfect way to do it. 

He texts you early in the morning to make sure you’re free, hoping you can go with him for a surprise date. Call him classic, but he shows up at your house with a bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath, stealing your own breath away in exchange. He grins boyishly and tugs you outside, whisking you away to visit a cafe you had mentioned liking a few weeks back, going shopping together, and even arranging a candlelit dinner. Even if it’s cheesy, he boldly serenades you with love songs he prepared, and watching you laugh freely makes it all worth it.

If it weren’t for his responsibilities, he’d spend the whole week with you if he could, indulging you in whatever you wanted to do. But he can’t do that, so he settles for making today the best day he can instead. 

At the end of the day, he escorts you back home, dropping you off at the door with a dramatic bow and flourish. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees your eyes sparkle with an idea. “Come here,” you say, beckoning him closer. “Today was a lot of fun.” 

You push yourself onto your tiptoes, left arm on his shoulder for balance. Before he realizes what’s happening, your lips are pressed to his cheek, leaving a crimson lipstick mark as red as the roses he gave you before. You pull away and grin at him, turning to head inside. He stands there for a long moment afterwards, hand to his face.

Though he had intended for it to be the other way around, he thinks that today has made him fall even deeper in love with you. And if you don’t realize the depths of his feelings, then he’ll simply have to repeat himself again and again until you do. 

[betyloca]

innocent butterfly

Warnings: domestic violence/child abuse/mention of prostitution/violence.

pairing: rorschach x reader

Summary: Walter never had to feel like he had to protect someone, much less feel loved, until he met a person who made him feel that way.

In an apartment there was a red-haired boy walking down a hallway. He had heard some sounds in his mother's room.

He walked slowly as the sounds became more specific, "ahh louder." The boy approached the door, opening it slowly, he noticed that a man was with his mother, was he hugging her?

Walter: Is he hurting you?

The man turned to look at the boy.

x: damn, you have a damn son here

He abruptly separated from the woman, shouting at her.

x: I already have some at home damn it

The woman, angry, approached the child and hit him.

woman: damn I should have aborted you

woman: I don't want to see you here

He closed the door abruptly. The boy touched his sore cheek. He ran to his room, closing the door as he sat on the bed hugging his legs.

He didn't understand why he treated her badly, what he had done to make her hate him.

He heard footsteps coming from the window. He looked outside and saw a girl walking down the fire escape. She fell until she crashed against her window.

x: that hurt

She looked in the direction where the boy was, he was looking at her, he saw her face, you could see a bruise on her cheek.

She raised her hand in greeting. He didn't return the greeting. He thought she would make fun of him. The other children were laughing at him.

She frowned She gestured for him to lift the window to open it He made it to the sale opening it She made it smiling

x: hello, why so serious?

He looked at her, he wasn't expecting that question. She looked at his face, noticing his red cheek. She frowned.

x: I'm y/n myers , if you want, you can join me.

He looked at her and if she was playing with him, he inspected her face as a sign of jest, but he didn't see that. She made a gesture for her to follow him. He went out of the window, following her to the roof of the building.

She walked up to some boxes that were piled up with a blanket on top, it looked like a makeshift house.

y/n: come on, I don't bite

he said while smiling she came in sitting on the floor he came in sitting down she also saw him taking out an ointment from a small box she looked at him

y/n: it's so it doesn't hurt okay

She did it by spreading the cream on his hand. She passed her hand on the boy's cheek, making him gasp in pain.

y/n: I'm sorry

Taking out her hand, she then put some on his cheek. He looked at her, why did she help him?

y/n: well, what's your name?

Walter: Walter Kovacs

y/n: what a cute name

he said while smiling

Walter: why are you helping me?

Y/N: Did you want to stay there with pain in your cheek?

He just didn't respond, lowering his head, he felt a hand caress his hair, he looked up, looking at her, she had a look of concern.

y/n: hey if you want you can stay here when you feel sad

~~~~~~~•~~~~~~~•~~~~~~~~~

They had been good friends, they never separated, she found out that her father was an alcoholic who abused her. When that happened, they escaped to the roof to be alone.

He loved her so much, always protecting her on her birthday, that he gave her a purple scarf. Instead, she kissed him on the cheek. For the first time he felt happy.

But that didn't last long, the social services found out about the girl's abuse, they took her away, she tried to look for her friend but she never saw her again.

In the streets you could see a red-haired man with a sign that said "the end is near." He walked avoiding people, watching people go by, seeing him as a weirdo, he didn't care, he kept walking, minding his own business.

When night fell I was walking down one of the most dangerous streets in the city. He was wearing his "face," as he called his mask. I was investigating the case of a woman who was murdered. He was heading to the home of one of the suspects when he arrived at the apartment and noticed the door was open.

He entered in silence, saw how the place was in disarray, noticed a trail of blood, followed it walking until he reached the kitchen, saw the body of his suspect and a hooded woman.

Rorschach: you.

She ran towards the window leaving there, he followed her, she ran down the stairs, he followed her, she started running towards an alley, he caught up with her, hitting her against the wall.

He complained, standing up and hitting his stomach. He doubled over and grabbed her arm so she couldn't escape. They started fighting. She tried to hit him. He dodged it, making her fall to the ground. He got on top of her so she couldn't escape.

rorschach: you're not so brave anymore

x: fuck you idiot

I noticed he had a purple scarf hiding his face.

Rorschach: Who are you?

x:myers

Rorschach: Myers how much?

x: myers take it or leave it

He looked at her, she was very stubborn, he began to notice that the handkerchief was the same one he gave to his old friend.

rorschach: where did you get the handkerchief?

Myers: From your idiot mother.

He got angry and tore the handkerchief off his face. He started seeing her, but realized that she was the girl who was once his friend.

Rorschach: Y/N?

y/n: not your grandmother

She kicked him in the stomach. She shook him off when he tried to run. He stopped her.

Y/n: let go of me damn stained face

He hesitated to take off his "face" he put both hands on his mask showing her his face she froze when she saw him she stopped resisting

y/n: Walter?

He let her do it. She inspected his face and carefully placed her hands on his cheeks. He never liked people touching him, but she felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She caressed his cheek with teary eyes.

Y/n: how I missed you

She hugged him without wanting to let go. He stiffened, not knowing what to do. Little by little he put his arms around her now that he had found her, he didn't let her go.