#self sabotage on that one buddy

[deathfavor]

@ofsavior said: “Oi, Kazutora-kun.” Chifuyu voices while on their shared break. Broom still in hand, he sets it aside and faces Kazutora a bit uncertainly. “I’m not really sure how to ask this, but it’s been on my mind for a while.” Chifuyu begins, the nerves evident on his expression. “Are you living life for you?” It’s a broad question certainly, but a simple one. “I mean looking to your own path.” Dusting off his hands, Chifuyu lowers his head. “I know you’ve been working a lot to atone for the past.” Chifuyu approaches Kazutora then and stands relatively close. One hand reaches and rests upon Kazutora’s shoulder. “I want you to know I forgive for what happened back then.”

   Kazutora lifts his head from looking at his phone to cast a curious glance towards Chifuyu when the other calls for him. That curiosity only increases when he sees how uncertain Chifuyu appears to be. It’s strange, he can’t think of a reason why there should be such nervousness. So with that in mind, he sets his phone down and tilts his head. “ What’s up, Chifuyu? Ask away.  “  Kazutora offers lightheartedly, attention on Chifuyu with a relaxed smile that hopefully offers some reassurance to whatever is on Chifuyu’s mind.

   It feels like he’s been punched in the chest. The question is full of ugly, sharp teeth that sink themselves into his skin with vicious relentlessness. It makes the easy-going smile on his face disappear in an instant and his head turns away to look off to the side before he can stop himself. He can’t hide from the question even if he wants to. Are you living life for you?  “ What brought this up? “ He asks, trying to sound casual but it sounds panicky to his own ears.  

   His jaw clenches and then unclenches, but he isn’t angry. Not at Chifuyu, and certainly not when Chifuyu looks nervous. He can’t fathom why Chifuyu is nervous over what’s been asked. It’s not him being dissected and judged. ( Kazutora deserves it, he knows this. Ten years doesn’t change the fact you’re a killer – let alone a twice convicted killer. Helping animals doesn’t change that his hands are soaked in blood. ) Gold eyes stare at the wall with relentless focus, but he’s not seeing it. Not really.  

   Kazutora wants to flinch from the touch, but he stays still because it’s the only thing grounding him. He stays still because he knows Chifuyu means well. It's meant to comfort, he knows that. “ I don’t. “ Kazutora croaks, voice raw even under his efforts to keep it controlled. He clears his throat and tries again. “ I appreciate knowing that – “ And he does, he really does “ – but I don’t forgive myself. “ Kazutora whispers, dropping his gaze to stare at his own hand.  “  Two years. That seems like my time limit. “ He laughs, bitter and rough.  “ We’re getting close to two years since my release – and I’m scared to death I’m going to do something or fuck something up for you. “ It wasn't even about himself. He was scared for Chifuyu's sake. His chest feels heavy, like it’s being crushed under the weight of his words. “ Two years of knowing Baji before meeting Mikey, Toman forming, and then killing Shinichiro. Two years of juvie, and then Baji. Now two years…“ It’s like some sick fucking joke that haunts him. He shivers, cold despite the warmth of the break room. “ Maybe Hanma was right... “ 

   Are you living life for you? “ Living life for me? “ He feels like a disappointment – which is the story of his life.  “ I’m - It’s never- “ Kazutora stutters, stumbles over the words he’s trying to say. He feels sick. “ I never have an ideal future or dream job or path.”  Kazutora offers weakly. His gaze darts back to Chifuyu for the first time, quick to rush out the words. “ I appreciate this, here, and everything you’ve done. I do like it. “ His eyes squeeze shut when he looks away. “ It just...feels like everyone else has their path, their goals, but I don’t know where I’m going. I didn’t expect to be here. “   A statement made with multiple meanings. “ And sometimes I don’t feel like I deserve it. This. “ He gestures around them, then hugs his arms close to him in a self-soothing gesture when guilt sweeps over his visage.  “ So…I don’t think I am. But...that's fine. I just continue to try to atone, help here, you know. All that sort of stuff. “ He offers a shaky smile towards Chifuyu in hopes it is reassuring.

But he's scared. He's scared and now he's said he's scared it feels harder to ignore. 

[reginyani]

Bed Chem | s.reid x fem!reader

summary: Derek Morgan hits you up for you and Spencer Reid, a genius FBI agent, to connect. One things leads to another, and you both have really good bed chem.

warnings: 18+, mdni, nsfw, drinking at a bar, p in v, unprotected sex, softdom!spencer, sub!reader, use of y/n, spencer comes in reader (if im forgetting something let me know)

word count: 3.2k

authors note: felt like its been 20 years since i've posted a fic, but here ya guys go!! i love the song bed chem, so this fic is sabrina carpenter themed💋. i don't really like this, but its been sitting in my drafts for a while now so i hope you guys enjoy(the smut isnt my best work im sorry!). if you did, just remember to like and reblog:)!

Spencer Reid wasn’t the type to go to bars, but when the team had finally wrapped up a particularly exhausting case and a few of them decided to head out for a drink, he couldn’t exactly say no. He didn’t mind spending time with his colleagues, but when the plan shifted from the corner booth to the bar, he felt his nerves start to rise.

Derek Morgan had a gift for getting people out of their comfort zones, and today, he’d decided that Spencer was due for a little socialization. 

Spencer sat awkwardly at the far end of the bar, sipping a glass of water, watching the team interact with ease. His eyes wandered around the room, but then they unintentionally froze when they landed on you. You were sitting with a friend near the center of the bar countertop, laughing softly at something your friend had said. There was an easy, effortless charm about you that made Spencer’s heart beat a little faster.

But, as usual, he couldn’t bring himself to approach you. His mind spun with a thousand reasons why it would be awkward— why he wasn’t the right person to start a conversation. What if you didn’t like him? What if he said something weird? What if he wasn't good looking enough for you? He ran his fingers nervously through his hair, trying to shake the unease. He tended to self-sabotage things like these.

Derek, who had been watching the entire conflict play out with a grin on his face, noticed Spencer's hesitation. He chuckled to himself, shook his head, and stood up. “I’ll handle this, pretty boy.”

Spencer glanced over, his eyes wide in disbelief and embarrassment. “What are you—?”

Derek flashed a mischievous smile, already walking toward your side of the bar. “Trust me.”

Spencer’s heart skipped a beat as he saw Derek in the corner of his eye approach you. He couldn’t help but watch the whole thing go down. 

Derek walked up with his signature charm and a smooth smile. “Hey, ladies,” he greeted, leaning casually against the countertop. “Mind if I join you for a second?”

You glanced up at him, surprised, but smiled politely. “Sure, go ahead.”

Derek didn’t miss a beat. “Thanks. So, I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room,” he said smoothly. “Especially when I’ve got a buddy over there who’s been staring at you for a while.” He pointed behind him, subtly motioning to Spencer, who was frozen in the corner of the room, clearly aware that the jig was up. Spencer immediately felt the heat of embarrassment creeping up his neck.

You glanced over at Spencer, catching his eye for a moment before he quickly looked away. You raised an eyebrow. “He’s shy, huh?”

“Yeah,” Derek said with a wink. “But he’s a good guy. Just a little... socially awkward.” He chuckled. “But I think you might make him a little less awkward.”

You smiled, intrigued now. “So what’s his name?”

“Spencer Reid,” Derek said, a little too smugly. “I think you should text him. He’ll appreciate it.”

Derek pulled out a piece of paper with Spencer's number already on it, like he had already planned this the whole time. “I’ll let him know you’ve got it,” he added with a playful grin.

You looked at the number in your hand. “Well, I’ll have to think about it,” you said, teasing Derek. “But thanks for the introduction.”

With a wink, Derek gave you a nod. “Don’t keep him waiting too long,” he said before turning back toward Spencer, who was now practically melting into his seat with embarrassment.

A few minutes passed before you decided it was time to approach him. You slid off the seat and slowly walked up behind Spencer, tapping him on the shoulder. He quickly turned around, clearly startled by your sudden touch.

"Uh… Spencer, right?" you ask, raising an eyebrow at him. 

He gulped before responding, staring at you for a quick second. "Yeah…" 

"Nice to meet you. I'm Y/N; wanna get a drink?" You give him a friendly smile, trying to make him feel comfortable enough to come back to your side of the bar with you. 

He smiles back and nods quickly. "Yeah! Yeah... sounds good." He slides off his chair, letting you guide him back with you. You can feel his friend's eyes all on you as you walk away with him, leaving them speechless.

As you both sit down at a barstool, Spencer fidgets with his fingers rapidly. You look down to see his shaking leg and him picking his fingernails.

"Hey, it's okay. I don't bite, I promise." You chuckle, making him look up into your eyes with his own beautiful puppy eyes.

"Yeah, I know. I just… never really show my face at the bar. I'd prefer reading over this, but… here I am." he says with contempt as he slowly nods his head.

You smile, agreeing with a nod. "Yeah, me neither, to be honest. My friends dragged me out here, which I'm assuming yours did as well." you laugh.

"Yeah… but hey, I'm with you now, so…" he says, leaning his arm onto the bar countertop. You smirk.

"Your friends seem nice. How do you know them?" you ask, trying to keep the conversation as interesting as possible.

"Uh—you know... We're co-workers." He responds blandly, not wanting to reveal his place of work in case you were to get intimidated by it.

"Oh really? What do you work as?" You continue to ask him questions, pushing a response out of him. You were curious.

He hesitates a moment. "I—uh... well, I'm an agent at the Behavioral Analysis Unit," he finally says, taking a sip out of his drink awkwardly.

"FBI, huh?" You smirk, looking him up and down. "That's sexy. Do you carry your creds?" you ask, looking up into his eyes.

"Yeah… Uh…" his cheeks burn a crimson red as he fumbles around for a second before finally pulling out a foldable wallet. He opens it smoothly, holding it up for you to see. 

His picture looked nothing like how he does now. His hair smooth and slicked back with a side part, and a completely blank and pale face. 

"How many years ago was that picture taken?" you chuckle, scanning it one last time before he flips it over to see himself. 

"A long time ago." He laughs, his voice softening as he closes the wallet and slides it back into his pocket. "I should probably get it updated, huh?"

 

You tilt your head playfully, taking another sip from your alcoholic beverage. "I don't know, I think it's cute. Kind of shows how far you've come and grown." 

Spencer blinks, not expecting the compliment. He adjusts his tie nervously, his fingers brushing over the fabric. "Thank you. That's... nice of you to say."

You lean in slightly, resting your chin in your hand. "So, Spencer Reid, FBI agent," you say, your voice teasing yet warm at the same time. "What's something you don't know everything about?"

He chuckles, his lips twitching into a shy smile. "Plenty of things, actually. You'd be surprised at how much I still have to learn."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "Like what?"

He pauses for a second, as if genuinely thinking about your question. "Well… I've never really been good at small talk," he admits, sheepishly smiling. "Or, uh, anything involving this…" he gestures vaguely between the two of you, his cheeks flushing again.

You laugh softly, the sound making his heart skip a beat. "I don't think you're doing too bad." you assure him. "And for the record, I'm not much of a fan of small talk either. Let's skip it—tell me something real about you."

Spencer quirks an eyebrow at your directness, but there's something about your tone that puts him at ease. "Okay, something real about me…" He thinks for a second. "I have an IQ of 187, have an eidetic memory, and can read up to 20,000 words per minute, but sometimes I wish I could slow down, y'know?"

You blink, completely shocked by this brand new information. "I— No… I don't know." You laugh, still completely taking it in. "That's... insane," you finally manage, shaking your head in disbelief. "187 IQ? You're like, literally a genius."

Spencer tilts his head a bit, clearly a bit embarrassed by your reaction. "Well, technically, yeah. But it's not as impressive as people think. It just means I remember a lot of things. Well… everything."

You grin, leaning a little closer. "Okay, Mr. Modest. If you're so smart, hit me with a scientific fact. Blow my mind." 

Spencer's lips quirk into a shy smile, but there's a glint of mischief in his eyes now. He pauses for a moment, as if sorting through the thousands of facts stored in his mind. He looks directly at you, his voice soft but steady.

"Did you know," he begins, "that during intense physical contact, your brain releases tons of chemicals, including dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins, which heighten pleasure and create emotional bonding?"

You blink, the corners of your mouth twitching upward as the suggestive undertone sinks in. "Intense physical contact, huh?" you repeat, tilting your head at him with that same smirk on your face. "That’s a pretty specific fact to share."

Spencer's eyes widen, his mind now racing and wondering if maybe you took that fact to offense. "I just meant… It's a common and well-documented physiological response. I wasn't implying—" 

You laugh at his fumbling words, cutting him off before he goes and spirals even further. "Relax, Spencer. I'm just teasing you." You lean back, taking another sip of your drink, your eyes twinkling. "But hey, maybe we can test that out sometime." 

His mouth opens, seemingly caught off guard. He looks at you, not sure whether you're joking or not. "Uh… yeah," he says, barely audible. "Maybe."

You smile, tilting your head a bit. "Hey, wanna get out of here? Maybe go to my place? We can call a taxi," you say suddenly, finally finishing your espresso martini and putting the glass down with a clink.

He hesitates for a second, looking back at his coworkers with an open mouth. "Uh… Yeah, sure. I don't see why not." 

The ride back to your apartment is quiet at first, with Spencer sitting stiffly beside you in the back of the taxi, his hands fidgeting in his lap. You can practically feel the nervous energy radiating off of him, and it makes you smile.

"You alright over there, genius?" you ask softly, tilting your head over to look at him.

"Yeah," he says quickly, too quickly. He clears his throat and glances at you, his lips twitching into a sheepish smile. "Sorry. This is just… not exactly something I usually do."

You nod slowly in understanding, trying your best to make his discomfort fade away. "No judgment. I don't either, to be honest, but you seemed too interesting to leave back at the bar."

This earns a laugh out of him, and his shoulders relax a bit. "Well, uh… thanks." 

When the taxi finally pulls up to your apartment building, you pay the driver and lead Spencer upstairs. He follows closely behind, his eyes darting around as he takes in his surroundings.

"This is a nice apartment complex," he says as you unlock the door and step inside, gesturing for him to follow.

"Thanks," you say, flicking the lights on and setting down your bag on a nearby chair. You toe off your shoes and look back at him. "Make yourself comfortable." 

Spencer hesitates for a moment before awkwardly shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the back of a chair. He stands there for a second, unsure of what to do, until you notice and step towards him.

"You don't have to look so nervous, y'know," you tease gently.

"I'm not nervous," he replies, though the slight tremor in his voice was surely nervousness. 

You tilt your head, studying him. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?" 

His lip stretches into an upward shy smile.

"So I've been told," he admits.

You laugh softly at his words, and you gesture towards the couch. "Sit down. Do you want something to drink?"

He shakes his head, making his way to the couch and sitting on it stiffly. "I'm alright. Thanks."

You sit down beside him, close enough to brush shoulders but not so close as to make him uncomfortable. For a moment, there's silence, and then you glance up at him with a playful smile.

"So… want to share another one of those scientific facts of yours?" you ask, leaning slightly closer to him.

Spencer chuckles, his shoulders loosening as he meets your gaze. "Only if you're ready for it." 

"I'm ready," you say, settling in and giving him your undivided attention.

He thinks for a moment, then smirks slightly as he chooses one. "Did you know that the human brain processes the sensation of touch faster than almost any other sensory input? It’s why even the lightest touch can feel so intense."

You raise an eyebrow, the corners of your lips curving upward. "Is that so?"

He nods, his confidence growing as he begins to explain. "It’s because of specialized nerve ending called mechanoreceptors. They send signals to your brain almost immediately, making touch one of the most primal and powerful ways to communicate."

You hold his gaze, letting your hand grab his cheek. Now your voice is soft but laced with curiosity. "And what exactly do you think touch is communicating right now?" 

His breath hitches slightly, his gaze flickering down to your arm as it reaches his face.

"I think," he says, his voice quieter now, "it’s.. saying a lot."

"Good," you murmur, leaning in just a little closer, "because I think I like what it’s saying."

Spencer’s eyes meet yours, wide and full of something you can’t quite put into words. And for the first time all night, he doesn’t hesitate, and in one swift motion, his lips are crashing into yours.

  The kiss started off soft and warm but quickly grew heated. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer. You could practically feel his nervousness melting away as you two continued, replaced by confidence. Gone was the shy, awkward man from the bar.

You tilt your own head, your fingers sliding up to his head, tangling in his soft hair. Spencer's breath hitched at your touch, and he let out a quiet whine that sent shivers down your spine. For someone who looked and sounded to be inexperienced, he sure as hell didn't make it seem like that.

When you both pulled away, it wasn't forced, it was synchronized. You searched his face, cheeks flushed with a deep pink, and his eyes watery as he stared into yours. 

You both stood up from off the couch and pressed your lips together once again. But this time, it was slower, as you savored the way his hands gripped your hips.

 

Spencer broke the kiss this time, looking at you before saying, "Where's your bedroom?" You smirk, grabbing his hand and leading him to your bedroom before slamming the door shut. 

When you both finally make it to your bed, you lay down, him on top of you as his lips trail down your jaw to your neck. "God, you drive me insane, Y/N." He murmurs, his words muffled against your skin.

You tilt your head back, groaning as his lips continue to work against your skin. "Fuck, Spencer…" 

His hands fumble around your body until his fingers finally catch onto the zipper of your dress. His fingers quickly move to unzip it, then skillfully move to take the straps off your shoulders. You whine in disappointment as he takes his lips off of your neck to slide the dress down your body and off at your legs. He throws it somewhere on the floor before quickly going back to press his lips to yours.

You squirm as his fingers graze over your lace panties, practically teasing you in a place you need him most.

"Spencer…" you let out, huffing audibly. He quirks an eyebrow, the erection in his pants growing by the second.

"Yes, baby?" he coos, his fingers continuing to trace circles on your panties.

"I need you..." You whisper, embarrassed at your own neediness. He smirks, pretending to not hear you.

"You what? I need you to speak up for me," he teases, and this drives you mad. 

"I need you!" You yell in desperation, tired of the teasing. "I want you to… fuck me," you mumble, looking up into his eyes.

"Didn't exactly take you as a begger, Y/N," he snickers, continuing to look down on you. "But all you had to do was ask." His hands swiftly move to his pants, quickly unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his pants. He pulls them down, still stuck on his thighs.

He looks down and slowly moves your panties to the side. "Already wet, huh?" he teases. He then grabs your legs and swings them over his shoulders. "Ready?" he asks softly. You nod your head, squinting your eyes shut. 

When the tip of his cock hits your entrance, you squirm slightly, getting out a small whimper. "Oh, god…" you murmur.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, he slams into you, making you let out a loud yelp as he continues to slide his cock in and out of you with swift movements. He groans, the feeling of your warm pussy making him throw his own head back. 

"Holy shit… you're so tight, baby…" he says breathlessly, the loud sounds of heavy breathing and clapping filling your bedroom. "Look at me," he demands. "I want to see those pretty eyes of yours."

You follow his command, your watery eyes looking into his wide brown eyes. "Fuck, Spencer… right there!" you're practically yelling at this point.

Both of your bodies are moving at the same time, practically glued together, stuck together like magnets as your body bounced on his cock. Your hands gripped your baby pink sheets harshly, knuckles turning white as you arched your back.

"Sweet girl… 'm going to come." he warns, breaking eye contact with you to throw his head back once again.

You finally feel relieved, knowing you were chasing your own high. "'M almost there, baby. Oh, god…" your voice cracking between each word, warning him of your own orgasm.

As you begin to rock your hips, you finally moan, "Come inside me, baby! Please, yes, please!" and that, finally drives him over the edge. 

As your body starts to give out, you and Spencer release at the same time. Feeling the warmth of his release spilling inside of you as you both moaned in one synchronized motion, making your own orgasm feel even better.

When he finally pulls out, his body collapses next to you, both of you breathing heavily as you try to catch your breath. You turn your head to look over at him, smiling softly.

"Well, I guess you can say you seduced me with your scientific facts," you admit, laughing lazily, which earns one out of him as well.

tags:

[keeksandgigz]

somewhere we can be alone

stage manager!eddie munson x theatre kid!fem!reader

a collab with @reidsbtch- mariah is literally the best person to collab with, it's like our brains were making out the whole time we were writing this. thank u for letting me collab with you to write this absolutely not self indulgent, way too long fic together <3

summary: Now on the tail end of graduating, Eddie Munson is required to take part in an extracurricular activity. He's assigned as stage manager for the school's production of Romeo and Juliet. You, the star of the show, aren't too happy to have your senior performance sabotaged by one long- haired metalhead.

word count: 7.7k words

warnings: no y/n, no physical description of reader, swearing, oral (m & f receiving), enemies to fuck buddies to lovers, mentions of queer!reader, it's actually just fucking smut, fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up), cream pie, use of nicknames (baby, sweets, sweetheart etc), eddie being a stupid lovable idiot

This and all of mine and mariah's works are 18+ minors do NOT interact

He’s been slumped in the guidance counselor’s office for thirty minutes, the wooden chair digging into his bones, growing uncomfortable as he listens to her, hardly believing he’s so close to leaving this fucking school himself.

“You’re keeping up your grades and maintaining regular attendance, Eddie. You’re just missing one last thing to be able to graduate.”

He rubs his face, maybe from the lack of sleep, or the restlessness of finally being able to leave the office he spent way too much time in during the past six years, as long as he keeps showing up to school for the next two months. He groans regardless.

“What would this ‘last thing’ be? Am I gonna be sent on a quest to slay a fucking dragon? Is that what’s gonna take me to graduate?” He snaps, the lack of sleep has finally gotten to him– school doesn’t really appeal to his late bird nature.

The counselor gasps at the crudeness of the profanity “Language!” She exclaims, like he’s never heard that before, daring to swear in front of students, staff and faculty alike, but the blonde lady with the ridiculously coiffed and teased and sprayed hair composes herself again, jutting a look down to his student folder again.

He imagines it to be full of red pen marks, every single one of those a proof of his own failure. He’ll steal it the day he graduates– and set it on fire. Hell, he’ll even roast marshmallows on it.

“Anyways,” she explains in a way that really shows the massive stick up her ass that makes her think Eddie should just stop bothering with school altogether. “You have to partake in an extracurricular activity.”

And he chortles. He was thinking something dreadful like picking trash up at the park or feeding and bathing the old people at the retirement home.

“Something funny, Mr. Munson?” Her nostrils are flared, she can’t wait ‘til he leaves her office.

“So like- like drama club and shit?” His tone is incredulous, he can deal with a couple lines to memorize. He’s had to do way worse for his Dungeon Master role, and even then, Miss George likes him– she’s let him and the club play DnD in her room for the past two years. Should be easy.

The counselor takes her glasses off her pointy nose, letting them hang with a tacky pink, flowery chain around her neck. “Well, yes– that’s one of the options. Unfortunately, your GPA is not high enough for you to partake in the school play, per se, so I can only place you in the backstage crew– building sets and moving things around. We’ll put that brain of yours to work.” She chuckles as she hands him a slip of paper to give to Miss George.

Eddie picks up his bag, “Real funny, huh.” He shrugs his shoulders and heads to the school auditorium. Last time he was there he’d gotten caught by a custodian while Terry Richardson’s face was stuck in between his legs, trousers pulled down halfway down his thighs as she gave him a toothy blowjob. He got suspended for a week.

He sees Miss George sat in the audience, scribbling notes onto a notepad as you recite the famous balcony monologue from Romeo and Juliet. He knows you, he’s seen you around– you’re by no means in the popular crowd, but you stand out, in the way that your clothes always seem to border the fine line of what's socially acceptable and outrageously eccentric.

Even if you’re not part of the popular crowd, there’s no denying that, like the rest of the school, you avoid him like the plague, cute as he is. You interrupt your monologue as you see him smirk down the central aisle of chairs. Miss George turns around at the sudden interruption. Eddie just hands her the slip.

“Oh my goodness!” she coos, “We have a stage manager.” And he wishes he could have photographed the look on your face. “Stage manager?! Miss George, you can’t be serious!” You exclaim as Eddie takes a seat next to her, kicking his boots up on the back of the chair in front of him.

A smirk ever present on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow at you. “He doesn’t have any experience.” You continue, not about to have your senior year performance ruined by Eddie Munson of all people. “Shouldn't be that hard to keep a diva like yourself in line, hmm?”

Eddie answers before Miss George has a chance to, the theater now going quiet except for a few snickers from the tech crew. “Alright, that’s enough from the both of you. Eddie, I’ll have our ASM get you up to speed. Now, please continue with the monologue.” The male only grins wider as you glare back, before looking back down at your script with a sigh.

He ventures backstage– not sure what ASM stands for and maybe too embarrassed to ask as he sees kids dressed in black moving wooden planks onto the stage, carrying cans of paints and brushes.

He taps a kid on his shoulder, arranging a prop table, he looks at Eddie like he’s seen a ghost.

“I was looking for the ASM?” The kid is looking side to side, still wondering why Eddie Munson is talking to him.

“Uhhh, she’s in the booth.” He mutters, before turning around and going back to his props. What the fuck is a booth?

Eddie just plainly decides to look for it himself, since nobody’s any fucking help in this school. He opens door after door- a storage closet, a closet just for wood, a bathroom. Arrived at the last door, he isn’t exactly sure he’s ever going to find this stupid ASM- and he still doesn’t know what that stands for.

The noise of a door opening startles you, as you try to put on your dress as quickly as you can to avoid flashing someone. It’s only when you see who it is that you start screaming, and with you, Eddie just pops a hand in front of his eyes, screaming a string of sorries, and that he hasn’t seen anything.

“I was just looking for the booth! Stop screaming!” he screeches, worried he’s gonna get himself in trouble with Miss George if she hears you screaming like you’re getting skinned alive. Thankfully, you stop, as Eddie looks away, aware of your exposed back peeking through the zipper. You clutch the fabric against you, struggling to zip up the back of your dress one-handed.

Eddie makes a whistling sound, distracting himself from the way you seem to be teetering between asking for his help and telling him to fuck off.

“The door to the booth is in the audience, by the way. Off to the side, there’s some stairs.” You huff, slightly getting your zipper up. He goes to turn around, but you stop him. He cocks an eyebrow.

You roll your eyes, lips in a thin line as you keep the door open with one hand.

“Can you make yourself useful and help me with my zipper?”

With an annoyed huff he steps fully into the dressing room, shutting the door behind him as you turn your back towards him once more. Carefully clutching the dress, your eyes meeting his in the long row of vanity mirrors in front of you. You can feel his warm breath on your neck as he steps closer, carefully lifting your hair over your shoulder.

Eddie’s fingers follow the seam of the unzipped garment, barely tracing the bare skin of your back. You try to hold off the shiver from passing through you as he slowly begins zipping it up. A hint of a smirk on his mouth as he notices the goosebumps breaking out across your skin. “Anything else princess? Or am I free to go?”

His fingers now fall away from you, clearing your throat as you try to shake off the arousal that was now coursing through your veins. You wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing how frazzled he had just made you.

Instead of answering, you just groan, eyes lifted up, going past him and clocking him in the shoulder as you headed back on stage. God you were fucking insufferable.

Eddie finds out that ASM means Assistant Stage Manager and that said ASM was none other than Max Mayfield, roped into doing theatre tech for extra credit. And that the booth was where they tampered with the lights and shit. All he had to do as Stage Manager for that rehearsal was oversee the light cues, which proved to be a little more complicated than he initially expected.

He messes up most of the cues in the first act before he finally seems to have gotten a grasp of it. All the while you’re tossing glares his way, using the light cues as an excuse for the harsh looks. But really it’s due to your annoyance at how the mere brush of his fingertips left you wanting more. Wanting more of him, despite your better judgment– you were not about to have him ruin your senior show.

And in spite of that, you closely follow Eddie’s actions. In a lull between scenes he stands up, you follow him with your eyes as he enters back into the auditorium, beelining backstage.

Eddie’s not totally sure what shit designer built the theatre, because he might as well have pissed himself on the way between the booth and the only bathroom in the auditorium. Not only that, but he kept missing cue after cue, followed by the dirtiest looks known to man, straight into his eyes. After the encounter you had in the dressing room– fingers caressing the soft skin of your back, feeling you shiver under his touch, he knew he had some kind of leverage over you.

So when he’s done taking a leak and looks down at the door, he’s sure you’re behind it, slipping a little piece of paper in the crack.

Meet me in the booth after rehearsal. XX

Eddie wouldn’t say he was nervous, his curiosity was piqued more than anything. However, he’s antsy the last half of the show, leg bouncing as he tries to listen and follow Max’s instructions. The girl gives him an annoyed lecture in between cues. But his mind’s a little preoccupied, trying to figure out what exactly you want from him.

So when he re-enters the dark light booth once everyone else has left, he doesn’t expect you to shove him up against the door, locking it with a swift click. His breath hitches in his throat, both in confusion, and at the fact that you’re fumbling with his belt, despite the dirty looks you’ve been giving him the whole afternoon.

“What uh- what are you doing?” His tone is alarmed, stammering as he tries to grab onto the door handle for purchase. You’re too busy getting his jeans down to bother.

“Sucking you off. That okay?” You look at him for a reassurance that comes almost immediately with a violent nod of his head.

He’s confused, but he’s not going to turn you down. After all, he felt the way you tensed under his touch while he was pulling up your zipper, “Shit, fine by me.” He shrugs, acting like he isn’t busting at the seams waiting for you to pull down his pants.

Eddie’s belt makes a clinking sound, along with his wallet chain while you pull his pants down to his thighs. You move his trembling body away from the door, against the table with the light console. His knuckles turn white as he grabs the edges on the table for support.

Gripping the hem of his checkered boxers, freeing his hardened length. Your eyes widening slightly at the sight of it, he’s big— a lot bigger than you expected. Even in the dim lighting he notices your shocked expression.

“Ya gonna just stare at it all night sweetheart?” He asks, a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he looks down at you. You shoot another glare his way, before grasping the base of his cock in your fist, licking a long stripe up the shaft. Feeling satisfied as you hear his shaky intake of breath. Eagerly you take him past your lips, as a low groan leaves his own.

“Shit,” he curses as your warm mouth envelops him fully, ringed fingers knotting themselves in your hair. You open your mouth as wide as you can, taking him deeper. Gagging slightly as he hits the back of your throat, tears brimming in the corner of your eyes as you try to adjust to his size. He’s by far the biggest one you’ve had.

“Talked such a big game with that mouth of yours sweetness, am I too much for you?” Your fingers dig into the skin of his thighs, his cock slipping from your lips as you pull back.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up Munson?” You huff, but before he can reply with another snarky remark your tongue is swirling around the tip of his cock. Silencing him for a moment as you take him back into your mouth.

Another string of curses falls from his lips, as his hips begin thrusting into your mouth with an abandon you haven’t seen before. Your cheeks are hollowed and he can feel himself getting embarrassingly close.

“F-fuck where- where’d you learn all of this?” It comes out in broken pants, and he can feel a smirk forming on your lips as you take him out a second time.

“One thing about theatre people is that we’re all gonna fuck each other. You should see how I eat pussy,” you shrug, putting him back in your mouth, and Eddie swears he’s about to bust in less than a minute.

“I’m gonna- fuck.” But he doesn’t get to finish that sentence, as you take him out of your mouth and stand back up.

Eddie’s bewildered expression is easy to read as he looks at you like you shot his dog. But you get close, dangerously close to his lips, your nose almost bumping his.

“That’s for fucking up my light cue, idiot,” it’s a feeble whisper against his lips before you’re gone into the darkness of the theatre. Too shocked to react, Eddie’s left with his pants pulled down for a good two minutes before registering what happened.

So he’s left blue balled in that stupid light booth, fuming and confused. There was no way in hell he would let you treat him like that and walk away the way you did.

Eddie had been scheming all week between rehearsals, attempting to find a good time to get you alone. He wasn’t about to let you get away with leaving him like that, but you were actively avoiding him.

But an opportunity fell into his lap without any effort on his part, Miss George asking you to stay behind to work on some blocking with her. As the stage manager he was required to stay behind too, his mind already reeling with possibilities.

So when you duck behind the curtain to change out of your costume, Eddie is quick to swoop in. Offering to shut down the lights and lock up, and Miss George is more than willing to let him.

By the time you get back on stage the theater is dark, the ghost light shining brightly center stage. “Eddie? Miss George?” You call out into the darkness, getting complete silence in return.

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding.” You groan, clutching the strap of your book bag tightly. Of course he’d leave you in the dark theater to fend for yourself. “Asshole.” You mumble under your breath, reaching your hand out in front of you as you make your way across the dark stage.

You’ve bumped into multiple set pieces at this point, as you attempted to find the stairs leading down to the audience in complete darkness. Your frustration grows with each passing minute, that is until you hear the shuffling of feet.

“Hello?” You call out again, squinting as if it would help you see any better. Fear stirs in your gut as the theater is silent once more, shadows seeming to come to life in the corner of your eyes.

Once you finally reach the edge of the stage, you grip onto the railing tightly as you fumble your way down the stairs. Sighing in relief as you feel the carpet beneath your feet.

You only make it a few steps further before you feel a hand snaking around your waist, pulling you back into a hard chest. The other hand cupping itself over your mouth to muffle the scream that leaves your lips.

“Screaming for me already sweets? Haven’t even touched you yet.” His voice is mocking, his warm breath fanning across your neck as he laughs. You quickly squirm out of his grasp, a flashlight clicking on to illuminate his stupidly gorgeous features.

“You fucking psychopath! What were you thinking?” you shove him on the shoulder, he laughs as he zeroes in the flashlight on you, red in the face and furious.

“Had to get back at you for how much of a little tease you were the other day,” he croons. You purse your lips together, a deep blush spreading across your cheeks as you try to stabilize your still quickly beating heart.

“Whatever. Fuck you, Eddie.” You spit, but he’s quick to grab your arm and push it behind your back, the flashlight hitting the ground and rolling under one of the seats. His chest is pressed against your shoulder blades as you shudder in his arms.

“You’re not getting away so easily, sweetness.” He breathes against your earlobe as you keen into the warmth of his chest, his nose buried in the crook of your neck as his free hand goes to your waist.

“This okay?” he murmurs, and you nod. A sharp nip to your earlobe makes you hiss.

“I can’t fucking see you nod, can I?” You can tell he’s having too much fun torturing you, feeling his hand travel all across your torso and chest.

“N-No,” you whimper.

“Exactly. Try that again,” his hand rests against the waistband of your jeans, awaiting an answer, teasing the skin behind the fabric. The tips of his fingers brush the skin there, making you whimper in response.

“This is okay.” you breathe out, and it’s the only answer he needs to slip his hand past your jeans, unbuttoning the offending material to push his hand further down into your pants.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispers against your ear as his hand cups your clothed core. You waste no time grinding against the heel of his palm, letting small, breathy moans escape you. Afraid to get caught in the dead of night getting touched and fondled by the town pariah.

“You sound so pretty singing for me, don’t you sweets?” he whispers smugly. His hand feels a little too good against you, your hips grinding back and forth following the rhythm he was creating, “Hmm, but I think you can be a little louder.”

You gasp as he slips his hand inside your panties, his calloused fingers encircling your swollen clit. Your head falls back onto his shoulder, your hand gripping onto his thigh. His digits dip lower, teasing your entrance before slipping one inside and curling them up.

You can’t stop the shaky cry from leaving your lips, the sound now filling the auditorium. A smirk tugs at his mouth, using the heel of his palm to press against your clit. “Listen to that… you’ve got such a pretty voice don’t you?”

You dig your nails into the denim covering his thigh, a low groan sounding in his throat. “Wonder what it sounds like when you beg,” he easily adds another finger inside your wet cunt, thrusting them deeper. “N-Never gonna happen Munson.”

Eddie laughs, pulling another moan from you as his other hand drifts up under your shirt to cup your breast. “We’ll see about that.”

His breath is fanning hot and humid against your neck as you reach around to bring his head closer, needing him to be closer.

Nothing he’s saying is registering in your brain, as his fingers pump in and out of you with a torturous pace, feeling his wolfish grin plastered against the skin of your cheek.

He’s watching your every move, your every breath and whimper, biting his lip at the way your eyes roll to the back of your head every time his fingers curl up in a certain manner. You don’t think you have much time left before you release yourself all over his hand, and he knows it.

From the way you keep twitching and tightening around his fingers, he feels you’re getting close, but much like you did that night in the booth, he won’t let you get it that easily.

“Y’close sweets?” he groans, his own hips now grinding against the swell of your ass.

“Uh-huh,” is all you can manage to say, brain scrambled from his words and ministrations.

“You know what you gotta do now, don’t you, pretty?” he bites at the hinge of your jaw, as you cry out, the noise echoing in the empty theatre.

“You gotta beg for it.” And he hears you gasp at that, a dry chuckle leaves his lips. “You didn’t think I was gonna make you cum that easy did you?”

“Mmm- fuck you, Munson.” you struggle against your brain’s desire to one up him and your body’s desire for release.

“C’mon, don’t you want to cum? I bet you’re so pent up from a whole day of staring at me building sets, aren’t you?” and he’s right, your eyes did wander to his arms in his tight fitting t-shirt, with his hair tied up in a low bun as he hammered nails into wooden boards.

His fingers speed up and you can feel it, you’re so, so close.

“Please, let me,” you whine into his arm, biting at the muscle there. You’re getting so loud.

“That’s right, keep begging for me– good girl gettin’ nice and loud for me,” it’s a growl at this point, a string of please please please follow it. Tears pricking at your eyes with how intensely good he’s making you feel.

So close, so close–

He removes his fingers, jerking you out of that hazy state you were previously in. The male now removes himself from you, retrieving the flashlight from under the seat. Your chest is heaving as you turn to face him, anger now coursing through you as he grins devilishly down at you.

“How cute, you thought I was actually gonna let you cum with how you left me the other day?” Eddie’s laughter fills the theater as he steps closer to you. Your bodies almost touching, lifting his fingers that were just inside you up to your lips.

The brunette carefully drummed the digits against your mouth, “Now, be a good girl and clean up the mess you made.” You glare as you let his fingers slip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them in a teasing manner.

You noticed how his breath hitches, his cock straining uncomfortably in his jeans. But there’s no way that you’re helping him out with his little problem now. You playfully bite his fingers that are still in your mouth, as he utters an annoyed ‘ouch’ before taking them back out.

His fingers make their way to your scalp– yanking at the hair, making you hiss. “You think you’re fucking cute? I’ll see you tomorrow after rehearsal,” his tone makes you tremble, as he takes his hand out of your hair and disappears into the darkness of the theatre, leaving you once again in the dark.

You stumble down the side stairs of the stage and get out of the side door, quickly making your way home.

And it becomes a regular thing, you and Eddie blue balling each other to the point of frustration, like it’s a sick and twisted power game you both play. After rehearsal he offers to lock up for Miss George and you wait for him in one of the dressing rooms, or in the dimly lit booth. He’s become irritable, and you have as well.

If you were insufferable before, now you’re downright hateful as you yell at the light crew to stop messing up your spotlight moment, or that your costume felt too constricting or your prop too flimsy.

Everything has you on edge, but you don’t hesitate to meet Eddie every night that week after rehearsal. Maybe he’ll let you cum this time.

You wait for him backstage, sitting on one of the set pieces, a throne. There’s a dim overhead light shining on you. Eddie’s lip is caught between his teeth as he looks at you on his Dungeon Master throne.

“Get up.” he commands. The shirt he’s wearing is tight, it makes his shoulders look more prominent. You squeeze your legs together.

“Why should I? My legs are tired from being on my feet all rehearsal,” you give him a fake pout as he inches towards you.

“Because that’s my Dungeon Master throne,” it sounds funny coming out of his mouth, voice low and gravelly “It’s mine.”

You chuckle a bit at that, how is this man being territorial over a set piece?

“And what if I said no?” a smile trapped in between your teeth, looking up at him through your lashes.

A dry laugh escapes him as he crosses his arms, “You’re so spoiled huh? Think you can always get your way? Last time I checked, this week it’s been the total opposite, hasn’t it?” and he’s not wrong, he’s given you all but what you want.

“This is my theatre, Munson. I believe you’re on my turf.” and he laughs at that, like you’ve said some kind of joke.

“You do theatre, sweetheart, c’mon you can’t be serious.” he kneels in front of you, grabbing your thighs and moving them apart with ease.

“Don’t be a bitch, Munson.” you hiss, as you feel his lips on your exposed thighs, kissing the skin there.

He whistles, low and sardonic. A wicked smile on his lips “That’s rich coming from you, you’ve had that nasty little attitude this whole week.” he continues with his kisses, while his hand ghosts over your inner thigh. Your breath hitches in your throat.

“I wouldn’t have this nasty little attitude as you call it if you would just let me- fuck.” his free hand ghosts over your panties. Your skin is sensitive, your brain is sensitive. Another touch and you might explode.

“Hmmm, what was that?” he bites at the flesh of your thigh, a high pitched whimper falling from your lips “Need me fuck that little attitude out of you sweetheart?”

And you’ve been wound up so tight for the past week that it doesn’t take you long to rid yourself of your panties. He takes advantage of you standing up, plopping down to take his rightful seat on the throne.

That cocky smirk is adorning his features, but you wanted to smack it off. “As cute as you think you look in this seat… it’s always been my throne sweets.”

Before Eddie has time to mutter another snarky remark you’re climbing into his lap, crashing your mouth against his. You’ve learned throughout the past week that it’s really the only way to shut him up.

His ringed fingers dig into the curve of your hips, eagerly grinding yourself against the bulge in his pants. Eddie moans into your mouth, his tongue licking your lower lip. You part your lips, allowing him entry as your tongues fight for dominance.

He tastes like Twizzlers and cigarettes, a combination you shouldn’t find as delicious as you do. But it only seems to make you needier, the denim becoming damp as you continue to grind yourself onto him.

“Look at you making a fucking mess on my jeans,” he mumbles against your mouth, nipping at your lower lip which causes you to whine as he pulls away. His chest rumbles as he chuckles, grabbing your cheeks in his hand— forcing you to look at him.

“But I’d rather you make a mess on my cock sweetheart.” His words have your head reeling, the male now gripping behind your knees and lifting you up. You squeal in surprise, clutching onto his shoulders to steady yourself. “Eddie, put me down.”

He carefully lets you slide down his front until your feet touch the ground, spinning you around before bending you over the armrest of his throne. His hands travel up your bare thighs, taking his time to appreciate your soft skin.

“Are you going to fuck me or not Munson?” You huff, the male now flipping up your skirt and landing a harsh smack on your ass. “So goddamn impatient aren’t you?”

You hear the sound of his belt clinking open, the zipper being tugged down. It makes you clench your thighs together, something Eddie didn’t miss. His fingers dipping between your legs, teasing you further.

“Trained you well didn’t I baby?” You can’t stop your eyes from rolling, despite how your stomach flipped at the word baby.

And you can feel him then, carefully lining himself at your entrance as you try to grind back into him. A firm hand against your hips stops you. “Ready? I’m gonna go slow,” he mutters, and there’s a gentleness in his words, despite his meanness in how he’s handling you.

You hum in approval and brace yourself. There’s a loud groan coming from behind you as he slips inside your warm heat, reveling in how you almost suck him in, a small gasp leaving you from the stretch.

“Big stretch, huh?” he coos in a cocky lilt, and you almost wanna reach around and punch him, but this idiot has your eyes rolling back from the fullness, and he’s not even all the way in yet.

So you nod, followed by a needy little whine that makes him chuckle low in his chest– you need him that much?

He goes deeper, spurred on by your noises, by how much you need him to fill you up. A sardonic smile on his lips as he bottoms out and slams all the way in, causing you to shriek.

Eddie sets a fast pace, not really giving you any time to adjust, but he’s already nudging that spot deep within you, making you see stars.

You hear him groan, “So fuckin’ tight, aren’t you sweets?” and it’s a rhetorical question, because your tongue feels too big for your mouth and there’s nothing coming out of it besides unintelligible whines and moans as you hold on to the armrest across from you.

Your noises only encourage him to go faster, and it’s almost too much the way he’s hitting that sweet spot inside you. You try to distance yourself from him, just enough to catch your breath, but he grabs your shoulders, using them as leverage to ram deeper into you.

He leans over, his clothed chest against your back, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Goin’ somewhere, baby? Thought you could handle me.” He bites at your earlobe, and there’s just so much going on in your brain that you can’t possibly muster any response to whatever he’s telling you.

“Oh I said that, didn’t I? When we first met. I said I could handle a spoiled little diva like you, and look at that,” he laughs, and you’re sure you’re about to combust. Your fingers reach to grip the cushioned seat of the throne, as another wail leaves your lips.

“Singin’ my praises now aren’t you baby?” The wood of his throne digs into your hips and stomach as he pushes you further into it, a feline movement as he drapes himself off and over you, his hands now gripping the armrest opposite of you for purchase.

Your legs begin to give out, as you beg God or whatever entity up there that he won’t give into his sick little game. That he’ll let you cum this time.

“Shit, sweets, you’re gripping me so tight.” he grunts, a boyish grin on his face as small uh uh uhs fill the room.

“Should we let you cum tonight? We can’t have you being a bitch tomorrow, it’s the end of hell week,” he jokes, and it almost feels humiliating, how he can make fun of you like this and you’re just going to keep fucking yourself back onto him.

“God- Fuck- Please!” you beg, with all the strength you can muster, and he can’t help but let a satisfactory grunt leave his lips.

“Look at you begging, don’t even have to ask now, do I?” and you can feel him twitch inside you. He’s also getting close.

“Ready?” he huffs, with the last little bit of stamina he has, and you can’t brace yourself enough for the wave of pleasure that washes over you with the last few snaps of Eddie’s hips as you come undone with a loud cry, echoing through the dark halls of the theatre.

“Fuck, okay, where should I–” he begins, he’s at his wits end.

“In…side,” is all you can say before he stills himself inside of you, letting his release take over him with a loud groan. His warm cum painting your inner walls, leaving you feeling satiated.

Eddie stabilizes his breath, forehead leaning against your shoulders, days on days of pent up frustration hanging like mist in the air. You’re both able to think clearly for the first time in what felt like forever.

“Jesus Christ,” he huffs, lifting himself off of you as he slowly slips his cock out. You can feel his cum beginning to drip down your thighs, your legs wobble as you attempt to stand. Knees buckling as you try and find your discarded panties.

“Whoa there, I got ya,” he wraps his arm around your waist, holding you against his warm chest. It felt good, leaning against him like that. But you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, “I’m fine Eddie.”

You push yourself off only to nearly fall once more, an annoyed grumble leaving his lips, “Are you always so stubborn?” He reaches down for your panties, guiding you to sit on the edge of the throne so he could help pull them up your thighs.

It was an unusually tender action, and not one that you expected from him. “Thought you didn’t want me sitting here?” You tease, his brown eyes glancing up as he’s kneeling before you.

“I’ll let it slide this one time,” he chuckles, the corner of his mouth lifting in a grin. A dimple you had never noticed before indenting his cheek, another feature that now found annoyingly attractive.

You roll your eyes at him and stand up, “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow after rehearsal.” You quip, as you try to wobble off the stage, he runs after you.

“There’s no way in hell I’m letting you walk home like this,” and there’s a tender look in his eyes, something close to genuine concern. “My van is out front, I can drive you.” He points in a general direction behind him, and you want to say no so badly.

But you don’t, and now you find yourself being driven home by Eddie. His dingy van smells like cigarettes and weed and it squeaks every time he goes over a bump. There’s loud music blaring through the stereo speakers and an uncomfortable silence between the two of you.

“So uh, you excited for next week?” Eddie’s the first to break the silence, briefly turning towards you.

“I’m actually kinda nervous,” you admit, sinking into the seat. “It’s a big role, big shoes to fill. I guess I’m just scared I’m not gonna be any good.” You chuckle, almost embarrassed at your admission.

“You? Not good? I’ve seen you, y’know? I’m not just staring at your tits during rehearsal. You’re pretty darn good.” He gives you a half smile at that, pulling up next to your house.

You’re a bit flustered by his compliments, finding yourself not wanting to leave his company just yet.

“Thanks, Eddie. I appreciate it,” you smile at him.

“And hey, if you still feel nervous opening night come find me— I’ll help you,” he winks at you and you can’t help but laugh, as you see him looking at you with a big grin on his face.

You look at him back, and God, maybe it’s the streetlights or the moon, but he’s never been more beautiful. In a leap of courage you lean over the dashboard and peck him on the lips.

As you detach from him and reach for the door handle, he pulls you back in deeper, searing and intense, one of those kisses that have your tummy flipping. Except it’s not in the comfort of the theatre, and without an underlying motive behind it.

Just you and him. In his van.

You let your lips part, give him access to your mouth, but he stops you.

“It’s midnight,” he whispers against your lips. “Dress rehearsal tomorrow, you need to rest.” He smiles as you place another peck on his lips. Pouting as you reach for the door handle. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you until you’re inside, seeing the light of your room turn on.

Once he knows you’re safe, he starts his van back up and pulls away from your house with the cheesiest grin on his face.

Opening night. It’s finally here.

You should feel excited, and yet all you want to do is lock yourself in one of the broom closets and hide. You’ve never felt so nervous before, thinking of all the different outcomes that could occur. What if you forget all your lines? Or you have an embarrassing wardrobe malfunction during a quick change?

Your mind is reeling as you enter the dressing room, the rest of the cast buzzing excitedly around you. You fake a smile and sit at your station, noticing the bouquet of lilies resting on the counter top. You can feel yourself flushing, opening the card that came with it.

Break a leg Juliet xx.

You ask around the rest of the cast but no one knows who left them, and while you hoped they came from a certain metalhead… you couldn’t be so sure. Your little cat and mouse game had suddenly turned into something very real, and part of you was afraid it would be over once the curtains closed.

You get ready for the show in a daze, now staring at yourself in the dressing room mirror as nerves rage through your insides. The rest of the cast had dissipated, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts.

“There’s the leading lady,” Eddie’s voice snaps you out of your haze, meeting his eyes in the mirror’s reflection. He must have noticed the look of panic across your features, as he rushes to your side.

You give him a weak smile in return, letting a heavy exhale escape past your lips.

“So uhhh, did you like the flowers?” He asks, and he can see your eyes light up in the mirror, momentarily forgetting nerves, fear and anxiety.

“So it was you,” he coaxes you to face him, kneeling next to you with a large grin.

“T’was I, fair maiden.” He does a half bow from his kneeling position, making you giggle.

“So you’re in love with me now?” You tease, as Eddie’s hands come to rest on your thighs, spreading them as much as he can in your dress before moving in between them.

“I’m literally going to die from nerves, what if I mess up my lines?” you begin, but Eddie seems to have much different plans.

“There she is….” he murmurs, more to himself.

You feel the heat pool in your middle at his words, squirming a little in your seat. Eddie reaches to cup your chin, tilting it down so you meet his gaze. His brown eyes sparkling with mischief, “You know, my offer still stands Lady Capulet.”

“Here? The doors are literally opening in fifteen minutes, don’t you have stage manager things to take care of?” your tone is alarmed, rather, a mix of alarm and excitement.

“My job as stage manager right now is to make sure Juliet feels comfortable enough to go on stage,” he grins, peppering kisses over your hand and wrist.

“But what if we get caught? Or you make me cum so hard I forget my lines?” The nerves make you ramble, as his chin rests on one of your thighs.

“As good as I am at eating you out sweetheart, I doubt that’ll happen.” He bunches the fabric of your costume up your thighs, beginning to give sweet caresses on the skin of your legs.

You seem unconvinced, still.

“Look, I’ll sweeten the deal. If you get all your lines right, which I don’t doubt you will, I’ll take you out on a date.” His lips are pursed in a coy smile.

Your eyes widen, “Like a date date? You and me?” and your heartbeat picks up.

“Who else, idiot?” Eddie laughs, which makes you smile, “Now,” he begins.

“Do you want me to do something about those jangled nerves of yours?” And you can’t help but bite your lip and nod.

His lips begin trailing up your thighs, a shiver running through you from his tender actions. “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” He pauses, shifting closer as he switches sides, now leaving open mouth kisses along your opposite thigh. “It is the East, and Juliet is the sun.”

You feel your breath hitch in your throat as he works his way to your clothed center, his eyes flicking up to look at you. “Arise, fair sun and kill the envious moon… and whatever the fuck else Romeo says.” Eddie chuckles before eagerly pressing his mouth against your clothed pussy, his tongue lapping at the wet spot on the cotton.

A gasp bubbles deep in your throat at the sensation, feeling the bliss of his tongue through the cotton barrier, your body easing up from its nervous state.

He looks up at you, “Good, huh?” He hums through the fabric, and you’re wound up so tight you’re already panting.

He taps the side of your thigh to get you to lift your hips, removing your panties in the process.

A low whistle escapes him as you spread your legs for him again, “Talk about eating in costume, baby, jeez.” He chuckles, and the joke makes you laugh too.

A short lived laugh at that, turning into a breathless gasp when his tongue makes contact as he begins to lap up the length of your pussy.

Your hand immediately goes to tug at his curls, not caring that they’re tied up and out of his face to be able to see the cue sheets. The delicious pull at his scalp makes his eyes roll to the back of his head.

A low moan falls out of your lips, catching yourself, hand flying to your mouth as you hear the rest of the cast clamoring outside.

“Gotta be quiet, Lady Capulet,” he snickers as he goes back to burying his face between your legs. His tongue darting in and out of you as a hand reaches for your mouth, wetting two of his fingers.

You don’t hesitate to open up your mouth for him, a bite at the juncture between your pelvis and your thigh, “Atta girl.” He mumbles against the wet skin, popping his fingers out of your mouth to tease at your entrance.

“That’s it baby, focus on me.” A whine escapes you as you’re now grinding on his tongue, his fingers enter you slowly, head thrown back in pleasure.

“You nervous, baby?” He asks, a cocky smile on his face. His fingers curl upward, your eyes squeeze at the overwhelming sensation.

You shake your head, still sentient. Not too far gone yet.

“You gonna use me to get off, my lady?” His fingers are pumping faster, feeling tears brimming on your waterline, hoping to not spill all over your face, your stage makeup seems to be in precarious conditions.

A familiar warmth, deep in the pool of your tummy, “Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop” You know how much he likes to hear you sing for him. His spare hand grabs onto your thigh, rings biting the soft skin there, feeling yourself teetering on the edge.

“Thaaaat’s it, you’re doing so well,” he whispers. One more pump of his fingers and you cum with a silent cry, biting onto your hand, feeling yourself pulsate around his fingers.

Without much warning he slips them out, sucking on his own fingers, tasting your own delicious essence.

“Places!” You hear Miss George say backstage, as Eddie retrieves your panties for you and slips them up your legs.

Eddie fixes his hair in the mirror, tying them back. He places a kiss on your cheek with a hurried, “Good luck— uh fuck I meant break a leg.” Then he furtively leaves the dressing room.

You feel a blush spreading across your body, finally relaxed and ready to begin the show.

You leave the dressing room, joining the rest of the cast, full of excitement. You know all your love monologues are going to be directed towards a certain metalhead tonight.

The show goes smoothly and you don’t forget a single line, you’re surrounded by family and friends, ready to do it all again the day after.

You go back into the dressing rooms to grab your stuff and change, but a long mop of curly hair occupies your chair.

“Eddie, you can’t be here!” you whisper, as he turns around with the biggest smile plastered on his face.

“Just wanted to tell my girl congratulations in private. You smashed it tonight,” you blush at the nickname.

“Since when am I your girl?” you ask, not letting him see how much it affected you.

“Since you kissed me in my van when I dropped you off, gorgeous.” He flirts, bottom lip trapped in between his teeth.

“So, how about that date?”

thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

tagging: @thornsnvultures, @xxhellfirebunnyxx, @duuhrayliegh, @ali-r3n, @sunnythevampireslayer, @bimbobaggins69, @jamdoughnutmagician, @eiightysixbaby, @aphrogeneias, @daisy-munson, @gravedigginbbydoll, @s6raphic, @take-everything-you-can, @strangerstilinski

[ssbbwxutjja]

You were so fit, so muscular—always at the gym, always showing off that hard body, but now, look at you. You’re getting so fat that even your gym buddies don’t want to hang out with you anymore, and those girls who used to chase after you? They’ve lost interest too. They can’t even look at you now without seeing a lazy, fat pig. I watch as your once-toned chest softens into a flabby mess, and your gut hangs over your waistband, getting bigger every day. You’re unrecognizable from your former self. It didn’t take long for me to figure out how to sabotage your diet and exercise routine. You’re so lazy that you can’t even bother to make your own protein shakes, so I take advantage of that, swapping them out for weight gain shakes. Each one ensured you'd get fatter, your body slowly morphing into the sloppiest, bloated, most piggish version of the guy you used to be. It was almost too easy fattening you up.

[mari-lair]

Let's talk about after-school chapter 28!

I had assumed this interaction was what made Teru, our king of pettiness, go "You know what? I think I won't exorcise your evil spirit problem. Perish."

But?? Akane already had stiff shoulders at the start of their talk?? And Akane waited until it was near the end of their student council time to brag about his 'date' with Aoi.

Meaning Teru just let Akane carry the embodiment of stress and hatred on his back during their entire student council time??

I can't fathom why? This was not an 'I trust Akane to handle it' case, not when Teru was the one who enchanted his glasses so he know better than anyone how vulnerable to supernatural Akane becomes with it, and telling myself Teru needed to wait for the supernatural to feed on Akane to grow when this guy is a pro exorcist also feels like an excuse.

Maybeeee Teru was morbidly curious as to how Akane would fight the feeling?

Speculations on the insane decision to let Akane be haunted aside, their conversation is a trainwreck, shout out to how Teru instinct upon hearing Akane got a date is that his buddy is hallucinating.

I get his skepticism tho, pre-severance Akane you are... A lot.

"I love the part of her that invites me to go shopping" Akane, my dear, you need help. I know you're being honest but please find a less awkward way to be a lovesick fool. (---> I say, knowing full well he'll need to go through a traumatic feelies talkies section in Death's house first)

"cya!" is just cute to me. Look at this smug ill-informed dumbass.

"Hey, the flowers behind aoi are different this time," I think in surprise, even tho realistically Akane must associate Aoi with the entire garden at this point.

And here comes the professional thrid well, the prince himself! His mere presence means Teru actually fell for Akane calling the shopping trip a date though, he gives Akane too much credit.

Teru knowing Akane well enough to translate his stammers of a pathetic creature into "Why are you here?" is beautiful, bro is better at his side gig (pester akane) than his main job (be an exorcist) today.

Aoi's "I know a liar when I see one. let's indulge him anyways" she truly is a kind soul.

Speaking of said liar, I love that Teru doesn't have a basket or shopping cart.

He isn't even trying to pretend he had plans to go shopping, what a guy.

Aoi getting excited over dirt and fertilizer, my girl <3

Shout out to Akane for being happy that Aoi is happy and to Teru for finally figuring out that he doesn't need to sabotage anything cause there is nothing to sabotage.

Teru: *speak*

Akane: and away goes my joy and whimsy.

Love Teru trying to bond with Aoi right after the realization this is a hangout. He wastes no time.

Aoi telling Teru the truth is sweet, I'm glad they are getting closer. Also happy to see Teru remains shameless.

Aoi gave him the driest look possible and Teru still put carrots on her basket. He even said "buy it" SO HE WOULD HAVE MADE HER PAY FOR THE CARROTS.

YES AOI REPRIMAND HIS ASS!

She really treats him like a dog! Is incredible. From her 'grrr' to the way she points a finger at him, it gives me "bad dog! Drop it!" energy.

Fascinated by the way Teru blushes. He seems to be more hung up on being called 'bad' than anything, but he definitively liked being reprimanded, he is still blushing when he walks instead of displaying the dejection of the convenience store.

He doesn't even give up on his quest to make her buy veggies.

Teru, you're doing horrible sweety, keep pestering her and you two will be inseparable in no time <3

Love how Akane snapped out of the curse's first attempt to make him spiral by refusing to be on the same level as Hanako.

He is so arrogant "What am i a loser? A pathetic toilet loser? Nah nah, I am better than that." like damn, okay bro.

I can't believe he pushed back against a curse by the sheer power of self-confidence and determination though, he is built differently. 90% of the characters in this manga cannot relate.

Love how Teru probably didn't suggest a single flower for Aoi to buy, trying to test if he could sneak even one vegetable into her basket, so his closeness to Aoi just made Akane's petunia suggestion look that much more thoughtful in comparison (she does look very happy to be given an actual flower).

Rest in peace Teru you suck at sabotaging.

(Or he would suck if that was the goal! He stuck around for this entire hangout despite how rare his free time is. He got his ice cream, he even walked Aoi home, he just want to hang out. Same vibe as when he went "Oh aoi come with me to the festival, Akane will be there")

I find Teru's zoned-out face so cute.

There is no speech bubble to Terukane's first panel here, but i am 95% sure Teru was the one who asked to be notified about Aoi's gardening progress considering the '...' contrasting Akane's enthusiasm. Love that for him, yes talk to Aoi, get close to this closed off girl.

And Akane didn't like that iuguyguygyui

Teru can always just take off his glasses like Akane never fights that. Good for you.

I am still not over Teru just letting him carry this curse.

But now I really doubt he did it specifically to torture Akane, cause Teru likes helping Akane as much as he enjoys annoying him.

I wonder if he is proud of Akane for not acting on any of the negative feelings he was being fed, cause Teru looks genuinely happy here! It's a far cry from his usual 'bullying you relax me' or 'i am petty' kind of smiles.

...I may be biased but I am throwing my "Teru didn't exorcise the monster for this long to have an excuse to be hanging out with the Aois while tecnically doing his job." idea here. We do get a heavy confirmation he could have done something before and wanted to third wheel after all.

Teru wants to turn this couple into a tricycle so bad. What a guy.

"I hope I didn't act weird" That's an insane thing to think considering how you act near Aoi on the daily bro, you're lucky she is too down bad to mind your madman tendencies.

Peak weirdo to weirdo pining hell.

Speaking of which, she sent him a message to show off the planted flowers! She went out of her way to make sure he saw it, Akane never asked her to update him.

LOOK AT THEEEEEEEEEEM

"Thanks for taking me out today!" says the one who invited him. And 'taking me out'? to the hardware store? I swear I wouldn't even be surprised if she mentally referred to their hang-out as a date too. I love you Aoi.

"As long as Ao-chan had fun, I am happy" l know and I love you.

ps: Their height difference still sparks joy. The smallest girl in the block, the tallest boy in the group, and the perfect middle ground.

[iphyslitterator]

I'm in a 911 group chat that includes a Buddie fan, and she was passionately defending Tommy's right to bring up his anxieties over Eddie in 8x11 (yay), and then she asked me to elaborate when I commented, "If we're not Buddie-shipping + *don't* think this was a central insecurity, Tommy is actually way more in the wrong/dumber/more excruciatingly self-sabotaging." Two weeks later, I have typed up my working theory for her and am cross-posting it here for posterity:

Let's start from the premise that "I think Evan's in love with Eddie" was not a central reason behind the breakup, which is defensible because a) the text gave no indication of it previously, at least not one that would be legible to the general audience, and b) the only piece of "evidence" Tommy offers is that Buck is living in Eddie's house.

(I'm sure the thought had crossed Tommy's mind: they're close, Eddie's hot, he went to Buck's apartment in the first place on the assumption that Buck was jealous over Eddie. I actually used to headcanon that they'd talked about it casually, but I was overestimating their communication skills 🙄)

Here are some things we learn or can plausibly infer from the 8x11 bar scene (I can elaborate upon request): he misses Buck and wants to get back together with him (urge to call him; driving by his place); he's lonely; the 118 stopped speaking to him; he has no reason to believe Buck missed him too (Buck didn't tell him! he doesn't know about the baking!).

And he has all this time to think in the morning, while he's buying champagne and cooking half a paycheck's worth of eggs, about how wow, it's weird being in Eddie's house. Like, this was a pretty intense and devoted thing for Evan to do. But, well, Evan's pretty intensely devoted to his family, and vice versa. It's a great family. He's kind of jealous. And, okay, he didn't reach out to them after the breakup either, but he'd maybe hoped.... Anyway, whatever, it's clearly not happening. They don't miss him, they do miss Eddie. Evan misses Eddie, Evan probably just missed sex with Tommy. Still, though, maybe Tommy can ask Evan to take him back. Maybe they can still try again.

(Throw in the headcanon that it was unhinged of Buck to ask Tommy to move out of a house into an apartment with no doors (we know Tommy has a car lift and a Muay Thai setup), and you also get "Evan wouldn't move out for me, but he did for Eddie.")

So my primary contention about "now that the competition's out of the way" is that Tommy feels acutely that the competition is NOT out of the way.

Part of that is an abrupt rise in paranoia that Evan is pining for Eddie -- he's living in the guy's house! And then Buck doesn't technically deny it, he just says Eddie's straight, which, come on, Tommy knows all about crushes on straight guys.

But it's not just about that. It's about Tommy once again being on the outside of the firefam's close bond. It's not just Eddie haunting the narrative. Tommy has expressed his longing to be part of that family onscreen three times: 7x04 ("I was super jealous....I wanted to be a part of that"), 7x10 ("a little jealous" of Buck's bond with Bobby), 8x05 ("It's a wonderful thing, having a crew like that behind you, even when things go wrong"). The competition's not even close (he thinks); Tommy was never Evan's priority, he won't be if they get back together right now, and maybe he never will be.

But this all comes out as "I think you have feelings for your best friend." Which, in this scenario where that's (mostly) not true or important, is uncool for at least three reasons:

a) IT'S SO DUMB, baby, shut uppppp, why are you so committed to expressing your anxieties in a way that is totally incomprehensible to your beloved and indeed to most people who aren't studying you like a bug on tumblr dot com 💀

b) He is once again hinting at his desire for a family without articulating it, and he NEEDS to stop that.

c) As in the breakup, he's constructing a narrative about Buck's feelings, without Buck's input, that fits his own pessimistic worldview. In neither case does it go quite as far as Buck denying + Tommy disbelieving, but it's trending that direction, and it's patronizing (and arguably biphobic). If Buck needs to understand Tommy more, i.e. look past the cool exterior, Tommy needs to "understand" Buck less, i.e. let go of his preconceived notions and let Evan be the authority on his own feelings.

So my thesis as a Bucktommy fan and writer is that it's part of Tommy's consistent I-want-a-family theme (and secondarily, I think the non-Buddie GA's takeaway was essentially supposed be Ryan Guzman's "lol Tommy's insecure"). Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

[hugemilkshake]

Hey can you do more uh...self aware cookie run au with anxious reader? Just I can't help but imagine more scenarios of y/n being anxious and thinking 'OH MY GOD IM GONNA DIE!' Buuut end up spoiled by cookies. Here are some examples I thought up but if you think of anymore cute and fun things, I'd love to see em too!

Y/n goes to the hollyberry kingdom and meets pitaya. Thinks they are gonna die to dragon...nope, dragon just wants to encourage y/n to make smores or roast jelly dogs over their flames and if a single one of the cookies who sabotage the competition even think for a SECOND about interrupting that, then they got another thing coming!

Y/n thinks they are gonna die to the licorice sea or the traitor affogato cookie when encountering them....sea acts kind to y/n somehow (or just ignores em...your choice lol) and affogato just wants to spoil y/n with sweets! (Bonus: instead of joining the COD....they go with y/n as something along the lines of 'you know what? I don't want to take over this kingdom anymore. I don't want it anymore, I want y/n! King, I admit to everything, please banish me so I can run away to y/n's kingdom!') Lmao!

Golden cheese kingdom...y/n goes in, thinking glitches are gonna kill em buuuut all the digital cookies make sure y/n is feeling safe, happy, and comfortable....aaaand golden cheese gives em lots of hugs lol! Can imagine being wrapped up in her wings feels really good!

Enjoy the milkshake! I had to give an excuse for writing about affogato cookie- I mean, the dude caused me brain rot. Also I’m not writing any golden cheese stuff because smoked cheese massacred my team and I’m angry at that (my team had way more power than smoked cheese)

Somewhat plot relevant?

-platonic self aware au-

Normally you had means of controlling your anxiety but at this moment, there was no way you could control your anxiety. You were in the middle of a forest! And not even one in your own world! It was one in the game you had recently just gotten into!

You were only on episode 4 in the story mode so you literally had no clue where you were. You just sat on the ground and started to silently panic.

But at some point a cookie you did see once in the cookie unlock screen kinda picked you up and just took you to a palace? You don’t really remember what the cookie said but they weren’t hurting you! So that must mean something!

But you were now having a feast in this palace with a cookie who you learned was actually a dragon- well anyways the dragon said they were Pitaya Dragon, also known as The Red Dragon. You did panic for a moment before Pitaya told you to just chill out and have something to eat.

And you know what? It was actually quite fun! The Red Dragon talked about other dragons and nice fun stories while the two of you ate, you were sad to go but you had too. You got some berries and stuff you could sell as a wondering traveler. Though you did tell Pitaya you’d come back one day so might want to stay close

——————

You had gone from a warm and humid forest to a frozen wasteland. What’s more to say? You had everything you needed to survive and villages were quite nice to you, you had your own gear so you didn’t bother them too much.

But you did befriend a peculiar cookie when you were by the Dark Cacao kingdom…

A cookie who looked quite lavish found you and seemed a little lost and panicked… kinda how you were when you first got here…. You felt bad to the cookie so you went to talk to them

Apparently his name is Affogato Cookie and he was banished from the Dark Cacao kingdom on the grounds of the false accusations of him trying to upstage the king. Poor guy…

Now since Pitaya Dragon was so generous to you when you had nothing so you decided to help Affogato get back in his feet since you should be passing on others kindness!

What you didn’t know was that one Affogato lied to you, two Affogato had connections to Dark Enchantress and three, he would become your travel buddy. So now the two of you travel around as friends :3

[thelikesofus]

Buddie Fic Recs

REC LIST NUMBER 6! The theme is PINING if you couldn’t already tell. I haven’t done a lot of writing recently but I have done A LOT of reading so here are some of the lovely stories I have come across over the last few weeks. As always, please show these authors some love in their comments xx REMINDER TO CHECK THE TAGS AND TRIGGER WARNINGS

where our eyes are never closing by @rewritetheending | T | 6k

After the lightning strike, Buck asks Eddie to take candid photos of him to help prove to Buck that he still exists. Absolute PEAK Softness. Buck through Eddie's eyes! I was a mushy puddle by the end. 10/10 would recommend

put my heart inside your palms by @markofalover | T | 3k

An accidental pet name, a thoughtful dinner, and a shared shirt. Buddie are too domestic for my health and well-being! I want what they have!!

because we'll all arrive in heaven alive by @neverevan | E | 75k 

During a search and rescue, Eddie disappears without a trace, leaving Buck to grapple with the sudden possibility of a life without him AKA the Mudslide Missing!Eddie fic with pining for daaayyyyyyyzzzzzzz

Left Unsaid by C_M2 | M | 33k 

The discovery of a small facebook group full of tsunami survivors rocks station 118. This fic is amazing!! The perfect amount of pining angst, domestic feels and firefam love and goodness 💕💕

If I Should Fall by @elvensorceress | T | 23k

Buck thinks Tommy has died but it's actually Eddie. He is not dead but almost and they have to figure things out from there. This fic had me feeling like my heart has been gutted from my chest and dissected before my very eyes but it has the happy ending we all deserve. 

the distance to the stars by cloudydaisies | G | 27k

Eddie is the only one who doesn't realize he and Buck are dating 😭 This is a perfectly sweet and angsty miscommunication fic. 

the weekly bet (but the forever kind) by @theleftboobgrabber | E | 49k

The firehouse has a bet and Buck and Eddie work it in their favor. Once again Eddie pining for dayyyyzzzzzzzzzzz. (I’ve been on a Pining!Eddie kick recently). Perfect Buckley Diaz family feels. 

light me and i'll burn for you by @woodchoc-magnum | M | 31k

An old friend of Buck's joins the 118 and he kinda sucks. Eddie pines and falls down a hole (literally). Seriously though the pining and the angst in this fic is just delicious and with a happy ending to boot <3

The Aftermath of Liberation and Love Confessions by @elvensorceress | T | 17k

Eddie makes the love confession to end all love confessions while perfecting the balance between pining and not giving a f*ck. I love me a Jenwyn fic and this one is fabulous as always. 

love bites so deep and we've got tiger teeth by @usereddie | M | 10k

Rather than going to texas with his grandparents Christopher goes to stay with Buck for an extended sleepover and Eddie realizes he is incredibly in love with his best friend. Honestly I am OBSESSED!!! This is officially my season 7 ending <3

hearts on fire by @woodchoc-magnum | M | 65k

This is a canon divergence on Season 2 where Buck and Eddie almost get together but then Abby comes back and Eddie lets buck go and then regrets it while trying to be happy for him. The pining, the self-sabotage, honestly is all one big tasty meal and topped off with a happy ending and a side salad of the Shannon and Eddie friends/co-parents arc that they deserved!!

like a dog with a bird at your door by @shitouttabuck | E | 51k

Set post s6, Eddie is injured on a call and Buck moves in to help with his recovery whilst learning to navigate his feelings for his best friend and pining for the position Eddie’s girlfriend holds. honestly, I’m actually only halfway through reading this fic but OMG I’M ASDFFGGHJJKKL and I just already knew this would be making it onto the next rec list so I'm adding it to this one preemptively. 

[hana-a-chattic]

Karasuno first years and Talent.

I've recently seen a quote that goes something like, Genius is a product of obsession. Can't remember the exact words, but there's plenty of similar ones, you get the idea.

I wholeheartedly believe that's what partrayal of "talent" in Haikyuu!! is like.

The character that has the word "talent" thrown at him most is probably Kageyama. He must be one of, if not the, best players overall in the story. He also started playing when he was 7/8. And even before that, volleyball was everywhere around him at his home. He also dedicates his entire life to the sport. He's never shown to care about anything else, no sign of having any other hobby (dude doesn't know how to use a PSP ffs).

Have you seen the guy's room in anime?

Yeah. It's empty as hell, with only volleyball magazines and workout equipment in the shot. If he's not practicing with the ball, he's working out. He only approaches his peers when he needs it for better performance. And I'm not saying that to be rude, or sad, he seems content. Because that's his obsession.

Hinata? His teammates and rivals alike unanimously agrees he - from the technical standpoint - sucks at the beginning. He picked it up when he was 12/13, and even then, it's shown he only started getting actual practice in his last year of middle school, so, 14/15. He's been doing it for less than a year. (Oh, ye also has casual social life, friends outside of this one thing he does, and ejoys - or, at least, used to enjoy - doing other stuff with them)

But now he gets actual coach, actual people who know how to play with him on the team, and of course, Kageyama. With whom he can stay well into the night practicing, go running together. Compared to Kageyama, he lacks experience. A lot of experience. And compared to many other players in his position, he lacks physicality. Height. But he makes up for it with sheer enthusiasm, basically. By joining Kageyama in allowing the sports take over his life, even flying to another side of planet. He's also, definitely, obsessed.

Tsukishima is not. He found joy in it, enough to join a pro team, albeit not the best one (sorry Frogs I swear I love you). But he also went to uni. Got a degree. Got a stable, public servant job. He has at least one friend (from whom we know he does play video games lol). He has other interests, showcased for the first time ironically in his room.

This one ball game never was and never will be end-all be-all to his life. And he's not a genius, no one would call him that. But he's pretty good, isn't he? Part of it is genetic lottery, sure (both he and his brother are Tall for Japanese boys), but even outside of that, he's good. And he also has to have been doing it since he was 8/9, although for most of the time, he wasn't really putting himself into it. And he was plenty familiar with it even before, with his brother playing it at least since Kei was 6. To a lesser extent than Kageyama, but Tsukishima also grew up with it, watching his brother play, probably watching other people play with his brother. He's no genius, he's no maniac, but he knows this stuff.

And then there's Yamaguchi. The only person out of them who dropped the sport after highschool, despite putting so much effort during those 3 years. Because it doesn't really seem like it was ever about volleyball, for Yamaguchi. It was about his pride. It was about proving himself he can do it. It was about no longer just envying "stronger" people, but actually standing tall and proud by their side. I can't figure out when he started playing it (i.e. met Tsukishima, in his case), has to be 8-10, but he says it himself: all he knew was the fun volleyball, a game you play with buddies, a club activity you do to hang out with your friends. And with sad self-sabotaging best friend by his side, he didn't ask for much else. Until he did. He probably couldn't go pro with his skill set, but it doesn't seem like he wants to, either. He likes volleyball, sure. As an adult, he watches it on TV and even visits faraway games in person. He's probably extremely supportive of his pro league friends. But he seems content with that. He's casual.

Haikyuu!! is pretty fair in this way. You can have an innate advantage, be it physical or the sort of family you're born to, but at the end of the day - the more you sacrifice, the more you earn. And the more of an obsessed crazy freak you are, the more you enjoy every single sacrifice you made, I suppose.

(I wouldn't know I kin Tsukishima lol)

[yuri-is-online]

I love the Fyuuture kid au. Could I ask for Ace!yutu, the idea of Yutu getting second hand embarrassment at Ace's flirting attempts makes me laugh so much, just yutu standing there watching ace self sabotage himself when it comes to Yuu wondering how Yuu and Ace managed to get together in the future. (Yutu has definitely judged his father a few times in silence)

Another thing that lives rent free in my head when thinking of Ace and Yutu is when Ace finds out that Yuu is basically dead in the future. That has to be a crushing discovering for him considering that he's (and Deuce) very protective of Yuu

(also the idea of Deuce's future co workers deciding that Yuu is a danger and basically cursed Yuu to die has to make him feel uneasy about weather he'd want to work for a company that basically sentenced Yuu to die once everything is resolved but that's a conversation for another day)

notes: they/them used for Yuu, for context on the fyuuture kid au can be found here and here.

Slight bit of clarification, the Magical Marshall's appear to be a government organization, or perhaps a type of law enforcement that each government has?  The way Deuce spoke about it made me think they sound similar to a counter terrorism unit, but either way your point still stands.  While Deuce never gets the complete picture of what happened to Yuu, he still knows in his heart it was his office that hurt them, and it's extremely difficult for him to live with.  The office stands by it's decision to the bitter end, no matter what he says or how many monster attacks are reported.  And if he gets too annoying, well they already made you disappear.

And with that lovely thought let's talk about Ace!

Ace! Yutu is a fairly normal kid.  He doesn't really have friends, maybe a discord buddy or two who he plays games with, but no one he really trusts to talk with about his family situation.  And he does see it as a situation, Yuu might be doing their best to make things normal for the two of them but the entire situation just stinks.  Yutu knows there's something wrong with it but he can't put his finger on what…

Very smart.  He taught himself how to count cards and got in trouble at school more than once for running blackjack games where he took a bunch of money from his classmates.  Not his fault they suck at cards!  And sure he could just cheat like normal (he's just as good at cutting the deck as dear old dad) but it's much more fun to do something technically legal.  It makes people that much more mad, which he finds really funny.

He tries to not talk about his dad that much, though he might make a joke or two about fatherless behavior. Much like Cater! Yutu, he assumes that his dad is probably dead and while he's very curious, he's reluctant to poke at Yuu's memories for fear of causing them more pain.  When he does think about his dad he tends to romanticize things, Yuu's description of him makes their relationship sound really sweet.  Marrying his best friend sounds great to Yutu, his dad must have felt really lucky to have managed to obtain that.

Getting isekaid doesn't phase this Yutu at all.  He was already so convinced something was off back in your world, learning he was a mage and all about Yuu's adventures just confirms all of his assumptions. Getting placed into Heartslabyul and being told that was Ace's dorm thrills him, doubly so when he gives Crewel his first migraine and gets told he's just like him. That's not to say Yutu is completely happy about his situation; his father is dead (Yutu refuses to acknowledge the monster wearing his face as a person) and Yuu effectively died ages ago, the curse placed on them just drew it out for a cruel amount of time. Yutu's angry, and what's worse is that he doesn't really have one person he can fix the blame on. He wishes Yuu or Ace were alive so he could ask who they blame, who he needs to seek out to get them justice. When the others propose traveling back in time he leaps at it without a second thought.

Crewel does try to tell Yutu about his dad, but his descriptions sort of go over Yutu's head until he actually meets him. To be fair to Yutu, he's not completely off in his assumptions about how Ace felt about Yuu, it's obvious that Ace was smitten with his parent from the start but he doesn't fully understand the denial Crewel is talking about. The blot monster Ace became is very cocky, and excels at misdirection so why would he be shy about flirting with Yuu?

Well maybe shy isn't the right word for whatever he's looking at now. Ace is reluctant to leave Yuu's side, but he has so many excuses as to why that it hurts his soul, wouldn't it just be easier to say "because I'm worried about you?" Instead of insulting Yuu's ability to take care of themselves and joking about you needing him but only joking! It's not like he really wants you to! And don't get him STARTED on all the little excuses Ace finds to touch you. It makes him seriously reconsider his whole opinion on wanting to marry his best friend thing because god if this is level of pathetic what it takes he doesn't think he could cope.

He assumes (maybe correctly) that Yuu is the one who made a move on Ace and that's how they got together in his timeline, something that high-key offends Ace when he finds out and he encourages you to be honest with Ace if you ever open up about your frustrations with him. That doesn't mean he ever gives Ace a break though, Ace is already suspicious of Yutu's intentions towards Yuu but his constant dunking on him has earned him Deuce's respect, so now he's lost both of his friends! What the hell guys you're supposed to be on his side!

Ace's distrust of Yutu doesn't bother Trappola Jr at all. On the contrary he thinks it's a good thing, the more he interacts with the first year group the more he appreciates how solid of a head Ace has on his shoulders. It doesn't make up for him being cringe, but it does make Yutu think he could maybe trust his dad with the truth.

I don't think any of the boys take the reveal of what Yutu's future is like well, but Ace's is especially bad. He thinks about all of the close calls he has seen you have, how afraid he was when he got those messages from you over Winter break, the S.T.Y.X. attack, every overblot he has ever seen, and now his own child is telling him that you made it through all that and his bad attempts at flirting but didn't get a happy ending. He has the same set of emotions that Yutu does, anger and grief that he has no one to really blame for. Yutu is sad he doesn't have an answer but grateful he isn't alone anymore.

The reveal makes Ace's teasing actually insufferable, he's so fucking cocky now that he knows you liiiiiike him back. See that boy over there? Actually living proof that you're into him, kinda cringe actually! He bets you used to have a crush on him too (just turn it around on him if you're in public he will melt.)

They like to try and out play each other in cards, Ace can't card count but he is better at reading people and better at cutting the deck so they have a pretty even win loss ratio. Yutu isn't above whining to Yuu about how his dad is being mean if he's on a losing streak, something that makes Ace fold quicker than he'd like. Neither of them will ever admit it out loud but they have a silent competition for your affection, Ace thinks you should be cheering for him since he's your future husband and Yutu thinks that you should cheer for him because he is capable of being honest about his emotions. When Grim starts whining for attention they call a truce and fight him instead.

Speaking of Grim, he has a relatively good opinion of Yutu in general based off seeing him as Henchuman 2 but when he finds out Ace is his dad? Respect ended he always knew that Yutu kid was a loser... all those times he refused to get him tuna make so much more sense now!

Learning about the future makes Ace even more protective of Yuu, and he doesn't make it much of a secret either. There's something about learning that your partner is supposed to die that makes you care a lot less about what your classmates think. That protectiveness extends to Yutu, but Ace is a bit more subtle with that. He understands that he isn't the version of himself that the kid needs to hear from, that he might not be able to give Yutu the support he needs but he loves the kid so much it sort of scares him. He's really looking forward to getting to be with Yuu and Yutu in the future, and if that means he has to put a little extra work in then so be it.

[pureshadough]

a more articulate set of thoughts & critiques on the latter half of jambound (spoilers up to and including chapter 23)

part of me sometimes wishes jamma Didn't write at fucking light speed if it meant having a larger interval of time to evaluate the pacing and points of focus in this fic, because a lot of the cast & set dressing is starting to feel like an afterthought paired against shmilk's Repeat Emotional Breakdowns. given he's the POV character the narration is of course going to be bias in his favor and the other members of the cast will be secondary to what Hes immediately focused on, but the Constant emphasis on the turmoil he's been experiencing as relevant to pv & the soul bond is starting to leave me feeling. fatigued? i guess? 23 earnestly felt like a rehash of the same beats 11 and 18 hit with less of the, like, unknowable Mystique to shmilk's character, the intrigue - by this point we have him figured out, he has himself figured out, and while im glad we finally got some direct fount (my #goat) acknowledgment as a part of that "actualization" it was largely at the cost of. like. white lily and pure vanilla being present characters...???

i trust jamma Not to render lily down into just being an obstacle to smpv's relationship obviously but at the same time the fact she immediately disappeared was kind of disappointing; for how much energy and time went into building up to their *Inevitable Confrontation* it sure did last all of like Two sentences before shmilk scuttled off to wax poetic again. 23 in particular i feel like would have been the PERFECT chance to finally give us that pv POV thats been eluded to so many times; we Know what makes shmilk tick at this point so having his emotional state be so Fucked that what hes thinking & feeling is impossible for even the Omniscient Reader to keep track of would have been a REALLY refreshing & interesting approach by comparison. conversely i understand that the point of not yet knowing what pv is thinking Still is to cast that veil of uncertainty on whether or not their dynamic is Genuine vs. if it stems exclusively from shmilks own personal desire (even though the answer to this is Incredibly Obviously Not), but i digress. middle ground couldve even been white lily POV instead if jamma was Actually Based /lh

all this is to say im paying far less attention to the musings of the POV character than i think im Expected to be in the wake of this being like the third time we've watched him lose his shit which makes me worry a bit for the way the rest of this is gonna play out. i have my own Personal Sensibilities as a character-focused writer n i feel that the pacing has started to suffer a bit since like, 16-ish, by way of repetition. all of 19 through to 21 felt like several thousand lines worth of smilk just repeatedly asking himself "Wait... Are me and Pure Vanilla.... Dating????" which like. Yes. You have been since 11 buddy

id go as far as to argue that the gala "arc" was a chapter and a half too much padding for what it was. TANGENT TIME: it moreover felt uncharacteristic of shmilk to panic in the way that he did after the scene w/ clotted cream & overhearing ppl gossip about him (not even in the sense that he was Performing as someone uncharacteristic to himself under the veil of lady milk crown, i mean that in the sense that i genuinely do not feel like he would veer so readily into isolation amidst a bout of self-consciousness as he would self-sabotaging & destruction; seeing him cause a proper ruckus at the party and Then running off after witnessing smn like pv's palpable Disappointment would have hit a little harder, for example. him getting upset over people being like "eugh... that BEAST cookie that pvs keeping in his castle" was like. Huh? Did I miss something? He's literally a war criminal why did this bother him so much

idk. this is a Fanfic that is being written For Fun by one (1) author and some beta readers to what i imagine is far larger an audience than jamma was ever expecting, so i would never want to discredit them for their success given that the bar for ao3 content is On The Floor most the time otherwise. It's a Good Fucking Fanfic. all of these thoughts come from a place of admiration - the fact that jambound is a media piece i care enough about to analyze so thoroughly to start with is testament enough to its quality. this is quite literally just me pointing at some rougher edges and going "tch.... i would do it like this instead!" while i meanwhile couldnt hope to square up to even half the amount of work ethic on display here ROFLMAO. i think i just dont like it when people write shadow milk as being """too soft""" which is. a Necessary Constant given jambounds subject matter. we're long past the threshold of him obfuscating his emotional sensitivity under an aloof disinterest or violent tendencies. this is probably why 10 and 11 are still my favorite chapters

[morganski-19]

The Buddie Argument - Eddie's Perspective Spoilers 8x09

Eddie is really being placed between a rock and a hard place in this episode. He feels incredibly disconnected from his son, and with the limited contact, feels that the only way to mend their bond is to go to Texas and be there in person. Which is true. Nothing is happening over the phone, so he needs to go to Texas in some capacity to properly get the ball rolling toward reconciliation.

And, much like he said in the episode, why would he take his son out of an environment he's thriving in, when he could move to that environment. Eddie's own needs don't matter in this moment, only Chris' do.

So he moves. He puts his house up for a subletter and he buys a place in Texas. And Buck, who is vowing to help Eddie fix his problems, is only making it worse.

Which leads to the beginning of the argument. Eddie is completely justified in lashing out at Buck here. Buck made a complete fool of himself, and messed up all of the showing of that day. Buck, who is the fixer, who is the one that Eddie can count on for support no matter what, is sabotaging everything. In Eddie's mind, he's trying to infiltrate Eddie's plans because of his own feelings.

Does that remind you of anyone?

So Eddie lashes out and tells Buck to leave. Which he has every right to do. This is where we get the line where Eddie claims that he has no ties here in Texas anymore.

Which he doesn't mean, or at least, not in the way Buck hears it.

Eddie does have ties in LA. He has Buck, he has the team, he has his entire support system. But in Eddie's self-sacrificing mind, those things don't matter in this decision. It doesn't matter that he'll hate living in Texas, or he's leaving everything behind. The only thing that matters to him in this moment is Chris. So that's the only tie that matters to him.

Not to mention that the ties he has in LA aren't necessarily severed in Eddie's mind. There's only a one hour time difference between LA and El Paso, so they're all practically a phone call away. He can still have support from afar. Just not in person anymore.

Furthermore, this is a high stress moment for Eddie, where he's not only trying to scrounge to fix all his problems, but he now feels betrayed by the one person who never betrays him. So he says something he doesn't really mean. Something he has done many times before.

The stress continues as Buck continues to fuck things up. It wasn't in his right to tell the team that Eddie was leaving. And he realizes that in the episode, which is why that last scene in there.

As far as that last scene, it's a parallel to so many other fights that Eddie's had. Where he feels like he isn't being heard, and he feels betrayed. So he gets loud and bites first, and puts words in Buck's mouth to try and get the fight to blow up. He's not expecting Buck to come in level headed and explain himself in a logical way. He's expecting it to become a screaming match. So he makes it worse to protect himself.

Then everything comes to fruition. And Eddie doesn't know how to react to that. He's so taken aback he's brought to tears.

Because, this is the first time anyone's helped him without him asking, without him begging. This is the first time anyone's understood what he's done without trying to talk him out of it. Without trying to insert themselves into his decision.

This is the first time he's had unbridled support and love.

Whether he realizes that or not, he's about to lose it.

And I would like to have seen Eddie say the direct words, "I'm sorry" to Buck about what he said. But relationships sometimes get to a point where those words aren't as important as everything that comes with the phrase. An apology is only good with the substance around it. There's also the possibility that Eddie hasn't seen how wrong what he said was yet, and we'll be getting that apology later.

There's a moment in the reveal scene where Eddie's defenses completely break, and you see his vulnerability. You see the shock and the sorry on his face. Because everything is rewriting in his mind. The narrative that he's believed for so long, that he can only ever do anything by himself, it's wrong. He's not alone. He's not the sole fighter.

This was a set up for that realization to come later on. And whether that comes with an apology or a call back to what Eddie said, it'll still be satisfying to see.

[ryuichirou]

TWST boys’ type HCs

We’ve had a couple of pretty similar HC prompts in our askbox for a while now, and today we got another one that is kind of similar to it as well. There are sooome differences to them, but I figured it’ll make sense to write one list for all of them!

Thank you so much for your questions <3 And I am very sorry for the wait, especially to the first two Anons who’s been waiting for months…

Anonymous asked:

I apologize if this has been asked before but do you have any headcanons on what body parts the twst boys have a particular liking for? You know like who’s a leg guy, who likes the booty, who prefers thighs, etc.

Anonymous asked:

What is each of the twst boys’ type both personality and looks-wise? Is there anything that’s an automatic NO?

Anonymous asked:

Are the twst boys physically attracted to their lovers? What’s their favorite part and why?

Overall, here are our questions: What is his type personality-wise/appearance-wise? What is his favourite body part? How strongly he is physically attracted to his partner? I’ll try to answer all of them…

I’ll also try to keep in mind canon trivia as much as possible, but let’s be honest – I don’t remember everything lol Also, a lot of these boys aren’t fully aware of their types and feelings.

Riddle – in theory, his type would be someone who takes care of him, spoils him and soothes him, but in actuality I think he falls for people that excite him lol Without fully realising it, too. This is why he ends up getting conflicting feelings towards Floyd of all people. Ironically, he is terrified of repeating his parents’ mistakes and spending his life with someone he always viciously fight with, but I guess he’s self-sabotaging oops. In terms of appearance, he is definitely attracted to taller and bigger men LOL (he doesn’t realise that...) The ones that would drown him… in embrace, of course! I think his favourite body parts are arms, hands and, interestingly, chest. I also think physical attraction plays a bigger role in his life than he cares to admit; somehow, despite how sentimental and inexperienced he is, I see him as someone who would get very into someone’s appearance (and would be oblivious about it).

Ace – this bitch outed himself in the Ghost Marriage event: he wants to be with someone he would have fun hanging out with, but also someone who he could be honest with, fight with, someone who would call out his bullshit as much as he would call out theirs, so yeah Deuce Spade lol Ace just wants a partner who is also a buddy… But in terms of his physical type, he seemed to express several times that he finds Epel attractive?? I guess your type and your ideal partner aren’t necessarily the same thing. Maybe this is also why Ace has complicated relationship with Riddle – he definitely thinks he’s cute on some level. As wholesome as it might sound, I think Ace likes long lashes… But he also strikes me as someone who is very into legs, and not necessarily soft “girly” legs. No matter who he ends up dating, he would be very physically attracted to them, even to the aspects of their appearance he wasn’t initially interested in.

Deuce – serious, reliable and responsible older men do things to his heart… and even just older men who look like they have their shit together. In a way, he’s always been drawn to his senpais (who weren’t very responsible but) or any other older male figure that felt like a perfect and shiny example of what Deuce wants to be. In reality, it was just Deuce wanting to be with these men lol I think taller men make him feel things too, but his favourite features are a face (handsome!) and probably arms. In general, Deuce is very physical and, similarly to Ace, would be very into his partner’s entire body.

Trey  – as everyone’s caretaker, he would be attracted to someone who allows him to take care of him… to an uncomfortable degree. I guess that would mean that he likes helpless people, in a way, which sounds very mean somehow lol In terms of physical attraction, he definitely has a bias towards more petit people, and I think OTHER THAN TEETH he is very drawn towards small hands, big eyes and let’s be honest, he is mostly into Riddle lol But he would go even more feral over Riddle if he was a little bit more plump… Trey is working on it, alright? Also, somehow despite a very clear type, Trey finds himself attracted to thighs in general. He is also very physically attracted to his partner, even if he doesn’t seem like it, he’s constantly losing his mind in his head.

Cater – I think Cater has his actual type (someone who he could be honest with and someone who would ground him) and an “ohh that’s totally my type!”. The second one is all over the place because he flirts with people left and right, but I think one way to describe it would be cool/shiny. All of his exes were either local school stars, or someone who is a good musician, or someone who was very cool to take selfies with. Cater’s “first layer” is superficial, but it’s because he never got to know people properly and never really had a chance to connect with anyone. Alright, before it gets too depressing: good fashion sense! Long fingers! Good smell! And of course, BUTTS! But even then there isn’t anything specific appearance-wise that Cater is looking for. He just wants to go “woah”.

Leona – I don’t know if this could be considered a type, but Leona prefers people who take care of him, but don’t make it very obvious that they do or don’t act like a caretaker. Ruggie works because he complains all the time, there is this feeling that he does it for his own benefit. In terms of appearance, unfortunately Ruggie is way off because Leona is drawn to strong men with good build, but at the same time they have to be low-key about it so Leona doesn’t feel a threat to his ego I mean, doesn’t feel the urge to assert dominance. He does want his partner to overpower him, but in a very specific way I guess. He is also all about physical attraction.

Ruggie – what he needs is a “partner in crime” that shares his worldview and also respects his boundaries, which sounds nice, but for Ruggie it’s more of a “I’m doing my own thing, you’re doing your own thing, but we’re working towards the same goal somewhat”. Anyways, he isn’t super interested in finding someone like this, it’s more of a “if I end up with someone, it’s better be this kind of person”. It’s not like he has a physical type but… I think he is drawn towards meaty people. I think he loves big thighs, heavy butts, huge arms and fat tits.

Jack – oh he has very specific ideas for who he wants his partner to be because he is very determined to be with one person for his entire life – this is how things are in his family, after all. He is such a monogamist it hurt… He needs someone who is very into constant self-improving, but also isn’t a chore to be with emotionally. Ironically, I think both Deuce and Vil suit him well in that regard lol In terms of physical appearance, he loves athletic bodies and muscles, but he isn’t super into someone huge and beefy like him. I think he also loves butts a lot, but he is extremely shy about it…

Azul – in his head, his type is someone who is at the same time on the same level with him in terms of skill and potential, but also someone who is easy to bully because Azul still wants to always have the upperhand. In actuality, Azul kind of wants someone he could ease up with a liiittle bit. Not too much though. This is why even though I love both ships, I think Azul/Idia would have more longevity: Azul is crushing HARD on Jamil, but he would never allow him to get closer even if Jamil himself was willing. With Idia though, Azul is somehow more chill. Maybe it’s because Idia is easier to bully lol In terms of appearance though, I think it’s… Jamil again. Azul is so physically attracted to Jamil it makes him a bit feral. His hair, his body, his face, his hands – everything. I think he loves longer hair in general, but also elegant hands and pretty faces – those are parts he loves in Idia very much as well.

Jade – someone who wouldn’t bore him, someone who would always keep him guessing. It’s very difficult to fit his type, he is more difficult to excite than Floyd in general. But he would still love someone who would share his hobbies (mountains, mushrooms, teasing Azul)~ Until they become boring, of course. I also don’t think he has a type in terms of physical appearance – he is pretty open to anything, as long as it’s interesting and hopefully weird, and he would probably consider having a preference limiting somehow, even if it’s just in theory. That being said… He is somewhat interested in people’s necks. But also, since he is a merman, he is a liiiiittle bit into legs, because those are very new to him.

Floyd – he is the heartthrob out of the two tweels, and his romantic and sexual interest is higher than Jade’s, but his type personality-wise is pretty similar: he doesn’t want anyone who would bore him. At the same time, he is also attracted to people who can take him, meaning those who are strong enough to make him shut up somehow. This was Riddle’s mistake when they first met: Floyd was so impressed by his strength that he got obsessed instantly. Something similar happened with Vil during Beanfest too. At the same time, both Jade and he get very into those who hide from them because it feels like the person is teasing (hi Idia) them… In terms of appearance though, Floyd is also pretty omnivorous, but he still loooooves little cuties with feisty personalities. If a boy looks like Floyd could chomp his skull in half, he is into him. If the boy looks like Floyd could break his wrists but just squeezing them, he is into him. If the boy is very angry and fussy at the same time, man, Floyd wants to eat him alive. Maybe this is why he likes Epel too. He also loves chest because there are nipples there and they’re fun to rub against ahem. Also… I hate to say it, but probably feet :(

Kalim – I honestly don’t think he has a type, but he would prefer someone whom he could have fun with! Of course, Kalim doesn’t think there are people whom he wouldn’t have fun with…  But unintentionally, I also think he is drawn to those who aren’t super ready to open up to him from the get-go. Maybe it’s because he feels like it’s his mission to make that person open up? Look at Kalim, making projects out of people lol In terms of appearance, he sees beauty in a lot of people, but realistically, he is probably drawn to a lot of Jamil’s characteristics: his arms, his stomach, his face, his hair, his back – this is just what Kalim subconsciously would consider to be very attractive, without necessarily understanding that he’s describing Jamil. If he had to pick one thing though… Neck. Kalim wants to dive into his lover’s neck and collarbone and just smell it. And then hair too…

Jamil – similar to Ruggie’s type in theory, but in practice Jamil is drawn towards those who are somewhat domineering – he kind of enjoys it too much whenever Kalim has to pretend to be very dominating and scary (like during one of the Halloween events) lol I think to him it’s more of a guilty pleasure though; as he starts thinking about it, it feels wrong in every possible way. I also don’t think he has a type in terms of physical attraction. If the body is attractive, it’s attractive: I think Jamil is more drawn towards the attitude than any physical traits. But if he absolutely had to pick one body part to be attracted to, it’s forearms. His are better though.

Vil – someone who is passionate, determined and hardworking, but also someone who gets him and is honest with him. It’s also pretty important to Vil that he could share his interests and passions with that person, which is why Rook pretty much speedran the entire “getting closer” thing with Vil that would usually take much longer lol Vil gets very soft when he is in his element, after all. He also tends to fall for people with headstrong and somewhat stubborn personalities for some reason, even though he himself is very bossy and in theory would want his partner to be more obedient... In terms of appearance, I think Vil tends to prefer someone on a manlier side, but not overly masculine (no beard!) + he is attracted to buff people with strong bodies. He loves big thighs and strong necks, and it’s not unusual for him to feel butterflies in his stomach because of his lover’s body… He also would obviously demand his partner to always be super clean, but in actuality there is a certain level of body odour that he doesn’t mind and finds kind of attractive. What are those, pheromones?

Rook – both in terms of personality and appearance, Rook is in love with anyone and everyone! He is enamoured by a lot of people, so naturally there are a lot of things that he finds attractive that contradict each other: he loves Vil’s strong personality, but he also loves Idia’s shyness, he loves Epel’s naiveté, but he also loves wisdom and deep thinking behind Jamil’s eyes. Same with bodies: he loves Vil’s legs, he loves Leona’s mane, he loves Malleus’ horns, he loves Deuce’s calves, he loves Silver’s chest, the list goes on and on… And whoever he is with, while he is with that person, he is the most physically attracted to someone person in the world. For the window of time he is with that person, he is obsessed to every single body part and every single detail and imperfection of this person.

Epel – in a way similar to Deuce, but not quite: he is also drawn to older men, but he doesn’t like the calm and collected ones, he loves those who are a bit unhinged, unapologetic, cool in a way ~a boy~ would consider cool. This is why he is into people like Floyd or Leona or Rook when he is acting closer more feral or shows his physical prowess in any way. He wants someone to be reckless with, he wants to be loved in a bit of a crazy way, but yeah of course deep inside he is also a romantic that wants to spend his life with one person who would grow apples with him back in Harveston… In terms of physical appearance, yep taller muscular men!! lol muscles are this boy’s main fetish after all. The face doesn’t even matter to him much, Epel is all about thigh and arms that could choke him out. He loves strong backs too.

Idia – I think I wrote about his type at some point but there is no way I’ll find this post now so I’ll do it again and hope that I don’t contradict myself: Idia loves people whom he could spend time with doing things that he loves! He wants to play with someone, to watch anime and movies with someone, to talk about programming and stupid people on the internet with someone. Both Lilia and Azul are good in that regard – he is the happiest when he is playing games with them. But also, despite being capricious and easily freaked out, I think Idia is in a way attracted to stubborn people with strong personalities that take all the guessing out of their relationship. It’s easier for him if his partner decides for both of them, even if Idia doesn’t agree: he’ll still bitch about it, so it’s okay. But actually, Crimson Muscle is perfect for him. CM never oversteps and always minds the distance, as if not to scare Idia away, but he also instantly notices when Idia is getting upset, and always shows the exact amount of interest and investment in Idia’s stories that Idia wants… Idia is crushing hard on that man. And the fact that this is an experienced older man probably does things to Idia as well, oops. In terms of appearance, even though he keeps ending up with petit men, I think Idia loves those who are a bit on a stronger side… he also loves deep voices. Can’t think of any one body part though; I don’t think Idia would have a lot of physical attraction towards anyone in general to be honest. Shocking, I know lol

Ortho – he loves those who respond well to him being playful! I also think he has a bias towards those who are a bit older because he is very used to being around Idia, even though he mostly takes care of him. Still, he loves being a little cutie that people compliment on his achievements; this is probably why he works so well with Vil. I also don’t think he has a physical type because he still isn’t sure about what is considered appealing, but he consciously decided that he is into butts! He even told Idia once that he is now into butts. Maybe it’s a phase, the boy is learning about himself okay? Realistically, he probably responds to faces the most, which is kind of sweet to be honest. Real!Ortho would be a leg and thigh boy though lol

Lilia – nowadays he just wants someone to have fun with, he isn’t concerned about anything else – it’s not like he has to build a family with someone after all. So yeah, fits very neatly into Idia’s desire to have quality time together! In terms of physical appearance, I think Lilia also is someone who would be into a lot of people, but in general… those who are significantly taller than him. The taller the better. He doesn’t mind short cuties, but lovers with long-ass legs are his jam, and this has been his bias ever since he was a very young fae lol  So much space to bite~ He also is very into butts; probably the biggest butt enjoyer in NRC. And dragon tails which is super specific wow. He finds physical attraction to be very important, and he kind of think that there is no relationship without it… he’s a bit old-fashioned like that. I also feel like he is kind of haunted by the image of a tall busty woman with long dark hair and fair skin (I wonder why), so he is naturally drawn towards those elements as well.

Silver – does he have a type… not really, I think. He is close to people he is close with, but he never really considered romantic attraction towards someone… It’s easier for him to be around extroverted people though. In terms of appearance, he probably has a bias towards people similar to Lilia, but it’s not like he’s ever met anyone who is even remotely similar to him. I guess he is his one and only in terms of this specific type of beauty lol But other than that, he does find himself staring at Sebek’s back or chest from time to time… Maybe it’s because those look like nice sleeping surfaces though.

Sebek – someone who wouldn’t stand between him and his liege of course! Someone who would be understanding of how important it is for him to dedicate his life to Malleus first and that person second, or even third! Or something among the lines. In actuality though, I think Sebek is drawn towards those who make him… feel and think unexpected things. Partially because he doesn’t know how to deal with those thoughts and feelings, and is eager to figure them out by chasing that poor person lol In terms of physical type, I think it’s fair to say that Malleus is his Ideal Man, but Malleus also feels somewhat otherworldly, like it’s not appropriate to compare others to him…but he does love elegant appearance, long fingers and lips that look somewhat… darker, like they’re coloured I guess. He wants to kiss instantly lol He would be extremely into his partner physically though and might discover a lot about himself when he’s actually with someone for the first time.

Malleus – another one who really loves those who respond well to his teasing. Someone who would play along, but also not be afraid to stop him when he takes things too far. Maybe scold him a little bit, but just a little bit, because otherwise he’ll get mad. He wants someone who would pay attention to him, be attentive and actually listen to what he has to say, but also he has to be interesting to listen to… Someone who looks serious, but isn’t boring and allows him to be playful from time to time… and an adventurous nature! Malleus has a lot of preferences when it comes to personality lol but this code isn’t as difficult to crack as it seems. In terms of appearance though, he doesn’t have a preference, buuut I guess he has a slight bias towards serious faces, because he loves to fluster their owners. His favourite body part is actually… ears. He just likes to whisper and to tickle them with his breathing, okay?

[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🤍

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You didn’t mean to stare.

That was a lie.

…a half lie.

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

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

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

“The end is nigh” it said.

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

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

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

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

It was inevitable.

Perhaps it was close, too.

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

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

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

Then came the day that changed your private little relationship.

The day he stared back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, he looked up again.

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

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

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

What an odd man.

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

Perhaps a little perverse…

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

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

So you waited.

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

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

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

You didn’t let yourself think.

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

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

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

He was handsome…in a strange sort of way.

He looked…jagged, and guarded.

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

Simple and to the point.

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

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

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

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

Somehow.

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

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

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

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

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

…pull yourself together.

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

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

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

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

You were out the door before you could dissuade yourself.

“Mister!” You called.

He didn’t turn this time.

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

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

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

So you did it again. And again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“M-morning-“ you squeaked.

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

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

Anything.

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

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

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

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

Vermin.

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

“Hey-yo mammi lookin good!”

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

“Whatcha doin with the little rat, hm?”

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

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

Your heart stopped. Was he about to-

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

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

That’s not very nice-

They’re not nice PEOPLE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nor why he was right by your stoop that morning.

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

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

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

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

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

He-

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

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

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

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

He didn’t say a word.

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

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

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

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

A glance.

It was small and secret and you were elated.

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

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

You held the food out by his gloved hand.

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

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

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

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

There sat the coffee cup you had handed him.

It was empty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then, he stopped coming.

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

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

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

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

You felt so silly. So selfish. Ridiculous really.

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

It took three hours.

Three.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You shouldn’t.”

You almost jumped at the voice that left him.

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

Then you realised what he had said.

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

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

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

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

His face was pure stone. “Good people.”

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

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

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

“No you don’t.”

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

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

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

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

No…certainly more. You felt nauseated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was all your fault.

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

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

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

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

You said you cared.

Said you wanted to help…

Stupid.

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

No.

A young woman liking him?

Unheard of.

Preposterous.

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

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

Just another strange woman then.

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

You had looked irritatingly familiar.

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

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

Selfless.

You were young, and selfless.

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

You had just wanted to help.

Stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You little creature.

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

He hated the light.

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

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

He hated grey. It made no sense.

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

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

Your presence ate away at him like a corrosive acid.

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

But you never disappointed him, and he loathed it.

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

Then he found himself slipping.

So stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you were so insistent that you cared.

You truly cared.

You had spent god knows how long looking for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rorschach noted just how badly you shook.

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

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

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

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

Then it clicked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rorschach found something rewarding in your eyes.

Fuel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go home.” Was all he said.

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

It was his voice.

You knew that voice.

You missed that voice.

You had wanted so badly to understand that voice…

Even the compact build and attitude were right.

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

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

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

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

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

This was a nightmare.

You knew him. Knew his face and his voice.

He had slipped.

Stupid stupid stupid stupid.

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

He sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shook your head, “Why wouldnt-“

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

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

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

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

But there you were…coming whiter and whiter until-

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

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

A good person.

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

Rorschach let his grip on you lighten.

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

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

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

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

Good.

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

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

An incandescent sight.

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

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

Why did he notice that?

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

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

“What are you…?” You murmured.

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

It never did.

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

Rorschach focused on you.

Fixated.

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

He sighed, pursing his mouth.

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

You had given yourself to him.

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

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

You blushed.

Whores didn’t blush.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he was everywhere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallowed.

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

Rorschach hummed low in his chest.

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

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

You could only nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he would devour you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” He asked.

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

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

He was.

Then he understood. His eyes widened ever so slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gasped at the sensation.

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

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

You whined softly against his mouth.

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

Smirk.

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

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

Like there was nothing he would rather be staring at.

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

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

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

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

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

Your head felt light and disconnected.

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

He was lost in his own little world.

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

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

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

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

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

He shook his head.

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

And he shook his head again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You took that as a yes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wanted to know exactly what he did to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His message was clear.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

And he certainly was not.

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

[howdoichooseablogname]

911 fic recs 2 - buddie fic recs 2

ones that make me smile or laugh

come and be my baby by colonoscopys (locked)

He recognizes that he’s faintly stepping into the hazing sort of entry requirement. It doesn’t help that Eddie’s mouth flattens to the level of desert plains, sweat still cascading down the long length of his throat. “Buck, I don’t know what the hell your problem is—” Buck cuts him off. “Is that so, princess?” Eddie breathes through his nose, looking up at him. But before he can, his eyes flicker down to his lips. Just for a moment. Just for a second.

21, 165 words | 1 chapter | complete | teen

i love this fic so much! the silliness of the pet names, the beginning of buddie where buck didn't like eddie. puts a smile on my face (not-really angst with this though. it's hard to explain without spoiling. there isnt really angst, just self-sabotage) also, shannon is in this and shes great

Drastic Measures by paleredheadinascifi

Eddie was once proud to say that he’d never, in his life, posted a thirst trap. Alas. @.eddiaz followed @.firehose @.eddiaz posted a new photo @.eddiaz liked 3 of @.firehose’s photos  Or, Eddie tries to thirst trap his best friend. Easy, right?

1, 619 words | 1 chapter | complete | teen

this is hilarious and puts a smile. i absolutely love it. all the different interactions between the various characters. the first buck interaction is my favourite though

my man says he loves me (never says he loves me not) by colonoscopys (locked)

croakett: I don’t know what to do tubbalubb: me neither He stares at the screen. Is this the correct time to bring up Buck’s abs? croakett: I’m pretty new here. Just signed up tubbalubb: okay well i love my best friend more than you love your best friend croakett: Um croakett: No I don’t think that’s what we’re supposed to do tubbalubb: oh

9, 713 words | 1 chapter | complete | general

i love fics like this. the mutual pining. the anonymous "i love my best friend" to your best friend is always amazing. love the ending so much (spoiler: there is a little fight between buddie close to the end if you want no angst whatsoever)

i tried to keep this angst free, what little "angst" there is almost wouldn't be qualified as angst. but i did warn in case you were looking for happy fluff. something stressful happened this morning which made me put this list together.

these aren't everything in my bookmarks, but i think keeping it 3 at a time is manageable.

as always, if you liked any of these please send a kudos or a comment their way.

[mari-lair]

Hey love your analysis. People like you make this series so great by appreciating the complexness of the story and characters.

I had a quick question regarding your last post about H’s attachment to N and K.

The line at the end “his love is selfish and doomed to fail” do you mean that because his love was initially rooted because H liked the company of N and K that his love will hurt them because of H messy morals and self sabotage that stem from his lack of self value or fail as in his love for them is not substantial not “real” because of it originated from H’s selfishness?

I think H’s love and compassion for the two, himself, and the value of life will make or break the ending if it’s a happy one. N and K have their own personal growth also tie to the series ending. It is too soon to predict the series ending but with this arc I can see N’s character grow to understand about the fragility and preciousness of human life seeing her friends die or getting close to. So hopefully we can see these insights in H’s and K’s characters too.

Thank you, happy you enjoy my analysis! I had to go search up the post you're talking about cause I hadn't done a big analysis about Hanako in 2 years.

I am 90% sure you mean this one though, which ends with this:

I would do some changes on how I formated the whole analysis but my main opinion didn't change in these two years: His love is selfish and doomed. HOWEVER I didn't meant to imply being selfish is the reason his love is doomed.

The reason I believe that his love (which is definitively genuine btw, he is haunted by this love, he becomes irrational and vulnerable and confused and so so fond of Nene and Kou) is selfish and destructive is because of *points at the whole analysis*

But the reason I believe the love is doomed and can't last is because he is dead. It doesn't matter if he start loving himself and figure a way to express his love without being harmful (to himself or others) because he was doomed from the start. What is the best case scenario here? He does the impossible and Nene lifepan is cured without hurting anyone in the process! But then what...? He is 13 forever, stuck in the school forever, while kou and nene will keep growing old, they'll become adults, he will remain hanako. He can lose them by simply being unchanging by nature, and he knows that.

Hanako's life is already over, he can't build a new life, he can't grow with his human buddies and learn/change the same way a human can. Everyone's development will decide how his love will end though. Maybe it can be a happy, bittersweet thing, maybe he will become another school wonder full of even more regrets and no idea how to process his regrets. It's indeed too early to know how the manga will end, specially now that changing the timeline is a thing??

(not that changing timelines make it less doomed, if Amane never dies he would be too old by the time he met Nene and Kou to be their buddy)