#and my brain is just fighting itself over this

[charliemwrites]

Still thinking about yesterday’s post and the dynamic that fucking snatched up my brain worms in a vice grip.

Reader who is perfectly capable, has a well earned spot on her team. Who has safety net after safety net provided by the mere presence of the rest of 141. So much so that she doesn’t even remember what fear is. Living in that invincible bubble of “we’re the best because we look out for each other and we’re not going to let anything happen to each other”

And the day that bubble pops and you don’t even realize it yet. A chance encounter with a KorTac operative and you stole his kill right out from under him. Made eye contact in a shower of blood, maybe even threw him a cheeky grin, high on stims as you were.

You didn’t realize that you’d stepped outside the metaphorical bounds of your little safe zone, stepped right into the territory of a feral, untamed creature with sharp teeth and the scent of you cloying in his nose. A scent that made his blood sing a siren song of want.

It’s not just happenstance that you cross paths again. (Not that you know that). Hes been seeking you out, taking mission after mission in a dogged attempt to see you again. To see if it was more than a fluke.

And his impatience, his persistence, is rewarded with the silhouette of you, breaking a man’s neck with your thighs. (If the man weren’t surely dead, he’d wish he was for the crime of having your attention, of being smothered by your thighs, of being that close to your cunt.)

In your precious stealth gear, sleek and deadly, eyes sharp on the path ahead, not the shadow gathering behind you. He just watches you for a long while, soaking you up like a dry earth in a squall, letting you take root deep, deep within his being, in the place a soul should be. (You’re better than.)

He’s got your callsign now, whispered by one of your team members as their path intersects with yours. Narrowed eyes at the (too) friendly shake given to the hard mask covering your mouth and nose, the way your cheeks rounded with a grin beneath.

What was an interest has evolved instantaneously into an obsession. (Or devotion. Or love. They’re all the same to him, all the same kind of possession.)

He loves watching you fight as much as he loves watching you kill. He’s hard in his tac pants experiencing it this close, getting to feel each unforgiving strike in all the openings he leaves for you - invitations you always accept because you’re his good girl and you can’t resist, of course not.

He purrs when he gets you pinned to the wall, your eyes big, sparking with that animal knowledge that you’ve been bested by a bigger predator. That you’ve been won, claimed. To the victors go the spoils, and the only thing he’s lost is his restraint.

You’re panting and squirming beneath him, and he’s hypnotized, unable to do more than press closer, press harder to get you wriggling against him. Moaning softly when your heel digs a bruise into his calf, how you go still with a sort of realization.

“Again,” he rasps into your ear, “go on, pretty little hunter. Keep going. You’re so strong.”

But before you can, something over his shoulder steals your attention. Your eyes flick away from, where they should be. And he realizes that he been so consumed by you, intoxicated, that he missed the intrusion on your moment together.

In the aftermath, his gear smells like you. The place where he slipped his thigh between yours and pressed he swears smells like your cunt, heady perfume. He’s breathes it in as he fucks his tight fist, high on the memory of your strength testing itself against his.

He imagines the scent of him all over you in return. Going back to those men with his claim in your armor, wishes you’d taken the blade with you, his blood smearing your gloves, your shirt, your pants, staining your skin.

He cums to that thought, thick spurts all over a grainy print out of you from the op he first met you on, milky drops on the ink that forms your mask.

Soon, it’ll be reality.

[mulberrymyrtle]

COSMIC ─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

[various!pjo x child of urania!reader]

CHAPTER ONE : stargazing...petty fights... weird guy who smells of sewer water.

SUMMARY : in typical sibling fashion, your half-sister forces you to engage in bonding activities to get closer to your godparent. however it's 1am, and gods? they never cared anyways.

YOUR SISTER WAS A WEIRD PERSON, or rather your "half-sister" was the epitome of whimsical shook into a bottle rapidly to create a highly-superstitious woman.

You could say she was obsessed or in her own terminology - a "passionate" astrologer who's hands were blessed by Urania's knowledge of the cosmos. (As she uttered in her theatrical matter, in front of the Hermes table. You wished with clutched hands that Zeus should strike her down with his fearsome lightning.)

Yet, in your own terminology she was a nerd who loved the stars too much she'd disintegrate herself if it ever decides to come near her vicinity. (both literally and metaphorically)

She'd wake you up in the chill-breeze of dawn, hands slapping at your sweat-filled forehead (because being squeezed in the Hermes cabin is definitely anything but cold). Her fingers gesturing to the destroyed window, (a polite gift of the Stolls) with excitement coursing over her star-speckled eyes. With drowsiness choking you by the brain, fogging everything that hurls out of her mouth - the only thing it can make out is your name.

"The constellations!" She sputtered, words spilling from her chapped lips. "They're clearer!"

"Uh...clear, cool. Woah."

"Oh my Olympus," she sighs knocking at your head, "It means Urania is giving us a sign! We need to talk to her or something!"

"Why does it matter if she..." you paused, shifting your crumpled blanket closer to your body. "Or Urania makes the constellations clearer? You know the gods don't care at all. Making up for neglect isn't making stars clearer or whatever." Rolling your eyes, flopping yourself back on the floor.

With a whine of your name, she smacks you (like she always does) "That's our mom, you have to respect her."

"That's a god." You spit out,  "She's probably out there creating more half-siblings to cramp us in this cabin."

"I hope she makes better siblings than you." She huffed, her arms crossed.

"You'll just betray me like that? I was joking, you were supposed to say you're the best ever!"

She gives you a look of disgust, her head shaking rapidly. "In a hypothetical sense, you're doing the betraying here."

You gave an awkward cough, eyes shifting away from her face. With a stiff laugh, you murmured under your breath. "In Capture the Flag... maybe?"

She tilts her head, your words processing in her mind. "Huh- wait! You're not teaming up with me?"

"Well, I wanna win for once."

"You think Clarisse will make you win?" She raises her brows, her face scanning over you like it was a joke.

"Better than be dunked in the toilet that's for sure..."

"We had a plan!"

"I barely have anything to do there," you shake your head, putting the blanket over your head. "It's probably Annabeth saying that Athena always has a plan." Replicating Annabeth's confident tone to perfection as you utter the phrase. "I am practically dummy bait for Clarisse either way."

Your ears pick up on her groan, her back hitting the wall with a loud thump. Under the covers, you shift to turn away. Your mind was on desperate measures, forcing itself to shut off - away from your half- sister's insistent pleads. The thin sheets you slept yourself on was better than lying on prickled grass, the hurls of harpies screaming in the distance, paired with the stories your sister’s would wander about was anything but delightful.

"Just let me sleep," you tell through muffled sheets, moving around the tight space.

"You're so difficult." She murmurs in exasperation, almost tired. "I'm just trying to get us closer, that's what she..." Her tone falters, like the next words were impossible for her to voice out.

You hear the deep breaths she takes in, the sigh she releases - even a clink of the necklace Urania gifted her. The subtle movement of the blanket tells her that you're prodding the next things she'll say, eager to listen.

"Oh," you finally hear her voice after the moments of silence, you find yourself shifting closer to her.

"Oh, i'm sorry Peter," she utters in a soft manner, "Did we wake you?"

Who the hell is Peter?

In a sudden movement, you fling your blanket off. Head emerging from the soft comforts of your dingy pillow to face whoever decided to join the conversation. You swore, there was never a Peter unless it was a spirit that decided to wander in the dead of dawn. But, you also know that your half-sister couldn't see ghosts. You were sure that in the entirety of Camp, only one person could do that - the cabinmate beside you whose snores irritated your ears.

Your head turns to the person, like a crane cranked up in slow motion. Your vision clearing up, the blurred figure of the person fully coming into view.

Ohh, so that's Peter.

You turn to your sibling, then back to him as your memory tries to recollect on who he was. Eyes looking over his closed off form - he's a bit close, you think. His sea-breezed hair has been swept by the constant turns in his sleep (he's restless as well, why were you beside two annoying sleepers?)

He was reminiscent of men who spent their summers lazing in the warm sands, letting the grains supple over their bodies. A man that looked like he thrived with the waves splashing in their hair and the chemical smell of sunscreen that he’d pile on endlessly. You wouldn’t be surprised if his godparent was a related to water (if Poseidon still had children, he'd be top one) or his whoever his parent was, must’ve been an avid surfer.

But, you wished he smelled like the fresh seas or of summer's refreshing taste. Instead a vague scent of rotten sewer water invaded your senses, as you shook your head. Meeting the gaze of your sibling once again, a common understanding of apologizing to him came over the two of you - his squinted eyes seemed to tell you he was irritated.

You sighed, resting your head against the creaking walls (does Chiron even have enough budget to fix this, you wonder) "Sorry Peter, we didn't mean to - "

"It's Percy." He clears up with a rather deadpan tone, his arms clutched around a rather curved object. "Can you tone it down?"

You share a look with your sister. "We're sorry, we'll quiet down."

"Will you?" He questions, hold tightening on the object in his arms. You’re pretty sure that comment was meant to jab at you two, hearing your sister mutter something inaudible.

A few awkward glances is shared between the three of you, the sudden creak of the floorboard disrupts the moment. The shuffles of your sister's footsteps is heard within the empty cabin, all you can do is observe her movements, her body reaching over to a corner.

Rustling is heard from a distance, bunches of papers being smashed into one thing. The heavy thuds of books, she stuffs countless books about astronomy (that she probably let Travis steal from the camp's store) pencils that seem to clack at every moment, pens scattered with vast colors. She slings the filled bag over her shoulder, as she faces the window, fingers nimbly opening the creak. Then with a soft breath, she turns to you two - her mouth moving in a familiar manner. She's ran away from too much cramped sleeping beds in the dead of night for you to immediately understand her.

Don’t tell Luke.

With a lazy nod, you shoo her away - an action that makes her mouth quirk up, a little "you'll pay if you snitch" emerging from her tongue. Then in a blink you find her figure blending into the starry sky, the stars seeming to twinkle a bit brighter when she did.

"Does she do that often?" Percy asks with a tilt of his head. "Isn't that, against the rules?"

"Well," you trail off with an awkward smile. "Rules never bothered her, really."

"The harpies?"

"She's good at avoiding them," shrugging him off. "Got a collection of their feathers, weirdly enough."

Percy doesn't say another word, noticing the chest set beside you — overflowing with the collection.

The nightly-air washes over your body, dancing around you playfully. It’s cool, different from the compacted warmth that Hermes’ cabin offered behind the doors. Leaning your head on the window-still, you see the glowing splatters of the stars glint in your sight. It contrasts against the abyss, like it usually does without fail - despite your reluctance, you do admit it was ethereal.

“Ah, it is clearer,” you mumble in defeat, eyes taking in the constellations that appeared within the etched sky.

Your breath awes at the different collection of constellations that pooled beneath. Immediately catching the bright gleams of common constellations ranging from the Zodiacs, drifting over to beam at Cassiopeia. You stop your observations for a moment, with a furrowed brow. Your dart your eyes to the seemingly duller shine of stars that mixed to create another picture - eyes widening at the newly found connection.

"Perseus," you whisper amongst the silence, awe filling your body - it gleamed beautifully. It took over half of the field, completely stealing the show — a rare constellation appearing?

"Excuse me?" a voice calls out within the silence, confusion evident in their tone. You flinch at the intrusion, seeing Percy look at you with a pursed lip.

"Perseus, the constellation?" Pointing to the sky above, connecting the brightest stars together to show him the picture. “You know, the Greek hero?”

"I know," he states, when you blink you find a presence settled beside you. He's close, you think, the proximity has your mind jump. He focuses his sights on the sky before him. His breath stutters unevenly, you see his throat almost bobble up — his face is a mix of everything. It's dull mostly — like the constellation isn't something he awed at. "Slayed Medusa, saved the princess, happy ending, all that." He spits out, a hard edge to his tone.

"Not a fan, huh?" you tease with a glint of mischief, hugging your knees close to your chest. "Me too," you confess, burying yourself deeper in your knees. "Heroes with a happy ending, seems weird."

"Yeah, real weird," he croaks out, his tone slightly pitched up —lips quivering when he continues to stare.

You observe him quietly, how he clings tight to the material close to him. Hugs it like it's the only warmth, the comfort he's had — it resembles how a child sticks to his mother. It makes your chest tight, your hands clammy.

With a little sigh, your body finds itself shifting closer to him. You come shoulder-to-shoulder to him, his warmth ever so present.

"Man, you do hate him huh?" you utter with a surprised tone, fiddling with your blanket. Bumping his shoulder in a light manner, you linger a bit long. "Don't worry, he doesn't show up all the time," you inform him softly, hoping it'll lift up whatever anger he has directed to him. "You'll mostly find common ones, like the Big Dipper or Cassiopeia here — just don't look too hard and Perseus won't show."

"No," he interrupts you, his eyes back at yours. The closeness has you forced to stare into his pierced gaze — it's clouded almost, like seas crashed with storms and overlapped. "No, I don't hate him."

"Then what?"

"It's just weird," he whispers. "We share a name, I find it weird."

"Perseus?" With a raised brow, you tilt your head. "You share a name with him? Perseus? Who named you that?"

He takes a second to register your question, yet his breath hitches — almost stopping his lungs from functioning.

"My mom," he rasped out, a heavy sigh ; the confession a burden to vocalize. There is a crack entering his words, mourning coloring his very body. The object he's been embracing the whole time is tighter than before, you can see the outline. Curved and pointed, a minotaur horn which was penetrating itself in his chest  — he does not stop ; he continues to press deeper.

Oh.

Minotaur horn, Percy, mother.

Minotaur horn, Percy, mother.

Minotaur horn, Percy, mother...

Then, it finally clinks in your mind ; an echo of previous events emerge within. It's him. You knew of him in the rumors that spread by both campers or by the satyrs who's hands tended the stables. The tale of a new camper brought in the hazing storm, killing the famed minotaur with brute strength — his endeavour marked by the remnant of the horn held by his hands. It was a story that'd be etched in the stars, you imagine the giddy smile your sister wore when she heard of it.

A new legend, she sputters with excitement. A story that the constellations will love.

But, your mind did not think of "legends" or the myth in a making. The boy before you, who's blanket was not neat, who's eyes started to water a bit, and choked with the overwhelming pressure of learning of his heritage — he looked too human to you.

The creation of a legend is never beautiful, it is from harsh treatment — to be attacked mercilessly of battles that the gods force you in.

You were aware of that, every demigod was.

So when you hid yourself deep in the vines that hugged the White House, hearing the worried murmurs and rabid shuffle of pinochle ; hearing news about the newest recruit. Your heart becomes heavy. Grover's tone is shaky, the tin cans that clattered as it crunched underneath his mouth. His reporting is messy, unclear, the quiet sniffles interrupt it from the clarity.

What about his mother? He quietly voices out, it is silent. Mr. D doesn't have some snarky comment nor does Chiron bring out any advice like he'd always do. What are we gonna say about his mom? Grover says, filled with desperation — it's coarse, demanding.

She's gone. He cries out, his tone is weighed in by grief ; a failure, he thinks of himself. The way how utters the words is so similar, bringing you to a moment years ago.

You try to shake off the previous events, focusing on Percy.

"Your mom," you repeat, careful to say it with caution. "She... she must've been cool to name you that."

"She was," he answer back, his tone softer. "She was the best, actually," he whispers tenderly. You feel your chest tighten at how he mentions her. He has a little smile on his face, how his dullness is now shining at every moment he thinks of her positively. He parades his memory of his mother like a cherished gift, a woman he never wants to ever forget.

You never thought it was possible to think of your own mother that way, to hold her tightly to your heart.

You give him a reassuring nod, taking in the softness that surrounded him briefly.

"Hm," you hummed, fingers playing amongst the gathering dust at the window. "Naming you after Perseus, names are pretty strong thing here, you know?"

"Grover said the same thing," he says confused. "When I almost said Diony — Mr. D's real name. What's that about?"

"Uh, my sister says it kind of seals your destiny," you trail off. "If you're named after something, your fate's gonna be written out for you." But you put a shushing motion to your mouth, "I don't believe whatever she says — she's ultra superstitious, really. It might be her fear-mongering again."

"But," you continue. "Your mother must've loved you a lot for you to be named after a hero who gets a happy ending."

He squints his eyes, wondering what you were trying to imply.

"If we do take my sister's words, she wants a happy ending for you," you say slow, thinking of how to convince him. "Then you should follow that destiny, let yourself reach a happy ending that you want," you ramble off to him, hoping he'd listen. "I mean, that's why you were brought here? You must've felt outcasted, like most of us — and now, you're not different anymore, you're just you."

You take a breather, the next words crashing on you. "That's something happy isn't it? To finally be with people who understand, — here you don't have to be scared. You can do everything without fear of judgement."

"Will I?" he spoke in a hushed tone, insecurity evident. "I mean, I did get dunked in a toilet first day in, very welcoming." He uses a sarcastic tone, the displease is displayed loudly.

That alone makes you laugh, "So Clarisse did that to you, that's why you smell weird."

"H-huh, I don't..." leaning down to sniff a part of his clothes, "I wasn't even wet by the toilet water!"

You were a bit stunned at his claims, shaking it off quickly. "Well I can still smell it!"

"Are you messing with me?"

"Well, we are in the Hermes cabin, try guessing," you cheekily reply, using your elbow to nudge him. He playfully shoves you off with a huff, making you smile.

"It's hard to read your face — it's a blurred mix," he scoffs at your words.

"Blurred mix? That's a new one," you expressed amusement, shaking your head. "Has camp been mentioning that again?"

"Well, it's not a joke, it is kinda blu —"

"Well, since you faced Clarisse's toilet ritual" you cut off his words, reaching out to pat his shoulder. "You definitely will, you'll belong here just fine."

You'll belong here just fine.

Percy pauses, your hands still placed on him — you flinch, immediately removing it. He mulls over your words, blooming something within him — you think that after being kicked out almost every year, that he'll never find a place to be. Everywhere he steps in, trouble catches up and is ready to grab his collars and sink him deeper into the pits.

To himself, he is an outcast — he has never belonged, he is the kid a Nancy Bobofit like-persona would pick on every chance, the weird kid who couldn't do well in school. A trouble-maker who'd burdened everyone.

Yet, Camp Half-blood entered his life — and everyone shares the same story. He isn't alone anymore, he's not different, he's everyone else — just like he'd dream.

Okay, I'll belong here, just fine. Percy thinks deep inside, giving you a half-smile. A shared silence falls between you two, turning your attention back to the beaming stars. You hear a stifled yawn beside you, Percy body sways like the calm winds — sleepiness overcoming his every being.

He crawls back, uttering a curt goodnight. His snores now adding on to the never-ending piles of sleepy campers — it's annoying, but it's starting to lull you to your own sense of slumber.

"Goodnight, Percy," you reply back, already finding his body deep within the covers. You observe how his face flinches, before coming down to a little smile - he was thinking of his mom. You come closer to his side.

"May the stars guide you,"  you whisper, it's unfamiliar on your tongue. It better suits your sister, however you wished the words wrapped the nightmares that plagued him. It worked when your sister uttered them when you tossed and turned at sleepless nights, gentle hands soothing you down.

You pray to that the boy beside you, who's face shone brightly at the mention of his mother. That he would not succumb to the horrors being a demigod would bring him. The grief that weighed on your , the flashes of other campers before him, who crumbled under the gods.

Do they even care?

You hope they will, someday. Turning over to observe the brightest star, a speckle of hope in your heart.

"Goodnight..."

Your voice halts at what you want to say next - "mom." Shaking your head, you return the blanket over your heaving chest.

"You really did make the stars nicer," you blurt out, a tinge of frustration in your tone. "It's not that bad." you snicker mockingly, hoping it'll anger her a bit.

Maybe, if you squinted hard enough, the star twinkled back for a brief moment. Urania's weird way of scolding, you wished - but the gods never cared, do they?

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

first chapter done! wohoo, hope you enjoyed this is the first ever book i've written and decided to post so im shy, hehe... reblogs and comments are HIGHLY appreciated, would love to gain insight on how to improve this story -- so any beta reader who can give me advice thank you!

also i lowkey bawled because I DELETED A GOOD PORTION OF THIS FIC I HAD TO REWRITE IT AUGHHH.

fun fact : the camper who can see ghosts is actually another reader insert i plan to release, someday :0! (try to guess who's their godparent is)

[fruityenderman]

I seem to have caused myself a good bit of executive dysfunction oops

[rawliverandgoronspice]

not to. Return There. but. I am compelled to burn my wings against the bright light until the end of times, so.

I think that if Totk Ganondorf was ever meant to be a criticism of imperialism, it's a pretty incomplete one without Rauru taken into account.

While Ganon is very representative of the "conquest" aspect as a Strongman Fascist who reveres strength and the violent part of the initial domination, he has no concrete plans of enforcement and structure down the line, no way to preserve his flimsy grip on power (the game makes a point to tell us he doesn't care for survivors and he doesn't ever seem eager to preserve any kind of infrastructure). Rauru --who somehow couldn't "come to the aid" of Hyrule without crowning himself king about it-- isn't about the conquest or the violence, but Hyrule is nothing if not an extremely well oiled system with a centralized religion, coin, language, history, legends and social class self-replicating since the literal beginning of times.

The *very long sigh* imperialism thing isn't about making one of these two egotistical weirdos more righteous than the other: it's about acknowledging the parallels, even if the game itself throws hissy fits at the mere suggestion Ganondorf and Rauru are two characters who are begging to be compared (and even make vague strides that they should be during cutscenes, though they are not super specific and immediatey dissolve into a little puddle of nothing, I'll give you that willingly), because if Ganondorf represents stage 1: the conquest... then Rauru should represent stage 2: the consolidation.

And the fact that the game is desperate to refute that these two kingly idiots adhere to the same fundamental system of governance (and the one who's deeply into the concept of centralization and automation and leveling of culture and repression of literal identity through the liberal use of masks not being the chaotic dramaqueen on his edgy unicorn giggling to himself about awkward murder scenes) feels like pretty offputting denial --because, truly, what is so scary about noticing the similarities? Wouldn't it be enriching and worth the conversation?

What are we so afraid of?

[starlight---starbrights]

Undertale yellow flowey embroidery

This took about 40 hours, give or take a few

[cuteniaarts]

Behold, my latest and most enamouring new obsession:

Malina, Lady of the Chief of the Northern Water Tribe. As if Red Lotus child OCs weren’t niche enough

[jorvikzelda]

reading is… frustrating. I first read this thing when I was in an all too foggy state, I’ll think, so I didn’t really absorb it all too well — I’d best read it again and really make sure to take it all in. And so I do, and I really do take it all in! Except then I’ll be all too foggy to read for a few days, and when I get back to it and continue on to the next chapter I’ll just have. Completely forgotten what happened in the last. Makes you feel rather defenceless to the fog

[wtylas]

im going through a very heartbreaking thing rn and theres no way to explain it without seeming deranged.

[certifiedyapperx]

imagine you’re dating ghost and no one knows. the two of you have kept it a secret on your end and his just for your protection— because ghost knows what could happen if someone finds out, how someone might try and target you to get to him, or worse, given his line of work.

but then imagine that he’s on a mission, interrogating some piece of filth ready to decorate the fucking wall with his brain matter when the guy says “you know what, simon, killing me would be the biggest mistake of your life.”

immediately ghost would pause, eyes narrowed, though his hardened demeanour wouldn’t fade much, he’d just blankly stare at the prick like “oh yea? n’ why don’ you tell m’ why.”

the shit-eating grin that would crawl across that fuckers lips would have ghost ready to kill him right then and there, but then he’d say “reach in my pocket. pull out my phone.”

id like to think ghost would have absolutely none of this assholes bullshit, not at all entertained by his theatrics. i’d like to think he’d just press the muzzle of his gun to the fuckers temple within an instant, all teeth barred and ready to get it over with when the guy would add,

“your girlfriend is a fucking beauty, isn’t she?”

everything would pause. ghost, time, the world, air, the universe itself—the life that would drain from ghosts face would almost be enough to make his alias a reality. his heart pounding in his throat, his fingers fucking trembling as he immediately reached into the assholes pocket to find his phone—a picture of a woman tied up (face not in view however) lighting up on the home screen. there’d be no thinking rationally, no thoughts in ghosts head except for making sure you were fucking okay. he’d do whatever he’d have to do, kill the guy, leave him strapped there, whatever—he’d be out of that room in two seconds flat and personally flying the helicopter back to your house calling you nonstop every fucking second until you answered.

“hello? si?”

he’d wait a second before answering. taking everything in. background noises, the inflection of your voice. it sounds calm, maybe too calm? he’s grasping his phone so fucking hard it’s a miracle it hasn’t shattered between his fingers.

“princess,” he breathes, fighting with everything in him to keep his voice steady. “see any birds today?”

though it was a genuine question, it also was an established one. ghost had set up a series of questions for a situation precisely like this. if you said blue jay, it meant you were fine, at home, as usual. if you said crows, it meant you weren’t.

“oh just the usual blue jays, si.” he could almost hear the smile on your lips. “everything okay? i miss you.”

ghost would exhale a shattered breath. “i’m coming home.”

and then he’d show up, not all but a few hours later, hands still trembling slightly, heart rate still struggling to regulate. it was too much, reminding him too much of his past traumas, he knew he needed to find better protection for you, but that was a conversation for another time.

he’d come in the house, barely even taking the time to shut the door behind him, almost frenzied again, relentless, unable to relax until he could finally lay eyes on you. and then, the second he did, he’d just pause and look at you, all messy hair and pyjamas still on, in the kitchen cooking breakfast for you both since you knew he was on his way.

and he wouldn’t say a goddamn word, he’d just come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, hugging you so tight you’d hardly be able to breathe, his face buried in your hair and his heart thumping at your back. you’d feel the pain the fear the anxiety radiating off him and you wouldn’t try to say anything because you knew he needed this, you knew he needed to see you, hold you, feel your pulse stable and alive. you knew he just needed a moment to breathe.

and so the two of you would stand there like that for a while, and then he’d take a big inhale and spin you around to face him, pulling up his mask to plant soft kisses on your jaw.

“i love you so fuckin’ much.”

[lovelyghst]

just imagine ghost getting his Jacob's ladder piercing while he's dating you and after it's healed yall have sex for the first time and it's just like sensory overload

i know absolutely nothing about piercings, but this idea is simply too good to pass up. my brain is melting.

hmmm, thinking about ghost who, despite not being able to properly get off himself, is still so attentive to his sweet girl throughout the whole healing process; offering you his mouth and fingers whenever he notices your focus beginning to drift off and shift elsewhere, having you rub yourself up on his jean-clad thigh when you can’t seem to shake the burst of energy.

because while you never outright asked him for anything of the kind, he just knew.

and even if you were the one so insistent on following the piercer’s advice—taking each and every precaution possible in avoiding the risks that simon shrugged off as ‘not gonna happen.’—you still felt bad. though, he couldn’t resist your stern pouting for long, turning weak the moment you cocked your head and promised him a sweet treat when he’s all healed up.

so, of course, ‘whatever you say, doll.’

anything to put your pretty mind at ease. he is a soldier, after all. he can wait, even if it kills him. it got pretty damn close to it, too.

which is what makes the first time back so fucking good. that reunion, and the return of that glimmering look you get in your eyes every other time he presses his pink lips to your collar and gently hikes you up the mattress after a long time away.

and truthfully, he was done in the moment you tapped him on his shoulder and told him to guess what day it was.

“shit, baby—” he grits out with a heavy breath, eyes trained on your own as he watches you reverently lick up the underside of his cock. your fingers tighten around the base when his abs pull taut, tongue gliding over the cool metal.

taking your time in feeling each and every barbell leading to the tip, making him twitch in your hand at the hot and wet drag over his sensitive skin. a heavy breath seeps from his lungs, his jaw clenching as he fights to hold off. jesus, you’re too good to him.

a sweet fucking treat, indeed.

you giggle before taking the head of him between your swollen, spit-stained lips, reveling in the quick hiss he sucks in through his teeth as you whine at the familiar taste of his pre leaking onto your tongue. your other hand slips up his thigh while you squeeze your own together, your freshly done-up nails leaving little, pink crescent shapes in his thick skin.

“fuck— not gonna last ‘f you keep that up,” he warns, a struggle in and of itself, and it’s an utter miracle he doesn’t collapse to the floor when you only hollow your cheeks and suck in response. he hardly manages to stifle an embarrassingly whorish moan at that.

god, you look so pretty down there, on your knees for him. so fucking debauched, and so, so perfect.

the way your thumb toys with the piercings as you have your own fun, and how you preen in his hold like a sweet cat when he slips a hand to the back of your neck. he’s going to miss it when he forces himself to pull you away, frowning at the pout you give him as he’s lifting you off your feet and carrying you over to your bed.

“’m sorry, sweetheart… just too fuckin’ pretty for yer old man anymore— didn’t want it t’go to waste.”

he kisses your temple, mumbling his apologies in your hair. you hardly even register your bare back making contact with your sheets, so wrapped up in his hold, before he’s kissing his way down your neck.

“wanna fill yer pretty cunt,” he murmurs, and it’s nearly incoherent as his lips press against your racing pulse point. “make ‘er cum ‘round my cock… know y’missed it too, sweet girl. a proper fuck…”

he’s talking more to himself than anything, and a small gasp from you follows soon after when his arm is snaked between your bodies and his fingertips make contact with your swollen, little clit. won’t even stretch you out with his fingers; he’s had his fill of that over the course of the last month. let him feel how much you missed his cock.

“poor thing’s soaked f’me, baby.” he groans as he adjusts on his forearm and regains his bearings, dick twitching against your thigh with every noise squeaked out from your throat. “cunt’s gonna take me just right, lovie… so fuckin’ well…”

he rambles a lot when he’s needy, you’ve come to learn.

you whine when his hand leaves you to take his cock in a fist, your nails digging into his chest and shoulder when he presses the head to your messy pussy. just the tip in and you’re already seeing stars, the shared moan between the two of you raw and pornographic.

he’s gritting out his swears before you try to shush his dirty mouth with a kiss, and he accepts it greedily, almost too eagerly.

your body reacts to his, simultaneously craving more and trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation all at once. your brain is fuzzy by the time he’s nearly bottoming out inside you, ears deaf to the unabashed sounds spilling from your lips as the feeling of his fresh piercings dragging against your every sweet spot burns itself into your memory.

and before you can catch your breath, a thumb is being pressed up against your sensitive bud once again, your legs constricting around him involuntarily as you jolt with a cry. heat prickles at your skin, his teeth at your jaw making your spine tingle.

he’s telling you to cum, begging you to make a mess of his cock.

his hand picks up its pace, hips grinding against yours sloppier than ever as he pleads right up against your temple for you to use him, just finish him off, fucking cum for him.

you squeeze around his cock like a vice and pull him straight under with you, arms locked tight around his neck as your pretty cunt utterly wrecks him. making him throb and twitch, fucking himself dumb through his high and wringing him dry of everything he’s kept pent up for you. at least for now, anyway.

his and your panting rings out in the room as he sits back on his knees, his cock still hard as he gently pulls out of you. watching his pearly cum bead from your slit, your chest gradually slowing down within the time he takes to drool over the sight of you.

it’s not long before simon has you laying on your tummy with your head in the soft sheets, a pillow slipped underneath your hips to prop you up. not making you do an ounce of work as he uses your warm, pliant cunt as his sweet cum dump for hours on end.

fucking you gently, lovingly, all while trying his best to keep his weight off your back. he kisses behind your ear, cooing praises and choked grunts that make your tummy flutter with butterflies. you can only giggle into the pillow nestled in your arms as he makes up for all the lost time.

filling you with load after load, the number becoming lost on your fuzzy mind after a certain amount, until your belly is achingly full and his cock is numb from overstimulation. only to coax you onto your back, easing your limp legs apart to watch his cum leak from your pretty hole. pressing a flat palm to your lower tummy, sighing in time with your strangled noises as your sensitive pussy drips more of his spend. leaning forward and licking it all up like some starved mutt; groaning at the taste, arms tightening around your hips as he eats his mess out of his pretty girl.

[astronomalyy]

Thinking about the lifespans of Dungeon Meshi elves... The fact that they're completely unnatural alters my brain chemistry, because you can tell just how haphazardly the demon implemented their wish. They live five times the length of tall-men, so they age at a fifth of their rate. It's simple maths and the implications are terrifying. No wonder their birth rate and population are declining - their early development is so slow that at the age of two, they're still unable to stand.

They don't reach adulthood until their eighties. What does the infant mortality look like? How many elves succumb to illness or injury before they're fully mature? It only takes one accident to lose the child you've been raising for decades - and could you bring yourself to care for another? Add to that the implication elf culture has no idea how to process grief... just look at the way the Canaries treat Rin after the death of her parents. They're callous and insensitive and detached - part of that's racism, but there's also an element of pure cold ignorance. They don't even recognise the emotion on her face.

And that's just scratching the surface... does elven memory accommodate their extended lifespan? Once you reach two hundred or so, do the years start blurring together? Kabru mentions that their temporal awareness is remarkably poor.

Two years feel like a few months. Their lives are longer but not fuller. They're older but not wiser than the short-lived races, and most refuse to understand this. Those that do grasp it are interesting - namely Otta, who's ostracised for pursuing half-foot women.

A 30-year old elf is a young child; a 30-year old half-foot has entered middle age. Otta is in the equivalent of her late twenties. She knows that her elven lifespan makes her no more mature than a half-foot - but she also acknowledges that it creates a rift between herself and her partners, and not just in the eyes of society. 'She dumps them as soon as they pass 30', but probably not for the reasons Lycion assumes. For this to be a pattern, decades must have passed - it's possible Otta doesn't want to watch them die as she herself barely ages. No doubt some of her previous lovers have already passed away. In the end, all living 400 years accomplishes is leaving them out of sync with the rest of humanity.

Marcille's perhaps the best example. As a half-elf, she's got 95% of her life ahead and the thought terrifies her. She's going to lose everyone she loves, over and over and over again, and this cycle has barely even started. She runs at a different pace. This context adds so much to her dynamic with Falin in earlier chapters.

Marcille loves her! She's scared for her! Maybe even of her! She's grown attached to a short-lived girl who she met as a kid when Marcille was a teaching assistant! Biologically and developmentally, they're the same age, but chronologically she's twice as old as Falin! Considering what happened to her mother, is history repeating itself? Her feelings towards Falin are tangled and messy and fascinating. They're also more than a little homoerotic, which makes Marcille's infantilization of her friend all the more interesting. It feels like her way of resolving their power imbalance, of remaining a responsible (former!) authority figure... but it's also a coping mechanism. She's frightened by the ways Falin is maturing and changing - aging - and keeping her mental image of her friend as young as possible is her way of denying the march of time that's destined to sever their bond.

Marcille's dream of lifespan extension would remove the need for this obfuscation, render them equal... only, they already are! This desire is imposed onto Falin, but it's primarily for Marcille's benefit. Watching her fight for a world nobody wants, for reasons both selfish and altruistic... it's as tragic as it is understandable. I love this manga.

[fingertipsmp3]

Had another sleep paralysis incident last night

[birdkittenn]

who fucking drew this i need to know

[planetsage]

NEW PIN ! ꒰ 🌱 INTOLEWD 𖧧˚⋆ʚɞ ── kento nanami . . . SAVE ?

“you’re a kind of angel, dancing by the table, i was doing fine till i met you”

contains. nsfw so, minors and ageless blogs do not interact. f!reader, dirty talk, fingering, pussy slaps, “good girl,” squirting. cheating. mentions of age gap.

“awwh, my sweet thing. loosen up for me, baby” the palms of nanami’s large hands rub and soothe over your pussy. cupping, caging in your warmth like a little dove. with care, covering your entire cunt before dipping a thick knuckle back into your walls. “you were acting so needy earlier, baby, let me in. cmon, let me in that pretty pussy”

the sounds you’re making are just filthy and nanami drinks them in like that very first sip of morning coffee pushing past pursed lips. your body falls limp like a pretty rag doll against the broadness of his chest, caving into his warmth as you weakly grab and paw at the blades of blonded bahia on his wrist. scratching the polished metal of his watch “w-wasn’t begging, ken”

a laugh rumbles from deep in his chest with no other purpose but to make you feel so small in him. heat threatening to burn the flushed skin on your cheeks right off. “so grindin’ on my thigh like a needy mutt isn’t beggin’? was finishing up some work and you couldn’t even wait, baby. kept pressin’ that needy little clit on me.” his voice vibrates thick vocal chords, producing a rasped melody that lingers and releases a kaleidoscope of butterflies in your stomach.

“no i- aah!” another finger slips into your cunt, curling up, scissoring against your wet walls.

“there it is. riiiight there. that’s where you want me, huh, baby?” he’s pushing against that swelled spot he knows you love more than life itself with the lined sensitive tips of his lengthy fingers making your brain mush.

your thighs part instinctively, your neck failing, making your head dip and fall to watch how lewdly his fingers disappear into the folds of your fat cunt, “see look. so messy, but i barely started touching you. was this already here?” he pulls at the strings of webbed silk that drip out your cunt, “got all wet grindin’ on me, hm? left me a little present?” he coos at you from behind your neck. the blushed tip of his pointed nose brushes against warmed skin softly when you buck up and whine. “poooorr thing,” he drags, “what’s wrong? want me to fuck you? want me to stretch that little pussy out? talk to me, baby”

and you just can’t because your jaw slacks at the curve of his finger dragging and massaging against your fluttering walls. his thumb moves to draw his name on your clit, to soothe his existence onto every inch of your body so you’d never forget how he makes you feel, groaning at how you squeeze and hug him.

“uhn uh, i asked you a question,” slap “i expect” slap “an answer”

your clits throbs at how he swats down on your pussy, “hnngg— want it, want it so bad” you whine. thrashing in the solitude of his warmth. he eggs you one with a “yeah?” moving back to press up against your clit, “what are you, baby? tell me and i’ll give you what you want. you remember, hm?”

he sweetly kisses the hairs on the back of your neck, little pins poking across the length of your body. you give him a nod and a whine and he smiles at both, “y.. your good girl. i’m your good girl, ken.”

“mhm, always so good for me, yeah? now let me make you feel like it, pretty” his lips press against your neck, again, then he’s licking and whispering into your caved ear as he lets his fingers sink back into your pussy, “give it to me, make a mess for me”

he moves to hold down the curve of your hip, ”yeeaa, my twitchy little thing, cmon” stilling you as his fingers rush deep, deep inside you, reaching places only he can.

your knees fight and knock against each other and he pushes against the mound of your tummy, coaxing you to give him want he wants. make him proud. and you do. throwing your head back against the strength of his angled shoulder as you squelch and squirt on fresh fitted sheets, “ohhh, fuck baby. mhm, juuustt like that. let it all out”

he hums and encourages you while his fingers move out to messily rub at your clit and your body feels like it’s engulfed in angry blued flames, eyes squeezing so hard the darkness is punctured by coils of swirling colors.

tears brim as you come down and they fall when you finally peel your lids back open, nanami kissing you so gently you melt like warmed wax but harden and mold back into him.

“ino ever make you feel this good? does he make this pretty pussy squirt like that, hm?” he pets at your head as it shakes, then at your pussy before moving to lap up the mess you made on his fingers. “that’s okay, my dove. just need someone older, more experienced to take care of you. that’s what i’m here for”

© planetsage 2024 all rights reserved. no part of this may be reproduced in any form.

[xjulixred45x]

I could't contain myself guys sorry--

Bro, do you realize how scary it would be to have Vox as a Yandere?

just imagine it. You could be one of his workers, maybe too good at your job, because not only do you do what Vox tells you without asking questions, but you also know what to say and what not to say to avoid a "tantrum" from him. or rather, when his insecurities attack with force like when Alastor returns.

Vox would probably be a somewhat condescending yandere (as seen with Val) but don't think you can't turn tables easily, if you stroke his ego enough, you can have him around your finger. but that doesn't make it any less dangerous for those around you.

He makes the typical 180 degree turn in attitude when it comes to Other Employees and when it comes to You. Damn, you may be the only one of his employees who gets paid vacations (or even vacations) or even birthday bonuses, things like that. He likes to give you his things or products with the excuse that "they are for testing" even if they have already been released on the market.

Like:

Vox: who the fuck eat My leftovers!?! WHENEVER WHO WAS I'M GOING TO-

Darling: it was me sir.

Vox:--give You the rest and take You out for lunch, You haven't eaten in the whole day AGAIN, didn't ya?

He definitely avoids conflict with you by hypnotizing you, when he starts to feel hostility, fear on your part or that you want to leave, he makes you "out of nowhere" have "ONE MORE TASK" and you can't help but do what he says.

and IT IS NOT just to avoid fights or for you to leave, it is something CONSTANT (once every two days MINIMUM), although Vox is not worried about your brain turning into mush due to its powers, it always keeps nutritious things in your diet and they come out relatively often , as you have to follow him everywhere.

Eventually he becomes more clingy and needy in this case, it's practically not that he's proposing to you or anything, he's just slowly dragging you into a relationship without you realizing it (because you're not lucid enough). Unless you develop a higher level of tolerance to his hypotonic trick, I don't think you'll notice his Red Flags.

I think it would be ESPECIALLY BAD if Darling is also a Sinner, because then they wouldn't even be able to get out of the pride ring to run away from Vox. leaving you with many fewer options and having to avoid all of Vox's technology, which you could only achieve by 1- going to the Cannibal Legion or 2- going to the Hazbin Hotel.

Running away is EXTREMELY DIFFICULT, not only because of his hypnotic trick, but because he literally has EYES EVERYWHERE, on every screen in hell. If you somehow manage to get away with it and run away, Vox would be SO ANGRY and looking for you all over hell with their screens.

Although definitely if you were gone more than a day, he would be more distraught than angry and would begin to despair. Even Val and Velvet would give him a hand because of how bad it would be.

Just imagine, thinking that you finally lost sight of Vox's search drones, without realizing that you stand in front of some store and VOX ITSELF appears on the screens :)

If you made the stupid decision to go to the Hazbin Hotel, Vox would be distraught and would even think that Alastor was somehow holding you hostage, obviously! Why would you go there if you knew his biggest enemy was there? Alastor must be using you as a bargaining chip! How dare he!?

(in this case, fortunately, the punishment is much less severe, but he would definitely monitor you for the rest of your life)

When he eventually gets you back (after a few days or even WEEKS of anguish) expect, first of all, to be in a mortal embrace that lasts AT LEAST 2 days and then receive your "punishment" which would be to be under hypnosis for AT LEAST 1 YEAR to be sure that this NEVER HAPPENS AGAIN.

Although calm down! He gives your mind breaks periodically because 1- he doesn't know if that would ultimate mess with your head and 2- it's nice to hear YOU talk instead of the robotic version.

When that year FINALLY ends, you will be a much more obedient, more terrified, sweeter version of You, according to Vox, like a frightened Deer. It was a long and hard process, but the good thing is that you don't have to do anything anymore! absolutely! Just do what he tells you and everything will be fine.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

Not one of the Best yanderes to have, but Def not the worst

[your-highnessmarvel]

Insatiable

AN: No one asked for this but the Butcher brain rot is crazy and i can't stop myself. Alas, I couldn't resist so welcome to the madness. Anyway, I went insane and absolutely wrote a devoted piece to this man. Jesus help me.

Warnings: dub-con (use of sex pollen-ish mind control), smut, fingering, language, and Butcher is a warning in and of itself.

MINORS DNI Below the cut

"I'm not wearing any underwear."

The admonition echoed in the habitat of Butcher's Cadillac like a bird's call. Even the sound of leather on leather, as the man sitting beside you slowly turned to examine you, wasn't loud enough to get the stupid ringing out of your head.

This had all started off like a bad scab you thought was healed but wasn't, and now it was bleeding all over your favorite pink pull.

Hughie and MM had uncovered a rightful piece of Temp V hideout; a Supe's mansion on the Upper East Side who, just happened, to be throwing one of his renowned "XXXchange" parties for Supes and their pets (this was how it was described on the e-vite MM hacked).

This Supe, still unknown to everyone because he kept the mansion under a random woman's name, was supposedly a Seven-in-the-making, as Hughie put it. If he could prove himself, he was next in line for a comfy beige seat in the Tower. So hence, him keeping and distributing Temp V to teens and young adults who didn't know any better.

So what had been Hughie's grand ol' plan? Bring you in. As the newest Supe member of The Boys, no one had yet seen your face. No one even knew of you. You were a low-level "barely considerable" Supe...as Butcher had put it the first time he blew the hinges off your front door.

Your power wasn't really a - well, a power at all. It was mostly an advancement, an intellectual add-on, or a sixth sense. You could read lies. More coherently, because someone with a beard and a giant stick up his ass didn't understand correctly--you could tell when someone was lying.

You weren't really an attribute to the team when it came to brute force. You left that up to Annie and Kimiko. But you had your perks, and since you were still under Vought's radar, you could slip through the cracks and get intel for the Boys.

Now why was Butcher with you, the most notorious Boys' member? Well, one might say he was eager to see your 2-hour fight training in practice, but really, it was because he "didn't trust a dumb twat with highly sensitive information and tech". His words.

So he'd garnished a Tommy Bahama blouse with pink flamingoes and palm trees and a matching set of swim shorts, sunglasses, and a stupid bright pink bucket hat that was way too small for his big ass head.

And now here both of y'all were, headed to the Upper East Side, dressed like a hooker and a pimp. Annie had insisted on this get up, a tiny, tiny pink skirt, a white bikini top, and a pink cover up with flip flops to finish off this fucking look. Because apparently, no one would let you in if you weren't A) a Supe and B) not dressed like a House Bunny.

"So you're tellin' me," Butcher drawled as the New York skyline darkened, "that your bare pussy is suction-cupping my leather seats?"

You crossed your arms. "I'm sitting at an angle."

Butcher slapped the wheel. "You should've told me earlier!" he laughed. You frowned in return when he swivelled that giant head of his towards you. "Come now, if you're not wearing panties, why should I, eh?"

"You wear panties?"

He hummed, regaining control of the road as the car slipped passed the last townhouse to enter Mansion Ville.

"I like you, little Truthteller," he mumbled to himself. "Thought you were a bit worthless at first, but you might just prove yourself tonight!"

You didn't dare answer the last bit, instead focusing on the details Annie and Hughie gave you before you flip-flopped your way into Butcher's passenger seat (and did absolutely not suction-cup his leather seats).

The idea was to go in and place a few bugs in and around the mansion in key locations. You could try to figure out who the Supe was or even find out where he stashed his V, but it didn't matter. The Boys would find out over the bugs.

The mansion Butcher parked the Caddie in front of was like a cookie-cutter version of the 90s PlayBoy mansion.

"Alright, love," Butcher sighed, killing the engine and stepping out, rounding the nose of the car to open the door for you. "Give 'em a nice peek of that minge, eh?"

You blushed from head to toe, a torment of fire assaulting your skin until Butcher caught on and chuckled low in his chest, helping you step out the car with his hand.

You still hadn't gotten used to the crass words that could tumble out of his mouth like vomit.

He guided you to the entrance, where a man dressed in black boxers and a black neck tie asked for your invite number, which you recited from the one Hughie gave you.

Then he asked, "And which is Supe and which is pet?"

You blushed even hotter. "Um." Your throat got sticky and dry all at once. "I'm the Supe and he's my... um, he's my-"

"Her pet," Butcher interrupted with a wide smile, the sunglasses hiding the glint in his eye that was surely showing. That ridiculous bucket hat made him look almost two heads taller than you as he bent down to whisper in your ear, "bark, bark."

You groaned inwardly as you lead him into the foyer, where a sprawling staircase lead to a mezzanine and a mahogany banister and a wide archway gave way to a mess of bodies in the living room.

"Oh my God," you mumbled, turning away from the onslaught of legs and arms and slithering bodies like a pile of snakes.

"Oh, nuh-uh," Butcher chuckled, grabbing you by the shoulders, steering you right into the mass of party-goers, moaning and groaning and thrusting into one another or bouncing on top of each other like mad dogs. "If you want to play the part, you have to look the part." His mouth was right next to your ear, and for some reason, the breath caressing your skin sent a slowly gliding shiver down your spine.

Why was this happening?

You felt the flesh melt where his fingers lay, clutching at your shoulders, pulling your coverup off of you.

"Butcher," you said, stopping his hand.

He shook his head. "Show them what you got, mama," he whispered again, the rough of his beard tracing against your cheek. He scooped the coverup off your shoulders and threw it across the room, leaving you in your bikini top.

Butcher had never seen you so exposed before. You'd always worn pants and t-shirts around the safe house, so watching all that bare skin available to his hungry eyes flipped a switch in his head.

A woman, tall and elegant, cream skin and sultry black eyes, approached you before Butcher could do something stupid. He straightened up, lifting the sunglasses from his nose.

"Miss, look at you," he cooed.

Miss was naked. Someone had left a bite mark on her right breast, just above her peaked nipple. She was so long-limbed and beautiful, and the sight of her naked body made you turn away instinctively.

"I like you," she said, voice low and husky, like a purr.

"I like you too, sweetheart," Butcher answered, the heat of his body completely leaving you as he zeroed in all his attention on the naked, wanting lady before you.

She huffed. "You're great too," she answered, and when you turned, her lascivious brown eyes were settled on you. "But it's her that I want."

Butcher gasped and then erupted in laughter, taking the bucket hat off his head and putting it to his heart. "Woah, I never imagined I'd see this in my lifetime."

The other woman smiled slowly and you gulped. She was pretty, but she was also not part of the mission.

So you back-peddled.

You put a delicate hand to Butcher's arm, digging your nails into his skin, and put on a lovely, sweet smile for the offering girl. "That's nice of you," you said, voice sultry like a wet candy cane. "But we're more interested in watching." As you said this, you dropped into your act as best you could, mustering up the strength not to blush but to play the part of the sex-obsessed Supe.

She brightened up at this, gesturing to Butcher. "Well I could fuck him while you watch," she suggested.

Butcher's body tensed up against you and he turned to you. "Please say yes," he mumbled.

You smiled, throwing him a glance. "Both of us are watchers," you corrected, watching as she bowed her head, a lustrous gleam in her eye.

"It would've been a pleasure," she said before walking away.

When she was climbing onto another woman's lap, Butcher grabbed your bicep and brought you into a corner, sheltered in the dim lighting of the room, smothered under the moans and groans and the sloppy sounds of...intercourse.

"You were this close to fulfilling a fantasy of mine," he groaned, and when you looked up, he looked more angry than turned on.

"We're not here so I can watch you have sex with a woman, asshole!" you gritted between your teeth. ''We're here to plant bugs and find some V."

He huffed, rearranging his Tommy Bahama. "I'm obeying just because you're wearing this outfit," he grumbled, following you as you led them into the next room.

A kitchen, stock full with boxes of canned beverages and food platters.

"Okay, here." You pointed to the dinner table in the adjacent room, a teakwood marvel that surely housed a few meetings or two.

Butcher expertly placed a bug under the table.

You meandered safely through the house, planting bugs in various living rooms, meeting rooms, and spare bedrooms. Whenever some couple or lone masturbator dedicated their attention to you both, you pretended to watch, Butcher enlacing you in his arms.

It's only then you noticed how tall, how big this man was. He was easily dwarfing you by just standing there, your head against his chest, his fingers drawing lazy circles against your exposed spine.

When the onlookers would pass, he'd chuckle as you pushed him away like he was a booger wall.

But the more you traveled in the house, the more people seemed to stare, wanting, questioning. So you ended up holding Butcher's hand, at his command: "Wouldn't want the lovely ladies stealing you away, eh?"

And hand holding turned into his arm around your shoulders, the tip of his very long fingers ghosting your breast.

"Let's go upstairs," he whispered in your ear once he'd bugged up the toilet.

"Ew, no."

He sucked his teeth. "I mean," he gritted, pushing you up against a wall when a man with a considerably large strap on made his way towards you. Butcher bent down, squeezing the breath from your lungs as he grazed his mouth on your bare shoulder. He pressed a featherlight kiss, all while observing the passing man, dragging his lips up to your ear. "We should go bug up the rooms, eh? Maybe see if we can find this cunt's V supply?"

You nodded, a wicked shiver pebbling your flesh.

Butcher blew cold breath onto the thin line of saliva he'd left on your skin. "Cold?"

You swallowed hard. "Let's just go."

He chuckled as you grabebd his hand and led him back to the stairs, galloping up to the second floor.

Truth is, you'd never imagined Butcher like this. He was so arrogant and he loved to make people jump out of their skins by how uncomfortable they were with him, but you'd chopped it up to the old chip on the block; Butcher pushing people away to keep himself safe.

So when the Boys had initiated you, you'd figured it'd be best to steer clear from this tyrant of a man. He was way older than you anyway, and he was always calling you every name in the book except your government given one. And he was always dismissing your ideas, so you'd always assumed he had an image of an immature little girl in his head.

But he'd dreamed of you more times than he cared to count. The messed up parts of his brain, where most of it was left behind in his old life, conjured up hauntings of you every night. Of those soft, plump lips whenever you'd eat cherries. Of your legs in your pajama shorts and your giggle when Kimiko signed something stupid. Of that perfect little body of yours.

"Okay, in here." You interrupted his chain of thought, the one that was going to crash into a puddle brains that would eventually leak out of his ear.

You lead him into a room, which turned out to be some kind of antechamber with a hearth and a giant portrait of a small, bald man.

"He looks like a mouse," you muttered.

But Butcher froze, tearing his hand away from yours. "Oh, fuck me," he groaned, putting his sunglasses and hat onto the low table. "That's the fucking Seducer."

Your skin crawled. You turned, examined Butcher's expression as he leaned against the far wall. "This cum guzzler is the one trafficking V?" he thought to himself, just as you asked, "who's the Seducer?"

Butcher turned to examine you across the room, lit by a few lights in the sconces. "He's the world's number 1 date raper," he answered, frowning. "This guy can intoxicate the female species into a mad heat, like dogs."

"What?" You frowned.

Butcher walked a bit closer, turning his head to watch you out of one eye, like a bird. "Yeah, he secrets this hormone on a whim and boom, bitches go mad for his dick."

"Oh." You swallowed, turned to push the handle of another door, leading to a darkened room fit for a king. "I think this is his room."

Butcher muttered behind you, "Lucky guy if you ask me."

"Trouble getting women, Butcher?" you asked absentmindedly as you entered the dark room, lights from the lawn outside filtering milky-white through the windows, illuminating your path like a trail of snow.

Butcher followed, closing the door behind you. "Not really," he answered, immediately pulling cubbards and drawers open. "The ladies love me."

"Oh, yeah I bet," you muttered, pulling open the wardrobe. A loose floorboard creaked loudly and you froze, turning to meet Butcher's eye.

He scrambled to where you stood, pressing on the floor and repeating the awful creaking sound.

"Pants jizzer must be keeping the V under his floor," he mumbled, pressing until at least 6 floorboards rose from the ground on one end, a whole door to the underside of the Seducer's floor.

"Bingo," you giggled, helping Butcher pull the damn thing open. But there was nothing there, only an empty black space that could've fit maybe two people, gaping at you like a dark maw. "He must have transfered them," you whispered.

"Or he's trafficking other things," Butcher replied darkly.

Just as you were about to close the floorboards, a loud thud rang out in the antechamber. You froze, listening, until a feminine giggle made you and Butcher lock eyes.

"Get in," he whispered, motioning to the black pit under your knees.

"In here!?" you whispered tightly.

Whoever was on the other side was making their way towards the room, painstakingly, and this was not the place you and Butcher needed to be found.

"Yes, fuck, get in," he insisted, and your heart thudded so loudly, so harshly against your throat you thought it would burst right out through your chest.

Shaking, you got into the little space, falling onto your back because you couldn't see where this thing ended. As soon as you got your hair out of your eyes, Butcher was tumbling onto you, closing the floorboards a millisecond before the bedroom door burst open.

Sound was immediately muffled, like being underwater, and the only thing you could hear was your breathing. Butcher's breathing over you. Your heart in your throat, nauseating you, the adrenaline rushing like a flood in your veins.

Butcher's chest heaving against yours, the entire length of him pressed up on you like a heavy blanket.

"Get off," you whispered, feeling the heat of his forearm next to your head.

"There's no space," he grumbled, his voice catching on your cheek, your neck, as he tried to maneuver himself every which way that meant he wasn't pressed up on you, but he was just so damn big, like hiding with a grizzly bear, that whenever he tried to move, he just ended up being half on and half off you.

"Fuck it," he grumbled, pressing one hand under your thigh, wrenching a gasp from your throat as he placed himself comfortably between your legs.

The pressure of him on your bare bottom half made you freeze, heart hammering like an angry drum against your ribcage. The way you were positioned, thighs wide open, knees bent each side of his waist, made the skimpy little skirt bundle up onto your tummy, leaving you completely bare.

"Hush up, little thing," Butcher whispered in your ear, holding himself up on his forearms as not to crush the breath out of you. But his voice was wretched, pulled and tight, no doubt reacting to the heat he could feel through the thin fabric of his swim shorts.

The noise overhead intensified; a moan, a few garbled words, thudding.

"They're going to do it while he lie here," you whispered, hands balled up by your sides.

Butcher chuckled silently, breath fanning your neck. "So we really are voyeurs."

You smiled, holding back a giggle until a heavy thud caught your attention and the voices suddenly got a bit clearer. They were right over you.

A woman's voice floated through. "How ever I can serve you, Seducer."

The last word made your insides coil in fear. It looked like this woman was answering a command from the Seducer himself, the man who owned this house, who trafficked all the V and worked with Vought.

"Fuck," Butcher muttered. "This is worse than I thought."

"Why?" you asked silently, your fingers trembling against your thighs.

You felt him bend forward, his body tight like a rod. "This is going to hurt, love."

And just as you were about to ask what he was about to do, a soft pang echoed in your lower belly, like someone had tied a rope to your bellybutton and pulled. You squirmed, the thudding overhead leading back to the bed.

The pulling again, making you heave in a breath, squeeze your eyes shut. "No, no, no," you muttered, feeling an ache build between your legs, a force pull through your veins like molten honey.

The Seducer was using his power. And it wasn't just affecting the woman he was with... it was starting to affect you.

You felt yourself clench on nothing but air when the ache throbbed against your clit, like an invisible vacuum seal had closed over it, and you lifted your hips off the floor slightly.

Butcher immediately grabbed your hip, bringing you back down forcibly, sending a new wave of heat, of ache, of hurt through your body just at the touch of his bare fingers on your bare hip.

"Don't," he breathed, his word clipped. "Don't do that."

He could feel the heat of you through his shorts, just how impossibly hot you were, probably dripping from the Seducer's power, and the little control he exhibited around you was pulling quite taut.

"It hurts, Butcher," you gritted through your teeth, hands settling on his shoulders for support as another wave of need, of painful, painful need, throbbed through your body like a pulsing nuclear explosion. Your legs tightened around his waist, nails digging into the fabric of his Tommy Bahama. "Make it stop," you pleaded, heaving, throwing your head back, bucking your hips to get the pain to stop. Just stop.

Butcher huffed, cradling your face, his insides in turmoil with his brain. God had given him such a gift right now, a chance to take you, mark you as his, finally fuck that perfect little body--and he didn't know if he was man enough to stop himself.

You groaned in pain, subconsciously grinding your bare pussy against his thigh, searching for any kind of friction, of relief. Your skin was so hot, sweat beading your forehead as you braced through another wave of this unknown ache, throbbing relentlessly against your clit, deep inside you, just grazing your g-spot.

Your fingers balled into fists against his shirt, your face finding his chest, and you sobbed, "Make it stop, Butcher, please, it hurts."

You weren't aware that your hips had started grinding against his thigh, the knee he'd placed between your legs for leverage. And just the fact that he could feel his shorts getting soaked had him straining against the stitches of his sanity.

"There's only one way," he breathed against your ear. You sobbed, heaving, breathing raggedly, grinding so hard on his knee it was almost pathetic. "Are you sure you want to try?" he asked, voice trembling.

You sniffed, hung onto his neck for dear life. "Please, anything, this is--ah--this is unbearable."

He bent his head, mumbled for God to forgive him, and then pressed a deep, hard kiss on your lips, pressing you back into the floor completely. Somewhere above him, he heard a woman moan loudly, but the only thing that registered to him was the way you clung to him like a pawing animal.

A strangled moan, quiet and restrained, left your throat, caught behind your teeth as he ravaged your mouth.

"N-no," you mumbled. "No."

He pulled away, kissing your jaw, your neck until your were humping his thigh like a woman gone mad.

"This the only way, little Truthteller," he murmured in your ear, dragging his knee away and feeling your entire body go stiff against him.

A whine, like delicious music, lifted to his ear and he groaned inwardly. He had to convince himself he was doing it for you, but half of him was delighted at the idea of finally having you. Like a meal he'd been mouth-watering over for some time, and now it was fresh and warm right in front of him.

"I need," you muttered, groaning through another wave of the Seducer's power, your hips bucking into nothing. "I need..."

"You need to cum, little dove," Butcher whispered, caressing the side of your face and you shook your head.

"No."

"Yes, love," he muttered, tracing the line of your neck, down your chest until he softly cupped your breast.

A quiet moan rippled along your throat like a symphony to his ears. He played with your hard nipple through the fabric until he pushed it aside and replaced his thumb with the warmth of his mouth.

"Fuck," you whispered, pushing against his shoulders. "This is wrong." Your voice was so thin.

Butcher lapped at your nipple like an ice cream cone. "Want me to do this to your pretty little pussy?" he mumbled, and the crass words sent a hot wave of need pulsing painfully between your legs.

His other hand skimmed down your side, over the swell of your hip, and down to where you needed him most.

When he swiped a slow finger across your soaked folds, the grunt that left him was purely predatory. "You're so fucking wet," he whispered, to the accompanying sound of your panting. He brushed his thumb across your clit, holding you down as you jolted, flicking his tongue against your nipple.

"Butcher, please," you begged.

"Billy, love," he whispered, raising his head to kiss the corner of your mouth, brushing his thumb against your clit once more to capture your gasp in his kiss. "Call me Billy."

You gripped onto his shoulders, feeling the wide, powerful muscle of his right hand playing with you.

He pressed three fingers flat against you and you bucked, searching for more, as he circled slowly, starting you off.

"Say it," he commanded quietly, circling your clit faster.

"Billy," it came out as a whine and he groaned lowly, capturing your lips and kissing down your throat. The way his fingers played you like a harp wrenched a pornographic moan from your throat and immediately, Billy put a hand over your mouth, the skin between his thumb and forefinger snug under your nose.

"Quiet for me, little Truthteller," he whispered.

He moved his fingers to your entrance and slipped one in so easily it was almost embarrassing. He cooed at you, gliding his finger in and out so slowly it was almost arrogant. "So fucking wet, this perfect little hole."

You keened, squeezing your eyes shut at his crude words, searching for more friction until the heel of his hand pressed snuggly against your clit.

Your hips moved on their own, bucking against his hand as he pumped his finger, faster and faster until your pants turned into hyperventilating and your legs started to close around his hips.

"Got my whole hand drenched, pretty love," he whispered. "That perfect little cunt can handle another finger?"

You preened against his hand, your sounds muffled against his large, meaty palm and he chuckled at you.

The second finger was a tighter fit, his thick digits spreading you and squelching into you slowly.

"Ah, there's my girl," he moaned in your ear. "Fucking my fingers like a good girl."

You wanted to tell him to quit teasing, to bring you to orgasm as quickly as possible because the heat stirring under your skin was insatiable, but you didn't understand how much Billy was enjoying himself. He didn't know when he'd get a chance to have you so willingly spread open for him again, or if he'd ever get the chance again. So he savored this moment like a dying man's last meal.

He let you adjust to his fingers, fucking them into you, palming your clit before he thrust in another finger, opening you wide to him. You gurgled against his hand, muffled moans and pleas stuck behind his palm.

He didn't miss just how tight you were around his fingers, how snug and warm. "So tight, my little love," he cooed, thrusting his fingers in and out slowly, enjoying the way your hips bucked.

The sloppy sounds of your cunt sucking on his fingers drove you mad and a hot, painful knot formed in your belly, pulling and tugging at your insides.

He felt you trembling, your orgasm on the horizon, and he lifted his hand off your mouth, capturing your lips in a warm, sloppy kiss.

"Want you to cum with my name in your mouth," he mumbled, almost incoherent in his chase for your climax. He pressed his thumb to your mouth, opening it, listening to your panting, your quiet moans as he fucked his fingers into your cunt, pressing down on your clit, rubbing it with his palm.

"Billy," you breathed. "Billy. Billy." Like a mantra, a prayer.

"That's it, my pretty girl," he whispered, thumb on your tongue, fingers fucking your pussy until that knot in your bely tightened impossibly and your legs went numb. "Cum my pretty dove, gush all over my hand, come on now."

He grunted against you, and somehow, that guttural, manly sound made stars explode in your belly and you came, shuddering his name quietly, over and over and over until the pleasure had seeped out of your veins and you crumbled back to the floor. You felt his fingers slip out of you, his wet hand pull your knee apart, press against the meat of your thigh, spreading you wide, wide open.

He slithered down your body like a snake, pushing you up against the confines of this box until you felt the warm breath of him against your clit. When he lapped at you, humming around your hole like a satiated man, you mumbled his name, searching with your hands until you grabbed onto the thick strands of his hair. Panting, you mumbled his name again.

"Just having a taste, love," he mumbled, sucking on your over-sensitive clit until the heat came blasting through you again, all over, like you were under the Seducer's spell again.

"Fuck," you gritted, biting your lip, caging in the awfully loud, guttural moan that wanted to spring free.

Billy grabbed onto your hips, holding them down, his forearm over your belly like an anchor.

"One more, little Truthteller," he mumbled, flicking your clit with his tongue, his beard scraping on the inside of your sensitive thighs.

"Billy, please," you whined softly.

"Always wanted a taste," he said. Not a lie. "Always wanted to tongue-fuck this perfect hole." Not a lie.

He pressed his tongue flat to your clit, sucked and nibbled on it until he pressed his tongue right into your cunt, fucking you with his tongue like he'd promised. The mix of his hot breath, his tongue inside your walls, his thumb working on your clit made all your senses flush full of adrenaline. Bucking against his face, you rode his mouth until another flash burst through you and you came all over his face, grinding down on his nose until the last waves of your orgasm had left you.

When he climbed back over, kissing your belly, your nipple, covering you with his warmth, you were just a numb shell of the girl you were when you walked in here.

Billy kissed your jaw, your neck, stroking your hair as you regained your senses.

Whoever had been overhead had gone. It was completely silent. And it left you wondering if that last wave of need had been the Seducer's spell or Billy's.

"We should go, love," he whispered. "Before I stuff you full of my cock and have you cumming on it for the third time."

His filthy mouth brought you back to your body, cold and sweaty and oh so comfortable with two orgasm singing in your veins.

"Yeah," you whispered as Billy pushed the trap door open, peaking out to make sure the coast was clear, and then hopping out. He helped you out with his hand, gentle and calm, smoothing down your hair, covering your nipple, patting down your two-inch skirt.

"I've made a real good mess of you, love, eh?" he chuckled, standing and taking your hand. "Was I a good pet?"