#the implications get worse the longer you think about it

[cjowoart]

A Second Offering

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I know this sounds weird…”

“I just don't think you understand the spell, Gale.” Halsin's deep voice was laced with amusement, though his hazel eyes remained patient. “You're not exactly food or drink.”

Gale let out a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I understand the spell, Halsin.”

The large elf studied him for a moment, then smirked, gaze flickering downward briefly before returning to Gale’s face. “Oh, I see.”

“Not like that!” Gale snapped, voice an octave higher than he’d meant it to be. A few of their companions turned their heads at his outburst, eyebrows raised in interest. He stiffened under their curious stares, wishing the ground would simply swallow him whole.

Halsin chuckled, clapping a reassuring hand on Gale’s shoulder. “There’s no need to be embarrassed, my friend.” His tone was light, but his eyes held an unmistakable glint of mischief. “I may have seen you slip into a certain elf’s tent the other night.”

Heat surged up Gale’s neck in a mortifying rush. He didn't know what was worse—the fact that Halsin, and likely half the camp, had noticed his late-night visit, or that they all undoubtedly had the wrong idea about what had transpired.

And the worst part? How quickly the previous encounter had ended.

“It’s… worth a shot,” Gale muttered, too defeated to argue against the implication. He sighed, forcing himself to meet Halsin’s knowing gaze. “If you would be willing?”

Halsin’s expression softened into something almost sympathetic. “I am not one to judge,” he said warmly, placing a broad hand against Gale’s chest. A soft glow emanated from his palm as he spoke the incantation, the magic thrumming gently through Gale’s body.

“I, of all people, can understand the allure of dark-dwelling elves,” Halsin added with a wink.

Gale could do nothing but swallow his groan of frustration. He could feel the eyes of their campmates lingering on him, judging him as he turned and made his way—once again—to Astarion’s tent. He was certain it looked scandalous, and at this point, he was too tired to care.

He lifted the tent flap and stepped inside. Astarion was draped across his dark red cushions, his pale chest stark against the deep hues surrounding him. The dim light of the lanterns cast soft shadows over the defined lines of his collarbone, the faint rise and fall of his chest deceptively human.

Gale hesitated. He hadn’t expected to hesitate, but the sight of Astarion laid out so effortlessly, the air of relaxed indifference he carried, left him momentarily at a loss for words.

“I’m not wasting away, darling, if that’s your concern.” Astarion’s voice was smooth, rich with its usual drawl, though his eyes remained closed. “I’ve gone far longer with a single drop to sustain me.”

Gale blinked rapidly, willing himself out of whatever spell the sight of Astarion had put him under. His voice came out awkwardly stiff, betraying his flustered state. “Wouldn’t you rather feel… satisfied?”

Astarion’s lips curled into a wicked smile, his fangs glinting in the dim light. Slowly, he cracked open one crimson eye, fixing Gale with a knowing look.

“Now that is quite the offer,” he purred. “I had no idea you had an appetite for anything other than your precious Weave.”

Why did everyone think that was what he was implying?

“No…” Gale cleared his throat, trying to compose himself, but the warmth creeping up his neck betrayed him. “No. I mean, I—”

Astarion arched a delicate brow, the corners of his mouth twitching with growing amusement. “As entertaining as this is, dear, do get to the point.”

Gale exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus. “Druids have a way of purifying food… or drink so it’s safe to be consumed,” he explained, watching as the vampire’s smirk faltered slightly. That was enough to make Astarion push himself up onto his elbows, his sharp gaze locking onto Gale’s face with renewed interest.

“You had Halsin cast it on you?” Astarion’s voice was quieter now, his teasing lilt giving way to something more measured, more careful.

Gale nodded. “I thought… it might help.”

For a moment, Astarion simply stared at him, crimson eyes unreadable in the dim light. His expression, usually so guarded beneath layers of wit and arrogance, softened ever so slightly as he took in the gesture.

“Why would you go to the trouble?” His voice lacked its usual playfulness, edged instead with quiet curiosity.

Gale swallowed. He should have had a ready answer, something glib or self-effacing, a quick deflection to lighten the moment. But as Astarion held his gaze, searching for a reason beyond what was so glaringly obvious, Gale found himself at a loss.

To undercut this moment would be an insult to them both.

And yet, the truth— that he wanted to do this for Astarion, that he wanted to be something more than a burden, more than a meal gone sour— felt too exposing, too raw to admit outright.

So instead, he shrugged. “An apology for last night,” he said simply. “It may not have worked at all, so don't get too excited.”

Astarion tilted his head, watching him carefully before letting out a small huff of amusement. “Oh, I do love a grand gesture.”

Gale extended his wrist toward him, feeling the slight tremor in his own fingers. Astarion hesitated only a moment before reaching out, his own hand cool against Gale’s skin as he drew his arm closer.

But instead of fangs, Gale felt the feather-light press of lips against his wrist.

His breath hitched.

He glanced down, startled, as Astarion lingered there for a heartbeat too long, his mouth barely brushing against his pulse. The gesture was so delicate— utterly at odds with the sharp, ruthless bite Gale had braced himself for.

Astarion’s lips moved against his skin as he murmured, “Thank you.” His breath was cold, but it sent a wave of warmth curling up Gale’s spine. “Even if it doesn’t work.”

Gale barely had time to process the words before Astarion’s mouth finally closed over his wrist. His teeth grazed against sensitive skin, lingering just enough to send a thrill of anticipation through him— before fangs pierced deep.

The pain was sharp, immediate, but not the same as before. There was something more measured in Astarion’s approach this time, a deliberate savoring of the experience.

Gale’s breath caught, his body tensing as a small, utterly humiliating yelp escaped him. He slapped a hand over his mouth, mortified by the sound, but Astarion didn’t seem to mind. If anything, his grip tightened slightly, holding Gale’s arm steady as he drank.

The slow, rhythmic pull of blood sent a strange, heady warmth curling through Gale’s limbs, tingling at the edges of his awareness. He tried to focus on the sensation— the subtle movement of Astarion’s throat as he swallowed, the cool press of his fingers bracing against his wrist— but the world was already starting to tilt.

That’s when it hit him.

The dizziness.

It rolled over him like a wave, his body suddenly feeling far too light, his thoughts slipping from his grasp like water through open fingers. He gasped softly, blinking hard to fight the haze creeping into his vision.

Astarion did not let go.

And despite the lightness in his head, Gale wasn’t entirely sure he wanted him to.

Astarion pulled back suddenly, his breath ragged as if stopping had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed. His lips were still parted, fangs faintly visible between them, a hint of crimson staining his mouth. He looked… dazed—or perhaps sated—his pupils blown wide as he exhaled unsteadily.

Gale swallowed thickly, his own pulse roaring in his ears, dizzy from more than just the loss of blood. The feeling of Astarion’s mouth leaving his skin left behind an aching absence, like a phantom touch he could still feel long after it was gone.

A single drop of blood, dark against his pale skin, trailed lazily up his forearm. Gale lifted his free hand instinctively, intending to wipe it away—

But Astarion caught his wrist again.

The grip was firm but not rough, a silent insistence rather than force. Before Gale could protest or even ask why, Astarion dipped his head once more, lowering his mouth to his arm.

Without hesitation, without warning, Astarion’s tongue flicked out, tracing a slow, deliberate path along Gale’s skin, following the crimson trail from wrist to elbow.

Gale inhaled sharply, his entire body going rigid.

It was not the same as the bite. The bite had been need—sharp, sudden, visceral. This… this was something else. It was measured, languid, purposeful. He felt every flicker of Astarion’s tongue, every warm drag of breath against his arm as the vampire carefully lapped up every remaining trace of blood.

Astarion's fingers tightened around Gale’s wrist, thumb brushing idly against his pulse point, a silent shh that sent something traitorous coiling in his gut.

By the time Astarion finally lifted his gaze, his expression was unreadable. There was no teasing smirk, no sharp quip ready to fall from his lips. Only a quiet satisfaction gleamed in his red eyes, something dark and unreadable lingering just beneath the surface.

He released Gale’s arm with an almost lazy finality, letting his fingers drag lightly along his wrist before pulling away completely.

“Much better,” Astarion murmured, voice still husky from the act.

Gale didn’t trust himself to speak.

His skin still burned where Astarion had touched him, where his mouth had been, where his tongue had—

He needed air.

And yet, he remained rooted in place, staring at Astarion like a man who had just glimpsed something he was not meant to see. Or perhaps something he desperately wanted to understand.

Astarion, as always, only smirked.

“Well,” the vampire drawled, reclining back into his nest of cushions as though none of this had just happened. “I must say, purified or not, you taste far more tolerable tonight.”

Gale exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to compose himself. “Glad to be of service,” he muttered, though the words held little conviction.

Astarion’s smirk widened, but he said nothing more.

Gale didn’t move, didn’t dare move, afraid that if he did, his legs might not hold him.

Because the dizziness had long since faded.

And yet, the feeling of Astarion’s tongue on his skin remained.

Lingering.

Unshakable.

[vaciena]

I love these books so much but holy shit does carthak’s worldbuilding drive me crazy

[gojonanami]

“ A HOUSE IS NOT A HOME ”

pairing: satoru gojo x reader

summary: you come home after a long day of work unable to find the person you call home anywhere — until you reach the bedroom.

warnings: 18+ suggestive, fluff, comfort, some angst, implications of the shinjuku showdown arc, implied gojo is no longer a sorcerer, gojo is your househusband, taking a bath together, taking care of him, copium really, satoru being a silly man

w/c: 1,184

“I’m home!”

You call into your home, the clatter of your keys and shoes as you shedded the things that chained you to the outside to submerge yourself in your oasis and into his arms. But as you got no reply, you stepped into your living room, scanning over the kitchen, to find no one.

Now where was your home?

“Satoru?” you called, heart skipping a slight beat, he was always waiting for you when you got home, usually on the couch or maybe in the kitchen the clank of the knife as he chopped away. Or even the many times that he was waiting by the door to only ambush you with kisses. But this time, nothing.

You rounded the corner to the hallway and peeked into your bedroom to find him asleep. You crept closer, careful not to wake him, and yup, he was fast asleep. His pretty snow white lashes resting against his cheeks, his chest slowly rising and falling as the soft sounds of his breaths parted his lovely lips.

You could watch him sleep for hours. You knew he never did enough of it before, and you’d argue he still didn’t do enough of it now. He always said he was fine sleeping 6 hours since it was twice as much as he usually got — and now he was working at home, so he could be ease.

But even so, you know he needed more.

As if he senses your thought, he stirs, starry blue eyes finding yours as he flutters sleep from his gaze, “sweetheart?” He’s murmuring, voice still beautifully raspy from sleep, “when did you get home?” He’s shifting to get up, but you use gentle hands to ease him back, “I haven’t started on dinner yet, sweets—“

“I got it, Toru,” you’re running your fingers through his hair, “just rest, baby,” and a protest is already on his lips, “let me guess what you did today — cleaned the house from roof to floor, stocked us on groceries, cooked lunch for me for the week, and probably a million other things,” you lean down to press a kiss to his forehead, “I think I can handle dinner for one night at least,”

He’s pouting now, “but you just got home from work, Princess, what kind of househusband would I be—“ and you can’t help but laugh, he loved his self appointed title of househusband, especially since it was one he had chosen for himself, and he took any opportunity — even now to call himself that.

“I think even the absolute best househusbands need a break, and should listen to their wives, since I’m the one you want to pamper so much,” and his lips party in protest, but you’re leaning down to kiss them and his pout away, “let me take care of you, Toru,”

He’s sighing, as he leans up to press his forehead to yours, “and does your offer include a bath, sweetheart?”

~~~

“Y’know sometimes I feel guilty,” and you pause in your massage of his head, fingers tangled in his hair, suds from the bath you’d drawn for him covering both of your bodies as he leans against you in your tub, back pressed flush to yours.

“Guilty about what?” you ask, holding your tongue on the million reasons why he shouldn’t.

“For so long, I was the strongest,” he gives a small chuckle, “and it was fun, sometimes. But it was mostly lonely,” he leans back to look up at you, a small grin on his lips, “except when I was with you,” your lips curl, “and now I get to be with you, and I get to stay home — and the worst thing I have to do are the dishes,” and you snort.

“I told you I’d do them if you hate them so much,”

But he’s shaking his head, “Sometimes I think trying to deal with our cast iron is worse than fighting Sukuna—“ and you roll your eyes, “but there’s always this urgency that I have to be doing more. Telling me to keep going, moving, fighting—“

“You’ve done enough, Toru, more than enough,” your fingers cup his cheek, “too much, honestly. It’s okay to rest now. You’ve done your part—“

“But—“

“Didn’t you or someone say jujutsu is like a marathon, a baton pass?” Your fingers run through his white locks, before you shift yourself to sit in his lap instead, “the marathon is over, racers have packed up and gone home, and the finish line has been crossed,” your fingers rest on the back of his neck, tracing his undercut, “and that’s because of you and all you did to fight and raise up the next generation,” you say softly, and he’s pressing his head to your forehead.

“Is it okay for me to rest now?” and you’re pulling him into your arms, hoping your touch conveys what your words can’t.

“Yes, it is, Satoru,” you’re pressing soft kisses to his neck, “you don’t need to be the strongest. You’re Satoru Gojo, and that’s all I want,” and he leans back, “you’re all I want,”

“Is that a proposal?” And you snort.

“We’re already married, weirdo—“ and his lips find yours, as they always did, his arms around your bare waist, as the water shifted and splashed, but you could barely feel anything except his lips against yours and the circle of his thumb against the small of your back.

He finally pulls away, a genuine smile on his lips, “And you married this weirdo,” and you chuckle, tracing his jaw with your finger, “you’re stuck with me for life,”

“Promise?” And he’s kissing you again in an instant, stealing your breath like he did the first time you met him all those years ago at jujutsu tech. And you knew you’d never love anyone else — not like him.

“Promise.”

Bonus:

Satoru’s arms wrap around you from behind as the two of you towel off after your bath, “what are we having for dinner?”

“Well someone insisted on me being in here with him, so I had to order out,” and he’s grinning, as he nuzzles your neck.

“Whoopsie, hehe,” and he’s humming, as he tugs your hips against his, the friction drawing a gasp from your lips, “can we have dessert first?”

“It is dessert. We’re having ice cream for dinner—“ and he’s kissing you again, but this time it’s languid and messy — all tongue and teeth, until he’s pulling away with a smirk at your breathless face.

“I want something sweeter, wife,” and you smile.

“Think you can finish before the delivery gets here?” And he’s already picking you up with ease in his arms, pinned under him in a moment, as his ocean blues flash with mischief from between your thighs.

“I can, but I don’t know if you’ll be done by then.” He says cheekily, as you only sigh.

If there was one thing that would always be true is that you would always be weak to Satoru Gojo — but not his abilities, but who he is.

Your husband.

“Let’s see, hm?”

a/n: I’m real upset about the leaks and this is my coping. I needed this.

taglist: @staryukis, @cloverlilies, @asgoodasdead666, @strawmariee, @chuuyasboots, @forest-fruits-jam, @catsgomurp, @rat-loves, @hanlay, @risuola, @spider-fan72, @sunamatic, @difficultdomains

[angelfic]

Howdy! Could I request a Theodore Nott, secret relationship, “don’t leave me… please”. ❤️

here u go!! i actually really like this idea and kind of wanna recycle it for a longer fic maybe.. 🤔 thank u for the request! 💌

theodore nott x reader + secret relationship + “don’t leave me… please”

➺ part of my 2k milestone writing game

You’re stressfully stirring sugar into your tea in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place when Mattheo and Theodore turn up, bruised and bloody in the hands of Alastor Moody.

The Auror had sent a message in advance through his Patronus, alerting members of the Order that he was heading to headquarters with two death eater defectors. An hour of hoping it’s who you think, and three cups of tea later, you breathe a sigh of relief when you realise Mattheo and Theo are alive.

The way Theo is leaning his weight on Mattheo doesn’t slip past you, and as soon as he finds you among the others, you rush forward.

“Hi,” Theo whispers, the greeting reserved only for you despite the numerous others in the dining room. His eyes are drooping slightly as he sways on his feet. Nonetheless, he gives you a weak smile. “I’m okay. I promise.”

You nod slowly, brows furrowed in concern despite his reassurance. Ignoring Moody’s confused stares, along with the whispering happening behind you, you do a quick scan of Mattheo and find that he’s definitely had worse injuries from spontaneous fist fights during your years at Hogwarts.

“Are you okay?” you mouth at him, just in case. He winks at you in answer.

Moody, seemingly snapping out of his confusion, turns to you and raises a brow. “You know these two, then?” he asks gruffly, a hint of suspicion creeping into his voice.

“We all went to school together,” Dean Thomas pipes up, saving you from having to stumble over your words in an attempt to explain your relationship with Theo.

There’s no doubt in your mind that everyone in the room suspects you and Theo are more than just schoolmates, but you don’t move to address anything. The implications of you being in love with an ex-death eater aside, it’s none of their business. Moody doesn’t quite seem to accept this immediately.

”School,” he mutters, nodding begrudgingly. “And how well do you-”

“Alastor,” McGonagall cuts him off sharply. Peering at him over her spectacles, she purses her lips. “You can get to interrogating them about being Transfiguration partners after they’ve recovered. These boys need a healer. Now.”

“Yes, yes,” Moody replies grumpily, reluctantly letting them go to open the door to the hall. “We’ve got Poppy in the living room. She’ll fix them up, nice and quick.”

You step back to give the two boys space to make their way to the Healer, but Theo catches your hand and grips it tightly. “No. No, Y/N can do it. Just give her some of the medicine, I’m not seeing anyone else.”

You open your mouth to object, wanting Madame Pomfrey to assess him properly, but the pleading in his eyes has you hesitating.

“Don’t leave me…” Theo’s voice becomes lower, quieter and earnest. “Please.”

“Okay,” you exhale, cupping his face with your hand and stroking your thumb over his cheekbone. You look over at Professor McGonagall for confirmation and when she sighs and nods, you respond with a grateful smile before turning back to Theo. “I won’t leave you.”

Mattheo clears his throat, popping the little bubble you and Theo have found yourself in and making you look away, cheeks warm. Walking over to where Moody holds the door open, Mattheo gives you both a knowing look before speaking to the rest of the room. “I guess I‘ll be seeing dear, old Poppy alone then. Nothing she hasn’t fixed before.”

Taking this as your cue to leave, you wrap an arm around Theo’s waist to support him as you make your way out of the room and up the stairs to an empty room. You help him to sit on the bed and disentangle your hand from his, dropping a kiss to the inside of his palm. “I need to go get the stuff from Madame Promfrey, I won’t be a minute-”

“Not yet,” Theo pleads, hooking pinky finger around your own and tugging lightly. “I’m not that injured, just… come here for a second.”

Your resolve crumbles immediately due to not having seen Theo since school ended a month ago, during which he was trying to leave the other side of the war without getting himself killed. You sit next to him on the bed, but he immediately reaches over to manoeuvre you by the waist until your legs are wrapped around him in a straddling position. Theo presses a soft kiss to your lips and the pure love radiating from him makes your heart jump to your throat. When he pulls away, he looks more relaxed and content than he has in months.

“Hi,” he says, a gentle smile playing about his lips while he fingers the hem of your shirt where it sits at your back. Tingles run down your spine where his cold fingers brush against your skin and you end up leaning into his chest even more, causing his smile to deepen. “I missed you, darling.”

“What, Crabbe and Goyle weren’t good company?” you tease, tilting your head. Theo scoffs in disgust, lightly tugging on a lock of your hair and looking at you expectantly. “I missed you too, Theo. So, so much. I’m glad you got out.”

“Me too,” he sighs, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder. You both stay in silence for a few minutes and you bask in the warmth of Theo’s breaths fanning over your collarbone. He nestles his face into your neck and seems perfectly happy just to stay there when he speaks. “It was torture staying away, you know. I’m never leaving your side again.”

You run your fingers through Theo’s hair, lightly scratching at his scalp and biting back a smile when he lets out a sound halfway between a sigh and a groan. “You being glued to me is probably going to make it clear that we’re more than ex-Transfiguration partners, by the way.”

“I bet you anything they all already know,” Theo murmurs distractedly. You frown and sit up straighter to look at him, raising a curious brow in questioning. He looks at you like it’s obvious. “Mattheo is downstairs, unsupervised. If he hasn’t told everyone by now…”

You shake your head, shifting to move off Theo’s lap. A pout forms on his lips, but he reluctantly lets you stand. “I better go do some damage control while I go get the stuff from Pomfrey. Merlin knows what embarrassing things Mattheo is telling them right now.”

“I can think of a few things,” Theo says, his innocent voice contrasting with the devious smirk on his face. “Like the time we were in the Astronomy Tower and you were too loud, so-”

“Right, okay!” you interrupt loudly, screwing your eyes shut in embarrassment as you try your best not to relive that particular memory. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the way Theo is cracking up, you smile sweetly at him. “You haven’t had any injuries to the head, have you?”

“No, love,” he replies, grinning. “Why?”

You grab a pillow and swing it into Theo’s face, knocking him backwards on the bed. Crossing your arms in satisfaction, you falter when he stays laying down and moans in pain.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” you rush out, panicked as you move the pillow out of the way to climb onto the bed and hover over him. Theo cracks his eyes open slightly, his face scrunched up in discomfort and your stomach drops. “Theo, where does it hurt?”

“Here, come closer,” Theo winces, gesturing you forward, closer and closer and you furrow your brows in confusion. When you’re close enough, he snakes his hand around to the nape of your neck and pulls you into a deep kiss, burying his fingers in your hair. You don’t bother admonishing him, your head getting dizzy from the feel of his lips moving against your own. You only pull away when you hear sudden laughter coming from downstairs. Theo doesn’t look ashamed in the slightest when you do. “All better.”

“Not yet, you’re not,” you say, rolling your eyes and sitting up again. You make sure you put all of your weight on the mattress to do so, just in case you actually do end up hurting him. “I’m actually going downstairs now, okay? The idea of Mattheo talking to McGonagall is driving me crazier by the minute.”

“Come back quickly?” he asks lightly, but there’s a hint of pleading in the way his hand circles your wrist. You give him a reassuring smile and another quick peck on the lips.

“Always.”

[bandgie]

On Your Knees

ONE | TWO

incel!Seungmin x fem!reader

warnings! MDNI18+, drinking implications (no one is drunk) dubious??, pussy eating, face fucking (m!), hate sex (but no sex) seungmin is an ass (low key misogynistic), reader is kinda mean note! this is not meant to represent Seungmin or any of the members in any way. I just like the trope :)

2.7k words

The party was getting boring in all honesty. Truth-or-Dare is only fun for the first couple of minutes but gets repetitive. Same old questions on who you're fucking, if you're fucking someone, if you've ever fucked someone. The flat beer sloshes in your red solo cup as you sit on the floor of the living room.

You can tell Han is trying to come up with something interesting to ask Seungmin. Most of the somewhat funny questions were already asked, but Han still purses his lips as he thinks of something clever. 

"Okay, I got it!" He claps his hands. "Best pussy you've ever eaten. Go."

Ah, I guess that's something, you think as you divert your attention to the cross-legged man beside you. 

Seungmin is awfully quiet at house parties and looks as though he would rather be anywhere else. You don't like Seungmin, but you don't not like him. He's just a guy Han likes to bring around on occasion. You observe Seungmin raise an eyebrow, in surprise most likely. But what he says is even more shocking. 

"Never eaten pussy."

"What?!" Everyone collectively shouts at his admission. Now this peaks your interest as you stare wide-eyed at him. "No way," you can't fathom the thought of someone in college never tasting a cunt. "Are you a virgin?"

Your bold question makes Chan choke on his drink, coughing until the bitter liquid finally passes through. "Jeez dude, you just can't ask that."

"It's literally Truth-or-Dare. I literally can," you retort. 

The clamor of everyone settles as they wait for Seungmin to answer. Now that he can feel the pressure of everyone's eyes, he shifts in his seat uncomfortably. "I'm not a virgin," he says. "I just don't eat pussy."

"What the fuck?" You make a confused expression. "You don't eat pussy? Fuck does that mean?" Seungmin finally casts his gaze on you, acknowledging your presence for the first time tonight. "Exactly what I mean. I don't like it."

"You don't like it?" Han sounds exasperated. "You gotta be fucking with me. There's no way you fuck a girl and not want to eat her pussy." Despite Han being an idiot half the time, you agree with him. Every guy you've hooked up with jumps at the chance to eat you out and you know plenty of them would do it for nothing in exchange. 

To meet a guy who's never had the opportunity to only means two things, and you're praying it's not what you're thinking. 

"I just fuck to cum. I don't really care if she finishes or not."

It's worse than you could have imagined. 

The room goes dead quiet and you suddenly figure out why Han doesn't bring Seungmin around too often. His stiff posture, his blank expression, the way he hardly regards you in any manner. It all points to signs of the worst type of man. 

"So like what?" You can't help the clipped tone in your voice. "You some type of incel?"

Chan, who likes to keep the peace, says your name in warning. "Don't start." Though he means well, the fact that you're the one getting in trouble for speaking up only fuels your fire. "Don't start? He's the one who started with his dumb incel shit."

Seungmin scowls, "Ugh. I didn't even say anything bad. You're being so emotional."

The tips of your ears burn red and you feel your entire body heat up. You can hear Chan trying to diffuse the situation, but you hardly care about maintaining 'the peace' any longer. 

"Oh, fuck off," you sneer at Seungmin. "You can't even make a girl finish. Fucking incel virgin."

Now that does it for him. You see Seungmin tighten his hands into fists as his neck grows red. "I'm not a virgin. And I can make a girl cum. I just don't care to." He enunciates his words harshly, some speckles of spit landing on your face. Both of your jaws are tense, teeth clenching as you glare into each other's eyes.

A vein sticks from his neck and his lips are stretched back into somewhat of a snarl. With a flushed expression, you easily see his cheeks heat up in anger. It's here that you realize he looks good when he's mad. You hate it.

"Okaayyy!" Chan claps his hands three times loudly. "I think it's time to call it a night." Everyone tries to stand and talk about anything else, but Seungmin and you are too busy having your own little conversation to notice. 

"Never eaten pussy, can't make a girl come. Why you lying about being a virgin?" You mimic the vicious on Seungmin's face. He keeps his eyes steady on yours, "Whoring yourself out for a fuck. You're everything that's wrong with women today." 

This makes you laugh, "At least they make me cum."

If you thought Seungmin was mad before, he's furious now. You must have struck a nerve because he stands suddenly and spins on his heel to leave. 

But you're not done with the conversation. You raise on your feet and follow him, never ceasing to stop your vicious spewing, "Just be honest with me, Min. It's okay to have never felt a woman's touch. Not that you ever will, being an incel that is."

Seungmin hurries up the stairs of the house with you on his tail. You can't see his face, but you can feel the anger rolling off him. 

He suddenly stops in his tracks, making you effectively bump into his back. "I'm not an incel," he keeps his voice low, but strong. "Eating pussy isn't even all that. You just have an ego bigger than your tits."

You try and play it off with a scoff, but you feel your face heat up. You grope your chest offendedly; you like your boobs. "Not all that? Come here." Pushing on Seungmin's back, you lead him to the nearby bathroom and shove him inside. He stumbles and trips over his feet, shooting a hand out to balance himself on the counter as you close and lock the door behind you.

"Fuck was that for?" He whips his head around to glare at you, but he's surprised to be met with an eerie smile on your face instead. He gulps nervously, "What are you looking at?"

You shrug nonchalantly, "Looking at someone who's going to eat me out." Seungmin looks as though you've slapped him across the face as his eyes widen. "What? Who said I was gonna do that?" 

You're already hiking your skirt up to your torso, biting the cloth between your teeth, and showing the pretty little thong you put on in hopes of a hookup. It barely manages to over your clit and you can see the outline of your pussy underneath the material. With one hand, you use the tip of your finger to draw soft circles on it. Seungmin drops his eyes to your clothed core.

His Adam apple bobs.

"Come on," you wiggle your eyebrows playfully. "Get on your knees for me."

For a second, you think he's gonna walk out. He was so persistent about not wanting to eat pussy and his shitty attitude was...well...shitty. You begin to think that there's no hope for Seungmin, but he proves you wrong by bending one knee and looking up at you.

"I'm just going to look," he says more to himself than to you. "Just so you could stop your whining." 

His hands grip the plushness of your thighs as he stretches the skin. The lips of your pussy peek out at the movement, but Seungmin is far from disgusted. His ears pick up on the sound your cunt makes when he uses his thumb to pull and push the skin together. Slowly, he moves his hand up to pull your thong down, exposing the very thing he claims to revolt against. 

You shiver against his warm breath, his warm touch. You reach your hands down to pull up on the skin of your pelvis to further stretch your pussy. "Getting a good look, Seungmin?" You giggle at the annoyed expression on his face. His lips may be pulled pursed into a frown, but his eyes are wide with lust.

Seungmin is trying his best to hold back, but it's near impossible. Everything about you surrounds him: your smell, your soft skin, the way your voice echoes in the bathroom. He shocks himself with how much he enjoys watching your clit peek from your pussy lips and how the first signs of arousal make your entire cunt shine. 

"Shut up," he mumbles. 

You're thinking of a witty remark to snap at him, but you're instead pleasantly surprised with his lips ghosting over your core. Your body stills, letting Seungmin explore pussy on his tongue for the first time. He runs his lips over your own, feeling how soft and warm it is. Seungmin already knew how hot a cunt is, but tasting it on his lips is a whole other level of heat.

"Mmm," you hum at the sensation. "What happened to just getting a look?" 

Seungmin looks up at you, mouth still attached to your core. His nose bumps on your lower stomach with his hair tousled over his face. Before you can think, you brush the bangs from his face to get a good view of his form. The sight makes you groan, bucking your hips further into his face. Seungmin makes a hmmf! sound as you bury his face deeper into your pussy, but he makes no move to deny you.

It's not until you start rocking your hips that he finally sticks his tongue out. He starts at the peak of your pussy, letting the nub roll over his tongue experimentally. Seungmin notes how your legs shake when he does that. He feels your hips still so he could properly suck on that part of your cunt. 

The taste of you settles on Seungmin's tastebuds and he finds his tongue digging deeper into your lips. They dip down to your labia before going back up. He likes how soaked you make his wet tongue, how your hands twist his floppy hair to drive him deeper. He hates how much he likes it. 

Truthfully, you're in the same boat. His mouth may not be experienced, but you upsettingly like how he lets you ride his face. "See Sungie?" You say his name mockingly. "Not too bad, is it?"

Seungmin doesn't stay put in your cunt. This time, he pulls away from your throbbing core to talk back. "I never said it was goo- mmf!" As lovely as it would have been to hear his voice, you reason that his words may not have been as nice. You had gripped the back of his head and forced him back to your center, uncaring how he gently slapped the back of your thighs in disapproval.

"Just shut up and stick your tongue out." You're impatient needless to say. Seungmin can tell by how you keep one hand steady on his head while the other gives his cheek light taps. "Open up, come on." You probe the man between your legs until he finally relents, widening his jaw so your entire clit fits in his mouth.

You hum at his mouth taking your core in, "Good boy. See? You were made to eat pussy."

Then you hook one of your thighs over his shoulder and wrap that leg around his body until his face is pushed against you. His eyes widen, screaming at you as if saying this wasn't part of the deal! But the panic only makes you laugh. He can pretend all he wants, but you know the bulge in his pants all too well as you look down on him.

Grinding on his face is easy with you in complete control. You sloppily rub your cunt all over his tongue with his head following your movements. Seungmin groans and grunts in your cunt, but it's far from the disdain he was filled with earlier. His hips thrust into the air at the feel of your essence dripping down his chin.

His jolts make you chuckle breathlessly. "Fuck, just look at you. You wanna cum? You wanna cum, don't you?"

Screw his pride, screw any stupid podcast he's watched, he needs to cum. He wants to feel your pussy clench on his cock, not his tongue. Yet, he can't find it in himself to tear himself away from your clit. If you taste this good already, he can't imagine the savor of you creaming on his tongue. 

To not let a second go by without his mouth on you, he nods, looking up at you pleadingly. He's sorry for being a dick, for being an incel. If you let him finish in you, he'll never-

"Sucks to suck," you shatter his dream. "You're gonna make me cum. Don't move."

And he doesn't, but it's not because he means to obey you. You have Seungmin on his knees, mouth enclosing over your pussy while you tug on his hair and hump his face and you're not going to let him finish? At all?

Then there's no point of him being here. Seungmin should tear your grip off him and leave the bathroom, but he can't. Fuck, he can't. It's like you've put a curse on him, glued him to the floor with his jaw unhinged and tongue out as you grind on his face. 

It has to be witchcraft because why else would he still be here? Does he really like the taste of you that much? Maybe it's how you look; flushed, sweaty, close to a high Seungmin's never been able to bring a girl to. Seeing you so close to your orgasm makes him eager to stay, eager to please. And god, he loves how your clit twitches in his mouth.

"Shit," you curse. "Gonna cum. Imma cum all over your face. You want that? Want my cream all over your tongue?"

Seungmin would rather die than tell you the truth, so he responds by sucking harshly on your clit. The suction is enough to tip you over the edge, digging your nails into his scalp as you bend the upper half of your body over him. 

Your cunt pluses around nothing, but that hardly matters when you hear Seungmin gulping down your release. The very same man who claims to not like eating pussy, to not care if his partner finishes. That man eagerly licking you clean with his eyes rolling behind his head. 

You shiver and mewl as you cum, softly grinding your hips to come down from your high. "God- fuck! Put your tongue in my pussy."

He does, finally getting a feel of your walls for the first time. They squeeze and pulse around his tongue and he gives a few testing thrusts that you respond to positively. 

Fuck, you taste even better inside. 

Seungmin can't stop fucking his tongue deep inside you. Not even as you wrap your leg from him and straighten up. A part of you debates on whether or not to let him keep going. At this rate, he might make you finish a second time, but you don't want to give him the satisfaction of that. Plus, you've been gone long enough for the other men to question your whereabouts.

You place the palm of your hand on his forehead and push him away. The shove makes him detach from your cunt with a lewd pop! as he catches himself backward on his hands.

"Geez. You're gonna lick it off," you pick your underwear up and step through the leg holes, ignoring how uncomfortable it feels on your sensitive cunt. Seungmin seems in a daze as you drop your skirt from your lips and adjust the material. Even as you walk closer to the mirror and touch up your make-up, Seungmin stays in place on the ground. 

He liked it. Dear god, he loved it. Even with the tent in his pants, he hardly seems to notice how his cock throbs when he can still taste you on his lips. You only face-fucked him to prove a point, but you changed the trajectory of his life forever.

Yet, you wash your hands and use a hand towel to dry yourself like you didn't just make Seungmin question his entire purpose. You throw the rag to the man on his knees, managing to land it on his lap. "Your face is soaked. Clean it before they see how much of a munch you are, yeah?"

a/n: idk why I was at work was thought "yk what would be hot? making an incel seungmin worship you" and boom, this was birthed. I kinda wanna make a part two I have ideeassss also two fics in one week?? who am I? thank you for reading!

[sanguineterrain]

okay i've had this thought brewing for a while and i think you're the only writer who would do it justice!

reader meets jason again post-lazarus pit and he's amazed by how different reader is look-wise. reader was a teenager the last time they saw jason and now as an adult they've gotten a more "adult" body. reader is curvier, fleshier, no longer as lean as they were as a teen and is a bit self conscious about their body. but it drives jason wild to see his old crush all grown up into this mature body, hell he's changed a lot too. but yeah i feel like jason would be so body positive and full of praise 🩷

decided to combine this with a request i got for this prompt: 8) we share the bed because this is what we’ve done since we were kids, regardless of the adult implications now. i so agree with you anon, i think jason would be simultaneously body positive and absolutely FERAL for his old/current crush ;)

jason todd x gn!plus-sized!reader. reader used to work with the bats and is best friends with jayjay. reader is insecure and speaks poorly about their body. jason does NOT like that and desires you carnally! wahoo! suggestive content but no outright smut.

****

You haven't been in Jason's room in five years.

Alfred's kept it pretty much the same. Same books on the shelves, same Gotham Knights sweatshirt Dick gave Jason for his birthday. The curtains are the same shade of maroon, and the left one has a tear from when you played with a batarang. Jason had covered for you and was grounded for a week.

You flip through a dog-eared copy of The Three Musketeers. A few of the pages have underlining in pencil. You trace them with your finger.

The door creaks open. You look up.

Jason freezes in the threshold. His wrist is bandaged and you can see stitches on his forehead. You frown.

"Hey." You set down the book and go to him, offering your shoulder for him to lean on. "You okay?"

Jason sighs, ignoring your shoulder. "Who called you?"

"What d'you mean? We're psychically linked, Jay-Jay. I sensed that there was trouble afoot in Gotham City."

"Uh-huh. That didn't work when you tried to convince the old man I needed a puppy because you psychically divined that it knew me in a previous life."

"You and that Terrier were soulmates and I'll hear nothing of the contrary."

You take Jason's arm, despite his protests that he can make it two feet to the bed. He lays down, trying to hide how his arm twinges in pain. You frown and slip in beside him.

Jason's a lot bigger than he was the last time you shared a bed. Well. You both are. You roll over so you're facing him, squished against his side. You pull your leg up, suddenly self-conscious about everything Jason might be able to see.

Jason is warm. He's warm and big and solid and good God, you've missed him.

Your best friend is also fucking gorgeous and you really want to kiss him, but, uh. Ignoring that. You're very practiced at ignoring the urge to kiss Jason.

"Thanks for comin'."

The light is still on, casting a soft orange glow across Jason's features. He glances at you, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. You can count all the freckles on his nose, this close.

"I'll always come when you call, Jay," you say. "Well, when Dickie calls. Said you got a concussion."

He turns his head, sighing at the ceiling. "'S not a big deal. Mild concussion. Leslie said I'll be fine in a week, but we all know that's code for two days."

"Yeah, I don't think so. You bats really are birds of a feather."

"How dare you. 'M nothing like those wackos."

"Sure, buddy. Keep lying to yourself. You brought me in all those years ago for a little normalcy."

"My mistake," Jason says.

He gets thwacked with a pillow for that. It fluffs his curls. He grins at you.

You tuck in closer, resting your chin on his shoulder. Jason turns his head so his cheek rests on the top of your head.

"You can have the bed," he says.

"Don't be a silly goose."

"'M gonna go home anyway."

You scoff. "Not like this, you're not."

"Been worse for wear."

You roll your eyes. "How are you gonna ride your bike with a hurt wrist and a concussion, genius?"

"Please, babe. The real question is how will I sneak past Alfred?"

"I'm a babe, now?"

Jason half-smiles. "Always were."

"Liar. Can you imagine me in a Batsuit again? Exactly, you can't. I simply don't have the bod for it."

"Hey." Jason reaches down and gently pinches your thigh. "Why ya doin' that?"

"Doing what?"

"Talkin' bad about yourself. Don't do that. 'Sides, it ain't true."

"Jaybird." You level him with a look. "Be serious. I know you're my best friend and you have to say that, but c'mon. I've seen the hotties you work with. Hell, I've seen Bruce and Dickie."

Jason's face twists in disgust. "Do not call my dad and brother hot."

"Okay, fine. I've seen you."

His brows rise. "What?"

"What, what?"

"Are you... callin' me..."

You snort. "Duh. Have you seen yourself? You've always been cute, Jason. If you didn't have the demeanor of a honey badger, you'd be fending off marriage proposals left and right from the Gotham public. You've always been the prettier one of us, Jay-Jay."

Jason's quiet. You keep going.

"Anyway, neon's never been my color, and it seems like that's a pretty immovable requirement these days. Like, I get Clark's trying to be seen from space but he doesn't get bloated. And the Spandex? Goodness gracious—"

"Y'really see yourself like that?"

Jason's staring at you with a wrinkled brow, mouth set.

"Like what?"

"Like you're not pretty? Like I'm too good for ya?"

You prop your head up on your arm. "You've always been too good for me, Jason Todd."

"That's just not true. And you're fuckin' beautiful, so stop sayin' that shit."

You blink. "Jay, c'mon—"

"No. It's true, so stop. You're the most beautiful person I've ever had the pleasure to know, and if anybody's gettin' proposed to, it's you."

"Jason." Your face is on fire. Why did you open your mouth? "Stop. It's fine. So I'm different; my body's changed and shit. I'm not an athletic vigilante anymore. My thighs have, like, their own zip code. It's my own fault. I didn't keep up the training and whaa—!"

In one fluid motion, Jason's rolled you onto him. Your legs straddle his waist. You catch yourself on his shoulders, then begin to scramble off, burning with embarrassment.

"Sorry, I'm heavy, you're injured—" you babble, picking up your leg.

"Will you quit?" Jason keeps your leg exactly where it is, tenderly stroking your ankle with his thumb. "Actin' like I'm made of whipped cream."

"You're concussed."

"Mildly."

"Stop, Jason. Please. You don't have to do this to-to prove a point. I get it, I won't talk bad about myself."

Bit hypocritical, considering some of the stuff you know for a fact Jason believes about himself.

But this is humiliating, your extremely attractive, crime-fighting best friend pretending that you haven't totally let yourself go all to bolster your ego.

"Nah, I don't think you get it," Jason says conversationally. His hand creeps under your shirt. You squirm. "I really, really don't think you get how fuckin' gone I am for ya."

"Huh?"

"Oh, yeah. Now, that's my fault, never sayin' anything. I was being cowardly. So lemme make it clear for ya, sweetheart."

His hand leaves your ankle and pulls your face to his. And then Jason kisses you.

"You're concussed," you whimper against his mouth. "Jason, you're—"

Jason laughs, low and sweet. He strokes the side of your face. "I could have amnesia and I wouldn't forget the fact that I've been in love with my best friend since I was fourteen."

"Are you sure you don't want me to move? I can—"

"No way. Y'know how long I've wanted you on me? Shit, I sound like a creep, thinking 'bout you like that, but—"

Jason rolls you both onto your sides. He hefts your leg over his, so you're slotted between each other. Then he kisses your neck, mouth hot and desperate. You gasp, belly swooping.

How long have you wanted this? How long did you believe you'd never feel this way about another person after Jason?

"I can promise you," Jason says, breathing hard against your skin. "You're a knockout. You knock me out. And I'll knock out anyone who says otherwise."

You huff and get a little braver, kissing Jason and returning him onto his back. He grins, sharp and hungry. He wants you. There's no doubt.

"I still think you're concussed," you murmur, letting him feel up your shirt. "But lucky for you, I have the utmost sympathy for poor, bedridden bats."

Jason hums, grunting when your teeth scrape his ear. "Oh, I've always known I was the lucky one, having you."

[warblogs17282]

Detailing the exact specifics of Andrealphus' plan during Mastermind, just in case you haven't put the pieces together already.

The prelude:

Alongside finding out that Stella is a massive dumbass yet again, Andrealphus gets his big opening to get Stolas' power and such, with that opening being the grimoire arrangement.

Only problem with the plan, is that they need some sort of evidence or testimony in order to frame Blitz of the crime, and well, what better testimony could you get other than the hitman hired by Stella to kill Stolas.

So Andrealphus makes a back alley deal with Striker so to speak, make a deal he literally cannot refuse, with that deal being to give false testimony that frames Blitz of the crime, to say that Blitz hired him in order to kill Stolas in order to cover up the grimoire thing that was going on between them, and in return Striker gets complete immunity for what he's done, and I imagine the consequences would be quite harsh if Striker said no to Andrealphus' deal, probably also being death for the attempted assassination of Stolas, so again, quite literally a deal Striker couldn't refuse, if Striker wanted to keep living for much longer.

Plus, Striker literally had a strong motive to go along with Andrealphus' plan, it gives him a chance to get revenge on Blitz.

With that, everything Andrealphus needs for this plan to work has been set in motion, and now all he has to do is put the plan into motion.

But first, you might be thinking, 'but why go to such lengths to frame Blitz? It's Stolas' power he's after.'

While I will touch on this later, him framing Blitz of the crime draws Stolas out, as Andrealphus likely knows that Stolas won't allow Blitz to take the blame, to be executed. Blitz was a pawn in Andrealphus' plan to get Stolas to be charged for the crime instead.

As Andrealphus has zero possible testimony or evidence he could use to directly implicate Stolas of the crime, he needs a different route, and that's where using Striker's false testimony to frame Blitz of the crime comes into play, as the only way to save Blitz from his execution, the only way to indirectly strike down the false testimony given by Striker is for Stolas to say that he was the mastermind of everything, which Stolas ends up doing, all but completing Andrealphus' plan as a result.

Therefore, showing exactly why Andrealphus needed to frame Blitz of the crime.

The first step of the plan was to get Blitz arrested for this crime, the rest of I.M.P were completely irrelevant to Andrealphus' plan, it's specifically Blitz he needed to frame and no one else.

But wait, why wasn't Stolas invited to the court if again, Andrealphus is after his powers and such?

My answer to that is the fact that Stolas would instantly shut down him accusing Blitz of 'forcing himself onto Stolas' and Striker's false testimony of Blitz hiring Striker to kill Stolas in order to cover up the grimoire thing.

Stolas could not have been allowed to know about these accusations against Blitz, otherwise Andrealphus' plan would've been ruined, as again, Stolas could shut down Andrealphus' accusations against Blitz, without having to take the drastic measure of saying that he was the mastermind behind everything. Andrealphus' entire plan relied on using Blitz as a pawn to draw Stolas out.

Step two, accuse Blitz of multiple crimes, including the attempted assassinated of Stolas.

Step three, entirely shut down Moxxie's objection by playing his trump card of the back alley deal he did before the trial, Striker's false testimony accusing Blitz of hiring him to kill Stolas in order to cover up the grimoire thing.

Step 3.5, Blitz straight up had no way out of Striker's false testimony, with his only other possible option being to say that he could've killed Stolas himself if he wanted to, making Blitz look even worse to the eyes of the court, and at the same time, Striker's false testimony is still very valid to the eyes of the court, even in spite of what Blitz has just said.

Step 4 and 5: Play into Satan's authoritarian attitudes, that he'll forcibly broadcast Blitz's execution to all seven rings of hell, and use that to draw Stolas out, to draw him out into the courts to prevent Blitz's execution, and again, Stolas does not know about what Andrealphus has accused Blitz of (such as the forcing himself on Stolas thing) and he also doesn't know about Striker's false testimony.

Step 6: As a reminder, Stolas knows nothing about the trial before it came up on his TV, he doesn't know of the multiple crimes Andrealphus has accused Blitz of, and he doesn't know about Striker's false testimony.

Just look at Andrealphus' face here, that is the face of a man who knows that Stolas is going to come to the rescue of Blitz, that is the face of a man who is entirely confident in his plans of drawing Stolas out, forcing him to take drastic measures as well.

And well, Stolas did take those drastic measures, just as Andrealphus planned that he would. Stolas claimed that he was the mastermind behind everything, in a desperate attempt to save Blitz from his execution. Opening Andrealphus up for executing the final part of his plan.

Step 7: Use the fact that this kind of thing is an extremely rare thing to happen, and take advantage of the fact that no one really knows how to punish Stolas for this kind of thing. Suggest that Stolas should lose everything, such as his title and status, and that they should be handed over to the 'responsible' one as Octavia isn't of age yet. Basically, the punishment places everything that Stolas had right into the greedy little palms of Andrealphus, with that completing the main part of his plan.

The final step (in progress), is to manipulate Octavia, Stolas' only daughter, into believing that Stolas never loved her. (Heading into a bit of prediction territory here but)

The first part of this step is to let Octavia believe that Stolas was actually executed for as long as possible, and Andrealphus and Stella will 100% attempt to push the false narrative to Octavia that Stolas threw his life away for an imp, without ever considering Octavia at all, showing that Stolas never loved her, and when Stolas eventually meets Octavia again somehow, showing that Stolas actually never died, I imagine that Octavia is going to think that Stolas left her behind, that he ran off with Blitz, went away where she couldn't find him. From there, all Andrealphus and Stella need to do is push that false narrative onto her as much as possible, to again make it seem like Stolas never loved her.

'Are you gonna run off with him? And leave me behind? Go away where… I can't find you?' - Octavia, s1 e2.

And well, all of this is gonna eventually lead up to the line that Octavia has in the trailer, 'You never loved mother, you don't love me. You love him!'

And once that happens, Andrealphus' plan is basically entirely done to completion.

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: You Better Not Let Him In [Yandere Wolfman x Reader]

Title: You Better Not Let Him In [Yandere Wolfman x Reader]

Synopsis: The door doesn't lock, and he still wants you to let him in.

For Horrorfest request: trying to hide from a wolfman but the door wont close

Word count: 600ish

notes: yandere, non-graphic mentions of violence, implications of possible sexual assault

“Oh, please.” The words bubble from your chapped lips like a prayer. A desperate one, the kind you would whisper like a mantra as a child, eyes squeezed shut, on those nights that you were suddenly sure you wouldn’t wake up. 

Now-I-lay-me-down-to-sleep-I-pray-the-lord-my-soul-to-keep. 

If-I-should-die-before-I-wake-I-pray-the-lord-my-soul-to-take.

But there’s no use praying to the wolfman on the other side of the door.

No use at all. 

His breath is loud; you imagine how hot it must be against the door. What it must smell like: primal, like the rest of him. He pants in great short huffs from the running he did–the chasing, more like.

Chasing you from the hiking trail all the way into your little cabin (he burst through the front door, broke the lock clean off); down the hall, into what had been your bedroom for the past week.

Only there was no lock on the door–it won’t even close all the way, thanks to the faulty hinges. And there’s nothing heavy enough to put in front of it, nothing you’re strong enough to drag.

Nothing at all you could do but brace your shoulder against it, even though you saw the wolfman break the heavy lock on the thick front door of the cabin like it was nothing. 

So you know, without a hint of a doubt–

The only reason he’s not inside right now is because he’s waiting for you to open up, like a good little thing, like Red Riding Hood smiling brightly at grandmother before she gets oh-so-close enough to see the points of her sharp teeth. 

“Open the door,” he says, in a voice that is not very sweet. “Open the door, and let me in.”

There’s a sound against the wood. Scratching. A claw–his claw, he has no hands but paws with nails so sharp you’re sure they will gut you easily–dragging down the wood.

You don’t answer. You can’t. All you can do is press your shoulder feebly against the door, knowing he’s on the other side, knowing all it would take is a shove to have you on the floor and the door swinging off its loose hinges.

How did he find you? How long had he followed you? It all falls into place, here, on the other side of the door. The unusual footprints around the cabin. The ripped up flowers left at your door, topped with a dead mouse. The sounds in the woods--the snapping, the breath you thought had been a fox or perhaps, a lumbering raccoon.

It was him, and now--

“Open the door,” he says to your silence. Louder and lower, and you catch the sound of spittle in it. He won’t be patient for much longer. You have to make a choice.

Your heart pounds so hard you can hear it. 

He can, too. 

“Open the door,” he says, for the final time. “Or I’ll–”

Huff-and-puff-and-blow-your-house-in.

“Please don’t,” you squeak out, sounding like the prey that you are. “I’ll–-I’ll open it.”

It takes longer than you expect to force your body to move away from the door. It doesn’t want to move. It knows what’s going to happen, even as your brain whirs and whirs and tries to guess. 

He could eat you. Tear you to pieces, gobble you down like dinner. He could–he could–but oh, you know, there are worse things than being eaten.

Worse things are what you think about when he pushes the door, which half-falls off the broken hinges, and stands in the now-empty frame. 

He smiles, and his teeth are very sharp. 

[kingdom-of-sins]

Armando Aretas x Detective!Reader

You finally got a chance to interrogate Armando, but unfortunately there is not enough evidence to keep him in custody, which frustrates you. Armando on the other hand is enjoying the interrogation session

The interrogation room is stark and cold, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glare on the metal table between you and Armando Aretas. He sits casually, his wrists bound in handcuffs, yet there's an air of confidence about him that borders on arrogance. His dark eyes, intense and unreadable, follow your every move as you take your seat across from him.

You’ve been waiting for this moment. Armando Aretas, the infamous assassin and drug dealer, finally captured. But the evidence is slim, almost non-existent, and you need a confession or at least something to hold him longer. You lean forward, locking eyes with him.

“Mr. Aretas,” you begin, your voice steady and authoritative. “We both know what you’re capable of and what you have done. It’s in your best interest to cooperate.”

He smirks, a slow, dangerous smile that sends a chill down your spine. “Please, call me Armando,” he says, his voice smooth and dripping with a dark charm. “And what is your name, Detective?”

“Detective Y/N L/N,” you reply, keeping your tone professional, refusing to be drawn into his game.

“Detective YN,” he repeats, as if savoring the taste of your name. “Such a beautiful name for such a beautiful woman.”

You ignore the compliment, pulling out a file and placing it on the table. “Let’s cut to the chase. You’re facing serious charges. Murder, conspiracy, racketeering. You cooperate, maybe things will go easier for you.”

Armando leans back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours. “You think you can scare me with threats? I’ve faced worse than this.”

You lean in, determined to break through his facade. “I’m not trying to scare you, Armando. I’m offering you a chance.”

He chuckles, a dark, low sound that makes your pulse quicken. “A chance? Detective, I think you and I both know there’s no way out for me but one. But let’s say I do tell you something. What’s in it for me?”

“Less time, maybe even protection,” you say, hoping to find a chink in his armor.

His gaze slides over you, slow and deliberate. “And what if what I want can’t be given in years or security?”

Your heart skips a beat at the implication. You swallow hard, maintaining your composure. “What do you want, Armando?”

He leans forward, his eyes locked onto yours with a predatory gleam. “You.”

For a moment, the air between you crackles with tension. You can feel the heat of his gaze, the intensity of his presence. It’s dangerous, thrilling even, but you push it aside. You have a job to do.

“I’m not part of the deal,” you say firmly.

He laughs softly. “Pity. But I’ll play along, Detective. Ask your questions.”

You start with the basics, his recent activities, his connections, but he answers every question with a sly remark or a flirtatious comment. Every attempt to steer the conversation to something useful is met with another layer of his charm.

“Where were you on the night of the 15th?” you ask, exasperation creeping into your voice.

“In the company of a beautiful woman, but not as beautiful as you, of course,” he replies, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Do you think this is a joke?” you snap, frustration boiling over.

“No, Detective,” he says, his tone suddenly serious, his eyes darkening. “I think this is very serious. You see, I enjoy our little chats. I enjoy…you.”

The intensity in his voice sends a shiver through you. You know he’s playing with you, but there’s an undeniable chemistry, a dangerous allure that’s hard to ignore.

Time slips by, and despite your best efforts, you get nothing concrete. The clock ticks down, and you know you’ll have to let him go.

You stand, frustration and a sense of failure heavy in your chest. “This isn’t over, Armando. I will find the evidence, and I will bring you down.”

He rises as well, his movements fluid and predatory. He steps closer, his presence overwhelming. “I look forward to it, Detective,” he murmurs, his voice a low purr. “I’ll be seeing you soon.”

With that, he’s escorted out, leaving you alone in the cold, empty room. You take a deep breath, determination hardening within you. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

[bogkeep]

Would you recommend the SSSS comic? I know little of it beside the very beautiful artstyle and premise

to answer the question of if i would recommend SSSS as a comic: yes, yes i would.

a description for those who don't know: Stand Still Stay Silent is a post-apocalyptic horror + adventure webcomic set in the nordics (norway, sweden, denmark, finland, iceland) that have been isolated from the rest of the world and gone back to their old gods. the the world outside of safe zones is full of trolls and beasts - humans and mammals that got infected by a horrible virus and turned into monsters. the story follows a ragtag crew that ventures into the old world (derelict denmark) on an expedition to collect books.

the comic updated every workday until it concluded in 2022, and consists of two Adventures. the creator had plans for many adventures with these characters in this world, but ended it after two when she wanted to take a new direction with her life.

what i love about it:

- the art is GORGEOUS. it's been a huge source of inspiration for me. open any page and it's a masterpiece, and you will ask yourself "how the FUCK did she update this FIVE DAYS A WEEK"

- the characters are wonderful and endearing. i just, i love them so much. i am so thankful lalli hotakainen exists he is one of my #1 blorbos forever

- the world is so cool. the blend of chunky sci-fi and norse mythology fantasy magic slaps. it goes so hard. i fell so hard for this comic when i got to the big ferry ship with a viking style dragon head prow added to it. it's everything

- it really really gets nordic cultures. it's difficult to explain all the dynamics and nuances but it just gets it. it brings me as a scandinavian a lot of joy to read a story that speaks to my heart this way. the attitudes, the language barriers, the cultural differences... it was so refreshing to me in a media landscape dominated by american stories. when the pandemic hit, i decided to reread the comic because i found such an odd comfort in seeing how it depicted the scandinavian countries reacting to, well, a pandemic.

- there's kittycats

what i don't like about it:

- the most glaring and obvious flaw is that everyone in the comic is white. there's not a single character of color anywhere, not even i background shots or the prologue. there's no mention of the saami people (the indigenous people of northern europe), either. i believe this was done in ignorance more than malicious intent, but the implications are Extremely Bad and it's been bothering me (AND MANY OTHERS) since day 1. that is the number one caveat i will give to anyone wanting to check this comic out. i've been in the discourse trenches and i am not going to excuse this. it's just bad!

- you can tell in the middle of adventure 2 that the creator has kind of lost interest in the work, around the time when she found jesus i guess. like, very few people can keep up work on the same creative project for years and years and years and i think it's fine that she wanted to drop it, but it's a bit sad to see the comic dragged to its end like a limp corpse, and feeling like the creator no longer really cares about the characters.

- minna sundberg has said and done some questionable things, presumably gotten somewhat radicalised over time, and has also converted to hardcore christianity which is what her new works are about. there's nothing about this in SSSS - there is a moment of christianity represented in the story in a sort of mythological sense, just like the other religions, but this was written before minna's conversion. her new works... are a Choice. i have much to say about them, and i have, and im not gonna rehash it now.

SO YEAH hopefully this will help you take an Informed Choice! i got into this comic in 2015 and was deep in the fandom and it's for better or for worse part of my soul foundation now.

i also recommend A Redtail's Dream, minna's "practice comic" before SSSS, based on finnish mythology and the kalevala.

[ckret2]

I just realized the reason for Ford's questions in chapter 23, and it is that Bill did not want to admit that the reason why the portal had to be so powerful and destructive to bring Bill to reality, is because the portal is designed to allow him literal passage to the center of existence, plus it makes me laugh that Ford does not know that Bill is the center not only of his life but of everyone else's, figuratively and literally.

I got three asks about the same topic a few minutes apart so I'm assuming they're connected.

"why the portal had to be so powerful and destructive to bring Bill to reality, is because the portal is designed to allow him literal passage to the center of existence" - Nope! Sorry anon, I appreciate the deep thinking, but I'm afraid you read too much into this one.

Ford already knows that the interdimensional portal opens into the Nightmare Realm (a.k.a. Dimension Zero), which Ford himself defines in Journal 3 as "the dimension between all dimensions." So he already knows the portal's default exit point opens at the center of reality; that's not a twist, that's canon info available to both the audience and to Ford.

Once you get a portal that can open in the center of reality, it's not much harder to make it open in the center of the center of reality—like how if you invented a rocket that could carry you from Mars to Texas, it wouldn't be that much harder to get it to Dallas.

If Ford asked "why did you need to get from Mars to Texas riding a missile powerful enough to blow up half of North America rather than any other rocket design?" and Bill said "because I really needed it to hit Dallas exactly because I'm currently in City Hall and can't leave" it wouldn't answer Ford's question at all. So build a different rocket that can land in Dallas, jeez.

Plus, it's pretty easy to open portals to Dimension Zero. Every single Henchmaniac made their way there somehow. Ford found an exit wormhole within minutes of entering the Nightmare Realm (which means he was still pretty physically close to Bill—so, still pretty physically close to the center of D0.) And consider the tiny rifts left behind after Weirdmageddon; consider the Bottomless Pit, which has one exit in D0 that's close enough to Bill that in J3 Bill complains about receiving some of Ford's junk through it. With TBOB, we now also know that something as simple as nuclear testing (well, simple on a cosmic scale) can accidentally open a temporary rift from Earth to Bill's location.

There's plenty of cheap, easy, and safer portals & wormholes & the like open and available near the location of the center of existence. It's just that Bill can't go through them.

But—you're in the neighborhood of the true reason. Bill being defined as coordinate point 0,0,0 of Dimension Zero is a symptom of the problem—not the problem itself.

Anonymous asked: At some point Ford will discover that Bill is the center of existence or it will be information that is always hidden, although I am not really sure how it could affect him, besides an attack of paranoia when he starts to fear the implications of Bill no longer being the center or even worse that he continues to be (and that the center is not in his position) perhaps Bill could take advantage of this.

I haven't thought about whether he'll discover that specifically, because it's not really "hidden" because it's not really a secret that's being kept. The center of existence is only a location. I suppose there's no reason he can't, but... it's not something I've put thought into yet because it's not something that narratively matters lmao. There's more important things to discover about Bill.

And at the moment, Bill is very demonstrably not at the center of existence, because the center of existence is over there in Dimension Zero and Bill's over here in Dimension 46'\. In fact, Bill hasn't been at the center of existence since Weirdmageddon—he passed through the rift to Earth, then went to the Axolotl's tank, then to Theraprism, then back to Earth.

But the info could come up casually in conversation at some point. ("I miss being the center of the universe." "It must be so terrible, not having everyone around you do everything you say." "No, literally, I used to be physically at the center of Dimension Zero." "Huh. So that's where you got your ego." "Hey.")

At this point, it seems more like something he'd happen to let drop to Mabel than to Ford. He's told Mabel about everything from shape genetics to Euclidean dance music to his mother's history as a model. Meanwhile he won't even admit to Ford that he can make soda cans float while making a soda can float.

If Ford does find out, he'd be more likely to go "well, why was Bill at the center? Was he just hanging out there or was there something significant to it?" than he would be to immediately assume that, for some reason, Bill MUST be the center.

Anonymous asked: Scenario that will never happen Dipper finds out that Bill is the center, which drives him crazy that no one from outside (the gods) are going to do anything in case his dimension suffers consequences by having the center of existence sleeping on the floor, this paranoia is fueled when he remembers what Bill told him about the axolotl cutting a timeline which serves as an excuse for him to become more alarmed by their indifference to what happens to his dimension.

No yeah that tracks, Dipper would invent a crisis around a non-existent problem he created in his head.

(Fun fact though: the gods aren't indifferent. Some of this will be in future chapters and some of this will only be seen when I finish editing ch 51 for TBOB-compatibility—but the Axolotl is working very hard to keep Bill safe, and just about everyone else really, really wants Bill back in Theraprism—or worse.)

[yandere-daydreams]

Not sure if you've ever been asked this before so apologies if it's been asked!

How do you write such dark content? Like what's your thought process for it. Do you ever think of giving reader a good ending or is it usually just give reader the most unhappy experience.

I know some people have said they would kill themselves after til the water boils but like part one ending didn't seem that bad? Just humiliating. Part two is definitely worse, but I wouldn't say suicide level. I'm sure reader is still getting three meals a day, fawned over after they endured their punishment, and possibly make it back to their happy princess lifestyle after a few months to years. (Also, what was the worst punishment that Satoru had to convince Suguru not to do?? I'm genuinely curious because Geto still loves reader obviously so I don't think he'd do permanent damage)

Thank you for always writing such great content 💖

hmmm what a question,,, i genuinely do not think there's any universe wherein i wouldn't be writing x reader fanfiction on tumblr dot com, but due to personal factors like my love of horror and my personal lack of interest in traditional romance, i think dead dove stuff is just naturally more appealing to me? it's fun to take the characters i'd be thinking about anyway and nudge them a little further towards their breaking points, and writing is such a clinical activity that i find it, in most cases, to be less emotionally impactful than reading a fic with similar content would be. i can give nanami a foot fetish and forget about next week, it's you people who have to live with the Implications.

as for the reader,,, i think happy endings just aren't what i'm going for? i wouldn't say i've never written one, but i just think there's a lot more elasticity to an unhappy ending than one that leaves the reader in a place they can just sorta chill in forever, and something i really value in a fic is the ability for readers to just. ponder it for a bit longer than they usually would. also all of my happy endings involve the reader-insert rapidly gravitating towards the nearest woman and falling in lesbian, lesbian love, which can get pretty repetitive pretty quickly. best to space them out and piles on the suffering, in the meantime.

[spiral-man]

Hey! You! The gay people in my computer! Yah you! I just need you to listen to me for like five minutes (I’m either a genius or all the hair dye is finally seeping into my brain). With every new episode that comes out more and more theory’s are made and a lot of them I’ve noticed point towards all the different ominous things the characters say or do and what that could possibly mean. Most often though they lead to the implication of the character being not totally human. And I mean that’s what it’s all about right?

The Magnus Archives is about what makes a monster and the Magnus protocol is about what makes a human.

There’s also been a-lot of talk comparing the two podcasts:

•the intro music being more intense right off the bat in this one

•placing a lot of emphasis on the fact that the employees can leave whenever they want

At first i thought maybe the plot was just moving faster this time around but it’s not that, it’s moving backwards I think.

•Starting with the employee quitting vs ending with Jon and Martin ‘quitting’.

•Starting showing us how the computer just spits out cases whenever and you can’t stop it vs near the end when Jon couldn’t help himself from making a statement either.

Everyone in the Magnus Archives was human at one point or another, I think everyone in the Magnus protocol was a monster at one point or another.

Jonny sims is really good at plot twists and I think this would be honestly genius. I mean, think about it, don’t think about the Magnus archives, don’t think about the characters past or future, detach yourself from the eye and just look at these characters as they are, right in the moment.

“Oh that’s an ominous thing to say”

“oh that sounds like foreshadowing”

“oh that’s a weird way to say that”

how many times about how many characters do we have those thoughts? We’re only 6 episodes in and I can’t even count the amount of times I’ve thought something one of the characters said was a bit odd. A couple times is normal but especially this early on into a series it shouldn’t be so obvious, it’s to easy. We the fans latch onto these little bits of dialogue and theorize them to death and then move on to the next one and do the same thing all over again, connecting them like the web in the Magnus archives.

But this isn’t the Magnus archives.

Jonny sims once said writing the Magnus archives had to be a balancing act because he had to make sure that the timing of it made sense for people listening as it came out as well as people binging it way after it came out, there was only one safe house episode partly because he didn’t want fans listening as it came out to get bored since it would feel alot longer then It would for people binging it later. I think because this is following the Magnus archives there is a new element of it starting off with a pretty large fan base and because of that Jonny can bank on the fact that more people will be listening as the episodes come out and so we will be less likely to realize how often these strange lines are occurring and how easy it feels.

I think everyone in the Magnus protocol is only pretending to be human, doing a poor imitation which just gets worse with time like how the quality of a printed image will go down which each new copy you make. They remind me of the Not!Them, or the distortion, pretending to be someone/something your not and doing it so well it’s almost an exact copy….but not completely, some things are just slightly off, some things make you look twice and wonder.

None of them are human, not completely.

……..

(Not yet?)

[sol-consort]

Turian dick got me going feral.

You move to the citadel and in order to afford rent you start rooming with one of your coworkers. He’s a turian, nice enough really. If only he was a little less obvious with his attraction to you.

Endearing in a way. The way his claws trail down your thighs, or play with the soft strands of your hair. The pick up lines are even cuter (he plays it off like he’s saying them to you for practice)

And a little creepy at times when you can hear him watching human x turian pornos. The walls are thin enough that you can hear everything

The old delima of turians being very endearingly awkward with their flirting but absolutely creepy in their devotion

You've had worse roommates in the past, guys who think it's appropriate to watch porn in the living room, people who left their dishes in the sink, ones who kept drinking your orange juice and never paying back.

So, really, in comparison to most humans you've lived with, this one roommate is top notch—he can't even steal your food if he wanted to—even with all of his...quirks. Maybe they're easier to swallow since you can chalk it up to him being a different species and all.

Living in the Citadel is very expensive, and you would rather not have to cut out from your budget for little treats again.

If letting a turian cup a feel every now and then, politely pretend that you can't hear his moans through the thin walls each night—breathlessly whispering your name—then it's a good deal in exchange for barely contributing for a quarter of the rent. He worked in C-sec if you recalled? His pay must be pretty decent to manage to cover almost all of it.

You're mostly nonchalant about it, the way he tries to play off his claws kneading your thighs as mere curiosity over human anatomy. Or how he tried to convince you that turians purring is just...something that sometimes happen, nothing more.

So don't worry if you feel these vibrations while his rough beak is nuzzling your neck. Don't think too much about it. It definitely doesn't hold any intimate implications.

Roommate turian who keeps offering to do your laundry, who takes a day or three longer than average to return them. Who grows very touchy with you the longer you live together, asking you to help him practice kissing...just in case he ever gets a human partner. Your lips are so soft, he doesn't want to injure them, so what's the harm in letting him have a test run? or two...or ten...everyday.

You raise an eyebrow when you feel his long tongue slipping into your mouth, sliding down your throat. Since when did kissing involve deepthroating his tongue? Still, you don't really care, plus the way he squirms when you suck against it is kinda funny.

He's especially in the mood whenever he comes back exhausted from work—you won't believe the amount of paperwork involved in security. He calls you over, saying he just happened to pass by a new restaurant and bought food.

The two of you should definitely eat it while sitting on the couch...close...or maybe he can coax you into his lap? He'll give you his portion of food. You don't mention the fact that none of the food items he bought were dextro, yet still indulge his request.

Allowing him to cuddle his work stress away with your body, squeezing and purring. Feeling his sharp teeth graze against your sensitive neck, barely restraining himself from biting as he buries his nose against the spot instead.

Spotting the "The galactic guides to courting humans" book on his pillow when you came into his room to borrow an omni-tool charger, flipping through it and recognising all the lame pick-up lines he's been using on you under the guise of practicing.

[shortnotsweet]

APPLES IN THE SKY (excerpt from THE THRILLING AND NOT AT ALL REPETITIVE ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN MAN AND KID DANGER: “A CHRONOLOGY OF ENTIRELY TRUE AND HEROIC EVENTS COINCIDING WITH THE END OF HISTORY”) [1] [2] [3] [4]

[ Henry’s face is unreadable. In the background, desert mountains and vegetation rush past. Smoke rises in the distance, backlighting ambiguous red shapes that could be plant life, flaming crosses, or even ominous figures. The camera cuts to the back of the car with the invalid license plate reading “HERO”, speeding towards a red horizon. Ray twists back in his seat with a smile, reflected in the lens of Henry’s sunglasses. In the review mirror, Henry’s expression is contemplative. The shot pans to a bird’s eye view of the car eating up highway miles. ]

Charli XCX’s “Apple” from BRAT (2024): “I guess the apple could turn yellow or green. I know there's lots of different nuances to you and to me—I wanna grow the apple, keep all the seeds, but I can't help but get so angry you don't listen to me. To the airport—the airport.”

PANEL NOTES:

The smoke is an implication of wildfires in the surrounding area, which Henry and Ray simply drive past because there’s nothing else to do. Maybe those days are behind them. Maybe they’re just not adept in the art of firefighting, and the bigness of a wildfire is too rural or too raw for them to even adress. I think there’s a sort of irony to it, and it’s either heroes ignoring a disaster past their prime or simple not caring; they’re speeding off into an undefined future and therefore no longer grappling with apathy, but sliding into it. Thus, the road is interpreted as a junction between natural conflict running its course and urban obligation.

This was vaguely inspired, albeit not lifted directly, from my millionth or so reread of “Cuticle Tear” by atbash on AO3. Granted, it takes place in a broken-down truck and is not needlessly melodramatic, but AO3 user atbash does more with obligatory dialogue and omitted assumptions than I could do in 20 panels or so.

Specifically, the lyric “‘cause I’ve been looking at you so long now I only see me. I wanna throw the apple into the sky, feels like you never understand me, so I just wanna drive…” struck me as somewhat in line with the feeling—and example—I got from the fic.

Of course, neither yellow or green are used in the actual color palette, but the song carries themes of intertwined identity and generational effects passed down. I think Ray has imparted a lot of the best and worst things about himself to Henry, through the means of their friendship, professional, and mentor relationship. He’s not his dad. It’s worse, almost, that he’s not, because then it would at least be hereditary.

“Apple” is my favorite BRAT (2024) song right now, so of course it’s stuck in my head; I think there’s a flippant, escapist quality to it and can imagine two friends listening to it on the highway, checking out, but also—there’s not quite a realization, more like an unspoken feeling that what you are is a product. And it’s someone else’s fault. And when you look at each other, you’re seeing something else, or maybe you’re trying to. There’s something distantly escapist and obviously upbeat about the song, but there’s a disdain there, too.

It’s hardly visible, but the license plate on the car reads “HERO” singular, which is invalid but implies they have either a fake plate or Swellview is just so strange that their town itself has exceptions as to how they’re issued, again violating the laws and conventional physics of surrounding territory. They’re a weird exception, as always, and they’re getting away with it.

Their identities are so intertwined at this point that theyre conflated, so there’s an obligatory ego flattening going on as well as an erasure of both or one of them—most likely Henry’s—to accommodate. You might call it being a teammate, although how Henry feels about it after all this time is unsure.

Ray did this to him, the good and the bad doesn’t matter; it’s the fact that he did it.

[cookie-gal]

An EPIC Oneshot

There are other ways~

(Slight spicy implications warning)

"-Everyone's true colors are revealed in acts of lust"

"I'm not sure if I follow."

The doors of the bedroom trapped Odysseus inside with her, he suddenly felt immensely vulnerable despite having his sword out in his pointing at his witchy foe he still felt wrong...

"There are ways of persuasion.. there are other modes of control~"

Circe smiled smugly, she snapped her fingers magically making her hair longer and making her dress very thin. She lowered Odysseus' sword and gripped his hands making Odysseus feel more uncomfortable. Lack of confidence or control.

"Awh, you have so much left to learn~"

"What.. Wh-what are you..."

Why..Why am I shaking so much?

The seductive enchantress got up in his face making his uneasiness feel worse making him, feel hot and sweat. She wrapped her arms around his neck, "trapping" him making only look at her and only her.

"Want to save your men from the fire, show me what you're willing to burn~"

She lifted the miserable man's head making him face her once more, eye-to-eye. She pulled him making the two of them head towards a nearby bed. Circe falls fluidly on the bed as Odysseus pins her down, his hands start to tremble as Circe slowly made pulls one of his hand and puts it on her chest.

What am I doing?? I can't do this! I can't do THIS!

At this point he knew what she wanted, but he didn't want to given into her demands he wanted to back away or run away but he couldn't if he really wanted to save his comrades. His mind starts to spiral up as he started to think about her

Penelope I'm so sorry!

How would his wife think of this? What would she think of him killing a innocent infant, How would she react to learning that half of his comrades and best friend were killed by a Cyclops, how would she react to some of them also drowning to their deaths? And especially now how would she feel about him sleeping with this enchanted mistress?

2

His thoughts starts twisting inside him, pretty much breaking him as he tries to the resistance to cry or show even more vulnerability than he already has. But his vision of his already trembled hands start to blur as tears start to fall, his breathing starts to become more slightly rapid than before..

He needed to leave now. But this is the only way to get through her right?

"Awh what's the matter, don't be afraid it's okay. You can always go slow if you want to."

"I... C..an't I don't...(Sniffles) Why...why are you doing.... Why am I d-doing..."

He was choking on his own tears to properly get a word out or aloud considering that every word he said was just very quiet painful moans

Despite Circe being the one more "restrained" Odysseus felt more like he was the one getting pinned down and pretty much tortured by this uneasy tension though there wasn't much happening except Odysseus repeatedly gripping Circe's arms and placing his hands on his her stomach trying his best to avoid her torso

STOP...! Stop shaking! WHY can't I stop shaking what's wrong with me?!

"P-please... I.. I NEED to... Too... N-no..! I..."

"C'mon you~ Don't tell me that you're afraid of a woman"

"N-no... No I...I..."

He couldn't do this... He can't do this, he couldn't betray his wife like this..

"I CAN'T!"

He screamed, jolted off of the bed no longer "restraining" himself on top of Circe. Odysseus looked at his hands still shaking but, not as badly as they were before also realizing that his hands were cold and wet covered with his tears.

Circe's ears went down as she watched Odysseus cover his mouth and hold his stomach

"By the gods, I feel sick..."

He mumbled to himself as he started pacing around the room and suddenly vomits on the floor

"Ahh...hah... Hnngg...my chest hurts.."

Odysseus glared at his sword for what felt minutes slowly calming down and putting himself together and tried to wipe the pathetic tears though, they continued to fall down his face. He sighed

3

"Back at home my wife awaits she's my everything.. My Penelope, she's my motivation for everything she's all of my power, my only purpose but it's been 12 long years"

He starts to scream and wail and covers his face

"AHHH 12 LONG YEARS SINCE I HAVE SEEN MY WIFE!! AND... And now the god of tides is out to kill me.... It's too much to handle it... it's so much ache so please... I beg you Circe please grant us mercy and let us puppets leave.... Please!"

He was on his knees bowing down to her, he felt so pathetic and helpless

Circe at first atleast what it looked like from her facial expressions, she didn't seem to care.. but now, she seemed to be empathizing him as she sighs heavily

"Poseidon you say... Hmm..you know I now about that blue blobfish too... Congrats... Old mortal"

"What...(Sniffles)what are you... GHHN--"

Unexpectedly, he felt a sudden sting in his eyes as she gently wiped his tears away

"You know, I know what's it's like to love before..."

"Come... Let's try to get you out of here"

"Wait..wait you're helping us?"

"Look, I might not be able to get you back home properly but I know someone, a prophet but he's dead."

"...what?"

Odysseus felt his heart sink a little bit from that last sentence, he was still slightly startled from she did to him.. Circe grabbed some small and medium potion bottles and opened a curtain to revealing a bunch of animal pens almost like a farm but the one that caught Ody's attention was the pig pen

"Despite the prophet being dead, I can take you to the underworld to see him"

Within the cunning witch's directions she, throws the held potions onto the pigs transforming the swine into men

The men cheered in enjoyment loudly, as they all headed towards the boat captain Odysseus bows once more to Circe but not out of pity and desperation but as a way to thank her

Euryrlochus walks by to check if the captain was okay.. The captain gleefully noded, and confidently smiled

Take this as a Valentine's day special thingy I guess lol